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x-emeraldsky-x · 2 months

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~ Naruto Headcanons ~

Naruto Uzumaki

• Naruto makes all of the groupchats in his friendgroups and is the most active in all of them. "Super Seven Squad" has himself, Sakura, Sasuke, Sai, Yamato and Kakashi. "Naru-Squad" has Sakura, Kiba, Rock Lee and Shikamaru. Sasuke and Gaara were added but Sasuke left and Gaara can't figure out groupchats. "Next Gen Parents" has himself, Hinata, Sakura, Sasuke, Temari, Shikamaru, Rock Lee, Gaara, ect.

• After training with Jiraiya, he picks up writing as a hobby. He's good at writing narratives, but his handwriting takes a while to become legible.

• Considers Sakura his older sister, he acts on this quite a lot and calls her "Nee-San" sometimes

• If Just Dance were a thing in the ninja world, he'd be the master. Sakura would be his less enthusiastic partner

Sakura Haruno/Uchiha

• Sakura's love language is gift giving. Often she will spoil Sasuke with flowers, treats and very fancy, well thought out dates. This carries onto her friendships and family bonds as well.

• She takes note of things her "nieces and nephews" enjoy and makes sure to buy something for them every time she visits. Boruto and Shikadai often get Ninja Trading Cards, Metal and his sister get new ninja equipment, ect.

• Sakura goes all out for birthday celebrations, and Sarada has never had a boring birthday

• Naruto gave her a shirt that says "Honorary Uzumaki" some time after he came back from training with Jiraiya, she still wears it even when she's an Uchiha. Naruto got her multiple new ones when the first finally tore

• Sakura's a very sloppy sleeper. Snoring, drooling and always sprawled out. The only time she's not taking up the whole bed is when she's spooning Sasuke. She has drooled in his hair and she will again

Sasuke Uchiha

• He's the leanest and lightest out of Team 7. This works well in his favour because it helps with his agility, but it's impossible for him to get out from under Sakura or Naruto without the use of Ninjutsu

• He associates certain hobbies or items with the people he's near. Anything hospital related reminds him of his wife as well as pink flowers, ramen reminds him of Naruto, ink reminds him of Sai, ect.

• Sasuke is very touch-affectionate with Sakura, craving her hugs and kisses whenever they're apart. He gets embarrassed when he asks, however, so he's very subtle and indirect

• Always ends up on top of or hugging Sakura in his sleep. Over the years he too has become a sloppy sleeper, but as long as Sakura is holding him, he doesn't mind

Hinata Hyūga

• All of the Hyūga clan have very prominent veins, especially around their eyes. Each Hyūga member has a unique pattern or colour. Hinata's children inherit this trait, but it's harder to see

• Hinata's veins are mostly purple, and her veins form a heart shape on her left eyelid, but it's usually hidden by her multiple eyelid creases. Neji's veins were green and formed a look similar to lightning

• Hinata has very soft, pale skin. In the cold and heat, she's always the first to go red, so she always packs a hat and a jacket.

• She has indented knuckles and is quite plump. This used to be an insecurity for her, but her friends and partners helped her embrace it

Kiba Inuzuka

• Kiba loves to sing. He typically makes up random songs about what he's doing, like washing dishes or sweeping the floor, but he also likes to sing music from his playlists. He enjoys calmer music, but he'll sing almost anything

• Team 8, Mirai and Himawari are the only people who know Kiba sings. Kiba loves his hobby but he's too embarrassed to sing in public

• On bad days, Kiba will sit with Shino on their bed in the dark brushing his hair with his fingers, singing softly to him to help them both relax

• After finding out about Shino's sensitive eyes, he went and bought blackout curtains and dim lights for his house so Shino could walk through comfortably without his glasses

Shino Aburame

• Shino is a very jealous person, and he sucks at hiding it. Many people have had to hold him back to prevent him from saying nasty things

• During Shippuden, he formed a bond with Akamaru. Since then, people called him Akamaru's second owner or second dad. He embraced this fully when he and Kiba got together

• He loves working with the dogs that the Inuzuka clan raise, but he does get very attached emotionally. If he had his way, he and Kiba would have about 30 dogs running around the house

• His eyes are a very deep brown colour, in the light they would shimmer with a orange-gold like colour. Due to his sensitivity to light though, only Kiba and the odd doctor have seen this.

• He gets cold very easily, so he's constantly layering his clothes. He and Hinata both would huddle in next to Akamaru on missions in the winter

• He has small scars on his body where his bugs come out, but they go unnoticed by the human eye at a distance. Hinata and Kiba always panic when they see Shino bleeding from his bugs breaking through his skin

Shikamaru Nara

• Shikamaru loves puzzle books, like Sudoku. He often buys magazines to complete these puzzles, sometimes looking into the latest gossip

• Once he and Temari are in a relationship, he carries a small summoning scroll that holds a giant folding fan, just in case of emergencies

• Shikamaru loves the food from Sunagakure, the rich tastes and flavours are to die for, but he can't stand the heat of the desert. Fortunately, Temari often brings Suna ingredients home so they don't miss out when they're in Konoha

• He unironocally loves some One Direction songs, although he'd never openly admit it. It's a secret he'll take to the grave

• Sakura caught him singing What Makes You Beautiful once and she has never let him live it down

Rock Lee

• After Neji's death, Lee starts to grow his hair out in remembrance. It takes him a long time for him to grieve but he soon finds peace with the loss

• For a short time after the war, Lee joins the Anbu under Kakashi's guide. After the birth of his first child however, he quits and becomes a Chūnin exam proctor for Konoha

• He and Shikamaru form a bond due to their relationships within the Suna trio. They become each others biggest defender when it comes to Kankuro, who still doesn't want to share his siblings with them even as an adult

• In The Next Generation period, he doesn't talk with Gai that often, focusing more on his family, friends and career. He has little time for other things

• He lived in Suna for a couple of years when Aiko and Metal were born. When his duties were needed back at Konoha, he took Metal with him because of Gaara's busy schedule. They visit each other as much as the can during holidays

• Scared of Temari

Temari no Sabaku/Nara

• Temari has very rough and dry skin. Her lips are usually chapped and peeling, and her hair is very coarse. She doesn't know what skin and hair care is, and even if she did, she'd ignore it

• She has a scar on her back near her right shoulder from protecting Gaara from a Suna villager, no one knows about this scar except Shikamaru who saw it on accident

• Very protective and loving of her little brothers, she'll always throw herself between them and an enemy if it means they'll be safe. Kankuro and Gaara worry that they'll lose her because of this

• Surprisingly very affectionate, and she loves to spoil all of her loved ones to the point they need extra storage to keep their gifts

• Sakura was her first close friend from Konoha, they relate quite a lot with their love for their family (even though Sakura's is not by blood). In their later years, Sakura introduced Hinata to Temari, and after a bit of a rocky start, they have girls nights every couple of weeks. Just the three of them

• Has fought with Kankuro over getting a puppy many times. In their early life, they couldn't afford or take care of one, but as adults, Temari finally gave in. She bought Kankuro a puppy for his birthday before she left for Konoha

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cheriecelestial · 1 month

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Luminary Pt.1

pairing *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Yan Emperor!OC X Swordmaster!OC

disclaimer *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ yandere thoughts. hurt/no comfort. angst. mentions of violence and character death. lovers to enemies.

a/n *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Reposting a very old piece post editing (not really lol). According to my old a/n this was “very 3am spontaneous writing” meaning the idea was spontaneous not the process. Very manhwa-esque historical plot ig. Please listen to Joel Sunny’s Luminary for the whole experience. like always COMMENT LIKE & REBLOG (☆≧▽^)

Pt.2

Ceaseless noblesse chatter, clinking of glasses and rustling of ball gowns blurred into an unintelligible myriad of sounds. Cecily massaged the bridge of her nose in an attempt to calm the pulsating migraine in her forehead. As much as she loved dressing up on her own accord and dancing, she felt much repulsion to high society. Whosoever had compared high society to a sandalwood tree must’ve been a wise person - exquisite and ambrosial smelling but intertwined with serpents waiting to pounce. Her sharp gaze, reminiscent of a relentless hunter, swept the expanse of ballroom to locate her target attendee. He wasn’t here, not yet at least. But he was expected to be here soon, after all what king doesn’t show up to the party he hosted in his own honour ?

Everything the room exuded an elite air of grandeur. Golden tendrils resembling vines creeping up the wall and colluding in a labyrinthine pattern of flowers and leaves against the stained glass ceilings. Lush roses filled each vase placed exactly five meters apart from each other. In the centre of the dome were three collinear alchemy powered faux stars, the centre attraction and the nominative factor of the ballroom — the Syzygy Hall. Leaning against the stone wall, the crisp night air fills her lungs while the stars twinkle in the dark, velvety sky, and she watched them with a nostalgic sense of appreciation. The flashing memories of her stargazing in this very hall with a certain gifted mage tugged harshly on her heart stings but she forced herself to shun them and focus on the task ahead.

Cecily shifted her attention to the noblemen and women drift across the smooth marble floors like clockwork nutcrackers in grandfather clocks. It all looked so beautiful and for the lack of a better word, rich. A part of her would’ve wanted to join to the festivities had her heart not drowned in waves of indignation for the host. But then as having danced her fair share of high society parties — she knew of the incessant debauchery, corruption and vicious yet sugarcoated calumny at the core of this diamond and silk adorned marvel. Nobility was a word that evoked images of artifice, undeserved riches, wastefulness and textbook narcissism. Albeit belonging to the pinnacle of non-royal nobility — Cecily’s lineage was both a blessing and a curse. As the daughter of one of the three dukes in the empire and the daughter and successor of the continent’s finest swordsman , Carlisle Reginald, Cecily was taught to be wary of desperate social climber with saccharine laced tongues at a young age. Just the thought of her family flared the inferno of negative feelings further.

“This far behind enemy lines ? Can’t tell if it’s brave, audacious or plain stupid.” Cecily rolled her eyes at the new admission. “What would you know anything about bravery Marcellus ?” The red haired paladin flinched at the woman using his full name and bit his tongue to restrain himself from answering her verbal jabs.

“I did what I had to do” He muttered quietly with his gaze fixed on the floor as if it was the most scintillating creation known to mankind. “You mean leaving your men to die mid-battle and defecting to the enemy’s side ?” Cecily scoffed at his confession. She couldn’t help be reminded of the past when they were trainee knights and how they were a symbol of valour and justice. The nights they spent at taverns celebrating after successfully completing missions and training. Cecily couldn’t pinpoint when everything changed and when people she knew digressed beyond recognition but it left a bitter taste in her mouth. Marcel’s words were slow to come out but he sighed and answered, “I merely chose the winning side . Unlike you, I have a sense of self preservation.”

“Where I’m from , we call it cowardice”

“Probably why that place burnt to the ground,”Marcel was hit with a sense of instant regret the second those words left his mouth. He muttered a quick apology as if that ever solved anything .

“Don’t say what you don’t mean. Genuine care doesn’t suit the self-serving likes of you.” Cecily spat out with anger laced in her seemingly calm tone. Had it been some other place with someone else, she wouldn’t have hesitated to draw her sword. Knowing her temper, he saw fit to change the topic of the conversation, “ It’s a fine dress you’re wearing. But I have to say - had I not known better I’d say it was a wedding gown. One refined enough for a duke’s daughter”

“It is a wedding gown. I just repurposed it since I don’t need it anymore and my other gowns were burnt along with my house. I’m sure you remember, you were there.”Cecily spoke in a monotone as she absentmindedly fiddled with the lace trimmings of her dress and the silver corsage on her wrist.

Marcel gulped at the realisation and looked away to the sea of jolly nobility dancing their evening away but he still couldn’t seem to shake off the chills floating in the air. Luck truly wasn’t on his side today “I know it was a purely political arrangement but Cedric was a good man. You have my condolences.”

His words evoked a humourless laugh from Cecily. Just how shameless could he be ? Leading the campaign that killed her fiancé and still have the guts to offer his sympathies.

“Losing a fiancé ? I’m sure you know what that’s like. Considering how you let Lucia Arden die just to save your own skin.”

Cecily remembered the sweet and gentle field medic who stopped at nothing to consistently heal her comrades and boost her fellow knights’ morale with her encouraging words. And she also remembered watching the radiant light leave her eyes and her skin turn frigid pale after Marcel defected and ambushed his own squadron. Cecily and Marcel were the closest of friends, maybe that’s why his betrayal stung so much. Had someone told about Marcel’s betrayal to her younger self from two years ago, she would’ve laughed at them and wonder if they lost their mind.

“What happened to her was regrettable. I asked her to join me. But she refused. Because she was -” so loyal to you, is what he wanted to say but something told him that not completely the sentence would serve him better. Cecily didn’t respond to him nor did she look at him. Marcel’s gaze fell to her fist which had clenched so tight that her knuckles were turning white.

“I tried you know. I really tried to convince her. That was more what I should’ve done considering what her family did to Genevieve—” despite his attempts to mask his emotions, venomous contempt seeped into his voice.“Lucia wasn’t her family. She didn’t know. She had no part in it.” Cecily countered firmly.

“She was going to be a mother ! And they—”Marcel swallowed thickly, unable to continue. Cecily sighed and massaged the bridge of her nose. Genevieve - the feisty barmaid at their favourite tavern who managed to capture Marcel’s heart and subsequently died a tragic death the hands of the Marquis Arden who couldn’t bear the disgrace of his daughter’s fiancé choosing a destitute orphaned commoner over his well-bred aristocratic daughter.

“What happened to her was unjust, but that doesn’t justify your treachery. You let your own men die. The very men that swore loyalty to you. The ones that fought, ate and bled by your side.” Cecily eyed him with simmering hatred. Marcel looked uncharacteristically startled for a moment by the her disdain but covered it up quickly. Silvers of guilt flashed in his eyes when he realised that even if he had managed to secure a future for himself as the commander general of the new king’s knights, he lost something truly important to him. The past him would’ve really hated him now.

“Of all people I thought you’d know what it’s like to lose the one you love the most. But in hindsight, you’re probably worse off than me. I’m sure you know, he isn’t what he used to be. The King’s scouts have been looking for you and the other rebels . You should leave before he sees you.” Warning her was the most he could do for her now. He had sworn loyalty to the new king but standing in front of his childhood friend - he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of conflict.

“Why ? Is he planning to send me and my men to the gallows ?” Cecily scoffed as if impressed that the king was putting in so much effort to locate her. “Your men ? Yes. You ? No. Corrupted or not, not even he could get himself to kill the woman he loves so dearly. But I’m positive whatever his plans for you are, would make you wish that he sent you to the gallows instead. He won’t kill you but beware— he won’t be soft either. He’s changed beyond recognition.”

“That’s exactly what I’m counting on,”she muttered to herself as she watched Marcel vanish from her side and melt into the sea of guests.

For a moment the entire ballroom stilled and she knew he was here. Her eyes swept the length of the ballroom till she met the gaze of the devil himself. Unlike what he used to wear when she knew him, he donned the most lavish robes and jewels she’d seen on a person. His unruly platinum hair were styled perfect to accentuate his looks. The crystalline vivid blue eyes she fell in love with were replaced by a sinister shade of ruby red. He stared intently at her, it is as if his eyes intended to pierce her skin and rip out her soul. Her stomach twisted and the chill in the air sent goosebumps down her neck and back. He never looked more glorious. The corners of his lips curled up into a slight smile as he made his way through the crowd. Her breath shallowed with each step that he took towards her.

“Duchess Reginald. It truly is you and here I thought my senses were deceiving me.” Cecily flinched at the title knowing full well that she never got to ceremoniously inherit the title since the previous Duke died at the emperor’s sword following the coup d’état and the estate was burned to a crisp not too long ago. His gentle expression of adoration cut off air from her lungs and she felt as though the string of pearls around her neck turned into a noose. She wanted to scream, to cry, to seek retribution for all the havoc he wrecked but swallowing her emotions down she placed her hand on her heart and bowed lightly,“Glory and blessings upon the rising sun of the Asterin empire,” Cecily heard melodious laughter as response to her words. Her heart dropped from the sheer impact. Cecily Reginald was a creature of pure control and the idea of losing control, especially just by his mere presence, was offensive to her. Her heart burst into multitude of emotions as she tried to rein them and stay calm.

