#◟ ⋆ drabbles › hunter west !

[ambitionslost]

Hunter Michael West. Figure Skater. Alcoholic. FC: Nicholas Galitzine.

[dropsofjupitcr]

Birthday Snapshots.

July 15, 1998 - Lorena's 5th birthday Little Hunter, barely two, toddles after his big sister as she unwraps her presents. "Lo-Lo!" he calls out, offering her a crudely wrapped package. Inside is a plastic toy from his own collection. Lorena hugs him tight, declaring it her favorite gift.

July 15, 2005 - Lorena's 12th birthday The West family celebrates at the local ice rink. Hunter, now 9, shows off his budding skating skills. Lorena cheers him on, prouder of her little brother than any present she receives.

July 15, 2010 - Lorena's 17th birthday Lorena blows out her candles, wishing for her brother's success. Hunter, 14, is preparing for his first major competition. She whispers, "You've got this, little bro," before he heads to practice.

July 15, 2015 - Lorena's 22nd birthday A quiet celebration as Lorena visits Hunter at his training facility. She notices the strain in his smile, the weight of expectations on his shoulders. They share cake in comfortable silence, understanding passing between them.

July 15, 2020 - Lorena's 27th birthday Hunter calls, his voice rough. Lorena listens as he talks about his struggles, his guilt. "Come home," she says softly. "We'll face it together."

July 15, 2024 - Lorena's 31st birthday. They sit on the porch of their childhood home. Hunter, sober for a year, hands her a gift - a framed photo of them skating together as kids. Lorena smiles, seeing the light returning to her brother's eyes. "Best birthday ever," she declares.

[revasserium]

oh don't ask me for requests, you know I deliver. What about Zoro with number 30?

send me one + a character and i'll write u a drabble

30. invention of the dictionary

opla!zoro; 882 words; fluff, teeth-rotting fluff, strawhat!reader, gn!reader, no "y/n", unconventional format, whipped!zoro

summary: truth, love, still, and stolen

a/n: been a while since i've written something so chill but i rly like this one u__u nice, short, and sweet!

He has never been a man of many words, but meeting you has made him wonder about the exact reason dictionaries were invented. What scholar (for it must have been a scholar, Zoro thinks) could have amassed such a knowledge of words and meanings that they decided the only way to keep track was to write it down? Or perhaps it was simply someone in love — someone who felt too much and yearned too hard and never had the words big enough or heavy enough, wide enough or deep enough, to fully encompass the way they were feeling.

Because he’s never been a man of many words, but meeting you has him reaching for the tattered dictionary they’d found in a treasure chest, washed ashore on a small, insignificant island — not unlike you. You with your windswept hair and your skin smelling of salt and cream and a thousand midnight mysteries. You, and the way your eyes hold worlds that Zoro’s certain he’d never have the privilege of seeing.

But sometimes when he kisses you, he thinks he can taste the remnants of their exotic fruits beneath the sweet of your tongue, and sometimes when you kiss him back hard enough, he can feel it in the crescent moon marks you leave inked into his skin. Like dotted lines on a treasure map.

You’d been a traveling bounty-hunter, not so unlike who he’d been in a past life, one that he can barely even remember. And your laughter had been just the right shade of lost for Luffy to take notice. No one had thought twice about it after that — and you blended in with the crew as a shot of rum in a morning espresso — which is to say perfectly.

He finds himself flipping through the thin, water-warped pages of the dictionary, pausing on words he’d always thought he knew — words like truth, and love. Words like still, and stolen.

And so, here are some words that Roronoa Zoro has learned and re-learned the meanings of. All because of you.

truth noun.

the quality or state of being true

a fact or belief that is accepted as true

a thing so fundamental that it never has to be questioned — like the rising of the sun in the east or the setting of the moon in the west; something that pulses with the very rhythm of the universe, like the ebb and flow of the tides or the way that autumn always feels a little bit like goodbye — or how birdsong will inevitably be followed by the sprouting of spring, and how March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb, and how Zoro’s never questioned just how much he’s loved you, or even whether or not he’d fallen in love. He simply woke up one day and knew.

love noun.

an intense feeling of deep affection

a great interest or pleasure in something

you, your smile, the way you hold your chopsticks, how you press your hand to your stomach when you laugh, the way your lips feel as they trail along Zoro’s jawline, the way your heartbeat rhymes with the gentle rush of the sea

verb.

to feel deep affection for someone or something

to like or enjoy very much

to dream of a life with you, and all the things you might do — to lie awake at night counting your breaths as you fall asleep next to him, to press his lips into the seam of your hair and know that when he wakes up in the morning, you’ll still be right there next to him

still noun/adj./verb

not moving or making a sound

deep silence or calmness

to make or become still

the way the world feels the first time you cry, how the planets themselves seem to grind to a deadly halt, how Zoro’s world tilts on the axis of you and doesn’t stop until he wonders if everything around him is upside down and inside out — how you curl into yourself when the monsters in your past become more than shadows and whispers that creep in the dark, or when the darkness comes knocking and you bury your face in his shoulder, your voice a whisper as you beg — please… help me.

adverb

up to and including the present time mentioned

nevertheless; all the same

how he knows he loves you, the way that the sea loves the sky — even after a devastating rainstorm; how there’s blood on his swords, blood soaking through the wooden planks but he’s got you in his arms so it’s going to be alright; how you let him carry you and hold you close; how he lets you carry him as well; how the pair of you curve around each other like a parenthetical, two bookends to a library of memories stored in the negative space between you; how you are with each other after all of this, still.

stolen verb (*past participle of steal)

take without permission or legal right, without the intent to return

move somewhere quietly or surreptitiously

his heart, his mind, his body, his soul — and him with you.

[frannyzooey]

Din Djarin x f!reader, Western AU

Rating: Explicit (COMPLETED)

Summary: Set in a brothel in the late 1800’s in the Wild West, you’ve only been working there for a month when Din Djarin shows up. A bounty hunter who makes stops into town between jobs, he is known at the inn for his generous appetite and demanding preferences. Asking for you one night, he is pleased to learn you are well suited for him: your sweet nature soothing to his gruff temperament and surprising him with your ability to handle his rougher tastes. Demanding that you be made available to him every time he is in town, neither one of you is ready for where this request leads.

Chapters:

The Beginning

The Kid

The Surprise

Drabble: The Union Suit

The Hill

Drabble: The Henhouse

The Lesson

Drabble: The Rope

The Rope, Part II

The Night Trip

Interlude: US Marshal Marcus Pike

The Camping Trip

The Confession

Drabble: The Worship Service

Interlude: Oil Baron Maxwell Lord

Interlude: Ranch Owner Jack Daniels

The Demand

Interlude: Pioneer Francisco Morales

The Kerchief

The Mark

Drabble: The Exploration

Drabble: The Letter

The Ask

The Hour

The Crest

The End

One Shots:

The Hayloft

The Night

The Bath

Bound

The Morning

TMTC Art

Western Din Djarin

The Union Suit

TMTC Din

TMTC Din, II

TMTC Din, III

TMTC Din, IV

TMTC Din, V

Din and The Kid

Din and The Kid, II

Take Me To Church story gifset

Moodboard

Moodboard II

Moodboard III

Moodboard IV

Din and Girl

Din in the bath

Love Letter to TMTC

Gracie

Gracie II

Gracie III

The Ending

TMTC Comic

TMTC Drabbles

Drabble Masterlist

Tags:

#tmtc inspo

#tmtc ask

#tmtc art

#tmtc drabble

[1-800-apricot]

arthur morgan x reader

a/n: This is my first drabble for Arthur. I was listening to 'I Don't Smoke' by Mitski and got inspired. It doesn't correlate with the song much though. Also I have requests open for Arthur!

The smoke could’ve been classified as stifling. The way it curled through the air, slow and deliberate like a hunter. And yet it dispersed far above. The relaxation of a hunter whose shot had been fired. 

The smoke should’ve been suffocating. Especially with the accompaniment of the campfire. But it wasn’t. It was freeing. Like every breath was a twist of a key in a lock.

The smoke would’ve been smothering. If only it were not lit and fed by a broken heart. If only the smoke was not filling the cracks and crevices of years worth of wear. If only there was no yearning.

There was love and adoration. Yet this was not quite enough. Not for the west and not for an outlaw. It was something They’d realized. After so many years they realized it was not a life where you could thrive without wealth. And they didn’t have wealth. But they never minded. Not really.

They couldn’t provide him with green and gold. What they could provide was company and comfort whenever he slept or wept. Mending his clothes, washing the stains, folding and packing it with care. So while they could not provide wealth, they could provide warmth.

But this was not enough. Not for the cruelties of the west or the hardened outlaw. The west that took and took and took. Sweltering days and freezing nights. Bandits and bullets. Empty stomachs and empty wallets. The west was not meant for the weak. Those were the words spoken so often to her. Whether they were implying something or not did not matter. 

They knew their love and adoration might not be enough for the west. However they’d been so sure that it would be enough for their outlaw of a lover. So sure that if they fell in step with his gang then perhaps everything would be alright. His criminal nature hadn’t bothered them..What did it matter after all? It didn’t. Not when she heard his sweet words and saw his kind eyes. Not when the moonlight framed his features. 

But he was an outlaw nonetheless. A sort that couldn’t be relied upon. At least not for what they wanted. He could provide care. That was nothing tricky. He could provide what he considered protection and safety. No issue. However it was when they yearned for something deeper than skin or tissue. Something that didn’t build up the fabric of the body but rather the soul. This was when the outlaw could not be relied upon. 

He could offer a version of security only available in his market. However it came with a price. A price that they were slowly becoming indebted to and crushed under. 

Arthur Morgan was a good partner. Trustworthy when they worked together. Desirable for a practical partnership. They heard each other out when needed and to the naked eye it seemed fine. It all seemed to reach past the skin and bones and to the soul. 

However after so many lonely nights and dismissed worries. It was made clear that Arthur Morgan wasn’t always a good lover. He could offer a warm body at night but when they hoped for more than that? Something to quell their midnight melancholy? They were met with hesitance. Hesitance to let himself be. Hesitance that forbade him from putting to rest his armor and weaponry. Hesitance that was vital to have in a place where you had to doubt everything and everyone’s intentions. 

But when laying next to a lover with nothing more to illuminate them than the moon and stars above? This defense mechanism was a reminder. Arthur Morgan was an outlaw before he was anything else.

So they sat by the campfire. Taking comfort in the smoke that hurt their lungs. Because the only other option was taking comfort in the arms of the outlaw that hurt their heart.

[layla4567]

~MASTERLIST~

i opened requests btw (sorry if it took me a while to answer them)

🔥: spicy/smut ❤️: fluff 😢: angst (just a little)

Marvel

Peter maximoff:

Imagine with quicksilver ❤️

One shot/ Peter maximoff ❤️

Imagine: a relaxing shower 🔥

You know what I mean ❤️

I'm not doing it 🔥❤️

Nursing day ❤️

Loki:

Headcanons of Loki ❤️

Imagine with Loki 🔥

Headcanon: Loki as a dad ❤️

Nightmare ❤️

Headcanon: Loki notices that you are on you period ❤️

Celtic ballad ❤️

In the meadows 🔥

The waterfall 🔥

SFW alphabet ❤️​

NSFW alphabet 🔥

I don't trust you 🔥

Plushie ❤️​

Dance for me 🔥

You're being mean ❤️​

Awful things to you 🔥

Shoot ❤️​

The stars are closer ❤️​

A merry christmas (lokius) ❤️​

Mobius meet your child with loki (uncle mobius) ❤️​

LOKI SERIES (OTHERS CHARACTERS)

Too close (Brad wolfe/Hunter X-5) ❤️​

Scars (Brad Wolfe) ❤️​

Steven Grant/Marc Spector/Jake Lockley:

Little imagine with Steven Grant ❤️​

I'm just a librarian (canceled) ❤️​

headcanon: the boys with pets ❤️​

Bucky:

Headcanons of Bucky ❤️​

Adam Warlock:

Would you help me? ❤️

Adam Warlock headcanons ❤️🔥😢

Drabble (wandavision AU) ❤️

Teach me ❤️

Namor:

A lullaby, a lotus flower and a cardinal ❤️

Evan Peters

Colin Zabel:

Magic night 😢🔥(it's just suggestive)

Vaccines are good ❤️

Evan:

Lingerie ❤️​🔥​

Birthday girl ❤️​🔥​

The bear

Luca:

Working together ❤️​

Will Poulter:

Behave well 🔥​

Gotham

Jeremiah:

That's how the money works 🔥​(suggestive)

Lewd pollen🔥​

Bruce Wayne

Let me take care of you ❤️​

Star Wars

Cal Kestis:

May the force be with you ❤️​

I'm right here 😢​❤️​

Are you afraid of the dark?

