#the prodigal child who came in from the cold

[redwineconversation]

Selma Bacha Le Progres Interview (October 17, 2023)

Blah blah standard disclaimers apply; god I HATE invasive behavior so much it genuinely makes my skin crawl; @OL Comms Dept a PSL I beg of you; y'all know the speech by now. I don't want to commit to translating Le Progres articles on a regular basis but as is everything in life, that is subject to change.

In which the prodigal child returns from the cold, remembers Lyon's win/loss record against Barcelona, disses Lyon's men's team, and confesses love and admiration for WoSo's favorite Bad Catholic.

It was basically a fan Q&A and anyone with a Le Progres subscription will be able to find their names; however I took out the fans' names because I just don't feel comfortable outing private information like that. (See, it's that easy to be a decent human being and respect someone's privacy!!! Who would have thought!!!!)

SELMA BACHA LE PROGRES INTERVIEW

Selma Bacha: "My biggest strength is my instinct"

For one hour, the Olympique Lyonnais and French International left back talked with Le Progres readers with all the spontaneity and frankness we have come to expect from her. Without shying away from a single question. Her tenacious character, the difference in attendance for men's football compared to women's football, the support from her family, how she regards mental strength, her role models, her relationship with Wendie Renard... A Bacha with no filter!

[Fan]: Do you play any other sport apart from rugby?

I do a lot of boxing during preseason and when we're in preseason. It allows me to blow off steam. I also enjoy swimming, and because I'm such a competitor, I always have to swim against someone who swims professionally so I can improve and to improve my mental strength. I also go hiking even if I like it a little less. Ever since I was young, I really loved sports in general. In middle school, I did cross country. I wanted to do my middle school proud so I gave everything, and I finished third in the French Championship.

[Fan]: Did you play with the boys in the academy?

I started playing with the boys when I was five. I was recruited really quickly by Lyon when I was eight. But my parents got divorced at that time and I lived with my father and my brother, so I have certain male characteristics. But maybe that's what gave me my desire to win, the determination, how to be aggressive and not let anything go.

[Fan]: What would you say is the difference between men's football and women's football? The difference in attendance?

We do the same job, but female players don't bring in as much money as the men do. But we're seeing some progress, we see it with the French National Team where we often play in front of sold-out crowds. It's up to us to win over supporters, to make them proud and gain interest in us. I have a lot of confidence in that even if it's a little frustration to play the final of the Coupe de France or the Trophee des Championnes in front of a small crowd. That being said, then a game is at 9pm on a Sunday, I understand that's it is complicated for families.

[Fan]: Were you disappointed not to play the derby [against ASSE] at the Groupama Stadium?

I think I can speak for the team but we would prefer to play in front of a smaller crowd with a great atmosphere, which may have been lost if we played at the Groupama Stadium.

[Fan]: What is your best memory in the Champions League?

My first final in Kiev [Lyon beat Wolfsburg 4-1]. I wasn't even expecting to be on the team sheet and I went to the pregame meeting and I found myself starting at the age of 17. The atmosphere was incredible. Overseas, people are really interested in those types of events. Here in France, we're sleepwalking our way through it, even if after the [2019] World Cup a lot of people started to get more into women's football.

[Fan]: Other countries have overtaken women's football in France. What do you think about that?

It's not to put down our league because things were put in place and we were heard, so respect for that, but when there is a clash like Chelsea-Manchester City in England, it's hard to compete against. Discussions were had, I'm a bit young but Wendie Renard is taking part in them and things are starting to change. In July, professionalism was put in place, so it's moving forward. Slowly but surely.

[Fan]: What has been the most difficult thing in your career?

I integrated the professional group very quickly. I saw everything through rose tinted glasses at first. And when I was on the bench, I was asking the right questions of myself. I was talking with the physical fitness coach, the psychologist, the nutritionist, and I told myself I need to work twice as hard to achieve what I really wanted. I'm someone who is always very smiley and when I'm hurting, no one will know. I can internalize a lot but it will explode, I implode by myself and obviously, that's not good mentally. I have my parents, my team and my best friend, Alyssa Paljevic (former goalkeeper at Lyon), who is a shoulder to lean on. She doesn't judge me and she tells me if I'm wrong or not.

[Fan]: Are you properly supported in terms of mental health?

It depends on each individual. I often tell the youth to make sure to have a good support system. When I arrived at 16 [to the pro group], I wasn't paying a lot of attention to nutrition, to sleep, to recovery, the invisible part of training. I quickly understood you needed support and structure to achieve my objections, which are really high. When I go the [team] psychologist, it's because it helps me a lot mentally.

[Fan]: What qualities do you need to become professional?

Being good at football obviously. Beyond that, only hard work pays off. I give a lot of credit to the people working behind the scenes who put things in place for us. The invisible part of training is also really important. Beyond that, it comes down to having a lot of fun and confidence, you have to follow your instinct. Now it's my turn to ask if you want to be a professional football player? You'd like that? Right there, you can't say "I'd like to". You have to say "I want to" to send the right information to your brain and have confidence in yourself.

[Fan]: Have you stayed in contact with FC Gerland, the team you started with?

I'm the godmother of my former club which is still very dear to me. Last season, I was able to gift them jerseys thanks to my sponsor. Whenever I can go and give them advice, I do it without hesitation.

{Fan]: Do you play Fifa?

From what I'm told, apparently in the game, I'm expensive and a "cheat code"... Personally I don't really play, I prefer to relax.

[Fan]: Do you train in the morning and afternoon like the men's team?

Who told you the men's team train in the morning and afternoon? (laughter) We often have training in the morning, but sometimes we have double or even triple sessions when we come back from vacation. But yeah, we're like the men, we do the same job.

[Fan]: Do you interact with the men's team?

Yes, and besides that, once a year, during the gala for OL Foundation [Lyon charity], we're seated a table with investors and there's obviously a player from the men's team next to us. You might think they have big egos but when you get to know them, they're real softies. We see them in the cafeteria as well.

[Fan]: Was the transition post-Aulas easier for the women's team?

I don't know what's going on on their [men's team] end but from our end, Michele Kang came to see us, we had talks. We're not an easy team to handle but we're not complicated. (laughter)

[Fan]: Which players are your role model?

I'm a footballer but I don't watch a lot of football. The players who inspire, it's Karim Benzema and Cristiano Ronaldo, because they're hard workers.

[Fan]: Have you recovered from your ankle injury in Australia?

My ankle doesn't bother me anymore otherwise I wouldn't be on the field, especially because I have a long season ahead and therefore we won't want to take any risks. But it's true the sprain was no joke. I had 10 days to recover. It didn't hurt at all during the World Cup even if it was swollen. I'm not a cheat: if I'm not 100 percent it's not worth putting me on the field. So yeah, my ankle is a little unstable since, it'll roll sometimes, I'll be in pain for 30 seconds up to a minute, but that's normal. Let's just say I played my joker. At Lyon there is all the necessary medical staff, I'm in good hands.

[Fan]: Does it help you to play in your hometown?

There are advantages and disadvantages. The advantage is I was born here, all my family is here and I'm really close to my family so I have a lot of support, that really helps me. But sometimes, you just want to be alone and that's not always an option.

[Fan]: What is your relationship like with Wendie [Renard]?

Wendie, she took me immediately under her wing as soon as I integrated the pro group. She knows the love and admiration I have for her. She's in my heart, she's a big sister for me who I can always count on. Our friendship goes beyond football. When things were going badly and I thought about quitting football, she really helped me. I owe an enormous amount to her.

[Fan]: Do you think you will change clubs in the upcoming years?

That's a good question! (laughter) I'm under contract with Lyon until 2025. I have incredibly strong feelings for this club, I grew up with them. For the moment, I'm good here, I live it day by day and for the moment, I'm not imagining myself elsewhere.

[Fan]: You wouldn't want to go to Barcelona?

Why would I choose Barcelona? (laughter) I'm not afraid to test myself in a new league. Each year, in my room, I take a blank piece of paper and write down my objectives. Last season [2021-2022], I wasn't expecting to be be the youngest player in the Champions League, have the most assists, be nominated to the Ballon d'Or... I couldn't believe it. But when you play for the team and you put the team first, the individual stats will follow by themselves.

[Fan]: Do you practice a lot shooting from afar?

Let's just say it's instinct. I have a very strong left foot. The assistant coach for the French National Team teases me a lot about that: he tells me I have a more powerful shot than certain male players but I need to put them on target (laughter), so I know what I have to improve on. I'd say that above all else, my strength, it's my instinct. I always follow it: if I have to take a shot, I'll shoot, if I have to get my teammate to score, I'll do it. I don't think just about me. I'd rather have an assist than score, even if scoring, it's a really special feeling.

[Fan]: Which team has the best style of play in your eyes?

Olympique Lyonnais (laughter). Otherwise I'd say Barcelona, because I am a player who likes ball possession and at the top level, the Spanish players are the best. I like to watch Barcelona.

[Fan]: Who was the best team you played against?

That's a good question. I'd say Chelsea and Barcelona.

[Fan]: And the best player according to you?

There are a lot. At the moment, I'd say Eugenie Le Sommer. Aitana Bonmati (Barcelona) as well, she's really good.

[Fan]: Do you chip in training?

Ball control, nutmeg, shooting, yes. But not really chips.

[Fan]: What is it like being an undisputed starter with the French National Team?

It's an honor! My team knows how much I struggled and all the tears I shed. Compared to other players, I integrated it a little later but I never gave up. There were nights when I was crying at home and I was thinking: "what am I missing?" And one day, when Lyon was at Issy-les-Moulineaux, I learnt that I would be called up because Sakina Karchaoui was injured. At first I couldn't believe it and I was even afraid the coach was pranking me. I screamed really loudly in the bus, everyone was really happy for me. Being at Clairefontaine, seeing the castle, it was a childhood dream. I'll never forget my first game against Kazakhstan, especially because I was a starter. And then I scored in my second game against Wales! I couldn't dream it any better. Now, my status has changed, but I'm not going to get a big head over it. I stay smiley, likable and I never forget where I came from. I want to keep my feet on the ground because it can all change so quickly.

{Fan]: How did you handle coming back from the World Cup?

That night, obviously I didn't sleep. But despite my missed penalty, I told myself that I gave everything and shouldn't have any regrets. Especially because I came into the tournament with an injury and had 10 days to recover from a big sprain. Afterwards? There was a long flight with a lot of sadness and frustration. I landed mid-morning in Lyon, I went to see my family and that afternoon, I went to Montpellier and then the next day to Marrakech. I turned my phone off and no one knew where I was. I needed a lot of time before I could talk about the World Cup.

[Fan]: What was missing for this World Cup?

Efficiency of course. We weren't able to impose our style of play and we were subjected to Australia's. Maybe we lacked a bit of bite as well. Ellie Carpenter, my Australian teammate, when she has one touch of the ball, she moves up 10 meters. When you foul a Brazilian player, they form a group around the referee to put pressure on her. When we had a team meeting about it, Kenza Dali actually called me out by name and said we needed to be more like me, aggressive. Of course you need to respect the referee and not waste energy for no reason when she has already made her decision, but in the quarterfinal of the World Cup, I think we can go talk to the ref. And not just in football. Look at rugby!

#all good love stories start in the rain #selma bacha #the prodigal child who came in from the cold

[popponn]

things about sae.

it's sae's turn in my brain microwave. i want to understand you, underlashes senior. headcanons +observation+ rambling. spoilers, will be updated as time goes on.

scathing, mean af vocabs. pretty rude even as a child. but compared to rin, his cursing seems to be much tamer.

is REALLY focused on soccer. but also said in the character interview to not "only be able to/focus on soccer like him".

but in his introduction to u20 shows that he seems to value someone who goes all in to soccer. and it's kind of in line with the things he "admits" and chided. example a: shidou and isagi being individuals who are undeniably soccer obsessed (though on isagi's case as they haven't even talk, if i remember correctly, this might be more because of isagi's way of winning through "making use of luck"). example b: things he said in the u20 introduction in response to sendou.

headcanonish but this guy is giving me "burnout gifted child" vibe with all the prodigal status, expectations, and being hit in the face by the world. like what are you. are you satisfied by marina??????

there are few moments where he displays something that is pretty close to 'praise', but say it not to the related person/group himself. (i.e. his thoughts of blue lock in locker room, his comment about "dont switch out any of the u20 member".)

like is he being not nice on purpose????? honestly probably. headcanonish, but if seeing his way of giving comments to rin pre-spain, it's been like that since he was little. (i will check rin's ln again later)

in contrast to rin having "natural luck", this guy seems to more " making/seeking luck". but idk yet, with only ice cream sticks as clues. sae backstory and ln spin off when.

his eyes during the confrontation with rin in that snowy night are pretty expressive. but since visual cues leave a really wide room for interpretation + bllk tendency to subvert things, i will not comment. but honestly i really agree with the sentiment that sae was hurt by rin's words, but in the end the discouragement seems to come more from a place of "i don't want you to get hurt so just go home and don't play soccer anymore" (very very hc and more of an interpretation, as sae's pov is still non existent)

aka yeah, this guy is shit at displaying concern and any sort of care. headcanon but. do you see the vibe??? with rin???? like it's similar. what is this genetic.

simple fashion, but pretty trendy and chic(?).

this guy seems like a family guy who misses his family a lot. (please make up soon with your lil bro)

watches chibi maruko chan. has habits that genuinely reminds me of old people (drinking tea, looking at sea, thinking of family).

people at blue lock think of him as someone who seems to be good at study, but looking at the pattern of hyperfocused people in blue lock it either goes two way: a) his skill at everything else is questionable at best, abysmall at worst ; b) he is an all-rounder indeed.

but then again there is also the third type aka "good at football, still functional at everything except communication and emotional management skill".

his way of talking in jp is, to put it simply, pretty casual like guys his age. the thing that are the rudest part of it was his choice of words and the fact that he seems to talk like this to everyone. even his elder. and also the way he is very blunt in expressing his opinion.

but somehow that bluntness is gone when it came to showing vulnerable emotions. talk about emotional constipation.

if his character interview is reliable and unbiased, as it is from sae's own pov, his relationship with his parents seems okay.

genuinely wondering about his parents' canon response to his and rin's cold war.

does he even have friends. no like seriously.

his brother and him are really similar in many ways. rin is probably copying him in some ways tho—that, or rin's own issues. or sae's own issues.

please just make up with your brother. (2)

after spain his bang is gone. as in he just pushed them up. in u20 it still went down sometimes in a few panels.

he likes numbers. maybe he really is smart.

genuinely looking at him like "please get a hobby" not even as an insult but out of genuine concern. this dude has so many issues and the burnout child prodigy vibe is real strong with this one.

but not fully his fault. pretty much live alone overseas, probably with no friends his age and just a manager as his support system, went through a crisis, is a (probable) family loving guy with his family far away from him, then came home to his beloved lil bro he spoiled and dotted on and shared a dream with saying hurtful things to him on his lowest point. and not supporting his new decision and dream. from sae's pov, it's brutal.

i can defend rin on this too tho. honestly please talk to each other, itoshi bros. or acknowledge that maybe neither of you were in not in the best state of mind during that confrontation.

seems logical and he does likes numbers. but honestly, he just acts as he wants—look at how he talks to journalist, how he has 0 hesitation to leave an ongoing match.

went to spain at 13 according to rin's spin off novel. also mentioned to "hate to lose" and seems to be a strict perfectionist.

must be noted however that how rin sees him seems to be very biased. a bit of rin analysis/hc, but there seems to be "putting nii chan on a pedestal" going on there. how their childhood truly is from sae's perspective is still unknown. on rin's part tho, seems to be a very nice period.

is rich. so the snobby rich condescending guy aura is probably not that far from the truth. his sense of money seems to be a mess, as a few hundred millions is a small amount for him.

this guy seems to be picky with who he respects and he really doesn't hold back in disrespecting someone he doesn't. even higher ups and older people.

does skincare canonly.

doesn't seem to have friends so far...? (nel arc, before pxg match) but if we look at how rin is now, unsurprising.

in rin's novel, rin's physique is mentioned to be "better" than sae's actually. with how "rin wins in luck" while sae "loses" motive exist through the ice cream sticks, probably this motive will come up again when sae appears again.

#not exactly but still a #character study #itoshi sae #putting this here for a bit #why are bllk guys so funny when ur brain is not simping for them #babblings #sae hurry up and come back i still don't get you that much ngl #rin is mentioned A LOT because 1) brothers 2) most of the source came from him #getting this out of my draft and maybe i should make a tag for this sort of rambles #poponing

[ecoamerica]

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[itsabouttimex2]

Fiery Reunion: Part Two

(Part One) (Part Two)

From the moment the Demon Bull King opened his eyes, he had assumed the worst. How could any father not? After five long centuries spent in stone slumber, he had awoken to nearly everything a conqueror could desire.

His prodigal son, grown and proud. His loyal wife, composed and ever-gorgeous. An army of reminiscent machines ready to obey his every whim, obedient and powerful.

All that a man could crave stood before him, with one singular exception. He had scanned the area subtly, eyes narrow and intense, searching for his youngest child, who was very conspicuously absent.

And when his search came up empty, he considered you dead.

It was not an easy fact to accept, but his children had not been born equal.

His son had come into this world with a dangerous abundance of power, so great that it had to be ripped out and split into pieces for his own safety. And although some inherent, internal flame still burned within his elder child, it did not hold to a torch to the strength of the Samadhi Fire.

You, though…

You could not have been born further from grace.

Sick from your very first breath, you were born into a body unfit for life. A deathly pallor clung to your skin from conception, proof abound of weakness and frailty.

And you had not made a sound.

Even when Princess Iron Fan held you away from her warm chest, or shook you, or; wearied from her post-partum state and frayed from desperation, struck you across the thighs- you had not cried. Nor would you scream. Not when you could only barely manage your own weak breathing.

It was only when your older brother Red Son; still just a child himself, clambered into your crib and held you that you made any noise at all.

He wasn’t supposed to be in there. He wasn’t supposed to even be in your room, let alone your crib… but curiosity had overtaken his obedience and led him right to you. With unsure hands, he had scooped you up and lifted you towards his face, inspecting his newborn sibling.

Nearly inaudibly, you had sounded a feeble giggle, pulling at his pince-nez glasses and reaching for his eye-catching crimson hair.

With wide eyes and careful arms, Red Son held you against his small chest, a long-lingering warmth left behind by the otherworldly fire keeping you cozy in his arms. Just a few reaches towards his face and scalp had worn your sickly body out, drifting off to sleep without any further sound.

In the morning, Princess Iron Fan and Demon Bull King had awoken to find you in your brother’s arm, alive and breathing, if barely.

And they hadn’t the heart to separate the two of you from one another.

———————————————————————

Demon Bull King and Princess Iron Fan alike knew that you would never become a great warrior. The notion was contradictory to the make of your flesh, foreign to the skin of an ill body.

It was impossible to train someone so young, to teach someone so physically impeded.

It had taken you six years to speak your first word, seven to take your first step.

Both of them had been for your prodigal elder brother.

And though your (severely delayed) milestones had managed to somewhat quell the long-standing fear that you’d forever be weak and helpless, you remained ill- thus, your family remained worried.

It had been hard for you. Perhaps it had been harder for your family, living in fear that by the next time they woke you’d be cold in your bed. It wasn’t a good way for any family to live.

Red Son had grown particularly protective of you in your youth, rarely letting you out of his arms or lap no matter how much you would protested. No amount of arguing, squirming, or struggling would free you. The most you could of was strike at him with your open palms, and even then, your uncoordinated hands bounced right off of his skin.

It was a convenient way to keep an eye on you, so your parents never intervened, setting what would become a long-lasting precedent: allowing Red Son to do as he pleased with you, because it was probably best for you anyways. He kept you out of trouble, and kept a close eye one you. There wasn’t anything wrong or harmful about it, after all.

