#their depravity has no bounds. my heart hurts so much

[sjoongki]

was scrolling through twitter during a quick break at work, and now I’m desperately trying not to break down in tears or throw up. the scale of latest atrocities committed in palestine is absolutely horrific and I just can’t understand how people can exist without a single molecule of humanity in them. it makes me so sick to see that this is the world we live in today, and that this is what our elected officials actively support and back with our taxes. the utter lack of humanity and decency is beyond heartbreaking. i don’t know what to say anymore.

#tbd #ya rabb forgive us for our forced complicity 😢 the blood of the innocent is on all of our hands #aid ships are now turning back around after seeing how the world central kitchen volunteers were brutally murdered. this famine is #completely manufactured and is one of the greatest crimes that one can commit against their fellow human being #their depravity has no bounds. my heart hurts so much

[hoboal87]

Don't Speak, Part 21

Pairing(s): dark!Sam x f!Reader, implied dark!Dean x f!Reader, mentions of Adam x f!Reader, dark!Dean x Claire

Characters: dark!Sam, dark!Dean, pregnant!Reader Claire, Bobby, Ellen

Warnings: dark!Winchesters, Trauma Bonding/Stockholm Syndrome, **Non-graphic descriptions of Non-Con/Rape, **Dub-Con, Violence, Non graphic descriptions of childbirth, Manipulation, Angst, **past miscarriage, Pregnancy

WC: 2.8k

beta’d by the wonderful, lovely, @writethelifeyouwant

**This is a dark!fic that includes triggering content and is intended for mature audiences only. You are responsible for your own media consumption, so please, read the warnings and if you feel that you may be triggered and/or offended please move along. If you have any questions about the warnings/tags please feel free to DM me.

Don’t Speak Masterlist

My Full Masterlist

Part 20

May

You don’t remember most of what happened after Dean confronted you and Adam. Bits and pieces shine through your memory on occasion but whatever he’d done to you–to Adam–is gone, and if you’re honest with yourself, you’re grateful. You don’t want to remember the awful things that Dean had almost certainly done to him. Your previously damaged wrist is wrapped again, your jaw is sore and your throat feels raw. You aren’t sure you could open your mouth to speak or eat, even if you wanted to. 

You bring your hand to your face to feel the damage done, and from what you can detect, you’re swollen and there is at least one cut on your cheek. Groaning, you sit up, the pain briefly replaced by relief when a small kick comes from your belly. 

The baby is okay, you sigh. It shouldn’t surprise you that Dean managed not to do any harm to your baby; producing an heir for the brothers has always been the goal since they took you a year ago. But whenever you think they’ve hit new lows to their depravity and ruthlessness, you or Claire learn that they have no boundaries. 

As you rise from the bed, your ankle aches, no doubt also injured from Dean’s attack. You push through, needing the movement after being bed-bound, and make your way to the dressing table to grab a mirror and inspect yourself. Your reflection startles you. Bruises litter your body, two distinct handprints marring your neck, and a gash that has been crudely stitched. You wonder who had tended to your injuries. Adam, for all you knew, was dead. If Dean hadn’t killed him, surely Sam would have; he had touched what’s theirs, and the Winchesters are nothing if not possessive of you and Claire. 

“You’re up,” Sam’s voice fills the emptiness of the room causing you to drop the mirror, and you watch as it cracks on the ground. Your heart pounds in your chest as he strides towards you, closing the space in less than half a dozen steps. His hand cups your face gently, his thumb grazing the healing cut on your cheek, and though you try to contain yourself, you let out a small gasp of pain and his face softens. 

“I was starting to worry, princess,” he says warmly, a look of concern just barely touching his hazel eyes.

“I’m sorry, Sammy,” you murmur, a feeling of guilt deepening in your stomach. Sam wraps his arms around you. 

“You understand why Dean had to punish you, don’t you, Y/N?” Sam asks, waiting for you to nod in agreement. “Do you know how much it hurt, princess, that you were hiding this–” his hand cradles your stomach “–from me?”

“Sammy, I’m–” you can’t finish your apology, sobs leaving your body instead. You’d hurt him; you’d hidden your pregnancy for months, and now he’s upset with you. “I was scared– I thought if I waited until…”

“To find out from Dean? From Claire? Why didn’t you trust me, Y/N? I stood by your side when you miscarried, didn’t I? I gave you space to heal, I was gentle with you afterwards, wasn’t I?” Sam demands, his expression hardening, sympathy slipping away. 

You nod, feeling ashamed for lying to Sam. He was gentle, understanding even; he didn’t have to obey John’s orders to stay away, but he did. Even after having to teach you a lesson when he found out about you and Claire, he was practically apologetic. He told you he loved you, and you repaid him by breaking the promise that you’d never do anything like that again. If there is one thing you were still learning about Sam, it’s that he doesn’t tolerate dishonesty.

“I told you it wasn’t your fault– that I didn’t blame you for what happened and you betrayed me, you kept secrets from me.” Sam gazes down at you pointedly, as if he’s waiting for you to make another confession. Your stomach knots violently: are you supposed to admit that his father had ordered you to carry on an affair with Adam in order to conceive an heir? What does he know already? Your heart thumps harder. What had Dean told him; does he know that Adam is John’s bastard; does he care? “Anything you’d like to tell me, Y/N?�� 

“I’ve been– Adam and I– John–” You don’t know where to start. Your relationship with Adam was nothing at first, you were obeying your husband’s father. Sam needed an heir, biological or not. “John told me to– that I had to with Adam,” you mumble, preparing yourself for Sam’s reaction. “Before he died, he said I needed to be pregnant when you returned from your trip. I didn’t– I didn’t want to, Sam, but you weren’t–”

“So you’re saying it’s my fault?” He accuses sharply, and you can’t stop yourself from recoiling from him out of instinct. “You fucked that piece of trash Milligan, and I’m to blame? Or is it that I married a whore who can’t keep her legs closed? Which one is it, Y/N?”

Tears fall silently down your cheeks, “I’m sorry, Sam, it won’t happen ever again. I only love you– I only want to be with you,” you half-lie. You’d learned to love him before, you could learn again. “I’m yours.”

“Good,” he sneers. “And let me tell you what will happen if you decide to deceive me again.” His eyes darken. “I won’t step in like I did this time. Do you want to know what Dean was doing to you when I found you?” 

You hesitate to answer, thinking briefly that you could fill gaps in, but the bruises on your body told all the story you needed to know. You shake your head, diverting your eyes to the floor. 

“Dad isn’t here to protect you any more, princess,” Sam grabs you by the chin, forcing you to lock eyes with him. “Right now, the only thing stopping me from throwing you out onto the streets like the whore that you are, is that I need an heir to get what’s rightfully mine.” He jabs a finger roughly at your stomach, and Mr. Finch’s words echo in your ears. “No one is to step foot in this room, unless they are with me, until I say otherwise, understood? That includes Dean.” 

“But what if–”

You hear the sound of Sam’s hand cracking against your face before you feel it. “I said, no one,” he reiterates, roughly pushing you back onto the bed, and running his hand up beneath your nightdress. “Open,” he commands, giving each of your thighs a slap. You do as you’re told, bracing yourself against the bed, hoping that this will prove your loyalty to him.

July

Weeks turn into months of being kept under lock and key. Sam is true to his word, you don’t see anyone: not Dean, Claire, Ellen, or Bobby. Sam is the one bringing you meals, books from the library when you request them, and when he’s in a particularly good mood, he accompanies you on walks around the east wing of the Manor. You spend your days staring out the window, envious of the fresh air that Claire and the few remaining servants can take advantage of. 

You’re starting to grow restless. You crave interaction with someone other than Sam. Once or twice a week, muffled arguing seeps into your room from the hidden passageway that Sam and Dean still use to visit each other, but you can never quite make out what is being said. Whatever they were arguing about, it seems like Sam always won. 

The only person besides himself that Sam allows into your room is the midwife, Dorothy, who visits two weeks after Dean's attack on you and Adam. She inspects your body with a raised brow, the gash on your cheek is mostly healed, and a scar has taken its place; the bruises have faded, and your ankle no longer aches, but you fear your wrist will never be quite right again. She declares you healthy in regards to your pregnancy before noting the paleness of your skin, and you silently rejoice when she recommends that you be allowed more time outdoors, to take in the air. She concludes that you and Sam should expect a delivery by the middle of September, giving you only two months left to prepare for the baby’s arrival. 

Sam takes Dorothy’s recommendations seriously and tells you that night that you’ll be allowed to walk the grounds, though he will of course be accompanying you. You take your walks late in the morning, and it becomes a part of your new routine. The fresh air does you a world of good, making the isolation that Sam has you in almost bearable. Some days, you sit under the large oak, wondering if this is what the rest of your life will be like at Winchester Manor–only ever allowed to see your husband, and not his brother or your sister-in-law ever again. You want to ask Sam to allow Claire to join you as she used to, but the mention of anyone else being around you causes Sam to lose his temper. Something has him paranoid. When a gardener gets too close to the two of you one day, Sam launches into a tirade about you being taken away from him. He grabs your arm roughly, guiding you back to your room and slamming the door before moving a dresser in front of it to block anyone from entering via the main hallway.

He paces the length of your room, muttering under his breath about blood curses and demons, uncleanliness and a sacrifice that has to be made. You’re frightened, but still you reach out in an attempt to calm him. He lashes out, his eyes darkening, and he shoves you back onto the bed before pushing up your skirt with one hand and freeing himself with his other. Your instincts to fight back–which you had long ago learned to suppress–desperately try to resurface, but you know it won’t do you any good. You brace yourself as Sam pushes in, stifling a cry as he mutters ‘mine’ over and over again, in time with his thrusts. Once he’s finished with you, he tucks himself away before disappearing out of the room through the secret passage, not returning until the next morning. 

His demeanor is different–the madness that was behind his eyes is no longer there–but he informs you that for the time being you will no longer be permitted onto the grounds. You want to argue that Dorothy explicitly said you needed the fresh air and sunlight, but after the incident yesterday, it’s clear that Sam’s mind is in a fragile state, and you can’t risk your or your baby’s life. You spend another week in isolation, reading and carefully observing Sam. Bouts of madness seem to slip through the cracks more and more now that you’re looking for them, and you wonder if whatever once afflicted his mother is now coursing his veins also. 

That night, pained screams replace the usual silence of the Manor. Your heart falls to the pit of your stomach, and you hope Claire isn’t being punished for something at such a late stage of her pregnancy. Sam, unsurprisingly, is unfazed, but allows you to cozy up against him as the screams become more frequent.

“Sam!” Dean bursts through the secret passage and is striding towards the bed before you even register that he’s in the room. “It’s time.”

“And?”

“We made a deal. It’s time,” Dean insists stoically. 

Sam rolls his eyes before exiting the bed, gesturing for you to join him. “Go with Dean,” he commands as Dean pushes against the wall, revealing the dusty passageway. Sam disappears out of the room as Dean grabs your hand to pull you into the dimly lit corridor. 

In what feels like a matter of only seconds, you are in Dean’s room. Claire is panting in the middle of the bed, clutching at her belly and pulling on her nightdress in plain distress. As you move closer you notice a large wet spot underneath her. Dean orders you to sit in a chair beside the bed as he paces the room impatiently. You grab Claire’s hand, unsure of what else to do, and give it a tight squeeze. Claire gives you a pained smile in return. You want to give her assurance, tell her everything is going to be okay, but your words stick in your throat.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Claire mumbles under her breath, glancing briefly at Dean, and for a moment things seem to calm. “I thought– If I’d known, I wouldn’t’ve–”

“I know,” you tell her. She isn’t a malicious person, and as easy as it would be to hate her for what she unknowingly set in motion, it wouldn’t do anyone any good. “It’s okay, Claire.”

“What’s taking so long?!” Dean grunts as Claire’s breathing picks up again and another wave of contractions hit. 

Sam’s been gone at least an hour. At first, you assumed he was going to wake Bobby to send a carriage to retrieve Dorothy, or send for Ellen to help. She may not have medical training but she’d gone through birth before and helped you through the aftermath of your miscarriage. You had some knowledge yourself–only a week prior a book titled The Wife’s Handbook arrived, which you immediately consumed, wanting to know everything in case of this very circumstance. During your previous pregnancy, you were able to go to Claire or Ellen with any questions, but this book gave you guidance on things you wouldn’t think to ask. Though, you’d figured it would be you, and not Claire who needed help when giving birth, worrying that Sam wouldn’t allow anyone in to see you when your time came, if his mind kept deteriorating at the pace it seems to have been lately. 

“Not much longer,” Claire grunts, tears filling her eyes. You nodded in agreement; her contractions are only a few minutes apart, now. “He promised, Dean.”

“I know!” Dean focuses back on the two of you, anger bright in his green eyes. “Stay here, Y/N.” As soon as he’s out the door, Claire lets out a blood curdling scream. 

You lift her soiled dress to find a head, covered in dark blonde hair, delivered. Before you can tell her to push again she’s already doing so, and you watch in awe as the baby leaves her body. You flip the baby over, rubbing her chest, and waiting for her to cry. It takes a moment, but loud, high pitched cries issue from the tiny girl’s body, and relief washes over you.

Claire reaches out for the little girl and you hand her over gingerly, holding back your own tears as Claire brings the baby to her chest. You rub your hand against your belly, knowing that in only a few months, you’ll have your own baby in your arms.

“Ameila,” Claire whispers against the baby’s head. “I can’t believe you’re finally here. I love you so much, baby girl.”

You leave Claire alone briefly, entering the connected bathroom, and grab as many towels as you can. When you return, Claire has shifted baby Amelia to her breast, softly cooing at her. You drape a plush towel over the baby, lay two under Claire, and set the rest to the side.

When Dean returns, he has Sam in tow, and there is a heavy clanging echoing behind them. Your eyes stay fixated on Dean as he approaches the bed, warmth filling his face as his gaze falls on the baby in Claire’s arms. She hands the now sleeping Amelia over to Dean and his body stiffens slightly, as if he’s afraid he might hurt the newborn. You move away from the couple, allowing the new family a moment alone. For now, there isn’t any more that you can do for Claire, she needs a midwife or doctor to assess any damage done. 

Sam doesn’t enter the room much further than stepping over the threshold, and you decide to join him. Once you’re next to him, you notice that there’s a large chain in his hand leading outside of the room. Claire lets out a hiss of discomfort, and there’s a nod between the brothers after a stern look from Dean. Sam pulls roughly on the thick chain and a hoarse grunt comes from the hall. He jerks the chain again. This time, the sound of footsteps accompany another, more submissive grunt. Dirty and bruised hands reach out on either side of the doorframe, using it for leverage as a figure steps out of the darkness and into the room.

Adam.

Part 22

Feedback is fuel! Please tell me what you think!

#don't speak #dark!fic #sam winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader #tw: noncon #sam winchester #dean winchester #smut #angst #supernatural

[concussed-to-pieces]

Her Dove, His Falcon, Their Shield Part One

Fandom: Game Of Thrones

Pairing: Eventual Oberyn/Reader/Ellaria

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Disclaimer for Game Of Thrones writing here! This installment contains a reader that is a ruff tuff cheeto puff, a damn juggernaut. STRONK. I would like to extend my heartfelt thanks to culturalrebel and hulia for recommending me compilation videos, as well as to @zeldasayer for inspiring me to write a hella buff reader. This is peak indulgence, pauldronsexual hours bois. I wax poetic about Ellaria, it’s a great time. I'll see you all with part two on Monday. Enjoy!

Tag List: @culturalrebel @huliabitch @absurdthirst @helplessly-nonstop

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains depictions of canon-typical violence, allusions to canon-typical abuse, depictions of sexual activities with a pregnant party and vague allusions to breeding kink. Stay safe!] 

You were sure your fingers were broken.

The pain flickered sunlight-bright behind your eyes every time you had tried to move your pinky or your index, your entire right hand so gristly you didn't dare to look at it after you had bound it up as best as you could.

You clutched your hand to your chest, forcing yourself to focus. The wharf. You had to reach the docks. That had been your plan this morning, before everything had gone so terribly wrong. 

You crept through the shadows, dashing away your tears with your threadbare shawl. Your weeping would only be a sign of weakness, urging the vultures to circle on your corpse before it was even cold.

The creak of timbers heralded your arrival to the waterfront and a soft sigh of relief left your mouth when you spotted who you were looking for. The sailor that had promised you passage was there, leaned against the wall of the nearby harbormaster's quarters. He glanced up at the sound of your voice when you hailed him, tipping his head.

"Well well, look what the cat dragged in." He chuckled, wandering hands already tugging at your shawl. "Have you brought the payment, my dear?"

You pulled forth a small purse of coins. "I know it is less than what we promised, but I was unable to-" The man clicked his tongue, obviously disappointed. "I-I am certain we can come to an agreement, please." You begged desperately. You were so close to your escape!

"Darling, we had a deal." The sailor chided, sounding like he was scolding a child. "You bring me the payment, and I convince my captain that having a woman on board our vessel isn't bad luck. Now, at the eleventh hour, you decide you want to bargain?" The man crowded you back against the wall, his face inches from yours when he muttered, "I don't barter with whores." The blow caught you unawares, the back of his hand connecting with your cheek. You shut your eyes when he raised his hand again, gritting your teeth in anticipation of stifling your noise. 

Gods, you were so tired of this.

"What are you doing to that girl?" A man's voice demanded, his distinctive Dornish accent thick with either drink or weariness. "Get away from her or I will cut you down where you stand, you cur." 

"She is hurt, lover." That voice was lilting, intrigued, a woman's voice. "Look at her hand, and the way her face is turned. She has been struck."

You abruptly felt the sailor's weight removed from your body, the sudden action making you cringe back against the wall. Large, trembling fingers eased your wounded hand away from where you had it protectively curled into your chest. "What has happened to you, sweetling?" You didn't dare to open your eyes and the man tsked after a moment, relinquishing your hand. 

"Lover, we must get you onboard, your wounds-" 

"A moment, Ellaria. This…" A hand touched your cheek, making you start and open your eyes. Dark, textured leather armor met your gaze, the surface spattered rusty with blood. Your breathing stuttered. You didn't dare to look up at the man who wore the armor, staring at his chest as hard as you could manage.

The hand slid beneath your chin, tugging your eyes reluctantly upwards as your shawl slid off of your head. You gasped when you caught sight of his face. The man appeared battered, the sides of his head badly bruised at the temples and cheeks. There were livid contusions that looked suspiciously like large handprints, as if someone had attempted to crush his skull with their bare hands. His left eye was bloodied, laced with spiderwebbed veins and swollen half-shut. The fingers that touched your face were still shaking, his other hand pressed to a dressing that wrapped around his left elbow.

"Not a girl, I see. A woman." The Dornishman said quietly after enduring a moment of your impolite gawking. "And as such, I cannot make this choice for you."

You swallowed hard. You had heard stories about the people of Dorne, about Sunspear and the supposed depravity that took place there. True, you had been hoping to get aboard a ship and go somewhere, anywhere, as far away as you could manage. And with that sailor denying you passage...

The man's deep brown eyes saddened at your silence. "Would you stay here and endure this mistreatment from men like him, simply because it is familiar?"

You shook your head, fleetingly meeting his gaze and opening your mouth. "I have never been on a ship before, m-my lord." You attempted a belated curtsey. You had no idea who this man was, but it was best to err on the side of caution that he was of a higher social ranking than you. Most people were.

He seemed amused if anything, a pained smile crossing his haggard features. "You will soon grow to love it, little dove."

"If it pleases you, my lord." You demurred in a whisper, your heart pounding in your chest. Were you trading one cruel man for another? They often hid their true intentions until their audience was gone. But the woman at his side...she didn't seem fearful. "I have naught to offer for my passage but this, my lord." The small purse of coins jingled softly as you extended it to the man in front of you. "I am uncertain how much distance it will buy me, but I am not afraid of hard work."

The man waved it off, cupping your hand around the purse. "Do not trouble yourself with such things, my dove. Our time grows short." 

…

You had been warned of the sea illness, but you appeared to be able to ward off the heaves if you stayed above decks. The fresh salt air stung your cheeks, yet you refused to move from your spot by the railing. You made yourself scarce beside a pile of coiled rope, staying out of the way of the sailors bustling about and watching everything with wide eyes. Your injured hand was still cradled to your chest, but you had no attention for it as you hungrily devoured your surroundings.

King's Landing had been an area tinged gray, dour with gilded suffering. The golden sunsets that would pour through the high windows of your barren room paled in comparison to the sunset you were witnessing now. It was as if the horizon itself was ablaze, a cacophony of reds and oranges that turned the ocean brilliant. You had never seen such a sunset in all your years, and you prayed that it was a good omen. 

The sailors sang as they worked, all of them settling into a rhythm in order to keep everything running smoothly. It was fascinating to watch men pulling lines taut and tacking the mighty vessel into the wind, the ship nimble enough to respond to such rapid adjustments.

"There you are, little dove." Ellaria swayed easily with the motion of the craft, one hand resting on the shrouds to keep her balance. You started in surprise, having not noticed her approach. "You enjoy watching the sailors?"

"They are incredible, my lady." You replied honestly, cocking your head to the side. "I know very little about sailing, but surely their skill is unmatched? You must be immensely proud."

Her laughter was a beautiful noise, just as beautiful as she was. "My lover will be pleased to hear such flattery from your lips! He takes great delight in sailing. Now come with me, flattering dove. We must have the healer tend to your hand." 

You shakily climbed upright, gripping the bannister with your good hand as if your life depended on it. The journey back to the elaborate cabin was fraught with peril for you, and you envied Ellaria's gauzy, simplistic garb every time your heavy skirts got caught on the various cleats and belaying pins. 

Ellaria opened the cabin door and ushered you into the darker environment, tutting between her teeth. "Lover, you should not be upright." She scolded.

The wounded man (now heavily bandaged), shot her a lazy smile from his place at a desk, quill resting on a half-used sheet of vellum. "I know, Ellaria. She tried her best to tell me so as well."

An older woman (the healer, judging from her no-nonsense expression) rolled her eyes and dusted off her hands, approaching you rapidly. You flinched back and she slowed, her gaze flicking to Ellaria in question.

"We encountered this sweet dove on the docks. It is her hand, Ael." Ellaria said quietly, taking your arm. "Come, sit. Ael will not harm you."

You were settled onto a soft cushion and the healer slid your hand into her own, her touch light and careful while she unwrapped your bruised fingers. "How?" She asked, her voice just as quiet as Ellaria's.

You squeezed your eyes shut against the memory, biting your lip. "It was an accident, I didn't mean...I upset him."

"Him?" The man asked, leaning forward and then grimacing in pain. "That man on the docks?"

"N-No, my master. I am...well, I suppose I was, a-a helpmate of sorts. Shield-maiden. I...helped him to don and doff his armor, and I," you hesitated, "well, did whatever was asked of me."

Ellaria made a noise in her throat. "So what crime did you commit, to earn such punishment that would render you useless for your primary task?"

"I...I broke two of his fingers." You extended your uninjured hand in a gesture to allay concern. "I did not mean to! It was an a-accident, he had a trial to prepare for today with a fearsome opponent. His mind was elsewhere, and when I went to slide his gauntlet on-"

"What was your master's name, little dove?" The man interrupted you, his expression thoughtful. 

"His name is Ser Gregor Clegane, my lord. An enormous man who has been dubbed The Mountain." 

"You mentioned a fearsome opponent. But with a master such as that, who was this fearsome opponent?" 

"A prince of Dorne, my lord, one of your own! Can you even imagine?" You sighed dreamily, vaguely aware that Ael was giving you an odd look. She probably thought you childish, still swooning over faceless royalty. "I was told that he was an immensely fierce and clever man, though not in such forgiving language." Then, forgetting your place, you muttered, "I hope that he roundly trounced Ser Clegane."

The man burst out laughing, but winced and held his jaw as Ael fixed him a stern glare. You were certain your confusion was quite bare on your face. "Apologies, I do not laugh at your misfortune, little dove. Rather, at the providence of it all." He explained, still chuckling. "You are to thank for his terrible temper and sloppy work at the trial, then?"

"Oh, you witnessed the duel? What happened?" You asked excitedly, rocking on your seat in anticipation. 

"Oberyn, stop teasing." Ellaria murmured, sounding almost like she was chiding him. 

Oberyn. 

Your heart leaped into your throat as the man tossed you a pained smirk, moving to the pile of cushions and blankets on the floor. "Y...You? You are-?" Your voice failed you.

"Prince Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper, a fierce and clever man among many other virtues?" He drawled, looking like the cat that ate the canary as he gingerly reclined on his soft throne. "None other than, sweet dove."

"They are so deliciously genuine, lover." Ellaria crooned to him while you felt your skin flush hot with embarrassment. "They had nothing but lovely things to say about your crew, and now this? Such courtesy."

"Truly?" Oberyn (Prince Oberyn! your mind shrieked in horror) asked, his tone bordering on surprised. "And all of that, without even knowing who you spoke to? Rare courtesy indeed." 

"I...I am so sorry if I've offended you, your highness." You whispered, "I know there is no excuse for my ignorance."

"Nonsense! I owe you a debt, it seems!" Oberyn replied cheerily. You dared to look up, finding him with a hand pressed to the side of his well-bandaged jaw. "Ser Gregor sought to crush my skull after I had run him through. Clearly, it is thanks to you that he could not maintain his grip and I escaped with this colorful bruising."

"So you killed him?" You asked, knowing full-well that the hope in your voice was unbecoming.

"If he is not dead yet, he will be soon." Oberyn seemed outrageously pleased with himself, though his eyes were strangely melancholy. "Justice has been served. I only wish that I could have stayed to witness him breathe his filthy last, but it seemed that the royal family had other plans regarding the outcome of the trial. I thought it better to take my leave before they decided to finish what Ser Gregor began."

You ducked your face into your elbow, trying to quickly hide your tears. Ellaria caught your chin though, her confusion evident. "Why do you weep, little dove?"

"P-Please forgive my loss of composure! I w-weep for myself, my lady." You hiccupped, the words spilling out of you. "I suffered much by the hand of that man. To know that Ser Clegane is in agony or already perished…it feels like a precious gift, yet I should take no joy in the knowledge. To luxuriate in his demise makes me no better than him."

"You are alive and he is not. Luxuriate in that, if you will not give yourself the satisfaction of indulging in vicarious revenge." Oberyn murmured, his tone troubled. "Did he shame you, little dove?" 

You raised your eyes to his and he must have seen the truth there, even though you said softly that you had heard of him doing far worse than what had ever been done to you. "I believe I was one of the luckier ones, your highness."

The prince cursed under his breath, rubbing his temples. "I will be overjoyed to be back in Dorne once again. King's Landing is fraught with madness. A wonder that it still fills me with fury! I am half-dead." He muttered. 

"Indeed you are, lover. You ought to be resting." Ellaria chastised him, her tone fondly concerned.

"Yes, my love. I am immensely weary. But council me before I slumber. What shall I do with this unforeseen ally?" The prince asked, waving a hand in your direction. "They spake so sweetly to me, and I could have been the lowest man in all of Dorne. Such honesty deserves reward."

"Not to mention that without their aid, your head would have been crushed." Ellaria pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "And I would not be able to do this."

"You graciously offered me passage, your highness. That is more than enough-" You began to protest, wincing when Ael tightly bound your fingers together once again. 

Oberyn dismissed your reasoning with naught but a slow flick of his wrist, yawning widely. "Ellaria, the weariness has ensnared me. Do with them what you wish, my love." He mumbled, sinking down into the nest of blankets. Ellaria studied you for a time as you sat silently, letting Ael tend to your hand. You didn't dare to meet her eyes, so frightened that she might view you as defiant. 

"I know you must be used to making yourself small, little dove." She finally spoke softly. "Take heart, the people of Dorne are not so cruel as those you have encountered." Ael had finished wrapping your fingers and Ellaria encircled your wrists, the other woman searching your eyes. "Men use such pretty terms to describe the anguish their counterparts inflict upon us. Shamed, as if you were a naughty child." She shook her head unhappily. "I would promise you your heart's desire, for it is because of you that my beloved still breathes. Anything you wish, you need only ask."

You stared at her dumbly, trying in vain to blink back the fresh tears that rose at her practical words. 

Ellaria tutted, her hand rising to smooth over your tangled hair in a maternal fashion while the tears spilled down your cheeks. "You are exhausted, little dove." She soothed, a gossamer sleeve catching your tears and patting your face dry. "Sleep now. I will ask you in the morning."

...

You woke to someone gently brushing your hair, the groan of timber and faint sounds of water all around you. Certain that you were dreaming, you hummed and shifted your weight, snuggling a little closer to the lap your head rested in.

"Dove, are you awake?" Ellaria. You nodded sleepily, trying to remember who that name belonged to. "I had hoped to be done before you woke." She sighed. "Try to stay still for me, sweet. I will be finished in a few moments." 

As you felt her begin to plait your hair, your mind slowly seemed to shake off the warm haze of sleep. The Mountain. Your hand. Prince Oberyn--

Gods, Prince Oberyn! You flinched, wide awake now. Ellaria patted the top of your head, obviously satisfied with her handiwork. "There! Beautiful." She said decisively. "You slept so soundly, my little dove! You needed the rest, I imagine."

"My lady…" Right back to where you had started, you nearly wept all over again. Your life had been devoid of tenderness for so long, cut off from any warmth or care. Now here was a small smattering, a ray of sunlight through the clouds, and you were utterly in a shambles. "I apologize for my turbulent emotions." You breathed. "I am at a loss."

"Hush, little dove." The woman murmured, a finger tucking beneath your chin to tilt your face up. "You are so pensive! I would see you smile. Breakfast, perhaps?"

You hesitated, your stomach knotting uncertainly. "I do not know if I will be able to, my lady. The ship...I am unused to its motion." 

Ellaria smiled at you, a genuine, soft smile that wrapped around your soul like a secret. "We shall eat above decks, my dove. Something light, to baby that green belly of yours."

Gods, was she teasing you? You had no idea what to think as she got to her feet and extended a hand to you. The light played across her golden skin when she helped you rise, even more of her body on display in today's garb. You felt like a drab sparrow beside a brilliant goldfinch, trying vainly to smooth the wrinkles out of your skirts as you followed behind her.

The sky was blue overhead, the sun just slightly above the horizon. It was still early, though normally you would be going to sleep at this hour.

Your shudder had nothing to do with the brisk sea wind.

"Beautiful, is it not?" Ellaria said gladly, tilting her head at you. Her brown eyes fairly danced with good humor, like she was sharing a joke. 

Your heart clenched in your chest and you swallowed roughly. When you agreed with her, you were unsure of whether you spoke of the sky or the woman beside you. 

