#*the dark creature of madness POSSESSING HIM. possession part is very important. :) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

enigma-im · 4 years ago

Text

Tenth day of Christmas...

Trope: Soulmate

Relationship: Alien x Human

Word count: 5,282

A lazy Saturday night. No responsibilities, nowhere to be, just me, and my tv. I quickly change into my pajamas, ready to plop myself on the couch for the rest of the day. Grabbing my phone on the way out of my room I swipe through messages, ignoring a great portion of them in favor of total isolation. Just me and my shows tonight.

A chill runs over my neck before I hit my shin against something hard. Arching forward I cradle my leg with a restrained curse barely sitting on the tip of my tongue. I look down at the sudden coffee table before me, it's bright white design polar opposite to my dark aesthetic in my home. I glance around the room, running cold at the unfamiliar environment. Everything is bright and illuminated, the furniture the only dark thing in here besides the baseboards lining the walls. I gawk in utter confusion.

"Who are you," someone barks, rolling into a growl. I snap my attention to some…thing standing just behind me. I twist towards them quickly, taking a few steps back as I take them in. Tall is my first thought, followed closely by bright. The creature is an alluring shade of blue, a mix of dark and light around its face. The top of its head is skin like hair that looks slicked back. It's almost like dreadlocks in their thickness. Average looking human eyes but a long mouth with thin lips. If it wasn't for the human-like stature I'd assume this was some sort of monster. The clothes are a slightly comforting touch. All around it's a rather disgusting looking man…alien…monster…thing.

He takes a threatening step towards me, shouting again," Who are you? How did you get into my home?" I choke on an answer, still confused and lost. Jerking my head here and there I take in the room, still just as weirded out. Where am I? who is this thing? I curl into myself, panting heavily as I panic. The thing takes another step, catching my attention again.

"Answer me, human," he spits the words," How did you get here?" I flounder for an answer, gawking like a fish as I try to talk.

"I-I-I," I try to speak," don't know." He recoils at the answer, before looking stricken. His lips peel back into a snarl, showing off sharp intimidating teeth. I nearly whimper at the sight, feeling like prey at this moment. He charges at me.

"Out, out, out," he shouts. I take frantic steps back till my back hits a wall. He corners me easily, grabbing at my shoulders. I shut my eyes, clenching up for the oncoming attack.

I'm greeted with silence.

I peek open my eyes to see my familiar bedroom. Uncertain, I curl my hands against my chest and look around the room. I see my bed, my vanity, the slightly ajar door to my bathroom. There is no sight of the alien man. I quickly bolt to my closet, grabbing my bat before checking the apartment. I walk to every room, ready to take on the horrid monster.

I clock out of work, heading to my car. Hooking up my phone I jam out to some tunes while I sort my work attire out. Setting my name tag in the cup holder and tossing the apron to the passenger seat. Before I can press the brakes I see a light bright enough for me to force my eyes closed. I feel my seat sink, a weightless feeling taking me for a moment. I open my eyes.

Coming up empty I manage to circle back to my room, confused and hurt. I rub at my chest, trying to ease this great discomfort. Setting the bat by the door I curl up in bed, forgoing my lazy Saturday night.

It's weeks after the incident and I'm left feeling like it was all a dream. There were no odd moments after that one, surely it was some strange mishap of imagination. I actually begin to forget it as the month comes to an end, though a strange emptiness stirs in my stomach. The feeling is worse at night, leaving me to cuddle with my pillows to ease it minorly.

I look into the barely familiar room, clenching onto the armrest to a chair. Terrified I look all around, spotting the strange man in a small kitchenette. We make eye contact, both of us startled. He recovers faster than I.

"You! What are you doing back in my house," he shouts, storming over. I sink further into the seat, nails biting into the wooden rests.

"I don't kn-," I try to explain.

"I don't want you here, how are you coming back," he barks, angrier than our first meeting. I try to explain again but he shouts over me. His words are harsh, accusing me of things I didn't do. As I attempt to speak over him he just gets louder till I feel near tears with all the stress.

"Stop coming here, I don't want you," he grabs at my hand," how did you manage to get in here in the first place? Humans do not possess the wit to get here on their own, so tell! Answer me! How did you get here?" I tug on my arm, trying to get out of his grip.

"I don't know," I scream," I don't know, so please stop yelling at me." I feel ridiculous as I'm near tears but I feel the situation calls for it on some level. I didn't mean to be here, it's not my fault.

The man stumbles at my shout, letting me go as he takes a step back. I curl into myself, wrapping my arms around my body, and tuck my feet up on the chair. He watches me, angry but lost. I glare up at him, fighting back the stinging in my eyes. My chest feels sore.

"I don't know where I am and I just want to go home," I plead, gritting my teeth. He furrows his brow, sneering as he reaches out and touches my arm. Before I can attempt to fight back I'm back in my car.

Looking around the dark parking lot I fall lax once I realize my position. I whimper as an ache squeezes at my chest. Leaning forward and banging my head on the steering wheel I take a deep breath, then a few more.

There is sadly a next time.

Can't write that one off as a dream.

I wait for the next few days anxiously. Trying to convince myself of 'two is a coincidence, three's a pattern' does little to soothe me. I could only hope that those two incidents were flukes. My nerves try to get the best of me but I know better. I get angry every time I think back, mad at how some harsh words could get me near tears. No man, alien or otherwise, is allowed to get such an upper hand on me. I promise myself indifference the next time I see that jerk.

I'm taken from my shower, to my misfortune. Covered only in a towel I stand in the bright living room, flustered and angry. The alien stands before me, arms crossed as he gives me a once over. As his gaze meets mine he quirks his brow. I tighten the towel around myself, glaring all the while.

"Caught you at a bad time I see," he says nearly bored. I huff, walking around the chair to hide my lower self. As I twist around I catch him tilting his head to follow me with his eyes. I snap my fingers at him, catching his attention. "send me back," I demand. He recoils in disgust at my command.

"No, I'm not some servant to make a request from. Also, I need to talk with you," he answers. I scoff, twisting away. Talk with me? Does this conversation involve more yelling and blame? I'm wet, cold, and flustered. I've been tense all week waiting for this exact moment to happen and I rather not spend another second here.

"No," I grumble.

"Excuse me," he bites back. I turn towards him, sneering.

"No, I don't want to talk with you. Send me back and keep it that way," I growl, a tad proud at the sudden backbone I've grown. He scoffs, shifting weight to his other leg.

"Do you believe that I intend for you to keep coming back," he asks the rhetorical question," because trust me, I don't want you around as much as you don't want to be around."

"Oh really? Haven't noticed," I tease," you have been so friendly up until now."

He rolls his eyes," sarcasm, such a low form of wit." I bite my tongue from throwing a remark back.

"Doesn't matter, send me back," I demand.

"Not until we talk," he shoots back. I tense in pure frustration. I'm near-naked and confused, I don't need this right now. Twisting away from him I fold my arms over my chest. He can talk if he wants but I don't have to answer.

The alien sighs," if I give you something to wear then will you talk with me?" I check on him from the corner of my eye. He looks as tired as I feel at that moment. Reluctantly I nod.

He exits the room, coming back shortly with a long shirt. Handing it to me he turns around, leaving me to put the shirt on and tying the towel around my waist. I sit in the chair as he sits on the couch. The silence is almost as bad as the yelling. I clear my throat, trying to bait him into speaking first. He sighs.

"Well I think the best way to start is with an introduction," he shrugs," I'm Egil, a Birger."

"Hello Egil," I wave awkwardly, dropping my arm quickly," I'm Kari, a human. I think you knew that part though."

"yea," he scratches at his neck," I wanna make a deal with you, Kari. We are in a bit of a bind that makes this little teleporting thing common. You see, we are important to one another according to a much higher power. I never chose this, let you know that now, and I'd prefer it if this little…situation… wasn't permeant." I squint at him, confused.

"What?"

He sighs, rubbing at his face," my people have a very interesting power that most of the galaxy favors. With that power comes a 'blessing' that brings another being to us when the time is right. Now I thought this someone would be a, well, another Birger. That's clearly not right so I just have to make do. So I'm asking for you to bear with this little inconvenience for a little longer until it runs its course and we can go our separate ways."

I process his words, rolling them around in my head. A special someone? Am I the special someone? What does he mean by 'run its course'? I think of a proper way to articulate my words to get across how utterly lost I am in this conversation. I look between his beautiful lavender eyes.

"What?"

He drops his head in his hands, rubbing at his eyes harshly before he snaps," you are my mate and if we wait a bit then you will stop being sent to me. So I ask can we just be civil until this stops?"

I taste the words on my tongue," Soulmate?"

He rests his chin on his hand," sure, soulmates. That's not the point, do you agree to be civil until this all blows over?" my brain flips flops. I take a moment to actually let the words settle before I speak. I cross my legs, resting my elbow on my knees and leaning forward.

"So you have soulmates and you think I'm them-,"

"You are," he interrupts.

"- so you want to ignore it because of why exactly?"

"Because it won't work, obviously," he answers casually.

I quirk a brow," because I'm human or because you can see the future?"

He snorts, recoiling in mirth," do you want to be my mate?"

"No, of course not. I'm just asking because I know like thousands of people who would be jumping for joy in this situation and I'm trying to see if you don't see me as an option because your racist," I tease, baiting him a bit. He deadpans, not amused in the slightest.

"Deal or not, Kari," he asks.

"Yea, sure, whatever," I wave him off," are we done now? I'm catching a chill."

The few long conversations we have had were surprisingly pleasant. When he isn't being a grump he can be downright enjoyable to be around. I can almost see how we could work together but I trash that idea when he starts getting snappy again.

He scoffs," yea, sure." standing he reaches over and touches my shoulder, sending me back home.

The next month is filled with annoying moments of being sent away. At first, it was mainly when I was at home, which was better than later when I was sent from work. In those moments Egil is kind enough to promptly send me back. In my more relaxed moments, he pulls me into a conversation, though he sounds bored with it most of the time. I look on the bright side of these meetings, learning what I can about him and aliens.

I try to go on with my life as normal, going out with friends and shopping when I can. I've been blessed to not be taken away in front of everyone. Almost like the teleporting has some know-how on good times and bad times. Though the shower one will never be forgiven.

Lounging against Egil's couch I listen to him explain how his planet's seasons work. It was started with me complaining about the cold in my apartment. He seems to be in a better mood today, talking animatedly about his favorite season. I admire him, finding the twinkle in his eye charming.

"You know when you aren't being a grouch you are nice to be around," I say casually as he takes a short pause in his rant. He stumbles on his next words, turning to me confused.

"What? You think I'm a grouch," he asks.

I shrug, laying against the couch," you get in your feelings a lot and it tends to spoil a meeting."

"In my feelings? I don't follow."

I watch him fidget a bit," you seem to sulk into yourself and I can't get you out of it no matter how much baiting I do. I prefer it when you are speaking animated like right now. You seem to enjoy talking about science and the inner workings of your planet. It's nice." he flusters at the compliment. His cheeks turn a strange dusty purple. I smile to myself at the sight.

"Well, science is entertaining but many people don't care to listen to it often. I can't blame them, I can see how hearing someone ramble for hours about biology and the workings of plants during different temperatures. It's just so cool how the weather can drastically change how a tree will present itself. I mean it just knows the correct way to arrange itself to get the most it can from the sun and I ju-," he glances over at me, sighing," sorry, I'm rambling."

I wave him off," no, go on. I have nothing to do tonight and spending it alone in my apartment doesn't sound too exciting."

He chuckles," glad to hear I'm more entertaining than an empty living space."

Friday night I dress to the nines, truly trying my best. I'm not really optimistic about this becoming more than one date but a girl can try a little. I meet the guy at a set location, agreeing to walk together to dinner. When I see him I'm in awe at his look and my luck. I might owe my friend an apology and a thank you.

I shrug, gesturing for him to continue his rant. My chest feels a bit full when I hear him speak, which is far better than the empty feeling I gain when I'm sent home.

My friend kindly notices my melancholy as of late and sets me up on a cringey blind date. I couldn't help the depressed state I've been in lately. When she offered such a plan I was extremely reluctant. A blind date is for the sad and lonely, or socially impaired. I guess I would fall into one of the categories. I agree after a bit of encouragement.

We talk on the way to the restaurant, the conversation bright and exciting. The empty feeling I've felt lately is bearable in this man's presence. We get our seats and continue talking all through dinner. I'm tempted to invite him up to my apartment. Couldn't hurt to see where this will go.

I excuse myself to the bathroom before we leave. As I open the door I see the bright room I've gotten used to. My shoulders drop as I walk further inside looking for Egil.

"Egil," I call. I hear a creak behind me, twisting around I see Egil staring intently at my dress. Relieved, I step over to him," hey, I was in the middle of something important. Can you send me back?" he takes a moment to actually look up at me, quirking a brow.

"You look…fancy," he says his words carefully.

"Yea, I'm on a date. So can you send me back please," I ask again. His eyes trail down to my dress again, his head tilting as he appraises me. As my words sink in he snaps his attention back to me.

"A date," he frowns," with who?"

"A friend of a friend. I don't have time to talk, he is waiting outside right now. So please," I reach for him. My hand falls on his wrist, tugging him forward. He follows, looking a mix of frustrated and confused.

"Where are you two going," he asks instead of grabbing my shoulders. I huff.

"My place, now please," I shake his hand. He swats me away.

"Why you two going to your place," he asks like an upset father.

"Egil, I'm not going to spell it out for you. Now, please," I reach for him again. He grips my wrists, a tad too hard. His gritting teeth are the last thing I see before I'm back at the bathroom. I walk in feeling sick to my stomach. Passing the mirror I look at myself for a second.

It's a long while before I get sent back to him and it's a rather strange time. I head to bed that night, snuggling up in my sheets.

Why was he so angry?

I don't meet up with my date again after that night. After the meeting with Egil, I feel a little mixed up. He is always a grump, that's normal, but this time was more than mild annoyance. Was he angry with me? That idea picks at me. Why would he be angry?

I wake shortly later to some loud thud. Groaning I twist on my bed, running into a wall I wasn't prepared for. Confused, I look at the couch I'm strewn across. I sit up looking around the dimly lit white room.

"Egil," I call out tired. I get no answer. Getting up off the couch I step around towards the kitchenette spotting Egil sitting on the floor lounging against the cabinets. "Egil," I catch his attention. He bobs his head up, smacking it lightly against the wood behind him.

"Oh, great, it's you," he pulls a drink up to his lips," how was your date." he spits the words. I take in the scene before me, Egil sitting disorganized on the floor with an unknown bottle in hand. He sways a bit, looking distraught.

"Are you drunk," I ask.

He chuckles," of course. What else is there to do at a time like this?"

"Sleep, if I had to suggest something," I joke, more nervous than amused right now. He snorts a loud laugh.

"Funny," he points at me, waving his drink around," one of the traits that bruise me so easily. Like a fruit falling out of a tree and hitting the ground too hard." I quirk a brow. Alright, he is drunk.

"Poetic, I think it's time for you to get some sleep," I crouch before him," you think you can make it to your bed after you send me back?" he sneers, rolling his head against the cabinets.

"Always with that damn demand," he takes another swig," I don't want to do that anymore." I huff. I guess I'm relaxing here tonight. Reaching forward I grab his arm to tug him up.

"Alright, time for bed, Egil," I help him stand. He stumbles as he gets to his feet, bumping into me. I steady him, holding his waist. He takes the moment to swing his arm around me, nearly making me fall as he drops on me.

"What was that outfit your wore the last time," he mumbles near my face, the stank of his alcohol burning my nose.

"My dress," I ask as we make the trek to his bedroom.

"Yea, the dress," he grins, giggling like an idiot," I liked it."

"Thank you, my mother got it for me," I answer as we reach his door. I swing it open, tugging him in. He bumps and nudges me till he falls onto his bed. I take the relief to catch my breath, he is a rather heavy and sloppy drunk. Couldn't hold at least some of his own weight?

He turns onto his back, kicking off his footwear with a dopey grin on his face. Sliding up the bed he looks to me, gesturing me over. In my experience with drunks, this I what we call a bad idea. I take a step closer, still a good enough distance to get out of reach. He gestures me closer. I don't budge, he sneers. Snatching my wrist he tugs me closer, using his other hand to cup the back of my neck. My face is uncomfortably close to his.

"You have the prettiest eyes," he pets at the back of my neck," like weeping gems in the deepest caves of Turmore. Which is fitting because your beauty is so grand it nearly makes me weep in pure joy." I glare at him utterly confused. I gulp hard.

"Are you always like this when drunk," I nearly squeaked. He shrugs, dropping my wrist to pet at my face.

"You bring out the weird in me," he scrunches his nose.

"Ok," I grab his hands and push them away," you need to sleep, I'll be on the couch." I try to take a step back but he pulls me back.

"No," he whines, pulling harder. I fight against him, trying hard not to fall on the bed. With a well-timed tug, I'm pulled against his chest and twisted onto my back. Leaning on his forearm and stretching the other on the opposite side of my head he glares down at me. His stare is hard and focused unlike before. I look between his eyes, waiting with bated breath for his next move.

Egil lowers himself till his lips are near my ear," I want to tell you something."

"y-yea," I try to turn to him but my cheek bumps his. His answer is to kiss my cheek. My heart flutters in my heart like a loose door in a storm. I'm stuck between uncomfortable and uncontrollably excited.

"I don't like our deal anymore," he bumps his head against mine," I feel more and more idiotic for suggesting it."

"why," I shift back to look at him. His eyes are barely open, either from the drink or something else. It doesn't look erotic but he keeps acting this way. He shifts so he can grab my hip, petting me with his thumb.

"I was stupid," he falls to his side, resting his head on his pillow," I was scared of you. Now I'm terrified of you."

"What," I ask offended. I try to crawl out from under him but he circles his hands around my thighs and rests his head on my chest.

"You like our conversations and you're really funny. I don't want to stop seeing you," he rubs his face against my shirt," please don't stop seeing me." his grip a bit harder, trying his hardest to not let me have an inch to get out. I pet at his head, trying to placate him.

"It's alright," I coo," I'm not leaving, I'm right here."

He grunts," for how long?"

"let's just live in the now, Egil. Let me up and try to get some sleep, I'll be here in the morning," I try to push him off. He clenches harder, looking up with his chin pressed against my sternum.

"You can sleep here," he suggests.

"No, that's not appropriate," I scold. He snickers, leaning up and pressing a kiss to my neck.

"Neither is pushing your mate away but I already did that," he makes me shutter as he licks my skin. I take a deep breath, very caught off guard with his attentions.

"How about we talk about this in the morning," I offer," just go to sleep." he grunts, pressing his face in the crook of my neck. I can't bother to try and push him away, somehow enjoying the weight of him on me. I pet at his head, trying to lull him to sleep.

"Good night, love," he brushes his nose against my jaw.

His eyes flutter open, closing as he grins. He stretches, tugging me close, and bumping his head against mine. It's after a moment that he stiffens, pushing me away as he sits up. Laying on the opposite side of the bed I watch his startled expression. He looks from himself to me then the bed. His features strain into a frown.

I sigh," Good night, babe."

I wake the next morning to soft snoring rumbling near my ears. Taking a deep breath I peek my eyes open, looking at Egil lounging on me. His arm is thrown over my chest, hugging me close to him as he sleeps. I take the quiet moment to admire him, look at his lax features. The urge to pet his face is strong. I give into it for a moment, feeling his soft skin on his cheek.

"Don't get grumpy," I yelp. He relaxes partially, more confused than anything.

"Why are you in my bed," he asks.

I chuckle half-heartedly," I've heard a similar question when we first met."

"Kari," he says sternly," please explain."

I fluster, grabbing the blanket to cover most of myself," I don't wanna."

"Why?"

"Because you might get mad or embarrassed," I answer. That doesn't seem to help as he scoots farther away.

"Kari, I'm asking nicely, what happened?"

I nibble my cheek as I debate answering. Surely sober him wouldn't have the same ideas at drunk him. Does he honestly want me to stick around? Will he want to hear about how he kissed and licked my body before falling asleep half on top of me?

Will he still think my eyes are pretty?

"You got drunk. That's it," I answer quickly," I put you into bed and you didn't want me to sleep on the couch because you are so kind. So you let me use your bed and here we are."

His brow furrows," Is that all?"

I hide under the blanket some more," No."

"Kari," he scolds," what did I say?" I debate lying, saving his feelings-and mine- from this recap. Nibbling on my cheek I try to gain some courage.

Peaking over the blanket I ask," do you really regret making that deal with me?"

Egil stiffens, grabbing a fist full of blankets in a harsh grip. I wince at his discomfort. I bet if he regrets anything right now it's saying that last night. He takes a moment for himself, looking towards the room before meeting my eyes. He sighs, dropping his chin towards his chest.

"Yes, more than anything," he grumbles. I nearly pop up from under the blanket like a whack-a-mole.

"Really," I ask," I mean, why?"

He winces, shrugging as he thinks of an answer. "I don't know. A lot of reasons. I just think not having you around anymore would be…a great loss. Having you as a friend has been great and I don't want that to end."

"You want to keep me around as a friend," I ask, feeling a stab at my heart for such a lacking suggestion. Does he only see us as friends? I don't want to be brazens and assume that we can be much more but…it couldn't hurt.

He sighs," No, I don't think I could muster the strength to keep things platonic with you. Especially after seeing you in that dress."

I grin," better than the towel?" he peaks at me, giving a teasing smile. It feels easy to talk with him like that, the tension already ebbing away.

Feeling brave I shift the blanket off myself and crawl over towards him, stopping as our legs touch. I hesitate to touch him, using stubborn courage to grab at his hands.

"Egil," I start," I don't know a lot about all this and you suck completely at trying to explain it. Yet, I can feel something here and it's beginning to grow. I really want to know now, before it's too late, if you honestly want to give this a try. Ever since the night with the dress I haven't been able to get that angry scowl out of my mind. I don't want to ever see you angry. Grumpy is fine but angry, I can't handle it. It made me realize that I want to make you happy and being here with you is the one way I know for sure that I can make that happen. So, do you want to try?"

Egil squeezes my hand, watching me in harden focus. I wait for his answer, craving his answer. The battle is clear on his face as he tries to think of something, anything, to say. In the end, he just grabs my face and tugs me into a kiss.

It's surprising at first, to feel his thin, long mouth against mine. Yet, his sweet taste draws me in as I cup his face. He tells me all I need to know in just a simple action. Though he is a man of many words, this moment didn't demand such talent. I part from him to rest my head against his.

"I want a date night with you," I smile, feeling silly demanding such a thing.

"What's a date night," he asks.

"Dinner, movies, cuddling and kissing on the couch," I answer. He nods, thinking about it.

"Will you wear that dress again," he perks up. I press a sweet kiss to his mouth.

"If you want," I smirk.

"Then it's a date, hopefully, I'll get to see you in the towel next time," he flirts. I scoff, playfully hitting his chest. He laughs, tugging me into a hug and another kiss. I pet at his cheek, smiling like a dork.

"Maybe if you play your cards right, I'll be in less than a towel."

He growls in excitement.

#12 days of christmas #12 tropes for christmas #Enigma-IM #monster boyfriend #alien boyfriend #alien x human #soulmate #exophilia

279 notes · View notes

nightshade-minho · 4 years ago

Text

-Embers- (1)

warnings: suggestive, future smut, themes of death

wc: 5.3k

teaser

White specks of paint, scattered across an inky sky - they truly were beautiful. You adjusted yourself on the grassy hill, eyes closing as you tried to calm your nerves. Sighing, you ran your hand over crimson scales, trying to ignore the blinding lights of your village in the distance.

“The stars are beautiful tonight.”

You wished you could stay here forever. Where the only sounds that grace your ears are the deep rumbling snores of the enormous draconian creature you're curled up against. It's a comforting sound, and yet you knew you were going to have to leave soon. Your father would be absolutely enraged if you were late to such an important event- in fact, you were sure he’d have absolutely no qualms killing you in front of the entire village and crowning a broomstick as his heir instead.

Perhaps that's why you delayed the inevitable for a little longer, nuzzling your head against the dragon's hide. Your heart was pounding in your chest as you observed your bustling village from above, frantically getting ready for the festival and the welcoming. People were decorating their houses, painting murals onto their walls and making sure everything was perfect for the guests that would arrive tonight.

The streets were lit up with lanterns, and the people milling about outside their houses were dressed up in their best. The excitement in the atmosphere was palpable, and you could almost feel it from atop the hill.

Sighing, you looked to the side, your eyes meeting enormous yellow ones.

“Aeracus...I know what you’re thinking.” You sighed and curled up your knees to your chest. “And you’re right. I’m nervous, but also excited. I can’t believe we’re going to be seeing him again after all these years. Can you?”

The dragon slowly shook his head from side to side, and you chuckled. “Do you think he’s changed? Or do you think he’s still a feline-obsessed asshole?” You smiled, his laughter ringing in your ears as you reminisced.

Slowly though, the good memories bled into terrible ones. Loss and pain, mingling in your heart and taking over your emotions. The smile disappeared from your face as you remembered what had happened. The reason he left. The reason you weren’t allowed to participate in the championships that were to be a part of the festival’s celebrations...the reason the whole village considered you an outcast, despite being the chief’s daughter.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, pushing your hair back as you slowly stood up, dusting off your tunic. You pressed a kiss to the dragon’s neck, sighing.

“I’m going to go, Aeracus. Honestly, you should be grateful you don’t have to partake in these events.”

The dragon let out a disapproving rumble at that, and your face softened. That was a low blow. After all, it wasn’t his fault that he was forced to to refrain from joining his fellow dragons in the games. No, the blame was to be shared between you and Minho.

The felicity in your heart was intertwined with a faint sense of lingering sorrow. It happened so many years ago, and yet the echoes were still fresh in your mind...

You couldn’t deny that you were desperate to see him again. In fact, saying you were desperate would probably be an understatement. You were thrilled, electrified- and yet, oh so anxious.

You clenched your fists, taking in a deep breath and starting to descend the hill. You’d put it off for long enough.

***

“Children, listen carefully, now.”

The boy next to you didn’t heed the elder’s warning, continuing to draw on the back of his hand.

“Minho! Pay attention, or I will have to call your father.”

Minho looked up, scowling. He placed the chalk down and pursed his lips, directing his attention towards the clay figurines that were laid out in front of the elderly woman. You, as well as the 10 other kids in the cottage, were fascinated by the story being told. The woman was teaching you about your culture, the information you needed to know regarding the upcoming ceremony. It was important, and yet Minho couldn’t bring himself to care. He liked cats more than dragons anyway.

“As I was saying.” She cleared her throat, resuming her lesson.

“Now that you children are 13, you are no longer babies. Certain things are expected of you. You have embarked on your journey to adulthood...and thus, there are certain things you must know. The elements of our village, for one.”

She gestured to the figurines on the dirt floor in front of her. “As you all already know, there are four elements.” She pointed to a spiky pyramid, and then to a smooth sphere. “Ember, Aqua...” Her fingers moved to the next pair- a rough cube and a glassy cone. “...Terra and Aer. These are the symbols of the elements. Of course, you all have already seen the life-sized versions of these in our square.”

Eager nods, making her continue with a pleased smile.

“Every dragon on this planet has a corresponding element that they have control over. They possess immense power, and the ability to command these elements.”

Minho raised an eyebrow, intrigued. Hm, maybe this wasn’t as lame as he’d thought it would be..

“I’m sure you children have seen your parents, older friends and relatives with their dragons.” There was a chorus of agreement, and the woman nodded.

“Well, from next week onwards, you will each have your own dragons. Through the ceremony, you will all be assigned a hatchling, with which you will spend the rest of your life.”

Minho hummed in curiosity as the woman dismissed the class. “Good luck, loves. Remember, there will be a few more classes to brief you further.”

The others started filing out slowly as you turned to Minho. “Isn’t this exciting?” You tilted your head, running your eyes over the figurines. “Since my family are all fire elementals, do you think I’ll get an ember dragon?”

“I don’t think it works that way. My father said it doesn’t matter what family you come from, the dragon you get matched with can be of any element, apparently. Though it hasn’t ever happened yet.” He shrugged.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He yawned. “I already knew everything she said. I could have used this valuable time for something else.” He was lying, to be honest. The only thing he knew about dragons was what he’d just told you.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Do you wanna go to the lake?”

You grinned. “Sure, let’s!” You nodded in agreement as Minho stood up eagerly, grabbing your hand and pulling you out of the cottage. You giggled as he dragged you. “Hey, slow down! Also, we can’t be there for long. We’ve got to be home for that joint dinner, or our fathers will be very mad.”

“Eh, they’d barely notice if we’re gone. When discussing village matters, they don’t give a fuck about their own children, even.” He muttered bitterly.

“Well...that is true.” You sighed as Minho pulled you all the way to the lake, weaving past the villagers, even bumping into some of them. A few of them frowned and made shouts of displeasure, while others didn’t seem to mind. Or maybe they did, and was just too afraid to voice their anger towards the chiefs’ children.

The cottages start becoming more sparse, the trees more tightly clustered. Minho held your hand tightly as you made your way through the woods. Finally, the two of you reached the clearing.

Letting go of your hand gently, Minho sat at the edge of the lake, beckoning you over to sit next to him.

“I wish this place wasn’t so far away from the village.” You sighed, legs aching as you flopped down onto the grass.

Minho shook his head slowly, his fingers fiddling with a tiny dandelion he’d pulled out. “The further away, the better.” He grumbled, blowing on it and watching as the seeds floated in the breeze.

You sighed. There it was, again. You knew better than to oppose him, so you hummed, scooting a little closer and placing your hand on top of his. “I know you want to leave this place. I know you want to...to explore the world. I just want you to know that whatever you decide to do, I’ll be by your side.” You said honestly.

Minho looked up at you. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

He felt like there was a lump in his throat. Minho knew how much this village and its culture meant to you. You were really willing to do that for him? Leave, and never come back?

“Listen here, Miss L/n.” He turned to you, inhaling as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips soft as they brushed against your skin. You blushed, staring at him with wide eyes as he spoke.

“I’m the one who’s going to be making the sacrifices here, alright? I’m older than you, remember? I call the shots.” He chuckled, booping your nose.

“I love you so much, star.”

You cringed at the nickname, shoving him away. “Stop calling me that, you sound like a character in one of Mr Yang’s cheesy novels.”

He smirked at that. “I’ll never stop calling you that. You’re my star, cause you light up my world and guide me when everything’s dark.” He reasoned, laughing and throwing his head back as he watched you wrinkle your nose in disgust, looking a little like a bunny.

Humming, Minho lay back on the grass, and you followed suit after a minute of hesitation.

“I don’t mind you calling me that. Just don’t do it in front of people.”

“Okay, I won’t. It’s just us all the time, anyway...”

The two of you stared up at the sky, listening to the calm sounds of frogs ribbiting, birds chirping, and the splashing sounds of the fish in the lake. Above it all though, was the sound of your heart, beating persistently as Minho’s fingers creeped closer to yours, intertwining your hands.

“It’s always us...”

***

Your father had explained to you that since your family consisted entirely of ember elementals, your dragon would be of the same kind as well. This went against what Minho had told you before, and your mind was swimming with all the different information you were receiving.

“But...Minho said it doesn’t work that way.”

He sat on his armchair, chewing on a chicken leg as he raised an eyebrow. “Really? Well, he’s wrong.” He sighed, shaking his head. “It’s never happened in centuries, and it’s not gonna happen now. You’re an Ember, through and through.”

You purse your lips. “Well, you’re always right, Father.”

He nodded, not picking up on the snark your sentence was dripping with. "The bond you share with your dragon is one that can never be replicated. You choose it, and it chooses you. It is truly a beautiful process, a spectacle to behold. Every single villager will be watching, so you better hold your head high. Make me proud."

You were about to reply when you heard a knock on your door. Glancing at your father for permission, you stood up. heading through the long hallway to open the front door.

“Minho?”

You looked at him, tilting your head at his troubled expression. “What’s up?

“I came to give you these.” He said softly, looking around before showing you the fiery petals in his palms. “I borrowed a herbology book from the library a few months ago, and learnt how to grow these. Ignis flowers. They’re symbols of good luck, apparently.”

He took your hand, placing the petals on your palm. “They reminded me of you.”

Your eyes widened slowly. “Wow...Minho, I didn’t get you anything...” You said guiltily, humming when Minho gently pulled you into a hug.

“You don’t have to. I’ve got to go home, now. See you tomorrow!”

You nodded, the petals safe in your hands as he left hurriedly. You watched him head to his house, opposite to yours.

After he left, you were about to head to bed when your father asked you to stay back. Confused, you went over to sit in front of him, tilting your head in confusion.

“Who was at the door?”

“It was just Minho.” You shrugged, eyeing your father as he groaned, massaging his forehead. He looked like he was contemplating something, his wrinkles seeming especially prominent.

"Child, be wary of your...friend."

"Friend...?" You knew he meant Minho. You'd never heard him address him in that manner though - void of affection.

Minho's father and yours were co-chiefs of the village, best friends since birth. He’d always treated Minho like his own son. What had brought on this sudden hostility?

He noticed the expression on your face, sighing and patting your shoulder. "I'm just asking you to be careful, dear. There is talk of the Aer elementals gaining power at an accelerated rate these days. Aer dragons are growing up to be stronger, even more so than our Ember ones. It's truly a strange phenomenon. I do not want to be one of these people who is suspicious of everything and everyone...but both the kid and his father have changed. Even I can't deny that."

You swallowed at his words, watching as his face drifted off, deep in thought. You'd heard of it too- hushed whispers claiming that a single chief would be preferable for the village. And if your father's hunch was right...no, you didn't want to think about it.

Minho wouldn't ever betray you. You'd known him since before you could talk. you’d build up a lot of trust in each other over the years. There was no one else you knew as well. If you couldn’t trust him, who could?

No. He would never hurt you. You were sure of it.

***

The whole village was buzzing for weeks after the ceremony took place. They simply couldn't understand what had happened. It was unprecedented- and the news spread like wildfire.

You were matched with a majestic Aer creature, and Minho a beautiful crimson beast of Ember. Mistakes weren't possible- the process was never questioned- but that didn't mean people weren't bewildered.

For centuries, no one had managed to match with a dragon that controlled an element that differed from theirs.

Neither of you could understand why your fathers and the villagers were so perplexed, though. Was it really as big of a deal as they made it seem?

"I don't get it. Why is it such a humongous problem? They’re just dragons. What’s the need for all this drama?" Minho rolled his eyes as he spoke.

You stroked your dragon's neck slowly as you watched him, huffing and ranting away. ‘Just dragons.’ There was a part of you that understood all the hubbub. The people loved gossip- especially if it involved the chiefs.

"It really isn't. They're both so beautiful, I don't really care what element they control."

You looked at your dragon, curled next to you. You wouldn't admit it, but she looked a little too beautiful- almost to the point where it intimidated you.

Translucent, white scales that reflected rainbows of light...long, beautiful almond shaped eyes that were the color of the ocean. She was larger and brighter than Minho's dragon as well. Your father had been right...the Aer dragons were evolving quicker, somehow.

She was quiet and regal, her sleek body elegant and her demeanor refined. You didn’t really have much in common, to be honest. You’d named her Caeli- a name that wasn’t really all that creative, but it would do. Besides, it seemed to fit.

Minho looked at you, sighing slowly. "Aeracus seems hungry. Father will be expecting me soon anyway, I think I'll go home now, Y/n."

"Bye, Min."

He shot you a dashing grin before standing up, climbing his dragon.

As they left, a great whoosh of wind rustling your hair, you looked up at your dragon. She was staring at the water, her eyes narrowed.

You were starting to feel a little worried. You couldn’t exactly...hear her thoughts. She seemed too closed off, barely even looking at you as she blankly watched the frogs jump from one lilypad to the other. You didn’t feel that special bond everyone had been talking about for years, insisting to you that it would be a connection so profound you wouldn’t be able to live without it.

Did she not like you? You looked so average next to her ethereality, drab and plain as opposed to her stunning beauty.

You couldn’t blame her, really.

***

When Minho stood next to your dragon, the sight somehow made more sense. He was beautiful, and so was the creature next to him. They fit together perfectly.

Aeracus on the other hand, was slightly more average. He was majestic as well, but not on the same level as Caeli. You felt more at home riding him, somehow. Like...he was the one that was meant to be yours.

Of course, you wouldn’t ever tell anyone about this. It could be considered infidelity, even. Your father was disappointed enough in you as it was. Four years of training with Caeli, and you still weren’t able to channel her power into...anything. She just wouldn’t co-operate.

"There you go..." He finished slipping the harness onto Caeli, dusting off his hands as he came back over to you, giggling as Aeracus rubbed his big head against your side.

Minho raised his eyebrows at the display of affection. Aeracus was never that amicable to him. Yes, he listened to him...but that was about it. And yet, to you...he always noticed how the two of you seemed to have some sort of connection. He’d mentioned this to his father once, only to be called ridiculous.

Then again, he couldn’t blame the dragon for having a soft spot for you. Who wouldn’t?

“Hey...” He looked down at you as the dragon pulled away, ambling off to Caeli’s side. You glanced up slowly when Minho cleared his throat, leaning in a little as his fingers ran through your tresses. Your cheeks flushed, eyes widening slightly at his touch.

"A leaf. In your hair." He mumbled, throwing said leaf onto the ground as he stared into your eyes.

Your heart was thudding loudly in your chest as your gaze ran over his features, so close to your face. Fuck, he was so deathly handsome, even more so now that you were both almost adults. Puberty had treated him well.