Mr. Tophat:

My Ballerina 😢​❤️​🔥​

Are you lost? 😢​

The hunger games

Coriolanus Snow:

Until the birds stop singing 😢​❤️​

One Piece Live Action

Opla boys with a short reader headcanon ❤

Time for hugs (Luffy sfw drabble) ❤

Sanji with a mechanic reader headcanon ❤

The straw hats hearing your laugh for the first time ❤

Sanji with a fem reader with long hair (headcanon) ❤

The medical (sanji) ❤

Me gustas tu (Luffy) ❤

Until we meet again (Mihawk) ❤🔥

Sweet as peaches (Sanji fluff drabble) ❤

Until we meet again pt2 (Mihawk) ❤

A whole new world (Shanks) ❤

A whole new world pt2 (Shanks) ❤

The straw hat with a spanish speaker ❤

Wild west au/ monster trio 🔥

Opla men with a spanish speaker pt2 (mihawk, buggy and shanks) ❤

Sanji with a reader who loves to collect trinkets (headcanons) ❤

Morning routine with Sanji ❤

Take off the sails

Monster trio buying sanitary pads ❤

Valentine's day is for fools ❤

Until we meet again (final part) ❤🔥

Old men with a short reader (buggy, shanks and mihawk) ❤

Halloween costumes with the straw hats ❤

Strawhats with a tall reader ❤

REQUESTS

Hot cocoa (Hunter D90-Loki series) ❤

I'm right here (Cal Kestis-Star wars)

Dance for me (Loki-MCU)

My silly little man (Mobius-Loki series) ❤

Visitors (Mobius) ❤

Sanji with a rapunzel fem reader

Are you lost? (mr.tophat)

A little bit of mischief (D90 loki series) ❤

OTHER

Ken (Barbie 2023) with a reader who wears glasses ❤

..............................................................................................................................

[valeriianz]

My Sandman -- Hob Gadling/Morpheus MASTERLIST:

i have a page (linked in my bio) full of every single fic i've posted to tumblr and Ao3 right here. but of course it isn't rebloggable so, here!

Rock band AU (M) [aka Bolt in the Blue. slow burn, human, ongoing]

Domestic and Spicy (M) [drabble, Hob makes breakfast and Dream distracts him]

Sleepy Dream��(T) [Hob comes home to find Dream sleeping in his bed]

Making out on the dance floor (M) [Morpheus finds Hob in a dream dancing in a club and allows himself to get caught up]

Their first fight (T) [human au, angst-ish, drabble]

Vampire hunter!Hob AU (T)

Neighbors AU (T) [aka Scratch a Little Itch, mixing in the fire alarm trope, mutual pining, professor Hob and pastry chef Dream]

The one about the butt plug (M) [aka Kiss Me Properly... smut based on @messmonte Hob strip game]

Photography AU; exes to lovers (M) [aka Let Me Down Easy. complete. photographer Hob and model Dream. complicated relationship, angst with a happy ending]

The magic of the mistletoe (G) [christmas fluff borderline crack. Dream uses and abuses mistletoe privileges]

Cowboy AU (snippet) WIP (T) [aka charro Dream for @watercubebee. old west, vibes only]

NYE strangers to lovers (T) [aka Call Me Back For More]

Vague mafia AU (T)

Hob being a very good friend after a breakup (M) [aka Never Enough. Dream goes through a breakup and Hob is not subtle about how he's in love with Dream]

Phone sex AU (M) [aka Turn the Lights Off. a fic directly inspired by @issylra's By The Minute]

The worst date Hob’s ever been on (G) [silliness and twist ending]

Car sex (M)

Devil Wears Prada AU (T)

Dream stepping on Hob (power imbalance) (M) [just straight up filth]

Devil Wears Prada AU pt.2 (T)

Vampire hunter!Hob prequel (T)

Pirate AU (G) [Hob saves Dream, his rival, from the gallows. pirate speak aplenty. vibes only]

Getting impatient in the car (M) [vulva wearing Dream, shamless rutting and fingering]

Hob grieves over Dream (vague comic spoilers) (G) [heavy on the angst]

Hob cheats on his wife with Dream (T) [ALSO heavy on the angst]

Fake dating (aka pining in the fitting room) (T)

AND here's my writing tag. in here you'll find all the above along with little fics that didn't make the cut. this includes fics i've only written in a reblog, fics i've sent to friends and they've published, or something else that i've deemed worthy of #my writing

<3

[thgfanfictionlibrary]

Teen and Up Rated Fics Masterlist (6)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 /

Created: September 13th, 2023

Last Checked:-----

Pen Pals-mrspeetamellark (AO3)

Summary: When Katniss Everdeen’s English teacher told her junior class they would be starting a pen pal program with a high school in the same city, she had immediately rolled her eyes and complained. Her new pen pal surprises her, however, by suggesting they keep their real names and identities a secret throughout the course of the year they'll spend writing to each other. Will they break their anonymity pact and meet up in person?

Post-Jabberjay-jenniferiawrence (Tumblr)

Summary: Drabble. Peeta helps Katniss undress and wash up in the water after her traumatic Jabberjay hour in Catching Fire. Also found here.

Regrowth-keeptheearthbelow (AO3)

Summary: “Of course this is how it would happen: in public, far too quickly. Of course this is the way we will finally let each other go.” Katniss and Peeta and District Twelve in the wake of the war. Slight AU/canon divergence. This story takes a little different approach to how they relate to society and each other.

Romance Can Blossom Any Old Time-Abagail_Snow (AO3)

Summary: Christmas in New York City is iconic, but to Peeta Mellark it’s nothing compared to a girl and her Christmas tree.

saving all my best lines for you-swishywillow (AO3)

Summary: "We haven’t always hugged like this. These kinds of hugs didn’t start until after he went away for college and I realized how much I missed him. I’d tugged him close that first Thanksgiving break freshman year and pretty much haven’t wanted to let go since. Not that he knows that, or anything." Or, Peeta brings an unexpected guest to a dinner party and everything goes to hell.

Screw West-hutchabelle (AO3)

Summary: With the entire summer in front of her, Katniss decided to take a road trip across America. Thankfully, her best friend since college agreed to go with her. Hopelessly in love with her, Peeta struggled to keep his feelings secret as they shared countless hotel rooms and sometimes a bed.

She's a Survivor-sparebitofparchment (AO3)

Summary: The Hunger Games from Peeta's POV: the angsty cut

Silence me, Trust me, Love me-Brown_Eyed_Devil (AO3)

Summary: Post-Mockingjay. Peeta reaches a breaking point and finally confronts Katniss. A pivotal point in their relationship that will decide where they stand from here on out. "I need to get a grip before I do something really stupid, but the unending silence that stretches between us feels more like a waiting game than a comfort. A standoff between hunter and prey, but who is playing which part is still unclear. Was it always like this? Did she always make my pulse trip in unease? Or was it nervous anticipation? I don’t know."

Smoke and Words-AntiKryptonite (AO3)

Summary: Somewhere, there are white walls. Four of them, tall and padded and unyielding. In those white walls, there is a girl who used to sing but now only screams. Sometimes, when she falls silent, there is another voice, a silvery clarion voice that spirals and builds and comforts, erecting beautiful constructs in her mind. And sometimes….sometimes she dreams of another world.

Soothe Me-angylinni (AO3)

Summary: Peeta is working on a commission and is having trouble getting started. She takes it upon herself to make him relax.

[svnflowehrs]

pick your poison babe

ophelia ft. hunter west / @dropsofjupitcr

— this drabble was planned out with jess as a 'what if these two got together' type thing. it uses much of taylor swift lyrics (especially from the new album). while most of this is considered 'canon' between the two, it's definitely not as we don't see them actually getting together. anyway! enjoy!! there is drug and alcohol mentions in this so please be mindful when reading!

it had been a fortnight since she last saw hunter. a long fortnight since he’d walked out the door of her hospital room, whispers of sweet nothings, whispers in the dark, broken promises, broken hearts. she’d lost count of the number of times she’d almost called, knowing he wouldn’t pick up. she’d been left behind, left in the dark of what had happened. sat back home, the stitches on her leg were driving her insane. ophelia was strong, she’d made it through worse, so why did this feel like it was ruining her life? like she was the last one to know? the silence of her place was deafening, the slow tick, tick tick,  of the clock on the wall was doing nothing to help her. she was shattered and bruised, tearing at the walls, she needed an escape. needed to forget about him. 

ollie was a good man at first, picked up the broken parts of ophelia, and tried to put her back together again, paper-thin hearts often couldn’t be mended by a few good deeds. couldn’t build some up from the ashes of their lives they were trying to erase. everyone had their thoughts, and the thoughts became like weapons to be used against her. could someone truly be a functioning alcoholic? well, it seemed like they could. just because she was semi-famous did not mean she didn’t make mistakes, ollie was only the first in a long line of men who tried to fix ophelia in the months of darkness after her accident. no one ever quite made her feel special or touched her heart like hunter had. but he was ghosting her, ignoring her. sure she knew she was fucked in the head, the accident had taken its toll physically and mentally. deeper and deeper down the spiral she went. smelling like weed became her new normal. one for the pain, and two for the loss of what could have been, what should have been.

it was matt who got her into the most trouble. night clubs, day drinking, a never-ending wave of being high or drunk. perhaps this was just a new normal. a new way of life for her.  the was no cure for her, not right now, the were storms within her heart and her mind. sending her deeper, and deeper down her spiral. wishing she was dead as she lay in bed, the memories of nights before burned in her mind. the black dog always chasing her down. she knew she was making headlines, what did it matter, it wasn’t like she had a reason to live. how could a man she always thought would be a lion, so strong, so brave turn out to be a coward, turn his back on her? did their friendship mean nothing, every man she was ever with never held a candle to him. they hadn’t ever been lovers, but the what-ifs played on her mind, drove her down the same path every night.

manic phases should have been given, since she’d been on a downward spiral, a phoenix, trying to rise from the very ashes of a life she gave away, trying to find her way back into the sun. stumbling out of clubs, faking it till she made it seem like a simple thing, but god was it exhausting, plastering on a fake smile, pretending she was okay for a little while. people telling her the cage she was in was her own doing, in her head. but when the world is looking at you, where else were you meant to live instead? stumbling into the situation ship with matt had given her something to cling to, he’d promised her the world, and she’d been foolish enough to trust him. foolish enough to think that he might be the one to save her from herself. in reality, he was the bigger monster, feeding her insecurities and pushing her deeper into the depths of darkness.

hunter in his own right was also a functioning alcoholic, no one seemed to notice or care enough to point out the change in him, and even if they had he probably would have ignored them, living for the hope of it all, that all of this was a dream he’d wake up from. he’d broken the very person he promised he would never hurt. she’d never skate again, the damage to her leg was too much. if only he’d listened, stop pushing himself so hard, his depression was hitting harder and harder, faking smiles, faking happiness. but at the end of the day, the only solace he found was in a bottle. memories of a time go by burned in the back of his mind. the twisting of a knife within her heart. monsters outside his window, trying to stake their claim on him.

photos of her in the press, with some other man's arms wrapped around her caused a sinking within his heart, was it really over, they didn’t talk anymore, he’d called his mother, trying to get everything off his chest, how he felt, how he hated the thought of someone else touching her. his mother, as much as she loved her son, had loved ophelia as a daughter told him that this was for the best, that one day she’d faded from his memories, and she’d be nothing but a distant memory.  but what if he didn’t want that? often chastising himself that ophelia wasn’t his, she was never his to lose, he’d fumbled so hard there, always playing a game of will they won’t they. maybe the press had been right, you truly don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone, and he could have had her. 

was it petty yes, but he was nothing but a simple man who had enough of seeing his bambi stumbling out of clubs at 2 am, her face plastered all over the papers, headlines out washed up ice skater on the brink, she wasn’t washed up, she may have been on the brink but that was his doing. he knew it too. he’d led her on, twisted the knife, and left her alone. shattered heart, ruined her life by letting her fall for him. fuck it if he couldn’t have her, he’d show her what she was missing. even if he was the one to blame for the miscommunication, it wasn’t like she’d tried to reach out. he sent a simple invitation out to her and even added a plus one because he felt nice. he just prayed to god that she’d see the light, she how bad matt was for her. everyone was telling her. he wanted to fix her, fix the parts he and every other man since had broken for her.

