#what it means to have power over your own fate and make your own choices too

[rin-solo]

To anyone in the TUC fandom who has looked at AHS and skipped it because they heard the ending is happy...

... and then assumed that it's just a wish fulfillment "ideal reality" kind of outcome of the TUC story that cuts all of the depth, pain, and realism ... Go back and read it right now.

Because that is not what AHS is. Not even close.

AHS is not "my version" of TUC where I just change whatever I dislike without regard for themes or characters in the original. Far from it. One of the main goals I had was actually to give more of the Underland. More characterization (that aligns with canon, although some characters develop in a different direction because of shifts in circumstances), more worldbuilding (that coincides with canon, adding onto it), ... just more, period.

The best way I can describe what it actually is is honestly saying that AHS is to TUC like Marvel's "What if ...?" is to the MCU. It is quite literally a "What if Henry had survived his fall at the end of "Gregor the Overlander"?" And I kid you not, 95% of the changes in the story, compared to TUC, are simply a result of exactly this change.

But the entire plot of the final book is different, right? Well, I didn't say that the consequences of that one change weren't substantial. They are. Without spoiling too much I can only say that Henry happens to be an optimist, and it also happens that an optimist was exactly what the TUC story needed to achieve a happier outcome.

Anyone who has actually read my version of the CoC plot will tell you that it is far from ideal, perfect, or pain-free. A lot more happens in the actual plot, but most of those new events are there to serve the dark, violent nature of war. There's so much talk about loss, and sacrifice, exploration of (also the dark side of) heroism, and whether "for the greater good" is worth it. There's corruption and death, injustice, and grappling with unkind fates and alienation/rejection.

Now, I will admit that I did put less emphasis on the societal pressure aspect of CoC, but mainly because that theme is a huge part of AHS 2 already, and it did not really fit this part of the story anymore. Instead, "Gregor against society" becomes "Questers against society" (quite literally, since they are — small spoiler — banding together to actually overthrow Solovet and bring about change.)

BUT ... if there is corruption, death, and the violence of war, how is it happier then? How can it have a happy ending?

Very simply because it is not only corruption but also redemption. Not only death and suffering but also growth and gain. Not only violence and breaking of relationships but also companionship, hope, and mending of relationships.

... The main change that happens to be so powerful it can give this series a happy ending without disrespecting or abandoning its original gritty violent core is ... a shift in mindset toward the positive. For Gregor, but also for everyone else. One of the main themes I added is the exploration of the double-edged nature of things: Everything has good and bad consequences. What we take away from it is what we choose to focus on.

Now you might see better what I meant by "All this series needed was an optimist" earlier. If there were someone to remind people of the bright side, to remind Gregor that his rager power does not make him evil and that he is never alone or choiceless, to embody this hopeful outlook and bring it out in everything ... I promise to you that this is all it would have taken.

And this is what I'm giving you.

[whateveriwant]

I know you already did the 141 boys when their wife gives birth (which was fantastic btw) but maybe if they missed the birth because of a mission or whatever else your brilliant mind can think of!

Don't give me compliments because then I'll follow you home like a cat and you'll never get rid of me 😖

Price

(This goes for all the men, really) but he's absolutely gutted to not be with you as you're giving birth

Honestly, if he had the choice, he would've rather lobbed off his own arm than miss such a momentous occasion in both your lives

It’s nothing less than the literal fate of the world that's keeping him from you, and he makes sure to reiterate that over and over again

The only thing that gives Price a bit of peace of mind when leaving you at a time like this is knowing you have a strong support system to help you through it

And boy oh boy does he put those friends and family members to use by having them constantly text him with every update imaginable

What time your water breaks, how far apart your contractions are, how much you've dilated, so on and so on. He wants to know it all

While he has to remain focused during the bulk of the mission, when he's able to, he's whipping out his phone to scroll through the literal hundreds of messages that await him

The updates are so plentiful and detailed that if he tries hard enough, he can almost pretend like he was right there beside you all along

And once he gets to the pictures of you holding your little one for the first time, well… he's not afraid to admit that he sheds a manly tear or two at the sight

Soap

He kicked up quite the storm at work when he realized he was going to be missing the birth of his child

He did everything in his power to try to get out of the mission – to try to get back to you – but, ultimately, he had no other choice than to go

But he's not just going to go gently into the night. No, he has a few tricks up his sleeve to make it as if he's still there with you in some capacity

Like Price, Soap takes comfort in leaving you with a huge support system to help while he's away

And also similarly, he's recruiting your loved ones (more so their phones) into letting him video chat with you whenever he gets the opportunity

(Does that mean he snuck his unauthorized smartphone into the middle of a battlefield? …. Yes. Yes, he did. .……....… Don't tell Price)

You'll be in the midst of a call with him and a bullet will fly right by his head and embed itself in the wall behind him

Of course, this has you incredibly concerned, worrying over how you're distracting him when he should be focused on his mission

But he assures you there's no need to fret, dear. He's perfectly safe and everything’s completely fine

(Oh, and just disregard that sound in the background, hun. No, it wasn't a bomb. Heavens, no! It was a… a… piano falling out a window)

Gaz

Even when he's away on mission during normal circumstances, he's calling home all the time to check in with you

But given your current state, now he's checking in twice as much as he usually does

Expect a minimum of three calls a day just to ensure things are still all hunky dory on your end

It's during one of these calls that your water breaks, and as you fly into a state of panic, forgetting everything you're supposed to do, Gaz has to calmly walk you through the steps of what you'd planned

He's able to talk you down and make sure you get yourself to the hospital in one piece, but then after that call, weirdly, you don't hear from him again

It's not until several hours later when you've already delivered your child that you're awoken by the feeling of someone beside your bed

You look to see who it is and it's none other than Gaz himself – still dressed in his full gear, covered in all sorts of dirt and grime, a hushed apology pouring from his mouth

He's so sorry he couldn't get there quick enough, beautiful. He left as soon as he could once he'd pulled a few strings with Price

But you don't even care about the excuse because you're quickly enveloping him in a hug. With tears in your eyes, you assure him it's alright. He's here now, and that's all that matters to you

Ghost

When he was informed he was being shipped off to a remote location less than a month before your due date, he was livid

No phone, no radio, no communication of any kind with the outside world and he was supposed to be okay with that? He very much wasn't

The higher-ups had to really hammer home the whole “safety of the world” thing to convince Ghost to go, and even when he did, he did so grudgingly

He finds that as he sits in this shoddy shack halfway across the planet from you, all he can do is keep a mental tally of everything he’s missing

Going with you to your final check ups, helping you pack your hospital bag, holding your hand as you begin to push, etc. etc. etc.

But what about things he might not know about? What if something's gone wrong while he's been away?

He can't let himself think on it too much because he'll end up putting his fist through the drywall, and he needs at least one good hand to hold his child with when he meets them for the first time

Seven weeks, four days, and nine hours after he shipped out, Ghost is on a plane back home

He doesn't stop to talk to anyone when he touches down at base (not even to report to his superiors). He just gets into his car and books it, not letting off the gas until he's parked outside your home again

And when he finally reaches the front door, an unexpected tremor passing through him as he grabs for the handle, he closes his eyes, takes in a deep breath, and walks inside, beginning the next chapter of his life

[fortuneforsaken-if]

What is a King to a God, and what is a God to a non-believer?

DEMO ☥ PINTEREST

This game is geared for mature audiences and as such is strictly 18+.

Ancient shackles bind you to the mortal realm, a soul severed from a home lost to the sands of time. A curse on you, a blessing for those who take command; Who wouldn't like to own a God?

You're the highly revered deity of fortune. Or you were, five thousand and eighty-two years ago. Now you're nothing but a glorified plaything to one of the most powerful families in the world. Every demand you must fulfill, no matter how vile or self-serving. The illusion of choice is all but shattered, there's nothing you can do to change it.

Or is there?

It takes a simple thing for something to shift. A fragment from the past, an ageless, flickering hum of power that unfurls the hands of fate and unearths buried sparks of hope. No one would've thought that an ancient sherd would hold the first hint to your freedom, a warm, familiar sensation of your soul locked in a tomb somewhere where no mortal has stepped in well over five thousand years.

Let's hope the decay doesn't take you before you find your way back home.

☥ FEATURES ☥

Two separate sides to customization; The one mortals perceive, and select parts of your true form. Choose names, appearances, gender, pronouns, sexuality, romantic orientation, and more.

Shape the personality that starts to re-emerge after being dulled for the better part of history. Reconnect with yourself, and get in touch with memories and feelings you lost so long ago.

Experience a character-driven story full of twists and turns that eventually determine how each of the three endings play out.

Romance one (or two) potential love interests from a cast of characters; A shunned archaeologist, a primordial God, the reincarnation of a priestess, or the mysterious man you can't quite place. Or don't, it's up to you.

And last but not least: Don't let the decay reach your heart. Every change of fortune has consequences, and mindfulness is encouraged. This game does have bad endings.

☥ CAST OF CHARACTERS ☥

Zain/Zaina Tharset ∆ M or F, 28

"You're my birthright, and I'd sooner have you dead than let you make a fool out of me."

Z is your charge. Loud, obnoxious, and entitled; They don't care about your feelings or protests. Every desire that leaves them only serves them alone, and it's on brand for most of the charges you've had before. In simple terms, Z is not a good person, and the more time you serve under them, the less you believe they have any redeeming qualities.

Like everyone in the family, Z has warm brown skin with golden undertones, and eyes in light shades of brown. Their hair is naturally curly and shaved on the sides, leaving a strip of hair on the top and back, like a fashionable mohawk. Zaina's hair reaches the middle of her shoulder blades, while Zain's stops at the nape of his neck.

Being bound to them is painful, but you have no choice. Trying to retrieve your soul will be an ordeal, and it might not be worth the agony.

Rami Tharset ∆ M, 28, RO

"Just because the world has forgotten you, forgotten them, doesn't mean I will."

Rami is the twin brother of your current charge. Kind and humble, it's difficult to imagine him a part of the Tharset family on count of how different he is from that pit of vipers. He keeps to himself, usually holed away in a library or study where he digs into the history of, well, you. Or the ancient world you came from. This has caused the rest of the archeological community to shun him, the name of your old empire nothing more than a myth and a glorified fairy tale.

Rami shares his family's warm brown skin tone, and the black curly hair that's usually a messy mop that sits on top of his head, unstyled and naturally chaotic. It reaches just the stop of his ears, and is shaved in the back. Light brown eyes that are quite blurry without his glasses, but the gold-tinted pilot-framed lenses fit him nicely.

He's one of the few friendly faces you face in the Tharset circle, and you curse your misfortune that you couldn't have him as a charge instead.

Maluset ∆ M, N/A, RO

"For all I am, all I have controlled, still I could not keep you safe. Forgive me, old friend."

The God of the Night, and everything that you have left of an age and life long forgotten. While the rest of your pantheon faded one by one, he remained. You've always known Maluset as a calm presence, a steadfast and unperturbed God that never let himself be shaken, by mortals or his siblings.

While Mal prefers manifesting as his animal motif - a jackal made of black marble and eyes like consolidated galaxies - he does have a human form too. If he must appear mortal, his skin takes the color of what the mortals of your time had; bronzed, medium brown with a golden undertone. His hair would be jet black and curly, medium length, and he likes it naturally tousled by the winds. If necessary, he'll let his eyes appear dark brown in color, but he prefers the starlit skies in them instead.

He's been a constant in your life, at least until he disappeared three centuries ago. You know he's still out there since the realm where you take shelter is his, and it hasn't yet disappeared.

Rory Ewing ∆ F, 23, RO

"I can't remember, but your face, it stirs something in my heart. Why? Who was I to you?"

Rory is a new acquaintance to you, but there's something very familiar about her. She might just be a student now, her curiosity bringing her close to you, but you can feel an old connection whenever she's close by. Her voice reminds you of prayers long ago, even if her modern vernacular is closer to 'damn, that shit's the bomb' than hymns sung in your praise. Then again, reincarnation has a way of changing people.

It doesn't, however, change appearances. Back in your day, Rory's vessel was a traveler from the north; Her skin was light beige, rosy in its undertones. Her hair was thick and a subdued red, woven into an intricate braid that hung over her shoulder, reaching her midriff. Her eyes were also uncommon to you; pale green, vibrant but ghostly.

She doesn't remember you, and maybe that's for the best. Her new self is a stark contrast to who she was, and you don't think she'd enjoy the idea of donning priestess garb over the punk-rockish getup she wears now.

Taz Arian ∆ M, 34, RO

"Funny, isn't it? How some people seem familiar, even when they shouldn't be."

Taz is... Someone. He appears out of nowhere to join your journey, his knowledge of old ruins and tombs handy but somewhat worrying when he shouldn't even be able to see you. There's a strange thrum of power coming from him whenever he speaks, and you swear you've met him before, but where? It might be easier to find out if he didn't deflect and flirt his way out of things, but it does help with mortals that can't see you.

His appearance is nothing extraordinary; Dark brown hair that's held up in a bun, and you could assume it reaches his shoulders when loose, the loose curls pulling it a tad shorter. His eyes are light in color, almost golden in the right light, glinting with mischief. His skin is weathered, and golden bronze in color, with an intricate tattoo of an eagle spanning across his chest. He also sports a short beard, which gives him a rogueish look.

There is something about him that tugs at your memories, but you can't catch that thread of remembrance for long enough to recall him. Still, he doesn't seem to mind and resorts to teasing you instead.

[n0cturn4]

Character: Adult!Damian Wayne x Reader Summary: “I offer you my heart,” he murmured, his voice now an intimate whisper. “And the freedom to do with it as you will.” Word Count: 1185 Music: Habibi

It was a night of scorching heat in the infinite desert, where the sky, dotted with stars, reflected the glow of a fate written long before the birth of kingdoms. In the palace of Al-Nadir, grand and carved in marble and gold, Prince Damian Wayne, now a grown man, wandered silently through its vast corridors. His firm steps echoed like a whisper of responsibility and power. Damian, the prince who carried the weight of two legacies within him, had always been an enigma, a man made of shadows and steel. But that night, something beyond the throne unsettled him. He felt an emptiness, an absence that neither gold nor glory could fill.

The festival of Al-Nadir pulsed like a living heart in the city below, where the people celebrated, and the arts flourished under the desert heat. On that special night, dancers from all corners came to showcase their talents, but there was one in particular, a presence that stood out among all, like a rare flower in the sands of destiny.

And then he saw her.

You, a dancer whose movements seemed to defy the very stars. Your feet glided across the stage like a gentle breeze over the dunes, and your eyes, burning and mysterious, revealed stories that words could never contain. Your body, adorned with veils and jewels that shimmered in the torchlight, moved with a grace that did not belong to this world. Every gesture, every curve of your body was silent poetry, a promise of freedom and power.

Damian, a man accustomed to hiding his emotions, felt his heart waver. The serenity he always carried like armor shattered before your dance. He, a prince of steel, was captivated by a flame he did not understand but could not ignore.

When the music ceased and the applause echoed, Damian knew he had to meet you. He ordered to be taken to you, not with the arrogance of a prince, but with the curiosity of a man before a mystery he longed to unravel. In the palace’s private gardens, beneath the shadows of exotic trees, he waited. The sound of water running through the fountains was the only noise besides his own heartbeat.

You arrived, your eyes raised, firm and fearless, as enigmatic as your dance. There was no fear in your posture, only calm curiosity, as if you knew this encounter was inevitable.

“You called for me, Your Highness?” your voice was a thread of silk, as soft as the night breeze.

Damian tilted his head, his green eyes analyzing you as if he could read your soul through every subtle movement.

“There is something in your dance,” he said, his voice deep and controlled, “something that goes beyond art. There’s a story behind every one of your movements. A battle... a freedom.”

Your lips curved into a slight smile, something enigmatic, like a moon partially veiled by clouds. You observed him with the same care, surprised by his insight.

“Every gesture I make carries the weight of my own story,” you replied. “Dancing is the only freedom I truly have.”

Damian stepped closer, his words like veiled promises in the warm night air. “What if I could offer you more than just that fleeting freedom? What if I could give you something greater?”

You raised an eyebrow, your eyes sparkling with curiosity. “What exactly would you offer me, Your Highness?”

He did not hesitate, his words were precise, like the arrows he so skillfully wielded. “A choice. Stay by my side. Not as a prisoner of my will, but as an equal. Someone who challenges my spirit and shares the burden of power with me. I see in you what few would—strength that deserves to be honored, not tamed.”

The night seemed suspended between you, the wind carrying only the echoes of something forming, something neither of you had anticipated.

“And if I accept this offer,” you asked, your tone low but filled with meaning, “what do I get in return, besides power and your wealth?”

Damian took another step closer, until his eyes, intense as the desert itself, penetrated yours.

“I offer you my heart,” he murmured, his voice now an intimate whisper. “And the freedom to do with it as you will.”

You stepped forward, reducing the distance that still remained between you. Your eyes, deep and mysterious, met his with firmness. It was like looking into a distorted mirror—you, the free dancer, and he, the chained prince. Two worlds so different, yet drawn to each other as if the universe had conspired for this moment.

“And what would you do, Prince,” you began, your voice flowing like a soft melody, “if I took your heart and turned it into my own dance? If I made it part of who I am?”

Damian smiled, a rare smile, almost imperceptible, carrying both melancholy and hope. There was something vulnerable in his stance, a man who had always been a fortress now lowering his defenses before a stranger, yet still, a soul he seemed to have known forever.

“Then,” he replied, with a soft gleam in his eyes, “I would become part of your freedom. Because in the end, there is no greater power than being in the hands of someone you trust.”

For a moment, the world around you seemed to stop. The sounds of the festival in the distance, the murmuring fountains, even the soft breeze among the leaves, all silenced in the intensity of that moment. The moon poured its silver light over the garden, as if the heavens were watching and approving of what was unfolding.

You stepped even closer, until you were so near that you could feel the heat emanating from his body, his presence strong and solid. Your fingers, delicate and skilled like in your dance, gently touched Damian's chest, right over where his heart beat. The touch was light, almost like a breeze, but the connection that formed was deep, instantaneous.

“Your freedom and mine are like two stars dancing in the sky, Prince,” you said softly. “I accept what you offer, but know that I will not be a silent companion. My soul is not meant to be contained.”

Damian breathed deeply, as if your words had the power to ignite something deep within him. His eyes never left yours for a moment.

“That is exactly why I chose you,” he murmured, his voice dense, full of promise. “I don’t want someone who bows, but someone who walks beside me. I want someone who challenges me, who makes me question the world as it is.”

You tilted your head slightly, studying him, as if deciphering the final secret hidden in his soul.

“Then, Prince Damian,” you said, a light smile on your lips, “we will dance together.”

And so, under the stars that silently watched, the bond between you was formed. The Prince of Al-Nadir, with his heart in the hands of a dancer, and you, with the promise of a love that could not be contained by borders or duties. The night, a silent witness, became the stage for the first act of a story that would defy fate and time.

And in that dance of souls and hearts entwined, Damian Wayne's world began to change, one step at a time.

[lalunanymph]

MARRY THE TRAITOR ; gojo satoru

⟡ the day you met your demise is the same day you met gojo satoru, your betrothed from a world so different from yours—a cruel prince who is undoubtedly in love with someone else. as the stakes rise and you race against the clock to beat your brutal fate, can you make the ultimate choice between your heart or your happily ever after?

includes: arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, unrequited love, slow burn, yandere!gojo, prince!gojo, princess!reader, reader is referred to as 'cerena', princess cerena has pink hair and feminine features, reader has transferred into cerena's body, isekai-ed reader, mentions of death, language, suggestive, explicit smut (not between reader and gojo though lmaosgfj), themes of classism

⟡ masterlist

ACT 1, SCENE 2: THE TUNNELS

“Do not touch me,” your deathly warning stills the entire room. “Do not speak to me like this and if you wish to protect her reputation—”

Your eyes fall on the maid still cowering on the floor, her eyes turned to the ground, but a shadow of a smirk on her face belies her true intentions. 

She was attempting to frame me… or, Cerena. She is trying to get us in trouble with this powerful, spiteful man. 

“Next time, choose someone else who doesn’t make it obvious that this is all a ploy to smear my name.”

Such words falling from your lips take you aback because they don’t belong in your day-to-day vocabulary, but in this instant, it feels right to throw them in his face.

You turn your back on his gaping, surprised expression, picking up the hem of your gown to make your graceful departure. But, as you sweep your gaze over the sweeping stone pillars touching the ceiling and the scaglia flooring which looks so out of place with your perception of what reality is, you find yourself faltering, looking at one of the maids for help.

“Where is my room?” you stammer, drawing more of their confusion and adding to the disarray of this already convoluted scene. 

The man glares at you, looking you up and down as if he is trying to piece together your odd behavior. 

“What do you mean you don’t know where your room is?” 

Chagrin and embarrassment well up inside your chest, staining your cheeks, and you clear your throat. 

“I… seem to have misplaced my bearings today. I do not feel well. Could someone please lead me to my chambers?”

A second of agonizing silence engulfs the entire room. Then, a mousy, brown-haired maid steps forward, bowing graciously. 

“Let me take you to your chambers, milady.”

You breathe a quiet sigh of relief. Preparing to follow her, your path is once more blocked by this infuriating man who will not relent in drawing out your humiliation.

Darkness settles in those clear, azure eyes, and his jaw is clenched, though he doesn’t put his hands on you again.

“We are not done speaking about this yet, Cerena. I will make you own up to your mistake… whether you like it or not.”

Paralyzed to one spot, you watch as he departs from your side to kneel down and gently gather the maid in his arms, guiding her to her feet as he speaks to her in low tones, a look of endearment and tenderness softening the harsh edges of his azure eyes. 

It hits you then like a lightning bolt.

He is obviously and irrevocably head over heels in love with that simple maid.

The jarring change of his temperament from blatant vengefulness to tender consideration shocks you to the core, numbing your entire body with the prejudice and injustice of it all, freezing you to the spot. 

“Milady?” The maid who volunteered to lead you back to your chambers approaches you carefully, interrupting you from your ruminations. “Shall we?” 

You nod after a moment, dazed, and turn your back on the vile memories of the spectacle you were forced to endure, following behind her silently.

The sound of your heels on the red limestone floor echo in the solitary quiet, and you fidget with your hands. Eventually, your curiosity wins and you clear your throat, getting her attention.

“I apologize that you had to see that.”

To your surprise, the maid chokes back a gasp, quickly darting her eyes to the ground when you turn your gaze to her. 

“It is fine, milady,” she stammered, lacing her fingers together in a tight grip; you notice she is trembling slightly, and unable to look you in the eye for longer than a few seconds. 

“You seem afraid of me.” 

You meant it as an observation, but to her, it was a reprimand. She bows her head a few times, shoulders tight and tense with fear.

“I apologize, milady. I will do better next time. I will not—”

“Hey, hey,” you reach out to grab her arms, your voice low and soothing; trying to earn her trust. “Calm down. I am not going to scold you. I am just… stating a fact. Why are you so afraid of me?” 

Her lower lip trembles and her brown eyes shift from you again, onto the red stone floor.

“Milady… you’re… not well known for being the most patient princess in the realm. And you love to berate and belittle the people who work for you. We are all trying our best to accommodate you, Your Highness, so please, cut us some slack and we will show you how devoted we are to the crown and to your wellbeing.”

It’s a trained answer, one she recites from the top of her head like a prayer of mercy. 

You drop your hands, aware that your bizarre attitude may be scaring her. 

“I am… sorry. Please. Accept my apologies. I did not sense I was being unreasonable.”

Her surprise is a palpable emotion that sweeps across her face, and she actually gasps, taken aback by your heartfelt apology.

“Milady, it’s… please, do not apologize to me! I am but a lowly servant and you should—you should not demean yourself like that—”

“It’s alright,” you stop her refusal with a sheepish wave of your hands, attempting to soothe her misgivings. “I have done you wrong and I wish to take accountability over it. I truly am apologetic for… my behavior.”

The young woman looks at you like she’s never seen you before, her eyes wide and unflinching. 

“What is your name?” You inquire politely, and the look of surprise in those coffee brown eyes deepen. Somewhere, shimmering in its depths, you see a hint of respect and reverence.

“Elara, milady.” 

You nod, forcing a kind smile so as not to petrify her further with your raging confusion and stuttering awkwardness. 

“Elara. A beautiful name. Could I ask you a few questions—and please, be as truthful as you can when you answer them.”

She doesn’t hesitate to nod, the fear guarding her heart easing slightly, allowing her defenses to weaken. 

Your inquisitiveness is at an undeniable peak, and you need to whet your suspicions or else you would go insane.

“Who was that man from earlier? The one who claims we are engaged?”

The young woman fails to temper her look of obvious confoundment, slowing her pace so she can tilt her head to the side and regard you.

“Milady, are you feeling unwell?” 

Her concern ticks you towards an internal panic. Your laughter sounds strained even to your own ears, and you shake your head, struggling to come up with a viable excuse. 

“I suppose… The chill of today is making me foggy.”

Elara purses her lips, noting your look of disarray, but doesn’t keep the information you seek from you.

“That man is your betrothed, milady. The Crowned Prince of the Northern Haleway—Prince Gojo Satoru. You both have been engaged for a very long time, since the tender age of nine, and are set to be married this following year.”

