#whether it be blood or found family or otherwise

[ovaryacted]

ENDLESS LOVE

─ Old Man! Logan Howlett x fem! mutant! reader || WC: 5.4k

SYNOPSIS: Running out of options to save what was left of his family, Logan escapes to Canada and seeks refuge in a stranger's home. Once he arrives at your doorstep, beaten and bruised, he gets more than what he bargained for as your lives become intertwined.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. ANGST/SMUTTY/FLUFFY. Fix-it fic. Found Family. Strangers to Lovers. Budding relationship. Emotionally constipated Logan. Yearning. Mutual pining. Flirting. Kissing. Mentions of smut. Mentions of marriage & pregnancy at the end. Valentine's Day mention. Reader is an empath/telepathic mutant/mind bender. Mentions of Laura & Charles Xavier. Canon-adjacent to Logan (2017). Logan doesn't die and gets a happy ending!

A/N: Hi! This is my entry for the Loveuary Challenge hosted by @lubdubology & @yxtkiwiyxt (yes a month late, I’m sawry!) I was given Old Man Logan/Wolverine paired with the song Endless Love by Lionel Richie & Diana Ross, and this was what I came up with. I rewrote this like three times, so it was hard getting through it, but I hope you all enjoy it. Thank you to my twin @joelsdagger for the proofread, love you to bits. Reblogs, comments, and likes are always greatly appreciated! <3

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3

He remembers what it felt like. Loss. All-consuming loss. He’s lived through it more times than he could count, escaping the narrow grip of death for all of his very long, undeserving life.

So much blood had spilled on his hands that his pale skin was permanently stained in crimson, losing track of whether it was his own or someone else’s. The burdens of the world weighed heavily on his shoulders like the rest of him, dragging his feet through the Earth, searching for a safe haven, a home, a reason to keep going.

There was never enough time. No time to grieve. To beg for forgiveness. To find the light at the end of the tunnel. The suffering from the two centuries he’s lived through was imprinted on his psyche, doing reruns of the wars he fought in his sleep, the sound of cannon fire and dog tags dangling around his neck haunting him in his nightmares.

Logan was as much of a monster as people made him out to be despite his dwindling strength and delayed regenerative health saying otherwise. He was ready to throw in the towel as soon as Charles’ seizures started; losing his loved ones in one fell swoop was enough to break whatever was left of his fading spirit.

Years spent scavenging, fighting, surviving off of scraps…mending the broken pieces of the man he saw in the cracked mirror. The Wolverine, a fable tale like the rest of the mutants and the X-Men, lost to the ravages of time and the severed mind of their savior.

Of course, that all changed when they met Laura.

A feisty, angry, defiant young girl that flipped Logan’s life upside down. Really, he was initially putting up with her for some money to stretch over the next couple of months. He could get Charles his medicine, maybe get them out of New Mexico and into a house with steady walls, real plumbing, and a yard. It was a fantasy, dreaming of something other than the dust that polluted his sights so frequently, choking him up more often than the blood that clotted at the base of his throat.

Realizing she was his, his family, revived the dormant beating encased in his ribcage. From the scowl on her face to her nose scrunches, the furrow in her eyebrow when she was frustrated or in deep concentration, the way the side of her mouth curled upwards in a smirk. It was all irrevocably him; it couldn’t be questioned, and he didn’t think to do so.

Laura redefined what family meant to Logan, another chance at having the very thing he lost long ago.

They almost didn’t make it to Canada; the dreaded journey to the other side of the border dragged on far longer than any of them anticipated. The irony that Logan would find himself in his “home” country again after so long brought memories he could’ve sworn he had forgotten. Charles had told him before to prioritize getting there first, that everything else would work out on its own. That there were things Logan didn’t yet understand, and that he didn’t need to.

A second chance. A new life. It’s all within his reach, his and Laura’s. All he had to do was get there.

Logan had lost count of how many times the old man had been right, how Xavier’s wisdom wasn’t entirely clouded by his terrorizing Alzheimer’s, still locked somewhere deep in that dying brain of his, guiding his loved ones—the ones that remained—to safety. He wouldn’t allow the same mistake to repeat again; he couldn’t bear losing any more people because of his shortcomings.

He just had to get them to Canada. 

Apparently, the journey led them right to you.

You were already walking out of your home and onto the porch when Logan’s truck pulled in the driveway, eyeing him closely as the hairs on the back of your neck and arms rose. He stepped out first, guarding a younger girl standing behind his broad figure, and none other than Charles Xavier in the backseat.

You were waiting for them, distantly remembering years ago the professor had come to you in your dreams with a message, mentioning that he would need your help in the future, that you��d know when you were needed. He didn’t tell you anything else, didn’t say exactly who would be coming to you, just that you were to help them at all costs. Not one to disagree, you continued on with your life in Canada, assimilating into society despite the isolation you felt carrying a responsibility you didn’t know what to do with. Until now.

As you observed the older, scarred man, it dawned on you exactly who you were dealing with. You’ve heard of him, of the Wolverine; this first impression of him is different than what you expected. He watched you, body stiff, riddled with anxiety and uncertainty, a protective hand over the little girl’s back, keeping her close.

Staying in place, you kept your stance relaxed, showing no sign of a threat to the three individuals before you.

“You must be hungry.”

All sat at the dinner table, you didn’t say anything as you offered some hearty tomato soup, warming your guests from the inside out. The young girl, Laura, whom you’ve come to know, didn’t hesitate to hold her empty bowl up and ask for more. With a smile, you served her twice without question, more than happy to give whatever they needed, Charles and Logan included.

The first night in the new space threw Logan off-kilter, saying goodnight to Charles after you administered his new meds, the stronger dosage knocking him right out with no additional assistance. You helped in settling Laura to bed without needing to be asked, guiding her to the bathroom for a shower, spare clothes at the ready, and your comforting presence at the door.

Tentatively, Laura roamed around the other spare bedroom you had in your home, plopping on the plush bedding prepared for her, already claiming the bunny plushie you figured she might’ve liked. She murmured a thank you, shutting her eyes, and you stood by the entryway as Logan placed a kiss on her forehead, switching off the light and closing the door behind him.

He didn’t give you a chance to make any suggestions of where you wanted to put him, mumbling that he would take the couch in your living room. You figured he wasn’t ready yet. He’ll keep the walls he had spent decades building, the ones that nurtured his fears and worries, the ones that kept him alive. There was no need to push him further, offering the shower if he wanted to wash off the dried blood from his undershirt, along with clothes you guessed would fit him, telling him you’d wash the rest in the morning.

You leave him standing in the living room with a curt smile and a promise of safety, that Logan didn’t need to sleep with one eye open anymore. Surely, he’ll come to understand that. Retreating back to your bedroom, he cleaned up and lay back on the pillows you gave him, his body shutting down before he could finish his next breath, eyes closing as he plunged into a deep sleep.

For the first time in years, he slept through the whole night without jolting awake. Actually, he slept well into the next day. Whether that was because of exhaustion or because he felt comfort for the first time, that was for him to figure out later.

He remembers what it felt like. What love was—is.

His love towards his family, with Charles and the other X-Men, and now with Laura included; his daughter in more ways than he thought possible. He can faintly remember the traces of love he had towards Jean before she made her choice to stay with Scott, though he doesn’t think his feelings for her ever went away, loving from a distance despite letting her go. Over the course of his 200 years, he’s had that “spark” more than once, many happening when he wasn’t graying and knocking on death’s door, some lost in the deep mess of his scattered memories. Though, Logan didn’t anticipate feeling that same spark another time when coming to Canada, seeking refuge in your home.

It started off slowly, as it always did, through acts of kindness that came naturally to the both of you. He figured it was easier to make himself useful as a way to say thank you when he couldn’t find the words. You were very hands-on with Charles; whatever medicine cocktail you had been giving him kept his seizures at bay, and frankly, he’s the calmest and happiest he’s ever been. Logan almost thinks he could see the old Charles come back, stopping by the foyer to listen to the professor share his memories with a toothy smile. He had never smiled so wide, not in a very long time.

Logan tried to keep himself busy around the new space, doing repairs as much as his body would allow, and really, you didn’t need him to do anything. All you worried about was his health and well-being, which was easier said than done. He didn’t let you fuss too much over him and told you to focus more on Laura and Charles, who were more than happy to occupy your time. Still, always one to care for strays, you could never really leave him alone.

He often watched you take care of Laura, how patient you were with her despite her little temper tantrums as she adjusted to her new surroundings. He did his best in raising her initially, doing what he figured was best, but he couldn’t give her the softness he knew she needed at her age, the other half of what she didn’t know was missing in this dynamic.

Laura liked your cooking, especially the pancakes you’d make for her in the mornings. She was also fond of bubble baths, the ones you’d set up for her after a long day of running around in your open yard. She really liked her room and the privacy it gave her, along with the toys you had gifted her. Sometimes when you both could, you’d read her to sleep, and he’d pass by the hallway to see Laura snuggled up against you, dozing off as you whispered fable tales she’d carry into her dreams. She felt safe with you; happy; it was all Logan could ask for.

It was then that he first felt the familiar flutter in his chest.

With time, that internal pulse spread to the rest of his body as the both of you were given more opportunities to get to know each other. It wasn’t easy for him to open up to you, and you didn’t blame him for it. With everything he had been through, you’d be closed off too, and the last thing either of you wanted was more unnecessary tension.

He’d often say how grateful he was for your attention towards Charles and Laura, and you shrugged it off as if it was no big deal, as if you hadn’t saved their lives by taking them in. Logan didn’t drag it out too long, but you knew he meant well even if he didn’t say it as clearly as he’d like.

His hands, scarred and calloused, would graze yours when you handed him the bowl of freshly baked rolls at dinner, the faintest of sparks flying between you. You liked enjoying silent mornings with him while drinking coffee, staring out of the window, and basking in the sun. Similarly, you’d share the labor of doing the dishes when everyone was stuffed, switching positions between washing and drying every other night. On grocery runs into town, he’d always be behind you pushing the cart as Laura tugged you through the aisle, dumping anything she could find into the buggy, and all either of you could do was laugh with her.

Logan never complained. Never requested or asked anything from you. Yet you gave him everything without question.

By October, they had been a part of your life for 5 months, and it felt natural to be living under the same roof as a family unit. You all had claimed your relative spaces, Charles and Laura in their own bedrooms separated from yours. And Logan? Well, he still preferred the couch, still wanted to stand guard when you were all asleep. It worked in the newfound system that was your household, and you never questioned him on it. So long as he stayed here, that’s all that mattered to you.

But the faint glances and moments of brief intimacy were beginning to drive Logan crazy. He kept it to himself as much as he could, refusing to look deeper into things and keeping the bond friendly to keep the peace. Eventually, it got to the point where he started purposefully looking for you in the mornings, admiring you from afar when you were doing anything. He liked the attention you gave him, the way you looked at him as just a man and not the monster he became. There was always a gleam in your eyes when your gaze was locked on his, the same quirky smile gracing your features when you flustered him just a bit.

He joked about whether or not you were a mutant one night over some beers once Laura and Charles had gone to bed, and in your tipsy confession, you may or may not have let it slip that you were a mind reader of sorts. In reality, your empathy was one aspect of what you could do; the other dealt with manipulating people’s thoughts and memories, what they chose to see or forget. Telling him you could get into his head was an easier way to say it.

How else would Charles have been able to contact you all those years ago? Logan thought you were bluffing, but at the touch of your hand wrapping around his wrist, his mind calmed instantly; the noise that kept him up at night was gone momentarily before you pulled your hand away. After that, he got a few tidbits about your origins, where you came from, how you’ve had your “skills” since you were born, and they’ve only gotten stronger with every birthday.

Logan marveled at you; it was easy to sense it on him with how the corners of his eyes creased as he looked over at you, reading your face. You mimicked his expression, peacocking at him over the rim of your beer bottle and listening to the stories from his past as part of the X-Men. It was nice to be with him like this, just two people enjoying a drink and enjoying the moment without worrying about everything else. The time had flown by after your second bottle had run empty, calling it a night and tossing it in the bin. Turning to face the older man, he caught the flirtatious edge to your words when you stepped out of the kitchen, heading to your bedroom.

“Don’t worry, I won’t read your mind unless you let me. Promise.”

By the holiday season, Logan had reached his limit; the back-and-forth teasing and banter had gone on for long enough. After the hearty feast you had cooked up for everyone, you both enjoyed some warmth by the fireplace. Snuggled up against his broad figure under a blanket, he had a strong arm wrapped around your shoulder, bringing you closer. Your head rested on his left pectoral, listening to the steady beating of his heart, a calm rhythm that soothed your cautious nerves, a reminder that he was still alive and kicking.

It was already quite late, the clock striking past twelve, and the festive punch you made in the fridge with the rest of the leftovers. Logan absentmindedly ran lines up and down your spine, eyes on the red embers that crackled every few seconds. Despite the comfort of the moment, the air was tense, coming directly from the man who held you.

“I can hear you thinking, you know?” You raised your head to glance at him, your hands on his shoulders in light caresses. “Something on your mind?”

“It’s nothing.” Logan shrugged, but he knew what was plaguing him. It was you, your scent, your warmth, your touch. Everything about you conquered the empty space that was left in his head, mending the remaining pieces of his broken heart since he first stepped on your doorstep.

“You want me to help?” You suggested, as if your sole purpose was to tend to his every wound, to take away his pain and share the burden of his existence alongside him.

You’d think he would’ve said no, told you that he’d be fine and eventually leave you alone for the rest of the night. To your surprise, he brought one of your hands to the side of his aged face, his bearded cheek nuzzled into your palm, seeking the security you offered out of the kindness of your heart.

“If you’re really that curious to find out what’s bothering me so much, go ahead, sweetheart.”

With trained practice, you search through the tormented chasms of his consciousness, looking over every nook and cranny for the thing that troubled him to such an extent. There were certain parts of his mind you refused to look into; Charles had given you the rundown a while back that there were parts of Logan you should avoid, too dark and extreme even for the professor to handle. Yet the last thing you felt was Logan’s despair. When he first arrived here, his stress would radiate over him and spill into any room he walked into; at least that was your first impression of him. But at the moment, all you felt was a giddy spirit, something that pulled you towards him and encouraged you to dig deeper.

Once you did, all you saw were images of yourself, memories of your budding companionship presenting before you. You never searched through Logan’s mind; you knew better than to do that or to question him on his intentions or emotions, and now you think you may have been oblivious to how he saw you the entire time. He may not be a man of many words, but you knew what he felt, how he felt about you in particular, and it ran through your body like an electrical current, shocking you to the core.

The moment ended when you moved your hand away from his face, or attempted to when he held on to your wrist with firm hands. Your pulse spiked; surely he had to be aware of that. All you could do was stare at him with raised eyebrows, eyeing him carefully.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You kept his attention on you as you thumbed the scar on his cheekbone, the raised skin growing hot under your touch from his faint blushing.

“Didn’t want to scare you off. Couldn’t ruin one of the good things I had left…” he replied nervously, the shift in his demeanor bringing goosebumps to your skin. “You’re too good for me. Always have been.”

In an attempt to prevent another self-deprecating speech, you shut him up with a kiss, softly meshing your mouth over his, your heart pounding from the brief contact. For once, you had stunned The Wolverine and taken him by surprise, and the pure look of disbelief on his face caused you to smile mischievously.

“You couldn’t scare me off even if you tried, Logan.”

He grinned at that, leaning to steal another kiss that led to his large hands roaming over your body, palming your chest and pinning your hips to his on the couch. Like young lovers, you recommended moving this to the bedroom, snuffing out the fire and muffling your giggles into his shoulder when he carried you to your room. Your clothes were tossed to the ground, passionate touches exchanged between you as you welcomed his body into yours for the first time.