the invite surprised ophelia, it was weird, why was this the way he chose to reach out and speak to her for the first time in almost six months? an invite to a show they should have been at together, was this some kind of torture trying to show her what she’d lost? or was this a genuine act of kindness from him, did he want to see her again? she’d send a reply back that she’d be there, the was no way she was turning down a chance to see hunter skate, she didn’t hate him, she never had, never blamed him either. they were both people pleaser's, who wanted the world to see them for who they were, not what they did, so it was no wonder something happened, forever feeling like petulant teenagers, locked in the ages they first got their gold medals, never seeming to be able to grow up out of the way they were.

for once ophelia was clean, she’d not drunk or taken drugs in weeks, she was trying to heal but that didn’t mean she still wasn’t circulating from man to man. ollie was back at her side, a situationship she couldn’t seem to shake, she was sober but that didn’t mean she was fully off everything, the small voice in the back of her mind telling her she needed another high, that she needed to chase how good she felt. truth was, it never felt good, and the comedown was even harder, bodies were weak they were just flesh and bones and sometimes she felt a chill to the core. like somewhere, in some other life things might have been different.

because hunter was a petty soul, through and through, he made sure that ophelia and her plus one were sat right at the front with the tickers reserved for them, right where they would be able to make eye contact, and because he was an even bigger and pettier man, he’d chosen their song as the dance he was going to do, if anything was going to signal to her how he felt then this would be it. he’d even found out the exact costume he’d last worn when they danced to this together. sometimes being petty meant making hard truths hit home, he only hoped that this would do the trick.

settling into her seat, she watched those before hunter skate, her attention not fully on them, a knot at the pit of her stomach, wondering why now, of all times did he want her there, they’d not spoken in months, their friendship was burned to the ground when he’d walked away after promising he wouldn’t. he’d left her, but how he wanted her back in his life? why? what was the reason for it? she wasn’t paying attention to the announcement but then she heard the familiar opening to sparks fly start, and she just knew this was hunter. standing there alone in the center of the ice he was watching her, trying to gauge her reaction.

her heart was thudding in her chest as she watched him, moving with such air and grace, he’d grown stronger and more disciplined in the last six months, he was pushing through this, on adrenaline, on the thought of her seeing the light, seeing what they needed to be. sure this was a shot in the darkest dark, they were both unarmed, balancing on almost broken branches of what their lives were, but if this was the last time he was going to see her, he needed to show he always felt the same. it’s why he’d chosen sparks fly, because even now. even after all this time, she was the one who he’d drop everything for, even if he’d not fully committed to that part.

at the end of the performance, he was eye to eye with her, tears staining his cheeks, it had been so long since he cried while performing, but the emotionally charged song, having her there, brought everything to a head, he could see it in her too, the loss, the pain, the wondering what could have been. his eyes seemed to beg her to stay, all she had to do was stay so they could talk. all he wanted was a moment of her time, a moment to try and reconnect, build up those burned-down bridges. try and find a way in. he’d lost track of the amount of times he’d cried in the gym over her. those photos of the woman he loved in the depths of an addiction, he wanted to help, he wanted to be her savior, make sure she was the heroine in her own story.

standing on the sidewalk alone outside of the arena she felt the rain start to fall, she’d promised to meet hunter here, so that they could talk, but the air around her felt thick with the loss, and indecision on what she was meant to do. for so long she’d been running, trying to find happiness in the bottom of bottles, living with her champagne bottles. never truly knowing where she stood, and what she should have done. she’d always been down bad over hunter, ever since they hit their teens, heck she’d said fuck it a few too many times when drunk, they almost kissed when doing romantically charged songs, had they always been like this, just hoping the other would say something, would risk something?

“ba..ophelia?” hunter's voice broke through her thoughts, he’d had to stop himself from calling her bambi, he had to remember he lost that privilege a long time ago.

a smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she ran a hand through her hair to look up at him, he was still the most handsome man she’d ever met “hunter…it’s been a while…”  god that sounded so stupid didn’t it? of course, it had been a while.

“you…look…tired.” his voice was soft as he got closer to her, he knew she was probably like him functioning to the best they could. faking it to the outside world. he saw the spark behind her eyes was gone. he just wanted to take away the pain.

her eyes scanned his face, this could be the worst choice she was making, or the one that could change her whole life for the better, she only hoped that this was what he wanted, what they’d both always wanted, instead of replying to him she rested a hand on his cheek, her eyes finding his as if searching for permission, before swallowing her pride and leaning up to press a kiss to his lips, her eyes fluttering closed as she felt his arms wrap around her, it may have started to rain in that very moment. but nothing else mattered. years of unsaid things were being laid bare in that kiss. she’d take the poison that was hunter over the toxic life she’d been living any day.

[heich0e]

Hiiii! Just read “Bittersweet” and it was incredible. Do you have a trigun master list or any other trigun fanfics? Thank you 💜

hellooooo!! ahh thank you so much for reading it!! i don't have a trigun masterlist (YET lol) but i compiled all my links yesterday so...

obviously there's the first (and arguably only good) trigun fic i posted, bittersweet, which is set in the canon universe and vash x reader.

I also have a series of poly vashwood x reader fics set in a wild west bounty hunters universe (i really crammed a lot in there huh):

bounty - vash and nicholas return home to you after a hunt

bliss - NSFW continuation of bounty

bright - the quiet aftermath of vash and nicholas' homecoming

I'm working on a full nai x reader college!au fic (based on this post!) which has been temporarily put on hold lmao. but there are two short fics from this au and a series of contextual posts under this tag:

harmless - an afternoon at the twins' apartment leads to nai walking in on something he doesn't expect

take out - vash leaves you alone in the apartment and nai is... less than thrilled to find you in his brother's bed

and here are some misc. vash x reader drabbles!!

rose coloured glasses - college!au, you meet vash at bar on a night out.

move in day - new neighbour vash hears some strange noises coming from your apartment and rushes upstairs to help

greeting committee - vash is waiting for you when you get home

[ambitionslost]

Shattered Ice

** Enjoy! ;) Mentions of suicidal thoughts under the cut! So please be careful if / when reading. **

The bottle clinked against the metal bleachers as Hunter fumbled to open it, his fingers numb from the cold and the alcohol already coursing through his system. The empty ice rink stretched out before him, a vast white expanse that once held all his dreams and now seemed to mock him with its emptiness.

He took a long swig, relishing the burn as it slid down his throat. The rink after hours had become his sanctuary, or perhaps his purgatory. Night after night, he found himself here, drinking alone in the dark, surrounded by memories of what once was and what could have been.

Hunter's gaze drifted to the spot where it had all fallen apart. In his mind's eye, he could still see Ophelia's body crumpling to the ice, could still hear the sickening crack as she landed. Her scream echoed in his nightmares, a constant reminder of his failure.

He stumbled to his feet, swaying slightly as he made his way down to the ice. His skates, once a natural extension of his body, now felt foreign and heavy as he laced them up. With unsteady steps, he ventured onto the slick surface.

As he gained speed, muscle memory took over. For a fleeting moment, he could almost feel Ophelia's presence beside him, her hand in his as they executed a perfect synchronized turn. But when he reached out, his fingers grasped only empty air, nearly causing him to lose balance.

"Ophelia," he whispered, her name a prayer and a curse on his lips. How many times had he pulled her close during their routines, anchoring her through difficult moves? How often had he tightened his grip when he sensed her drifting, whether from exhaustion or self-doubt?

Now, he was the one drifting, lost without his other half on the ice.

Hunter's skates carved angry patterns into the pristine surface as he pushed himself harder, faster. The cold air whipped at his face, but he welcomed the sting. It was a reminder that he could still feel something beyond the numbing guilt and self-loathing that had become his constant companions.

As he spun into a jump, his alcohol-addled mind misjudged the takeoff. He crashed onto the ice, skidding several feet before coming to a stop. The impact knocked the wind out of him, and for a moment, he lay there, staring up at the rafters.

Painfully, he pulled himself up and skated to the edge of the rink where he'd left the bottle. He took another long drink, ignoring the voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Ophelia, warning him about the dangers of skating under the influence.

Back in the locker room, Hunter's eyes fell on his old locker. He hadn't cleaned it out since the accident, couldn't bring himself to face the memories locked inside. But tonight, fueled by liquid courage, he yanked it open.

A cascade of items tumbled out. Photos of him and Ophelia at various competitions, their medals glinting in the dim light. A stack of handwritten notes they'd passed during long bus rides to events. The lucky charm she'd given him before their first senior-level competition.

His hands shook as he picked up a small velvet box. Inside was the necklace he'd bought for Ophelia, planning to give it to her after they won Olympic gold. A dream now forever out of reach.

These mementos were tangible proof of what they'd had, what he'd lost. Each item was a dagger to his heart, reminding him of the partnership he'd destroyed, the trust he'd broken, the future he'd shattered.

Hunter slumped to the floor, surrounded by the debris of his former life. He reached for the bottle again, desperate to drown out the memories, to numb the pain that threatened to overwhelm him.

As the hours ticked by, Hunter drifted in and out of consciousness, his dreams haunted by images of Ophelia. In some, they were skating together, their bodies moving in perfect harmony. 

In others, he relived the accident over and over, powerless to change the outcome.

When he finally stirred, the first light of dawn was seeping through the high windows of the rink. His head pounded, and his mouth felt like sandpaper. Groggily, he looked around at the scattered remnants of his and Ophelia's shared past.

With trembling hands, he began to gather the items, shoving them back into the locker. He couldn't bear to look at them, but he also couldn't bring himself to throw them away. They were all he had left of the life he'd once known.

As he stumbled out of the rink, the morning sun harsh on his bloodshot eyes, Hunter felt no resolution, no spark of hope for redemption. There was only the knowledge that he would be back again tonight, seeking solace in the bottom of a bottle and the ghostly echoes of skates on ice.

The weight of his guilt and regret hung heavy on his shoulders as he made his way home. Another day stretched before him, empty and meaningless without Ophelia, without skating, without purpose. And Hunter knew, with a certainty that chilled him to his core, that no amount of alcohol would ever be enough to fill the void left by his mistakes.  

Hunter's apartment was a reflection of his inner turmoil - clothes strewn about, empty bottles littering every surface, and a thick layer of dust covering the trophies and medals that lined the shelves. He collapsed onto the unmade bed, not bothering to remove his shoes.

As he drifted off into a fitful sleep, his phone buzzed insistently. He ignored it, as he had been doing for months. The world of competitive skating had moved on without him, but he couldn't bear to face it. Invitations to coach, to commentate, to make appearances - all deleted without a second glance.

When he finally woke, it was late afternoon. The sunlight filtering through the blinds cast long shadows across the room. Hunter's head throbbed as he fumbled for the bottle of painkillers on his nightstand. He dry-swallowed a couple, grimacing at the bitter taste.

His gaze fell on a framed photo he'd forgotten to turn face-down. It was from their last World Championship - he and Ophelia, radiant with victory, their gold medals glinting around their necks. Her smile was dazzling, her eyes full of joy and promise. Hunter's stomach churned with a mixture of longing and self-loathing.

He stumbled to the bathroom, avoiding his reflection in the mirror. He knew what he'd see - a ghost of his former self, unshaven and haunted. The shower did little to clear his head or wash away the stench of stale alcohol that seemed to cling to him these days.

As he dressed in whatever clothes seemed cleanest, Hunter's phone buzzed again. This time, a name flashed across the screen that made his heart stop: Lorena. His sister had been trying to reach him for weeks, but he'd been avoiding her calls. She was the only one who might understand, the only one who knew both him and Ophelia well enough to truly grasp the magnitude of what he'd lost.

His thumb hovered over the answer button, but at the last second, he let it go to voicemail. He couldn't face her concern, her disappointment. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Instead, he found himself opening his laptop, something he hadn't done in months. His email inbox was overflowing, but one subject line caught his eye: "Ophelia Grace - Public Appearance Schedule."

His hand shook as he clicked on the email. It was a press release, detailing Ophelia's upcoming events. She was making a comeback, not as a skater, but as a motivational speaker and advocate for athletes recovering from career-ending injuries.

Hunter's eyes skimmed the list of dates and venues, his heart clenching with each one. She was moving forward, rebuilding her life. And here he was, stuck in a purgatory of his own making.

The last item on the list made him freeze. Ophelia was scheduled to speak at their old training rink in Minneapolis next month. The very place where they had first met as children, where they had trained for countless hours, where they had fallen in love with skating and, though neither had ever admitted it, with each other.

Hunter slammed the laptop shut, his breathing ragged. He couldn't bear the thought of Ophelia returning to that place without him. Of her standing on that ice, strong and resilient, while he wasted away in this self-imposed exile.

He reached for the bottle on his bedside table, desperate to dull the sharp edges of his emotions. But as he tilted it back, he found it empty. Cursing, he threw it against the wall, watching as it shattered into pieces - a fitting metaphor for his life.