After a light breakfast, Ellaria left you to your own devices. You continued to watch the sailors with awe, thankful that they all seemed perfectly content to ignore you.

It did not take long for the prince to grow bored in his confinement, his complaints growing louder and louder until he emerged onto the deck. Half-dressed, Ellaria following after him bearing a light golden wrapper, Oberyn stalked to the railing and stared moodily across the water at the other ship that had departed alongside his at King's Landing. 

"Had I not promised Cersei that I would bring that miserable pile of driftwood to her child, I would scuttle the whole affair." He muttered, stroking his facial hair. Ellaria attempted to drape the dressing gown around him, beckoning for you to come assist her. "Even after all the harm she's done, I will not cause undue grief to...ah, my dove!" The sight of you seemed to shake him from his doleful contemplation, and you couldn't help your flush when the prince idly brushed his fingers over your cheek after you had succeeded in helping Ellaria. "Have you decided what you might ask of me, little dove?" Inhaling a bracing gulp of air, you nodded. The prince inclined his head, tucking Ellaria into his side and then raising his eyebrows at you in silent query. 

"I ask...I-I ask two things of you, your highness." You winced when your voice squeaked nervously. "First, I humbly request that you hear me until the end. What I will ask...I know that it is laughable." The prince frowned, but nodded. "I was trained for much of my years in the manner of a soldier, as my mother bore my father no sons. That is how Gregor found me." You steeled yourself. "I would like to continue my tutelage and, once I have become a full-fledged warrior, I would ask to join your soldiers and fight under the flag of Martell."

"Why...Why would you ask for that?" Oberyn queried, his tone one of immense confusion. Ellaria looked bewildered as well.

"After everything that has...happened, to me, everything that has been done to me, I am no longer fit to marry." You explained, doing your best to be ginger with your speech. "Yet, I would serve the man who slew Gregor with my very life. All I can ask for is the chance."

The prince lifted his hand, laying it across the back of your neck and tugging you to lean close. He pressed his forehead to your own, his eyes searching yours. "Not a dove at all." He murmured finally. "A falcon. You will have your wish and one better, my falcon. I will not see you amongst the rank and file of soldiers in my brother's army. You shall train as a knight." His hand clapped your shoulder warmly. "A knight of House Martell. It will be difficult! But I know you would not expect ease after the life you have endured." He glanced at Ellaria. "What say you, my love?"

Ellaria's smile was soft and a bit sad. She cupped your face, touching her forehead to your own as well. "Elia would have loved the spirit of this one."

Elia Martell. You had heard the stories, of course, but the depth of the anguish you saw in Oberyn's gaze took your breath away. 

The prince nodded sorrowfully after a moment, kissing Ellaria's knuckles. "Aye, she would have. But she can rest easy now, my love, and that is all that matters."

…

"Again!" The battlemaster shouted, his hand extended to direct. "First form!"

You had flourished under the watchful eye of the head warriors of House Martell, training alongside several of Oberyn's own daughters. The strength you had built through your prior training with heavy plate and shield made you unexpectedly hardy, especially when clad in the much lighter leather and chain mail that the Dornish warriors wore. 

You were able to wield a pike on foot with relative ease, and Oberyn saw to it personally that you were granted a larger shield. "If you are to be drawing the enemy's attention, I would rather you are shielded…"

You assumed the first stance, your form wavering ever so slightly when Oberyn and Ellaria emerged from a nearby hallway to observe the training. 

The prince was well on the mend from his grisly ordeal with Gregor, only bearing a slight tenderness in his left elbow during poor weather. He was a truly lucky man. Ellaria was in good spirits this afternoon, her smile radiant as she waved to you. You bowed, panting a little from the exertion of your training. The battlemaster dismissed you with a grin, overused to such royal interruptions. 

Oberyn's younger daughters flung themselves at you in their typical fashion the second they were permitted, all of them piling onto you in an effort to take you to the ground. You struggled valiantly against the assault as Oberyn laughed, the man wading into the mass of bodies after a moment to pluck Loreza from your back. "Such violence from my beautiful children! You are your mother's daughters." He teased with a broad smile, rubbing his nose against Loreza's. 

Dorea danced around her mother, tugging at her hands. "May we go to the water gardens, mama?" She asked, pausing to meticulously straighten her petite bracers. Dorea took the training very seriously. 

Ellaria nodded, patting her on the head. "Alright my little snakes, rise from the sand and go play." She urged, "You have all done so well in your training today! I am very proud." Elia rolled her eyes, shaking her head when Obella and Dorea shrieked their delight. She was, of course, too old to let such maternal praise cloud her impressions of how her training had actually gone. 

You wished you didn't light up as bright as the children whenever the prince and his paramour praised them. You knew that it was foolish. 

"We are both impressed with your progress. It has only been five months and yet, you fight as if you were of Dorne yourself." Oberyn observed after his children had departed, his hand resting at the small of Ellaria's back. 

You went hot at the praise, bowing and stammering, "a-all due to your faith in me, your highness!"

"How many times must I insist that you simply call me Oberyn?" He asked, the grin he shot you making your knees weak. "After all, unwittingly or not, we conspired together as equals!"

"Do not tease her so, lover!" Ellaria chided him. "We had something to tell her, remember?"

"Apologies, my love." Oberyn cleared his throat, and his face grew incredibly serious. "My falcon, we come bearing wonderful news. My paramour is pregnant once again." He announced, "A new Sand Snake will be born in but six months time."

You gaped at him, then at Ellaria, who was beaming. "Oh, that is...good?" You half-questioned. True, the people of Dorne had radically different viewpoints from the rest of the world when it came to bastards, carnal acts and indeed, their sexuality in general. You were still adjusting to such broad views.

Ellaria nodded, thankfully not visibly offended by your hesitation. "In Dorne, children are a treasured blessing, not the death knell that so many seem to see them as." She rested her hands on the nearly imperceptible swell of her belly. "Oberyn wished to ask you to become my sworn knight, to defend me from such trials that pregnancy brings." Her eyes were dancing again; she was joking with you. 

You chuckled nervously, dusting the knees of your breeches off. "I fear I would do more harm than good in that department, my lady." Despite her insistence that she was but a bastard, you always referred to her as 'my lady', just as you always referred to Oberyn by archaic honorifics. 

"Are you greatly concerned with the skirmish I am sending you to, my falcon?" Oberyn asked bluntly. 

You shook your head. "Not at all, your highness. I have faith in my skill, as well as the competence of Prince Doran's military."

"I will be there as well, though only advising in my elder brother's stead." Oberyn sighed wistfully. "You must be twice as fierce on the battlefield, my falcon! Fill my place in the ranks."

"I must be at least six times as fierce if I were to try and match you, your highness!" You protested.

"The genuine nature of your flattery never ceases to raise my spirits, my falcon! Dorne will need your strength." The prince grinned sharply, "And your ferocity. I assume we can expect great things from you?" He extended his forearm and you clasped it, feeling the coil of muscle that lurked beneath the sleeve of his brocade robe.

"You may depend on me, Prince Oberyn." You replied firmly.

...

It was to be a simple pincer attack, your small battalion held in reserve to strike at the most opportune moment. Everything always seemed so straightforward when in the map room.

Now, in the muddy chaos of the battlefield, you planted your massive tower shield as a rallying point for the foot soldiers and warded off the attacks that poured around it like river water. Cavalry thundered past you into the fray, lances up and proud Martell trappings flapping in the breeze. You struck down Dorne's foes without mercy, attempting to do the absent Oberyn justice.

Until you caught sight of Elia, torn from her horse by a greatsword-wielding warrior. She hit the mud hard, barely rolling out of the way of the man's full swing. He landed a glancing blow on her shoulder and you heard her cry out.

You jerked your shield up out of the ground, terrified beyond measure that she would not hear your voice. You gathered your legs beneath you to brace for her weight and shouted, "Lady Elia!" Her eyes met yours for a split-second. "Ninth form!" With your shoulder and knee set into the back of your shield, you tilted the metal.

The smaller woman bolted up and onto your slanted shield, then wheeled and sprang off with her arm outstretched to grapple the warrior's neck. The man was floored by the blow, he and Elia tumbling to the ground. You thrust your spear through the offending wrist that still gripped his sword, your razor-sharp weapon piercing the weak point in his armor and pinning his hand to the ground as he screamed. 

"If any man dares to touch a Sand Snake, he shall lose his hand and his life." You seethed, raising and then crushing the edge of your shield down on his throat. Elia stared up at you, hurriedly accepting your hand when you offered it. "Are you badly injured, my lady?" You asked worriedly.

"Just winded." She jibed but winced afterwards, touching the blood blotting her armor at the shoulder. "Damn it, and perhaps my shoulder could use tending."

"Shall I escort you back to the stratagem, my lady?"

"So courteous! A true knight." She teased, laughing. "Of course, deliver me to the hands of my hen of a father, that he might chatter and squawk about how careless I was." She tossed her head haughtily. "Wonderful."

"I meant no disrespect, my lady." Elia had a rebellious streak that may have very well been the entirety of her body. Fiercely capable and cunning beyond measure, this would be a blow to her pride. But you could not very well permit her to venture on wounded and get herself killed in the bargain, so you herded her gently back towards the stratagem tents.

You were both soaked head to toe with the blood and sweat of battle, so Oberyn's gut-wrenching expression of terror upon catching sight of his daughter was to be expected. "Elia!" He cried, striding out of the tent. "Where is the wound? You would not retreat willingly, you are too stubborn."

"Hush, I am well. Your falcon saw to that." Elia retorted, gesturing at your massive shield. "She clove a man's head off with that simply for touching me."

"He did a sight more than touch you, my lady." You replied stiffly, "I merely retaliated."

Oberyn enfolded his daughter in his arms, squeezing her tightly as you stripped your helmet off. "Straight to Ael with you. You have done well." He praised her, "but this shoulder will need to be tended lest you lose feeling in your hand."

After Elia had departed, you dropped to one knee. "Forgive me, your highness. I was not fast enough to keep her from harm."

"Lightning itself is not fast enough to keep that one from being wherever she wants." Oberyn replied dryly, clapping your shoulder and urging you to stand. "You brought her to me, a task which I'm certain she did not make simple. You are…" he trailed off, staring at you. Since you had removed your helmet, you assumed you must have some mud on your face. Why else would he look at you as though he had never seen you before? Perhaps the sun was in his eyes, or maybe your hair was much more hopeless than usual.

You quickly scrubbed at your cheeks, but Oberyn remained silent. "Prince Oberyn?" You queried tentatively.

"You are capable." He managed to finish his thought after several more moments. His voice was strangely faint. "Thank you for returning her hale and whole to me."

"Are you well, your highness?"

"Quite well. Astonishingly so, given the circumstances."

...

You were knighted formally as Ser Shieldove of House Martell on the following new moon. Oberyn winked at you in playful insinuation when you and several other new knights knelt before his brother to be anointed with seven oils, nearly causing you to embarrass yourself by laughing. The younger prince had become markedly more flirtatious towards you after the skirmish, his teasing bold even for his standards. You had dismissed it though, certain that he was merely expressing his gratitude with some flattering attention directed your way.

At the feast that followed, Oberyn and Ellaria flanked you instead of taking up their usual position at the head of the table with Prince Doran. Ellaria in particular was nearly hanging off your arm as the both of them fed you from their own trenchers. His tender touch while he plied you with fruits and the brush of the pads of her fingers against your lips made your throat burn with an odd emotion that you dared not examine. The flavorful dolmas hit your tongue and turned to ash in the wake of Ellaria's beautiful smile and Oberyn's jests.

The prince was regaling anyone who would listen with the thrilling (and greatly exaggerated) tale of you and Elia in the skirmish. "-my daughter, Elia Sand, though wounded, fought valiantly against a warrior seven times her size. Ser Shieldove, thinking quickly as she always does-"

"That is a falsehood, your highness." You protested, making Oberyn and his audience laugh. "I was in a panic. I was so fearful I would not reach her in time."

"What is a skirmish if not an opportunity to embellish?" The prince teased. "As I was saying, Ser Shieldove utilized one of the many tactics she learned in her knightly training…" While Oberyn prattled on, you felt his hand rest idly on your leg. You barely kept from leaping out of your skin when he gripped down a little tighter, his fingers rubbing circles through the gossamer of your gown and the fabric of your hosiery.

"More wine?" Ellaria asked sweetly, refilling your goblet before you even had the chance to nod. 

"Thank you, my lady." You cocked your head to the side. "Are you well? I hope the babe does not grieve you."

Her lovely laughter, combined with the hypnotic press and drag of Oberyn's fingers, made you wish that you could stay where you were forever. "I have done this four times before, my falcon. Or should I say, Ser Shieldove?" She chuckled. "I am prepared for whatever discomfort this little one sees fit to inflict upon me."

You smiled at her, stating sincerely, "I am in awe of you, Lady Ellaria." 

"Of me? Whatever for?" She asked in surprise. 

"Your willingness to bear children. It is...I do not know if I would ever have the strength for such an endeavor." You admitted softly, leaning in a little. "Your joy is pure and rare, unlike anything I have ever witnessed. You are practically aglow. It makes my heart ache and sing all at once, to see you so happy."

Ellaria took your hands in her own, clasping them to her heart. "Ser Shieldove, your flattery has not lost its edge." She murmured, her eyes bright. "Though I know your duties may take you elsewhere, when you have a moment of respite, I...would be more than willing to have one of my midwives explain certain things to you. I understand that fear of the unknown keeps many in the darkness."

Your heart buckled in your chest, hope and terror at war with one another. "I know not whether I...that is, I am uncertain if I am able, Lady Ellaria." You replied in a hushed tone. 

Ellaria nodded, her expression saddened. "I know, sweet dove." After a moment, she rose to her feet. "Oberyn, lover, will you accompany Ser Shieldove and myself to the water gardens?" 

The prince immediately rose and you floundered to do the same, caught off-guard by the sudden request. "Of course, my love." Oberyn's tone was light, but you couldn't shake the notion that he had been waiting for her to say something.

His hand stayed on the small of her back the entire stroll to the gardens, and you found yourself envious of those fingers, envious of her skin. To know such gentle touch, to be able to touch so gently…

During the day the pools were alive with the sound of children of all ages, laughing and splashing about in the refreshing waters. But here and now, the only sounds were the wind stirring the water's surface and the low, inquisitive calls of the bullfrogs. Ellaria settled onto a bench, patting the stone beside her after a moment. You sank down in an unwieldy mass of delicate fabrics, longing for your armor. The dress was beautiful, but it drew so much attention.

"Speak to us, sweet dove." Ellaria implored, taking your hands in her own again. "We would know what troubles you in regards to these delicate matters, without fear of judgement or embarrassment." 

Oberyn cleared his throat, large hands framing Ellaria's shoulders. "The merrymaking of the evening cannot erase the furrow of contemplation from your brow, my falcon." 

You hesitated, staring down at Ellaria's hands wrapped around your own. Her fingers were slender, delicate. "I see the two of you, how tender you are with one another and I wonder if...I wonder whether I might ever find such companionship." You shrugged helplessly. "I am unskilled in these matters. Gregor was...the only one. I do not know if I could ever subject myself to...if I could ever…" You trailed off, biting your lip.

Oberyn muttered an oath under his breath and then quickly apologized, continuing on to say, "Brave, fierce falcon. You were dealt a terrible wound the day that monster stole you away. I had wondered why you did not accept the propositions offered to you by many of the other knights, but I merely assumed it was a difference of our cultures." 

You shook your head shyly. "No, your highness. I find their attentions flattering, yet frightening for this very reason." You were dealt a terrible wound. Oberyn regarding it as such, instead of simply as a normal occurrence for a woman to overcome, was strangely heartening. "Perhaps the wound lingers, festers beneath my skin. Perhaps I shall never be gentle again, and never know myself what such gentleness feels like." You thought aloud, voicing your worst fears. "Perhaps my life will be nothing but roughness and the whirling tumult of battle, my only chance thieved away from me."

"Oh, my sweet dove." Ellaria sounded distraught and you turned your attention to her, surprised when you saw her weeping. Her hands cupped your jaw, tugging you close enough to rest your forehead against her own. "You have such an immense capacity for love, daughter-defender. My heart breaks at the thought of you locking yourself away out of fear." 

"My lady…" Tears welled up in your own eyes and you tried to wipe them away hastily.

Oberyn shifted to the side, his arms wrapped loosely around both you and his paramour. "Do you watch us often, my dove?" He asked quietly. "Does it bring you peace to see how we exist together and with others, as easily as rising in the morning?"

Your throat ached with your tears. "The way that you touch her, your highness-"

"My body was designed solely for the pleasure of my lovers, sweet dove." Oberyn informed you, his deep brown eyes unbearably soft in the dim light of the lanterns. "It is a weapon on the battlefield, but never in the bedroom. Even if I come at my lovers with passion, there is not and should not be fear."

"I am a knight of House Martell, and yet I cringe at something so mundane!" You tried to jest, tried to smile.

"Many a warrior is thrown from a horse once and refuses to ever ride again." Oberyn pointed out, his hand absently stroking over your hair in a calming motion. "If an action has only ever caused you agony, you learn to avoid it." Ellaria tugged at Oberyn's sleeve, whispering in his ear when he bent lower. The prince smiled after a moment, nodding. "Of course. Whatever you like, my love." He agreed.

"Sweet dove, at some point in the future I would like to invite you to witness us in our bed chamber," said Ellaria, the words from her mouth damning and sweet as honey. "We are comfortable with an audience and multiple partners, as you are well aware. We would be more than happy to display the way certain acts ought to be performed." She laughed after a moment. "Truly, if I get much larger I may have no recourse but to ask for assistance when my cravings grow too raw!"

You swallowed, then inhaled raggedly. How long were you planning on languishing in this manner? Ignoring your desires out of fear and anxiety over what had transpired? Though Oberyn had assuaged your feelings of inadequacy, you no longer wanted to be the warrior thrown from your horse. You were a knight of House Martell, in soul and now in title. "I would be honored to witness such a thing, my lady." You croaked out, wincing and clearing your throat awkwardly. 

Oberyn's smile was a fond one, the man placing a kiss on his paramour's forehead. "Never fear, falcon. We shall not push you further than you can go."

…

Some weeks later, the battlemaster woke you out of a sound sleep, his tone one of long suffering. "Prince Oberyn seeks your council, Ser Shieldove. He bade you wear your armor, but bring no weapons."

Your mind whirled. Had something happened? Gods, Ellaria-

You weren't certain if you had ever donned your armor faster. It was scarcely ten minutes before you were striding through the airy halls, your tunic rustling beneath your light armor and mail. No weapons, he had said. What manner of exercise could this possibly be?

The prince flung open the doors of his chambers when you approached, his expression tight yet grateful. "I apologize for rousing you at such a late hour, my falcon." 

You dropped to a knee in typical salute. "What has transpired, Prince Oberyn?"

"Ellaria believed that tonight would be a good night for you to...witness. That being said, she wished for your assistance." The man said delicately. "My love is--ah, how to say this without being crass. She is swollen with child, and yet she craves a certain position." Oberyn raised his eyes to your own. "She reasoned that your strength would be sufficient to keep her balance while she indulges."

Your mouth went dry. "M-My strength?" You stammered. He nodded, studying you intently. His heavy gaze alone had you smoldering, had you nodding without thinking twice. He gestured you onwards into their private chambers, closing the doors after you.

Ellaria, her form barely concealed by the thin curtains of their bed, called your name so sweetly. Like a sinner to judgement you crept close, eyes averted from her nudity. "My dove, there is no shame here." She crooned, one finger beneath your chin urging your attentions to her body. Her kiss to your forehead was gentle, her heavy breasts pressed against your armor with her closeness. 

"Lady Ellaria." you breathed, wanting more than anything to greedily embrace her in your arms, shield her from the world. No one deserved to even look at her, no one--

Except Oberyn, of course. The prince was leaning easily against one of the banisters, one ankle tucked over the other while he observed his paramour with a blissful expression. Only Oberyn. Your heart ached, full enough to burst with your unspoken affection for the prince and his beloved. 

"The prince said you requested my presence, my lady?"

"I want you to see us, my dove." Ellaria said simply. "I may require your assistance, but until then…" She beckoned Oberyn closer and did not finish her sentence. 

The prince cupped her face and kissed her passionately, his smile curved against her lips. Once he was done, however, he turned to you. The bristle of his mustache met your forehead, grazing the skin teasingly before he kissed it. "A kiss from a prince. Let us hope you do not turn into a frog!" He said with a grin.

Ellaria's fingers kneaded at his light dressing gown, spurring him to peel and discard the garment. "Come, Ser Shieldove. Sit on the side of the bed and watch us." She implored.

"Are you certain, my lady?" You asked, hesitation plain in your voice even as your fingers twined greedily into their rich bedspread. "It is not...distracting that I am here?"

"Far from it." Oberyn grunted, chucking you under the chin. "It is a rare treat, to have my devastating falcon in the same bed as my lovely paramour. I will not involve you beyond function, of course, not without your consent. You are the audience tonight, and Ellaria wishes to show you the tender acts I inflict upon her."

You did not trust your voice to reply. You knew logically that there was no possibility of Oberyn causing her harm. You watched his hands, the shift of the candlelight shadows playing across the olive skin. Oberyn was languid in nearly every aspect of his life aside from training and battle, so it was no great shock that he was slow in his approach as well. 

He trailed a single finger down between Ellaria's bare breasts, over the swell of her stomach. Your hands fisted tight enough to ache in the bedspread when Ellaria crooned to him, the sunset-hued fabric wrinkling in your grasp. You were entranced, enthralled as surely as if you had been under some spell. 

"Lover, please…" Ellaria begged, and oh! Her voice was the sweetest music, a wine heady and luxuriant. How did Oberyn resist her? How did he temper his longing, when all you wanted to do upon hearing her ask once was fall to pieces?

"She knows I will satisfy her." Oberyn said softly, as though he had read your thoughts. He lowered his mouth to her breast and her fingers found his hair, cradling him close. His hand wandered lower and lower, seeking out the wetness that had built between her thighs. 

Your gorget threatened to choke you when you swallowed convulsively at Ellaria's trembling sob of pleasure, the prince shooting you a smirk from his prime seating.

"I think our falcon has taken a shine to your mewling, my love." He informed Ellaria quietly. His hand spread her wide, fingers lewdly displaying her plush entrance slick and pink, delicious--you caught yourself leaning in and quickly jerked upright. 

Ellaria noticed your interest, if her moan was any indicator. One hand left Oberyn's hair and reached out over the blankets to you, fingers extended as far as they could go. She fell just shy inches from your arm, blindly fumbling. 

Oberyn carefully scooped her hand back up, kissing her knuckles. "We do not touch her, my love." He reminded her. "Until you need her help to take me, and even then. Our falcon, our dove, she is a warrior, not a plaything." He glanced over at you, his expression mischievous. "It is enough that she wishes to touch you already, my love." His fingers plunged into her cunt and gods, she was wet enough to hear. 

Your thighs clenched and you felt shameful, like an intruder, but Oberyn hummed as if to draw your averted gaze to where his fingers plundered her slick folds. 

"She is much more sensitive when she is bearing." He sounded a little breathless, his dark eyes nearly black in the dimmed lighting. "I can wring two or three from her with ease, just my fingers. No pain."

"Two or three?" You echoed him in doubt, your voice rasping in your throat when Ellaria's back arched off the bed. She cried out and Oberyn moaned with her, his own enthusiasm evident in the way he claimed her mouth with his. She was beautiful, skin flushed and damp with sweat, and he was so gentle with her.

"I need you now, lover. I cannot wait, please, please-" Ellaria implored against his lips, and the tender way he soothed her hair back from her forehead made your chest ache. "I have missed you beneath me, my sweet Oberyn."

"And I have missed you, my divine Ellaria." Oberyn helped her kneel, then gestured you closer. "If you wrap your arms around her midsection--"

"Is that safe?" You interrupted warily, concern destroying your propriety. Oberyn just chuckled, rolling off of the bed to divest himself of his pants. You fought the urge to bury your face in Ellaria's neck out of embarrassment.

"Sweet dove," Ellaria's hand cupped your burning cheek. "If this is not to your liking…"

"Of course it--I mean, if-if I...what if I do something wrong? What if I hurt you?" You mumbled. "Men act as though we are unreasonably delicate for expecting an ounce of caution, yet we endure so much at their whim."

Ellaria interlaced her fingers with your own, bringing your palms to her defined hips. "I will not break, my gentle dove." She stated, a defiant toss of her head serving to drive her words home. She was the devoted paramour of Prince Oberyn, after all! Already mother to four of his children, soon to be five. 

Oberyn knelt on the bed and you couldn't help the way your eyes devoured him. His hair tousled, mouth still red from hungry kisses, lean body on full display. The member that hung between his legs had your breath hitching with a mixture of vague apprehension and arousal, how-

You tore your eyes away, tucking your nose in the thick waves of Ellaria's hair as your thighs flexed yet again. She smelled of comfort, of citrus and the spiced strongwine from their evening meal. Ellaria sighed, relaxing her weight back into your arms. "You are so warm, sweet dove."

Oberyn's hand stroked your cheek and you were unable to conceal your flinch. "Do not fear me, gentle dove. I would never harm in the bedroom; here, I am no longer the Red Viper." His tone was grave, and you saw sorrow in his eyes when you dared to look up. "I am simply a man hopelessly in love." His hands covered your own, tightening your grip on Ellaria's hips. "Now, help my paramour to rend me as she sees fit."

You did as you were asked, feeling the anticipatory tremor that ran through Ellaria's body. She wanted him. She yearned for him, canting her hips as far as she could to draw him close. But Oberyn was thorough, coaxing her thighs apart inch by inch and laving her hot skin with thousands upon thousands of adoring kisses. She was on the verge of collapse before he even deigned to lay down beneath her, and now you understood your place in their endeavor. 

She sank down onto his cock without hesitation, a breathless whine of delight leaving her lips while her head lolled back against your shoulder. Oberyn's cry in response was low, wanting, the prince's chest heaving as he thrust up into her. "Ellaria, you beautiful fucking woman." He seethed through his teeth, "Help her take me, my falcon, hold her steady while she tears me apart."

"Oberyn!" Ellaria sobbed, clinging to your arms while he urged her hips forward and back to ride his cock.

"If she wishes for another child, she entices me by laying on her stomach and beckoning me near." Oberyn informed you lazily between arching his hips up to meet his paramour. "When she does I am but her willing stud horse, lost to breed. Her hips fit perfectly in my hands and she begs me so sweetly for another babe, another little one to bring to her breast and nourish. My Ellaria, my beautiful, precious Ellaria." 

Oberyn reached up, his eyes so warm and fond as he cradled Ellaria's face in his large palms. You buried your face in Ellaria's hair again, not wanting either of them to notice the tears threatening to spill over. 

Ellaria nuzzled against his fingers, coaxing a ragged groan out of Oberyn. "Lover, you always know what to do to make my body sing for you." She breathed, planting her hands on his chest and circling her hips. Oberyn swore and gritted his teeth, his head falling back against the pillows. "But I would much rather you sing for me instead."

The prince's voice broke wordlessly in his throat, the noise sharp with longing. Your eyes widened and your whole body tensed at the sound, warmth coating the worn trews between your legs. What…? You had never experienced such a rapid reaction, and all it had been was a simple groan! Your grip on Ellaria tightened unconsciously and she moaned your name, her body pushing back against your armored chest as she rose up onto her knees. 

Oberyn fairly growled at her, one hand clutching at her thigh while the other delved between her legs. She cried out and you could feel her body spasm when he found her center, hips undulating hard to grind herself against his palm. "Come for me, my love, drench me." Oberyn encouraged softly. "Tear my seed from my body, milk me with that divine cunt of yours."

His heated words made you feel like your heart would beat out of your chest. Ellaria tilted her face into your neck, her panting, breathy cries whispering over your skin and making you wish more than anything that you were the one causing them-

She went taut in your hold and you watched Oberyn watch her come with the same blissful expression on his face that he had sported earlier. It was as if his own release was an afterthought, the prince humming to echo Ellaria's incoherent whimpering while he shifted his hips restlessly beneath her. "Keep gripping me, my love, keep-" Oberyn bucked up hard, hands covering your own on her hips to keep her still when he buried himself in her again. His shoulders tensed, thighs trembling as he came with a shuddering gasp of her name. 

Gods, you wished it was your name he spoke with such passion!

Ellaria nearly collapsed, your arms around her the only thing keeping her upright. "I have you." You breathed, cradling her back against your chest. "I have you."

The other woman blinked up at you sleepily, one shaking hand raising to stroke over your hair. "Thank you, Ser Shieldove." She whispered. Oberyn clapped her thigh, carefully tilting her hips and closing her legs once he slipped out from beneath her. 

"Steady, I need to fetch a cloth." He instructed you, nearly staggering when he rose from the bed. "Gods, Ellaria, you will make me swoon one of these days." Oberyn continued, half-laughing and shaking his head. He wrapped his light robe back around his body, looping the belt once and then abandoning it.

You hid your face at the sight of him stretching languidly, his lithe and golden form barely covered by the haphazardly-tied dressing gown. "You can look at him, you know." Ellaria sighed in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "He loves being observed. He preens." She confided, chuckling softly. 

"What are you telling her, my love?" Oberyn called from the washbasin, shooting her a suspicious glance.

"Nothing, lover." Ellaria winked up at you, relaxing into your arms a bit more. "Nothing at all."

"Now, my falcon. Is it your turn?" Oberyn asked conversationally while he tenderly bathed Ellaria's intimate area. The other woman hadn't stopped squirming, trembling beneath his careful ministrations even as she clung to you. 

Panic seized your body at the idea of being naked, being vulnerable, exposed, and despite the hard work the both of them had done, you found yourself shaking your head violently. 

Oberyn simply laughed, dismissing his own words as a jest and easily soothing your terror. 

...

When you returned to your quarters later that evening, you could not remove your armor fast enough. Clad in only your underthings, you slumped into the chair beside your bed and put your head in your hands. 

I can wring two or three from her with ease, just my fingers. No pain.

Ellaria's wanton cries rang softly in your ears. The way she had sought him out with her body, sought to be cherished, claimed-

You are so warm, sweet dove.

You flushed hot, rubbing frantically at your eyes. Gods, the way the two of them praised each other, praised you...it hurt, it made your body throb. You bit back a sound of pain, your eyes watering. To be loved by someone, to have their love in return...well, that is what all the songs and stories of man were about! 

Yet here you sat on the outskirts of a camp you dared not approach, gazing at the raging bonfire of someone else's affection. 

And you envied, with a ferocity that made your jaw ache from how tight you clenched it.