A little too well.

The girls in the square swooning over Minho became a regular occurrence now. You couldn't even seem to go anywhere with your best friend, without having a mob of fangirls following closely.

When he was this close to you, it became overwhelmingly evident why his fans were so enamored by him. Lee Minho really was beautiful.

"Careful, a fly might make its nest in your mouth." He chuckled. "What's up, kitten? You look on edge."

That was the other thing. His latest habit of calling you pet names- the likes of which included princess and kitten- had come out of nowhere. He really seemed to enjoy making you blush. At times like this, you wished he would have just stuck with ‘star’.

“Nothing.” You stuttered, avoiding his eyes and choosing to focus your stare on the ground. Minho wasn’t in the mood for your shyness, though. He placed his finger under your chin, tilting your face up to look at him.

“You sure about that? Is there a reason you look so flustered right now?” He breathed, leaning in closer until your noses were brushing.

Oh, fuck you, Lee.

You'd always thought Minho was attractive. Of course. You'd be blind not to notice. And yet, at this proximity, you felt like you haven’t ever truly appreciated just how fucking hot the man in front of you was.

And so you did something you never thought you’d have the courage to do.

Leaning in, you closed the distance between the two of you, lips crashing against his. To Minho’s credit, he wasn’t all that shocked. Smirking against you, his arms wrapped around your waist as he pulled you closer, gluing your body to his.

Backing you up against a tree, Minho was quick to lift your thigh, slotting your hips together as he ran his tongue over your bottom lip.

A groan left you as he slid his hand under your shirt, pulling away to stare at you, the sight of your swollen lips affecting him in ways he couldn’t quite describe.

“What...what did we just-”

He shut you up with another kiss, rougher than the last one. Breathless pecks, desperately claiming you with his lips as he pressed himself against you.

“Just go with the flow, baby.”

And so you did.

***

As you carefully made your way down, your mind was racing with a million thoughts. The thought of seeing your boyfriend again after so many years scared you as much as it excited you. After all...it wasn’t like you parted on good terms.

You still remembered the heartbroken look on his face, the last time you saw him. You couldn’t tell him that you’d tried everything, tried your best to reason with your father who simply refused to budge. He’d expected you to do something more...but what?

It wasn’t his fault. It was a fucking accident, and yet he’d had to take the blame.

Deep down, though, you knew what your father’s real intentions had been when he banished Minho and his father from the village. Of course, Caeli’s death had shaken him- the entire village had been in a state of shock. The death of a dragon was the most tragic event that could possibly befall a village. And when said dragon happened to belong to the chief’s daughter? Shattering.

At the end of the day though, it was a convenient incident...one that happened to take place just as your father’s status was being questioned. A blessing in disguise, for him.

“It’s okay, my child. Yes, you suffered a great loss, but I know you weren’t that close to it. We must move on. On the bright side, you can focus on your studies now! Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted to do?”

You scoffed, his words repeating themselves in your brain. Bullshit. There was no bright side, nor would there ever be one without Minho in your life.

***

“There you are. Where were you?"

"I...was with Aeracus." You didn't see the point in lying. Your brain was too tired to come up with a believable fabrication anyway.

As expected, his face screwed up in anger as he glared, standing up.

"Why?" He hissed. "Let me remind you he is not your dragon. How many times have I told you not to get too close to it?"

"Aeracus and I have a bond." You mumbled.

"No. You don't. A bond is forged between a dragon and its owner by forces beyond our control. This measly 'friendship', if you can even call it that, is trivial. At the end of the day, it doesn't really belong to you. It belongs to the boy who betrayed you."

You couldn't bring yourself to react any more. Your father was old-fashioned, his opinions set in stone. ‘Betrayed’. You wanted to scoff.

You turned around without a word, heading for your room. There was no energy left in your body, yet the exhaustion was overpowered by your emotions.

"Y/n, wait."

You stopped, turning and looking at him. "What?"

"Your maids are waiting to dress you. Don't argue with them. You are to wear the outfit I picked out for you. Today's dinner is extremely important." He paused. "And...what I said before still stands. The dragon won't hesitate to betray you, especially now that his true owner is coming back. Be...be careful." Your father said quietly, his face softening.

You sighed. "I will be."

"Good."

He dismissed you. You heaved a sigh of relief under your breath and headed out, opening the door to your own room.

You would never admit this to your father, but as nervous as you were, you were secretly looking forward to the dinner. To see him again.

If you closed your eyes and immersed yourself deep enough into your imagination, you could still feel his touch ghosting along your thighs. His soft lips, pressing against yours.

You missed his voice, his tight hugs...you missed everything about him. You'd only ever felt safe in his arms.

The loneliness and pain had consumed you when he left. Maybe that's why you latched on to Aeracus, the last remnant of Minho in this village that seemed so much more dreary without his presence.

"Miss Y/n! We have no time to lose." Your head maid scurried about your room with two others, spreading out your dress on your bed. One of the maids- Sylvia, you think her name was- snuck up behind you and began undressing you. Yes, you were used to this, but the layer of urgency in the atmosphere was a lot more profound tonight.

The entire village was on edge, and you couldn’t really blame them. The first Elemental Championships, and they were being hosted at your village. The exhilaration was understandable...you couldn't bring yourself to feel the same way, though. Maybe if you were actually participating, you’d feel different.

You looked at the dress the maid was holding onto, initially without much interest...but your eyes widened when it came into view.

It was beautiful, yet simple...the color of spun gold, with tiny rubies clustered at the bodice. The sleeves fell of the shoulders delicately, and the material was diaphanous, the texture rich.

“Wow....Sylvia, you made this?”

“I did. It took me a year.” She smiled widely, your grin satisfying her. “Do you really like it, Miss Y/n?” There was a hopeful lilt to her voice, and your grin grew wider as they started helping you into it.

“Like it? I love it! You’ve really outdone yourself this time.”

She nodded in content, lacing up the back as the other maids began on your makeup. Usually, you didn’t like being treated as a doll, your servants fussing over you and your appearance. Today, though...

You could barely believe the reflection you were seeing in the mirror belonged to you. You'd never felt so glamorous before.

“You look beautiful, Miss.” Sylvia said softly, adjusting your sleeves.

You couldn’t wait for Minho to see you in this dress.

“Ann?” Another servant’s head appeared around the corner. “It’s time. They will arrive any moment now.”

A flurry of anxious noises and exclamations filled the room as they worked on you faster. You took a deep breath in, your mind blank and full of thoughts at the same time.

***

You stood next to your father, hands clasped in front of you. Surreptitiously, you raised your hand to your forehead, wiping away a few drops of perspiration. It was happening, you were finally going to see Minho again. And if your father successfully manages to make amends with his- fuck, you were grinning just thinking about it.

The villagers standing behind you were all dressed in their best as well, and the lanterns shone brightly, washing over everything. The air was sparkling, the atmosphere charged with electricity. Everyone had their eyes trained on the sky, waiting for Minho’s people. The two other villages were to come tomorrow, according to the letters.

Four villages. All competing in the championship yours was hosting. It was nerve-wracking, the amount of people who would be crammed into your village, which was big enough, really- possibly the largest in the country- it still stressed you out, though. Since there weren’t enough guest houses to fit everyone, a lot of the visitors would be staying with your villagers, the chiefs and their families staying at your house. You were keenly aware of the fact that this meant Minho would be in the same living quarters as you. Your heart pounded at the prospect.

Later in the night, you were planning to sneak into his room, since you obviously wouldn’t be allowed to talk to him during the dinner. At least, you wouldn’t be able to communicate the things you so desperately wanted to say to him. Every part of you tingled as you thought about what you’d say to him.

You felt light as a feather as you stared at the starry sky, eyes widening slightly as you spotted the thousands of dots in the distance, flying closer. Anticipation and exhilaration mingled in you as you waited for them to arrive. Just the thought of feeling Minho pressed up against you again, whispering in your ear how much he loved you...it made you want to cry, almost. You’d waited for this moment for too long.

The conch shell was blown as they reached the edge of the forest. More than a thousand dragons, covered in finery, just like their riders.

Hmm. There were a lot more than you expected. You’d only been anticipating about a hundred, since it was only Minho’s village that was coming tonight. Or so you’d thought...

You turned your head to look at your father, letting the confusion show on your face. Noticing your expression, he shrugged. “It looks like all three decided to come tonight.”

You frowned, looking back at the dragons that were at the border now, preparing for landing. That was weird.

You observed the dragons that had landed, your eyebrows furrowing. Huh.

The three dragons at the front were a lot bulkier than the ones in the back. Darker colors, almost hulking muscles and narrow eyes. They looked like no dragon you’d ever seen before. The sight was almost unsettling. You felt a faint sense of dread spreading over you, a feeling you tried to push away as your eyes searched each dragon’s back for Minho.

You recognized Minho’s father right away. He was at the very front, along with two other old men on a green and blue dragon respectively, that you realized were the chiefs of the other two villages. Surprisingly though, Minho wasn’t sat behind him. You’d assumed it to be that way...after all, Minho’s dragon was still here. So where was he? Your eyebrows furrowed, not wanting to assume the worst right away. You wildly looked over them all, craning your neck slightly. You didn’t want to seem too eager, but it’s not like you could help yourself. Could anyone blame you? Here you were, about to meet the first and only person you’d ever fallen in love with, after years of yearning and loneliness.

As your father stepped forward, a smile on his face to greet the chiefs, you finally saw him.

For a minute, it was like you couldn’t breathe. He looked as beautiful as ever, his feline eyes twinkling, his dark hair exposing part of his smooth forehead. His hands gripped the reins so tightly his knuckles were white, and the way he sat on his dragon was regal, his expression confident and filled with determination. He was older, and somehow even more handsome than the last time you saw him. You didn’t even think that was possible.

You swallowed, your breath catching in your throat as his eyes finally met yours.

It was like time had ceased for a minute. You smiled slowly, happy tears pricking at your eyes as you took in his face.

He didn’t smile back.

And that’s when you noticed the pale arms wrapped around his waist. Confused, you watched as the chiefs dismounted the dragons, along with their heirs. Minho alighted from the dragon, helping down the woman who had been holding onto him. He held her hands gently, leaning in to press a kiss to her forehead.

You felt like your whole world had collapsed, bile rising in your throat as you watched her giggle. You noticed she was dressed in blue, her clothing that of a heiress. As they approached, your eyes fell on the sparkling ring on her finger...one that matched Minho’s.

When his eyes looked into yours again, they were cold, just like your heart.

#minho smut #lee know smut #minho series #minho angst #lee know angst #minho x reader #minho imagines #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #skz smut #stray kids smut #lee know x reader #kpop smut #kpop angst #kpop imagines #skz series

293 notes · View notes

mochibrokenheart · 3 years ago

Text

SVSSS: Guardian of the Museum

Mobei Jun x Shang Qinghua

Word Count: 2,756

Summary: Of course there's ominous growling and destruction to the building on Shang Qinghua's first night as a museum curator. Of course there is! Besides being desperate to keep the job, he's not sure what possesses him to actually walk toward the dangerous situation. His survival instincts were better trained that! Except...wait a minute...the terrifying creature causing all the ruckus is actually the hottest thing he's ever seen???

My first contribution for Moshang Monsterfucking Month (and my first fic for the fandom in general!) Heavy on the monster part as the nsfw is not explicit. Who knew that it would be hard to write something short. Inspired by the Day 2 prompt: horny.

Also posted on my Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34305571

A nearby bell tolled at midnight just as Shang Qinghua locked up the museum for the night, which meant that he was officially off for the weekend. Being a party of one, he celebrated with a groovy victory dance while turning the key over in the lock.

There was a little click and he rattled the knob, checking that the door was properly locked—if anything was stolen or vandalized during the night, he would most definitely be blamed as the recent hire!

The job was an important stepping stone in his career path plan to being a rare artifacts curator. He really needed the experience. It was hard enough to land the job, so he wasn’t above looking neurotic by double, and triple, and quadruple checking everything before he left.

A chilly breeze tussled his hair and raised goosebumps down his neck. It was October, he supposed while drawing up his hood to block the chill, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to complain.

He was much to delicate for cold temperatures and would exercise his right to curse out the changing seasons. Of course, he could move somewhere further south, so that he wouldn’t have to put up with it anymore, but still!

The only good thing about the loss of summer was the bugs, he decided.

Clearly, Shang Qinghua was irresistible because bugs treated his blood like an all-you-can buffet. If only hot men thought the same. But alas.

Sighing, he turned up to admire the full moon, who seemed to sympathize with the sad state of his romantic affairs, being the moon and all. Something about it’s pale gray-white color naturally emoted a sad, longing reflection.

It was as he was looking up that he heard a growl, loud not because of its pitch—it was actually quite low and gravelly—but because it vibrated the very air around him.

Shit. Shit. He wasn’t equipped to deal with some beast! He had no weapons and there was no way his body was going to get the job done either. He was a delicate flower, just ask the bugs who always feasted on him!

He rummaged through his bag frantically for his phone. That was what the authorities were for.

Opening his phone, his mind was racing. Who did you call when there was a potentially wild animal on the loose? The police? Animal control?

Gasp! What if it turned out to be a demon?

…!!!

He didn’t have any shamans or priests on speed dial. There had never been a reason to until then but if it would save him, he’d buy up every type of religious necklace he could and wear them around his neck daily. It was like insurance—it never hurt to cover all of his bases.

While he was wasting time on the sidewalk, what appeared to be small bits of gravel drifted down from what seemed like the roof. Scurrying to get closer to the streetlight, which casted a circular light on the steps of the museum, Shang Qinghua bent down to get a closer look.

It felt dusty when he rubbed his pointer finger against his thumb and did match the shade of stone the building was…The new evidence presented a bit of dilemma. Yes, he was still itching to call somebody have them do the dangerous work, but at the same time, his boss might fire him if something happened to the museum under his watch.

“Well, if there’s more damage, I guess I’ll take a look,” he muttered. He clasped his hands together. “But please, take mercy on me, moon! I promise that if you get me out of this that my next erotica will be dedicated solely to you, and in very large print, so that my readers know the reach of your mystical power!”

His hands remained clasped high above his head as he waited. So far so good.

There was still the scary growls, of course, but those didn’t count because he wasn’t going to investigate that. It was absolutely common knowledge that people who investigated weird sounds always ended up dead, at least in horror movies, and that was all the proof he needed to wash his hands of it.

No, the only thing that could sway him from his crouch on the front steps was…was…

Tears shimmered in his eyes as more rubble was knocked off from the roof, the fine particles irritating his nose and causing him to sneeze.

Thoroughly betrayed, he used his sleeve to wipe at his nose. Forget the moon. Clearly the bond he felt had only been one-sided, and now he was obligated to actually suck it up and put himself in harms way.

The Shang Qinghua of five minutes ago would’ve screamed and called himself a fool. Why ignore those highly honed flight instincts?! Even the Shang Qinghua of the present was screaming and calling himself a fool when he took the first hesitant step inside.

It was deceptively quiet in the stairwell but that wasn’t enough to calm him. As the saying went, it was the calm before the shit storm and he was about to be right in the middle of it. How careless of him.

Just in case this was the end, he started to draft an epitaph—it’s not like anyone else would put in the same amount of effort.

His minor following would be too busy wailing about the permanent book hiatus; his boss would have their hands full dealing with insurance over the architectural damage; and that hot-and-cold cucumber bro of his would still be nagging him in the afterlife, criticizing him for his stupid plan when it ‘clearly would’ve been better to do such and such’. But back to him.

We are gathered here to mourn the passing of one Shang Qinghua, a bright hamster that was taken from Earth far too soon. His exhibit work was flawless, his knack for collections cataloging unrivaled. There was never a day without bountiful office supplies with him around. We thank him for his singular brave—foolish?—sacrifice in the name of historical value. Shang Qinghua is survived by several dying houseplants and the stray dog he usually fed on his way home from work.

There. That sounded as good as he was likely to get. Wait. No. He almost left out the most important part: the secret letter of last words meant only for cucumber bro’s eyes. Bro, if you’re reading this it’s because I died a terrible and scary death. Please take pity and wipe all of my search history. It was all for research, honest! It’s bad taste to judge a dead man.

The access door to the roof was large and imposing in front of him, even though there was still no noise coming from the other side. He was going to be mad and then relieved, in that exact order, if this turned out to be nothing.

He inhaled. Exhaled. Jumped around and shook his hands where they hung down beside the length of his body. He’d watched enough athletes—for research!—throughout his short life and getting loose always seemed to pump them up for competition. The same principle should apply here.

The door gave with a loud screech and he suspected that it wasn’t in regular use. Not that there was probably much to see up there anyway. Just roosting pigeons, stone slabs, and—

His mind went blank.

Crouching in the corner, so close to the edge that all it would take was a gust of wind to send him tumbling down, was some sort of winged creature. And the wings were massive things that arched up before curving downward completely over it’s back, the tips draped on the ground. Judging by how large they were, they had to be functional, which nearly caused him to wet himself.

He didn’t want to imagine that thing taking flight after him. Not that he would be exciting prey. Gods, this probably how a mouse felt when a hawk was flying overhead.

But it was the horns that really caught his attention. They were hulking black spirals and the sharp points were pointed right at him. Even in the poor light, it was obvious that they were pure black. Any other time, he might comment on how cool they actually were, how they were a cosplayer’s dream, but it wasn’t cool when it was a matter of life and death.

And he would most certainly die if those menacing horns and wings were any indication.

Trying to keep the element of surprise, he slowly let the door swing shut. Until a little bat started flew over squeaking, which caused him to squeak as well. The door hit the frame with a loud rattle. His body went heavy with fear and his eyes snapped shut, a natural prey response. He had never, ever been this scared.

Not patient enough for Shang Qinghua to turn around on his own, the creature flung him around to face it with an aggressive growl. And he had thought it was loud when he was on the sidewalk. Which wasn’t true at all. It was much louder and more intimidating when it was right in his face.

“Trespasser!” it growled, teeth clicking.

…Okay, so it could talk. Maybe this was a good thing. Now could grovel with it to spare him!

Blinking rapidly, he opened his eyes and looked up, up, up. It didn’t look as horrific from the front as it did the back. In fact, it had a humanoid appearance and was distinctly male. He was the hottest thing he’d ever seen, a total fantasy come to life. How the hell was he real?

His was incredibly tall, his huge wings proportional to his size now that he was standing up. Now that he saw them up close, Shang Qinghua noticed that they were a beautiful shade of blue that started out dark but lightened to pale blue once it reached the tips, which also had sharp spikes—Nails? Claws? He wasn’t well versed in anatomy—attached.

The top of his ears were pointy, too, just like the tops of the wings. Oh, and the horns! There were two of them, both pure, glossy obsidian, that sprouted out on either side of his temple, the bases thick and ridged as they spiraled like a ram’s. The only difference was that his horns were much larger. He could maul someone with those along if he wasn’t careful.

But now that he considered it more—even in times of crisis, he could multi-task when it really counted—the horns only added more to his attractiveness. They were intimating, sure, but also sexy, in a monsterfucking type of way. He gasped as a clawed hand wrapped around his throat. Yep, he could definitely get into the horns and claws. Mark him down as scared and horny.

The growling died down but sharp teeth were still on display, and there was a stylized tattoo-looking mark on his forehead. Despite the snarl, Shang Qinghua instinctively knew that his face was insanely attractive; it had to be to match the rest of him. Speaking of the rest of him…

He dropped down in front of him, making sure to drag his hands down that ripped physique and gave his massive pectorals a quick squeeze before he landed on his knees in a kneeling position.

His face was right in front of the creature’s impressive package, covered only by a flimsy loin cloth. It fluttered in the night breeze and he had to bite down on his finger to stop his depraved moaning. “Ff-forgive me, my good-demon-sir, but I swear I’m not trespassing. I’m a humble worker here at this museum.”

He quickly took out his employee badge to offer it up to the demon who barely gave it a glance. “Gargoyle,” it said in reply.

“Oh. I’m sorry but I don’t really know what you mean by that.” Wait, why did he say that? He didn’t want to get further in the demon’s bad side than he already was! “I mean no offense, of course. I’m sure gargoyles are absolutely lovely—”

“No,” he interrupted, his face smoothed out into blank slate. It made it harder to read him but Shang Qinghua quickly decided that it was alright. “I am a gargoyle, human. You may address me as Mobei Jun.”

Ohhh. Now that he mentioned it, his wings and horns could belong to a gargoyle. He knew that they were popular parts historical buildings that had a strong Western influence, which the museum did.

“And I am a king. Not a sir.”

Curse his authority kink. He was sure that any new fantasies he conjured up would be staring this particular king and Shang Qinghua as his servant.

“Of course, my king! You’re reeking of kingly handsomeness. As a lowly human, my apologies for the obvious mistake.” The gargoyle king didn’t make any move to acknowledge his words other than a slow blink, so he figured that it was all good. “Excuse me if this sounds rude, but what are you doing up here? And what was all the noise about?”

“Guardian. I was charged with the safety of this place by a war lord.” Jeez. So he’d been with the building for centuries at least, maybe even millennia.

There was a pause and he realized that he wasn’t going to answer the second question. It also seemed like the gargoyle king was waiting on him and a light bulb went off. “S-sorry again my king. I am Shang Qinghua. I am in charge of the rare artifacts inside of the building, so you may see me closing up most nights.”

The gargoyle king nodded sagely and he figured that the role must be acceptable to him. A loud sigh left him and his muscles relaxed just in the slightest way. He might survive this encounter yet. Ever better, survive and be able to go home and break out that new bottle of lube that he bought last week. There was plenty of new material to work with, that was for sure.

Then the gargoyle stepped back, giving him more space, which was actually the opposite of what he wanted. Feel free to punish him for earlier transgressions, king, especially if they were rough in a sexy way!

Unaware of his inner pleadings, he continued walking away to crouch back near the edge of the roof.

“Umm, be careful, king. It’s dangerous to be that close—”

“I am a king. Concerns such as that are not applicable,” he said, puffing up his chest. Those pecs! He might have to put in a request tomorrow to do more work on the roof. It was a crime that no one was admiring that body on a regular basis. “Leave. Return home. The circles under your eyes are hideous.”

He gasped, touching his bags. Rude! He had just finished a long shift and definitely wasn’t at his best. He was going to have to step up his game if he was going to tempt this gargoyle in the future. Trying his best not to show embarrassment, or disappointment, he agreed to leave.

“Whatever you want, my king. I’ll leave for now but if you need anything, I’ll be back tomorrow and the day after as well. In fact, every night, in case you need me.” Screw his weekend off. Who needed one of those when there was a hot gargoyle of legend serving as the guardian of the museum. Not him, that’s who.

He scrambled to his feet and bowed again for good measure. The door was open and he was across the threshold when his dream gargoyle muttered something. “Did you say something, my king?”

He cleared his throat and spoke gruffly. “The pigeons pooped in my hair.”

Suddenly, the growling from earlier made sense. No matter if you were human or gargoyle, having birds shit in your hair, especially hair as luscious as Mobei Jun’s, was bound to make anyone furious.

Determined to keep his laughs to himself if it was the last thing he did, he merely replied, “Yes, my king. I will make sure to chase them away from you next time.”

“See that you do.”

On cloud nine, Shang Qinghua grinned as he bounded down the stairwell. The gargoyle’s comment implied that there would be a next time. And he intended to romance the loincloth off (literally) of the serious gargoyle king.

Hope you all enjoyed! So happy to share this with everyone. Thanks for reading :)

#svsss #svsss fanfic #mobei jun #shang qinghua #moshang

15 notes · View notes

magnusmysteries · 3 years ago

Text

Part 32: When Rituals Fail

The Magnus Archives was a horror podcast. It is now completed. Many of the show’s mysteries were never explained on the show. I intend to explain them. Spoilers for the show, but also spoilers if you wanna solve these mysteries yourself.

Elias thought that the reason the rituals failed was because the fears could never be separated. That it would be impossible to bring just one through, it had to be all. I think he was wrong, for three reasons.

First reason. Here’s a quote from Elias, where he explains why it is impossible to separate the fears “To try and create a world with only the Buried makes as much sense as trying to conceive a world with only down.”

But we have seen such a world. Quote from Entombed “This is forever deep below creation. Where the weight of existence bears down. This is The Buried, and we are alive. There isn’t even an up.”

The Buried is a world without the Hunt. The Hunt can’t reach Daisy there, because the Hunt and Buried are opposites (See Part 3). Elias uses the absence of up, as an example of an impossibility. But John says in the Buried there is no up. I think this was specifically written to clue us in to Elias being wrong.

Second reason, every time we hear of a ritual there is always a reason why they fail. The reason isn’t always obvious, but I’ll go through most of them in this post. Elias based his conclusion on the assumption that there was no reason for the Dark’s ritual to fail. He was wrong, as I’ll explain.

Every attempted ritual, except the ones involving John and Agnes, has a group of people choosing something related to the fear. (With a broad definition of choice.) If only one person does not make the choice, the ritual fails.

The Lonely. A group of people in an apartment building were all supposed to choose to be lonely (rather than move out of the nice cheap apartment). Gertrude wrote about it in a paper, the people got help, they weren’t lonely, the ritual failed.

The Slaughter. The soldiers are supposed to brutally murder each other. But the statement giver doesn’t like killing. He is not swayed by the music, he does not join in on the violence. The ritual fails.

The Hunt. Daisy speculated this failed because the Hunt doesn’t like to complete things. She was wrong. The people were supposed to join in the obsession of the hunt, to kill vampires and probably to die. But the statement giver was only pretending to be obsessed, the ritual fails.

The Corruption. This is from the episode Love Bombing. (John was wrong that the Prentiss attack was a grand ritual.) Here the choice is to love. First they take care of a sick dog. That is, they love it. Then they have to love and join the monster mass of people.

The part where they have to say they love each other, it's a test, to see if they are ready for the ritual. The protagonist did not love the other woman, and so she is told to leave. She is jeopardizing the ritual.

Note that she is not forced to leave, or killed. Had there been force or violence the ritual would have failed. That’s another rule for the rituals.

I think when she left, it was already too late and the ritual failed. Or maybe it failed when it got blown up. Probably by Gertrude.

I think nobody in the cult was working for the Corruption originally. The Corruption just found a cult that was really into love and thought "Jackpot! Send in the dog!"

The Buried. The choice here is for everyone in town to get into the pit at the same time. When the statement giver comes to town, he is told to leave. But not forced, significantly. He is jeopardizing the ritual, because he might not climb into the pit with the others.

The statement giver has a “dream” where he willingly climbs into the pit and puts his arm into the hole. Though it’s not really a dream. This is a test, and he passed. Whoever’s in charge decides to go ahead with the ritual.

This is a mistake. The statement giver does not go into the pit with the others. A woman in the pit suddenly begins to scream. Not because she is in the pit, but because she noticed the statement giver is not in the pit. She knows the ritual is about to fail and it does.

Later Gertrude shows up and dumps Jan Kilbride into the pit. She thinks she stopped the ritual, but she was too late. The ritual had already failed.

The Flesh. The choice is for everyone to throw meat into the pit. (I’m guessing they also all have to die from exhaustion and get thrown in the pit or jump in, but we don’t see that part). When Tom Haan notices Lucia Wright is present, he hands her meat. He hopes she will take it and join in, which she does. Had she not done so, the ritual would have failed. If she had left, the ritual would have failed. If Tom had killed her or forced her to join in, the ritual would have failed.

The ritual fails anyway, because Gertrude blows it up.

The Spiral. Quote from Michael “A thousand staring morsels stood, and not one of them believed themselves sane to look upon it.”

If one of the humans there had believed themselves to be sane the ritual would have failed.

Actually there was a person there who believed they were sane. More from Michael: “Michael did not go mad, though no words you could have said would have convinced him otherwise. (...) If Michael thought he had lost his mind, it was only because what he saw with crystal clarity was simply not something that could be real. But Gertrude Robinson did not waver. (...) She gave no indication that she saw anything more or less than was expected. Hers was not a mind that left room for doubt.”

Gertrude didn’t realize, but there was no need to sacrifice Michael Shelley. The ritual would have failed simply by her presence.

The Stranger. When John and the gang set up the explosives to blow up the Unknowing, Nikola does nothing to stop them. She knows they are there. She waits until they have set up the explosives before she starts the ritual.

There are no other victims there than the Magnus crew. They are the ones that are supposed to make the choice. The choice they are supposed to make is to use logic and reason during the Unknowing. Nikola has to give them a chance to win, and part of that is she lets them set up the explosives.

In the 1787 attempt at the Unknowing, the ritual is stopped by a soldier from the Slaughter. The soldier is not confused: “I was sure he was a soldier, and he was nothing but a soldier.”

In Nemesis Gertrude speculates that the Unknowing can only be stopped if the explosives are detonated from within Unknowing. Meaning, someone has to “choose” to use enough reason to set it off.

Just four victims is a small number. But I think John counts extra, since he is the Archivist and should be harder to confuse.

Maybe Elias made a deal with Nicola, told her about their plan. After all, Elias wants John to get blown up, to get the End scar.

Elias advised John not to bring Tim to the ritual. Tim seems pretty suicidal at this point, earlier he dared Elias to kill him. Elias is worried that if Tim is the one to blow up the ritual, John won’t get the End scar.

The ritual fails because Basira reasons her way out. Or maybe it fails because Breekon uses violence against Daisy, not sure.

John is at first very confused, but then he starts to see more clearly. That is because the ritual is already failing, because of Basira (or Breekon). There is no need for Tim to blow up the place and sacrifice himself.

The Eye. We don’t know much about Elias' first attempt at a ritual, but it seemed to take place in the panopticon prison, with Elias in the middle, watching the prisoners around him. The prisoners were probably supposed to make some kind of choice, and at least one of them failed to do so.

The Dark. The darkness ritual first begins to collapse at Hither Green, where it is led by Natalie.

Quote from Manuella “Natalie and the others followed, but they did not truly understand. Not truly, with their talk of peace and unity and Mr. Pitch. A friendly name, to try and hide from a concept they couldn’t grasp.”

In the episode Police Light the darkness creature inside Rayner is trying to get a new host, by entering Callum Brody. Then the police intervene and shoot Rayner, saving Brody from being possessed. But a droplet of the monster hits the police officer Altman. Altman is in the process of being possessed. Then Altman is stabbed and killed by Natalie Ennis.

There is misdirection here. We are supposed to believe that Natalie stabbed Altman because he was a cop. But actually she killed him because he was possessed. She was secretly working against the darkness cult.

Why? Gertrude must at this point have realized how a ritual will fail if one person makes the wrong choice. She must have talked with Natalie and explained to her that Mr. Pitch is a lie. That the Darkness is not about peace and unity. So because of Natalie the ritual failed.

The third reason for why Elias is wrong is the most important, and I’ll cover it in the next post.

If Elias is wrong that a ritual must draw in all the fears at once, why is it that no ritual has succeeded throughout all of history? I think there just hadn’t been that many attempts.

In Family Business Gerard says if a ritual fails, it takes centuries to build up enough power to attempt one again. Yet we hear of several ritual attempts happening very close together in time: the Lonely circa 2007, the Spiral sometime after 2007, the Buried in 2008, the Flesh in 2008, the Corruption circa 2012, the Dark in 2015, the Stranger in 2017 and the Eye in 2018. How can that be?

In the Architecture of Fear, Smirke says he wrote down several rituals. Since Smirke lived a couple of hundred years ago, it could mean most of his rituals were attempted back then, and that’s why most of them were due to be attempted again around 2007. But that gives us the same problem, just further back in time. Why was it that most of the rituals could have been attempted about the same time, back when Smirke wrote them down?

I think the reason was, most of the powers had never attempted a ritual before Smirke designed them. The Powers have no creativity (see Part 9) and could not have attempted a ritual until a person came up with one. Smirke says he is unsure if all the powers had rituals before he put pen to paper.

I think there were two rituals that Smirke designed that were attempted relatively long after his death. The Slaughter ritual probably needed a great war to succeed, and therefore did not happen until War War 2. And the Hunt ritual took over a hundred years to set up, as it included two groups of explorers from over a hundred years apart.

Three rituals predate Smirke’s creations, those of the Dark, The Vast and the Stranger.

Smirke got his ideas for rituals after hearing of the ritual of the Dark. In Heart of Darkness, Manuella implies her ritual had been planned for three hundred years, after the failure that birthed the thing inside Rayner. I think when Flamsteed drowned Reimer in The Movement of the Heavens, he stopped the first ritual of the Dark. Reimer was drowned May 2 1715. On May 3 1715 there was a Total Eclipse that could be seen in London. (That date is from real life, not mentioned on the show.) I think that’s when the first Darkness ritual was gonna happen.

The first Unknowing happened in 1787, Smirke was born in 1780. So unless he invented it as a child, it predates him.

In Big Picture Simon talks about the last ritual he attempted, in 1853. That implies he’s had at least one earlier attempt. Simon became an avatar in the 1500s, so he’d probably only had time to do two ritual attempts in total.

#the magnus archives #tma #magnuspod #elias bouchard #gertrude robinson

29 notes · View notes

stupid-stew · 3 years ago

Text

character names keep me alive, toh is my lifeblood.

i am literally obsessed and this show really does provide (i still have to add more smh my head dana terrace why do you do this to me jk i love it so much please never stop) COPY AND PASTED FROM DOC UNDER BREAK

NAMES INCLUDED:

FIRST NAME

LILITH

EDA

LUZ

KING

WILLOW

GUS

ASSORTED BLIGHTS

LAST NAME

BLIGHT

CLAWTHORNE

NOCEDA

PORTER

PARK

BUMP

MISCELLANEOUS

BELOS

HIERONYMUS AND BOSCHA

ADEGAST

HOOTY

OWLBERT

KIKIMORA

GWENDOLYN

RAYNE

NOTE EVERYTHING BEFORE GWENDOLYN AS OF 6/24/21 WRITTEN WITHOUT SEASON 2 KNOWLEDGE, TO BE REVISED, REVISIONS IN BOLD!

Hello and welcome to the ramblings of a mad man. Before we get into it I think you should note that I do write like I talk because I think like a talk and I write how I think, so if you are confused as to why it sounds like i’m not making sense its because I'm not making sense also my capitalization and punctuation suck so sorry about that but we don’t have time for technicalities in this house. TO ADVENTURE!

FIRST NAME

LILITH

EDA

LUZ

KING

WILLOW

GUS

ASSORTED BLIGHTS

LAST NAME

BLIGHT

CLAWTHORNE

NOCEDA

PORTER

PARK

BUMP

MISCELLANEOUS

BELOS

HIERONYMUS AND BOSCHA

ADEGAST

HOOTY

OWLBERT

KIKIMORA

GWENDOLYN

RAYNE

GILBERT

FIRST NAME

LILITH

Ok so because I'm lilith’s bitch we are gonna start with her because her name is so cool and I love her and we should be besties Lilith hmu. Anyways as most people know Lilith is a pre existing mythological character which makes this very much good because that means it’s all outlined. Most people know her as a demonic figure, which I very much dig but similar to our lovely queen of curses out here, that's not all she is. There isn’t going to be a chronological explanation of similarities and conclusions, cope. The basic gist is that Lilith was this chick with fiery red hair (this is important iykyk) who refused to be beneath or below adam, more specifically to subjugate to him, funny because of the tapestry with belos what says subjugation on it, probably a coincidence but I do not believe in coincidence right now. Anyways basically she runs off and becomes this chick who like snatches children and will make them sick if they don’t have an amulet with the names Senoy, Sansenoy, or Semangelof on them, thats a different story but what I find interesting is this one passage,

“(12) Her nobles shall be no more, nor shall kings be proclaimed there; all her princes are gone. (13) Her castles shall be overgrown with thorns, her fortresses with thistles and briers. She shall become an abode for jackals and a haunt for ostriches. (14) Wildcats shall meet with desert beasts, satyrs shall call to one another; There shall the Lilith repose, and find for herself a place to rest. (15) There the hoot owl shall nest and lay eggs, hatch them out and gather them in her shadow; There shall the kites assemble, none shall be missing its mate. (16) Look in the book of the LORD and read: No one of these shall be lacking, For the mouth of the LORD has ordered it, and His spirit shall gather them there. (17) It is He who casts the lot for them, and with His hands He marks off their shares of her; They shall possess her forever, and dwell there from generation to generation.”

And there are separate part of this that I find relevant, especially the description of the location, i’m not all that familiar with symbolism of animals in religious texts, so i’m gonna take it at face value and say that this is more or less a description that could be given to the physical owl house itself, sort of a place for people who don’t fit in, its a little messy and I guess one could say overgrown, but it’s a place for anyone, a place to rest now hopefully for Lilith away from the coven, there shall the Lilith repose. On top of that we see the “the hoot owl…” and you’re probably thinking what that so crazy wacko because like why are they referring to Lilith as the hoot owl isn't Eda the owl lady, yes she is. That’s why the actual meanings of lilith’s name that come from her mythological depiction as a demon lady are so important. We have night monster, night owl, night spectre, vampires, night hag, night creature, nightjar (which is another kind of bird), and night bird, all of these seem to fit lilith’s dark aesthetic very nicely which is very good for her, but there are two other ones, hot owl and screech owl, which draw her closer to Edaand away from the coven and her depiction in the mid-later episodes of the show as a monster for cursing eda, but also the name night monster could come into play if while sharing the curse Lilith acquired some of its traits, similar to Ed aas the owl beast. Ultimately, we have this little red head girl who eventually fights back against the men who are attempting to get her to be under them, for the character that is belos, for the other Lilith that is adam, god, and his angels, and now hopefully both of them will find solace and repose among the owls in a place they never thought they’d belong. All this talk of owls and god brings us into the other clawthorne baddie:

Lilith did find her repose! I love her staying in the owl house, get it queen oh yuh.