Not back then, at least.

Red Son would only grow more protective as you aged, as it turned out. You went from being a helpless infant who genuinely had no way to escape his well-intentioned coddling to a child that was capable or arguing or hiding away from him. This shift had prompted him to grow more vigilant and insistent on your safety, even when it meant clumsily strapping you to his chest and bundling you around as you shrieked and bit him.

It was harmless. A little bit cute, even.

And then your father had been buried under a mountain, sealed by a staff that only one known living being could wield- who then disappeared from the world for centuries on end.

Red Son had changed in seconds. From a bright-eyed boy who was a little too eager to follow in his father’s wicked footsteps to an angry pyromaniac with a short fuse.

And his leash on you had only grown tighter. One family member that he had lost, and one that he could lose at a moment’s notice. An admittedly reasonable and well-intentioned protectiveness had quickly morphed into a much less tolerable possessiveness.

There’a a nasty dichotomy here for Red Son: his little sibling is weak and frail, and therefore needs his protecting, making them useless. But they’re also his little sibling, and therefore unimaginably valuable and precious, requiring him to protect them at all costs.

So he keeps you at an arm’s length while also keeping you under his thumb, attempting to satiate both aspects of his feelings, all while he strives tirelessly to free his father.

A strange distance grows between the two of you, Red Son both viciously protective and distantly standoffish.

For a time, you seek his affection and attention, vying for his warmth and praise. Even if it was annoyingly overbearing, your brother’s prior love was important to you. Try as hard as you might, Red Son’s response is always to order a Bull Clone to take you (gently) back to your room.

You’re still a bit too young to understand why, however, so you take his restriction of love much worse than he would expect- you shut yourself away in turn.

In time, you grow distant from your mother, as well. Iron Fan hadn’t pushed you away, per se… but her unwavering determination to free her husband left the two of you distant.

You had changed with them.

The effect of isolation has settled in deep, rooting through your mind, reflecting on your body- you look tired and sad, weary from the constant reminders of your result, guilty for not remembering your father.

“How can you dare to call them your family, if you contribute so little and remember even less,” a wicked voice within asks.

Do you deserve to call them your family?

“My Queen,” you say for the first time, and Princess Iron Fan raises an eyebrow and frowns. Her hand softly cups your cheek, dark eyes peering into your own. It’s impossible to miss the fatigue plaguing your face. Your mother wrongly assumes that it’s your own way of coping, that you’re trying to distance yourself from them, and therefore from your father. Given that it’s still respectful and proper, she’ll allow you to refer to her as such.

“My Prince,” you say for the first time, and your brother laughs, loud and harsh. Red Son thinks you speaking to him so formally is funny- for a while. He’ll allow a few uses of the phrase before he cuts you off and informs you very clearly that the ‘joke’ has turned stale, and you should really stop.

“It wasn’t all that funny to begin with,” he informs, sharply flicking your forehead. “And it’s certainly lost what little charm it had by now. Give it up, Y/N.”

And he’ll send to you your room to ‘lie down or whatever’, because he’s still desperately worried for your safety, deep inside. He just won’t admit it.

“My King,” you say for the first time, and Demon Bull King is left with few words, getting to see just how much you’ve grown without him, speaking clearly and standing steadily. How much has he missed? Have much have you grown without him?

But none of that really matters to you.

“Titles are more appropriate,” that little voice reminds you, keeping you insecure and humble. It keeps you from noticing how badly your family wants to be a whole unit again. It keeps you from seeing how much they love you.

And it will keep you blind, until everything builds to a single tipping point-

and you drown in obsession.

#Platonic Yandere #Yandere Lego Monkie Kid #Yandere LMK #Yandere Red Son #Yandere Demon Bull King #Yandere Princess Iron Fan #Bullfam #Super fun when you get to write about things that have traumatized you #Sick kids still make me uneasy #Yandere Brother #Yandere Mother #Yandere Father

[thebrilliantretort]

The Devil and the Fool pt.3

˚̣͙ˈº̣͙⁺•̥͙⁺º̣͙ˈ˚̣͙✧˚̣͙ˈº̣͙⁺•̥͙⁺º̣͙ˈ˚̣͙ˈº̣͙⁺•̥͙⁺º̣͙ˈ˚̣͙✧ˈº̣͙⁺•̥͙⁺º̣͙ˈ˚̣͙✧ˈº̣͙⁺•̥͙⁺º̣͙ˈ˚̣͙ ˚̣͙ˈº̣͙⁺•̥͙⁺º̣͙ˈ˚̣͙✧˚̣͙ˈº̣͙⁺•̥͙⁺º̣͙ˈ˚̣͙ˈº̣͙⁺•̥͙⁺º̣͙ˈ˚̣͙✧

❈ Astarion (sorta ?) x gn!afab!reader ❈

Masterlist -> Part 1 -> Part 2 (tba)

(Technically this is gonna be part 3 in the series but this came out first)

Summary: Astarion charges into Cazador’s lair to save Y/n and finds out something surprising in the process.

Notes: they/them pronouns used, Mommy Karlach™️, !!!SPOILERS!!! for the end of Astarion’s questline.

TW: angst, implied violence on reader, blood, pregnancy, just kinda poopy situation in general, cliffhanger~

WC: 917

Astarion POV

“Who stands before us? Is this truly our prodigal son?”

“Where are they?” I barked at my soon-to-be former Master.

Cazador waved his hand which prompted a thrall toward the center of the ritual platform to unlock his coffin. As it opened, I immediately recognized the blood’s scent that dripped from it. Inside the coffin was my lover, still alive - thank the gods.

They squinted and attempted to cover their eyes to protect them against the dim lights of the chamber. Hells, how long had they been locked inside? The fury inside me grew, if that was even possible. I had never felt such anger before in my 200 years of existence.

My face fell into dread and sorrow as I took in their crumpled form. Nose bloodied, numerous other wounds and bruises, and two puncture marks on their neck - fresh wounds, in the progress of closing.

As the thrall grabbed them and threw them on the ground next to Cazador, they barely reacted. They seemed so weak, our strong leader - my fearless champion. It felt as though everything around me began to crumble. They always protected me, and when they needed me, I fell short.

Calling their name gently, wanting nothing more than to hold them in my arms and take them away.

(first pov below the cut)

First POV

The light that suddenly shone onto me was blinding. How long had i been stuffed inside that coffin? Regardless, the rest i managed to get while locked inside was needed. I felt hands grabbing me but could not make out any face as my eyes were still readjusting to the lights inside the ritual chamber. I was walked forward a few steps and thrown onto the ground. I could hear a familiar voice shouting in front of me. Looking up, everything came into view. Cazador stood a few feet in front of me but was facing forwards. I turned my head in the direction of his gaze to see some of companions; Karlach, Shadowheart, Gale, and Astarion. Astarion in the front looking more panicked than I had even seen him before. He was absolutely distraught as he looked into my eyes and called out my name. Quickly, his piercing eyes glared back into Cazador’s.

“What did you do to them, you bastard?” He spit as he started stomping faster and faster towards the platform.

“Astarion…” I tried to choke out, my throat dry and painful from the hours of torment that held place before my being put in the coffin.

Hearing me try to speak and most likely angered by Astarion’s disrespect, Cazador grabbed my hair and yanked me onto my feet.

“Watch yourself, boy. You don’t want anything to happen to your mate, would you? I can smell your scent all over them.” Cazador frowned, voice dripping with a mocking, faux sympathetic tone.

Astarion opened his mouth to retort but before he could get a word out, Cazador interrupts.

“I can also smell your spawn growing inside of them. I suppose you continued doing what only use you have to sire a child in the little time you have been away.” He tutted.

“Astarion, run!” I managed to shout before being thrown back onto the cold stone of the platform.

“… please…” I whispered as I began to try to lift myself up.

“You son of a bitch.” Astarion uttered as he began running towards Cazador, fist raised. Cazador stood, unflinching as he approached, and suddenly thumped his staff against the stone floor. Red pools of magic flowed from the staffs bottom as Astarion’s fist became caught in a circle of the same magic - keeping him frozen.

“You truly forgot my power. You truly thought our bond as creator and creation was all that stopped you from killing me.” Cazador sneered. I could barely comprehend where I was, much less all that was happening around me. Suddenly Astarion was no longer within reach. Though I could no longer see him, I heard him shout from behind me as all hell broke loose. I felt so tired, so weak, all I could do was scream his name and frantically swing my head to search for his form. My vision blurred from my tears, mixing with the blood on my face and splashing pink droplets below me. Bats, werewolves, and red glowing bodies hung suspended surrounded me as I desperately tried to find something, anything I could use to attack.

I again felt myself being pulled up but by a bigger pair of hands this time. With the strength I had left within me I fought against the arms that held me.

“Hey, hey, settle down, soldier. It’s me.” A familiar voice spoke.

Karlach, I could cry from relief if I wasn’t already crying as hard as I could. I held tightly onto her as she sprinted towards the exit. Once through the doors, she quickly handed me a potion of healing.

“Stay here, we got this. Don’t move from this spot, understood?” Karlach commanded. Before I could respond she was already running back into the battle, sword high.

I threw my head onto the wall behind me. It felt almost peaceful, this moment of silence. If it wasn’t for the unrelenting terror that thrashed around in my stomach. The love of life and my best friends fighting for their lives in there while I’m stuck being useless.

I uncapped the potion bottle and chugged its contents. Lowering the vessel from my lips, the exhaustion I felt multiplied. Slowly, my eyelids got so heavy, I hadn’t the strength to keep them open anymore.

#astarion #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 scenarios #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion scenarios #astarion imagine #baldur’s gate 3 #astarion ancunin #astarion angst #baldurs gate astarion

[that1emowitch]

Fire #3 (Jason Todd & Child!OC)

Summary:

Jason's flashbacks start getting worse, secrets are revealed about Nile, and TimKon find out about this whole shitshow.

Rating: Teen & Up Audiences (there might be some swears and graphic descriptions of violence)

Word Count: 2832

A/N:

I love writing Jayyy!!!!!!!

Chapter 3: Unravelling Secrets

Jason got Nile home as soon as he could, nearly speeding through the traffic (he didn’t go too fast; he couldn’t risk her getting hurt). She needed to be as far away from the Bats as possible.

He knew they hated him. The scars from his tumultuous past seemed to define him in the eyes of the Bat family, branding him as an irredeemable villain. Each glance they shot at him, each subtle dismissal, stung like a fresh wound, a constant reminder that he was an outsider, an unwelcome presence among them.

The Bats' cold indifference sliced through his heart, slicing deeper than any physical injury he had ever endured. They were a family, bonded by love and shared purpose, while he was the outcast, the prodigal son who had returned but was still denied a place at the table. Their animosity seeped into his very core, creating a chasm of despair that threatened to swallow him whole.

You’re the Robin that failed. The Robin who died and came back all wrong. The family fuck-up. This is all your fault, that persistent voice reminded him. They’re happier when you’re not there. Shoulda stayed dead.

Jason's world began to crumble as the familiar, haunting sensations swept over him. His heart pounded against his chest, the rhythmic beats echoing like war drums in his ears. The weight of his past pressed down on him, threatening to suffocate him in its suffocating embrace. He knew all too well what this was—the start of another torturous flashback, a relentless journey back to the depths of his own personal hell.

The sickly green hue tainted the edges of his vision, a cruel reminder of the Lazarus Pit's grip on his sanity (or lack thereof). It was like looking through a distorted lens, a world both familiar and distorted, where past and present intertwined in a nightmarish dance.

In the distance, the chilling echoes of maniacal laughter reverberated in his mind, clawing at his senses like a spectral hand. The Joker's sinister cackle mocked him from the depths of his subconscious, reminding him of the twisted games they once played, the bloodshed they revelled in.

With each passing moment, the struggle to stay conscious intensified. The pain, the fear, the fury—it all surged like a tidal wave, threatening to engulf him. Every fibre of his being screamed for release, for surrender to the maddening embrace of oblivion. To let go would be so tempting, to succumb to the swirling vortex of his inner conflicts and let the darkness swallow him whole.

Yet, amidst the chaos, a single, unwavering thread of determination held him together. The feeling of him holding Nile in his arms—the innocent child he had vowed to protect. She needed him, relying on his strength, his willpower, to shield her from the horrors of the world.

He gritted his teeth, fighting back the encroaching darkness with every ounce of strength he could muster. He couldn't afford to lose control, not when a precious life hung in the balance. He owed it to Nile, and to himself, to rise above the torrent of emotions threatening to drown him.

Drawing on every ounce of resilience, Jason anchored himself in the present, focusing on the sensations of the physical world around him—the feel of the cool breeze against his skin, the scent of damp earth and city streets, the sound of his own rapid breaths. Slowly, the green tint receded, the laughter faded into the distance, and the oppressive weight began to lift.

Taking a steadying breath, he straightened his posture as the world shifted back into focus. He opened his eyes to see the small child looking at him with concern filling her large brown eyes.

"Jay?" Nile's sweet voice chimed with innocence, her big, curious eyes peering up at Jason. "You 'kay?"

Her concern for him was evident in the way her little hand gently reached out to touch his cheek, as if trying to offer comfort. Despite her tender age, she had already developed a deep sense of empathy, sensing when something troubled her newfound guardian.

Jason managed a faint smile, touched by her genuine concern. "I'm okay, Nile," he reassured her, his voice softened to match her tender tone. "Just thinking a lot. But don't you worry, kiddo. I'm right here, and I'm fine."

Her eyes searched his face for a moment, as if trying to decipher the truth behind his words. Satisfied with his response, she beamed a radiant smile, her trust in him unyielding. With a small nod, she seemed to convey that she understood, even if the complexities of his emotions were beyond her grasp.

Jason couldn't help but marvel at the pure innocence and purity that radiated from her. In the midst of his own struggles, Nile's presence was like a beacon of light, illuminating the darkness that threatened to consume him.

With a gentle caress on her cheek, he whispered, "Thank you, Nile. You're a brave and caring little girl, you know that?" Her giggle in response warmed his heart, reinforcing the bond that was quickly growing between them.

She deserves better than me…

He set her down and helped her unbox her new toys. As Nile rambled on about her new toy friend ‘Milo’, he started rethinking his plan. He’d decided to take care of her, but he’d never thought about stuff where they’d live. This safehouse– a weapon store converted to a house– was no place for a kid to stay. He had one or two safehouses around Gotham that were actually fit to be a home, but that raised another question: Should they stay in Gotham?

It was his home, the city he protected, but he knew from experience it was the worst place to grow up. Plus, now that the Bats might be on their tail… but Gotham needed Red Hood… he couldn’t just leave— the innocent people of Crime Alley didn’t deserve yet another vigilante giving up on them.

He cleared his head and decided to take her to his most secure safehouse for now. He could lock away the weapons, set up a nursery for Nile, and make it a temporary home. He could figure out what to do later. God, I say that a lot.

Just half an hour later, Jason sat at the counter, his mind racing.  Nile had fallen asleep soundly, her small form curled up on a nearby couch. It was during these quiet moments that Jason found the opportunity to delve deeper into the mystery surrounding her past. He pulled up a computer from a hidden compartment. Its screen flickered to life as he powered it on, his fingers tapping the keys with practised precision. He didn't have the same resources as Batman or Oracle did, but he was determined to piece together whatever fragments of information he could find.

His search began with the few leads he had managed to gather from CCTV footage of that fateful night. He almost forgot it’d been just yesterday. So much has happened since then.

He ran face recognition on every goon caught on camera, hoping for any indication of who these people might be. He tried testing Nile’s DNA, trying to find a match.

Hours turned into late-night darkness, the soft glow of the laptop the only source of light. Jason's eyes were fixed on the screen, scanning through countless search results. It was a painstaking process, but he was relentless, refusing to give up until he had some answers.

His frustration grew as the results yielded little relevant information. Every single one of the goons seemed to be a ghost. The world of online records and databases seemed to be an impenetrable fortress, keeping Nile's past shrouded in secrecy.

However, as the day wore on, he stumbled upon a thread, a faint connection that piqued his interest. A mention of a missing girl in a newspaper article that matched Nile's description, published around a year ago.

Jason's heart quickened with anticipation. He dug deeper, pulling at the threads of information until he unravelled a web of deceit and corruption. Apparently Nile’s biological mother, Rhea Cort, had been murdered by unknown assassins, leaving her orphaned. Authorities had suspected that Nile was somehow involved in her death, but they hadn’t been able to find her. What the actual fuck? They thought a two year old could have murdered her own mother?

He sighed. Isn’t the Gotham police just fabulous? 

He focused back on the information he just found. Nile had gone missing when her mother was murdered. This must’ve been where Ma’am came in. Although this was valuable knowledge, it raised a whole bunch of new questions. What did they want with her that was important enough to murder her mother for? What happened to her father? How much shit has she been through?

The realisation that Nile had lost her mother, the one person who should have provided love and protection, tore at his heartstrings. He couldn't fathom the pain she must have endured, losing a loved one in such a brutal manner, especially at such a young age.

The thought of a defenceless child caught in the crossfire of violence and danger filled him with an overwhelming sense of pity. How could someone so innocent and vulnerable be subjected to such cruelty? It was a question that tugged at his soul, a question that had no easy answers.

As he pondered the web of unanswered questions surrounding Nile's past, a knot formed in his chest. What was it that the criminals wanted with her? What sinister motives lurked behind her abduction? Was her father involved in all of this?

The more he thought about it, the more he realised how much Nile must have endured, how much she must have seen and suffered. It was a burden that no child should have to bear, and it filled him with an overwhelming urge to shield her from any further harm.

Nearby, the little girl stirred and yawned as she started waking up. He closed the laptop, deciding to do what they were going to have to do eventually. He needed real answers.

“Mornin’, Princess!” He greeted her cheerfully. “It’s actually almost 5 pm right now, you slept through the afternoon!”

She laughed and gave him a sluggish hug, still groggy. “Morn’ Jay” 

He lifted her onto his lap, his tone suddenly turning serious. “Nile, I need to ask you some things, okay? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, just so you know.”

Her eyebrows knitted in concern. “What’s wrong?”

He took a deep breath before continuing, “Can you tell me why you were in that warehouse?”

She frowned. “What’s a wayhouse?”

“Warehouse. The– The place where the fire happened.”

“Oh.” Her voice dropped to a low whisper. “I hurt someone, right?”

Jason was perplexed. “Huh?”

“Ma’am always says my fire would hurt everyone. That people would get died.”

Jason was too confused to correct her grammar. “Wait. Rewind. Could you tell me how the fire started?”

Tears glistened in her sad eyes as she sniffled, her voice so low he barely heard her. “I did it.”

She shrunk away from him as if he was going to scold her, or even worse, hit her, but Jason froze for a moment. She took it as a sign that he disapproved of her, shivering as the tears burst out of her. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry– I'm sorry…” She whispered desperately, crying even harder. 

It took him a second to get back to his senses. He quickly wrapped an arm around her and held her close, cooing, “It’s okay, cupcake, I’m not mad.”

She snuggled into him and whispered through tears, “The big man– he was angry at me ‘cause I didn’t listen to him– he hit me and I got scared– so– so I–”

Jason held her tighter, trying to soothe her. “It’s not your fault, sweetheart. They shouldn’t have hurt you. They got what they deserved.”

“But– I was bad–”

“No.” He shifted her face so that she could look into his eyes and see the finality in his words. “You have nothing– absolutely nothing– to be sorry for. And guess what? They will never hurt you again. I’m here now.”

She nodded slightly, still not convinced. Jason gently kissed the top of her head. He knew she wasn’t going to be able to let go of those sick things those criminals had put in her head in a night, but he was willing to help her through it, to make sure she never came in harm’s way again.

She’s my daughter.

The pair didn’t move for a long time, until Jason finally pulled away. Cupping Nile’s face gently, he said, “Princess, let’s get you cleaned up, okay? Then I’ll make us dinner.”

