#that was his DAUGHTER. that was his girl his child and he let her die he didn’t pick her and knew he wasn’t going to

[allegoryofthebeast]

I don’t get people saying it doesn’t make sense for Lestat to be guilty because he let Claudia die. I, personally, cannot think of a better reason to be eaten alive by guilt for a century than if I let my daughter die. I, too, wouldn’t move out of catatonic grief and stillness knowing if I had the chance to do it again I still wouldn’t save her. I, too, would never be able to get her out of my mind. Just me though!

[lullabyes22-blog]

"I think the cycle only ends when you find the will to walk away."

Got a lot of Q's for this in my inbox. Figured I'd just address them here.

tw: mentions of suicide, suicidal ideation

Re: the ending of S2:

Jinx did not die.

She symbolically killed her old self, and with it, her last ties to the past that imprisoned her. She understood that for her sister to move on and live her life - be happy without guilt - she'd have to renounce the bonds that held them together.

Her talk with ghostly Silco was the 'sign-off' she'd been waiting for, ever his dutiful daughter. Throughout S2, she kept hoping he'd haunt her, and in doing so, offer some impetus given her aimlessness. Maybe just straight up boss her around, and tell her how she's supposed to exist now that he's no longer there to be a (subversive if loving) guiding hand.

But it was the promise of time (as represented by Ekko) healing old wounds, and the courage to feel, as she once had - a hopeful child with a hopeful future - that allowed Jinx to commit impetus to action.

Her blimp-ship in the climactic battle is a tribute to Isha - but also to the child in Jinx's own fractured psyche: Powder. She's letting both little girls have one last hurrah before she takes care of business - and cuts off the last oaths, duties and commitments that bind her to a past whose parameters she's outgrown.

Better still, she knows she's got the capacity to outgrow them.

That was the point of Jinx's arc with Isha, and why, no matter my misgivings on Isha's character herself, I found Jinx's trajectory towards a more nurturing and fun-loving figure more life-affirming and positive than the straightforward 'Daddy's Villain Goes Postal' shtick.

It's even why there's a minigame titled Jinx Fixes Everything. It's Jinx, struggling and stumbling, as she tries to rewrite her narrative, and finds in herself the capacity to do good.

To fix things that seem irreparably broken.

And to understand why she's reached this stage, we've got to let go of our tendency to project our own stuff onto Jinx (precious meow meow, unrepentant terrorist, manic pixie crazypants, edgy hot psycho) and acknowledge the purpose she plays in Arcane's thematic structure.

Jinx's character comes off as a death-seeker, and that's no shocker. She is hounded by terrible guilt and loss. She's got blood on her hands, and ghosts on her heels, and no matter what she does, she can't seem to be rid of them. Her inner mind's fractured, her mannerisms ooze pure chaos, and she seems a creature of pure feral impulse and no mercy.

That's the Jinx we're accustomed to seeing in S1 - except that's also both the front she's most likely to put on during that timeline, and the persona that is necessary for her to inhabit to survive, as Silco's daughter and his top enforcer.

Then Silco kicks the bucket, she symbolically fulfills his dream by shooting at the Council HQ, she accepts that she must inhabit this path of shadows and loneliness (as symbolized by her starkly decorated chair in the tea party scene), she accepts the fragmented push-and-pull between past and present, and...

And now what?

Silco's given her a semblance of direction for six years, and he's gone. Vi, the sister she'd hoped would return, and whom she'd hinged so many childishly idealized hopes on, is herself traumatized, and afraid of what her sister's become.

Jinx has her shadows and her loneliness. Jinx is traumatized. Jinx is suicidal.

But Jinx is still, whatever else, alive.

And all living things need connections.

That's why we as the audience enjoy her little found family dynamic with Isha and Sevika. It's Jinx, taking the first tentative steps to reach out to people beyond Silco and Vi, and realizing, wow, she enjoys the pay-off.

And all throughout S2, we see Jinx growing more and more comfortable in this newfound space - even jealously guarding it at the expense of Zaun's liberty, and Silco's wishes, because she can't bear to lose what she's found.

And what she finds empowers her enough that, when Warwick shows up, she's actually willing to reach out to Vi, and call upon their family connection, because Jinx is learning the value of bonds, not as baling hooks of guilt, but as buoys to carry her forward.

That's the story Jinx's relationships serve to tell in S2. Each one shapes the choice she makes in the finale. Until she learns to accept the past (Vi), to lay the monsters to rest (Silco and Vander/Warwick), forgive herself (Caitlyn) trust that time heals all wounds (Ekko), and hope for happier new beginning (Isha), she'll never trust herself enough to just seize the chance.

Jinx's culminating arc is not about death, much less self-erasure. It's about resurrection, and embracing the sublime chaos of a freed mind, and a lightened spirit. That's what she craves beyond simple death, and what her baptism by fire, blood and riverwater, has been about.

Each trial grinds her down into someone else. Someone new.

Someone closer to who she is meant to be, rather than who she's expected to be.

That's why she's so glad to make the sacrifice for Vi. She's not dying as an act of self-immolation. She's giving her sister - the one who's proven she'll never give up on her - the ultimate gift, and showing Vi that she deserves to live.

She needs Vi to live, so Jinx, the persona, can finally die.

"He (Silco) didn't make Jinx. You did."

She's basically saying, "I love you, I will always be with you, but you are no longer responsible for my actions. Please move forward with your life, and grant me the choice to do the same."

It's two sisters embracing everything they've meant to each other, acknowledging the pain weighing them down on both sides, and welcoming the new so they can each slough off old paradigms and live life as a whole person - or at least take steps to remembering what wholeness feels like.

That's the reason the show's final shots linger on the Hexgate tunnels, Jinx's monkey bomb, and the aircraft.

It's the show's way of reminding us that Jinx has ascended to a different version of her identity - one removed from the past that haunted her. It's Jinx, finally striking out alone, away from the sister whose memory she clung so desperately to, and who was, in turn, horrified by her hand in making Powder a monster (perceived guilt or real, fandom may debate ad nauseum) due to past mistakes and abandonment.

The ending of Arcane isn't tragic. It's deeply hopeful, and serves as a reminder that no matter how damaged you think you are, and no matter how monstrous the world finds you, there are still ways to come back to yourself - or to walk the path toward a new you.

Jinx is symbolized by crows. Jinx is shown with firelights emerging from her mouth. Jinx is depicted holding a torch like Janna ushering in the winds of change.

Thematically, Jinx is change.

And the best way she can embody that change is to write her story, and make it her own.

[shrimpybbq]

rafe, his fiancée and their family in the 18 month gap between s3 and s4

“What do you think about another baby?”

rafe is ecstatic about the prospect of another kid, and he shows it. he’s constantly spoiling his girl, always doting on her and helping her around the house. he makes sure to hire staff around tannyhill and ensure she doesn’t have to stress, making sure to spend time each night with his family despite the chaos of his day. rafe knows her first pregnancy wasn’t the best (bc of him) and he wants to give her a whole new experience

high school gf was worried about telling him she was pregnant again, knowing how badly it all went the first time. she knew rafe had grown to love his son and his family, but she was still apprehensive about his reaction, knowing he was in a stressful period of life rn. she didn’t have anything to worry about however, seeing straight away how different rafe was with her now. he loved being a father and was so keen to have another baby, especially now everything is his, and he can provide for his family the way he wants

baby no. 2 was a girl, just as rafe wanted. he already has little charlie, who is a carbon copy of himself, but he wants a little girl who looks just like her mother. rafe already loved to stare at his fiancée’s face, but imagining her looking after a mini version of herself - rafe thinks he might die.

as his fiancée and mother of his child, high school gf is living good. rafe is struggling with his father’s death, but mostly, they’re happy - really, really happy. charlie is starting to speak, and he is so excited to have a baby sister

oh you know the jokes are going around the OBX about how rafe just can’t keep it in his pants (but who could blame him when his girl is just so hot)

rafe doing the absolute most to have his fiancée relaxed and resting at all times - he loves to take her out on the boat and let her lay in the warm sun, especially because she gets so clingy when she’s sleepy and calm

rafe who begins to secretly hunt for a new house for the family to move into, wanting a new space just for themselves. tannyhill had too many bad vibes and rafe wants to start fresh

the family are often seen out and about the island with little charlie either toddling in front of his parents, or being swung in between their outstretched arms

charlie becoming known by those on the island as a cheeky little boy, always pulling faces and trying to play with everyone

rafe watching his girl get closer and closer to her due date and growing more and more anxious - he was so coked up the first time that he never really worried, but now he is always hovering and checking in on their baby

rafe is there for this delivery!! he's 100% holding his fiancée’s hand and brushing her sweaty hair out of her face, whispering "you can do this, baby, you've got this"

the nurses let him cut the cord once his daughter is born and he is definitely crying and trying to subtly wipe away his tears

the whole family spending the next few weeks hiding in their new house enjoying their first moments with their new little girl

rafe picks her name and decides to call her emmeline, emmy for short

if any family ever gave off rich vibes, it's the cameron's. rafe has his kids dressed to the nines, nice cars in the driveway of his new house and his fiancée wearing the nicest jewellery

all the women on kildare being so jealous once they see sexy muscular rafe cameron fussing over a tiny little baby, emmy clutched tightly in his arms as his fiancée holds charlie's hand

rafe would never admit it, but he loves the looks he gets when he walks around his little girl - he might be loyal but he still likes to be reminded he's hot sorry not sorry

wedding time!!!!

i think their wedding is actually very casual, maybe even a holiday elopement

rafe doesn't really like the people in the obx that much and so when his girl suggested getting married somewhere quiet, just the two of them, he was like "mmm, why not?"

the pair get married on a private beach in hawaii, rafe in a loose white shirt and a pair of linen trousers, his girl in a silky dress (this is so serious to me)

they hire a photographer and definitely put a big wedding pic on their hallway wall

everyone in the obx knew it was coming (bc they were engaged) but people are still a little shocked that the high school couple actually got married?

i see them settling into a nice routine once back, really just wifey looking after their little family, rafe running cameron development and the family spending all their time together happily

idk i'm just very passionate about the concept of rafe being loved and giving love in return bc it's clear he's capable of it, he just needs to feel safe and nurtured

click here for pre-season 1 rafe, gf & their unborn son

click here for season 1 rafe, gf & their son

click here for season 2 rafe, gf & their son

click here for season 3 rafe, gf & their son

click here for season 4 part 1 rafe, gf & their son

[list4r]

Deciding to have a family with you was the best thing Satoru ever done. At least that’s what he says every moment you two are alone.

The moment you came to him with that positive pregnancy test he did everything he could so he could be ready for when you brought that beautiful baby girl into the world. He signed you guys up for partnering classes, bought as many necessities as the nursery could fit, made sure to babyproof the house. He did everything he could to be ready. The only thing he wasn’t ready for though- his child growing up.

It was the classic night, his favourite kind of night. When the three of you are together at the dinner table. Satoru and your daughter were wearing matching hair clips as they sit at the table. Once food is served everything is well. Until your daughter speaks up.

“Papa are you gonna be sad when I grow up and leave you and mama?”

That causes Satoru to immediately choke on his food, turning to the five year old girl who was humming happily as she waits for his answer.

“What are you talking about sweetie, where’d that come from hm?” Satoru tries to keep the expression on his face neutral but you can tell he’s holding back.

“Well when I get older I will get married and have kids like mama and papa! Then I will move far away and you can’t visit, only mama can.”

That right there causes Satorus eye to twitch, gripping his fork before nodding and giving the girl a small smile. “I think you should just eat your dinner baby, it’s getting late.” In which she nods and continues to eat while rambling about what happened at school that day. Honestly you had to applaud Satoru for not freaking out then and there. It seemed like times were changing.

But you were wrong.

Now it was after dinner time and after you put your daughter down to sleep. And you thought that you would get a good nights sleep, but here you are… dealing with your husband.

“She hates me baby she hates me…” gojo muttered as he was sitting up while you were laying down. “I mean why would she even say that? That only you can visit her?” His hands are waving around dramatically. “Am I… I’m a bad father? That she’ll forget about me when she grows up…. Oh my god baby my heart- I think I might just die. Yep that’s it I’m gonna die and my own daughter probably won’t even care. I can’t believe I let her have candy when you say no and she said that. What’s the point of life anymore.”

“Satoru she’s literally five…. She doesn’t know what’s she’s saying. Go to bed.”

“How can I sleep when my precious little girl doesn’t even want me in her future life?”

“All kids say things they don’t mean. She’ll forget it about it in the morning. Just please… go to sleeep it’s late.”

Gojo sighs as he finally lays down. “Well I won’t forget.” A pause. “What do you have that I don’t? I think I’m a very fun guy.”

“Maybe she doesn’t like drama queens who don’t want to sleep.”

“If only she knew her mother was a rude woman, then she wouldn’t have said that.” Gojo huffs.

“Sleep.”

“Okayyyyy… good night.” He huffs and it’s like you can hear the pout on his face.

Let’s just say the both of them ended up forgetting the next morning anyway.

[writingouthere]

singlemom!reader x neighbor!sukuna. you miss having a baby and Sukuna is dying from a combination of your sexual tension, his lowkey(highkey) baby fever and the drudgery of attending a child's birthday party

cw: Sukuna's breeding kink, red flags are present and accounted for, no one gets laid tho so sad face. this actually ended up being way more sincere and heartfelt than I intended but honestly very typical of me

"Oh we're not together, Sukuna's just been letting me and Bug crash while we look for an apartment."

"Oh he's not my boyfriend, we're just friends!"

"He's actually not Bug's dad. No, no. But, they get along really well. She enjoys having someone else to hang out with aside from me, I think."

Your laughter after the last one plays on repeat as he goes to grab the two of you some refreshments. Sukuna feels like he's living the world's worst version of groundhog day, except instead of being some sad loser who relives the same day over and over, he's apparently a sad loser who is going to live the same conversation over and over again.

"Fuck this shit."

"Um, excuse me but could you watch your language. This is a kid's birthday party." Sukuna wants to ask the bitch who is correcting a grown man's language if he would mind watching his own fucking business but you seem to care about what these losers think and he won't make life difficult for you.

If he happens to step on the guy's foot as he leaves with two cups and a juice box caught in his elbow, well, his steel toed boots need the exercise.

Sukuna knew that if any of his acquaintances, he didn't have friends after all, could see him now, they would die laughing. Die ,because he would kill them for laughing, but fuck he couldn't even really blame them, even in his hypothetical.

Once upon a time, Sukuna was a feared criminal. People pissed themselves when he cornered them in a dark alley. Other bad guys would look at him and say, "wow that guy's a real piece of shit" and now look at him. Stuck at some three year old's birthday party. One more kidzpop butchering of an already shitty song away from committing another felony.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he knew he was at least getting some pussy out of it, but he had just spent the past two hours hearing you deny him to anyone who asked and it was really starting to get to him.

He knew he was being a little bitch about it, and he wasn't upset just because you weren't fucking him. He was upset that all the things you were telling people, they were technically true. He was just letting you and your daughter crash. He was just your friend, not your boyfriend. Even the comments about him not being Bug's dad, but him being positioned as some kind of really invested babysitter, those might have stung more than the ones about your relationship but you thought that was true too.

Thinking about the kid made him look for her, not that Sukuna ever wasn't aware of where you and your daughter were. It had become instinct before he was even aware of it.

Bug was laughing with some kids he recognized from daycare and others from their regular trips to the park. Her happiness was contagious and Sukuna found his lips twitching up at the ends despite his shitty mood.

Your daughter's eyes found him from across the playground. "kuna!" she called, waving her little hand at him. He waved back with his available hand and made his way towards her. She met him halfway, her little legs unsteady on the wood chips but she didn't seem to notice. She was always like that when she saw him, she ran fearlessly. Maybe she just trusted he'd catch her.

Was it so wrong of him that he didn't like the reminders she wasn't his. That it stung, not just because of his feelings but because it just couldn't be true. He might not have fathered her, but fuck anyone who said this little girl wasn't his.

"I got you a juice, you've been running around so much you gotta be thirsty."

"Not thirsty," Bug argued leaning into him. He held up his hands that were holding the grown up drinks for the two of you, and moved the package still lodged in the crease of his elbow towards the petulant toddler. "Take it, or I'll drink it."

Bug stuck her tongue out at him and grabbed it. She struggled to get the wrapping off the straw and Sukuna didn't even notice what he was doing until she had the straw stretched out towards him and he was pulling the wrapper off with his teeth. He spit it out on the ground as your daughter gave him a polite thank-you and then walked away, sipping her juice as she went to catch up with her friends.

What had become of him?

"Need a hand?" You smile at him and Sukuna hands over your cup before taking a sip of his own. There was unfortunately no alcohol in it but drinking it occupied his mouth before he acted like a pussy and asked you, "what are we?" or "should we get married?" or something equally as pathetic.

"God, I want a baby."

Sukuna almost spit out his drink but he manages to tone it down to just a little cough before turning to look at you. You don't even seem a little embarrassed which is just infuriating. Sukuna's about to make a suggestion on how he can help with that when you sigh and point to where some loser is holding their ugly baby.

"Aren't babies just the cutest, I miss when Bug was that age."

Oh, so this was just you looking at other people's red-faced brats and feeling nostalgic and was not in fact a call to action. Sukuna rolled his eyes and leaned back on the hand closest to you so he didn't touch you as he was so tempted to do these days.

"That baby, like all babies, is hideous. All they do is cry, shit themselves and vomit and I'm not even sure Bug is the exception to that and she's the best kid there is."

You look touched at his affection for your daughter but also fired up on behalf of babies everywhere.

"You can't just say a baby is hideous, Sukuna. Those are the Zenin's. Bug is friends with some of them."

"Well are the older ones cuter, because that baby looks like someone fucked one of those hairless cats."

"Sukuna!" you hiss but he sees you smile, despite yourself. "Okay, maybe that baby isn't like the cutest baby-"

"Hideous."

You continue after smacking his arm. "But Bug was cute, okay. And I'm not just saying that because I'm her mom." You take out your phone and quickly swipe until you get to what you're looking for. "See, cute baby."

Sukuna grabs your phone and looks. It's not the first picture he's seen of a young Bug and he's taken his share of photos of her himself, but he finds himself taken in by it anyway.

It has to be a picture from when Bug was really young, she still had the scrunched up, red face that he associates with newborns. But he thinks you're right, she's still cute. He doesn't know if it's because he knows that baby will grow up to be your daughter, but he finds his thumb caressing her little baby cheeks, the wisps of hair he can see peaking out from where she's wrapped in a baby blanket. It's then he sees she's not alone in the picture and there's a different version of you holding her.

The thing that stands out to him is how tired you look. He thinks this couldn't have been too long after you gave birth but still, he wondered if you'd gotten any rest those first few months. You still didn't like talking about your ex, or the circumstances that had led you to his apartment, but Sukuna knew that chances are you were taking care of Bug single handedly and that couldn't have been easy, cutest kid or not.

"She was beautiful, she still is." He reluctantly hands the phone back to you and you look at the picture again, tears building up in your eyes.

"She is the best thing that has ever happened to me. I-I wish that the circumstances were different in how I got her. Sometimes, I wonder how I'll explain everything to her when she's older. She just deserves so much better than him, you know?"

"You both do." Sukuna reaches over and brushes away one of the tears that had managed to fall down your cheek. He leaves his hand there a moment, holding your cheek in his palm, just appreciating the warmth.

"Do you want any?"

"What?" Sukuna isn't sure what you're talking about anymore. He can only see your lips right in front of him, the way that your eyelashes brush against your cheek as you blink faster and faster.

"Babies, do you want any?"

Something short circuits in Sukuna's brain and he wants to say, fuck yes.

He wants to tell you that he thinks about it every day. Every time you put Bug on your hip or send him youtube videos of hairstyles you want to try on her. Whenever it's late at night, and little feet pad out of your room and Bug asks him in the loudest whisper he's ever heard, if he can get her some water because she's so thirsty.

He thinks about it when the sun streams through the curtains of his apartment in the morning and it lights up your hair as you move throughout the kitchen, a force of nature, a creature from somewhere far too good to have ended up here with him.

He thinks about it when the three of you go out and people just assume you're a family, because of course you're a family. When you and Bug play some made up game, or Bug gets tired even though she denies it and he carries her sleeping form against his chest. When he holds her in his lap on the subway and you lean to rest your head on his shoulder and he feels like this, this is what he's always wanted.

He's not all pure and good though, because he thinks about it late at night in his bedroom too. After a day of your smiles, of seeing your thighs stretch out of those sleep shorts you started wearing when the weather warmed up, whenever he remembers the feel and smell of your panties when he's lucky enough to find a pair in the laundry basket, he thinks about how the two of you would make some really cute fucking babies.

He's imagined it a million ways. He's imagined you telling him you've gone off your birth control and you need him now after he takes you out on an anniversary dinner. Or him crowding you up against the kitchen counter and you begging him to put a baby in you.

His favorite fantasy is currently one where you get so carried away when you finally finally fuck that you don't ask him to wear a condom and he spends the whole night making sure you're nice and good and full of him and when you tell him a few weeks later you missed your period, he'll let you freak out. But then he'll tell you that he'll take good care of you, and Bug, and your soon to be little one and he'll finally have you, all of you and once you have your second, he'll knock you up again, as many times as he can because there could never be too many mini-you's running around.

At this point, Sukuna remembers he's talking to you, the real you and he swallows a few times before he speaks.

"I do," he says simply but something must show on his face because you're looking at him in a way you never have before. He hears your breath hitch and he leans in to kiss you, and you smell so good and his thoughts are consumed by the little family he just knows you're going to have when suddenly he's pelted by a variety of sharp, little objects.

Sukuna immediately holds up his arm to shield you from what he now sees is a barrage of wood chips which are being thrown at you by an army of toddlers, including your daughter.

You immediately get up and start talking to the kids about the danger of throwing what are basically large future splinters at people's faces and Sukuna is contemplating the murder of every child that isn't his own when you turn to look at him.

You're not just looking at him, you're seeing him and oh. Maybe he would be getting laid tonight, after all.

The slow burn is almost done folks.

thank you to the amazing reception to this series and the one-shot I posted(which there will be a prequel of soon!). it's literally so insane. Masterlist will be up tomorrow which I hope helps with accessibility!

edit: masterlist is up!

[multific]

Moonlight 

Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Wife!Reader

Warnings: childbirth (no detailed description)

Summary: Aemond loves his little wife, so naturally, when you give birth to your first son, Aemond falls in love even deeper. However, when a simple refusal of his breaks your heart, it will be difficult for him to win you back.

It was hard to keep you close. You were much like Aemond, a true fighter. You had a fire in you which couldn't be questioned. A fire towards him, pure love. And now, fire towards your son.

Aeren was only born a week ago, yet you protected him fiercely like a dragon.

And you refused to let the small child out of your hands.

When Aemond was allowed in the room, he saw the blood, he heard your screams and many times, he wanted to barge in but he knew he couldn't.

So, once he was allowed in, someone informed him that it was a boy and that you were in bad shape. 

Aemond could see it, you looked beyond tired, yet you smiled.

But your smile didn't last long.

Aemond refused to hold his son. 

"Give him to me." he heard your voice as he looked from the woman holding his son to you. You looked angry. Way too angry.

It was too late when Aemond realised what he had just done.

He refused to hold his own child.

And since then, you didn't speak a word to him.

You slept in a different room with your baby, sometimes, late at night, he heard the cries. He wanted to get up and go to you but he couldn't, his guilt was overbearing. 

"You should put a leash on her, brother. If I had a wife like that, she wouldn't be sleeping in another room." Aegon taunted his brother daily. 

One day, you were in the gardens, walking with your son in your arms when Aegon spoke up.

Aemond never heard his brother speak with such longing.

"I truly wish she was mine." 

Aemond looked at his brother who was watching you.

"But she's mine." was his simple and firm reply.

But you truly weren't.

You used to be, now, you just sat next to him during dinners. 

One night, you excused yourself, and he followed you.

In an empty corridor, he spoke up.

"Why are you avoiding me?" he knew why. He very well knew why.

"I'm sorry, My Prince." you turned and looked at him. "I believe you are mistaken. I'm not avoiding you, I just hate to see the disappointment on your face." this surprised Aemond. "I gave birth to a child you refused to even look at. I loved you, Prince Aemond, I truly did. But I love my child more. And if you cannot look at him, you won't get to look at me. Fill your bed with whores for all I care. Goodnight." 

"You are mistaken." he said, not letting you leave, but you did grab the handle. "You-You were in that bed, crying, screaming and bleeding for hours. I couldn't do anything. And when they let me in, the blood... so much... they told me you were weak, you survived but you needed a lot of rest. How-How could I hold my child when the love of my life almost died? How could I look at him when I was worried to even look at you? I feared you would die giving birth. I was shaking. I feared losing you and my child. That is why I didn't hold him. I was scared." you stood there, your hand on the door, you looked away from his eyes.

