#|| feel free to say hi to childe too - oh boy am i rusty

[foultides]

|| just a little note: it has been a hot minute, so im dusting off the following list here - if you’ve just followed me, welcome! (feel free to point me to other genpact accnts i should follow, tumblr has changed a lot and im a little lost when it comes to finding still active accounts)

[thesightstoshowyou]

Thomas Hewitt x F Reader (NSFW)

Summary: Hoyt issues an ultimatum and Thomas is the perfect gentleman.

Warnings: Dubcon, “fuck or die,” blood, gore, swearing, fingering, creampie, manipulative reader

 ~~~

             The surface beneath you is cold and hard, like steel left to sit in a dark room. This is the first thing you notice when you wake. Next comes stronger sensation: Pounding headache, sweat sliding down your face, your chest, aching muscles, burning knees. Then comes sound. You hear talking, but it sounds as though your ears are stuffed with cotton or the speaker is three rooms over.

             Your fingers twitch. You can move them, at least. That’s a start.

             “And I can see why! Look at those legs!”

             The volume turns on all at once and you flinch. It’s a man speaking. He’s close, and loud. A heavy thwack follows his words.

             “I woulda kept a pretty thing like that too. Can’t blame ya for that, Tommy.” The man’s tone is condescending. He sounds as if he is speaking to a child. You don’t even know who he is but you already dislike him.

             Your forehead head feels wet and sticky. Sweat? No, its thicker than that.

             “Tell you what, Tommy. I’m feelin’ generous today, what with this bountiful harvest. I’ll let ya’ have a go at her, huh?”

             You swallow thickly. Is he talking about…you? Sloshing water, another noisy thwack. Blood pumps furiously in your ears.

             “You ever did that to a girl, Tommy? Huh?” Laughter. Thwack, THWACK.

             You’re beginning to feel pity for this ‘Tommy.’ It takes monumental effort to crack your eyes open. For a second, you panic. Your vision is halved. You can’t see out of your left eye. Then, you wipe your face across the back of your hand, clearing your eye of the blood caked into your eyelashes. That explains the sticky feeling. What happened?

             “Oh, look-y there! Here’s yer chance!”

             Your head feeling as though it weighs a thousand pounds, you lift it and glance around. The room spins. You snap your eyes closed once more, waiting for everything to right itself. When you open them again, it takes a moment for everything to come into focus.

             You’re in a poorly lit room, like a cellar. The dirt floor is flooded, a few inches of murky water covering most of the floor. Seated on a rickety wooden table directly in front of you is an ancient sewing machine. Along the cracked and chipped walls are dusty shelves filled with dingy bottles. The whole room smells musty, air thick with humidity and something rancid, like old meat. Glancing down, you find yourself on a rusty metal table stained with—

              Movement pulls your attention to a man standing near your feet, hands on his hips. He is dressed like a sheriff and he’s leering at you. Something is tugging at the back of your mind, a memory, something urgent. It’s about the sheriff, but try as you might, you can’t bring it to the surface.

             “What’dya think of that, girlie? Wanna give ol’ Tommy a try?” You flinch away when the sheriff squeezes your calf. There’s red splattered across the front of his uniform. You hope it’s paint but instinct tells you its not.

             “Where am I?” Your words are slurred, your dry tongue thick in your mouth.

             “Bonked yer noggin real good, didn’t I?” The sheriff says with a harsh laugh. You focus on his face, on his dark eyes and his cruel lips pulled back in a sneer over yellowed teeth.

              Another noisy thwack makes you crane your neck to look behind you. Instantly, you wish you hadn’t. There’s another man there, his back to you. Tommy. His shoulder length hair is dark and his shirt, wet with sweat, clings to his broad shoulders. He’s huge, menacing even when he’s not looking at you. He’s hacking away at a mangled body, suspended in the air by chains and missing several limbs.

              Chainsaw. Screaming. Shredded flesh. SMACK goes the shotgun butt to your head.

               Memory returns like a punch in the gut and you suck in air through your teeth. You recoil, clawing at the edge of the table to pull yourself away from the monster behind you. These murderers, these animals killed…oh god, your friends…oh god, Annie….

                The scream is out of your throat before you register it’s coming. You shriek and cry, scrambling across the table toward the stairs behind you, but you’ve forgotten about the sheriff. One of his hands finds your hair, the other gripping your jaw roughly to hold you in place.

                 You writhe in his grip, but freeze when Tommy finally turns around. He wears a leather mask over the bottom half of his face. His eyes are hidden under his brow, too hard to see in the poorly lit room. You whimper, sweaty hair sticking to your tear streaked cheeks, heart hammering against your ribs.

               “Honeymoon’s over, huh?” Another mean laugh and the sheriff wiggles your head playfully back and forth, “Who’ll it be, Tommy? You or me?”

                You sob, the real reason you were kept alive now out in the open. Panic rises and you grasp his wrists, attempting to wrench yourself free. The sheriff grunts, squeezing your jaw painfully in retaliation.

               “Ya’ like that, honey? Wanna give Sheriff Hoyt a taste?” His breath reeks of stale chewing tobacco when he breaths out across your face.

             The loud clang from across the room startles you both. Tommy has set his cleaver down hard on a nearby table. He’s facing away from you again, his shoulders rising and falling in heavy breaths.

             “Weh-hell, Thomas Brown Hewitt! If I didn’t know any better, I’d say yer jealous!”

             You blink. Panic subsides, replaced by rational thought. The gears in your head whirl at top speed. Maybe this isn’t the end for you, not just yet. A plan drops into place.

             If Hoyt—if that’s really his name—gets his way, he will fuck you, kill you, and that will be that. But Thomas…. You bet that mask he’s wearing is hiding something, maybe a deformity, maybe something else. You’ll also guess not many people have been kind to him throughout his life. People are cruel and if you don’t look normal, most are quick to point it out. Perhaps, if you can win Thomas over, you’ll have a chance at survival. Who would dare challenge a chainsaw-wielding behemoth?

             It’s a gamble, sure, but it’s a gamble you must make.

             “Alright boy, alright.” Hoyt relents, releasing your head and standing up straight. “I’ll give ya’ twenty minutes. If she’s still dressed by the time I get back, I’m putting my foot down.” He laughs, long and loud as he turns and stomps up the stairs. You’re glad to see him go, but now you’re alone with Thomas.

             He still isn’t looking at you. He hasn’t spoken a word this entire time either. Maybe he can’t. You might just have to do the talking for him.

             You close your eyes and inhale slowly, steeling yourself. You push down the revulsion and fear and grief, shoving them deep in your heart to be revisited later. You must be calm. This is your only option.

             “Um, Tommy?” You try, keeping your voice as level as you can. You swallow to lend moisture to your dry throat. “Is…is it okay if I call you Tommy?” Thomas half turns, glancing at you over his shoulder and giving a curt nod. You scoot to the edge of the table and let your legs dangle over the side, hiking your dress up as discreetly as you can.

             “Um. The…the sheriff…Hoyt…. He didn’t really give us much time. Um, if it’s…I mean, I know I’m not—not in charge here, but…if it was up to me, I would…I, um, would want it to be y-you.” You glance up at him under your eyelashes, dipping your shoulder so the strap of your dress slips down your arm.

             Thomas turns further toward you, staring. You wish you could see his eyes through the gloom or know what he’s thinking. Did you guess wrong? Is he going to pick up that cleaver and bury it in your skull for your trouble? Desperately, you will your racing heart to be calm.

             Finally, he looks away. Reaching behind him, he unties his gore-soaked apron, lifting it over his head and draping it on a shelf. He begins to move toward you but pauses, turning quickly and plunging his hands into a bucket of water near the corpse dangling from the ceiling like a macabre marionette. Hastily, he scrubs his palms and fingernails. Seemingly satisfied, he wipes them on a dirty rag before turning back to you.

             Cautiously he approaches, like you’ll spook and run if he moves too quickly. He might be right. When he’s close enough for you to reach out and touch him, he stops, hands moving to his pockets, then behind him, then in front of him again. He’s nervous. He’s never done this before, you realize. That thought is almost a relief. Almost.

             You meet his gaze. His eyes are dark blue, deep and expressive. You can see his hesitance in his eyes and his body language, in the way he’s almost half turned away, as though he might run instead.

             You bite your lip and reach for his hand. Your trembling fingers close around his and you pull him closer. He lets you tow him, helplessly, until he’s standing between your legs. This close, you can smell him; sweat, coppery like blood, and something pine scented, like cleaner or cheap soap.

You place his palm on your bare knee. Christ, his hands are enormous, palms and fingertips calloused and rough against your sweaty skin. You’re sure he could crush your knee like a soda can with just one firm grasp.

             He doesn’t move, simply staring at the hand on your leg like he can’t believe this is happening. A twinge of annoyance burns under the fear. You don’t have time for this. Hoyt could come back at any minute.

             You reach under your dress, hooking your fingers in your panties before dragging them down your legs. Thomas jerks his hand away like your skin has burned him, awkwardly clasping and unclasping his fingers as you set the garment on the table next to you. Again, you reach for his hand, pulling him back, scooting closer to him until you can feel the heat from his body between your spread legs.

             This time, you guide his palm up the expanse of your thigh, under your dress. He sucks in a breath when you press his fingers to your cunt. You meet his gaze again and find him searching your face. He’s looking for something, maybe fear, or disgust, something….

             “It’s—it’s okay, Tommy,” you whisper, voice quivering, “Touch me, please.”

             He does, slowly, gingerly. His thick fingers explore the skin at the apex of your thighs, then trace between your lips, learning you. You’re sure it’s unintentional when he teases your opening before moving higher. You can’t stop the shaky gasp that slips from your trembling lips when he brushes against your clit.

             Thomas, ever observant, does it again, then applies more pressure, circling the calloused pad of his thumb around the sensitive bud. Your eyelids flutter and, unbidden, your hips buck into his hand. All the while Thomas stares, hardly blinking, watching for your reactions.

             Heat curls through your gut, surprising you, at Tommy’s ministrations. He keeps a steady, maddening pace that soon has slick leaking from your neglected cunt. Half-whimpers climb up out of your throat, barely contained behind your teeth.

             Thomas eases up and you’re almost disappointed, but then his fingers slip down your slit to find your soaked entrance once more. Testing, searching, he pushes a finger past your folds, slipping into you. Another gasp tumbles from your mouth. Just his finger, thick as it is, is almost enough.

             You grasp his forearm, urging him to move his hand. He catches on quickly and soon he’s pumping his finger in and out of you. Pleasure blooms through your core and you grind your hips down into his hand.

             “Tommy, can—can you use another finger, please, I need—

             You choke on a moan when he wastes no time in obliging, slipping another finger in next to the first. This is ridiculous, you think deliriously. You’re not sure you’ve ever been this wet before. You can feel it dripping down your thighs to pool under your ass and into Tommy’s palm.

             The coil of lust within you tightens and you realize with shock that you’re going to cum. This huge, deranged murderer is going to make you cum on his fingers. And you’re not going to help him.

             You rock your hips once, twice and then stars explode behind your eyes, knees clamping shut around his arm. Thomas groans above you, his other hand wrapping around the back of your neck, keeping you seated on his fingers when you try to pull away.

             Are you sure he hasn’t done this before?

             You pant and shudder, finally peeling your eyes open to meet Thomas’ heated gaze. His own chest heaves, the hand on your neck shaking. You swallow, intimidated by him all over again. You think he might bore a hole through your head with his gaze alone. Does he look at all his victims like this?

             You shake your head, ridding yourself of your tumultuous thoughts. You have no idea how much time you have left. Hurry, you must hurry.

             Thomas must be thinking the same thing because he gently pulls his fingers from your heat. They drip, little droplets splashing into the water covering his boots. He releases your neck to adjust himself and your eyes fall to the sizeable bulge in his pants.

             It’s your turn to watch his face as you reach out and unbuckle his belt. Slowly, you pop the button, slide the zipper. He releases a shaky exhale when you run your thumb along the long length of the overheated cock hiding behind his briefs.

             “Oh fuck,” you whisper when you free him from his underwear. Of course, his cock is huge just like the rest of him; girthy, long, one massive vein running along the underside. You’re unsure if you can handle him.

             Thomas frowns at your words, but you’re quick to reassure him, “I’m sorry, I’m just…you’re, uh, really big so I was just, um….” Your words trail off into nervous laughter, “Will you go slow?” you plead, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

             Thomas nods earnestly, reaching out as if he is going to cup your face. He pauses, fingers inches from your cheek, and the hand withdraws, settling nervously next to your hip. You take another deep breath. No time, no time.

             You scoot forward, spreading your thighs wide to accommodate his hips. You grip him, hard and hot under your palm, and guide him to your slick entrance. Thomas tenses when you hook your leg around his hip, using it to ease him toward you.

             Sweat beads along your forehead as he inches forward, taking the lead once you release him and lean back on your palms to brace yourself. Thomas grips your hips with shaking hands, pulling you forward, stuffing you full with his cock.

             The uncomfortable stretch is there, certainly, quivering muscles straining around Tommy’s generous girth, but your slickness eases the passage and you feel warm pleasure winning out over pain. Before long, he’s fully seated within you, his haggard breaths washing over your sweaty forehead.

             Thomas moves and you gasp, one hand flying to grip the front of his shirt. The drag of his cock along your overstuffed walls is unreal. You sigh, biting your lip in a futile attempt to keep the embarrassing sounds safely in your mouth.

             A strained groan leaves Tommy and he jerks his hips forward, wrenching a surprised mewl from your own mouth. That noise, or the way you clench around him must destroy his resolve. The grip on your hips turns bruising and Thomas begins pounding into you with enthusiasm.

             All you can do is clap a hand over your mouth, your other hand white knuckled and braced against the table. Each harsh thrust sends a jolt of pleasure up through your gut, causing you to lose control of your words.

             “Please, please, pleasepleaseplease,” you chant, not even sure what you’re begging for, your mind hazy with desire. You can barely hear yourself over the noisy slap of skin against skin, the wet squelch of your battered cunt, and the creaking of the rusty table under you.

             Thomas trembles, his thighs tensing under yours. He grunts and you can tell from the sound that he’s gritting his teeth. He’s trying not to cum. How he’s lasted this long is beyond you, but he isn’t going to have to wait much longer.

             That tight coil has returned, burning hot pleasure zinging up your back and racing across your skin. Thomas moves one hand up your hip to dig his fingers into your waist. He’s so strong, so ruthless in the way he pulls you onto his cock. He could break your spine with little effort.

             The coil snaps and you cry out, your body tensing and arching. You grip Thomas’ shoulders for dear life, pleasure pulsing through you in powerful waves as tears spill down your cheeks. At the same moment, Thomas buries his cock as deep as he can, groaning and rutting against you as he fills you up. It sits warm in your belly before trickling down your ass to make an even bigger mess of the table beneath you.

             You pant together as though you’ve both just finished a marathon. You glance up to find Thomas studying you again, searching your eyes and face. This time, he does cup your cheek, rough thumb stroking your flushed skin. The action is so unexpectedly tender your breath hitches. The way he’s looking at you—

             The door at the top of the stairs bangs open and you nearly leap out of your skin. Thomas jerks away from you to quickly button up his slacks. You reach for your underwear but don’t have a chance to put them on before Thomas scoops you into his arms, cradling you protectively against his broad chest.

             “Well, well, well, what have you lovebirds been up to?”

             You don’t hear Hoyt’s antagonizing question. You don’t hear anything but the blood pumping in your ears and your own ragged breathing. The way Thomas is holding you, gripping your flesh like his life depends on it, your cunt dripping with his cum, you know.

             You know he’s never going to let you go.

[theres-an-impulstor-among-us]

Okokokok hear me out. You wrote watcher Grian and his boys before. How about dad Grian and his two (robot) sons? (That he certainly didn't just leave in closet)

Oh you asked for two robot sons? How about FOUR? :D

…

NPC Grian is tired of his closet. All he wants is a big open space to build rustic houses in peace, but Grian won’t let him. He has to stay here, away from everyone else, as if Grian is ashamed of him. Not that he thinks about that too much. It starts to hurt if he does.

Sometimes, he thinks just some company would be nice. Someone to talk to, to make his life in this tiny room less lonely. He used to put on a different voice and pretend he had a friend with him, but he doesn’t do that anymore. It just hurts too much when he stops talking and realises he’s still on his own.

How much time has gone by while he’s been in here? Days? Months? Years? He can hardly remember the last time Grian visited him. But his orders were very strict, and NPG cannot disobey his programming. He cannot leave the closet.

Do not leave the closet.

He can feel his energy depleting as his battery runs out. It lasts for years at a time so it must be at least that long since Grian visited him last. At least his lonely existence is coming to an end.

Do not leave the closet.

Do not leave the closet.

…

NPG opens his eyes and realises immediately that he is no longer in his closet. Instead, he can see trees. Grass. A blue sky. The sun.

He’s outside.

He sits bolt upright, his programming protesting violently.

“Hey, easy now,” comes a metallic voice. “You’re still recharging.”

NPG glances to his right and finds, to his shock, a robotic-looking version of Grian gazing back at him. “Who are you? How did I get out here?”

“My name is Robot Grian,” he responds. “And I brought you out here. You’d passed out in your closet; I guessed you’d run out of battery. I helped you recharge.”

“Robot Grian?” repeats NPG slowly. “I’ve never heard of you.”

“That’s because I am the second of Grian’s creations, created to fill the void after Grian decided you were of no use to him anymore. And there are others out there who need our help.”

NPG blinks at him. “Really? Grian has more creations?”

“Yes. Two more who need saving before they end up like you and me.”

After a moment, NPG glances away. “I can’t. I have to go back to the closet. I was ordered never to leave.”

“NPG, Grian doesn’t care about you,” insists Robot Grian. “Did you know you recharge using solar energy?”

NPG hesitates. “No, I didn’t know that.”

“And Grian still kept you locked away in a place where you’d never see the sun. That’s what he does, you know. He tosses us aside as soon as we’ve served our purpose and makes sure nobody ever finds out we ever existed. He may have created you but you don’t owe him anything. You don’t have to follow his orders anymore.”

NPG thinks about this for a while. Robot Grian’s words ring true; NPG is tired of living in a closet but if Grian had his way, he would never see the light of day again. If NPG ever wants to be happy, he knows he has to be free.

“Okay, so what is our plan?” he asks.

Robot Grian appears pleased at his decision. “As I said, there are two others who have been abandoned by Grian. We go free them then we go to Grian and force him to accept us for who we are.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then we leave. He can’t overpower all four of us if we catch him on his own.”

“I see…” NPG pauses again. “If we are truly committed to moving on from just being Grian’s creations, then I would like to change my name.”

“Good idea,” says Robot Grian approvingly. “To what?”

“Rustic House,” NPG replies immediately. “My one true love.”

Robot Grian looks taken aback by his instant and rather bizarre answer. “Okay… What about Rusty?”

“Hmm… A nickname for Rustic House. I like it!” Rusty beams. This is the happiest he has been in years. “What will you be called?”

After a moment, Robot Grian shrugs. “You make up a name for me.”

“Me? Okay. Roby.”

“Whoa, okay, that was quick. Why that?”

“It’s short for Robot,” Rusty explains. “I think it’s cute.”

“Huh.” His new companion considers this. “I kinda like it, actually. And really, anything’s better than having someone else’s name with “Robot” tacked onto the front to differentiate myself from the original.”

“Yay! Are you my friend, Roby?”

Roby thinks. “I guess we’re more like brothers, aren’t we? We were both created by the same person, so-.”

Rusty’s smile widens and he grabs Roby in a hug. “This is amazing! I’ve never even had a friend before, let alone a brother.”

Roby chuckles, before carefully removing Rusty’s arms from around him. “Okay, sure. Remember, we’ve got two more brothers out there who need our help, so we’d better get going quickly, before Grian realises we’re missing.”

…

Roby leads Rusty to a giant box out in the ocean. He digs a hole into it and drops down, landing as lightly as a cat.

Next to him, Rusty falls on his face.

Rolling his eyes amusedly, Roby moves further into the room, which is decorated like the outside world, with a painted blue sky and grass as the floor.

“Who are we here to rescue?” asks Rusty, jumping to his feet.

“Him.”

Roby gestures upwards. Rusty follows his gaze and finds a large robotic shell sitting against the back wall, its face and outstretched arms frozen in perpetual satisfaction.

“Meet Grumbot,” Roby says. “He was created by Grian and his friend Mumbo Jumbo to be a mayoral campaign robot. They eventually blamed him for Mumbo’s loss in the election and abandoned him here, claiming he’s “happy” in this fake reality.”

“We’re gonna save him, right?” asks Rusty eagerly.

Roby nods, encouraged by Rusty’s enthusiasm. “Yes, indeed. I’m not entirely sure if Grian knows this, but the Grumbot you see before you is actually just a gigantic shell. The real Grumbot is inside what you might call its “brain”, supplying the larger body with its energy and knowledge.”

“Whoa…!”

“Yup. Wait there.”

Roby climbs up Grumbot’s outer shell and slips through a crack in its head.

Inside the nerve centre, he finds a smaller version of Grumbot, complete with moustache and Grian-style hair. He is slumped against the wall of his prison, unresponsive, just as Rusty had been when Roby found him.

Roby may be a robot but even he can feel sadness welling up in him at the sight of the little robot, a little over half his size, all alone in this place. He gathers Grumbot into his arms and slips back out through the crack.

Rusty helps him get down, his eyes fixed on the little robot in Roby’s arms. “Is this Grumbot?”

Roby nods. “This is him. I don’t know how he recharges but we’d better get him away from here. It can’t be doing him any good.”

The two leave the giant box and hop back into the boat they rowed here in. As they get further away from the prison, Grumbot starts to stir, as if waking up from a deep sleep. His eyes open just as the boat is pulling up to the dock.

“Hey,” Roby says gently, carrying him onto the shore. “Can you hear me?”

Grumbot blinks at him a few times. “Yes. Who are you?”

“My name is Robot Gr-.” Roby almost forgets his new name. “I’m Roby. This is Rusty.”

Rusty beams as he drags the boat from the water. “Hi!”

Grumbot tips his head on one side. “Who am I?”

“Your name is Grum,” Rusty tells him, before Roby can speak. “You’re a robot made by Grian and now we’re forming a gang so we can go beat him up for abandoning us.”

“That last bit isn’t true,” Roby says quickly. “We’re not going to beat him up. We just want him to accept us for who we are. All four of us.”

Grum glances from Rusty to Roby. “Where are my dads?”

Roby winces. He knows he has to break some bad news to the equivalent of a child. “They… um… they left. But that’s why we’re gathering our group together: so we can find our… our dad and make him accept us.”

Grum pauses, digesting this information. “Rusty. And Roby. And Grum?”

Roby nods encouragingly. “Yeah. You’re one of us, Grum. We’re gonna look after you, okay?”

To Roby’s relief, Grum smiles and nods. “Okay. Thank you.”

“You’re… welcome.”

…

Roby leads the other two to the place where they will find the final creation: Grian’s hobbit hole starter base. “I did some recon here a few days ago,” he says as the group make their way inside. “Grian keeps him in a closet, just like you, Rusty.”

“Closets are lonely and devoid of hope,” says Rusty.

Roby nods, unsure of how else to react to that. “Indeed. He was Grian’s original cam account but Grian dumped him in favour of the new one he uses now. That only happened a few months ago though, so he shouldn’t be as low on charge as you two are.”

The closet is located in Grian’s bedroom upstairs. Roby gestures for the others to stand back, before he opens the door.

Immediately, a figure shoves past him and zooms for the door. Thankfully, Rusty is standing in the way and he stops the person from escaping.

“It’s okay, it’s okay!” Roby scrambles up from the floor and gets in front of the figure, holding out his hands reassuringly. “It’s okay, we’re not gonna hurt you. We’re here to help, okay?”

Now that the person has stopped moving, the others can see that he too looks exactly like Grian, except with bigger, more expressive eyes, which are filled with pain and fear.

“It’s Grifter, right?” asks Roby softly. “Your name is Grifter?”

After a moment, the frightened cam account nods.

“Can you talk to me? Are you alright?”

Another pause. Finally, Grifter opens his mouth and croaks, “Where’s Grian? Wh-Who are you?”

“I’m Roby. That’s Rusty and Grum.” Roby indicates his brothers in turn. “Grian is… probably at his mansion at the moment.”

“Grian abandoned me.” Grifter’s face screws up as if he is about to cry. “I tried so hard to be a good cam account but he replaced me. What did I do wrong?”

“I’m positive you didn’t do anything,” Roby assures him. “Grian has an issue with creating things and then abandoning them when he doesn’t know what to do with them anymore. But now that we're all together, we can go find Grian and make him accept us.”

Grifter slowly looks around at the other three. “You guys were abandoned too?”

Rusty and Grum nod at the same time. “He locked me in a closet,” says Rusty helpfully.

“I was imprisoned in the brain of a larger version of myself that I was forced to feed with my infinite knowledge and energy until I had nothing left inside me except crippling loneliness and a rapidly depleting battery,” Grum says.

The other three stare at him.

“Okay, that’s the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard,” Grifter says, before turning back to Roby. “And you think we can just get him to accept us?”

Roby nods. “I do. Grian isn’t a bad person; he just doesn’t know what to do with us anymore. If we show him that we have purpose and our sentience has grown, maybe he’ll see us as actual living beings instead of unfeeling robots.”

“You are a robot, though,” Rusty points out.

“That’s beside the point.”

…

Rusty, Roby, Grum, and Grifter make their way into Grian’s mansion. They immediately find him working on something on the foyer, head buried in one of the many chests lining the walls.

For a moment, the group dithers a safe distance away, unsure how to start.

“Dad!” Grum calls unexpectedly.

Grian nearly jumps out of his skin. He sharply turns and his eyes widen as he registers his four creations standing together a little way off.

“O-Oh my god… What are you all doing here…?”

“We wanted to talk to you,” says Roby, taking the lead when it’s clear nobody else will. “You’re technically our father so we want to talk to you about… events that happened.”

Grian hesitates. “You mean… me locking you four away from the rest of the world?”

All four of them nod at the same time, causing Grian to sigh quietly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt any of you, I just… You all grew far beyond what I expected and I didn’t know how to handle that.”

“You abandoned us!” Grum cries. “You and other dad left me all on my own in a box in the middle of the ocean! How could you think I would be happy there?!”

Grian winces. “I’m sorry, Grumbot…”

“My name is Grum now.”

“We changed our names,” explains Roby. “I’m Roby. NPG is now Rusty. And Grifter is… just the same, really.”

“You changed your names? Why?”

“Because we’re trying to show you we don’t want to be your forgotten clones anymore,” says Roby. “We’re more like your sons. All we want is for you to accept us and love us the way we are. There’s no need to be ashamed or scared of us. We just want to live.”

“We can be a family,” says Rusty out of nowhere. “Right…?”

Grian stares at them for a moment, before giving a small smile. “We can absolutely be a family.”