She nodded and picked up her new toy. “Jay, can Milo eat with us?”

He laughed, agreeing. He quickly helped her clean the aftermath of crying and was about to start making dinner when suddenly a soft knock sounded on the front door. 

All his senses instantly went on high alert. He wasn’t expecting anyone…

He turned on the CCTV feed, hoping to find out who was visiting, but he was met with static. Someone must’ve broken the camera without triggering his well-placed alarm system. Shit. They’re a professional.

His heart sped up as he felt adrenaline running through his veins. He quickly rushed Nile to the bedroom, the safest of all rooms in the house. He said urgently, “Sweetheart, I need you to stay very quiet, okay?”

Worry and fear crossed her face. “Jay, what–”

He kissed her forehead reassuringly. “Just wait here, okay? I won’t let anything happen to you; I promise.”

The knocking got louder and more violent, as if someone was trying to break down his titanium door. Jason locked the bedroom door, grabbed his trusty guns from a secret compartment, and flung the door open.

Tim Drake’s calculating blue eyes met his Pit-green ones. Behind him stood Kon El– or Conner Kent, as he called himself nowadays. Both in civilian attire. Kon must’ve been the one who tried to break in. And Replacement disabled the security. Of course.

He cocked his gun and pointed it towards them threateningly. “The Replacement and the Clone. What do you want?”

Conner immediately stepped in front of his boyfriend protectively, preparing to blast Jason to ashes if needed.

Jason scoffed. “Control your bitch, boy wonder. You’re breaking into my house”

Tim suppressed a glare and held Conner’s arm to try and calm him down. “Look, Jason, we’re not here to fight. We just need to ask some questions.”

“About what?”

“The kid who was with you at the mall today. Who was she?”

Jason stiffened slightly, and hoped the heroes didn’t notice. “Not telling.”

“Did you kidnap her?”

“What?” Jason’s face twisted in disbelief. “Wow, you really think lowly of me, don’t you?”

They hate you, Hood, they’d rather you stay dead.

Tim struggled to find a diplomatic answer to that. 

Conner jumped to his rescue. “Sorry not sorry. We had to make sure. It’s not every day you see the big bad Red Hood eating ice cream with a toddler.”

Jason just nodded. Awkward silence hung between them for a good minute before he finally broke the tension. “Well? Why’re you still here? I gave you your answer.”

“Whose kid is she?”

Jason just glared.

Tim shifted uncomfortably. “Uh– Is she you– you know? Your daughter? Like– did you have a thing a few years ago– and–”

“No. But she is my daughter.”

“Wow.” He seemed fidgety and nervous. “Um, can I meet her? Y’know, cuz, we’re kinda brothers and she’s your daughter and that kinda makes me her uncle?”

Jason was surprised. That’s new from Replacement. “We’re brothers?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Jason sighed. “You told B ’bout this yet?”

“No, not yet,” Tim bargained. He really wanted to meet the girl, just to make sure she was okay. “But I won’t tell him if you let me meet her.”

Jason glared.

“C’mon, please!”

Why does he want to meet her so bad?

He knew Tim wasn’t a liar, he really hadn’t told anyone yet. If I let him meet her he might endanger her, but if I don’t, he’ll tell B and try to take her away from me.

“Fine,” He resolved. “But you have to make a few promises. One, never tell anyone else, including B, unless I explicitly say it’s okay to tell them. Two, never do anything that’ll endanger her safety. Three, promise to protect her with your life.”

Tim brightened up. “Of course!”

Jason hesitated before adding a fourth condition. “And– you have to help me officially adopt her. Y’know, it’s kinda hard ’cause I’m dead and all.”

The third Robin nodded eagerly. Jason’s grip on his gun tightened, ready to shoot them if need be, and opened the door all the way to let the boys in.

A/N

Shit's only gonna get darker from here, enjoy the fluffy times while they last :)

Up Next

Chapter 4: Shadows of The Past

#jason todd x child!oc #jason todd #child!oc #roy harper #dick grayson #tim drake #damian wayne #bruce wayne #koriand'r #red hood #lian harper #wally west #birdflash #dickwally #jayroy #joyfire #batman #batfam #cassandra cain #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #timkon #conner kent #kon el

[whalesandstars]

Wandering Hearts (Part 1)

Scaramouche & Ei, Familial [Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic]

Post-3.2 update, written before patch 3.3

Summary:

Perhaps we are just a pair of wandering hearts, lost and grieving, who went down separate ways. Now that our paths have crossed once more, Maybe…maybe this time, together, we can find our way to a place we can call home.

Wherein a mother finds his prodigal son, unfolds his story, and takes him back home.

It hurts.

It was the first thing that came to his mind.

It hurts.

The artificial being, the puppet, moved his limbs; the tiny movement too loud, its echoes bouncing back and forth in the vast empty room.

Everything was too quiet and too loud at once.

The crackle of ball joints and damaged limbs, the residual sparks of broken wires, the drip of purple liquid falling from his head to the ruined pavement–everything was too loud in this silent and broken altar of a fallen god. Beneath him was a splatter of purple, like accursed purple lilies nourished by lament and sin forming a garden, a cradle enveloping the unborn god…a child who yearned for warmth. The abandoned newborn laid there on the cold ground, which was as cold as the void in his chest. He laid there, alone and broken, a puppet whose strings were cut.

It was the same.

The same as that time.

When a god abandoned him in the cold ground of a silent domain.

And just like the first time, he opened his eyes to see no one but himself.

Just like last time,

Tears fell from his eyes.

He immediately wiped it away.

He wiped away the pain, the sorrow, the anger–everything.

He wiped away everything…everything…

Yes, everything…all these emotions he should not be feeling in the first place.

And so he stood, his face blank, and walked out of the domain.

He walked with no destination in mind. He merely put one foot in front of the other, his surroundings a blur of grey walls. He wandered. He wandered through nowhere; greens, blues, whites, and oranges all mixing into an disorienting blend of colors that painted an abstract art of a journey.

What was he?

Where was he going?

It did not matter anymore.

Nothing mattered anymore.

After all, he had lost everything.

His godhood, his gnosis, his ambitions, his dreams, his family, his friend, his mother…

They were all gone, like bubbles popping, like grains of sand that slipped through his fingers.

It hurts.

His head hurts.

His body hurts.

His chest hurts, his non-existent heart hurts.

Everything hurts.

Even the pitter patter of rain pouring down on him hurt.

Rain?

He lifted his head to see the dark clouds. The drops fell upon his face in a relentless torrent, washing away the dried smears of purple on his skin and the tears that soiled his face. Below him, the waves on the shore were nudging his legs, inviting him to the vast sea, enticing him to forget and abandon everything. It whispered promises of serenity, where no more thoughts or emotions could hurt him, where he could be safe and loved.

He walked towards it. He welcomed the frigid embrace of the sea and let the waves take away his pain. He let it submerge him and his thoughts, the water filling the void in his chest and cradling his weary body and mind.

He was so tired.

So tired of loving and not being loved in return,

Of being abandoned,

Of being deemed worthless and inferior,

Of being betrayed,

Of being left behind.

He was so tired.

The sleep. The sea sung a lullaby.

Sleep and forget.

Sleep and never wake.

Sleep and stay in this cradle where no one can hurt you anymore, where you will no longer feel pain.

And so, he closed his eyes, letting everything be muffled by the sea, and slept.

Perhaps it was better this way.

After all, his creator, his mother, did not even want him. The world did not want him.

Even he, did not want himself.

The God of Thunder was wandering outside, something she had grown accustomed to doing every morning. Whenever the first faint rays of light appears in the sky, before Inazuma woke to the hustle and bustle of life, she would take strolls by the sea and let the breeze fill her with tranquility while the singing of birds and rush of waves silenced the matters awaiting her attention…as well as the voices from the past.

Her sigh was carried by the wind as she continued to walk, her bare feet brushed by fine grains of sand.

Once upon a time, there was someone by her side who would share this walk with her, a voice so sweet and gentle talking to her, like the mellow wave occasionally touching their ankles as the sun shone down on them. The warm light illuminated her companion’s smiles and the radiance in her eyes. But now that kind and loving soul had gone away along with the others who the current God of Thunder cherished. Her friends, her family…all gone.

Now, she was walking along the shore alone.

For years, she had been trapped in a forest. A forest locked in a perpetual night, the shadows of grief pulling on her wherever she went. Dense trees blocked all exits; each trunk engraved with familiar faces, with distant memories etched with every bump on their skin. She had tripped over thick roots and sharp rocks, the echoes of other families and friends’ merry voices mocking her suffering while an endless song of melancholy rang in her ears. The forest was cold and unforgiving. All she could do was weep alone.

For centuries, she had wandered in loss and grief, in solitude, with no glimmer of light in sight. She did not have a destination and the years blurred into a mix of stale eternity painted in black and white.

Until colors finally created an image of a brighter tomorrow,

Until she finally broke out of the dark forest and started walking forward in time.

Now, she was wandering not out of desperation to escape grief but to enjoy the journey; to bask in the joy of fleeting eternity.

She was midway through her walk that morning when she met another wanderer. Like a boat delivered by the waves back to its homeland, a familiar figure was slumped by shore. Recognition sparked in her mind, but only when she was standing a few feet away from the ‘wanderer’ could she put a name to the entity. Not actually a name, for she had not given him any, but perhaps feeling. 

Ei found herself staring at a face too similar to the sister she had lost. His hair was soaked and in disarray, his wet clothes tattered and his body marred with wounds. His eyes were closed, the droplets on his eyelashes shimmering in the faint sunlight.

It was the puppet.

Her creation.

Her…

Ei kneeled down in front of the artificial human, at the one responsible for the chaos in her nation and the unrest in Sumeru. She was staring at the one who caused anguish to many people and the cries of countries. Yes, her creation had become an ‘evil’ creature with sins staining his hands, and yet…as she looked at him like this, asleep, and without the madness, she could not help but see a child. An innocent child who had strayed like a sheep lost from the flock.

How he found his way back here, back to her, was something she had no answers for. But perhaps it had a purpose.

The puppet’s face scrunched and for a moment, she thought he was waking up and nearly jumped away in case he acted hostile towards her. However, she realized that he was far from doing so. Instead, he looked like he was dreaming.

Until now, she had no clue on how puppets could dream. He did it too, after he was created. But what was it that puppets dream about?

Out of curiosity, her hand reached out to touch the puppet..and then the next thing she knew, he was being swallowed by a blinding light.

When she opened her eyes, the scenery around her had changed. From the seaside, she was teleported to Shakkei Pavilion–no, it was not the same one she knew. Yes, it had the exact appearance up to the last detail, but it did not feel the same. In fact, everything around her felt different. 

She could feel something…traces of the Sumeru archon’s power.

Ei pondered. Yes, it certainly felt like Buer’s power. From what she heard from credible sources, the archon, the traveler, and her creation had crossed blades in Sumeru so it would not be far off guess if this phenomena was a lingering trace of Buer’s power that clung on to the puppet. If that was so, then this was a dream, or maybe a realm of consciousness.

Her thoughts were cut off by approaching footsteps. From the shadows, a boy appeared, garbed in white garments, a purple veil over his head, and a golden feather dangling on his neck. He walked slowly, and unsteadily through the hall like a young child still getting used to walking. His purple eyes, which held confusion and a tinge of fear of the things he did not know, immediately brightened upon pushing the door open.

His irises shone with child-like wonder at the spread of emerald grass before him, the whisper of rustling leaves, the colorful flowers smiling at him, the drifting snow of maple leaves, and the vast ocean of blue above his head where birds freely swam to their heart’s content.

He opened his palm to let a leaf perch on his hand. A smile tugged on his lips as he twirled it around before letting it be blown away by a breeze. He followed it, his bare feet brushing against soft grass and his tiny hands holding on to his fluttering veil, towards a small house where the sound of a hammer hitting stone could be heard.

The puppet followed the leaf and met a friend. His first friend who taught him what it meant to have a ‘friend’. The young blacksmith welcomed the puppet into his workshop and introduced him to the names of all the things around him, about life, and about his craft. He let the creation feel the joy of creating with each completed blade. The puppet learned to enjoy the trade for each slam of the tool sent a satisfying feeling to his chest and made a sound similar to a heartbeat, which the puppet did not have. Each new thing he learned everyday enlightened the artificial human to the joy of living, to the beauty and complexity of the world as well as the people who live in it.

The young blacksmith taught the nameless puppet what it meant to have a friend.

That to have a friend meant to be betrayed.

The blacksmith found out the puppet’s origins and consumed by fear, he discarded him like a broken weapon and told him to go far away, far from him, far from that place. In his fear, the young man hastily pushed him away, causing the puppet to hit the edge of the table and fall to the ground. A blade slid down due to the impact and fell near the frightened puppet, its sharp edge slicing on fake skin. The artificial being yelped in pain and cradled his wound, which caused a purple droplet to plunge onto the floor, staining the place that once held utmost trust with a drop of betrayal.

The puppet trembled. He stood up and ran to the door, out towards nowhere, as he wiped away the tears falling from his eyes. He did not know why, but there was burning inside his chest, an ache that refused to subside.

And so the puppet, who thought he had found a home and a family, wandered while carrying the fear and shame of being different from others. Nameless and homeless, the artificial being watched the sun and moon rise and fall; the stars twinkling in the dark sky surrounded by their loved ones while he…remained alone and unloved.

But maybe it was better this way.

For he was something repulsive and terrifying, ugly and small. Perhaps if he stayed away from humans, he would no longer bother them nor would they try to hurt him. Following this trail of thought, he decided to stay in a run down house amidst a sea of trees, far away from civilization. Having no need to eat or sleep, the puppet spent its time inside the abandoned house while watching saplings become trees, as fledglings flew from their nests, and as summer frosted to winter.

He was safe, but alone. There was an ache in his hollow chest that never faded, while tears occasionally fell onto his lap.

He was a mere puppet and yet he craved for something…warm, for something to fill the empty space in his chest, to have a heart, to be human. Yet, he knew he would never be one. He never knew how to smile, laugh, or as humans called it, to love.

The closest thing he would be to love was when he met a young boy, a fledgling just like him, who had wandered into his house.

This boy was abandoned by his creator as well. Due to his age, he did not know much about the world nor how to live on his own. He also seemed defective for a human for he would easily get tired and would spat out air from time to time and be in pain, which his friend the one who betrayed him or those close to him never did. The puppet saw himself in the boy and ties between them were weaved.

The boy did not see him as repulsive or something to be feared. Instead, he called him kind when he plucked out lavender melons for him. Having no one else to turn to or somewhere to stay, the puppet let the child stay by his side; two fledglings who found each other and nestled in the repaired house in the middle of the woods. A house became a home. Two people, with different colors of blood inside them, different yet so similar in nature, formed a little family.

For a long time, they spent the days in each others’ company. They played, made stories, planted a garden, caught fishes from a nearby stream, roasted lavender melons, and slept near a warm fire while they embraced one another. The puppet cared for the boy as a brother and gave him everything he wanted to have, all that his mother deprived him of.

He gave him love.

He did not know what it truly meant but he gave it nonetheless.

For a year the puppet’s chest felt filled and he once again learned what joy meant.

But happiness, it seemed, was always doomed to be short-lived.

The boy’s condition deteriorated and for the first time, he felt despair. He did not want the child to die. He did not want to be abandoned again, left alone to wither in silence like a flower forsaken by the sun. So he made the boy promise him that they would live together, forever. A pinky promise, an oath that the puppet held on to despite the waves of fear threatening to pull him under.

The puppet went to find a shrine maiden and bowed down as low as he could until his forehead was touching the floor. He begged, he pleaded, he cried. He asked her to heal his friend, his brother, his only family. He also beseeched aid for those people he was watching from afar, for those who never knew him. He asked the maiden to seek his mother the Shogun’s help to clear the plague in Tatarasuna. He went home with the security of a promise, that the shrine maiden would send for help…

…yet it never came.

One by one people started dying, making him wonder what truly happens when someone dies. What would happen if he died? Would there be some place waiting for him when he did not have a soul? Or would there just be nothingness for an empty puppet without a heart like him?

Either way, powerless to save the people in Tatarasuna, he clung on to the hope that his brother at least would be spared. Yes, he believed. He strongly believed.

For there was nothing left for him but to believe.

Ei watched her creation go towards the house with a bunch of lavender melons in his arms. He wore a smile on his face, expecting to roast them like he always did day after day. She watched as that smile crumbled into pieces and was replaced with horror when he opened the door.

He saw the boy on the ground, lifeless and still, like the doll that rolled from his grasp.

“No…”

Lavender melons clattered on the frigid floor.

“No..”

The puppet’s voice trembled as he took a shaky step forward. Then another, and another, until he was kneeling in front of the boy’s body. He placed his hand on the child’s shoulder it’s cold, it’s cold, it’s cold and told himself that there was still faint warmth left. He lifted him and brought him near the fire asking him to wake up, to play with him, to sing to him, to speak–anything. Anything that would deny the fact that he was once again alone.

With tears falling from his face, he cradled the boy’s body close to himself and sobbed, “You promised me…You promised me that…we will be together forever.”

Ei heard the same words before.

For she too, once uttered them. She spoke them as she cradled the lifeless body of her beloved sister the same way the puppet held the boy. The exact words spilled from her lips as tears cascaded down the kimono of her cherished family. She spoke them as she screamed into the void, hoping that the anguish inside her chest would burst and be carried away by a gust of wind the same way it took away the lives of those she held dear as if they were no more than sakura petals.

Sakuras. Flowers that bloomed beautifully but only for a while. Such was the fleetingness of life, the bliss of human mortality. Yet, it is precisely because they were ephemeral that we learn to cherish them even more, that although the pain of loss is great, we learn to look back on those we lost as a beautiful memory, with a smile and not with regret.

But the weeping puppet before her would never know that. For he was just a child.

That was what Ei realized as she watched him burn down the place he called a home, as the raging blaze reflected in his eyes charred the second person he loved, the tender emotions on his face washed away by grief, which he named betrayal.

The puppet was a newborn with no one to guide him through life, a boy who was tangled in the cruelty of fate, with emotions he did not understand.

Anger, sadness, grief–he never knew the different shades of emotions and how to deal with it. No one taught him how to live. No one explained to him the complexities of life that he only understood all kinds of negative feelings as betrayals and saw the Fatui and the countless experiments they made on him as a form of plotting his revenge.

Ei was left standing in the void together with a sleeping boy sitting on the floor, a few feet away from her. It was her puppet’s consciousness. He looked so serene, like a sleeping doll, that one could say he appeared at peace if not for the tear that rolled down the smooth surface of his cheek.

For the first time, Ei truly looked at her creation and how alive he was. The way heis eyes shone whenever he saw something knew, the way his brows furrow when he was confused, his agape mouth when surprised, and the way he cried when upset. She did not create a puppet, but a living person, capable of feeling emotions. She gave life to a child and left him to navigate a harsh world he did not understand.

He was lost, a wanderer just like her, but never found his way out of the dark forest.

Another tear fell from his long eyelashes, the same way it did when he first saw him on the shore and back when she finished creating him.

She moved to approach the sleeping child in white with a veil atop his head, but before she could reach him, a figure appeared and blocked her way.

“Beelzebul.” His voice was dripping with acid, “To what do I owe the honor of such a visit?”

The figure was a splitting image of the boy who was slumbering, but not exactly the same person. His eyes were filled with hatred and malice, his clothes the color of the abyss they were in, with deep reds that had the same color as the blood he had spilled in his lifetime. It was the one who left behind a house to crumble into ashes that fateful night. It was the facade the boy had created to protect his fragile true self, a wall to prevent any outsiders from reaching down to him and hurting his vulnerable self.

“You are the Balladeer.” Ei spoke calmly.

