#I try to defend and paint a path? People go THE OTHER WAY STRAIGHT INTO THE ENEMY TEAM...

[deepsixsquid]

Me: Ah yes, Rainmaker, my favorite~

[One disastrous 9 loss streak later]

Me: I am beginning to understand why people hate Rainmaker~

[all-about-seggs]

Sultry Blues-

Rating: ❌18+, Explicit❌

Pairing : Gojo Satoru x Insecure! Fem Reader

Word count: 2.5 k

Warnings: Trigger warning for insecurities (not specified), Body Worshipping, a bit of food play, cunnilingus, Semi-public sex.

The faint sounds of ringing bells from the shrine was still in the air as you made your way to the inner structure of the prestigious Jujutsu academy. The path to the meeting room was straight and lined with stone carvings which gave the entire place an ancient look. You had a lunchtime date with your boyfriend, who would, hopefully be on time so you could be on your way.

This place always made you uneasy, not because of the dangerous connotations it brought in everyone’s lives but it was the people who freaked you out the most. To you, each one of the teachers as well as the students looked like some characters straight from a book, elegant, strong and perfectly capable of doing things normal people like you could only read about. Not having enough confidence on yourself physically or mentally worsened every time it dawned on you that you were dating the most perfect being of them all.

Perplexing wouldn’t even began to describe your state of mind when Satoru first took interest in you, sure looks or status didn’t meant anything to him but even in terms of personality you never thought the two of you would get along, so much so that you would become such an irreplaceable part of each other. But you knew his feelings for you did nothing to stop the ache in your heart when you saw him getting ganged up on by a bunch of women. Women attractive than you, smarter than you and definitely stronger than you.

This was exactly the place where all those kind of women lived making you feel even more of an outsider in his world. Not wanting to cause Satoru any worries you tried to psyche yourself up by picking up your pace only to be met with a hard shoulder to your cheek.

“I’m sorry! I wasn’t looking”, you looked up at the stranger, she was tall, her sturdy figure seemed like she was also a sorcerer but her ID pass was tucked on the breast pocket of her coat along with her youthful face indicated she was a student, you squinted to see that her name was Lisa and as you were about to apologise when you saw her sneer at you.

“ Ugh… outsiders. Don’t you know how to walk properly? Or did you not learn that in your no name school?”, her condescending tone took you aback.

You knew you didn’t exactly belong here but she wasn’t cutting you any slack for being a civilian either. You wanted to ask her why was she being so rude but your queries were cut off as by the girl.

“ No need to explain yourself I already know who you are, I’ve seen you following Gojo- San like a lost puppy a lot of times, seriously it’s like you don’t even have a presence without him.”, with a pause you finally thought her pointless berating would come to a stop but she went on.

“ He has a reputation to uphold here so don’t go around embarrassing him with your airheaded and average looking face”, now with THAT she crossed the line but as much as you wanted to give her a comeback all you anger turned into self loathing in a matter of seconds and you stood there dumbly not being able to defend yourself from the onslaught of verbal attacks that even you partially agreed with.

Not even bothering to look at her when she passed you thought about her mean words that were half untrue. You knew dating a popular guy would include more that just a little bit harmless envy of girls. At this point you’d be lucky if you didn’t get attacked by one of your boyfriend’s fangirl. But, It wasn’t about Satoru anymore, you thought. It was about how you were letting the jealousy of his superficial admirers who didn’t even knew only knew his name and face. Before you could delve more into your darkening thoughts you heard a cheery voice call out to you.

Bag at hand, which probably contained some sort of dessert you saw Satoru gleefully making his way towards you. It took you a few seconds to plaster a believable smile to your face so you could greet him normally.

“ Wow I can’t believe IM the one who had to wait around this time”, placing a tiny kiss on your nose he pulled you in for a hug, his warmth seeping into you put your mind at ease and help you distract yourself from the horrible encounter before.

“ The meeting was pointless and even the snacks turned out to be lame”, whining a little he waved the bag in front of you. A convenient store vanilla sponge cake with a packet of strawberry sauce was right in front of you and honestly if it were you, you’d probably eat it without question but knowing his love for quality sweets it was understandable why he’d complain.

“ Well actually, with the right toppings and modifications even convenient store packed cakes can taste top class!”, thinking about all the ways you’ve experimented watching diy food videos you started thinking up of ways to serve it to him.

“I see, that’s a good idea and I think it’ll give us some headstart for our date wouldn’t it?”, saying that he gestured you towards one of the buildings that lead to the back exit.

Walking hand in hand Satoru came to a stop which seemed like a closed off gate that was not in use anymore.

“ Why are we here? I thought the back exit was the other way around?”, confusion painted over you face you turned to face your mischievous partner.

“ you said you’d help me eat them, and I think it’s a pretty good place, don’t you?”, stepping closer he urged you to take a look around. The area didn’t have any benches, buildings or even people around and the only sound you could hear was the birds and the small artificial streams of river that flowed a few steps away from the closed off exit.

If Satoru was insinuating something you started to get the hang of it and you soon felt you face get hotter. The afternoon sun did nothing to help you cool down as you struggled to make sense of the situation. His hands were all over your body, caressing, pinching and feeling you up.

“ What’s wrong? Not up for it in semi public style?”, his breathy voice got lost in the crook of you neck where he inhaled your scent, “ you know nobody’s gonna come” with a slight push, he pinned you againt the vine-covered gate, “Except for you”.

“what the- WAIT! It’s still so bright out here not to mention we’re in PUBLIC Satoru!”, wide eyed you try to grab at his hand that was halfway done unbuttoning the top of your blouse.

“Do you want me to blindfold you?”, throwing these words nonchalantly he started licking every bit of exposed skin he could find from your ears to chest.

His mouth made contact with your covered breasts and without bothering to remove the piece of clothing he latched his mouth onto your hardened nipple to give it a gentle bite. Holding back your own moans you placed you hands on his broad shoulders, a feeble attempt at stopping him.

“How would THAT resolve anything?!” already half naked, your retorts seemed like pathetic excuses even to your own ears. It wasn’t until you heard a sharp rip that you realised your underwear was no longer on your body anymore. With a horrified look you saw your unusable underwear in Satoru’s hand.

“ I don’t think you’ll be needing these anymore my sweetness because I want to see ALL of you”, dangling the fabric from his long fingers he made a show of tucking it in his pocket. Hiking your skirt up with one hand he caressed the soft flesh with his thumbs.

“I knew you had no sense of danger but this could even get us arrested”, your reasoning seemed to fell on deaf ears as your boyfriend, already half way down on the ground, pulled his blindfold down with ease. Looking at up at you with his ethereal turquoise eyes that lied beneath strips of heavy white eyelashes, this part of his face was something you couldn’t see all the time.

“You’re beautiful……”, the genuine nature of his words felt unreal when compared to his everyday frivolous self, “at least I’ve always thought so”.

All the voices in the place except for his, got drowned out by the throbbing of your heart in your chest when he kneeled right in front of your crotch. The warm smile on his lips contradicted with his tantalizing actions but he enjoyed it precisely because of that.

“Open your legs a bit more y/n, I need more space to eat”, with his haughty smirk back he exposed more of your pussy with his fingers and dribbled the strawberry sauce over it until it started trickling down to the ground underneath it.

“This looks like a good dessert, waaay better than the one I was offered before”, making one last smartass comment he threw the now empty packet away and your sugar coated pussy was soon met with Satoru’s soft, warm tongue as he buries his face in it. His tongue worked it’s way beneath the layer of your pussy hair and down to the soft flabby skin underneath. Your natural slick combined with the dressing sauce tasted even sweeter in his mouth, the pleasant hums falling uncontrollably from his mouth made you wetter.

All the blemishes, scars and your self imposed flaws started melting into something more complete and unbreakable in its nature when you felt Satoru touching you, feeling you and tasting you from the inside and out.

His warm hands firmly gripped your thighs to lap at the soft peak in between. All the sensations his tongue was providing you made your vision turn black and your body heated up to the point of burning. The broad daylight and your exposed form added to the fear of being found out but your trust in your boyfriend outweighed everything so you let him have his way.

“ Hmmm, yeah y/n…”, the exaggeratingly loud slurping of his mouth came to a stop as he looked up at you, his pink lips glistening even more when he spoke, “Even this cheap stuff tastes better when I eat it directly from you”.

You were a panting mess, already having lost the ability to make coherent words you kept you eyes on Satoru as rose to his feet.

“ Let’s move on to the next part shall we?”, after smoothening out your skirt of you he held out his hand and your need for release took over all rhyme and reason so you put one of your shaking hand in his. The next few moments were confusing as a white light enveloped both of your forms and by the time your vision returned you found yourself in an unknown room.

The place itself was nothing out of the ordinary, some books, a cupboard and a vanity. The single bed near the curtained window was properly made. It was clearly not Satoru’s room but the neatness of the place also suggested that it wasn’t an unused room either.

“ Hey we’re are we?”, you question the white haired male when he casually made his way to switch on the lights.

“Don’t worry we’re still in the academy premises, you wanted to finish this right? And I didn’t wanted to go another second with hearing your pretty voice, so you can scream now,” his voice dangerously low, he held your arms in both of his hands and guided you to the single bed in the corner.

“ and I didn’t meant that as a request”, flat on your back you had no time for further questioning as your exposed cunt got filled to the brim in a single thrust. The stretch made you cry out and remembering Satoru’s previous warning you didn’t bother covering your mouth. The light in the room was enough for him to see all of you, even if he had all of you memorized at the back of since the first time.

Your twisted face that you’d consider ugly was nothing if not arousing to him from the kneeling position of his at the edge of the bed, endearing even at how the side of your eyes well up everytime he fucked you so hard, the creaking of the bed acted as a proof of his brutal pace that threatened to break the furniture.

Each powerful thrust of his made your entire body lurch from its position, your juices flowed endlessly down your thighs, on Satoru’s cock and down to the sheets. Your voice ricocheted off the walls and gave life to the entire building.

Having your orgasm cut off before, the anticipation that had build up made your upcoming release feel even ore intense. Your walls started clenching around his shaft, already feeling waves of ecstasy you waited for it to reach its peak.

“ Y/n...Come for me”, in between his grunts he placed on of his hand on the side of your head, lowering himself till your noses touched. Breaths intermingling, you came with a loud cry of his name. Euphoria spreaded through both of your bodies making a gush of liquid come out of your pussy when Satoru pulled out, both of your mess soiled the sheet.

Few minutes of silence passed by as a fully clothed Satoru sat beside you, stroking your head until you calmed down.

“ Hey y/n?”, abruptly his cheeky tone filled the room and you looked up at him questioningly,

“ Wanna take a pic? ya'know, as a momento”, the odd question made you come to an obvious conclusion, which now seemed obvious considering your boyfriend’s not so secret rebellious nature and with how much of a brat he can be it was nothing short of hilarious.

“ It’s Lisa’s room isn’t it?”, barely controlling your laughter you tried to pry an answer out of him, the soothing motion of his hands never coming to a stop he took out his phone with another.

“ Yeah, it is, I’d say it’s an excellent way of showing her our ‘bond’ dontcha think?”, his cringey answer made you burst into laughter. The first real smile he’d seen on your face since you got here was something Satoru wanted to be a constant thing, always there when he wanted to see it just like a still photograph.

Bending his face down his lips softly met your forehead and before you could open your eyes back up you heard the click of the camera go off.

“ Heh, so how is it?”, propping yourself up on your elbows you tried to peak at the screen but it was pulled out of sight just as quickly.

“ It’s perfect”, with a warm smile that reached all the way to his eyes Satoru put his phone down before peering into your eyes, “and it’s mine”.

[findingjoynweirdstuff]

Dream SMP Underrated Memories/Moments

Everyone’s always talking about the wars, but I wanted to just gather a list of some of my favorite lesser-appreciated moments that aren’t remembered as much! I’ve been thinking about this list for a while and thought this might be a nice time to post it, seeing as it’s really the start of something new :’)

Just some of my fond memories from the past several months

---

- Shortly after the first revolution, Tubbo announces that he has finally seen Hamilton and understands all the references. He, Tommy and Wilbur then spend like 15 minutes arguing which characters they are. Wilbur explains that Tubbo most resembles John Laurens, and everyone’s like “oh cool” until they remember that that would mean that Tubbo has a tragic death in the future. Tommy says, “Let’s not foreshadow the next WAR, GUYS!” in a joking manner. Haha, very funny Tommy.

- Dream and his parrot. The parrot dies, Dream instantly ends stream, then starts it again and builds a memorial, heartbroken. Rest in peace.

- Sapnap borrowing Spirit only to instantly lose the horse to a creeper explosion, THEN accidentally crafting some leather into an item frame that was meant to hold Spirit’s leather. No wonder Dream no longer keeps pets.

- Theropay and premium bonds

- The original L’manberg war being pushed back a day for Dream’s serious stream, and Tommy reacting to it live in the most hilarious way possible. 

“No, George and I are not dating--” - Dream

“--NOOOOOOOOOOO” - Tommy, immediately

- In the days leading up to the L’manberg war, Tommy builds a fight club underneath the embassy but gets distracted with speaking Dutch to Fundy, eventually leading to him wandering around the Prime Path putting signs down that say “The green bastard shall die!” in different languages, as propaganda to Dream’s viewers who may be able to speak those other languages

- Wilbur asking Dream out on a date with Tommy as his wingman (before he joined the SMP? I think? Not sure), leading to the most infamous conspiracy/plot that would go on to stretch all the way to the ELECTION. New fans...you have no idea how lucky you are to have missed the torture.

- Wilbur and especially JSchlatt joining the SMP in general. Tommy being in awe of his SMPLive heroes. The SMPLive Cuck Shed is replicated in the Dream SMP. Wilbur logs off for what was going to be his last time in the community house, giving Tommy ownership of his ball house. Schlatt is kicked and banned.

- Tommy gives a surprisingly good performance of Macbeth and then Hamilton to Dream while held at gunpoint, winning over Dream’s favor with the power of music. Dream mentions Heathers in game chat, but Tommy doesn’t know what that is. Is there a word that means “unintentional foreshadowing?”

- Tommy and Wilbur construct a park composed of alleyways and drug pits to attract drug dealers and women, instead attracting a mysterious Dream. They challenge Dream to a trivia contest and he loses to Wilbur, then jumps off a cliff in despair. We should’ve known trivia was his greatest weakness. Again, is there a word that means “unintentional foreshadowing??” 

- Tommy is ecstatic at Jack Manifold being whitelisted after the L’manberg war, only for Dream to try and get Jack to join the Dream SMP side instead through bribery and secret-code-filled books...and it kinda worked?

- Fundy gathers obsidian for the new Manberg flag, leading to the hilarious sequence of him desperately trying to google common English phrases that Schlatt says, as he doesn’t know what they mean.

“I’ve taken a few pages out of his book” - Schlatt

*Fundy googling “take a page out of his book meaning”* “Yeah”

“do you know what 'idioms’ are?” - Schlatt

*Fundy immediately googling what an idiom is* “uhhhh yeah yeah - yeah, of course”

- Niki joins the SMP after the L’manberg war. They take down the original Camarvan, and Wilbur performs the L’manberg anthem for the first time. 

- Tommy getting Quackity into a VC to try and intimidate Skeppy (he fails) before asking Dream to whitelist him. Dream promptly does.

- That one day that Quackity felt that Tommy was giving more attention to his new pet Henry than to the cartel, so Quackity kidnaps Henry and forces Tommy to play a cruel Saw-like trivia game to bargain for Henry’s life. Tubbo betrays Tommy and cheers on Quackity for the entertainment. It ends in bloodshed, but thankfully Henry is safe... Yeah, we all just kinda forgot about that day, huh?

- Tommy and Tubbo building the nuclear war bunker

- The birth of Big Law at Fundy’s trial over the mysterious disappearance of Beenis. “Be careful, I’m a lawyer!” 

“What do you do for a living, Tubbo?”

(After proclaiming that he’s a lawyer for 30 minutes) “I paint...sofas”

- Karl joining the SMP, creating a new ugly beautiful Minecraft skin...and putting it on backwards

- Purpled starting his stream right before Eret betrays L’manberg in the war, having no clue of what’s going on. He occasionally joins the VC to hear things without context, and stumbles upon where people are gathered, only to be baffled at what’s happening.

- That early on stream where George texts Dream’s mother that he’s Dream’s boyfriend, and she replies. He and the other SMP members spend an hour going back and forth on how to respond.

- The entire Church Prime stream. Honestly the funniest stream I’ve ever seen, no doubt. I was literally crying tears of laughter at times while simultaneously on edge worrying about them getting cancelled.

- The original Deal or No Deal stream where Tubbo won his Happy Meals

- The hunt for Taco Bell

- Drista. Enough said.

- Fundy joining L’manberg, and Tommy accusing him of plagiarizing the L’manberg outfits due to his crayon suit, only for Wilbur to explain that Fundy is his son. Tommy is, as expected, quite confused.

- Dream giving Fundy and Tommy hundreds of dollars in gifts in the most intimidating and nerve-wracking way possible, holding them at gunpoint.

- Purpled’s fall trap at the Socializing Club causing multiple people, including Dream, Fundy and Tommy to all fall down and die, causing their items to get mixed together, leading to arguments and drama.

- Tubbo’s Stress Relievers

- Tommy and Tubbo, during the Pet War, going up Punz’s tower to defend Fundy. They aren’t in VC, and start saying identical things in chat in Perfect Grammar while in full netherite, ominously looking slowly back and forth at each other, looking like evil twins straight out of a horror movie.

--- Feel free to add on with your own :)

[ouyangzizhensdad]

The Mo Village arc and establishing the MC

MDZS is a sprawling book with many characters, but it seems that it was clearly important to MXTX to establish her MC’s characterisation very strongly from the start. Although the novel in its entirety leans toward providing a strong characterisation for WWX, I thought it’d be fun to look back at how it is conveyed to the readers in the first few chapters before the inciting incident at Dafan Mountain

(N.B. I’m using a composite translation made of different translations so the wording/format might be slightly different than the version you are using)

Framing

The prologue starts with a conversation between unnamed characters in an inn, discussing the news of WWX’s death. While it was a clever way to already introduce an important theme of the novel (the effects of public opinion and how easy it is to make someone into a irredeemable villain) and get the exposition out of the way, it also frames WWX as a character: as readers, we are introduced first to perceptions of him, a characterisation-from-hearsay we’ll be able to compare to his characterisation in the novel. WWX is a “scourge” whose death is celebrated, who “defected” and bit the hand that fed him, a “deranged” killer who took thousands of lives. But before he went on the crooked path, he was a promising youth--although others seem to think he was corrupted from the start.

“But it can’t all be blamed on the path he cultivated. Ultimately, it was still because this Wei Wuxian’s moral character was too flawed, angering the Heavens and man alike! By the heavenly law, everyone answers for their deeds in the end, good and evil……”

The rumours also suggest that if WWX comes back to the world of the living he will enact his revenge upon them all, and his unimaginable powers would allow him to rain fury upon both Heaven and Earth. We get told: this guys is an incredibly powerful villain, reviled and feared by many. 

But the Yiling Laozu had enough power to overturn the Heavens and smother the Earth, move mountains and drain seas—at least, that was the way the rumors went. If he wanted to resist the summoning of his soul, it wouldn’t exactly be outside of his abilities. If in coming days his spirit were restored, if he forcibly possessed a body and were thus reborn, then not only the cultivation world, but all of humanity would inevitably meet with an even greater frenzy of vengeance and curses, sinking into a chaotic age of foul winds and bloody rains.

Establishing WWX and how he reacts when he’s thrown into an unpleasant situation

When WWX is brought back by MXY, we already have something to contrast him against thanks to the hearsay and rumours, and from the get-go we get a sense that WWX is not this fearsome figure that people made him out to be.

I’ll never get over the fact that our first introduction to WWX’s is the equivalent of the “the audacity of this bitch”.

Hazily, he thought: that’s quite a lot of courage you must have to kick this Laozu. 

Our MC and POV character is thrown into a situation, and from his reactions we can rapidly tell that he is someone who is observant, resourceful, good at deductive reasoning and thereby apt at solving mysteries. This is something that is reinforced at many, many points in the first few chapters and helps us buy in into what happens later in the novel when they uncover many other mysteries. WWX is a guy who figures shit out.

When WWX figures out he was summoned as a “an unforgivably evil malicious spirit“, we  get his take on his public perception.  

Wei Wuxian reeled at the implications. How had he been classified as “an irredeemly evil, malicious spirit”?

Yes, his reputation was rather poor and his final moments, horrifying tragic—but he had neither haunted nor had he seeked revenge on the living since becoming a spirit. He would dare to swear upon the Heavens and the Earth that you would never find a more peaceful and well-behaved lonely soul of a wild ghost!

At the same time, readers get a sense that even when he’s dealt a bad hand, WWX does not wait in despair for his luck to turn. Even though WWX describes his situation as “hopeless” and keeps “repeating over and over How could this be! in his heart “, he immediately goes into problem-solving mode, trying to figure out the situation and the wishes MXY forgot to share. This also happens  later. 

There was not a single thing to help him find some joy in being reborn! He might as well sit and meditate for a time, and adjust to the new body.

That same passage gives us a sense that WWX is not rushing into situations without taking the time to take it in, make up his mind and prepare as much as he can: the fact that we see him do meditation twice during that day (before he goes to the East Hall and after he checks on the Lan juniors) also contributes to that idea.

The chapters convey as well that WWX is sympathetic to MXY’s situation and does not resent him even though he forced WWX to enact revenge in his stead. As readers, we thus receive the following message: WWX is not prone to being resentful, to hold grudges.

He had originally wanted to wash his face and pay a few respects to the owner of this body, but there was no water in the shack—neither for drinking nor for washing. 

WWX is also, for a lack of a better word, sassy. It’s clear that he has a flair for the dramatics and lots of attitude. Look at that dramatic entrance.... he just.... yeets the bowl he was holding....

He pondered for a moment. Then, rising to his feet, he kicked the door open.

The two servants, in the midst of making eyes at each other, screamed in horror as the double doors of the shack suddenly burst open. Wei Wuxian threw aside his bowl and chopsticks and walked outside without anyone’s leave [...]

We are also introduced to the fact that WWX does not seem to take himself seriously and loves to shock people. 

When it came to wild displays of misbehavior, Wei Wuxian was a master. In the past when he ran wild, he still had to mind appearances lest others accuse him of having not been raised right. But now that he was a lunatic anyways, what face did he need! He could go straight to making a scene, acting however it pleased him.

While WWX is clearly not the one-dimensional evil monster depicted in rumours, we do see that he can be cunning: he lies easily if he feels it motivated, he is very good at talking people into a corner, apt at making them do incriminating things by leading them on, which he does by humiliating the Mo family for their mistreatment of MXY in front of a crowd. But in a way, that is also a quality of his: he is not just silver-tongued; he’s good at assessing a situation and people’s characters, able to figure out what will set them off.

