#they take the brunt of most of it and try to keep him from losing his mind

[guileless-beast]

Reuniting with them… after they’ve twisted

(Ft. Astro, Glisten, Razzle + Dazzle, Shrimpo)

Tags: longpost, headcanons, ambiguous relationship, previous relationship, kinda implied you’re immune to Ichor or smth bc theres no mention of you getting infected, lots of hurt/comfort

notes: first post! pls be nice to me

Astro

•He doesn’t recognize you at first. Not for a while, actually

•Mindlessly chases you around like all the other twisteds, though something in him stirs when he first spots you

•Get somewhere safe and up high where he can’t reach with his arms. His telekinesis has been destroyed by the Ichor; the most he can do with it now is tug on your shirt, and he isn’t exactly focused enough to do so anyway, so you'll be safe so long as he can't grab you

•Talk. About anything, preferably things you used to do with him. Your voice is familiar. Comforting. It soothes the ache in his heart that the Ichor once weaponized

•Resist your own exhaustion long enough, and Astro himself will fall asleep listening to you

•Let him rest. In a few hours he’ll wake up and you can keep trying to help him remember who he is, or you can leave while he sleeps if you think it’s getting too dangerous

Glisten

•Yells your name and RUNS at you full speed. It’s more than a little terrifying.

•He doesn’t mean any harm- he really doesn’t!- he’s just been alone for so long… he’s sobbing as he chases you, he can’t lose you again, he just can’t, please-

•Tackles you down and hugs the life out of you. Literally. If you don’t tell him to let up in time you might lose a heart

•He apologizes, but doesn’t let go. Keeps babbling about how he missed you- he’s hardly even coherent, but you get the gist

•Get to a secluded little spot and let him cry in your arms. Rub the top half of his back and cuddle him close; he desperately needs comfort after what he’s been through

•He appreciates every bit of affection you give him, even if it just makes him cry harder

•So long as you let him stay with/follow you, he'll do anything you ask. Need help extracting? He's even better at extracting than before, somehow. Running from a twisted? You're already in his arms. He'll even scrounge around with you for supplies!

•Be careful if he somehow finds makeup, though. He'll doll you up as SOON as the two of you are safe.

•(And if you do his own, he'll be giddy for the rest of the day.)

Razzle + Dazzle

•Sit just outside the circle with the both of them. Don’t talk, don’t make noise. Razzle bears the brunt of their infection; he won’t recognize you if you wake him. Not immediately, at least.

•Eventually Dazzle is going to wake up from his doze and scan around them for any threats, and spot you

•Dazzle will recognize you after a moment, and his expression will turn positively miserable. You’re not safe around him and Razzle, you need to leave…

•Silently keep them company for long enough and Dazzle WILL shed a few tears. It’s just been him and Razzle for who knows how long, and while he is very worried for your safety it’s nice to have someone else here (that isn’t crazed with Ichor)

•Razzle’ll finally wake up in the middle of his twin crying and see you. As he always does when he spots someone, he takes control of their body and stands, preparing to attack, but-

•…he can’t do anything so long as you’re not in the circle, though. He’ll growl and pull at the weight they’re tied to (as Dazzle squeaks and tries to take back control to no avail) but settles after a while

•Much like Astro, some part of Razzle tries to remember, but can’t- though, your face helps more than your voice in Razzle’s case. He won’t go back to sleep, no matter how much Dazzle pleads

•He sits and stares at you unendingly. It’s possible to talk to Razzle like this- though, he’ll pay more attention to your expression and gestures than your words

•Stay with them for a while, please. You’re the only way Razzle can be calm while awake, and while Dazzle knows it’d be safer for you if you left, your presence eases his mind too

Shrimpo

•It’s Shrimpo. Be ready for a fight.

•He recognizes you almost immediately. Does a full stop AND double take. He'll just stand there for a few moments until you move, and then he'll start chasing you like normal- or…

•...almost like normal. He's faster, more desperate, more angry, and keeps making these gurgling sounds as you try to lose him (to no avail; all his attention is on you, all he is going after is you)

•Be prepared to block his punches. He’s stronger now- they will hurt if they land. If you can, bring some kind of armor or protection for yourself like a shield along with all the patience you have. Otherwise, your arms are going to be real sore from blocking his attacks.

•He’ll punch, and punch, and punch some more. He’s so pissed it almost hurts. How dare you leave him for so long? How dare you think you could just waltz right up to him and be friends normal again?

•(How dare you abandon him here? How dare you not be there for him when he needed you most? How dare you not be there when the Ichor took over and he nearly suffocated? Where were you? Why did you leave him? What did he do?)

•Don’t hit back; your goal is to outlast him, not to overpower him. Let him take out his blind rage on your shield/guards, or you’ll never make progress with him.

•Don’t worry, it won’t take too long for him to falter. He’s still Shrimpo, after all. Wait until his punches weaken and his fists shake. Wait until he starts taking a full second between hits. Wait until he connects one more blow with your defense, and then shove him downward.

•Given he just exhausted himself, he’ll definitely be knocked flat on the ground. It’ll take him a good moment to get up- use this time to kneel down, slide your arms beneath him, and press him into your chest.

•He’ll try to move away- keyword: try, because no matter how hard he wants to, he cannot move his arms. All he can do is twitch and make those gurgling noises again as you gather the rest of him into your lap.

•Just… be patient, and hold him. He’s quite literally never experienced anything like this before. Eventually Shrimpo will stop leaning away. He won’t lean in, per se, but he’ll stop fighting it and go limp.

•Tell him how long you’ve been looking for him, how much you missed him, how glad you are to see him again; and maybe, just maybe, he’ll find the strength to shakily bring his arms around you.

•He rationalizes it as an attempt to scratch you, but he’s still too fatigued to do any damage.

•(Not only that, but he tells himself the heat in his eyes is just Ichor, too.)

[dollwrites]

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!reader, noncon and then dubcon, suggested age gap ( reader is early 20s, yujiro is late 30s ), light degradation, impact play, clit torture, reader cries, name calling ( whore ), face slapping, all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

𝗸���𝗻𝗸𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟯 ∣ day eight [ yujiro hanma + impact ]

it takes two fingers to make you cry.

two of Yujiro’s massive, powerful digits to make you tremble and beg for mercy.

“Shameful,” he mutters, an air of disdain to his rumbly baritone. as if he’s disappointed in how quickly you turn to blubbering. “I’ve hardly touched you.” but the wicked grin he wore told the truth— that he knew how much pressure he’d applied with those two fingers, and he expected nothing less than to make you sob. “And I can’t tell from those whiny noises if you’re really needy or fucking pathetic.”

you were both.

the length of his fingers rub between your sticky folds, their thickness forcing your netherlips to slot around them, and you squirm and pant, but it’s when he taps against your swollen clit that you really lose it. unlike any other man, when the rough pads make contact with your button, you don’t feel the sting on the exposed and vulnerable exterior nerves as if you’ve been spanked, but the raw power he could channel through his fingers. it surges through your core, seeping deep into you, reaching spongy, hidden clusters of sensitivity that should be impossible. as if he’d aimed right for them, he focuses each assault. your clit throbs, but it’s the iceberg’s submerged nerves that take the brunt of the impact.

“Y—Yujiro!” you cry out, as you twitch and writhe beneath him.

you didn’t know how this was possible.

how he could do this.

it shouldn’t have been possible.

and yet, when he did it again, battering your body’s defenses with a drumming of his two fingers against your clit, and you feel as though he’s struck you with a high voltage cattle prod, your back arches, desperate to push him off. your heels push against the mattress, eager to try and scramble away from the sensation.

“That—!” that hurts like hell. it’s too much. what are you doing? these all came to mind, but you couldn’t voice a single one. his fingertips drum against you, a barrage of rapid fire, superhuman pressure targeting your most sensitive depths, and you threw your head back, tears pricking against the corners of your eyes. it hurt, but there was more to it than just pain. as if he’d stuck the world’s most powerful vibrator directly against your hyper-sensitive interior nerves, a rush of flustered euphoria rushes to your stomach, knotting it up. “S-s—top—“

you weren’t sure if you really wanted him to, though. your body screamed and writhed, convulsing as he attacks your sex, but at the same time, your toes curl tight, and your breath turns into furious, warm puffs. your hips winding like a snake, trying to hump up against his large, rough hand.

“I-I’m— gonna—!”

“Cum from the abuse?” Yujiro’s voice is low, his mouth twisted in a hungry smile that could be misread as a grin. “Your little legs are starting to tremble; you’re sobbing but you can’t stop riding my hand, begging for me to keep hurting you. Do you know what that makes you?”

you look away, smearing your tear-stained cheek into the pillow as you pant and mumble, hoping for a mercy that you knew he’d never give you. “Yujiro… p-please…”

“Go ahead and say it.” tap. tap. tap. you gurgle and grunt, hips bucking as you smother your own whimpers. “What does that make you?”

you knew what he wanted to hear. the word he’s drilled into your head since day one. the word that he’s called you over and over. but you couldn’t say it. not without a little more persuasion, which he was more than willing to give you.

your face is tiny and delicate as he snatches it up by your chin, dragging it back and pushing the back of your head into the pillow. “Look at me,” his massive chest rises and falls, he snorts every, heavy breath through flared nostrils. you flinch, bathed in the heat of his ragged breathing, smushed into the mattress, forced on your back. you hear the smack of his palm making contact with your supple cheek before you feel the certain pain to follow, and it rocks your face to the side. in the moment that follows, fire floods your face and you see stars, and blink rapidly to maintain your eyesight. “One more time. Look here.” he says, his mighty thumb pressing against your chin as he pulls your face back into place. you’re staring at him in shock, his second mind numbing slap coming down hard on the same spot. to him, it was the mildest swat, but to you? your head was swimming, as if he’d slapped your brains loose, and you’re vaguely aware of the thickness of two, massive digits between your thighs pushing into your clenching hole.

“F—fuck—!”

“You’re covered in my marks, the shape of my hand will be a bruise on your face for a week, maybe longer.” he seems to chuckle at that, angling your face back to him. you worry he might hit you again. you prepare for impact, but it doesn’t come. he just holds your face there. you’ve no choice but to comply, peeking up at him with sparkling eyes and parted lips. “But you’re still fucking wet. Your cunt is still squeezing my fingers, and you’re still going to cum. What does that make you.”

“A…. Whore….” your voice is soft, and you choke on the word, almost not wanting to say it, but when you do, a wide, demonic grin stretches across his face, turning his muscles into elastic.

“Not good enough. Whose?”

“Y—Your… whore.”

[hamsternella]

Douma being in love please?? and obsessed maybe👀

Douma x Reader

cw: obsession, yandere behavior, non-con elements, murder, gore, MDNI

Blood and viscera. Torn muscle beneath the fleshy openings of an unrecognizable body; the face contorted into a crude grimace. You thrust with both hands into one of the many flesh bags, keeping your sword glued to one of your legs. You tried not to lose sight of it as you made your way through the forest in the gloom.

The smell was intoxicating. The truth is that you wanted to vomit. Maybe retrace your steps and wait for a Hashira. But one of your companions was still alive, and most likely trapped with a Superior Moon. It would be a shame not to try to die on the spot for them; risk your sword with it, and put your training to the test. Even if the thought of ending up as another bruised and unrecognizable piece of meat turned your stomach.

A muffled murmur in the distance made your hair stand on end. You stopped in place, unsheathing your sword before you began to slide your feet along the pools of blood, taking cover behind the thicker trees. You regulated your breathing, approaching delicately until you came up with another scream. This time a broken one; a ghastly sound, accompanied by a piercing cry.

And a laugh.

A soft, sweet laugh. The crying was softer this time, and overshadowed by an animated voice. You tried to register the demon behind this atrocity, but you didn't think you had encountered this voice before. This way of mutilating. You wanted to try to see who was holding your companion; but you feared you would be discovered on your way out of the tree.

"Where are they? I'm still missing one."

A muffled sound. You assume the demon slayer drowning in their own blood. And then another laugh.

"I'm going to stick a finger through here... and I think I'll hang you up there. See?" Silence. A few steps, away from where you were, and the murmur of flesh being forced. A tearing; another torrent of blood-drowned cries. "How cute!"