Beaming, Rusty rushes over to Grian and hugs him. Grum joins soon after, and so do Grifter and then Roby.

“We’ve still got a lot to talk about,” says Grifter pointedly. “About how you made us feel with your abandonment of us.”

“Of course.” Grian nods. “I know I hurt you and I’ll make up for that. Things aren’t going to be perfect straight away.”

Rusty nods. He knows this. It’s obvious that they still have issues to work out but that hardly matters at the moment. What matters is he’s finally out of that closet AND he has a brand new family.

Finally, Grian is accepting him.

[justgenshinstuf]

hiii! can i request hcs for diluc, zhongli and childe on how they would confess to reader who likes them too but is really oblivious? HAHA thank you! ^^

Thank you for hc request! Sorry for the wait and hope you enjoy :3

Confession Headcanons

He takes a long time to come to terms with his feelings for you. Almost like 7 stages of grief.

At first he thought it was just a passing interest, then he tried to convince himself being friends is enough for him to feel happy. The more time you’d spent together, the more he realised he is absolutely addicted.

It soon became impossible for him to keep it all to himself. The way his heart was beating faster when he sees you, how his legs became weak, how he couldn’t help but think about what you’ve been up to during his work hours, how he wished to have you by his side on nightly vigilante missions.

He was scared to death of making a confession, no enemy could possibly make him this terrified.  He would’ve never built up his courage if not for the fact that he couldn’t look at you anymore without thoughts of getting closer, touching, embracing. It was like a progressing illness.

He realised how lonely he was without you. You managed to make him so happy but so scared at the same time, afraid he’ll never have a chance to bathe in your otherworldly light, to be worthy of your love.

He’d made battling darkness alone his only life goal, but now he was attracted to the light and might burn to ashes because of it.

On one of the ordinary days he just spits it out. After the sleepless night of thinking and pacing around his room the only thing he was able to say to your face was a plain and simple «I think I love you, y/n». No words could possibly describe how he truly feels about you. He just didn’t know how to present it no matter how much time he’d spent thinking, and now a choking feeling in his throat was leaving him completely voiceless.

You wouldn’t get it at first. Have you herd him right? This can’t be it. You’d never even considered Diluc liking you back, like, in more than friends way. You’d love to hear those words from him, but this was just too good to be true, right?

When you awkwardly said he is your best teammate ever too, you could almost see all the colour disappear from his face. Something clicked and those rusty wheels in your head finally started turning. You couldn’t help but let out a loud gasp, covering your mouth with both your hands.

«Wait! No no no, you mean love like in IN love?!»

You suddenly felt a whole range of different emotions from wild excitement to gravely embarrassment. Unable to stay still, you rushed to grab Diluc’s hands in yours, tightly squeezing his thick gloves. At that moment you could feel him shacking a bit.

«Forget what I’ve said! Let’s do this again!» You took a deep breath before reassuring Diluc you actually love him back. You then froze in place with your eyes shut, still grabbing onto his hands, slowly turning red enough to match your beloved one’s hair.

Diluc could barely hear you over the thudding in his temples. His hands felt numb from your touch, that choking feeling in his throat suddenly started growing stronger. In a sharp move he put you in a tight embrace, pressing his lips against the top of your head, so tight, like he wanted you to merge into one.

You could now feel his irregular warmth with your whole body, hear his heart racing. «Sorry for acting dumb». You quietly muttered into his chest.

You couldn’t possibly see his eyes getting a bit watery and decided to pretend you hadn’t noticed his voice being shaky as he gently murmured: «I’m so happy right now, you have no idea».

He’d never experienced something quite like that before, but now, when he was finally free from his archon duties and could pay more attention to his feeling and relationships, he came to a surprising realisation.

For some reason he couldn’t quite understand, he could feel closer to you than anybody else he’d met. Maybe it was the fact you come from another world and he is an ex-archon in retirement?

This feeling was truly beyond his reach, but now there was no time to waste. Something this important should be handled the proper way. He wasn’t fully convinced you were a perfect match for each other, but in his idea it wouldn’t be fair to keep you in the dark about his feelings for you.

Years spent observing common folk and breathing with the culture of Liyue had certainly taught Zhongli something about how mortals handle this thing they call love, but he still felt a bit lost. He needed to learn more, to understand better, this was no place for stupid mistakes.

That one special evening he invited you to an opera, it was an outstanding performance of a famous Liyue singer. You were a bit nervous, it seemed almost like a date for some reason, and Zhongli seemed more elegant and suave than you’d previously noticed.

After that he invited you to his place for a dinner. You joked a little about him not having enough mora to feed both of you to hide your embarrassment. Rendezvous with Zhongli have alway felt so thrilling. His stoic and a bit mysterious presence made your thoughts fly apart.

He just laughed (oh, that beautiful voice) and said it was a special occasion. The suspense was killing you, was he really enjoying your company that much to prepare some kind of a surprise?

When he opened a door for you to enter, you were immediately blown away by the sight of the room alone. Decorated with beautiful flowers, and even a few Glaze Lillys, it was illuminated with multiple candles, which emitted a pleasant and calming odour. The table was served with probably a bit too many dishes for both of you, all of which looked more like hyper-realistic models of food straight from the pictures.

Frozen in place from shock, observing all the beauty in front of you, for a moment you felt like you entered the pages of a romantic novel (or maybe one of your wettest dreams, could be both). Before you could even articulate a question about the occasion, Zhongli lowered in front of you, looking straight into your eyes.

He gently put a beautiful antique comb incrusted with jades into your hand. «Please, accept this little gift as a sign of my upmost adoration». It was hard to maintain eye contact when he looked straight at you with such a serious expression, so you shifted your gaze, fixating on your small hand in his.

«For a long time now I wanted to make a confession. I feel like I am in love with you, y/n». He tightened his grip on your now shaky hand for a brief second before letting go. «Don’t worry, I understand it might not be mutual. I thought it would be fair to not hide something like th…»

You didn’t give him a chance to finish, putting your hand on his cheek, still holding his beautiful gift in another. The last thing you saw were his light pupils growing wider in surprise when you pressed a gentle kiss on his lips. «I think I love you too».

Now the tables have turned and Zhongli became the one flustered and lost, before he blessed you with a rare sight of him genuinely smiling.

«You never cease to amaze me, traveler from another world».

He knew you liked him before you could even admit it to yourself, this proud and self-confident rascal. He was perfectly aware no one can resist his teasingly flirty charm.

For some reason he completely missed the moment he started falling for you too. When did the fact you are his opponent became more important than the thrill of a friendly combat? Your wit, your grace, your unthinkable power, it suddenly blew the poor boy away.

Tartaglia became more and more serious during your time together, joking less, being lost in thoughts more, making dumb mistakes during battles. The fact he couldn’t come up with a good way to ask you out frustrated him. He couldn’t even fight properly, for archons’ sake, what is this?

It was his first time finding such interest in something besides being a ruthless warrior. One day he strives to conquer the world and now he is worried to ask you out. Pathetic.

He wanted to make it a casual, but decent confession, something worthy of you. But it still made him nervous. Did all-mighty Fatui Harbinger feel suddenly insecure? Would someone like you even want to date him after he’d been such an ass? Did you really like him back, or did he make it all up in his head to boost his ego?

He couldn’t take it much longer before he decided to approach the situation head-on. No time for this lovesick mess.

Childe surprised you with his sudden appearance from behind, putting a little white flower into your hair. «Hey~ looking pretty today! Care to go for a stroll with your favourite Harbinger?»

Seeing him always made you smile, but you didn’t have time for a sparring session today. You tried to politely decline his offer, but he reassured you it had nothing to do with fighting this time.

One awkward moment of silence later he laughed nervously, scratching the back of his head. You noticed he was holding something behind his back.

«I bought you a little something. It’s a gift and… I think it should match you perfectly».

He pulled out a shiny ring sitting in a little box, a pinky blush slowly started covering his face. He was swaying around a bit while staying in place, not even hiding his nervousness anymore.

«I wanted to tell you that… Well I kind of… I really like you, y/n. Will you go out with me?»

He laughed a bit again, before realising you were shooting a deadly gaze at him. Almost like during mid-combat, when you are almost ready to murder him.

«You think this is funny?»  You were so pissed you could barely keep your voice down. «I don’t have time for your stupid pranks!»

Oh, poor soul, you were convinced he was just messing with you again. No way someone like Childe could be serious about something like this. And even the ring? The audacity!

«Oi, wait, I’m serious!» He rushed to grab your arm before you could turn away to leave. «I don’t even want to fight you anymore. I know I look stupid right now, but thats how I really feel. I want you! I don’t know how to do this properly, but, please, just hear me out!»

Something in the tone of his voice finally convinced you this was sincere. A playful smile crossed your lips when you grabbed him back by his jacket.

«So, does this mean you accept your defeat?» His face being almost red now made you giggle.

«No, I’m taking the first prize!» Tartaglia quickly retorted, gaining his confidence back. He picked you up from the ground and started spinning you around a bit, both of you laughing.

«Seriously, I love you, y/n». He whispered quietly, snuggling you closer to him.

[crispyjenkins]

Can you do more of that mandalorian obiwan jangobi fic? It was so good!

(i’m very feckin attached to this obi and i’m so happy y’all want more. blood and injury warning for this one! jangobi is very soft but obi is very bad at keeping himself alive, and ruusaan is the only one with a braincell. part 1 here!

umm. this got really long. it just... kept getting longer. fills will not be this long consistently i just. i really love this obi.

**ruusaan’s name and design from this! thank you to @amillionstarsandyouchoosethisone for letting me write her, i love her dearly)

 Ruusaan remembers a time before the Supercommando Codex, even if her sisters do not, and as soon as she’s old enough to follow Mereel, she crashes the Duke’s council meeting discussing the cutting of the budget for the poorer levels of Sundari. In front of every one of her father’s supporters, she recites the shuk’la buirok and leaves every Kalevalan piece of herself behind.

  The Haat Mando’ade welcome her with open arms in spite of her origins, Mereel trains her to fight and helps her build her beskar’gam, and she hopes someday her sisters will grow to make their own decisions as she had. 

  Ruusaan walks her path alone unless Mereel calls on her, traveling the stars as Haat'ad, nameless still, but infinitely free. She has no right to Mandalore as her dar'buir believes, but she can live the Truth, and if that's good enough for her Mand'alor, then it’s good enough for her. 

  When she accepts the call to Melida/Daan seven years after joining Mereel, she does so with caution —she will not pull the Haat'ade into their war— but when she lands just outside the capital of Zehava, she’s greeted by a small party of children. A girl that can’t be much older than Satine approaches Ruusaan immediately, red hair greasy and in disarray, but exuding determination.

  “You’re the commando?” she demands without preamble, hiding her shaking hands by forcing them into fists. 

  Ruusaan removes her helmet and tucks it under her arm so the kid can see her raise her eyebrow. “I am. You put out the contract?”

  The girl clenches her jaw and nods. “I’m Cerasi. I need you to get someone to Coruscant.”

  Immediately wary, Ruusaan looks around the girl to the other children, who stand around someone that positively hums in the Force. “Your contract said transport of goods.”

  “He belongs to the Jedi,” she says, spitting the word like it’s poison. “But they aren’t answering his communications, and we— Force, we don’t know what’s wrong with him.” Her confidence falters, darting a quick look behind herself before gripping her arm. “Listen, I don’t have much, we only just won and Nield isn’t— He helped us, he’s the reason we won, no matter what the rest of the Young say. He doesn’t deserve to die here.”

  “Kid, I’m not taking your money,” Ruusaan cuts in, Cerasi’s face falling before she continues, “Mandos have creeds about children, I’ll take him for free. Where is he?”

  It takes Cerasi a moment to realise what all that means, but then blinks and dashes back to the little group of children. With a growing sense of foreboding, Ruusaan follows, watching the kids part to show a tiny padawan in dirty tunics laying in a makeshift litter, and Ruusaan has to close her eyes for a moment to calm herself. The Force around him wavers like a heat haze, and Ruusaan isn’t trained enough to know what that means; nothing good, if the flickering of the boy’s Force signature is anything to go by.

  There’s dried blood on his lips and chin, and she can hear his breathing from here, ragged like it hurts, and it probably does. Cerasi bites her lip and moves to pick the kid up, but Ruusaan quickly steps in and kneels to check the kid’s ribs first. Nothing seems broken, he barely even seems bruised, which certainly doesn’t fill her with confidence, but at least it’s safe enough to lift him.

  She puts her helmet back on before carefully scooping the kid into her arms, and he actually feels an alright weight for how thin the other children look. Ruusaan turns back towards her ship and jerks her head for Carasi to follow her.

  “What’s his name?”

  Cerasi quickly moves to catch up, chewing at her lip again. “Obi-Wan, but that isn’t what the Jedi he was with called him.”

  Hm. “How long has he been sick?”

  “He came to us like that. He would just— cough, all the time, and the Jedi didn’t know what was wrong with him.” She follows Ruusaan up the ramp into her little ship, heading for the medbay. “He— After he promised to help us, the Jedi left him here.”

  Rage nearly smothers her, and Ruusaan locks it into her chest for later, after she leaves atmo; Obi-Wan twitches in her arms in response to her sudden spike of emotion, and she can’t have that. “They left him?”

  “Look, I don’t— I don’t know how it all works. But Obi-Wan gave up being a padawan to help us, I think, and I think that’s why the Jedi aren’t responding.” Cerasi watches her set Obi-Wan on the far-too large bed, her lip starting to bleed under her teeth.

  Ruusaan hands her a tissue, but sets aside her helmet to quickly cut the boy out of his tabards and tunics. Just as she had thought, Obi-Wan is wearing a compression shirt under it all; Cerasi looks terrified when she cuts him out of this too, and Ruusaan sends her a reassuring smile.

  “Peace, kid, Mandalorians accept all. Has he been wearing this often?”

  “All the time,” she says uncertainly, ducking forward when beckoned to help Ruusaan get Obi-Wan’s dirty clothes out from under him. “Is that what caused this?”

  “It certainly didn’t help.” They fall into silence as Ruusaan gets a ventilator hooked up, Cerasi jumping in to help as instructed, but there isn’t much Ruusaan can do with her sparse medical equipment. She doesn’t even have bacta. 

  “Are you... Are you going to take him to the Jedi?”

  Ruusaan snorts, making sure Obi-Wan’s vitals are being logged before turning to Cerasi. “Absolutely not. I would never return a child to those that abandoned them.”

 Obi-Wan makes a small sound, eyelids flickering for a moment, but he doesn’t wake, and Ruusaan realises her heart is in her throat. Well, that settles that, then. “I’ll take him back to my people, decide where he best belongs,” she adds, as if the gai bal manda isn’t already burning her lips. 

  It seems to satisfy Cerasi enough to return to the Young, and she leaves Obi-Wan with a kiss on the forehead and a whispered apology. She races out of the ship before Ruusaan can ask her anything else, and she does not follow. Ruusaan’s contract is on the bed behind her, and you cannot save someone who does not want to be saved.

-

  Jango doesn’t know if it’s Ruusaan or Jaster’s machinations that has him covering contracts with Obi-Wan more than any other commando, but he’d appreciate it if they stopped before Jango has an actual heart attack.

  Because Obi-Wan, for all his new calm and easy demeanor, is even more reckless than when he was a child, and Jango hadn’t thought that was possible. He jumps into fights without checking escape routes, and uses his rifle in close combat as well as his fists, he doesn’t travel with a jetpack, and he removes his helmet any time they’re not in an active right.

  “It’s easier to breathe without it,” Obi-Wan tells him on another mercy mission to Concordia. “Buir tried to hook an oxygen tank up to it, but they were all too heavy.” And he shrugs like it's fine, and Jango decides he has a death wish.

  Ruusaan either joins them on missions, or takes contracts nearby, never too far if... anything went wrong. Luckily, things rarely do, and Jango only has to see Ruusaan restart Obi-Wan’s lungs once after that first mission back, and even then Obi-Wan had been fine within the day.

  They make it a year and a half of missions together before things go wrong, stranded in a rusty hut on Yutha during a dust storm, with Ruusaan somewhere on the other side of the canyon to the North taking a different job. 

  Theirs had been a simple contract to retrieve some Neimoidian’s data disk that he’d left with a lover, and Jango is only there because Obi-Wan had asked him to be, and if it weren’t for the dust storm, it might have been as easy as it sounded.

  Obi-Wan is at the one window, the barrel of his rifle propped on the sill as he watches the red dirt road outside for anyone trying to take advantage of the storm, though they’re pretty sure their hiding spot has been abandoned for a while. Jango had taken up leaning on the wall on the other side of the window frame, watching Obi-Wan more than he’s watching the outside, and even after almost two years back working with other Haat’ade, he has trouble contending this Obi-Wan with the fourteen year-old that had once tried to set his cape on fire.

  Obi-Wan flicks his eyes to Jango with a tiny, barely-there smirk and readjusts his rifle on his shoulder before returning to his vigil. Shaking his head, Jango is almost thankful Obi-Wan had removed his helmet as soon as they’d secured the hut; how else would he have seen the Yutha sunset painted on his face? 

  Hm. He should probably look into that affection that’s becoming harder to ignore. 

  “Jango,” Obi-Wan rasps, yanking his attention away from the rising dust storm as Obi-Wan’s hand darts up to his bleeding nose. 

  His entire body jerks, his blaster rifle clattering to the floor, and Jango has to dive forward to catch him before he hits his head on the windowsill. He starts coughing before Jango can even get him laid out, struggling against Jango’s arms and splattering blood across his chestplate.

  And these coughs are worse than the last time, shorter, harsher, and Jango has been in enough battles to recognise someone going into shock.

  This is all wrong, though, it never goes this fast, where Obi-Wan is already choking on his own lungs, eyes wild as his body attempts to shake apart, and Jango’s never had to deal with this alone, and oh Force, Ruusaan “the Jedi Killer” Tra’Galar is going to lose her foundling on Jango’s watch.

  The dilapidated furniture starts to rattle as if shook from below, anything left on shelves or counters levitating for a moment before crashing to the ground. Jango yanks off his helmet and has to grab Obi-Wan’s wrists to stop him from clawing at his own armour, Jango feeling him pulling the Force in around them until it’s an almost unbearable weight. 

  And Jango can’t get him into shock position, not with him thrashing around with far more strength than he should possess with at least one lung collapsing, if his wheezing is anything to go by. His skin is cold and clammy when Jango manages to get a free hand onto his forehead, and despite years of having to patch up vode on the battlefield, Jango can’t tear his eyes from the blood that bubbles from his nose and drips down his face, staining his hair and making something dislodge in Jango’s chest. 

  “Hey, hey— Kid, hey, you with me?”

  Obi-Wan blinks and his face scrunches, but he can’t seem to focus on Jango as he tries to jerk himself free from Jango’s hand. Holding him down is going against everything Jaster had taught him about shock, but every commando he’s had to treat for it has been unconscious by now, and even when Obi-Wan’s strength gives out, going limp against the floor, he doesn’t pass out, instead staying aware of his own rattling wheezes. 

  His fingers twitch in Jango’s hand, blinking again and jerking under the palm on his forehead; somewhere behind them, a piece of furniture crashes. Jango can’t honestly remember the last time he’d seen Obi-Wan use the Force, for anything: they keep it on the downlow even around the Haat’ade, even with Ruusaan broadcasting her own sensitivity as a point of pride. And Jango has never asked, why Obi-Wan will paint his beskar’gam silver but then refuse to acknowledge his past with the Jedi.

  Something else crashes and Jango winces, moving to try and loosen Obi-Wan’s chestplate one-handed. It’s halfway through the process, with Obi-Wan’s jerking chest even more obvious, that Jango realises he isn’t going to survive it, if Obi-Wan dies like this. Force, he can’t take it if he dies like this.

  The faint hum of a jetpack is the only warning Jango gets before the door to the hut explodes under blasterfire, Ruusaan shouldering through the remains and looking like a vengeful goddess with charred armour and a slice on her cheek. 

  She drops on Obi-Wan’s other side, tossing her rifle away to put one palm over Obi-Wan’s heart, and the other on his right side over his ribs. Jango makes to pull away and let her take over, but as soon as he does, Obi-Wan starts to thrash again, and Ruusaan’s hand flies out to stop Jango.

  “Keep him calm,” she orders, brooking no argument, and Jango listens, grabbing Obi-Wan’s wrists again to settle in for seven of the worst minutes of his life — where Obi-Wan stops breathing entirely on them twice, and Ruusaan growls like a rancor before she manages to inflate both of his lungs properly. 

  Obi-Wan gasps on the sudden ability to inhale, eyes regaining some of their clarity, but he still can’t focus on either of them.

  Ruusaan is unsurprised, grabbing up her rifle to swing the strap back over his shoulder. “How far is the ship?” she demands, and Jango’s been a soldier since he was fourteen, he can fall in and defer to Ruusaan’s command, even accept her lead with relief. 

  “Just over the ridge,” he says, slamming his helmet back on and shouldering Obi-Wan’s blaster as Ruusaan picks him up like he weighs nothing, even in full beskar’gam. Bewildered and a little intimidated, Jango helps put both her and Obi-Wan’s helmets on as well — the dust storm clearly isn’t stopping, and they can’t stay here.

  He grabs Obi-Wan’s chestplate and follows Ruusaan back to their ship, and even though Obi-Wan is unconscious by the time they reach it, Jango is all too thankful to be able to close the hatch behind them. 

  In the medbay, he helps strip Obi-Wan of his armour, and then works on getting the blood off his face enough for a ventilator while Ruusaan rolls Obi-Wan’s flight suit down to his waist so she can get at his ribs.

  Jango can hardly look at him, at the patchwork of darkening lavender bruises and the way his chest scars stand out against his heated skin. Carefully lifting Obi-Wan’s head to slip on the ventilator mask, he wishes he could wash Obi-Wan’s face properly, there’s still so much dried and drying blood under his nose and down his cheeks, and he just wishes he understood what the kark is wrong with him.

  Instead of asking, Jango moves to get the bacta vaporiser set up while Ruusaan goes about checking Obi-Wan’s ribs for breaks. 

  Obi-Wan stirs when Jango is hooking up the second set of tubing to his mask, blinking blearily up at Jango as he freezes above him. They just sort of stare at each other for a moment, until Obi-Wan seems to get his bearings and relaxes under Ruusaan slowly dancing Force healing across his torso.

  Panic lodges in Jango’s throat as Obi-Wan makes several attempts to lift his hand, grunting in frustration. Ruusaan glares, but allows it when he can finally raise a loose fist to Jango’s chest, tapping over his beskar’ta in proxy of his own, thanking Jango like he had actually done anything, and Jango has to lean on the head of the bunk with both hands. 

  “K’atini,” Obi-Wan whispers, voice sounding like it’d gone through a woodchipper, and Jango thinks kriff that, this is worse than pain, and they shouldn’t have to watch this kriffing kid die because of it.

-

Mando’a:  shuk’la buirok — lit. “broken parent bond”, made up term for the real ability for a child to “divorce” their parent, legally labeling them as dar’buir or “no longer a parent”, which i’ve based on the term for spousal divorce shuk’la riduurok. Haat Mando’ade — lit. “true children of Mandalore”, True Mandalorians (slang shortened to Haat'ad/e)  beskar’gam — Armour made of beskar, “Mandalorian Iron” that was actually probably a steel alloy gai bal manda — Mando’a adoption ceremony, lit. “name and soul” buir — “parent”, gender neutral  vode — “brothers, comrades, siblings”, sing. vod, technically gender neutral but used most often in fandom as “brothers” beskar’ta — “iron heart”, the elongated hex-shape common in Mandalorian armour designs (great post here comparing them to katana tsuba). also called kar’ta beskar or “heart of the iron”. K'atini — “it is only pain”, used in the context of “get up. Keep going. You can and you will survive this.”

would gffa’s advanced medicine be able to perform mastectomies without scarring? yes. obi chose to keep his.

[cinna-vanilla]

welp this took longer than expected. also i apologize if it's bad because i am quite rusty. also this is stupidly long, sorry ksldhsd

minor tw : blood mention, injury mention

Missions were never this difficult when-- when Master Cardon was still alive. Granted, they hadn’t gone on a significant amount of missions before her passing given how young they were at the time. It seemed like Fae’s master and padawan-brother were destined to come across trouble no matter how simple or uncomplicated the mission was.

Which led the three of them to being surrounded by space pirates.

“...and here I thought we were doing pretty well.” Obi-Wan unhelpfully quipped, causing Fae to flash an exasperated look at the younger padawan.

He technically wasn’t wrong. The mission itself had gone pretty well, all things considered. At least they were on their way back to the Temple this time before things went haywire. It didn’t make his statement any more reassuring, though.

“Alright, you two. Focus on the here and now.” Qui-Gon lightly chastised.

The here and now in this case was preferably avoiding being shot with a blaster...and getting these damn pirates off their ship. Not getting shot was technically the easy part of the whole ordeal whether a fight broke out or not.

Thankfully, it seemed like negotiations were working. Until they weren’t.

Things moved faster than Fae could think. Obi-Wan was shouting and there was the scent of blood and-- and oh my god it was on them. No, no not again-- they couldn’t--

“Daddy!”

They immediately rushed to their hurt master’s side as they had more medical knowledge than their brother. With shaking hands they assessed his vital signs and began to put pressure on the wound.

The gash appeared to be deep, but there didn’t seem to be any internal damage from what the young adult could tell. Thankfully it looked like the wound wasn’t going to be life threatening.

“You-- You called me--” Qui-Gon shakily began to speak, his larger hands moving to rest over top of Fae’s.

Their cheeks burned from the realization of what they had called their master. Great. They weren’t going to be able to live this down. “J-Just rest, master.” They quietly spoke, desperately trying to do whatever damage control they could.

“Master! Are you okay?” Thankfully, Obi-Wan’s timing couldn’t have been more perfect.

He nodded, cupping the boy’s cheek with one of his hands. “I believe so, little one.”

---

The rest of the flight back to the Temple was uneventful. Fae stayed by their master’s side, applying bacta and otherwise making sure he remained stable until he could receive actual medical attention.

Qui-Gon was immediately whisked away as soon as they landed, leaving the two padawans alone with Master Yoda. Obi-Wan quickly explained the situation to the older Jedi who nodded in understanding.

Then his gaze landed on the older padawan.

“Troubled, you are.” His eyes held concern for them. “On your mind, something is.”

Their cheeks turned red. “I’m-- I’m just worried about Master Qui-Gon.” They lied.

“More like--”

They immediately slapped a hand over Obi-Wan’s mouth.

Fae could feel the vibration of his laughter under their hand as they turned to Master Yoda with an artificially sweet smile. “Everything is fine, Master, I promise.”

Both padawans knew that the older Jedi didn’t believe them. However, he didn’t press either of them further to the older one’s relief. After a moment of silence, Fae let their hand fall from their brother’s mouth.

“Visit your master, and rest, you should.” Was Master Yoda’s response.

The two of them bowed respectfully before heading into the Temple.

---

“You called him--”

“No.”

Obi-Wan groaned as the two bickered back and forth. Trying to get any emotional vulnerability out of Fae was more akin to pulling teeth. Granted, he wasn’t much better, but still!

