#they are actively concerned that I did not grasp the weight of just how much older Luke was

[snoelledarts]

I was just supposed to find out, TEN YEARS LATER, on my own, that I had completely misread the books as a kid and Luke Castellan is TWENTY THREE YEARS OLD when he dies?!

You're trying to tell me that when he pulls that little trick on Percy with the shoes and Tartarus he's NINETEEN?! While Percy is TWELVE?! ...I have to go. I have to leave. Why WHY did I think he was fifteen? I think child me could not picture a teenager older than, like, sixteen years old and just decided that's how old Luke was. I did not account for Luke having a fully developed frontal lobe when I read the books. I am going to have to reread them, and they will cause me a whole new brand of pain.

I am devastated. Distraught. Do not contact me for a full 5 business days so I may recover.

[maddiedott]

Full Moon

Paring: Loki Laufeyson x Reader

Summary: Waking up to an empty bed should be a concerning matter, especially in the middle of the night.

Warnings: not proofread, domestic fluff, slight angst if you squint, no use of y/n

A/N: Hello lovelies <3! I hope everyone’s having a great week so far. This is my first story on tumblr so I hope you all enjoy!

There are things that keep your mind active. Hidden stimuli deep in your subconscious that you don’t realize are happening. Sometimes, our minds are a beautiful thing. Others, they’re you’re own personal nightmare. You knew how the mind works, how easily you can be fooled into believing certain thoughts.

Tonight was no different.

Another night of relentless fidgeting, tossing and turning with no signs of sweet oblivion that sleep grants. It instead gave frustration as you kicked the satin sheets off your body before hauling yourself off the bed.

The room itself was dark, the only light was given off by the shining full moon which could be seen from the open archway leading to the balcony. Illuminating the stone walls and marble flooring, giving a calming feeling to your tense body and wandering mind.

Moving your feet towards the opening of the archway, you grab hold of the cold stone of the railing before leaning your weight onto it. With a deep breath, you close your eyes before releasing.

You weren’t sure how long you had been standing alone out in the light of full moon. You had to guess only a few minutes before arms gently wrapped around your waist from behind.

“Trouble sleeping again, my darling?” He whispered against the side of your head, lips pressed into your hair in a kiss.

“So it seems. I apologize for waking you.” You mumble, leaning back against his chest and allowing yourself to be fully enveloped in his presence.

“What plagues your mind this night?” His tone held genuine curiosity and concern. It was something not often seen by just anyone.

“The same as every night. Reliving the past.” The somber tone took hold of your voice before you could mask it. Though it would be hard to hide much of anything from the God of Lies.

His hand slid across your stomach before holding you tight as he sighed. It was a reoccurring feeling, something the two of you shared and would often swap nights.

“Nothing shameful of those thoughts. Would you care to share these thoughts of yours?”

The gentleness he showed you as he asked the simple question was enough for you to melt. His softer side was always reserved for those with a special place in his heart, maybe even his soul. You were honored you were a part of that selective few. Your eyes closed again as you sighed. Did you really want to share your burden tonight and keep him from sleep? Not really.

“It can wait until morning.” Came your reply, turning around in his grasp and leaning your back against stone. “I have exhausted the idea and don’t wish to mind it any longer.”

He only nods, gently grabbing your hand before taking a few steps back. His arm extends as he lead you back into the bedroom and into the bed. He slid in beside you, covering you both with the sheets before pulling you into his embrace once more. The coolness he provided was a nice contrast to the summer air of Asgard. You were able to let go of your worries, of the way your brain subconsciously sought out stimuli.

You felt safe.

You were safe within his arms, truly nothing could happen to you as he held you. You felt like anything could happen and you’d be alright as he pressed a soft kiss to your temple, murmuring those words that truly warmed you and quelled your busy thoughts.

“I love you, my darling.”

And you never believed anything more in your life. It was a term he didn’t use so loosely, nor should it be.

As you tucked yourself against his chest, taking a deep breath you returned the sentiment. You weren’t sure how long you laid their in his arms before you eventually felt sleep begin to take over you, couldn’t be longer than a few minutes.

Sometimes all it takes to calm a mind, is someone who is able to guide you back where you need to be. To be able to make you feel safe and comfortable as he gently traced his fingertips along the top of your arms.

You were glad you’d found your someone and honored to be called his person too.

[idle-skull]

Towards the End

Lark: The Huntsman of Nostramo

Konrad Curze x OC

In the deep, dark, midnight, when they would lay together underneath the starless black of an enclosed room and speak of the things to come and the things that had long since passed; Lark found that he was most at peace.

He remembered how he would run his fingers through Nighthaunter’s long, oily hair and pick apart the knots as they spoke. Sometimes they would do more than speaking, sometimes less.

Regardless, fingers, arms, and hands would often get lost beneath the safe cover of a warm blanket, and would inexplicably turn up wrapped around the others waist or tracing a series of scars or creases. Moments like this would typically spark the beginning of a different series of nightly activities, something much more intimate in nature than their previous idle chatterings.

Lips would touch and press upon each other’s flesh; At first carefully, even hesitantly, but soon falling into a much rougher rhythm. Any iota of exposed skin was fair game for a new set of bruises or the mark of a sharp tooth or nail. The mix of loving kisses and harsher, seductive bites kept both guessing and ready for more.

Their actions where feral, and primal, as if driven more by instinct than any actual thought or cohesion from either party.

From there, it would escalate further until both where fully satisfied with the time spent.

Lark felt something stirring within him then, in the modern day, a deep, emptiness that would not go away. Was this sadness? Loss? Mourning?

He had already mourned; The loss of his sons, and now soon, the loss of NightHaunter, too. Even the brief recollection of one of those long nights didn’t serve to distract him for very long.

He knew, they both knew—, the cold, harsh, truth: The Dark King was going to die.

Shifting his weight, Lark sat up awkwardly, and turned to face the prone figure at his side. Even in the darkness, Nighthaunter’s grey-white skin stood out enough that Lark could easily find him without too much of a hassle.

He leaned forward and ran his hand over the primarch’s upper arm and shoulder. Lark could feel the emphasis of Nighthaunter’s muscles beneath his finger tips as he did so, and later the jagged, hard bone of his shoulder’s edge.

Lark wondered then if he had gotten thinner. Had he been eating properly? Or was it stress? Lark didn’t know, but he couldn’t help but worry.

Then NightHaunter started to awaken. Moving and stretching, he rolled over onto his back, his eyes slowly, lethargically opening. Those eyes, deeper, and blacker than the blackest black holes always captivated Lark; There was something about them that sent a terrifying chill down his spine, he didn’t know what, but he loved it.

“Song bird…”, Nighthaunter whispered, reaching for Lark’s hand and grasping his wrist, “Why are you awake…”? Lark sighed, moving closer to the primarch, “I couldn’t sleep”.

“Why not…”, he asked carefully, slightly cocking his head in curiosity. Lark sighed, settling down against Nighthaunter’s chest and laying his head on his arm, “It’s just… lately, my mind won’t quiet down, y’know”?

“You’re worried, but there is no need”, Nighthaunter stated, gently running his pointed fingers over Lark’s skin, “it’ll be over soon, the night will come to an end and things will be different. My father will have sent his minion to dispatch me, and you will no longer have to concern yourself with my welfare”. Lark adjusted himself, vaguely shifting away from the primarch’s grasp, stating “That’s ridiculous, because I’ll still be concerned, not only over your death but over everything.”

“You don’t even know if you’re going to die…”, he added.

“I do, Lark, I am aware of my future and all of it’s caveats, I always have been”, Nighthaunter hissed, “it’s set in stone”. Lark sat up, his tail thumping against the bed in displeasure, “But what if it isn’t? What if you can live, what if you’re wrong”? The primarch blinked at him, turning his head and exhaling a short, cold bought of air, before sitting up.

Even in his sitting position he towered over Lark.

“I’m not wrong, my visions have never been false”, He curtly took Lark’s face into a singular, large, clawed hand and held it so their eyes would meet, “never say such things Song bird”. He scrunched his nose, and gripped onto Nighthaunter’s wrist, before speaking, “Night… I don’t want it to be right this time”. The primarch softened his grip.

“I know…”, Nighthaunter’s eyes betrayed a softness for a moment, one buried deep within him, “but it’s to be, and now all we can do is let it happen”. He let go of Lark’s face, and rested his hand on his shoulder.

“Night…”, Lark spoke, gently taking the primarch’s clawed hand in his own, “whatever happens… I need you to know that I love you”. Nighthaunter nodded and closed the gap between them, holding Lark, his eyes focused on the distance, “I know Lark, I know…”

[countlessrealities]

Kisses under the mistletoe

@dynamoprotocol sent: ❣️: our muses find themselves under a mistletoe by coincidence (Clarissa and Morty lmao)

There were some things that never changed, no matter how many times they went downhill, no matter how many horrifying, high-tech disasters happened. Jerry's iron will to make sure that the house was thoroughly decorated, both outside and inside, was one of them.

Not even the misadventure he had had after having been made "neutrally buoyant" by one of Rick's inventions had been able to put a dent in that habit, and that had been anything but a fun time.

The family had, by now, learnt to deal with it. Beth still worried that her husband would accidentally kill himself every time she saw him climbing on the roof to hang the lights, but she had stopped voicing her concerns and just went with the moves. Summer made sure to prepare a plan to avoid participating in whatever family activity Jerry had in mind and also any potential decorations-related mishaps. As for Rick, he handled it as he did with most things he couldn't give a rat's ass about: drinking and flipping the bird as a universal answer to any of his son-in-law's protests and offers.

Morty was the only one who hadn't developed a pre-made reaction to Jerry's antics, mostly because he didn't see a reason to do it. His father could be a pain, but indulging him from time to time, giving him the illusion of being respected and important, was a good way to prevent him from doing something stupid. Or even just from berating them too much.

However, as it often happened, the universe seemed to hellbent on proving to him how his choice not to take any precaution was going to come and bite him back on the ass, sooner or later. And this time it had decided to do it in a way the teen would have never expected.

After all, how was he supposed to anticipate that he would have ended up under one of the mistletoes with Clarissa of all people?

For the first couple of seconds, all that Morty could do was staring up at the plant, mouth again, as his mind blanked out, refusing to process what was happening. His little crush on the woman had faded as he had gotten to know her and grasped just how painfully complicated her relationship with Rick was...or so he had thought.

As it had just turned out, there was still a little bit of it, buried in the back of his mind, enough to make this chance encounter weird. Even if that was the last thing the teen wanted.

Oh geez, oh man, oh geez! Stop staring and do something!

His brain came back to life all of a sudden, thoughts flooding in too quickly and chaotically, which led him from gazing at the mistletoe with wide eye to looking at Clarissa with the very same, dumb expression. He should say something. Act cool, maybe crack a joke. Damn, even letting out a forced laugh or a scream would have been better than being frozen as he was.

His cheeks grew hot, in embarrassment, but something else was thrown into the mixture as a traitorous part of his mind suggested that, maybe, it wouldn't have been so bad if he had kissed her. Not anywhere that could be inappropriate, of course, but just to see if her body heat was truly has strong at it seemed to be whenever he was standing next to her.

Bad idea. It was such a bad, alluring idea. And Clarissa was just a little taller than Summer, which put her within his arm's reach.

His body moved almost on his own, before common sense could snap him out of the trance he had fallen into, and he found himself stepping closer, straining on his tiptoes so that he could plant a kiss on the woman's cheek.

And if he had a quick sniff at her hair before moving away, letting the smell of oil and gasoline fill his nostrils, he would have rather died than admitting it.

The moment he broke away, his face went even redder than it had before, as the full weight of what he had just done was dropped on him. Only one thought was left in his mind: run for your life.

"Oh g-geez, I think...R-Rick is calling for me! I-I really need to go and, uh, s-see what he wants. Y-You know how he is." He let out an awkward, forced chuckle. "S-So, uh, yeah, I...S-See you later!"

And with that he dashed past her, with the kind of agility he usually showed only when he was fleeing some bloodthirsty alien creature, all his usual clumsiness gone from his movements. He even managed to snatch the bottle of wine Jerry had meant to bring to Beth along the way, almost knocking the poor man over in his rush, before disappearing in the hall.

He would be hiding in Rick's room for a while. The time to get tipsy enough to be in the same room with Clarissa without wishing for the ground to swallow him.

[artdecosupernova-writing]

OC Kiss Week Day 7: Courtship

WIP: Silent Magnets Pairing: Devin x Everett Timeline: 1975 (when will the modern timeline return from war?) CW: none Rating: T (though I think it could go lower tbh) Words: 1,611

***

I'm gesticulating when I talk—nothing new and kind of relatable as far as Everett goes—the van is chugging along, traffic is light on the highway, the sun is bright, and the tunes are scratchy and cool.

"Did he think I was dumb?" I snap a pout at Everett, my curls bouncing directly out of my face along with the breeze from the window. "Ev, you gotta tell me the truth. That was a ‘this broad is dumb' look."

"Ah, no," Everett laughs, peeking into the rearview mirror at the car we'd just passed. "He was concerned that you didn't know half of the door is…hanging on by a miracle..." With this comment he leans across me and yanks the handle of said door, thus activating the lock once more. "And I can't say I blame him."

"He thought I didn't know our door is falling off?" I throw my hands up and all but shove myself out of the window. "You're the stupid one, pal!"

Everett takes my hand closest to him and pulls me back to my seat. "Okay. Maybe don't exit the vehicle until it comes to a complete stop."

I sigh. "Wilco," I grumble, though I'm giggling with him at this point. I lace our fingers together. "I think we need to get some sleep. We're either gonna end up crashing this thing or we're gonna go insane."

Brushing his thumb over the back of my hand, Everett takes the next exit. "I second that," he says a little too jovially.

"Where are we going, sir?" I ask in a goofy English accent.

Everett leans into the wheel to better determine when to merge into traffic and complements my silly voice with one of his own. "Yes, I was somewhat hoping we could find a place to rest our weary heads. Some would say it is against the law to drive while intoxicated, and I believe that's where we are headed with our exhaustion." 

We're moving again and that's when it hits me. There's a silence in the van only broken by "How Sweet It Is" coming in over the radio at the most crucial time, and I look down at our hands. Perfectly grasping one another. Mine, very small in his.

It was so natural. I didn't even notice it had happened. And I think it hit Everett weird then, too, because he squeezes my hand lightly, confirming that it's what's going on. We hold hands all the way to a quaint lodge a mile or so off the highway, after which he parks, turns off the van, and we sit for a few minutes. Silent.

I look at our hands again.

"I may be out of line," Everett says eventually, and like he very much knows he's not out of line, "but consensus has agreed that the next logical step is to address this." He holds our hands up between us and affects a knowing grin I can't help feeling soft about.

"Okay," I exhale, fatigue dropping onto me like a six-ton weight. I watch people entering and exiting the motel for a moment. "It makes me feel good and like we should've been doing it this whole time." A blush rises into my face but I turn my eyes to him almost with defiance against my nerves.

He tilts his head down as he, too, people-watches a bit. "Well. That's been addressed." He pauses. "You have baby hands."

"No I god damn don't," I retort as he unlatches our grip on one another. It doesn't seem urgent, in fact it seemed hesitant, but we're separate again now in any case.

He checks us into a double room, the implications of which don't fully land until I step over the threshold and register the one bed in the middle. I freeze in place, and Everett comes up behind me to take stock of the accommodations.

"Yeah!" he says sharply. "Let me go to the front desk to switch rooms."

I grab his arm as he turns away. "No."

Everett pivots to me and his eyebrows jump toward his hairline.

"I mean," I stammer, "unless you wanted to…I just thought it would be easier if—"

"It's alright." His face has softened and he's smiling at me, warm. His eyes sparkle with assurance. "I didn't expect it, that's all."

Nodding, I take my bag from him. "Swell. Okay. That's swell. Saves us a lot of trouble."

Everett orders food for us while I take a shower. We stuff our tired faces with pizza while watching the only clear channel on television, which happens to be the news. We stay up shockingly late, considering how close we are to passing out, and it's well into evening before Everett emerges from the bathroom, freshly showered himself, dressed in an adorable striped pajama set and drying his hair with a towel.

"Très chic," I snicker from my place propped up against the pillows.

He does a twirl for me, arms outspread. "Why, thank you, sir." He crawls into bed next to me, yawning loud. "You're sure this is okay?"

"Yeah."

I stare at his face as he pinches the bridge of his nose, tucking his arm under his pillow and dropping the comforter over himself.

In the quiet, he forces his eyes open to look right back at me. They're so devoid of energy but they're patient...like he's waiting for me to change my mind.

"Can I kiss you goodnight?" is what actually comes out of my mouth.

At first, I think he's going to instantly reject me. But he pushes himself up onto his elbow and holds his other arm out to me.

I'm drawn to him, shifting until I'm close to being right on top of him, and he guides my head down to his face. Presses a kiss to my mouth. Sweet, lingering, and there's a purity to it I don't think I can properly explain. It's so familiar and nostalgic for a time of my life that never happened. His lips are so inviting, so welcoming, and a thumb brushes across my cheek in the same motion it'd brushed across the back of my hand in the car.

Before I can savor the kiss like it should've been savored, it's over. He leans back and pushes a curl behind my ear.

"Good night," he whispers.

And I couldn't say for sure what happened between then and the next half a minute—I guess my overly expressive face gave me away—but Everett's fingers are in my hair and I'm kissing him again, a little less sweet though the purity is still there, and he lies down with me, and I become addicted to kissing him until we fall asleep in each other's arms.

Waking up to Everett the next morning is enough to energize me for the rest of my life, I think. He stretches and gives me another peck on the lips, and neither of us minds the morning breath so much. We get our morning routines out of the way, pack up, go out to breakfast hand-in-hand, and set out on the road once more with new songs in our hearts and lighter laughter.

"What do we call this, then?" I ask over lunch.

He circles the air with a forkful of salad and jabs in my direction with it. "We call it a courtship."

My incredulous snort finds its way around my French fries. The restaurant is beginning to fill with people as the afternoon rush hits. "A courtship? The brave knight is pitching woo?"

"Only if there is woo to pitch." He winks at me.

I turn my face to conceal how smitten I am. "Honestly, I'm surprised you'd even consider it."

His chewing slows and he frowns at me. "Why not?"

"I didn't think that, um…the fact that I don't align myself with womanhood was something I guessed wouldn't be attractive to you."

Everett swallows his bite and spears his next one without a hint of a second thought. "This is an incredibly new courtship, Devin. Feelings may change over time…some from you, and some from me. You won't be the same person ten years from now, you may not even be the same person ten minutes from now. Neither will I. A relationship could be the wrong move for us in the long run…though I suppose I'd like to give it a try," he added with sincerity. "You could find yourself embracing your womanhood eventually. Or you could disavow it altogether. None of it matters. All I can say with utmost confidence is that the most attractive thing about you is you."

I'm stunned. "Really?"

He looks for a second like he could reach across the table and shake the nonsense out of me. "Sweetheart…I am unsure about a lot of things, but this is not one of them."

My insides feel like they've been baked in a ten thousand degree fire and I'm floored. No one in the history of my life has ever said anything like that to me before…and to a point, I'm overwhelmed. Here's someone willing to ignore what I'd thought for years was a failing. Someone I feel more myself around than anyone else I've met dating back to when I was little. Someone who embraces not only the fact that I am a child of two worlds and the tribulations that come with it but the person I am in my heart, and is apparently willing to embrace the changes to himself as a result.

We sit with our knees almost touching under the table and I realize that I'm watching myself fall in love with him.

[bokubear]

hq boys at the beach with their s/o

featuring ; atsumu miya + bokuto koutarou + akaashi keiji + tsukishima kei

warnings ; nope !

notes ; cute n concerned ‘kaashi :’)

+ATSUMU has always been a big fan of the beach. he honestly takes advantage of every opportunity there is, whether that be splashing around in the water recklessly or trying it surf ( deeply failed ). he always invites you as well, toothy grin easily evident, and if you were even to feel the slightest bit insecure in your body, especially in a swimsuit, he will publicly announce your self-worth. he just likes to take those times as a moment to simmer in how much you mean to him, that’s all. but don’t get me wrong, he will most definitely put you on his shoulders and run around with you no matter your weight, height, etc. he is SO in love. it’s obnoxious ( obnoxiously cute ).

+BOKUTO constantly races around full of energy, the beach not being an exception. but he does love his fair share of sunlight, and somewhat, he loves sunbathing with you. probably comes home extremely tan. one of his favorite things to do at the beach is making sandcastles. although people that know bokuto either that he from school, volleyball, or any other activity, they’d assume his sandcastles look like something that a 3 year old would make. on all reality, he creates these extravagant creations even you’re blown away that he can make. he’s very proud. and once you’re tired out, he lays on the towel with you, head resting on your stomach comfortably. “you’re soft.” he melts, earning a chortle of laughter.

+AKAASHI likes the beach, yes, but he is quite the stickler for safety. not necessarily water safety, but skin safety. he gets all concerned when you’re in the summer heat, afraid you’ll get sunburnt. he gets all flustered when applying sunscreen to your back ( a common cliche for him ), face excessively pink. and when you do it for him, he’s practically quivering nervously. he does become playful though, splashing around happily with you. his biggest weakness has to be when you pretend that you’ve gotten salt water in your eyes ( he falls for it every time ), waddling up to you to gently grasp your hands before being bombarded with water and your cry of victory. mostly speechless. otherwise frowning at you like some pouty baby. your pouty baby.

+TSUKISHIMA is already a pain by itself. but taking him to the beach with you is an entirely different story. if you genuinely want him to go, you’ll have to drag the blocker with you. he retorts about how “useless.” and “annoying.” the ordeal is, but he does have fun, he won’t admit it. you do poke a little bit to how “pale he is.” and how it’s “healthy for your skin to have sun exposure for vitamin d.” leaving kei to glare weakly at you, brows knitted in frustration. “how did someone like you get that info ? did you memorize it ?” he smirked knowingly, a short smack on the shoulder being his punishment. “nope, only stating facts for someone who needs them.” he was not all too pleased, yet still laying on the towel no less. “you’re irritating.” — “i love you too kei.”

-maak

plagiarism, repost, and editing is prohibited

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Survival of the Fittest. 

Pairing: Yandere!Bakugo/Reader/Yandere!Kirishima (BNHA).

Word Count: 3.6k.

TW: Apocalypse/No Quirks AU, Unhealthy Codependency, Non-Consensual Touching, Mentions of Death/injury, Non-Graphic Violence, Imprisonment.

You were lucky Kirishima had been the one to find you.

‘Find’ might’ve been the wrong word. It implied that he was looking, that he wanted to discover you, bleeding and battered and bruised, cowering in a grimy corner of what used to be a grocery store. It must’ve looked pathetic, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be embarrassed by your torn clothes, your matted hair, the way you’d whimpered as he first approached, all wide eyes and open arms. Survivors were few and far between, and it’d been weeks since you saw another living, breathing person. Kirishima hadn’t seemed like a god-send, not in the moment, but he was a miracle. You’d been too shocked to thank him properly, as he pulled you to your feet and practically carried you out of the city, but you should. You wanted to. You owed him that, if nothing else.