Immediately, your stomach sinks to your toes, and you release a shaky breath you didn’t know you were holding. 

A crowned prince? 

Betrothed and married by this year?

You? 

The questions swirled in your mind like a raging tempest, and you must’ve worried her with your stunned silence for she stopped in mid-stride, reaching out to tap your shoulder.

“Milady?” 

You shake your head, trying to tame the panic down before it could consume you and you would fall to your knees, shaking and sobbing from the uncontrollable fear.

“Wh… who am I?” 

This time, she gasps, unable to hold back her dread when she hears your question, her brown eyes wavering with fear. 

“Milady, shall I fetch for the physician?” 

Her tone rises up a decibel, and you shush her, shaking your head vehemently. Spotting a relatively hidden alcove, you grab her arm and tug her into the secluded spot, her bright, brown eyes shining with confusion even in the dim lighting of this dark nook.

“Please. Trust me when I say this—I have no idea who I am, where I am or who everyone else is around here. I’m not from this world. I am not from this land. My name is Y/N, and I am not this Princess Cerena or person you think I am.”

Elara gapes, unable to believe her ears. She gives you a probing look, as if to determine if you were trying to pull her leg.

But, when your gaze doesn’t falter for a single second, she takes one step back, a look of horror bleeding across her features.

“Impossible. This is… how can you… what do you mean you are not from this world?” 

You take a deep breath and try your best to explain your side of this confusion.

“The last thing I remember before waking up in the middle of the prince’s tantrum was a man hitting me over my head to steal my purse. He was a thief and he—” your voice shakes, all the tension and confusion coalescing into a tight ball underneath your throat, triggering your desperate tears which you try so hard to fight off. 

“—he left me to die in an alleyway. I thought I was dead… that my life was over, but then, I opened my eyes and the first thing I saw was… Satoru, you said? Yes. The first thing I saw was him. Satoru. I’ve never met him before in my life.”

Elara is dumbfounded, that much you can expect. But, she doesn’t refute your words. 

Believing you without a single shred of doubt.

Was Cerena such an awful person that even a bit of kindness can sway her to my side?

Your thoughts are loud, ricocheting around the recesses of your mind and you wait for her to believe you. 

Elara eventually dips her head forward, absorbing your words. 

“I… have faith in your words, milady.” Her gaze is scrutinizing. “You are different, there is no doubt about that. Your words, your expressions, certain phrases you use. You are not Lady Cerena, and for that, I believe it is a blessing.”

She clasped her hands in front of her body, having relieved herself of the burdensome thoughts shrouding her mind.

Without preamble or a word in from you, she gestures towards the end of the hallway, showering you with some much needed kindness you didn’t know you were desperate for until she gives you a wry smile. Your heart squeezes longingly in your chest. 

“Come. You must be tired from your… journey. I will prepare your room and then, you may rest.” 

For an hour after that, you sit around in your room, bored to death.

There wasn’t much to do in a world like this besides wearing pretty dresses, lounge around and being alert for any strange sounds coming from outside the hardwood doors.

Your bed is lavishly decorated with the best wool these lands could offer, warm yet cool under your touch to insulate you from the mountainous chill. A peek inside Cerena’s closet confirms that most of the treasury money her parents must’ve sent down to Northern Haleway went to these carefully crafted pieces of organza, lace and encrusted jewels upon mountains of sheer and gossamer dresses. Even her cloaks were of the highest quality—mink and lambskin leather, tailored to fit her body perfectly. 

Like a diabetic in a candy store, you excitedly shift through the elaborate pieces, feeling their fine workmanship. Many of them were low cut and sleeveless, intended to show off her petite shoulders and defined collarbones. It was obvious she had an eye for such aesthetic advantages. 

Having seen yourself in the mirror, you conclude that Cerena is one of, if not, the most beautiful woman you have ever seen in your life.

With her cascading, naturally-tinted strawberry blonde curls and fine nose, her visage could easily strike admiration in hearts around the world, no matter where her dainty feet took her.

In contrast, you were less feminine and refined than her, a paltry shadow in the face of such regal beauty that you flinched and eventually stepped away from the mirror, as if looking at another woman’s reflection for too long may scorch you. 

Choosing to lay listlessly on the bed, you weren’t used to such free time on your hands.

Back in your home world, you would be using this ample stretch of relaxation to clean up your apartment, cook, or perhaps, even get started on another bouquet arrangement you often did for your friends at no cost.

Your eyes slip close, though sleep struggles to find you.

Eventually, you’re driven to your feet, tired of this fatiguing ennui weighing heavily on your shoulders. 

Slipping your feet into a pair of fine satin slippers, you ditch the loud heels for whispery footsteps on the stone floor, taking this opportunity to explore the castle. 

You touch the cool stones, feeling the heat from the sconces above bathe your skin with a warm glow. The castle is structured in such a way that the winding hallways and open windows brought in as much natural sunlight as possible. Stopping shy of a larger balcony, you step outside and feel the cool air grazing your cheeks. 

Northern Haleway’s stronghold was located up a steep foothill. Below, as far as the eye could see, lay craggily rocks and sharp jagged cliffs which would kill anyone upon impact.

You shudder at such natural magnificence, and force your feet to take you down the hallway, every step echoing softly behind you.

For such a big castle, there weren’t many around, and you supposed this wing where Cerena lived was explicitly ordered to be emptied for the sake of the princess’ unstable mood swings.

I wonder… where can I find the throne room…

You had only ever seen such regalia in picture books and movies. A part of you wanted to witness it in real time; to see if the sheer splendor matches your imagination. 

However, as you cross the threshold into an elaborate sitting room, you hear whispers and movement from the other end of a closed door. 

Curious and hesitant at the same time, you let your inquisitiveness get the best of you, taking one step closer to the elaborate doorway, pressing your ear to the wainscoted surface.

“... mhm… oh… Satoru…”

Your ears burn and you smother a gasp with your open palm. 

Muffled grunts could be heard from the other end of the door, and a sinking feeling rests heavily in your gut.

The lewd sounds were unmistakable. You could easily picture the ghastly, horrid man from before, with his towering height and broad shoulders, ramming the entirety of his cock inside the maid’s smaller, but willing body. 

Her cries echo feebly, laced with ecstasy and pleasure.

Without warning, you feel someone touching your elbow and nearly squeak, if it weren’t for Elara’s wide brown eyes dominating your vision. Catching your composure in time, you bite your lower lip hard enough to taste blood, hoping to every god above that the prince and his lover did not catch your slip up.

“Milady—” 

You shush her with a finger to your lips, shaking your head frantically. Elara takes your cue and quietens, those coffee hues widening when she picks up on the same sounds you were eavesdropping on.

Her mouth falls open wider, a scandalized look taking over her features. 

Satoru and Miri find respite in reaching their peak at the same time, their desperate gasps and moans twining as one. You hear them kiss passionately, and it makes your gut turn to think that the same man Cerena is engaged to is so blatantly flaunting his affair right in the very same castle she lived in.

Anger rises inside of you, dark and tarry like a bubbling vat of acid.

No matter how horrible a woman was painted to be, she did not deserve this treatment from someone claiming to be her fiancé. 

You were upset on Cerena’s behalf, especially when the heir himself chuckled, a low and disturbing sound. 

“I cannot believe she stalked away from you with such boldness,” Miri muttered huskily, obviously trying to further seed this divide between Satoru and Cerena.

The man in question hummed, as if the idea of insulting and sullying the name of his future wife and queen barely ruffled his composure.

“She will pay for what she has done. I will not tolerate such rudeness and discourtesy, especially since she knows you mean a lot more to me than she does.”

You shiver at the conviction and contempt in his tone. Glancing at Elara, you note that she too seems engrossed in the conversation, unable to peel her ear off the hardwood. 

Miri laughs, light and breezy, though what she says next chills you right to the bone.

“She seemed even more agitated today. I suppose she really is coming to her senses and is close to realizing that she has lost you, Your Highness. And as we all know, Princess Cerena can never lose.”

Her words drip with sarcasm and resentment, feeding the flames of Satoru’s vengefulness. 

“That idiotic woman. I despise her very being,” he mutters haughtily. “Every time she opens her mouth, I wish to never hear her voice again. To wipe her from my memories and remove her from my presence. It is not enough that I am to be wedded to her, but my father seems adamant on pushing Cerena onto me like an unwanted gift.” 

Miri hums. “And her attitude must not be very pleasant as well, isn’t it, my love?”

Satoru barks a laugh, like she’s just uttered the funniest thing his twisted mind could conjure.

“Pleasant? Cerena? Those two words can never exist in a singular sentence. No, she is not pleasant. In fact, she is the opposite of pleasant. She is an insolent, vicious and repulsive creature. If only I could, I will teach her a lesson so she will understand that this world is only tolerable to her because she is a princess. I wish to hurt her in ways she can never fathom and destroy her until no man would ever want her again.” 

Horror steals the last of your thoughts. A warm hand clasps around your fingers and you realize Elara is lending you her strength. 

You are suddenly aware of how badly your hands are shaking. 

Miri giggles, as if her lover’s words are music to her ears. 

“Have you given thought to the suggestion I raised before? To kill the princess?” 

Your breathing stops, and Elara flickers her gaze to you, eyes wide and wavering.

Kill… Cerena? 

He wouldn’t do that, would he? 

Your trembles become harder to control. You have no idea what this man is capable of, and for the first time in your life, you are terrified of the power he wields, indomitable compared to yours. 

The horrifying reminder comes to you in a flash. 

This was a different world, one where men ruled and women obeyed. 

You knew enough from the movies and books to understand that if a man wanted you dead in this era, it would be by his law and his alone. 

Satoru echoes her sentiments with a chuckle. 

“You really are hellbent on me getting rid of her, aren’t you?” 

You can almost imagine Miri’s pout. 

“She is the only thing standing in between the two of us from being together. Don’t you want to get rid of that?” 

You gape, astounded by her boldness. This… this bitch! 

You can’t believe the treason you’re hearing—for surely, it is treason to want a princess dead, especially for a commoner to speak such words. 

Elara seems to be of the same opinion, her quivering lips weighing into a downturn grimace. 

Satoru’s lazy laughter grates your ears, and you listen in for what he has to say next.

Please, you beg internally; hoping for someone to hear your desperate plea and prayer for this man to see reason and be merciful. Please, have a heart for this woman whose body I am inhabiting and do not harm her. 

Your flimsy hopes break upon impact, like a sandcastle succumbing to a wave in one fell swoop.

“I promise I will get rid of her,” Satoru’s conviction punches you right in the gut, leaving you breathless and in despair. “I promise that once she is dead, I will wed you and we will be together, my love. Forever. You have my word.” 

You stagger backwards, unable to listen anymore.

Tearing out of the room as quietly as your footsteps can take you, you hear Elara’s faint footfalls following behind. Her grip on your arm is steady, supporting your shaking knees.

“Milady—”

Out of earshot from the vile man and his wicked maid, you finally reveal the true fear corrupting your soul.

“Elara, please. You have to get me out of this castle.”

Her face pales, throwing her freckles into stark view. 

“Milady, I-I can’t. To hide a princess is considered high treason—”

“Please,” you choked, grasping her arms, your eyes wild with fright. “You heard what the prince said. You heard what he promised. If he fulfills it, I will die here. Please. You have to help me.”

You weren’t above getting on your knees to clutch at her skirt, begging and pleading for your life. Luckily, Elara would never make you commit such an atrocity.

Her thin hands grasp yours, her mousy face filled with a fiery determination you’ve never seen a woman possess.

“I may know a place to hide you. Follow me, princess.”

She leads you straight to the other end of the castle, pushing open a heavy wooden door. It’s the maids quarters and there, she fetches a plain cloak, throwing it on your shoulders and fastening it around your throat. 

“Make sure your hood is always pulled up,” she warned, beckoning you to follow her.

You pass rows upon rows of straw beds with crumpled linen sheets, aghast at the state of the help’s sleeping area. The squalor fills you with anger, especially when you compare it to the lavish beddings of Princess Cerena’s room.

Is this what the royal family allows? You seethe internally. Such pitiable states of living were reserved for animals, not humans who devoted their entire lives to serving the crown. 

But, you don’t have much time to ruminate on the anger bubbling inside of you, following Elara’s silhouette through another door. She brings you into a labyrinth-like hallway barely illuminated by greasy old sconces, gesturing for you to follow her. 

There is nothing you can do than to put your faith in this young, kind maid as she leads you from one winding path to another, her footsteps light and sure. 

A rat scampered somewhere to your left and you shriek, earning a timely glare from Elara who shushes you. 

Contrite, you swallow your unease and trail behind her like a ghostly woman of the night.

Eventually, the winding paths turn straighter, and there is another door in the distance.

This one is heavier than the last, as if meant to guard the inhabitants from something outside; or to keep them confined within.

It takes the both of you to push it wide, and when the door finally creaks open, you’re hit with a face full of cold, biting air.

Elara doesn’t waste any time, grabbing your wrist and tugging you forward. 

“Come on. I know a woman who will help you. She lives in a nearby forest.”

You huff, trying to keep up with her. 

All around you, standing like stalwart giants, towering pine trees press close, shrouding the behemothian castle from view, their sharp scent stinging your nostrils. Elara’s pulse is thudding against your fingers, a rapid fire rate that fills you with both determination and dread. 

“What was that?” You call above the rushing of your fleeing, sensing it was safe to speak now.

She glanced back at you, lips in a thin line.

“The castle tunnels. It’s barely functional, but we use it sometimes to receive bulkier goods without being seen on the main floors.” 

She guides you further into the forest, and you sense this isn’t the right time for questions. Elara makes you jump over a tiny, bubbling brook, and you were glad for swapping out your heels for these manageable slippers. 

Finally, after what feels like hours dashing through the thickening forest with nothing but foliage and the cold air whipping your hair into a disarray, Elara stops you shy of a clearing.

Inside the circle is a tiny hut, smoke spewing out of its brick red chimney.

She doesn’t hesitate to walk to the door, knocking on it. When there is no reply, she does it again, firmly this time, and you wait with bated breath for whoever is on the other side to reveal themselves.

The lock clicks and your heart constricts. 

An elderly woman with unruly, white hair, pries the door open, her crinkled face frowning when she sees Elara.

“Dear? Whatever are you doing here?”

Her wizened, rheumy eyes move to you, and her gaze becomes sharper.

“Who is this?” 

“Nana, this is a friend,” Elara muttered, grasping my elbow and tugging me forward. “Her name is—”

“Y/N,” you supply immediately, giving her a subtle shake of your head. You would rather the older woman did not know your true identity. “It is a pleasure to meet you…”

You trail off, waiting for her to introduce herself.

Elara’s grandmother purses her thin lips, and shifts her gaze from her granddaughter to this suspiciously noble looking woman.

“Aeva,” she finally answered. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Y/N.”

Once reassured that her grandmother would not react badly, Elara gives her a rundown of your situation. The older woman listens carefully, never once interrupting her granddaughter. 

After gathering her thoughts, she makes a swift decision, nodding and gesturing to you to come closer.

For a split second, she skims her gaze up and down your body, noting your pink curls, the clean look of your skin and nails. 

“If you are to stay here with me, no one can know your true identity… Princess.” 

Elara flinched, like a child caught in the middle of a lie. In reaction to her granddaughter’s flimsy attempt to hide the truth, Aeva shoots her a smug smile.

“Trying to fool an old woman who has tasted more salt of the earth than you—not a wise move, young lady.” 

But, she doesn’t prod or scold her any further. 

Her attention lands on you again, and her thin lips quirk downward into a heavy frown.

“If you want to stay here, you need to work, my dear. No slacking off, and definitely no people to attend to you at your beck and call. Can you bear that?” 

Bless her heart. She doesn’t sense the difference in you, thinking you’re nothing more than a spoiled, childish princess.

Eagerly and without a second thought, you nod. 

“Yes. I understand. I will help you with any chores you need. I am good at cooking and taking care of a hearth. You need not worry about my reliability.”

Aeva's expression wavers and she shoots Elara an amused look.

“Alright then, Princess. We shall see if your words ring true.”

Elara gives you a tight smile, one which you return. Recognizing the confidence and reassurance she was trying to instill in you.

“Take heart, Princess,” her words soothe you. 

“You will be safe here.”

Days had passed since Satoru had last seen you in the annex hallway, the memory of his confrontation with you still fresh in his mind. 

As hard as he tries to ignore the chiming in his head to check up on you, to seek you out and ensure you're not sulking or throwing another nasty fit, he's grateful for the quiet your absence gives him. 

Miri visits his chambers almost every day, giving her body to him and warming his sheets till the morning sun illuminates the red stone floors. As he watches the rays touch her face, he traces her features softly, wishing for nothing more in the world than to do this for the rest of his life.

His love for Miri came as an anchor, providing him a lifeline when he thought he had lost everything his heart had to offer.

Though he feels it unfair to indulge in her fantasies of some day getting rid of you, Satoru can’t deny that there’s a certain appeal to that idea.

Removing his brash and volatile fiancé, and replacing her with a woman far gentler, graceful and courteous—Satoru thinks it’s Miri who should bear his ring upon her finger. Be the woman he wakes up to every morning despite her lowly status and economic standing.

Some people were more suited for the life of a royalty, and he is of the opinion that compared to you, Miri far exceeds the idea of what it means to be a Princess while you, in all your snobbishness and arrogance, deserved to be at the bottom of the barrel. 

Encompassing his mindset as a whole, Satoru feels a certain fragile peace he hasn't encountered in a long while, though it all shatters one morning when his father, King Satoshi, calls him into the throne room.

Magnificent and intimidating in one breath, the great King Gojo Satoshi sits regally on his throne, the seat beside him stingingly empty. 

Satoru doesn’t let his gaze linger on where his mother used to sit, instead, bowing deeply when he catches his father’s eye, awaiting his next words. 

“Arise, son.”

The heir apparent to Northern Haleway straightens his back, azure eyes flinty and guarded.

“Father. You requested for me.”

Satoshi nods, his expression unreadable. 

“Son, I need to ask you a question.”

Satoru steels himself for an unexpected request or a test of his allegiance; both options having been given before by his rigid and non-permissive father.

But, what his father asks next renders him stupefied and breathless, thrown completely off kilter.

“Satoru… where is your Princess?”

The young man feels his palms dampening with sweat. In response, he scoffs, shaking his head.

“Cerena? I have not seen her, Father. Why do you inquire?” 

His affectionless response does not sit well with the older Gojo, who bristles and deepens his glare.

“You mean to tell me you do not care that your fiancé—who, by the way, hasn’t been seen for the past two days—has disappeared, and you’re questioning why I'm asking you about it?”

Anger drips from his accusing question, and Satoru schools his expression into neutrality, unwilling to give away his true emotions of mirth and relief. 

Cerena is missing… she hasn’t been seen for two whole days… is this the Gods answering my prayers? 

Satoshi, clearly angered and insulted by his son’s lack of haste and concern, sits back against his throne, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

“Satoru, I am putting you in charge of the search party for the princess. If the kingdom of Kraith—Cerena’s parents—were to know that she is lost, there will be tragic repercussions for our country. You have to find her and bring her back. Am I making myself clear?” 

Satoru stiffened at the implications of what would happen should the neighboring country uncover this slight. 

Trade contracts will be affected, livelihoods will be destroyed and the monetary resources Kraith offered through their bountiful grain industry would be in jeopardy. 

But, that’s not all at stake.

“If you fail to find her before this week’s end,” Satoshi continues, his turquoise eyes boring deeply into his son’s ones. “I will revoke your ascension to the throne and give it to your cousin, Yuuta. Is that what you desire?” 

Stiffly, Satoru shakes his head, shame and anger burning inside him like a brewing storm.

“No, Your Majesty.”

Apparently satisfied that his threats have hit their mark, Satoshi reclines into the oversized chair, his large hands curling around the bejeweled lion’s head knobs adorning the end of the throne’s arms.

“Good. I expect to hear news from you by this week’s end, Satoru.”

Taking that as his cue for dismissal, the young heir bows stiffly to his father before stepping out of the throne room. As he rounds the corner, he’s caught off guard by his lover, who darts from an alcove to block his path.

“What did he want?” Miri asks breathlessly.

Satoru frowns but doesn’t push her away, his broad shoulders sagging under the weight of the gleaming regalia and military awards pinned to his lapels. The heavy burden of his princely duties leaves him feeling hopeless and worn down.

“He wants me to find her—Cerena—and bring her back or else he will give my cousin, Yuuta, the rites of ascension.”

Miri gasps, her face blanching. 

“He cannot do that!” 

“He can,” Satoru runs a hand down his face, expelling a tired sigh. “He is the King and he can do whatever he wants. I have to search for her. Cerena. I need to find her or else everything I’ve worked for will be in vain.”

Miri glances over her shoulder before she wraps her arms around him. 

Satoru takes comfort in her embrace, inhaling the soft scent of musk and jasmine floating from her hair. 

They stay like this for a while, two lovers holding onto each other as the differences in their standing and burdens remain determined to keep them apart. 

“It’s the perfect timing,” Miri suddenly gushes, pulling back just far enough so he can see the opportunity twinkling in her eyes. 

Satoru’s confusion only makes her laugh and she leans in closer, as if to impart a juicy secret.

“I have received word of a woman in the village that nobody has ever seen before. She walks around town always clad in a robe and with a hood pulled over her head. She barely speaks to anyone and when asked where she is from, she claims she is not from here. Doesn’t that spark your curiosity?”

A woman who insists on being cloaked and hidden… now that is intriguing indeed. 

The young prince feels a grin growing across his face, one tainted with a dawning realization.

Could it be…?

“And you suggest I follow your lead to meet this woman?” Satoru rests his broad palm on her waist, his thumb gently stroking her hip. Miri grins smugly and, unconcerned with any onlookers, leans in to whisper in his ear. Her warm breath sends a shiver down his spine.

“If that woman happens to be our princess, it would be the best chance we have of ending her without arousing any suspicion.”

Satoru’s expression wavers with something akin to regret, though he hides it the second her sparkling green eyes meet his own hooded blue ones. 

“Are you sure? You want me to end Cerena’s life?” 

Miri is firm in her ambitions, giving him a curt nod.

“Is it not what you desire, too? Cerena’s demise? With her gone, we can finally be together, my love.” 

She intertwines her fingers together with his, squeezing his hands fondly. “We can be free to love, to show each other affection, to openly court and to meet each other in broad daylight. Wouldn’t that be a delight to experience?” 

The images she paints in his mind are irresistible, and Satoru quickly forgets his earlier hesitation, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close against his body.

“Oh, Miri,” he growls, desire lacing his tone as she responds with an adorable giggle. “My beautiful mastermind—you are right. We need to strike while the opportunity is ripe.”

Satoru’s hand glides down her body, gently caressing her backside.

“The moment I see Cerena, I will keep my word and end her life.”

mtt fun fact: satoru is partial to dressing in darker colors to bring out the contrast of his white hair. it's done partially for vain aesthetics but also because he loves how the stark visual contrast tends to strike fear in his enemies hearts

dawn says: dun dun DUN .... anyone wanna bet that yn will beat his ass if he tries her 😏

!! reblogs and feedback and asks about this series are so beloved and appreciated and will motivate me to update and write faster <3

©️ all rights reserve to lalunanymph. do not copy elements of my story, repost or claim as your own.

[cressidagrey]

Looked to the Sky - Chapter 1

Summary: 

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was, however, Azriel‘s mate with her own mysterious, untrained powers.

Also known as: Azriel tries to court his mate the human way.

Warnings: 

THIS IS THE LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE SEQUEL! SO READ THAT FIRST IF YOU WANNA READ THIS ONE OTHERWISE THIS MAKES NO SENSE!

Elain Bashing, Low Self Esteem, Azriel is kind an idiot, Rhys is for once a good older brother, and without @k-godling this would have never happened.

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

Azriel was currently regretting his life choices that had brought him to this moment. 

“Wow,” Cassian drawled as he stared at the wall in Azriel‘s room in the House of Wind that was covered in…research. 

Intelligence. Information. Whatever one wanted to call it. 

And Azriel was ready to rip his hair out. 

“I did it all wrong,” he growled, slamming the dusty old tome the shadows had procured for him closed…only for them to take it out of his hands and open it up to check for themselves. 

“What did you do wrong?” Cassian asked as he stepped nearer to the wall, staring at all the things Azriel had pinned up there. 

It was a complete and utter mess

“This said that I should have given Eira a gift when I made my first courting overture.“

What kind of mate was he, when he couldn’t even follow the bloody rules of human men for her? 

He had been supposed to procure a gift before even asking her to let him court her. He should have started with that gift. Actually no, they would have been supposed to dance together at a ball, then he should have made that decision to court her, then he should have gotten the first gift and then…

“Well, you could argue that since your shadows bought her things, you did it?“ Cassian suggested and Azriel growled.

“That’s not the same,“ he snapped. “I am supposed to give her a gift that shows my deep affection and appreciation of who she is as a person…What in the world am I supposed to give her?“

Cassian chuckled at Azriel’s frustration, stepping closer to the wall and peering at the various items pinned up.

