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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 4 years ago

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Love is a Bundle of Contradictions.

This artwork was a piece I commissioned from @shimmeryspark!

... There is no explanation for this other than my friends encouraged me to write Valentine’s Day Raven and Jade fluff, since the main saga is a bit lot of angst right now. (Special thanks to @twstpasta since they let me borrow their twstsona for plot reasons :9)

Imagine this...

“You WHAT?!”

“Ehehe~ Sorry...!! I guess I went and made a bad decision, heehoo~” Mac stuck out their tongue and lightly bonked their own head with a fist. “Silly me~”

“Making a deal with Azul is the very definition of a bad decision,” Raven groaned, slapping a hand to her face. “I... I cannot believe you. Dare I ask what the conditions were?”

“I gave him my taste buds! He said he’ll give them back if you help out with stocking up on supplies for the Mostro Lounge.”

“That’s... suspiciously simple. And you really just handed over your taste buds just like that? You can’t taste your beloved cheese anymore.”

“I know!” Mac pouted. “It’s so sad, so you’ll help this rataroni out, right?”

“I find it odd that Azul is demanding my assistance, seeing as how I am not the one that made the deal with him to begin with. However... I cannot turn my back on a friend in need. I will lend you a helping wing—er, hand.”

“Sweet, sweet!!” Mac clasped Raven’s hands happily. “Just remember to show up this Sunday afternoon. Meet up’s in the town square. Oh, and be sure to wear something cute!”

“Something cute? Why would...”

“It’s part of the deal—so you just gotta, okay? That’s what Azul said!” Mac paused, before adding, “Oh, oh! And bring some homemade choco in a heart-shaped box!! That’s another contract condition!”

“Oh... O-Okay...?”

Raven leaned back against a lamp post, anxiously winding a finger around the string of small pearls at her collarbone. In her other hand was a bag, and in that bag, a heart-shaped box of homemade chocolates—just as Mac had told her.

A silver heart-shaped charm dangled from the necklace, lying still against her real hammering heart. Rarely did she venture out into the local town—and, standing there by her lonesome, the raven felt out of place and awkward.

An addendum to a story that had already been penned.

She watched as her silver charm caught a wink of sun and guided the light down its curve. Reflected back in the charm’s surface was the raven herself.

Today, her inky hair was cast up in a high pigtail and secured with a cobalt ribbon. She had traded her usual outfit for a pale blouse with billowy puff sleeves, white stockings, and a high waist skirt in a plaid pattern—cobalt, like her ribbons.

I hope this satisfies the conditions of the deal.

Raven checked the time on her phone; any minute now, Azul would be showing up, and they’d get this over with. Then she could return to her attic to roost, and Mac could return to feasting on cheese and inhaling poison—

“Oya. Do my eyes deceive me, or is that you, Miss Raven?” a silken cadence called out to her, rising above the hustle and bustle of the town.

“... You,” she responded flatly, narrowing her eyes at a certain eel as he parted from a crowd.

Ah.

Jade, too, had abandoned his typical uniform in favor of casual comfort. He wore a pair of dress pants and a grey turtleneck—and over it was a brown trench coat, unbuttoned to show off how snugly that sweater fit against his lean, muscular body.

Raven squinted. His earring was slightly different today as well. Rather than three diamond shaped sturgeon scales dangling from his ear, there were heart shaped ones. Blue and glassy, like the calm sea after a storm.

His hands were polite folded behind his back... hiding something. Whatever that something was, petals of pink, red, and yellow-orange were poking out.

If she didn’t know any better, she would have said he looked handsome—and innocent—enough. But she did know better.

“What are you doing here?” Raven demanded, no longer playing with her necklace. Her hands went to her sides, curling into balls.

“Fufufu. The town is a public space. I am free to come and go as I please, the very same as you.” Jade tilted his head to one side. “Although today, I am here on an errand. The Mostro Lounge is short on centerpiece supplies, you see. I have been sent to restock.”

“What a coincidence. I’m also here to help the Mostro Lounge restock,” Raven said, a bit of bitterness slipping into her voice, “as per a contract.”

Jade attempted to appear sympathetic—but he allowed a cruel chuckle to escape him. “I see now. I was not aware that you were the one indebted to Octavinelle, Miss Raven. Had I known sooner, I would not have hesitated to summon you to fill in for Kon-san’s morning shift.”

“I’m not a waitress for you to order around.” Raven jutted out her chin defiantly. “I’m here strictly on business, so if you would kindly leave me be...!!”

“I believe you said you had to assist the Mostro Lounge. Would it not be prudent, then, to go about tending to that duty rather than standing about and looking like a lost lamb?”

“Sh-Shut up! It’s not my fault that Azul is running late...!!”

“You were waiting for Azul?” Jade said, his brows pinching together briefly. “You are terribly mistaken. It is not Azul who is assisting you with the restock, but myself.”

“... Beg pardon?”

Wear something cute, bring homemade chocolates, Mac had said. And it has to be you, Raven, not me! But why? Slowly, slowly... The pieces of the puzzle fell into place.

A thought dawned on Raven:

I’ve definitely been tricked.

“Well!! That’s all fine and dandy, but I think I shall be on my way home now. I really must be having a chat with a friend of mine,” she babbled, turning on her heel. They’re going to be buried in tomato sauce when I get to them.

“How cruel of you to abandon those in need, Miss Raven. And to think that Mac-san shall be without their taste buds... and I, burdened with the task of restocking by my lonesome. What a tragic way to spend Valentine’s Day,” Jade exhaled deeply and wiped at an imaginary tear. “Shikushikushiku...”

Raven’s left eye twitched. “Don’t you paint me as the bad guy here...!!”

“Aren’t you?” Jade challenged, a smile still plastered on his face despite his mocking tone.

“Grrr...!!” She whipped around, thrusting an index finger at him. “Listen here... Leech!! The only reason I am even here was to help someone out of a contract your shady boss roped them into!”

“If you are as selfless and loving as you claim to be, then you should have no issues with shopping with me,” Jade countered smoothly. “After all, they say that actions speak louder than words.”

The little bird vibrated with irritation, her cheeks puffed out in a pout. Her stomach coiled tight, uneasiness brewing. As much as she hated to admit to it, he was right.

Raven clenched her teeth and sent a glare his way. “Fine...!! But I will be keeping an eye on you to ensure that there is no funny business!”

“Then by all means, ‘keep an eye on me’, and do not let your gaze stray for even a single moment,” Jade chuckled, somehow sneering through his smile. “I welcome it.”

The eel held out a hand to Raven. “We’d best not be separated while on our errand.”

She stared hesitantly. Her eyes flickered between his eyes and the hand he offered. Subtle changes in her expression occurred in rapid succession—the raising of her lids, the tremble to her lower lip, the tinge to her cheeks.

“... Yeah. We’d best not,” Raven finally agreed, her grip on her bag—the bag containing her chocolates—tightened. “Which is precisely why I will follow you at a safe distance.”

“Ah, but that would ruin the surprise.”

“What, the bouquet? You’re not exactly doing a masterful job of hiding it.”

“Nor are you doing well to hide your little surprise, Miss Raven.”

“I was deceived. This chocolate is not meant for you.”

“I didn’t say that it was, now did I?”

“... I’m going to eat them myself, then. That’ll show you!”

“Do with it what you wish, for selfish purposes or not,” Jade laughed, revealing his bouquet—all the colors of the setting sun. “These flowers, on the other hand, are meant to be gifted...”

He pushed the bouquet toward Raven. Up close, the flowers seemed even more vibrant and beautiful. Their warm hues enveloping the raven, enchanting her senses. Mesmerized, she reached out to accept the flowers—when Jade suddenly clicked his tongue and pulled them away.

“But alas—not to you,” he teased, pressing a finger to his lips. “Do try to keep up with me now, Miss Raven.”

Jade turned and dove into a sea of townspeople, leaving a trail of sunset-colored petals in his wake. And, like the fool that she was, a fuming raven stormed after him—chocolates still in hand. Heart quivering.

Terrariums—the flowers were meant for terrariums all along.

Jade had taken his sweet time leading her down a winding path and to an art supply store tucked away in a corner, and even longer to observe the shape and feel of each terrarium container. Spherical, cuboidal, prismatic... Holding up the bouquet every so often to compare how the flowers would look in each.

In the end, he had gone wild with his purchases, electing to buy a selection of shapes, along with other supplies—just to keep himself amused. Jade had paid with a platinum card embossed with Octavinelle’s logo. Mostro Lounge Master Cash Card, it read. Azul’s property; do not steal! Sign the loaning form if you must borrow.

It was all for the terrariums, for business as usual.

I should have realized sooner. Stupid, stupid, Raven scolded herself.

She grunted, struggling to carry the bagful of terrarium supplies that Jade had saddled her with, while he carried one of his own without any trouble. The eel cast her a mocking glance over his shoulder.

“Are you in need of a break, Miss Raven?”

Bite me, she wanted to snap back—but a bark of pain shot up her arms, silencing her defiance. “... M-Maybe.”

He sighed in an exaggerated fashion. “Very well. I see a café up ahead. We can rest there for a few moments, though it may require the purchase of a food item if we wish for a table.”

“Sounds peachy.”

Together, they swept through the café doors. The duo was immediately greeted by the smell of sugar and the hum of the other patrons, many of them couples.

Raven stiffened at the sight, turning a deep shade of red. Suddenly, she was very, very aware of how she—and Jade—looked.

“I think I changed my mi—“ Raven was cut off when he grasped her hand and held fast. She jolted back, her skin turning clammy. “Eeep! Wh-What are you...”

“Table for two,” Jade requested of an employee. “We do not intend to stay for a large meal, so just an ice-cream parfait will do.”

“Certainly, sir. Right this way.” The server quickly seated them, and with a bow, departed to retrieve their order.

“... You can let go of my hand now,” Raven hissed, attempting to free herself. To no avail, initially. She tugged again, and finally broke free, aggressively rubbing at her hand to ward off the residual eel cooties.

Jade chuckled, tucking his strand of black hair behind his ear. His earring glimmered in the afternoon sunlight pouring in through wide windows. “Play along. You are aware that today is Valentine’s Day, yes?”

“Yes, but I do not understand what that has to do with... physical contact, especially seeing as how we are not engaged in that kind of a relationship.”

“It is simple.” He laced his fingers together, resting his chin on them. With the most serene of smiles, Jade purred, “We should take advantage of the couple discounts being offered at eateries such as this. An excellent way to save on spending, especially after that particularly large purchase made on the Mostro Lounge’s coin.”

“You’re a shrewd one.”

“Why, thank you.”

Raven’s hands curled in her lap. Her lips pursed, she found her gaze trained on the white lace of the tablecloth, rather than on her dining companion.

Time and time again, she has been tricked today, told white lies. Teased and deceived. It was simply how he was—and though it did irk her in some ways, it also never made a moment dull.

Hot and cold. Push and pull. Bitter and sweet. That was Jade Leech.

“Your parfait is here!!” The server from before popped up in her periphery, startling the raven from her thoughts. They set it down and stepped back. “Here you are—enjoy your date!”

“Thank you. We certainly will,” Jade reacted before Raven could and dismissed the server with a wave. “... Well, let’s dig in.”

“You didn’t correct them.”

“We won’t get the discount if they don’t believe this farce,” he replied calmly, nudging the parfait and a spoon toward her. “Now then, less talking and more eating. You need your strength if you plan on helping me haul all the supplies back to campus.”

She let out a huff, but dug her spoon into a frozen mound. The parfait was massive, composed of several scoops of pink, blue, and green ice-cream, flanked by chocolate wafer bars. With a smattering of sprinkles, a crown of whipped cream, and a maraschino cherry on top, the dessert looked absolutely picture perfect.

Raven steadily brought a spoonful of pink goop into her mouth, allowing a sweet bubblegum flavor to spread across her tongue. Her eyes cut to Jade, who had not bothered to sample any for himself. He smiled back, gaze half-lidded as if recalling a fond memory.

“Have some, too. I feel weird eating it alone—and you must be hungry too. I know how big your appetite is.” Raven pushed the parfait glass toward him.

“If you insist.”

The head of his spoon sunk into a green scoop with shards of chocolate chip weaved throughout. It pulled away cleanly with a large mound, which was soon consumed. Then another bite, and a third, a fourth... Before Raven knew it, a good third of the parfait was missing.

Jade patted his mouth with a napkin, eyeing her expectantly.

“Are you still hungry?” Raven asked, eyebrows raising. She retrieved a scoop of blue this time—vaguely flavored like a medley of fruits.

“Perhaps... though I do not plan on taking more of the parfait for myself. Were I to, there would be none left for you.”

The fruit seemed to sour in her mouth. It was true that she was hungry, yes—but at the same time, she did not wish for Jade to be left dissatisfied.

She frowned, setting her spoon down and reaching into her bag. Seconds later, she produced a heart-shaped package and shoved it at him.

“Here, chocolates. They’re yours now, since I have no other use for them,” Raven mumbled insistently. “You can eat them now, or save them for later. Just hurry up and take them before I change my mind.”

“Oya, it is rather bold to profess your undying love to me in such a public space.” Jade teased, chuckling lightly into his hand.

“B-Be quiet...!! We... We can’t get that couple’s discount if one of us passes out from hunger.”

“Fufufu. I doubt that either of us would.” His mismatched eyes twinkled with mirth. “... Thank you for the sweets, Miss Raven. I will be certain to savor every last bite.”

The town became even busier in the late afternoon, filing with the sound of street performers and spectators. A monkey in a vest and a small hat barreled by Raven’s feet as she and Jade exited the café, nearly causing her to double over. A chorus of children’s laughter chased after the monkey—and she, the raven, stumbled on her recovery.

“Perhaps now would be a good time to reconsider my offer,” Jade suggested, a hand on the small of her back to support her. That same hand trailed around and tickled the back of hers. “It would be a shame if we lost one another in this crowd.”

Raven regarded him with a pointed look, but slipped her hand into his without further resistance. “... Only because I have to.”

“Of course, of course.”

Together, they braved the bustling streets.

A new world unfolded before Raven’s very eyes. Costumed performers of all kinds paraded about, garnering attention from passerbys. Some tossed confetti and candies, others brandished instruments. Brass, strings, percussion—all their notes floated up into the festive atmosphere.

There went a dancer, leaping like a lithe deer, limbs outstretched and the flowy fabric of their uniform like a curtain of smoke. And here was an artist perched on a stool, sketching the outline of a woman posed on a wooden crate. A young man jingled a tambourine, trying to catch coins in his cap.

A number of food carts patrolled the roads, calling out their wares. Crepes, sandwiches, sodas... Families, friends, and couples lining benches, exchanging bites.

Love was truly in the air and oozing out of every pore of the community.

Raven couldn’t keep her head still. She turned this way and that, trying to soak up every last sight and sound. Her golden eyes sparkled with wonder.

Jade, of course, took note. “Excited, are you?”

“It’s very different than Night Raven College,” she replied shyly. “Almost like a magic kingdom.”

“Magic kingdom? You can be rather melodramatic at times.”

“Yeah? So can you and Azul and Floyd, with all your fake tears...” Her wandering eyes caught something bright red as she spoke. “Oh...!! Look.”

Raven tugged on Jade’s hand, urging him to a halt. Her gaze was transfixed on a lamp post with a multitude of red strings. At the other ends of those ribbons were heart-shaped balloons, as red as blood.

His eyebrows pinched together in mocking sympathy. “You truly are fascinated by the simplest things. Is it true what they say? That ravens are attracted to shiny objects?”

Her mouth flew open to protest, but she was interrupted by a woman by the balloon-bearing lamp post “You there!! Sir with the earring and ma’am with the blue ribbon! Care for some balloons?”

“Er... What are they for?” Raven asked.

“For love, of course,” the woman laughed. “Today’s all about appreciating one another, right? This is my way of spreading love.”

She separated three balloons from her bundle and offered them with a flourish. Raven eagerly accepted them, staring up in wonder at their floating bodies.

“Oh, and one more thing!!” The woman produced a red ribbon from her jacket pocket and nodded at the duo. “Your pinkie fingers, please!”

Raven held out her hand as directed, letting the woman secure the ribbon in a neat little knot. The balloon bearer extended the length of the ribbon, glancing to Jade. Raven, too, looked at him expectantly. Jade expelled a quiet sigh and allowed the red ribbon to be tied to his pinkie.

“There you go!” the woman declared triumphantly. “You’re all set now! Enjoy the rest of your Valentine’s Day, folks!”

“Thank you!” Raven shouted over her shoulder—even as Jade started to lead her away. The woman waved and waved until she was out of sight.

“... It has been a while since I have seen you this enthusiastic,” Jade remarked with a glance to the balloons. “I do suppose it is a departure from the monotony of daily life, but to think that such little things bring this amount of joy...”

“It reminds me of a story a little birdie once told me,” Raven chirped with a small giggle. “The story of the Red Thread of Fate.”

“Oh?” Jade raised an eyebrow. “Do tell.”

“The Red Thread of Fate is said to connect ‘destined people’. It can tangle, twist, or stretch, but it can never break. From the moment you are born, you have an unseen thread flowing from your pinkie finger, tying your fate to that of the person on the other end,” Raven recited, her tone turning solemn—her storytelling voice.

“Someday,” she said, “you will cross paths with the one that shares your thread, and your lives will be forever changed by the encounter. It could be a meaningful battle between rivals, the loss of a loved one, the promise of marriage... but the course of their stories will never again be the same.”

“How sentimental. And what, pray tell, does this red thread of ours mean, Miss Raven?” Jade questioned, lifting his end of the ribbon—the crimson shining in the sunlight.

“How would I know? I’m not a god,” she huffed. “It’s just fun to imagine the possibilities.”

“It is, indeed. Even so, surely there must be one favored conclusion to the story of the Red Thread of Fate in that pretty little head of yours.” He brought a hand to his mouth, yanking Raven toward him.

She glanced up with a glare. “I’d have to have a bird brain to tell you that.”

“Is that not the duty of a storyteller? To stand on stage and tell the tale until the curtain closes. Your adoring audience awaits.”

“You’re being booted from the metaphorical theater before you get to hear or see the ending.”

“I would like to see you try.”

Jade slowed to a stop, Raven following suit. They were back in the town square, by the lamp post where they had met up. Ending where it had all begun.

He pulled out his phone and consulted the time. Jade unlocked his device, quickly wrote up a message, and tucked it away again. “I can take it from here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Besides,” Jade cast a pitiful look at Raven’s trembling arms, “I doubt you would be able to haul those supplies the remainder of the way, and certainly not in an efficient manner.”

“... Then what was the point of stating in the contract that you needed a helping hand?”

“I am afraid that even I am not entirely privy as to Azul’s intentions,” he chuckled, gently prying a bag from her hands. “I will be certain to let Azul know that Mac-san’s end of the contract has been fulfilled.”

“Eh...? But—“

“You have our thanks for lending the Mostro Lounge your time. You are free to go now, Miss Raven. I’ve already summoned Floyd in your stead to assist me.”

“Th-The ribbon, you fool! I can’t leave if I’m still bound to you!”

“Oh? You don’t say.” His singsong held no concern whatsoever, only amusement.

“S-Stop playing dumb! You know very well what you are doing!!”

“You said it yourself, Miss Raven. Our lives have been forever changed since our encounter. There is no going back now.”

“Stop manipulating the narrative to suit your needs.”

“I haven’t the faintest clue what you mean. Jade smiled, feigning innocence. “You’ve resigned yourself to spending the rest of the day with me—at least until Floyd arrives to relieve you of your burden. Ah, but given his moodiness, who knows when that will be.”

“Just because your surname is Leech doesn’t mean you need to suck the life out of me like one,” Raven snapped. She reached for the red ribbon, intending to undo it—

—only to be met with a bouquet a second time. Flowers the color of the sunset, smelling like the drip of sunshine and a cut of meadow.

“For you—no strings attached this time.”

“Those are for the terrarium centerpieces.”

“I can easily replace them,” Jade insisted, “and I must repay you for your kind chocolate gift. Consider this... ‘favors for favors’, so that neither one of us is left indebted to the other.”

“... Alright. I’ll take them, but only because they might be useful for brewing some new inks.”

“I’m glad to see that you are being agreeable.” Jade slipped the flowers to her. “Take good care of them.”

Raven leaned against a lamp post, cradling the large bouquet in one arm. Her heart fluttered, and her limbs felt as light as air. Warm and floaty, like the balloons in her hand.

Favors for favors—but it still counted as a gift from Jade, and that very thought sent her mind spiraling. She took a shaky breath, and focused on the confetti and laughter in the distance, the song and dance of the street performers.

Waiting and waiting for Floyd.

“Miss Raven.”

“What now? Haven’t you bullied me enough for today? Are you still not satisfied, you sadist?”

She dared to lift her eyes to meet Jade’s—and her heart stood still, for he looked back. His sharp eyes soft and shrouded by long lashes, his lips pulled into a tender smile.

“Contract or no, I always enjoy my time with you—I enjoyed today,” Jade murmured. “I hope that we are able to do this again sometime.”

“... Shut up. J-Just shut up already, i-it’s embarrassing listening to you speak...!!” She buried her head in the flowers, concealing her pink face. Still feeling floaty, like a balloon, high on happiness.

“Fufufu. Happy Valentine’s Day, Miss Raven.”

#twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #Jade Leech #Raven Crowley #Jade Leech thirst #something no one asked for

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concussed-to-pieces · 4 years ago

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Of Gorgons And Gardens

Fandom(s) : The Mandalorian and Prospect [2018]

Pairing: The Mandalorian [Din Djarin]/Reader/Ezra

Rating: Holy shit uh. Explicit.

AN: That's right. I've done it. It's time for the sex pollen. This is a standalone that's not involved with either of my previous tales related to these fine boys, so we have a Death Watch-raised Mando that takes the Creed incredibly seriously and an Ezra that's well armed. Also I apologize for the constant viewpoint switches. Enjoy!

Tag List: @huliabitch @hardcorewwetrash @helplessly-nonstop @lackofhonor @oloreaa @theocatkov @jackierey09 @zombiexbody @crookedmoonsaultpunk @pedrosbigdorkenergy @absurdthirst @culturalrebel

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: For obligatory dubious consent due to sex pollen, as well as threesome activities, breeding kink and gratuitous bodily fluids. Stay safe!]

The quarry was named Ezra. Not that their name mattered, the chain code was freshly generated. The strangest part was that there had been no image attached to the puck.

Din had tipped his helmet to the side, narrowing his eyes and tapping the bounty puck curiously. "Somethin' wrong with this?"

Karga shook his head. "No, he's just too slick for us to have any holorecords on him. Somebody from Bakhroma wants him alive."

Undocumented quarry was exceptionally rare, and not usually something that one requested a Mandalorian for. It indicated green prey, a first-time offender. "Bakhroma, huh? Pretty far out." He wasn't an idiot. There had to be a reason why Karga had offered him this one specifically.

"Guy apparently walked off with a majority of someone's aurelac pull. Typical floater squabble, but one of them ponied up the mining points for credits and asked for a certified, card-carryin' Mando." Karga had leaned back in the booth. "How's the kid?"

Din had just grunted noncommittally in reply, gloved fingers scooping the puck off the table. "I have to get back to the Crest."

…

"The target has been on Bakhroma relatively recently. Not sure if he was in the Green or not, but either way he'll probably be a walking biohazard." Mando muttered, turning his head towards you. "So you're staying put."

"Until something happens to you and I have to pull you out of the fire again." You retorted with a smirk.

"Hey, that was one time." You knew he was narrowing his eyes, though you weren't quite sure how you knew. Something about the way he tilted his head ever so slightly to the right clued you in.

"You were full of nexu quills."

"One. Time." The Mandalorian growled. "I even said thank you."

"You sure did," You replied, laughing. "Right before you passed out!"

He palmed over the side of your head roughly. "Brat." His grumble was fond, softening the edge of the insult. "Promise me you'll stay on the Crest, Senaar, otherwise I'll ask Omera to take you and the kid for an extended sleepover."

"Fine, I promise." You relented, huffing in annoyance.

He tinkered with his charts for a moment, then tilted his head again. "Where did you go earlier? I got done with Karga hours ago. Couldn't find you."

You stiffened, abruptly absorbed in checking the fuel levels. "Oh you know. Around." You said breezily.

"Well in the future, when you feel like going around, at least let me know so I don't think you've been abducted." Mando grumbled, folding his arms over his chest.

"Aw, you're cute when you care!" You cooed, making him scoff and return to his control panel.

…

In hindsight, he wasn't sure what he was more pissed off about. The fact that this Ezra character had led him on a wild fucking chase over half of a suspiciously verdant moon, or the fact that his brain had apparently decided to shift into overdrive regarding you. He couldn't get you off…

Get you off his mind, that is. Stars, he was so confused.

He felt like he had been walking in circles for hours, the only noise the steady beep of the tracker. He was too hot. Thirsty. His armor was chafing like it never had before; it was less like an extension of his body and more like a too-tight skin he needed to shed. Din finally bent over, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

"You look like shit," drawled an unfamiliar voice while a set of knuckles rapped on the back of his helmet. Djarin jerked upright and immediately staggered, fumbling to grip a tree trunk for support. His vision swam uncertainly, and he blinked several times in an effort to clear it.

The man in front of him was clad in a utilitarian suit that bore an unfamiliar logo, maybe a mining corporation. No duraplast or durasteel visible, no unnecessary frills, old-fashioned rubber gaskets to seal where glove met sleeve. Din's gaze traveled upwards, past the man's chest to his large domed helmet. He kept his motions deliberate. He had been caught off-guard by this man, but he wouldn't--

What?!

"I'll assume you're encroaching upon my solitude to haul my undesirable personage back into civilized spaces?" The man inquired after Din had taken several long seconds to try and understand what he was seeing. "For monetary compensation, if I had to hazard a guess. There are few lures that tempt a man so far out into the uncharted."

Why does he have my face? Sure, the scars were different. Different facial hair, different hairstyle, and a wild little tuft of blond sprang from amidst the dark locks at his hairline. But it was him. Same brown eyes, same nose, same mouth curving into an infuriatingly benign smirk. Djarin was struck with the sudden urge to punch him, his belly writhing.

"I take it the dust has you firm in its grip. A real pity, that. I'd love to sympathize, but regrettably I am at an advanced state of the same condition." The quarry gestured at his right arm, where a bloodstain blooming on the fabric of his suit indicated a loss of the integrity of said suit. "I'm Ezra, though I'm certain you're already well aware. And you?"

"Irrelevant." Din grated out, clumsy fingers fumbling to get his binders off his belt.

"A man of action, excellent! I shall acquiesce, but only because being removed from this Centaurian mass is infinitely better than being confined to it." Ezra replied with a sage nod, extending his wrists. "Whither to, my recalcitrant steerforth?"

"Be quiet." The Mandalorian grunted, his mind still reeling. How does he have my face? Then, a new, far more troubling thought occurred to him.

If he turned Ezra in, people would inadvertently know what he looked like. They wouldn't know, but they would know. What would that mean for him? For his dedication to the Creed? Did things like that count against him? Had something like this ever happened before?

"Tell me you, at the bare minimum, have functional transport?" Ezra asked after Din had relieved him of his blaster, sounding hopeful. It was so strange hearing his own voice with such an odd, imprecise cadence to it. The Mandalorian had worked for years to improve his Basic so that anyone and everyone would be able to understand him through the coarse modulator, though he still ended up sounding hitchy or curt most of the time.

"How else would I have gotten here?" Din snapped, gesturing the other man forward with the encouragement of his own weapon.

At least now he knew how to get back to the Crest, thank the Maker for his helmet and the tracking protocols he had. Now, observing his previous path of forward motion, he realized with a jolt how much it wound back and forth. He had been walking in circles.

Since when did he lose his sense of direction? Even in unknown territory, he usually had a damn good idea of which end was up. That concerned him.

And on top of everything else, Ezra wouldn't shut the hell up.

"Be quiet." Din muttered for what seemed like the thousandth time. How long had they been walking? Probably his own fault. With how much his head was spinning, he didn't dare deviate from the winding trail he had left. Even if a straight path would have been miles quicker.

Ezra continued to drone, "a toilsome marathon of carnage, I assure-"

"I said, be fucking quiet."

The target huffed out a breath, but obliged Djarin's terse demand for the moment. Din's head was pounding, his already short fuse shrinking with every word out of the talkative man's mouth. Was this the Maker's hysterically ironic way of compensating for how little a solitary Mandalorian would speak? Making a doppelganger that was ceaselessly chatty?

Din talked a lot more these days, between you and the kid. Maker, you. His head swam again and a low, guilty heat throbbed in his belly. You talking to him, the way your mouth moved around your words-

No. No, stop, he told himself sternly, two fingers sliding idly between the gasket and gorget at his throat just so he could breathe a little easier. This planet's air felt thick, like breathing through tar.

"I would not indulge that craving, were I you." Ezra spoke up, the man obviously watching him claw at his neck. "The less exposure you have, the better."

Din wanted to snap at him because honestly how many times do I have to say shut the fuck up-

But then he stopped. Since when did he even do things like breach the seal of his own fucking helmet on an unfamiliar planet?! He flinched, tearing his hand away and hating the low, wry chuckle that issued from the quarry. The other man mused, "It's already too late for me, you know. I imagine I'll have an hour, perhaps two."

"What the hell are you talking about now."

"The dust, my armored associate. It permeates. Sludges the mental processes." Ezra shrugged with only one shoulder. "Among other things."

"How do you know so much about it?" Din gritted his teeth against the buzzing pain in his stomach. "Seems pretty stupid of you to hide out here." Especially if you know the flora is deadly.

"There is naught to do on a freighter slingback aside from read." Ezra's eyes narrowed. "And I could hardly pick and choose which moon my pod decided to give out on, you monosyllabic knuckle-dragger."

"Watch your mouth before I break it." Din snarled.

"Lo and behold, he comprehends! I assumed all you knew how to say was a stagnant variation on the theme of be fucking quiet." Ezra retorted with enraging cheer.

Din's gloves creaked with the tension of his fists and he barely kept from slamming them into his temples. They were almost to the Crest. Almost. Once they got there, he would throw this mouthy nerf herder into the carbonite and…

And what? And turn him over? And inadvertently compromise his whole identity, possibly destroy decades of loyally obeying the Creed?

All the deprivation, the loneliness, the weakness of his own heart...

"Be fucking quiet." The Mandalorian muttered, knowing full well that the other man hadn't said anything. Be fucking quiet. Be fucking quiet quiet quiet just fucking be quiet--

Din ground the heels of his palms against the curve of his helmet at his forehead, praying for some kind of relief.

Carbonite, he reminded himself.

…

Ezra grudgingly held his tongue, which even he had to admit was a rarity. Unlike the other floaters that had approached him before and met their swift demise, this particular bounty hunter was heavily kitted. The gleaming plate he sported didn't seem to hinder his motion in the slightest.

Interesting.

Ezra knew when he had been outplayed, and he would be lying if he said he wasn't banking on the other man having a functional ship even before he decided to go peacefully.

The hunter (mentally dubbed Steerforth, he rudely had not introduced himself) obviously had no idea about the pollen, for all his outward preparedness. Clearly Serpentia was not as well known as Ezra had wished.

Regrettable.

He could hope that the bounty hunter hadn't been exposed, he mused. After all, the man was wearing that positively arresting helmet, and his suit seemed of a sturdy (if unfamiliar) weave. Here was an individual that Ezra would have to tread carefully around, if he wished to escape with his life.

His faith waned a bit as he recalled watching the man 'track' him, winding back and forth through the trees like a drunken mule until Ezra had taken pity on him and turned himself in.

The hunter was terse in his speech, likely weary from the chase. Ezra could sympathize, he was weary from running. It had almost been a relief when that last hunter had attacked him and forced him to crash the pod on this moon. Though his relief had quickly turned to dismay when Ezra had done a full turn outside his pod and realized just what was making all the pollen in the air.