You were lucky it’d been him, rather than Bakugo. You were grateful it hadn’t been Bakugo.

You’d probably still be rotting in that corner, if it had been.

He didn’t seem to like you very much, even if he had begrudgingly moved aside when Kirishima asked if he could bring you inside. It was a bunker, judging by the sparse furniture littered around the common area, plain cement walls only adorned with the occasional hunting knife or bat left to lean against them. The bench Kirishima had left you on was wooden, too stiff to ever be comfortable, but it was a practical choice. Fabric was a luxury to be stowed away and treasured, saved for things more important than a stranger’s comfort. You’d do the same thing, if you’d been in his shoes.

That didn’t stop Bakugo from glaring, though, perching himself on the edge of a nearby crate and refusing to take his eyes off of you, as if you’d already earned and lost his trust. “There’s no fucking advantage,” He started, but he wasn’t talking to you. You weren't worth his time, just yet, not while you were still just a stray Kirishima was too much of a saint to turn away. “We’re not a damn food bank. It’s not out responsibility to babysit every dumbass on the verge of death.”

“Don’t listen to him.” At least Kirishima was kind enough to address you as he slipped back into the common room, taking his place at your side and handing you something – a mug, cremated and unchipped and filled to the brim with something watery, steam still rising off the top. Your first sip was hesitant, but you couldn’t stop yourself from draining the cup once you recognized the taste. Coffee. Cheap, bitter, heavenly coffee, the kind you didn’t have enough clean water to risk trying to make. You could’ve kissed him. You might’ve, if the calm levity in his voice hadn’t snapped you out of it. “Katsuki’s just a little defensive, when it comes to guests. We’ve got plenty of supplies to go ‘round, and…” He trailed off, glancing over you. To the bruises circling your wrist, the stained bandages peaking out from underneath your shirt. To the spot where your ankle twisted just a little too far to the left for the angle to be natural, the evidence of a fall you tried and failed to break with something besides your own body. “I don’t think we can kick someone out in good faith with those kinda injuries. Not with all the crawler activity, lately.”

You flinched at the name alone. Crawler, creatures, the things that used to be people and weren’t, not now, not anymore. You used to think of them as zombies, but that wasn’t right. Calling them zombies would be an injustice, even if they did tend to rot if left to their own devices. Zombies weren’t that fast. Zombies weren’t that distorted. You’d encountered three or four, but you tried to avoid attracting them, when you could. It was easier, when you were on your own.

Bakugo groaned, bringing you out of your thoughts. You tried to stop your hands from shaking, as he spoke. “You’ve got a group to run back to, right? Nobody survives that long without one.”

You tried not to sound as small as you felt. Judging from the way Kirishima glanced away, it was a futile effort. “Nobody survives that long with one, either.”

Kirishima’s hand came to rest on your shoulder, and Bakugo crossed his arms, a sign that must’ve meant submission, judging by Kirishima’s optimistic response. “Just until your ankle’s healed up,” He promised, a compromise you hadn’t asked him to make. “You’ll stay until then, right? ‘d be a shame if we had to lose another person because of Katsuki’s bad attitude.”

There was a sharp ‘hey’, a barely stifled laugh, and slowly, you forced yourself to nod, immediately receiving a bright grin from Kirishima by way of reward. It was a practical choice, honestly – they had food, they had shelter, they didn’t seem to be grasping at threads just to get by. Even if Kirishima was a little too friendly and Bakugo wasn’t nearly friendly enough, you could life with that, you could get by. Once you’d worn out your welcome, you’d leave. As soon as you were fixed up.

You didn’t want to wait for things to go bad, this time.

~

Despite his reluctance, Bakugo didn’t take long to warm up to you.

Kirishima was still the approachable one, obviously. He was who you went to when you needed to find something, when you had a question about their ration system or weaponry or the parts of the bunker you weren’t allowed to go in, rooms with steel doors and deadbolts on the handle and a raw, metallic smell emanating from the other side, but Bakugo always seemed to be lingering just behind him, ready to scoff and roll his eyes before he took you by the wrist and explained that, if you expected to reap the benefits of their hospitality, you had to at least try to pull your weight. He was helpful, like that, his help less patronizing than Kirishima’s, albeit twice as easily frustrated. Still, he didn’t hate you. If anything, he seemed to—

“If you slow down one more time, I’ll feed ya to the damn bears myself.”

You sped up, reflexively. He didn’t hate you, but it wasn’t too late for him to start.

It’d been Kirishima’s idea for you to go hunting. You were still in a splint, the majority of your calf an abstract blend of medical tape and cloth padding, but you bit back the pain as you followed Katsuki down the rough, unpaved trail, gritting your teeth past the ache forming under your skin. It wasn’t a raid. If anything, you were only getting further from the city, working your way up the mountain their bunker was carved into the base of. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been concerned about the crossbow in Katsuki’s hands, the weapon already loaded and poised, but the hunting knife strapped to your thigh eased your nerves, as did his disinterest in doing anything but trudging forward. If he didn’t take the time to call back to you every few minutes, you might’ve thought he’d forgotten you were there entirely.

But, silence never suited you never well. Not with a near-stranger, at least. “You’re not afraid of crawlers?”

“This far out? Fuck no.” It was an immediate answer, quick and shameless. Like an amputation, if an amputation left you nursing a bruised ego rather than bleeding out. “There’s enough fresh meat in the city to keep ‘em occupied. Only the runts ever bother coming out here to look for scraps.”

“I would’ve been that meat,” You mumbled, absent-mindedly. It was an idle thought, more of an admission than an accusation, but judging by the way his posture slackened, how quickly his attention shifted to the foliage, he wouldn’t have cared either way. “If Kirishima hadn’t found me, I mean. God knows I look like an easy target.”

“You are an easy target. Just be glad he’s got a weak spot for charity cases.”

You opened your mouth, ready to ask what he meant, you lost your footing before you got the chance, slipping on the damp leaf litter as a spike of something agonizing ran from your heel to your knee. Bakugo didn’t flinch, letting you catch yourself on his shoulder as he raised his crossbow, barely taking a moment to aim before firing. You could feel the kick-back, a jolting reverberation that only seemed to make the wet thunk that followed a little worse, the sound of an arrow piercing skin and flesh.

You expected that. You were ready for it. But, you hadn’t been prepared for the deafening scream that came afterwards, heart-piercing and human. You moved to rush toward its source, but Bakugo only caught your arm, shaking his head. Like he’d missed, like he’d only killed a deer. Like there wasn’t a person thrashing in the underbrush, still crying out as he spoke over them. “Looters,” He explained, like that was an excuse. “We’ve been dealin’ with them for a while, now. ’s just a scout, but he would’ve been back with reinforcements if we let him run off untouched.”

Bile rose in the back of your throat. For your own sake, you chose to believe him. “So? We can’t just—”

“Yes, we can.” It wasn’t a question. He didn’t need your permission, and he didn’t want your compliance. He didn’t even bother to justify himself before he turned away, starting back on the trail as you stood, still too shocked to move. “C’mon, we’ve already lost enough sunlight, and I’m not wasting arrows on scum. The fucker can drag himself back to his hideout, for all I care.”

You could’ve argued. Bakugo didn’t seem to think the blow was fatal, but you could’ve checked, made sure, offer what might’ve been a dying man a few last seconds of company before he bit the bullet. You could’ve, part of you wanted to, but…

But then, Bakugo tossed a glare over his shoulder, and your attention was brought back to the crossbow in his hands, to the machete strapped to his belt, to how pitifully small your knife was, in comparison. You didn’t want to lose the trust you hadn’t really gained, just yet. You didn’t want to take that kind of chance, not when Kirishima wasn’t around to give you the benefit of the doubt.

So, you shut your eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to ignore the quiet sobbing in the background as you followed in his tracks.

~

Surprisingly, Kirishima was the first one to slip into your bed.

You told yourself it was a mistake, when he let himself into your room in the middle of the night, closer to sunrise than it was to sunset. None of the doors locked, thin plywood serving as more of a source of comfort than an actual barrier, and beyond your small collection of personal possessions and the bedside table you’d commandeered from storage, your room was identical to any of the eerily unoccupied barracks on the lower layers of the bunker. Still, you expected him to turn around, to see your sleeping form curled up in a corner of your cot and realize he had the wrong room. It was late, and he made a mistake. It didn’t have to be anything more.

But it wasn’t that late, and Kirishima never really made mistakes. He was too careful for anything like that.

At least he was being careful now, too, as far as you could tell with your eyes clenched shut, your breathing restricted to slow, shallow inhales that left your lungs feeling just a little too tight. He was gentle, if nothing else, wrapping a strong arm around your waist, pulling you against his chest and burying his face in the nape of your neck. You didn’t squirm, you didn’t push yourself away, but you must’ve been too stiff, too still, too rigid. He didn’t seem to buy the act, however desperate it was.

“’suki’s real proud of you.” His voice was tired, weighted down by exhaustion. Clearly, he wouldn’t be leaving. “He told me about yesterday. Says you were good, cooperative and all. He likes that kind of thing.”

You didn’t respond, digging your nails into the sterile, medical sheets. Your ankle throbbed, and you tried to focus on that, to justify it. To remember why you could still convince yourself to stay.

“He’s a big softie, though. We both are, but I don’t try to hide it.” There was a light squeeze to your side, the ghost of his lips over the crook of your neck. His breath was warm, compared to the bucker’s constant chill, and you tried to think of his smothering body heat as a small silver lining. “I think it’s sweet. Gets lonely ‘round here, y’know? You’re a good fit.” There was a pause, a chuckle. For a moment, you thought he might push a little further, hold you a tighter, but Kirishima only shook his head, going on with that same careless, tired lilt. “I knew you would be, when I first saw you. A fragile little thing like you could never survive out here, not all alone.”

He was half-asleep. He didn’t know what he was saying. He’d probably apologize tomorrow, if he even remembered. “I’m not going to stay for much longer. I’ll be on my own again, in another month.”

“We’ll see.” The cot’s barred frame creaked as he shifted, his weight coming to rest against your back – a constant, oppressive reminder of his presence. A memory flickered to life in the back of your mind, a familiar intimacy that’d been earned and asked for, but you pushed it away quickly. You didn’t want to think about things like that, not here, not when this was so one-sided, in comparison. “Get some rest. You haven’t been getting enough sleep, lately.”

You’d leave when it was safe to. When you healed. When you’d worn out your welcome and become more of a burden than a benefit.

You wouldn’t stick around long enough for things to get suffocating, this time.

~

It was a mutual decision, when Bakugo and Kirishima stopped you from leaving the bunker.

They didn’t ask. That was the part that stung, really, the thorn that started working itself under your skin the moment you caught them standing in the threshold, an empty duffle bag slung over Kirishima’s shoulder and a baseball bat tucked under his arm. Bakugo had his crossbow, a pistol you’d never seen before holstered at his hip, but that bothered you less than the way they were muttering, keeping their voices purposefully low. Like they knew how you’d feel, if you saw them. Like they wanted to avoid the tension.

You’d never been very good at picking up hints, though. Much less those you were desperately trying to ignore.

“You’re going out?” You called, approaching them before you could stop yourself, suppressing a yawn as you made a show of rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. It was early, and you didn’t want Kirishima to know you’d already been up for hours. If he thought you were tired, he’d assume you were losing sleep, and if he thought you were losing sleep, he’d take it as an excuse to visit you at night, again. You… you didn’t like it, when he did. “Let me grab my stuff, it’ll only take a minute. If I knew you two were planning a raid today, I would’ve—”

Bakugo was the first to shut you down. “Sit this one out, alright?” It was a question, this time, but barely, his usual bluntness wrapped in a layer of kindness so thin, you could practically see through it. “’s just a quick supply run. We’ll be out and back before you notice we’re gone.”

“We’ve done this a thousand times,” Kirishima added, offering a small smile. At least he was trying to be nice about it, in his own, patronizing way. “It’s starting to get boring, honestly. It‘d be a shame to ruin all the progress you’ve made for something so minor.”

Right, your ankle. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d complained about it, the last time you’d been in enough pain to limp, even if Bakugo still insisted on tending to your ‘injury’ once a day, at least. The truth was glaringly obvious, even if they still made a half-hearted attempt to hide it, to let you avert your eyes and pretend you believed them.

You didn’t bother trying to hide your disappointment, your expression dropping as your nails bit into the meat of your palm. “You don’t think I can keep myself safe.”

In their defense, neither tried to deny it. Bakugo only looked away, and Kirishima smiled apologetically, his hand already pushing against the bunker’s metallic door. “We don’t want to risk it,” He explained, like you were a liability. Like you hadn’t survived out there for months without their help, injured or uninjured. “If something happened to you, if someone got to you, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. We both care about you, even if Katsuki doesn’t want to admit it.”

“It’s practical.” Bakugo didn’t look at you. It was a small mercy, really. At least he was self-aware enough to be ashamed. “You need more time. You fucked yourself up bad before Eijiro found you – all that doesn’t go away overnight.”

Expect, it hadn’t been a night. It hadn’t been a day, or a week, and you were starting to question if it’d even been only two months. It was hard to keep track of time, but the weather was already turning, every scrape and bruise Bakugo could’ve concerned himself with was already healed, and you’d already let yourself get comfortable. You’d stayed too long. You’d let them get attached, and you’d failed to make it clear that you weren’t.

You had to get out. Now.

~

Or, you could try to get out, at least.

You’d waited too long for Bakugo and Kirishima to just sit back and let you walk away.

They were stronger than you’d assumed. It was easy to forget what the human body was capable of, when you were so used to be exhausted and half-starved, but it wasn’t difficult to remember, not with Bakugo’s hands wrapped around your wrists, one of Kirishima’s arms splayed over your knees, stopping you from thrashing as they shoved you against a bed, a real bed, the frame wooden and the mattress more than just sponge and stuffing. It was one of theirs obviously, and if you’d stumbled onto it at any other time, you might’ve felt insulted, left out.

Right now, the only thing you could feel was terrified.

“Fucking bitch.” It was a grunt, a growl, followed by something close to a snarl as your elbow connected with his check. He was the one who’s caught you gathering up what little you had to take with you, a canteen already filled and strung across your back. It was on the floor, now, the metal dented and the contents spilling out, but if either of them minded wasting clean water, you couldn’t tell. They were busy, now, too busy dealing with you to worry about something so minor. Too angry to care, leaving you as the center of their rage. “We tried to be nice. We tried to give you a choice. You just couldn’t take the fucking hint, could you?”

“Let me go.” You couldn’t bring yourself to raise your voice, but you tried to come across as frantic, desperate, as betrayed and as disgusted as you really felt. “You’re both fucking crazy. I don’t want to—”

Kirishima didn’t let you finish, he’d never really bothered to. He was already shifting, leaning on one of your calves while grabbing at the other, calloused fingertips pressing into your newly-healed ankle, the remaining bruises still raw and tender. You cried out, more out of instinct than agony, but Kirishima only grit his teeth, rubbing circles into your skin, like that would be enough to soothe you. “We’re just taking care of you, alright? We’re just doing what’s best.” It was pointless to say, but the didn’t stop him from going on, rambling like he was going to convince anyone, including himself. “It’s dangerous, out there. You just need a little more time to realize that. You just need to see that ‘suki and I are your best option.”

They weren’t. They weren’t your best anything, but you didn’t have a chance to retort before Bakugo cursed under his breath, gathering your wrists up with one hand and forcing the other over your mouth, cutting you off before you could protest further. “Just do it,” He spat, all-but ignoring you as he spoke to Kirishima. “There’s no point in trying to explain this to someone so irrational. Let’s just get it over with before we have to do something worse.”

For a moment, you went still, a series of worst-case scenarios flashing before your eyes before you could rationalize them, before you could tell yourself to stay calm. For a moment, there was panic – pure, unadulterated, brutal panic.

And then, something cracked under Kirishima’s hand, and you forgot how to think of anything at all.

You let out a stilted, faltering sob, something akin to liquid fire running from your thigh to your calf to the point where everything stopped – everything below your ankle numb, disconnected, dead meat that still managed to hurt. The rest of your body went limp, your survival instincts gone and replaced with the unbearable desire to curl into yourself and cry, but Bakugo was still holding you, his arms strung around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest as Kirishima slotted himself against your back, cooing soft nothings as you fought not to break down completely. They were talking again, both of them, but you couldn’t seem to listen. It didn’t matter.

Your ankle was broken. Not sprained, this time, not bruised, but broken. Shattered. Dislocated. Forced into a position that meant you’d be forced to stay, voluntarily or otherwise. Whether or not you could still stomach looking at Bakugo and Kirishima, let alone living with them.

You couldn’t leave, and you were beginning to think they were never going to let you.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hue and Cry V

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; abuse of power, chase, unwanted touching, confusing Bucky is confusing, handjob, fingering.

This is dark!medieval!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: You set out for the capital.

Note: I didn’t expect to get this done so soon but here ya go! Last day of work for the week.

Thanks to everyone and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

🏰 🏰 🏰

The night was interminable. Lord Barnes slept against you, his heat like flames across your flesh. Every time you pulled away, he latched onto you and brought you back to him. You stopped after the first hour, you succumbed to his hold and stared at the canopy with his arm stretched across your middle and his snores rumbling against your cheek.

When he woke, you had barely closed your eyes for more than ten minutes at a time. His hand slid down your body beneath the blanket and you held your breath as he pushed his fingers between your legs. You tensed and he drew away with a huff. He sat up and relieved himself in the chamber pot.

He called for a servant and soon his first meal was brought. He shared it with you, filling your plate with rashers and boiled egg. You ate only to appease him as your stomach twisted at the smell of food. When you finished, the dishes were cleared away and you were unused to being on the other side of the service.

Two servants came shortly after and carried a gown of teal brocade and a stack of accoutrements. You frowned as Barnes directed you up to your feet and ordered the pair of women to aid you in dressing. Your face questioned him but your words never came. He watched, still in his nightshirt, as you stared daunted at the garments.

You pulled on the shift before the women laced up the corset tight and you stepped into the heavy skirts. The sleeves attached to the bodice and your missing cap was replaced by a hood tailed with satin. You felt entirely out of place. When they finished and you were stiff as a board in the attire, Barnes dismissed them and began to dress.

“You are confused,” he said as he strapped on his arm, “a servant cannot openly travel with lords so if you are to ride in the carriage, you need to look the part.” He waved you over to help him into a pair of undershorts, “and…” he watched you as he stepped into his underclothes, “you look fine indeed.”

“Thank you, my lord, but I would not be unwant to travel with the servants--”

“I would,” he said tersely as you helped him into his tunic, “I want you with me as often as you can be, as close as you can be.”

You carried on and pulled up his breeches as he straightened the cuff around his artificial arm. He shrugged and groaned, “this damned thing,” he swore under his breath then looked at you again, “you don’t look at me the way they do… the arm… people can’t see it but they stare, they know. They expect it to just slip off and clatter to the floor like I’m some fool.”

“My lord,” you said gently.

“I’m not ashamed. It happened, it’s gone.” He said, “it’s just that others are and that makes me angry.”

“My lord,” you repeated again as you guided the heavy overcoat up his arms.

“I’m not ashamed of you either,” he touched the fabric of your skirt as you reached for the chain he’d wear around his neck, “but I do want you to look to others as I see you.”

“Yes, my lord,” you straightened the chain so the single sapphire hung in the centre of his chest.

“I never saw you as only a servant,” he turned and took his comb and brushed through his thick locks, “I tried, told myself it was… untoward but… here we are.”

You were quiet. He placed his comb back on the square table and turned to you. His eyes roved up and down your figure and he squared his shoulders.

“We will attend to our host as the servants ready the luggage. It should not be more than an hour before we are gone,” he declared, “and the journey will be strenuous.”

“My lord,” you breathed as he took your arm.

🏰

You'd never rode in a carriage before. The cushioned benches would be the envy of any servants afoot or crammed into the cart of luggage. You'd never worn a proper gown either and it wasn't as accommodating as the carriage. The corset pinched your waist and the brocade was stiff and scratchy.

As you set out, it was just you in the vehicle. You had a long cape around your shoulders as the closed windows hardly kept out the frosty morning. You were almost relieved to be alone, a breath from Barnes. You heard the horses' hooves in the dirt and the voices both familiar and not as the riders chattered. Soon, the carriage felt like a cage.

Just an hour after the sun reached its peak, the procession stopped. You listened through the carriage walls and pressed yourself to the seat as the door unclasped. Lord Barnes climbed in and offered you some dried meat and berries as he sat beside you. You took it and stared at the other bench, why couldn't he sit there?

The carriage jolted back into motion as you ate, the meat spicy and dry. He offered you a skin of water wordlessly as you finished and you kept your eyes through the window, the trees thinning out to pale fields. He sidled closer and you winced. You wanted badly to throw open the door and jump out, even if it ended in you being trampled or worse.

"You are quiet," he said.

"My lord," you murmured and stared at the cold horizon. 

"Suppose we never spoke very much," he picked at your sleeve and rubbed the fabric between his fingers, "but I want you to make a habit now. You can speak to me."

And say what? You wondered. Did he think dressing you like a lady would truly make you one? You blinked and tried to ignore his lingering, if not pestering, touch.

"You are troubled. Tell me why?" He prodded. You kept quiet and he covered your hand with his,  "please, tell me."

His tone brooked no defiance. You exhaled weakly and clenched your fist under his long fingers.

"My lord, with respect, do you believe those in the capital would be… accepting of a maid in lady's clothes? Do you think they'd be convinced by it?"

"Those in the capital are not my concern. They've not been for years and that will not suddenly change," he sighed, "if it was my decision, I would not attend but the king sent his invitation direct and is not within my prerogative to deny him."

"But must…" you began then clamped your lips shut at your error, "my lord."

"Must I bring you? That is what you thought to ask," he said, "I admit my actions have been sudden and I did not wish to frighten you so but… they were as much driven by the expediency of my departure as the intensity of my yearning."

You were still as he pried your hand open and forced his palm against yours.

"I am still only a servant even if you dress me up," you whispered and flicked your eyes with your fingers as tears threatened.

"To me, you are more," he vowed.

"No, you still… treat me as one," you tried to pull your hand from his grasp, "even if you think you do not and I can only ever be--"

"Enough," he snapped, "you grow bold and it does irk me. I have forgiven your missteps and you treat me as a beast."

You squirmed, your body still sore from his lashing. How quickly he forgot.

"My lord," you appeased and bent your head.

He sat back heavily and played with your hand. His breaths were heavy and angry as he thought. His grip tightened on you and he pulled your hand into his lap. You let him even as you went rigid and he turned your hand and rested it over his crotch. He pushed it firmly to his bulge.