With shaking hands, he grabbed his keys. He needed more alcohol, needed to numb this fresh pain. As he stumbled out the door, his foot caught on a pile of mail. Envelopes scattered across the floor, and a glossy magazine slid out from between them.

The cover made Hunter's blood run cold. It was a sports magazine, and there on the front was Ophelia. She was seated in a wheelchair, but her posture was proud, her smile radiant. The headline read: "Rising from the Fall: Ophelia Grace's Inspiring Journey."

Hunter sank to his knees, clutching the magazine. He traced Ophelia's face with his finger, remembering how it felt to hold her, to lift her, to move in perfect synchronization with her on the ice.

For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine a different reality - one where he had been strong enough to stand by her side through her recovery, where he had faced their challenges together instead of running away. But that path was closed to him now, blocked by a year of cowardice and self-destruction.

He shoved the magazine into his jacket pocket and stumbled out of the apartment. The liquor store beckoned, promising temporary relief from the relentless onslaught of memories and regrets.

As night fell, Hunter found himself once again at the rink, a fresh bottle in hand. But this time, as he stared out at the ice, he didn't see the ghost of his past glory. Instead, he saw Ophelia as she was now - strong, resilient, moving forward without him.

And in that moment, Hunter West, once the rising star of the skating world, realized that while Ophelia had found a way to rise from her fall, he was still plummeting, with no end in sight.  

The chill of the rink seemed to seep into Hunter's bones as he sat there, the bottle now empty at his feet. The vast, empty space before him felt like a metaphor for his life - a blank expanse with no future, no hope.

He pulled the magazine from his pocket, staring at Ophelia's smiling face. The contrast between her strength and his weakness was stark, painful. For the first time, he allowed himself to truly contemplate a world without him in it.

The thought wasn't as frightening as it should have been. Instead, it brought a strange sense of calm. An end to the pain, the guilt, the endless cycle of self-destruction. He wondered if anyone would really miss him. If Ophelia would even notice he was gone.

His eyes drifted to the high beams above the rink, his mind idly calculating heights and forces. It would be so easy, he thought. One final performance on the ice he once loved.

But even as the dark thoughts swirled in his mind, a small part of him rebelled. The part that still remembered the exhilaration of skating, the joy of perfecting a routine, the warmth of Ophelia's hand in his.

Hunter's fingers trembled as he reached for his phone. He stared at the screen for a long moment before finally, for the first time in months, he dialed a number.

"Lorena?" his voice cracked as his sister answered. "I... I need help."

[dropsofjupitcr]

Driven

The predawn chill of the empty rink enveloped Hunter West as he took those first strides onto the freshly Zamboni-ed ice. This was his sanctuary, his escape, the one place where the chaotic noise of the outside world fell into blessed silence.

Pushing off with the power and grace of a prowling panther, Hunter began meticulously tracing his program's opening footwork sequence. Each intricate pattern flowed into the next with robot-like precision borne from endless hours of relentless drilling. His body moved on sublime muscle memory, accompanied only by the crisp scoring of his blades against the ice.

Drifting into the first jump, a triple lutz, Hunter entered the straightaway with the intensity of a missile being fired from a launchpad. Three rotations later, he formed into a bulletproof exterior upon landing, absorbing every ounce of the impact through his steely core. Not a single unnecessary movement, not a hint of wasted energy.

The harsh sound of his labored breaths echoed through the vacant arena as Hunter pressed onwards into his choreographic sequence. Every extension exaggerated to its fullest amplitude, every line seamless, every gesture conveying the raw emotional purpose behind each elegant move.

For someone with such uncompromising intensity, there was also a serene grace to Hunter's skating - an ethereal blend of artistry and athleticism distilled into its most pure essence. To the undiscerning eye it appeared effortless, a flawless dance performed with robotic perfection.

But underneath the surface mastery was something deeper driving Hunter - an insatiable hunger, an intrinsic obsession to attain perfection through endless sacrifice in pursuit of greatness. As he flowed into his next jumping pass, a massive quadruple salchow, Hunter's mind burned with unforgiving critique of every microscopic flaw.

His body driver knee-bend was a fraction too high on the entry, causing him to peel slightly low on the last rotation and foot the landing with a heavy skid. Growling expletives through gritted teeth, Hunter launched into his step sequence anew, restarting his program from the top to emblazon the muscle memory for the jump's perfection into his being.

On the ice, Hunter was a remorseless tyrant, his own harshest critic and an utterly brutal perfectionist. The standards he held himself to were downright inhumane. Every imperfection glared out to him like a blazing stoplight, no matter how minimal or indiscernible to the common viewer.

Three times through the program's entirety wasn't nearly enough to satisfy his obsessive nature. Again Hunter slashed his way into the opening pose before tearing through the entire routine, each element more technically complicated and physically taxing than the last.

By the end, his eyes were red Portcullises and every muscle screamed from the relentless barrage. But Hunter allowed himself no respite, no break, no mercy from the intense conditioning and repetitions. With feral, single-minded focus he drove himself onwards like a man possessed, chasing impossible ideals of perfection.

Two hours later, Hunter's coach finally arrived to begin preparing the rink for the day's scheduled events. He stood aghast, jaw dropping as Hunter furiously sprinted through the program's closing footwork over and over, utterly drenched in sweat yet still attacking the ice without any sign of yielding.

"West! What in the hell are you doing here at this hour?" The grizzled male barked. "You'll burn yourself into the ground!"

Hunter straightened and finally allowed himself to sag, chest heaving as he gulped down precious lungfuls of air. He regarded his bewildered coach with wild, feverishly intense eyes.

"I missed the quad sal rotation again and then bailed out of the triple axel entry," Hunter panted, sweat dripping from his brow. "Not acceptable. I have to keep drilling until it's flawless."

The coach sighed and slowly approached, clapping a firm hand onto his prime student's shoulder as he shook his head in disbelief. What drove this kid's insane dedication was beyond his comprehension.

"You're a goddamn machine, West. Take a break before you work yourself into the damn hospital," he growled, pointedly ushering Hunter towards the arena exit with a stern glare. "Get some food, hydrate, rest up. I'll see you back here this afternoon."

Hunter nodded curtly before shuffling away on rubber legs, completely spent yet still somehow unsatisfied with his morning's self-inflicted torture. He would return in a few short hours to devour the ice anew, pushing his limits in pursuit of perfection.

It was the only way he knew how to operate. Utter perfection carved through sheer relentless force of will, with no compromises or acceptance of failure. That obsessive drive was both a blessing and a curse, the unyielding force propelling him ever higher while simultaneously consuming him from the inside out.

[demon-blood-youths]

An Officer's Corruption: Sinful trails of the six claws OVA - Part One

Hi everyone! This is me. I got inspired from reading @the-silver-peahen-residence's drabbles on An Officer's Corruption parts. Here are the parts that Peahen wrote so far and there will be more coming.

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

This drabble is going to be ova series of An Officer's Corruption series since will have parts related and unrelated.

Anyway! Enough of that. Here's an intro to the OVA. This is a short introduction so there will be more parts after this.

---- Warning ---

Mature content

Implied Violence

Hilarity.

---- Guest Stars ----

Midoriya and Bakugo from MHA ( This is a version which has Evil!Midoriya sorta... )

Atsushi Nakajima from BSD

Rin Ostuma from Blue Exorcist

Ren from Persona 5

Denji Hayakawa from CSM ( All of them above forms a gang )

Yuji and Megumi from JJK ( They're also prisoners as well. ) All canon muses above are rped by Peahen herself! )

Kisho Hashimoto ( My JJK OC from @chunibyo-x-sorcerer, he is in the same group as Yuji and Megumi )

Jinx, an OC from @the-silver-peahen-residence and leader of the Cursed Vixens.

Ira 'Kali' Vin Shia, Vanity 'Ink' Vanguard, and Kinie Ger are my OC muses.

---- Summary ----

Ink Vanguard has been assigned to a prison known for holding the most dangerous individuals. Not only that, she is there to look over and monitor six individuals especially. The Six Claws. How would Ink do on her first day upon entering the prison and who are the Six Claws?

----

Ever since Ink was transferred to a new prison, Ink already missed her fellow officers. She wonders how they're doing. From what she heard, Rust is looking after a prisoner named Davion, a fellow dragon-like herself. Something about a bounty hunter hunting down criminals but end up running into trouble.

Plus, Shdwkyz is in charge of a prisoner that is a bat or...man bat??? Something regarding vigilantism? Oblivion got transferred dealing with a girl who has power over poison. Or was it she was working with her? Ink can't remember but she gotta ask.

But at least Kali and Jinx are going with her. They also have prisoners assigned to them. Jinx has a prisoner nicknamed the Wild Tiger of the West who just assaulted a police officer after a raid on an illegal fighting gambling den. It won't last long since this guy Yuji Itadori has an older brother getting him a lawyer so it might be temporary. Jinx is there to make sure no fights break out involving the tiger.

Kali has a prisoner but she wouldn't tell her so Ink is not going to bother her. The warden of that prison is named Kinie Ger. Taz's older sister.

Once Ink arrives to the office, Kinie Ger is waiting inside.

"So you must be the famed Van Ink the Dragon. Known for your....many arrests and some complaints." Said Kinie Ger, reading her file. Ink grins, "That I am!"

"And you managed to keep a prison from rioting and preventing a prison breakout."

"Yep! Though..it's a crazy story!" Said Ink. Kinie Ger hums. "Anyway...I get straight to the point." Kinie Ger puts down the folder, "I want you to look after six individuals known for their misdeeds. They have been arrested for their specfic crimes. Not all of them are in the same gang but a group formed together. They became the worst group in history."

"They are named as the Six Claws in this prison and they basically controlled most of the prison despite my authority." Kinie Ger growls, "These fiends already scared off four officers before you. They couldn't endure them. So I hope you last longer than them!" She said. "Now...do you have any other questions?!"

Ink stood there with a smile on her face, making Kinie Ger stared. Why is she thinking right now!

"Sure!" Ink smiles as if there is nothing wrong with this. Kinie Ger had to make sure, "And you're prepared?"

"Yep!" Ink said. "These guys sound like they're super strong! I think I can got them!"

"Right.." Kinie Ger gets up and proceeds to hand them a handbook. "Here! Read this and tell me you understand all of it. If you have any questions, please ask."

"Okay, okay~!" Ink nods as she reads the content of the book, regarding the profiles of each prisoner of the Six Claws. Okay..so these are the guys. And... "Huh? Are they all different people and having nothing to do with each other?" Ink asked.

"They are. Most people form groups due to identity and background so they won't fall prey to other prisoners. Six Claws aren't that different and ever since their leader came here. He forms the best of the best or rather the worst of the worst. Prison is where Six Claws isn't the only thing you have to worry about. Other gangs in this prison have some beef with them but don't get your hopes up, they won't mess with them and won't help you unless they benefit from getting payback or something serious goes down in here. Understood?"

"Right..." Ink nods. After reading and such, she grins, "Okay! I'm good to go!"

"Perfect. Let's introduce our new officers to the prison. Make sure to give your best impression."

------ Tasmania Yard -----

Outside the yard, prisoners were hanging out in the yard. Some are playing on the field, some are having a conversation on the seats and some are doing exercise with the exercise equipment. Sitting on the stands is Yuji Itadori with his friends, Megumi Fushiguro and Kisho Hashimoto. They were thrown in here due to their affiliation as they both in the same fighting gambling den.

"This sucks..." Kisho grumbles. "How long does it take?"

"Just shut up and wait, Kisho. It takes time." Megumi tells him to which Kisho pouts. Itadori Yuji, a young man with pink hair, nicknamed the Wild Tiger of the West has a diagonal scar between his two eyes and a small left labial commissure of the mouth. He is closing his eyes as he sighs, "It's fine, Fushiguro. Kisho has a right to worry. I can't believe that the police busted us though. My brother, Sukuna might find a way to get us out of here. We just need to keep our mouths shut and listen to the lawyers. That's what he told us." Itadori sighs.

"Hm." Megumi hums, "In the meantime...we have to-"

It was relatively peaceful until doors were burst open making the prisoners alert as some of them jumped.

"Ah shit...it's them, again." Said Kisho while Megumi nudged an eblow at his side, hushing him to be quiet or else they will get attention on them.

Six young men walked through the yard and already...the prisoners there are already looking down and not meeting their eyes.

"We have to deal with them." Megumi whispered to Itadori while the tiger looks towards the group. The Six Claws. A gang founded in prison. The six got the name as they are now the dangerous gang in this prison. He heard about them from his brother and even he told him to be careful.

He heard the stories about them from other prisoners.