We further get proof that he is not a blood-thirsty monster who disregards others when he tries to figure out if he can satisfy MXY’s spirit without having to wipe out the Mo family (although it is clearly the obvious solution) and when he is shown to care for the well-being of others. This is illustrated by the way he double-checks (through ruse) that the zhaoyin flags are properly set up and will be used safely by the Lan juniors. 

During the conversation, Wei Wuxian had already finished making a rapid examination of the Yin Summoning Flag in his hand. It had been painted in the correct manner, and there were no missing sigils either. There was not a single error or omission, so they should worked as intended. That being said, the person who had painted the flag lacked experience, and the painted sigils could only attract the evil spirits and walking corpses within at most five li. That should however prove to be enough. (chapter 2)

[...]

Wei Wuxian’s first thought was that something had gone wrong with the flag arraw the youth had set up. His inventions needed to be used with extreme caution, or else risk disaster. This was also why he had gone to check earlier if there were anything wrong with the array. (Chapter 3)

As our POV character, WWX comes across as endearing through little details: it’s in the way he calls LSZ a “good little seedling (好苗子)” and calls the Lan juniors a group of “小朋友“ in his inner monologue, or when he defends the Lan juniors from Mo-furen’s accusations. Or the way he likes Xiao Pingguo because it looks at him with contempt:

A donkey was tied to the handle, chewing on it. When it saw Wei Wuxian run over rashly, it seemed like it was surprised, and eyed him sideways as if it were a real person. Wei Wuxian made eye contact with him for one second and was immediately touched by the minuscule amount of contempt in its eyes.

Establishing how WWX acts in high-pressure situations

Things escalate quite quickly into accusations of murder and death and resentful corpses. This first sequence is thus our introduction to how WWX acts under pressure and in high-risk situations (which will continue to happen to our MC until the end of the novel). 

WWX is shown to be cool under pressure and quick to think on his feet, constantly re-assessing the situation and the risks. He is also seen as expecting people to arrive to conclusions without him needing to explain them out loud, like when he takes out the zhaoyin flag that MZY stole from his corpse, letting the Lan juniors understand on their own what happened. When he needs to explain, he will not do it in a straight-forward manner, giving small hints first (this preludes many of WWX and LWJ interaction when they understand each other’s thought process with only one sentence being said, and preludes how WWX will continue to act with the Juniors later on, making them think through the situations instead of feeding them the answers).

We also get the proof that WWX does not privilege self-preservation over the fate of others.

If he wanted to avoid having the situation get out of hand, Wei Wuxian should retreat. If they people who came did not know him, then all would be well—but if they happened to be someone who had dealt with him or fought against him in the past, it would be hard to guess what would happen next.

But the curse meant he could not leave Mo Village yet. As well, the spirit that had been summoned had taken two lives in quick succession, meaning it was extremely vicious. If Wei Wuxian left now, once the reinforcement arrived, the streets of Mo Village might already be packed with corpses missing their left arm, of which some would be blood relations of the GusuLanShi. 

After a short deliberation, Wei Wuxian thought, fight a quick battle to force a swift resolution (速战速决). (Chapter 3)

[...]

Wei Wuxian was watching the battle attentively. His tongue was slightly curled, suppressing a sharp whistle inside of his lips, preparing it to be let out. The whistle would be able to evoke even more hostility in the cruel corpses, which might turn the tables. Then, however, it would be difficult to ensure that nobody knew that it was his doing. 

In the blink of an eye, the hand moved like lightning, ruthlessly and precisely breaking Madame Mo’s neck. Watching as the Mo family grew closer to defeat, Wei Wuxian prepared to blow the whistle that he suppressed under his tongue. At the same time, the echoes of two strums on a stringed instrument came from far away. (chapter 4)

As well, we are told something about WWX when he only leaves once LWJ arrives: certainly because he’s afraid that LWJ might recognize him but mostly because (as it will become clear later on) he trusts that LWJ will be able to handle the situation in his stead. In order words, although WWX is willing to risk himself to help others, he is not careless with his life and safety (for instance he makes sure to destroy the proof of the Offering ritual before fleeing to make sure no one can figure out the fact that he is back from the dead).

WWX will not hesitate to fool people or pretend in order to help his goals. In this case, he is trying to help and fight without appearing like a powerful cultivator who can do modao, balancing self-preservation with the incentive to protect the people present. This is why he pushes LJY in front of LSZ at one point in the battle, instead of blocking it himself, while pretending to just be a lunatic doing lunatic things.

Inside of the Lan clan’s uniform jacket, there were compact stitchings of incantations using thin threads of the same color, included for protection. However, against strong ones like this, it could only be used once before it became invalid. During the emergency, he could only kick Lan Jingyi and use his body to protect Lan Sizhui’s neck.

This sequence also allows the reader to know more about modao and WWX’s skills, and how he can control corpses, as well as how WWX perceives his own abilities. 

TLDR:

The Mo Village arc, in conjunction with the prologue, competently sets up a lot of the moving pieces for the novel. It also leans heavily toward establishing a strong sense of characterisation for our MC and POV character, which is neat! 

NB: I think it’s also very telling that the next chapter after the Mo Mansion arc begins with us learning that WWX has been, in the past few days since his retreat, lorded over by a capricious donkey. WWX is clearly not someone who takes himself very seriously (often mocking himself):

The donkey ran over there and nothing could make it leave. Wei Wuxian hopped down and slapped its honoured buttocks. “You’re definitely destined for wealth, even harder to please than I am.” The donkey spat at him.

[quillsareswords]

And Arnold Makes Four

The next part of Blurb #18, because it got surprisingly great feedback! Thank you all so much! You don't necessarily need to read 18, but I'd recommend it, just to get your bearings.

Interested in a Polyamorus Taglist? Comment here!

Prompt List // Masterlist (in bio)

Jon did not keep his promise. When two hours had passed and you were still snoring next to Damian as he reclined on both of you, he considered waking you because goddamn it he wanted a slushee, but decided against it.

Too many night had you both sat up until the sun shone. The least he could do was let you rest.

Besides—he was pretty sure one of you would try to punch him if he tried.

So, he laid contently against your legs, wasting most of the day between his Switch and your television.

Damian is the first one awake. He blinks hard twice, because the sun is shining directly through the window and straight into his eyes (likely what woke him up, he decides). You're the first thing he sees. You probably got a little too warm snuggled so close to him, so you've pulled back so he can see your whole face. Subconsciously, he tracks your breathing for a moment.

Then he's looking past you, for his other partner. One of you are usually in the middle, because Jon gets too hot laying between you. Jon's not there. Damian reminds himself that he's in your house and that there's realistically no reason to worry, before the niggling of panic worms it's way into his mind.

The weight against his shins shifts. He sits part way up, careful not to jostle you too much in the process.

Jon turns away from your TV and smiles brightly. "I wondered when you'd wake up," he says, quietly.

Your eyebrows furrow as you groan.

Damian rolls his upper half so he can properly himself up with his elbows. "Why didn't you wake us? It's been well over two hours," Damian asks, inclining his head towards the window, where it's obviously nearly sunset.

Jon shrugs, shifts his weight so Damian can roll completely over. "You seemed like you needed it, so . . ."

Damian nods slowly. He feels a little bad, wondering why his internal alarm clock didn't have him up within an hour. Probably you.

You mumble something about the light before your eyes crack open with a glare. You'd been half awake, listening to the conversation. "What time is it?"

"Sunset," Damian sighs, crawling over you to get off the bed. "Sunshine here didn't wake us up."

Jon's cheeks bloom pink at the endearment, but he pretends they don't. "You looked like you needed sleep," he defends, flopping back down in his boyfriend's place.

You realize he's already gotten dressed, while you're still in sleep shorts and a ratty tank top. You also realize that Damian is fishing clothes out of his duffel, which was slung down beside Jon's bulging backpack yesterday afternoon.

You don't know why they insist on bringing so much every time they come to stay, considering the bottom two drawers of your dresser are respectively theirs. You consider this silently as you roll out of bed to pull on jeans and your Converse.

By the time you grab your longboard and bid your parents goodbye, the sky is orange and pink and white and it's brilliant.

Jon's camera is in your backpack, your speaker on a strap slung across his body while you search for their designated playlist.

Damian's pennyboard hits the ground first, then your longboard, then Jon's skateboard. Down your suburban driveway you cruise, then down the cul-de-sac and onto the sidewalk running alongside the slow traffic of the road.

The Travel Center sign glows orange and red as you roll forward, Vance Joy booming from Jon's hip. The sky only gets prettier, so Jon asks for his camera once you stop.

When you reach the parking lot, you slide your heel along the cement to lose your momentum, simultaneously slinging your backpack down to the crook of one arm to get the camera.

You hand it to him when he stops beside you, then you pop the nose of your board and pause your music.

"What are you getting?" Jon asks, as you pass him, one arm outstretched to hold the glass door open for you, while Damian swings the other side of the door open for himself.

"Coca Cola, obviously," you hum, tucking your board under one arm and reshouldering the straps of your bag. "I'll cover snacks and whatnot if one of you will pay for the bracelets at the fair."

The county fair is finally back for the beginning of summer in your home town, so the three of you have decided to go, since the fairgrounds are so close to the pier anyway.

Damian nods. "I'll pay for them." He takes a small cup size from the stack as the three of you round the corner of the back isle.

"I'll pay for the slushees," Jon decides, taking a large.

"Good for you," you smile, filling your medium with the light brown, thinly ground ice from the rolling machine.

Jon flicks your nose as he pumps his large full if blue-burrrry first, then cherry.

Damian snaps a boring old flat lid on the top of his cup before he saunters off in search of a snack to take for the road.

You're the next one done, but because you have a soul, you take a dome lid and fill your cup past the brim.

You roam the isles for a few minutes, despite already knowing where everything, just like every weekend. You pick up a bag of cheddar Combos, a miniature tube of original Pringles, and a Hershey bar.

You meet your boys by the checkout, where the same tired-looking woman smiles at you fondly. Just like every weekend.

Damian sets down a bag of M&Ms, while Jon is still juggling four bags of candy, a skateboard, and a multicolored slushee which is oozing out from the top of the dome lid, because—like every weekend—he's overfilled it.

While you fish out some bills from the wallet in your backpack, Damian finally steps in and takes the slushee from him so he can slap down his pack of Rainbow Belts, a bag of Skittles, a Hershey Cookies and Cream bar, a bag of Trolli gummy worms, a bag of miniature Twix bars, and a blue Gatorade onto the counter.

You laugh, because it's a little bit like a clown car, the way he piles it all on the counter. Damian sighs, staring at Jon with a healthy mix of impression, surprise, and adoration.

Sheepishly, Jon takes his slushee back from his boyfriend and mumbles, "The slushees are separate."

The middle-aged woman withholds a laugh at the whole thing, even though this is a very regular occurrence, while she slides all the items across the scanner.

A few minutes later, the three of you pause in the parking lot to cram everything into your backpack. While Damian is helping you, Jon stands at the very edge of the sidewalk, snapping pictures of the gorgeous sunset and the colors it paints the sky.

Soon enough, you're on your way again. The pier isn't too far from your house—maybe three miles, not counting the backtracking you have to do from the Travel Center. Its also not used often unless there's some big event, like a holiday or something at the fairgrounds, which are a quick jaunt up a dirt path through a patch of woods.

It's been a favorite spot of yours, ever since you were old enough for your parents to let you loose. You brought the boys out last summer, only about a month after forming the three way relationship you're so comfortable in. Since then, it's been a frequent for you three, when the weather's nice.

It isn't an ocean pier, by the way. It's on a lake, which is partly owned by the park on the other side, and partly owned by the same family who's owned the fairgrounds for as long as you can remember. They have a miniature boat race every Spring, and a lantern release every New Year.

You make it to the fairgrounds just about as soon as the sun sinks below the treeline, courtesy of the (mostly) paved road that stretches through the massive unused field and dense woods that divides it from the main road. Mostly, because it was paved so long ago that it was well forgotten in the most recent repaving your small town underwent a year or two ago.

You pop the nose of your board up, shoving the rest of your chocolate bar into your mouth as you step on to the whiterock path leading to the ticket booth, and the rest of the pop-up carnival beyond it.

"Three bracelets, please," Damian requests, holding out a twenty and a ten. Ten bucks for an all-access bracelet that are only valid for twenty-four hours might seem crazy, but it's logistically cheaper and easier than buying X-amount of tickets, and then having to come back for more later.

You hastily strap the paper onto one another's wrists before you scamper off, your eyes set on the Twister, dragging your boys behind you.

You spend most of the night squished between two people in a two-person seat; or throwing things at other things to win more things; or sprawled out in the grass behind or between some booths, chowing down on pre-bought snacks. Jon went off and got an Elephant Ear at some point, so you spent more time sitting in the grass, eating and chatting idly, humorously judging people with Damian while Jon glared on disapprovingly. Still, even he couldn't find anything good to say about the full neon rainbow leopard jumpsuit that fit about six sizes too small in the worst way, other than at least he's creative.

At one point or another, you come across a giant stuffed sloth that's about a foot short of being as tall as you, and you decide on the spot that it is absolutely going home with you. Damian and Jon see the number of points it costs and sigh in unison. You spend about one hundred and sixteen minutes throwing baseballs at far-too-heavy milk bottles, but hey, who's counting?

You do, eventually, win the sloth, with the combined efforts of three super-sidekicks—Jon's super strength, Damian's freakish aim, and your intuitive throwing finally converge on one task, surprisingly.

Hauling your new friend—Arnold, you've dubbed him—on your back, you decide to show your gratitude by putting your knife throwing skills (you're very good at instinctive throwing, because of your flawless intuition) to good use at the dart-and-ballon game.

You leave Arnold in Jon's care (Damian ever so gently told you that he'd leave Arnold to sit in the dirt beside them, not hold him, which offended you deeply), and and your longboard with Damian, before you march over, wad of dollar bills in hand.

You return twenty minutes later, two plush animals in each hand. You proudly bestow a ambiguous black bird to Damian, and a fire engine red marshmallow-esque creature to Jon. You take Arnold in your arms and resituate him to ride piggy back, long boneless arms draped over your shoulders.

Jon giddily grins at his new blob friend, and thanks you, muttering, a little shyly, that you really didn't have to. Damian stares down at the stuffed bird in silence, a smidge of contempt flickering in his eyes. It crosses your mind that he might have preferred something else, but all doubt is erased with his grip on it becomes a little more firm, a bit more protective, and you catch his gaze going soft on it. He offers you a little smile, because he's bad at genuinely accepting and showing appreciation for these kinds of gifts.

And because you know this, you return the gesture to prove that you understand.

Your trio heads for the dirt path through the decently small patch of woods, where a dirt path peeks out like a old man with gentle eyes and a warm smile.

Jon stops right as you reach the mouth of the path. He hands Damian his skateboard. "You go ahead, I'll meet you there in a few minutes."

"Where are you going?" Damian asks.

Jon starts walking backwards. "I'm gonna get something. I'll be quick, I promise! Go ahead!"

Damian exchanges a look with you. You shrug, reaching toward his hand and wiggling your fingers.

He locks his fingers with yours, sparing Jon one more look over his shoulder before the two of you set off.

"What do you think he's up to?" you wonder, peering over your shoulder just before the carnival is out of sight. You don't see him, but you imagine him bobbing a weaving through the crowds of half drunk, drunk high, and half asleep people ambling around in the last hours of the festivities for the day.

Damian glances back one more time. "Don't know," he answers. "Can't be anything good, if he wouldn't tell us."

You nod. "Can't be awful, if he wouldn't warn us," you add with a smile.

He laughs. "Can't be amazing if he wouldn't gloat about how amazing his idea is."

You laugh loudly. "You got me there."

You pass the marker for the middle of the path soon after. It's just an old wooden post, marked properly with fading orange tape. Not long after that, you leave the treeline behind.

The pier is old, and a little creaky. The wood is dark with age, warm with sun, and worn with the repeated paths of the residents of your hometown. The group of people is surprisingly small, despite the carnival's large attendance.

Your eyes roam the few couples scattered around the clearing by the water, and the group of friends laughing loudly from borrowed fishing boats further out in the water. Warm summer night air sticks to your skin and fills your lungs the way only it can.

The pair of you find a good spot at the very end of the pier, where the boards are still stable, but boast a concerning number if cracks and splinters. You prop Arnold up behind you, safely away from the water, but he slouches inanimately while he holds Damian's crow and your backpack in his lap.

"We should do this more," you hum, leaning back on your elbows to get a proper look at the mostly clear sky. It's nearly a full moon, and lack of light pollution leaves the stars on display, while the open moonlight reflects beautifully off the tops and sides of passing clouds.

Damian hums in agreement. "That would be nice." His neck cranes to get a good look for himself. "Any constellations?"

"Orion is there," you point to the belt specifically. "And the Dippers are right there."

A beat of silence as you admire the heavens.

"How long do you think until Jon calls us because he's gotten into trouble?"

You laugh. "Fifteen minutes," you bet.

Damian nods. "Sounds right. He's probably getting some kind of food."

"I hope it's something without grease," you groan. "Otherwise I might be sick."

Damian chuckles. "Don't get your hopes up."

As if it was a stage cue, you hear footsteps thumping up the rickity wood planks toward you.

You both turn at the sound of your names. "Look what I got!" Jon howls excitedly.

He's got a giant bag of popcorn and another of cotton candy under one arm, and brandishing a clear plastic bag with the other.

"That better not be a fish," you warn, but the spark in your eyes betrays the implied threat. You sit back up to get a better look.

"It'll be dead in a week," Damian warns, "so don't get too attached."

Jon fakes a pout, stopping beside Arnold. "His name is Jerry and you're being very rude." He drops the bags of snacks among your prize-filled bag and stuffed animals, then drops himself on the other side of you.

"Let me see him," you swipe the bag without permission. You hold it level with your eyes. It stares back boredly. "What are you gonna do with him? Do you have a bowl?"

He smiles sheepishly at you. "I thought your mom might have a vase or something."

You roll your eyes good-naturedly and hold the bag out to Damian to inspect. "I'm sure she does," you assure anyway. "If not, you can borrow a water glass or something."

Damian's eyes light up suddenly, as he eyes the yellow fish. "Your mother has a huge wineglass, doesn't she?"

You grin. "Yes. Yes she does, and you're a genius."

Damian smiles suavely, reaching across you to hand the bag back to Jon. "This isn't new information."

You snort and roll you eyes again, reaching for the cotton candy. "And so modest, too."

Jon tucks one leg under the opposite knee, setting the bag of water in the crook of his knee. "And ugly as a moose."

Damian indignantly rips the bag of cottony sugar from your grasp, leaving you with an offended glare, an agape mouth, and a thick tuft of pink fluff in your hand. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that."

You giggle over to Jon. "I think he hates us," you loudly whisper.

Jon nods thoughtfully, peering past you as he whispers back, "He's planning to poison us with dinner."

Damian sighs, loudly. "Firstly, poison wouldn't effect you, Jon. Secondly, if I hated either of you, I wouldn't be here."

Jon laughs. "He's got us, Lovely."

You lean on Damian's shoulder. "In more ways than you one."

Your plan works perfectly. Red flushes down his neck, eyes still locked on the horizon.

Jon picks up on it immediately, and hooks an arm around Damian's waist. "Wouldn't you agree, Love?"

He grumbles between the two of you, annoyed and embarrassed and so overwhelmingly in love.

As predicted, he makes a quick effort to switch topics. "How long are we staying?"

You and Jon respect his discomfort with focused public affection and pull away. "Long as we want," you answer, shoving a smaller tuft of pink into your mouth. "Mom just said to be home before two."

Jon nods. "I wanna watch a Disney movie when we get home." You agree.

"Speaking of getting home," Damian peers over his shoulder at the small mountain of prizes, food, and skateboards behind you, "how exactly do you plan on getting Arnold home?"

You eye the four-foot-six sloth and your longboard. Then you turn back to your boys, moonlight casting a gleam in your eyes. "I have absolutely no idea."

[TAGS – @qween-of-trash ]

[sunflowersteves]

Hi! Can I please request a Bucky x short!civilian!fem!reader oneshot where Hydra comes after Bucky at his & Y/n’s apartment, but he’s not home yet. They threaten her, demanding to know where Bucky is & what she knows, but Bucky bursts in & kicks butt (as always). He brings her to the Compound as she’s very shaken up, doesn’t want to be alone, & Bruce wants to check for any injuries. Bucky thinks Y/n would be afraid of him after seeing him fight, but it’s the opposite, she thought he was HOT🔥

Bucky Barnes x Short!Civilian!Fem!reader

author’s notes || hehee i love this. also ssjsj i changed it a bit but i hope you like it! thank you for sending in the request!

warnings || violence, kidnapping, dark themes, swearing, fluff

Sweat dripped down your temple, your chest heaving up and down. Your wrists burned from the sensation of the robe. Your body was agonizingly aching as you had been interrogated for who knows how long. The hours that you had been trapped under Hydra’s menacing gaze had been harrowing—or had it been days?

Bucky was off on a mission when Hydra took their opportunity to break into your shared apartment. You were sound asleep when they broke in, which startled you even more. Luckily, Natasha had been teaching you some combat and ways to defend yourself so you were able to hold off for quite a while. 

However, you could only do so much against a highly trained assassin who has probably killed more people than you can count. Before you did anything rash or anything that would get you killed, you surrendered yourself. Then, they tied you up on your dining room chair and watched your every move. 

“I’ll ask one more time. Where is the Winter Soldier?”

You trembled slightly as the Hydra agent held a knife up to your cheek, making a silent threat. You could feel the blade tickle as it ran down your cheek. Slowly gulping, your eyes dart to look around your apartment before meeting back at the agent. 

“Fuck. You.” You spat. 

The agent was not pleased as he slapped you across the face, the stinging sensation making a string of curses leave your mouth. All of a sudden and much to your victory, the door to your apartment busts open. Tears of happiness spring to your eyes as the silhouette of your partner shined through the doorway.

But all Bucky could see was red. Pure fire-burning rage was coursing through his veins and only elevated as his eyes found your tired and beat up form. No one made a move due to the complete and utter surprise at Bucky’s appearance. 

However, they hastily gained their surroundings again as Bucky surged forward. One of the agents had tried to apprehend him, making punches left and right. But Bucky wasn’t having it. They hurt you. They hurt the light of his life and they were not going to get away from it. 

His metal hand came in contact with the Agents throat, watching intently as the oxygen left the man. Bucky’s heart surged with pride as the man fell limp against his hand. The other agents had been jabbing at him, trying to do whatever they could to slow him down but they had no avail. 

It felt like little punches to Bucky, it was almost like he was fueled from the pain as the rage never ceased. He would occasionally look at you, making sure that you were okay. For a quick second, worry flashed in his eyes at the thought of you watching him do all of these horrible things. What were you going to think of him now? The last thing he wanted was for you to be scared of him. 

His train of thought was quickly ended as the hydra agent tried to stab him, the blade just barely missing his chestnut hair. His hand swiftly blocks another swing of the man’s fist, his leg coming up to kick the agent in the stomach. The agent is knocked back slightly from the amount of force from the kick but instantly regains his momentum. 