"That is for you, servant or no," he groaned as you felt him twitch, "and that is your duty now."

You swallowed and batted your lashes. You were ashamed and appalled. You were to be his whore, you had no presumptions, but to hear him say it so overtly made it sink into your core like iron. You trembled as he moved your hand against his breeches. He led up and down his length as it throbbed desperately beneath the fabric.

"Look at me," he demanded.

You turned to him and hesitated before you could bring your eyes to his face. As a servant, you rarely were permitted to look at him straight. His face was limned in dark desire and tense with withheld lust. He slid your hand up and pushed your fingers beneath his breeches and the linen of his undershorts.

You tried to yank away from him but he forced you further down his pants. He urged your fingers around his cock and carried his former motion, up and down, up and down. He shuddered and squeezed your hand, an unspoken order. He drew his hand back and hooked his arm over your shoulders, his weight tugging on the tails of your hood.

He leaned his forehead against your temple as he moaned and you focused on your hand and the absurd activity of your own hand. He began to pant as he held you closer and you felt his muscles lock as he planted his boot firmly on the floor. The rock of the carriage and noise of horse hooves disguised his moans, your name floating around you.

"Quicker," he begged, "quicker, please."

You could do nothing more than what he bid. His lips tickled your cheek and he kissed your throat as he hunched down. He nibbled your skin and his hand tugged at your sleeve as you closed your eyes and just kept your hand moving. You began to shake too, afraid but more stunned. It was like every nerve in your body was alight.

He purred long and low as he sat back suddenly and pushed his hips out. He spasmed and you felt a warmth spill down your fingers. He reached down urgently and stopped younas he quaked and sputtered, "oh, oh, enough, please."

He pulled your hand from his trousers and you stared at his cum as it cooled between your knuckles. You tried to hide your disgust as he puffed and looked at the front of his pants. He swore as he felt the fabric, his mess seeping through both layers. He reached into his jacket and pulled a cloth free. He held it out to you.

"Clean yourself," he ordered, "try not to mess your gown."

You shakily wiped your hand with the cloth and he took it back to clean himself as best he could. "You did well," he rasped and folded the dirty side of the kerchief in and shoved it aside, "very well,  sweeting."

His hand grazed the front of your gown and he slid off the bench. He bunched a handful of your skirt and slowly edged the hem up until you felt the cool air on your legs. You reached to stop him and he pressed his elbow against your side. A warning. His touched crawled beneath your skirts, gathered between his arm and your front, and under your shift, along the top of your stockings.

You held your breath and braced yourself against the seat as he cupped your cunt and you felt warmth gather in his palm. He pushed two fingers to you and slipped them along your folds. There was a peculiar slickness beneath them and you squeaked as he grazed a most sensitive spot. He rolled your bud beneath his fingertips and you grabbed his arm without thinking.

He kept you pinned with his arm against your torso, his hand nestled between your legs as he stretched his fingers along your cunt. He moved them up and down, lingering along that special spot and swirling, only to circle your entrance longingly but never going further.

He sped up as his fingers danced around your bud and your thighs clenched around his hand as you arched your back. You squeezed his arm and turned your face away as the fire spread through your body and ravaged your wits. You'd never felt this way and it was so new and so overwhelming that your voice erupted from you like a kettle boiling over.

The sudden snap inside of you had you writhing and whining. His fingers worked you fervently and the tendrils wrapped you up until you were breathless and broken, falling limp against the seat as you shook and he slowed his fingers in an agonizing descent. 

He withdrew his hand, leaving a trail of your wetness along your thigh. Your skirts fell back to your feet and you hugged yourself as he moved his arm away from your body. You turned as he hummed and watched him dumbly as he sucked on his fingers. You gasped as he dropped his hand and smiled.

"Didn't that feel nice, sweeting?" He asked as he wiped his fingers on the tailnof his tunic and covered it again beneath his overcoat.

Your lashes fluttered and you hung your head. You didn't know what he'd just done but the rush of pleasure soured to a deluge of shame. The carriage smelled of your sweat and sin.

"My lord," you surrendered and he pulled you against him once more. His heart was steady but your own wouldn't stop hammering.

[yesimwriting]

Solace (part 2)

SOLACE (part 2)

A part two but kinda works as a stand alone!!

A/n y’all seemed to like the first one so I thought I’d make a part two :)) This was NOT meant to be a series but now I kind of have an idea to make this a mini series where each part is kind of a blurb that connects to the last part and I think I might do that. 

Pairing: General Kirigan/the Darkling x Heartrender! reader

Summary: The day after you go visit General Kirigan at night is also the day he decides he can become more honest about his intentions for you. The softness of it all is starting to get to you but you have a good friend to remind you that it’s okay to feel happy. 

-- 

The sunlight peers into the room shyly. It stirs me awake into a soft bliss. Warmth. When was the last time I woke up feeling so warm? So rested? I squint my eyes open, still calm. But when my vision finally adjusts, I feel like ice all over again. This is not where I’m supposed to be. 

Memories of sneaking here in the darkness of night, speaking to Kirigan so freely, and then letting him convince me to stay. He had seemed to want me here then, in the night when loneliness finds easy prey in even the most hardened individuals...but now, in the morning sunlight--he’ll regret it. We made it clear I’d stay only that night--and that night is now gone. Maybe he expects me to be gone before he rises. I know that’s what most men expect after taking company for the night, but we didn’t exactly partake in activities like that. I think what we did is worse. 

Relations like that are about desire, falling asleep with someone else borders on intimacy. One misstep and who knows what I’ll invoke? I shift my gaze upwards, careful to not move in hopes of not disturbing the arms he’s draped across my back, holding me to him. Kirigan seems different in sleep, softer. His features are still sharp, but there’s something gentle about seeing him vulnerable. Something about the way his lashes brush against his cheeks and his lips stay parted just slightly. This moment can never repeat itself. It can never happen again, so I’ll have to hold onto this. 

Cautiously, I prepare to slip out of his grasp even though it feels like its the only thing tethering me to this world. I touch his first hand, moving it off of me slowly. I wait a second, and when he remains unstirring I move his other hand. 

“What are you so eager for, little wolf?” The raspy, tired quality of his voice leaves my stomach fluttering. His words jar me so much I find myself frozen. 

He reaches lazily, placing an arm on the center of my back, trying to ease me back into place. “It’s morning now.” 

His thumb brushes up and down my back in a way meant to lull me. “I’m the Shadow Summoner, the night lasts as long as I want it to.” He lets out an easy breath, “And I’m prolonging it.” 

Ignoring the warmth the implications of his words bring, I decide to focus on how dramatic he is. “Dramatic even so early in the morning.” 

Kirigan’s eyes flutter open, the slightest smile playing at the edge of his lips. “Watch yourself, little wolf.” There is no malice in his voice, only something hinting at teasing too humane for me to trust. 

I roll my eyes, letting his fingers brush wherever he wants them to--up and down my back, down the arms I am too aware of. The desire to touch him easily, casually, just to prove that I have that privilege. I stretch, pushing down thoughts of rejection as I place a hand on his chest. He pauses, one hand frozen in place on my back. Slowly, he moves his hand away from me. I tense, preparing to retract my hand. He catches my hand before I can pull it away, moving it towards him easily until my hand is against his cheek. 

“Y/n.” He’s called me my name so few times, and the restraint in his voice leaves me unnerved. “Will you wear a black kefta today?” 

His color. Perhaps he meant the promise of solace more literally than I thought. Anyone who sees me will think I’ve been claimed by him in one way or another. Perhaps I have been. The thought stirs my chest, moving me in a way I can’t distinguish as a positive or negative. I feel myself being ensnared in a lovely trap, but when I look at him, at the honesty burning in his gaze, it’s almost as if he’s asking me to claim him. 

“Yes.” Again the word leaves me as if willed by some outside force. 

Kirigan’s intensity dwindles slightly. His hand drops from over mine, but I keep mine on his cheek, running my thumb across his skin. “You’ll do good for me today, little wolf.” His words leave no room for argument. I think speaking like that is a talent of his. “You always do so good for me.” The admiration in his words melt something in me, my entire body warmed in a way I don’t understand. Kirigan brushes his knuckles across my cheek again. 

I’ve been silent for too long, each second I waste inflating his ego. “You’re suspiciously nice in the mornings.” 

“You’re only skeptical because you never let anyone take care of you.” His words are chiding and the implication of them leaves my face warm. “So much promise,” he muses, hand trailing down my jawline, “So much power,” his fingers skim down my neck and across my collarbone. “I wonder what someone like you could do with an amplifier.”

An amplifier. I’ve seen them in use, and knowing what I could do with something that strengthens my already abrasive abilities. I could be a monster so easily. Kirigan must see some of my concern because he’s quick to sit up a little more in order to close the distance between us the way he did last night. He brushes his lips against my collarbone in a way that leaves me distracted by wanting. A wanting for what, I’m not sure. I ease into his touch. 

“Today everyone will know what you are.” His voice is gentle against the base of my neck. “And they will know that we are meant to be equals.” 

I feel the need to panic rise in my chest, but it’s dulled by the warmth his lips leave against my skin. “I’m only a Heartrender, I can’t be your equal.” 

“You are,” he whispers, so assured, “With a heart as good as yours you may even be more.”

His words are too weighted for so early in the morning, but there is always tension with him. Shadows are meant to be weightless but I think they’re like anything else--carry enough of them and eventually you’ll break. 

When he straightens I move to follow him, pressing a quick kiss against his cheek. “You’re good, too.” There has to be goodness in him. No one capable of such warmth and gentleness can be made up entirely of wicked things. 

“You claimed I was a villain.” 

Did my words really impact him so? “My opinion isn’t law.” 

Something strange flickers across his features. “It might as well be.” 

I swallow back a bundle of nerves. “Sometimes I’m wrong.” 

The words crack something vulnerable in me. A part of me thinks he can feel the part of me that’s breaking in hopes of offering him something. 

“You really are my solace.” I don’t know how to reciprocate such a gilded sentiment. 

I rest my head against his shoulder, taking his hand. “I’m glad to be that.” 

He squeezes my hand. “We should go get ready before people start to notice our absence.” 

I consider reminding him what he told me last night, but he has a point. There’s a difference between a rumor of me pacing in the night and both of us showing up late at the same time. Still though, a part of me is already grieving this version of Kirigan. Outside of this room his coldness will return. ‘Just for tonight’. We had agreed on that. But when the night ended, and the morning sun colored us both sane again, he had asked me to wear his color. 

“I’ll go get dressed,” I stay still. 

Kirigan runs his thumb over my knuckles. “I’ll have a black kefta sent to you.”

That has to mean something. Wait--do I want it to mean something? I pull my hand away from his stiffly, standing because I know the longer I’ll wait the worse it will be. “I’ll see you during training.” 

“My door will be unlocked after.” 

At that, my chest swells. He’s offered me an opening. “Good to know.” 

His eyes narrow slightly at my coyness. “Find me after?” 

“Only because you’re nicer in here.” He wants me to come back. 

--

The black kefta does not feel like my own. The color is too alluring, too dark and enthralling. It is not meant for someone like me. It feels borrowed, but I’m not entirely uncomfortable. It’s almost like he’s still with me, keeping me from being alone. 

When I walk down the halls, I feel the stares of the others sticking to me like tar. They barely tolerated me before--the grisha plucked from the slums after a fateful night in which Kirigan saw the extent of my abilities. 

“New clothes, l/n?” 

Julian’s words coax an easy smile from me. Always so open, so accepting. Even now he doesn’t pester me about the black kefta. “I barely noticed.” 

My lack of real response earns me a playful glare. “Is that the only explanation I get? Moving up the ranks without me?” 

I roll my eyes. He’s joking, but he’s drawing more eyes to me. “I’m not leaving you, Julian.” He’s been too good a friend for me to leave. “Nothing’s changed except the color of my clothing.” 

“Good.” Julian’s lips twitch upwards, offering me the kind of smile that’s earned him many trysts with many women. “I’d miss you too much.” 

And while I doubt that my disappearance would do anything else than up his popularity, I appreciate the sentiment. “Oh I’m sure you’d find a way to find company.” 

He half laughs, “What are you implying of my virtue?”

Laughing, I roll my eyes as we continue to walk down the halls. “You’re not as funny as you think you are.” 

Julian reaches for me, touching my forearm. I stall. “In all seriousness, y/n, I really appreciate your friendship.” 

Aw. Never did I think I’d have so many people to appreciate here. I think of Kirigan, of the vulnerability in his words and the new facet of him I saw last night that I somehow always knew he had in him. He may be a villain, or just one in the making, but he is more than a dark shadow. I find myself releasing I appreciate Kirigan too. It’s different than the way I care about Julian, more fragile, but it’s still a relationship I’ve created here. 

I look down at the space where his hand touches my forearm. “I really appreciate your friendship, too. You’ve gotten me through a lot.”

“You need to give yourself some credit.” He releases my arm, turning to continue to walk forward. 

I turn as well, “You should too.”

 I look forward, and there, in the near distance is Kirigan. He’s staring at me, eyes lacking everything he had earlier. I offer him a small smile. He does not return it, his drops slowly to the ground. Weird. I guess he’s just turning on his indifference for a day of training. He asked me to wear his color, he asked me to come back. 

Does he regret it? Maybe it was a premature request for me to wear his color so publicly. His gaze finds mine again, and with a tilt of his head he gestures for me to follow him.

--

General taglist: @theincredibledeadlyviper

[hxwks-gf]

— pretty boy 

summary: you’re best friends with the new up-and-coming hero, toshinori yagi. pet names are a force of habit for you, and toshinori happens to be “pretty boy”.  despite the nickname, he shows you how serious he is about becoming a hero

pairing: young all-might/toshinori yagi x reader

w/c: 1.9k

warnings: creepy dude grabs the reader against their will, but that’s about it 

requested by: @lady-latte​ (ty for sending this in love!! i need some more toshinori in my life) 

“Hey there, Pretty Boy!” 

The nickname came as smoothly as silk does, falling from your lips and out into the warm summer air like honey dripping from its comb. It was a nickname that had always felt natural, despite its embarrassing nature. If it ever bothered Toshinori Yagi, he never showed it. 

He grinned as you strolled up to him. His blonde hair was sticking out in its usual unruly manner, with the two pieces of bangs that never seemed to lay flat arched over his sweaty forehead. Magnificent blue eyes pierced through your own in the twilight of dusk, cutting straight through the dim glow from the street lamp nearby. 

“What are you doing out here this time of night?” he asked, stretching his bare arms above his head, the muscles bulging in his biceps. 

“Wanted to see what you were up to,” you replied with a matching grin, and you leaned against the fence. “Working out again?” 

“Yeah,” he said, leaning down and picking up a barbell that lay at his feet. He lifted it with ease and began rhythmically curling it into his chest. “School starts again in a few weeks, and I want to make sure I’m absolutely ready for it. Since my Quirk finally activated, I’ve got a lot of training to make up for.” 

You pursed your lips and looked down at the concrete. A dandelion weed was pushing through a crack in the sidewalk, stretching itself and its little yellow petals up towards the darkening sky. You glanced back up to Toshinori and smiled again. “I know you’ll be amazing,” you encouraged, your eyes following the barbell in his hands: up and down and up and down. “I heard you got a new mentor.” 

“I did,” he said, straining against the weight. A drop of sweat slid down his face as he set the barbell down. “She told me to keep it on the low for a bit, so--sworn to secrecy.” He made a show of locking his lips with an invisible key before tossing it out of sight. 

You laughed. “I wasn’t going to ask anyways, dummy. I’m sure you’ll tell me who this amazing new teacher is when the time is right.” After a few seconds, you bit your lip with uncertainty and studied him before asking, “Right?” 

Toshinori wiped his brow again and looked at you. “Of course I’d tell you. You’re my best friend.” 

“Don’t you forget it,” you chuckled, playfully punching his shoulder. Man, he really put on some muscle over the summer, you noticed, rubbing your knuckles as you pulled your arm back. As he stretched his arms up over his head again, you tilted your head to the side. And a good couple inches. “How...how tall are you, now?” you tentatively asked. 

Toshinori relaxed and glanced down at himself. “Dunno,” he said with a shrug. “Haven’t measured myself lately.” 

“You really grew over the summer,” you half-heartedly joked, crossing your arms. “Are you...okay?” 

His disposition shifted at the question, and for a moment you saw how tired he really was--but the moment passed, and he was back to being Mr. Walking Sunshine. Toshinori flashed you a toothy grin and gave a thumbs-up, “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be? All of my dreams are coming true!” 

“Alright, alright,” you conceded. “Just checkin’, Pretty Boy. We wouldn’t want anything happening to the world’s next #1 hero, would we?” 

“You really think I can do it?” he quietly asked, bending down to pack up his weights. His face was hidden from you, but you could hear the doubt in his voice. 

You reached out and placed a hand on his warm shoulder, feeling the muscles flexing beneath your fingertips. “I know you can do it, Toshi.” 

He stood up tall and grinned down at you. “Heh. Thanks, y/n. I know I can always count on you to believe in me.” 

“Race you to the end of the block?” 

“You know you’ll never be able to beat me.” 

“Hey, you’ve got a literal weight to hold you back,” you laughed, already jogging towards the street. “C’mon, that new movie is playing at the theater--loser has to buy the popcorn.” 

“I don’t know why you insist on doing this to yourself, y/n!” Toshinori called out from behind you as you started running. He seemed pretty far back, and you used this as motivation to run faster and harder down the city street towards the movie theater. The summer air sung with cicadas as the early stars came out to twinkle in the sky above you. But just as you were getting into a good rhythm, you heard his thundering footsteps on the sidewalk behind you. 

“I’ll take my popcorn with extra butter!” he shouted at you as he sprinted by, his blonde hair flying in the wind. 

“One day I’ll figure out how you’re cheating!” you shouted back, your lungs already gasping for precious air. 

Toshinori’s face was adorned with a triumphant smile as he flew down the length of the street, his duffle bag full of weights strapped to his back. “--and some yakitori to go with it!” he called over his shoulder at you before disappearing around the corner. 

You slowed down to a jog, and then to a walk, and you breathed heavily to regain your composure. No matter how many times you challenged him, or how many times he insisted on giving you a headstart--he always beat you. Always. 

“You’re going to be the greatest,” you murmured under your breath, deciding to walk the rest of the way to the theater. He usually came back to make sure you were okay, even after beating you. It was almost unfair. 

But before you could make it to the next block, an uneasy feeling crept over your skin, and all of the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. Suddenly, the quiet street seemed dark and menacing--nothing like it had been only a few minutes ago. The shadowy corners of the alleys shifted and moved out of the corners of your eyes. It felt like you were being watched. 

Your feet began to move quicker down the sidewalk, and you tried to keep yourself within the glow of the street lamps as much as you could. Just a few more feet and you would turn the corner and see Toshinori standing there with that smile on his face, and you’d be safe--

“Where ya goin’ this time of night?” a gravelly voice chuckled from behind you, and you felt calloused hands roughly grip your arm. “Pretty thing like you should know better than to be walking around this part of town all alone.” 

You froze in fear, your wide, unblinking eyes staring at the end of the block--waiting for Toshi to appear. Any moment now, and he would come charging to your rescue. 

“Hey,” the villain growled, his grip on your arm tightening. “I asked you a question.” 

“Let go of me,” you managed to whisper, still staring at the street corner. “Please.” 

“Yeah? Heh, or what? What are you going to do?” 

You winced in pain as his nails dug into the skin of your arm. “Please,” you said again through gritted teeth. “Let go of me.” 

“I don’t think I will,” the villain chuckled, and began pulling you towards a dark alley. “I want all of your money, and maybe I’ll reconsider.” 

You knew if you used your Quirk in a public setting, you’d get reprimanded by the school and have to face consequences--but you were never taught what the punishment was, if there was any punishment at all, for using your Quirk in self-defense. You didn’t want to lose your shot at a hero’s license--but then again, you also didn’t want to lose your life. 

Just as you were about to activate your Quirk while he dragged you into the alley, you saw Toshinori appear from around the corner. He looked confused, like he wasn’t sure what was taking you so long, or where you even were. But when his eyes landed on you in the grasp of a villain, that confusion was replaced by pure rage, and he charged towards you with a wild snarl on his face. 

“Let go of her!” he bellowed, and for a moment you were taken aback by the sheer anger that exploded out of him. You had never seen him this way before. 

“Hey, hey, take it easy!” the villain stuttered, immediately releasing you and taking a few stumbling steps backward. Toshinori surged past you and grabbed him by the collar, and shoved him up against the building wall. 

“You think you can just weasel your way around here and get away with grabbing people?” Toshinori snarled in the villain’s face. He looked at you over his shoulder. “Did he hurt you? Did he do anything to you?” 

You quickly shook your head. “No, no--he just grabbed my arm. I’m f-fine, Toshi.” The wavering pitch in your voice gave yourself away. 

He narrowed his eyes at you and he turned back to the villain, who was struggling against the iron grip at his throat. 

“If I ever see you bothering anyone in this city again,” Toshi spoke to him, his voice dangerously calm, “I won’t be this nice.” With that, he released the man and looked down at him with disgust. “Now get lost.” 

The man wasted no more time scrambling to his feet and taking off in the other direction. Toshinori immediately went to your side and took your face in his large hands. 

“When you didn’t show up, I got worried,” he said, searching your eyes. That anger and rage was gone; it had now been replaced with concern and fear. “You promise he didn’t hurt you?” 

You swallowed the lump in your throat and shook your head. “He just grabbed my arm and asked for money, that’s all.” 

“I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion as he pulled you into his chest for a hug. “I shouldn’t have left you like that, I’m so stupid. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” you said, your voice muffled by his shirt. “I’m okay. You saved me, Pretty Boy.” 

He pulled away and looked down at you, his blue eyes filled to the brim with unshed tears. With a shaky breath, he put on a reassuring smile and tenderly touched your cheek. “I’ll always be there to save you, alright? I promise.” 

“You’re going to be a great hero,” you whispered, returning the smile. 

He pulled you in for another hug, his eyes glancing down at the bruises forming on your arm from where the man had grabbed you, a reminder that he wasn’t there for you, and he couldn’t protect you. Toshinori Yagi knew, in that moment, that you would never be harmed by anyone else ever again. 

“I like that name, by the way,” Toshi said as the two of you started walking together towards the movie theater. He kept you tucked under a protective arm as he gave you a sideways glance. “You think I’m pretty?” 

You rolled your eyes and smacked him. “You know you’re pretty.” 

He chuckled. “Yeah, but I like hearing it from you.” 

“Alright, fine, you’re pretty.” 

“That’s my girl.” 