“You’re overthinking this, you know?“ he said, a smirk on his face. “Just give her something that’s meaningful to you and her, something that shows her how important she is to you.“

Azriel growled. This was not helpful. "Also how is a pearl necklace a show of deep affection and appreciation?" he asked Cassian. Cassian just stared at him. "That was one of the first suggestions the book had," he said with a sigh. The book about human courtship rituals. Well, one of them at least. It was better to get his information from more than one source after all.

Cassian crossed his arms over his chest, his smirk only widening. "Well, apparently humans think that something shiny and expensive is the way to go," he teased. "You’re not exactly giving her a ring yet, so you could consider it a placeholder."

Azriel's eyes darkened. "I don’t want a placeholder," he growled. "I want something real. Something that shows her how much she means to me, not just how much I can spend on her."

"Could it be that you are taking this a little bit too seriously?" Cassian said carefully.

Azriel bristled at Cassian’s comment. “Of course not,” he said sharply. “This is Eira. My mate. This isn’t like some casual fling I’ve had for a little fun. This is different, and I won't just let it go without putting the effort in that she deserves.”

Cassian held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I know, I know,” he said, a slight hint of amusement in his voice. “Believe me, I’ve never seen you so worked up over a female before. It’s just…you’re acting as if the fate of the entire world rests on this courtship gift.”

Well, it did. The fate of his entire world. The fate of his children. He needed to get this right.

“You’re being dramatic,” Cassian said, shaking his head. “It’s not like the gift is going to ruin everything. You’re acting like if you don’t get this right, the whole idea of you and Eira being mates will just poof into thin air.”

He growled in annoyance. 

“Are you trying to court my sister or kill her?” Nesta's voice came from the doorway, her arms crossed as she stared at his wall.

Azriel whipped around to see Nesta standing in the doorway. His irritation deepened at her unexpected intrusion.

"Court her, obviously," he grumbled.

Nesta sighed. "“This is obsessive, Az. Also creepy," she told him drily. "You are approaching this like Eira is the King of Hybern and not your mate."

Azriel let out an exasperated growl. He wasn't obsessed; he was just being thorough. He had never cared about anyone as much as he did Eira, and he didn't want to mess this up.

"I’m simply doing my due diligence," he replied, trying to sound as firm and confident as possible. "I won’t fail her. I won't.”

Nesta rolled her eyes at Azriel’s comment. “Then stop acting like she’s some adversary to be conquered and start treating her like your mate already,” she said. “This is about your love for her, not your obsession to control every little detail.”

Cassian snorted, chuckling. “Only you, Az,” he chortled. 

Azriel shot Cassian a dark look, clearly not amused by the comment. “This is not a laughing matter, Cassian,” he said through clenched teeth. “This is serious. I need to get this right, and I can’t afford to mess it up.”

"How about you start with what you know about her? What are her hobbies?" Nesta suggested.

"I am not buying her needles or a shovel or a rolling pin. Or a toy for Nyx," AAzriel responded immediately. He had already gone through all her hobbies: Sewing, gardening for fruits and vegetables and cooking and baking.

Cassian let out a snort, clearly amused by Azriel’s response. “Why not? Those could all be very useful gifts,” he teased. “Especially the rolling pin, I bet she could beat someone over the head with it. You know, for that assassin instinct of hers.”

"Or I could borrow it and hit you with it," Nesta muttered under her breath.

Cassian chuckled at Nesta’s comment. “I’d like to see you try, Nes-“ he began to reply, but was cut off as Azriel growled at them both.

“Enough. I don’t need you two bickering.” He massaged his temples, trying to hold back the headache that was starting to form

"Well, doesn't Eira sing?" Cassian suggested.

Azriel paused slightly and he thought for a moment, recalling a memory of hearing Eira singing softly to herself.

"Yes," he said quietly. "She does. But that doesn't help me at all unless you have an idea in that thick skull of yours."

"She used to play the harp," Nesta said quietly. “Well, not the dead trove harp. A real, human harp,” she clarified.  

Azriel's interest was piqued. "She plays harp?" he asked, turning his attention to Nesta. "In all the time we’ve been together, I’ve never heard her mention that."

"We all learned some kind of instruments. It was vital for a well-rounded education. She was the only one who enjoyed it," Nesta explained.

Azriel thought for a moment. That actually sounded ideal. His shadows immediately perked up at the idea, starting to whisper amongst themselves.

"A harp…" he mused. "A harp could be perfect. If I can manage to find one that's good enough."

Cassian chuckled. "You'll probably spend the next year researching harps, won’t you?" he teased.

"I don't have time for that," Azriel responded.

Cassian rolled his eyes. "Sure, you don’t," he said dryly. "That’s why you’ve been holed up in this room for the past three days researching things humans consider romantic. I bet your research for this is more extensive than your missions."

“She's more important than a mission," Azriel said evenly. "Also, Hybern was less terrifying."

"Go buy her a harp, Az. Alternatively, if you want her to start crying, buy her a kitten," Nesta said with a shrug. "Though maybe not...Though that will only live a decade and then she’ll be heartbroken."

"Why should it die that quickly?" he asked Nesta, furrowing his brows.

Nesta gave him a deadpan look. "Have you never met a cat before, Azriel?" she said. "That’s how long kittens live. A decade, at most. And that's not even considering the time it takes a cat to grow from a kitten to an adult. You’ll be lucky if Eira gets fifteen years."

"Magical cats live...a very long time," Cassian disagreed.

Nesta stared at Cassian. “How long do magical cats live?” she demanded. 

"Well, theoretically forever," Cassian said with a shrug. “Unless they are killed by a predator of course.”

Azriel sighed. He could see where this was going. This was one of those decisions where there was no clear-cut right path.

Cassian, sensing his hesitation, chuckled. “Come on, Az. Where’s that ‘mysterious broody spy’ everyone loves?”

"Kitten or Harp?" he muttered.

"Just buy her one and keep the other for her birthday," Nesta suggested.

Azriel shot Nesta a glare. “Stop thinking so far ahead when I can barely decide on the first one,” he muttered, making her laugh. 

Cassian just smirked. “That’s rich, considering how much work you’ve put into this entire thing.”

*******

Eira had always liked being outside. 

When they had still been in that godforsaken cottage, Eira had taken her mending outside...had doted on that little patch of horrible earth that had only ever managed to grow a couple of potatoes, carrots, radishes and green beans...so many green beans...

But she had loved it. Even the small, withered things she had been able to grow there, it had been her tiny corner outside. She had prised her hands with dirt, tended to those potatoes and carrots, and had felt alive. Now she was terrified to even look outside the window.

Now, Eira would have loved to simply lock herself in her closet, because there was no window there...to go hide there, because maybe there she would be safe…

It was irrational, she knew that. She couldn’t help it. Every time she looked out of a window, she saw them again. Saw these horrible dark uniforms…saw the faces of the men she had killed. She saw them again and her chest burned in response, her stomach turning, bile rising in her throat.

She couldn’t help it. 

"It's healing very well," Madja told her, weathered fingertips trailing over the closed gash just underneath her breast. Eira stared at the ceiling, wishing herself far, far away. It had healed well. In just a few days, it had closed, just a thin red line reminding her of what had happened.

A thin red line and the feeling of lightning crackling underneath her skin. 

Eira winced as Madja touched her tender skin, the scar still sore to the touch. Even with her accelerated healing, it would take some time before she would fully recover.

"Are you still experiencing any pain?" the elderly healer asked kindly, her eyes studying Eira closely. Eira took a deep breath, trying to find her voice. The pain was the least of her worries. She had felt worse. So much worse.

"No, not much," she replied quietly, her eyes fluttering shut. "Just a little...some twinges, here and there."

Madja nodded, her expression a bit sceptical. She had probably seen hundreds, maybe thousands of patients in her life, and she could likely tell when they weren't being entirely truthful. "Are you sure?" she pressed gently.

Eira’s face twisted into a grimace. She didn't want to be....she didn't want to be weak. She didn't want to...She had seen how Cassian's wings had been shredded, how Azriel had an ash bolt shot in his chest...and neither of them had complained. And she...she had a single knife stuck inside her and it felt like…

“Eira,” Feyre said, her voice taking on an edge.

She knew that Feyre was right, she knew that she should be honest with the healer. But saying it out loud, voicing her fears and anxieties, would just make her...so pathetic.

Still, she took a deep breath and looked at Madja, meeting her gaze. "It...It hurts," she admitted quietly. "More than just...it hurts, whenever I move."

Feyre squeezed Eira's hand tightly. Madja nodded, her eyes studying Eira with a careful, almost calculating gaze, before it softened, a flicker of sympathy passing over her features.

"I suspected as much," the healer said bluntly. "A wound like that can heal on the surface, but sometimes the internal damage is more severe than it appears." Eira‘s breath hitched. The internal damage. The internal damage she had done to herself when she had killed these males…when she had…burned them alive. 

"You should rest," Madja said quietly. "You need to give your body time to heal completely, or you'll risk making the damage worse...you can leave the room and sit outside...but you should not do anything strenuous like gardening or training or whatever else you normally get up to. Though the sunshine outside would do you well," Madja pointed out.

Sunshine...outside. Outside. Alone the thought made Eira break out in cold sweat.

Her breathing turned shallow at the thought of being outside. She knew she couldn't stay in this room forever, but...the thought of being outside...Alone...In the open air, with no protective walls around her...It made her heart race. She could feel Feyre's worried gaze on her.

Madja also studied Eira carefully. "No training," she said pointedly, "but you should try to go outside for a little...Sunshine and fresh air will do you good. It's good for healing."

"I...I’ll try," she managed to choke out, her voice barely more than a whisper.

She didn’t want to go outside. She didn’t want to leave her room.

Madja finished, and Feyre went to bring her to the door…leaving Eira alone. She forced herself to sit up, to pull her nightgown back together…and then escaped into the bathing chamber. No windows. No windows meant she was safe. Once the door to the bathing chamber closed firmly behind her, Eira allowed herself to finally break. She sagged against the door, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. Alone. No windows. Safe.

She was vaguely aware of tears falling down her face. It seemed like that was all she ever did these days, cry herself into exhaustion. She didn’t even know how often she had woken up that particular night…how often the shadows had come to soothe her back to sleep. The shadows came every time Eira awoke with a start, her heart pounding or tears streaming down her face. They were always there. 

They would whisper to her, wrapping around her like a comforting blanket, soothing her back to sleep.

You are alright, they whispered now too. You are safe.  She wondered if they didn’t have anything better to do. No more important people to spy on. Why don’t you wash your face? the suggested gently. Water. Face.

Wash her face, repeated Eira mentally, slowly gathering her thoughts.

The shadows were right, of course. She should wash her face. Her eyes looked as tired and red-rimmed as she felt. Perhaps washing her face would...would help her feel somewhat better, even if only a little.

She took a deep breath, as she dried her face on the towel the shadows found for her…and then they fluttered around her like a swarm of excited butterflies, bringing her a new nightgown and dressing gown. She took a moment to examine them.  

The nightgown was a much darker colour than her usual ones, a deep, rich blue instead of the usual whites and creams. She looked at the dressing gown, taking note of its heavier fabric. The shadows were right to have chosen it - the nights were getting chilly, after all.

But still… “Did you steal it from Feyre?” She asked weakly, even as they helped her shrug out of the old dressing gown. They let her deal with her nightgown, never touching her naked skin anywhere but her hands and face if they could help it, as they drew the new one over her body…and then stuck silky soft slippers on her feet.

The shadows didn't respond to her question, and for a moment Eira wondered if they even heard her. But she had no time to dwell on it further: they were already working on her hair, untangling her braid with deft, careful movements and brushing it out. They started to braid it again, a new, different braid than the usual ones she wore, pulling it back from her face. The braiding was precise and quick as if they had done this many times before.

“How did you learn that?“ she wondered quietly.

The shadows paused for a moment, almost as if they were contemplating her question. They continued braiding her hair though, a little faster than before.

Practice, they whispered, their voices low and quiet, barely above a whisper.

Eira let out a small huff. Sometimes, she had the distinct impression that the shadows were purposefully not answering her questions, or giving her a non-answer, as they had just done. But she didn’t have the energy to press them for an answer, no matter how much she wanted to hear one.

So instead, she just leaned against the sink quietly, letting the shadows tend to her hair.

You should go outside. The sun is shining. The healer said it would be good for you.

No. She didn’t want to go outside. She didn’t want to…She wanted to stay in this room, in this safe, dark and windowless room…

She didn’t want sunshine. Didn’t want fresh air. 

It would do you good, the shadows continued, their voices low and soothing. Go outside. Sit in the sun.

“I can’t.“ she forced out.

The shadows paused in their work, just for a moment.

You can, they insisted firmly, their voices growing almost persuasive. It’s good for you. You will feel better once you go.

She highly doubted that. Her hands turned clammy at only the thought.  As soon as the shadows finished braiding her hair, they flitted away, making a beeline for the door. Eira tried to call out, to stop them, to tell them that no, she couldn’t go, but the words died in her throat, the door opening before she could even try.

Rhys was there, standing in the middle of her room.

She had no clue what he even wanted from her. She had spent the last couple of days…resting. Sleeping half the day away, which wasn’t helped by her nightmares at seemingly every damn moment…Nesta and Feyre had kept her company when they had. She hadn’t so much as sneak a peek at Azriel since their…talk two days ago. Though his shadows were a constant companion of hers, doting on her like a cat would do to a sole kitten. 

Now…Eira’s heart thudded in her chest at the sight of him. He didn’t look angry, but he didn’t look...friendly either. He just looked at her with watchful, careful eyes as she stared back at him, frozen like a deer before a hunter.

The silence was thick, stretched thin like a rope that was about to snap. Eira bit her lip, unable to tear her gaze away from Rhys’ searching stare. She could feel a sheen of sweat on her skin, her heart thudding so hard she was surprised it hadn’t burst out of her chest yet.

Her knees trembled, and she nearly pitched forward, if the shadows hadn’t caught her. The shadows appeared out of thin air, wrapping themselves around her like a silky, dark blanket as she swayed on her feet. They held her up, stopping her from falling to the ground.

Rhys was suddenly at her side, wrapping his arms around her as well, his hands warm and firm against her cold, clammy skin.

“Shhh, I got you, little one,” he shushed her. Rhys’ voice was soft, gentle, and soothing, his hands firm around her. Eira sagged against him gratefully, her body trembling and her breath coming in short gasps.

“It’s alright. I won’t let you fall,” he murmured, as he scooped her up, easily carrying her like she weighed nothing.

She thought she probably didn’t. Just because he didn’t have arms the size of tree trunks like Cassian did, didn’t mean that Rhys wasn’t an Illyrian warrior trained in his own right. 

He had absolutely no problem with just swinging her up like she did to Nyx. 

“Bed or do you want to brave the garden?” he asked her carefully. “Madja said some fresh air would be good for you.”

Of course, he already knew. 

She swallowed, her heart racing.

Bed was safe, comfortable, and familiar. She wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of the day there, under the covers and away from the world. To go outside...to face the wide-open sky...that was a terrifying prospect.

“Bed,” she whispered.

Rhys nodded, carrying her over to the bed and gently placing her on it. The shadows fluffed the pillows behind her, letting her lean against them in a comfortable position.

She expected her brother-in-law to disappear again, though she had no clue why he had even come to see her in the first place. Didn’t he have something more important to do? Like, run this court maybe? 

But he didn’t disappear again. Instead, he sat down next to her, not touching her, just staying close enough that she could feel his presence. “Madja said the garden would be good for you,” Rhys insisted quietly. He wasn’t looking at her as he spoke, his gaze fixed on the wall across the room. “Fresh air, sunshine...she said it would help you recover faster,” he continued, his voice neutral.

Recover. Recover what? Recover that bit of her that had died on that playground when she had killed these men without even thinking about it? She had taken multiple lives. And she was just supposed to be fine with it?!

Eira chewed on her lower lip. She knew what the healer had said, but...the thought of going outside, of being away from the safety of these four walls, was enough to send her heart racing in her chest.

“I...” she started, her voice trembling. “I can’t.”

Rhys turned to look at her then, his expression carefully neutral. “Why not?” he asked, his voice quiet but firm. ”It’s just the garden,” he said evenly.

Eira felt a flicker of irritation rise in her chest at his words.

”it was just the playground,” she shot back shakily. Rhys visibly froze, his eyes widening as he flinched visibly. She could see the pain in his eyes, the hurt and the guilt...but she didn’t care. She couldn’t care.

“Eira...” he started, his voice suddenly hoarse.

“I can’t,” she whispered. She knew it was stupid. She knew. But she couldn’t help it. It must be ridiculous to him, to a 500-year-old warrior that she was afraid of facing the outside but she couldn’t help it. She was utterly terrified. 

“You need to heal,” he said quietly, his voice gentle but firm. “You need the sunshine, the fresh air. You can’t just stay locked up in here forever...” She could. 

She really could. 

If it stopped her from feeling like dying, she would stay right here for the rest of her life. 

“What…What is it that scares you?” Rhys asked her gently.  Her breath hitched in her throat at his question.

She opened her mouth, trying to find the words to explain how terrified she was, how the very thought of leaving this room filled her with a sense of dread that was nearly paralysing… “I don’t want it to happen again,” she choked out.

Rhys’ face darkened at her words, his eyes filling with anger and pain.

“It won’t,” he said, his voice tight. “I won’t let it. You’re safe, Eira. No one will hurt you in that garden. I swear.”

Eira wanted to believe him, wanted desperately to cling to his words like a lifeline...but she couldn’t. The fear lodged in her chest like a rock, refusing to be dislodged.

“You can’t promise that,” she whispered, her voice small and shaky.

“Yes, I can,” Rhys cut her off. “You’ll go outside and I’ll be right there. And if any rogue darkbringers suddenly show up, I’ll mist them with a single thought,” he promised her fiercely. “It won’t happen again.”

Her breath caught in her throat, her heart beating furiously in her chest. It sounded so easy when he said it like that, so simple. He would keep her safe, keep her protected...

“Let’s just try it,“ Rhys said softly. “We can go back inside if you can’t stand it, little one.”

Eira chewed on her lower lip, her fingers trembling in her lap.

Just try it. We can go back inside if you can’t stand it. 

Those words gave her a small flicker of hope, a lifeline to cling to. Eira took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to steady her nerves. “Alright,” she agreed weakly.

Rhys smiled at her words, the expression strained but genuine. He stood up from the bed, holding out his hand to her.

“Come on then,” he said gently. “Let’s go sit in the garden.”

Eira swallowed, her entire body tense with anxiety. She looked at his outstretched hand, feeling her heart race at the thought of taking it.

For a moment, she couldn’t move, her entire body frozen and immobile. But then, with trembling fingers, she reached out and slowly took his hand.

Rhys’ hand was warm, strong and firm around hers. He held her hand gently, as if he were afraid she might break, and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“That’s it,” he murmured gently. “We can go as slowly as you need.”

She nodded weakly, her knuckles turning white as she gripped his hand tightly. Slowly, hesitantly, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Her body trembled as she stood up, her feet feeling unsteady on the floor.

Rhys was there, hovering close to her side, supporting her gently as she took her first shaky steps away from the bed. The shadows flitted around her like dark, flickering butterflies, whispering reassuring words that she could barely hear over the pounding of her heart.

“Eira…how about you let me carry you?”

Her breath hitched at the suggestion, her heart skipping a beat.

Her first instinct was to refuse, to shake her head and insist on walking on her own. But her legs felt like jelly, her steps unsteady and shaky...and she hated the thought of looking weak, of being lifted like some helpless child.

But as much as she hated it, she knew she would crumble if she walked on her own, her legs giving out like a newborn fawn.

So, with a small, defeated nod, she agreed.

“I…alright,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Rhys wasted no time in scooping her up in his arms, lifting her with ease. She tried not to let it bother her, not to think about how pathetic she must look, being cradled like a child.

The shadows fluttered closer, their dark forms brushing against her skin as they whispered gentle words of reassurance.

You’re doing well. one of them whispered in her ear, its voice low and soothing. The High Lord is right here. You’re safe.

"It will be fine," Rhys promised her as he carried her down the stairs, making no appearance that the extra weight of her in his arms bothered him in any way. "Just outside. We'll sit on the terrace, and nothing bad will happen."

Eira clung to his words like a lifeline, her hands trembling as they clutched at his shoulder.

She tried to ignore the way her heart raced, the way her blood thundered in her ears...she tried to focus on Rhys’ voice, on his words assuring her that it would be fine.

The terrace wasn’t far, it seemed. Soon enough, they were there, the doors swinging open silently as they approached.

Outside. Out of the relative safety of the house. Outside.

Eira clenched her teeth, the panic rising in her chest.

The air around them was fresh and crisp, the faint scent of grass and trees filling her nostrils. The sun streamed down, its warmth caressing her skin...and yet, Eira felt cold, her breath coming in small, shallow gasps as her heart thumped against her chest.

The wide-open space, the vastness of the sky, was suddenly so much more overwhelming. It felt like it was pressing down on her like it was closing in...

She heard a deep rumble of thunder, could feel something static-y in the air...felt the taste of metal in her mouth...

"Take a deep breath, Little One," Rhys soothed her. "It's alright. We are there already..." Just a moment later, he put her down onto the soft cushion that covered the lounge area on one side of the terrace...a place where she had often laid down Nyx for his afternoon nap this summer...

The plush cushions were a familiar comfort, their softness reminding her of the times she had spent with her nephew…

She tried to focus on that, on the memories of those times instead of the overwhelming feeling of being outside...but as she looked around, as she took in the sheer vastness of the sky stretching out in every direction, it was almost too much.

Her breath came in short, sharp gasps, and she found herself clinging to Rhys’ arm, her fingers digging into his skin.

"You are alright," he promised her again. She knew it was ridiculous. He must think she was utterly mental that being outside scared her, overwhelmed her into silent fear.

Eira was sure he must think her completely insane: Scared of being outside, of being in the open...it was ridiculous. It was pathetic.

But she couldn’t help it, no matter how much she tried to calm herself down, to shove her fear back down. It had a hold on her, a tight grip that she couldn’t shake no matter how hard she tried.

"It's alright to be afraid," Rhys said quietly. "It's nothing to be embarrassed about."

Eira tried to believe his words, tried to take comfort in them. But it was hard, so hard. Her fear felt so stupid, so silly, so pointless.

She should be able to handle being outside, shouldn’t be so terrified of it…and yet here she was, clinging to Rhys like a frightened child, her heart thundering in her chest. The High Lord of the Night Court had volunteered to be her protector and she was still utterly and completely...terrified.

The shadows fluttered around her, sensing her fear, her terror...whispering softly in her ear, trying to calm her, to soothe her. But even their attempts couldn’t stop the way her body trembled, the way her heart raced.

Rhys wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer to his side. His touch was gentle but firm, a silent reassurance that he was there, that she wasn’t alone.

"You have every right to be afraid, Eira. That doesn't make you weak, little sister. It only means that you went through something traumatic and you haven't fully dealt with that yet," Rhys said softly. "I still wake up from nightmares. So does your sister. Cassian, Azriel...all of us deal with that as well."

"I am pathetic, " she whimpered.

Rhys’ expression darkened at her words, his jaw clenching.

“No, you’re not,” he said, his voice firm. “You’re the farthest thing from pathetic, Eira. Some fully fledged warriors would have taken one look at these Darkbringers and ran. They wouldn’t have stood their ground.” He huffed, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t you ever call yourself that again? Do you understand me?”

"In what world am I brave?" Eira asked weakly, her hands still trembling, fear settled in some kind of panic in the back of her brain, leaving her utterly spent and exhausted.

"You threw yourself between my son and a knife, Eira," Rhys told her drily. "In what world isn't that brave?"

Eira’s breath hitched in her throat as he spoke, and her mind suddenly filled with the memory of that day.

She had done that, hadn’t she? She had thrown herself in front of a knife for Nyx, not caring what happened to herself as long as the baby was safe… For Nyx, she had done that. She hadn't thought twice about it either.

But it had been for a good cause, in a moment of crisis. This…this was just her being weak. This was her reduced to a trembling, blubbering mess, too scared to do anything but cling to Rhys like a child for comfort. How did that make her brave?

"I know it doesn't feel that way right now, but it does get easier," Rhys promised her softly.

She wanted to believe him, she really did. But right now, it was hard. The fear felt so overwhelming, so all-consuming, that it was hard to imagine ever feeling anything else.

Eira took a deep, shaky breath, her body trembling as she tried to control her emotions. But despite her attempts to steady herself, she couldn’t seem to calm down. Her heart raced, her hands clammy, her breath coming in short, anxious gasps.

“It’s alright,” Rhys said softly, his voice reassuring. “I’m right here. You’re safe.”

The shadows fluttered around them,  brushing against her hands in a soothing caress.

Slowly, slowly, the fear that had consumed her began to ease, the frantic thumping of her heart returning to a more normal rhythm. She took a deep, shaky breath, feeling her body relax slightly in Rhys’ embrace.

"I am scared all the time," he continued softly.

Eira felt a flicker of surprise at his admission, her eyes widening slightly. She had never, ever considered that Rhys might be afraid. He was so powerful, so confident and in control...it almost seemed impossible to believe.

“But...why?” she asked, her voice small and wavering. “What could possibly scare you?”

Rhys chuckled softly at her question, a humourless sound that seemed almost bitter. “Plenty of things, little one,” he replied, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “More things than you could imagine.”