“And I never thought I’d see you bow. But then, bowing isn’t always submission. Now is it, my dearest Cecily ?” Electricity coursed her veins at the way her name rolled off his tongue in the same tender fashion as he used to when they were younger. He’s changed beyond recognition, Marcel’s words ringed in her ears. Cecily didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of eliciting a reaction so she shifted her gaze away. Much to her dismay, her refusal just swelled his need to provoke her further .

“Please don’t shy away duchess. It’s a glorious party, would you be so kind to grant me the honour of a dance ?” The king outstretched his hand towards her with seemingly innocent intent. The emperor’s first dance of the evening, an action that symbolised winning the favour of the emperor. Which was why — traditionally it was done between courting, betrothed or wedded couples. After a moment’s hesitation she took his hand and was guided to the centre of the dance floor. The king placed a hand on her waist and interlaced his other hand with hers. The position seemed so natural to them like two pieces of a puzzle that were created to fit together. He actioned the orchestra and the waltz began without a hitch as the band of musicians weaved pleasant melodies into the air.

“You look ravishing my dearest.” Cecily’s breath hitched as the king tugged on her waist, pulling her closer. His smirk widened in satisfaction at her visceral reaction. “Thank you your majesty.” She looked at him with her eyes betraying traces of emotion even though she was restraining herself to her best capacity. But the memory of his touch still fills her heart with longing but she still hated how much the sensation excites her.

“I was informed that troops stationed north of Demaris were brutally slaughtered by the rebel forces spearheaded by a certain raven haired general. You wouldn’t know anything about that, now would you duchess ?” Cecily’s face hardened and she replied in a sharp tone,“Depends on why those troops were present in the first place your majesty.” The king’s troops were sent to forcefully evict war immigrants that were rendered homeless by the conquests of the previous emperor since he regarded them as a political liability. The villagers were kind enough to house some of the rebels in exchange for protection against the monsters near the border.

Vivacious laughter bubbles from his chest and he responded ,“Very well dearest. And please, drop the formalities. Call me by my name. Your majesty feels unnatural.” She knew provoking him any more than necessary would only spell trouble for it. Her scheme had to work out as planned. “Atticus,” she breathed out with much difficulty. Saying his name was a tougher task than she had initially thought. A pleased smirk made its way onto his lips, leaving Cecily feeling as if she had lost.

“I know blue is your colour but I have to admit, you look utterly angelic in white. You are, without a doubt, the most beautiful person I have ever laid eyes on. What a fine bride you would make.”

Under different circumstances, she would’ve blushed and accepted the compliment graciously. Cecily felt a strange feeling of melancholy and what ifs shrouded her. She was so determined before coming here and she couldn’t afford letting her purpose dissolve just because she was holding onto the ghost of the man she loved.

“What use is beauty when you’re cursed with rotten luck the way I am. I have two dead fiancés on my tab already.” She laughed humorouslessly and eyed him with an insinuating sharpness. Atticus smiled with his evergreen charm before continuing knowingly ,“ Hmm. Maybe it’s a sign from the goddess of marriage that those men and you weren’t meant to be .”

Cecily arched her brow at his revelation. Is that what he was trying to paint them as ? Twists of fate ? She may not have loved either of them but they weren’t deserving of the end that befell them. “I know you’ve taken many aliases in your lifetime but goddess of marriage ? That’s a new one your majesty.” Atticus’ mocking clearly struck a nerve. She half expected him to take offence to her words but instead he looked at her in bemusement.

He clicked his tongue in a ‘ah’ gesture and suggested ,” Well you know what they say m’lady. Third time’s a charm .” Cecily knew exactly what he was implying but she didn’t want to grant him an ounce of satisfaction by giving him a favourable reaction .

“Unfortunately your majesty, I am above wedding kinslayers and dark magic practitioners .” She scowled at him as if testing to see if he had even an ounce of conscience intact . Atticus’ smile faltered and there was a brief flicker of discomfort in him as the implications of her words sunk in. His eyes narrowed slightly at her reaction.

“Ces I —,” but before he could respond Cecily cut him off ,“ And even if they had it coming . It doesn’t change the fact that you killed my father.” Memory of the pain of finding out about her father’s death on accounts of treason was clear as day in her heart. Carlisle Reginald was many things but not a traitor. He was so loyal to the crown that there were times when she resented him for choosing his duty over his own family.

Atticus visibly grimaced and his eyes turned to icy resentment ,“ The same father that abused you and caused you unimaginable pain in the name of training ? The same father who burnt the side of your face to destroy any chance of marriage because noblemen don’t wed women with scars ? The same father that nearly pushed you to end your life because you couldn’t handle the mantle of becoming the next swordsmaster ? Do you truly resent me for it my dearest ?” Cecily felt her throat tighten with emotion. She glanced away as though trying to think of an answer. There is no right answer to that question.

“ I don’t but —,” She admitted, her eyes still fixated on the corners of the room ,“ What about my Silas? Why did you kill him ? He looked up to you. He chose to pursue alchemy over swordsmanship because of you. He was a child . He didn’t deserve it.” The night her father died, the king’s men burnt her family estate to the ground and her brother with it.

Atticus stared at her for a couple of seconds before letting out a pained sigh ,“ My love, you must believe me. I never intended to put Silas in harm’s way . I just wanted to get rid of the duke because he was the only one standing between me and the throne. I was sure that Si would be at the academy. But unfortunately he was at the wrong place at the wrong time. If it provides any solace just know I had the informants and soldiers who failed to convey that Silas was in there executed .”

There were many things she wanted to say, to vent her frustration and anger but when the time came - her grief was too severe to be expressed in words so she just looked at him, hoping he’d see how much he made her suffer. Atticus tore his gaze away from hers and clenched his jaw as if keeping himself from saying or doing things that would just worsen their situation. Uncomfortable silence befell them as they continued to dance. For the first time she realised, that they were is a ballroom filled with people. The world seemed to have dissolved into nothingness when it came to Atticus but now she was starting to feel the weight of the other guests’ curious stares and whispers. Of course rumours would make their way across high society at the speed of lightning. Two star crossed lovers forced on opposite sides by fate. Cecily and Atticus had love, one for the ages but one chose the duty to her homeland over love and the other chose power over love. Love had no place in this fight of morality and duty. It was quite a pity really.

“But your crimes don’t end there. You delved into a form of magic that was forbidden for a reason, there is always a cost for power that wicked. Always.” She looked straight into his ruby red eyes. The vibrant blood red swirled in a way that resembled shadows obscuring a ravenous beast lurking underneath.

“Is that why you got engaged my brother ? To dispose of me and make him king ?” Cecily felt the temperature around them fall as Atticus’ eyes shone with a newfound sense of fury. Gone was the sweet and gentle man she knew, instead he was replaced by this - this thing. His fingers twitched where he held her waist as if wanting to tear into her skin.

“Sure. Let’s go with that .”She replied cooly. Logic be damned, she just wanted to shatter the mask he was wearing and truly see what he’d become.

“You think I’d let him have you ? Let him make you his queen ? I‘m so sorry if it hurts you my darling but I will slay any man who thinks he can have you . If you really want to be queen, I could make you this very moment. Just say the word.” For the first time, his suave facade cracked. He sounded almost desperate, so much so that Cecily was tempted to believe that a part of the old him was still in there. Regardless of Cedric somewhat sanctimonious and saintly character, he always lacked the vigour and the ambition it took to become king and most of all - to deserve Atticus’ goddess. Cedric was the only pure blooded prince who showed an inkling of kindness to a bastard of the previous emperor so Atticus granted him the mercy of a quick and painless death. But the idea of him wedding his beloved was beyond blasphemous and filled him with unimaginable rage; making him want to give Cedric a slow and painful death instead.

To him, Cecilia Seraphina Reginald was the closest humanity has attained to godliness. The passion she projected in her art and the fire that burned behind her eyes is enough to drive anyone to insanity . She used the sword as if it was an extension of her own body and where most fought with the crude desperation , every movement of her body was deliberate and precise as if she was floating like a butterfly through the air. With each step, she seemed to move through space and time, transcending the boundaries between ordinary and extraordinary. Each slash and strike was like a paint stroke on canvas, drawing a picture of beauty and grace in motion. Her raven hair striking a beautiful contrast against her emerald eyes . Even when her father burnt the side of her face , it barely obscured her beauty. Atticus had seen her in sickness and in health. At what she considered her worst, to his eyes — she was far more enchanting than any of the excessively powdered noble ladies he’d seen in court . There is something religious about the way he adored her. There never was a God in Atticus's life. No one deserved that title after what life had thrown at him since he was little.

He remembered the first day they met when she fended off the third prince bullying Atticus at their first day at the Royal Academy. She never once discriminated against for being an illegitimate child of the emperor. Atticus was born as a result of acts of cruelty on an elite battle mage of an enemy nation who was taken by the previous emperor as spoils of war. Despite his actions, the emperor never even bothered to officially make her his concubine so Atticus’ status in the Royal Palace was akin to that of a servant’s. Throughout his childhood, he had been a prince solely in name. His entire life, everyone looked at him as if he was some sort of abomination — except her. Despite that the dignified and legendary duke’s only daughter, the lady with the highest status after the empress and princesses themselves, when faced disapproval for befriending the emperor’s bastard, she never once turned her back on him. And not necessarily because she was kind but because it was the right thing to do. Cecily was first person in Atticus’ life who made him believe that he was worth being treated as a human.

“What have you become Atticus ? We could’ve—”

“We could’ve what exactly ? Huh ? There was no other way. And you know it.” Atticus spat out through gritted teeth, a look of abject misery flashed by Cecily’s face. He was right, unless there had been some great power intervention there was no way he could become king. It didn’t matter if the most elite swordsmaster or the nouveau rich nobles that supported him, he could never get past the old nobility and the six legitimate pure blooded princes.

“What is worth it ?” She asked with her words dying by the end of the sentence. For a moment, she felt as though she was back when they were kids and how he would talk about making them pay. No rebels or tyrants, no duty or thirst for power — just as Ces and Atty .

Something in Atticus’ snapped as he gripped her wrist tighter,“ Better than anything I ever imagined. They always acted so high and mighty, you should’ve seen how they grovelled and begged . It was worth it, all of it.”

“Was it worth losing me ?” Cecily knew she shouldn’t have asked something she didn’t want him to answer. She knew she shouldn’t have crossed that line. She shouldn’t have because she knew the answer. But she had to— in order to move on, to let him go, to fulfil her duty and destiny.

“I haven’t lost you” Out of all the responses he could’ve given , this was the least expected. Did he truly believe that ? Cecily searched his face for any signs of fallacy or trickery but found none. Her mouth fell open in disbelief and after composing herself she asked ,“ What makes you say that ?”

“The way I feel for you.” He answered without even skipping a beat. Cecily scoffed internally, the way he felt for her ? What a jest. It was common knowledge that the starting price for dark magic is a person’s humanity. Dark magicians were known to not be able to feel anything let alone remorse or guilt .

“That’s not true. You can’t feel anything.” She jeered at him. Atticus didn’t respond and twirled and lifted her into the air in accordance to the rhythm of the waltz. His lack of reaction almost made her think that he didn’t hear what she said, she opened her mouth to say that again but was cut off by his reply ,“Contrary to popular beliefs my darling , dark magic doesn’t completely deprive a person of all emotion. It merely diminishes emotions that were present in silvers and amplifies the most emotions felt by the person. In short, the user becomes absolutely sure of what they feel and what they want. Anger becomes rage , sadness becomes despair , fear becomes horror and love becomes –” As he spoke, he pressed his lips against her hand. She can feel the heat of his breath in the centre of her palm ,“ — unbridled obsession.” Cecily breath hitched as he moved his lips up her wrist to her palm again, tracing her veins with his lips.

"Pray tell, is that how it went ? Your barter of soul with a devil for dominion only to find yourself upon the throne, consumed by anguish not because you killed your family but rather by the realization that your affection for me would impede your ambitions ?"

Atticus got closer to her. His eyes were locked on hers, and his lips had a slight twitch to them. Lust. He was never the type to give into such base urges, but in the her presence - he craved her. A part of him hated this feeling even more than her tormenting comments. If only he could kill her and rid himself of this weakness of the flesh. “You aren’t far from it . You know I never understood the appeal my father saw in my mother but I guess I do see it now. Fiesty enemy general that just refuses to concede and all.”

“And here I thought you said you were never going to be anything like your father. I guess you kings are doomed to repeat failures of your predecessors. After all the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” He absentmindedly hummed in response to her words as if neither agreeing nor disagreeing. His eyes were fixated on his thumb caressing her wrist, Cecily noticed it and tilted her head to her side as if silently asking ‘what’re you thinking ?’

“You aren’t wrong my darling. Maybe I am the same as him. But it doesn’t matter anymore. I have everything I wanted. Except for a couple things and I don’t intend on stopping until I’ve got them.” Atticus’ eyes gleamed with a glint of great impending danger. He paused for a second as if debating whether he should disclose his plans or not but in the festive atmosphere decided the former. “You’re quite a stubborn little thing you know. I wonder if I were to incapacitate you from wielding the blade ever again, would your resolve shatter ? All the princes are dead, there’s no one to succeed me. I’ve made sure of it. Who would you crown king after me ?” He wondered if he chopped her wrists off so that she couldn’t use her sword again, would she stop resisting then ? Or perhaps if he snapped her ankles then maybe she wouldn’t be able to run away ?

“Incapacitate me ? You think you could do that ?” Albeit Cecily knew she was playing with fire, she wanted to see to what limits she could provoke him before he took extreme measures. They were playing a dangerous game. Both were waiting for the other to make a mistake, to lose their cool and to drop the civil facade and settle the score .

Others might see Atticus as this stone cold man with no feelings, but his heart was beating loud and clear in his chest, seemingly for one purpose. He hoped that his emotional conflict would clear out once he made the deal but it didn’t help. Not one bit. He often found his eyes subconsciously searching for the familiar figure in the crowds of people he’d address every day, wanting nothing more than to reach out and have her with him again. The scent of her skin and the light lavender fragrance haunted him as he tried to sleep, the vivid image of her following him in his dreams. If it were up to him, he’d drag her to the church alter this very moment and make good on the wedding gown she was wearing. He knew she wore that to mock his guilty conscience, that is if he had any left.

“I have my knights stationed at every corner of the ballroom. One action and they’ll attack.”

“You think fresh recruits could even hold a candle against a swordmaster ?” She was right, no matter how trained they would never able to best her. The only one who stood a chance against her skill was he himself. No one else.

He chuckled at her spirit, it was one of the things he adored most about her. “No. Not really.” Cecily smiled with a victorious expression but at the same time she knew if he were to use his magic, things were bound to get messy. Although not their own, but much blood would be spilt and in a room full of the empire’s finest — it wasn’t a risk she was willing to take.

a/n 2.0 – After reading this my current writing seems so crappy wtf. I guess there is a reason this took three months to write. Tho good to know I couldn’t articulate my thoughts well enough to make a respectable plot even back then. Sorry for the abrupt ending, tumblr kept glitching so I had to split it in two. I’ll upload pt.2 in a week.

#yandere #yandere oc #yancore #yandere core #yandere x oc #yandere male #male yandere #tw: yandere #yandere imagines #oc x oc #songfic #lovers to enemies #hurt/no comfort #angst #historical fantasy #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n

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sequinsmile-x · 3 months

Text

Achene

It felt almost cruel that the world carried on, as if hers hadn’t shifted with the loss of a baby she never got to meet.

Emily and Aaron try to move forward together.

-x-

Hi friends,

My insomnia is back in full swing, which means the hurt/comfort is also back in full swing.

Couldn't say where the idea for this one came from, but it wouldn't leave me alone and writing it kept me from accidentally napping on the couch after work and making my sleep pattern even worse.

As always, please let me know what you think <3

-x-

Words: 2.8k

Warning: Miscarriage

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

When he wakes up alone, he knows where he’ll find her.

It was a pattern they’d fallen into over the last couple of weeks. Usually, he’d be the one who woke up first, Emily’s face still pressed into his chest, a tiny patch of drool on his shirt underneath her open mouth. He’d always wake her gently, running his hand up and down her back in a way he had done on their first night together, a habit that had carried them through from boyfriend and girlfriend, to fiances to now husband and wife. He liked it, enjoyed the predictability of how much she hated the mornings and waking up, the way she’d grumble as she slowly opened her eyes, never quite able to fight a smile as their eyes met.