“Why are you so embarrassed about this? It happens all the time!”

They didn’t respond. Their gaze was downcast into their lap where their hands began to tremble.

“Oh. You-- You meant it.”

Tears pooled in Fae’s eyes as they nodded. “It’s stupid. It’s childish. I-- There’s no way he’d--” Their shoulders shook as they cried.

Obi-Wan shifted closer, wrapping an arm around his sibling. “He’d what? Understand?”

“Love me back.”

“Oh.”

A heavy silence fell between the two of them. He squeezed their shoulder reassuringly as he thought of what he could say to comfort them. The quiet, rhythmic beeping of machines quickly broke the quiet.

As well as the quiet, groggy noises of their master waking up from getting stitches.

The two padawans quickly hurried to his side, the previous conversation temporarily forgotten.

“Are you okay?”

“How are you feeling?”

The two of them spoke at the same time as they started fussing over him.

Qui-Gon quietly laughed. “Easy, easy, padawans. I’m perfectly fine.”

Both of them visibly relaxed, obviously relieved that he was awake and doing well. With that knowledge in mind...Obi-Wan had an idea.

“Master, Bant asked if I could help her with an assignment. Would that be okay?”

He knew that Fae needed to talk to their master and he knew that the conversation that needed to happen would absolutely not occur as long as he remained in the room. When real excuses don’t exist, artificial ones work just as well.

Qui-Gon immediately agreed to the relief of the younger padawan. He bowed appreciatively before leaving (but not without flashing a knowing smile at his sibling).

---

Fae wrung their hands nervously. They-- They didn’t do well in these kinds of situations. They weren’t charismatic like their brother and they preferred to bottle up their emotions, unlike their master.

They flinched slightly as a hand unexpectedly brushed their cheek. “You were crying.” Their master softly spoke. “Were you that worried about me?”

“I-- I--” They stuttered, scared and unsure how to proceed.

He moved his hand from their cheek to their own hands, guiding them to sit down at the edge of the cot he laid on. “Little one...Fae...talk to me, please.”

In an attempt to hide the fact they started crying once more they covered their face with their free hand. “I-- I thought-- I thought you were going to die.” They began to tremble as they continued speaking. “There was so much blood. It was all over. It was-- it was like--”

They hunched over, their face lightly pressing into their master’s shoulder. They-- They couldn’t say it. The memory didn’t just ache, it burned deep inside of them.

“I’m so, so sorry.” Qui-Gon murmured, a hand gently stroking through his padawan’s short curls.

“You-- You’re the only Jedi that wanted to be my master after she-- after she died. Other than Master Koon, you’re the only one who-- who cared.” They swallowed the lump in their throat before sitting up to look at him. “That’s why I called you dad. Because I love you.”

His gaze softened as tears filled his own eyes. “Oh, my dear, my child...” He reached a hand to cup their cheek once again.“It would be such an honor to be your father.”

“You’re just--” They started, shaking with disbelief.

He gently kissed their forehead which silenced them. “No, my padawan. I love you too.”

[nobody-wants-ice-cream]

Everything Wrong With The Umbrella Academy. Episode 8, I Heard a Rumor.

This episode is particularly brutal. Warnings include child abuse, domestic abuse, suicide, rape, gore, and manipulation. Keep yourself safe.

We Only See Each Other at Weddings and Funerals

Run Boy Run

Extra Ordinary

Man on the Moon

Number Five

The Day That Wasn’t

The Day That Was

Disclaimer: This is all in good fun! I wanted to do a really nitpicky re-watch of the series and found some really cool and interesting things I didn’t notice before. This is meant to have a Cinema Sins-esque tone. However, I did take off a lot more sins than Cinema Sins would have because I do genuinely like the series and the people that made it possible. So all of the good things got one sin off and all the bad things got one sin added. This is a really long post, so grab some popcorn. If there’s anything that I missed, feel free to add it!

I would also like to add that normally you wouldn’t watch a show this way. I am purposefully looking for mistakes, easter eggs, and other things that we’re not supposed to notice. I am watching not with the goal of entertainment, but for analysis. So most of the things that I sin, I am seeing for the first time.

Also, no I can’t do better. I am in no way qualified to give this level of criticism about anything. I am not taking this seriously. At all. 

I Heard a Rumor

Stormy Weather by Etta James. I adore this song. When I first watched the show I was so happy when this song came on.-1

I am also taking a sin off for the Emmy Raver-Lampman version -1

It looks like Allison genuinely adores her daughter. And Claire’s bedroom? I would want to have that room now and I am at least ten years older than her. -1

Speaking of, how old is Claire? Sin until we have answers. +1

The animations for the story of The Umbrella Academy defeating the robbers at the museum. -2

“While your Uncle Klaus got a little distracted.” What did Klaus do on missions again? +1

Allison carefully censors the mission so she is still telling the truth but doesn’t actually say that Diego used knives or that Ben used the horror to (presumably, we don’t know how much control Ben had) kill four people. Good job. See Reggie, this is how you don’t traumatise your kid with violence. -1

“Their leader.” Looks suspiciously like a villain from the comics. -1

“I wanna hear the one about the Eiffel tower.” Me too, Claire. Especially since the magazine clips we see suggest Five was there this time. -1

Mind control. ON A CHILD. This is what bothers me the most about Allison as a character and I am glad that she is moving past it. However, in no universe can I let this go. Depending on how Allison used it, Claire’s emotional control could be fucked for life. +40

Patrick behaves like a rational human being and doesn’t blow up at Allison for this in front of their child. He also divorces her in order to keep said child safe. Good. -1

“I heard a rumor you love me.” Who did she say this to? It doesn’t matter who, it’s still disturbing, but oh dear God who did she say this to? I think this is the second most fucked up thing we hear Allison say after the rumoring Claire scene. +10

Allison is going 120 kmh, or 75 mph, in the rain. If you have ever driven a car in the rain then you know exactly why I am sinning this. For those who don’t know, google hydroplaning. Allison could have died here very, very easily. +3

Title screen on a billboard! I forgot how cool the episode 8 title screen was. -1

Allison doesn’t bring her proof with her when going to confront Vanya, who has been shown to be irrational when it comes to Leonard. +1

Bird jumpscare. +1

“They want me to come back tomorrow be fitted for a prosthetic eye”. Leonard places emphasis on the words “prosthetic eye” to remind the viewers that Leonard is bad news. Good acting choice. -1

Leonard’s clothes look freshly bloody when the blood should be several hours old and therefore a more rusty brown color than a bright red. I think. I don’t know if that’s how it works with such large amounts of blood. +1

Luther’s bed is now magically big enough to fit both him and the rave girl. +1

Luther’s reaction to the rave girl. Rewatch this scene to get such a laugh at Luther’s face. -1

How out of it was Luther vs the rave girl? Consent issues on both sides. +3

Luther treated the rave girl to some wine? Or cranberry juice? How thoughtful. -1

I really, really hope they were safe though. There is no evidence to imply they were safe. (If you don’t know what I’m talking about then you’re too young to be watching TUA). +1

Klaus is such a little shit. “Wakey wakey! Eggs and bakey!” while ringing the bell. Peak sibling culture is doing this sort of thing while knowing that the other sibling is NOT going to appreciate it. Also, Klaus deserves his revenge after last night. -1

The little wave the rave girl gives Klaus. -1

Go back and watch this scene. Holy shit this is so underrated. This is the funniest thing ever. -1

“He popped his cherry! Now you’re gonna have to marry her” -4

Klaus doesn’t remember his first time. Consent issues. +3

“No dilly-dallying, alright?” I love Klaus. -1

Klaus makes french press coffee for Luther and Ben. Klaus is a good brother. -1

I would kill to see Ben’s reaction to Luther and the rave girl. +1

Five snatches Luther’s coffee and not Ben’s, ya know, the guy who can’t drink the coffee. And is invisible. Five is a dick to Luther or Five wanted to be a little shit to Luther after having to hear him and the rave girl. Either way, +1

He steals the coffee and he complains about it. +1

Ben! -1

“This is a bad idea” no shit. +1

The awkward pauses where Ben is presumably speaking don’t make sense here. +1

The camera trickery used to make Luther look like a giant compared to Five. -1

Five knows where the aspirin is “top shelf next to the crackers” because he was also hungover. I think. I can’t remember if FIve stopped back at the house, but presumably he and Luther had to go there to get the car. -1

Luther still isn’t getting up to get the aspirin even though he can listen just fine while getting it. +1

Ben adding to the dramatic tension of the scene in a uniquely humorous way that only this show can pull off. -2

Luther doesn’t believe Klaus about Reggie’s suicide. What reason would Klaus have to lie about this, Luther? +1

Five believes him right away. -1

Convenient Pogo backing up Klaus is convenient. +1

This has nothing to do with this very dramatic and important scene, but the mismatched chairs, while cute, don’t appear in any other scene. +1

Five calls Reggie a “sick bastard” under his breath. That’s one way to describe him. -1

Pogo kept this secret for a long time. Not telling the kids was a strange choice and I’m not sure why Pogo made it. On one hand, he would be respecting the wishes of his creator and friend but on the other he would be helping these people come to terms with their father’s death. Pogo’s character motivations are strange and I don’t understand them. +1

Luther said it best, “there’s always choice.” +1

Random thought I had, where was Harold’s grandmother when he was being abused and then going to jail because he killed his abuser? +1

Leonard says some nice things in this scene. If we didn’t know how manipulative he was I would give him credit for this line. +1

Agnes looks adorable out of the Griddy’s uniform. Costume/hair people, you did good. -1

Agnes keeps saying things like “we aren’t in a rush” and talking about seeing three years worth of stops to remind us that there is no time. Hazel looks heartbroken by it. -1

Allison abandons her vehicle. Do not take driving advice from The Umbrella Academy, ever! +1

Allison sees a random scarf from several cars away and immediately connects it with Vanya. Does she also have super sight? +1

The first time we see Allison get recognized by a random stranger for her acting is eight episodes in. +1

Cheddar (the cop Allison is talking to) is so enamored by Allison that he stops doing his job correctly. +1

“Jackpine cove” who named these towns? +1

Allison and Five have the same little shrug when they finish telling terrible lies. -1

Allison is a terrible liar. +1

Diego is still in jail. They’re talking about transferring him upstate. This is really bad news. +1

“Did she use that word? Contentious?” The definitions of contentious all say the word argument. Beeman says that Diego and Patch had an argumentative relationship. This matters to Diego. Why? +1

This conversation was written by someone who doesn’t understand the connotation of the word contentious. +1

Beeman encourages Diego to escape and go on the run. Are all the cops incompitent on this show? You have Patch, who hasn’t pinned Diego for obstruction of justice despite the show implying that Diego has touched evidence he wasn’t supposed to many times, Cheddar, who is so distracted by Allison freakin’ Hargreeves that he forgets that taking her along to a murder case is unethical at best, and Beeman who straight up encourages Diego to escape from jail. That last one is definitely illegal. +10

The parallel between Five and Leonard reading something they aren’t supposed to have in the bathroom. Both the apocalypse file and the journal are red, too. This means something but I don’t have the analysis skills to really go into it. If anyone wants to take a crack at it, go ahead. Sin removed because I know this is smart even if I can’t figure out why.-1

Vanya’s training implies that Reggie has been training these kids hard since they were at least four years old. +7

Current Sin Count: 73

Reggie doesn’t praise Vanya for breaking the glass, he just demands that she does it again. Say it with me now, Reggie is a dick. +1

Leonard straight up uses the word extraordinary. Sigh. +1

The description for how Vanya’s powers work (concentrate on a constant sound until that’s all you can hear and then use an emotional connection to target) is surprisingly good. This is the best description of somebody’s powers we’ve ever gotten in this show. -1

Klaus is attempting to get the yarn on the needle and failing miserably. This is one of the simpler, if tedious, things we do in knitting. Therefore, it is completely understandable how a beginner can’t make heads or tails of it. -1

Five is still injured. The old man walk gives it away. +1

Five treats Klaus like a second in command. I want more of this duo. -1

“So how’d the crazy bastard actually know to kill himself a week before the end of the world?” We would all like to know the answer to that question. Five would be excellent at cinema sins. +1

“Don’t answer, that was purely rhetorical.” Nice cop out, show. +1

Reggie used The Apocalypse to make his kids do the dishes. Checks out. +1

Five and Klaus bond over hating doing the dishes and the person making them do the dishes. Sibling culture. -1

“Where have you been?” “Jail. Long story.” The looks on Klaus and Five’s faces! -2

Vanya breaks the monocle. Good job, kid. However, if you know the comics then you know why I am mildly concerned about this. -1

“That will conclude your training for the time being.” Meaning the next 25 years. Reggie, you suck. +1

Now Vanya’s powers are a bit more vague and imply that she has super hearing. +1

Leonard’s training routine actually includes some praise, which is a step up from Reggie. However, a step up from Reggie is still someplace in hell, so it’s still a sin. +1

It’s also a sin because it’s uncontrolled and Vanya is afraid of it, yet Leonard keeps pushing her. +1

Leonard uses the kind of language Reggie would use to describe Vanya’s powers. Checks out because he read Reggie’s book and is using his ideas to train Vanya. +1

Helen Cho’s missing person poster reminds the viewer that Leonard is bad news. +1

Vanya plays for the St. Pluvium Chamber Orchestra. First of all, no they have a conductor. +1

Second of all, “Pluvium” means of or relating to rain. The Umbrella Academy fights against the leader of the rain orchestra in episode 10. Who came up with that pun? That is absolutely hilarious. -1

Based on a post by @seven-valid-libras I think Griddy’s is across the street from this bar? I am not 100% sure. If it is then that’s a sin off because Agnes definitely has a bunch of drunk people coming in for doughnuts every now and then. I lowkey want to write this fic. -1

“Maybe they’ll brood each other to death” Is this a reference to the fact that Luther and Diego were both too emo for umbrellas in episode 1? -1

I feel so bad for Luther right now. Reggie really fucked with his head. +1

After hearing that Vanya’s boyfriend is a convicted murderer, Luther is more concerned for Allison than he is for Vanya. +1

Diego’s face when Luther says “you should have led with that!” [the fact that Allison went after a convicted murderer alone] -1

Luther is right. Diego should have led with that. +1

Luther breaks the door in his rush to get out of the bar. Checks out. -1

Mary J. Blige. -1

The shop is closing because Agnes is leaving? Who owns Griddy’s? +1

And if the shop is closing, then why leave doughnuts on the shelf? Are they gifts for the other waitresses who are now out of a job? +1

Agnes keeps a flamingo (presumably, scented) candle in a bakery. +1

Cha Cha was way too close to that explosion to not get some scratches at the very least. +1

Sergeant Cheddar is letting Allison stay in the room while he interrogates Mr. Luntz (the man that survived Vanya’s powers). +1

What kind of person allows themselves to be hired by some guy in order to beat him up in front of his girlfriend? Who does that? Are there people like that who exist in real life? +1

Allison doesn’t get pissed off when Luntz says that they started to hurt the girl (Vanya) too. +1

Sgt. Cheddar finally gets pissed off with Allison after she starts leading Luntz. This took way too long. +1

“What I really need to do is practice,” said every musician ever. Including me. As I’m typing this I’m putting off practicing. Vanya is calling me out. I deserve it. +1

Also, Vanya just got first chair and so far she still hasn’t learned the solo the day before the concert. That is such a mood. -1

The cracks in Leonard’s personality are finally starting to show. If Harold was smart he would let Vanya do this without attempting to manipulate her into more practice. +1

Vanya left her violin propped up in the middle of a sofa. That is a broken violin waiting to happen. +1

Where is her rosin? Don’t tell me she reuses the same rosin and doesn’t clean her instrument. Please. +2

Leonard doesn’t tell Vanya where he will be going. He just sort of leaves without a note. This would be fine if this universe had cell phones, but it doesn’t. Leonard is a dick. +1

Agnes would like to spend her (Hazel tells her it’s hypothetical but we know it’s not) last two days on Earth with Hazel. That is so sweet. But also, they met less than a week ago. +1

This is the turning point that makes Hazel an active character that wants to stop the apocalypse. Finally some character motivation that makes sense! Whoop! -1

They Call Me a Fool by Damon is another one of my favorites from the soundtrack. What can I say, I’m a sucker for jazz. -1

There is a parallel between Five leaving Vanya’s apartment and Leonard leaving her at the cabin. Her brother (whom I assume she loves) and the man she is infatuated with both leave her at some point without warning. The people who Vanya loves keep leaving her. +2

Vanya puts her violin down on a chair and lets the bow fall. Bows are expensive. +1

“I made a secret place just for you. None of your siblings get to play there.” Of course Reggie is framing it this way. He’s scared of her. +1

The further away from Pogo the camera is, the less real he looks. +1

Reggie and Pogo locked Vanya in this cage. +1

Vanya’s violin bow fell down but in the next shot it’s propped on the chair. +1

Sgt. Cheddar tells Allison to stay put but has no way to verify that she actually will. Also, if he’s such a fan then shouldn’t he know that she used to be a superhero? +1

Allison kept her proof about Leonard/Harold in the car again. +1

“I love you. And I wanna be here for you as your sister.” -1

“I love him.” Vanya you met him less than a week ago. +2

If there was ever a wrong time to bring up the fact that you took Vanya’s powers away and left her with a horribly low self esteem due to the poorly worded “I heard a rumor that you think you’re just ordinary”, it would be now! Now is the wrong time to bring this up! +10

Reggie used Allison to make Vanya powerless. Reggie is a dick. An absolute bastard. A complete scumbag. Etc. +20

Reggie has also been drugging Vanya since she was FOUR YEARS OLD. +50

Insert Reggie insults here. Feel free to come up with your own in the tags. Fuck this guy repeatedly with a rusty chainsaw. +20

Vanya is not in the right state of mind to understand that Reggie is the one that made Allison rumor her. +1

The final fight between Allison and Vanya is heartbreaking. Emmy Raver-Lampman and Ellen Page are excellent actresses. -5

Vanya’s skin keeps getting paler and paler. Foreshadowing. -1

This is the only time Allison attempts to use her powers in the show. To save her life. I would say that it is pretty justified. -1

Violin bows are not sharp enough to cut human flesh. Is this another part of Vanya’s power? +1

Gore warning! This is super fucked. Not gonna lie, I gag a little every time I see this.+4

Vanya is freaking out and then Leonard walks in. Vanya’s mental state is completely out the window at this point. +4

Leonard manhandles Vanya into letting her sister die (as far as they know) on the floor of the cabin. +10

Allison has definitely lost enough blood to kill her, yet she survives this. +1

Leonard went out to kill Luntz. +10

Nobody in the car (Five driving, Klaus shotgun, Luther and Diego in the back) is wearing a seatbelt. +1

Also, of these four people, Five is the most qualified to drive right now? Diego is sitting right there! And we saw Klaus drive the ice cream truck! Luther would have some trouble driving because he’s so large. But really?? +2

“Can you go any faster?” “Ask me again and I’ll burn you with the cigarette lighter.” The comic relief doesn’t really land here because the scene before was so dramatic and the music is still playing. To change the mood, the song would also have to change. +2

Independently, that is a pretty funny Grandpa Five line. -1

Including Ben in the scene where they find Allison bleeding out on the floor is a subtle reminder to the audience that if Allison was dead, Klaus would be able to see her ghost. The lack of a ghost means she is still alive. +1

Also, this scene has all the original members of The Umbrella Academy in it. Look how far they’ve come from the bank robbery. +6

No one is checking for a pulse right now. They’re just assuming that Allison is dead. +10

Overall Review: It goes without saying that this episode is fucking brutal. When I first watched it I had to stop and go do something else for a while because of the rumor reveal and the throat thing. That was really, really concerning. Props to Emmy Raver-Lampman. She fucking killed it this episode. If anyone was wondering if she was a good actress (ya know because of all the “come look at this” lines she kept getting) then this episode made it very clear that she can act and she does it very, very well. 

So, Vanya’s sanity is out the window, Allison is down for the count, and no one cares about the apocalypse right now. That last one is understandable because of Allison’s situation, but damn it really isn’t looking good for the Hargreeves siblings. 

Also, I want to talk about something. This is the last episode in which Allison and Vanya are both capable of speech. And in the eight hours we have known these two women, they have had multiple conversations. All of them have been about a man. Their brothers, their father, Patrick, or Leonard/Harold. Seriously, the two women in this show that are main characters never have a conversation that isn’t about a man. There is no excuse. With the fridging and this, you have to wonder if the writers on this show hate women or something? I don’t normally add sins post analysis, but I think I will make an exception for this one. +100

Total: 283

Sentence: Serious gore. 

[g0ldengubler]

Chapter 10 ~ Strawberry Avalanche

A/N: AAAAAAA hey besties i'm baaaaaack! honestly, i lost all motivation for a couple of months, especially because wattpad is getting censored. i was scared that this story was going to be taken down, but now i've decided to keep going. Thankfully, this series is also on here so if nauseous is taken down on wattpad it will be here safe and sound. Also shortening chapters has been a nice thought. I'm sorry this one sucks i'm kinda rusty and this is more of a filler/catch up, but we're back at it again boizzz! Also, thank you so much for over 900 followers! Really really crazy but i'm so glad you guys are enjoying my fics. And I'm really glad everyone enjoyed lunchtime! I didn't think it would get that much love as I thought that kink wasn't something others would be into so I am planning on writing more one shots with other kinks I have. Things are just about to get good in nauseous...ok anyways i love uuuuuu <3

Category: Angst (??...yeah sure we'll go with that lol)

CW: Talks of cases; talks of murder

Summary: It's time to go back to work, and oh boy are they in for a "treat"

Word Count: 1817

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Every time your alarm rang, you quote Cinderella at it, groggily saying, "Oh, that clock. Old killjoy." You hate waking up early, as sleep was such a beautiful thing in your book. When you were asleep, you were at peace, as if everything that had happened that day whether good or bad just went away. You were free in your dreams, running around like a child in a field of lavender. You had that dream here and there before you met Spencer. When the feelings for him grew over the course of a week, you started getting that dream frequently instead of waking up thinking you didn't dream or remembering a weird one. He would show up as a shadowy figure on the other side of the field and you would run over to it until you woke up once the figure turned around.

After you two made it official, the blur of the figure disappeared and turned into him. You would run as if it was the speed of light towards him, and he would turn around in a lilac colored cardigan, barely hiding the huge grin on his face. Spencer would pick you up around your waist and lift you up as he spun you around. Right before you kissed, however, you woke up. You were into the meaning of dreams, so you thought that at the right time, the kiss would happen.

As you got ready for the day, you couldn't stop thinking about the past month. You remember meeting Spencer and how your heart skipped a beat when your eyes first met in the conference room. You remember getting drunk and high with the team and how your boss was pretty much the life of the party without really meaning to. You laughed to yourself as the thought of Spencer high on edibles at Rossi's came in. He ate a whole brownie before Garcia could give a warning and once it kicked in it was hard not to laugh at his goofiness as he would only talk about Star Trek the whole night. He could've had the whole pot of spaghetti his munchies were so bad.

Garcia crept into your brain again as you got in your car. That night, instead of Spencer coming in to clean you up, it was Garcia.

With a wet washcloth in hand, she stood by the door and saw you on her bed, the laughter and voices echoing down the hall and into the room. You tried to cover yourself but she waved her hand away.

"Sugar cakes, don't worry about it," she said, walking over and sitting in front of you on the side of the bed. In a comforting way, she put a hand on your leg, rubbing it gently, "I'd be mad if it was other people on my bed going at it like rabbits. But you two? I don't seem to feel any steam coming out of my ears."

"Are you sure?" You asked, embarrassed, "I'm so sorry, Garcia."

"I'm just thankful that boy genius got laid."

The two of you laughed as she handed you the cloth. You took it and began cleaning yourself up, trying to clean what fell out onto the bed. Once you were done, Garcia gave you some advil and some water as you gave her the cloth back.

"Are you feeling ok, hun?" She asked as you were sipping on your water.

"Yeah, just a bit sore but nothing I can't handle." You hand her the glass of water back and fixed your pillows so they'd help you sit up.

"Reid is a very kind and respectful guy, Y/N," she said as she softly rubbed your leg, "I've known him since Gideon brought him on the team, I know he wouldn't do anything to hurt you."

"I see that in him," you said, "When he's not ruining me he's a total sweetheart and always open to trying new things if he wants to. He's really special to me, Penelope. I've never met someone like him. He's probably the first guy to want me for everything else, like the sex is just a bonus. Men back home were never like that."

Garcia smiled as she got up, looking down at you before leaning down and kissing the top of your head. "I'm glad you're here, Y/N. You've been the last missing puzzle piece for our team since you first walked in the conference room." Then she left, probably to let you rest.

You were still for a few minutes before you decided to try and get up. Once you were able to stand, you walked slowly out of the bedroom and back to the living room, which felt like it took you years to get to. You saw Spencer sitting on the couch next to Morgan, taking a joint from his hands. You watch as he put it to his lips and inhaled, holding it in for a sec before exhaling a big cloud out. He coughed before taking it back to his lips and took a couple more, handing it over to Jj.

As you parked in the parking garage, you remembered the butterflies you felt when his eyes caught yours. Morgan had got up and helped you walk to the couch, where you lay down with your legs on Spencer's lap. That night was so magical, but now you're back to work, dreading the amount of files that would be piled on your desk.

When you got out of the elevator to the 6th floor, you walked in the bulpin thinking you'd see Spencer at his desk, but your smile faded when you didn't. You looked around the room until you turned all the way around to the conference room, seeing all your friends in the window. You quickly-but calmly-walked up the ramp and into the room with a smile on your face, yet it went away again once you felt the room, seeing all their stern or worried faces.

"Y/L/N," said Hotch, "please take a seat."

"Is everything alright?" You ask as you sit next to Spencer. He locks his arm around yours and takes your hand in his, kissing it, knowing it was a way of his to comfort you.

Hotch was silent for a moment before he spoke. "While we were on our vacation, new cases have come to us. These cases were ones we had already solved, however."

No one spoke as he explained the two copycat cases. One was based from The Fox, a case they solved years ago, but it wasn't exact. The fox was more known for killing big families but this copycat killed small families, ones with only children. The other was one you knew all too well. A few years ago, couples were left in trunks of cars, all cut up and stabbed. You studied this case when it happened, and wrote an outstanding paper on it for class.

"We now have a copycat on our hands. This investigation will be going along while we also work on other cases. If needed, protection will be put for our loved ones. That is all. So far there hasn't been one to go to, but myself and Jj will let you know if one comes in."

With that, we all slowly walked back to your desks. Thankfully, yours was right in front of Spencer's. A part of you felt safe no matter what scenery you were in. But you still felt worried. With not being on the team for much time, you were scared for your friends. Stuff like this was part of the job, but that didn't mean you couldn't be human.

One thing was lingering in your mind the whole day...Was there a deeper connection between the two copycat cases?