Eira frowned, her confusion growing. She had always assumed that Rhys was above fear, that he was somehow above the worries and anxieties that plagued the rest of them. To hear him admit otherwise...it was jarring, to say the least.

“What...What are you afraid of?” she asked softly, her voice so quiet she could barely hear it over the sound of her heart beating in her ears.

Rhys was silent for a moment, his expression growing more serious.

“Losing my mate,” he said quietly. “Losing my son. I'm afraid that if I don't keep them safe if I make a single mistake, it could all be taken from me.” He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling as he spoke. "I'm afraid that one day I'll wake up and it will all have been nothing but a dream. That it was never real.”

She had never considered that he might be scared...that he might feel the same way that she did, the same fear and uncertainty that gripped her heart with a vice-like grip.

"It's real," she promised her brother quietly. "It's real, Rhys."

Rhys smiled faintly, his expression softening slightly as he looked down at her.

"I know it is,” he said quietly. “But it doesn’t make the fear go away."

Eira felt a pang of sympathy in her chest at his words.

She knew all too well what it was like to feel the weight of fear, the way it could consume you and control you and leave you feeling helpless. And yet, to hear Rhys, the High Lord of the Night Court, a man so powerful that he could crumble mountains with a snap of his fingers...

It was almost surreal.

“How do you deal with it?” she asked quietly, her voice quivering slightly. “The...the fear. How do you make it go away?”

Rhys was silent for a moment, his expression thoughtful.

"I don’t make it go away,” he said finally. “I don’t think that’s possible. The fear is always there, lurking in the back of my mind, waiting for me to let my guard down." He paused, his gaze fixed on some point over her head. “I just…I try to keep it at bay, remind myself that it’s just a feeling, that it doesn’t have to control me. I focus on the people I love, on the things that matter."

Eira felt her heartache at his words. She knew that feeling, that constant fear that lurked in the back of your mind, waiting for a moment to strike. And yet, to hear Rhys say that he felt the same...it almost made her feel better, to know that she wasn’t alone in her fear.

"Look at the flowers growing...Look at your vegetable patch," Rhys said softly. "Feel the fabric underneath you...Look at Nyx being happy and smiling..." She looked up to see Feyre walk outside, Nyx on her hip who happily squealed as soon as he saw Eira.

Eira's heart lurched at the sight of the baby, her chest constricting with emotion.

Nyx wriggled on Feyre's hip, reaching out his tiny arms towards her, babbling happily as he recognized her. Eira couldn't help but smile, her heart melting at the sight of the baby's little face. Feyre smiled, walking closer to Eira and Rhys, with Nyx bouncing on her hip.

The baby was babbling happily, his eyes fixed on Eira as he reached out for her. "Look how happy he is to see his Aunt Ra Ra" Feyre said gently, a fond smile adorning her lovely face.

"Ra Ra!" Nyx cheered at that moment, and Feyre sat him on Eira's lap, sitting next to her.

Eira felt her heart melt as Nyx settled himself on her lap, his little body bouncing with energy.

The baby looked up at her with wide, innocent eyes, his little fingers reaching out to grab at her hair. He babbled happily, his voice high-pitched and cheerful.

She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close to her chest as he continued to babble and coo.

Safe, untouched. 

She was safe. Maybe one day she would believe that again. 

[vulpes115]

Narcissa, specifically the Marauder’s fandom take on her, makes me want to sob and I need her to be appreciated more. Just, imagine you are the third daughter of parents that only wanted sons. A flower in a sky full of stars. A flower, an object only meant to be looked upon and be pretty. You know your parents never loved you, will never love you, you who is not the long awaited son they asked for. But even still, you can’t help pushing yourself to fulfill the mold they expect from you, beautiful and perfect. But even still you receive love from your family, just in the form of your older sisters. Your eldest who tries so fiercely to protect you and your sister but is clearly starting to slip into insanity. The middle starting to slip away, finding comfort in a man who’s kind you were poisoned to hate. Still, you love them. No matter what you love them, you have so little else. The only other one you have is your baby cousin, made in the same mold as you, who you try so desperately to protect.

At Hogwarts you are expected to be a good mark on your family, prefect, ace student and quidditch player. Willing to drop it all as soon as graduation to be a wife and mother. You only let yourself break the rules once, for her, the one decision you made that goes against your family wishes, the girl whose kisses taste like powdered sugar, whose natural kindness and beauty shines like a candle in your otherwise dark life. For years you let yourself indulge it. For years you pretend. But you know it must end.

The end comes quicker than thought. Your middle sister comes to you, she’s going to elope with her own secret love, she’s going to escape the family and the rot it contains. She asks if you want to come with. You want so badly to say yes. But you have been the perfect daughter for so long, being anything else scares you. So you say no. So you close the door. So you marry the fiancée that sister left behind. So you accept it when your lover breaks up with you, unwilling to be just a mistress. So you tell yourself you’re better without her, all the while knowing you will never find love like her again. Never stop loving her. You say as much when your cousin asks you if it ever gets better, heartbroken over his own Gryffindor. But still you made your choices and well, your fiancée is…fine, as pure-blood men go. He loves you but you don’t love him, can’t ever love him but you’re ok playing your part, even if it’s never him you picture when you play it, not even on your wedding night.

Before you know it, war is at your doorstep. Your eldest, no, only sister and your husband both pledge allegiance to the Dark Lord. So does your youngest, no, only cousin. Your cousin, so young, so naive. He dies, you never find the body, he was only eighteen and you couldn’t do anything to protect him. And the only person you ever loved? Well when you first realized she was going to be fighting on the opposing side you figured she’d be ok. Her and her new husband were powerful, well respected aurors, true Gryffindors, if anybody was going to be ok it was them. You were wrong, oh so wrong. Death would have been kinder with the fate they suffered. A fate brought on by your sister. The only one you ever loved as much as the love of your life. A love now only matched by hate.

You watch as your sister is dragged off in shackles, trying to hide any expression behind an icy mask. You watch as your lover looks back at you with distant lifeless eyes, eyes that don’t recognize you. You visit as often as you can but it’s hard to get away from your duty as mother and wife, even harder to see your lover permanently near death like this. You don’t mean to, but you stop visiting as often.

You only have one thing left to hold on to now, your son. Your darling boy. As a second war fast approaches you fear for him. You saw what happened to your cousin, you fear history is doomed to repeat itself. You do everything you can, extract whatever vows are needed, you do not believe you can survive if he too is taken from you. Then the pivotal moment comes. You have no idea if your son is alive or dead, but the chosen one is lying on the ground and he tells you he’s alive. In that moment you make a choice, you lie, you lie to the most powerful man alive, you lie to a mind reader, you lie to save your son, and you never admit it to yourself but you lie to avenge your lover he stole the sanity of, your cousin he stole the life from, and your sister he stole the soul of.

When the war is over, your action lets your family escape consequences. For the first time since the war began, you find the courage to come and visit your old lover. You apologize for not visiting more, and tell her about your sons, how her son had finished what she started, how your son had done what you never could. It takes several years longer until you make a visit to a different ghost of your past, knock cautiously on the door, a door opened by your sister, a woman you haven’t seen in almost thirty years. Things are awkward at first, of course they are, she is resistant, she’s lost so much to this war and she is slow to trust again, but eventually you two are having a heart to heart over tea, apologizing to each other about old wrongs. It’s not much, but it’s a start. As for your boy, he finds comfort in, of all people, the chosen one, the boy your whole family was supposed to hate, the boy who you helped save the life of. You are glad he is happy, you saw how miserable he was during the war. But a small part of you can’t help but feel envious, that this is a happiness that you could’ve experienced, that your cousin could’ve experienced, if you had made different choices, better choices, found your voice earlier, instead of being left with just an empty shell. Still, you made those choices, had made your bed, and now you must lie in it. But, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, if you get to see your son smile, if you get to hold your grandchildren, if you get to see your sister for monthly tea, if you get to hold your old lover’s hand once in awhile and pretend for just a minute that everything turned out ok between you two.

That’s something your parents didn’t know when they named you after a daffodil, that even after a harsh cold winter, they can make a comeback.

[evilminji]

You know what? HAVE we tried Yoda's "younglings fix everything" tactic on Skywalker?

New SI-OC Time!

Smol, adorable, has a bug out bag and enough credits stashed for their life on the run! Already learned how to tie the hover prams together in like .001 seconds flat and (SUPER gently) toss the babies into um. Knows where the baby food is. Conveniently, has helped ORGANIZE said baby food. (Some of which was "organized" straight into bug out bags)

The whole works.

But like.....?

Better part of a cure? Is prevention you know? And the Tragedy Of Anikin Skywalker? Is that he WAS a GOOD MAN.

And she's standing there, with her Fully Grown ADULT SOUL, looking at this KID who thinks he's a man... this TEENAGER who's been GROOMED by a Sith Lord, a fully grown adult he TRUSTED in a position of power and authority over him, the FORMER SLAVE, and she just...?

How can she look upon his soul? So brightly burning with light and emotion and a sense of JUSTICE? A young man who CARES so much he can barely function some days. Who's heart's ambition is to Free The Slaves so NO ONE will ever again suffer as he and his mother did? Who looks at his partner like she's the most wonderful person to ever draw breathe?

So bright. So GOOD. Struggling and trying and fighting a battle he doesn't even know he's IN, against a Sith Lord he thinks is his FRIEND?

How can she look upon that young man... and just? Abandon him. Decide he's too much effort to save. To even TRY. That his fate is a forgone conclusion and he is destined to Fall. Such things are a CHOICE. And Anikin Skywalker? Has had precious few of those in his life. Between Duty and his youth, lives on the line and Master's that owned.

This is HIS Soul. HIS future. And Palpatine is trying to chip away at his ability to think clearly. Trying to pressure and rush rush RUSH! So he chooses in fear and desperation, like the bad sell it is. Knowing he'll feel he's "too far gone" to back out. Letting him spiral. Ever tightening that noose.

But? Like... the man DOES want to be a dad. Have a family. The thought HAS to be there.

"I should practice taking care of Force Sensitive younglings..."

You know... in case he in Padme... I mean, he's not SUGGESTING anything! But, I mean? If she WANTED too? And he knows they're young and all... and it would complicate everything... but? But!

They'd be KIDS. His kids. HER kids. THEIR KIDS! A... a family. He can barely imagine it.

A problem though? Is how LOUD he is. He can't help it. No more then one can help their hair or eye color. Reminders to "remember his shields" are a great deal like hearing "your breathing is upsetting people. Kindly stop." Like? What do you want him to DO, exactly? Cease existing?

Yes, he COULD be shielding better. If you met him at WHERE HE IS. Not continued to try and make him conform to a mold he'll forever be too big to fit. He's not an IDIOT. He is AWARE that babies are hypersensitive to the Force, since they are so new and rely off it for basicly everything. He KNOWS he's overwhelming to even ADULTS sometimes.

Obi-Wan can handle him because HIS shields are basicly High Council levels. He could TEACH classes to knights and masters. Everyone else? They feel a bit... projected at. It's RUDE™. Very "getting all up in my personal space and shouting". you know?

Babies can't handle that!

That UPSETS babies! Younglings too, they just don't have the words for it.

Knight Skywalker is just "So Much". It's upsetting and alienating. Force Sensitives are basicly MADE to connect to each other. Are THE most social of their various personality types, races, and various cultures. It's just?? A "ducks trying to raise a swan" scenario.

Anikin has subtly different needs. Is gonna grow to be bigger then them. What works for THEM may very well be wildly unnatural for HIM and that's OKAY. Neither of them is wrong! The PROBLEM here? Is rigidity. Refusal to meet a youngling where they ARE, out of fear of change. Clinging to tradition rather then ADMIT to ignorance... thus? Never treating that ignorance with the healing hands of Knowledge, as is the Jedi WAY.

The Sith have been at work for a long, long time.

But OC does not have to play part in their games. Bow to their rules. To hell with tradition and fear. Paths upon paths that MAY, conceivably, lead to SOMEWHERE. Did you not SAY, Master Yoda? That the Future is always in motion? Attachments may lead to darkness, but they also lead to light. They LEAD to everything. Because they are part of being ALIVE.

OBSESSION and CONTROL are the Darkside. But mere Emotions are the flowing of tides.

She prescribes hugs.

An adorable youngling, herself of course, following Skywalker around the Temple like a duckling and flopping against him every chance she gets. Asking bright eyed youngling questions of her Super Cool Esteemed Knight Elder that he'll have to look up. Or look up WITH her. Sometimes indulgent listen to HER ramble about.

Or? If he's sand blasting the soul of everyone around him? Welp, time to brace for it! Once more into the breach! She is small and squishy. Warm, huggable, and filled with light. Can hum and hug his head. Smell like Baby. Itty bitty lil light and heart beat and body. Not a threat. Cares about him. Fellow Jedi. Safe safe safe.... calm...

Does she feel a bit... rubbed raw? Soul wise, afterwards? Fuck yeah. Ouch, her everything stings. But that's not his fault. AND! He's getting better.

QUICKLY.

Cause there's nothing QUITE like an adorable wittle baby child, whom you BLASTED IN THE SOUL FACE with abrasive anger-sand hard enough to probably scour them to the BONES, wincing but smiling up at you and asking if you feel better now... to make you just a LIL bit "fuck asking Master's, I'm gonna tear the Archives apart until I can solve this on my own" hysterical. Ha ha....

Oh Force he MAIMED A CHILD! (Soul bruised, at BEST. And not intentionally.) (THATS NOT BETTEEEEEER!!! *hysterics in Skywalker*) Padme! Put me down like THE ANIMAL I'VE BECOME! AaaaaaAAAAAAA-!!! (He says, showing up at a senators apartment, holding a youngling she's never met like a teddybear. The MAN SHE MARRIED, everybody! He's so lucky she loves him. Ffs Ani.)

But like?? Shielding? Leads to SO MUCH better emotional regulation and stability? Plus an immediately increase difficulty scale for Certain Sith Lord's.

Especially! If the technique Anikin has to use? Is OLD AS FUCK. Like... Pre-Rebulic old. Considered a wildly overly complex and exhausting way to Shield for most people who just don't have the midi-chlorians count to NEED it.

A case of "the side effect of THIS medicine can actually address THAT crippling symptom!? Huh." So Anikin? Starts? INTENTIONALLY Projecting. Yeah... wild right? After so long trying NOT too! He starts learning to? PROJECT a "bubble" into the Force around him.

So that he'll only sense himself. So he can FOCUS on projecting and politely not project AT people. Kinda like elevator music where normally there is just nature noises. Very clearly artificially made? But not? "Every thought you have shouted at me" intrusive.

Kinda pleasant actually! Especially here on Coruscant. Where everything is so discordant and murky. Suddenly? There's this walking Air Filter/Lovely Ambiant Noise Machine walking around and???

Anikin has NEVER been so popular?? O:

Padme. Padme! The Crechelings FELL ASLEEP ON ME! Just?? Clambered RIGHT on up, dumped themselves in my lap, and fell asleep! Everyone wants to meditate near me! There were ARGUMENTS! Obi-Wan! OBI-WAN feel asleep on me the other day! Just?? Slumped over against my shoulder and started to CUDDLE!!! (/ T^T)/ hold me Padme! Everything is Beautiful and nothing hurts! I should have done this YEARS ago!

Also! Did you know it's Totally Cool for us to get married? We just have to get JEDI married! Wanna help me lie to the council? (Totally, you even got to ask?) O/ \O *highfive!*

Palpatine would HATE it. Fucking LOATH it. But the thing is? You can plan for actors on the stage, plan approximately for players to come, but? NO ONE can plan for a SI-OC. And even then? Any plan accounting for what children will do? Usually discounts how intelligent truely really are.

The Sith Did Not PLAN for "smart baby knows what you are up too and decides to stop you".

Because WHO WOULD PLAN FOR THAT?

Well....? Maybe don't be SUCH a dick? That the Actual Force Itself decides to fuck with your plans by introducing Chaotic elements? Ever thought of THAT??? Anyway... THAT is how the Big MEAN Sith Lord was unveiled targeting an INNOCENT and TOTALLY not provoking him, itty bitty child! Oh no! Anikin! Save meeeee! The scary bad man wants to HURT ME!

A CHILD! Who you gonna pick? Me, the crying lil girl you basicly adopted with your wife, or the man you THOUGHT was you friend... before he ATTACKED A CHILD! With a RED LIGHTSABER! And lightning! Someone's throwing around mention of SLAVE CHIPS and he's suggestinghe can "save you wife"!!!

Real CONVENIENT. Since Anikin's wife is both completely FINE and under the care of Jedi healers, yet he's been having MYSTERIOUS DREAMS about her DYING HORRIBLY. Dreams that Don't Feel Right. Like they DONT come from his head! So? How do YOU know about those dreams, HUH? SHEEV??

*Chosen One INTENSIFIES*

[irisintheafterglow]

hii i would like to request the premise of a feral gojo over reader getting hurt or in danger 🤤 please don't feel obligated to write tho only if u feel like it :3

cross them, cross me (gojo x you)

wc: 1.29k

cw/tags: brief but explicit violence including descriptions of blood (satoru beats the shit out of a curse lmao), swearing, angst/fluff with a happy ending, established-ish relationship with pet names baby and sweetheart

note: ah feral gojo my beloved. i think i got a little carried away with writing the violence aspect but what can i say! he really did go feral when you got hurt! anyways, hope you like this anon and thank you for the sweet ask <3

likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated :))

The sound of bones crunching between his fingers is euphoric.

One by one, he takes the Curse’s limbs in his free hand, the other effortlessly holding it by the neck against a wall. Its desperate wriggles and squirms are futile and pathetic. With a tightened grip, the wretched body parts in Satoru’s palm wither and become a limp slug of skin. He’d tuned out the Curse’s howls of agony minutes ago, the world around him falling silent as he focused all of his energy into making the Curse beg for death. The phrase “seeing red” was familiar to him, sure, but the hue tinting his vision now was a deep shade of crimson. Whether that was from the blood or his own concentration, he didn’t know and he didn’t care. 

“What, did you give up?” His taunting smile turns into a snarl when the Curse fails to answer him the first time. It slumped itself against the wall, but he woke it up with a firm slap across its face. It wasn’t allowed to die, not yet. Not until he’d had his fill of its cries. “Learn your lesson yet?” It coughs out a plea for mercy, but he isn’t satisfied. Times like these were the only time his power truly went directly to his head. 

“Gojo.” Nanami’s voice temporarily breaks him from his trance, but Satoru doesn’t bother glancing his colleague’s way. His hand still remains around the neck of the Curse, scathing blue eyes burning holes into its face. “It’s time to depart.”

“I’m not done yet,” he hisses, embedding the Curse’s face further into the wall. The suit of his coworker is pristine and unscathed; his own uniform, on the other hand, was soaked in blood that wasn’t his own. No, he wasn’t done yet. Not until every Curse within a ten mile vicinity knew exactly what would happen to them if they attempted to harm you again.

“They’re asking about you,” Nanami states impatiently with a quick look at his watch. “And I’m working overtime.”

“Five more minutes,” Satoru commands and Nanami has no choice but to obey, releasing an exhausted sigh and leaving his superior to his crusade. “Shit,” he mutters under his breath, realizing that the Curse must have died while he wasn’t looking. He examines the lifeless creature with pure disgust, flinging it so intensely at the wall behind him that its innards splatter like wet paint. “You are below me,” he says to no one in particular, but he can sense the frightened energy of the weaker Curses inhabiting the building. “Touch them and you will meet the same fate.” 

Once he’s exited the abandoned hospital, taken down the Curtain, and found the alley corner where he’d instructed Nanami to watch you, all remaining malicious intent in his body disappears. You’re scowling at him, your default expression when in his presence, and it reassures him that you’ll be okay. 

“What took you so long?” You wince and try to adjust yourself against the wall, swatting his hand away when he crouches and tries to help you. “I thought Nanami said there was only one Curse in the building.” He shrugs and you give him a skeptical look, slightly less potent than usual due to your injured state. “Toying with a Curse while I’m bleeding out? That’s a new low, even for you.” He knows you mean it in a joking matter, but the darkness that passes over his face after he laughs doesn’t escape you. It unnerves you, a little bit, trying to imagine what he was doing to the Curses when you weren’t there.

“What can I say? I was just trying to make you miss me,” he replies with only the tiniest hint of hesitation. He’s put his blindfold back on, you notice, but the subtle dip in his eyebrows tells you that he’s not revealing the whole truth. “I’m gonna lift you now–”

“I can walk on my own,” you protest, rooting a hand on the concrete and trying to push yourself up to no avail. You fall back against the wall and glare at his silently patronizing expression. “I just need a second.” 

“We don’t have a second. We need to clear out before the police get here,” he reminds you and you wave him off. “C’mon, just let me help you.”

“I can do this on my own,” you reiterate while simultaneously failing to stand. “It’s because you’re watching me. Just turn around.”

“If you wanna see my butt, just say so,” he grins and you roll your eyes. “But, really. I’m gonna lift you now, so try not to wiggle.” His arms extend to cradle beneath your legs and lower back and you’re surprised to feel the fabric of his uniform, not Infinity, when your hands try to push him away. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” you stammer in panic. He pulls away immediately and his teasing expression softens. You let him brush the dirt from your cheeks with one of his hands, the other coming to cover yours on his chest. His heartbeat is unwaveringly steady, his body warm beneath your fingers. 

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. We’re okay,” he reassures you. “Nothing’s gonna hurt you now.”

“It’s gonna hurt when I get up,” you whisper back. “A lot.” 

“I know it will, but it’ll only hurt for a few seconds.” Your exhales are too uneven. He had to get you back to the school if he didn’t want you to continue losing blood. 

“Seconds? What about the car ride back?”

“Oh no, baby. We’re not taking the car.” He shakes his head and gently laces his fingers with yours. “I’m warping us back so we can get that wound taken care of faster.” His grip on your fingers tightens, a crack in his composure revealing a glimpse of his own anxiety. “I just need you to let me help you.” After a few more moments, you nod and he doesn’t hesitate, scooping you into his arms before you can even register the searing pain in your side. The world goes white for a few seconds, just as he said, but then your head finds his shoulder and the pulse in your ears quiets. 

You wake later in the day to the sun casting an orange glow through your bedroom window. As you sit up, the pain in your side is still present but significantly dulled. When your eyes adjust to the light, you finally notice the figure slumped in your desk chair, a respectful distance away from your bed. 

“Satoru.” His eyes fly open and he’s in front of you within seconds, searching your face with concern and running his thumb over your knuckles. You give him the smallest smile you can muster and he reciprocates with a blinding grin. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he murmurs, adjusting his position so that your legs can swing off the side of your bed. He rests on one knee in front of you, holding one hand in his, the other continuing to caress your face. “How are you feeling?”

“A little shitty,” you admit. “But, not nearly as shitty as earlier.”

“I’m glad,” he smiles. “Need me to get you anything? A snack? Two snacks?” Your laugh feels warmer than the setting sun and you shake your head, lightly tugging him to stand up and crawl under the covers with you. “I guess this works too,” he mumbles against the top of your head, pulling you close until you’re snug against his body. 

“What were you doing in the time you were killing that last remaining Curse?” He hums thoughtfully and you swear his muscles flex protectively around your body. 

“I’ll tell you about it tomorrow. For now, we both need rest.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[authorhjk1]

Aloha! Since I hardly find any of her fics here, here's hoping Krystal can make the cut so here are some choices if you may:

For the first outfit was hoping it could make the cut the most since if you look at it closely it is a one piece dress but buttoned up, for the second outfit I mean, look at that body sheesh and for the third a simple one.

https://kpopping.com/documents/54/2/2000/220405-H-Naver-Post-Krystal-ELLE-D-Edition-Photoshoot-Behind-documents-13.jpeg?v=1fb1e

https://kpopping.com/documents/a0/1/2992/240507-Krystal-Jung-Baeksang-Arts-Awards-2024-documents-1(1).jpeg?v=8dcd4

https://kpopping.com/documents/58/0/4500/Krystal-Jung-for-Vogue-Korea-March-2024-Issue-Vogue-Leader-2024-Woman-Now-documents-8.jpeg?v=2799c

Midnight

(Krystal Jung X Male Reader)

You're smiling from ear to ear as you walk through the building. You can't believe this is happening.

"It seems like you really want one of these."

Krystal's teasing tone makes you turn around to her. But before you can, her hands sneak around your waist and she presses her body up against yours from behind. Her chin landing on your shoulder.

"Y-Yes. This one."

You point at the car at the far end of the dealership. You've always wanted this car. Ever since you saw it online for the first time. You can't believe you're about to own it. You're barely nineteen years old and you just got your driver's license. But now you're walking to a midnight black Lamborghini Aventador.

You never checked out the price, because you expected to never be able to have enough money to buy one of these. But now it almost feels like you won the lottery.

"Are you sure you want this one?"

Krystal isn't as much into cars as you are, so she usually goes for classy and expansive over horse power and speed. The silver Rolls Royce parked outside is proof enough of that.

"This is my dream car."

"Then get in and try it out."

Krystal gives you a kiss on the cheek, before you hear heels klick on the floor as she walks away.