Up first is Denji Hayakawa, a known pervert and is known for slaying demons for hire. He was sent here after he killed a mafia gnag that was known for illegally smuggling demon remains. Their partnership went south and Denji killed all of them after the mafia were turned into zombies. Itadori heard his main choice of weapon are chainsaws. He is very tenacious and scared off female officers from here with his lecherous nature.

"Hey! Out of the way! We're walking here!" Denji barked at the prisoners to which they became startled.

Second is Atsushi Nakajima, known as the White Tiger. Interestingly, Yuji heard that this guy can turn into a big monster tiger. A weretiger. He was sent here after killing a bunch of farm animals and harming a lot of people. He killed several poachers inside a forest he called home. "Now, now, there is no need for that, Denji." Atsushi said, patting him on the back. "You just need to show instead of tell." He smiles with closed eyes, looking towards the two prisoners with a look before opening his eyes that look to be a tiger's, scaring them off.

"W-we're sorry!" Cried the prisoners making Atsushi chuckle. A groan is heard behind the two.

"Hey you two. What if they don't listen? You two need to punch them if they don't get out of the way." Said another man who has a dark blue hair and has a black long tail. This man is named Rin Okumura aka Son of Satan. Known for beating up a lot of guys and sending them to the hospital with serious injuries. He fought a huge biker gang and he was the last one standing on a pile of knocked-out guys. One time, he was arrested for certain arson incidents and sent here. "What's wrong, man! Are you too tired after jacking off?! Rin asked Denji.

"Ha?!" Denji responded with annoyance. "I could of punch them but I don't feel like it, okay. I bet you didn't punch because you're so tired all the time."

"Fuck off, Denji." Rin rolls his eyes while another man wearing glasses as he had that cool exterior around him.

"What's so funny, four-eyes?!" Denji asked.

"Oh nothing."

"Ren...if you got something to say, say it!" Denji said. Ren Amamiya, known for being an infamous thief. A gentleman thief. He is good at stealing and he runs a band of thieves like himself called the Phantom Thieves of Heart. Since his arrest, nobody has found his gang or his stash of stolen treasures. That's why he was sent here. Some say that he's a kleptomaniac.

"Hey, you! You got a smoke?" A spiky blond with red eyes stares down a timid prisoner. A new fish. "I-I...no...sir. I don't. S-sorry." Said the new fish. The blond groans, "Shit, really? Oh well."

"Y-yes...really." The timid prisoner nodded with a nervous smile on his face. This got the blond to frown and his eyes narrowed. "What's so funny?"

"F-Funny?" The prisoner repeated, still wearing a nervous smile.

"Yeah. Are you happy that I won't get a smoke?"

"N-no, I-"

"So why do you have that stupid smile on your stupid face?!" The blond growled. The prisoner gulps, "I-well..you.."

"You what?! You shitty extra!" In the blink of an eye, Bakugo punches the prisoner in the gut before kicking him across the few inches, making the prisoner crash against the gym bars. The prisoner coughs.

"You two extras! Pick this fucking loser up and get him out of my sight!" Bakugo Katsuki ordered the prisoners that kneeled down to their friend. The two nodded, "Y-yes!"

The guard notices this but doesn't do anything because he knows that he is no match for Bakugo and the Six Claws. He is already nervous.

Bakugo Katsuki is known for having anger issues and works as a vigilante to round up criminals. The criminals he caught ended up suffering burns and some hearing loss. He was charged for his illegal activities such as property damage and assault. He's someone to watch out for. But Itadori knew that guy is the least of their troubles, his friend is another story. He is standing while he looks through his notes with a wry smile.

The greenette with the freckles hums, reading a book with a hum. From what he heard, Izuku Midoriya took down criminals and not only that, pro-heroes with questionable histories, a handful of them were killed. Everyone calls him the Second Stain the Hero-Killer. Itadori heard that Midoriya could take down anyone no matter what. He heard that he's scared off many guards from this prison with his deep analysis of people, mostly their names. He always has that glint in his eyes. Regardless, he's the leader of the group.

"Also hey Yuji!" Kisho goes to get Yuji's attention, "Did you hear? We're going to get new guards coming in!"

"Wonder how long they last?" Megumi muttered, drinking his coffee can. "The last one who looked after the Six Claws didn't last a week," Megumi recalled. "Plus I heard there's one assigned to you, Itadori."

"Wait...really?" Itadori blinked with a brow raised. This is going to be interesting. Soon, the recess will be over and there will be an announcement by Warden Kinie Ger. They must stay in the yard for further directions.

----- Five minutes later -----

All the prisoners gather in front of a stage, forming in lines of rows and columns in an orderly fashion. There is Warden Kinie Ger is standing and in the back, guards are standing. Izuku noticed that there were three new faces.

"Prisoners!! As all you heard, we have new guards!" Kinie Ger informs them, "Now I don't want any funny business like a few certain incidents!" Kinie Ger eyed Izuku especially while Izuku gave her an 'innocent' smile. Kinie Ger scoffs.

"Anyway here are your new guards so you can get some self-acquitance with them." Said Kinie Ger before snapping her fingers.

Three came forward. All three are beatiful young woman in prison guard uniforms and caps. Denji is already grinning, seeing new female guards! Rin gives a look of disgust seeing Denji's reaction while Ren and Atsushi remain indifferent. Bakugo looks like he didn't give a shit while Izuku hums in amusement.

First up is...

"The name is Kali Vin Shia!" Kali Vin Shia said with frown. The young woman has olive skin with golden undertones, as she has long wavy black hair and purple eyes. "I'm the officer from South Manhattan Precinct! Top of my class! And all of you maggots-" Megumi can't help roll his eyes. Yeah, she won't last in here. "Better not start shit with me! I know martial arts! So you better listen to what I said or else! I WILL PUT A FOOT UP YOUR ASS IF YOU DON'T FOLLOW FUCKING ORDERS!!"

Ren can't help but chuckle a little while Rin scoffs. The next up is..

"Hi there! Name's Jinx Violet!" Said the girl with a confident smile. Jinx has medium ivory skin with dark reddish brown hair. "I'm from North Manhattan Precent." She said. Midoriya notes the burned scars, on her elbow and arm. Not only that there appear to be tattoos on her upper arms.

"They look like...vines," Atsushi noted while Midoirya hums.

"As long as we get along, everything will be okay! It's nice to meet you all!" Jinx tells her with great confidence before taking a step back. Kinie Ger nods as if she approves of their introductions. Megumi hums and whispers, "She seems confident." He tells Itadori.

And the last one...

Ink gives a breather and walks forward, ready to give her introduction. However, what happens next is that nobody is prepared for.

"My name is Ink and-" As Ink took a step forward, she stepped on one of her shoelaces from her right shoe. Minutes ago earlier, Kali reminded her to tie her shoelaces before coming up stage but Ink told her that she will do them later. That choice alone to tie them later is her biggest mistake. She steps on her shoelaces and then trips.

Eh? Ink widens her eyes with a dumbfounded look.

Huh? The prisoners stared and what happened next was that Ink tripped, rolled across the stage, and fell from the stage, landing face-first against the ground with a huge thud with her legs dangling forward in the air while her arms were on the floor.

Kisho gasped while Megumi and Yuji winced at the sound of the impact. The Six Claws were in shock and surprise even Midoriya stared in surprised, slowly blinking. Huh? Did that just happen?

Already, other prisoners were going crazy.

"What the hell?!"

"What happened?!"

"She tripped!"

"She just fell off from the stage!!"

"Is she okay?!"

"Damn! She must of landed on her face!"

Kinie Ger sighed, facepalming and the guards were in shock Kali twitched an eye while Jinx gasped, "Ink! Are you okay?!" She yelled. "TALK TO MEEEE!" Jinx yelled in an almost dramatic fashion. Kali curses, "For fuck's sake, this is why I told you to tie your shoelaces!"

She stepped on her untied shoelaces and that's what caused her to trip and fall from her stage??? Atsushi heard this as he didn't believe this.

The prisoners wonder if she is right because it sounds like it hurts from the sound of it. The commotion ceased when they heard a groan from the fallen female guard.

"HIII!" Ink goes to recover by rolling on the side and doing a backflip, "Sorry! The name is Ink! I will be assigned to this prison and watch over you! I'm from the Upstate..and I can't remember!" Ink said with a smile while there was a trickling of blood from her nose. "It's nice to meet you all!" Which got the guards and some of the prisoners almost startled and concerned.

"Uh...officer....you're bleeding!" Kisho yelled. Ink blinks, "Bleeding?" She licked her lips and wiped some blood from her nose with her fingers.

"Oh! Ow...." Ink said blankly with a smile.

OW?! All the guards and prisoners stared at her, hearing that. What's up with that late delay reaction?!

"Anyway! This is fine! Nice to meet you!" Ink waves while Kinie Ger shakes her head. "I will be always here if you need me!"

Six Claws watches her leave, thinking this girl can't be serious about working here, right? Already, they can guess that the guard they will get is Kali based on her attitude. If only they knew.

----- In Holding Cells -----

The Six Claws just found out that Officer Vanguard is assigned to them much to their surprise.

"What the hell is Warden Ger thinking?" Rin asked, tussling his own hair. "She can't be serious about assigning that clumsy lady to us! Did she even read the profiles on us?!"

"I heard from an outside source that Officer Vanguard did and still took the job. From what I heard, Officer Vanguard is top of her class as well and is recommended for this assignment apparentlty.." Ren pushes his glasses up.

"Top of her class? I mean...we all just watch that she just tripped over her untied shoelaces and fell off from the stage, right? This can't be right." Atsushi asked, sweatdropped. "There is no way..."

"As long as she's cute and pretty with those boobs of hers, I'm fine with this!" Denji exclaimed, not seeing a problem. Rin rolls his eyes, "Of course, that's what you thinking, you damn moron!" Rin shouted angrily.

"Who is she, anyway Ren?" Atsushi asked.

"From what I heard about her due to my outside source, she is called Van Ink the Dragon." Ren said. Everyone became silent as they heard that name. "Hold on...." Rin begins, "Isn't that the one who took down several bad guys and worked on a major case taking down that infamous demon hunter, Megan?!"

"Yes! Not only that, she took care of that corrupt pro-hero case and took down a terrorist too." Atsushi added. "We are talking about the same one that was up on that stage? That Van Ink the Dragon?!"

"That's the one and only." Ren nods.

"Woah...she's sexy and sounds freaking awesome!" Denji grinned. Now he can't wait to see her again and up close.

"Fuck that!" Bakugo shouted, getting everyone's attention. "There is no way...that damn extra is the Van Ink the Dragon and some prison guard! This can't be for real."

"Like what the fuck? There is no way that she is our prison guard, right, Deku?" Bakugo refers to his friend by his nickname. Midoriya hums.

"Let's see. This new batch of guards is already interesting, enough. I wonder what powers do they have? Officer Ink already showed me that she is strong." Midoriya smiles slyly. "So if she is what the stories said, then I can't wait to see her again.

And see what she's made of. Midoriya chuckles micheviously.

This prison just got interesting, alright.

To be Continued....????

[revasserium]

Zoro and the hunter's heart (as, you know, he's a former pirate hunter... nudge nudge)

send me one + a character and i'll write u a drabble

a hunter's heart

opla!zoro; 6,553 words; fairytale retelling!au, fem!reader, no "y/n", hunter!zoro, fluff and angst (only a bit), hurt/comfort (kinda), mentions of witches and magic and curses

summary: there are some stories that the world can't stop telling

a/n: i should know better by now than to think an opla zoro fic could be anything but too involved... ╮(￣▽￣"")╭ tagging @dira333 bc its ur request and @bby-deerling bc u were kind enough to ask <3

It is a sordid tale, to hear the villager’s old witch tell it — one near and dear as the rise of the sun in the east, the set of the moon in the west, old as time itself. Because you see, there are some stories so ancient and so integral to the world that it bears, nay demands, retelling, reliving. Stories so stanch and certain that they wear groves into the truth of the world by the tracks they trail, over and over and over again. Stories that the world can never stop telling, no matter how hard it might want to or try.

This is one such tale.

“Take her into the forest — and bring me back her heart,” commanded the Queen.

The hunter had knelt before his queen and bowed his head, his swords heavy at his side. Inside his chest, his own heart was thundering, thundering. A storm brewing within the depths of his soul. But he’d schooled his expression straight and taken his orders.

You were nothing more than a kitchen maid, but you had the most beautiful voice he’d ever heard. All morning, he could hear it echoing through the cool stone halls as you went about your baking of the day’s fresh bread, your churning of the week’s soft butter. He’d lean against the wall just outside the kitchens to listen, to let the music of your voice wash over the ragged edges of his soul, to soothe his frayed ends, to mend what parts might have been broken.