You swallowed dryly, stopping your hands from shaking. Sooner or later you were going to have to get out. Sooner or later, even if you ended up dead and torn, the demon would find you and a fight would ensue. And you would have to endure. You were going to have to be of help until the sun took its place in the sky, or a hashira appeared.

Any moment.

A sigh, a laugh; and footsteps through the leaves and earth, with the distant gurgle of your companion.

Any moment.

You prepared your position, looking for where the demon was coming from. You held the sword with fear and anxiety running through your guts.

Any moment.

And there he was.

"Welcome, little one!"

Douma underestimated you

He did not believe much of you, neither by the way you held yourself, nor by the way you used your sword

He thought you were just a pretty face

But the truth is, you turned out to be freakishly skillful

You tore one of his arms, and almost made him lose an eye; but he was beginning to enjoy himself

He did not bother to take the fight seriously. The sun was not yet up; but the hashiras were approaching and you could no longer bear the brunt of his attacks

Douma tried to remember your face and your scent, excited to meet you again in the near future

The need to taste your blood burning in his throat; the hunger growing in the pit of his stomach as he disappeared into the distance, listening to your war cries

Since then, he has not stopped thinking about you

Eventually, your fight with the superior demon, in the forest, was rewarded with enormous gratitude, and a promotion that allowed you to be trained by a Hashira. This not only fueled the flame of your determination, but also made it easier for Douma to track you down. Neither of you stopped thinking about the other.

While your memories were inflamed with hatred, his were fueled by an almost unhealthy desire to find you again. Your face, which he considered beautiful when stricken with resentment and terror, was etched in his retina; the gleam of your blade reflecting in your gaze like a ghost. Your scent still wafted around him, as if clinging to his hands, with which he tightened his grip on your neck. The vein throbbing against his skin still existed even though you were not there.

Douma needed your head sheltered in a nice glass holder, and your heart deep in his stomach, after being chewed by his teeth and having soaked his lips with your blood. Nothing turned him on more than imagining you with him; your body under his, with his nose sunk into the space of your neck. Maybe a hand hidden under your clothes, to tear your belly and feel the tenderness of your viscera.

The second meeting was after many, many months; but it was received with great emotion by the superior demon, who kept knocking down humans in the hope of attracting your hatred towards him. Your attention. It was what he had been wishing for with deep desperation.

This time it was very difficult for Douma to contain himself

Seeing you fight with greater courage than before, and resisting his harm, inflamed him bestially

But there was something strange. You noticed that the demon wasn't even making an effort

The truth is that Douma wasn't trying to kill you at all

It was strange even to him; he had thought he had outgrown that side of himself

He didn't want you to disappear so soon

His hunger for you was increasing with every moment, his desire to drink your blood

But listening to your voice, even your breathing; and being able to see the change in your expressions were a thousand times more gratifying

The fight ended with you splitting the demon in half

One of your arms ended up broken; the other, too injured to continue

Breathing felt like swallowing needles. You would close your eyes as you inhaled, and open them with tears streaming down your cheeks as you exhaled. You needed to regulate your body if you wanted to survive until the sun came. Not for the demon to die, exactly. He could regenerate as he pleased; you knew he wasn't going to die that easily anyway.

You simply wanted to die while watching the sun in the sky. You didn't like the night. It reminded you of all the things you hated: darkness, death, demons... the night when you met this monster, especially. Since then you never stopped feeling watched; even your companions warning you of some strange movement around your mission sites.

As if someone was pulling the strings of a puppet theater.

Your eyes fell on the eyes of the demon. His head on his side, on the ground, still attached to his upper body. The rest was inches away and he hadn't even bothered to regenerate. Didn't he want to devour you? The Hashiras weren't going to get there that fast, anyway.

Unable to support your weight, you fell to your knees with your arms immovably at your sides, tight to your body. Your hands hit the ground. Your eyes, eyelids heavy with sleep from blood loss, still fixed on the demon.

"What are you thinking so carefully about? It's a bit embarrassing that you won't stop staring at me..."

His voice had taken you by surprise. You had a hard time answering him; your throat hurt from the blows.

"You're not... going to kill me?"

"I'm debating that right now, actually," he said with a sigh. He averted his gaze from you, searching the sky for answers. "What's so complicated?"

"I'd like to... I'd like to die with the... with the sun..." you coughed awkwardly, and a little blood shot straight to the ground. You frowned in pain. "Please... let me die here..."

"Douma."

You looked at him with confusion. He just smiled.

"It's Douma. You can call me that!"

The lower half of his body disintegrated, and almost instantly the rest materialized with a sickening sound of flesh and bone. In one leap he was on his feet again. He didn't seem to want to let you out of his sight, though there was no way for you to escape him. The thought made him almost tremble with joy.

You couldn't go anywhere. Not if he didn't allow it. Nowhere away from him. Didn't that sound wonderful?

When the demon stood in front of you, his body leaning forward slightly, his hands on his hips, you couldn't help but admire the color of his eyes. They were mesmerizing and terrifying; the color of a rainbow in the gaze of a beast.

"What should I do with you, then?" he asked with a smile. "It would be very sad if you were to die so soon... But there's no one to save you either!"

Douma put a finger to his lips, pretending to be burdened with a difficult decision. The truth was clear even to you: he already knew very well what he wanted to do with you. And when that realization fell on your head, you couldn't help but shake your body, wanting to pull away. Your legs barely responded.

"Don't you... fucking dare to touch me, monster..."

"But it would be great! Doesn't an eternity by my side sound rewarding?"

His hand grabbed you by the hair, lifting your head. You let out a whimper as your neck rattled miserably. Douma's eyes narrowed with the growth of his smile; a grimace of pure cynicism that turned your stomach.

"We could fight all our lives if that's what you want," he whispered, "or let you die in the sunlight."

His smile trembled for a moment, threatening to disappear. There was a long silence. Something was going on in his head as you writhed in pain.

"Honestly... I don't think I like the idea of you ending up like that so soon." Douma frowned, confused. "It's kind of strange, isn't it? Disappointing too."

His hand released your hair, returning to his hip.

"I guess this confirms my greatest suspicions!"

His laughter burst in his throat like an explosion of pure happiness, but it didn't last long. You interrupted him before he returned his attention to you, nudging him with your head as you propelled yourself with a piercing scream into his stomach. Surprise kept him frozen, but as soon as he was stable again, he wrapped his arms around your body in a tight embrace.

You wanted to cry from frustration. That wasn't even what you wanted to achieve; but the energy had long since left your body.

"Aw, how sweet of you! Who knew you'd thank me like this?"

"Let me go!"

"Let me think about it. Uh... no!"

His nails pierced the fabric of your clothes, reaching your skin. You held back another scream, choking back the pain with tears blurring your vision.

"I can't wait to see the things you're going to accomplish very soon..."

The transformation was painful and, obviously, forced

Douma made sure to keep you with him throughout the process. The smile didn't leave his face even when a group of demon slayers appeared on the scene

You killed them; he took care of a Hashira so that you could feed yourself to your heart's content

You cried all the time

He thought you looked even more beautiful doing it

In the end he carried your body away from the place, leaving the Hashira badly wounded. His only interest was you

Being with Douma was strange and annoying

He is especially loud all the time. He always seeks to figure in everything you do; and he wants to be where you are

All the time

Killing yourself was something you came to think about: dying in the sun. But he discovered you in the attempt

Punishment is something that could not be written down or said

Humiliating. Remembering it made you want to tear your skin off.

You stretched out an arm, reaching for one of the blankets in the distance, but Douma's claws digging into your flesh made you close your eyes, surrendered. The pain was imperceptible; by now you were used to it. It was commonplace considering your current nature... and the creature you had to live with because of it.

A gasp from the demon on your back caught your attention; his hot breath caressing the skin on the back of your neck. You didn't even bother to continue to deny his hands along your body. For you it was humiliating; for him, a sign that you were beginning to learn how things were going to be from now on.

"You keep thinking," he whispered hoarsely. "You always think—you don't stop. What is it that keeps you so far away from this place?"

His nails crawled along your arm, tearing your skin with deep cuts that healed as soon as they were opened.

"I thought I was very clear. You don't need to think." A laugh vibrated behind your back. The urge to cry hit you hard. "Not here, not with me... not with them."

His other hand grabbed your hair, forcing you to arch your body to reach his face. His eyes searched yours; in his gaze the ghost of madness.

"Because you're not going anywhere; not even in your mind," he muttered with a smile. "That belongs to me. All of you do. And nothing's going to change that fact."

And you knew it was true.

[overwatch-headcanoning]

Overwatch 2 Angst Headcanons

Just a few angsty headcanons for my overwatch favs because I'm having a bad day. Enjoy!

Mentions of self harm, chronic pain, SA and other abuse below the cut. Please read with caution and minors DO NOT interact. 18+

☣️ Hazard: He hides it well but his body aches, all the time. Phantom pains, chaffing until the skin is raw, muscular stress from uneven limbs. You name it, he's dealt with it. He metabolizes the pain as just another part of life and has learned to mostly ignore it but some days, especially after a particularly rough mission, it all comes crashing back and he can barley stand. He laughs it off, makes excuses to slink off on his own and as soon as he's alone he collapses. Screwing his eyes shut and just trying to breath through the pain. Feelings of loss and weakness crashing over him like a wave, threatening to drown him. He sits like that, in a heap, for hours, sometimes a full night. Just trying to lessen the pain or ignore it until it fades back into the dull ache he carries every moment of every day. It's still better than the alternative but sometimes it threatens to drive him mad.

🦉 Reaper: Sometimes, alone in the middle of the night, Reaper hauls himself to the bathroom and stands in front of the mirror. Staring with hallow red eyes at his own reflection for hours, trying desperately to spot any remnants of who he used to be. He drags claws fingers over his cheek bones and chin, trying to see something besides a monster. Trying to pretend it's a living face once again. He stares at himself until he's disoriented and angry. Sometimes the mirror takes the brunt of the frustration and pain, other times he turns it on himself. Tearing at his face and body just trying to bleed like he used to, or hurt in a different way. Something, anything to make him feel alive. Nothing ever works and eventually the rage and desperation dies down into exhaustion and surrender and he leaves the room in a cloud of smoke, letting his body come apart in defeat. Knowing he will be called back to work soon and the cycle will start all over again.

🐸 Lucio: Sometimes before a show and often times after one he will make cheerful excuses to head to the bathroom or his dressing room for a few minutes. As soon as the door closes behind him and he's sure he's alone he sinks to the ground, already hyperventilating. He curls into a ball, digs his fingers into his hair and has a panic attack. Sometimes they last 15-20 minutes. Other times he only allows himself 1 or 2 minutes of shaking on the ground, sobbing, struggling to breathe and pulling on his hair. The panic, the pressure, the risk he endures every day would get to anyone but he doesn't allow himself much. Just those few minutes of complete despair and terror. He's had panic attacks since he was a child so he knows how to deal with them but he can't stop them. So he just makes sure he has his time alone to come undone, even just for a minute or two before pulling himself back together, plastering on his happy face and going back out to face it all again. He has a reputation to uphold and people need him. They can't think he's weak or not enjoying himself, so he never lets anyone see it.

🪷 Lifeweaver: Most of the time he is all smiles and confidant quips but some nights, sitting alone in what ever safe house he is hiding away in, alone, the tears come. He sits tall, back straight, staring straight ahead as tears run a river down his cheeks. He doesn't sob, he doesn't shake. He just lets the tears come and burn his eyes as he thinks of his family, his school friends, his exes. All people he couldn't keep in his life. All people he was forced to turn his back on or watch them turn their backs on him. Niran is a people person but the path he has chosen in life forces him to spend most of his resting hours alone. Completely, staggeringly alone. He has learned to cope with it for the most part. Tea, music and novels help. As well as losing himself in his work, but some nights he can't escape it and the tears overwhelm him. Flooding him with memories of people he can't have, people he can't afford to love. People who have betrayed him or given up on him. Or worse yet, people he has betrayed or abandon. He can't tell which is worse but he sheds tears for all of them.