You carefully reach out to touch the hood. Six months ago, you would've been too afraid to even touch this car. But you don't have to worry about breaking anything. Krystal could buy every single car in this building, if she wanted to. You don't know how much money she really does have, but the first thing you did after coming home that fateful day, was researching the name Krystal Jung. The richest person in Korea. The fifth wealthiest person in Asia and maybe even one of the richest women on this planet.

Sitting down in the driver's seat, you let your hands wander over the steering wheel. It feels comfortable. It feels perfect. It feels better than you thought it would.

You tear your eyes off the car's dashboard as you hear Krystal approaching again. Her black dress matches the car and shows off her slim waist. It hugs her body like it was only designed for her and nobody else. Which is what probably happened. You doubt anyone else owns this exact dress. Maybe a cheap copy of it.

You hold your breath as Krystal stops in front of you, a car key in her hand.

"Do you want to take your new car for a drive?"

"Oh my god. Thank you so much."

You don't even dare to reach for the key. How much did Krystal just spent on you?

"Like I already said, you don't have to thank me for the stuff I buy you. It's just money."

She puts the key into your hand, before walking around to the passenger side.

Once she is seated, her arm sneaks around your shoulders, her lips right next to your ear.

"Let's take your new car for a drive along the coast."

Her free hand glides over your thigh as she reaches for your crotch.

"You can repay me by making use of that hood."

She nods towards the front of the car.

The cold midnight air hits your face as you test out the car's limits. Krystal's hair flies after her in the wind. The roaring of the engine almost makes it impossible to talk. You glance at the dashboard. 300 kph. The road doesn't have any corners in it right now, so you can drive as fast as you want. No one else is around.

You let the Lamborghini come to a hold as you reach the top of the cliff. It's not yet time for the sunrise, but the stars make the night sky bright enough. You have to peel your shaking hands off the wheel. You've never gone that fast in your life.

"That big smile on your face says a lot."

Krystal's hair is messy, but that might make her even more attractive.

"Show me how much you really enjoyed it."

You lean over and capture her lips with yours. The two of you make out in the car as your and her hands explore each other's bodies. You feel her naked waist under your fingertips, while Krystal lets her fingers graze your abs underneath your shirt.

You don't have to work and earn money or anything. Krystal has only two basic requirements for you to make this relationship work. Stay as healthy and fit as possible and make her cum more often then she can count. You work out every single day, eat healthy and go for a lot of runs. You already did it before you met her, but the amount of time you are know putting into your body makes it impossible for Krystal to keep her hands off you.

After your make out session in the car, you now kneel in front of it, after having Krystal bend over the hood. Just like she wanted.

Her dress is still occupying the passenger seat, while her naked body is pressed against the black surface.

"That's a good boy."

Krystal moans into the hood as your tongue invades her slick pussy again and again. You knead her cheeks as you hold onto them. She loves it when you worship her body just as much as when she worships yours.

"Oh, fuck! Almost!"

After six months of almost three times a day, you have Krystal completely figured out. It doesn't take much effort anymore to make her cum.

And you can tell how close she is, if you read the signs well enough. Her thighs begin to shake. Her moans become just a little higher. More swear words leave her lips. And more of her juices would run down her thighs, if it wasn't for you, eagerly licking every inch of her skin.

Your name leaves her lips in a deep moan, right before a high pitched cry echoes through the night. Krystal orgasms on top of the car. Her naked body pressed against the hood. Most of her squirt lands inside your mouth, but some finds it's way onto the car, staining the black materials.

While she recovers, you stand up and align your cock with her pussy. You're still hard and wet from her blowjob in the car mere minutes ago. You can't even keep track anymore on how often Krystal sucked you off, sitting in the passenger seat or at the back.

"That's right. Fill me with that cock of yours."

Krystal sighs as you push into her. Slow love making is a rare sight in your relationship. Mainly because it isn't a relationship based on love. Krystal is pleasant to be around, but she sometimes feels like she is from another world. Her money, her influence, her age. None of it matches your own personality. And yet, here you are, taking Krystal's pussy from behind.

"You're such a good boy. A good little toy."

Her endless praises fuel your desire to fuck her harder and harder. As much as you like Krystal dominating you, it doesn't compare to the feeling of being in control yourself. To have this beautiful woman bend over in front of you. How she takes your cock so well. How she moans your name and praises your cock.

You eventually start to grow tired. The small sex marathon on board of her plane two hours ago still lingering inside your muscles. Krystal usually isn't the type to have a lot of sex at once, due to her busy schedule. But a four hour flight in her private jet makes you work overtime.

You finally sink down on top of her, your face buried in her naked back as your cock rests deep inside her pussy. Krystal's tits and the rest of her body are being pressed against the hood of the car due to your weight.

"Yes, baby."

She sighs, enjoying the unusually slow fucking you now give her. Her snug pussy is enough to make you cum. It doesn't matter how fast you fuck her. Even if you only move at a slow pace, it manages to make you fill her up.

"Krystal..."

You kiss and lick her sweaty neck as you close your eyes. The cold midnight air roams your naked body on top of hers as you release your cum into her pussy.

-----------

Hi, everyone!

I hope you a had a good time reading. After deciding on this concept, I cose the black dress, because I think it fits the most. If you want me to write her in the blue one, feel free to request again, I will put it on my list.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Price to Pay

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, power dynamics, violence, blood, death, grief and trauma, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

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

Summary: a robbery changes your entire life.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: This is for @stargazingfangirl18 Siri's Birthday Bone-nanza! Happy Birthday. Enjoy. I've cooked you up some Mob AU+Andy Barber.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The flashing lights fade away with the squall of the siren. The smell of iron tinges the air and stains your every breath. You shudder as you stare through the tight squares between the bars across the windows.

That grating did little to deter the robber. No, he made you do it. You had no choice. 

You look down at your hands. Will the shaking ever stop? There’s blood crusted around your nails despite the frantic scrubbing in the bathroom. Once the officers took their evidence, you couldn’t stop trying to wash away the taint. 

The floor shows the crimson imprint of where the men fell. Where you went to hold him in the throes of death. The fate you fired into his chest. It was you or him. That’s what you told yourself. It’s what the police said too as they wrote out the report. Come down tomorrow and sign your statement, ma’am. 

Stan couldn’t be bothered to come down to the corner shop. He owns the place but is doesn’t mean he gives a shit. The officers waited for him to show but resigned themselves to following up later. 

He had a gun. You couldn’t do anything else but open the drawer and scoop out the bills. You weren’t going to do anything but hand over the money but then he fumbled and you did too. The scramble for the pistol under the counter slowed time. The pull of the trigger put it into overdrive. 

You can feel the recoil in your forearm. The rest of you is just as stiff. You can’t untie the tension left by the night’s deadly end. You killed that man. He's rolled him out under a sheet.

He bled out in your arms, even as you desperately tried to stem the flow with the dirty rag. Why did you shoot him? Over fifty bucks worth of change? 

Adrenaline. That’s what the cops told you. Stupidity is what you believe. This job isn’t worth all that. 

And you still have to finish your shift. You look away from the faded stain on the floor. He was so young. He just made a stupid decision and you took everything from him. He’s dead. You killed him. 

🚨

You stand outside the convenience store. Strange how it seems just the same as it was. The dingy moniker flaps at one corner as a tear rents the fabric.

Customers come and go as you stand on the curb. You’ve been standing there for an hour now, trying to make yourself go inside. You have to work. If you want to stay in the hell-hole you call a home, you need the stingy paycheck. 

You check the time. You’re not late yet. You only came early because you couldn’t stand to be alone in your apartment. Now that you’re here, you just want to go back. 

A bang jars you and you cry out, spinning to search for the source. A rusty old Chrysler chuffs out black smoke and rumbles loudly. Just a backfire. You knot your shaking hands together and search the block. 

“Heard something about a robbery,” a voice draws your attention towards another car. The model is too nice for a neighbourhood like this. A man leans against it, his hands in his pockets. “Young kid. They took him down to the morgue.” 

You squint at the man in confusion. His suit is finely tailored and his beard trimmed to a tee. He stands out among the sagging jeans and worn leather. You shake your head. 

“I heard...” you croak.  

“Sad. Stupid kid, huh? Stupid decision. All for a couple bucks.” He tuts and shakes his head. 

“Yeah, um, tragic. I...” you look over your shoulder. “I gotta work.” 

You turn away and march across the pavement. Something about the man’s cool demeanour sets you on edge. Or maybe it’s the reminder of the night before. Not that you could forget. 

You enter with the chirp of the bell and greet Mauricio as he plays solitaire on the counter top. Your sneakers squeak to a halt before you can step on the cracked tile with the red splotches. You stare down at the festering memory. 

“Tough night,” Mauricio says. “I never shot one, ya know? Always shoot past ‘em. Give ‘em a scare.” 

You tuck your chin down and step over the tile. Mauricio lets you in through the door and you sidle behind the counter. You put your purse in the cupboard by the cigarettes and sniff. You wring your hands and lean on the shelf as you wait for your shift to start. 

Mauricio shuffles the cards and packs them away. 

“You okay? Police were here earlier.” 

“They were?” You gulp. 

“Might be back. Think they just wanted some Coke,” he snickers and tosses the cards under the till. The gun is still gone, probably down in some evidence locker. “Stan is pissed about the pistol, ya know?” 

“Mm, I didn’t... didn’t mean to.” 

He sniffs as he pats his back pocket, making sure he has his wallet. “Sorry, senorita. It can’t be easy, wish I had some way to help but Stan isn’t gonna pay me nothin’ to stay and I got that gig down at Jethro’s.” 

“I’m fine.” The lie is less than convincing. 

“Told him, shouldn’t have you on nights.” He shakes his head as you move to let him past. 

“It’s work.” 

“Eh, it’s somethin’,” he scoffs and hands over the keys. “Whole thing was plastered in the paper and all over the internet. Should keep the bad ones away for a while. Place is hot now. No one wants to get their ass blown off over pocket change.” 

“Sure.” 

You clip the keys on your belt. You back up and cross our arms. You lean again as you wait for him to go. You can’t say what’s worse, being alone or talking about it. 

As Mauricio goes, a customer enters. She wants a pack of menthol and some scratchers. You ring her through as she snaps her gum between her teeth. The bell chimes with her exit and stutters as another enters. 

It’s the man in the nice suit. He stops at the newspaper rack and grabs an issue. He struts up to the counter and throws it down.  

“Just the paper?” You ask. 

He steps closer and opens the newsprint. The crinkle is deafening in the drone of the local radio station buzzing from the speaker above you. He taps the page. 

“Kid was eighteen.” 

You bite down and stare back at him. You don’t know what to say or do. Is he some sort of detective? His suit might suggest as much but he hasn’t flashed a badge. 

“It was a BB gun. Looked pretty real, didn’t it?” He spits. 

You wince and shrug. You trace your knuckles nervous as you look down at the paper. Your nose tingles, your eyes too. 

He backs up and heaves out a sigh. He glances around and strides up to the stained tile. He looks down at it emphatically. 

“Blood don’t come out easy. No matter how much you scrub or bleach. It’s like that Edgar Allan Poe story...” he raises his chin and closes his eyes, taking another deep. “Do you hear it? His heartbeat? Racing as the life drains out of him?” 

Your lip quivers and you shake your head. You flick away tears before they can fall, “I didn’t mean to.” 

His cheek twitches and he snorts. He turns to your stiffly. He comes back to the counter and you tense as he reaches under his jacket. You shudder and peek at the empty shelf beneath the till where the pistol should be. He slips out a photo and lays it down, his thumb lingering on the frame.  

You gasp. It’s that boy. He’s young and smiling. He doesn’t look scary like the night before. 

“You didn’t mean to kill my son? Over a bunch of piss-stained bills? You couldn’t tell the gun was a fucking toy?!” 

You cower and your eyes well. You rub them with your sleeves. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“You fucking will be, sweetheart. Do you know who I am?” 

You stare and your mouth falls open. 

“His name was Jacob. Jacob Barber.” He swipes up the photo and snarls. “Any bells ringing?” 

You gape at him in horror. Barber. Yes, you’ve heard of him. He’s no detective. That suit is just a disguise. His business is deadly. His business is his ego. The personal is professional and you just stepped over the line. 

You brace yourself and drop your arms straight. You watch him, waiting. He looks back at you, agitation rippling above his brow. 

“Nothing else to say?” He sneers. 

“I deserve it.” 

He arches a brow, “deserve what?” 

“To die. So do it, please.” 

He laughs sardonically. “Oh, sweetheart, that’s cute.” He puts his hands on the counter and leans in. “I’m not going to kill you. I’m gonna do a lot fucking worse.” His eyes flick up and down and he pushes off. “You owe me and I always get what’s mine.” 

He twists on his heel and marches out. You gulp, frozen in fear, and watch after him. You don’t move until the next customer enters. Even then, you can hardly make your body listen to your fractured mind. 

🚨

There is no coming back. Thing’s don’t get better. You don’t calm down. You don’t sleep. You barely eat.  

All you can think about is the blood gushing from that boy’s chest. When you manage to close your eyes, you feel the hot stream flowing through your fingers. You smell it in the air. Beneath it all, you hear his father’s threat. 

‘You owe me...’ 

How can you repay that sort of debt? You killed his child. You didn’t have to. You could have handed over the money and told Stan the kid had a gun pointed right at you. Why did you do it? That question is as torturous as the memory. 

A week goes by. Ragged nights followed by desolate days. You stand behind that counter and stand at the reddened tile, or sit at home and rot. You wait for him to come back. Maybe then he’ll just end it. 

Another week of purgatory and your dissociation gives way to paranoia. Every time the shop door opens, you expect to see him. Barber and his tailored-jacket, a gun in his hand, ready to claim what’s owed. Every stranger on the street is just him in disguise, every shadow in your apartment is him haunting you. 

When he does appear, a month to the day, you’re almost relieved. There he is at your apartment door, stood as he was the first time you saw him. Arms crossed, leaning, looming. You stop and stare at him.  

He looks you in the eye and nods at the door. You unlock it and let him in. He isn’t in a suit this time. He’s dressed down, a hoodie and jeans. He doesn’t seem the type for denim. He struts inside and you close the door behind him. 

The air is static as he examines the bachelor suite. Your whole life in a single room. He is unimpressed as he stops by the table. Stan lets you take the old papers. You’ve brought home every single issue with a mention of the boy; Jacob. You don’t know why. 

His blue eyes are darkened in the gloom of your apartment. His beard is thick across his cheeks and defines his square jaw. His features are stony in determination. 

He pushes them to the floor and huffs. He stalks around the space as you stand by the door. You imagine him spinning to you, pulling a gun from under his sweater and firing. You could smile at the thought of it ending. 

He stops at the foot of your bed. The lumpy mattress sits on a metal frame. Beige sheets are pulled to the corners, a plaid comforter strewn carelessly below a single pillow. A used double you got from the thrift shop with your first pay. It smells like cigarettes. 

You stare at his broad shoulders as he runs his hand up his front. His zipper slices through the silence as he pulls it down. He shrugs off the hoodie and spins on his heel. He slings it over the only chair, right beside the table. He looks up at you, eyes blazing. 

“Strip.” 

His demand shakes you. It’s the first you’ve felt anything but horrible grief and self-pity. You’re afraid. You weren’t before. Just anxious. 

“Don’t say a fucking word,” he snarls as he tugs at his long-sleeved tee. 

You untie your sneakers and leave them by the door. You cross the room, staying far from him as you take in every inch. The apartment feels even smaller now.  

You unzip your jacket and fold it over the side of the plastic hamper in the corner. You pull of your socks and drop them into the depth of unwashed clothes. You undo your fly, your hands clumsy and shaking. The rustle behind you adds to the speckle of ember under your skin. 

You push your jeans down and step out of them. You throw them into the basket and peek over your shoulder. He stands at the foot of the bed once more. His hands are on his hips as he glares at the mattress. He wears only a pair of dark briefs. 

His intent isn’t hard to fathom. It’s not about the act itself, it’s the power, the humiliation. You ruined his life; he’ll do the same. 

“Hurry the fuck up,” he barks. 

You pull your shirt off and fumble with the back of your bra. You can barely get a grip as you quake. You push down your underwear and hang your head. You turn and march forward. He shoves down the elastic of his briefs at your approach. 

He’s a big man. Tall, muscular, stronger than you, without a doubt. Even if he wasn’t, he has all the power to keep you in line. 

“I don’t want to see your fucking face. Get on your stomach.” He commands as he peels off his last layer. 

You put your hands on the mattress and crawl over it. You cry out as he strikes you across your ass and sends you flat. You brace yourself on your elbows and whimper. He grabs your ankles and drags you down the bed.  

He hauls your legs over the edge so your feet are on the floor. He growls and scratches up the back of your thigh. You whine and he swats the back of your head. 

“Quiet,” he warns. 

He leans over you and plants his hands on either side of you. You stare up at the pillow, focusing on it as you desperately search for the numbness of those last weeks. It’s all gone now. You feel everything. The sting of flesh, the futility, the horror. 

He lifts a hand, the bed shifting with him, and traces along your spine. He dips along your ass and kicks your legs wider. He feels between your thighs and jams his fingers against your folds. He’s impatient and cruel. He rams two fingers into you and you squeak, spine arching as you grasp the linen comforter. 

He hushes you as he pushes deep. His knuckles press against you and he draws back. He jerks his hand gruffly, fucking your dry cunt raw. You hold your breath as he plumes out around you. Each intrusion is dull and achy. 

He tears free of your cunt and angles over you. He guides his tip along the swell of your ass and presses to your entrance. There is no time to be ready for him. 

You cry out and throw your head up. It’s like a red-hot iron inside of you, burning from inside out. He snarls and hooks his arm around you, smothering your mouth in his hand. You smell yourself on his fingers as the press against your nose. 

He snaps his hips and buries himself in you. You kick the floor and slap the mattress. Your muscles tighten and your bones thrum. He pushes his nose into your hair and ruts again. You squeal into his palm as your eyes bead with tears. 

He’s methodical. He pumps into you. Long, slow strokes so you feel every inch. He’s taunting you. He’s punishing you. His hot breath wraps around your scalp as he puffs. 

He bends his other arm, elbow digging into the limp mattress, and stretches his fingers around your throat.  He collapses onto you, crushing you beneath him as he squeezes your neck and jaw. He has you trapped in his grip. 

His pace quickens with his breath. He grunts and growls against your temple as the bed frame whines with his rhythm. His flesh slaps between the squeaky tempo and your pathetic mewling stays cupped behind his rough hand. 

He pounds you into the mattress, each dip of his hips heavier than the last. Every ounce of emotion; anger, grief, resent, hatred, is hammered into your helpless body. 

He puts his teeth around the brim of your ear and pinches. He growls and you feel the rumble roll through him. His thrusts turn snappy, punctuated by the bite of your flesh. Harder, harder, harder. He spasms but doesn’t let up. 

He untangles his arms from under you and pins your shoulders. He fucks his cum into you as he lifts himself up. His weight threatens to pop your bones out of joint. He pushes his thighs against yours, splaying you as far as he can. 

His furious onslaught doesn’t let up until your thighs and cunt are painted in him. Until your breathless and babbling, head lolling, defeated as he leaves you smeared across the blankets. He burrows in as deep as he can before he pulls out. 

He pushes off the bed, jarring the world around you, and his shadow hangs over you. He inhales and lets it out slowly. 

“My son. My only child,” he grits out. He bends and feels along your cunt, spreading the slimy mess leaking from your cunt. “You owe me and I will get exactly what you took from me.” 

[depravitycentral]

Enji Todoroki General Yandere Profile

Yandere! Enji Todoroki x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, stalking, power imbalances, financial trapping, mentions of physical/domestic abuse, mentions of non-con, sexist undertones, Enji wants you to be his cute little housewife, mentions of breeding/pregnancy, a few mentions of making sure you eat enough/food, Enji is patronizing whoo boy, he makes you share a toothbrush and yes he's weird about it, this is set in a divergent timeline where Enji and Rei are formally divorced and his relationship with his family is loose and not super tight, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 11K

DARLING PROFILE:

Kind

Enji is, simply, harsh.

His quirk, his mannerisms, his attitude, his everything, really, is a bit rough around the edges, forming a man with only enough self control to get what he wants. He’s lived his whole life bitterly, constantly jealous, constantly wanting, willing to throw everything away in order to achieve his goals.

And once everything starts caving in around him, his family and career both taking unexpected turns, Enji finds himself so, so painfully alone. He doesn’t pretend to delude himself into thinking he’s not deserving of his fate, but this places him into a position where he shoulders the guilt while desperately trying to find any outlet to forget it.

And this is where a darling who is kind comes into play – he needs someone who won’t judge him for his past. He needs someone who doesn’t treat him like scum, who is still polite and empathetic to him and his emotions. A darling who is able to consistently praise him will have him smitten quickly, growing emotionally dependent on hearing their sweet words in order to function, in order to not let the depression and stress get the better of him.

And even once his obsession has formed and he’s deep in the depth of his infatuation, a darling who is just too kind to kick him to the curbside is absolutely essential for him – they must be doting and caring, helping rebuild his shattered confidence and psyche, and with every compliment they dish out, Enji vows that he’ll return the sentiment tenfold, in his own way of course.

(This means buying his darling millions of yen worth of their favorite things, all kinds of wonderful gifts that he hopes will sway them in his favor, that will get them drooling over him and all that he can provide for them.)

Hardworking

Although he’s in a mental state that leaves him much more susceptible to finding a partner once he divorces Rei, Enji is still a picky man. He won’t fall for just anyone – no, they must fit his standard, be acceptable and meet the rather long and detailed checklist he has for those he considers as potential romantic partners.

And near the top of this list is determination. He’s a man motivated by his own goals and is willing to stop at nothing to achieve them – and so, a darling that can at least somewhat match this aspect of his personality is critical.

He has no patience for a darling that gives up easily; he wants someone that’s willing to put in the effort to see it pay off, someone who understands the concept of self-discipline and holding yourself to certain moral standards.

He finds it wildly attractive when someone has strong character, and his interest would immediately be piqued with a darling who brings an attitude of perseverance and hard work into every aspect of their life, be it work, their hobbies, their relationship, and everything in between.

He wants someone who is perhaps not quite as stubborn as him, but is still serious in their goals.

(He hopes that one day, making him happy and pleasing him will be one of these goals – just as pleasing his darling is one of his own. And he’s more than happyto please them in whatever way they so desire. More than happy.)

Motherly

Because he views his darling as the perfect wife, his darling absolutely must possess at least somewhat of a motherly air about them. He likes the idea of having a nurturing partner, if only because he finds it endearing when they care for others.

As a hero he shares this sentiment, and although it may sometimes be overshadowed by his need to become the best, deep down inside he does very much wish to help others – his methodology is just a little more violent, a little more overt.

His darling, by contrast, should prefer a methodology that’s much gentler, something that focuses more on making others feel safe and heard and cared for.

Besides, Enji very much desires to have children with his darling; to build a second family, one that he’ll care for and nourish much better than his first. And so, if his darling is to be a good mother, they must embody these traits.

Besides, although he doesn’t fall for his darling because of his fantasies of making them a mother, once the feelings are formed these daydreams only further his feelings, deepening his obsession because oh, he’d give absolutely anything to see them pregnant with his child, carrying his seed, creating something that symbolizes the love and dedication between them.

And so, his darling needs to be someone who naturally takes care of others – and in return, Enji will take care of them. Just how it should be.

Pushover

This trait is a bit less crucial compared to the others, but it’s still most definitely a positive from Enji’s perspective.

Of course he likes a darling who has strong opinions and stands up for them, but he loves a darling that will let him guide them through any hard decisions, or really any decisions at all.

Although he’s not as outright controlling with his darling, he still very much feels that he wears the pants in the ‘relationship’, and thus he is the one calling the shots.

A darling who is happy to let him take over their life like this is a massive help to him – he doesn’t have to fight for control, nor does he have to argue with them about why certain decisions really should be made by him as the more dominant partner, as the one who knows more about the world, as the man. It’s an outdated view and it’s one that he doesn’t really want to admit out loud, but he enjoys the idea of a partner who will revere him and allow him full control.

He wants to be loved and cherished, and in return for a love like this, he’ll do his best to provide for and take care of his darling in every way he possibly can – so really, if his darling knows what’s best for them, they’ll step back and let him make all the tough decisions.

They’ll nod and smile and agree with whatever he chooses, pressing a kiss against his cheek and telling him how much they trust him, how they know he’d never hurt them, how he only wants what’s best for them.

Just the thought makes something warm swell in his stomach, the level of trust making him feel wanted, needed, a concept so foreign that it almost feels wrong. But oh, how he likes it.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Controlling

But in a very, very strange way – a lot of what fuels Enji’s obsession is this desperate, innate need to right his wrongs. He’s very, very aware of how thoroughly he ruined his family, how horribly he treated Rei, how he was a poor excuse of a father and husband, and he sees his love with you as almost being his second try. With you, he can do all the things he should have done with Rei and his children – he should have been sweet and loving, a present father that cared about each of his children equally. He should have been a doting husband, spoiling his wife and making her feel loved and desired.

But he didn’t, and although Rei has long since divorced him, Enji finds himself feeling lonely, incomplete, restless to try again, to properly provide for a sweet little thing he can call his own. And this is where you come in – and from the moment he realizes his feelings for you are more than a simple attraction, he dives in head-first.