The last two weeks had been different. She’d woken up before him every morning, the sheets on her side already cool to the touch. It made him worry she was barely sleeping, if she was sleeping at all, and it only added to the concern already pooling deep in his gut, seeds that had been planted days ago blooming and taking up all the space in his chest. He blows out a steady breath and stands up, rolling his neck as he steps towards the ensuite, the light streaming out from under the door confirming what he already knew.

He doesn’t say anything as he steps into the room. He leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms over his chest, giving his wife the lead in how they move forward. It was a grim pattern they’d fallen into, one he didn’t know how to get out of, and it broke his heart.

“It’s already fading,” she says, the only indication she’d noticed him walking into the room. She turns to look at him, a positive pregnancy test in her hand, a tight forced smile on her face, “I have to tilt it in a certain way to see the result now,” she clenches her teeth and sighs, shaking her head at herself as she places the test back in the draw she had taken to keeping it in, “Soon there won’t be anything…”

She trails off, but he already knows what she’s going to say, and he steps forward, his hands on her hips as he tugs her into a hug. She wraps her arms around him tightly, her hands in fists in the back of his shirt as she buries her face in his neck, anchoring herself to him as if he was the only thing keeping her upright.

They’d been trying. Meticulously planning to have a baby that they’d both wanted for a long time. There was a box of ovulation tests in the cabinet that Emily started her days with to keep track, and a thermometer in her nightstand that she used to track her basal body temperature. It was something they’d wanted desperately, and when after a few months they got a positive result from a pregnancy test Emily had taken because she felt a little off they were overjoyed. Aaron had run into the bathroom the moment he heard her crying through the door, ready to comfort her but she’d beamed at him, the very same test he’d just found her holding clutched in her hand.

Their joy was short-lived.

The scan Emily had excitedly scheduled that morning, the only one they ended up having for that pregnancy revealed two things. Emily had been a week further along than she’d calculated, closer to 9 weeks than the 8 she’d estimated, and there was no heartbeat. The air had been sucked out of the room when the doctor told them, Emily’s hand slack in his as she nodded along when she was given instructions on what came next. It was a conversation she’d had once before in wildly different circumstances when she was a child herself.

When they made it home from the hospital she’d finally broken down, cried the tears she refused to shed in front of anyone other than him. She’d deleted the app on her phone that was tracking her cycles, the one she’d only just switched to ‘pregnant’ mode, and tearfully told him the fruit for 9 weeks, a gimmick they’d both unexpectedly loved, would have been a strawberry.

The pregnancy test was the only evidence they had that the baby had existed, and watching it slowly fade was devastating, another type of loss he hadn’t anticipated.

“We should get ready for work,” she mutters against him, not loosening her grip, and he sighs, taking a moment to press a kiss to the top of her head before he pulls back, his hands on her lower back as he smiles encouragingly at her.

She hadn’t been back to work since the miscarriage, but today was supposed to be her first day back. None of the team knew what had happened, something Emily had been insistent on, and they thought she’d been sick with the flu. The lie had worked, and it also gave them a good reason why Aaron wasn’t currently going away on cases. Whilst the reason their friends had for her absence wasn’t true, his desire not to leave her alone was.

“You don’t have to go back today if you don’t feel ready for it,” he says, reaching up to tuck some of her hair behind her ear, “The boss has a bit of a thing for you so I think you’d get away with more time off.”

She chuckles sadly and turns her head to kiss his palm, pressing her grateful love into his skin, “I do have to go back,” she says softly, reaching for his hand and linking their fingers together, “I can’t just keep sitting here thinking about everything that could have been,” she shrugs half-heartedly, “Plus, I’m not sure how much longer the others will buy the flu excuse.”

He nods and runs his hand up and down her back, “If you want to come home at any time-”

“I just have to tell you,” she says, leaning forward to stamp her lips against his, “Thank you. For being…well you I guess.”

He pulls her into a hug and kisses the side of her head, “You never have to thank me for loving you, sweetheart.”

___

She feels tired in just about every possible way.

She’d been back at work for a couple of weeks and it felt like she’d never been away at all. The team didn’t ask many questions beyond asking if she was okay on her first day back. Life carried on much like it always had for her and Aaron. They went away on cases, they spent their weekends with Jack, they loved each other. But there were moments when she felt stuck, when the grief would be overwhelming and make her breath catch in her chest.

It felt almost cruel that the world carried on, as if hers hadn’t shifted with the loss of a baby she never got to meet. She knew they’d try again, the doctor's soft assurances that they could at her recent appointment ringing around her head, but it didn’t help. Especially since she knew if she was still pregnant they’d be getting ready to share the news with their friends, their chosen family, and the thought of it made her ache.

She sighs as she settles into the couch, relieved to be home after a long couple of days away. She hears Aaron’s familiar footsteps on the hardwood floor and she smiles as she looks at him, gratefully accepting the glass of red wine that he hands to her.

“Thanks, honey,” she says softly, shifting so she’s facing him when he joins her on the couch, “It’s nice to be home.”

He hums as he sips his wine, “You’re telling me. That mattress in that motel did a real number on my neck,” he complains. She places her wine down and puts her hand on the back of his neck, pressing her thumb and forefinger into his skin, massaging the area she knew he carried the most tension, “God that feels good.”

She chuckles and leans in to kiss his cheek, “When we’re in bed I’ll massage your back if you want.”

“I’d love that,” he says as he turns his head to capture her lips in a kiss and smiles into it. He’s glad to see her more like herself, the sadness that had permeated everything in recent weeks still there, but not as overwhelming as it had been. He’d missed her smile, missed the sound of her laugh, and more than anything he wanted to protect her from being hurt anymore. It’s why he suddenly feels nervous, worried that what he’d been planning for a few weeks might set her back. He decides to go ahead anyway and he blows out a slow breath before he reaches into the pocket of his suit jacket, “I got you something.”

She smiles curiously at him and tilts her head as he pulls a square box out of his pocket. Her curiosity suddenly turns to panic as she furrows her brows and tries to think of what the date is, if she’d somehow forgotten something important as she waded through her grief.

“It’s not our anniversary is it?”

He chuckles and shakes his head, reaching out and pressing the box into her hand, “No, Em. It’s not. This is just…” he doesn’t know how to say it, how to put it into words, so he clears his throat, “I think you’ll understand when you open it.”

She hums, “Oh, that’s mysterious…”

She drifts off as she opens the box, her words caught in her chest along with her breath, making her feel like she could burst with emotions she can’t name. In the box is a necklace, a delicate silver chain with a tiny pendant on it, the detail of which, the seeds and the ridges, were only visible up close

It was a strawberry.

She huffs out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob and she covers her mouth with the hand not clasping the jewellery box. She can’t do anything other than stare at the necklace, at the pendant she knows Aaron would have painstakingly chosen because of a comment she’d made the day they found out about the miscarriage.

“I ordered it a few weeks ago,” he says, clearing his throat again, hating that he can’t read her expression, that he can’t tell what she’s thinking, “It took a little while because it was custom made. Dave gave me the name of a guy.” He adds, his smile fading as his wife still doesn’t react. Dave had made a joke, one Aaron knows he wouldn’t have made if he knew the circumstances, about Aaron enjoying the finer things in life now he had married into money. “I thought it would be good for you to have something-”

“To remember the baby by,” she says, finally finding her voice and looking up at him, tearing her gaze away from the necklace. Her chest feels hollowed out, like all the love she has for him is forcing its way up her throat, “Aaron…”

He only feels more worried when she trails off again, her eyes shining as she trails her finger over the small pendant, and he swallows thickly, “I’m sorry if this was a bad idea, I just wanted to do something to help-”

This time she cuts him off by kissing him, her lips stamped against his as she grabs his chin, holding him in place as she rests her forehead against his, the jewellery box pressed between them.

“No, it’s perfect,” she pulls back and looks at him, chuckling wryly as tears fall onto her cheeks, “You’re perfect.”

He smiles and wipes her tears away, his touch soft against her skin, “You want me to help you put it on?”

She nods and passes him the box, watching intently as he carefully picks the necklace up and undoes the clasp. She turns and pulls her hair to the side and she breathes shakily as he puts the necklace around her neck, his touch gentle as he does the clasp up and adjusts the chain. She touches the strawberry pendant, holding it between her thumb and forefinger and she sighs, closing her eyes as Aaron tugs her back into his embrace until her back meets his chest. He wraps his arms tightly around her and kisses her cheek, and she rests her hands over his.

“I love you,” she says, grateful when he ignores the shake of her voice, “So fucking much.”

He kisses her temple and pulls her impossibly closer, “I love you too.”

___

One Year Later

Emily hums contentedly as she rocks back and forth in the armchair, the nameless melody turning into a yawn as she looks at the time.

3.20 am

She tilts her head down to look at the three-week-old lying on her chest, his eyes wide open as he refused to fall asleep. She chuckles to herself and kisses the top of her son’s head, taking a moment to breathe him in.

“You really do get your hate of sleep from your Daddy, sweet boy,” she says softly, kissing his head again.

“I don’t hate sleep,” Aaron says, smiling when she turns to see him standing in the nursery doorway, “I just get up early.”

She rolls her eyes at him, “Sounds like the same thing to me,” she says as he walks across the room and joins them, perching on the arm of the armchair, “Did we wake you up?”

“No,” he assures her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and smiling at the sight of his youngest fighting sleep in her embrace, “I woke up and you weren’t there so I came to see how you were doing.”

“We’re okay,” she says, turning her attention back to the baby, “We’re okay, huh? We’re just trying to get back to sleep after a diaper change and a 3 am snack.”

Aaron watches contentedly as Emily runs her hand up and down the infant's back, lulling him to sleep against her. He wishes he could go back and tell his wife that they’d make it to this, that the clouds had parted and they’d found happiness after the storm.

“He gets the need for a 3 am snack from you,” he says and she playfully narrows her eyes at him before she looks back down at her son.

She strokes her fingers over his cheek, smiling as he twitches, the corner of his mouth turning up into something that resembles a smile. His eyes finally drift shut, his fight against sleep a battle he had lost, and he relaxes against her. The only thing that hadn’t relaxed was his fist, tight even in his sleep around the chain of her necklace, his little fingers next to the strawberry pendant that symbolised the loss they’d had before him. It was a complicated kind of grief, one she thinks she’ll never get used to. The acknowledgement that if she hadn’t lost that baby she wouldn’t have her son was hard to accept, a bittersweet taste left on her tongue whenever she thought about it.

“You want me to take him?” Aaron asks quietly, drawing her from her thoughts, and she smiles and nods, taking a second to kiss her son’s forehead.

“Mommy loves you, sweet boy,” she says, kissing him again, “I’ll see you in a little while.”

She watches as Aaron carefully lifts the baby and carries him back towards their bedroom. She follows them, her fingers automatically reaching for her necklace, something she now wore at all times. She rubs the pendant back and forth between her finger and thumb, a movement she had found comfort in ever since Aaron had first put the necklace around her neck, and she smiles as Aaron gently lowers the baby into the bassinet, simultaneously treating the newborn like he was something precious and a bomb that could go off at any moment. He turns to smile at her once he’s done, his smile curious as he catches her staring at him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says, letting go of the pendant and letting it fall back into place against her skin. She walks across the room and climbs into bed, her exhaustion returning in full force as soon as she’s under the comforter, “I just love you, thats all.”

He smiles and gets into bed with her, tugging her against him as they settle down, both facing the direction of the bassinet where their son was sleeping, “I love you too.”

They fall asleep in tandem, and when they are woken up just an hour later by the baby crying, they are still tangled up around each other, not sure where the other ended and where they began.

-x-

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#aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #hotchniss fanfiction #hotchniss fanfic #hotchniss fan fic #emily prentiss fanfiction #hotchniss #aaron x emily

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v3nusxsky · 1 year

Note

You're accepting request?

Could I request for a platonic Lady Lesso x Never!reader where the reader has a nightmare and Lady Lesso finds out the reader has an abusive family, please? 🥺❤️

I love that you write about sensitive topics and it brings me so much comfort and it just warms my heart.

xoxo,

🫐💋

Hello my darling, Yes I am accepting requests I love hearing from you all so much. And I absolutely adore this idea so I ran straight to writing it for you. I’m glad you enjoy my work I tend to write from experience and if that sheds light on some rough subjects then that’s a bonus. I hope this fic finds you well Anon🫐💋

They still haunt me

*Authors note~ my requests are open guys :) Having a horrid day today so writing this is really soothing my soul to write. I hope that these fics are helping you all as much as me doves*

Trigger warning~ abusive family? Nightmares

Prompt~ see the ask :)

Most people would be distraught at being taken from their own bed and taken to an unknown destination. But you couldn't be happier to leave. Admittedly you didn't know where you were going or why. But did that really matter? You wouldn't be with them and that's all you could focus on. An escape. Your wish finally being heard by the gods above. You should be terrified. But you're not.

When you were finally dropped by the creature you couldn't help but be amazed. This was something from that of the books that you read. Apart from the books didn't give it the justice it truly deserves. One building stood in all its beauty. Light colours with flowers that had bloomed adding intricate patterns on the bricks. To its side stood an onyx replica of the first building. Instead of flowers, vines sprouted there. The two buildings joined by a beautiful bridge. This was most definitely a place of beauty but not one without shades of grey. You were dropped into freezing water outside the onyx building. You began to tread water watching as others were dropped in alongside you. They all seemed ecstatic to be here and that sort of eased your mind a little. It can't be bad if they want to be here right?

Dragging yourself from the water you made your way inside, instantly a tall red head with a stunning cane caught your eye. She seems to alluded a certain confidence which indicated she was the person in change of wherever you were. Timidly you approached her and realised you were right. She was most definitely in charge here. A simple bang of her can and everyone scrambled to find a place in front of her. You being the only one who froze in your spot. You listened as she explained the rules of her school. The dean of evil, lady lesso and also the teacher of curses and death traps. This women was clearly very powerful and well respected here. You made sure to make a note of that, don't piss her off. You quickly found your schedule and dorm room before she pulled you aside.

"Reader" her tone demanded your attention. Reader? "Y-yes?" You stuttered trying to keep eye contact so she wouldn't perceive you as rude. "How are you finding this? I do hope you were paying attention to the rules I will not be explaining them again. Comply or don't, that's up to you. But the doom room will always be there" she stated with a mischievous glint in her eyes. The Doom room? That sounded like the exact place you wanted to avoid. You quickly found a way to scuttle off and avoid any more conversations with anyone else.

You were then all shoved in a hall, you noticed the other side was girls in puffy dresses and boys with swords. Immediately you were glad you didn't have to be subjected to that. The dresses were far to revealing for you personally to wear. The gathering was short but direct. And you were starting to learn that the two sides wouldn't get along. One of good and the other evil. But why wasn't there a middle ground? What if you didn't fit into either of those sides? What would happen to you then? It wasn't worth thinking about. You decided then and there you'd keep your head down and make the most of this opportunity you'd been so graciously gifted.

So much change really was taking it's toll on your body. The stress of a arriving at the school, reliving some of the harsher punishments you received when hearing talks of the Doom room and even dealing with the purple and blue bruises that littered your skin. Adjusting was something you were finding rather difficult if your honest. You were doing extremely well with classes, spending hours sat at your desk, eyes scanning every page of every book you could possibly find. After all you knew you were at a disadvantage not being from this world. A reader as they call you. So you made sure to always put your best foot forward. Always fearing the day where you mess up and receive the correction at the hand of the dean.

The only thing you noticed you lacked here was friendship. It dose sadden you to know that but at the same time it's a relief to not have to come up with lies to cover the truth. You didn't have to spend extra energy covering the internal scarring your family left. This was the safer option despite how lonely it was. This is how you found yourself once again in the small library at the top of the Never building. It was late in the evening and you were attempting to get ahead in your curses and death trap course work when exhaustion took over and you drifted into an uneasy slumber.

That was how you were found two hours lady by the dean herself. She had the torture of patrolling tonight. It was a a tedious task but absolutely necessary, after all the last thing Lesso needs is Dovey reprimanding her on the unruly behaviour of her school. So far tonight's patrol had been dull, the Never's all seemingly behaving, until she heard muttering coming from the top library. As far as she knew none of the students were aware of this library, as it wasn't the main more central one, so it was a complete shock to hear any form of noise from here. It was only natural that she would investigate and when she did the sight that greeted her broke her cold darkened heart.