Merging as one, your limbs entangled with his, nails digging into his back as he finally claimed you for himself, nipping at his neck to keep your sounds down to a minimum as he brought you to the edge over and over again. The sun threatened to peek over the horizon by the time you were done, leaving Logan to snore behind you with your bare body secured under his grip. You were able to rest easily for the few hours you had before Laura would wake up, granting yourself a late start to the morning for once.

That was the last night Logan slept on the couch.

The relationship change between you and Logan was not something unexpected; Charles was mentally placing bets on when it was going to happen. Safe to say, when the grumpy mutant came down from his prolonged nap to wrap his arms around you like it was within his nature, Charles wouldn’t shut up about it for the rest of the day. To Laura, it was new seeing the two adults that cared for her together, and perhaps there will be a more serious conversation to be had in the future when the time is right.

For now, all that mattered was the four of you together, in this blended family that had found each other in the strangest of circumstances. It might’ve been fate, or your destiny, so to speak, to meet each other in this broken world. Had you known this was how you would be rewarded for taking them in, you’d have taken on the burden of Charles’ prolific message much sooner.

February 14th. Valentine’s Day. Two years later.

A firm hand remained on the steering wheel of the car, rolling into the familiar driveway with practice. Logan sat in the driver’s seat for a moment longer, taking a second to exhale the breath he didn’t know he was holding. He shouldn’t be nervous; usually he never is, but he took one look at the calendar and realized he better not come home empty-handed.

Home. It was a funny concept, something Logan often didn’t think he was deserving of after the countless times it had been painfully ripped away from him. He’s lived so many lives, many of which he’ll never get back, but he likes to think that the old versions of him will live on in the far traces of his memories, scattered across time and space. Maybe in another reality, he could share a slice of this heaven he had been blessed with after suffering for so long.

Mentally he never stopped thanking Charles for convincing him to make the trip to Canada a few years ago; he doesn’t think they would have made it this far without your help and love. Logan owed him everything, from the life and family he was given with the X-Men to the one he has now, smaller but just as loving.

Taking the bouquet of flowers that was in the passenger seat, Logan stepped out of his car, clicking the lock and stepping to the front door. He noticed your car parked in the front when a familiar whirring filled his head, the one signal he knew meant you were expecting him on the other side of the door.

Twisting his key into the lock, his nostrils were hit with the accustomed scent of cranberries and citrus, something tart wafting through the lower level of your home, a sign you were probably busy in the kitchen. Dropping his key in the dish set by the foyer, he was careful to hold the flowers behind his back in case you spotted them first, going to the threshold of the living and dining room and turning the corner to see your figure whisking over a bowl.

Logan tries his hardest to be quiet in a sad attempt to surprise you, but you could sense him anywhere he went without trying. Still, you give him the benefit of the doubt, even if he knows with your sixth sense nothing slips by you so easily.

He was quick to curl an arm around your waist, planting a soft kiss on your shoulder and the side of your neck, satisfied at the light hum you released at his attention. Turning your head to view him, Logan didn’t hesitate to give you a loving smooch, one that made your knees weak every time he stole your breath.

“You’re home early,” you stated, a peaceful smile on your face, content now that he was here. “Thought they were never going to let you go.”

“We had a light day today on the site, said I had better places to be.” Logan answered with full confidence, a lighthearted chuckle slipping from you.

“Ain’t that right? You have a missus I don’t know about?” you teased. He’d never get over your quick wit, one of the many qualities he fell for over the past two years of living together.

“Only one. A real pretty thing I snagged up, she keeps me young.” At that, you laughed, a deeper rumble Logan felt through your back.

“Sounds like a keeper, that one,” you smirked at him, receiving a perky wink on his end.

“Definitely is. Had to make sure she wouldn’t run away from this old man.” That got him a playful slap to his chest, relishing in his frisky attitude way too much.

You enjoyed toying with him like this; the never-ending innuendos and flirtatious remarks were solidified by the golden band on your ring finger, the clear diamond sitting pretty on your digit to match with the rest of you. In the midst of your conversation, the bouquet of flowers hidden behind Logan was presented to you, and you lit up instantly at the tailored mix of roses, peonies, and lilies.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, darling.” He appeared almost sheepish when he spoke, and you leaned up to kiss him sweetly; nothing else needed to be said other than—

“I love them. And I love you.” Logan still remembers when you first said those three words to him, how they echoed in his mind for weeks after the fact. To this day, he never gets sick of you reminding him how much you cared for him and Laura, how you served as a healing balm to his weathered soul, and loved him as he was.

“I love you too, so much.”

You held the flowers in your arm while he cupped your cheek, his other free hand drifting down to palm your lower stomach carefully. It hadn’t been that long since you surprised your husband with the news that you’d be having a new addition to your family, and to say Logan was both excited and terrified was an understatement. Though you think Laura is the one that’s more ecstatic about getting a sibling.

“How’s junior doing? Still being a pain in the ass?” he asked, curious as ever, caressing over your small bump protectively.

“Unfortunately. I think they want me to suffer; keeping me nauseous and having me piss so frequently is a sure way to do it.” Your hand joined Logan’s, growing quiet as you rubbed your thumb over his fingers. “He would’ve loved this, you know? Wouldn’t have been able to keep his mouth shut until the end of time, probably trying to guess our odds of having a girl or a boy. God, I miss him.”

“I know, honey. I miss his nosy ass always in my head, miss hearing his voice. I’m pretty sure with this he’d probably slip up and tell me before you had the chance to surprise me.”

Logan’s joke helped lighten the mood a bit despite your eyes watering at the notion. He wiped at the tear that streaked down your cheek, the moment of silence hanging heavy above your heads. You both knew Charles would end up passing eventually; his condition had stabilized significantly thanks to your care, but you all knew he was on borrowed time. The professor was able to enjoy the last few months of his life surrounded by the three of you, knowing he was loved and would be remembered regardless of where he thinks he’d end up in the afterlife.

In the eerie calmness of his bedroom with his impending death looming over him, Charles privately spoke to you of Logan’s origins, of the man he was and became once he had taken him in, much like how you had done. He finally confesses why he sought you out all those years ago, why he knew you’d be the one to save them and give Logan the life he deserved, the one he had always dreamed of when he thought nobody was listening. You held his words to your heart, holding onto his wrinkled hand, and like he had done before, he made you swear you’d take care of your newfound family with everything you had.

You didn’t plan on breaking that promise anytime soon.

“Where’s Laura? Thought she’d be home by now.” Logan asked, wondering where your daughter had wandered off to.

“She’s out with some friends from school having a Valentine’s Day get-together of sorts. She’ll be back before dinner.”

Pacing around the kitchen to fill a vase with water, you submerged the fresh flowers in the narrow glass, arranging them to your liking. You place the bouquet on the round breakfast table towards the side of the room, stepping back to appreciate them with Logan coming to hold your hips, swaying you tenderly.

“Means we have the house to ourselves for a while…” His voice dropped an octave, a hushed whisper beside your ear. Your body responded instantly, a pulse blooming between your thighs.

“Are you proposing something, Logan?” Pivoting to face him, your fingers toyed with the buttons of his shirt, undoing the first two to stroke along his collarbone.

“Depends. What are you in the mood for, hm?” He nipped at the side of your jaw, your scent overwhelming his senses, his mouth watering with the sweetness he could taste on his tongue thanks to your hormones changing.

“Well, I was kind of busy making the lemon loaf you like so much,” the cheeky glint in your eye couldn’t be missed, gesturing over to the batter you started whisking before he came home. “But I’d really want you to show me why you like keeping me around, old man.”

Logan stares down at you with darkened eyes, a ball of heat twisting in his gut and simmering low under his belt. You were the only one that could get him this riled up so quickly, having him wrapped around your finger in more ways than you can imagine. A sharp canine sinks into his bottom lip, already imagining how he plans on having you later on, a sneaky hand reaching to greedily knead your ass. You didn’t need to read his mind to know just how explicit he was envisioning you two together, as he usually did, and the confirmation of it only intensified the desire growing inside you.

“If you wrap that up in the next five minutes, I’ll show you exactly why I slipped that ring on your finger.”

With a giggle and an affectionate swat to your behind, you were quick to cover your bowl with some saran wrap and clean up as best as you could before Logan grabbed your hand and dragged you towards your bedroom. You couldn’t stop the laughter that poured out of you as the man practically tackled you into bed, leaving a trail of kisses down your neck and running his hands over your thighs that opened for him with ease.

This life you had built was far from where you imagined you’d be a few years ago. If you were told that you would safehouse a trio of mutant runaways, you’d laugh and think this is far from something you’d do. Yet these three strangers you welcomed into your life granted you with purpose and taught you how to love, showing you what it was like to finally find your village. They saved you like you saved them, and the life you carry and nurture inside is proof of this new beginning with your family.

This love I have inside

And I'll give it all to you

My love, my love, my love

My endless love

©️ ovaryacted 2025. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Creepy Bunny Hybrid

After a criminal conviction, the claimed hybrid shelter responsible for sourcing most of the beloved species of hybrid is set to shut down

It’s employees pleading with the public to take in their hybrids who’d be otherwise left on the street

Enough for your parents, who you’ve come to live with, to worry

While they were undecided about the morality of owning hybrids

Humanoids with some animal features

They were determined to be helpful 

whether they truly felt such justice or enjoyed the good samaritan role they’d take in a low-maintenance hybrid

A White rabbit with crimson eyes 

In your opinion one of the more beloved species that would’ve found a home somehow but you couldn’t complain

“Welcome Hori! We hope you can find a home with us!”

“Yeah make yourself at home. Don’t mind our kids they’ll be happy to explain anything you need.”

“I appreciate it.”

“Come come I have to show you all the cool things I have!”

Your family takes to him like metals to magnets 

Hovering near him and waiting on him like he’s the greatest thing since sliced bread

But he’s just so incredibly…quiet

Not just because he doesn’t speak unless spoken to 

But because he just doesn’t move

You’ve peaked at him sitting in the living room on a chair with no book, no TV on, windows closed, no music playing

What kind of bunny sits in the dark and does nothing

His large red eyes are huge, his ears incredibly long and upright

Skin  so pale, he could pass as the undead

Hori won’t even eat like other bunny hybrids

When your parents first gushed over his photo too many evenings were spent looking up what a bunny hybrid would need

Vegetables, fruits, bunny-hybrid pellets were what they filled the cabinets and fridge with

But he ate none of that 

Barely nibbling when your brother excitedly presented the spread

“This looks…good.”

Barely a quarter of the plate was gone

Before he claimed he was stuffed

The second your family slipped up though and handed him a plate full of steak 

he left nothing on the plate

“I thought bunnies weren’t omnivores?”

“...Maybe the original animal doesn’t but I am a hybrid. Things are…different.”

“Yeah (Y/n), things are different! Stop bullying Hori!”

It oddly feels like Hori is not all he seems 

Constantly seeking out hotdogs over the fruit you offer

Or spending unusual amounts of time staring at the passing neighbors

Or coming home at unspeakably late hours

But every time you tried to bring this up your family would scorn you

Writing off your observations as you being nitpicky

Or even jealous of the newest member of the family

“Just know (Y/n) you still hold a special place in our hearts.”

“Yeah no need to whine, we won’t forget you.”

“Just don’t take it out on Hori he’s been through so much.”

So you settle to avoid him

Just let him be in his parts of the house and you in yours 

But that doesn’t seem to work with his edition

“(Y/n)...will you accompany me on the grocery run?”

“I thought my older sib was taking you?”

“Originally…but I’d like for you to take me!”

“Uh…”

“Come on (Y/n)! Take this time to bond with Hori! Maybe you’ll find something’s in common between you two.”

It’s annoying that he insists on doing things with you

But it’s just some things

And of course, because he’s so creepily quiet it almost feels like you’re by yourself

It just gets worse

“I want to sleep with you, (Y/n).”

It was way past midnight and Hori was above you 

Caging you between his arms as he practically laid above you 

There was blood around his mouth and if you had the space you’d check over you body for a wound

“W-wh-what?!”

“Hori? (Y/n)? Please?!”

“T-t-that’s not even a real sentence! Please get off me!”

Once he does reluctantly give you space

You flick on a lamp or use your phone’s light to light the room

Hori’s hair is much longer, flowing past his tail 

Which was no longer a small puff ball now bloomed into something larger

His ears were incredibly long and twitching as though it was filled with joints of its own

His teeth seemed like they had no end, just rows and rows of spiny teeth all coated with the gunk and gooey mess of a carnivore’s meal

“All that blood?!”

He licks an abnormally long tongue around his mouth

“The left-of-overs from dinner.”

“Dinner was hours ago!”

“Not your dinner my dinner.”

The implication made your stomach twist

“Uh was it good?”

“Very. Now, sleep with you?”

You hoped he’d forget but if only to get some semblance of control and maybe be able to fall back asleep 

You relent

“Fine, but I’m not going to share my blanket…you’re a lot bigger than before.”

“It's okay those covers are not the heat I am after.”

You decided not to comment on it, wrapping yourself in your comforter

Letting Hori’s much larger limbs wrap around you tightly

This creepy bunny continued to surprise you

You could only hope that you’d figure him out soon 

Or your family might be the one to pay the price

[saintagron]

camp counselors.

natalie scatorccio x reader. cw. weed, mentions of death, mentions of arrest. schizophrenic episode mentioned but i tried to skirt around it bc i have little to no knowledge on the topic. an. inactivity hurts... but ap exams and final projects are kicking my ass. so. here's natalie while i dream of summer.

Camp Green Pine isn’t exactly the first place someone would pick to spend their summer. Its majority population is kids under twelve, high off of being away from home for a few months out of the year and not quite old enough to sink into teenaged angst of hating everything and anything—including sleep-away camp. 

And you, yes you, are one of its ever-so-illustrious counselors. You get to chase over-enthusiastic children, most of which are away from home for the first time, around a massive swath of grassy clearing and through dense woods. For a whole summer, too! Aren’t you lucky. 

But the camp’s great, really—despite your frequent (and needed) intervention with the kids. You grew up there, spending summers holed up in the teetering bunks that seemingly shrunk until you realized it was just you growing. You’re not quite sure how your family knows Miss Matthews, whether she’s twined to your family by blood or marriage or a platonic bond so deep-rooted she’s your de-facto aunt. But she’s there, and she’s tall and willowy and smells of sweet flowers, so you’ve always loved her. 

She offered you the job when you were barely teetering at adulthood’s edges. Let a seventeen-year-old watch a bunch of elementary schoolers, that’ll go great. But her trust seemed to be founded. You did well—better than well, despite being the rookie, due to the help of all your early-twenties now-coworkers. 

Now you’re freshly eighteen, just off of graduation and out of school’s clutches—if only for a few months, before you pack off to university in the fall. Rapid changes are afoot, and the future distance between you and your family makes your heart squeeze painfully, so you return for one last summer in that nostalgic, constant place. 

ᰔ

Unpacking there isn’t the big, upending task you imagine university will entail. It’s one backpack and a small suitcase, dragging slightly crooked behind you due to its old, broken wheel. It’s your cabin, the only solo one due to the counselors’ odd number, given to you by “chance,” because Charlotte would never admit favoritism. It’s—

A girl. A blonde, bleached, with half-an-inch of dark roots peeking. A girl, laying in one of the beds, face down and her limbs spread like she’s been flattened. You can’t tell if she’s asleep, so you sneak to the other bed, easing your bag over your shoulder and flinching when your case’s broken wheel catches on a floorboard and tumbles loudly, plastic against wood. Shit.

