#there is no all of the above option but i truly wish all of the above for Phu

[angelicyoongie]

The Ivory Fang (I)

— pairing: mermaid taehyung x (f) reader — word count: 6k — warnings: (soft?) yandere, mention of illness (not the reader) — summary: You have run out of options when it comes to treating your mother's illness. When a mysterious man offers you a solution that might save her, you decide that nothing is too strange if it means it'll lead to a cure – not even finding and striking a deal with a mermaid.

Part 01 - 02

"My apologies, miss, but there's nothing I can do to aid your mother. Her malady is too severe."

The healer gives you a sympathetic look before he closes his door, the bell hanging above it chiming into the quiet night. You let out a shaky exhale, staring at the door that just sealed your mother's fate.

You have exhausted every possible option of looking for a cure, pleaded with every healer you've come across to please just try, but none have been willing. They always take one look at your mother, pale and gaunt in her bed, practically rotting away as she lays there, before they scurry away, refusing to treat her.

They may see a lost cause, a patient too sick to be cured, but you just see your mother – the woman who raised you by herself and taught you that even if all else fails, she would always be there to catch you.

The gold coins in your satchel clink together as you pull yourself away from the healer's door, your steps heavy as you begin the walk back to your house.

"What a fool," You grit, kicking at a stone in front of you, "If you had any common sense you should at least pretend like you had a cure and bled me dry."

Your throat bobs as you glance up at the night sky. The stars twinkle on without a worry, indifferent that their biggest admirer hasn't laid her eyes on them in months. You never quite saw the beauty in them like your mother did – like she still does – but they are practical for lighting your way home. It's the least they can do, as the tearful wishes you've bestowed upon their fallen brothers and sisters have all gone unheard since your mother fell ill.

It happened so suddenly, so unexpectedly, that you still have no idea what caused it. One day your mother was fine and the next she was unable to get out of bed, falling in and out of consciousness. It's been months of you doing everything you can to help her, but nothing has even given her a moment of respite from the illness that's ravaging her body. You're truly at your wit's end.

You press your hands to your eyes as they begin to blur, willing them not to fall. On the off chance that your mother is lucid when you return, you don't want to cause her the worry of seeing your swollen eyes and tear-stained cheeks. Taking a few deep breaths, you attempt to calm yourself, rubbing at your eyelids until the urge to cry subsides.

As you let your hands fall away, you find yourself squinting as you re-open your eyes, hazy lights filling your vision. Your steps slow as you draw near the source, a lit-up storefront beckoning you in with its warm, flickering lights.

"This isn't.." You look over your shoulder, seeing the faint outline of the healer's door further up the road. You walk along this path every day and yet, you have never seen this store before. You can't quite seem to recall what used to be there but you know it wasn't this.

Trepidation slowly sinks in as you keep walking forward, intent to let your feet carry you past the shop without a backward glance. Even so, a moment of morbid curiosity makes you pause, your eyes drinking in the soft glow of the seemingly floating lights in the window. Turning your head this way and that, you can't see the string holding them up, the thread much too thin to be visible in such low light. The windows are covered with rich fabrics, not allowing you to look inside past the heavy drapes. Your initial thought about this being a magician's shop falls short as you notice the etching into the glass, the lettering spelling out 'The Healing Shoppe'.

The name gives you a foolish burst of hope, your body already halfway up the stairs before you remember just how odd this whole thing is. A mysterious shop has appeared out of thin air and you're going to trust it just like that? Every rational part of your brain is urging you to leave, to forget that you ever laid eyes on this shop. But.. You can't simply ignore it on the odd chance that something inside might help your mother.

Taking a deep breath, you cross the last steps and find yourself in front of the door. As you press down on the handle, it gives away with a soft rattle. The sound is peculiar, certainly like no bell you've ever heard before; but with no visual clues of what it might be, you find that you can't quite place it. You take a hesitant step into the shop, the dimly lit space in front of you more like a hallway than a proper room. The walls are empty aside from a few lit candles, only a heavy drape obscuring what you assume to be a doorway further down the corridor.

"Hello?" You call out.

You pause, straining your ears for a reply, but nothing comes. Just as you're about to leave, worried that someone simply forgot to close up their shop, you hear a heavy thud from behind the curtain.

There's no noise aside from the impact, no immediate call for help, but there's still a possibility that someone may be hurt. Perhaps they fainted or are too weak to call out to you. You decide then that you're just going to take a look behind the drape, just to make sure everything is alright so that you can leave in good conscience.

You walk past the flickering candlelight, stomach swirling with unease as you reach out for the curtain. The material is soft in your hand, threads of shimmering silver woven so delicately into it that you can't even feel it as you run your thumb across it. The fabric is heavy as you finally push it aside, your eyes widening in surprise as you take in what it was hiding.

The room you step into is filled to the brim with shelves and cabinets, all of them displaying a different collection of oddities. There's dried flowers and herbs hanging from the ceiling, the many bunches of lavender spreading a calming scent throughout the space. There's a round table placed in the middle of the room, two chairs pushed up against it. The tablecloth is made out of the same material as the drape and your fingers are already itching to touch it again.

Glancing around, you find that the shelf next to you is stacked to the brim with gemstones of every cut and color imaginable, their polished surface reflecting the sparkling jars from across the room. If your mother was here, she would insist that they were filled with stardust, the shimmering substance so bright it's nearly imitating the night sky you looked up at just moments before.

You walk slowly around the room, captivated by all of the different items you find. A shudder runs through you as you pause near a display filled with skulls, some of the shapes so outlandish you wonder if the owner has somehow mended different species together just for show.

As you finally make a full circle back to the doorway you stepped through, you realize that there's nothing in this room that should have made the thud you heard earlier. There's no one here and nothing even seems slightly out of place.

Stumped, you lean forward on the table, running your fingers over the soft texture of the cloth as you give the room another look. Is there a door you missed somewhere? Perhaps you were too captivated by the content to really pay attention to the room.

"And who might you be?"

You spin around, heart in your throat, from the sudden deep voice speaking up behind you. 

You stumble over an apology as you take in the cloaked figure in front of you, their face obscured by the big hood pulled over their head. The uneasy feeling in your stomach returns tenfold as you realize you're trapped between the table and this mysterious person, their broad frame blocking the only way in and out of the room.

"I–" You're saved from your poor explanation as the figure pulls their hood off, revealing the most beautiful man you've ever seen in your life. His light brown hair is tousled and wavy like he just came from a swim in the ocean, his skin sun-kissed as if he's spent his days laying by the shore. You find yourself unable to form words as you take in his chiseled jaw and almond-shaped eyes, the colour such a striking light blue, they almost appear white.

It's a little unsettling how piercing his gaze is, almost as if he's looking right into you rather than at you. Just as your eyes flicker to the curtain behind him, an excuse forming in your head for a swift exit, the man says, "What brings you to my shop?"

Flashes of your mother's gaunt face appear before your eyes, the sound of her breathing becoming heavier and heavier echoing in your ears. Even if you feel uneasy in this man's presence, you can't let this chance slip to your fingers. You owe your mother that much.

"I noticed the sign out front, that you have a healing shop? My mother.." You take a deep breath, swallowing down the lump in your throat. "My mother is very ill. No doctor or healer is willing to help her, they say her sickness is too severe. You.. You're my last hope."

"Hmm, I see," The man nods. He gestures to one of the chairs, "Please have a seat and explain your troubles. I need all the details you can give regarding your mother's malady."

You quickly slip into the nearest chair, your palms clammy with nervous anticipation. This is the first person who has ever bothered to ask, who actually seems to care. You watch the man as he rounds the table, his gait awkward and staggered as he walks with difficulty to his chair. The way he moves is nothing like you've seen before. It's certainly no ordinary limp, you've never seen anyone walk so .. unnaturally before.

The man catches your eye as he lowers himself to his seat.

"I know my condition is quite unsightly, please excuse me. Due to some unforeseen circumstances, I have had to train my legs to bear my weight. It has left me feeling like a fish out of water."

He flashes you a crooked smile, the amused twinkle in his eye alerting you of a joke you don't quite understand. You wonder if his condition is similar to your old neighbor's. The man had a painful sickness in his legs and spent most of his time in a wheeled chair, but he could walk on them if it was necessary. Though the few times you did see him walk, it still looked, well, human.

"Oh no, that's alright," You wave your hands, embarrassed that your staring might have made him feel self-conscious.

Desperate to turn the conversation away from the man's illness, you begin recounting everything you can remember about your mother's sickness. You tell him about how it began so suddenly, the severity of it and how no one else is willing to aid her, all noting her as a lost cause.

"Most curious," The man hums. 

He leans back in his seat, his piercing gaze moving slowly across your face, scrutinizing it. He mutters something under his breath, too low for you to hear, before he raises his voice and says, "While I may not know what your mother's sickness is, I do know that there is only one thing that can cure her. A mermaid's magic."

"Pardon me?" You stare incredulously at the man. "Did you just say mermaid? As in the creatures from folktales?"

"I do know it sounds outlandish, or perhaps you'd find insane to be a more fitting word, but it's your last chance at curing your mother. Have you not exhausted all man-made options?"

You slump in your seat, biting down on your lip as you mull his words over. You have indeed done all you could to save your mother and to no avail. While it does sound absolutely mad to go searching for a mythological creature to aid her, perhaps crazy is just what you need. You're not sure just how much you trust this strange man but for all you know, he could be speaking the truth. He certainly looks like he believes in it himself.

"Where.. Where would I find one?"

The man tuts. "That's not the question you should be asking, guppy. A mermaid requires a sacrifice of equal value to what you are asking of them. What are you willing to give to receive their help?"

"Anything," You reply, "The cost doesn't matter. I'd give up anything to save my mother."

The man grins, his smile a little sharper than before, as he pulls out a weathered map from his cloak. He traces the route you need to take, crossing over the vast ocean to reach a cluster of islands on the other side.

"Finally, you will need to take a boat from Pearl Bay to this island right here. Once you locate the mermaid, you have to offer him this," The man places a tooth on the table, the whites of it glistening under the candlelight.

You hesitantly reach across the table to pick it up, the size and weight of it much more substantial than you were expecting. You find that the tooth is much more like a fang, one end pointed and sharp. It's nothing like you've seen before.

"What animal does this belong to?" You ask, tracing what looks like a red vein embedded in the side of it.

You look up as you're only met with silence, the man's heavy gaze transfixed on your hand and the fang held in your palm. He only seems to remember his surroundings as you lower it to your lap, removing it from his sight.

The man clears his throat as he pulls the hood back over his head. Ignoring your question, he nudges the map closer to you on the table, "I have given you everything you need. It is up to you to decide whether your mother lives – or dies. Good luck."

Your mind is made up a few days later when your mother starts coughing up blood. You doubt she has more than a few weeks left to live at the rate her sickness is eating her up, so you'll have to act right away if you want to save her. You still have your doubt about the journey, about the creature you're supposed to find, but the risk is worth it if the alternative is being left to always wonder if it could have cured her. You know you wouldn't be able to live with yourself if the mysterious man was correct and you didn't do anything about it.

"I'll find a cure, I promise," You give your mother a gentle kiss on her forehead. The lines on her hollowed face are scrunched with pain, her every breath a mere wheeze as her chest struggles to rise and fall. 

You meet the saddened eyes of your neighbor as you press a few gold coins into her hand, whispering a few words of gratitude for her care while you're away. The journey shouldn't take more than ten nights to complete but you have paid her far more than that, just on the off chance that the weather delays your return. With your goodbyes said, you heft your rucksack onto your shoulder as you slip out of the cottage and set course for the port.

The sun has barely risen as you locate the ship that will take you south, the wooden dock filled with travelers and crew all headed in different directions. You're surprised to find that the ship is quite large, the deck just as bustling as the dock below. With all of the boxes and barrels being loaded up, you figure it's likely a cargo ship, moving wares and supplies out to the islands. While the journey is bound to be loud and quite cramped, you think the noise might actually do you some good. You hadn't realized just how much of your own energy had been sapped alongside your mother's, how much you missed the sound of laughter and life being lived around you. You'll be stuck on this ship until it reaches Pearl Bay, unable to do much other than sleep and converse with the people around you, so perhaps this will be a much needed break – a chance for you to wind down until you reach shore. Gods know you'll need it, especially since you're supposed to hunt down a fabled creature once your feet hit solid ground.  

You fight to open your eyes as the sound of the howling winds outside sweep through the room, your stomach turning at the thought of having to move to see what caused it. The trap door slams shut before you muster up the courage to turn over, the sounds once again dampened by the heavy wood.

"Ay girlie, who made you this angry?!" A crewman huffs as he stumbles down the stairs to the lower deck, bracing his hands on the walls for support.

You bite your teeth together as another thunderous wave crashes against the side of the ship. The next round of nausea washes over you as the ship rocks back and forth, the wood groaning as it tries to steady itself. It's been three days of hellish waters, the storm breaking out as soon as the ship hit the open sea. You've spent most of it confined to your cot, barely being able to keep any water or food down before another rough wave causes your stomach to empty.

The lower deck is filled with pained moans and whimpers, the majority of the passengers fairing just as poorly as you. It feels like you're stuck in a loop of absolute misery with the heavy rain that pours down on the deck above and the angry sea that threatens to pull the ship under at any moment.

You let out a slow breath through your nose, trying to think about anything else but the bile slowly rising up your throat. So much for that relaxation. Desperate for some respite from your turning stomach, you close your eyes and turn your focus onto the indistinct chatter happening on the other side of the room. The low, murmuring voices prove to be enough of a distraction that you soon find your consciousness slipping, a welcome darkness taking over you as the storm continues to rage outside.

The next time you wake up, the ship is quiet and still, like the previous days were nothing more than a fever dream. It takes you longer than you'd like to make your way up on deck, your legs trembling and weak after barely any substance over the past three days. The fresh air and warm sunlight feels heavenly on your skin as you stumble past the other travelers sprawled out on the deck, a few of them still moaning about the ship moving too much, despite its now still glide on the quiet water. The ship's railing seems like a good spot to rest, the sturdy wood providing a nice support to lean against as you survey the sea around you. The water is crystal blue, glittering under the bright sun. You've never seen anything quite like it. You let out a gasp as a school of fish pass by the ship, their gray hue reflecting the light so beautifully it looks like molten silver dancing around under the water's surface.

You stand by the ship's edge for a while, long enough for the other passengers to begin retreating back to their cots. Just as you're about to do the same, you see what looks like a white, large fin hitting the surface of the sea, the creature below too obscured by the distance from the ship to really make out. Even so, you can tell it's no regular fish. The small waves caused by the impact must surely mean that it's a strong animal.

"Did you see that?" You turn to the man resting next to you, hoping he might have an explanation of what you just saw.

The man startles as you address him, clearly on the brink of falling asleep where he stands. He blinks, rubbing his eyes as he turns his attention to the spot you're pointing to.

"There's nothing there, miss," He grumbles, openly annoyed that you woke him up.

"What? But–" As you turn back to look at the sea, you realize he's right. The creature you saw is no longer there.

"Was likely just a dolphin, miss. There's lots of them in these waters."

"I suppose so," You concede. Having never seen one in real life, only on paper, you have no clue how large they're supposed to be. Yet, something in your gut tells you that this was no dolphin – this was something entirely different.

You're not left to ponder the creature for long, not when you're alerted that Pearl Bay has been spotted in the distance. Your final night at the ship passes by in the blink of an eye, time seemingly fueled by your nerves as you suddenly find yourself stepping onto solid ground once again. With a decent night's rest behind you and a warm meal in your stomach, you set course for the next point on your map.

Following the mysterious man's instructions, you find the path going along the outskirts of the bay, walking until you stumble upon the described hut nestled close to the water's edge. The woman inside seems eager to rent you a rowboat, citing that she doesn't get much business on the far side of the island. 

It isn't until she asks you where you're going that her demeanor changes, her expression turning haunted as she glances in the direction of your destination, just barely visible where the sky meets the sea.

"There is something wicked in those waters," The woman shudders, her hands shaking as she accepts a gold coin for payment, "You'd better stay away if you value your life, miss."

Your stubbornness won't allow you to turn back now, not when you've already come so far, but that doesn't mean you're not affected by her warning. Her spooked expression lingers in the back of your mind as you push the boat out to sea, your own hands trembling with uncertainty as you grab the oars and begin to row.

Perhaps you are truly foolish to ignore all of the warning signs you have been presented with, but what is a little danger if it means it can heal your mother? You'll just have to stay vigilant, making sure not to take any risks and be alert to your surroundings.

With your rucksack tucked between your legs, you hum a gentle tune, trying to calm the anxiety building with every stroke forward.

The eerie feeling grows heavier the more distance you put between yourself and Pearl Bay, the island in the distance seemingly never drawing closer no matter how long and how hard you row. You set out before the sun had reached its highest point and now its rays are almost touching the sea, the sky a pure orange. Truly, it feels like you have just been paddling in place this whole time, not moving an inch despite the bay becoming fainter and fainter behind you.

Your arms are burning from the hours of exercise, your breath labored and heavy with exhaustion. You were hoping to make it to shore before nightfall –  the map did not indicate that the journey would be this long – but you fear your body might shut down if you try to push it for much longer.

You pull the oars into the boat, intending to just take a short break and rest your eyes before your final stretch of the evening. 

You swear you haven't dozed off for more than a quarter of an hour, the sunset still vivid and bright, but as you reopen your eyes, you're shocked to find the island close, its proximity now near enough that you can make out the palm trees on the shore and faint details of the wild mountain imposing behind them.

"How?" You breathe.

As you shift on the bench, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you notice that your feet feel much colder than before your nap. Wet.

Glancing down, you find the bottom of the boat filled with water, the amount already well above your ankles. You fumble for the oars, cursing as you begin to row with all of your might. You can't tell where the leak is coming from and scooping the water out with your hands won't get you anywhere. Your best bet is just to get the boat as close to land as possible and then swim the rest of the way.

You resolutely do not think about what may be lurking in the water as you finally abandon the sinking boat, your rucksack balanced precariously on your head as you lower yourself into the cold water. You wonder for a split second if it's better to leave it but the extra portions of food you brought with you will surely come in handy now that your way of returning to Pearl Bay is at the bottom of the ocean.

Biting your teeth together, you begin to swim, your gaze locked onto the beach. Time feels endlessly long as you push yourself forward, the minutes ticking by so slowly they might as well have been hours.