He tries to swing the blade across Bucky’s neck, the blade elongated to swiftly strike anything in its path, but Bucky was able to grab onto his wrist. With one swift movement, Bucky snapped his wrist, completely shattering it in his hand.

The agent yelped in pain which prompted a smile from Bucky, relishing in the agony of the person that hurt you. He instantly swung another punch that hit the agent square in the nose but the force was so powerful that it knocked him back into the wall, the paint cracking behind him.

Once he saw that all of the agents were taken care of, Bucky ran immediately over to you. He untied you and your hands immediately went to rub on the sore areas, trying your best to soothe the pain. You could tell Bucky was starting to get angry again from his eyes taking you all in. You were covered in cuts, your body was slumped, and your eyes had grown tired.

His hand went to cup your cheek in a soft embrace but he retracted it so fast as if he touched you it would burn your skin. Thoughts of fear rolled over in his head, his eyes darting around your face to see if there was any kind of hesitation.

You continued to stare right at him, pupils blown and eyes as wide as they can be. Watching Bucky fight off those hydra agents with ease was so very hot. Your skin felt warm just thinking about it. 

“Bucky, if you don’t kiss me right this second, I swear-”

“W-What?”

Bucky had to do a double-take to make sure he heard your words right. You wanted to kiss him? After all of the violence he had just committed, you didn’t seem the slightest bit bothered.

“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

His mouth opened in surprise when you paused, your hand reaching out to his.

“Watching you take them down one by one while filled with rage was seriously so attractive, Buck.” 

He stared you down for a good minute, not believing if he heard you right. You weren’t scared, not one bit. You weren’t disgusted by anything he just did. In fact, you thought it was hot. You thought he looked so hot beating down those men for you. After not hearing a word from him though, anxiety started to fill your stomach. 

As if he could sense your uncertainty, his face pulled straight to a smirk. Without warning, he smashed his lips against yours. His hand came up to cup your cheeks trying to pull you in even closer. You made a small noise as your arms went to wrap around his neck, lips molding, and caressing. 

He pulled away with a bright smile on his face, his forehead coming to rest upon yours. 

“You are the woman of my dreams, you know that?”

~~

marvel: @harrysthiccthighss @fandomsandxfiles @rebekahdawkins

bucky: @harrysthiccthighss @rebekahdawkins @marvelous-capsicle​

permanent: @captainchrisstan @angstysebfan @teenagereadersciencenerd @rebekahdawkins @hailmary-yramliah @buckybarnesplumwhore @stardust-galaxies @wiccanmetallicrose

[roonilwazlibimagines]

Some Quotes

I re read the Harry Potter books and here are some quotes I felt I wanted to remember

Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone

There are some things you can’t share without ending up liking each other, and knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them. Page 192

‘And you’re not sitting with the Prefects today, either,’ said George. ‘Christmas is a time for family.’ Page 218

(Dumbledore) It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that. Page 230

(Neville) ‘I’m worth twelve of you, Malfoy,’ he stammered. Page 240

(Hermione) ‘Flitwick told me in secret that I got a hundred and twelve percent on his exam. They’re not throwing me out after that.’ Page 291

(Hermione) ‘Books! And cleverness! There are more important things - friendship and bravery.’ Page 308

(Dumbledore) ‘It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends.’ Page 329

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

In the end, he chose the same new subjects as Ron, feeling that if he was rubbish at them, at least he’d have someone friendly to help him. Page 267

‘Because that’s what Hermione does,’ says Ron, shrugging. ‘When in doubt, go to the library.’ Page 269

(Dumbledore) It is out choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, for more than our abilities. Page 352

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

(Hermione) ‘Poor Crookshanks, that witch said he’d been in there for ages: no one wanted him.’ Page 64

‘We - shall I make a cup of tea?’ said Ron. Harry stared at him.   ‘It’s what my mum does whenever someone’s upset,’ Ron muttered, shrugging. Page 232

Even without Divination, she was taking more subjects than anybody else. Page 319

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

Yes, that would be Hermione’s advice: go straight to the Headmaster of Hogwarts, and in the meantime, consult the book. Page 18

Hermione, who had turned rather pink again, seemed to be trying not to look too pleased with herself. Page 196

But Harry didn’t care, he wouldn’t have cared if Karkaroff had given him a zero; Ron’s indignation on his behalf was worth about a hundred points to him. He didn’t tell Ron this, of course, but his heart felt lighter than air as he turned to leave the enclosure. Page 304

He was not going to die kneeling at Voldemort’s feet...he was going to die upright like his father, and he was going to die trying to defend himself, even if no defence was possible... Page 558

(Dumbledore) ‘Remember, if the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right, and what is easy, remember what happened to a boy who was good, and kind, and brave, because he strayed across the path of Lord Voldemort. Remember Cedric Diggory.’ Page 608

As Hagrid had said, what would come, would come...and he would have to meet it when it did. Page 617

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix 

‘Bill doesn’t like him either, said Ginny, as though that settled the matter. Page 64

‘Yeah, size is no guarantee of power,’ said George. ‘Look at Ginny.’ Page 92

‘The witch spoke in a fluttery, girlish, high-pitched voice that took harry aback; he had been expecting a croak. Page 135

‘Well, congratulations,’ said Moody, still glaring at Ron with his normal eye, ‘authority figures always attract trouble, but I suppose Dumbledore thinks you can withstand most major jinxes or he wouldn’t have appointed you...’ Page 156

Harry’s mood suddenly lifted. His father had not been a prefect either. Page 157

Seeing Hagrid again was one of the things he’d been looking forward to most. Page 181

Harry could not remember Hermione ever neglecting to read when instructed to, or indeed resisting the temptation to open any book that came under her nose. Page 223

Hermione drew herself up to her full height; her eyes were narrowed and her bushy hair seemed to crackle with electricity. Page 236

‘Wow, I wonder what it’d be like to have a difficult life?’ said Harry sarcastically. Page 242

Who cared about a stupid flying horse; Cho thought he had been really brave. For a moment, he considered accidentally-on-purpose showing her his cut hand as he helped her tie her parcel on to the owl... Page 263

She (Hermione) looked up at Ron and her frostiness seemed to melt. Page 272

(Luna) ‘Just because you’re so narrow-minded you need to have everything shoved under your nose before you-’ Page 319

‘Haven’t e got a counter-jinx or this?’ Fudge asked Umbridge impatiently, gesturing at Marietta’s face. ‘So she can speak freely?’  ‘I have not yet managed to find one,’ Umbridge admitted grudgingly, and Harry felt a surge of pride in Hermione’s jinxing ability. Page 566

‘Well usually when a person shakes their head,’ said McGonagall coldly, ‘ they mean “no”. So unless Miss Edgecombe is using a form of sign-language as yet unknown to humans -’ Page 569

Harry struggled around to see who was half strangling him and saw Professor McGonagall crouched beside him; she had forced both him and Marietta out of harms way. Page 573

(Dumbledore) ‘On the contrary...the fact that you can feel pain like this is your greatest strength.’ Page 758

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

(Snape) ‘You think he is mistaken? Or that I have somehow hoodwinked him? Fooled the Dark Lord, the greatest wizard, the most accomplished Legilimens the world has ever seen?’ Page 23

‘I enjoyed the meetings, too,’ said Luna serenely. ‘It was like having friends.’ Page 115

...and watched Pansy stroke the sleek blond hair off Malfoy’s forehead, smirking as she did so, as though anyone would have loved to have been in her place. Page 125

It was a mark of the strength of their friendship that Ron did not laugh. Page 141

‘Humph,’ snorted Professor McGonagall. ‘It’s high time your (Neville’s) grandmother learned to be proud of the grandson she’s got, rather than the one she thinks she ought to have - particularly after what happened at the Ministry.’ Page 145

He did not usually lie in bed reading his textbooks; that sort of behaviour, as Ron rightly said, was indecent in anybody except Hermione, who was simply weird that way. Page 198

On the other hand, the Prince had proved a much more effective teacher than Snape so far. Page 199

‘I like really good Quidditch players,’ Hermione corrected her, still smiling. Page 260

She (Hermione) looked too fierce to argue with at that moment, so Harry dropped the subject of Ron and recounted all that he had overheard between Malfoy and Snape. Page 294

(Slughorn) ‘Had a house-elf taste every bottle after what happened to your poor friend Rupert.’ Page 403

It was important, Dumbledore said, to fight, and fight again, and keep fighting, for only then could evil be kept at bay, though never quite eradicated. Page 536

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

(Yaxley) ‘He always did himself well, Lucius. Peacocks...’ Page 2

‘This isn’t your average book,’ said Ron. ‘It’s pure gold: Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches... You’d be surprised, it’s not all about wandwork, either.’ Page 90

Kreacher’s thin arms trembled with the weight of the pan, still held aloft. ‘Perhaps just one more, Master Harry, for luck?’ Page 178

The empty words could not disguise the fact that his parents’ mouldering remains lay beneath snow and stone, indifferent and unknowing. Page 267

(Hermione) ‘Imagine losing fingernails, Harry! That really puts our sufferings into perspective, doesn’t it?’ Page 312

(Hermione) I mean, you could claim that anything’s real if the only basis for believing in it is that nobody’s proved it doesn’t exist!’ Page 335

The three of them spoke at the same time; Hermione said, ‘the Clock,’ Ron said, ‘the wand,’ and Harry said, ‘the stone.’ Page 337

Luna had decorated her bedroom ceiling with five beautiful painted faces: Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Neville. They were not moving as the portraits of Hogwarts moved, but there was a certain magic about them all the same: Harry thought they breathed. What appeared to be fine golden chains wove around the pictures, linking them together, but after examining them for a minute or so, Harry realised that the chains were actually one word, repeated a thousand times in golden ink: friends ... friends ... friends ... Page 340

(Neville) ‘The thing is, it helps when people stand up to them, it gives everyone hope. I used to notice that when you did it, Harry.’ Page 467

His eyes feasted on her (Lily), and he thought that he would like to stand and look at her forever, and that would be enough. Page 571

[animemangasoul]

You Are Wanted Obi-Wan Kenobi

Summery: Qui-Gon lives and Mace gets a new Padawan.

[In which Qui-Gon repudiates Obi-Wan and Mace isn't about to let the kid leave the order without a fight.]

Chapter: 3/10

No one gossiped quite like the Jedi. A miniature change, a Knighting, a death, a Trial gone wrong. All of it spread like wildfire and within a blink of an eye, the words were across the Temple, twisting the realities behind said words and painting the walls with new and highly unlikely truths. Breathing in the swirling masses of twittering gossip was just part of every day life of the Coruscanty Jedi.

Qui-Gon of course knew how much Jedi liked to gossip. Knew very well how vicious rumours could get; even if it was never done out of malice, just too much curiosity and the indulging need to share things. He knew, and yet…..

"I heard Kenobi tried to leave the Order again."

"I heard he touched the darkside."

Qui-Gon came to a stuttering halt. Head tilted just so, chin high and gaze fixed on a far away spot as he tried and failed to tune out the Naboo crises that had for the last couple of weeks become the hot topic of the Temple. Why was the refectory three floors too far from his quarters? Was it always like this or was every step suddenly too heavy, too slow, now that Qui-Gon desperately needed to get away.

"He's lucky the council hasn't kicked him out," filtered through to him. Spoken too loud for him to be able to ignore and….

Something foreign, something cruel crawled it's way up his throat. Each whisper of curiosity making him burn. Burn as if the force itself was being ripped from his soul.

Fingers clenching around each tray, one filled with all assortments of dishes; little Ani was all too wide-eyed and adventures with his need to try all types of food now that he realized it wouldn't be withheld from him, and the other with nothing more than the bare essentials.

They shook; both trays vibrating with the unsteadiness of his hands.

"Master Qui-Gon had to stop him from turning into a Sith. At least that's what people are saying."

"Did you know he isn't even a Padawan anymore?"

"Really? I mean, I know Master Qui-Gon has a new Padawan but I thought they'd Knighted Kenobi. Didn't he kill a Sith?!"

'Yes!--' he wanted to scream. A strangled sort of cry dying in his throat as he forced himself to put one foot in front of the other.

'Ignore them. They don't know. They don't understand. Ignore them,' he told himself. But how could he, when all he wanted to do was scream at them. Frayed edges and all. Scream the bloody and raw truth for the entire Temple to hear.

His boy had killed a Sith. Had defended him. Had protected him. His Obi-Wan was a SithKiller. He was an exceptional Padawan. Brilliant and radiant and so so kind. He wasn't….. He wasn't what they thought. With their soft whispers behind lifted hands and flittering glances.

They didn't know the truth.

They could never fully understand the truth.

What did they know….. What did they know.

"Master Qui-Gon most have seen something wrong with him."

He kept walking. Snippet of unwanted conversation filtering through despite his best effort to ignore them.

"My friend told me no Master want to take him."

"But Padaw--- Kenobi is so nice! Why would he-----"

And on and on it went. Anywhere and everywhere in the Temple. Rumours about Obi-Wan and his supposed disgrace kept circulating like month to flame. Padawans, younglings, even Knights scurrying away the second they noticed him walking by, mouths clamming shut and shame clouding their eyes for letting their fantasy run away with them.

Qui-Gon wanted to snap. Shout at the top of his lungs that none of their ridiculous rumours were true. That they were so far of base they might as well be striding across space. That his boy was good. He was kind and gentle, and the truest of Jedi there was. That he saved his life. That he scared him as Qui-Gon's last fading moments were filled with sheer and utter terror that he'd wake up to a dead Padawan that had given too much of himself to save his dying Master's life.

Obi-Wan was good. So good. So how dared they defame him like this. Slate his name…….

He wanted to set them straight. Wanted it so badly it burned. But he couldn't. He wouldn't.

To protect Ani, he couldn't.

Anakin was feeling out of place as it was. Scared and lonely, missing his mom terribly. If people around the Temple realized the truth, that Qui-Gon had let go of his Padawan of ten years to take a kid that was too old….. It would put Ani in a difficult position. And the poor child was already dealing with so much. Missing his mother, learning all these foreign cultural norms, adapting and even worrying about Obi-Wan on top of it all. Qui-Gon couldn't in good consciousness clear up the rumours while also protecting Ani from them.

In the end it was a matter of who needed him more, and right now, that was the Chosen One.

So he clammed his mouth shut, gritted his teeth, pulled the trays closer to his chest and kept walking. Blocking out every curious, hurtful word, and let his emotions fade into the force.

Repudiating Obi-Wan hadn't done his young Padaw-- former Pawadan any good. Especially with the boy's spotty reputation as it was, but Qui-Gon was sure as soon as Obi-Wan got a new Master this would all die down. He just needed to hold on a bit longer. Besides, his former Padawan had been in the Halls these past couple of weeks; and oh, if his heart didn't give a painful tug at the thought, so none of it would have reached him. The Temple gossip wouldn't last much longer.

And maybe when Obi-Wan got a new Master, when the rumours died out, Anakin too wouldn't have to be kept away from the Temple life any longer. Maybe then Qui-Gon wouldn't have to keep little Ani secluded; shielding him from curious eyes and less than flattering opinions of Obi-Wan. Besides few friends the kid had made, Anakin didn't go out much, not even to classes. Qui-Gon having decided it was for the best he homeschooled him for now.

It was for the best.

The gossip wouldn't last forever.

Even if Qui-Gon didn't like it. Even if he wanted to put a stop to it. Even if after killing a Sith and saving his life people were likening Obi-Wan to Xanatos. Even if…….

It was for the best. At least for now.

So Qui-Gon kept walking. Kept his head down and wondered how his boy was doing. How he was healing. If Master Che was taking care of him. If he was smiling or laughing. If he was worried, if he was thinking about him. If, if, if.

"Greeting, Master Jinn."

He didn't startle, but it was close. Qui-Gon blinked slowly, re-entering himself.  "Knight Vos," he said pleasantly. "Back from your mission I see?"

Shadows didn't talk about their missions, even newly assigned Shadows like Vos, so Qui-Gon wasn't surprised when the young man's only response to his question was a careless shrug. "Dinner?" he asked instead, nodding at the trays Qui-Gon was balancing in his hands, one eyebrow arched.

"Yes. Ani is just about done with his homework so I offered to grab us a bite."

Something crackled around them, the force nearly suffocating with emotions Qui-Gon couldn't quite decipher before it vanished just as quick. Vos, for it most have been Vos, clamming down on his emotions as fast as he had let them slip. The Kiffar's shoulders were tense, a tiny grove appearing between his eyebrows darkening his expression. Suddenly Qui-Gon felt as if whatever little regard the Shadow might have had of him, had evaporated.

It felt like he'd failed a test he hadn't even been aware of taking.

"Is that so? How nice." The last word was practically spat at him. "Good to see that you have moved on from the Naboo incident. Content with your new perfect life are you now, Master Jinn?" If looks alone could kill.

Qui-Gon frowned. "We are all making due with the hand we were dealt, Knight Vos. But I can assure you Naboo haunts us all. However as Jedi, we cannot let our emotions get the best of us."

Quinlan stiffened. "Have you even gone to see him? Do you even--" Clenching his fists, Vos's glare was almost too much. "He isn't dead you know. There's no need to act like he is."

And that. No. That was one step too far.

"Knight--" he hissed, trays perfectly still even as his heart shook and his breath hitched. "Know your place."

"My apologies," Quinlan muttered, eyes flashing as he bowed, deep enough to be respectful, shallow enough to put his point across. "I did not mean to overstep."

Giving him a stiff nod in return, Qui-Gon tried not to think of his own hurt, his own anger, of Obi-Wan. "See that you don't."

The Kiffar nodded back, sidestepping to walk past him. Air too tense to continue any meaningful conversation. Qui-Gon listened as the newly Knighted Jedi's presence drew further and further away from him, but just as he was about to make his way back to his quarters; the clawing desperation scrapping against his throat boxed away for another day, Vos spoke up again. His voice distant, but in these empty halls, all the more potent.

"Some Padawan's thrive because of their Master's guidance," came his words, cutting across the distance between them as if he was right next to him, whispering into his ear. "Others thrive despite of it. I pray for Skywalker's sake he follows Obi-Wan's path of the latter."

And, oh….. That was….. That hit harder than Qui-Gon expected it to.

It's as if Vos was suffocating him. As if he'd reached across the hall and squeezed his heart in an unrelenting grip of death.

Years of mastering his emotions is all that prevents Qui-Gon from stumbling back. Quinlan without realizing it having dug up a pain so profound it's scars were still screaming with agony under the shell that was Qui-Gon Jinn. Feemor, Xanatos, now Obi-Wan. He doesn't even notice Quinlan's footsteps fading away, no. All he can focus on is his shortened breath, his pounding heart and the shake. He's shaking. Because……… he'd somehow managed to fail Obi-Wan like he'd failed everyone else and……

He can't breathe.

He can't.

And it's only what feels like hours later that he comes to. Curled at the farthest corner of force knows where. Food nowhere in sight, knees pulled against his chest as he tries to just breathe.

Quinlan Vos's words shouldn't have gotten to him but they had and Qui-Gon hated himself for it. Because….. Because, what did Vos know. What did he know about his struggles. What did he know about the sacrifices Qui-Gon had made. This was the Will of The Force. Why did no one understand that! This wasn't about him or Obi-Wan. This wasn't about the council or hurt feelings. This was about the Chosen One and how he needed training. The force had willed it so, so why was everyone trying to stop him?!

He hadn't failed Obi-Wan.

He hadn't.

Not really.

Obi-Wan was the man he was today because Qui-Gon had done right by him even as he was still recovering from Xanatos. Even with all the scars Xanatos had carved into his heart, he'd let Obi-Wan in, raised that boy like he was his own. And Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan had repaid his devotion by being the light in his otherwise darkened soul. Obi-Wan had saved him. Loved him, respected him and…..

Did they honestly think he would abandon his boy if the force wasn't guiding him?

This wasn't his fault. This was the council's fault. They had forced his hand. Made him choose. If they'd only Knighted Obi-Wan like they were supposed to none of this would have happened. They had changed and twisted tradition before, so why not now?

Qui-Gon knew why.

It was to spite him. They didn't like that he wasn't bending to their every whim and they took it out on his Padawan.

This wasn't his fault. It was the council and their incessant need to punish him for not being a puppet like everyone else.

Now Obi-Wan was Masterless and Qui-Gon couldn't fix it. Couldn't take back what was done. 'And you wouldn't,' his consciousness whispered traitorously. 'Training the Chosen One is more important. Obi-Wan isn't more important than bringing balance to the force.'

And Qui-Gon knew he wasn't and that's why he'd let him go.

It was for the best.

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

"If you really wanna visit Mr. Obi-Wan, you should!" Anakin chirped, stuffing his face with another spoon full of stew; having finally let go of being cross with Qui-Gon for the late dinner. The old Master having gone back to the refectory; after his unexpected breakdown to get them two new plates of food while still not quite knowing what happened to the previous ones.

"Is that so," he muttered, slowly sipping at his tea. "And don't talk with food in your mouth, Ani."

"Sowwy."

Qui-Gon glared and Anakin flushed. Chewing and swallowing quickly, the kid muttered a soft apology under his breath making Qui-Gon smile in satisfaction. "It's ok. Just don't forget it next time."

Nodding and looking a little less enthusiastic now, Anakin fidgeted in his seat. "So are you?"

"Am I what?" He knew he was being difficult and by the tiny frown on Ani's face, the kid knew it too.

"Visit Mr. Obi-Wan," Anakin huffed, crossing his arms. "He's awake you know and he's super good at talking without falling asleep in the middle of it now, and he has all this candy and gifts that he shared with me and maybe he'll share it with you too and he's really nice and he misses you and why don't you go visit?!" The last words were practically shouted at him. Anakin having stood up in the middle of his rant to slam his hands on the table.

"I can't," Qui-Gon said, voice sharp even as he tried to temper down his emotions. "Master Che won't let me."

The surprised little "Oh," Anakin let out, eyes wide and mouth slightly gaped open in disbelief made a flush of jealousy course through Qui-Gon's veins. Because-- "But she lets me visit all the time!"

How was that fair?

The fact that Ani could visit his boy when he was denied. The fact that Vokara didn't think the kid that upended Obi-Wan's life would give him stress but he, Obi-Wan's Master. The man who raised him through his adolescent, somehow would. How everyone from his friends to the council members to even Anakin could visit his Padawan, but all Qui-Gon could do was brush his mind against his son and drink in his presence from afar.

How was any of that fair?

It burned. It curled around his throat and burned. Anakin had just arrived. He hadn't even been here for a full cycle and yet he knew the state Obi-Wan was in better than him. Could eat his breakfast, finish his school work and bounce of to the Halls to go see the one person Qui-Gon wanted to see above all else.

Oh it burned.

Anakin didn't know what he'd taken from him. What the Will of The Force had taken from him….

And just as soon as the jealousy flared up, it died down. Overwhelmed by a sense of shame and embarrassment that Qui-Gon had even let himself entertain such destructive and baseless emotions. This had nothing to do with Anakin. The kid hadn't made his choices for him. Ani was innocent in all of this. How could he even blame him?