Sometimes, he’d find himself wandering toward the gardens in the back of the castle grounds just to catch an echo of your voice near the wells, where he knows you’ll be in the early afternoons, collecting water for the day’s dinner service. Sometimes, he thinks he can hear it over the clink and clash of swords as he spars with his fellow knights and hunters, and he’d catch himself slowing, almost stilling, and those are the only times anyone’s ever managed to get the upper hand on him.

“C’mon doll, give us another tune.”

“Yeah, sweetheart, sing us a sea shanty! Or another one of your show tunes!”

Zoro frowns as he rounds the corner one day to find a few young knights leaning against the castle wall, towering over where you’re standing, a half-filled bucket of water clutched in your hands. He’s about to intervene when he hears the sound of splashing water, and a second later, the young knights are stumbling back, squawking with indignation as you huff, wiping your hands daintily on your apron.

“So sorry, seems like my hand’s slipped —” you drop into a rather sardonic curtsy before marching passed the stunned young men, leaving them blinking and drenched in your wake. Zoro chuckles, the sound making both of them whirl around, color rising ruddy into their cheeks. They sober immediately as they meet Zoro’s eyes.

He cocks an eyebrow, looking them over.

“S-sorry sir… we just — we were uh —”

“Just leaving,” the second knight supplies as he grabs the first by the arm and tugs him back out into the courtyard.

Zoro watches them go with a muted amusement twisting his lips before turning back to find you peering up at him with a bright, steely light in your eyes. Your shoulder is pressed to the edge of the wall, your body half-hidden behind it as if you’re uncertain of what he might do. As if you’re uncertain of him.

“Sorry about them…” Zoro dips his head, suddenly very aware of how he must seem to you — just another one of the Queen’s toy soldiers, gilded in gold, touched by the sly silver of her cool, slithering magic. Would you think he’d be like them — like those bumbling idiots who couldn’t tell a board sword from a longsword? Who thought braveness and bravado one and the same? And suddenly, the thought that you might sickens him, and he swallows hard, hurrying to explain.

“Not all of us are…” Zoro’s voice trails off as he casts about for the right word — idiots? “Like them”? Neither seems to do it all justice.

He watches as you take half a step out from behind the stone wall’s cover and drop into a slight curtsey.

“I know.” And there’s a bright sheen to the soft whisper of your voice, a certainty that Zoro can’t quite place. And he knew then as he knows now that you — you are just a bit different. Just a bit more than he’d ever given you thought or credit for. Perhaps that was his mistake — he makes a mental note not to make it again.

“I know you’re not…” you wave a light hand towards where the other two knights had stumbled away, and the pinkness in your cheeks makes Zoro’s stomach do a few choice flips he’d never remembered his own stomach capable of till now.

There’s a moment’s pause, and then — you both break into laughter at the same time — him, a tad self-conscious, you, unbidden and bright as birdsong.

“You have a beautiful voice.”

“Your sparring form is really nice.”

You both speak at the same time, and in the startled quiet that stretches right after, Zoro finds himself held still by the weight of your eyes, the heaviness of your gaze as it rests on him, wide and startled and… almost pleased. He clears his throat and tries again —

“I hear you all the time —”

“I see you sometimes —”

It happens again, and when you both pause this time, he can see the burgeoning smile threatening to spill over your petal-pink lips; he can feel his own smile breaking like ice in spring’s first thaw.

“I don’t know much about music but —”

“It looks like you’re dancing —”

By the third time, Zoro’s starting to wonder if you’re doing this on purpose, or perhaps he is — because what wouldn’t he do to keep on basking in the sunshine of your laughter, to soak in the brilliance of your smile? What stars and moons and planets wouldn’t conspire to align just for another chance to glance into the midnight dark of your eyes, as depthless as any sea, as wide as any self-respecting night?

“Well —” Zoro clears his throat; you purse your lips and wait for him to finish, “I’ve never danced…”

Mischief hinges on the edge of your smile as you peer up at him through your lashes, “You should try it sometime. I hear it’s quite the workout.”

And there’s something singing beneath the sweetness of your voice that hints at a darker, more intimate meaning to the word dance, but Zoro stops himself before his mind can unspool entirely. He sucks in a breath and chews over the words now sitting solid and unwieldy on his tongue —

“I’ve always thought dancing… required music and —” he swallows and forces his sentence onward like shepherding a stubborn and reluctant bull, “a partner.”

You let your held lilt sideways, watching him like a bird on a branch might consider a squirrel on the ground.

“It’s just… I’ve never quite had either before,” he hurries to explain, feeling heat creeping into his cheeks and finally, he forces his eyes away from you, glancing up towards the piercingly blue sky, completely devoid of clouds. He curses inwardly, his eyes wandering for something — anything — to latch onto that’s not you and your mesmerizing eyes, with the universe caught behind them, or your lips, shaped so much like the answer to a question he hadn’t realized he’d been asking for his whole, entire life.

He watches as you square your shoulders and take a half-step into his personal space, just the tips of your toes grazing into the proximity of too close and at the same time not nearly close enough — then, you dip into a curtsey, lowering your eyes so he has nothing to ground himself on except for the brief breath of your skin, the waft of your hair sweeping down over your shoulders, smelling so much like cotton and milk, salt and honey.

“But now, from where I’m standing…” you look up, and your smile is so much poisoned apples and cyanide, “you’ve got both, don’t you?”

Zoro sucks in a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his head spinning for a second too long and he almost stumbles. Almost. But he catches himself, and when he does, his body moves as a marionette on a string — as if his arms and legs already knew what his mind had for so long kept from him —

He dips into a bow, sweeping one arm over his stomach, the other out to the side. And there’s no dull, discordant clank of armor because hunters and soldiers are made different. Fighters, both, but hunters require a different kind of bloodlust, are a different strain of heartless.

You let out a soft laugh and Zoro wonders if there’s any better music in the world as he offers you his hand. You take it, and he draws your body near with reverent palms, exhaltant fingers — he can almost feel the wild birdwing beat of your heart fluttering in your chest, supplemented by the thundering of his own much more well-trained heartbeat, but even so, the dull pulse of it makes him feel heady with excitement — thump, thump, thump.

And slowly, ever so slowly, the pair of you begin to dance. At first, just to the soft inhale and exhale of your breaths and his. And then, you smile up at him, a startling, chest-piercing, swan-song thing — as you begin to sing.

His first step is hesitant, and the second less so. By the third, Zoro feels his shoulders flattening out and his chest rising as he clasps your palms against his and takes the lead. You let him, with a tinkling laugh, your smile light and bright as daybreak. Your feet skip like pebbles across a mirror lake, and by the time he lets you go, the midday sun is beating down over the castle grounds and the lunch bell is ringing off in the distance. You skip out of his reach and drop into another curtsey —

“Seems like it’s past time for me to go.”

“But —” Zoro bites back the urge to chase after you, his body surging forward to try and stay within the warmth of your orbit.

“Tomorrow,” you breathe, your cheeks a bit too pink, grinning up at him with mischief in your eyes, “after the morning meal… I think I might have some more water to collect.”

You shoot him a meaningful wink as you sweep by him, humming beneath your breath as you go. You brush by him with a sweep of skirt-tails, and it’s a full minute before Zoro can form a coherent thought, whipping around to see the shadow of you disappearing around the corner of the long corridor that leads down to the kitchens.

Up above, neither of you sees the Queen with her blood-red nails clicking against the wide windowsill, her eyes trailing the shape of Zoro as he sucks in a long breath, and shakes himself, before heading back to the training grounds, his earrings catching the afternoon light in a series of gold-gilded sparks.

The next day, Zoro finds you dancing to a two-step by yourself, a bucket of water propped on your hip, the late morning sun caressing your skin like a lover’s fingers. And he finds himself held still by the sight of you, your eyes closed, your body swaying to the rhythm and breath of the earth, the sound of your voice filling the air as water might an already-full glass — spilling over and over till it soaks the earth between you both.

He clears his throat, and you open your eyes. You smile.

Almost sheepishly, he offers you a hand. You take it, and the half-filled bucket is left to teeter precariously on the well’s stone-worn edge as you laugh, letting Zoro pull you in, his palm pressing to the bend of your waist, fingers skimming the small of your back.

Three days, you dance. Three days of blissful mornings and sun-soaked afternoons. Three nights of moonlit walks and roses dipped in starlight.

Because the best things in the world always come in threes — but it just so happens that so do the worst.

Zoro feels his skin crawling when he receives the summons from the Queen. There is only one reason the Queen would summon a hunter like him — she’s found something (or someone) worthy of being hunted. He prays it will not take him away for long.

“Zoro…” the Queen purrs, barely turning to look at him as he bows his head, holding the pose for three beats before straightening. She reaches up to grace her fingers over the edges of an ornate mirror hanging on her wall — a mirror she covets. Zoro has seen its magic, the dull, rough-edged ache thrumming through the earth and the air like poison. He schools his expression into one of flat disinterest as he squares his shoulders.

“Your Highness.”

“I trust you’re familiar with my mirror?”

Zoro makes a soft noise of consent, cold slipping down his spine like cool fingers.

“Then… I trust you know what it does?” the Queen asks, peering at him through it’s dark, onyx reflection.

Zoro glances down, “I can’t say I do, Your Highness.”

“Well then, I’d say you’re in for a treat today —” she chuckles, the sound soft and slithering, her painted lips twisting up in a cruel smirk, “this is a magic mirror, you see… and it’s magic… tells the truth —”

Zoro remains quiet, waiting, waiting.

“Mirror, mirror…”

Zoro feels the air around him condensing, the temperature dropping as the heat siphons from the room into the mirror. The darkened surface swirls with a sickly, purple light before a pallid face appears, empty eye sockets and a hollow mouth. The skeletal reflection peers imperiously back up at the image of the Queen standing before it.

“… tell me, who is the fairest in all the land?”

The Queen preens in front of the mirror, and Zoro feels his stomach filling with lead weight at her question.

Once upon a time, he’d met a kindly old witch in the woods. Her hut had been made of something that looked curiously like gingerbread, and the flowers that decorated her windowsill had glimmered with the shine of tempered sugar. He had offered to help her carry a basket of waxy red apples from the market to her hut and in return, she’d offered him the answer to one question.

“What… exactly is magic?” he’d asked, young and uncertain.

She’d laughed a laugh that might’ve once been high and imperious but then had only sounded like an amused old woman faced with a question she hadn’t quite expected.

“Magic… well — I’ll tell you this — magic is always more than meets the eye, and never what it promises.”

Zoro had blinked, frowning as she’d peered up at him with a pair of mismatched eyes — one milky and filmed over, the other dark as crow’s feathers.

“What does… that mean?”

“It means… that sometimes, magic lies. Sometimes… magic only tells you what you want to hear. Sometimes, magic is more about what you think is true because in the end… that’s the only truth that matters.”

The magic mirror contemplates the Queen’s question as Zoro stands behind her, holding his breath.

“There is but one fairer than Your Highness —”

Zoro’s vision tunnels, the voice of the mirror thickening around him as if his head were suddenly submerged in water. Heat creeps up the back of his neck like spider’s legs, quick and skittering, and he knows the answer before the mirror says your name.

“I see…” the Queen muses, though Zoro can hear the hard edge in her voice, the light catching on it like a twisting blade as she turns back around to face him. And she is beautiful, there’s no denying — the Queen’s face was, up until very recently, what Zoro had thought true beauty must be like.

He’d understood it only in the most abstract, academic sense — beauty — had only ever nodded when the other knights and hunters had wolf-whistled at the rosy-cheeked maids that dotted the castle, scattered along the halls like handfuls of sugar.

The first time he saw the Queen, he’d wondered at the perfect proportions of her eyes and nose, the dark, certain arch of her brows, the cruel tug at the ends of her painted lips and he’d thought — ah, is this what all the fuss is about?

But then he’d seen you, hadn’t he? And your face — he knows it is not perfect, he’s leaned in close enough to see the texture that mars your cheeks, the way one side of your mouth always lilts up first in a smile, the flecks that adorn your eyes like lost shards of sunlight caught beneath your lashes —

Beautiful, he’d thought.

Later, he wonders if that moment might’ve been your doom.

“Take her into the forest,” the Queen says, smiling her cruel, cruel smile as she watches Zoro lower his head, “and bring me back her heart.”

Zoro swallows hard as he bows.

You are waiting for him the next morning, just after breakfast, your hands laced behind your back, an empty bucket resting precariously along the edge of the well.

“No dancing today,” Zoro says, his voice clipped and low, his gaze darting away toward the darkness of the forest behind you. You blink up at him before following his gaze.

“Then… will you accompany me on a walk?”

Zoro frowns, nearly wincing away from you as you lean in, grinning your sly fox’s grin.