The girl stirs with a start, head jerking up from where it was buried in her arms. Her gaze, sharpened despite her recent unconsciousness, shoots to meet yours with a sort of panicked width to them. “...hi.” Your voice is awkward and slightly strangled. You’re not used to people your age being here; usually it's twenty-somethings looking for a summer job or experience for their resume, if they’re education majors. But this girl is young, as you are, with the stubborn curve of baby fat clinging to her otherwise slim cheeks.

She grumbles something that could be interpreted as a greeting, forehead falling back into the cradle of her biceps. Her next sentence is a bit clearer, but it catches you off guard for the second time.

“...so what did you do to end up in this shithole?” Her voice is slightly muffled by fabric, but the words are clear—spoken with an easy sort of rasp that instinctively makes you straighten. 

“I… work here?”

“...you’re shitting me.” She rolls over, head hanging over the edge of the mattress. Even upside down, her gaze is striking. “You’re the scout Mrs. Matthews was talking about?” 

The already straight-set to your spine stiffens, bristling much like a cat would. 

“I wasn’t a scout. And it’s Miss Matthews. Or just Charlotte.” You busy yourself with unpacking, setting your things next to the old, sturdy dresser that’s eased against the wall. Before your gaze turns away, you catch the curious, much-to-observational purse to the girl’s lips. 

“..she has a ring.” That makes you bite your lip. Shit. The flesh splits, your skin giving under the harsh pressure of your teeth. You wince, lapping at the blood that pearls. 

“Well, she’s not married.” You’re well aware you’re being snippy, and it’s not the best first impression to give when you have to spend the rest of the summer sleeping four feet away from them, but it’s a painful line of questioning you’d rather not go down. The girl seems to recognize it, and doesn’t say another word about it. 

“...I’m Natalie.” The rasp is softer now, the introduction settling on the front of her tongue. Your mouth plays around the syllables, before sharing your own name with her. 

You don’t push about what she did. She doesn’t push about Charlotte. But they settle between the two of you uncomfortably until you turn away, splintering the interaction with a huff. 

ᰔ

With Natalie here, the summer is… different. You’re not sure if it’s bad, not yet, but it’s certainly odd. You’re used to being the youngest, respected for your experience but still ruffled and pushed like a sibling. Now you have someone your age around to snicker with as the others run around like headless chickens after the all-too energetic campers. 

“God, they really have no idea how to work with kids.” You mumble, leaned back against one of the soaring pines the camp is named for. Natalie sits near your feet, knees curled up. Her fingers tap consistently, almost anxiously. There’s a tightness to her expression but an ease to her smile, so you don’t question it.

“Yeah. They’re not great.” She huffs, her head lolling back against the pine’s rough bark. The heat of your thigh sears close to her hair, the skin close and exposed. You can feel the tickle of the bleached strands, the nearness a pressure you’re not used to yet.

“They’ll get better.” Your voice is soft with memory–remembering those from last year who did not return. “They always do.”

ᰔ

Another thing you discover: Natalie is good with kids. She has this dismissive attitude that makes them flock to her, always beneath her feet and tugging at her shirt and copying her lazy gait. And with all the stock she’s put into being a “cool guy,” she’s awfully quick to shed it at the first opportunity. 

She’ll scoop up a second grader when you’re out at the lake, eagerly filling the spot as the other anchor for shoulder wars—sun-warmed and pretty in the provided green one-piece, smiling at you as the kid pulls her hair like she’s a puppet. She’s determined to beat you but doesn’t let competition cloud her judgement, scolding for bad sportsmanship. She even scolds you, but much more physically than she does the kids—shoving your pout into the water and leaving you sputtering in the face of her laughter. 

She’ll join teams for relays, capture-the-flag, whatever games you play. But, you find, she’s especially good at soccer. Soccer she kills at, eventually setting up little workshops where she runs footwork and shooting drills. Somehow, she even roped Charlotte into one. You haven’t seen Charlotte so happily breathless in a long time. 

She even takes up the mantle she mocked relentlessly, taking up the acoustic guitar from the less-than-capable boy who wielded it to coolly strum out the needed chords. (She still refuses to sing.)

Natalie seeps into the community like a well-stirred concrete, filling cracks you didn’t even know existed. She’s a jaded addition you didn’t know you needed. And having a bunk mate was pretty cool, once you finished mourning your solitude. Throughout the stress of college applications and exams, you forgot what it was like to truly relax. She truly brought it, if with… unconventional methods. 

You weren’t sure what Charlotte’s stance on drugs was—goodness knows she probably dabbled, given how she dressed and the serene way she went about every day—but she’d probably advise against smoking in the wooden cabins. Whoops. You didn’t intend to, not really. But when Natalie tugged out a tin and rolled a blunt for herself, stating that it’s been forever, you’re tempted enough to slink over to her bed and press close for a hit. 

“Leech.” She huffs, but it’s half-a-laugh, so you continue to crawl closer. “Nata-lie…” 

“Don’t.” The bite in it is faux, molar’s broad grind instead of canine sharpness. Her lips twitch and tick around the blunt, her mouth emptying from the word before filling with smoke.

You ignore her command, slip into her lap. It’s easy, when the word lands like a desperate bid for stability. She wants, the brick wall keeping it contained crumbling at your warmth. 

She tightens further as your thumb plays over her lower lip.

“Please, Natalie?” Your simpering faux-pout makes something in her eyes crack. There’s no strength there—you have to gather the pieces of her up and keep her upright. Your lips press to hers, already opening in expectation of her exhale. 

“Stealing my pot.” She mumbles after she’s exhaled, and the laugh that catches in your chest doesn’t mix well with the burn of the smoke. You choke, cough, and she thumps you on the back with a laughed curse. “Shit. Careful.”

“Messing me up. Give me another hit.” You huff, and she raises the blunt to your lips with a bare scoff—already relenting before the burn of challenge can sear beneath her ribs. 

It hasn’t hit you yet, the high—in a few minutes it might be curling through you, pushing your rationality to the wayside. Now, you still have the mind to exhale away from her, tilt your head up and away to watch the smoke dance in the air. She takes the opportunity to latch onto your neck, teeth scraping and mouth hot. 

“Natalie.” You exhale, arms falling around her neck—careful to hold the burning blunt away from her body. She presses closer, hands digging into your sides with a force, as if you’d ever try to pull away. 

“Stop saying my name like—“ the words devolve into a groan, vibrating against your skin and catching desperately in her chest. 

“Like I want you?” You huff, hand tugging her hair hard enough to make her detach. She’s glossy-eyed, her lips not yet swollen but still pink with the evidence of you. “I want you, Natalie.”

“Stop talking.” And it’s just a little bit desperate, the way she licks at the seam of your lips. Presses in and past it, like splitting you open like this would somehow expose the sour core of you. All she’ll find is warm, soft flesh and a pulsating heart. She groans when she does—tugs you further into her lap, the grip of her hands wild.

“Please.”

You laugh, but not cruelly. It’s almost delighted, lips pulling wide around a toothy smile. Words are lost in it. Articulation isn’t necessary—not when the air hums, sticky with summer and bubbling intimacy. You attempt to, regardless, because you’ve never seen someone with a girl in their lap look quite so pained. 

“I’m telling you the truth. I want you, okay?” Her chin tips under your guiding hand, tugging it until her eyes flicker to meet yours. She’s slightly red-eyed, lids drooping. When she nods you mirror it, raise the now-stubby blunt to her lips so she can take one last inhale.

The view’s heat is so intoxicating. You don’t notice how the paper sears your fingers until she tugs it out from between your fingers, brow worryingly furrowed. Her mouth opens around words, but they’re left unsaid as someone pounds at your cabin’s door.

“Wakey, wakey, esteemed counselors! Some kid got himself stuck on the roof. We all tried, now it’s your turn.” 

Roof of what, where, how—you can’t puzzle it. Especially not while (admittedly, very mildly) high. But you’re sure they got themselves into a truly mind-boggling situation. Happens every year. You should just ban truth-or-dare at this point. 

“You signed up for this, scout.” Natalie gruffs, and pushes you off her lap. Anything affronted you might say melts into a groan. 

ᰔ

It was bound to come out sometime. Big secrets only stay under wraps for so long. They fester, grow, no matter how hard you try to ignore them. 

Corpses under white sheets still rot.

ᰔ

Charlotte has an episode. It comes out of nowhere. She’d been withdrawing for weeks, yes, but you just assumed it was because—

Well. It seems you were wrong.

It was a normal morning, the day it happened. You awoke at dawn to the deafening sounds of the morning birds, Natalie heavy and warm and half-draped across you. Rising was slow, the weekend granting time off from activities and only mild wrangling of the children. Charlotte wasn’t at breakfast, but she takes morning tea in the greenhouse occasionally. Nothing to worry about. 

Even when a counselor comes, whispering questions about her whereabouts, you’re unburdened until they confess they searched everywhere. The greenhouse, her cabin, the activities hall—every place in the camp, tree’s roots to the canopy's top, and no hint of her. That is what makes your blood run cold. In that moment you set off yourself—and Natalie, seeing the deep furrow between your brows, follows without a word. 

ᰔ

It’s been five years since Aunt Lee died. She insisted you call her that—it was all you could pronounce when you were young. “Lee! Lee!” you’d babble, and she’d kneel down with the sun in her smile and scoop you up, no matter what. Then you’d be shadowed by Charlotte—Aunt Lottie, then—her long limbs like redwoods compared to your childish ones. You’d latch onto her regardless, and that was how their visits went—you clinging to one or the other. 

You were old enough to comprehend what Aunt Lee being gone meant. You’d allowed your mother to swaddle you in black without complaint and clung tight to Charlotte’s hand as you both gave your last goodbyes. The tears, fat and hot, on your face mirrored her own, and you found solace in it. It’s easier to process grief when you’re allowed to express it, unrestricted. And Charlotte’s own emotion was an invitation, one that led you into her heart. 

So you know now. More than the rest, where she’ll be. 

Your feet carry you down a remarkably untravelled path through the pines. It’s largely uncarved, ferns still soft and intact. Each root and divot is familiar to your fastened feet. You cling to Natalie’s hand as she stumbles, her few weeks of living here leaving her still unaware of how to mold her feet to the forest’s earth. 

She doesn’t ask where you’re going—never says a word. Just follows. Her shoulders are as stiff as yours are, if laced with a bit more anxiety. She doesn’t know what’s happening. 

You didn’t want Natalie to find out this way. Not that it’s shameful—it just isn’t your secret to tell. This is a conversation Charlotte guided you through, anxious and fidgeting like a girl. It’s information she spilled vulnerably, opening herself up to let you see the deepest roots so you’d never be unaware. She should’ve been the one to do it, if she chose to. 

ᰔ

When you reach a clearing, you stop abruptly. Natalie knocks against your back, efforts just slightly slow, her elbow clanging into yours. 

��—What?” You shake your head, press your fingers to her lips—her further questioning cut off.

“Stay here, Natalie.” She waits and watches as you approach Charlotte; the tall woman’s limbs are bundled around herself. Though she seems peaceful, her dark eyes are wide, pupils blown with a yawning darkness. You crouch down, voice lowered and soft around the edges. “Hey, Aunt Lottie.”

She reaches for you then; her hand presses around your shoulder, curling you closer until your knees knock. “Do you think she’s here? I can feel her but I—I’m not sure.” 

There’s no question of who she is. Your lip slips, already split from your worried gnawing, back between your teeth. Childhood habit. “...I’m not sure. I don’t think so.” You breathe, hand curling over her own. She slackens, enough so you can maneuver and press her knuckles into your cheek. “I miss her too, y’know.”

Charlotte doesn’t say a word—just curls you closer and dampens your hair with tears. Your own seep into her kaftan as you sink down to lay in the ferns. She speaks up after a few moments, hoarse and overwhelmed. “I saw her this morning. She told me to come find her. I thought—I thought maybe…”

“...I don’t think so.” You repeat softly; you’ll probably croak before you stop reassuring her and, inadvertently, yourself. Your throat aches with the old, bubbling grief. “I know. I’m really, really sorry.”

ᰔ

Natalie corners you afterwards–after you’d risen and walked Charlotte back to her cabin, helped her into bed and promised to stay. She didn’t interrupt as you sat there, holding Charlotte’s hand until she fell asleep. Instead she lingered in the doorway, a wary mass of worry and caution—a storm cloud that follows you until you sigh and address it, halfway into your own cabin.

“Yes, Natalie?” 

“...you didn’t tell me she was your aunt.” It’s mumbled like she’s feeling petulant, but there’s an acceptance to it—that same one forged that first day. You didn’t ask her, she didn’t ask you. And now it seems you’ll be laying it all out after all. You’d think that you’d be furtive—such a confession is raw, and when coupled with others’ inexperience in grief it can bring oppressive, coddling sympathy. But Natalie is just as burdened, and so it curls from your mouth with little more than a slight hesitation. 

“...she is. She’s—she was married to my Aunt Laura. She passed about five years ago. Cancer—bone cancer.” Chondrosarcoma. You don't think that word will ever leave you—it's seared into every neuron so deeply the char marks are more familiar than anything else. You have to cling to a piece of her somehow.

Natalie looks pensive, slightly awkward—the vulnerability seeping into the cool girl’s gashes, those hastily covered and improperly treated—before she blurts out an equal confession, though hurried and ineloquent. 

“...I killed my dad.” It pauses between you. Her shoulders sag, then tighten. The motion would be imperceptible if you didn’t spend two months staring at her (while she pretended not to notice.) “I mean, I didn’t—it was an accident. But people think I killed my dad.”

“...they gave you community service at a kids summer camp for murder?” That makes her laugh—a clumsy exhale startled out of her. 

“No, no.” She stutters over the words through her laughter. “Just… I might’ve gotten drunk and broken into an abandoned factory. And got caught.”

“You’re stupid.” is what falls from you automatically, met by her “You’re stupid.” that’s just as light and bubbling with her deep chuckle. 

“...gotta say, I think yours takes the cake.” You mutter, a baffled shake of your head following. B&E, and a reciprocal death. Not that it’s a competition. 

Somehow, Natalie thinks it is. Or jumps on the competition aspect as a means to get some sort of prize.

“So what do I win?” It’s enough to make you snort. A tug to her collar, and she’s pulled close—another, and she’s half-curled on top of you as you sink back to sit on the mattress, beds long-since pushed together. 

“My phone number. And maybe a kiss, if you’re lucky.” 

“You want to keep in contact?” She breathes, already looking beautifully affected—lidded eyes and parted mouth. 

“Obviously. And to think I thought you were cool.” There’s no time to be indignant; not when you tug her in so close she’s got no choice but to laugh into your mouth.

[moonlight-prose]

hi!! hope you're doing well & taking care of yourself < 3

i'd love to read your take on this one from the prompt list:

8) blue-hued bruises

w old man logan maybe?

this wasn't supposed to start off so sad. i swear i wanted it to be comforting and it sorta is. but i really really had to lean into it just being brutal first. especially since i haven't really leaned heavily into the angst with old man logan to this extent. but anyways....enjoy!

warnings: explicit so 18+ only!!, angst cause it's me, logan is a masochist, blood, bruises, needles + stitching up wounds.

He can feel it when he's asleep. Those festering wounds stitching themselves back together. Seaming up into a neat and faded scar he'd wear with shame - with the knowledge that his body offered nothing more than betrayal.

He couldn't heal. Not like he once did.

His bones were wrapped in metal as poison leaked into his veins - the source of all he was and all he'd ever be. A fucked up hero who lost his chance to be the good guy; the savior of a home he thought would stick this time around. A family that should have outlived him.

Their death remained a nightmare he'd never escape, a reminder of the man he'd become. As a child his mother taught him how to pray - to beg for the forgiveness of someone he could no longer believe in. She made false promises - lied through her teeth to see him smile - but with each year that passed his mind distorted the once clear memory of a mother he knew once existed.