You let out a sob of relief as your feet finally touch solid ground, every limb shaking with exhaustion as you waddle the rest of the way up to dry land. You collapse the moment you hear sand crunching under your soaked boots, panting, as your vision swirls from fatigue. 

You lie there until the chill begins to set in, your dripping clothes sticking to your skin like an icy embrace. Groaning, you push yourself up on your feet, knowing you'll have to attempt to create a fire if you want any warmth to return to your body.

The sky is beginning to grow dark, its orange hues replaced by deep purple and blue. It's only now that you realize just how unnaturally quiet the island is, with no noise to be heard aside from the water lapping at the shore and a gentle breeze flowing through the palm trees. Even if you hadn't been this exhausted and cold, you would never dare to venture further into the thick vegetation in the dark. You don't trust the island to not lead you astray.

"Suppose I'll stay here for the night," You murmur. 

You rummage through your rucksack, pulling out the change of clothes you had brought with you just in case. You're ever thankful for your own foresight as you strip out of your soaked garments, goosebumps racing down your skin as you hurry to pull on a dry blouse and trousers. It isn't just the cold that's making your skin crawl – you can't help feeling like somewhere in the darkness of the deep ocean, or in the shadows in the midst of the trees, someone is watching you.

You glance around as you do your blouse up, finding absolutely nothing staring back at you.

Yet, the feeling lingers.

It takes you longer than you'd like to admit getting a fire started, the branches you find a little too damp to really catch a spark. Still, some deity seems to take pity on you and allows one of your attempts to succeed, the branch igniting and spreading the flames to the rest of your small bonfire. You scarf down half of the food and water you brought with you as you soak up the warmth, deciding that despite your still vocal stomach, it's better to save the rest for tomorrow. You have no idea how large this island actually is, so there's no question that you'll have to keep your energy up.

With your stomach slightly sated and your shivering down to a minimum, you curl up on the beach, as close to the open flames as you dare. You use your rucksack as a makeshift pillow, piling up the rest of your supplies close by. Despite the unnerving, oppressive air that hangs over the island, you succumb to sleep quickly, your exhaustion too great to fight.

Your dreams are restless, haunted by sharp teeth and whispers, a deep baritone voice urging you to come find him. You wake with a start, alarmed that the puff of air you sensed across your ear in your nightmare felt a little too real.

Heart racing in your chest, you quickly survey the beach, finding nothing out of the ordinary. Your bonfire has long since extinguished itself, its ashes intertwined with the sand below.

Reaching out behind you, you frown as you don't feel the pouch of water you know you left there the night before.

Turning around, you're met with absolutely nothing. Your food and water are gone, and the clothes you left out to dry are nowhere to be seen.

You would suspect an animal to be behind it but you really don't think there's any here. It's too quiet. Not even an insect has passed you by since you stepped foot on this island. 

Perhaps the sensation you felt wasn't just a dream, maybe there's someone – something – here.

"You're fine, you're fine," You whisper, digging your hands into the sand to ground yourself. You don't have time to panic. If all of your supplies are gone, it just means you have even less time to locate the creature you came here for. You have to move. Now.

You push yourself up to your feet, dusting sand off your clothes. Your boots are long gone too but you doubt they would have been of much use anyway with the way they were gurgling the night before.

Taking a deep breath, you begin walking towards the thick vegetation a little further up the beach, where the sand meets lush, long grass. The jungle you step into is so dense that the sunlight barely manages to peek through the trees, only small dapples of sunlight flickering across the ground as the leaves move with the wind. The map provided to you didn't show where you would find the mermaid once you reached the island, so you're left to wander aimlessly, pushing aside shrubs and climbing over fallen trees.

Even if you have no idea which way you should be headed, it's almost as if your body knows, your feet carrying you in what you can only hope is the right direction. Your path becomes clear as you break through the trees and find yourself at the edge of the mountain, near the shore. Your journey must have led you to the other side of the island, and the massive cave that's carved out of the mountain is too imposing to be anything but your destination. From the folktales you have heard, it seems like the perfect place to find a mermaid.

The cave mouth is facing out into the ocean, its size big enough to fit a ship through it. You say a small prayer to whatever deity is willing to listen as you square your shoulders and walk in, your barren footsteps echoing into the quiet mountain. You keep close to the wall as you follow the rocky ledge that trails along it, mindful of the stream that runs parallel to your path. The water here is darker, not as willing to divulge what may be lurking beneath its surface. It seems this cave has a paved a road for those with feet and fins.

You follow the ledge as it veers to to left and it soon becomes apparent to you that you have stepped into a tunnel, something much smaller and damper compared to the cave entrance. You can almost graze your fingertips against the mountain above you now.

It doesn't take long before the tunnel opens up before you, showing you sunlight streaming in through holes in the mountain. This cavern is large and wide, showing off a pool of water in the middle of it. You freeze near the edge of the tunnel, still shrouded in its shadows, as you finally lay eyes on the creature you have been searching for – the mermaid.

It's lounging in the water, its back turned towards you as it uses its arms to rest on the pool's edge. You find yourself mesmerized by its tail, the massive thing almost as long as a full-grown adult. It's white in colour but the scales appear to have a pearlescent luster to them, shimmers of pink and green reflecting in the water.

The mermaid's body resembles a man, showing off a chiseled back and strong muscles as he moves his arms. The mermaid's tousled, light brown hair looks oddly familiar from the back, but you know no men who sport that kind of style. There's no place for vanity in your town.

"Hello?" You call out as you step into the cavern.

You hold your breath as the mermaid flips its body around at the sound of your voice, its strong tail splashing in the water. Dumbfounded, you watch as the mermaid pushes his hair back, revealing a face you already know.

It's the mysterious man from the healing shoppe, the same one that told you to come find the mermaid – to come find him.

The man grins as he drinks in your shock, his teeth much sharper than you remember them. 

"Ah, pretty human, it seems that you decided to save your mother's life after all."

"You.." You struggle to make sense of what you're seeing, none of it adding up. "Who are you?"

"Me? Oh, pardon my manners. You may call me Taehyung, human. I believe you have a request for me?"

A sudden gust of wind comes through the cave as the mermaid utters his name, a loud rattling echoing between the walls of the cavern. You remember hearing that same sound before, the night you stepped into his shop. The moment you glance up to find the source, you find yourself immediately regretting it.

The darkest spots of the cave's ceiling are filled with clumps of hanging bones, all made up of various animals. They rattle as the wind makes them sway, causing them to knock into each other over and over. You swallow thickly as you spot a skull that is very distinctly human, its warning not lost on you.

You scramble a step back as you look back to the water and find Taehyung much closer than before. He's resting casually on the pool's edge, his chin in his hand as he observes you from only a few feet away. His icy gaze is locked on to you and there's a glint in his eye that makes you all too aware that you have nowhere to run. Even if you make it out of the cave, you will still be trapped on the island. The water is Taehyung's domain and you're surrounded by it.

Foolishly naive and desperate as you are, you have let a predator lead you right into his grasp.

a/n: want to read chapter two right away? you can! just click here and it'll bring you straight to early access 💖

welcome to the third installment in the crimson shell universe (all of the stories are stand alones though, so you'll be fine even if you haven't read the others)!! i know we didn't see too much of tae in this chapter but i can promise you he'll make plenty of apperances in the next one 👀 this is a yandere mermaid story, but this fic will be... softer (?) in comparison to the others! i'd love to know what you think so far!! 💖

the next(/final) chapter will be posted in three weeks time! if you don't want to wait and would like to support me, you can read it now through early access on my kofi! the link is above. thank you!! 💖

[deathbxnny]

hello!! capitano, ororon and wriothesley with a teen!reader who is like firefly?

Male Genshin Characters with a Firefly!Teen!Reader | Capitano, Ororon, Wriothesley x Gn!Reader

Hello Anon!! Thank you very much for your request, and I hope you'll enjoy this!<33

Content: Platonic relationships, reader has a chronical illness, talks of potential death of reader, angst, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!

((Not proofread))

》CAPITANO

He knew firsthand how cruel the world can be, and you confirmed that for him more than anything else. You were a lively kid he had taken under his wing as a toddler, and even from a young age, he could tell that your health wasn't the best. It only got worse over time until you were left unable to walk or really move much on your own. But what truly broke his heart deep down was your will to live in the face of certain doom. Death wasn't an option in your mind, and you refused to let it take ahold of you.

Capitano, therefore, did his best to be as supportive as he can be. In a way, he sees you two as parallels of eachother, both cursed with a disease that's rotting you from the inside out and yet, here you were, still fighting for what you think is right. For a chance to live a life worth staying for. He knew he was too far gone, however, and therefore, just put all his energy in keeping you alive instead. He made sure you had the best doctors in all of Snezhnaya at your sides at all times.

And when you just wanted to take a moment with him to relax somewhere in peace, he'll grant you that wish as well. Capitano knows that realistically, your days are more than numbered... but if supporting you until the very end is what makes you feel better, then so be it.

》ORORON

You were a couple years younger than him and were taken in by him when he found you near dying on a dirt road. He initially wanted to give you to the village, but when you refused to leave him after he nurtured you back to health, he simply kept you in his home as a younger sibling. Citlali made sure to practically visit every other day to check up on you, however, as she doesn't entirely trust her grandson with your deteriorating health alone. She knew it was too much for even him and therefore made sure to teach him everything he knew. Especially when you stopped being able to walk. It was clear that Ororon was hurting with you and was deep down desperate too keep you alive one way or another, despite the grave situation.

But what pained him the most was the bright look in your eyes, even when you're in major agony. Your body was betraying your excitement for life. It was terrible, and yet, he didn't let you notice how bad he had it. If you were happy and content with him here when you took your last breath, then he had done everything he could have. And he'd make sure that exactly that would happen.

》WRIOTHESLEY

He wanted you to live a happy, free life ever since he heard about your diagnosis. Wriothesley had taken you under his wing when you arrived as a young preteen and basically treated you as his own. Sigewinne kept an eye on you at all times as well, practically being glued to your side as she monitors the progression of your illness very closely. The Duke knew, however, that you wouldn't live for long after you weren't able to walk anymore. Your body was giving you up, but he refused to do so himself. Seeing you so bright and optimistic despite everything just motivated him to do better too.

He'll try his best to make your time in the fortress as enjoyable as possible. He will share his tea, crack some jokes, and watch the ocean life through the glass with you. Anything for a smile and happy laugh. And even if you're too tired and sick for any of it, he'll still be there to support you in silence. He wants you to know that he'll be there until you do take your last breath... but also, he'll be there to carry you back to the surface above after you do so.

[afewproblems]

The Holiday Party had gone quite smoothly, more than he was expecting if Steve was being honest with himself.

Until about halfway through, but that was pretty par for the course.

Jonathan had unearthed an old Rummoli Board from a box labeled 'Basement Misc', the Byers were still in the middle of unpacking from their move back to Hawkins, and brought it alongside a bottle of wine that Nancy had managed to smuggle from the Wheelers liquor cabinet.

Robin, who rode with Eddie and Argyle, brought pizza, the only copy of It's A Wonderful Life from Family Video, and way too much weed for just the six of them.

"It isn't a party without a little Kush Stevie," Eddie had told him, clapping his warm hand on Steve's shoulder, his thumb just high enough to rest on bare skin above the collar of his sweater.

All Steve could do was roll his eyes and take the pizzas, quickly ducking into the kitchen before Robin or, God Forbid, Eddie could comment on the pink flush that had taken over his face at the new nickname.

Robin had been insisting that Steve just tell Eddie how he felt for the last few weeks. Rip the bandaid off and come clean. What was the worst that could happen?

Which, really Robin?

Steve knows exactly what happens when someone puts themselves out there only for the other person to not feel the same way. His whole argument was currently sitting in his living room for fucks sake.

Sure, Steve and Nancy were on better terms now, but it also took two years to get there, and even still, there was a weird tension when they found themselves alone together.

So, no, telling Eddie was not an option, Robin.

Steve could keep it together. He could deal with the ache in his chest at the sight of Eddie's smile. Steve could deal with the way his heart beat quickened whenever Eddie said his name. He could deal with the heady flush that bloomed every time Eddie touched him.

He was fine, it was fine.

And, movie nights like these were nothing new in the wake of Vecnas defeat and the destruction of the Upside Down. Steve needed to keep it together if he wanted to continue to have this. Nights without the kids to look after or the adults to hide their indulgences from, these were the nights where they could truly relax.

These were Steve's favourite, and he was not going to let some Bullshit feelings stand in the way of being able to see Eddie.

This Christmas Eve found the six of them lounging on pillows and extra couch cushions from the basement to make the 'best movie watching set-up thank you very much', according to Robin, and watching It's a Wonderful Life for the umpteenth time.

"I can't believe that George Bailey would wish for something like that, when it's so obvious that people care about him," Robin scoffs at the top of her voice about halfway through the movie, prompting a irritated Shush from Nancy.

"That bro is depressed man, it's like a cry for help, and on Christmas, this shit is heavy dude," Argyle hums, lifting his fist up to Robin who shakes it with a wild grin. The two erupt into violent giggles which begin to creep into Steve and Eddie and eventually Jonathan as well. Nancy rolls her eyes but can't help the smile that takes over her face as well.

"Who would wish to never be born when you could just wish for the bank to like, not fuck you over, seems like a waste of a wish if you ask me," Eddie says as the last traces of giggles begin to finally disapate.

"Ooo, Eddie's right!" Robin says as she reaches for the remote, hitting pause on the movie. She waves her hands through the chorus of groans from everyone except Eddie who turns around to Steve with an incredulous expression on his face.

Steve shrugs as Robin continues, unable to look away from those large brown eyes until a hand darts out to smack him in the chest.

"Steve, pay attention," Robin huffs, "let's go around and share what we would wish for!"

Oh shit.

Steve turns on the couch to fully face Robin with narrowed eyes. She grins at him, lifting a single eyebrow as her blue eyes dart between Eddie and Steve.

Steve opens his mouth to argue, to insist that they just carry on with the movie, only for Eddie to drum his hands against his knees and speak.

"Oh birdie, I'm way ahead of you, this is Wayne's favorite Christmas movie so I've done a lot of thinking 'bout this".

Eddie clears his throat and lifts his hands from his knees now as though he's about to launch into a story for Hellfire, "I would personally wish for the money to be able to fund Corroded Coffin full time, get a demo done, and then be able to kiss this fucking one horse town good bye!"

Steve feels the words hit him like a bucket of cold water.

Eddie wants to leave Hawkins.

His wish, his dream, for forever from the sounds of it, is to leave them all behind.

To leave Steve behind.

The voices from the group, pitched high and low, all blend together into one as the rest of the group share their own wishes.

Steve absently feels a small hand grip his own, he looks up to see Robin staring at him, a worried frown pinched between her eyebrows. He answers her silent question with a shake of his head.

It was fine, he was fine. This was a good thing, better to know now than later when Eddie would inevitably leave him behind.

"Stevie?"

Steve startles as a ringed hand waves precariously close to his face. Eddie smiles faintly at him, one dimple on display as he speaks again.

"Kinda lost you for a second there, what about your wish?"

"Oh," he manages to say with a slight laugh in his voice, even as his brain fills with static, "um, I haven't ever really thought about it, maybe some new music or something".

Nancy and Jonathan both boo loudly from the love seat while Argyle nods with a hazy smile.

"Right on my man, sounds like Eddie'll be able to help when his band makes it big," he says before turning back to the television and slumping even more heavily into the couch.

Steve forces out another bright laugh, ignoring how much it burns his throat and crushes his chest. The only thing keeping him in his seat is the firm hold of Robin's hand on his own.

He doesn't look at Eddie as he leans forward to press play on the movie once more, letting the music and dialogue fill the room once more.

Later, as the end of the credits roll and the tape switches back to static, Nance and Jonathan are fast asleep. The pair are cuddled up on the love seat, their heads leaning against one another. It would almost be cute if not for the pang of envy that fills Steve at the sight.

Steve tries to bask in the warmth of having Robin cuddled into his side, knowing it will alleviate at least some of the ache in his chest. Robins eyes have been steadily growing heavier as she slowly falls further and further into Steves side. He smiles, reaching up to brush her hair away from her face.

At least he has Robin, and maybe for now that is enough.

***

This is a part one, let me know if anyone would like a part Two?

[stil-lindigo]

i really want to donate in aid to the Palestinians in Gaza, but knowing some people who are involved with charities personally, they have shared many stories of corruption within big charities. this followed by the influx of scams that can happen in this time, i’m really afraid of money from good-willed people going to the wrong places instead of helping those truly in urgent need. are there any verified charities validated by Palestinian journalists on the ground? and how can i be sure that my donations will go to the right places? thank you for all that you have been doing by the way, im wishing you well.

hi anon - there are a few direct aid organisations that you can donate to that are doing verifiable good work and goes straight to helping Palestinians.

One of these is CareforGaza, which distributes food, hygiene products, and other living supplies directly to families in need in Gaza. They take their donations via Paypal.

The second is E-sims for Gaza, which is organised by Mirna El Helbawi and her group of workers. They distribute e-sims directly to Palestinians so that they can keep connected to the world and each other. So far, they've distributed over 130,000 e-sims. There is a comprehensive post teaching you how to purchase and send e-sims here.

Other organisations that also do good work with your coin but are perhaps less immediate are the PCRF and the UNWRA which are responsible for delivering truckloads of aid (whenever Israel allows them to). However, if you wanna get the most bang for your buck, I'd recommend the two options I explained above.

[dwonfilm]

There’s no life after you. | Dean Winchester x Reader (one-shot)

Summary: Dean felt like he had no other option than to push [Y/N] out of his life completely. When he and Sam find a case in her hometown, he’s hit with all of the emotions he’d tried for so long to bury.

Warnings: swearing, mild-angst, mostly sadness and ending with fluff.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Flashbacks are in bold.

Dean and Sam had found a case in Reno, Nevada—a city that had a lot of memories particularly for the older Winchester. Sure they’d worked a dozen or more cases around here over the years but that wasn’t the type of memories that kept playing on his mind. He only wished it was that simple. Sam had opted to take the backseat, needing some extra rest on the drive and Dean usually drove his precious ‘67 impala anyway. Ever since they’d found this case, the eldest Winchester was uneasy. Not because it was anything special, from the details online it seemed like it was just another vamps nest—maybe even just a handful travelling together.

No, what began to plague his mind was something that cut much deeper than that. All he could think about was you.