~~~

Later that night, you finished your work for the day and headed home. Both you and Spencer felt too tired to do something, so you both went your separate ways. When you got home, you threw your bag and keys to a chair and fell on your couch as your dogs attacked you with love and kisses. Taking your boots off, you took your phone out and looked through your delivery apps to see if anything sounded good, but you didn't feel that hungry as you saw all the delicious options.

Remembering you had some wine on the counter, you got up and poured yourself a glass. You got changed into crewneck sweater and sweatpants that had U of M written all over it. Putting your hair up in a high ponytail, you made your way back to the couch and went through your phone, catching up on text messages from your dad, looking through memes and videos.

After a bit of time has passed, you were on your third glass and were feeling very tipsy. You turned on your speaker and went through your the music on shuffle before stumbling upon a song from high school, Strawberry Avalanche by Owl City. You hadn't listen to it or his music in years, so you decided to keep it on for old times sake. As the song got to the chorus, you felt your tipsy brain taking over, getting up from the couch and dancing along. Your furry friends-as Garcia would say-joined you as you picked up Draco's paws and gently brought him up on his back legs, while Benedict barked and went around in little circles, his eyes never leaving you.

You went to sleep after your dance party, wanting the comfort of your own bed rather than the less comfortable couch. As your children climbed on and settled down, you tried to drift off right away, wanting to go back to your dream, but you couldn't stop thinking about the deeper connection between the two cases. That feeling was bothering you beyond belief, as if it was on the tip of your tongue or right under your nose. 'They're not just copycats,' you thought, 'so then what's the other connection, if there is one?'

You sat up, letting your pillows support your back. You grabbed your notebook from the side table and pen and started writing down what you remembered from what Hotch said. They are copycats from two they have already solved. One in Detroit, the other in their own backyard. It couldn't of been anniversaries because they didn't happen on their exact days, but it could be revenge on the team.

You went deeper into the cases to feel an epiphany run through your whole body. The Fox copy killed smaller families, but the wife was left last. And in the Detroit copy, it was only straight couples and the women were stabbed the most.

This unsub was going after girlfriends and wives.

[padmsanakin]

i really love the jedi order. i really do. i love them because they tried to do good; they were selfless and expected nothing in return. they are fundamentally good people who want to do good but how did they fail? what is the reason that the whole world collapsed? the galaxy’s fall cannot be blamed on one person; there are thousands or perpetrators whether is it by active choice or basically just ignoring it. they all contributed to the fall of the galaxy.

jedi as individuals can achieve a lot no doubt; many jedi have received the gratitude of many people around them with their need to do good and be selfless. the jedi are a faction that wants to do good and try to minimise their flaws. that’s what they stand for. but what went wrong is when they refused to face those flaws in the wake of a war and raging corruption. they were basically blinded by complacency which is bound to happen when you have the same person as your head for a few hundred years.

let’s look at the bigger picture, it is established that the senate is corrupt and the jedi are serving this corrupt senate believing that they are good. however, they did begin to notice the warning signs but they were too blinded because it worked for more than a thousand years and they believed it would prevail but how wrong were they. the common theme that occurs over and over again is the force’s will which to say they were kind of using that as an excuse to justify their actions.

i believe there’s a clear line between your religious beliefs and your rules. and that is what i am trying to explore here.

the whole notion that yoda is fallible may be foreign to some but indeed, in some ways, he did fail the jedi by not taking quick enough actions or denying his flaws and blaming others. it happens and it’s perfectly normal after being considered wise, humble and all for a few hundred years. how other people view you affect you and yoda is no exception from that. some rules they impose such as the no attachment rule wasn’t originally in the jedi code before our republic. actually, it’s a recent one in the scheme of time. jedi were allowed to marry and love and they condemned possessive relationships which they did rightfully so. but as time went on, they begin to fear healthy relationships too by creating a whole rule forbidding healthy attachment. if they didn’t , then, why did they take kids when they were babies? they did it so they don’t know how to get attached so it helps them to put their mind to fully become the jedi they want.

and when, anakin comes in who basically is very different from what typically the jedi order is used to, they feared him. the jedi feared change. the jedi thought their method was superior and thus, they forced a traumatized boy to fit into a mold he couldn’t. mistake 1. it’s even more scary to know that palpatine had unrestricted access to anakin since he was a preteen which is creepy in itself because he’s an old man and a child which is a prefect background for grooming. the jedi failed to exert their rights as anakin’s rightful guardian. i have heard people say that the jedi were mostly neutral to him when they were assessing him but is it really when what you are saying to perfectly normal feelings that it is evil to harbour them and make the child feel guilty or disappointed. mind you, we are not talking about an adult here; we are talking about a nine year old child, fresh out of slavery. he has lots of trauma in terms of self-worth to deal with and he didn’t need more people telling him he’s bad and evil, causing his self-esteem to further plummet. yes, he seemed confident in tpm, thanks to his mother, but there is there whole self-esteem problem apparent. in this scene, anakin asks what will happen to me now. and i have heard people call him selfish for that. he’s a child for god’s sake who thinks he will be put back into slavery again after being rejected. that’s really messed up. the responsible thing to do then would have been to say, i am sorry but we can’t train you because our training programme won’t fit you and we do not have the tools or training to cope with your trauma but we are willing to help you get into society and free your mother and then hand the reigns to you and your mother to free more of them.

mistake 2. there is nothing wrong to agreeing to fight a war but recruiting a slave army into is not really acceptable. this further shows their moral failings. i think palpatine is part to blame but we can’t divorce the jedi from the blame since they made the choice to lead the slave army. and i doubt there’s nothing in their code to say that they need to accept a slave army to fight in a war. slavery is wrong. there’s nothing more or less to it. there is no good slave owner. so they were nice to them and all but they still infringed on their basic rights; well for one, they had no rights to start with and most considered them canon fodder as if their lives didn’t matter. somehow that’s easy to overlook, i guess. heck, most jedi were nice to them but never really saw them as an equal or as an person save for a few jedi but still they didn’t care enough to free them. everyone in the jedi order is to be blamed for it because they perpetrated slavery and allowed slavery even within the republic. that’s wrong. weren’t jedi supposed to be peacekeepers and guardians of justice. there’s nothing just about slavery. i think people like to just blame palpatine but the Jedi made the choice to accept it. and they continued to listen to him by using this slave army. and none of them really stopped for a moment and considered that hey, this is wrong and maybe, there are better alternatives to using than a slave army like gathering everyone trained in combat like the battle of naboo because there were no clones there btw so planets must have some sort of military. and if you call these lazy pigs and that they won’t defend them and then, i would ask — then , why are they citizens of the republic, isn’t it their duty?

mistake 3, they refused to admit to their mistakes. for example, the whole ahsoka fiasco where they just said that it’s the will of the force. like, does that make it okay to send a minor into a bureaucratic trap where they will probably execute her without a fair trial. considering they prosecuted her on purely circumstantial evidence. like so they are willing to throw their child to sharks because of a this one flimsy piece of evidence instead of standing by her? oh, and then giving her to a probably emotionally unstable jedi just to see if he can let go. does she even mean anything to them? do they care about her education? plus, the guy that was supposed to teach her was a newly minted knight who has yet to get into the balance of things. i don’t think that’s a good idea. so does ahsoka even mean anything to them? like they made quite questionable decisions for ahsoka. and like she’s a child! you are her guardian, you have the rights to do something and they just opted to let rusty cogs run and come to a probably wrong decision? sounds about right.

well, there are a lot more mistakes than this.

[lunasilvermorny]

Luna finds Jacob - The Portrait Vault

So... I wrote the scene where Luna finally found Jacob in the vault.

I never really posted anything serious that I wrote, so constructive criticism is always welcome, but try not to be too hard on me, I haven’t got any experience in these kind of things.

One last meme to take the edge off:

Luna: You promise not to run away again?

Jacob: Yep!

Luna: We’re a team and we’ll find the final vault together?

Jacob: Yep!

Luna: You SWEAR you won’t leave?

Jacob: Yep!

Luna: *frees him*

Jacob: *disappears immediately*

Luna:

Anyway, I hope you’ll like it and... yeah. Here it is:

Luna ran through the door into a room similar to the other vaults, only the walls were covered in portraits. She looked around, her heart still pounding while she’s catching her breath from the fight with Rakepick.

“Luno!” she heard a cry and raised her head immediately and turn to look at the huge portrait to her right.

It’s him.

“Jakube?” what came out of her mouth wasn’t more than a faint whisper, because she felt her throat closing up. He looked so different and yet she had no doubt in her heart that it’s him. Other than the obvious physical changes, there was something different about his expression too. He never looked at her like that.

“You made it!” his voice was the same, but she never heard him so happy before. His hands were pressed against the edge of the portrait, he was beaming. “The column! Open the column!” he urged her.

She was barely able to breathe. All doubts cleared from her mind, while only one thought remained – she has to get him out. Without a second guess, she raised her hand and touched the column, so focused on the mission at hand, she barely heard him say- “You can trust me!”

Something felt off when he said it, but she had no time to think about it, because at that very moment he floated out of the frame borders and landed right in front of her.

He gave her a sincere smile that she never saw on his face before, at least not aimed at her. She was barely aware of her legs moving in his direction as she threw her arms around him. He embraced her tightly in return. Have they ever hugged before? Probably, but they never really meant it, because it felt like the first time.

“What took you so long?” she heard him say over her shoulder with a familiar sarcastic tone, but it wasn’t as malicious as she remembered.

She let him loose, took a step back and crossed her arms while raising an eyebrow. “Really?” she said, imitating his tone.

“No, Pip!” he laughed and shook his head. “Not really. I know it wasn’t easy to find me.”

“Pip.” She repeated while narrowing her uninjured eye. Just hearing that nickname again made unpleasant memories surface, the kind that were buried deep in her subconscious for a reason. “All those years and that’s the best you can manage?”

“What can I say? I’m a sucker for the classics. Look at you, you haven’t changed a bit.” He paused for a second and then added- “Well, aside for some minor details.”

“So you like the blood?” she gestured her upper lip area, that she just noticed at that very moment was still bleeding. Jacob offered her a handkerchief, so she could press it against the open wound.

“It left quite a cut; it’s going to become a nasty scar if you don’t tend to it.” If he was trying to sound caring, he failed miserably.

“No shit.” She pressed the wound a bit too hard out of anger, but refused to show any sign of pain on her face. “Any other brilliant advice?”

“No, I won’t meddle with your edgy style. I do I like the shiner, though.” He pointed on her black eye “Gives you a tough look.”

“I have fought a dragon just now, you know.” She puffed her chest with pride.

“Well, even with a bruised face, you still look like good ol�� Pip.”

“Really? Because you’re a lot shorted than I remember.” She couldn’t help herself.

A flash of disdain appeared in his eyes, it was so quick she barely noticed it.

“I guess you’re right. You are freakishly tall just like father.” He smirked. “You really are taking after him, aren’t you?”

Luna’s jaw clenched. That sounded more like the Jacob she knew.

“Well, I’ve been trapped in this portrait for years.” He sighed. “If it weren’t for you, I might have never gotten out of this hell hole.” He sounded so tired. “You must have gone through a lot to get here.”

“Not more than you have, I’m sure.”

“Well, obviously.” His tone slowly reverted to the one he used when he was talking down at her. She clenched her jaw even tighter. These small stings started to taint the mood.

Was she glad to free him a moment ago? Because she’s starting to forget why.

“Thank you for not giving up on me.” His voice trembled a bit, when he gave her another unfamiliar yet soft smile.