“But…”

“Oh, don’t tell me a hunter like you’s scared of the forest.” You dance away from him before he can protest, reaching for the bucket and propping it on your right hip, “C’mon, I promised the head cook I’d pick some berries for the feast tonight. Didn’t you hear? The Queen’s finally found a spell for eternal youth and beauty.”

Zoro stares after you as you pick your way across the garden, making for the wrought-iron gates that separate the castle grounds from the wilderness beyond.

“A spell for…” Zoro’s frown deepens as you glance at him over your shoulder with a sad little smile.

“They say the Queen was cursed by a powerful witch to always search for that which she can never have.”

Zoro keeps behind you as you meander into the shadow of the trees, seemingly following a trail only you can see, occasionally stopping to bend over a burst of bright red berries, picking a few and tossing them into your bucket before pressing one to your lips. He watches as berry juice dark as blood tints your lips and trickles down the edge of your mouth.

“Did you know… that there are only three ways to break a witch’s curse? One is for the witch herself to lift the curse.”

Here in the darkness of the forest, your eyes shine like twin stars.

“Another is to kill the witch and all those who cared for her.”

Here in the darkness of the forest, the lopsided lilt of your smile flashes white, and sharp, dripping dark red —

Zoro’s sword is in his hand before he realizes, and suddenly, every twig-snap and leaf-rustle sets his bones on edge. The wind tastes sweet on his tongue, swirls thick with magic as he whirls around, searching for the silhouette of you and finding nothing but endless, pressing dark.

“Zoro?” your voice nearly makes him stumble as he twists around, eyes wide, chest heaving, only to find the tip of his sword resting against the delicate hyphen of your clavicle. Your breath hitches, soft as he’d always remembered it, but you don’t pull away; you don’t even flinch as you stare up at him, as if waiting for him to do something.

“Are you going to kill me?” your voice is low and smooth, without a single flicker of fear.

Zoro’s grip loosens as he forces himself to pull back. He hisses out a breath and shakes loose his shoulders.

“No,” he says, his own voice coarse, clipped, “I’m not. But —”

“Oh good — that would’ve made things rather awkward for our date.”

Zoro gapes as you laugh, twirling around to continue on your way through the forest. He hastens after you a few seconds later, brushing aside low-hanging branches and shouldering passed thicker bits of underbrush.

“D-date?”

“Mhm,” you hum, sounding very pleased as you lead him on, and on, and on, “you wouldn’t want to miss it — grandma’s baking pie.”

“What… ” but his words trail off once more as you turn and make towards a clearing that he’s certain wasn’t there a moment ago — a clearing with a tiny hut that looks as if it’s made of gingerbread. The flowers on the windowsill glitter jewel-bright and candy-hard.

“My grandma’s house,” you say, smiling as you push through the door with your bucket of blood-red berries still perched on your hip.

Zoro’s frown carves ever harder into his brows as he follows after you on hesitant feet, though he can’t help the way his muscles loosen the second he steps over the small hut’s threshold and catches a whiff of something wonderful in the air — cinnamon and sugar and apples.

“Ah, you’ve made it just in time!” the old witch looks up from where she’s tending a vast fire that casts the entire hut in a warm, ethereal glow. Zoro glances back at the open patch of cloudless blue sky somehow visible in a small gap between the trees before stepping in.

“Apple pie again, grandma?”

“Your favorite,” the old witch replies with a grin as you set the bucket on the small wooden table, “And I see you’ve brought a guest, though…” the old witch’s single black eye catches the firelight as she peers are Zoro, still standing just inside the doorway.

“It’s nice to see you again, young man.”

Zoro bows, rather awkwardly, and though it’s been many years since he’d helped the old woman with her apples, she looks exactly the same. He can’t say quite the same for himself.

“Come, sit! Have some berry wine,” you say, ushering Zoro towards the table, where you’ve somehow replaced the bucket with two jars of red liquid that glimmers like garnets in the flickering firelight. You pour a glass and nudge it towards Zoro, who simply stares, trying very hard to wrap his head around what must be happening.

A dull, thrumming ache is gathering at the base of his skull, but the pie smells so sweet and the wine looks ever so tantalizing.

He reaches out and takes a sip, letting the cool liquid slip down his throat. He feels it slither through him, sending tiny pin-pricks of heat trailing along his limbs as he swallows.

“Ah… so he’s not like the rest of them.”

He blinks down at the wine in his cup for a second more before you reach out and tug it from his hand. A soft palm cups his cheek and forces his face up. He meets your eyes and finds them searching.

“You weren’t lying… you really hadn’t planned on killing me.”

You sound almost surprised as your grandma chuckles behind you, the noise like the clack of old stones against one another.

“I told you he was different,” the old witch says, slowly slicing a bit of pie and putting it on a plate.

“All men think they’re different,” you say, your voice resigned as you take the slice of pie and set it in front of Zoro, “Right, now eat — it’ll make you feel better. I’m sorry about that… just… you can never be sure.”

The old witch tuts, shaking her head, “A broken heart is it’s own kind of curse, you know.”

Zoro blearily takes a bite of cake and feels his senses returning to him one by one; he takes stock of them as if he’d forgotten entirely that he’d lost them in the first place. As he chews and swallows once, twice — by the third time he can feel the tightness in his muscles returning as panic and confusion flood his system.

He jerks up from the table and reaches for his sword.

“Please, there’s no need for that,” you say, though you sound hesitant as you hold up a hand, your expression earnest as you take half a step back.

“What the hell did you do to me?” he seethes, looking between you and the old witch, uncertain of who to aim his anger at.

“I had to be sure,” you say again, your voice imploring as you inch forward, “Please, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Yeah well —” Zoro gulps past the dryness in his mouth as he narrows his eyes, “You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

You wince ever so slightly, looking away, “No, you’re right but… please,” you say again, and the word works like magic as it settles over Zoro’s shoulders. He wonders if it’s actual magic, but no — there’s no strange sweetness in the air, no thick fog threatening to cloud over his judgment.

“It might be quicker to show him,” the old witch suggests, still watching the pair of you with her one oil-black eye, sounding pleasant and entirely unfazed.

“Right… yes —” you sigh, motioning for the door, “The sty is just out behind the hut — you can go out first if you’d like,” you offer.

Zoro looks between you and the door before inching back and edging open the door with his foot, keeping his eyes fixed on you as you follow him with light, muted movements.

The air outside is crisp and cool and Zoro can’t help sucking in a breath as he steps out from the halo of the firelit hut. Grass crunches beneath his feet, birds sing overhead. There’s the lingering heat of magic still crackling in the air, but when his gaze falls back onto you, he finds you no less lovely than he’d done the first time.

“This way,” you say, rounding the edge of the hut and leading him towards a sizeable pigsty that he’d completely failed to notice the first time he’d been here as a young boy.

A looming sense of dread calcifies in the base of his stomach as he approaches the pigsty on heavy feet. The pigs all jostle against one another, snorting and snuffling with their noses pressed into the long feeding pen. From the pockets of your skirt, you produce a handful of bright red berries and toss it into the pen. Zoro watches with mixed fascination and mounting horror as the pigs tumble over each other to forage for the fruit in the dried hay and mud.

“Have you ever heard the saying that… there are some stories the world never stops telling?” your voice is quiet and sad as you reach over to skim your knuckles along the pale pink snout of a snorting pig.

And suddenly, Zoro understands — he doesn’t know if it was a trick of the light or perhaps the magic still working its way through his system but the understanding comes like a rainstorm, a few tiny droplets before the downpour. And were he a weaker man, he might’ve back and tried to make a run for it. But instead, he stands and stares with a strange pity welling up inside him at the lolling tongues and flopping ears.

“These were all men — hunters,” he says, his words slow at first, but picking up speed as he continues to speak, “Who tried to lure you into the wood to —”

“To kill me, yes, so that they could give the Queen my heart. Because you see, the heart of a witch would give her what she so desperately desires —”

“Eternal youth,” Zoro breathes.

“And the first time, I was heartbroken,” you turn away from him, pressing a hand to your heart, “But I managed to get away. And instead of going back empty-handed to face the Queen’s wrath, the hunter caught a wild boar in the forest and cut out its heart instead. Only — an old she-wolf had been hunting the boar for days, and was robbed of a meal. She and I… we came across each other and I was so — so hurt that I offered her my heart in return for putting me out of my misery.”

Zoro presses his lips as your words rush from you in a great wave, pieces of truths crystalizing before him even as they continue to shatter the world he thought he’d known.

“She told me then that… no man is worth dying for, especially not one who would lie to you just to steal your heart. And she offered to teach me —” you wave a hand at the pigsty, “And the rest…”

The soft silence that stretches between you is thin and pained. You cradle your hands to your chest as if trying to stem the hurt of some unspeakable heartbreak.

“And… the wine?” he asks.

Your face lifts and a strike of that familiar, mischievous light returns to your eyes as you grin.

“That was something I brewed up on my own — if the drinker bears me any ill intentions, then it’ll turn them into something a bit more… fitting of their true hearts. But if not then…” you grace him with a soft smile, “Then it’ll only ever just be wine, though a bit on the stronger side.”

“Yeah, a bit.”

A brief silence falls between the pair of you as the sky above begins to shift from blue to a soft lavender.

“You said… the first time,” Zoro says, curiosity now burgeoning from beneath the receding shock of the day, “Do you make a habit of luring men into the woods, then?”

You scoff, “Luring? Hardly. Magic can only do so much, and though the odd enchanted trinket will sell well at the monthly market, people still tend to be wary around witches.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Zoro says dryly, his eyes flickering toward the sty where the pigs, finally satisfied that there are no more berries to be found, have settled into the thick stacks of hay, grumbling and snorting.

You allow him a derisive smile, “Yes well — a girl and her grandmother still have to eat and bathe, and you can only stand so much apple pie before it starts to get a little old. So… I keep a job at the castle. Believe it or not, serving a self-obsessed Queen pays well. And all those… men —” you force out the word like spitting out poison, “Had seemed… good. At least at first.”

Zoro remains quiet as you pause, looking down at your own hands. It’s the first time he notices the light calluses that mar your palms, not so different from his own. He wonders at the smoothness of the handles on the wooden bucket you’d carried so easily through the woods, at how long it must’ve taken for a pair of hands like yours to wear them down so. The old witch’s words echo in his mind — a broken heart is it’s own kind of curse.

“Is that how you got so good at dancing?” he asks.

You grin, giving him a sidelong glance, “Perhaps.”

Zoro sighs, tilting his head back to look at the small patch of visible sky, now a deep, bruising purple.

“So. Now what?”

You echo his sigh, looking up as well, “You can go back, if you’d like.”

“And what? Tell the Queen that you got away?”

Your smile hardens ever so slightly, “Or, you could kill something else in the forest and offer her it’s heart instead.”

“But wouldn’t she know? After she ate it and doesn’t gain eternal youth?”

You shrug, looking away, “You’d be surprised what a person can trick themselves into believing, if they just try hard enough.”

Zoro nods, letting his eyes fall back down to his hand, resting idle against the hilt of his sword.

“Or, I could stay.”

He doesn’t know what makes him say it — and perhaps it was the darkness of the forest, the close, flustered whisper of the leaves, or perhaps it was the lingering sweetness of your home-brewed wine and the tantalizing smell of magic and cinnamon still in the air. But he says it, and he finds that even the strange, still shocked moment after, he doesn’t regret it.

“You… you want to stay?”

He doesn’t think he’s ever heard you sound so uncertain before.

“Why not? I can’t go back and…” he motions at the hut and the soft ring of warm firelight seeping out from the tiny windows, “The wine’s not bad.”

And perhaps for the first time, Zoro thinks, he sees you smile — a smile that isn’t sharp and full of hidden teeth. A smile that’s helpless and hopeful and just a little bit pained. He smiles back and hopes —

“C’mon then… you can help with the fire. And carry the water.”

“Hn. But you seemed so good at it.”

You shoot him a slight pout as the pair of you duck back into the hut to the smell of roasting vegetables.

There are some stories the world can never stop telling, stories so old that the sing harmony to the very tuning of the universe.

Once upon a time, there was a wolf, a grandmother, and a girl in the woods. Once upon a time, an old witch built a house of gingerbread to lure in the lives of unheedful children. Once upon a time, there was a Queen with a magic mirror. Once upon a time, a witch lived alone in a secluded hut and lured men to her table only to turn them into the pigs they’d always been inside.

Once upon a time, a boy asked a girl to dance.

Once, a boy told the truth and the girl didn’t believe him, because all the boys who’d broken her heart before had given her no reason not to. And a heart can only be broken so many times before it, too, gets tired.

Once, she thought that broken hearts could never be mended.