You had hunched over the desk, head resting on the desk and hands gripping at your sides. You were almost clawing at the skin that was now exposed due to your restless slumber. You had tears flowing down your cheeks, dripping onto the pages of the book below your head, soaking the pages ad you cried out. "Please! No! Stop! Ow! What did I do! I wasn't even that bad!" You seemed to be screaming at someone. In your sleep your body seemingly reacting to a threat that was no longer there. Whatever you were seeing had occurred before that much was clear. Only then did Lesso spot the bruising that was on show.

Putting two and two together wasn't hard, your shyness on day one, the self imposed isolation, trying to follow every rule impeccably and even the way you flinched when other Never's described the Doom room events. It all made too much sense now and Lesso was silently kicking herself for not noticing this sooner. She prides herself on her observation skills so this was an unusual. As Lesso planned her approach you cried out once more, a heart shattering whimper of clear pain. It seemed to echo around the library walls bouncing off them and crashing into Lesso. Whoever had hurt you had hurt you impeccably well.

You shot up, chest heaving and choking on your own sobs as you gasped for breath. You attempted to blink away the remainder of the dream that was playing behind your fuzzy eyes. Due to the state of you, you haven't even noticed the extra presence in the room, even if her eyes were observing every little detail. "Little one?" She almost cooed out, the tone being one you'd expect from the dean of good not Lesso. The words seemingly wrapping around you like a blanket, pulling you back to the present. Only then did you catch a glimpse of the older women and your brain threw you into a panic attack. You were so going to be punished for the display of weakness.

Immediately you made your way to the darkest corner of the room and curled into yourself. Lesso watched in shock not understanding the reaction but not wishing to make it any worse for you. Carefully she stalked forwards hands up in a mock surrender before she knelt in front of you. Your eyes were unfocused and your breathing dangerously out of rhythm. You looked like a terrified child. It was truly a heartbreaking sight. "Little one? It's Lesso, you need to breathe. Can you breathe for me?" She hummed were a comforting tone you didn't know she was capable of mustering. You attempted to breathe as she had asked but every gasp of air was burning your lungs. Sobs now wrecking through you at the pain and knowing you were failing a simple task. "Can I touch you y/n?" She whispered not wishing to spook you in which you nodded and allowed her to gather you in her embrace. Immediately she slowed her breathing to a relaxing rhythm impressed with how quickly you tried to copy it. Praise was flowing from the elder women and effectively aiding in calming you down. You weren't registering the pain of the elder women holding you due to the bruising. Only when you were calm enough did you shrink away from her, the pain now radiating through your body.

"Y/n? What is happening little one?" She murmured not really expecting a reply from you but seeming the fear in your eyes she could come to a good conclusion. "What's the bruising from little one?" Her words causing you to visibly stiffen. "My family" you mumbled through your sobs. It hurt to admit this, despite the truth behind the words. These people were blood, all you had ever known, how could they be the issue when they all shared one common theme. Hating you. Nodding in an understanding Lesso opened her arms in a silent offer for a hug, you took it instantly overwhelmed and exhausted. Lesso held you tightly but being mindful of the bruising "you're safe my darling, they won't hurt you again I'll make sure of it little one." She reassured rocking you ever so slightly watching as you seemed to snuggle more securely into her warmth. Here in the moment you truly resembled that of a small scared child. It was here that you finally drifted off into a restful slumber, lesso allowed you to stay in her embrace until she was sure you were completely out of this world. Then she simply carried you to your dorm and tucked you in. Before leaving she turned your lamp on and left a simple note on your desk. The note read "dearest y/n come and find me in the morning I wish to speak with you about what you've been going through and find a way to support you, just know you're not alone and won't ever be alone again. You are safe here little one. You're safe with me. Lady lesso"

Word count 1899

*Authors note~ This one was a tough one to write I hope I did it some justice I love hearing from you all feel free to request anything:)*

#lady lesso #fanfic #leonora lesso #sfgae #dean of evil #charlize theron #lesso x reader #lady lesso x reader #lady leonora lesso #leonora lesso x reader

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cinnamondumbb · 1 year

Note

Hey, could you make a fic that focuses on Kiri/Spider relagionship? Maybe something exploring feelings realisation and childhood friends to lovers. There are so dew kiri/spider fics, please give us content :)

ꕤ ﹆｡˚ 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 —𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐗 𝐊𝐈𝐑𝐈 : when kiri leaves in the mornings, to do chores or to explore, spider can't help but follow every time.

contents. fluff, sfw, childhood friends -> lovers, lower caps intended, comforting, takes place four years after the events of atwow (characters are aged-up) + wc 1.1k

notes. decided to combine these two requests and give our favorite monkey boy the love he deserves! it's my first time writing on this ship, i hope it turned out decent lol ty for taking the time to read my work ♡

spider did not know when it started, when he developed the habit to check in on her first thing in the morning. it was a part of his routine ever since he could remember, and that did not change even after they left their home to live with the sea people.

on that particular morning, he had left his marui pod to look for her in the village, like he would always do.

yet, kiri was nowhere to be found.

he ran into lo'ak, however, who said she left before sunrise on her tsurak to the second island to the east, mentioning something about gathering new herbs for her collection. spider could not ride a tsurak or an ilu, making the small one-person boats of the metkayina his best allies.

on days like that, when kiri wandered off alone, he could not find it in him the will to not go look for her.

he found her kneeling down on the sand, probably too focused on the work in front of her to notice his presence. the boy slowly climbed off his boat, approaching the area without making a sound, evidencing all the experience he had garnered while living amongst the omaticaya, in the way he moved, leaning in on his knuckles, crawling the distance between the two of them in all fours— his very breathing. he bore a closer resemblance to the wild creatures that inhabited the forest he grew up in than to his own kind.

spider stopped a mere inch away from her, his face right above the curve of her neck. he stared into the striped pattern of that skin he knew so well, preparing to give her the scare of her life–

"i know it's you, monkey boy."

–before she ruined it for him.

"damn it!" words could not describe his disappointment. he let his body fall next to her in the sand "how do you do it, huh?"

"i could see the shadow of your massive head from a mile away," she didn't even look at him, but he could spot the smug smirk on her face as she continued to work on her herbs.

"my massive head?" spider poked kiri's waist, where he knew she was the most ticklish, making her instantly throw her head back laughing "who's got a massive head?"

"you do!"

"take it back," he poked her again, and again, with both hands this time "kiri, take it back!"

"never!" she was laughing hysterically now, unable to contain herself. still, she would not yield.

"is that so?" spider tickled her even more, moving closer, pushing her to the ground. kiri tried to escape, but there was nowhere to run, he had her surrounded with his arms.

"fuck you!" kiri snarled at him. it was a rare occasion to hear her curse but, funnily enough, all of those occasions seemed to happen when a certain human boy was involved.

"take it back and i'll let you go."

"spider, you skxawng!" it was only then that kiri realised where she was. laying on the ground with spider on top of her body. those big brown eyes of his fixated on her.

"are you blushing?"

"in your dreams," kiri tried to keep her wits about her, but it was impossible while she was so aware of his body, his eyes– "fine, i take it back!" although she tried to seem angry, she could not stop herself from smiling.

"good girl," he said while helping her up.

kiri felt her face burn, as if all the blood in her body went straight to her cheeks.

"bastard," was all she thought to reply.

"you know you love me."

kiri just scoffed at him, resuming her work. she tended to the herbs she had recently collected, cutting and separating them in piles, organizing everything in her purse.

"why did you leave so early, anyway?"

"ugh, to get away from my mom," kiri sighed "ever since i completed my iknimaya she hasn't stopped talking about– you know what? forget it, it's stupid."

"kiri, it's me," he reached for her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"well, she thinks i should be choosing a mate," she nearly whispered, almost as if she was afraid of the word itself. "oh, not only that, she also thinks that you and i are together."

"whaaat?!" spider suddenly felt anxious and unable to look in kiri's eyes directly, turning his gaze to a patch of grass nearby.

"yeah, i know! it's crazy right?"

"so crazy," spider laughed weakly, pulling on a strand of grass "but, i guess your mom just wants you to be with someone who's good enough for you, and obviously that someone isn't me."

"are you saying you don't think you're good enough for me?" kiri whipped her head from her work to face him, "i mean, in this strictly hypothetical situation," she added abruptly.

"kiri, i don't think anyone is good enough for you."

"idiot," she scoffed, gently pushing his shoulder back "it's not like anyone would want me, either way."

"that's not true–"

"yes, it is, okay? i'm a freak," her voice broke in the middle of the sentence, as she felt her throat tighten "everybody's knows it."

"kiri, you're not a freak," spider cupped her cheeks with his hands, making her look directly into his eyes "i think you're amazing. every single part of you, even the parts you don't like."

she looked at him, teary eyed. his heart broke for her. he just wished she could see herself through his eyes.

"will you just... hold me? please." spider did not have to wait for her to finish that sentence before taking her into his arms.

"i'm not going anywhere," he gently pulled her closer to his chest, caressing her hair, playing with the beads of her braids, whispering comforting words in her ear.

"spider?"

"yes, kiri?" she lifted her head and stared at him, his hand gently stroking her cheek.

"just so you know, you are good enough for me," he felt his blood boil under his skin as he realised what she meant "you are more than enough."

"kiri, i–"

"take your mask off," her tone was low and demanding.

he knew what she meant and that only made him the more anxious. spider would be lying if he said he never wished for it to happen, but now that it was happening, he did not know what to do. at last, he did as he was told.

"good boy," kiri whispered against his lips before kissing them.

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rainbow-okapi · 1 year

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Pokémon Scarlet/Violet headcannons w/MC who has Disabilities

Just me projecting, thought I’d share. Typed very hastily lol pls excuse the errors

Minor Game Spoilers | SFW

It’s is past my bedtime buuuuuuuut… Courtesy of the Arven Brainrot.

- Since Uva/Naranja Academy praises it’s diversity, I think to think they have decent accommodations for students

- There’s alternate routes around Mesagoza with accessible ramps and elevators. There’s no implied rules that students can’t ride a Pokémon up the main stairs of death to get to school either. (As someone with Cerebral Palsy, those stairs… they scare me. I would trip and die instantly if the embarrassment didn’t get me first)

- People don’t really ‘talk’ about the elevators and ramps tho so the faculty usually tell the students when they enroll

- Professors are mindful of students who need to keep snacks on them and will let most Pokémon sit with their trainers during classes for anxiety or other medical reasons

- Ya know the whole extra time on tests and all that. Extra time to get between classes for students with mobility issues.

- Ms. Dendra is a wonderful Battle Studies teacher and I liked to think she also does General PE classes on the side. You think she’s just gonna let children roam around without helping build up a bit of strength for all those hills and mountains they gotta climb??? No, she’s gonna make you run laps.

- She’ll hella nice about it tho. Just send her an email or talk to her before classes and she’ll hit you up with modified workouts so you can still participate with the class on your own preferred level.

- When Director Clavell showed up at the MC’s house at the start of the game and the mom was talking with him, I like to think he was making sure the student file was accurate

- Just so he had all the information to make sure the student would have all the support they needed during their time there at the academy since the MC was staying in the dorms

MOVING ON! Crater Squad GO

- I used to wear Ankle-Foot Orhtotics and had to use a walker for a bit soooo

Nemona:

- Nemona doesn’t even bat an eye at whatever aids you have

- Doesn’t outright ask questions but pays attention if you ever talk about it

- It helps open her world view

- If anything, if you customized them to feel more stylish/comfortable, she’d think it was hella neat! Would probably give you stickers and stuff to add to them

- She’ll probably gift you some of those cool compression sleeves like the one that she wears. Gets excited about what colors you might want and gets very happy if you wear the same color as hers.

- This girl looked at you and adopted you as her freshman rival in a heartbeat

- If anyone messes with you or starts rumors she is on. Their. Asses.

- Immediately reported to the nearest faculty member and will write a full report if the issue persists.

- She knows you can handle yourself though. Even if she worries, she tries not to hover. Will check in with you often tho

- If you have an odd gate (walking pattern) she might forget sometimes when she sees you and freak out that you’re limping from a Pokémon injury or something. A very brief second of panic.

- Catches herself wondering if a task might be too hard for you only to be proven wrong seconds later

- She’s just thinks you’re the coolest

- Doesn’t mind at all if you need to sit down for a bit after battling or on the treasure hunt

- She forgets that some people need breaks often and you asking for one reminds her to take a breather herself

- She has the stamina to battle for two whole hours but even then, she will not get between you and a snack

- Love love Loves how down to earth and practical you are about certain things but you still became a Champion despite everything. She won’t tell you, but the whole Pokémon League is impressed by you

- You’re a beacon of strength to her, even on your bad pain days if you get them

Penny:

- Penny overlaps a bit with Nemona

- Doesn’t bat an eye but will passively look up information

- Prefers to ask you questions tho, sometimes in person, usually over txt

- I like that her room is so dim, if a bit cluttered

- If you chill there for a bit, you will always have at least one Veevee in your lap or next to you

- Penny thinks it’s the cutest and she has a photo of you in a complete pile of Veevee’s

- You fell asleep on her bed and they all just collectively decided to pile on top of you. It was very cozy.

- Penny probably has a weighted blanket or a plush she’ll let you use

- She might even put on some Lo-Fi music if you asked her to, or she’ll play heavy electronic music at a low volume

- She just likes your company, she doesn’t feel pressured around you and she hopes you feel comfortable around her as well

- Worries more vocally than Nemona, and will find herself saying “that seems like a bit much”

- *catches you doing the very thing out of spite*

- “tHAT WASN’T A CHALLENGE?! STOP BEFORE YOU HURT YOURSELF?!?”

- Always has a snack on her and will share. Only with you tho

Arven ooooh Arven Big Brother Arven:

- Even if he was defensive to you at first, he immediately had a ping of concern when he met you

- Got so worried when you went to take down titans, especially the Open Sky Titan

- Openly asks questions about your disability and DIGS into research about it in his own time

- He wants to know everything and anything he can help with

- You’re convinced that some of that nurturing caregiving he gave to Mabostiff bled over to how he is with you

- Got genuinely curious if the Herba Mystica actually helped you (Especially the Salty Herba Mystica in my case lol)

- He’s always racing to your side to check on you when you actually fight the titans

- Always checks in when walking anywhere

- If the group wants to travel someplace he’s always the first to turn to you and ask if you’re up for it

- Will totally carry you if you just asked. If he’s not wearing his big hiking bag, he will give a piggyback ride. Even in between classes.

- Always reaching out a hand to steady you. Will let you hold onto him for support down/up stairs or slopes

- Cuddles. He can hardly initiate them at first but will never complain if you happen to lean on his shoulder or flop into his lap.

- The off-time he does initiate the cuddles at first, it’s usually to make you stop pushing yourself so hard.

- Oh, look at that, you’re in his lap now… guess you can’t go training like your body is telling you Not To Do But You Decided To Anyway.

- Gets pretty comfortable with Cuddles with you quickly tho. Once he’s gotten off the ‘Oh, Affection for once in my life’ shock

- I imagine he likes to hold hands too.

- He gives you little hand massages if you get fatigue from throwing pokeballs or writing too many notes. He doesn’t realize he does it it sometimes, it just happens if he’s holding your hand at the time.

- Memorizes your favorite comfort foods to make when everything gets too much. Uses your favorite color bowls/plates and everything. It’s perfect.

- Mabostiff declares himself your personal heater. No one has the heart to tell him he’s not quite a lap dog anymore.

Misc. Group ideas:

- all of them subconsciously bracket around you. Arven and Penny are always glaring at anyone who gives you looks

- Nemona also likes to hold hands. She’s always looking for an excuse to pull you around.

- Arven has to tell her to slow down often

- Penny may or may not have gushed to Team Star about you and you are on all of their ‘protect at all costs’ list

- Even if you did wipe the floor with them

- If the group stops by a store but you want to sit outside and wait, Penny will always sit with you to keep you company. She and Arven send each other memes and she’ll show them to you.