[heyiwrotesomethings]

Feeding the Weary Traveler

Mitsuri Kanroji x She/Her Reader

A/N: Warnings for this one are homophobia and a mention of physical assault. Let me know if you think I should mention anything else. It’s a relatively light story considering. I usually like to keep the sexuality of the reader undiscussed so it could be anything, but this time around reader doesn’t seem to be interested in men in the slightest. It’s only a couple of lines but just a heads up. Hope you like it! Sorry if there are more errors than usual. My internet is painfully slow and it makes uploading a chore and a half. Word Count: 6,388

Mitsuri hummed happily to herself as she surveyed the various food stalls lighting up the night around her. She wasn’t sure where she should begin, it all looked so good! She was so lucky to have stumbled upon this bustling little village, and during a festival no less! This dinner was going to be legendary! Hopefully there would be an inn nearby where she could rest between missions and take some time to enjoy it all.

Mitsuri decided that the sweet dango stall was calling her name so she made her way over there first and purchased four skewers. She chewed happily as she walked around and tried to decide what to try next. The dango tasted so good she had half a mind to go back and get a couple more.

The Hashira was about to approach a yakitori stall as she finished her last dango when her crow landed none too gracefully in the dirt beside her. She flapped her wings frantically, her little clover shaped crown slightly askew.

Mitsuri whined as she chewed the last bit of dango before swallowing it down. It looked like dinner was over before it really even started. Well, when duty calls...

She cast one last longing glance at the sizzling meats and followed after her crow out of the village’s well lit valley and into the dark mountains above. Lives could be on the line, dinner could wait.

Mitsuri scaled the rugged terrain, hopping from tree to tree. Her crow flapped erratically just ahead, guiding her to whatever demon was wreaking havoc tonight. Her fingers wrapped tightly over the hilt of her blade as the air became heavy with an overwhelming dense dread that could only be brought on by the demon’s bloodlust.

Mitsuri unfurled her blade and kicked off of the next tree branch particularly hard as a scream ripped through the craggy boulders. A few more leaps and bounds.., she did not slow, a scream could mean many things, it wasn’t over yet. They could still be alive!

Her crow cawed in alarm just as Mitsuri’s eyes locked onto a struggle in the brambles below. Almost on instinct, she cracked her whip-like blade over the demon’s grotesque form, causing it to shriek. The Hashira twirled in the air to land in front of the beast and the young woman trapped and writhing  beneath it.

“Get off of her, you miserable fiend!” Mitsuri commanded, readying her blade to lash at the demon again.

The demon wailed again in anger, crushing the dirt beside its hostage’s head before tearing off into the forest in an attempt to get away from the powerful newcomer.

“Oh no you don’t!” Mitsuri called after it, cracking her nichirin blade over its retreating form. The blade sliced into the tendons in the back of one of its legs, causing it to tumble to the ground. Before it could skitter off to heal, Mitsuri swung her blade around again. The specially forged metal curled around the demon’s neck and with one clean yank, it’s head came clean off.

The slayer stayed alert, scanning the area for any other nearby threats. An exhausted caw from her crow alerted her that it was safe to let her guard down. She quickly turned on her heel to asses the young woman’s condition, observing her as she shakily got to her knees.

Her kimono was ripped and dirtied. Blood seemed to be seeping through her cloth of her shoulder. Her eyes were wide and frightened while her breath came shallow and quick.

“Are you alright?” Mitsuri spoke gently, slowly moving into the girl’s line of vision. She didn’t want to scare her anymore than she already had been tonight.

“I don’t know,” she said between gasping breaths, “I, I’m alive. That’s something.” She tried to get to her feet, but something twinged in her ankle and she fell back to her knees.

Mitsuri knelt at her side in concern.

The girl would need some medical attention. “My name is Kanroji Mitsuri. What’s your name?”

“(L/n) (Y/n).” She shakily replied.

“Let me help you home, (L/n)-san. Do you live in the village down below?” Mitsuri asked, helping (Y/n) to her feet, carrying most of her weight for her.

“No,” (Y/n) answered quickly, almost as if the insinuation pained her, “no, I don’t. I live here, in the mountains. My cottage isn’t too far from here.”

“I’ll help you get home, (Y/n)-san. Don’t worry, you’re in safe hands.” Mitsuri assured.

“Thank you, thank you so much.”

Mitsuri eyed the young woman sympathetically. The poor dear was still shaken, but managed to direct Mitsuri in the direction of her home while the Hashira carefully held her up, guiding her through the tough terrain.

Mitsuri frowned at the sight of the worn down shack as it came into view, this couldn’t be it, could it?

“There, I live there.” (Y/n) proclaimed, her voice laced with exhaustion. She must have been able to feel the shift in Mitsuri’s mood at the declaration because she then added, “It’s not much, but it’s home. I built it myself even.”

“Do you live here alone?” Mitsuri couldn’t help but ask, slightly horrified.

“I do.” (Y/n) affirmed, missing Mitsuri’s open-mouthed, wide-eyed shock when she stumbled towards the weathered door. “Thank you again, for saving me and bringing me back home.”

“You’re welcome but...” Mitsuri tried to find words but none would come finally she just shook her head and followed (Y/n)’s stumbling form to the door. “Do you have any medical supplies? Let me help patch you up.”

“I have some things. I’m not sure how helpful they’ll be. You needn’t concern yourself. You’ve done so much for me already, Kanroji-san.”

“Your shoulder could get infected without proper care and your ankle looks sprained or even broken. Let me see what I can do. We might need to take you to the village, there’s got to be a doctor down there.”

(Y/n) shook her head furiously, wincing a bit and grasping her head soon after, “I’m not going into town for anything. I’ll invite you to do what you can here, but that’s where I draw the line.”

Mitsuri was concerned by the girl’s reluctance to go to the village, but she took (Y/n)’s offer and entered the small shack. She was surprised by how homey the inside looked once (Y/n) lit a few lanterns. Not only that, but it smelt heavenly inside.

(Y/n) cursed under her breath as she hobbled over to some kind of makeshift oven and carefully peaked inside before sighing in relief and opened it fully. “It didn’t burn! Thank the gods for small favors I guess.”

“What have you got there, (L/n)-san? It smells very good in here.” Mitsuri said, holding a hand over her stomach in an attempt to quiet its rumbling.

“Bread. Please, help yourself. It’s the least I can offer for all of your help tonight.”

“Really? Thank you!” Mitsuri was practically glowing at the invitation before she remembered why she was here in the first place. “Later! First, let’s check you over.”

(Y/n) gestured to another corner of the space to a wobbly, rustic shelf next to a futon so flat it couldn’t possibly be comfortable to sleep on.  Mitsuri’s heart went out to this girl. She couldn’t be too far off from her in age, this was no way to live, and alone no less.

Mitsuri recovered the tin sitting atop the bottom shelf and motioned the girl to sit on the ground as she noted there were no chairs. She kneeled beside (Y/n)’s injured shoulder. A pained grunt rumbled at the back of the hermit’s throat as she painstakingly loosened and lowered the fabric around her shoulders, baring the bloody claw marks to the Hashira.

“Oh you poor dear...” Mitsuri cooed as she gently probed the torn flesh. At least it wasn’t too deep.

“It’s fine,” (Y/n) shivered and looked away, “could you wrap me up now please. Try to be sparing with the bandages if possible.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Mitsuri frowned. She disinfected and wrapped the wound as Shinobu had shown her during her first aid training and managed to only use about a third of the already meager roll. “There,” she gently patted (Y/n)’s shoulder, “that’s all set. Now I just need a look at that ankle. Oh my, it’s swollen pretty bad. We’ll need to elevate it and you should really lay down.”

“I am pretty tired,” (Y/n) sighed wearily, pulling her kimono back up over her shoulders. “Could you help me up?”

“Of course!” Mitsuri eagerly replied, easily scooping (Y/n) up in her arms and standing to her full height.

(Y/n)’s hands scrambled for purchase on Mitsuri’s uniform from the sudden movement. Once she realized Mitsuri’s hold on her was solid and unwavering she relaxed a bit before pulling her hands back to her own chest and jerking her head outwards away from the pale expanse of the demon slayer’s chest. If at all possible, she was sure steam would roll out of her ears like active geysers.

Mitsuri didn’t notice anything amiss and took the few steps needed to lay (Y/n) down in the sad little bed. Then she paid careful attention to (Y/n)’s leg, tilting and rotating it while getting feedback from the girl.

“Well, I don’t think it’s broken, but you should definitely stay off of it for awhile.” Mitsuri informed, feeling anxious. “So you know anyone nearby? Someone that can assist you with your recovery?”

“I’ll be just fine, trust me.” (Y/n) had said.

“That um, didn’t really answer my question.” Mitsuri smiled a bit tightly as more worry settled in her heart. “Do you have family nearby, friends, close acquaintances?”

“If you must know,” (Y/n) weakly spat, “there isn’t anyone. I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing it for nearly two years now.” She finished bitterly.

Mitsuri flinched back at (Y/n)’s tone and the bedridden girl immediately felt bad. She was only trying to help after all. (Y/n) would have been dead without her.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so harsh.”

“It’s alright. You’ve had a hard night,” Mitsuri patted (Y/n)’s hand reassuringly. “I’ll just have to watch over you then.”

“Cawww!”

Mitsuri looked over her shoulder at her crow, flapping and comically sweating buckets from her uneasy perch on the windowsill.

“I can take care of myself,” (Y/n) voiced her stance once more, “besides, it looks like your work isn’t over yet. Take a couple loafs for the road as thanks. You’ll need to keep your strength up.”

“I couldn’t.” Mitsuri shook her head. The girl already had so little, it would be a crime to take advantage. She was already paid plenty as a Hashira, she could hold out for a few more hours.

“I insist. I make more than I know what to do with. Quite a bit gets thrown to the wildlife.”

“Well, if you’re sure...” Mitsuri’s resolve crumbled like loose gravel. She was hungry, and the bread smelled really, really good. If (Y/n) was going to insist, how could she say no? Then Mitsuri straightened as an idea formed in her mind. (Y/n) startled as Mitsuri loudly smacked her hands together.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, tomorrow before the sun sets!” Mitsuri said with conviction.

“What?” (Y/n) blinked, watching Mitsuri pack three loafs of bread into a rucksack before giving it back to her crow to fly off with.

“I’ll come by tomorrow to check on you.” Mitsuri said before taking a bite out of a fourth loaf of bread. “Mmm, this is so good!”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I have to get going now, but I’ll be back! Keep your weight off that ankle and don’t strain yourself!” Mitsuri called as she opened the front door.

“No, wait, Kanroji-san!”

But she was already gone, the door closed tightly behind her before she ran off headlong into the dangerous night.

“And she’s gone,” (Y/n) sighed, “just who is she anyway? She’s practically superhuman,” she covered her face in the crook of her good arm, “and she’s really pretty.”

***

By morning Mitsuri was halfway through her last loaf of bread and standing before the familiar sight of the Butterfly Estate. After seeing the state of (Y/n)’s medical supplies, Mitsuri thought it prudent to visit Shinobu and procure a kit for the girl.

“Mitsuri, hello.” Shinobu greeted upon looking up from her microscope. “What brings you here today?”

“Shinobu, you have to help me,” Mitsuri immediately started in, “I saved a girl last night and she got a roughed up a bit before I got to her. Can you help me make a medical kit for her?”

“Of course I’ll help you,” Shinobu smiled, “but I must ask, why not just take her to a civilian doctor? Surely they would be able to provide the help she may need.”

“She lives alone in the mountains. She seems to have a bad relationship with the village in the valley below, but I don’t know why.”

“Just be careful then,” Shinobu warned, “who knows, you might be dealing with a criminal.”

“No way!” Mitsuri gasped, waving the last couple bites of bread in front of Shinobu’s face, “Could a criminal make bread this good? I think not!”

“Please stay vigilant regardless,” Shinobu giggled before switching gears, “now, tell me what happened last night.”

Mitsuri explained the situation the best she could, detailing (Y/n)’s injuries and what supplies she had left. Shinobu helped her pack up a new med kit that would not only replenish (Y/n)’s supplies, but give her some other helpful medicines that she didn’t have initially. Mitsuri thanked Shinobu with a tight hug that forced her fellow Pillar to dangle in the air for a few moments before being lowered to the ground once more. Then she made her way off the property, running off into the woods. She had a lot of ground to cover before sunset.

After a few hours of travel Mitsuri was feeling peckish. She had unfortunately finished the last loaf of bread before leaving Shinobu’s estate and didn’t have time to replenish her snack sack that her crow carried for her. If she was lucky, maybe the festival she had stumbled upon last night was a multiple night event and she could stalk up once she checked on (Y/n).

With an excited hum, she practically flew up the mountain, making her way in the general direction she knew (Y/n)’s shack to be.

“Oh dear, was it a left at this boulder or a right?” Mitsuri mumbled to herself. The forest was more inviting in the evening light but it looked so different. Cautiously, she tried the left path and scoured her surroundings for anything that looked familiar.

Mitsuri had begun to grow a bit anxious, worried that she had taken a wrong turn. She took a deep breath through her nose to calm herself which was quickly followed by a few more testing scentings of the air. Something smelled delicious. She couldn’t be sure, but it was the best lead she had so far. She followed the hearty aroma and cheered to herself as the rundown, misshapen hut came into view.

The Hashira wasted no time hopping up to the door. She gave a courtesy knock and announced herself before letting herself inside. She smiled to herself as she imagined how happy (Y/n) would be to have such an arsenal of medicinal goods. That smile quickly became a shocked, open mouth of light horror upon seeing (Y/n) up and moving about her small home.

“Ah! I thought I told you not to put any weight on that ankle, you’ll hurt yourself!” Mitsuri worried. She quickly went up to (Y/n) with her arms out in front of her like (Y/n) would collapse at any moment.

“I couldn’t just lay in bed all day.” (Y/n) tried to reason. “You said you were coming back so I felt the need to make dinner for you. You know, to repay you for all you’re doing for me. A little ankle pain can hardly keep me down.”

Mitsuri was touched by the gesture, it made her heart flutter with appreciation, but (Y/n) needed to follow her instructions or who knows what long term damage she would cause herself.

“It smells wonderful, (L/n)-san and I thank you endlessly, but please, lay down right now!”

“I’ve been taking breaks. I’m fine—ah!“

Ah, swept off her feet by the strong and beautiful demon slayer once again. As embarrassing as being doted on in this manner was, (Y/n) was definitely going to revisit this tender care in her dreams. Gods, she was touch starved.

“Really (L/n)-san, don’t be difficult. Let me check on your shoulder, okay?” Mitsuri didn’t even sound strained as she slowly placed (Y/n) down on the futon.

“Oh, okay.” (Y/n) fought through the fuzzy tingles, shaking them from her body as she slid her sleeve off her shoulder.

“Aw, it looks a little infected,” Mitsuri whined as she softly prodded the tender flesh, “but don’t worry! I paid a visit to a dear friend today and I’ve got everything you’ll need!”

“Kanroji-san, this is too much.” (Y/n) gaped in awe at the tightly packed tin Mitsuri presented to her.

“Not at all! Now, hold still while I apply some of this cream.” Mitsuri beamed before swirling the cool salve over the cuts. (Y/n) flinched a bit but the numbing chill soon soothed the pain.

“Wow, that feels really nice.”

“Right? I can always trust Shinobu for the best!” Mitsuri proudly proclaimed as she finished re-wrapping (Y/n)’s shoulder. She then took care of (Y/n)’s ankle the way Shinobu had suggested and looked at her handiwork with pride. “There all done! Shinobu said you’ll want to keep it elevated and free of strain for at least two weeks.”

“Okay, I’ll rest where I can. Thank you.”

“No no,” Mitsuri made an ‘x’ with her arms and pouted, “none of that, you have to rest!”

“I can’t afford to rest. It’s not easy living in the mountains alone.” (Y/n) informed, her eyes shifted over Mitsuri’s shoulder at the burning embers in her ‘kitchen’, “Could you take that off the heat please?”

“Yeah, I can do that.” Mitsuri shot up and stole to the dingy pot, her eyes shined upon witnessing the rich, golden broth up close. “Wow, this looks amazing!”

“I’m glad you think so, the mountains are harsh but there are plenty of resources if you know where to look. Please, help yourself.”

“Thank you so much! Here, let me get you a bowl as well. Food always tastes better with company after all.”

Mitsuri tried to prepare another bowl for (Y/n) but quickly discovered she only had one. It seemed like the more she looked at the place, the sadder it made her. (Y/n) seemed to notice the sudden downtick in the slayer’s mood and spoke up.

“Hey, I’ve got a tea mug I’ll happily drink from if you don’t mind my bad manners.” She laughed, provoking a smile from Mitsuri.

“Of course I don’t mind.”

They ate the broth and fresh bread together as they made small talk and Mitsuri was having a great time. It was rare to get to know someone she rescued like this and being able to see (Y/n) while the sun had not yet fully disappeared she got an opportunity to have a really good look at her.

Mitsuri’s face heated as (Y/n) laughed at something she said and she silently praised the forces at hand that allowed her to make it to her in time. It felt good, so very rewarding, to know such a beautiful soul’s time was not cut short by a cruel end. She wanted to keep it that way.

“Something on your mind, Kanroji-san?” (Y/n) asked, breaking Mitsuri from her thoughts with a start.

“Oh! I, um, I was just thinking about how good your food is! You know, the village down below was having a festival yesterday. I bet you could sell a lot of what you make really quickly if you set up a stall there.” Mitsuri exclaimed before diving back in.

(Y/n)’s face soured a bit at the thought, though she sighed wistfully and a sad smile crossed her lips.

“That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” She said before taking another sip from her chipped cup.

“Why don’t you go down to the village, (L/n)-san?” Mitsuri asked, her pastel-green eyes gazed at (Y/n)’s downcast face.

(Y/n) stayed silent for a few moments, debating with herself if it was worth delving into her strife with a girl she had only just met the night before and probably wouldn’t see again. At least, she definitely wouldn’t see her again if she were to explain her situation.

“It’s not something I’d really care to discuss. Sorry.” (Y/n) curtly replied.

“No, I’m sorry,” Mitsuri frowned, “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s fine. It was an innocent question.” (Y/n) assured, giving Mitsuri’s knee a friendly pat before withdrawing once more.

They continued to talk about anything until the sun disappeared and the stars lit up the night sky and the lanterns were lit to illuminate the hut.

Mitsuri needed to go. The Hashira was reluctant but she wasn’t going to leave (Y/n) completely on her own just yet. She told the mountain dweller she’d come back to check on her in three days time, giggling at the girl’s surprise at the declaration. Mitsuri reasoned that (Y/n) would still need help while she recovered and although she was busy with her duties, she couldn’t in good conscious leave (Y/n) completely on her own. Especially when the girl had a tendency to skip out of much needed rest.

Mitsuri filled her rucksack to her heart’s with (Y/n)’s blessing and set off into the night. She hoped to see improvements in (Y/n)’s health when she returned in a few days.

***

The next visit went well. Mitsuri still had to scold (Y/n) for moving about, but she still, albeit a bit guiltily, heartily ate the meals (Y/n) would prepare for her upon her arrival.

Even after (Y/n) had completely healed, Mitsuri didn’t stop visiting. (Y/n) would always laugh when Mitsuri would show up unannounced, joking that feeding Mitsuri was like feeding a stray cat, she’d always come back for more. (Y/n) was happy for the company though. Very happy.

Mitsuri would also bring little things to make (Y/n)’s shack more bearable, starting with an extra set of dishes so they could properly enjoy a meal together. Before long, they considered themselves close enough to be real friends.

One night Mitsuri came by so late, she had awoken (Y/n) when she knocked on the door. (Y/n) let her in and Mitsuri nearly toppled them both over in her exhaustion.

“Hi,” Mitsuri whispered both shyly and with great exhaustion, “sorry for coming by so late. It’s just been a really long night and I think I’m about to crash any minute now. You were the closest to where I was so...”

“You know better than to think you ever need have an excuse to stop by.” (Y/n) lightly scolded. “Come lay down, are you hungry?” She asked, laying the Hashira down on the new futon that Mitsuri had brought for (Y/n) a couple visits prior.

“I could never say no to anything you make.” Mitsuri smiled, causing a prickly heat to swirl over (Y/n)’s cheeks.

(Y/n) heated up her leftovers and presented them to Mitsuri who ate them with the same vigor she would have if it was fresh.

“So good,” she sighed happily, “really, if this is what you can make in this little hut, I would die of happiness to see what you could do in a proper kitchen.”

“You flatter me, Mitsuri.” (Y/n) smiled shyly. It still gave her butterflies to speak to the demon slayer so familiarly, but it was a good feeling.

“I’m serious, (Y/n)!” Mitsuri swore, “I still maintain that I think you would do very well in the village.”

(Y/n) pursed her lips, which Mitsuri noticed straight away and mirrored before fidgeting with the now empty bowl in her hands.

“Are you ready to talk about that yet? It’s alright if you aren’t.” She hesitantly asked.

(Y/n) would be lying to herself if she thought she wasn’t nervous at the prospect of telling Mitsuri her history with the village, but she found herself wanting to share that part of her story with the sweet woman. Mitsuri had never done anything to hurt her, but that’s what made the aspect of sharing so much more frightening. What if Mitsuri became disgusted with her? Accused her of befriending her with alternative motives? But when (Y/n) met her eyes those doubts quieted and she took a deep shutters breath before blowing it all back out in one harsh breath.

“Are you sure you’ll be able to listen? It might be better if you sleep for the night first.”

Mitsuri seemed more alert already, sitting up fully in the bed and giving (Y/n) her full, undivided attention. “No, I can listen! I want to be able to understand you better and support you in anyway I can! Tell me whatever you are comfortable sharing.”

“Okay,” (Y/n) took another breath, taking a moment to decide how to proceed.

“I was born and raised in that valley, actually. My family owns an inn that doubles as a restaurant to boot.”

“That explains a lot.” Mitsuri commented with a small smile, patting at her full stomach. That earned a chuckle and a nod from (Y/n) before she continued.

“Yeah, my mom started teaching me almost as soon as I could stand on my own. She was strict, but with food that good, she was entitled to that attitude. My father took care of the inn side of things and when he wasn’t doing that, he was drinking his weight in saké.” (Y/n) took note of Mitsuri’s concern and patted her hand while flashing her a reassuring half smile.

“It wasn’t ideal, but that was just life. Incredibly, the business didn’t suffer and he never treated us badly so we saw no need to address it. I didn’t know of any other way of life so I was content where I was. Until...”

“Until what, (Y/n)?” Mitsuri cocked her head to the side.

“Until my parents arranged a marriage for me to be wed to the blacksmith’s son. The union would have brought a large sum of money to my family. The whole village seemed to know about it before I did.” (Y/n) chuckled humorlessly and shook her head while Mitsuri listened, holding herself back from jumping in to ask questions.

“They would talk over me about what I’d wear, who would be invited, even as far as when I should bare a child. I felt like everything I thought I knew was crumbling around me. I hadn’t even talked to the blacksmith’s son before. Even now I don’t recall his name. All I knew was that the idea of marrying him terrified me.”