But she should’ve known that stories, like the magic they hold, very rarely tell the truth. Or perhaps, they too only tell the truths that the listener wants to hear, or is ready to hear. Never more, never less.

So, here is another story — one that’s not so frequently told, but is just as true as the others —

Once, there was a boy who was born with a sword in his hand, who had never know that his body could hold so much music or laughter. Then, he met a girl with the most beautiful voice in all the land, and he, like so many before him, fell in love. Only, the girl had been hurt by all those before him, and no longer trusted the words of boys with sword-hilt smiles and rough, callused fingers. But when he asked her to dance, she agreed anyway, and when she introduced him to her grandmother and offered him wine, he did not hesitate. Instead, he asked if he could stay the night.

That was a long, long time ago.

There will always be another girl with a pretty voice and a viper’s smile at the castle beyond the woods, and always another young knight too eager to please his Queen. There will always be apples at the morning market and magic in the air. But perhaps the pieces don’t fall right where they ought to; perhaps they never did. Perhaps the stories we tell are only ever stories.

“You told me once that there were three ways to lift a curse,” Zoro asks one day, a wooden bucket in one hand, three swords strapped to his opposite hip.

“Mhm,” you hum, not looking up from the large pot of soup bubbling over the fire, a song threading beneath your breath as you sway back and forth.

Zoro grunts as he puts the bucket on the worn wooden table, walking over to slip an around your middle and hook his chin over your shoulder. You laugh as you let yourself be pulled back into his embrace.

“You only ever told me two.”

“Ah… right —” you smile, a smile that is no longer jagged but worn soft around the edges, as if all the sharpness has been smoothed over by years and years of tenderness, years and years of trust, of love.

“So?”

“So…” you place down the wooden spoon and turn to face him, placing your hands on his shoulders as his large, callused palms settle around your waist. The pair of you sway to a song that only the two of you can hear, a song that sings harmony to the very tuning of the universe.

“The third way to break a curse is the easiest… but also the hardest way, depending on who you are,” you say, smiling and swaying in Zoro’s arms. Like this, you can see the late afternoon light as it pours through the small window and catches on the dull gold of his triplet earrings.

“It’s a simple thing, really,” you say, as Zoro leans down to press his forehead to yours, your breaths dancing in the negative space between your bodies. Outside, an old witch sits on a rocking chair and admires the sunset. Occasionally, she reaches into her skirt pockets for a handful of berries to toss into the pigsty to her right.

“Oh yeah? How simple?” Zoro asks.

“Why…” you lean up on your tiptoes, your nose brushing his, your lips mere inches apart. Behind you, bottles and bottles of home-brewed wine sit along the mantle of the great stone fireplace, the color bright and true and freshly spilled blood.

“It’s as simple as a kiss from your one true love, of course.”

[figkeele]

2022 in fics

So I will do my favorite lists also here not just on other social media sites (well if you can call the Hungarian "GoodReads" a social media site...)

But because I don't think I'm gonna finish any more fics this year, I wanna look back on my own writing, and yes! List them! Because I wrote them and I am still hecking proud that while battling with a serious medical condition (and my mom's cancer diagnosis) I still managed to write.

Super cool, I’m proud of these

So the first category is the fics that I’m proud of and I think they did very well:

Wishing You'd Be Mine (Spider-Man Video Games) Miles/Peter, written for the small fandom big bang, this is the fic I am the proudest of because I just showed myself I can finish something long. Also helped me a lot to learn to edit and hone my skills. Apart from the adventure I had with my non-artist here, this fic has a special place in my heart, being my first foray into the fandom, with the most niche ship ever, I never hoped for the warm reception it got!

Yeah, this year this is my only big achievement, but I'm okay with it.

But wait, there’s more…

Pretty decent

Next up are fics that I really like and had some reader interaction:

2. someone I can't live without (Spider-Man Video Games) Miles/Peter, written for the Domaystic event, was a challenge to get myself back to writing after spending so much time in hospitals. It's basically a drabble sequence and pure fluff.

You know what? These are pretty niche

They didn’t get a lot of traction but I still love them, and I had to realize at this point that I’m mostly writing the rarest of rare pairs. (Which is no surprise, of course...)

3. Love is Yellow (Life is Strange: True Colors) Alex/Ryan/Steph, this ship just ate my brain when I finished the game, and I really wanted to see everyone together, hence this fluff piece. Tried to write more for them, but honestly, I just got into so many ships, I'm not sure I'll finish any other WIPs for them. Which is a shame.

4. Take My Heart (Horizon: Zero Dawn/Forbidden West) Aloy/Alva, written for the HC exchange, I found my people who ship Aloy/Alva!

5. Curse of Night (Hades Game) Hypnos/Zagreus, written for the Goreswap exchange, the hardest thing I've ever written. The recip had so many good prompts and I have like a dozen WIPs started, but nothing got into real horror territory, apart from this. I know it's niche due to the body horror but 🤷‍♀️

6. Focal Point (Plague Tale) Lucas/Amicia, look I was the gal who shipped Amicia with EVERYONE in Innocence, and to this day I can't even process I got a gift where all my ships lived happily ever after. I was very meh going into the game because the reviews said that the old gang (meaning Lucas and Beatrice) is switched out, and I wanted my Lumicia content if I couldn't have Mélie back. And the game fed me so well, I finally managed to finish a Plague Tale fic. There are more coming, right now I have two WIPs, but real life will decide how I'll progress.

Why don’t you love me?

These fics are not bad but somehow they got crickets.

7. I'm lost and it kills me (Spider-Man Video Games) Miles/Peter, written for a HC prompt, I know it might be too niche, but I still love it.

8. Fear Is for the Weak (Hades Game) Achilles & Zagreus, written for a drabble exchange. It's gen, it's a drabble, I'm not shocked it didn't get any readership.

9. can we say that we love each other (Spider-Man Video Games) Felicia/MJ, written for the AU exchange, you see I can write something else than Peter/Miles, but it's femslash, so... I still love this ship, and I might write something else for them.

10. Keeping the Faith (Frostpunk) gen, written for a drabble exchange.

The absolute flop

Okay, not to rag on my writing. I love these too, but let's face it, they are beyond niche or just short. 🤷‍♀️

11. Stay With You (Life is Strange: True Colors) Alex/Ryan, written for a drabble exchange, it's a sweet short fluff.

12. Come Back and Haunt Me (Marvel's Midnight Suns) Fem!Hunter/Peter, what can I say? The FIRST fic in the fandom. I binged the game, and honestly, I would just read all the happy poly fix-it fics for it. But because it's a long game, and a niche one at that, I don't think it'll have such a big fic presence. So I took matters into my own hand and wrote this half fix-it. I still think I will write an epic long fix-it where everyone lives happily ever after, even if no one reads it.

I mean all in all it was a good year, a dozen fics! Short, long, and everything in between! But the most fun thing is: I'VE ONLY WRITTEN FOR VIDEO GAMES THIS YEAR! Hell yeah!

[the-teddy-bear-butch]

Just gonna drop this and run <33

The Righteous Hand of God || Wild West Ronance Drabble || 1003 words

(inspired by Hell’s Coming With Me by Poor Man’s Poison)

_________________

Red eyes. A flash of fangs.

The tang of blood in the air.

A dead man, with Robin’s fangs sunk into his throat.

These were the images that flashed through Nancy’s mind as she sat at the bar, blue eyes focused on Robin Buckley’s rhythmically swaying form. The outlaw had her head thrown back with laughter, boots stomping as she and the rest of the patrons of the saloon danced. The band was playing some jaunty tune.

Nancy scowled at the sight. She scowled even deeper at the way her chest panged with desperate want to join Buckley on the floor. Her grip on her now empty glass tightened, a soft crack only her ears could hear the only warning that it would soon break.

She couldn’t watch this any longer.

Nancy stood and smoothed her skirt, leaving the bar behind. Her footsteps were light as she made her way upstairs, through the upper floor to the balcony that overlooked town.

It was quieter up here, and she could get a breath of fresh air. She could still hear the muffled music below, the tap of boot heels and click of spurs. The wind whistled like a warning. The sky was scarred crimson—the sun was setting. Crimson.

Blood.

Fangs.

Red eyes.

Robin Buckley, the outlaw. Robin Buckley, the vampire. Robin Buckley, the monster. Robin Buckley, Barb’s killer.

Nancy’s sensitive ears picked up another sound—footsteps that followed her own. The scent of honey and sweat and leather—maybe a little whiskey—confirmed the person’s identity. Robin’s calloused hand rested on Nancy’s shoulder, and she tensed.

“Nance? What’s wrong, darlin’,” the outlaw asked, her voice a deep rumble that Nancy could feel in her chest.

“Don’t call me that,” Nancy muttered. Her heart couldn’t take it.

“What?” Robin questioned, voice thick with hurt. Her hand withdrew, hovering uncertainly.

“You’re not who you say you are,” Nancy murmured, surprised at the steadiness of her voice. She didn’t feel steady. She felt ready to keel over.

“What do you mean?” Robin asked. She placed her hand on Nancy’s cheek instead, and Nancy allowed her to turn her head, blue eyes matching soft stormy gray.

Nancy’s expression hardened into something fierce and angry, while Robin’s softened, concerned, fond almost. Nancy shoved her hand away.

“I saw you,” she began, one hand on Robin’s chest while the girl stared at her in wonder and fear and confusion. Like she was a god. Like she was something to worship.

The background noise faded to nothing. Nancy focused on Robin.

“You killed that man.”

Robin’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Nance, it’s not what you think—“

“All this talk about monsters, and you’ve been hiding that?” Nancy seethed, no longer in control of her anger. She shoved Nancy back, something cold and angry settling in her stomach. “You’re just like me. You should look in the fucking mirror for once, Buckley,” she continued, shoving Robin back again.

Robin didn’t protest. Her face fell, pained—but that fucking wonder stayed. The girl dropped to her knees like a prayer, one hand gripping Nancy’s skirt.

“I haven’t hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it,” Robin murmured. She sounded genuine. She believed her words. “He was a criminal—a violent one.”

Nancy didn’t know when she pulled the weapon, but she held the pistol now in her shaking hand. She met Robin’s gaze evenly. Blue turned to gold—a blazing desert fire, the setting sun on judgement day. Robin’s own flashed red, unreadable, uncertain—but pleading. Desperate.

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong. You killed an innocent,” Nancy whispered. She touched the barrel of the gun to Robin’s chin, wondering if the metal was cold on the outlaw’s suntanned and freckled skin as she lifted Robin’s face. It was a cold weight in her hand. “And I’m going to bring you to justice.”

She held her breath a moment, trying to steady herself. The name stung as she spoke it, dragged from her lips. “Barbara Holland.”

Robin’s eyes widened in recognition.

“It wasn’t me, Nance,” Robin, staring pleadingly up. She gulped, but she didn’t move away. She didn’t even try to fight. Nancy could hear her steady, calm heartbeat. She should have been angry. Maybe she was, but for the wrong reasons. Robin should be scared. Nancy should have already pulled the goddamned trigger.

Nancy’s hand was shaking violently, and she couldn’t tell if it was from fear or anger. Her throat tightened painfully.

“Then who was it?” she managed, voice dripping with venom.

Robin choked—a sob maybe? Panic? Nancy couldn’t tell. It frustrated her. “I can’t say,” Robin whispered. Nancy got the sense that if her gun wasn’t holding Robin’s face up, the outlaw would have looked away. It only fueled Nancy’s fury.

“What was it you called me?” Nancy scoffed, a bitter note, eyes watering with the words. Her heart ached. Her rage burned. “The righteous hand of God?”

Robin raised one hand, a gesture almost reverent. She gripped Nancy’s wrist with unbearable gentleness, stilling Nancy’s trembling and guiding the barrel downward. Stormy gray eyes never left seething gold as the gun pressed to Robin’s chest. Nancy’s grip went white knuckled.

This was it.

She knew this was coming, didn’t she? This was her life’s purpose for years. She had spent years traveling, learning of Robin’s whereabouts. She was always going to hunt down Barb’s killer. Hunt down Robin Buckley.

Fangs. Blood. Red eyes.

Fangs. Blood. Gold.

Robin’s eyes became Nancy’s mirror. She searched those gray depths for any trace of a beast. Any hint of violence. All she could find was warmth and care and a hint of fear—and a deep, drowning sadness that threatened to drag Nancy under.

She saw her own face reflected back. Blazing gold eyes and face twisted into ugly fury. She had seen this before, hadn’t she? Reflected in a different set of eyes. The memory hit her like a gunshot.

Barbara Holland.

Robin didn’t kill Barbara.

Nancy knew who had. She remembered now.

She knew what she had to do.

A bang echoed through the saloon.