- Nemona is the queen of ‘I saw this thing and it reminded me of you’

- Tbh, that happens so often with everyone tho

- If it’s raining and it makes your bones ache and your chronic pain worse, the group will be there at your dorm. They refuse. Absolutely refuse to let you suffer alone.

- You cannot stop them, they just all collectively bee-line straight to you eventually.

- *rain starts pouring down*

- Arven: huh, guess we’re having dinner at my place tonight…

- Group cuddles after dinner. Cuddles and a TV marathon with Pokémon. It’s bliss

#pokémon scarvio #pokémon violet #pokémon headcanons #arven pokemon #nemona pokemon #penny pokemon #they speak #Pokémon scarvio headcannons #Pokémon Violet headcannons #pokémon imagines #Pokémon Violet imagines

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voidcat · 1 year

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congrats on the 900 followers, ill make sure to buy a cake im celebration once you hit the 1k mark👀

and for the event i'm asking for hugging headcanons with makima because of course i am 🥲

Hi there love<3 I’ll hold you to that promise then ahahaaha

And for what I’m about to write… ik it’s cliche at this point but the whole maternity vibes w makima- yea…

Makima + Hugging headcanons

needless to say Makima is a very good hugger, exceptionally so... when she hugs, she hugs with her entire body, being and soul, making the other party feel the warmth radiating from her, feeling her muscles move with each breath she takes in and out–

of course, all of that to her hugs and more is intentional. because jst like everything she does, her hugs are a weapon on their own, a way to utilize her means, to achieve certain wishes from others.

she inspects people and knows how to hug them accordingly. big, tight hugs, small ones with a hint of hesitancy that allows a little space to create a fake sense of privacy, hugs that make you forget about everything else, a hug that says it'll all be alright, a hug you didn't realize you missed your entire life... the list goes on as makima wears a faint smile, her chin resting on your shoulder.

and that said, makima hugs only when she sees it necessary, practical to her cause, and in private too. anyone to claim they got hugged by her or that she is a very good hugger wouldn't be very convincing (unless they're someone known to never lie or make things up)

and as comforting and "just what you needed" as her hugs feel, they leave the person with a sensation they cannot seem to shake of. because when she leans in for the hug for the first time, you are overcome with surprise and shock, as her arms are wrapped around you, hands on your back, trailing patterns with a finger– it all feels unreal, some sort of fever dream, a fractured reality you wish was real but it can never be, right? right?!

the control devil hugs with intention and agenda hidden behind, full control of her body and how each of her muscles formulate the hug, what kind of hug you need and at what moment exactly; there is tenderness, there is love, there is care, she is everything you have been craving for since day one out of the vomb, she is everything you have been missing your whole life without knowing at all.

#danyl celebrates 900 #fedya !!#makima #chainsaw man #makima headcanons #csm headcanons #csm x reader #makima x reader #chainsaw man headcanons #makima hcs #makima x you #csm x you

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buttercuparry · 11 months

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This was originally supposed to be a reblog response. But then the length of it got out of my hand and I thought why not make it an independent meta. It is long but still I would be happy if anyone of you read it. I do not claim to be an expert of anything. Only that this is my thought on the issue of Arya's gender expression

I would like to begin by asking if Arya ever has considered a particular gender expression in anyway? When we write metas after metas defending Arya's femininity, the point of argument is not to take away or bleach away the gender expression of those who specifically are comfortable and in fact do want to express themselves in certain specific ways of masc and femme. Our argument is that at no point in the story has Arya ever with the linguistic patterns available to her has expressed her desire to be "masculine". Her asking her father if she can go into politics or be a scholar isn't related to her trying to emulate any specific gender expression. How can we say Arya doesn't want to be considered feminine? Arya is a kid who time and time again reaffirms that she is a girl when (much to her chagrin) she is called a boy. She asks why cannot a woman have her own coat of arms. There is nothing in here that tells us "she doesn't want to be considered feminine". Yes I do know that being feminine and female aren't the same thing.

Yes there are girls who are very much comfortable in their gender indentity of being a woman and who also consider themselves to be butch. I think when some of us write certain metas our point is not to take away these expressions but in fact to say that there is nothing to be villified here. And of course girls who aren't given to express desires of all that is socially considered feminine ( at least in my culture): which is dreaming of marriage and family, aren't automatically someone who do not want to be considered 'feminine'. If the point of "maybe Arya doesn't want to be considered feminine" is rooted in Arya being excited to have a sword and joyous to learn water dancing and finding dresses a hindrance during her run around the war zone or even not caring if she got them muddy during playing. Then I do not know what to say.

When we are living our everyday lives maybe we are't doing things to reiterate our gender expressions. Why then when in fiction characters like Arya step out of restrictive gender norms of society is it seen as their express wish in making a kind of statement about their distaste for femininity. When in fact the statement that can be made with canonical quotations is that why aren't women allowed to be on an equal footing to their male counterparts. What is so wrong in a queen consort displaying her own coat of arms when touring the land of her subject, when the king is allowed to.

I think I have digressed. I realized this after writing all this shit. Our metas aren't in support of bleaching away gender expression when we have all fought to get here in this day and age. When certain metas circulate that make it seem as if it is a villainy for a woman to want to be "masculine" then that's the problem. When these metas then go on to cluster only certain activities as "feminine" and hence pure and those which aren't in accordance with it as "masculine" and hence to be loathed then that's what we are writing our metas against. Our metas of "if something is done by a female then it is feminine" wishes to express only this. Yes perhaps there was a lack of nuance to the words used in this expression and perhaps this can be harmful.

I know all of it is fiction but the fervour with which these metas divide the supposed good ( which within grrm's world is highborn femininity) and bad ( which is everything that does not coincide with highborn femininity- be it horse riding or living the life of a peasant woman amidst warzone), it does make us feel some type of way.

Coming from a previously colonized country which has another dark history of casteism, the parameters of what it means to be the 'ideal' woman ( note the word ideal) has come not only under the dictum of the colonial overlords but also under the dictum of savarna overlords ( upper caste tyrants). So pardon me if I am incensed to see such boxes being formed almost unconsciously in discussions of fiction.

The metas referred to in this fandom do not exist in vacuum. In this fandom there are very specific points of reference used to term something as feminine. Courtesy, practicing embroidery, sighing to love songs, the whole of the court culture, giving favours during tourney etc these are all termed as ideal points that is said to make someone truly feminine. Are these the parameters via which Arya should be measured? What is the basis for the idea of "Maybe Arya doesn't want to be considered feminine"?

I know that fiction should be fiction and real life shouldn't affect it. But even so during these discussions sometimes it becomes impossible to leave out real world political considerations. All over the world, woc have suffered from colonial gaze on their personhood and on their body. Aesthetic wise sometimes we are too hairy, sometimes our facial features aren't delicate enough, we aren't fair enough and thus we aren't feminine enough. Which sometimes translates into we aren't women enough ( why else would certain sport women be subjected to the indignity of invasive tests). So I know for a fact that if today I wish to be considered traditionally feminine, I may not be considered so aesthetic wise according to certain beauty standards of the West. And then if I consider another set of ideals that my countrymen has subjected the bodies of dalit/bahujan women to ( I think the English here is a bit wonky, so it may come off as me saying that I am from the bahujan caste, I am not. I am a savarna woman).

So when I say that Arya is feminine and scream about it over and over again, this is what I am talking about. I am not trying to create a binary for those who have a specific gender expression. And are comfortable and proud of it. More power to you.

#arya stark

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goblins-riddles-or-frocks · 5 days

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More for the commentary:

It only makes her cry harder. The soft rustle of the heavy silks falling into place is mortifying.

The Darkling sighs, reaching inside his kefta and retrieves a silk handkerchief, of course even this is black. He dabs at her tear streaked face.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

He strokes her hair. “My informants in Ketterdam report never actually spotting him at University. Do you suppose he has a mistress?”

“I…don’t think so.”

“You haven’t accepted, have you?”

She shakes her head.

“Of course not. Well with any luck he’ll be besotted enough to come back. Write to him, string together whatever romantic nonsense you can think of. That you miss him, that you’re eagerly awaiting his return to court, and that you’ll have your answer for him when he does. That will give him something to look forward to.”

“I don’t know if I can even send him anything.”

“His mother writes to him. His replies are slow, but credibly his own. I suspect there is a go-between but wherever he goes traipsing off to, he’s still able to receive correspondence.”

She nods, not sure she wants to know how he’s so certain of these things.

“When you are invited to the Tsaritsa’s parlor for tea, you must attend. Don’t beg off with a headache, or that you’re behind on studies. Go. Endear yourself to her, tell her about your little sailing trip, and ask her opinion for wedding preparations. Start picking colors and the style of lace.”

“I will,” she says hoarsely.

The Darkling sighs. “Go sleep off your woes. We have a long journey ahead of us. You need rest.” He kisses her temple. It’s a struggle not to curl into him, to cling for comfort, and that’s always what hurts her most, far more than his cutting words. She thinks, no matter what else she feels, she might hate him a little for it.

DVD Commentary Meme

Oh man. So this is the fun drama fic but it’s also really not. The main relationship throughline is so miserable.

It only makes her cry harder. The soft rustle of the heavy silks falling into place is mortifying.

I will be very real with you, I first wrote this scene to be set after they’ve already gotten to the Little Palace, so this was supposed to be a door shutting. And I think like that sound can have like a sense of finality.

I ultimately thought the encampment was a more fun setting and I switched out that beat for the tent flap but shfhff it doesn’t have that same vibe.

Anyway he did humiliate her on purpose here! He’s of the opinion— and has cultivated that perspective in her— that any sign of emotion or vulnerability is inexcusable weakness. So it’s a pretty loaded choice that he would invite someone in to see her sobbing openly (unsaid: like a child, how immature, and melodramatic etc) because he reprimanded her. And that’s not a faceless guard or servant she’s never going to speak to at length. That’s David! She’s going to have to look him in the eye later!

The Darkling sighs, reaching inside his kefta and retrieves a silk handkerchief, of course even this is black. He dabs at her tear streaked face.

So. So this is abusive lol. This dynamic is meant to be read as abusive. And while he’s never lashed out at her quite like this before she does note later that there’s a pattern to him berating her or icing her out (hurting her on purpose basically) and then either comforting her or at least trying to win her over again.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

😞

He strokes her hair. “My informants in Ketterdam report never actually spotting him at University. Do you suppose he has a mistress?”

There is literally no way in hell he’d guess what Nikolai’s actually up to

“I…don’t think so.”

Alina’s like “I’m not sure he’d have the time 😭”

“You haven’t accepted, have you?”

Said with familiarity and exasperation. I think a key difference between this fic and canon is that there is genuine familiarity? In the books he like never at all wraps his head around who Alina is as a person, but at this point he’s had more time/she’s just grown to be more like him so she’s less confounding to him.

She shakes her head.

This is an interesting point of continued defiance for her imo bc it’s like both out of her wanting to convey somehow that her relationship with Aleksander means something to her? She is emotions driven, he thinks all emotions must be crushed lmao. So even though it’s… ostensibly about him/in his favor almost… she’s still like going against him by being like “Hey my feelings matter.” It’s also like the single bit of agency she has in the larger situation of the engagement that like everyone else have arranged and decided for her.

Of course he has to take a moment to point out that she was stubborn and didn’t do what he wanted— even though at the moment it does play into his strategy lmao

“I don’t know if I can even send him anything.”

This is more her being reluctant. Her dynamic with Nikolai has been refreshingly genuine and she doesn’t want to fabricate like flowery declarations of love that he would either see through, or worse! Take seriously.

“His mother writes to him. His replies are slow, but credibly his own. I suspect there is a go-between but wherever he goes traipsing off to, he’s still able to receive correspondence.”

Credibly his own because… he’s been surveilling his correspondence… for how long?

She nods, not sure she wants to know how he’s so certain of these things.

There’s a couple times in this fic where Alina considers something about him and is like “You know what? I don’t want to know!”

The hopefully evident implication is that she also hates court niceties and has been ignoring them as much as possible. That this is a recurring invitation (among many) she has avoided with some minor drama.

She’s kind of mimicking Aleksander’s behavior tbh but he gets away with it in a way that she doesn’t. Both because he’s like… running an entire army, but also it is just more acceptable for him to hate formal events as a man. Alina is kind of kept at court as a novelty, and there’s a gendered element to the expectation that she’s going to be like a source of fun parlor tricks. And her refusing to play along is itself part of why she’s rather out of favor atm.

“I will,” she says hoarsely.

She’s just happy to have something specific to do so he can stop being angry at her 😞

The Darkling sighs. “Go sleep off your woes. We have a long journey ahead of us. You need rest.” He kisses her temple.

I think at this point he is internally cooling down a bit. And is like. oh… that was… perhaps… too much. I think there is some chagrin and even genuine concern here. But we don’t talk about feelings in this house. And also there is the high handed angle of like oh go sleep it off we’re just going to pretend this didn’t happen.

It’s a struggle not to curl into him, to cling for comfort, and that’s always what hurts her most, far more than his cutting words. She thinks, no matter what else she feels, she might hate him a little for it.

😞😞😞😞

He’s really the only source of comfort she has? At all? There’s no other place she’s getting any sort of support from at this point. She’s fully isolated and emotionally dependent on him and she knows and resents that. She’s kind of been made into his satellite.

#great one to start off with lmao #dare I tag the ship? even tho this is very much the ship? eh I think I’ll sit this one out #ask games #ask memes #fic meta #long post #dvd commentary meme #i ramble sometimes #grishaverse #éminence grise

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septemberrie · 11 months

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Battle Lines: DVD Commentary

I am proud of myself for writing 140k, I’ve never done it before! I thought some people might be interested in scenes left on the cutting room floor and other thoughts I had while writing. Spoiler alert: A lot of this is praise to @gossipqueen2000 my beta and @faytalepsy for her cheerleading and artistic vision. Also spoiler alert: contains spoilers, including for the epilogue if you haven’t read that yet.

Chapter 1

I’ve mentioned this in comments but the idea of Eraklyans being at odds with Solarians came from Alliance by @somenamewithepineapple, great enemies to lovers Silrah fic! But I wanted this to be a story of a royal and her bodyguard so I changed Farah to queen of Domino, which would also allow Bloom to be incorporated into the story and have a similar enemies-to-lovers arc between Skloom (admittedly entirely offscreen).

The idea of Alfea as an extreme pseudo-military boarding school is an amalgamation of many concepts, namely taking the black/the Wall in Game of Thrones, the various mendicant orders of the catholic church, and of course reading far too many romance novels of sexy soldier/secret agent heroes in high school.

Chapter 2

From the beginning I knew I wanted Farah to have her bedroom charmed so no one can view her decorations other than a couple inoffensive trinkets. I assume as a queen you have very little privacy, even in your bedroom you’ll probably have cleaners coming in, etc. So I wanted to show that she takes great pains to protect the most private parts of herself even in her own home.

Coming up with the council members was quite fun, tbh. I love making up fun names, and borrowing from the OG cartoon too. Although I promptly forgot how to spell “Gehrheart” and had to look it up every time I referenced him thereafter. 0/10 experience, would not recommend.

The discarded scene from this chapter is a squirrel setting off a sensor in Farah’s bedroom in the middle of the night and Saul charging in in a frenzy. I changed it to the locked door scene which fit better tonally. Plus then I thought to add the “Personally I think you’ve spent too much time in [my bedroom] already” line which was funny if I do say so myself.

A theme that never fails to be funny to me as I wrote this, is that Saul isn’t actually a very good bodyguard 😅 Accidentally locking himself in Farah’s bedroom is Exhibit A.

Chapter 3

Having Bloom and Saul be somewhat allies in opposition to Farah was really fun to write! On the surface it’s fun because they both have objections to how Farah handles certain things, but on a deeper level I wanted Saul to crave and tangentially have that pseudo-father/child relationship that he’s been missing pretty much since Sky was born but definitely since his exile.

What made this story so fun to write was the repeated pattern of a) they find some common ground that increases their respect for the other and then b) they find out something new that pisses them off and then c) repeat. Obviously item “a” always has to be stronger than item “b:” they always have to come back to the conclusion that the other is a better person than their first impression. But it was super fun to think of new obstacles to throw at them.

The idea for public audiences comes from The Emperor’s New Groove. 😌 I am the sum of all the art I’ve ever experienced.