🐰 D.va/Hana Song: Not much gets to this streaming super star but there are dark parts of the internet she can't quite stand to look at. Once, near the beginning of her career taking off she took some time to scour the internet for what they were saying about her and what she found left her stomach in knots. She found hate forums, webpages full of threats and worst of all, a lot of people fantasizing about assaulting her. She closed the computer and never spoke of it again, never daring to look or let it get to her but sometimes the thoughts sneak back in. She tries to be a hero and entertainer and devote herself to her fans and her country but every once in a while it breaks her knowing how many people out there want to hurt her, take her against her will, humiliate her, etc. She gives everything and it's still not enough for some people. They want to take more and she can't ignore it. No matter how much she tries. One wrong step and people would descent on her like hungry wolves.

🟡🟣 Moira: Her confidence is unwavering but sometimes even she has to admit she might have gone too far. It's not uncommon for her to wake upon the middle of the night in a cold sweat, struggling to breathe, dizzy and sickly pale. The throbbing pain in her arm threatening to overtake her. She did this to herself yet in the wee hours of the morning, alone in the darkness. She can't help feeling like a victim. The pain is unimaginable and while she has learned to manage it with painkillers and injections to slow the spread, it's still there, it's still happening. Her own brilliant work eating away at her flesh. Sometimes it makes her so sick she can barley move, too dizzy to stand and too nauseous to eat. In those moments, despite herself and her ego, Moira wonders if she will be able to save herself after all. For all her plans, theories and experiments, she is still withering away, painfully. In those few, rare moments of weakness she wonders if she will be another victim of her own ambition.

[bananadramaaa]

Idk if you’ve got any ideas or backstory for Alastor’s sisters, but I love the designs for them and have kind of taken some ideas about them and ran with it, mostly about the eldest, Adeline, though:

• Adelice was definitely a protector of the whole bunch. Alastor helped protect the younger sisters and worried a lot about his older sister, but Adelice would make a target out of herself to make sure the younger kids faced as little of their father’s bad days as possible.

• Leonore and Bertilda (the younger two) still experience a lot of the family drama, but it’s a little less than what their older siblings do since they try to keep them out of the fire, so while the older two seem to mature way too quickly, the younger two stay kids for a bit longer. This, however does piss off their father, who takes every moment to ridicule them on their inability to act like their older siblings when their older siblings aren’t able to keep them out of the fire.

• Adelice also gives off Tiana from Princess and the Frog vibes. She’s got a Dream and she’s gonna work hard every day to make it happen.

• Alastor Worries™️ and thinks she’s pushing herself too much, taking on the brunt of their father’s anger, taking on so many jobs, and trying to get as much of an education as she can for as cheap as she can get it. So he becomes her Distraction, constantly dragging her off to parties and out drinking and listening to music. Anything to get her to chill tf out.

• He’s also a hypocrite though, considering he takes on a ton of “side jobs” by the time he’s 15 before he starts working in radio to try to help out their maman. He somehow manages to get all the fun jobs though. She’s out here working in restaurants and factories and he’s playing piano at the speakeasy and working at a nearby gator farm during the summers. And even the jobs that shouldn’t be fun, he manages to turn into a blast, like apprenticing at the butchers or working the graveyard shift at the cemetery. He thinks he’s so damn funny, while his bosses low-key wanna strangle him. This somehow makes him more likable as a radio host.

• Eventually, Adelice manages to find herself a nice, rich, Creole man who she and Alastor run through the wringer trying to test just how wholesome of a man he is before she’ll accept his hand in marriage. This man is confused, but he is dead set on winning her heart. He offers her the money to achieve her dream, he offers her the happy and stress-free life that New Orleans won’t afford her, he offers a life where she’s free and not trapped by anybody, himself included, and most importantly, he offers to take her whole family away from their father and the impoverished life that keeps them with him.

• Their maman can’t fathom a life without her husband, but she can see why they’d want to leave.

• Alastor doesn’t want to lose his sisters, but he knows someone has to watch out for their maman and he’s far to attached to New Orleans to leave it now.

• Before all his sisters leave, Adelice jokingly says she’s gonna name a son after him and he politely declines the offer.

• They move to Alabama or something and he never sees them again, but Adelice has a bunch of happy children that she loves who know all about him :)

• Bertilda also gets married, but Bertilda and her husband find themselves unable to have kids so they adopt a cute little red-headed girl and her green-eyed little brother.

• Leonore dates a lot of people before she finds the perfect gal for her and they move in together as “friends.” Their maman was a bit progressive in some ways and taught them not to judge, where most others would do when Adelice and Bertilda don’t make a big deal out of it when they find out about it.

• All three of them keep an eye on the news regarding New Orleans and whatever can be said about their famous radio host brother from far away.

• The only times the lot of them return to New Orleans is when they hear about Alastor’s death and their maman’s death.

I've talked briefly about them in this ask :3 And I really enjoyed reading your version of their story. It seems more wholesome compared to what I have in mind for them (like Adelice definitely won in this one) XD

[kaayyyys]

Daryl Dixon x Reader x Rick Grimes

Part 2: Crossroads and Confessions

The Georgia sun beat down with relentless intensity, baking the earth and shimmering off the cracked asphalt of the abandoned highway. We were on the move again, a nomadic band of survivors searching for a sanctuary that always seemed just out of reach. Each day blurred into the next, a monotonous cycle of scavenging, clearing walkers, and setting up camp. But amidst the grim reality of our existence, a different kind of tension simmered, a silent, unspoken undercurrent that made the air crackle with a strange energy. It revolved around me, and the two men who held my heart captive in different ways: Daryl Dixon and Rick Grimes.

Daryl. Just the thought of him sent a shiver down my spine. He was a force of nature, a gruff exterior shielding a heart of gold. His eyes, usually narrowed in suspicion, softened when he looked at me, reflecting a vulnerability he rarely showed to anyone else. He was my protector, my confidante, the man who taught me how to survive in this brutal world. He showed me how to track, how to shoot, how to trust my instincts. But most importantly, he showed me that even in the darkest of times, love could still bloom in the most unexpected places.

Rick, on the other hand, was the leader. He carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, making impossible decisions with unwavering resolve. He was the moral compass of our group, the one who strived to maintain humanity in a world that had lost its way. He was strong, dependable, and fiercely protective of those he cared about. And he cared about me. I saw it in the way he always made sure I was safe, in the way he listened intently when I spoke, in the rare, fleeting smiles that lit up his face when our eyes met.

The pull between them, and my own internal conflict, was becoming unbearable. It was a tightrope walk, balancing my feelings for both men while trying to maintain the fragile peace of our group. I knew I couldn't keep it up forever. A decision had to be made, but the thought of choosing one over the other tore me apart.

One sweltering afternoon, as we were clearing out a dilapidated gas station, Daryl and I found ourselves separated from the others. We were inside the convenience store, methodically searching for supplies when a small horde of walkers shuffled in through the broken windows. Daryl, ever vigilant, immediately stepped in front of me, his crossbow raised.

"Stay behind me," he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

The walkers groaned and clawed, their rotting flesh a grotesque reminder of the world we now inhabited. Daryl dispatched them with ruthless efficiency, each bolt finding its mark with deadly accuracy. But one walker, hidden behind a shelf, lunged at me. Before I could react, Daryl spun around, shoving me out of the way and taking the brunt of the attack.

I gasped, my heart leaping into my throat. The walker’s teeth grazed his arm, tearing through his leather jacket and drawing blood. I grabbed a nearby crowbar and smashed it against the walker’s skull, silencing its moans forever.

"Daryl!" I cried, kneeling beside him. "Are you okay?"

He winced, clutching his arm. "Just a scratch," he mumbled, but I could see the pain in his eyes.

We quickly bandaged the wound with a strip of cloth torn from my shirt. As I tended to him, my hands trembled. The fear of losing him, even for a moment, was a stark reminder of how deeply I cared.

"Thank you," he said, his voice rough. "For having my back."

"Always," I replied, meeting his gaze.

In that moment, surrounded by the ruins of our former lives, something shifted between us. The unspoken feelings, the simmering tension, finally reached a boiling point.

"I..." Daryl began, then hesitated, his eyes searching mine. "I care about you, (Y/N). More than I ever thought possible."

My breath caught in my throat. I had longed to hear those words for so long, but now that they were finally spoken, I didn't know what to say.

Before I could respond, Rick's voice boomed from outside. "Daryl! (Y/N)! You alright in there?"

Daryl and I exchanged a look, a silent understanding passing between us. The moment was gone, interrupted by the reality of our situation.

Later that evening, as we sat around the campfire, the shadows danced around us, concealing and revealing the emotions etched on our faces. Rick sat beside me, his arm brushing against mine. He was telling a story about Carl, a memory from before the world fell apart. His voice was filled with a quiet sadness, a longing for a time that was lost forever.

"He misses his mom," Rick said, his voice barely a whisper. "He needs a mother figure in his life."

He looked at me, his eyes filled with a raw vulnerability that made my heart ache. I knew what he was asking, without him having to say the words. He wanted me to be a part of his family, to help him raise Carl, to fill the void left by Lori's death.

"Rick," I said softly, "I... I don't know what to say."

He took my hand, his grip firm and reassuring. "Just... think about it," he said. "That's all I ask."

The night deepened, the stars twinkling like distant beacons in the vast expanse of the sky. I lay awake in my sleeping bag, staring up at the heavens, my mind reeling. Daryl's confession, Rick's unspoken plea – they swirled around me, creating a vortex of confusion and heartache.

I loved them both, in different ways, for different reasons. Daryl was the wild, untamed spirit, the one who awakened a primal passion within me. Rick was the steady anchor, the one who offered stability and a sense of family.

How could I possibly choose?

The answer, I knew, lay within myself. I had to find the courage to face my own desires, to listen to my heart, and to make a decision that would not only shape my own future but also the future of those I loved.

As the first rays of dawn painted the sky, I knew that the time for reckoning was near. The crossroads were upon us, and the path I chose would determine the course of our lives forever. The next step would be the hardest, and the most important, I had ever taken. And I knew, deep in my soul, that whatever I chose, someone would be hurt. But staying silent, staying undecided, was hurting everyone already. It was time to be brave.

[yours-etc]

12 Days of Steddie-Mas

Day 1:

I’ll Have A Blue Christmas

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

The fresh snow crunches under his boots. Flakes fall from the sky, sticking to his hat and shoulders and eyelashes. A cloudy of mist fans out from Steve’s mouth when he gasps as he slips on a patch of ice. He grips the flowers tight in his hand as he regains his balance, the box of cookies he had falls from his grip and onto the ground. Luckily it stayed closed and the cookies mostly intact when he peaked in.

“God damn this fucking snow!” Steve exclaimed, kicking the white fluff in frustration. He loved Indiana, but Jesus Christ, he was so sick of Midwestern winters.

The cemetery is empty besides Steve, the headstones, and whatever ghosts of Christmas were lingering around.

Steve finds his was to the plot he was looking for. He lays out a blanket so he doesn’t have to sit directly on the cold ground. He takes the now dead and frozen old flowers from the small vase and replaces them with the poinsettias he brought.

“Hey Mom,” he breathes out, tracing the words Roasanne Harrington Loving Wife, Mother, Sister, and Friend.

“Sorry it's been a while, you know how I hate the cold,” Steve laughs out the second half, “But you always loved Christmas, so I had to come celebrate.”

There’s no response from the stone, but Steve doesn’t mind the silence.

“This isn’t the first Christmas without you, but it’s definitely the one that hurts the most,” he starts, “because I can almost pretend to be happy. There are moments where I forget you’re gone. And then there will just be a second, usually when I’m lost in thought, or when I’m watching everyone laugh, I just think about how much you’d love them all. I’m sorry you never got to meet them, my new family I guess you could call them. You would love Robin, she reminds me of you. Her love of the holidays, her sense of humor, the way she looks at the world,” Steve sucks in a deep breath trying to stop himself from crying, tears pricking at his eyes, “Oh mom, you would have adored her.” He loses his battle with his emotions. Tears flood from his eyes and sob shudders through his body.

“I’m sorry we never got to patch things up before you left. It- it felt like there— there for a moment, at the end— we were getting close to being able to. I think after the wedding we both realized how much we missed each other. And I want you to know I don’t blame you for sticking by Dad,” Steve didn’t acknowledge the headstone to his left that had his father’s name on it.

“You loved him, and I’m sure, at some point, he was good. It’s hard to let go of things sometimes.” Steve swipes away his tears with the back of his coat sleeve. He didn’t need them freezing on his lashes.

He opened the box of cookies and took a bite of one, “I never can get them to taste the same as how you made them, I’m convinced you purposefully left out an ingredient on the written recipe.”