Serpentia, Serpent's Tongue. He had never encountered the plant in the proverbial flesh, but once upon a time he had been accidentally doused with the extract when a holding tank had burst while he was on a job site.

His skin crawled as he remembered the torment that followed during his solitary confinement. He had been nigh-certain he would not recover, clawing free of the haze that had gripped him with the barest vestiges of his mental faculties.

This moon's Serpentia population seemed infinitely kinder than the concentrate he had encountered, if only for its soft, creeping approach. It lapped at the base of his brain, dulled the edge of his panic until he was nearly comfortable with the ache that licked hot in his groin.

But thank Kevva for this bounty hunter lumbering through the brush! With a little luck, Ezra would be able to persuade him to accept a few pearls of aurelac in lieu of dragging him back to face that greatly-exaggerated justice.

...

According to the limited information from the Crest's scans, the air on this moon was perfectly safe to breathe.

And if what Mando had said was right, he probably would need the ship to himself for a little while to decontaminate. So you had posted up beside the ramp once he had departed, occasionally wiping the sweat off your brow. The atmosphere was humid and you watched as breezes too delicate for you to even feel nudged the thick pollen in the air this way and that.

The moon was liberally coated with lush vegetation; just finding a place to safely land the Razor Crest had been a Herculean effort. You wondered vaguely if there was a lake or spring nearby that you would be able to cool off in. The ship's fresher was functional, of course, but its water had been sitting in the holding tank for a few cycles now and it smelled rusty.

The pollen covered everything, orange-red substance sticking to your already-damp skin. You grimaced, wondering if maybe you should have put on your suit. But no, the atmosphere was safe. The scans had said so, and you already spent so much of your time in your thick suit…

The sunshine felt wonderful after all the hyperspace travel, like a warm embrace from a friend. You caught yourself wondering what Mando's hug might feel like. Probably uncomfortable, what with all the beskar. You scoffed at your thoughts. You really needed to stop thinking about him like that, he was technically your boss even if he called you his partner. So what if he had passed out on top of you? That had been an infection thing.

It wasn't as if he had stroked your cheek before he dropped, his voice breaking when he called you Senaar...

So what if you had solicited not one, but two Mandalorians during your last stop on Nevarro?

It wasn't as if he noticed anything that you did, aside from when it had inconvenienced him. It wasn't as if you couldn't handle your little infatuation with him, even if it did result in you seeking out Mandos that would give you attention.

You propped your chin up on your hand, your eyes half-focusing on the dust floating in the air. It was nice to just relax for once, though there was a little guilty sensation in your stomach. Because Mando was out there working, while you...were lounging around, soaking up the sunlight.

You weren't sure how long you sat there, but you finally got up with a groan and a stretch that felt heavenly. You would investigate the surrounding area, you decided, maybe you could rustle up something fresh. If you couldn't be active on the hunt for the quarry, you could at least restock the larders.

After what only felt like a few steps, you quickly stumbled across thick vines that bore an unfamiliar, violet-hued fruit. The fruit was the size of your fist, and the skin had slight give to it. Light-colored flowers dotted the vine here and there, their tiny stamens crested with heavy crowns of thick pollen. Clearly you had located one of the many sources of the dust that choked the air.

You picked one of the fruits and propped it up on a flat rock, using your trusty field knife to slice it open. It had orange pulp inside it, and a small hollow in the middle filled with pinkish fluid. The whole fruit reminded you of a sunset. Dimly, you thought that you probably shouldn't be touching this fruit with your bare skin, on the off chance that it might be caustic or toxic. But it looked delicious.

Surely just a little taste wouldn't hurt?

The pinkish fluid was almost overwhelmingly sweet, and sticky. It dribbled down your chin when you tipped the fruit to slurp it up. You laughed at yourself, tugging your tunic to scrub at your face.

Mando will love these.

You weren't sure where the thought came from, but obviously it was true. The idea of Mando being alone, slipping off his helmet to eat...the juice from the fruit glistening on his mouth…

Your breathing had quickened. You carefully harvested more of the round fruit, tucking the ripe produce into the makeshift cradle of your tunic. Once you decided you had enough, you turned on your heel and went to make your way back to the Crest.

...

No.

No no no no no-

Din stared at the partially-ajar ramp on the Crest and he wanted to yell.

"Oh dear." Ezra murmured faintly. "What a predicament." He had been getting quieter and quieter the closer they drew to the ship, so hearing him talk again sent a jolt down Din's spine. "You left your egress open? How careless of you."

"I didn't." Din snarled, wrapping his fingers around the binders on Ezra's wrists. You. The throbbing in his stomach lurched.

Ezra's eyes widened and he abruptly planted his feet. Din hadn't realized just how off-kilter he was, normally something like a shift in weight wouldn't be enough to make him stagger. But he almost toppled, barely getting his balance back in time. "Is there someone else on that ship?" Ezra asked sharply.

"Of course." Din didn't even think to lie. "Partner."

"Would they have wandered? Exposed themselves?" The prospector-thief-quarry continued to quiz him and Din resented it just a little.

"Be quiet," He grunted, tapping at his gauntlet to open the ramp, "and get in the fucking hold."

Ezra abruptly drew himself up to his full height. "I do not believe you actually want me to do that." He intoned with difficulty, his teeth gritted. "Putting myself, yourself and the potential of one more infected person into an enclosed space is a very…" His words faltered. "Oh."

Din whirled, visor traveling up the ramp into the dim hold. And just barely visible at the edge of the ramp, a small pile of what looked like fruit--was that your leg?! He lunged forward, his blaster ready.

"I would not advise you to approach them!" Ezra barked.

"Fuck you!" Din snapped, striding up the ramp to kneel alongside your body. He crushed one of the fruits beneath his knee, lurid pink juice erupting to soak into his suit. The color was high in your cheeks, your body blotchy with flush. Pollen encrusted your neck and shoulders, drifted through your hair; something pink and shiny coated your lips like a strange gloss.

Din caught himself leaning in and jerked back at the urgency in Ezra's voice when the prospector called, "Do they breathe, man?"

"Be quiet!" Djarin roared. Why hadn't he checked that first? What was wrong with him? He shoved his vambrace against your mouth, his chest clenching in relief when your breath fogged the metal. Stars.

"I'm afraid this complicates things quite significantly." Ezra said loudly, fidgeting at the base of the ramp. "I was unaware you had a partner of the...other biological persuasion. Had it just been you and I, two masculine-presenting bipeds, things would have been miles simpler."

"What the hell are you saying now?" Din was getting tired of this shit, tired of listening to the other man talk.

"This plant is...shall we say, heteronormative." Ezra drawled, waving his bound hands in the air to illustrate the cloying pollen. Din cocked his head in confusion. "You know, masculine and feminine? Male and female? Different. Hetero."

Djarin scoffed derisively. "My people don't care about that shit."

"A noble practice to be certain, very forward-thinking."

"This is the Way." The Mandalorian replied.

Ezra soldiered on, "Unfortunately, the plant that infests this planet does indeed differentiate. Fruit for the female, pollen for the male." He added hurriedly, "in the biological sense, of course! I will not make any assumptions about your partner. The fruit is a...a catalyst. Are you familiar with the old-Earth religious writings, the ones that mention the Garden? Or perhaps the Greek pantheon may have been more your style?" When Djarin shook his head, Ezra sighed. "The genus name in Basic is slippin' my mind. But this particular iteration is known as Serpent's Tongue, Serpentia. It is Medusine in nature and it inspires feelings of…" Ezra paused, licking his lips nervously. "Heat."

"Heat." Din repeated blankly, knowing that he must be missing something.

Ezra ducked his head, breaking eye contact. "As in, being in heat." The man clarified after a moment.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm-"

"Excuse me?" Din snarled, running his fingers through the juices that coated his knee. It was thick, sticky like syrup, why was it warm--He bolted to his feet and stalked back down the ramp. Ezra took a step back, and then another, the quarry obviously wary of him. Good. The satisfied feeling took some of the edge off his frustrated panic. "So what the hell is wrong with my partner?" Din grated out.

"Er, to couch it in layman's terms…" Ezra hesitated, clearing his throat. "They are aroused."

Aroused. Aroused. Aroused. "Sexually?" Din hated the way the word came out, all breathy like he was a youngling that had just learned about the wonders of copulation.

Ezra nodded, grimacing. "From the sound of your tone, I would hazard a guess that the two of you have not been intimate."

"Why would we have been?" Din retorted bluntly.

Ezra raised an eyebrow, seeming as if he was avoiding looking at you. Good. Mine. Din had no idea where the hell that thought came from. "Oh of course, I was foolish to assume so blatantly." The prospector muttered. "That does complicate your own matters further, however. Were you previously sexually intertwined, this would have been much more simple." He suddenly doubled over at the waist, a loud grunt forced from his mouth and a low exclamation of, "fuck, fuck-"

The curse sent a hot flicker down Din's spine and it took him a second to realize that you had made a noise in reply. You sounded dazed, scared. He whirled on the ramp and knelt again, taking your hand. "Senaar, you coming around?" Your eyes looked...wrong, blinking open slowly; your pupils were blown like you'd been spiced.

You stared up at him for several long seconds before your mouth opened. "Wanted to make lunch." You managed to say. "I don't feel good."

"Well, you don't look so great either." Din said gruffly.

"Bastard." You groaned at him, trying to sit up. "Maker, I feel so hot, I...oh! Oh no, you smushed one." You appeared to have noticed the remains of the sticky fruit currently seeping into his knee. "I wanted you to try it. Tastes...tastes...it's so sweet Mando, s'like candy." You saying his name (even if it wasn't his actual name, shit) was like a lightning bolt to his groin. You dragged your hand over his knee, gathering up the remnants of the fruit and then sliding your fingers into your mouth.

You brought him food. His lungs felt too full and not full enough. Stars, the idea of you feeding him that, smearing it all over his mouth with those pretty little fingers-

No, the helmet. The helmet. He couldn't take off the helmet. The Creed.

He jerked his head up, looking to Ezra. The other man was still doubled over, holding his midsection as best as he could with his hands bound.

A dark, uncharacteristically evil thought wound its way into Din's mind, sweet and smokey like a good ne'tra gal. "Get in the ship." He grunted. Ezra glanced up and Din was a little startled by the level of emotion he displayed. He wasn't used to seeing expressions play out on his own face. The other man seemed wildly uncomfortable and Din found that grounding, for whatever reason.

"I do not dare to." Ezra panted finally. "Just being this close is...immensely troubling. I am not the master of my own body at this moment, Steerforth."

"Is this the target?" You asked softly. Din nodded and he could almost feel your eyes raking over the other man. "What happened? He's hurt."

Shit, he had nearly forgotten. Ezra was still bleeding from his arm. The quarry had obviously forgotten as well, clearly dealing with a much more pressing matter.

You beckoned to the other man and Din had to rein in the knee-jerk reaction to grab his blaster as Ezra reluctantly approached. He had never been territorial about you before, what the hell was the matter with him?

Ezra halted a good five feet away from you, keeping his head down. "I am Ezra. I apologize in advance for my untoward behavior." He muttered, his voice gone so low and gravelly he actually did sound like Din. The Mandalorian's stomach pitched uncertainly. "I am not myself at this point in time."

"What happened to your arm?" Your tone was warm, concerned. Din's fists clenched. "Did Mando do that?"

"Oh, no! Of course not. Your compatriot has been nothing if not a complete gentleman." Ezra replied wryly. "I sustained this injury during a previous floater's quarrel."

…

You hummed and you saw Mando stiffen up out of the corner of your eye. What was wrong with him? One second he had been leaning over you, all worry and hand holding. The next, he was barking at the quarry.

And the quarry was hurt. Ezra, Ezra, his slow drawl making your head swim and your chest tingle. Never mind Mando, what was wrong with you? You felt so strange, like you were hyper-fixated.

Maker, maybe you shouldn't have eaten that fruit. "I'm sorry." You apologized to Mando, your lower lip beginning to quiver. "I just wanted to give-"

"Be quiet." He ordered, his voice startlingly gentle. A gloved thumb pressed to your lower lip and you stared up at him, opening your mouth automatically even though you knew he was just wiping the juice away. You were startled when he slid his thumb into your mouth, but you obligingly cleaned the juice from the leather with your tongue. Shouldn't this be strange? But Mando just did it, like it was normal. Maybe it was normal.

Your mind flew back to your sultry encounter on Nevarro, how you had occupied yourself while Mando wrapped up his business with the Guild, and warmth lanced through your stomach as you recalled greedy gloved hands grasping and caressing your bare skin-

"Steerforth, if you are to carry on in that heated demonstration I must plead for the carbonite treatment that you were so hellbent on throwing myself into earlier." Ezra sounded like he was in pain. "I have only endured this once before and it was a torment that threatened my already-tenuous sanity. Have fucking mercy man, I implore-"

"Be quiet." Mando snapped, "we have to treat your arm, right?"

"Fuck." Ezra swore again, the sound writhing through your belly. "Hurry then."

"Get in the ship. I'll turn on the filters."

"Do not leave me alone with them, I implore you!" Ezra cried, that domed helmet finally tilting enough for you to catch a glimpse of his face. "I am not the master of my own body, Steerforth."

His eyes were dark, impossibly dark, and frantic as he argued with Mando. His skin seemed tanned or olive through the sun-struck dome of his suit's helmet. Short brown hair was plastered flat to his forehead with sweat, and the lower half of his face was coated in a somewhat unkempt mess of facial scruff. Too long to be five o'clock shadow, but too bedraggled to be dubbed anything else.

Roguish, you decided, wanting to laugh at yourself. He looks roguish. What a ridiculous thought to have! Not obviously dangerous like Mando, but still dangerous. Was that your heartbeat throbbing in your ears? You sighed softly, taking a step towards the other man without meaning to.

Mando's hand was suddenly on your arm. "Hold it. Treatment. We have to treat his wound." He said gruffly.

You nodded. Of course. Who knew what he had been exposed to through the breach in his suit? "I was going to help him walk?"

Mando shook his head. "You get the kit. You've got no gear on. He's contaminated." He reasoned. "Get me the kit and then seal yourself into the cockpit so we can filter the hold." You nodded again and his hand found your cheek, gloved fingers grazing your neck before he jerked back. "S...Sorry." he apologized.

"It's okay." You whispered.

…

Ezra, helmet discarded and suit stripped to the waist, flinched away from Din's touch yet again. "Stop. This is a bad wound. It'll get infected if I do this wrong." Din snapped. He rarely encountered blaster wounds that didn't self-cauterize, even though that tended to come with its own set of problems.

"I do not mean to tear free." Ezra protested. "Blood flow has increased. I am…" He paused, biting his lower lip. "Sensitive. Surely you have a handheld? One of the burners? Just burn it shut man, Kevva, I cannot even endure the graze of your fingers."

"If I give you a burner patch, it'll seal in the infection." Din reasoned, flushing the wound again. "Focus on something else."

"I cannot." Ezra said sharply. "There is only one matter my brain currently wishes to focus on, and it is not the dire straits of my wounded arm."

"Them?" Din asked, keeping his voice low.

Ezra shot him a guilty look from beneath his sweat-matted fringe of brown hair, finally nodding. "It is ludicrous, but I feel as though I can taste them." He confessed. "Gods, I wish I had never landed on this accursed moon. I wish I had never encountered the Serpentia."

"What will happen?" Din did his best to maintain his vocal level as he bandaged the other man's wound.

"Arousal. Sheer, unadulterated arousal. You ache, like the worst fever you've ever had. I've heard it is even more excruciatin' for those of the other human biological persuasion, due to their genitals being internal. Though it is Medusine in nature, so it has a...failsafe, of sorts. You are seized with the primal instinct to mate, conquer, claim. It does not stop until you have buried your...until you have sheathed yourself in an orifice." Ezra was gasping for air. Obviously just talking about it was enough to cause him distress, either that or Djarin was being rougher than he thought. "Steerforth please, I-"

"This will cause them pain?" Din asked slowly.

Ezra nodded jerkily. "I have been told it's like a sickly, stabbing heat. Fingers are not enough to…er, extinguish the flames." His cheeks flushed. "The tongue soothes, but not overlong. Internals require certain length, and...rigidity." Din didn't miss the way his eyes flickered down to the beskar that covered his upper thighs. "When last I encountered this damned flora, I suffered the effects alone and I felt as if I would go mad."

Tongue. Fingers. Rigidity. Din's mind reeled. "Specifics." He gritted out, his body awash with heat in his armor when Ezra made a pitiful noise.

"Kevva, have mercy on me Steerforth."

"I said. Specifics." Din fisted a glove in the other man's hair, tilting his head back and forcing him to look up. Ezra moved, albeit reluctantly, the Adam's apple of his throat bobbing when he swallowed. "Specifics." Din repeated himself, a little softer this time.

Ezra shuddered all over. "They will seek you out. To be fucked." He said, cringing a bit as if he disliked using the word. "You must open them up with your tongue first, dissolve the Medusine barrier with saliva. That's the failsafe, you see, an individual of that biological persuasion who is suffering cannot be penetrated without tender effort. Ease into it and perhaps they will not loathe you when this madness has run its course-"

"I can't." Din interrupted.

"What?" Ezra gawked at him.

"I can't. T-Tongue. Not allowed. Forbidden." Din felt like he was drunk. "Helmet."

The other man's brow furrowed. "You can, I presume, take off other portions of your plate?"

Din shook his head, wishing that he could explain it better. "Technically yes, but it's frowned upon. Exceptions happen. And under no circumstances can I take the helmet off."

"How in the Fringe have you ever-"

"I...inspire feelings in people." That was probably the most delicate way he could have said I cater exclusively to bipeds with a predator/prey fetish. Din grimaced. "I'm large and imposing. Usually that's...enough. No need for warm up." He said awkwardly. "Armor stays on."

"What a bewildering existence!" Ezra tilted his head in disbelief. "So you have never removed…?"

Din shook his head. "Not in the presence of others. The Creed forbids it."

"Your dedication is admirable, but unfortunately it leaves your partner twisting in the wind." The quarry pointed out. "I would offer my services, but I am an unknown and-"

"Yes." Din gritted out, that dark thought slithering back through his mind.

"Yes?"

"Your services." Din took a deep breath. He didn't bargain with quarry, but this man had his face. He couldn't turn him in without jeopardizing everything he had sworn his life to. "In exchange, when this is...when they no longer require your services, I'll let you go."

Ezra's eyebrows bunched together. "I'm afraid I don't follow, Steerforth."

"I don't want them to be in pain." Din's voice grated in his throat and he watched Ezra's eyes widen in comprehension. "I don't want them to hurt."

"You...this is not just the Serpentia. You have a prior attachment to them."

"It doesn't matter what I do or don't have." Djarin muttered dismissively. "Because of the Creed, I...I can't. But you can."

"You can't give them your mouth, certainly, but there are-"

"If it's what makes it possible, you have to do it!" Din interjected sharply. "I don't want them to hurt."

"I need you to comprehend what you're askin' of me!" Ezra shot back, his bound fists clenched tight enough to whiten his knuckles. "They don't know me from Job, and you're all but demanding I violate their trust-"

"I don't want them to hurt!" Din roared, startling himself with his own furious reaction. Whatever else he was about to say was cut off by your staggering descent on the ladder. You looked unwell. Ezra skittered back a few steps, falling on his ass with a muffled swear.

"Mando?" Your voice wavered and you swayed at the ladder. Din lurched forward, tucking you into his arms as you sniffled, "I don't feel so good. I think I'm sick." You were radiating heat that he could feel even through his suit. Your tunic was soaked with sweat.

"Osi'kyr." Din cursed under his breath after he swapped to his infrared and saw just how brilliant your signature was. "Listen to me, alright Senaar?" He murmured, simultaneously loving and hating the way you nodded in a docile manner. "We know what can fix this. But it's not…" he paused, searching for the right term.

"Appropriate." Ezra supplied loudly.

"I feel awful." Your whimper made Din's stomach ache. His cock rubbed against the confines of his compression leggings.

Ignore it.

"I know you do." Din pressed his palm to your forehead. "Listen to me. We can fix this. You trust me, right?" Your nod was immediate and Din barely stifled his groan. "Ezra knows what's wrong. Ezra can help."

"He can help?" You echoed blearily, looking past Din. "Okay. He said something about the fruit before, right? I shouldn't have eaten it. M'sorry. Was it poison?"

"Poison may have been simpler to endure." Ezra muttered. "It is an aphrodisiac. Do not blame yourself. The fruit is visually appealing for a reason, otherwise the plant would not be able to propagate."

…

Aphrodisiac. Your mouth was flooded with that sweet taste at the sound of Ezra's drawling voice, the groan that followed burrowing into your blood.

You had never felt this way before. Your body ached and twisted, arousal pooling uncomfortably in your pelvis. Everything felt like it was trapped, your tunic sticking to your skin with sweat. Aphrodisiac.

"Please pay attention." Ezra sighed. "I understand this is incredibly distracting, but I have a limited window of coherence." He was trembling slightly, still avoiding your eyes. "Your partner has requested I aid you where he cannot. I will not harm you." He said with gravity. "This is a situation which bodes exceptionally poorly and I am...I am truly sorry for dragging you into this mess."

"Oh, it's okay. Mando gets me into messes all the time." You brushed off his apology and Ezra choked out a bitter laugh.

"I fear you may change your tune once the pain truly starts." He remarked.

"He says it'll hurt." Mando murmured. "Like stabbing."

You knew your eyes widened with fear because Mando was quick to envelope you in his arms again. He had never been this touchy before. It was...strangely nice. The coolness of his armor felt wonderful on your skin and you moaned in relief. Mando went stiff at your noise, his gloved fingers clutching the nape of your neck. Up until this point, you had just felt some minor throbbing. Distracting, but negligible.

This was different.

...

Your breath hitched in your throat and your fists curled into his suit, knees buckling as a low, wavering cry left your lips. Din jerked at the sound. He had never heard you make that kind of noise before, not even when you had been shot--

Oh he was fucked. He was so fucked. Was he excited or terrified? "Easy, you're okay, you're okay," he soothed, clumsily brushing the hair back from your face. Who was he even trying to convince?!

"Make your choice expediently, Steerforth. Am I to be thrown in carbonite or put to work?" Ezra queried through gritted teeth.

"You know I would never do anything to hurt you." Din said to you, ignoring the other man for the moment. "I won't let anything happen to you. I need you to trust me for right now, alright? We can fix this."

Your grip on him tightened even further. "I don't like how this feels." You whispered.

Din closed his eyes in a futile attempt to ward off his own self-loathing, pressing your cheek against his breastplate. "I know, Senaar. I'll be right here with you. I just...can't give you what you'll need." He stuttered, offering on a desperate whim, "I-I can hold you, if you want." You nodded frantically into his armor.

"If you have a...a blanket. A sheet. Something for the floor, we are going to make a mess and I am uncertain if we will be able to protect your partner's modesty." Ezra muttered, his bound hands resting surreptitiously over his groin. "They may be more enthusiastic than one would anticipate."

Din patted your elbow, trying to gentle his voice. "Go get your pillow."

"O-Okay." You gulped.

Din tore into one of his many lockers once you released him, the armored man frantically digging around for his extra bedding. Ezra staggered to his feet, moving in close to Din. So that you wouldn't hear him speak, no doubt.

"There is still time for you to freeze me, Steerforth. I am not a man without morality, tattered though it may be." He murmured, and Din noticed that his weary brown eyes were surrounded by the same deep lines and cracks that Djarin's own face sported. The Mandalorian hadn't ever paid much mind to just how many expressions he still made beneath the helmet, probably because he knew no one would see them.

Din grabbed the other man's shoulder, searching those eyes. Ezra stared at his impenetrable visor, probably confused by his silence. "I need your help." Din rasped seriously. He didn't trust this guy as far as he could throw him, but he could live with the uneasy truce if it would…if it meant that he could…

Stars, this was all so damn wrong.

Ezra finally nodded. "I will do my best to assist with the...emotional aftermath. This is not your fault, or theirs. This is merely an unfortunate side effect of a hazardous occupation."

"Thank you."

Ezra's eyebrows shot up, but other than that he gave no indication of his surprise. Din elbowed him to the side, unfolding the thick blanket and spreading it out carefully on the floor of the hold.

…

This was certainly an odd predicament.

Ezra could not say he had ever been in such a charged scenario, despite his checkered history. His jaw worked thoughtfully as he watched the armored man devote an obscene amount of care to smoothing the wrinkles out of his blanket.

Arousal swirled around him like the thick pollen outside, but it was tempered by the terrible memory of that singular past experience where he had rubbed himself bloody on the inside of his suit. He knew he was worse off than Steerforth. No, what had you called him? Mando.

Curious.

A Creed that prevented the devout from showing the world their face.

Curious. And familiar, somehow. Ezra spooled his mind back, trying to recall why it was familiar. He couldn't focus however, his own breathing becoming too distracting.

Mando hadn't gotten nearly as much of the pollen as him. The other man seemed unbearably, impossibly calm in the light of what was about to occur. Maybe it was an illusion afforded by that unreadable helm, or brought about by his lack of prior experience.

Ezra was wildly jealous all the same. "What is their name?" He asked softly.

Mando fixed him with a look and Kevva, that helmet was indeed imposing. "I call them Senaar. It...it means bird." He sounded reluctant, like he didn't even want to give up that much. "Names are sacred in the Creed. I couldn't give them mine so they didn't give me theirs, but I had to call them something."

"No names in the Creed, either?" Ezra asked incredulously.

The armored man shook his head. "To outsiders we are all Mando. To us, we are Mando'ade. This is the Way."

"A veritable legion of nameless, featureless warriors." Ezra muttered, mainly to himself. He rattled his restraints after a moment. "Am I to remain bound during this frotfest, Steerforth?"

"I'm not stupid enough to give you free range. Be grateful I didn't secure them behind your back instead." Mando snarked.

"I will not harm your little bird." Ezra protested.

"I know." Mando leaned in slightly, broad shoulders made even more intimidating by the blue-steel pauldrons that graced them. "I would kill you before you got the chance."

Oh, such confidence! Ezra wished he was in his right mind, he would obliterate this smug cretin--

His breath caught in his throat as you returned from your excursion. Gods, he had nearly forgotten what he was being called to do. He warred with the obscene urge that dragged his gaze to the crux of your thighs. "A divine sight." He murmured, not lying for once. This entire day had been remarkably truthful.

You actually gave him a ribald wink, and that eased his conscience slightly. Perhaps you were not the unsullied, blushing virgin he had feared you might be. Obviously you had used the time you took to grab your pillow wisely, maybe even given yourself a bit of a pep talk.

"Have you done this before?" Ezra asked, half-joking. He heard Mando audibly gulp in that damn bucket when you nodded, a pained smile curving your lips. "Not under the effects of such altering substances, I pray?"

"Nah, nothing like that." You replied, shaking your head. "It was back on Nevarro, I-"

"Nevarro?" Mando hissed. "You disappeared on me for hours. That's what you were up to?!"

You shrugged weakly. "It doesn't really matter but...there were two Mandalorians, and I wanted, um, something that seemed familiar, I guess." You admitted, your tone remarkably cool for the subject matter.

Ezra hid his grin. He was hardly immune to the allure of saucy gossip, and there was nothing quite like gossip that had no particular bearing on him. "Two?!" The armored man's voice squeaked even through the thick modulation and Ezra burst out laughing, the binders knocking his jaw when he tried to stifle his mirth.

"I meant more whether you had engaged in copulation in general, but I suppose that would have been a pertinent question as well." He mused once he got himself under control, the low buzz in his stomach blossoming into an excited thrum. "How fortunate that you would be so generous when it comes to your partners, little bird."

"What do you mean, familiar?" Mando carried on over him, obviously agitated by the fresh knowledge that his partner may or may not have some...tendencies. Ezra almost wanted to laugh again; you were nothing if not painfully transparent. Seeking out others like the armored man to have their way with you? Clearly you harbored some sort of affection, kept secret and safe by the walls that humans build around themselves.

But Serpentia had a funny way of sliding that dastardly pink slick through all defenses, leaving the body raw and exposed.

"I mean familiar." You replied, your pillow like a shield between yourself and Mando. Ezra settled back to watch the show, well aware that his smirk was probably insufferable. "I have needs, you know." You continued primly.

Mando's fists clenched on his thighs before he pointedly flattened them back out, fingers dragging over the plates. "I...I'm sorry. I shouldn't...I'm sorry." He mumbled, patting his leg.

You wavered again and nearly fell. The armored man caught you, settling you down with a cautious tenderness that fired a thrower shot of arousal directly into Ezra's gut. He had always been a weak fool for chivalry, though he was able to display precious little of it in his own life. Oh, this was the best kind of story.

...

Your face burned with embarrassment; why had you told him about your rendezvous with two other members of his Creed? It was like the words just fell out of your mouth, like your brain itself was against you.

You could still remember the way the larger one had pressed his forehead to your own and then encouraged you down his chest to his groin, the way his helmet had tipped back--

A new flood of warmth swept into your cunt and you bit down on your hand to stifle your noise at the pain that followed. Mando paused, then laid your pillow between his open legs. "Lay down on your back." He muttered, patting his leg again. "This way you can see me. I'll be right here."

"I'm-"

"Don't apologize, please." Mando cut you off. "Once this is over, once everything is...over, I...listen, we'll operate as a sealed unit. This maneuver is scrubbed from the start. I never found the quarry. Nothing that we say or do here will ever be mentioned again. Understood?"

Your breath caught in your throat. He was giving you an out. Or himself, you were uncertain. You nodded slowly and his shoulders drooped a little, but whether he was relieved or disappointed…

Well, some secrets were meant to stay that way.

Ezra nodded his own agreement. "It is best to have certain protocol already in place when engaging in uncharted waters." He muttered. "Decidedly militant, but I must surmise your Creed taught you that."

"This is the Way." Mando said firmly.

"If we are operating under burner infantry orders, then I must voice my trepidation about this engagement," Ezra confessed to you. "I have endured this crisis once before and it was not a pleasant experience. I do not envy the pain I am certain you feel at this moment, but I also know that you are in a...compromised and sensitive position. I...if any advance is unwanted, I trust you will inform me. And if I do not respond, if I am too far gone, please have your associate rescind my invitation." He gestured at Mando with his bound hands.

"Wh-What are you going to do to me?" You asked, your voice high in your ears even as you let Mando maneuver you down to the blanket.

"I am going to do for you what your companion cannot, little bird." Ezra's tongue dampened his lips nervously. "And only that, if I understand the situation correctly."

"What he…" you trailed off as a thought occurred to you. Ezra hummed quietly as if to confirm and the sound reverberated through your core, making you whine and squirm restlessly. "Oh, what, stars, you mean-"

"My mouth, little bird." He had a tiny section of blond hair on the right side of his head, the tuft residing rakishly just at his hairline. You hadn't noticed until now, but the whimsical little patch seemed to soften his stern features. "You will need the saliva, regrettably. I am certain that the idea of the mouth of a lowly aurelac harvester on you is a repulsive one, but it is the only way to get the proverbial ball rolling."

"Wait, you have to eat me out?" You asked in confusion, trying to get back up. "Hang on, I should shower, I'll-" Agony raked down your spine and you spasmed, a breathy sound of pain forcing itself past your lips.

Ezra's incredulous chuckle soothed the sensation back down to a manageable level. "What an unexpected offer, little bird! I cannot recall the last time someone bathed specifically for me. You will wholly ensnare me if you continue such considerate behavior."

…

Din's body felt like it was on fire in his armor.

You had gone looking for people like him.

You had gone looking for Mandos because you wanted familiarity. The idea of you sussing out more of his brothers or sisters because you had needs-

Din wasn't sure if he would survive this particular encounter. He was gripping his cuisses so tightly that the leather of his gloves burned against his fingertips. Mandalorians weren't celibate by any stretch of the imagination, but the Creed could make things...more difficult than they needed to be for a variety of species.