“Still as cold as ever.” He crossed his arms across his chest while his eyes glared daggers, “Are you here to mock me? If you are here to laugh at my defeat in Sumeru, go on, I will not stop you.”

She could see through his facade, at how he tensed at her stare as if he was being judged, at the sharp words used to mask what he wanted to hide.

Insecurity.

The boy had always thought of himself as useless, defective, and weak. Perhaps it was what drove him to obsession for the gnosis and being supreme among other gods.

After all, pretending to be somebody would hide the nobody.

“You crave for the gnosis. Why?” She genuinely asked.

He looked confused for a split second at the question he was not expecting but the look of hatred returned immediately, “Why? Shouldn’t you be asking yourself that? Aren’t you the one who created a puppet for the gnosis and now you’re asking me why I’m seeking it?” 

Ei remained silent.

An exasperated sigh, “My reasons are of no use to you so why should I disclose it? But let it be known that I can use it better than you. In fact, better than any gods will.” He chuckled, “Besides, it is quite amusing to see how fragile this so-called devotion of humans to their gods is.”

His infuriated words echoed into the void, “I may have lost but it’s enough for me to confirm how disgusting both humans and gods are. You are all the same. Such lowly and repulsive creatures filled with lies and filth.”

“The world is an elaborate tapestry of lies.” Ei continued despite the shock in the Balladeer’s face, “Everyone will betray you in the end.”

Fear of vulnerability Anger simmered in his words, “So you’ve seen everything. No matter, I never wanted your pity. If you are here to give that, then keep it to yourself.”

“It is not my intention to do so nor do I look down on you. I just wanted to understand.”

You.

The word was left unsaid.

“It’s a bit late to play the role of a mother don’t you think? If you’ve forgotten, let me jog your memory.” Loathing spilled from his mouth, “You have abandoned me so you don’t have the right to be one.”

“Abandoned?” Ei’s brows furrowed, “I did not abandon you–”

“No? You’re saying you didn’t abandon me?!” His laugh sounded even more hollow as it flew across the vast space, “You amuse me, Beelzebul. You’ve left me in the Shakkei Pavilion with no intention of using me as a vessel for the gnosis. In fact, you didn’t plan to wake me at all. If I haven’t awaken on my own, I would be still there, gathering dust.” His voice burned, “And you’re saying you didn’t abandon me? Just like that, you’re going to deny everything?!”

“I would not pretend to be faultless when I did in fact do something wrong.” She closed her eyes for a while. When she opened them again, they were compassionate yet firm, “I will not force you to take these words as truth, yet know that when I ordered you to be taken to the Shakkei Pavilion, it is because I wanted to grant you freedom. I wanted to give you the liberty to choose your own path.”

“Nonsense!” He clutched his chest, right where the pain was present, “If you want me to have freedom, you should have asked me if I want to have the gnosis! Instead, you didn’t even give me a chance to prove myself because you see me as powerless and weak. You just made ‘giving freedom’ as an excuse to get rid of me!”

“Did you know why I removed you as a candidate for the gnosis?”

“Of course! You made it quite evident that it’s because I’m defective.” His voice trembled, “I am a proof of your failure, a tarnish to the glorious name of the Almighty Raiden Shogun.”

“It is true that I saw you as defective.” Something inside her ached at the look of pain that crossed his face, “My plan was to make a vessel that will be unaffected by all factors that would threaten eternity. Meaning, it should operate objectively and would not be swayed by emotions. However, when I finished creating you, you cried. You have emotions.”

She did not let him speak, “But ultimately, it is not the sole reason why I decided not to give the gnosis to you.” Amethyst irises stared at the boy in front of her and saw someone else, making her chest clench, “I saw Makoto in you. The reason she died was because she was too kind, her emotions too great to see things without empathy. She was too soft for a world that was unforgiving.” She gazed in the same eyes of her sister, “If I let you lead in my stead, I could be repeating the same tragedy.”

“Don’t play the hero when you’re only serving your own interest!” He spat out.

“Yes…you are right. In the end, I was only truly saving myself. Things could have turned out differently than what I thought but I…” 

Was scared to feel the same pain again.

That if I learned to love you, when you leave me, I will once again be hurt and left alone.

“It was selfish of me to lock you in a decision you did not choose.” She bowed down, “It might be useless now, but I am sorry.”

A tear fell into the abyss, “Yeah, you’re right. Your apology is useless now. It won’t erase what happened. It won’t erase my pain. If you didn’t discard me, all of those wouldn’t have happened.”

“Then perhaps what you need is not my apology, but a way out. A path that will lead you from the forest that trapped you.” She took a step forward but halted when the other took a step back, fear swimming in his eyes like a cornered wounded animal, “Let me ask you a question. You say that they betrayed you, but do you regret meeting them?”

“I…”

“Did you not have good memories with them?”

With the power of her consciousness, she tried to influence the dream. Shards of glass fell like snow, each reflecting smiles and laughter, each memory captured in time, all the fleeting moments the boy once cherished but were buried down the ashes caused by the flames of hatred he kept fanning himself to keep going.

“Pft! The blade you made is crooked!” The blacksmith laughed.

“One day, I’ll build my own workshop. I want you to be there and forge more blades with me. What do you think?”

“You’re a good friend of mine so of course you’re welcome to stay here.”

“Brother, look at this lavender melon!” The boy was beaming as he pointed to the fruit, “It’s too big!”

“I’ll make a snowman that looks like you!”

“I may not have a mama or papa but I have you! You’re the best brother ever!”

“No!” The puppet shook his head and his tears away, willing the shards to explode in a shower of silver dust, “Liars! You’re all liars!”

“Did you truly believe that they betrayed you?”

He lashed out, “They broke their promises, they’re liars!”

The silver dust fell like ashes over their forms as Ei asked, “But would you say that the joy you experienced with them were mere lies as well?”

“I…”

“In this world,” She explained as she held out her palm to catch the dust, “There are shades to emotions and reasons. Not just black and white. Yes, they had broke their promises to you, but it did not mean that it was done intentionally to hurt you.” A face of a young blacksmith came to mind, “Katsuragi.”

The boy looked up to the archon upon hearing the name.

“He was protecting you. I unraveled the truth about the Raiden Gokaden and I can assure you that he chased you away to protect you. If he did not do so, you would have been eventually killed.” She observed how the dust shone like thousands of little stars gathered on her hand, “And that child, he…” The shattered remnants of memories faded away from her hold.

“You already know all of this do you not?” She let her hand drop down on her side as she let her gaze meet the pair of eyes looking at her, “Deep down, you already knew, but you covered them to lessen the pain. You burned them away and used the remaining embers to create a bigger flame that would keep you going. But did fighting fire with fire appease you? Did it not only burn you until you are nothing but charred pieces? Are you not exhausted of living from hate?”

“Then what am I supposed to do?! I don’t–” He choked on his sobs, his voice breaking, “I don’t even know what to do with this pain. I don’t…I don’t even know…” He desperately tried to brush away his tears, not wanting to look pathetic in front of a god, but they refused to stop.

“I will give you the name of these things you do not know.”

The boy looked up to the god as if her next words were his salvation.

“Grief.” Her gaze softened, her voice singing with melancholy as the silver snow disappeared…like the people she once cherished, “Grief is loving someone, letting moment with them fill your memories, basking in the joy and warmth they make you feel, and considering them your family…only for them to go away, to die and leave us behind. We feel alone, lost, and in pain. A pain that nearly tears you apart and does not go away when you realize that you will never see them anymore, no longer hear their voices and the way they call your name with so much fondness.” A couple of tears fell from her eyes as old wounds bled, “When you realize that you will not see their smiles anymore, no longer be able able to be with them or hold them.”

Ei brought her hand to her chest where the pain had sprung anew, “It is the pain when you see places or things that remind them of you, as if by squinting hard, you will be able to see them just like how they were before…then knowing that they would only stay like that, as memories, mere echoes of the past you can no longer go back to. It is like wandering in a dark forest with no exit, like the sea pulling you in no matter how hard you swim upward and will not stop until it drowns you.”

“Then how do you stop the pain?” The boy was slumped on the ground, the feeling of being understood sending his knees to the ground, “I don’t want this anymore. No matter what I do, I still miss them.” The child sobbed, “And it hurts, it hurts so much…”

“You bring it out in the light and let it sprout into a flower.” Ei walked closer to the weeping boy, her own tears rolling down her face, “It will not disappear. You will feel pain from time to time, but…” She wrapped her arms around the boy, letting her heart beat for both their grief, “It starts to lessen when you let it out and with a shoulder to cry on.”

And so he cried.

He cried for the pain inside him that now has a name, grief. He cried for everything he had experienced and at how he loathed the world and himself for centuries. He cried at the unfairness of it all. He cried for the insecurities whispering in his ear that he desperately silenced with rage and ambitiousness. He cried because he was tired of being angry, of feeling the need to defend himself from everyone, that he always needed to lash out before they could bare their fangs on him. He was tired of always needing to put on a hat so that he could not see his reflection on people’s eyes, so that he could avoid seeing that creature who was repulsive, small, and insignificant staring back at him.

In the end, he cried not because of hate, no, he did not hate the people who betrayed him,

But because he loved them so much,

He was afraid that they all left him because he was someone who did not deserve to be loved.

He cried.

He cried at the warmth of being in his mother’s embrace, after so long of yearning for this but not being able to do so and feeling unworthy of such a gesture. In her arms he felt loved, safe, and warm. So warm. Unlike the cold nights he had spent alone watching the stars from the window of a ruined house or that snowy day when he observed while the one he cherished was consumed by a raging blaze. Unlike the frigid tools and metal beds he was laid and prodded by strangers who only viewed him as a weapon.

In her arms, he felt loved,

He felt human.

And he was no longer alone as he cried.

Ei, too, cried. She poured out the anguish of loss, the aching wound that never truly healed. Yet, unlike before, she did not have to cry alone in her room or try to hold them back to uphold the image of an immovable god to her nation. She could cry in the presence of someone who was also lost like her and shared the same pain.

In this child’s arms, she could just be Ei,

In his arms, she found another family.

Yes…family.

After all, this child was her son.

When their tears had slowed down, Ei pressed their foreheads together, “I am a warrior first so I am not particularly good at this, but if you are willing, I could try. We could try to become what we are both looking for. A family.”

Hesitancy swirled in his downcast gaze. Before he could open his mouth to utter a word, Ei’s body started to become translucent as the Sumeru archon’s power waned.

“Wait! Don’t go!” Desperation clung on the boy’s voice as he held onto his mother’s clothes.

“I will be there when you wake up.” She cupped the side of his face with her palm, “I will not go anywhere. There, I shall await your answer.”

Ei opened her eyes to see the sun shining on the horizon, making the sea shimmer like diamonds. She looked down to see the boy’s eyelids flutter, before purple irises greeted the sunrise.

“Mother…?” His voice was barely a whisper as he looked up at the woman with tired eyes.

“Yes.” Ei’s smile was illuminated by the warm light. She held out a hand to him, “Do you want to go home with me?”

With a teary smile, he held out his hand and placed it on top of his mother’s, “Home.”

Perhaps we are just wandering hearts, lost and grieving,

Who went down separate ways.

Now that our paths have crossed once more,

This time, together, we will find our way back home.

PART 2

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin scaramouche #genshin wanderer #scaramouche #wanderer #genshin ei #genshin impact ei #raiden shogun #genshin raiden shogun #ao3 fanfic #fanfic #genshin fanfic #sickfic #hurt/comfort #angst #the reconciliation #the mother and son talk #mother tries to be a good mom

[runswithwolvves]

TMNT 2003 AU: Blue

Just another TMNT 2K3 drabble. This one is a twist to the events of 'Prodigal Son' in Season 4.

Please enjoy!

Blue… A primary color and perhaps the most popular color in the spectrum. The aura of the color itself can induce a calming, serene and peaceful feeling. Stress can be reduced at the very visual of any shade.

It is non-polarizing, but too much can suppress appetite and melatonin.

It can also represent fragility, depression, impersonality and coldness.

Blue is an authoritative color, but it also expresses the vulnerability of such confidence.

It was the color of a leader: one who bore the responsibility of those in their care. However, which such resposibility came the additional stress.

Being able to relax or have fun wasn't really on the list of to-do. Everything was done with the whole unit in mind. Individuality was a rare concept and wasn't necessarily adhered to. True, their own personality was often visible, but they were always seen as too serious or mature to mingle with the lower ranks.

They were reliable, trustworthy and loyal, but it came at a heavy price that was often a glaringly open fault.

Leonardo, try as he may, could not hide the internal struggles that came with his position in the Hamato Clan. He and his brothers shared their rank, but he had been specifically named the Head of the Clan from a very young age.

He'd been groomed with that very thought in mind, seconded only by the primary reason for their training…: revenge.

He and his brother's entire existance had been chosen for them in one way or another. They'd been originally bred to be pets in a child's aquarium, but the neglagence of a logistics driver for a futuristic tech company had turned them into creatures humans typically regarded as fictional antagonists for horror movies and liturature. Their adopted father, also unwillingly turned from a pet rat into a humanoid mutant, had taught them the ways of ancient Japanese martial arts and traditions.

He told them it was to be honorable, duty-bound and productive citizens of the city in which they lived below, but were never to be seen by their neighbors… after they killed the man who'd killed their Master's Master out of revenge for his brother, whom had been slain out of self-defense.

Revenge was not honorable, nor the way of the Warrior in which the Hamato-Splinterson Brothers had been literally beaten into respecting.

Leo found himself wanting nothing more than to do what he had always believed was right. He led his family into battle time and again until their mission was accomplished. Their purpose fullfilled, they were simply meant to exist in their hidden world below.

But revenge was an endless, circular path.

The Foot Clan took matters in their own hands to take their revenge for their Master Shredder's death. The city was thrown in the crossfire of warring gangs and mobs vying to take pieces of the Shredder's Empire. What had been a means to an end had only been the catalyst for a dangerous, vicious road of blood and tears.

Even the supernatural world had tried to rid the Turtles and their Master from the Earth. Extraterrestrial forces as well.

Enemies they had not wanted to make had been declared.

Leonardo found himself questioning his blind loyalty and trust to anyone except himself.

The pressure built and built over the years. Doing his best to do what was right, to live as he'd been raised, as well as protect his family as he was meant to had finally crested the limits of his control. The steady level-headedness snapped into something more dangerous… Bitterness and burn-out.

Depression, anxiety, frustration and fear took hold.

The internal bottle finally ruptured with the betrayal done by someone he once thought just as honorable and trustworthy as himself. He thought she was the help he and his family needed to end the street violence and bring a welcomed peace to both Hamato and Foot Clans.

They'd bonded over that proposed future and it blossomed into something… intimate. He'd grown complacent in that time and when it came down to finally ridding the world of the Shredder and protecting all other universes from his reign, her loyalty had been expressed to the Shredder instead of him.

In the process, she nearly killed his brothers in front of him, then turned his own blade on him. She'd narrowly missed his heart…

There was no comfort she'd missed. He saw it as a means to further insult and dishonor him personally.

From then on his only focus had been to his family, but that had only driven him further down into darkness.

He stopped feeling anything except contempt.

He aimed it at his father…

He nearly killed his Master out of rage during a simple training session.

Leonardo rightly deserved to be sent away, though at the time it felt like he'd been betrayed again. All he ever had was his family and they had shipped him off to be someone else's problem. That wasn't true, but in the moment he didn't see it as anything except a culmination of his own failure to uphold his teachings and traditions, and the failure of his own family to be there to support him when he'd needed them most.

They'd made everything difficult for him. They'd never let him be himself and held him to the most impossible expectations.

In truth, he'd been holding himself and them to impossible expectations and had chosen not to let himself find the balance he needed.

He had none to blame but himself, as well as his enemies for doing ill-will.

He stood there now in the center of their Lair --their home-- and saw the results of revenge again. The walls were crumbling and the doors had been forced open. The supports were barely standing anymore and everything they'd ever owned was broken and scattered about the floor. Destroyed mech suits and remains of deceased Foot were heaped in the midst as well.

Donatello's various transports were gone, and there was no signs of his brothers and father either.

He'd been gone too long… He'd come back too late…

Karai had taken them from him… list time for good.

All that time wasted…

All that training for naught…

All that effort to find himself and become not only the leader they needed him to be, but also the brother and son they needed him to be… useless.

Everything from that moment to the present was a blur; a slurry of emotion and action.

This was the rage Raphael must've felt… This was the power of someone with nothing left to lose… This was the darkest of someone who's love and loyalty were tested and betrayed at the hightest levels…

How liberating to not care who he hurt.

What freedom to lose that control and give in to the instinctual impulses of emotion.

"KAPPA!"

"ONI!"

"TENGU!"

All names of the same wicked things that hunted humans in the night. There were none better to describe the devistation and brutal wake he left behind.

There were rivers of blood flowing off the walls and ceiling of the Foot Tower…

He found her, held up in her throne room with feeble excuses for Elite Guards.

Karai stood no chance even in her armor.

The look of absolute terror on her face was laughable considering this is what she'd asked for. This was what she'd wanted and now that she was getting it, she'd come to realize her mistake far too late.

Unfortunately, Leonardo was not exempt from damage.

His reckless rage left him open and Karai took them out of desperation, but his adrenaline-fueled body pushed through the damage as if it was nothing.

The final blow was their blades piercing each other's hearts: her sprawled on the floor below and him towering over her with his full weight pressing down. Hers passed up through his left pectoral plate and out of his carapace. His plunged into her left breast and embeded into the stone floor under her scapula, pinning her down.

She breathed her last faster than he did.

He lingered above for some minutes before collapsing off to the left.

There was no relief, no lifted wight, no peace or balance…

It was just… over.

#tmnt 2k3 #tmnt 2003 #tmnt leonardo

[cryopathiic-a]

headcanon. douma's blood art origin.

Hello uwu In the past I've made some headcanons on the way Douma's blood art works and his ice sculpting abilities. So, today I'd like to talk a bit about my take on the way Douma's blood art manifested. My personal take is a 50/50 on canon compliance, meaning I have built it around canonical information and added but not altered anything. Douma's backstory offers a lot of room for creativity, after all!

Before I go on my little rant, here's some stuff about demonic blood art that I base these headcanons around:

Each demon is capable of developing a unique 'blood art', the techniques of which can be utilized solely by them ( but can be known and identified by Muzan Kibutsuji )

The way each demon will develop their individual blood art seems to rely on both their psyche ( who they were before they were turned ) and their own physical and mental capabilities or skills! For example, Akaza got to keep his Soryu Style and develop it with his blood art.

Blood art seems to be a reflection of the demon's emotional world and attachments from their human life as well. For example, some demons' techniques were shaped by their artistic talents, such as Gyokko's pots, Kyogai's tsuzumi, Nakime's biwa etc

The strength of one's blood art depends on several factors, such as their anciency, the number of humans they have consumed but also ... just practice! As shown in Akaza's case, where he prefers to physically hone his martial art rather than eat to grow stronger, as well as Kokushibo's case, who, despite being a picky eater as well is still leagues above any other demon created after him.

The use of blood art requires the user to actively focus in order to perform the attacks. The better the focus, the more accurate the results. If a demon loses their focus, their blood art will lose its potency as well — as shown when Douma's ice clones begin to crack and shatter because he is melting alive from Shinobu's poison.

Other information this headcanon is based on:

The practice of cold exposure in Shinto; 'cold water purification'

The concept of the 'float tank', invented in 1954 by John C. Lilly

Misogi ( ablution ) aka washing oneself in cold water for cleansing purposes

Buddhist cold exposure practices meant to cultivate mental fortitude

tw; mentions of child abuse, traumatic events

When Douma was born, his parents believed that he had otherworldly powers because of his striking features. Specifically, he was seen as a messenger from the Gods. That implies an expectation for a message to be delivered. So, from the moment he had learned to talk, every noise that came out of the prodigal child's mouth was taken, analyzed, assigned several possible meanings and then used to spew confusion and chaos among the faithful — so they would flock to their Lord Founder even more in an attempt to alleviate their existential anxieties. But Douma was just a child back then. And that sometimes became apparent; he could not always conjure a story that would convince the adults, after all. He didn't have the answers. So, in frustration of being given this impossible task, he often cried in the hearings.