"Then you could have just fucking say so, Aemond! For fucks sake!"

"That is not very lady-like."

"FUCK lady-like, you made me believe you hate me and our son! I believed I disappointed you since you wanted a daughter."

"I said I would be happy either way. My emphasis was on a girl because I feared if you had a daughter, you would see that as disappointing my bloodline."

"You are fucking terrible at communicating." you opened the door and walked into the huge room in which you stayed the last couple of weeks.

Aemond followed you, and watched as you walked over to the small bed and picked up your son. "Next time, you should just tell me. Letting me assume things clearly don't work out." 

"Of course." a small smile found its way onto his lips, next time, it was the promise of a future, a promise of more, something he could work towards. He walked over to you after closing the door. "I wish to hold him." you handed him the small child who didn't even stir in his sleep. "Aeren you named him I recall." Aemond's attention was now fully on his son as you decided to leave the two alone after watching them for a couple of minutes.

You got changed and when you arrived back, Aemond was sitting on the bed, his son on his chest.

"Some nights I heard his cries. It broke my heart but I broke yours far more. I apologise for not being clear and for causing you pain. I am truly sorry."

"I'm sorry as well. I should have asked." you said as you sat down next to him. "I will have to feed him soon."

"I will stay here with you."

You smiled as the moon shined through the window, illuminating the room a little more, helping the fire so you could see your husband's face.

"I love you so much Aemond."

"I love you too, My Queen." you giggled, moving closer to him as he leaned down to kiss you.

You two kissed in the moonlight until your son made it clear that he was hungry.

It all made you look towards a better future.

Taglist: @castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse  @jacalineiscomingforyou @mandoloriancookie @brascaris @il0vebeingdelulu @deliciousfestsalad

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE OR REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[oceandolores]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | masterlist!

Dbf! Joel Miller x female reader

"God loves you but not enough to save you,"

summary: In the small town near Austin, Texas, you are trapped in a life of rigid expectations and silent suffering. As the preacher's daughter, you endure the mental and physical abuse of your father while your mother, bound by obedience, offers quiet love. Your longing for a father's warmth finds an unexpected solace in Joel Miller, your father's best friend and neighbor. In Joel's presence, you discover a forbidden sanctuary, where your yearning heart is met with a gentle strength you've never known.

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, pedophilia, cannibalism, human trafficking, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡

❝ to my love, Joel.

,...found you just to tell you that I made it real far, i never blamed you for loving me the way that you did.

while you were torn apart, i would still wait with you there.

don't think about it too hard, honey. or you'll never sleep a wink at night again.

and don't worry about me and these green eyes,

baby, just know that i love you. and i'll see you when you get here.

i love you forever, Joel... ❞

THE PLAYLIST! (on spotify)👰🏼‍♀️

the preacher's daughter ▪️ dbf! joel miller

MASTERLIST!🐇

Chapter 1: "But I always knew in the end, no one was coming to save me,"

Chapter 2: "Because that's how my daddy raised me,"

Chapter 3: "I watched him show his love through shades of black and blue"

Chapter 4: "He looks like he works with his hands, and smells like Marlboro reds,"

Chapter 5: "Because for the first time since I was a child, I could see a man who wasn't angry,"

Chapter 6: "Let him make a woman out of me,"

Chapter 7: "You wanna fuck me right now?"

Chapter 8: "The fates already fucked me sideways,"

Chapter 9: "Christ, forgive these bones I'm hiding,"

Chapter 10: "and that's why I could never go back home,"

Chapter 11: "I don't care where as long as you're with me,"

Chapter 12: "If it's meant to be, then it will be."

Chapter 13: "Beautiful people, beautiful problems."

Chapter 14: "You put your hands into your head, and then smile cover your hearts."

Chapter 15: "Something's bad is 'bout to happen to me,"

Chapter 16: "Tag, you're it."

Chapter 17: "If he's a serial killer then what's the worst that could happen to a girl who's already hurt?"

Chapter 18: "He's cold-blooded so it takes more time to bleed"

Chapter 19: "Every time I close my eyes, it's like a dark paradise,"

Chapter 20: "You poor thing, sweet, mourning lamb. There's nothing you can do."

Chapter 21: "If we die tonight, I'd died yours."

Chapter 22: "I'm always going to be right here, no one's going anywhere"

-THE END-

read it on wattpad!

the preacher's daughter by babyvenoms

ENJOY! and if you guys have any like visuals to this, or art that you made for this I would love to put it here, just let me know! thank you!! 🩵

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Twenty Years

Summary: Twenty years went by since the last time you saw Joel Miller. You never thought you would see him again, but on the day you finally broke free of David' clutches and saved a girl at the same time, he's just there, standing in front of you. When your daughter and her husband find you, urging you to leave, you offer to take Joel and Ellie with you, knowing you have to talk to him. About the two of you. And about your daughter.

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem. reader

Rating: M

Wordcount: 6k

Warnings: pre + post outbreak, angst, implied smut, implied and mentions of sexual assault (I kept it pretty vague but it is happening, readers discretion is advised), David (needs his own waring, he talks about child brides and what he wants to do to them), religious bullshit, threats, lies about medical conditions, violence, blood, death, Joel not knowing he has another daughter, pregnancy, more angst, infected wounds, medication, some fluff, talking about feelings, talking about dreams, some kisses, cockblock Tommy Miller, happy end

A/N: Dunno what happened but I wrote all of this in the last 6 hours. Please read the warnings, If I forgot something in the warnings please let me know

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Full Masterlist // Joel Miller Masterlist

At one o’clock on the dot the door opened, a stream of dusty sweaty man walking into the diner you were working in. It wasn’t your dream job, but it kept the bills paid while you were in night school to get your business degree.

And… it had its perks. 

Like being located across the street of a huge construction side. The building that had been there before had been demolished almost a year before, making place for a new building. A mall. Or… whatever. It’s not like you cared. 

With the construction side came a lot of workers taking their break in the diner. 

With them came a frequent flow of tips into your pocket. 

With them came Joel Miller. 

You did not even notice him in the beginning which was the biggest fucking mystery to you. Because he was…. He was attractive, broad shoulders, dark hair and eyes. Always wearing a shirt that hugged his chest like a second skin. And then there were the days he was wearing flannel….

The whole construction worker look was really working for you.

Yet it took him calling out one of his co-workers (employees you would learn later, because he was the boss) from flirting on the verge of making you uncomfortable with you, to make you notice him. 

You had insisted on getting him his lunch on the house and he wasn’t having it. At all. You caught his eyes outside when you saw the bills tucked under his mug when you were cleaning the table, making you grin as you shook your head. 

He had winked at you with a boyish smile around his lips and that was all it took to start your crush on Joel Miller. 

Joel Miller who after that always seemed to linger a little longer in the diner to talk to you. To tell you about his daughter. To ask you about you and your life with that southern drawl that made you want to kiss the spot on his cheek that seemed too stubborn to grow any hair.

If you had known back then that only three months later the world as you knew it would end, you maybe wouldn’t have wasted so much time in confessing your feelings to him. 

Or… at all. 

Maybe you would have asked him to stay when in a very drunken mistake you both ended up in your bed, fucking until you couldn’t remember your name just the night before the world fell apart. 

Maybe things would be different for you now.

You blinked a couple of times, getting rid of the mental picture of Joel Miller smirking at you as the door opened. 

“Come on, he’s waiting,” a gruff voice said and you nodded. 

You were at a point where you were asking yourself if doing this just to survive in this hell of a world was worth it. If running, even if you would die trying was the better choice.

Yet you knew you weren’t doing this for your own life. 

You were doing this to protect her. 

And you would keep surviving and protecting her until you took your very last breath.

The day you walked into a group of men in the woods almost ten years after the outbreak you were too desperate for help to question their offer of shelter and food. 

You and your ten year old daughter Hannah had been on the run for months after your settlement had been overrun by infected, only making it out alive barely. With winter being in full swing for the last two weeks you were getting desperate to find a place to stay for you and your daughter. 

Maybe if you wouldn’t have been severely dehydrated and starved you would have seen the way David’s gaze had lingered on Hannah too long to be just out of concern. 

Maybe you could somehow have gotten far away from Silver Lake until it was too late. 

Maybe you wouldn’t have spend the last years feeling like a cheap whore whenever David summoned you to his room to give you absolution for your sins while he rutted into you from behind before throwing you out like trash. 

David, you learned quickly, was a psychotic maniac pedophile who masked his sick intentions with the word of god.

It was a week after you arrived, that he let the facade slip and told you about his true intentions for taking you in.

He wanted Hannah, as his bride. 

You were too stunned to speak as he kept going on that she was the one he had been waiting for and you were so lucky to have birthed the perfect girl that would bring whatever the fuck he needed to make this settlement more powerful and his followers happier. 

When you offered to take her place he only laughed, marking you as impure since you had her out of wedlock and her father was most likely dead. You weren't pure enough to have children with. He wasn’t asking, he would be taking Hannah and if you would trouble him, he would kill you. 

When it became clear that he was serious about this, you made up the lie that Hannah would never be able to give him any children due to a birth defect that left her without ovaries. 

You didn’t think he’d believe you at first, his cold eyes calculating before he hummed, telling you that he did find it odd that a girl in her age did not have her period yet. 

You by then knew that one, he had no idea about the female body and two, he had actually spoken to Hannah about it. 

He had left you in your room for a whole week after that. Alone. Without the opportunity to see your own child. 

And when he came to see you it was only to inform you that Hannah’s condition had been confirmed to be much worse, leaving her unable to perform her wifely duties by his most trusted doctor in town and that he now had to find another use for the two of you. 

Still occupied with the horror of what these people had done to your daughter you were to stunned to speak when he slapped you across the face, before he turned you around and pulled at your pants, his lips against your ear as he towered behind you, informing you that if he couldn’t have the useless cunt of your child, he would have yours as a substitute.

Because that was all a woman was.

A warm cunt.

Something was different today. 

You hadn’t been able to see Hannah, even though every Tuesday you were allowed to visit her and her new husband at their home. 

If Silver Lake had brought anything good since you gotten here, it was Hannah having been put in the house of the town doctor. The doctor, Carl, had been in his early forties when you met first.

You hadn’t been allowed to leave your room at first but David, showing you (or more like his followers) his good grace, had allowed for Hannah to visit you twice a week for an hour under the supervision of the town doctor Carl who she was living with. 

As helpless as you felt in your situation you were so happy that you had Hannah back, crying in your arms. From the day she was born the both of you hadn’t been separated, so of course she was scared and missed you and your heart broke for the mess you put the both of you in. 

You only noticed the man who had brought her here after minutes, your eyes hardening, putting Hannah behind your back to lash out at him for touching your daughter when he told you in quiet harsh whispered words to listen to him. 

That he was the one who confirmed your lies about Hannah’s condition, and that he made them sound so bad that she became uninteresting for David. That he offered to take her and even you in. While he was allowed to take Hannah, you would remain in David’s place for his… needs. Something Carl would work on changing but needing time for it. 

His own daughter had been taken by David when she turned twelve before she just disappeared and he wanted nothing more than to take him down, but it was difficult due to the hierarchy in town and how delusional the towns people were to everything that David told them. 

He was no fighter, he had been here in this resort on vacation with his family when the outbreak happened. He had no immediate way of helping you, but he could help keep Hannah safe. 

And he did. 

Hannah grew into a beautiful young woman, soaking everything up Carl thought to her and his son Jamie. She was doing better stitches than Carl himself when she was only fourteen years old, not that anyone knew about it. 

Women weren’t allowed to learn and work in this town.

But Carl trained his son Jamie to become a doctor, and if Hannah was in the same room? He could not stop her form listening and learning, could he?

The longer you were in Silver Lake, the more freedom you carved for yourself. It took almost two years after you arrived for you to not lash out and be punished for whatever the fuck David and his goons thought you did wrong. 

By now, you were playing the perfect little mistress, shamed by big parts of town when you walked down the street, silently thanked by the woman who had young daughters and now did not have to fear them getting taken once they hit a certain age. 

It was the only way you could endure David’s hands on you. 

Knowing that whenever he was occupied with whatever sick fantasy he had in his head with you, he had less time to lure on little girls. 

You were doing so good you were even allowed to attend the wedding of Hannah and Jamie only last month, the two of them having fallen in love in the last year. 

But today something was different. 

Or maybe you were paranoid because you finally had a way of leaving this place. 

You had to leave this place before David found out about not only your lie, but Carls because Hannah was pregnant.

Some of David’s men had been missing for some days now and David was preoccupied with figuring out what happened, and how to get his very hungry town fed.

Carl had told you early on to not eat any of the meat that was served, telling you that there was a reason people went missing during the winter with a long hard look. Something you and Hannah took to heart, having not eaten a single bit of meat since getting here.

With David being out, there was more time you could spend out of his house, leaving you to finally form a plan to leave this town. Through his connections Carl and two other men who wanted to leave had been able to trade some medical supplies for a car with a settlement a two day walk away. 

You would leave in three days time and you hopped that nothing would happen until then. 

You didn’t count in the very angry girl who ran into you on your way back to your room, blood splattered all over her face, eyes frantic. 

„Let me goooo,“ she yelled at you when you put your hands on her shoulders. 

She couldn’t be older than fourteen. You heard yelling behind her, pulling her with you inside your room. 

„Slow down and shut up, they are gonna hear you,“ you whispered as you slowly closed the door behind you. 

„Who the fuck are you?“ She whispered angrily. 

„Doesn’t matter. Who are you?“

„Doesn’t matter,“ she snapped back. You took her appearance in, your eyes stopping at the cleaver she was gripping in her small hand, blood dripping from it’s blade. 

„Was it David?“ You asked, nodding towards the cleaver.

„No. That sick fuck is somewhere out there. Are you with them?“ She asked, gripping the cleaver tighter. 

„Not out of my own choice,“ you said as you walked past her. You got on your knees next to your bed, carefully getting under one of the floorboards, getting your knife out. 

You heard her footsteps behind you as you reached inside again, getting the couple of baby pictures you had of Hannah out. 

„Is someone with you?“ You asked her as you got back up and walked towards you dresser. 

„My…. Friend. He’s… I don’t know of he’s… no he is… he’s out there,“ she said. 

„Okay,“ you said before you got out of the shitty dress you had to wear and picked some pants and a sweatshirt.

„Sheesh lady,“ she whispered and you looked over your shoulder as she turned her back towards you embarrassed as you changed. You were pulling your boots on when she turned back around.

It was then that you noticed the smoke coming through the slit under the door. 

Fire. 

„Fuck. Okay. We gotta get out of there. You stay behind me, okay? If we run into someone, I will take care of them,“ you said, grabbing your backpack, putting it on. 

„I can take care of myself,“ she said, face determined. 

„And I don’t question that. But I have been stuck here for ten years. If anyone kills these people, it is me,“ you said. 

She looked at you for a long moment, before she nodded. You turned around and searched for one of your lighter jackets you had not planned to take with you, but she was only wearing a shirt and it was still snowing outside. You approached her, holding the jacket out for her to take.

„Give me the cleaver,“ you said as she struggled to get it on. 

She glared at you, before you held up a knife to trade. She sighed before she gave you the cleaver and you watched her put the jacket on before she snapped the knife from your hand. 

You took a deep breath. 

„Okay. Stay behind me. I am gonna get us out of here. Then we’re gonna get my daughter and get our of here,“ you said and her eyebrows went up. 

„You have a daughter?“ She asked surprised, you nodded. 

„Yeah. I have,“ you said before you opened the door. 

When you heard his voice you gestured for the girl to hide behind the bar. 

You had made it to the old tavern, smoke thick inside the room as the fire spread.

„You’re easy to track, Ellie,“ David said and you took one last look at the girl, Ellie, before you got up and stood to your full height, seeing the surprise on David’s face. 

„What are you doing here after everything I did for you?“ He said with narrowed eyes and you laughed. Once. 

„What you did for me? Enlighten me what you did for me apart form raping me whenever you felt like it and threaten to kill my daughter,“ you snarled and he rolled his eyes, before surprise lifted his eyebrows as he noticed the cleaver in your hand. 

„She’s with you,“ he said before he turned away from you, walking towards the door. He reached into his pants pocked and used his keys to look the door before he put them back.

„If you want to get out of here, you gotta come here and get the keys. Either of you,“ he said a little louder and a small smile came to your lips. 

„You think I haven’t waited for my chance to kill you?“ You asked as you approached him. 

„Always knew I should have killed you. But I have a sweet spot for our dear little Hannah. She’s just so…. Innocent. Almost as innocent as Ellie. But she’s far stronger than your little broken girl. Ellie could have been what this town is missing. But she just had to kill all of my best men huh?“ David was still looking for Ellie, only half of his attention on you. 

The fire was making it difficult to breathe. You had to get yourself and the girl out of here. 

„Ah fuck,“ David groaned and you saw Ellie slip past him, her knife stabbing him in his neck before she hid in one of the front booths. 

At this point David's focus was completely on finding Ellie, which you used to you advantage. 

He was about to grab Ellie ankle, the girl screaming when you grabbed a chair and used it to hit him over the back of his head. He grunted, letting go of Ellie who crawled away. He fell and before David could blink you were on top of him punching his face. 

And the fucker just laughed. 

„Go on, kill me. I know you can’t,“ he mocked and you saw red.

The cleaver made contact with his shoulder first, making him groan in pain, eyes wide with surprise. 

„You think I can’t kill you?“ You screamed.

„You think I haven’t dreamed about this since you took me hostage you fucking maniac?“ You felt his blood splash against your face as you brought the clover down again and again and again. 

He was barely breathing by the time you stopped, his eyes wide in what you were sure was fear as he looked at you. 

„I am gonna kill you. And then I am going to take my pregnant daughter away from here,“ you spit down at him, before you brought the cleaver down one last time, killing him for good. 

With shaky fingers you reached inside his pants, searching for the keys.

„Ellie!“ You yelled and the girl came out of hiding, eyes wide with fear as he followed you to the door. You unlocked the door, coughing as fresh air filled your lungs, Ellie running past you. 

Closing your eyes, allowing yourself a second to fill your lungs with fresh air you startled when you heard the girl scream. 

„NO! Don’t fucking touch me!“ She yelled and you snapped your head around, seeing a man with his arms around her, pulling her against his chest. 

You saw red, running towards them.

„Shhhh…. Ellie stop. Stop. It’s me,“ the man said grabbing her face. You slowed down, the cleaver still in your hand.

„He tried to… He tried to….“ Ellie stammered and you closed your eyes, releasing a shaky breath. 

„Oh babygirl. It’s okay. It’s okay now,“ the man said and Ellie sobbed against him as he pulled her even closer. 

It was then that he noticed you standing there, eyes narrowing as he put Ellie behind him. 

When you could see his full face for the first time it was like you forgot how to breathe.

„Joel?“ You whispered in disbelief. He narrowed his eyes, about to approach you when there was a crash in the burning building behind you, making you jump.

„Mom!“ You heard Hannah yell and you turned your head to the side to watching your daughter run towards you, her husband Jamie close behind. 

Her eyes widened as she looked at you, and you had forgotten that you probably looked like straight out of a nightmare with blood all over you.

„Oh my god mom,“ she cried when she reached you, her hands brushing all over your face. 

„Not my blood,“ you mumbled, giving her a small smile before you looked at the man who was standing behind her, still looking at you, as if trying to figure out who you were. 

„We gotta get out of here. They are gonna come after us,“ Jamie said as he reached you, his hand taking Hannah’s. 

It was in that moment that Joel said your name. And everyone turned their heads towards him, Ellie now next to him, one of his arms keeping her to his side. 

His eyes were on you, before he looked at Hannah who had turned around, pistol raised at him. He looked between you and Hannah for what felt like minutes.

You knew what he saw. And you could see the moment he realised who was standing in front of him. 

Hannah was the spitting image of him. She had his eyes and his dark curly hair.

„Joel….“ You said, taking a step towards him but Jamie stopped you while Hannah looked at you with wide eyes. 

„Joel?“ She asked and you looked at her and nodded. She knew who her father was. You had talked about him a lot when she was little. 

„We don’t have time for that. We gotta get out of here,“ Jamie repeated and you looked at him. 

„Where is Carl?“ You asked and Jamie only shook his head lips tight, instant tears filling your eyes. You blinked them away, before you took a deep breath. 

„Okay. Okay. We gotta leave. You can come with us,“ you said towards Ellie and Joel. The latter shaking his head, while Jamie protested. 

„She saved me, Joel,“ Ellie said quietly and he closed his eyes, releasing a long breath. You only looked at Jamie who was about to argue with you when he saw the pleading look Hannah gave him. 

„Okay fine. But we gotta leave. Now.“

Joel hadn’t said more than two sentences towards you, Hannah and Jamie since you made it to the spot Carl had set up two days later. There was supposed to be a car stashed there, but it was gone and Jamie was trying to figure out what to do next. 

Night time was approaching and you were tired.

„We should settle down close to the lake and decide what to do in the morning. No point walking through the night, when we do not have any clue where to go,“ you said. 

„We have to get further away. I can’t risk them coming after us,“ Jamie insisted. 

„Jamie, we lit the whole fucking town on fire two days ago. If anyone survives, do you think they don’t have something better to so than to come after us?“ You snapped, patience wearing thin. 

„Do whatever the fuck you want, but I need to wash off David’s blood. I never want to ever be thinking about him again,“ you said, suddenly irritated as you made your way down to the shore of the small lake you had found. 

„She’s mine isn’t she?“ You were startled by Joel’s voice as you sat at the shore, dressed in fresh clothes you had brought, clean from all the blood and dirt. 

You didn’t turn around to look at him. 

„Yeah,“ you said and you heard him breath in deeply. 

„Fuck,“ he whispered and you couldn’t help but chuckle. You felt him sit down next to you and you risked a glance at him. 

He was older, you were too. 

The last twenty years hadn’t been kind to either of you, but you were pretty sure Joel was even more attractive than back when you met for the first time. 

And he still had that stubborn spot that grew no hair on his cheek. 

But he looked tired. 

You just sat beside each other, watching the sun set behind the lake, the sky turning pink. 

„Never thought I’d see you again,“ he said and you smiled sadly.

„Was’t even sure you’d remember me,“ you said and he scoffed. 

„Really hard to not remember you, darlin’“ he said and you turned your head to look at him fully, giving him a small smile. 

„Likewise, Cowboy,“ you said and he chuckled, before he flinched. 

„You okay?“ You said concerned. 

„Yeah. Got stabbed some days ago by one of these lunatics in town,“ he said, pointing towards his belly. 

„Can I… Can I see?“ You asked. 

He shrugged, before he laid down. As soon as you laid eyes on his wound you knew something was wrong. It was red and irritated. 

„I don’t think that look too good, Joel,“ you said with concern. 

„Survived worse,“ he said as he pulled his shirt down.

„I’m sure you have but….“

„I’m okay. Promise,“ he said. 

You let it go for the moment and looked away from him as he sat himself up with a groan. 

„Was planning to ask you out officially the next day, you know,“ he said after a while and you sighed. 

„I would have said yes,“ you whispered into the darkness as you let your head all against his shoulder.

As it turned out Joel was indeed not okay. 

All of you decided the next day that you would make your way to Jackson, the town Joel had told you about. It would be at least a week by foot and you were not looking forward to being on the road that long with the snow coming down like that. 

He used the time on the road to tell Ellie everything (Hannah is your daughter? No way, she’s way too cool to be your kid) and got to know Hannah. He talked to Jamie and let them tell him their story. He also talked to you, but every time he asked about how you ended up in Silver Lake and what happened after you closed up and walked away from him. 

You weren’t ready to talk about that. You weren’t sure you were ever ready to talk about that. 

It was on day five that Joel had issues waking up. 

You had taken watch over for him when you couldn’t wake him up. You thought he was tired, him having taken watch every night since you left. Now it was morning and you could see that he was sweating. Carefully reaching up you touched his forehead, feeling him burning up. 

„Mom?“ You heard Hannah. 

„He’s burning up,“ you said quietly, not wanting to disturb Ellie who was still sleeping. Hannah came to kneel down beside him, feeling it herself. 

„He got stabbed by the men David sent out to the university last week. He said he was fine…“ you said and she nodded. 

„I have to see the wound,“ she said. You nodded as he got up to her feet, walking over towards Jamie, waking him up. They both came and knelt beside Joel, Jamie already reaching for his fathers backpack he had managed to take, full of medical supplies. 

„Oh shit,“ Hannah said as you had Joel’s belly exposed, her hands also reaching into the backpack to get some supplies. 