Envied Oberyn, for being a prince, being free to do as he wished, being able to trace secret patterns over Ellaria's skin as often as he pleased. Envied Ellaria, for being brave, being so effortlessly sensual, being able to bring Oberyn to heights of ecstasy that you could not even dream of.

You felt like a child that had been happily playing pretend, only to have a bucket of cold water thrown on you.

Your fingers dug into your thighs, rubbing over the scarring there. No, you would never know, would you? You would never know the true depth of another's love. You were not destined for such things, and you had been foolish to grasp for them in the first place.

You had been greedy, overeager to voyeur on the prince and his paramour due to your deep admiration of and attraction to the couple. This was hardly behavior befitting a knight of House Martell! You would have to do better in the future, instead of taking advantage of the generosity extended to you in good faith. All Ellaria and Oberyn had wanted to do was help you, and you had turned it into some lewd fantasy. 

You shook your head at your own thoughts, thoroughly disgusted. You would tear down everything good that you ever had, just to delude yourself into believing you could be bedded by a prince of Dorne and his beautiful lady.

Part Two

#game of thrones #oberyn martell #prince oberyn #oberyn x ellaria #oberyn x ellaria x reader #knight!reader #strong!reader #canon-typical violence #oberyn martell x reader x ellaria sand #oberyn imagine #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal characters #I apologize if this is OOC #I hope you can ignore it and still enjoy! #I got very indulgent

[itsawhumpderfullife]

Whump Prompt #158

The cries from down the prison hall nearly broke the prison guard’s heart as they sat at their station. The only thing keeping them there was the crime that this inmate had been accused and convicted of committing.

Murder and rape of a child.

Other than the slaughter of dozens or hundreds of people at once or certain depraved serial killers, there was nearly no charge more loathed by even the general prison population.

Still, the sounds sounded genuine, so... the prison guard finally got up from their post, ignoring the small rumble of voices as they approached the farthest cell, where the inmate was strung up and bound to the ceiling, limbs unable to touch the ground.

As the prison guard stepped into view, the inmate’s cries immediately softened, still just as anguished, but... strangely more polite and quieter.

“Why are you disturbing the other inmates?”

A bead of moisture dripped down from the inmate’s forehead, indistinguishable between a tear and a drop of sweat. Even partially upside down, the inmate’s look of slight confusion and pain was perfectly clear.

“Please... it hurts.... I just want it to stop!”

Flashes of what the prison guard had heard of this inmate doing to those children, the secondhand description of the scene passed through the guard’s mind. 

“You should’ve thought of that when you murdered those children, how they felt when you-”

“THAT WASN’T ME! It... wasn’t me...”

The prison guard jumped, legs spread and bent automatically as if to combat someone attacking them. After a moment to gather their thoughts, the prison guard scowled, lowering the baton that they had instinctively drew.

“That’s what they all say.”

The prison guard carefully put away their baton, eyeing the inmate despite the fat they were still strung up.

Perhaps that was why something about the inmate caught their eye.

Today was the first day this inmate was here, fresh from their court sentence. They had complied with law enforcement, pleaded their innocence with the court and sentenced. 

In all that time, there was no sort of report of rough-handling needed to take the inmate in.

So why.... was there finger shaped bruises poking out from collar? They looked old, or at least old enough to be before their crime... 

The prison guard’s hands shook for a moment before they stepped carefully up to the bars.

“Inmate... what happened to your chest?”

Glancing up at their chest, the inmates eyes flicked back to the guard’s almost immediately.

“I- I-”

The inmates eye flickered up to the camera behind the guard, and the guard immediately lowered their voice further as they asked again.

“Did... someone else hurt you? Has... someone framed you?”

Eyes still flickering to the camera, the inmate’s lips barely moved as they whispered only loud enough for the guard to hear.

“Yes and... yes...”

The guard had barely any time to react before the inamte rose their voice up again.

“Hey, what’s your name? Badge number?”

The guard stepped back a pace as the sudden loudness, but recovered quickly.

“Whumper, my name is-”

“My name is Whumpee.” The inamte once again whispered.

Not missing a beat, the guard cleared their throat like their voice had just naturally caught.

“Ahem, Whumper, my name is Officer Caretaker, please refer to me by my title when addressing me. You might not have had to face t consequences of your actions in the outside world, but here, respect can be your currency.”

Caretaker shot Whumpee a quick wink before turning around, stone-faced as ever.

“I advise you quiet down and show that your restraints aren’t needed if you are experiencing some discomfort in them. Your actions are now going to be held accountable, so it would be best to act like it.”

“Fuck you, Caretaker.”

Turning around sharply, Caretaker’s face softened even as their posture shoot up straight. Their voice was still hard and commanding even as Caretaker’s eyes silently agreed to the charade of being a proper unruly inmate.

“I suggest that your language be quieted down, Inmate Whumper. One more disruptive outburst and you’ll be eligible for some solitary confinement time.”

“Fine.”

Lingering only a second more, Caretaker’s expression immediately hardened as they turned around, stalking back to their post like the whole encounter had been genuinely frustrating for them.

Between each step, Caretaker’s mind whirled with what just happened. Whumpee had apparently been framed and... Caretaker had just tied themself to protecting them. 

Just how would Caretaker be able to help them?

And how much was Whumper, the true perpetrator, able to control Whumpee’s situation?

This was going to be.... complicated to say the least.

Caretaker Unwilling Suspension to Whumpee

#whump #whump ideas #whump prompt #whump prompts #whump community #unwilling suspension #whumpee #imprisoned whumpee #prisoner whumpee #guard caretaker #sympathetic caretaker #wrongful imprisonment #implied whumper warden

[noodlecupcakeswritings]

A Test of Faith - Chapter 1 (A Priest AU) Kylo RenxOC)

Father Ren has been tasked with looking after the new arrival Sister Cora. Is it lust in the air or a test from God?

Look this fic is pure fucking depraved priest kink porn. There is no plot. Just porn. I have no excuse. And sorry for starting yet another fic when I already have ongoing ones…but I couldn’t get this idea out of my head. Thanks to @ohiobluetip for inspiring this one, she’s a babe and you should check out her work. I also wanna thank my love @jana-banana-fana for helping me with this one. 

Please leave comments, kudos and reblogs if you like it.

Warnings: Language, Sexual thoughts, Sexual fantasies, Sexual dreams, Inappropriate thoughts/fantasies/dreams, Finger licking, Kylo literally getting turned on by how she smells, Kylo is horny and needs to chill, Cora is too innocent for her own good, 

Chapter 1

Kylo Ren

We were due to expect the arrival of Sister Cora sometime this afternoon. She was transferring to our church at the request of the Bishop. Snoke was looking to expand our teachings and our flock and Sister Cora would be the latest addition. Other than that she was a complete mystery, Snoke hadn’t told any of us much about her. Although he had assigned me to be her guide for her first week, someone to help her navigate her way around the abbey and make her as comfortable as possible. A room had been prepared for her earlier today by the other sisters. I had completed my usual duties and now all I could do was wait. Perhaps I could read to pass the time, it couldn’t hurt to refresh my memory of the verses bound by black leather. Flipping to my marked page I got myself comfortable amongst the pews and started to read.

I got through a few pages before there was a soft knock at the giant wooden entrance doors. Snapping my bible shut, I got to my feet and turned to greet whoever it was. “Hello?” Came a female’s voice. It was a sweet voice, tinged with curiosity. There at the doors stood a nun, struggling to carry a heavy looking suitcase. She was bathed in sunlight, giving her an almost angelic glow. “Hello, sister,” I responded, making my way over to her. This had to be her. Sister Cora. I stood a few steps from her now, unburdening her from her suitcase. I couldn’t look away from her, she had to be an angel sent by God himself. Her veil perfectly framed her heart shaped face. Her face was a kind one, youthful and pretty.

Her forest green doe eyes were something I could lose myself in for hours. I followed the delicate line of her nose down further to her pink plush lips. Her lips curved upward into a smile wide enough to show her perfect porcelain teeth. Her small dainty hand was held out for me to shake. I clasped her tiny hand in my free one, shaking it. I couldn’t help but notice just how small her hand was in my own. She was a few inches shorter than me, but my height didn’t seem to intimidate her like it had others. “Father Ren I presume?” She asked. “Yes.” “Wonderful. It’s lovely to meet you. The Bishop mentioned you’d be here to receive me.” Oh how I’d love to receive her. There was an innocence around her, a blissfully ignorant innocence. She had no idea what effect she was having on me.

Cora stepped further into the abbey, taking in her new surroundings with a hint of awe on her face. As she stepped past me, I caught a whiff of her scent and it was intoxicating. She smelt cleanly, lavender soap, fresh linen and a hint of something sweet. Something fruity. Oranges perhaps. I swallowed thickly, needing more. Cora had been talking whilst I remained in a haze, she turned back to me as if expecting an answer to her question. “Father?” She questioned. “Sorry?” Instead of seeming annoyed that I hadn’t been listening she instead just smiled and repeated herself. “How far are my quarters from the classrooms and the kitchens?” I found myself distracted again, having to wrack my brain for the correct directions. “You’re on the floor above, but it isn’t too far. I’ll show you,” I offered. “That would be very kind of you, thank you.”

Leading the way through the abbey, I made sure to not walk too quickly so she had time to remember the layout of the building and which corridor she needed to take, which corner she would need to turn, which staircase she would need to take. Eventually we reached her quarters, the room large but simple. I placed her suitcase down by the foot of her bed, considering offering to help her unpack but that would be inappropriate. They were her belongings I had no right to rifle through them. “The Bishop asked that I be your guide for the week as it’s easy to get lost here. If theres anything else you need to make your stay more comfortable please don’t hesitate to ask,” I explained. Somehow her face lit up more at this, “that’ll give us plenty of time to get acquainted.” I nodded, returning the smile before beginning the proper tour of the abbey.

I led her back downstairs and to the classrooms first. There were four classrooms in total, I assumed by her interest that Cora would be teaching the children from the local village. Whilst she looked around the classroom, my thoughts were flooded with sin. I wanted to see what was under her uniform, I wanted her in ways no man of my status should want a woman. I couldn’t help but imagine how her small hands would feel wrapped around my long thick cock. Perhaps she’d have to use both hands at once. No, I shouldn’t be having these disgusting thoughts about someone so pure. Oh but maybe that was apart of the reason I was having these thoughts. Her purity, something to be defiled, deflowered. I could be the first man to touch her. Or I could control myself and my thoughts like a decent human being. I was going to need to pray for forgiveness, for strength.

———————————————————————————————————–

Sleep didn’t come easy that night, even after praying a few times. And then there was my dreams. All about her of course. All dirty and shameful. The first one she had come to me in my office, her hands desperate and needy across my body as she begged for me to quell the ache between her legs. The second one had her kneeling before me how she would kneel in prayer only my cock was between her pretty lips. I had awoken, fully hard and aching for release. Thankfully prayer and a cold shower had washed away my sins. Perhaps this was a test from the lord. One that I could not fail.

That morning I went to check on Sister Cora, to make sure she was settling in well. I found her in the kitchen, finishing up making herself breakfast. My heart skipped a beat as she licked jam off her fingers. She sucked on her thumb the longest, savouring the sweet taste. What I’d give to…no…no. I was not going to let me thoughts get the better of me today. She noticed me, smiling softly. “Good morning father, did you sleep well?” She asked. My heart seized in panic at her question. Did she know that I’d dreamt of her? No she couldn’t possibly know. She would if I didn’t get it together though. “Fine, thank you sister. And you?” I responded. “I awoke a few times, but I suppose that was just me getting used to the new room.” “You’ll settle soon.” And hopefully so would my thoughts and feelings towards her.

Taglist: @sweetfictionalworld, @sweetsec-93, @cltex84, @momobaby227, @jana-banana-fana, @dark-night-sky-99, @warriorqueen1991​, @blackredrose27​, @jynzandtonic​, @ellelaconiwrites​

#kylo ren #kylo ren angst #kylo ren fanfiction #kylo ren smut #kylo ren fic #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren fluff #kylo renxoc #kylo ren au #priest kylo ren #priest au #priest kink #ben solo #ben solo angst #ben solo fic #ben solo fanfiction #ben solo fanfic #ben solo feels #ben solo fluff #ben solo smut #ben soloxoc #ben solo au #star wars #Star Wars fanfic #Star Wars Fic #star wars fanfiction #star wars feels #star wars fluff #star wars angst #star wars smut

[talpup]

Crossroads: 1

Don’t know if it’s the way my brain is wired, me being dyslexic, or what; but I just can’t write straight up reader inserts. That said, my work is meant to be self insert. It’s just that you’ll be putting your name in place of my OC’s name instead of putting your name place of a y/n.

PLEASE be mindful of the tags!!!

Summary: Loss will make a person do terrible things they never thought themselves capable of doing. Things like wanting the mobsters responsible for your little brothers death to pay so badly you’ll summon a Demon to make it happen.

Maya did just that, but little did she know that the Demon would ask for her soul as the price. Or that when she refused give it to him, he would put her in the path of someone possibly much worse.

Kai is offering to help her but what he wants is so much more than her soul. He wants her everything.

This fic is rated explicit and has warnings of sex, violence, and other possible triggers.

***If you prefer reading off AO3 here’s the link for that: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23565748

A special thanks and shout out to @inorganicone2230 for their encouragement and friendship.  This fic started as an idea back in January when they said they’d like to see me write a Kai centered fic.  Through their questions and inspiration Crossroads became a fleshed out story.  They even came up with the title and female insert/oc’s name.  I might be the one writing this fic; but it’s as much theirs as it is mine.  It probably wouldn’t be happening if it weren’t for them.  It certainly wouldn’t be happening this soon if it weren’t for them.

1.1

It started with screams and the roar of Tommy guns.

Maya shook her head trying to block out the remembered sounds.

It started with bullets and blood.

She closed her eyes trying to forget the horrid images.

It started with a trip to the city and her little brothers death.

Why had she taken him on the day long trip?  She should've left him in their rural little town with the neighbors.  She should've left him with friend's.  She should've left him at home.  Anything would've been better.  Safer. Than the hailstorm she had taken him into.  But she hadn’t known.

She hadn’t known that a deal between mobsters would be going down and end in a shoot out.  She hadn’t known that giving in and treating her brother with a visit to the sweets shop would find them caught in the cross fire.  She hadn’t known that his entire side would be riddled with so many bullets that it would be practically missing.  Or that his last words would be made unintelligible by gurgled blood spewing from his mouth and the thunderous bang of gun fire that would never end.

Even now the resounding bang of gun fire echoed in her head.  It might diminish over time like her friends had said but it would be ever present; just like her brothers blood, staining her hand.

Her eyes squeezed shut again.

The blood.  There had been so much blood. How much blood could one preteen boy have?  His blood had stained the street, her hands and clothes.  They had never even made it to the sweets shop.  He had never gotten his treat.

It was a funny thing to focus on.  But in the beginning, it had been the one bitter thought that helped keep the others at bay.  Far worse thoughts that had led her here.

“So your little brother’s dead and you want revenge.  Couldn’t you be a bit more interesting?  I mean you’re pretty enough to look at, but revenge?  It’s so common and boring. Come on, Dollface.  Can’t you be a bit more creative for me.”  The Demon grinned at her, turquoise eyes shining with unnatural light.

Facing north at the mouth of two intersecting streets, Maya simmered. “I didn’t call you here to entertain.  And I’m not asking for revenge.  I am telling you to give me a means of justice.”

“Justice.” The Demon scoffed.

“Listen here, you--”

“Dabi.”

“What?”

The Demon stepped out of the heart of the dirt crossroads and closer to her.  “My name is Dabi.  Say it.”

The woman that gave her the summoning spell, a Witch that lived in a run down house outside of town, had told her not to give her name or say the demons.

Maya took a step back.  “No.”

“Come on, Maya.  Give me somethin’ here.  Pretty little dame like you...”

Her head spun.  How did he know her name?  She was certain she hadn’t given it.

“How--”

Dabi took another step closer.  “Didn’t your po-lice make their arrests?”

“Y—yes. But they were let go.”

Dabi spread his hands and, in the glint of the moonlight, Maya noticed the same patchwork stitching at his face was along his wrists.

“So, justice was served.”

“No! It wasn’t.  They walked free.”  Maya said, fiercely.

“Just because it wasn’t the outcome you wanted doesn’t mean justice wasn’t met out.”

“They bought their way out of the cooler! The cops were dirty!  Those goons killed my brother in their stupid war of alcohol and--”

“Hey!”

She stopped at his sharp tone.

He gave a toothy smile, sly easiness returning.  “You’ve obviously never had booze. If you had, you’d known those boys are doing gods work.”

“More like the devils.”

“Oh? You’re one of those temperance prudes.  No wonder you’re not interesting and won’t give me your name.  What a waste for such a looker.” He finished, muttering to himself.

“I’m not part of any movement other than that of seeing my brothers killers get what they deserve.”

“And tell me, Doll.  What do you think they deserve?”

“To die.”

Dabi chuckled. “I like it.  But is that justice?”

“An eye for an eye.  Life for a life.”

“Lives.” Dabi corrected. “Unless you know the goon that killed your brother.”

“I saw their faces.”  Softer, she muttered. “I’ll never forget them.”

“But not all those fine men shot the gun whose bullets--”

“I don’t care!”  Maya hollered. “I don’t care!  Their war killed my brother.  They deserve to die.”

“So several lives for the single life of your beloved little brother. Is that what justice looks like to you?”

“None of those men are innocent.”

Dabi looked her over.  “None of us are innocent, Doll.”

“Are you going to help?  If not, I’ll send you back.”  She moved to do just that.

Dabi held out of staying hand.  “Hold up there, Darling.  Let’s not be too hasty.  Of course I’m gonna help.  Pretty little dame like you. Who wouldn’t?”

Maya scowled, clutching at the collar of the high buttoned blouse.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you that if you make ugly faces you’ll get stuck that way?”

“No.” Maya frowned.  She looked away.  “My mother wasn’t around much. I raised myself and my brother.”

“And a mighty fine job you did of it.”  Dabi said, turquoise eyes skimming her again.

Her head snapped back to him.

“I’m serious, Doll! You’ve turned out alright there, Darlin’.  Your brother… Well, he probably would've grown to be a fine fellow.  If he hadn’t been killed by those goons that is.  And at such a young age.”  Dabi shook his head and sighed.  “What a waste.  The lad had his whole life in front of--”

“Stop it!”  Maya’s hands trembled, clenching so tight her knuckles turned white.

Dabi was suddenly right beside her, murmuring in her ear. “Give me your soul and I’ll end all the bad men that hurt you.”

“What! No!”  She turned her head to him, leaning away.

“Is justice for your brother not worth your soul, Darlin’? And you call yourself a loving sister.”

“I’m not giving you my soul.”

“Why?” Dabi smiled, wickedly. “We could have so much fun together you and I.”

“There has to be another way.”

“There is.” Dabi admitted. “But I doubt you’ll like it more than being mine.”

“Whatever it is, it’s bound to be better than giving up my soul.”

“Fine.” Dabi sighed. “Since you like judging things so much.  I’ll give you your second option and let you be the judge.  See you in three months for your verdict, Dollface.”

1.2

“This is where it happened.”  Hari said.

The mans words were needless when his Boss could clearly see the scores of boarded up windows.

Kai’s gold eyes scanned the street.  Many of the shops had reopened.  Some even had their store fronts fully repaired.  But there were others that were dark and vacant.

In the war against the depraved and indecent there would be casualties of innocence.  Kai and his men had long since payed the price themselves; losing most of what made them good, moral men in order to meet violence with violence.  But they had signed up for it.  These people hadn’t.

Kai didn’t much care what innocent lives were lost in the battles so long as the war was won.  But that didn’t mean their lives and unknowing sacrifice wouldn’t go unrecognized, especially when the Shie Hassaikai had been part of this particular battle.

“The envelopes?  They’ve gone out?”  Kai questioned, voice unmuffled by the black dust mask he wore.

“All but one.”

Kai turned to his Lieutenant.

Hari need not have known Kai since childhood to know that the young boss was frowning beneath his mask.

“Explain.”

At the single word Hari did just that.  “Joi and his team were able to learn the names of all the families who lost someone in the fire fight.  But their addresses were a different matter.  Apparently one woman who lost her young brother didn’t give her address.”

Kai raised an eyebrow.

“Seems the woman found out the gangs sprung their men with bribes and refused to cooperate further.  She made such a fuss they even attempted to hold her overnight, but ultimately released her before nights end with no bail posted.”

Kai smirked at that.  “Someone who sees the filthy corruption that plagues this city and won’t suffer quietly.  She should be commended.”

Hari didn’t find it odd that his Boss scorned the cops corruption when it was their very corruption that allowed the Shie Hassaikai to work with little reprisal from the law. Even in this simple case, if it weren’t for the law accepting bribes, Joi wouldn’t have been able to learn the names and addresses of the innocent dead.

Hari found it honorable that Kai insisted on finding out the names of every innocent that died in a battle the Shie Hassaikai was involved. It was one of the first things Kai had ordered Joi to do when the man had come on; to set a separate budget so they could send an unmarked envelope of money to those mourning families.  That policy alone had won the young boss several new followers and made those already sworn to him all the more loyal.  Kai’s men would die for him and his cause without thought or question, and Hari considered himself chief among them.

Kai looked about the quiet street.

To think that just one week ago this place had been a battle scene.  Filled with shopkeepers and pedestrians, it couldn’t have gone down at a worse time of day.  It happened in the middle of the afternoon.  Innocent people going about their daily lives when violence and mayhem spilled out of a nearby warehouse and into the street.

It wasn’t his fault, and Kai felt no guilt over what had happened here.  But it was his aspirations for a clean and wholesome society that had seen his men involved.  He had already killed his man for the mistake.  Only three quarters of the illegal booze should've been replaced with their poisoned copies. But the man had either been stupid or overeager.  He had exchange all of the crates.  So when the buyer, wise to the Shie Hassaikai’s doings, had tested a bottle from the top crate, it had led to a shoot out between buyer and supplier.

Kai cursed the temperance movement.

While he agreed their reasoning, they were going about it the wrong way.  Smashing bottles and barrels did nothing to fix the problem.  Neither did arresting brewers and smugglers, little as that actually happened.  So long as there were people out there wanting and drinking booze, there would always be those who made and sold it. That was the free market.  Supply would always respond to demand.  But if there was no longer a demand.  If the licentious, debased people who drank were no more, then the demand for alcohol would be no more.

He would have to make sure and tell Joi to find this upstanding woman that had been brave enough to call out the corruption of the cops.  No matter what or how long it took she, more than any of the other families, should be given some sort of recompense for her loss.

“Mind it we stop by the sweets shop?”  Hari asked.

Kai looked at his Lieutenant out of the corner of his eye.

“Tabe likes sweets.”  Hari explained.

Kai continued to stare.

Tabe liked food.  Joi had to up their food budget after they had brought the man on.  But Tabe came with Hojo, and Hojo was the best counterfeiter they had.  Granted he had specialized in fake gems before Prohibition.  Good as the man had been at it, he obviously hadn’t been that good because Kai had found him beaten to an inch of his life after getting caught. But wax seals, labels, and inscriptions were far easier forge than precious gems, and Hojo was a master at it.

“He did an exceptional job with procuring the additive that better masks the poisons taste.”

The young Boss looked across the street at the sweets shop.  Though the window was boarded up, the place was still open.  A testament to the shopkeepers resilience.  Kai could appreciate such will and drive.

“Fine.” He allowed.  Thinking that a larger sale would do the candy maker good, he went on.  “Buy enough for everyone.  I’ll wait here.”

Hari nodded and left.

A laughing couple passed, arms linked.

Kai sniffed behind his dust mask and turned away.  Filth.  Such open affection.  Not me mention the woman’s dress…   He began walking down the sidewalk, back to the car, and bumped into a woman that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

“Kai!” Hari rushed across the street.  He grabbed the fallen woman and pulled her to her feet.

Maya stumbled in the angry mans hold.  What happened?  Where was she?  One second she was standing at a dark, deserted crossroads outside of town and now…

She looked about ears taking in city sounds when once there were frogs and crickets.  Her heart began to race, breath shortening.

No. No.  No!  She couldn’t be here!  She couldn’t be back here!  Her eyes fell on the spot where her brother had fallen and died.  Tears welled in her eyes.

“Watch where you’re going lady.” Hari shook her.

Suddenly Maya came to life.  She lashed out at the angry man, not with nails or a flat slapping hand, but a fist.

Hari dodged the punch easily.  He grabbed her flying wrist and twisted it.

“Let me go!”

Watching, Kai noticed how the woman’s voice didn’t tremble but commanded with surety and strength.

“Settle down!”  Hari ordered.

Maya stomped on the mans foot.

Hari cursed, hand letting go of her and lifting.

Kai’s gloved hand wrapped around Hari’s arm, surprising the both of them.

Hari stopped immediately.

Kai released his Lieutenant.  Fingers wiping against his thumb as if to clean them, he lowered his hand.

“I bumped into her.”

Maya looked at the man that she appeared in front of.

Gold eyes watched her, waiting for her reaction to his appearance. Most people stared at his dust mask or did their best not to look at it; but this woman did neither.  After an initial look of puzzlement she met his eyes with no further reaction to the protected cover on his face.

“I apologize Miss.  I didn’t see you.  You appeared out of nowhere.” Kai frowned behind his mask.

She had appeared out of nowhere.  There was no side street or walkway.  There wasn’t even a door she could have passed through.  There was nothing but brick wall on one side, and open street on the other.

“There’s no need to apologize, Sir.  I should've…”  She stopped.

What was she to say?  That she shouldn’t have been making deals with Demons?

She glanced at Hari.  “I’m sorry I kicked and tried to hit your friend.”

Kai’s scrutinizing gaze lightened at that.  “He--”

He had been about to say Hari was protective but that was unnecessary information.  More than that, he didn’t want this fierce but sweet woman to think he needed protection.

“He should be more gentlemanly toward ladies.  Especially lovely ones such as yourself.” Remembering he had his hat on, Kai smoothly took off his fedora.

Maya felt her cheeks heat.  She could only see the mans eyes but they were more stunning than the finest gold karts; not that she had seen much gold in her life, let alone fine gold.

Remembering the plain clothes she wore, she dusted herself off trying to appear more presentable.

Kai took the opportunity to get a better look at her.  She was a pretty little thing that wore simple clothes.  They were clearly well worn, but neat.  There wasn’t even any fraying at the blouses cuff, as if she trimmed the loose threads before they became raggedy.  Her blouse and skirt were pressed and modestly covered her, unlike the dress most of the women around here wore.  His eyes lowered further taking in the small bit of leg that wasn’t covered by her skirt.

“Your stockings are torn.”

Maya blushed all the harder at the masked mans mention of such an intimate accessory.

“There’s a ladies store just across the street. Please, let me escort and buy you a new pair.”

Kai could have just as easily offered her money to replace the ruined hosiery but found he didn’t want to leave her presence just yet. Just these few moments with her had intrigued him.

Before Hari had laid hands on her, she had looked lost.  That lost expression had quickly turned to utter fear and torment. Before she had lashed out at Hari, Kai had thought she had feared them; and rightful so.  But that proved not to be the case.

The woman had gone from lost, to fearful, to fighting, and then polite all in the space of less than a minute.  Most men might've run, finding her sudden changes too much; but Kai wasn’t most men.  Where others might've seen erratic, Kai saw something rare.  A person who didn’t hide her thoughts and emotions.  It made him find her instantly wholesome and virtuous.  Everything he wanted the world to be.

She was polite, and clearly capable of fear.  But strong and sure enough to stand up for herself when the need arose. She was no damsel, but the earlier hurt and fear he saw in her told him that she was clearly in distress.  For some reason Kai found himself wanting to help her.

Maya shook her head.  “That’s not necessary.”

“I insist.”

Her eyes hardened, jaw tightening.

Kai’s lips thinned at her look of defiance.  As much as he liked the open, clear honesty of what she was feeling, he didn’t like that expression. He wasn’t use to being told no.

Hat in hand he made a small gesture to the line of stores. “There was a shoot out on this street not long ago.  The business are suffering.  If not for my account, let me do this for theirs.”

Maya’s eyes grew distant at the mention of the shoot out.  She didn’t want to be here, let alone go shopping here.  Why had the Demon sent her here?  Her eyes watered as the never ending echo of gun fire and screams rose in her ears.

Seeing her change Kai assured.  “It’s perfectly safe now.  Nothing will harm you so long as you’re with me.”

She shook the images out of her head, the ring of that day dying down in her ears. “I’m not afraid.  Well…  I am.  It’s just… My brother died in that shoot out.”

Kai’s eyes widened ever so slightly.  This pure, beautiful, wholesome woman had lost someone here.  He understood the look of fear he had seen in her right before Hari had grabbed her.  His hand closed into a fist at the thought of Hari’s rough treatment.  No one should hurt this beautiful creature.  No one should touch her.

“Come.” Kai turned away from the ladies shop, walking.

“Where?”

He smirked underneath his mask.  He had thought she would follow, but it was always nice to be proved right.  He glanced over his shoulder giving Hari a silent order.

When Maya caught up to him he told.  “You don’t need to be around here.  There’s a place two blocks down.  I’ll get you something to eat and drink.  We can talk.”

Maya turned back to the angry man that had almost hit her, he was headed in the other direction towards a fine looking car. “Talk? About what?”

“I’m Kai by the way.  You are?”

“Maya.”

Kai smiled.  It was a pretty name.

“Maya. You’re not from around here are you?”

Maya bristled.  Was he making fun?  Sure, she didn’t have fine tailored clothes and a fancy automobile; but she wasn’t some stupid, unkempt country bumpkin.

“No. I’m not.  Where I’m from we have morals and respect for innocent life. There’s no shoot outs in the streets, or cops taking bribes and letting criminals and murderers walk free.  We’re good, clean, upstanding people.”

“Sounds like a nice place.  If only we could all live there.”

The man sounded almost wistful.  The tension in her shoulders eased.

“Sorry. It’s just…  His death and the law not doing anything. It’s been hard.”

“You have no need to apologize.  You have every reason to be angry about what happened, and be proud of your principled decency.  But I will ask you to be mindful.  I’m a principled man myself, and I demand respect.  Understood.”

Maya shivered at the slight darkening of his deep voice.

She nodded.

“Answer me properly, Maya.  Like the good girl you say you are.”

“Understood.”

Her response was more mumbled than spoken but Kai let it slide, he couldn’t expect perfect obedience straight away.

That thought gave him pause; but he didn’t get to examine it because Maya stopped in her tracks.