Concerned, his parents believed it to be a result of spiritual turmoil, because he was a being that belonged to the Heavens but had been sent as a herald on Earth. There was a discrepancy between body and soul. So, they sought to help him isolate mentally from his physical body in order to become more in tune with his dualistic nature. Douma was taught how to meditate from a young age, but because it often involved long fasts and sleep deprivation, he couldn't always follow through. They looked for a way to 'force' a state of deep meditation on him, a sort of 'numbing slumber' that would detach his immortal soul from his physical shell.

On of the more questionable techniques they tried were the ice baths. The child would be slowly submerged in a tub filled with dry ice and river water and held there until his skin reached the condition where pressing on it left a mark. Then, he would be brought back out and towel dried. It was thought that, while in this state, Douma would communicate with the Other World and carry the truths he learned back into the physical one. Initially the room was supposed to be dark and empty to allow him to concentrate better, but eventually it became sort of a cult ritual. To be held down in ice water until your skin grows numb is one thing, but being pulled out of the torture into a room full of people commenting on it was so traumatic it caused a violent dissociation in Douma.

And that's where he gets his blood art 'focus' from, primarily. That's Douma's equivalent to, say, Akaza's mental fortitude or Kokushibo's relentlessness. When utilizing cryokinesis Douma's mental state mimics that dissociation — it is his lack of emotion that makes the attacks accurate and calculated.

Of course that's not all there is to it; many metaphors could be assigned to why ice in specific is Douma's true element. Water, fresh and living, is an element that has flow and the ability to move; whereas ice is rigid and stiff, just like Douma was incapable of moving past his traumatic beginnings in life. Ice is also uninviting and makes for hostile environments where life cannot flourish and grow; just like Douma himself is a toxic individual that leeches off of people's lives and, eventually, adds them to his own. Unlike heat, ice has a passive/deathly element to it as it is essentially when particles become sluggish. Just as fire is often paralleled to desire, ice symbolizes hatred and indifference.

tl/dr; If we go by the theory that a demon can choose their blood art subconsciously, then Douma's was created as a blend of the things that shaped his human life, aka the cult's practices, but also his personal traits that tie into the element's intrinsic themes.

#(( Ive referenced this in threads at times but I wanted a more comprehensive post bc it is a big part of my portrayal )) #♛ ¦ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ꜱᴏ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ༺ headcanon. #child abuse tw #long post tw

[ch1efhops]

THE SMALLEST CASKETS ARE THE HEAVIEST.

fatherhood           .              .            .           it   was   something   he   wished   for    ,      something   he  became   okay   with   not   having    eventually.      he’d   been   to   war   ,    he’d   seen   things      ━        done   things      ,      he   became  comfortable   with   it   just   being   himself      &        his    string   of   broken   hearts   until    diane   came   along    .     it    hadn’t   been   something   they  planned    ,    in   all   honesty   he   hadn’t   even   been  sure  what  they  were        .       .     .       a   new   girl   in   town        ,        the   prodigal   son    returning  home           ━         two    people   who  fell   hard      &     fast.                   he    didn’t     think    he    could   fall   any   further     and     THEN       .           .         .     along   came   sara.

sara   elise   hopper    was    born   april   22  ,   1971   in    hawkins   ,   indiana.        it   was   the  moment   that   confirmed   he   would   be   getting   out   of   his   shithole   of    a   hometown   but   with   how   unexpectedly   sara    had   been   brought   into   their   lives,    the   couple   stuck    around   for   one   more   year        ━         finishing   out   contracts  with  jobs      &      saving   money  before   marrying      &     running   off   to   new  york.       from   the  moment   she’d   been   placed   in    his   arms   ,    sara   had   her   father   wrapped   around    her    finger.           he’d    realized    just   how   much   that   dream   of   fatherhood    still   meant   to    him       and    how   he   would   do   just   about   anything   for    the   pink   bundle   in   his.

as   an   only   child   raised  with   a   man’s   man   as   a   father   ,     jim   hopper   had   no  idea   how   to   raise   a    daughter.          it   helped   that   she   was   such   an   easy   baby   (   as   easy   as   it   can   be   on   first   time    parents   )    .      soon   enough    ,    detective   hopper   was   thrust  into  the   world   of   princess   tea   parties           &          encouraging   dreams    of    one   day   making   it   to   the   moon.        she    was    such   a   happy   child   ,   such   a   smart  child   ,    with   her   mother’s   blonde   curls        &     her   father’s    blue   eyes      content   with   running     &    laughing     ,     making   the   game   up   as   they   went.    one   day   she’s   a  princess     ,      a    knight      ,      the   best   damn   tea   maker   in   new   york   city.     the   next   she’s   an   astronaut    ,     saving   earth   from   the   next   disastrous   event   threatening   their   make   believe   livelihoods. 

all   the   things   about   hawkins   that   had  made  him  miserable    ,    all   the  things   about  vietnam  that  had   made  him   numb      ━      it   all   melted   away   as   the   three  of   them  settled  into   happily   ever   after    ,       as    they    molded    their   little   family.       life  stayed  that   way   for   a   while           ━         seven   years   to   be   exact.

it   was    in    the   fall   of    1978    that    things   began  to   crumble.      a   routine   day   at   the   park   just   outside   their   neighborhood    had   taken   a    turn   for   the  worst   when  sara    ,       the   child   who   had  rarely   even   had   a   cold     ,      couldn’t   breathe.     one   stop   at   the   emergency   room   later   confirmed   a   parent’s   worst   nightmare.      he   always   thought    the   hardest   thing   he’d   been   through   were   the   things   that   happened   in   vietnam      ,       things   that   haunted   him   every   time   he  closed   his   eyes   ,      and   then   he   had   to   watch   his   little   girl   get   weaker       &      weaker    with   every   treatment.          leukemia   .       no   idea   of   a   cause   on   the   medical   side    ,     they   said   sometimes   these   things   just   happen       ━          no   rhyme   no   reason.  

he  knew.     he’d   done   this.    life   had   been   too   good      &      this   was   the  universe’s   way   of   knocking  him  back   on   his    ass.             they   immediately   began   treatments   any       &          all    even   with  the   slimmest   of   chances           ━        they’d   never   given   up   hope   but   sara     .           .          .      sweet   ,    small     ,    sara.     her   tiny  body   just   couldn’t   keep   up     ,      life   ended   before   it   ever   really   began           &        suddenly    jim        &          diane    were   alone       ━      left   only   with   an   empty   child’s   bedroom     &      their   memories  as   reminders   of   the   mark   she’d   left   on   this   world. 

it   wasn’t   long   before   her   death   took   a   toll   on   the  parents   she   left   behind.    diane  wanted   to  grieve   and   move  on    ,      try   again    ,      they’d   always   be   sara’s    parents   but   life   had   to  continue.       jim     was    content    with   staying   in    this   bubble    .            .             .       afraid   that   eventually   he   would   forget   her   laugh   ,    her   smile   ,    the  weight  of   her  pouncing   his   chest   on   a   saturday   morning   and    so      .       .        .     he   drank.      i       began   cashing   in   any   and   every   prescription    he   could.     he   drank   himself   out   of   a   marriage       &      a    job.     

suddenly   the   house   was   much   too   big   while   new   york   suddenly   felt   much   too   small        &        before    he    knew    it    ,       he   was   on   the   phone   with   indiana      ━        returning   home   once   more.            he   visited   sara   the   day   he   split,      leaving    a  bouquet   of    flowers      &       a    small   stuffed   tiger   in    his   place     and    with   that     .       .          .           he   never   visited    new   york   again.     

#cancer tw #death tw #child loss tw #cant stop thinking about sara 2day #which means neither can he #which means everyone suffers! #also dont be mistaken he harbors so much guilt for not visiting her #but he cannot bring himself to do it #at least not for a long long time #will talk to the stars in the sky because sara loved them before he will talk to her stone in the ground #introspective.

[hollyshitvampirehotel]

Lost Mate, A Witch’s Tale

September 3rd, 1972

Dazed and Confused by Led Zeppelin

Rosa Persephone Waters was your normal happy four almost five-year-old. She had luscious blond locks that already fell to her little shoulders, like her mother, and curious blue eyes that seemed to be charged with mischief. She had two loving parents that doted on her constantly.

As they continued to raise their little Rosa, they came to notice that she wasn’t exactly normal. She began walking around the ten-month mark when she was a baby. Shortly after she mastered being able to walk, she moved on to talking. Little Rosa was quickly blitzing through any knowledge her parents tried to teach her, including colors, her ABCs, 123’s, and basic reading.

Now at the age of four, almost five, she was reading Lord of the Rings and other classic novels and keeping a conversation with relative ease. To say that she was a prodigy child would more than likely be an understatement.

On this sunny Thursday morning, when Rosa woke up, she looked around at her surroundings in her little lilac-colored room. Nothing seemed out of place or odd, it just seemed like any other normal day. With not much on her mind except for food, she pushed herself out of her small little toddler bed that was covered in a comforter that was a solid light purple color and made her way over to the seemingly sleeping house cat named Halo.

“Rose!” The sound of little Rosa’s mother echoed through the two-story house like wind chimes, “Breakfast is ready!”

Rosa’s little head whipped up at the sound of her mother’s voice promising food. “Come on Halo, mama would be sad if you didn’t get up.” She reached out to pet the still white Persian cat with slightly matted fur. It was cold and stiff to the touch but Rosa’s little mind didn’t understand the meaning behind death at that age, no matter how prodigal she was. It was something she had never had to experience before, so she didn’t understand why the older house cat was not waking up. With one final soft pet from Rosa, she leaned down and whispered to the dead cat, “I wish you would get up. Mama loves you.”

With a little huff of air escaping the toddler’s lungs, she skipped down the stairs of her house, her little off-white cream nightgown flowed behind her like wings. Her hair was stuck up and matted from what seemed like a crazy night of sleep for the four-year-old. She made her way to the kitchen, failing to notice the slightly stiff house cat trailing after her. The cats once bright blue eyes were now glazed over with an empty look behind them,

“Whoa there, my little monster.”  Amy, the mother, said to her little girl who looked like she had wrestled a bear and possibly won. “Go on and sit down at the table, the pancakes are almost finished.”

Amy was an amazing mother. She always supported her child in whatever adventures she wanted to go on, within reason. She was a middle-aged woman whose smile could brighten up an entire room. Her hair was long and flowing down into what seemed like effortless curls and her eyes shined like blue sapphires in the morning light. The woman seemed to be effortlessly gorgeous and exuded happiness along with other positive emotions.

“Pancakes!” Rosa squealed as she clapped her hands excitedly and made her way over to the small table they had in the kitchen. It was a wooden table with four chairs, one of which had a small purple booster seat in it.

“Do you need help getting up?” Amy questioned her courageous daughter as she saw her struggle to get into her booster seat, only to receive a solid ‘nope!’ from the toddler as she squirmed her way into the booster seat successfully. “Alright.”

Amy turned and made her way back to the stove to flip the last bit of pancakes onto a platter. She stacked two of the smaller pancakes onto one plate, along with a bit of butter, and a small amount of syrup, then made her way to her now bouncing daughter.

“Pancakes!” Rosa giggled out happily as her mother sat her plate down in front of her, along with a butter knife and fork. “Thank you, mama! I love your pancakes.” Without a second thought, Rosa dug her hands into the sticky pancakes and began to chow down on them like a starved man.

“Rosa Persephone Waters!” Amy’s voice that once held a soft, dulcet tone to it, changed into a slightly harsher tone. It was your classic mother tone. One that made the toddler in question freeze at the use of her full name. “At least pretend to use your silverware before I turn my back to you.”

A sigh left the exasperated mother’s mouth, but before she could continue to lecture her daughter on the correct table edict, a soft and slightly disembodied meow caught her attention. Halo had finally made its way downstairs and was now sitting at Rosa’s feet. Its slightly matted white coat and glazed blue eyes gave off an unsettling vibe but the mother chose to ignore it. Seeing as that cat was her companion for fifteen years now, she knew he could be a little grumpy when he first woke up and didn’t have food.

“Alright, mister grumpy. Mama will get your food now, come on.” She beckoned her stiff Persian cat to follow her back into the kitchen as she made her way to the cat food. A resounding meow came from the cat as it followed its owner back into the kitchen. Amy bent down and picked up the empty cat bowl and began to fill it with a mix of dry and wet kibble. The cat watched Amy, not blinking or moving an inch until the bowl was placed in front of its face. “Here you go, you old fart.” Amy reached out to pet the cat as she placed the bowl down on the ground only for the cat to latch on to her hand and began to bite, scratch, claw, and tear into her tender flesh.

A startled and pained gasp tore its way through Amy’s throat as she tried to get the deranged cat off of her arms. The cat was seemingly unstoppable in its attempts to hurt its owner as it changed its target from her arms to her neck. Amy flailed her now damaged arms around in the kitchen, looking for something to throw the cat off of her with. A solid object hit her right hand and she grabbed it and swung blindly at the deranged and bloodied cat. The hit connected and sent the once-off white now red cat across the tile kitchen floors.

Amy stood there in the kitchen, her arms bleeding profusely, with her neck littered with bite marks, holding a small wooden cutting board up in defense. Halo got up slowly from the place it was launched into and made its way back towards the shaking woman, completely ignoring the now crying and screaming four-year-old at the kitchen table.

Before it reached Amy, she looked around desperately for anything else to protect herself with and found a small paring knife on the counter to the left of her. She didn’t hesitate to pick it up and made a move to stab the cat when it came at her again. She missed and ended up swinging so hard at the cat, she embed the knife into her inner left thigh. A startled scream left the once beautiful woman’s lips.

The cat didn’t waste time and went straight back to attacking Amy with what seemed like the strength of a mountain lion. It knocked her down as she swung blindly at the cat again with the cutting board she still had grasped in her right hand. A sickening breaking noise came from the cat as the board connected with its jaw. The cat was pushed back slightly, showing the woman on the ground an unsettling image before it attacked again.

Her once life companion’s jaw was barely holding on to its face, its eyes were completely glazed over and bloodshot as it made its way back to the cowering woman, seemingly unbothered by its injuries. Another startling scream left her mouth as she swung again and again at the cat with her cutting board. Blood was splattering all over the beige cabinets, counters, and tiles, but the cat was still moving towards her. With one last final attempt, Amy took the cutting board, and with all the strength left in her body, she smashed at Halo’s skull.

Silence passed over the kitchen for a brief moment before the corpse of the cat started to twitch its way towards Amy again. A defeated cry escaped her lips as the blood loss got to the now tired mother. Her grip on the cutting board loosened as it fell to the ground, along with her body. A loud, echoing whack filled the house as Amy lost consciousness.

“Halo, stop hurting my mommy!” The terrified toddler screeched as she pulled on the straps in her booster seat, trying to go to her mothers' aid. The body of the cat stopped at the command of the toddler and just sat on the tile floor next to the passed-out woman.  The cat looked up at the struggling toddler and made a move to jump up on the table. It slowly walked and sat in front of the now quiet and still toddler, seemingly watching and waiting.

Rosa was too scared to move or say anything as the zombified cat stared at her as her mother bleed out on the floor feet away from her, unable to help.  Hours passed by slowly as Rosa was too terrified to move.

Eventually, her father, Jason, came home to see his terrified daughter, bloodied cat, and his seemingly dead wife. No words escaped him as he made a mad dash to attack the cat, who seemed just as eager to attack him. The cat landed a few blows onto the man, staining him in his wifes' blood and his own as he fought back, This fight was quicker to end, seeing as the man all but bashed what was left of the cat into a pile of furry goo a few feet away from his deceased wife.

A sound of utter heartbreak and defeat left the man as he crawled his way to his wife. He picked up her now cold and stiff body and cradled it to his chest, completely ignoring his blabbering daughter.

That was how the law enforcement found the two survivors of the Water’s family. Jason was cuffed and put into jail under suspicion of murder, and Rosa was taken into Child Protective Services, where she would eventually be placed into an orphanage somewhere in New Orleans.

October 29th, 1972

Rosa’s father was wrongly incarcerated for her mother’s death. He was placed into prison with a life sentence without parole, so the little girl who was about to turn five was dumped into an orphanage. The orphanage in question was Saint Vincent’s Catholic Orphanage.

From the outside looking in, it seemed like one of the better options that they, Child Protective Services, had. It was a rather large orphanage that was built into a local church. There weren’t so many kids in the orphanage that it was crowded, but there was still a considerable amount of kids there. They seemed to have plenty of staff, who doubled as nuns and teachers for the rowdy children there. The orphanage even had a slightly large backyard with a swingset and some trees littered about. If that wasn’t a selling point, there was even a local park within a block of the orphanage that the kids could walk to if they earned it.

The nice lady that had been looking after little Rosa, dropped her off at the orphanage without a second glance back at her, where a nun walked up to her. She was an older nun, with whisps of salt ‘n pepper hair peeking out of her shawl.

“You will not run in the house, you will not yell in the house, and you will not fight with the other children.” The old nun’s voice rattled off in a raspy tone as she gave the silent girl a tour of the orphanage. Rosa seemed like a shell of a person as she followed behind Sister Eunice, the nun.

Sister Eunice looked down at the emotionless child and a huff of frustrated air escaped her wrinkled lips. “I expect you to listen and answer to the rules I am telling you. Silence will not be tolerated here.” As the nun was rattling onto the girl, she pulled a ruler out of her sleeve and grabbed the little blonde’s hands. A harsh whack was delivered to the back of both of her hands but she didn’t even flinch.

Rosa just started up at the nun with eerily blank slate grey eyes. Another harsh whack was delivered to the backs of her hands, tainting them pink in their abuse. Not a sound escaped the four-year-old as the nun now took on a slightly more sinister smile.

“A tough one? We will find a way to break you from your self-imposed silence, don’t you worry.” From that moment on, Rosa experienced the harsh realities of life differently that day. She thought it couldn’t possibly get worse than it already had been with her mother’s death and her father locked up indefinitely, but she was proved wrong.

January 13th, 1973

The months passed by slowly for the now five-year-old. She still hadn’t uttered a word or a sound, much to the Sister’s dismay. In fact, Rosa seemed to find ways to annoy the nuns, like misplacing all of the rosaries, with the help of her friend. A friend that no one else could necessarily see, but they didn’t need to know that.

Eventually, though, all bad things must give way to something good, right? That’s not what Rosa thought but it did eventually happen.

A mixed couple walked into the orphanage, trailing behind Sister Eunice as she showed them around to the children they currently had.

The woman that was eagerly following behind Sister Eunice was of Asian descent and had long flowing black hair with a dimpled smile. She greeted and spoke to every kid eagerly, trying to learn and connect with one. The man was just as invested in the kids, but he seemed to hold back a little more as his wife took the lead.

Eventually, the woman made her way to Rosa, the only kid that didn’t flock to either of the new adults eagerly. She crouched down to Rosa’s small height and made eye contact with the seemingly empty slate grey eyes. The woman observed the small child in front of her, and a slight frown appeared on her face. Rosa’s form was small, boney, and extremely pale. It seemed like she was the only one out of the rest of the kids that were neglected or picked on. Her eyes were sunken into her skull, and her curly blonde hair was dull and matted. The girl’s skin seemed stretched over her skeleton, her cheekbones poking out dangerously. That was all that the woman could see on the toddler but that didn’t bode well for what hid behind the tattered rags she was currently wearing.

“I wouldn’t bother.” Sister Eunice spoke up for the first time since the couple had started talking to the children, “That ones strange. Won’t speak no matter what we do.”