It looked worse. Much worse. 

„It’s infected. We gotta open up the stitches. Here, grab this,“ Jamie said towards Hannah. You let the two of them work while you held Joel’s hand. 

Not fifteen minutes later Jamie injected some antibiotics into Joel’s arm while Hannah wrapped his wound. 

„There’s nothing more we can do. He needs rest and medication,“ Jamie said and you nodded. It was then that Ellie woke up, immediately concerned as she saw you all kneeling next to Joel. 

„Is he dead?“ She asked and you shook your head. 

„No. But he needs rest. The stab wound got infected,“ you explained and she sucked her bottom lip in, nervously. 

„Ellie, do you think you can find the way to Jackson to get help?“ You asked.

„No,“ Hannah said, shaking her head. 

„I think I can. We just gotta find the huge lake. It should be close by now. It was three or four days until Jackson once we found the lake,“ Ellie said, ignoring her. 

You nodded. 

„I want you, Hannah and Jamie to get to Jackson as quickly as possible and get help. We need something to help get Joel back to Jackson. I will wait here. Jamie can show me how to tend to the wound and how to get him the antibiotics,“ you said. 

Hannah shook her head. 

„You don’t have any supplies. We can’t just leave you here,“ she said. 

„And you can’t just stay here and wait until he gets better,“ the if he gets better was implied with the way you looked at her. She had tears in her eyes and you gave her a small smile. 

„You have not only yourself to think about anymore, Hannah. You need to get to safety too,“ you reached towards her belly and she released a shuddering breath. 

„Oh shit,“ Ellie said with wide eyes as she realised what you meant and Jamie chuckled. 

„I don’t like this,“ Hannah mumbled. 

„Me neither. But I’ll survive a week out here. We’re close to water, you saw the stream yesterday, I can hunt, and we saw this abandoned cabin not far away from here. We could get back to it, clear it, and I’ll wait for you there until you can get back. It’s gonna be okay,“ you promised. 

You looked at Jamie who nodded at you, and reached for Hannah. 

„We’ll get your Dad some help so you can get to know him,“ he whispered and you smiled at them both. 

„Well let’s fucking go to the lake of death then!“ Ellie said and you all frowned. 

„It’s… It’s a joke. I swear,“ she said.

Joel was in and out of consciousness for four days before he woke up for longer period of times during the day. He told you it was stupid to stay back with I’m and not leave with the kids and you only told him that you weren’t ready to leave him again. 

You feel asleep in his arms that night, allowing yourself to let your guard down, passing out almost immediately when he told you that he got you. That he’d stay awake. 

The following days went buy slowly. You continued taking care of Joel, his wound looking much better. You went hunting, coming back with some rabbits. Joel was on his feet by day six, taking slow walks with you towards the stream where he washed up. 

And you talked. 

You talked about everything that happened since the day you parted. 

You learned about Sarah’s death, holding him as he shed some tears. You learned how he changed, how he did things he was not proud of to keep bis brother safe. You learned about how Ellie who he had been trusted to take to a group called the fireflies slowly brought back his old self.

You in return told him about finding out that you were pregnant while you were in the temporal Austin QZ. About how you gave birth to Hannah the day before the QZ fell, leaving you on the road with a new born until you found a settlement when Hannah was almost a year old close to Denver where you stayed until it was overrun by infected. 

You showed him the few pictures of her as a baby you had, drying his tears as he looked at them. 

You told him in as few words as possible what happened in the years you were at Silver Lake, seeing him angry on your behalf. 

You woke up on the seventh day with his arm around your back, both of your laying on your side, facing each other. He was already looking at you when you opened your eyes, giving you a soft smile. 

And before you could stop yourself you closed the distance between the two of you, pressing your lips against his in a soft kiss. Resting your forehead against his you closed your eyes, one of your hands brushing through his hair. 

„Sometimes I allowed myself to dream what would have become of us if the outbreak hadn’t happened,“ he whispered. 

„And what happened to us in those dreams?“ You asked, opening your eyes. He kissed you again, humming. 

„We would have dated for seven months before I popped the question,“ he said. 

„Why seven months?“ You asked. 

„It’s my lucky number,“ he mumbled and you chuckled. 

„Sarah would have loved you. We would have gotten married, her as the flower girl. We would have gotten a bigger house, cause I’d have you pregnant by the time we were married,“ he said with a small smile. 

„Would have had at least two kids more before you said you were done and I would have gotten the snip so I could still fuck you everywhere without getting you pregnant again,“ he said and kissed your nosed. 

„Lots of baby making in your dreams, Miller,“ you teased and he laughed. 

„I’m only a man, what can I say?“ He shrugged before he kissed you again, deepening the kiss. 

„You still have that piercing down there?“ He mumbled against your lips and a shudder ran down your body. 

„Why don’t you find out?“ You whispered, feeling him smile as one of his hand made their way down your body, his fingertips slipping over your stomach. He was about to push his fingers further down when a noise outside startled you, making you jump up and grab your knife. 

„Joel!“ You heard a voice yell outside and you relaxed. 

„In here, Tommy,“ Joel yelled back, giving you a sheepish expression before the door opened and a man stepped inside, you hadn’t seen in twenty years. 

Tommy lowered his gun as soon as he saw only you and Joel inside the cabin. 

„Well fuck me, I never though I’d ever see the girl my brother was pining over like a teenager twenty years ago ever again,“ he said with a wide smile and you raised your eyebrow, looking at Joel who rolled his eyes, yet his cheeks seemed a little flushed. 

Tommy hugged you tight before he let go and walked over to his brother. They were whispering with each other, when Jamie walked in. 

„You’re okay?“ He asked. 

You nodded, and he hugged you quickly. 

„Left Hannah home. Can you believe it? We get our own house. With running water. Warm Water!“ He said, excited. You laughed, squeezing his shoulder. 

You turned back to Joel, who was now standing next to Tommy. 

„We got a long ride in front of us. Best we get back as quickly as we can,“ Tommy said. 

"Gonna check his injury first, and then we can be on our way,“ Jamie said, already walking over to Joel.

„Can’t believe you’re here. Can’t believe I have another niece,“ Tommy said as you stepped outside with him after you gotten your coat and shoes on. He took your backpack from you, fastening it somewhere to one of the horses staying in front of you. 

„I can’t believe it either,“ you said. 

„Can’t believe Joel’s gonna be a granddad,“ Tommy chuckled and you did too.

„Fuck I’m gonna be a grandma,“ you groaned, feeling every year of your age.

„Also gonna be an aunt. Wife is due in the next two weeks. So we better get the fuck back before she skins me alive,“ he said and you nodded. 

You turned back when you heard Joel and Jaime talk, the latter helping Joel down the stairs. 

„You good to ride?“ Tommy asks his brother. He nodded. 

„Might need a little help getting up on the horse though,“ he said. Tommy nodded, walking over towards the third horse that you were standing in front of. 

„You riding with me?“ Joel asked. 

You nodded. 

„Sure,“ you said. It took some help, but you got on top of the horse, having never been on one before. You didn’t know what to do, already freaking out a little, when Tommy and Jamie helped Joel on the horse behind you, his arms immediately coming around you, pulling you closer. He grabbed the reins, clicking his tongue once and the horse turned around. 

You watched Jamie and Tommy get on their horses too before Tommy rode up on front. 

„Gonna take us at least three days. Let’s get the fuck out of here,“ he said and rode forwards. 

„Ready to go home?“ Joel whispered against your ear. 

You let yourself rest against his shoulder, your head turning up so you could look at him. 

„Haven’t had a home in twenty years,“ you said quietly. 

„You have now,“ he hummed, kissing your temple before he moved the horse, following Tommy. 

Home. 

[violetlichen]

nobody puts my bald baby in a corner

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen / Named Atreides wife A little nsfw but that's not the point. Domestic family life. They have five kids and Feyd desperately wants another. Wifey won't oblige. Don't pay attention to the other characters and Houses I included, I don't know anything about Dune and I just pulled from the fandom wiki or made them up. Their son is not the Kwisatz Haderach either!

****if you're somebody who works at tumblr hq reading this because i accidentally reported my own fic im really sorry****

It has been five years since Feyd-Rautha last saw his wife swell with his child.

It is entirely by her design, and certainly not for lack of trying. He ravages her senseless almost every night, but after five children, the ever infuriating Diana Atreides refuses to give him another. As a Bene Gesserit, it is within her power to do so; the witches are able to bend their own reproduction to their will, and Feyd-Rautha believes she likes his methods of convincing her too much to give him what he wants.

Tonight, he almost has her hooked. He kisses her knee and up her bare thigh, licking and sucking the plush skin there. She barely acknowledges him and lets him fondle her as he pleases, lost in her own thoughts. 

“She’s too old for him. He’s just a boy.”

They are currently hosting several of the Great Houses. Earlier at dinner, he and Diana were approached by the Duke of Ginaz, who suggested they betroth his daughter to their oldest son, Aleksei. Diana had hidden her frown behind her glass of wine, but Feyd-Rautha had seen it and filed it away for later, thanking the Duke for his time.

He hums against her thigh, tongueing over the faint bruise he made. He can use this.

“He will be a man soon,” he reminds her. He pulls her leg over his shoulder as he shifts up the bed, now eye level with her weeping cunt. His mouth waters. “Even if we refuse this proposal, there will be others.”

He knows his wife wants to say more, but the words die in her throat when he shoves his nose against her, inhaling her scent and releasing a shaky breath. He pretends it is for her benefit, but really, this is all for him. With his fingers pulling apart the seam of her, his tongue lolls out, and Feyd-Rautha feasts. 

When he has had his fill of her pleasure, he crawls up the length of her body. She pants underneath him, back arching and eyes squeezing shut like a satisfied cat, her neck exposed and vulnerable. He licks off the sweat there.

“It will not stop with Aleksei,” he says, leaning over her.

Diana scowls. She shoves him, but he does not yield. He grasps her hand, pulling it away from his chest and up to his mouth, where he kisses her fingers.

He knows he is being cruel, rubbing salt in her wound. Her children are growing. At twelve years old, Aleksei is admittedly still too young to seriously consider for marriage, but the coming years will go by in a blink. First it will be Aleksei, then Nikita shortly after, and then Maxim – although their youngest and most unstable son will be difficult to pawn off, Feyd-Rautha thinks. 

His girls are another story. Sasha and Grisha were both gifted their mother’s beauty, but it is Grisha, their youngest, who takes after Feyd-Rautha the most. She is the only one of his children who did not inherit those dark Atreides curls. She is perfect; wholly Harkonnen, like her father. He knows he will feel how Diana does now when it is time for Grisha to leave his side.

It is why he fucks into his wife now, flexing his hips slowly and purposefully, so she feels every inch of his longing. He staves off the urge to empty himself inside of her prematurely, already aching to see her breasts swollen and leaking. 

He stops, trying to catch his breath. He pulls back from Diana to thumb over her pearl, grinding his length into her. “Shall I leave you like this, wife?” he asks her.

“Don’t you dare,” she snaps, her hips chasing his fingers.

“I can give you what you want,” he taunts. “I will pump you full of my children happily. What is one more?”

Diana does not answer, but he sees her breaking, just as he is. He holds her legs open, jutting into the apex of them, growling as he stares her down, willing her to change her mind. She hides her fears behind her pleasure, hides the tear sliding down her cheek by turning her face into the pillow, taking what he gives her.

What is one more child? Certainly not the solution to her problem. It is only a delay of the inevitable, that one day they will all grow up and no longer need her. Feyd-Rautha knows this. But he hopes to delay his wife’s suffering, just as he will delay her gratification if she does not give him what he wants.

When he pumps his load into her, he knows she is not satisfied. He breathes through his own satisfaction, nose flaring like a bull, but she does not complain like he expected her to. She does not roll him over to claim him, or bring her fingers to her cunt to finish what he started, his eyes on her hole, full of his spend.

Instead she buries her face in her hands. Feyd-Rautha leans his weight onto her and pulls her hands away, revealing her face to him. She blinks at him, her lashes wet and clumping together.

He knows what she is feeling. “I feel it, too,” he says. “Let me give you another, my darling.”

Diana nods and looks away, breathing out a held breath. “Alright,” she says. Her eyes soften fondly when they focus on him again. “Alright.”

They lay together for a while, enjoying each other’s company. Feyd-Rautha does not know if tonight will be the night, but he hopes. He hopes she sees it the way he does -- a continuation of their happiness, not the eventual ending of it. He kisses every part of Diana he can reach, and she cuddles into him, their limbs a tangled mess. 

A little later into the night, a knock on the door breaks their comfortable silence. Feyd-Rautha grunts, already irritated, and removes himself from her, slipping on a robe and his pants.

When he opens the door, he finds a wide-eyed servant. “It is the children, Baron Harkonnen.”

Feyd-Rautha frowns and widens the door, panic souring him. “Where are they?”

“They are safe, Baron Harkonnen, but there has been a bit of trouble.”

Diana appears behind him, wrapping her robe around her waist. "What sort of trouble?" she asks, brow furrowed.

“It will be best if you follow me to the drawing room within the guest wing, Baroness.”

Diana whips past Feyd-Rautha and the servant, not waiting for either of them to lead her to the guest wing. Feyd-Rautha follows after her, and he knows to expect his boys. It is not the first time he was awoken by something they have done when they should have been sleeping, but it does concern him that they were found in the guest wing.

Although he is the youngest son, Maxim is the instigator of all things. Not as bright as the others, he is aggressive and impulsive, often letting his hands speak for him. He acts before he thinks, and it frustrates Diana greatly. Many nights Feyd-Rautha has been brought before Maxim in the kitchens, where he sticks his grubby hands into pies and picks at berries meant for the morning’s breakfast. The guards know not to let him out of his room at night without their explicit permission.

But as explosive as Maxim is, it is Aleksei who reminds Feyd-Rautha the most of his own brother, Beast Rabban. His oldest son is proud and quick to anger, easily riled by Maxim and his sisters who poke and prod at him in the ways only younger siblings can. Feyd-Rautha does his best to temper Aleksei, to show him the value in patience, in choosing his battles.

Nikita, self-sufficient boy that he is, waits until the battles are over and won to pick at what remains. He watches. Feyd-Rautha suspects Diana favors him over the others, though she will never admit it. 

All of them dote on their sisters. Sasha has them carry her around on their backs, even when they are tired and sore and agitated from their training. They still treat Grisha like she is their baby, although she is almost six years old now and loathes the comparison. 

Each of them, in their own ways, bring honor to their House. It is not something he had ever imagined for himself when thinking about his future. Feyd-Rautha is proud of his children, and he would not be disinclined to have another.

The chaos they find upon entering the drawing room is enough for him to change his mind.

The lord and lady from Zanbar, whose names Feyd-Rautha has forgotten, fawn over their young daughter, who sits upon an ottoman in front of the fireplace, her face red and streaked with tears. She cries as she pulls at what remains of her blonde hair. It has been crudely chopped off, the ends blunt and jagged like it had been sawed with a knife.

Their boys stand sullenly in front of the governess, disheveled in her bathrobe and still flustered from being awoken in the middle of the night to collect them. Aleksei folds his arms over his chest, his head full of curly dark hair held high. Next to him, Nikita remains calm in the face of their impending scolding. He very likely had done nothing wrong but bear witness to the antics of his rowdy brothers. Meanwhile, Maxim openly glares at the small weeping girl. She deserved what she got, and he is waiting for a reason to give her more to cry over.

“What happened?” Diana asks, dismayed.

“Your sons snuck into my daughter’s bedchamber and cut her hair off while she slept!” the lord’s wife snaps, borderline hysterical. “Where were her guards? How was this allowed to happen?”

She is reaching an unnatural decibel, but withers under the glare Feyd-Rautha shoots her. They were pulled from their bed for this? His darkening expression does not fully quell the lady's anger, and she gawks at her husband, willing him to say something.

"I'm sure there's an explanation," the lord offers unhelpfully, averting his timid gaze.

Diana stills, taking in the sight of the poor girl’s hacked hair. With a deep inhale, she turns to the boys, her hand finding her hip. “Explain yourselves.”

“She was mocking Grisha, mother,” Maxim says, scowling. “We heard her at dinner.”

Aleksei nods, more self-righteous and refined in his anger. “She laughed at Grisha and made her cry because she doesn’t have hair.” He sneers when the lord’s daughter wails a little louder at this, because she, too, does not have hair now. “She called her ugly.”

Diana looks heartbroken over this, but her Bene Gesserit training helps to quickly neutralize her face. She looks to Nikita. “And you? What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I told them not to.”

Feyd-Rautha believes him. Nikita is no less ruthless, but he is also a diplomat by nature, preferring more uninvolved methods of justice or revenge. This boldness is certainly the work of his brothers.

Feyd-Rautha cannot wait to reward them handsomely for it.

Diana believes Nikita as well, for she turns back to the other two. “Apologize to Lady Rosalind.”

“But mother, she–”

“Enough,” Feyd-Rautha rasps, growing tired of the spectacle. “Do as your mother says, so we may all retire to our beds.” He shoots another glare at the lord and lady, who bluster under his attention, too afraid of him to protest again.

Aleksei and Maxim step forward and bow to the young girl. “We’re sorry,” they echo, not meaning it at all.

Knowing that is the best she will get from them, Diana exhales deeply and dismisses them back to their rooms, escorted by their governess to make sure they get there and do not take any more detours. Nikita follows, ever their solemn shadow. 

Diana kneels down beside Lady Rosalind. “Don’t fret. Hair grows back,” she soothes. The girl hiccups, and Diana gently brushes the hair out of her eyes before standing up to face her parents again. “I apologize on behalf of my sons. As you can see, they love their sister very much and do not take kindly to those who upset her.”

The lord and lady of Zanbar try to hide their grimaces. They know their indignancy is unfounded now that they know their daughter had started this. “Baroness, I must apologize–” the lord starts.

“That won’t be necessary,” Diana interrupts, putting a graceful hand up to stop him. “Let’s put this unpleasantness behind us. My husband and I will question our guards to understand how this was allowed to happen. Those responsible will be thoroughly punished.” She looks at Feyd-Rautha. “That includes our sons.”

This seems to satisfy the lord and lady enough to gather up their snot nosed daughter and leave, perhaps vowing to never step foot on Giedi Prime again. Feyd-Rautha will not miss them.

He and Diana walk back to their bedchamber in an agitated silence, until she breaks it.

“Still want another?” she asks him, deadpan.

“Not particularly. Would you still like me to thoroughly punish them?”

“Not particularly.”

Feyd-Rautha hums, and he reaches for her hand. 

The next morning, Feyd-Rautha walks over to Grisha where she sits on the wide stone fence, her little legs dangling over the side. The boys train in the yard, and she watches with her dolls, acting out the sparring techniques she sees with them. He kisses her head, smooth like his. She ignores him, too caught up in supervising the training of her dolls.

Feyd-Rautha smiles. “Who is winning?” he asks.

One of the dolls headbutts the other. Their yarn-like hair swings around violently. It is hard to tell under the light of the black sun, but he thinks one of them is blonde. That one plops to the ground, landing in the sand.

Grisha raises the hand of the victorious doll the way she sees her father raise his in the arena. “This one,” she tells him.

“Well fought,” Feyd-Rautha says proudly. He bends down to pick up the doll and hands it to her. He watches her run her fingers through the doll’s hair, brushing the sand out of it with great care.

One day, his daughter will train alongside her brothers. She will have no need for hair then. It would just get in her way, and make her easier to grab by her opponents. She will see the use in this, and appreciate what makes her Harkonnen.

For now, Feyd-Rautha cups her head and kisses her again. He calls her his beautiful girl, and returns to the yard, picking up where he and the boys left off.

[the20thangel]

The Labor of Our Fruits

Summary: Tumblr Request!: A Targaryen reader. She and Benji didn't get off on the right foot because it was an arranged marriage, but Benji loves her but is scared to show it. The reader is pregnant, and because Benji has been ignoring her when she goes into labor, she begs Benji to not let her die, and he feels terrible thinking she would think something like that. But ending happily with their little baby boy.

tags: childbirth, angst, fluff

Word count: 2005

(this is an x reader fanfic but just with a name)

Daella grimaced, feeling immense pressure as the maester pressed down on her stomach. She wished her mother’s healers were here instead of this maester, but she was far from home, far from her mother and brothers and step-sisters, far from the comforts of Dragonstone and the sounds of dragons roosting around the island. She realistically knew all she needed to do was ask to get what she wanted, but she couldn’t bring herself to. Since their marriage night, she hardly spoke to her husband, Lord Benjicot Blackwood. How can she just go up and ask him to tell him to send for the healers from Dragonstone? 

Her marriage… was strange; that was the only way she could describe it. To ensure House Blackwood kept their alliance with her mother, Daella was brought to Raventree Hall to marry its new lord. He was not cruel, her lord husband, but distant. She did not know if having a distant husband was better or worse. In some cases better, because he never forced himself on her or commanded her to do things that might have made her uncomfortable. She greatly appreciated him for doing that; he was already better than her uncle Aegon.

On the other hand, having a distant husband was worse. She was lonely, growing a babe of a man she hardly knew, proudly doing her duty for her mother and husband but drowning in her isolation. She laughed at the gods' cruel joke. Was she turning out to be like her ancestor Daella, daughter of Good Queen Alysanne, who bore her grandmother Aemma only to die without holding her babe? 

Daella groaned quietly as the maester finished evaluating her. She sat up as the doors of the bed chamber opened, revealing her husband, Benjicot. Walking into the chamber, he saw the maester packing his bag. Benjicot quickly walked to his wife, pausing before her, unsure if he should hold her hand. Ultimately, he stood by her, watching her fidget with her dress. 

“How are they?” he asked the maester. 

“Both mother and child are progressing wonderfully, my lord; we should expect the babe to come any minute now.” stated the maester, bowing to the lord and princess as he walked out of the room. 

Daella swallowed; she did not know what to do now, such was most the case with her. She mainly floated around the castle, careful not to be in anybody’s way. Knowing that made her seem weird, she heard the whispers as the people spoke about the odd Targaryen girl their lord was forced to marry. 

Benjicot stared at his beautiful wife, wishing he could know her thoughts. His marriage was a quiet one. Both hardly spoke to each other, only short sentences here and there. His aunt urged him to make more effort to express his love to Daella, but he just didn’t know how. He was not good at romance, feeling more comfortable in battles. He also never wanted to be the husband who would force his wife to do actions she may not like. So he tried to give her space, allowing her to grow accustomed to her new home. 

Swallowing away his nervousness, he decided to try to make a small conversation. 

“How are you feeling?” asked Benjicot, seeing how Daella jumped in surprise, looking at him with her soft purple eyes. Oh, how he could get lost staring at them all day. 

“Tired… my lord,” whispered Daella, smiling at him, not wanting to seem rude at his genuine worry.

Benji smiled back, “Would you like to rest before supper, or could I have the servants bring supper to the chambers?” 

“I think I will rest a little and then meet you there,” Daella said, looking at his nervous smile. 

Benjicot nodded. Feeling awkward, he turned to leave, but before thinking about it, he turned back to Daella. 

“Should you want or need anything these last few days, all you need to do is ask, and I will try my best to provide it to you,” Benji promised as he reached to caress her cheek, only stopping mere inches away. Again, feeling unsure if she would accept his touch, He chose to walk away and leave the room. 

Daella, with great sadness, watched her husband leave her alone again in the chamber. Once the door closed, she let a small tear flow freely down her cheek. 

“I wish to go home,” whispered Daella, closing her eyes as she stroked her belly. Only allowing a smile to softly stretch on her face as she felt her babe kick her. 

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

The following day, Benji woke up earlier than previous ones. He had to ride out for a few days and needed to check in with the village. As he turned, he could not help but smile at the sight before him. He loved seeing his wife sleeping, seeing her in the most relaxing state. She always wore a smile on her face as her hands lay on top of her stomach. She was a beauty, and he wished he could show more of his feelings towards her. He wants to build his relationship with her but always becomes too nervous to act anything out.  Leaning down to provide a small kiss on her forehead. He made a vow that once he returned, he would start to show more effort in his marriage so that when their babe entered this world, they would have parents who were openly affectionate with each other. 

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

Daella grew restless. Benji had been gone for a few days and was not due to return for another two days. She was trying her best to take over the castle duties, but she kept having cramps. Her babe was not due yet, so Daella started worrying. Was there something she was doing wrong? Was she harming her baby? She groaned from another cramp as a passing servant, recognizing the signs of labor, gasped and ran to the princess.

“My princess, how long have you been feeling these pains?” questioned the servant girl as she led the princess back to the chambers.

Daella exhaled, feeling the cramp alleviate for a second, “Since last night… I think..” groaning from another wave of cramps. 