It had been roughly two years since he’d last seen you. Every other second of the last year and half had been him fighting the urge to reach out, knowing two things for certain. One: you’d be far better off without him holding you down. Two: even if that wasn’t the case, he’d really hurt you the last time you spoke and despite how much he missed you.. you’d likely never speak to him again—but that’s what he’d wanted right? You to move on, you to live a life that wasn’t plagued by the dangers of all things supernatural. Find a good man, a normal man, settle down.. get married and have kids. Not have to worry about tending to someone who had spent his entire life broken. Shaking his head to try and rid himself of these thoughts, it seemed the universe had other plans.

It seemed at some point in the drive his playlist had changed and delved into the ‘divorced dad rock’ side of things—the first few notes of what he recognized as a Daughtry song began to play. Seemingly just as they’d finally crossed the state lines into Nevada, the lyrics began..

“Ten miles from town and I just broke down, spitting out smoke on the side of the road. I’m out here alone, just trying to get home to tell you I was wrong but you already know. Believe me I won’t stop at nothing to see you so I’ve started running.”

Now Dean knew exactly what song this was and it damn sure wasn’t helping with his desperate need to stop thinking about you. He reached out to change the song but when the chorus hit, he stopped and his finger merely hovered above the button.

“All that I’m after is a life full of laughter, as long as I’m laughing with you—and I think that all that still matters is love ever after, after the life we’ve been through. ‘Cause I know there’s no life after you.”

It was as if the song was delivered down by the hand of God himself, which only made the ache in Dean’s heart that much worse. He’d been in pain ever since he left two years prior, but he had no right to be—he knew that. After all, the reason he didn’t have you by his side was because he left. It was because he walked away. Deeply he’d sigh as the next verse again would line up with the exact thought in his head.

“Last time we talked, the night that I walked burns like an iron in the back of my mind. I must have been high, to say you and I, weren’t meant to be and just wasting my time. Oh why did I ever doubt you? You know I would die here without you.”

Death had truly paled in comparison to how he felt seeing the look in your eyes. All of the pain, the hurt as he watched you break in front of his very eyes. You’d been together three years in total, but what you didn’t know—what he refused to tell you is that his worst fear was becoming a reality. Lucifer had threatened you in order to make Dean comply with his demand. He’d figured out the only way to get to the elder Winchester was through you, seeing as Lucifer himself needed Sam for his own personal vendettas. It wasn’t long after this that Dean knew he had to get as far away from you as possible. All the pain and suffering he’d endured in his lifetime would be nothing if your death was due to him. He couldn’t live with that and more importantly, you deserved more than that out of this life.

“All that I’m after is a life full of laughter, as long as I’m laughing with you—and I think that all that still matters is love ever after, after the life we’ve been through. ‘Cause I know there’s no life after you.”

Sam began to stir in the backseat, which he’s caught sight of through the rear view mirror and so Dean quickly changed the station. He’d use Metallica specifically to shift the mood before his brother woke up and started asking too many questions. Questions that Dean wouldn’t have the answers to and he was already battling his mind to keep it all at bay.

Gripping Baby’s wheel tightly in his hands, he’d continue to path to Reno. About fifteen minutes later was when Sam’s eyes actually opened. “Mornin’ sleeping beauty.” Dean said with a (fake) smile on his face. “Ha-ha, very funny. Wait.. how long was I out? Are we in Nevada already?” He asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and noting their desert-like surroundings. “I don’t know, hours Sammy. Yeah we’re in Nevada—about an hour or two ‘til Reno.” Just saying the name of the city was enough to have him nervous again. There was a brief bit of silence between the brothers, Sam had a thought on the tip of his tongue but he didn’t know whether he should say it. Dean’s eyes had fixated on the road ahead and he sensed that his younger brother was gonna bring it up—bring you up, he’d always really liked you. Besides that, he could always seem to tell when things were troubling Dean despite his best efforts to hide it. “You know you could-“ Sam started but knowing it was coming, the elder brother immediately shut it down. “Sam, don’t. Please. I can’t and you know that.” Dean’s voice was shaky and that let him know that he’d already been thinking about things far too long. “You’ve been thinking about it. I know you, man. You think I didn’t see the look on your face when I told you we had something in Reno?” He sighed, knowing that his older brother was struggling with this didn’t make him feel good but he also knew it was making Dean feel worse. “Sammy, please.. I don’t wanna talk about it anymore.”

Sam would shake his head but he let it go, rehashing this with Dean while he was attempting to drive wasn’t gonna end well for either of them. Not to mention an hour and a half of odd tension in such a small place wasn’t ideal either. Instead, the younger brother’s eyes averted from the front of the car altogether as he turned to gaze out the window next to him. Sighing partially in relief and partially from the lingering thoughts, Dean would fully place his attention on the road and on the directions to this particular motel. They needed to get in, solve this case and get out before he did something he’d been trying for quite some time not to do.

Surprisingly this case was a little more difficult to follow through on, these vampires were incredibly elusive and their nest wasn’t the easiest to find. However, after a couple days lingering around they finally located the nest and were able to kill the three vamps that had been killing the locals. As it had become part of the job, Sam and Dean went out to a local dive bar to celebrate the victory—but Dean was trying to do more than that. He was trying to drown the lingering thoughts of you with whiskey, swallowing the liquid and letting it gently burn his throat. This would end up having the opposite effect and only made him think of you more. Over the first hour and change the brothers spent at the bar, three separate girls tried to hit on Dean but he didn’t really pay them any mind. Around the two hour mark the elder of the brothers decided he needed some air, getting up and walking outside. Dragging his dominant hand over his face he was doing anything to cling to that last bit of pride that he had. You were better off and he knew that, but every day that had been lost it was eating at him slowly. He needed a distraction and so he walked over to his precious car, getting into the driver’s seat and sighing. One flick of the wrist and the lights would come on, the radio coming in clear as day: it was that goddamn song again.

“You and I, right or wrong, there’s no other one. After this time spent alone it’s hard to believe that a man with sight could be so blind, thinking about the better times.. must’ve been out of my mind. So I’m running back to tell you.”

Again it seemed like the universe had intervened and Dean Winchester was far too drunk to fight it. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes and right now, all that he needed was you. He opened up the driver’s side door and got out just to come face to face with Sam, who had been worried when he couldn’t locate his brother in the bar. “What is it Dean?” He asked, noting the emotional state it was clear he was in—confused but not entirely. It wasn’t like him to be so open with his emotions, but you’d helped him with that. “I need to see her, Sammy. I can’t do this anymore.” There was enough emotion in his voice for his younger brother to know what he meant. Nodding Sam would approach the driver’s side door. “I’m driving, we’re not risking it with you.” Dean normally would protest but right now? All he needed to do was get to you. It didn’t matter how, he just needed to fill the void that he’d put there himself.

“All that I’m after is a life full of laughter, without you god knows what I’d do.”

Dean’s eyes were technically gazing out the window, but that’s not what he saw. His mind was flashing different images in rotation—one happy memory with you followed up by something he’d done to chase your memory away after he’d run away.

“All that I’m after is a life full of laughter, as long as I’m laughing with you and I think that all that still matters is love ever after—after the life we’ve been through. I know there’s no life after you.”

It seemed fast, but it had probably been about thirty minutes of time that had passed. Not that you lived very far at all, if you were even still at the last address the Winchesters had for you—Sam took a longer route hoping that Dean would sober up a little more before talking with you. Anyone would be able to smell the whiskey on him at this moment, but his words needed to be coherent if there was any chance of you hearing him out. It seemed that he had sort of the same idea because even when the impala had pulled into the driveway, he just sat there. “What if she doesn’t wanna talk?” Dean asked, somber tone to his voice as his eyes remained fixated on the front door of what he hoped was still your home. Mind racing almost as fast as his heart. “Dean, if I know anything about [Y/N], she’ll at least listen—even if she’s incredibly pissed and still hurt.” Sam reassured his older brother. Dean sighed again, not wanting to waste another second and also wanting to see have some alcohol in his system for this conversation. Slowly he opened the passenger side door and stepped out onto the asphalt driveway. Gently closing the door, it had still alerted a dog inside the home who was barking just a little bit every couple of seconds. He carried himself up the few cement steps, turning to see the front door closer than ever. Now more memories of the last time he was here were coming back.

“Dean, please.. why are you doing this? You can’t possibly just have stopped loving me, that’s not..” Her sobs were breaking his heart but he knew this was something he had to do. “Why are you walking away from this? From us? After everything we’ve been through.. after the life we’ve built from the ground up.. you’re just throwing it all away.” She felt as if there was a fire in your chest, she’d been sobbing so intensely for what seemed like forever. Mascara and eyeliner were smudged and made a mess of the space underneath her eyes. “Say something, Dean—please.. why are you pushing me away? What did I do?!” Every word became far more intense and the actual words were hard to discern from the sobs. Dean had just been staring at the floor since the words left his mouth. Three years next to her and he never imagined this day would come, but if you died just so Lucifer could get one up on him? He’d never survive. He’d never be able to carry the weight of your death or your blood on his hands—so this was the only way you got to live a long and happy life without him putting you in harm’s way. “[Y/N/N] I.. I just don’t think we were meant to work out. I’m sorry, I just-“ he was cut off by her intense sobs hearing him saying it again. “Please Dean.. don’t do this.. whatever I did wrong, whatever’s not working we can fix it. Please..” She pleaded, voice already hoarse from the crying and the wailing. “Sweetheart you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s me, I’m just, not made out for this relationship stuff.” He’d barely lifted his gaze again to meet her own, but only for a second. Seeing her like that was too hard for his heart to bare. “Why Dean.. please.. it’s been three years. Three years of this and we can talk about it. Whatever it is we can move past it together, don’t you love me anymore?” She sobbed out, arms wrapped around her own chest as Dean looked up to her face and met her gaze one last time. “Honey, I’ll love you ‘til the day I die.” Sighing he turned to walk out the front door, closing it and never looking back. He couldn’t look—his heart had already shattered.

Now here he was again, roughly two years later, taking the last few steps to fully stand at your front door. Lifting his hand which had formed a loose fist, he’d knock three times upon the wooden material of the door. There was no answer and no sign that anyone was home other than the dog barking that he’d heard moments prior. Dean was about to turn and walk back down the pathway when he heard the doorknob turning after the lock clicked out of position. “Do you know how late it is, what do you nee—“ her eyes widened when she realized who had just knocked at her door. “D-Dean.. what are you..” she felt her bottom lip quivering. Dean could tell this was the last thing she’d ever thought would happen. “Hi, sweetheart. I-“ before he could get another word out of his mouth, he was met with a harsh slap to the side of his face. His eyes fell as he collected his thoughts, waiting before speaking again. “I deserve that. I deserve that and so much more. [Y/N/N] I’m so sorry.. I’m so fucking sorry.” He got out, not being able to look back up at her just yet. “You’ve got some kind of nerve showing up here, this late at night.. Dean you broke my heart and you stomped on it to boot. Why do you think after two whole years that I’d listen to whatever the hell you have to say?” It was obvious that there was sadness and hurt laced within her voice, more so than the anger she’s trying to push forward. Slowly his head tilted back into its usual position and his eyes found hers again. “I know there’s no life after you.” It was all he could say in that second and her expression softened, before she’d built the wall back up. “You came all the way to quote a Daughtry song?”

“No, I’m quoting that damn song because for the three days Sam and I have been in Reno I’ve heard it everywhere. My car, in a store, hell in my head—[Y/N] I’ve been trying every day since I left to push your memory from my mind. I wanted so badly to forget about you and know that you were free to have a normal life. I also know that I’ve got no right to stand on your doorstep telling you how much pain I’ve been in since the second I walked out this door two years ago when this whole fucking thing is my fault.” He paused, tears slowly falling as he tried to blink them away. “[Y/N] I was afraid. I was so afraid.. I couldn’t lose you like that-“ Again he was cut off but just by her words this time. “Dean you did lose me, you pushed me away—fuck you pushed me out of your life altogether. You’re absolutely correct, you don’t have any right to stand here talking about your pain. I didn’t eat, I barely slept, for weeks after you left. All I did was lay on that couch and sob. Endlessly. After I couldn’t physically sob any more I thought, there has to be some kind of monster or witch doing this and so I researched for weeks and still barely ate and slept only a fraction more. All I came up with was dead end after dead end and so I finally had to realize the truth.” She sobbed out, pausing to try and steady her own voice. “You chose to leave on your own.” She’d opened her mouth to continue talking but now it was his turn to sob out, which caught her completely off guard. “He made me feel like I had no other choice..”

Now you stood with a perplexed look on your face as tears were streaming down your cheeks. “What.. who-“ before the question could even fully leave her lips, the man she loved began to speak again. “Lucifer. He needed Sammy, you know all that one true vessel shit, so he couldn’t hurt me that way. He knew any threat he put to Sam wouldn’t stick because deep down I knew that Lucifer needed Sam alive and well to complete whatever sick and twisted plan he had thought out.” She felt both her heart and her stomach drop, figuring out exactly where this was going. “[Y/N] he said he’d kill you and not think twice. I couldn’t.. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you died all because I love you. I wouldn’t be able to breathe knowing that your death was my fault and I’d never get your blood off my hands.” His confidence had wavered, the alcohol mostly wearing off. You sighed, a silence falling over the two of you as you attempted to process what he’d just said. “Dean.. why didn’t you just talk to me? Tell me what he said and we could’ve talked about it.” She asked, the venom gone from her words and a sadness settling over them. “I was scared. I didn’t know how to admit that I was scared especially to you, I’m the one that was supposed to keep you safe. I know that’s not an excuse and I’m not trying to excuse me hurting you like I did—that image of you hugging yourself and crying the hardest I’d ever seen someone cry has haunted me all this time. I never wanna hurt anyone but I damn sure never wanted to hurt you.. at all—let alone like that..”

Again a silence fell between them, it felt like a lifetime between their words and the action she’d finally take. Stepping forward she used both of her hands to cup his face, both having glassy hues due to all the tears. “I forgive you, Dean.” She said almost in a whisper. He felt his heart racing and he eyes searched hers for any sign that this might not be true. Seconds felt like hours but he couldn’t find any sign of deception and instinctively, he plunged forward to connect his lips with her own. It had caught her off guard but she was returning the kiss with an explosion of passion. They chased the other’s lips in a back and forth motion until they both couldn’t breathe. After pushing the limit a little further they’d separate but remain forehead-to-forehead. “I know there’s no life after you.” She spoke in a soft tone before pulling Dean inside of her home and re-locking the door.

[aurianavaloria]

KoH - What Good May Come (Baldwin IV x Reader)

Fandom: Kingdom of Heaven

Pairing: Baldwin IV x Fem!Reader

PoV: Mixed/Split (Tiberias - Fem!Reader - Baldwin)

Length: Long (8k+ words! 😬)

TW: Vague mentions of disfigurement/leprosy

A/N: FINALLY, I've finished the Y/N fic that was voted on so long ago in this poll. Since the results were fairly close, I simply eliminated the least-voted option and went with a combination of the rest. 😁I've tried my best to keep Y/N truly generic, although she is female; in all other ways, though, it was my hope to make her vague enough that readers could envision whomever they liked in whatever universe/version of the story they wished. Backstory and circumstances are also left as vague as possible. As far as personality, I tried to go with what seemed most popular in general, again in an attempt to appeal to the widest audience. I sincerely hope you enjoy, and thank you all for being awesome! 🤗

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“She adores you, you know.”

It was these words from Tiberias that broke the silence between king and vassal – a companionable one… one born from years of acquaintanceship that had seen both parties through their fair share of strife and misunderstandings. A type of camaraderie perhaps only two leaders in their position could comprehend and be satisfied with.

The Count of Tripoli watched as his liege-lord’s attention was drawn from the bright Jerusalem outdoors into which he was all but forbidden to emerge. Watched as eyes as blue as the sky Tiberias knew was above drifted to his own. One was clouded, now – a sign of impending blindness. But Tiberias remembered well when both possessed such a clear and sharp forget-me-not stare, bidding all who beheld their gaze to indeed forget them not…

“I beg your pardon, Raymond,” the king replied, the silver mask he wore slightly muffling carefully-chosen words, smooth as the waters of the Jordan. “My thoughts have wandered, as they often do these days, and I am uncertain as to whom you refer.”

The smallest of laughs escaped Tiberias’s lips as they briefly twisted into a half-smile – a response to His Majesty that perhaps only he could get away with. He swirled what remained of the deep claret wine in his goblet, leveling his gaze at the king over the rim; the Count had known his lord since before he had come of age, and no amount of masks could cover the fact that Baldwin IV of Jerusalem was always aware of more than he pretended.

“Forgive me for my lack of clarity, my lord,” Raymond answered wryly. “I speak of Lady Y/N.”

“Ah, yes.”

Baldwin’s response was accompanied by the slightest nod, silver shimmering with the movement as it caught a sunray. His eyes fell to the chess pieces that functioned not as part of an actual match between them, but merely an occupation for restless hands. Particularly the king’s. Gloved in white, one of those half-numb hands still somehow moved with grace, a slender finger perched atop the head of a knight, resting upon the carved arch of the stallion’s mane.

Tiberias noted the short answer, half-sighed. No doubt His Majesty’s thoughts continued where his lips dared not to go, if the Count knew him as well as he thought he did…

“She speaks of you fondly and often,” Raymond added, sipping of the wine. “I believe she is single-handedly determined to bring your presence back into court by mention of your name and titles alone.”

White fingers released the knight. “The court is far too vicious a place for as good a soul as hers,” Baldwin said at length, sitting back in his chair, another sigh escaping him like the hiss of steam behind his mask as he glanced away. “Lately, I have been thinking of what to do with her. It is increasingly obvious there is no place for her here. Not amongst these vultures.”

“Oh?” Tiberias’s brows arched high. “Isn’t there?”

“No. There is not.”

At that, the Count’s lips pressed together as he leaned forward, setting his goblet on the chess table and folding his hands in his lap. “My lord, surely you aren’t thinking of sending her away. Not from here, where she has found joy despite everything.” He caught his liege’s gaze as it returned to him, adding pointedly, “Where you have found it.”

“My joy is irrelevant,” Baldwin replied flatly. “And as for hers...” he paused, and Raymond could see the king’s throat bob past his bandages. “It will not persist. It is best she seek it elsewhere, before that which she has found here meets its inevitable end.”

The corner of the Count’s mouth twitched. “You, or Jerusalem?”

“I am Jerusalem,” the king answered simply.