Before I wrote too far into this, Mo and I were brainstorming bodyguard story tropes and of course I have her to thank for the “walking in on him shirtless working out” scene. Thank you kindly, Mo, your services are appreciated.

Chapter 4

This chapter was action-heavy so it took a while to write but I think it might be my favorite! You’ve got angst, you’ve got rising stakes, you’ve got protective Saul Silva, you’ve got whump, you’ve got hurt and some extremely stilted comfort, you’ve got the record-scratch cliffhanger that I love writing lol.

The initial draft of this scene had the assassins try to stab Farah as she was walking through the hospital, and they’d say “Andreas sends his regards” to Saul on their way in/out, thus implicating Saul directly. I couldn’t figure out how to make that work and then got the idea to make the assassins patient plants and have the implication come earlier, from Valtor. I’m kind of amazed how well everything fell into place.

Chapter 5

This didn’t occur to me until I was writing the epilogue, but in my head Domino culture is Celtic-inspired (since Fate was filmed in Ireland) but Eraklyon is very Greco-Roman-inspired. The Crypteia (Krypteia/Krupteia) is historically based; there are references to a year-long military service obligated for an elite caste of young warriors in ancient Sparta. Obviously it’s debated how reliably the known historical sources (Plutarch, Plato) convey the details, but I was searching for a militaristic ritual that would have high enough stakes to cause the fallout between Saul and Andreas over Sky’s safety. The Crypteia in my story is just one event, not a year.

I wrote and rewrote Saul’s “monologue” so many times because it was hard to strike the balance between capable but unlucky warrior and poor little meow meow. I think it worked, fingers crossed you agree.

In drafts, when Saul reveals he’s Sky’s biological father, I had Farah toy with the notion of using that information against Andreas, but Saul panics that it’s going to endanger Sky. I ended up deciding this was too calculating for Farah and would be writing myself into a corner. Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.

Side note but I really enjoyed the emotional whump of Farah in the aftermath of the assassination. She’s falling apart but she’s not allowed to fall apart and she doesn’t want this stranger to be responsible for holding her together but also she can’t help it and also and also and also.

I was going to have Saul resign in this chapter to keep Farah safe, rather than later on. Then I decided to extend it because a) I was having too much fun writing this story and b) I rationalized that Saul would take this as an opportunity to lean harder into protecting Farah rather than admitting he’s not the best man for the job. It’s more fun to write about flawed people than perfect people!

Obviously I had to do the “only one bed” trope. Also I’m very proud of the “Don’t be stupid”/”But I am stupid, as you tell me five times a day” exchange.

“How shall I address you?” / “Dowling, in private. Farah, if you are bold enough.” was inspired by the horribly saccharine American ending of Pride & Prejudice (2005) dir. Joe Wright.

The vow of celibacy came to me right away during the brainstorming phase. I went to Catholic school for high school and you do meet the occasional hot priest and well…you’ve seen Fleabag, you can do the math.

Chapter 6

The first draft of the first time they wake up together, since it’s from Saul’s point of view, I wrote Farah as the one to wake up Saul, and Saul—being a warrior—does not take kindly to being roused so he switches instantly from sleep to “action hero” and grabs her throat. At which point Farah also immediately overreacts to Saul’s overreaction and she uses magic to blast him across the room. And from the floor Saul slowly stirs and says “...I’m awake now.” I decided that tonally it wouldn’t fit from the discomfort of the previous night so I just started the chapter in the car.

The dream is inspired by one of my own, in which Louis Tomlinson from One Direction sabotaged my audition to play the part of “the pear” in ??? I don’t remember which musical but not one involving pears. Also, I can’t sing, so Louis was actually doing me a huge favor.

I had a hard time coming up with how to show the passage of time while still escalating the background conflict. Everything up to this point has been over the span of a few days, so I struggled with changing the scale to weeks instead. At one point Valtor showed up back in Domino and Saul disarms him; I cut that after beta help.

Yeah… I changed Bloom’s age a couple times in the writing of this fic. I meant to have Bloom be 18 and Sky a couple years older, but apparently math is hard.

Chapter 7

Reading back on this, Farah is a bit sassy to start this chapter; I specifically remember it was because Jackie had just released a new chapter of Alliance ft extremely sarcastic Farah.

Telluride was always meant to be a placeholder name until I came up with something original; it’s the name of a ski town in western Colorado, the state I moved to during the writing of this story. It’s such a pretty name, I decided to keep it.

Of course I snuck in a reference to Martin Evershed. Love that no one commented on it 😅

This is the chapter where Farah handwrites condolence letters to victims’ families. While writing, I estimated at what point her hand would start cramping and guessed thirty. Well since this chapter, I had to write 60+ thank you notes for my wedding and it’s safe to say that was a dramatic overestimate lol. My hand starts cramping after 5.

When I was agonizing over how exactly to end this story, I can’t believe the climax was staring me in the face, in this chapter. Farah literally says the line “So gutting Andreas is only a secondary purpose of carrying a dagger?” The explosion that went off in my head when I reread that part. But I’m choosing to take it as: alright well I guess I’m falling my way upwards into being a better writer, that I lay all the groundwork for my future self so well.

Chapter 8

I struggled with the kidnapping scene and wrote and rewrote it many times. I originally wanted all four of them to be together in the same room, but as I was writing Bloom and Farah kept interrupting, kept essentially making fun of Sky for being so deluded by propaganda. So I cut them out so it was just father & son for maximal angst. It was hard to thread the needle of Saul being devastated at Sky’s decisions but also a soldier enough to take him to task for it (while being heavily whumped bc I’m me).

In the original outline I had Sky take a more active role in dissuading the war via campaigning/pleading with Andreas, rather than subverting from the shadows. Ultimately I decided Andreas was beyond reasoning so that’s why Sky and Bloom took the route they did.

The cut scene from this chapter is Saul using a sexy motorcycle instead of a jeep, Farah riding “bitch” so she can hold him tight from behind. Lots of accidental touching. Decided this was not the time and place

Saul says that Sky is nineteen here lmfao. Apparently 14 at the Crypteia + 8 years of Saul’s exile = 19 years old, to renowned author and not mathematician Skye.

Speaking of, it was SO FUN to write Saul as extremely capable at everything except being a normal human man trying to function in society 😅 A drink? What is that? Stand next to hot person?? Must find way to exit; only does so after causing as much psychic damage as humanly possible.

Chapter 9

The masquerade ball was also a plot point that I knew would happen from very early on (Farah and Saul in sexy formalwear? Of course), but it was Mo’s idea to make the ball a cover for some secret diplomacy. Having a beta insanely elevated this story!

After I finished Chapter 1 and realized this was going to be a multichapter story, the dance, mask, and kiss scene was the very next thing I wrote. I am pretty proud of myself for coming up with the mask being the way Saul allows himself to “slip” and step out of himself for long enough to up the slow burn with a kiss.

Chapter 10

Writing Ben and Saul as being somewhat at odds was also very enjoyable. They’re both very protective of Farah, but Ben thinks Saul is a pushy upstart and Saul thinks Ben is a stuffy fuddyduddy. I love writing reluctant allies.

I was very deliberate that in the narration, Saul never thinks of Farah using her first name until they consummate their relationship in the hotel room. Even after the kiss at the ball he calls her “the queen” in his head except in rare circumstances when he’s considering both of them in the third person. Same with Farah; she addresses him as “Silva” in her head until they give themselves to each other in Anolide and he becomes Saul.

Chapters 11 & 12

I have Mo to thank for the introduction of Burnett; what a *chef’s kiss* to include the optimal mirror for Saul and his “failings.”

The name “Degenhard” as Saul’s pseudonym when he checks into the hotel was a result of a hilarious conversation in the WinxSource server. Apparently “degen” is German for “sword” soooo I thought it extremely fitting for what happens in the story that night. Winkyface. Sword hard. Originally the surname was “Petrino,” I think it was published that way for a couple days before I retconned it.

I really hope the final argument before the consummation was clear from both sides. Mo was supremely helpful molding it out of the clay I provided. I struggled a lot; is it ever worth it to give up your “self” for another person? When does “staying true to yourself” veer into stubbornness and aversion to healthy change? What do we owe to our former selves? I hope I answered it well.

Chapter 13

In the first draft of this chapter, Saul was on surveillance rounds when he came upon an injured child, and his panicked rushing into action is what lowers his guard and leads to him being kidnapped. Then, the child would be in the room while Saul was being tortured and she would be the apparition used to torture him instead of Sky. But sometimes less is more so I just didn’t show Saul’s kidnapping, and also I wanted Sky to have a larger role so I changed it to Sky being the apparition.

The fairy who tortures Saul is an earth fairy… know who else is an earth fairy? Ben.

Chapters 14-20

This chapter(s) took the longest. I had such a hard time getting inside Farah’s head before I settled on the rage. I was actually getting the first professional massage of my life, on my honeymoon, when the lightbulb went off: RAGE!! ANGER!!! IRRATIONALITY AND POOR DECISION MAKING CAUSED BY FEAR! All good thoughts to have on your honeymoon.

I think we all knew Saul wasn’t going to betray Farah, but I wanted to leave it as ambiguous as long as possible for the reader. At one point in draft stages, Farah was going to wake up in bed with Saul on top of her, one hand muffling her mouth and the other holding a knife to her throat. Sexy, right?

Chapter 21

The mole! I was angling for the clues to lead to Gehrheart but I had just kind of kicked the can down the road for what the payoff was going to be. I don’t remember exactly when in the story I decided to change it to Ben but it was after S2 (fake Ben!! Who is that man!! evil!!). It was just too delicious not to pass up. The key turning point for Ben was the caravan trip to Telluride when he mentions he hasn’t heard from Terra in awhile. Offscreen, Ben finds out that Andreas is holding Terra hostage for his compliance; he’s the one who sets up Saul’s kidnapping and plants the suit jacket. Farah and Saul know they can’t plan anything in view of the council, because they assume the mole is in the council, so they plot with Bloom in her bedroom, and go back to the council to set up a fake story/concern about how to resolve Saul’s situation. That way Andreas would have fake info passed from Ben (who didn’t know it was fake) and from Sky (who did).

Epilogue

Since Fate was filmed in Ireland, everything in my head for Domino is vaguely Celtic. Royal weddings in Domino are sealed by a stylized dance, to the tune of music in the vein of The Captain’s Dance by Marcus Warner (Youtube; Spotify).

🥺🥺🥺 hope you enjoyed. After reading comments and chatting in the WinxSource server I realized there were so many loose ends I could easily tie up with a couple hundred words... that turned into 6k oops. I have a hard time seeing the forest for the trees when I’m in them. Letting myself rest after finishing Chapter 21 helped me see what I needed to see, and writing this wrap-up was cathartic as well.

You! You’re stellar for reading this! I am always open to chatting more about my fics or today’s tea or another fic you love you want to share! Thank you for reading my ramblings, and my slightly-less-rambling fic, and time to go back into that wave.

#my writing #battle lines #silrah

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acourtofthought · 1 year

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Normally I try not to be overly controversial in my posts and I do try to stick with what I think SJM would do based on her patterns. I like to analyze the books as they’ve been written rather than saying “well I think this should happen because it just seems the right way to go about it”.

This one sort of goes against all that though because it’s basically narrowing the characters down to their traumas and "what” they are on an observable level rather than considering who they are despite all of that (and acknowledging all the other factors that contribute to their entire self). I also don’t claim that SJM shares this same view. It’s completely my opinion and my opinion alone. This post simplifies things in a way that I normally don’t like to do when it surrounds things that are considered TW.

There are a million other reasons I think Elucien is endgame. They are written in a way that’s beautifully compatible and share similar core values and that’s already enough to convince me. Without that though, Lucien is a SA survivor, a disabled Biracial male, and a sort of Domestic Abuse survivor too (considering Tamlin threatened him with his power on multiple occasions and has also physically assaulted him for no good reason and he experienced abuse at the hands of Beron and his brothers). I’d be surprised for an author to give her MMC a backstory with so many things that are considered sensitive subjects only to have his “Cauldron Given” Mate (the thing that is supposed to be the most sacred to these Fae) reject him for a Male who really doesn’t seem to care whether he kills him or not.

Anti’s always says, “it’s Elain’s choice!” but Elain’s choice could still include her Mate by the end of things. Our choices change as we grow so trying to box her into one decision before she even knows who she is is a bit odd.

And Elain is not the only character SJM cares for. Lucien has been a MAJOR player in nearly every book so he’s not in this series to end up a casualty of one of the FMC. And having Elain reject her Mate who is a SA survivor, DA survivor, and a disabled biracial Male for Az who is not her Mate (and will therefore not be subjected to live the rest of his life feeling the pains of an unfulfilled Mating Bond) would be really disheartening.

In the same vein, Gwyn is not only a SA survivor. There is so much more to her beyond something that happened to her so her story shouldn’t be decided based off that and that alone. But, I do think creating a storyline where the first (non taken) Male she interacted with after her assault was Azriel, where she shows obvious comfort being near him alone though she’s still hesitant to leave the library, where she’s shown flirtation toward him, only to have him end up with Elain over her in the end would read as a little callous towards Gwyn.

Maybe I’m not understanding where SJM is going with everything but to me, she doesn’t seem like the kind of author to put those things into her book only to be like, “sorry, no Mate for you” in the end. She loves HEA (as most of us do) and having a character like Lucien, for the rest of his life, being forced to accept that his Mate rejected him doesn’t seem like her style.

Now, if SJM does go the route of E/riel, I’m not going to come after her with a pitchfork and accuse her of being disrespectful towards those sensitive subjects because at the end of the day, these are fantasy books and difficult things happen to every character. In the end, she’s going to write about whatever felt right for her, regardless of who she wrote certain characters to be or the backstory’s she’s given them. And I get that, she shouldn’t have to base who ends up with who on what we consider morally acceptable.

But for Elain and Lucien to have a happy Mating Bond (which is still a very real possibility)? To have Gwyn and Az share the same? Why wouldn't you want to see that for characters who have struggled so much?

#elucien #gywnriel #pro elucien #pro gwynriel #lucien vanserra #gwyneth berdara #pro lucien vanserra #pro gwyneth berdara

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homicidal-slvt · 5 months

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"Dead But Beautiful"

Part 6

OCs x F!Reader

You are a young woman who also happens to be a witch- ending up with you in a college of mythical beings... {This story is gonna be silly chaos and will be aimed at my fellow bisexuals.}

Warnings: Gore, Violence, Death, Angst, Hurt and Some Comfort

What's it like to be dead?

Cassian can't remember what his heartbeat felt like... Sometimes he catches himself mimicking the pattern in which that you breathe as he watches you.

Baby blues shine in a way that seems almost inhuman in certain lighting, watch him for long enough and it's easy to see he isn't a breathing being anymore. He unintentionally mimics those who still have a pulse, a part of him craving to know what that's like again.

What's it like being alive?

It's cruel and unfair. He could have aged and lived the life of an average person. He had potential- he was going places in life.

It's unfair how he can't remember what it's like to live yet he remembers what it's like to die.

••

Crimson painting the walls in a morbid display, crying and screams that are all his own, fingers pressing into the splintered wood in an attempt to drag himself towards the still body

"Edith..."

Not like this. It can't be like this. This isn't right.

His touch graces the palm of her hand, she's so cold that it makes his insides ache. He tries to shift closer, the movement causing the bone in his broken leg to poke out further, a harsh gasp leaving his throat.

Every inch of his body has suffered and yet what hurts the most is seeing her silent and unmoving.

"Edith... Please."

The vampire bite on her neck visible as a symbol of something inevitable. The smallest sliver of hope remains in his mind that they will be found, however the raging winter storm outside states otherwise.

It was Alexi's fault. All of this. Her family. Her family did this. He trusted her.

••

He snaps out of it when he hears your voice, he didn't even realize he had began crying. Seated on the bench outside with autumn leaves drifting past, the leaves dead yet still beautiful painting the ground in an array of browns, yellows and oranges... He often wonders if he's much like the leaves- drifting past only to slowly deteriorate into soil in the end.

"Cassian...? Are you okay?"

You immediately internally face palmed- of course he's not okay. He is clearly very not okay.

"M'fine."

Usually he was much more talkative than this... He doesn't want to discuss what's going on, you can feel that from the look in his eyes. You know better than to try to pry, it's not your place and would likely only make what he's experiencing worse. Instead you offer what you can.