Ezra, despite his hands being bound, was remarkably capable. The man had coached you through the pain when you had tried to move, his voice obviously helping you somehow. Djarin wasn't sure if he was jealous or grateful. Maybe both.

The fact that this was causing you to suffer had him loathing how stiff his cock was in his compression leggings, even though from what he had gathered he couldn't actually help that particular reaction.

"I must beg your assistance in disrobing." Ezra was saying softly, tugging at the overly-knotted waistband of your loose pants. "Please, little bird."

"Right, yeah, of course." You mumbled and Djarin could hear the pain in your voice, could feel the twitchy little flinches as you tried to follow Ezra's directions.

Hesitantly, the Mandalorian moved his hands up until they rested on your shoulders. You exhaled a breathy little moan, nuzzling your cheek against his glove in what he had to assume was thanks.

"Better." You gasped, seeming more sure as you struggled to undo the sash at your waist.

"Well done, Steerforth." Ezra praised, causing something warm and wet to pour into Din's abdomen. The armored man's breathing stuttered, was this what Ezra had been feeling the entire time they had been walking? Stars, how had he even managed-

His cock lurched against the tight hold of his leggings, precome dampening his stomach. Without meaning to, Din's fingers tightened on your shoulders and he grunted quietly.

Your eyes shot up, locking with his visor. He knew you couldn't actually see him, but at that moment he felt exposed. "You alright?" You asked quietly, your breath hiccuping when Ezra brushed the stubble of his jaw against your naked thigh. Din ached to do that himself, Maker he wished-

"I'm fine." He choked, like he wasn't roasting alive from the double-edged heat of artificial arousal and jealousy. His left hand slid down, resting at the hollow of your throat. It soothed his ego a little to see that your eyes were still on him, despite what the quarry was about to do.

Ezra, he reminded himself. This man wasn't prey anymore, for all that he was keeping the binders on. Din at least needed that level of control. He needed the stability.

That recurrent devious thought surged forward again, dark and heady. Utilizing Ezra, he could indulge vicariously in the hazy desires he had fought for cycles. The wish to bury his face between your legs and eat you out until you cried, like in the raunchy imagecasts he picked up on rare occasion. Putting his bare hands on you, stars-

Din Djarin was a man of extreme self-control. So far, he hadn't overstepped or shamed the Creed, unless you counted the time he was loaded out of his mind with bacteria-laden quills. He hadn't realized just how many of them were embedded in his back until his vision started getting blurry as he was standing over the nexu's dead body. Served him right for letting the feline get the drop on him before he put his backplate on.

You had been so worried when he returned. You were patched into his coms so you obviously heard the struggle he had dispatching the creature. Heard how ragged his breath got and how hard he had to actually fight.

Din vaguely remembered flopping down on his belly with you hovering over him, pliers in one hand and bacta shot already buried in the meat of his shoulder. Stars, it was great to have a partner sometimes. If he had come back to just the kid like that, he'd probably be dead from an infection. You didn't even make him take off his suit, you just worked around it.

You ended up removing thirty-seven quills of various lengths, most of them bearing nasty hooked barbs. The pain had hit different because of the infection, leaving Djarin trembling boneless and silent on the floor of the hold while you wriggled quills out of his back. He had never felt more helpless, more vulnerable, beskar be damned.

"It's alright. I'm glad you made it back." You had said calmly. "I'm not letting you go alone next time, though."

"Thank you, Senaar…"

Din's face flushed when he recalled how badly his voice had cracked when saying the name he called you by, less speech and more a plaintive cry. The way his glove had slipped over the skin of your cheek, and how he had longed to remove that glove...

Maker, he sullied the Creed with his inability to reconcile over lack of touch. The hunger for skin-to-skin contact that reared its ugly head every time you were out of your heavy exosuit and durasteel served as a painful reminder, one much more poignant than the simple weight of his helm, that he was a Mandalorian.

But this doppelganger loophole was a gift to be thoroughly exploited and he wasn't about to waste that opportunity.

Ezra buried his face between your legs and Din felt the way your entire body coiled up in anticipation, another trembling cry leaving your lips and your hands twisting frantically into the blanket beneath you. "Mando-!"

His name, his name, you were saying his name even with another man's mouth giving you pleasure. Djarin couldn't help the satisfied little growl that left his lips and made its way through his modulator. He heard Ezra chuckle, the other man pausing to shoot him a sly wink over the length of your body. Din nearly laughed.

"Ezra," He said instead, his voice coming out rougher than he intended. "Make them cry."

He stopped caring about how wrong it was.

…

You gasped at Mando's words, already inches from bursting into tears. Ezra's mouth was slowly coaxing you open, the stubble on his cheeks and jaw rubbing your thighs. Every pass of his tongue, every gentle press and suckle sought to untangle the knotted ball of heat in your belly, but you were certain you would lose your mind before you managed to disperse the agonizing feeling.

You were too full, almost too aroused to handle Ezra's mouth on your cunt but you were positive if he stopped licking at you, you would die. Heat felt like it was sloshing in your belly, there was so much of it...

Ezra placed a series of delicate kisses on your clit, each one lighter than the last. His hands, still secure in their binders, clutched your right thigh for purchase when he pulled back to gulp air. His expression was dazed, eyes managing to focus on the armored man that loomed over you after several long seconds. "Will you not indulge, Steerforth?" He sounded like he was almost begging Mando, voicing what you couldn't bring yourself to say. "They ask for you, how can you sit there so damned impassive?"

Your breath caught in your throat when you heard Mando exhale raggedly, the bounty hunter muttering, "M' not impassive. There's nothing I-"

"Touch them, for fuck's sake!" Ezra cried, pointedly rattling his cuffs. "I cannot do both. We must work together!"

The Mandalorian lurched suddenly up onto his knees, then sprawled over your body, slamming one hand down to support his weight before wrapping his fingers in the neck of Ezra's tattered thermal shirt. "You don't call the shots here, quarry." He snarled in That Voice, the one that he reserved for his bounties.

Your hands crept up to his hips, hyper aware of the sweet taste in your mouth and how good this would feel.

…

Ezra stared at the pitch-black visor inches from his nose. Felt the strength in the gloved hand that threatened to do much more than stretch his shirt.

The prospector took a mental inventory of his body at this juncture, a bit surprised and entertained to find that he was thoroughly invested in this new direction the encounter had taken. Mando was no doubt glaring at him from the safety of that impregnable helm, the other man's hackles obviously raised by the jab from the prospector.

It mattered very little at this point in time, however, as Ezra heard a zipper fly open. Mando flinched so hard Ezra felt it in his back, and the sound you made was enough to get the devil to start sweating. "Seems that you may be outnumbered, Steerforth."

"Target rich--environment-" The armored man snarled. "Senaar, y-your--mouth, fuck-"

He stuttered. He stuttered. Ezra latched onto that weakness with a filthy grin, easily twisting out of the other man's grip to duck his head back down and taste you. Mando's other hand hit the blanket as you undulated your hips up to meet Ezra's mouth. Ezra could only imagine the noises you were making around the other man's cock. He knew you were making them by the way Mando's arms quivered. And wasn't that a sight, a man in full armor rendered helpless by the power of a warm, eager mouth on his cock.

"Watch me now, Steerforth." Ezra crooned, tilting his face up to make presumed eye contact. "This is how you make them weep with pleasure." He was sure that his chin was dripping pink at this point and he knew, even without seeing the other man's face, that Mando was barely hanging on. He had to salute the armored man's dedication. A less devout individual would have given out before they made it to the floor.

The Medusine barrier that the Serpentia formed was slowly weakening under the gentle assault of his mouth, Ezra was pleased to notice. Of course, he wasn't exactly rushing, simply going at a steady pace to keep your pain to a bare minimum. You had begun to leak around the barrier, your arousal even warmer than he had expected. Ezra couldn't tell whether it was because he was under the effects of the pollen or whether it was reality that you tasted immaculate, but he reasoned that it didn't particularly matter.

He was hungry enough to cope with either happenstance.

"Little bird, fuck my face, won't you?" He requested sweetly, chuckling at your enthusiastic response. "Grind yourself to completion on my tongue, break the barrier so that your associate can sheathe himself balls deep in this delectable pussy and give you respite."

...

"Fuck." Din rasped, his eyes wide behind the visor of his helmet. The way that Ezra spoke was like fucking music, the man wrapping filthy words in flowery, incomprehensible syntax.

The Mandalorian's fingers tangled resolutely in the blanket, the armored man panting as you urged his aching dick even further down your throat. Your hands grappled with his thighs, shoving them wider and then taking two hungry handfuls of his rear to encourage him.

"Senaar-" he started to warn you off, but stopped dead when you moaned around him. Stars, he wondered how you could even breathe--

You pulled back, coughing and gasping. "You're doing so well, little bird." Ezra murmured from between your legs. Your only reply was to take Din's cock back into your mouth and oh fuck you weren't stopping-

Your hand found Djarin's in the blankets and you tugged on it, forcing him to try and figure out how to redistribute his weight so you could have the appendage. He managed it of course, he was a fucking Mandalorian after all, but there was a moment where he nearly lost his balance.

You guided his hand to your neck and Din couldn't fight back the groan he let out when he felt his cock bulging through your throat. Fuck, no one had ever been able to take this much of him into their mouth before, halfway was usually the stopping point.

Djarin grunted and tilted his head down to watch you struggle, finally wrapping a hand around his cock and easing it back out of your mouth. Strands of saliva connected the engorged head of his dick to your lips. Din sighed stupidly at the sight, fisting his dick and coating his glove with your spit. "You're good at this, Senaar." He said gruffly, knowing that it wasn't really praise, not like how Ezra said it. But words had never been his forte.

"Keep speaking to them Steerforth, they leak at every word out of your mouth." Ezra encouraged from between your legs. "That's right little bird, just a bit more…"

Din was startled, to say the least. You liked when he talked? "I…" he hesitated, then his brow furrowed. "Can't wait to fuck you, Senaar." You whimpered, your hips shuddering. "Fuck you until you don't remember your own fucking name." Din growled. "Breed you like a good Mando should, pump you full of my come just like my Creed-siblings did, right?"

You nodded against his thigh, your sweat seeping through his flight suit to meet his own liberal perspiration. He was so hot, his armor had never been this hot--

"Kevva, that's a kink I didn't anticipate." Ezra panted, pink slick smeared all over his nose and chin. "They certainly like it though, if I understand correctly."

Din could smell you, smell the sweet scent of that fruit mixed with your own arousal. His fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of Ezra's neck and he nearly headbutted him on reflex, barely reining the power back in time. Ezra seemed confused at first, the other man obviously dazed with heat and just sort of allowing Djarin to shove his face against his helmet.

…

The helm was so cool, Ezra couldn't restrain a relieved sigh when he made contact. Mando appeared to be rubbing your essence all over his helmet, utilizing Ezra's face as a paintbrush. Unorthodox, but effective.

"Oh," Ezra realized, "you've got some sort of olfactory sensors in there, don't you. You lewd creature you!" He teased breathlessly. "If you think they smell sumptuous, I regret to inform you that their taste utterly puts that to shame." Words were heavy in his mouth, the prospector having to work harder and harder to put sentences together. It wouldn't be long before his senses wholly abandoned him, he was certain. "Release me, Steerforth, I must…I must carry out my end of the bargain." He groaned, struggling free. "We are almost at their climax."

Mando was nearly vibrating with anticipation, gloved fingers clawing at Ezra's hair. "Careful," was all the armored man said hoarsely.

Ezra nodded, once again touched by the bounty hunter's surprising display of consideration for his partner. "When the barrier breaks, they will need your cock immediately, Steerforth. I will...not be coherent for much longer." He mumbled against your cunt, giving up on speech after Mando nodded.

With one last sweep of his tongue, the barrier dissolved. You sobbed out, your voice breaking as you writhed beneath your large companion and bucked your hips up against Ezra's eager mouth. Slick fairly poured out of you, leaking down your thighs and soaking the blanket beneath you.

Ezra didn't remember wriggling his bound hands beneath your rear, simply returning to his senses with your legs over his shoulders and his lungs burning for air but you tasted so good, he felt raw with hunger.

Mando's gloved hand covered nearly the entirety of his face, easing him back from his feast. Ezra watched the other man's chest heave in a daze until he suddenly remembered what he was doing. "I apologize, I...I am too far gone." He murmured in contrition, lowering your hips back to the floor.

"Ask nicely to fuck their mouth." Mando ordered, his blunt words digging into Ezra's groin. "You said it hurt you last time because you were alone. You helped them not to hurt. If they don't want to let you to fuck their mouth though, I'll…" he hesitated, "I'll figure something else out. Nobody has to hurt."

"'Something else'?" Ezra repeated, stunned. What on earth could this armored man possibly be offering? Those gloves were remarkably soft, the leather worn smooth from a lifetime of use, no doubt- "Oh."

…

The pain had eased, only to be replaced by a searing emptiness. You squirmed beneath Mando, tangentially aware that he was engaged in a discussion with Ezra. Your hand flew to your pussy, the drenched area making an embarrassingly loud noise when you thrust two fingers into yourself in an effort to quell the ache.

"Maker, please, please, Mando!" you begged, barely aware of what you were saying. The heat concentrated in your pelvis was burning you alive, desperate tears pouring down your face.

Mando stood to his full height, towering over you, just watching you quiver while you pleaded deliriously. He fairly ambled around your body, moving until he stood between your spread legs. His boot shoved your ankle, opening you even further, exposing every inch of you and the mess that covered the blanket under you. "Senaar." The low burr of modulation made you rock your hips up, whimpering and nodding when he stroked his cock like he was showing off.

Somewhere, deep in your soul, you prayed that he liked what he saw even without the strange pollen instigating.

He knelt, gloved fingers curling beneath your chin to pull your eyes up from his thick, perfect cock and the puddle of precome it was currently weeping onto your pubic mound. His touch sent flickering trails of electricity through your body, and you could barely focus on what he was asking.

"Ezra...mouth?"

You nodded rapidly, making Mando bark out what could have been a laugh. He cupped your jaw again, and then his hand stroked your hair in a way that was almost tender.

"I'll make you feel better." He promised. Ezra was a mess, he looked like you felt. The quarry simply let Mando shove him down onto his knees, his eyes half-lidded. "Undo your suit." Mando ordered and Ezra shakily attempted to obey. He was having a difficult time with his hands still in the binders so you reached out, batting his hands away impatiently to unzip the lower portion of his exosuit.

His thermal leggings were threadbare like his shirt, the waffle-weave fabric soaked through. His cock visibly twitched when you exhaled sharply. "Do not tease me, little bird, I feel as if I am on death's doorstep." The man pleaded through his teeth, "I am raw and agony gnaws at my skin; please take me in your mouth."

"I have to get your pants off." You tried to explain, fumbling with the article of clothing. The noise of despair he made had you frantically clawing at the pants, finally dragging them down low enough that his cock was freed. It slapped against his belly and he moaned, bound hands digging helplessly into your hair.

"May I please have your mouth?" He requested raggedly. "I will not take it if you do not give it freely but please, little bird."

After he had worked so hard to get you to come? You were nodding hurriedly before he finished speaking, and his deep, drawn-out groan of relief was like music to your ears when you swallowed him down.

…

You were radiating warmth, your hips twitching and shifting restlessly even as you tried to get Ezra's dick out of his suit. Din had to hand it to the other man, he did ask nicely.

But there were much more pressing matters to attend to. Mainly, your neglected cunt that was currently leaking all over the underside of his cock. Djarin took a steadying breath, and then slowly sank himself into your waiting heat.

Your cry of relief was fucking primal, a hungry, feral snarl that slithered hot and seething in his stomach under the beskar plate. Din was wholly, entirely lost, finding himself mentally shattered at the first stroke into your body. Your thighs trembled on either side of his hips and then your legs fell open, like you didn't have the strength to hold them up.

Shit, he knew he should say something, he knew he should be reluctant about this, but it was like every cell of his body needed you to fucking survive.

Maybe he always had.

Din bared his teeth and growled back at you, his attention divided between watching you eagerly suck Ezra's cock and watching the way his own dick split you open. His passage was eased by the strange pink fluid that continued to ooze out of you, stars it was so hot-

Ezra's fingers tangled in your hair after a moment, the prospector cradling your head to his groin in a manner that could have almost been described as gentle.

"Is this how my Creed-siblings f-ucked you, Senaar?" Din's voice grated in his chest, the armored man barely aware of the heated words tumbling out of his mouth. "Filling you, claiming you, fucking your throat and pussy?"

"Kevva." Ezra breathed. "Your peculiar voice working in tandem with your cock appears to be the thing that turns them into a voracious harlot. I do not know if I have ever-" His sentence broke momentarily, "oh, fuck, very well little bird, take the whole of it then." He grunted, raking his fingers through your hair as you deepthroated him. "You are absolutely magnificent at that, you know." The other man praised shakily.

Your cunt fluttered around Djarin's cock and he felt your arousal soak through his suit, hot fluid sliding down to coat his balls. "Stars, did you just come?" He groaned, unable to stop the filthy noise he made when you whined around Ezra's dick and nodded as best as you could. His fingers gripped your thigh, digging into the skin as he began to rut against you. The Mandalorian threw his head back, panting, "Feel so fucking--good around me, fuck, Senaar, so good-"

…

You felt like you were falling apart again and again. The taste, the sensations, the curling knot of heat in your belly that released inch by inch. Mando's hand on your thigh and Ezra's grip on your head were the things that allowed you to hold on to your sanity, but only just.

Mando was conquering you utterly, his dick driving into you with enough force that you knew you would be aching later, but in the moment you never wanted him to stop. You had craved him, wished for him for so long, to finally have him was total bliss.

And Ezra, Ezra, his silky voice caressing your body as his bound hands carded through your hair. His cock choked you again and again and every time you had to pull back off of him for breath he praised you, talked about how good you were, how no one had ever taken him as deep as you…

You were in heaven.

Ezra abruptly retreated, his cock smearing more precome across your lips. "If you continue on in this manner I will be undone, little bird." He muttered. "Your one-sided assault, while inescapably delicious, is rendering me wholly base. You wish for me to spill my seed on your face?" His hips twitched. "Or shall I fuck my come down your throat, request that you swallow every drop?"

"Fuck it into them." Mando rasped before you could say anything in reply, a gloved hand grabbing your chin. "Fuck your load i-into that sweet little mouth of theirs. Give them what they fucking need, quarry." He demanded, and you nearly came again from how unhinged he sounded.

"Well, little bird?" Ezra asked softly, his eyes dark with want. "Shall I take my pleasure from your lewd little mouth and let your beautiful throat milk me dry?"

"Please!" You begged, opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue to encourage him.

Ezra sighed blissfully at the sight, lacing his fingers through your hair and encouraging you to take his cock until your nose rested against his groin. "Fuc-king gods, you are positively celestial." He groaned, "Relegating yourself to a singular partner would be doing you a disservice, little bird. I highly encourage you to weaponize your talents in whatever field you wish."

Come flooded your mouth, his cock twitching heavily against your tongue. Your eyes rolled back, your lungs burning for air and you dimly heard Mando snarl, dropping his helm to rest on your sternum. The metal was blessedly cool even through your tunic, helping to anchor you to reality.

"Fucking touch me, please." Mando's voice shook even with the modulator, his words buzzing through your body. "Senaar please, fuck, pl-please, touch me, fucking--"

Your palms crashed into his shoulders, hips bucking upwards to meet his next thrust and you came again. Mando made a noise that you could only liken to a roar, the armored man grappling at your hips and grinding himself against your dripping cunt.

"Senaar, Senaar, Senaar--" The name he had given you punctuated every thrust, his rasping tone making your belly drop out. You weren't sure if you would ever stop coming, grasping blindly at Mando and Ezra while your cunt gripped down on Mando's cock.

…

If Ezra still had any doubts about being a blatant proxy for the armored man, that was obliterated in his post-orgasm daze.

A gloved hand slid to the back of his neck and tugged him down to your mouth. Ezra went clumsily but willingly, the prospector humming when he tasted himself and the cloying sweetness of the Serpentia on your tongue. You sobbed against his lips and Ezra soothed you with his mouth, accepting all of your hungry whimpers and whines as he stroked your hair back off your forehead.

"Little bird, little bird, you will want for nothing with this individual pummeling you so mercilessly." He breathed, relishing the soft cry that quivered against the skin of his neck. "I imagine you can feel every inch of that prodigious girth, burning like unquenchable quicksilver, threatening to breach your very womb." He moved his bound hands down, resting them on your stomach. "Steerforth, I trust you are punishin' their cervix with every thrust?" He queried, chuckling darkly when Mando just snarled in reply.

You threw your head back, hands fisted in the fabric between Mando's pauldrons and gorget. "Mando-!" You pleaded, "fuck!"

Mando's hands dug beneath the small of your back and he canted your hips upwards, sheathing his cock in the cradle of your body over and over. Ezra envied the armored man's stamina, grunting when he felt his member trying to rise again. Whether he could blame the pollen for that, he was unsure, but the lovely company certainly did nothing to dissuade his arousal. Watching this large, almost knightly figure rail into you, your face still a mess of tears from when Ezra had fucked your mouth…

Kevva, he could not recall a time where he had been so content to simply play voyeur, pressing the occasional kiss to your lips at Mando's behest. "Such tenderness, what a dichotomous sensation for you," the prospector mused, "the contrast between armor and flesh." His mouth brushed against your ear when he continued, "However, I believe you're beginning to realize that there is an untapped wellspring of man beneath all that metal, am I correct little bird?"

...

You squeezed your eyes shut and Din's hand reached up, the bounty hunter unable to keep from cradling your cheek. "I always knew." You said, your voice barely audible. "I-I always...I always-"

"Be quiet." Din grunted. "Y-You...don't have to say it." His heart slamming in his chest had nothing to do with his current exertion. You knew. Shame reached him dimly through the haze of arousal. All the times he ached to touch you, all the times he battled with himself over his desire for contact…

Your hand gripped the back of his helmet and he flinched sharply. He hadn't noticed you move and you could pull his helmet off, shit, he was so stupid for doing this! His eyes flew to yours, even though he knew you couldn't see through his visor.

After a moment of him fighting back his panic, you just shook your head. "S-Sealed unit, ri-ght?" You asked, your words hitching with his thrusts. Djarin nodded warily. Your eyes half-lidded and you knocked your forehead into his helmet, the gesture unmistakable to a Mandalorian.

A kiss.

Was his heart breaking, or just fucking giving out under the assault of this insane pollen? Was he overloaded? Was this all just some wild hallucination?

Din frantically shoved his helmet against your face, pinning your head back to the pillow. Shit, he needed to be careful, you didn't have armor. "Senaar, I--" Basic had always been so damn heavy on his tongue. Mando'a flowed, but it was secret. Sacred. Djarin hesitated and you reached up again, cradling the indents on his helmet.

"Always. Even with this." You whispered.

His brain had short-circuited. The roaring in his ears was deafening and he knew he was making some kind of ugly, wounded noise, but he couldn't actually do anything about it.

Always. Always.

His heart must have blown, he reasoned desperately. That was the only explanation for what he was feeling right now.

…

The sound that Mando made after you assured him was heartwrenching, a guttural sob that seemed like a mixture of agony and ecstasy. He clawed at the blanket beneath you, gasping for breath as he all but broke you in half, his dick ripping yet another orgasm from your hungry cunt.

You were lightheaded from his prolonged fucking, your pussy in spasm around his thick cock, but you refused to give out yet. "Did you feel me come, Mando?" You whimpered against the side of his helmet, wringing more feral noises out of him. "Is it good?"

"Fuck, incredible, s-so--" Mando gripped your thigh, hitching it up over his hip and then dragging his fingers hungrily through the pink slick that had pooled in the crease of your hip. "Never want to leave, fuck, m'sorry, I know I'm t-taking--forever-"

"Only a fool apologizes for his length in the bedroom." Ezra remarked dryly, dipping down to kiss you when you laughed. "How do you fare, little bird?"

"So good." You sighed, feeling half-drunk on your orgasm high. The knot in your belly had finally gone slack, leaving you weak and trembling beneath Mando as he chased his own completion. You hummed and Ezra rumbled back, his touch remarkably careful when he cupped your chin.

"You have done so well." Ezra murmured. "Serpentia is no simple storm to weather, yet you have endured." Mando wordlessly bumped his helmet against Ezra's temple, the metal rubbing over the blond tuft of hair the quarry sported. "You are most welcome, Steerforth." Ezra chuckled. "One is glad to be of service, but please. You threatened to fill them, didn't you?"

Mando's hips faltered in their rhythm and the armored man finally came with a shattered moan of relief. Stars, you weren't sure if you had the Serpentia to blame for the sheer volume that he came; you could feel it frothing out of you around his cock as he continued to shudder and writhe through his orgasm.

"Holy shit, Mando." You said incredulously, unable to fight back the urge to slip a hand down between your bodies. "You told me Mandalorians were rare."

"We--are." Mando panted raggedly, his cock still twitching inside you.

"If you come like this, how?" You asked, your combined fluids soaking your questing fingers. Mando just stared at you for a moment, shoulders heaving while he struggled to catch his breath.

And then he started laughing, which was...not nearly as terrifying as you had expected, honestly. "Stars, you--" He wheezed, his helm thudding gently against your forehead. "Fuck you, Senaar." You could hear him grinning, his voice still warm with laughter.

"Odd method of displaying affection. I take it your Creed is of a fraternitous bent?" Ezra commented, a quiet noise of surprise escaping him when you tugged him down for a kiss.

"Thank you." You mumbled drowsily into his mouth.

"Hardly. I ought to thank you. When last I endured the Serpent's grasp, I was incarcerated and driven to gratify myself to ribbons on the inside of my gear." Ezra informed you, his tone nonchalant. "This experience was a rare moment of hedonistic bliss in my life. Believe me when I say I shall cherish it."

He straightened up before you could say anything in reply, extending his bound wrists to Mando.

"Whither to, my recalcitrant steerforth?"

Mando ignored him for another moment, stroking your forehead tenderly. He appeared to have noticed your weariness, because he sounded softer when he spoke. "Sleep, Senaar. It's over."

…

"I'll cut you loose on Sorgan."

Ezra swiveled in the co-pilot chair, knowing that his expression must border on the befuddled. When the armored man had left you to sleep, hauled Ezra into the cockpit and secured his binders to the chair, the prospector had assumed that whatever agreement they struck previously was rendered null and void. "I would be...wholeheartedly grateful to you, Steerforth." He breathed.

"I never found you. Your pod malfunctioned and you burned alive in the atmosphere." Mando instructed him in that level, modulated voice. "Stop stealing shit and I won't have to hunt you down again."

"Those men stole from me!" Ezra retorted hotly, knocking his elbow down into the white case that hung off his hip. "I worked alone for stands and they came along right at the most opportune juncture, put a thrower to my head and robbed me! I simply reclaimed-"

Mando waved a hand, interrupting his self-righteous tirade. "You and I both know that it doesn't matter. I'm forfeiting the credits this time, but next time…" he trailed off pointedly. "Don't get caught again. If someone else from my Guild chapter picks up your bounty, Mandalorian or otherwise, they will catch you."

Mando leaned in close, his elbows resting on his knees and helmet propped up on his folded hands. Ezra felt for all the world like a specimen underneath a microscope, barely suppressing the urge to squirm nervously.

"The bounty specified that you be captured warm." The armored man said after a beat. "No promise of half-payment upon cold delivery or even proof of demise. So whoever you got into a pissing match with wants to be the one to put that last slug into your brain. You already heard my advice. For your own good, I suggest you lay low and be fucking quiet." He gestured out the cockpit viewport at the green sphere that hovered in the distance. "There's good people on that planet. Good people that I care about. If you bring hunters to their doorstep, I will find out. And then I will find you."

Kevva have mercy, this man was no joke. Ezra was having a difficult time just mustering up the breath to give him an affirmation! Was this truly the same Lancelot he had watched engage in lotus-eating debauchery with his Guinevere not two hours hence? Ezra's belly roiled uncertainly, arousal and fear a potent combination. This must be how the bounty hunter indulged himself without divesting his plate, the prospector reasoned dimly. Fear was a remarkably stimulating thing. "Of course." He finally answered, his voice a little reedy. "Your mercy is...unexpectedly generous, but no less appreciated for its spontaneity."

Mando grunted, seeming satisfied with his response. The armored man returned to the control panel after a moment, flipping a few switches. The entire ship appeared to be miles above what Ezra was used to. Even the Testin had a dog-eared manual that hung from a chain by the central dash, and the craft was such a rattling nightmare that she needed three bodies just to keep her straight. But this man, this...Mandalorian, he operated the whole blasted vessel with a fluid ease.

His next words were so quiet Ezra nearly missed them. "Thank you."

"Pardon?" Ezra queried blankly.

Mando heaved a sigh that made his pauldrons visibly dip. "I said, thank you." He growled awkwardly. "I don't know what...I don't know if I would have hurt them because of--because of how I am."

"It will do no good to ruminate on such dour subjects." Ezra hesitated, then continued, "but your Creed...would you have broken it for them, had you known about the requirements of the Medusine barrier?"

"I…" Mando tightened his hold on the directionals, those gloves creaking with his tension. "I'm not sure." He admitted, lapsing into silence afterwards.

"Your ship is marvelously responsive." Ezra murmured by way of changing the subject. "It reminds me of a diminutive Screamer-class that I endured a few stands on, oh, nearly fifteen cycles ago-"

"Be quiet."

…

Din watched Ezra until he vanished between the large trunks of Sorgan's conifers, the Mandalorian then dropping back into the pilot's seat with a groan. Maker, he hoped he was doing the right thing. Hoped he hadn't just unleashed some mass-murdering psychopath on the unsuspecting populace.

Djarin tilted his helmet back against the headrest of the seat, aimlessly staring up at the fuselage.

What the hell was he going to say when you woke up?

Din's heart sank. He knew that he couldn't believe anything that had come out of your mouth while you had been under the effects of that fruit. Serpent's Tongue. He chewed his lower lip meditatively.

He could lie.

He fucking cringed at the thought, then shook his head at himself. You would be embarrassed at best, but at worst…

Shit, he didn't want to lose you, even if you didn't feel the same way about him. And then there was the kid to worry about. No, a lie would be better.

You had sought out other Mandos. His stomach lurched as he recalled that little fact. Fuck, fuck, was it hope that beat so insistently in his throat?

A sealed unit, he had said.

He just wouldn't bring it up. He was the one who had insisted that this whole maneuver was struck from the proverbial records in the first place, right? He just wouldn't mention it. Easy enough. If you said something, that was fine, but otherwise…

Din nodded firmly. This is the Way.

Part Two

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hurricanes-art · 4 years ago

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I really love your Hades au! The drawings are so well done and look lovely and the details you thought of are really interesting and well thought out and it makes me happy (except Nyx’s punishment, poor Zag)

Thank you so much!!! I’m so glad you enjoyed my art I’m glad you like the idea too! Poor Zag really does have a rough time in this au... Sorry for replying to this so late, I’ve been swamped with work recently, which is a shame because I’ve been chomping at the bit to make more stuff for this. But here, I do have a drabble for your troubles, and also the reason why I’ve been calling it the God of Ash au :D

(I also posted it to ao3 because why not, I guess. You can read it there, if you want)

“Asterius’s amiability won’t do any good, I fear; he takes his role of Champion too seriously to give any leeway. Suppose he feels he has to earn his place here, though I think he deserves it far more than Theseus- gods know he’ll never back down.”

Patroclus tsks softly. “For a certainty. See, you should have listened to me when I said that you’d make a far better champion. If you’d bested them and taken their place, you could give the stranger a free pass. When will you realize that I’m always right?”

Achilles releases a breathy laugh, gold curls flitting about him as he shakes his head. “Somehow, I don’t think that would have been quite so simple a solution. Though it’s always tempting when I imagine what Theseus’s face might look like if he was ever dethroned.”