Tiberias glanced away, closing his eyes for a moment as silence stretched between them. The Count in him knew that Baldwin was, in a way, correct. Disaster loomed on the horizon – a kind of calamity from which they might not return, and it would most assuredly begin with His Majesty’s death. If the physicians were right and not being overly generous in their assessment, then the king had less than a decade left in his short life. And imbeciles like Guy de Lusignan seemed determined to shorten it further. Yes, she would be safer – and perhaps happier in the long term – elsewhere…

Yet there was something so terribly tragic about it all that Tiberias couldn’t help but feel sympathy grow in his heart for the boy. Yes boy. He hadn’t even had the chance to grow a man’s whiskers on his cheeks before that damned disease had twisted his face almost beyond recognition. And Tiberias had seen it all. Even through the at-times frustrating trials of Baldwin’s kingship, the Count of Tripoli had watched as the golden-haired warrior of sixteen years had wasted away into this silver-faced specter that had become far too wise, far too young…

…but he had also watched those specter’s eyes glow with a long-absent light the moment Y/N had stood before him. For a fleeting instant, he had once again seen the eyes of a younger king, reminiscent of past joys and glorious victories.

Baldwin would extinguish that light in an instant for her sake, romantic fool that he was. Or perhaps it was Raymond himself who was the fool, as he thought of Y/N and how she, too, had been drawn to the king the moment they’d met. How such a precious creature, so rare upon this Earth, had fallen into such a deadly trap… and now it seemed, like a snared rabbit, her only option was to chew off her own limb before the hunter found her.

How to rescue them both from such a fate?

“The girl is in love with you, my lord,” he began after a moment, his voice a growling murmur. “To send her away would break her heart. It would destroy her.” He shook his head, meeting the king’s stare with his own. “As it would you, and you know it.”

“What would you have me do, Tiberias?” Baldwin asked, Raymond’s more familiar moniker finally coming out now that the Count’s words had pierced past the royal façade. “To let her stay will cause her only despair, and that will destroy the both of us as well. And I cannot be that selfish to such a benevolent soul.” Tiberias heard a long exhale behind the mask as the king cast his eyes to the ceiling, as if searching for answers amongst the lofty vaults. “Were it not for this disease I would ask her father for her hand and devote my life to her as her husband before the altar of God. But I am a leper, and I am forbidden that.” The pale gaze that returned to the Count’s was a haunting one now, as if all the ghosts of Purgatory screamed through it for salvation. A mirthless laugh followed, a dark sound born of darker thoughts. “It seems I can do nothing else but waste away before her very eyes. So tell me, my wise vassal – if I cannot protect her from what is to come, what is it that I can do?”

A flicker of a smile crossed Tiberias’s lips. “Love her, my lord. As I know you already do.” He paused, propping his elbows on the table and rubbing his sword-calloused hands together as he thought.

“It’s the whole reason for your self-flagellation, is it not?” he continued after a moment. “This talk of sending Y/N out of Jerusalem – your crown tells you one thing, but your heart tells you another, and for the first time you want to toss the crown by the wayside, and that makes you fear you are an incompetent king. So you pick up the crown again in hopes it will crush the heart, and perhaps the love along with it.”

Another sigh, the lids of the king’s eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “I only wish to do what is right, Tiberias. It is what I have striven for my entire life, and I will not abandon such principles now. If it means my own suffering, so be it. And as for her,” his eyes opened once more, latching to Raymond’s, “tell me what good may come from the love of a leper.”

This time, it was the Count who sighed, sitting back in his chair. “Peace. Mercy. Comfort. Everything you have brought to this kingdom.” He crossed an ankle over his knee, peaking his fingers. “You cannot know that a little cruelty now will not hurt her any less than what will come later. But you do know that loving her can only bring happiness to you both in the present moment – and that is what she lives for. Not the future.” He cocked his head at the king. “There is nothing wicked in what she desires. Nor in what you wish for her. The both of you want nothing more than the other’s well-being. How can that be anything but right?”

Raymond saw Baldwin’s throat bob again, the mask shimmering in the sunlight as he shifted in his seat, first looking down towards the floor, then back to the illuminated arcade.

“How shall I court her, then?” he inquired at length, his voice softer, cynicism at last yielding to tender warmth. “How to show her this affection of mine without forever staining her honor?”

Tiberias’s jaw worked as he thought for a few moments in silence. “If you wish to be discreet, my lord, I believe I may assist in this matter.”

It was then, as Baldwin returned his attention to the Count, that the latter saw a glimpse of boyish mischief sparkling in his liege’s eye. “I would trust no other to the task.”

================

“My lady, a courier flagged me down today and told me to give you this.”

Your lady-in-waiting approached, holding out a small wrapped parcel.

“What is it?” you asked, interest piqued.

The handmaid shook her head. “I have no idea, my lady. The courier didn’t say.”

You felt your brow furrow as you took the parcel in hand. The fabric was fine, but not terribly so – a soft cream color, tied with a simple yellow ribbon.

“Hmm. I wonder who it is from.”

“He didn’t say that, either,” your companion commented.

Curiosity mounting by the second, you decided to succumb to the impulse to open the parcel, tugging at the ribbon. Casting it aside, you pulled back the corners of the fabric to reveal a folded piece of parchment, within which had been tucked something slightly weighty…

Merely tilting the parchment to the side let the object slide free into your waiting palm, and you couldn’t stifle the gasp that escaped you. There, in your hand, lay a lovely brooch, sparkling in the sunlight that streamed in from your window. A small disk of gold, swirling floral patterns weaved across its surface and wound about its edge like vines of roses. At its center was set a sapphire cabochon, polished and glimmering, and from its bottom edge hung a single creamy white pearl, like a teardrop in shape.

“Oh, it’s beautiful!”

The words came from your lady-in-waiting; you were too busy still holding your breath as you took in the details of this exquisite piece. You ran a finger over the filigree and atop the smooth stone in wonder. Who could have possibly gifted you something so beautiful and why?

As if reading your mind, your fellow courtier prompted, “Maybe the parchment says who it’s from.”

Finally remembering to breathe, you nodded, carefully unfolding the small piece of vellum to see a tight, neat script, punctuated with neither signature nor seal:

You will never know how much light you bring into the lives of others. It is my only hope that this small token of my regard brings a measure of light into yours.

This time, it was both you and your handmaiden who gasped in unison, barely stifling squeaks of girlish delight as you exchanged looks with one another.

“You, my lady, have an admirer!”

In awe, you stared at the parchment, reading the words over and over again. But who could have possibly written them?

“So it seems,” you replied at length, running a thumb across the surface of the brooch.

“Well,” your comrade continued, straightening and putting her hands on her hips, “that will give you plenty to talk about at the feast tonight.”

Your brow furrowed. “Feast?”

She nodded with a grin. “Yes, feast! Princess Sibylla arranged it. Perhaps you’ll find your mysterious admirer amongst the guests there, hmm?”

At that, you could only blink for a moment, your thoughts a whirlwind in your mind. Of all the things to find in Jerusalem, you hadn’t quite expected an admirer to be one of them…

“I’m not sure whether to be frightened or excited by the prospects,” you finally replied honestly, a nervous chuckle following your words.

“Oh, lady,” your handmaid admonished, swatting a hand playfully at your shoulder. “It will be quite fun, I’m sure. The princess’s functions are always lighthearted affairs, or so I hear. I imagine there will be dancing and merry music aplenty. Just plan to enjoy yourself, and if something – or someone – intriguing comes along…” she trailed and winked.

You tried to fight the blush that sprang to your cheeks, but to no avail, leading your handmaid to laugh heartily. “Ah, my lady. By your leave, I must see to a few things before evening falls, but I will return to help you get ready.”

You couldn’t help but smile back, giving a nod of assent. “Of course.”

With that, the lady-in-waiting dipped into a polite curtsey and left, closing your chamber door gently behind her and leaving you to your increasingly-anxious thoughts. Your attention returned to the parchment and brooch – both were fine indeed, indicating that, whoever your admirer was, they were certainly someone of status. Yet there was a certain practicality to both; the author’s penmanship was practiced and elegant, but not overstated, and the brooch itself was obviously expensive, but neither was it overly extravagant.

It was also a rather fitting gift, considering you had only just lost your old one on the way to Jerusalem…

And then it hit you.

It can’t be…

Your heart began to beat harder in your chest as it all came to you in a rush. Yes, you’d lost your beloved brooch on the long journey to Jerusalem – one of your last remaining ties to your homeland. A silly thing to get upset about, you told yourself later on, and yet the loss of it affected you even after your arrival at court. Nevertheless, no one up until that point knew besides your lady-in-waiting. And there was only one Jerusalemite native to whom you had confided that little detail.

The king.

Your mouth ran dry as you remembered the instance as clearly as if it had been yesterday. It was only your third day at the palace, and you’d yet to become accustomed to its maze-like halls. Couple that with your fascination with the local architecture, and that led you to places, in hindsight, you probably ought not have tread. Yet no one stopped you, even as the number of palace guests thinned and you emerged upon a quiet, sunlit terrace…

…only to run right into a tall man in white.

It hadn’t taken you long to figure out that you’d plowed headlong into the king himself – quite embarrassing that. In fact, you were so mortified that you were sure you would die of it on the spot, even as you apologized profusely with the deepest curtsey you could manage on weak legs.

To your surprise, however, not even the slightest admonishment came from him. Instead, he chuckled, the sound muffled by the mask he wore. That caused you to look up, still frozen in your curtsey, and that was when you saw the bluest eyes you’d ever seen in your life looking back at you, their squinted corners evidence of a smile behind the almost-angelic visage of silver.

You smiled back nervously, at which point he bid you to rise, assuring you that you had done nothing wrong. An awkward introduction followed, during which you admitted that curiosity had gotten the better of you, and you praised the well-kept grounds and the lovely accommodations you’d been given…

As it so happened, however, he already knew precisely who you were from your name alone – where you were from and why you’d come to Jerusalem. Whether he had gleaned this information from spies or the rumor mill of the court, you weren’t certain, but the more he spoke, the more difficult it became to keep the flabbergasted look off your face. And along with that astonishment came the slightest bit of fear – if he knew this much about you, how much did everyone else know?

Despite your best efforts, though, you must have been unable to keep your face expressionless, as that was when he had invited you to his chambers to speak further in private.

To say you were surprised by such an offer was something of an understatement; it was the last thing you expected to hear after what had just transpired between you, especially from a king to a freshly-acquainted subject. And yet you found yourself quite unable to decline even out of modesty. For one thing, declining the offer of a king seemed most imprudent, and for another…

…well, you were actually rather curious about His Majesty, unwilling to end the encounter just yet.

So you followed him, marveling at him all the while. You knew he was a leper – that was something you’d been informed of before you’d departed for the Holy City – but that didn’t frighten you. You had seen lepers where you were from, and they hadn’t frightened you, either. You also knew the mask was meant to hide the deformities beneath. In fact, it was the presence of that mask that had led you to guess the identity of its owner before it was ever confirmed by his lips – it was a symbol as powerful as a crown. None of that was what had drawn your curiosity; you were motivated neither by morbid fascination nor a sense of pity.

No, it was his astonishingly-welcoming demeanor that had you almost spellbound. The easy willingness to listen and to forgive. The quiet, yet poised decorum. You’d known men and women alike with rank much lesser than his who possessed a cold and domineering manner that was immediately off-putting to almost everyone around them. Yet here was the king of this realm, conversing politely with a lady who had merely lost her way.

Already you had learned volumes about his character, and he’d barely spoken at all.

He had posted guards, you noted, but they kept their eyes straight ahead as you passed them, following King Baldwin into his private quarters. It was a mighty struggle, but you managed to resist the urge to succumb to the eye-wandering that had gotten you into this situation to begin with. Instead, with the same discipline of his guardsmen, you glued your gaze to his back, occupying yourself by mentally tracing the subtle patterns in his coat of white damask silk.

Ultimately, he offered you a seat, and as you accepted with another curtsey, he sat himself a respectable distance away, only the slightest stiffness of his limbs betraying his condition as he settled into the chair opposite you. In fact, you could imagine he occupied his throne in much the same manner as he leaned back, both white-gloved hands curving over the ends of its arms. A servant, unbidden, came forth out of the shadows with a fresh cup of wine, which you took with a polite nod. The man then retreated as quietly as he had arrived, disappearing beyond sheer curtains of pale fabric.

And then, you talked.

It was mostly he who asked the questions, and you answered them as best as you were able; you weren’t brave enough to ask him much of anything, and so you settled for what small bits of information he voluntarily divulged over the course of your conversation. All in all, it was a relatively light discussion. He mostly inquired about your homeland and of your journey – of whether you had experienced any hardships or had witnessed anything of interest on your way to the Holy City, and if you had troubles acclimating to Jerusalem. It was during this exchange that you revealed the caravan’s run-in with thieves… how they had stolen what small bit of jewelry you possessed, sneaking in and out of the tents of the pilgrims and vanishing into the desert night before anyone could catch them.

You only offhandedly mentioned the brooch as the one piece you had any sentimental attachment to. In all honesty, you weren’t even sure if he had been listening at that point, as he had closed his eyes for a long time. You thought perhaps he might even have fallen asleep for a moment; if so, you couldn’t blame him, as you knew his condition was exhausting – you couldn’t imagine dealing with it on top of everything else expected of a king.

It was also quite possible that you were boring the poor man out of his mind with your lengthy and rambling answers, and he was simply too polite to cut you off.

Yet if what your gut was telling you was right, then he had indeed been listening, and far more closely than you could ever have realized…

You hadn’t known, however, at the time. Instead, you’d felt increasingly self-conscious as his eyes opened again, their gaze meeting yours with a piercing stare. Truly, it was as if he was looking through you rather than at you as you turned the conversation to lighter matters – mostly all the wonderful sights you’d seen since arriving in the Holy Land, especially Jerusalem itself. Your observations seemed to please him, and he voiced his gladness that you were, for the most part, enjoying yourself. You’d thanked him for his hospitality, and it wasn’t long after that the discussion ended, king and subject cordially parting ways with nod and curtsey.

Little did you know that one meeting would soon turn into two. Then three. Then more.

Somehow, a few days after your unexpected first encounter, you ran into him again in the garden – though, thankfully, not literally this time. After exchanging a few pleasantries, he once more invited you to further conversation in private, and again you accepted. This time, he inquired if you knew the game of chess, and to your surprise (and secret amusement) he appeared rather pleased when you affirmed that you did. He then promptly challenged you to a match, to which you heartily agreed. Yet even though you were handily beaten, it was an enjoyable game, and you found yourself acquiescing to a future rematch.

It wasn’t long before these games became almost a routine part of your afternoon, save for the days when His Majesty was busy with his council or holding court. And it was during the course of these games that you realized just how lonely he must have been. For the more games you shared, the fewer of them were seen to completion; far more time was spent talking with the board sitting untouched between you than it was actually playing.

He never kept you longer than you desired to stay, and certainly never more than was appropriate for an unmarried lady such as yourself. In fact, he seemed to leave the coming and going mostly to you. Yet you didn’t fail to notice the way his eyes lit up when he saw you, their corners crinkling with a smile you couldn’t otherwise see. It broke your heart that he spent so much of his days, outside his duties, in near-isolation, when he was such a thoughtful, inquisitive, and intelligent soul… such a joy to converse with. And so you’d been sure to praise these qualities amongst your fellow courtiers whenever the chance arose…

It had only just occurred to you in the middle of a recent sleepless night that the reasons behind your persistent compliments might have run a bit deeper than the simple desire to keep his spirit alive in the court he barely saw.

You couldn’t deny the way your heart sped up when your eyes met – those eyes that you couldn’t quite decide were more like the sea or the sky. And it wasn’t just the content of his speech you enjoyed, but the way he delivered it… with a voice that was so easy to listen to for hours on end, so reflective of his serene and introspective nature.

And then there were the times, when he accidentally fumbled the pieces, that your fingers and his gloved ones nearly touched. When you both reached for the fallen pawn only for one of you to swiftly withdraw, each time followed by a soft chuckle. But you couldn’t ignore the sensation that charged the atmosphere, like the feeling that permeated the air just before a storm, and your heartbeat was the warning thunder in your ears…

You shook your head, your thoughts returning to the present as you rubbed your thumb over the brooch’s smooth gem. It was then that the tiniest doubt began to tickle and nag at the back of your mind. What if it wasn’t him at all? What if it was merely a coincidence? Something your heart foolishly yearned for, but that your mind knew well would never happen?

A frown pulled at your lips. Baldwin had proven to be someone to whom you could speak about almost anything without fear of reprisal. Nothing you had confided in him had ever escaped the bounds of his chamber – and there was plenty you had discussed, especially lately. Even if he hadn’t sent this jewel, you could trust him to advise you with wisdom. And despite his relative absence from court, there was no one who knew its members better…

By the time your handmaid returned to help you prepare for the evening, you’d made up your mind.

“I shall wear the blue bliaut tonight. To match this lovely brooch.”

================

Even past the bandages of thin linen and the silken veil covering his ears, Baldwin could still hear the distant strains of music floating through the palace’s long and lonely corridors… the latest in Sibylla’s efforts to keep the place lively even as its king slowly wasted away, out of sight and out of mind.

He could have made a surprise appearance, he supposed. He did that on occasion, whenever he felt particularly energetic, much to his physicians’ chagrin. It was mildly intriguing to see what kind of looks he would receive and from whom– though by this point, those expressions and their bearers had become almost boringly predictable. Fear and awe were ever present, manifesting in the form of slackened jaws and widened eyes and hushed whispers behind hands and veils. Rarer looks of disgust and revulsion were always quickly covered by feigned indifference. Then there were those especially-bold souls who dared to reveal their open contempt in their thinned lips and narrowed eyes.

It was pity, however, that he despised the most.

Dread, loathing, hatred – these were all traits with which any monarch could be clothed whether they wished to or not. Such was the burden of leadership. But pity…

Pity was a mantle that was distinctly his to wear.

Every time he saw it in the faces of those who looked upon him, he was reminded that his crown was secondary to his condition. That they saw the Leper before they saw the King. It was not that he lacked appreciation for those who truly worried for his health and his well-being, but in their eyes he saw reflected back at him what he tried desperately to ignore from the moment his physicians departed in the morning until they returned at night to dress his wounds.

The corner of his mouth twitched beneath his mask, and his quill stilled, poised for a moment in the one hand of his that still had life in it before he reached to return the pen to its stand.

Lady Y/N had never looked at him that way.