“Did you tell your parents this?” Mitsuri couldn’t help but blurt, her eyebrows had upturned and creased her forehead.

“Yes,” (Y/n)’s eyes shadowed over as she peered down at her lap, “I admit, the middle of town wasn’t the best place to air my reservations, but they wouldn’t listen to me. They would tell me it was just cold feet or that I was overreacting. Then I had finally had it, and two days before the wedding, I screamed at my mother that I didn’t want to be married to some boy I had never talked to and made a big scene.

She had said then, since I was making such a fuss, that I must have been handing myself out to some other boy while her back was turned and it just made me so mad. I told her there was no other boy, that I didn’t want one.” (Y/n) sighed and pressed her head back against the wall.

“I told her that the only people that I had ever thought of marrying were either the grocer’s eldest daughter or the seamstress’ apprentice who had helped me at my fitting the day prior and then my mother slapped me in front of the whole village.”

Mitsuri gasped, covering her mouth. She was no stranger to the disappointment of a parent, but her parents had never laid a hand on her for any of her failed engagements.

“She was disgusted with me and word traveled fast. The blacksmith called off the arrangement, not wanting his son to have anything to do with my... perversions I think he called them. The grocer refused to sell his produce to my family and kept his daughters inside.

My father, once greatly respected, was humiliated by me and shunned by the whole village. He was furious and drunk which made for a very bad combination as you may imagine. I was severely... disciplined and locked away.

Later that night, I could hear him and my mother discussing selling me to a brothel to be trained as a courtesan. Needless to say, once I believed they were asleep I tore through the paper wall of the room I was trapped in and packed up what I could carry before I escaped into the mountains. I’ve been surviving here ever since.”

As (Y/n) finished her story, Mitsuri sniffed loudly and hiccuped, startling (Y/n) from her memories to try to comfort the demon slayer as she cried for her. Mitsuri pulled (Y/n) into her chest with such ferocity that it cracked the poor girl’s spine.

“I’m sorry that happened to you. You didn’t deserve such treatment!” The Hashira blubbered. “It was awful of me to ever suggest you go back to that terrible place devoid of love and compassion.”

(Y/n) struggled to breath and patted Mitsuri’s back. “Don’t be hard on yourself, you didn’t know. It’s okay.”

Getting all of that out there, having someone to listen and not judge her for her tale, it made (Y/n) feel so much lighter. Mitsuri kept her close and rocked their bodies side to side and how was (Y/n) not going to cry when she hadn’t been treated so tenderly since she was little. Before long, they were both sobbing messes in the corner of a dingy shack in the middle of the mountains.

By the time their bout had subsided into the occasional sniffle or the loud, gross honk of mucus being sucked back up someone’s nose, the girls had migrated to spooning on the futon with one of Mitsuri’s arms wrapped securely over (Y/n)’s side while the the other alternated between lightly scratching at the nape of (Y/n)’s neck and between her shoulder blades. The fit on the futon was tight, but neither seemed to mind.

“You know,” (Y/n) sighed, “the night you saved me I was out because there is a cliff that you can see the whole village from. I knew the festival lights would be up and I really wanted to feel the warmth I used to feel at festival season. Figures I’d be attacked by a demon before I even got there.”

“You’re going to make me cry again.” Mitsuri said, her voice coming out a tad nasally because of her stuffy nose.

“I didn’t mean for that to make you sad. I was just going to say I was glad for that night for nothing else other than I got to meet you. Thank you for sticking around, Mitsuri.”

“Now you’re being so sweet I’m gonna cry again!” Mitsuri sniffled, weakly batting at (Y/n) and making her laugh as she apologized.

“I’m glad I met you too,” Mitsuri whispered softly once they calmed down again. Then they finally went to sleep as the sun was rising.

***

“I just— mm! I don’t want her living in that rundown shack anymore. I never did! But now, I think about it all the time and I just can't stand it!” Mitsuri complained to Shinobu as the Insect Pillar tried to concentrate on the medicines she was measuring out.

“I see.” Shinobu answered simply, making a note before giving Mitsuri her full attention, “Well, if she’s as good of a cook as you keep telling me, I’m sure Aoi would be happy for another pair of hands in the kitchens.”

“What?” Mitsuri blinked.

“You know me, Mitsuri. I have a history of taking in young girls who have nowhere to go. I assume that’s why you have been telling me all of this.” Shinobu smiled mischievously, “besides, you make her sound so cute, how could I say no?”

That got a rise out of the Love Hashira.

“You—! You already have a girlfriend!” Mitsuri sputtered her face as pink as her hair at the possibility of Shinobu trying to woo (Y/n). Worse yet, the very real possibility that it would work! Mitsuri knew just how charming Shinobu could be! But thankfully, Shinobu laughed and diffused the state Mitsuri had worked herself into.

“I was only teasing, but she really can live here. I have plenty of room. I just figured you would want to keep her closer. I didn’t realize your estate was operating at full capacity.”

“Wait, say that again.” Mitsuri said, the wheels in her head turning as she tried to work backwards herself.

“(L/n)-san can live here?” Shinobu tried.

“No, after that.”

“I didn’t realize your own estate was running at full capacity. I thought you would want (L/n)-san to live with you.” Shinobu reiterated.

“Ah!” Mitsuri shrieked, making Shinobu wince ever so slightly. Then Mitsuri roughly grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her around a little bit, “You, Kochou Shinobu, are a genius! I can’t believe I hadn’t realized sooner! Thanks for the talk, bye!”

“Take care!�� Shinobu saw Mitsuri off, fixing her tousled fringe as she watched the blur of pink, green and white run out of sight around the corner. Deciding she was due for a break, she wandered down the opposite end of the hall to find out what her girlfriend was up to at the moment.

***

By now, Mitsuri knew the mountain like she knew the back for her hand. The delicious scent of sizzling vegetables and meats never hurt either of course. She didn’t even bother to knock before letting herself in.

“I had a feeling you’d come by today.” (Y/n) smiled as she checked over her shoulder, “I’m not sure what it was, but I’m glad it proved true because I definitely made too much food.”

“(Y/n), live with me.” Mitsuri blurted before shyly hiding her face in her hands. How could she ask that so suddenly? Never mind ask, she definitely didn’t even phrase it as a question!

“Huh?” Was all (Y/n) could get out before she forgot how her voice worked.

“Would, would you maybe, possibly consider maybe living with me?” Mitsuri tried again, her voice raised almost to the point of cracking with every word.

“...I wouldn’t want to impose.” (Y/n) nervously replied after a few moments, busying herself by stirring a pot that was in no need of attention.

“You wouldn’t be!” Mitsuri said with more conviction. “I really want you to come with me. I know you are proud of what you have managed to do for yourself, it’s better than anything I could ever make, but the more time passes, I can’t help but hate how you still live in this rundown, rickety, shack that I can clear in four strides!” Mitsuri demonstrated her point by walking from one wall to the other before turning back to (Y/n) with pleading eyes.

“Please, come live with me. I love you and you deserve more than this.”

“La, la, lalala, lov, love... love me?” (Y/n) quickly turned back to her cooking as the fire cracked so loud it made her jump. Why was she acting like this? Mitsuri loved a lot of people, she obviously meant a friendly, platonic kind of love and now she had just made it even more awkward!

But then (Y/n) jolted again when Mitsuri’s strong arms wrapped around her middle and her chin rested against her shoulder. The Hashira hummed an affirmative as she slowly began to rock them side to side. Between the heat of the low fire and the heat of Mitsuri’s front pressed against her back, (Y/n) was sure she was going to pass out.

“Please (Y/n), live with me?” Mitsuri asked softly. She kissed (Y/n)’s jaw as she moved.

“?!??!!” (Y/n) short circuited, lost in Mitsuri’s softness. Mitsuri merely giggled and rested another to (Y/n)’s cheek, then her ear, her temple, until—

“Oh dear!” Mitsuri gasped as (Y/n) fell limp in her arms. “(Y/n), are you alright? Are you sick? Why didn’t you say something? You shouldn’t be up!”

“I, I’m not sick,” (Y/n) mumbled, smoke rolling off of her like a steam boat, “It’s just a lot of touching that I’m not really used to yet.”

“Oh! Should I stop?”

“Gods no.” (Y/n) sighed and gripped onto Mitsuri’s haori so she couldn’t back away.

Mitsuri beamed brightly before resting a kiss over (Y/n)’s forehead and rubbed her back. “Come with me?” She asked again.

“I’d follow you to the bottom of the ocean if you asked.” (Y/n)’s eyes slipped shut as she enjoyed Mitsuri’s scattered kisses.

“Great! I can’t wait for you to meet all my friends! Iguro-san and Kabumaru will love you, Kyoujirou-san too! He’ll love your cooking. Just watch out for Shinobu though, she’s flirty.”

“Okay, I’ll stay vigilant.” (Y/n) laughed.

“Good girl,” Mitsuri nodded, “now let’s pack up all that you hold dear. We should be able to make it to my estate by dinner.”

“Yes, ma’am.” (Y/n) nodded excitedly in return. She took the little pail of water from the floor and doused the low flame, “maybe you’d like lunch first though? I’d hate for it to go to waste.”

“Yes! Lunch first and then the beginning of the rest of our lives!” Mitsuri amended, skipping over to the meal (Y/n) had prepared.

As they are together (Y/n) couldn’t help but grin. Mitsuri was right, food really did taste better when sharing it with people you love. The kisses and nuzzles throughout the meal didn’t hurt either.

[h3l10tr0p3]

MANGA CH. 284 SPOILERS

OF REDEMPTIONS AND ATONEMENTS:

We all been knew, man. We all knew this was coming.

And godDAMN does it fucking HURT. (oh the sweet sweet angstfest this whole chapter is, just *chef's kiss*)

But i legit cannot put into words how deep the choice to 'Atone' cuts on my bleeding bkdk heart. Let's first take a step back and see how Katsuki went from DvK2 to here- that one keystone moment that has given us this beautiful chapter: And I meant ALLLL the way back to Chap. 252

I have already written a whole-ass post based on this panel, which you can check Here.

TL;DR Katsuki was actually paying real close attention to Endeavour in this part. He came to Endeavour to learn exactly what he was missing as a Hero, but he learnt so much more.

This scene in particular left a momentous impact on Kacchan. Here, Natsuo is resistant to the idea of forgiving his father for all his sins just because he is more involved in their lives now. And Endeavour had been dreaming for a while about a Home where he is not present with the rest of the Todoroki's which ultimately gave him the idea of buying a house for the others to live in apart from him. This is HUGE. This is what actually drove Endeavour's Redemption home- the perfect understanding and the perfect compensation, the two elements of a brilliant Redemption Arc. NOT THE FORGIVENESS, just as Enji says it. It is NEVER ABOUT THE FORGIVENESS.

Endeavour understood that it was his presence that caused his family distress, and although he dearly wanted to be a part of his family again, was even making efforts towards it by being cordial and accepting of Shouto's friends, inviting them to a family dinner, etc. etc. Endeavour realized the only way he can compensate/atone was to give up something that would cause him suffering, and them happiness. The idea that your family doesnt want you, when you just started to show some effort and HOPE that they might see you in different light, maybe forgive you and then to just terminate those ties entirely, punting yourself into a void where NO ONE CAN COME IN AND SAVE YOU FROM YOUR SUFFERING, is exactly what Endeavour did. He is actively shutting down the ONE window through which his family could see that he was suffering, and miserable, and wanted to be a part of the family again. Endeavour CHOSE to not be forgiven. To writhe with the knowledge of his sins day in and day out with only the shrine of Dabi Touya to haunt him every waking minute.

I cannot explain just how much determination it takes to do that, man. It's just- WOW.

Excuse me for ranting on Endeavour in a bkdk post, but I swear this has a point. And All Might says this the best:

This is the fanlation, the official release (which I couldnt get my hands on) also mentions that "When I meant you were like Endeavour, I meant the Change"

This here is an important bit that AM has caught onto.

In the 252 panel, where Endeavour says 'It's not like I want forgiveness' (Because Endeavour understands he cannot be, should not be, forgiven) "I just want to make up for everything I have done" (and to back this up, Endeavour shuts down the one communication link that could have offered him forgiveness, and thus salvation from the weight of his sins and his guilt)

Katsuki understood Endeavour's idea of redemption very well here, although he might not be shown with that light-bulb moment. He may have already known this wayyy before Endeavour said anything, but those words lent a solidity and to the path he must persue to acheive redemption: And it's Not forgiveness.

Let me tell you why I think Atonement is the greater factor here, even greater than Redemption itself. Redemption has an end-point: Forgiveness. But Atonement doesn't. Atonement has no expiry date. Atonement is purely propelled by the understanding of self, and the weight of guilt the self bears, whereas a Redemption is All About The Forgiveness.

Forgiveness is an external force, it may or may not be given to you and that is completely up to the person who has been wronged. Atonement is self-imposed, it is a meditation of the soul to forgive itself against the guilt it carries.

If Redemption is a marathon with a banner at the finish line, Atonement is trying to drag a twenty pounds of rocks through the Sahara desert without water, food or a compass- it's endless, hopeless.

And this is why Atonement is greater than Redemption.

And do you think someone as stubborn as Kastuki will ever find himself atoned of his deeds? No. And That, my friends, is The Point. In 252, when Endeavour says, "I dont want forgiveness" it's not just him saying it- it's also Katsuki. "I just want to make it upto you", is also Katsuki.

And to prove it, Katsuki will never ask for forgiveness. A verbal apology will be nice, sure. Especially since dumb-ass, gay-ass, 'Kacchan-sugoi' ass Izuku Doesn't even See it as Atonement. He is just #Blessed that Kacchan and he can talk almost-naturally again. And that is also Katsuki's intention- because the moment Izuku knows, he won't be able to atone this way anymore.

So, as much as I HATE to say this, the chances of a voluntary verbal apology are slim. If allowed to go on like this, Kacchan with continue to shadow Izuku through his life, worrying about him, LOSING SLEEP OVER HIM :

LOOK AT THOSE BAGS UNDER HIS EYES. /*shoves panels in yo face*/LOOK

Can you believe this bitch-ass gremlin who goes to sleep at 8:30 got bags just from stressing over his Deku??????

LOOK AT HIM DOING A HECCIN' MAJOR KOKORO-STOPPING CONCERN.

(He is flipping his shit because he worries, and he worries so much, and has worried for him for a long LONG time.)

- Katsuki will continue on this path of being Izuku's support.

Forever if it takes.

Forever, he hopes, it takes-

Because the only way he will stop is in death, either his own or Deku's.

This is his Atonement: To undo everything he once did, to support Izuku's dream instead of squashing it; To help him get stronger instead of perpetuating the narrative on his weakness; To protect him from all harm, when he once hurt; To be on his side when the whole world is against him, because once he was all, but, for him; To save Izuku as he wins, to win as he saves.

And, To deny each oppurtunity of forgiveness even as he desperately longs to be unburdened of his guilt.

Because Katsuki knows:

He knows Izuku is that one of a million, he is kind and humble and considerate and loving to a fault.

Katsuki knows that Izuku will forgive him in a heartbeat. That is just the kind of selfless, beautiful person he is.

Unlike Endeavour, who had no guarantee to forgiveness, Katsuki does. And that is what makes Katsuki's Atonement more powerful than Endeavour's. He recognizes it is in his grasp, just an arm's length away...

....Just an arm's length.

And Katsuki will deny himself that. Because he does not believe he deserves it. He hasn't atoned enough for it.

"Keep At Arm's Length"

He says. Because this is the critical distance between them. Not "Stay an arm's length away", because Katsuki doesn't wanna run away from Deku, and he doesn't want to be too far away to protect him, nor does he want to get too close to finally recieve the forgiveness that will give him salvation.

This is the fine balancing act Katsuki must maintain indefintely till he believes he has acheived his idea of atonement. (And when has he ever been happy just the bare minimum?)

I know I said Katsuki will never ask for forgiveness, and a voluntary verbal apology is very unlikely, because in it's very nature, it is inviting a forgiveness from Izuku, which we have established, Katsuki wants to avoid. And if this were any other manga, we would have been doomed to this conclusion. But, there is a scenario when Katsuki might issue a verbal apology and that is when Katsuki knows there isn't enough time to be forgiven in turn, or, hasn't atoned enough and can no longer continue to.

Like when Katsuki launches off, to deliver a final kamikaze blow to a villain, and he has only enough time to tell Deku a short "I am sorry", but not enough time to wait for a reply. Or when Deku is dying and at his final moments, when Katsuki knows however much he has atoned isn't enough and isn't how Deku should leave, without closure.

Whatever the future may hold, my dear readers, Katsuki still has a long, long way to go. And I hope to see him live through everything, to be there -

To survive these wars with Deku, To fight alongside him, To protect him. To win. To save.

To Live.

To hear Deku say "I had forgiven you a long time ago";

and ofcourse,

To forgive himself.

[eideticmemory]

LOUISIANA | MATTHEW GRAY GUBLER

It’s summer in New Orleans. It’s hot, sticky, and you need some action.

Word Count: 2,472.

Warnings: Explicit sexual intercourse. Cougar!Matthew, 19 year age gap between adults.

You’d never been to New Orleans before, but your impression of it so far was not so great. It was hot, and sticky. It smelled of booze, spices, herbs. It was noisy, and busy, and bustling. It moved quickly and constantly, and you were holding on for dear life. You thought about being home, in your bed, in your house, that you shared with your boyfriend.

In California.

But Matthew was here. He was in New Orleans, on the set of 68 Kill, all day, everyday, for the past few weeks. You love Matthew. You would fly across the entire earth to be with him — hell, you practically have — but you’re sweating all the time, and still getting lost, and still not getting laid.

He comes home, tired and drained, everyday. The later, the worst it is. And while the house he has you settled in has seen you two fuck plenty of times, it hasn’t nearly witnessed it enough. Not like your home. Not like your bed, in your house, that you share with your boyfriend.

You woke up at 10 in the morning, alone in a king size bed, and your vibrator was dead by 10:30. You let out a frustrated groan, your body relaxing at the loss of stimulation. ‘Stimulation.’ If that’s what you could call it. It wasn’t Matthew. Nothing is Matthew, and you hate him for spoiling you with orgasm after orgasm after orgasm. Getting you attached, dependent.

So dependent, in fact, that for the first time since filming began, you planned to visit Matthew on set. You hopped out of bed, showered, brushed your teeth, and picked out an outfit ever so carefully. The white tank top hugged your figure, the hem tucked into a plain jean skirt that hung just below your ass. Hair done, lips glossy, you drove out to the set of 68 Kill, where cast and crew were hard at work under the summer sun.

You anxiously fiddled with your hands, searching the area for anyone resembling Matthew. He saw you first, calling out to you, “[y/n]!, [y/n]!” with his hand raised up in the air. He looked like a dream — the sun beaming down on him, sweat soaking the material of his thin grey shirt. His hair slick back and styled by product and sweat. Jeans that were so tight, they left very little to the imagination.

You matched his excited smile, rushing over to him with open arms. He picked you up, spun you around, and held you against his body like you were a life preserver. You’d never felt so safe. So loved. You could feel your heart pounding between your legs.

Setting you down on your feet, Matthew happily held onto your hands, swinging your arms side to side. “What are you doing here, baby?”

“I just wanted to see you,” you smiled. “Um, could we talk for a second?”

“Yeah,” he breathed out. “Come on.” His face noticeably transitioned to one of concern and confusion, and instead of questioning you on the spot, he led you into his trailer.

You stepped onto the stairs, and then the level floor, and wandered into the space. You held all your weight on your heels, ready for the moment Matthew closed the door behind him. As if activated by the sound, you spun on your heels and grabbed Matthew’s face in your hands, pulling him into a deep and dirty kiss. His hands instinctively gripped onto your waist, and pulled you close, very close — chest to chest, skin on skin.

You reluctantly broke the kiss, desperately needing to take a breath. Matthew pressed his forehead against yours, softly huffing and puffing. “What was that for?” He chuckled.

You sighed quietly, and flicked your eyes up at him, holding eye contact as you whispered the words, “Eat me out? Please?” Your voice was shaking, weak.

“Oh? Right now?” He replied, his mouth curling up into a sly smile.

“Please, Matthew, I need it. I need you, just—“ You grabbed onto his hand and promptly placed his palm underneath your skirt. His eyebrows raised instantly as he recognized the familiar feeling of your skin, free and uncovered, no panties in sight. You leaned in and held your mouth near his ear, “Put your mouth on me, please. I miss it. I miss you.”

“Oh, baby, you know you never have to ask me twice,” he grinned, using his body weight to push you backwards, your legs colliding with the couch. You let out a horny and happy laugh, laying back on the cushions. Your body stretched across the bedding, head to toe, and it was a sight for Matthew to see. “Spread your legs, beautiful.”

You followed his command, swiftly opening your thighs for him. Matthew let out a long sigh of excitement, falling to his knees and hooking your legs over his shoulders. “Thank, God,” he whispered, and looked up into your eyes. “I’m starving.”

You let out a soft laugh, grooming your fingers through his hair and licking your lips. “You’re so fucking gorgeous, my love,” he mumbled, his lips pressed against your inner thigh. “God, you have such a pretty pussy.”

“Stop,” you blushed, already overwhelmed by the small contact.

“No, I mean it,” He added, his fingers grazing over your clit. “You’ve always been so pretty. I love touching you . . . kissing you,” he placed a gentle peck on vulva, and you sucked in a breath of air to remain calm. “Being inside of you.”

With a quiet hum, he leaned in and pressed the tip of his tongue to your clit. He immediately drew circles around the sensitive nerve, and you gripped onto his shirt with a high pitched moan. You’d almost forgotten — this is Matthew. He’s careful, and gentle, and knows how to move his tongue perfectly. He’s never been timid or unsure of how to touch you, he just always knew. He knew that if he didn’t hold onto your thighs, you’d be a writhing mess. That if he held you down, pushed you against his face, you’d shudder and weep. That if he did a little combination of circles, and side swipes, and quick tongue flicking, you’d come in minutes.

But it really felt like seconds. Your hands uncontrollably and aggressively tugged at the sleeves of Matthew’s shirt. Gasps fell from your lips in a mess of heaving and shivering and whining. “M-Matthew,” you panted, your head falling back onto the couch, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. “Oh-oh, my-fuck.”

In response, he sped up the tempo of his tongue, the tip lapping at your clit with an intensity that had your back arching and your thighs tightening around Matthew’s face. The sound of his mouth on you — sticky and oozy and slimy — was drowned out by the volume of your moans. Matthew’s hand slid up your body, from your waist to your ribs to your breast, gripping one in his hand and playing with the nipple through your shirt. You licked your lips as you put your hand over his and squeezed it until the bubble inside of you burst.