The corners of Patroclus’s mouth twist up at the mental image. He leans further against Achilles where they sit on a low retaining wall in their familiar little glade. He idly winds and unwinds a lock of his hair around his fingers, soothed by the smooth slip of the strands over his skin.

“Perhaps it won’t be long now till he is,” Achilles posits thoughtfully. “The lad hasn’t given up yet.”

Patroclus tilts his head and meets Achilles’ eye out of the corner of his own. “You really think he can make it past the arena?”

His beloved shrugs lightly. “It seems like he can make as many attempts as he wants, can keep going unless his resolve fails him. I think it might be possible. I wouldn’t be-” The abrasive grind of the door sliding open interrupts rudely. “Well. Maybe not possible this time around.”

Patroclus turns to follow Achilles gaze across the chamber.

Zagreus stumbles over their little bridge, smiling tiredly despite his bedraggled state. Blood paints his temple from where it oozes from some wound hidden in his hair. The skin of his right shoulder is red and swollen, broken in some places, and Patroclus suppresses a wince at the thought of the bruise that would form, though he knows it will never get the chance. Cuts and scrapes mar his arms. He walks with a limp, though Pat can’t see the source.

He looks quite worse for wear. Patroclus informs him of such.

Zagreus laughs graciously, stumbling more over the last few steps towards them, seeming to go slack and relieved in their secure and sheltered glade. “I’m afraid you’re right,” he admits, the cadence of his voice sweet and earnest. “It’s not been the best of attempts.”

He glances at Achilles sheepishly. “Sorry sir, I’m not sure if I’m up for your- training pointers this time around.” He fumbles for the awkward words, apparently still unsituated and disbelieving in the face of Achilles’ advice, which he started to give a couple encounters ago.

“No worries, Zagreus,” he assures lightly. “They’re only meant to help you along, anyways, not to beat you down more.”

Pat hums gently and blinks lazily at the stranger. “Yes. Here take this,” he gestures to his usual offerings, “and take a moment, too, before going on your way.”

Zagreus’s smile reaches his eyes more at that and he takes the Kiss of Styx with a pretty dust of light pink across his cheeks. “As always, I can’t thank you enough, sir.” Patroclus rolls his eyes dramatically, but he’s not sure the stranger sees it as he dips his head politely.

He stays standing as he empties the dark, little vial and Achilles says, “Why don’t you take a seat lad? You’re welcome to rest for a moment. You look like you could use it.”

Zagreus studies him intently for a few moments, then shrugs. “If I sit down, I won’t want to get back up.”

Patroclus scoffs and quips, “I think that may be a sign that you really need to sit down.” Zagreus grins in response but remains on his feet regardless. Patroclus won’t insist where it’s not his place.

Instead he says, “At the risk of appearing rude, I must admit, I’m not very familiar with the chthonic deities. I don’t know all the gods of the Underworld. I thought you might be willing to sate some of my curiosity.”

Zagreus blinks at him, clearly surprised, but by no means offended. Patroclus is relieved to have apparently judged him correctly. “I- sure, of course! What were you curious about?”

Patroclus tilts his head. “-You. Who are you? What are you the god of?”

Zagreus blanches ever so slightly before flushing red. He laughs nervously and rubs the back of his neck as he ducks his head to avoid their gaze. “Sorry to disappoint you, sir. Some people in the house call me the God of Ash, but it’s only as a joke.” Through the ruffled, ink dark strands of his hair, Patroclus sees Zagreus set his mismatched eyes on his feet. The light of his fiery skin flickers and glows through the cracks and fissures in the build up of ash.

“I’m not really the god of anything at all,” the stranger announces.

Behind him, pressed up so that Patroclus feels it vibrate through him, Achilles hums a low, even noise, impossible to interpret, even as weighty as it feels in the air. Still, if he had to guess, he would think that his Achilles doesn’t believe that for a moment.

Patroclus isn’t so sure. He knows little about the ways of gods. Are some of them truly not gods of anything at all? And could Zagreus really be among their ranks? That, Patroclus finds less likely. He feels like the God of something. He can’t say exactly why, can’t pin it down. After all, the prince has only come through- oh, five or six times now. Just something in the air when he does, perhaps. Patroclus knows little about the ways of gods.

A little leaf falls from the crisp, autumn foliage of Zagreus’s laurels, wheeling through the motionless air of Elysium as if it has a life of its own. Patroclus watches, with an idle thought to collect it where it lands, but it flares like a minute ember and then flickers out just the same, leaving nothing behind when the stranger departs once again.

#hades game #hades supergiant #zagreus #achilles #patroclus #achilles hades #patroclus hades #god of ash au #my writing #thank you for such a nice ask #this was fun to write!#it was supposed to be shorter tho #which i can say about every single thing ive written #if i post more stuff before may 7 please kill me #i have so much to DO #missshadowpup

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tired-fandom-ndn · 4 years ago

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hey - i hope you're going okay. i ended up falling into that endless scroll on your mechs tag, and i saw you shipped nastya with the rest of the mechs - i was wondering if you had anymore thoughts on her interactions with them in the polycule?

Thank you for this ask, anon, I LOVE talking about Nastya.

Warning for some nsft stuff. Nothing graphic though.

The easiest way I can describe my personal headcanons for her relationships with the other Mechs is. . . . distant. Or maybe cautious. She’s not really shy, but she was the youngest when she was mechanized (not by much, but enough) and also the most sheltered by far. She has a hard time reaching out to the others, but that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t love them.

I also headcanon her as autistic, because I like to project, so she has sensory issues and trouble verbalizing herself and that makes it even harder for her to connect to other people. Her connection to the Aurora also ramps up her sensory issues even more, with input coming not just from her own body but also from the ship, so she feels the most comfortable in the quieter parts of the ship, where all she can hear is the humming of the machinery and all she can feel is the cool metal against her skin.

She does do her best to reach out to the other Mechs though. Jonny is the one she’s usually with, because they’ve been together the longest and he Gets her in ways that no one else does, and he usually acts as a buffer to keep her from getting overwhelmed.

From what I can recall, Nastya canonly doesn’t like The Toy Soldier, but I’m calling bullshit on that, sorry. I feel like they’d enjoy just spending time together, Nastya working on its gears or the both of them brushing each other’s hair, TS’s wooden fingers not setting off her touch repulsion for whatever reason. Talking with TS also comes with less pressure than the others, because it can ramble on for hours and not mind at all when Nastya doesn’t respond. I think she would also find the reliable cadence of its voice soothing, its speech patterns always consistent and steady.

I’ve talked about Jonny curling up against Nastya’s back while she works, but sometimes she wants to do that to someone too and Jonny doesn’t sit still long enough for her to get comfortable. Instead, when she’s feeling cuddly and can’t pin Jonny down for a nap, she usually tracks down Ivy. Ivy is calm and quiet and not judgemental, and she doesn’t mind at all if Nastya wants to cuddle her from behind. Sometimes Nastya will lay her head on Ivy’s lap and Ivy will just run her fingers through her hair and read whatever she has aloud. They don’t kiss often, but when they do, it’s long and lazy.

Raphaella is, of course, her favorite work buddy. They have SO MANY projects together, mixing Nastya’s mechanical expertise with Raph’s biomedical knowledge for truly interesting and often horrific results. There is a cyborg octokitten loose in the ship and no one can stop it. Raph is louder than Ivy and TS, more enthusiastic, but she’s also good at not directing too much intensity at Nastya specifically. Her lab is one of the places where Nastya really relaxes, and the two of them laugh and conspire a lot together. They also have A LOT of sex, filled with giggling and jokes and a frankly terrifying assortment of toys from Raph’s personal collection.

Marius, like Raphaella, is enthusiastic and intense but without Raph’s self-control. He can be really overwhelming for Nastya sometimes, but the flip side is that he’s also one of the most thoughtful and observant members of the crew. He recognizes when he pushes too far and when she’s getting stressed and upset, and he takes steps to fix it. One of their favorite bonding activities is actually massages; Marius is amazing with his hands and helps soothes the near-constant aches that Nastya lives with, and while he’s doing that, they both talk to each other about mechanics and giant robots and fun shit like that. When they have sex, it’s usually just playful teasing, a lot of nipping at each other and pushing. Alas, they are both bottoms.

Brian is in Nastya’s top three favorite crewmates, right next to Jonny and the Aurora, and he’s the most regular third when she’s with Jonny. Nastya absolutely adores cuddling with him, because he’s big enough that he can just wrap around her and the warmth of his body feels amazing against the cold of the metal in her veins, and sometimes they’ll just spend hours quietly cuddling or spooning or napping together. He’s the steadiest member of the crew, not as nice as other people think he is but not likely to start throwing grenades randomly, and she feels safe when she’s in his arms. He’s also a very good dom, gentle when she just needs a lap to rock on and rough when she wants to feel her life flash before her eyes.

Ashes and Gunpowder Tim are in the same camp of JUST GENERALLY A LOT and they’re usually just way too much for Nastya to handle without a buffer. She gets overwhelmed so easily around them, feeling like she’s drowning in the scent of gasoline and gunpowder and smoke and cigarettes, but she really does love them both. She just. . . . needs to be around them in very small quantities, and they get that. In terms of sex, things with both of them are complicated and they’re both too much for her on their own. Ashes is, as I’ve said before, the ultimate dom and they go hard and intense. Tim also likes things rough but in an entirely different direction, to the point where sex with him is violently animalistic. Together though, Ashes and Tim will focus on going after each other and that’s enough for Nastya to feel very happy and comfortable between them.

In general, Nastya really does adore the crew, she just needs space. On nights when they’re all cuddled up in a pile in the main common room, watching a movie from whatever planet just ceased existing, there’s nowhere else she’d rather be.

It’s late and I’m running out of steam, but I hope this makes you happy, anon!

#nsft #polymechs #the mechanisms #nastya rasputina #Anonymous

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fallowfinality · 3 years ago

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6, 18, 22

( 6. 3 things I love about my muse, under the cut because this got long.

hooh... I can filibuster, but I'll pick three.

I love his voice so much. I tend to infer too much from voices but here's what I hear:

Mozenrath is solid. In another life, under different circumstances, he'd be the guy you go to when you're dealing with something crazy that nobody else will hear you out on.

At the same time, he's so unapologetically himself, wherever that falls, that it really doesn't matter where it falls. I think he turns his back on the intensity that might otherwise overtake him, or else he really is from a softer world.

He is so incredibly 19 to me, from that voice. I know Jonathan Brandis was likely 18 at the time of recording most of his episodes, but the way he voices Mozenrath hits me in my little 19 year old heart for reasons I'm about to get into.

It's a weird age to portray: 19 year olds are legally adults, but they're not old enough to drink. At that time, you're still living with your parents, but you're just old enough to start feeling it. Being the type of person who always had trouble comprehending whether she was really as young as her years, Mozenrath's cadence and his moments of informality and his tantrums feel very... safe, I guess. Refreshing.

Secondly, the softer world. In my other fandoms, particularly WoW, there's a creeping shadow that eventually makes its way over everything. Every character, every place. Everything wears down under the weight of the shadow. I can get into this further in another post or clarify later, but needless to say things tend to enter triggering territory when I'm in another fandom too long.

But Mozenrath, and his world, are as of yet immune to this shadow. Maybe it's a Disney thing, but he's in an eternal summer. Even if he doesn't know it.

Third, and this is going to sound even crazier: Possession. When I get into a new character, sometimes I'll be 'possessed' by them.

Have you ever experienced mental pain trying to read something that isn't easy to process? Imagine that, but coupled with hyperfixation and the vague sense of feeling another person crawling into your head. That usually lasts about a week, and then you can call on his muse when you need him.

This is what helps me write fanfic about him, and what helps me hyperfixate long enough to get out those huge roleplay posts when they're needed. I'm glad he crawled into my head, though I sure hope he doesn't make a habit of it...

18. Something I wish I'd see more in the roleplay community.

Communication! I'll admit it's tough for me too. But too many things go unsaid OOC, and when too many things go unsaid, ghosting can happen.

22. Red roleplay flags.

Any elitism. Any at all. Style elitism, length elitism, hell, I've seen elitism in furry roleplay games over whose colors are more realistic. Whole time, both the wolves have emo hair.

I've also found that roleplaying shipping content (not just NSFW content, but any emotionally intensive / romantic content) with people a lot younger than you can set them up thinking they've got something with you OOC that they don't.

And by younger, I mean a 20 year old being bestest friends with the 13 year old they're doing angsty otp roleplay with (true story.) It's just not going to end well.

Otherwise... I don't know. One guy once used steamy RP (or the promise of it, he didn't get as far as a starter) to try to persuade me into actual OOC ~relations~ over Discord voice chat. That was bad. )

#ooc

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blissfulalchemist · 3 years ago

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“ loving you saved me. ” + catjohn xx

Have something that would take place after A Chance for Faith

Courthouses don’t look as grand as they do on tv. Then again Cat wasn’t in a courthouse in New York, she was at one in Montana. Helena to be more exact, can’t have a crime as big as this in just any old court, last time she was here they’d flown over it. She shouldn’t have been here, no one else wanted her too, not even herself, it was recommended by her therapist. It was to help in being able to confront the realities of what happened, disrupt the delusion of her time in Eden’s Gate, and help her heal. She had refused, both out of fear and just wanting to be done with the whole ordeal, but then they dangled the possibility of being able to have Liz back sooner if she did it.

The only reason Cat had done anything once it became clear that John was never going to speak to her again. Liz needed her, needed her mom to be as normal as possible so that she could lead some semblance of a normal life. The only reason that Cat enters into the quiet room reserved for people that are testifying in the trial. It wasn’t empty at least, there was a young man also waiting, his features familiar to Cat as she sat studying him.

Most of his face was obscured from the curls of his brown hair, clean shaven with a light blue button up and black tie, Doesn’t dress up often does he?. It took a minute before he looked up at her with his green eyes, the recognition clicking. He had more of a beard going on last time she saw him, the circles under his eyes darker, and face covered in various cuts and bruises. He looked as uncomfortable back then to those news cameras as he did now, hands tapping along to some unheard beat. He gave a half hearted attempt at a smirk, “Haven’t seen you at any of the other trials.”

She blinked a few times, “I didn’t need to be. They plead guilty.”

“The grand jury ones,” he corrected, “The ones to determine if there was enough to go to trial.”

“I was….incapacitated,” Cat crossed her arms, leaning back in the chair.

“They lock you up too?” Her heart picked up speed, did he know what she did? No one knew, no one that wasn’t there knew right? Her bodies were blamed on someone else. “Probably should follow your lead, get myself checked into some mental hospital.”

Her shoulders fell, “Oh,” Cat pushed some of her hair back into place, “It’s not all what you would think it to be. You’re better off with out-patient therapy, no groups though, even if it is with the residents of Hope County. Won’t be of much help to you.” He sat back, holding his chin, giving a small shrug, “I’d recommend going with someone that specializes with war related PTSD.”

He shook his head quickly, “I’m not going to a veterans’ center.”

“There’s plenty of other places, Deputy,” he rolled his eyes, leaning his head back to look at the ceiling. “Can I ask you something?”

“Might not answer, but sure.”

“How did she die? Faith I mean.”

He searched the tiles above him, sighing, “I shot and killed the concept of her,” the deputy’s eyes met hers once more, “If you get what I’m saying.”

She’s still alive, Cat let out a breath, relieved, “Yeah. I do.”

The door opened, a security officer holding it for the man following behind him. Even with the chains around his ankles there was no mistaking the cadence of his footsteps to Catlina, the black suit and slicked black hair the final indications on who had joined the two. The security officer sat John down at a table with a separate set of cuffs attaching the ex-herald to it. The deputy’s eyes narrowed, jaw tightening and arms crossed as he got up to move closer to Catlina, John’s eyes widening as he followed the movement. Cat couldn’t tell if her heart raced out of affection or rage, her hands wanting to reach out to John despite the stiffness in her body. What more can she do other than keep herself rooted there in that chair. No one thought to prepare her for seeing John in person again, it didn’t seem like a possibility.

John righted himself in the chair, the officer checking the chains and cuffs secure before looking up to the young deputy. “They’ll be coming back for you in about five minutes or so Mr. Ruicknar,” the officer told him, “I trust you can handle him if he gets too unruly.” The officer didn’t elaborate any further, shutting the door behind his exit.

The three of them stayed still, words drying up, Cat twisting the tips of her fingers trying to keep her gaze averted from John’s. She could just feel his eyes on her the entirety of that silence. The words she wanted to yell at him brimming in the back of her throat, the ache in her chest sparking the tears she couldn’t let fall, not if she wanted to present some kind of confidence around Joseph. She didn’t owe John anything, he was the one that sent her away, the one that never even cared when she told him about their daughter, nothing but radio silence.

Watered down voices come into focus with the shaking of her hands, “Not everything that happens has an ulterior motive, Deputy.”

“Seems to be with you, Fashion Week,” Cat blinked a few times, shaking her head clear, hands rifling through her purse, “At least you’re tied down, can’t get any closer.”

The rattling of the bottle in her shaking hands, eyes searching for some kind of drinkable liquid, “The table to your left,” John said, his attention quickly back on the younger man, teeth gritted, “I’d never hurt her.”

The deputy leaned forward, as Cat made her way to the table grabbing one of the small water bottles, “Could have fooled me.” The door opened once more, two pills landing in Catlina’s palm, Ruicknar being called as she drank them, her back stiff. The deputy gently put a hand on Cat’s shoulder, “Just keep as far back as you can from him. I’ll warn the guy outside to pay closer attention just in case,” he whispered, eyes glancing back at John before he made his way out the door, leaving her alone with her biggest disillusionment.

She steadied herself on the table, breathing deeply pushing the nausea away, she was going to be here for a while. She couldn’t leave the room and its size dwindled with every passing minute. Why did he have to be here in the room with her? Why now? This had to have been done on purpose, there was no other explanation. “I’ve never seen you so covered up,” John finally said, Cat taking in the black halter neck dress and navy cardigan once more. She didn’t own anything that would cover up all the scars without her dying in the warmer weather and the scrubs she wore weren’t really court appropriate. “It looks nice on you,” she didn’t justify him with a response to his compliment, John letting out a sigh, “I’d rather not sit in silence for the next hour or so Catlina.”

Her nails dug into the table, “You made it pretty clear you wanted nothing but silence between us.” She turned glaring, hands balled into fists, “So don’t try to start any of that with me.”

His face stayed neutral, eyes following her as she returned to her seat, facing as much of her back to him as possible, “I regret it you know.”

“Sure you do.”

“I do. I could have saved myself a lot of trouble if I just left with you,” Cat bit her tongue, hugging herself tighter hearing the softness in his voice, “I couldn’t bring myself to speak to you after that, thought it would be easier for the both of us.”

“It wasn’t,” she spat out.

“Mr. Powell tried to give me one voice message in particular,” Going to need to be a little more specific, I left many, “He kept trying to tell me how important it was since he had listened to it already.” So Lance knows, “He never did tell me what was on it, even after I asked. He told me that I should have listened to it when I had the chance.”

“It wasn’t that important,” she whispered, “Most likely just another one of my pleas to hear from you.” The voice of her therapist repeated to her how little she owed to John and how it was going to be better for Liz that he never know of her. The latter having only been confirmation that he knew nothing of her existence.

“Catlina please,” his blue eyes searched hers, face unwilling to give up any indication of his true thoughts.

“No,” she shook her head, “No, John. You don’t get to do that to me. You don’t get to ask me to give you an answer you didn’t want when it was first presented to you.”

“I didn’t understand what I was really running from back then.”

“And what? Now you do?”

“Yes.” His jaw clenched, looking down to his hands, his breathing deepening, “I didn’t want to acknowledge the pain, the regret that I still feel for throwing away the possibility of a future with you.”

She turned sharply, legs moving her closer to the table, “You should feel that way John. You should feel guilt along with everything else because you didn’t even fight for it. You gave up.”

“I know,” he growled, “I know how much you ‘fought’ for a future, a bright one, the one we talked about having one day. I know.”

Her hands slammed on the table, John flinching, sitting straighter in the chair, “You don’t know! You don’t know what I did to make that possible for us. How hard I worked to be so close to finishing what needed to be done, before you sent me away!” Cat leaned closer, a breath away from him, “You don’t know what I sacrificed for you, John. You can’t possibly know.”

He stood quickly, the chair scraping against the linoleum, eyes narrowing, “I do though. I know exactly what you did, Mary.” The smile that was always paired with the tone, the one that used to unnerve her with its poison, wasn’t present. The face she saw now, even with the darkened eyes and flaring nostrils, wore signs of disappointment….of a sadness that she hadn’t seen before, or one she could recall in their time together. “I figured out what you were doing pretty quickly and yet I still couldn’t let myself believe what was so clearly the truth. You talked about me having a mask on, there being two people, when in the end you also wore a mask. You became two different people, neither of which were the real you.” He glanced down, his hands relaxing, resisting the urge to place them over hers, ”So I had to send you away. I had to preserve that last bit of you that I could still identify as the Catlina who told me that she’d rather die than get to a point of treating people as less than human.”

She pulled away, swallowing back the emotions churning in her, threatening to over take her. The part of her that would forgive him, want to forget everything that happened, and offer to start anew, to let him know that their impossible future was no longer impossible but already here. “I was wrong back then John. I was just as you and your brothers said I was,” she crosses her arms, nails digging into her skin through the fabric, “Naive. So you were better off just killing me if you wanted that preservation so badly.”

“That was never an option for me!” His breathing had slowed, shoulders slumping down, “I’m willing and able to hurt and kill whomever I please without so much as a second thought. Lord knows how many times I did, uncaring of the consequences from my brother or from anyone really, but you….,” he scoffed, giving a slight shake of his head, “You know I thought of every single possible reason you could have given me to just kill you, keep myself prepared for the moment that you would screw up. The moment that my brother tired of your role much like he did the other Faiths, knowing it could very well fall upon me to do it.”

Her knuckles turn to white, trying to hide the shaking she can feel starting to crawl up her spine. The information he’s just provided should be of no surprise to her, she had once considered any potential reason she’d have to take his life, hearing the words come from his lips makes what she had always assumed real. The sharp reminder of the man she had to fight through to get to the one before her now, “So what changed?”

“You screwed up,” he glanced at the fallen seat behind him, Cat’s movements on autopilot bringing it close enough for John to do the rest. “You screwed up in a way that was going to drag me down with you. I couldn’t have that, I couldn’t risk everything that I helped build….so I left you in that bunker, going over how I could kill you in a way that just made it look like you couldn’t handle the process, but I couldn’t come up with anything.” She rolled her eyes, biting her lower lip, John’s eyes cast down, “I couldn’t think of anything because it didn’t feel right. I thought it was because I just didn’t have all the answers, making that black and white thinking you had mentioned harder to determine if you were with me or against me. After that session I had the answers I needed to put some things together, enough to figure out that you were against the situation and my role within it-.”

“But I wasn’t against you,” she finished in a whisper, “Not against the man you were taking the first steps to becoming.”

“Exactly, but I found myself debating my loyalties. Something I hadn’t really done, not to the extent of abandoning it all, an option that came to me briefly. I know I still chose my family over you,” he sighed, his hands clasped together, “but I knew I had to save you like you would do for me. It was the most right thing I had ever done, the one thing I did with no ulterior motive in a long time, Catlina.” She met his eyes, the vibrating of her body quieting, “I still wasn’t a perfect man, I never will be, but I wanted, want, to be a better man and that started with giving you up for a second time.”

“You never even asked me, John. You should have talked to me about it.”

“Like I said I wasn’t perfect, I did terrible things but it was to do good, to bring some of your vision of safety and happiness back where it belonged.”

Cat brought herself back to the chair, sitting with her ankles crossed and hands in her lap, “And did you?”

John took a deep breath, “I don’t think so, not me, but Chance did.” His lips quirked into a quick smile, glancing back at the door, “He brought it back for them all.”

Cat glanced around the room, heart pounding, stomach shaking with the scraping of the chair as she moved it closer to John. He leaned away, back stiffening as she settled herself at the table. “You want to know something, John,” his eyes looked between her face and hands that were slowly starting to reach out for him, “he wouldn’t have been there to begin with if not for you.” Her fingers slid under his, lightly grasping them, her thumb running over the small tattoos, the never ending ache in her chest receding the longer she held him. “You sending me away, as angry as I am about it still, did something good and you should hold onto that, John.”

His hands clasped around hers, taking a deep breath, voice soft, “I hurt you, I know that, and I won’t deny that there is a part of me hoping that maybe we can reconcile, start over just you and me….,” Have the life we talked about with Liz, “but if that never happens and this is the last time we ever see each other then I need you to know something. Catlina, loving you saved me.” Her eyes widened, unfocused on his hand reaching to push a stray lock from her face, she flinched her hands returning to her lap, Don’t say that. Never say something like that, “In more ways than you can imagine, my Catlina. I wouldn’t be here if not for you.”

That call, that siren call of his, the one that will drown her once more, keep her locked away. She pulled her hands away, shaking her head, “I did nothing of the sort, John.” We can never have a relationship, never again, “You’re right that we’ll never reconcile,” No matter how much I want too….God how I want to have you again, “This has to be the last time we see each other John. I-I can’t do this,” Not without losing her. “I’m-I’m sorry, John. I’ll always love you, I just-. We can’t-,” she stood quickly making her way to the door, “I’m sorry.”

She rested with her back against the door, wiping away at the tears falling, trying to control her breathing to suppress the sobs. The guard at the door gently reaches a hand out to her shoulder, “Are you okay ma’am?” She mumbles her uncertainty, the man’s face turning more sympathetic, “Let’s get you some air and then to a different witness room.” Cat nods, watching as he grabs another officer to watch the door before leading her to a small patio, “He start to get into your head too?”

The wind brings back the ache in her chest, drying the last of her tears, the openness does nothing to stop the feeling of being locked away like she had hoped it would. Theo was right, they were all right: She’d never be free of John. She’d never be free, she’d have to always be running. The guard looks down at her, still waiting for a response, “Something like that.”

#salvations two paths #x: tribulation #Thank you stella!#i swear there will be a horrible day when a joe cat piece gets on main first before these two #one day i will put these two on main but sadly that is not what they dictated for this prompt like I originally wanted

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sp00kymulderr · 5 years ago

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In Aurélia (Ezra x Reader)

Warnings: None

Pairing: Ezra x Reader

Word Count: 1,399

Request: Prompt - Seeking comfort from the wrong person. From this prompt list, requested by @huliabitch for Ezra, and also by @amarvelousmandalorian with whoever I chose. Thank you both!

A/N: Remember how I cannot stick to prompts to save my life? Yeah.

It shouldn’t be him. It should not be Ezra who you go to the minute you need a kind smile and a comforting word. Ezra, someone you barely know, someone who has a reputation and a murky past. And yet even knowing this the moment you feel fear and sadness overwhelming you; Ezra seems to call to you silently through the cold metal body of the ship which you are both crew on.

So here you are, at the door of his cabin with a heavy heart and tears in your eyes. And somehow you know he won’t deny you even if you both know he should. The connection you feel to him, it’s futile and impractical and has no hope of a future outside of this ship. It is not something to be encouraged.

There’s a low beep from your communication tablet, a message from Dax.‘Where are you?’ the message reads but you ignore it, instead transfixed the moment he answers your knocks and speaks.

“Sweet songbird” Ezra murmurs opening the door, using the moniker he gave you after listening to you sing on the harvest. You feel a creeping heat on your face, the way he says it makes you feel so contented. He steps aside, inviting you inside the small cabin which is somehow a mess of objects despite the reasonably small bag you saw him bring on to the ship when the crew had boarded at Jiaxyon. You step inside and stand sheepishly, blinking rapidly to try and stop more tears from falling.

You peer at Ezra as he tries to subtly smooth down his mess of hair with his one hand, the odd blonde patch at the front as intriguing as ever. You must’ve woken him, there’s still sleep obvious in his eyes. You should apologise and leave, you really should, but he gives you that gentle smile – the one that you could believe he reserves only for you – and you could melt in to him. Ezra clears a space and sits on the side of the bunk, patting the space besides him asking you to sit.

Seeing him like this: half-awake, oddly quiet, soft and comfortable in his own space; you can’t imagine how anyone could ever see him as anything other than kind and calm. It’s almost impossible to believe any of those rumours you heard about him during the dig from the rest of the team could ever be true. They had said he was dangerous, a criminal. ‘Murderer’ some muttered behind his back. His credentials had got him on to the job so you don’t put stock in to what the others say, but even if it is true who are you to judge what others do to survive this harsh, merciless way of life?

You and Dax had joined the dig with some knowledge of harvesting and a desperate need of money; living off of credits from the factory in Jiaxyon seemed to be impossible when the wage was so small for such exhausting work. The two of you had meet four years ago and it was quickly understood you were two parts of a whole; sisters despite no blood relation, she was your family. But Dax didn’t understand the need you felt, the desperation for feet on the ground, hands in the soil, breathing fresh air and feeling life radiate from a planet. This long journey, two months each way for a week long dig, wasn’t an issue for Dax who was born on a station and belonged to the vast darkness of space in a way you simply didn’t.

“What’s troubling you, songbird?” Ezra draws you back to now, gently placing his hand over yours on your knee. He offers you another smile; gentle and trying to draw the words from you.

“Do you ever miss home?” you ask, feeling foolish as soon as you say it and realise you don’t know if Ezra even has a home. So many don’t these days.

“My days of wistful yearning for the locale I sprouted from are far behind me, I’ll confess, but I am certainly able to recollect the strain of longing for it. I have not always been a drifter” he answers, breaking eye contact to watch his hand retreat from yours. He doesn’t want to talk about it, you can tell, likely doesn’t want to divulge any information about his past to a complete stranger.

Nodding, you wipe the stray tears with your sleeve and stand.

“I’m sorry for prying, I don’t know why I came to you. I don’t know...” It’s a lie, you know exactly why.

“Please” Ezra reaches out to you “Stay. For as long as you wish. I could not possibly let you depart in such a melancholic state. I can be your confidant, if that is what you need” he entreats, a pleading look in his deep, brown eyes.

He watches as you hesitate; you’re torn between spilling the very ache in your soul to this congenial stranger who somehow makes you feel at ease, or returning to your caring but not entirely sympathetic friend who you often think knows you too well for your own good.

“That is what I need” you whisper after a moment, finally giving in to the urge you feel somewhere deep inside yourself to let him in. You sit again, letting the words you’ve been keeping to yourself flow forth.

“I come from a place of paradise...it’s...that’s what it feels like to me, anyway. When I had to leave it was like my heart was being torn from me, but I always said I would go back as soon I could. I never imagined I’d be gone from it for so long. It’s been five years... and I miss it so much more than I can say. I know I can’t go back, not yet, I just wish I didn’t have to think about it all the time”

“I’m sorry, songbird. I cannot pretend to understand the feeling fully, although I may have some way of equating.” he indicates the missing arm in passing. “I can see it is a thing you love, a place you will always be rooted to and so it is par for the course that you will pine for it for as long as you’re away from it. My hope for you is that you return to it sooner than you expect.” He stops, considering his words for a moment. “I think, at the very least, I may be able to offer you some diversion from those feelings while we are aboard this ship. If you would like.” He hums out, in that pleasing cadence, while tentatively reaching up to wipe one stray tear that has made its way down your cheek.

“I would like that” you confide in response. “Thank you, Ezra”. You take hold of his hand before he pulls it away again, keeping it held cupping your cheek. He lets out the sweetest, quietest sigh when you turn your head and lay a soft kiss to the palm of his hand, lips barely brushing his skin before you let go. The way he looks at his palm then, like it has been blessed, makes your heart swell.

“I don’t know how to explain this but the reason I came to you...well...when I’m around you there’s this feeling. This beautiful warmth, serenity. It’s like summer days at home, when the ocean breeze washes over me and I feel like I can breathe again. It’s like you’re someone I’ve always known” you offer the words in earnest, and he listens so intently.