Sitting back in his chair, he wondered if she was enjoying herself this night. If Sibylla was hosting her well. He hoped that she was, and that his sister had not overwhelmed the poor girl with her almost shamefully lavish tastes. It was evident that Y/N was quite unused to Jerusalem’s abundance in almost every respect; those first few days after her arrival at court, her wide-eyed wonder had rendered her speechless on more than one occasion, or so he’d heard.

A light hum escaped him at the memory of their first meeting. It seemed as though it was forever ago, and yet, at the same time, it felt as if it were only yesterday.

She had been rather distracted, he recalled… so distracted, in fact, that she hadn’t seen him in the corridors, watching as she’d unwittingly wandered into the realm of the royal apartments. With great accuracy, he’d anticipated the trajectory of her meandering steps, and he purposefully made to intercept her before she breached the threshold of what the guards deemed acceptable, even for a lost lady.

Baldwin wasn’t quite as quick as he used to be, though, in part due to that damned dragging foot of his, and he’d neglected to account for his reduction in speed, resulting in an unfortunate collision on the terrace above the gardens.

Or perhaps, he thought in hindsight, it was fortunate after all…

He’d heard enough from his informants to guess who she was. Tiberias and others amongst his court might have suspected she was an assassin simply playing the part of a lost newcomer, and he had to admit that the thought had crossed his own mind, if briefly; in a world such as theirs, it was difficult to imagine anyone without some kind of ulterior motive. Yet it soon became apparent that she was as innocent as the day was long – if there was anything his disease had given him, it was experience reading tone and body language, and he wasn’t certain the best actress in the world could have feigned her level of self-conscious nervousness.

No, Y/N was simply curious and lost. And from what those same informants had told him, she was in desperate need of someone local she could trust. Though evidently satisfied with her new home in every other way, she had been slow to acclimate to the social environment of the court, preferring to keep to herself whenever possible. From this, he suspected her need to get away from the appraising gazes of total strangers was what had initially propelled her away from the great hall, and her natural inquisitiveness had continued to pull her into the quieter depths of the palace.

But the faint smile she’d worn and the sparkle in her eyes had been replaced with fear the instant she realized who she’d run into, and the stuttering apology and low curtsey she’d given him betrayed her anticipation of reprimand.

That was something he’d had to correct, and quickly.

In the moments that followed, he’d gauged it most appropriate for them to smooth over this encounter by getting to know each other better, and thus he’d invited her to do just that in the privacy of his quarters, where they would face little chance of interruption.

As he’d hoped, she’d accepted. And it was this first conversation of theirs that had led him to believe that Lady Y/N was terribly lonely.

Her chatter was slightly nervous and yet, at the same time, somewhat eager. There was little doubt that he’d learned far more about her than she had about him; with but a little coaxing, he had discovered much about her circumstances and about what plagued her. It had displeased him greatly to hear about the thieves that had raided her entourage’s tents on the way to the Holy City, and it irked him even more that she’d lost a treasured possession because of it. Her journey had already been a long and arduous one – had that not been enough?

Y/N put up a rather convincing façade of indifference on the matter, but when he focused on her voice alone, he heard her pain. No, she was no actress, he concluded.

He also hadn’t failed to notice her willingness to make eye contact with him… to look him full in the face and speak freely with every question he asked; she dodged neither query nor gaze. Outside her initial fright on the balcony, she displayed few other signs of trepidation regarding his presence. In fact, it seemed as though she’d just been waiting for someone with whom she could share her thoughts and feelings – as if she’d bottled up everything he’d asked about since arriving in Jerusalem and finally found someone willing to listen.

Had she truly felt so comfortable with him already, or was she simply a trusting soul? He was unaccustomed to both, and it was… refreshing.

His instincts warned him that the jackals of the court would surely eat her alive, and he feared what their viciousness might do to her. What kind of slander and gossip would come from what had been innocent curiosity on her part. How much her character would be maligned for sport. The very thought of it being a possibility made his blood boil.

Over the course of their subsequent conversations, however, he was forced to rethink that initial assumption. Kind-hearted she was, and still too good for the likes of her peers, but she could hold her own among them better than he had anticipated; a few casual inquiries over a few chess matches revealed that much. She saw, heard, and understood far more than her outward appearance would suggest. Behind that warm, gentle, and charmingly-inquisitive exterior was a clever and tenacious woman whom he found to be utterly captivating. No matter the storm around her, she always projected an air of geniality and good cheer, evidently determined not to let this unsettled world tear her down.

In short, the court didn’t deserve her.

He didn’t deserve her.

She never asked him for anything, and likewise she didn’t press questions upon him about his condition. Whenever they passed time together, he felt like neither king nor leper, but like an ordinary man. In her sparkling eyes and healing presence, he saw not pity, but life. A normal life for once. One where he did not have to dread what the next morning might bring.

Alas, that glorious feeling of contentment left him with her every departure.

The sound of exuberant cheers down the corridor pulled him from his musings, and he found himself back in the relative darkness of his chambers, watching the candle’s flame flicker upon his desk. He wondered which dance it was they’d just finished, imagining Y/N in his mind’s eye moving as hypnotically as that very flame. If she danced as beautifully as he envisioned, she would have the whole court entranced…

“Sire, you have a request for an audience.”

The guard called from the entrance to his quarters.

“Who is it?” he asked, hope, dread, and fear all churning in his stomach in a toxic maelstrom. He hadn’t the patience or the energy to deal with most petitioners this night, other than-

“Lady Y/N.”

His eyes widened.

That was quick.

Hope surged forth at the mention of her name, but neither dread nor fear was eliminated by this revelation. Not completely. He had a feeling the gifting of the brooch he’d commissioned would bring her to him sooner or later, but he hadn’t anticipated it being that very day, and especially not with the festivities Sibylla had planned…

Perhaps it is not that, he reminded himself solemnly, but something else altogether.

“I will see her,” he called back at last. “Let her pass.”

There were precious few seconds for him to compose himself before he saw her, at first a shadow at the entrance to his chambers, and then illuminated by lamp and candlelight as she cautiously strode forth. His breath caught in his lungs at the sight of her, her eyes glittering like stars from all those dancing fires. She wore the most beautiful court dress he’d ever seen her in – a sapphire-blue silk bliaut, laced tight at the sides to flatter her form, seemingly a thousand shimmering pleats flowing from her hips to the floor. At her waist had been tied a fabric belt of lighter blue, embroidered in gold, double-wrapped about her body and knotted in front in Frankish style. Her belled sleeves, with their golden trim, allowed only a glimpse of her stark white chemise beneath, and there, upon that same trim that adorned the dress’s wide neckline, had been pinned the brooch, pulling the dipping V above her heart into an elegant keyhole.

“Your Majesty,” she greeted him with a curtsey, offering a smile that shot straight to his heart. “I hope I haven’t come at an inopportune time.”

“Not at all,” he gestured for her to rise, turning in his seat to fully face her, “although I would have expected you to be at my sister’s gathering.”

Another smile. “I was, in fact. Alas, I felt the need to speak with you on a matter of great import. I hope Her Highness can forgive me for my early departure.”

The king nodded once. “I am all but certain she will. I am, however, glad you were at least able to make an appearance,” he remarked as he slowly rose from his chair, stifling a groan that threatened to escape him from his aching limbs. Then, pausing, he tilted his head as he allowed himself to take in her attire once more. “You look lovely. It would have been a shame to have wasted such beauty on my poor eyes alone; better indeed that you allowed others with keener sight the chance to appreciate your taste and talents before slipping away to these dark and distant halls.”

Even in the low candlelight, he could see her cheeks flush, and as her gaze briefly flicked away from his, he felt his twisted lips pull into an unseen smile.

“You are too kind, my lord,” she replied. “In truth, I found myself… inspired… by this new jewel I received just this afternoon.” Her fingers drifted to that very piece, pinned above her heart, and Baldwin forced himself to school his gaze… to pretend he hadn’t been the one to write up the specifics of its creation for the royal jeweler… that he hadn’t entrusted it to Tiberias to give to a capable courier… that he hadn’t prayed to God he hadn’t made an irreversible mistake by daring to tread on this unknown path.

“Do you like it?” she asked suddenly, her eyes meeting his. “Believe it or not, it is, in fact, the subject of my concern.”

Something in both her gaze and her tone told him she’d made the assumption he wished. Good. He had no desire to drag this out; indeed, hadn’t the time for it. And now that she was here, following the lead he’d purposefully fashioned, his only task was to find out if Tiberias was truly right about her and her feelings…

Swallowing back where his heart had gathered in his throat, he replied coolly, “Yes, it suits you. Although, I am uncertain as to why you would approach me for such an opinion,” he added with a chuckle, slightly bemused at the way she was choosing to approach this mystery. Indicating the chess table where they’d held so many conversations of late, he beckoned, “Come. Sit.”

Wordlessly, she acquiesced, dipping her head before moving to take her usual place, as he did his.

“I…” she began after a moment, her stare focused on one of the pieces as he settled himself opposite her. “Well, the truth is, I was hoping I could ask you for advice in a matter related to it. Regarding the one who sent it to me, in fact.”

“Yes?” he prompted as he watched her. Time to confirm that assumption.

“Well, you see… I don’t really know who sent it…”

His eyes met hers, squinting a little. “You don’t?” he asked, keeping the skepticism from his tone as he began to pull her thoughts from her.

“No.” She shook her head. “There was no name on the note that accompanied it, so I cannot know for certain who might have sent it. But,” yet another smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, her eyes sparkling again as she leaned forth and propped her elbows on the edge of the table, “I do have an idea, and I was hoping perhaps I might pass my thoughts by you. You know a great many in your court, after all. Perhaps you could confirm or deny my suspicions?”

Oh yes, she knew. He knew she knew. And now she played with him as much as he with her, both seeking confession…

“Perhaps I could,” he answered musingly. “What are your thoughts, then, Lady Y/N?”

“Well,” she began, dropping her gaze to the pieces once more, her fingertips toying with the white king, “I was just thinking of how appropriate such a gift was. Indeed, the person who sent it must know me rather well. It appeals so much to my tastes and is so fitting given recent events.”

His heart felt like it was about to beat itself out of his chest. “How fortuitous.”

“My thoughts precisely,” she agreed, glancing up at him. “And of those whom I’ve spent the most time with, there are few who would know me in such a manner.”

“Truly?”

“Truly.”

She paused, and he felt her eyes studying him intensely. “In fact, there is only one man who would have known just how fortuitous it was. Only one who would have known I would have need of such a piece. Now,” she leaned back a little, offering him a pointed look, “I do realize that brooches are popular as courting gifts,” she paused, her gaze latching to his, “but even so, I find the choice rather… convenient. Don’t you, my lord?”

“Yes,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I understand your meaning.”

Deafening silence stretched between them during which neither of them moved.

“Only one man,” she repeated, her own voice having gone quiet, and Baldwin saw her eyes glimmer in the lamplight. Before he could even open his mouth to offer another comment, she leaned forward again, her gaze burning a hole through him. “Only one man who bothered to know me. To know my heart. To care for me and my life enough to remember what I held dear.” He saw her swallow heavily. “You, my king. You sent it to me, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” he breathed, nodding once in affirmation.

“Do you mean it?”

Her question was barely a whisper, yet Baldwin felt it in his heart – a probing inquiry seeking out the truth of his intentions.

His blood was rushing in his ears. “Every word, written and unwritten.”

And with that final admission everything was confirmed on his part. But as for hers…

The tears were obvious in her eyes now, pooling at the edges of her lashes. In that moment, he was sure he understood how the condemned felt just before the stroke of the headsman’s axe, before the tightening of the hangman’s noose. What would her answer be, then? He knew in his heart it would be better for her to simply walk away. But would she? Would she willingly doom herself to heartbreak?

At last Y/N spoke once more, her voice a tremulous whisper, and he hung upon every word as though his very life depended on it.

“I know this cannot be a courtship in the traditional sense,” she began softly, her liquid stare never leaving his, “and I know what the others will say…”

He began to feel lightheaded. At this rate, he was going to faint before he could hear her answer in full.

“…but I don’t care. For as long as there is life left in both of us, my king, I am yours. In whatever capacity you desire.”

“Oh.”

The word left him on a whoosh of breath, hissing behind his mask as relief washed over him in a powerful wave, every muscle in his body relaxing at once. Yet he couldn’t help the warped smile that overtook his countenance behind that façade of silver at the implications of her words.

She…?

“Yes,” she said with a nod, as if hearing the question his thoughts posed. A soft laugh followed, even as a shimmering tear slowly tracked down her cheek. “I love you, Baldwin. With all my heart. And I have since the day we met.”

At that, then, there was no longer any question of her feelings. He felt his own eyes welling with emotion, and he leaned towards her as close as he dared, propping his good hand on the table for support. “I regret that I will never be able to show you the extent of my own for you, my dear Lady Y/N. But understand this…” he paused, swallowing heavily. “My purest devotion has and always will belong to you. As much as a wretch such as I can be, I, too, am yours.”

She shook her head. “You are no wretch. Not to me.”

It was then her hand slowly moved towards where his gloved one yet lay on the table’s polished surface, and he flinched, a spike of fear darting through him like the bolt from a crossbow. “Y/N, no…”

Her gaze bored into his, her hand yet poised above his own. “I’m not afraid, my lord.”

“Y/N… please…”

The word was barely a whisper, slipping between the slightly-parted lips of his mask before he could catch it – a cry for her to stop and yet a plea for her not to. It was as if he had been paralyzed, unable to move away despite every corner of his mind screaming at him to withdraw.

If the glove was not enough… if it couldn’t safeguard her…

And yet all thoughts of everything came to a halt the moment her fingers lightly grazed his own, his breath catching in his throat. He felt it – the warmth of her through the thin silk – and it took all of his strength not to flinch away from her again, to curl his hand into a fist and recoil in upon himself to protect her from his horrid disease. Her eyes searched his, seemingly sifting through his soul as further she went. Slowly. Steadily. Her fingertips brushed with a feather-light touch over each set of knuckles, back and forth, and he couldn’t breathe. His lungs were desperate for air as she traced the delicate golden embroidery on the back of his hand; they finally betrayed him then, a shuddering exhale followed by a hitched intake of air he was certain she heard.

Yet Y/N only smiled at him once more, in that warm and gentle way of hers, her hand stilling as it rested atop his. And the entire world stilled along with it, his fear slowly ebbing as reason returned to replace it. These touches were all they had, he realized. All they could permit themselves. And yet still they could hold all the tenderness of a kiss.

Speaking of which…

He moved much more gently, then, as he twisted his hand underneath hers to catch her fingers in his grip. His gaze holding hers, he stroked his thumb across her knuckles before bringing that hand to his mask, where the cold and unfeeling lips touched the back of it in place of his own disfigured ones.

Despite not being able to give her a proper kiss, though, she evidently still understood the gesture, as another blush flushed her cheeks. A soft chuckle escaped him, and he remarked dryly, “There appears to be a bit of an obstacle here…”

At that, uncontrollable laughter burst from her, merry and full, and she clamped her other hand over her mouth to muffle it, leaning against the back of the chair as she continued to shake. He, too, laughed softly at her merriment, and for a moment the sound filled the room with a kind of joy it hadn’t witnessed in years.

After a moment, Y/N finally recovered, and she glanced over her shoulder as the faint strains of another song could be heard. Her gaze glittering with stars, both hands grasped his now and gently tugged as she stood. “Come. Dance with me.”

He blinked even as he slowly rose before her. “I… fear I’m not capable of much these days…”

“Not to worry,” she assured him with a grin, “I’ve just the dance in mind. Like this…”

With that, she pulled him to the open floor at the center of his chambers and began to show him the steps – two sidesteps here, two sidesteps there, a slow twirl of the lady in his arms, and begin again. For the first few cycles, she counted quietly until he caught the rhythm, and then there was only a warm, comfortable silence between them, the two gently swaying and turning to the distant music.

Tiberias was right. In that moment, Baldwin knew only happiness. Peace. Comfort. And so long as Y/N, too, felt these things, he could be content with whatever God had willed for him. He could only pray that, upon his death, the Almighty would be merciful to this woman, a living angel on Earth…

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If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading! If you want more of my writing, I also have a WIP Baldwin-centric longfic posted on Ao3 (shameless plug)! 😁Do let me know if you want me to continue this Y/N story! I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Also, the dance mentioned at the end of the story was inspired by this lovely one:

[vampyrial]

A World For Her Alone | Born of Love

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18

cw (chapter specific): threats of violence, assault, parents talking horribly about their children

summary: Mothers of us, be kind to the fathers on whom we rely.

word count: 4.0k

Claude watched your mother fall to the floor but threw himself down with her all the same. He gripped her by her shoulders, as though the truth he had scoured this house for was only awaiting his anger to draw back from the void as her life slipped away. He called into the hall for help but he sounded not frightened or even desperate but commanding, like his superiors. Like the men who trained him when he was just a child, trying to wield more from his pathetic body than he was willing to give. He knelt on the floor with your mother’s body as she gurgled blood and his grasp never faltered. He looked into the dark, waning pits of her eyes and tried to conjure the answers she’d die with.

Like everything, it was no use.

Your father, having stumbled upon a baffling scene that should have tried the endless patience he held for the lord, still questioned Claude with a gentleness that sickened him. “Was there anything unusual before this?” Your mother lay, already dead, in her bed with the two of them standing at the foot of it. And though he hated your mother with a fervor that begged him to crush her bones under his heel, what angered him more was the fact that the reverence had not ended when he had every reason to believe that Claude had a hand in his wife’s death. The falseness of all of it threatened to overwhelm him.

He allowed it.

He grabbed your father by the collar of his shirt, the man’s body even neglected to flinch immediately, he was that far removed from the harm Claude could do. “Unusual is the entirety of this farce.”

“My Lord–” Your father began, fear only just beginning to darken the edges of his eyes.

“You will tell me what you know of a certain princess and knight I read about in a frivolous story sitting on your shelf.” Claude’s grip did not relax, he flexed his fingers, yearning to curl them around your father’s neck.

Your father’s face betrayed an instant recognition but he held himself aloft from it. “Lord Claude, we all act impulsively when life challenges us this way but let you not sully your own reputation with violence against your family.”

A frenzied and crazed laugh slipped from Claude’s lips and he bared his teeth in some odd approximation of a grin. He could not believe the audacity of it. He was so tired of normal. So sick of it that he could let himself die right then. Still, he pressed on, willing the information from your father’s body as he had done to prisoners before. “Diana’s mother. Who is she?” Your father’s eyes went flat as though he’d recoiled in on himself for protection, already having decided defending himself was not an option. “That…why do you wish to know?” He had stopped pretending there was nothing to know.