Your whole body curled into a weak and trembling mess. You pulled Matthew’s hair from the roots, clawing at his scalp as you huffed his name. “Matthew! A-ah, fuck! Hmm—“

His tongue slowed to apply steady and forceful strokes, and then he began planting kisses along your hip bone. Your eyes were closed in complete bliss, you hand on your chest, still holding Matthew’s fingers. You shuddered as his lips trailed up to your neck, and your head tilted to give him more access. He pulled away and looked you in the eye, cupping your cheek gently in his hand, his thumb tracing your temple.

“Yeah?” He whispered.

“Fuck yeah,” you giggled.

“Wanna fuck? Make it quick?”

“Really?” You grinned.

“Absolutely.”

You quickly started to unfasten his jeans, shaking so much that your movements were sloppy and uncoordinated. Matthew laughed, and grabbed both your wrists in one hand, pinning them over your head.

“I’ve got it,” he murmured, with this look in his eye that made you gulp.

His freed his cock from his zipper, and you felt his precum leaking on your inner thigh as he pushed your legs open. It was as if your eyes were magnets, holding each other’s gaze while Matthew kneeled in position between your thighs. He ducked his head, and spit out a line of drool, and you watched it fall onto the tip of his cock, and felt it land on your pussy.

Matthew pressed himself against you, the tip of his member teasing your clit. You whimpered into your mouth, attempting to pull your hands from his grip. No luck. “Matthew, baby, please. P-please. I want it so bad, pl—“

You were interrupted by a sharp slap to the face. It had your jaw dropped open, your face stinging in pain. “Enough of the begging, babygirl,” he said, punctuated by him pushing his cock into you. All the way into you, filling your entire body with a ripple of pleasure and shock. You released a loud and high pitched yelp, going cross eyed at the deep pressure inside of you. Matthew leaned down and said a quiet, “Shhh,”in your ear. His hand snaked up to wrap around your throat, and he squeezed it tightly as he moved out of you slowly, and slammed his way back in.

“Fuck!” You whimpered. “Oh, fuck, oh, fuck.”

“‘Oh, fuck, oh, fuck.’” Matthew laughed, mocking you while pounding you into the couch cushions.

“F-fuck you,” you spit.

“Not if I fuck you first.”

Your throat throbbed within his grasp, and you struggled to breathe between the moans and the groans and the lack of oxygen. Matthew watched you with a wild look in his eye, his teeth digging into his bottom lip as he grunted into his mouth. You could feel his cock striking your soul, your spine, practically rearranging your insides. And he could not stop. He was lost in you, both figuratively and literally.

“You’re so fucking tight, beautiful, fuck. You feel so good.” He sealed his words with a kiss, and as his tongue slipped between your lips, you tried to touch him, not realizing he still had your hands in his hold. You whined and rattled you arms, but Matthew only responded by fucking you harder. Faster — the couch wobbling on it’s legs, the trailer rocking on it’s wheels.

“Ah! Huh-uh!”

“Open your eyes, watch me make you come,” Matthew ordered. “Watch.”

Your eyes fluttered open, your eyelids heavy and hooded. You watched him move in and out of you, coating himself in your slickness. You tilted your head up and looked into Matthew’s eyes, and at that moment, he let your hands go.

You instantly grabbed onto his body, hands on his waist where you could feel the sweat on his skin. One hand still on your neck, the other traveled between your legs and his fingers expertly worked on your clit. Your hand wrapped around his wrist, you beginning to choke on your own moans.

“Mhm,” he cooed. “You’re gonna come.”

“N-no,” you shook your head. You didn’t want it to be over. Not yet. Not now. But he was so good. Better than good. He was perfect. He was fucking you, perfectly. Rubbing you, perfectly. Feeling his skin slapping against yours, a knot forming in your stomach, all you could do was melt into the couch underneath you.

“Oh, come on, baby,” he whispered to you, the tip of his nose touching yours. “Come for me. Come on my cock, I know you want to. I know you can’t take it anymore, so c’mon,�� he tightened his grip on your throat, causing your jaw to drop. “Come, [y/n].”

And as if your body was programmed to listen to him, his voice, you came. You came, and it took everything out of you. You yelled out a loud and broken, “Fuck!” You clawed at his arms, pulled at his hair and fell into an uncontrollable fit of trembling.

Matthew gave you a cocky smile, fucking you through your orgasm, using his body weight to hold you down. “Good girl,” he breathed in your ear. “Good girl.”

You wrapped your arms around his torso, and allowed him to rail you, mercilessly, crazily, until you could feel his own release building inside of him. You placed gentle kisses on his chest and neck, earning more than a few moans from him. “I’ve never — fuck — never wanted to put a baby in someone s-so badly in my fucking life.”

You chuckled breathily, watching his face twist and turn in pleasure. You grabbed him by his face and pulled him into a passionate kiss. It was just the thing he needed to push him off the edge, and as he felt his release coming, he went to pull out of you. But you stopped him in his tracks, wrapping your legs around his torso — tightly — and holding him inside of you.

“F-fuck, oh, fuck,” he huffed. His face was a bright shade of red, his body tense and shaky. And it wasn’t long before his was pushing his hips forward, and coming inside of you, stilling himself as he filled you up. The two of you held eye contact with one another, Matthew crumbling as he reached his peak. And you, grinning sinfully at the warm feeling in your stomach.

Matthew looked down between your legs, a wet sound echoing through the room as he pulled out of you. He made sure to look back into your eyes, pushing himself back into you with a few forceful thrusts.

“Mmmm,” you hummed.

Matthew helped you get fixed up. Turned your skirt the right way around, tucked your shirt in. He even used a shirt of his to wipe away the come dripping down your thighs.

“Thought you said we were making this quick?” You smiled, draping your arms over his shoulders.

Matthew held you close, chuckling and putting his forehead against yours. “They can’t film without me, we’re good.”

You rolled your eyes at him and placed a small kiss to his lips. “I love you.”

“I love you,” he replied. “Are you sure you don’t wanna stay on set for a little bit before you go?”

“No,” you shook your head softly, and ran your hands along Matthew’s arms as you stepped away from him, over to the exit. “I got what I came for. It was . . . a successful mission. I’ll see you at home.”

Matthew watched as you stepped out of his trailer, a smile on his face, “See you at home.”

[pitviperofdoom]

Me: I’ve got some time and motivation on my hands! Maybe I should work on one of my immediate projects, like putting the finishing touches on my RQBB piece, or making some headway on my TMA BB piece, or editing the next chapter of the DND AU...

Me: *writes a 5k opener for an au that’s basically The Owl House*

------

“Again.”

Jon held still and kept his eyes shut. Everything ached, his head most of all; the slightest movement sent lightning bolts of pain through his skull. Even now it throbbed like a quiet threat behind his closed eyes.

“Get up, Jon.”

He couldn’t. He was done. Wasn’t that obvious?

“I don’t have time to indulge you. I know you can do more. Now get up.”

He couldn’t.

“Open your eyes, Jonathan.”

That was a simpler request, at least. He could do that much, couldn’t he? He could open his eyes. It barely counted as moving.

Dutifully, Jon forced his eyelids apart. Punishment was swift; this time the pain was so intense that he couldn’t even scream, only curl up tighter on the floor with a strangled whimper. The polished tiles were cold against his face, but they did little to soothe the ache. Warm liquid trickled from his closed eyes; when had he started crying?

Across the room, Jonah sighed. “Already? We’ve barely scratched the surface, Jon. I expected another hour from you, at minimum.” Footsteps echoed against the floor, and Jon tensed in spite of the pain, but the hands that picked him up were gentle. “Come now. Our work is too important for me to indulge you like this. For Titan’s sake, your endurance was better when you were a mere child.”

Jon kept his eyes shut, and hated the part of himself that wanted to curl up again, apologize, and promise to do better. The ache was beginning to recede, just barely, but he kept his eyes shut. If he opened them too soon, then Jonah would take it as a sign that he wasn’t as tired as he behaved.

“Can you make your own way back?” Jonah asked, steadying him by the shoulders. “Or do you need help?”

Jon’s blood ran cold. That was a dangerous question. If he chose to go under his own power, then Jonah might change his mind about letting him stop. But he didn’t want help. His limbs felt like wet clay, and there wasn’t a single muscle in his body that didn’t hurt, but at least they were still his.

“I—” HIs voice cracked in his dry throat. “I can—I can make my own way. Th-thank you, Jonah.” He held his breath.

After far too long for comfort, Jonah sighed again, heavy with disappointment. “Alright, Jon. Get some rest. We’ll do better in the morning.”

“Yes, Jonah,” Jon replied, faint with relief, and waited.

He was met with silence.

“Have you changed your mind?” Jonah said, after a moment. “If you’d like to continue…”

“No,” Jon replied. “No, I’m—thank you. For letting me stop. Just…” He held his hands out in a blind plea. “It’s my eyes, so I need…”

“Ah, of course, how could it have slipped my mind?” He heard a faint rustle from Jonah’s robe, before warm, smooth wood was pressed into his waiting hands. Jon swallowed another sob of relief. “There you are, then.”

“Thank you,” Jon repeated, and turned toward where he hoped the exit was.

The shape in his hands shifted. Smooth wood became downy softness, before the feeling left his hands and landed gently against his face. Soft wings brushed his cheeks, tiny legs grasped the bridge of his nose, and the world returned to him.

He hadn’t opened his eyes, but he could see the room once more: the library’s main room, a vast space where he and Jonah did most of their work. He could see Jonah as well, watching him with the weary patience of a parent indulging a child’s tantrum.

Jon looked away, muttered his thanks again, and limped out of the room.

Even with a closed door between them, the weight of Jonah’s scrutiny never left. Not helping the matter was the wallpaper that, currently, was openly tracking his progress through the countless eyes hidden in the intricate pattern.

That was the downside to navigating with these eyes; when he used his own, he couldn’t see the Beholding that soaked every nook and cranny of the manor. At least then he could pretend that closed doors and distance meant something.

It was a long way from the research wing to his quarters—their quarters—and Jon had to pause several times for a moment’s rest. By the time he reached the last flight of stairs, he was shaking from exhaustion, and strongly considering the benefits of simply curling up in a corner of the hallway and falling asleep on the floor. Jonah certainly kept the carpets plush enough.

His borrowed vision went hazy for a moment, and soft wings beat gently against his face. Jon braced himself against the wall as another powerful headache washed over him, closed eyes be damned. His face was wet with tears again.

“Alright,” he murmured. “Alright. Just a bit farther.”

The mask of wings left his face in a sudden flurry of beating, leaving him blind again. Jon bit back a cry of alarm and stayed where he was, leaning against the wall. He wouldn’t leave—surely he wouldn’t. He’d be back. Maybe he was just…

Before he could work himself into a proper panic, he heard the door at the top of the stairs creak open. Familiar footsteps came tumbling down the steps.

“Fuck, Jon,” a familiar, wonderfully welcome voice breathed out, and Gerry caught him before he could fall.

Jon made the rest of the journey leaning heavily against him, blind and trusting. He could feel gentle puffs of air against his face, fluttering wings that didn’t quite touch, and smiled gratefully.

Eventually Gerry deposited him in a chair and went to retrieve something—from the potions stand, going by the clatter of glass vials. Less than a minute later, one of them was pressed into his hand.

“Here. Need help drinking?”

Jon shook his head. “I can manage. Thanks.” He downed the potion and was rewarded by a receding headache. His eyelids were so sticky that he had to massage them open, and his vision came back in blurry patches, one piece of the room at a time: A single table and chair by the kitchenette. Two beds shoved together in the far corner. The sparsest alchemy array on the Isles. Gerry's face, watching him with open concern.

"Do you know how much you lost?" Gerry asked.

"What?"

Gerry gestured to his face, and Jon mirrored the motion until he found rough, sticky stains streaked down his face. He was confused until some of it crumbled off at his touch, and he looked down to find flecks of congealed blood clinging to his fingertips. "That's probably not good."

"Yeah, Jon," Gerry sighed, short and forceful with held back anger. "Probably isn't." He moved off to the kitchenette, and returned moments later with a damp towel.

Jon cleaned his face, sighing in relief at the coolness against the lingering ache. He put the now-soiled towel aside, eyes finally clear, and caught the briefest glimpse of amber eye spots on coppery wings before their owner alighted gently on the side of his head.

"Yes, of course," he said, reaching up to stroke one of the moth's large downy wings. His familiar nuzzled his finger in return. "Thank you, Atlas."

"He alright?" Gerry asked grimly, already checking the moth for any sign of damage.

"Jonah had him for the entire session," Jon replied. "No overt threats today, he just… didn't let him go until we were finished. So. Could be worse."

"Could be a lot better," Gerry muttered.

It will be, he carefully didn't say. Soon, it will be.

It wasn't safe to talk like that. Not here. Not yet.

After Gerry coaxed food into him, Jon crawled beneath the covers and curled up as small as he could manage. Patched and mended blankets didn’t offer any more protection than the walls of this place, but huddling in the dark made it easier to pretend that Jonah couldn’t see him here. It was the only way he could make himself sleep, these days.

When he awoke to Gerry’s gentle shaking, Jon found that he hadn’t moved so much as a finger in his sleep.

Without a word, he slipped out from under the blanket. The light in their quarters was dimming as twilight approached. Gerry barely glanced up from the book he was reading at the table as Jon shuffled to the kitchenette and the kettle.

Casting the spell was a simple matter of well-practiced sleight of hand, disguised beneath mundane activities. One spell circle traced idly by Gerry’s finger against the page as he turned it, the other drawn in the air as Jon waved away the steam. They never did it the same way twice, nor with any regularity by day or week or month. If it became a pattern, then Jonah might catch it.

The spell slipped into place smoothly, with none of the clumsy ripples of their earliest attempts, and Jon let out a shaky sigh. They had to assume that Jonah was always watching—but now, if he was, all he would see was Gerry reading at the table, and Jon drinking tea at the kitchenette. It was a routine they had set long ago. It was exactly what Jonah would expect to see.

Titan willing, it would be enough. They couldn’t afford to slip up now.

“It’s almost ready,” Gerry assured him. “Everything’s in place. All we have to do is wait for the moon’s alignment to power it.”

Jon ran his hand absently over his arm, scratching at the pockmark scars that dotted his skin. Some of the ingredients had cost them dearly to procure. They likely wouldn’t get another chance on any of them.

When he looked at Gerry again, his friend was watching him with something indescribably soft in his face. “It’ll work, Jon.”

“And if we’re caught?” Jon blurted. “We can’t hide this ritual behind false visions. He’ll sense it no matter what his eyes tell him.”

“Once it’s cast, it won’t matter,” Gerry said with grim satisfaction. “We’ll have our out. And where it leads, Jonah won’t have any of the power he does here.”

Jon took a deep, shaky breath, and nodded. His hands curled and uncurled at his sides, nails digging deep into his palms.

Gerry’s eyes never left him. “What’s on your mind?”

Swallowing against the thickness in his throat, Jon struggled to find an answer. “Is it—is it wrong that I’m afraid?”

“Jon, no—”

“I didn’t want to be here,” Jon went on. “I never wanted—ever since I came here, I’ve wanted to leave. And now we finally have a chance. Why am I afraid?” Gerry opened his mouth like he was about to reply, but Jon couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried. “It’s not like I’m safe here. Today wasn’t even that bad, compared to… it wasn't that bad.” A bitter, ragged laugh tore itself from his throat. "He pushed me until I bled from my eyes, and he was happy to keep pushing, and all I can think is it wasn't that bad. Why am I afraid to leave?" His voice trailed off. Atlas’s wings fluttered against his head, mirroring his agitation.

Instead of answering, Gerry held out his arms. Jon walked into them without hesitation.

“You were a kid.” With his head on Gerry’s shoulder, his hand to his heart, and Gerry’s arms holding him close, Jon felt surrounded by his friend’s voice.

“I was nearly eighteen,” Jon protested. “Hardly a child.”

“I’m just saying, you’ve been here too long not to be scared of what’s out there,” Gerry reminded him. “And it’s not like we’re escaping out the front door. We don’t really know what we’ll find on the other side.”

Jon’s hand curled into a fist against Gerry’s chest, and his other arm tightened around him. If they did this right, then their exit strategy would dump them into an entirely new world, of which Jon had only ever read old books or heard second and third-hand stories. A fresh wave of apprehension seized him.

Not for the first time, he let himself be desperately, pathetically grateful that he wasn’t doing this alone.

“Can you keep it together?” Gerry asked, still quietly gentle. “I just—I know you’re scared. I’m scared too. But I can’t do this alone. This is a two-person job at least, and—”

“Of course.” Reluctantly, Jon pulled back to look him in the eye. “I’m not going to give up at the last moment. You can rely on me.”

Gerry smiled. That was a rare thing, these days. All the more reason not to lose his nerve. Once they got out, Jon was going to spend the rest of their lives giving Gerry every reason to keep doing it.

“I know,” Gerry replied. “Now come on. Let’s finish prepping before we run out of twilight.”

***

“You know,” Gerry whispered late at night, as Jon settled himself into the curve of his body. “By the time I left home, I’d passed up five chances to escape.”

Jon listened in silence. He was never quite sure what to say when Gerry talked about how he grew up. Nothing felt like the right thing to say. Luckily, Gerry never seemed to expect him to say anything at all.

“Those are just the ones I was looking out for, at the time,” Gerry went on. “Couldn’t tell you how many I just didn’t see.”

“You were a kid,” Jon murmured back.

Gerry scoffed into Jon’s hair, and Jon smiled. “Don’t you turn my words back on me. How dare you.” A moment later, “But… you’re not wrong. I was a kid. She was all I knew. I didn’t know who I was without her.”

Safely out of Gerry’s line of vision, Jon allowed himself a thoughtful frown. It was different for him, wasn’t it? Gerry had been born his mother’s son, but Jon had been someone before he was Jonah’s… whatever he was. Student, research assistant, test subject, prisoner.

Before, he’d been the son of parents he barely remembered. He’d been the grandson of a woman who did her best until he drove her to give up on him, and a coven leader came to her with a kind smile and a promise to take away her burden. And now…

And now he wasn’t any of that. Because there wasn’t anything for him to go back to. The only way out was forward, into the unknown.

“I figured it out in the end,” Gerry told him. “You will too. I know you will.”

“I might need help with that,” Jon admitted. “I could use your expertise.”

A soft huff of laughter jostled him. “I’m gonna be in the same boat as you, you know? I’ve never been to the human world.”

“You still know more about it than me,” Jon pointed out.

Gerry was quiet for a moment. “He didn’t tell you anything?” he asked eventually. “It didn’t take much to get him talking, when I was running around with him.”

“Only a few things. His family, his brother, some of his favorite foods. It was all we had time for before we parted ways.”

“Ah, that’s a shame,” Gerry sighed. “The human world sounds amazing—if even half the things he told me about were even real.”

Jon laughed softly. “I know what you mean. Can you imagine someone actually swimming in the ocean? It would strip the flesh clean off your bones.”

“Not if the water’s cold and non-corrosive. Which it apparently is. People swim in the ocean all the time. It’s a thing. They take their kids and everything.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Jon stifled a yawn.

“It was weird, you know?” Gerry went on. “The things he’d talk about like they were nothing. Sometimes he’d say just the wildest thing, and he’d look at me like I was crazy when I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about.”

“Like what?”

“Hmm… trying to think of one I haven’t told you before…” Gerry hesitated. “Did I tell you about how mornings in the human realm just… make water?”

“You mentioned something about the rainwater being cold,” Jon replied.

“No no, this is different. Titan, how did he explain it…” Gerry hummed thoughtfully. “Something about how, when it’s cold enough, everything’s covered in little droplets of water in the morning. The air just… does that. Makes water out of nothing.”

“I’m sure there’s more to it than that.”

“Can’t remember,” Gerry admitted. “He showed me a picture, though. Water droplets on a spiderweb. Looked like tiny little diamonds. Dunno what kind of face I was making, but he laughed at me.”

“Rude,” Jon murmured.

“Still not sure I believe it.”

“Maybe we’ll see it for ourselves. One day.” One day very, very soon.

Gerry’s only reply was to run gentle fingers through Jon’s hair, again and again, until Jon finally fell asleep.

***

The moon sat at its apex, round and bright and wreathed in blue fire that seemed to dim the stars around it. It was the first thing Jon saw when Gerry gently shook him awake.

He stirred, wincing when his movements jarred his injuries. Most of the day had been devoted to Jonah’s experiments, and Jon had fresh wounds to prove it. The burns on his face would heal without scarring, but his right hand was still wrapped in liniment-soaked bandages. Jon avoided putting any weight on it as he rose to a sitting position and pushed back the blanket. The sight of the moon, burning brightly in celestial alignment, chased away any lingering weariness.

They cast their usual cloaking spell with less caution than usual. It was only a stopgap measure at best, a few minutes’ safety to get everything in place. The table, chair, and alchemy set were pushed aside to clear the floor. With steadier hands—Jonah had been focused on Jon today, leaving Gerry a day of respite—Gerry borrowed Jon’s staff to draw the circle. Atlas alighted on his place at the top of the staff, colors fading as he shifted back into wood, and the symbols glowed brighter. Jon fetched each component from their hiding places around the room, and began laying them out amid the lines that Gerry was tracing.

They worked quickly, not speaking, barely breathing. For all their planning, there had been no time to practice. They would get only one chance, and no more.

And so, there was no time or opportunity to brace themselves before Gerry drew the last line, and Jon poured the last drop of Titan blood, and the circle caught the moonfire blazing through the open window.

The spell ignited, and the sheer force of clashing power nearly knocked them both off their feet. Their flimsy cloaking spell shattered, exposing them to Jonah’s sight, but it was far too late to turn back.

Jon had barely regained his footing when his own magic, coursing through the spell circle alongside Gerry’s, was caught in the moonlight’s amplifying effect. For a single, glorious moment, for the first time in years, Jon felt magic—wild magic, covenless magic—coursing through him. He smelled fire and earth and sea air, felt wind against his face, sensed the distant light of stars above them, tasted blood in the back of his throat as drumbeats pounded in his ears. Every sensation rushed him at once, melding together into a storm of color and music. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever felt.

And then the coven brand on his arm blazed, burning away the storm until only the Beholding remained.

It seized him mercilessly, knowledge clamoring its way into his head all at once. It was a confusing mess, so many sights and sounds and thoughts that he couldn’t have picked out a single one among them. But in the end he adjusted, the stream became more focused, and his mind was his own once more.

At the center of the circle, a seam formed in the fabric of the world. It split neatly down the length of it, opening wide into a ragged doorway.

Jon’s heart leapt. They had been planning this for years, researching in secret, sneaking and lying and stealing to get the components together, and yet—only now did he realize that he had never expected it to actually work. The fact that it had, that freedom lay only a few steps from where he stood, was as exhilarating as it was terrifying.