“Princess, you are in labor, we need…. Someone fetch the maester. The princess is in labor!” shouted the servant girl to the nearest guard, who frantically nodded, running to do his bidding. 

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

The castle was in chaos; the pained screams of Daella echoed in the halls as servants entered and left the princess’s chambers. Daella was lying in bed, watching the maester and midwives converse quietly. Her babe was taking too long to leave her body. She knew what the maester wanted to do… he wanted to cut the babe free from her body. She shook in fright; she did not want to die in the labor bed. She did not want to follow the path of her namesake and her grandmother, Aemma.  She wanted to live, not ready to enter the realm of Balerion. 

“We need to wait for Lord Benjicot to decide…” whispered the midwife, trying to stall the maester from doing anything drastic. 

“If we wait too long, there might not be anyone left to save.” argued the maester, looking back at the bleeding princess. 

Daella closed her eyes as she wept; she wanted her mother, she wanted Benji, and she prayed to the gods to have mercy on her and her baby. 

As if the gods were listening, the doors opened with a bang, and people gasped. A muddy Benjicot ran into the room, scanning for Daella, and saw her breathing heavily on their bed. 

“My lord, the birthing room is no place…” began the maester as Benjicot ignored him, running to take his wife’s hand in his. 

“Daella..” whispered Benji, moving some white hair away from her face.

Daella smiled painfully at her husband. She needed to be a dragon, and she would fight for her life. 

“Benji, please, please don’t let him do it to me…” pleaded Daella as she let tears stream down her face. 

Benjicot looked at his wife in confusion. What was causing her so much stress?

Turning to the maester and midwives, he asked them what was happening to his wife. The maester walked up to the lord as he explained that the babe was taking too long to leave the princess's stomach. Proposing that the best option to save the future heir of House Blackwood was to cut the babe out of the princess's body.

 Daella, sobbing, reached for Benji's hand as she pleaded, “Please don't let them cut me. I do not wish to die yet.”

Benjicot, heartbroken at seeing her in such a state, leaned down to kiss her forehead and whisper comforting words to her. 

“Shh, my love, I would never do such a thing to you…” 

“My lord, if we don’t, we risk losing the ba-” 

“Remove this man out of my sight before I turn and run my sword across his stomach,” growled Benjicot, shooting daggers at the gaping maester being led out by the guards. 

Benji turned to the midwives and pleaded, “Please, is there any way to save them both?” 

The midwives nodded, “It’s the princess’s first, babe. She has grown tired of using all her energy to push out. We can help her by pushing on her stomach as she pushes herself. It will be painful, but it is the best chance to save both mother and child.” 

Benjicot nodded, letting himself be led to sit behind her, pressing his hand on her stomach as Daella continued to sob. 

“When we ask the princess the push, we will need you, my lord, to push your hands downward with all your might. Even if she screams in agony, you push down. We cannot risk the babe getting stuck.” commanded the head midwife, waiting for him to agree. 

Once the young lord agreed, the midwives all went to their positions. Looking at him, they started to command the princess to start pushing. Benji, in turn, also pressed his hands on her stomach, feeling her body warp. Daella screamed in agony, feeling like her body was ripping in half. She wanted them to stop but knew that if she wanted to live, she needed to continue to push. Praying to the goddesses Meleys and Shrykos, she pleaded for them to hear her, asking for a safe, open road for her babe’s birth. 

Benjicot continued to press down as he kissed Daella's crown, feeling proud of her courage and bravery during this upsetting situation. She was indeed a dragon princess, not letting herself falter. He decided to express his thoughts as he continued to help her push. 

“That’s it, my love, you are doing wonderful; you are almost there, Daella, don’t give up… I know you can,” he whispered to her ear, his heart breaking at every scream she let out. 

Daella, even though tired, felt empowered by her husband’s words, inhaling she gave one last push. She will live, she will not die in this bed, and she will get to see her child grow up. 

With one last scream and push, the baby boy left his mother’s body, wailing to the world. Daella started crying at seeing her son. He was beautiful, with his father’s black hair and pale skin like hers. He was placed on her chest as she wrapped her arms around his tiny body. Benji, too, started crying at seeing his son, something that showed a promise of the love he was willing to show to his wife. 

As the young heir nuzzled his mother’s chest, he briefly opened his eyes, showcasing a beautiful purple color—the very ones Benjicot adored on his wife. Feeling overwhelmed, he rocked the baby and mother into his arms. 

“You did wonderful, Daella. You were amazing,” he praised his princess, kissing her cheek and continuing to rock them. 

Daella smiled as she leaned into her husband’s embrace, feeling she was finally home. 

[amarmoria]

Nepenthe Ⅱ

٠ ࣪⭑Qimir x Padawan! Reader

Why would your master want a Padawan like you when he has his acolyte?

Notes: thank you guys for your support, like for real, please like, comment or reblog so I'll know if u want me to continue the story!

"Where did you go?" The dark timbre of his voice makes you shiver. "I, out, t-to get groceries and, and ingredients—"

"Ingredients for what?"

"Restock ou— y-your, uh, shelves"

"And since when was that your job?" He tilted his head, or helmet, you don't know. Mae was nowhere to be seen, it was only you, your master and the fire crackling. "I, you were running out of them so I assumed—"

"Assumed," he chuckled, the cave seemed to bounce off his voice, making it sound more intimidating than it is. "You and your big words huh?"

"B-big words? I don't—"

"That's right, don't. Don't ever disobey me like that"

"Disobey?" You scoff inwardly, since when did you even? Because out of the goodness of your heart you decided to buy a few goodies for your master? Make him proud? and you're here getting lectured about being disobedient?

"I'm, I'm not, you were running out and, and I didn't want them to empty completely, so I wanted to help you restock for the.. f-future .."

Your words die down on your tongue when he approaches you, his long strides opposed to your little attempts at backing away, your back hits the ropes keeping you from falling, the wind violently howling as the sun settles down.

"I leave you for a day and you go dallying to some, some planet?"

"I, I went to O—"

"Oh I know where you went," he pauses, locking your arms in his deadly grip, you gulp at the muscles flexing on his biceps. "W-what? Did Qimir—"

"No." His response came out a little quick, and shaky, but you didn't have to know that. "You really don't think I'd let my padawans go around freely do you..?"

You bite your tongue, you've never seen him angry like this, angry at training yes, but not this angry, maybe he's having a bad day, that's why you bought additional groceries when you left Qimir earlier.

"Answer me!" He shakes you, the wind howling louder once again, you shiver in his hold, you weren't exactly wearing thick clothes, especially when it was so hot during the day, but you guess the rain is coming, or even a possible storm, yet neither gets you distracted at your fuming master in front of you.

"N-no!..no, you don't.."

"Exactly" he growled. "Then tell me why you'd left here with your little ship across the space for something so, so small, so little, so simple"

You wanted to yell at him, tell him you're not a prisoner, that you could leave the planet anytime for all he cares, but you bit your tongue and fight back the argument.

"Something on your mind, Bee?"

That nickname again, you've been called everything, princess, lady, little girl, padawan, daughter, not bee, you're starting to hate the nickname already.

"Hm," his grip on you loosens as is the breath you've been holding since you came, you rub the sore spot on both your arms when he disappeared from your line of sight, he's aggressive, very aggressive, but only during combat, this was different, it almost felt like you were a child getting scolded, almost.

"Hey" your head whips to your left, the tension on your shoulders leaving when you see Mae approaching. "M-Mae,"

"What are you doing out?"

"I, it's, it's hot inside.. haha" you chuckle nervously, Mae only brushed you away and headed inside.

-

Sleep did you no good, you can still hear his voice in your head when you laid down. After Mae came, your bed was taken by her, so now you're sleeping on the cold hard ground, only two pillows and a blanket supporting you every night.

You didn't get to sleep the first few nights, still freshly used to the soft warm bed Mae was sleeping soundly in, you wondered that night if you were going to be able to build your own, but he quickly shut down the idea, naming it as a waste of materials.

Sometimes you pondered about asking for help from Qimir, but you didn't want to bother him, although the thought always stayed in the back of your mind.

You sighed and peeked at the entrance of the cave.

Blue.

The sky was already starting to brighten up, you gently got up from your lying position, careful not to move any trinkets that might cause alarm.

Would Qimir be up by now? You didn't want to face your master today, the thought of being near him makes you shiver slightly.

You pause when you hear rustling, your eyes quickly scanning the room for the source, no way any of them are up during this time, your shoulders drop in relief when you see a small rabbit at the entrance, phew, you thought you were about to be a goner.

You resume, quickly slipping into your shoes and additional protection from the sun, or rain. You hope Qimir is awake, or you'd be going there for absolutely no reason.

You gathered only little things, water, small knife, enough credits to last you at least a few hours, you hope your master wouldn't be too angry now, since Qimir was a friend he wouldn't worry about you running away.

You hurriedly tiptoed around the cave and up to the entrance where you find the bunny still there. You poke it with the blunt end of your knife.

"..hello?" You whisper, you didn't want to scare the bunny, it might make a sound and sabotage your whole escape mission.

You frown as you tilt its tummy, its full and round, and obviously breathing, maybe it's hibernating?

You shrug and resume with your agenda, carefully, you navigate through the treacherous rocks and calm waves, leading you to a small ship, it was advanced, a very new model from the last few months, your master agreed to let you keep it because it had only little buttons to press, you were too confused with what to do with his big ship, although when Mae came, she only had to learn all about it for a day then boom! She can already fly it, so much for buttons, you would've done it too if you didn't have your small ship, but you do.

The tension on your shoulders went away when your ship soared in the air, zooming up to the space, that's when you heard chittering out the back, you frown, you don't remember the engine breaking yet, or screws loose, you flick the auto-pilot switch and pull out your knife, going into battle stance.

"W-who's there!"

No answer.

"You, you better not be armed!"

You clenched around the knife when there was still no answer, you approached the arch connecting to the hallway. An ambush! Aha! You raised your knife, preparing to stab whoever it was when you were met by the same bunny from the cave.

"Wha.." you knelt down, letting it smell your hand. "Now what is a little thing like you doing here?"

You hid your knife back, carrying the bunny in your arms. "It's cold out huh?"

Chitter, chitter

"Let's get you warmed up then"

-

Moments before you arrived you found a box somewhere inside the ship, you poked holes in it and put the bunny there, you decided you'll let it go when you come back.

The chirping of the birds filled your ears, the bustling planet Olega wasn't so bustling during the wee hours of the day, you could clearly see how big and empty it is without the crowds. Your heart beats louder as you approach the apothecary, you hope he's there, he had to be.

You gulp nervously when you notice the door barricaded from inside.

Closed.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. What now?

You bit your tongue, you for sure didn't want to go back yet, you could stay in your ship and wait for Qimir, but it would bore you so bad, exploring Olega isn't a bad idea, except someone might snitch again..

You groaned and rolled your eyes, why'd you have to suffer today. The hair on your nape suddenly tenses up, you look around your peripheral but there was no one there, you couldn't feel any signatures, so why..

"Hey, miss?"

You yelp and cross your arms in front of your face, shutting your eyes closed.

"W-who's there!"

"Uh," the male voice pauses. "That's my line but uh... Thanks? I guess?"

Your other eye slowly peeks open, the first thing you saw was the beige clothing, with a little orange on the sides, maybe even yellow, by now both your eyes were already open, although your arms still stayed crossed.

"I won't hurt you"

"How would I know that," the last few words came out shaky, you inwardly curse yourself, the first rule was to not look meek and weak!

You heard him chuckle, seemingly amused by your guard. "If you would just take a moment to look at me clearly then you'd know."

You don't answer, your eyes were darting everywhere trying to find an exit.

"Don't think for a second that you can escape, missy"

"I'm not"

"Yes you are"

"No"

"I can see you, you know?"

You curse, hitting the barrel behind you, you hesitate for a moment before dropping your hands down.

"Now, do I look like I would hurt you?"

Fuck.

Jedi. You grip the ends of your robes, you haven't encountered a Jedi ever since that night your master took you in, that was the first and last time you even saw one, and now your face to face with a Jedi. Alone.

You search for Qimir or your master's signatures, but none you can reach, you weren't that good when your master dropped you out of his Sith school of learning, so all you can do right now is try to find your way out, peacefully.

"I, uh," you gulp, he's definitely handsome, pretty even, his hair twists upwards on his head, you're sure it would look horrendous on others, but he makes it look good on him, his facial structure reminds you of Qimir, only his was sharper, and the Jedi's was a little softer, and plumper.

"Yord" he says, taking a step forward which makes you step back, the barrels loudly dropping to the ground with a domino effect. "Don't, don't be scared."

He raises his hands up, showing he had no weapon hidden somewhere. "I'm- w-we're here to patrol the planet for a while,"

No answer.

"But," he pauses, frown etching on his face. "You don't look like a local from here, are you not?"

You shake your head. "Quiet now are we?"

You almost thought you were talking to Qimir, but this isn't him. A jedi. With you. Alone.

"So what brings you here?" He tilts his head, trying to look friendly, which you learned a lot of Jedi use that kind of trick when it comes to coaxing a criminal. But you're not a criminal right now huh? Not to him. He doesn't know you does he?

"I, I wanted to buy, something, medicine! Yes medicine, for my friend at home"

"Why so early though?"

"Uh, he needs them asap, or else he's gonna die" you made a dying gesture, and awkwardly tried to brush it away. "Dying friend then?"

"Uh— yes"

"Hm, I might know someone open right about now" he says, moving past you like you weren't there. "If you want to come that is."

You looked over to his shoulder to you, raising his eyebrows. "Uh,"

"It's fine if you don't," you don't see it, but you know he's laughing somewhere inside. "But won't your friend have to die for that?"

Notes: Yord?! He's here?! Hello?!

[theragethatisdesire]

aot men as dads - headcanon!! some 18+!!

includes: eren, jean, reiner, & levi

i'm still working on some full-fledged one-shots and parts of my series', but i'm nannying for the summer and have BABY FEVER. please enjoy my little headcanons of my fav aot men as dads <3

DISCLAIMER: some of this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

Eren

ok but eren is such a cringe dad lol

buys himself all of the #1 Dad! merch. he’s got mugs, tshirts, hats, all of it, and all of it went on his credit card.

10000% a girl dad. loves all the little dresses and bows; he puts your daughter’s hair in its first bun, nearly tears up when she points at his matching hairstyle and babbles “like da-da!”

you have to parent eren as much as the children. when you turn the corner into the living room where he’s supposed to be having “quiet time” with your toddler only to find that they’re buried in a pillow fort and eren’s signed his own name in crayon on the wall next to your daughter’s scribblings. “babe, we can just repaint it! she’s being creative.”

loves when you’re pregnant. after your first, eren keeps a calendar on the wall marking off the days until it’s safe for him to fuck you again, fuck a baby right back into you. already has a breeding kink before your first. develops a lactation kink after.

TERRIFIED (and i mean terrified) of hurting your little angel. has absolutely zero concept of “cry it out”; if he hears his baby crying, he’s sprinting into the next room, kissing a nonexistent boo-boo.

refuses to admit it but he has no backbone when it comes to your daughter wanting literally anything. she wants it, she gets it.

favorite thing in the world is matching outfits. favorite. “babe, where’s her green hoodie? i’m wearing mine today for the park!” “of course it matters, we have to match! on that note, where’s yours?”

lets your daughter use his hair to learn how to braid. usually has a few pink hair ties or glittery clips sticking out of it when you come home from a mom’s night out.

really big on your baby getting to see the world. drags you on vacation to any place he can think of, even as you try to explain to him that she can’t form any long term memories yet. “but baby, she’ll have pictures. how many kids in her class can bring a picture of them at the eiffel tower to their first show-and-tell?”

accidentally ruins santa and the tooth fairy for your daughter. cries harder than she does over it.

aggressively vets babysitters. ends up settling for a nursing student in the labor & delivery school who’s the oldest of seven children and probably more knowledgeable about child development than both of you combined, but he’s still suspicious.

wants to watch while you push, watch his baby come into the world. you’ve never seen a sweeter sight than eren in his scrubs, crying while holding your baby girl.

Jean

most people picture eren as being the roughhousing dad, but it’s jean, and i will die on this hill.

freaks out every time he drops your first boy while throwing him around like a ragdoll, but he’ll never stop because “listen!! he’s laughing!”. when it comes to the rest of them, he’s experienced enough now to tell the difference between a real booboo and an imagined one, and he simply brushes their little pants off caringly before shouting “now you tackle me!”

jean’s got no gender preference for your first, or the rest of your little brood for that matter. he raises them exactly the same, regardless: tough.

it takes him awhile to get used to the concept of babies’ minds. you’ve walked in on him having full-blown arguments with your shrieking toddlers several times. “what’s not making sense? if you let your goldfish ‘swim’ in the toilet, it dies, simple as that.”

plays “bad cop” for you because you’re terrible at it, but he’s always having to turn around and snicker into his elbow in the middle of scolding because your babies get the same little throbbing forehead vein as you when they’re mad

wants a big family, and gets it. you practically have to drag him to get his balls snipped after your fourth, him reminding you that “it’s reversible!” the entire way there.

the newborn phase is his favorite. he’s rarely home for any longer than ten minutes without scooping your most recent addition into his arms, squishing their little cheeks and marveling at their gurgling noises.

the kids never give him anxiety, but when you’re pregnant??? jean’s a wreck.

“do your feet still hurt, love?” “what do you mean you have indigestion? that could be the baby coming!” “of course we can’t have sex, what if we poke its little head?”

definitely the dad that’s got a delivery bag and a backup bag and an emergency third backup of the backup bag in his car at all times. the first week of your third trimester, he starts watching you suspiciously for any signs of labor, even though this is your fourth together. you think you’ve got it down by now, you tell him, but he won’t listen.

always gets the kids to work together on little surprises for you. every mother’s day they wake you up with breakfast, every valentines day your dining room table is covered in handmade cards, every birthday your kitchen is coated in flour from jean and four little ones attempting to bake

SO HARD to drag him out for a date night. he wants to bring them everywhere: the fancy restaurant, the couples' get away trip

jean's that dad standing in the bar, watching the game, beer in hand, with an occupied baby carrier strapped to his chest

wants to watch during delivery, but he passed out the first go-round, so now he’s content standing up by your head, trying not to turn white as you squeeze his hand hard enough to break.

talks you into just one more on your fourth’s second birthday. “they’re all so big now. don’t you miss it, babe? my baby in your belly? c’mon…” turns out he reversed that vasectomy without telling you

Reiner

another girl dad. hardcore girl dad.

buys his little princess all number of dresses and barbies, is confused when she’s more interested in the baseballs her classmates have.

accidentally raises the most tomboyish, toughest little girl. still babies her, and she hates it.

cries more than you do on your first date night out when you leave her with your mom. forgets to order his entree at the restaurant because he’s watching the baby monitor app on his phone.

definitely the best at splitting baby duties with you. reiner’s up before you most nights when she wakes, grabbing a bottle and cooing at her lovingly even as she screams. you always try to stay awake to watch him on the baby monitor, though, heart melting as his massive arms rock the tiny bundle back to sleep.

all the neighborhood kids love him because of his size. at every cookout, reiner can’t help on the grill because he’s buried in the grass in a little army of toddlers, led by your daughter, shrieking with joy.

always taking pictures. literally always. unflattering ones when you fall asleep breastfeeding, candids at the zoo, eighteen identical pictures of the lock of hair from her first haircut clogging up his camera roll.

can’t be the bad cop. literally ever. he just can’t say no to his little princess, can’t break her precious little heart by telling her that throwing her food onto the floor is bad.

takes your daughter to mommy & me classes with him

DILF DILF DILF. all the moms in the classes swoon over him and gossip about him when he’s not there; much to your annoyance, reiner never notices, insisting that they’re his “mommy friends”.

always sporting a little bit of glitter on his face or a sticker on his back from your daughter

coming from a fatherless background, reiner nearly kills himself trying to be a constant presence in your daughter’s life (you have to remind him that he has to rest too)

never misses an open house night at school, even if it nearly gets him fired. coaches all of her sports teams. literally almost cries when she makes her first soccer goal. actually does cry when she tells you the boy sitting beside her in class called her his girlfriend. full-blown breakdown on her first day of school, so bad he has to stay home from work.

the absolute BEST through your pregnancy and delivery. always cooking your craving of the week, constant foot and back rubs, stays up all night with you for the three days before the birth when you’re just too swollen and miserable to sleep.

holds your hand through the entire delivery, gets in the doctors’ way when they’re performing checkups because “i’m her father, i need to know what’s going on”

Levi

levi never pictured himself as having children, but when your little surprise arrives, blinking up at levi with his own grey, owlish eyes, levi can’t believe he hadn’t thought of it sooner.

very easily irritated with anyone asking questions about your home life.

when his coworkers ask for your newborn’s name, levi simply says “child.” are you two trying again? “why the fuck do you need to know?”

super overprotective. your baby waves at someone in the supermarket, and levi’s leaning down to explain (in words your eight-month-old can’t yet understand) stranger danger.

totally one of those parents that goes half-crazy trying to get their child into the top-notch, snobby preschool in town.

“we’re not wasting his intelligence on the public school”

levi grew up with basically nothing, so he goes all out buying the best baby products on the market. $2,500 strollers, researching “best baby toys for development”, the whole nine yards.

100% spends months trying to get your child to make a game out of picking up his own toys after playtime, but it never works.

has a meal plan for your child to “optimize nutrition” that you have to sneak around to give your baby little chocolates and junk snacks.

“why are there pringles in his playtime bag? they have no nutritional value.”

vets anyone that comes around your child, even other children. “no more playtime with that evan kid. he’s always got a cold or something.”

he’s always been a light sleeper, but once you have your child, levi snores beside them watching kids’ cartoons on the tv like you’ve never seen him, even drooling as his head lolls, arm tucked tight around your little one.

learned everything he could about labor and delivery beforehand

you almost killed him in the delivery room as he explained each medical detail of your labor symptoms to “reassure” you. he finally got the hint when you threatened to decapitate him.

he thinks it’s shameful, but watching you be a mother turns. him. on. 

wants to take you right there when he catches you breastfeeding, watches you read a bedtime story, spin your child around laughing. you’re just so naturally good at it and it makes him love you all the more, all that love going straight between his legs.

[child0feden]

HORROR FLICKS ARE THE BEST CHICK FLICKS

max verstappen x horror nepo baby! zombie! reader

faceclaim: assorted but mainly sherri moon zombie

୨୧ max won the vote so here you go! there are some inaccuracies like rob zombie didn’t make the silent hill film, house of 1000 corpses came out in 2003 and stuff but hey, it’s fanfic, let me live <3

reading music recommendations: living dead girl by rob zombie - house of 1000 corpses by rob zombie

ynzombie: throwback to when little me was in my first ever horror movie ( and movie in general ) dad had me doing child labour for free because i’m his daughter… so sad 💔

robzombie ✔️: little liar, i paid you with candy and put money into your pre adult account 🖤

❤️ liked by ynzombie

maxverstappen ✔️: you were adorable liefde ❤️ though how you were in movies like this so young, i don’t know…

> ynzombie ✔️: thank you maxie moo <3 the horror love just runs in my love babe, you know that

ynlnhorrorqueen: a horror icon was born the day this movie came out…

> zombiesloveynzombie: a horror icon was born the day the world knew she existed lmao 😭

landonorris ✔️: you were a funny looking kid

> ynzombie ✔️: get the fuck OUT of here oh my god 😭 i genuinely might get my dad to cast someone who looks like you as a victim in his next film (spoiler alert: you will NOT be a final girl, you’ll be the dumbass who falls over a pinecone and gets decapitated)

❤️ liked by maxverstappen

> landonorris ✔️: 😟

lewishamilton ✔️: fucking hell… i saw this when it first came out! and you were a baby then and you’re a grown up now… feel well old now! so nice seeing how far you’ve come love ❤️

> ynzombie ✔️: you are old, practically a fossil at this point! thank you lewis

ynzombie: house of 1000 corpses came out in theatres yesterday… did you guys love it? i know i fucking LOVED filming it and my dad LOVED making it ❤️

lewishamilton ✔️: loved it! incredible work yn, definitely a new favourite

> ynzombie: thank you lewis! i NEED to bring you on set next time

❤️ liked by lewishamilton

robzombie ✔️: no cursing

> ynzombie ✔️: i… dad have you seen the i do in your movies? i think you should be okay with cursing 😭

> robzombie ✔️: i’m kidding honey, curse all you want, you’re sure as shit old enough

zombiesloveynzombie: this movie… oh my god! yn zombie you should be imprisoned for making me obsessed with a character like baby firefly…

❤️ liked by maxverstappen

> maxverstrapon: max liking this comment lmao? sir can you even watch this movie?