“Does she hold it over you, father-in-law?” Claude sneered. “Does Diana use her magic to keep you in her thrall?”

A spark of something ignited and your father was dragged back from the depths of memory. “Diana uses nothing, know of nothing, my lord. Is that truly not apparent to you?” He wrenched himself from Claude’s grip suddenly, holding out his arms in a gesture that signified that he’d tread carefully. Claude allowed him to step back, believing his explanation to follow. “Can you not see her perfect innocence in this? She is above the madness she was born amidst.”

Claude had given him every chance to speak sense, the tips of his fingers were growing cold and numb. The acrid stench of her blood on his clothes and his hands grew difficult to even breathe through, it was everywhere, traces of blood were everywhere in this house. And still he might add more. He unsheathed his sword partially from his belt to which your father did not flinch. “My Lord, I need only know what becomes of Diana, what of her and your child if you act this way.”

What becomes of them? Claude laughed again, the world ebbing with flashes of blurred daylight as he felt himself descend with each gasped breath. He was greeting the pits of madness, he could feel it. Reality was disintegrating again. “I’ll leave here and kill them both now if I don’t have my answers.”

Your father’s expression turned to shock, as though he believed…as though he truly believed in what was sold to him by a self which had retreated. Claude— not the one with a grotesque and near calculable perfection in his single-mindedness, but the one who had been buried underneath, was the only thing left behind to speak but your father did not know him. He could not comprehend that there had ever been a part of him that could not only feel apathy toward Diana but one which could actively hated her. Claude thought placidly that he was soon to sink, collapsed under the weight of this dichotomy and the madness it inspired. “Diana’s mother, the princess.” Your father stared with a sort of wonder into Claude’s eyes, trying to weigh how to proceed in a conversation with a once tamed and now feral animal. “She is gone now, you must have heard it even if before you did not know her significance.”

Somewhere in his memory, he felt around for a name he’d heard but it was difficult, for all of time and thought revolved around this agony. And reality had scarcely moved with the stability it had before, it bisected so that he was of two minds and of two lives at once. Still, he managed to draw a whisper from the depths of his lives. A princess of Siodonna who had been her elder sister’s heir, had succumbed to an unknown illness. The kingdom’s future was uncertain and as his father-in-law and his country at large had ties to them, it had been their concern too. That princess, the immaterial one who had no face and name in face of the consuming thing thoroughly within and without his mind. Nothing had any definition that was not given by Diana’s gaze and Diana treated your mother as her own, the only mother she would ever know. He’d had no reason to care. “She was a mage? She crafted this…” He realized he didn’t know how to describe what it was he was afflicted by. Especially to someone like your father, who seemed like he’d have willingly given in to a life of toil for Diana’s love were he in Claude’s place. “This life.”

“I know little of her work, or I– I knew little. She cast some spell on our princess, perhaps it is so that she gave her this life with you.” Your father compulsively smoothed his clothes out, rearranging himself where Claude had disheveled his neat appearance. “If it is true then…forgive me, Lord Claude but I do not see it as a bad thing. I can’t understand why you would. Is it not a good thing?” He smoothed the lapels of his shirt with a quivering smile. “Something was given to you, Lord Claude, by ordinance of magic that is so very rare in this world. Should you not treasure it?”

Claude could have lunged for him again. Instead, though, he drew his sword in warning. Your father, undeterred, only smiled. “My Lord…No matter what, Diana is a gift to you, whether the princess’ or god’s. Why do you only pretend to scorn her now? Is it out of guilt for her elder sister? She made her own bed, she made it easy for fate to find its way between you. In your love with Diana, she was just happenstance, don’t you think? Wasn’t it always going to be that you two would find a way?”

Another frisson of light and reality rearranged again. Claude was kneeling on your father’s chest with one hand around the man’s throat and the other holding his sword above the man’s head as though he were keen to put it right through his eye.

“My Lord, what is going on?” Felix appeared in the doorway, a hand on his sword which stayed sheathed despite Claude obviously meaning to hurt your father. His voice didn’t sound panicked as it should, he sounded truly conflicted. His eyes flitted from him to your father again and again, his gaze tense but tinged in something akin to…amusement. Yes, it would make sense that he’d be amused by. If Felix hated Claude then he must surely had a father who’d been treating you poorly far before. Perhaps he was debating letting both of them kill each other.

“You may go,” your father replied, placidly. He was panting and clearly a bit afraid but he spoke calmly. “Do not intrude on us, Lord Claude and I were caught in a misunderstanding.”

Felix raised an eyebrow but did not disobey, turning on his heels and closing the door behind him with a click, his pride as a knight long forgotten. Claude would have killed him without a second thought had anything interrupted them, he was tied to a singular desire that was the only thing holding him to earth. Whether it be your father, your knight or his very own child, he’d not let anything stop him. If he did, this life would yet again be nothing but wasted time and wasted agony. He looked down at your father. “I don’t care at all if your mother was a brazen courtesan who let your father knock you about like a disobedient dog if it meant that she could let other men fuck her for position. I don’t care if you feel nothing when you see your wife cold and dead. The cruelty you visit upon your first daughter, that will be repaid. I will see it repaid.” The voice that came out of him was guttural like the call of animal. “But not before I know who put this story to paper. You say you know little of her work but it seems that someone must. Who are they?”

“Lord Claude, pardon me, but if you could find someone to give you what answers you wish to hear…what would it change?” He huffed, struggling to breath under Claude’s weight. “She was never my daughter, that girl. I never felt like her father, she…she was more omen than a child. She was born from me and the misery ever above me. I don’t know who she most took after. If you believe there was a spell that compelled you toward my little princess, then it must have been intended as a blessing for you as much as her. There’s no reason for lies, My Lord, there’s no one here to pity anymore. You could never have loved that girl, it might have been enough for her just to do her duties to you but she was so vicious, so hateful. She has never been innocent a day in her life, always had to be reminded of herself. It would have compounded your misery, that I know, Lord Claude. Believe that I know my own blood even if she has never been held in my arms as a daughter.”

A punch landed on your father’s nose, Claude could feel a part of the bone split. He wished for his gauntlet, wished for the pleasure and ease of watching your father’s face turn into a grotesque portrait of his own viciousness in moments. “I’m not you.” The words came out in a rhythm, like the warning song of a bird of prey.

Your father, with blood all over his face and still gushing from his nose, smiled and revealed the blood on his teeth as well. He was fully crying then, gasping little breaths and squeezing his eyes shut. “No…you’re not me. You have had a fate…that I…might have died for.”

“I will have my way. I must have my way. If not, I will take from you the last shred of that princess you so loved. I will kill them both.” Your father’s eyes popped open, red with blood and terrified. This time, he had no reason to believed that Claude could be swayed from the boundary of anger and a will to see bloodshed done. He took a long and trembling breath in through his mouth, madness defeated under the weigh of Claude’s own. “I saw the book long ago, I’d heard…whispers about it. I bought it from…a common woman’s bookstore, the author called himself…Lucas, I wanted to know…who could know our story so intimately and who could dare publish it but I…I went to where the woman said he’d last lived and he was not there, in fact…it looked like no one had lived there in some time.”

“Where?”

“Right here in this county, I could not believe…across the road from where that shabby little theater is.”

A noise sounded at the door a woman’s voice muffled, sounding pleading against the voice of Felix, giving her what sounded like short and rather curt answers. Your father’s head whipped toward the noise and for the first time, he struggled underneath Claude. “My Lord, I ask that you not let my daughter see this. Whatever you feel for her, she has done nothing wrong.” Claude hesitantly climbed off of him, having gained the answers he’d sought. It had little to do with sparing Diana and more to do with the fact that he could move forward, finally. Claude swung open the door and barged past both Felix and his frantic wife with their daughter in tow, sucking at her thumb. He might not have even noticed there was still blood on his hands if he did not see it in he way their expressions mirrored each other as he walked past. Though their daughter took after Diana most in the first place, fear made them doppelgangers, the sight of him rid his wife’s face of the mature and practiced expression she wore. She looked as young as when they first met.

He pushed past.

“Claude! Oh my god, are you hurt?” She followed after him, letting go of her daughter’s hand trying to stop him from proceeding. “What happened?” She stood in front of him. “Where are you going.

“I’m leaving.” He started to walk around her but Diana put her arms out, moving with him.

“Don’t,” He warned. It was a bit laughable that she was using her body as a shield to keep him from walking away because she presumed he’d not harm her to pass. All the while, the harm he did to her would be negligible in his mind, one drop of her fair, precious blood in a sea of viscera.

“Don’t what? Don’t stop you from leaving when you’re covered in blood?” She cried. “What is wrong with you? Talk to me, please. They’re saying my mother is dead and you…you were there with her. No one will tell me what’s going on.”

“Yes, I was there.” He affirmed easily. A little smile rose at the corners of his lips. “Forgive me, I should be the one to tell you what has been going on.”

She was not soothed but she relaxed somewhat, her gaze growing expectant. She reached out for his arm, perhaps trying to console whatever it was she saw in his expression and the blood drying on his clothes. He took her by the shoulders instead, unable to keep his grip gentle when he had the object of so many miseries between his fingers. His daughter called for him but her voice had simply become part of the chorus of little voices lost to deaths behind him. He did not know her voice from the ones he dreamed of, the voice of the colicky little infant he’d left behind. “Everything in this house has always been for your sake, Diana. Everyone has lived just to give you more but no one paid the price like your sister did. Did you not see that? Or perhaps did you think it was her duty, to be expected that she should survive off of scraps just so that you could have more.”

Diana’s brow furrowed, she did not look nearly as afraid of him as she should have been. She did not approach him with nearly as much caution. “What?”

“Your mother devoted her life to caring for you. Promised to you. Your father holds you like a relic of the past, a keepsake of your mother. But while we’re at it, let’s speak of your mother. They never spoke to you about her, did they? I’ll be the one who does, after all, I am your savior. It is the least I can do.” He stared down at her. “Your mother was poisoning you to keep you inside the house, safe and sound. Did you know? No, of course not, this woman was a slave to your care. What could you think to do other than swallow up her lies?”

“Poisoning me? Claude, you’re not making sense, you’re hurting me.”

“Everything does,” He said simply. “Everything hurts you. Save for the pleasure of your actions. The fallout hurts you, the secret hurts you but never the act. Only how it looks. Did you ever consider your own sister when you spent your days throwing yourself at me?” It wasn’t fair to speak to her of these things as though he had no part in it but what had ever been fair about any of his lives? She could shoulder her share of it. He’d make her. “If it were her, you’d have never forgotten but that’s the point, isn’t it? It’s you so it’s acceptable, you, the poor, sick little darling. Maybe you felt like you deserved it even if you felt a bit sorry, you always came back to that fact. Your mother gave you the chance to excuse yourself this way, maybe you’d have been glad all along to know what she was doing. Maybe it would give you reason to be saved, reason greater than your sister’s.”

Your father came out of the room, blotting his nose with a soaked handkerchief. Diana looked over Claude’s shoulder in horror, letting out a gasp. “Lord Claude. Please. Leave her be.” He was swaying on his feet a bit but Felix did not offer his arm.

Claude paid him no mind. “Your mother was a mage, beloved by your miserable father. I read it in your mother’s diary, it’s still in her room if you wish to read every word your mother inspired. She put a spell on you but your magic was also great, did you know that? Or did you cast this spell on me by sheer will?” He paused, waiting to hear her answer, as though she would give one. He had not realized until then that he wanted her to. He wanted her to have known.

“Let go of me! Don’t do this in front of your daughter, you’re frightening her!”

His fingers flexed, grasping her tighter. “Tell me. Is this love the doing of all that wasted magic buried in a weak body?”

“I truly don’t know what you’re talking about, Claude, please. I love you.” She pleaded, teary eyed. Her tears…for some reason inspired a burning hatred, one that was painful to hold. Tears. She hadn’t earned the right to tears, not for you and certainly not for herself. Their daughter had begun to cry, mirroring her mother. Diana gently called to the girl, trying to calm her while terrified herself. The crying of their child brought him back, reality merged again and he was hearing the cries from a cradle rocked by the wind, this time the hollow between her screams filled by the comfort of a mother she did not have. It enraged him.

“I don’t love you, Diana. More than that, I hate you. More than I ever thought one could hate. This feeling, the misery of laying with you knowing that you reek of the deaths that follow after you…I’d rather kill myself than bear it even once more. You sicken me and I sicken myself for having ever…fallen into you like this.” It came out in a desperate tone, a breathless ramble. “The child with my blood might as well have been born only of you for how little I feel for it. Her birth brought me no joy, because every time I look at her, I think of the child that your sister might have had with me. I love your sister. I love her down to her bones, down to the hollow space in my life that she’s left. You have…again you have stolen it…”

Belatedly, caution entered her gaze. “Claude…” her voice broke. “You don’t mean any of this. You’re ill. You’ve made yourself ill. You need rest.”

He laughed humorlessly. “I’ve never meant anything I’ve said to you until now. You think this is madness and maybe it is! But that doesn’t mean it isn’t me.” He let go of her. “All of it is falsehood and you know it. It was falsehood that benefitted you so you could live with it well enough but no more. I cannot live this way.” He forced himself to leave the anger there, it was of no consequence now, his anger did nothing to save you and was becoming rather indulgent. Only his next pursuit could provide any hope of helping you. And he’d not be tempted from that path for a belated revenge.

Diana went to their daughter and held her, tucking the girl’s teary face into her shoulder as Claude pressed forward, walking down the hall. Your father came over to comfort the two, setting a hand on her shoulder and murmuring assurances which she ignored. “Where do you intend to run?" Diana, who simply could not leave things be called out to him. “Your home is here, your family is here. Whatever you feel now for me…I truly don’t understand what you feel you’ve discovered here but I know that you have always had your regrets and I’m sorry for that. I always sought to be happy with you. But even if I have failed, it isn’t for you to abandon us now of all times. I didn’t kill my sister, I didn’t make her run away. I’m now without my mother and without my sister and you would have me lose you?” She rose to her feet, cautiously, the only sound in the hall being their daughter’s sniffling and the swish of her silk skirts. “Stay. Let a doctor see you.”

Claude looked back at her for a moment. Diana’s gaze held his with fragile hope. She was beautiful in the dull, grey light from the window. Her tears glittered on her cheeks, her white dress was smeared with her father’s blood. It reminded him of you. How many lives you’d spent kneeling at the altar of his sins, waiting for him and still waiting at the end. The innocence of your disbelief worn on your sleeve.

But on Diana, such a look was a profoundly cruel farce. A reminder of just how unearned the tragedy in her eyes was. He felt glad to leave her. He hoped that just once, she’d be made to wait for a husband who would not come, to cling to a promise she knew was already broken, even if in the end he knew it would not matter. Memory is what makes tragedy. For all that happened, the agony is in remembering.

“You’ve never been a wife to me, this has never been a family,” He said it softly, not for her benefit, but because he felt reality begin to waver and his mind become such a fragile and uncertain place. “You have always felt like a trial from god and that child…a shadow of something long gone born only to compound my misery. All of this to punish me.”

Reality melted again, reformed around a memory of you begging him not to leave without you. He knew it wasn't real and still it had been hard to make his way out into the dark without turning back.

tags: @kage-tobiuo @kreishin @rosephantomhive @yeahdrarry @splaterparty0-0 @dear-dairiess @qluvrv @hafsuhhh @eissaaaa @ayolk @doan-19 @fourcefulcupid @ariachaos @cerisearan @irisspade @yaesflorist @jcrml @xiaosprettygf @yevenly @amaris08atoshi012022 @obsessed-with-a-fictional-man @softbummiee @cassanderasblog @waka-babe @bananatwirl@s1mp69 @mitsuyamistress @hottiewifeyyyy @reiko69 @syyyy4ever @pinkpastel-l @dododododooosworld @gwyneveire @mvoonxlightv @noisyenthusiastface @coldpeachkitten @brightykitten @worstliving @kailyan

[maximotts]

18. “so perfect all tied up for me.” With your dollhouse au? I’m imagining those silk ribbon bondage rope not just tying you down but wrapped around you because Wanda thinks it’s such a pretty sight <3

I'm a different person posting this than I was yesterday when I started this fic... and then it got Deleted in drafts and I saw my life flash before my eyes. This is edited kinda, but honestlyyy I just needed to conquer it at this point lmao

please don't flag this fic, I have warnings clearly labeled

Doll House AU. masterlist. wc: 1.7 cw: 18+ only, please. smut, fluff. loose ribbon bondage. body worship. inspection. fingering (r receiving). oral (r receiving). size kink if you squint. overstim. mommy kink. snuggly aftercare. and then all the usual Doll House warnings.

Wanda and Doll spend an intimate afternoon in bed, Wanda perfecting her ribbon tying skills while judging your patience

⁛— 2nd birthday sleepover.

"There you go, all nice and pretty..." 

Silk ribbons adorned your figure, wrapping you like an extra present to Wanda, from Wanda. She'd spent the past hour fawning over you atop your plush bed, shedding your morning outfit only to replace it with buttery soft threads. "So perfect, all tied up for me."

It wasn't tight enough to restrain you really, if you truly wanted to wiggling away was an option— but you didn't want anything of the sort. Wanda's undivided attention was the best kind of afternoon you could hope for.

Curious as ever, you still had your questions. "Mommy, why aren't these tight?" 

Shrugging your shoulders showed off the little movement you could make, careful not to undo any of Wanda's hard work. The older woman laughed and kissed your hip above the ribbon she'd tied over your curves, amusement filled green eyes gazing up and instantly bringing a dopey smile to your face. "I don't want to tie you down, not today at least."

"Then what are we doing?" Oh you wished so badly you could reach up and kiss her, but your wrists tied at your middle stopped you from bending too far, again more fearful of messing up whatever goal Wanda strove for. 

And that was the most of what you were doing, Wanda testing your patience, whatever willingness you had to let your reverence of her outweigh your own desires... so far you were performing perfectly.

“We’re playing, of course. Silly thing,” Wanda sat up between your legs, crawling over your prone body until she could reach your neck for her next area of focus. It was an excessive show of possession, biting endlessly along your throat, leaving marks she'd be tending to for days after, relishing in how helplessly you squirmed under her; this could easily become her favorite afternoon playtime. "Aren't you having fun?"