He decides he'll approach everything with you in a way as opposite from his previous marriage as possible – he's all grand, romantic gestures, always showing up with a bouquet of flowers in hand and just the slightest pink tint on his scarred cheeks.

The grand, romantic gestures are, of course, merely things he’s seen in rom-coms; the women always look happy when the love interest swoops in with flowers and gifts and pretty clothing, the beaming smile and large hug the man gets as a reward seeming very, very appealing to Enji, despite his rigid exterior.

(Just the thought of you hugging him has his heart racing – it’s something so intimate, so entirely new that it makes every nerve in his body stand on edge, a shiver running up his spine as he imagines the way your body would feel pressed against his, how you’d sigh and sink further against him, how you’d squeeze him and god, the view he’d get when he looks down to see your body pressed so tightly against him that not even a breath of air could separate you -)

He’s scouring through women’s magazines, burying his nose in the glossy pages and searching for ideas and clues as to what women enjoy as courting gifts.

(He has to scoff under his breath every time he sees a new dieting tip or regiment, internally frowning and worrying that you’re seeing these ads and potentially obsessing over your weight. The last thing he’d want is for you to be unhappy with your body – certainly not when he’s so very happy with it. Not to mention the nutritionally heinous foods the magazine recommends – he’d sooner have you eat raw paper than follow this ludicrous advice.)

He’s even caving and very, very awkwardly asking his female sidekicks and employees at his agency about their tips on how to seduce a woman. He struggles to make eye contact with them when he asks, his imposing figure almost reminding them of a shy, nervous teenage boy with the way he’s so earnest about his question, his eyes lighting up when they mention an idea he hasn’t tried yet, pressing them for details and specifics and you must tell me what to say to her – how does one follow up gifting a puppy?

It would be sweet, really, how devoted he is to making sure that you’re absolutely spoiled, that you get a whole variety of lavish gifts designed to sweep you off your feet. It would be wonderful, really, except that Enji has never understood the concept of being too much – which is how everything will start to feel very, very early on in this process.

 It was nice at first to receive a fresh bouquet of roses every morning at your desk with a handwritten card attached. (Written in impeccable handwriting, the cursive letters looping and elegant as they spell out short, simple, sweet messages signed with a capital E at the bottom, reading please make sure to eat enough today and that skirt looks lovely on you.)

 It was nice at first, but after the second week of daily bouquets and even a few finding their way to the doorstep of your apartment, the sight of the pretty red flowers makes a sinking feeling swirl in your gut.

(Enji notices this, dismayed and frustrated by your lack of a positive response, and decides to double down and just gift you bigger flowers, because maybe your lack of joy at receiving the bouquets is because they aren’t big enough, aren’t grandiose enough, aren’t good enough.)

It was nice to get the cute, small stuffed bunny on your desk one morning, and you’d even grown so fond of the little thing that you perched it on the edge of your desk, assuming it was a one-time gift. But it wasn’t – the stuffed animals kept coming, getting bigger and more detailed and much, much more expensive, you’re sure.

(Enji is careful to remove each and every price tag on every gift he sends you, simply because he doesn’t want you to feel that you owe him financially, nor does he want you to be swayed into accepting him as your partner by mere economic standing – that’s an asset that you’ll come to know, of course, but he’d rather lure you in via more traditional ways. It doesn’t exactly stay secret, though, because once the necklace with a delicate array of at least five diamonds in it arrives at your front door, your secret admirer’s wealth becomes very, very difficult to hide.)

He’s gifting you jewelry with more precious jewels and gold and silver than you could possibly wear, and outfitting your closet with all kinds of dresses and skirts out of materials and cuts you could never hope to afford for yourself.

(And, of course, they’re all tailored to fit you perfectly – how Enji managed to get your exact sizes is still a question that haunts you, one that makes you scared to upon the nicely wrapped boxes that you find in excess outside your front door.)

It’s all just too damn much – Enji is suffocating with his attempts to woo you, his every gift and gesture leaving you feeling uncomfortable. What he’s trying to do is very, very obvious – and it feels wrong. He’s the number one hero, a busy man with much more important things to be doing – so why is he going after you? And why with such ferocity?

His forwardness will scare you off, driving you to avoid him and grow suspicious of his motives, and Enji does not like this development. This wasn’t supposed to happen – you’re supposed to want him, to be seduced by all of his efforts, to be swept off your feet and swooned by his gifts and words (delivered with the grace of a garbage truck, of course, but the sentiment is there – even if looking at your pretty face distracts him, all the words leaving his head and making him stand there gaping like a fool).

 Enji doesn’t like it, and so he presses harder, stepping up the frequency and volume of his gifts, only effectively pushing you further and further away from him as you grow more uneased and unsettled. And if you were to confront him about it?

Well, this is where his controlling tendencies come into play – denying who he naturally is can only last for so long, and despite being a man with superb self-restraint, the moment that Enji feels you’re slipping from his fingers he’s morphing back into the man that commands your every move.

Suddenly he’s no longer presenting you with the newest shampoo you’ve been talking about (it’s salon grade, the best stuff out there, and much too expensive, but not for Enji – nothing is too expensive for him when it’s for you) but rather letting this expression wash over his face, one that you’ve never seen before.

It’s cold, remarkably so; his lips are pressed tightly together, his brows perfectly straight, those eyes lifeless as he tells you to stop fighting, go inside and change into the green dress I gave you last week. We’re going for dinner, and you’ll order the house salad and a slice of chocolate cake for dessert. Do you understand me?

 It’s weird and unexpected and scary, and it’ll have you immediately stuttering out a yes and scurrying inside, too frightened to disobey. And really, while Enji winces every time he does this, eventually he finds himself trying to justify it as simply ensuring your relationship will last.

Obviously it’s not good that he has to force you into these small, minor, inconsequential things (like going on a date with him or letting him accompany you home afterwards), but this is different from with Rei – you want this, right? You’re just too shy to tell him how flattered you are about all the attention he’s giving you.

You’re just playing coy, acting on your age-old feminine instincts to make men chase after you, to be demure and make your partner work for your affection and love. And eventually, Enji will convince himself that this is different, he’s wooing you and getting you into a relationship with him willingly – you want him.

You practically love him already – things are going well. They’re successful.

They have to be.

And so, while Enji doesn’t mean to be controlling, the end results is that although he plays the nice guy that spoils you and gives you anything your heart desires, at the end of the day he is the one in charge, and he is the one dictating your relationship.

And really, what can you do to stop him? He’s strong, both physically and with the general population – one word from him and you’d be hunted for like a madman, ostracized from the community, brought back to him like a pup to its owner.

You belong with him, and it’s his job to make you see that – even if you want to remain blind.

Possessive

Enji Todoroki doesn’t share. Once he decides that he wants you, you become unequivocally his.

Sure, he wants to do things a bit differently with you and get you to harbor more loving feelings towards him, but from the moment his infatuation forms you don’t really have a choice in the matter.

 You can pretend like you do, if it makes you feel better (and it will, because at least you can pretend that you have even an ounce of control in the relationship, that you aren’t just some adorable little thing he’s decided he wants hanging off his arm and warming his bed), but at the end of the day you’re subject to Enji’s whims.

And although Enji lets you harbor this fantasy of your relationship being truly consensual, the moment something occurs that threatens it, his true colors are shown. Namely, when he thinks your attention is veering away from him, his jealousy and anger become difficult to keep in check, his quirk acting up and letting off small sparks and flames all along his body. His fists clench and his jaw tightens when he sees another man around you, and although he tries to rationalize that the man likely doesn’t want anything to do with you, just simply being in your presence is enough to make Enji suspicious.

Even if the man isn’t talking to you or acknowledging you in any way, he’s anxious – he’s scared that something about this man will attract you, that you’ll somehow find him better than Enji.

Maybe the man is friendlier – Enji’s aware that he isn’t exactly the most approachable person on the planet.

Maybe he's funnier – Enji knows he can’t crack a joke to save his life.

Maybe he’s a better conversationalist – less formalities and awkwardness, able to get you laughing so hard you snort.

It makes Enji’s skin crawl, his knuckles turning white from how hard he’s fisting his hands, and before long he will intervene. He’ll grab you as gently as he can on the elbow, guiding you carefully but quickly away to the other side of the room and physically maneuvering so that his body is blocking your sight of the man – and more importantly, blocking his sight of you.

He’ll try to talk with you, trying to distract you and get your mind off of the other man, all in an effort to get your attention back on him. He’s reminding you that you have him, that you don’t need some other man, that you already have one who’s capable of providing for you and caring for you as you deserve.

Frankly, he discovers just how deeply his feelings for you run in a situation where jealousy gets the best of him – you’d been approached at a small gathering by a man from another agency who was clearly hitting on you. He was leaning in close, smiling with a smarmy smirk and nursing on his cocktail like a lifeline.

Enji had noticed the two of you out of the corner of his eye, and immediately he’d gone stiff. He couldn’t stop staring at the way the man kept getting gradually closer to you, how he kept leaning in further, how his hand slid from his pocket to your shoulder, then your arm, down to your hand and oh, oh god, it looks like he’s bringing it down to your waist –

Enji had been by your side in mere moments, his gaze card and harsh as he’d stepped in front of you, making some poorly toned excuse about needing to speak with you for a moment, before unceremoniously dragging you away from the stupefied man.

From that day, Enji absolutely refuses to allow anyone close to you. And really, can he be blamed? After all, he fell for you, so why wouldn’t anyone else? You’re beautiful and caring, smart and dignified, and if he can see your potential as a lovely, perfect little wife, surely others can too.

And so, Enji ramps up his controlling tendencies the more he’s presented with situations where the green-eyed monster accompanies him. And this control takes its main form through financials – that is, while Enji originally didn’t want to attract you to him via his material wealth, he decides it’s a necessary evil in order to have you staying by his side only.

He starts ‘forgetting’ to peel off the price tags of the gifts he gives you, pretending not to notice how your eyes practically bug out of your head when you unbox the pink pendant he’d bought for you.

He starts inviting you out for lunches and dinners more often, ordering for you and choosing the most expensive items off the menu despite your numerous pleas that you’ll opt for something – anything – cheaper.

(It’s frustrating, too, because as angry as you want to be at him for ordering for you, he always chooses something you end up liking – of course it’s because he’s done extensive research and stalking, finding out your favorite foods and what flavors you dislike, but it all seems like one large, awfully strange coincidence to you.)

Exerting financial control over you keeps you complacent, because the guilt you’ll feel at how much money he’s sinking into you will have you following his every word, even if it his commands are a little strange and off-putting – like spending less time with any male friends (or really any friends for that matter) or slipping the small photograph of him into your purse (it’s weird and you do so hesitantly, making sure the polaroid is at the bottom of the bag – and trying to ignore the way his muscles are oh-so fucking defined in the tight black shirt he’s sporting in the photograph).

It’s all just a big ploy to keep you from running off with some other man – but really, if you somehow did manage to do that, Enji won’t be particularly merciful. He will be cornering the man as he leaves your apartment and he will be holding him by the neck against the cold concrete wall, threatening him to leave you alone or experience the rather unpleasant sensation of burning alive.

It’s not particularly heroic, but Enji doesn’t care – he can’t, not when the threat of you leaving him for another man is very much present and real. It’s too scary, too much for him to handle – it would mean you rejecting him, his second fuck-up in love, and the loss of someone who fits absolutely every one of his desires in a woman.

You’re too perfect for him to lose – so instead, he’ll own you.

Dependent

He will never admit it, but there’s this part of Enji that grows stronger day by day, every time he sees your face, that tells him in the most raw, real way that he absolutely needs you.

He’s essentially lost what he had of his family, and with the sharp uptake in responsibility as the new number one hero, the new symbol of modern peace, Enji finds himself turning to you in his time of need, in his more vulnerable moments.

Because really, though his exterior is tough and jaded, he’s only human – he too needs someone to love, someone to hold and latch onto, and latch he does. You’re his, and he expects you to understand that even if he doesn’t verbalize it.

He cherishes your very existence, each and every thing you do, finding you to be remarkably weak yet remarkably endearing, your inability to defend yourself simultaneously adorable and frustrating. He needs you to realize that you’re his everything; his whole reason for living now, even if he doesn’t give you many clues into this.

He isn’t the best at expressing his emotions, and although the love and desperation he feels for you is constantly overwhelming him, overflowing from his chest and making him dizzy, he doesn’t articulate just how deeply these feelings run.

Of course he’ll tell you how you’re beautiful, or that you’re my responsibility to protect, but he’ll also say significantly less romantic things like how you belong to him, how he's never letting you out that front door, how he’ll never let those disgusting, filthy villains touch something as perfect as you.

He thinks it’s sweet and exactly what you want to hear, but it’s not – it’s scary and strange and weird, but these are your biggest clues as to his dependence on you.He won’t tell you, but his expectations for you are honestly monumentally high; he wants you to be his perfect little wife, everything that Rei wasn’t, and this includes giving you every ounce of his love.

He wants you to be diligently cooking him hearty meals, keeping the house tidy and clean for the two of you, to be massaging his shoulders while he relaxes from a stressful day at work. (Hell, he even wants you to wear cute little aprons, collars with his name stitched onto them, those maternity/breast feeding bras before you’re even pregnant…)

He wants a domestic fantasy with you, and this extends to other, more vulnerable things as well. He expects you to embrace him as he walks through the door everyday returning home, to give him a light peck on the cheek and ask about his day, to let him hug you from behind and kiss your neck as you slave away over the stove.

He never really got the chance to do such loving things with Rei (not that he particularly wanted to), and as a result he honestly feels like he’s having to make up time, that he needs to be taking every single ounce of affection and love you can possibly give him, and he’ll feel no guilt at all.

He won’t outright ask you to cuddle him, but when he sits on the large, overstuffed leather couch and stares at you expectantly, you’ll quickly learn to run over to him and snuggle up into his side, to bury your face into his chest and wrap your arms and legs around him even if his body heat cooks you alive.

He won’t ever explicitly ask you to give him those fluttery, soft morning kisses he’s seen all the time in terrible corny rom-coms he religiously watched for inspiration while trying to court you, but the moment you smile sleepily at him and press a kiss against his lips while you holds you close in the morning glow?

God, it’s in those moments that he wants to give you absolutely everything he has – every part of his body, soul and heart, every single cent he owns, every piece of fame and fortune he’s ever amassed.

Enji just wants to please you, and although he comes off as an odd mix of demanding yet generous, terrifying yet strangely awkward, inside his heart is hammering against his ribcage every time you so much as smile at him, every time you so much as look at him. In the hazy afterglow of a round of passionate morning sex (in which you’ve realized that fighting will get you nowhere – it’ll only earn you an Enji that’s more frantic and desperate to get you moaning and crying out his name), when he latches onto your smaller, exhausted and sweaty body, pressing you as tightly against him as possible, sometimes his demeanor will crack.

He’ll lean down to deeply inhale the scent of your hair, to watch the way your chest rises and falls, and he’ll whisper in the softest of voices that he loves you, you’re the light of his world. He doesn’t know what he’d do without you, but Enji is hellbent on never finding out – after all, there is no chance of escape with him, and he’s sure you’ll learn your place soon.

After all, pretty, submissive girls like you always do.

DEALING WITH RIVALS: 

Enji is, regrettably, terrible at hiding his jealousy.

He’s always been in a constant state of envy, whether it was vying for the top spot in the heroing world against All Might, desiring the perfect offspring in order to have the Todoroki name and himself live on, and countless other examples. He’s prideful and so fucking jealous of everyone around him, and this is only heightened when it comes to you – his possessiveness over you is nothing to sneeze at, and the minute he feels that your attention is threatened, that you could possibly be yearning for another?

He’s wasting no time stepping in, mercilessly shutting down each and every opportunity you could possibly have of being with anyone other than himself.

As much as he’s loathe to admit it, his jealousy and possessiveness stems from a place of insecurity; he’s aware that he’s by no means the perfect partner, and he rationally knows that you could do much, much better than him.

And so, as a sort of panic-induced response, Enji decides that you simply aren’t allowed to interact with any other men – this way, you aren’t presented with the opportunity to even let the feelings form. And he’s diligent with this theory, too – he’s always standing near you, acting as your shadow with watchful, hawk-like eyes trained on your figure.

He’s never been the best at reading people, but he’s able to tell from miles away when someone approaches you with intentions that are less than innocent, and immediately his lips are thinning, his brows furrowing, his entire body temperature raising by five degrees because you’re his, and this piece of scum disguised as a man obviously doesn’t realize this.

He’s your guardian angel in many ways (though really, he takes the guardian portion much too far – even men who have no romantic intentions with you are viewed as potential threats, shooed away with a vengeance that will make them too afraid to even think about you without imagining themselves engulfed in flames), though at times it will make you feel more than a little patronized.

It’s as if he doesn’t trust you – you don’t really have a relationship, at least in your eyes, but you know the number one hero wants something more than friendship with you. And so, you do your best to avoid evoking his anger and wrath by not romantically involving yourself with another man – and yet that’s not enough for Enji.

It can’t be, simply because as pretty and sweet and smart as you may be, Enji will always know better. It’s a controlling tendency and a mildly sexist view, but he thinks of you as his doting, loving housewife-to-be, and it’s the man’s job to make these sorts of decisions.

You’re just too sweet and outgoing for your own good – you’ll get mixed up in all sorts of trouble if you’re not careful, and lucky little you has someone like Enji to watch out for you and make sure your pretty head has nothing to worry about. And so, Enji sticks to you like glue, warding off potential suitors with grueling stares and a presence and reputation too strong to ignore.

Enji’s day had been long, and one of those days that made him seriously question his abilities as a hero. A villain had managed to trick him, and although Enji had of course eventually arrested the perpetrator, his deception had led to a lot of wasted time and more damage to surrounding buildings than was acceptable.

His head was pounding, his body still feeling overly hot from all of the fighting, and though not normal, he’d decided he was done for the day and left the rest of the agency’s calls to his sidekicks. Leaving early had felt almost freeing in a way, the world looking a bit different with all this extra time – walking down the sidewalk, Enji scanned the windows of each shop he passed.

As per usual, you’d been on his mind all day – flashes of your face sitting just behind his eyelids, your name just a hair away on his tongue, the feeling of your phantom touch sending shivers down his spine. It was irritating, distracting, heavenly, and with each window he passed, he kept an eye out for anything you might like.

He’d gotten you a pretty tea cup set yesterday, and although you’d been hesitant and visibly uncomfortable at receiving such a gift (the set was very, very obviously expensive, the marbled china too perfect and pristine to have costed anything less than a year’s worth of your salary), Enji was eager to gift you something that would be received better today.

Streets passed by, nothing quite suiting his vision for what you deserved – he’d need something more subtle today, something simple and sweet and something he knows you like – The confectionary is small, with swirling black letters over a baby pink banner spelling out the name of the store. The windows are lined with all sorts of chocolates and candies, all wrapped up in pretty, ornate packaging that makes Enji immediately pick up his pace, practically storming into the small shop.

It smells like vanilla and sugar as the door shuts behind him, and although it makes him wince, he knows you’d love it. Shelves nearly as tall as him line the shop in narrow rows, displaying all sorts of sweets that he’s never heard of before – caramels, gumdrops, chocolates, lollipops, anything and everything under the sun.

He’s only been in the store for roughly five minutes, staring at a collection of truffles with furrowed brows and a downward curl of his lip when he hears a small laugh over the gentle, happy classical music playing quietly over the speakers. Immediately he’s perking up – the laugh sounds familiar; the lilt of it, the tonality, the soft intake of breath right after it stops.

His lips part, eyes going wide, and before he can even really control himself he’s rushing towards the source of the noise, his entire face growing warm when he sees you – you’re at the register, a few candies sitting on the wooden slab, your purse in hand as you fish for presumably your wallet.

You look gorgeous today – you’re wearing a shirt he’s never seen before and your favorite pair of jeans (the ones that make your ass look so, so very perfect – perfect to squeeze at, to grope and touch and smack and press himself against…), and although he’s briefly disappointed that you aren’t wearing an item of clothing that he’d gifted you, he notices the clerk all too soon.

The clerk – Hyoshi, his nametag says – is smiling at you. He’s all teeth, a grin that makes the hairs on the back of Enji’s neck stand up, his nostrils flaring because you’d been laughing, and it must be this man’s doing. This man, who’s visibly weak even under the ridiculous confectionary uniform he’s sporting – arms that couldn’t hope to lift even a fraction of what Enji can, a chest that isn’t ruggedly defined like the hero’s, and a stature that’s frankly pathetic compared to the frame of the redheaded man behind you.

Enji’s angry, and as the man opens his mouth to presumably say something else (potentially something that’ll make you laugh again), his words die on his tongue as he glances behind you to see the behemoth of a man who’s quite literally acting as your shadow.

His eyes widen and immediately he’s stuttering out a w-welcome in, Endeavor! At that, your shoulders go stiff, your mouth parting into an adorable little ‘o’ that Enji can practically see in his head, and you slowly turn around.

Oh, hello Endeavor, aren’t you normally on patrol right now?

Enji’s jaw works, and although a small part of him is pleasantly surprised that you’d remembered his patrol shift, your words only serve to further frustrate him. You knew it was his time on the clock – and yet, you’d still ventured out into the heart of downtown, completely on your own, defenseless except for the measly, very sad pepper spray you keep in that worn purse of yours – both of which he keeps pleading with you to let him replace.

(He’ll get you new pepper spray and a taser and a pocketknife, just because he knows how dangerous these streets can be, and with your pretty face and your pretty body he’s sure villains would be lining out the door to get a taste of you. And of course, the new bag – he’s bought you plenty, in a wide variety of styles and colors, each gift getting more and more desperate to be the one you finally deem as being good enough to use, but alas.)

Enji doesn’t even bother with a greeting, instead stepping up to the counter, slamming down his credit card and stepping in front of you. I’ll be paying for her sweets. His voice is cold, firm, and sends the clerk into a scurry to process the transaction, meanwhile you’re staring in mild shock from behind the hero.

Of course you’re not surprised – how can you be, when he insists on spoiling you in every possible way? And yet the raw animosity he’s radiating right now can’t be ignored – you get the feeling as if you’re somehow in trouble, though you can’t figure out what for. As soon as the card reader beeps, Enji’s scooping up the card and your sweets, his thick fingers wrapping around your wrist just barely too tightly and marching out the door, telling the clerk over his shoulder to keep the receipt.

It takes every bone in his body to not turn back around and swing at the man behind the counter, his eyes shutting tightly in concentration as he tells himself that it’s not worth it, the media will find out, your reputation will be damaged. But as his eyes peel open and he realizes the way you’re squirming in his grip, he only sighs and releases you, those teal eyes of his appraising you with a frown.

You’re feeling guilty again, unsure of yourself as you gently rub your wrist, and for a moment Enji feels regret – did he hurt you? He hadn’t meant to, he’d just been angry and it was already hard enough to not harm the man who’d made you laugh, and surely you’d understand that he didn’t mean to –

You break the silence before he can voice his concerns, clearing your throat and thanking him in a meek voice. Enji merely nods, a small grunt your only response as he begins walking again, your sweets – and your purse – firmly in his hands, just so that you won’t have to carry them.

When you don’t immediately follow him, Enji pauses, looking back over his shoulder with a brow cocked.

What? Follow me – we have dinner reservations this evening, at that new seafood restaurant by the harbor. Fuyumi tells me it’s quite good; order the crab legs and the caviar.

There’s no room for disagreement in his tone, and for a moment you just blankly gape at him, the situation too strange for you to really process.

But all too soon his eyes are narrowing, and you’re practically tripping over your feet to follow him, keeping your gaze cast downwards as Enji’s hand rests on the small of your back, guiding you even though there’s not a civilian in sight on the desolated sidewalk he leads you down.

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

Honestly, Enji is complicated as a yandere; there’s a part of him that knows that there are aspects of his relationship with you that mirror that of his previous marriage. He knows that although you may not be treated as terribly (and that you have more purpose to him than simply an incubator), you’re still trapped, essentially a slave to his will.

And yet, as time passes and his dependence on you grows stronger, he can’t help but justify his actions, deciding that yes, you may be stuck with him, but at least he spoils you rotten with your favorite foods, expensive clothing and jewels, an unlimited supply for each and every hobby you may have. He may have you trapped between a rock and a hard place in terms of leaving him, but at least he genuinely loves you - he aches to spend time with you, to hold you in his arms, to feel your heartbeat against his ear, your lips against his, your body writhing below his.

He’s convinced himself that this time is different, that you’re different, and as such he eventually decides that it’s really in both your best interests to just relocate you, to get you officially by his side. It’s really paranoia that drives this decision – he’s a working hero and a man with many, many enemies, and so it’s really the only option that keeps you safe.

Stealing you away into his private home – he’s the sole inhabitant, aside from a cleaner or two, since moving out of the Todoroki household – is the best option for a multitude of different reasons. You’re safer this way – the state-of-the-art security systems he’s installed around the estate are the best money can pay for, able to detect intruders and any suspicious activity in the blink of an eye. Enemies don’t have much of a chance of getting inside, and even if they had managed to, Enji will be right there to burn them to a crisp for even daring to get close to his beloved.