"Maybe…. Maybe you can ask again? I'm sure Master Che will let you see him if you ask super nicely?" The lilt of uncertainty in Anakin's side of their bond, pulled the Master back out of his own head. Eyes landing on the small boy sitting across from him; dinner long since abandoned and if that didn't make Qui-Gon feel even worse. Anakin ate with vigor because he still couldn't comprehend that the food would still be there afterwards, and now Qui-Gon had worried him enough to abandon it in hopes of appeasing him.

Sighing deeply, Qui-Gon shook his head. "I'm sure she will Ani." Smiling gently at the poor boy, he was rewarded with a wobbly one in return. "Let's finish eating shall we?" Lifting his fork he clinked it playfully against Anakin's own, which made the kid's uncertain smile bloom into something more real, and that was enough for now. If this was all Qui-Gon could do at the moment, make a little boy smile, that was enough for him.

Especially since he knew deep down; despite the irrational feelings that suffocated him sometimes, that none of this was Anakin's fault. This was all new and scary to the kid as well. He didn't need Qui-Gon's issues on top of his own.

Besides, he mused tiredly, taking a bite out of the Tufkus cake Obi-Wan loved so much. This was his own cowardly fault in the first place.

He was the one who'd broken Obi-Wan's trust. He had been the one to run out of the kid's hospital room after unbraiding his hair because he was too afraid to look him in the eye and tell him what he'd done. Selfishly he'd still wanted Obi-Wan to look at him as if he'd hung the moon, so he couldn't, he wouldn't…….

It had been so much easier to do it while his boy was unconscious. To run his fingers through his hair one last time, file away every little detail of his peaceful face to memory. To never forget. To never let go. Even as his fingers fumbled to untie the braid. The moments, the days, the history.

It had been so incredibly hard.

Putting it all away. Cutting their bond.

And now there was a brown wooden box under his bed were familiar beads and bands once tied to Obi-Wan's bbraid, lay collecting dust.

Yes, it had been…. Hard. But duty rose above all else, and Qui-Gon knew with time, Obi-Wan would come to accept it too.

Still, not all hope was lost. Because no matter how many times Master Yoda had told him to stay out of it, Qui-Gon was going to fix this. He had a last ditch plan if all else failed. There was no way, force wills it, he was going to let his kid be sent away again. Not under his watch.

He'd been keeping an eye on Mace and Yoda's efforts and it was safe to say it wasn't going well. Which wasn't a surprise seeing as Obi-Wan's records were well, not exactly perfect. Leaving the Order left a stain on someone's legacy and while Qui-Gon had already forgiven him for that transgression, not many would be able to do the same.

No, it was definitely not going well. Master Yoda all but admitting it to him when he'd checked in with him for the fifteenth time; Mace unwilling to look at him let alone talk to him after that fated council meeting.

"Looking we are. Little success we are being met with. Have heart you most. Abandon Obi-Wan we will not."

'Unlike you,' had floated between them, unsaid.

But it was Yoda's parting words that had stayed with Qui-Gon. Lingering in his head, days after the wise old Jedi had looked at him with such sadness and regret.

"Hurting, you are. But band-aid to your pain Obi-Wan is not. Band-aid to your pain Obi-Wan should have never been. My mistake it was, assigning him to you."

My mistake. Assigning him to you.

Mistake. Assigning him. Assigning Obi-Wan, to him.

Yoda regretted creating their partnership and Qui-Gon didn't know how to process the absolute devastation and anger that ignited within him.

There was nothing wrong with his partnership with Obi-Wan. Sure they'd had their ups and downs, but the good times far outweighed the bad and for Yoda to say something like that, to hold such conviction in his voice as he said it……

No. Neither Master Yoda or Master Windu knew what was best for Obi-Wan. They wouldn't find him a Master to take him in. They wouldn't succeed, and in the end, his boy would once again end up on a train taking him far away from home.

Qui-Gon would be damned if he let that happen.

In fact, he had the perfect plan to prevent it all and keep his Padawans with him.

"Master Qui-Gon sir?"

"Yes?" he said, momentarily putting a pause on his running thoughts. "You finished your dinner, Ani?"

Nodding eagerly, Anakin pushed his empty plates away and jumped off the chair. "Can I go now?"

Shaking his head a fond smile playing at the corner of his lips, Qui-Gon stood up too, collecting their plates. "Have you finished your reading?"

Anakin moved restlessly. "I wanted to do it tomorrow? But-" he said, giving him a pleading look. "I did all of my other work. I promise! Can I please go?"

Frowning thoughtfully, Qui-Gon made his way into the kitchen, well aware of the hasting footsteps hurrying after him. "Why leave it for tomorrow?"

"Um," looking over his shoulders he watched as Ani twiddled his thumbs.

"Um, what?"

"Well," the kid smiled, uncertainty practically flooding the force. "Obi-Wan said he'd help me with the reading and it's really late right now and Master Che said I couldn't visit when it's late so I can't go and ask him for help. So….. Tomorrow?"

Something lodged itself in Qui-Gon's throat and for a second, it was almost too hard to breathe again. "That's…. Nice," he managed to force out. Not daring to look at the little boy who practically gave him everything while taking away all that mattered to him. "Where are you planning to go?"

"Aayla said she'd show me the hangers and I promised to meet here after dinner! Please?"

Aayla Secura. Quinlan Vos's Padawan. Gritting his teeth, Qui-Gon released his bitterness into the force. Apparently nothing was going his way today.

"So can I go?"

He sighed. "Yes. But--" he called out as Anakin let out a little yeep and darted to the door. "Be home at a reasonable hour this time."

"I will!"

Qui-Gon scoffed. He doubted it.

But Anakin was very independent, not like Obi-Wan. And he didn't want to hamper that independency, especially since the kid was destined to save the world. And with the kid having to stay home and study alone for majority of the day, Qui-Gon didn't think refusing him his nightly outings was fair. So he wished the Chosen One goodbye and settled down for an hour of meditation.

He felt far too restless for mediation these days, but it was only through centering himself that he found that he could get close to Obi-Wan's force signature. And loathe as he was to admit this level of attachment, he did not feel ashamed enough to stop. Being near his boy. To quietly hover around that bright, warm presence. It eased something deep and painful within Qui-Gon.

And it strengthened his determination to carry out his plan all the more.

Dooku, he thought, kneeling. Eyes closed and mind wandering despite his almost desperate need to find that serenity so he could seek out Obi-Wan's presence within the force. Master Yan would arrive back at the Coruscant within a week, and as soon as he got back, Qui-Gon would corner him and somehow convince him to finish Obi-Wan's training.

He didn't get along with his former Master and frankly Qui-Gon was all too willing to carry on with their current norm of never speaking to each other outside of polite greetings, but right now, Dooku was his only option. The right option. After all, Master Yan had shown keen interest in Obi-Wan's education in the child's earlier years; thankfully Qui-Gon had managed to keep his Master away from his very impressionable student, but now he might be his very last triumph card. And Obi-Wan was twenty-three now, he wouldn't be so easily corruptible by Master Yan's distinct interest in Sith history. Besides, Qui-Gon knew how distant the older man was. He could probably convince him to take Obi-Wan as a Padawan and then leave him here, with him. That way Qui-Gon could keep both his Padawans, train them and no one would be sent away.

It was the perfect plan. The perfect idea. And with his former Master being much kinder now that Qui-Gon had barely escaped with his life against a Sith, he was sure it would all work out like it should.

He was sure of it.

Letting himself sink even deeper into the force, he filtered out all the pulsating force signatures around him. Drowning them all out as he sought out the one candle light that was as familiar to him as his own and there. He smiled.

Obi-Wan.

Warm like a crackling campfire in the middle of freezing winter. Comforting like a hug given by a tiny thirteen year old who'd seen too much of the world far too quickly and yet managed to retain his innocence.

His Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon wasn't going to let him down again. Not this time.

Slowly drawing himself back away from his boy, he breathed in and opened his eyes. The loss of the blazing presence that was his former Padawan making his chest ache, but he knew he couldn't linger, less the kid noticed him.

It didn't matter either way. Because it was only matter of time before he would be reunited with him.

Standing up, he brushed imaginary dust of his robes; faintly hearing the echoes of Obi-Wan's laughter at his old man habit.

Today was the day the auburn haired youth would leave the Halls. It should have been yesterday, but according to one of the Padawan's in rotation that he'd coaxed the information out of, a small complication had delayed Obi-Wan's release.

Since no Master had claimed him yet, Obi-Wan Kenobi would be assigned to the Initiate dorms again, and Qui-Gon was not willing to let that happen.

He would go pick him up and surprise him with the good news that he could stay with them. Him and little Ani until they found him a Master; Yan Dooku if Qui-Gon had anything to say about it. And he was sure his boy would be so relieved to know that Qui-Gon still had his back. Maybe that could be their first step in mending what had been broken? Especially since Anakin and he seemed to already get along splendidly.

Of course it might be mildly embarrassing for Obi-Wan for a bit; sharing quarters with the boy who'd replaced him, but he would settle down eventually. Qui-Gon was sure of it. His boy was nothing if not adaptable. And after he heard the effort Qui-Gon had put into keeping them together, he would forgive him. He had to.

If he didn't, Qui-Gon wasn't quite sure what he would do with himself.

Making his way through the living room; ready to grab his boots to go, he stumbled over a box by the sofa and nearly fell. His quick reflexes the only thing keeping him standing.

Frowning down at the scattered boxes of Obi-Wan's things that he'd packed away weeks ago, so Anakin could have more space for his own stuff, Qui-Gon sighed. They'd have to find somewhere new to place them. Maybe Obi-Wan could take his room, since Ani had already moved into the older boy's? And Qui-Gon could take the sofa, just for now. Just until he applied for bigger quarters. Nodding to himself resolutely, he sidestepped the rest. But just as he arrived at the door, there was a knock. Followed by three more rapid bangs.

"Hold on," he called out, reaching for the panel and as the door slide open he came face to face with Muln. Garen Muln. Another of Obi-Wan's delightful friends. And by the sour look on the kid's face, just as delightfully furious with him.

"Knight Muln," he greeted softly followed by a bow.

Garen grinned, all teeth and stormy eyes. "Master Qui-Gon," he said cheerfully, bowing back. "I'm here to pick up Obi's things."

Qui-Gon stiffened, folding his hands under the sleeves of his robe. "Ah, he's being released today," he said. Neither making it a question nor a statement.

The shaggy haired man nodded enthusiastically, his force presence practically swallowing them both up with a sense of coldness that sent chills down Qui-Gon's spine.

"Yeah," he answered, jaw twitching. "He's finally leaving the Halls and I was sent to get his things." Nodding his head at the boxes strewn around the floor behind him. "So if you could just get them for me--" clapping his hands, Muln smiled; his eyes were cold. "That would be wonderful."

Clearing his throat, Qui-Gon gave the clearly resentful Knight a tight smile. "There is no need to take Obi-Wan's things--" He ignored how Muln flinched as the name left his mouth. "To the Initiate dorms. They can stay here until he gets a Master."

Now. Now Muln's eyes were sparkling. There was a sense of vicious glee swirling around them in the force and it made Qui-Gon tense. What was going on?

"Oh you don't understand," Garen smiled back at him and this time, his smile did reach his eyes. But it looked foreign on the face of the otherwise furious man. "I'm not here to take Obi's things to the Initiate dorms." Here he paused, his force signature practically dancing. "He already has a Master and said Master asked me to bring his things. So you see--" a giant grin. "Nothing for you to concern yourself with."

"What?"

"You heard me. Master Jinn." The last two words were dragged out, Garen's lips widening even further into an almost sadistic smile. "His Master sent me to get his things."

But Qui-Gon couldn't quite comprehend it. He couldn't……

A Master? Already?

When, how, why?

"Who?" Was what came out. The burning question that mattered the most…… who?

Garen Muln slid in past him and chuckled. "Believe it or not," he said, voice practically a giggle and tone conversational. He was enjoying this. "Master Windu."

Wi…..

"Mace?"

Qui-Gon could barely keep a lid on his shock. Because…. Mace? Why would he take Obi-Wan.

'Why would he take Obi-Wan away from me?'

The young Knight shrugged. "Yeah. He asked him yesterday and Obi agreed." Lifting his hands he concentrated and before long all the boxes were floating; Qui-Gon couldn't even muster the necessary disapproval to scold him for the improper use of the force.

"Obi-Wan….. Agreed?"

Floating the last mementos of his Padawan past him, Muln smirked. "Yup. The Master of the Order. Isn't that crazy."

It……

Mace…… Mace had taken his Padawan.

But it wasn't supposed to be Mace. It was supposed to be Yan.

Yan Dooku was supposed to take on Obi-Wan and then give him back. So they could all stay together. Here. Like they were supposed to. Not….. Not Mace.

"Now Obi doesn't have to leave, you get to keep your prized Chosen One, Master Jinn. And all will be sunshine and rainbows." Practically skipping out the door, Garen Muln gave him a wink. "All as the force wills it, right?" And with that he was gone. Leaving Qui-Gon in a stupor he couldn't shake. Not even hours later when Anakin snuck his way in, letting out a yelp when he found his Master sitting listless by the door. The poor kid nearly stumbling over him.

"Master, what's wrong!"

'Nothing,' he wanted to say. 'Obi-Wan found himself a Master. Isn't that great!'

But he couldn't. The thought alone made him want to rip his hair out. Because deep down he'd assumed there would be no capable Masters willing to take Obi-Wan, not with his spotty record. And those who might have been willing to see past it, would have already had Padawans or were far too young to train a Padawan as old as Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon had; loathe as he was to admit it, almost counted on it. Subconsciously relieved each and every time he'd heard of another rejection. Even as he felt great sadness for his former Padawan. But he'd known Master Dooku was coming. His Master was coming back to fix everything, help him restore what had been broken. Qui-Gon had been so close to getting his family back. And now it was gone. It was all gone, thanks to Mace Windu.

Mace had stolen his Padawan from him.

"Master, Master! What's wrong?!"

Nothing, nothing at all.

The End

Never have I ever found a character as hard to write as Qui-Gon Jinn. I literally ended up putting on robes, letting my hair down and pretending to be him for a full 24 hours to get his stupid character down. Hopefully he came out ok. I didn't want to make him a 100% bad person but I also knew he wasn't a great person either, so he had to land somewhere in the middle. In character, yet an asshole. So in the end, I have summarized Qui-Gon like this [Everything is about him. Even though he loves Obi-Wan it's about Qui-Gon. His pain, what he needs, his jealousy, trying to keep both Padawan instead of finding any other solution blah blah blah].

He isn't a bad person. He's just a really shitty Mentor. Like imagine telling Obi-Wan he will stay with them, while being an absent mentor's padawan just so Qui-Gon can continue playing at being a dad...... this man needs serious help. And I actually feel kind of bad for him because he does love Obi-Wan. He's just not good at anything else besides that first step. (Sorta reminds me of Bruce Wayne actually lol)--- sorry for the super late update guys! Please enjoy!!!

Qui-Gon: You can stay with us!

Obi-Wan [......]: You gave my room away. You disowned me and you never even looked me in the eye when you did it.

Qui-Gon: Semantics.

Chapter: 1,  2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

[official-weasley]

The Irreplaceable Charlie Weasley: Pt. 8, Ch. 10

PART 8: WHERE IT ALL ENDS Chapter 10 - Oblivious Fleur

Charlie

“Will...you...let...go!” I said through my teeth, staring at the Common Welsh Green. The bag, he was clutching with his teeth and I with my hands, was about to rip.

“Stop being so stubborn and release the bag!” I pulled it towards me, but the Dragon wouldn't let go. “You know there's no more meat in it?” I raise an eyebrow at him but he didn't care.

“I will bring you an extra snack before I go if you don't destroy my bag!” I sang at Eero, giving him one final chance. I felt his jaw soften a little bit but he was still holding on to it.

“Eero, love, I don't have time to play with you, you have to understand.” I said softly and knew it was a mistake as he pulled the bag towards himself again, almost making my feet lose contact with the ground.

“I'll be back soon enough, c'mon.” I pleaded and tried hard not to laugh at the playfulness in Eero's posture. He was enjoying this as much as I was.

I loved my job and every single Dragon, big or small, in the Sanctuary. But there was no one as playful and as tamed as Eero and I have to admit that sometimes I visited him just so we could bicker as we did right now. It was my favorite pass time and it reminded me, every time, how lucky I was to work here.

“Charlie!” Eero looked up at the voice and for a split second forgot that he was supposed to take the bag away from me. Me knowing full well who the voice belonged to, I seized the opportunity and snatched it from him.

“Ha! Got you!” I stuck my tongue out at him and moved a few steps backward, just in case he would not be happy about it.

If he could, I knew he would roll his eyes at me but instead he laid on the ground, smoke coming through his nostrils in admittance of his defeat.

“What is it, Andrei?” I turned around and saw him standing by a boulder looking amused.

“It's time. Your Portkey is ready! You'll be late!” He said.

“Bloody hell, is it that time already?” I rolled up my sleeve and looked at my watch. My eyes widened. “I am so late!” Andrei nodded at my realization. Without saying another word I ran down the path, straight to my cottage. I opened the door, grabbed the bag I prepared the previous night, and was on my way to the front gate.

Andrei was waiting for me there, a mocking grin on his face.

“You got your dress robes? Your toothbrush?” He laughed, imitating my mum. “The wedding rings?” I stopped for a second, my face in panic. I opened my bag and stuck my hand into it until I felt the satin box.

“Got the rings!” I said proudly. Nothing mattered more than that.

“Have fun, Charlie!” Andrei half hugged me and opened the gate for me.

—

I got up and dusted my jeans as I landed flat on the ground after touching the Portkey. I stopped for a second, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath. I felt so nauseous. Never liked to use those things much and I hated apparating even more. And mum still wondered why I didn't come home more often.

I looked to my right and a smile painted my face as I saw the tree where Nova and I used to stargaze under. I looked at the sky, imagining she was looking down upon me, wherever she was, and made my way towards the Burrow.

“Charlie!” I braced myself, knowing full well that Ginny is going to crush me with her hug.

“Hi, Gin!” I hugged her back and looked up, seeing George approach me.

“What happened to your ear?” I couldn't take my eyes off him.

I knew that they transported Harry here last week but for everyone's safety, we didn't correspond much these days if it had nothing to do with the Order.

“I became holey, Charlie.” George was trying hard not to laugh and I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to understand his joke.

“Hol...” I rolled my eyes. “Oh.” I facepalmed myself when he took off the bandage and I saw a hole where his ear use to be.

“Please tell me, he didn't tell his unfunny joke.” Fred showed up and put his hand around my shoulders, us both looking at George now.

“Of course, I did.” George beamed. “He got it before you did!” I started to laugh even though I was shaking my head. I missed them too much not to find their jokes funny.

“There he is!” Bill started towards me. “My best man!” With his arms opened, he pulled me into a hug. “You have the rings, right?” He whispered in my ear and I nodded.

“Ron, Fred, and George bet against Ginny and Hermione that you'll forget.” He rolled his eyes playfully.

“Haven't they learned already that Ginny is always right?” I laughed.

“Charlie, dear!” Before I could say another word to Bill, my mum put her arms around me and squeezed me so tight that I gave out a little sigh. As she pulled away, the smile that the hug gave me faded from my face when I saw the fury with which she was looking at my hair.

“It is time for you to get a proper haircut!” She roared and pulled me by my sleeve.

“Mum, give it a rest!” I felt like I was 12 again. There was nothing wrong with my hair. “So it got a little out of control, so what?”

“A little?” She said and sat me down on one of the chairs in the kitchen. Fred, George, and Bill were giggling like 14-year-old girls, watching mum pull out her wand and started pointing it at my hair.

“Are you trying to disguise him like Harry, mum?” Fred was wiping the tears of laughter now.

“Another word from you and you'll be next!” She stopped pulling my hair for a second and pointed her wand at Fred. He gulped and took a step backward.

“There's barely anything left!” I shouted as Ginny brought me the mirror. “Mum!”

“At least it looks nice now!” She defended herself.

“Nice?” I shook my head in horror. “Mum, I had more hair on my head when I was born!”

“Oh, don't be silly.” She tried to ruffle it, but there was nothing to ruffle. My hair has never been so short and if I didn't know how to grow it back, I would probably throw a tantrum right now.

“Looking sharp, mate.” Fred and George said together, Bill winking at me.

“I know the spell as well, want to be next?” I hissed at them and they pressed their lips together, trying not to laugh.

“I zink you ztill look 'andsome, Charlie.” I turned around to find Fleur glaring at my 3 brothers, her arms on her chest.

“Thank you, Fleur!” I said, even though I couldn't agree and I couldn't wait for everyone to go to sleep to regrow my hair.

That evening, when most of the house was already asleep, I was sitting in the kitchen with Bill, Fleur, Ginny, Hermione, and mum. Ginny and Hermione were discussing different types of hairdos they are going to try for the wedding tomorrow. Mum was telling Fleur about the tiara aunt Muriel is going to lend her for the wedding and I was explaining to Bill how I got one of my new scars.

It was nice being home. I was worried sick when they were transporting Harry and I knew I wouldn't know how it went without a few days passing by. It was a blow when I heard that Moody was killed and Bill wrote to me how disappointed he was when they couldn't find his body.

On the one hand, I was glad that I was away from everything. I experienced being attacked by the Death Eaters and it didn't matter how long ago it was, it still left a bitter taste in my mouth. Being tortured by the Cruciatus Curse. Seeing so many of my friends die. The Dragons being hurt. Losing Nova...

But on the other hand, I felt like I wasn't doing enough. Recruiting Wizards felt like nothing compared to all the work the Order was doing here. I didn't have an opportunity to take a desk job like Bill. There was nothing desk-job-like about Dragons. I wanted to help, I wanted to be more involved but dad said that I already fought my battle and Bill said that he is certain the time will come when we will have to fight again.

“Charlie!” Fleur's exciting voice snapped me out of my thoughts. I looked at her. She was leaning on her hands on the table, looking at me.

“Yes?” I liked Fleur. I think she was perfect for my older brother but we didn't talk much, at least not without a bunch of people around us, so she startled me when the whole room went quiet and they were waiting for what she was going to say to me.

“You are zo 'andsome!” I raised an eyebrow at her. “Bill iz getting married now, you are next!” She lifted her hand confidently in the air.

My heart started to beat faster. I didn't want to talk about my love life. Not to her, not to anybody.

“'ow come you don't 'ave a girlfriend? You should 'ave found someone by now!” Hermione gasped. All eyes were on Fleur. Nobody dared to look at me. The room was now so quiet that I was sure they could hear my raising heartbeat.

“How dare you!” Mum stood up and started towards Fleur. I extended my arm just in time to stop her.

“You...didn't...tell...her?!” Ginny hit Bill in the arm with every word. I turned to him, an apologetic look in his eyes.

“I didn't...I...” Bill was lost for words. Hermione and mum looked like they were going to burst into tears at any moment.

“What did I zay?” Fleur whispered. Her hand over her mouth, her face puzzled.

“That's enough!” I snapped. “Mum, stop piercing Fleur with your eyes. Ginerva stop hitting your brother!” Ginny stopped, her eyes on me now, her hand still clenched into a fist.