EDA

For this I'm going to use her full name edalyn, because you know like that’s just how it be it is her name. There isn’t a wiki page for her name like there is for Lilith which makes this a little bit harder but the general consensus seems to be that it means something along the lines of “gift of god”, which I find very interesting. If you are going to name a child gift of god i’m assuming that you are referring to the child themselves, but I don’t think that really applies to eda. I’m not religious, but its my impression that someone who lies, cheats, pranks, and steals their way to the top and isn’t exactly the most responsible witch on the isles and might not be the best gift god could give. I do really love Eda though, her character flaws are still a part of her character, but I think this refers to her powers. Eda considers herself to be the boiling isles gift to magic, which I mean like, have you seen the woman. In agony of a witch we see her at what probably 30% of her power with how much the curse was already tolling on her and how much magic she was probably using to fight it off, and like goddamn. She was almost beating lilith, definitely beating the shit out of her, but she was almost defeating Lilith who was at her full power, and that is just a fraction of what she used to be able to do. Her powers were a gift of god, and I think that the loss of them will greatly affect her. She’s already admitted that she doesn’t know how to do much without her magic, and I think going straight from the second most powerful witch on this isles to having no power at all is going to be incredibly taxing on her, physically and mentally.

Luckily for her the name edalyn also means patience, another thing about her name is that it not only means gift of god, but also similar things like gifted by the gods or even goddess, and this draws a connection to Lilith who is named after a demonic figure, casted out for having defied god, they are quite literally polar opposites on the name spectrum, and we see that a lot in the show, they are completely different people, I mean have you looked at them they don’t even look related, but the funnier thing is that their personalities do the same thing. You’d expect Edain her youth to be a gift from the devil, just ask principal bump, and Lilith seemed to be a goody two shoes who worked her ass off, their names could be switched based off their characters alone.

A random baby name site I found said that :

“Persons with the name edalyn are usually highly flexible and well equipped to making and accepting change throughout their life. They always seek excitement and are sometimes a bit of a risk taker. They are imaginative, and often, through their unconventional way of thinking, are naturally able to solve complex problems with ease. They are quick thinkers and observers who are clever, analytical and versatile”

Which I mean like very much applies to eda, she takes change like a champ, either genuinely or by pretending she’s ok with everything, and is always seeking excitement. Like literally all of the time. Always. I think she takes felonies as a compliment, and one of the biggest changes in her life that she genuinely was able to adapt to and appreciate was

OH MY GOD HER LEARNING THE NEW GLYPHS WAS SO CUUUUTTTEEE, I love her being able to adapt, she really is doing well. As the beginning of separate tides shows, she’s working around it, and is doing a damn good job, living up to her name.

LUZ

Ok I think at this point everyone knows that at this point the name Luz means light, and if you didn't, oopsies now you do. The character Luz was named and designed after a real life person the miss dana terrace knew at the time she was starting to really think about the show, Luz ’s personalty comes more from dana herself and we love that, but the character has really started to grow into her name. This is made most obvious when the first spell Luz learns is the light glyph, not only coming into her own as a witch, but also starting to live up to her name, which along with light also has to do with “Our Lady of Light”, which is the virgin mary, fitting her right in with the other biblical names we got going on here. I really want to stress that I know next to zero about religion, and all of the connections I am making come from wikipedia, so bare with me here. But most of the time mary seems to be this pure, saint like figure, which I think is what a lot of people see Luz as, especially on the isles. I’m going to flat out say that this is in no way meant to pass off Luz as simple minded, pure, or oblivious, because we have seen what that girl is willing to do, she faced death and poked him in the with an ice cicle. In terms of life on the isles, however, she is more or less pure and sheltered, she’s completely new to the world she’s in, but she does quickly adapt, and shows more of her strong side, and remains a good person throughout all of it, taking losses as they come, and not letting them remain losses at the same time.

Back to the whole light thing, we already touched on the whole literal bit of her and the light spell, but can you think of a better way to describe Luz ? She literally brings light everywhere she goes, even Eda admits that she’s changed things for the better, for everyone around her too. Willow got a new friend, probably the first friend she’s had in a long time, and even got to begin repairing her relationship with amity, and got placed in the plant track so she could do the things she loves, all because of Luz . Edagot to grow as a person and a mentor, and finally got someone willing to accept all her eda-ness, unconditionally, someone to really care about that really cares about her back, all because of Luz . Amity got a friend who cares about her, not just her family name and money, someone who supports her and will do anything for her because she is her friend, and a bit of self discovery along the way for amity, all because of Luz . Not a single person on the isles who has had more than 2 minutes of interaction with Luz hasn’t had their lives improved, even belos got his portal, and the thing is that even characters who people might not even consider changed have been, characters such as

Luz my beloved, she seems a little bit less of a light this season, and i do mean little. That’s totally fine though, it’s expected, i didn’t want her to just be this bright shining star after the events of the last two episodes of season 1, and appreciate her going and starting to take the fantasy of the isles with more than just a grain of salt. Obviously like in escaping expulsion, she’s still trying her best to make everything better and make friends with everyone, but there’s something a little different about it and i’m here for it tbh.

KING

The name king itself is obvious, he is royalty, the king of demoNS HIMSELF ASMODEUS hahahaha pulled a sneaky on you now accept my ideas as your own. I am on a mythological name kick, deal with it. The most important thing here is in the bible, asmodeus poses himself as a false god, which I know is something we have all considered with king, that he might be a full on liar, not be a king of anything and is just your ordinary street demon, it’s even come up in the show with him calling himself the king of artists and Luz asking him if he was just making it up at this point. It’s a good theory, I can see it, and this could be used as proof. There is also another legend that paints him as a good natured dude, who eventually banishes the king by literally throwing him, and then he loses his powers and is banished, but this is also the same legend where he marries Lilith and that is not something I am down for. There is another text in which he tells the king (the same one he threw in the other one) that his kingdom will one day be divided and the king does not believe him, and this is the same text where he admits to hating water and birds because they remind him of god. Lets think class, who has the god name and is related to birds here? King’s name by itself holds true to his character, who (regardless of if it is truthful or not) holds himself as if he is a king, and he isn't the only one with a name like that, there is also

WILLOW

Ok I know we all thought it, willow, the plant girl, how fiendishly clever. This also happens to be the only descriptor for her name I could find, which is totally fine because I think it’s a very cute name and willow is also very cute. This means we get to go into the symbolism of the willow tree wwwooooOOOOO aren’t you so very excited I know I am. Its kind of interesting, willow trees seem to match the character, understanding, warm, a safe space really, but most of all the ability to let go of pain and suffering, sometimes outright ignore it, and move on. Willow does always say out of sight out of mind does she not? She is willing to ignore, even excuse people bullying her, be it bosha or even amity, and the moment she got the chance her inner willow decided to try and literally burn the painful memories she had, willing to cause damage just to forget. Willow as a character is very willing to move on like nothing happened most of the time, key word most because another thing about willows is the ability to grow from the pain. Before understanding willow, we never really saw willow stand up for herself until she really had to, but hy the end of the episode she is willing to tell amity that she isn’t willing to fully forgive her, but she’s willing to grow and try. Heck, we see this over the entire first season, we see this little girl who can barely pull it together long enough to stand up for herself grow into this amazing character willing to publicly oppose the emperor and break into his castle for her friend, she tried to full out attack Lilith when 19 episodes earlier she wasn’t able to stand up to amity for bullying her. And I am in no way calling willow weak, she never was, she just needed to find the ability to show everyone that she’s strong, god I love willow so much, you wanna know who else loves willow?

GUS

Gus, my main man, love you but for this we are gonna have to use the full on augustus sorry babes. The name augustus means majestic, or venerable, which while I must say that the illusion of kiki doing the worm was probably one of the most majestic things I have ever seen, I’m going to focus on venerable a bit more here. Venerable is a big word, it means “accorded a great deal of respect, especially because of age, wisdom, or character.”, which for gus the age part might play a smaller part here, but he is good as what he does, Luz and willow both respect him, Eda Respects him, he’s this little dude who is younger than everyone and has to rely on his ability to succeed, not only with his power but with his personality. Gus seems to be confident in himself, communicating with everyone regardless of who they are or what power they hold, similarly to willow he was willing to do anything to help Luz , leading into the second description of venerable, “heroic in nature”. Now, you might be wondering, bestie where ever did you get that description, it totally wasn’t from a religious page okyesitwas but that's fine because being pronounced venerable guarantees a spot in heaven so get it bestie. Overall, the general meaning for augustus is that they are strong, respectable, and powerful, which takes us right into the

Gus, shawty, ily but please stop the obsession with death babes ur starting to scare me. I hope with the upcoming Gus content in TTLGR we will see more of him growing into his powers and such.

ASSORTED BLIGHTS

The blight first names bring me joy so I am putting amity last because I think its really funny, starting off with alador, the name alador evokes diplomacy, correctness, and confidence. We know zilch about alador, but if the vibes of the blight family have anything to say it’s definitely something along those lines. The name odalia means wealth, which I mean like have you seeeen blight manor? Also back at it again with the fact that it’s a variant of the name odilia, like the saint olilia which I don't have ties for you right now because again, we know nothing about her. Edric also means wealth, fortune, riches, powerful, you get the vibes, same thing with emira which means commander, or prince, princess, leader, or star. So you know like we have all these super powerful names happening, and then, oh boy and then we get to little miss perfect herself, amity blight. It means friendship, or harmony. If I was her I would be so mad at my parents like yall have these mad powerful names and I got stuck with friendship? Hand me the emancipation papers. You know what they say, friendship is the real magic (even if no longer taught in schools due to budget constraints). I hope that this leads more into season 2 with amity working on her friendships and ultimately her relationships in general, which we got a bit of already with her working on repairing her relationship with willow, and making the moves to cut off old toxic friendships and moving into more genuine ones with willow, Luz , and gus. I guess you could say that the only thing ALL the blights have in common with each other is their

They are rich assholes, alador is a little wacko, odalia is hot asf dana seriously what the hell man that was out of pocket. The only thing about alador that lives up to his name is his money, odalia seems more obsessed with image and money, and i too am obsessed with her image literally boy what the hell boy.

LAST NAME

BLIGHT

The word blight by itself means a plant disease which boy oh boy can you believe how nicely that fits into amity bullying willow because I sure can. Outside of just the plant bit it overall just means like something that damages another thing, and this works beautifully for each member of the family. The parents are damaging their children, the twins just causing general damage, and amity and her goddamn relationships, but fortunately that whole plant thing brings us into the next couple of last names

CLAWTHORNE

The last name clawthorne means “cold or exposed thorn tree” which had me kind of like what the heck so I went off and had some fun and got you some presents that I think are funny, so there was this guy right, his name was joseph clawthorne, and he created the term whiffenpoof, which is the name for a wildly fictitious animal, things like a jackalope, or even a griffin with spider breath, though I guess that would be the work of a

NOCEDA

Back again with the trees good lord, it means field of nut trees, so again I went into prominent people an found this guy named jorge noceda sanchez, he was a painter and some of his works are kinda baller actually it seems like something that would fit in on the isles, but also not all of the names have a deeper meanings, names like

PORTER

Ok I am like pretty sure this was just meant to be a play on the fact that gus’ dad’s name is perry and is a reporter, get it, perry porter, perry porter, reporter, but nonetheless I did some digging because why the heck not, it means doorkeeper, or gate keeper, someone who guards something like an important building, which honestly I think this would be a good last name for hooty if he ever gets one, but again not all of these are important names at the moment, or maybe they won't ever be at all, names like

PARK

At first I was kinda like l m a o willow park plant girl hahahahah plants in the park parks have trees willow is a tree but then I remembered that someone pointed out that park is a traditionally korean surname and then like a week later disney posted about it for aisian pacific american heritage month which kind of confirmed it, and I don’t know if the whole intention behind it was to establish willow as representation or not, but the surname park by itself means gourd and willow I am so sorry that is so unfortunate LMAOSIFN

BUMP

To be honest I was not expecting bump to have a last name that meant anything but it means swift walker and I think thats funny so you have to know it now

MISCELLANEOUS

BELOS

BIIIITCH LISTEN UPPPP there is a butt tone of mythology surrounding his name and its mostly a different form of it, belus, that is referenced, but same thing different shape. Most of his depiction is as a great king or ruler, in babylonian mythology being the equivalent of zeus of jupiter, which liiikkkkkeeeoajolnjojnkjakjavnjfvdfkjf but its fine everything is great its all ok most importantly, he is recognized as the god or ruler of war, and in that same mythology he lived in babylon, which “... was originally water, and called a sea. But Belus put an end to this, and assigned a district to each, and surrounded Babylon with a wall; and at the appointed time he disappeared.” and idk about you but the smell of him assigning a divide and disappearing smells sour like funky to me babes

HIERONYMUS AND BOSCHA

I am only putting this here because the fact that it’s totally a play on hieronymus bosch makes me cackle and you all have to know it thank you

ADEGAST

B-but brevyn he was only there for like one episode, yeah ok and? Radegast is the slavic god of hospitality, and there is no host like a host that pretends to take you on a mythical quest and then tries to eat you and your mentor and her deranged cat demon, ok? His name translates to “dear guest” or “welcomed guest” and I mean I think if my host tried to suck me into some fantasy would delusion i’d feel pretty welcomed

HOOTY

He is an owl

OWLBERT

He is also an owl

KIKIMORA

First and foremost, she is a little night gremlin who hates children and I think that really fits her, but she is also a little house demon, who is very difficult to get to leave, have we seen her outside the castle? Will she be a spy along with the mask next season? She also has a name that means nightmare or night demon, similar to a certain other night creature we might have heard of a while ago. She tried to strangle children and I love that for her,and she is described as a little old ugly messy haired lady and I feel like her current character has the personality of one so i’ll take it, but what really gets me is her villain origin story, which is that she "grows up with a magician in the mountains. From dawn to sunset the magician’s cat regales Kikimora with fantastic tales of ancient times and faraway places, as Kikimora rocks in a cradle made of crystal. It takes her seven years to reach maturity, by which time her head is no larger than a thimble and her body no wider than a strand of straw. Kikimora spins flax from dusk and to dawn, with evil intentions for the world.”

GWENDOLYN

Ok, the queen herself, haven’t met her yet but like who knows. Not really a whole lot here (my ears are ringing oops one sec ok i’m back hi) anyways um uh rings? Her name right off the bat has a lot to do with rings, and really that only applies to eda, because her ring was a big thing for her, she gave it to lilith, we all watched wing it like witches you know what’s up, but i mean like was that gwen’s ring? I really wanted the hand on eda’s wall to be gwen’s, very upset to see she has all of her body parts so far. I am also not sure if that’s how it’s spelled, but it means the same thing anyways. Also meaning fair or blessed, any woman who created both eda and lilith is probably mad powerful and we love to see it, also she’s a beastkeeper and i like i want to talk about that with eda’s curse but now is not the time for shenanigans (that’s a lie every time is the time for shenanigans i’m just exhausted)

RAYNE

Bitch, sorry, ok listen like um sidebar I AM SO EXCITED FOR THIS CHARACTER AND YOU ALL NEED TO KNOW IT but also at this point i’m not really sure about this character, is this their name, is that even how it’s spelled, girl idfk but like whooptydooo I do what I want so cope. Right now, we are assuming that they are the new bard coven head character, and like let me tell you the way that I am fully pissing my pants atm like bestie, anyways, if spelled rayne, then it means counsel or song, and this is why, do you see why this is why we spell it like this? It’s also scandanavian which means like nothing but it’s cool. This spelling fits because like counsel, head of the bard coven, you get it it’s fine, and then song, also head of the bard coven, you know. It fits so well, especially since this is supposed to be a friend from eda’s past, and like is supposed to try and recruit eda for a rebellion against the emperor in the episode eda’s requiem, i cannot convey to you how goddamn excited I am like there are not enough words in this realm or any others to tell you how prepared i am for this character to rock my world.

GILBERT

I AM S O B B I N GGGGG apparently one of willow’s dad’s names is gilbert and that is literally so cute I cannot like actually this knowledge makes up for coronavirus anyways it means bright promise and idk what that even has to do with anything but I love it and you should to omg

Now i have to go update the other characters see you in hell <3

#the owl house #luz noceda #lilith clawthorne #eda clawthorne #gwendolyn clawthorne #amity blight #alador blight #odalia blight #blight twins #willow park #gus porter #principal bump #rayne #hooty #character names

21 notes · View notes

immortalonus · 3 years ago

Text

Where You Belong: Chapter One.

So in case you guys were wondering where I vanished off to, the answer is mostly work. This chapter also took way, way more brain power than I really intended, so I didn't really have the energy to post much else.

I could probably edit this more, but I swear if I spend one more hour editing this I will go insane, so here it is, chapter one of my first multi-chapter fic in, *checks calendar,* four years!?

Jeez, time really does fly, doesn't it?

Read on AO3

If I were Where I Would be, Then I Would be Where I Am not. But where I am, There I must be. And where I would be, I cannot.

-American Folk Poem.

________________________________________________________

As soon as Valerie had flown out of sight of Plasmius’ portal, she made a point to dump everything he had given her for the trip.

First, the communication devices. She had no desire to talk to anyone, much less the creepy, lying, traitorous ghost-thing masquerading as Vlad Masters. She gave the DALVco edition headset her best fast ball, taking no small satisfaction in watching it break piece by piece as it clattered against the frames of one floating door after another before finally vanishing into the mists below.

If Plasmius wanted to talk to her, he could crawl out of his portal and find her himself. Which he wasn’t going to do, because he had a cover to maintain. After all, what kind of delicate, elderly gentleman would throw himself into a dimension of rarified death? Not Mister Masters, oh no.

Especially not when he had a willing pawn to do it for him.

The more surreptitious listening devices went next. Fat, disgusting, bloated insects they were, bugs in function as much as form.And they were everywhere.

She found them wedged between her armor joints, the soles of her boots, in the crevices of her guns, and, after putting her systems through an intensive self-diagnostic, her hair.

When had he touched her hair?

She made a point to crush them all. Either plucking off the parasites directly, or, in the case of those lodged beneath her suit, pulling them into her storage unit and spitting them back out again into the open atmosphere where they could be destroyed.

She removed everything else Plasmius had given her immediately after: Several days worth of food, a large pop up tent, a sleeping bag, a map, several spare weapons, a well thumbed biography on Vince Lombardi and more spewed out of her storage units like a sickness, purged in gouts down to the waiting abyss.

Any thing he'd handled, all his supplies, every “present” he'd ever bestowed, she made a point to dump them all.

But God, when had he touched her hair?

Once she was finished, it felt almost like a victory. With no material proof of her obligations, it was easy to imagine she was already free.

She would finish this mission on her own. No outside aid, no puppet-masters, no regrets.

------------------------------------------

/Sorrysorry-soverysorry!/

“Shut up!”Valerie had regrets.

/sorrysorrysorry/

So many regrets.

“I said shut up, you stupid bug!”

She emphasized her point by kicking the target of her ire right in the soft parts of its creepy, eye studded thorax.

This was stupid, she was stupid, but more than anything, she was pissed.

Valerie took a few steps closer to her target, gait slightly uneven for the lack of both her usual boots. While she wasn't going to die anytime soon, as the black leather that fit snug as skin across her body, the true barrier against the toxic atmosphere of the Zone, remained fully intact, it didn't stop her from being mad about it.

The bug, which had finally stopped gibbering in that vile, hissing tongue that had become more and more common the deeper she ventured into the pea-soup hellscape otherwise known as the ghost zone, took the opportunity to cower against the calciferous outgrowth that had halted its pitiful attempt at flight from Valerie's relentless pursuit.

She had hunted ghosts stronger and faster than this every day back in Amity, and could not help the faint sensation of disgust that came over her at the sight of a figure so unexpectedly pathetic. Did she appear so weak that this creature, along with the half a dozen or so of its less successful, but no less kleptomaniacally inclined ilk see fit to prey upon her? Did she seem so low indeed, that even the meanest, most beggarly of the Zone's inhabitants should see her as some object to pilfer and mock?

It was the work of a moment to summon her laser cubes, pulling them from the pocket dimension from which they resided to slide noiselessly over to the insect lying prone before her. With a thought, they flew forward, two each to press down on the thing's chitinous skull, heightening the artificial glow of her suit as she did for that extra sense of intimidation.

It was an ability she'd never had the need for back on earth, only to find herself putting it to use with unhappy frequency not a day after she'd set off on her journey.

Everything in the realm of the dead glowed, and the capacity to put off and manipulate one's own aura was a hallmark of the creatures that 'lived' within it. Those that didn't stood out strangely, casting shadows upon themselves and the world in a way that made them an obvious anomaly in the otherwise antumbral reaches of the Zone.

While Valerie didn't enjoy wasting her resources on glowing like she was her very own spook, she also hated wasting time, which advertising her humanity to every ghost that glanced her way very much did; a lesson that she'd learned after fending off an entire assault squad of ghost police, who had chased her for ages while screaming about her criminal possession of so many 'real world objects' within their territory.

That it also made sure any enemies never anticipated her ability to phase through objects came in handy from time to time as well, such as when a would-be thief, for example, tried to duck into a thicket in an effort to snarl its pursuer.

As expected, the bug shuddered in response to the cold touch of the barrel against its skin, curling into itself as it looked up into the dark panel of her faceplate.

Valerie leaned down, pinning it between herself, her guns, and the stony trunk of what, on this particular island, seemed to serve as some kind of tree.

/Alright, Manbug, one more time./ Her voice crackled and popped through her translators, adding even more intimidation to a tone already modulated down to something lower and crueler than her natural snarl. /Where. Did you. Put. My Stuff. /

The insect whimpered a little harder, oozing something suspiciously close to snot from the hole above its writhing mouthparts. It remained otherwise silent, however, as it shook.

Valerie pulled back her leg and kicked it again.

The imitation flesh buckled beneath her toes, causing the creature to squeal, a nonverbal expression of pain peaking just beyond her range of hearing as it flickered invisible, writhing in a hopeless gambit to escape the weapons still clamped against its head.

Funny how ghosts kept so many features they really shouldn't need anymore. Like joints, for example. Was it a subconscious matter, or some kind of deliberate choice, Just one more means to mock the living, their very forms a cruel parody of everything they once had been?

She silenced the voice which whispered how she should know by now, that it wasn't that easy. There were more important things to focus on.

/P-please./

The bug focused its myriad gaze on the huntress' visor, all six limbs twisted over themselves, wrapped tight over its oozing midsection.

/In error, Milor- Milord. Your place, held, not neutral. Shall honor, please. /

It was leaking from the eyes too, now, viscous fluid pouring from its dozens of eyes, wetting it bodily, puddling down onto the dark purple earth, adding to the halo of scattered goods and tchotchkes that had spilled out from the overstuffed bags that it had clung to for dear life even as they toppled, overbalanced from a too-fast turn, dragging the creature headfirst into ruin.

/Mer- mercy./

This wasn't fair. This miserable thing, begging in the dirt like it hadn't gotten anything more than what it deserved.

Valerie grimaced, rubbing the heel of her palm against her faceplate. Phantom's visage, not long past, looked up to her from the depths of her memory, face just as desperate, just as indisputably, distressingly genuine as when she'd first seen it.

“Valerie, You don't want to do this.”

“Like I have a choice, spook.” She muttered.

She took a deep breath, sucking in the same recycled exhalation she'd been breathing for nearly a week now, and took a moment to actually think her situation through.

She wasn't lost. She had no idea where she was, but she wasn't lost: That would imply a level of helplessness she could not bring herself to admit. What little food and water she had brought with her had been eaten a while back, reducing her to scavenge among the portal droppage scattered through those areas not patrolled by mad policemen, hoping she could find something sufficiently sealed against ectoplasmic encroachment to remain edible.

She reconsidered her captive, still trembling on the ground. A ghost zone native, utterly at her mercy, and, by the looks of things, a serial hoarder of goods.

/You want mercy? Fine. But you do what I say, exactly as I say it, M'kay?/

While the guns pinning its head in place were something of an obstacle, the bug did manage a spasmodic sort of jerking motion, forebody pushed back and forth with desperate, eager haste.

/(Enthusiasm,) (enthusiasm,) assent! Lord, generous, gratitude, respect./

“Good, now-”She held out one hand, palm expectant.

/Give 'em back./

It responded slowly, still slobbering at the maw, all eyes fixed on the huntress as it unwound its uppermost limbs, which reached up towards those tattered bundles still clustered fungiform over its heaving thorax, rifling between twine-like bindings for what seemed an age.

Patience had never been a skill of Valerie's, and she found herself torn between wanting the moment to last forever and wishing go faster instead, tightening her mental grip over her laser cubes, fingering the internal triggers in anticipation of some sudden, traitorous motion on the part of her captive.

Ghosts were deceptive, dangerous creatures, except, of course, when they weren't.

Without any ability to tell the difference, she could do nothing but pace at the bars of her patience, waiting for the moment to act.

Finally, a claw submerged itself into one of the parcels, pulling out one boot, and, just beside it, a single leather fold.

This was it. Valerie snatched the wallet from its pincers. The boot was replaceable, her construct engines could make another now, if she wanted to waste the resources for it, but her wallet-She flipped open the small leather parcel, noted immediately that the contents were not any state remotely akin to how she had left them.

/Milord?/

The bug was still subtly trying to wriggle its way out from under her guns. Her systems noted, then deleted, increased energy expenditure from her laser cubes as they were forced to adjust to its motions.

Useless data. A ghost of so low a caliber could never hope to escape so easily.

Debit card-broken, bent until the plastic whitened from an excess of pressure; Dollar bills balled together and crammed into a single pocket, still damp with a kind of ectoplasm that looked disquietingly similar to the slobber still dripping from the mouthparts of the bug before her; Plastic wrappers, spare coins, a concert flyer for a band she'd always wanted to see.

/Ah, Milord? Pardon, Excuse?/

All of it. This vile, twisted excuse for an insect had messed with all of it. It had played with her most important cards and documents like they were toys, then shoved them back in with utter disregard for any sense of their value once it was done.

/Goods, returned, trust?/

Dread crept into her heart as she reached into the backmost pocket of her billfold, the place where she kept the picture of her.

/more goods? Information? Information on goods? Release, please?/

It was shoved in the very bottom of the wallet, balled into the crease where the two halves of leather were joined into one. She pulled it out, fingers shaking only slightly as they smoothed it back into a more flattened form.

The Red Huntress had no face, and never had Valerie been more grateful for that absence than in that moment, when she beheld the true extent of the damage done to Polaroid before her.

Soft white creases were everywhere, shattering the image into isolated fragments of its former self. It had been torn, too, at the edges, a grip too hard, twisting too far, integrity compromised as a result.

The worst of the damage by far, however, were a series of punctures, scattered at random through the center of the photograph, small to medium perforations forming little absences where there had once been trees and grass, where there had been a woman's face. A hole sat primly above her dark neck, arched back into nothing, a yawning gap where once there had been laughter.

The Huntress turned her blank visage back to her captive, who froze in the act of trying to pry her weapons out of position. Cowardly, but expected. Trusting a ghost was a fools game she had no intent on playing.

/Ah, haha, (nervous) (nervous,) (respect.)/ The target pulled its claws back up against itself, fiddling with the tips as it looked up to her absent regard.

/...Milord?/

The Red Huntress had no face, could betray no emotion, could reveal none of the cold black welter that rushed up through the depths of her breast and pressed against her throat. An impassive machine, possessed of a will stripped free of feeling.

No sliver of her intent showed through, no shudder passed from her shaking fingers to her gauntleted hands, not even the psychic senses of a ghost could hope to detect the lava that boiled up from her guts, pressing against her skin in an sheet of living fire even as the pits of her stomach chilled to ice.

The bug was still looking up at her, eyes all expectant, when she commanded her one of her guns to fire.

A bright streak of energy shot through the top of its head, hard pink flash cutting through a wave of green.

It squealed, jerked all six limbs towards the missing portion of its skull in a hopeless effort to stop the thick chunks of ectoplasm from slopping down the side of its face. Valerie brought her foot down at the same moment, crushing its forelimbs down into the dust. Forelimbs tipped with little claws, just large enough to fit the holes in a certain photograph.

/Why!? Ancients, why, why!?/

Why?

“Why the hell not?” she snarled, “Ain't that how it works here?”

If a different ghost wanted to rob her blind every time she tried to sleep, they could. If Valerie wanted to chase down the one that finally succeeded, she could. There were no laws here, there were no rules, there weren't even morals. There was nothing to stop anyone from doing anything, so why should she be the one to hold herself back?

She lifted her foot off its claws, then swung it once again into its thorax, only just crusted over from where she had kicked it before.

It squealed, just like she imagined another ghost would, red eyes wide and frightened, vampiric teeth shattered against her fist, choking as she wrapped her fingers around his blue, blue, skin.

He deserved this, it deserved this, she was in the right. She had been tricked, mislead, mistaken maybe, but she wasn't wrong, she was in the right.

And if there was some dark curl of satisfaction there, a self righteous flame alighted just where she'd been coldest in that moment of hate, then that was proof, wasn't it? Of just how right she was.

She bent down to her target, which had started drooling all over again, ground speckled green and wet as it heaved against itself. It was disgusting enough that she would have shot it in the mouth instead of the head, but she still needed information, which meant it still needed to talk.

It's upper set of antenna had survived the cranial blast, making for an easy handhold as she yanked its drooping head up to face her once again. At the same time, she sent her guns down to its chest, where its energy levels peaked their highest.

Ghosts, much like the cockroaches they resembled, could survive well enough without a head, but none, not one could ever hope to make it without their precious ghostly core.

“Listen up spook.” She hissed. /Here's how this is gonna work. You lie, I shoot. You run, I shoot. Got it?/Its head twitched up and down, the smallest possible motion of assent.

/Good./

This was what it took, when it came to ghosts. Cooperation proceeded pain, loyalty from the threat of it, and mercy not at all.

/We'll start with the questions./

She allowed her guns to charge power, deadly, scintillating hum filling the air with the sound of her malintent.

/I like what I hear, maybe I let you keep talking./

Author's note: If Sam is more pride than wrath, then Val is more wrath than pride, IMO. I've done my best to write her accordingly

#Fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #Chapter 1 #Where You Belong #Danny Phantom #Valerie Grey

12 notes · View notes

lokidrabbles · 4 years ago

Text

Sweet Knitted Wishes (Loki x Reader)

Loki becomes jealous of reader’s relationship with Tony Stark and reflects on this

A/N: Next portion of my Loki x Reader Winter series! Had a lot of fun writing this one! As always, Gender Neutral Reader! Warnings: Slight jealousy and pure fluff

Loki supposed this was another natural tendency for humans. As he continued to study and acclimate to Midgardian culture he took focus on the change of temperament and behaviors they would display during this ‘Holiday Season.’ He comprehended it enough. It was a time of the year were they would grow closer, bond as comrades and family, engorge themselves with festive foods and drinks, and become even more physically needy than before.

The latter didn’t really phase him much, as he always perceived humans to be physically needy creatures. He would catch wind of how often handshakes, embraces, kisses and pats on the back would occur at Stark’s facility. He had the misfortune of experiencing one of Captain America’s bone crushing handshakes once, perhaps as a retaliation from the last time they battled. Despite this, Loki wasn’t a very physical person, when it came to humans of course. Even his childish tag-a-longs with you didn’t involve much exchange with bodily movements until much recently. And at the most, it involved an innocent kiss in a hidden location where no one could even fathom it.

He figured you respected his personal space as you too became suddenly touchy feely with your coworkers and comrades. He discovered your favorite greetings included side hugs and quick pecks on the cheek, nothing too risque however. For the most part, you got along with everyone at the facility fairly well. For those few unknown workers, you were polite and attentive, just what a model worker would be.

As his observations continued, Loki soon had come to known just how differently these greetings would be with the one Tony Stark.

And he absolutely detested it.

Loki knew you had a different relationship with your boss, one involving many exchanges of teasing remarks and playful banter. These weren’t ill intended remarks however. You had great respect for Stark and it was evident with how you would describe him to Loki. At the same time, you both connected and got along extremely well. You both were smart, witty, had your own individualistic charisma and had a knack for looking out for others. You had told Loki you best interpreted it as having a big brother who will always look after you and call you out on your misgivings.

He knew both you and Stark have had this relationship for much longer than he has been there. And yet, Loki felt as if he should fit that role in your life instead. Not as a big brother, but as someone equally meriting praise. You were also playful and clever around Loki, and for what he interpreted, you also held him in high regard. This was exhausting as the only image appearing in his head was the need to go head to head with Stark in some time of metaphorical battle for your hand.

His possessiveness got the better of him one evening when Stark had surprised with an early holiday gift. Loki had been lounging around your vicinity as you were ready to call it a night. Stark, loudly voicing his entrance into the room, had called out to you to hand you a small gift bag since he wouldn’t be at the facility for the remainder of the week.

It wasn’t until you exclaimed joyously and wrapped your arms around Stark’s neck that Loki felt a strong, uncomfortable pang in his chest. The feeling felt heavy and twisting, as if a hand had reached his insides and crushed it with an immense force. A million thoughts ran into his head and his lips became distorted.

“Tony you little shit. This is so lovely, thank you so much!” You had said, finally releasing your loving embrace from around his shoulders.

“This is so I don’t get any crap from you after I’m back from Europe. Also because now you owe me something even nicer.”

From the corner of the room, both you and Tony failed to notice the grumbling Asgardian with a dark cloud forming over his head. Jealousy wasn’t the right word to describe his anger, but resentment. Resentment towards Stark for being fortunate enough to receive this type of intimacy from you. For receiving your attention and utmost respect in any way possible. And resentment for feeling comfortable enough to be this way with you. Loki used all of his strength to hold back any rabid temptation to whisk you away and keep you all to himself.

But he knew he couldn’t do it, and it wouldn’t be very characteristic of him to do so.

Loki wanted to send Stark flying through a window again. Now that would be more fitting to his character.

“Hey, reindeer games.” Tony hollered out to Loki, only to be met with daggers for eyes.

“What?” Loki responded scornfully.

“Better stay out of trouble while I’m gone. (Y/N), keep an eye on him for me will ya’?” Tony gave you a quick wink before exiting the room, to which you rolled your eyes heavily at.

Loki remained bothered at the whole incident and he slouched in his seat, defeated at how much Stark had riled him up yet again. From a different perspective, he appeared like a pouty child who had failed to get the attention they wanted. And maybe this is what he had actually felt, the loss of your attention for another man, a man who had defeated him long ago. He knew you’d never see him in that way but the possibility continued to tug at him.

You approached Loki after gathering all your belongings and immediately recognized his ‘moody’ face.

“You okay? Were you waiting long for me?”

His eyes only peered up at you, his expression still rigid. “I’m fine. And no.”

You scoffed. “Tony got on your nerves again huh? I know you hate that little nickname he gave you.”

“He’s a fool but I don’t waste my time being bothered by it.” He was the God of Lies after all.

“Right. Lucky for us, we won’t have to deal with him for a good while. Should be fun for us.” You grinned at him, suggesting some mischief between the two of you.

Even as mad as he was, Loki couldn’t resist smirking at your remark. “It will be quite enjoyable without Stark breathing down my neck.”

“Oh!” You halted for a bit. “That reminds me!”

You jogged quickly back to your desk and rummaged through your drawer, taking out a green gift bag stuffed with white tissue paper.

Loki’s curiosity overtook him, forgetting his turmoil for a brief moment. He slowly walked over to you as you puffed up the crumpled tissue paper.

“I know it’s a little early but I wanted to give you this before the weather gets any colder.” You said, handing over the small gift to him.

Loki stood frozen. “I...don’t understand.”

“Of course you do. It’s an early present for you. I just didn’t want to take it out in front of Tony. I’m sure you wouldn’t have wanted to try it on in front of him.”

Loki’s eyes darted back and forth between your face and down to the gift you held for him. A gift, from you, just for him. He hesitantly reached out to grab a hold of it, brushing past your fingertips.

“You didn’t get anything for Stark?” Loki couldn’t resist asking. This was an opportunity to have his ego boosted.

“Tony has like everything so I’ll probably just order some hard liquor for him or something. I figured no one has really gotten you anything before.”

“I don’t know if I should take that as an offense.”

“Go ahead and open it though, let me know if you don’t like the color.” You said, motioning to his gift.

Loki dug in, pulling the paper out, unsure of what to expect. He reached in and began to pull out something soft, warm, something made of heavy yarn. Loki pulled out the item, revealed to be a large knit scarf, beautifully deep green with with soft golden tassels at its end. He couldn’t possibly resist to think it, but this was indeed his color scheme. His favorite colors. Meaning you had picked this with intention specifically for him. He was running in your thoughts somewhere.

Loki was speechless. “I...um.” “You don’t like it?” You asked, your face slowly becoming dejected which put Loki on high alert. “No, it’s not that. I’m just...taken back a little.”

“Mind if I slink it around you? So you can see if it’s not too scratchy.”

Loki slowly nodded as you reached out to grab the scarf from his hand, your finger gently brushing against his again. He lowered his head slightly, enough so you could fling the scarf gently around his neck, looping it again so it had a tighter fit.

“What about now? Warm enough?”

Loki tugged at the scarf a bit from his neck, shifting it to a more comfortable form. He then took a moment to reflect on how it felt around him. It was puffy, maybe a bit too much for his liking, but he understood how it was intended to keep him warm against the cold winter winds. The heat circled his neck in a soft, gentle embrace, similar to a pair of soft arms encircling his shoulders and neck.