“I can’t go in there.”

Kai halted and turned to her. “Of course you can.”

“A place like that…  It probably charges you for water.  I don’t have--” She moved to touch her purse only to find it missing.

Her heart skipped a beat for a moment thinking she had lost it; but remember she had left it at home when she had gone out to summon the demon.

“What does that matter?  I’m paying.”  Kai said, breaking into her thoughts.

She blinked at that.  Even if she accepted his kind offer…

She shook her head.  “Look at me.”

Kai’s eyes raked over her finding her modest clothes less praise worthy than he initially had.  “I am.”

“They won’t let me in there.”

“They will.  You’re with me.”

“People will stare.”

Kai had to agree with that though they wouldn’t be staring for the reasons she thought.  “Don’t make me tell you again.”

She looked at him and his ushering arm, hesitating for only a moment.

Fine, she thought.  He’ll see for himself.

She let him guide her to the entrance.

The Host recognized Kai immediately, and showed them to a private dining room.

Maya looked about, taking in the simple luxury in awe.

The Waiter came and Kai ordered for her.

When the Waiter left Maya told.  “A couple years back my brother saved up his pay from selling papers to bring me here.  He probably only had enough for us to share a lunch, but it was his way of thanking me and showing that he cared.”  Her eyes hardened, lips pulling tight. “They wouldn’t even let us in.”  She shrugged, a lightening of acceptance taking over. “We had a nice lunch at the diner a few blocks over and likely got twice the food for half the price.”

“Fools. They can’t even recognize true grace and esteem when it’s at their doorstep.”

“Well I don’t know about all that.”  She blushed.

“Don’t contradict me.”

Maya’s mumble sound more like a query than an apology.  “Sorry.”

Kai nearly told her to speak up but decided there were more important things to focus on.  “Tell me about yourself.”

The Waiter brought her food.

Maya felt strange eating when Kai wasn’t.  But the man assured her he wasn’t hungry, and she was starving so when he declined her offer to share she didn’t ask again.

She had set her utensils down, meal finished when Kai finally asked the burning question.  “Why are you here?”

“You brought me.”

Unamused by her smart remarked Kai laced his fingers, waiting.

She cleared her throat and wiped her mouth.  “I didn’t want-- intend to be.  It just sort of happened.”

Kai thought about how she had appeared out of nowhere, and he was sure that’s what happened.

“I want justice for my brother.”  Maya went on.

She didn’t know why told a complete stranger that.  Other than his name and a few tidbits, she didn’t know a thing about him.  Sure he seemed nice enough.  But nice people wouldn’t understand.  They would shake their heads and sympathize at her story, asking what can you do.  They would be horrified to hear what that she wanted the killers dead.  That she wanted everyone involved dead. But somehow telling him had felt right.  As if she could trust this man with the ugly truth of her desires.

“Justice?” Kai echoed.

“I want to see the men who killed him dead.”

He might've questioned his sudden and growing desire for this woman if she hadn’t had said that.  With those words Maya sealed her fate.

Kai’s fingers unlaced.  He tapped an index finger on the tabletop, deciding the best way to go about getting what he wanted.

Maya lost her nerve under his unblinking gaze.  What had she done?  She didn’t know this man.  Why had she told him that?

“I—I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have--”

“I can help you.”

Maya froze.  “Pardon?”

Kai’s knuckles rapped against the table, decided. “I can see to it that men who killed you brother get what they deserve.”

Maya’s mouth fell open.

“Would you like that?”  Kai asked.

He looked her over wondering what she would give for him to do such a thing.  He already knew what he would take.

“Da--” She stopped before finishing the Demons name.

She thought about Dabi and what he had said before rudely sending her here without warning. ’I’ll give you your second option...’

Was this it?  The Demon had literally placed her in Kai’s path.  She remembered his other words.

‘...I doubt you’ll like it more than being mine.’ He had said when she had demanded another way.

“Maya?”

“Wha—what do you want in return?”

Everything, Kai thought golden eyes piercing hers. His men would certainly wonder when he brought this woman back and set her up in his rooms at the compound; but none would dare ask or question him.

He took out his billfold, leaving cash on the table, and got to his feet, pulling out her chair. “We can discuss the details of that when we get you home.”

If you enjoyed reading this at all please comment and let me know. Since I post for free, think of it as nice way of leaving a tip.  And since comments are the only thing that encourages me to keep editing and posting, it’s also a benefit for you.

#bnha #kai chisaki #chisaki kai #yandere kai #yandere #hari kurono #dabi my hero academia #my hero academia #crossroads

[girlanachronsim]

Inhumed

Pairing: Jonathan Teatime/Ofc 

Word count: 9,353

Read it on AO3 instead!

Summary: In which Jonathan Teatime discovers that if a hit doesn’t align with his particular interests, he can find ways to make it go away.

"I need to have her inhumed."

"Yes sir."

"You do understand the task, don't you?"

"Yes sir."

"Inhuming a woman. A young one, at that."

"Yes sir."

Lord Downey paused, pressing his fingers to his temples. His best men had refused his orders on ‘moral’ grounds. Moral, he grumbled to himself, when has the assassination business ever been ‘moral’. Which meant that he was now sitting across from this lunatic, the one member of the Guild depraved enough to take on such a task. He never put himself in Teatime's company willingly, and wanted to be rid of him as soon as possible.

"The price will be fair, of course."

"I trust you, sir."

"Well. On with it, then." Downey grumbled, handing him over a few sheets of yellowed parchment detailing her name, age and address. Among those sheets was a small pencil sketch of her face to ensure that he inhumed the right woman.

The young woman on the page didn't seem to faze Teatime and he stared at the sketch for a few moments as if lost in thought.

"Why does someone want her dead?" He asked abruptly.

"The client didn't specify." Downey grunted. "Can I entrust you with this, Teatime?"

"Of course, sir."

Teatime stood suddenly, his head still buried in the papers as he left the room. Downey shook his head, slumping back into his chair. Meeting with Teatime always left a sour taste in his mouth and this instance wasn't any different. At least he could trust him to do the job.

*

Violet Talbot stood over the boiling kettle, the piercing whistle sending her sailing back into reality. She had been feeling particularly vague recently; her parents had gone out for the day, but she struggled to think clearly even when they were around. So, she was making tea in an attempt to centre herself.

She settled with her tea on the kitchen table, picking up the pages of her newest manuscript. It was finished but there was something wrong with it, something she couldn't quite put her finger on. She didn't want to send it off to her publisher until she discovered what wasn't right about it. She scanned the pages, trying to pick up on anything absent, but halfway through the second page a wave of dizziness shot through her. Violet held her fingertips to her temple, trying to keep her focus on her words.

Tipping back the last dregs of her tea, her head hurt again, the sharp stab in her brain more acute this time. She scolded herself for not sleeping enough that night and rose from the table to make her way towards her bedroom. This was just a stint of nausea, she told herself, a product of an overworked and tired brain. She'd seen plenty of women suffer from it before, collapsing in ballrooms and dinner tables because of it. But on the way to the bedroom she stumbled, hardly able to walk in a straight line thanks to the splitting headache. She gripped onto the nearest surface, her knuckles going white as the room span around her and she felt her consciousness slipping away. She fell to the floor and heard her head crack against the wood as her vision swam and blurred. The last thing she saw before she passed out were a pair of black, polished shoes. Then everything went black.

*

Violet came to slowly, her head still pounding and limbs especially heavy. Her back was propped against a wall and she pulled at her wrists, only to find that they were tied firmly behind her. She couldn't tell quite how secure her bonds were, it had taken all of her energy just to move her hands. Despite the throbbing in the forefront of her brain, she cracked her eyes open and her heart stuttered.

Opposite her was a man mirroring the way she was sitting, his back to the wall and feet splayed out in front of him, staring directly at her. Upon seeing her wake, the man heaved himself forward and began making his way towards her on his hands and knees. Her vision swam and blurred and she struggled to tell whether his eyes were blue or black as his face came closer to her. The only thing she was sure of was that he was only wearing black. Assassin.

"Who're you?" She slurred, her voice barely loud enough to be heard.

"Shhhh, Miss Talbot." The man urged her in a light, childish voice.

Very slowly and very carefully, he lifted the knife in his hand to her neck. Violet could feel panic bubbling in the back of her throat but she couldn't express it, the drug had addled her brain and she barely flinched as she felt the cool metal against her skin. Another sharp stab of pain and her vision faded.

The man watched her head loll to her shoulder and sat back onto his feet. He fiddled with the knife absently, staring at the limp woman, a pout forming on his lips. Well, that hadn't been fun at all. Watching her bleed out, unconscious, was going to be a severe let-down after the fuss the Guild had made about her and her inhuming. He debated what to do with her, repeatedly lifting the blade to her neck and down again until he made his decision. He had a spotless record so far, he argued with himself as he lugged the unconscious woman over his shoulder. Plus, she'd be dead soon enough anyway. He just needed to have a little fun with her first.

*

When Violet came to again her head still hurt, but she felt that it was more due to a lack of fluids than the narcotic still working its way through her system. Her eyes fluttered open as she adjusted to the light of the room. She didn't recognise her surroundings.

She looked down to see she was firmly and carefully tied to a rickety old chair. Rope bound her hands to the backrest and crossed over her lap, tying her securely to the seat of the chair and, when she tested, she found that her ankles were tied together too. Her eyes scanned the small, dingy room; single bed, small chest of drawers and a man staring at her. She froze, letting out a pathetic whimper. 

The strange man approached her, his arms crossed behind his back as he tipped his head to the side curiously. Now she understood why she had such trouble focusing on his eyes when she was drugged. They were two different colours, but not in the usual way of heterochromia where one can hardly tell. These were very obviously disparate, one eye the colour of an ocean storm, the pupil so small it had almost disappeared while the other was dark brown, so dark it was almost black and threatened to devour what remained of the white of his eye. His lips twisted into what could be called a smile and she looked away from him in disgust.

"Who sent you?" Violet asked through gritted teeth, her voice rough with disuse.

She looked up at him again and he merely shrugged, shoulders lifting and dropping carelessly.

"You should know." She said tightly.

She may have been brought up among the wealthy elite of Ankh-Morpork, but she knew how the Assassins Guild worked. Her mother had made sure of that.

"Not if they don't want you to know, Miss Talbot." He assured her in his high-pitched, childish voice.

"Then you have to tell me who you are, at least." She demanded.

She let her gaze drift back to him, taking in his blonde curls framing his face and the perfectly tailored black jacket he wore, buttoned all the way up to his neck. He must be good, she thought to herself, for he must be the most conspicuous member of the whole Guild.

"I'm Teh-ah-tim-eh." He pronounced slowly. "Jonathan Teh-ah-tim-eh, Miss Talbot."

He bowed slightly. She bit her tongue, brain scanning through every person she'd ever met to try and remember a 'Teatime'. His reputation didn't precede him, she'd never even heard of him.

"I'm presuming it was you who drugged me?" She asked him, despite the nagging voice in her brain, he's going to kill me, he's going to kill me, he's going to kill me.

"Yes. The Guild insisted that I try their new drugs, Miss Talbot. It wasn't my choice." He informed her, anger clouding his eyes. "They told me it was to make killing people easier, but it just made you act funny. You didn't react the way you should have."

He stepped closer to her, retrieving the knife he kept hidden in his sleeve. Using slow and deliberate movements, he held the blade to her neck. Her whole body tensed and she leaned away from the blade, her pale neck extending in an effort to get further away. Her breathing was short and harsh and she clenched her fists so tightly that her knuckles went white.

He studied her face, his expression neutral as he brandished the weapon. He watched her pulse race beneath his blade, the rhythm frantic as he threatened her life. He had always enjoyed those last few moments, the dizzying high he got just seconds before he inhumed someone. Now with a woman was on the other end of his blade he realised just how much that excited him. He had never inhumed a woman before (not for a contract, at least) and as he felt that rush flood through him he found his heart rate elevating too, the adrenaline coursing through his body before eventually settling into an uncomfortable heat at the pit of his stomach.

Reluctantly, he lowered the knife and Violet exhaled heavily, her breaths shaky.

"You see?" He spoke eventually, lowering himself to kneel at her side. "That's the way you should react when you're being threatened, Miss Talbot."

She eyed him warily out of the corner of her eye, disgust lining her features.

"Please. Just kill me. Don't tease me in this way, I don't deserve it, I assure you." She urged him, nerves straining her voice.

He furrowed his eyebrows.

"I'm not teasing you." He responded innocently.

"Someone's paid you to drag this out. Well, ask your questions and be done with it. There is no just reason for torturing me, sir."

His jaw shifted and he looked to the ground. He'd never had someone beg him to kill them before, and he wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

"You're very odd, do you know that?"

She let out a burst of laugher that turned more into a sob, her eyes brimming with tears that she refused to let fall.

"Perhaps I should drug you again." He spoke to himself.

"Perhaps you should." She said dully, her expression vacant.

He got up and disappeared from her view for a few moments before returning, mixing something into a glass of water. When it was sufficiently dissolved, he lowered the glass to her lips. She eyed him warily before parting her lips, swallowing back the water which she relished despite knowing it was laced with something. When she had finished, he lowered himself to kneel at her side again and placed the cup gently on the floor. A small drop of water trickled from the corner of her mouth and he reached forward to swipe it away with his thumb. Her eyes softened, the drug already beginning to affect her and her head drooped slightly. 

"Thank you, Jonathan." She slurred, her words inane babble. "Not all assassins dress for the occasion. It's very considerate of you."

She trailed off, her vision fading and she passed out again.

*

When Violet regained consciousness, her eyes flung open and she sat bolt upright. She was lying on a bed, and her surroundings were vaguely familiar from the night before. The same bed, same chest of drawers, same dingy room. Was she dead? Had she been killed and now she was doomed to haunt the same room she had died in? Having to share a room with that strange assassin for the rest of eternity... the thought made her shudder.

She still felt alive. She couldn't float and when she looked down she didn't appear to be transparent. Pale, yes, but not transparent. She pinched herself and the pain brought her back to reality. Fairly certain that she was alive, and one-hundred percent certain that she had to get out, she shuffled off of the bed and made her way towards the window. It looked to be about midday and below her she could see the bustling streets of Ankh-Morpork, if maybe a poorer section than she was used to. She yanked at the window pane only to find it locked. Leaning down, she checked the lock; something she wouldn't be able to pick, but maybe she could smash it if desperate enough.

Having inspected the window, she moved onto the door. Locked. Unsurprisingly. She pressed her ear to the door and heard nothing, silence. Looking over the whole room she couldn't see anything that would immediately help her and so investigated the chest of drawers. Nothing of note, black clothing, weapons, odd bits and pieces that didn't seem to fit in with the rest of the stuff at all. She sighed, closing the drawers and turned towards a small desk hidden in the corner of the room.

The chair that she had been tied to now sat harmlessly in front of the desk and she ran her hand over it absently. The desk had been hidden behind her when she had been tied up; on it were a few pieces of scattered paper and a large glass of water.

She picked up the glass, holding it to the light to try and tell whether there was anything concealed in it. There didn't appear to be anything, but then again, his drugs had been dissolvable. Her thirst was clawing at her throat, however, so decided it was worth the risk and took a sip. She sat down on the chair, trying to feel that tell-tale headache that was all too familiar to her now. She sat for a while but when no hint of nausea washed over her she downed the rest of the glass. While she was drinking, her eye caught on one of the papers.

Violet set the now-empty glass down, instead picking up the yellowed pages scattered over the desk. One had her name printed across the top, her address and even the hand-scrawled note to Teatime to use drugs on her. Her eyes flicked back to how 'Teatime' was spelt; it wasn't in the way he had pronounced it at all. Another paper had his fees, the money he'd get from fulfilling the contract. She raised her eyebrows at the price, then noticed the 'young' and 'woman' stipulations highlighted in the margins. That explained the ridiculous amount of money.

The third was a small pencil sketch that took up a corner of the page and she did a double-take at how perfectly it had captured her likeness. Her stomach flipped and she felt slightly ill; she had been kidnapped and almost killed by an assassin, and for some reason this made her feel more uneasy than any of that. She had never posed for a pencil sketch.

Confused and thoroughly sickened, she stood up from the desk, only to hear the lock turn in the door. A rush of adrenaline shot through her and she sprinted back to the other end of the room, as far away from it as possible. The strange man entered the room and locked the door discreetly behind him. Her throat dried as soon as his strange eyes fixed on her.

"Why aren't I dead?" She choked out, pressing herself as far against the wall as she could.

"I find you very intriguing, Miss Talbot."

She couldn't tell whether he offered that as an explanation or as an unrelated topic.

He noticed his displaced papers and swiveled his head to look at her. She kept up the eye-contact despite her heart pounding against her chest. He made his way towards her, every step slow and deliberate until he was inches from her face, his off-kilter eyes searching her expression as her lower lip trembled.

"Pay close attention to me, Miss Talbot. Just do as I say and I won't hurt you." He assured her, cocking his head to one side. "Deal?"

"Deal." Violet agreed reflexively.

It felt as though she had just agreed to a particularly bad exchange on the playground. Only this time there were consequences. He lifted her chin with his fingertip, as if appraising her features, and as he did so she glanced at the door out of the corner of her eye. If she could knock him out of the way, just for a second, she might be able to-

She swung her hand towards his face but he grabbed her wrist before she had a chance to even touch him. She stumbled, quickly righting herself as he kept his hand on her wrist, fingers digging into her skin. She winced, her heart pounding in her ears as the adrenaline rushed through her anew. He grimaced at her, not letting go of her wrists as a blush spread over her face.

"What did I. Just. Say?" He asked slowly, every word sharp enough to cut into her.

She kept her eyes trained on the floor, her jaw clenching and unclenching. At her lack of response, he dragged her into the centre of the room, using her wrist as leverage. He let go of it suddenly, and she saw thin red lines streaked across her skin from where he'd been holding her in his tight grip.

"Kneel." He spoke abruptly and her eyes flicked immediately back to his.

"Are you going to disobey me again, Miss Talbot?" He dragged his sentence out, pulling a blade from the inside of his jacket. She blanched at the sight of another knife, paling considerably.

"Kneel." He repeated, holding the blade to her neck.

She lifted her chin slightly, trying to escape from the cool metal as she reluctantly carried out his orders. He followed her movements with his hand, as she lowered herself onto one knee and then the other. She kept her eyes looking dead ahead, she didn't want to have to look up at the vile man like some sort of beggar. She noticed he was wearing the same coat from before and her eyes were level with the last button. Despite it being well-fitted, she couldn't tell where his legs began and hoped desperately that she wasn't staring directly at his crotch right now. She almost shuddered; she couldn't even think of it.

He leered over her, using his free hand to lace through her hair and yank her head back. She hissed in protest, but stubbornly avoided his gaze.

"Look at me, Miss Talbot." He ordered her in a low voice, and her gaze slipped back to his.

The corners of his lips twitched and he started to lift the blade from her neck up to her mouth, resting the cool metal against her bottom lip. She willed herself not to move; one flinch and the knife would slice through her skin with ease.

"Open wide." He instructed her.

Her lips had barely parted when he began sliding the blade inside her mouth, and she had to open her mouth at a much faster rate than anticipated. She blinked rapidly at the sudden invasion, keeping as still as possible as she could feel the knife's edge pressing against her tongue, enough to hurt her but not enough to draw blood. Yet. 

He enjoyed watching her squirm beneath him. He didn't intend to hurt her, but he liked making her panic nonetheless. He pushed his blade further into her mouth and it suddenly turned into something phallic in his mind. He quickly removed it, stepping back from her with his eyebrows drawn together. She looked up at him, fear still shining in her eyes as he took his leave, rapidly unlocking the door before leaving the room.

Violet stared after him in confusion, hearing the lock twist in the door again once he'd left. She couldn't explain his sudden departure. She clicked her tongue against her mouth, trying to get the feeling back into it after her adrenaline had numbed it. She looked out of the window to see dusk falling and her heart leapt; already nightfall. She could attempt another daring escape. She waited an hour or so to make sure that Teatime didn't return and watched as the streets grew dark and lifeless, almost everyone retired to their homes to live and eat and sleep, as normal people do. Opening up the drawer to extract a weapon she picked up a weighty knife, balancing out in her hand before deciding to take a smaller, more manageable one. She pressed her ear against the door, checking for any footsteps on stairs before she started. Silence.

She padded back over to the window, brandishing the knife in her hand. With relative ease she jammed it under the window frame, just below the lock. She pushed it through until it came across resistance, and when it did she pulled back slightly before violently slamming it into the obstacle. It merely made a loud noise, her knife bouncing harmlessly off of it. She winced at the noise, and waited a few seconds in silence to make sure that no-one had heard it.

Unperturbed, she tried again, only this time she felt the obstacle buckle slightly. She repeated this several times, now not giving a damn about the noise it made, until the lock shattered under her knife. Punching the air silently, she opened the window as wide as it could go, feeling the night air against her skin. She was about to drop the knife when she reconsidered. She may need it, if circumstances turned again.

Violet made sure that there were no walkers below as she climbed up and over the window sill. The cool night air hit her as she dangled herself from the sill, her legs not quite long enough to reach the porch roof below her. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she let go and felt the porch roof solid under her feet. She slid down the side of the porch, the fall now a lot easier as she only had to jump one story and onto solid ground. Without a second thought, she leapt off the roof, jarring her knees as she landed and started running as soon as her feet hit the floor. 

She ran until her lungs were burning and thirst was clawing at her throat, which is when she allowed herself to slow down, first glancing behind her before taking a sip from a nearby barrel collecting rainwater. She allowed herself to pause only briefly before moving on, her pace steadier now and she kept glancing over her shoulder just to check she wasn't being followed.

Gradually, the houses began thinning out, being replaced by large trees and other foliage. She could feel unease creeping up inside of her; she had never been this far out of Ankh-Morpork before. Stifling her hesitancy, she forced her legs to keep going. Just keep walking, she told herself. You can find your way home in the morning. It was only when her calves started to ache in protest that she stopped, halting amongst the dense greenery to look up at the moon. The sight calmed her, but only for a fraction of a second before the unmistakable feeling of being watched crept up her spine. She fumbled with the blade in her hand, ready to attack any predator that she may come across.

"Show yourself." She muttered in the barest undertone.

Then, a halo of blonde hair emerged from the darkness; his arms were up in mock surrender, his footsteps muffled by the soft dirt underneath them. One eye gleamed in the moonlight, the other was still hidden in shadow. Instantly, she held the knife up in a defensive pose, even though she knew there was no way she would win if there were a scuffle. But be damned if she wasn't going to put up a fight.

"Are you going to use that?" He asked her patronisingly, tipping his head to the side.

She felt anger flare in the pit of her stomach and she pursed her lips, her blood boiling.

"You wait and see." She threatened him, holding the knife firm.

He slowly lowered his arms and she jabbed at the air, warning him not to try anything. He didn't pay any attention to her, he merely crossed his arms behind his back and stared at her evenly. She had trouble staring back at him; he disturbed her, but in the way that it's disturbing to see open wounds when you're not expecting to. They're horrific and gross and put you off your dinner, and yet you can't look away. And sometimes, they're strangely beautiful.

"Why can't you just leave me alone?" She asked, her voice sharp.

"Oh, I can't do that Miss Talbot. You're supposed to be dead."

"Just kill me then." She spat. "I can't spend another day- no, another hour in that room of yours, just waiting to be inhumed. I'll have a proper life, or none at all."

At her little tirade, his eyebrows knitted together and he looked to the ground.

"You should be grateful. People are usually grateful when I don't kill them." He glanced up and it was as if his eyes were boring straight through her. "People are weird like that."

He took a step towards her and she lifted the blade higher. He raised his hands as if he were trying to approach a wild animal and by slightly lifting his hands, somehow he'd be able to calm it.

"I could stop this." He suggested in a measured voice. "Take that price off of your head. You'd have to hide for another night, but I could do it."

"You could?" She asked, letting her hand lower marginally.

"Yes." He took another step and she immediately lifted the blade back up to it's original position. "I could... deal with the person who put out the contract. You wouldn't have to die."

She looked almost hopeful before realisation dawned on her, and her features crumpled again.

"What do you want in return?" She asked despondently, expecting the usual fees; money, property and the like.

"Kiss me."

She almost dropped the knife in her hand. She could feel the colour draining from her face as she stood across from the madman, her heart pounding in her ears and she could it very hard to focus on one particular thing. She had only just started to think of him as oddly beautiful, and didn't particularly want to explore those feelings just yet. It would mean confronting a deamon far larger than herself, and she worried it would consume her.

"No." She sputtered reflexively.

"No? You'd rather die?" He took another step and she flustered.

"No I- Is there nothing else I can give you?" She stammered.

"No." He shook his head slowly, his tone decisive.

Her hand holding the knife started shaking and she gripped it tighter in an effort to hide it. It was either this or death. She decided she may as well face the task with dignity, so she squared her jaw and lifted her chin.

"Alright. But only so long as you promise to let me go." She affirmed.

"One more night, Miss Talbot." He reminded her. "Then you're free. I give my word."

Hesitatingly, she lowered the blade, expecting him to close the gap between them immediately. When he didn't move, she eyed him warily before approaching him with caution. She walked until a pair of black polished shoes entered her vision and she stopped, reluctant to move any closer or direct her gaze anywhere else. Digging her nails into her palms, she forced herself to look up into his eyes. She was going to kiss him, she told herself, she may as well get used to looking at his face. There was that odd, unhinged beauty again. Her stomach leapt into her throat.

His mouth twisted into a wry smile at her hesitant movements. She ignored his smug look as she lifted herself up onto her tip-toes and closed her eyes. She exhaled a tiny, shaking breath onto his lips before pressing hers against them.

She had barely pushed her lips against his when she recoiled, expecting that to be enough for him. It clearly wasn't, however, as he grabbed her and led her back up onto her tip-toes, crushing his lips against hers with far more vigour than she gave him. His hand circled her neck posessively, the other wrapped tightly around her shoulder blades, pressing the whole of her body against his lean frame. His tongue slipped into her mouth and her eyes snapped open but she shut them again quickly, focusing on these new, delicious feelings culminating in the pit of her stomach.

As he kissed her, she toyed with the blade still in the palm of her hand. All it would take would be a little jab; the damned thing was so sharp, she'd probably kill him with ease. Or at least leave him sprawled on the floor, bleeding out in the middle of the forest. But then they'd just send another assassin, and he was offering her a way out. She opened her palm and let her knife drop harmlessly to the muddy floor.

He slowly loosened the arm around her back and their mouths separated as she lowered herself back onto her feet. He looked down at her, his lips parted and eyes gleaming while she turned acutely red and stared at the floor. In actions faster than her own, he grabbed her wrist and led it upright between them. She inhaled through her teeth, her face petrified as he let her wait, her arm a barrier between them. Then he abruptly turned on the spot and started leading her back to where she'd come from by her wrist.

As they walked, she felt the lateness of the hour creeping up on her and she stifled her yawns. When her pace slackened, he gripped her wrist tighter and she tried to focus on the pain instead of her drooping eyelids. She hadn't realised quite how far she'd walked until they had already been walking for what felt like an hour and she still didn't recognise any of her surroundings. Her feet were dragging and she stumbled several times in an attempt to keep up with the assassin. He stopped in the middle of the empty street and she bumped into his back, not expecting the sudden halt. He turned back to her, frustration playing in his eyes as she struggled to keep her own eyes open.

"You're tired." He commented.

"I'm sorry." She apologized quickly, despite there being nothing for her to apologize for.

He leant down towards her, his arm knocking the back of her knees so she fell back into his other arm and picked her up into an effortless bridal carry. Her arms automatically wrapped around his neck as she was lifted from the safety of the floor, and found herself in far too close proximity to the man she wanted to avoid. She hated having her arms around him, but felt too unsafe when she removed them so she settled for an uneasy compromise; one arm wrapped uncomfortably around his neck while she curled the other into her own chest. Her hips were pressed to his stomach and his arm clung to her shoulder as he resumed walking.

She was now wide-awake and the gentle rocking of his steps was making her feel sick more than anything else. Her head was pounding and she was so tired, but her mind refused to give up as it plunged her into insane thoughts of love and murder. 

As he kept his gaze fixed straight ahead she allowed herself to study his face from below. She noted the strong shape of his jaw, the pale skin that betrayed how much time he spent outside. Perhaps he always went out under the cover of moonlight, she thought. Being this close to him she could see the veins in his neck, blue and spidery against his porcelain skin, the sculpted lips that she'd had against her own only moments before.

"You don't spell your name the way you say it." She slurred drowsily in an attempt to distract her brain.

"What?" He asked, glancing down at her from the corner of his eye.

"It's spelt like about four o'clock in the afternoon."

He gritted his teeth and stared straight ahead, his hands tensing around her.

"You don't like it?" She asked, picking up on his defensive body language. "I should rather like to be named after four o'clock. It's a pleasant time, at least."

"I shouldn't mind it either, if it were meant to be said like that." He said through his teeth.

"So your parents were Teatime- sorry, Teh-ah-tim-eh too?"

"Yes. Why wouldn't they be?" He asked curiously, looking down at her and she shyed away.

"Oh. I don't know." She mumbled.

Clearly, her brain was starting to slow and no matter how determined she was that she couldn't possibly fall asleep, it must have happened as one moment she was outside, on the rougher streets of Ankh-Morpork, and the next she was being carried up a flight of stairs into a very familiar room. He dumped her unceremoniously onto the bed and she tried to shake the sluggishness from her brain as she bounced on the soft mattress.

"Sleep." He commanded, setting himself down heavily at the chair by the desk.

"You expect me to sleep?" She asked him incredulously despite her weary bones and heavy head.

"I'll deal with your contractor in the morning. There's nothing I can do until then." He informed her, wide eyed.

"What are you going to do all night then?" She asked him warily.

"Well, as you broke my window-" he looked pointedly to the window standing open, the lock smashed, "-I'll have to watch over you."

The thought of the sinister man staring at her while she slept churned her insides and she looked to the floor.

"You're offering me a way out. Do you truly expect me to try and escape again?" She mumbled to the floor.

"You can never be too careful." He answered innocently. "You're supposed to be dead. I can't have anyone see you."

"You're that concerned about your reputation?" She asked, reluctantly crawling up the bed.

His lack of an answer gave her his response.  Tentatively, she lifted the covers and eased her body underneath them, trying to ignore the fact that this could very well be his own bed when she wasn't around. She lay on her side, furtively glancing between the man and the wall. Though resolute that she'd never be able to sleep with him watching her, she felt her eyelids begin to grow heavy. Within a matter of minutes, she was out-cold.