“I'm sorry, Charlie...” Bill started, his voice trembling. “I...I didn't know how to tell her and it was never the right moment and...”

“Bill...” I took a deep breath. “It's okay.” I lifted a hand at him to make him stop talking. I closed my eyes, then looked at Fleur.

“You didn't do anything wrong.” I reassured her. “There was someone. Her name was Nova. She was my schoolmate. We were best friends since our First Year.” I swallowed hard. Years might've past but it didn't mean it was any easier to talk about her. “We started dating in our Sixth Year and she worked with me in the Sanctuary.”

“Oh.” Fleur breathed. Both her hands over her mouth now.

“The Summer after He Who Must Not Be Named came back, Death Eaters tried to steal our Dragons. Between fighting them and trying to save the Creatures, they attacked one Dragon and he breathed fire at us from the pain they've caused him. We were both supposed to die, but she...” Fleur was now shaking her head, tears in her eyes.

“She saved me and the burns were too severe to save her.” I blinked fast a couple of times. I didn't want to cry in front of my mum, otherwise, she would hex Fleur.

“We were engaged. One month away from the wedding.” I said in a barely audible voice.

“Oh, Charlie!” Fleur jumped from her seat and wrapped her arms around me. “I am zo zorry! I didn't know!” She cried.

“It's okay. You couldn't have known.” I said softly. I didn't blame her as much as I didn't blame Bill for not telling her. Why would he tell her anything like that? Things like this don't just come up in a conversation and I know how close Bill was to Nova, it probably isn't easy for him to talk about it either.

Mum's look softened as she sent Hermione and Ginny to bed. Fleur gave me one more apologetic look and her and Bill went upstairs as well.

“Charlie.” I looked at my mum. “I am sorry for the way I reacted.”

“Mum, it's okay. Don't mention it.” I smiled faintly.

“It's just...”

“I know. Mum, don't.” I raised my hand to stop her. I already planned on talking to her before I leave back to Romania and I really didn't want to talk about Nova twice. Not to her. It was painful for both of us.

“She is just so...” Mum was looking towards the stairs leading to the floors above, frowning.

“Mum...” Her eyes turned back to me. “I think you shouldn't be so harsh on Fleur. She proved times and times again how much she loves Bill and I don't think it's fair how you're treating her.” Her expression softened, her mouth open at my words.

“I know. I don't know why I am so strict with her. I never was with Nova.” Her voice shook, saying her name. “But then again, Nova was...” She sighed, looking at nothing in particular behind me. “Perhaps it's because of her. I am trying to compare them too much.” She swung her hand.

“Don't. Fleur is great and Bill is happy with her and that's all that matters. She is just as worthy of being in our family as Nova was.” I said gently.

“You're right.” She came closer and cupped my face. “You're just like your father.” She whispered and kissed my cheek. “You both have the biggest loving heart that sees the best in everyone.”

She nodded her head to the stairs, indicating that I should go to sleep as well while wiping a tear off her cheek. I didn't dare say another word and slowly started going upstairs.

[chipper9906]

Heal The Cracks Within My Heart - Chapter 6: No More Tricks

<- - - Previous Chapter

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR LOKI SEASON 1 EPISODE 6 ‘FOR ALL TIME. ALWAYS.’

Pairings: Loki/Sylvie

Rating: General Audiences

Chapter Word Count: 8,958

Overall Word Count: 57,236

Status: Multi Chapter Fic - In Progress (6/?)

Chapter Preview:

“Good to meet y’all,” Miss Minutes said with that unnerving smile, walking – but not really – across Mobius’s desk and over to Loki and Sylvie. “I’m sure you can’t wait to get to work protecting the sacred timeline!”

“Oh, simply ecstatic,” Loki said with as much sarcasm as he could fit into one sentence. “Something to finally give my pathetic life some meaning. How about you, Sylvie?”

“Like a dream come true…” Sylvie drawled.

“Great to hear!” This Miss Minutes was, apparently, incapable of picking up sarcasm.

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One of the (few) good things about the sprawling size of the TVA was that there were often parts of it with no one in sight. It was on one of these floors, where the files hadn’t been disturbed for so long that they were collecting dust, that the Gods of Fate had smiled upon them and opened up the Time-Door into. 

Mobius’s head was the first to peek through the Time-Door, looking both left and right down the miniature hallway. Once he had confirmed there was no one that had seen the Time-Door manifesting from nowhere, he waved both Loki and Sylvie through, before stepping fully back into his place of work. 

“This feels so wrong,” Sylvie complains as they walk, tugging at the restricting dress shirt around her neck. Loki regards her from the corner of his eye, scanning up and down her body as he takes in her new uniform. 

“It is a little weird seeing you without your armor.” Loki reaches out to tug at the lapels of her TVA blazer, grinning unabashedly when she smacks his hand away with a weak glare. “–But for the record, I think you look stunning whatever you choose to wear.”

“Oh dear God,” Mobius groaned dramatically in front of them, forcing Loki and Sylvie’s gaze away from each other and over to him. “Is your plan to just constantly flirt with each other to get me to find these files faster? Coz I’ve gotta say, it’s working.”

“It almost sounds like you’re eager to be rid of us,” Loki said, sounding almost offended. Almost. 

“You’re both probably bearable on your own, but the two of you together?” Mobius shook his head. “Nightmares, the both of you. An insane amount of people exist out there in the Universe – now made even bigger with this whole mess you’ve made – countless amounts of variants you could have run into, but no, you had to go and find versions of yourself and hook up with them!”

“First of all, are you telling me you aren't a little bit curious to know what another variant of yourself would be like?” Sylvie asked, bringing Mobius to a grinding halt and turning to face them.

“No, actually. I'm not,” Mobius said in disbelief at her question. “I could have happily gone on with the rest of my life without ever thinking that, thank you. And now I know I won’t be able to stop thinking about it.”

“Give it a try,” Sylvie said, throwing a wink in Loki’s direction that nearly made Mobius groan out loud again. “And secondly… no one understands you better than yourself. We have our similarities – a few Loki traits that seem to stick no matter what form we take – but… we’ve both walked different paths. Genetically different, souls the same; but whilst they were formed the same, they’ve been molded by our experiences. So, whilst we may not see things the same way sometimes, at the end of the day, we just…”

“Understand each other,” Loki finishes for Sylvie with a tender smile. 

“God, it really is like puppy love,” Mobius mumbled as he turned back around and continued onwards. “Feels like I’m watching a couple of teens trying to figure out how feelings work…”

“That’s… an apt comparison, actually,” Loki admitted as they both picked up the pace to keep up with Mobius, not wanting to get lost in the maze of TVA corridors. It was only occasionally that they walked through a section with a worker milling about the place, or saw an occasional Minute-Men either patrolling the area or simply passing through to wherever it is they had been ordered to go to. 

“Things seem calmer than last time,” Loki noted. He wasn’t sure whether it was good or bad that the TVA wasn’t still freaking out about the whole multi-versal situation they had on their hands. Every now and then, as they passed through different corridors, Loki would see a flash of that horrific statue proudly displaying 'Him' as he stood over all his subjects. At least they knew now that Sylvie’s guess of being able to select a previously opened Time-Door and return them to the same TVA was correct…

“Things seem empty,” Mobius corrected him. “This place is usually bustling with activity -- and now it’s a ghost town. If we’ve dispatched most of our workers out into the field, then…” Mobius sighed deeply. “Things can’t be doing too well…”

Mobius came to a sudden stop as they rounded a corner, nearly walking straight into a TVA worker who had also been rounding the corner. The man blinked in surprise at Mobius, not even registering Loki or Sylvie behind him. The man pushed his glasses back up his nose, frowning at Mobius before looking somewhere behind him. 

“Mobius? Where have you been? They’ve been looking everywhere for you, man. Judge Whittle’s about to blow a fuse if you don’t get down to his office stat.”

“Forgot I need to grab these guys,” Mobius lied smoothly, gesturing with a flick of his head back to Sylvie and Loki behind him. “They have some, uh… some research I asked them to collect for me that I think could be of some use.”

The man finally looked over to them, thankfully not looking too suspicious of them as his eyes darted between them both. “Right… Well, you better not keep Judge Whittle waiting. What with everything going on, I think he’s trying to hold onto some sense of time, and being late again might just snap his last thread.”

“That’s why I’m headed there now,” Mobius assured the man with a pat on his shoulder and a friendly smile. The man returned the smile, giving all three a respectful nod before walking past them and disappearing out of sight around another corridor. Mobius released a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding, fixing his already tidy tie as a force of habit. 

“I have to say, you’re an excellent liar,” Loki commended Mobius. “Are you sure you’re not a variant of us, too?”

“God, I hope not,” Mobius retorted, continuing to lead them forward once more. 

“Wait, hang on-,” Sylvie said, tugging at Mobius’s arm. “Did he say Judge Whittle?”

Mobius looked back to Sylvie with a confused frown. “…Yes?”

“What about Judge Renslayer? What happened to her?”

Mobius stopped outside of a stereotypical-looking office door, pausing with his hand on the door handle. “Judge who?”

Both Sylvie and Loki shared a look of surprise, strangely unsettled by the idea that Renslayer apparently didn't exist in this timeline. Or, at least, hadn't been taken from her life to work in the TVA. What other changes would they have to expect to come across in this timeline? And how much of an effect would each small change have?

"Doesn't matter," Sylvie told Mobius. "Just... someone we know from another timeline."

"And by 'know', do you mean 'have killed', or...?"

"Us personally? No," Loki answered. "But last we saw you — the other you — you were headed back to the TVA to give Renslayer our regards, so... we don't actually know what happened to her."

“Given my fighting skills? Nothing, probably,” Mobius guessed, yanking down on the handle and swinging the door open. It was only once Mobius had stepped inside and out of the way of the door that Loki noticed the little golden plaque attached under the little window, the name ‘M. Mobius’ etched into the metal. 

“Come on. I don’t know how much time we have,” Mobius called them into the office. “Considering I’m expected in Whittle’s office, we probably don’t have long until someone comes to fetch me.”

“You have an office?” Loki said in surprise, stepping into the room with Sylvie close behind. 

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

“The you I know never took me to his office,” Loki replied, glancing around the small space that had been allocated to Mobius. It looked… well, like everything else in the TVA, really: neat and organized, drab and boring; painted with soul-sucking colors that, at this point, reminded him of a prison. 

“Maybe he didn’t have one.” Mobius dropped down onto a squeaky office chair, fiddling around with the buttons on one of those ridiculously bulky-looking computer monitors until it whirred to life. “I can’t imagine every variant of myself is good enough at their job for—” 

“He was just fine at doing his job, actually,” Loki was quick to defend Mobius. Which was quite strange, as he was defending Mobius to… Mobius. “Managed to out-lie me a few times, which I can assure you is a tricky thing to do.”

“He was the only one of your bumbling workforce that was able to keep hot on my tail,” Sylvie joined Loki in defending Mobius, much to Loki’s surprise and… a little bit herself, if she was being honest. “I was able to stay one step ahead of him until he roped this idiot in—” Sylvie jabbed a thumb in Loki's direction. “—And he led you right to me.”

“To try and recruit you.” Loki now had to defend himself. “I wasn’t exactly a volunteer worker; it was work with them or be reset.”

“And here comes the old couple bickering…” Mobius mumbled under his breath. Before either Loki or Sylvie could point out that, whilst technically over a thousand years old, they were still considered young by Asgardian standards, Mobius had opened up some sort of application that brought up some virtual files in a holographic display.

Much to both Sylvie and Loki’s displeasure, these files were also accompanied by the cheery bright orange face of Miss Minutes. Sylvie barely restrained herself from unsheathing her sword hidden beneath her blazer and slicing the southern-speaking mascot in half like she desperately wanted to do back in the Citadel. 

“Well, hey there!” Miss Minutes greeted them, sounding as chipper as ever. “Ooo, new faces! Do we have some new recruits, Mobius?”

“You could say that…” Mobius answered, brow pinched in concentration as he swiped through the seemingly endless amount of files in the TVA’s database. 

“Good to meet y’all,” Miss Minutes said with that unnerving smile, walking – but not really – across Mobius’s desk and over to Loki and Sylvie. “I’m sure you can’t wait to get to work protecting the sacred timeline!”

“Oh, simply ecstatic,” Loki said with as much sarcasm as he could fit into one sentence. “Something to finally give my pathetic life some meaning. How about you, Sylvie?”

“Like a dream come true…” Sylvie drawled. 

“Great to hear!” This Miss Minutes was, apparently, incapable of picking up sarcasm. “Is there something you needed my help with, Mobius?”

“Yeah, actually.” Mobius scratched across his upper lip, disheveling his neatly combed mustache. “I’m, uh… getting out new recruits up to speed with what they need to know about… about ‘Him’.”

“Have they had the talk yet?”

Loki wasn’t entirely sure why, but something about that question made him want to shiver off this layer of discomfort that seemed to coat him. At the same time, the last time someone had ‘the talk’ with him, he was unable to look his mother in the eyes for a good few days. 

Mobius’s eyes flickered up from the monitor to Miss Minutes. “Yeah, they’ve had the talk; they know why they’re here.”

“Well okay then!” Miss Minutes chirped, crossing her arms behind her back with a gleaming smile. “Anything in specific you need me to find?”

“Yeah, any files we have on His TemPad,” Mobius said, wheeling himself back a bit from the desk and yanking open one of the drawers. 

“Bit of an odd request,” Miss Minutes commented as she began flipping through the holographic files in front of them. Mobius continued digging through his desk, searching through different folders with a look of concentration. For a moment, Mobius’s hands stilled over something, but Miss Minutes' overexcited voice stole away their attention. 

“Alright, here we go!” Miss Minutes flicked the holographic file through the air, and both Loki and Sylvie wore matching frowns as it disappeared from sight. The question of where it had gone was answered as Mobius pulled his TemPad out from his desk drawer with an “Ah-Ha!” of success, proudly waving the TemPad in their direction. 

“Anything else you need me to do for you?” Miss Minutes asked, sounding both polite and… terrifying. 

“Uh, no -- this’ll do.” Mobius returned Miss Minute's politeness with a smile of his own – even if it did appear quite forced and strained. “Thank you.”

“You’re more than welcome!” Miss Minutes said before disappearing in a weird move where she seemed to fold into herself, all three in the room thankful for her absence. 

“I never thought a cartoon clock mascot would make me fear for my life,” Loki said, still staring suspiciously at the space where Miss Minutes had vanished from.

“Okay, let’s see what we’ve got here…” Mobius muttered, fingers dancing across the TemPad as he brought up the files Miss Minutes had just sent him. His eyes scanned rapidly across the screen, skipping to what seemed to be the most important segments of information. 

“Interesting…” Mobius leaned forward against his desk, resting his head on his hand and tapping his index finger against his upper lip.

“What’s interesting?” Sylvie asked, not appreciating that she couldn’t see the information she needed, whilst knowing that it was right there in someone else’s hands. 

“Oh, just how vastly superior that thing on your hand is to this,” Mobius answered, waving his TemPad around like it was now useless. “For one, the efficiency on that thing? From what I’m seeing, it’s probably… four or five times more so than ours?”

“So, you’re saying that this TemPad can do more before it runs out of battery?” Loki asks, pointing to Sylvie’s hand. 

“Not that you even have to worry about that,” Mobius said with a disbelieving chuckle. “You noticed how that thing doesn’t have a port to charge it?”

Sylvie shot Mobius an annoyed look, crossing her arms across her chest. “Just how oblivious do you think I am?”

“Man, you guys really do find a way to turn people’s words into an insult against you,” Mobius noted, sounding almost amused by the revelation. “Is that a self-conscious thing, or…?”

Sylvie, on the other hand, did not look amused. “I’m good on the therapy session, thanks. You were saying about charging it?”

“Oh, au contraire -- I think therapy would be an excellent choice for you guys,” Mobius teased with a grin, which he quickly wiped off his face at the death stares he got in return. “Alright, alright. The thing about charging this TemPad is… well, that you don’t need to.”

“Come again?” Loki asked. 

“From the looks of things, His version of the TemPad kind of… recharges itself?” Mobius struggled to find the best way to explain what he had just read. “Well, not entirely from itself. The TemPad makes a connection, if you will, with its owner. Or… master, I think would be a better word.”

Sylvie raised her hand up closer to her face, peering down at the TemPad. Almost on cue did its surface come to life, emitting a soothing hum as power ran through its complicated circuits. 

“And… what does the connection do?” Sylvie asked, looking away from the TemPad back to Mobius. 

“It uses you as its batteries,” Mobius answers. “It recharges through you. Your life force, your energy, whatever you wanna call it.”

“Uh, should we be worried about that?” Loki asked, just barely resisting the urge to yank the TemPad off Sylvie’s hand and throw it as far as he could at the thought of it draining away her life. 

“Considering ‘He’ is still alive after eons of using it? No, I don’t think so,” Mobius assured them – although just barely. “At the end of the day, ‘He’ is human, just like us -- uh, well, me, anyway. Taking into account the fact that you guys are both demigods with access to magical powers, I’m pretty sure the TemPad will barely scratch the surface of your energy.”

“Then… how did it not affect ‘He Who Remains?’” Loki asked. “Something that needs that much energy… it has to take its toll.”

“Maybe you can ask him before you kill him,” Mobius suggests. “My best guess? ‘He’ probably needs to ‘recharge’ himself. You know: sleeping, eating; all that boring mortal stuff?”

“You say that like we don’t need to eat and sleep, too.” Sylvie retorts.

“Uh-huh. Still doesn’t change the fact that you’re gods. I mean, how old are you guys again?”

“Point taken,” Loki conceded on both their behalf. “How long does the TemPad take to charge, then?”

“Depends on how drained it is,” Mobius says, turning his attention back to the displayed file. “It’s charging all the time, so as long as you’re not opening up Time-Doors left, right, and center, it usually has enough power that you don’t even have to think about it. If you somehow do drain the power enough that it’s nearly empty then… from ‘His’ experiments, it seems it takes a day or so to get it back to full power.”

“Experiments?” Sylvie picked up on the word. “What kind of experiments?”

“Well, ‘He’ didn’t always spend his time behind a desk organizing the strands of time. Before he created us, it was just him out there -- jumping from timeline to timeline, trying to bring some semblance of peace and order to the chaos.”

“About that–,” Loki interjected. “–The whole ‘jumping from timeline to timeline’ thing... Did ‘He’ jump between those timelines randomly?”

“Uh…” Mobius turned back to his TemPad, scrolling through the block of information it displayed. “Seems like it, for the most part.”

“So there’s no way to select a specific timeline?” Loki asked, casting Sylvie a down-trodden look. “No way to find a specific timeline?”

“We weren’t exactly designed for that,” Mobius replied, flicking away the information on his TemPad. With a few more presses of his fingers, the screen of his TemPad displayed a diagram of the sacred timeline -- if it could even be called that anymore. What he showed them more closely resembled a plate of spaghetti than the single straight line of the timeline. “See this right here? This is exactly what we were supposed to stop. We weren’t meant to travel between timelines, because the very existence of another timeline outside ours means we failed at our jobs.”

“But that’s what it was like before the TVA was created,” Sylvie pointed out. “Somewhere in there is the timeline we came from. We just need to find it again and travel back to it.”

“What for?” Mobius asks. “Why’s your timeline so important?”

“It’s the sacred timeline,” Sylvie answered, quickly continuing when Mobius opened his mouth to argue. “Yeah, I know, your timeline was also the sacred timeline, but it wasn’t until me killing ‘Him’ created all these different timelines.”

“Okay, sure-,” Mobius said with a nod. “That still doesn’t explain why you want to go back to that timeline. You killed that version of ‘Him’ in that timeline, didn’t you? Why else do you need to go back?”

“Because that timeline contains a few people that could be useful in defeating the other versions of ‘Him’,” Loki answers. 

“And… how do you know that?”

“Because they were the only versions of themselves that were able to kill another mad ruler,” Sylvie says, glancing at Loki with her face softened in pity. “The only being who was destined – and able – to kill us…”

“Oh…” Mobius cleared his throat awkwardly, unsure whether to continue scrolling through his TemPad or keep talking. “Uh… I don’t know if this is inconsiderate of me to say, but… maybe it would be worth getting that guy to join your team? Since he was able to kill you, maybe they could-,”

“No.” Loki didn’t even need to give a reason why he was against that idea. The tone behind that one word said more than any explanation he could give. 

“Fair enough, scratch that idea-,” Mobius made the smart move and returned his attention to his TemPad. “Selecting certain timelines, selecting certain timelines… Ah, here we go! Seems it’s… huh.”

“What? What’s huh?” Sylvie asked. 

“There is a way to select a specific timeline. Kind of,” Mobius answered, standing from his chair and making his way around his desk to them. “Could you hold up the TemPad for me?”

Sylvie did as Mobius asked, holding out her arm in front of her so the TemPad was on display. 

“You remember what I said about the TemPad making a connection with the user?” Mobius asked, getting nods from them in return. “Well, the connection goes deeper than that. So much so that… only the person who has been designated as the leader of the TVA can use it.”

“What?” Sylvie splutters. “I’m not the leader of the TVA-,”

“Tell that to the TemPad,” Mobius returned. 

“Sylvie… I think he might be right,” Loki said, getting Sylvie to snap her head towards him. “He wanted us to rule the TVA, remember? Someone to take over his job. He offered us the position, took off the TemPad, and then-,”

“But I didn’t accept it!” Sylvie argued, looking more and more horrified with every passing second. “I just-”

“Took the TemPad,” Loki cut her off, filling in what she was about to say. 

“Far as the TemPad is concerned, you’re the leader now,” Mobius told her. “You see those gold lines running across the surface?” 

“Yes, but what’s that got do with anythi—”

“They’re not just for design,” Mobius answered before Sylvie could finish. “Those lines? They’re actually timelines.”

Sylvie blinked in surprise, glancing first over to Loki, then down to the TemPad. 

“You see, ‘He Who Remains’ wanted to make sure he could return to his timeline whenever he needed to,” Mobius continued, nodding to the TemPad. “Mostly to make sure none of the other variants of him were wreaking havoc on his timeline, but also… just to return home, I guess. Do me a favor and run your hand along its surface, would you?”

Sylvie shot Mobius a curious look, but did as he asked anyway. The surface of the TemPad shifted, the squiggly lines running along its surface passing by in a blur of movement. Then, it seemed to settle on a certain design, displaying the usual bright gold line with branches coming off of it. 

“That right there?” Mobius began, looking between the two of them, and then down to the TemPad. “That’s your timeline, Sylvie.”

Sylvie’s head shot up at that, feeling her heart clench at his words. It was… it was impossible. Her timeline didn’t exist anymore. Judge Renslayer and her Minute-Men had made sure of that. 

“Now see, if I try and select a timeline-,” 

Mobius’s hand moved towards the TemPad, and almost on instinct did Sylvie pull it away from him, holding it protectively to her body. Mobius let out an exasperated sigh at the defensive action, dropping his hands back to his sides and shoving them into his pockets. “Really? Isn’t trust supposed to be a two-way system?”