He’s kissing you in an instant; mellow, unhurried, as your lips meet and you let the tenderness of it encompass you. It’s wrong, you know it still, to seek this out from a person you will inevitably part ways with once the ship docks and you have to seek out new work. It will hurt you, leave you with a twice broken heart, and maybe hurt him to. But for now you let him enchant you with his lips, his touch. You let him occupy your thoughts with pleasure and affection, distracting you just as he had offered.

Ezra freely gives you solace from your woe and perhaps it will devastate you in the end, but for now he is the truest comfort you have ever known.

Taglist:

@pascalisthepunkest @immundusspiritu @mylifefallingupthestairs @rzrcrst

#Ezra x reader #ezra (prospect) x reader #ezra (prospect)#prospect movie #pedro pascal #fic #fanfic #x reader #prompt #sorry it was gonna be angst but then it just turned in to whatever this is

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kalee60 · 4 years ago

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So @larkboyd this happened and I don’t think I have any excuse for it... apologies as I haven’t written for Merthur in quite some time - but your enthusiasm stoked mine - so... errr - enjoy??

Based on this Tumblr post here

No warnings except it gets a little spicy ;)

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

“You look like a startled Stoat,” Arthur called out to Merlin, and Merlin couldn’t help the way his shoulders stiffened. For God’s sake he was trying his damndest to keep them alive - all while not letting a slip of magic out, and quite honestly Arthur was getting on his last nerve.

“Yeah, well at least I don’t look like a bone-idle toad,” Merlin snarked, enjoying the way Arthur straightened and seemed to startle, like Merlin was being inordinately rude, which he wasn’t - he always spoke to Arthur in that way.

“You’re saying I look like a toad?” Arthur finally drawled like he couldn’t comprehend the thought, that it was an impossibility to look thus. Merlin was not going to pander to him and confirm that he actually was the most striking man he’d ever seen, and his chiselled features made Merlin’s insides quiver. He was a prat, a pillock and the most infuriating man, no, it was worse - Prince - in the known world. And Merlin wanted him desperately. Much to his disgust.

It made him feel off-balance, so with as much snideness in his tone that he could muster, he responded, “yeah, and maybe one day you’ll magically transform into a handsome prince.”

Throwing his ruck-sack onto his back he tried and failed to notice the way Arthur touched his face as if to check for warts, then ran a hand through his hair, before gazing down at his body, which left Merlin able to look his fill without being caught. Damn it, he had to curb this - want, deep inside.

“Since magic’s outlawed that’ll probably never happen,” Merlin continued, trying to dampen his desires, it was almost impossible though. And he felt his attraction to Arthur was almost as hard to hide as his magic. “Come on let’s go.”

Arthur followed mulishly behind him. Looking after a Prince was more than a full-time job.

~~~

That evening, Merlin tried unsuccessfully to light a fire, as Arthur watched him too closely to use magic. It was getting cold and he was hungry and he needed to heat the stew else Arthur's royal pain in the behind would complain for hours.

“What’s taking so long?” Arthur whined, “usually it takes you two seconds.”

Merlin wanted to snap that things would go quicker if Arthur deigned himself low enough to help sort out their camp (allowing him a swift glimpse of gold to infuse his eyes and get the damn fire started), instead he ignored the prat.

“It’s cold,” Arthur pressed and Merlin looked up archly, his brow raised and he couldn’t help the utter look of annoyance that crossed his face. Arthur saw, if his small smirk was any indication. The clod-pole knew exactly what buttons he was pressing.

“Go get some more kindling,” Merlin demanded, and when a twig flew past his ear he looked up incredulously. “Did you just throw a stick at me?”

“I’m helping with kindling,” was the response, and Merlin couldn’t help the sharp bark of laughter, which turned into something a little more. Then Arthur joined in, and everything was just absolutely ridiculous. He also wished Arthur’s laugh didn’t make his stomach feel all jittery. The low cadence, deep and full of filthy promises, but not ever aimed at him. Never him.

Merlin was a servant, not a potential bed partner. More pity to Arthur, as Merlin had many, many interesting skills.

To Merlin’s surprise, Arthur actually stood up and began to gather wood, which in turn meant he could use magic to light the fire, and soon a warmth was flowing against the front of his body as he nurtured the small lick of flames into a steady blaze.

“There you go, that wasn’t hard. You could have managed that ten minutes ago, I can’t feel my fingers,” Arthur came up next to Merlin, very closely, and rubbed his hands together and held them out to the fire.

“You’re lucky you can still feel your arse, considering it’s the largest part of you,” Merlin said under his breath.

“What was that?” Arthur asked, not sounding at all very forgiving, and Merlin knew he’d pushed a little too far and gave a beaming smile instead and said he’d put the stew on, which interestingly made Arthur’s gaze soften and his eyes drop to Merlin’s mouth. And although it wasn’t intended to be read in any way other than general, it still sent a zing up Merlin’s spine.

Licking his lips he let out a small cough which startled Arthur into a scowl and a ‘hurry up, I’m starving’. Of course he was.

Dinner wasn’t a fancy affair and they both ate in silence, and as the light disappeared completely from their small part of the forest, sheltered by a rock face, Merlin knew it was going to be too cold overnight for him not to use magic in some way to keep them warm so as not to end up dead from the chills. But he couldn’t. It would be too reckless and an ongoing spell would tax him too much, and honestly he’d never performed such magic anyway. He looked between their two cloaks and swallowed all of his pride. He had to keep the future King safe at all costs. Even the cost to his dignity.

“I think we’re going to have to stay close tonight,” he tried at first.

Arthur’s flat look did not instil confidence, “excuse me?”

“Err, it’s too cold tonight, you can tell by the rings around the moon that the fire won’t give off enough warmth, and since we don’t have proper blankets, we’re going to have to…” Merlin trailed off at the look on Arthur’s face, one he couldn’t really decipher through the flickering flames, “... cuddle.”

“Merlin, are you suggesting the future King of Camelot, cuddle for warmth with his servant?”

What. A. Pillock.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying, a dead Prince won’t become King. Even if he’s more frozen than you are now.”

Arthur blinked once, then scowled in such a familiar way it was almost endearing, then finally, much to Merlin’s utter shock, he created a space before him. Not behind. It seemed Arthur was going to allow Merlin to curl up in front of him, closest to the fire. And that was - unexpected.

Although when Merlin made his way over, he instead, lay down behind Arthur as close as he dared. At least behind him if he needed to use magic, he could keep it hidden, to a degree.

They laid awkwardly for about half an hour, when Merlin began to shiver, he couldn’t help it and soon he was wracked with them, trying not to jostle the surly prat before him. Sure he could use a spell to warm himself, but he just wasn’t confident in such close quarters, he’d wait until Arthur fell asleep but of course the dollop-head refused to do anything but stay on guard.

“For the love of Camelot,” Arthur finally huffed and his arm reached out behind him, groping at poor Merlin until completely baffled, his arm was yanked back across and over Arthur. What in hell was he doing? “Better?”

And surprisingly, yes it was, but did he admit that? Instead he took it for what it was, shared body warmth and snuggled in closer, feeling the sharp inhale from Arthur as his hips unintentionally ground into his backside. He swallowed his apology, not wanting to draw attention to it. Trouble was, all of Merlin’s attention was honed in on every breath, every noise, the way the firelight played over Arthur’s golden hair, making it appear ethereal, and he needed to rein in his galloping thoughts. Arthur was not someone he could lust after. Not someone he could have.

“Do you really think that of me?” Arthur said quietly and Merlin craned his neck to try and hear the soft words.

“Think what?”

“That I look like a toad,” was the response, and Merlin bit his lip to stop the laughter bubbling up.

Lord, Arthur was the vainest and most obtuse man in a thousand forests.

“Honestly?” he asked with only a hint of mirth in his voice.

The nod was so unlike Arthur, usually he was full of gust and bluster, but for some reason Merlin decided that the truth wouldn’t hurt. Well part of it.

“No, I don’t think you look like a toad,” he felt Arthur relax a little against him, “but you do look like a prat, not even in training anymore. I’m pleased to confirm you have entered the esteemed ranks of complete and utter fully fledged royal prat.”

“Oh…”

“You sound disappointed? I can still say you look like a toad. Magic, as discussed, won’t help you. But a kiss might...” And what the actual hell just slipped out of his mouth? He was going to blame his absolute lack of brain cells on the fact he had Arthur basically wrapped up in his arms, and the smell and very aura of the larger-than-life man had enraptured his senses until he didn’t even know what he was saying.

It didn’t mean he was lying though.

Arthur went still, very still and Merlin braced himself for a walloping - which didn’t come.

“That could…” Arthur stopped and coughed, his voice thick with something and Merlin held his breath, what was happening between them like an out of body experience. “...could be amenable.”

“Amenable,” Merlin couldn’t help chuckle.

“I mean, I don’t want to be a toad for the rest of my life, who does?”

“No, no of course you don’t.” Merlin barely whispered as Arthur tilted his head back, and suddenly Merlin had pouty lips made for kissing (among other activities he tried not to image too often) within his reach. The small uncertainty in Arthur’s eyes almost hidden by the darkness and Merlin had to school his own features, knowing Arthur could quite simply see his expression clearly in the firelight.

He didn’t wait for a second invitation, not sure if this was his only opportunity to kiss Arthur, other than in his fantasies, he wasn’t about to turn it down, and as he lowered his head, he heard the small inhale between Arthur’s lips, and then they were kissing.

It was everything and unlike anything Merlin had expected. Arthur’s lips were soft, so unbelievably plush under his own cold mouth and he couldn’t help dive deeper, taste further, take everything on offer. And just when Merlin thought his luck had run out, Arthur sighed into his mouth and opened himself more, pressed his body firmer against Merlin and his hand tangled up in Merlin’s hair and, god, it was good. It was perfect, actually.

Merlin couldn’t say how long they lay there, kissing, learning each other’s mouths, seeking to shock and make the other gasp, as when Merlin discovered that Arthur enjoyed having his hair pulled, delighting him to no end.

But it was when a hardness pressed insistently against Merlin’s leg, he realised they’d gone from a fairly innocent teasing to something much more.

“Arthur?” Merlin questioned, diving back in for another kiss, devastating the blonde, if his hazy wild eyes were any indication. “What do you want?”

Arthur didn’t answer for the longest moment, and Merlin was beginning to think he wouldn’t.

“What any good serv… friend would give, nothing more, nothing less.”

Merlin mulled on the words for only a second, making up his mind in less than that.

He rolled Arthur back so he was facing the fire again, Merlin pushing right up against his back, his own hardness tight against Arthur, and although he wanted friction, he had a different plan. The small huff of air, almost as if Arthur were trying to hurry him up, so very familiar and Merlin pressed himself tighter against him, enjoying the hitch of Arthur’s breath.

It was too cold to undress and they had been limited with bathing except the dip in the river earlier that morning, so Merlin had one or two options left to him. He decided quickly what he wanted.

He spared a kiss against the back of Arthur’s neck, and snaked his hand down into the soft folds of Arthur’s pants, grasping his dick firmly, and Arthur bucked against him roughly, and for a moment, Merlin thought he’d overstepped.

But then the way Arthur went boneless and whispered ‘please’ into the night urged Merlin on with his movements.

Arthur was large in his hand, and so very hard, and as he stroked up firmly, his mouth watered, hoping at some stage he’d be able to wrap his lips around the girth, wanting it desperately. Arthur shook in his arms, so Merlin repeated the movement, up and down - slowly, glacially.

“Merlin…”Arthur tried to sass.

“Hmmm,” he replied cheekily, knowing exactly what was going through his mind.

“Move.”

“Demanding, aren’t you?”

Arthur husked in an uneven suck of air as Merlin’s fingers danced across the tip of his dick, finding wetness, enough to spread down his shaft to ease his movements.

“I’m your… oh, god that… bloody hell…” Arthur arched back as Merlin bagan to lazily step his fingers up then down. “I’m your crown prince and I demand you… you know.”

Merlin smirked against his shoulder, not able to stop the small press of his lips on Arthur’s ear, “I’m not sure I know at all, Arthur.”

Maybe it was Merlin saying his name out loud, making it more real, but Arthur moved his head to look back over at Merlin, pressing himself forward as if searching for - oh… Merlin kissed him hard, tongue pushing in and Arthur moaned around him, the vibration of it hitting him square in the gut.

Arthur was stunning.

Merlin began to stroke him hard, Arthur’s lips loosening over his until they were only sharing air, the punched out gasps leaving Arthur’s throat had Merlin puffing out sharp breaths, whispering words of encouragement that Arthur was gorgeous, that he could let go, let Merlin take care of him. He didn’t relent, his pace becoming brutal, with one goal in mind, to get his Prince off. To make him fall apart from only his hand.

“Let go for me,” Merlin rasped, lips pressed on Arthur’s.

It was all he needed, Arthur’s lips clung to his suddenly as he moaned deeply and began to release in Merlin’s hand, the stickiness and warmth pleasing Merlin to his toes. He did that, he made Arthur feel like that. Made him lose control.

It was a heady and addictive feeling.

The kisses turned soft, Arthur still breathing heavily, and Merlin removed his hand, looking down at his soiled fingers and Arthur gave him a look.

“Don’t you dare wipe that on me.”

Merlin smirked, it was not his intent.

One finger disappeared into his mouth and Arthur made a strangled noise as Merlin sucked his second finger clean. Arthur tasted like nothing on earth, and Merlin wanted more. But was it his lot in life to be able to taste Arthur Pendragon from the source?

“You’re going to kill me, Merlin.” Arthur growled before pinning him to the ground shockingly easy. “Wait until I get you back to the palace and into a bed, you’ll not survive the night, especially after a bath - you smell like a boar.”

Merlin laughed, “I smell like you - so are you a toad or a boar.”

Arthur’s hand on his dick stopped the flow of teasing words.

~~~

If Merlin and Arthur were inseparable after their two night jaunt stuck in the woods, and if the other Knights happened to see Arthur’s hand slip into the breeches of his most loyal servant on the odd occasion. Well, it was just as easy to look the other way.

After all - it was their future king and consort they were in the company of.

#mywriting #kalee rambles #not an ask but more of a nudge... 👀#merthur #I should be working on my Stucky fics *shrugs* oops - this just fell out of my brain instead #quick fic

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dreamcatcherjiah · 4 years ago

Text

Until we meet again. JK x reader

Part 1

A/N: @mabel-k3 sent these my way and I had a fantastic idea so I asked her and she allowed me to combine both!! What beautiful requests, these have unleashed my creativity big time!! Thank you for requesting, Momo!!

Also thanks to my lovie @lysjeon because she hyped me up so much after reading it and what can I say? THANK YOU TO YOU BOTH 🥺🥺🥺

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x reader (Jungkook has different names throughout his different lives, but they’re easy to spot ;))

Genre: ANGST, fluff, Reincarnation fic

Word count: 11.5k

Warnings: graphic violence, weapons, mentions of death, mentions of war, assassination, main character death (repeatedly), (and I think that’s it. If you find something triggering that I haven't listed, please let me know!! Enjoy!!)

Kingdom of Great Joseon, Hanseong. Year 1398.

Voices carried through the garden. Some of the guards were posted at the doors to prevent the peasants from entering the palace. Or to stop someone from getting out. The tumult and noise wouldn’t stop, carried by gossipy maids and new, inexperienced soldiers. They would learn, either one way or another. The Palace had been in an uproar since the King started thinking about abdicating, the Princes feeling uneasy, waiting to see which one of them would wear the crown next. Having listened to your fair share of courtly gossip, as the first assistant to the royal doctor, you knew there was actually no love lost between the Princes. Their attitudes were haughty at best and most of them were more concerned with their whimsy pursues than the good of such an incipient kingdom as Joseon was. King Taejo was a good monarch; he made peace with China and the Ashikaga Shogunate, bringing peace to his country after many years of war and uncertainty, yet it seemed his problems laid closer to Hanseong than he would have hoped.

His advisors had been the most loyal to him until the moment came when they had to pick a side to place their loyalty. Only one of his eight sons would become King and with him would come new favours to those who supported him and punishment for those who went against him in the battle for the throne. Word at court was that one of Taejo’s advisers, Prime Minister Jeong Do-jeon, was siding towards the two sons Queen Sindeok had borne the king. He had managed to place Prince Uian as the main heir to his father a few years back, but the opinion of most of the advisors was leaning towards the opposite direction; Crown Prince Uian and his brother Prince Muan may have been the most beloved by the King, but it was clear they were not what the kingdom needed of a monarch.

“Word has it in the King’s chamber that he will heed Jeong Do-jeon’s advice and do away with the Fifth Prince once and for all,” said one of the Queen Shinui’s chambermaids. The Fifth Prince, Prince Jeongan, was the favoured alternative at court. He was everything his half-brothers weren’t, intelligent, determined, and good for the kingdom. Naturally, he was a threat to Do-jeon and his cohort. “I hope Crown Prince Uian does become king,” she said, a dreamy cadence to her voice, “I may think about asking my father to introduce me as a possible consort.”

They were so enthralled in their conversation that they did not notice how they were directly in your path and neither did you, carrying boxes of supplies definitely too heavy for you. The inevitable crash echoed through the place as an explosion, glass vases and tonic bottles breaking, the minuscule shards of crystal flying in every direction leaving you, sitting ungracefully at its centre looking bewildered and quite a bit furious.

“What in the world do you think you were doing, gossiping like that?” you asked them. Your authority in the palace giving you quite the leverage to properly chastise these two silly girls. “What would have happened if it had been a higher official you had crashed into? Or, God forbid, one of the Princes or someone from the royal family?”

That last remark made them both drop to their knees and start profusely apologising. The prospect of losing their heads was a tad bit more fear-inducing than crashing into the Doctor’s apprentice and doing away with their supplies. As they scurried away and you picked up what you could salvage from the floor, you thought how convenient it was for them, here in the palace; their fathers trusted advisors to the King, with significant names backing them with years of honour and courageous deeds for the advancement of the monarchy. They would have everything they asked for at their feet if they so much as muttered they found themselves wanting it.

Passing through one of the storage rooms by the Doctor’s quarters, a hand emerged out of nowhere and you found yourself losing your balance and the grip you had on the glass of herbal poultice you rescued from the wreckage in the garden, which crashed on the straw floor with a muted thud.

“What you did back there to the daughter of Nam Eun could as well cost you your head,” said a voice you could recognise in a crowd. The soft chuckle that accompanied the threat and the sweet of his breath against the shell of your ear calmed your anxious thoughts and gave freedom to your heart to beat its way out of your chest. Strong, calloused hands circled your waist and you found yourself leaning against a firm chest that vibrated with his laughter and got closer and closer to you with every breath he took. “But I won’t tell on you, my dear.”

Turning around, you laid your eyes in the weathered and dirty face of the person you held most dear in this world. Oh Jookee was the captain of the Palace Regiment assigned to the protection of the Crown Prince and he had just arrived from accompanying him on a stakeout, preparing for the hunting season. His brown eyes held yours tenderly and his whole face morphed as he tried to contain a smile from overtaking his features. His pink lips finally gave way to that beautiful smile, his eyes turning into crescents and his cheeks becoming flush with happiness.

“My love, how did you manage to come back so… untidy?” you asked, pushing back some stray hairs that had escaped his manggeon. His hair was curling at his temples having escaped from the confines of the leather binding in at the top of his head. The accessory was a bit crooked and you could see the sweat beads along the black cloth. He gave you the image of how he must have been when he was younger and played on the dirt with his brothers. “I thought the Crown Prince just wanted to breathe some fresh air and prepare for tomorrow’s outing?”

Jookee nuzzled his nose along the column of your neck, causing that welcomed current from the tip of your toes to the end of the longest hair on your head. You hadn’t seen each other in months, and this meeting, while short-lived and clandestine, would be what would carry you through the months before you could ask the king permission to marry.

“We encountered some trouble on the way back and thought it prudent to bring the Princes back earlier. They are in Prince Muan’s chambers as we speak and I am required to join them presently.” He said. Even though he was young to be in such a powerful position, he took his duty to heart and he would never disobey an order, which made you question what he was doing hiding with you in the supply cupboard, and so you made him aware of your worry.

“You know Crown Prince Uian,” he answered, a sardonic smile spreading his lips after he managed to steal a kiss from yours, “he enjoys beauty and pristineness. In my present state I am still beautiful, but much less than pristine,” he joked. “I was sent away with the mission to do myself up with clothes fitting for a general, my dear.”

“Why, General Oh, I am afraid you will find yourself quite a long way away from your quarters,” you flirted. “How will you go back to the Prince in time, and all decent, if you don’t leave me now?”

Laughing at your poor attempt at jesting, he hugged you close to his chest, releasing a sigh when he couldn’t get his body any closer to yours. The happiness you felt in these kinds of moments was matchless to anything you had ever felt before meeting him, and nothing you would feel in your life together from then on.

“I must change my clothes, I am afraid,” he said, separating himself from you, slowly as if it was costing him an immense effort to do so, “go back to your master and be careful today, my flower,” he frowned. “The slight inconvenience I mentioned before is not yet taken care of, please watch yourself.”

Knowing he wouldn’t play you with something he didn’t consider serious, you promised to be more mindful of your surroundings and watched him go, with happiness in your heart and that already familiar sensation in your whole being, that sensation you felt every time you were forced to part.

It was nearly dusk when you were called to what used to be Queen Sindeok’s chambers before she died. A normal occurrence, it made you be just that bit more careful today. Even though Jookee’s warning managed to keep you on your toes through the day, there was no harm in being reasonably suspicious. After all, you were living in court.

Princess Gyeongsun, regal and poised, was sitting at a low desk in the middle of the room, flanked on both sides by her brothers, Crown Prince Uian and Prince Muan. Giving a quick overview of the room before being granted access, you located Jookee easily, a very imposing presence by Crown Prince Uian’s elbow. He looked completely different, wearing dark clothing beneath his shining armour and a concentrated scowl distorting his handsome features. He was the living, breathing image of a hero. His eyes drifted to yours for a brief second and you noticed how his mouth set in a thin line and a crease of worry settled between his brows.

With a twist of her wrist, the Princess called you over, and you busied yourself with serving her special tea blend, infused to perfection, just the way she enjoyed it. The Princes were bickering, back and forth, about some unbelievable treason they had not expected, how it completely changed the power game between the walls of the palace. Having been living this power struggle since you arrived at the palace five years prior, you were quite accustomed to the tension and the fear of betrayal that so delicately held the equilibrium of life in court; that being said, there was a seriousness to Crown Prince Uian’s tone that you had never heard before. He was the youngest of the princes, carefree and with a happy disposition, so to say that the frown adorning his features was disturbing was quite an understatement.

Chancing a look at Jookee’s face, you noticed his eyes moving nervously from the windows on the sides of the room, flanked by armed soldiers of the Crown Prince’s guard, to the door equally heavily guarded. Something was seriously amiss, but you needn’t have wondered any longer, as there was a commotion by the door and Jookee along with some of his soldiers moved in unison, blocking the Princess and Princes, and subsequently you, from whatever it was that waiting on the other side of the door. After a few minutes, silence took over and the tension escalated. Prince Muan was whispering furiously to his brother, his face red and distressed.

“We should have fled the palace,” he was saying, “as soon as we found out Do-jeon was murdered!” When those words left the Prince’s lips you knew how serious the situation was. The delicate equilibrium of power had just been altered with the death of the most powerful pawn at the hands of a very powerful enemy. “We should have never trusted him, he played you brother—”

Jookee made a curt but powerful hissing sound that managed to shut the Prince’s mouth in an instant. In any other circumstances, that would have gotten him the most severe of punishments, but as things stood, Jookee and his men were the only thing standing between certain death and the royals, and both princes knew that.

The doors imploded and in flooded many soldiers led by a very tall imposing man: Grand Prince Jeongan, the Fifth Prince. His face was impassive and his clothes were covered in dry blood. He didn’t seem at all bothered by this fact, as he wasn’t at all worried that the blood of the people he had murdered at the door was reaching his shoes. He straightened his shoulders and marched on forward, standing eye to eye with Jookee.

Your blood turned to ice. Jookee was the Captain of Prince Uian’s guard. If this was an attempt on his life, he would be the first one to fight. He could keep up in a fight, you had been witness to his quick strength and cold strategy when he trained on the palace grounds, grace and sheer power emanating through every pore of his body. But still, he was a guard sworn to protect the royal family, what was his fate when faced with such a decision as to protect one brother from the other? He would be seen as a traitor if he did so much as to grace Prince Jeongan with his sword, but if he resisted and didn’t raise his weapon, he would be seen as a traitor either way and executed for it. Your heart was trying to beat its way out of you, this time out of utter terror for what was about to happen. Your thoughts were your own, and so you allowed yourself to pray for him, to pray for the brightest star in the universe, the reason you drew breath every morning, you prayed for him to know his duty but also to know the value of his own life in a world that valued it so little in comparison to the people he was sworn to protect.

Time seemed to be at a stand-still, Prince Jeongan and Jookee face to face, looking each other in the eye, not a word being uttered. The Prince was a few years older than Jookee and much older than his brothers by Queen Sindeok, the youngest of them having barely turned sixteen last spring. There had been a time when the brothers played together and there was deep respect from the younger ones to the older, and a deep sense of responsibility and desire to protect the younger ones from the older princes. Now there was only betrayal in the eyes of the Fifth Prince and utter fear in the eyes of his younger siblings.

“You have no authority to stand on the way of a Prince, General. Move aside while I feel benevolent,” Prince Jeongan’s voice was deep and imposing, the voice of a person who was used to having his will fulfilled and his detractors beheaded. Turning your head, you saw Jookee’s shoulders take an even more determined stand and he stood, taller, determined, while more soldiers filled in the room.

Prince Muan, taking advantage of the distracted state of his older brother, had moved slightly to his right, so he was partially hidden behind Princess Gyeongsun. In the meanwhile, his younger brother, Crown Prince Uian had shifted in his sitting position and was sitting facing forward, towards the soldiers, with an impassive frown and a set sneer. In your opinion, neither one of them was fit to be king of Joseon, but you knew now who was the best of the two; at least the King had managed to marginally avoid putting a gutless puppet on the throne.

“If I move aside you may do something you will regret, my Prince,” answered Jookee, his voice calm and levelled. His words were not betraying the tumult that he was sure to be feeling inside. In a subtle movement, while he was still watching the Fifth Prince carefully, his eyes turned to you and you wanted nothing more than to tell him not to worry for you, to keep his head where it should be. “If you are here to talk to your brothers, allow the Princess and the servant to leave, they shouldn’t hear what will be said here tonight.”

You had no time to wonder what that was, for the prince had already drawn his sword and was pointing it towards Jookee’s throat, making thick droplets of sweat appear on your temples.

“And allow them to go warn my dear father’s guards of my presence here?” Jeongan chuckled and pressed forward, his sword drawing blood from Jookee’s skin. “I don’t believe so. It is, however, such a pity that you should find yourself here, General Oh, on the night I have come to kill my brothers.”

Those words made the night turn into chaos. With a swiftness you didn’t think him capable of, Prince Muan raised his sister from her cushion and moved with her towards one of the windows. The Princess, scared, reached for you and dragged you along behind her coward of a brother. When you were close to the window, you realised there was a shadow moving behind it. What a terrible mistake to leave the windows unattended when the prince entered. With a crashing certainty you knew now there was going to be a bloodbath tonight and there was nothing you could do to either flee the scene with Jookee unscathed or having him leaving with you willingly. What a horrible night for all the intrigues in the palace to come to fruition.

The soldiers charged forward and Jookee finally drew his sword to fight off the Prince, his movements fast and certain to try to defuse the sheer rage with which Prince Jeongan was pushing him backwards. The closer the squabble got to the Crown Prince, the harder he fought, and the harder Prince Muan pushed his sister to get to the window. Reacting just in time, you pulled the Princess backwards in the same second the window burst open and an arrow pierced the Prince’s chest. Incredulous, he dropped his eyes down in time to see a crimson stain spread over his blue silk-covered chest. Mere seconds after his eyes rolled back into his skull and his body dropped to the floor as if he had been nothing more than a marionette whose strings had been severed. Princess Gyeongsun, to her credit, kept a stoic and quiet calm even while life escaped her brother and got a hold of your hand. The both of you retreated to the furthest corner of the room while the fight to get to Crown Prince Uian was still ongoing and the bodies were dropping to the floor at an alarming rate. Jookee, now fighting the Fifth prince tooth and nail, kept his place close to the door, mindful of his surroundings in case he had to intervene if one of the soldiers got too close to his charge. More soldiers were entering through the now open window and now there was the added issue of arrows flying in all directions through the narrow window, taking down both friend and foe.

One of the Fifth Prince’s soldiers got rid of the guard fighting him off and advanced on the Crown Prince. Jookee, seeing this, turned his back on Jeongan and dispatched him before he could reach his target. In the few seconds that passed between the soldier falling and him looking at you, the dimension of his faux pas dawned on you. With his back unprotected and his eyes fixed on you to make sure no wounds were visible, he didn’t see Prince Jeongan raise his sword over his head and drop it in a powerful arch that cut deep wounds onto Jookee’s legs. The momentum propelled him forward, landing on his knees with a deep grimace of pain distorting his features.

You were frozen, pushing your body against the Princess’ so that she would come to no harm, but your whole world was leaning out of its axis. Your breath caught in your throat and all you could do was watch helplessly as the Fifth Prince walked by Jookee as if he was nothing more than an insect and approach his brother, who remained imperturbable and unmovable at the table. Looking up at his older brother, his frown still set, he straightened his shoulders and adopted a regal pose he rarely displayed.

“What are you doing here, brother?” he asked, knowing perfectly well the circumstances of his brother arriving at the palace in the middle of the night, and still enquired.

“You know perfectly well why I have come, little one,” he answered, sneering down at the young prince. “There was an attempt on my life not two days ago by that rat, the Prime Minister! And you and your filthy family were all behind it!” his voice was rising with each word, ending on a terrible scream that made the paper lamps hanging from the columns tremble.

Jookee was still kneeling, two soldiers standing rock-still next to him, one sword at his throat, the other at the nape of his neck. His eyes kept moving from where you were standing at the back of the room, to the quarrelling brothers, not knowing what to do, whom to help. He looked utterly helpless, his shoulders slumping and his trousers absorbing the spilt blood of his men. When you caught his eye, you saw the intense desperation that his eyes were hiding. You were aching to run to him, to tell him everything would be all right, but with the corpse of Prince Muan at your feet, you felt that the circumstances wouldn’t actually improve.

“That conspiration you are mentioning, brother, was staged by my mother Queen Sindeok and the Prime Minister as you so eloquently put,” spoke then the Crown Prince, “At present, I believe neither of them is a threat to you; the Queen died two years ago and I believe you did away with Do-jeon’s head not so long ago.”

“YOU ARE A THREAT TO ME!” Jeongan shouted. “Don’t you see? Had you not blindly followed your mother schemes; you wouldn’t have to die!”

The princes faced each other now, Jeongan in his thirties and Uian barely a teenager, both standing their ground. You could see their younger versions, the siblings everyone saw when the Fifth Prince would come back from a campaign in the name of his father and his siblings would be waiting for him in the palace, waiting for him to tell them the stories of his exploits and missions. What a fanciful far away dream that was.

With a snap of his wrists, one of his soldiers zeroed in on you and the Princess, who stood her ground with a presence few were able to muster in such circumstances. The man didn’t immediately make any move to grab any of you but his menacing eyes were set and his mouth contorted on a wicked rictus. He was the kind of soldier who thoroughly enjoyed his job; they were rare, those who instead of the honour of serving the royals sought only the power and the bloodbath, but they did exist. Jookee noticed him approaching from his position on the floor behind the princes and your hopes of leaving the room alive flew out of the window upon seeing his ashen face turn even whiter. You tried to convey how much you loved him with one look but the brute got in between and you could only see the soldiers pointing their swords at your lover’s throat.