And even aside from outside threats, keeping you trapped at home will allow him to keep an eye on you and make sure that you don’t accidentally hurt yourself – you’re ridiculously clumsy to him, your every action having him hold his breath slightly in anticipation, in fear that you’ll somehow trip or fall or bruise your pretty skin. Plus, this way he’ll know that you’re eating healthily and in the right quantities, that you’re getting proper exercise, that you’re relaxing as you should, that you’re spending adequate amounts of time in the interior courtyard he’d prepared in preparation for you.

(It’s beautiful, as loathe as you are to admit it – all kinds of flowers bloom along the walkways, bamboo and tall grasses and trees growing in neat lines and providing shade for the flowerbeds on hot summer days. There’s even a small stream flowing through it, the gentle trickling noise almost enough to cancel out the painful silence that exists between you and Enji when he decides to join you for your scheduled garden time in the afternoons – uninvited, as always, and yet still unable to sense how desperately you wish you’d get these times alone to yourself.)

Aside from your safety, keeping you in his home helps feeds into his domestic fantasies of the two of you – you’re so very precious to him, and from nearly the beginning of his obsession with you, he’s always viewed you as the perfect wife – specifically, the perfect housewife.

He’s a traditional man, believing in traditional gender roles, and although he doesn’t view you as being less-than based upon your status as a woman, he does expect certain things from you. He’s the breadwinner, the strong, capable one who provides you with a roof over your head, food, and any gift under the sun the moment you make even the slightest inclination of wanting it.

And in return, you’re to be his caring, nurturing wife – the one who keeps the house neat and tidy, a room dedicated to only cleaning supplies that you get always stay stocked and ready for you, should you become inspired and wish to fulfill this domestic fantasy of his. The cleaning products are all diluted down to a level that wouldn’t be dangerous if you were to ingest them – you’d get sick, surely, but it’s nothing a home-trip from a doctor who’s been sworn to secrecy can’t handle.

There’s also, unfortunately, a drawer within the room that a particularly bored you had one day opened only to immediately slam it shut. Dozens of cleaning outfits sat neatly folded in the drawer, the black and white getups looking much too tight and much too short. A few weeks later you’d returned to the drawer, bored out of your mind while Enji was away at work, peeling one out with careful and trembling fingers. And of course, to no one’s surprise, the outfit fit like a fucking glove – hugging your curves and accentuating them, the skirt full and flouncy and very easy to flip up, the bustline practically choking your breasts with how tightly the black cotton pressed them together. You’d changed out of it shortly after, the rather disturbing and shameful fleeting question of whether this was the type of thing Enji liked making you too disgusted, guilty, and bashful to really consider.

In his idealized domestic world, you’d cook for him, too, but it takes a very long time for him to trust you enough to not purposefully burn or cut yourself in the kitchen. He has daydreams about coming home from a hectic work day to see you standing over the stove in a cute apron, humming some song and lighting up when you hear the door open and close, his announcement of being home making you practically bounce on your heels.

He wants to have you cook for him, to see you slave in the kitchen putting every ounce of your concentration and time into making him a meal you know he’ll enjoy, but that fantasy has to wait for the time being – just until he thinks you’ve finally lost that rebellious streak of yours, just until you finally come to realize that you belong by Enji’s side.

And so, in the meantime he’ll have you make him small things that hold little potential for you to hurt yourself with – simple sandwiches with pre-sliced ingredients, so that you won’t cut yourself chopping tomatoes or slicing bread. He'll have you prepare a sandwich for him and one for yourself, too, ordering you to sit down at the dining table with him and share a meal – though the conversation is hard to come by, and each attempt he makes at starting it is only met with single word answers from you.

(Another domestic fantasy he harbors but would never tell you about is to have you sitting with him at the table, looking at him with those pretty eyes and your voice dropping to a sultry volume, your chopsticks bringing the food you diligently and loving prepared for him up to his lips, your tone teasing as you tell him to open wide! He’d keep eye contact the whole time he chews, never once breaking it as he tells you in that low, gruff voice of his that it’s perfectly done, the seasoning is impeccable. He wants you to be bashful, to smile and hide it with your hand, your lashes fluttering as you glance at him then back to the food again, too shy to say much but your body language showing just how much his praise effects you, just how good it feels to be the center of his attention, the apple of his eye, his absolute everything.)

He wants you to be his sweet housewife, and although he won’t force you into any of the work, it’s extremely obvious what he wants of you – he’s always telling you about when you get adjusted, how you’ll be more open to fulfilling your role.

When you’re more adjusted, you’ll be happy to iron his clothes; perhaps you’ll spritz a bit of the perfume he buys you onto his shirts, just as a reminder of you during his long days.

(As if he needs a reminder – certainly not, when you’re on his mind nearly every minute of the day.)

When you’re more adjusted, you’ll be pleased to see the positive pregnancy test in your trembling hands, your voice riddled with joy as you announce the good news to him, watching him drop the phone and keys in his hand and instead hoist you into the air, spinning you with a grin on his face so bright it nearly blinds you, concluded with a passionate kiss and a few tears on his cheeks because he just can’t fucking wait to have you as the mother of his child.

It’s all this talk of ‘when this’ and ‘when that’, but the strange thing about Enji as a captor is that he’s incredibly patient with seeing these fantasies come to fruition – sure, he may be forcing you into being a housewife just as he did with Rei, but this is different – you get a choice about some of it, unlike her. You don’t have to do the dishes, but you can if you’d like. You don’t have to bear his children, but you can if you’d like.

(And frankly, it’ll be hard not to – once your need for human contact and your strange, mixed feelings for him grow, you’ll eventually give into his requests for intimacy, and once the floodgates are open, you will end up pregnant from the sheer frequency and volume at which he pumps you full of his cum.)

All that being said, life as Enji’s captive will honestly not be too terrible – he’s still following you around the house like a shadow, but he’ll let you sleep in your own bed at the start, let you have your own bedroom and bathroom, and he won’t even force you into spending time with him at the beginning.

Because really, as tortuous and painful as keeping you away from him is, he repeats the mantra over and over in his head that eventually it’ll be worth it – eventually you’ll see things his way, and eventually you’ll come to see just how deeply his feelings for you run. You’ll realize that he’s only ever loved you, that he cares for you more than any other man possibly could, that he only has your best interests at heart – that’s why he always swung by your apartment at the end of his patrols, peering in at you through your windows, just to make sure you were safe and sound.

That’s why he kidnapped you, to ensure your safety and keep you in the arms of the only man truly capable of providing for you, just as you deserve.

That’s why he’ll never let you escape him, no matter how you beg and plead for your freedom – you don’t understand the outside world like he does. You think you do, but each villain he arrests is a nail in the coffin of your freedom – you have no fucking clue how dangerous the world is, and Enji isn’t hesitant to remind you of this.

You’re unhappy with him? Well, your options are here, in his warm house where he’s willing to give you every ounce of his attention, love, and touch, or out in the big, scary world where women like you are easy targets for men who love destroying easy targets.

So really, you’re in the best hands with Enji – he knows how to take care of you, and he’ll spoil you with every possible treasure you could want. What’s not to be happy about?

PUNISHMENTS:

As a general rule, Enji doesn’t ‘do’ punishments. Because he views his relationship with you as his second try at finding a companion, there is no part of him that actively desires to hurt you. He loves you, in some sick, twisted way that’s much too obsessive and desperate to ever be considered healthy, but it’s still love nonetheless.

And as such, Enji does genuinely want your relationship to be as wholesome and sweet as possible; he wants you to want him, to actively choose to spend your time with him, to want to be in his presence every moment of every day. He wants everything to be as perfect as possible – the idealized life, a life where he’s the number one hero coming home to his lovely wife who cherishes him and he cherishes in return.

And so, when you do something that doesn’t quite line up with this fantasy, Enji is understandably upset. Why can’t you just accept that this is your reality now? Why do you insist on fighting him, even when you know you won’t win? How could you?

He’s Enji Todoroki, Endeavor the Flame Hero, and you’re just you. You’re pretty, of course, and smart and sweet and caring, but you’re still just you. There’s nothing you can do against someone like him – which is why Enji is able to excuse your poor behavior most of the time.

He understands; it’s difficult to accept that you’re weak and powerless, and he understands that when you lash out and act out, you’re just expressing frustration and fear at being taken care of so wholly and completely by someone so much stronger than you. It must be scary, after all – Enji can be so intimidating and he knows it, so he’ll try his absolute best to calm down anytime his anger starts to flare.

The last thing he wants to do is harm you, and he wants everything in your relationship to be as different as possible from that with Rei – and hurting you in any way would too closely resemble his previous marriage, ruining the beautiful illusion he can live under with you.

And so, most of the time Enji is able to grit his teeth and shut his eyes, letting the anger subside by telling himself about all the wonderful things about you – things that always get him feeling calmer, that make the buzzing sensation in his head and the suffocating feeling of anger dissipate. Nine times out of ten, he’s able to calm himself down this way – and if that’s not enough, normally exiting the room and getting a breath of fresh air is enough. He’ll tell himself that he absolutely cannot fall into the same habits he did with Rei – you’re different, you’re special, and he’ll calm himself down as often as he needs to in order to avoid being seen by you as the big, scary man who will hurt you if you disobey him.

Thus, getting Enji angry enough to the point where he can’t simply calm himself down is actually quite difficult – generally, this involves you hurting yourself. Most other things he can twist into seeming not so bad, rather just being you not having adjusted to life as his woman quite yet. He can write off your escape attempts as you still clinging to this ludicrous sense of independence you seem so hellbent on keeping.

Attempts to harm him can be discarded as your misplaced sense of anger at your situation, because although in your heart of hearts he’s sure you’re happy to be in your natural familial setting (as the wife of a strong, capable man of course), you’ve confused yourself by trying to reject something that’s just so right.

Of course these events don’t make him happy, but they’re able to be disregarded – but when your blood is drawn by your own accord, even Enji can’t pretend this is something else. This is you purposefully trying to injure yourself, purposefully trying to show him that you aren’t happy, that you don’t want this – an idea that makes him panic, that sends his fists clenching, that gets him pacing and his mind racing as he tries to figure out how to set you straight without harming you. And so, Enji eventually decides that after he cleans up your injury, rather than simply hitting you

and physically showing you that he won’t stand for this sort of misbehavior, he has to be more restrictive with you. He won’t be so lenient for the days following your bad behavior – you won’t be so spoiled, your rights won’t be so freely handed to you.

You must understand that Enji is charge, and that he’s being generous and loving and kind by allowing you such free reign around your shared home. Really, he doesn’t need to be so generous – and he’ll teach you that an angry Enji is much, much worse than the normal doting, lovesick Enji you’re used to.

Enji is frozen as he opens the front door. He’d come home a bit early from running some errands, the groceries in his hand dropping onto the hardwood floors below him. His jaw is dropped a bit, the sight of your bright red blood staining your forearm making a wave of sickness wash over him.

Who did this?

Who could’ve hurt you like this? There’d been no security alerts while he was gone, and there was absolutely no way that you’d left the interior of this house in the two hours he was gone. In the next breath he’s rushing forward into the kitchen, by your side before you can even blink, paying no mind to the way you gasp and stumble away from him, as if you’re afraid of him.

It makes Enji’s chest ache, but the sight of your blood is too distracting for him to focus on the uncomfortable ache. Instead, he’s thrusting your arm under the kitchen sink, the lukewarm water making you wince ever so slightly as it runs over the wound.

Enji’s brows furrow as he examines your arm; the cuts are long, zigzagging in every direction in a way that looks strange, not like any normal attack pattern he’s seen before. This doesn’t look natural, either – not like a regular scratch, not like you just slipped and fell and had unfortunate luck. No, this looks like something else entirely – like something purposeful, like their appearance marring your pretty skin isn’t accidental in the least. It’s only then that Enji sees the glinting silver fork out of the corner of his eye, sitting on the edge of the counter with a bit of red staining the ends.

Immediately his body is freezing, his grip on your arm squeezing tighter as the gears turn in his mind. You must have…

His jaw flexes as he grinds his teeth, those blue eyes of his slanting over to look at you with such intensity and anger that you physically shrink in on yourself. His grip is too firm for you to pull your arm back, Enji absolutely unwilling to let you run away from this.

Did you do this to yourself?

His voice is surprisingly even, given the look on his face, and immediately you’re shaking your head, your entirely body paralyzed with fear. You’ve never seen Enji look this scary before – or at least not towards you.

Your answer only serves to further anger him, it seems, because soon he’s literally snarling, his face twisted up into this ugly look of  rage that’s only heightened by the scar across his eye.

Don’t lie to me, I will always be able to tell when you’re untruthful with me. He pauses, taking a deep breath, his voice just the slightest bit unsteady. Did you do this to yourself?

This time you nod yes, tears prickling at your eyes and starting to spill down your cheeks, and at the sound Enji makes, they only flow faster. He looks like he’s in more pain than you are – his face is red, and a few flames lick up around his shoulders. The heat washes over you, and soon the begs are slipping off your tongue before you can help yourself.

Enji pays you no mind, every ounce of his self-control going towards not slapping you in the face for your blatant stupidity. Soon he’s letting go of your hand, stomping towards the small first aid kit he keeps in the kitchen, entirely silent as he carefully wraps your arm in bandages, not paying your rambling any attention or mind.

As soon as you’re securely bandaged, he leaves the room and you hear the sound of his bedroom door slamming shut reverberating throughout the house.

The rest of the night passes in a blur, with you somehow getting from the floor of the kitchen where you’d laid down and eventually fallen asleep all the way to your bed, with the blankets carefully slotted over your body.

Nothing seems to be amiss the next morning, your footsteps cautious as you approach the bathroom, your brows shooting up when you notice that the counter is completely bare – your toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, and mouthwash are all missing, as are all the expensive lotions and facial scrubs Enji normally keeps in piles for your convenience.

The kitchen is empty, too, you notice – the silverware drawer is completely empty, and there are no cups or mugs of any sort in any of the cupboards. It’s unnerving, and immediately you’re getting goosebumps all over your body, the air feeling prickly and cold, as if there’s something lurking that you don’t know about. Biting your lip, you make your way to the table, gingerly sitting down and trying not to jostle the bandages too much – the bandages that had been changed, you distantly notice.

A few minutes later, Enji joins you in the kitchen, his expression not exactly jovial, but not particularly hostile. He greets you as he normally does, before placing the mug you now notice is in his hand under sink. The sound of rushing water gets your mouth watering, not having realized how thirsty you were until this moment.

Wide eyes watch him turn towards you, making his way to your seated figure with slow, heavy steps that get your heart thudding in his chest. He stops right next to you, before telling you to open your mouth. Hesitantly, you do as he says, jerking slightly when his fingertips – always unnaturally warm – cup your chip and bring the cup up to your lips, the water cold as you’re forced to drink it.

Enji watches with neutral eyes, though you see the corner of his lip curl up slightly as you drink the entire glass, the pacing of the water flow nearly too much and nearly choking you. Soon it’s gone, and Enji uses his thumb to wipe at the corner of your lips.

Since yesterday’s little spectacle has shown me that you can’t be trusted with basic household supplies, let me know if you require another drink, if you’d like to brush your teeth, or if you’d like to wash your hair. You obviously can’t do it alone, so I will be joining you. Now, go lay down on the couch. I need to change your wrappings again.

You’re dumbfounded, watching him keep the mug in his grasp as he heads towards the living room. And though the threat seems too extreme, Enji means it – you only last a few hours before you reluctantly ask for another drink, your throat too dry and sore to go without it.

And that night, when you shamefully ask him for your toothbrush, you’re not particularly pleased to find out that he’ll be the one brushing your teeth, using his very own toothbrush to get the job done, just to make sure you don’t even think about trying to choke yourself with the brush.

(And when you finally have to shower, well, Enji’s face turns bright red when you ask, rushing to his feet much too quickly, grasping your hand and practically pulling you to the bathroom before applying all sorts of soaps and scents to the bath he draws for you. His breath is hitched as he turns around so you can change in privacy, but don’t be surprised to see him sneaking glances at your bare body beneath the water’s bubbly surface. Don’t be surprised when later that night you hear a suspiciously rhythmic thumping sound and muffled groans through the wall that  your bedrooms share, the faintest wet, squelching noise accompanying them.)

And, roughly a week later when you wake up to the cups and mugs back in the cupboard and your shampoo back in the shower, you’ll decide against hurting yourself anytime soon. It’s not worth it – not if that’s how you’ll be treated; forced to ask permission for your basic needs.

And Enji couldn’t be more pleased – now you’ll think twice about using that fork again, or anything else for that matter.

(And he can still force you into using his toothbrush – under the guise of furthering your bond and intimacy, of course. And because he’ll use it after you, savoring the feeling of the bristles against his tongue like some sort of drug.)

OVERALL DANGER:

 7/10

Enji isn’t necessarily dangerous, but rather inevitable.

He’s a determined man, driven by motivation for his goals, no matter the methods he uses to get there. And once he sets his sights on you, deciding that he wants you, that he loves you, you’re certainly no different – he will have you, and there’s not a single thing you can do about it. He’s a force to be reckoned with, and really, what sway do you have?

He’s a professional hero, known in the public sphere responsible for saving more lives than you could ever hope to, and who are you? You’re just a pretty face, a woman who happened to have the exact set of traits and physical appearance that Enji finds desirable – you have no real way to combat him, and who would believe you, anyway? Enji is the new symbol of peace – as far as the Commission is concerned, he can have whatever the hell he wants, and if that one thing is some civilian, then you can kiss your freedom goodbye.

But really, all things considered, Enji isn’t too terrible – he’s trying desperately to right his wrongs, to love you in a way that prioritizes your happiness and is just better, and although you’re certainly not happy being trapped by his side, he can at least pretend like this is better.

He wants you to be his pretty little thing, to be his housewife and treat him like your devoted, loving husband. He wants you to greet him with a kiss on the lips when he comes home from work, helping him out of his jacket and asking about his day, then lead him into the clean kitchen where you’ve got dinner waiting for him, then join him in the shower and then the bed, letting his hands wander to where they please, then fall asleep on his chest, letting him feel like he’s protecting you even in his sleep.

Is that really so much to ask for? Enji thinks not – besides, isn’t that the dream for you?

All you have to do is let him take care of you, to spoil you with flowers and chocolates and jewelry and all sorts of things that make women swoon. You’ll be spoiled rotten, treated like a goddess, and all you have to do is let Enji make all the decisions for you, to let him take control of your life and your future – it’s better this way, he promises.

This way, you’ll be properly cared for, kept safe and secure and comfortable by his side. You may not see it yet, but Enji is sure this is really what you want – you’ll come around eventually, he’s sure of it.

And if you don’t? Well, at least he’s not a monster, right?

[divine-motion]

the thing about Handler Walter (his full christian name) is that he's a really horrible guy. he's a guy who's decided that he needs to be an extremely cold, pragmatic, paranoid man willing to use anyone and anything to "right the wrongs of the past" (which is to burn it all down and commit genocide, even if he doesn't know that Coral is sentient that is still what he's doing, plus i imagine every Rubiconian dies too in the Fires ending or are at the very least heading towards a slow death of starvation and such)

but

he's also really sentimental, something he's tried really hard to bury to be the man he feels he needs to be in order to fulfill the legacy passed onto him and Carla. this is why he ends up caring a lot about C4-621 aka Raven (aka G13 aka... the list goes on) and probably all his previous hounds too. he doesn't want to do what he's done to them - using them as slave soldiers, attack dogs to throw into the meat grinder as necessary sacrifices even though he himself is at least capable as a pilot. he lets 617, 618, 619, 620 and who knows how many others get killed because he thinks it's better that they die than that he dies before he can finish the mission. this then likely changes with 621 as he determines that they have a better shot at finishing the mission than he ever did and makes sure that they escape rather than him (also maybe pragmatically thinking "if Arquebus re-educates 621 then everyone loses forever" bc he has at this point discovered that he pulled god's greatest killing machine out from the bottom of the bargain bin) in addition, while i think him wanting to get 621 Raven to "buy their life back" and "undo the surgery, become 'normal' again" is a genuine desire for them to attain some happiness or so, i think it is also, mainly, a way for him to feel better about what he's done to them. a way to wash the sins of his father from his hands - sure, the blood of every other hound is on his hands, and there are still plenty of old gens suffering similar fates to 621, being treated like dogs and machines that can just be switched on or off whenever their Handlers want to, but at least this one made it out, at least this one could escape the Coral

and yet. asking them to burn Rubicon. is dooming them. history knows them as the monster who burned the stars from then on. there is no peace for a hound that chooses to carry on his legacy that he imparts to them.

sure, Walter is kind of, textually, Raven's dad. and he's kind of a bad dad. well-meaning and caring in his own gruff way, but still not great. i think he puts it himself best in the post-credits message, where he says "I'm sorry... and I'm grateful." he knows what a burden it is. and despite the fact that he gives Raven a lot of choices in what they do, it doesn't really change that Raven never got to choose to even go to Rubicon, the legacy is still something thrust onto them with little say in the matter. they were switched off by the cerebral Coral control device when they were being transported to Rubicon, and Walter holds the power over them completely since he decides when or even if Raven gets to be awake and about. i think it is very telling that Raven can and will take jobs that are specifically behind Walter's back, and that it's only once Walter's gone that they dare to go against him directly (or when offered protection by ALLMIND, who proves themself to be able to circumvent Walter's watchful eye).

that's not even to say that i think that 621 Raven hates Walter or anything! the fact that in the liberator ending, after he puts the gun down with the "you found a friend" line, Raven is backing away at first, keeping their eye on Walter as long as they can before turning to escape the Xylem being pulled down by Rubicon's gravity, all that i think means that they do care. the emotional core of that ending hinges on the fact they don't want to fight Walter. it's like how you kind of inevitably love your parents even if you know how they've mistreated you (not saying this is universal but it's what i know from personal experience and from a lot of friends i have that have been in similar situations to me).

but anyways. the point is. i really like walter. he kind of sucks! and i think we should explore the side of Raven that isn't slavishly loyal to him, because they very obviously aren't, or else they wouldn't be so comfortable repeatedly going behind his back. Fires ending is an exception tho since, as i've pointed out in another post, the one where you actively choose to remain nothing more than Walter's faithful hound

[satubby]

Yandere God Gojo headconons

[As promised, a bit late I know, but I needed my time to not cry for Satoru so an apology. So since I'm not good at describing powers and let's add to that Jujutsu Kaisen has mathematics, which I hate... I just won't go into his god-like powers]

This post comes from the previous idea, you can find it in my profile. Credits to the artist and me for the edition.

⚠️ Warning: This is MY interpretation of the character but it does not define the canon, I want to show my love for him (Fuck Gege for all I care) There may also be pronoun errors because damn my dyslexia affects my eyesight.

On an ordinary night, your mother sent you to the mini supermarket, a place similar to convenience stores like pharmacies. 「More common in my native Mexico, such as an Oxxo.」

Unexpectedly, a curse/demon began to haunt you. Without knowing how, you ended up cornered in an alley, the rain adding a touch of desperation to the atmosphere. Exhausted, you tripped over a trash can, lacerating your leg in the fall.

The unimaginable happened when your blood, the fruit of the scrape, awakened a god enclosed within a bucket, multiple eyes arranged in a dice-like pattern 「Yeah, I fucking used 'It' you thought」. Your blood acted as a call for the imprisoned being lying in there.

Satoru, the god that lay dormant, awoke. Upon realizing your situation, he offered to help you, but not before uttering the words that would seal your fate: "Tell me, mortal, do you accept that I save you by giving me something precious? Yes or no, the choice is yours."

Given your young age of six and the impossibility of facing the dreadful monster that pursued you, you had no choice but to accept. How could you refuse? Hell, you were a brat who could barely carry your mother's bag of errands, much less fight that dreadful thing that wanted you dead.

And so the deal between you and the unknown god was sealed with…. a tongue kiss. 「Despite its polemical nature, it is crucial to the development of the plot」.

❀.°• ─ ─ ─ ─➢ Satoru, in his divine form, is an extraordinarily powerful being. Sometimes, his impressive abilities can lead you into complicated situations, such as when a simple sneeze from him transported you to another dimension. Such is his level of power. 「In this version, we will represent him as an invincible individual to explore his unrestricted potential…. P.S. I hate you Gege」 ❀.°• ─ ─ ─ ─➢ Gojo is often playful and teasing, he often jokes with you, even going so far as to claim that you are his "wife" although it sounds like a joke, he really means it. His attitude toward other people's opinions is indifferent. He enjoys showing affection, kissing and caressing you, although he has waited for you to reach adulthood before formally considering you his mate in public. ❀.°• ─ ─ ─ ─➢ When he is not using his 'real' form, we see him as the canonical Satoru, though obviously with Lovecraftian touches to his powers. Despite his divine nature, he exhibits a somewhat childish side, similar to what he shows in canon… BUT 100% times worse, as he has been alone and being powerful, he doesn't have much morals as he considers it stupid to abide by the rules of 'lesser beings'. Despite his playful and relaxed attitude, he hides a dark side. He is aware of how capable he is of destroying a city with a single finger, if he so desires. ❀.°• ─ ─ ─ ─➢ Handling his jealousy is not his strong point, given that he has always gotten what he wanted and not knowing how to deal with humans despite having spent millennia observing them or making deals before being 'sealed' 「More like sleeping」It always makes it difficult for him to respond to his own emotions. ❀.°• ─ ─ ─ ─➢ Since he is not human and was born in the void of nothingness and everything, he has wandered and fought in various places, often just for fun or out of sheer boredom. His reactions can be fickle and capricious. This Satoru is a mixture of his adolescent and adult stages, mostly acting like a spoiled brat and playful with you but when he is jealous or sentimental, he acts according to his divine position. ❀.°• ─ ─ ─ ─➢ When he feels jealous, his reaction is unpredictable. If the reason for his jealousy persists 「Examples are like a male human talking to you」 And already for that reason he might decide to eliminate the source of his discomfort. For this reason, you hardly interact with other people. It is intriguing how loving words and gestures can appease him…. Although sometimes that doesn't assure you that those poor souls who crossed words with you will be saved from him. ❀.°• ─ ─ ─ ─➢ As a divine being, he has the power to materialize anything you desire. His gifts have no limits, and he takes you wherever you want. Sometimes, on a mere whim, he grabs you and takes you on unexpected rides using his abilities. It is curious how he shows jealousy towards any thinking human being, and even animals, taking you back home without allowing the date to continue or any activity prior to his jealousy.