Lithe fingers slid under the thick ribbons at your legs, playfully tugging just to hear your surprised squeak. Your legs fell apart with nearly no coaxing, Wanda’s fingernails scraping over your inner thighs just the way she knew you adored. Small shivers rattled your body as best they could within your restraints, ever conscious of leaving them in place, and the moment she laid eyes on your glistening sex she remembered why she’d decided to keep your lower limbs tied separately. 

“I asked you a question.” The only answer she received was your meek nod, an action that resulted in a faux pout from Wanda, more concerned with how often you forgot you were allowed to speak now rather than whether or not you were truly enjoying yourself. That much was evident.

“It sure looks like you’re having fun,” Spreading your folds apart was just as easy as your legs, leaving you completely vulnerable to Wanda’s impromptu inspection. No matter how long you stayed with her, there was a persistent shyness about you, but your longing for your mommy’s approval always won out. It would be so easy to uncurl your hands where they rested bound together a mere few inches above Wanda’s, to push her away and cover yourself… but you didn’t— just as Wanda expected of you.

Today’s obedience earned you a reward, but Wanda wouldn’t spell it out for you, preferring instead to continue her game of testing self-restraint. It was better to train you into behaving even without possible reward, no matter that she already spoiled you rotten every chance she got. Two wet digits left their examination and came to settle on your waiting lips, your patience forced but steadfast. “Say please.”

“Please mommy, may I clean your fingers?” The drawn out please was so adorable Wanda wanted to suffocate you, but instead she sated herself with your grateful sigh around her, your tongue diligently licking until she drew them away. 

Her hand came back to settle between your supple thighs, fingers sliding easily through your sex, knuckles just barely grazing your clit. Curious fingertips fell down to your entrance, gathering warm wetness from where you were dripping and bringing them to her own mouth this time. She always wondered if you knew how desperate she was to have you, but one look down at your dazed expression answered that for her easily. “Did my playtime make you all icky? Do I need to clean you up?”

Admittedly, the past hour of Wanda’s gentle touches, sweet words and even sweeter kisses left your brain fuzzy. The tingling in the pit of your stomach had grown into a calm and pleasant ache, much gentler than the gnawing, desperate clawing that plagued you whenever Wanda was rough. Sometimes she left you at that painful edge, frustrated to no end and chastising any complaints she caught. Today if she’d left you with nothing, maybe you’d be able to manage the evening with dull nagging, but the notion of an orgasm at the end of your slowly building high was too tempting to pass by; you had to make your need known. “Make it better, please… want it so bad.”

“So now you speak up, whenever you need something from me…” Wanda took her sweet time traveling down your front, lips brushing over every curve and divot so that when she finally placed one last adoring kiss atop your mound, anticipation buzzed through your veins. “You can cum as much as you’d like, but don’t you dare untie yourself.”

Sometimes Wanda’s rewards were straightforward, a simple start and finish before she sent you off. Surprisingly, you preferred rewards you worked towards together, ones like these where her tongue drew intricate patterns over your clit, teasing and testing just how far gone she could pull you while you remained committed to following her rules. It was harder than it looked, knowing you had the ability to twist and turn with every perfectly placed stroke, but willing your body to stay confined, to preserve Wanda’s ribbon-tied handiwork. 

Thankfully they allowed space for the rapid rise and fall of your chest, the clenching of your core as the first wave of orgasm washed over, knocking your head back into your plush array of pillows as you erupted into a fit of moans and pleas. “Mommy.. Mommy, please.. again! Wanna cum again-”

“Such a needy doll, so pretty all tied up for me and begging for my mouth.” It was a brutal inner battle to keep from bucking your hips, fingers fidgeting at your midsection to keep busy in anything other than Wanda’s hair. When she descended again it was all worth it, warm mouth suckling at your swollen bud to distract from the three fingers prodding at your hole. 

The stretch was maddening, an instantaneous full feeling sending you over the edge again before Wanda even got the chance to move. She groaned around you as she felt your walls clench, free hand coming to wrap securely around your upper thigh; instinct drove you to back away from the thick intrusion, but she couldn’t have any of that. “Shh, sweetheart, let mommy play a little longer.”

“O-Okay..” Your previous pleasant need evolved into something more, something starved within that only reared its head when Wanda’s intentions turned heady. Careful not to toss around too much, you relaxed as your thoughts settled into a low hum, taking every thrust and each curl of her fingers until individual orgasms merged to one neverending bliss.. you’d lost count after three anyways.

After some unmeasured amount of time, Wanda granted you a reprieve, leaving you dreadfully empty and weakly clenching around nothing. You felt limp head to toe, unable to even raise your arms without Wanda’s help as she worked to slowly unwrap you. She took her time so as not to startle you, smoothing over any tiny indent her ribbon left from your movements and doting on it with a cautious rub of her thumb. 

Once she was done, she was genuinely surprised you hadn’t dozed off; the act of overstimulation alone was occasionally enough to leave you napping for hours. But today heavy eyes lazily followed her every move, bottom lip quivering more visibly by the second. “You did a wonderful job today, my love. I’m so proud of you.”

The praise was much appreciated as always, but you’d been missing one thing terribly since Wanda had first given the instruction to lay back while she unfurled her ribbon and tired as you were, you needed one last clarification. “Can I touch you now, I want a hug…”

“Of course, we’re long past our game.” You were in Wanda’s lap after the second word, curling into her and wrapping your arms around her middle in the tightest hug you could muster. Any time she searched your thoughts, they were full of her, the urge to be near her so strong Wanda was surprised whenever she got a moment to herself these days. 

It was the sweetest form of devotion she could imagine, the pure need to keep her presence in whatever capacity; your lovey ways never failed to render her heart gooey. “That’s why you were so pouty just now, my poor little snugglebug.”

Giving your tummy the gentlest tickle before drawing the sheets closer, Wanda scooted you both until she could lay you down; not that the position mattered much when you stayed attached at the hip. Content little noises rumbled against Wanda’s arm as you made them, keeping still even as you craned your neck to cover her cheek in appreciative smooches. “Nap with me, mama. I’m sleepy.”

“If you insist,” Now it was Wanda’s turn for restraint. It’d take little to no effort to pull herself from your grip even without her powers; there were a myriad of things waiting for her to do downstairs… but she stayed put. The desire to see your smiling face when you woke up in a while, ever excited to wake up in her arms, far outweighed any living room cleaning.

[thyfleshc0nsumed]

does sympathy for hatred work into your belief? loaded question, i'm sorry. i know you have enough empathy to go around. it was an unkind question with unkind feelings behind it. i hurt. but i don't know what i'm are supposed to do with pedo-rapists that will never stop haunting us. daddy's in prison for the next 15 years and mommy wishes i had died. i feel so lonely. feel like my terror makes me a centrist or something. i feel so stupid.

You are not stupid, nor are you wrong for feeling how you feel. It is not a failure of any kind to feel the ways that you do. In fact, feeling these things is part of the process, at least within my process.

I don't think where I have currently landed as it comes to forgiveness is above or below anyone else. It's not a moral question whatsoever. In many ways, it's fueled by pure pragmatism and self-interest. It's the only way I personally have found to move forward with my life. And to me, that says nothing about anyone else or their path. It is only what I have found has helped me.

I will speak on my story because that is all I can speak on--this is not an attempt to 'diagnose' you or where you are at within your process; when I say 'I,' I authentically mean I, myself.

For a long time I was not ready to move forward. I was angry. I had been hurt badly by so many, in ways that were not merely the unavoidable forms of harm that being a human in relationship with other humans brings about. And I was not ready to let that go.

That is a neutral fact. Healing is not an imperative, and suffering is part of the process. It was not wrong for me to be angry, or to feel hate for those who hurt me, or to not be ready to move beyond those experiences. If i still felt that way today, or in a decade, or till the end of my life, it would not be wrong. If I died still with those feelings, there would be no shame in that.

For a very long time, I truly did not believe there was any other option. Perhaps there were no other options for me with the spot I was at in life, maybe there was no other way it could have been. This acceptance of what 'was' is useful in looking back, but not helpful for projecting onto the future. For a long time, I did project this fatalism into the future. I believed the story of my life was already told, and I just had to watch. But slowly, over the course of a number of years, my conviction in that belief weakened and alongside it, something else sprouted.

I met Anat at a partial hospitalization program for my eating disorder in 2021. She was early 30s. We were the only two smokers in the group, so we got to know each other quickly and well. She kicked dope when she was about my age at the time and had been sober ever since.

I used for a lot of reasons, to boil it down to some singular, cohesive, narratively-fulfilling motivation neglects the truth of the matter.

I used because drugs are fun, and I like them. I used because they passed the time. I used because I felt unfulfilled and they were a distraction. And I used because all I wanted was to not exist anymore so I could stop hurting, and getting fucked up felt easier than killing myself.

Before meeting Anat, I genuinely did not believe that recovery--by which I mean more than simple abstinence--was possible for me. Of course, cognitively, I knew there were addicts who stopped, stayed stopped, and got better, but I didn't know any, or at least none like me. And Anat was like me, I could tell. I wanted to stop, I had every reason to stop, I faced consequence after consequence for not having stopped, and still, I kept going. But here in front of me was evidence that it was possible. I was still not yet ready. I was stringing a week or less together at a time, miserable for every second of it. I was not ready to let go of what was keeping me there.

Anat was murdered a month after I met her. When I found out, I downed gin till i was unconscious. I was angry, I was lost, I was hurt, and I wished I never met her because meeting her changed something in me: I started to believe that something--anything!--else was possible from life besides endless hurt.

The funny thing about belief is that, well, we can't believe what we don't believe. And I didn't believe what I used to anymore, or at least not as unshakably. There was a seed of doubt: maybe something else is possible. I did not yet believe it, but I had been forced to become the tiniest bit open to the idea. Maybe I am wrong; maybe this is not all that there is.

And that's all it takes to get the ball rolling.

"Do you believe, or are you willing to believe?"

I don't remember the next year of my life very well, but i know it was very, very, very bad. I kept using, and it only got worse. I continued getting raped again and again. I got evicted. But the one thing I had was the morsel of hope growing inside of me.

And I hated it. Hope means I feel that I owe it to myself to try. Cynicism has a comfort to it: sure, things may suck, but at least I know they'll suck. Hope lacks that. Hope requires me to open myself up to disappointment. Hope had always been folly to me.

But slowly, I stopped wanting to hurt. That sliver of belief that the hurt could maybe stop turned into a desire. To fulfill the desire, the only option was to try. If hurt is assured through one path, and only a possibility in the other, I must choose the second, even though it is very possible I do not avoid the hurt.

It is not wrong to not be ready to move forward. If your process has not led you to want what I have come to want, that is not a failure. It does not make you deficient. I was not wrong to be where I was 4 years ago and I am not right for being where I am today. Maybe your process leads you elsewhere. Maybe your life worth living is very different than mine. None of these things are anything besides 'is.'

I heard a call from within myself that I had never heard before, and I felt compelled to answer it: act only out of goodwill and love for others and myself. Simple, but not easy.

I am myself and myself alone. The only life I get to live is my own. It is not for me to say what anyone else should do, because I am not anyone else and I do not know what anyone else should do. Maybe you got the same call as me, maybe you feel differently about it, maybe you didn't get it at all, maybe you never will, maybe you get a different call. Maybe your process is different. I am not you, I have neither ability nor desire to judge you or anyone else. All I can do is what i can and hope that others are happy and fulfilled, no matter what.

[into-september]

Haven't watched the London special but have two observations on when we'll see Adrien learning the truth

DIEGETICALLY: The butterfly miraculous is still lost by the time Alix is in her twenties

ON THE META LEVEL: People talk a lot about Adrien being denied the truth about his dad but I haven't seen anyone bring up Cat Noir being denied the truth about Hawkmoth's demise.

Between "your dad was the supervillain who wanted to change history so your mum never died" and "your dad spent his last months in agony and died by literally rotting to pieces because of the magic that it was your job to use responsibly", we all know which is the worse news. The Movie showed us the first being overcome even after said dad had laid Paris in ruins; the NYC special showed us Adrien's collapse after less than half of that happened to a stranger and then was fixed.

From the way people are posting about the London special, I have the distinct impression that it was also not the part of the problem that the writers were interested in milking for angst. The real focus of this episode should've been Plagg, Alix and Tikki dealing with the aftermath of "Destruction", but instead the fandom is here discussing whether or not we should absolve Marinette for being used to strip the flooring after the writers painted themselves into a corner. The show asks us to pass our judgment on Marinette's choice, but claiming that this is Marinette's choice to make is a fallacy.

Let's be clear on this: "Destruction" exists because there had to be an in-story explanation for why the show won't deal with Adrien learning Hawkmoth's identity. There is a pretense of discussing the morality of Marinette's decision to heed Gabriel's wish above Adrien's autonomy, but per the genre and the tone and the focus and the target audience, there was no other option.

Because here is the truly wild part of this whole debacle: Marinette isn't even making an informed decision. She doesn't have an inkling of what Hawkmoth's identity would do to Adrien. Only when The Reveal happens will she know the gruesome extent of the tragedy that is Adrien Agreste and the true weight of the secret she opted to keep; if she hadn't decided to hide the truth on her own, Plagg/Tikki/Alix would be forced to interfere. Yes Marinette's actions are terrible horrible no good very bad, but if stopping Cat Noir from activating his cataclysm in the wax museum would inevitably lead to Gabriel reviving his angelic wife (which was somehow a worse ending than him reviving his supervillain secretary???), then the solution should be to go back to "Origins" and make sure Master Fu gave Plagg's miraculous to literally anyone else than his son. The real question left by the S5 finale isn't "should Marinette tell Adrien", it is why it was a cosmic necessity that Gabriel Agreste was killed by his own son when Ladybug's team has access to the miraculous who could prevent that tragedy.

There is no universe where the thematically coherent and narratively satisfying climax of the story about Cat Noir and Hawkmoth is "Adrien confronts his girlfriend about lying", and the bitter comfort is that it won't be. If the truth of Hawkmoth's identity ever were to reach Adrien, his girlfriend lying about it would be the least of his sorrows, because those sorrows would be so grotesque that there is no way the show will ever acknowledge them; closure to this storyline was made impossible the moment it was decided that Gabriel would take his death at Adrien's literal hands. When "parents go to jail" was too dark for the networks, I somehow don't think they'll be interested in doing the first ever production of Oedipus Rex for the 4-10 audience.

[stale-trash]

Hi, of that's, can I please have yandere Jade x reader who tries to break up with her? (Headcanon). How would Jade react and what would she do in this situation?

I am assuming you mean Jade from Honkai Star Rail. If not, I'm sorry!!

cw: yandere/possessive behavior, very questionable behavior, implied violence, possible ooc

A/N: I have yet to play any of the quests she's in (╥﹏╥). I hope I did her justice!!

Bold of you to even assume you have the option to break-up with her. No matter how you end up in a relationship with her - willing or unwilling - your fate is sealed. 

Jade knows every aspect of her desires, from their depth to their origins. When she sets her mind to something, precious little can get in her way.

How she acquired you determines how she reacts to your ill-advised statement. If you are in a contract with her, she would take some time to remind you of your position - how truly nice you have it.  

It'd start small, like having you organize paperwork in the pawnshop where you'd get a first hand look at Lady Bonajade's dealings. Many desires are laid bare in front of you; some are honorable, others deplorable, and both are equally pondered upon by the lavishly clad woman. It’s hard to understand the logic behind most of the dealings, yet you remembered the time you occupied their positions - the way your desires slipped past your lips to be scrutinized by Lady Bonajade. 

You also get to see what happens to those who step out of line - more specifically, the bureaucratic aftermath. The written records of their punishment, outstanding debt, and next steps are so clinical regardless of the situation. It doesn't matter if they were fighting for their life or attempting to pull a fast one - there was no leeway. 

There was no reason for Jade to drape you in expensive fabric and opulent jewels. There was no reason for Jade to have you by her side doing menial tasks. There was no reason for Jade to suffocate you in her cold embrace and colder favor.

There was no reason for Jade to treat you like a lover. All the contract specified in its convoluted wording was that you're hers to use as she sees fit. 

If you somehow aren't apologizing for your behavior and willingly accepting whatever humiliating punishment she has in mind within a week, Lady Bonajade has no problem pushing you further. 

You'd lose all of her "favor" slowly until you're nothing but another IPC grunt. You won't be in any threat of dying, but there are many things worse than death prowling the cosmos. Don't worry, it won't be anything Jade can't fix given the appropriate price. 

All you need to do is apologize, and beg for her favor once again. Of course, a benevolent woman such as her would be more than willing to reevaluate your contract - though, it is in your interest to note that this is a one-time offer. If you were to repeat this mistake again, the punishment wouldn’t be so light. 

If you aren't in a contract with her, that would change. This relationship wouldn’t just end because you will it. But she'll let you slip from her embrace for now.

Jade is not above dismantling every aspect of your life piece by piece until you come crawling back. You can choose how much is destroyed - your social life, finances, career prospects, or even the lives of your close ones - by walking back into that pawnshop of hers.

She doesn't ask for what you seek nor what you desire - those are irrelevant in the face of her own. No, she asks if you've come back to your senses, a pet name rolling off her lips oh-so-naturally as if she hadn't constructed your downfall.

A contract is placed in front of you, the written words melting together into an indecipherable mess. Her signature was the only legible word in the entire document, with a blank spot ready for your own. 

You may gain everything you've naively wished for many years ago with a few strokes of ink - insurmountable wealth, a lavish lifestyle, and a lack of mundane worries - but gilded chains are still chains.

[quipxotic]

I truly get some folks' reactions to c3e118. If you've followed CR from the beginning and/or have a very deep love for Exandria as a place above everything else, including the main characters of this campaign, of course anything that puts Exandria at risk is going to be unfathomable. Never mind that Exandria is always at risk because that is the nature of D&D environments, they're always being menaced by something because that is part of their function, otherwise D&D parties would have nothing to do. But this time some folks feel like it's the party that has put it at more risk than usual and that is not generally what most non-evil-aligned parties do. To me it feels…unlikely that this is the first time it’s happened in all of CR, but what do I know? Maybe it is? Or maybe to this extent?

Whatever, point is I completely understand that feeling and I’m sad so many of my fellow fans are upset because of it. Especially because to me this is all very exciting and I like to share that excitement with other folks. That is the fun of fandom spaces online, that shared happiness and excitement in something that you can enjoy collectively. I wish that could be the case here, but clearly it isn’t going to happen this time, at least for part of the fandom.