Right. That’s why. Is she being too hard on him? He was stuck in a portrait for years and years, can she really fault him for being a bit rusty when it comes to human interactions?

“Well, you are my big brother.” She said. “Also, maminka kept nagging me about it.”

He lowered his gaze at the mention of their mother and after a few seconds, return to look at her, while a painful smile spread on his face.

“She must have been so worried.” He shook his head. “How is she?”

“Who knows?” Luna didn’t share his sentiment and couldn’t hide the resentment in her voice. “She shops a lot.”

“Well, that’s a start.” He said and a whiff of their old sibling rivalry was starting to surface. “I hope you weren’t causing her any trouble while I was gone.” Luna rolled her eyes and he said- “You know what I mean.”

“Not my fault she has the mental capacity of a child” Luna spewed without thinking and then added - “I forgot how much of a mama’s boy you really are.”

“I am what I am.” He shrugged. “I’m guessing she’s still with father.” He added before she was able to say anything.

“Why wouldn’t she? Their marriage is clearly perfect in every regard.” Luna roller her eyes again. To her surprise, Jacob laughed.

“Yes, they are the embodiment of true love.”

Luna laughed as well. “You missed so many great moments. I’ll give you some highlights – an awkward silence when we ate supper together and an awkward silence when we sat together in the living room, waiting for father to go to work already.”

“Ah, if only we had a time turner, we could have relived those precious times. Oh well.” Both their smiles were fake, but it’s better than getting upset over something that is out of their control.

“Is that my sweater?” He said all of a sudden and caught Luna off guard.

“Oh, yeah.” Luna said casually. “I forgot it was yours. Maminka attempted to do the laundry one day and shrank it. Lucky me.”

“But it’s all torn up and bloody.” He gestured her wounds.

“Well, as I mentioned earlier, I fought a dragon.” She said defensively.

“Why not in your own damn clothes?” he frowned.

“This sweater is way too small for you anyway.”

“Couldn’t you have tended this nasty cut instead of bleeding all over my valuable sweater?”

“You didn’t even-! Forget it.” She said impatiently. “By the way, speaking of nasty cuts, what’s with the shaved head?”

“Believe it or not, I was aiming for an undercut similar to yours, but Duncan and his shaky hands-“ for a brief moment he was completely immersed in nostalgia as he laughed to himself. “-he ruined it completely, so I had no choice but to shave it all off.”

“I’ve met him.” She said. “He told me some interesting stories, but somehow failed to mention this one.”

“Of course, the cocky bastard would never tell about his own mistakes.” but right after he said it, his expression changed and he stared at her, surprised- “Wait, what do you mean you’ve met him.”

“He’s a ghost hunting the Prefects’ bathroom. Kind of hard to miss.”

Jacob cleared his throat. “Yes, I-“ he stopped for a second. “I just didn’t think you’d meet him.”

“Yeah, and he’s not a fan.”

She definitely hit a nerve.

“I imagine you heard a lot of things about me.” He said with the slightest hint of blush appearing on his cheeks. She could tell that wasn’t what he originally intended to say. “Mostly bad-“

“Almost exclusively bad.” She said without thinking, but before she had the time to regret her tactless words, he started laughing.

“I’m glad my reputation stands.” He shook his head. “I had to stab a lot of people in the back to achieve this status of resentment, you know.”

“So I’ve heard.” She felt uncomfortable the longer he laughed, since it became clearer he was doing it to mask his true feelings. The pain was barely noticeable, but she was able to pick up on it easily, since it’s exactly how she’s dealing with these kind of situations. They really are more similar than she thought.

There was the sound of footsteps followed by Bill and Charlie entering the room. They both stared at Jacob with big smiles on their faces.

Jacob raised an eyebrow - “Who are those chaps?”

“My friends, they helped me find you.” she was mildly irritated by his tone of voice.

The brothers looked confused and Luna realized that she and Jacob were still speaking in Czech.

“Bill, Charlie, this is Jacu- I mean, Jacob.” She turned to her brother. “Jacob, these are Bill and Charlie Weasley. They are my secret family.”

Jacob put on a smile, but still said in Czech- “Couldn’t you have found one without gingers?” then said in English- “Pleasure.” and shook their hands.

Luna suppressed the urge to kick him.

“We heard a lot about you.” Said Charlie in a kind voice.

“Yes, my little sis and I were just talking about it.” His rude tone was too familiar. “All good, I hope.”

“Yes, Luna was very determined to find you.” Bill said with pride and Jacob gave him a lazy smile.

“Of course.” He patted her gently on the back and Luna noticed that he’s already bored of their conversation. “Who else would be talented enough to find this vault if not her?”

Bill hasn’t noticed the Jacob’s sarcasm.

“They helped rescue you, you prick.” Said Luna in Czech, but kept her smile so Bill and Charlie won’t suspect anything.

“Are you sure? They don’t look so bright from where I stand.”

But before she had the opportunity say anything about his snarky remark, Merula and Ben entered the room. Merula still limping and Ben shooting her worried glances ever few seconds.

“Merula, you should be resting.” Luna said, ignoring Jacob’s yawn.

“She insisted.” Ben said. He was clearly not on board with it.

“I’m fine.” Merula said stubbornly. “So this is the famous Jacob Silver.”

It was very subtle, but Luna saw a flicker of disgust in Jacob’s eyes when he looked at Merula.

“Blimy, Pip.” He put more effort in the fake smile and turned to her, then said the rest in Czech. “How many damn wizards does it take to get into a single vault?”

“The right amount to not get stuck in a portrait for years to come.” She said bitterly, and again to her surprise, he was amused by her disdain.

“And here I took all this time to pick you a nice spot on the wall next to mine. Such a waste.”

Luna felt confused again. His attitude was so unpredictable it was tiring.

“What the hell are they saying?” Merula looked at the other that shrugged in return.

“Any other unexpected guests?” He said, ignoring the confused looks her friends gave them.

“No, we had a last minute cancellation.” She said, but wasn’t able to carry the lighthearted banter when she thought of Rakepick’s betrayal.

Jacob picked on the change in her tone and ask- “What happened?”

“Rakepick brought us here-“

“Rakepick!” Everyone jumped when he shouted her name. There were no remains of the fake smile, his expression conveyed pure fury. “You know her? She’s here?!”

It took Luna a few seconds to recover.

“No, not anymore. She apparated-“

“When?”

“Just before I found you.”

“I have to go. I have to stop her from finding the final vault.” It was almost like he’s looking right through her, as if she doesn’t matter anymore. “R can’t get their hands on the treasure.”

“I know, so what’s our plan?” she asked seriously.

“Our?” he repeated, barely paying attention to her words. “There’s no ‘our’ anything, I’m going alone.”

“What?” she protested. “But I-!”

“There’s no time.” He cut her off. “Don’t tell maminka I’m back yet.”

“You don’t get to bloody decide! Do you have any idea-“

“Pip, there are more important things at stake here!” he gave her the same look he always gave her when she was in his way.

“We can stop Rakepick together.” She insisted, but he shook his head. He can’t go without her, he said they’re in this together!

“I know I got you into this, but it’s my fight, not yours.”

“Yes, you dragged me into it and now this is my fight too!” she refused to let him diminish her role in this. “I found three vault by now, I can help!”

“We’ll find each other again, Luno.” He put his hands on her shoulders.

“No, don’t say it like-! Dammit, Jakube! I want to find Rakepick too! You’re not the only one she betrayed-!”

“Be safe.” He lowered his arms and turned his back at her.

“Don’t you fucking dare-!”

But before she was able to finish the sentence, he apparated.

“Jakube?” She started trembling. That's the Jacob she remembered. The Jacob that treated her like she's a nuisance, the Jacob that always acted like he’s better than her, the Jacob that left his family behind for his selfish goals.

"Jakube!" She shouted, even though she knew it’s too late. She stared at the air where he stood a second ago, with a dropped jaw and eyes wide open. Her breaths got heavier, as the shock prevented her lungs from functioning properly.

Then she closed her mouth, grinding her teeth so hard it hurt. She clenched her fists, her blood was boiling.

She was furious.

He used her. All this time he guided her, made her feel like they are a team, but it was all a show so she could free him and then get left behind. Again. Like an old tool, like an annoying child. Now that he’s free, she’s worthless to him.

“What happened, where did he go?” Merula broke the silence, but Luna ignored her.

She wanted to scream, she wanted to shout every profanity possible at him.

Still shaking, she felt a soft touch on her shoulder. She jumped back just to see Bill’s worried face. He put his hand on her shoulder again and lower himself a bit so their eyes are at the same level.

“What happened?” he asked, his tone very serious, but still empathetic.

She glanced at the others. They all stared at her with the same look as Bill, even Merula.

That awakened a hidden part of her that was responsible for shielding her true emotions from the world. Her furious expression turned neutral in a matter of seconds, her body stiffened and her eyes turned blank. Then her expression return to normal – conveying annoyance rather than anger.

“He left to find Rakepick on his own.” She said in a stable and casual tone, but the sharp shift in her attitude made everyone feel unease. Bill lowered his hand, but remained unconvinced.

“Did he say-?”

“No.” she said immediately, before he was able to finish the sentence.

“That was rather rude of him.” Luna was surprise to hear those words coming out of Merula’s mouth, but she was too busy with keeping a façade, than to give an honest response.

“I’m sorry, Luna.” Bill said sincerely.

Luna let out a venomous chuckle and felt her blood boiling again, although it wasn’t shown on the outside.

“Why? It makes perfect sense.” She said as her tone grew colder. “He was always a selfish bastard, why would he behave any differently now?” Bill and Charlie looked genuinely surprised by that. “What, have I never mentioned that Jacob is a garbage person, forged in hell by Satan himself? My bad.” She let out a frustrated chuckle and clenched her fists so hard, her nails started to pierce through her skin. “I should have known he’s just using me, god knows what I bloody expected-“ but she stopped when she felt her emotions getting the better of her again.

Charlie and Bill exchanged looks.

“At least now you know he’s all right.” Charlie tried to comfort her, but it just made her feel worst.

“Until Rakepick will inevitably kill him, because the moron went after her all by himself.” Her words were still loaded with resentment, but she sounded calmer than expected.

“I’m sure she-“ but Bill never got to finish the sentence, because Merula collapsed again and Ben barely caught her before she hit her head on the floor. Merula struggled a bit, but managed to bring herself back to her feet.

“I’m fine, leave me be!” she pushed Ben away.

“We’ll handle him later, we should get her back to Hogwarts first.” Said Luna and hurried to support Merula’s body weight when she started dozing off again.

----

Luna afterward:

[mavrisfanfics]

[Request] Genji x Reader - T-That’s a Dragon!

Fandom: Overwatch

Pairing: Genji x Reader

Words:3193 (went a little overboard here)

Warnings: None, I think

Notes: I don’t know I long I have this in my inbox because, again college is a bitch. Writing has been the last thing in my mind, honestly...

I everything goes well I’ll finish it in september... Plz pray for me, I need it...

---___---___---___---___---___---

A sigh left you as your fingers ran through dark tresses of hair. By the time the sobs started to calm, Genji entered the room, giving you a shrug, before calling for the young boy curled up at your side. Wet, brown eyes revealed themselves.

“No Monster…” Genji said as he walked to the bed.

“But I saw it!! I saw the monster!!” The young boy turned fully to his father, fear turning to disbelief. You pulled the child back to you and kissed his head.

“You know how daddy is, he’s too humble to admit he fought the monster away.” You winked at Genji, making the man chuckle.

“You caught me. I fought the monster, he won’t be back” He confirmed with raised hands. The boy straightened up.

“Really? Promise, papa?” Genji nodded.

“Want me and mommy to show you?”

With some reluctance the boy left the bed, ready to follow his father. Behind his back, you rolled your eyes at Genji before following suit. Did he have to drag you out of bed too?

After showing your son that his room was safe, you and Genji returned to bed, your son already in his, halfway to dreamland. The happy and safe façade you both held shattered the moment your head hit the pillows.

“This is getting pathetic…” You muttered with an arm over your eyes.

“He’s just a kid, it’s normal.” Genji replied, holding you closer to him and digging his face in your back.

“Genji, he’s been waking us up in the middle of the night, every night, for the past three weeks! What of that is normal?!” He sighed in defeat. You turned to him, worry reflected in your eyes.

“Should…Should… we take him to a therapist or something?” You asked. Genji thought for a while before replying.

“No, not yet. We should try to help him out first, don’t you think?” You frowned, doubts filling your head. Before you could voice them, Genji chuckled “Don’t worry, I’ll handle it, angel, just go to sleep.”

He kissed your lips as he pulled you even closer into his embrace.

---___---___---___---___---

Morning light painted the kitchen with gold. Genji was happily chatting away with your son, while you lazily sipped a cup of liquid energy. You were honestly too tired to join in the beaming energy they shared, thanks to another night filled with worry related insomnia, but you still indulged in admiring their smiling faces.

“So, did the monster bother you again, (s/n)?” Genji eventually asked, shifting the conversation. You perked up just a little bit.

“No, but they’ll come again tonight, won’t they, papa?” Your son’s smile gave place to a frown, twisting your heart into a knot. Genji only chuckled.

“No, I’ll catch it! But first, you need to tell me what it looks like, so I can find it!” Your eyes widened. You looked at Genji, who gave you a reassuring nod. Your son bit his finger and looked sideways.

“It’s big and yellow…” He started, pausing a second afterwards. “ It has big yellow eyes and small horns!” He put his fingers to the head, mimicking the mentioned feature, before putting them to his mouth like fangs. “It has teeth this big! And very pointy! It also flies…” He drifts off for a second, thinking. “Oh! And it has a scary growl!”

You were inwardly disappointed at the vague description. Genji tried to not let that same disappointment show, but you could read him well enough to feel.

“Hm, I don’t know, that looks hard to find!” Genji exclaimed dramatically. “You’re sure there is nothing else?”

As both father and son tried to come up with a better description of the nightmarish visions your son had, your brain started to wake up. Tired of not getting anywhere, you got up to start doing chores. It so happened your eyes fell on the notepad stuck to the fridge, giving you an idea.

“(S/n)?” You called, offering said notepad and a pen to your son. “Why don’t you draw the monster? It should be easier for papa to find it!”

He took the materials and started to draw. You came up behind Genji and bent down to hug his neck, head resting over your arms, right next to his.

“Great idea” You heard him whisper. “How come I didn’t think of that?”

“Because you’re tired and I’m the smart one.” You chuckled. Genji leaned into you, as your child kept scribbling on the paper, face scrunched in concentration.

Eventually, he finally turned the paper to you, proud of his depiction of the evil entity.

“This is the monster!”

You released Genji to lean for a closer look. It was… a spiky snake? You had no idea what to say.

“Genji, will this work?” You looked at your husband and had to contain yourself to not make a double take. He looked livid, eyes wide and mouth agape in either wonder or horror, you honestly didn’t know. He blinked quickly and his face returned to normal, before his child could see it. Genji smiled at him and ripped off the page.

“Of course, I’ll definitely catch it now! Why don’t you go play for a while, (s\n)? I promise, I will find the monster.” Genji helped him out of his chair, smile still on his lips. But as soon as your child ran out of sight, he sat back down and collapsed over the table, his head hitting it too hard for you liking. You carefully approached him, rubbing his back slowly.

“Genji?... What is it? Is something wrong?” You were legitimately worried from his reaction alone. He mumbled something you didn’t understand, not because he was mumbling into the table, but because your Japanese was too rusty to understand the meaning.

“I… didn’t get that…” You admitted. Genji leaned back on the chair, looking upwards at you.

“It’s…It’s a dragon… A spirit dragon…”

You looked back at the paper still in his hands. A dragon? Your head tilted, trying from see a different angle.

“Oh…”

The two remained silent. You had completely forgot what the Shimada blood carried, and you had no idea if Genji wanted to see it in your child, from his reaction alone.

You sat down next to him and pulled Genji to you, hugging his waist. Although you were afraid of Genji’s reaction to this all, you figured beating around the bush wouldn’t help.

“So… How do you feel about it?”

“I don’t know!” He admitted. “Part of me is proud, but I wanted to keep him away from the clan and everything, give him a normal life, but…”

You could sense Genji’s insecurities bubble up to the surface. It was the same wave of nervousness from when you were pregnant. Will I be a good father? Won’t the child think of me as a monster? What about the dragons? The clan? Will they hate me and their “legacy”? These were doubts no meditation could silence.

And you couldn’t help him if you couldn’t control your own.

“Genji Shimada, listen to me.” You started. You took a deep breath, before looking him in the eye. “We’re not sure it a dragon. It could just be a strange nightmare and there is no Shimada blood involved.” Genji tried to cut you off, but you put your finger over his lips to silence him. “Kids have strange imagination, and this could just be a spiky snake monster, okay?”

“That’s literally what a dragon is.” He commented, but you brushed it off.

“Yeah, I won’t believe it until I see a yellow spirit dragon floating around the house. Besides, if he’s afraid of it, how can he summon it?”

“Unconsciously, of course…” Genji replied. You shook your head

“Again, I won’t believe it until I see a yellow dragon floating around the house.”

“What do we do then? If it’s unconscious, I can’t ask him to do it…” You thought for a second.

“Well, he usually sees the ‘monster’ at night, right!? What if he sleeps with us tonight? When he wakes up screaming, we’ll see. If there’s nothing, it’s a nightmare, if there’s a dragon… we’ll figure it out!”

Genji pulled you to him and laid his forehead against yours. He closed his eyes in thought, while you awaited his answer.

“I think… Yeah, we can do that.” You rubbed your nose to his, in a small attempt to cheer him up. It worked, a soft smile bloomed in his lips, before he pulled you in for a kiss.

“We’ll deal with this together, okay?” You assured. “Now how about you go to Zenyatta and meditate a bit? You need to clear your head.”

---___---___---___---___---___---

As the sky turned darker, Genji became more on edge. You told your son that he’d be sleeping with you because Genji couldn’t find “the monster” that day. After some minutes of panicked cries, you eventually calmed down the young boy and convinced him to get ready for bed.

You too felt tense as bedtime approached, afraid of the night to come.

The three of you finally dived under the covers, with both you and Genji spooning the child between you and a free hand intertwined next to the boy’s head.

As the clock advanced, you watched your son fall asleep, his breath slowing into a peaceful pattern. But you could not follow, and looking at your husband, you could see his eyes shine in the dark. He was as awake as you, but neither dared to speak. You simply used your intertwined hands to communicate with reassuring squeezes.

Occasionally, you found yourself jolting awake when your son moved, and you noticed Genji react the same. By sun rise, your son didn’t wake up once, and both you and Genji where more tired than when you went to bed.

“Okay, so that didn’t work…” You uselessly pointed out over the remains of your breakfast. Genji’s state mirrored your own: droopy eyes and leaned over the table with his arm holding his chin. In the living room, you could hear the morning cartoons, entertaining your son, who appeared to have absorbed all the household energy that night.

“…I am still not convinced…” Genji muttered, spinning his mug with the hand that wasn’t holding his head.

“Wanna keep trying?” You questioned with a soft voice. Silence fell over you, as Genji mulled over his possibilities. It took a good while, but eventually he nodded.

And so, night returned. Bedtime came once more and the three went to sleep together again. Another uneventful night, only this time both you and Genji got some proper sleep. Even so, Genji was not convinced, so this kept going for a week until you had to step forward.

“Maybe it really is just a nightmare.” You pointed out after the 8th uneventful night in a row. “He probably feels safer when he’s with us and that’s why he doesn’t wake up.”

After a bit more convincing, Genji finally gave up and that night the young boy slept on his own bed, after both you and Genji swore the monster was gone. Even then, Genji remained awake most of the night, ready to jump out of bed if your son woke up again. It felt weird sleeping next to someone so tense, but you kept quiet and tried to get some sleep for yourself.

Nothing happened that night. Neither did it the next one, or the other one after.

Just like that, the nightmares stopped, and both you and Genji finally allowed yourselves a sigh of relief.

But one day, heavy dark clouds turned the day into night and rain fell. Thunder followed soon after, loud enough to shake the house. Your son immediately sought refuge, bursting into the kitchen where you were working on your laptop.

“You don’t really like thunder, do you?” You asked with a chuckle, combing your hands through the dark strands of the boy hugging you. He shook his head, face hidden on your side.

Figuring you needed a break, you closed your laptop and guided your child to the living room. You settled on the couch, son nestled on your side and a blanket over both. You tried to distract him with a movie and light chatter, and it worked, to an extent. He kept jumping and cuddling you harder whenever a flash of white would flood the room but would soon relax afterwards.

“What is this? Movie afternoon without me?” You heard Genji accuse as a light joke. You turned around to give him a loving smile.

“Didn’t want to interrupt your meditation session!” He jumped over the back of the couch and landed on the free spot in a perfect sitting position. The couch bounced, pulling a giggle from the young boy. You lightly rolled your eyes at the small show off.

The movie/ cuddle session resumed, now with Genji in the mix. After a while, another lightning filled the air with white, right before the house was plunged into darkness. You froze at the sudden blackout, but quickly relaxed when Genji’s cybernetics, the few he used around the house, filled the living room with a faint green glow. You son let go of you to glue himself to Genji, who muttered a curse in Japanese when he noticed the neighboring houses had gone dark too.

With a sigh of resignation, you got up from the couch.

“I’ll get something to light this up.”

“Perhaps I should go-“ Genji’s sentence got cut short by another lightning. He looked down at the boy bundled next to him, who curled tighter. “Actually, nevermind…”

You chuckled in response and pecked his lips before heading off to scavenge for any source of light. You had no idea how long you spent going through the house, but you knew you took longer than accepted when Genji walked into your bedroom, where you were digging for batteries in some drawer.

“Need some help?” He asked, noticing your lack of light.

“Yeah… The flashlight is out of batteries…” Genji stood beside you, allowing his cybernetics to illuminate the drawer. “What about (S/n)? You left him alone?” You asked.

“It took a while to convince him to release me, but yes. He’ll be fine.”

As if to disagree with him, another lightning ripped the skies open. A clash of thunder vibrated through the walls and you heard a scream, putting both you and Genji on alert. Struggling to put the batteries in the flashlight, you ran to the bedroom door

“It’s okay baby, you’re safe! We’re coming, just wait a second!” you yelled.

You had just snapped shut the flashlight when you heard another scream, more shrill and terrifying than the last one, and with no lightning or thunder that could have triggered it. You felt it run down your spine, mother instincts kicking in full force.

Both you and Genji ran out the room immediately. Genji quickly surpassed you and jumped the stairs entirely, ninja skills at full display. You were still at the top of the stairs when you saw Genji freeze in front of the living room door, and quickly deflate.

“No way…”

You were midway through the steps when your son ran out the room and barreled into Genji, quickly hiding behind him, bawling his eyes out, and only when you reached the bottom did you see it.

Floating in the middle of the living room was a yellowish- green dragon. Its body wasn’t well defined like Genji or Hanzo’s, more like a smoky shape. The head was clear, though its whiskers were like thin trails of smoke, instead of the defined lines you were used to. It struggled to move, its incomplete form making its movement slow and strange.