"Toru… for once, let me enjoy this vacation. If you take me somewhere, make it really worthwhile. I couldn't even ride the roller coaster just because the ticket booth clerk was a man…" You looked at him as he pretended not to have pulled you out of the amusement park just 5 minutes ago due to his jealousy.

"Come on, couldn't we go another time…? It's no big deal, you know I can take you anytime, why don't we cuddle instead of fighting, would you like me to shower you with kisses, mmh? Come on, my sweet bean mochi!!! I want to…" You looked at him, almost incredulous. You really doubt he'll let you go to a crowded amusement park. If you go, it will surely be when he's off duty or with a snap of his fingers, it's not for nothing that he can stop time.

"Even if you do that, it doesn't mean I'm no longer upset with you." You watched her pouting expression. Despite having six beautiful eyes and six arms, you didn't want to fall for his game.

Gojo was unwilling to listen to your complaints. He was in a bad mood, convinced that you would understand his position. He acted like a child seeking to get your attention to deflect your anger. And so, he devised a plan. He moved closer to you by climbing up on the edge of the bed. "Mochi, do you prefer something sweet or sour?"

"Do you think that's an appropriate question to change the subject? I'm still annoyed with you. Hey, let go of me!" You felt his firm embrace, laughing as he kissed your neck and his chest pressed against your back.

He took a lock of your hair behind your ear and fiddled with it in his mouth. A shiver ran through your body as his lips brushed your earlobe. "Why are you playing hard to get when you know I know you well? Besides, I know my jealousy doesn't affect you, and I'm going to make sure you're only mine." He laughed softly, pulling you closer to him.

"Satoru… That doesn't justify you threatening anyone who looks at me. I don't want to be embarrassed like the other day in the cafeteria, when you tried to hurt the cashier just because I ordered a cappuccino." You whispered as his six arms held you tighter and in different places, listening to his childish whimper as he buried his face in the back of your neck.

His behavior was becoming more aggressive and lustful, making him dangerous. He held you in such a way that you could not move. He looked at you with playful eyes, sketching a smile.

"So what if I'm jealous? If I'm honest with you, if another guy tried to get your attention, I'd be sure to eliminate any interest he showed." A smirk formed on his face. You knew that ugly smile well, a cruel and possessive one, dealing with his jealousy sometimes exhausted you … you had no choice since your soul was bound to him.

He kissed you passionately and caressed your body, his touch was too pleasurable to resist, your flushed but annoyed face said it all. He didn't mind at all acting that way in public if it meant you would still be his. "You will always be my only princess….. I love you, my precious mochi," he whispered softly before delivering another intense kiss, this time on your lips, his arms frolicking with you and bringing an even more severe blush to your face.

NSFW:

••┈┈┈••✦ This Satoru loves to make you scream, if Sukuna in his original form can grind you to exhaustion, our albino won't let you rest. ••┈┈┈••✦ He loves having you in front of his cock, the worst thing is that he can create more if he wants to. Let's add that he has six arms, each one can overstimulate you, forget to mention that Gojo is 213 cm / 7'1 feet, you are a midget next to him. So his cock and fingers are the size of your arms, but he can fucking manipulate reality and adjust your pussy to his size. ••┈┈┈••✦ He loves you riding his cock while he hears you moaning, sometimes you end up kissing him. He loves you sucking him while he pulls your hair. His hands usually go from your breasts to your waist [Sorry I'm not good at writing NSFW] All while you swallow his cock, his fingers have claws and putting them all the way in hurts but in the pleasure you end up giving priority to your lust, forgetting the pain. ••┈┈┈••✦ Honestly, Satoru can make your body not get tired so easily, but he is not cruel so he can set limits for you. He especially loves to bite, while you scratch him all over the place. ••┈┈┈••✦ His aftercare is incredibly gentle, he kisses and lulls you as if you were a baby, and how could he not? When he leaves you all exhausted down there and you can't feel your legs. Sometimes he gets to the point where his excitement clouds his judgement, ending up with your bones broken.

In general, having a relationship with him is like going on a roller coaster ride: You can feel a rush of various emotions and in turn want more of it even though you know it's scary to a certain extent. Just avoid making Satoru jealous and everything will be fine [What won't be fine are your mouth, your ass and pussy]

Tag list for those readers who gave heart to my previous publication:

@cyppelizabeth

@nunezs-stuff, @istanuwow, @crazynocturnalkiki, @gleski, @halalangyala, @milotoby, @candyqueen10, @unramdommas2004, @ermy1234, @erens-bbyy, @muichirolover, @potatofriesthings, @sobbing-leave-me-alone-bots, @flaming-vulpix,@cyrs,@honeygonebads-blog,@smoovehunie, @toxicbabygirl, @steppin-by-sunflowers, @serafina-nyx, @fav1mika, @bitchycherryblaze, @kals05, @rainbowpillbug0, @2kimmin4ever, @regalillegal,@zainabismelodramatic @starberrytarts,

[aphroditelovesu]

this is going to end badly, but... Can you do Yandere love letter where the boys found out Reader cheated on them?

The Yandere love letter from Alexander The Great, Julius Caesar, Napoleon, and Henry VIII pls

Alexander the Great

My Queen,

May your betrayal be your own curse. If you persist on this path, know that I am capable of things that not even the gods would dare to speak of. My wrath is relentless and uncontrollable when it comes to the woman I once loved.

As for this man you cheated on me with, know that he is playing with death itself. I, who faced entire armies, will pursue him to the end of the earth, and he will find no refuge. If he touches you again, not a stone will be left unturned in his city, and he will be remembered as a traitor until the end of time.

I swear I will destroy his city, put men to the sword and sell their women and children into slavery. And then I will deal with you.

You, (Y/N), have the power to avert this dark fate. Return to my arms, renounce this treachery, and perhaps I will consider showing leniency. If not, know that my vengeance is a storm no mortal can weather. Make no mistake though, because you will be punished and I guarantee you won't like your punishment, my love.

This is your last chance, my Queen. Return to me and hand over your wretched lover and perhaps I will show you mercy.

With fury and despair,

Alexander.

Julius Caesar

My love,

Today, darkness enveloped my heart. The news of her betrayal, my sweet wife, tears me apart in a way that not even the bloodiest battles have been able to do.

For you, I crossed oceans and crossed deserts, shed blood and brought down empires. However, I realize that the hardest battle I face is the one you fought on the sly with another man. I feel betrayed, but also consumed by a sick, and furious love that burns like the fire of Rome.

I will not allow him to breathe the same air as you, to touch your skin as I did, to steal your love from me. I will hunt him down, torture him, and kill him.

(Y/N), my wife, my life and my soul belong to you. If you continue with this traitor, I swear I will make an example of him, a warning for all to see. I'll make an example of you. You are my wife, my reason for living, and I won't let anything or anyone take you away from me.

Reflect on your actions, my beloved, for my passion is stronger than any army, hotter than any fire. I won't forgive you, but I'm willing to compromise.

With angry and love,

Julius Caesar.

Napoleon Bonaparte

My beloved wife,

I write these words with a heavy heart and a mind tormented by the thoughts that have invaded my soul. I found out that you, my beloved wife, betrayed the trust that we once placed in each other.y pain is indescribable, my mind troubled by terrible visions of your betrayal.

You know what I can do when faced with challenges when those I love are threatened. My reputation as a military leader is widely known, but what you may not know is that my love for you is just as fierce.

I know where you've been, who you've been with, and what you've done. Every detail is etched in my mind like a scar, a scar that burns like lava from a volcano. (Y/N), my love, I solemnly warn you that if you persist in this betrayal, the consequences will be dire. The fire that burns in my chest can be directed to protect or to destroy, and you must choose wisely.

Reflect on what we have together, on the lives we've built, and on the price that may be paid for your actions. My love for you runs deep, and I will not hesitate to use every means in my power to keep what's mine. You are mine and I will destroy anyone who gets in my way, especially that damn lover of yours. But don't worry, I've already dealt with it myself.

I pray that reason prevails in your heart, for my passion and my anger are a force that cannot be contained. I hope you make the right choice and maybe I'll be benevolent.

With love and so much jealousy,

Napoleon.

Henry VIII

My sweet wife,

I write these words with a rage that burns hotter than the sun. My trust in you has been unacceptably betrayed, and my rage is untamed. How dare you betray me, a woman who swore allegiance to me and our kingdom?

I, Henry VIII, a mighty and formidable king, will not tolerate such dishonor. You must be aware that by challenging my authority and my love, by violating our marriage, you are playing with your own destiny. With your life.

My spies have reported every detail of your heinous betrayals, (Y/N). There is no escape, no hiding place where you can hide. My anger is like an approaching storm, and the thunder of my vengeance will resound across England.

You, who shared my bed and my trust, now face the wrath of a disgraced monarch. Have no illusions my dear as my love for you has turned into a darkness that will swallow up everything in its path. And it's all your fault.

(Y/N), if you wish to avoid a dark and terrible fate, I suggest you change course immediately. Renounce your betrayals and be my loyal wife again, and I can show you mercy, but not your damned lover. No. He's already dead. Should you decide to disobey me once more, the sword will fall on your head, as it fell on others who dared to defy me.

With unabated fury,

Henry.

[lendeah]

The currents of destiny

Chapter 1: The present.

Requested by @tinystarfishgalaxy! Thank you very much🤍🫶🏻

Summary: "I would say good luck out there, but honestly? I hope you die screaming." Astarion's life takes a dark turn following his encounter with Cazador, as his lover Tav refuses to help him ascend. Left to face the aftermath of his choices, Astarion seeks understanding in his new reality. In his search for answers, he meets a seer named G'axir, who offers him glimpses into three different paths his life could take: his future as an Ascended Vampire, his future alone, and a future next to Tav. Now, Astarion must decide which path to follow before it's too late. Pairing: Astarion x Fem!Reader. Word Count: 2.9k Tags: Heavy Angst, Psychological Trauma, Blood and Violence, Character Death, Psychological Torture (kind of), Emotional Manipulation, Verbal Abuse, but just chapter 2, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending.

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[AO3 Link]

The air reeks of death and blood, the stench heavy and suffocating. Cazador's lifeless body lies in a pool of his own blood, a gruesome sight that only fuels Astarion's anger. His entire body trembles with rage, years of pent-up frustration boiling over.

He had lost everything - the chance to turn the ritual and become the most powerful Vampire, the chance to get back all he lost, the chance to be completely free.

And it was all because of her.

"Astarion?" Her voice quivers with fear as she approaches him cautiously. Turning to face her, his once handsome features contort into a twisted mask of fury.

"You," he growls, his voice dripping with venom. "You betrayed me."

Her body recoils at his accusation, but he pays no mind. The only thing he can see is red, consumed by a blazing fire of betrayal and pain.

"I only wanted what was best for you," she pleads, tears welling in her eyes.

"You had no right!" he bellows, making her flinch again. "This was my last chance!"

"Do you think I wanted to do this?" she cries, her voice breaking. "I did it for you, Astarion. It would have turned you into the very thing you despise."

His lips curl into a sneer and his fangs glint in the dim light. "Oh, spare me your platitudes," he scoffs. "You always did have a way with words, didn't you? You professed your love for me, claiming that my happiness was all you desired and that you would do anything to ensure it. Well, congratulations, now you've sealed my fate with disgrace."

The pain in her eyes fuels Astarion's anger even more.

"Please Astarion. I didn't mean..." she pleads desperately.

"But you did it," he seethes, baring his sharp fangs in anger. "You've taken everything from me."

"Please, let's go home," she begs, tears streaming down her face. "We can figure out a way together."

"Home?" Astarion laughs bitterly. "I have no home anymore."

She flinches at his words and takes a step back, fear evident in her eyes. The pain cut deep in his heart, leaving behind an irreparable wound. How could he have been so naive? To blindly put his trust in someone who would turn their back on him in his darkest hour? The realization hits him like a ton of bricks, shattering the remains of his shattered heart into dust.

"I would say good luck out there, but honestly? I hope you die screaming," he spits before walking away, leaving her behind in a pool of regrets and broken promises. He could hear her heart-wrenching cries as he left, but the anger and pain inside of him only led him further away from her.

-

The moon cast a faint glow over the dark streets of the city as Astarion walked, his mind consumed with seething anger. The sound of his own footsteps echoed through the empty alleyways, mingling with the distant chatter of late-night revelers. People turned to look at him, their gazes lingering on the blood stains that still marred his body. He couldn't bring himself to care, his thoughts completely fixated on the scene that had played out in front of him. He didn't even know how long he had been wandering for, only that the night was growing darker and colder. He had no destination in mind, his feet taking him wherever they pleased as he tried to make sense of what had happened.

Over and over again it replayed in his mind; the knife plunging into Cazador's chest, the man's pained cries echoing in the stone walls of the basement, and the remaining silence after his lifeless body hit the floor. With each repetition, Astarion's anger only grew. How dare he make him feel 200 years of torture, only to feel a mere minute of pain before dying? It wasn't fair. He deserved to feel the pain tenfold, to suffer for eternity just as Astarion had.

As he made his way down the street, his mind couldn't help but drift to Tav. The mere thought of her brought a mix of emotions - anger, hurt, and longing. She had betrayed him, yet her words still echoed in his head, pleading for him to understand. He couldn't deny the love he had once felt for her, but he also couldn't shake the pain she had caused him. Was it all truly for his sake?

Finally reaching a secluded spot on the beach, he sank down onto the sand. It hit him suddenly - he was truly alone once more. There was no one to lean on, no one who could truly understand and accept him for who he was. But he didn't want anyone either. People were fickle creatures; they could betray you in an instant without a second thought.

The waves crashed against the shore, a soothing rhythm that did little to calm Astarion's racing thoughts. He let out a scream of frustration as he punched the sand beneath him. His knuckles burned with pain, but it was nothing compared to the searing rage consuming him. With a groan of agony, Astarion let himself fall back onto the sand. The cold grains offered no comfort as he lay there staring up at the dark sky above. The stars seemed to taunt him with their twinkling, a reminder that he was completely and utterly alone in this vast, uncaring universe.

And then, as if on queue, a figure appeared in his peripheral vision. Astarion's head snapped to the side, his eyes locking onto the man who had suddenly appeared beside him. The moonlight revealed the wrinkles on his face, adding depth and shadow to his features. His long white hair flowed from underneath a robe that reached down to his feet, and in his hand, he held a staff. He exuded an aura of wisdom and age.

Astarion sat up, his hand instinctively reaching for a dagger that wasn't there. Of course he had left his weapons behind. He eyed the stranger warily, his anger still simmering beneath the surface.

"Who are you?" Astarion asked.

"I am recognized by myriad titles... yet for you... 'G'axir' will suffice," the old man replied with a gentle smile. "I have observed your journey... for quite a while"

He narrowed his eyes, wondering if this was some kind of trap. He had learned the hard way to trust no one, especially not strangers who appeared out of nowhere in the dead of night.

"Watching me?"

G'axir nodded. "Your destiny is ensnared in shadows... since you first rose from your grave."

Astarion felt a chill run down his spine. How could this stranger possibly know anything about his past?

"I'm afraid I have little patience for riddles tonight," Astarion said as he stood up and brushed off the sand from his clothes. "I'll be on my way now."

But as he turned to leave, G'axir quickly reached out to grab Astarion's arm. What in the sweet hells?

"You... are a light entering darkness. You... are a seeker of truths. You... are more than you realize," G'axir replied cryptically. "The Seer has spoken it because the Seer knows the fear you harbor."

Astarion's mind raced as he tried to make sense of the old man's words. How could he have secrets buried within himself? He thought he knew himself well enough, especially after living for 200 years.

Astarion couldn't help but roll his eyes in disbelief. "Oh, stop with the theatrics, I don't have any spare money, if that's what you are seeking."

G'axir shook his head. "Your life... is in the balance. Act wisely, act judiciously..."

Astarion yanked his arm away from the old man's grasp. "Must we continue with this tiresome charade? State your purpose and leave me be," he demanded, his voice shaking with fury.

G'axir's expression remained calm and serene, unfazed by Astarion's outburst. "I stand as your guide... offering wisdom to illuminate your path and aid you on your journey..."

Astarion scoffed, his usual sarcastic wit dripping from every word. "Please, I'm perfectly capable of navigating this world on my own. No need for any pesky guidance or assistance," he declared with a sour grin. "I've already had my fill of unwanted help today, thank you very much."

"The path ahead of you... is treacherous and filled with darkness," G'axir said solemnly.

Astarion scoffed. "Well, I've been living in the darkness for 200 years. I can handle it."

"But... can you handle the light... that could await you?" G'axir asked.

Astarion raised an eyebrow at the old man's question. Handle the light? What did that even mean?

"What light?" Astarion asked skeptically.

"The light... of truth and understanding," G'axir replied enigmatically. Astarion felt a twinge of curiosity stir within him despite his reluctance to believe anything this old man said.

"Why should I trust you? You could be deceiving me in an attempt to abduct me, or something," Astarion said suspiciously.

G'axir nodded in understanding. "In the dance of shadows where deceit finds solace, one who has waltzed through its embrace grows cautious of fellow wanderers. Yet, heed my words — I harbor no malevolent intentions directed toward you."

Astarion warily watched G'axir, but as the old man's gentle gaze met his own, he felt himself start to relax. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was something about G'axir that made him feel safe and at ease. It was almost like an aura surrounding him that emitted a sense of calmness.

A moment of silence passed between them before Astarion finally spoke up again.

"So what now? Are we having a psychic reading? Should I start handing over my palm and tea leaves for you to predict my future?"

"I do not need a crystal ball to see your future... for it is already written in the stars."

Astarion raised an eyebrow. "The stars?"

G'axir's smile widened. "All things, including yourself... are interwoven within the fabric of the celestial bodies... that have perennially molded the contours of our destinies."

Astarion rolled his eyes, not wanting to entertain the idea that his fate was predetermined by some cosmic forces. "You're telling me that my entire life has been planned out for me?" he scoffed.

G'axir shook his head gently. "Your will remains untethered, and the ability to sculpt your own fate lies within your grasp... The stars merely cast their luminous gaze, imparting guidance... and revealing glimpses of the myriad possibilities that unfold before you."

Astarion mulled over G'axir's words, unsure of whether he believed in them or not. However, he couldn't deny the feeling of intrigue and curiosity that continued to grow within him.

"Let's say I entertain this absurd idea for a moment," Astarion said skeptically. "What do the stars have to say about my bright, shining future?"

"Lay down... Let the whispers of the universe... respond to the questions lingering... in the silence of the night."

Astarion hesitated for a moment before laying down on the ground, looking up at the sky above, where the stars seemed to be laughing at him.

"Shut your eyes and... attune your senses... to the rhythmic cadence of your breath," G'axir instructed, his voice calm and soothing.

Astarion did as he was told, taking deep breaths and attempting to clear his mind. He could hear G'axir's soft chanting in the background, lulling him into a state of relaxation.

As he focused on his breathing, he could feel his body levitating, as if he were leaving this reality. When Astarion opened his eyes again, he found himself floating in the vast expanse of darkness and stars. Panic gripped his chest as he struggled to understand what was happening.

"What is this? Where am I?" Astarion yelled, his voice echoing into the void.

"You are in the realm between consciousness and the stars," G'axir's voice answered calmly.

Astarion turned around and saw G'axir floating next to him. He was still chanting softly, his eyes closed in concentration.

"This is impossible!" Astarion exclaimed, feeling a mix of fear and awe.

Astarion looked around, taking in the breathtaking sight of millions of stars twinkling in the void. He couldn't believe that he was actually flying among them.

"Is this real or just an illusion?" he asked, still not fully trusting G'axir's words.

"It is as real as you want it to be," G'axir replied cryptically.

G'axir's chanting grew louder as he reached out and took Astarion's hand. "There are cities below cities, dreams beneath dreams, the present laying buried beneath the crushing weight of the future... let me show you..."

As their surroundings blurred and twisted, the sky seemed to distort itself and reveal...the Elfsong tavern?

The image of the place had a hazy quality, as if they were viewing it through a smudged window.

"What are we doing here?" Astarion asked, but when he turned to see G'axir, the man was gone.

He was in the middle of the place, so familiar after the many days and nights spent here with his companions. The sound of merry chatter and clinking glasses filled the air, along with the tantalizing aroma of hearty meals being cooked. Astarion stood in the middle of the bar, his heart pounding with confusion and fear.

G'axir's words echoed in his mind... "the present lying buried beneath the crushing weight of the future." Was this a glimpse of the future? Of the present? Or maybe just an illusion?

If this was a glimpse into the present, then his companions had to be... Astarion's heart raced as he quickly climbed the stairs to the grand bedroom where they had been living for the past few weeks. When he reached the top, he burst into the room.Astarion could see his companions huddled together in a corner, but they showed no signs of seeing or hearing him. As he observed them, an overwhelming sense of dread filled his stomach. Familiar faces surrounded him: Halsin, Gale, Wyll, Yaheira, and Lae'zel. They stood in a circle, their expressions serious as they whispered amongst themselves. But one person was missing - Tav. He tried to call out to them, but his voice was nonexistent. It slowly dawned on him that he wasn't actually present in this moment, at least not physically. His spirit had been transported to this place, a mere observer in a realm beyond the physical world.

Suddenly, he spotted a figure huddled separately from the group. His heart rattled in his ribcage as he realized. "Tav?"

Her hair fell like a curtain around her face, obscuring what he could see of her expression. But it was unmistakable - the once fiery and headstrong leader was now slumped onto the cold ground, whimpering into her hands. Underneath a velvet curtain in a darkened corner of the room, she sat, knees drawn up to her chest, tears streaming down her face. Next to her Shadowheart was attempting to offer consolation through soft words.

Even though Astarion couldn't hear what she whispered to Tav, he saw her hand reach out to comfort the devastated woman. But Tav recoiled from her touch like it was a burning ember.

"Maybe if I had done it he wouldn't have left," Tav was whispering between sobs.

"You know that would have killed him on the long run! We did what had to be done to protect him and you know it."

"No, no..." he muttered, "this can't be..."

Astarion felt his own heart shatter at the sight. He took a step towards them but stopped himself, remembering the impossibility of the situation. He couldn't touch her, couldn't comfort her.

"Do you think he meant it?" Tav said, suddenly.

"What do you mean?"

"That he hopes I die screaming." Tav's voice cracked as tears threatened to spill from her eyes once again.

Shadowheart's surprised eyes met hers. "He didn't mean it, Tav... You know how Astarion gets when he's upset."

But Tav shook her head, her face drained of color and desperation evident in her tone. "He meant every word," she whispered, barely audible. "I could see it in his eyes." After a shaky breath, she added with a hint of resignation, "And part of me wishes I would too."

Each word she spoke felt like a physical blow, causing Astarion's chest to tighten and his heart to ache. He watched helplessly as her voice cracked with resignation, her head dropping onto his shirt in defeat. His shirt. Shit.

"No, please..." he pleaded. But it was too late, the damage had been done.

Astarion's heart ached at her words, but he couldn't deny the truth in them. He had said some unforgivable things to Tav in the heat of the moment, fueled by anger and hurt. Deep down, a part of him had wished for her to suffer just as he was suffering. But seeing her like this, broken and in pain, made him realize the gravity of his actions. He never wanted for her to actually die. Hells, he was so deeply in love with her that the mere thought of anything happening to her was unbearable.

He took a step closer, wanting to comfort her somehow. But he was trapped in this surreal vision, unable to reach out and mend the shattered pieces of their relationship.

Slowly, the vision began to fade, the colors blurring into the darkness. Astarion felt himself growing lighter, pulled back from the vision.

"No, wait! Tav!"

The Elfsong tavern phased out and he was back in the expanse of starry darkness. His heart pounded in his chest as he processed what he had just witnessed. He wanted to go back, to somehow fix the damage he had caused.

Suddenly, a figure appeared before him in a flash of light. It was G'axir.

"You," Astarion growled as he stepped forward aggressively, "What have you done? Bring me back!"

G'axir held up a hand placatingly. "You have glimpsed... into the unfolding tapestry of the now" G'axir stated cryptically "Behold... now your vision shall traverse the myriad paths of potential futures."

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