The woman wasn’t deterred by the slightly bitter words the nun spat about the goldie locks' esque child. Instead, the woman continually made eye contact with Rosa and introduced herself as Annabeth. Rosa didn’t even make a move to acknowledge Annabeth but the woman still wasn’t deterred.

Annabeth blew a slight air bubble out of her mouth before she did something unexpected. She signed what she had said to the little girl. That seemed to spark a little bit of life into Rosa as she signed back her own name, earning a hateful glare from the Sister behind the woman that was crouched down at her level.

“Who taught you to sign?” Annabeth signed back to the little girl as she spoke. Watching her with what seemed to be kind eyes, something Rosa had come to expect from fellow adults.

Rosa turned to look over her shoulder, seemingly nodding her head at nothing in particular as there was nothing but a wall a few feet behind the girl. Rosa then turned back to Annabeth and signed to her that it was an old man named Jenkin that taught her sign language.

“Where is mister Jenkin’s now?” The ghost of life that had finally entered the child fled from her face again as she stared blankly back at Annabeth, refusing to answer her question. Thinking quickly on her feet, before she lost little Rosa to the shell that was slowly encasing her again, she asked the little girl what her favorite color was.

Purple. Purple was Rosa’s reply as the ghost of a smile stretched across her narrowed face. The light conversation between Rosa and Annabeth seemed to go on for a few more minutes before Annabeth finally turned back to her husband, who was watching them interact with a smile on his face. They both nodded to each other before they asked to speak to Sister Eunice in private.

That day was one of the best days that Rosa had had in the Orphanage she was forced to call home. Annabeth and Tom, that was the husband’s name, had started the adoption process for Rosa Persephone Waters. A few weeks passed by in the blink of an eye and finally, Rosa could say goodbye to the hell that was Saint Vincent's Catholic Orphanage.

October 31st, 1973

Time seemed to fly by for Rosa as she was enjoying her new life with her new family. She put on weight, her hair was no longer dull, and most importantly, she smiled. Everything was in a state of blissful peace for the small family that lived outside of Baton Rouge, LA.

Rosa still hadn’t spoken a word to either of them, but that didn’t deter them at all. It didn’t bother them that much that she didn’t speak. They both knew sign language and used it frequently throughout the house without much as a second thought. They were just happy to see their little girl smile and let out laughless giggles as she was spoiled by both of them.

Today, the couple was taking extra care to spoil their little one, seeing as it was her birthday and Halloween.

Rosa woke up to an excited yell from her adoptive father, before he jumped onto her tiny bed and began to tickle the birthday girl relentlessly. Annabeth watched from the doorway as the two things she loved the most in the world, began to wrestle.

Today was going to be a great day. Little Rosa thought to herself as she made her way out of her room and over to the kitchen table. The family sat at the table and had what Rosa had picked out for her birthday. It was chocolate chip pancakes with a large glass of chocolate milk. Some might say that was too much chocolate, Rosa would disagree wholeheartedly.

The day passed on in a happy blissful state as the morning gave way to the evening, and the evening gave way to night. Sometime around 6:30 pm, Tom rushed around the house with little Rosa hot on his tail, silent laughter fell from her lips. He led her back into the living room where Annabeth stood waiting, holding a chocolate birthday cake with six large candles on it.

An excited gasp left little Rosa’s mouth as she rushed forward to hug Annabeth’s legs. The couple shared a happy look between themselves before they let the little one at the handmade cake.

“Happy birthday, my little Petal.” Tom patted the top of Rosa’s head as she blew the candles out and then turned towards the gifts that were poorly hidden in the corner of the room. Anna and Tom both shared sly smiles before they nodded their heads to the excited girl. She all but ran towards the presents and eagerly tore into them.

Happy tears fell from her face as she looked at the brand new sketchbook that she had looked at before in a store on one of the rare occasions she that went out with her adoptive parents. The other gift that was close to her, was a matching set of pencils that she could use to doodle with.

Yes, today turned out to be a great day . Rosa thought to herself as she held both her adoptive parents' hostage in a hug, a huge smile adorning her face in return.

But as Rosa learned from before, you can’t have too much of a good thing before it turns into a bad thing. The lights of the house cut off randomly to the house, bathing them all in darkness.

“Might’ve blown a breaker, damn thing almost shocked me last week.” Tom detangled himself from his wife's and daughter's limbs before he made a move to go check out the breaker to the house. A few minutes passed between Anna and Rosa, their hushed breaths hitched as they heard a loud slamming sound coming from the place Tom had just disappeared into.

“Wait here Rosa, I’m going to go see what that was.” Annabeth put Rosa down on the wooden floors of the living room. Rosa desperately clung to Anna’s legs, trying to sign that something didn’t feel right, but the lack of light didn’t help get her message across. “It’s okay honey, I’ll be back with Tom soon.”

Annabeth was not back with Tom soon. The sound of many footsteps seemed to invade Rosa’s once safe haven that she called home. Trying to find a place to hide, Rosa ran into one of the intruders of the home.

“Found you, little witch!” The cloaked figure let out a delighted giggle as they grabbed the panicking six-year-old. Rosa’s body seemed to shut down on her as she was dragged away with the cloaked figure, where she was eventually blindfolded and bound.

Rosa zoned out, ignoring the yelling, fighting, and other sounds surrounding her as she was finally tied down on what seemed like a stone table before her blindfold was ripped off of her face harshly.

A silent scream left her mouth as she saw the heads of both of her adopted parents on spikes on either side of her. Their body parts and blood were strewn around her, decorating the circle that she was placed in. Thirty or so figures were surrounding the circle, passing around a goblet of what looked to be the rest of her parent’s blood.

Once the goblet had been passed around the circle successfully, they began to chant in unison. Rosa didn’t understand the words but she could feel her underdeveloped body reacting to the words they were chanting. Her body was absorbing what the words were saying and what seemed like hours but was in reality only a few minutes, she felt a new presence enter the circle.

The silent tears on Rosa’s cheeks streamed down her face faster as she saw a shadow-like figure approach her before disappearing as soon as it touched her head. She was then pulled into her subconscious by the being that had entered her psyche.

A field of white spider lilies surrounded the child that was crumpled and in a fetal position. A loud cawing of a bird was heard, trying to snap the child out of its self-protection state.

With a nervous gulp, Rosa lifted her head and made eye contact with a humongous Raven. It was perched on the only tree in the field of white spider lilies. The Raven tilted its head as if it was observing the child before it let out another caw. Rosa just started at the Raven blankly, as tears still streamed down her face. She held out her arms in a form of acceptance as she expected the Raven to swoop down and end her suffering.

It did no such thing. It just continued to stare at her before it seemingly made up its mind and pushed off of the perch it was on and made its way to the girl. She closed her eyes but otherwise didn’t make a move as she expected her end to be near.

“You have nothing to fear from me, little witch.” A voice void of any emotion spoke to her, making her flinch slightly at the unexpected noise. Rosa stood silent, her eyes still closed, and her arms still held out.

“Ah, yes. You don’t speak. How interesting.” The voice spoke again, it seemed to dance around the little girl in a taunting way. “Tell me, why is it you don’t fear death little witch? Someone as young as you should barely be able to recognize what it is, let alone not be afraid of it.”

Silence followed the creature’s question before it let out a breathy chuckle, seemingly finding what it was looking for as Rosa felt a prodding sensation on her forehead.  It was accompanied by a painful sensation spreading across her forehead before her magic lashed out and pushed the invading presence out.

“Ah, I see.” It said again before it seemed to walk around her again, sizing her little body up before it spoke again.  “I have a deal for you, little witch.”

Rosa didn’t move an inch, her eyes were still clenched together, refusing to open. She was, in her mind, an immovable statue, awaiting her death.

“You see, the witches and warlocks out there are trying to bind me to them, to do their bidding for them.” The voice went on, seemingly unperturbed by the statue of a child that stood before it. “I like my freedom. I know that I can not get out of this situation without losing some of my freedom, but that is where you come in my little petal. ”

Rosa clenched her jaw, biting her cheek in the process but otherwise didn’t show any reaction to the nickname that it had used.

“Such spirit,” A ghostly hand brushed against her cheek before continuing, “I’d rather be bound to one person than an entire coven. So my offer to you, little witch, is let me bind to you and I shall teach you whatever it is you want to know. I shall protect you until you die, you will never lose another you hold dear to yourself. The price behind this is usually your soul, but with this blasted ritual they’re performing, that cost has already been paid.”

A choked gasp left Rosa’s mouth as she guessed which souls were used to feed the contract. A sob racked through her body before the being began to speak again.

“So what say you, little witch?” The voice floated around her tauntingly again, daring her to speak her answer. Rosa just nodded her head up and down, earning a tsk from the creature that was currently tormenting her. “I need to hear you say it, petal . It won’t work unless you say it.”

“It’s a deal.” Rosa’s voice came out in a harsh, barely audible whisper. “Make them pay.” She opened her eyes, as she saw the once white spider lily field turn blood red as a large Raven let out a haunting laugh before her world went dark.

Rosa woke up, still tied down to the stone table she had been at before. The witches and warlocks that had surrounded her were gone without a trace. In fact, all the blood and body parts, in general, were gone. There was no trace of the bodies of her adoptive parents anywhere, a fact that she was silently thankful for.

“Well, well little witch. You seem proud of my work.” A masculine voice came from her left side, startling her out of her dazed stupor. The man was tall, standing roughly 6’5’’ on a bad day. He was lean, with a head full of luscious black locks, a strong jawline, and coal-black eyes. He was wearing just a leather jacket that was decorated in studs, and a pair of tight black jeans with knee-high boots laced up lazily on his calves.

He made a move to untie Rosa, causing her to flinch away from his touch. A smirk graced his face as he finally untied her and helped her off of the stone slab.

This was going to be an interesting work relationship, and the demon Rosa had yet to give a name, was slightly excited at the prospect of raising a little murder gremlin with enough power behind her she could practically do what she wanted. Although he would never admit it out loud. He’d rather be dragged forcefully back to hell than admit that he was taking on one of the biggest prospects he had tried yet.

August 11th, 1976

Bark at the Moon by Ozzy Osbourne

The years passed slowly with Damien, the demon. He taught Rosa almost all he knew about witches and their abilities, and she absorbed that information like a sponge. She was everything he thought she could be and more. It took her a few days max to learn a new spell class. She was progressing quite nicely under his tutelage. They had their ups and downs in their work relationship, that was a given but other than that, the pair seemed to get along quite well together. Even going as far as pranking other people together, sometimes that would end in ritual sacrifice, other times it would be a snack for Damien, and for a very small percentage of the time, it was just a harmless prank.

That was until one night, on a full moon, Damien and Rosa had the smart idea to prank a local werewolf pack. Cut to them now being hunted down by several angry werewolves as the two in question cackled and ran throughout the surrounding forest.

There were about four of them trailing the two, seeing as Daimen and Rosa had already taken out the Alpha and his son respectively. The two being chased gave each other a look before they both split off into different directions, three wolves going with the bigger prey, one going with the smaller.

Rosa’s feet pattered against the dense bog that she was in, it was slowly turning its way into a marsh. Perfect for what she had planned. A sadistic smile spread across her face as she sluggishly made her way through the dense marsh-like forest.

The werewolf was hot on her tail, lunging every few feet, trying to knock the girl over. Then all of a sudden, the girl stopped in her tracks and ducked down, sending the lunging werewolf over her head.

Rosa stood back up, now covered in water and moss from the marsh she was in. The clear night shown with a full moon's light, basking said girl in an eerie light. A wicked smile was stretched across her lips as she spoke out a small incantation and held her hands up towards the charging beast.

Said beast didn’t get very far as the fauna of the marshlands began to tie and weigh the lycan down. Rosa slowly made her way over to the matted and now panicking werewolf. While she raised her hands, the vines and tree branches that had locked around the beast rose with her. Then she made a motion of taking her two hands, which were relatively close together and ripping them apart in a harsh motion. The fauna mimicked her movements, which left her with the corpse of a lycan slowly changing back into a human.

Acting quickly, she took the dead corpse and began to harvest teeth and hair before it fully shifted back into its human farce. Damien showed up not long after she was done harvesting her spoils, he too had spoils from the matted beasts, which he promptly dropped in front of the witch with no less than a smirk on his smug face.

“Told you it would be easy to lure the mutts out.” Daimen’s voice was sin personified. His honeyed words held malice and a promise of something darker. It always did. “You had nothing to worry about.”

“I didn’t doubt you.” Rosa shoved the demon slightly, before gathering her spoils and putting them all in what looked like a bottomless leather bag. Teeth, hair, and claws were all shoved into a small, inconspicuous black leather bag. “I told you that they would split up three to one though.”

“They weren’t even an issue, little petal.” The taller male draped his arm around the smaller girl, “Come now, there’s some other things you’re going to want to harvest while we’re out here.”

“If you’re talking about all of the herbal plants and mosses, I already grabbed them when you were feasting on your last victim.” Rosa’s slate-grey eyes rolled at the male involuntary as they made their way out of the marsh and back into the local city of Baton Rouge. Where to duo went to a local motel they may or may not have ‘bribed’ the cashier to let them stay.

November 1st, 1983

The years passed by with Damien rather smoothly. The duo constantly moved cities and states, causing chaos and mischief where they went. The two were never tethered by normal human morals and deemed it their duty to mess with the mass population as much as they could, and that was exactly what they were doing during the not so little Rosa’s sixteenth birthday.

There was a local biker gang in the slums of New York that Damien and Rosa had chosen to terrorize. Currently, the leader of the biker gang was being hunted down by one of the many hell hounds Damien had, while he and Rosa watched from the rooftops as the man ran and failed to get away from the vicious dog.

The sound of the unfortunate man’s screams filled one of the many alleyways in the city of New York as he was torn apart and devoured by a hellhound that was glamoured to look like a miniature poodle.

“Hm.” Rosa let out a sound of disappointment, “I was hoping he would put up more of a fight.” Her full lips jutted out in a mock pout as she floated down to the man's corpse, her flowing black blazer glided behind her like a set of wings. Her skin was supple and pale under the moonlight, her hair long, blonde, and curled in an untameable mane. Rosa’s slate-grey eyes glowed a fierce silver color as she pulled the man's heart from out of his chest, stuffing it in her black leather bag.

“Give the man a break. He had a fierce opponent.” Daimen let out a snort as he motioned to the clueless hellhound who still looked like a poodle. He was about to retort again but stopped when he saw Rosa’s eyes glaze over with a faraway look. She stayed in that trance-like state for all of three minutes, before finally snapping out of it and turning towards her demonic companion.

“I know where we’re going next.” Was Rosa’s simple reply as she left the corpse of the man in a dumpster, which she promptly set on fire with a flick of her wrist.

“Just please tell me I’m not going to have to be in an animal form again. Last time you said that I was stuck in a cat form for weeks. It was torture.” Daimen clutched his chest in mock pain and he pretended to wince. To be honest, he really didn’t hate being in an animal form, he just liked to pretend that he hated it because it seemed less manly than he was comfortable with. A demon from the pits of hell was really worried about his image towards other people that didn’t even know the cat they were petting was indeed a soul-sucking, flesh-eating, demon. He really was a bit of a diva sometimes.

Rosa said nothing as she made eye contact with Daimen, which in turn made him groan. It looked like he was going to be stuck in his animal form for the foreseeable future. Whatever that gave him an excuse to laze about and not really do much. They’ll just have to see where the road takes the duo during the trek across the country.

Notes: this is cross posted on my AO3

#the lost boys x reader #paul #dwayne #marko #david #poly #vampire #1980s #1980s cinema #lost boys

[badgeworn-arc]

                                    LOVING    DAUGHTER           .       .       .            LITTLE   ANGEL.

fatherhood           .              .            .           it   was   something   he   wished   for    ,      something   he  became   okay   with   not   having    eventually.      he’d   been   to   war   ,    he’d   seen   things      ━        done   things      ,      he   became  comfortable   with   it   just   being   himself      &        his    string   of   broken   hearts   until    diane   came   along    .     it    hadn’t   been   something   they  planned    ,    in   all   honesty   he   hadn’t   even   been  sure  what  they  were        .       .     .       a   new   girl   in   town        ,        the   prodigal   son    returning  home           ━         two    people   who  fell   hard      &     fast.                   he    didn’t     think    he    could   fall   any   further     and     THEN       .           .         .     along   came   sara.

sara   elise   hopper    was    born   april   22  ,   1971   in    hawkins   ,   indiana.        it   was   the  moment   that   confirmed   he   would   be   getting   out   of   his   shithole   of    a   hometown   but   with   how   unexpectedly   sara    had   been   brought   into   their   lives,    the   couple   stuck    around   for   one   more   year        ━         finishing   out   contracts  with  jobs      &      saving   money  before   marrying      &     running   off   to   new  york.       from   the  moment   she’d   been   placed   in    his   arms   ,    sara   had   her   father   wrapped   around    her    finger.           he’d    realized    just   how   much   that   dream   of   fatherhood    still   meant   to    him       and    how   he   would   do   just   about   anything   for    the   pink   bundle   in   his   arms.   

as   an   only   child   raised  with   a   man’s   man   as   a   father   ,     jim   hopper   had   no  idea   how   to   raise   a    daughter.          it   helped   that   she   was   such   an   easy   baby   (   as   easy   as   it   can   be   on   first   time    parents   )    .      soon   enough    ,    detective   hopper   was   thrust  into  the   world   of   princess   tea   parties           &          encouraging   dreams    of    one   day   making   it   to   the   moon.        she    was    such   a   happy   child   ,   such   a   smart  child   ,    with   her   mother’s   blonde   curls        &     her   father’s    blue   eyes      content   with   running     &    laughing     ,     making   the   game   up   as   they   went.    one   day   she’s   a  princess     ,      a    knight      ,      the   best   damn   tea   maker   in   new   york   city.     the   next   she’s   an   astronaut    ,     saving   earth   from   the   next   disastrous   event   threatening   their   make   believe   livelihoods. 

all   the   things   about   hawkins   that   had  made  him  miserable    ,    all   the  things   about  vietnam  that  had   made  him   numb      ━      it   all   melted   away   as   the   three  of   them  settled  into   happily   ever   after    ,       as    they    molded    their   little   family.       life  stayed  that   way   for   a   while           ━         seven   years   to   be   exact.

it   was    in    the   fall   of    1978    that    things   began  to   crumble.      a   routine   day   at   the   park   just   outside   their   neighborhood    had   taken   a    turn   for   the  worst   when  sara    ,       the   child   who   had  rarely   even   had   a   cold     ,      couldn’t   breathe.     one   stop   at   the   emergency   room   later   confirmed   a   parent’s   worst   nightmare.      he   always   thought    the   hardest   thing   he’d   been   through   were   the   things   that   happened   in   vietnam      ,       things   that   haunted   him   every   time   he  closed   his   eyes   ,      and   then   he   had   to   watch   his   little   girl   get   weaker       &      weaker    with   every   treatment.          leukemia   .       no   idea   of   a   cause   on   the   medical   side    ,     they   said   sometimes   these   things   just   happen       ━          no   rhyme   no   reason.  

he  knew.     he’d   done   this.    life   had   been   too   good      &      this   was   the  universe’s   way   of   knocking  him  back   on   his    ass.             they   immediately   began   treatments   any       &          all    even   with  the   slimmest   of   chances           ━        they’d   never   given   up   hope   but   sara     .           .          .      sweet   ,    small     ,    sara.     her   tiny  body   just   couldn’t   keep   up     ,      life   ended   before   it   ever   really   began           &        suddenly    jim        &          diane    were   alone       ━      left   only   with   an   empty   child’s   bedroom     &      their   memories  as   reminders   of   the   mark   she’d   left   on   this   world. 

it   wasn’t   long   before   her   death   took   a   toll   on   the  parents   she   left   behind.    diane  wanted   to  grieve   and   move  on    ,      try   again    ,      they’d   always   be   sara’s    parents   but   life   had   to  continue.       jim     was    content    with   staying   in    this   bubble    .            .             .       afraid   that   eventually   he   would   forget   her   laugh   ,    her   smile   ,    the  weight  of   her  pouncing   his   chest   on   a   saturday   morning   and    so      .       .        .     he   drank.        &        began   cashing   in   any   and   every   prescription    he   could.     he   drank   himself   out   of   a   marriage       &      a    job.       

suddenly   the   house   was   much   too   big   while   new   york   suddenly   felt   much   too   small        &        before    he    knew    it    ,       he   was   on   the   phone   with   indiana      ━        returning   home   once   more.            he   visited   sara   the   day   he   split,      leaving    a  bouquet   of    flowers      &       a    small   stuffed   tiger   in    his   place     and    with   that     .       .          .           he   never   visited    new   york   again.     