Seeing the purple mark along his weathered skin might have surprised him at one point. Left him searching for Charles to find a solution for an otherwise easily fixable issue.

Now he pressed his fingers into them and hissed at the pain. He watched the violence leave reminders on ruined patches of what was once an indestructible body.

Scars lingered, stitches became a routine he wasn't used to - needle and thread to skin in the hopes of putting back together a man with one foot in a shallow grave. He ignored the sting of alcohol on his open wound, sucking down the whiskey like it was crystal clear water. And you smiled in the hopes of easing his mind.

"That one looks nasty," you hummed, thumb dragging along purple and blue blooms. They resembled the flowers you tried to grow for Charles two months ago. "How'd it happen?"

His grunt sufficed as an answer to your question. "Barely know it's there."

"Oh it's there."

"That right?"

On a whim you pressed your lips to the marred shoulder, feeling warmth beneath the skin tinged with pulsing veins and flesh that stitched itself together. Near a decade ago Logan used to run circles around you. Matching the roar of energy that hummed a saccharine tune beneath limbs practically wrapped around him at any given moment. A man who slipped into love with an ease that surprised him.

You were easy to love, simple to obsess over until his heart was twisting and clenching at the mere sight of you. His stomach jumping at the slightest bit of attention you graced him with.

Now he found it difficult to fuck you into the mattress. His bones aching, body cracking a whip labeled death - dragging scar after scar along a back rippling with muscles that screamed. That didn't stop him from trying. His teeth bared, knees planted into an old bed, cock upright and leaking as if he hadn't aged a day since he met you.

He didn't mind the bruises you formed from nails that dug a bit too deep. Fingers which gripped his skin, clamping down on his lower back, his ass as he grinded up into you with stunted growls.

An animal who couldn't discern whether the hot feel of your walls was about to make him cum like a fucking teenager or the splintering pain in his thighs.

"They look different on your body," you said, breath warm on his skin. Logan felt his cock twitch in interest; he swallowed the groan bubbling at the base of his throat, exhaustion lining each and every limb.

"'S cause they heal faster." Another gulp of his whiskey and he felt his pants grow tight beneath your soft nimble touch.

"I'll miss them. Is that weird?"

He shrugged. "You could tell me you wanna make new ones and I'd let you."

The slip of your fingers along his wound didn't go unnoticed by him, a familiar heady scent of your arousal wafting thick in the air. He smirked, downing the remainder of the bottle pinched between two fingers. You liked that idea. The race of your heart told him enough, a thrum along the inside of your thighs where his free hand slipped - kneading the flesh with a soft sigh.

"How about it baby?"

"Logan..." you warned. "I'm digging a needle into your skin. Behave."

"That's askin' alot of me."

"Yeah well try."

He thumbed at the waistband of your sweats - the pitched gasp solidifying what he already knew to be true: he had you right where he wanted.

"I'm-" The melting sigh sounded like chocolate along hot asphalt, syrupy sweet and thick along his tongue. "I c-could hurt you."

"That's fine by me." His fingers found a wet pool of slick soaking the thin fabric of your panties. He could practically taste you in the air - his body humming with voracious need. "Hurt me all you have to baby. I want some new bruises."

[moonlight-joy]

The Realm’s Harmony

Fandom: House of Dragon

Summary: Through wisdom, compassion, and an unyielding dedication to family, you became the heart of House Targaryen, guiding its members—both children and adults—away from division and toward unity, ensuring Rhaenyra’s reign as Queen and the realm’s enduring peace.

Pairing: Reader/Daemon Targaryen

The fires of ambition often threatened to consume House Targaryen, but under your watchful eye, those flames were tempered. Married to Daemon Targaryen since before Rhaenyra’s birth, you had spent years nurturing bonds within the family and easing tensions that might otherwise have erupted into chaos. Though your union with Daemon had its share of whispers—his reputation and fiery temperament never escaped him—your devotion to the family earned you respect and love. Over time, you became more than just Daemon’s wife; you became the heart of the Targaryen household.

From the moment Queen Aemma placed her infant daughter in your arms, you felt a bond with Rhaenyra that rivaled blood itself. Aemma’s tragic passing only deepened that connection. As a young girl, Rhaenyra sought comfort in you, her "second mother," who could soothe her fears and guide her with gentle wisdom. You braided her silver hair when she was restless, read her tales of Old Valyria, and taught her the strength of her heritage. When whispers questioned her claim as heir, she once asked you, “Am I strong enough to be heir?” Her violet eyes were filled with doubt. “You are a dragon,” you replied, placing a hand on her cheek. “The blood of kings flows in your veins, and dragons bow to no one. Remember that, my sweet girl.”

Even as she grew older and faced the trials of court, Rhaenyra remained fiercely loyal to you. When others doubted her, you stood by her side, defending her right to the Iron Throne with a ferocity that matched Daemon’s own. Yet, Rhaenyra was not the only one to benefit from your guidance. Though Alicent Hightower held her children close, wary of Rhaenyra’s rise, you worked to mend the fissures threatening to tear the family apart. On a quiet night after the King had reaffirmed Rhaenyra’s position as heir, you sought Alicent out in her chambers.

“You fear for your children,” you said gently, sitting beside her. It wasn’t a question. Her gaze faltered, her composure cracking. “They will see them as threats,” she whispered. “As enemies to Rhaenyra’s crown.” “They will see them as family,” you corrected firmly. “Because we will make sure of it.” Your words planted a seed that would grow over the coming months. Though Alicent remained cautious, she came to see you as an ally rather than an opponent. Together, you bridged the gap between her children and Rhaenyra, ensuring that they grew up as siblings, not rivals.

Aegon’s defiance and arrogance were well known, and even as a boy, he tested the patience of everyone around him. Alicent often fretted over his behavior, her strictness clashing with his carefree nature. But you saw through his bravado to the boy beneath—the boy who craved approval but was too proud to ask for it. One afternoon, when Aegon had shirked his lessons again, you found him perched on a windowsill, gazing out at the sprawling city below. “Planning your escape, are you?” you teased gently, leaning against the wall. He glanced at you, his lips curling into a smirk. “If I were, would you stop me?” “No,” you admitted, crossing your arms. “But I’d remind you that running won’t change who you are. You’re a prince, Aegon. That comes with responsibilities, whether you like it or not.” His smirk faded, and for a moment, you saw the vulnerability in his eyes. “What if I don’t want to be a prince?” he muttered. “What if I just want to be… me?” You stepped closer, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Then be yourself, but be the best version of yourself. Not for the crown, not for your mother—for you.” From that day on, Aegon began to confide in you, sharing thoughts he wouldn’t dare voice to anyone else. Though his rebellious streak never disappeared, he learned to temper it, finding a balance between his own desires and the duties expected of him. He respected you not because you demanded it, but because you earned it.

Aemond’s struggles were different. Born into a world of dragons without one to call his own, he often felt like an outsider among his siblings. His frustration boiled over when Lucerys taunted him, leading to the infamous fight that cost him his eye. You were the first to sit by his bedside after the maesters had tended to him, refusing to leave until he woke. When his good eye fluttered open and landed on you, you smiled softly. “You’re awake.” Aemond reached for the bandage over his injured eye, wincing. “Does it… look horrible?” You gently took his hand, stopping him from touching the wound. “It looks like strength,” you said firmly. “You are not less because of this, Aemond. You are more. You have endured, and that makes you stronger than any blade or dragon.” Those words stayed with him. As he grew older, Aemond often sought your counsel, especially on matters of strategy and history. He admired your intelligence and the way you commanded respect without raising your voice. Though his ambition burned brightly, your influence ensured it did not consume him. Instead, he became a loyal and formidable ally to Rhaenyra, channeling his determination into protecting the family rather than tearing it apart.

Helaena was unlike her brothers. Quiet and thoughtful, she preferred the company of her insects and her dreams to the noisy chaos of court. While others dismissed her as odd, you recognized the wisdom hidden beneath her gentle demeanor. She often sought you out in the gardens, where she would sit beside you and speak of her dreams. “Do you think dragons dream?” she asked one day, her voice soft as she watched a butterfly land on her hand. “I think dragons see what we cannot,” you replied. “They understand the world in ways we’ve forgotten. Perhaps that’s why they are drawn to you.” Helaena smiled faintly, her gaze distant. “Sometimes, I think I see too much. The things I dream of… they frighten me.” You placed a hand on hers, grounding her. “Dreams can be frightening, but they can also guide us. You are stronger than you think, Helaena. Never doubt that.” Under your care, Helaena blossomed into a beloved figure, not just within the family but among the people of King’s Landing. Her gentleness became a source of comfort in a court often filled with tension, and her bond with you remained unshakable.

When Rhaenyra was crowned Queen, it was not just a victory for her but for the entire family. Aegon stood beside her as a trusted advisor, his cunning turned toward diplomacy. Aemond became her sword, his loyalty fierce and unwavering. Helaena brought peace to the court, her dreams often guiding Rhaenyra’s decisions. Your children stood proudly with their cousins, a testament to the bonds you had nurtured. Years later, as you watched your grandchildren play in the gardens of the Red Keep, you marveled at what had been achieved. The Dance of the Dragons, the war that could have torn the realm apart, had been avoided. The Targaryens were united, their power unmatched, and Rhaenyra’s reign was secure.

Daemon joined you on the bench, his arm slipping around your shoulders. “You’ve done it,” he said, his voice warm with admiration. “We’ve done it,” you corrected, leaning into him. “The blood of the dragon burns brighter because we chose to build, not destroy.” As dragons soared above and laughter filled the air, you knew that peace was the greatest legacy you could leave behind. House Targaryen was whole, its future secure, and the realm at peace under the reign of Queen Rhaenyra.

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[sinizade]

A little family tree about Izveta and Astarion because I recently discovered that vampires in D&D can have children...

The appearance and what is written about Astarion's parents is just a headcanon created by me, I keep in mind that they never found their son and ended up dying over the years since the game does not mention anything connected abt Astarion's family.

I never wrote about Izveta's father, but basically he was a quiet man and obedient to his wife even though she was extremely aggressive towards him. She killed him a few years after adopting Izveta when he tried to get rid of the girl after overhearing her talking to Sceleritas.

The day that Sarevok had mentioned in his letter arrived and Izveta could no longer think rationally, she wanted children, she needed children and so it was done... Twins with Bhaal's blood, a boy and a girl who, since they were born, already had an aptitude for magic, Belgos and Amalicia or as the people in Baldur's Gate call them "Cursed Children.

Even though they were children of a Vampire Lord and a Bhaalspawn, Belgos and Amalicia did not grow up in a troubled home, quite the contrary, Astarion and Izveta had plans for their children and being bad parents was not one of those plans. The children were loved to the extreme and no one would dare try to hurt any of them, also because no one would be crazy enough to try.

I like to think that Astarion would be a drooling father, you can see in the game that even though he tries to pretend otherwise, he loves children. I think he would remove ALL of Cazador's paintings and decorations and fill the entire castle with paintings of Elbos, Amalicia and Izveta, every hallway and room would have at least two paintings of them so that everyone could see the GREAT family he and Izveta built together

Amalicia is defiant, she took this a lot from her mother, she always wants to go out when she shouldn't, she always wants to fight with people who shouldn't, Astarion and Izveta often had to solve many of the problems she caused, whether with Astarion's vampire spawns or with some hunters she provoked when she ran away from the Castle. Even with all the problems she causes, Amalicia is still a child and many times she just wants to play.

Elbos is a calm and affectionate boy unlike his sister and is almost always seen hiding behind Astarion and Izveta's legs. He likes rats and keeps some pets hidden in his room as Astarion makes a point of banning any rats inside his castle. .

Amalicia and Elbos' relationship tends to be the basic one for children their age, they fight and then go back to playing together, but sometimes they both seem to be far away from where they are, as if they were listening to something... Or someone...

Btw, if you are a hunter or a mercenary with a functional brain and love for life, you N E V E R try to hurt the children of a Bhaalspawn and a Vampire Lord... They will do really bad things to you

[kandadze]

FoF rewatch ep 5-6: Zhuo Yichen and Zhuo Yixuan (gifs and loose thoughts)

It might be because I'm an only child, that I tend to gravitate towards sibling - whether by blood or found - relationships. One of my favorite books growing up was Astrid Lindgren's "The Brothers Lionheart." I'm more likely to watch a show if it has an ensemble cast of characters who are in all sorts of familial and otherwise close situationships (hello, FoF). (Must also be why I finished watching My Journey To You the first time - due to my morbid fascination with the absolutely dysfunctional, codependent, borderline incestuous and in general fucked up dynamic between the eldest and the youngest of the Gong "brothers"... not sure what that says about me lol)

Back to the Zhuo brothers.

I loved Zhuo Yixuan the moment he appeared in ep 5 (and not only because I have a soft spot for his actor). I do realize that we get an idealized version of him, seeing him only through the eyes of someone who loved him and then lost him too early, and I still think he was a remarkable guy.

I believe that he can be considered one of the biggest influences on who ZYC is as a person. (The other one would be WX, but that's a whole separate post.) As far as the Zhuo family goes, we know there was a father, but even though he is mentioned, it's never by name, and he never features in any of ZYC's memories, either - which makes me assume that he was a father just by title, and not very close with either of the brothers.

As for their mother, we were told that she died when ZYC was little, so I imagine ZYX himself was a teenager at most at the time. Now imagine this young boy, having just lost his mother, and with barely any support from his father, not only raising himself, but also becoming a whole-ass family unit (mother, father and brother) to his Xiao-Chen. And, even allowing that ZYC's memories only show us the best moments with his big brother, seeing what we can of ZYC's character, I think ZYX did a spectacular job.

He's most likely the reason why ZYC, even socially awkward and shy, draws people in - whether demon, half-god, or human child that's a little bit of both. As long as someone doesn't pose an active threat, he just does his best to do what his big brother used to do for him - asks questions, listens patiently, responds from his personal experience and to the best of his ability. ZYX didn't ridicule him for having nightmares or being scared to dream; he reassured him and then looked for ways to help. ZYX didn't force him into making connections with other children when it was clear it was too painful; he did his best to be there when it mattered and let nature take its course.

There's that scene in later eps where ZYX does his sword training while ZYC entertains himself in the vicinity. It's obvious the brothers enjoyed each other's company, but also had their own pastimes and commitments (the nightmare in ep 6 starts with ZYC doing his own training while ZYX is away). There's the scene with ZYC trying on that delicate golden headband, and ZYX teaching him what it meant to wear one (made me think of a book I read years ago, which featured an apparently Anglo-Saxon tradition of boys up to a certain age wearing a headband woven with 7 strips of white cloth for pretty much the same reasons as ZYX explained to ZYC). He clearly taught his baby brother some sound principles.

I'm also assuming that ZYX was quite lonely himself. In ZYC's memories he's of age to marry and have a child, but there's no other family around that we can see, or that would get mentioned. ZYC must've intuited that, asking ZYX if he's the same as him - as in, misunderstood, and lonely, and his big brother just smiles and doesn't answer, clearly not wanting to burden him.

He instead shares what I think was what he got from being born into Bingyi line - a gift of foresight. I might be reaching, but in my mind ZYX foretold many events in ZYC's life - meeting ZYZ (the "anomaly," that ZYC will recognize not with his eyes, but his heart! The Truth Eye parallels are everywhere...), meeting like-minded companions, waking up the Cloud Light Sword... He seems to have hoped for all the best for his baby brother, not for himself. Which again, makes me emotional at just how good of a man he was, and how he helped ZYC to become someone who's not afraid to be open and soft, who's able to change his mind as new information presents itself, who's emotionally intelligent and does his best to see the world clearly.