Jonah was on his way, he realized absently. It wasn’t just the inevitability of it; even without his focus on the river of knowledge flowing through him, he couldn’t help but catch a few drops. One of them showed their captor flying up the stairs toward their quarters, wild-eyed and intent.

“Gerry,” he said. “We have to—”

Another scrap of knowledge slipped into his mind, like a dagger between his ribs.

“Jon?” Gerry’s voice sounded far away. Everything was suddenly muffled, even the portal. Even the Beholding, swollen with moonlight, felt far away. The whole world was contained in a single, inescapable truth.

“We can’t.” The words slipped from Jon’s mouth. His hand closed on Gerry’s arm. “Gerry, we can’t.”

“Jon, let go, the portal’s right—”

“It won’t work.” Jon squeezed his arm. “It won’t—there’s not enough power. It’s not stable enough for both of us. As soon as one of us goes through, the spell will fall apart and the portal will close. It won’t work.”

Gerry stared back at him, face suffused with dismay.

Dismay, but not surprise.

Jon’s heart sank like a stone in mud. “You knew.”

“Jon, there’s no time for this, now let go—” He was pulling away, prying Jon’s fingers from his arm, and the portal was within his reach, and Jonah was so close to their door.

“You knew,” he repeated. “How long have you known? How long have you been lying?”

“I had no choice!” Gerry shouted over the crackling, ringing din of the spell. “There was no other way! What was I supposed to do, sit here while both of us wasted away? What other chance was either of us going to get?”

The worst part was, Jon couldn’t bring himself to be surprised, or even all that angry, really. Of course this was going to happen. It was simply the culmination of his entire life, thus far. His parents, his old friends, his grandmother—and now Gerry.

Maybe it was just his lot to be left behind.

Across the room, the door rattled. Jonah called to them from the other side. Jon barely heard either.

“I…” His throat grew thick. “I understand.”

“Jon, I’m sorry,” Gerry said desperately. “I wish there was another way.”

“No, I—” He really shouldn’t be crying. This was a happy thing, after all. Gerry was going to be free. “At least—even if it’s just one of us—”

Gerry smiled through his own tears. “I’m really gonna miss you,” he said.

“It’s not fair,” Jon blurted out. “We were supposed to go together. We were supposed to see it together!”

“When has any of this ever been fair?”

Tears gathered in his eyes until Jon blinked them away. His last sight of Gerry should be a clear one. “Please don’t forget me.”

The door rattled again, and Gerry choked back a sob. “Fuck. I could never. You’re not the sort of person anyone just forgets.”

Before Jon could reply, Gerry lunged forward. Not toward the portal, not toward freedom, but to Jon. The kiss was fast and clumsy with desperation, but the hands against the sides of his face were ruthlessly gentle.

“I love you,” Gerry whispered. “Don’t look back.”

Jon blinked back his tears, confusion cutting through the grief. “What?”

Gerry curled Jon’s hands around the staff and threw him into the portal.

He fell through the riot of color and music, too shocked to scream as the image of Gerry shattered into pieces above him. The light winked out, and Jon fell into the emptiness alone.

***

Jon landed hard, though not nearly hard enough for how long he must have been falling.

He lay in darkness and silence, wheezing softly as he regained his breath, gripping his staff until his fingers went numb and his injured hand screamed in protest. The air was cold and smelled stale. The light show from the portal was gone, but he could still feel its power humming beneath his skin, threatening to burst free.

After a while, Jon gathered himself enough to roll over. The floor felt like stone beneath his hands, relatively smooth but unpolished. With a grunt of effort, Jon planted his staff on the ground and pulled himself to his feet. It was too dark to see well when he opened his eyes, so he felt along the length of the staff until he found the shape of wooden moth wings at the end.

“Atlas?” His voice rasped in his chest. The wood turned to soft chitin, and Atlas took off from the head of the staff to flutter in frantic circles around his head, buffeting him gently when he flew too close. “Yes, yes—it’s alright. We’re alright.”

Atlas landed on his shoulder, and Jon’s eyes adjusted.

Was this the human world? For all he knew, the portal might have simply dropped him elsewhere in the demon realm. He was in a room, possibly a basement, judging by the clutter. Boxes sat in stacks and piles, some of them too full to close properly. Indistinct objects sat against the walls—an old mirror, frames wrapped in thick brown paper, a tall wooden clock that didn’t seem to be working. A thick layer of dust blanketed everything, untouched by fingerprints or footsteps.

He was alone.

Of course he was alone, he’d seen the portal break apart as soon as he fell into it, with Gerry still on the other side. Jonah had been seconds from breaking the door down, and now—

A harsh sob took him by surprise, and tears blinded him all over again.

Jonah had never set a clear punishment for escaping. And now, whatever it was, Gerry was facing it alone.

They weren’t supposed to be alone, they were never supposed to be alone. It shouldn’t have been him going through the portal, it should have been Gerry, why couldn’t have been Gerry, why couldn’t Gerry have been selfish for once in his life—

A distant scream rang out, shocking him out of his tears. Jon stared around, wide-eyed and searching, but the room was still. Then the ceiling shook with a crash, drawing his eyes upward.

“It’s above us,” he murmured. “Stairs—we need to find stairs.” Atlas took off from his shoulder, eye spots glowing in the gloom.

With an extra set of eyes, Jon found the stairs within a minute. He ran up them, his brand warming as he loosened the leash on his swollen magic. The door at the top of the steps was locked, but he Knew within seconds where to find a key. Atlas vanished from his side and returned moments later, clutching it in all six of his legs.

The door opened to an unlit hallway. Jon hesitated, took one last look back at the dark and cluttered basement, and hurried on.

He could hear more, now that he was really listening for it. Running footsteps, multiple sets by the sound of it. Shouting, always muffled and bitten-off, as if whoever was doing it was trying very hard not to. There were people in trouble—this was the human world, wasn’t it? Was it as hostile as the demon realm after all?

The hallway ended and took him up another flight of stairs. He expected to see light at some point, either artificial or from the windows. The last time he saw the moon, it had nearly blinded him. But instead, the darkness of the stairwell only seemed to grow thicker as he ascended, and reaching the door at the top did nothing to abate it.

At the very least, what he could see of the room he stepped out into looked more like the ground floor. There were proper floorboards, high ceilings, and windows that only showed faint outlines of trees against a dark, starless sky. The house was unlit, and his eyes refused to adjust. Jon drew a quick spell circle on his forehead with one fingertip, and magic poured into his eyes to light the way.

Shouting rang out again from somewhere above. Jon raced to follow it.

Around him, the house was in the slow process of falling apart. Ornate wallpaper hung faded and peeling, shreds of old rugs showed the ragged remains of color and embroidery, and broken shards of wood protruded from walls and doorways alike, as if any ornamentation set into them had been ripped out long ago. This must have been a fine-looking house once, but now it was a crumbling wreck.

Eventually the hallway opened up to another dilapidated chamber, this one a rotting front hall with its doors still standing ajar. Opposite them, the sagging remains of a grand staircase led up to another floor.

Jon had nearly reached the foot of it when he spotted movement at the top of the steps, and his vision went black.

For a split second he thought he’d lost consciousness, but the floor remained firmly beneath his feet. His breath came in short bursts of alarm as he drew another spell circle for sight in the darkness, to no avail.

Jon settled his grip on the staff, wincing at the pain in his burned hand. The bad news was, nothing that simple was going to let him see through this darkness. The good news was, it meant he knew what he was dealing with. He should have figured it out as soon as he left the basement and saw how dark it was. Stupid.

He could hear the others. Their running footsteps had fallen still, but the sound of panicked breathing was unmistakable. Someone was whimpering in pain with each breath. Someone else was whispering frantic reassurances. The darkness swallowed up everything else.

Jon hardly had to reach for his magic. It was brimming all the way to the surface, swollen from the storm of half-wild magic that had brought him here. When he drew a spell circle in the air with a tight whirl of his staff, it all came boiling up and out like a geyser.

Eyes opened everywhere—in Jon’s face and neck, along the length of his staff, in Atlas’s wooden face and wings, and in the choked air all around him. The darkness burned away as quick and clean as thin paper, revealing the scene before him.

There were three people now at the foot of the stairs, in such a state of panicked disarray that Jon could hardly tell whether they’d run or fallen down them. The larger of the two men had the others pushed behind him, backing away from the creature that menaced them, all three of them too frozen in terror to even attempt to cast a spell.

In spite of the glowing eyes that lit the room, a single wriggling mass of darkness remained, crawling and twitching toward its prey with wispy feelers that reached out to touch them. Sour air wafted from its body, filling the room with the smell of rot.

An acid shade. Nasty, hateful things that hunted prey by blinding it, then dissolving it while it was still alive. One touch was enough to melt the skin off your hand. Gerry still had scars from his last encounter with one.

Gerry.

The eyes blazed, and for the first time the brightness touched the shade’s slick hide. It recoiled, convulsing with a sound that was not a scream, but close enough.

Jon didn’t remember crossing the room, but he stood between the writhing mass of shadows and its would-be victims, so he must have. Fear warred with wild, directionless anger. He missed Gerry and hated Jonah. He remembered the feeling of lips on his, and the sight of his only friend weeping as his image shattered. Jon took all of it, gathered up every last drop, and poured it all into the merciless light of his swollen magic. He gave it all of himself, until it was blinding, until he could See every part of the room he stood in, down to every last crack in the walls, down to every convulsing wisp of darkness that made up the shade.

It let out another not-scream as it was utterly, agonizingly Seen.

And then it was gone, and Jon’s last drop of magic trickled out and left him hollow.

The darkness returned—not a demonic creature this time, but regular unconsciousness creeping up on him. He fought it as he turned and looked back at the faces of the people he’d saved. A round-faced man, so pale that his freckles stood out in his face; a woman with wide eyes and dark hair in disarray; and the second man clutching a corrosive burn that covered his arm, whose face—

—whose face Jon recognized.

“Danny?” Half-blind, Jon struggled to focus as the world grew smaller, and the darkness overtaking it nearly obscured the look of shock on the man’s face. “You found your way home?”

He lost his grip on consciousness before he could hear the answer.

[violets-page]

Shot Down |R.R.|

MASTERLIST

A/N: This was my first request and I was so excited! Hope you enjoy <3

The 100, Raven x fem reader? If your kay with it maybe where reader and Raven are in a relationship and had an argument but then the Murphy situation happens in the dropship so the reader helps raven out and when shots happen the reader protects Raven?

You loved Raven, truly. In fact, you loved her more than you thought your heart was capable of. But you couldn’t help but feel like she wasn’t really over Finn. You saw the way she looked at him when he and Clarke were together. You saw the pain of losing your first love and the crushing weight of having to watch him happy without her. No matter how many times she smiled and told you she was ‘so over him’ , you couldn't help but notice how her gaze always lingered on him for a second longer.

When Raven crashed to earth only to have her heartbroken you were there to comfort her. Brought together by her tech-savvy ways and your creative ideas the two of you spent countless days together, thinking up and prototyping weapons. And when night time crept up, throwing darkness onto all those below her, She’d creeped into your bed shuffling blankets to make room on your lap for her head. You’d play with her hair and hum her to sleep as she cried on your lap over a boy who didn’t deserve her.

As you two had grown close an unspoken thing rose between you.

Little kisses through the day, always over before you could move towards her. Cuddling into her bed at night, warm bodies pressed against each other as you fell asleep to the lullaby of her beating heart. Makeout sessions in the forest when no one was around but the trees and birds and all of earth's problems melted away when her hands were in your hair and her lips planted on yours.

Raven hadn’t been one much for public PDA and for a while you thought that was just how she was. It never really bothered you, so what if she didn't feel like sharing your intimate moments in front of a group of immature strangers.

That was until Finn approached you and asked if you knew what boy she was seeing.

*    *   *   *   *   *   *   *

You rolled your eyes as Finn sauntered toward you.

“Hey.” his voice sounded exhausted. Much like everyone's did nowadays.

His hands were shoved in his pockets and he glanced around as if searching for someone. With all that you knew about Finn, you had never actually spoken to him. In fact, you actively avoided him. Desperate not to give off the impression that you were willing to talk to him you let out a hum of acknowledgment.

“I'm worried about Raven.”

Your eyes shot up to meet him. He had no right to worry about her, anything worry-worthy had been his fault. You bit back all the lectures and insults you'd thought you'd say to him someday, the ones you thought up while wiping tears with your shirt sleeve.

“Why.”

“I heard her talking to Octavia the other day about a guy she was seeing. I don’t think she knew I was there but..” he sighed, his hand going in towards his greasy hair as you tried not to grimace at its look.

“None of the guys here are good for her.”

Yeah, none of the guys.

You shoot him a frown and bit back your laugh. “No, but if she was seeing someone how would I be able to tell?”

“Well, when we were together she was always very affectionate. Holding hands in public and kisses all the time. She’s really big on PDA. Ya know?”

You didn't know.

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

You held in your emotions for a few days, desperately trying not to let his ridiculous words get to you. But you couldn't help it as you drifted away from Raven. Every time you were together your mind drifted to her and Finn on the ark, holding hands and kissing in the halls where anyone could see. Your mind soaked up awful thoughts until you felt your heart might just explode.

This led to you storming into her tent in a fit of anger. You waved your hands furiously through the air as you told her about the conversation you'd had with Finn.

“I know you're not over Finn, and I know you're just using me to get over him but you don't want him to know about it in case he wants you back. I won't be your safety guard to fall back on until you're ready to get up and walk away!”

“What? That’s not what’s going on at all.”

“Oh yeah, cause it sure as hell seems like every time we’re out you want nothing to do with me. You won't even hold my hand outside this tent much less kiss me.”

“Y/n listen to me!”

“No, I’m so sick of this shit”

You loved her but you weren’t going to sit and watch her fawn over her asshole ex.

When the yelling had gotten too much for you to handle you stormed out of the tent, sweat running down your back from the hot weather and your bubbling anger. You hate how it felt and how it reminded you of stupid Finn and his stupid greasy hair. You remembered a stream you had seen on one of your forest explorations with Raven.

Raven. Raven. Raven.

You hated how even when you were mad and anger flowed through your veins, you couldn’t escape the thoughts of her. You needed to get out.

The stream was probably a 20-minute walk from camp. You knew the woods weren’t safe but you couldn’t stand being cooped up in camp for a second longer. You took one of Ravens’ guns with you, just in case.

When you reached the steam you glanced around before stripping. The woods were hauntingly beautiful, but every time you looked at them all you could see was Raven. Her back pressed against the trees as her fingers weaved knots in your hair. Your fingers slipping under her shirt exploring the curves of her hips. Her lips against yours, silent gasps for air interrupting the rustling of leaves.

You wadded into the water as if it could wash the thoughts from your mind. The water was like ice and only reached enough to go a little over your knees. The light breeze made goosebumps peak from your skin as the water suddenly seemed much warmer. You squatted down, the algae rocks tickling your toes. Splashing your face with the cool water, you scrubbed it, thankful to get rid of the sticky sweat that had built up over the weeks you’d been on earth. You took a deep breath and tried to relax your muscles.

As you sat in the water you thought about everything that’s been going on. More specifically everything going on with Raven. You hadn’t even let Raven explain herself before you stormed out. Your quick temper was always your biggest problem. Hell, it's how you ended up down here in the first palace. Guilt was a sickly feeling, it nestled into your stomach and made you feel like a monster.

Suddenly the woods felt too empty, The river too dirty and everything too loud. You felt loneliness fill your heart, its claws creeping their way up as you choked back sobs. As Raven's face once again visited your memory you decided it was best to get back and apologize before the sun disappeared and sleep took your lover.

As you got closer to camp you took note of the eerie silence, a major contrast from the usual laughs and shouts that filled the camp. Walking in you saw why. Everyone was crowded around the dropship. Most people looked indifferent or only had slight concern etched across their faces. That was until you came across Octavia standing at the front.

She looked as if she would just about pass out. Fear covered her whole face as she tapped her foot impatiently. A walkie-talkie clenched tightly in her hand as her teeth pulled tightly against her bleeding lip.

“What’s going on”

Without her eyes ever leaving the doors of the drop ship she answered you.

“Murphys got Bellamy trapped inside. I- I think he’s going to kill him. Jaspers under the ship trying to get him out.”

You surveyed the crowds trying to find Raven but nowhere was the girl donning the red puffer jacket anywhere to be seen.

“Where's Raven?”

Octavia’s eyes flickered to you for only a moment before returning to the dropship. But with that one look, you knew she didn’t want to tell you.

“Octavia, where is she.” You moved in front of her, blocking her view of the dropship. Annoyance flashed across her features but it quickly vanished.

She sighed “She's under there helping Jasper but-”

That was all you needed to hear before you turned around and headed toward the dropship. Before you could make it two steps Octavia had grabbed your arm and pulled you back. You considered pulling your arm out of hers or even pushing her down so she would let you go. But the girl had a grip like iron and an attitude to match.

“She’s got this. By going in there you could mess up everything. Just trust her. Okay?”

You nodded and stayed put. But her words did nothing to ease the fear that washed over you like a tsunami, drowning you.

A gunshot rang through the air and Octavia’s grip on your arm tightened. One part in an effort to reassure herself and another part to keep you put.

You weren’t super religious but at that moment you begged whoever -if anyone- above to make sure Raven came out of this alive and unharmed.

Minutes seemed like hours until finally a familiar mop of brown hair appeared from beneath the dropship. You felt every muscle in your body relax and the headache that you hadn't even noticed disband.

You shrugged out of Octavia’s grasp and ran to Jasper quickly engulfing him in a hug. His arms hung limp at his sides and you could see his anxiety written across his face. But at least they were okay.

“Oh thank god”

You peered behind him, expecting to see Raven, but no one was there.

As if sensing your unspoken question he spoke,

“She’s still in the dropship. She-”

But you were already gone.

As you squirmed your way through the complicated working of the dropship you spotted the brunette. Your lungs filled with air and the knot in your chest eased. She was okay.

“Raven ..”

She jumped at your sudden appearance and something within the circuit she was working on sparked. She let out a slight scream as the sparks burnt the tips of her fingers.

You both looked up as the noises from above ceased

And then came the gunshots.

After the first one, you dived over her without a second thought, knocking you both to the ground. You heard her head hit the ground with a loud thunk as the air left her lungs. You covered her body with yours tucking your head into her neck as you covered her face with your hands. You breathed in her scent as bullets rained down on you. You could feel her heart's erratic beating against your chest. It felt like forever until they finally stopped.

When they did Raven wasted no time moving you off of her and getting back to the control panel, finishing what she started.

You however couldn’t move.  

Damn adrenaline.

You took a few deep breaths and calmed your heart as much as you possibly could. You tightened your muscles in an attempt to sit up, the same way you've sat up your entire life. Except for this time, your muscles wouldn’t tighten. It was as if they had stopped working entirely.

“Raven “ you called out to her. You were terrified, your heartbeat so loudly you could feel it in your eardrums. She was too focused on finishing the control panel to hear you. Finally, she got it, shooting you one of those proud smiles you always loved. It quickly dissolved when she saw the fear on your face as tears streamed down from your eyes.

“I can’t move. Oh god. Oh my god. “ Your tears turned to sobs as your body shook. She was by your side in a second as she quickly took to examining your body.

“I can’t find a wound.”

“Please, please, please Raven.” She had no idea what to do but couldn’t bear to watch you break to pieces in her arms.

Slowly she moved you so you were sitting up, and although it took a while she was able to get you up and onto her back.

A bang sounded from above and the whole room shook. Her hand slipped from its grip on your thigh but she quickly managed to catch it.

She held your legs as you wrapped your arms around her neck. Although your cries were no longer audible she felt you shake against her back as warm tears splashed her shoulder.

Before she even got into the camp she was yelling.

“WHERE'S CLARKE. SOMEBODY GET CLARKE.” the blonde rushed to her side, a sharp intake escaping when she saw you.

“She says she can’t move. Murphy shot her. I couldn’t find the wound but I don’t know.” She tried desperately not to cry.

Not now.  Raven thought.  Not when she's breaking.

She carried you into the dropship, laying you carefully down on the table. It took a while but Clarke finally made it in to help.

After sanitizing her hands with what was left of the alcohol she looked at Raven. They both knew this wasn’t going to be good.

“I need to get the bullet out. Can you distract her?”

Raven nodded and held your hand tighter. You could feel her warm palm against hers, the only thing keeping you from falling apart in a fit of hysterics. That was about the only thing you could feel. Everything below your chest was dead weight.

“Remember how you thought I wasn’t showing you public affection because I still had feelings for Finn?” Clarke risked a quick glance at the girls before resuming her work.

You felt her fingers enter the wound in your back and let out a scream.

“Is now really the best time to talk about this” you tried to say between screams and grunts. She nodded, a determined look on her face.

“That’s not why.”

“Okay..” you urged her to go on so you could focus on her voice instead of the fingers probing around underneath your skin.

“No one knows that I am ya know,” although she didn't make a show of it you knew Clarke was listening.

“And I guess I was just- am just, afraid of the way people might look at me.” the raw emotion on her face almost made you forget what was happening.  Almost.

You screamed again as Clarke’s fingers exited the wound.

“Got it. Now comes the painful part” You looked at her in horror.

She turned your head away so that you were once again looking at Raven. The brunette couldn't hide the horror that flashed across her face at whatever Clarke was doing behind you.

“Trust me, it’s best not to watch this part.”

Raven almost couldn’t handle the look of fear on your face. She wanted to wrap you up in her arms and keep you safe and away from this cruel world. She laced her finger between yours, light kisses against the back of your hand in an attempt to calm your pounding heart and shaky breaths.

Clarke handed her a cloth for you to bite on. It would stop you from breaking your own teeth is what she had said.

Raven squeezed your hand in reassurance and placed a gentle kiss on your head as you let out a ground trembling scream. She felt her heart fall to pieces at the sound. The world around you disappeared as you tried desperately to focus on Raven instead of the hot metal searing your flesh.

And then-

It was over.

You just lay there, studying Raven. Her lower lip was redder than the top one due to her gnawing on it anxiously. Her eyelashes were long and cast delicate shadows across her high cheekbones. Her jawline was sharp and unmoving. Skin pulled tight in a frown of worry. The whole thing had taken a toll on you. But you refused to let yourself fall asleep.

“Raven, I’m so sorry.”

She let out a sad laugh as tears started forming in her eyes

“Never do that again.”  She wanted to scream at you. She wanted to hit you and yell at you for being so stupid. For putting her life above yours and trying to be the hero. But she knew you wouldn’t be able to handle that. Not today at least.

Your eyelids were so heavy. You decided you would just close them, not sleep.

As your eyes fluttered closed Raven turned to Clarke.

Is she going to be okay?

“Yes, but…”

“But what”

“She suffered a slight spinal cord injury. I don’t know how bad it is. She might be able to walk again in six months or a year or possibly never.”

As you heard these words your mind drifted as the welcoming arms of sleep embraced you.