"Would you like some tea...? We can just sit or talk about something else. Whatever you need."

You watch his awkward shifting as he's a bit unsure how to answer, he doesn't really get comforted like this and especially didn't expect it from you. A slow nod as he wipes away his tears with the back of his hand.

"Yeah... Okay."

Hopefully Sev is okay with you snagging some of his tea bags... Eh- it'll be fine.

{AHAHAH- I'm so sorry. I disappear from writing for so long then deliver you this-}

{@sofasoap @scar-crossedlvrs @anna-banana27 }

{More Content}

#vee's oc works #blood oaths & autumn harmonies #vee's spooky season series

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bacon-sandwich-of-dionysus · 1 year

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Bloodhound. (A Ghost x AFAB!reader fic)

Act One, Chapter Four: The Fool

Hey all! I hope you enjoy this chapter as I had a lot of fun writing this one! :)

As per usual, apologies for any grammar mistakes. Exam season is coming in thick and fast too, around May to June, so momentum for this fic will be slowing down by a lot. You guys have been so patient so far and I'm very grateful for it.

Word count: 6,327

Warnings: Threats of violence, strong language, horror elements, Y/N having a bit of a moment, and Ghost and Soap being a pair of daft himbos.

Ghost and Soap really are the epitome of 'tweedle-dumb and tweedle-dumber'. Yes, Ghost is mean and moody, hot and broody, but I also believe that when he gets comfortable with someone, he loses about 95% of his intelligence.

“Aha!” He got out a small red bag with a white cross on it. “Roll it up so I can see what we’re dealing with here.”

23 shifted awkwardly, refusing.

Graves sighed, “Kid, you gotta help me out. I’m the one with the first aid kit and you’re the one with the bleeding knee. Let me have a look and try to sort this out.”

Again, she refused, shrinking away from him a little. Phillip rolled his eyes under his mask and then made for her, reaching forward to bring her closer to him. The child soldier backed up even further, almost falling off the tree stump she was sitting on as she swatted his hand away. He muttered a curse under his breath and turned around.

“72,” he called, “could you tell your, uh… Could you tell 23 here that I need her to show me the injury so I can fix it?”

“He’s not got any intentions of hurting you, 23,” 72 said, not looking up from her crossword, “You can see for yourself.”

Eventually, the younger of the two girls came around and rolled up her trouser leg to expose her knee. Graves winced a little as the injury was revealed. It was a nasty scrape, not too deep, but it definitely looked like it hurt. The joint itself was a little swollen too.

“I think you might have sprained it,” he remarked, bringing the leg closer to his concealed face.

“It really hurts.”

“I’m sure it does, hun.”

As he got to cleaning up the blood and debris of gravel with an antiseptic wipe, 7629 approached and set down a small bowl beside him.

“Thanks.”

“You better eat quickly. I think Valeria’s gonna be up soon.”

“Roger.”

He briefly stopped tending to 23, removing his hand from her leg to feel around for the release-mechanism on his canister-less mask. Phillip couldn’t remember how exactly he ended up with no canisters on his face, but, then again, he couldn’t exactly remember how ended up unconscious, on top of Valeria… who was also unconscious, looking like she had just escaped from an animal attack. The woman’s clothes had been torn in a pattern of scratch marks, with a shallow but still painful bite on her shoulder.

He was still puzzled as to how she got those slashes and how he ended up covered in blood too, with bite marks of his own littering his forearms… because he was still denying it was him.

Phillip was also denying that he had any part to play in 23’s sprained and bloody knee.

No one had told him anything useful about what had happened to the kid too, just that she had tripped trying to run away from someone. 72 had mentioned offhandedly that she had gone looking for him once the dust had settled and the pack had cleared the area of hostiles but…yeah, at this point he’d rather not know.

He took a spoonful of whatever 7418 had cooked up in that cheap-looking iron pot, only to almost faint from sheer delight.

Phillip never thought he’d see the day when he’d experience a ‘foodgasm’.

“Holy shit!” he said with a mouthful of the stuff, “What the fuck did you do to this, ‘418?!”

7418 shrugged, shaking his head as he chuckled, watching over the bubbling pot.

Graves was certain it had to be mutton or something, the texture reminding him of lamb. He had no idea how 7418 had managed to make something so good from mere camping food. He knew the guy had brought little jars of spices with him, catching the scent of them as he walked past 7418’s rucksack every now and then. The other guys, who had known him longer, appeared to have this running gag about him being the Las Almas cartel’s cook, as opposed to an ex-sicario, as shown by 7152 slapping him lightly on the back and addressing him as ‘Chef Ramsey’.

Anyways, Graves took one more spoonful of his dinner and quickly got back to patching up 23.

“I don’t want this getting any worse,” he mumbled as he got out a large plaster, “You stay close to 72 and you don’t get into the heat of the action. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” she sighed.

“I’m not having two kids dying on my watch. You help when I say you can, and you stay out of it when I say you do.”

She nodded.

“And that goes for you too, 72!”

The other girl gave him a thumbs-up, still working through her crossword.

Phillip shuddered at the mere thought of losing these two. Sure, he wasn’t exactly a good person per se, but the man had morals. Children. Children were where he would draw the line. Furthermore, judging by how the other guys didn’t really have much regard for them, he knew he would have to take it upon himself to ensure their safety. Graves just hoped they wouldn’t make that too difficult for him.

He pouted a little as he saw 23’s melancholy expression.

“You’re fine, 23.”

That didn’t really do much to cheer her up.

Then, Graves had an idea. He got up and moved a few feet to kneel down by the supply bags. After retrieving the desired item, he returned to kneeling before 23, presenting it to her.

“Hey!” he called for her attention, “At least your little camcorder didn’t break during your fall.”

A small smile crept onto her face as she took it from him, eager to start flicking through any footage she captured. A warmth found itself building in Phillip’s chest as he watched on, relief sweeping over him as he saw some colour and some cheeriness return to his lamia.

That was when someone lightly tapped him on the shoulder.

“She’s up, 7223.”

He nodded and thanked 7629. Then, he got up, told 23 to stay put and 72 to watch over her, before taking his leave. Not wanting his food to go cold, Phillip took his bowl with him, wolfing down a few more spoonfuls as his fellow soldier led him to where they had put Valeria.

Her eyes fluttered open, and Valeria was quick to pick up on the fact both her arms and her legs had been restrained. The wilderness which engulfed Las Almas was where she found herself. With a grunt, she struggled a little against the restraints, to test how securely they had been wrapped around her. Her legs had been bound by wiry rope and her arms were brought around and secured together behind her. Well, behind a tree. Valeria had been cuffed to a tree trunk.

As her vision cleared up, she saw three figures approaching from the small gathering a few metres ahead. She kept her head high, not wanting to show any sign of weakness. However, her captors could easily see through her facade of confidence, hearing her heart race inside her chest. 7629 couldn’t help but salivate a little, hackles raising, his mind filled with blood-drunk thoughts of a tasty meal.

Graves too could sense her blood rushing through her body. So… much… of… it. He shook away the urges, a little unnerved by them.

“So,” Valeria sighed, shoulders slumping a little, “what do you want this time, lobos?”

“We have a job for you.” The one in the middle spoke.

More specifically, the American one.

Valeria felt a shiver run down her spine. He was the one who half-ate Alvaro and almost devoured her too.

“Job?” she scoffed, putting on a mask of her own, of being unfazed and unafraid, “I don’t take orders anymore. I can offer intel to the Foundation, but I won’t do jobs.”

“You see, that’s the problem.” The American one feigned an apologetic sigh. “We have all the intel we need so bartering your way out of this with information ain’t gonna help.”

His voice was much clearer with his mouthpiece removed and mask drawn up to reveal some of his face. Now, Valeria knew why she recognised him from the scuffle.

“Graves?” she asked, almost timidly, “Phillip Graves, is that you?”

“Hi, Valeria.” He grinned, his voice coming out almost like a purr.

Her heart threatened to burst, blood rushing in her ears. She could feel herself begin to quiver a little.

“I saw you die. Your tank exploded. You would have been literal pieces…”

“It’s amazing what we can achieve with modern medicine, isn’t it?” he chuckled, resting his hands on his knees as he leaned in.

This was bad. This was really bad. The Foundation wanted him to be here for a reason. They wanted him here because he had connections. He was very much relevant to whatever task these lot were undertaking.

Alejandro, Rudy, and the rest were in grave danger.

Her tan skin had paled a little, breaths becoming shallow, as she stared at him with wide eyes.

“What does the Foundation want with the Vaqueros?”

“It’s not the Vaqueros we’re after.”

Valeria chewed on the inside of her cheek, already dreading the answer to her next question. The woman prayed that they already knew the information she was about to divulge in her question, or she would end up giving those boys away.

“What does the Foundation want with Task Force 141?”

“A client has a target we need to make a Son out of,” another spoke up from behind Phillip, “and we need you to deliver the infection.”

Valeria felt a cold sensation run through her.

“Why me?”

“Does it matter?”

The woman had an idea. Most likely, it was to keep the element of surprise for when they’d extract their new packmate. On the other hand, though, they could’ve kidnapped anyone else to do that. This was personal. Well, she sighed, that is the Foundation. They held grudges and they held power. No one, ex-lamia or ex-gorgon, was ever truly a free woman.

She didn’t want to do this. She really didn’t. Infecting someone with this… that would be delivering them a fate worse than death. Valeria was sick but there were still a few morals lingering at the back of her mind. Morals that were coming to the forefront now. The angel on her shoulder was screaming at her to just let them kill her and find someone else to be their personal postman.

Graves tilted his head to one side, impatience growing as Valeria’s silence dragged on.

Whilst Valeria’s reluctance was the dominant, screeching voice inside her head, her logical side was still very much part of this internal debate… and it argued well.

Death for her was… not ideal.

Valeria didn’t want to die but she also didn’t want to be part of this twisted game of ‘Pass the Parcel’.

“Well,” the logical part of her argued, “you wouldn’t really be part of this game, not voluntarily, anyway.”

Besides, word was, on the street, that a runaway lamia was sighted in their hepta-plate armour just on the outskirts of Las Almas. Yes, it wouldn’t be ideal to foist another problem onto that poor person but… wouldn’t they mind helping a fellow sister out? Valeria prayed that the rogue lamia would stay long enough to cross paths with the monster she was about to help create.

Her hands were tied, both literally and figuratively.

Valeria swallowed hard, desperately trying to cling to her slipping facade of fearless strength.

One of the hounds behind Phillip growled, hackles raising a little.

“Valeria,” 7418 began, “do you want to know what we’re having for dinner tonight?”

He pointed to the bowl of food Graves had set on the ground.

No, she didn’t want to know.

He chuckled.

"Te lo diré, de todos modos. ¡Es uno de tus sicarios y será mejor que empieces a cumplir o te unirás a ellos en un maldito caldo!"

"I'll tell you, anyway. He's one of your hitmen and you'd better start complying or join them in a damn broth!" was what he had said.

She sighed resignedly, horrified but not surprised. They were nothing but animals after all. At this point, Arcadian Sons gloating about which friend of hers they had eaten wouldn’t do much but cement the fact that they were rotten to the core, infected with both disease and whatever long-harboured spite had been brewing away inside them from their time as corpses.

She really should have been grateful that they hadn’t made a meal out of her yet. The fact that they were choosing conversation over tearing her throat out was something not to be taken lightly.

“At this point, boys, I don’t care. Kill, eat, pillage, destroy… I…”

Valeria couldn’t even bring herself to say it. ‘El Sin Nombre’ had given her an illusion of control and now, she had found she, in fact, had only been playing pretend. Those men were always so good at reminding her of who she was. They were an annoying constant which bridged the gap between her old and new life. Valeria loved power, until now, because now she had realised she had never even had a true taste of it. Valeria had been merely toying with the idea.

Real power was holed up in the heart of the Foundation, wearing a white coat and ticking boxes on a checklist.

Real power was also lording over her, dangling these men, these puppets, over her head, as if to say, “You’re still mine.”

It was always wise to recognise when you only have one choice, and Valeria could see it now. She had to do what she was told. The woman just hoped that there was someone else further down the line who could minimise the damage that would ensue from making this decision.

“I’ll do it. I’ll lure them out and infect the target. Give me all the information I need.”

Her voice had no emotion. That passionate, brazen cartel queen was gone. All that was left was someone tired. Someone who just wanted this to be over and done with. Like that, the woman was back to square one. Broken and afraid, with nowhere to go but to the Mexican military, with the hopes that maybe she could make a living putting some of her skills to good use.

“Muy bien.” Graves smiled.

“On the condition,” Valeria added, “you leave me be… for good.”

“You know we can’t promise that.” 7629 spoke up.

It was worth a try, Valeria supposed.

Graves turned around to address the men, “I’ll give Valeria, here, the intel she needs to complete the job. I’ll inform both you and her of what the agreed signal will be to notify success. Once we receive that signal, we’ll plan for the extraction. Understood, boys?”

“Yup!”

Phillip nodded and returned to Valeria.

“Your target is…”

Oh God…

She braced herself.

“... Simon Riley.”

Huh?

“Who?” the woman asked, brows furrowing.

Graves smiled, fangs glinting in the dim light of the central campfire.

“You may know him as ‘Ghost’.”

Her stomach dropped.

“This is some reunion! Don’t you agree?” Phillip chuckled, picking up his bowl and taking his leave, “I’ll tell you all you need in ten, Valeria.”

She cast her gaze to the ground, staring daggers into the soil, too afraid to direct them at Graves’ back; lest he sensed her look of indignation and did something about it.

“We’re not too different, you and I, Commander Graves.”

He halted, a little unnerved by her robotic, yet somewhat condescending, tone.

Turning around, Phillip looked at Valeria with a concealed face of slight confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“We’re both trapped- slaves to the Foundation. You’ll never be rid of them, you know. This is only just the beginning.”

She slowly moved to meet his face, head resting against the tree bark, her body not bothered enough to correct her slumped posture.

“Uniforms were always limitations for you and now look where you are, what you are.”

“I’ll cope,” he replied, through clenched teeth.

“You’re already struggling.”

She was just trying to stir him up, to try and get one over him. He wasn’t going to give in and entertain her, though. Valeria would just have to remain bound to a tree until they’d have need of her for their plan.

“By blood, we are bound,” the woman chuckled wryly, “You’ll be a soldier forever now, Graves.”

“Well, not forever,” he spoke patronisingly, setting down in front of her again, “One day, I’ll die and then I’ll be a soldier no more.”

“That’s if the Foundation is merciful.”

Cold ran through him. Graves growled a string of obscenities under his breath and got back up, shaking his head. Valeria followed him with her eyes, watching him finish his meal and press down on his mask. Once again, he was back to being a faceless monster, any remnants of his humanity being locked away under that awful, awful mask.

***

You were pacing back and forth in the small supply closet you had managed to find. You should’ve waited with Soap, not been a coward. However, you also knew that you’d probably end up sitting there for five minutes, jigging your leg up and down, before becoming too restless and running away anyways. There was really only one option here.

Sighing, you stopped your pacing and leaned against a wall, before sinking down and landing on your bum. You drew your knees to your chest, hugging them as you contemplated just how much trouble you were in with Laswell.

Could you even quantify it?

A little whimper escaped your lips.

How on Earth were you a lamia? You were the most spineless coward you knew!

Perhaps that was why everyone else had died that night except for you.

Oh God…

How could people in the army voluntarily do this?!

Which then begged the question of why you had decided to take up that challenge to go against Ghost.

‘Ego’ was most likely the answer.

You wanted to impress, to fit in, to befriend them, maybe start a few inside jokes. You thought that’s what army men liked doing: beating each other up and then cracking jokes about it.

The problem was that you were no army man, and you didn’t really find entertainment in beating your mates up. You didn’t really like violence altogether.

You wanted to be a normal person, have a normal job, you know? Take trains, type on computers, drink expensive drinks from… what was that place called that people spoke about… ‘Barstucks’?

Laswell could sense it in you from the moment you arrived: a monster trying to become human. You thought, maybe because she had experience in that department, she could teach you a few things.

Now, you had your doubts. Maybe she hadn’t had that experience. After all, she was in the military, using the same skills, just for different bosses. Laswell was still a lamia, just not the Foundation’s.

Other free women you had heard about had either gone into crime or… well, didn’t last very long.