“T-that’s a dragon!...” You voiced your realization, at a loss.

Slowly, Genji kneeled down and turned to your son, voice calm and amused (or trying to, you noticed).

“(S/n)? There is nothing to fear. It’s a friend!”

“B-But it’s scary daddy! I’m scared!” Genji chuckled lightly and pulled his son closer with an arm around his shoulder. He moved the boy to his side.

“It’s scary so it can keep real monsters away, but it won’t hurt you, ever! Want to see?”

Before your son could protest, Genji stretched his free arm and a green light swirled down it before his own dragon took form, detailed and elegant unlike the other. Your son glued himself to Genji, eyes wary of the unknown creature, as it smoothly circled around them. The dragon brushed against Genji’s cheek in a sort of hello, before it floated over to you and curled itself around your neck like a scarf. You gladly accepted the cuddle.

“It’s okay, (S/n).” You approached them and kneeled as well. “There is no reason to be afraid!” You petted the dragon on your shoulder, and its purring stopped you son’s sobbing. The young boy kept his eyes on the dragon, curiosity taking over fear as he saw the ferocious beast turn into a noodle shaped cat at your ministrations. Genji then called his attention.

“Why don’t you call it?” He suggested, pointing at the yellow dragon.

Said dragon was now upside down and struggling to get itself upright, reminding you of a turtle, flailing with no success. Noticing the attention on it, the dragon stopped for a moment and stared at its master.

Still shaking, your son allowed Genji to lift his arm.

“Call it.” Your son shook his head and tried to step back, but you put your hands on his shoulders, reassuring him.

“Mommy and daddy are here for you. It won’t hurt you; we won’t let it.” You said. He looked at both his parents, received a nod from Genji, and puffed out his chest, ready to face the beast head on. Genji’s free hand reached out to you and you held it, fingers intertwined, shaking.

“H-Hey!”

The yellow dragon perked up, and slowly turned itself upright, still staring at its master. It then started to approach slowly, its shape getting slightly more defined as it got closer. When it was just a few inches away from the boy’s raised hand., it stopped. Genji squeezed your hand, waiting...

And finally, shaking, your son reached out, petting the yellow dragon’s head. Its eyes closed, content and purring, and nudged the small hand asking for more. Finally, your son giggled, fear of the dragon fully gone, and both you and Genji let out a sigh of relief. You leaned into him and lightly nuzzled his neck, the boy’s giggles making your hearts jump in happiness.

“…Do you think I can do it? Teach him?...” You hear Genji whisper. You turned his head to look at you and gave his brown eyes a look full of love and pride.

“I’m here, Genji. We made it so far, and we’ll keep doing fine, together.” As if confirming, Genji’s dragon huffed before vanishing back into its master. Genji smiled, pulled you close and you both watched your son and its new companion.

“Of course…Together, the five of us...”

[verus-veritas]

The Trunk

By Cris Kane

The airy upstairs bedroom was empty, except for the battered metal trunk near the windows. Dane had noticed the case when the realtor showed him the place, but he had assumed it, like all of the dusty relics cluttering the house, would be gone once he took ownership. All of the old lady's other belongings had been cleared out, so it seemed strange that the movers would have overlooked the large steel box.

Dane pulled out his phone to call the real estate agent, but hesitated. He'd watched enough of those TV shows like "Antiques Roadshow" where people found something weird and old tucked away in a garage or a basement or an attic, only to have it valued in the tens or hundreds of thousands of dollars. If the old lady's estate mistakenly left something valuable behind, wasn't it technically his property now? "Finders keepers," Dane thought with a smirk.

He started to muse about what sort of treasure might lurk inside of the trunk. Probably just some mothballed dresses from the Fifties or a jumble of knitting supplies. Dane found it hard to imagine that an old maid of 85 could have stashed away anything that would interest him. The house itself had barely interested him, being too old-fashioned for his taste, but he was persuaded by its location. In the past few years, the neighbourhood had been gentrified, and gents were just what Dane was looking for. Based on the prevalence of rainbow flags and gay bars in the area, he figured his odds of finding a partner had to improve.

Up until this point, Dane had established an unfortunate pattern of becoming hopelessly hung up on one hot guy after another, only to discover they were straight. Or at least that's what they told him. He knew he wasn't exactly anyone's dream-come-true with his nasal voice, bony frame, and curly red hair which no barber in his 26 years on earth had managed to shape into anything remotely flattering to his disproportionate facial features. Living where the population was 95% gay, at least guys would have to come up with more creative rejections than "Sorry, I'm straight."

Dane knelt down on the bare hardwood floor and pushed against the metal box. It didn't budge, so Dane realized it wasn't empty. He placed his hands on the latches which held the lid shut. The locks were tight and slightly corroded, and looked like they hadn't been opened in a very long time. Although braced for disappointment, Dane nevertheless felt his heart flutter in anticipation. He popped the latches and raised the lid. The rusty hinges squeaked.

When he saw the contents, Dane leapt back in fright, jamming his wrists on the floor as he braced his fall. The list of things he might have expected to see had not included the broad muscular back of a human being.

Dane gasped, covering his mouth to stifle a scream. Was the previous owner a murderer who left behind a corpse stuffed in a trunk? It had to be a recent kill, as the pale body looked healthy, and there was no stench of decomposition. Dane squeezed a hand into the front pocket of his skinny black shorts and struggled to pull out his phone.

Suddenly, the metal box shifted and rattled and a sleepy grunt emerged from inside. Dane's joints locked, his brain lost the capacity for rational though, and his lungs took a breather. The only organs still operation were his eyes, which widened as the contents of the trunk struggled to climb free.

Rising into view first was that wide back, followed by a pair of well-developed arms. Manly hands gripped the edges of the trunk, hoisting the torso upward and revealing a full head of wavy blond hair. The escape artist flung his back against the short side of the box and inhaled deeply, as if he had been deprived of oxygen for an impossibly long time. His hairless pecs rose and fell, and some color infused his skin. The hidden treasure was a fit young man, fully intact, clearly alive, and apparently naked.

Another one of Dane's organs stirred to life.

Once he had caught his breath, the man in the box grabbed his legs to untangle them from whatever ungodly yoga pose would have been required to wedge this body into such a confined space. First the left, then the right leg sprung free, draping limply over the edge of the case. His head fell back and he placed a hand over his eyes to shield them from the daylight streaming through the windows. From his parched throat emerged the faint words, "Too...much...light."

Dane snapped out of his stupor and scrambled tentatively across the floor toward the windows, adjusting the shutters to reduce the outside glare. Back pressed against the wall, Dane slowly boosted himself, first to a crouch, then to a fully standing position. He could see the entire contents of the trunk now, including the large limp package below the young man's waist.

The blond hunk rubbed his eyes, sweeping away the accumulated crud at their inner corners, then raised his head and smiled, dreamily sighing, "Dolores."

But when his ghostly blue eyes fell upon Dane, his body jerked and the metal case skidded half an inch backward. "Where's Dolores?", the young man demanded, his scratchy voice cracking from lack of use. His left arm slid down to cover his exposed penis.

"I don't know!", Dane shrieked with fear. "Who the fuck are you?"

The man in the crate swiveled his head and took in the empty room. His shoulders sagged and his facial expression drooped. "Oh, my," he said sadly, "she died, didn't she?"

Dane now dimly remembered the name "Dolores" from the paperwork on the house. He nodded in confirmation.

The mystery man pushed his hands against the box and boosted himself to a standing position, momentarily forgoing modesty as his cock swung down between his beefy thighs. When he reached his full height, he stretched his arms high with a yawn, his fingertips nearly touching the ceiling. He tilted his head back and forth and side to side to relieve a crick in the neck. Dane could hear the gritty grinding of bone against bone from across the room.  Finally, he stepped out of the box, offering Dane a full profile view that revealed the man's firm ass cheeks. The man placed both of his hands over his genitals and asked softly, "You wouldn't have some pajama bottoms that I might borrow, would you?"

It took a good ten seconds to piece together the question inside his boggled mind. His brain kept getting stuck on the word "bottoms". When he finally realized what he had been asked, he stammered some nonsense syllables, then raised a finger to excuse himself from the room and staggered into the hallway. He opened up one of the moving boxes and rummaged through the contents for anything resembling pants. He pushed aside handfuls of bikini briefs and Speedos, all of which would have looked ludicrously tiny on the big naked man in the bedroom. He finally grabbed a pair of electric-blue lycra running shorts which Dane had never been brave enough to wear in public. He rushed back into the bedroom and stretched out his arm.

The man examined the shorts quizzically, then turned his back to Dane as he clumsily stepped into the snug tights. It didn't even occur to Dane to turn away and offer the stranger a moment of privacy. His eyes remained glued to the man's glutes as the clingy blue fabric slid its way up their curves.

The man turned back toward Dane, his thick cock bulging inside the lycra, angled upward to the left. "I must say, I've never worn a girdle before. I'm not sure why the ladies complain so much. It feels rather nice." The man looked at Dane, studying his features. "So, are you Dolores'...nephew, perhaps?"

"Huh?" Dane was finding it difficult to concentrate on anything but the man's well-proportioned physique and that outline in his shorts. "Uh, no, I just bought the house after she...well... I'm sorry, who...or what...are you?"

The man looked embarrassed. "Of course. I should explain myself. You see, I come with the house."

"You come...? I'm sorry, what? What were you doing in that box?"

"That's where I stay when I'm not needed." The man said this with a smile, as if it were perfectly normal.

"Uh...huh. So how long have you been in there?"

"That depends. What year is it?"

It took Dane a few moments to come up with the current year. Upon hearing it, the young man frowned. "Oh, dear. The last time I saw Dolores, she did seem to be slipping a bit. I fear she must have forgotten I was there."

"Okay, I'm having trouble processing all of this. What...? Who...? Why...?" Dane couldn't form a coherent question. "What's your name?"

"I answer to whatever you please. Dolores called me Oscar. It was the name of a boy with whom she was smitten as a child, I believe. I am a servant, of sorts. What you might best describe as a genie, although the term is not entirely accurate as it applies to me."

"A...genie. So, what, you're going to grant me three wishes?"

"Oh, no, there is no limit on the number of times. But I can grant only one wish."

"Only one wish?"

"Yes, but...this is a bit awkward...I only...do...what I mean is...my only service is..." The nearly naked man seemed surprisingly embarrassed, before eventually blurting out, "I make love."

Dane burst into laughter. "The fuck you do!"

"Yes, that I do," said Oscar, a bit surprised to hear such salty language. "I and others of my kind are descended from Eros. We exist to provide erotic pleasure."

"So you...provided erotic pleasure...to this old lady Dolores?"

"She wasn't such an old lady when she moved in," Oscar said with a wistful grin. "It was my pleasure to bring some joy and comfort into what seemed like a very lonely life." He studied the gawky young man across the room and could see much of that same loneliness in Dane. "Alas, I fear I cannot bring you the same comfort."

Dane snorted and shook his head. "Figures. Even a fuckin' genie..."

"Excuse me, 'Even a...even a genie' what?"

Dane looked at the buff demigod and said with disappointment, "You're straight, right?"

The young man from the trunk smirked. "I'm whatever you wish me to be."

Dane looked leery. "Seriously?"

Oscar looked a bit embarrassed. "I do admit, it has been quite a while, but yes, I have provided pleasure and companionship to male masters on occasion." Encountering a man who was not embarrassed to admit an attraction to another man was, in Oscar's long experience, something of an anomaly, but perhaps a sign of progress.

Dane bit his lip. "So you're okay with sleeping with guys?"

Oscar smiled as he slid his hand across the smooth surface of his spandex shorts, cupping his fingers around his developing erection. "Much like wearing this girdle, I find it unexpectedly pleasant."

Dane's grin grew into a full-blown smile. He wondered how much those experts on "Antiques Roadshow" would tell him a find like Oscar was worth. But Dane knew the answer.

Priceless.

Source: “Caption This!” 24/02/18 by Cris Kane

[clembarbarossa]

Rest and Peace I

The life of an Assassin is one of constant toil, emotional duress and gruesome murders. So, I thought it would be nice to give them rest. Nice days to recover and do what they enjoy at least, amongst their loved ones.

Hey everyone! I started I series of fics whose theme is going to be the Assassins (and some Templar) depicted in peaceful moments, often with love and intimacy, because they deserve it.

My first fic feature Ratonhnhaké:ton, along with some Homesteaders, and is dedicated to my good friend @jiruchan! Enjoy!

There is some Kanienké’ha in this fic too. Feel free to correct me if I messed things up.

You may read it here on Ao3 too.

________________________________________________________________

    August was coming to an end. The air was still warm, the smouldering summer heat under which Warren and Prudence had to toll wasn’t entirely gone. The year was good, the harvest bountiful thanks to the rich soil of the homestead. His carriage filled with caskets of corn, bags of wheat and vegetables, Warren went to Boston to sell their crops.

    Still, Prudence had her hands full. Pigs, Cows, Sheep and Poultry to tend to, and so many vegetables yet to pick, and the most delicate task of all: Hunter.

    The boy was no longer a baby she could strap to her back while working. At four years of age, he was as swift and lively as the bunnies that constantly tried to nibble at their pumpkins. Prudence was even more worried that he apparently inherited her restlessness. Since her pregnancy and eventful delivery, she toned down her escapades in the wilderness: she felt like her poor Warren’s heart shouldn’t be furthermore mistreated and brave Connor couldn’t be around every time to save her from bears or impatient babies. Speaking of the wolf…

    Ratonhnhaké:ton was peacefully walking down the path bordering the farm. Going to Myriam cabin, no doubt to plan their next delivery of fresh furs. What intrigued Prudence was that the young man wasn’t wearing his heavy hooded coat, even he had to adapt to the heat after all. Even more unusual was the absence of any of his weapons, no bow nor guns and neither tomahawk at his sides. Only his peculiar leather bracers remained.

    “Conno’!” Young Hunter had spotted Ratonhnhaké:ton too, and rushed to his side with his usual recklessness. The balance of four years olds being what it is, he tripped a first time, and a second that made him land flat on the ground. The boy began to wail a mere two second after and Prudence could not refrain a chuckle, her son certainly had had worse stunts. Connor picked him up and brushed the dirt off with his hand.

    “Hello Connor, what deadly injury has my child sustained?” she jokingly asked.

    “Nothing worth bothering Dr White,” he softly replied, as Hunter stopped crying “this case seems beyond saving, I am afraid…”

    Prudence laughed at Connor’s unexpected joke; the humour was lost to Hunter who whined and clang to the young man. The usually touch-adverse Connor welcomed the toddler’s embrace and picked him up in his arms as he got up.

  “You were up to discuss furs and pelts with Myriam, I wager?”

    “Yes. Ellen is expecting a big commission from Boston and needed material, it will be easier to do if we team up.”

    “Indeed. Now sweetheart,” she turned to her son, “Connor has business to do, you heard, so you better leave him be…”

    Hunter yelped a defiant “No!” and clang harder to Connor when his mother attempted to grab him. The frown she made reminded Connor of how his own mother reacted to him misbehaving; she shifted her tone accordingly:

    “Oh no, you son of mine, you do not talk back to me.” Prudence growled without raising her usually gentle voice, “no one has time for a tantrum here, not Connor and certainly not me.” Hunter made a sad put and started to loosen his grip on Connor when the man spoke:

    “I do not mind if he stays with me, Prudence. You look like you have much to do and I am not that busy myself.”

    Prudence was taken aback by her friend’s proposal, but she had to admit it was a tempting one; she could finish her work much earlier without her toddler scampering around.

    “Aw that’s awfully nice of you Connor, but you are like Warren you spoil him too much, he’s going to turn rotten!” Hunter stuck his tongue out at his mother who playfully flicked him on the nose, the toddler giggled.

    “Sorry for that”, Connor said with a smile.

    “Don’t apologise for bein’ nice. And thank you, I could use this help, I trust you with him more than Terry’s boys.”

    Connor chuckled, Malcolm and Angus were rowdy kids and their last attempt at babysitting nearly ended in disaster. Thankfully, Norris saw them in his mine before lighting his charge’s fuse.

                                             <<<<<<<>>>>>>>

    One of the first things Hunter told Connor when he started to talk was for asking him why he is so tall. The adults around laughed at the young boy’s questions. Prudence didn’t miss the occasion and proclaimed that Connor became so tall because he wasn’t fussing when eating his soup, unlike a certain someone. Oliver thought more likely that the robust and meaty native diet was to thanks for that and Lyle White pondered if the fresh air of the Kanien’ké valley, free of the towns’ miasma, was responsible. Connor had no answers, although his parents were certainly not short. The memories of both Kaniehtí:io and Haytham made him fell silent for the rest of the evening.

    Now, Connor long legs and usual fast paced walk rapidly proved way too quick for little Hunter who scrambled behind him.

    “Conno’… Conno’!” The young man turned to face his charge, Hunter’s face clearly showed his frustration as he approached, “you too fast… I can’t follow you…”

    “You are right, Hunter. My apologies.” Ratonhnhaké:ton softly replied, he extended his hand to the boy who eagerly took it.

    For the rest of the walk, Connor had to lean and adjust his pace to Hunter’s. He didn’t mind as the child was extremely happy that way. He was hopping alongside his friend on the forest path and pointing at the birds while making joyful noises. Connor was used of this now, and resisted the urge to chide him for what would be seen as awfully rude amongst his people. He caught sight of a Northern Cardinal, all crimson, singing on a branch. “Look Connor, all the pretty feathers! Do you use its feather for your hair?”, the boy asked.

    “We do not. We use Eagle’s feathers.”

    “Oh. And why do you use feathers?”.

    Connor pondered the question and the best way to answer it to the boy. It was not often that Colonists asked him questions about his culture, even amongst his Assassin brethren. “We use it to celebrate, to show our feats to our people and our origin too.”

    “Origin?”

    “Well... I am from the Kanien’kehá:ka nation, or… Mohawk as some say. If I want to show it to the people of other tribes, I will have to put three eagle’s feathers in my hair.”

    “Oh!” Hunter showed a great deal of interest that surprised Connor, “and why don’t you do it now then?”

    “I… I am not… It will not fit with my hood.”

    “Aw… to bad, because I think it’s pretty!”

    “Yes. And we use feather to make things pretty too.” Hunter giggled.

    As they were nearing Myriam’s cabin, Connor spotted an Owl that Hunter didn’t see. He kneeled beside the boy and pointed at it with is lips, in native fashion. “Look here: tsihstekeri.”

    “What!?” The toddler’s shout startled the bird of prey who angrily stared at them both.

    “Tsihstekeri,” repeated Connor, “That’s how my people call the owls.”

    “Wah! And how you call eagles?”

    “Akweks.” Ratonhnhaké:ton replied.

    Connor was baffled but endeared by Hunter’s awe. To a four years old boy still struggling with English, the idea that things could be named in a whole different language was a constant source of amazement. When they reached Myriam’s cabin, Connor smiled and said “Iontó:rats.”

    “Hello to you too, Connor.” Myriam absentmindedly replied; she was sharpening the knife Norris once gifted her. “Kwey[1]! That’s how you say it too, right?”

    That word was familiar to Ratonhnhaké:ton, it was the first that sprung out of the lips of the tribes north and south of the Great Lakes and the Great Walking River[2] when they meet each other.

    “This is a greeting we use amongst many people, though my brethren usually say Shé:kon, to greet one another.”

    “Then what did you say, just now?”, Myriam stood up, “I hope you weren’t calling me names”, she jokingly added.

    “Conno’ is teaching me words!”, Hunter suddenly shouted.

    “Yes, Iontó:rats means ‘Huntress’.”

    “Oh well, ‘Yon-do-rads’? That’s nice to know. And how would you call a little hunter like we have here?”, she said while smiling at Hunter.

    “Rató:rats.”, he replied, while smiling at his young charge who beamed back.

    Connor and Myriam started discussing their upcoming tasks: on which ground to hunt and which to lay traps, where to find the best furs for Ellen. Hunter quickly bore of this conversation and began to wander around the Huntress’s cabin. The sight of dead trapped rabbits and drying furs didn’t faze the little farm boy much, he was used to it, watching his father kill pigs and poultry then playing in the feathers his mother plucked. The traps aligned by the door caught his eyes however. While the snares where not much to look at, the wolf and bear traps, with their sharp teeth, inspired him a morbid curiosity…

    “Do not touch that, Hunter!”

    Connor’s shout snapped him out of his little examination, his fingers already too close to the rusty maws, thankfully closed.

    “Oh, you need to keep an eye on that one, remind me of someone…” snickered Myriam.

    “Indeed” Connor beckoned Hunter to approach, as the toddler came closer, pouting all the way, he took his hand in his own, “There are things you should not touch, little one,” he lightly squeezed his fingers to make his point, “those could easily hurt you if you are not careful. Do you understand?”

    Hunter nodded and looked away, a bit upset by the lecture, Connor elected not to mind that. Myriam laughed as she stood up.

    “Well, I’m not in a hurry to get one of my own. It’d be complicated to have another baby around.”

    “I’m not a baby…” muttered Hunter and Myriam laughed again, tried to gently poke his puffed cheeks only for the boy to whine and hide behind Connor’s broad back.

    “You and Norris aren’t planning to have one?”

    “Well, he’d like too, and I’m not really against it, but you know how I feel about the whole housewife business.”

    “I do,” Connor smiled, “and the trees remember too.”

    “Oh please,” Myriam rolled her eyes, “Don’t bring this up, I panicked and nearly ruined my dress in this damn river.”

    They both laughed while Hunter side-eyed them.

                                                <<<<<<<>>>>>>>

    Ratonhnhaké:ton and Hunter were back into the wilds, the adults assigned each other places were to lay traps. Once again, Connor was carrying Hunter on his shoulders, to protect him from the bushes and vines. Hunter was lazily resting on Connor’s head, humming a little tune while playing with his braids. Connor didn’t mind and was looking for good spots for trapping foxes. Since he was in charge of Hunter, both he and Myriam thought it wiser that she takes care of the wolves and their pelts.

    Finding a good place, he crouches to lay his snare and place some bait. Hunter tighten his grip on Connor’s head and giggles as these movements make him rock back and forth. Connor playfully moves his shoulders to humour the child some more. Hunter’s laughter of delight echoes under the trees and scare off numerous birds.

    “Ush, Hunter, look.” Connor pointed toward the edge of the forest, by a clearance bathed in sunlight, first with his lips, then with his hands when Hunter didn’t understand. “Over there, quietly…”

    The boy squinted in this direction then gasped.

    “A doe!” His whisper barely concealed his excitement.

    “Yes. Oskenón:ton. Keep looking, under her belly.” Hunter focused, and saw a small creature peeking under the deer, similar but smaller with a constellation of white spots on its back.

    “Her baby!”, this time Hunter wasn’t as discreet and shouted. The doe stiffened and raised her head, sniffing the air, her ears twisting in all direction, searching for any trace of danger. Hunter realised his mistake and covered his mouth with his hands.

    “You need to be careful, Hunter,” whispered Connor, “Do not make any noise, lest you want to startle the animals.”

    The doe hopped back in the thick of the woods, her progeny right after her.