“You have always sneered down at me knowing you would be sitting on the throne, safely away from me, when I realised how deeply treachery ran in your blood,” someone was saying. Your ability to concentrate on anything happening around you was slipping away from you, a blindly, white panic taking its place. “You shielded yourself with all the glamour and fanfare while your family were busy scheming, even your dear siblings conspired against you.”

As if some silent signal had been given, the Princess was taken from your side and made to kneel next to her brothers. She was still impassive, but now that façade wasn’t so much bravery in the face of danger, but actual knowledge of what was going to happen in the room and certainty that it wouldn’t affect her.

“You see, out of all our sisters, this one here has proven herself quite useful,” Jeongan droned on, unbothered by nothing while the future of a kingdom hung on the tip of his sword. “I was told ambition is not an appreciated trait on a woman, but I’m inclined to disagree. You can leave the room now, sister,” he said while she rose to her feet. She was nearly out of his reach when he reached out with his hand and caught her arm just above the elbow. “I don’t need to tell you that your presence here and what has happened tonight is not for public ears, now do I?” She shook her head and scurried out of the room faster than lightning.

If his sister’s betrayal did something to the Crown Prince, he didn’t show it. His face remained unreadable, his eyes fixated on the Fifth Prince as he pranced around him, comfortable in his victory. After a few seconds that seemed like an eternity, Jeongan faced Crown Prince Uian for the final time and raised his sword in a silver, lethal arch. Aside from a minuscule flinch, the younger prince didn’t betray any reaction to the crimson stain spreading over his silk garments, nor to the metallic smell that seemed to penetrate the pores of every person in the room.

“I could let you live,” said Jeongan, “if you begged for your pathetic life on your knees. You have no supporters and you have proven to be the coward every single one of your detractors thought you were.”

Jookee was vibrating with rage behind the Princes. His eyes were thin slits that promised murder. In all the years you had known him, he had never looked as lethal and dangerous as he did now. He had been tasked with protecting the Crown Prince when he was no more than a boy himself and he had told you many stories about who Uian really was behind his mother and the minister’s plans. Granted, Jookee was as exasperated with the younger man’s excessive knack towards frivolity as everyone at court, but he also admired the Prince’s tenacity and courage. Growing up in the shadows of bigger people has taught him how to stand out, and yet remain unseen, he had told you one day, while the two of you returned to the palace from a festival in the city. He was relaxed back then, the Queen was still alive and, even though Minister Do-jeon was meddling on the King’s affairs more than recommended, the air of the palace wasn’t stale with tension and the expectation of tragedy, at least not for a few more years. It was around that time when he took you to his hometown and introduced you to his family; his mother, who shed tears as soon as her son told her his intentions on marrying you, his father, a stern man but who had warm eyes and very pleasant disposition; and his older brother, a high ranking officer in the King’s personal guard. You had spent the week helping his mother with anything she needed, tending to visitors and sharing private smiles with him. Happiness filled you back then.

“You came here to kill me,” answered Crown Prince Uian, bringing you back to a much darker present, “so go ahead and do it. I will not be considered some lesser being and be reduced to begging for my life.”

Upon seeing the older Prince raise his sword you started struggling against the thug keeping you in place. To impede you from reaching the royals, the soldier threw any decency to the wind and, taking advantage of his position, groped you all over. You hardly noticed as Crown Prince Uian straightened his shoulders and faced his brother head-on, for you were trying your hardest to escape the ruffian and get closer to them, perhaps if you could get rid of him and run fast enough you would be able to get in between the sword, avoid more years of chaos and instability. A double assassination could throw the kingdom into war and that could not happen.

“That’s it, you little bitch, you asked for it,” growled the man, and seconds later pain exploded from just below your ribcage, ripping through you until you felt the skin of your back breaking apart. There was a moment of blissful nothing until the sword was hastily jerked from your body and your body broke into violent spasms, your knees giving away and collapsing on the floor with an audible thud.

“NO!” you heard Jookee scream, an agonising growl, almost animalistic, as if it had been ripped from the deepest part of his soul. You heard him from a distance as if your head was submerged in water. The black edges of your vision made it difficult to see through the haze setting in; there was movement and a good amount of noise, of which you couldn’t make any sense, as the room tilted and you felt your temple hit the ground. In comparison with the flaming hot agony you felt around your mid-section, this injury felt ridiculously insignificant.

“Restrain him!” was saying the Fifth Prince, but Jookee was putting up an impressive fight. Not minding the swords at his throat, he rose to his feet and charged forward, swinging his sword at anything on his way to you. Rotten luck his was, as one of the things keeping him away from you was Prince Jeongan, who narrowly missed one of Jookee’s swings by a mere breath, jumping aside and seizing him by the hair at the back of his head. The crazed look on your boy’s face slipped away for a second and you could see the determined captain fighting against his better judgement and thinking if whether or not it would be worth it to raise his sword against the Prince. “You fool,” the Prince droned on, a dangerous glint in his eyes, “do you even know what you could have done? Had you left a scar in my body, I wouldn’t have been able to become king and all these assassinations would have been fruitless! I see you care more about some servant than the people you’re tasked to protect, do you not? If I recall correctly, the punishment for high treason is death.”

If you weren’t already trembling and cold, the ice that covered your heart at the Prince’s threat would have had you an incoherent mess in the floor in seconds. Your throat produced a drawn-out wheezing sound, but no one paid any mind to the agonising woman on the floor, not even your murderer, who had gone back to his position behind Jeongan.

Restrained from moving by the strong hand yanking his head back by the hair, Jookee moved his eyes to look at you and you could see through them how much it was breaking him to see you on the floor, away from him, and not being able, if not to take the pain away, to be next to you. He turned his gaze to the Prince and, with a voice clearer and steadier than you expected, giving that he was trembling out of rage, defied him one last time.

“I won’t protect a King whose throne is cemented over the blood of his own kin,” he said, poised and authoritative, even in this situation.

Not even deigning to give words back, Jeongan took the sword with which the soldier had run you through and impaled Jookee with it. For an instant, your vision cleared through your panicked tears and you could see the placid smile on your Jookee’s face, as a small spring of blood run from the corner of his mouth down his chin.

“If you care so much for this woman, over your own Prince, you might as well die by the same steel that killed her,” said the Fifth Prince before pulling out the sword and pushing Jookee’s head forward by the neck so that he fell on his side, a bit closer to you.

Whatever happened from the moment he collided with the floor onwards was lost to you. The sole focus of your drifting attention was focused on how Jookee was pulling himself by sheer force of will away from the royals, leaving a crimson trail behind him, toward where you lay, tears leaving his eyes from the pain, but certain and determined.

Lifting his head, his eyes locked with you as he grunted and you could see a thousand moments in one second; when the Court Doctor had introduced you to a scrawny lithe fifteen-year-old boy from the provinces, that seemed so long ago and yet you lived it as if it had been that same morning. When the bickering of childhood had turned into a beautiful friendship over the years, with him visiting you every time he was stationed at the palace, going on walks together, patching him up when he got rough with another soldier during training. The day he told you about his feelings it had been raining. Both of you had gone fishing to the river and when the sky broke it rained down with a vengeance. Your clothes soaked through so fast you’d had no time to seek shelter, and so it made no difference if you walked leisurely back to the palace or run your way there. Laughing as his hair stuck to his forehead and got tangled on the hilt of the sword strapped to his back, you didn’t notice how he was looking at you, with the softest smile on his lips, and reached a hand out to grab yours.

“I love how you laugh with your whole body,” he whispered. You shouldn’t have been able to hear him over the thundering rain, but you did. “I was meaning to tell you something as soon as we left the palace, but I just seemed to be missing the right moment.”

Tell me, you had whispered, as he drew you closer by the hand, moving a lock of wet hair away from your cheek with his thumb and leaving his hand there, caressing your face. You felt your heart on your throat and your eyes wandered around Jookee’s face, committing every second, every movement of his face to memory: the little scar under his left eye that he had gotten playing with his brother when they were children, the little dimples that showed on his upper lip when he tried to stop himself from laughing, everything.

“I know I am just a simple soldier and you could do much better than me, but I can’t live another day without telling you how you make my heart beat harder and are there every waking moment, in my mind and in my thoughts,” he said, quick and without drawing breath, giving away his nervousness. “We have grown old together. I can’t exactly tell you when my feelings for you changed, but I can just hope that yours did too and I am not overstepping your boundaries. I very much adore you and would be the happiest man on this earth if you loved me back just half as I love you.”

You couldn’t remember if you said something, or just jump into his arms, yours around his neck, and hugged him for the longest time. By the time you got to the palace, soaked through, you were a giddy happy couple who had planned, in such a short little time, what your life would be like when you got married.

It is incredible what the mind remembers in the most inopportune moments. We have grown old together, he had said and damn destiny, you wouldn’t get to grow any older. He was still painstakingly dragging his body to you, your vision blacker as the seconds went by, his face ashen but set. You knew he would reach you even if it cost him the last breath of life he had in his body. You wanted nothing more than be close to him until the end.

When he did reach you, he manoeuvred his body so that both his arms were encircling you, your face set against his chest which was shaking with shivers as violent as the ones you were suffering. Lifting your head with his bloody hand, he angled his so that you could look him in the eye. There, behind all the pain and the sadness at having both your lives cut short, was your boy, your Jookee, the one who had kissed you under rain and sun, over snow and with joyous passion, now dimmed as his consciousness began to slip away as fast as yours was. His lashes were wet with tears as he smiled at you, his teeth tinted with blood. You wanted to scream at the unfairness of today. What were the chances that you had to be here, the both of you, when a power-hungry Prince and a Princess too ambitious for her own good, decided to go around killing their siblings for the throne? Your life was fantastic, you were to be married to Jookee, a loving, caring and sensitive man, who would, no doubt, make your days beautiful and worth living if only to see the smile on his face when he came home.

“I love you,” he whispered, a tear escaping his eye and running down his temple. Your hand, resting on his chest, felt the erratic thump of his heart, trying to pump the little blood he had left to the rest of his body. Numbness had finally taken a hold of your body and you could feel nothing except from an overpowering sadness and helplessness.

“I don’t want you to die,” you sobbed. The hiccup caused by your cries did no good to your tired lungs, that tried to bring back the air you had expelled but were failing miserably. “Why did you… why would you act… so rashly? You… could have lived! You… have so much… to live for.”

“I have nothing to live for without you,” he whispered back, a wheezing sound leaving his body with every word he spoke, “I have no regrets if we leave together, we’ll die as we wanted to live. Holding each other.”

You could no longer keep your head upright, unable to kiss him one last time as you desperately wanted to do. Looking him straight in the eyes, as you heart broke into a million pieces, you whispered to him as your vision blackened completely. His sparkling eyes were the last thing you ever saw.

“I love you,” you told him, feeling your eyes close.

“If there is a life after this, let me find you again,” he said and those were the last words you heard as his body stopped moving and you slipped into unconsciousness.

You were walking along a river, barefooted. You felt as the warm, dark sand caressed your feet as you trod along, tirelessly. You knew you were looking for something, but couldn’t know what. Your mind was foggy and you couldn’t make sense of the flashes of thought that pierced through the milky white sheet. So, you kept on walking, maybe someday you would reach that place. What place? Days turned into months, or did months turn into days? Each hour passed swiftly and each second seemed to last a millennium. The shadows around the transparent willow trees grew closer to you the brighter the sun shined and the meadows were the most brilliant when the moon made its course across the sky. At some point between arriving at the river and then, you had stopped looking at how the sand engulfed your feet and lifted your head to look upon the thousands upon thousands of multicoloured stars that seemed to go on forever and whose light took residence in the most hidden corners of your soul. Silence surrounded you, incredibly noisy, even your footsteps on the sand were silenced. Weren’t you walking along a river? Shouldn’t the stream make some noise and silence your thoughts? You were meant to be someone else, somewhere else, and this unknown guilt was eating away at you. Yes, the night was silent, until it wasn’t anymore. The sound made you drop your head and you saw. The lonely figure walking along the same riverbank, only in the opposite direction. It was getting closer and closer as the years ticked by and you could almost distinguish the dark hair and the strong complexion that made him unforgettable to who you used to be. He was walking towards a bridge, standing proud atop the calm waters of the stream, red and powerful in a land where the dullest of colours were the brightest and the stars shone purple and green. His eyes and expression were covered in shadows and his gait stood out brilliant against the dark colour of the sand. You spent months walking towards him as he kept his steady pace towards you and, even though he was close enough to touch him, you never stopped walking but never could meet him in the bridge standing between the two of you. You were losing hope of ever this familiar stranger, what with having walked what felt like the longitude of the world twice for centuries. He was surely meant to stay there, the focus of your vision, and yet out of reach. Without knowing why that fact struck you as highly unfair. What had you done while living that the person you wanted to hold the most would forever stay strange to your touch? The stars faced and died and still there you were, walking to him, arms wide open and eyes brimming with tears, whispering over and over strange sounds that seemed to form words. Unknown words to you but familiar to him as he started to run. The seconds seemed to tick as if you were now walking through treacle instead of sand and you reached the bridge. Your body collided with his and intense happiness filled your whole being. Keeping him at arm’s length you were finally able to see his features, similar to the ones you remembered but not quite the same; brilliant eyes that seemed to reflect the galaxy over your heads, the scar was still there, but his hair was shorter, trimmed at the nape of his neck. His smile was still the same, blindingly shiny and unchanged.

“I’ll see you on the other side, my love,” he whispered and everything around you dissolved into nothingness.

Pink Hibiscus Cottage, Dartmoor, England. Spring 1922.

Watering the plants in your little cottage, you waited for the people to arrive. After a couple of quiet days, the cottage was going to be full of people and noise again. It had been so long that you could barely remember a time before your husband and you were the only occupants in the small wood house, close to Plymouth in Devon County.

Putting down the hose with some difficulty, you painstakingly made your way back inside and busied yourself with making tea. Once the kettle was hovering over the fire stove, you set aside two teacups and a little saucer with scones. It wasn’t likely that your husband would have enough appetite to munch on some sugary treat, but you were still trying to convince him to drink some tea. He was so quiet these days, so subdued. Up until a couple of months ago, he had still been his mischievous, playful self. His eyes always smiling at you, even when you bickered over small things; where did you put the stamps again?, he would ask you, exasperated that he seemed to forget all the time or, We should invite the children over more often, Christopher feels intimidated when we are alone and it is incredibly entertaining to watch. Christopher was your youngest son-in-law and your husband still teased him about the first time they met and the poor boy had tried his hand at introducing himself in Korean. His wife, your eldest daughter, had inherited a knack for pranking her husband, back then fiancé, more often than not using elements from her father’s Korean heritage that obviously went over the young man’s understanding.

The kettle whistled and you put everything on a tray to take it to your bedroom. It was a very sunlit room, the most luminous of the cottage, with windows lining the south-east part of the property. The wallpaper was a lively yellow flowery print, worn in certain places from the sun and bright and striking on some others. An armchair was put against the furthest wall, memories of rocking your children to sleep coming to mind the second you saw it, next to a massive oak shelf filled to the brim with books, both in English and Korean. If there was something your husband wouldn’t stand for as your children grew up was them not knowing where they came from and the riches of the country of their ancestors. Only your daughter Areum had been to what used to be the Kingdom of Late Joseon up until ten or so years ago, but even you, having been born in Plymouth, felt somehow part of that distant country. The centre of the room was dominated by a massive bed, the headboard and intricate pattern of forged iron, soft pillows supporting your husband’s body while he rested a few moments. Both of you knew those few moments were getting longer and longer, but no one mentioned it.

“I brought you tea, dear,” you said, leaving the tray on the nightstand and sitting on the bed. You leaned closer to your husband’s prone form, moving a few strands of grey hair away from his forehead. You found it funny, how after so many years, his hair refused to let go of the black colour it used to be, settling in a stubborn dark grey when he was fifty and never changing to white. He had also refused to cut it a while ago, and now it was getting closer and closer to the collar of his shirts. “Wake up a short while, my love. You need to be awake when the children get here.”

Groaning a bit, he opened his eyes and looked at you. As soon as he did, his face turned from a sombre and pained expression to the smile he always greeted you with.

“You know, Y/N,” he said and cleared his throat right away, straightening himself against the headboard, leaving a space for you to sit next to him. “had you not woken me up, I would have continued dreaming about the day we met happily.”

“I’m sorry I disturbed you, love. That was such a long time ago, do you still remember?”

“How can I not? I was the best day of my life.”

My father and I were set to arrive at Plymouth by mid-April, given that we had had to make a little detour to Massachusetts, but we didn’t expect to arrive at the beginning of May. Your father sent a letter telling us not to worry about our arrival, as he lived close to the harbour and would have no problem picking us up whenever he saw our boat beginning to dock. I still remember how nervous I was, coming to England and not speaking anything close to basic English, I was afraid I would be carnage to the old dogs of the docks, no matter what a big merchant my father was. After crossing the Atlantic, we arrived and just from the deck, my father pointed to where you and your father were standing.

You were so short, standing next to your father and not reaching his shoulder yet, and yet you were looking up at the boat, listening intently to how he explained something to you. And then you looked at me. I still don’t know what happened that day but it felt ethereal as if I already knew you and I was already madly, deeply in love with you. I could see your smile from the boat and my father would never stop reminding me in the following years how the first thing I said in English soil was “Have I seen an angel?”. You were so friendly from the first time we spoke to each other and even came to see me to our little room by the harbour with your books and your little sketches. Plymouth became a home to me thanks to you, you made a new country feel just like I felt in Joseon before we left.

“Oh, but I remember that day differently,” quietly, you interrupted him. He smiled tiredly and threaded a hand through your greying hair. You loved the feeling of him being caring and close to you. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you stuttered and were so shy I even thought you disliked me from the beginning.”

He chuckled as he tried to make himself a bit more comfortable in the bed, his back cracking and his lungs overworking themselves from the effort. Even if he was feeling bad, the second he turned to look at you, his eyes regained their spark and he kissed your forehead, allowing your head to rest on his shoulder.

“Why, I thought you were the finest woman I had ever seen. I even heard bells when you kissed my cheek later that week.”

“You Casanova,” you laughed, “I was already madly in love with you back then, I had to show everyone you were mine.”

He turned quiet, remembering those early days of your relationship, how you had been always together, when he would accompany you everywhere, under the pretence that his father had tasked him with keeping you company while the adults worked. You had been keeping correspondence while he studied English back home and him, being the strong-headed man he was, refused to return to England until he could properly talk to you. He would say back then that English didn’t make his native Korean any justice to tell you what he wanted to tell you.

“I proposed to you after that man insulted you for associating with me, remember?” he asked you.

“Kwangsu, please,” you saying his name was something rare. He was so fond using pet names and terms of endearment with you and your children your names were rarely called in the house, only when someone was in trouble or seriousness was needed, were those names called.

“No, I know you don’t like to talk about this because you think it upsets me, but I want to tell you, once again, how proud I was that day of calling you my friend. If I had any doubt that you were the bravest woman I knew, it was obliterated that day. I knew marrying you was the best decision I would ever make, and I am still amazed to this day.”

You had been waiting for Kwangsu to arrive back to your house from the harbour. Your father had been overjoyed when you told him your intentions of starting a courtship with him and so had been mister Yi. The two of you had been closer than blood since you had met two years prior and no one could doubt how strongly you felt for one another.

Someone had knocked at your door shortly after noon and thinking it was Kwangsu, you had run down the stairs and was unpleasantly surprised when Jack Richmond walked through the door, cane and walking coat in perfect condition and blond hair slicked back. He used to be your friend back when you were children until he had developed an attitude not many could stand. He seemed to think that only because his father owned the biggest training company in the city everything was his and everyone in town owed him respect. This attitude translated into his uncomfortable obsession with you, not so much unpleasant as it was unwelcomed. He would drop by unannounced, demand that you accompany him on one of his many strolls through Hoe Park, take you back to his immense house for tea with his mother and many other things that were not entirely tiresome if they weren’t coming from Richmond. Today, of all days, his presence was particularly tiresome and you itched with the want to run out of the door and go find Kwangsu. As soon as you saw Jack’s face, though, your every thought dissolved into weariness. He seemed angry and unsettled, twisting his neck in every direction, in search of something that obviously wasn’t there. If you hadn’t been starting to worry, you would have laughed at the perfect ostrich impression he was gifting you with.

“Where is that yellow friend of yours?” he asked, foregoing all courtesy and jumping straight to the reason for his impromptu visit. Which made you incredibly angry.

“What did you just say?” you demanded, livid on behalf of Kwangsu. How dare he, from his high and fragile pedestal, to speak such ill words of the person you held most dear?

“Ah!” he ignored you, looking over your head as the sound of the main door closing reached you across the parlour. “It seems I needn’t had worried, your shadow just arrived! It’s my lucky day!”

He brushed past you, making you lose your footing and grab for dear life at the bannister ascending to the second floor for balance. Jack was tall, slim and sharp and yet, he didn’t reach Kwangsu’s jaw when he tried to face him head-on. He was at an obvious disadvantage and he didn’t seem pleased when he realised it was so, his nostrils flaring and his brow creasing past the point of possibility. His shoulders straightened and his breathing became shorter and swallow.

Kwangsu, on the contrary, was calm and collected. He didn’t seem faced at all, his posture relaxed as he took on the other man’s stand. His feet moved a mere millimetre, slightly separated and firmly planted on the floor, making you remember that time he had told you how he had been taught martial arts since he could walk. In the event that a fight broke out, you were sure which of the two would end up fairing worse.

“What, you think you can just arrive from wherever you crawled out and take our women?” Jack was livid without reason. What did he care what the relationship between Kwangsu and you was? Apart from it being none of his business, he had managed to anger you past the point of reason.

You marched and walked in between the two men, your back to Kwangsu’s chest. If you stepped on Jack’s foot with excessive impetus, you would never recognise it.

“And according to you, whose property am I?” you asked, leaning back into Kwangsu and glaring at Jack through your lashes. If he thought he had the right to barge into your house and through ridiculous accusations left and right and lay a claim to you, he was sorely mistaken. “I must have lost the telegram telling me we were engaged to be married, Jack. Or is it that you are a long-lost member of my family to have a say in who I spend time with?”

His mouth turned into a deep frown and he screwed up his face in disgust. You could see the cogs inside of his head turning to figure out an appropriate comeback and coming back empty-handed.

“You are a good Englishwoman, Y/N,” he finally said, nothing better to voice. “I don’t know why you are wasting your time with this – this foreigner when you could be making connections for a good marriage.”

“Shove that good marriage of yours where the sun doesn’t shine, for all I care!” you retorted, as you saw your parents descend the staircase down to the parlour, surprised faces showing their confusion, but still they frowned and shot suspicious looks at Jack when they felt the tense atmosphere in the room. “Kwangsu is a thousand times the man that you are and if you insist to continue spewing your disrespectful propaganda, I am in the obligation of telling you that our association has finished today.”

Kwangsu took one of your hands in his and squeezed as your father shoed the dandy out of the door and your mother hugged you. None of you had ever cared highly for the Richmonds and thanks to what you did that day, you wouldn’t be forced to stand their company anymore.

“I didn’t last the week without asking you to marry me, did I?” said now your husband, hugging you tight to his chest.

“Oh no, you didn’t. and if you had I would have done something very indecorous and proposed myself,” you answered back with the same retort you did whenever you talked about that time. He loved how you weren’t the type to sit back and let things happen to them, much preferring to take the reins and make those things happen.

You lapsed into silence again as the shadows flickered around the room, highlighting parts of the wallpaper with brighter patches of light. Little by little the both of you drifted off to sleep and dreamed of the life you’d had. He woke you up with a coughing fit a couple of hours later and you painstakingly cleaned the beads of sweat from his forehead. He then asked you to help him change his sleeping shirt and trousers so that he could hug your grandchildren when they arrived. With a little too much effort on your part, he changed and settled back into the pillows, looking at you with guilty eyes. He had always been a very independent and dependable man, who would rather take care of everyone around him than being taken care of. As fate had it, he was destined to depend on you now.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you admonished him sweetly. “For every time you’ve depended on me, you’ve taken care of me a thousand.”

“I just find it difficult to make you worry so much,” he whispered, taking an iron hold of your hand. His eyes shone with unshed tears. “Guilt is eating away at me because I am leaving you behind, my love. I swore a long time ago that we would be forever.”

With a tired smile, you got closer to him and kiss his forehead. You had never had this conversation before, but you had known it was coming. He started looking at you with that guilty look the second the doctor had said there was nothing else to do except wait for the inevitable. He had been set on being as careful around you as he could be, not wanting you to exert yourself on his behalf.

“We both know forever is just a fancy young people tell each other, Kwangsu,” you smiled. If these were to be your husband’s last memories of you, you would make sure he remembered you smiling, if not happy. “We’ve had a great life together. Three wonderful children and so much love. I don’t regret anything.”

“Still,” he stubbornly retorted. It would be easier to sway a mountain than this man’s will. “I don’t like leaving you here in this house alone. We built it together and I thought we would have more time to share it. Why must I leave you when I would like to share a thousand more years with you?”

“Do you remember what I told you the day Soyeon was born? If you don’t remember that is the day in both our lives I depended the most on you.”

Frowning he nodded. You knew he remembered. As the years passed, he may have forgotten many things, but never that day.

“I nearly lost you both. I don’t think I’ll be able to forget it.” His face had turned ashen as the memories flooded him and it made you feel a little guilty at having provoked such reaction. Your intention was giving him fond memories to distract him while your children got to the cottage, but his mood had changed so suddenly you hadn’t thought it through.

“That day we got our Soyeonie, we became a family Kwangsu. I had never seen you so happy as the moment I woke up and you were holding her.” His eyes were now looking at you but he was very far away, maybe that day forty years ago when you had welcomed your first child into your hearts. “I still remember clearly how terrified you were when she fell off the tree in the garden one summer and she came back skipping, her mouth bleeding and her baby tooth held proudly on her fist.”

“That one was a calamity!” he said, letting go a strong laugh, his eyes wrinkling at the corners. “It is one of the biggest mysteries of humanity how we survived her childhood. She was always bleeding and giving us a heart arrest after another.”

“Yun wasn’t so bad, he was just happy following her around,” you remembered, seeing in your mind a pair of small children. A dark-haired girl with a sweet pink dress stained with mud and her hair going in every direction, and a baby boy waddling behind her, trying to keep up and getting dirt all over his short trousers in the process.”

“Yet neither of them gave us as many headaches as Areum did fifteen years ago,” he sighed, even if those days were a fond memory now, at the time it had seemed terrible and dangerous. “To fall in love with Yun’s friend and go back to Joseon when the situation was as bad as it was.”

Your youngest daughter, Areum was eighteen when she met Hongjoong, your son’s friend. He had been living in Joseon up until he turned sixteen and was sent by his father to help manage the branch of their trading company in England. Yun and Hongjoong had hit it off instantly and Areum had been captivated the second she saw the young boy. She would be found sighing in corners, looking out of windows when the boys arrived at the cottage from Plymouth in summer. The young man was bound to notice and it happened the year he decided to go back to his home country and help his father with their boat company seeing the Japanese threat getting closer and closer. In a fit of what she labelled courage and you labelled stupidity, Areum had left with him without telling you and had married when they arrived at Joseon. After that little stunt had followed many letters, getting scarcer and more worrisome as the years went by. It was early 1910 when they had arrived out of nowhere, with their son on tow, telling the news of how the Japanese had taken over and they had decided that returning to you was the best option for their family.

“Grandpa!” screamed a little voice, followed by the slam of a door and many adult voices admonishing the younger ones.

A huge smile illuminated your husband’s face and he sat upright in the bed with more energy than he had displayed in the last months. He was brimming with happiness at the mere laughter of your youngest grandson who, at six, was the biggest calamity the walls of the cottage had seen. Knowing how much you’d had to deal with his mother and her siblings, you weren’t really in agreement with how much Kwangsu validated the child, but you wouldn’t say anything. The door to the bedroom opened and in poured many dark heads and some slightly lighter. Your grandchildren all approached the bed and smothered their grandfather in love while your children stayed standing by the door, shocked to see their father is such a state. They must have remembered him as the energetic, happy and generous father they had last seen at Christmas, not this weathered and tired old man, laying on the bed, his face ashen and his bones noticeable through his skin.

Your eldest daughter, Soyeon, approached you, setting a hand on your shoulder and smiling wearingly at you. That gesture was enough to tell you how much they had missed you both and how much they were hurting too.

“Mother wants me to study so much!” was saying Yun’s daughter. At fifteen, she was an exact copy of her aunt Soyeon, a little explosive body and a personality to match. If it were up to her, she would be out of the house exploring everything she could find, including the harbour and the docks, which was no place for a young lady her age, according to her mother.

“Your mother wants you to be a learned young lady, don’t you want to be able to outwit your cousins?” asked Kwangsu, knowing exactly what needed to be said, as always. She was your only granddaughter and she would do anything to get ahead of her cousins and prove to them “what a girl could do”. Usually what a girl could do included swimming, playing polo and any other sporting activity they told her she couldn’t participate in, but it seemed that now that would also include studying, judging from the determinate frown on her face.

The hours after the arrival of your children passed happily. All your grandchildren had something to tell you, their parents complaining about their choice of spouse in the case of the older ones as your husband had done with your sons-in-law when he had been in their place. At some point, between laughter and witty remarks, the younger ones had drifted off to the garden to catch insects while their parents and older siblings went around bringing out chairs to take the evening tea in the sunlight. Kwangsu had asked you to open the curtains a bit wider so he could see your family enjoying themselves in the garden and you had, joining him on the bed again after and laying against the headboard while he settled against the pillows.

“I know now what you meant before,” his whispered, his eyes looking at you, reflecting the young boy you met in the docks all those years ago. “They make everything worth it. I have no regrets.”

His eyes gave a last determinate glint, memorising every corner of your face and he kissed the hand caressing his cheek. He relaxed, his body a dull weight against your side and the both of you listened to the laughter of your family as the shadows were growing and the light turned dimer.

“I love you,” he whispered and when you looked down his chest had stopped moving.

Keeping the tears at bay and through the unbearable knot on your chest, you tried to breathe in deeply and that air escaped your lungs in a strangled sob. His face was relaxed and he looked at peace. How were you going to live your life without him?

“Wait for me,” you whispered back and stood up to search for your children.

He had been waiting for a while, sitting at the bottom of the imposing bridge. He didn’t remember much but the place was oddly familiar and he just knew he mustn’t cross the bridge. He had seen how the trees moved to the soundless music of the river, how the dark sand had been covered by snow and turned even warmer. He had tried to see his reflection in the waters of the river but had never gotten close enough. There was always something that caught his fancy and took his attention away from the water. One day, the stars had started a dance overhead that kept him mesmerised for what only looked like a second. He had dropped his head after and realised the trees had withered. Or was it only an illusion, for it seemed that nothing withered in this land. Time was also a strange concept. He felt like he had been walking for an eternity when he reached the bridge and the time he had been here having passed fleeting and short. The days and nights succeeded each other faster than they should have, had he been still living. Even if the red construction promised oblivion and a cease of this boredom, he still sat upon the wooden steps. It was night, and the stars shined brighter than the brightest sun in multicoloured patterns, so close to him he could feel their coldness in his whole being. And then, in between the stars appeared another figure, clear and almost ethereal. Her hair flying around her body in swift breaths and he stood up. He knew her, he had been waiting for her. No words were needed, he wasn’t even sure if words were possible here. He just hugged her to him with the strength of all those centuries he had spent without her. And together, they crossed the bridge.

to be continued x

#bangtanarmynet #mabel-k3 #jeon jungkook #jungkook reincarnation #bts reincarnation #bts reincarnation fic #bts fic #jungkook #requests open #open requests #jiah:r.txt #dreamcatcherjiah

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babyspacebatclone · 4 years ago

Text

Again, no Beta, barely proofread, gotta go to sleep! Stupid work! I want to start Chapter 3 so I can finally get working on dialogue! lol Anyway....