“It’s lovely.” He said, a small smile forming behind the green knitted yarn.

“I’m really happy you like it.” You exclaimed, a small smile also forming on your face. “I gotta admit, I was little nervous you were gonna throw it back at my face.”

“And why would I do that?” You shrugged. “I guess it was just important to me. I wanted to make sure it was something you liked.”

Loki felt a pang in his chest again, but this time it was softer and warmer, and it spread all over his body. Your stupid attention to detail warmed his dry heart. The shimmer in your eyes made him feel worthwhile, and perhaps a tad more significant than whatever Tony Stark was for you. You saw him with eyes of admiration, but this look? His intuition told him it was much more different.

“That’s touching.” He said mockingly. “But thank you. This was a bit surprising to say the least.”

“That’s what the holidays are all about. Ready to head out?”

Loki trailed behind you as you gathered your items and made your way to the exit the facility. Throughout the rest of the evening as you both went your separate ways, Loki continued to wear your gift, disregarding how ludicrous the notion was of imagining your arms wrapped around him. They would be tight, warm, and secure, and would apply as much intention as your gift would have. Tony Stark would have your respect and admiration, but he certainly didn’t share this intimacy as Loki did. After all, humans provided much sentiment in the simplest of objects.

#loki #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x (y/n)#Loki Laufeyson #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki (mcu)#loki odinson #loki imagine

190 notes · View notes

mst3kproject · 4 years ago

Photo

The Navy vs the Night Monsters

Of course, it’s not like bad things stop happening now that 2020 is finally over… we just get to start counting again from zero. Kind of like how I’ve started counting thirty-six Episodes that Never Were per year, beginning with this one. It was co-directed by Wyott Ordung from Robot Monster and features familiar faces like Russ Bender and Mamie Van Doren, the latter for once not playing a teenage delinquent. It also has one really obscure MST3K connection: it was based on a story by Murray Leinster, which the sharp-eyed will remember as the name of the ship attacked by Evil Count Zarth Arn’s lava lamp weapon at the beginning of Starcrash!

A plane carrying specimens of Antarctic flora and fauna makes a rather rough and unexpected landing at a naval base on remote Gow Island in the south Pacific. There appears to be nobody on board except the pilot and a few penguins – the former is in a catatonic state, and the latter are... well, penguins... so what happened to the rest of the passengers and crew is a complete mystery. Did the pilot go mad and kill them? Did the penguins? Or did it have something to do with those mysterious ancient trees discovered growing around a geothermal spring in the heart of the frozen continent?

The first ten minutes of this movie are spent trying to be a comedy. Before we get anywhere near the plot, we first have to listen to the guys on the plane try to be funny about their lunch and their tastes in women. Then on the island, we watch a guy who can’t seem to figure out how to inflate a balloon, followed by a dude talking to his dog, and then a really icky bit where two women convince a man he had sex with both of them, which he buys because he was too drunk to remember. Only then do we finally establish what’s actually going on. The impression one gets from this beginning is that The Navy vs the Night Monsters is going to be peopled entirely by Jackass Comic Relief characters, and I actually turned the film off and sat on it for a couple of days to psych myself up to watch the rest.

When I finally turned it back on, to my relief the movie turned out not to be quite that bad, but it’s still pretty damned bad. The dull and unfunny opening is followed by an abrupt shift of tone, as a man maddened by terror jumps from the plane to his death! The only thing set up by the opening that turns out to be relevant is Spaulding the meteorologist’s crush on Nora the nurse, when she’s in love with the base’s second in command, Lieutenant Brown.

I complain frequently about useless love triangles in movies. This one is very useless, and all the more so because the script totally forgets to resolve it. Spaulding hates Gow Island but stays because he’s in love with Nora – he wants her to go back to Miami with him and marry him. When he puts this idea to her, however, it becomes obvious that Nora can’t stand him, and it’s clear enough why: Spaulding is an asshole and he treats Nora not as a partner but as a possession. Never does he show any sort of tenderness towards her. Every time they speak to each other, he seems to end up shouting, and his jealousy of Brown repeatedly leads to violence.

Brown, on the other hand, treats Nora with respect and actually shows vulnerability around her. He’s been left in charge while the base’s commander is on the mainland attending an important meeting, and he’s really feeling the pressure as the base is surrounded by tree monsters in the dark. He talks about his anxiety and Nora comforts him, and the audience rolls their eyes because it’s perfectly obvious which of these guys she’s going to pick. And sure enough, at the end she’s in Brown’s arms… but nothing about the whole situation is exactly resolved.

Brown and Spaulding did get in a fist fight, though it wasn’t explicitly over Nora, but nobody ever talks about the problem. Spaulding never realizes that he’s treated Nora badly, and it never seems to even occur to him that she might prefer Brown over him, or even that she has emotions or preferences at all. He definitely never seems to understand that he’s lost. Brown and Nora seem to feel a need to hide their love affair from the other base staff, but we’re never given a reason why (although I guess ‘Spaulding’s a dick’ is reason enough). Nora never tells Spaulding that she prefers Brown… maybe she’s afraid he’ll assault her? I hate everything about this situation, but nothing more than the fact that as the movie progresses we get hints that Nora may be warming up to Spaulding, as if she’s supposed to consider these two guys equal contenders for her affections! Fuck everybody who wrote this, seriously.

It’s kind of sad to see Mamie Van Doren in a role like this after meeting her in things like Untamed Youth and Girls Town. Those movies were gross and exploitative, but Mamie’s characters were central to their plots and she filled those shoes reasonably well. She wasn’t Oscar material but for what the films were, she was enough to carry them. The Navy vs the Night Monsters is a little closer to being a ‘real movie’, but in this respect it represents a step down for her, as she is relegated to being something for two men to fight over. Furthermore, Silver from Girls Town and Penny from Untamed Youth were both characters who required some range – Nora the nurse mainly spends the whole movie being annoyed with the men in her life. Van Doren could have done much more if anyone had bothered asking it of her.

Let’s see… what else do I hate about this movie? I hate Private Chandler, the guy who stays a Jackass Comic Relief character once that opening is over. Shockingly, The Navy vs the Night Monsters actually kills him off, but he’s not nearly as annoying as Dropo or the guy from Outlaw, so his death merely feels mean rather than having any entertainment value. The guy was just about to actually get laid by one of the women who’d made fun of him earlier – though she, like Spaulding, showed no sign of being sorry for past jerkitude.

I hate the monsters. Normally I have a soft spot for plant monsters. They’re a cliché in their own way, I guess, but they’re a fun idea. The ones in The Navy vs the Night Monsters kill and digest people with acidic sap, and a character theorizes about how and why such a thing would evolve, which is cool. The execution, however, sucks. While the poster for the film shows us a humanoid Treebeard-looking thing, the actual monsters in the film are dumb-looking stumps that waddle along like a couple of guys trying to move a piece of furniture corner-by-corner because it’s too heavy to lift. The result reminds me of The Creeping Terror, in that you have to want to get eaten by these things. At one point a guy walks right up to one, inspects it, and escapes its clutches merely by backing away slowly!

The trees reproduce using insect-like larvae that are, themselves, lethally venomous. This is also a neat idea which is, once again, ruined by the execution. The tiny ones are being pulled along the floor by a sometimes-visible string, and then they grow into stumps that look like they should be stools around a boy scout campfire, which move even slower than the adult trees! There’s a scene where the characters are holed up in the base under an onslaught of these, with planes arriving to napalm them just in time, and it is ludicrous in its attempt to feel threatening.

I do like that Gow Island is a bleak middle-of-nowhere rather than a tropical paradise. The landscapes kind of remind me of the Falkland Islands, though the weather on Gow is evidently better. You can see why some of the characters hate it here, surrounded by barren scrub inhabited mostly by ten thousand smelly, raucous seabirds. Unfortunately this backdrop makes the ‘comedy’ opening seem even more out of place, though it’s also kind of nice that they didn’t give us any stereotyped ‘natives’ as either comedy or monster fodder.

As for a theme… well, The Navy vs the Night Monsters is clearly about an invasive species. The biologist, in suggesting how the tree monsters evolved, points out that they are suited to the hostile environment of Antarctica in ways that make them nearly unstoppable anywhere else. We’re told that they devoured all the penguins the scientists were bringing back for study, and as well as eating the people, they wreak havoc among the Gow Island seabirds and reproduce out of control. The parallels to things like cane toads in Australia, or housecats just about anywhere, are obvious.

This isn’t something the characters care about, though, even the ones who profess to be scientists. At the end, enough of the trees are destroyed that the humans can safely evacuate, and what happens after that is clearly Gow Island’s problem, not humanity’s. I really would have liked to see the script go into this a little more, but then, The Navy vs the Night Monsters is not a movie that wants to go into anything, even stuff it sets up in some detail.

At the end, The Navy vs the Night Monsters feels pretty half-assed. Somebody wanted to make a movie, and then put in the bare minimum effort possible to have all the parts present. They clearly understood how movies work, but they didn’t have the money and didn’t want to go to the trouble. The result is deeply mediocre. There’s a few laughs out of the dumb stump creatures, but mostly it’s just bad.

#mst3k #reviews #episodes that never were #the navy vs the night monsters #tw: abuse #humanitarian vegetables #60s

18 notes · View notes

nautiscarader · 4 years ago

Text

Calm yo’ tits - a present fic for ZekkKiray

Rating: E, ladynoir/Adrinette (post-reveal), 9143 words (by notepad++ count, 8886 according to Ao3, so one of you is LYING)

Read on Ao3

contains breastfeeding, lactation and mooificated large breasts.

Now, if you look at the tags (and the word count), and you know me, you might be understandably confused and worried that I might have been possessed, hacked by a Russian bot, or simply gone mad. The last part is very likely, but it is not the reason of this fic's existence.

The fic you are about to read is a present for my buddy, ZekkKiray, a vastly superior fic writer, who on one occasion quoted my works as inspiration for his, which solves once and for all the age-old philosophical dilemma, proving that something can indeed come from nothing.

I knew, to some extent, what his favourite kinks are, which sadly, were not exactly compatible with mine. So I needed to find a fandom we both like, and where I wouldn't have to worry too much about silly things like logic or common sense.

Enter "Miraculous Ladybug".

To put it simply, this fic is a bit of crack, I tried working some elements from my personal headcanons, and it doesn't break, assuming you don't push it too hard. More importantly, though, it's a birthday crack. Happy birthday, pal!

Also, this takes place after S3 finale.

================================

Sitting tensely in her chaise-longue, Marinette eyed her tutor and a temporary enemy with a keen eye. She has taken many exams in her young adult life, but this one might have been the most important so far. She concentrated on the small, levitating creature that flew that past her head, and when Tikki revealed a card, Marinette instantly replied.

- Zaggu, gnu kwami, the hero is Ram-page, and has ability to shapeshift terrain. Strong, but not too agile. Best pair with Pegasus for optimum efficiency. - she spoke quickly. - Yes! That's the last one! - Tikki cheered, flying to nuzzle Marinette's cheek.

For the past few days, Marinette has been extensively trying to fill in the shoes of Master Fu, as the new Miraculous guardian, and she has passed her self-imposed exam with flying colours, guessing each and every Kwami Tikki has tested her with.

- Well, if there are any challenging akumas, you will surely be able to know how to dispose of them! - Tikki cheered. - I sure hope so. - Marinette smiled - But now I have to study for actual exams, Tikki.

Marinette walked to her desk, took her college textbooks and opened them, her other hand already deep in the bowl of fruit snacks she prepared beforehand, knowing of the revision session ahead of her.

- Don't you want to study with Adrien? - Tikki flew by her head - Last time you said he's helped you a lot. - I wish. - Marinette sighed dreamily at the sound of her boyfriend's name - And he did, but...

Her cheeks suddenly became slightly deeper shade of burgundy, and she shied away from her Kwami. The mere thought of her boyfriend made her instantly forget about her duties, both as a college student and as a protector of Paris. She let herself indulge in a fantasy of what could happen if the two were put together in her room, and were given a choice between studying for a very boring exam, or doing anything else... However, Marinette had to exert some self-control, and with her friend acting like a second moral compass flying next to her, she had to abandon of her daydream.

- You know, this is quite an important exam, I don't want to be easily distracted and-Adrien!

She let out a gasp when her phone buzzed, and she grabbed it to answer at once. Tikki smiled, watching as her friend melts in her chair at the sound of Adrien's voice. Something told her she's not gonna do any revisions today.

===================

In his dark lair, Hakwmoth was listening. With closed eyes, he concentrated his powers to filter out hundreds of voices, trying to find the loudest and angriest, speaking with pure rage and despair.

He heard squabbling teenagers and forgot about them at once.

He heard depressed, neglected workers and didn't give them a second chance.

He heard a man crying, pitiful and heartbroken, because of his beloved pigeo-NO, NOT HIM AGAIN, THIRD SODDING TIME THIS MONTH.

Gabriel sighed and closed the aperture overlooking Paris. Finding a good source for akuma was sometimes surprisingly difficult. So many voices, so many possible candidates. And yet, again and again, he has failed.

Gabriel stepped down into the staircase that brought him down to his office, and was not surprised to find Nathalie waiting for him.

- Anything new for me, Nathalie? - he corrected his glasses - Just one call from the office of Coco Marocco. They asked for a call-back... - Nathalie paused and dropped her formal attitude - Gabriel, is everything alright?

She gently put her hand on his shoulder, and his body twitched in an instinct to brush it off. But he restrained himself, paused and took another deep breath.

- It's sometimes so... difficult. To find a good one... - I know.

He looked back at her and gave her a rare smile, saying much more than he could have at the time.

- I'll make the call, thank you.

Nathalie left his office, never taking her eye from him as she closed the door. Gabriel sat in his chair, leaned back and dialled the number.

"Hi there! You have reached the office of Coco Marocco, the finest brand of clothing this side of the equator. For English, press One. Für Deutsch drücken Sie bitte..."

Gabriel sighed and let the voice machine continue its job.

"... for business inquiries, press 7".

Gabriel quickly pressed the number, and was welcomed with the same, lifeless, mechanical voice.

"To access your account, please input the number..."

Without thinking, Gabriel typed the eleven-digit number on the tone dial, and waited for the next step.

"We apologise. In order to access your account, you need to speak the numbers", the voicemail said.

A small vein twitched on Gabriel's forehead. He spoke each digit, loud and clear, hoping beyond hope it registered properly.

"We apologise, please say the number again."

It took him two more tries to reach the next step, and he finally heard the familiar waiting music. The second it stopped, he started speaking, but he was met with even more disappointing reality.

"Hi there! Thank you for your patience. Your call is incredibly important to us. Your number in the waiting queue is... FOURTEEN".

The mobile phone crashed and broke into dozens of pieces when Gabriel tossed it across the room, careful not to destroy the painting of his wife that hid the entrance to his observatory.

- Why does it have to be so difficult? - he grumbled - Bunch of incompetent buffoons, making the easiest of things so much more difficult-

And then, a sudden burst of inspiration, privileged only to visionaries of his calibre, has dawned on him. He quickly got up and dashed to the elevator, not noticing that the crash alerted Nathalie to peek into his room, as he was too eager to bring his plan into motion as soon as possible.

When he stepped into his lair, he was Hawkmoth again, and he knew exactly what to listen for.

=====================

The glorious weather outside taunted Nino to end his revisions early and go to the nearest park to bathe in the warm sunshine, but alas, he had to spend his day in the near-empty university library. Unable to concentrate, he took his phone and launched the app to check if the last paper has been graded, but was left with a disappointing, never-ending loading screen. He looked at the only other person in the room, sitting by the computer in the corner, and decided to break the ear-splitting silence.

- Hey dude, are the uni servers down, or something? - And when were they not? - the chubby student replied - The app constantly crashes, we can't even check anything, so I'm just loafing around.

Nino gave him - or rather his large neck - a curious look and decided to end the conversation swiftly.

- Well, at least tumblog works... - If only - his interlocutor replied, much to Nino's chagrin, without even taking his headset off - Ugh, why did they change the colour of the background again? - You okay, dude? - he looked at his freckled face, and the man gave him a contemptuous look. - Yeah. But you seem to be okay with using this sub-par version - he glanced at his phone.

Nino raised his eyebrow and glanced at his phone.

- What's wrong with that?

The man groaned.

- Ugh, where do I start? The app also never works, they haven't implemented half the features of the desktop version, they still show sponsored messages, I mean, not for me, I hacked them myself away, and the options, can you believe they dared to change the font, it's so unreadable now...

He took a sip of a drink he definitely shouldn't have been allowed to bring into the library.

- But the site is so full of idiots now, it's not even worth going there anymore. Can you believe there are people defending the new Flunkies game? They've added cut content DLCs now! All of them sheep, they will buy whatever you throw at them, and...

The guy continued to complain into what was now a Nino-shaped void, as he left quietly a minute earlier, slightly afraid that arrogance might be catching.

And he wouldn't be exactly wrong...

If Nino stayed, he would have noticed that the same window that finally tempted him to walk outside with its glorious view, became also a gateway for a dark-purple moth that landed on the student's headset, turning it into equally sinister shade.

Suddenly, the student's complaints, spoken into nothingness, fell on listening ears, and a voice spoke in his head.

- Anton, I am Hakwmoth. I have heard your eloquent delivery, and I must say, you are quite right. - I know I am - Anton replied, without missing a beat. - There are so many little things wrong with this world, and only you know how to fix them... - Yes, I wrote it all on my blog, but now they changed the tagging system, and they don't even filter by the- - The point is - Hakwmoth interrupted him - As all geniuses in history, you are underestimated. Like the Cassandra of the Greek myths, people do not believe you, despite you speaking the truth. But I can change that.

For the first time in rather long time, Anton listened, instead of talking.

- I can give you a platform to speak your wisdom, better than any social media would ever offer. I can give you the voice, and I can give you the chance to make others hear you... And to sway their views at once... - You-you can do that? - Anton asked excitedly, though remaining in his slumped pose. - Oh, yes. - Hakwmoth replied with an oily, greedy voice - All I need in return is for you to bring me Ladybug's and Chat Noir's Miraculi. They are wrong anyway, so they don't deserve them... Embrace my akuma, and rise-

Gabriel paused. He expected to feel something by now, but instead, he heard a quiet tapping.

- Are-are you typing? - Well, duh, someone is wrong on the Internet. - I was going to give you powers to do all of that a hundred times faster... - Gabriel spoke, unable to believe what he heard. - Okay, I'm done. - Anton spoke - What were you saying?

Stopping the urge to find a new herald of his will, Hakwmoth stomped in place and let the power flow through him and into his new apprentice, transforming his somewhat shaggy clothes into regal, red-and-golden attire. The chair he was sitting in merged into his body, becoming a golden, ornamented throne. And finally, the device around his head became a golden, conical-shaped object, perfectly suited for his new puppet, already fitting well in his hand.

- As I was saying... Rise, Echo Chamberlain, and correct the world, for only you know how. - I will! - the new villain spoke into his megaphone and flew out the library in his levitating chair, smashing the window to pieces.

========================

- Adrien!

Marinette jumped the last few stairs of her house and nearly tripped, but fortunately for her, she landed exactly where she wanted - in the arms of her boyfriend, meeting his lips a minute or so earlier than she planned. She smelled his trademark cologne, singed with his name, and she positively melted against his chest, blissfully forgetting about everything around her, until her mother's grunt brought her back to reality.

She jumped to her feet, fixed her hair and waved her parents goodbye, as the two walked outside for a stroll on the sunny day, with just a chance of studying in the park, in between kissing.

- How was the journey? - Marinette asked, eager to learn all about his latest business trip. - Well, nothing too out of the ordinary. I mean, for me. - he quickly added, afraid he sounded too immodest - I wish I could have brought you with me. - No biggie. I know how strict your father can be... - she leaned against his shoulder. - Hey, look, we should get some ice-cream!

Marinette eagerly pulled Adrien towards the famous André's ice-cream stand that now was parked underneath an old arch, and, predictably, has already amassed a small crowd, hungry for some cold refreshment. But as the two approached them, they heard an angry voice, dissonating with the rest.

- What do you mean you don't have chocolate chips? What kind of ice cream vendor are you? - a young woman was arguing with the poor ice-cream maker, who reacted to her anger with his usual jovial, kind behaviour. - Ah, but mademoiselle, I have other toppings, perfect for you! Brandied cherries! Candied walnuts! Peanut brittle! Or even... - he paused, before saying the next word with less enthusiasm in his voice - Sprinkles... - But I want my chocolate chips! - Excuse me. - Marinette gently addressed the angry woman - Don't you think you act a bit selfish? I'm certain André has been working so hard to bring us these phenomenal treats, it's not his fault he ran out of some of the ingredients... - Yeah - Adrien added quickly - And I think you will find some of these are as good as the one you crave, I can attest to that. - Plus, there are a lot of people waiting...

A shared murmur spread behind her, with people nodding, agreeing to Marinette and Adrien's polite reasoning. The woman sighed, and was about to accept the lesser version of her favourite dessert, but the next words she spoke left her mouth with a volume of hundreds of people.

- I WANT CHOCLOATE CHIPS!

Adrien and Marinette instinctively put their hands over the ears, and as they watched in horror, they might have just saved their sanity. Thre eyes of the people surrounding them glew with red tint, and the same people that a moment ago scoffed at the picky woman, now shouted with her.

- WE WANT CHOCLOATE CHIPS!

The two shared a concerned look, and they frantically looked around, knowing full-well it was a work of an akuma. Adrien spotted him first, a bizarre, red-and-gold man flying in his throne above their heads. They gave each other a nod and ran as far away from the crowd.

- André, run, it's an akuma! - Marinette cried, but it was too late.

The kind man now was roaring with them, demanding his own ice cream booth to give him chocolate chips, smashing it with his bare hands. Adrien and Marinette hid in an alleyway, and as soon as they could catch breath, their Kwami escaped their pockets, ready to transform them.

Two bright flashes of light later, Ladybug and Chat Noir escaped the same alleyway, following new source of cries and shouts. Ladybug shoot her yo-yo to climb onto the nearest rooftop, while Chat accompanied her onto his magical baton that propelled him into the air, so they could level with Hawkmoth's new puppet.

- You there! - Marinette shouted, gaining his attention - What are you doing to these innocent people? - And whatever it is, we are here to stop you!

The akumatised man laughed and rolled in the air in his throne.

- I am the Echo Chamberlain, and I have done nothing to them! I merely gave them the same voice I have. How dare these ice cream makers don't have the perfect ice-cream I want!

He grabbed his megaphone and spoke into it, emitting once more a deafening cry that reverberated amongst the buildings.

- People of Paris! Throw away your chains! Go to the barricades! And demand the ice-cream you want! Ha-ha-ha!

At once, the people beneath them, scared and cowering, stood up and rushed to the shops, big and small alike, chanting the same familiar phrase for their now-beloved condiment.

- You fool! - a sudden voice rang in Anton's head - I gave you the voice so you can get me Ladybug's and Chat Noir's Miraculi! - Oh, right. - he took his megaphone again - But before that, get me Ladybug and Chat Noir! They took all the chocolate chips!

Echo Chamberlain flew onto his throne, leaving Ladybug and Chat Noir with the horde of people, that now began surrounding them with his single command. The two thought that they were safe on the rooftop of the building, but the angry people began climbing each other, forming human ladders, and in matter of seconds, the two had to escape in the same way they got there to begin with.

- He's using some sort of mind control! - Ladybug spoke, when they landed on slightly taller building, though they've already heard the clatter of broken glass beneath them. - The akuma must be in his megaphone. - Chat added - Also, I never thought people like chocolate chips so much. - I don't think they do. I think he likes it, and so he makes other people like the same thing.

Ladybug took a cautious look down, spotting some people rushing away from the angry mob.

- And I think he needs to target like-minded people. Or at least those that share some form of opinion with him... - she pondered. - Great observation, but may I add one? Duck!

Chat Noir pressed Ladybug's head down as a carton full of ice-cream cones flew right through the space once occupied by her head. The two rushed to their feet again, jumping from rooftop to rooftop, escaping the swarm of zombiefied people.

- Maybe there will be fewer of them here... - Chat spoke, but he was immediately proven wrong by a sudden voice behind him. - Oh, do you think ice-cream toppings is the only thing that makes people angry?

Echo Chamberlain arose from behind the building, already aiming his megaphone at the ventilation shaft.

- How about... Mobile chargers! Don't you hate how they always get lost and get tangled?

The powerful sound wave reverberated throughout the building, and the small rooftop door quaked when a small mob of residents rushed to the top, with said chargers in their hands, ready to strangle the two. Ladybug tried sniping a few of them with precise shots of her yo-yo, but the crowd was too dense.

- My lady!

Chat Noir grabbed her and propelled themselves off the building, landing in the vicinity of the same park they were meant to not-study in. But as they landed, they were already surrounded by more hypnotised civilians, this time complaining en-masse about mosquitoes.

- There's too many of them! - Ladybug shouted, jumping onto the nearby lamp post and then onto the tree. - I mean, they aren't exactly wrong, mosquitoes are horrible... - Chat! - Ladybug scolded him - That's the problem, he is making these people aware of all those small, insignificant problems of their lives. - But everyone has those!

Chat Noir's statement suddenly sounded ominously, as the sea of multicoloured people of every race, size and age surrounded them. Each person beneath them complained about something, creating a powerful choir of cacophony.

- We need... we need something to calm them down all at once...

Marinette looked around, and suddenly, as she spotted André's destroyed ice-cream stand, she saw the bell he would rang to alert Parisians of his presence, and a smile appeared on her face.

- I know what to do! - she cheered - Follow me!

The two escaped the tree just as if it was bout to be uprooted, and the two traversed the Paris to land on an even more familiar balcony.

- Don't peek, I'm gonna change my clothes. - she gave him a quick peck as she opened the hatch door to her apartment. - I'd never think of doing that. - Chat grinned, prepared his baton and jumped to the ground to defend the Dupain-Cheng bakery from the horde of people.

Once she was inside, Marinette quickly opened her supplies cabinet. Under the multitude of sewing accessories lied the hidden, oval-shaped red-and-black object that once looked like an ancient music box. The new guardian took it and gently tapped the black spots on the Miraculous Box, and under her touch, the small drawers began opening, one by one, like petals of a flower, revealing the multitude of Miraculi inside. Each of the intricate jewels glowed with a magical light of its own, as if to invite Marinette to try them, but she already knew which one to pick.

She took a small, circular Miraculous and spoke its Kwami name, illuminating her room with calming, white light, as the small, furry creature appeared in front of her.

- There's no time to explain, I need your help. Tikki, unify!

=====================

Meanwhile, Chat was getting more and more surrounded, forcing him to jump higher and higher, hoping the crowd would follow him and not Ladybug, trying his might to defend himself with his baton from the hypnotised masses, chanting their many inconsequential complaints that made them so strong.

- The prequels suck! - The sequels suck too! - Everything sucks!

As the mob was about to grab Chat, suddenly, he felt a familiar grip around his torso and his stomach did a somersault when he was dragged upwards, away from the crowd, as Ladybug reeled him on her yo-yo as if he was a fish.

- Thanks Ladybug, your timing is impecca-

Words got stuck in Adrien's mouth as he turned his head to meet his rescuer. At first, he wasn't sure it was Ladybug, but he recognised her yo-yo and her charming smile, though they were the only familiar element of her looks that remained. Only half of her original red could be found on her new costume, and the tidy, trademark polka-dots merged into black blots against white-brown rest of her costume. But it was the accessories she was wearing that truly befuddled Chat and forced him to pursue his curiosity, even if he was to be proverbially killed for it.

- My lady...! - Adrien stopped mid-way, taking another long look at Marinette - You... Your choice of fighting style is always impawssible to predict, but... Really, a cow? - What?

Marinette looked at herself, turning in place, as if to check if she's made a mistake choosing a Kwami to merge with, but once she ascertained herself, she shot him with a stern look.

- I'm not a cow. - she spoke quickly - The Kwami, whose powers I'm borrowing, is a yak! From Tibet! - Er, my lady - Chat raised his hands in defence, trying not to stare too long at the horns that adorned her head now - With all the respect, half of your costume is white with black spots, you have a ring in your nose, and you wear a cowbell around your neck... - IT'S NOT A COWBELL! - Marinette stomped in place - It's a Tibetan singing bowl, used for meditation. The Kwami told me so. - And what was its name?

With some hesitation, Marinette looked at Chat, whose lips curled into a sly smile, somehow foreseeing the answer and using every ounce of his intelligence to prepare a comeback.

- Lhamuu... - she whispered. - Lha...MOO - Chat articulated, his smug grin becoming unbearable to look at. - Oh, shut up! - Marinette yelled - We have an Akuma to defeat. - You're right, we should get mooving.

The superheroes nodded and jumped once more into the crowd of people under the super-villain's control, a plan already forming in their heads.

===========

- What's this?

In his observatory, Hawkmoth looked through his puppet's eyes at a sight he most certainly didn't expect.

- Ladybug... is a cow. - he muttered, unable to believe his borrowed sight. - Actually, it's a yak, you can tell by the horns, they are quite common in Asia and- - Never mind that! - Hawkmoth interrupted him - Ladybug has acquired a new power! That means she's wearing two Miraculi! Get them at once! - Is it "Miraculi" or "Miraculouses"? Or does this word even have plural form? - Anton pondered - I think there was a thread on Ladyblog about it, and- - THEY CAN BE CALLED "CROISSANTS" FOR WHAT I CARE, JUST GRAB THE JEWELS! - On it.

==========

Anton's throne flew closer to the two superheroes, who kept fighting the overwhelming crowd of people. Though banking on disappointment from recent block-busters wasn't unreasonable, he decided to play on even more delicate strings. He took his megaphone and spoke one word that electrified the masses and angered them all.

- Don't you just hate... CAPTCHA?... yes, it's because of Ladybug and Chat Noir you have to solve those stupid riddles, finding fire hydrants and whatnot! Destroy them!

At once, the mass of people acting, ironically, like radio-controlled robots, roared with pure hatred and began swarming towards them climbing onto balconies, just so they can get to them. Chat took a step backwards, knowing the crowd there was equally dense. But just as he was about to secure Ladybug, she did something utterly unpredictable.

With grace and skill only she possessed, SHE jumped off the rooftop, right into the horde of people, ready to tear her apart.

- My lady!

From the rooftop, Chat watched as Ladybug landed on the plaza, and let the crowd of people encircle and approach her from every side. And though he was afraid, he also had faith in her, strengthen only by her charming smile and a wink she sent him, while the shouting mob surrounded her.

- It's time to use... The Bell of Clarity!

Marinette touched the bowl affixed to her neck, enveloping herself in a delicate, yellow light, grabbed what looked like a ring in her nose and swiftly pulled it, revealing it to have two small balls on each side, and twirled around, ending with a stylish, victorious pose. With her new weapon in hands, she reached it, and gently stroke the bowl with the metallic ring, letting its vibration travel towards their target.

A powerful sound wave surrounded her, spreading in all directions, engulfing more and more of space, finally reaching the ears of the hypnotised people. When the note rang in their minds, they stopped, appearing confused and disoriented, as they suddenly lost the connection to their master's words.

- No, no, get them, you idiots! - Echo Chamberlain shouted through his megaphone.

Marinette stroke the bowl a second time, producing a more melodious tune. The crowd of like-minded zombies became even less coordinated, much to the supervillain's anger. And when she gently began moving the ornamented metal ring across the bowl's edge, instead of producing a single note, it began singing, its soothing melody finally dispelling the charm put on the people.

- No! You have to listen to me! I am right! - Anton took his megaphone and began speaking into it again - The games now suck! The-there are micro-transactions everywhere! The-the toilet paper! It's never turned the right way around! There is product placement in movies!

But no matter how many annoying details about life - or rather lack of it - he spoke of, the crowd remained calm and peaceful, unified with the sound of Ladybug's bell, that spread across the city each time she hit it.

And just when he was about to think of some new annoyance, something hit him from behind him, and when he turned around, he saw Chat Noir, wrestling with him, his baton already locking his arms from reaching his tool of control.

- It's time to dethrone your highness! Now, Ladybug!

At once, Ladybug shoot the yo-yo, grabbing the megaphone, while Chat and Echo Chamberlain wobbled in the air, each trying to overpower the other. But as soon as Ladybug got her hands onto his prized tool of control, it was over. She broke it in half, releasing the purple akuma, she then gracefully caught with the same yo-yo.

- By bye, little butterfly... - she spoke to the purified Akuma, watching it, as it flew away. - Miraculous Ladybug!

A storm of light, radiating from her engulfed the city, repairing the damages caused by the entitled mobs. As for the Echo Chamberlain, he found himself in his regular, not-levitating chair, and only thanks to Chat Noir's strength he didn't hit the ground.

- I believe it was yours. - Ladybug handed him the headset. - Y-yeah... - Anton stuttered. - Uh, Ladybug, I... - That's okay, Anton. - she spoke calmly - We all get upset sometimes, and we all think we have all the answers. - But maybe it's better to walk outside every once in a while, and, say, have some ice cream? Regardless of toppings? - Chat Noir added, giving him equally warm smile. - Y-yeah...

The two watched as the man waddled away, pondering what his behaviour has done. Ladybug and Chat Noir looked at each other and bumped their fist with a cheerful "Pound it!".

- So, the Bell of Clarity, eh? - Chat Noir leaned against the wall, watching as his partner affixes her new accessory once more to her collar. - Jealous of my new toy, kitty? - Ladybug shot him with a mischievous grin - It has quite powerful properties, I should tell you about that some time, since I've been studying all the Kwamis and... - Nah, I was just pondering the name...

Marinette eyed him suspiciously, noticing the familiar smirk appearing on his face, about to turn into a full, unashamed grin, but when she did that, it was too late, as words already left his mouth.

- It's "Bell of Clarity"...or Clara-bell, if you will.

The Tibetan singing bowl made one last, long, pronounced note as Marinette struck Chat's head with it, putting an end to his jokes and another successful mission.

===========================

Another tune, this one of pure sorrow filled the air, as Hawkmoth roared in anger, his voice echoing in his evil lair atop the Agreste mansion.

- Preposterous! I have been defeated by a superheroine dressed like a cow! - I think she was a yak, Gabriel. - Nathalie added - SHE HAD A RING IN HER NOSE! - he yelled, slamming his fists against the floor, as he collapsed onto his knees - I HAVE A HEADACHE!

==================

Far away from Hawkmoth's prying eyes, as well as many security cameras they've learned to evade, two superheroes were celebrating another victory in a way that became almost a tradition for them. There was a time when Marinette would be utterly shocked at the mere thought of kissing in public, let alone exposing herself there, but the years of serving as a protector of Paris has changed her mind. At some point, she started treating entirety of Paris as her home, with every dark alleyway and rows of chimney that hid them from the rest of the world, and with that notion came the desire to express herself and her love in the open air. And it certainly helped that her boyfriend was a horny tomcat.

Though she would have preferred if Chat pushed her against her soft bed, she didn't mind the cold, sturdy surface of a building they were kissing against. With his relentless, but delicate caresses, there was no place on Earth where they wouldn't be feeling comfortable, and something told her she would be soon melting in his arms or underneath his body.

And Chat was especially meticulous today, as he wanted to make sure that he'd cover every millimetre of her new costume and find out if her new alter-ego changed something with her preferences regarding making love.

- Chat... - Marinette moaned and curled her toes, tightening her legs' grip around his body. - I've had you as a Ladybug...

Chat pressed her against the wall, his hand already on her crotch, and his fingers dug through the latex costume that parted underneath his gentle, yet steady caresses.

- ...then as a mouse...

She let out a short squeak, almost mimicking her timid, Multimouse persona, as he continued undressing her using his claws and teeth.

- Then as a Rena Rouge... do you remember that? - How-How could I forget? - Marinette gasped, her hands sliding up and down his slim, but muscular body - Especially since Alya was filming us...

Chat let out a deep purr of approval, letting his lips and tongue take action, as he leaned against the skin on her neck. And while he was busy peppering her skin with kisses, Marinette decided to continue diving into their memories, perhaps just so she won't have to moan in anticipation of her lover's next, carefully planned move.

- And-And do you remember when Mister Bug used Lady Noire's face? I've never thought he would be so rough... - Mhm, most certainly... - Chat purred, nibbling on her ear, both actions making Marinette's skin shiver - Turned out white goes very well with your the black mask... And, well, rest of the costume too... - Naughty kitten... - And now, I'm gonna be with you as a... - Chat paused, looking up at his lover - ...a yak. - It's fine, you can say I'm a cow. - Marinette rolled her eyes, leaning in for a kiss. - And how should I call you? - Figured you would kiss first and ask names second...

She spoke those words in somewhat croaky voice, after Chat's kiss successfully left her breathless. She tightened her grip on him and looked him in the eye, seeing the familiar, fiery spark of lust that could lead them on a predictable route.

- Yin Yak - she answered - That's the name of that-that superheroine... - Marinette paused, trying to silence herself from another surge of pleasure building up in her loins. - So, would you be Lady-yak? - Chat kissed her breasts through her costume, yearning to feel her costume splitting apart - Or Yin-bug? I have to say, I am purrplexed and confused...

Marinette cupped his face and brought his face millimetres away from hers, just so her next words could firmly root themselves into his mind.

- I will tell you how I want to be called. - she paused and without losing a bit answered - Yours.