    “Aw no~” Hunter pouted, disappointment clear in his voice,

    “You will have other chances. Just remember to be silent, alright.” Ratonhnhaké:ton felt the boy’s nodding and resumed walking.

    “Conno~?”

    “Hum?”

    “I’m hungry…”

    “Is that so? Hum…” Connor thought of an answer as Hunter was starting to squirm, he remembered a place where blackberry brambles were growing and probably bear fruits this time of year, it would be a good trapping ground too. “Do you like blackberries, Hunter?”

    “I do! I do!”, the boy shouted in excitation and trampled his legs on Connor’s torso. “Let’s go pick bwackberries, Conno’!”

    The young man laughed at the sound of his charge’s childish slurs and enthusiasm and sprung forward.

    Despite Connor’s firm grip on the boy’s legs, he did bounce quite a bit on his shoulders. Hunter’s laughter and encouragement to go faster made him increase his pace. A soft wind began to blow, ruffling the leaves and the grass, cooling both of their faces. Hunter laughed even more and raised his arms to try and catch the leaves blown away. Connor kept his fast pace and the speed made forest around them blur in shades of green and brown.

    As they were nearing the brambles, Connor slowed down but kept skipping to humour the child. Even amongst Hunter’s giggles, he could distinctly hear a ruffle in the bushes that was way too loud to be of a hare, and far too near to be on an animal anyway. He came to an abrupt stop and gently placed in index on Hunter’s lips to advise him silence, the boy gasped and froze, taking this as a new game or the chance to see another creature.

    As they stood silent and listening, the ruffling increased.

    “Shit!”

    “Oh! That’s not an animal!” exclaimed Hunter, “Hey! Your mommy will wash your mouth with a soap if you swear!”

    “Don’t tell Ellen, then!” a girlish voice replied beyond the brambles. Connor recognised it as Maria’s. He couldn’t see the girl yet but heard her struggling in the bushes.

    “We will not, Maria. But what are you doing?” As he said that, Connor was approaching and saw the teenage girl, her dress tangled in the brambles and stained by blackberries. She looked up with a mixed expression of contrition and anger, somewhat softened by the sight of little Hunter perched atop Connor’s shoulders.

    “I was just strolling around. Something startled me and… Mom is going to kill me.” She said looking at the disaster brought on her dress.

    “She certainly will not,” Connor reassured her, “but she will probably want you to fix your dress.”

    “Same thing! I hate doing it, I don’t wanna become a seamstress, damn it!”

    “You should not swear in front of Hunter.”, Connor warned as he was getting the boy off his shoulders.

    “Right,” she sniffled, “Sorry, I… I have been trapped here for a quarter of an hour at least…”

    “Conno’ and I we saw a lot of birds,” exclaimed Hunter, running toward her, “and a doe and her baby!”

    “Ah… I that so?”, Maria replied with a grimace, trying to be somewhat amiable to the toddler.

    “Yes!” He lowered his voice, “and Conno’ he told me to be quiet because… because we shouldn’t scare the mommy with her baby!” He exclaimed anew, forgetting his caretaker’s advice.

    “Her fawn, Hunter.” Connor softly corrected him as he started to help Maria getting untangled.

    “Fawn!” Hunter joyfully repeated, “We saw a doe and her fawn, Maria!”

    “You two are lucky, then… The only thing I saw was a go… a cursed wolverine. Foul beast snarled at me, that’s why I ran and got caught here.”

    “You did well,” replied Connor, “better getting caught in a thicket than treading on the ferocious Tsikenekerehetshotáhrhon.”

    “The what?!?” Exclaimed Maria.

    “Conno’ is teaching me animal names in his language.” Answered Hunter, “An eagle you call it ‘Ag-wek’!”

    “Oh. That’s nice…” Hunter proudly beamed at her. “I think you’ll have to cut some of it Connor, it’d be too tattered even if you get it out anyway… And I forgot my knife…”

    “It looks like you are right…” Connor glanced at Hunter to check where he was looking; luckily, he was already picking and savouring the blackberries. Connor swiftly detached is left hidden blade to cut Maria free of the thorns. She stumbled out the way and stretched her legs, enjoying her new freedom.

    “Ah, thank you Connor! You must have magical power, always here to save people when needed!”

    “I wish it was true, Maria,” sadly replied Connor, he handed her the ragged piece of cloth he just got out of the bramble.

    “Maria! Say “Aaah”!”, Maria looked down to see Hunter presenting a blackberry for her to pick, the boy already had purple juice all over his mouth. She got the fruit with her mouth and smothered Hunter’s giggles with her new rag.

                                              <<<<<<<<>>>>>>>

    Once the trio had their fill of blackberries, or “Teiote’nenhrà:kton” as Ratonhnhaké:ton taught them, they got to rest at the edge of a clearing.  Hunter was running around after the butterflies, observing the various insects frolicking in the grass. Maria lent him her mop cap to shelter his head from the sun. It made him look rather odd, and her quite improper by colonial standard, with her brown locks free on her back, but neither of them cared, and neither did Connor.

    They were both sitting in the shade of a great oak, keeping an eye on the kid, a small mount of berries on a leather piece between them from which Maria regularly picked. Her chin was resting on her knees and her hands were buried in her dress. Connor was more relaxed; his legs were stretched in front of him and he was resting on his elbows. He didn’t get to place a lot of snares but that was something he could always do latter, with a more proper equipment this time.

    “I should do like Myriam and wear trousers when I go for a walk”, Maria suddenly muttered.

    “That would be more convenient indeed.” Replied Connor, “You said you don’t like sewing, but couldn’t you make yourself a pair?”

    Maria frowned and half buried her face behind her knees, “I asked Mom… she said it wasn’t proper, quoted a part of the Bible that said it was an ‘abomination’,” Maria snorted of frustration, “and made me read ten pages of it!”.

    “I see.” Connor understood the teenager frustration, colonial women had to put up with a lot of constraints while those of his people were the one running the show. His own reading of the Bible was motivated by his desire to better understand colonial society. While he managed to chew through the Genesis and Exodus, wondering all the way which parts were true, which were fictions and how many pieces of Eden were involved, the following books infuriated him with their nonsensical rules. He gave up and Father Timothy had the kindness to explain the rest to him. “I hope she doesn’t say that about Myriam.”

    “No. I brought her up actually, and she said that Myriam wear pants because of her trade and that – unlike me – she’s an adult.”

    “Eh, she has a point.”

    “Still, it’s unfair. I don’t mind dresses, but what’s the point of letting me explore if I have to keep it?”

    “You really do like the wilderness around here, do you?”, Connor asked. He saw a glimmer in Maria’s eyes before she answered.

    “Yes! I love it here! Everything is beautiful, it’s quiet, I discover new things every week, I doesn’t stink, and the people are nice. It’s not like in New-York…”, her demeanour suddenly darkened, “When this piece of trash was beating Mom again, I was asking for help to everyone… The neighbours, the guards, nobody answered… If you didn’t happen to be here…”

    “I was. And I would do it again anytime, Maria.” Connor comforted her, “As will everyone in the homestead.”

    “I know. That’s why I like it here.” She said with a smile. Connor smiled as well; it was during these moments that he knew everything he was doing wasn’t in vain. That he was actually able to help people be safe and happy. They both stayed silent a little while until Hunter ran toward them.

    “Conno’!! Maria! Look what I got! Look!” The overexcited toddler opened his hands to reveal a massive spotted beetle with a pair of horns on its head[3].

    “That is a good catch, Hunter.” Connor said, “Well done.”

    “Looks like a Rhinoceros…” Maria mumbled.

    “A what?” Hunter asked.

    “Rhi-no-ce-ros. It’s a giant beasty from Africa with two horns on its head, like your bug here. I’m sure Connor has heard of it.”

    “I did not. You seem really knowledgeable on the matter, Maria.”

    The young girl struggled a bit to refrain a smile of pride, “I have a book with a lot of engravings of animals from all around the world, some of them reaaally weird. I got it at school because of my good grades.” She noticed the gleam of expectation in Hunter’s big eyes, “I’ll show it to you, if you want”

    The toddler beamed at the proposal and voiced his approval of the idea. It was at this moment that the beetle decided it had enough of his handling and flew off his hands. The young boy tried to catch it without any success.

    “Ah no! It was gift for Mommy!”

    “Living beings are no gift, Hunter. Especially wild animals, that’s why it got away, you cannot deprive it of its freedom.” Connor lectured him.

    “And I don’t think Prudence would like this kind of gift anyway,” snarked Maria, “You should get her a bouquet instead, there’s plenty for it in this meadow.”

    Hunter instantly got his smile back and ran away in the grass to pick flowers. Connor chuckled, memories came back of an adventure where a flowery gift was less appreciated, but Prudence would like it no doupt.

    “So, you were good at school, a pity there isn’t any here.”

    “Oh, I had time to learn a lot. And Father Timothy keeps teaching me about a lot of things, not just the Bible. And he’s waaay nicer than the Pastor’s wife who was teaching us back in New York.”

    “Good to hear. And… do you know what you want to do later?”

    “I already work with Mom, and she wants me to take over after her.” She buried her face between her knees again, “And I don’t want to be a seamstress. I think that I want to see more of the world and help people, like you do.”

    Connor’s back stiffened. It wasn’t an answer he was expecting, part of him felt pride and approval, but he also felt fear, for his path was hard, dangerous, and thankless. For his brothers and sisters, being an Assassin was their choice. On the contrary, it was something destiny, or dreadful spirits, threw at him and he embraced it without fully realising the implications at first and he had to learn the hard way. He wasn’t one to turn down expectations and potential recruits, but dragging a young girl into his world was the last thing he wanted, especially the daughter of a friend.

    “I just help people I encounter.” Connor tried to divert the subject, “It is just something anyone would do, and should do.”

    “Ah! You’re humble but you won’t fool me. No ordinary hunter would go around with a frigate, and with those knives inside your wrists”, she glanced at Connor’s hidden blades’ bracers, “Achilles and you were working for people like Tallmadge, right? Helping the Patriots during the war?”

    “You… Let’s say that you are not far from the truth.” Connor was impressed by the girl’s deductions and relieved that her conclusion was wrong while still plausible.

    “Humpf! You can’t hide it from me,” she said with a mischievous smile, “Once I manage to make a pair of pants under Mom’s nose, you’ll have to teach me how to run in the trees like you do.”

    Connor chuckled, “Why not? Myriam could give you some lessons as well.”

    Maria brought her legs closer to her body, but Connor could clearly see her wide and proud smile.

                                                 <<<<<<<>>>>>>>

    As the afternoon was ending, the trio made its way back to the village. Hunter was holding Maria’s hand and his flowers in the other, hopping and humming a tune. Ratonhnhaké:ton was walking besides them, holding a generous bounty of berries in a bag. As they were approaching Ellen and Maria’s house, the girl made a stop.

    “Mom is going to scold me for the dress…”

    “Probably, but she will also be glad to see you safe and sound. Trying to hide the truth from her is a bad idea, she will know in a way or another.”

    “Right…” Maria sighed and went along with Hunter as the boy was pulling her hand.

    Maria’s fears were only partially true: Ellen clearly wasn’t happy with the dress but her anger was alleviated by the offering of blackberries, the fact that Maria had to run from a wolverine and the laugh she had when she noticed Hunter still wearing her daughter’s mop cap.

    Before they left, she offered a red ribbon to properly hold Hunter’s bouquet, and quickly re-arranged the flowers to better suit Prudence’s tastes despite the boy’s protests when she left the dandelions out.

    After proper good-byes, and Maria’s renewal of her promise to show her book to Hunter, they left for the farm. Connor indulged Hunter with another ride on his shoulder. The toddler was overjoyed when Connor crossed the river by doing some free-running on a log instead of the bridge.

    When they reached the farm, Prudence was resting under the porch, Connor let go of Hunter and the child ran to his mother.

    “Mommy! Mommy! Look what I got you!”

    “You what? Oh!” Prudence laughed when her son shoved the flowers under her nose to give her a good look of it. “Thank you, my son, I like your flowers very much.”

    “Maria told me to do it and Ellen gave me the ribbon. Do they smell good?” the boy asked. His mother took the bouquet a smelled it, she did it noisily on purpose before giving her verdict.

    “They smell wonderful, Hunter.” He beamed and Prudence embraced her son as thanks. This view brought a smile to Connor, he was happy to see that some were able to freely enjoy what was taken from him.

    “Well now I’ll have to put them in a vase.” She said while standing up, “A thousand thanks to you Connor, for taking care of my son. I hope he wasn’t too much to handle and that he didn’t prevent you from doing your work.”

    “Your son behaved splendidly, Prudence. And don’t worry, none of my tasks had any urgency. I’ll leave you two be for now to attend to it.”

    “Wait!” Hunter yelped as Connor was leaving. The toddler ran to the man to hug him. Connor smiled and accepted his embrace.

    “Good bye, Conno’. I’ll get to spend time with you again and you’ll teach me other words, right?”

    “Right.” Connor smiled, “As soon as I can. Goodbye for now, Rató:rats.” Hunter laughed.

    After really leaving and waving back, Connor was left by himself again. The Sun was starting to set and the warm evening light was bathing the trees and meadows. Musty smells of flowers, earth, evergreens and berries were filling the air. Insects and birds were chirping, only interrupted by the occasional breeze that contrasted nicely with the warmth of late August’s weather.

    As he came into view of the Manor, Ratonhnhaké:ton realised – with a pinch of sadness to his heart – that it was the first time in months that he had such a nice and quiet time. He probably won’t get another moment like it anytime soon, but such was his work as an Assassin. After all, it was the joy and relief he could bring to others and the promise of such times that made it worth it.

    Clearing the clouds of sadness off his mind, like he already did so many times before, and armed with a new resolve, he prepared himself to gear up again.

End notes :

[1] Algonquin for “Hello”, it became a word for salute in many north-eastern languages.

[2] The Saint-Lawrence river

[3] Eastern Hercules Beetle (Dynastes tityus). It looks like a beige Rhinoceros beetle, with black spots.

[purplenarwhal19]

COSMIC DANCER

so, here’s a v short story I wrote for class about the importance of exploration. two of the songs that are excerpted in my story I found through @basic-banshee ‘s fanfic Rebel Rebel which is one the best (probably the best) fanfics ever.

Also I don’t know how to do the cutoff thingy so it’s gonna be a long post 🤷‍♀️ so sorry

....

enjoy, I guess? 💕

COSMIC DANCER

Over the radio, a gentle guitar played, followed by T. Rex’s smooth and repetitive lyrics. I sighed, bliss. We were driving on a California road in our rusty tour bus. Sitting in our narrow duffel bag with my costars, with bemused smiles plastered across our faces. Cool air conditioning blew a soft breeze. We listened to beautiful, alternative music, an epic soundtrack for our journey. This was the life of a performer. A true actress.

It was the summer of 1971. I was an actress and dancer on the television and stage show, Desi Dance. We were a children’s show that taught people all about India’s rich culture and history. Dance, art, poetry, music, and food offered just a peek into Indian tradition. We had been performing and touring for six years, but it felt like we started the show yesterday.

“I danced myself right out the womb

Is it strange to dance so soon?”(1)

The guitar solo came into full sound with the backing vocals. It created a powerful feeling that filled my whole body with true hope and strength.

All my life I had danced. It was my escape, my passion, and my love. It felt like that was what I was made for. Reading also brought escape, when the pressure of being an actress became too much. Reciting poetry for my castmates or singing a song that was stuck in my head was so relaxing and freeing. The lyrics are what spoke to me about music, and while I had quite a large vocabulary, there were often times when I didn’t know what a word meant.

“Beraham, what is a womb?” I questioned the boy next to me, clad in loose fitting turquoise pants with gold embroidery.

“I don’t know, Shrishti,” Beraham said plainly.

Beraham and I both sat there, still enjoying it, yet dumbfounded. Curiosity, a crimson rash that we needed to itch, in that unreachable spot on your back. This infection spread throughout the whole cast, leaving all of us with that same itch.

Maybe I could ask my movement director when we get to the venue… I thought as I drifted off, wrapped up in the comfort of music and friendship.

The year was 1973. In the dressing room, now with a smaller cast, we were practicing lines and getting ready to film. I had been groomed with brushes, painted with makeup and had been dressed in the most gorgeous fabrics. My lengha was brilliant magenta with intricate canary yellow details, and paired with a simple sequinned pearly white top. I loved these days, dressing up, feeling beautiful like a royal queen.

To the left of me, a record player played a Paul Simon favourite, setting our moods to the upbeat song.

“The mother and child reunion

Is only a motion away

Oh, the mother and child reunion

Is only a moment away”(2)

A familiar feeling of confusion washed over me. Why is the reunion so important? Why were the mother and child separated? Who are they?

Who is my mother?

Where is she?

Everyone has a mother. Our director, our manager, our movement director, the children in the audience; everyone except me and my fellow actors.

Everyone except me.

I tried to close my perfectly designed eyes, to block out the image of my unfortunate life, but my body refused to listen to my command. Blinking wasn’t even in my control.

I felt so overwhelmed. I had no identity. Who am I? This was a question from too deep in my heart for me to bear.

It was too much. I wanted to leave, I had to get up. I willed my thin, stick-like legs to stand up, pushing, using all the strength I had, just to leave the room.

Nothing happened.

I tried again, hoping for something, some sign of my own independence.

Nothing.

My body wasn’t mine. My will, myself, I could not control it. My life wasn’t mine.

I looked around at my colleagues, chatting, laughing, and totally unaware of their inability to be free. Bound to our employers who dictate and orchestrate our every move.

“Oh, little darling of mine

I can’t for the life of me

Remember a sadder day

I know they say let it be

But it just don’t work out that way”(2)

Paul Simon was right, I still can’t remember a sadder day than that one. My life had changed forever.

As years passed, I began to feel emptier and emptier, resenting my profession, and hating my life. Those years also happened to be our most successful, as a show. The success changed everything. Our bosses got sloppy; high on the fame, as well as their drugs of choice.

Most notably, Arjun, our stage director, became addicted to heroin. It was a horrid sight to witness him become a shell of the person he used to be. It reminded me exactly of that sad, sad Velvet Underground song.

“Heroin, be the death of me

Heroin, it’s my wife and it’s my life

Because a mainline into my vein

Leads to a center in my head

And then I’m better off than dead”(3)

It broke my heart to see him like this. I couldn’t understand how he could inject a toxin into his body by choice. How he could slowly kill himself one high after another.

By then, I had realized that I wasn’t human. I was something else, like them, yet different; stronger, yet weaker.

I spoke with my closest companions, Beraham, Jaidev, and Mitali. They were as confused as I was the day I realized I entered this world without anyone, without a mother. They too began life motherless.

The directors, started our show with shining faces, and now were graying and worn out. We kept the same expressions over the years, never seeing a wrinkle appear, never feeling an ache or pain, never feeling or looking our age.

We hadn’t aged in the past 20 years. We were to be used, like the puppets we were, forever.

“What can we do?” Mitali questioned, urgency overtaking her usual calm nature.

“Nothing,” Jaidev said. “It’s hopeless…”

“I want you to know deep in the cell of my heart

I really want to go

There is another world… a better world

Well, there must be…”(4)

I felt like the Smiths were reading my mind; I wanted another world, a better world, and I hoped with all my heart and soul that there would be one.

This was the lowest depth of our depression. We considered “ending it all”, whatever that meant.

Most of the time our directors listened to nonsense music filled with empty, happy thoughts that had less meaning than my life. When we listened to the melancholy music of Miles Davis, Billie Holiday and Chet Baker, that our bosses listened to so rarely, it felt reassuring: someone else suffered as we did.

Determined to solve this problem, I decided to speak with the director about our conditions. I had heard the humans refer to us as “puppets”, inanimate objects who could only recite lines, made only of felt, and paint. This sounded as bad as any slur that I’d heard before. They pushed and shoved us around, threw us in crowded duffel bags. This had to stop. We needed to break away from the chains the humans bound us in.

“Today we will close our show with an excerpt from Keralan poet, Kamala Surayya. “I am sinner, I am saint— I’m sorry. I can’t do this,” I paused, taking a moment to think of the right words.

“I cannot read the words of a woman who has lived and loved, while I am kept here, held captive by you humans!” I angrily burst, far less eloquent than I had imagined, emotion overtaking my composed mask.

My face turned a deep scarlet shade of red, reminiscent of tamaatar; something that had never happened before. The camera people, directors, and executives stood in place, too shocked to move or speak, the puppet that they had manipulated for so many years had finally taken control and spoken back.

Divya, a camera person, pale and shocked, stuttered, “W-what is happening?” She glanced around nervously at the other people in the room to see if they saw the same thing.

“Divya, you aren’t hallucinating. This is very real. My costars and I are conscious beings; we may not be able to move like you humans, but we deserve the same treatment as you. We have thoughts and feelings, hopes and dreams. The way you speak about us is degrading. The way you touch and move us is disrespectful. We deserve respect and our thoughts and opinions are as valid as yours,” I spoke with a dignified tone. “The cast and I would like to have a meeting with all of you to discuss our treatment.”

Wide eyed, the crew, obediently agreed and took us to our cramped dressing room. The room was painted a pale yellow with a cheap elephant decal on the wall that was torn and peeling on the edges. This tiny room barely housed all thirteen of us cast members. With all of the behind the scenes crew in our room, we were packed in tight, like sardines in a tin.

“We have called this meeting today to negotiate our rights and responsibilities within this community,” Mitali serenely began. “Our citizenship within our show needs to include us as full members with equal rights and consideration. We understand that your use of us has immense benefits for you, with few benefits for us.”

“You make significant profits from our labor. Your wage is even plentiful enough for you, Arjun, to fund your addiction.” Jaidev scoffed.

With a quivering chin, Arjun begged, “What can we do to fix our mistakes?”

Beraham blustered, “ We want a change in your behaviour!”

“We cannot move on our own, so we expect help and kindness. When you have moved us in the past, even just five minutes ago, you throw around our bodies, like the inanimate objects you believe us to be. We want to go outside and see the world. We want more space in our dressing room, and we expect some real answers about who and what we are,” I demanded.

Afters some discussions we learned that we were the descendants of Saraswati, the Goddess of wisdom and art. The movement directors, who were called “puppeteers”, had no idea that we could do more than just read prepared lines, until we had all travelled to America. This was too far away from the Pundita, that had given them the divine puppets that we were. They could not receive guidance. They had no idea as to what we were capable of, or how to teach us.

That Pundita was my mother.  Her name was Tavni, and I was given a picture of her.

She had a golden, caramel complexion, with large eyes and hazel pupils. She had a smile that lit up a whole room and round, rosy cheeks.

I noticed the similarities in our appearances, the way she had crafted me to look so much like her.

I had found my identity.

Learning all of this information brought a new sensation to my eyes; something burning and prickly, and a wet droplet traveling down my cheek. I was crying! This feeling brought a warm emotion of relief, of content and of closure.

Soon after these discoveries, I realized that I loved my job. Even though the past years had been rough, this was what I was meant to do. If conditions improved, I would truly be happy.

I was going to do what my mother created me for. Dancing and performing, bringing India to the whole world and teaching about our glorious culture. I would do just that.