Beast and the Princess - An Entrapdak AU

Chapter 2

Kadroh had lost all track of time. It was still easy enough to count clicks, of course, but without a Horde data pad to perform the necessary calculations it was too difficult to convert the planet’s light cycles to Imperial reasoning. He had been within the castle walls for five darkening periods, but in his current state he had no way of understanding exactly what that actually meant.

The Beast had offered what appeared to be a modified native data pad, but he found it too confusing to even contemplate. When provided with analog marking materials he attempted what he could remember, but gave up after it only produced tears.

Kadroh was not proud of himself in this time, but at least could take solace in the fact that none of his Brothers would ever know of his shame.

The Beast, incomprehensibly, had been nothing but gracious to him. It had taken the time to request what native foods he found palatable and had by some magic procured them.

By Prime’s light, the situation was so terrifying that he had come to believe in the native magic. No logical process could properly explain this castle, nor its Beast, otherwise.

The bizzare creature had, in general, a sensible form - two lower limbs, two manipulator limbs, a standard exemplified by Prime and the Brothers and seen replicated often throughout known space. But Kadroh hesitated to use the terms “legs” and “arms,” for the creature rarely used them as such; instead, most interaction with the world appeared to be through the Beast’s vast amount of purple - again, “hair” seemed too wrong a word to apply. Whatever it was that flowed dozens of paces in length from the Beast’s head, fine strands that seemed stronger than titanium yet infinitely flexible, capable of far too much independent movement for Kadroh to comprehend. Its face appeared featureless, no mouth despite the creature’s ability to verbally communicate, and while in other circumstances he might have found familiarity with the glowing eyes in context their unblinking nature was unnerving. Compounded with the lack of ears, it was utterly impossible to imagine what the Beast was thinking at any moment.

Its actions were no less reassuring. One hectoclick, it was pleasant, proclaiming the Brother a guest within the castle and free to roam as he pleased. All he had to do was make a request of the primitive mechanical servants throughout the halls, and they would serve him to the best of their limited ability.

But the Beast also clearly stated a refusal to allow Kadroh to leave. It seemed quite unconcerned with the very literal traps that spanned every hall he had thus discovered, merely reminding him that if he had trouble the servants would aid him.

Kadroh had spent as much time as he could attempting to find a logic to the castle, a means of exit. This became harder as time passed, as no logic could be found. The same door, from a room he had not left, would open at different times to different hallways. While a few rooms possessed windows to the outside, all of them were out of reach to the Brother and too small to be used for escape even if accessible. All they could do was mock him with the passage of time and light from the outside world, while he remained trapped within a labyrinth that changed every time he turned around.

The servants brought him plenty of clear water, which was good; he would have been in danger of dehydration, from the amount of crying he had come to do.

The Beast had offered him clean clothes at one point, which he had initially refused; the white Horde uniform with the familiar brand was the only comforting thing he had within this building of horrors.

But when he woke from an exhausting sleep after this request, a clean facsimile of his uniform lay beside him. The materials were strange, neither Horde nor what he had encountered from the natives, but of a surprisingly close texture to his own, and visually it was perfectly identical.

The next time he awoke, having changed into the offered clothes, he found his original uniform provided refreshed and folded neatly.

Kadroh briefly suspected the Beast was performing so illogically on purpose, alternating useful and obstinate, but even that did not appear consistent with its actions. It seemed honest in its offers of kindness, and strangely pleased every time he appeared to accept them. The Beast just seemed - unable to comprehend why Kadroh would wish to leave, or why the castle itself pained him. It also seemed to spend most of its time enthralled in its own projects, which it readily - if confusingly - explained to him at length if he happened upon the Beast while working upon one.

In truth, he was becoming strangely fond of the Beast, in a way. Its fixations and enthusiasm towards its projects reminded him painfully of his brother and Hordak’s never ending experiments.

This did not change his frantic desire for freedom, however. Nor made his slowly growing resignation to remaining trapped painful and horrifying.

Kadroh had begun to contemplate if he would go insane first, or simply die, when the halls of the castle boomed with a familiar voice in a familiar cadence.

“I wish to speak to the master of this building, and the captor of my brother.”

Author’s Notes

More timekeeping! One click is one millionth of a Revolution; this brings it to about half a second. A hectoclick is 100 clicks, a little under a minute. Kiloclick is also commonly used in the Horde, about 10 minutes. There is no hour equivalent; you just measure kiloclicks until you get to a Revolution.

None of this matters in the slightest, it just didn’t make sense for Kadroh to be doing all his time keeping with a solar-based cycle.

And if anyone’s noticed the use of pronouns, that will be addressed in the future! I had a bit too much fun creating headcanon for this silly little AU, if you haven’t already noticed! :P

#i had so much fun describing beast entrapta from kadroh’s perspective #can you tell?#beast and the princess #entrapdak au #beauty and the beast au #hordak #entrapta #entrapdak #wrong hordak #kadroh #my writing #fan fic #fan fiction

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captainxsassafras · 4 years ago

Text

Angel Voice

Ok, so this is really the first piece of writing I've actually finished since I graduated from college. Haha, yeah. I've been a bit of an unproductive writer the past lil bit, BUT I'm here today and I finished this. Not gonna lie, I am hella nervous for this. It's nothing emotionally involved or really intense (ok, there’s not angst, but I get real emotionally involved in fluff, so maybe I’m a liar), but I read the idea of Shinsou doing ASMR from secondhand-trash and the anon over there and, ya know, magic happened! Haha, I kid. Just cuteness, a few saucy phrases here and there! Please be kind to me!

(Also, I’m so sorry. I will figure out how to put stuff under the cut. Please be patient with my tech illiterate ass!)

@queensynderella

@secondhand-trash

Angel Voice

Shinsou x Reader

Warning: lots of fluff?, attempted assault (not Shinsou!), suggestive comments, a hot mess of a reader!