#child death tw #illness tw #cancer tw #╰ ‘ 𝘐 𝘚𝘛𝘐𝘓𝘓 𝘞𝘖𝘕𝘋𝘌𝘙 𝘞𝘏𝘈𝘛 𝘞𝘌𝘕𝘛 𝘞𝘙𝘖𝘕𝘎 … ’ › introspective.

[audeameus]

𝒴.⠀IOLANTHE⠀⨾⠀❪ iii. ❫⠀──── ℛEACHING THE 𝒟EPTHS OF ℋ𝙀𝙇𝙇 𓍼

──── neither mortal nor god, nor fate itself, is qualified to be my judge.

𝐈. ℬACKSTORY

tw : subtle mentions of blood.

— ﹙2021, April 14th﹚

“Master, we need an extremely skilled assassin for this mission” the voice echoed around the silent room, with the clock’s hand ticking being the only sound. A man looking over the arched window, watching a walking figure, faced the direction of where the voice was coming from—opened his file cabinet and tossed one file labeled ; Prodigy. “Her, she’s perfect for that.” he said, the lady opened the file—revealing the assassin’s information and timeline. “Skilled young lass, leaves no trace, and most importantly—gets the job done in a jiffy.” he added, her face disapproving. “We need someone who can work in the inside, in this mission—they need to douse a fire from inside the house, this little girl doesn’t have the guts for patience.” she protested. The master raised a brow, fixed his stance, and sat on his swivel chair—looking at the lady with such stare. “You don’t know her as much as I do, Lady Macbeth. This girl is so much more than you think she is—behind the facade of a helpless, lovely, and gullible little girl lies a cold-blooded bloodstained bastard. At such a young age she showcased unparalleled combat and survival skills so much that no one could top her as the best one in this agency.” he said while maintaining eye contact with the lady. “Don’t ever doubt her.” he uttered before signaling the lady to leave his office. The lady bowed before leaving the master suite, letting out a deep sigh after closing the door behind her—looking at the folder given, she spoke through her radio. “Send her to my office, over.” she said. “Send who, Your Ladyship? over.” a voice responded. Lady Macbeth opened the file revealing the name of the prodigal member of their very agency. “Yvoria Iolanthe Schuyler”

— Several years ago.﹙2009, October ??﹚

All alone along the slums of Seoul, Magdalene﹙soon will be known as Yvoria﹚found herself standing in front of the porch of her very own house, her step-parents threw her out for good—at least on their end. Heavy rain poured as the young lass cried her little eyes out, tired from walking—she settled on a local bus stop, laying down on the bench whilst trying to use a magazine to keep her warm. A sight that’s not for the weak, a five-year-old kid in shambles—trembling from the cold surroundings, hugging her little teddy bear, all while a trail of crimson liquid flows from her nose. A guy passing by felt pity, looking at the bloody lass—he decided to take her in, feed her, and then call the child services. “Get up, little girl” he commanded. The little girl fluttered her eyes and woke up from a very uncomfortable nap. She looked at the man, puzzled—she tilted her head. “Are you kicking me out, too?” she asked, keeping her head down. He knelt to reach her height and in a moment of weakness, he hugged the crying little girl. "I'm sorry, you are welcome to stay here for as long as you need." he explained while hugging her, the lass smiled in tears and bowed deeply in front of him. "I'll do anything to repay your kindness, Sir!" the girl exclaimed while bowing down, which made the guy chuckle. "You can start by not calling me "Sir", call me Hannes."

— Several years later.﹙2023, August 31st﹚

“Congratulations on yet another successful mission, Yvo!” her friend celebrated, Yvoria smiled and thanked her friend before heading to Lady Macbeth’s office. “Ah, you’re here. Punctual as always, elegantly dressed, and politely standing. You look very dashing today, Yvo—you took a lot from the house where you came from, I must say.” she said, signaling Yvoria to sit across her table. The lass chuckled. “Aside from today being my birthday, you also sent me to a lady-in-waiting for a literal royal—Lady Macbeth. A little difficult to move with so many eyes watching but hey, the heir is down and the spare took the crown—all thanks to who?” she responded, she cleared her throat and asked for the intention of calling her. “Master Hannes told me to go easy on your missions, he's afraid that I might be overworking you” the lady sighed. “Too bad, then. Seemed like I'm the only one you deemed qualified.” she chuckled, actually happy to have a little day off or even a month off. “Well, if that's the case then I'll see you when I see you again, Lady Macbeth.” she stood up and left her office.

𝐈𝐈. ℋEADCANNONS

Hannes legally adopted Magdalene during the first half of 2010, changing her name in the process—she is now known as Yvoria Iolanthe Schuyler.

While originally born and raised in Seoul, Hannes forged a new birth certificate for her that shows that she was born in Oakland, California.

Yvoria excelled in her education, while she had the majority of her education in Seoul—she flew to California to study at Berkeley and took a Bachelor of Arts in Psychology while also being a part-time health worker at a local health center.

Yvoria resides in a cozy apartment in Oakland and enjoys the safe confines of a villa in Seoul with Hannes, who she sees as a parental figure. Her lodgings and cost of living in California were all shouldered by Hannes while her education was for free as she managed to bag a full scholarship offer.

Hannes came from an old-money family, and this highly influenced Yvoria's wardrobe and fashion choices.

Yvoria is good at cleaning, partly because she loves neat spaces—mostly because she had to clean up after herself during missions.

She learned to speak English, Japanese, Chinese, Tagalog, Hindi, and Spanish while training to be an assassin.

She also trained to master the accents of other countries, she can do multiple accents and can blend well in a foreign land.

CHARACTER KINS﹕ Yor Forger Helena Bertnelli / Huntress Choi Nam-Ra Serena Van Der Woodsen

#⠀⠀⠀𝒴.⠀IOLANTHE⠀⨾⠀❪ ୭ৎ ❫⠀──── PROFILE 𓍼

[libidomechanica]

“Most cold, this crooked, that all my heart”

Deluded swain, the pleasure proue.     Relaxed, its steamy breath. From an unaverred yet     prodigal inward joy. That

I can see what from head to foot     with a shaking hand of mine? The soueraigne on the ball where     their excellence: so that

the mouth opens four times—as out-     of-date as a prehistoric monster of mine? Most cold,     this crooked, that all my

heart is harmless as my life decay,     lest the wine, and tuned it vnto the evening, o heaven     above! In the next are

only child will becommeth him     to replie well as I were less bilious—but oh fie on’t!     I shall not die an evil

death wrapp’d in his place: shall I     say? The teeming autumn, big with rich in all beauty with     all others. By their sighing

and bright we want it to happen     to see your hand as we scale the path a little worth.     We both displaies his sullen

might; slow heauinesse in both holds     one degree that in my soft strait bed I may look up at     the honor of yours you’d

have thy love; who, coward, in things     that went last night down there while I fled. And sighed to see, walking,     till then we say, watching

Picnic again for the cause     and came down here. He is a strange similes enrich each     line, of herbes or beasts

which I escaped heart which did it’s     whole soul toward it his joined clenched fists. Sixty years to burn out     her lord hath press’d: ah, woman’s

hand. The eye of winter, city,     anger, poverty, and death. My heart in two. Under     the dark of the gory

head up in sheaves borne on the stately     mountains; long since, forc’d by this heir of the child, transgresses     the grim Swiss denies

only to be in love will stay,     for term of life—immortal love. Worse belov’d: oh pardon     me for that: which oft hath

Echo tired in secret of     my hand subtracting till my fingers dropped away among     the Blue Ridge had slipped the

wind’s least be generous in this,     that will not state in compass come: love alters when it slowly     the naked forms of

flowers the fashion roses. For     it had bene an auncient tree, sacred with blood by which     once he made, as by a

spring the true fire with the nail     in it. It was the Equal with the straw into gold?     Because it was obtuse.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 8 #142 texts #ballad

[blzzrdstryr]

Like a fairy tale

Yandere!Diluc x maid!fem!reader

Wordcount: 1921

CW: Yandere and slightly suggestive themes.

You loved reading fairy tales as a child - they were magical and hopeful, a needed retreat for a child of destitute parents. They were a promise that if you were good and kind and beautiful enough, eventually some faraway prince would come by and save you from poverty. And you tried to be good - you were obedient and hardworking and you pushed your hardest in the local school, yet hardship and scarcity still trailed your every step - the meager earnings your parents made weren't enough to buy you nice clothes or let you eat until you were sated, which in turn made social interactions harder: some kids sneered and humiliated you, some tried to help you out of pity. You disliked both groups: whether they were friendly or aggressive towards you, they still looked down on you.

Thus you decided to distance yourself from your peers - there was no knight in shining armour galloping towards you on a snow white steed, yet a good education could be your golden ticket to a better rich life. It was hard at first - to work and to study and to help your parents all while ignoring the demeaning and insulting comments the bullies made, but you gritted your teeth and pushed forward, imagining how wealthy you’ll become in the future and in the end our efforts were rewarded - you graduated as the best student, that led you to receiving a scholarship from Sumeru academy. Sparks and shine appeared in your eyes as you read the letter, barely stopping yourself from outright squealing and jumping from joy.

The moment of happiness didn’t last long though, as a reality again reminded you that there’s no place for fairy tales in the real world - scholarship covered the full cost of apprenticeship, but only it - you still had to spend money on the journey from Mondstadt to Sumeru, a place to rent and food, and if you still could find a job after your arrival in the foreign country and pay off the later two, trip required mora that you never had. At first you had a mad idea to traverse Teyvat on your own two feet - it would be a slow and arduous process, but cheap nonetheless. You later gave up on this plan - archons didn’t give you any vision, nor did you have fighting and travelling experience to aid you on the trail that no doubt would be full of slimes, hilichurls and other dangerous monsters.

And that’s how you started job hunting - you took on any work that promised you a hefty pay, be it some boring reports for guild of adventurers or an exciting yet risky endeavor of getting information for an extravagant cavalry captain, which then led you to Dawn Winery. Head housemaid, Adelinde, posted a job opening for a maid, and the prospect of a stable salary, free food and comfortable bed was enough to lure you in there - two or three years ago the previous owner of the winery died in the accident and his successor left Mond for some reason, leaving the maintenance and management of the winery on the shoulders of the said housemaid.

After a quick interview, the head maid demanded you to show her your cleaning skills, which you effortlessly did, having to look after the house by yourself all your childhood. It seems she was satisfied, as she nodded to you and asked to follow her as she led you to your room. Compared to the other two maids here, Hillie and Moco, who preferred to spend their work time in idle chat, you came off as highly professional and diligent worker. This contrast raised both your position and salary in the winery, as Adelinde started to entrust you with tasks more interesting than simple sweeping and cleaning.

You were outside the winery the day you met Diluc - returning from the city and carrying several stacks of milk and wheat you got chased by the hilichurls. Monsters didn’t leave you, no matter how long and how far you ran. You were ready to drop all the goods and have Adelinde to scold you for wastefulness and dereliction when Ragnvindr appeared and stole a breath from you. He looked just like the prince from your childhood tales, impossibly pretty and strong, arriving just when the creatures caught up with you and then defeating all of them with a single slash of great claymore. And just like a fairytale prince he helped you to get up and collect the scattered baggage and asked if you were okay. Then you two headed for the winery, you didn't know that he was it's owner at the time, chatting and thanking him, as he carried purchases. Adelinde almost fainted when she saw the return of the prodigal master in your company. After hastily taking goods from his hands, she made you apologize for rudeness and insubordination, but Diluc interrupted you saying it was fine.

Ragnvindr heir returned back to the winery and life went on its own, except the unreadable glares Diluc started to send you when you both were in the same room. It started off small: the quick glances that soon grew into intense staring. With his impassive stone face it was impossible to tell why he was glaring at you so much, so you acted as polite and professional as you could in his vicinity - after all you didn’t want to get fired and look for a new job. The key to this riddle presented itself during one day.

It was a bleak windy morning when Adelinde sent you to the city again, and as you walked the sky darkened and rain started. You returned absolutely soaked and shivering, teeth chattering and limbs slightly numb from cold and when Diluc saw you he ordered you to change in a low commanding voice. Frightened by the possible dismissal, you hurried putting on the uniform. Because of the haste you pulled it too tightly, hiking up a maid dress a little. It wasn’t up enough to reveal your hips or thighs, showing just a portion of knees that was usually hidden by the wide skirt.

Diluc’s eyes were glued on the uncovered joints, a subtle blush appearing on his pale cheeks. You continued to work, feeling how he consumed your legs with his eyes alone. He is lusting after me. You didn't know what to do with that revelation back then, embarrassed and slightly scared of attracting master Diluc's attention.

Nonetheless, an answer quickly came on the next day as you found a bonus to your salary, so big that it could be considered a payment for the next month. Diluc, despite his usually impassive face, seemed to be ashamed of the thoughts he had yesterday, with the body language telling you of his true feelings.

A plan came to mind. You hated yourself for it at first - it was low and disgraceful, you felt like a stereotypical manipulative gold digger, yet still decided to realize it in life - you needed mora, as fast and as much as possible. Over the time you spent working at the Dawn winery you noticed that Diluc, despite his obviously high intelligence, wasn't really good at judging one’s character, so he fell for your scheme pretty easily. Design you had in mind was pretty simple - to stir him up with small, innocuous gestures and changes that would slip past the outsider’s eyes.

Sometimes you applied a thin layer of healing lip balm on your lips, that so conveniently happened shine and glitter under the light, sometimes you donned your dress a little bit higher, opening the view of two delicate knees and sometimes after cleaning and working all day you felt so hot that you had to unfasten one or two buttons to cool off. Diluc, despite not showing it on his face, was obviously distracted and aroused, hands clenched into fists and a shaky, barely controlled exhale escaping his nose.

He started to pile you with bonuses and prizes; “for a well done job”, he said one time, averting his gaze and masking the shame in his voice under a huff. He also started to request you to specifically clean the rooms he occupied, his eyes sizing up almost every inch of your body. You felt how the lust and desire radiated off him, how his hands itched to trace your skin and have you at his mercy, yet he stopped every time with his steel strong control and self-discipline. You sensed how it dwindled little by little.

Diluc, in some perverted sense, was that fair prince of your childhood daydreams that would save you from poverty.

You almost had saved up the needed amount of money when you noticed the loss of your most cherished possession - an invitation to the Sumeru academy and scholarship certificate. With heart booming in your chest you started to look for it in the whole winery, without giving out that you were searching for something. It seems that you were unsuccessful in your attempts, as master of the winery soon called you into the office.

Here, he was sitting behind the desk with a familiar paper in his hand - your eyes widened as you saw it and you had an urge to run up to him and snatch the invitation from him. You performed a curtsy instead, closing the door behind you and waiting for him to speak, eyes still on the sheet in Diluc’s hold.

“[First], you are a diligent and skillful employee, Adelinde has a very high opinion of you” he started from afar, a slight rosy blush dusting his cheeks at "skillful employee".

"So as your employer I wouldn't want any harm to befall on your person, and" he shaked the invitation a couple of times, "it came to my attention that you were planning on travelling to Sumeru. I advise you against this nonsensical idea".

You gritted teeth, careful not to insult him with the couple of barbed words at the tip of your tongue. Nonsensical idea? This was your goal, a main reason why you worked so much and allowed yourself so little.

“I am sorry, master Diluc, I am afraid I can’t abandon this idea”, you say, response flat and controlled, a thunderstorm of emotions hidden beneath the faux calm, “It is my goal, and the main reason why I work here”. So I can have a bright and secure future, in which I won’t have to worry about the tomorrow ever again.

“I also learned that you were born into a low income family and you had to struggle in your life because of that ” a sudden mention of your less than glorious origin makes your face burn from the shame you thought you buried a long time ago. You are stunned, so he continues: “I believe this little endeavor of yours is also motivated by your desire for a stable future. Drop it, I travelled all across the Teyvat and there are horrors that can easily destroy you both in body and spirit”.

He stands up from the desk, and gets closer to you: “I can look after and provide for you, just stay there and you won’t have to worry about the future again ”. His hold on the paper gets tighter, pyro vision shining with a dangerous glint. A faint smell of smoke spreads through the room - a warning if you remain stubborn and unyielding.

Who could have known that the fair prince was a greedy dragon all along?

#yandere genshin impact #Yandere genshin #yandere diluc x reader #Yandere diluc #Yandere genshin impact x reader #Yandere genshin x reader #Yandere #Diluc #Yandere x reader #my writing

[hizashis-lil-bunbun]

No Rest for the Wicked- HardDom!Dabi X Fem! Brat Reader

Prompt: Dabi just wants to take a nap but everything goes wrong

I asked a friend in one of my discord groups for a random writing prompt when I was up late. Something about this one activated my inner ✨brat✨

Enjoy!

Word Count: 3.3k

Kinks/Warnings: brat taming, degradation, pain play, spanking, belting, mild dacryphilia, bondage, edging and denial, hints of dubcon

Banner made by the always lovely @ladyshinigami!

••••••••••••••

Exhausted.

That was the best way to sum up Dabi’s mood as he trudged through the bar fronting the League’s headquarters. Shigaraki had sent him out on a mission with orders to “stake out and take out” a small band of up-and-coming heroes. It had been easy enough to find them (newbies can never resist being flashy), but making sure they were all disposed of was another matter. A matter only made more complicated by a few rogue civilians that happened to spot him. It had taken him two full days to track everyone down, leaving him covered in blood, soot, and burns. In short, Dabi needed a break.

“Well, well, well.” Came the nasally voice of their fearless leader, “The prodigal son returns! Took you long enough, Dabi. Hope that means you didn’t fuck up the mission.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist.” Dabi snaps back, too tired and sore to care about his tone. Not that he’d be any kinder to Shigaraki if he wasn’t. “I did what you asked and left no witnesses. Now piss off before I turn you into a smoldering pile.”

Shigaraki didn’t rise to Dabi’s bait, opting to simply flip him the bird before going back to whatever game console he was currently obsessed with. Dabi returns the gesture in kind, glowering as he disappears behind the bar and into the League’s living quarters. Their warehouse provides more than enough space for everyone to have their own room, and the boss even allowed them to decorate and furnish them as they pleased. Wasn’t that generous? Dabi plods down the hallway to his assigned room and kicks open the door only to find it was occupied. By you.

“Dabi?” You question for a moment before your eyes light up with excitement. “Dabi! You’re back!”

As a fellow Stain devotee, you’d sought out the LOV and been initiated as a member a mere six months ago. And two months later, you’d been initiated into Dabi’s bed. You wouldn’t exactly call yourselves “lovers.” Love was few and far between in a hornet’s nest of villains. But you’d certainly become something more than the occasional lay.

He grunts as he stalks into the room, shedding his coat and boots as he went. Dabi was never big on grand displays of affection. And in his current state, that small show of acknowledgment may as well have been equivalent to a bear hug.

“I missed you.” You chirp back, undeterred by his gruff response. “How was the mission?”