With her words acting like a spell, Chat Noir smiled and in a single move tossed her into the air, and caught her with his arms again, letting her legs spread. And as he did so, a rip in her costume appeared, under Chat's most delicate of touches, as a final proof of Marinette's consent and her yearning for her lover. Marinette yelped when his fingers brushed the now-exposed skin underneath her partially-torn costume. In response, she yanked his bell and slid it down, finally laying her eyes on his naked, alluring body.

- It's so much easier for you... - Are you complaining about an incredibly minor inconvenience? - Chat paused - Be careful, or you're gonna get akumatised too...

They giggled and closed their eyes, preparing for a kiss, but as their lips were about to meet, Chat found that something began pushing them away. And when the two looked down, they couldn't help but gasp at the sudden development happening right in front of them.

- What the-?!

Both Adrien and Marinette stared at her chest, or more precisely, her breasts that sprung from beneath her costume, ripping it completely and showing properly how enlarged they've become. And neither of them could tell which one was more surprised of the sight that greeted them. Her usually perky, medium-sized breasts now felt like two balloons that became inflated the moment Chat parted the way of her costume, though despite their size they seemed to defy laws of physics, never truly succumbing to gravity. As if in disbelief, Chat gently cupped them, and only under his touch, Marinette could feel how much they have grown, and that they were in fact still parts of her caresses-starved body.

- They-they are huge! - Marinette gasped, stating the obvious. - Indeed they are... - Adrien licked his lips - I have to admit, I am enjoying your new superhero form more and more...

Marinette gasped when she felt Chat's breath around her nipple, even more sensitive than usual, as his lips closed around the nub, a lot bigger and more pronounced now. And while his tongue lapped around her areola, his left hand caressed her other breast, exploring the new, vast territory he was going to conquer.

As Marinette whimpered under Chat's caresses, he moved from left side of her enlarged bosom to the other, finally taking a dive between them, licking the alluring valley between the voluptuous,breasts on both sides of his face. He looked up, meeting Ladybug's widened eyes, seeing the mixture of pleasure and lingering shock in them. He gave her one final kiss, and asked sheepishly.

- My lady, I'm not doing anything wrong, am I? - Can you hear me complain? - Marinette smirked - I have no idea what happened, but keep your mouth busy, kitty.

She gently pushed his head back between her huge bosom that almost engulfed Chat's head. Suddenly, she felt his kisses everywhere across her sensitive skin, causing her to moan without any care. They were still hidden, at least partially, since she fully expected her breasts might now expand like a portable raft and take the entire space of the rooftop.

Of course, she knew why this happened. Though Chat was joking, her Kwami certainly had a few bovine traits, and her arousal must have accentuated those even more, just like Chat's claws could tear through her otherwise indestructible suit as if it was papier-mâché when his animalistic needs got over him.

As her kisses became more and more ravenous, her legs slowly gave up, and that gave Chat a chance to sneak his arms underneath her back and raise her leg up, just so his access to her dripping sex could be easier. With her left leg on his shoulder, his fingers continued the delicate dance against her pussy, while his tongue lapped at the skin around her nipples.

- Cha-Chat!

Marinette threw her head back, hoping her lover would bring her to her climax soon, and when Chat closed his lips around her nipple once more, just to contain his scream, she felt something new. An exhilarating, electrifying surge rushed through her, and at the same moment as Chat's eyes opened wide, while his fingering slowed down, though with his new discovery, she didn't exactly blame him.

Once he understood what was happening, Chat smiled and doubled his efforts, suckling on her teat, just so he could taste the delicious, sweet milk she began producing.

- My lady, you are... full of surprises... - he spoke, once he took a healthy gulp of her essence, watching as it dripped onto her large breasts.

To her bewilderment, when Chat brought his lips back to her nipple and continued suckling her milk, she felt the pleasure rising again, and with the newly found source of enjoyment, Marinette realised she couldn't think straight, especially when Chat resumed the moves of his hand again, spreading her folds.

But this time, as his muscular body came in contact with hers, it became obvious he was eager for more than simple finger play. He moved his hips in tune of her moans, sliding his exposed cock along her folds, eager to her her begging. And sure enough, once his name left her lips, he dived between her wet, soaking folds, just like his head dived into the valley of her breasts, equally leaking from anticipation.

Marinette let out another prolonged moan. Chat often made love to her this way, pressing her against walls, often just meters away from busy streets, but never before has her body changed. And now, to each of Chat's thrusts, her enlarged breasts reacted accordingly, bouncing up and down around Chat's face, though every once in a while her lover's thirst for her milk caused one of her mounds - or rather mountains - to remain in place, while he feasted on the liquid ambrosia she kept producing.

Adrien thought that he might have harder time keeping his lover up, and bouncing her with the extra baggage, but it turned out that the opposite was true. She felt lighter, giving him chance to exert a bit more pressure and dominance over his lover, much to her enjoyment. Ladybug dug her fingernails into Chat's shoulders, pushing him against the cushions of her bosom, letting his entire face stimulate her much larger and more sensitive area.

With each kiss Chat placed around her nipples came another deep thrust, reaching further and further into her yearning sex that coated his cock with her juices, only helping his cause of sliding as far as possible. And with that storm of sensation, it came as no surprise to Marinette that her mind slowly started going blank, and she began chanting Chat's name like a mantra, begging him to help her reach the peak he promised her, hearing only his grunts in return.

Their shared orgasm made their joined bodies shudder; at the same time, walls of Marinette's pussy contracted, desperate to contain Chat inside her, coating his crotch with more and more of her juices; then the torrential jets of his warm seed shot up her sex, right against her womb, filling her to the brim. And then, just when she thought she was finished, she felt a new form of warmth on her chest, when milk began spurted from her breasts, though the stream quickly found its way to Chat's mouth.

With each of Chat's final, weakening thrusts, the effects began anew, forcing her lover to switch suckling on her nipples, thirsty for her nectar, as if to use it to replenish his essence he kept flooding her with. But as their juices were leaking out, so was their strength, and even Chat's muscles had to give up at some point.

The two collapsed on the rooftop, still hidden by the shadows of the construction scaffolding, though at this point, Marinette truly didn't care if their love making has been heard, or observed by anyone; with her enormous breasts people might think it's some sort of stunt anyway. Her lips found Chat's and she tasted a new flavour, a sweet one that sent shivers down her spine, when she realised what it was, and she understood at once why Chat was so desperate to milk her.

The same flurry of kisses that drove her to her peak didn't stop, as Chat made sure to pepper her breasts with as many of those as possible, at the same time giving her ample time to recover from her equally explosive orgasm.

And as her mind, hazed by pleasure, slowly returned to reality, a new plan formed in her head, and with a quick, but difficult to pull off maneuver - a drawback of the new addition to her body - she rolled and pinned Chat to the ground, much to his surprise.

- My lady?

Chat's ears perked up when he saw her move along his naked body, leaving a trail of kisses as well as her milk along it. And when she reached her destination, she shot him with a mischievous, sly smirk that would have turn his legs to jelly if he wasn't downed already.

Her delicate fingers closed around his half-lips cock, bringing his sensitive tip to her mouth, and as her lips brushed his skin, it twitched satisfyingly in her hand, signalling he was ready again.

- You just lay there, kitty, and let me take care of you...

Marinette's soft, velvety voice, spiked with just a trace of lust worked its magic on Chat right away. Though Marinette might have been surprised by the sudden changes to her body, the superheroine adapted to them at once and decided to put them to good use. Her voluptuous, wobbly breasts engulfed Chat's hard cock, as Marinette proceeded to give her first tit-job of her life, given that now she had proper equipment for it.

As Chat got lost in her ample bosom, he threw his head back, filling the air around them with low purr of delight, followed by prolonged moan when Ladybug's mouth met with his cock's head upon her first bob. it was equally fascinating for Marinette to watch as Chat's length is enveloped by her breasts, and how she can now stimulate far more of him than when her mounds were small an perky.

She had to keep an eye on his legs that twitched with every few seconds in response to her caresses. Chat's claws closed around the nearest edges, after frantically trying to find one to push away his oncoming climax, and his slim, but muscular torso arched from time to time, in sync with Marinette pushing her massive breasts up and down.

To make things a bit varied, she slowed down her moves, replacing them with a bit of her tongue-work, much to Chat's delight. Marinette could distinguish her name being muttered by her lover, begging her to finish her love torture, but the superheroine had none of that. While she was certain Chat would love nothing more than jump to his knees and face-fuck her, she wanted to prolong his pleasure as much as she could, knowing full well of the building and boiling climax in his loins.

As her tongue ran around his head, Marinette had to steer away to taste her own body, still covered with traces of milk she was leaking, and when the same tongue returned to his tool, Chat moaned again, feeling the liquid she was mixing with his pre-cum, almost as if he could taste it again. Once more he was privileged to see how the once-shy superheroine pushed her limit of perversion with a kink neither of them expected to enjoy an hour earlier.

And it was that knowledge (combined with her dedication to bring Chat to climax, as she started bobbing her breasts up and down again), that drove Chat to his edge, turning his moans incomprehensible begging only Marinette could understand and reply to. She waited until Chat's eyes would meet her again, and spoke to him taking breaks from kissing his swollen tip ready to burst.

- You, kitty - she started - You like my milk... But I...

She pressed her hands against her breasts, wanting to completely envelop Chat's cock between her massive breasts.

- ...I prefer cream.

A loud, yet weak cry of defeat escaped Chat's lips at the same time as first rope of cum flew from his swollen tip, landing straight across Ladybug's face, forcing her to close her eyes momentarily, though she opened them a second later, just so she can marvel at Chat's virility.

Just as second rope of cum was about to decorate her face, Marinette opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue, inviting Chat to change his aim, though with his cock still engulfed by her breasts, she was much in control of the trajectory, and with some difficulties, she has managed to fill her mouth with the thick, sticky seed, getting the first sniff of the pungent and aggressive, but alluring taste and smell of her lover.

Three more streams of his cum landed in Marinette's lips, before her treatment has emptied Chat's balls, and the heroine could swallow the veritable pool of Chat's cream sitting in her mouth. She did it without breaking the eye contact with him, making sure he'd hear the guttural, gulping noises as his essence travelled down her throat, his warmth, taste and smell lingering far longer thanks to its consistency. He must have been saving for days...

But that wasn't complete end of Chat's climax; long after he stopped supplying Marinette with his seed, he withdrew from between the heavenly trap of her breasts, and another strands of his seed adorned them, prompting Marinette to perform action she wasn't able before, due to how much bigger and more supple her breasts have become. She pushed her breasts just up enough so she can lick off each and every drop of cum Chat left, as if it was the most delicious meal she wouldn't let go to waste. And the sight of expression on Chat's face was a reward already, aside of the familiar, musky aftertaste that reminded Marinette who has just marked her as his. Not to mention that as she squeezed her breast, Chat's essence mixed with her milk, adding a new taste of sweetness to his salty one.

Marinette revelled in the overwhelming storm of tastes that filled her mouth, and that indulgence gave Chat opportunity to counter-attack. Though he was pressed to the ground by her body and her breasts that now were a significant part of it, the superhero easily rolled her to her back, his head already back between her mounds, licking the milk that has managed to leak during his climax.

- I'd say that's a tie, my lady. - Of course you'd say that. - Marinette chuckled - You just want to get comfy and drink milk, and I just happen to have what you need...

In response, Chat let out a soft purr, as he nuzzled himself into Marinette's breasts, never taking eyes from his lover. Marinette reached and toyed with his untidy golden hair, and her charming smile managed to lure him from between her breasts for another long-needed kiss.

And just when she thought she would be given some time to relax, Chat Noir yanked her legs upwards, pressing them against her body, trapping her enlarged breasts between them, squishing them even more, which made them appear even larger.

- Sorry, Ladybug, but you are just too appetising to not ravish...

Marinette yelped when Chat's hard cock entered her again, and she felt Chat's delicious weight on top of her. She knew her new form would drag a very primal string in his masculine mind, and she did not object when he jumped to his feet and pushed her into a mating press, ready to engage in deeply animalistic form of love making.

His hips worked twice as hard than previously, wanting to reach as far into her throbbing, needy sex as possible, and while he was leaning over her, he was given once more chance to taste her delicious milk, each time he plunged himself inside her.

Ladybug's legs dangled above their heads, in sync of his ravenous thrusts, and as Marinette met his eyes, she had no doubts what drove him into his frenzied state. She knew that her kwami chose to make her look like a perfect mating partner, and that Chat was making sure there was enough milk for his kittens...

Their frantic bucking lasted shorter than they expected, but the same, wild thought they shared pushed them over the edge at the same time. Chat grabbed her thick thighs, buried his face between her breasts that erupted with milk, and in turn flooded her once more with his virile seed, bringing their shared fantasy to completion.

Chat collapsed on top of her, landing his head across Laybug's vast breasts, once more basking in their sweet glory. When their lips met again, they could both taste it, and the two lovers fell into a tight embrace.

The two were blissfully unaware that in the mean time the sun has gone down, but that only meant there will be less light for onlookers to catch them.

=====================

Standing by the kitchen counter, Marinette concentrated on making another batch of freshly baked sweets, so then they can be ready in an hour or so when the bakery opens. It was the quiet before the storm, but Marinette enjoyed those early morning hours... especially when she had someone to help her.

Adrien sneaked up behind his girlfriend, peppering her exposed neck with kisses, while his hands gently travelled up and down her waist, though once he saw what she's been making this whole time, his caresses stopped,and he let out a satisfying purr. On the counter lay several, hemispherical pastries, glazed in white marzipan, each adorned with a candied cherry on top, and the longer Adrien stared at them, the more he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

- Well, our adventure has certainly given you some inspiration, Marinette. Your original design? - I wish. - Marinette snickered - Those are called Saint Agatha's breasts, it's an old, Italian treat.

She handed him one, watching as his fingers dance on the shiny surface.

- It does remind me of what happened yesterday, though... - Adrien smiled, before taking a bite of the sugary coating. - I might have double-glazed them just like you did me.

Marinette brought her finger to his mouth to collect a small crumble of marzipan stuck to his lips, and predictably, her boyfriend wasn't just ravenous for sweets, as he quickly licked her finger clean too.

- Adrien! - Marinette pulled back and rushed to the sink - Warn me next time... - Okay, here's a warning..

Adrien chuckled, closing his arms around her belly once more. He sneaked his mouth to her neck, while his arms separated, each travelling closely to one of her erogenous zones. His left hand dived underneath her apron and tried getting into her panties, while the right one caressed her perky breasts, and as soon as his fingers began toying around her nipples, Marinette addressed something that has been on her mind.

- You miss them, don't you? - You know that I love you exactly the way you are... - Adrien answered tactfully - Don't lie, kitty - Marinette interrupted him. - You are, alas, only a man, therefore, I know you liked when my rack was three times the size of my current one. - Fine, if you want to, then I will say it - he kissed her neck - But just because I had more of you to love. Is it okay if I admit that I do slightly miss them? - If you'll keep finishing inside me, like yesterday, then I can assure you, you'll get them back very soon...

Marinette yelped, when his hands travelled back to her hips and spun her around in place, but once she met his face, she closed her arms behind his neck without missing a beat, just in time for his comeback.

- Is that a warning, or an invitation?

Adrien raised his brow, watching as her face reddened.

- Tell you what, I'm gonna finish in five minutes, and we might find out. - If you'll wear this apron then I will finish in five minutes... - Adrien!

#miraculust #mlnsfw #ladynoir #adrinette #lemon #nautiscaraderfics

29 notes · View notes

ask-jaghatai-khan · 4 years ago

Text

The Mistbranch Grove

// Sylvaneth homebrew! Jumping from 40k into AoS I finally whipped up a faction that speaks to some of my favorite fantasy tropes, and I would be more than happy to collect if I had the money to do so.

Keepers of the Shrouded Nowhere, Dwellers in the Unknown Mists of Al’idhor, Protectors of the Well of Memories

History:

Long ago, in the Age of Myth, the goddess of life Alarielle was awakened by Sigmar the stormlord and began to wander through the mortal realms. While her favor lay in Ghyran, the realm of life, she sought to spread her bounty to all the eight worlds. It was by her craft that the soul-pods of the first Sylvaneth were grown anew out of memories of the World That Was, and set about tending to the lands of Ghyran in accordance with the Everqueen’s will. At the height of their power, Alarielle sent out expeditions from all those Realmgates under her possession, seeking to seed pure and nourishing life throughout all the lands.

In the realm of shadow, Ulgu, there emerged the Mistbranch Grove upon mysterious reaches known as the Silver Hinterlands. Cut off from the surrounding realm by strange and obscure mists, the Hinterlands were rich with magical energy that would allow for the first Ancients of the Mistbranch to set deep their roots. From a grim and shadowy land there sprung a new wealth of life, infusing the forests and highlands and showing to all who witnessed that no realm was without beauty, so long as the power of the Everqueen abided.

The Mistbranch drew their power from the artifact known as the Well of Memories, which the Wanderer Aelves named Gelemar, the Starlight Well. A vortex of life-giving energies, the Well not only allowed the soul-song of Ghyran to flow into the Hinterlands of Ulgu, but also allowed for that song to be carried up to the distant stars, and to High Azyr. It was the Branchwyches who mastered this craft, and though the Treelords and Arch-Revenants protected the old lore and the sacred wilds of the Hinterlands, the elder dryads became masters of sorcery and divine magics. They raised up the great tree Hithond about the Well, that mighty tower being itself but a reflection of the god-trees of Alarielle’s own realm.

But the glory of those times was not to last, for then came the Age of Chaos. By unknown craft were the servants of the Dark Gods able to breach the Mists of Al’idhnor, coming in great hordes from over the sea, the wastes, and the mountains. They cut back the expansive forests and burned the Sylvaneth’s sacred shrines, defiling the lands and returning them to naught but Shadow. With Ghyran under attack by the endless hosts of the Plague God, the Mistbranch Grove was left to defend the Well alone. For long ages did the Sylvaneth war against the tides of monsters, barbarians, beastmen, and daemons, until the Branchwyches devised a means to save their land. Drawing upon the power of the Well of Memories, the druids compelled the Mists of Al’idhnor to reject the intrusions into the Hinterlands and cut off the forests of the Mistbranch from any outsiders at all.

The repercussions of that ritual could not have been known at the time. Even the Sylvaneth elders did not realize the Mists themselves had an inscrutable will of their own. Once, the Mists had sought to draw in worthy souls to the Hinterlands that they might drink from the Well, empowering those noble heroes to spread wisdom throughout Ulgu and protect the Well in turn. Now, after their compulsion by the Branchwyches, the Mists turned to darker motives. Incensed at the invasion of their lands, the fog would allow no stranger into the hidden wilds – noble or otherwise. Instead, the Mists called out to the wicked, to the weak-willed, and to those with guilt and darkness in their souls. These damned individuals would be drawn into what was now known as the Shrouded Nowhere, to go mad and become prey for the Sylvaneth. Rather than be gifted with wisdom, their memories would be sapped, and their life essence drained to sustain the Well and the Realmroot.

Most of the Sylvaneth despaired at this development, as they had wished to share the beauty of their land with those who might appreciate it – who might have grown and been uplifted by the glory of Alarielle’s power. These tree-kin reached out to the tribes of Mist-Dweller Aelves and humans, guiding their sages through the Mists that some inkling of the Everqueen’s wisdom might be passed into the outside world. Others did not take so well to the change. Most awful among these was the Treelord known as Mornur, who was then after named Morraug the Terror. He remembered the defilements wreaked upon the Silver Hinterlands by outsiders, and grew to hate the quickbloods and all their ilk. His stretch of the western border-woods became a den of horror, and even other Sylvaneth were remiss to speak the name of the Terror.

Still, under the watchful guidance of Treelords like Brunorn, called the Elder, the Shrouded Nowhere maintains something of its ancient beauty. Within sprawling webs of roots there flow the energies of the Well of Memories, making the Nowhere a mighty nexus of magics. Revenant hosts may venture out wherever the Mists lead, singing the word of the Everqueen, and the Branchwyches may commune with great mystics of the other realms through their empowered rituals. Mortals are not inclined to trust the Mistbranch anymore, by virtue of their dark appearance and the reputation of their lands, but that has not stopped them from their queen-granted mission to aid in the spread of life, and maintain the balance of nature.

Notable Characters:

Brunorn the Elder

Brunorn is the oldest of all the Treelords in the Shrouded Nowhere, first among those Sylvaneth who first stepped from the Realm of Life through the Mists of Al’idhnor into the wastes of Ulgu. Most often he is simply called “The Elder”, for none in all Nowhere are so ancient as him. His form is that of a great and gnarled oak, and his heart is heavy with long eons of sorrow. The elder treeman remembers the time when the Silver Hinterlands were in bloom, mild and beautiful, and mortals could come and bask in their majesty, with their sages and heroes drinking deep of the Starlight Well. Still he has not given up faith, though he struggles ever with the fact that he may one day lose what hope he has left. Those who can survive in Nowhere long enough to find him might just be granted reprieve and salvation.

As the Lord of Clan Doroniaur, Brunorn is the leader of all Treelords in Nowhere, and guardian of the inner woodlands. Due to residing in Ulgu, summer is brief in the Mistbranch’s realm, and most of the year the land is grey and foggy. Brunorn claims stewardship over the passage of summer into autumn, and the care of the very oldest and most sacred things in his forest.

Morraug the Terror

Once known as Mornur, the being now known as The Terror was not always the subject of grim rumor and shiver-inducing tales. Mornur guarded the western borderlands, where the forests transitioned into the rolling uplands of the outer wastes, out to the cliffs of the sea. In his youth he met often with those wayward elves and humans who found themselves brought by the Mists to the outer reaches of the Silver Hinterlands, and he delighted in the sharing of stories and songs. However when the Great Shadow came from the Realm of Chaos, it was Mornur and his lands that suffered the most. The forests of Clan Edel’fae were cast into darkness and became as a graveyard. Mornur was changed then, coming to be known as Morraug, the Terror. Now he is a specter, a shade of vengeance that provides the greatest barrier to any mortals who dare intrude on the Sylvaneth’s lands. He does not remember the soul-song of Ghyran, and dwells always in the shadows, hungering for mortal flesh and souls.

Still the Terror leads the outcast Clan Edel, known sometimes as Edel’fae. Like all outcast Sylvaneth, the spirits of Edel are quite mad and vengeful, and delight not just in the slaying of trespassers, but in the slow destruction of mortal minds. Beneath the underbrush of the western border-woods there lay corpses thick as moss, and within the whorls of its twisted trees can be seen the faces of those wanderers, good or evil, who were driven to insanity and death by the predations of the Terror. Morraug believes that he acts in accordance with the Mists, and that the sacred lands will never be safe so long as the quickbloods are allowed their intrusions, though he has not turned against his brethren. He guards the passage of autumn into winter, the time of death, and his vicious nature is but another part of the world’s cycles.

Aelinde the Laysinger

The Branchwych known as Aelinde the Laysinger is eldest amongst all the dryads of the Shrouded Nowhere, and rivals even Brunorn in her years. She is a creature of great wisdom and power, having once held company with Alarielle herself, and holding deep memories of the beauty of Inner Ghyran. Now, Aelinde guards the Well of Memories, directing the rituals of her companion druids in harnessing and guiding the powers of that mystic font to protect the shrouded lands. It was she who compelled the spirits of the Well to turn back the dark tide of Chaos with violence, and to this day she struggles with the ramifications of her decision. Though unlike Brunorn or the Terror, she does not sway one way or another in terms of her feelings on mortals. To her, balance in nature is of the utmost importance, and her choice to turn the Silver Hinterlands into a realm of foreboding and gloom chafes more with her sense of duty than anything else.

Known as the Laysinger, Aelinde has perhaps one of the strongest connections to the soul-song of Alarielle, and is able to channel this attunement into her rituals about the Well. With her power she can reach across the realms, influencing the Mists even in their current state, and communing with powerful spirits from Ghyran and Azyr. She leads the Clan Luthan, also known as Luth’angol, which comprises the largest gatherings of the dryads and other spellsingers of the Mistbranch Grove. Aelinde is said to embody the tears of spring, when the very first droplets of warmth grace the dead season of winter.

Araseth the Wastewalker

Araseth is notable among the leaders of the Mistbranch in that as a revenant, he was once a mortal. His memories of such a time are dim and half-formed, though they still shape his personality. Once an Aelven bard, Araseth delighted the Everqueen with his sagas and recitations, and so was chosen to be born anew as a tree-revenant of the Sylvaneth. Now he leads the Shrouded Nowhere’s own wild hunt, traveling with the scouts and emissaries of the Grove through the outer wastelands and into the Mists of Al’idhnor. Still the call of wanderlust and adventure flows in Araseth’s half-living heart, and so he is the eyes and hands of the Misbranch beyond the borders of their realm. A being of strength, guile, and a surprising amount of charisma, Araseth can be both an omen of grim portent or an enchanting ally for those who happen to meet him.

Leading the Taurim Clan, Araseth guides the greatest proportion of the Grove’s revenants and outriders. Contrasting the ponderous gatherings of Clan Doroniaur’s Treelords, or the hordes of vicious dryads and spites of Edel and Luthan, the treeguard and hunters of the Taurim are much more akin to mortal warriors. They are disciplined yet boisterous, swift yet enduring, terrible yet honorable. For mortals who have never been to the Shrouded Nowhere, the impression of the Taurim hunt would be one more in line with most Sylvaneth clans – so long as they are not the target of the hunt itself. For those who fall so afoul of the Mistbranch that they must be hunted even beyond the Mists of Al’idhnor, there are few more terrifying experiences than the long pursuit of Araseth and his warriors. The Taurim are the passage of spring into summer, and the fury of that high season.

The Four Clans

Clan Doroniaur

Elder protectors of the deep forest, Clan Doroniaur holds the largest concentration of the Grove’s Treelords, all of whom defer to the wisdom of the ancient Brunorn. Doroniaur’s holdings lay in the deepest reaches of the Mistbrach’s forests, into the pine-strewn uplands, protecting the sacred lands of the Well.

Clan Edel

Under the will of the Terror, Clan Edel embodies all the horrors of the Shrouded Nowhere. Their forests lay in the western border-woods, where wanderers from the outer wastelands might stumble through the Mists right into their clutches. The Terror commands a great host of vicious dryads and spite-revenants, and Edel’s forces are known for their cunning approach to warfare that seeks to break the enemy’s will before landing the killing blow.

Clan Luthan

Wyches of the Well of Memories, Clan Luthan is the smallest of all in the Mistbranch Grove, yet perhaps the most powerful of all. They are the druids of the Well, and maintain its power and the balance it holds with the realmroot Hithond. Balance defines all that they do, for they are neither good nor evil, caring nor callous. It is their interest, under the direction of Aelinde the Laysinger, to ensure that the Shrouded Nowhere remains a point of power for the greater plans of the Everqueen.

Clan Taurim

Wanderers of the Wastes, Clan Taurim are the wild hunt, the outriders of the Mistbranch. By the guidance of Clan Luthan are the hosts of revenants, spites, and Kurnoth hunters able to move through the Mists of Al’idhnor and journey to faraway lands in the name of the Everqueen’s grand mission. Though the most warlike of all the clans, they are also the most diplomatic, as it is their purpose to interact with outside factions and see to the Grove’s interests abroad. To their foes, they carry the terror of Nowhere beyond the very borders of the Mists, yet to their allies they are as a blessing from Alarielle herself.

Geography of Nowhere:

The Shrouded Nowhere is an ill-defined subsection of the Realm of Shadow, Ulgu. Encircled in the thick Mists of Al’idhnor, access to the darkened woods are cut off from most means of conventional travel. Rather, any who pass through the Mists – whether they be near to the actual borders of Nowhere or in another part of Ulgu altogether – will find themselves transported into those hinterlands. While the Mistbranch have some degree of control over the Mists, they are as fickle an ally as they are useful a defence, and the accuracy of their teleportations cannot always be assured.

Most of Nowhere is wooded by thick and diverse forests, as is to be expected of Sylvaneth holdings. To the north and east the lands become hilly moving into mountainous, filled with upland pines all the way into the craggy heights of the impassible grey peaks. The lowlands are dominated by mossy arboreal forests, which to the south and west give way to expansive, open wastelands out to the foggy seas. Those wastes on the western border are highlands ending in cliffs, while to the south the beaches are shallower and broken by many islets. Deep within the center of the Mistbranch woods there grows the great tree Hithond the Realmroot, which drinks deep of the waters of the Well of Memories.

All manner of diverse life can be found within the Shrouded Nowhere, though like all creatures within Ulgu they are elusive and deceptive. Still the invigorating energies of the Sylvaneth have made the forests a menagerie of growth and bounty, even if those shaded boughs spell death for any mortal outsiders who wander in. Many ruins can be found scattered throughout the lands, some predating the age of the Sylvaneth and others more recent – leftovers of when Aelves and humans were permitted entry to the woods of the Mistbranch. Still within the outer wastelands there can be found semi-nomadic tribes of these two mortal races, who through faint druidic traditions or dark sorcery have retained memories of how to traverse the Mists. The Sylvaneth permit their presence so long as they do not enter the woods, as they provide a partial buffer against other roaming outsider groups.

Non-floral life is still abundant, though it is as mysterious as the Sylvaneth themselves. Great eagles, strange beasts of Ulgu, elemental spirits, and other elusive beings of nature call Nowhere home alongside their Mistbranch allies. Though the occasional corrupted monstrosity may be able to survive within the unseen depths of the wood, for the most part any mortal not allied with the forces of the Everqueen is sure to meet a quick death upon entering Sylvaneth lands uninvited.

Within the Mistbranch’s lands, the central and upland forests are considered the territories of Clan Doroniaur. The southern wastelands and parts of the western highlands are the hunting grounds of Clan Taurim, while the Realmroot and the lands about the Well of Memories are protected by Clan Luthan. Those darkened forests to the west, scarred by the arrival of Chaos so many ages ago, are the domain of the Terror, and none but the very oldest and most powerful of the Mistbranch dare enter.

Neighboring Factions:

Mist-Dweller Aelves

It used to be that the Aelven peoples were far more plentiful in the Silver Hinterlands, living with and learning from their Sylvaneth allies. However with the change that came over the Mists of Al’idhnor, the Aelves were driven out lest they be consumed by the Terror. Yet despite this, some of the druidic clans have retained knowledge of how to move within the Mists. Living a semi-nomadic existence in the outer wastelands and coasts, where the realm of Nowhere merges with other parts of ever-shifting Ulgu, these Aelves may still commune with the Mistbranch when seasons are favorable. Though none but their most venerable lords dare enter the woods anymore, the quickbloods may still serve the purposes of the Sylvaneth.

Tribes of the Shrouded Nowhere

Also among the wandering peoples who journey throughout the fluid mistlands are various tribes of humans. These peoples are given much less regard than even the Aelves, and a druid of one of the mortal tribes must show great promise and respect to be allowed within the Mistbranch’s territory. Most of these human clans are superstitious and fearful, making dark sacrifices to the Mistbranch and helping to turn away travelers who may find themselves transported through the Mists into the outer wastelands. Some of these tribes still worship the Shadow of Chaos, but even they dare not enter the woods in such small numbers, lest the Terror consume them body and soul. Some of these tribes are more developed, building hamlet settlements of Sigmarite influence on the far borders, while others are little more than barbarians.

The Voices in the Stars

Though the Well of Memories is most notable for providing a connection between the realms of Ghyran and Ulgu, it is also known as the Starlight Well, for its mystic powers are given stability and energy by the light of the heavens themselves. It was Aelinde the Laysinger who discovered the means to influence the Well’s soul-song to reach across the Mortal Realms, allowing her to perceive sights even in faraway planes such as Azyr. The Voices in the Stars are those beings Aelinde communes with – sages of the astral coldbloods, and mystics of the Stormlord’s kingdoms. On rare occasions, these beings may be summoned to the Nowhere at the behest of the Elders, even in these dark times. Ancient ruins scattered through the Mistbranch woodlands speak to civilizations even older than the trees – structures built by the Seraphon in their own ill-fated attempts to colonize distant realms. Though distrustful of outsiders, the Mistbranch realize the necessity of working with those beings the Everqueen has deemed allies.

Spirits of Nowhere

Within the forests of the Shrouded Nowhere there can be found many more beings of mystic natural power than the Sylvaneth alone. Among those venerable beings who hold to the Everqueen’s vision – whether native to Ulgu or brought from afar – there are such creatures as the reclusive Scuttle-Spite clans, the noble eagles of the eastern aeries, the naiads and elementals of the stones and waters, and the even such rare fauna as existed in times before the coming of the Mistbranch. Dreadful Great Serpents and the degenerate beach-shamblers move through the currents of the stormy coasts same as overland travelers might stumble through the Mists. So long as these beings respect the holdings of the Sylvaneth and hold neither ill will against the Everqueen nor common cause with the Shadow, they may move unimpeded through Nowhere. For those who wander too close to the Well, however, or into the darkened boughs of Edel lands, there can never be promise of protection.

Notable Events:

The Dawn of the Green Lay

In the Age of Myth, at the awakening of the goddess Alarielle, the first soul-pods of the Sylvaneth peoples are planted. At the height of their civilization in Ghyran, the Everqueen seeks to send out expeditions across the other Mortal Realms so as to seed them with new and flourishing life. Among those who journeyed into the obscure lands of Ulgu, the realm of shadow, there came the Treelord Brunorn. Discovering the Silver Hinterlands and the mystic Well of Memories within its forgotten, ruined wastes, the Sylvaneth began planting what was to become the Mistbranch Grove.

The Silver Hinterlands prove to be a somber place, but Brunorn sees in them great beauty, and the Branchwych Aelinde is able to gather depths of natural power from the arcane Well. Flourishing, the Mistbranch lands become a haven for those seeking wisdom in the harrowing realm of shadow. The Four Clans see to the growth of their people, and the bounty of the Age of Myth’s height are enjoyed by all.

The Shadow Comes

Peace is never to last so long as Chaos exists just beyond the veil of the world. At the will of the Dark Gods and their tyrannical Everchosen, the forces of the Great Shadow pour out from the Realm of Chaos to bring death and doom to all non-believers. Brought through the placid Mists by dark sorceries and divine guidance, droves of monsters and barbarians invade the Silver Hinterlands from over the seas and through the mountain clefts. Reavers and wizards, beastmen and daemons – the horrors set alight the woods of the Mistbranch and sought to corrupt their sacred Well with the rotting husk of Hithond the Realmroot.

Drawing upon all her powers, Aelinde the Laysinger compels the once-peaceful Mists to turn back the tide by any means necessary. The Mistbranch are saved, but at great cost. A change comes over the Mists, turning their subtle intentions malevolent and cruel. Cut off the from the majority of trade with the outside world, the Hinterlands become known as the Shrouded Nowhere. Few who are not Sylvaneth remain in those reaches, and soon many begin to hear the terrible stories carried out of that once-peaceful realm.

The Saga of King Svein Doomtouched

Many ages later, true war comes again to the forgotten lands of the Mistbranch. Compelled by visions from his dark masters, the grand chieftain Svein Doomtouched leads a fleet to the foggy shores of Nowhere, seeking the power of the Well of Memories. At once, his Chaotic warband begins pillaging the forest borders, and killing any they encounter – yet despite what tales Svein has heard, he sees nothing of the fabled Sylvaneth.

Moving into the woodlands on the western border, what ensues for the Doomtouched is a nightmare. The barbarians are assailed from all sides by unseen attackers, and they are picked off piecemeal during their long trek through the forest. Warriors and shamans alike are driven mad by terrible visions, and bloodthirsty berserkers find their strength and wills sapped day by day, until the remaining members of Svein’s horde are pleading with their lord to give up the pursuit. Attempting to breach the inner forests, the warband travels in circles despite the guidance of their best hunters, stumbling upon crooked trees in whose bark can be seen the faces of comrades thought lost. Scouts report great shadows moving between the trunks, and the feeling of being watched in unceasing. At last, Svein finds himself alone, and the Terror reveals himself at last. What horrible fate the outcast lord of the forests subjected that barbarian king to is unknown, but thus ends the saga of the Doomtouched.

Myths of Ulgu

In the many centuries since the shrouding of the Mistbranch’s lands, the Grove itself has fallen into legend for those within the realm of shadow. Few remember the Silver Hinterlands save for those who once walked there. None can pass over the high mountains, and travelers who find themselves drawn through the Mists over sea or across the wastelands may not realize the terrible threshold they have crossed until it is too late. At the very fringes of Nowhere there still exist communities of wayward mortals – fearful souls who cower at the passing of the wild hunt, and dare not enter the woods, even though they have few means to escape the Mists that drew in them or their ancestors. More spiritual groups may still hold communion with the Sylvaneth, but it was not until the dawning of the Age of Sigmar that the true forces of the Mistbranch began riding out once again. For the first time in millennia, monsters and mortals who have never beheld the placid landscapes of Nowhere find themselves encountering beings such as the riders of the Taurim, or the shades of Edel. In the Sylvaneths’ hearts there has come a time for vengeance – to once again spread the glory of the Everqueen to all lands, no matter how grim, just as the Everchosen once spread his darkness into their own sacred groves.

#warhammer #homebrew #sylvaneth #wood elves #age of sigmar

40 notes · View notes

we-live-in-a--society · 4 years ago

Text

El Nacimiento del un Hombre Nuevo

The Downfall of Humanity – obtusely poetic phrase, prolixity, without a direct meaning, without a place, without a purpose, only a forage for youth, blatant lies; in other words – not fitting his taste. Each time someone pours it onto his lithe frame, a flame is ignited, a flash of disgust running down his body, since he believes that being an idealist gets you nowhere, at least nowhere significant, only to the Place of Eternal Disappointment.