“From what I’ve heard,” Sylvie said as Loki unconsciously tried to move closer to her. He had done this a few times before, and this time, she found herself moving closer to him, too. “Not sure your argument works when you clearly don’t trust us, either.”

“Can you blame me?” Mobius asked, getting you a genuine huff of laughter from Sylvie. 

“No. If anything, I respect you for it,” Sylvie said. 

“Good form of self-preservation, really,” Loki added. 

“Fine. I won’t touch it.” Mobius turned around on the spot, strolling back over to his side of the desk. “Guess you’ll just have to take my word for it.”

“What would have happened?” Even if Sylvie didn’t want Mobius to touch it, that wasn’t to say that she wasn’t curious as to what he was trying to show her. 

“Nothing,” Mobius answered with a shrug of his shoulders. “It wouldn’t have responded to me -- because I’m not its owner.”

“But… why would He have just given it up like that?” Sylvie asked. “I hadn’t agreed to anything yet.”

“‘What’s the worst that could happen,’“ Loki mimicked He Who Remains’s words. “Either we took over, or an infinite amount of Him manifests into existence and fights to get back to where He was. No matter what option came to be, he no longer needed that TemPad.”

“Still seems strange to me that he just… gave you the TemPad,” Mobius thought out loud, placing his hands on the desk and resting his weight on it. “That is what I saw, right? He just… took it off and slid it across the desk to you.”

“Yeah… He did,” Sylvie’s face pinched into a frown, slowly looking up to Loki. “Loki, did you ever notice how… he seemed almost excited at the idea of me killing him?”

Loki mirrors her frown, thinking back to what felt like a lifetime ago now. “In what way?” 

“He was looking at you guys kinda funny during your big fight,” Mobius said, drumming his fingers across the desk. 

“Was he?” Loki asks. “I was a little too distracted at the time to notice.”

“He even looked strangely invested when you guys, uh…” Mobius trailed off awkwardly, hoping they would fill in the blanks for themselves. When Loki and Sylvie only stared blankly back at him, he hung his head with a dejected sigh. “Oh, for the love of… When you kissed, for god's sake…”

“Oh…” Loki was surprised to feel the flush of heat to his face. “Again, a little distracted -- which, I think was your plan.” Loki cast Sylvie an annoyed look at that last part.

“Already said I’m sorry–”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah -- how about we move on from that.” Mobius hurried them past the miniature bickering session that was likely to start. “Or… no wait, let’s go back to that.”

Loki and Sylvie looked to each other at the same time, like they were somehow able to communicate through eye contact alone. “Let’s go back to… us arguing?” Sylvie wanted to clarify. 

“Yes! But, no, don’t actually argue—” Mobius somehow made this all the more confusing. “What was it that He said to you guys? Something about trust, or… being unable to trust—”

“He asked me if I could trust Loki.” Sylvie, of course, remembered this. She knew she’d never forget. “And… if I could trust anyone at all."

Mobius nodded to himself, staring down at his feet as he thought. “Why would he say that? If he wanted you to work together, to lead the TVA together, then… why would he plant those doubts in your head?”

“It almost seems like he was trying to get us to fight,” Loki said to Sylvie. “Maybe… he never really wanted us to take over.”

“You think he wanted to die?”

“I think he wanted to be reborn,” Loki corrected Sylvie. “I don’t think he was just tired; I think he was bored. After countless years of writing everyone’s stories – himself included – I think… I think he wanted you to open up the multiverse, to live an infinite amount of lives outside of his own script.”

Sylvie shook her head with a bitter laugh, her lip curling in disgust as she looked down to His former TemPad. “My whole life, I only had the thought of watching His life drain away to get me through the day… And now, it turns out I did what he always wanted, anyway.”

Sylvie reached out a hand towards the TemPad, the glow of its timelines reflecting in her shining eyes. She ran a finger softly across the timeline – her timeline – watching as the TemPad slowly moves with her finger, displaying the different branches that come off of her timeline. 

“Is this really my timeline?” Sylvie doesn’t look away from the TemPad. 

“It’s what the files say,” Mobius tells her. 

“How is that possible?” Sylvie tears her eyes away, looking up to Mobius. “My timeline was pruned.”

“Exactly. It was pruned,” Mobius says. “But now we have this whole mess of branches, forming into a whole mess of timelines.”

“So?”

“So, somewhere out there is a timeline where you were never picked up by us,” said Mobius, looking pointedly to Sylvie’s TemPad. “Oh, right -- it’s that timeline right there.”

“A timeline where the TVA never interfered…” Loki says in wonderment, turning wide eyes towards Sylvie. “Your timeline never would have been pruned…”

“My family…” Sylvie whispers, finding herself frozen in shock. “My home… my life…”

“So… we’re on Sylvie’s timeline now?” Loki asks Mobius. “How would that work when we, apparently, don’t exist…?”

“This isn’t Sylvie’s timeline,” Mobius said, scooping up the TemPad he left laying on his desk and tucking it into his jacket. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. When you grabbed the TemPad and opened a door here, it should have opened up into a TVA on your timeline. But… it didn’t.” 

Mobius took a seat on the edge of his desk – despite the perfectly fine chair right there in front of him – crossing his arms against his chest with his back partly turned to them. “What were you doing whilst you were opening the Time-Door? Was there any interference?”

“Oh, um…” Sylvie glanced awkwardly to Loki, whose raised questioning eyebrow quickly dropped into a look of realization at her pointed look. 

“Ah…” Loki drawled out slowly, scratching at the back of his head. “Would us, uh… touching be classified as ‘interference?’” 

“Oh, you were–” Mobius cut himself off with a burst of laughter, slapping at his knee. “You opened up that Time-Door whilst you were kissing, didn’t you? That explains it…”

“Does it? Feel free to pass on that explanation to us -- you know, if you feel like it.” Sylvie didn’t appreciate being the recipient of Mobius’s ridicule. 

“The TemPad was trying to open up the Time-Door to your specific timeline. Problem is… it didn’t know which one of you to focus on. Can’t open one door into two separate timelines, so, it had to compromise. Instead of opening up a Time-Door into either one of your timelines…”

“It opened up into one where we don’t exist.” Loki guessed correctly. 

“You both canceled each other out,” Mobius tacked on. 

“And what about the others?” Sylvie asked.

“The other… what’s?”

“The Apocalypses we jumped to,” Sylvie clarified. “Were they… were they my timeline?”

“If it was just you touching the TemPad? Then yeah, it would have been your timeline.”

“That must have been why it was different,” Loki said in realization. “Those attackers… they came earlier than they were supposed to, didn’t they?”

“One small change can lead to a whole ton of butterfly effects.” Mobius slowly made his way to the side of the desk, sliding the drawer closed as he went. “Some of those changes can be small, like… like someone speaking one word on one day differently. And then the other changes…”

“Can breed a multi-verse ending conqueror,” Loki finished grimly, getting a shrug of agreement from Mobius. 

“So… we know we can get to my timeline. Is that the only way we can select a specific timeline?”

“Right, the uh, the other sacred timeline,” Mobius mumbled, scratching at the back of his head as he thought. “Well… you came from that one, right? You made a connection between that timeline to this timeline when you shoved Loki through that Time-Door.”

“But we’ve moved on since then,” Loki pointed out. “If Sylvie touches the TemPad, it’ll display her timeline, won’t it?”

“If that’s the one you select, sure. But–”

“But the TemPad saves previously opened Time-Doors.” Sylvie already knew where Mobius was going with this. “That’s how we got here in the first place. I opened up a Time-Door I had already opened before, back in the Citadel.”

“Which is the timeline currently on display,” Mobius said. “All you’ve gotta do is follow that timeline back… and it’ll connect to the timeline you came from.”

“Hang on…” Loki turned his attention back to Sylvie, his brow furrowing in thought. “What about my timeline? Would… would that have been re-created too?”

Sylvie placed a comforting hand on his arm, giving his bicep a kind squeeze with an understanding smile. “Guess there’s only one way to find out.”

Loki looked genuinely taken aback as she unwound the TemPad from her hand. For a moment, she simply stood and held this greatly powerful device in her hands. She kept her eyes locked with his, a note of understanding passing between them as she slowly held out the TemPad for him to take. 

Loki didn’t take it. Not right away. “It might not work. Not just because my timeline might still remain erased, but… what if the TemPad can’t have two owners?”

“’He Who Remains’ made it clear he wanted both of us to rule.” Sylvie pushed the TemPad into his chest. She grabbed hold of his hand, pulling it up to the TemPad and curling his fingers around it. “Besides… we might be two separate beings, but our souls exist as one and the same. If it works for me? Then I know it’ll work for you, too.”

“You are very confident,” Loki noted with a small smile, his weak grip on the TemPad strengthening as he finally took the TemPad from her. 

Loki couldn’t bring himself to look at the TemPad as he slid it onto his hand, experimentally flexing his fingers to get used to the feeling of the cylindrical object sat atop his hand. Sylvie nodded at him in encouragement when his eyes landed on her, letting her hand slip away from his arm to make sure they were no longer touching. 

Loki finally dropped his eyes down to the TemPad. Sylvie’s timeline continued to blink up at him, just waiting for its new owner to press his touch into its surface. Loki let his hand hover over the TemPad, a moment of shaky hesitation passing before he swiped his finger across the flat surface of the TemPad. 

In the blink of an eye, the surface began to change. Billions upon billions of timelines flashed before his eyes as the TemPad searched for his timeline, and for one heart-stopping moment, Loki wondered if it would simply be searching forever, his timeline removed from all of existence. 

And then it stopped. It stopped, and Loki and Sylvie could only stand and stare at the brilliantly gold streak of lightning that stared back at them. Right there was Loki’s timeline. Right there was a universe where none of this had ever happened -- an unlimited expanse of possibilities his life could have taken.

And that’s when Mobius held the pruning stick to Sylvie’s neck. 

Loki knew it was foolish of him to let his guard down, even if in the presence of – who he supposed – was a friend. But it wasn’t his friend. This Mobius might have been witness to the events that led to their friendship, but he didn’t experience them. And that was made all the difference, it seemed. 

One second, Sylvie was right there next to him, looking at the TemPad just as he was. The next, she was just… gone. Loki’s head snapped up in a daze, taking in the sight of Sylvie struggling vehemently as Mobius wrapped an arm around her neck, keeping her pinned to him as he held the glowing end of the pruning stick much too close to Sylvie for either of their comfort. 

Sylvie looked more pissed at herself than she did at Mobius. Just like Loki, she had made the foolish mistake of letting her guard down. The entire time she had been here, she had every possible guard up and alert, just waiting for the moment this all went to shit. And then… and then Mobius had told her that somewhere out there is the family she knows, the family she never got to grow up with, and she had stupidly returned back to the state of that little princess of Asgard who had no reason not to trust anyone. 

“Don’t struggle.” Mobius’s words did not come out as a command. Not that he wanted them to sound like it. It was more a word of advice than anything. “I don’t want to accidentally catch you with this thing.”

“Then why are you holding it to my neck?” Sylvie forced out through gritted teeth, continuing to struggle despite Mobius’s warning. She kept her gaze focused on the pruning stick Mobius had snuck out of his desk drawer, her hands dug into the arm around her neck, tugging uselessly at them to get his hold to loosen. Except, every defiant pull to his arm only resulted in the pressure against her neck tightening, coming dangerously close to cutting off her air supply. 

“Mobius, what are you doing?” Loki spluttered out, yanking out his dagger from his jacket pocket in a flash of metal. 

“What I have to.” Mobius took a cautious step back away from Loki, dragging a very uncooperative Sylvie with him. “And don’t you think about going for that sword, Sylvie. The moment I feel your arms move anywhere down, I’ll prune you before you can even come close to touching it.”

Sylvie laughed mockingly at that. Loki stood in a battle-ready stance, looking very much not amused by Mobius’s words as Sylvie had. “You’re not used to the whole ‘threatening demeanor’ thing, are you?” Sylvie goaded him. 

“I’ll admit it’s not my forte.” Mobius carefully maneuvered himself back around the desk, placing it between him and Loki. Loki slowly moved forward with him, coming to a stop just in front of the desk. “Especially when I don’t want to be doing this.”

“Then why are you doing this?” Loki hoped his pleading tone would get through to Mobius in some sort of way. 

“Because it’s my job,” Mobius forced out the words with as much authority as he could muster. 

“You’ve seen the truth!” Sylvie grunted, still fighting against Mobius’s hold. “You know what He did to you! To all of us!”

“That doesn’t change the importance of my work.” Mobius’s words make the weight in Loki’s chest sink heavier. “Or the importance of His work. I agree with you that this whole thing ends with Him; I just don’t agree with your method. I think… I know that the strands of time are only safe in His hands. Only He can untangle and sort out those strands and ensure the timeline runs through to the end without any problems.”

“Mobius, no–” Loki desperately hoped he could get through to him. “If that was the case, then we wouldn’t be right here, would we? You wouldn’t have existed if that was the case. Sylvie and I wouldn’t exist. But that’s what's happened, whether by His deciding or not. If we just sit back and let him rise to power once more… what’s to stop this from happening all over again?”

“And what if your version of Him isn’t the one that comes out on top?” Sylvie asks Mobius, lessening her struggles now that Mobius held the pruning stick even closer, buzzing away mere inches from her face. “Somewhere out there is a variant of him that isn’t interested in pruning the other timelines. Instead, he only wants to rule over them all.”

“It’s up to Him to decide what we’ll do about that,” Mobius replied, much to Loki’s dismay. 

Mobius sighed lightly, ducking his head with his eyes clenched shut. “Please, just… do as I say. I meant it when I said I don’t want to be doing this. I think… I think you guys could be of some help to us–”

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Sylvie groaned. “You’re trying to recruit us now?”

“Not right now,” Mobius corrected her. “I know you won't right now in this moment. But… you’ll see. You’ll see that this is the only way. Now, please, if you’d just… hand over the TemPad. I promise we won’t reset you, or put you in a time-loop -- nothing like that.”

“Mobius–” Loki tried again, only to be cut off by the man in question.

“It won't be long before someone comes into this office. I can’t guarantee they won't do something drastic if they come in and see you like that with your weapons. But if you come cooperatively–”

“We’ll be slaves to the TVA, just as you are?” Sylvie asks, voice soaked in disgust. “No thanks -- I’d rather take my chances with the pruning stick.”

“Yeah… yeah, that’s a good point,” Mobius mumbled, much to Loki and Sylvie’s confusion. “You… you voluntarily pruned yourself, didn’t you? The both of you were pruned, and you made it out…”

“We did,” Loki confirmed, taking a single step closer, feeling the wooden panel of Mobius’s desk pressing into his knees. “And we both took down the creature He himself tamed and weaponized to devour timelines whole.”

“In other words… do it,” Sylvie spat at Mobius, giving one last attempt at breaking free that yields no results. “You know as well as we do that that’s not a threat to us. Not really.”

“No, I suppose you’re right,” Mobius agreed. Seeing Mobius deactivate the pruning stick briefly filled Loki with a surge of hope, wondering if maybe, just maybe, they had found a way to deescalate the situation. That hope prompted surged out of him, however, as Mobius flipped the pruning stick around in his hand, now holding the pointed, sharp spear end of the stick against Sylvie’s neck. “You might be able to escape pruning… but can you come back from a blade in your throat?”

No. No, they could not. 

“Mobius, please,” Loki begged one more time, holding out a dagger in front of him. “Stop this. You’ve seen reason, I know you have. I don’t want to do this as much as you don’t–”

“Then just hand over the TemPad,” Mobius said like it was a no-brainer decision. Loki felt his muscles coil in anticipation as the very tip of the spear pierced Sylvie’s flesh, clenching his jaw hard when he saw the small trickle of blood slip down her neck. He had to make a decision–

“You know your magic doesn’t work here,” Mobius reminded him with an almost pitiful expression. “This is it, Loki. No more tricks from the trickster.”

Loki decided. 

“No. There’s no magic,” Loki agreed, holding out his dagger like he was about to drop it in surrender. 

Loki dropped his hand down in a flash, connecting with the surface of the TemPad, just as he had seen He Who Remains do back in the Citadel. Mobius blinked, and then Loki was gone. He startled, not even having time to ponder over what had happened before Loki blinked back into existence behind him – not that he could see – and slid the dagger he held in his hand right in the small of his back. Mobius jolted at the searing pain that erupted from his back, barely able to get out a gasp of pain as his body locked up. 

“–But I still have your technology,” Loki completed the rest of his sentence before yanking the dagger out from Mobius’s back. 

Sylvie took advantage of the slackening of Mobius’s grip, forcing an elbow back hard into the side of his ribs. Mobius had completely let go at this point, but she still spun around on the spot, bringing up her leg and kicking Mobius hard in the chest. Mobius went down without much resistance, slamming into the wall behind him with a pained grunt. He slid down to the floor, leaving behind a trail of red against the wall as he went.

“Huh…” Mobius’s eyes were unfocused, staring blankly to the ground in front of him. “You know, I… I could have sworn I heard you said to that other me that… that you were done stabbing people in the back.”

Mobius dredged up just enough energy to raise his eyes up, meeting Loki’s agonized ones. There was… nothing in his eyes. No blame, no hatred, no fear. But… there was nothing good there, either. No forgiveness, no kindness he’s seen from Mobius plenty of times before. It was just… blank. He was blank. 

One second, Loki's staring at a man whose heart was still pumping, whose blood still circulated around his body. Then, he was actually able to see the moment the life drained away from him, like a candle being blown out. Any semblance of the man he knows disappears from Mobius’s eyes, his head dropping down to his chest before he slowly slumps down to the ground, staring without seeing. 

The weight of the dagger in Loki’s hands had never felt as heavy as it had before. His shaking hands lift the dagger up, the buzzing fluorescent lights of Mobius’s office reflecting off the shining surface of the blade. The dagger had served its purpose, had done what it was designed to do. And yet, as Loki stared down at the offending item and took in the sight of Mobius’s blood coating the once perfectly clean metal, he wanted nothing more than to cast it into the eternal flame and watch it melt into nothing.

How many times had he done exactly this? He was far from inexperienced in battle, and far from inexperienced in hurting those he cares about for his own gain. So why, this time, did he feel the burn of bile in the back of his throat? Why, this time, did his hands shake so hard that he let his trusted weapons drop to the ground? Why, this time, did he find himself stumbling down to the ground, breaths coming short and fast as he stared at the corpse of the only friend he’s truly ever known?

“Loki…” Sylvie’s voice sounded far away and muted, as if they were underwater. In the back of his mind, he registers that she’s moved in front of him, blocking him from seeing Mobius’s corpse. Her concerned face fills his vision, blurry as if his eyes were filled with tears. Wait… were they? It would certainly explain the stinging sensation he felt in them, and the wetness he could feel rolling down his face. 

Her hands cup his face, desperately trying to bring him back to himself. Just like Mobius, his eyes had gone scarily blank. “Loki, it’s not your fault. It’s not, okay? That’s… that wasn’t him. That wasn’t Mobius -- not really.”

Something flickers back to life in his eyes. They shift around, searching across her face as if he was finally seeing her here, still with him, sat right in front of him. He swallows hard, his gaze drifting to where he knows Mobius’s corpse lies behind her. 

“I know.” Simply hearing Loki speak out loud helped to lessen some of the fear that had been constricting her chest. “But… it also is.”

Sylvie didn’t even know what she could say right now that would be of any comfort to him. She had never really had to comfort someone before, or had someone comfort her. Except… well, she supposed that Loki had attempted to comfort her a few times: back on Lamentis when it seemed like the end of the line; or in ‘The Time-Keeper’s chambers when they realized the Time Keepers weren’t real. But then, even if she did know how to go about comforting him, this certainly wasn’t the place to do it. Not with Mobius’s body sat right there behind her, and not in a place where they could be locked up at any moment. 

Sylvie turns her head towards the office door, just waiting for the sounds of rushing footsteps to echo down the hall. A part of her thinks it would almost be better than the silence they found themselves in -- apart from the repetitive tick of the clock hung in the top middle section of the wall Mobius was slumped by.

She needed to get Loki out of here. She didn’t care where, or what timeline it was, it just had to be not here. Sylvie brushed her thumb tenderly across Loki’s cheek, wiping away a stubborn tear that clung to his skin. She dropped her hands away from his face, turning to Mobius’s body with a grimace. Avoiding looking the corpse in the eye, she reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the TemPad he had stored in there, trying her best not to disturb his body too much. 

“Sorry, Mobius,” Sylvie whispers as she moves away from his body, casting him one last regretful look before straightening herself into a stand. The TemPad in her hands was at least familiar, and yet… it felt wrong to use, now. Shaking her head, she flipped open the screen to the TemPad, letting out a breath of relief that it was fully charged. She entered in the information for the Time-Door without much of a thought, its manifestation enough to force Loki’s gaze away from Mobius’s body. 

“We need to go,” Sylvie reaches out a hand towards Loki, grateful that his eyes follow the movement of her hand instead of settling back on Mobius. Loki nods, hesitating for a moment before he picks his dagger back up from the ground. His TemPad clad hand clasps onto Sylvie’s, taking her offered help as she pulls him up to his feet. She doesn’t let go of his hand, even when he’s stood back on his feet, and when Loki squeezes her hand in thanks, she knows she's made the right decision. 

“Don’t look.” Sylvie moves in front of him, forcing his eyes onto her. Loki does as she asks, forcing everything in his vision apart from her to go blurry and out of focus. Sylvie slowly starts walking back towards the Time-Door, pulling Loki with her as she goes. 

What Loki and Sylvie didn’t know was that, after they stepped through that Time-Door, someone did come into Mobius’s office. But it wasn’t just a group of Minute-Men. Nor was it Judge Whittle. 

Deep purple robes brushed against the floor as the figure stepped into the room, calculated dark eyes scanning across the room before falling on Mobius. The man sighed, more in irritation at not having caught the intruders red-handed than in the sadness he should have felt for having lost such a devoted worker. 

“They found their way in,” The man calls out to the security detail stood post next to the door. “Get someone to retrieve this body once I’ve looked over it. We need to check for any cross-contamination.”

The man waited until one of the security detail had hurried off to carry out his orders before stepping further into the room. He strode over to Mobius’s body, crouching down onto one knee with his head tilted to the side as he looked him up and down. He reached out, grabbing Mobius’s arm and rolling him over onto his stomach. Immediately, he took sight of the dark patch of red soaked into the back of Mobius’s jacket. With careful hands, he pried the jacket off of the body, followed shortly by the now stained white button-up shirt. 

The man clicked his tongue, resting an arm on his knee as he looked to the open wound that had been carved into the center of Mobius’s back. There’s a tentative knock to the office door he had closed behind him, looking over to it as it swings open. The Minute-Men he had requested filed into the room, standing at attention and ready for orders. 

“You—” He points to one of the Minute Men in line, who somehow manages to stand straighter now he had been singled out. “—Come here.”

Obediently, the Minute Man hurries over to the man, nervous eyes fixed dead-ahead as he waits for further orders. 

“I want you… to take a look at the wound,” The man instructs him, folding his hands behind his back and nodding his head towards Mobius’s body. “Look at the shape of it… the size of it. Do you recognize the weapon that inflicted it?”