Steve giggles as he remembered how protective his mother was of her recipes. He quite literally could not get his hands on them till she died. And like hell was he going to let Aunt Katie take them. They were more valuable than anything left to him in the will. After the accident Steve was left with a big empty house and a stack of note card recipes.

He sold the house and laminated the cards.

With the money from the old place, he was able to but his own quaint little home. With three bedrooms and two and a half baths, Steve had finally found a home. It was a fixer upper on the outside of town, but he needed a project to keep his mind busy.

He threw his heart and soul into painting the walls a soft cream color and tearing out the drab carpet to be replaced with ward hardwood floors and redoing the front porch to fit some chairs and a swing.

He had help from Dustin, Robin, and of course Eddie— Steve played with the ring on his finger at the thought of him— but the brunt of the work was done by him.

He wanted to make his dream home. And so he did.

On the day him and Eddie moved out of their shared apartment with Robin, lots of loving tears and hugs were shared and promises of a dinner party as soon as the house was properly set up were made.

The house was a bit empty at first. They only had enough to fill half an apartment, and now they had much more space to grow. Wayne had made them a kitchen table with four chairs as a house warming gift. More tears were shed that day when he dropped it off.

Slowly but surely they filled their home with cozy couches and pillows, music, and photos of their life.

Steve didn’t need to turn around to know the footsteps approaching behind him belonged to his husband.

Eddie leaned down to give him a warm kiss on the cheek. Steve leaned into his warmth, not realizing how cold he had gotten.

“Ready to go?” Eddie asks softly, “We have to pick up little Robbie from Chrissy and Robin’s before heading to Wayne’s for dinner.”

Steve nods and grabs Eddie’s outstretched hand to help him up off the ground.

Eddie gathers up the blanket and shakes it out before bundling up under his arms. He makes a swift dramatic bow to Rosanna’s stone, “Mrs. Rose, looking as gorgeous as ever,” He doesn’t look to the left, but throws up a middle finger to Robert’s grave, “Mr. Harrington, hope hell is awful as always.”

Steve laughs at his ridiculousness before giving his mom’s stone a small kiss. Leaning his forehead against the cold rock he wishers, “You really would have loved little Robin, she reminds me of you more and more everyday. Maybe I’ll bring her next time.”

He stands to his full height and walks over to Eddie lacing their fingers together and give their hands a squeeze. Eddie squeezes back. The two of them walk back to Eddie’s new mini van, which is “totally just as metal as the old one, Stevie.”

The radio plays Christmas music as they drive off to pick up their daughter from her first ever annual Auntie Christmas Eve Eve sleepover. And in the moment Steve feels content and maybe a bit lighter.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

HAPPY DECEMBER 1st!!

Throughout the month I will be posting 12 different Steddie Christmas/Winter themed ficlets!! Just short little things to bring on the Holiday fun. Now I know this one was a bit sad… I promise there will be Happy ones too!! Anyway I hope you all enjoy <3

Day: 1 2 3 4 5 6

[tennessoui]

for the OTP post (feel free to pick one of these because I am indecisive...): regency AU - 19; Pretty bird - 50; Nanny AU - 30; or wine party AU 52.

i love your indecisiveness! thank you for sending and i will answer all of these <3

[prompts sent from this otp list]

19. How do they feel about PDA? (regency au, squick tag: a/b/o dynamics)

the real question is how does everyone around them feel about pda because you know they're over-the-top and gross and indecent about it. obi-wan's a hair more apologetic & self-conscious than anakin because he knows the weight of society's eyes and the brunt of their judgement a bit more keenly than anakin - because he was on the outskirts for most all of his life and most people were not kind. but even obi-wan's protests are pretty weak because he's just going to be happy for the rest of his life that it all worked out and he gets to love anakin skywalker!!

50. who’s more likely to do something out of spite? (pbatmb au)

lmao you picked like. the most spite-filled verse for this question!! i think the answer has to be mobi-wan, but anakin is a close second for sure. like how can i even decide who is more spiteful? both of them live off of spite. they love spite. most actions they take are out of spite. sometimes at each other (anakin post vowbreaker, obi-wan during blanket thief) but mostly at others. those who terrorize together stay together <3

30. Your OTP gets to pick out each other’s outfits; what is each wearing? (nanny au/freudian slip au)

hmmmmm nanny anakin is a simple man who fell in love with his boss, the very serious music producer, while that man was wearing a bunch of like. business suits and turtlenecks and rolled up oxford sleeves. so he's pretty satisfied with how obi-wan looks in his day to day outfits (hot af) so if he got to choose obi-wan's outfit, i think he'd go like....seriously cosy. maximum cosy. big sweater, glasses, no product in hair cosy because he doesn't get to see that a lot and this is a look that anakin adores and that obi-wan rocks

obi-wan is also a simple man. he's dating a hot young piece. get that boy in a golden speedo (during the month of the year that korkie stays with his ex-wife)

52. Describe their weekend getaway? (wine party au)

i think the funniest scenario is that they don't actually get a weekend getaway because they can't agree where they want to go. obi-wan wants to take anakin to the beach (even though he knows anakin can't swim) (because then anakin will hold his hand the entire time which obi-wan loves but can't admit it); anakin actually wants to go to a winery/vineyard (he is surprised and dismayed to find himself rooting for this option) because he wants to prove to obi-wan now that they're---whatever they are---that really, honestly, anakin can fit into his world!! really!! he wasn't trying before but now that he likes obi-wan he'd rather try than lose him.

obi-wan doesn't want to go to a vineyard because he used that excuse so many times already when he was planning outings for him and anakin. he just wants anakin, no subterfuge

(except if the subterfuge involves 'you have to hold my hand because i've taken you to an ocean on a boat again even though you can't swim')

snippet - please enjoy a scenario of obikin in the regency au absolutely disliking pda (because of course, it's not pda between each other):

"It's bordering on obscene," Anakin snaps, hand clenching around the fragile wine glass despite his best efforts to keep his tone and posture relaxed.

His cruel and uncaring sister surveys their surroundings and then looks back to him with a slight shrug. "They are sitting next to each other at a banquet, brother. Of course they have found reason to talk to another more often than to the rest."

Anakin scowls. "That is not talking, Ahsoka. Look at them. Sir Fett's hand has rested more on Obi-Wan's arm than the table for the duration of this meal."

"Ah," his sister says. "Forgive me then. I suppose I was not keeping proper attention on Mr. Kenobi's arms and hands. Of course I shall endeavor to rectify--"

The growl that escapes Anakin is completely instinctual and incredibly embarrassing. If, that is, Anakin could find the wherewithal to feel anything but offended irritation at the fact that, a mere ten seats away, at his own banquet, Obi-Wan Kenobi is allowing some other alpha to place his hand on his arm and keep it there as though it belongs there.

As if it could ever belong there.

"You are acting as if it is a claim," Ahsoka murmurs, half incredulous and half irate. She spears a small bit of vegetable on her fork and brings it to her mouth. "As if you did not spend six dances with the lady of Bancarry just the other evening."

Anakin blinks and turns to stare at her. "Euphemia has nothing to do with this--this flagrant flaunt of decorum---"

"He was upset as well," Ahsoka says as if he, her elder brother and her duke, has not spoken at all. "Terribly so, I should say. Spent half the night in the gardens."

"Who?"

"Mr. Fett," his sister says with a roll of her eyes. "Who do you think, Anakin? Your omega Kenobi. During the last ball. He was terribly upset, though I suppose not many were paying attention. Given the Jinn omegas' social standings and every---"

Anakin growls again before he can stop himself. He recovers admirably, but nevertheless it is a recovery. "The Jinn family's social standing should not be given weight nor consideration at my table," he says shortly, setting his cutlery down with the slightest bit of force.

The resulting clang of metal on metal draws the eyes of half the table--Obi-Wan's included.

The omega looks as perfect as he always has, hair perfectly parted and clothes laying perfectly rumpled on his body. His scent, too, is something most definitely from some perfect storybook. If those came with scents. He is everything Anakin has always dreamt about. Has always yearned for.

And yet he's sitting half the table away, allowing some soldier called home from the war to put his hand on his arm.

Anakin has no claim to him. It is true. It is devastating. It is true nonetheless. Obi-Wan may court any alpha he likes. He may allow a thousand men and women to touch him. He may allow a thousand more to call upon his house the next day. He may decide to see those callers this time. He may decide to see them again. He may decide to mate.

This is true.

This is also devastating.

But Anakin finds that he is growing used to devastating from this omega.

And he meant what he said, all those weeks ago. Given the choice between Obi-Wan's absence from his life and this corrosive, hurtful presence---Anakin would chose watching another alpha's fingers curl around Obi-Wan's wrist every time.

Because at least---sometimes---the omega's eyes dart to look at him. And Anakin would not give that shock of blue up for anything in the entire world.

[m-graveyard]

Dark Farfadream Royalty AU

So the Dark Farfadream Royalty AU won by a landslide so I will be talking about that. Be warned this will contain some dark themes like non/con, torture, miscarriage mentions, and just Dream going through the wringer for this idea

TW mentions of rape, miscarriage, and torture in graphic detail read at your own risk

Farfadox is the Demon King who came out victorious in a war against the kingdom of Essempi. To not have the kingdom destroyed, the nobles agree to a list of demands the Demon King has given them, one of the demands being they give him a bride because his previous spouse died and he has no heirs to his throne.

On the final day before departure, Farfadox is handed his bride who he notices is dressed in a wedding dress too big that covers the bride completely. The bride has a veil covering their face but Farfadox can see that his bride-to-be is trembling in fear as they are pushed into the Demon King's arms, ignoring the snide remarks from the soldiers who brought him his bride, he lifts the veil covering their face to see beautiful emerald green eyes filled with tears staring back at him. His bride's face is heavily scarred but to Farfadox, his bride is one of the most beautiful people in the world he has seen

OR

Dream, Essempi's princess turned prince has been locked away in prison after his family was overthrown and executed by the NotFound family with him only being alive due to the NotFound family's son who took an interest in him. After an incident, Dream was tortured and assaulted for many years until he was given to Farfadox being told he wouldn't even survive the first night

Side Notes:

Dream is trans but he was misgendered during his imprisonment and when he is offered to Farfadox he doesn't bother trying to correct him whenever Farfadox addresses him as a 'she'

The reason why Farfadox wasn't enraged when Dream was given to him as his bride after being told Dream was a prisoner is that in demon culture it's not uncommon for their people to sometimes marry slaves; Farfadox's father was a gladiator slave before his mother married him

During his time imprisoned, Dream was impregnated against his will and had multiple kids which are Ranboo (kicked out of the house at a young age due to how 'different' he looked and now lives in the forest at the edge of a village), Connor (living in fear with his dad who is a raging alcoholic), Hannah and Tina (half-sisters who are constantly abused by their stepmother but their half-sister Sylvee tries her best to keep them safe even if it means taking the brunt of her mother's abuse) and Yogurt (who was actually the only consensual pregnancy Dream had with Fundy after Fundy was forced by his dad Wilbur to sleep with Dream)

The reason why Dream was saved from being executed was because George had seen Dream once as a kid and wanted him as his wife, so another kid was executed in Dream's place. Over the course of a year after the rebellion he gets close to Dream and when he tries to initiate sex Dream gets scared, lashes out and on accident breaks George's nose; this then leads to Dream getting raped by George, beaten by some knights who then are given permission to use him as they see fit

Before Dream is sent off to Farfadox, he is gang-raped for hours and was told he was sent off because he couldn't produce any more kids so Dream doesn't say a word to Farfadox about the assault until a couple months later he wakes up feeling nauseous and finds out he is pregnant (it's George's kid) but loses the baby a couple weeks later

Techno is Dream's Godfather and emperor of the Antartic Empire, a small kingdom. He was devastated when he heard of the rebellion and execution but he couldn't declare war as his kingdom was smaller and not as powerful compared to Essempi

Farfadox and Dream eventually work things out and Dream gets all the help he needs to fully heal and a couple years later the two have sex and eventually Dream gets pregnant with twins

[spotaus]

New Age au (og drabble)

Finally gave up trying to post this on my phone and I'm doing it from my computer >:(

Don't mind if this post seems outdated compared to any other lore you've seen, this is the very very very first version of this au that I wrote up in my drafts before making the first post about it here lol- It's inspired by @ancha-aus Real Age AU, and is buried in my bajillion insane Fantasy thoughts. (Knight AU basically, Nightmare is a king, usurped to twin thru prophecy stuff, hired on several murderers + outcasts as his elite group of knights.)