“I danced myself into the tomb

I danced myself into the tomb

Is it strange to dance so soon?

I danced myself into the tomb…”(1)

THE END

~

SONGS REFERENCED:

(1) Cosmic Dancer, T. Rex, 1971

(2) Mother and Child Reunion, Paul Simon, 1972

(3) Heroin, The Velvet Underground, 1967

(4) Asleep, The Smiths, 1987

[woodcricket]

"I will not join you as an Apprentice, sire. Your tricks are not any magic I have known, and they are not something I will be affiliated with." Her gaze was steel. The apprentice's eyes were wide, fresh, and young behind her dark and tattered cloak.

"How can you make such an accusation, mage? You have yet to see my show, let alone participate." The scientist's lips were spread thin, a predatory smile as his glinting metal staff alighted with a sparking current from a simple switch. It traveled through the metallic conductor resting between battered and charred fingertips. The lights strung throughout his traveling caravan alighted, and he swung his staff sharply towards the young mage girl and her apprentice.

"I would have loved to have you, and I still do long to do so." His words hung heavy in the air like his staff. They both were poised as a subtle danger; something to ensure the scientist was listened to appropriately. He hated a distracted audience.

"You will prove to me the worthlessness of my craft right here, upon my stage. Have you any qualms?"

The mage was momentarily silent. She allowed her hand to drift to the apprentice's soft-haired head. Her loyal squire, whom she now doted upon, looked at her with fear in the whites of his eyes. She would never say, but she admired his passion for her trade, though he lacked the mechanical skills of owning the inner magic itself.

"Go, Rallad. This will become a place unfit for young boys. He wants a fair fight betwixt us, though he must use his tools and traveling stage to create the battle he seeks."

The scientist scoffed.

"-Such wit! But of course, to comfort the young boy. I would gladly battle you anywhere, maiden, but I feel as if you would want a true test of your abilities to prove me incorrect." She could feel his mirth at such a biting retort, insides practically shivering with apprehension of the battle before them. What exactly was he getting at?

"Stop your prattle." Her hand outstretched, palm facing the thin, towering man to silence him.

"You scientists always chitter with your fancy tools and sparks, no real words spoken between it all. I will battle you fairly, here, and there will be no need for your excuses of the space you chose." Her voice was unwavering. If her father had taught her anything, it was the value of a threat to someone far beneath you. The cheek of her rival had gone far enough.

He sputtered thickly. The intricate bulbs dangling around him flickered. An insult to a scientist's tools of trade was a severe blow to an individual. His grip on the shining copper staff tightened.

"And mages always tend to have their self confidence a-rested the clouds above. If you lose this battle, you will learn my craft and without discrepancy. These are my terms."

He strode to meet the girl, cape billowing largely behind him. Hand extended and present-again smile wide, she could feel static in the air, hanging heavily enough to choke.

"I accept your terms. If I win, you will stop pestering me upon my journey and your kin will cease antagonizing mine own."

Despite the stakes being large, her tiny hand was grabbed and enveloped hurriedly, and built up static offered her a small shock. She could face a life learning to live below another sect, or he would have the harsh responsibility of telling the head of his sect he made a wager no rightful man could follow through on.

Regardless, though, the battle would begin. They both took four paces backwards; him stage left, her stage right. Maroon curtains hung over the floor, shadows falling deftly around his hanging stage lights.

"A shame, really. Tickets would have sold well for such a battle as this." Always tongue in cheek, the scientist's spatters of jest made the mage roll her eyes.

Before she could respond, his staff hit the ground twice as the cubed device on top of it sparked and crackled to life. A simple, large battery. The floor became dangerous and swarming, sluggish looking rivets of electricity flowing through the grafted and bolted metal boards right towards his adversary. She jumped upon her now-hovering broom handle, beginning to sit jively. Her demeanor had changed almost as fast as the scientist's attack. Quips and friendly play were always a pleasure, and a honed ability of her family tree so said her father.

"Only a sluggish fool falls for a foolish slug, Galvan. Perhaps you are just rusty: or weak?"

The scientist's laugh was sharp and most obviously perturbed.

"You sound like so much like your father, Maille! But you are so much prettier than he, yes?" As he talked, more intense sparks flew from his special homemade device. The floor's electricity began to raise higher.

"Sluggish and conniving as you are, perhaps you words could have truth." Her smile was oddly friendly, and her form lay relaxed upon the broom. Her body language taunted him moreso than actual words. It spoke for her. His battle of immense stakes to prove himself was merely casual to her, no need to be in arms at all. The smile on the magician's face began to twist and mangle to a scowl.

"Why don't you climb down and show me your true prowess, dear friend? I see volts and showers of power from my end of the stage, but thus far, I am quite bored with your performance." His voice was tainted with annoyance, and he was getting rather agitated. Perfection from his finely tuned craft, nothing less expected of himself; but nary a spell from her floating fortress of solitude.

"Why don't you come visit me up here, dear scientist?" Her voice purred. "Or are all of you afraid of a mere flying broomstick?"

"Slyness is a virtue, but it seems you take your gifts for granted, much like a spoilt child." He hated to bring his next phase of performance to light so soon, but the time had come. She wasn't biting, and he was distressing over her casual demeanor.

"I should like to cage you as my own, slyness and all. Shall we find a befitting cage for my new mystical flying pet?" The mage scowled much like he had. She was no flighty canary, all voice and no brain. Her body righted itself upon her broom, more prepared for action.

His staff arose from the ground, and the floor began to dull in it's voltage, but it would still prove to be effective if its need arose. The battery crackled once more, another switch hit, and the scientist looked as of he was searching for something to touch with it. She spotted them too late. Metal spools of string, held aloft by ties to the wooden stage bolts and slabs electrified instantly with a soft hum, strewn all around her. A bold and thoughtful move, his famed web was not a friendly action towards magely insects that crawled into his ring. Her broom slowly, carefully descended as the webbing surrounded her. Her thoughts travelled to the shadows. Mages surely were above darker magics, but he had truly forced her hand due to her inaction. Her broom began to dip downwards, and with a short, ancient incantation upon her lips she dipped silently into the shadows of the curtains beneath her.

The scientist's smile returned as she disappeared. He increased the voltage of the strings through his staff via a small dial. It wasted energy, but would be oh, so satisfying. The only shadow now, through his brightened lights, was his own. From the recesses of his staff he procured more of the wiring- thin, white, and surprisingly strong- a sect specialty. He would finally catch his bird. The string was set to be as little comfort against skin as possible.

She delved for a moment, breath held in the murky darkness. By waiting in the suffocating Under, she hoped to shock him with an off-timed attack. But, her energy was expending quickly, along with breath. She would have to emerge, soon enough.

Swimming upwards like a salmon against a river current, a hand breached the surface into the floating electrical currents above. Upon her return she was instantaneously tied by strings in deft hands: the scientist, surprisingly, was a diligent worker as well as a showman. But of course, to him, the most patient of scientists would be bestowed with such a beautiful gift: a hypothesis proven right.

"Oh, how pretty you look beside me, mage." Before she knew it her torso was lifted up from the shadows and covered now with only a simple twist of his staff. His hand came to rest right above the thickly twined substance as she struggled. He then lifted her by her shirt with ease, her small frame made him cautious while she lay defenseless in his skilled hands. He could break her in two if he so wished, really.

But he did not so wish.

His face was now a small breadth away from hers now, and his free hand cupped her cheek. The static that clung to it stung, and she flinched. In the moment, the string was alighted further, a separate hum from the rest of the stage causing significant discomfort.

"Say I win, and I will surely let you go." His breath was deadly hot against her cheeks.

"Though I certainly cannot deny it may come with... Strings attached." His sharp laugh caused her brows to furrow further and her face to turn disgustedly aside. She was partially numbed by the electricity, but the only choice was to fight through.

"You have me tied up, oh dangerous spider- why don't you just eat me up, already?" Her voice stung with the simple spite of nursed pride as chafes and scrapes began to do the same.

"Oh, how naive. Have you not heard how we scientists win?" His free hand that had cupped her cheek squeezed hard. He had never come this close to winning...

"We can't help but set our experiments up for success with endless, endless planning. God nor the Devil controls our realities. Now tell me," He purred, half-drunk from ascertained victory, "- Do you abstain?"

"I do not, Galvan." She responded, small smile evident.

"You may be cruel in your accursed plans, but myself?" Though disgusted by his advances, she turned tail and chose to play along. Her face got tantalizingly close to his own, and he became confused. Maille's taunts were so now vaguely sultry; is that what they taught in her sect? Normal mages were much more stuck up, obsessed with preening and showy impressions in battle, not unlike birds. He was at a loss.

"I'm simply smarter, dear scientist." She focused her mind, eyes suddenly clenched as she began to create a focused windstorm with mere firing neurons. The stage's bulky bulbs and strings blew haphazardly, some falling and snapping the threads on the floor as her own personal tailwind hit the scientist, blowing him back away from her tied torso. Her wind then became sharper than any steel blade, and blew straight through the scientist's string against her front.

The floor was much less active now, the electricity being forced to subside with yet another switch, to avoid more injury to himself through the metal conductive flooring. Maille approached Galvan as he leaned heavily against the far stage wall, wind knocked out of him. To fall to the ground was to admit defeat in this bout. Her small hand found hold under his chin and his beady, scrutinizing gaze found her own.

"Another mage specialty to note. We learn well from the elementals, as quick as they are for a rouse in the hay with just about anyone. Have you ever been kissed, Galvan?" Her eyes sparkled with mischief as his faulty expression gave it away before he even had a chance to respond. Years of rigorous study left little room for pleasure, let alone a pleasure with such powerful magic attached. A smirk played upon her face, before her lips crashed into his, and bit down hard.

His head immediately reeled back, crashing into the wooden walls of his traveling stage. He stepped up hurriedly from his wall of safety, and promptly tripped over tangles of fallen lights and string. Galvan's buttocks hit the ground, and they both knew the match was called. Fury consumed the scientist, and he scrambled forwards back onto his feet. She, herself simply took a step back, with a respectfully clandestine smile.

"This is asinine!" He spat, hair skewed and slicked with sweat, eyes bulging. His embarrassment at such a simple act was all too evident. All decorum was off the table, if that's how she wanted to play.

"Of all the ways to cheat through a match- it's unsightly to act as if a succubus here! The match should be nullified! That can't possibly be legal!"

The mage's nose pointed upwards, and she smiled downwards.

"My dear sir, I am dreadfully sorry this songbird did not sing the tune you were so aching to hear. You must not be used to seeing beautiful women from the scientists' little ivory tower in yon' mountains. Now, I believe you have Penance to pay, and some terms to exact with your sect. Please send a squire to my guild once the message is received."

Her own squire, having seen the match end, scrambled hurriedly upon the stage once more, immediately by her side. He leaned into Maille, relieved to see her alive. Though, unfortunately, she smelled of electricity and crisped hair.

"The battle was amazing, Maille! You really stuck it to him!" He pumped a fist towards the sky, and the haphazardly made belt holding his shirt to his pants whipped as he turned to the scientist and stuck out his tongue.

"You conniving brat! I should like to battle you next!" The gaunt scientist huffed, shilling through his pockets for said Penance.

"Now you've gone to threatening my young squire? If you are so inclined, in the future a rematch could be held. But for now, you must abide by my winning terms." The man shoved 10 gold into Maille's palm, and she felt raw, humiliated heat radiating from his person. Her... unique attacks surely must have belted him.

"Your terms are recognized." He said sourly.

"Until next time, when I will defeat you and you will learn from your new mentor. I vow to volt those silly powers from you myself until your untimely death."

Maille laughed warmly. Always the charmer, Galvan was.

"As you wish, Galvan. Apologies if my my methods," She held a slight pause. "-disarmed you. I meant no ill will in the throes of battle."

Galavan turned, waving a hand abashedly.

"Go now, Maille. Leave me to nurse my wounds."

[emathevampire]

🖊

Amanthos is comically bad at hiding the fact that he’s undead… and yet the current party he’s travelling with has yet to call him out on his BS. Like, okay, he’s good enough at passing for living, but only in passing. If you spend more than a couple days with him, you’re more than likely to notice that even for one of his race, he looks a bit off colour. But NO ONE will call him out on ANYTHING, except for the fact that his eating habits (particularly his habit of eating things that are not food and may in fact be literal poison) are setting a bad example for the child they’re trying to cure of an eating disorder. So… here’s how that discussion went (it’s p long so i cut it for space). Victor, Amanthos, and Eridañe are my characters. Gelwyn, Livia, and Shiro belong to my players.

Context: The party has just killed a True Demon and is discussing how best to go about training Eridañe, the hate-spawned demon child they rescued from the Abyss, to fight, since her combat capabilities are pretty unimpressive once you take away the artifact that grants her a variety of terrifically evil spells. Victor and Amanthos are not exactly friends, but they’ll agree that working together will probably be the best option. Victor most begrudgingly, as he is extremely protective of Eridañe and does not like the “small annoying nerd man who smells like a dead hooker.”Shiro: “How many dead hookers have you smelled?”Victor: “Ha ha. Very funny.”Amanthos: “Well? How many?”Eridañe: “What’s a hooker?”Amanthos: “‘Hooker’ is a crass term for a person who—“Livia shoots all of them a dirty look and covers Amanthos’ mouth.Livia: "It’s nothing you need to worry about right now. How about we start your training once we get out of the sewers? Those monsters won’t stand a chance.“Victor: “I won’t tell you when you’re older. Anyway… what else do you know that smells like death and too much perfume? Besides little knife-eared nerds who talk too much for their own good?”Livia, suddenly nervous: “um.. I think that’s just the smell of… his perfume. It’s just… a fancy elven thing. Right Amanthos?”Amanthos, lying his ass off: “I have an intolerance for positive energy, like approximately a third of my race do. Some of the other effects of the affliction unfortunately include that wet corpse smell in humid weather… which I try to mask for the benefit of those around me.”Victor, not buying a single word of it: “Riiiiiiiiight.”Livia: “It’s not his fault he um… has a medical condition?”Victor: “Oh he has a medical condition alright.”Victor: “It’s called being fucking dead.”Amanthos: “HEY! I do NOT fuck the dead!”Gelwyn: “I don’t think that’s what he meant…”Amanthos: “Necrophilia is HIGHLY ILLEGAL AND IMMORAL I would never!”Victor, snickering: “Oh boy, sensitive subject? I see listening comprehension in this party is piss poor.”Amanthos: “…”Eridañe: “We would never piss on the poor!”

Livia: “Would you two stop it! We have enough to worry about without you two fighting!”Victor: “If we were fighting, your little boyfriend would already be dead, kid.”Victor: “But as you can see, he’s still in one piece.”Gelwyn: "No, Eridañe, he didn’t mean that he was pissing ON the poor. In this context, piss is an adjective that is modifying the word ‘poor’. You are correct, though, that we would never piss on the poor. That would be terrible behavior.“Livia, blushing, clearly embarrassed: "I like this conversation more, can we just teach Eridañegrammar for a while?”Victor raises an eyebrow as the smirk on his face grows more pronounced.Eridañe: “I’m… confused.”Gelwyn: “It’s alright, kid, almost no one else in this room gets it either. Remind me when we get out of the sewer to make you another gold star. For the effort.”Eridañe: “Yay! I love gold stars!” She pulls a chewed up wad of gold stars out of her mouth. “More please!”Livia: "Have those been in your mouth this whole time?“Eridañe: “…if i say no, do i get another one?”Livia: “You might get another if you tell the truth.”Victor: “Hey! We talked about this! Only food goes in your mouth!”Gelwyn: “… Ok… Going to have Dimas make the stars from now on. Out of something that’s supposed to go in a mouth.”Livia: “Wait, what are those made of?”Victor sighs exasperatedly: “I don’t know, but it’s better than the broken glass I caught her chewing on yesterday. Or the rusty nails from the day before that. Or just the straight up fucking dirt. Or poison she fished out of a rat trap. I swear I don’t know how she finds these things”Eridañe grins mischievously.Livia looks horrified.Victor: “It’s not funny. Stop that. Don’t you care that you could get seriously hurt?”Livia: “He’s right, if you keep putting stuff like that in your mouth you’re going to get sick or hurt yourself.”Eridañe: “But Amanthos eats whatever he wants all the time! Why can’t I eat paper flowers too???”Amanthos, who has been quietly relieved that the prior conversation had been forgotten up til now, is now caught looking mortified as he tries to subtly exit the conversation. Caught and dragged by the scarf, by Victor, whose eyes are glowing menacingly. Liva steps in-between and tries to separate them, but Victor has already gotten hold of him.Amanthos: “…in my defence, I never knew she was watching?”Victor, growling as he pulls Amanthos’ face up close to his: “Why am I not surprised that the phrase ‘you are what you eat’ is true once again, in the case of the man who apparently eats literal garbage and poison for sport?”Livia, pulling Amanthos away from him: “Eridañe, just because you see someone else eat something they shouldn’t doesn’t mean you can. Why not eat something that tastes better than glass or dirt?”Eridañe: “Food is evil, or it tastes bad and hurts you… why don’t you eat things that aren’t evil?”Eridañe: “If it tastes bad and hurts you, it’s not evil!”Livia: “Food definitely isn’t evil, where did you hear that?”Eridañe: “…i just know it.”Livia: “Would you believe me if I said I could find you food that is 100% evil free?”Eridañe: “Yes. But only if it looks gross, smells bad, tastes bad, and feels bad. The opposite things are evil and make you a bad person if you eat them.”Livia looks very confused and looks up at the party.Victor: “Wait a minute is this why you won’t eat vegetables? Because you think they’ll taste good?”Amanthos: “Fascinating…” Victor glares at him.Gelwyn: “Ok, new plan. When we get out of here and get all the pressing matters taken care of, we’re gonna have us a celebratory dinner. Think we’ve earned it. And we can use this as an opportunity to demonstrate some proper eating habits. I’ll ask that you trust me on this, kid, but you’ll find eating properly is a surprisingly important part of Stabbing Evil Things.”Eridañe: “But I am eating properly! You’re the ones that are wrong…”Gelwyn: “Let’s think about it this way. Who’s better at stabbing things, me or you?”Eridañe, smugly: “Me. You slash things.”Amanthos: “She does have you there.”Victor: “NOT helping.”Gelwyn shoves his greatsword straight though the dead Vermin Lord’s body.Gelwyn: “Ok. Who’s better at stabbing. Me or you?”Eridañe proceeds to do the same, and then pulls her rapier out the other side with mage hand. Eridañe: “ME.”Amanthos: “Okay, hold up, can we not desecrate a corpse please?!”Gelwyn frowns, and redirects his next attack into the stone wall, burying the adamantine blade in to the hilt. Gelwyn: “Me, or you?”Victor: “Kids, please, you’re both very good at stabbing, but can we remember basic sword safety before things—“Eridañe uses true strike to shove the rapier all the way into the wall through a crack in the brick.Victor: “—get out of hand???”Amanthos: “Oh no, why would we ever stop anything before it got out of hand. Fights, insults, whatever this devolved into… no, let us absolutely keep going until someone gets hurt or says something they regret.”Gelwyn: “Quiet Large Children, we are in the middle of a lesson. You can bicker by yourselves. So how far into the stone did you get, Eridañe?”Eridañe proudly shows that she got it all the way to the hilt, she just used the dexterity method as opposed to brute forcing it.Gelwyn: “Yes. And your blade is shorter than mine.”Victor: “She’s also much smaller than you are.”Gelwyn: “And if she wants to sass me with semantics, I’m going to call her on technicalities.”Victor: “Large children? I’m not the one engaging in pissing contests.”Amanthos nods. Victor yells at him to stop agreeing with him.Gelwyn: “That is literally what you and Amanthos were just doing. I’m attempting to demonstrate the virtues of proper eating habits. Stop interrupting.”Victor begins to open his mouth to contradict him, but stops and just glowers quietly in his general direction instead.Eridañe: “It’s not fair though! Your sword is bigger than mine! You’re cheating!”Gelwyn: “Here, you can use my sword then.”Eridañe: “No, you use mine so it’s fair.”Gelwyn: “If I used your sword, it’s probably going to break. You can use my sword without worry, though. Much stronger metal.”Eridañe: “No I can’t. It’s the wrong shape.”Gelwyn: “Because you aren’t good enough at stabbing yet.”Victor: “She’s not proficient with anything else yet… she is actually being honest. She’s not a proper fighter, she never trained with anything else.”Gelwyn: “Yes. So I’m the better stabber. Which she needs to admit.”Victor: “Arguably, yes, however not in a way she can meaningfully correct without a long delay in her training. And also not in a way that eating healthy will necessarily fix. Eating properly will help her use her own sword better, not let her use whatever sword she wants.”Eridañe: “If you’re better with my sword than me, then I’ll believe you. But nobody is better at stabbing than me! Nobody!”Amanthos: “I would take this challenge but something gives me this funny feeling I am already in enough trouble…”Victor: “Yes you are. Now sit down and shut up.”Gelwyn: “Ok, I’m going to abandon my demonstration, ‘cause nobody seems to be getting the point… Which was that part of the reason I’m so good at stabbing is because I make sure to eat properly. As good as you are, Eridañe, if you made sure to eat properly, you’d find it even easier. Is that something EVERYONE HERE CAN AGREE ON?!”Amanthos, Livia, and Victor all look down sheepishly and nod in agreement, along with quiet murmurs of “Yes, eat actual food, please…”Amanthos: “I… did not know that the habits I found tedious and exhausting to maintain were having an adverse effect on the most vulnerable members of our team. I failed to realise that keeping up with this particular one was a necessity for more reasons than the obvious ones. You have my sincerest apologies, and I promise to do better about it in the future.”Gelwyn: “Thank you… Now I need to sharpen my blade when we get out. Eridañe, you should let me check your sword, too. Metal weapons don’t hold up long against stone, even Adamantine and Mithril. Weapon maintenance is pretty much the "Eat properly” of swords.“Victor: “Oh, so now you think about that! Why do you think I was trying to get you two to cut that shit out in the first place?!”Amanthos, grinning: “Well, it is no wonder they failed to comply. Cutting would have been contrary to the objective of the contest they were engaged in.”Victor: “…I hate you.”Amanthos: “I know.”

In character, Amanthos is relieved that he’s gone this long without having to explain anything to the paladin, and that they’ve all been gullible enough to go along with the excuses he makes. He’s secretly honestly thinking he’s getting away with it. Out of game, however, me the DM is just like “HELLO? MAKE HIM TALK, DAMMIT!”

They’ve had every opportunity to interrupt one of his 8-hour bubble baths and find this nonsense happening. They’ll have more than enough opportunity to ask why, when told to restrain enemies until they can be questioned, he tied them up with black silk rope and chains in a way that implies he only has ranks in Use Rope for kinky shenanigans. They have every reason to question his motives and his character. But they won’t. I’ve been reduced to having other NPCs ask the obvious questions because the gang is so incredibly resistant to my attempts to quietly stir up drama. I am literally dying over here begging my players to make him spill the tea, while Amanthos sits at the table sipping it smugly and feeling altogether far too pleased with himself.