> iluvf1: let him be 😭 he’s just supporting his gf

maxverstappen ✔️: so proud of you liefde ❤️

> ynzombie ✔️: i’m so proud of YOU for sitting through it without gagging at a nasty scene <3

> maxverstappen ✔️: i try, for you

❤️ liked by ynzombie

ynzombiehorrorqueen: i love how since yn was born and old enough, rob has basically never made any project without her being in it 🥺 he loves his daughter so much

landonorris ✔️: you’re a funny looking adult too actually…

> ynzombie ✔️: hope you die

> landonorris ✔️: maxverstappen come get yn she’s acting crazy again

> maxverstappen ✔️: i’m on her side this time, sorry mate

> landonorris ✔️: “ this time ” you’re ALWAYS on her side, she could skin me alive and roast me over a fire right in front of you and you’d be on her side

> maxverstappen ✔️: sounds like a you problem

❤️ liked by ynzombie

ynzombie: finally took max to meet daddy dearest! he only sat in the car shaking for about 20 minutes ❣️

robzombie ✔️: he’s an alright kid, your mother loved the flowers, bring him around again soon hon 🖤

> ynzombie ✔️: for sure <3

danielricciardio ✔️: how’d you get him out of the redbull gear?

> ynzombie ✔️: told him my dad HATES redbull

> zombiesloveynzombie: LMAO 😭

maxverstrapon: bringing her mom flowers, helping her mom in the kitchen, opening the wine, wearing something not redbull related… this man wants to be parent approved SO BAD LMAO

maxverstappen ✔️: it wasn’t so bad, thank you for convincing me to come liefde ❤️

❤️ liked by robzombie and ynzombie

> ynzombie ✔️: i’m just glad you were comfortable maxie ❤️ love you lots

> iluvyn: she needed to convince him to come? omg…

> oldf1lvr: to be fair if my girlfriends dad was a horror director and i knew nothing about horror and could barely even sit through them i’d be pretty scared too 😭

> iluvf1: not to mention that her dad is just ROB FUCKING ZOMBIE? how was he not supposed to be scared? lmao

ynzombie: sneak peek at mine and my dad’s new project! won’t be out for a while but i wanted to feed you guys ❤️

lewishamilton ✔️: can’t wait for this one yn! looks great already

> ynzombie ✔️: can’t wait to hear what you think when you see the full thing :D

❤️ liked by lewishamilton

> iluvf1: yn and lewis’ friendship will never not be adorable to me, they’re so close 🥹

> loveuyn: i mean, he LOVES all of her dads movies so it makes sense that they really easily befriended each other when max brought her to the grid for the first time

zombiesloveynzombie: yn playing another psycho ass bitch that i’m going to be obsessed with… I CANT WAIT

❤️ liked by maxverstrappen

maxverstappen ✔️: i think this one might be my favourite…

> ynzombie ✔️: because i kill characters who wanted to fuck my character?

> maxverstappen ✔️: yes :)

> maxverstrapon: max sitting through his girlfriends movies despite hating horror will always be SO CUTE to me, he lovesss her

maxverstappen: she’s a 10 but she’s got a bit of a big ego ( she’s rewatching all of her own movies ) ❤️

ynzombie ✔️: hm… okay then

> loveuyn: max is so going to regret saying this… i just know it, we all know how petty yn can get, even over a joke lmao 😭

❤️ liked by ynzombie

landonorris ✔️: 🫣

lewishamilton ✔️: oh mate…

> maxverstappen ✔️: what? what’s happening? what have i done?

danielricciardo ✔️: 😶

ynzombie: according to my lovely boyfriend, i have a large ego… i don’t know guys… anyways here’s some pictures from our weekend ❤️

maxverstappen ✔️: yn i’m begging you delete that first picture before your father sees it

> ynzombie ✔️: this is what you get for saying i had a big ego

> maxverstappen ✔️: i was KIDDING, liefde, please i beg you, delete

> ynzombie ✔️: i’m not deleting it

robzombie ✔️: yn, hon, would you ask your boyfriend to go into another room and call me? 🖤

> ynzombie ✔️: sure will dad!

> lewishamilton ✔️: maxverstappen good luck mate 👍

❤️ liked by ynzombie

maxverstrapon: the picture of him helping her clean the fake blood out of her hair… i want what they have 💔

> iluvf1: max is about to face the wrath of a father and you’re talking about that???

> maxverstrapon: ITS A CUTE PICTURE 😭

⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨୧ ˚ NEW ADDED BONUS ˚ ୨୧ ⋆｡˚ ⋆

the aftermath of a call from a concerned father

[liliewrites]

"IN THE HEARTHFIRE'S EMBRACE"

a/n ; HALLOO:DD so, here's the first part of the "let the world burn" series inspired by the song of the same name from chris grey. more women will be added to the list as i go, so feel free to drop some suggestions which genshin women you think would be a great addition to the series. anywaay, thanks for readingg:))

-warning/s ; a bit of descriptive violence, mentions of blood and burning but not directed at the reader. -pairing/s ; arlecchino x fem!reader.

where in ; these women would go against every person in teyvat-- would even watch teyvat burn, all for your sake.

(men please dni utc!)

“Lynette, whatever happens, keep your mother safe.”

The words rang in the little girl’s ears repeatedly as she held the older woman’s hands. They were not related by blood in any way, but this woman had taken care of her, raised her and nurtured her for as long as she could remember. So she keeps her father’s words, and protects the woman with what she has.

“There they are! The wife of the Knave!!”

With an annoyed curse beneath a whisper, Lynette grabs onto your hand tightly, pulling you to run away as the spies have found you in your hiding spot. Tired, panting and breathless- your legs felt like it was about to give out, but thanks to the adrenaline spiking through your body, you just kept running, and running, and then finding yourself driven in a corner with nowhere to escape as the spies had surrounded you from all sides.

Despite being struck with fear, your motherly instincts came first as you held your precious daughter in your arms, wanting to protect her more than wanting to be protected by her.

“Mother, I can… I can handle this!” Lynette exclaimed, but you knew better, it was two against half a dozen grown men and only Lynette was capable of fighting out of the two of you but her alone would not be enough to face them. “My child, settle down, I'd rather die than witness you slain in front of me. Let me protect you, so hush.” 

You whispered, tears starting to form in the corner of your eyes as immense fear ran through your veins. You closed your eyes shut to brace yourself for impact, heart filled with dread as one of the men neared you with a blade of his own. He let out a sickly chuckle at your demise, the wife of the Knave’s to be precise, then raising his arm up to—

“Fucking imbeciles.”

—to fall in front of you beheaded, with warm and thick blood splattered against you and the child in your arms. You opened your eyes to look up but you already knew who it was and to your horrific relief, it was your wife covered in blood who stood menacingly in the background. Her hand letting go of her scythe that she earlier held with a grip so tight, her hands trembled while she slayed the wretched men in blinded fury then she started to slowly walk towards you.

You gasped at the sight and immediately covered Lynette's eyes as she was no more than just a child who although you knew was no stranger to this kind of scenery, you still wanted to shield her from the gruesome sight. Nonetheless, still, you felt glee to see your wife.

As for said wife, Arlecchino’s chest was heaving in pure, unfiltered wrath and with no remorse stepped upon the men’s lifeless bodies in a rather harsh manner. Her sharp, pointed heels stabbed itself into the flesh as she made her way towards you through the fire she had caused in the midst of tearing the men apart just a few moments ago.

— but as soon as she reached you, the look in her eyes softened and all hostility she held had instantly melted away. Replaced by a vulnerable and fragile display of guilt and fear as the apathetic mask she’d mastered to put on for years straight had cracked for a brief moment out of fear for you. “My beloved, I am deeply sorry for arriving so late...” she apologized and her tone sounded so different than how she insulted the man who almost killed you. She gently pulled you up into her arms and held you and her daughter with a relieved sigh. 

“I didn't realize that a few had escaped and chased after you, my beloved. I am terribly, terribly sorry for making such a horrible mistake.” Her voice was shaky and you knew that behind the tough exterior she tried to put on, her heart was broken beyond a million pieces at the thought of almost losing you. 

“My dear, it is alright. Lynette kept me safe, and we are alive.” You tried to reassure her, but at the moment you had mentioned the word “alive”, the intense emotions kicked in as she was reminded of the fact that if she arrived just even a second late, you and her daughter would’ve been dead along with the men that lay on the ground. The raging embers of fury ignited once more, so she separated for a moment to summon countless burning crimson blades in thin air one after another, embedding it into the lifeless bodies that lay on the ground. After her little outburst, she looked at the burning men with a glare and held you tightly to keep you safe and secure to provide you solace, amidst the burning chaos of flames that surrounded all three of you.

“My beloved, if you were to die at the hands of such crooked men, tainted and ruined, I could never find it in my heart to watch the world prosper without you as it’d have no meaning at all.”

She spoke with such conviction that it felt like a comforting flame that soothed the fear in your heart but to those who dare lay a finger on you, this served as a threat as this same woman who held you and your child with such a gentle hold and looked at you with tender eyes swearing that she would be capable of attempting to kill the Tsaritsa with her bare hands in a heartbeat— if it meant protecting you.

There is no sane bone in her body, that was indeed a fact, but if you were to be taken away from her then she’d be willing to watch the world go poof, drowned in the flames of her agony of your loss if it were to ever happen.

[thegnomelord]

CH 3: Hold Your Demons Close Maybe Then You'll Feel Something

CW:NSFW blood, gore, mutilation, killing, cannon typical violence, child abuse (it's minor but still there), drugging, military inaccuracies, Mage reader, Monster cod AU, poly141, eventual poly141 X reader, reader isn't a good person, a few masc terms used but overall gn.

Ao3; Word count: 19.1k (It's a heckin chonker) Big thanks for @rodolfoparras and @princeguri66 for betaing for me, love you guys!

Masterlist; Chapter 2 <-Chapter 3 (You are here) -> Chapter 4

Aisha remembers the day she thought she would die.

As a gift for the 10th birthday her mother had taken her to the market in the big city. It had been chaotic compared to their little village, so many people donkey carts, and mopeds moving around like crazy ants in a freshly exposed nest. Aisha had gotten lost, swept away by the time of movement, and ended up at the entrance of a shady alley where she'd stumbled on an old beggar woman.

Long as she lives she will never forget the sight of the woman. Strip her of flesh and blood and the memory will still be etched into her bones — of ghostly blue lines forming impregnable chains across sunken sunburned skin. Of dirty rags loosely hanging off skeleton thin shoulders. Of blood crusted bandages wrapped tightly around her shaved head to not scare the children running about, the cloth dipping into the eyeless sockets of her skull. Of her asking passerby for alms with the handless stumps of her arms.

The sight alone had frightened Aisha, but then the beggar had turned her head to Aisha as if she could hear the frantic beating of her heart. A sad saccharine croon left the mage woman's chapped lips as she looked right at her. "Hello, fellow daughter of Magnus."

Her mother found her then, pulling Aisha back while shouting at the woman at the top of her lungs. Aisha's mind had been too full of thoughts to notice her mother drop their shopping in favor of scurrying out of the market with Aisha in hand. She had only snapped back to reality when her mother had thrown Aisha into her father’s rusted little car, barely able to sit up straight before they were driving home to their village as fast as the car’s geriatric engine could go.

Aisha had been locked in the room she shared with her sisters, but the door did little to mute the way her parents argued all day long, accusations of infidelity and cursed bloodlines thrown around like bird feed. Most of it flew over her head, but Aisha had understood one thing: Her parents were afraid.

The strange men came to her house just as the sun had set, drawn out by the dying light like coyotes hunting for a stray lamb. The strong stench of rot heralding their arrival made her sputter to hold back the bile burning her throat. She remembers the sparks of yellow and red and blue and all the other stolen colors of the rainbow swirling in their cold eyes.

They chatted while inspecting her like a cow in the market, their language just as rough and hard as their hands. But they lost interest quickly, unable to find what they wanted to see. They turned to throw lecherous looks at her mother and older sisters before her father had stepped between them and her, protecting his daughter now that he knew Aisha wasn't a freak. He'd tensely asked them to leave after paying for their time, standing in the doorway and only going back inside when the strange men were well and truly out of sight.

Her parents let them in without complaint; Her father held her down, his steely gaze watching the men crowd her. Her mother whispered trembling words into her ear to just be a good girl as the men tore her shirt off. Aisha's questions and pleas and panic fell on deaf ears, her mother pressing a worn hand over her mouth to silence her cries as the men inspected her chest and arms. They pinched and pulled on her skin with hands scarred like gnarled tree bark, the roughness of their palms chafing her soft flesh.

Aisha remembers the days she thought she would die.

Waking up each day to wash under her mother's stalwart gaze so she could ensure Magnus hadn't sown seeds into Aisha's body while she slept. Going each week to the village elders to drink the special brew of Morgana's tears, spending agonizing hours curled up and sobbing on the floor with a stabbing pain in her chest, her heart beating like the wings of a snared bird as the poison made its way through her system. She'd lost count how many times her heart would stutter after every bout of joy or childish argument on the rare moments the children of the village would interact with her — any lick of emotion would force her to run home to check the pads of her fingers in fear that this time magic had cracked through her skin.

She had been so happy on her 15th birthday — the danger had passed. She wasn’t a mage. She could finally live a normal life, meet a boy, get married, have a family.

She’s 16 now. All those years of worry and fear feel like childhood bliss.

Aisha knows she will die.

It happened so suddenly; When her friend had jokingly rubbed a feather duster in her face, Aisha would have never expected a stupid sneeze to force liquid frost through her fingers. Pain had raced through her chest at the speed of lightning, an unknown force pulling her arms up, and the next thing she knew she had frozen over her neighbor's entire crop field. Aisha had barely heard her friend scream over the pounding in her ears, her legs moving on their own long before her brain could understand the pain in her hands or what she had done.

Her mind might still have been reeling, but her body understood she needed to run, needed to hide, before the sun fell and the coyotes came for her.

The house she's found to hide in is one of the many corpses the Russians left behind, stripped bare to rotting wood bones and crumbling bricks, moldy wall paper peeling in long thick strips and rickety boards creaking under the slightest pressure. Gravel crunches beneath heavy tires outside the decrepit house and a rumbling engine cuts through the silence. Aisha scrambles up the stairs to the second floor, hiding in a dingy closet with it's walls closing in around her like the sides of a cramped coffin. Termite made holes in the closet door act as peepholes, letting her see into the bedroom and watch the long shadows created by the car's lights stretch across the floor.

She bites her lip as the slightest twitch of her pinky finger makes pain bloom across her entire hand, though she's barely able to move her fingers with how stiff they are. Her tan skin bellow the wrists is corpse pale and cold, blood crusting the creases of her knuckles. The creaking of floorboards has Aisha hastily pressing her ice cold hands against her lips, the taste of her blood — copper and iron with a hint of something sweet like antifreeze — failing to churn her stomach when even the hint of slowly encroaching rot has her heart clogging her throat so not even a whimper can make it past her lips.

She’s sure her lungs stop working when a man crosses the threshold into the room, and immediately she’s hit with such a strong smell of decay, like death had crawled up her nose and died there. Her throat and chest spasm with the need to cough, tears freely running down her cheeks from how much effort it takes to keep quiet, but past her blurry vision she can see the man slowly walk into the room.

He’s tall and gangly like a newborn foal, bulky clothes widening his frame that’s mostly skin and bones, thinning blond hair badly swept over a sizable bald spot. He wouldn’t be so scary if his eyes didn’t glow an unnatural mixture of toxic green and burning red— the sight alone has goosebumps spreading across his skin, followed by a deep seated discomfort as if leeches are crawling inside her bones.

“Come out little girl,” Even his voice feels wrong, like glass ground on sandpaper, but he speaks with so much sweetness it’s disgusting. “We only want to talk to you, don’t worry you’re not in trouble.” She can tell he’s not from Urzikstan by the rough accent that muddles the Arabic words he speaks.

The floorboards creak softly as she shifts. His head swivels to look around the room and the man quickly walks over to the bed, dropping to his knees to look under it. “Fuck!” His facade falls as he snarls when he sees she’s not there, stumbling to his feet like a drunk. “I mean uh- don’t worry I’m not mad kid,” He chuckles lightly, trying to put on an act of a worried Samaritan, though the attempt falls short when his predatory eyes fall on the closet she’s hiding in.

“Hey, did you find her yet?” Another voice rings from the entrance of the room, this one feminine and with a slight drawl to her words as she speaks in english. It makes Aisha jump, though the squeaking boards beneath her go unnoticed when the new voice continues. “Boss is starting to get antsy and if we don’t find her soon he’ll be sticking your ass with the pigs.”

She can’t see well, but she’s certain the man shows a middle finger to the unseen person. “Fuck off,” He spits out the response like it’s a mouthful of poison, “We both know you’re the dead weight.” He says, taking a few steps around the bed, but luckily for Aisha he stops in the middle of the room. Aisha can hear how deeply he breathes in, before something catches in his throat and he coughs. “I can smell the magic, the wench is still in the house.”

“Bullshit.” The woman scoffs, “You say that every hunt and we end up wasting our time.” A moment passes before the unseen woman chuckles and adds. “You couldn’t smell shit if you shoved your head up your ass!”

The man openly seethes, quick and heavy footsteps carrying him right up to the woman and out of Aisha’s field of view. “You take that back you fucking bitch!” The snarl is more animal than man. Aisha can only assume he punches the woman from the way the floorboards groan loudly in the otherwise silent night, shoes scuffing on the floor, grunts and swears filling the air as the noises of fighting steadily recede to another room.

She’s light headed by the time she manages to pull her hands away from her mouth enough to draw in a breath of stale air, her lungs burning from how long she had gone without breathing. Her heart drums loudly in her skull, her ears pricked to listen to the two strangers exchange angry words in a language she doesn't understand, each passing second of the continuing scuffle making confidence slowly form in her mind.

This is her chance!

. . . to do what?

She doubts she could take them on, she's pretty sure she saw a gun hanging off the man's waist, and she definitely knows she won't be able to outrun them. She's stuck. Cornered.

“Whatever, you just fin-” The sound of footsteps once again nearing the room she's in forces her body to act without her input.

Fishhooks tug on her fingers and force them to splay out flat in the air despite the pain. Her mind scrambles to think of something, anything, before unseen hands pull her mouth open. A shaky breath escapes her lungs and before she knows it words are falling from her lips, so smooth and fluent like her mind is reading a script carved into her bones. “Oh harsh creatures of brutal winter, please, I need your help-” Something cold and sharp stabs behind her chest, more of her skin turning pale as magic slowly crawls down her arms.

It hurts —

Spiderweb cracks of broken glass spread across her knuckles and a fat drop of blood rolls down her chin from how tightly she bites her lip. Her blood beads through the cracks in her skin, the dark crimson turned a light pink by the freshly exposed white light that pulses beneath her skin like a living thing.  Aisha sucks in a sharp breath before continuing, “- I beg you, give me a crumb of your power, a ball of silent snow to hide my life-” The more she speaks, the more the white light cracks through her skin until it cracks through the pads of her fingers and escapes as shoddily formed snowflakes.

They dance through the air like drunken fireflies before finding the right position and floating in the air. More of them spawn from each finger with every word spoken, taking their own place in an unknown pattern.

Slowly the overlapping snowflakes take on the shape of a scratchy circle, trembling lines forming a complex web of shapes inside it. The pain grows with it; it turns her fingers pale and numb as if she had stuck her hands in freezing water, the icy bite of frost spreading up her wrists. Her frozen skin cracks from even the slightest tremor in her hands, white speckles dancing in her crimson blood as it leaks down her palms. Each second taken to breathe and bite back a whimper disrupts the fragile collection of snowflakes, causing parts of the circle to break off and drop to the ground in big watery drops.

Her chest feels like it’s tightly packed with soaked wool, a type of pressure building behind her sternum, her shoulders stiff as her body is getting ready for. . . something good—

The closet door swings open with enough force to break it off its hinges. White light of the circle refracts off the gun aimed at her.

Bang!

A bullet tears through the magic circle and shatters it into pieces, all the pressure that had been building in her body rushing through the crumbling remains of the circle right back at her.

She screams and shakes, fat tears freely running down her cheek like the blood flowing from her palms. There’s not a single word in any language able to describe the pain rushing through her veins, the liquid agony infesting every cell — sharp and blunt and deep and gnawing, like her body is trying to eat itself, like she’s infested with maggots; the bullet that tears through her side feels like a soft mercy.

“Fucking moron!” She barely hears the woman snarl over the rush of blood in her ears. The gun aimed at her is roughly pushed down. “Are you trying to get the boss to take our heads?” The stench of rot only worsens it, disorientating her further and she’s barely able to make her fingers twitch. She’s got no defense from the rough hand that roughly grabs her by the hair and pulls her out of the closet.

“I’d rather not die from a first time mage!” The man yells, grabbing her by the shoulder. Aisha’s legs can’t support her weight no matter how much she tries, but the man is far stronger than she had expected and has no problem holding her up. Her lungs manage a pained sound before her arms are grabbed and painfully wrenched behind her back, handcuffs softly clicking as they’re tightened until the steel digs into her aching wrists.

“Oh so when I’m the one on the end of the damn spells it’s fine then?” The woman’s anger shows in the way her cracked nails dig into Aisha’s scalp and pull her head back like she's trying to take it off entirely. Aisha struggles to breathe, gasping and wriggling to the best of her ability but it’s useless and a second later a thick metal collar is tightened around her neck, rusted needles on the inside of it pricking her skin enough to draw blood.

It burns. The collar rapidly heats up like she's got a string of hot coals around her neck, the heat traveling down her skin to grip her heart in a vice. The collar is so tight she can’t even gasp, fresh adrenaline pouring through her veins as she tries to scramble out of the handcuffs, tries to shake out of their hold, tries to just get away. . . but she’s about as strong as a kitten.

“You’re expendable. The girl could make a better spell than you.” The man holding her shoulder laughs and pulls her away as soon as the woman lets go of her hair, all too happy to drag her like a sack of potatoes behind him. Each step down the stairs has the base of her spine awkwardly hitting the step, accosting her frazzled brain with even more pain.

“We got the girl, boss!” The man says triumphantly, pulling her up so she’s facing another man. Even with the tears blurring her vision, Aisha can tell the ‘boss’ isn’t from Urzikstan; He’s a pudgy little man with a wide flat nose and other features that don’t quite fit his face, but his eyes — they glow the same rainbow hue as the other two, with the same malice.

“Finally.” The boss huffs, not wasting a single second and pulling a knife from his pocket. A rough hand holds Aisha’s head so she can’t squirm away from the knife as it cuts across her cheek. Just that small cut feels like a gaping wound and a small whimper falls from her lips as the boss pulls the knife back, specks of white floating in the dark blood coating the metal. A black tongue slips from his lips to lick up the bloodied edge, the sight making her stomach curl with disgust.

Another hand grabs her cheek, cracked fingers like claws digging into the cut until blood flows over the man's fingers. The man holding her pulls his bloodied fingers into his mouth, humming. A second passes before he curses and spits at his feet. “There’s barely anything there,” He says, the hold he has on her tightening. “Barely worth the bullet.”

“Oh, that won’t be a problem.” The boss waves him off, sharp rainbow eyes looking her up and down. “Couple of grams from ol’ daddy Magnus and we’ll have ourselves a proper sow.” He reaches out to pat the top of her head, condescending — like she's just a dumb animal. “Alright, put it in the truck.” The boss orders and the man holding her complies, starting to drag her to the truck parked in front of the house.

Somehow, behind the the loud beating of her heart, she hears rumbling. Somehow, though her mind is like tangled yarn and she can barely grasp a thought, she feels something — an emotion that doesn't belong to her: Anger

Violent anger. Burning hot in the cold night, so all consuming it leaves the world around her trembling.

"Hold on-" The boss says suddenly, quickly raising his head to sniff the air. "Do you smell that?"

Tires screech against the rocky road, orange flames sparking from thin air as a motorcycle appears out of nowhere. Aisha only manages to get a glimpse of glowing orange eyes before she's blinded by bright light. She closes her eyes, heat washing over her body before she hears the head of the man holding her explode.

Shards of bone and brain matter rain down on her, sticking to her dark curly hair. The body stands for a second, unaware it no longer has a head as the charred stump of the neck steams. The body falls to the ground and takes Aisha with it, falling on top of her.

The elbow digs into her bleeding side, her eyes flying open as she struggles to get out from under the man, managing to push him off. Her gaze flies to the steaming charred stump where the head used to be. Panic rising she breathes in and oh god the smell — it’s an automatic response; Her stomach convulses and she pukes, bile burning her throat, retching and crying as the scent of her bile only makes it worse.