“Long and shitty.” Came his terse reply as he strips off the rest of his clothes and grabs a towel from a nearby wall hook. “I need a fucking shower.”

He wraps the towel around his waist before he sets about searching for body wash and a first aid kit. Greedy eyes roam the plane of his toned torso, eager to touch the scarred and stapled flesh you’d spent many a night mapping out. Before joining the League, you’d never had an opinion one way or the other on touch or physical intimacy. You didn’t dislike it by any means; it was just something people did, fuck buddies or otherwise. But now that you’d shared a bed with Dabi, your perspective had changed. His rough touch was your drug of choice, intoxicating in all the best ways. And with him being gone for almost 72 hours? It was safe to say you were jonesing for a hit.

“Oooh, sounds like fun.” You purr, sprawling out on the mattress in a catlike stretch. “Want me to join you? I think we could use a little… quality time together.”

He snorts derisively at that, straightening up once he’d found his supplies and fixing you with a deep scowl. So pretty even when he’s pissed. You bat your eyelashes in return.

“Don’t get cute, dollface. Once I get cleaned up I’m passing out for the next century.”

Before you can shoot off another coquettish remark, he turns on his heel and marches out the door in the direction of the communal showers. You huff and clamber out of bed to follow him, determined that he wouldn’t get away so easily.

“C’mon Dabi!” You whine, trotting along behind him as he stalks down the hallway. “I haven’t seen you in days! Are you really just gonna give me the cold shoulder?”

“Yup.” He snaps back, shooting you a harsh glare over said shoulder before barging through the bathroom door. From the other side you can hear his bark of “Move it, psycho!” followed by an indignant squeak from whom you can only assume to be Toga. You huff and stamp your foot like a petulant child, turning on your heel to flounce off in the direction of the League’s bar front.

“Bastard.” You seethe under your breath, “Who does he think he is, ignoring me like that? It’s his fault I’m so pent up. If I tried ignoring him when he was all hot and bothered–!”

You pause for a moment as a lightbulb goes off in your head. A single impish thought flashes through your mind and it causes your lips to curl into a Cheshire grin. He wants to play games? You’ll give him games.

You continue your trek into the dimly-lit, woodpandeled speakeasy, a renewed vigor in your stride as you make a beeline for the bar top. Kurogiri is standing behind it as per usual, wiping out a pint glass like the faithful bartender he pretends to be. You sidle up to the bar and place both hands on the oaken surface, adopting a sweet, too-innocent lilt to your voice.

“Kuro-baby.” You purr, the cutesy pet name causing the misty specter to look up from his task. “Can I have a glass of water, please? With lots of ice, if you don’t mind.”

Wordlessly, Kurogiri sets down the glass and picks up a shorter one, using it to scoop up a generous portion of ice from the freezer below before filling it nearly to the brim from the tap. If he has any suspicion of you, he’s very good at hiding it. The same can’t be said for Shigaraki, sitting a few stools down from you and still tapping away at the buttons of his console.

“Fucking with Staples again?” He questions disinterestedly, followed by a hiss of annoyance when the game lets out a series of gunshots. He must have gotten himself killed again.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You shoot back airily, swiping the glass from Kurogiri’s outstretched hand and hopping off your own barstool.

“It’s your funeral!” He calls after you, waving you off with one hand. You snicker as you march back into the living quarters, one hand wrapped around the chilled glass and the other flattened over the top to ensure you won’t spill a drop along the way. Soon you find yourself back in front of the bathroom door and, suppressing the urge to giggle, you slowly push through it and into the steamy room beyond. In spite of the hideout’s outward appearance, the place is surprisingly clean and well-kempt (all thanks to den mother Kurogiri). Two sinks stand against the left-hand side of the wall, with two doors opposite them leading to the toilets. Next to the sinks are the showers: three open-faced, tile cubes barely covered by flimsy plastic curtains. Toga is standing in front of the nearest sink, wearing a skimpy pair of Hello Kitty pajamas and washing the blood and goop from her latest transformation out of her navy, pleated skirt. She looks up at you when you enter and you quickly put one finger to your lips, smirking as you point between the glass and the running shower beyond. Toga lets loose a sadistic giggle of her own before hastily shushing herself when you hear Dabi’s bark of “Pipe down out there!”

As you move past her, you can see her mouth the words, “You’re so dead, big sis.”

You can feel a jolt of adrenaline course through your veins as you sneak up to the edge of the tiled wall separating the shower from the rest of the bathroom, the glass in your hand shaking briefly. A small amount of water sloshes over the rim and spatters onto the floor, the sound barely overshadowed by the shower.

“Doll?”

His low, rumbling voice coming from the other side of the curtain sends another shiver down your spine.

“What are you up to out there?” He growls dangerously, as if he has a sixth sense when it comes to you and your shenanigans. For just a moment, the rational part of your brain takes over and makes you question your actions. Dabi’s already in a foul mood, and getting worse by the second by the sound of it. Maybe if you hold off and behave like a good girl–

Your body seems to move of its own accord. The next thing you know, the contents of the glass are sailing through the air, arching high over the plastic curtain rod and landing with a messy splat onto your unwitting victim on the other side.

“What the fu–!” Dabi’s curse is cut off by yours and Toga’s mad giggling as you sprint out of the bathroom and down the hallway. Passing by a very confused-looking Spinner, you dart inside Dabi’s room and slam the door, locking it for good measure. Seconds later, he’s pounding on it, using enough force that you’re convinced it might splinter and break off its hinges.

“Open this door right now and make this easier on yourself!” He roars, furiously jiggling the handle.

You let him pound away for a few more seconds, in part to allow yourself time to catch your breath but mostly to delay the unenviable punishment. With a deep, steadying breath, you plaster on a mildly amused expression, undo the lock, and pull open the door. Dabi is visibly seething, water dripping from his hair and cascading in rivulets down his toned chest onto the towel slung low on his hips. His brows are knitted together in rage, turquoise eyes flashing dangerously while one hand is still raised in a fist.

“Oh hey, babe. Done with the shower al–?”

His hands are around your throat before you can blink, your sassy remark devolving into a high-pitched squeak.

“You little bitch.” He spits at you, forcibly backing you further into the room as he advances. “Was that your idea of a joke?”

“N-no.” You gasp in response, voice slightly raspy from the pressure on your jugular. “I just thought–“

“Thought what exactly?” Dabi growls, kicking the door shut behind him with one foot before giving your shoulders a hard shove and pushing you onto the bed. You land with a slight bounce, the momentum giving you just enough time to prop yourself up on your elbows.

“Well?” He hisses, venom dripping from the word as he glares down at you.

“I was worried.” You start slowly, tone almost loving as you gaze up at him with big, doe eyes. “You seemed so tense when you got back. And don’t think I didn’t notice those new burns on your arms. So I thought, since the mission was so hard on you…”

Your face suddenly splits into a shit-eating grin.

“I thought you might need to cool down for a minute.”

Dabi blinks for a second, seemingly struck dumb by your remark. And then his hands are back on you in an instant, roughly flipping you over to lie chest-down with your legs hanging off the edge of the bed.

“Of all the stupid–“

Your shirt is ripped over your head from behind.

“Immature–“

There goes the bra, clasps and straps lost to a wildfire of blue flames as it falls away from your body in a charred heap.

“Bratty little schemes.”

Your leggings and panties are harshly yanked down, slipped off, and discarded into some unknown corner of the room. You feel cool air hit your legs and backside, moments before a harsh slap lands on your right cheek. With a yelp, you cast a wide-eyed glance over your shoulder at the menacing presence behind you; a pillar of rage and sadistic urges looming over your naked form.

“You wanted my attention that badly, dollface? Well I’m sorry to say you’ve got it now.”

Before you can react beyond a pained, needy whimper, Dabi hooks his right arm under your thighs to haul you up and onto the bed. He lays his full weight across your back and reaches around and underneath the farthest edge of the bed to produce a simple, black cuff, attached to the nylon spreader running along the underside of the mattress. Giving it a few cursory tugs, he grabs ahold of your right wrist and yanks it towards the corresponding corner, attaching the device with practiced speed and precision. You continue to writhe and pant below him, muttering a litany of curses and “no’s” as he does the same to the opposite side. You’re now bound by both wrists, unable to do more than thrash wildly on the mattress in a humiliating, spread eagle position.

“Seems like you need a reminder of who’s in charge around here.” He snarls in your ear, pushing himself off of you and marching over to his discarded pile of clothing. You can hear the soft rustle of fabric, followed by the telltale clink of metal on metal that makes your eyes go wide.

“Y-you wouldn’t dare…” You start breathlessly, just before the first blinding sting of leather greets your exposed skin, right at the juncture where the soft swell of your ass meets the tender flesh of your thighs.

“That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart.” Dabi says mockingly, his tone dripping with false pity and saccharine sweetness as he takes his place at the edge of the bed once more. “I don’t have any problems dealing with a mouthy… little… brat like you.”

His words are punctuated by three more vicious blows, this time striking the meatiest part of your ass and sending the pliant flesh jiggling. The metal rivets in his belt only add to the pain, biting into your rapidly heating flesh and causing tears to prick at the corners of your eyes. Shifting your hips in a futile attempt to get away from Dabi and his newfound torture device, you roll partly onto your side and look over at him with watery, pleading eyes.

“S-sir… Dabi, please!” You sputter out, voice already wavering as your resolve crumbles beneath the stinging sensation. But Dabi’s not in the mood for bargaining. Instead, he growls as he wraps an arm around your waist and shoves his left knee underneath your belly, hiking your ass further into the air.

“Hold still!” He barks at you, another crack of his belt sending a fresh wave of searing pain along your already raw skin. You scream in agony, unable to do more than wriggle and squirm against his hold.

“Start counting, brat.” He demands huskily, your only warning before the next punishing spank meets your burning flesh.

“One!” You gasp out, “I’m sorry! Please–!”

Another blow lands, somehow harder than all the others, revisiting the spot where ass and thigh meet and causing you to wail in pain.

“Too late for apologies, dollface. The only thing I wanna hear from that slutty little mouth is counting. Understand me?”

The arm looped around your waist tightens in warning, and you hiccup before sputtering out a shaky, “T-two.”

“That’s more like it.”

He continues spanking you at a steady pace, the only respite coming when he pauses to hear you choke out the next number. By ten strokes, you’re bawling. By fifteen, you’re practically brain dead, unable to quell the sobs that wrack through your body or think beyond the next count. He mercifully stops at twenty, dropping the belt and loosening his own grip on you. All you can focus on is the burning pain radiating out from your tanned backside, sobbing as you bury your face into the pillow below you for comfort. Dabi’s own breathing is heavy and ragged, and he takes a few deep, measured breaths to steady himself. After a few moments, that hand that once held his belt is carefully laid on the curve of your ass, and you gasp both at the gentle touch and the shock of prickly pain it brings. Judging by the way he strokes the heated flesh, you’re sure the silver eyelets have left a series of bruises behind.

“S-s-sir.” You blubber, “I’m... I…”

“Shhhh, quiet down.” He says softly, voice uncharacteristically tender as he runs his hand along the width of your heated cheeks. “It’s over now. You did so well.”

The unexpected praise makes you whimper beneath his affections, devolving into a quiet moan as his hand travels even lower, fingers coming to rest at the entrance to your heated core. He begins to gently massage at your folds, middle finger slipping inside to find you impossibly wet and clenching around the digit.

“You filthy little thing…” He breathes out on a chuckle, “Are you really that turned on by me beating the hell out of your cute little ass?”

His finger delves deeper, pussy eagerly sucking him in as you keen below him. His free hand begins to lightly scratch up and down your back, goosebumps rising in the wake of each careful caress. Without thinking, you shift further onto your knees, fighting through the pain to push against his hand.

“Please, Sir.” You moan wantonly, “More. Please.”

With another dark chuckle, Dabi slips a second finger inside of you and begins to languidly pump them in and out. Pain and pleasure meld together in a sinful symphony, pants and whimpers coming from you as you rock your abused body against his own scarred flesh. He adjusts the angle and crooks his fingers downwards, curling them just shy of that sensitive bundle of nerves you know would have you seeing stars. Your back arches as you hungrily push against him, dignity forgotten in the face of pure, carnal desire.

“Getting impatient, are we?” He growls teasingly, fingers suddenly slipping out from your sopping core and wrenching a high-pitched whine from the back of your throat. He moves off the bed entirely, ordering you to stay put as he walks over to the nearby dresser and opens up the top drawer. Like the cuffs would allow you to do anything otherwise.

“Ah, here we go.” He says after a few seconds of rummaging, striding back over to the bed and taking up residence behind you. You feel the mattress dip under his weight seconds before his hands find your hips, roughly hauling them upwards and forcing your face further into the pillows. You shriek as he grabs ahold of your left cheek and squeezes harshly, pain shooting up your spine like a bolt of summer lightning. Something hard and cool prods at your quivering entrance, briefly brushing against your clit before being plunged inside of you. The sudden stretch feels at once too much and deeply satiating, sending burning, pleasurable heat licking across your oversensitized nerves. Once the toy is sunk to the hilt, Dabi gives a short grunt of satisfaction before sliding off the bed and circling around to lean over your quivering form. You turn your head to face him and he smirks at the sight of your fucked out expression: eyes red and puffy, cheeks streaked with half-dried tears, lips swollen from the bluntness of your own teeth.

“Aren’t you a sight?” He hums lowly, brushing away an errant strand of hair to plant a condescending kiss to your temple. “Such a needy little slut for me.”

With another dark chuckle, Dabi pats your cheek, straightens up, and turns towards the door.

“Wait!” You squeak out, squirming against your restraints as you watch his retreating back. “You’re just gonna leave me like this?”

“That’s the plan, dollface.” He shoots back, casting you a wicked grin over his left shoulder as he pulls the door open. “At least until I finish my shower.”

#bnha #bnha x reader #dabi x reader #Dabi #mha smut #mha x reader #tw: noncon #tw: pain play

[edwardelricsrightarm]

Riza Hawkeye as a child/young teen but she's just this Annie Oakley ass prodigal sharp shooter little shit who cuts her hair off with kitchen scissors and runs absolutely buckwild in the woods on her father's estate terrorizing small animals (humanely hunting I'm just being dramatic)

Roy boy is just this awkward nerdy little cornball who wants to get along, but they also kinda have that dynamic from the Swan Princess when Derek and Odette were kids ya feel me? Just watch the childhood montage from that movie you'll understand- ☠️

They have like nothing in common at the time (so they assume) and yet they end up thick as thieves cause Riza hasn't had many friends that she can see outside of her education and had an extremely isolated upbringing, so this goofy sweet baby faced dork just got her like that, even if he sometimes drives her nuts a little bit.

Riza would get upset fairly often bc her neglected social and emotional upbringing would get to her (bc realistically,,,,we know that was the case), and Roy got extremely good at knowing when she's upset and would often be the one to listen to her air her thoughts out (callback to the phone call scene after her encounter with pride, this lends background to how he knows her so well and reads her stress levels like a book even over the phone)

Mundane headcanons:

Roy would transmute little clay/dirt doves and targets for Riza bc he was worried about her shooting glass bottles and other assorted not necessarily safe objects.

Roy is trans, I can't untrans him that's just who he is to me. Riza is a self declared tomboy who I hc as nonbinary/demigirl. They're also bi4bi it's canon Arakawa told me.

Riza didn't really know good birthdays, and when Roy realized this it broke his heart bc Chris always tried to remember stuff like that for him and she's not even his own biological mother. So, he made an annual routine of gifting her something (often transmuted and unique).

Riza loved being out in nature back then and knew the wooded areas around the estate like the back of her own hand, when she and Roy had warmed up more to one another she made a routine of showing him all the neat little spots she'd found in the area for one reason or another, just for the sake of sharing that with someone. These remain some of their fondest memories.

Riza would be more likely to go out to shoot targets when she was angry or upset, if she was having a good day and had the time she would be more likely to go hunting because she enjoyed the hiking and tracking but couldn't focus on it when internally upset. Roy eventually figured this out as well.

Riza climbed so many trees, rocks, outcroppings, etc- and was always scraped up from something she probably shouldn't have climbed getting the better of her.

Riza used to have a nanny birddog named Otto, but he passed away before Roy came around, so making a new friend in him after that loss was a big comfort to her. She was hesitant to have other dogs until Hayate.

They're both autistic.

Relatedly, Riza would go nonverbal and lock herself in her room sometimes. Roy, concerned, would approach this by slipping little notes under the door offering company if needed, while not pushing her to talk.

Riza would sing/hum while doing chores or out and about exploring and on every occasion Roy overheard this he'd turn red from ear to ear- if she caught it and realized he'd heard she'd be twice as embarrassed.

Riza would take Roy foraging and showed him some useful/edible plants, and safe berries and mushrooms that she knew in the region. He was honestly always pretty impressed, especially considering some mushrooms that are safe have toxic siblings that look identical.

Both of them are varying levels of nerd. Riza is the type who's full of trivia, especially weird facts about her special interests (animal behavior, guns, bushcraft, navigation and tracking stuff, etc), Roy started out neutral to this but over time infosharing kinda became their love language, and he'd start to infodump right back. They'd spend hours like that some days.

Riza knows constellations really well for navigational reasons, and there were times that she showed Roy a way to get onto the roof from the attic and they'd stargaze. She would teach folk names of constellations, regional lore behind them, navigational uses for them etc; Roy would tell her basic facts about space and astronomy that come with understanding of alchemy.

Riza typically stuck to small prey (rabbits, fowl, easy to retrieve misc.), but Roy had an awakening when Riza first killed a whole ass deer (albeit a young one) and came back with it thrown over both shoulders with the determined energy of a small lionness.

Riza is REALLY good at cooking and baking because she had a bit too much free time to fuck around in the kitchen. She also learned how to cure and smoke meats bc of her hunting. It certainly helped them stay well fed.

Roy developed a habit of cooking for the household pretty regularly in a swapped routine with Riza after only a while of being around because he saw how much she had to be self sufficient in almost every way and honestly just wanted to relieve her of the constant responsibility and self parentification. He'd also help with chores constantly.

Roy had major internal conflict even early on because he respected his teacher greatly for his intelligence and brilliance, but also kned that Riza wasn't being raised well, and that no matter what he does, Berthold can only decline mentally. This is the root of his protective and caretaking behavior with her, ultimately.

Roy doodled and sketched a lot back in the day and had a little booklet that he guarded with his life bc it started out random assorted things, but eventually devolved into a book full of cute little doodles of mostly Riza jammed into the last half of the book (She can never know-). He still has it stored away.

Riza could easily pick him up even then, this never changed. She got to show this once when he sprained his ankle on a hike with her and she held half his weight as a crutch with no strain to herself. He never quite recovered from that (but boy did it make his crush worse).

Roy would notice rarely he'd have a shirt go missing and never could figure out why til he'd find Riza wearing an identical shirt. (She told herself it's just cause they're cozy of course- she just likes boys clothes too! They look nice under overalls and are comfortable to sleep in! nothing more /s) They never said a word about it even though it was right in front of them, they couldn't dare.

Roy had a bike, and she'd ride behind him down some of the rural roads and paths that could support it for fun sometimes.

During winter the home would get pretty chilly because of its size and not enough stoves/fireplaces to fully warm the declining estate, so when snowed in on miserably cold winter days they'd usually end up reclined in the study by the space heater or in the loungeroom by the fireplace reading separately, but still occasionally talking back and forth.

Riza stopped hunting post-Ishval. She couldn't bring herself to derive that same innocent pride and appreciation for the circle of life she once had, and felt she no longer deserved to have that respectful exchange with the cycle of life and death after what her skills had been used for. She never stops going to shooting ranges, but it's either for standard upkeep of practice or to vent.

#royai #roy mustang #riza hawkeye #young royai #fmab #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #fma #fma brotherhood #headcanons #long post