Maybe you couldn’t be a normal human.

You buried your face into your knees.

Laswell had been running all over the place to find you. She had asked Gaz, gone back to see if you had returned to Soap, grabbed Price by the shoulders and shaken him, raving on about how you were… well, the best she could put was ‘fragile’.

She supposed the one good thing to come out of this was that in the hour she had spent hunting around, building up a small party consisting of Gaz, Rudy, Price and Alejandro, Ghost had managed to recover somewhat.

Soap was so happy when he saw Ghost come out of the medical room, a little sore but mostly alright. He had practically leapt out of his seat, fussing over the man the moment he had made his exit.

“Steamin’ Jesus!” Soap rejoiced, feeling relieved upon seeing Ghost look like his usual, albeit slightly mysterious, self.

“Relax, Johnny, it’s not like I was going to die.” Ghost sighed, rolling his shoulders, his body still waking up.

“I was more worried for yer future kids!” The Scotsman elbowed Ghost playfully.

“For a second I was too but the doc said I was fine. Apparently, I was just ‘shocked’.”

“Shocked?!” Soap couldn’t believe it, “Are you telling me that Y/N actually managed to gain the element of surprise over you?”

Ghost shrugged.

“No way! Someone actually did it! Someone out-Ghosted you!”

Soap couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“I’m glad you’re having fun at my expense.”

“Come on! It’s a bit funny. That tiny, little-”

“Okay, Y/N isn’t that small.”

“Well, compared to you, anyways. That little minx! They absolutely out-Ghosted you!”

Ghost sighed… and then realised something. Y/N definitely packed quite a punch. Quite a big punch. Almost too big of a punch, for someone of their size.

“Speaking of Y/N,” he looked over to Soap, before continuing in a hushed voice, “Don’t you think they were a bit too strong?”

Soap cast his mind back to the fight. Yeah. Now that he thought about it, there was a moment that he could only describe as… odd. You had thrown Ghost over your shoulder like he was nothing but a sack of potatoes. Pairing that with the rather strong handshake you had introduced yourself with to MacTavish… hmm… He stroked his chin. Strange.

“Aye. I mean, Y/N had, uh, quite a firm handshake too.”

“What do you mean?” Ghost asked, raising an eyebrow under his mask.

“When I shook hands with them, yesterday, I… They held onto me quite, you know, strongly. Felt like they were going to take my arm with them!”

“Something’s off about them.”

“Sure! But Laswell did say they were weirdly socialised from a young age or something.”

“Having an odd upbringing doesn’t make you freakishly strong, Soap.” Ghost shook his head, letting out a breathy laugh.

“Oh, and how would you know that, Simon?”

He remained quiet, looking at Soap knowingly, before quickening his pace.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” MacTavish asked.

He chased after Ghost, breaking into a light jog.

“Oi! Simon! What do yer mean by that?!”

Suddenly, Ghost stopped in his tracks.

“Do you hear that?”

“What?”

“Come here.”

Ghost gestured for the man to press his ear against the door of the supply closet. Soap did so, after picking away at some of the peeling paint. He did a few seconds’ worth of listening before looking back at his friend.

“Is someone in there?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

“Who hangs around in a broom cupboard?”

“Let’s find out, shall we?”

Gently, Ghost opened the door, light spilling into the darkness. He looked this way and that, sticking his head into the closet.

You held your breath, shrinking into the shadows, hoping they’d lose interest soon.

“I don’t see anyone, Ghost.”

He hummed in reply, though it wasn’t in agreement.

“Hello?”

“Lt, with all due respect, I think you’re talking into a void right now.”

“Shh!” Ghost snapped back.

Soap rolled his eyes, before catching sight of a vending machine sitting by the doorway to the canteen.

“While you’re poking through broom cupboards, I’m gonna go grab a snack. Want anything?”

Ghost didn’t reply, instead taking a step into the closet.

MacTavish shrugged, letting Ghost continue his investigation whilst he went to get himself a cereal bar or something. He thought he needed one after the day he’d had. Ghost would probably want one too, though Soap knew the man would begrudgingly take it from him… as he always did. Ghost seldom liked to rely on others, and it was a recent breakthrough for MacTavish to get him to even take offered food.

Soap wandered off to pursue some sugary delights as Ghost fully immersed himself in the darkness of the supply closet.

Someone was here, he knew it. The lieutenant had developed a sense for these types of situations, it was like he could sniff a person out. Anyways, he peered around, lifting miscellaneous bits and pieces off the ground, seeing if anyone lay under them.

You shrunk away even further, hoping he’d drop it and leave, wanting to be alone.

Unfortunately, Ghost found you. He removed the bundle of brooms and mops which had sheltered your sulking body.

“Y/N?”

You looked up at him before your eyes fell to the ground.

“Go away.” You mumbled.

“Wow. You kick me in the balls and now you’re telling me to ‘go away’. Awfully kind of you,” he chuckled, taking a seat beside you, wincing a little as he landed on a sore spot.

You shuffled away from him, withdrawing further and further into your cocoon of sadness. You reminded Ghost of a kicked puppy, which was kind of ironic seeing as you were the one who had done the kicking, but anyways, he wasn’t oblivious, he could tell you weren’t happy.

“Usually when I see someone realising they’ve fucked up, it makes me feel quite good,” Ghost remarked, “but for some reason, Y/N, you’re really bringing my mood down looking like this.”

You grumbled something, but he couldn’t make out what it was, your knees muffling your voice.

“How long have you been sulking in this broom cupboard?”

Again, you mumbled something.

“What was that?”

“I’m not sulking,” you growled.

“It looks like you’re sulking.”

Finally, you released yourself from your prison and stretched your legs out, sighing.

“I… I just feel bad, Ghost. I didn’t mean to-”

“I know you didn’t.”

You turned to face him, a little surprised.

“You looked scared,” he admitted, staring ahead, “I wasn’t going to hurt you. You know that, right?”

“I look scared?”

“Yeah. When I was coming to help you up. you looked at me, but I…” He scratched the back of his head, trying to find the words. “I don’t think you saw me.”

Being in this profession long enough, Ghost knew the signs of trauma when he saw them. Sure, he wasn’t exactly the leader of this motley crew, that title belonged to Price, but he was still a lieutenant. He still had to take care of people in some form, and while you weren’t really part of anyone’s group, that caring instinct took hold of him.

You sat there in silence, face twisting a little as you digested his sentence. Ghost turned to look at you, leaning in a little but being measured about it, hoping to not frighten you off.

“Are you okay, Y/N? I’m not usually good with this, but do you need to talk to someone?”

Your lip wibbled, tears forming in your eyes. You didn’t know what was happening, but this surge of emotion overcame you. Body trembling, shoulders tensing, you felt it coming up your throat.

You cried.

You cried and cried and cried.

Tears streamed down your cheeks and into your hands as you brought them to your face. As you clutched your head, fingers threatening to dig into your eyes, Ghost just sat there, unsure of what to do.

He had expected that you would start howling like a banshee, but it never came to that. Instead, muffled sobs and sniffles filled the silence of the supply closet.

As you trembled, you felt a light touch on your shoulder and back. Then, a force pulled you until you hit something fairly solid.

Instinctually, you nestled into his warmth, still crying. Ghost stared off into the distance, letting you have this moment, unjudged, to just let it all out.

Laswell had said you had been through a lot, and now, he was certain of it.

Several footsteps sounded outside, suggesting the presence of a group of people hurrying along the corridor. The murmur of voices came along with it, growing louder as the party drew nearer.

“Okay, this is the last place we haven’t checked.” Ghost recognised Price’s gravelly voice.

“I’ll have a look inside, you lot keep an eye out for them around here,” Kate replied.

She came in, only to see you resting against Ghost, eyes squeezed shut as you continued to cry.

Laswell made to approach, but Ghost raised his hand.

“Give them a moment. I’ll let Y/N know you wanted to see them.” He whispered.

She let out a sigh.

“If you start feeling weird, leave them and eat raisins.”

Before Ghost could ask one of the many questions floating around his head after that bizarre statement, Kate left.

Go eat raisins?

The way she had said it almost sounded like medical advice. What did Kate mean by that?

His eyes narrowed a little, but he wasn't going to pay too much attention to it. He supposed if it came to it, he’d just do as she said and ask his questions later. Ghost was pretty sure he wouldn’t start ‘feeling strange’.

However, gradually, Ghost began to notice an unfamiliar sensation overcome him: profound sadness. The feeling sort of made itself home at the back of his mind, being just about ignorable, but he found it curious. This probably sounded nuts saying it aloud, but Ghost felt as though this emotion didn’t belong to him.

He looked at you. You had stopped crying now and had resorted to staring off into space, your tear-stained face haloed by the light pooling in from the open door. You had entered the numbness stage, not really feeling anything. Although, you did know things were still intense, bubbling just under the surface, because you could sense it had transferred to Ghost, like a faint, developing stain on his mind.

It was probably best to conclude this ‘exchange’ and go your separate ways.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, wiping away some of your tears from his shirt with your sleeve, “Your top is probably really gross now.”

He let out a small chuckle as he watched you do your best to neaten yourself up, moving your hair aside and wiping away any signs of sadness on your face.

As you made to get up, you felt him gently stop you.

A lump in your throat formed as you locked eyes with him.

Ghost wanted to ask who you were, what you were, knowing full well you had had some effect on him… However, there was a time and place for those questions, and he understood that you probably wouldn’t like being interrogated. And so, he let you leave.

“Go eat raisins, they’ll, uh, help,” you blurted out before spinning on your heel and scampering off.

Raisins, again. Ghost’s brows knitted together under his mask. He decided he would take that advice… just in case.

Finally, you had space to breathe… well, you thought you did. Your hopes were quickly quashed as you halted at the sight of Laswell, standing a few feet ahead of you, down the corridor, arms folded, unimpressed.

You gulped.

She ushered you into the bathroom and closed the door. Then, she took a deep breath, before returning to face you.

“Y/N… I…” she sighed, scratching the back of her neck, “Look, if you want to blend into normal society, you gotta-”

“I’m leaving,” you cut her off, “I don’t think I’m any good here.”

Laswell was shocked.

“Y/N, no. You can’t. I still haven’t sorted out-”

“It’s fine. Just put it on my lexicon.”

“I don’t have a lexicon to transfer the information to yours.”

“What?”

She pinched the bridge of her nose.

“This is my point. People out there don’t have lexicons. The guys here aren’t anything like the Arcadian Sons back at the Foundation. They’re not as strong. They can’t change. None of it. You’re not weak here.”

Laswell made to approach you and felt her heart sink a little as she watched you back up.

“Y/N, I can help you find a way to keep the Foundation off your tail but once you’re out there, you need to understand that you are not weak. We lamias are insanely potent, and that potency can seriously hurt people. You have to promise me that you’ll be careful. Being human isn’t easy.”

“Laswell, I wasn’t going to hurt him!” you shook your head, voice shaking a little as you laughed, nervously, “I know that these guys and the people out there are not the same as those in the Foundation. I’m not stupid!”

“I just need you to be careful. I have seriously hurt people and I don’t want you to make the same mistake.”

“I won’t.”

“You won’t?”

“Yes, I-”

“Shh!”

Laswell’s demeanour suddenly changed. She looked about, alert, pupils dilated.

“Someone’s eavesdropping.”

You tried to suss out who it was too, looking about just as Kate was.

“Who?” you asked.

Soap stood on the other side of the door, plastered against the wall, covering his mouth.

“Mactavish,” Laswell whispered under her breath.

Soap shuddered.

He looked down and saw the handle on the door begin to turn. Almost immediately, he took off.

The door swung open, and Kate peered out to an empty corridor. She hoped Soap hadn’t heard too much, sighing resignedly.

“Y/N,” she kept composed, continuing the conversation, “don’t overthink this. Just be aware of your strengths. The world’s not made of glass, but it easily can be if you’re not careful. I’m still working on contacting someone who can get your records deleted and make you officially not Red Room property, but it’s gonna take some time. Stay here in the meantime and keep calm, I don’t need you turning my boys into messes.”

“I’ll do my best. And I’m sorry about earlier.”

“Learn your lesson and stick to where I can keep an eye on you.”

You nodded, your mind wandering back to Ghost.

Laswell picked up on it.

“Ghost’s a good one. But don’t crowd him, he likes being mysterious and aloof.”

She chuckled as she watched you flounder, trying to excuse your sudden interest.

“Take care of yourself, Y/N.”

“Thanks, Kate. I’ll try.”

***

Ghost, for some odd reason, had volunteered to be on night watch again. Everyone was surprised and seriously discouraged him, especially after his little accident with you. However, all pleas for him to just go to bed fell on deaf ears. He was stubborn as a mule and adamant to be on lookout for the night.

Soap had initially joined the discouragement but soon was elated to have his mate with him. They both trekked the halls, looking around for any signs worthy of suspicion.

It had been a pretty quiet night, with little to nothing happening.

That was until the howling started.

Soap had gone from reclining in his chair on the ‘front porch’ of the base to sitting bolt upright, gun at the ready. Ghost gestured for him to lower his weapon.

“What was that?” Soap whispered.

Ghost shrugged, throwing a raisin up in the air, only to miss it as he tried to catch it with his mouth.

“Coyotes or something.”

“Nah!” Soap shook his head. “That’s too deep to belong to a coyote. It almost sounds like a person!”

“Coyotes sometimes sound like that,” Ghost remarked, stretching his legs out, “Remember when we were interrogating Hassan? Those coyotes sounded like a bunch of wailing women.”

“Freaky stuff.”

He watched Soap swallow hard, reclining back into his seat, albeit reluctantly.

“Awooo…” Ghost let out, with a snicker.

“Simon, that’s not funny.”

“Awooo! A-A-Awoooo!” The lieutenant howled into the night.

“Simon, shut up!”

Soap struck at him, lightly, only to then whip his head around at the sound.

“AWOOOOOO!” the forest replied.

Soap felt chills run up and down his spine. Ghost watched his face grow pale.

“Come on, Johnny, let’s go inside if you’re that spooked.”

He got up from the dinky chair and gestured for Soap to follow and he did so, not taking his eyes off the trees, deeply unnerved by the sounds of the night.

As they walked down the corridors, Soap stopped by your bag. He shined his torch at it, curiosity spurring him on to investigate.

“Those are Y/N’s things,” Ghost spoke with a stern voice, “Leave ‘em.”

“You know,” Soap mumbled as he squatted down before the open duffel bag, something shining between the lips of the open zip, “I think Y/N might be something supernatural, and so is Laswell.”

“Laswell?” Ghost raised an eyebrow under his balaclava.

“Aye. I think they’re both the same… thing?”

“Johnny, I don’t think we should be looking through Y/N’s shit. Let’s keep moving-”

CRASH!

“Soap!” Ghost snapped.

MacTavish’s eyes widened as he investigated the spilt contents of your bag, lightly holding a sleeve of your hepta-plate armour.

“What is this stuff?”

Now, Ghost was curious. He knelt down beside Soap, peering at it.

“It’s… shiny.”

He ran his finger over the scale-like texture of your chest piece, only to then reach the centre. There was a larger chunk at the heart of the armour and, wanting to see if it was a button or something, he gently gave it two taps.

They both gasped as they watched the entire raiment vanish from existence, only to then fizzle back like a glitching television screen.

“Oh my God,” was all Soap could say.

Ghost was stunned into silence, feeling the foreign fabric between his thumb and index finger.

“Who is Y/N?” he muttered, examining how the scales of your armour reflected the torchlight, iridescent, like the shell of a beetle.

As Ghost was about to activate the shroud mechanism again, someone from behind spoke up.

“What are you two doing?”

They both stood up and turned around, hearts kicking up a notch as they realised it was you.

You had your arms folded over your chest, your foot tapping on the floor as you eagerly awaited their excuses for going through your things.

“Y/N!” Soap remarked, “Uh…”

Ghost knew the Scotsman was going to start digging a hole for the two of them, hence why he elbowed him. Soap promptly shut up.

“I see you’re having another late-night stroll.” Ghost gestured at your… uh… clearly-being-up-ness.

#AND THE PLOT THICKENS #bloodhound fic #cod mwii fic #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #phillip graves cod fic #valeria garza cod #john soap mactavish #kate laswell #cod mw2 werewolf au

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