He watched her as she fell asleep, her breathing evening out and the muscles of her face relaxing so that she almost looked contented. He stood up from his chair and routinely undid the buttons on his heavy coat, slipping it from his shoulders and draped it across the back of the chair. He had a sudden chill and looked back to see the broken window still standing open, letting in the cool night air. He crossed the room on silent feet and closed the window.

Resolving to come up with a plan before she woke up, he set himself back down behind the desk and idly stared at the wall. The next time he moved was several hours later, though he wasn't aware that any time had passed at all. His hand twitched and his eyes were suddenly sharp and furtive. He had assembled a decent plan to deal with the person who had contracted the young woman's murder.

Upon thinking of her, he turned back to the bed. While he had been thinking, she had kicked off the covers, exposing her legs, pale thighs disappearing into the bunched up fabric of her skirt. She was breathing deeply and her hair was streaked carelessly across her face. Without thinking, he swallowed and his fist clenched by his side. She'd be so easy to take. Such skinny limbs, such a lack of will. But he didn't feel like fighting her, and although the kiss earlier had awoken something deep set within him he still held suspicions that she didn't feel the same way.

He stood up, leering over the unconscious woman. He pursed his lips, his head tilting from side to side. Then, very tentatively, he reached out his hand and traced it over her shoulder only to flinch back from her cold skin. He reached down and pulled the sheet back up her body, making sure that the back of his hand ran up her body as he did so. As a second thought, he held his hand to her forehead. She wasn't ill, but he did notice how pale she was in comparison to his own skin. And while paleness suited him, it did not become her.

She didn't deserve to be a bird in a cage, pacing the same room endlessly, otherwise he wouldn't be inhuming another person and breaking the Guild's rules again. He had entertained the idea of having her around, keeping the little bird and hiding her away until he grew bored of her and eventually fulfilled the contract. But her eyes were too bright, her mind full of untapped potential, not to mention the body that he had become keenly interested in over the last few hours. So, he had to carry out his latest plan in order to win her freedom.

He turned on his heel abruptly and left the room, so determined that he forgot his coat, and forgot to lock the door behind him.

*

Violet woke to sunlight glaring onto her face and she moaned, tossing her arm over her eyes. She rolled onto one side and felt the unfamiliar weight of the pillow, the difference in her mattress. Startled, she sat upright, only to remember where she was and what she was doing there.

It came flooding back in waves; the kidnapping, being drugged multiple times, her failed escape attempt. Despite his threat to watch over her all night, the sinister man was no longer in the room and she made sure of it; she got up and checked under the desk pointedly. Then she crawled back onto the bed, only to get up again when unease washed over her and she checked the drawers, one at a time. Although she felt absurd doing it, she did find herself feeling more comfortable when she yet again got back onto the bed.

Her eyes passed over the unfamiliar room; it was a lot less threatening in daylight. Ratty furniture, a tiny room. Even the assassins papers still scattered on the desk didn't disturb her, so long as she didn't look at that pencil sketch again. She grew impatient with her captor quickly, hating the way the threat of his arrival kept her on tenterhooks. Perhaps he was out fulfilling his contract, she mused, and the next time he saw her would be to release her. But it was all hopeful thinking, of course, as he seemed as changeable as the wind and she wasn't about to place any amount of trust in him whatsoever.

She very carefully and quietly got out of the bed, padding over to the window and pushed at it gently. It opened with ease and she discovered that the lock was still broken and he had made no attempt to seal her in the room. That could be one escape plan, but it would be very different to leap down into bustling streets, full of people. She would most definitely alert people to her presence, and if it didn't cause a massive commotion to have a young woman climbing down the side of the building, a ruffian most certainly would spot her fine dress and take her hostage for himself. While she didn't exactly admire her captor, better the devil you know.

As he hadn't made any effort to seal the window, she turned to the door with a vague hope bubbling in her chest. She approached the door, placing her hand on the handle and found it gave way very easily beneath her. The door opened onto a dim corridor, deprived of windows and therefore light and she squinted into the darkness.

"Are you planning to run away again?" Came a lilting voice from behind her.

She jumped, spinning around and shoving the door closed as quickly as she possibly could, backing herself into the doorknob. Teatime was standing in the room with her. She hadn't heard him arrive and she had been caught in a compromising position, so her heart was pounding and her brain was muddled. She barely noticed the window standing open behind him.

"No, I- uh-" She trailed off, her throat tightening.

He seemed barely interested though, turning from her and he furrowed his brow at his discarded coat. Once he got past the confusion, he removed the blade from his sleeve and picked up the assassins papers instead. She was only just getting over her shock, and watched his movements while staying frozen in place. She too had only just noticed he wasn't wearing his heavy coat, and she could actually see his long legs clad in black and a loose-fitting ruffled shirt. She had never seen a man look so good in such a ruffled shirt, let alone a black one.

He turned back to her and she briefly averted her eyes to make it look as though she hadn't been staring. A light flared up in the corner of her eye and she looked back up at him to see he'd struck a match and was holding it to the papers. The paper caught easily, flames licking at the paper and crumbling it into ash that fluttered to the floor. She enjoyed watching the pencil sketch going up in flames.

"You're no longer wanted by the Assassin's Guild." He spoke as the last few remnants of the papers caught fire and crumbled in his hand.

Her eyes wandered to the discarded blade. He had clearly made an attempt to clean it, but there were still spots of blood on the hilt. She shuddered, looking to the floor.

"You're free to go." He gestured towards the door with a crisp hand movement.

She looked between him and the floor, hesitating.

"What are you waiting for?" He asked in a low voice, leaning incrementally towards her.

Embarrassed, she forced herself to turn and open the door. She could feel his stare boring into her back as she closed the door behind herself. She made her way down the dank staircase, clinging to the shadows when she emerged outside and walked until she recognized her surroundings and could make her way home again.

*

 "I didn't tell you the name of the contractor, did I Teatime?"

Downey rocked back in his chair, eyeing up the young assassin. He hadn't anticipated to have Teatime back in his office so soon. He expected him to do the job, collect the payment and he wouldn't have to see him until the next deranged client came around. But now he had to question him, ask him about something Downey knew he had orchestrated, though Teatime would never admit it.

"No sir." Teatime answered him shortly.

"So you had nothing to do with the contractors death?"

"The contractor's dead?" Teatime asked him innocently.

Downey sighed, looked to the ceiling.

"As they're dead, there's no need to inhume the woman. If you haven't already?" Downey asked, lifting one eyebrow.

"No sir. I was still on my planning stage."

Downey wasn't aware that Teatime had a 'planning stage'. He knew that Teatime had killed them, but there was no way of proving it and he couldn't chuck him out of the Guild again. He did prove useful, occasionally.

"Go." Downey waved at the door dismissively. 

Teatime stood gracefully and made his way to the door, his hand on the handle when Downey spoke again.

"I'm disappointed in you." Downey murmured, looking over his paperwork.

Teatime turned back to him, his eyes flashing dangerously.

"It's not like you to get involved with your contracts." Downey continued, not looking up from his work.

Teatime's jaw clenched, and he turned back towards the door, firmly opening it and slamming it behind him.

*

 Back at home, Violet lit a candle and retrieved her manuscript. She made her way to the empty dining room, tucking her feet under herself and hunched over her words. It was still missing something, and it didn't help that her mind kept straying back to the experiences of the last few days and her mysterious captor. Her parents had fussed over her, of course. She wasn't allowed outside for at least the next two weeks. She was alright with that presently, she wasn't sure that she wanted to see anyone other than relatives for at least two weeks. She was very happy sitting with her writing and-

A knock. Violet started, her head jerking towards the door. She couldn't hear her parents getting up to answer it, so she assumed they hadn't heard. On soft feet, she got up and made her way to the door, going against her better judgement as she cracked it open. Standing on the other side of it was a far too familiar face, a halo of blonde hair and two mis-matched eyes, staring at her intently. Her whole body froze; she knew she should slam the door closed immediately and call her parents, but the other half of her wanted to know what he wanted to say. Or do.

She remained frozen in place, until he took matters into his own hands and pushed past her through the door. This seemed to wake her up as she followed after him in a trot to keep up with his long strides. He made a move to go into the living room where her parents were settled but she abruptly intercepted him to go into the dining room that she had claimed for herself that night. He paused as he entered the room, his eyes scanning the flickering candles dotted around the room and the pieces of scribbled on paper lying carelessly on the table.

"What are you doing here?" She asked from behind him.

He inclined his head towards her, as if remembering that she was there, and smiled imperceptibly.

"I came to see you, Miss Talbot."

"You're not here to kill me?"

He laughed, a high-pitched jarring laugh that gave her goose bumps.

"I didn't kill you before when I was being payed for it, Miss Talbot, why would I kill you now?"

"Forgive me for speaking my mind, but you don't seem like the most level-headed man I've met." She tried to phrase it as delicately as possible, but he still turned to her with hurt playing on his features.

In one swift movement, he had his hand to her neck and her back up against the table, her hands scrabbling for purchase on a surface full of papers that clearly didn't want her to stay upright and the hard edge of the table digging into her back.

"Level-headed?" He repeated softly, and she winced.

He tightened his grip on her neck and she lifted her hand to his own, a pathetic attempt to get him to remove it. Yet, as her skin ghosted his, he looked down at her and noticed a fire in her eyes that matched his own. He let go of her briefly, confused by what he saw. She couldn't possibly be gaining as much pleasure from this as he was.... could she?

"I suppose I'm proving your point." He admitted through gritted teeth, folding his arms firmly behind his back.

"If you aren't here to kill me, then why are you here?" She spoke in a shaking voice, her own hand going to where he'd touched her neck.

He looked to the ground and appeared deep in thought while she eyed him warily. Then he stepped closer to her again, pressing his hips against hers and she leaned her torso away from him, but she was unable to shift underneath the pressure of his hips. He reached forward and placed his hands on her jaw, angling her head upwards towards him. He pulled them together, forcing his lips against hers even as her eyes widened and she reflexively pulled away, in vain.

Once her lips were secured his hands wandered from her jaw, his long fingers wrapping around the back of her neck while the other hand caressed her shoulder blades. He pressed the whole length of her body against his, his tongue slipping into her mouth and she whimpered in the back of her throat. She lifted her hands to his hips and closed her eyes, focusing on the delicious and unfamiliar feelings of his mouth on her own.

He pulled back and their lips parted, a flicker of disappointment crossing her features as he drew back. He kept his face close, however, so they were sharing the same heady air as his nose and forehead brushed against her own. They were still pressed close to one another, their chests knocking together as they breathed heavily. Then his head jerked to the side, as if he heard someone and in the next second the door to the dining room opened.

She froze, her eyes widening and jaw dropping in shock as her mother peered through the door. Though she stayed silent, she screamed internally. She couldn't be seen with a stranger, not after the kidnapping. She'd never be left alone again. They would think that she was having an illicit affair as it would be the only logical explanation for her disappearance. Her whole social standing would be ruined. It was only once she cycled through all of these thoughts that she actually became aware of her surroundings; Teatime was nowhere to be seen. It was only her, uncomfortably perched against the table, her cheeks flushed and lips swollen.

"Are you alright?" Her mother asked, though it was clearly more out of decorum than actual concern.

She thanked the gods that it was dark, the only thing illuminating her the dim candlelight, otherwise she would have definitely known that something was wrong.

"Yes, thank you mother." She exhaled.

"Are you sure? Me and your father heard voices."

"Voices?" She flustered, trying to act nonchalantly.

"Yes. A male voice, at that."

Her mother started to suspect something, going further into the room. She inclined her head away from her mother, making sure that she couldn't see her pink cheeks. While her head was turned, her eyes caught on her manuscript and her eyes lit up.

"I'm sorry, I was just... going through." She said vaguely.

"Going through?" Her mother asked.

"Yes. Going through my script. It's easier to visualize it if I say it out loud." She spoke to the floor as if she were embarrassed at having been caught.

"Oh. And the man's voice..."

"Mine." She said quickly, trying to inject some amusement into her voice. "Did it really sound like a man's voice from the living room?"

"I suppose not." Her mother started to second-guess herself as she moved back towards the door.

"Finish your book." Her mother pointed at her, her hand on the door. "You're taking too long and I want to read it."

She nodded, smiling lightly as her mother went through the door. Violet trotted up to the door, pressing her ear against it to ensure that her mother wasn't lingering behind it. When Violet was sure she had left, she turned back into the room to see Teatime standing on the other side of the table from her, his arms behind his back.

"Where did you go?" She asked in wonder, her voice barely loud enough to be heard.

"I have my ways." Teatime shrugged.

"Is that how you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Kill people."

The air became tense, her staring at him evenly while he returned that look, impassive and impossible to read.

"Sometimes." He spoke, his voice tight. "It depends how discreet I want to be."

"You murder people. For money." She said, sounding less accusatory and more inquisitive as she started slowly walking towards him from the other side of the table.

"Are you a sadist?" She blurted out.

He cocked his head, wide-eyed innocence playing in his eyes.

"Do you get off on other people's pain?" She went on, seeing that he didn't understand.

"Get off where?"

She rolled her eyes, not believing him to be as naïve as he let on. She was now halfway down the table towards him and he hadn't moved.

"I mean... do you get excited by hurting other people?" Her brain struggled to come up with something that his child-like brain could comprehend.

"Yes." The corners of his lips quirked up, a mad look in his eyes.

She stopped herself in front of him, looking up at the assassin that had threatened her life.

"Would you gain pleasure from hurting me?" She bit her lip, shifting from foot to foot. 

His fingers twitched and he was very clearly trying to restrain himself.

"Oh yes, Miss Talbot." He hummed.

With shaking hands, she reached up and gripped his collar, abruptly pulling him down to meet her eye-level. He seemed unfazed by this man-handling and allowed himself to be pulled in such a way. He seemed almost to be expecting it.

"Then hurt me."

Now it was his turn to overpower her, whipping her around and pressing her lower back to the table, one palm slamming firmly on the surface of the table while the other grabbed her arm and pulled it behind her back. She whimpered but her eyes lit up as he jerked her arm into such an unnatural position.

"Are you a masochist, Miss Talbot?" He asked in a low voice, his body pressing against hers.

"I don't know." She answered quickly before thinking on it. "Or, at least, I didn't know until very recently."

He captured her lips on his in a smooth motion and she didn't back away, or even flinch. He still pulled at her arm and she winced into the kiss, pressing her body even harder against his.

"Violet!" Her mother called from the other room, and they parted, still staring at one another's lips.

"Coming mother!"

He let go of her arm and she exhaled heavily, propping herself up against the table with it. He backed away, making a move towards the door when she stopped him with a hand gesture. She stepped towards him as he watched her evenly.

"Visit me again." She urged him in a low voice. "Only, visit when they're not around."

The corner of her lips quirked into a smile. He merely stared at her, eyes bright with excitement and he licked his lips.

"Yes Miss Talbot." He murmured, before turning and leaving the room.

The moment he left the room, she sat herself back down in front of the bits of paper that had been scattered with her clumsy movements, and attempted to piece them back together. She knew what the manuscript needed now. It was more violence.

As she lifted her pen, she grinned to herself; perhaps the story wasn't fit for her mother's consumption after all.

#fanfic #jonathan teatime #hogfather #terry pratchett

[lotornomiko]

A Random Valkyrie Profile WIP

Been trying to revive my muse...mostly just randomly spinning from project to project, trying to find something to inspire me long enough to write more than one chapter...and then in the midst of that, got this idea in my head...but I’ve struggled with it, just cause it could go nowhere and just be a pointless one shot, OR! I could make it the prologue to an attempted caged bird rewrite. Problem is I can’t decide either way, so it’s stalled for now...but I like the short bit of what I do have, so want to share...Lezalenne centric, am now eyeballing my RUAli fic to see if I can’t write the next chapter of Sacrificial Maiden...

It’s mostly work safe unless you don’t like written scenes of death and gore....though those massacred were all faceless entities...no actual character death thus far from the games...

It started out as a whisper, one lone voice standing out among the thousands of Creation, that muted whimper of pain a plea so foreign and strange a sound amid the peace and tranquility that had come to perpetuate the many realms. That unwelcome buzzing in her head was joined by a second, and then a third,  a suffering so immense and overwhelming, it had nearly staggered the Goddess in place, the hurt there a summons Lenneth could not turn away from or ignore.

That suffering would only worsen, the whispers becoming louder and louder, as more screamed out their pain. The rising agony of so many more then rolled through her, the damage done these people twisting, taken to new levels of a depravity that only heightened the desperation felt. It was a herald of the dying in fact, that tortured wail an unending chain of suffering, each soul that did finally die, replaced by another, and another, their pain this litany of fear, of confusion and anger, even of hate. Her heart broke with that acknowledgment, with the betrayal expressed by those slain. They felt alone and abandoned, some even damning the Goddess with the last of their breath.

She’d shoulder at least part of the blame, the atrocities committed this day, having been done in her name, every last body felled one piece of a message personally crafted for her heart alone. The ringing of it echoed through her, piercing deep inside her own soul, and Lenneth’s wings just couldn’t fly fast enough. Not to stop the massacre at hand, the Goddess arriving to a scene straight out of a nightmare, the horror that greeted her eyes, a far too fitting match for the agony screaming within.

There was so many dead. So many broken bodies strewn about, blood and other things splattered across the pavement. She’d close her eyes to such a sight, trembling with a barely suppressed urge to do her own brand of screaming, this seemingly senseless brutality an abomination that had no right or reason in her universe. It was blasphemy against everything she had ever believed in, and broke truce with the promise that Lenneth herself had bestowed upon the people of this world. It made a mockery of the paradise she had granted, this one sliver of evil twisting everything into something horrible and profane, this perversion both intolerable and unacceptable, a cerulean blue gaze snapping open, that color blazing with the righteous fury of not just the Goddess, but of all those who had been killed on this day.

It was an anger that boiled in the depths of that cerulean gaze, all the pain and the suffering combined with the horror of this senseless havoc, and the utterly lost and confused feelings of the how and the why of such a thing having been allowed to have happened at all. With it came guilt, a part of this her fault for allowing the chance of, her kindness twisted and spat back at her feet, this violence a proverbial slap from the one whose hand had set off on this murderous rampage.

She trembled with the force of her many emotions, both hers and that of those who had died, Lenneth understanding that this massacre made a mockery of her compassion. Of it, and of her mercy, the second chance she had given, the human who had been awarded such consideration in the first place, done so for a favor once owed. A debt that had needed to be repaid, the world saved through the actions of a selfish and utterly lustful man.

A blasphemer by birth, this was just the latest, and most unforgivable of his crimes. This cruel blood shed and torture an act she could not let him slide on, not now, not ever again. The monster that he had proven to be, the true colors that he had yet again shown, a single act of good could no longer free him of the fate that only the most depraved of sinners earned, that soul of his not bound for the heavens or for the hell, but instead set to be removed so completely from the cycle of rebirth so as to have him face the ruin that was the entirety of his being’s utter annihilation. Only then would this world, her paradise, truly be safe, cleansed of the last---the only source of its sin, all that evil and greed an otherwise corrupting force on that of her Creation.

There was no hesitation in her now, the decision made. Not just by her, but by HIM, his reckless ways no longer able to be tolerated for ANY reason, he had tried the last of her patience, the favor owed no longer able to overlook any more of his vile antics. He had used it all up, every last bit of good will and gesture, and with her eyes blazing that bold color of emotions, the Goddess reached for and drew out the sword from the scabbard on her hip.

She took careful step forward, not about to desecrate the remains any further, stepping over bodies and parts, sometimes slipping on pathways made slick with the blood and the gore. It was horrifically cruel, the amount of dead staggering, stretching out farther than she could see, forming a trail that would lead her deeper into ruins. The Goddess already knew for certain just what awaited her inside, could feel that mad pulse of that vile energy beckoning her in, that pulsating thread of a life most perverse and powerful in its own right, daring Lenneth forward. He knew she was there, had in fact counted on her to come, this bloodshed and brutality all done with the intent to gain an audience with the Goddess. He had wanted her attention in fact, and by all she has held holy, he now had it, though the man wouldn’t be reveling in it for long.

Sword in hand, she continued down that pathway in that careful manner, the screaming of the souls for their vengeance nearly deafening her to the sliver of what else awaited her in the deepest part of the ruins. There was not one but TWO threads of life within, HIS, and a much fainter beat, that of a mortal struggling with and losing the battle to hang on.

“No.” Her first instinct breathed out of her on an angry gasp, power coursing forward, to try and bolster the life that was rapidly faltering. With a miracle of love, light, and healing, she sent reassurances to the  one in danger, such encouragement needed, the soul that had been so close to slipping away completely, instead redoubling their efforts, fighting to hang on for just a little longer.

She heard a wild and masculine laughter in response, but that monster who played at being human, made no overt gestures toward his one remaining victim now. He was in fact toying with them both, the innocent and the Goddess who would protect all, Lenneth starting to move, faster and faster, until her feet all but left the ground, her wings shuttling her forward the rest of the way, mixing gleaming white feathers into the trail of bodies and blood, the pathway lit up with her radiance, and brought her ethereal form out into a large cavern of a room.

#valkyrie profile #lenneth valkyrie #lezard valeth #wip #work in progress #one shot #no name yet #fanfic #fanfiction

[cruellae]

Sephiroth Week, Day 4

Each of my Sephiroth Week entries is a fragment of a love story told in seven parts.

[Read all of them on AO3]

Day 4: Haunted (Free Day)

Sephiroth isn’t sure how long he’s been here, in this humble apartment above a bar in the Midgar slums. Ever since he found Cloud lying in the desert dust, a half mile away from Zack Fair’s dead body, and carried him to the city, time has become oddly elusive, slipping strangely away from him. 

Cloud has reunited with a friend from his childhood, a dark haired young woman who looks past Sephiroth as though he’s not even there. He works as a mercenary now, running with some terrorist group--Sephiroth can’t be bothered to remember the name or the details.

Sephiroth spends his time training in a field of flowers flourishing mysteriously under the plate. He’s skilled enough that neither his feet nor the Masamune ever harm a single petal. Some days he wanders to Wall Market to listen to the locals talk or hunts pathetic monsters through the roads between sectors, wastelands of sparse dirt and twisted metal. 

He follows Cloud on his missions, helping him to slay the more determined foes, Shinra’s mechanical monstrosities falling before their blades. He likes this best of all, when Cloud’s Buster Sword and his own Masamune move together in a beautiful, razor-edged duet. After missions, he sits with Cloud in a dark corner of the bar, listening to Cloud’s companions talk and laugh amongst themselves. No matter how cheerful the mood, Cloud is always on the outside, looking in. 

Sephiroth knows what that’s like.

He and Cloud have something of a truce--sometimes even conversations. But Cloud is always guarded, distant, even as Sephiroth longs for greater closeness. 

He dreams of Cloud nearly every night, dreams that started brief and simple but have gotten more detailed and more depraved over the time he’s been here. 

Tonight Cloud is on his knees, his hands bound behind his back, looking up at Sephiroth with something akin to worship. And in this dream, Sephiroth knows that no matter what he does to Cloud, no matter how he hurts him, violates him, defiles him, Cloud will look at him with love and beg for more. 

This is what you want. 

That voice is familiar, an unearthly melody that once possessed him entirely, down to his core. He can still feel the hollow places in himself that ache in her absence. 

You betrayed me for this pitiful creature. For him you turned your back on all that we are and all that we could be.

“I’m sorry, Mother,” Sephiroth whispers, feeling the cold burn of her chastisement. 

My son my heart my love. I understand what it is to want. But why would you deny your own strength, my scion, my own breathing soul? You could have this and more, if you only would let me show you the way. 

Sephiroth wakes with a start, his heart racing and his body aching with unspent desire. He’s not alone--the apartment above the bar is small so he shares a room with Cloud, sleeping on the floor beside Cloud’s bed so he can remain nearby. 

“Are you awake?” Cloud asks, in his low, husky voice. There’s a slight western twang to his words, the country boy lost in the big city. 

“Yes.” Sephiroth takes a moment to collect himself. “Did I wake you?” 

“Nah. Been awake for a while. Just thinking.” 

“About what?” Sephiroth sits up so he can see Cloud lying atop the bed, turned on his right side, propped up on his elbow. 

“About you,” Cloud says. “Wondering why you’re here. And why only I can see you.” 

Sephiroth considers this for a long moment, and realizes he can’t think of a single instance where anyone besides Cloud has acknowledged his presence. 

“I carried you here,” he reminds Cloud. Surely that’s proof of his corporeal existence. “I brought you Zack’s sword.”

“Sure. I remember. But I also remember seeing you die.” 

“Because you killed me.” Sephiroth gets up and approaches the bed, feeling very much like a ghost in the darkness. 

“And now you’re haunting me.” Cloud gives him a wry smile, weary at the edges. “Zack died for good, but you get to come back. What the fuck kind of deal is that, anyway?” 

“I don’t understand it any more than you do,” Sephiroth says. “I didn’t ask for this.” 

Cloud rolls onto his back and puts his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. “Let me know when you figure it out, okay?” 

Sephiroth nods, though Cloud isn’t looking at him, and slips away to his corner to wait for the dawn. 

#

Sephiroth is a quiet ghost. Cloud is thankful for that, at least. He’s not always around, but when he is, he’s usually content to sit silently nearby unless Cloud wants to talk. 

Today they’re the only people in 7th Heaven, the CLOSED sign hanging on the door, so Sephiroth has set his sword along the length of the bar--it’s almost as long as the bar itself--and is methodically polishing it from hilt to tip. 

Cloud has a whetstone, and he’s attending to his own weapon. He’s engrossed in the task and doesn’t realize Sephiroth has moved closer until he feels the gentle brush of a hand on his shoulder. 

“Like this,” Sephiroth says, leaning into his space. He puts his hand over Cloud’s and angles the whetstone just so. “You’ll get a better edge.” 

His hand is warm, the bulk of his body firm where he’s leaning against Cloud’s shoulder. For a ghost, he feels very present and very real. And Cloud knows from experience that when Sephiroth fights by his side, that sword is corporeal enough to kill. 

Cloud wonders if he’s going crazy. 

“Use brings about wear, tear, and rust,” Sephiroth tells him. “That’s what Angeal always used to say when he cleaned this sword.”

“Yeah.” Cloud clears his throat. “Zack told me a little about him. While we were...on the run.” 

“It’s good to see this sword get some use.” Sephiroth is still standing very close, and Cloud has to tilt his head up to see his expression. “Angeal never used it. He was too afraid of damaging it. Very much like his famous honor.” 

“What do you mean?” Cloud asks. Zack always talked about Angeal like he was a paragon of virtue. 

“I did worse things in Wutai than in Nibelheim,” Sephiroth says. “Angeal always turned a blind eye. He never tried to use that stalwart honor of his to change things. Just as he never used this blade to fight.” 

“You probably would have killed him if he had,” Cloud says. “Maybe he thought that doing what little he could from the inside was better than dying for no reason.” 

“Hmm.” Sephiroth runs his fingers up the flat side of the Buster Sword. His hands are large but elegant, and Cloud can’t help but imagine that the caress is on his own body rather than his blade. “But you would never compromise like that.” 

“Probably not,” Cloud admits. 

Sephiroth pulls back and returns to his own task at the bar. They each resume their work in comfortable silence. Being haunted is one thing, but it feels kind of good to not always be alone. And Sephiroth understands Cloud in a way no one else ever has before. 

“I never did figure it out,” Sephiroth says, softly breaking the silence. “Why I’m here.” 

“Karma, maybe?” Cloud asks.

Sephiroth raises an eyebrow, looking puzzled. 

“You burned down a whole fucking town,” Cloud says. “Your karma must be shit. So like, maybe this is your punishment.” 

“I doubt it,” Sephiroth says, his eyes on his blade. “There are worse places I could be.”

Cloud shrugs one shoulder nonchalantly. “Maybe it’s my shitty karma.”

He regrets saying anything at all when Sephiroth turns towards him, strange eyes laser-focused on his face. “Why would you think that?” 

“Cause Zack was the best person I know. And he died because of me.” 

Sephiroth is quiet for a moment, leaning against the bar. Not like he’s not paying attention, but more like he’s taking time to really consider what Cloud just said. It’s oddly endearing to see him put in the effort, and it helps with the raw vulnerability threatening to claw its way out of Cloud’s throat. 

“He died protecting you,” Sephiroth says. “Would you have done the same for him?” 

“Yeah,” Cloud says. “Of course. He was my best friend.” 

“If you had died to protect him, would you want him to spend the rest of his life feeling guilty about it?” Sephiroth arches a brow, his gaze pinning Cloud to the spot. 

“I...I guess not,” Cloud says, softly. He’s never thought about it like that before. It doesn’t make everything completely better, but it does make him feel a little lighter. “Thanks.” 

Sephiroth gives him a rare smile, then turns his attention back to the Masamune. 

#sephirothweek #sefikura #sephcloud #a little halloween flavor #sephiroth #cloud strife #ffvii fanfic

[darkangeldesignstudio]

Mother’s Day

Sorry this chapter was posted a bit late today, but its been crazy around here and I feel like crap today lol. But, I promised a chapter every other day and here it is. Chapter 4 is here. Only one left to go. Love yall and thanks for all of the love and support I’ve been receiving since I started posting this story.

Negan x Reader

Honestly, writing this story was hard. The angst was real and the PTSD was not fun to deal with, but I feel like sharing this story with you all has made me stronger in the long run and I hope you all enjoy it. Remember, if you are ever going through something like this or know someone who is, talk about it, ask for help and know in your heart that, no matter what happens. YOU ARE STRONG!!

Summary: When the world ended, you used it to escape a living hell. Later, found yourself a place to call home in Alexandria. You  and your two children were welcomed into the community and you soon found a friend in the reformed soul of a prisoner named, Negan. Your relationship grows steadily over time and he becomes an irreplaceable part of your family, but when a nightmare from the past rears its ugly head, will your love be enough to keep you alive?

Warnings: Negan’s foul language (as usual), implied smut, talks of mental and physical abuse towards children and women, threats of sexual assault, violence, and death.

Chapter 4

By the time winter came and left, you were all thankful for what the community fair had brought in the fall. Winter had been extremely hard that year. Snow covered the ground on multiple occasions, knocking out power and forcing everyone to gather in the only three houses that had fireplaces. The kids kept up high spirits, having fun despite the cramped space and grumpy adults. Snowball fights were abundant on sunnier days and by the time spring appeared, you all had gotten used to the close quarters. Even Negan came out of the ordeal with a few friends.

With spring, came another special day organized by the communities. Mother's Day was just around the corner and the council had decided to make a spectacle of the date. It was almost impossible to be sure of the exact date for Mother's Day, but everyone was excited to celebrate anyway.