This is all un-edited and un-reviewed, best of luck! (I also lost 90% of the italics I added, unfortunately)

(@papiliovolens too btw! Hi!)

   Oh. Oh.

   The feeling that sloughed through Nightmare's body was one that was foreign and uncomfortable. The sound you get when you walk with a pail of water and it sloshes and slams around inside no matter how carefully you walk? Yeah, that was happening to him. 

   His magic felt like all at once it sloshed to the front of his ribcage, then back again as he recoiled. 

   He was training now. Pinned between his knights as they slashed and charged at him. He always loved to enrich them with fast-paced work outs like today. The task was to try and incapacitate him, and he'd planned to tire them out for a while longer. 

   Now, though? He felt sick to his stomach and his vision doubled as he slid out of the way of Killer's blade. He was trying to keep it together, his movements still confident, but hell was it going to shit quickly. He'd never felt a drain like this. 

   As he nimbly moved out of the way of Cross, he noticed they were corralling him. 

   He wondered if this would pass. If he could finish out their training session without giving away just how horribly off-put he felt. Just how unbalanced he was becoming. 

   And yet when he ducked to evade a magic attack from Dust and nearly slammed directly into Horror's broad chest, he realized he was... not right. He was addled, and his senses were dulling. He was grasping at straws trying to identify the magical signatures of his team. 

   Nothing. It was just as bad as being blind. 

   He spun away again, facing his entire team as he caught sight of them. They were having fun. They were enjoying themselves, focused and invested. He hated to cut that off so soon. 

   Nightmare stood tall, opening his mouth to announce a hault, when... 

   He threw up. 

   Not... not in the way most living creatures do. It wasn't bile or mucus or digested food that flooded from his mouth, but instead all at once his magic seemed to erupt. 

   It clogged his throat, and he reached up for his jaws as it flooded out of him. He hunched a bit, only barely catching the surprise enter the expressions of his team as he stared back at them in shock. In disgust at himself. 

   Then his knees gave out. All at once, sense flooded from his mind and he slammed to the ground, his knees and elbows taking the brunt of his weight, joints jolting painfully as his good eye centered in on the ground. Where his magic was pooling and slipping away from him. Down into the cracks in the stone and the mat beneath him. 

   He trembled there, unable to bring himself to move. To try and hold it in. He couldn't breathe, it was just a flow of his magic like someone was tearing it out of his very core. Siphoning it like a straw. 

   He saw a shadow cast over his view, he heard scuffles. The voices were there, but the feeling of losing his grasp on his magic was too overwhelming. He couldn't make anything out past his out soul beating like a drum in his chest. He was losing it. Something. A part of himself. 

   Then a touch. A contact with his back. 

   Not through the protective veil of his magic, not through the sensation of transmitted contact. A thin fabric held him apart from the bony hand that so gently rested along his spine. 

   He gagged on the magic, seeing as it started coming in spurts. He... did not like that sensation. The gasping and the choking as it continued to rise from his core. 

   In a fit of shaking strength, Nightmare forced his body to move. He caught sight of pearly white bones exposed on his hands when he moved them out of the pile of sludge. He weakly shoved himself towards where he thought the hand was from, and collided with a large body. Someone's side. They were knelt. 

   He pressed his back to them as he continued to heave, and the presence drew closer, almost around him. An arm now covered his back, leather pressing heavily into his weak bones. It didn't matter if it hurt, because it made the heaving less horrifying. 

   It felt like an eternity of agony as the last of his magic dripped out of his throat and onto the ground. 

   His chest hurt, his neck hurt, and jaw hurt. His knees ached from the mat and his entire body still shook. He wasn't sure what to do with himself. Why had that happened? 

   He couldn't feel his team.... his team! 

   Nightmare's head shot up. His breathing was ragged, and he surely would've fallen over had he not been so heavily supported by that body. 

   Horror. 

   Horror was the one who was supporting him upright. Who was staring at him, brow furrowed and silent. Who seemed deeply perturbed by what he saw. 

    Past him, Nightmare could see the others. Cross, Dust, and Killer. They all seemed poised, ready to attack an unknown threat. Their backs were to him. The training room was utterly empty. 

   "M'lord?" Horror muttered in question, almost hesitant. 

   Nightmare stared up at him a few more seconds. His mind was chugging through what had happened, trying desperately to come up with a solution. 

   "Stand down." Nightmare ordered. Though, it felt like a squeak compared to his usual deep tone. His voice had lost any bit it might've held not ten minutes prior. 

   At the order, the other three whipped around and observed Nightmare. 

   Cross seemed reproachful. He looked to the others. He was the newest, probably wondered if they'd seen this before. 

   Dust only really turned a bit. A glance from the corner of his eye. Evidently he wanted to stay vigil. 

   Then there was Killer, who immediately dropped to his knees in a kneel to examine Night more closely. 

   "Lord, are you hurt?" Killer asked. 

   He was the first of them, and knew Nightmare best. 

   Nightmare stared at Killer. He was so earnest and loyal. 

   "I... the apples of the prophecy have revoked their magic. I am... I am weakened." He admitted loosely, staring at Killer. He felt empty.

   Killer frowned, his brow furrowing. "May I check you, Lord?" He questioned then. 

   Nightmare nodded. 

   The feeling of magic flowing through his body was not invasive nor unwelcome. It combed his very being, before revealing itself in script before Killer. 

   Nightmare

   The prophecy will not be delayed. His title may now be challenged. 

   Nightmare winced as Killer seemed to hunch even more down, closer to the ground. "If someone can reach my soul, they become holder of the prophecy. I- Dream will know. He'll come for me." He croaked. "Everyone will come." He added, suddenly feeling a terror strike into his soul as Killer raised his dark sockets to stare at Nightmare. 

   Killer hardly moved his hand, and Nightmare felt a second-wind sweep him up. A rush of adrenaline. Some wild jackrabbit just woke up in his soul and realized with a blood-chilling terror that it was surrounded by dingo.

   He thrust himself out from under Horror's arm before the knight could think to constrict him, and caught himself on his feet. 

   Killer's gaze trailed him. As did Horror's as he seemed surprised. 

   Dust stood perfectly still as he went stumbling backwards. And Cross? Well Cross was- 

   Nightmare wasn't sure what came over him when he felt arms around his sides. He was hoisted off the ground, he recognized the technique, it was Cross. 

   "Cross, release me!" He ordered, bis voice weak and panicked. Some part of him knew Cross wouldn't do it. He knew he'd be delivered to Killer and Killer would carve out his soul. 

   He was carried back to the group of nights, then forced to the ground, Cross holding him in place firmly, right where Killer and Horror were still sat. 

   His vision- it was growing blurry with tears. His composure completely broken at the aspect of being killed so soon. 

   "Killer, please don't."  He pleaded, seeing the skeleton draw closer. 

   Killer seemed to frown, "Lord, have some faith in us. We'd never let anything happen to you." Killer said, sounding unimpressed. 

   He raised his hands, and gently laid them against Night's neck. 

   Warm, soothing magic coated the tight injury, and Nightmare tried to resist the temptation to squirm in Cross' grip as it eased his ailment if only slightly. 

   "Your soul's beating so hard I can hear it from here. Breathe." He ordered then. 

   Nightmare took gasping breaths, slowly, very slowly, trying to calm himself. Of course they wouldn't hurt him. These were his knights. He just... he hasn't been so weak in years. Why did he... why did he panic like that? Why... was he so scared still? 

   He didn't open his socket, his good one, for a minute. He let the ebbing race of his soul calm. He tried to remember that he was the one who taught Cross this hold. A non-lethal hold, one which didn't risk harming the target. He tried to relax, to go limp in the hold, but he couldn't. He was still shaking. 

   He kept breathing. And breathing. He'd trained all of them to go for the kill, none of them enjoyed toying with their prey. They would not kill him. 

   "I apologize. I- I don't know-" He tried to speak, only to choke up again as he tried to open his eye. His body just felt so heavy, and so, so abysmally empty. 

   He squinted at the group. 

   "He hasn't stopped shaking." He heard Cross report unabashedly from behind him. 

   Horror stared for a brief moment, before he sighed. "Magic loss. I can hardly feel his aura, he has to be drained all to hell right now. Running on fumes." Horror announced solemnly, his big red eyelight focusing on Cross. 

   He knew Horror was right. He didn't know why it hadn't occurred sooner. His form was reacting poorly to the loss of a godly amount of power. Of course he was afraid and vulnerable. 

   "Mm. What did he usually do to help me? Soup and bed-rest?" That was Dust, his grumbling tone barely scraping Night's ears. 

   Killer and Horror looked to eachother in agreement, nodding. 

   "Lord, I'm going to assume you're delusional and exhausted from magic loss right now, so I'm not taking the tears personally." Killer voiced then, looking to Nightmare. "Cross and Dust are going to escort you to your quarters, Horror is going to bring your dinner, and I'm going to go triple check that this place is on lock-down." 

   Nightmare stared at him with a wide eye, and it took him several seconds to realize that Killer was waiting for something. 

   "P- permission granted." He muttered, and Killer nodded and raised from his knees to stand. 

   Horror followed him, and Cross took a few moments before he eased Nightmare onto his feet. He realized only then that he was barely Cross' height. Barely tall enough to look him in the eyes. 

   He still shook like a newborn fawn, but felt less weak. Cross offered his hand awkwardly. Nightmare noticed he was avoiding his gaze. 

   Horror and Killer were far out of the room by the time Nightmare could muster a standing position. His cloak was far too long for him now, and he hastily bundled the edges up into a bunch before tightening his belt into them. Dust helped him with the clasp, his hands still too shakey. 

   He pulled up his hood, and gripping Cross like a lifeline, the trio left the training room and headed towards Nightmare's quarters. He was a weak, weak man, he realized. Fragile. Once a servant was turning a corner away, no doubt spooked by Dust, and Nightmare nearly fled out of fear. 

   They opened and closed the doors, revealing the darker room. Cross led Nightmare to his bed and gently helped him out of his training wear, only leaving him in the simple under-clothes, which still seemed to hang off of him. 

   He eased into his bed, and he wanted to say something to Cross as he dutifully fluffed Nightnare's pillows, but he could muster nothing. He couldn't bring himself to- no...

   "Cross?" His voice was a bit stronger again. It hurt less to speak. No doubt Killer's magic settling in. 

   The knight seemed to jolt a bit, looking to Nightmare. Nightmare slunk back under his gaze, unable to withhold the reflexive recoil. 

   "I- Thank you, for disobeying orders." He managed, "I could've hurt myself in my frenzy. You made the right call." He admitted, before swiftly turning his head away. 

   Cross seemed silent for a moment, hesitating at the bedside. 

   "You always said if you fell ill that Killer would be in charge. I just figured this was one of those instances and did as he ordered." Cross reported, his voice meek as well. He seemed to be taking Nightmate's sudden decrease in magic just as hard as the tyrant himself. 

   Nightmare nodded a bit. In agreement. In acknowledgement. Of course Cross would never disobey him on his own whim. Cross had always been a soldier. 

   The room grew still in the wake of the words, and Nightmare felt himself sink a bit easier into his pillows. 

   Cross stationed himself by the door, and Dust settled at the foot of Nightmare's bed, using the trunk sat there as a seat. He'd done it before in the past, and Nightmare had never noticed how defensive of a position it was until that moment. He felt... secure. Like he always did with his knights. 

.

   Horror returned with a meal within the hour, gently awakening Night from his dazed half-sleep which had nearly consumed him. His sockets were heavy when he sat up to take the plate onto his lap. 

   It was a nice cut of meat, and a drink he was almost positive was plain water, with what looked to be fresh plants from the gardens.

   Horror had handed over the utensils, and stood idly near to Dust as Nightmare worked his way through the food. He'd never had a large appetite before, not even as a boy. Now he had devoured everything on his plate, and felt sick for it. 

   It seemed to please Horror, though. As Night discarded the plate to his nightstand, Horror had turned his head and smiled at him. He hardly had the strength to nod back in approval. 

.