What I don't get are folks who seem so shocked that Bell's Hells, in particular, did this. They were talking about these exact actions as an option as recently as c3e115 during their conversations with the Mighty Nein. Did folks think they were lying? Maybe they wanted it not to be true so badly they convinced themselves it could never happen?

And, at least in a few cases in the fandom, it's apparently hard to hear what the characters are saying over the sound of your own voice telling them to shut up. To be clear, this last group is the only one I don’t have any sympathy for. You chose to follow something you hated for YEARS. Why should I care that you hate it now too?

[ravenstargames]

✦ Lost in Limbo Devlog #11 | 05.08.24

AHA! Nope, we didn't forget about April's devlog. In fact, we have been busier than ever—doing early preparations for our Kickstarter, working on the demo, sorting out legal stuff...

Speaking of which...

This month we have been really busy making our studio official by the law! Now, to pay taxes and cry! YAY!

We are very very excited about it—and also terrified! We are still sorting out the studio's bank account, as burocracy isn't the fastest thing in this world, sadly. This is the first thing I wanted to talk about in this devlog, because it's such fantastic news for us! :')

Now, let's jump on the process we've made this past month, shall we? ✨

This past month, Raquel worked very hard on our second Key Art. This was originally made for Steam, but I modified the format a bit so it could also be used in other places! I honestly love this one—we have our first Key Art to represent the darker aspects of the game, and then this one to show off the characters' dynamics! Not everything's going to be horror and mystery in the game!✨💜

Also, we have been working on designing the merch for the Kickstarter, but we can't show anything yet. All we can say is that everything is looking gorgeous and we are so excited to share it eventually!

Thanks to Airyn, we've made great progress with the backgrounds! In fact, there's only one left to finish. The one you see above needs a few final touches (that will be made by yours truly!), and then I'll animate it a bit to get it ready for the build! The rest of the backgrounds are finished, animated, and integrated in the build :3

The survey icon is missing, but it'll be there!

Well, this should tell you everything you need to know when it comes to programming! The whole demo is programmed. Functional. Nothing crashes. Stuff works and I'm over cloud nine. I have been working on the final touches (revisiting scenes, checking sprites, music / sfx volume...) and the beta testing phase will begin soon. Soon as in tomorrow.

We've mainly used this month to review the auditions we received for our casting call, contacting the selected VAs, etc. Every VA has accepted their role, received the document with the lines we'll need for the demo, and we'll work hard to announce the cast publicly as soon as possible! We want to at least do a promotional short video showcasing every LI and their VA!

Sadly, making the studio official has (and will) take more time than we anticipated, and as we want to release the demo on Steam, the review process will most likely slow us down. There's the option of doing an itchio release and then a Steam one, but I'm not sure if that'll hurt the project. We are still keeping the demo release date a secret, until things settle down!

Also, I couldn't finish this devlog without talking about the Magic & Mystery Otome cross-promotion! ✨ We were invited by the amazing folks at Best Laid Plans Studios to participate in this event that showcases 12 amazing visual novels like Alaris, Obscura, Dual Chroma and more! I know I have been pretty annoying with this (can you blame me, though?!) so I won't keep rambling about it—just check everyone out, please!

I think that's all! Well, that's not all, but we gotta keep a bit of mystery surrounding the demo! We have been busy bees this month, with the making of the studio, the polishing of the demo, contacting and coordinating the VAs...

We are so excited for the demo release. I'm personally excited and terrified, but blame it on the OCD. I keep jumping from catastrophic scenario to catastrophic scenario. I'll have no control over what happens when the demo goes live, but I have control on what I can do before that happens—and that's working as hard as I've been doing this whole time.

And that's it! Please take care, enjoy the week, and stay hydrated. The Raventar team, NOW AN OFFICIAL STUDIO, wishes you all the best and sends a huge hug your way! 💜

[just-the-mage]

Something I think about often when it comes to the current election and the mentality of ‘vote them out to punish them’ or ‘it’s worth another Trump term to send a message’ or even ‘it’s worth it to tear it all down’ is the question of who suffers. Who will suffer as a result of this? Who actually gets hurt if this ‘message’ is sent? Because it sure isn’t top level Democrats. The people at the DNC making decisions, the socially liberal big business owners, even Biden himself-none of them will suffer from this. The message means nothing to them. It won’t change their opinion on Palestine, and it won’t change the way they handled protests or how they’ll handle protests in the future.

You know who it’ll hurt? The people who are already marginalized. The people who are already struggling, and suffering. Queer people, POC, disabled people, illegal immigrants, hell, even legal immigrants would be unquestionably endangered by another Trump term. I’m amazed that people seem to have forgotten how frightening it was to have possibly the most unstable man ever to be in politics controlling the fucking nukes. The man who is barely intelligible, lies constantly, and can easily be swayed by any extremist who manages to bend his ear for even a second. If you think for one second that putting a white supremacist racist bigoted unstable terrifying man like that in the highest position of authority in this country will help anyone aside from a chosen few, then I don’t know what to tell you. Stop watching Fox News.

I strongly believe that anyone who is pushing to teach the democrats a lesson is either a republican spreading propaganda, or perhaps a neoliberal sitting in a place where they believe that another Trump presidency won’t affect them. Unfortunately, it will affect all of us-but it’s the marginalized who will be truly hurt by this. If you care at all about minorities, or queer people, or anyone listed above, please, please vote democrat in the upcoming election. I wish we had the luxury of choice, I really do. I wish we had the option to try and elect someone more progressive than Biden. But we don’t. And abstaining, or voting third party, even…is contributing to a Trump win.

Stay safe out there everyone.

[llillilholillill]

so i’ve been thinking... here’s some snippets for arrowverse!jason that i’ve been craving.

please don’t steal my work and/or put it on other platforms w/o my permission this will result in a block + report.

¹

Jason knows something is wrong the moment Talia does not pick up the phone. He suspected something was up when he did not get a call as soon as he left All-Caste. And that makes him pause just long enough to see the news. He is not really concentrating on grainy and shaky footage of ruins of Starling City, no. His attention focuses on the caption below that has absolutely nothing to do with whatever happened in the city.

‘Gotham’s city billionaire Bruce Wayne has been missing for over two years. GCPD refuse to give any comments.’

His blood runs cold.

It cannot be true. It... It is just some weird plan. A ploy to lull rouges into false sense of security, so it will be easy to catch them at once and throw back to prisons that are just as efficient as paper towels against the flood.

Talia does not pick up the phone. Twice. In a row.

Jason calls the manor. Alfred. Alfred is going to answer and he will know it is just a fake piece of news.

No one answers.

He calls again.

And again.

And again.

The sense of dread is so overwhelming it even dulls the burning hungry feeling of bloodlust that has been nagging him ever since he came back. And Jason can think without the constant desire to take someone’s life for the first time in almost four years.

²

Gotham is still a shithole. But not that kind that has paranoid old bastard in a furry batsuit as her vengeful protector. The kind that has been stewing for far too long without any supervision.

The manor is... For Jason it has always looked empty, no matter what Alfred tried to do. But now. Now it is truly abandoned. Jason can feel chills running down his spine. The flames of his soul that make All-Blades are the only thing that keeps him from shivering in his All-Caste uniform. Everything inside is covered in dust.

The cave is dark. It is silent. Jason realises there are no bats here when he switches on the lights. He looks around. Nothing is out of the place or broken. Everything is just the same as it has been when he wore stupid traffic light costume. The one that... His gaze falls onto the glass case with it torn and bloody inside and right above it is a golden plaque with ‘In Memory of Jason Todd — Robin — A Good Soldier’. 

Of fucking course.

³

Jason sits on his favourite roof with his gargoyle friend, fidgeting with the phone. Gotham’s sky is still as smoggy at night as he remembers it to be.

He calls Barbara’s old phone number. It disconnects. He tries calling the last known one, the one from Bruce’s database. It does as well.

He calls Dick, muscle memory typing in the number Jason used that day four years ago before going to Ethiopia. It goes to the voicemail. Fucking again. Jason shakes himself out of the flashback.

Why did the call come through? Dick has new number now.

He calls his new one, hoping the rumors he has heard about some crazy guy in black costume with blue bird on his chest are true and not just a ghost stories. It disconnects.

No.

Fuck.

No, no, no.

Without any hesitation Jason types in the emergency number, the one Bruce has said to only use when there was no other option. The call goes to the voicemail.

Jason stands up, walking away from his gargoyle, and punches the brick wall of the roof entrance.

“What the fuck!” He yells, wishing for all this to just be a nightmare. Jason even promises to himself he will throw away his stupid revenge plan and go back to the manor, to Alfred, to Bruce, to his dad. It was an idiotic plan, he knows, he fucking knows, why is not he waking up?

⁴

Commissioner Gordon lights up Bat Signal every night. And every night no one answers.

⁵

“Was I really just a soldier to you, Bruce?” Jason is in the cave again. He cannot stop going here, cannot stop torturing himself, cannot stop staring at his old Robin uniform and at the empty mannequin near the changing area.

No one answers him.

It is already a pattern he has grown familiar with.

⁶

He cleans the manor. All of it. Until it fucking sparkles.

⁷

Jason is walking through Crime Alley when he hears a whistle. Not the Robin kind. But the one some of the gangs used when he was a kid.

Actually, he tilts his head to the side, there was only one asshole who preferred it more than anything else.

Another whistle. This one is shorter.

Seems like Black Mask decided to expand his business.

Whatever.

It is not his problem. Jason needs to find Bruce. Or at least find out if Dick is in New York or not. If someone stole Bluebird from his brother and if yes who is he killing.

⁸

Joker escapes Arkham.

Gotham is ghost city for the next three days. No one even dares to open the curtains. Then there is a live broadcast with a teen dressed in a cheap Halloween Robin costume tied to a chair. She has blonde hair and looks so tiny Jason thinks she must be twelve, but then Joker gleefully tells:

“This little birdie here is just as old as the last one I killed! What a day it was! Magnificent! My dear friend was on a roll beating that brat for not having any manners with me! How sad she can’t join us today and that we have to play with dollar version of the real deal, who doesn’t even know how to fly, but don't ya worry folks, we’ll still clip her wings!” Joker is holding a crowbar.

Joker is holding a crowbar ready to strike Robin.

‘The party’s just got started.’

Joker is holding a crowbar ready to strike a kid.

‘...this is going to hurt you a lot more than it does me.’

Joker is holding a crowbar ready to kill a kid in Robin colors.

‘What the Batman doesn't know can't hurt me!’

⁹

Batman may not know but Jason does. He does and he is in his All-Caste uniform. He does and he is no Batman. He does and he has absolutely no moral code when it comes to shutting down the livestream and beating Joker to death with the crowbar that has child’s blood on it.

Jason stabs him with the All-Blades, burning Joker’s soul with magic he is yet to fully grasp just so no one ever will be able to bring this fucker back.

“Fuck..ing... end h...him,” the girl’s voice is barely audible amongst the sickening crunch of bones being methodically broken and screeches of bloodlust in his head.

¹⁰

Jason goes on his first patrol four months after he moved back to Gotham. He is not wearing Robin uniform or even Bruce’s classic Batman costume. He has bright red bat on his chest; it is the exact shade as the one that has been used in his Robin costume. Scarlet muzzle and domino mask of the same color connected to it. He added a hood to the cape after some thinking.

He does not have guns on him. But he hides small daggers, a lot of them actually, while batarangs are safely tucked in the utility belt.

¹¹

“You aren’t Batman.”

“Kid, be careful with the bo, I’m not gonna fight you,” Jason raises his hands, standing in front of the Batmobile, — can it even be call that now? — he cannot really get inside because the kid with quite expensive looking bo is blocking the door to the driver’s sit.

The kid hits him on the head with the metal bo. Then he squeaks, realizing who exactly he has just hit. And yet Jason can see he has not lost determined look in his eyes, even though he is clearly terrified.

Jason laughs. His head hurts.

“Are you hungry?” He is going to buy this scrawny teenager a burger.

Fuck. He even has black hair and blue eyes.

¹¹

“No.”

“But—”

“I said ‘no’, Tim.”

“You were Robin when you were my age!”

“How'd—” Jason looks at the kid, teenager, closer. “You're that stalker kid obsessed with first Robin. I even bought you a milkshake and you said I still wasn’t your favourite,” Tim’s face goes bright red, he tries to hide behind his burger. “You know who I am under the mask.”

“I figured,” Tim says in a small voice. “You were Robin.”

“And I died, Tim, I’m not going to let you—”

“I’ll help you find Mr. Wayne! And... And I almost found out where Mr. Grayson lives in New York!”

Jason chokes.

“Dick’s alive?..”

Tim lowers his gaze, taking a large bite.

“I think. There is Bluebird in New York for sure. But I’m not certain if it is your brother.”

“Where are your parents, kid?” Jason sighs.

“In Egypt, they'll be back in two months for three days.”

“The fuck?”

¹²

“You should answer Bat Signal.”

“You should go to sleep, it’s past your bed time.”

¹³

“Jason.”

“No, Tim.”

“Just... Just teach me how to defend myself?”

Jason rolls away from the Bat computer, staring intently on Tim who is holding his collapsible bo in hands.

“You’re telling me you’ve got no idea how to actually use it?”

“Um. I know. In theory. And I took self-defense classes! I just haven’t really used bo before.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Jason stands up, going to the training area. “C’mon, kid.”

“Not a kid.”

“Uh-huh.”

¹⁴

“Are you going to answer Bat Signal?” Tim asks in his comms.

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

¹⁵

“Why the fuck they call me Red Bat?”

“Are you dump or really don’t know?” Tim pointedly looks at the emblem on the chest of his costume.

“Oh, shut it, you know that rumors about Batman shouldn’t change or—”

“—or people would realize story isn’t a hoax,” Tim ponders it for a second. “You think, it'll be bad? If people knew you were real? Gotham is different. But Starling is shitty and they know Arrow or whatever that guy calls himself is real.”

“You said it yourself, Timmy, Gotham’s different,” Jason runs a hand through his hair. “And Oliver Queen has some agenda on top of whatever’s going on between him and the league. I’m just trying to protect Gotham as best as I can,” he knows there is bitterness in his voice, but he cannot do anything about it.

“Found out who he is?”

“Please, as if it was hard.”

¹⁶

“I’m skipping patrol,” Jason declares.

“What? Why?”

“Because I’m teaching you how to make cookies and after that we’re watching movies.”

¹⁷

“It was you. You killed Joker.”

Jason stops on the rooftop, all his attention is focused on Tim’s words.

“I thought you knew?”

There is silence.

“I... you... Batman doesn’t kill.”

Don’t I fucking know that.

“I wasn’t Batman. And I wasn’t gonna let that fucker go after what he did to Stephanie,” the girl’s name feels heavy on his tongue, he was almost too late to save her, he was too late to save the child she was carrying.

“Do you... Are you still?..”

“I’m not gonna kill while you're in my ears, kid.”

“Not a kid, Red.”

“Then choose a codename if you insisting on bothering me throughout the night.”

¹⁸

“My parents had to leave earlier can I stay at the manor? It’ll be more effici—”

“Get inside, I’m rewatching ‘Home alone’.”

¹⁹

“Red Bat, stop!” Tim’s voice brakes the blissful haze that bloodlust always cocoons him in. “Red, you need to stop please! You’ll kill him, you... You promised not to—”

“Where’s GCPD?” Jason zip-ties the pimp he has almost beaten to death; it reminds him of the day. The day Batman decided he became too aggressive to be Robin.

“ETA two minutes,” in a slightly shaky tone Tim informs him.

Jason leaves the guy on the ground, finding an access to the roof.

He breathes in cold winter air, stinking of something distinctly Gotham. It grounds him.

“I’m sorry, kid,” finally says Jason.

“You were dumped in Lazarus waters, weren’t you?”

And Jason wants to use it as an excuse. To pretend he has not killed by his own choice. To assure Tim he is not truly a monster who kills because he wishes to do so, but because he came back fucked up.

But it will be a lie, will it not?

His silence is the only answer Tim gets.

“I thought it is impossible to snap out of the—” there is typing on the Tim’s end, “—bloodlust.”

“Ra’s not a mindless monster high on it all the time,” Jason points out.

“You know what I mean. You were as you said ‘high’ and you stopped.”

Jason chuckles. He wants to laugh, loud and hysterical.

“Go dress in your pjs, we’re watching ‘Pride & Prejudice’,” he tells Tim.

“Not again,” he groans in response.

“Yeah again.”

²⁰

Jason is still shivering, his heart beats in his throat, and everything is in the sickly tinge of yellow from Fear Gas. His white knuckle grip leaves dents on the table.

“Tim, why are you wearing Robin suit?”

“I—”

“I told you ‘no’.”

“Yo—”

“Many times, Tim,” Jason’s voice shakes, he does not know if it is from the lingering terror or from anger. “You could’ve died!” He shouts.

Tim’s gaze shines with steel determination, he squares his shoulders, his neon yellow on the inside cape flutters with the movement.

“You would have died! Again!” Tim screams in response. “I saved you! You can at fucking least say thank you, asshole!”

“Ti—”

“And just so you know. If you did die, I would go and wear this,” Tim jabs red bat on his chest, “and do all the reckless stupid things you stop me from doing!”

Jason sighs deep through his nose.

“Where did you get this costume?” It is not Dick’s or one of his. For starters it has actual pants.

“Remember you were wondering why you were spending more on other stuff for the last six months?” mumbles Tim, his face goes as red as the upper part of Robin’s suit. “And I am an heir to Drake estate.”

²¹

“That’s so cool!” Tim, Robin, flies above Gotham’s dirty alleyways.

Jason, Red Bat, is right behind like a protective shadow.

²²

“They call me Red Robin,” Tim smirks, shoving Jason. “You started a trend, old man.”

“Hey, I’m not that old!”

²³

“Who the fuck are you?!” growls Bluebird, it is Dick, it is his big brother, shoving his escrima stick under his jaw with his fingers on the button, ready to zap him.

“I thought you were smarter, birdbrain!” Tim jumps from the shadows, distracting Dick with the neon yellow color of his cape just enough to throw one of his birdarangs at him. “I liked you more because of it!”

“Did you just call me stupid?!” Jason pushes Dick on the ground and takes off his face mask. “Hey, hey, Dickiebird, it’s me,” he smiles unsurely.

“Little Wing?.. Jay... Jason? Wha?.. How?”

His face gets scratched.

“What the fuck was it for?”

“You’re not Clayface.”

“Since when Clayface calls you ‘Dickiebird’, dickface?”

— end of the season one —