All of the kids would be participating in crafts, making gifts for their mothers and grandmothers and even their sisters and friends. It would be a great day for the women of the communities. Love was abound and everyone was happy.

When the day came, your ex was the farthest thing from your mind and even if he hadn't been, there was no reason to suspect that he would come anywhere near Alexandria. Unfortunately, he showed his face about halfway through the festivities. He was with a woman that you didn't know, chatting with her as if he didn't even care that you were there, but that thought went right out of your head when he turned to you and gave a menacing grin. You immediately knew something was off.

Hurrying back towards the crowd, you spied Negan and the children huddled together and, by the way they were whispering, there was no doubt that they were planning your gift. Determined not to ruin their fun, you went in search of someone working as security for the festival.

As you skirted the crowd, nobody was the wiser when the gun was pressed to the small of your back. “[Y/N], its so nice to see you again.”

You fought the urge to shiver in disgust as his breath caressed your ear. “What do you want, Bryan?”

His chuckle sent fear shooting up your spine. “I just wanted to see my best girl and my boys. I was devastated when I couldn't find you. Followed your family all the way to Virginia before I realized you weren't with them.”

His hand slid up your forearm in a lovers caress before clamping down hard on your elbow. “Start walking, don't fight me or I'll take the boys back to Hilltop with me.”

Anger coursed your body, but you only nodded, feigning submission. He forced you to lead the way into a secluded area away from the rest of the crowd, stopping when you were seemingly far enough to be unseen by the guards around the wall.

He released your arm and you turned to face him, backing away a few paces. He lowered his gun, but didn't holster it and you knew you would only get one chance to escape with your life. You had to keep him talking, distract him until Negan or the guards came to find you.

Taking a steadying breath you lifted your chin, channeling your inner bad ass “What the fuck do you want? You never, really, gave a damn about me or the boys. This is just a new form of entertainment for your fucked up mind, isn't it?”

Honestly, it was probably a bad idea to curse the way you did, but Negan's brash ways had rubbed off on you and the angrier you got, the more confident you felt in the face of the danger this man posed. There was a risk that angering him would put you in more danger, but if Bryan was the same man you remembered him to be, your defiance would just encourage him to talk more. He would try to break your spirit down before hurting you physically.

Your gamble paid off. He laughed in your face and his face grew darker, more menacing. “Oh, the little whore wants to get some balls now? Guess its been too long since someone put you in your place.”

You didn't back down, you couldn't. Any weakness you showed would mean death for your family. “Like you used to? With your hateful words and your threats? You think, after everything I survived, everything I've been through, that I would be scared of a fucked up piece of shit like you?!”

His face was growing darker with every word you spoke, but you ignored the anger in his stare and stepped closer to him pointing at him as if you held your own gun. “I survived walker hoards, bands of villains that were bigger than you, smarter than you, I survived them all and I came through it stronger! I will NEVER fear you or anyone else! I found a home here and people that love me and MY children and I will be DAMNED if I will let you ruin this for me! So, Bryan, the best thing you can do right now is to take that little gun of yours, shove it up your cowardly ass and go fuck yourself!”

The last words you spoke were punctuated with your finger poking Bryan's chest until you finally shoved him bodily away from you. His surprise was so great, he stumbled a bit before regaining his balance. He was looking towards the ground as if he couldn't face you, then you heard it.

Bryan's laugh started quietly, his shoulders were the only thing to betray him as it grew to a higher volume. It was wicked, maniacal, like nothing you had ever heard before and you knew you had pushed him too far.

He took a deep breath before looking up at your fear filled eyes. “FUCKING BITCH!! I'LL KILL YOU!!”

His fist was flying before you even got the chance to move away. The butt of his pistol connected with your arm, blocking him just in time to avoid hitting your face. The blow was still hard enough to send you sprawling on the ground, a scream was pulled from your throat as the skin on your legs tore open on the ground.

You looked up just in time for him to grab the collar of your shirt and pull you up. His next blow connected with your gut, knocking the wind out of you as he laughed and taunted you. “Nobody's coming to help you bitch.”

Another blow connected with your right shoulder, separating it from the socket. Your scream was cut short by his hand over your mouth. “After I'm done with you, I'll go take my anger out on those two little weakling brats and then I'll have my way with that pretty little thing that follows them around.”

Anger and disgust churned in your gut, his depravity knew no bounds. Nobody was safe if this prick was allowed to live. You bit down on his palm and saw red at the first taste of his blood. His scream filled you with glee as you spit his blood onto the ground.

Unfortunately, you knew that you wouldn't be worth much in a fight with your dominant arm separated from its socket and tried to think of a way to get out of this mess safely.

Fortunately, Bryan must have assumed the same and holstered his gun. He always found more joy in using his fists than a weapon and this time it would be his downfall.

You got into a fighting stance, hoping and praying that your plan would work until your screams brought someone to you. But, just to make sure, you screamed once more, the fiercest battle cry you could muster, before charging Bryan's direction.

He was bigger than you, stronger than you, but you were faster and he didn't have training like you did. You were able to dodge and evade most of his blows. The few that connected were blocked or only grazed you. His power did him no good if he couldn't connect with you fully.

It felt like hours, the pain in your arm was draining what little bit of energy you had left. You were slowing down. So, when you heard the footsteps, you were relieved. Someone was coming, you just hoped it wasn't Negan, but fate was a cruel mistress that day.

Negan's voice caused you to stiffen in fear for a whole other reason. “[Y/N], what the fuck's going on!”

You turned to face him, wincing at the pain in your shoulder. You had no idea how bad you looked, but you could guess from the look of pure rage that filled his face. Walking slowly towards him, trying hard not to cry out at the pain in your body, you collapsed in his arms.

Negan's voice was filled with fear, fear for you. “Baby, why is he here? Why didn't you come get me?”

Mustering the last bit of strength you had, you straightened your spine, balancing on your own two feet again. “He had a gun, threatened the boys and Judith if I didn't cooperate.”

Those words were enough, Negan helped you to sit on the curb, never taking his eyes off of Bryan. His voice was hard, brokering no argument when he spoke. “Sit here, this wont take long.”

Looking up at him, you felt the most fear you had ever felt. “Please, Negan, be careful. He has a gun.”

Negan's smile was cocky as he looked towards his opponent. “Don't worry doll, this fucker couldn't kill me if he had twenty guns.”

Rolling your eyes heavenward, you caught the small smirk cross Negan's features and smiled back. If there was ever a time not to joke, it was definitely in that moment, but that never seemed to matter to this man and that made you love him all the more.

As Negan walked nonchalantly towards your ex you smiled wickedly. “Hey Negan?”

He looked over his shoulder at you, brow cocked in inquiry.

“Kick his fucking ass so we can go home.”

Negan laughed as he walked on, it seemed he was going to test his wit before he started talking with his fists. “Bloodthirsty little thing, isn't she? Why the hell would you ever let that go, man?”

Bryan only sneered. “Bitch needs to know her place.”

Negan's voice was an octave lower when he stopped, only feet away from Bryan. “She has a place, beside me as the confident and bad ass woman that she is. By the looks of it, she gave you a run for your money, just like I taught her.”

Taking offense, you yelled at Negan's smug smile. “Michonne taught me most of that, you ass. I only used you for practice.”

His shoulders shook as he laughed, whether it was at your reply or Bryan's angry face you didn't know. “Told you she was feisty”

Bryan, turning his attention back to Negan, didn't notice as Michonne and the other leaders joined you. Michonne gestured for you to keep quiet. Apparently there was a plan in place that you weren't privy to. Bryan's voice pulled you back to the problem at hand. “I don't know who the hell you are to that whore and I don't give a shit, she was keeping me from seeing my children.”

Negan stepped a fraction closer to Bryan, forcing him to focus on only him and their conversation. “You mean the kids you beat and tortured every damn day of their lives? The way I see it, they are better off thinking you are dead. You get one chance to walk away before I decide to make that thought into a fucking reality. Then, they will finally be able to live in peace.”

Bryan laughed, throwing his head back and covering his eyes as if he couldn't bear to look at Negan's face. Taking the opportunity, Negan stepped a bit closer and tried to get him talking again. “I don't see anything funny about this fucked up situation. Are you really that sick in the head?”

When Bryan looked back at Negan, you could see the madness in his eyes. “I get it, your that little bitch's dad or something. What was her name, Judith? I'll make you a deal, give me the bitch and those two brat sons of mine and I wont hurt your sweet girl. [Y/N] is a small price to pay to keep your kids safe right? What do ya say?”

You saw the minute shift in Negan's posture just before his fist flew into Bryan's face. “I think I'll just save us all some trouble and fucking KILL YOU!!”

The volume at which Negan yelled was enough to get Michonne and the others to come out of hiding. You all watched as Bryan was driven to the ground again and again. His screams of agony as bones broke was like a symphony as he finally got what he deserved a million times over. You never thought of yourself as someone who liked violence, but this was one of the best things you ever could have witnessed.

Only, it was over much too soon. Bryan lay collapsed on the ground as Negan stood over him. He wasn't dead, you could tell he was breathing and you didn't know whether to feel relieved or angry that Negan hadn't bashed the jackass's skull in.

Turning back to you and the small crowd of leaders at your back, Negan wiped the blood from his hands and walked back towards you all slowly. The look on Michonne's face spoke volumes, she was just as mad as you and Negan. The threat to her daughter had, apparently reached her ears along with everyone else's. All of their faces were hard, ready for another confrontation that, from the looks of your ex's broken form, wasn't coming soon.

Moving slowly away from the group, you met Negan halfway. He touched you softly, trying not to jostle your injured shoulder. “Told you I'd win.”

Rolling your eyes at the cocky grin, firmly plastered to his face at this point, you barely caught the movement from Bryan as he raised his gun, aiming at Negan's back.

Moving with a speed you didn't know you possessed, you pulled Negan's gun from his waistband. Shooting left handed was not something you did often, but at this point you were running on instinct. You snaked your way around Negan's back, shielding him with your body as you took aim and pulled the trigger.

Pain shot through your left hand and the gun fell to the ground. Landing on your knees, you screamed in agony when your right arm flopped limply at your side, but you had hit your mark. Bryan lay dead on the ground, the bullet finding a new home in his head. He never got a shot off.

“[Y/N], what the fuck!?”

Looking up at Negan as he crouched in front of you, you winced at the pain as you shook your right hand at him, smiling the whole time. “What the hell did you put in that gun? Fucking buckshot?”

Negan looked as if he wanted to yell at you, but appeared to think better of it with the sorry state you were in. Anyway, who could really complain when their woman just saved their ass. So, he took a page out of your book and rolled his eyes, sighing in exasperation. “Should have fucking done that begin with.”

Taking a breath suddenly became hard as darkness began to overtake your vision. “Yeah, you really...should...have.”

The last thing you saw was Negan's face as he jumped to catch you, calling your name as you passed out.

#negan #twd negan #the walking dead negan #negan x reader #negan fanfiction #negan's thirst squad #negan's warm weather writing challenge

[cobblepot-comfort]

The Rescue Chapter 2- Well, This is Awkward!

Well, This is Awkward!

Oswald had never been the most patient person.

He really shouldn’t have tried to get out of bed before he was ready.

Jim warned him that he should be careful.  

“You have extensive injuries, Oz,” he’d told him. “You still need to take it easy.”

But oh no - Oswald Cobblepot always knew best.  The Penguin’s stubborn pride always got the better of him.

Before Jim could stop him he had flung back the covers, swung out of bed and started to hobble forward unsteadily.

He didn’t get far, of course.

It was fortunate that Jim happened to have come back into the room - after a ‘comfort break’  he just couldn’t put off any longer - and was two steps ahead of him, catching him before he could hit the floor.  Oswald fell straight into Jim’s embrace, surrendering reluctantly and slumping heavily inside his arms.

“Now - will you listen to me Cobblepot?” Jim growled, hoisting Oswald up and back onto the bed with a groan.

“Jim ...I ...just wanted…..to…..”

“Kill yourself?”

“Ha ha!  No...I...”

Oswald’s speech was cut short as he gasped in pain, his breath taken from him.  He found out it still hurt pretty badly when he laughed.

“Oh Oswald, you see what you did?!  Now be quiet and take it easy! That’s an order.”

Jim lifted Oswald’s legs back into bed and pulled the covers over him,  tucking him up inside. 

He put his hands on either side of the supine figure, trapping him inside the sheets.  His helpless captive glared back at him indignantly.  

“Fine!” he sighed tetchily, rolling his eyes and tightening his lips.

“That’s the way.  Now - I’m calling Lee,” Jim said firmly.

“No, Jim!” Oswald protested crabbily. “I’m perfectly all right!”

“Listen to me!  You could have torn your stitches.  And you could get an infection. For God’s sake Ozzy...what am I going to do with you?”

“Oh  - erm - Jim…” Oswald ventured coyly.

“What?!” Jim snapped impatiently.

“You just called me ‘Ozzy’.”

Jim floundered for a second.  “Oh - erm - did I?” he said, as casually as he could.

“Yes, James.  You did.” Oswald peered up at Jim with a new glint of mischief in his eyes.

 “Well ...it must just have been a slip of the tongue.  You were really ticking me off y’know. Don’t go reading anything into it.”

“Hmmm.  A slip of the tongue, you say?”  Oswald replied smoothly, raising his ebony brows and glancing over Jim suggestively.  He ran his own tongue over his lips thoughtfully.

Jim felt himself weaken.  That moist, pink tongue....wetting those sweet, sensuous lips….

”Damn you Cobblepot !” he thought. “You provocative bird-haired beauty!”

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly to regain his composure.  

“Well anyway - whatever it was,”  he resumed sternly, “I’m calling Lee NOW…and don’t move a muscle without asking me first, OK?”

Oswald smiled sweetly and fluttered his lashes.  “Oh, Detective. So masterful!” he said silkily.

“Ha ha!  Seriously, Oswald -  just stay put, don’t move and TRY to behave yourself while I make this call…”

Jim turned away and began tapping in Lee’s number, trying hard to fight his arousal….

Soon afterwards….

Dr Thompkins arrived promptly, exchanging brief glances with Jim.  His look was apologetic and hers was longsuffering - quelle surprise.

“I’m sorry - but he would try and get out of bed….”

“I thought you were supposed to be watching him!”  Lee reprimanded through gritted teeth.  

She was filling up the syringe with strong anaesthetic, in preparation for Oswald’s emergency surgery.   Torn stitches! He could well start to lose blood again and get an infection ... the crazy fool! Antibiotics next, just to be on the safe side….

She could hardly believe she was doing this for a depraved sociopath like Oswald Cobblepot.  

What with Jim’s insane, inexplicable crush on this gangster (which he didn’t seem to realise she knew about) and now this - it was a wonder she didn’t go mad herself….

But as Jim had said - when all was said and done, this criminal was still a human being.  She had to treat him just like any other patient in her care. And Jim clearly saw something in him that she and a whole load of other people didn’t.

She just hoped he wouldn’t come to regret this act of kindness. If Cobblepot helped put away Galavan - well, that would be something...but that’s if they could trust him, which somehow, she doubted….

“I know, I know - but I had to go to the bathroom, I told him to stay put.  I was only gone a minute - but he’s so damn stubborn!”

There was angst and remorse as well as exasperation in Jim’s tone and expression.   Lee thought maybe she’d been a little too harsh. He was always having to apologise for something, and she had to admit that he wasn’t always to blame. He seemed to be completely under the crime lord’s spell.

“Ok, never mind,” she shrugged, “All that matters is that we put this right - ok?”  She smiled and placed her hand on Jim’s arm in a placating gesture.

Jim’s face relaxed and he smiled appreciatively.  “Thanks,” he rasped. “Look - Lee, I really appreciate this…”

“Yes Jim, so you already told me, you don’t have to keep thanking me!” she laughed dismissively.

Just then a weak but urgent cry summoned their immediate attention.

“Erm..Hello?  Excuse me! Miss - erm I mean Dr, Thompkins?  I....seem to be bleeding again….”

It was touch and go.  

Oswald had broken a lot of stitches.   Lee had to work fast.

Jim sat beside him, holding his hand reassuringly,  while Lee quickly but carefully injected him. 

The drug she administered was a potent narcotic - designed to work fast in making the patient feel calm, sleepy and comfortably numb.

Oswald’s eyes started to glaze, and his grip on Jim’s hand began to relax.  Jim took Oswald’s hand in both of his, keeping a firm but gentle hold and stroking Oswald’s palm soothingly with his thumb.

“That - feels nice,” Oswald sighed drowsily.  He looked up at Jim and their gazes locked, Oswald struggling to keep his drooping eyelids open and maintain his focus on Jim’s face.

“That’s it, Oswald - don’t fight it, just go to sleep.  You’ll feel better when you wake up….”

Lee began to load her needle with surgical thread.

“Jim,” Oswald gasped, his grip suddenly tightening around Jim’s hand. 

“Hey, now, take it easy Oz, Lee’s not going to hurt you…she’s just going to mend your…..”

“No ...not that ...I.. want you Jim,” Oswald panted urgently, blinking frantically.  

“Erm, heh,”  Jim laughed awkwardly, aware that his face must have gone a deep shade of puce. He was embarrassed for sure, but that wasn’t all….he also couldn’t avoid going hard in a very personal place….

 “Now, calm down Oswald -  just relax and go to sleep,”  he resumed levelly, stroking Oswald’s hand rhythmically.

“Yes....Jim ...darling….” Oswald murmured.   He gave Jim a sweet little smile and his eyes flickered closed.

Jim’s heart skipped a beat.

This was awkward!

Hearing Oswald say he wanted him and then calling him ‘darling’ overwhelmed him - but he could have waited until they were alone!

He tried to tell himself that it was the medication talking, not Oswald.   And that’s what he chose to tell Lee, playing it down as much as he could.

Jim could see that Lee was as unconvinced as he was - although her lips agreed, her eyes told a totally different story.  He knew his face was still blushing and his own eyes must clearly give him away.

Lee was both professional and compassionate.  He had always known that and these were among the qualities he admired the most about her.  They had made him fall for her and believe that she might be ‘the one’.

But that was before he’d been forced to acknowledge his true feelings for the other ‘raven haired beauty’ in his life.  

The natural beauty with the devil’s eyes now lay here on his sickbed - but he was not so helpless when seducing Jim with his wicked, winsome ways.   For a moment, Jim wondered what the hell he was doing here.

But then he remembered why.

The comatose person in the bed wasn’t the Penguin, notorious crime lord.    He was Ozzy, a human being with a heart and soul, and the most beautiful, bewitching face he had ever beheld.  Now this human needed Jim’s love, support and protection - as well as justice - all of which he was damn well going to get if this detective had anything to do with it.

Jim held onto Oswald’s hand while Lee dutifully and efficiently stitched him up.

He made out that Oswald still hadn’t loosened his grip - but in truth it was Jim who didn’t want to let go.

“Well - that was tricky.  He tried his best to undo my good work. You’d think he had a death wish!” Lee observed, once she had finished stitching and applying clean bandages. 

“But he should be ok now,” she added quickly, seeing Jim’s alarmed expression.  His face had gone from a deep shade of red to a whiter shade of pale in an instant.  

“I’ll just give him some antibiotics in case of infection.  But he’ll be fine now, don’t worry.”

“Ah - good,” Jim sighed, feeling the colour return to his face and the breath to his body.  “That’s great, Lee, thanks again!”

“No problem, Jim,”  Lee answered brightly.  “And...Jim, please, make sure you look after yourself too.  Um, you know, I’m running out of excuses for why you’re not turning in to work.  They are bound to start to suspect something…”

“Naaa, it’s ok.  Don’t worry, I’ll handle it.  If anyone asks, just say I’m out of town following up leads on Galavan - which of course I sort of am…..”   Jim smiled sheepishly.

“OK, whatever,” Lee shrugged.  “Well, anyway Jim, I’d better be going now ... actually, maybe you should come down with a very bad dose of the flu.   I’ll tell Harvey, he’ll spread the word - and if he texts you or calls again, I suggest you lay it on thick. That should buy you some more time.”

“Thanks Lee.  Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.  Once Oswald starts getting up and about I can start coming in again.  I just don’t want to leave him yet - not while he’s still like this.”  

“Yeah, sure.”

“Thanks for understanding.  And, Lee...erm, if you hear anything more on the search for Oswald’s mother, please let me know.”

“Of course.”

After Lee had gone, Jim went back to the bedside and sat there for a while,  staring down at his charge.

He obsessively watched Oswald’s chest rise and fall until he was satisfied that he was continuing to breathe normally and regularly.

Jim sighed with relief.

“You see what trouble you’re causing, Cobblepot?” he rasped, tenderly smoothing Oswald’s unkempt raven locks away from his face and pulling the covers up around him.  “Still - you’re worth it,” he added more softly.

They were alone now.  He was free to express what he felt at last.

He bent down and pressed his lips gently to Oswald’s forehead.  “I love you,” he said quietly.

Then he sat up and stretched himself, groaning and yawning with exhaustion.   It wa sonly then that he realised how tired he had become.

His feet were aching, his head hurt and his body was stiff from lack of sleep.

He sighed heavily and unlaced and removed his shoes, then unbuttoned his shirt collar, ready for another restless session in the chair beside the bed. 

Then he thought, why not get more comfortable - and also give Oswald more comfort in the process?

So he climbed carefully up onto the bed.  He moved in close to Oswald and put his arm across him protectively.

Jim wondered how Oswald might react if he woke up to find his police detective friend lying  there next to him. If he asked him what he was doing there, Jim knew he wouldn’t be afraid to tell him why - not any more.  Life was just too short.

Besides -  keeping Oswald warm and helping him to heal, physically and emotionally,  was his main priority.  

But he didn’t realise that this was a two way street - Oswald had always been one to return a favour.   

Jim soon fell into a sound sleep - soothed by the pacifying presence of the one he truly loved.

[hiddlesgirl]

SH 316: Stay With Me

This episode was one hell of an emotional rollercoaster and I think that it is one of the best episodes of 3B; packed with emotion, fantastically shot scenes and progressing storylines. It was very well written and directed, so much of the dialogue and visuals enhanced the scenes and were really emotionally provocative. Malec, especially Alec, absolutely destroyed me; I think this is was one of Matt’s best performances of the show, the amount of emotion he continuously put out and the vulnerability of Alec was astounding.

I am already crying because we know that the dance scene happens in Magnus’ mind, and while I was slightly disappointed that it wasn’t happening in reality the scene its self is so beautiful. I love the little moment of them eating breakfast together too, and their discussion of dancing in Havana; Aisha, who wrote the episode, confirmed on Twitter that Magnus and Alec did actually go dancing in Havana which is awesome.

The actual dance scene was perfection. The choreography, Matt and Harry’s performances (not just the dance, but the acting, them looking at each other), the song, the lighting and the way it was shot. It was amazing. We also learned via Twitter that the dance was based on the dance a gay couple performed at their wedding, it was taught to Matt and Harry via Skype and then they had a choreographer on hand in Toronto to help. The whole process is amazing. Plus, Matt has never really danced before, he was very nervous and was scared we wouldn’t like it; he was fantastic. I don’t think we could have wished for a better dance scene. (Hopefully we will be getting another one, which happens in reality, when they get married).

The last moments of the scene are heartbreaking, Magnus becoming limp, Alec’s ‘stay with me’ and their twirling getting faster. The slipping of their hands, Magnus in the dark and Alec in the light; it was soul crushingly beautiful. The symbolism of the dark and light was incredible; the duality of Heaven and Hell, Angel and Demon, but also Magnus’ slipping away into darkness and Alec being the light trying to bring him back. The entire scene was just too incredible to accurately describe in words.

My heart breaks even more when the scene changes back to reality and we see Alec desperately talking to and giving Magnus CPR, he is trying everything he can to keep Magnus alive. He then watches as Catarina uses magic to save Magnus, he is talking to Magnus the entire time. I am crying so much at this point because Alec’s constant stream of reassurances and begging to Magnus is ripping my heart out, you can hear his fear in his voice.

The infirmary scene is so heartbreaking, Matt’s acting in this scene is impeccable; the absolute fear, guilt, desperation and despair he is able to convey is amazing. Alec blames himself because he didn’t look deeper to see the truth of how Magnus was feeling, he feels selfish because he was happy that they might grow old together. In their relationship, Magnus’ immortality has been a hurdle for them and mostly for Alec to come to terms with ageing while Magnus’ doesn’t. To be faced with the reality that they may grow old together, it is understandable that Alec was happy about that future, for them to be each other’s future and last love.

He is pinching the skin on his hands and I love how much attention to detail and consistency Matt keeps with Alec, whenever Alec feels guilt for anything he tends to injure his hands. When Jace left he was using punching bags, after he was possessed he used his bow until his hands bled; he has this tendency of self harm and I like that they are keeping it consistent. However I do wish that they would properly address Alec’s mental health because this consistent self harming behaviour just shows that, especially in times of stress, he is still struggling.

He hates that he didn’t see how much Magnus was suffering; he blames himself for not being able to see through the mask and be a full support for Magnus during this time. He thinks that if he had known then this might not have happened. The line ‘Magnus I love you, more than anyone in the world’ absolutely breaks me, Alec never thought he would have romantic love but now he loves this man with his entire being and cannot begin to imagine a life without him. I also love that Alec holds Magnus’ hand in his, needing that physical reassurance that Magnus is still there and to have the comfort of his touch, while trying to give Magnus comfort too.

Alec is furious at Lorenzo, believing that he did the transfusion with the hope of causing Magnus harm; I absolutely do not blame Alec for thinking this. Lorenzo has proven time and again that he hates Magnus and will do anything to hurt him whenever the opportunity presents itself. Unfortunately, only the warlock who gave the magic can take it back. Alec’s anger is completely understandable, Magnus’ life is in danger because of the same man who took credit for his actions, depraved him of help from others and took his apartment; Alec feels nothing but contempt towards this person who persistently tries to hurt Magnus.

My heart hurts for Clary, to see someone she thought of as invincible look so vulnerable is unnerving and to realise that she almost lost him and she didn’t know must be upsetting. I am not fond of the wording of the line ‘first Luke goes to prison and now this’ because it came of very self centred, making Magnus’ situation about herself; I know that it was not intended this way, it was just intended to show how much Clary feels like the world is falling apart, but I can’t help how it sounded to me.

I understand why she lashed out at Simon, she was full of negative emotion which was fuelled by the rune; however I wished she had apologised because it was completely uncalled for to lash out at someone trying to offer you comfort. Even more so because Simon is upset and suffering too, Luke is his father figure and Magnus is his friend too.

I really did not like that they asked Catarina to summon Lilith; I know that she is there and that they trust her but really?! I hate that they disturbed her, asked her to expend a lot of energy summoning a dangerous greater demon, trying to take her away from Magnus’ bedside when she was trying to care for him after he just almost died!

I hate seeing Lorenzo’s stuff in Magnus apartment, and Lorenzo is drinking a martini (which is much more a Magnus drink, I don’t think we have ever seen Lorenzo drink one before) and to me this comes off very much that Lorenzo wants to be Magnus, wants to have what he has. I love that Alec is having none of Lorenzo’s nonsense and turns off his music, and the disgruntled look on his face as Lorenzo helps himself to Magnus’ drink cart.

We finally learn that Lorenzo’s vendetta against Magnus is purely fuelled by jealousy; I did suspect this because Magnus is not the type of person to have caused someone enough grievances to hold a grudge. He is clearly jealous of Magnus’ power that is a result of his parentage and the fact that other warlocks genuinely care for him, he speaks as though Magnus has never experiences hardship and it becomes clear that he has built up Magnus in his head as a villain who has had an easy life with everything handed to him, which could not be further from the truth.

Lorenzo shows absolutely no remorse or sympathy towards Alec and even sounds glad that Magnus is in such as position, and possibly even looks forward to his possible death; it seems that to him, if Magnus dies the other warlocks will shift their love to him, but of course that is ridiculous. His blasé behaviour understandable angers Alec, to hear Lorenzo implicate Magnus’ death enrages him.

Lorenzo’s magical attack snaps him out of his anger and all he feels in that moment is desperation, the need to do whatever it takes to save Magnus; so he changes his approach. He allows himself to become emotional and try to appeal to Lorenzo’s humanity, to get Lorenzo to forget that it’s Magnus and just see someone trying to save the life of someone they love. The line ‘Magnus, he is my world’ makes me cry, Magnus had become the centre of Alec’s world and to lose him would destroy him.

Matt’s acting and body language really sells this scene; you can see Alec’s entire posture change from aggressive and forceful to vulnerable and submissive, it really shows Alec warring emotions. You can see a moment of humanity from Lorenzo upon seeing Alec’s breakdown, you can see that he can identify with the fear of losing someone and that he may feel sympathy for Alec in that moment.

I enjoyed the scene between the Seelie Queen and Jonathan, it had this tension running through it and this undercurrent that I can’t put my finger on, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the screen. The Seelie Queen once again shows her cunning and willingness to quickly change direction when it suits her and when she will get something out of it, this makes her more dangerous because she doesn’t always stick to one idea, and as soon as she spots a new opportunity she will change her mind.

Kimberly was great and I am excited to see more of her, I think that to take on the role of the adult Seelie Queen is made more of a challenge because it has been played by two other actress. You have to be able to carry over some of their posture, mannerisms and speech to convey that even though their appearances changes they are all the same character.

I love that Maryse is visiting Luke; I really hope that we continue to see their relationship progress and I cannot wait to see Alec, Izzy, Jace, Clary and Simon to find out about their kiss. She is concerned about him turning while he is in prison, she knows how much stress he is bound to be under and she doesn’t want him to endanger himself further by shifting. Luke reassures her, he knew what he was getting into and has good control over his emotions, and he believes he will be able to cope.

I really like that Maryse has bought the book shop, it enables her to stay part of the Shadow World in a small way because Elliot was bound to have many Shadow World artefacts and customers. It gives her purpose and it is a job she can do that doesn’t require any mundane skills or education like many other jobs. I am happy that she is finding her way.

Luke doesn’t want her to visit because he doesn’t want to hold her back from creating a new life, he wants her to move forward and be happy; he believes that she cannot do that while she is still visiting and holding onto him. He is pushing away everyone he cares about, whether this is because he wants them to move on or because he believes that he doesn’t deserve their love I’m not sure. Maryse refuses to be pushed away, she is going to be there to support him; she feels guilty for shunning him after he turned and she is not going to turn her back on him a second time.

I really like the Sizzy scene, they have always had a great bond and friendship; offering support without judgement through some of their darkest times. For Izzy it was her addiction and for Simon it was the situation between Heidi and his family. I think that this friendship and their bonding through these moments are going to be the foundation for a beautiful relationship to bloom.