   Night had fallen asleep mere minutes after he finished his meal, sinking back into his pillows with a soft repose. Horror had stood and pulled his covers up a bit further. Nightmare was a lot smaller, now. The linens drowned him, and the his bed felt all too large. His frame seemed fragile. Dwarfed in the expanse. 

   It wasn't until Killer entered that anyone spoke. Nightmare had drilled it into them that Killer was the one in charge if anything weren't wrong. 

   "Everything's secure, all the guards know to be on alert." He reported to the other three. His gaze only lingered on Nightmare for a few seconds before his shoulders sagged. "How are we feeling about Nightmare? Does it look like he was right? Prophecy privileges revoked?" He asked quietly, though he could see with his own eyes just how obvious it must've been. Nightmare was small, and frail, and his skull was covered in cracks. 

   Dust hummed, "No sign of his usual aura. Seems like he's going to be okay, though." He reported evenly. Killer didn't need to look to know the others were also looking at their King. Exhausted, tucked soundly into bed. 

   "Surely he can't continue his duties like this. I mean... we scared him. Us." Cross piped up from the door. It seemed he still hadn't recovered from his own apprehension. Killer had seen the hurt in his face when Nightmare had been so afraid. 

   Killer scoffed, "To be fair, I think that's the normal reaction to seeing us, Cross." He teased, "But no, you're right. Even if he's more calm when he wakes up, we shouldn't let news spread of this... change. It would put him in danger." Killer lamented a bit, and heard the others all give grunts of agreement. 

   Horror shifted onto his feet, "We'll have to keep close to him. He seems... younger. I don't like the idea of leaving him alone when there might be threats." Horror had been raised on the outskirts, he was always sensitive to young people. When Cross had joined them, he'd lingered around him so often Cross was sure Horror wanted him gone. 

   The big guy was just trying to make Cross more comfortable was all. 

   Killer tapped at his thigh as he stood there, "We'll take shifts, then. Assume we treat this as an illness for now, follow his protocol, and once he's feeling better we can decide if he's still fit enough to, y'know, order us around." Killer said to the group, though there wasn't going to be fuss either way. Killer was always the one they'd trust next after Night. It was only right. They'd all trust Killer with their lives. 

   They all seemed to silently debate. 

   "I'll take first shift. I was going easy during training, so I'll stay up tonight." Dust finally chimed. 

   Killer agreed, and the others, after some hesitation, ushered out of their king's room and out into the halls. 

   Cross said he'd go back and train some more on his own, Horror said he was going to go get food for himself and Dust. Killer was going to go reschedule all of Night's meetings for other times or assign them to advisors. They all had things to do, and it felt strange to know their King was now not who they once knew. The fear in his eyelight had been the same fear they saw when they got injured, or sick, or hurt. They never expected to cause that fear to the man who had earned their full trust. 

[agirlandherquill]

ruin's reprisal - 8 days to go!

we're at day 8! and i cannot wait to show you even more snippets! today's ones come from chapters 26-30!

if any of the snippets or lines catches your fancy and you want to read more - you can find the preorder link to Ruin's Reprisal here!

chapter 26:

“I hate her.” He tried to say it, his tongue tripped over the syllables, his voice was not as firm as he demanded it to be. His body felt wrong saying it. He tried again. “I hate her.” His voice sounded strangled, as though his throat were submerged under water, as though he had swallowed a knife and been stripped of the ability to perfectly pronounce his speech. 

It was wrong.

All wrong.

chapter 27:

“Why will I need to be crawling through a tree trunk in the Palace?”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s an example, you never know what you might face. Now, are you ready?”

“For you to try and kill me beforehand?”

“If you can’t handle a beam on your own Edeva, I’ll kill you here and now.”

“What for?” She pulled a face at him, stepping up onto the beam.

“Disappointing me.” He smirked at her. “Off you go then.”

Edeva started walking along the beam. Her balance was biding well. Good. I’ll make this more interesting. 

He raised a hand, summoned his shadows, and tossed a ball of them at her.  She avoided it, leaping a stride ahead on the beam before turning to give him a glare. “Fenley!”

“Think of it like an arrow.”

“I have more important things to think about - if everything goes to plan at the Palace,” She stopped to avoid another one of his shadow projectiles, still glaring at him, “All I need to do is keep speaking to Arden to stop him from sneaking away to check on his most prized possession?”

He tutted as she reached the end of the beam, leaping along the stumps in quick succession. “If needs be, you’ll be more than his distraction.”

“I’ll be what?” His next projectile nearly struck her in the arm, she recoiled on the final stump but her balance was knocked, her ankle gave out and she crashed into the grass. He walked over, amused by the embarrassment on her face and the fury at the victorious smirk on his own.

“His ruin.”

chapter 28:

She threw herself at him, wanting to knock him down and make him know what it felt like for a change; the last thing she expected was for him to turn at the last moment and catch her. Her act of surprise had worked, Fenley was not prepared enough for her momentum and ended up tripping, pressing his fingers against her thighs as they both went for the wall. He twisted at the last moment and her back hit the wall, leaving her to take some of the brunt of his weight. Her arms were around his neck, he held her legs around him, holding her up. He had her pinned. It was her own doing, her own stupid fault, yet she wanted to blame him for it too.

“What do you think you’re doing?” His scowl was so comical it made her smile. “Winning, evidently.”

“What makes you think that?”

“You stopped fighting.”

His scowl dropped, his mouth opened then closed, silently. I’ve made him speechless. Another win! 

Her victory was short lived, something changed on his face and it worried her. His eyes were narrowed, the lids looked so heavy she feared he might be on the verge of falling asleep, if it were not for the trembling of his fingers that were holding her up.

“Fenley?”

Nothing. He did not blink, he just stared at her.

“Fen?” She moved one arm from his neck to touch his shoulder. “You’re shaking.”

He seemed to hear her that time. He inhaled sharply. “I’d rather not drop you.”

That doesn’t explain the trembling, he’s carried me before without a sign of struggling, so what could be making him like this? 

It was a question she would never ask him, she could see it in his eyes, he would never be able to answer her. 

Edeva decided to distract from whatever it was instead. “You’re going to lose, if you don’t do something, you don’t lose fights Fenley.”

His eyes fixed on hers. “…I’ll win next time.” Fenley lowered his forehead to rest it against hers, still continuing to stare. How long they stayed like that she did not know, could never know, all she was able to do was count her breaths and his, unable to decipher what was going on behind his eyes. 

Thirty breaths. 

Thirty slow, uncertain breaths.

Fenley’s fingers no longer trembled but his breathing did. She heard it, felt it against her cheek. She would have given anything to know what he was thinking, but her body robbed her of the chance to ask, her tingling, numb feet betrayed her.

She hated having to say it. She squeezed his shoulder lightly. “Fenley?”

He hummed quietly to show that he was listening.

“I can’t feel my feet.”

chapter 29:

The dress was scandalous.

This dress was exile.

This dress was her, through and through.

She fell against the door, her knees struggling to support her, her fingers clung to the frame as she breathed through her laughter, her breathless smiles. “Fenley… What have you done?”

“Is everything all right?” His worry was loud, it made her laugh harder. She had to put her hand over her mouth to silence herself, to breathe, to calm down. 

“This dress… It’s ruining me.”

“What?” She watched the handle move, he was trying to come inside, but she could not let him see her like this, not until she collected herself. She grabbed the handle. “No, it’s nothing.”

“Edeva, do not make me break this door down.”

“I’m behind it.” In this dress. This dress I do not deserve. This dress that has been made, stitch by stitch, for me. 

“Then get out of the way.” His growl stopped her laughing. She knew what he was going to do. He’s coming in. She gripped the frame harder and slid herself out from behind the door, right as Fenley came crashing through it.

His eyes darted around the room and then he whirled, noticing her. She tried to pull herself up to calm him down, but she failed as her knees finally gave out and she sank to the floor, succumbing to another fit of laughter. Then she looked from him to her dress and gasped. “Oh, the dress - The dress! I’m creasing it!”

“This is what this is about?… The dress?” He approached her cautiously, as though she were a wounded animal, his hands moved slowly, reaching for her arms. She allowed him to take them, and he lifted her from the floor. “You don’t like it?”

“No!” She was outraged that that was what he thought. “Of course I do!”

“Then… What?”

She gestured at herself. “I am an Exilza. I do not wear things like this. Even as a Conteis, I did not wear things like this. So what am I doing?”

“Wiping the floor with every expectation they have.” He was blunt, so very blunt that it shocked her. 

“Fenley,” She grinned at him, “Is that you telling me I look good in this dress?”

“Do not flatter yourself.”

chapter 30:

Whatever happened in the coming hours, Fenley was ready, he accepted every possibility, every circumstance, every obstacle that could get in his way. His only worry lay with what would happen after the heist. In a few hours, it’ll all be over, but what then? What comes after?

Someone with sense would choose to leave, at least until it was safe for them to be altogether. Part ways until I work out exactly what to do with the crown - Edeva might need it for leverage, for her answers, I can hardly sell it before that happens can I? 

Someone with a good heart would make that choice easily.

Fenley could not. He could not bring himself to contemplate leaving. He was selfish for that, for once he felt something resembling guilt for knowing the damage that staying would do. Lucien is more than ready to go his own way, we’ve already discussed it. But Edeva? I’ll put her in far more danger by staying with her than she would be if we were apart, but she wouldn’t leave, she’d fight to stay. It would be on me to tear us apart - I wouldn’t fight her hard enough, I know that as well as I know myself. 

Fenley would fight armies and he would win. Fighting Edeva was another thing altogether. Fighting her was what kept him up at night. That is one fight I stand to lose, every single time.

He punched the wall, leaving a dent in the stone. I know what needs to be done… Can I go through with it when I have to?

~ ~ ~

now for the tag list!

(p.s if you'd like to be included/notified too, interact with this post :) p.p.s im finally getting around to updating it, so bear with me :))

@humbly-a-doppelganger @imawholeassmood @frostedlemonwriter @yrndrgn @abditorywriting

@riveriafalll @lead-to-code @casualsuitturtle @floweryprosegarden @joeys-piano

@catwingsathena @godsmostfuckedupgoblin @nothoughtsjustmhaandotherthings @anaisbebe

@drchenquill @leahnardo-da-veggie @tiredpapergirl @pastelpinkhobbies @a-mimsy-borogove

@the-letterbox-archives @corinneglass @darkluminosity @kuebiko-writing @seastarblue

@aalinaaaaaa @sunflowerrosy

[legendofmorons]

Villain Myrah

Was thinking about how utterly unhinged Myrah has the potential to be. This was born.

Kind of depressing

Her early life is the same, she grows up with Link and sees his father sucks.

She loses her mom to illness

Her dad becomes distant

She goes into the army with Link

It's all pretty much the same until the Calamity, at which point things change.

She wakes up half dead in Link's bed to his sisters and loses her shit

After a breakdown where she screams and sobs and bargains with ditties she's calmed down

She learns about the champions and the princess and starts becoming resentful of the goddesses and those who blame Link for failing

She does end up tying her age to Link's still

At this point she's lost all three mother figures, her fiance, her childhood best friend, most of her friends, been around mostly shitty men, and taken the brunt of barbs meant for others

She's the one keeping Arie and Callie afloat.

To add fuel to the fire, we'll say this version of Myrah was also sent to the War of Eras and fought that

She saw THREE more heroes Hylia failed spectacularly (TWO of which aren't old enough to grow chin hair)

She then gets ripped away from the heroes she started believing in again with the knowledge they still in danger in their own times

A few years after the Calamity she starts turning... crueler

Oh sure, she loves her family bit she starts taking down the divine beasts

She takes down Ganon next, angry and hateful

Demise makes her a deal, to save Link. Hylia won't listen... but Demise will.

So Myrah becomes the new holder of the triforce of power (all to Zelda's horror)

Myrah starts to wage to become the overall ruler, and she succeeds because she uses Monsters

She genuinely thinks she's doing the right thing

Any chance others have to stop her is wasted because they try to reason with her (and she refuses to be swayed because hesitation is what cost Link's life... isn't it?)

Myrah becomes the overwhelming ruler, but she also spoils her loved ones.