She feels heat rush over her and she doesn’t need to see to know your magic makes the other man and woman’s heads pop like grapes. Their bodies drop to the ground somewhere behind her, but what makes adrenaline rush through her is the soft sound of the motorcycle stand clicking against the ground.

Her head flies up to look, heart beating like a bird in the cage of her ribs; Dirt crunches beneath your boots but to her it sounds like breaking bones, steam rises off your body, the bright glow of your arms and the intense glare of your eyes behind the tinted lenses of your mask. . . it all gives the image of a demon — of something she needs to flee from.

If the people had been coyotes, then this person— no. . . the thing that had found her was a starved lion.

She tries to scramble back but it's useless when the smallest twitch of a muscle has her whimpering, blistering cold gnawing on every inch of her nerves.

You reach her in seconds, leaning down to grab her by the front of her clothes to pick her up like she weighs nothing. Your scent floods her nose, rot and just a small hint of sweetness, like honey poured on the floors of a burning charnel house. She tries to kick you but can barely move her toes, her legs just swaying uselessly beneath her. Your fingers, warm but not burning hot, hook under the steel wrapped around her neck.

Your jaw tenses, trying to remember how to speak. "Hold still." You order.

Your voice is soft. Not the velvet softness of her mothers', more akin to the smoothness of a tar pit right before it pulls a hapless creature into its inky depths. But you don't hurt her.

Metal screeches as the rusted steel bends like clay under your fingers. It only takes a few seconds before the collar clatters to the ground. The sudden release of pressure has Aisha gasping for breath so quickly she starts coughing and almost pukes but luckily her stomach is empty.

She doesn't feel you free her hands, the world spinning a thousand miles a minute before her eyes. She's forced to close her eyes shut in an attempt to fight back the nausea, rainbow spots crackling in the darkness of her vision.

Casually stepping over the corpse of the Devourer you sit her down on the hood of the truck, keeping a hand on her shoulder to make sure she doesn't fall face first to the ground. She shivers under your touch, trembling hands slowly raising to grip your wrist. You don't need magical sight to know an aborted spell is ravaging her insides; her fingertips turning black in front of your eyes and the specks of white dancing in her pupil is enough.

Judging by the way you can barely pick up the scent of mage standard rot on her, you can only assume she's a late bloomer. With a small huff you place your other hand on the middle of her chest, casting a simple circle at your palm.

Aisha gasps, fingers scrambling to try and pull your hand off, too numb with cold to register how the cooling lava making up your skin warms up. But it's like trying to move a mountain. You don't budge an inch. She can feel something inside her move, burning frost shepherded by blistering heat slinking down her fingers back into her heart, increasing speed with every inch it travels. She barely notices the aching in her side subsiding, or the sensation returning to her fingers.

You let go of the girl when you’re satisfied she won’t die from either blood loss or mana shock, leaving her to sit on the hood of the car as she looks dumbly at you.

The bullet loudly clatters on the steel hood. She turns her head and her eyes nearly pop out of her skull at the sight of her blood literally bleaching out of her clothes like it's being drawn back into her body. Letting go of your wrist she lifts her shirt, and there's not even a mark on her tan skin.

She’s no threat to you.

No sooner that you take a step away from her does Beelzebub's cold presence rush out of your heart with enough force to make you stumble back. People say it’s madness for a spell, a tool, to have personality. But the way black candlelight flames spark at your fingers and immediately rush out like a swarm of locusts to devour the three bodies is. . . it's angry. Vengeful As it should be. You can't fool yourself into thinking the way Beelzebub's magical fires eat away the Devourers hands before spreading over the rest of the body, crackling and buzzing like thousands of flies as they devour skin, then muscle, then bone until not even dust remains, is anything but vindictive.

Like erasing mistakes, it brings you a sense of satisfaction.

Your fingers twitch but you stop yourself from reaching up to trace the faint blue magic gluing your throat together. Instead, you focus on converting the mangled chunks of mana Beelzebub deposits in your chest into something you can use. Devours are a pain in the ass, so much different mana all twisted and held together with gum and staples, all of it now bashing against your ribs like wailing ghosts. With a huff you focus, the rock chunks on your arms getting wider and bigger as you store the stolen mana for later use, steam lazily rolling off your shoulders.

Aisha watches you, eyes wide, but. . . not scared. She doesn’t notice when she opens her mouth, her voice far too loud in the silent night. “Are you a jinn?” She asks, and cringes at her words. Of all the things she could have said, she chose that?

You don't know how you manage to open your mouth enough to answer. “No.” Beelzebub, satisfied as a hog in shit, burns on the ground for a few seconds in the shape of the bodies before seeping back into the earth, settling back to slumber in your heart.

You roll your shoulders. The slight bite of pain and the spasm of your muscles reminds you of the glass sticking out of your back. A grunt forces past your lips, more from annoyance than actual pain. A simple thought is enough to activate the magic you had cast on yourself, vestigial sparks flickering across your shoulders and boring a hole into your jacket. The edges glow brightly before they birth flames that eat away the bulletproof vest and the rest of your clothing until a sizable chunk of your back is exposed.

Aisha catches the edge of a small circle scribed atop your spine in the middle of your back, but her eyes are soon drawn to the mess of glass shards sticking out of your skin. There’s not a speck of blood in sight, but somehow that makes the sight more disturbing. Her gasp falls deaf on your ears, your mind more focused in trying to remove them.

Forcing your opposite hand to cool down enough so the heat doesn’t shatter the glass, you reach back as far as you can, trying to feel as best you can with your numb fingers. But your hands are stiff and unfeeling, making you fumble about like a bull in a china shop as you try to get one shard and miss. The only time you manage to grasp the sharp edge, you break it when you attempt to pull it out. A curse slips past your lips and you crush the broken piece between your fingers.

Aisha doesn’t know what possesses her, nothing good probably, but she speaks up. “Can I-” Your head turns to her so fast she startles, mouth snapping shut with an audible clack of her teeth. She can only stare at those burning eyes for a second before her animal brain forces her to look away, focusing on the gas mask portion of your mask because looking at your eyes feels wrong. But she powers through it, forcing herself to speak. “Can I help you?”

That was not what you expected.

“No.” You say, your head swiveling to glance at the road and then back up to the sky, a pulse of formless magic slipping past your fingers on instinct to ensure you’re covering all your bases as far as relative safety goes. You don’t see nor sense any form of life besides the girl, nor any mage magic save for the tracker in your pocket.

You hate to admit it, but the wraith was good. And so was the mage that made the tracker, it took you a good while until you had sensed the small piece of enchanted rock hidden in your pocket. You’re still unsure what you want to do with it, maybe you could somehow game the situation or send the monsters after you on a wild goose chase, so for now you’ve only isolated it with your magic instead of destroying it.

Aisha persists. “Please,” She grits her teeth, resisting the urge to shrink back when your eyes once again settle on her. “I- you helped me, I don’t want to hold debts.” There is a kind of determination in her eyes you know too well, the same kind Frosty had right before you and him—

If anyone asks or puts a gun to your head, you will blame this moment on many things — the fatigue, the side effects of using too much magic, the spiraling descent into lichdom, finally losing what dredges of sense you have in your no good skull;  “Fine.”

You take careful steps towards her until your knees press against the bumper before turning your back to her, forcing her to spread her legs to accompany your body. You keep your body turned in a way that still keeps her in your periphery. Not that it matters. Even if she had a knife hidden on her person nothing short of 30/06 ammo could leave any damage you couldn’t immediately heal off.

Aisha hates the part of her that regrets her decision now that she's presented with the large array of glass sticking out of your skin. She reaches out like she would try to pet a wild dog, cold fingers gripping the sides of one piece, bracing her other hand on your back. She tries to wiggle it out, and though you keep yourself from hissing, your muscles still spasm around the sharp glass. “Sorry, sorry-”

“You’re fine rookie,” You grunt automatically. “Just yank it out.”

She sucks in a sharp breath and prepares herself like she’s the one with half a ton of glass using her as a pin cushion. But she does as you say before she can shy away from it. The glass slides out easily enough, glowing orange blood staining it. Her eyes go wide when the blood suddenly drips off the shard in one continuous stream until she’s holding a perfectly clean piece of glass. The blood lands on your back and slithers up your skin into the wound, repairing muscle and flesh until there’s not even a mark to indicate where the glass had pierced your skin.

“Are you like me?” She asks tentatively, mentally hitting herself for such a stupid question; of course you’re a mage, what is she even thinking? Hoping to escape the embarrassment she pulls another shard out of your back.

“You and I are mages.” You say simply, occasionally glancing to the road and sky before turning your attention back on the girl. It feels… strange. You don't remember the last time you've spoken with someone who didn't want anything from you. Someone who didn't want to use you. Kill you.

“Ye- yeah, I figured.” Aisha bites her lip, squinting her eyes. “Why… why did you save me?” She finally asks the question that had been plaguing her.

“I just did.” You shrug your shoulder, a small breath slipping past your clenched teeth as the motion makes the glass dig deeper into your shoulder.

Aisha’s shoulders fall, a frown tugging on her lips. She doesn’t know what she had expected. “Thank you.”

Her words make your head turn to look at her fully, “Why?”

“Why not?” Another chunk of glass falls to the ground, “You saved me from. . . them. You killed to save me.” She says, nodding her head at the three body shaped scorch marks on the ground. She doesn’t know why talking about the death of them suddenly feels so. . . normal, like she’s walking through a dream and none of this is real. More like a nightmare.

“Killing bad men doesn't make me a good one.” You grunt, choosing not to voice how your motives for killing them had been far more selfish than she could imagine. Vengeance and anger are poor motives, but motives nonetheless.

Aisha clicks her tongue and scowls. “And saving me would make you bad? One good deed has to amount for something, right?”

A pregnant pause rings through the silent night.

“You are strange.” Is the only thing your mind can turn into words.

“So are you!” She shoots back quickly, lowering her head when her words register in her brain. Chewing on her bottom lip she pulls out the last glass shard from your skin, letting it fall from her fingers where it joins the small pile on the ground. She awkwardly pats your shoulder. “Who were they?” She finds her voice again.

“Devourers.” You fail to hide the hate in your tone. Stepping away from her you activate the spell you’ve cast on yourself. The magic burning at the edges of the hole in your clothing flares up, fire washing over your naked skin to reconstruct the fabric you had destroyed. “Humans who want magic, and will bleed you dry to get it.” The jacket feels bigger on you than it should, you don’t even doubt that you’ve lost a few pounds just in the past few hours as you’re forced to tighten your belt to keep your pants from sagging. "Kill them if you can, avoid them if you can't."

“Why did they want me?” Aisha asks, bracing herself on the car’s hood and slowly sliding down until her feet touch the ground. She feels lightheaded and sways on her feet, gripping the hood to keep upright. You glance at her but she just shakes her head — you two are even now, she hopes, she doesn’t want to have to ask for help for something as simple as standing.

“You’re a mage, they want magic.” You shrug, fixing the cuffs on your jacket so not an inch of your mage marked skin shows. “They want your blood, by drinking it they can use what they lack.”

Unwanted thoughts laugh at the back of your mind. Phantom pain blooms across your throat as you swallow, your lungs stuttering to draw breath. Memories you'd rather not revisit nibble at the back of your mind, just begging to gain your attention. Your hand reaches out to hold the tags—

Nothing.

You come up empty.

Your heart finally stops.

You hold your fist against your chest for a few seconds, the need to break something, even your own sternum, crooning soft melodies in your ears. Finally your fingers slowly uncurl so your palm rests flat over your heart. Your body is warm, but a blizzard rages inside your ribcage. You lost them, again. . . and you don’t feel fury, or sadness, or any other way. You don’t feel shit.

A low pathetic sound escapes you. Titanium wires stitch your jaw closed, pulled so taut you'd chip a tooth without your magic. For a split second you think of dispelling the magic around the tracker and letting them come to you. . . but you don’t; at least Taurus’s training remains effective. You’re sure your brain will let you feel anger as soon as you’ll be in a position to survive the consequences of anger birthed stupidity.

Aisha leans to her side just enough to see your front, confusion written on her face as to why you had suddenly gone quiet. Though your eyes still burn with an inferno, they feel empty to her. She remembers her father’s eyes had been the same when he had returned from fighting. “Did you lose someone?” She asks, voice soft.

“Yes.” You grunt, and fuck, it feels insulting to them how lost you sound. You’re one of the best mages on the planet for fuck’s sake, you’re not supposed to feel this way. “Lost a lot of people.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be.” You finally pry your hand off your chest, both hands now hanging by your sides, fingers curled into fists. “You had nothing to do with it.” You wish you could say the same to yourself.

You shake your head; feelings can come after the job is done. You know the general lay of the land enough to know there is a small city not far from where you are, one that isn’t too harsh on mages. It would take her a couple of hours on foot to reach, but it’s better than nothing. You tell as such, starting to walk towards your motorcycle. “Get to the city, don’t linger around here.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Aisha follows after you, struggling to keep up. “What am I supposed to do when I get there?” Her mind swirls with all sorts of questions, where will she go? What of her parents? What if—

“Do what you want.” You shrug and get on the motorcycle, the engine roaring to life. “Join the military or the circus or whatever else, just don’t stay here.” And with that you drive off.

. . .

"Well, would you look at that." A man sighs as he pulls the binoculars down to rest in his lap, a deep frown on his face. It only lasts for a scant few seconds before he smirks, crows feet forming around his eyes. "Our firebug's manners haven't changed one bit." The man chuckles and turns his head to regard his companion, eyes glowing the color of crystal clear quartz.

"Oh, I wonder who taught him that." The woman sitting next to him snarks, the blue chains marring her arms disappearing like a mirage when she dispels the illusion spell. The human skin melts away to coarse sand and weathered whalebone, red bone eating worms squirming and boring holes into the whalebone, small anglerfish lures softly waving through the air as if she's deep beneath the sea.

The man purses his lip, "I've no idea what you're talking about."

"I'm sure, mister 'I dropped a mountain on an oil rig with my second in command still in it'." Water flows between the seams of whalebone, extending past the stumps of her wrists to form hands of seafoam and salt.

She uses her newly remade hands to tug on the man’s ear like he’s a disobedient child.

The man scoffs and bats her hand away. "Hey now, you did say you wanted to go diving." He shrugs, "Oh, and looks like I won our bet." He smirks, catching the golden coin the woman throws him. Charles's face smiles on one side of it, but the man pays it no mind and puts the coin in his pocket; they’re both far too old to care about money and the dead kings on them.

“Yes, but not like that!” She snaps, not even the bandages around her head able to hide the glare she throws at him. But instead of following up on her anger she sighs and looks down at her hands. Glowing blue plankton swim in the crystal clear waters, but it feels like yesterday her hands were dyed a burning orange.

She hates what they had to do. What they continue to do. “Ifrit is still too reckless. Your plan failed.”

“No it didn’t.” He shoots back. “We just overestimated the kid again. It wouldn’t have been a problem if you hadn’t coddled them all so much.”

The man fully expects the slap on the shoulder he receives, cool water splashing on his greying blond hair. He doesn’t comment on it, simply runs his hand over the patch of wet hair. Small green shrubs bloom on the cracked earth texture of his palm, moss crawling up the crystalline outcrops along his elbow bone, little flowers sprouting in his hair and beard.

They sit in silence for a moment before the woman sighs and hangs her head. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for.” Lifting her head she angles it to look at the man. “I just… I wish we didn’t have to do this.” She confesses. “It breaks my heart to see Ifrit so lost.” As much as her still heart can be broken.

“I know, I know.” He reaches out to gently take her hands into his. Though she can’t see his face, even her magic can only go so far, she knows he’s sporting a gentle smile. “Ifrit will be fine. He has no choice.”

Two jet planes fly overhead, engines screaming, blind to their existence as they rush after their prodigal soldier like bats out of hell.

The woman grimaces, water easily sliding past his fingers as she pulls her hands away. “I know,” She tilts her head towards the abandoned house, and the girl slowly walking away from it. “I suppose I’ll find something to occupy myself with.” The woman gets up, glancing at the man once again. “I hope you know what you’re doing Taurus.”

"I always do Sierra."

. . .

The atmosphere is so thick a vampire could bite into it. They all know first hand how missions can go wrong in a moment’s notice, but none of them had expected it to go this pear shaped; some of the mages they had been given are dead, the rest are all in some kind of coma, and it’s a miracle that Captain Roberts had survived long enough to get medical evac with how burned up she was. Gaz had almost lost his lunch when he’d gone to pick up the mage captain and her arm had fallen off in brittle pieces of blackened bone, fabric and skin melted together all over her torso.

"Are you boys alive?" Is the first question out of Laswell's lips when the contact her. The shoddy connection makes her face grainy and pixelated, but her voice is clear enough, tinged with exhaustion and the light of the screen darkens the bags under her eyes.

“Yeah,” Kyle says, “Besides nearly getting turned into KFC we’re fine.” He moves his wings for emphasis, holding back a grimace at how the residual soot and ash irritates the soft skin beneath his feathers. He’ll be lucky if it’ll wash out after a week, though the grime is only secondary to the stench of death and heat clinging to him.

Soap grunts, not bothering or simply forgetting to pull the frozen piece of rubber from his mouth before speaking. “O-cgh ohnlhy ah fheph burhnrs.” Spit leaks down his swollen lip as he gurgles. It hadn't been noticeable at first, but when the adrenaline wore off the pain in his gums hit him like a truck. The medic had given him the rubber to soothe the burns all over his mouth, and he would have been pissed about how much it looked like a doggy chew toy if the relief it brought wasn’t worth it. Doesn’t mean he’s any less agitated about looking like a teething puppy.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” Kyle chides, singed wingtips flicking against the back of Soap’s skull.

Johnny pulls the rubber out of his mouth enough to growl back and simultaneously tries to swallow the saliva. He chokes, hitting his chest a few times and coughing, “Yae try ta talk with a burned mouth! Feel like ah’ve been gargling devil pish.”

“Boys.” Price snaps, voice as cold and hard as his reptilian eyes. “Enough.” There’s a hardness in his gaze neither men have seen in a while or even think of challenging. It’s easy to see that something is bothering the dragon, even if he doesn’t say it, and whatever it is, it’s got Price angry.

Not the usual ‘shouting and arguing’ angry Price gets when he’s given dog shit orders, no. This is the cold and silent anger that precedes the destruction of cities.

Soap looks away, biting down on the frozen rubber. Gaz mumbles an apology.

“John,” Kate begins, sensing the storm in his head. “What did you find out?”

“Ifrit knows Ruin magic.” Price says, bits of steam rising from the corners of his lips as his anger shows. He had gone centuries believing that despicable magic had finally died out and rotted away like every mage that used it. He was wrong. Very wrong.

“Shit.” Laswell rubs the bridge of her nose, “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Price’s wing flares out a bit, tail flicking side to side in a subconscious show of agitation. “I felt it.”

“Anyone care to share with the class.” Simon asks, arms crossed over his chest and claws digging into his biceps. The light pricks of pain keep him grounded enough to ensure his arms don’t turn into puffs of dark smoke; he’s had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach ever since the fight, something about you — how you moved, how confidently you used magic — he hadn’t seen it in a while.

And it didn’t bode well. It was better when a mage was scared of their own shadow and put on a cheap mask of confidence. But with you? There wasn’t even a single second of hesitation in anything you did.

Price looks at him, then at the two sergeants, finally looking at Laswell as the two exchange nods. “It’s nothing good.” A sigh leaves him. “Ruin magic is old and dangerous,” Price starts, eyes hard like stone. “The last time it was used a plague swept across Europe.”

“What?” Kyle’s eyebrows furrow. “Do you seriously mean the black death was caused by magic?”

"Yes," Kate says, "But we can have a history lesson later. Ifrit knowing ruin magic changes things, they're now our top priority."

"Ah dhogh geh-" Soap remembers they can't understand him and pulls the rubber out of his mouth. "Ah don't get it, what's so special about ruin magic? Ain't all that magical shite the same?"

"No." Price grunts, "A ruin mage needs the body of another person to learn a spell. They see anything or anyone living as chunks of meat to be used in their spells." His eyes darken, claws digging into his palms.

He shakes his head. “Did you manage to get any information about Ifrit from the tags?” Price asks. He had sent photo copies of each dog tag to Laswell as soon as Johnny had given them to him.

Soap pulls the rubber from his mouth, swallowing the excess spit before reaching out to grab the tags laying on the table. He doesn’t know why, but something about holding them feels sacrilegious to him; like he’s holding the pelt of another werewolf instead of pieces of metal.

“No, Ifrit’s tags aren’t ones made by the military.” Laswell says, and that piques Kyle's interest. He leans over to look at the tags as Johnny inspects them. The metal chain hangs loosely off his fingers, weighed down by more than a dozen tags dangling from it. They vary in damage, some are bent, some have black heat marks on them in the shape of fingertips, and some are so blackened he needs to use his fingers to feel the text. Silicon silencers prevent the tags from making noise when he lays them down in a pile on his palm, a couple of them spilling over to hang at the sides of his hand. The first thing he notices is the stench, nothing specific like the smell mages have, but it’s not pleasant either.

Soap takes a random tag and reads off the fine text —

‘JACHAL

VENENUM, ACIDUM, L9

MAJOR

O NEG

JEWISH’

“Yer telling me.” Soap huffs, taking out his own tags from beneath his shirt to compare the two, just to make sure he’s not insane and the tags don’t make sense.

“What kind of shite even is this?” Johnny’s tags sport his full government name and security name without mentioning his rank. The tags he has in his hand look more like the ones civies would get personalized than anything else. He grimaces and hands the tags over to Gaz, “Are they even real?” He asks.

“Why would someone just carry around a bunch of fake tags?” Gaz asks, inspecting them as well.

“Could be part of a wannabe militia. Wouldn’t be the first time some punks with guns tried to play army.” Ghost shrugs. “Could also be to throw us off.” Ghost suggests, tilting his head enough to see Kyle appraise the small hunks of metal. “Or it’s all for shits n’ giggles.”

Kyle’s sharp eyes spot the tag he had been looking for; the tag is the only one without a silencer, the metal caked in soot and ash that the letters are hard to see and Kyle needs to trace the metal with the pad of his thumb to understand what they say:

‘IFRIT

IGNIS, CINIS, RUINA L10

CAPTAIN–

“Whoa,” Gaz’s eyebrows raise. “Ifrit’s a bloody captain.”

“What’s someone like that doing as a terrorist’s dog?” Soap asks.

“Ifrit’s motives remain unclear, but I did find something.” Kate shuffles some papers off screen, pulling up two thin looking file folders. “Two of the tags you sent me have actual people on them.” She says, taking a paper from each folder. Even through the camera they can see how the once crisp white paper has been yellowed with age. “Lance Corporals Hutch and Lambert, both presumed KIA nearly 11 years ago along with their entire squad. Apparently they were led by Corporal Yerrow to conduct a reconnaissance mission in Iraq to investigate a human smuggling ring, but a shoot-out caused a forest fire and no bodies were ever recovered.”

Johnny sniffs the air, crossing his arms over his chest, tail tip slowly wagging. “Anyone smell bull shite?”

“You’re not the only one.” Kate turns the files so the text side is aimed at the camera. More than half of the documents are redacted to the point it looks like a rorschach test. “I haven’t been able to access the original files, if they even exist, but the agent that oversaw the mission was a predecessor of mine, I’ll see if I can get in contact with him. ” It wouldn’t be the first time the CIA covered something up, but what could have happened back then that even Kate couldn’t get to the files?

“Great, what other shite can we pile on our plates?” Soap growls, ears twitching.

“Don’t jinx it.” Kyle says, gently setting the tags on the table. 

“There’s another thing.” Kate adds, putting the files away.

“Nice going puppy.” Ghost grunts, ignoring the look Soap gives him.

“Whatever it is, it’ll need to wait.” Price says, speaking up finally. “Ifrit’s a ruin mage. We need to put it down before it melts half the country to slag.”

“That’s the problem.” Kate’s voice makes Price’s eyes sharpen, slitted pupils turning into thin black lines. “We’ve managed to identify the gas used in the terror attack. It was Sarin gas, remnants of Barkov. The same ones Makarov stole.”

“Told you they’re a damn magnet fer wankers.” Soap mutters under his breath. Price's eyes shift to him, giving him a hard look and making it very clear it’s not the time for his comments. Soap’s ears twitch and his tail curls around his leg.

“How did Al-Qatala get their hands on the gas? There’s no way Makarov would just hand over his toys.” Ghost asks.

“We don’t know yet. And we might not ever know if you don’t hurry.” Kate stresses. “The top brass figured out Khaled’s location, they think Ifrit’s going after Khaled so they’re sending troops to take them both out in one place as we speak.”