We'll never know what would have become of the brothers had ZYX survived, but I believe that if he could see his Xiao-Chen now, he'd be very very proud.

[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

when you know, you know. - m. bachira

cw: bachira x fem!reader, bachira x chubby!reader, implied self harm, mentions of abuse, red string of fate

according to mythology, the red string of fate is tied on the pinkies of two lovers destined to be together. the string is invisible to the naked eye, as it is more symbolic then it is physical. however, some claimed that at a random time of their life, the string would suddenly appear visible. however, if they didn’t hurry and follow where the string leads them, they will never be able to meet their true lover ever again, even if they have met before.

you didn’t believe in the red string of fate.

red was the color of your cheek when your father had a particularly bad day at work. red was the color of your eyes when you mother told you some not-so-kind words. red was the color of your cheeks when people would pinch them and call you a pig while laughing as if it were the funniest thing known to man. red was the color of hearts that stopped beating, of hearts that broke. red wasn’t the color of love. it wasn’t the color of fate. it was the color of pain, nothing but soul shattering pain.

that’s why when you noticed the long, thin string of red tied around your pinky, you ignored it. the crowded train station had numerous people, and yet the red string was painfully visible. it was long, and continued to travel on the floor to who knows where.

bachira believed in the red string of fate.

red was the color of the liquid that dripped from bachira’s arm on a particularly doubtful day. red was the color of bachira’s face when he was the only one outside on a snowy day playing soccer. red sometimes meant pain. but red was also the color of the peonies in his mother’s paintings. red was also the color of the fresh strawberries and cherries on the farm near his house, the ones he always ate with a grin. red was the color of memories for bachira, whether they were good or bad.

that’s why when bachira noticed the long, thin string of red tied around his pinky, he followed it. the crowded train station was full of strangers, but also potential friends. he took a deep breath, and brought the string to his other fingers to find his truest lover more easily.

he couldn’t help but wonder who it could be. isagi? but isagi already found his soulmate, it wouldn’t make sense. rin? well, as fond as bachira was of rin, he really didn’t want rin to be his lover.

suddenly, bachira’s mind flashed to you.

the girl who wiped the blood from his nose whenever someone punched him. the girl who used to go out on snowy days when bachira was playing soccer alone just to wrap a long yellow scarf around him.

two small actions that meant the world to him each and every time.

when bachira finally saw the end of the long red string, you were in front of him, sitting on one of the benches to wait for the train. the end of the red string was tied around your pinky, and your eyes slowly glanced up at him.

your cheeks turned red. you wondered if bachira was upset that you of all people was his soulmate. but bachira’s bright amber eyes said otherwise. his eyes gleamed despite there being no sunlight, and a smile made way to his face. at his bright eyes, you can feel your world light up along with his.

at that moment, two red hearts came together and finally began to beat in love.

a/n - happy lunar new year everyone!!! im from a chinese family, so i celebrated lunar new year. the red string of fate myth originated from china, so a lot of my favorite childhood stories and tv shows and movies all had the red string of fate involved in some way shape or form. anyways, i do hope that i didn’t make this too dark or ooc. and btw thank you guys so much for 500 followers, yall are the best🥹❤️

[yallthemwitches]

thoughts on how when lily's feelings evolve it likely shifts her perspective about his innate confidence and thereby even his moments of cockiness? i personally don't subscribe to the notion that when james matured it meant he became meek and humble

James Potter meek???? In this economy????

But in all seriousness, I don't really subscribe to the idea that Lily just put rose colored glasses on for James, nor do I think he absolutely transformed himself to be with Lily (more on maturity later!)

I CERTAINLY don't agree with the idea that James was ever meek. Did he learn to be less rash and emotional with his actions, yeah. But that doesn't constitute someone as meek. I think he was still as extraverted and gregarious as he always was by 7th, but it was put more in the leader/charisma camp and not the prankster/ponce-y only child one.

And while I do think James was humbled by the time his relationship with Lily rolled around (I'm sure having a BFF who was estranged by his racist family, a werewolf, and being in love with a woman who is actively being targeted by bigots -all during a very terrifying war- would do that to a person) I don't think we can just say that he "forgot where he came from," so to speak. But--I don't think that's a bad thing! In some ways, I'm sure James' (albeit ignorant at times) optimism and hope from being someone who always had privilege probably played a big factor in why all of these seemingly "broken" people gravitated to him in the first place. He was one of the only people in their lives that saw them for who they really were with scars and all and still believed they deserved love/comfort/support despite it.

I feel like this is why Lily fell in love with him too!! Think about it: by the time 7th rolled around, Lily's got it rough. She's a muggleborn knee deep in a race war actively against her kind, her best friend has chosen darks arts over her, her sister hates her, and her home life is probably not *the best* due to social class. Enter: a boy that is endlessly optimistic and loyal, someone willing to fight against the injustices he sees against the people he loves (see: Sirius/Remus), someone who--despite a fucking awful time in history--is capable of fun and happiness and JOY...and most important of all: despite ALL her difficulties, James sees her and really. fucking. loves. her. The power of being seen and loved unconditionally (perhaps for the first time! Ever!) is immeasurable.

There seems to be an underlying belief from people that Lily forced James to be better --and I'm sure she helped/motivated him in a lot of ways ( I personally subscribe to the idea that she ultimately radicalized him/was the reason he joined the order.) But! Remember that James hated the dark arts way before his relationship with Lily. Whether stemming from watching Sirius' contentious relationship with his family or the fact that the Potter's were always considered blood traitors, I think one way or another James would have found himself involved in the war after Hogwarts regardless of her. Just the proximity to war/suffering of any nature has the ability to humble a person and I doubt James would have been an exception to that. He had to have seen injustices before Lily that made him question his foundations and once he was involved with her, these experiences multiplied and became deeply personal in a way that only watching someone you love being discriminated against and hated would do.

So with all this being said: do I think by 7th year and beyond James Potter shucked off his cocky, arrogant personality? No. Do I think Lily blinded herself to James' more negative traits because she developed e feelings for him? Absolutely not. But I do think he mellowed it out and used these attributes for a better purpose than just peacocking around with his broomstick--namely optimistically (an perhaps to his detriment! See: trust in friends) being a small beacon of hope and confidence during an otherwise bleak war.

[seireitonin]

Ugly

(A not so short part from my comic I’m writing called False Miracles (ft Sebastia and Toby.) Also an angsty part I can’t help myself sorry!

Also spoilers for the comic obviously

Sebastia is curled up in the corner, head resting on the wall. Another day, another fight. Ever since Toby “found her” in the cabin, they’ve been stationed together and fighting. Some days it’s about when they first met which was also the first time they physically fought. Other days, it’s about how annoying Toby finds her because of how untrusting and accusatory Sebastia is. She’s constantly accusing him of wanting to harm her, him backstabbing her, him doing horrible things to her.

Not that Sebastia can control it that much. Miracle is constantly in her head, feeding her these ideas about Toby and everyone else around her. But even if that wasn’t the case, Sebastia is anxious and unstable. Unable to remove herself from her traumatized survivor mindset. Never relaxing, never opening up. Especially to a man.

“Why are you such a bitch all the time?!” Toby glares at her. “We can’t go two hours without you accusing me of something or you breaking down completely!

“Don’t call me that! It’s not my fault I don’t trust you! I hardly even know you or your intentions! You expect me to just trust you, a killer, a dangerous man with open arms and mind?! I don’t think so!”

“We fought once! Since then i haven’t given you a single reason not to trust me! You’re always flinching and jumping if I even breathe around you! It’s so fucking annoying!”

“Once is all it takes! You buried your hatchet in my shoulder without a second thought! You think I can trust someone like that?! Trust a man like that?! That will hurt someone like it’s as easy as breathing air?!”

“I found you covered in other people’s blood…don’t think you’re better than me! Don’t sit there like you’re a saint!”

“No…I’m not like you. Don’t you ever…compare me to you.”

Sebastia stands up. She’s not confrontational. Far from it. However, Toby comparing them to each other….Sebastia takes being compared to a violent man an insult.

“I did what I had to do to survive. To live. You just do it because you’re mindless and violent!”

Toby let’s put a dry chuckle and starts laughing at her words. Like he finds this whole thing amusing, like he’s not taking her seriously.

“Funny. That’s exactly what I said when I killed my first person.”

Sebastia gasps.

Toby mocks his past mindset and Sebastias current one with his words “Oh, I’m not a bad person! I just did what I had to do to be free! I had to end this persons life to stop the torture they put me through! That doesn’t make me a bad person!”

He runs his hand through his hair, laughing and shaking his head and continues to speak.

“Is that how you’re justifying it? That how you sleep at night?”

He walks towards Sebastia, eyes wide, crazed and smiling. As if this conversation was bringing up memories that were too much for his mind to handle as well. He keeps walking towards her and she keeps backing up, looking at him with eyes full of fear, until her back hits a wall and she’s trapped between the wall and Toby.

“Guess what, Sebastia?” He looks directly into her eyes, a very serious and cold look on his face. More serious than Sebastia has ever seen him, even when they had their first physical fight.

“Every person you kill, regardless of whether they hurt you or not…is a person whose family is never gonna see them again. Every person you kill, leaves behind a pool of blood, guilty or innocent. Doesn’t matter. Every person you kill..weighs on you. Someone like you who tries to convince herself she’s…moral.”

He continued.

“Your reasons don’t really matter do they? You still killed. You’re a violent girl who did a violent thing and is trying to convince herself otherwise.”

“N-no that’s not…that’s not true!” Sebastia’s voice shook as she spoke, shock and fear plaguing it.

“Oh? No? You say don’t compare us…but you have a monster that puts voices in your head, telling you who to attack. Who to kill. What I have with Slenderman. You have with your “Miracle.” And you wanna sit there and say we’re nothing alike? You’re stupid and delusional.” Toby’s words drip with venom.

“You’re trying to fight Miracle off? Keep it suppressed?”

Toby talks like he’s experienced this first hand.

“How many more breakdowns? How many more violent urges? How many more words does it need to put inside your head? Till it breaks you down and you just give in?”

Toby whispers in Sebastia’s ear.

“And end up just like me?”

Sebastia stands there in shock and confusion, emotions of every kind swirling in her. Until she just can’t take it. She doesn’t know what to say or do.

“Kill him” Miracle spoke in her head. And that’s all the guidance she needed.

Miracles mouths bursts out of Sebastia’s head, splattering blood all over the walls, on Toby’s face, and down Sebastia’s. The sharp teeth and red eyes following.

Miracles mouths slam Toby on the wall.

“I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU!”

Sebastia screams at him over and over with Miracles voice along side hers.

“Not long before you gave in huh?”

Sebastia not in her right mind just breaths heavily and glares, Miracle, wrapping around him, ready to rip him to pieces.

“Kill me and you know the consequences. Use your brain and not Miracles for once!” Toby yells at her, frustrated and angry but not scared.

“We gotta…stop…” Sebastia’s voice shook but she was telling Miracle to not kill Toby. “Need him….alive… can’t be…normal….without him…”

Sebastia starts to suppress Miracle, much to its disagreement.

Miracle reluctantly goes back to Sebastia and back inside her, Sebastia’s normal form returning as she sits on the bed, blood still trailing down her with a blank empty stare.

“I’m…”

Toby looks at her waiting to see what she’ll say.

“I’m sorry…Toby.”

Toby’s eyes widen a bit. Surprised. She has never ever apologized to him.

“I’m so sorry……” Sebastia puts her face in her hands letting out small sobs.

For the first time, Toby is shocked. Apologizing? Crying? What is this?

“You’re right…I’m a violent thing..an ugly, violent, thing!”

She can’t stop sobbing. Like the strength she’s had to uphold for months just crumbled at Toby’s words.

Toby has trouble feeling empathy. For anything or anyone. Usually his first reaction would be to laugh. But the sight of Sebastia crying brought something out of him. A distant memory he can’t place.

He sits beside her on the bed. Leaving room between them, knowing she doesn’t like to be touched by men.

“I never said ugly. I never said thing.”

He looks her, her head still in her pitch black hands.

“Yeah I definitely called you ugly in the past but I’m a dick so….take that with a grain of salt.” That was his way of apologizing.

“Uh…look…I…we’re traveling all this way to help you fix this right? Make you normal again? There’s still a chance you’re not like this forever. Unlike me. So…”

“What if I am? What if…I’m ugly forever?” Sebastia holds back sobs and looks at him to talk.

“Then if you have to stay with everyone…. if you really can’t go back…maybe me and you can finally learn to have a conversation without fighting. Plus you…you’re not ugly. I’ve seen some ugly stuff and…you’re just not that. Despite what I’ve said.”

Sebastia calms down eyes still a bit puffy, blood and tears staining her face.

They look at each other. Both of them have deep dark circles. Sebastia’s blood still staining Toby’s face.

“This…this is gonna sound…so weird….but…”

Toby looks at her and waits for her to finish.

“I wish I could hug you right now…”

Toby’s eyes widen just for a second. She’s full of surprises tonight. Neither of them being touched gently in months maybe for Toby, years, it didn’t sound like a bad idea.

“Yeah……me too.”

[tidalclan]

Welcome To TidalClan

Hello!

I'm Moth (she/her) and this blog is dedicated to my insane ramblings of cats on a coastline. This master post will hold all the links and info related to anything TidalClan. Updates are currently: Unscheduled but aiming for once a week

Please do not spam-like or spam-reblog my posts. You will be blocked.

Disclaimer

This blog may include distressing themes

Blood and Injury

Illnesses

Animal harm/death

Child/Kit death

War

Read First Page Allegiances Family Trees (Currently unavailable) Map Extra Lore Bits and Asks (In Progress)

Extra Information Below

TidalClan Tags:

#tidalclan: master tag, all tidalclan posts can be found here #tidalclan moons: all moons relating to tidalclan #tidalclan ooc: posts related to tidalclan but not in character #tidalclan asks: any asks posts related to characters or author #tidalclan lore: any and all lore

Game Rules:

I do want to try and aim for a coherent story, but these are the general rules in place that will help shape it.

Mass extinction events is on. If a cat dies, they are dead for good.

In addition to the above rule, if a cat needs to die for plot reasons, they are gonna.

Most Patrols are going to depend on the Patrol Traits. For example, if a patrol of three comes across a loner and the traits are positive (ex. loving, charismatic, etc.), they will proceed. However, if the traits are majority negative (ex. cold, bloodthirsty, etc.), they will aggravate. This rule may be bent at times

Cheating is on until I decide otherwise, whether due to clan size or relationship stuff

Unknown second parent is on, same behaviors as the rule above.

No romance between former mentors and first cousins. We're not ThunderClan here

Not every cat will be shown unless their event is important.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Monster Child//

I’m not talking about an Eldritch being or Lycan grappling with their werewolf side. I’m talking about a real Monster Child. Outwardly just another typical darling little girl. Curious and outspoken with a bright disposition anyone at a glance wouldn’t bother to question otherwise. But this Monster Child is evil. Wicked. Totally twisted inside and a menace to all the normal functions of civilization. Because deep down something is just…not right.

“Ha, I hope when the rat poison kicks in they’ll be back with their family! Or better yet on their doorstep.”

They're just awful…and it’s not because of their childhood. They have two loving parents in an upper-middle-class home, in an inclusive neighborhood. They just opened their eyes one day and decided they adore other people’s pain.

“Honey, will you tell me what happened to the dog?”

“He…in…ba’thment!”

“...Why are they in the basement?”

“Cause dead!”

And unlike the other horrors centered around troubled kids, she doesn’t bother hiding it. Like the Monster Child she is, Lacy, doesn’t bother hiding it. Her parents are more than aware of the red flags she so clearly waves, it’s their reactions that truly beckon her. She doesn’t care if the old woman down the road wags her spotty finger and cusses her out. She just ignores it. That is until the old hag woman starts threatening to send her to a facility. She knows that without her parent’s consent that isn’t going to happen anytime soon…but that doesn’t stop the house at the end of the block from becoming vacant.