Over the decades she strays further and further into delusions

Her magic becomes easier to access but it becomes more and more corrupted too

Myrah starts to lose herself to power and the influence of Demise

By the fifty year mark, aside from her unchanging appearance even her loved ones think she's gone forever

Myrah is... A tyrant for sure. She tries to be a good leader but she's harsh and strict and unforgiving

When her cousin wages a war, Myrah slays them all except Astra. Astra is brought to Myrah's castle and kept in the dungeons.

Zelda hasn't seen Myrah in years. Zelda tied her age to Links in a desperate bid to stay alive as long as Myrah to fight for good.

Zelda lives in Kakriko, the safe haven from Myrah's rule where it's shrouded by heavy magic. Arie and Callie live there too.

Myrah just generally descends into madness while thinking she's saving people :)

She is not :(

Capital punishment and executions are tools Myrah uses a lot

She actively destroys any shrines to the goddesses

Paints Link as a tragedy that Hylia could have avoided if she cared

By the 100 year mark when Link wakes up it's bad

Myrah hears about some blonde sword twink? She goes "Link?" And she's right but at what cost?

MYRAH is the final boss, and its...

She's so far gone that when Link dosen’t remember her she assumes he's a FAKE and just goes for the throat.

Honestly it's probably the look of terror in Link's eyes as she stands over him that does it. It breaks through her delusion and corruption enough to reach the girl that did all of this in some poorly planned attempt to do right by him

And here she is, standing over him like his father.

Myrah, 120 ish years old is beyond saving. She's warped and twisted and cruel. But she can't finish Link off.

She realizes that this is a situation where only one of them lives, and she makes her choice. It isn't out of goodness (her goodness is burned away and watped)

Myrah makes her choice out of selfish loyalty and horribly warped love. If only one if them gets to live, it's GOING to be the man she did this all for.

So she lets him win. She lets him end her and seal away darkness.

I imagine she goes to the after life and is met by her lost loved ones, and clear of all the Demise and malice... she has to Face her actions.

[daydreamgoddess14]

The Ties that Bind - Chapter 2

How d'ya like your fluff in the morning?

Thank you for reading so far, hope you're liking soft River!

CH 1

Masterlist

Chapter 2

“I want to apologise, dear.” David said uncertainly the next morning as Seren walked with him into the village. “I’ve been abominable the last few weeks and you didn’t deserve it at all.” She let him speak without interruption. “I’ve never been the easiest person to deal with. At work, or since. River bears the brunt of it most of the time. They used to call me the Old Bastard, you know.” She smiled as they ambled slowly along the edges of the open fields.

“I would never expect you to change your entire personality, Mr Cartwright. I’ve looked after prickly characters before, and I will again. I appreciate the challenge, and a bit of verbal sparring keeps your mind active and engaged.” Seren shrugged. “The only reason I put up with you the last few weeks is because you both seemed… well,” she paused, not wanting to undo the progress they’d made in the last 24 hours, “desperate, really.” Fortunately he laughed. A deep chuckle she was immediately grateful she was hearing for the first time, and she was the cause. She pressed on, “every single evening I doubted whether to keep coming over, whether to keep trying to win you over, and every single evening, the same thing would happen.”

“What’s that then?” He offered a hand to help her over the stile they’d reached, and on the opposite side, she did the same thing, taking careful note of his physical capabilities. Was he too frail to have come this way? Should she have taken the road route instead? He took the step down from the wooden step with ease and she relaxed. She looked around the semi rural surroundings, spotting a dog walker back in the field behind them. 

“River would call me.”

“Is that so?”

“Yep. How was I? How were you? How was our day? Did I need anything? He cares so much for you.”

“He’s a good boy.” David said softly, “a good man. He tries. And that won you over for another day, did it?”

“Like I said, he sounded desperate. And I was not always the nicest to him when he called.” Seren laughed, David harrumphed. 

“He said you called him yesterday from the bathroom.”

“I did. I wasn't sure what else to do. I was so scared you'd hurt yourself. Once everything had calmed down and he arrived, I realised I didn’t want him to confront you as soon as he got there. I didn't want to upset you further.”

“I appreciate that. We spoke later, after you’d gone. He told me I was very close to losing your much valued help.” 

“I'm glad you do see the value of it. This kind of help, it's the best way that River can help you stay in your own home for as long as possible. You're not the kind of man to take up life in the local nursing home.”

“I'd rather you take me out back and shoot me.” He grimaced. 

“Exactly. So,” she began, cautiously, “Do we have an agreement? That you need my help?” They walked in silence for a short time, reaching the outskirts of the village.

“Hmm. After yesterday’s performance I can hardly deny that the help isn’t a good idea, can I?”

“I mean, you could try… but I don’t think it would work.” She offered. 

“Indeed. So it seems I have no choice but to agree.”

“We all have a choice. I’m not here to babysit you Mr Cartwright, I’d like to enjoy our time together and I hope you will too.”

“You’d better start calling me David then, hadn’t you, dear? You did yesterday.”

“Hmm. Seemed like the best way to try and… reach you? Felt like ‘Mr Cartwright’ would have ended up with someone getting hurt. And you’d better start calling me Seren, instead of girl.” She pushed open the door to the bakery and held it for him while he followed with a smile.

*

River was confused to say the least. The situation had gone from the ridiculous to the sublime. Or was it the other way around? He quickly realised how tense and unsettled Seren had been with the situation for the past six weeks because in the weeks since, she’d transformed entirely. His calls to check in each evening were no longer filled with drawn out silences and sighs, but with bubbling accounts of her day with his grandfather and even laughter. The Slow Horses had had a very busy few weeks which had meant that he’d been able to visit a lot less frequently and later in the day, so he’d hardly seen Seren in person. With her improved relationship with David, he also didn’t feel like she was depending on him visiting for her own sanity, or that he had to keep tabs on them both. He realised as he drove through the village that it had been too long since he’d seen her, and that he’d missed her. He couldn’t ignore the anticipation when he saw her car still parked next to David’s, happy that she hadn't left for the day. The house was filled with music. It was classical, which he expected, but it was louder than usual and seemed to travel through every room. He followed the sounds of laughter to the sitting room where Seren was being led, in fits of giggles, through what he could only assume was a terrible interpretation of a waltz. She had one hand in David's and the other on his shoulder, while he had a hand on her waist.

“And, one, two, three, one, two, three… right leg back, that's the way.” River leaned in the doorway watching. There was pure concentration on Seren's face as she kept her head down, watching their feet. “Head up, dear, don't look at your feet.”

“It's the only way I know I won't stand on yours.” She sighed. “I am awful at this. They make it look much easier on Strictly.” She faded to a grumble.

“One, two, three, head up.” David lifted her chin and out the corner of her eye, she caught sight of River in the doorway. He winked. 

“Oh, shit,” she stumbled. David righted her and they continued to glide in a circle around the sitting room. “One, two, three, one, two, three, I'm doing it!” She beamed, eyes wide with happiness. 

“And the grand finale,” David said, twirling her under his arm and letting her go with a slight bow, she responded in kind. River brought his fingers to his mouth and whistled before giving them a round of applause. 

“Very good, very good! Ahh, I haven't danced a waltz in years.” David smiled. ‘River, don't loiter in doorways, make yourself useful and make some drinks.” 

“I'm not sure I'd call that a waltz, old man.” He teased.

“If it was bad, it's my fault entirely.” Seren flushed. 

“Bollocks, you were wonderful.” David chimed in from his armchair. River remained in the doorway, his height and broad shoulders filling the space, blocking her exit. “I should go,” she hesitated in front of him, something in her eyes he couldn't quite interpret. He created a gap for her, but not big enough to stop her body from brushing against his as she made her way past. He followed her to the kitchen. 

“Nice dancing. Good day?” He asked, retrieving a bottle of red wine from the rack. 

“Yeah, he's had a couple of really good days. There was a few minutes yesterday after he'd had a sleep that he didn't know me. He got pretty angry, but it passed quickly. He's enjoyed being able to read a bit, do some crosswords.” River smiled.

“That's great. I uhh, I actually meant you though?”

“Me?” Seren looked at him, a deer in the headlights. He stepped closer, holding out a glass of wine. She shook her head, “no thank you, I should go.” She said again. He noted her eyes flick to his mouth and back up to meet his gaze. She was nervous. That was the look he hadn't been able to interpret straight away. Now though, he could see it as clear as day. It seemed he wasn't the only one with butterflies. He took a small step closer again, closing the space between them. 

“Sure I can't tempt you?” He asked, boldly. His heart pounded, being carried by bravado and bluster alone. Her eyes moved to his mouth again, this time for a little longer. She looked like she was bracing herself. 

“No. I need to go.” She replied, confidently but quietly. He took a step back.

“Ok. Maybe next time.” He murmured. “Thank you.” He added sincerely. 

“What for?”

“I don't think I've heard him laugh like that for years.” 

“It was fun. And to answer your question, I've had a good day too. Definitely picked up towards the end.” She smiled shyly then called out a goodbye to David and left. 

*

Seren wondered if the giddiness she felt was permanent. It felt like it. It felt like it had lasted months. She knew he'd noticed the way she'd looked at him. His ego had grown tenfold as soon as he'd clocked that glance at his mouth. She'd spent the couple of weeks since willing herself to forget him, to pretend she wasn't affected by his presence. It was easily done when he wasn't around, but when he was there he consumed her thoughts. She tried a new tact. If he was there, she'd leave. Either for the day if she wasn't going to be needed later, or to refill the cupboards or tackle various bits of cleaning if she was going to be needed. She encouraged as much as possible that they had time alone together. 

“Have you started the crossword yet, Seren?” David asked. 

“I have. You're going to love 3 across.” He settled at the kitchen table and pulled the paper towards him and chuckled reading the clue. 

“River's on his way.” He told her, scribbling down some answers to the crossword. Seren hummed in response and focused on the flowers she was cutting down for a vase. They soon heard the scratch of River's car on the gravel outside. “Do you think 2 down is cuddle?” David asked, going to add it to the grid. Seren peered down over his shoulder as the back door opened. 

“Nope, it's caress,” she took the pen, “see, this one is stamp. It's the first S in caress.”

“So it is.” He muttered, stealing the pen back and filling it in. “Good morning grandson.”

“Morning old man, Seren.”

“Perfect timing. You're on crossword duty, he cheats. I need to go and pick up some shopping.” 

“I do not cheat young lady.” 

Seren scoffed. “Yeah you do.” She and River scolded him in unison. 

“Anyway, I'll be back in a bit.” Seren smiled. She was almost at the safety of her car when River ducked out of the house. 

“You're avoiding me.” He stated, opening the car door for her and holding onto it. 

“Course I'm not.”

“You are,” he smirked, “you can admit it.”

“I don't need to admit anything. You call me nearly every night, how can I be avoiding you?”

“In person, when I'm here.” He stepped closer but kept the door between them. She laughed. 

“I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Every time I show up here, you make yourself scarce. Hiding away upstairs, or going out to the village?” She bit her lip and looked away from him, over his shoulder to the house.

“I'm doing my job.” She muttered lamely. He didn't respond and the silence stretched on. She itched to fill it. “It's important not to confuse David.” One eyebrow arched up but he still didn't respond as she dug deeper. “Not that I intend to confuse him at all. Look, I need to get some food in, otherwise your poor grandfather is going to be stuck with cheese on toast.” Still he didn't reply. “Ugh, fine” She threw up her hands, disgusted with how quickly she'd caved in. “Yes I'm avoiding you. Every chance I get.”

“Was that so hard?” He asked at last, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth which she was trying desperately not to stare at. “We'll talk when you get back. You can tell me about how you're confusing the old bastard and why you're avoiding me.” He teased, gesturing for her to get in the car. 

“No chance.” She scowled at him and jumped into the driver's seat, loud 00s pop music filled the air as the car started. 

“What is that shit you're listening to?” He laughed, closing the door for her. 

“Goodbye, River.” She called through the open window. He watched her drive away, the odd feeling that someone was watching crept over him. He shook it off, the old bastard was rubbing off on him. He went back to the house to check in with David. 

*

He heard her back in the kitchen before he saw her. Leaving David napping on his armchair, River put down the book he'd been reading and found her unpacking the shopping bags and singing quietly and dancing along to whatever had been on the radio in the car. Her hips swayed in time with her singing, she was totally unguarded. 

“Coffee?” He asked, making his presence known. She immediately stopped dancing. He found himself wishing he hadn't spoken up so soon.