Where you suffer.

Making sure you shatter.

And then begin your slaughter.

As the years go by, the circle completes itself, from the Dawn of Humanity and the Killing Monkeys to the Absolute Disorder and the Rise of Rats, filthy, sinewy rats that pop out of their hideouts just to rip you apart, piece by piece. Rip or be ripped – a motto of the New Order – and those who are unable to comprehend it are meant to extinct – natural selection in its most advanced form, leaving only the strongest specimens.

The Survivors.

The ones that are left to roam the earth in search for hell knows what, with endurance being their main principle, their drive towards inevitable, towards the place of unknown. Years ago it would terrify him, but today he doubts whether this world has anything grisly for him to offer, anything that would shatter him once more.

He was born in the first year of Clinton’s presidency, death of Audrey Hepburn, soaked in his mother’s tears, and that Buddha album, full title lost within the depths of his mind. It seems so far away now, not because of the twelvemonths but the variety of events following his graduation – a new, foolishly hopeful, beginning, and oh, what a fierce one in his case, carrying an incomprehensible disaster that has shaped the post-apocalyptic world. All it took was a ridiculously minuscule creature, cause of the outbreak – a single word, carrying such a powerful meaning – albeit leading to more than half of the population biting dust within the first few years.

Unbelievable, huh?

However, as the time went by, so did the slaughters, with people taking matters into their own hands, and now, depraved from any actual data, he can only assume the number of deceased, not that it bothers him much anymore, since according to one famous dictator’s words: “A single death is a tragedy; a million deaths is a statistic.”

When has he become this bitter?

Or more importantly, what is the point of asking a question if you already know the answer?

* * *

She feels numb, aching, detached from her body, yet present within, floating on a passage where she is capable of sustaining every single sensation, though unable to move, caught in a trap, too stunned and terrified to attempt any escape. At the very beginning she has made the following promise: I will not fall on my knees and beg, but the reliability of said assumption is not so zero-one anymore as she eyes her oppressors, standing tall and broad, with all the inglorious possibilities flashing through their minds, staring at her with full-blown pupils. The intensity of their gazes has her wanting to curl into a ball, hide somewhere deep within her soul, hoping it would ensure her safeness, take her back to a place where she would be floating free, deprived of all the unpleasant notions: trepidation, cruelty, and misery.

There were times when she did nothing else but wonder what it feels like to lose control over one’s body, forget how to fight, instead give in and accept one’s fate. She used to consider it as absurd, absolutely and utterly nonsensical

(“what if I slept a little more and forgot about all this nonsense”),

wafting on a whimsical cloud called Faith, like a thoroughbred hypocrite would, pretending that choosing to believe in certain absolutes is not, by any means, a form of enslavement, a prison with silk-upholstered walls.

And so, she has become the thrall of her own convictions – another hopeless idealist within this cruel world, idealists that are meant to extinct.

“Will you cry for me, sweet girl?” One of them asks all of sudden – the person she used to call Clay back in the better days – with a mocking laughter that sends a jarring shiver down her spine. Instead of bothering to form a verbal reply, she keeps staring at the dusty concrete, the tiny patches of grass now ridiculously absorbing; everything to not look him in the eye.

“Answer him, bitch!” Jarring voice that has her flinching in disgust, or fear maybe, frame shaking like a leaf in the dusty fall breeze. The ability to form words has abandoned her long ago, presumably at the time when they tugged her away in the alley, hence the lack of ideas what she is supposed to say under such circumstances.

He, however, is pretty far from deciding that it would be a way more sensible to let it go, and so grasps her by the neck, pushing her up against the brick wall. She chokes on her breath, head bumping into the hard surface with a loud thud that sends a reverberating ache through her body, dark spots marking her vision. With an innate reflex, she grips his wrist, trying to yank him away, but he appears to be stronger as he slams her head back, this time on purpose, to stun the girl and so put a halt to her pitiful escape attempts.

“Just don’t fucking kill her, dude,” Clay warns, his voice breaking at the end, as if his consciousness managed to spoke through the thick barrier of borne animalism. Her eyes prick with tears threatening to run down her cheeks, awoken by the icy cold tone of his voice, cumulating with the uneasiness in the pit of her stomach.

“Relax,” he chides, although lets her go, so she is able to stand back at her feet instead of the tippy-toes, “I’ve got it all under control. Won’t be any use of her if she is dead.”

“You’re right, it won’t,” he nods, as if attempting to convince himself, which is at least how she wants to perceive the whole situation, to think that Clay has been forced to participate in it, that all he is doing consists of blatant, sharp-edged lies, that he already regrets even considering it in the first place.

(I sincerely doubt he does).

“Fucking told you so,” he huffs – a mannerism of yet another expert in the infamous field of manhandling people – however still quick to dart attention back to her – tensed, albeit passive. His gaze remains focused solely on the girl in front of him as if he possessed an ability to drill into her soul, and so uncover all the layers of horror and hatred, break her down and scatter the pieces on the dusty concrete for the benefit of all the watchers.

To be honest, she would rather die than let it happen.

(You are wasting time, Fabienne.)

And so, accordingly to guidance of her inner consciousness, she aims for the only spot she could think of in such a state – crotch, obviously – not very ingenious, either way efficiently enough. As if on some comical command, he lets her go, groaning in pain as he curls into a ball

(oh how the tables have turned),

and she is left with nothing else than make a run for desired freedom, her rip from the pavement surprisingly graceful, deprived of any unfavorable tripping. However, Clay is quick to steady that matter with a harsh tug of her leg that knocks the girl over onto the ground, forcing a scream out of her throat, a never-ending cry of Banshee, in hopes that it will alert someone who cares enough to help her.

(… and other lies people keep telling themselves)

She attempts to wriggle away from his grip, crawling on the dirty ground akin to some grotesque snake, with a tunnel vision that allows it to strive only for the ally’s intel, gravel pricking the exposed parts of its skin. For a brief moment, she does nothing else but wail, like some wounded animal, as if she went completely mad, kicking anything within her reach, but actually aiming for Clay, or rather for sweeping him off his feet. Although it all appears as success-oriented pursuit, her attempts are soon to be rectified with a sharp jerk and crushing weight brought upon her shoulders, stealing another breath from the terrified lass who is now forced to face the predators as one of them flips her onto the back as if she was nothing more than a dainty ragdoll.

(Just close your eyes and you will be alright.)

(… and other lies people keep telling themselves)

* * *

Through his life, he has gotten a chance to discover that certain things never change, which might as well be yet another lie that has been made up to protect the weakest among from the crushing weight of truth. Either way, he has noticed that forming habits somehow helps us in the darkest times, when we are unable to focus on anything but the negatives: grief, longing, and abandonment; allowing us to complete essential activities, even if caught in some sinister trance where we are barely able to acknowledge what is happening around us. He has always considered it as some unconventional form of a blessing, a route to headway, an acquiescence for pursuit, and much, much more but unfortunately he has never been good with words, and accordingly so – incapable of verbal expression.

Aside from habits, he has discovered the existence of routines, something that helps him to lead a day to day life in spite of unfavorable environment, and so keep himself attached to reality – a factor that becomes rather important during survival struggles. One of them appears to be a peaceful meal consumption, picked up from home and still relevant today despite all eventual threats, something that brings back memories of the better past and faces that somehow manage to hunt him even these days.

Nonetheless, as the years pass by, he finds it harder and harder to look at himself in the mirror, knowing that he is getting older, that death is creeping closer and closer until it captures him with its icy claws, draining any remains of life out of him. If he believed in any holy spirits, it would feel relieving to think of it as a reunion with everyone that had been left behind, but he sincerely doubts it, expecting nothing but the End, la Grande Finale as his mother would say, the Downfall of His Existence – a peace-bringing denouement.

But what is it worth?

Certainly more than an interrupted meal, whereas the harshness of such severance still leaves a caustic taste upon his tongue, the one that will not last long, albeit enough to be acknowledged, and so remembered.

His ears prick up at the tearing noise: a scream, a wail, a whine of a wounded animal; loud enough to awoke a will to come up to the source and silence the person himself, but instead he wonders whether such altruistic jeopardy is indeed necessary in this case. These are not even coherent words, just a croaky, unrelenting shriek that cumulates with the pile of growing irritation, but also wakes up some contradictory inkling that he should come down and help.

Therefore, he is quick to raise from the seat, soon stepping through the doorway and down the staircase, cautious steps echoing through the empty space. Having casted an eye on the street, he walks out of the building, heading towards the now dulling sound in face of all inhuman amount of screeching, eyes following every of a few turns, immediate to reach his destination.

Peeping from around the corner, he witnesses an odd scene playing in front of him, as if meant to be regarded – two chaps, even if of relatively average build, failing to subdue no one else than a dainty girl. While waiting for her to quiet down, he wonders what would be the most beneficial way to handle the oppressors, since of course shooting them would do the trick, but the real question is whether they are worth wasting any bullets.

Ergo, he picks up a brick, testing its weight in his hand with a few careless tosses, before he hides inside the nearest building, and throws it somewhere aside, hoping that the sound itself would be enough to alert them, nevertheless remaining in doubt about its efficiency. However, and much to his surprise, their movements halt while taking a moment to inspect the surroundings, as if trying to determine whether they simply misheard something, or whether the noise was real, eyes meeting in the end.

“The fuck was that?” The taller one curses angrily, not quite managing to hide the hint of trepidation within his voice.

“Infected?” His friend dwells with a tensed frown marking his forehead, a word that never fails to settle an ominous notion in the pit of his stomach, even despite all those years.

“Fuck infected!” He exclaims in exasperation, backing up a couple of steps. “And fuck this, man! You convinced me to do all of it, and if I get to die because of you I swear I’ll-”

“Hush,” he silences the unstable lad, the one that appears as more confident and trenchant, maybe also the one that will get to live longer, who knows, “I’m trying to fucking listen, okay?”

“Fuck you, man!” He bawls, keeping up with the irresponsible person attire, much to the watcher’s interest, “I’m outta here and outta this. If you wanna take her, be my fucking guest but I don’t fancy getting eaten by any of those fucking beasts.”

His friend just shakes his head with ironic disbelief, hissing a bunch of incoherent words to the girl below him, before he lets her go and calls out to the already retreating one. “Wait!” He whisper-shouts, quite an odd speech manner if he was being honest, and springs up from the ground, quick to follow the taller one’s traces, and so disappear around the final corner.

Having waited for their voices to mold into silence, he jumps through the empty window frame, landing on the concrete with a loud thud that alerts the confused lass. In an attempt to get up and most likely run away, she somehow manages to drag her body up, but regardless of the effort trips once more and falls down on her knees, an act that is accompanied by a pained moan. He watches her with an odd concoction of pity and amusement playing upon his face until she looks up to him, scared and perplexed, eyeing him with a mistrustful gaze.

The initial notion that hits her in time with the first glance is simple – he looks older, probably on the cusp between thirties and forties, exactly like a rugged survivor would, with toned forearms and prickly beard. But what eventually captures her attentions is a jarring straight-shaped scar across his eyebrow and cheek, which gives her the impression that the past assaulter must have failed to slash his eye for less than an inch or so. Under any other circumstances it would whip up certain uneasiness within her, however this time she is swept away with a relief towards this stranger, fighting the innate urge to express her gratitude in a more intimate way, a hug maybe, since that would be rather irresponsible and quite childish if she was being honest.

“Thank you,” she croaks instead, barely managing to get the words out of her constricted windpipe, either way accepts the offering hand that he holds for her to help the young woman rise from dusty ground. An involuntary shiver runs down her spine due to the close contact, his pleasantly warm in contrast with the frigid coldness of her flesh, callous texture scraping over her skin – a notion that she finds oddly distracting.

“You’re welcome,” he replies, voice all gravel and sandpaper, letting go of her hand as soon as she stands up on her feet again, watching her wipe the dust from her clothes.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say,” she chuckles nervously, refusing to look him in the eye now, her gaze sweeping over the surrounding in an annoyingly swift manner, before she finally meets his browns, much to his relief.

“Then don’t say anything,” he shrugs, not a relatively nice phrase, but either way he has got a point and she feels obligated to bear with it. Being honest here, he appears to be one of those harsh, unpleasant people to spend time with, but she, in turn, seems to be deprived of any decent alternative, certain that she has to convince the stranger into taking her in, at least for a couple of weeks until they reach another city where new opportunities will drop, allowing her to depart eventually.

“Um, okay,” she hums in agreement, still visibly tensed around him, which does not manage to slip past his attention. “Can we at least go somewhere less exposed?”

“We?” His eyebrow perks up – a display of partial incredulity. “I hate to disappoint you, but I’m going back alone.”

“What? Why?” She utters, anxious as ever, since he must be overreacting at least for a tiny bit. “I won’t bother you, I promise. It’s just- I’ll probably be dead by tomorrow if you leave me here, and it all would be for nothing.”

“No,” he refuses with blatant simplicity, another ugly, harsh word that almost causes her to burst into tears due to all the pent-up emotions.

“Even if I promised I would leave you alone in the morning?” She tries once again, barely managing to swallow the thick lump down her throat – a telling sign of an approaching cry.

(She won’t.)

“No,” he repeats, already annoyed and anticipating their separation.

“But-” she begins – a fact that remains seemingly unnoticed by the harsh man as he walks past her, aiming for the ally’s intel. “Oh, great.”

He leaves her no other choice than follow him, despite his surly attitude and moderate approach, in face of the inevitable death that awaits her somewhere in the creeping night’s shadows. She is well-aware of the fact that he was the one who threw the brick, and the action itself wakes up something within her – an emotion so intoxicating that it feels crushing upon her chest – unable to be named

(calm down),

but worryingly influencing.

Throughout all these years, spent in strangling solitude, she has felt some foreign urge to mate with someone, and thus create at least a makeshift substitute for so-called family, unable to resist another opportunity – genesis of her personal damnation, nail in the coffin, but oh so terribly desired. In certain moments she finds herself unable to resist the sudden temptations, driven by a distinct, innate urge to carry on, in search for the necessary fulfilment, safety, and peace, while other times she is swept away with a lancing wave of anxiousness, an inkling that it would be foolish to pursuit, harmful even, that she would regret it later on, albeit not today.

Today she wishes to make it all happen.

Therefore, she follows him, jogging by his side to match the strides, seemingly exaggerated in length but either way bearable, despite his unpleasant tendencies to ignore her, as if pretending he has gone for a pondering, lonesome walk. Being honest here, the assumption fits him perfectly – a forlorn wolf amongst many, the one that rarely bothers to utter a decent sentence, not to mention his disability to see her as a human being, a sensitive creature, instead of a harmful nemesis.

According to her observations, people these days seem numb, depraved of any actual feelings, focused and alert for any dangers awaiting in the dark, or just around the corner, hid in the depths of their weeping souls, begging for redemption, for mercy. Many times before, she has heard that world is a cruel, empty place, lacking in the aforementioned qualities, and so offering damnation only – a burden that comes with blood stains on their hands, with sleepless nights, delirious wandering, no purpose, no place.

And what for?

Lost in her own thoughts, she barely notices that he has halted in front of one of abandoned buildings, slightly lower than the rest, entrance unblocked, as if inviting the passerby with a promise of a satisfactory loot

(am I one of them?),

or right the opposite – yet another threat lurking in the shadows, waiting for its prey. A dreadful shiver runs down her spine at the sinister thought, an inkling existing only to be confirmed or denied, whereas the ingenuous parts of her are putting emphasis on the former – a trait that is determined to abandon her somewhere in the future.

“We depart now, kid,” he announces bluntly, pointing in the opposite direction. “If you head west, you’ll leave the city and reach the nearby woods. Analogically, if you go opposite, it’ll lead you to the center area, but I wouldn’t go there if I were you.”

“And why is that?” She inquires, frowning in confusion.

“The area is already occupied,” he explains, quick to add a brief, “not negotiable,” as if to clarify her visible doubts.

“Who lives there?” Another question leaves her lips, as if to prolong their hopefully brief encounter.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” he spats involuntary, another bitter manner to catch her off guard, not attentive enough to care about possible misunderstandings.

“I still don’t get it,” she shrugs, staring at him with silent anticipation, as if she indeed expected an answer, like it would astonish him.

“It’s from the Old World,” he attempts to cuts the matter short, but she is not yet to disappoint him even this time, another query following his lack of explanation.

“What does it mean then?”

“It means that in certain situations inquisitiveness might lead to a scrape,” he sighs in defeat, but bestows her with the simplest gloss either way.

“If you say so,” she huffs, clearly annoyed with his lacking answers, but is immediate to pursuit with the plot that has been left hanging for a brief moment. “Can’t spend a night here, though? Not negotiable too? Just keep in mind that by forcing me to leave you’re practically digging up my grave.”

Manipulating is a filthy practice, according to what his mother used to tell him on multiple occasions, that he is supposed to be a decent man, living a candid life of a meticulous and conscientious person, amongst other lies, with moral behavior on the very peak of her own Pyramid of Absurd. The rules might have applied to the Old World, but the New Order most certainly does not allow any nostalgia to blossom, a penchant for recreation, for rebirth, nipping it all in the bud, drowning their wicked souls in the tears of those who were perished.

Ironic.

“You think I’m some fucking charity, don’t you?” He chuckles bitterly, a nasty manner that sends a shiver down her spine in time with the newfound realization – of course he would want her to pay, what was she even thinking?

“What kind of payment are you interested in?” She gulps, instinctively backing a few step away from him, ready to run in case it will be necessary. “Sex?”

“Your dignity must have abandoned you long ago if that’s the first offer you pop out with,” he comments harshly, a hint of a mocking smirk playing upon his lips, which might as well be only a matter of her perception.

“Does it mean I can stay then?” She ascertains, not quite managing to hide the tremor within her voice, resolves running thin in face of his judgmental attitude.

“I guess so,” he nods, as if finally willing to admit that she is rather improbable to ditch said matter, “but conditions first,” he shushes her with a dismissive gesture. “I’m rather meticulous when it comes to my stuff, which means no touching, no snooping. What’s mine is mine, don’t forget that. If I catch you breaking the rules, you’re out. Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” she confirms, opting for the simplest possible answer, since it appears as the most sensible too, a technique that would most likely talk some reason into him.

“We’ll see about that,” he remarks at last, and without waiting for her answer, he disappears inside the building, steps echoing in the empty space, which leaves her with no other choice than to follow him. She matches his pace, although remains a few stairs behind him, running her hand past the railing, as she climbs up to face the inevitable, with bits of dust covering her fingertips.

Moments later, they march through the door, only to be greeted by the sight of something that must have been an office installation back in the days, with a row of desks and a coach by the window, a furniture that is already occupied as if to line up with her expectations that concern the matter of being forced to spend the following night on the floor. In the meantime, he manages to barricade the door with a book shelf, now lacking in the better parts of its prior contents– void and deplorable – a flawless fit for the New World, waking up that peculiar longing for something she has never got a chance to experience but either way misses it – another exemplary paradox. She perches on the sofa, her spine awkwardly straightened as her eyes remain glued to him, a notion that he does not fail to notice, but ignores it either way, satisfied with the result of put effort.

They stick to the silence for quite a while, a time needed for her to relax on the seat, and him to eat in the corner, back supported by the wall – an action that does not slip past her attention, smell of food redirecting her focus to own discomfort. Nevertheless, she feels like it would be off top to come up and ask for a share, considering that he is more likely to refuse, not that she finds it hard to believe, but on the other hand at some point filling up her stomach would become an obligation rather than just an option.

“Hungry?” He asks, creeping in between her thoughts, much to her relief actually, in face of undisputable lack of ideas when it comes to figuring out the most efficient approach.

“Starving,” she affirms with a tiny smile tugging at the corners of her lips – a sign of nonverbal alleviation.

“C’mere,” he motions her towards with a universal wrist flick, and despite the innate uneasiness, she obeys, stomach acting as the eventual decision maker. She plops down on the empty space in front of him, good few feet away in case he might want to touch her for no actual reason, leaving him with no other choice than throw whatever he is having at her, partly impressed that she manages to catch it.

“Enjoy your meal,” he adds, a promise of something darker that is yet to come, “it might be the last.”

* * *

Over the course of time, he has managed to notice something distinctive about her personality, something that he is incapable of addressing, frustrating but ever present in the least convenient form possible, itching akin to an insect bite that calls for a scratch ever so often. In addition, the aspect itself is considered as something he was not fully aware of in the following years, but the Change has brought yet another conspicuous realization upon him.

He might be not as talented at reading people as he perceived himself to be.

At first, it appeared as a rather galling factor, a bookish example of noting more than a splendid mistake, but then it transferred into something else, something of entirely different nature – an awakening, utterly clarifying in its simple form. Swept with augmenting realizations, as sensible as any other person would be in a middle of a mental turmoil, he felt obligated to switch his lifestyle for obvious reasons.

Having someone else around is unerring to shift someone’s perspective, forcing him to adjust – a primeval tactic that comes with evolution, or natural selection, call it however you want. Nonetheless, in his case the whole process has formed some bizarre juxtaposition of two almost opposite factors – company and serenity, depraving each from the other, clawing until the bone peaks through the paper-thin epithelium. In one hand he can barely stand her presence, the fact that she is lurking behind him like a shadow, capable of remaining dead silent throughout the day, while in other hand she keeps asking questions, sometimes completely out of context, but he suspects each of them might lead to a greater goal.

Tonight has also been chosen for the former purpose, and while they are hidden safely

(more or less)

under the roof, the storm is raging around the motel, heavy droplets beating out a rhythm on the tiles – a melody of primordiality. It brings him certain solitude, a pensive longing for what he left behind – demons of the past that hunt him no matter where he is harboring, no matter where he is hiking, no matter where he is heading; always beset, caught in a trap. There are times when he craves for nothing else than hush their excruciating wails, strangle and watch them suffer for a change, switch the strict roles – a prelude for another thought to occur – if so, it would all be for nothing, all he has gone through, all he has done just to stand here today, bathed in the metaphorical sun.

All as simple as that.

“You’re quiet today,” he notes out of thin air, nevertheless drawing her attention, eyes flicking up to glance at him. She does not bother to answer, instead her gaze adverts to the side, focusing on the peeling wallpaper that for some reasons seems more bearable than the sight of him. “Are you even listening?” He repeats, a hint of annoyance lacing his voice, shaped by the blatant lack of reaction. “Fabienne!”

“I’m sorry,” she mutters under her breath, eyes meeting his for a brief moment, “I was just… you know, thinking.”

“About anything particular?” He asks as if only to carry on with the conversation – a meaningless pursuit, a silly trace picked up from society. For a brief moment, she dares to consider that he might, indeed, be interested in her pointless babbling, pursuit to reveal the answers, reasons why she is still here.

“Am I supposed to think about anything particular?” She retorts, voice distant and dreamy, detached from reality – a trait that is certain to get her killed one day. “I found some notes here while you were out, scavenging the store, and I… I can’t believe it. It all seems so absurd, like some tale that parents would tell their children, naïve and artless, unable to find a different meaning.”

“You can always just tell me what was in the notes,” he sighs, somehow fed up with her far-fetched responses as the one who rather stands for retrieving less complicated solutions, or simply forming an essential statement.

“Just a poem, but it’s so beautifully expressive,” she sighs, smiling to herself – probably without realizing it – an otherworldly, evanescent visage, “and some diary writing. Maybe it’s silly, but browsing through the Old World stuff always makes me better, like I’m capable of somehow sharing my life with them, transferring to their reality, and so become the person that I’ve always wanted to.”

“And why is that? Why become another person?” He queries bluntly, and even though she had a decent amount of time to get used to his mannerisms, he is still capable of throwing her off guard in certain moments.

“I don’t really know how to talk about it,” she admits, accompanied by a nervous chuckle. “To be honest, each time it makes me feel so empty, as if my whole life was lacking in something essential.”

Without a clue what to say, he only hums in response, a notion that he is all too familiar with, unable to depart, leave it somewhere behind, and gain that fluent speech manners that prompt suitable words when needed. He is partly aware that it is, indeed, the cause why she perceives him as a rude person, the one who does not give a fig about what she is willing to communicate, which might as well mean that her judgment is not as flawless as it appears to be in her eyes.

Why does it have to amuse him so much?

While they were talking, the heavy drumming of rain – a signature of the fall season – seemed to subside a bit, and now he can only imagine the fresh scent of concrete – one of few life’s aspects that he has always found quite pleasing. However, his attention is quick to switch back to her, now facing the opposite wall, back turned to him, curled into a ball, as it helps her to fall asleep – probably some sort of innate wont, or maybe trust issues that deter her from taking more comfortable position.

(You would want that, wouldn’t you?)

Maybe laying down next to her will be inappropriate, but in all honesty he has grown fed up with sleeping on the floor or armchairs anytime they doss in a place with only one bed, and since his doubts considering whether she will oppose are rather strong, he settles next to her, mattress dipping due to extra weight. She flinches as soon as she senses the shift, subconsciously dragging her body away from his arm range, but does not bother to object, right according to his suspicions. While his head is resting on the pillow, eyes close on their own, enjoying the serenity of late evening, along with the subtle moonlight peeking through the thin gap between the heavy curtains, oddly unprepared for what is about to come.

“How did you get these scars?” She asks out of nowhere, a question that hangs in the air for a longer while, as if waiting to be consumed, thick akin to a morning mist.

“Fell down the stairs once,” he evades, flashing her a brief glance, attracted by the sideways movement, which allows her to face him.

“You didn’t,” she chuckles, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“I did,” he counters somehow impishly, such an unusual occurrence when it comes to him, considering he has never struck her as a particularly easygoing man.

“I’m sorry if that was too interfering,” she elucidates, apologetic smile lacing her lips. “I didn’t mean to sound rude or anything. I was just curious, that’s it, and I perfectly understand if you don’t want to tell me the whole story, it’s just-”

“I think I was around sixteen when I got it,” he interrupts, rectifying her rushed explanation that, for some reasons, was considered as adequate in such case. “The thing is, at that time I used to ride a bike quite a lot, and by saying ‘a lot’ I mean every day on the route to high school and back. It was all peachy keen, until I got drunk one day.”

“Sorry to interrupt, but I’ve always wondered what it means to get drunk in the first place,” she admits, a shy smile, finely subtle, blossoming upon her face. “Actually I think it’s a perfect example of one of those things that you hear someone mentioning from time to time, but at the same time have no idea how it’s supposed to feel like.”

“Dizzy but in a fine way, and as you might know, people’s responses tend to differ,” he explains, a clarification that she surely does not find neither detailed nor specific enough. “I don’t think I have the capacity to expound it well, since-”

“Yeah, I know,” she shrugs it off, seemingly tired with his habit of developing quite a decent amount of exaggerated explications, “it’s one of those things you have to experience to know for sure.”

“Something like that,” he agrees, nevertheless immediate to get back on the formerly abandoned track. “Anyway, while I was trying to somehow make it back home, I… let’s say… crashed into a bus stop, the glass part to be specific, and as you might already surmise, some of the fragments cut my face, while others pricked other parts of my skin, forearms for instance.”

“What happened with you afterwards?” She asks, voice laced with some odd kind of compassion, the one that she is not supposed to feel towards him, as her gaze remains glued to his profile, while he, in turn, opts for the celling.

“Well, they patched me up, that’s all,” he shrugs, casting Fabienne a brief glance that has her own elude to the side, cheeks flushed with embarrassment each time he catches her stare by accident. He would be lying if he said it never amused him to see her in such a state – caught hand in a cookie jar – while the real question is how deep she has managed to dive, whether it is still enough to retreat or not really.

He will never truly know.

“I’m sorry,” she indicates, a worried frown making an appearance upon her face.

“For what? That I was a stupid kid who did nothing else than bring it down on himself?” He huffs, sometimes caught in doubt whether it is only a matter of compassion, or whether she seeks some gain within it. “I don’t think there is anything to feel sorry for.”

“Why do you always have to such a jerk?” She accuses, a little too blatant for his own taste, nevertheless immediate to catch his attention, especially when she shoots up straight, maybe in order to get the height predominance.

“Calling me names won’t be beneficial,” he states, so matter-of-factly and much to her upset, “considering I could walk away any time.”

“You’re-”

“Yeah, do go on,” he encourages, voice completely flat, deprived of anything that might be labelled as an emotional layer, something that never failed to amaze, or rather unsettle her. She sometimes doubts he is a human after all. “I ain’t stopping you.”

“What are you so afraid of?” She practically cries out, a turmoil of contradict emotions raging inside her, only to be fueled by his lack of answer – nothing more than a constraint to make her blunder more, dig up her own grave. “That you’d let someone too close and lose him afterwards? So it all would be for nothing?” Not a word. “Everything happens for a reason, why can’t you see it? Why do you have to be so blind?”

“Less effort means more effort,” he adds, a sentence that she has heard him utter on multiple occasions in the past, something that never fails to agitate her, and so desert of the possibility to comprehend its virtual meaning.

“So that’s all you have to say?” She spats, bitter venom lingering on the tip of her tongue, nevertheless not meant to surpass his.

Silence speaks a thousand words.

She feels like it might as well be his motto, words of wisdom that he keeps telling himself instead of forming a decent, verbal reply that would please the interlocutor – yet another futile pursuit in the eyes of this odd man lying next to her. She often dwells upon what life factors he actually perceives as important, meaningful, more or less significant, the ones that are probable to make a real difference, not a mere shift like removing a stain from a fabric. Therefore, at some point of their relationship she has managed to realize that the odd savior complex, combined with his reconditeness entices her more than she cares to admit.

Shame.

Since his eyelids remain shut, she gains a chance to watch him, at least briefly, caught in such a vulnerable state – not a day-to-day occurrence by any means – a single forearm draped over his face, blocking every mere gleam of moonlight – the guide of those who got lost within the dusky depths of night. His chest is raising and falling in time with each steady inhale, making her wonder whether it is nothing more than a false façade, a serenity that is meant to hide the turmoil inside, raging storm just below the surface.

Probably not.

She sighs heavily, a sound that is loud enough to draw his attention, one hazel eye falling open to meet her gaze once more that night. He keeps them locked for a brief moment, until she involuntarily adverts, escaping the privilege to maintain the contact for a little longer, and he only snorts in response – nasal substitute for a proper laugh. He is partly aware of the thoughts hidden underneath, but has never taken a chance to absorb them in any way, rather than pretend that they are non-existent, whereas this time seems different.

This time he decides to acknowledge that the girl is, indeed, ‘in love’ with him.

(Well, that’s too bad.)

Ironically, even a person like him – unable to comprehend the diversity of emotions, considering they do not classify as anything interesting

(we see what we wat to see) –

has managed to notice the variety of her acts, including the subtle ones, from the occasional, bashful glances to the unusual concoctions of words that carry one and one association only. Somehow, he pities her, although there is nothing to be done here, despite so many aspects that are scattered around until fixed, rather than wait for it to subside, or leave her hanging one day – an action that would lead to bilateral loneliness, something that he is not quite certain he is willing to restore. Maybe traveling with someone else is nothing more than yet another developing habit, paired with an urge to spend time with certain person, seemingly unable to switch back to the Life Before.

(People get used to everything.)

“I’m going to sleep,” the exclamation that slices through the mist of silence, thick, and laced with something that he cannot quite place, a hint of expectance maybe, so he remains speechless, allowing her to continue.

But it never comes, so instead he opts for the simplest, old-fashioned, “sleep tight,” immediate to turn around on the side, curling into a ball, more or less, since it helps to maintain body heat – something that he had a questionable pleasure of testing on the course of multiple freezing nights – eyes closing on their own.

(You know what they say, Craig...)

Silence speaks a thousand words.

* * *

A mere brush upon his shoulder, a faint shuffling sound, dim moonlight shining through the thin gap, or rather the concoction of three factors is what appears to be the cause of his abrupt awakening. He springs up in alarm – another habit developed throughout all these years – eyes scanning the room with meticulous precision, at least as much as the circumstances allow him to, in search for a factor that appears to exist apart of usual room components.

Unable to perceive anything significant, his gaze eventually lands on a silhouette beside him - a girl lying on her side, hand tossed carelessly on the spot previously occupied by him. He sighs in relief as soon as the newfound realization sweeps upon him, the one that brings final denouement – her accidental slap had to be the cause of said awakening.

With cleared out mind, he focuses more distinctly on Fabienne, lying on the side, face turned towards him - an unmissable opportunity to study her visage, since such behavior would not be tolerated on daily bases. At the current blink, she appears as otherworldly, lost within the depths of her own mind, somewhere far, far away, not that he finds it hard to believe, since it forms quite a common association – dreaming equals traveling.

Ironic.

At first, he considers, quite strongly, waking her up, but then another thought occurs, an inkling, driven by intuition, or rather opportunistic nature, that he might, in fact, abandon her now if he really wanted. She will not even notice his departure, remaining asleep, safe in her on dreamscape, left to uncover the truth in the morning as light paints her face, taking away all false beliefs.

Why does it have to be so tough then?

Stepping out if the door is almost effortless in physical matter, walking down the stairs also, heading down the streets joins the gathering, now of three. It is almost absurd, how incapable of admitting certain actualities he is, a grown-up man and still afraid of words – lines of letters on the newsprint. He is a blind man, a liar, lost within his own illusion, simplifications, an expert in covering up the verity, but what for?

Suffering?

No.

A feeling that is foreign, without a proper word to address it, impossible to be described, but ever present in his life, marking him like the glass once did.

(I don't want to die without any scars.)

(Sardonic, cynical, caustic…)

Ironic.

As if with a mind of its own, his hand hovers over her body, muscles twitching with anticipative tension, clueless about what he is willing to do, without a plan for a change. After a few haywire moments, filled with offbeat anticipation, his fingers twirl through her hair, carefully brushing out a few stray tangles. She flinches in response to the touch, and for one fatal moment he is certain she is just about to wake up, frozen on the spot, hand still in between her strands, nevertheless she is quick to relax, which prompts him to resume.

Truth to be told, he has always found her enticing – petite girl with delicate nose and nimble fingers – so innocent and even prettier, oddly fitting in his tastes. Over the course of time, he has learned to admire her as a woman, or rather not silence the encouraging whispers, whereas the desire to perceive himself in terms of a decent man, full of unspoken virtues, righteous and worthy, never made it less challenging. ‘Twisted morality’ is what some people like to call it – remaining pure yet flawed, endless attempts, frustrating pursuits, sleepless nights – and while it might be considered interesting, he has never been able to comprehend why. It carries the truth about him – he has failed and he has failed spectacularly, squandering many years of self-improvement and abnegations just to look twice at the wrong person that has never supposed to attract his attention in the first place.

Who would have told she would be the one to drag him down?

“First time?” A voice that slices through silence, exclamation in a quiet room, in the gloomy night, uttered for him and him only, and as any sane man in his place would, he almost jumps out of his skin, caught hand in a cookie jar. Without a clue about what he is supposed to say, he only stares at her as if he could not believe she was real, awake, and speaking – a passerby from a parallel reality.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” ah yes, back on track and as believable as always.

“Whatever, Craig,” she tosses him a careless glance, “you might as well keep lying to yourself, as you presumably have done your whole life, or admit what’s been on your mind all this time so we could have the ‘adult’s talk’.”

“Is that what you want?” He huffs, voice laced with a blossoming hint of impatience. “Are you even aware of what does it mean?”

“What means what?” She raises to his level, eyes locked, not the one to look away for a change.

“Doesn’t matter,” he sighs heavily, all of sudden reminding her of an old man, tired with temporal life, too yellow to end it albeit too exhausted to keep it up.

“No,” she shakes her head in disbelief, an ugly furrow marking her forehead; for some reasons he has never liked when girls frown, “it does, believe me.”

“That’s not a determinant,” he retorts drily, voice flat akin to his judgments, “since apparently everything matters to you. But if you-”

Before he gets a chance to finish his sentence, her lips are on his, kissing him with some unplaceable, fierce passion, all while he is too stunned to react, caught in delirious unawareness. Time seems to halt for a moment – parallel lines that collide – where impossible becomes possible, where everything melts together just to come into being as a formless… pulp.

Sounds lovely.

However, in reality it takes nothing more than a few brief seconds for her to pull away, leaving him in bewilderment , mouth agape as if he forgot shutting it lies within his abilities. He stares at her in disbelief, and she cannot help but look away, flushed in embarrassment

(what have I done?)

hands folded on her lap, akin to a child waiting for a reprimand. Whatever that display was, it is already gone, the confidence, the exasperation, the vehemence, and she is back to her old self – the rapid downfall following every climax.

“Why did you kiss me?” He manages to utter after a few longer moments of silence, no accusation, no vexation, just plain, old formlessness.

She gulps.

“No reason?” He reiterates, this time with a hint of annoyance lacing his voice, unusually expecting more than yet another evasive answer.

(We desire what we cannot provide.)

“What is it?” He repeats, bitter, impatient, awaiting. “Cat’s got your tongue?”

“I’m sorry,” she mutters under her breath, glancing at him as if to ascertain that he is still eyeing her with the same displeased expression, “I shouldn’t have. It was kinda inappropriate to say the least, and I’m just… sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he holds her gaze for a brief moment, a hint of what might as well be a smile lacing his lips, “you probably won’t like it, but we can always pretend like it never happened.”

“You’re right,” she agrees, “I won’t like it.”