“Lacy…no one’s seen Mrs. Frock in a while would you know anything about that?”

“....Mason you know what the answer to your own question is. Please use your brain.”

“I told you not to call me that! I’m your father!”

“You’ll be dead if you keep screaming at me.”

“Mason! Please!”

That doesn’t really change when she meets you. Whether you’re a teacher, a neighbor, a new step-parent, or even just a regular in a place she frequents. When she latches on she doesn’t plan to let go and it doesn’t matter if you’re 60 kilos heavier than her. 

You’re hers now. 

“(Y/n).”

“Yes, Lacy?”

“Would you rather Wilson or Riley survive a fall down the stairs?”

“What?! I’d want them both to survive! Better yet no one falling down the steps at all!”

“Hm guess that means you want both. We’ll see what fate has to say.”

“Lacy please!”

Unlike other possessed children or incredibly jealous children, she’s not moved by your opinion of her. She doesn’t care. In fact, she relishes in the realization on your face as you realize her cruelty knows no bounds. Purposefully committing her acts of terror in plain sight. As stated before Lacy doesn’t care about who knows about what she does. It’s when you get in the way of her fun or her time with you+ that she has an issue.

“I didn’t want to hurt you Detective but I’ve been away from (Y/n) for long enough.”

“Well I can’t let you go until you help me understand why you were at–”

“NO. If I don’t see them within the hour, your partner’s remains will be found in an unflushed toilet.”

“Lacy–”

You’d think an eight-year-old a little over a meter would be easy to restrain but Lacy is a Monster Child. She’s tasted blood before and she doesn’t plan to stop anytime soon. And when you stand in the carnage she’s made in your name you wonder if she can love at all. If she’s only using you as an excuse to murder and maim. 

“I love you the most! That’s why!”

Rules | Kofi | Commissions

[christinebloodwrittings]

To hunt or be hunted

Alastor x reader x Lucifer

Chapter 4: Warnings: Sexual tension.

(Image taken from Pinterest.)

One year left. You reminded yourself while watching the black snake tattoo that slowly made its way up your arm, soon it would reach your heart and all would be over.

“Ten years, you work for me at my Hotel, and if I can’t manage to convince you to find something good to do with yourself, I’ll set you free” Charlie’s voice resonated in your head, it made no sense, but the true meaning of the deal was that if she could manage to help you find a reason to continue living, you would have a permanent home at the hotel.

If she couldn’t, you would have your soul back, and then the snake takes care of ending your suffering.

A swarming of feelings and thoughts came from thinking about the countdown, “It’s probably the best” who was going to miss you anyways? No one did back at the living world, your daughter died postpartum, your husband died because of his sins, most of your friends at the time left overseas looking for a better life, and there was no family left to mourn you.

Still isn’t.

Your father and your husband were most likely around in hell somewhere, in a hundred years you haven’t bothered to check, probably ended up repeating the same pattern: Gambling, debts, death.

May was a dreadful month, Mother’s day, your daughter’s birth and death anniversary, and just by the end of it, your birthday. Turning 40 is bad, but imagine turning 140 years old, that is worse.

You died at 35 years old in the 1920’s, since that to now it’s been 104 years, plus your age at the time 139, now turning 140. “It’s a blessing that I stayed looking the age I died in, otherwise I would be looking worse” you outlined your hips with your hands while straightening the leather straps around your waist.

‘Y/n, can you come to the parlor please?’ you heard Charlie speak through. You immediately knew what was going to happen, given that it was nine am sharp, and you weren’t summoned to make breakfast.

She either told them, or Angel was going to be fried alive.

Just as you guessed, there was Charlie in front of the fireplace, as the rest, except Alastor, looked rather hurt and shocked, especially Lucifer and Vaggie.

“You called?” The smoke cleared, making yourself appear sitting on the couch next to Charlie. A gasp found its way out of Vaggie’s throat before anyone could say anything. The angel collected her thoughts and then she was able to speak.

“Charlie, what the fuck is the AXE-MAN DOING IN THE HOTEL!” Vaggie didn’t doubt a second to stand before her with the spear pointing at you, “She’s the chef of the Hotel” Charlie smiled weakly, trying her best to stay collected. “Since when?” the feline bartender asked, not minding your presence very much.

“Before it started actually, eight years ago?” she turned to you for confirmation, which you nodded affirmatively. “And you hid this, because…?” Angel’s turn to ask. Charlie was in shambles trying to come up with an answer that wouldn’t raise more questions, but failed, so you interceded.

“We made a deal; we don’t need to disclose the details, but it made her feel guilty” she shot you an unamused look before turning to her partner, her hand softly tracing the outline of her cheek.

“How come you got angry at me for lying to you, but you keep this kind of secret, honey?” seeing Charlie look as trapped as you were amused you, however for the sake of ending the fallen angel’s ranting, you intervened. 

“Hey now, whether she wanted to tell you or not it’s her business, but you hid the fact that you are an angel, worse than that a murderer, and no better than us sinners, so don’t act all hurt because now you two are even” your eyes lit up as the staring began to feel more lie a threat towards the fallen angel.

“You knew?” she diminished the distance between her spear and your neck, not earning a single flinch on your part, “One piece of advice, your golden blood leaves a trail, and the stench is very specific, those like me that are used to blood can tell the difference” Alastor nodded in agreement.

“Why didn’t you tell me” Charlie sounded suspicions not hurt, to no one’s surprise really, “Last thing I knew I was a chef, not the gossip press” you took a look back to Vaggie, using a finger to lower the spear with zero effort, “Besides, wasn’t my secret to disclose” you winked an eye.

“Wait hold on, what makes the Axe-man want to work in a place for redemption?” Lucifer questioned, now more relaxed, he was all and hellfire before thinking you had taken her daughter’s soul. “She’s kind of…” her eyes were looking to you for help, “I made her a promise, we fought and came to an agreement” you aided a response, one that was good enough for her not to worry.

Everyone turned to you, “I’m not ashamed of it, I got my ass kicked by miss sunshine here, lost my soul in the process and now I’m the chef” all except you and Charlie laughed, tearing up a little too.

“Charlie doesn’t own a soul, don’t be stupid, she’s lying right, Charlie?” Lucifer watched his darling, perfect daughter image crumble when all she could respond to was a quiet shameful nod.

“YOU own a soul?” The shock was understandable. Possessing souls was not unusual, even lower-ranking demons could do it. The fact was that it was the good-natured princess who wanted to redeem demons. It was too much for Lucifer, he flopped beside you, brushing his hair back. 

“Before you all judge her, I was stupid enough to challenge her when Lilith had just left, she was in a very dark place, my timing was terrible” you laughed, making your injuries pang on every fiber and string of muscle in response. 

“How dark?” the king whispered your way, “I was her punching bag, even after our fight” he muttered a ‘shit’ both impressed and somewhat feeling guilty. They both had similar eyes when it came to pain.

“The infamous Axe-Man of New Orleans, I presume” Alastor came forward, grabbing your hand and placing a chaste kiss on your knuckles. “Oh, how unfortunate” he knew your name from above, so he lived around or in New Orleans.

“Why would you say that? You made an entire state fear your ax, for years there was nothing but jazz playing in the streets at night, and what’s best, you were never identified nor caught” he pulled you from your seat, hitting his chest, his staff disappearing to leave his hand free to sneak behind your back, keeping you in place.

“Well, I’m not that person anymore” Alastor drank in your scent, the sweetness burning its way down his lungs.

Every fiber, every hair on his body, told Alastor to run. Animal instinct, a deer in the jaws of a lion, a prey in front of a carnivore. Maybe because of the post-battle adrenaline he didn't feel the same instinct when you helped him. What will you feel with him so close? hunger? anger? lust? Curiosity ate him alive, he wanted to know what was telling you your instinct, how would it feel to be eaten by you.

“What made you bury the hatchet?” Angel’s pun made you smile, “Alastor” still in his arm, you felt him shift. “When you made yourself…present in hell, young, power hungry and all that, something inside me just told me that it was time to stop” ‘or else it was going to end with blood’ you thought. 

“Also before all this, I had heard about the cannibalistic murderer” you were aware of his aberration to touch, but given his closeness, you had no choice. Both of your hands settled on his hips, mostly for leverage, but also to see how he would react to you.

“What an honor, I must say your performance inspired mine” his smile twitched, especially after feeling your warmth though his coat.

“You’re insulting me, Radio demon” his chest tightened, a growl emanated from your throat, subtle but it made Alastor’s mind cloud a little. Focusing on your dilated pupils at all times to read any sign of warning, he saw nothing, no emotion whatsoever.  

“Your act was sloppy, careless. The victim that became the executioner of his aggressors, tell me, do you feel better?” He didn’t understand what you were implying, once he tasted human meat he just couldn’t stop. He never asked himself if he was content, or if the blood made him feel better.

“You only targeted Italian mobsters; I’d say that’s rather sloppy” that’s all he could think, “And yet I didn’t allow myself to be shot in the head” there was a weird aura surrounding you and him.

The situation was charming, two assassins of excellence, powerful Overlords with influence and stigma. Despite their sins, they were beautiful beings full of life and grace. Lucifer couldn't help but feel a tingle on his back watching such a scene. It seemed like they were going to devour each other, and relish in it.

“Disappointed?” your fangs shined with the firelight. “A little” he answered, expecting you to be more sanguinary, just as you used to be. “I’ll make Jambalaya today if that makes you feel better” but no matter what he did, while frozen in place, like a deer in headlights, you couldn’t make him feel less excited, less alive.

“Thank you chérie, what about my work as of late?” reluctantly he let go of you, taking both of your hands in his. Yearning to make you either praise him, or crush his head under your heel.

“Very entertaining” he has a very slim waist, and yet it felt strong under your fingertips, warm. He has his hands and forearm blackened, just as his legs must be. You wondered if the rest of his skin must be of that beautiful cream color. Of course, his chest wasn’t bald, like you he has a thin layer of short and soft fur.

“Ugh, get a room” Lucifer broke the moment, making Alastor’s eyes turn into the demonic radio stare you knew so well, “Funny I didn’t think such a tiny person could have a massive mouth” he then stepped away. Was it normal to be cold? Your body missed his closeness.

“Here he goes again, how about you help me with breakfast munch-king?” Lucifer felt his jacket being pulled off the couch, dragged by it towards the door that led to the hallway to the kitchen, “Did you seriously called me that?” he allowed that, with a smirk he gave Alastor the finger.

“Want me to sing the song too?” you warned with a smile, “You wouldn’t dare-” your arm hugged his small frame into your side as you started to mock him, “Ding Dong the witch is dead!” you started, dragging the king down the hallway, “STOOP!” That was the last thing the crew heard before the door closed behind you.

In the kitchen, Lucifer wandered around, staying a few steps from you. Not because he needed it, but to not seem invasive. 

“So, you challenged my daughter?” you hummed a yes, “She took the split a bit bad, huh?” in the corner of your eye you could see him sit on the kitchen island, just a few inches from where his daughter had hurt her hand.  

“I’ll send you my medical bill” your sarcasm made him laugh a little, “You don’t look like you belong in the sin of pride, yours must be wrath, isn’t it?” Do demons look according to their sins? You didn’t know, “You tell me, I have yet to allow myself to ponder over what I have done”.

“I think I didn’t introduce myself, please forgive me” you left the kettle under the fire and walked over to him, “My name is Y/n” you extended your hand to him, he took it with a smile. “Lucifer Morningstar, you may call me however it pleases you” his touch was gentle, but firm, you could feel his pulse though his gloves.

A thought tickled your brain, “In that case, would you like sugar or honey in your tea, Samael?” his eyes shifted, his horns grew. Like wood, like wood, his gaze was the same as his daughter's, and yet they harbored both hatred and sadness, both as deep as an abyss.

It shot an intense wave of electricity up your spine. You stood in front of the biggest predator in all of hell.

“Sorry, sorry, I just wanted to get a reaction out of you” he hadn’t let go of your hand, nor squeezed it, “I apologize, my king” your free hand caressed over the fabric.

He pouted, still not letting go of your hand. “If you let me touch your ears, I may forgive you” he turned back, you caught the sight of his tail slithering inside his pants.

“Sure, but please don’t get too close to the inside, my instincts are very strong and unforgiving, I would hate to have your blood on my uniform” You couldn't even finish speaking when he pulled your hand, immediately starting to touch the fur surrounding your ears. His knees settled on either side of your hips, taking advantage of the extra height the furniture provided.

“So soft, it’s so weird, a lion sinner” he was pensative, “Usually it’s a loyal, brave and true creature, heaven material” the sensation made your heart flutter. You felt like a dog, which made your ego bruise up a little, but at the same time his hands were warm and gentle. So gentle, you noticed he took your advice and avoided the areas you mentioned.

“Anyways, you’re forgiven, again, you’re very soft” Another cold feeling due to loss of touch, how annoying. You swallowed a lump of saliva before you could speak again, “Thank you, I take care of myself”.

“Oh and the note, thanks, it hasn’t been easy” he didn’t eased the pressure on your hips,  “Marriage ain’t easy, and being apart after thousand years of history must be rough” it’s not like the closeness bothered you, but it grant him a cocky smile and a sense of power over you, that feeling brought back the feeling of looking like a dog.

“I just…I wish I could make it up to Charlie” his hands grabbed one of yours, fidgeting with your fingers and the palm. “If it makes you feel more at ease, the sole fact that you’re here partially does more than enough” the light in his eyes lasted a few seconds, it was a lovely sight.

“Partially?” worried? Understatement. “If I say it you can’t hit me or anything” he made an X over his heart, then his hand went back to yours.

“She lied to you and you just went along with it? Parenting 101, mutual respect: she doesn’t lie and you don’t either” he applied a light pressure to your hand pads, making your claws come out and retract, that seemed to amuse him.

“So I have to…ground her?” his golden gaze went up to your eyes, but you were far too concentrated in his movements. “Well not now, but maybe speaking with her about it might be the right course of action”.

Melancholy, he had a feeling so he went for it.

“You were a parent?” he was right, your pained expression lasted a second but it was enough for him to feel a pang on his side. “For a day and a few hours” your eyes darkened, as if they were lost in thought. The warmth of his hand on your cheek and a soft ‘My condolences’ brought you back. 

“I just know appropriate parenting by taking my parent’s example and do the opposite” you masked your pain with a smile and a smart remark, just like him, “Yeah, me too” his response made you scoff, “Where would you’ve sent you daughter for this kind of idea, Heaven?”.

Laughter filled the room. He wouldn’t do such a thing, nothing Charlie did would make Lucifer banish her anywhere, much less punish her like that for trying to help others.

“I had a different perspective of you” your tail stiffened around your leg, “What, a soulless maniac killer and nothing more?” you used to be like that. He laughed, “I mean, soulless indeed” you ruffled the hair that fell on his forehead, “But I’m glad I was wrong, thank you for taking care of my daughter, I see she trusts you a lot” you wouldn’t call it trust, nor she relied on you much.

Now that you think about it, taking care of her was instinctive, “I just grew used to her this past eight years” he smiled, “Thank you” he sensed the shift in you, the situation tensed up very quickly.

“Don’t, and just to be fully open about it, you were the target” you would never show your fangs to anyone, looking like an animal doesn’t give you the right to act like one.

“Wait really?” his lips twitched, almost smiling. “I thought if I bruised up your daughter you would appear, but you saw how that ended” he hummed, rather amused. Your intimidation did nothing to him.