Price catches on quickly. “Kate, you’re not telling me we need Ifrit alive?” Price stresses, body stiff.

“I’m not,” Kate rebuts, just as tense. “This is an order.” Price flashes his teeth at her, but finally looks away, black smog escaping past the corner of his lips.

“If you can’t get to Khaled, Ifrit will be our only chance to get Makarov.” She ads.

“So go capture the human bomb without dying.” Gaz summarizes, claw tips nervously scratching at the fresh pin feathers growing from his forearms. “Sounds easy.”

“Walk in tae park.” Johnny snarks.

"Only the parks on fire." Ghost adds, tone dry as old bone.

Price stays still and silent for a few moments. Thunder rumbles in his chest and his tail tip lashes against the floor as indications of his anger. His claws scrape against his palms with the need to tear into the festered flesh of the ruin mage, to rip out the heart and destroy it so he can make sure that blasted magic is gone for good.

But he relents, only so he can have unrestrained access to you once they get the information they need. “Pack up. On the double.” Price growls. “We’ve got a mage to hunt.”

. . .

Why did you do it?

It had been a split second decision to divert course when you'd sensed the Devourers, and even then, the mana they gave you through Beelzebub was miniscule compared to what you were used to handling. Hell, you probably wasted more mana using the temporary invisibility spell to get close to the Devourers than what you made from them.

With Khaled's betrayal and an unknown military likely after your head, ignoring the Devourers would have been the smart move. Your ‘heroic’ act won’t earn you any brownie points with whatever made the mistake of putting you on the planet — that’s for fucking sure.

But. . . she reminded you of, well, you. The you violent flames had cremated when they first sparked across your fingers. The you you’d left behind when you took your friend’s hand and ran as fast as your legs could carry. The you you’d been forced to stuff beneath the floorboards and ignore as you lied to the recruiter. The you you sometimes wish you hadn’t forsaken for the sake of survival.

. . . eh, what does it matter? Frosty’s as dead as the rest of them and no amount of grief and tears (assuming you could even force yourself to weep) will bring him back. Maybe it’s a good thing you never found his tags, the universe’s way of keeping him from suffering the humiliation you’ve inflicted on the others.

The engine roars beneath you like a caged beast, each little rock and hole in the uneven terrain causing the motorcycle to buck, the back of the seat knocking up into your tailbone. It’s a necessary evil, driving far away from the main road with the lights off helps you evade detection slightly better, and you’ll take anything you can get. Your commander’s words are etched into your bones: “Only let your enemies know you’re coming when your knife is hilt deep in their throat.”.

The sizzle in your bones and little deep pinpricks of pain in your lower back are barely noticeable with how numb you feel. Both in body and in what’s left of your humanity. You’ve gotten good at that — turning off your emotions and doing what needs to be done; you’re sure if you got shot dead that your body would finish the mission before it figured out there was a bullet in your skull.

Sometimes you even wonder what a witch would see if she ever tried to scry into your heart. Would it still be the hellish landscape Taurus showed you all those years ago? Or would it be like Pompei? Or some other landscape of impeccably preserved tragedy?

Your fingers twitch around the handlebars in an attempt to stop yourself from reaching out for something that’s not there anymore. Some vestigial and selfish part of you whimpers and yearns for the brief respite the tags brought. Their absence feels more suffocating than all the times you’ve been hanged; more painful than when your throat had been used as an artistic butcher’s canvas.

Your magical senses pick up the life signs long before your enhanced ears hear the screech of jet engines. You nearly snap your neck with how quickly you look up, able to catch two jet planes flying overhead by the glow of their engines, trying to track both of their flight paths.

You tighten the grip on the handlebars and increase the speed. You don’t stop to see if they saw you, you know they did from the way the planes twirl in the air. . . and from the way they shoot rockets at you.

Letting go of one handle you let mana rush to your fingers, cinders burning away your sleeve and glove. Just as the rockets get close enough for you to hear their screeching you swing your arm up, a burning arch of flames following after your palm. The motion is enough to tell your brain what you want, a thick screen of roaring flames spreading out from the arc in front of you.

The missiles hit the wall of flames instead of you. You swear you nearly go deaf from the loud explosion the missiles make when they connect with your defense magic, everything around you shaking from the sudden force but the spell holds, not even a scratch in sight. The resulting smoke flares around the sides in a suffocating cloud, the thick wall of fire obscuring your vision and forcing you to blindly swerve side to side.

Your magic may protect you, but it can’t stop the rocket from hitting the ground right in front of the wheel. The whistle and screech of the missile is the only warning you get before the ground beneath you explodes and sends you flying. You hit the ground and roll, jagged rocks slamming into your bones, scraps of metal pelting your back. Magic washes over you to heal the bones you break.

It leaves you feeling every bit of pain when the motorcycle falls on top of you, pushing the breath out of your lungs. The sudden force has your jaw slamming onto the ground, your tongue caught between your teeth. Blood floods your mouth. It tastes like battery acid and burns your throat on its way down to your stomach, but it forces adrenaline to rush through your system and let you push the motorcycle off you.

Your spine cracks multiple times in the short seconds it takes for your magic to fix the bones, giving you back the sensation in your limbs so you can roll to your side and avoid another missile. You summon a few smaller flame shields to protect your head and vitals from the blast, but not from the sharp rocks that hit your back like grenade pieces.

Your vision swimming and ears ringing you scramble to your knees. You’re given no choice but to use your own blood. Even with the distraction of another missile hitting your shield, it’s easy for you to focus your mana. It flows from your heart to your fingers but you don’t let it escape like it wants. Forcing it to pool in your palms until the heat burns away your remaining glove and turns the stone of your hands into lava.

It only takes a few seconds for fat drops of brightly melted rock to drip onto the ground, and only then can you feel your blood, both the one in your veins and the rivulets of bright orange freely flowing down your back. Burning hot and brimming with so much mana it’s no problem for you to take hold of the blood you've bled. Bright crimson crawls across your back to draw a magic circle from memory alone.

Quickly hunching your back generates enough force to make your blood bust through your vessels, two arcs of blood tearing through skin and muscle like a knife. The bright glow of your blood lights up the dark, stray droplets hovering in the air like oil in water as more of it flows from your body and branches out until it resembles skeletonized wings. Fire sparks at your skin and follows the blood, forcing it to crystallize in place as ash takes up the space between the bones and cascades down in long shrouds. Obsidian sharp crystal blood digs into your skin with every little move of your new wings as they twitch erratically. Lighting races up your spine, your mind forced to create new nerves and deal with sensations it wasn’t designed for.

You summon a circle beneath your feet, ash bursting up to send you high into the air in a long continuous column like it’s the tower of Babel just as another missile hits the place you had been moments ago. The spark from the rocket ignites the ash, giving you an extra few feet in the air before you start to fall.

The leftover smoke swallows you whole, gravity forcibly tipping you back until you’re falling head first. The wind screeches in your ears and the grounds gets closer and closer with every second, the grim reaper laughing over your shoulder; you remember yelling and screaming, even passing out, many times during this type of training. Now, you are calm.

Your mind finally creates the right nerves to move your limbs. Your wings spread out with the same violence they burst out of your back, sharply pulling on your chest muscles as they swing out and down. The flap of your wings breaks off a bit of the ash covering your crystallized blood, flames burning at the tips of your wings making the ash erupt in an explosion and creating enough force for you to soar high into the air.

Flying is hard regardless of how often you’ve done this, your back muscles cramping as you struggle to use your new wings. Not that it actually is flying in the same sense the harpies or other winged creatures would call it. More like gliding with extra steps. Either way, it serves its purpose in making you airborne and mobile.

You shoot high up into the sky like a bullet, trails of ash following after you and wrapping around you like a shroud. The quick movement of your wings and sharp turns let you avoid a set of missiles shot at you, but even at your fastest speed you’ve got no chance of hitting the quick jets flying around you like flies. So instead you use simple spells and hope your aim hasn’t gotten rusty. The muscles in your core and arms tense, a circle forming flush with your palms. Mana rushes to your arms and you use the brief stability in the air between the flaps of your wings to set off your spell.

A solid beam of concentrated flame shoots out, thin as a pencil but it tears through the clouds and metal plane like butter. You manage to cleave off a wing, the wound left behind in the metal glows brightly, before a simple thought activates the latent magic and the entire jet explodes a second later.

Rockets and bullets fly at your back like plague carrying insects, only to be burned away by your magic. Your neck hurts from how sharply you jerk your head to look behind you, mana flowing to your eyes to enhance your sight until the jet is clearly visible. At least you have comfort in the fact your hand eye coordination is still as sharp as ever, another beam of fire cleaving the jet in two.

And just like that, you’re alone in the sky.

You don’t realize how rapidly your heart is beating until you take a moment to breathe, wings spreading out to let you glide through the sky. You reach into your pocket to pull out the tracker, a small piece of rich green rock. Your magic swirls across the surface of it, cinders worming through the stone; You don’t know how they found you when your magic is still active on the tracker, there are no ‘happy accidents’ in your line of work.

Gritting your teeth you dispel your magic around the tracker and toss it as far as you can in the opposite direction, wings pressing closer to your body to increase the speed of your glide.

With your motorcycle more than likely fucked, you have no choice but to rely on your bloodmade wings longer than you’d like. Using the mana you’d stuck on Khaled as a compass you let yourself fall and gain speed before spreading out your wings. The deep muscles in your back and chest scream for a second with each flap of your wings before your magic silences them, the discomfort of using temporary limbs easy to shove into the back of your mind. Your flying speed is much faster than that of the motorcycle, the ground moving rapidly beneath you.

You’re only mildly surprised to feel Khaled’s presence in his base. It’s an old oil refinery that was abandoned when the Russians restricted the production of oil in the country. Khaled found it and turned it into a bastion, hiding up high in the mountains like he’s some kind of king.

Any old dragon can attest a kingdom of steel and concrete like that won’t survive scorching flame.

Your only problem is that it’s got magic sensing tech, which just means there’s some extremely sensitive electronics that end up sparking like shoddily made light bulbs when more than just the smallest amount of modern magic is used. Sometimes you hate how thorough you are.

Luckily for you, it’s not the first time you’ve had to sneak past such tech.

You land near the base of the mountain, just at the edge where you know the range of those sensors ends. You’d like to say you land gracefully and with barely a sound, but you’re pretty sure a tank would have an easier time than you. The exhaustion and the added weight on your back doesn’t help you in any way to keep balance, making you stumble forward and almost trip on a root. Your arms spread out to grip the trees for support, but you underestimate your strength and the wood splinters under your right hand, making you fall face first.

The few seconds you spend flat on the ground is probably the longest you’ve spent laying down in the past month.

With a sharp breath you get to your feet, carefully leaning your shoulder against a tree. Your makeshift wings press against your back and pull on your muscles, but the thought of ‘what if you’ll need them?’ keeps you from dispelling them. Embers burn away the clothing shielding your front, giving yourself just enough sight of your skin to be able to cast the spells you need.

It’s one thing to push your mana to your hands and out as magic, it’s another to force the burning heat through every little capillary in your skin and pull on it in certain spots until magical circles etch themselves into your skin. It’s not that far off from using blood magic, only it requires a little less mana and focus. You’ve done this so much you could do it with your eyes closed, filling the insides of the circles with little diamonds and magical sigils only your mind can grasp.

The body enhancing spell has an immediate effect. The pain in your back disappears suddenly like it was never there, the vestiges of weakness from mana use getting pushed back to the back of your mind. It even dispels the base painful thrum in your skull you hadn’t realized you had.

With a clearer mind you go about casting more similar spells that carve themselves into your skin; one to temporarily strengthen your body beyond what you already have, another to force your mana generator to increase in productivity, yet a third one to increase the potency of your spells; Buffs that push your body past the edge of what it can take, to the point you barely feel human.

This is the closest man will ever come to godhood. ”Don’t let it get to your little head firebug.”

Your last spell to prepare is different. A dirty trick.

“Valefar.” You huff, speaking another name for a spell that deserves respect. Nothing happens at first, but then you feel it. Like a living thing deep beneath the earth, Valefar hums a soft lullaby to the tune of crackling flames. The dirt beneath you expands and black flames break through the earth, creating a spider web of dark old magic that fills up the empty root system spanning the entire mountain. The flames don’t dare touch you yet. They’re waiting. . . hungry.

Before the problematic thing in your skull can give you grief, you let the waiting beast in and welcome it like a brother. Valefar’s black flames shudder and slowly, carefully, crawl up your legs, scampering along your abdomen and kissing the sharp transition between skin and mage marks. They paint the yellow glow of your mage marks a pitch black, the magma of your arms and your crystalized blood turning black as obsidian. Even the flames tipping the ends of your wings turn black as pitch.

For a second you’re accosted with the sensation of every bit of magic you had pushed into the earth over the months, every drop of mana obediently waiting its time in the rotten root system. But Valefar soothes your mind, dampening the glow of your eyes and shrouding your brain in water cool flames. Valefar lacks the crushing weight or the freezing cold of most ruin spells, simply almost thrilled to be used.

Ruin magic is too old to be tracked by modern means, and you take the first step into the range of the sensors without fear. You knew Khaled would betray you, you’ve almost started growing old in an industry that killed its soldiers young, you knew to listen to your stomach. Khaled had been one of those people you wouldn’t trust as far as you could throw them, though you never expected him to be so brazen about it. It’s no different than the day hellfire rained down on your hea-

You stop yourself mid thought the second you register your anger trying to boil over, the burning heat inside your chest making steam rise off your shoulders. Asmodeus, the one spell you won’t ever use, sparks beneath your skin; angry, vengeful. You stifle it before it can gain an upper hand, sparks of black flame flying past your lips as you breathe out and escaping through the filters of your mask.

Taurus always blamed your hotheadedness on your magic. What is a mage if not the fire Prometheus stole for you? The suffocating hate Vesuvius spewed? The blackened rotten blood giving birth to spells like Beelzebub and Valefar?

Loud gunfire breaks through your thoughts; Khaled would never practice shooting drills in the middle of the night.

You increase your pace, turning your jog into a run. As you near the old refinery something immediately stands out to you – there’s way too many life signatures than there should be. Even without a good line of sight you can sense them, all those beating hearts and flickers of life fluttering together like moths until you find yourself with a massive pain in your skull.

Breathing out a small breath you duck behind the tall trees just at the edge of the compound. To say you’re surprised to find Urzikstan soldiers engaged in combat with Khaled’s men would be an understatement. And the army didn’t hold anything back. There’s a fuck ton of soldiers, most of them hiding behind tanks that block the only exit from the compound and sponge up the machine gun fire Khaled’s men are unloading into them. Bullets rain down on both sides, there’s even fucking helicopters flying in the air — this is a full on assault.

You can still sense Khaled is in the refinery somewhere, you would be able to narrow down on his exact location if there weren’t so many living bodies buzzing around like ants. Your mind whirls with ideas; you could use the distraction and sneak past, or you could just destroy both sides in one quick and clean attack, you doubt anyone would be able to notice you using magic when they’re more focused about the hail of bullets.

A tree branch snaps beneath you, followed by the clicking of a gun and three rounds going off. “Mage in sight! I repeat I got mage in sight!”

Nevermind.

The bullets tear through your vest but just bounce off your magic enhanced skin. You turn on your heel, holding your arm out. “Beelzebub.” Burning cold swells in your heart and crawls through your veins, black flames shooting out from your palm at the soldier. He barely has the chance to scream before the black fire eats away his vocal cords, his gun clattering to the floor. In only a few seconds the only thing left of him is the uniform and the black flames burning in the shape of a man.

Despite how stupid it might be, you let go of the fine control you have over Beelzebub. It doesn’t waste a second, thousands of little wisps of obsidian fire breaking off from the main mass and shooting out at the nearest source of organic matter. Be they tree or human, Beelzebub will devour them all the same.

Fresh mana fills your chest and you’re quick to turn it into something useful. This time it takes significantly less time to spread your wings, summoning ash beneath your feet and launching yourself up into the air.

Tree branches whack you over the head before you make it into the open air. . . and accidentally smash your head into the belly of a helicopter. A dull 'thump' sounds and you're not sure if it's your head that's empty or the helicopter.

Your vision blurs for a second, and you shake your head to get rid of the temporary headache. The helicopter swerves to the side, the tail swinging right at you, the soldiers inside yelling. Tucking your wings close to your body you fall just in time to avoid the tail, twisting your body as you careen through the air until you’ve got a clear line of sight. One magic circle is all it takes to blast a sizable hole through the center of the flying machine, taking out the engine and the blades all at once.

Quickly flapping your wings you dart up through the hole you created, ash flooding the inside of the heli as you pass and erupting in an explosion a second later. The heli plumets down to the ground but you stay in the air, spreading your wings out to soar. This high up you’ve got a clear view of everything — the entire compound, made up of two big buildings connected with a catwalk and oil storage towers; The machine gun men shooting at tanks with no regard for how many bullets they use; Beelzebub’s black flames spreading across the terrain like a forest fire, consuming everything in sight until the only thing left is scorched earth and dust.

First things first, the machine guns. Though not as dangerous to you as the tanks, you’ve had enough of them to sate you for a lifetime, and you’d rather not be on the receiving end again. With sitting ducks for targets it’s laughably easy to cast simple homing spells to kill the gunner and melt the machine guns mounted on the rails.

A bullet hits your chest, tearing through the bullet proof vest. It bounces off your skin but the force nearly knocks you out of the sky. You go with the force, tucking your wings and flipping backwards in the air until you can spread them out to glide down. You notice the snipers, two on the roof of each building, one on the middle one of the tall oil towers just behind the buildings. You go for the straggler first, diving down with the speed of a bullet.

The sniper tries to shoot you again but you barrel roll out of the way. You shoot a ball of flames at the sniper when you're close enough, completely disintegrating him on contact. Turning to your side you soar through the gap between two oil towers, making a sharp left turn around the tower with a quick flap of your wings so you can quickly soar up.

The building to your right is closer and your next target. Gliding down close to the roof you you summon your spell, incinerating the closer of the two snipers. The other one drops his rifle to shoot at you with a pistol, but you just tuck your wings close and barrel roll to evade the bullets.

Your wings suddenly spread out with the force of a tightly coiled spring, the crystalline edge slicing straight through the sniper's neck like a guillotine. You're given no time to focus on the remaining snipers when a massive artillery shell flies at you. With a swing of your arm your flames race out to collide with the shell, an explosion going off right in front of your face. Ash and soot cake on top of your lenses but that's a small price to pay when you can safely dart through the smoke cloud; looks like the tanks have noticed you.

Pulling your wings close to your wings close to your body you divebomb to take out the final two snipers. You crash into one of them, your boots making contact with his chest and the force you’ve generated from your flight means you completely smash through his ribs the second his back hits the roof. The concrete cracks beneath your boot, but that doesn't stop you as you race across it, pulling your arm back to swing a fist at the remaining sniper. The skull cracks the second your fist connects, breaking completely under your knuckles, blood and brains splattering on the lenses of your gasmask.

The roof you're on has a helicopter on it, and you think of destroying it, but the tanks present a bigger problem. Leaping off the edge of the building you launch yourself back into the air, turning your attention to the tanks. There’s four of them, all spread out in a vague arc across the empty field of land between the buildings and the road leading out. Not a problem for you.

Slowing down to a smooth glide you stretch your arms out in front of you. Your flames rush out to hit the artillery shells shot at you, but it also forces the mana Beelzebub keeps stuffing into your chest to move to your palms. Summoning four evenly sized circles in front of you is easy for a mage of your caliber. With mana burning in your palms you squeeze your hands, forcing all that magic to shoot out through the centers of the circles as concentrated beams of flame. As if struck down by some god's smite, The tanks blow up the moment your magic hits them, leaving smoldering half melted skeletons of steel behind.

You land near one of the tanks with enough force to crack the charred ground beneath you, stumbling a few steps forward. You turn your head, using the tattered remains of your jacket near your shoulders to wipe away the lenses. It makes you see the clear destruction Beelzebub has wrought, the once lush forest surrounding the compound turned baren. Yet the spell hungers still, given the chance it would easily devour the entire world, and you can feel it gnaw on the edges of your passive control in it's attempt to stray away from you. Biting the hand that feeds. Arrogant. Just like Lambert.

You're forced to snuff it out, dispelling Beelzebub before it tries to sweep through the country like all ten plagues.

A shuddering breath leaves you for the first time in a while, your lungs stuttering as you breathe in for the first time in a while. Despite how stuffed to the gills with mana your chest is, how you can barely breathe with the pressure against your ribs, you can feel the familiar sting of your bones — the cost of mana use burrowing into your marrow. The missions, the ambush, this, it’s all starting to pile on. It’s the cost, you suppose, no mortal will ever become god, this is simply a consequence for your choices.

Shots ring out above the crackle of flames, bullets bouncing off your body and only making you aware of the soldiers. Thy are too much of a problem to be kept alive, but killing them with magic would be a waste of mana considering you’re slowly reaching the breaking point of how much even your augmented body can handle.

Fortunately, you’ve got a cheap trick up your sleeve. Quickly sensing the exact location of the Urzikstan soldiers you cast another spell, circles forming beneath their feet before chains of living flame ensnare them like rabbits. "Belial." You say, your gaze fixed on the Urzikstan soldiers. 

Belial is softer on your arteries than Beelzebub, but it still passes from your heart and into your fingers like a kidney stone. Big globs of tar black lava drip from your arms, sizzling and steaming when splatter on the ground. But they don’t stay inert for long. You’ve seen the sight a thousand times; Roaches made of pure black lava crawl out of the puddles by the dozens, quickly skittering towards the hapless humans. They crawl up the bound soldiers, fiery mandibles eating away the flesh and boring holes through muscle, squirming into every orifice, infesting every inch of their insides.

The soldiers try to scream but their vocal cords are soon devoured as the roaches eat everything they deem useless. They gorge themselves on the fat, groups of them peeling off the skin in long strips until the bowels and other organs fall out to the ground with a wet 'splat' to be eaten by yet more roaches. The bodies twitch and convulse, falling to the ground when you dispel the chains. Blood and mucus froths at their mouths but the roaches drink up even that like it's the finest wine.

When they're done feasting they crawl into the body that's nothing more but muscle, ligament, and bone. A single hand motion is enough to command the bodies to rise. They do so slowly, limbs twitching and bodies shaking as the magical roaches squirm in the homes they've made between muscle fibers. The bodies stumble to their feet, eyeless slack jawed heads full of roaches staring at you.

Your control over them isn’t as fine as Jackal had over his puppets, but it’s still better than what most militaries see. Your well hidden anger bleeds into your magic, you don’t even need to speak for the charred puppets to stumble past you, seeking out to devour the stragglers you missed.

With that done you turn your attention to the large two story building where you can still sense Khaled’s presence.

. . .

"Ah still think this is bollocks." Soap growls when his head bumps against the roof of the Humvee because Price drove over yet another pot hole in the road. "Go capture tae mage that can turn yeh into a kebab, wonderful idea, no wee problem there."

"Noted sergeant." Price grunts, knuckles almost white as he grips the steering wheel. "Anything else you want to add?" He asks but receives a few grumbles in return. They've heard that one part of the army had come to lay siege on the refinery, and from the preliminary reports Laswell gave them, it didn't end well for the poor bastards.

"Do we even have a game plan sir?" Gaz asks, glancing between Ghost and Soap sitting in the backseat. "One that isn't 'let the mage shoot at us until they tucker out'?"

"Got a better idea?" Ghost asks with a small huff. "Let me n' Price do the heavy lifting." He grunts, "You two stay back and provide support."

Even with irritation nibbling on his nerves, Soap can't help himself. "Oh, you like it hot Lt?"

Gaz gives a surprised snort. Ghost side eyes Soap. "Mhm, scorching."

"We're getting close." Price warns, switching gears as the road starts going up the hill. His sharp senses already pick up the lingering hints of smoke and ash along with the tang of burnt flesh. Beneath all of that is something older: the rancid festering flesh of crumbling empires and wild animalistic grief.

Price grits his teeth. "Remember, we need Ifrit alive."

"Laswell never said we had to keep 'em in one piece." Ghost ads.

"Thank fock for that." Johnny says and bumps his shoulder against Ghost's. "Yae reckon she won't mind if ah take a few fingers off?" He asks, a mean grin pulling his lips back to bare his teeth.

"Play nice and I'll throw you a femur too." Ghost chuckles, ignoring the look Johnny gives him.

"Are we even sure this thing will work?" Gaz asks, looking down at the heavy piece of metal in his hands. It looks like a metal collar, runes and circles etched into the outside surface, tiny needles poking from the inside. Three vials filled with bright purple liquid are slotted into the back of the collar. The thing buzzes softly beneath his claws, like there’s a thunderstorm stuck inside the metal, making his fingers go numb.