“Um….” The Minute Man stammers out, voice trembling with nerves as he kneels down by Mobius’s body to take a closer look at the wound. “It… it seems like a small blade, Sir.”

“Hmm… I’d have to agree with you on that one.” The man places a hand on the Minute Man’s shoulder in what should have been a comforting gesture, but was far from it. “A small blade, expertly wielded, by someone who is… intimately familiar with the weapon in question. And… considering the placement of the wound, I’d have to say familiar with this analyst, wouldn’t you?”

“I… I suppose so, Sir.”

“You suppose? Okay, well, I’ll give you my final theory.” The man’s grip on his shoulder tightens, feeling the trembling of the Minute-Man underneath his hands. “I think… the damage done here was by a dagger. Do you know what that means?”

The Minute Man remained frozen under his hands, wisely letting the man monologue away instead of actually answering. 

“It means it’s them. It means that they’re finally starting to make a move… It means that what I saw, and what I heard, was true. It means… it won't be long before they start hunting down me.”

Next Chapter - - - >

[alldatwrite]

So, I have been (re)watching OUAT, and this scene came across. Perhaps you only see the importance of it if you like Reigna, Snow, or both, but I want to talk about it.

Because damn, it is an important scene.

Now on this scene, Snow calls Regina to have a face to face conversation, because she knows she's lying and she is tired of lying.

Before anyone comes at me, this post's intention is not to justify or excuse neither women or their behavior, or their past mistakes and the crimes they have committed.

That said, let's analyse this scene.

Now, Regina's first words are about Henry. The first thing she had in mind is her son, and his safety, and I think it tells something about her on this early seasons and the beginning of her redemption, because when she meets Snow, she's not on a defensive mode. There's a trust implicit, Regina trusting Snow and assuming that, if she summoned her, it's not because she's going to attack her, but because of Henry.

It's not just about the dialogue, but about the facial expression. She has let her guard down with Snow.

She changes her expression from concerned to bothered when Snow says that's not why she wanted to talk to her. She doesn't look angry, just annoyed and tired, because she can see something coming.

Because we often forget that they lived together for several years, and if anyone knows Snow, that's Regina.

Still, she sits down. She could easily leave the place and ignore her, but she stays because she wants to hear what Snow has to say. The former Regina that the first season presented us would have left in the blink of an eye. This Regina, however, wants to hear what Snow has to say. Even if it's a bad thing.

Also, Snow's few lines thus far into the scene and her expressions say a lot about her growth as well. She's straight forward, telling Regina that they should discuss it. Her expression is firm.

Snow the princess, the one we've seen on the first season was far less direct. She would soften whatever she had to say or she would avoid the main topic. Either this Snow has changed her behaviour towards Regina, or she has thought a lot about that conversation before it happened. Again, Snow has been shown as a bit impulsive, even in other seasons. Anyway, she has a different intention with Regina.

And she doesn't look like she's going to attack her, but she's not going to be soft on her.

The next few lines, we confirm that behavior. When Regina tries to avoid the topic, Snow calls it what it is, word by word, and she looks stern. She's done with any bullshit, with anyone beating around the bush.

It's only when Cora is mentioned, that Regina gets defensive. She justifies her actions with a patronising attitude, telling her that she knows what she's doing, treating Snow like a child that has no idea of what's going on. Apparently, she's back to her old ways.

So is Snow, who mentions that a war is happening and then proceeds to mention how good of a person she is. Again, like she has done before, she's painting herself as a good person, in a sort of savior manner, telling Regina that she is willing to give her one more chance, the last one this time.

Now, Regina's face says it all: she laughs sarcastically, because she has heard this story before, being forgiven even if the other part has no idea what's going on. Snow *thinks* she knows what's going on, but Regina KNOWS what's going one because she is involved.

Now let's get to the juicy part.

Snow tells her to be on the good side, and Regina tells her that she was always *just* the Queen, and that Snow added "Evil" to it. Now, we can read this in two different ways. Snow started calling her "evil" because she tried to murder her, which could be true, but maybe Snow started calling her "evil" before that happened. As far as I recall, the real origin is not shown on the show, and I don't remember Snow being the one who called Regina that. Except for this scene and this dialogue.

Whatever option is true, it is stated that Snow branded the Evil Queen.

What is obvious is that Regina tells her that she is good, that perhaps she hasn't considered this, but Snow insists on what she's doing and that it is not what good people do.

And then, we realise Regina is a scorned woman. She mentions that all her efforts for redeeming herself thus far have been futile because people will never forgive her or accept her. Then, we should remember how many times Regina has defended that evil isn't born, it's made. She thinks (in fact, it could be her philosophy) that people are not born evil just for the sake of it, but instead, she knows there is a transition, a path. A series of people, words, decisions and many more circumstances that turn good people into bad people.

But Snow doesn't see it that way. We have seen them in the past, and Snow trusted and loved Regina, but her words and her attitude make it look like she has forgotten all those good moments and all the good deeds of Regina, like her bad actions null her good ones.

Regina warns Snow to stay away from her, and that's when the fickle brat shown on flashbacks makes a comeback: she attacks Regina with a personal issue, her mother-daughter relationship.

These two women come from a very different way. Snow had a mother, even if it was for a short time of her life, and she has a different view on what a mother should be like because her own mother was a good mother. Regina has had a mother since the very beginning, but she was never a good mother to begin with, and all she knows about family is pain. It's pretty obvious when you see her relationship with Henry.

But this time, Snow's manipulation doesn't work because Regina has grown as well. The Queen would have fallen for it, but Regina hasn't. If you ask me, being alone has helped her.

The Evil Queen was surrounded with people who kept manipulating her. In Storybrooke, she was alone for years until Henry arrived in her life. She's not letting Snow get into her head, she has had too much alone time to think about many, many things. Snow tried several things, like mentioning Henry, but Regina has a clear goal. These two women are more experienced, more mature.

That's when Regina pokes at Snow's weakness, her mother. She tells her that she has no idea of what a mother is like, implying that she doesn't have a mother anymore, she hasn't in a really long time.

At the end, you can see their growth but also their coincidences. Even if they try to paint them as different people, ying and yang, Regina and Snow are too similar. They are stubborn, they have strong beliefs, they have similar methods... the only difference is that Snow sees the world as black and white, whilst Regina sees all the shades of grey (even if she can't quite differenciate them).

Also, you can see how much they crave affection. Regina craves her mother's, while Snow crave's Regina. She tries to allure her so she joins her side, but Regina keeps excusing or justifying her mother to have an excuse to be by her side without feeling negative feelings.

And that, that relationship and those women, are the core of the show. Their growth, individual and as a duo, is what the show is. And that scene is a display of what they were, what they are, and what they will be.

And once you watch that scene and you keep watching the show, you wonder what would have happened if that conversation had gone in a different way. But if it had, their complexity wouldn't be nowhere.

[letsbenditlikebennett]

The Moon Always Rises || Alcher & Ariana

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @zahneundklauen & @letsbenditlikebennett SUMMARY: After disagreeing on how Adam should be handled, Alcher and Ariana finally talk.  CONTENT: Abuse mentions, parental death

As much as Ariana wanted to stay put in her apartment that currently smelled like fresh baked cookies thanks to Athena, she knew she couldn’t avoid talking to Alcher forever. She had to make sure another attempt wouldn’t be made at Adam’s life. He wouldn’t give up this time and she couldn’t stand the thought of losing Layla. Her relationship with Alcher was still developing and she felt it was important they talked this out as much as she would have preferred to stay curled up on her couch pretending things weren’t even half as shitty as they currently were. That wasn’t going to fix anything though. If she wanted to move forward and find some sense of normalcy again, she’d have to keep this meeting with Alcher. It was hard to forget the malice of her actions and how shocked she’d been by claws contacting her face. The only other time she’d ever been hurt by someone she cared for like that was when Layla was hypnotized by that stupid fidget spinner and she hadn’t exactly been in her right mind then. This felt different. She’d been quick to place trust in Alcher and it all felt so fragile now. She wasn’t one to run from her problems though, so she walked into the Common with her head held high and tried to ignore what may be happening here in only a couple of times if Nell’s spell didn’t work. That was more than she could handle at this moment though so she sat at one of the picnic benches and waited for Alcher to arrive with her elbows resting on the table. 

 This was a pivotal moment. Of the two, Ariana had not been the one Alcher had figured would betray her. But it was obvious, now, that being raised by humans had made her soft, and it was going to take a gentle hand-- not the rough one she’d displayed at the peak-- to guide Ariana down the right path. But Alcher could do that. She would swallow her ire and make sure to keep her business to herself. They could approach the topic of hunters and their deaths later. Today, she was sitting on the public bus, surrounded by stenches that made her wish she could not smell at all, and surrounded by people who she wished she could remove from her vicinity. But with a broken leg, walking was impossible. So, she was here, suffering, just to see Ariana. When she arrived, she pulled out the crutch Jared had given her, and made her way through the park and over to the picnic benches where she’d spotted Ariana. She took a large inhale of the fresh air on her way and stopped a few feet short of where she was. “How are you feeling?” she asked, eyes falling on the marks on her face. Ariana was clearly upset about them, so Alcher winced when she saw them. 

After what happened at Lyssa’s Peak, Ariana was unsure of how to respond to Alcher. Anger that her trust had been betrayed still lingered and wasn’t the easiest thing to suppress. As it stood, they were still wolves and the instinct to stick together was still present despite her anger. She could smell Alcher approaching before the woman stood in front of her, wincing at the sight of her face. It was something she’d found herself doing in the morning before she had opted to get rid of her mirrors though that had more to do with the woman inside calling her a murderer than anything else. She gave Alcher a curt nod in greeting and thought it over for a minute. She shrugged and simply answered, “Pretty shitty.” In that moment, she didn’t feel like placating Alcher and pretending she was doing better than she was. Everything was still a mess and the closer she got to the next full moon, the more worry seemed to take over her emotions. She scooted over on the bench giving Alcher room to sit with her. “Physically, I’m okay. Just have a lot to figure out I guess. How are you feeling?” It was obvious that she was still healing. She hadn’t wanted Alcher to get hurt, which was why she had avoided doing any serious harm to her. She couldn’t expect as much from Adam and Nell though. She had been the one to attack after all. 

 Tentatively, as if worried she might be overstepping bounds, Alcher approached the bench. Despite her lingering anger, Alcher appreciated Ariana’s honesty. She drew in a breath through her nose and exhaled softly. “Shitty sums it up,” she parroted, glancing sideways at Ariana. Hands folded stiffly in front of her. “I’m already missing one leg, and the witch broke my other,” she said, knowing Ariana valued honesty. She was keeping much from her, but she could tell her this truth. She leaned back, then, placing her palms on the cool table, looking out across the common. Her eyes did not show her much, blotchy colors, melding together. Browns and greys and light blues. She wondered how much longer her eyes would hold up for her. “I need to know why you defended him,” she spoke slowly, carefully, making sure to put a small hint of worry, concern in her voice. And she was worried and she was concerned-- just, perhaps, not in the way Ariana would suppose. She looked back over at her, as if deeply wounded and hiding the shame. “Why would you defend a hunter over your own kind?”

As much as Ariana wanted to feel bad that Alcher had been hurt that night, she had a difficult time looking over the fact it was her own malicious actions that had led to the injury. That led to the injuries of others she cared for. It wasn’t something she could just forget, but she wanted to move forward either way. “Hopefully, it’ll heal quickly. The moon will likely help,” she said in a tone that mirrored the uneasiness she was feeling. This was a difficult conversation to have in the midst of everything else, but she had to make Alcher see things a bit differently the same way she had with some of the hunters she knew. Her eyes followed Alcher’s for a moment and looked over the dull colors of brown and yellow that seemed to paint the landscape in front of them. Apparently, the trees were starting to be speckled with fiery colors, but she couldn’t tell. The answer Alcher needed wasn’t a simple one, but she would do her best to explain it. “Honestly, there are a lot of reasons I didn’t let you guys kill him. Most of which boil down to  doing the right thing,” she started and found herself letting out a sigh. “First of all, it’s very explicitly against what Winn wanted. Winn understood why Adam did what he did. He’d admitted some things to Adam and he forgave Adam. Winn was there for me through a lot of really terrible times and honoring his dying wishes were important to me. There’s also the fact Adam straight up admitted he knew what he did was wrong and felt bad with it. He’s wrestling with this whole code thing and I think he’s coming around. More hunters and people in general realizing things aren’t quite as black and white as they seem is important if any of us are ever going to know peace and happiness.”  

Ariana shook her head lightly and tried to find a better way to articulate it. While she wasn’t quite ready to talk about Celeste, especially not with the dreams she’d been escaping to in her game, she could try to make her understand the purpose she’d taken on for herself. She leaned against the wooden tabletop and explained, “This whole thing is so much bigger than whether he’s a hunter or we’re wolves. We’re all stuck in this cycle of violence and it’s stupid. Going back and forth killing each other isn’t going to make anything better. It just keeps this whole thing spinning. Adam’s starting to realize that. See that things aren’t quite as simple as a code that was made hundreds of years ago would like them to be. He regrets killing Winn. I think more people like Adam coming around to seeing us as people who make mistakes, grow, and change just like everyone else is an important part of things getting better. Not just for them. Or for us, but for everyone. Nothing’s going to change if we don’t all do better.” 

 Alcher listened to Ariana’s speech-- to her explanation of why she defended a hunter, of all people. Had he just been human, this talk wouldn’t even be happening. But hunter-- their injustice went far deeper than some ancient code. Humans created hunters to destroy the things they didn’t understand. Her father had taught them that and she refused to believe anything different. It was the only truth that existed. “So you believe that guilt absolves people,” she stated clearly, quietly. “That feeling remorse for an action taken should make up for what was done?” It made little sense to her, but, for Ariana, for another wolf, she supposed she could try. She contemplated a moment. Her father had always called her wise beyond her years, and told her that that was part of what made her a good pack leader. She seemed to always know what to say, and how to be diplomatic. White Crest, however, was proving that wrong. She needed to tread carefully here. “You are a better person than I if that is true. What I know is true, is that hunters have always come after our kind. For centuries we spent our lives hiding, defending ourselves, bending to their will. To the will of humans and those that didn’t understand us. And then they began to hunt us down. Killing us simply because of what we were. They called us monsters and took us from our homes and our families and slaughtered us by the hundreds. One hunter turning against that isn’t going to solve anything,” she explained, though her voice was low and quiet, “the death of one hunter won’t change anything.” 

She shifted, leaning forward now, elbows balancing on knees. “I’d grown tired of waiting for hunters to come for me, to kill me, like they slaughtered my family, long ago. I lived in fear for years, wondering if I might wake one night to find them standing over my bed, vowing to kill me because of the wolf inside of me. Hunters took everything from me, so when I heard that one had taken something from you, from Layla-- from your pack-- I couldn’t help but feel that pain again. I never want another wolf to experience what I did, to have to know what that deep pain feels like. I know you lost your caretaker, Ariana, but this loss was-- a genocide.” She reached down and pulled up her pant leg, exposing her prosthetic leg. “They took my family, my pack, dozens of us-- and they took my leg. I still remember their cries as they all suffocated and burned to death in the very home I grew up in. I escaped because my older brother saved me, hid me in a back room where I crawled up the chimney and waited. I waited for hours.” She let the cloth fall back down. “How was I to know whether this hunter was prepared to do that or not? Layla’s anger felt so much like my own. Regret will not fix anything,” she finished quietly, “it only fosters more pain.”

When she turned to look back at Ariana, she found a tear in her own eye and wiped it with the back of her hand. “I only wanted to protect you, to protect Layla. I am sorry I failed you.” And the words were true. She had failed both of them, and herself, the second Ariana showed up to defend the hunter. “If you truly wish to end this cycle of violence, then how do you propose to handle hunters who do not share this view? What, then? Do we bow to them and let them destroy us? It’s not so simple as all that. Are we not owed the ability to live freely as well as any human?” 

While it was a relief that Alcher was actually taking the time to try and listen to understand, it seemed it wasn’t quite resonating as Ariana would have hoped. She knew the dynamic of hunters and wolves was something that had been deeply ingrained in both sides for much longer than either of them had been alive. She shook her head. “I don’t think it’s quite that simple. Guilt needs to be followed up with action, with choosing to be better.” She looked over to Alcher now still feeling a bit unsteady about this meeting. It was hard to see past everything that had happened, but they needed to move forward. “Adam doesn’t deserve to die for the same reason Winn didn’t deserve to die. Winn had done some terrible things, but he learned better and became better. Nothing will ever truly make up for the lives they have taken, but they both want and wanted to be better. Become a person that doesn’t cause others pain.” It seemed like it was sinking in more though Alcher couldn’t quite fully grasp what she meant. The kindness she’d experienced from hunters, werewolves, vampires, zombies, and banshees alike had painted the way she saw the world. As cruel as the world had been to her, there’d always been those who showed her care in her worst moments. It had been what pushed her forward, made her more determined to make the world just a little bit better. Sometimes, it felt a little too idealistic, even to her in the midst of everything happening with Lydia, but she had to try. For herself. For Celeste. For any future generations that came behind them. As she rested her chin in her palms, she said, “I try to be a good person as much as anyone else. I don’t want others to go through the pain I’ve gone through. I think, at the heart of things, you’re good, too. You have your whole mission of helping wolves. To an extent, that’s still true. I know some hunters will never change their ways, but I know enough who have shown me nothing but kindness that I believe things can get better for all of us. That maybe one day, people won’t keep losing the ones they love entirely too soon and too violently.” She shook her head and explained, “It only takes one person to start. To be better than those that came before them for it to spark change.” 

There was a frown on her face as Alcher explained how she lost her family. Ariana was almost grateful that the night Celeste saved her had been a blur. She remembered howls and gunfire, but outside of that, she couldn’t recall much else. Seeing how Celeste died had left her haunted more nights than not. She let out a breath and looked to Alcher with her brows unfurrowed and her eyes soft. “I’m sorry about your family. I don’t really remember the night mine died because I was too young, but that really does sound terrible. I appreciate that you want to keep Layla and I safe. To look out for us. I really do, I just don’t think this is the way. I think Layla would have ended up regretting it. Her and Adam were friends aside from the fact Layla doesn’t like violence. Hell, she doesn’t even eat meat for most of the month. I saw how much accidentally killing someone destroyed her. I know she’s upset now and misses Winn, I do too, but this would have only made it worse. I don’t want to watch her spiral or do something reckless again. She’s my best friend and I’m supposed to look out for her on all counts, you know?” Ariana could understand how Alcher’s experience was so different from her own. A hunter never spared her, cared for her. Not the way Celeste had done for her and even Layla. It seemed wrong to bring that up now though. “I know he won’t. Well, not unless you literally try to kill him again but that becomes more self defense than anything. You couldn’t have known that, but you could have kept talking to me about it first instead of just signing off on me.” 

Having this conversation over and over again was becoming exhausting. People seemed so committed to misunderstanding her intentions that Ariana found herself having to bite back the frustration. It wouldn’t help with her overall goal. “I’d never suggest you just let them come kill you. There’s a huge difference between self defense and specifically seeking someone out to kill them. There’s no reason anyone should just lay back and die. We deserve a chance at a happy life as much as anyone else.” 

 For all her youth, Ariana was wise beyond her years. Alcher was keenly aware of this. She was sharper than most, she understood intentions better than most. Her emotional intelligence far out wieghed most any other wolf Alcher had encountered, aside from herself and probably her mother. Alcher didn’t often find herself thinking of her mother and the tidbits of wisdom she had given her-- Alcher was much more like her father. Stalwart, astute, observant. She was great at understanding those around her and using words and actions to get them to follow her, to listen to her. Her mother had always favored Klaus, whomst Alcher distinctly remembered calling a crybaby for a large portion of their childhoods. He was sensitive, emotional, moody. The complete opposite of her, and this was why their father had picked Alcher to be his successor, to be the head of the family when the time came. Except, the time never came. And in the end, it was Klaus who had saved her. She was alive not out of pragmatism or leadership, but out of emotional response and love. She felt her heart ache for Klaus the most. “An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind,” she mumbled quietly, and that was her only response to Ariana for the moment, as she listened again. Tried to understand why she felt the way she did, why she would want to defend a hunter. Why she thought not fighting would end the violence. Why she thought one person could make a difference.

But, in the end, was that not Alcher’s motivation, as well? To end the violence, one hunter at a time? Perhaps they were not so different. It was simply their methods that differed. Vastly. Uncompromisingly. She turned a sullen glance Ariana’s direction and pondered a moment longer.  “I failed my family, Ariana, and I’m still making up for it. I traveled around helping out lost packs because I knew I needed to make up, somehow, for the loss. I felt beholden to that pain for so long. Layla might be young, as are you, but she is still responsible for her own decisions. She came to me, asking for this. If someone had come to me and offered me that opportunity, as a child, to look the hunters in the face who had hunted down my family, I would have taken it, too.” Instead, though, Alcher had had to hunt them down and find them herself. And then after, she’d still found she still missed her family. It wasn’t enough, their blood wasn’t enough. She’d needed more. And maybe, she though, Layla would want more, too. She was not so sure now. “Part of learning, part of growing, is figuring out what decisions to make, and living with those consequences. Whatever she decides now, I will stand by her. But,” and Alcher had to strain herself to stay relaxed as she said the next bit, “I will not go after your friend myself. But if he comes after me or Layla, I will not hesitate. You can tell him that.” 

Ariana’s last words were not comforting. Alcher’s brow furrowed but she hid it behind a deflated sigh, brushing hands through her hair. Happiness was beyond her, she knew that much. She’d left it behind in the Canadian forest, buried with her mate. She stared at the red streaks on Ariana’s face, reaching out tentatively. “I am sorry I hurt you,” she said quietly, and a genuine guilt rose in her throat. Despite all his anger and discipline, not even her father had ever struck her across the face, “I have something that will help with the scarring, if you would like it. It’s an old family recipe, one that I’ve used myself many times.”

 By all indication, the two wolves were reaching an understanding. Ariana had hoped for as much. How could she possibly help make things better if she couldn’t even sway other wolves to try and see her perspective? In all reality, they weren’t that different. They both wanted a better world for others like them. They’d both lost their families in terribly violent ways and were trying to honor them in the best ways they knew how. Nothing would ever take away their pain or bring their family back, but if one less wolf had to go through that brutal loss, the world would be all the better for it. She knew Alcher wanted the same thing. It was why she travelled around helping packs as best she could. “Exactly,” she said with a short nod as she didn’t have much more to add to the subject. They’d found some common ground which was all she hoped to come from this. 