“Are you strong enough?” he questioned it? It felt insulting, “Are you offering?” you looked at him up and down, not a trace of malice. “I mean if that’s what you wanted” he was willing to fight with you? “Nah I knew I wasn’t strong enough, it’s no different now. I just wanted to pass into history as a crazy bitch who died at the hands of the devil”.

‘I’m oversharing, shut up’ you took a deep breath, adjusting yourself in between his legs, “I see” his breath hit your skin, “Now I just do this, and I’m fine with it”.

“I’d say, you’re terrific in the kitchen, no matter if it’s a served cold or hot type of dish, you always make it taste like home” your ears flattened against your head. “Thank you” he then looked up from your hand once again, a tender pink hue adorned your cheeks.

“Anyways” you needed to get rid of his touch, it was just enough to take a few steps backwards, away from the overwhelming warmth for the cold to embrace you again. “I have to make breakfast, and I just pulled you away because your constant fights with Alastor has gotten old very quick” you walked away, taking your white apron off the hanger, then tied a lovely bow on your back with the laces.

“Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, see you later then” was that disappointment you heard? You didn’t know, and couldn’t care as long as your body remained trying to shake off the excessive heat, and the phantom of his touch still lingering. “Fuck” thinking about it made you cut your finger with a knife.

...

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[belit0]

just once, just once. i wanna see the hs!uchihas get humbled. maybe they mess with the wrong girl? like ppl are intimidated bc they’re in a gang and whatnot but imagine if she comes from a wealthy, powerful background, too (politicians daughter, military family, trust fund kid)

More lore here

This would totally happen to Izuna

The kitchen was dark except for the red coil under the kettle.

Late. Too late.

Izuna stood on cold tile, sweat still drying on his neck, though the house was freezing.

He didn’t want to be here. He hadn’t wanted to get his father’s attention.

But there were rules in this world, and breaking a girl’s heart wasn’t supposed to come with the threat of a fucking Glock to the ribs.

He shifted in place, hand half-raised like he didn’t know whether to knock on the counter or just throw up.

Tajima was already there.

Sitting in the dark like some ghost waiting to be fed blood. Shirt half-buttoned, sleeves rolled, cigarette already lit. Black eyes gleaming under low-hung lids like he hadn’t slept in twenty years because he was too busy haunting someone else’s nightmares.

–You're pacing. That means you fucked up.– His voice was gravel dragged through whiskey.

Izuna swallowed. –Yeah. I… yeah. I think I did.– He scratched the back of his neck, trying to look casual. He couldn’t even meet his eyes. –It’s about a girl.–

Tajima didn’t blink. –Of course it is.–

–She, uh… Military brat. Her dad’s some high-ranking hardass. Real psycho. I didn’t know at first, alright? I thought she was just—normal.–

Tajima exhaled smoke slow and sharp, letting the silence crush him. –And what did you do?–

–Fucked a couple of times, stayed in her bed. She got attached—I just—

–Don’t stutter.– Tajima didn’t raise his voice. He never needed to. Every syllable hit like a cold metal barrel against the base of the skull. –You fucked her, lied to her, and then tossed her. Same as always. But now you’re standing here like a dog who pissed on the wrong rug. So what’s different this time?–

Izuna looked up fast, desperate. –Her dad found me. Showed up outside school. Said if I ever come near her again, he’ll put two in my chest and walk away clean. No mask. No gloves. Just... straight face, full threat.–

Tajima leaned back. That slow, disappointed exhale that made Izuna want to shrink into the wall. –You let a civilian threaten you? And you ran to me?–

Izuna gritted his teeth. –It’s not like that. He’s serious. Military trained. Has the authority, the reach. He knows shit. He knows my name. Yours. Madara’s. Indra’s. I think this asshole did a full background check.–

–So instead of handling it like a man, you come whining to your father like a spineless fuck?– Tajima stood, slow and steady, towering. –You're a disgrace. You weren’t raised for this shit. You were born into it. And you still don’t understand what that means.–

Izuna flinched. Just slightly.

Just enough for Tajima to notice.

The kettle whined in the background like something screaming behind a closed door.

–I’ll talk to him.– Tajima said it quiet, almost bored.

Izuna blinked. –What?–

–I said I’ll handle it. You’re not built for confrontation without your dick leading the way. You humiliated this family when you begged for help, and now I have to clean up your mess like you're five years old with blood on your hands instead of piss in your pants.–

Izuna stayed silent.

–Put shoes on.– Tajima stubbed the cigarette out against the counter. –And fix your face. If you cry in front of that girl’s father, I’ll put you in a fucking body bag myself.–

Izuna turned, fast, but his hands trembled when he reached for his hoodie.

Tajima’s voice followed him out of the kitchen like a noose.

–This is what happens when you think with your cock and forget who the fuck you are. You're lucky your blood means something to me. Otherwise, I'd let that man shoot you just to teach you discipline.

//

The door was plain. Beige, chipped at the bottom, the kind of suburban normalcy that screamed rules and curfews and consequences.

Tajima didn’t hesitate.

Knuckles met wood with the kind of calm that made people check their security cameras. Three knocks. Measured. Lethal.

Izuna stood behind him, hoodie up, jaw clenched, hands buried deep in his pockets to hide the shake. His mouth was dry. His stomach had been eating itself since they got in the car.

He couldn’t stop staring at the porch light, wondering if the man behind this door had a loaded pistol on the other side already pointed at his head.

The door opened.

And there he was.

Built like the nightmares Izuna never spoke about—straight-backed, stone-faced, buzzcut father with military etched into every wrinkle and line. His eyes locked on Tajima first. A flicker of tension.

Not fear. Not yet.

Just awareness.

Tajima smiled. It was a thing made of knives. –Good evening.–

The man’s voice was a gravelled wall. –You’re the father?–

Tajima tilted his head slightly. –I am.–

A beat passed. Long enough to hear the faint click of a safety being eased on behind the man’s back.

Tajima didn’t blink.

–I believe you had some words for my son. About bullets. About keeping distance. About what you’d do to him if he ever hurt your daughter again.

The man squared his shoulders. –I said what I said. He deserves worse than words.–

Tajima’s gaze didn’t shift. –And I understand that impulse. I would do worse for mine.– He smiled again, more teeth than warmth. –But before you act on that, maybe take a breath. Think very carefully about who you’re threatening. Because the boy behind me? As stupid, arrogant, and reckless as he may be...– He paused, voice dipped to something colder than ice. –He carries a name that doesn’t get threatened. Not unless you’re ready to bury your entire bloodline.–

The soldier didn’t respond immediately. But his grip loosened.

A blink. A long breath.

The tension shifted. Not gone—just cracked.

The kind of silence that said this man isn’t exaggerating.

Tajima took a step closer, closing the space without raising his voice.

–We’re not here to make this uglier than it needs to be. I raised him wrong, clearly. Or not hard enough. That’s on me. But I don’t tolerate mess. I clean it. Now… step aside.

The man looked past Tajima.

Right at Izuna.

Who finally lifted his eyes.

There was no smirk this time. No tongue between his teeth, no swagger in his shoulders. He looked like a stripped-down version of himself.

Nervous. Cornered. Small.

The door opened wider.

From inside, (Y/N)’s voice called out. –Dad?–

Tajima didn’t even glance back. –Go. Say what you need to say.–

Izuna hesitated, only for a breath.

Then stepped past the threshold like it might swallow him.

He walked down the hall like every step cost him a rib.

She was standing at the bottom of the stairs. Arms crossed. Hair tied up. The look in her eyes wasn’t heartbreak anymore. It was fury that had nothing left to burn.

Izuna stopped just a few feet away. His voice barely held.

–I was a fucking idiot.

(Y/N) didn’t flinch. Didn’t move.

–I said things I shouldn’t have. Treated you like you were nothing. I didn’t mean half the shit I said. Some others...– he exhaled sharp through his nose, forcing it out. -I said to hurt you when I got bored.-

She didn’t answer.

–You can hate me. You should. Sorry.

He stepped back after that. Slow. Hands up. No smirk. No wink. Just retreat.

Tajima was waiting at the door like a shadow with a face.

The soldier met his eyes again.

Tajima nodded once. –Handled.– Then turned on his heel.

Izuna followed, silent.

The door shut behind them.

And for once, Izuna didn’t say a single word the whole ride home.

[bonesxbows]

Once Upon a Dream - Chapter 12 (Lucifer X Reader) (Alastor X Reader)

My Masterlist

In a sleeping beauty-inspired AU, a curse is placed over you when you strike up a deal with Heaven to protect baby Charlie, causing you to lose your memory. You remember nothing once the curse takes over; not your marriage with Lucifer, not the family you had with the two of them, nothing. So when a strange smiling demon offers you a place to stay when you can't remember where 'home' is, you take him up on his offer. 

(WARNINGS)

Gendered terms used (mom, good girl, wife) but otherwise gender neutral pronouns used

Heavy depressing themes

Loss of a parent (temporary)

(CHAPTER WARNINGS)

Relationship fighting

Descriptions of anxiety/panic

I am SO sorry for this being so delayed!! First I got sick and now school is making me so behind schedule, I haven't had time to write at all due to finals coming up😭 I swear I haven't abandoned this story!

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12 (You are here), Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15

Banners by @strangergraphics

Silence. All you could hear was silence. Tears formed in your eyes as the realization hit you; you were watching as Lucifer’s mouth was moving in front of you, his lips forming words, but yet none of the sound reached your ears. You forced your hands to separate from his, your eyes immediately falling onto the dark bloodstains that covered your skin. Your fingers flew back up to where they had once been, covering your ears, but you were only met with more blood dripping from there as you did. 

Your eyes widened. Out of shock. Out of fear. Out of panic. Out of pure agony. You wanted to cry. To run. To scream. …Would you even be able to hear your own shrieks if you did?

Lucifer reached out towards you, a hand meant to gently pull your hands away from your clearly damaged ears, but you yanked yourself out of his grasp before he could. You hadn’t meant to, you were just so scared, it had merely been an instinct, but the look of hurt that flashed across Lucifer’s face still broke your heart. A deep frown cut into your face as he pulled his hand back slowly. You tried to will yourself to relax. “I’m sorry.” You mouthed to him, not entirely sure if you were producing any sound along with the movement or not. “I…I can’t…” You found the silent speech hard, instead opting to point to your still bleeding ears and showing him the evidence left on your fingertips. He seemed to understand as a look of distressed terror set across his features. 

More deliberate this time, he calmly held out his arms towards you, offering you his embrace. You gladly took it, practically falling head-first into his arms as the tears began to fall down your face. He hugged you tightly to his chest, cradling you to him as you silently sobbed. You clutched onto the comfort and safety of him, his body the only foreseeable lifeline you had left as you tried to grapple with your newfound disability. 

The curse had been lifted. Your memories restored. But now at what cost? Heaven always had a game to play, and it looked to be as if they were creating new rules. You remembered your place as Queen of Hell, but whether or not you would ever hear your husband’s voice again remained to be seen. For the time being you were as good as deaf, a tonal silence the only thing your ears could pick up. 

He had led you back to his room, a few twists down the hall that seemed to lead farther and farther away from Alastor’s side of the hotel. You had gone along with him willingly, of course, but there seemed to be an urgency to his steps that he couldn’t quite control. He practically dragged you along, calling out a name that you couldn’t hear, as he pulled you down the ever-winding halls. What small glimpses you could catch of his face whenever he turned back to face you left you with even more confusion; his eyes glistening with worry and his frown set with a layer of panic. 

The situation became even worse once you had arrived at his room and he threw the two of you inside mere seconds after the door was opened. While you were lost amongst the decor, had you ever stepped foot in this room?, Lucifer was becoming a ball of turmoil, pacing across the floor. 

You watched as he mumbled to himself, the words lost to you. His cane made impact with the floor with every step he took, his feet coming close to almost tripping over the pole multiple times but never once taking him down. He was somewhere in his mind, oblivious to you as you stepped closer to him and reached out to place your hand atop the one grasping his cane. Halting his pacing once and for all as he came to a dead stop right in front of you. 

His eyes flickered up from their spot on the floor to meet yours, and you greeted him with the most comforting smile you could offer. “It’s okay.” You told him as you motioned to your ears. Though you weren’t even sure yourself if that was entirely true. 

He refused to meet your gaze once he heard your words. His frown morphed into a proper grimace as his mind once again threatened to spool him down a path of self-blame and doubt. He opened his mouth to say something but then changed his mind once he realized you wouldn’t understand him anyway. Your hand found his jaw, cradling his face and trying to silently soothe his worries. Though he still wouldn't look at you. 

The moment was shattered, however, when inky black shadows pooled up from the floor and began to wrap around your outstretched wrist. Lucifer recoiled almost immediately, yanking himself out of your touch with a look of disgust etched into his features. The sudden lack of his warm skin against yours had you frowning. But your mood only soured further as the shadows deepened into a thick fog, bathing the floor in an eerie mist that threatened to choke the life out of anything near it. 

It wasn’t long before a towering black shadow stood up tall from the blackened abyss, standing directly between you and Lucifer. A second later and he materialized from the darkened air with a puff of smoke. 

His attention was instantly on you, despite your surroundings clearly being Lucifer’s room, as he rushed forward to take you into his arms. You were still getting used to reading the particular emotion on him that he currently held on his face. A feeling he seemed to only reserve for you. 

Worry. 

He tried talking to you, not aware that you couldn’t hear a word he was saying, as he held you close to him. His eyes raked over every inch of your body as his ears twitched nervously atop his head. 

“Alastor.” You placed your hand on his chest to get him to stop. His concerned motions came to a ceasing halt once he felt your fingers over his pounding dead heart. “I’m fine.” 

It wasn’t necessarily a lie, but yet he seemed to see right through the falseness of it anyway. His smile widened unnaturally as his eyes narrowed. His finger came up to the bottom of your ear, scraping against your skin, and it was when he showed you the crusted red substance now collected under his fingernail that you knew your previous statement wouldn’t be believed. 

“I…I can explain.” You blurted out as your eyes widened at his bloodstained finger. The air prickled against your senses as a thrumming vibration began to pulse off of Alastor in rolling agitated waves. 

Lucifer had suddenly had enough of the demon’s, in his kingly opinion wholly *unnecessary* aggression, and separated Alastor from you. Forcefully putting distance between the two of you as he inserted his body as a protective force in front of you, blocking Alastor from physically touching you any longer. He said something to the demon, something you couldn’t make out, but it only seemed to further fuel Alastor’s annoyance. 

He waved off the devil’s actions with a nonchalant motion of his hand, trying to hide his ever-growing rage and failing as his twitching and strained smile did little to aid his pseudo-dispassionateness. 

He was being denied you. By him. Of all people. An offense he would not easily forgive. And one that would be remedied. Immediately. 

The two seemed to be arguing, words falling flat against your now-deaf ears, but their creased brows and fast-moving lips gave away their heated verbal jabs at one another. That was until one of Alastor’s comments hit a little too close and got underneath Lucifer’s skin. His anger flared up to a new level, hellfire practically burning behind his snake eyes, as he said something back to the demon with an added overly forceful poke to his chest. 

You watched as Alastor’s head tilted at an unnatural angle. You could almost hear the sickening crack echo from his neck even despite your stunted hearing. His eyes blinked and switched to glowing dials that flickered with intensity. His smile increased and grew, nearly cracking his face in half. Lucifer’s expression only twisted with irritated glee as he relished in the sight of finally making Alastor break. 

Was he never one to know when enough was enough?

“STOP!” You screamed. You felt the whole room shake and rattle from the overwhelming extent of your voice. It shook the pictures on the walls, rattled the glass within the window panes, but most importantly it compelled the two men in front of you to cease their quarrel. Causing you to gain their undivided attention. 