"That's why we brought the arm restraints to be sure." Ghost says, absentmindedly tapping a clawed finger against the restraints he's holding. They look like big elbow length mittens made out of metal, similar runes scrawled over every inch.

Kyle purses his lips before his gaze turns to the roll of silver tape Price had haphazardly thrown on top of the dashboard. "What's the tape for? Planning to put a bow on Ifrit?"

"Got to wrap up the gift somehow." Ghost shrugs.

"Oh yeah, an I reckon the mage will just sit nice n pretty and let us play dress up." Soap snarks.

"Focus." Price orders, pulling their attention to the front windshield. The forest surrounding the main road abruptly disappears as if a god had photoshopped a different part of the world in it's place, verdant green replaced by scorched black ground and nothing else. The smell of burning metal and flesh is inescapable now, seeping through the cracks of the windows and making Gaz cough.

"Fucking hell." Gaz mumbles, tears stinging his eyes and forcing him to quickly put on the gas mask hanging off his neck. It doesn't help a single bit with the god awful smell.

"This shite is useless." Soap complains as he secures the gas mask to his own face. Soap had smelled his fair share of foul things in the demolition school, from Sulphur to gas and everything that could be used in making explosives, but the stench he's exposed to now makes everything else smell like daisies. "How the hell did the matchstick do this?" He can't help but ask.

"That's the work of ruin magic." Price says, tone hard and clipped.

They're forced to stop a little bit away from the compound as their path is blocked by the wreckage of a helicopter, the steel melted into the concrete road and the sides of the road too steep to drive around. They pile out of the Humvee, Soap and Gaz clutching their guns close; it's uncommon for them to use human made weapons when they're monsters, but Price isn't taking any chances with his mens safety.

They inch carefully past the remains of the helicopter, burnt cracked dirt crunching beneath their boots. With no trees in the way the compound is easy to see, and it looks just as bad as the surrounding area.

"Steaming Jesus." Johnny mutters as they walk around one of the four tanks, the metal melted and flames still flickering a top it. The land here looks like the hell his ma would describe in an attempt to put some godliness in him; The ground is cracked and charred black, hot under their boots. Ash and steam blanket the ground, making it hard to see where they step. Parts of the buildings have been melted, long strands of slag running down the sides of them. There's no light save the fires burning haphazardly across the ground, but their eyes can see fine in the dark.

"Should we check for survivors?" Kyle asks, finger tightly pressed against the safety switch, his wings spread out just enough to be able to quickly launch himself into the air if the need arises.

"Don't bother." Simon says, dark smoke slowly fizzling off his hands. The air in the compound feels heavy, feels like he's back in that fucking coffin. The hair on the back of his neck stands on end, anticipation crackling under his skin like static. "We didn't bring a dust bin. Or Henry the Hoover."

"Fuck Lt," Soap opens his mouth to speak more, but before he can make a sound, they hear a half mangled groan ring out from their side. Immediately raising his gun Soap narrows his eyes, managing to make out a dark outline stumbling towards them. At first Johnny thinks it’s a survivor, but then the steam clears enough to see it’s clearly not. What stumbles towards them is a completely skinned human, muscle and bone charred black, jaw gnashing as if it's already got their throat between its teeth.

Without thinking Johnny unloads a couple of bullets into the body, silenced gunshots echoing in the smoke. The body just soaks up the bullets, continuing to stumble after them. "Shit!" Soap hisses as he steps back, but before he can shoot at it again, Simon's shadows lash out at it.

The whips of darkness knock the corpse to the ground, managing to tear off a desecrated arm off in the process. A disgusting sound gurgles in it's throat as it tries to crawl towards them, the cracked bone of its fingers clawing at the ground. Simon moves his hand up and a spike of darkness erupts from the walking corpse's shadow, destroying the head in an instant. Soap doesn't even have time to breathe before the body starts convulsing, large black pustules rapidly swelling on its back. They explode without warning, black flames spewing out in a few feet around it like a miniature bomb, incinerating the corpse in the process.

A second of silence passes.

"What the fock was that?" Soap stresses, staring at the black flames as they burn on the ground.

"Belial." Price mumbles under his breath, blue eyes narrowing as a small breath of smoke escapes past his lips. "Magic made undead.” Price grunts. “Ruin magic lets the mage control the body like a puppet."

"Great." Soap grunts, trying not to breathe in the scent of burning flesh. "First the bomb shaped mage, now focking zombies? Firecracker's pulling out all the stops." Soap’s tail flicks to his leg and he grips his riffle tighter. "Shit, that smell too." He doesn't know how you keep managing to make things smell worse and worse, but fuck, he's sure the stench will be stuck in his pores for the rest of his life.

"Not a fan of barbeque?" Ghost asks as they step around the burning corpse. Or rather what remains of it.

"Not quite the cook out ah have in mind LT." Johnny grumbles.

"Remind me not to join you two at the next brass dinner." Gaz ads with a humorless chuckle before his harpy eyes spot more movement. "Tangos, one o'clock." He says, and doesn't need to be prompted to fly up into the sky to be their eyes.

"Stick close and aim for the head." Price orders, all of them slowly and quietly making their way into the compound. They encounter more zombies, some of them stumbling around mindlessly, some simply standing. Knowing where to hit they're easy to take out unawares, a couple of bullets through the skull enough to get the corpses on the ground.

Kyle lands behind them when they near a two story building. Another one is opposite it, a catwalk above them connecting the buildings together. A nearby door is torn off its hinges, smoke spilling through it into the surrounding air. It's the only place they can think of where you might be.

"Simon, with me." Price says, "Gaz, Soap, secure the perimeter." Price doesn't need to say it twice. Simon steps close to him, guarding his six as they enter the building. Large holding tanks are built in the center of the building, smoke filling the room up to their knees and the occasional cinder of ash gracefully fluttering through the air. Price automatically checks his right, eyes focusing on the stairs leading to a small room on the second floor, one set of stairs on both sides of the room. Bits of thick ash cascade down the stairs, and both of them can smell the rot.

He makes a small hand motion and Simon understands easily, leaving his side to duck behind the towering oil tanks, crossing the room and reaching the other set of stairs. Quietly they make their way up, making sure not to make a single sound. The door on Price’s side is torn off too, his pointy ear flicking as he hears what he assumes to be your voice, low and muffled, simply asking: "How?"

. . .

Your hand shakes from how hard you try to keep yourself from crushing Khaled's skull. You can already imagine the way bone would softly creak before finally splintering to pieces, the way blood and brains would squelch between your fingers. You grip his head hard enough to bruise instead, his skin bubbling and hair burning from the barely controlled heat of your hand.

Khaled looks exactly how other prideful men look when you come to collect your due — eyes wide, teeth clenched, legs weakly kicking you as you have him dangling in the air. You’d usually feel satisfaction, but the only thing in your heart right now is a suffocating cold.

The cold extends to your free hand, turning the lava into inert stone so not even a single thread of the patch laying in your palm is burned; A black decapitated right hand sits in a crimson backdrop. A crimson eye in the center of it cries bloody tears. ‘Mortem Opetere’ is stitched on top of it, boldly proclaiming what awaits you. Across both sides just three measly words turn your world upside down: ‘Red Right Hand’.

Your jaw feels welded shut as you try to open it, moving your tongue like your mouth's full of barbed wire before you manage to force out one word: "How?"

Khaled grunts instead of answering, coughing as the ash cascading off your wings continues to twirl in the air. Beelzebub’s flames dance at your feet, consuming the magical ash the second it touches the floor so the room feels suffocating, but it doesn’t make him pass out.

You grip him harder, claws of lava burning through the surface of his skin until you’re digging into the muscles covering his bones, his screams fall deaf on your ears. Even like this, barely able to hold yourself back from cracking his skull like an egg, your magic is controlled. You only let enough mana linger in your palm so the heat burns and stabs at his nerves, but not enough to completely destroy them. “How. Did. You. Get. This?” You ask again, each word like a sharp stab to your tongue.

Khaled bites his lip so hard it bleeds, glaring at you with utter disgust in his eyes. “Ask your- mh!- your commander lich-”

You notice the enemy presence a second too late, gunshots blasting in your ears. Having dispelled your body enhancing spells because of how taxing they were, you’re left with no  choice but to blindly throw up a shield of crackling flames to destroy the bullets.

You miss one.

The bullet hits the crystalized bone of your wing and it's all it takes to create a spark. The ash making up your wings erupts, the resulting explosion unable to damage your wing but it does knock you forward. Khaled slips through your fingers as you both are tossed to the ground from the force. Your magic surges through your hand even as you scramble to stand, magic circles forming in the air to shoot uncontrolled flames at the two exits of the room.

Ropes of dark shadows shoot out from the right doorway, forcing you to throw yourself to the side to dodge them. You get to your feet just as the shadows hit the wall at the height of your head, quickly eroding a hole into the steel; The wraith has found you, and likely the rest of the misfits too.

You're careful as you stuff the patch into your pocket, but have no regard for the muscles in your back when you spread your wings out. Fresh ash cascades down the crystalline bones just as you flap your wings to send a gust of ash towards the front of the room. Mana surges to your cold arm and melts the stone into liquid lava which you fling into the cloud of ash, the heat from those drops of lava causing another explosion. Unable to sense where the wraith is, you focus on completely blocking off the exits in your flames, bright circles forming at the doorways and white hot flames shooting up, spilling over the door frame to scorch the ceiling.

You’re too distracted to notice Khaled move "Idiot boy have I taught you nothing?" the crackle of flames and the exploding ash masking his labored footsteps. His hand grabs your shoulder and pulls you back enough to jab a cold needle of a syringe into your neck.

Your wing shoots out automatically, knocking him back with enough force to have him crash into the wall. You yank the syringe out and toss it to the ground. The glass shatters, residual drops of bright purple liquid seeping into the ground.

But it’s too late.

You can feel Morgana’s tears course through your system, burning each cell in your blood vessels like battery acid, leaving your throat feeling numb and head light and heavy at the same time. You sway on your feet before your legs go weak and you fall to your knees with a gasp as if someone had punched you in the gut, your burning fingers tearing gouges into the floor as your muscles tense and relax a million times a second. Beelzebub’s black flames shoot out from between your fingers, freezing cold solidifying around your heart and in your arteries. It's a useless attempt to stave off the serum, to give you a few seconds more to escape, but you're glad for it.

You push on the ground with all the strength you can muster and get back on your feet. The weight of your wings nearly makes you fall on your ass as you’re forced to take a few shaky steps to keep your balance. From the corner of your eye you can see Khaled stumbling away from you, to the third exit to the room which leads to a catwalk connecting this building with another.

Raising your hand you try to summon a spell to take him out, a shaky circle forming at your palm. It breaks into a million pieces when a heavy body slams into you like a train, breaking your concentration and your ribs. You’re forced back until your wings hit the wall, forcing them to spread out as some of the crystal audibly breaks and cracks, accosting your brain with pain signals your mind was never created to handle.

Your hands shoot up, “Fire-” You force out in an attempt to combat the shroud Morgana’s tears weave around your mind. A circle forms, the usually crisp lines wonky and inconsistent. A few measly sputtering sparks flicker in the center of the circle before you’re able to force a bout of unwieldy flames in the face of your opponent.

You can feel how weak your fire is, you doubt you could give a man a second degree burn, let alone scratch the fireproof skin of the dragon that comes charging through your magic. Icy blue eyes dance in the periphery of your vision seconds before the dragon punches you right in the diaphragm.

You hunch over and almost vomit up an organ as all the air is forced out of your lungs. You feel your muscles tear and ribs break, your magic too focused on healing you to numb any of the pain that comes racing to your brain. You don’t know how you’re still standing but you weakly manage to slam your elbow back into the wall, quickly cooling lava scraping the metal and causing a spark.

The ash explodes for a second time, the force of it making your wings crack further yet they still hold. It creates a hole in the wall and forces the dragon to stumble back with a cough. You tip back and fall through the hole, the whole world weighing down on your body before you crash on the hot hard ground. The sudden stop knocks the breath out of you a second time, every muscle in your back screaming at you. Your chest is steadily growing colder as Morgana’s tears bypass Beelzebub, your arms feeling stiffer with every waking second as the serum forces your mana to slumber.

Your vision swims and blurs like the lines of a water drenched painting, voices somewhere close echoing in your ears. The dragon’s cold blue eyes stare down at you for a second before he jumps through the hole. You roll out of the way with great difficulty, avoiding him just in time as the dragon’s fist lands where you had just been and shatters the earth.

Stumbling to your feet you feel your blood leak down your back, pain pulsing in your chest as your mana struggles to heal each broken bone. Your mind is scrambling for the names of the spells you haven't needed to use in a long time, your thoughts further slowed by the fact you need to dodge out of the way of the dragon's fist. “Jump.” You speak. You summon a circle beneath your feet you that launches you into the air, the whirling world almost making you vomit and you barely manage to catch yourself on an oil containment tower.

Somehow through the ringing in your ears you hear the whirring of helicopter blades, turning your head to see a helicopter quickly rise from the roof of a building and start to fly away. You don’t need magic sense to know Khaled is in it. Your hand shakes as you raise it, Morgana’s tears steadily taking more of your mana hostage to the point it's getting hard to cast a single spell. “Fire bullet.” You manage to say, shooting off a shaky ball of concentrated flames.

You miss the rotor you had been aiming for, but by a lucky chance manage to hit the tail. Your fire isn't hot enough to melt the metal fully, but it still enough to make the helicopter swerve wildly. You watch it slowly loose altitude and crash somewhere beyond the tree line.

You’re not given even a second to catch your breath before the tower shakes violently, beginning to list heavily. You catch sight of a werewolf trying to scale it and that forces you to jump off the tower. You land on the one in front of you and don't stop, leaping across the three towers. Jumping off the last one you manage to flap your wings, the pitiful explosion that goes off beneath you gives just enough lift for your slowly liquifying wings to reach the roof of the second building.

You stumble as you land on the roof, the coagulated blood forming your Daedalus wings falling to the ground with a wet 'splat'. It feels like every single inch of your veins and arteries have been turned into pin cushions, the hot lava of your arms, absent of mana, quickly cools until there’s only a thin surface of cracked rock covering your muscles and bones. Your vision swims and you can barely move your arms, trying your best to just stay upright.

Asmodeus is the only thing unaffected, burning at the back of your mind like the last star of an empty universe. It tempts you with the heat of the magic it can give, with the power you could use if you just let it in. What's a few more drops of blood when you're drowning in it?

The harpy comes out of nowhere, slamming into you with enough force to knock you off the building.

You land on your back, barely able to utter a sound from how loudly your bones crack. Your leg is numb. Lingering dredges of your magic crawl across your spine, trying to fix your wounds with the same grace as cavemen with stole tools. You whimper like a child as you try to get up, barely able to dig your fingers into the scorched dirt to get some stability.

Footsteps approach you. A boot sharply kicks your side and forces you to roll on your front. "Playtime's over." A voice rings somewhere in your ears. Your scattered brain focuses on the accent — Manchester you think — instead of the clawed hands that yank your arms behind your back. Instinctively you try to scramble out of the firm hold but it's useless and the only thing you achieve is making the enemy pull on you harder.

Your arm is forced into a sickeningly familiar constraint; The mage cuff seals around your forearm and forces your hand into a fist, the binding spells making the metal feel like your arm is coated in liquid nitrogen. Your other arm follows suit, powerful magnets activating and binding the cuffs. They lock your arms together and painfully force your chest to stick out to the point you can barely move your arm without the risk of dislocating it.

More footsteps ring behind you as you weakly struggle. "Stay fucking still." The man above you growls as he yanks the helmet off your head with enough force you’re surprised he doesn’t take your head off. You gasp as the ash and smoke filled air enters your lungs, so unused to going without your helmet. A collar is quickly snapped around your throat, so tight you can barely breathe, needles on the inside digging into your skin. The binding spell on the collar is just as vicious as the one on the cuffs, forcibly pulling your brain into the bottom of the ocean.

Your vision swims with black spots and you’re barely able to see a man squat in front of you until rough clawed fingers grip your chin hard enough to make you bleed dark purple-red blood over his fingers. The enemy tugs your head up, but you’re unable to make out more than bright blue eyes and a stupid mohawk. "Huh, ah was expecting uglier."

Spite flares in your heart. A glob of spit and red blood shoots from your mouth at his face before you can think. The slap you receive nearly knocks your head off your shoulders and bashes your brain against your skull. His claws rake across your cheek, blood pouring down your skin. "Ahgk! Fockin' disgusting-" But It's worth it to hear the man curse.

"Told you not to take it off." The enemy on top of you growls.

"Charming." A lighter voice, you think it's the harpy, ads. "He's not going to turn into. . . one of them?"

"No." A new voice joins in, hard, angry, rumbling like thunder. You think it's the dragon, but your brain struggles to stay conscious let alone try to think. "Tape."

You shake your head to be difficult just out of spite, but sharp fingers bury into your scalp and pull your head up so the tape can be sealed over your mouth.

The enemy, wraith, your mind reminds, has no problem hoisting up your cold body, manhandling you like a doll.

You’re barely conscious as you’re roughly pushed into somewhere, somewhere without a lot of space. Two unyielding bodies squeeze you in on either side, your chest is barely able to move enough to ensure your lungs get a bit of air. Panic tries to get a foothold in your mind, to make your silent heart race. The walls and ceiling feel like they’re closing in, like you’re getting squished down and at any moment your organs will rupture—

But the drugs smooth out your brain like ocean waves weather down massive cliffs, your body so exhausted you can’t manage even a small twitch of a struggle. You feel the cold muzzle of a gun press against your temple, the cool sensation making you aware of the pounding headache.

"Move," The man on your left says, voice rough like sandpaper and with a distinct accent, "An’ yer dead." His threat sounds like an order, you don’t doubt he’s just itching for you to make a single move he can justify to his brass as aggression and kill you. You know you would do the same.

The vehicle you’re in rumbles to life but you can barely feel it, body and mind too exhausted to even hold your head up. Your stomach twists and turns as if trying to find a way to crawl up through your mouth, your lungs burn from the lack of air.

“Laswell we got-”

“-bout Khaled-”

“-ead, arsonist shot do-”

“-get out, the army reinforcements are co-”

You try to pay attention to what they say, but their words bang uselessly around your hollow skull, shapes and edges blurring together into abstract art. With nothing stopping it, Morgana’s tears leisurely branch through your blood vessels like brambles, making you shiver from how cold you are. You’re stuck in maddening limbo, there’s not enough of the drug in your system to turn you temporarily catatonic — your body is too used to the drug — but at the same time it’s fucking agony.

You've done this before, you know how much small victories count. You don’t know what they want from you, but you swear to yourself not to cry from the pain, both now and when the torture starts. You’re not a fucking child, not that snot nosed private you were when you first felt the sting of Morgana’s tears, you’ve been through worse.

But the problem is, you’re not out of tricks.

Your control over Valefar slips, the exhaustion and drugs slowly wearing down the rope of control you've been maintaining for months. Since the first day you started working for Khaled. You knew he’d betray you, you had that feeling in your gut. The collar beeps as mana suddenly sparks in your chest, thawed by the ancient magic you use. Without warning the needles in the collar jab into your neck as your mana builds, pumping more of the poison into your blood.

But it’s useless, with steam starting to rise off your chest not even you are able to hold it back. A rough chuckle forces its way out of your throat. You always figured you would die by your hand or not at all.

"What’s with the giggling?" The werewolf demands, gun still trained on you. "Something funny?"

You gather your strength and slowly roll your head back, every vertebra in your spine cracking from how much damage your body has received. The trembling wall of the truck gives you the support you lack. Black spots dance in your vision, but you manage to turn your gaze to one side.

On your right is the wraith. A creature of death. Violent Death.

You feel like there’s a joke about the situation somewhere. Figures you’d be sat against the personification of violent death. You’ve been living on borrowed time for too long, the reaper doesn’t like to wait.

Shadows darkening what little you can see of his face through the skull mask, making his eyes look like you’re staring into the void.

Unnerving. 

You’ve been told your eyes are much the same.

The wraith stares at your face, into your eyes. You’re pretty sure this is the first time in ten years that someone has seen the eyes you were born with. The color is so painfully drab and human.

But it don’t last. Out of nowhere mana sparks in your eyes like a violent forest fire set off from the cinder of a forgotten cigarette. Oranges, reds, and yellows swirl around the pitch blackness of your pupil, bright and intense like staring into a black hole.

There’s no grand gesture to show the snapping of your control. Your heart skips a beat as it births Valefar, the soft cool magic nibbling on your veins as a pulse of cool mana rushes through to your fingers. You see the wraith stiffen, only barely able to sense how the world quivers.

The earth shatters.

The truck jerks forward and you almost fly out of the front windshield, kept in place by someone's rough hand gripping and pulling you back in place. The earth shakes violently as months of accumulated mana melts through rock and suddenly erupts from the ground as a beam of pitch black flames. You can feel Valefar laughing beneath the ground, inside your hollow heart. It takes joy in spreading your magic as far as it can, incinerating the arriving helicopters full of soldiers before they can even understand what's happening.

The car swerves to avoid the rocks falling from the sky, the air around you trembling as Valefar makes a crater out of the mountain. They’re lucky that your control finally evaporated when they were far enough to escape the impact zone.

You tilt your head, catching sight of the wraith. He stares at you.

Your eyelids flutter without your consent, all strength leaving you, but you manage to wink at him.

You pass out.

Tag list: @resident-cryptid @diejager @lovingtyrantkitten @lieutnt @lilpothoscuttings @krystiannng @crankyweasel @ashy-kit @fyolaizs @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @aldis-nuts @whoislucas @birdiiiiiiiiiii @thigh-o-saur @dont-look-at-me-im-shy @reaperxxxxzz @patronizingbitch @kaoyamamegami @mauvette268 @inspector-m3 @gaynesspersonified @fluffysteampunkd @fall-myriad

[senanatheskenana]

Rengoku baby daddy headcanons

Rengoku spends the whole of the train ride rambling to Tanjirou, Nezuko, and Zanitsu about how excited he is to behaving a baby with you. So much so that even they have to admit they were excited.

Like would your baby look like you or him? Perhaps both?

When you both learn you are with child, he makes a promise to always keep the two of you safe.

It's only partway through the Mugen Train mission that he realises that he cannot do that if he dies.

His non-functioning eye waters at the idea of you and his child living all by yourselves, your child never having met their father.

He had never pondered how much he mattered to someone. Or how much the creature growing inside of you mattered to him.

The demon stares at him in confusion when he stops swinging his sword. Akaza nearly believes that heartbroken your husband.

"Tanjirou. If I don't come back- please tell my wife" he coughs "and my family I love them"

Tanjirou is not about to let Rengoku act like he's going to die.

"Rengoku, listen to me... You aren't going to die. You're going to return home, hug your wife and hold your baby, and you're going to live a long life- watching your family grow up. You'll teach your children a legacy. Kyojurou, you're going to live and be so loved!"

His speech awakens something inside of him. He knows he must fight for you- he can't lay and wait for death like a coward. He feels reinvigorated as he continues to fight off the demon's attacks.

Akaza almost feels bad for having to kill the slayer. Almost.

It's nearly day when Rengoku finally beheads the demon, a great deal of pride overcoming himself before he faints face-first into the ground.

Rengoku is barely back to form when you go into labour, but he forces his way from his bed- against the butterfly girls' begs- and hobbles into your hospital room, clinging to your hand as you cry.

He whispers sweet words of encouragement into your hand, kissing your knuckles to distract you and never flinching when you scratch him in pain.

When the baby is born, handed to you in a soft blanket, the first thing you see is bright yellow hair. He's in love with how cute their tiny face is, even as it cries.

"Congratulations! It's a perfectly healthy beautiful baby girl!" Shinobu grins.

His daughter. Nearly the spitting image of him. 'just cuter', he thinks.

When you're both finally allowed to go home, he fights tooth and nail to do all the housework, despite his injuries. You argue with him but he's sure that he'd rather have you comfy and with baby Rengoku than tired and unwell.

Over the months he gets closer to being fullform, though he's aware he'll never see from his eye, and will always have a limp.

That doesn't mean he won't do everything for your child though <3

He'll give her piggyback rides, tuck her into bed, and build forts with her.

He doesn't admit it but having Senjurou around is really helpful when he's in an episode of pain.

Even his father tries to be more involved after the birth, trying to reconcile with his children and make an effort in his grandchild's life.

He retires from the corp after his battle with upper four, with a considerable pension, so he uses all his time to the fullest with his family

But if you think he'll be content with just one baby, you've got another thing coming.

"Aw, but you'd look so pretty pregnant again! And surely Ruka would love a new sibling"