I understand why they both feel like they want to abstain from romantic relationships; for Simon both his relationships have ended because there wasn’t enough romantic love or connection, while they still care about each other the love they felt fizzled out. For Izzy, the first person she felt a genuine connection with was also a toxic relationship for both of them because of their addictions, and in the end it only caused her pain. The pinky promise was just adorable.

Cain is terrified to face Lilith, she was able to manipulate him once and the consequences were disastrous; as a result he has spent his entire, centuries, of life hiding away. He is so full of guilt, fear and self doubt; I am so happy that we are seeing more of Cain and Pasha who plays him, he is such a great actor, the emotion he portrays is so genuine and raw.

Simon identifies with Cain because he understands the guilt of hurting the ones you love in the worst ways, he also sees what his future could have been if he had not have been able to remove the mark. He feels sympathy and a kinship with Cain, he wants him to know that he is not alone and that Simon will help him in any way he can.

I really like Simon’s line about facing your demons, he knows from experience that you can’t hide forever and if you don’t face your fears they will control you. He wants to free Cain from this paralysing fear, he wants him to have the strength to face the woman who took everything from him.

I love the little moment of Magnus waking up, Alec saying ‘There you are’ and gently turning Magnus’ head to face him wanting to look him in the eyes. Magnus’ then saying ‘There you are’ and touching Alec’s face, reassuring them both; I love Alec’s soft smile and closing his eyes to bask in Magnus’ touch. You can see how happy and relieved Alec is that Magnus is finally awake because even though Catarina said he would wake up it was hard to believe until it actually happened.

Alec is so attentive, adjusting Magnus’ pillows and helping him to sit up to make sure he is comfortable and doesn’t hurt himself. You can see the fear on his face when Magnus motions to do a spell; he knows what the consequences could be and he couldn’t cope with watching Magnus collapse again; especially when he knows that next time he might lose him for good. Magnus is in denial about how serious his condition is, he is so desperate to have magic that he wants to ignore what is happening.

I love the way the next scene is shot; using Magnus’ reflection to show that Magnus is only able to see his flaws and is blinded by how he sees himself. He is also trying to hide from Alec by not facing him directly, but he is unable to hide how he feels and the reflection is used to show this because Alec can see his expression in his reflection. He is able to see how Magnus’ sees himself, can see the pain and suffering that Magnus can no longer hide.

I also love that the camera angles allow the two halos of light to hover over both Alec and Magnus; and it also moves so that early in the conversation the edge of the glass creates a wall between Alec and Magnus, symbolising the walls Magnus is trying to put up. These decisions on how to shot the scene really do make an impact on the emotion and how it is perceived. I definitely think Amanda Row is one of my favourite directors for this specific reason; she is amazing at using camera angles and shots to capture the emotion and undercurrent of the scene and characters emotions.

Alec wants to impress the seriousness of the situation on Magnus because he had to watch as Magnus stopped breathing, he thought Magnus was dead and he is not willing to experience that again if it can be prevented. He is frustrated that Magnus is trying to brush off his concerns and doesn’t seem to be taking the threat seriously. He is devastated when Magnus says that magic may be worth dying for, he is taken aback by his conviction. He understands that magic was important but this drives home just how integral it is to how Magnus identifies.

Magnus feels so estranged from himself without his magic and doesn’t know how to live without it, to have to face giving it up a second time is ripping him apart. He knows how dangerous it is but he doesn’t want to have to face it because he is desperate to keep hold of the magic and himself; he finds it hard to believe that Alec could still love him because he feels like a completely different person without his magic.

I really start sobbing when Magnus turns to confront Alec; Harry actually added the line ‘Look at me! Can you honestly say you like this?!’ it really elevates the scene emotionally and really gives you a sense of just how different Magnus feels without magic. He doesn’t understand how Alec could love him when he doesn’t see himself as lovable.

Alec’s immediate answer is ‘Yes.’; he is so in love with Magnus that it isn’t even a question for him; he loves all parts of Magnus and nothing is going to changes that. I am openly sobbing at Alec speech of all the reason why he fell in love with Magnus, he is trying to get Magnus to understand and see all the things Alec sees in him that have nothing to do with his magic and everything to do with his personality. There is no situation where he would not love Magnus or find him less desirable, he is desperately trying to convince Magnus of this; his line ‘I won’t lose you, I can’t’ breaks me, seeing Magnus almost die has really made Alec realise that he can’t live without Magnus. Magnus has become such an integral part of his life, the love of his life that he doesn’t know how he would survive without him and doesn’t want to.

While Lilith is happy to see Jonathan she is clearly disappointed and annoyed that he didn’t come for her sooner, and we learn that Asmodeus used the magic he took for Magnus to imprison her and take over as the ruler of Edom. This is very interesting because you wonder if the Edom storyline is going to involve Lilith too, maybe she takes Magnus as leverage against Asmodeus or offers to help Magnus get his magic back as to weaken Asmodeus.

Lilith is angry that Clary is the reason Jonathan didn’t come for her sooner, Jonathan is her priority and she doesn’t understand why she isn’t his; and she hates Clary for capturing Jonathan’s attention and affection. She doesn’t trust him after his outburst and can tell that he is not being honest with her but she is blinded when he says that he loves her, she has wanted a child and the love of that child for so long that it eclipses everything else. We also see where Jonathan gets his incestuous tendencies from.

Did anyone else find it hilarious that when she was summoned she was just pulled backwards into the portal? For some reason it just really made me laugh how it happened, I’m not sure if I expected them to go through the ground (as they do when going to Edom) or if they would be pulled upwards but I did not expect that. I just find it hilarious that a demon could be going about their business and is then just pulled into a portal without warning.

Magnus has agreed for Lorenzo to take the magic back but you can tell from his expression that he is unhappy and is only doing it because he loves Alec. He knows how much Alec loves him, and he loves Alec too, he doesn’t want to cause Alec any more pain and deep down staying alive to live and love with Alec is more important than magic.

Lorenzo’s humanity promptly disappears as he informs them that he is keeping Magnus’ apartment. For me, at the moment there is still no redemption for Lorenzo; with everything he has done before this episode coupled with the fact that his only grievance with Magnus is jealousy of him and the refusal to give up the apartment. His moment of humanity and agreeing to take the magic back is negated by his jealousy and greed.

What I don’t understand is that the High Warlock is voted in right? And if the New York warlocks love and respect Magnus so much why have the not complained about Lorenzo yet, either to his face or to the Warlock Council (that’s a thing right, I haven’t read the books but I’m pretty sure I read that this is their sort of governing body. Please correct me if I’m wrong). Even if they don’t know everything Lorenzo has done they know that he has barred them from helping Magnus for anything with no good reason, surely this should have set off alarm bells for them. I would have expected at least Catarina to have done something because she knows most if not all of what Lorenzo has done. I know that story wise Lorenzo needs to be there but it just doesn’t make sense that they keep mentioning how beloved Magnus is but no one seems to be doing anything about Lorenzo’s treatment of him.

Magnus says he has everything he needs right there, gesturing to Alec; he knows that even without everything else he still has Alec and he is enough to keep him alive. Deep down he knows that the only things he truly needs if Alec but he cannot help how he feels without his magic; it is such a major part of who he is and he feels lost. Everything he is feeling is completely understandable.

I am glad that we got a Malec hug but it was a little disappointing because it felt a little stilted, but it is kinda understandable with how adrift Magnus is feeling right now. You can see in his expression how devastated and despondent he feels right now; I know that we are in for a lot of Magnus and Malec angst in the next few episodes. I am a little excited though because Harry always performs emotion and Magnus’ vulnerability brilliantly and usually makes me cry.

You can already see Lilith working out how to make this situation play to her benefit, she is angry that Jonathan tried to kill her and I’m pretty sure that she has disowned him; which while I understand why Jonathan hates her he has just lost his most powerful ally. She tells them that there is only one way to break the bond, to use Michael’s sword Glorious to stab Jonathan because it is imbued with Heavenly Fire which purifies demonic energy and nullifies the bond.

Izzy picks up on Heavenly Fire as it is the name of the Clave program and I am very interested to see where this storyline is going and it is looking more and more likely that my theory about it is close to being right. In case you haven’t read my 3x11 or 3x14 reviews, my loose theory is that they are somehow trying to purify the demon blood in Downworlders.

Jonathan appears with the intention of getting to Lilith, I don’t really like the fight scene and I think it might be one of the weakest ones the show has done. It felt very disjointed and there was too much slow motion for me, plus Jonathan producing that shock wave with his sword was strange because although you presume it was because of his demonic strength it felt out of place as we hadn’t seen him do anything like that before. Plus, Jace and Izzy spent too much time rolling around on the floor for my taste when it has been established many times that the simple use of an Iratze is an instant cure. It seems so odd that they weren’t immediately healing themselves and instead just lying there.

I feel real sympathy for Cain because yet again Lilith is able to manipulate him, promising to return his brother to him if he helps and protects her. She uses his grief and guilt against him, knowing that he will cave. He genuine seems apologetic to Simon because he knows how much trust Simon was putting in him and he hates letting him down, but for him getting his brother back is more important.

I was very confused at Luke getting a visitor outside of visiting hours because we are expecting his situation to get worse, as soon as the man said his name was Scott I knew he was Praetor Lupus because I remember Jordan talking about a Praetor Scott at the beginning of 3x13.

It feels very unsettling to learn that they have been watching him for a long time without his knowledge and the fact that they have enough influence to dismiss not only Luke’s murder charge but also everything to do with Ollie and the demonic murders. We know very little about the Praetor Lupus but it is very clear that they hold a lot of power in ways that we don’t expect. I think that this will be a very interesting new turn for Luke and I am excited to see where it goes.

Jonathan is in chains and I cannot help but laugh because my mum said ‘quack’ and I now cannot look at him without picturing him as a duck. But it also gives me Hannibal Lector vibes, which I presume was there actual intention.

Clary feels more confident in her ability to fight the rune’s influence with Jace by her side because he keeps her grounded. Each time she has felt close to the edge knowing he is there has prevented her from falling over it, she is hoping that together they can prevent her from succumbing to the rune. It is a very sweet scene between them and definitely feels like a parallel to Jace’s Owl situation in 3A.

I am crying right now just thinking about writing about this last scene. I totally was not expecting it, especially given the sober feel of all the Malec scenes in this episode. Oh my god.

Alec goes to Maryse and explains Magnus’ health issues, I am crying when he says ‘I can’t live without him’; Alec who never thought he would find someone to love now has the love of his life. Maryse is so happy for him; she can see how happy Magnus makes Alec and how much of a difference having Magnus in his life has made for Alec. She is overjoyed that her son has genuine love in his life, that he found someone who loves him just as much.

I am literally screaming when he asks for the family ring, the family ring has so much sentimentality to them; especially Alec whose world revolves around his family. The fact that he is requesting the ring shows how certain he is about Magnus and the significance of giving a Downworlder a Nephilim family ring is completely mind blowing. I think it will mean a lot to Magnus because he probably knows this tradition with family rings and he knows the significance of them; to be given such an important Shadowhunter object and to be included in this tradition will mean a lot, especially after a life full of being made to feel inferior to Shadowhunters.

I know that some people are saying that it is too soon for Malec to be getting married, they have only been together for about three months, and I understand where they are coming from. But the decision of when you are ready to propose is a completely individual thing, plus they have almost lost each other so many times that it makes them realise that time is precious and they shouldn’t waste a moment just because other may find it fast. Plus, Shadowhunters only have one true love and for Alec its Magnus, there will never be another for him so why should he wait when he feels ready now. There is nothing wrong with Alec wanting to propose to the man that he loves, he wants to spend the rest of his life with him and to show Magnus the extent of his commitment and love.

Now, that doesn’t mean Magnus will say yes right now and that is his decision. He is going through a lot right now and he may not feel like he can make such a big decision, especially when he doesn’t even feel like himself. Even if Magnus does say no to Alec’s proposal it doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to marry him, it just means he is not ready to say yes yet.

I did wonder if it will play out like Alec asking to move in; Alec will ask Magnus to marry him and Magnus will say no, not yet. Then they will experience a life endangering situation (the whole Edom thing) Alec will ask again and Magnus will say yes; or Magnus will ask Alec to marry him.

I have no idea how this is going to pan out, something may happen to cause Alec to wait a little before asking, or maybe he is prevented from asking. I have no idea but I know that it is probably going to be painful, in the end it will lead to so much happiness and I am excited for every excruciating moment of it.

This was an amazing episode full of emotion and beautiful camera angles, every scene felt like it has a purpose and were driving the plots. Matt absolutely destroyed me with his acting and Malec took me on one huge rollercoaster of emotions.

I’m so excited for 317 even though I’m scared about how the proposal is going to pan out, Simon is going under cover at the Gard and Clary confronts her brother. I am not prepared for the pain that is coming.

#Shadowhunters Review #Stay With Me #Shadowhunters #SH 316 Review #SH 316 #SH 3x16 #Shadowhunters 316 #SH316 #SH3x16 #Shadowhunters 3x16 #this is so late #317 had already aired #shakes head #but i havent seen 317 #i always watch it on tuesdays on netflix #i was really busy this week #hopefully my schedule will be better this week

[themyskira]

Wonder Woman: Earth One, Vol 2 - Part 2

Previously, Morrison’s Amazons are the same awful people we met in book one, now with added mind control. Diana wonders whether her mission might be easier if she just conquered the world and forced everybody to follow the Amazon way.

This time, Doctor Psycho the pickup artist gets his hooks into Wonder Woman.

Steve is test-piloting a cutting-edge experimental aircraft. He races Diana in her vagina plane, struggling to keep up with her. The effort of maintaining the speed causes Steve’s plane to explode, and Diana rescues him.

Steve tries to explain to Diana that the military’s top brass perceive her as a potential threat and that she needs to tread carefully.

Steve: And on that subject… you still planning on leading that big angry ladies march?

um, excuse you?

Big angry ladies march?

What was wrong with ‘women’s march’? Why did Morrison feel the need to colour this line with sexist language? Is he suggesting that Steve Trevor believes that women who take part in political protest are angry and hysterical? Or was he just so busy polishing off his Homeric meter that he didn’t even notice he was being a sexist arse?

Well, all of it goes in one ear and out the other, anyway. Diana just shrugs and goes, ‘welp, they can’t hurt me, and if they provoke us then we’ll just crush them, soooooo…’

The military asks for Diana’s help rescuing an American negotiator who was captured by terrorists while attempting to secure the release of a group of hostages in the Middle East. She gets another very cool outfit for the mission:

She saves both the negotiator and the hostages with ease, of course. Afterwards, back at a US military camp, she shares a bottle of whisky with the hostage negotiator.

He’s interested in discussing Amazon philosophies. Submission to loving authority as a model for all human relationships, for instance. Surely that would be dangerous, unless one could be assured that the authority was benevolent. “Well, of course,” says Diana blithely. “That’s why women are best placed to lead.”

He points out that she comes from a civilisation that practices eugenics and uses mind control technology. That, moreover, she’s an outsider who comes to this world from a place of hyperprivilege, with no understanding of the societies she’s trying to transform. “How can you hope to understand us, let along change us?”

(Those of you who’ve figured out who this guy is yet, please join me in facepalming over the fact that this evil slug of a human being has managed to talk more sense in one and a half pages than Diana has in the entire book.)

At one point he also asks her if she’s “ever thought about submitting to the loving authority of a man”, and somehow it doesn’t end with his face being punched in.

Before they part, they exchange contact details, agreeing to meet up again in DC. Diana tells him, “I’ve enjoyed our adventure together, Dr Zeiko.”

Yeah. This is Morrison’s take on Doctor Psycho. While I have problems with the execution, it’s actually a reasonable base concept. Whereas Marston’s Doctor Psycho uses hypnosis, mediums and ectoplasmic illusions to deceive and manipulate people, Morrison’s Zeiko is a pickup artist-type who works in psy-ops, employing a combination of scientific techniques, staged simulation and good old-fashioned manipulation to identify and get inside people’s defences, and destroy them.

Zeiko: ‘Wonder Woman’. They’re all just the same. < by dr-psycho > If I had just one piece of advice, one precious axiom to impart to you losers, cucks and gamma dudes, it would be THAT singular nugget. Beautiful, smart, wise, powerful, principled. They’re all just the same.

There are a few things I like about this: it reimagines Doctor Psycho’s misogyny and his manipulation of women in a form that is both recognisable and relevant to today. Whereas the original is a cartoonishly depraved gremlin -- an exaggerated, ableist caricature of a misogynist who hates women because they laughed at his ugliness — this Psycho cuts a far more recognisable figure: a white, able-bodied, heterosexual man who abuses his position of power to manipulate women.

But it bothers me that Zeiko’s ability to control people draws so liberally from the pickup artist’s playbook. According to Morrison,

We really went deep with it in the sequences between Psycho and Diana. When he sits and talks to her, it's based on the actual script used by pickup artists with the movements he makes, he mirrors all her gestures, he makes this 'casting off' gesture every time he wants her to perceive something as negative. It was really tightly worked out to follow those scripts.

Pickup artist tactics are rooted in thoroughly debunked pseudoscience like neurolinguistic programming (which is specifically referenced as Zeiko’s field of expertise) and evolutionary psychology. Yes, these are men who prey on and seek to manipulate women, but let’s not afford them any more power or legitimacy than they’re due. By basing Zeiko’s power over women in his mastery of pickup artist theory, and ultimately having him successfully use these tactics to overpower Wonder Woman, Morrison appears to validate some very toxic, pseudoscientific ideas.

In the same interview quote above, Morrison says that he sought to draw awareness to this kind of predatory behaviour:

Part of it was my revenge on having seen [this level of manipulation] actually done to someone. You can see the narcissist type, the sociopath type and how easy it is for them get to people -- people you wouldn't even imagine could be that manipulated by anything. It's a very real problem for young people in the world. There are people out there who are quite willing to use these techniques so I kind of wanted to draw attention to it, but, you know, on the Wonder Woman scale where the guy is a supervillain. I wanted to put these paragon of femininity up against that threat and see how she deals with it -- because even paragons of intelligence and grace I've watched having real trouble with people like this. Here are the techniques. If you see anyone using these techniques against you, the warnings should go off.

Here’s where I think he goes wrong with this.

First, as I mentioned, he attributes Zeiko’s ability to get in Diana’s head directly to bullshit pickup artist theory and neurolinguistic programming. Morrison’s intention may have been to express disapproval and alert readers to predatory behaviour, but he’s nonetheless presenting pickup artist tactics as highly effective, affording them a level of power that’s neither warranted nor constructive.

This is where I think it’s helpful for Doctor Psycho to retain a measure of supernatural power. A writer can still incorporate manipulative and gaslighting behaviours and phrases that are familiar to women into such a character. His uncanny abilities may afford him a greater capacity to inflict wide-scale hurt than the average abuser, but at his core are attitudes and behaviours that many people will recognise. And rather than deriving a near-mystical ability to control women from the vile, pseudoscientific ideas of a real-life community of misogynists, he’s just another creep who abuses his power over people. It might not be a power that exists in our world, but it’s power all the same.

That’s the first problem. The second is that — spoilers — Zeiko kind of wins.

Well, okay, he does end up being captured by the Holliday Girls and sent to Amazonia for brainwashing, so it doesn’t end great for him personally. But ultimately, he achieves everything he sets out to do in the book. He plays Diana like a fiddle, he gloats over her weakness, and she only breaks free of him when it’s far too late to change anything. She is never allowed to triumph over him.

At the start of the book, Zeiko says he’s never met a woman that he couldn’t break, and this book proves him right. His methods never fail.

So at this point, it’s clear that the entire rescue mission was a set-up. General Darnell, we discover, has been ordered to go along with it, and he’s not happy. Even less so when he’s introduced to the secretive Project A.R.E.S.

It’s basically exactly what it sounds: a project aimed at producing highly advanced war machines capable of taking on even the Amazons. Max Lord shows Darnell the fruits of their labours: the Armed Response Environment Suit. It’s now being produced en masse.

A horrified Darnell confides in Steve what he’s seen.

Next, we cut to Amazonia. After some gratuitous perving on naked ladies as Hippolyta and Nubia bathe in the Fountain of Youth, Mala arrives with a bound Paula in tow. The temple was found vandalised again with a swastika, and Paula was found lurking in Hippolyta’s chambers. When asked to explain herself, Paula will only say that she yearns for Diana, her idol. Okay...?

Hippolyta consults the Fates, and returns to Nubia and Mala looking grave and resigned. It’s not explicitly stated, but it’s clear from her reaction that her death has been foretold.

Hippolyta: How I love you, Nubia. Your skin, your mind, your great heart. The time we’ve spent together. And Mala, sisters both, and lovers, and my friends ‘bove all. I’ll miss you all so much.

wait, Hippolyta is sleeping with her daughter’s ex-girlfriend? That is nasty.

(In fact, come to think of it, Nubia was originally Diana’s twin sister. Just to add an extra layer of ick.)

Back at Holliday College, Etta and Steve warn Diana that the government is out to get her, and Zeiko is part of it.

Steve: They’re onto you, Diana. Powerful, dangerous people. Think about how you’ve changed since you started hanging around with this Zeiko dude.

How she’s changed?

No, piss off, mate. Diana literally has not appeared on page since her first meeting with Zeiko. It’s not just that we’ve seen no change in her behaviour, we haven’t seen her at all. I realise that you’re working with limited page space, but if your characters are going to stage an intervention, then you need to at least make a token effort at seeding the warning signs.

Steve tells Diana that Zeiko is deep into psy-ops, mind control, neurolinguistic programming (which is NOT A FUCKING THING), the works. Diana laughs and surmises that Steve simply doesn’t like Zeiko.

Later, Diana hangs out with Zeiko at the firing range, inviting him to shoot at her while she deflects the bullets with her bracelets. When they’re done, Zeiko appears troubled. He feels sick to his stomach, he says! That he — who hates weapons — could so easily talk himself into firing a gun at a woman! At somebody who means so much to him!!

Yeah, Morrison is going there.

Zeiko kisses Diana, then immediately leaps back apologising, saying he doesn’t know what got into him. Diana’s just amused — is that what the men of this world consider a kiss? She decides to school him with a real kiss, and Zeiko bemoans that he feels like he has no control over his actions when she’s around. Oh god, he’s so confused! He’s saying all the wrong things! He doesn’t usually get close to anyone, not like this! He needs to prove that she can trust her!!

ugh, god, this is gross.

Anyway, it ends in Zeiko, under the power of the Lasso, revealing just enough of the truth to serve his ends: that the US military thinks she’s an advance scout for an Amazon invasion, that he was brought in to compromise her and uncover her weaknesses, and that he’s tried to tell them there’s a better way.

Diana runs off, devastated. Zeiko gloats.

< by dr-psycho > Target achieved. Wonder Woman emotional meltdown. Beat that, boys! God, I love my job. She’ll take off in her magical jet. No one treats a princess this way! But she’ll blame HERSELF — superior types always think it must be THEIR fault things went wrong. It has to her her fault for misunderstanding the rules of “Man’s World”. What will she have to do to be treated with the respect she deserves? This princess, this super-10. This prey of the day. What will she give up? How can she prove to me she’s for real…? At her speed… I give her 20 minutes. She gives me 19. Pushover.

PS, we’re eighty-odd pages into the graphic novel, and thus far Diana has done nothing but hit a baseball and get yanked around by the villains.

#comics talk #wonder woman: earth one

[seniichi]

Lovely Boy (VI)

Prompt: His task is done. Six months of preparation, of planning, of making sure Green finally had everything he wanted. Gold was a good boy. Too bad his target never learned how to do that. Final work in the Lovely Boy series, but I’ll probably keep writing in this universe anyways. for @murdeirin as part of their gift conga series.

Note: If you like my work, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi account - Seniichi.

Today. Is. The. Day~

Gold is all abuzz with excitement, bright eyed and full of overwhelmingly bubbly pleasure. Green is, as always, amused in his patient way, kissing him good morning over their breakfast of bacon and eggs. Today is one of Green’s busiest days, so his beloved mentor will be home in a foul mood, dying to vent his fury and wrath upon the unfortunate subject that would dare hold his attention. The moment Green leaves with his (unfortunately) normal bento, Gold immediately begins to primp and prepare the house for the day of his beloved mentor’s dreams. He carefully wraps each Pokeball of his greatest gift, whispering gently how they will meet their true owner soon. Each one wobbles in tell-tale happiness.

(natu had done such a wonderful job, planting false memories and affecting the original enough that the details of Green’s journey stood out to them far more than the other trainer’s.)

Today he dresses up cutely, in bright green hot pants and a sleeveless white turtleneck. He’s cute, he’s sexy, and he can’t wait for Green to come home and see all the hard work Gold had put into the present he’d made. He debates between adding jewelry, and decides against it. All of the bruises Green gave him from their rough lovemaking sessions were on display, and were better than any physical gems and jewels that Green could buy.

(not that Green did. he was practical like that)

Gold walks into the bare room, watches his target weakly tug at the restraints. Despite the risk it had provided, Gold knew Green would want them at full strength.

Green’s coming home soon. Gold says softly, stroking a cheek gently. You’re going to beg. He murmurs with a smile. You’re going to beg him to do as he pleases, you’re going to offer your body like the depraved beast you are. Hateful eyes stare at Gold, but they don’t dare open their mouth to disobey. Gold giggles, watches his eyes darken with rage.

You’re so good now. I hope you obey Green just like this. He pats his toy’s cheek, leaves them there and seals the room once more.

Green is in a haze of fury when he returns home, shaking from the sheer force of his anger. It cools nigh-imperceptibly at the sight of Gold, but he is too enraged to speak for several moments.

Tell me you found a toy for me. His rage is incandescent, heavy in the timbre of his voice. Gold walks forward, leans up to kiss a willing, pliant mouth until it relaxes, softens.

Save your anger, Gold tells him, takes a hand and leads him up the stairs. You’ll want every bit of it for after I give you your gift. Green chuckles a little, bends down to kiss under an ear teasingly. Gold flushes an adorable pink at the tender action, knows how Green is tightly leashing his rage, instead donning his affectionate mask once more.

Of course lovely boy, He says amiably, sliding a possessive hand down to cup Gold’s rear through his bright shorts. As he bends to retrieve the stashed Pokeballs, Green squeezes the handful in his grasp, making Gold squeak and jerk upright, package in his arms. Green grins back, unrepentant. Gold tries to glare at him for it, but dissolves into an embarrassed blush instead. All for me? He asks sweetly, leaning over him to admire the gifts. Another of your breeding projects, lovely boy? Gold shakes his head, draws mystified intrigue.

Not really. It’s more of... returning rightful Pokemon, than anything. Green accepts the gift with confusion, unleashes the first from the cage.

The Pikachu chirps at him, trotting forward to twine lovingly around Green’s ankles. Bewilderment, wonder, and absolute awe frame his face as he kneels down, reverently pick up the Electric Mouse Pokemon within his grasp, touching his nose to the other in greeting.

(months of preparation had gone into this. a special diet of human flesh, natu’s blood-thirsty brainwashing, and his own knowledge of the pathetic target’s journey - as well as his beloved mentor’s - had come at last into fruition)

Pikachu chirps again, nuzzles Green, before clambering up on his shoulder and settling contently upon the broad shoulders. It looks so right the way they looked together.

(his god with the invincible beast)

One by one, they are unveiled. Each one is greeted, lovingly. Green moves them to the kitchen, his eyes widening at the feast laid out for them all.

(gold had used six bodies to make all the fresh puddings and steaks and hearty, hearty stews. every meal had fresh meat, and by the time this feast was done and consumed, green would never have to doubt the loyalty of those he had wrested from that worthless wretch.)

Green kissed him so hard that Gold nearly passed out, and Pikachu smirked at him, the mouse knowing his flustered attraction well. Dinner is a lovely affair, all of Green’s deserved partners returned at last, feasting heartily on the provided meal. Once all of them - save Pikachu - have been returned, Green kisses Gold again, all savage hunger and thirsty desire. Pikachu gives an amused squeak, leaping off to find a place to curl up on and observe as Green greedily lays claim to Gold’s mouth.

My lovely boy. How bold you have become. All this for me? Green kisses him again, nuzzles his neck and leaves a few light bites to tease him, other hand tugging the turtleneck down. Gold shivers in delight, prey to his hungry desire.

All this and more. I told you to hold onto your rage for a reason. Green’s eyes go wide, and he looks down at Gold, trembling in anticipation. You don’t think I’d let the thief that took your glory and your team go unpunished, did you? He’s been waiting for you.

Green’s breath catches, his grip turns vicious upon Gold’s hips, creating new bruises that Gold would be sure to show off in the morning.

You brought him to me? Green says hoarsely, unyielding grip upon Gold’s small hips, raw hunger in his tone. The force of his grip hurts a little, but Gold grins up at him lovingly, kisses his mouth with utter devotion.

I could do nothing less. You gave me the monsters that ruined my life, and so I brought the monster that took your lawful birthright. Green shudders at his words, dipping down to sink his teeth into the soft flesh, biting down so hard that Gold can feel blood dripping around the teeth, staining his shirt.

You’re mine, Gold. Entirely mine, after this. Mine to play with, mine to keep, mine to love and kill. Green’s words send heat curling into Gold’s stomach. He shivers, cheeks turning an adorable shade of pink. Green had never laid such fierce claim upon him.

Green releases him, one hand sliding down to cup his rear affectionately, before squeezing the handful of flesh in his grasp. Show me. Gold beckons to Pikachu, the mouse bounding up to his shoulder, leads his beloved - no, his lover - upstairs.

(he was green’s. he was going to die of happiness.)

He raises a brow, follows Gold into the pristine white room, blinks in his surprise at how clean it is. His expression changes once he sees his prey, who has begun to squirm in earnest, attempting to flee. Green smiles.

(he loves how much green looks like death incarnate in the grip of his rage and anger, looks like a true god.)

Hello Red, Green smiles cruelly, kneeling before the man. He cups his cheek in a hand, kisses Red’s forehead. Pikachu hisses at Red, the man looking bewildered at the sudden change of heart from his stolen starter. It’s been such a long time. Thank you for bringing what rightfully belongs to me home at last. I’ve missed them so dearly. It’s good to see you’ve learned manners. Gold is behind Green, and he grins smugly at Red. Red is shaking with fury, the depth of Gold’s actions realized at last. He lunges for Gold, but Green calmly grabs Red’s face and slams him back against the wall. The brutal elegance of it makes Gold shiver, the boy plopping down to watch, eager.