They shuffled away from one another, their hands flying to their sides in guilty defense as they each mumbled something under their breath. The growing space between them was so thick with tension you could practically see it floating in the air, and they both continued to sneer and snicker at the other, despite how you had verbally pulled them apart. Though at least the situation was no longer on the edge of unbridled violence. 

“Enough, you two! Are you children?!” You shouted again. This time throwing your hands up in clear frustration. They seemed to finally get the message after your second reprimand. With their mouths now not firing off at one another they were left to be scrutinized underneath your scolding gaze. It didn’t take long before they were looking away, casting their eyes to look anywhere but at you and your piercingly accusing stare. They counted their unholy blessings when a distraction entered the room and they had somewhere else to divert their attention. 

They had heard her enter, and seen her before you had. Their eyes flicked up to her presence and they soon began conversing with her. Not long after you followed their gaze and found a very disgruntled Charlie who looked as if she had burst through her father’s door. She immediately went to your side, her mouth moving faster than you had any hope of following, as she gently grasped at your hands and held them. 

“Charlie.” You called out her name. She looked at you with a small tilt of her head that reminded you so much of her infant years. “I can’t hear. Not anymore.” You told her as plainly as you could. She predictably crinkled her nose in confusion. You looked to Lucifer, hoping he would understand the silent message you were trying to convey. He started to speak to her, walking forward and physically putting his squabble with Alastor behind him to be with you and his daughter. You could only trust that he would say the right things to her, explain what had happened. Your only indication was the look on your daughter’s face as Lucifer told her, you had no other way of knowing what was being told otherwise. 

She seemed to contemplate something once Lucifer had told her everything, her eyes downcast as her brow knitted over them. You gave her hands a small squeeze to let her know that you were still there. Despite everything, you were still here. That was never going to change. 

She said something to Lucifer and you looked to him for guidance, the silent words lost on you. He seemed to understand as his eyes met yours and he waved his hand about, producing a pad of paper and a golden pen. He scribbled something down, albeit quickly, but you could still make out the hastily written words. 

Charlie wants to ask Vaggie for help 

she was an angel

might know something

only if you're okay with it

Before you could even finish reading the last word Alastor appeared behind you, his clawed grip strong on your shoulder. You turned to him and found yourself met with a steeled gaze, directed at no one in particular, his narrowed eyes set firmly atop an even smile adorned with razor-sharp teeth. Even with your damaged hearing you were able to make out the single worded syllable he uttered. No.

The phrase immediately set Lucifer off again. His face twisted into anger as he tried to argue with Alastor. But you shut the potential argument down again before it had the chance to fester into a proper fight. 

“No one is making the decision for me.” You told them in the clearest and sternest tone you could form without being able to hear your own voice. Alastor’s hold on you never faltered, but Lucifer’s silence told you that the demon behind you didn’t remark on your statement. Whether that meant agreement or the fact that he knew when not to argue with you, you weren’t sure. 

Regardless you continued on with your previous thoughts on the situation before he had interrupted you. “She would know more than you?” You asked in a soft tone, referring to Vaggie. It wasn’t meant to be an insult to either of them, more out of mere curiosity. Both Lucifer and Vaggie were from Heaven; why could only one of them help?

You followed Charlie's eyes shift to Lucifer and watched as he let out a sigh, his hand moving in quick scritches to add something to the piece of paper. Not a moment later he showed it to you. 

I’ve been out of Heaven a lot longer than her, sweetheart

A frown, carved from the memories now running freely and uncontrollably through his head, was set onto his face with a twist of melancholy as you read his words. A pang of realization shot through your heart as your mind pieced together what he meant by the written sentence. Your frown began to match his own as you stepped forward with an outstretched hand, stepping out of Alastor’s hold as you reached for Lucifer, cradling his jaw in your hand and smoothing your touch over his skin. He leaned into your grasp, his frown slowly morphing into a smile from your presence alone as your gentle fingers chased away the tormenting and lingering thoughts of Heaven that still plagued him, even after so much time had passed. 

“It’s worth a shot.” You whispered, though it was unclear to the rest of the group if you had meant to. You turned to Charlie with a curt, but determined, nod of your head. “Let her know. I’ll appreciate any help.”

Charlie beamed from your decision. Her toothy smile practically lighting up the room with brightening optimism. She rushed forward, tearing you from Lucifer as she embraced you in a bone-crushing hug. You let out a strained wheeze as she squeezed you with as much force as she could muster. When she let go of you she said something to you, her lips moving though you couldn’t make out the sound, as she smiled at you before skipping out of the room. Leaving you with Lucifer at your side and Alastor behind you. 

You turned to face the two of them, a determined, but confident, look set onto your face. “I’m going with her.” You told them. 

Even though you couldn’t hear their verbal arguments, immediately you could tell that they disagreed with your decision based on their shifting disgruntled expressions. You placed your hand in the air in front of you, halting their disputing and silencing them all in one motion. Once you were sure they were both paying attention to you, you took in a steadying breath. “I’m leaving you two here. Alone. To hopefully sort out the immature…issues the two of you have going on.” You said each word slowly, concisely, clearly; making sure they could plainly hear every word. “You two have always been at each other’s throats. Even before I knew the truth. I can’t stand it. I love both of you. Figure out how to get along. You’re both adults here.” 

And with that you followed in Charlie's footsteps, exiting out the door and chasing up to her down the hall fairly quickly. Lucifer and Alastor were left in the King’s room by themselves. Both rendered speechless.

To be continued in Chapter 13...

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[bumblesimagines]

On the Mountain

Request: Yes or No

Summary: An injured songbird finds herself unable to fly for much longer but her luck seems neverending when she's found and nursed back to health.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical Hunger Games warnings, mentions of the 10th Hunger Games, implied PTSD/PTSD induced nightmares, mentions of Coriolanus Snow

~~~

Her breathing came out in short, wheezy gasps, her trembling legs threatening to buckle and give out from underneath her with each step she took through the brush. Her lips quivered, whether from the pain or the cold clinging to her wet body, she couldn't quite tell but she knew she had to stop running eventually. Her legs stung from scrapes and cuts sustained from the branches and twigs of the bushes she'd ran through, the bottom of her skirt torn up and cold to the touch from rainwater. 

She had to keep going. She had to. He'd kill her otherwise. 

Through her blurry vision, she missed the log resting along the ground and tripped over it, her body tumbling to the ground and a shriek of pain leaving her lips. She clamped her teeth down on her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, silencing herself and praying Coriolanus Snow had given up his hunt. Lucy Gray rolled over onto her back with a wince and a choked sob, her shaking hand lifting from her side and lifting to hover over her face, a droplet of blood splattering onto her cheek. 

It'd been stupid, she knew that well, to wait and see if her trap had worked. All her time in the meadow, all her time learning about snakes and how to avoid them had paid off nicely. She'd almost felt guilty, listening to his worried and desperate shouts, until she watched the concern crumple into fury faster than a lightning strike. The snake had been non-venomous, of course, just a mere distraction to keep him occupied while she debated what to do. He hadn't given her much time to think after putting a bullet in her side, though. 

Lucy Gray dropped her arm down onto the forest floor, her glassy eyes staring up at the sky above her. Each breath she took felt like fire coursing through her veins and she couldn't help but wonder if perhaps... it'd all been for nothing. The singing, the desperate measures to make money, surviving the Hunger Games, accepting Coriolanus into her life... leaving her friends and family behind. She wondered what they'd think, what they'd say when they figured out she'd fled... when Coriolanus returned without her. Would he lie to them? Claim she'd gone and left them behind to suffer in 12?

"Damn you, Coriolanus..." She exhaled shakily, her features contorting tightly together as the tears slipped freely from her eyes. 

Lucy Gray lied there, on the forest floor, weeping until her body gave into exhaustion, weeping for death to come quick and be more merciful than her lover had been.

Back in the godforsaken arena where she stood on the pile of fallen debris from the rebel bombings, the ground around her covered in a sea of colorful slithering snakes that almost resembled waves. She stood there, paralyzed and motionless, her eyes flickering about to ensure none of the lethal creatures slipped toward her. They'd liked her during the Games, curled around her as if seeking out her warmth rather than her death, but her heart still pumped with fear. 

"Songbird," A voice wailed, one she recognized to have once been filled with malice. Her head whirled around, eyes wide and breath catching in her throat at the sight of Carol near the edge with her arm extended out toward her pleadingly. The young girl sunk deeper and deeper into the sea of snakes, desperate wails and cries for Lucy Gray to help her falling for her lips. Lucy Gray remained frozen despite every inch of her wanting to spring into action and drag the poor girl out, forced to watch her disappear beneath scaled bodies. 

A wheezy cough came from her left and she spun her head around toward the source of the noise, a quiet whimper leaving her at the sight of Dill sitting by the edge with her back turned toward her. Another cough tore through her frail body, leaving her breathless and heaving. Lucy Gray's legs gave out from underneath her, her ruffled dress sprawling out around her like a halo. Her eyes refused to tear away from Dill, only watering with tears that fell as Dill shifted to face her, mouth bloodied from the poisoned water she'd drank. The water Lucy Gray had poisoned. 

"I'm sorry." Lucy Gray whispered, her shoulders shaking with hiccups and sobs. She hadn't meant to kill her, truly she hadn't. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry... I'm- I'm so sorry." She sobbed, her body leaning forward and hands entangling themselves in her hair. She continued weeping apologies, continued begging for forgiveness until she had no tears left. 

A slither of color caught her eye, her head lifting to search the sea of constantly moving snakes, their colors shimmering with the dim sunlight pouring in. Her breath hitched again, her heart threatening to hammer out of her chest when a pure white-scaled snake slithered out from underneath the bodies and made a direct line toward her.

Coriolanus. 

She barely had time to scream before the snake flashed its fangs and lunged for her. 

With a frightened gasp, Lucy Gray shot upright, her chest rising and falling rapidly with quick breaths. Her eyes darted around the unfamiliar room, taking in the wooden walls with paintings perched on them and the wooden floor. The only thing she recognized was her bag draped over the chair by the desk, the same bag she'd taken when she and Coriolanus planned to leave 12. Lucy Gray's brows furrowed and only furrowed further when she looked down at herself, noticing the baggy shirt she wore that she certainly hadn't packed. 

The wound, she remembered sharply and fumbled with the shirt before tugging it up and near her ribs. She blinked down at the bandages wrapped just above her hip, her fingers tracing over them curiously. Someone had found her, taken her into the room, changed her, and cared for her injury... but who? Had the Covey figured out what Coriolanus had done and searched for her? Had the violent man himself done it after a change of heart? Even if he had, she needed to leave.

Pushing the covers off her bare legs, Lucy Gray planted her feet firmly on the floor and stood up, only to plop back down when her legs wobbled. "Come on, don't fail me now." She murmured, slowly rising from the bed and extending her arms out to balance herself. Her legs wobbled and shook but nevertheless, she took a step forward and immediately stumbled right into the desk. Progress was progress, she supposed, and stumbled toward the window like a baby deer learning to walk. 

Lucy Gray braced herself against the wall and took in a breath, allowing herself a moment to gather her bearings before she peeked out the window. Her eyes locked on the figure crouched down by what appeared to be a garden, gloved hands tugging out carrots from the soil and tossing them into a basket nearby. She squinted, trying to make out their bowed head to see if she recognized them but the shadow casted over their face only blocked their features. 

Perhaps against her better judgment, she headed toward the door, still staggering but each step helped her get reacquainted with walking again. Opening the door and stepping out, she found herself in a short hallway with two doors near each other and one at the end of the hallway. More paintings hung on the wall, along with strung-up plants and leaves in what looked like small hand-made baskets. When the hallway opened up to a bigger space, she noticed a quaint kitchen on one side and a living room on the other. It all appeared homey and inviting, many things seeming to be crafted by hand with love and care. 

She spared glances around on her way to the front door, searching for pictures or anything that could inform her of the residents' identity but she found nothing. She reached the front door and looked down at her bare feet, her gaze drifting to the big boots by the door. Lucy Gray pursed her lips and then shrugged, sticking her feet into the boots and tying the laces as hard as possible so they wouldn't slip off before she stepped outside. 

Lucy Gray half-expected the hustle and bustle of 12's workers and distant machinery to fill her ears but all she heard were bugs, birds, and the occasional rustling of tree branches brushing together with the breeze. All around her were trees, tall and towering over the cabin but no signs of any nearby homes that could plant her on the outskirts of 12. She took a deep inhale of the fresh air and stepped off the porch, making her way around the cabin to the side where the garden was. 

"Hello, stranger!" She greeted, likely sounding too cheery for someone who'd been shot and left for dead. The person - her savior, she assumed - paused, his head turning to peer over his shoulder at her. He stared at her in confusion for a beat before seeming to recognize her with her.. out of place attire. He peeled the gloves off his hands and tossed them into the basket along with the vegetables, rising up to his full height and perching the basket against his hip. 

"You should be dead." He stated, carefully stepping over rows of soil. "But you're not."

"That's hardly any way to greet someone, friend." Lucy Gray laughed, swallowing down the chill that threatened to slip down her spine. Coriolanus almost killed her, after everything he'd done to help her win. "I'm Lucy Gray Baird! May I have the pleasure of knowin' your name or should I refer to you as 'my hero', hm?" 

His head tilted, likely rethinking his decision to help her. "(Y/N)." 

"(Y/N)... I like the ring of it." Lucy Gray smiled brightly, blinking when he side-stepped around her and headed toward the porch, hardly sparing a glance over at her. She followed him, careful not to trip over the heavy foots weighing her legs down, and mimicked his movements of kicking the bottoms free of dirt. "Now, could you possibly tell me where I am?" She asked, shuffling after him into the cabin once more.

"The forest." He answered simply.

"Well, I guessed as much. Anywhere specifically?"

"North, some miles off the coast. Close to Districts 12 and 3." (Y/N) told her, setting the basket on the counter and beginning to wash the vegetables he'd picked free of dirt. Lucy Gray ripped a paper towel from the holder and dried them as she listened, her actions garnering her a glance. "You've been out of it for a few days. I found you, or- well, I heard you and Thistle tracked you down. It looked like you'd been out of it for almost an hour, I'd guess. Your wound was getting infected by the time I brought you back here. You've woken up here and there, long enough to get some food in your stomach, but that fever you had until yesterday morning kept making you pass out."

"A few days..." Lucy Gray repeated quietly. Coriolanus had likely presumed her dead, then. And the Covey, too. She swallowed thickly at the thought of them mourning or searching for her and let out a soft sigh. "I assume taking care of half-dead girls isn't exactly your normal day-to-day?" 

"Depends. We've had a couple people fleeing the Districts come here seeking shelter or in need of food, mostly 12 and 6 but sometimes 3, too. Sometimes they come with cuts and scrapes or wounds from Peacekeepers. Once they have what they need, Mom or I will take them further up north to the settlements around there. The closest one is District 13 but they're still working toward repairing what was damaged during their war and primarily live underground." 

"District 13? Wasn't it bombed?"

"Humans have a terrible knack for somehow managing to stay alive despite circumstances." (Y/N) shrugged, tucking the basket away underneath the sink and retrieving a pot. He filled it with water and set it over the stove, lighting a match and using it to get a flame started beneath the pot. 

"Thank you for helping me, (Y/N). I hope I can return the favor someday." 

"You can return it now by taking a bath and helping me start dinner. Mom's visiting 13 to trade with them and should be back before sundown just about when the stew will be finished." (Y/N) told her, the corner of his lip quirking. "I'll get a towel and some clothes for you."

Lucy Gray grinned and straightened her shoulders, giving him a nod. "Anythin' for my hero." She laughed at his eye roll and followed him to the bathroom, feeling a weight lifted from her shoulders at the realization she was fine; safe and far away from Coriolanus Snow.