“So what do you expect me to do about it instead?” He inquires – a question with determined answer – locking eyes with her, and this time she does not attempt an escape. There is something offbeat hidden within her gaze, something that he has never seen on her, feminine but fatale in consequences, and part of him lives for it, soaks it up like a sponge. Thirst and longing is what speaks through him, takes control over his mind – the steering wheel – in order to crash the car if given half a chance – regret-bringing attempts, vain abnegations.

“I want you to…” she halts, as if pondering her next words, picky and never meant to be satisfied, “to, um… consummate our relationship.”

Euphemisms are useless.

“Foolish girl,” he jeers, but she opts for ignoring it, aiming for the long-awaited denouement rather than yet another argument, “you have no idea what you’re asking for, do you.”

Not a question by any means.

“Let’s just give it a try and see where it’ll take us, ‘kay?” She proposes, scooting a little closer to him, knees touching – the simplest of contacts that sends a subtle shiver down his spine. “Say something, please.”

“Okay,” he agrees carefully, slowly uttering the given word, “but I ain’t gonna fuck you, and you won’t ask for that.” Being honest here, she is not sure whether she likes the authoritarian order. “Am I making myself clear?”

“Crystal,” she nods, throat parched and mind foggy all of sudden – unable to come up with a more descriptive answer.

“Come here then,” he bids, patting his thigh – a non-verbal encouragement that might be required sooner than later – as he leans back to rest comfortably against the wall. She follows his command, inching closer and closer towards him until he is able to direct her the rest of the way, settling her on his lap with a bit of help from the girl.

He troubles with recalling the last time he had someone in such position, months maybe, her body heat prominent despite two layers of clothing, fueling him up more than he cares to admit. He should not have even considered it in the first place, agreeing to her proposition, laying down on the bed, letting her join his voyage – mistakes and misjudgments, piling up until he is incapable of seeing the very top one.

(You won’t see anything afterwards, we’ll take care of it.)

“How far are you willing to go?”

(Ha! How diplomatic.)

“I don’t know, really,” she chuckles quietly, or rather nervously, her gaze adverting to the side, “and honestly, I have no idea what ‘far’ means.”

“Fine then,” he brushes off, voice distant, as if the information was yet to reach his comprehension, while his fingers seem preoccupied with her hair again, combing it gently to the side. “Let’s try it differently. Will taking off your clothes be an issue for you?”

“Partly yes,” she admits, nevertheless immediate to rectify her words, just as he suspected, “but not entirely. You know what I mean, right?”

“Perfectly,” he ascertains, with a barely noticeable smirk playing upon his lips – a factor that changes everything about his visage, almost everything to be exact, the glint in his eye that she is unable to place, seemingly mere nuance, yet perspective-shifting. At this point Fabienne is positive she will never forget said countenance – a hunter within a dream, prayer of the night, craver of oblivion, wayfarer without a guide, guide of a wayfarer – one and one man only.

Craig.

The man that currently takes away her privilege to respond, kissing her once again, tasting her lips with cautious precision, as if he had every intention to memorize all those unfamiliar

(not for long)

parts of her, yet to be discovered. As the caress is deepening, his hands slide lower until they settle on her waist, squeezing the soft flesh with enough pressure to receive a breathless, feminine gasp that awakes something within him, a part that has been meticulously buried down, not meant to be dug out, at least not by her.

Despite being barely able to perceive what is happening around him, he still manages to sense how her hands glide smoothly through his longish hair, tugging at the strands for the slightest bit, most likely fueled by carnal frustrations, eliciting a muffled groan from him. The gesture, even if innate and quite hackneyed, is the cause of his abrupt lounge backwards, leaving her in bewilderment, caught off guard, as she keeps their gazes locked, ignoring the fiery blush marking her cheeks.

“Can I touch you?” he rasps, voice huskier than usual, a mundane change that appears to be enough for an almost foreign sensation to blossom in the pit of her stomach, something that rarely invades her body. At this peculiar moment he looks akin to a lunatic – delirious and mind-swept – with restless eyes, heavy breaths, mussed hair – a personification of lust-ridden instabilities that billow in the confinement of his soul, retreating his ability to think straight, to perceive the reality in the way he once used to.

He is a broken man.

(Was, is, and will be.)

She only nods her head, considering the ability of forming words to have abandoned her lately, to which he responds, or rather his body does, as if having a mind on its own, with one of his hands slipping underneath the beige sweater, eliciting a wave of goosebumps, as the pads of his fingers tease the bare flesh. He traces the protruding lines of her ribs, entranced with how they expand in time with each shallow pant, following the path up until he meets with one if her breasts, dragging the very pad of his fingers over the pert nub. She flinches at the contact, attempting to scoot away from him in the first reflex, but he holds her steady with a firm grip of her hip, drawing a breathy gasp from the lass that is immediate to transmute into a quiet, feminine moan.

“Do that again,” she begs softly, her voice small in the empty room, echoing through the long-lived walls akin to a promise of something fresh to perceive, something from the Old Days. ”Please.”

Mere word, breathless promise, bashful request – minuscule nuances that transfigure the whole concept, a potency of mysterious and misunderstood, never meant to be explained – something that remarks certain aspects of his life. She seems to agree with him on this one, idealism be damned, and in face of his lacking responses, she opts for taking the matter in her own hands, covering his own and squeezing afterwards, her eyes falling shut for a moment. Much to her relief, he decides to go along with her, showering her with variety of contradictory sensations, from gentle brushes to harsh tugs that have her squirming in his lap, as her hands ball into fists, clutching on his t-shirt.

She appears as desperate, beyond such to be exact, doe eyes staring at him, now filled with carnal admixtures, foreign in its salacious nature, irking him to pursuit, to break the promise, to take her as soon as possible, before she turns to dust; to relish the moment, and so finally be able to achieve the long-craved gratification. It takes a shorter amount of time than ever implied or expected for all inhibitions to leave his mind, to slip away through the thin gap that separates the door from dusty floor, float into the night.

(She is the devil.)

Gradually, he lifts up her sweater, exposing the sliver of flat stomach, pale skin contrasting with dim moonlight, while the other hands still teases the plush flesh of her breasts. She arches towards his touch, as if in an attempt to minimalize the distance, insatiable and aching for more – mercy that he is willing to deliver.

In accordance with the prior assumptions, he tugs the garment up, coaxing her to remove it the rest of the way, to which she complies, unusually so, tossing it aside on the mattress briefly afterwards. In a reflex that outruns anything else within the dazed man’s mind, his had traces the creamy skin, painting it with invisible strokes that only increase the burning in her core. Truth to be told, she is still a bit too skinny, nevertheless appearing healthier than at the very beginning of their

(damnation)

journey, with more flesh than bones to hold onto. She remains silent throughout the process, with mouth slightly agape and eyes half-closed, until his lips attach to the tender skin below her ear and suck, not enough to leave marks

(yet)

but to redirect her attention, to the point where she utters a soft gasp, tangling her fingers within his hair as if urging him to do pursue.

“I’ve always dreamed of something like this,” she admits, her voice distant, lost between the traces of past, somewhere far away yet ever present. Maybe she is expecting an actual answer this time, however he feels like it would be crude to break the silence, to wash away the calmness, to disrupt the night’s creatures, so he only hums in response, acknowledging that he is, indeed, paying attention. “Craig?”

(He’s not much attentive, isn’t he?)

“Any particular requests you have in mind?” He purrs against her skin, gruff, sending a shiver down her spine.

“Yes,” she nods, retreating a dash from him to meet his eyes, foreheads bumping as she leans into him, free and unrestrained, nipples brushing against his t-shirt distinctly enough to fuel the restless throbbing between his legs.

“Such as…?” He almost groans, all of sudden finding it harder to focus, caught off guard by a mere scrape – details that shift the whole perception.

“Fuck me,” she purrs against his lips, tongue darting out to taste the plush flesh – an act that he would consider ostentatiously vulgar under any other circumstances, however this time he catches himself wishing to experience it once again.

“No,” he counters despite the aforementioned impulse, left to watch how the alluring expression drain from her face, making a place for newfound frustrations and disappointments to blossom.

“Why?” She snorts, not bothering to hide the blunt disappointment as she departs from him, albeit remains settled on his lap for obvious reasons. “Because all of sudden you have some moral values?” No answer. “You think I’m some tart without a taste and self-respect that would jump into any opportunity to fuck someone?”

“That’s not the case and I think we both know that,” he evades, as smoothly as always, his hand brushing her hip in a manner that might be almost considered as gentle, or even sweet, distracting her for a brief moment.

“Then what’s the case?” She inquires, a hint of desperation lacing her voice, carrying all of her inhibitions, all resentments – the evidence of her frailness.

“I think it’s too soon for you,” he explains, all while his thumb is rubbing tiny circles on her skin, leaving a tingling trait behind that somehow manages to break the train of thoughts once more. “I’m not trying to say we can’t fool around from time to time, only that you should wait for someone else, someone more… meaningful to you.”

“You’re such a hypocrite,” she huffs in annoyance, swatting his hands away as she speaks. “Do you even believe in any of it? Honestly.”

“My beliefs aren’t important,” he sighs, suddenly giving her the same impression as before – tired and old, rugged and seasoned, already on his way to reach the inevitable.

“Then why you-”

Depraving her of any chances to finish the sentence, he joins their lips for what was supposed to be nothing more than a chaste kiss, but she manages to break his resolve once again that night, tongue darting out to get a proper taste. It is electrifying, rich, dazing, combined with the manner that she flicks her tongue over his, branding his mind more efficiently than any incandescent rod, a memory never to be wiped. He almost groans in relief when she throws herself into his arms once more, molding her body into his, breasts pressed against his chest in a way that must be painful for such a petite, tender girl, with only the thin cotton of his tee separating their heated skins.

Neither of them exchange a word

(they can only do harm)

after they break apart, and instead, his arms fly up to remove the troublesome barrier that is his t-shirt, exposing his flesh to the judgmental moonlight that only emphasizes the firm physique. Surely not the sublime built man, albeit slim, with nicely shaped muscles, enough to appear as fit and masculine in her eyes, creating an image of something that is certain to hunt her in the few following nights.

She wants to lick him all over.

But yet, she opts for running her hand down the freshly exposed flesh, enjoying the simplicity of said gesture, the smoothness of his skin, sparse hair slipping through her fingers as she rakes them down, scratching his skin as she goes. What bothers her more is the linear pattern of various scars, paining him like an inferior artist would, their texture coarse beneath her fingertips. She cannot help but wonder what kind of story they hold, laced with obnoxious dramatism, or maybe unobtrusive suffering – an answer that he is unable to provide.

(“Better keep our histories to ourselves.”)

Preoccupied with exploring what he has to offer, she fails to notice how his hands shift from the innocent place around her waist to the crease between her thighs, undoing the zipper of her trousers with a graceful flick of his wrist. Without giving her a chance to realize what is happening, as if caught in some lustful trance, he pushes past the fabric barrier, and she jerks at the contact, even if not direct, nevertheless not protesting.

Instead her arms fly up to grip his shoulders for more stable position, her hips raising up – a wordless command for him to push her jeans down the rest of the way. He complies without a word of protest, quick to toss the garment on the mattress, eyes glued to the smooth skin, the contrast it creates in comparison with the dark material of his pants.

“I know it’s ridiculous,” she interrupts herself with a flurried chuckle, “but I’ve never been this nervous.”

“Not much surprising, isn’t it?” He mutters into her hair, holding the trembling body in his arms, fingers grazing her sides in a leisure manner, until she departs from him on her own, doe eyes staring right into his own as if in an attempt to gaze into his soul, to uncover all the impure thoughts he had about her. “But we don’t have to do it if you’re not ready.”

“That doesn’t sound convincing,” she giggles – a reminiscence of all those silly, unstable girls he had a dubious pleasure to interact with multiple times in the past, “and I also think you know what my answer will be.”

“Should I take it as ‘yes’ then?” Nod. “Say it.”

“Yes,” she gulps, invaded with a notion that her declarations appears overly terminal for her own tastes, arising a wave of sudden uneasiness that never fails to sweep Fabienne of her feet.

“Then roll over,” he prompts with a subtle bow – an implication for her to move in a right direction, an inkling that she will feel more comfortable without looking directly into his eyes.

“What?” She shakes her head for the slightest, probably to meet with reality once again, to wipe out the hazy smile currently lacing her lips, unusually confused.

“Just face the wall,” he reiterates, to which she complies, following the path he has set from her, finally laying back to rest against his chest. His arms raise to encircle her waist, one hand settling on her hip, tips of his fingers dipping just below the waistband to tease the sensitive skin there, while she ignores the urge to jerk away from his grip.

She has never been this aware of her body, in a fragmental sense of course, perceiving each part individually, as if her skeleton was not a construction of two hundred and six bones, but instead each one of them was a separate organism. Probably the last aspect that sex is referred to on daily basis, but she has grown to embrace the occasional weirdness that is carried within her thoughts, pushing the unpleasantness in the back of her mind, burring it among other displeasures.

(Reality is a prison.)

While she is maneuvering between the cogitations, his fingers skim past the fabric until they reach the soft crease between her thighs, warm wetness that covers the very tips. She gasps at the alien sensation, fighting the foreign urge to jerk her hips, and instead opts for gripping his forearm, unnecessary tight, but the notion is yet to reach any of their minds, occupied with the Things of Greater Matter.

He is the one to come to senses first, woken up by an irritant stab of pain, caused by her nails, beginning with the simplest of touches, a mere brush over her clit that sends a jolt of electricity up her spine, a tingling sensation that spreads all the way to her toes. A quiet moan slips past her lips in addition, hips raising on their own, already asking for more, more that he is willing to deliver, evident in a way his strokes become firmer, albeit not much yet, since overwhelming her from the very first shot is not his intension by any means.

It feels odd to say the least, considering her lack of experience in said department, excluding those few incidents when she was lying late at night, devoting into aspects she barely had an insight into, out of plain curiosity, not to mention that they were nothing more than a child’s play comparing to this in so, so many aspects.

Begging with the reference towards his fingertips, or rather how much rougher, much more calloused they are than hers, providing a pleasant friction that surprisingly manages to surpass the disturbing embarrassment that blossoms somewhere within her mind. Then her focus shifts to the leisure pace that he has chosen for some reasons, a factor that is rather quick to appear as frustrating, meant to be rewritten – an idea he seems opposed to as soon as her hips begin to grind experimentally against his hand, smearing the wetness over the palm, something that he is supposed to find disgusting, at least according to common decency.

But not this time.

She, in turn, finds herself in a desperate need to speak, to verbalize her cravings, and so speed up the process, yet for some reasons troubles with doing so, throat too tight to let out any words. While he can undoubtedly sense the need, he decides against giving her the relief that comes with acknowledging it, much to her despair, lust-filled frustrations that lace her being into some grotesque knot, impossible to unravel. Not even once before she has felt something in such an intense way, resonating all the way to her toes, abounded in carnalities – the incontestable cause of said concentration issues.

While neither of them is willing to exchange a word, he allows himself to focus more on the girl atop him: her breathy sighs, quiet mewls, and urgent moans – attention that she does not seem to mind at the moment – a factor not as surprising as it may seem. Over the course of various sexual encounters, he has come to one, rather distinctive, conclusion: every woman driven past the very specific point is meant to forget all those make-believe assumptions, along with all of the shame, all of the worry that is carried within.

All in due course, of course.

(Patience is a virtue.)

“Craig,” she gaps in such a wanton manner, his name rolling out of her tongue, as if she was barely capable of uttering a different word, with a tunnel vision that shifts her entire perspective, “I need more.”

“Addictive, isn’t it?” He rasps into her ear, warm breath tickling the tender skin, as his fingers simultaneously pick up the pace, along with the pressure, hips pushing up on their own to meet his movements. “Christ, you’re so wet.”

For what has to be nothing more than just a split second, his exclamation reverberates underneath her skull, resonating all the way to her soul,

(bold to assume you have one)

painting it with wicked, sinful things that block the way back, never again meant to remain unchanged, pure, without flaws – yet another part of the ever-decaying matter. It may sound depressing if put this way, and yet appears as such a perfect match for this world – empty, morose, and dusty.

What has she become?

Apart from the sidetrack of thoughts, she can tell something is just about to happen, teetering on the edge, while bracing for a jump that is yet to come, presumably sooner than expected, insides coiling in anticipation. Vaguely aware of what is awaiting for her at the end of the rainbow, she arches into his touch, willing to speed up the process – innate trait that is carried within every carnal creature, rooted deep within the simplest of structures.

And then it comes, rapid rainfall, tidal wave that hits the shore, arching her back to the point where it becomes truly painful, and yet she is unable to care at the moment, her attention shifted solely to the burning between her legs. Nevertheless, the foreign feeling, impressive in its intensity, is quick to subside, so quick that for a split second she is invaded by an inkling that it was not even real, another creation of a person’s questionable mind, whereas the leftover tingling proves it wrong.

Lost in the delirious aftermath, she shifts in his embrace, locking his hand between her legs, as if to keep him connected, reassuring that he will not be able to leave her hanging there, caught in one of the most vulnerable states possible. Her mouth falls agape a couple of times, before she actually manages to utter a word, still high in the clouds, while the downfall is rather gradual for a change.

“That was,” she murmurs under her breath, barely distinctly enough for him to catch, “quite something.”

(No, it wasn’t. You just fingered a seventeen year old girl until she came. There’s nothing impressive about it.)

(Such a pathetic excuse for a male pride.)

“Wanna do it again?” He purrs, the hoarseness of his voice sending a rapid shiver down her spine, depraving her of any leftover sagacity, but she seems too delirious to care, or even realize.

Either way, she nods her head, spreading her legs again to give him a decent motion range, and as if on a command, he picks up where he left, fingers back to gliding over the swollen folds. This time, however, he reaches past the familiar area, the very tips getting introduced with the clenched entrance. She spasms promptly with the teasing touch, legs shifting in evident impatience, eyes glued to the peeling wallpaper, as if she was afraid to look at what he seems so preoccupied with.

Men are so predictable.

Truth to be told, as her height is gradually subsiding, she experiences some odd composition of contradict emotions that cascades down her, parallel lines that break the law, life-defining paradox. Deprived of any sensible analysis, she faces yet another profound challenge that requires creating at least a reconnection, something that will decrease the sharp juxtaposition, that will smooth out the edges, knock down the wall that separates all disturbing shame from the carnal craving.

Impossible?

Well, maybe.

“Wait,” she interrupts, hand flying to grip his wrist as a simplest move prevention, a tingle of urgency lacing her voice.

“What is it?” He asks, fingers stroking her inner thigh in a tender manner that is so unlike him, as if in an attempt to soothe her ragging nerves.

“I don’t know. I just… I feel so dirty, but at the same want more,” she sighs, her gaze dropping to the hand on her leg, observing how it glides smoothly over her skin. “Honestly, I had no idea it’d be this complicated.”

“Told you so,” he signifies, a dash insensitively, but it would be a lie to deny that over the course of time she has managed to grow accustom with more-than-occasional harsh manners. “But more importantly, do you want me to stop?”

“That’s not the case,” she counters, quick to roll over – a movement that catches him off guard for a split second, jade green meeting hazel. In order to gain some necessary stability, her hands settle atop his shoulders once again, while his, in turn take a steady grasp on her hips. As their eyes remain locked, a realization sweeps upon her, blunt implication that she has been aware of seemingly since ever, hidden in the depths of her soul.

“I like when you touch me,” she admits, her gaze dropping to his chest for a mere second, preoccupied with its rhythmical raises and falls.

“Do you now,” he replies teasingly, a hint of a smirk playing upon his lips – such an unusual sight to behold. “And what are you willing to do with it?”

“Bold to assume I have the slightest idea,” she murmurs against his lips, foreheads bumping into one another as she leans in, brushing his chest almost unnoticeably, and yet the skin-to-skin contact sets his core on fire. Depraved of an ability to speak, as her nipples graze his flesh – dance of death, sinful, macabre image, branded within his mind – a promise of something yet to come – he is only left to watch as she departs from him, longing burning deep within his soul, unusually quick to shred the remaining layer of clothing, tossing it aside carelessly.

Thud.

Although the noise is relatively silent, it snaps something within him – a frail reed – something that forces him to rearrange the grip around her hips to a more convenient one, reversing their positions, her back now pressed to the mattress. She squeals in response to the unexpected shift, then giggles – a girlish sound that he hates so badly, but somehow manages to tolerate under these circumstances.

(You are such a pathetic liar.)

“What are you doing?” She asks, amusement dancing behind her gaze, as she presses a whisper of a kiss at the corner of his lips, knowing well enough what it does to him, and most likely enjoying seeing him in such a state – hair tousled, breathing heavy, so hard it physically hurts. “Thought you said that you ain’t gonna fuck me.”

“Mmm… fuck,” he groans, dropping his head to her shoulder in some display of teenage-related helplessness, a heavy sigh billowing upon her flushed skin.

“Please,” she whines, wriggling below him in an attempt to grind against him. A heavy sigh slips past her lips as her clit catches the rough denim of his jeans, uneven nails digging into his shoulder blades in response to the intense stimulation. “Don’t you feel how wet I am?”

(I do, perfectly.)

“I’m sorry, honey, but the answer is no,” he demurs, with intents to sound apologetic rather than hypocritical, nevertheless managing to fail on every front possible. In face of a clear ability to sense his inner turmoil, her hands slips into his hair, dragging him down until their lips collide, hips grinding in slow, sensual circles, moaning into his mouth, as he responds to the kiss, tongue flicking against hers. Blushing at the thought that concerns what she is about to do, her hand reaches between her legs, tapping his hip on a way to redirect his attention, until her fingers glide over the swollen folds, eliciting a breathless sigh as an innate response to the gentle stroke.

Distracted enough, he breaks away, gaze adverting down, only to be greeted by the sight of her subtle caresses, something that sends a violent shiver down his spine, nevertheless subsided as soon as another thought occurs.

Cheap eroticism is what she indicates.

And he loathes cheap eroticism.

(Such a pathetic liar…)

She whimpers softly as his eyes skim over her form in a scrutinizing manner that she finds oddly arousing, ticking her nerves akin to grass while strolling through a lush lea, evoking an ephemeral shiver – dubious in its existence. What eventually forms an unsolvable conundrum is the expression marking his face – a countenance of contradictories – whereas his eyes burn with something that is supposed to be called ‘lust’ – a word that lays quite far from how she perceives it, hopeless idealist within her decaying habitat.

“Fuck,” he groans, a disclamation of fatigue that is gradually untying the strings of his being, “stop it.”

“What if I don’t want to?” She teases, vibrating with unusual confidence, most likely fueled by youthful greed that has every fiber of her body screaming for completion – a crack within his resolve.

“Won’t drop it, will you?” he huffs, lacing it with a hint of exasperation – an obvious attempt to sound steady and terminal, nonetheless entirely futile, considering the betrayal of his own voice: rough like a sandpaper, breathy at the end. “Fine then. I’ll give you what you’ve been bargaining for oh so desperately, but under one condition,” no answer, “You won’t pull that shit on me ever again. I’m genuinely fed up with your manipulative tendencies.”

“Anything, Craig,”

(Who is lying now, huh?)

she sighs, hands dropping on her stomach akin to some limp ragdoll, eyes piercing through his in a manner that almost causes him to snap back, considering all the entertaining features of the wall above.

Not wasting any more time, his hands reach the belt, fumbling with the tricky buckle for a few longer moments, until it falls apart with a soft click, soon to be abandoned on the floor. He has always considered such an act in terms of something terminal , how the clothes fall on said surface with a dull thud – transition between two phases.

Then come the jeans, all while he is standing up, especially for aforementioned act, watching her like a predator would observe his prey, gaze dark and heavy, burning into her flesh. She squirms slightly, in need to release some of the tension that he has brought upon her, as her legs close on their own, all of sudden bashful in face of inevitable. Lured by the shift, he glances at her figure, now propped on the elbows, quick to remove the remaining barrier, baring his body for her eyes to peek.

In the past he would considered exposure as a line-up for vulnerability, two equal functions, overlapping on the coordinate system, joined for eternity. However, due to the un-going process of so called growing up, or aging as some people might call it, he discovered that as every truth, it holds a subliminal lie.

(Exception proves the rule.)

Undoubtedly, some situations require a different way of thinking, specific approach, at times working out for one and one instance only – a factor that becomes a flawless example, not leaving any space for hesitancies that blossom within the insecure minds, invading them akin to excess weed on the rye field.

Whereas he is too old to hesitate.

“Spread your legs, Fabienne,” he prompts, hands resting on bended knees, the trembling of her frame now palpable on his fingertips. He gives her flesh a brief squeeze – an attempt of reassurance to which she complies, limbs tilting to the sides, inviting him in – a proposition that he gladly accepts, settling between the outstretched limbs. Her calves wrap around his waist, since she feels like keeping herself spread in such way is both awkward and rather inconvenient, the subtle flex of his muscles palpable upon her skin from now on, as he leans in more, nudging her folds in process. She is oddly afraid to look down, considering it is safe to assume that the sight alone is more than probable to scare her away – an opponent for the need to change something in her life, something significant, special even

(every snowflake consists of its unique pattern),

which might as well be yet another example of what the word ‘exaggerate’ really means.

“Don’t look so scared,” he adds, a ghost of a soothing smile passing his countenance, or maybe the result of yet another make-believed creation of her mind. “I don’t intend to hurt you.”

“But it is going to hurt anyway, right?” She ascertains, her lips sewed in a thin line, cheeks flushed, nails digging into his sides in anticipation.

“It varies how much,” an explanation that clouds her brain with even more unsolved matters, rather than satisfy her, but she takes it anyway, deprived of a better alternative.

One last glance is thrown over her, one eyebrow perked up in query – all it takes for her to give a brief nod of reaffirmation, followed by an even softer “yes,” slipped past her trembling lips. To say she felt nervous would be a mere euphemism, her stomach doing somersaults, anticipating the inevitable – yet another paradox, to be afraid of what one wants.

Absurd.

Seemingly out of nowhere, his hips snap up, forcing a choked cry out of her throat, nails clutching at his sides, hips withdrawing from his in a reflexive reaction to the sudden intrusion, nevertheless the sting appears as not quite willing to subside, at least as willing as she would like it to be.

“’M sorry,” he groans, gravel and sandpaper, rough and guttural. “Too fast?”

“Yeah,” she agrees, troubling to catch her breath, lungs seemingly unable to fit all the required air inside, so she gladly accepts the merciful halt – an opportunity to enjoy the moment, or rather examine all the merest sensations that come along: a scrape over her inner walls, fluttering pain that follows, and the pulsing fulfillment, so foreign in its nature.

To say she wants more would be a mere euphemism.

“Craig,” she gasps, engraving his name in a manner that sends yet another electrifying shiver down his spine, caught in a breathless anticipation, “do something, please.”

And who is he to deny her anything?

His hips rock forward, experimentally still, intending to check her reaction, to ascertain she is, indeed, ready to pursuit, to which she responds with a movement so innate, flawless in its borne simplicity – a push towards his body. The whole act seems so surreal to him – a throwback to the teenage years – as if he could not believe it was real, as if it was yet another dream, supposed to end up in no time – sharp, blinding finale – while he is wishing for right the opposite. Nevertheless, the conclusion is evident, maybe off-top but still obvious: the damned lass has a vice tight grip, so unfitting to the fragile exterior – a threat to blow it all up embarrassingly quickly, something that he is determined not to let happen.

“You gotta relax, darling,” he hisses through the gritted teeth, failing to contain the trembling of his own muscles – an evidence of his efforts.

(Easier said than done.)

She only manages to utter a soft hum in response, eyes shutting tight, as if it was supposed to help her focus, ribcage rhythmically expanding with each cautious exhale. Briefly afterwards, she regains the partial control over her own body, dubious in its effectiveness, however lacking in a better alternative. Still and all, her muscles relax around him, as if coaxing him to move, and he complies without further objections, hips snapping forward with a relieved groan, forcing a feminine squeal from the woman below.

The sensation is odd to say the least, revoking contradict reactions; in one hand her body welcomes it, relieved and thankful for the long-craved stimulation, while in the other she cannot help but wonder how close is the correlation between this and being ripped in half – the neighboring house or just the room? In spite of that she somehow grows accustomed with the unusual stretch, still in genuine hope that what now is just a dubiously comfortable fullness will transform into the so-called pleasure sooner than later, or more straightforward – that her suppositions are meant to be confirmed.

One thing for certain – Craig seems to enjoy it more than she does, in fact his countenance speaks for itself: eyes half-closed, not quite meeting hers, mouth slightly agape, labored breaths audible in the empty room. Nevertheless, he utters almost no sound as he rocks into her, not that she finds his manner surprising, rather predictable, that he will not outstand the day-to-day lack of words, if not for the occasional grunts she would suspect the deafness. The previously so-called ‘soft baritone’ has managed to transform into something gravelly, guttural – a change that is gradual, yet evident with every following groan, scratching her ears in one of the most pleasant way.

However, as the time passes and her focus shift more towards the commencements of something that might as well be the pristine bliss, so fussed-about, her insides coiling in a telling way, relish flicking over her nerves. She arches toward him now, determined for an increase, whether in pace, or depth – a gesture that he takes for granted, relieved to hear her subconscious purr.

“Mmm… give me more, I want more, please,” she chants, voice betraying her akin to a pack of cigarettes hidden insides teenager’s wardrobe, tremulous and desperate. Urging him to react, her nails dig into his sides, drawing a pained hiss from the man above, who is quick to grasp her by the calf and drape one of her legs over his shoulder, forcing a surprised cry from the brunette below.

As if on some grotesque command, all of the purpose air leaves her lungs, refusing to get back inside, insides clenching around him uncontrollably, to the point where he suspects he might have overestimated her for quite a bit – a matter that she is quick to rectify with the simplest of acknowledgments – a kiss, a slow, sensual kiss. Another mellow, feminine mewl slips past her lips, as if meant for him to swallow, something that still lies beyond her self-control field, and being honest here, she has been wishing to make it happen for quite a while – allow herself to be vulnerable.

The last liberty that this world tolerates.

While with him it all seems possible, at hand, licit when accompanied by him – foolish, silly lies, a factor that remains unnoticed for her own good. By any means, it is not sub rosa that she often find herself stuck within a constant dream, dream that considers aspect beyond her reach, aspects that do not fit the New Order by any means, but lead an ever-present life rooted deep within her consciousness.

Someone to love.

(Long live the idealists!)

Back in the temporal world, his lips detach from hers softly, drawing her back from the alien reverie, as they linger for a bit longer, brushing the plush bottom lip with such tenderness that it catches her off-guard for a brief moment. However, he is immediate to strive for the contrast, picking up the pace seemingly out of nowhere, eliciting a reedy whine from her that, in turn, makes him twitch in anticipation for more – a craving not willing to subside just yet.

While she writhes below him, attempting to match his pace, he takes his time to eye her once more that night, gaze fixated on the subtle swings of her breasts, desire-awoken flush covering her neck, all the way up to the glassy eyes, staring right at him. He maintains the contact, tongue flicking out to moisten his lips – a gesture that she subliminally repeats – as his grip around her thigh perceptibly tightens, fingers digging into the flesh, muscles flexing with effort.

She is able to sense the change lingering in the air – a prove that something is lurking in the shadows, just around the corner, waiting to be discovered, prearranged for her and her only – a notion that has never supposed to be awoken in the first place. Another shiver runs down her spine, as his pupils dilate even further – two pools of pitch black, surrounded by the thin rim of hazel – mesmerizing, yet malevolent – crossed by the protruding scar that has never appeared as more ominous before.

His vicious tendencies has always been quite obvious to her – nothing more than survivor’s traits that are incrementally developing as they descend further into madness, or as some prefer to address it – pursue with life. Nevertheless, the raging ardor, shadowing his gaze, evokes a wave of goosebumps upon her skin, to the point when she barely manages to fight the urge to look away, and it creeps her more than she cares to admit. The thought itself sends an excessive shiver down her spine, and while she is expecting the shift sooner than later, she sincerely doubts he is meaning to hurt her in a severe way, although is well aware that whatever is slinking within the deeps his soul lies beyond her comprehension.

However, the aspect itself might as well be labeled as two-faced, consisting of twain seemingly contradict components: trepidation that has never supposed to be a turn-on. It is ironic, indeed, but at the same time factual, more than she cares to admit, partly wishing it have never occurred in the first place.

(Some things are better left unsaid.)

(Craig?)

She would have to be blind to miss it – the glimmer hidden behind his gaze, sinister, ominous, maybe also be the closest to his true form she will ever get, the intimidating, dark, and mysterious alter-ego that might be just another prove of her dramatic tendencies.

She almost screams when he pushes her leg away and his hands settle on the junction where her neck meets the shoulder, more than certain that he is just about to crash her windpipe, and yet nothing like this happens. Instead, his mouth falls open, incoherent words rolling down his tongue, some barely audible, outshadowed with delirious passion, one of a kind and only for her to catch, to irk her ears in the most sinful way – a promise of what is just about to come.

He wishes he would be able to determine for how long he has been wanting to make it happen – another immoral craving within this rotten world – and truth to be told, he is barely capable of containing his rapacity, not only in the physical sense but also spiritual, excitement evident within his movements. Aside from that, he can sense how close she is, clenching around him rhythmically, hips raising on their own to meet his thrusts, and when their mouths collide, she utters a relieved moan, her insides spasming for the second time that night, seemingly more violently than before, which might as well be yet another exaggeration. Sadly, this is not the right moment to get lost in the sensation, since impregnating

(such a loathsome word)

her is the last thing he aims for, and accordingly so, he pulls out, painting her chest with a splash of whitish liquid.

Still lost in the delirious, post-orgasmic bliss, she barely acknowledges the change, lying boneless and spent on the old mattress, mind numb for the first time in quite a while, which might be the real reason why people are so attracted to anything sex-related – a moment of obliviousness – willing to pay even the most ridiculous, sky-high price for the shortest of intervals.

“Pretty auspicious bargain, isn’t it honey?”

* * *

A letter is all she left, a promise of a better world, carried within a fragile sheet of paper, last promise she wanted to verbalize – harsh words for such a tender lass. Ironically, she seemed secure for the first time in her life, blunt edges of defined characters burning into his skull, whispers of life that she had left behind.

They held no pain.

No, they were soaked in it, ‘hold’ is a mere euphemism.

For years he thought he could felt nothing, not a mere scrape of sorrow, fear, desperation, but also some distant felicity, distant calmness – something that she has brought upon him, priceless gift for all their years together. Still in the Old World, she used to claim ice-cream truck music was her favorite sound, always the one to stand first in the queue, while he never had that particular fondness towards the cooling treat, nevertheless accompanied her every single time in case she would hurt herself.

She was always so clumsy.

Not a fit for this world.

So similar – an explanation point,

Reason why he is fond of Fabienne.

Melodic voice, jade green eyes.

“What are you thinking about, Craig?”

The Downfall of Humanity.

Created: 07/26/20

Completed: 11/01/20

Edited: 11/03/20

8 notes · View notes

zombiejoepino · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 7: The Fight (Cobb Vanth x OC fic)

Author's note: Thank you for taking the time to read this. I apologize for the long break but you know how it is with the creative process. The end is getting closer so I hope you enjoy this chapter. No pictures this time.

Word count: 4227 words

Genre: Adventure/Action/Western

Warning: angst

The dawn breaks on the dune sea, making its way for the twins. The sky is yellow, purple, and tiny traces of dark blue. Creatures run around the dusty land, chasing each other, jumping playfully until a bigger one snatches them to eat.

A blur scavenger pilots the sleek speeder gracefully across the vast wasteland, heading towards the rocky canyons. Space gets smaller at every turn but, the rider is precise with its movements. The masked figure turns its head for a moment to look at what’s coming right behind her.

The yellowish cruiser follows the rider with the same speed, making a few turns to keep going between the small spaces and fit the large structure.

The hooded figure keeps the attention back on the road and detours into a cave, impossible for the cruiser to fit in. The armored rider curses and turns around to look for another path.

Into the dark caves, the masked rider avoids all kinds of rocky structures, making sure not to crash with stones or creatures like the sleeping lizard that noticed her and roars at her. She turns before hitting the lizard and keeps moving into the darkness, looking for the end of the tunnel at some point.

She looks behind her and, with no trace of the yellow cruiser, she smiles to herself heading towards the light but, a large scaly tail hits the back of her speeder and makes her spin. She clenches it to keep balance and tries to slow down to stop spinning. The speeder wobbles and, it finally stops making her lose her balance for a moment.

Nath takes a deep breath and hears the roar. She comes out full speed and takes off into the dunes. Her hand reaches the mask and lowers it a bit to take a deep breath. The redhead licks her dry lips and smiles to herself.

“I lost him,” she thought until she picks on the peculiar sound and looks right behind her.

The Marshal flashed his pearly smile at her and waves. “What took you so long?” He yells, moving towards her. The redhead finally stops the speeder and gives him a look.

“How?” She throws her arms in the air. “There´s no way you got into that cave!”

“There are other ways to cross the canyon, princess. You just took the most difficult one.” He smirked.

“And it has nothing to do with the speed improvements I made for your cruiser?” She rests her hands on her hips and raises a brow.

Cobb shrugs and chuckles. “Ok, maybe that helped too. You wanted me to test it.” He hopped off the cruiser and moved towards her. “Did you bring the charges?”

“I set them already. Marc has the rest but he went north, just in case they wanna show up from there.”

“Which I doubt cause that’s sand people’s territory and there are only two ways that might end. You can’t reason with those monsters.” Cobb said.

“Neither you can’t reason with Qod. Before you call to pull out your blaster, he will stab you.” She explained while unloading her bag with rounded objects, the smoke bombs.