“That's fab, thank you. David OK?”

“Having a sleep.”

“Good, he said he didn't sleep very well last night. Why on earth does he think someone's watching him?” She asked curiously. 

“Probably just paranoid.” River brushed off. “You've not seen anything weird?”

“Weird?” She laughed. “The village isn't exactly Midsomer. No, nothing weird except the perv in the butchers.”

“The butcher has a perv?” He asked with a grin.

She finished filling the fridge and turned back to the bag next to River. They stood elbow to elbow while he made coffee. 

“Honestly, every time I go in there he's… staring. Gives me the heebies.” She shivered. “It's a bit League of Gentlemen sometimes. I think the countryside always feels a bit like there's someone right behind you. It's so quiet, it's just unsettling, but then some bloody big dog appears out of nowhere and you realise you're just being an idiot.” He nodded in agreement. 

“Let me know if you have any more problems with the perv though, yeah? How's it going now the old bugger isn't being a knob?”

“Oh, he has his moments. But we're definitely getting along a lot better than we were.”

“You're good with him.”

“When he's with it… god, River he's sharp as a pin. His knowledge is incredible,” she sounded almost proud. “It makes it sadder when he's… not quite here.”

“Yeah, yeah I know. He was always the smartest in the room. He used to terrify people at work. It's so weird to see him like this now.” She covered his hand with her own and gave a little squeeze. 

“He said they used to call him the Old Bastard,” She smiled. “He's still in there.” She reassured him. He nodded gratefully. 

“Yeah, I know. I know I need to do this for him. Look after him like he did me. Anyway, tell me more about avoiding me?” He said, clearing his throat. Seren whined, leaving his mind to wander to places where he could get her to make the same sound again. 

“Can we not?” She turned to lean against the sink, her hands covering her face. He laughed.

“You brought it up, not me.”

“You brought it up, I just admitted it. Under coercion, I would like to add.”

“I don't think it's coercion when you're willing.” 

“And what gives you the impression that I'm willing?” She demanded. He shifted to put a hand either side of her on the counter. 

“Just… intuition.” Seren arched an eyebrow.

“Intuition?” She scoffed. “Doubt it.” He watched her face carefully, clocking each expression as she studiously looked anywhere except at him. He could tell that she was keeping her body as still as possible, but he could also see her mind racing. Finally she met his gaze. Her eyes fluttered shut as his nose grazed her cheek almost experimentally, her breath shaking almost as much as her hands. She felt a tiny kiss behind her ear, her body betraying her with a whimper she was certain he'd heard. His other hand came to rest on her hip, and it set her whole body alight. He held her hip with the most imperceptible grip, giving her exactly enough space to move away but silently begging her not to. She let his hand turn her slightly on the spot so she could face him better. She kept her eyes closed, felt his kiss on her jaw and her cheek before he paused. He rested his forehead against hers, one hand coming to the nape of her neck while the other stayed on her hip. She could hear only their shared breath and she could tell he was giving her enough time and space to say no. She finally opened her eyes. He pressed a chaste kiss to her lips before pulling back the tiniest amount. He saw a longing and an intensity he'd never seen before and he took his chance, capturing her mouth with his own again. The hard edge of the counter burned against her back while she could feel River's cock hardening against her hip bone. The analogy of being caught between a rock and a hard place was not lost on her. She slipped a hand just under the edge of his t-shirt. The warm skin of his stomach under her hand pulled her back to reality.

“This should not be happening.” She muttered through the kiss, tearing herself away. 

“Why not?”

“What about David? I don't want him to be confused. I don't want him to think I have an ulterior motive for being here.”

River frowned. “Why would he think that?”

“I don't know,” she sighed. Her hands shook with the effort of staying under her control. She felt the warmth of his body as he stood before her, it radiated from him. She leaned in, just a little, her body moving of its own volition. “I'm sorry, I'm really sorry. I can't do this.” He squeezed her hip lightly and nodded, pulling back further. In the hallway, came the sounds of David's footsteps making his way from the sitting room to the kitchen and River sprang back away from her without taking his eyes off her. 

“Ahh, do I smell coffee?”

“You do, old man, fancy one?” River quickly busied himself with another cup. Seren turned on her heel and plunged her hands into the cold washing up water. He watched her from the corner of his eye, the blush in her cheeks and the slight breathlessness. They were grateful that David hadn't seemed to notice the tension in the room.

“Lovely, shall we sit outside?” David suggested, the sunny afternoon catching his eye. 

“I'll bring it out.”

“Excellent, I can tell you what I want to do out there next time you're here.” He said with a chuckle, River rolled his eyes. As soon as David was out of earshot, Seren turned to River. 

“I really am sorry.” She said sadly. He held up his hands.

“Nothing to be sorry for. Just a misunderstanding.” He took up the tray, and went out into the garden.

Chapter 3

[mrspockify]

What if the roles had been reversed? What if his daughter got hurt instead. What if she took the hit for her Uncle Luigi knowing just how important and and he is to her father. Just like she understands how important her siblings are to her, being the oldest, and how the guilt of seeing one of them get hurt would eat at her, and she knows it would her father to, to see his twin in so much pain, knowing he couldn’t save both of them.

Her father always taught that family is the most important thing and she would risk getting hurt if it meant she didn’t lose or see her uncle get or her father lose or see his other half get hurt.

So for her father and uncle’s sake, she takes the hit, nothing too severe but long enough for her to be unconscious for a bit, a scar or two. She may have taken the hit but Luigi jumped in last second to prevent it from being anything life threatening for either of them

Imagine the guilt Mario would feel, hell Luigi would feel the brunt of it all as she took a hit he knew he could take but she saved him anyway. Guilt and anger at himself. Would Mario be angry at him? Is he even able to, knowing how deeply close they were? Would they fight? Would Luigi try to apologize or maybe close himself off, would he even be able to look his dear brother in the eye, with his guilt being so unbearable?

What would Mario do? What could he do? Caught between a rock and a hard place? Is he angry at himself? Luigi, for not protecting his daughter, his daughter for not taking such a hit when she was still so very young?

Mia is very much like her father, and so I can definitely see a self-sacrificial streak making itself known, especially if it means keeping her family safe. She doesn't even think first, doesn't register that she is obviously much more vulnerable than either her father or uncle.

Luigi would be a nervous wreck. He would be eaten alive by guilt, and deep down absolutely terrified that Mario would blame him for what happened. There wouldn't be enough apologies in the world to ease how he felt.

For Mario, I think this would be another rare instance where he let's his own emotions get the best of him, and accidentally let's it bleed out and hurt his loved ones. He's completely terrified, and seeing his unconscious daughter after she gets hit (the brief terror he felt when he wasn't even sure if she was alive) does something irreparable to him. He takes it out on everyone, snapping at Luigi every time he tries to apologize, lashing out at Peach when she tries to tell him she understands (she doesn't, she wasn't there, she didn't see how still their daughter was).

Worst of all, he takes it out on Mia. It starts as a tense lecture, but when Mia cuts in and tries to defend her actions he just loses it. He starts getting heated, demanding why she would ever think that was okay, telling her what a stupid decision that was, threatening things he would never normally threaten (you're never allowed out of sight again, you're never leaving the castle unattended, etc.). It ends abruptly after he leans in, hands so close to her face while he signs that she can feel the air stir, and he asks Are you trying to get yourself killed? Are you trying to kill me?

She bursts into tears, and he realizes suddenly, as she flinches away, that she's scared of him. Obviously he would change tactics immediately and hurry to reassure her and apologize. He’d have to explain that he’s not really mad at her, he’s just terrified about losing her. It’s his and Luigi’s job to take care of her, not the other way around. He just wants her to understand that.

[murderbees]

more about Black Guard Beck because he lives in my head now

---

He went through some horrors, courtesy of Dyson and Clu.

Memory Issues, Yippee! He has vague recollections and feelings about past events, but usually ignores them in favor of whatever mission he is trying to accomplish. General Paige often tries to talk to him, he ignores her as much as possible.

Once released from repurposing, he's put on Dyson's personal squad. They're all freaks Dyson has modded in some way. The rest pity Beck, Dyson is oddly fixated and Beck is going to bare the brunt of his frustrations. (At some point I'll write about them)

The vague vampirism has much less to do with teeth, and much more to do with hidden circuits Dyson personally carved in his skin. Dyson rearranged Beck's lightlines to imitate his own, and the hidden lines imitate Tron's old lines. Beck doesn't know that, but it's like an inside joke for Clu and Dyson.

He can still drink energy, it's a bit less effective because of how his circuits now work. His normal lightlines still process energy like before, but it doesn't filter into his system. It's more storage than anything else. The hidden channels take in processed energy, including from his own system. These channels then redistribute the energy in a useable form. Most of it goes to Beck's regular functioning, but it can be directed as an additional power boost. Downside is that Beck will run out of energy much faster than other programs.

He's usually put on stealth missions. His ability to draw other's energy makes him highly effective.

Unlike Tron or most other programs, Beck does not fight elegantly or with graceful forms. He tears and bites and brawls. When he fights it's messy. He doesn't tend to use weapons, relying on his talons and body. He rarely uses his disc, and if he does, he's more than deadly accurate.

He hates taking his disc off. Every time he's had to take his disc off has been for Dyson and Clu to repurpose or change something about his coding. The idea of throwing it around and losing it drives him crazy.

His coding is not very stable, meaning that, without his disc, he'll turn to a stray quicker as well. He's terrified of losing what memories he has left.

His and Rinzler's relationship is complicated. Clu and Dyson fight to keep them as separate as possible. It's not very effective, since Dyson is Clu's right hand and often works with Rinzler to complete objectives. Beck and Rinzler respect each other, and there's a vague familiarity that sets them at ease with each other.

They also work really well together. They end up becoming friends, or as friendly as you can get as two repurposed programs. Usually they just spar and fight, honing each other's strengths and learning to cover their weaknesses. They don't ever plan anything together, but there's an assured complicity in whatever plot they've gotten themselves into.

He puts his survival above all else. Dyson and Clu reinforced his need for success, but they couldn't get rid of his drive to live. Beck knows that one day they'll try to get rid of him. Before that happens, he's going to kill them first.

[chronosh0t]

Okay but unhinged lee is so sexy to me (though the lee we got at the end of soc where he becomes the literal better version of himself is also great lee) this also does not just include the commandant (though they're the ones who bear the brunt of unhinged Lee the most bc of their death count) but the other gray ravens as well, Liv is sent to a mission where no one from their squad is involved but he has a different mission to do? Lee is annoyed but he's already creating a little buddy that will monitor Liv's vitals and surroundings for him as well as pinpointing her exact location, if Liv's vitals drop to somewhere critical or if the little buddy can no longer track her he will go to where she is regardless of protocols. Lucia needs to go with another squad to clear an area for a different mission? He's cheesing his way through his own mission before trailing not too far from where Lucia is, if he gets caught he could just say he got lost whilst on a mission himself to clear another area however he will not leave until Lucia's mission is over.

He will not loose any of them. he refuses to loose any of them, and well if anyone tries..... They'll find out the hard way how Lee cleared the tower. :]

Just an unkindness and their Vulture that will pluck anyone's eyes out if they even as much glare at them <333

Sorry for the late reply! Now, don't take me wrong, unhinged Lee is absolutely gorgeous but I think what you've pointed out is already, lowkey, happening? Lee is someone very protective of his teammates, his new family, so I won't be surprised if he actually checks on them (actually I'm sure as hell he does) because he cares, he wants them to be safe. I wouldn't call it unhinged but more of a quite overprotective boy who's tired of losing people he loves.

He's just a soft boy in reality who just want to protect, care, and create a future for them to be happy.

Now, if I take your pretty idea, I will add more spicy to the unhinged. A Lee where he wouldn't let the girls or his Commandant leave the lounge, he will keep the locked there, he will do their maintenance (which he does to Commandant) but in a more intrusive way, getting absolutely paranoid over someone else implanting unnecessary stuff, spying on them, looking at every single human or construct that gets close to them as a damn threat. He won't trust in anyone else ever again, he will also start doubting his teammates due to the same paranoia. He will do every single job.

What if Gray Raven is highly concerned about him, about his M.I.N.D getting corrupted so they try to help him. But Lee seeing others trying to help Gray Raven out, he lose it completely and hurts everyone..