Don’t even dare to think you can touch what is rightfully mine. Green’s voice is so cold. Red is dazed from the hit, pathetically weak. Gold raises an eyebrow, mouths the words he’d told him to recite with a grin. As he expected, it only enraged Red further. He tries again, and this time he gets harshly zapped by Pikachu, who leaps into Gold’s lap, Gold obediently providing a light petting to his head, a light coo leaving the mouse in contentment. He grins at Red as the man lies paralyzed, too weak to stop Green or Gold.

Red would never speak the words Gold had said, but they served as a fuel for his anger, make him resist while Green destroyed him. Green stands casually, stretches in the luxuriously sinful way Gold loves, and looks down at him.

I’d like my set now. Green whispers softly. Gold picks Pikachu up and settles him upon a shoulder, hustles off to grab the one he knows Green wants.

It’s never been opened before Gold’s eyes. A heavy black case, filled with knives that existed only in Gold’s imagination. Green smiles gruesomely as it is given to him, set to one side. He unbuckles each lock, slides it free. When he opens the case, Gold and Pikachu peer over.

Oh.

(each blade was honed moonstone, their endless black glowing ominously with the Darkest power he’d ever seen. these were weapons to suit the god of the underworld.)

Green takes one and twirls it lazily between his fingers, the blade a blur of movement between one revolution to the next.

Make sure to scream, he grins at Red, lifting the knife.

There’s a difference between Gold and Green, their execution. Gold is still clumsy with his knives, relies upon them much more to help him create art. Green uses them like an extension of him, the implements of pain as much a part of his body as his hands or his mouth.

Green doesn’t hurt the man the same way he does others. Instead, he trails scars over his body - on his arms, on his neck, between his thighs. Each time, a spritz of Potion heals it, leaves a shiny, well-healed scar of tissue behind. Penace.

I will hurt him, Green murmurs softly to Gold. But I want to ruin him first. Ruin the other man who destroyed my life with his body. Subtle strokes render Red a puppet, and Gold obediently fetches a camera. Alakazam trots in, uses his power to set everything up...

And Green films a false confession, using Red to confess to an unsolved murder case - Green’s first meal. He used Red to confess a gory tale, linking him to several of their crimes, of their missing cases that had resulted from Green’s thirst for sweet flesh.

But most of all, he uses Red to claim responsibility for the uprising of Rocket, uses his words to confess that he had killed the Rocket executives, that they had disobeyed him and attempted to contact Giovanni, and for that they lost their lives. He spins a gory tale, and then... Gold shivers.

Seppuku is an artful rendition meant to restore fallen honor, one Gold honestly does not believe the man deserves, but guided by Alakazam, the man spends hours, the moonstone blade dancing within his internal organs, shredding them until they were nothing but a slick brown mush within, the torture spread through hours. Red slumps over, weak, but still moving. Green uses that, sluggishly pinning the blame, the slow slide into the insanity on Professor Oak - his enabler.

Green is smiling when the film cuts off, quivering in place from the anticipated pleasure.

Alakazam teleports everything away, into a sterile room somewhere else, somewhere it would be found by a convenient tip. The media outrage would be incandescent. Green holds a handful of Red’s flesh in his palm, and Pikachu perks up. Green sighs, but allows the mouse to sniff it, curiously investigating it before taking a bite out of it. Green’s hand strokes over the Mouse’s head, allowing him to devour it all, piece by piece, the mouse licking his fingers clean. Pikachu scampers off, and he stands.

I’m going to clean up lovely boy. Green says. He tilts his head to look at Gold, smiling. You’re free to join me. Gold scrambles to chase after his beloved mentor at the words, hears his soft laughter. Pikachu squeaks in amusement himself, wanders off to find somewhere to sleep.

Green is already undressed, raises a brow at Gold when the boy enters the bathroom, a roguish smirk curling over his lips. Green’s hand cups the back of his neck, yanks him forward to deliver a harsh kiss to plush lips, ravaging him without care. He undresses Gold, long fingers nimbly working at his shorts, cupping the swollen growth there with a wink.

Oh, you’re so very ready for me, aren’t you? Green laughs, leaning down to dip a gentle kiss against Gold’s eager, wanting mouth. As you should be. His voice is husky and hoarse, brilliant eyes dark with lust. Green is never gentle with him, instead preferring to nip at the skin, tormenting him and drawing blood over his shoulders. Green gives a husky little moan, teeth worrying a new bruise on his throat. You’re so good you know. He murmurs, hefting the boy up into his arms. My pretty little good boy. Nobody has ever been so good for me. Gold shyly ducks his head, blushing pink as Green lovingly squeezes the flesh in his hands.

All I’ve wanted is to be your good boy. Gold murmurs shyly, as Green mouths against his throat, pushing him against the shower wall, clumsily turning the shower on and kissing him lovingly as the chill spray hits them both, makes him gasp.

You’re perfect. I could have nothing greater than you. Green lowers Gold to the floor, the boy obediently uncurling his legs to stand unsteadily on his own two feet. Turning Gold around, Green sinks to his knees, spreading him open wide. Did you prepare for me? He murmurs sultrily, and Gold manages to nod. What a good boy. Green praises him softly, fingers sliding in to fill him, Gold giving a little whine of pleasure. It feels so good, Green finger-fucking him as praise for a task well done. He can’t help the squeal of surprised pleasure when Green’s tongue joins, the boy quivering as Green uses his tongue and fingers to prod all of the right places until Gold is babbling nonsense, begging Green for more. Green moves on eventually, standing up to lift Gold once more.

He manages to find the railing, hands gripping at it tightly as Green nudges the tip of his cock against his willing and well-teased hole.

Break me. Gold is nearly too far gone to recognize what he’s said, but Green is not, the hands settled upon his hips holding him terribly still. He’s panting softly, so very wanton in the pose of his body, water curving sinfully over his frame.

Gold... That’s a dangerous game you’re playing, Green says at last, fingers tight on his hips. Green could break Gold so easily, so swiftly. But he doesn’t, content to toy with Gold, tease him. Gold gives a whimper at the idea, shivering in Green’s firm hold. You know that’s dangerous. The boy manages to look at Green, lips curling up into a smile.

What you do with what belongs to you is hardly going to get an objection from me, Gold’s words make Green’s breath hitch, audible even in the noise of the shower. The younger of the two tilts his head to a side, gaze flickering slightly as he does so. Wreck me Green. His god shudders, gaze scorching as he leans in to push himself in, stretching the boy wide, his hands shifting to wrap around his throat.

I could very seriously hurt you, Green warns, breath hitching in excitement, grip already tightening.

Then do it, Gold says encouragingly, hunger oozing from the words. I belong to you - isn’t that what you said? Yours to kill? Green gives the most delightful little snarl, snapping his hips forward harshly to drive himself deeper into the boy. Gold gives a delighted cry, his air supply cut off by Green’s grasp as it tightens abruptly, getting a soft sob of pleasure from the treatment. Green’s touch is rougher, and he’s freer with his bites, teeth sinking hungrily into the soft flesh, marking Gold as his own.

You don’t get to take this back Gold. I will break you, Green’s voice is predatory, pleasure deep in his tone. And I will break you every time if you agree to let me use you as I please, Green warns Gold.

I’ve been waiting for you to break me, Gold says breathlessly. Please. Make me useful to only you. Green gives a noise that is as primal as it is possessive, the sharpness of his tone the only warning Gold got before Green’s fingers wrap around his throat again, robbing his breath and using the boy as his own toy, hips snapping forward to drive Gold against the wall, breath robbed from him and body forcefully shoved against the slick tile, Green’s smile spreading.

What a good, lovely boy I have.

By the time Green was done with Gold, there was a ring of thick bruises wrapped around his throat, bloody marks bitten up and down his shoulders and thighs from where Green had claimed him. Green has to carry him out of the shower, weak and pliant in his god’s grip. He makes a soft noise of protest at being left alone, and Green chuckles softly at him.

Don’t worry lovely boy. I’ll be back. Gold sighs contently, laying loose and bloody against the bed as he watches his god dry off, Green climbing into bed with him with a loving smile. See? Green teases, pulling the exhausted boy to him. So loyal, so devoted, so good for me. My lovely boy... you and I... we’ll go far. Gold gives a happy sigh.

He would help his god rule Kanto.

#BLOOD TW #GORE TW #CANNIBALISM TW #Trainer Gold #Rival Green Oak #Imperialshipping #Inspirationalshipping #murdeirin

[princevolker2788]

Mercy76 Week: Day 6

“Alternate Universe”

@xavirne

Warning: Heavy Angst and minor violence against my OC Cale ahoy! 

This story is a combination of several ideas that have been kicking around my head and the fandom for a while now. It is also inspired by the work of @nikanono @mizuaoi and @asynca

This is what Lena and Amélie look like

More of Lena

The AU has a few points id like to lay out:

1.     Lena isn’t recovered from the slipstream incident by Overwatch, but instead by Talon. They design the harness, and turn her against the organization.

2.     Cale is born after Overwatch’s fall and when Talon goes underground.

3.     Lena recruits Gabriel herself.

4.     Amélie was never captured by Talon; her husband was instead killed by Tracer.

5.     Ana lost her eye to Lena, though this was from a pulse bomb.

6.     Jack is more of a loose cannon in this universe, its been a hard few years for the former Overwatch strike commander, and his favorite doctor.

  “You really are thick aren’t ya?” Jeered the boy, “‘Child Prodigy’ my arse…”

There was something familiar about this child. His hair was tussled in a manner that looked as if he’d stuck his head out a moving vehicle after applying a thorough round of hairspray. His sea blue eyes seemed to spark with unbridled energy as he shifted from foot to foot, a familiar shuffle. Who was—

It was then she’d gotten the shock of her life as none other than Lena Oxton stepped forward with a dark chuckle and ruffled the boy’s hair. On her face was a pair of blood red goggles, matching the red light strapped to her chest and the glowing energy coming from her gauntlets. She still wore her leather flight jacket, though it was severely worn.

“Oh you clever, clever boy.” She cooed, “You were right, it worked.”

The child had practically beamed at that and leaned into her touch.

Angela refocused her attention onto Lena, licking her lips and tightening her grip on the staff.

“Lena… you’re dead.”

The young brit had cackled at that, a wild guffaw that chilled the Doctor’s blood. There was no warmth in that laugh, nothing of the wide-eyed optimistic pilot she once knew.

“Oh, not quite Doc, gave it a fair shake though.”

Angela felt Fareeha and Jesse tense next to her.

 “Right then, here’s how its gonna go, you put down your weapons. And we don’t kill you.”

A small, almost inaudible, click reached her ears. Jesse had pulled the hammer back on his revolver.

Before she could so much as blink there was a whoosh of air by her ear and the sound of a crumpled body hitting the floor.

In a flash of red light Lena appeared before the Overwatch agents, spinning Jesse’s now empty revolver in one hand and dropping the bullets onto the floor with the other.

“Tsk Tsk, now, shall we try again?”

The sound of rifle slides being pulled back echoed through the small intersection. Angela turned to Fareeha, nodded, and slowly lowered her gear to the floor.

“Angela!”

“It’s the only way.”

“We can’t trust them!”

Lena giggled and spun the revolver once again.

“Well, you’re right about one thing…”

A scent not unlike anesthetic filled her nostrils, and soon her eyes began to droop. She didn’t realize that the boy and Lena had affixed masks to their noses until it was too late.

 Jack paced back and forth, checking his watch for the third time in as many minutes. They’d been waiting for the door to open on the far end of the base for thirty minutes now. The guards were down, it all hinged on Angela’s team now.

“Would you stop? You’re making me nervous.” Said Amélie.

“They should have been here fifteen minutes ago, something’s up.”

            The Frenchwoman scoffed as she adjusted her scope.

            “Jack, patience is key here. Any number of things could be slowing them down.” Said Ana.

            He turned to glare at his old comrade.

            “This is Talon, they don’t make mistakes easily.”

            “They left these oafs to guard the back entrance.” Quipped Amélie.

            Jack was about to retort when a small beep entered his earpiece.

            “Ang? Is that…”

            A familiar giggle drifted across the channel.

            “I’m afraid the doc can’t come to the phone right now, would you like to leave a message love?”

            “Merde…”

            “Lena…” whispered Jack.

            “Ah, Ah, Tracer, soldier boy, Tracer!”

            He grit his teeth.

            “What do you want, Tracer?”

            “Nothing much, just your unconditional surrender.”

            Jack bit back a cutting remark and took a breath. This could be a bluff, an attempt to draw them into the open.

            “Do you really think we’re just going to do that?”

            “Oh you will, if you value dear Angie’s life.”

            A scuffling noise was heard over the com unit. Labored breaths came next.

            “Jack…”

            He froze, listening to every detail in the call, straining his ears for the sound of machinery or other forms of equipment. None, so holding cell most likely.

            “Better hurry, I’m getting bored.”

            Jack severed the connection and rushed down the hill, ignoring his companion’s cries. He failed to notice how the doors opened without his input, or how the security camera’s tracked his movements.

            “Angela!”

            He fired into the halls, downing as many agents as he could. The map of the headquarters played out in his mind as he turned, left, right, gunning for the cells.

            Jack’s heart leapt in his throat as he rounded a final corner. Angela was bound in a metal chair, set dead center of a glass room.

            “Angela!”

            A blinding blue light filled his vision, as did a wretched scream that seemed to reverberate through the concrete and sear itself into the soldier’s brain.

            “NO!”

            Jack fell to his knees, gaze fixed onto the still glowing room as the shutters snapped shut.

            Its my fault, its my fault, its my fault…

            All his failures came crashing down at once: the failure of Overwatch, Blackwatch, Gabriel, and now Angela.

            A small hand gripped his shoulder. A child, no more than nine or ten stood next to him, a concerned look in his sea blue eyes.  

            “Wot’s the matter mister?”

            His thoughts crystallized in that moment. A child? What was Talon doing here?

            “Are you alright kid?” he managed to say.

            The child looked frightened and shook his head.

            “No, I’m scared, I’ve never been outside the-the cells.”

            Jack frowned.

            “Are there others?”

            “I dunno! I-I just ran!”

            With this, he began to cry, high-pitched sobs that wracked his entire body. Hesitantly, Jack reached out and rested a hand on his shoulder.

            “It’s alright kid, just tell me where the cells are, my friends—”

            He paused, holding back tears as he looked to the cell.

            “They might be here too.”

            The boy sniffed, looked up, and pointed towards a door at the back of the room.

            “That way.”

            “What’s your name son?”

            “Cale.”

              Angela’s eyes creaked open, wincing at the sudden streak of light that stabbed into her cornea. Her entire body ached and tingled from the electric shock she’d received.

            “Comfortable?” quipped Lena.

            The Doctor chose to say nothing, instead offering a fierce glare in the younger woman’s direction.

            “Oh, now there’s a wicked look. Best save it luv, you’re gonna need it.”

            Hydraulics hissed next to her ear as the chair moved towards a series of monitors, all viewing a hallway and another room full of holding cells. Jack was being led along by the same child from before.

            “Jack!”

            “That’s not gonna work.”

            To her horror, the boy continued leading him down the maze of hallways. She struggled against her restraints, only to receive a violent shock for her trouble.

            “Tsk Tsk, naughty.” Said Lena with a giggle.

            “Why are you doing this?!”

            This seemed to stun the brit into silence.

            “What happened to you Lena?”

            A sudden grip on the chair startled the doctor as she was spun around to face a set of hazel eyes ablaze with fury.

            “You people left me alone in an endless void of… nothing! I was everywhere, and nowhere, I lived and died a thousand times in a thousand different places! I suffered in the cold, and the dark, and you never came…”

            Angela could see tears forming in the corner of Lena’s eyes.

            “Talon saved me, gave me purpose, and…”

            “A son.”

            The sorrow vanished, replaced with a depraved grin.

            “That’s right, but, I’m afraid that’s all the time I have for you right now.”

            Lena giggled and vanished in a blink of red light, leaving Angela to face the series of monitors before her. The child led Jack into the detention block, where… Oh God no!

            Fareeha, Ana, Amelie, and Jesse were all in separate cells, restrained in much the same manner as her. The soldier slowed his pace to a crawl, eyes flicking between each of his comrades. What he failed to note was the small smile on the boy’s lips as he stepped back and reached for a panel on the wall. The door sealed in a second flat. Jack turned, leaving his back open for Lena to drop in from the vents.

            This seemed to be the intended plan, because suddenly Jack’s hand was around the woman’s throat and she was pinned to the floor, struggling underneath his weight.

            “You killed Angela: you’re dead!” He hissed.

            The venom and hatred that seeped out of his voice kept the Doctor’s gaze fixed on him alone. One twist of his arms and Lena’s neck would snap like a twig.

            “Mum!”

            Jack twisted around, glaring at the child. He was holding what appeared to be a small caliber pistol in his hands, not enough to kill without a headshot, but enough to cause some serious damage.

            “Back away from her!” he cried.

            “Come on kid, put it down, you don’t what to do this.”

            The boy fired, grazing his cheek by barely an inch.

            “I never miss.”

            The aging soldier looked between Lena and his new foe and slowly pried his hand away from her neck.

            She took deep steadying breaths, trying in vain to regain some of her composure.

            “Cale…” she rasped, “Go, mummy’s got this.”

            He shook his head.

            “No, he’ll hurt you again!”

            Jack stood up, hands in the air.

            “Come on, I’m not anywhere near her now.”

            Angela took note of how he’d backed himself into a corner, hands still up.

            “No one else has to get hurt.” He added.

            “Bullshit,” spat Lena, “I can think of four more people who deserve it right now.”

            Jack let a smirk grace his lips, an ugly thing that Angela did not care for. Where was the man she knew? The Strike Commander? Her love? Her Jack…

            “I count one.”

            With this, a small disk like object flew from his hand and directly at Lena’s feet. The resulting explosion took out two of the live cameras, leaving one facing down from the ceiling and another three at different angles around the room. Lena was on the ground once more, though this time she hadn’t had time to put up a proper defense. Jack laid punch after punch into her crumpled form, uncaring as she yelped and winced from the multiple broken ribs she’d no doubt sustained.

After his fourth hit, the harness seemed to flicker, which startled the brit more than anything Angela had seen thus far.

            “No, no! Stop! I surrender, please stop!”

            “Surrender?!” he howled, “You don’t get to surrender!”

            He snatched up his nearby pulse rifle, aimed straight for the center of the device, and fired.

            At first, nothing happened, but then, a red glow seemed to radiate from Lena’s body. She scrabbled at the ground, at anything that would serve as purchase, but to both her and Angela’s horror, she passed right through. A horrified scream left her lips as she appeared to fade out of existence. Is this what she meant before?

            “Mum!”

            Jack didn’t stop the boy as he rushed to grasp his mother by the waist. He only managed to find purchase on her leather flight jacket, which fell to the floor, leaving her clothed in a talon issue bodysuit only.

            “Caaale?” she cried, voice echoing.

            “Mum, don’t go, no you cant, you just cant!”

            “I’lll fiiinnd you!” she cried.

            “Mum!”

            It was if someone had turned Lena off like a light, for in the span of a second, she was gone, leaving behind the jacket and goggles.

            Jack wasted no time in moving to the cells, firing away at the locks and releasing all four of their allies.

            “Jesus Morrison.” Whispered Jesse.

            “What? No mercy for murderers.”

            “Like you’re any different?” countered the cowboy.

            The old soldier fixed a glare onto the unfortunate man.

            “I don’t kill unarmed prisoners.”

            “Neither did she…”

            All eyes turned to Cale, who clutched his mother’s coat with a savage fierceness that hurt Angela to see, despite his treachery. He rocked himself back and forth, stopping only when Ana came close.

            “She’s still alive, but you killed my mum.”

            The elder sniper almost missed him reaching for the pistol. Six shots fired into the concrete, punctuated by a wild scream of agonized fury. Ana soon had him pinned, but his eyes were entirely on Morrison.

            “I’ll kill you! You ‘ere me?! I’m gonna rip you apart! You’ll wish you killed me too you son of a bitch! I’ll kill you!”

            He thrashed and howled; screaming at the top of his lungs until all that was left was a ragged whisper and drying tears. Ana lifted herself off of the ragged form, but kept a firm grip on his shoulder.

            “Where is she?”

            “Piss off.”

            Jack gave him a quick smack for his trouble.

            “Where is she?” he growled.

            “Tell us and we’ll get your mother back.” Added Amélie.

            This got the boy’s attention immediately. He ceased struggling and turned as best he could to face the Frenchwoman.

            “Can you do that?” he asked, timid hopefulness and wariness coloring his voice.

            The French sniper shrugged.

            “I seem to remember Winston working on something like the device on her chest, to capture her of course. I’m sure he could rig it to bring her back.”

            “If Talon doesn’t get to her first. Remember, they brought her back to begin with.” Added Fareeha.

            “That’s right, so what else have you got?” snarled Cale, fire returning to his eyes.

            Jack cocked his rifle.

            “We can still kill you.”

            “Do it, big heroes you are eh? Kill an unarmed child, leave a little girl to die for your own selfish needs?”

            “ENOUGH!” Jack fired a round close to the boy’s head and pressed the barrel to his head.

            “Where. Is. She?”

            The boy looked between Jack, Ana, and Fareeha who all stared back without so mush a twitch.

            For the first time, Angela saw true fear enter the boy’s eyes, fear for his safety, his survival. He knew his mother could be recovered, but all that bravado would earn him no sympathy in his present company. With a shaky sigh, he lowered his head to the floor and whispered:

            “D block, door five.”

            After about ten minutes the door to her cell opened and she was free. She refused to look Jack in the eye the entire time, that was unnecessarily cruel, a far cry from the man she once knew. Her Jack would have stopped after the flashbang, he would have cuffed Lena and knocked Cale out, not made him watch. But this Jack, he’d enjoyed it, reveled in it.

            “Are you alright?” he’d asked

            She scoffed and pointed to the monitors.

            “Why don’t you think about that, and ask me the morning?”

                         The trip back to base was made in relative silence; she’d decided to watch over the boy. It was the only thing she could think of to ensure she didn’t have to be in the same room as that… thing pretending to be Jack.

            Focusing her attention back to her patient, she could see where Lena had passed on her genes. The hair, nose, and freckles were definitely hers. But who provided the eyes? The waviness in his curls?

            She shook herself and introduced the second round of sedative. Whatever her gripe may have been for Ana’s tinkering, they certainly worked well. You could probably fire a gun in the ORCA and he wouldn’t have woken.

            “Dr. Ziegler?”

            Angela turned and found Fareeha standing at attention. Endeavoring to seem ‘normal’, she put on a small smile and let out a chuckle.

            “Please Fareeha, just Angela. Were friends, a least I hope we are.”

            The Egyptian nodded and looked over her shoulder, then back to the Swiss Doctor.

            “What happened back there?”

            She shrugged.

            “I don’t know. Jack’s never been that… hostile. No matter who he was fighting.”

            The soldier in question was in the middle of a heated debate between Jesse and Ana, who both seemed to have the same opinion. Form this angle Angela seemed to get the jist of it: What the hell were you thinking?

            “And here I was hoping for a regular in an out.” Mumbled Fareeha, taking a seat next to the gurney. “All that trouble, for him? For her?

            Angela brushed his bangs out of his eyes.

            “They set a trap, but we got out. That’s all there is to it.”

            Fareeha frowned at the unconscious form before her.

            “Do you think he meant it? What he said he’d do to Morrison?”

            The Doctor finally looked to her former lover.

            “Yes.”

End of Chapter One

#Mercy76 week #Day 6 #Cale Oxton (Author's OC) #Cale's my OC #i promise there's going to be fluff in the next one! #I might continue this

[caterinaprimrose]

The way you write it, it sounds as if you are romanticizing an abusive relationship.

 Oh no, of  course not. That’s awful. Lmao. Abuse is a serious fucking thing, in any manner. Physical, emotional, mental, substance, violence in general is just an entirely scary thing that no one should be subjected to. 

However, this is fiction. 100% disassociation of character and writers. I’ve never written a story like this before, and it’s honestly one of my favorites. Here is why, the dynamic is fabulous. 

I actually got an anon I haven’t answered yet that asks, “Can you give us an ooc analysis of Braxton and Caterina?” So I should tie these two things into one! 

This subject has come up several times, and I feel that my readers here on tumblr have an unfair advantage considering I only post major events in the character’s lives. Anyone that roleplays with us actively sees the cpmplexity that Caterina and Braxton have.

First, to understand the relationship you have to understand the characters.

There is no doubt that the relationship is abusive in mental and physical levels. Mostly mental, however. He’s only actually physically harmed her once and it was because she fucked up in the company, so he would of beaten whoever did that. (Not saying it’s okay, just clarifying he wasn’t beating his woman to beat his woman.) 

Caterina and Braxton are almost the same person in all realness. That’s why Braxton doesn’t trust her, because he wouldn’t trust himself. People don’t see that, however, because she’s always got this public image set up, as does he. 

Braxton and his company do less-than-legal work, much like a mob (no secret OOC). Braxton is ambitious, greedy, manipulative, insincere, detached, intelligent, prideful, and vindictive. Every single one of these traits applies to Caterina, too.

However - publically, Braxton is kind, generous, charming, harmless, rich, and has the city’s best interest in heart. 

Publically, Caterina is bubbly, stupid, exceedingly vain, spoiled, arrogant, girly, prim/proper, playful, submissive, flirtatious, kind, etc. Everything a stereotypical rich, snobby woman would be. 

Caterina, real Caterina, has this mentality that society is way behind its time. She hates that everyone blindly follows these morals and laws made up by people who don’t follow them themselves. She sees the structure of society as an idea, some type of leash to control the people. Just because some guy who one day declared himself a leader said so. She thinks that she is enlightened, so she doesn’t have this moral system restricting her, that’s one thing. 

That’s why she’s okay with putting herself into these really terrible situations with bad people. She does something to get something. 

Now, to back up even further and explain where that mentality came from - she has never been independent. Her mother died at a young age (Like fifteen) and so she was taken in by this man whom she fell in love with and emotionally (and even a little physically) harmed her. She ended up killing him (so she thinks) and running in the end. But she didn’t know how to take care of herself without doing dirty work. So she has spent her life from man to man, each more rich and influential than the last.

 She was patronized for it, but coaxed into believing that this is okay by those men. She’s built on manipulation and lies.  She was told that she’s going a lot further than most because she has no bounds holding her back. 

So she spends her life watching out for herself, always keeping herself secure and when one started to falter she had a plan B. Sick, I know. 

Fast-forward, we get to Braxton.

Braxton’s history isn’t fully known - not even to his writer. It’s been slowly revealing itself and piecing together for the writer and readers on this roleplaying journey. 

From what we’ve gathered (mind you, it might not be true but this is what Braxton the character has said ICly), Braxton didn’t like his mother - at all. She always pressed for him to be a businessman. He never played with the other children, he stayed inside and studied. He never learned to share. So he’s almost like this overgrown child with a lot of power which makes him incredibly volatile. 

Caterina and Braxton mixing together makes perfect sense. 

They’re both overgrown children. Not in a dumb way, but in an emotionally unstable way. Not to say that Caterina is insane - she’s not. I hate that escape-goat to just label a woman as insane. No, this is how she is and I can justify it with the experiences the character has gone through and the complex psychological effects. She’s just not a good person. She’s a terrible person in a terrible situation but that’s the situation she thinks is best for her. 

Caterina and Braxton work so well because they feed one another. She feeds into his vanity - he has a huge god-complex and she knows how to really blow that up. So she worships him in order to get the things that she wants. That is security, housing, food, extreme amounts of gold, additional fame (She loves attention. It’s hilarious.), and she hardly has to work for it.  

He also gives her a challenge. There is a constant game between them 

Caterina became infatuated with Braxton over materialistic items. She saw that he’s willing to do anything for his benefit, and she saw that as a sign of strength. She needed someone who had no boundaries, just like her. So when she attached herself to him, naturally he saw this opportunity and took it. 

Her fearless adoration and pending love for him gives him this intense advantage over a very capable, intelligent woman. She, herself, believes that once she can gain Braxton’s full trust he’ll start to love her too and that’s the challenge she’s so obsessed with. 

In a way, Caterina is almost like Braxton’s creation, he broke her of her self-serving attitude and remade her into his own image. If Caterina didn’t see Braxton has worth it, if she had little faith in him, she wouldn’t stay. 

It’s like you’re putting one whirl pool next to another and making the maelstrom. 

So he bends her to his will and delights in watching her strive to please him. When he’s bored, he can play games with Cat and she will always play back - willingly, and with pleasure. He can hurt her and then snatch her back up again with well chosen words and actions. 

He prides in the fact that he’s taken this beautiful, successful, ambitious woman and turned all her plans and mentality towards benefiting him - which, to Caterina, indirectly benefits her. 

She, in both her devotion and her adoration of him, is a mirror to Braxton’s ego. Highly narcissistic, she would provide proof to him of his own genius and brilliance - both in the very fact of her existence and because she fervently believes it herself. Cat is his, body and soul, and that must be immensely gratifying to someone as egotistical as Braxton, especially considering how easily he controls her.

That being said, I do think that Braxton cares for Caterina. Not in any grand, passionate, self-sacrificing or selfless way. Not in a way in which her well being and happiness are important to him. Not in any normal, healthy way. But in his way, and maybe soon, as much as he is capable of.

And eventually her uniqueness in response to him, I believe, will penetrate something very deep and buried within Braxton’s psyche and bring it back to life - a faint glimmer of tenderness consumed by layers of darkness and depravity.

And maybe Caterina is just very delusional in thinking that she can keep digging and breaking herself down, down, down and turning into what he wants so that one day he’ll feel as intensely about her as she is coming to feel about him - but that’s what she believes. 

So when I write these things, these stories, I myself am not romanticizing their abusive relationship - I’m writing it in a manner at which Caterina feels. I’m writing as if she were a real person. The work shows how captivated she is by him because she is captivated by Braxton. She feels romance so to give off that air of romance I write it poetically. 

It’s an artistic choice I make with all of my characters, to use words that give the readers feelings my characters feel - even if it betrays the actual situation. 

So in a way, I would hope that the romanticized writing with an abusive situation would make you uncomfortable because that means I wrote it right and you’re very caring and human. 

If it makes you sick and you don’t enjoy the story, by all means - unfollow. I’ll understand. Not everyone can disassociate their characters and themselves, and especially if you’ve been in a similar experience, if my writing surfaces some sort of bad memory or emotion in you - just unfollow Caterina’s blog. I don’t want anyone to suffer because of this character’s story. 

I have much much more family friendly blogs like @quinn--nadine and @melodyofmercy :) 

This was super long but I feel like I explained it well, I hope that helps!

@braxtonhudson

@thewildercard 

@everythingisbetterwithpirates 

@warlordofruination