From high on a rock mesa, two more speeders can be seen gliding across the desert floor, approaching the couple. it is Marc, Triggar, his wife Kyranj, two more villagers, and a rusty R2 unit. Marc was carrying a large bag with charges and was followed by the droid. He waved at them and smiled.

“Marshal, Nath, we set the rest near the Valley. No sign of the sand people. Maybe the dragon scared them.” The young rider sets down the bag and addresses the droid. “Show them the map, R6.”

The rusted unit beeped and displayed a small hologram of the sandy area.

“We gotta keep a large distance between each charge so they can set up together once they pass around them,” Marc explained and placed the large smoke bomb on the ground.

“Are you sure that’s gonna work? What if it's a Jawa step on it by mistake?” Triggar asked.

“Nathsca and I modified these. She said she did this before.” Marc explained. “They normally work if something steps over them, but in this case, we add a small device that picks on movement.”

“So, whatever tremor over the average is detected, they will activate. It can be either a bunch of speeders or the Dragon. Whatever it is, we will know before they arrive.” The redhead added.

“If they come,” Triggar said.

“They will come,” Cobb spoke and looked back at Nath, that nodded in agreement.

“With Plog or not, Qod is very methodic. He will search around all area if it's necessary just to find us. That’s why we have to be ready.”

“So, once you place the charges, be careful with your feet and speeders, we don’t wanna set these off and let the Tusken Raiders find us,” Marc explained.

Cobb carried the bag with the charges and was followed by Marc and Trigger. The other two villagers carried the large smoke bomb and followed the trio.

Both women stayed together to place the smaller ones right outside the canyon. Nath used her bare hands to dig a small hole to place the first device that was carefully handed back by Kyranj.

“Have you done this before?” Nath asked.

“I used to work in the mines when I was about your age. We used these just to let others know if the area was safe or not.” The older brunette smiled.

“And how did you ended up in Mos Pelgo?”

“Between all political conflicts, battles and all, the Empire kinda left the slave camp. We fought and got ourselves free.”

“You all know each other for a long time, huh?” Nath covered the rest on the bomb with the sand and moved some feet away to dig the next one.

“We all come from different slave camps looking for refugees and any area away from the Empire or the Hutts. Anywhere just to be free. The Marshal knew of this abandoned town and we just followed him.” Kyranj set up the next bomb, right under the rocks.

“So you just chose him to be the Marshal?” Nath asked.

“Yes, he is a good leader and shooter.” The brunette smiled.

“Yeah, I guess.” Nath nodded. “Just not when he is wounded and being stubborn.” She muttered.

“What about you? Are you sure you are not royalty or something?” Kyranj asked and smiled at her. “I can’t understand why a bunch of pirates are after you.”

“Well, this is personal for Qod. He wants to find me and kill me just to make a point.” She digs into the sand to bury the small bomb. “And he is good at finding people. He did it for a long time for the Empire.”

“Sounds to me like an angry ex,” Kyranj said.

“Well, you are not wrong about that. He was my… let’s say he is very possessive. He fired a Mon Calamari once just for talking to me. It took me a while to make him understand he was there to fix his cruiser, but Qod didn’t care about that and still got mad at me.” She explained.

“Did you even liked him?” Kyranj asked.

Nath shrugged and chuckled. “I know the normal thing to do would be falling in love and all. When I met him, I was afraid of him. I thought he was going to shoot me for stealing from him but he didn’t do anything. He gave me a long stare and asked me to be part of his crew.

At that moment, I felt important. I had no one else, no family or friends so, he made me his woman even though he is way older. It was nice to be something to someone, but, I never thought he was that bad and I didn’t mind when he dragged me into his criminal crew cause I was tired of my planet, I needed to get out and we kinda used each other.” She paused.

“Then he got possessive and you can figure out the rest. I keep having nightmares about him.”

“And how do you cope with that?”

“Not sleeping but since I got here I’ve been able to sleep better even if I'm stressed.”

“I suppose the stress drains you, even from your nightmares. Or maybe it's because you're staying with The Marshal.” She smiled at Nath.

“What?” She laughs and shakes her head.

“Think about it. He is an honest man and makes you feel safe. He has no shady intentions and keeps his word on protecting others. Dunno, I thought you two had a thing.”

“What thing? He is … he just let me stay there.” The redhead rolled her eyes.

“There are rumors.” The brunette teases. “There´s nothing wrong with liking Marshal Vanth. He seems to like you.”

“But I'm not sure if I like him.” The redhead shrugged.

“You are not sure or you don’t want to admit it?”

Nath was about to say something but she noticed the men approaching them. Both of them rushed to stand up and joined the group.

“We covered the area, so, it's time to move,” Cobb said. “Might be a day or two before they come. I dunno if they are using their ship or speeders to show up. I´ll take my chances on the speeders.” He paused and looked back at the redhead. “What do you think, Roznev?”

Nath just gave him a slight nod. “Expect anything from him.”

The cruisers and speeders took off across the mighty dunes. The young redhead was having second thoughts about this situation. Even though the town was willing to fight back, Nath knew Qod and his ruthless men.

After the last job and getting a bit paranoid, the crew got way smaller. Some members went missing or were found dead without explanation, but Nath knew that Qod was behind it. He was taking down all members from that last mission and putting together a new crew. Now, she regretted running away from him cause that would give him enough reasons to believe she was the traitor. She panicked, escaped, and dragged all these people into her mess.

The Marshal noticed her getting lost in thoughts. He knew that look.

…

Mos Espa. Morning.

Anyone that walked by the Sullustan shop got curious about the large rounded structure and peculiar wings. Some of them still remember when the TIEs flew around the large dunes, making flying tests near the Valley that would scare the Sandpeople or other creatures.

Unlike Hutts that killed creatures for fun, the Empire was more practical and blew up full caves with Tusken Raiders or even a Sandcrawler.

They didn’t like anyone with shady operations and if these hooded creatures denied joining them, it was easier to take them out. Eventually, the Empire's influence lowered they abandoned the planet, letting the Hutts take over once more.

Whatever the Empire left of equipment, ships, anything useful, was sold around in the black market. If you were able to find the proper Sandcrawler, the Jawas might show you the real goods but only to locals or regular customers.

No matter how long he spoke and tried to make them give away the goods, the Jawas never gave away full information of their goods.

The nervous Sullustan kept talking with them about the pieces and the Jawas shook their heads.

“But this would be enough” He chatted with the tiny figures that took the bag with credits and then tossed it away shaking their heads.

Some started to pull other used pieces for the ship but the Sullustan shook his head. He felt the zabrak's eyes over the back of his head and showed the piece on his holster. He gave him a helpless look.

“They don’t have imperial parts and none of them are good enough for the Captain´s ship.”

The zabrak gave him a look and covered the holster with his long tunic. He showed his toothy smile at him.

“Then, keep looking. The Captain expects you to put together that ship before he comes back.”

…

The dune sea.

A large cruiser zoomed across the sandy area, followed by 3 smaller speeders. The main rider kept his eyes front the whole time, clenching his fists into the handlebars. Qod was done relying on others to catch the woman. He knew her, she was always a slippery one but this time she got too lucky; A Mandalorian was guarding her. She probably used the gems to buy the protection, so talking to the bounty hunter would be useless, he thought.

The first time he saw Nathsca, she was just a lost child who dared to steal from him. In a normal situation, he would shoot down whoever tries it, but this girl was special, Qod saw her potential. It was easy to manipulate, didn’t require much care but he made a big mistake; he underestimates her.

It didn’t bother him that she decided to leave and cut all ties from him, the problem was that she stole from him again. She spoiled a simple deal with those slave traders and his weapons. Rumors started to spread about him, about how a simple scavenger fooled the ex-imperial pilot. He couldn’t allow that.

He decided that Nathsca deserved to die. He would find another girl for the traders, but he wanted to be there to finish all. His heart started to rose when he thought about it. A slow and painful death. He didn’t need a blaster to do it. His bare hands would be enough to snap the slim neck, to feel her helpless fists trying to fight back and feel the last gasp.

He never took pleasure in killing a woman, but she deserved his whole attention.

His thoughts snapped when he noticed something ahead. The cruiser stopped and he made a signal to make the crew stop.

One of his men, the masked Chiss, jumped off his speeder and took out the binoculars to picture the moving shape. It was a loose Bantha and the body of a dead farmer. He quickly turned back to the Captain.

“Tusken Raiders.”

“Are you sure?” The Captain asked.

“Looks like it. I think we should find another way to cross the Valley.”

Qod remained calm but he hated these kinds of delays. He wouldn’t mind shooting down the sand people, but those creatures always came in larger groups. Even with his skills and his companions, they wouldn’t be enough to defeat the monsters.

The cruiser and the speeders took off from the area, heading south. Circling the Valley was their only choice. It would take them another day to arrive at the dead mining place.

From the distance, a small group of Tusken Raiders observed the strangers. They stood tall and proud now that invaders were gone.

…

Mos Pelgo

Farmers and all villagers were moving around the dusty town. The town’s foundation is based on fighting back for their right to freedom. They never had a peaceful time at all. One day it was the Dragon eating the Banthas, the next day would be the Tusken Raiders stealing their water, or, a new mining company wanting to control everything. So, expecting a bunch of pirates was not that bad.

All former slaves knew how to handle a weapon when it was necessary. Not everyone had an accurate shot, but just enough to scare invaders away. Some of them gather around to practice their close-range shooting and others were around the canyons to practice long-range shooting.

The Marshal was practicing too, even though he was still recovering from the last battle. A normal pull worked as usual but he was still struggling with the cross pull, yet, he could move better than before and feel no pain. He smiled to himself when he got 2 perfect shots in a row of cross pulling.

He looked around the other shooters and everyone getting ready but his eyes scanned the area looking for someone in particular. Even though they didn’t know each other that much, Vanth made up his mind about the young scavenger. He likes her. That’s all. He tried to be forward about it but she keeps running away. He even started to wonder if it was cause he was too old. Maybe if he was a few years younger, it would be a different story.

Vanth never had time for distractions and never allowed himself to them. Of course, there were some women in his past but all of them were different from each other and Nathsca was not an exception.

For a start, she is a beauty and, he could keep going about her physical features, but he needed to focus. Her strong attitude didn't bother him, most likely, he found it appealing. What worried him about her was that she is hiding something all the time.

The footsteps interrupted his thoughts when he saw a familiar face walking towards him. It was the young Marc.

“Hey Marshal” the young one flashed a smile. “I was hoping to check the whole plan again with you and Nathsca, but I haven’t seen her around, I thought you might know.”

“Isn't it she in the school or with Kyranj?” The Marshal said.

“No, I asked everyone and no one has seen her around.”

Cobb frowned, kept his blaster back in the holster, and rushed back to his place. The rooms were empty, the canister was no longer in the pantry, one of his blasters was missing and whatever belonging she had, they were missing too. He took a deep breath and felt that sting in his chest.

Marc followed him and looked around making a face. “Do you think someone took her?”

Cobb just shook his head and huffed.

“Uhm, I dunno if it seems important but she seemed kinda interested in the west.”

“West?”

“Yeah, before we discuss the whole plan, she came to me and asked me about the map. She seemed pretty interested in the west area. I read that there’s was some old spaceport around there during the pre-empire times.”

…

The roar was heard in the canyons when the bike zoomed across it. The masked rider's hands were clenching the handlebars, her eyes remained front the whole time but her mind was drifting away.

The whole village was ready to fight the intruders if they ever show up at some point. Nath tried to make up her mind and beg the Marshal to stop the plan, but he was determined to fight for her.

She knew that they could be smarter than the Captain but there was still that voice in her head that kept pushing her to run away, but this time it was not clear with its intentions. The first time, she ran off because of fear, this time her fear was different.

For the past few days, she started to embrace the idea that maybe there was a chance for her to have a proper home, friends, and why not someone that might care for her. There were also those mixed feelings about the Marshal. She didn’t want to admit the obvious and that scared her.

What if you run away before you admit it? What if you run before you lose him?

She tried to kick the ideas away but that loner role didn’t fit her anymore. They knew a lot about each other, they kept learning from their body language, and those nights at his place, the tension was palpable that he even noticed it too. Before anything happened, Vanth started his night shifts again just to leave her alone.

Those nights, an idea built upon her mind. She needed a plan B just in case things went south. If the whole conflict started for the gems, then she needed to hide them better or worst, get rid of them.

She started to talk with Marc during the daytime, letting him show her his inventions and whatever junk he had until she found what she wanted: the map in the R2 unit.

They started to talk about the whole west area, the unexplored one, the sand people territory, and such. Nath did her best to drag her attention into building the bombs to scare the invaders but her mind was busy with the side project.

Vanth mentioned to her once that if she was not careful, she would take the wrong step and fall into a Sarlacc pit, since they are pretty common in the dunes. Nath had to find the pit and hide the gems there. Whoever tried to reach them, would have to face death first.

Now the tricky part was finding the Sarlacc and telling Vanth about it was not an option. She needed to do this by herself.

Her ideas cut off when the yellow cruiser cut her way right at the end of the canyon. Nath did her best to maneuver the bike and not crash with him. She stopped right away and finally looked up to face the armored rider.

Vanth had this look on his face that she couldn’t place if it was anger or something else. They remained silent for a moment before she said something.

“What are you doing?”

“I was about to ask you the same, Roznev.” He said, keeping the intense and serious stare.

“Well, you almost crashed with me.” She huffed in anger and jumped off the bike.

“That´s not the point.” He jumped off the cruiser and walked towards her.

“No? What if I get hurt again?” She growled.

“Why are you running away with the gems?”

Nath tried to say something and looked at him. “It´s not…”

“Then explain yourself, cause it's not the first time you lie or hide things from me.” His voice was different from her. Cold, distant, a little rude too.

“Cobb…” she tried to talk.

“I'm Marshal to you.” He cut her again. “You come to my town, put my people under risk, and for what? So you can escape and leave them behind?” He chuckled.

“What are you even talking about?” She gave him a look. “I was coming back later.”

“It didn’t look like it and you keep forgetting that I know these dunes better than you. So, we can do this in two ways. Come with me and I will take you with the New Republic authorities or…” His hand was near the blaster.

Nath couldn’t believe any word he was saying. What got into him? A few hours ago he was all smiley at her.

“I haven’t done anything. Why are you acting like that?” She yelled and walked towards him but stop when she realized that he kept his hand on the blaster.

“Right there is good.” He said but the girl started to move again.

“Marshal, please, let’s talk.”

“If you wanna say something you can say it from right there. I can hear you.”

She chuckled and shook her head. “So, that’s it? You suddenly believe whatever got into your mind and ignore the times I was by myself but didn’t run away?”

“Maybe you were waiting for the right time and let us deal with your partners.” He gave her a look but his hand remains near the holster.

Nath felt her body a little shaky, she was squeezing her fists and couldn’t believe what was happening.

“You know that’s a lie.”

“Is it?” He kept the hazel ones on her.

Nath took a deep breath and felt her eyes getting teary from frustration and something else. All those days talking, knowing each other, apparently, it all disappeared until something click on her. Trust, she just broke Vanth´s trust with this, but she didn’t want to risk him more. She had a lot to say but couldn’t place the words.

She needed to do something and started to walk towards him, keeping her gaze upon him.

“Roznev, Im warning you.”

She didn’t care and kept moving.

For the first time in his life, Vanth froze. In another situation, he wouldn’t hesitate and put a criminal down, but he was having second thoughts. Even though the girl lied to him many times, those feelings were jumping around his head, messing up his judgment towards her.

He needed to act, but, before he moved his hand, he felt her small palm across his face.

Slap.

He took a deep breath and faced her again. She was shaking, her eyes got red and, tears were running down her cheeks.

The woman rose her hand once more to smack him but this time he stopped her hand. Nath used her free hand and he stopped it too, overpowering her a little. She pushed and tried to wiggle out but, she gave up easily, keeping an intense stare at each other.

He was annoyed, she was hurt but, he noticed that her expression softens for a moment. That caught him off guard.

The space between them got smaller and, the first thing that crossed her mind was to lean forward and headbutt him, instead, her lips crushed his. She would expect them to be dry or chapped but, they were pretty soft.

Cobb didn’t think much and gave in to the kiss, their mouth synchronizing, his whiskers brushing the sides on her mouth, tasting her luscious lips.

The grip from his hands disappeared and, they interwind their fingers as they gave in to it, ignoring whatever was around them, until, they were interrupted when the explosion roared in the dunes.

They quickly back off from each other. Cobb looked at Nath and rushed to his cruiser. “Go back to town, now.” He yelled.

“No, that was not supposed to happen, Marshal. I´m coming with you.” She frowned

#cobb vanth #cobb vanth x reader #cobb vanth fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #cobb vanth x oc

5 notes · View notes

itsyourchoice-hp · 4 years ago

Text

Year 2: Disarming Spells and Dangerous Creatures

At ten o’clock that night, Cath pulled the curtains of her four-poster bed shut around her and flopped down on her bed. She had forgotten how tiring classes could be, and Professor Snape and Professor Sinistra (the Astronomy professor) had already assigned homework on the second day of classes.

Cath fell asleep thinking about her timetable for the next day. Herbology… Transfiguration… Defence Against the Dark Arts…

***

It couldn’t have been more than a few hours that Cath was asleep when she woke up with a jolt as someone screamed.

The other girls in their dorm started whispering.

“What happened?” someone asked.

The lights went on and Cath blinked as she opened her curtains, trying to adjust her eyes to the light. All the other girls were out of their beds with wide eyes, except for Ginny.

Cath saw two of them exchange uncomfortable glances. “Just go back to bed,” Cath said to them, feeling defensive of Ginny. Cath went over to Ginny’s bed as everyone returned to their own. “Ginny?” she whispered.

She could hear her sniffing on the other side of the curtains. “I’m fine,” she replied, her voice shaking.

“Open the curtain,” Cath said.

After a moment, the curtain opened a crack. Ginny sat there with her knees hugged against her chest. It was clear that she was crying, but now she had her jaws set and her eyes on the bed in front of her.

“Are you okay?” Cath asked hesitantly.

She nodded. “I’m fine… I’m fine.” It sounded as though she were trying to convince herself of the fact. Then she sighed and said in a quiet voice, “I’ve been having nightmares.”

“Let’s go down to the Common Room,” Cath suggested. They got up and silently exited the dormitory, heading down the spiral staircase on tip toes. Once they were seated in comfortable chairs in front of the dying fire, she waited for Ginny to start, not knowing how exactly to approach the subject.

“I started getting nightmares during the summer,” Ginny finally said after a lengthy silence. “About everything last year with… You-Know-Who. I think my parents thought they would stop after a while, but they haven’t.”

Cath hadn’t even thought about how hard life must be for Ginny. She had spent her first year of Hogwarts being manipulated and possessed by Lord Voldemort, forced to do whatever he asked her to do. Suddenly Cath’s worrying over the fact that she had been sorted into Gryffindor and not Slytherin last year seem small and unimportant.

“I’m not mad,” Ginny said.

“Of course you’re not!” Cath replied. “I’ve never thought that.”

“Some people do,” Ginny said, frowning and staring at the embers in the giant fireplace. “People treat me differently now. Like I’m fragile. Like I’ve snapped.”

“I don’t think you’re fragile,” Cath told her. She wasn’t sure what good her words would do, but she felt like she had to say something to her. “It takes an incredibly strong person to make it through what you did.”

Ginny looked up at her and smiled. “Thanks.”

“And don’t worry about those other girls. They’ll see it too,” said Cath. She yawned widely and glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. When she saw that it read two-twenty, she realized just how tired she was.

“I suppose we should go to bed now,” Ginny said through a yawn. “We only have five hours and forty minutes until breakfast.”

***

The next morning, Cath woke up wanting classes to start. Everyone had been raving about Professor Lupin and how he was the best professor at Hogwarts. He was sure to be better than their last Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Gilderoy Lockhart.

Cath smiled and shook her head as she remembered when he had attempted a memory charm on her, Ron and Harry with Ron’s broken wand. The spell had ended up backfiring, and Gilderoy Lockhart was now at St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries being treated for his memory loss.

Herbology and Transfiguration seemed to drag on. At last, after lunch break, Ginny and Cath hurried together to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. Most of the students arrived before the bell even rang. At last, Professor Lupin entered. He wore a dark blue knitted jumper with a white dress shirt and tie underneath, and the same worn trousers and shoes as he had worn on the train. He walked with his head down and shoulders slightly hunched in a way that made him look old and weak.

He stepped forward to face the class, into the full light with his hands in his pockets and a smile on his face. He looked about in his thirties, but the way he dressed and held himself made him look older. A few students started whispering — the bright sunlight highlighted three faint scars that drew from one side of his forehead down until they were concealed under his clothes.

“Are you always this early to class? Or do I already have an impression I have to live up to?” he asked us, causing the students to laugh and start to relax in their chairs. “My name is Professor Lupin, as you know from the Opening Feast. I was a student at Hogwarts like you, not too long ago… although I hope none of you got into as much trouble as I did with my friends.”

“Have you met my brothers?” Ginny joked.

The class laughed, along with Professor Lupin. Cath wished she had Ginny’s wit and confidence.

“You must be the youngest Weasley, then,” Lupin said knowingly. “I thought we’d start off the year with something fun. Our first unit is the foundations of duelling, an essential skill to any witch or wizard. Your wands possess power, but duelling is about quick thinking, creativity and precision. I’m going to teach you a few basic spells that will prove to be very helpful in duelling. The first is the Disarming Spell. If you’ll please turn to page twelve in your textbooks…”

Cath was already rapidly interested. She couldn’t wait to start learning how to use these spells.

“We all know theory is the most boring part,” Professor Lupin said after they had finish going through the section on the textbook and practicing the arm movement without their wands. “But without it, how can we put what we’ve learned to practice? Now, everyone out of your chairs and have your wands out.”

The students obeyed. Cath eagerly pulled her wand out of her bag. She remembered that she loved the way it sounded when Olivander presented it to her at the wand shop before she started her first year at Hogwarts. “Aspen, thirteen inches, with a dragon heartstring core.”

Professor Lupin cleared a wide aisle in the middle of the room and instructed everyone to line up. People bumped and squeezed to try and be first in line, excited to practice this new spell. “Remember the motion! Focus on pushing your energy through your hand and into your wand,” he said to them.

A few students were able to disarm Professor Lupin. He kept giving everyone pointers along the way and had everyone clap for whoever had just gone. At last it was Cath’s turn.

She planted her feet firmly with her wand at the ready, like she imagined people would do during a duel. She raised her wand and said confidently, “Expelliarmus!” remembering the arm movement.

To her delight, Professor Lupin’s wand shot out of his hand and into her own. He even stumbled backwards a bit from the force of her spell. He clapped enthusiastically for her and the rest of the class joined in.

“Excellent, Cathryn!” he said as he stepped forward to take his wand back. “Great form. Next!”

Cath stood there stupidly for a moment, wondering how he knew her name, before Ginny poked her in the back.

“Sorry,” she said, going to the back of the line.

The students were all buzzing with excitement at the end of class. Professor Lupin had definitely exceeded all of their expectations. Defence Against the Dark Arts was definitely Cath’s favourite class so far.

“He’s so mysterious,” Ginny said with a dreamy smile to Cath and a few other girls.

They giggled and left the classroom. Cath took her time putting her things back into her bag until she was the last one left in class. Professor Lupin used his wand to rearrange the desks back into order and erase the blackboard absentmindedly, looking like he was deep in thought about something.

“Professor?” she asked timidly.

“Very well done today Cathryn,” he told her, quickly erasing his thoughtful frown with a kind smile. His eyes were light blue, with a ring of chocolate brown closest to his pupils. “I think you have a knack for duelling.”

“Thank you!” she replied, feeling excitement and pride rise inside of her. “Professor, I was wondering, how did you know my name?”

“I’m well acquainted with your parents,” he replied.

Cath frowned. “Really? I had no idea, neither have them have mentioned you before.”

For a moment, Professor Lupin looked like she had caught him off guard. “Ah - well, your father is quite well known at the Ministry. And I’ve er - done some work there.”

She nodded, but still found it quite strange that he would be well acquainted with her parents. Professor Lupin looked like someone that her father would cross the street in order to avoid.

“You’re friends Ms. Weasley?” he asked conversationally. “And if I’m not mistaken, her older brother, Potter, and Granger?”

Cath nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“A good bunch,” Professor Lupin smiled. “Friends are the most important thing about Hogwarts. They become like family. But of course, if anyone asks, your marks should be top priority.”

Cath laughed, warming up to him. “Noted,” she replied.

A few older students started to trickle into the classroom and Professor Lupin nodded his head at her. “Good day, Cathryn.”

“Good day,” she replied.

On her way to the Gryffindor Common Room, she passed Draco who was flanked by two large, stupid looking boys. She recognized both of them, Vincent and Gregory. Their parents were good friends with her and Draco’s. Usually, she just called them the Trolls. Draco’s eyes passed over Cath as they walked by, but he made no acknowledgement that she was there.

She tried not to let it bother her; Draco loved attention in every way, shape and form. He always had. Perhaps Slytherins didn’t like being seen with their younger sisters. Sometimes she was shocked at just how different they were.

Cath was cheered up right away when she received a wave from Ron upon entering the Common Room. With Ron sat Harry, Hermione, Ginny, Fred, George and the twins’ friend Lee Jordan.

Hermione was buried in a textbook, not surprising, while the rest of the group was watching as Fred, George and Lee presented a various array of sweets and prank supplies on a large table.

Cath sat down and opened her Potions textbook, hoping to get a start on her homework. Of course, Fred, George and Lee proved to be a bit of a distraction.

“These here,” Fred held up a candy in a green wrapper and grinned excitedly. “Will give you green spots all over your face.”

“How long do they last?” Harry asked.

He shrugged. “Days? A week at the most.”

“Why would you want green spots all over your face?” Ron asked, frowning at the candy.

“Obviously you wouldn’t take it yourself, Ron, don’t be daft,” George said as if it were obvious. “It’s for your enemies. We’ve been dreaming up a way to get old Snape to take one.”

“He could probably make a potion to cure it in minutes,” said Hermione from behind her textbook.

“You’re no fun,” Fred said teasingly.

“What’s this?” Ginny asked, picking up a brown, circular object.

“You won’t want to handle that with bare hands,” Lee warned her.

Ginny set it down immediately and looked at her hand, which was now covered in dirt. “Ugh,” she grimaced. She tried to wipe the dirt off on the couch, but to her dismay it wouldn’t come off

“That, dear friends is a dungbomb,” Fred informed them. “A staple in the prankster’s arsenal. Don’t worry, Gin, that’ll wear off in a few hours.”

“Nasty little buggers, those are,” George added. “Don’t know how we would have made it through at Hogwarts without them.”

“You’ve got to be gentle with them,” Lee said, seeing Ron look curiously at it, even prodding it with a finger. “I once had one go off in my trunk on the train. The smell was in my clothes for weeks!”

Cath and the others laughed at him. Eventually, when a game of Exploding Snap, her favourite card game, was brought out, she put her textbook away and chose to put her Potions homework off for another night.

***

Saturday afternoon found Cath and Harry waving goodbye to Ron, Hermione and Draco who were on their way to Hogsmeade in the pouring rain. Cath could see Harry staring enviously after them, his unsigned permission form crumpled in his hand. After several attempts to persuade Professor McGonagall to let him go, he had given up and joined Cath where she stood on the steps overlooking the entrance.

Cath didn’t say anything until the carriages had departed from the castle. “You don’t suppose they’ll bring us anything back?”

“If they remember,” Harry replied glumly, turning back into the castle.

Cath followed him nervously. She almost wondered if she should be with him. She’d only ever been around Draco’s friends when they were in a group. A part of her didn’t want to steal them from him, but the other part felt like they were her friends too. But being just with one of them felt different. Especially Harry, the Boy Who Lived, of all people.

“So, your uncle and aunt,” Cath said, hurrying to find something to talk about. “They’re Muggles?”

“In every sense of the word,” Harry replied. “They are the most normal, boring people you could ever meet.”

“You could have asked another relative to sign your form, couldn’t you?” Cath asked.

“I don’t have any other living relatives,” Harry replied. “That I know of, anyways. My uncle and aunt are the only ones.”

“Oh,” Cath said stupidly. “I’m sorry. That must be awful.”

Harry shrugged. “It was worse before I knew I was a wizard. Now I can at least threaten them with magic if they’re being really awful. They’re absolutely terrified.”

Cath laughed. “Are all Muggles like that?”

“Don’t you know any?” Harry asked.

Cath shook her head. “No, I don’t. My parents don’t have any non-magic friends. And my father works at the Ministry, so we don’t have any reason to go outside the Wizarding World, really. Unless we take a trip into London, or go on vacation or something.”

Cath tried not to stare at the lightning shaped scare on Harry’s forehead, so instead she focused on his glasses. She hadn’t really noticed his eyes before. They looked exactly like hers, a bright emerald green. She wondered which of his parents he got them from. Cath and no idea where she got her green eyes from; her mothers were brown and her fathers were grey just like Draco’s.

“You’re lucky,” Harry said wistfully, bringing Cath back out of her thoughts. “The Muggle world doesn’t compare. I wish I’d grown up in the Wizarding World.”

“Well,” said Cath. “At least your aunt and uncle let you come to Hogwarts.”

Harry smiled. “They almost stopped me. If it weren’t for Hagrid, I probably wouldn’t have gone.”

Hagrid was the giant gamekeeper of Hogwarts who had a passion for wild and exotic animals that any other person would find incredibly dangerous. This year he had taken a teaching position for Care of Magical Creatures, which was a class that students could start taking in Third Year.

“My aunt and uncle wanted to escape from all the Hogwarts letters we’d been receiving,” Harry said. “So, they took my cousin Dudley and I out to this tiny island to what they said was a rustic cabin. It really was just a rundown shack. But that night, Hagrid showed up to take me to Hogwarts. He broke down the door and twisted my uncles’ gun into a giant knot—”

“Gun…?” Cath asked, wondering what on earth that word meant.

“Oh, right,” Harry said. “It’s a Muggle weapon. Hey — would you want to visit Hagrid? I’m sure he’d love to meet you. And he rarely gets visitors. If you’re lucky you’ll get to try one of his rock cakes.”

Cath agreed, and so the two of them went outside, pulling the hoods of their cloaks up as the rain continued to pour outside. She felt fear like ice in her stomach as the Dementors floated around the grounds, like big black ghosts.

“They’re awful, aren’t they?” said Harry, quickening his steps as they made their way down the hill. “Black had better be caught soon.”

“I can’t believe he escaped,” Cath remarked. “Nobody’s ever escaped Azkaban. Going there is basically like getting a death sentence. People aren’t the same after they arrive.”

As she said this, Cath had a sudden memory of a woman on the cover of the Daily Prophet years ago. She had wild, black hair, pale skin and crazed eyes. In the picture, she held her prisoner number and laughed maniacally, shackled at her wrists and her ankles. It was her Mother’s sister, Bellatrix. Cath could only vaguely remember her, save for her picture in the Prophet, but her mother had explained to her and Draco that her sister had done some very bad things and was going to Azkaban so that she could learn not to do those things anymore.

Of course, now Cath actually knew what Azkaban was — what a terrible, dark place it was and that it was a place where the darkest of witches and wizards who had committed the worst of crimes went. She wondered what her Aunt Bellatrix had done that had landed her in that place.

“Could Black even get into Hogwarts? There are enchantments around the gates, aren’t there?” Harry asked.

“He killed twelve people with one spell. He sounds like a pretty powerful wizard to me…” Cath said. She shivered, perhaps from the cold or perhaps from the icy chill that the Dementors seemed to bring as they floated around the grounds.

Harry and Cath approached a house on the edge of the Forest. Cath now understood why people called it Hagrid’s Hut. It was a small wooden cabin with a sloping roof and a chimney, resting just at the edge of the Forest. Moss covered most of the shingles of the roof, and off to one side was a pumpkin patch that held pumpkins that were at least five feet tall, some taller.

Harry knocked on the door and Cath could hear a dog barking inside. A moment later, the door opened, and they were greeted by Hagrid, who filled up the whole doorway. Cath wondered how he could possibly fit inside — he had to crouch a bit under the door frame.

“Harry!” he boomed, beaming down at him. “Great to see ye. And you must be…” he peered down at Cath with merry eyes over his large, bushy beard.

“Er — Cathryn. Malfoy,” she replied.

“Why of course ye are! How could I have forgotten.” Hagrid said, as though he had previously known her. He held out a massive hand, which Cath took and shook. “Pleased to see the two of ye together. Come inside!”

Again, Cath was a bit taken aback by his comment, especially since it seemed that Hagrid already knew who she was. There was no way that he was acquainted with her parents too.

He moved aside so that Harry and Cath could enter. It must have been enchanted, because the inside was much bigger than it looked, and Hagrid didn’t even have to duck under the ceiling.

“Can I get ye some tea? Coffee?” Hagrid asked, moving over to the stove.

“Tea, thanks,” Harry replied.

A massive grey Mastiff walked over to the two of them, sniffing at their feet and hands.

“No beggin’, Fang,” Hagrid said over his shoulder to the dog. “So, what brings the two of ye over ‘ere? Harry, shouldn’t you be in Hogsmeade?”

Cath gave Fang a little scratch behind the ears and his tail began to wag, drool dripping from his massive, wrinkly mouth.

“I couldn’t get my permission form signed,” Harry replied. “You know, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia hating magic and all.”

“Well, Dursley’s will be Dursley’s,” Hagrid said, chuckling. “Don’ worry, Harry. Ye’ll get it sorted out somehow. Have a seat.” Hagrid motioned to a very tall table with equally tall chairs, which looked like they had been hand carved.

Cath tried to hoist herself onto the chair as gracefully has possible, her feet dangling above the ground. Hagrid set three teacups and saucers on the table, and then a pot of steaming tea.

“I hope Gryffindor is treatin’ ye well?” Hagrid asked her, taking a sip from the tiny teacup that he held with two massive fingers.

Cath nodded, smiling. “Very well. I’m thinking of taking Care of Magical Creatures next year. It sounds really interesting.”

Hagrid beamed at this. “Well, if we’re bein’ honest, I’d say it’s the best class at Hogwarts. Mind you, now that Professor Lupin is here, I think he might give me a run for me money.” He chuckled and dropped another sugar cube into his tea.

Cath swallowed a sip of her tea and struggled not to cough — it was probably the strongest tea she’d ever had. She put some more cream in it and saw Harry trying to hide his laughter.

“Speakin’ of magical creatures…” Hagrid got an excited glint in his eyes. “I’ve got a little somethin’ to show the two of ye. As long as ye keep it a secret, that is.”

“It’s not a dragon, is it?” Harry asked warily.

“Of course not, Harry! Don’t know why ye’d say such a thing…” Hagrid stood up from the table and made for the back door. “Follow me.”

“Hagrid tried to raise a dragon in here in our first year,” Harry whispered to Cath as they followed him outside.

She raised her eyebrows. A wood cabin probably wasn't the best place to raise a dragon…

Hagrid led them inside the forest until they reached a clearing with a big pen. “Best not disturb him… he isn’t too used to people yet,” he said quietly, looking around the pen.

Cath and Harry exchanged glances, not sure what they were supposed to see.

“What is it?” Harry asked quietly.

“There he is,” Hagrid said, pointing. Cath and Harry both craned their necks to see.

On the other side of the pen was a creature that she’d only seen in story books. The front half and head looked like a giant eagle with white and grey feathers, but the body and hind legs were that of a horse — it even had a long tail swishing back and forth. It was currently gnawing on some sort of dead animal.

Cath stared open mouthed.

“That is Buckbeak,” Hagrid said proudly. “He’s a Hippogriff. Rare and beautiful creatures, they are… But ye’ll have to wait until next week to touch him, Harry.”

“Touch him?” Harry said warily.

“Once ye get them to trust ye, Hippogriffs are pretty friendly. I think it’ll make for a good lesson,” Hagrid said.

Cath didn’t say this out loud, but she didn’t think she could ever have the nerve to go near one of those creatures. It looked like Buckbeak could tear someone apart with one blow of his massive talons.

Hagrid looked expectantly at her and Harry, like he was waiting for a reaction.

“A real Hippogriff!” Cath said earnestly, hoping the fear didn’t come across in her voice as much as she thought it did. “Too bad I’m not a third year.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it’ll be a great lesson,” Harry put in, smiling weakly.

“I knew ye’d like it,” Hagrid said, beaming. “Well, Cath if ye ever want to pet him, you just let me know. Don’ tell Professor Dumbledore, of course.”

“Right! Thanks, Hagrid. I’ll, ah—keep that in mind,” she said, doubtful that she would ever take him up on the offer. She knew just how dangerous Hippogriffs could be.

“Anyways,” Hagrid said, turning back for the cabin. “Ye’d best not stay outside much longer. All students are supposed to be inside the castle by dark, and the sun will be settin’ soon. I wouldn’ want to be outside in the dark with them Dementors floatin’ around the place.”

“Do you think they’ll be here all year?” Harry asked.

“Well, until they catch Sirius Black, that’s for sure,” he replied. “Thanks for visiting, you two. Come by anytime!”

Cath and Harry said their goodbyes and then headed back up for the castle. The dark rain clouds were slowly but surely moving away from the castle as the sky grew dim.

#hpff #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #ao3 writer #ao3fic #Hermione Granger #Ron Weasley #Draco Malfoy #dramione #wolfstar #charlie watts #sirius black #remus lupin #writing #mine #it's your choice #cathryn malfoy #malfoy #severus snape

2 notes · View notes