Word Count: Just over 5000... I think.

~~~*~~~

Fucking fuckity fuck fuck. You had not slept at all. Not a single wink.

Sorry, kind sir. I have no spare winks to give. No winks here.

This had been going on for months. Months!

It was starting to affect you.

Hahahah… That was a lie. It had been affecting you. You were just adaptable and great at lying so nothing was really wrong!

…Ok, that was a lie too. Your sleep schedule was shot. Your brain was shot. Your work was… by some miracle still ok, but you weren’t about to keep betting on that.

So, here you were. Finally off work and almost falling asleep waiting for the train in the humid, afternoon heat.

This is probably what Hell feels like. Sleep-deprived, foggy, humid, and full of sweaty humans.

You jolted fully awake from a doze as the train arrived and people began crowding against you.

Yippee. A crowded train with strangers pressing in close on absolutely zero sleep.

Nevermind. This was Hell. Waiting for the train was just the appetizer.

Your phone buzzed.

It was your best friend. She knew that you'd been having trouble sleeping and had been your solid rock. She'd been your support when it started and had helped you brainstorm remedies when it had continued. So it wasn't really a surprise when she sent you a link to an asmr video with the message, 'he has the voice of an angel! 😇 if this doesn't help you sleep, nothing will! luv ya boo! good luck!!! ❤❤❤❤❤'

She was right.

His voice was deep, but soothing. He spoke in a soft, calm cadence that immediately put you at ease.

The video in question was a request from a viewer. It was a description of a calm hike through the woods on a nice day.

It was heaven.

You had your first night of decent sleep in months.

(And if you were being totally honest, you did actually cry a bit when you woke up feeling more rested and clear-headed than you could remember.)

From that point on, you fell asleep listening to 'Angel Voice' every night.

And quickly discovered that you couldn't listen to the more...exciting rp videos before bed! They sent your poor, stupid heart wild and kept you wide awake plus some tasty adrenaline! Definitely not the desired effect! Not unpleasant. Just kinda detrimental to the whole helping-you-sleep thing.

But his calm, descriptive videos and dulcet voice sent you straight to dreamland.

For a month straight you fell asleep to his tones and barely bothered to look at the voice artist's name.

Angel voice worked!

***

Ok, now you were tired.

A frantic call to work this afternoon had you covering your sick coworker’s shift. This meant you were both awake way later than you had recently been staying up and you were working with a double shift's worth of leftover energy.

Ok, you were dead. Running on empty. There was no leftover energy.

You dumb, tired feet trudged along the stupid, dark street and your dumb, heavy purse cut into your stupid, aching shoulder.

But despite your exhaustion, you still held a canister of pepper spray--safety off, thank you--clutched tightly in your hand.

The hackles on the back of your neck rose. The hair on your arms stood on end. Chills ran down your spine.

You could feel eyes on your back.

Someone was watching you.

It was a very unpleasant feeling this late at night all alone on a half lit street.

Ugh, this street was so different after dark!

You normally made your way home during rush hour when the street was busy with foot and vehicle traffic, well-lit by the sun, and full of chatter and life.

It was almost lifeless and eerily quiet now.

Creepy.

It needed more streetlamps.

Humming very quietly to yourself, you tried to keep your mind off of the intense foreboding grabbing at your chest.

That same shivering chill ran through your body right before a harsh hand clawed at your arm, jerking you back. You cried out as your sore shoulder twisted and adrenaline-fueled panic surged through your entire nervous system.

You whipped around, pepper spray at the ready and a fierce scowl on your face, to empty the canister straight into the guy's eyes.

You wrenched your aching shoulder out of his hand. Without conscious thought, your foot rose and met his groin in a beautifully placed front kick.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

We have a winner!

He fell.

A convenience store! There was a convenience store nearby!

Heart pounding, you fled to the little 24 hour convenience store across the street and, from the safety of the front counter, called the police.

Your frantic eyes scoured the area near the man, waiting to see if he would rise and run.

Although, you did get him pretty good. You hoped he wouldn't run away. That'd be a) frustrating because you didn't really have a way to identify him so he'd probably get away and b) scary because you kicked him in the nuts! Guys held grudges for things like that!

Was that movement?

It… didn't seem like the attacker was moving…

Oh! It was another guy and it looked like he was wearing a costume!

A hero?

Looked like it! He was tying the felled grabber up with… not sure, but it was incapacitating the guy who grabbed you, so yay!

You left the store and slowly approached the man.

"Um, hi," you said with a hesitant wave. "This was me." You bashfully gestured to the man still lying (now tied up) on the ground.

"Hey, there. Thanks for doing my job for me," he replied with a bit of a smirk. He had a deep, slightly rough voice and up close you could see dark, wildy messy hair.

Uh-oh. You needed to explain. This was absolutely self defense!

"He, uh, grabbed me from behind and I kind of panicked and, well…"

"Don't worry. I saw what happened. He started following you a few blocks back, but I couldn't do anything because he hadn't done anything yet."

Oh.

Oh, damn.

You felt sick. He had… he had been following you?

Your knees trembled.

The hero noticed and stepped forward to you.

"Hey, hey. Come here."

He led you to the curb and sat you down, a hand rubbing comforting circles on your upper back. "It's gonna be ok. You clearly know how to defend yourself, so I wouldn't worry about.."

His soothing voice soon began to pull you out of your fear and calm your racing brain. His hand continued rubbing your back in rhythmic motions and soon your shaking began to slow and finally stop. Your thoughts came back to the moment and you noticed something. Something very familiar...

"Holy shit. Angel voice!"

The hero stopped his rambling speech, one eyebrow raising in an amused arch. He didn't say anything else, just waited for you.

"Do you do asmr?"

"Uh… yeah?"

Boy, you wish you could've captured his face.

Befuddled?

Was that the right word?

Yeah. Pure befuddlement.

Then blushing.

Holy hell! He was blushing! It was really hard to see, but the slightest bit of red colored his cheeks in the dim light.

"Thank you so much!" you cried, maybe a bit loudly. He flinched just a little, looking surprised. "Ah, sorry. But seriously! You're the reason I've been able to sleep for the past month! I've been having sleep issues for almost a year and a friend sent me one of your videos and, well, tada. Sleep happened!" It was your turn to blush.

The look he was sending your way now was… hella cute. He looked delighted. Elated. Even in the dark, his eyes were shining and he had a goofy little half smile that lit his whole face with happiness.

The smile highlighted the bags under his eyes and you briefly wondered if that had something to do with his decision to make asmr videos. The thought fled when he raised a self-conscious hand to rub the back of his neck and started speaking.

"I'm glad they've been helping you!" The very corners of his eyes crinkled just a bit. "It makes my night to hear that!"

His deep voice wasn't loud or overtly excited, but it was warm and full of sincerity.

Your stomach did a stupid flip.

Nope. Not happening. You refused to be a hero groupie. Too much drama. Too many fans picking each other apart. Too much shade. You needed sunshine and most groupies you knew threw shade like confetti.

Also, he was a professional at work. This was his job. You needed to respect that.

A deep internal breath had you back where you should be. Thanking a professional hero for helping apprehend a man who had attacked you and thanking him for his generous work that helped you sleep well.

The two of you talked quietly for a few bit waiting for the police to arrive. It was nice. You asked about hero work. He asked about your job. You two chatted about a couple of random things and by the time the police arrived your chatter was comfortable and easy.

Everything after was a whirl. You had to give a statement. They needed to take you to a hospital just in case. The hero gave his witness statement and then had to leave to help out with a robbery in a different neighborhood.

You left for the hospital looking back and feeling little starbursts of melancholy disappointment needling your chest.

You'd probably never see him again.

Ah, well. Guess he'd stay Angel Voice.

***

Shit.

Crap. Crap. Crap. Crapcrapcrapcrapcrap.

This was stupid.

You had barely talked to him for a half hour. And, yeah, he was sweet. Ok, he'd been crazy nice. And so fucking attractive. He'd been easy to talk to and the conversation between you two had been entertaining and full of wit.

But you had no way of directly contacting him. You'd looked him up, but hadn't gotten much info on him. It looked like he was an underground hero, so that made a lot of sense. It, however, did not make it any less frustrating.

You didn't know what you'd do if you managed to get ahold of him anyway!

"Hi! You sorta bagged a guy who tried to assault me (but I took down first) a few weeks ago and I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since then even though we had like a half hour conversation, half of which was you coaxing me out of a panic attack. Want to go on a date?"

Of course, you could always comment on one of Utube videos, but that had about a 1 in 1,000,000,000 chance of working and felt a little too…. Stalker-fan.

There was also the raging guilt and embarrassment you felt over crushing on a hero who had just been helping you as part of his professional work. He had been at work! It was part of his job to comfort you! He was literally in the business of saving people and making sure they were ok. And that was exactly he had done. He didn't need to be harrassed because your dumb brain said, 'Oo, shiny!' when he smiled. He had been at work. You shouldn't read anything into his behavior, because there really wasn't anything other than a pro hero doing his duty.

Nope! You needed to get over this.

A notification buzzed and you checked your phone.

Mind_kitty has posted a new video! Watch now!

With a defeated sigh, you deferred the notification for later. You could listen and relax on your way home from work.

A movement out of the corner of your eye caught your attention and you snapped your head up as a coworker hustled over with a look of panic on their face.

Uh-oh.

***

And now, here you were, sitting wearily on the train and hurtling towards home.

Ugh, what a day.

After everything that could go wrong had miraculously (horrifically? Fiendishly? Miraculously seemed too positive…) gone up in flames at the same time, you had spent the rest of your work day running around like crazy putting out all the fires (only one of which was, in fact, a literal fire so not actually a terrible day).

Your feet were sore and a headache that had started with your coworker's news and grown from there threatened to overwhelm you.

There were still a few stops until yours, so you slipped your headphones out of your bag and opened your Utube app.

Thank you unlimited data!

You found Angel Voice's latest video and began to play.

(Ok, you now had actually figured out his Utube username and finally bothered to remember it, but he'd started as Angel Voice to you and it just worked in your mind!)

Ahhhhhh…

Why does he have such a great voice? It was perfect! Deep and smooth and perfectly made to whisper sweet (or not so sweet) nothings in your ear while you gently played with his wild purple hair. Fuck, his hair was so pretty! You'd bet your left buttcheek it was soft as clouds…

Ugggghhhhh... Fine.

You were crushing on a pro hero.

Are you happy, universe?

Your fated journey to become a groupie had begun. Might as well accept it and focus on more important things… like Angel Voice's hair.

Or, you know, his voice…

You fell into the sound of his speaking.

Hah, it was like an automatic reaction at this point. Your shoulders started to unknot and that stereotypical breath you didn't know you were holding in rushed out in a grateful sigh.

However, it didn't take you long to realize that he hadn't started into the asmr immediately as you were expecting. Paying more attention, you rewound the video to the beginning and actually listened to what he was saying.

"I'm not sure exactly how to do this." He let out a dry half chuckle. "I haven't completely convinced myself I should. But, um…"

He paused with a frustrated sigh, then seemed to take a deep breath.

"Ok, to hell with it. I'm doing this. Dear, girl I met the other night who took a guy out by kicking him in the nuts."

Was he talking about you? Was there another girl who kicked a guy in the nuts on his patrol? Damn, he met a lot of kickass girls on patrol! Good for her! She was getting a personal shoutout from Angel Voice!

"I know it might seem kind of weird to be doing this over Utube, but I missed my chance at first, then the police arrived and everything was crazy and I had to leave to help out another pro."

Wow, sounds intense. Bet that was stressful. Oh, wait. Hah. You knew it was stressful.

"So I blew my chance to ask for your number."

He wanted her number? Damn! Super lucky girl!

Wait, this wasn't an rp video was it?

You pulled out your phone to check, but the title and description didn't mention any kind of rp. Aww! This was real! And it was adorable!

A tiny piece of sad ripped itself free of the fuzzy feelings you were experiencing. He had been so kind and you'd had such a fun time conversing. It would have been really amazing if this were for you. You had really liked the piece of personality you'd been able to see.

"I'm really hoping you'll hear this video, and hear it in time, because I'd love to go get coffee with the girl who accidentally body-slammed her coworker on her birthday."

Holy.

Shit.

That…

THAT WAS YOU!

That had been you! Your stupid coworker had snuck up behind you at the end of the day in a semi-dark area of work and shouted in your ear to scare you.

It had worked.

You'd been so scared that you'd grabbed him, flipped him over your shoulder, and body-slammed him into the floor.

And… and you'd told Angel Voice that night as you sat talking about some of your more notorious takedowns.

This was for you.

This video was for you!

What the fuck?!

This video was for you!?

You had to rewind a hot second to hear what came next.

Then you had to pause and go back yet again, because your mind was in such a frenzy and your heart was beating so loudly in your ears you couldn’t concentrate on what was being said!

“So if you hear this and, um, you’re interested at all, girl who took down a fully grown man in five seconds, I’ll be waiting at the spot we first met at five pm today. I, uh, really hope I’ll see you there again.”

The video ended.

Your heart was still aiming for professional drummer in your chest.

You could see him raising his hand to rub at the back of his neck with that last statement. He’d done it that night and you could picture it in your mind.

Wait! What time was it?

4:50 pm.

No.

Nonononononono!

You were going to miss the meeting.

You were still six train stops away from yours and that alone would take you fifteen minutes! Not to mention the next fifteen minutes it’d take to get to the meeting place!

Of course, that was walking speed. You could run.

Frantic eyes looked down at your shoes. Not exactly running shoes.

Whatever, you’d make do.

You wanted to see him again.

You could just imagine the disappointment on his face if you didn’t show and that melancholy from earlier reared its weepy head and cried out in frustration because you didn’t want to hurt him!

And you really wanted to see him again!

The next fifteen minutes were the most agonizing you could remember enduring in recent history. This was worse than the time you spilled coffee on your favorite author and his manager had yelled at you for five minutes while they changed! I mean, that had been pretty bad, but the author had been incredibly nice about it after getting back and even mentioned it humorously in the book you had asked them to sign. It was still easily the most awful you'd ever felt and you’d really wanted nothing more than to run away.

This. Was. Worse.

So much worse because you couldn’t actively work towards your quickly approaching deadline and destination. You had to sit there… waiting.

Your leg was bouncing up and down and a few fellow train riders were giving you slightly concerned looks. You were too wound up to care.

Finally, finally!

You arrived at your stop, hurried off the train as quickly as you could without being the absolute worst human ever, and ran.

Your shoes remained on your feet until you almost killed yourself stumbling over them, then they were in your arms.

Decorum be damned!

This was a matter of life or date! (And preferably not death by shoe!)

You made it to the spot where you’d met him at exactly 5:12 pm.

You were sweaty.

Hell, that was an understatement.

You were pretty sure you’d left a trail of sweat behind you and you could feel it running in rivulets down your back. There was probably a stain back there… And on your armpits… and on… everywhere.

You knew your hair was an absolute mess.

But as bad as you knew you must look, you felt worse.

Your lungs were on fire. You had absolutely no breath left in your entire body. It felt like you had a knife in your side. In both sides actually. Your entire body was trying to imitate an oven with the level of heat radiating off your skin. Your legs were simultaneously wobbly and shaking and you weren’t sure you’d trust them taking another step at the moment.

And now you had sweat in your eye. Stinging.

But none of that even mattered.

All of that was stupid and trivial and inconsequential because he wasn’t there.

You’d taken too long.

He was gone.

No vibrant purple hair and sleep-deprived eyes.

No stupid half-smile.

That melancholy came back and instead of quietly tugging at your heart, it hit you square in the chest with an emotional cast-iron frying pan.

No.

No!

Damnit!

You’d really wanted this.

He was… he was so fucking witty and kind that night.

He’d been soft and understanding and hot. And fucking adorable.

And… and… he wasn’t there.

Fuck.

You slumped in place.

Every ounce of your physical exhaustion caught up to you in an instant and you felt the mortifying sting of tears trying to sneak their way out of your eyes.

Talk about adding insult to injury.

It wasn’t that bad. This wasn’t that bad.

So, you didn’t get to meet up with a cute hero for coffee. Big deal. Poor unfortunate soul. It was nothing to cry about.

But you’d really wanted to see him again.

Guess it didn’t matter anymore.

You turned, ready to march across the street to that convenience store and buy half of their ice cream, but something tickled your brain.

Something out of the corner of your eye.

Your head whipped around.

There!

It was a flash of purple down the street.

Your eyes snapped to that portion of the sidewalk.

It was purple hair.

Crazy, wild, tousled, purple hair!

You knew that hair!

But your stupid legs literally wouldn’t run anymore. And he was far enough away that you wouldn’t catch up if you could run.

You reacted without thinking.

You really acted without thinking.

“ANGEL VOICE!”

You shouted his name at the top of your lungs.

Sorry.

You shouted your own private, very personal nickname that you had only spoken out loud to your very best friend and, unfortunately, him.

In the middle of a crowded street.

During rush hour.

Your brain was an utter masterpiece of stupid.

You stood there, frozen with the realization of your own idiocy, as the head of purple hair stopped, looked to the side, looked to the other side, then tuuurrrnnned around.

Made eye contact with you through the busy crowd.

Then doubled over laughing.

You couldn’t hear him from where you stood, but you could feel him laughing.

You could see it in the way his bent shoulders shook and his torso convulsed, nearly spasming with the force of his laughter.

And there you stood, still stuck to your spot.

You’d called him Angel Voice out loud in a crowd out loud in front of a bunch of strangers out loud.

And as much as you wanted to run, you couldn’t even twitch.

Not as you watched him finally finish laughing and fully turn to face you. Not as you watched him begin to walk toward you through the throng of people (just beginning to turn back to their own business in the aftermath of your outburst). Not as he stopped directly in front of you, a delighted smile on his sleepy, stupidly attractive face and the corners of his eyes still just slightly crinkled with laughter.

“Hey there,” he said and it felt like the softest slap to the face you’d ever received.

Your frozen body finally remembered its fight or flight reflexes and, wouldn’t you know, you suddenly learned how to fly.

As you turned to bolt, Angel Voice reached out, calling to you.

“Hey, wait! You’re just gonna run after all of that?”

He didn’t grab you.

That detail broke through the panic.

Even though he reached out with his hand, he didn’t grab you.

You stopped.

“I wanna run because of all that!” you blurted.

His chuckles sent a wave of heat down your spine, both embarrassed and… otherwise. Ok, fine! He had a sexy voice! And it turned you on more than you liked to admit!

Who let him have a voice like that?

It was not freaking fair!

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

Fuck, he sounded sincere.

You slowly turned around, face still burning.

You two stared at each other for a minute.

A smile crooked your lips.

“So, uh, what’s a place like you doing in a voice like this.”

Silence.

“Fuck.”

Your hand came up to rub at your forehead as he began laughing again. A full, big laugh instead of a chuckle.

“I should probably just give up on the talking thing, shouldn't I?”

“I hope not. I could listen to you all day,” he said with a small grin.

And now your heart it was afluttering.

“I feel like that should be my line,” you mumbled, watching him catch his breath from all that big old laughing through the fingers splayed across your face.

There was a pause in the conversation. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it hadn’t really achieved comfortable silence.

“So, um.”

You looked up from your hand.

Good fuck, he was doing the rubbing the back of his neck thing again. Illegal. Freaking illegal is what that was. No man should possess that level of cute.

“I mentioned grabbing coffee in the video. I’d like to assume you being here means you’re interested?” The sentence ended with a slight upturn, indicating a question. He looked up at you, uncertainty in his gorgeous violet eyes.

Why the hell was he uncertain?

This mortherfucking hottie with a voice made for swooning (and spooning) was nervous about asking you to coffee (adateadateadateadate).

Without thinking, you voiced this exact thought out loud (sans the date portion... and the spooning. Spooning was for non-dumbasses).

Angel Voice looked absolutely floored.

“I’m sorry, but do you own a mirror?” he asked. There was a tension in his voice that almost had you shrinking into yourself.

Ouch.

Damn.

Ouch.

Well, at least he was blunt.

“You’re fucking gorgeous.”

You met him on the floor.

Dead. Ass.

He just called you gorgeous.

There was a set to his jaw now and a sort of light in his eyes. He looked very… determined. Set, was what you’d call it. He seemed very set on a decision.

"It was great talking to you the other night. I can't get out of my head how funny and smart you were. And you're so fucking cute I want to wrap you up in my jacket and stay there forever."

His face was blazing red now. His ears too. Ok, that was hella adorable. You felt your own self flush with happy bashful feelings. I mean, he himself had just supplied you with the sappiest, schmoopiest mental image you’d really ever conceived.

“I’d really like to go get some coffee together.” He went quiet for a minute, seeming to mull something over in his head, and that stupid hand came up to rub at his neck again.

Ugh, he was gonna kill you with that!

“Would you go on a date with me?”

If your heart was fluttering before, it was nearly palpitating now!

“Yes! Please! I mean, yes I want to go on a date with you!”

He smiled, a breathless, bewildered, almost (dare you think) dorky smile. It was fucking beautiful.

"Wow," he exhaled.

A snort escaped you. "Again, I feel like that should be my line."

But you smiled back.

And there you both stood, almost dazedly smiling, little happy thoughts buzzing through your minds.

“We should probably head to a cafe if we’re going to get coffee,” Angel Voice finally murmured.

You started.

The both of you were standing like idiots in the middle of the sidewalk, just staring at each other.

“Coffee, right. Anywhere in mind, Angel Voice?” The nickname slipped out almost by accident.

He held out his hand to you and you took it gently.

“Angel Voice, huh?” he laughed quietly. “I think I can go with that.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault! You still haven’t told me your name.” You sent a playful tug along the arm you held by the hand and felt a little thrill of joy when he returned it just as playfully. "You're officially Angel Voice until you enlighten me."

The two of you had started walking. He seemed to have a destination in mind. Man with a plan. Nice.

“I know a cafe nearby. Do you mind?” he asked, softly pulling you along in invitation while leaving enough slack for you to object if you wanted.

Man with a plan who asked nicely. Nice.

“Not at all, Angel Voice.” You had a point to make and a guy to tease!

He chuckled again.

“My name is Hitoshi. Hitoshi Shinsou.” That slightly devious grin crept back onto his face. “But Angel Voice works for me.” He snuggled in close to your cheek, the side of his body leaning comfortably into yours. Then he whispered in your ear and you nearly fell over. "Especially if you're screaming it as loud as you did earlier."

Good lord, your knees nearly collapsed.

His voice, his stupid voice, saying such a frisky thing so close did such a number on you that you couldn't respond for a moment. It was all you could do to keep breathing.

His voice was going to be the death of you! You couldn’t think. Should you respond? What did you say to that? Something equally as frisky! But his voice!

He tensed a bit at your lack of response.

"Was that too much? Did I cross a line?" he asked, still speaking low right in your ear.

"Son of a bitch, if you don't stop that right now, I'm gonna jump your fucking bones right in the middle of this street." Your voice was full of urgency, but if he didn't stop you really were liable to unleash every single ounce of wild attraction you felt towards him at that exact moment, street full of people be damned!

He stopped walking.

Oh, shit. You could hear the Cheshire grin.

"You mean, like this?"

You sagged against him, letting your knees tremble. Your hand, still tangled, clutched his tightly.

His chuckle this time was less… benevolent than before. "What? You called me Angel Voice." His thumb ran soothingly over your hand. "I had to see if I could tempt you."

You couldn't help it. You turned your face to bury it in his jacket. What a magnificent, teasing butthead you'd just gotten yourself tangled up with. It was amazing!

"That’s going to come back to bite me, isn't it?"

“All the time.”

A tiny little butterfly crept into your stomach. You didn’t want to read too much into it (although after his teasing, you didn't really feel like it was reading into things), but ‘all the time’ sounded like there was going to be, well, plenty of time. It was a very welcome, warm idea.

As soon as your legs de-noodled (Hitoshi making snarky comments like a brat the entire time), the two of you continued on in an easy silence, exchanging teases every so often. The sun was setting and the entire world was covered in golden tones. Rush hour was winding down and the foot traffic in the area was dissipating, leaving a much more comfortable number of people around.

Your brain focused on the soft, warm quality of the light, the muted shocks of excitement zipping through your lower back, and the soft weight of his calloused hand surrounding yours.

You gave a little, light squeeze.

"I'm so happy I ran, Angel Voice.”

He just chuckled and squeezed back.

#welp there you go #shinsou #hitoshi shinsou #shinsou hitoshi #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha shinsou #mha shinsou #shinsou fluff #hitoshi shinsou fluff

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vaguekiwi · 4 years ago

Text

Whom Shall I Fear?

@tony-is-my-daddy posted this and my brain fucking broke down.

Whom Shall I Fear?

Pairings: Tony Stark x Peter Parker

Summary: 1 Samuel 16 - 17 but it’s Starker. (David in Saul’s Service, David and Goliath.) Tony is David and Peter is Jonathan and I have so much to say about this but I’m gonna put it at the very end.

Characters: David:Tony Stark, Jonathan:Peter Parker, Saul:Richard Parker (background unnamed Samuel, Goliath, and Merab.)

Word Count: ~2000

Other Inspiration: Sight by Sleeping at Last

Warnings: Biblical crossover/speculation, safe for work, not safe for church, hint of homophobia, inappropriate use of Biblical concepts/language

When they met, they were both still young.

There was a new attendant in the king’s court. He had dark hair and his neck was curved toward the instrument, so Peter could not see his face. But he handled the lyre carefully, almost reverently, as he played.

Peter itched for the man to turn his face, longed to see the rest of the full jaw in his view, wanted to see the colour of his eyes. Eyes which captured the lyre with an earnest focus, eyes which Peter was sure enamoured anything and anyone they looked at.

“Peter!” Peter started at the sound of the king’s voice, but was glad he did not sound angry or resigned.

“I apologise, my lord king.” Peter bowed when he addressed his father. He could feel those eyes on him now, fought the urge to turn.

“Peter,” King Richard straightened himself and waved his son in, “come, meet Anthony.” So Peter faced the musician who stood to bow.

Peter could see immediately that he could do more than play the lyre. His frame was strong and his eyes - Peter had been right - were bewitching pools of brown; traces of green and gold flashed in the man’s gaze as he looked Peter up and down.

“A warrior, too,” King Richard sighed as Peter shook Anthony’s hand, “yet to truly prove himself in battle, but that time will come. I find his songs… soothing.”

Anthony finally spoke, his cadence rough and gaze never leaving Peter’s face, “I am fortunate the Lord has blessed me with such a gift, my king.”

“Yes, thanks be to God.” The king mumbled, then shook his head. “To think your talents were being wasted so— herding sheep! It is good you have come here, Anthony.”

“I am grateful to be here, my king. And grateful too, for the beautiful instrument you have provided me.”

The king mumbled at that, and made a motion that he should continue playing. So Anthony sat down again and lifted the lyre.

Peter knew he had effectively been dismissed, but he lingered outside the door. He pressed his back to the wall and listened to Anthony’s music. He wondered why his cheeks were warm, and what the stirring in his stomach meant.

—

Anthony’s music did more than soothe the king. It stopped any temperamental episodes all together. The entire castle grew to welcome the sight of the young man with the lyre who could keep the king’s demons at bay.

He was not there all the time. He often went home to his family. Said tiredly that he needed to look after his father, help his brothers, and of course continue to watch the sheep.

When he was not there, King Richard became paranoid and angry. He threw things and spat heresy. The rumours troubled him; the ones that said King Richard had lost favour with God, that God had sent prophets to anoint a new king. Peter didn’t know whether to believe them or not, he just continued to pray for forgiveness for his father.

Then Anthony would return with his lyre, always carefully tuned and polished, and he would play to ease the king’s heart.

He sang too, beautiful homilies of faith and wonder; stories about far-off lands and battle glory. It was because he sang that Peter first got to know him.

“Anthony, are you alright?” He found the young man bending over a desk, a quill rolling between his fingers, lower lip tucked into his mouth.

“Prince Peter,” The shepherd looked up and their eyes met, and Peter wished they hadn’t. He did not want to feel surrounded the way he did by that gaze, like there was pressure on all sides and he was held down by it. Like he desperately needed to come up for air, but could not unless the strength and assurance in Anthony’s gaze gave such permission.

It was a strange feeling of authority, between prince and subject. But it also felt right.

Then Anthony turned his worried gaze back to the paper and he sighed in exasperation. “I am having trouble writing,” he admitted at length, “the words don’t come as easily as some might think.”

“What is it about?”

Peter stepped further into the room, wanting to thumb away the anxiety creasing Anthony’s forehead.

“Fear,” Anthony chewed his bottom lip and anxiously rubbed the fingers of one hand together so flakes of ink fell to the top of the desk. Peter looked down at the paper, the jumble tight print against the page.

The wicked advance against me to devour me, the armies besiege me, war breaks out against me.

There was no music written to the lyric, but Peter could imagine it easily. Could hear Anthony’s lilting voice while his fingers strummed the lyre.

Peter spoke, and put his finger to the top of the page, “if it is about fear, then what is it that gives you strength when afraid? Write about that.” And so Anthony put his quill to the page again and scrawled

The Lord is my light, whom shall I fear?

Then he went still and looked up at Peter.

“It’s… difficult to write, my prince. With someone watching… like this.”

Peter took several steps back which were too big, putting more distance between them than they needed. “Of course, I’m sorry.” He said and turned away. The wicked advance against me, armies besiege me. What did that mean? What did Anthony, the shepherd with the king’s favour, have to be afraid of?

Before Peter left, Anthony called:

“Thank you, Prince Peter.”

And so that became routine. Short moments in the afternoon sitting in an abandoned office; Peter prompted and Anthony’s words flowed. And come evening Peter snuck to the king’s chambers and listened for the finished song.

—

King Richard was right, Anthony did eventually have cause to prove himself in battle.

Peter watched from afar with a trembling lip as Anthony shed the armour he’d been given.

Anthony cast aside his sword and declared the Lord was with him. It was a haughty sentiment, Peter thought, when in theory the Lord was with all of them.

Peter watched the musician push his way to the front lines with only a sling and five smooth stones in hand. Peter turned away, feeling a deep loss at the prospect of his friend’s death. The man who had brought peace to the king’s tortured mind.

The army jeered. King Richard shook his head sadly.

Peter thought of the tales of heroism which had been borne from Anthony’s mind - and what a brilliant mind it was - and sent a prayer for the Lord to protect His servant.

Afterward, when Anthony held the enemy commander’s head aloft, when their army roared and their foes retreated, Peter looked cautiously to his father. They could hear the chanting from here:

Richard has slain his thousands

And Anthony his tens of thousands!

A thinly-veiled insult to the king, if ever there was one.

King Richard’s face was unreadable as he turned to an aide. “Bring the shepherd boy to me.” He ordered.

And Peter thought God must be weary by now of his prayers.

—

But the king did not kill Anthony.

Peter was waiting outside the tent when he emerged. Blood still stained his hands and his clothes were still torn, but now a handsome purple mantle had been draped over his shoulders.

“Anthony!”

“Prince Peter.”

They stood just a bit too far apart from one another, a setting sun casting them in golden light while the cheers of victory and scent of sweet wine filled the space between them.

“My father…”

“He did not hurt me,” Anthony shrugged off the mantle and trudged away. Peter hurried to follow him.

“Are you alright?”

Anthony took them away from the festivities, toward the back of camp and to the seclusion of the streams and veld beyond.

When they were too far for anyone to hear them, but probably still in sight, Anthony said: “Our lord king has asked me to stay with him. To advise. To lead your army.”

“That is a great honour,” Peter said, even though his heart clutched with worry, “your family will be proud.”

“Prince Peter,” Anthony stopped now and turned to face him. He rubbed two fingers together, they watched flakes of dried blood sift off and settle to the ground.

“Prince Peter, I fear I am an enemy of your father.”

Peter glanced furtively back to camp before asking, “Why do you say that?”

“Have you heard that another man was anointed by the prophets? To be king in your father’s stead?”

“Yes.” Peter was conscious of his heart racing in his chest. He had a suspicion of what Anthony would say next, he did not know if he was afraid of it or wanted it to be true.

“Peter, I cannot lose a battle.” With the honorific prince cast away, Peter felt like his own skin had been peeled back, like Anthony was looking down at something raw and something secret. Anthony shook his head and kicked his foot into the desert ground, “I can go up against a ten foot tall general without a sword and still win… apparently.”

Peter whispered: “If you are the man the rumours are about, then the king will want you dead.”

“Or he will want me leashed,” Anthony replied, “he has already offered your sister’s hand. A fine home. A title. He is already afraid of me.”

“There is good reason to be afraid of any man with the Lord’s favour.” Peter mumbled, and then gasped when Anthony stepped forward. He put one hand on the small of Peter’s back and the other on the side of his neck, Peter could still smell the blood on it. The stench of sweat flooded his nostrils and they were very close like this, pressed flush against one another.

“Are you afraid of me, Peter?”

Peter didn’t completely understand the question, but he understood what was happening. He understood the danger of it, the horror of it. He understood that anyone could look down on them from here, and if not recognise them they could recognise the sin of two men so close.

His voice shook, “This is an abomination, Anthony-”

But Anthony only held him tighter, “The Lord is my rock, my protection, my Saviour. I can run to him for safety. He is my shield and my saving strength, my defender.” They were his own lyrics, his breath hot on Peter’s neck as he growled them out, “the world cannot touch me, Peter. Not unless He wills it. And He won’t, His plans for me are grander than this one battle.”

They were both quiet, Peter’s breath was hoarse but he let himself hang in Anthony’s grip, pressed his chin into his palm.

Again: “Peter… are you afraid of me?”

“If the Lord has chosen you to be king, then whom shall I fear?”

Anthony smiled, and it was genuine. It was happy. It was born from goodness and patience, from peace, joy, and love.

And Peter reached for the soft woollen britches which Anthony wore, torn at the knees and along his thigh from the battle.

“May I worship my king?”

Anthony growled. It was a sound that sent a spike of heat through Peter’s whole body. That made his head white with electricity when their lips met.

“Only if I may reward my servant.”

--------

Notes from Grace:

Okay, there’s SO much potential to this story. Everything I have written here is before the Bible actually mentions David and Jonathan making their covenant together. Like after this, there’s chapters on King Saul hunting David, Jonathan helping him to escape, Jonathan manipulating and lying to his father to protect David, Saul lowkey realising they’re in love so lying to Jonathan and accusing David of stealing his son away and corrupting him. There’s this actual dialogue:

**David: Your father knows very well that I have found favour in your eyes

Jonathan: Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do for you

Jonathan: Don’t be afraid, my father Saul will not lay a hand on you. You will be king over Israel, and I will be second to you.

And these actual verses:

“So Jonathan made a covenant with the house of David, saying ‘May the Lord call David’s enemies to account.’ And Jonathan had David reaffirm his oath out of love for him, because he loved him as he loved himself.”

“Then they kissed each other and wept together — but David wept the most”

And David being on the run and Jonathan straight up sneaking away from his dad to meet up in a secret liaison like who can possibly say that wasn’t gay as hell?????

And Saul offering David two of his daughters’ hands in marriage and David being like “... nah.” while ‘affirming covenants’ with Jonathan left and right.

But this is all I wrote. If anyone’s into it I would encourage/welcome you to continue it and would love to be tagged in any such continuation.

**(I use an NIV Bible for 99% of my Bible needs)

#starker #starker fic #tony stark x peter parker #bible au #grace writes

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whatdoyouexpectthistime · 4 years ago

Text

Blood Spatter - Part 9

Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3 : Part 4: Part 5 : Part 6 : Part 7 : Part 8

________________________________

Angrily, Miho growled at her aggressor as she was shoved into the next room. Her confusion, fear and ire suddenly paused, however, when her eyes fell upon two figures also present. They were on their knees, their hands bound behind their backs, one with bruises all over his face – left eye swollen – the other’s face torn by bloody tears.

Sebastian.

Selina.

“What the hell is this?” Miho barked as her abductor closed the door behind him.

For a moment there was a weighty silence, with Miho seeking answers from her friends, though in their beleaguered state they were the least likely to provide them.

“Unfortunately, we couldn’t do this in a gentler manner,” the man behind her declared, looking over Miho’s shoulder at his two compatriots.

“Do what?” Miho spat. “Because kidnapping and assault aren’t exactly synonymous with gentleness.”

“Whatever they say…” Sebastian began, but his sentence was broken when he was thumped on the back of the head with the grip of a gun.

Both Miho and Selina let out cries of protest, the former starting forward, but her arm was seized once more.

“Whatever we say, ultimately you’ll have a choice,” the man told her, his gravelly voice rough against her ear. “You have a purpose far and beyond the paltry existence you’re floating aimlessly through, and we’re going to make you face it.”

“My life is mine,” Miho grated, “and it has nothing to do with them. You need to let them go, let us all go.”

The response to this statement, was the barrel of a gun pressed to the back of Sebastian’s head.

Miho’s trembling increased, and Selina let out a thick sob.

“Please,” she begged, blood dripping from the tip of her chin.

“Why?” Miho gasped. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because Vérrún’s legacy vanished hundreds of years ago in a line of impotent male children,” the woman holding the gun to Sebastian’s head answered.

Sebastian’s eyes grew wide.

“Vérrún?” he blurted, his good eye flickering to Miho. “It’s not possible. That line was cursed.”

“Freya is incapable of forgiveness?” the man sneered. “She has no sense of irony giving his gifts to the child he murdered?”

A bitter, incredulous chuckle, crackled out from between his broken lips.

“You think she’s a reincarnation?”

“Reincarnation, curse broken, it matters not,” the man asserted. “She’s going to awaken and take up her ancestor’s mantle.”

It was clear Sebastian knew what it all meant now, as with a grimace, his focus turned to his sister.

“You can’t,” he snarled, and despite the threat of a bullet to his brain, he lunged sideways.

The force with which he was restrained should have fractured his cheekbone, his face slammed into the concrete floor and held there.

“Stop, stop it!” Miho barked, her face a snarl of viciousness. “You’re going to get nothing from me acting like savages.”

“We require your awakening regardless,” the man told her frankly, picking up a large knife from a tray behind him - a knife, perhaps closer to a machete. “Vérrún’s line has remained dormant since the beginning, but now the curse is lifted, you have the potential to be all that he was and more.”

“Still a shitty sale’s pitch,” Miho grated, teeth bared as the blade was offered to her.

“The choice before you is simple,” he told her, disregarding her commentary. “Kill the vampire and awaken, or decline, and we kill them both.”

Miho’s lungs seized up.

“Vampire?” she repeated, a cold sweat finally breaking out.

It couldn’t be Sebastian, he couldn’t have been turned or his wounds would have healed… which meant…

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Miho’s eyes fell upon Selina.

“Oh God,” she murmured, her head snapping back as the man put the knife hilt against her palm. “I will not be killing anyone.”

“Even if you do not apply the killing blow, you will still be responsible,” he pointed out. “Two, instead of one, and a fellow hunter - that would be tragic.”

“You fucking bastards!” she roared, gripping the blade, white-knuckled.

She could swing at them, but bullets moved faster.

It was impossible.

Impossible.

“I can’t kill Selina, I can’t, I can’t…”

Sebastian pleaded with her silently to do something, Selina too, but it was…

Impossible.

“You… you want me to kill a vampire? Where is the one who turned her?” she rushed desperately.

“We…”

“I’ll gladly kill that creature!” Miho declared vehemently.

How long had she been at the hospital? Selina was not a vampire when she left the club with Jazz; she could not have been turned that long ago, and it boggled Miho’s mind how quickly the world had yet again been turned on its head.

“That is not the choice before you,” the man said sternly.

“Why? Why them? You don’t need them to awaken me!” she protested, heart galloping a thunderous cadence.

The sound of gun hammers clicking caused the stampede to stumble.

“You’ll let him go?” she forced out, but the first reaction came from Sebastian, despite the cold streel against his head.

“No!” he shrieked, and on reflex Miho snapped back.

“The hell do you want me to do?” she fired, eyes burning, throat burning. "What can I do?”

“This one cannot be saved now,” the man pointed out, gesturing to Selina. “The question is only one of lesser evils.”

“The only evils here are you!” Sebastian snarled, and copped a heavy knee in the spine for his trouble. “You’re not hunters, you’re monsters!”

“Is this the moment I become a killer?” Miho wondered, as Sebastian’s shouting and Selina’s crying faded out, drowned, suffocated by gravity drawing the blade toward Selina’s neck.

“No… please…” she begs, held down by two, the man taking a handful of hair and forcing her head down. “Miho, please!”

“No matter what I do, I lose. No matter what, any innocence I have remaining will be demolished.”

“Miho, please!”

“And I’m selfish for thinking about how this will affect me. A murderer.”

Sebastian sounds like an angry bear as I ready my blade. They’ve ceased holding him at gunpoint, focusing instead on just keeping him prone, preventing him from intervening.

“I’m sorry,” Miho muttered, but it has to sound hollow to the condemned. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Again Selina howled.

Then stopped.

The blade was impossibly sharp.

The thud of a head hitting concrete, grotesque.

It rolled to the side.

Looked up at Miho in horror.

Selina’s flesh did not burst into flame or crumble to ash like she thought a dead vampire’s might; it was like any other corpse.

A corpse because Miho made her one.

There’s blood on my hands – I can’t see it, but it is most definitely there.

Why they let me go, I don’t know; maybe they wanted to see what I’d do, where I’d go, who I’d call.

My feet are moving but they have no sense of direction or destination: invisible footprints in the asphalt as deep and dark as my sin.

They released Sebastian too, but on the dark roadside before dawn, he wouldn’t meet my eyes, couldn’t.

I can’t blame him.

I killed his sister.

He told me to leave, to walk, but never said where; and I know he’s angry, and in pain, and I shouldn’t feel angry at him for responding that way - but now what?

“Do you feel different now?”

All that talk about a cursed bloodline I’m supposed to be descended from, but the only curse I know now is my reality.

I cannot seek refuge with my best friend, a vampire who like Selina was turned. The shame alone is heavier than anything I’ve ever experienced.

I cannot run to Kiril, who made it clear the only thing that bound us was the witch’s spell now broken, regardless of whatever lingering emotions may still dwell within me.

And I cannot pretend I’m still me, or rather, I’m a different me who was - how could I not be with a conscience as stained as this?

Some part of me hopes Narumi finds me, so I can tell her everything and have it done with. Perhaps she would drag me before Kiril’s father and that would be the end of that. But I’m too stubborn to hand up my head on a silver platter, my drive to survive too strong to just roll over.

“Fuck,” I whimper, flopping down onto a park bench.

That word, however, just doesn’t cover it.

At least my head doesn’t hurt anymore.

“Ha!” I laugh aloud, alone with morning approaching.

“Caw!” a nearby crow echoes, hopping comically along the path toward him.

“Yeah?” I huff, watching as it tilts its head, observing. “If you’ve any advice… I’m…”

Thinking is one thing, but the moment I attempt to vocalise a proper sentence the words get caught up in my abject distress.

“What… SOB... do I do?”

“CAW!” the crow responds, much as I expect.

The voice that follows, I do not.

“Why might you be out here all by yourself?” Narumi asks from behind.

I might have flinched, but I’m too deep in my misery.

The bird hops up beside me, then onto Narumi’s shoulder, burrowing its beak into her hair while she moves around to face me.

“Has something happened, Miss Fujiwara?” she probes, leaning a little to study my face.

Even through the watery glaze across my eyes, I see her as different, different than the last time.

There is a bright glow in her eyes, like a cat caught in torchlight, and her hair is shiny: fine threads of polished metal.

“Are you… are you asking as a cop?” I managed, quiet and thick. “Or as Kiril’s cousin?”

Scrubbing my eyes makes room for more tears, but the lethargy of my body, the heaviness of a falling blade, has for some reason lightened. I’m on edge, furtive, noticing everything around me, and Narumi is at the centre of it all.

“For now, Kiril’s cousin,” she responds, sitting down beside me. “What has the idiot done now?”

My trembling lips betray a most inelegant splutter, a wet chortle.

“Not him,” I tell her, but I dare not reveal too much.

So I ask a question instead.

“Have you ever killed someone?”

“Yes,” she answers, no hesitation at all. “Sometimes, criminals give you no choice.”

Maybe she knows I’m not talking about her career, maybe not.

“No choice,” I repeat, face twitching to hold back another torrent. “Sometimes, there is no right, just evil and evil and the one who perpetrates it.”

“Have you killed someone, Miho?” she inquires more gently, and I close my eyes.

“I am lost, so, so, so lost,” I weep, shaking my head. “Can’t change what I’ve done, who I’ve hurt. I’ve nowhere to go now.”

“Against my better judgement, I’m going to call Kiril,” she tells me, then flinches when I suddenly get up.

“No, no, it’s broken now and he doesn’t want me.”

“What’s broken?”

“No! I can’t tell you that, none of it,” I bark, and she rises carefully with her hands before her.

“You have Kiril’s protection,” she assures me.

“Not anymore.”

The urge to run is overwhelming, and I haven’t the will to defy it.

My dart to the left gives me several second’s head-start, but Narumi nearly dislocates my shoulder snatching my wrist.

It’s a reflex, the way I round on her and shove with my free hand, but this instinct not only breaks Narumi’s hold, but throws her violently back, cartwheeling across the park until she tumbles into a manky pond.

And I blink at how easy that was.

Sopping wet and stunned, Narumi drags herself from the shallow water and sizes me up.

“That should not have been possible,” she points out, and even through my own surprise I hear the new edge to her voice.

This time, it’s my hands that go up.

“I know,” I admit shakily. “But it is, and it’s not my fault, it’s not - I had no choice!”

“No choice in what?” she very nearly growls.

She must have been going gently, gently, for Kiril’s sake, and vaguely it reminds me of when Kiril said he’d hate to have to kill Narumi because she was a threat to me.

“But that was when we were bound by magic.”

In my moment’s reverie, Narumi has swept in behind me, but she keeps her hands to herself - her tone, however, is full of warning and restraint.

“I… think you should call Kiril now,” I exhale weakly, despite my show of physical strength.

“After that, I know I shouldn’t,” she contradicts, and several small black shapes drift from the sky and perch nearby.

A murder.

Liana, Kai and Kiril all arrived at the same time, in a cab, not the Jag. As they entered, slivers of glass sparkled in Liana’s hair, and there was a little blood on Kevin’s yellow body. Miho might have commented on the state of Liana and Kai’s slight dishevelment, but she was trembling, twitching, preoccupied by the incessant bouncing of her right foot - up down up down up down.

Anything but look over at where Kiril stood on the other side of the room where Narumi had moved to greet him.

“Looking ravishing as always,” he noted, looking his muddy cousin up and down.

“You can thank your little pet for that,” Narumi grunted irritably. “Threw me good on twenty metres.”

“Is she hurt?” he asked, and Narumi put her hands on her hips, glaring.

“She bloody well should be sprawled at Konrad’s feet right now, Kiril!” she exclaimed, pointing over her shoulder. “And you too. Protecting a hunter? Are you fucking insane?”

“No doubt,” he agreed calmly, stepping around Narumi and approaching Miho with significant caution.

He too had felt the spell break, a searing slash across his consciousness distracting enough to not hear the ring of his phone until Jazz had called for the third time; Miho was missing from the hospital and no one had seen where she went.

“Miho,” he said cautiously, and her head lifted: neck muscles taut and jaw clenched.

“Here to kill me I suppose,” she said plainly, and Kiril’s brows twitched.

“If had wanted that, Narumi would have done it for me,” he pointed out, then paused.

She did not fill the silence.

“Tell me what happened,” he prompted, sitting down beside her, not crowding, but not lifting his attentive gaze.

Immediately, Miho’s eyes began to burn. With flushed face and dribbling nose, she jumped up and began to pace.

“I left the hospital, then… I passed out, and when I woke up I was inside, somewhere, and there were hunters…”

Kiril nodded, but made no comment.

“They said they’d been looking for me, and insisted I…”

That is as far as she got before crouching on the carpet, wrapping her arms around her knees and burying her face against them.

“I killed her!” she sobbed into her kneecaps.

“Who, Sparrow?” Kiril urged, with a gentleness that surprised Narumi who was definitely eavesdropping.

“Selina,” Miho gasped, choking on her shame.

“The stoned girl from Pale,” he nodded, moving over to her once more. “Ross’ sister?”

She couldn’t answer, could barely breathe.

“This may not work at all, but if you allow it in,” he said, finally placing his hand against hers. “Let me ease your panic and pain.”

Blearily, she looked up, but did not recoil.

Kiril could feel the natural resistance of her hunter blood now, blocking his influence of power over her emotions.

“Come on, Sparrow,” he urged softly. “Let me in.”

Lips quivering, Miho managed a slight nod, and the fortifications dissolved.

After a few long sighs, her sobbing began to subside, and Kiril was able to ease her to her feet and shuffle her back to the sofa.

“Better?”

Weakly, she inclined her head.

“They turned her, forced a vampire to turn her,” she expounded. “Then they said if I didn’t kill Selina, they would kill her and Sebastian.”

Kiril took this in, thought it over before voicing a response.

“I can understand why the hunters would want to awaken you - their numbers have dwindled in the last half century - but it makes no sense to make you their enemy in the process. Why Ross’ sister and not the one who turned her?”

“What am I supposed to do now?” she asked meekly, staring across the room at the wall. “Two vampires dead, a hunter woken and… Sebastian… must hate me now.”’

“If you were forced to do this or else see him killed also,” Kiril reasoned, “he will see as much, when the dust settles.”

A tap at the window drew the attention of Narumi only, and she opened it to allow a raven entry.

“We now know who they took to turn the Ross girl,” she announced, petting the bird’s glossy black feathers. “He was young, but his mother is Lady Elzebethe Archdall.”

Reflexively, Kiril cringed.

A noble.

“Konrad is going to learn of this,” Narumi warned.

Scowling, it was Kiril’s turn to pace.

“Liana,” his voice snapped. “Find me Sebastian Ross.”

With a curt nod, Liana assented and exited with Kai in tow.

“I do not like this,” Kiril muttered, stroking his chin.

“What’s to like?” Narumi laughed. “You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t order me to stake you, then myself for what we’ve already hidden.”

“No,” Kiril snapped. “This is politics, this is contrivance; hunters do not awaken their own like this, and I have doubts our involvement in this is a coincidence.”

“Your involvement,” Narumi corrected.

“Oh no,” he sniffed. “You made your choice, so you might as well help.”

“Help a hunter?” she chortled. “Why wait for Konrad to order it, I may as well stake myself now.”

“Use your legion to find the hunters that did this,” Kiril growled, glaring at his cousin until his head snapped to where Miho had begun moving toward the door. “And where are you going?”

“Away,” she dropped. “From her and you and this.”

“Like hell you are,” Narumi retorted, in a blink barring the exit.

“There is nowhere far enough you can run that Konrad won’t hunt you down,” Kiril affirmed.

“So far he doesn’t even know, and if he did what? I should just wait here for him to find me?” she frowned, spreading her hands, then pointed at Narumi. “For her to lose her nerve and turn me in?”

“That’s my job,” Narumi countered irritably. “One I will no doubt lose, along with my head, thanks to you.”

“I didn’t ask for this,” Miho barked, cutting the air with her fingertips. “You! You and yours in my club messing with people’s hearts and minds.”

“I’m about to mess with more than that,” Narumi warned, already stepping in Miho’s direction again, before Kiril’s arm dropped between them.

“Enough! The both of you,” he shouted. “I forbid you from harming her.”

Narumi balked, eyes wide and mouth agape.

“You forbid me?” she repeated slowly, threat creeping into her voice. “Oh, I called you out of familial courtesy, but that is obviously not, nor has it ever been, high on your agenda.”

She tried to dodge around him, reached for Miho who did not move, but swiftly found herself slammed against the wall a foot off the ground, with Kiril’s grip tightly around her throat.

“I will end you,” he hissed up at her, eyes blazing.

“You’ve lost it!” Narumi croaked, digging her fingernails into his wrists, through the flesh, against the bone.

He was older than her, stronger than her, and her inherited powers would not help her against him.

“Maybe so,” he snarled. “But this is the way things will be, and if you double-cross me - Konrad or no - I. Will. End. You.”

There was no time for her to respond before he pitched her across the chamber, and though she turned in the air to make a more graceful landing than Miho might have managed, it still ended with the crash of splintering wood and torn upholstery.

“Time to leave,” Kiril prompted, reaching for Miho’s hand, but she was swift to recoil.

Still, when he narrowed his eyes at her, she inhaled deeply, set her jaw, then headed out the door.

With Kiril’s resources at her disposal, Liana made her way to the registered address of Sebastian Ross. Even though she thought it unlikely the traumatised hunter would return to his primary abode, it was a place to begin.

“What are we going to do when we find him?” Kai asked, carrying Kevin from the car with him. “He’s a hunter, so…”

“We shall be careful,” Liana responded. “I imagine he will be much like a wounded animal - he may snap.”

“You’re stronger than him though, right?”

At the front door, Liana paused to consider this. In her travels with Kiril she had encountered hunters not bound by the treaty in effect across the U.K., but she had always been apart from the fray.

“I would sooner we didn’t have to test this,” Liana replied. “Master Kiril wishes him unharmed.”

”If he attacks you, I won’t hold back,” Kai stated, puffing up. “Neither shall Kevin.”

“And you’re both very brave,” she smiled fondly. “But let’s first aim for diplomacy.”

“I don’t care who you are,” a gravelly voice snarled through a nearby intercom. “Fuck off.”

“Well, that is a surprise,” Liana mused, allowing herself a small smile. “It would seem he’s home.”

“And rude.”

“Well,” Liana chided, “a close friend did just murder his sister in front of him, so we might give him a pass on foul language for now.”

She then lifted her voice and pressed down on the intercom.

“Mr. Ross,” she began, and Kai recognised this as the tone of voice she used when she was attempting to convince him of something he most adamantly did not want to do. “My name is Liana Starling and my companion is Kai. We have come on a matter of great importance and to offer assistance.”

Silence followed as she paused, and Liana gave him some time to process what she said and respond.

But he did not, so she forged on.

“I understand you have suffered terribly this evening. You have been caught up in dealings beyond your control, and largely beyond the control of Miss Fujiwara.”

That got a reaction.

The inner door opened violently, and a rather intimidating looking firearm preceded the apartment’s resident, though both remained behind the security door.

Kai, though a child in appearance and quite short even for his apparent age, slid instantly in front of Liana with his arms outstretched. Liana, however, remained perfectly composed.

“Your emotions are raw,” she said gently, nodding her head a little. “But there is unfortunately more to this tragedy than what you witnessed this evening, and now you are a part of it.”

“Why are you here, vampire?” he spat, his aim not wavering.

Though several feet away, Liana could smell the alcohol on his breath; he’d imbibed so much, in fact, she was sure she could smell it in his blood.

“Miho Fujiwara was the victim of a spell cast by as yet unknown parties,” she answered. “This led to her involvement with Kiril Lambert who…”

“Bullshit!” Sebastian spat, the muzzle of his weapon slamming loudly into the taut lattice weave that separated them. “She went chasing Konstantin Lambert…”

“Yes,” Liana agreed, and continued before he could. “In order to locate your mutual friend, Miss Mann, and while you may not have agreed with or appreciated Mr. Lambert’s help, surely you hoped for Miss Mann’s safe return.”

“I’m only going to ask this one more time,” Sebastian grated through clenched teeth, “then I’m going to destroy you both, treaty be damned. Why are you here?”

“I was told by Mr. Lambert to locate you,” Liana answered calmly, even as Kai shifted his meager weight nervously from foot to foot. “Implicit in his instruction was the directive to inform you of details you could not yet be privy to, and accompany you to his estate.”

Exhausted by distress and fury, the laugh that shook from Sebastian’s chest was at best sardonic.

“You have ten seconds to get off my doorstep,” he chuckled, waving his gun around, “before I kill you, oh, and send whatever’s left behind back to Mr. Lambert.”

“You will not,” Kai growled. “Magic forced Miss Fujiwara and Kiril together, and those hunters kidnapped her and made her choose - she didn’t want to kill you, it’s not her fault!”

“Six seconds,” Sebastian sneered.

“The vampire used to turn your sister was the son of a powerful noble, so that in and of itself will come to haunt the hunters of this city, you included, whether you’re independent or not,” Liana picked up, though she still remained unruffled. “The ones who forced Miss Fujiwara’s hand have an agenda here far and beyond the awakening of another hunter, and it may very well cause blood to run in the streets of London as it once did.”

“You want to talk about blood?” Sebastian snarled.

“I want to talk about all the other innocent lives that may be lost if the vampire nobility decide what befell their kin was an act of war,” Liana clarified. “It will reach far and beyond your fledgling friend Jazz, whose position is already precarious; people who have nothing to do with any of this, and certainly have no knowledge of it, will be caught helplessly in the crossfire.”

When Sebastian slammed his bare fist into the wire door, it punched all the way through, causing Kai to flinch against Liana, who placed her hands lightly on his shoulders.

“I just lost the only family I have left!” Sebastian roared, following his punch with a kick that launched the door outward at speed.

Had Liana not sidestepped, dragging Kai with her, it would have collected them both.

“You want me to give a fuck about anyone else right now?”

“What I want is irrelevant,” she pointed out, fingers tightening on a little as she felt him tensing to move. “What is necessary to avert a major catastrophe, however, is your co-operation. You do not have to like it, me, or anyone else involved, but it is what it is. Beneath your pain, you know this to be true.”

“Fucking, manipulative vampires!” he cursed, enraged but somehow his eye reflected at least some acceptance of what she had said.

“I don’t care if you hate me!” Kai muttered under his breath, then glared up at Sebastian. “But Liana is trying to help you and your friends, so you should stop being so mean.”

“Keep your minion out of my way,” Sebastian growled, eyes flashing before he stalked past them down the path.

PART 10 - Coming EVENTUALLY!

#original fiction #vampire #vampire fiction #vampire romance #kiril lambert #konstantin lambert #miho fujiwara #sebastian ross #jazz mann #conflicting loyalty #blood spatter #witches #hunter #original content #OC #manipulation #spells #politics #drama

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