As longs as Raven is okay,

I can handle it.

Pt.2

[chipper-smol]

Feral Vessel Chain 2

reminder that these are being posted by when they finish and not chronologically 

Prompt: Herrah has a heart to heart with Feral about looking after Hornet once she’s called to fulfill her duty as a dreamer.

( @reverieriver​ )

“Feral one.”

Herrah’s voice, calm as it was, immediately had their attention. Ghost wouldn’t say they were afraid of the Beast, not by any stretch of the word--but they also weren’t inclined to go against her lest they get on her bad side. They’ve seen her bad side. It wasn’t something they wished to inflict on even the Radiance.

“Come with me. I need to speak with you in private.”

Respect, that was it. Everything about her presence demanded respect. That wasn’t something they gave freely, but they respected her. They nodded in silent affirmation, and followed as she led them away.

It was only when the both of them were settled in a quiet room away from the bustle of the Palace that Ghost noticed the tiny, red-cloaked form of a familiar spiderling clinging to her mother in her sleep. Their heart did a little jump inside their chest. It was still difficult to imagine this adorable being as the cold and stern sister that tried to kill them twice.

“Ghost.” Once again, Herrah’s voice redirected their attention at once, moreso now with the sound of their name. So she did know it. Father or Mother must have mentioned it in passing. Why did she need to talk to them, though? They watched her with intent curiosity. She said nothing at first, taking the time to contemplate her words before she spoke again. “You know what is going to happen.”

They tried their hardest to tamp down the sudden surge of panic that threatened to rise up. What did she mean by that? There wasn’t any way she could know, right? There might have been suspicions, of course, but they thought they were pretty good at hiding the whole “I’m from the future and know everything that’s going to happen” deal.

“You know of the plan the Wyrm has for us.” Oh. Right. That. That was something they knew anyway. Of course they did, they were technically part of it. But why bring it up now?

They watched as Herrah gingerly plucked her daughter from her cloak to cradle in her arms instead. The hatchling fussed for only a moment, scrubbing her eyes with tiny hands before nestling against her mother and settling into sleep again. There was a look in Herrah’s eyes that Ghost wasn’t sure they’ve ever seen before as she gazed down at Hornet. A certain softness, a mother’s affection... but also, fear. Uncertainty.

“I...” She faltered, and took a deep breath before continuing. “One day, I will enter an eternal slumber. On that day, and all the days after, I will not be able to care for my child. I will not be able to raise her.” She hugged her daughter a little closer. Her voice wavered in a way that made Ghost ache to the very core of their void. “I won’t see her grow up.”

Finally she looked at Ghost again, after collecting herself. “Someone will have to look after her, in my stead. Someone I trust enough to hold my child’s life in their hands.”

She moved in close to them. Something shifted, and their arms reflexively curled around a gentle weight placed in their grasp. Herrah pulled back, and Ghost realized with a start that Hornet now rested against them. The hatchling’s eyes blearily blinked open, looking up at Ghost... and then she nuzzled into them much like she had with her mother, and went back to sleep.

They looked up at Herrah again. There was something like a sad smile in her eyes. “Out of everyone here, I trust you the most. Ironic, isn’t it?”

Their gaze dropped back to the little slumbering spiderling in their arms. She was so small. So light, she barely weighed anything. But the gravity of the situation sat heavy in their mind, as they remembered again that she was one day going to grow into the Hornet they knew. They remembered again how she looked when they returned from the dream realm after breaking Herrah’s seal. They remembered her grief, and their own guilt.

They wanted more than anything to change that; to see her grow up with her mother; to see what kind of bug she would become if she never lost her, and never closed herself off to the world, cold and bitter. If they succeeded, and the Dreamers never had to Dream.

But if they failed, if they didn’t find a way to get the Dream Nail or some other means to fight the Radiance, then what would all this be for? Hornet would still lose her mother, their sibling would still be sealed away, everything would continue to fall apart in slow motion and there wouldn’t be anything they could do about it.

Ghost wanted to protect their family, but as things stood now, they couldn’t even protect them from their fates. Couldn’t even protect the spiderling in their arms, so small and so vulnerable, from the pain they knew she would suffer in the future. Vaguely, they were aware of Herrah beginning to say something when--

“No cry!” a tiny voice squeaked.

They looked down, startled. They hadn’t even realized that Hornet had awoken at some point. Worse yet, they hadn’t realized the moment that tears began spilling down their mask. But she had. “No cry,” she pleaded once more, a tiny hand reaching in their general direction as though trying to offer comfort. They dipped their head towards her, and she pawed at their tears.

It almost made them want to laugh, that their baby sister of all bugs would try to comfort them right now. They carefully shifted her weight to one arm so they could have a hand free to wipe their eyes.

“You... don’t have to, you know,” Herrah offered. “I simply thought that, considering how I trust you and how she adores you--”

Ghost raised their hand with a quick motion to say, stop. It wasn’t that they didn’t want to, that much was certain. But their resolve was set now; they were going to do everything in their power to make sure that they wouldn’t have to. Not that they could tell her as much. So they gave her a nod in answer. If, and only if, they did fail after everything was said and done, then they would take care of Hornet in her mother’s stead.

Herrah nodded in turn, and her relief was nearly tangible. They could only imagine how she must have worried for her daughter’s future. “Thank you, Ghost. Now, if I may have my child back?” She reached for Hornet, only for the spiderling to scuttle straight up Ghost’s head to settle between their horns in an attempt to get away. “Little one...”

“Wanna stay wif Ghos’!”

Herrah laughed softly. Ghost did as well, if only silently. “Well, alright, then. I suppose I can let you watch her for a while. I trust you’ll take good care of her.”

They nodded. No matter what happened, they promised: They would take care of their sister.

( @philliaesaya​, https://twitter.com/ArtistPhillia )

( @ofstormsandfire​ )

If Ghost could speak, they’d have to say they very much underestimated just how high-energy their sister would be. But then, who would they say it to? They certainly wouldn’t admit it to the Pale King, who likely isn’t even aware of their current whereabouts, never mind Hornet’s. Herrah is a possibility. Their mother is also a possibility.

But due to a particular monarch’s insistence on his perfect vessel having no voice to cry suffering, Ghost is as voiceless as the day they were hatched. Never mind that they are, by choice, nearly as far from being that perfect, impossible vessel as anyone can be without actively colluding with the Radiance.

(That wasn’t a choice Ghost had ruled out, upon waking up in their past. They haven’t entirely ruled it out even now. But to do anything concerning the Radiance, Ghost would first need the Dream Nail. To get the Dream Nail, they first need to find the Seer. And, unfortunately, their drawings of moths when shown to others are always mistaken for surprisingly non-insulting caricatures of the king.)

“Ghostie! Be tall!”

Out of nowhere, Hornet leaps all the way from the ground to cling onto Ghost’s mask. She hangs there and giggles. Her giggles only intensify as she starts to slip.

If Ghost could smile, they would. As is, they catch her with a warm, fuzzy feeling inside, and deposit her once again in the space between their horns. Hornet grabs both of them with a tiny cheer, and they start walking again.

They still can’t quite decide what is stranger: Hornet being this small, or Hornet being this friendly. This is a Hornet long before her life and her family fell apart, before any of the things that make her who she becomes go horribly wrong. But they still see the Hornet they know in her own, clumsy attempts at pranking the king, attempts that are slowly but surely getting better and better.

The Pale King blames Ghost, as he does for even the smallest and fully unrelated inconvenience. Ghost strongly suspects Hornet would have turned out like this with or without their influence.

Their wandering takes them to the Resting Grounds, as it often does. Never before has it been with their sister in tow. They pass the space where Xero’s grave will rest, the not-yet-built memorial to the Dreamers. Both are reminders of time running out.

Xero did not turn against the king for no reason. He has not, yet. He will not until their sibling is sealed away, and it is becoming clearer and clearer that the desperate plan the king pinned everything on has failed.

There were Six Great Knights, once.

And the Dreamers… Ghost cannot speak for Lurien, as the Watcher is conspicuously absent from his Spire whenever Ghost comes around. Perhaps he knows, somehow, that Ghost would exact revenge for his knights in prank after prank after prank. Perhaps he doesn’t, but merely suspects what Ghost is up to and hides himself away in preparation. But even he does not deserve to sleep forever, no matter how many times they were reduced to shade and broken shell attempting to reach him.

They have met Monomon and Herrah, however. Monomon automatically earns a place on their List Of Bugs They Like, Actually by sheer virtue of unintentionally assisting them in their sacred quest of vengeance (and on one notable occasion, very intentionally assisting them.) Quirrel had already been there, and nothing short of him attempting to kill them would take him off that list. Their opinion of him had shot up with his involvement in the Unn Incident, however.

Herrah is so much like the Hornet Ghost remembers that it’s painful. They’d overheard her, once, saying that a large part of why she’d agreed to this was so Hornet wouldn’t have to go through the things she had.

There had been no crimes committed against the king that day. They had been too busy crying somewhere no one would find them.

Lost in their thoughts, they almost miss the flash of movement up ahead. Almost. They do not, however, miss the gasp, nor the… was that a purple cloak?

It might have been. It was certainly some dark color. The Seer wore a dark purple cloak, or perhaps those were the wings they never saw her use outside the realm of dreams. That might not be the Seer. That could be any other bug, or even just a figment of their imagination.

But if it is her… why would she be hiding from them?

The answer is so obvious, Ghost could kick themself for not realizing it sooner. Of course the Seer would hide from a vessel, now. For all she knows, they could be their sibling, but even if she has no knowledge of the Pale King’s plans, of course she’d hide from someone close to the king.

They have no voice to explain otherwise. Somehow, Ghost gets the feeling she won’t stick around long enough for them to sign anything, and even if she did, she wouldn’t know their signs! Only they, their sibling (who Ghost stubbornly refuses to refer to even mentally as Hollow, because they are not) and to a limited extent, their mother understand their signs.

They can’t exactly write an explanation, either.

Maybe they can steal the Dream Nail? They would feel kind of bad, but it’s for a good cause and they can always just give it back once they’ve dealt with the Radiance, however they’re dealing with the Radiance. That might be their best option at the moment, actually, but what if the Seer attacks them?

What if she attacks Hornet?

They reach up to their horns, disentangling the tiny presence there that had just begun to purr. Internally, they apologize for setting her down.

“Ghostie? Where you going?”

I’m sorry. I’ll be right back. They pat her on the head and pull out a charm: Nailmaster’s Glory, no longer in Sly’s possession and unlikely to be returned to Sly’s possession anytime soon. Ghost places it in her tiny grasp and closes her grip around it.

“Keep dis safe?”

Ghost nods.

“Like Ghost keep safe?”

Their shoulders sag, but they still nod.

“I’ll be right back,” they sign, even though it will be a very long time before she understands half of what they say around her. Somehow, somehow, Hornet seems to understand.

“Back soon,” Hornet says impatiently. That, Ghost nods to much more forcefully, and then they turn and run.

They do not find the Seer, though not for lack of searching. Unfortunately, they cannot fit into all the tiny spaces they could when smaller. After they’ve looked through what feels like the entirety of the Resting Grounds, they eventually give up and return to where they left Hornet. They can’t help but be relieved when they see her there, sitting on the lip of a tombstone, swinging her lowest set of legs back and forth without a care in the world.

“Ghost!” Hornet cheers once she sees them. “Wanna show something!”

Ghost nods wordlessly, and kneels in front of her. Hornet chrrs in concentration. She reaches back into thin air, but there’s something shiny in her grip. The charm they left with her, perhaps? No, that’s in her other hand, and honestly, Sly never kept it in as good of condition as they did.

Then pink light erupts from her back hand. Familiar pink light, in the unfamiliar form of a needle. For a few, brief moments, Ghost is the closest to truly hollow they’ve ever been from the utter confusion radiating from them.

What the fuck, they think as Hornet swings.

The Dream Nail—Dream Needle now, what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck, passes through them harmlessly. It tickles, actually. Apparently learn what the Dream Nail feels like on the receiving end is something they can cross off their bucket list, although there’s a distinct funny feeling after. If they didn’t know what it was and what it did, they would have assumed the Dream Needle was merely a trick of the light.

But they found the Dream Nail. Hornet has the Dream Nail. Needle. Of course it would take the form of a needle for her. Has she even seen a real needle yet?

Hornet blinks innocently up at them and says, cheerfully, “Fuck!”

Their sibling finds them on the outskirts of the City of Tears, nail strapped to their back in the same way Ghost’s stick is. Free from prying eyes, they cross their arms and tap their foot impatiently, as if expecting an explanation.

Ghost signs, Not sorry.

“Holly!” Hornet crows from her perch atop Ghost’s horns.

Holly… that’s actually a name Ghost can get behind, for their sibling. As usual, Hornet is the best at names, even if she doesn’t know it yet.

“Hello, little sister,” Holly signs back, having apparently deemed Hornet safe enough. Even if she isn’t, who would look at Holly next to ghost and honestly assume that they weren’t hollow either?

The Pale King sure wouldn’t, and right now, that’s all that matters.

Hornet doesn’t understand a word they’re signing. Dream Needle tucked carefully in her dress, she proudly proclaims, “FUCK!”

Holly looks at Ghost. Ghost shrugs helplessly.

“We don’t even have a sign for that. How?”

Ghost shrugs again, because they don’t have a sign for the explanation either.

Holly sighs. They resume their typical, supposedly hollow stance. “Let’s go home.”

The White Palace is not home to Ghost. It never has been, and it never will be. But when Holly extends a hand to them, they take it.

The Pale King’s reaction, once they return, is glorious. And he can’t even really blame Ghost, because no fucking voice to cry suffering, asshole! No voice to teach their little sister to curse, either! Of course, he blames them anyway, but it’s the principle of the matter.

And no matter who he blames, it doesn’t change the fact that Hornet has a new favorite word, and it’s going to be echoing through the palace for weeks. Maybe it’ll drive him crazy. Maybe it’ll distract him from Hornet’s newest toy.

Ghost knows where the Dream Nail is now, but that’s just the beginning. They still haven’t seen anything of the Godseeker. Without the Godseeker, how the—to quote their favorite sister—fuck are they going to find the Radiance?

There’s much to think about. And they’re slowly, oh so slowly yet oh so quickly, running out of time.

At least they have Hornet scandalizing nearly every adult in the White Palace in the meantime.

( @tangelojack​ )

( @idiotjuicyy​ )

( @dovalore​,  https://twitter.com/dovalore )

( @lesiasmadness​ )

Lullaby Lament

Nothing was ever off limits to the princess of Deepnest. The fact that she hasn’t grown to be spoiled rotten was great testament to her graceful and collected nature.

“Only proves that she does take after my dear Wyrm,” thought the White Lady as she gently cradled Hornet. A little while ago the Gendered Child was carried by her collar into the garden by the Pale King, after an adventurous day in the Palace with her half brothers. The King didn’t give his wife many chances to figure out what exactly transpired that finally got all the little ones in trouble, but it definitely involved Grimm’s spawn setting something on fire and sweets. The queen allowed herself to giggle softly now that her sweetheart was out of sight, her branches shaking a bit, causing the child in her hands to move a bit in her sleep, only having drifted off recently. Silence finally filled the White Palace, a rare occurrence nowadays, as Hollow was sent to his fathers office to wait for his disciplining, Grimmchild was tossed into the troupe masters hands like a naughty kitten to his owner, and Ghost ran off somewhere, no doubt to resurface soon and unite with his new found nightmare spawn friend. But for a short while, all was quiet.

Hornet brought a new kind of chaos to the Palace. Something the White Lady should have expected, but couldn’t have predicted the feelings it would invoke. Hornet was an actual kid. Unlike the two vessels who could, as soon as they hatched, climb their way up the ledges most adults would struggle with, the Gendered Child needed to be cradled and fed, supervised at all times. In other words, she was vulnerable. Anything happening in her sight left a mark on her, and seeing those changes filled the queens heart and mind with fascination and worry at the same time.

The first time Herrah brought her little one to a meeting, the baby wouldn’t stay quiet, and despite all the disruption it caused, the White Lady wanted them to stay for as long as possible. For the first time in many years, she heard a child’s laughter. Ever since that day, any time Feral shook his shoulder indicating a mischievous chuckle, the queen's mind goes back to that moment.

Not a sprout of envy ever rooted itself in the White Lady’s heart. It didn’t even cross her mind until Dryya asked if she might be resentful of the Deepnest’s queen for getting to hear her daughter’s voice, while she didn’t even know how it felt to hear “mom” once. Her answer was that Herrah would never feel the same euphoria that came over White Lady when she finally figured out how to speak to her child with their hands,

seeing them sign, “happy! happy! happy!” over and over. The joys of motherhood came in many unpredictable ways, and the journey would never be the same for any two families. But despite the differences, and despite almost never speaking to each other aside from diplomatic affairs, the two queens understood each other in the feelings that plagued them at every waking hour. First, it was a desperate desire to have an offspring of their own. Perhaps that understanding was why, upon hearing the request to have the king’s child, the White Lady agreed even before her husband did. Then, another feeling resonated between the two. Constant, cold dread. Dread of their time with their children running out. It might take years before the time came for Hollow to step into his role of being a sacrifice to the kingdom. But even now, there wasn’t a moment when Herrah’s heart didn’t ache, not for herself being deprived of both life and death, as a Dreamer, but for her daughter being left on her own. At least White Lady will get to nurture the feral vessel even after Hollow is reduced to a living gravestone. But even then, the queen would soon lose her only link to the child. As every new sign they learned together only reminded her of how fast her vision was weakining...

“Root lady!”

The queen’s wandering thoughts scattered like a flock of startled maskflys. She hadn’t noticed Hornet opening her eyes a few moments earlier.

“Have I disturbed your slumber with my light, little princess?” “Nu! I’m not sleepy. I didn’t sleep! Imma go play with Ghost.”

Ghost tried to pull the same bluff sometimes, as if the letters on his paper didn’t trail off the borders, turning into a crooked line ending where his quill lay as he dozed off right there on the table, sometimes right in his mother’s lap.

“Oh? You’re not sleepy at all? Goodness, Ghost must have been running way more than you today” - The queen made an exaggerated confused expression.

“No! I run more! And faster! Ghost can never catch me.”

To much of Hollow’s confusion, Ghost often play-raced with his little sister, and always lost on purpose. Something he suspected was that she didn’t get much slack back home, as it wasn’t customary in Deepnest to go easy on anyone, even if it’s to humor a child. No doubt once she’s old enough to train with a nail, she’ll know just how much building character is prioritised over mercy in those lands.

“That can’t be right,” - The White Lady put a hand to her chin, pretending to be deep in thought. - “They surely are more tired. How can it be that Ghost is already asleep, but Hornet isn’t even sleepy?”

“Ghost sleeps now? Bleh, baby.”

“Maybe little Hornet should sleep a little too. Your mother is talking to the king about important things, but they are taking a longer time because, can you imagine? While they were having a meeting, some kids made a fire in the palace!”

The humm of the garden filled with Hornet’s chiming laughter, as she flailed her tiny feet a little bit in amusement.

“That’s Ghost! Me, too. We made sticky sweets!”- the little spider announced proudly, showing her hands, still covered in bits of burnt marshmallow.

“Really?” “Ye! The flying... The flying bug... Lilpet made fire with his mouth!” “Lilpet?” “Ghost’s Lilpet. They can fly and have pretty eyes.”

After a few seconds, the queen deciphered that Hornet gave Grimmchild that name hearing her mother call it “Ghost’s little pet.”

“Ah, I understand. Do you like them? “Lilpet makes soft sounds. I like them more than sounds at home.”

From Dryya’s tales, the White Lady knew that from every tunnel in Deepnest you could hear the hissing of its wilder residents. Although she’d expect living there would make one numb to such sounds. However, the only noise in the White Palace was the one kids caused. Perhaps the difference is playing with Hornet’s ears. Hornet liked it in the Palace. So many spaces for her to climb and stick her silk to, and brothers to look after her, who would always find a way to catch up, even on the ceiling, getting them to chase her was almost its own game. Besides, she’s never forbidden from doing anything, as Herrah wouldn’t let the king boss her child around, thus White Lady being the only one he cpuld turn to to tame the rambunctious child. At home, she’s probably running wild as well. Herrah had no reason nor will to restrict her child from anything that’s not dangerous. She wanted to spend what little time she had left seeing her little daughter curious, free, and happy. So causing chaos at home wasn’t nearly as fun as raising the roof of the palace, though, as she won’t get the same reaction she gets from the Pale King. And having an accomplice in Ghost makes it double the fun.

The noisy mischief those two cause amused the queen every time, but the moments of quiet the two share are much more precious. Ghost would often try to teach their sister their signs, and being young and clever, she picks them up no problem, although the learning process resembled charades. Hornet is often Ghosts voice, and she cheers as much as the vessel does once they manage to communicate something to servants in the castle or the knights. Watching her child indulge in the process of teaching others the same way she does warmed their mother’s heart.

“...When will mom co-...?” - Hornet yawned mid-word.

“They need some more time, little princess. But I heard sleeping makes time go faster.”

“You made that up!”

“My-my, you are a clever child! People can tell you a lot of lies, but you can ask your mom if what I said was true.”

“I can’t ask her now.” “We’ll just have to wait then, huh. ... Or you could try and see for yourself“ “But I can’t sleep. I’m not tired!”

“Do you want me to sing you a lullaby?” “What is lulby?”

“A special song they sing to princesses when they can’t sleep.” “You made that up again!” “Well, I won’t sing it then.” “No, I wanna hear!”

“Lie down and close your eyes then.”

The queen wrapped her hands around Deepnest’s princess, dimming her glow, and a soft hum soon crept just at the edges of Hornet’s hearing. It grew into a melody, and somehow, a song, although the sounds weren't like words at all, they resembled ringing, resonating with the sound of the garden, and the specks of white glow seemed to dance to their tune. The pale beings song was not in any language, but the meaning of its lines Hornet would carry in her memory long after, and years later she’d put them into words she could actually sing herself.

Twist the spindle Round and round Princess sleeps Don’t make a sound Born of three

And left with none Stop the spindle thread is done.

In the darkness

Far below

Wishing star

Is born to glow

Thread by thread

The star has sawn Silky web

they’ll call their own

Soon came spring To be her guest

Gave her life Then left to rest Summer came Was brief and sad left behind

A cloak of red Autumn took The lone star in Made her strong Fit to be queen Winter shook The web star made Soon two bugs Came for her aid Hide the bugs

In her cocoon Safe from winter

Pale as moon Twist the spindle Round and round Princess sleeps Don’t make a sound Born of three And left with none Stop the spindle thread is done.

To the gentle hum of the song Herrah found her daughter sleeping in White Lady’s hands. No words were exchanged between them as she gently took Hornet and held her close, the little princess will soon be home.

( @huntersapprentice​ )

( @astronomicartz​ ) 

( @brimal-baspid​ )