There was a small frown on her face still as she listened to Alcher. Better than most, Ariana knew how easy it was to blame yourself for the loss of loved ones. To hold on to some ounce of control that was nonexistent. Morgan had put it so well and she kept finding it to be more and more true. It didn’t lessen the blame she felt in regards to Sammy’s or even Celeste’s death, but it was a good reminder. “You didn’t fail your family,” Ariana said softly, “A friend told me this once and I’m inclined to believe her because I’ve found it to be true for myself. Blaming ourselves is easier because it gives us some fake idea that we had any control in what happened to us, that we have any control outside of our own actions. I’m still- I don’t know, I still wrestle with that, too, but I don’t think your family would believe you failed them.” While she didn’t doubt Layla had made her own choice there, she liked to think she knew Layla well enough to know that she’d eventually regret it. Anger had a funny way of clouding one’s judgment, this she knew better than most. “I know she’s responsible for her own choices, I do. I just think I know her well enough to know that eventually that choice would eat her up. Layla’s one of the most compassionate people I’ve ever met. I understand that choice, I really do. I’ve… thought of it myself a few times. Not necessarily with the hunters that killed my parents and sister-- that came down to self defense and protecting others, but what’s going on now. Part of me wants revenge, but I don’t think it’ll make me feel any better. Maybe it’d keep others safe, but I don’t know. I wish I could properly talk it over so I could figure it out.” 

Her features softened as Alcher agreed to not go after Adam again without being provoked. Tension she didn’t realize had been building up in her seemed to fade away as her shoulders relaxed. “I appreciate that, Alcher. I really do. I can assure you he won’t be coming after you or Layla.” Was that in part due to the fact he was without powers at the moment? It could have been, but he did advise he owed her a favor. “I would never ask you to not defend yourself or Layla if it ever came to that. It does mean a lot to me that you won’t hurt him again otherwise,” she said earnestly. The marks on her face were long since forgotten until she mentioned it again. A remedy would be good. As badass as the scars looked, she did like her face. “I’d appreciate the remedy. I think the kids and my boss were a little more freaked out by it than anything else. I have a pretty high pain tolerance, it’s just… not the most professional look.” 

 Alcher was not sure she could believe Ariana’s words, that she did not fail her family, but she could not explain to her why. Not many truly understood, because not many lived the way her family did. They did not understand how their pack functioned. She understood that it was quite different from most modern packs, but they were more than just a pack-- they were family, by blood, by bond, by everything that mattered. Even the branch packs understood that. Alcher felt her body deflating, but tried her best to keep her composure. She’d built walls upon walls up inside of herself, she wondered if it was even possible to take them down, now, to let someone in. To have another pack, another family. She didn’t know, and she wasn’t sure she was brave enough to try-- to find something happy again, only to lose it. Not with so many hunters around, not with her two wolves the way they were. After a moment, Alcher smiled, morose and far off. “You do not know my father,” she said softly, shaking her head. Alcher almost couldn’t remember his voice, by this point, it had been so long. But she remembered the hard lines in his forehead and the color of his fur, and the way his whole body shifted when he was angry, whether he was wolf or man. “I suppose more than anything, I just miss them,” she admitted quietly. 

Alcher paused. She thought for a moment, about how killing her family’s killers made her feel, about what her heart was telling her. “I can not speak for Layla, but I do not think killing those who have hurt us is about feeling better. I do not feel better about my family knowing their killers are dead as well, but rather, I feel better knowing they can not hurt anyone else like that. That they can not take away anyone else’s family,” she murmured quietly. “Perhaps that was what she was feeling. That tremendous loss weighed heavy on her soul, I could feel that much. Sometimes we make decisions we regret, but we must still carry them, and all the better if we have people there to carry them with us. That’s what I wish to be with her,” she looked to Ariana again, “with you. That’s all.”

Softly, she brushed the side of Ariana’s face with the claw marks, calloused fingers light on her skin. “I will drop it off for you tomorrow,” she said, smiling again, a little lighter this time, “it truly works wonders. My mother used to swear by it.” When their father got done punishing them or working them, their mother, soft and sweet and with the kindest eyes, would come in and heal them, with gentle hands and her family remedy. Alcher’s eyes saddened for a moment. Was she becoming more of her father than her mother? And...was that bad? “I promise I will never harm you like this again. It is...not the person I am or want to be,” she said, and she wasn’t sure if that was the truth or not, but in the moment, it was the only thing she wanted to say. 

 While it was true Ariana didn’t know her father, she had to believe that if he loved her as he should have, that he’d be proud of Alcher no matter what. Even if Ariana didn’t love the way in which she stood by her convictions, she still stood by them. That was something that was worthy of respect. Maybe all parents didn’t show the same unconditional support Celeste had always provided her with, but even so, Ariana knew there was no way she could truly fail her family when Alcher seemed to take it upon herself to honor them everyday. Keep them alive in some way however small it was. Better than anyone, Ariana knew how important that was. “I don’t have to know him to know you didn’t fail him,” she said simply. 

She listened as Alcher spoke even if she didn’t believe it to be true. Layla knew Adam. She had to know he didn’t go around killing supernatural people for no reason. It didn’t make killing Winn any more or less okay, but she knew it made Layla’s motives different than what Alcher was saying. There wasn’t much left to say on the matter so she simply nodded, “I do appreciate you supporting her the way you are. I don’t think she’s had a lot of that in her life. I still don’t agree it was the way to go about things, but I am happy she has someone like you. I’m glad I have someone like you, too.” 

Alcher’s touch was gentle and caring despite the fact she was the one who caused the injury. She seemed genuinely sorry for it and Ariana smiled slightly at the mention of dropping by. She’d be alone most of the day tomorrow with no class or work and Athena back to classes. It wasn’t something she particularly looked forward to considering her own emotions left her distraught more often than not these days so she’d welcome the company. “I’ll see you then. And thank you. I understand things happen and you’re still important to me.” Things seemed a bit lighter now no longer having this weighing heavy on her heart. A pack had been something she’d always wanted and the thought of losing that had affected her more than she thought. There was some solace in knowing that some bonds weren’t so easily broken.

[jasontoddiefor]

Title: Sea shells and all the things he left behind 2/2 Summary: Somehow explaining that you were raised by a siren is not an easy task. AN: I wrote a sequel. Wild, i know.

Read on AO3

Dick didn’t have a chance to explain anything to Wally or anyone else at the aquarium until after Bruce was settled. The siren wouldn’t sleep, Dick would be surprised if he did in unfamiliar terrain, but he had calmed again. The boy, Tim, or secret-who-paints if Dick had caught that correctly, was sitting at the edge of the pool, dressed in a new set of clothes. His legs were dangling in the water and every so often Bruce would pull at them, reassuring himself and the boy. Far more often than that though, his large tail fin dragged against Dick’s legs. His scales were sharp, could cut if grabbed incorrectly, but he had never hurt Dick and even now caressed him as softly as he used to. The entire day had been exhausting and nothing short of a train wreck.

Dick wanted to go home and sleep.

The fact that he couldn’t really recall whether home was the apartment he shared or the caves he had grown up in didn’t help his mind either.

His tiredness must show because Roy and Wally both were sitting next to him in the red zone – the five-meter room all handlers were supposed to stay out of unless they wanted a siren to drag them into the water. From experience Dick knew that that space wouldn’t be enough if Bruce wanted to get to them. He was massive, large even by siren standards and more stubborn than anyone else. If he wanted you dead, you’d be no matter how far away from him you truly stayed.

“Dick,” Wally finally spoke up. “What is going on?”

Dick had no idea how he was supposed to start. He hadn’t ever said a word to anyone, not a single living soul. He’d been angry at Bruce when he had left, but not so angry that he would give away all their secrets.

He turned to look at his father and the mer clicked at him. Yes.

“I was nine when that huge earthquake hit Gotham,” Dick heard himself say. He felt like he was miles, years away from this room and moment. “We were performing in Gotham. I think I told you that I used to be part of a circus?”

Wally and Roy both nodded. Dick was pretty sure that even if he hadn’t, they’d have known. Dick would always be flipping, spinning, jumping and flying. Being an acrobat was in his blood.

“When the earthquake hit, we were in one of the underground trains. Gotham was built pretty much artificially. The earthquake shook it up pretty good and the support just broke. There are large caves underground, huge water dwellings. You can cross the entire city underground without ever touching the surface. Paths towards it are far and few and difficult to access. Most of the people living down there are physically unable to reach them. They don’t particularly care about them.”

“People?” Roy inquired.

Dick smiled wearily. “Yes, people. Mers. There is pretty much a second city right below Gotham. The waters there are toxic, mutated after years of waste being stuffed into them so most of the mers never leave. They’re pretty much incapable of breathing actually clean seawater.”

Dick glanced at Bruce again, who held his head high above the water. He’d always been able to breathe air as well, so he wasn’t suffering too much, but it would aid his recovery if he’d be allowed to submerge completely. They should throw some chemicals in the water, up the chlorine levels. Maybe Bruce’s fins would shine as prettily as they usually did then as well.

“But yes, the earthquake hit and the train crashed into one of those caves. Most people died upon impact or were so severely injured that they died soon after. Others drowned in the water.”

Roy and Wally looked positively sick. Dick couldn’t even blame them. He’d gotten used to the sight of bloated corpses, death and bloodshed to a degree that was honestly concerning.

“But you didn’t,” Wally said and sounded like he was half reassuring himself that his best friend was still there.

“I didn’t,” Dick replied. “Bruce saved me.”

The siren in question frowned when Dick’s friends both set their sights on him, confusion coloring their expressions. It was a little funny, to be honest.

“His name is Bruce?”

Roy’s voice sounded almost a little hysterical. He was probably trying to save up his panic attack for when he could afford to lose his calm in the privacy of his own home.

“It’s actually dark-who-swims-with-the-sharks,” Dick pointed out.

Wally mouthed the clicks and thrills Dick had let out so very easily by comparison, but just shook his head and gave up. “Yeah, that totally sounds like Bruce.”

“I was nine, I couldn’t exactly pronounce it either,” Dick defended himself. Bruce had been very proud of him the first time he actually had gotten it right. His name was still too long to use it regularly so the nickname had stuck.

“So Bruce saved you and what? Helped you back to the surface?”

“After a couple years,” Dick answered.

He didn’t want to think too much about it. In the beginning Bruce had been more concerned that Dick would make it through the nights. He had been injured by the fall and Dick almost couldn’t recall how long it had been until he’d been able to move on his own. A month or two? Probably longer. His diet had suffered a lot and he’d lost a lot of weight until Bruce had figured out that he could not in fact live of fish, never mind raw fish, alone. But then Dick had needed to learn how to hold his breath for a longer duration, until he could swim from the cave that was their home to the next and so on. He was fairly sure that if he tested against the current world champion, he’d be able to hold his breath minutes longer than them without any preparation.

“It’s not like there was anybody else and Bruce was the only other person who could understand me besides Alfred.”

Alfred had rarely left Bruce’s side, they were family after all. Dick knew that it was a common misconception amongst humans that sirens were solitary creatures, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. They just usually didn’t go anywhere near humans with the rest of their family and were therefore only ever spotted and caught on their own.

“Who is Alfred?”

“Another siren. Bruce’s sort of parent but not. It’s complicated and doesn’t translate well into English. He raised Bruce after his… owners died. Point is that I spent six years down in there with him until I reached the surface again for the first time. I think I looked like death, there’s not exactly a lot of bioluminescent fauna down there. I left when I was seventeen because I wanted to be amongst humans again. Studied a lot, played catch up with long-forgotten human manners and here I am.”

“Here you are,” Wally echoed, then froze up, realization settling in. “Is that why you didn’t know any TV shows whatsoever?”

“What?”

That was absolutely not the question Dick had expected. In fact, he had thought that at least one of them would run out screaming by now, calling the nearest clinic because Dick Grayson has gone insane! Or if not that, maybe a government office to inform that that mers were in fact as sentient as humans, had a language and one of them even raised a child. Wonder if that would get Dick an entry on Wikipedia.

“And your obsession with spices,” Wally continued. “And fruits. How are you even healthy, your diet must have been the stuff of nightmares.”

“It was okay,” Dick said. “Just because it’s hard for me to get in and out of the caves, doesn’t mean it was for everyone else. Bruce and Alfred brought me stuff they found out in the sea or on the beaches. I had clothes and like bagged chips, dried fruits and instant noodles. Even a couple books once we figured out how to transport them safely and life got a lot better after I could make my own trips upstairs. And then I left.”

That felt like a simplification, but he didn’t want to share all the gruesome details of that period. Sure, he had gotten books and could actually get caught up on school and the like, but he’d almost drowned on the regular making those trips, which lead to fights with Bruce which lead to leaving which lead to this.

Dick turned to the kid who had listened attentively to the conversation, but hadn’t actually added anything to it. He was a quiet boy, silent in a way Dick had never been. He had always been babbling in any language he knew, from English, Chinese and Spanish to Bruce’s language and all the other dialects of it that his friends had taught him.

“Shit, dude,” Roy cursed and buried his head in his hands. “You got raised by a freaking mer. You got raised by a mer. How-?”

The rest of Roy’s question was lost to the overwhelming realization that Dick was not just one of them. He hadn’t ever felt like it, but he had been able to pretend and that had been good enough. There simply hadn’t been another option.

“So you haven’t actually spoken with… Bruce ever since?”

“No,” Dick answered. “No, I have not and now I’d like to know you found me.”

The kid, Tim, apparently didn’t catch onto the fact that Dick was talking to him now. His head was dropping and his eyes fluttering shut. He had had one hell of a day, just as exhausting as Dick if not worse because he was years younger than Dick

“Kid showed up here with a stolen boat and Bruce tucked into the cooler,” Wally said.

“Not stolen,” Tim muttered sleepily. “It’s mine. My parents were on it.”

When he said parents, his voice quivered so badly that Dick thought he was going to cry any second. Bruce picked up on that as well and moved away from Dick to pay full attention to Tim. He tugged on his legs again, trilling softly, and Tim pushed himself off the pool’s edge and jumped straight into the water, into Bruce’s arms. It was straight to see another child cling to Bruce when recalling how he used to hang onto Bruce. The fins on his arms were so long, Dick had been able to disappear completely in his embrace when he’s been younger. Only his black hair had been visible, like it was now with Tim. Wally and Roy stood up in alarm, but Dick gestured for them to sit down again. He supposed it looked frightening to them, the ocean’s most terrifying killers gently consoling a young child.

“What happened?” Dick asked Bruce.

Tim was in no shape of answering now and Dick wouldn’t force him too, no matter how much he wanted an explanation.

“I was caught,” Bruce replied. “I was looking for terror-who-laughs, but secret-who-paints’s parents found me and put me in a viewing glass. Showed me off to other humans, but secret-who-paints is smart, kind. He’s a good child.”

Bruce scowled and the displeasure was apparent. He hadn’t been in a pool since he was twelve and the Wayne’s had died. Being locked up like that again most have been horrible, especially since whoever Tim’s parents were, they definitely wouldn’t have been able to contain Bruce in a pool big enough for him.

“And then venom-in-his-blood came.”

Dick paled. He had hoped that he had misheard Tim before, that the child had made a mistake in his panic, but-

“Venom-in-his-blood? Are you sure?”

“He attacked their ship,” Bruce continued. “Pulled them off, I’ve been on the sea with secret-who-paints on my own since, we only barely managed to escape.”

“But why would venom-in-his-blood show up in the first place? You defeated him years ago.”

Dick remembered that battle vividly. He had been much younger than, small and helpless and had to watch from afar as Bruce and venom-in-his-blood tore into one another.

“He came back,” Bruce spat. “He came back and Gotham’s falling apart.”

“What are you two talking about?” Wally asked uneasily. “It sounds serious but we don’t speak… that.”

“There is a mer, another siren,” Dick began to explain. “His name is-“ Dick sighed in frustration. ”Just call him Bane. He’s dangerous, incredibly tall. Easily the biggest siren I’ve ever seen, bigger than the ones we have on record here. He attacks humans and mers alike.”

“What for?”

Dick turned to Bruce and Tim. Bruce was swimming slower now, just floating on the surface, really. The kid must have fallen asleep.

“Fun and hunger,” Dick finally replied after moments of silence. “He’s a cannibal and once he set his eyes on his prey, he doesn’t stop.”

Which meant that the moment Bruce swam back to Gotham, Bane would attack him.

[roscoeobrien]

Were-Fox | Stiles Stilinski

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫: @roscoeobrien

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: stiles stilinski x fem!reader

𝐚/𝐧: i’m not the biggest fan of this imagine as writers block is being a pain again, so yeah. i know the imagine and plot is cheesy and i’m a bit ‘meh’ on the ending but overall it’s not the worst thing i’ve written lol.

hope you enjoy!

‿︵‿︵ʚ˚̣̣̣͙ɞ・❉・ ʚ˚̣̣̣͙ɞ‿︵‿︵

Scott and the pack joined up at the front of the Stilinski household at the end of a long day, everyone seeming lost and confused except the McCall boy. Lydia, being the first of the group of friends to join the Filipino boy, asked what most amongst them were thinking. “Scott, you know I’m all up for having pack meetings once in awhile but at the end of an agonisingly long school day? You’re having a laugh.”

“Does Stiles even know we’re here?” Liam questioned as he looked amongst the older teens, noticing the absence of the Stilinski male.

“No,” The alpha werewolf shook his head, his gaze turning serious as his gaze tore between them all. “because Stiles is the reason I called this meeting in the first place.”

Looks of confusion spread amongst the group of friends, Kira being the one to speak first through the uncertainty. “Please elaborate on that, babe. What’s wrong with Stiles?”

“Nothing. Nothing is wrong with Stiles.” Scott shook his head, exhaling loudly when he saw that only caused more lost expressions to be painted on his friends. “But he’s definitely hiding something from us.” He claimed rather boldly.

“How do you know?” Malia criticised, not really one keen to jump to conclusions on the poor boy not even here to defend himself. Plus, she was curious on what had led the teen wolf to his decision.

“He’s been distant these past few months, don’t you think?” The tanned boy sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He only continued when his friends nodded, proving he had a fair point. “He never hangs out with us anymore in his free time. He’s always bailing early in pack meetings and it’s almost as if his mind is set on something else constantly.”

“Isn’t that just regular Stiles behaviour?” Malia folded her arms, her eyebrows knitting together at the argument her alpha was trying to give.

“Not when his heartbeat picks up every time you ask him about it!” The teen barked back, mainly just frustrated he couldn’t grasp what was going on with his best friend. He didn’t get it. Stiles used to tell him everything!

The pack’s discussion was cut sort when Stiles Stilinski suddenly pulled up at the front of his house, clambering out of the jeep and placing his keys back in his jean pocket while jogging up to his house as if in a great rush to get inside. He had gotten halfway up when his friends suddenly appeared in front of him, blocking his path as he took a step back. “Oh, h-hi, guys. W-What are you all doing here?”

“We need to talk, Stiles.” Scott’s got straight to the point, hearing the boy’s heart rate pick up yet again as he fiddled with his veiny fingers- an action he was prone to do when nervous. “May we come in?”

“I-I’m actually in a bit of a rush right now.” Stiles sputtered, gesturing to the house behind his friends as he shifted his weight onto each foot. He gave them a forced, nervous smile. “Ya know, very busy with . . . stuff.”

“Alright then,” When the tanned werewolf shrugged, the Stilinski boy released a small breath of relief. “we’ll just all wait and talk to you when you’re ready then.”

The hazel eyed boy’s irises widened in a form of alert, his head bowing as he quickly recovered. “What? I-I don’t- I don’t think that’s a good idea right now, guys.”

“Why?” Scott protested, a very keen eye set on the boy as he watched him squirm. He didn’t like putting his best friend in this position, but he needed to know what was going on with him. When Stiles didn’t answer, that only fuelled his need for entrance more as he strutted past the young Stilinski and headed up to the house.

Stiles’ feet carried him forwards swiftly, calling out the werewolf’s name loudly as he skidded to a halt in front of him. His hands were held up as he shook his head, speaking with anxiety lacing in his eyes. “Scott, again, now really isn’t a great time. Can’t we just talk about this later somewhere else, please?”

“Stiles,” Scott implored, feeling more worried for his best friend and what he could quite possibly be hiding the more he was denied. “just let us in, dude. You’re never like this- especially with us.”

Stiles remained mute, his brown eyes casting downwards to the ground while his friends surveyed his behaviour. If they weren’t sure on the Stilinski boy being suspicious before, they were definitely sure now. Something was going on . . . and they needed to find out what.

Without another word exchanged, Scott barged past his friend and ignored his calls back as he headed towards the door again. However, he was pulled back by the arm before he could make his way up the steps. Whirling around, he gave his friend a half-hearted glare. “Dude, what is up with you? let us in!”

“Scott, please, just-“ the Stilinski was cut off by his best friend, who whipped his hand out of the hold.

“You’ve been acting off for months now, Stiles! You don���t let us know what’s on your mind like you used to- so something is obviously up! We need to talk about this, Stiles- whether you like it or not!”

Suddenly, Scott McCall was pushed off of his friend by a great force. He landed with a hard thud on the ground, groaning as his friends helped him up. When the tanned werewolf was back up on his feet, his dark eyes widened at the sight in front of him.

You were stood protectively in front of the Stilinski boy, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts and an oversized, buttoned up plaid shirt most likely belonging to Stiles. Your (Y/E/C) shifted to an electric orange, growling lowly in a form of warning.

The pack’s eyes went wide with your appearance, taking in your supernatural state. The others remember how quickly you ran out of the comforts of the Stilinski home just to be by Stiles’ side. The way you stood seemed as if you were ready to risk it all for him, your claws and fangs now appearing when Scott got back up.

Luckily for the pack, Stiles was there and quick to jump in when you looked to be ready to pounce. Gingerly, he grabbed ahold of your forearm and pulled you back to face him. The pack were rather surprised at the way his presence alone seemed to calm you down as his thumb rubbed peacefully over your skin. “(Y/N), it’s alright, I’m okay. These are my friends, they mean no harm. I need you to calm down and unshift before someone else sees now, okay? Can you do that for me?”

Stiles soft words calmed you down, the pack watching intriguingly as you let out deep breaths and closed your eyes to focus on turning back. Little by little, your claws and fangs slowly disappeared back into your normal fingernails and teeth. The last thing to go was your glowing orange eyes, them only fading once they laid on Stiles as he gave you a soft smile.

Now, fully human, you seemed to shy away from Scott and his pack as you curled into the Stilinski’s side. In response, Stiles ran gentle, light fingers through your (Y/H/L) (Y/H/C) hair as he looked upon his friends to give them a sheepish smile. “I guess I owe you all an explanation now. Let’s take this inside.”

Admittedly, the group of friends did feel bad when entering the home. It felt weird, almost like an invasion of privacy due to the fact that they hadn’t been in the home in awhile and they weren’t really given entrance in the first place. Stiles only let them in because he had to after you had ran out, thinking he was in danger.

You gave Stiles a rather nervous look as he sat you down with him on the coach, little to no space between you both as the unknown group of people stood across from you. The boy sent an easy smile your way, trying his best to soothe you in this new environment/experience. So far, the only two people you had gotten to know well and actually trust was him and his dad, so this was a big step up.

“Right,” Malia spoke first, dragging out her words as she rocked back and forth and eyed the couple curiously on the coach and how close they were. “would now be a good time to ask ‘what is going on’?”

Taking a break to deeply exhale, Stiles wrapped an arm round your waist and gently drew circles on your hipbone. “Guys, this is (Y/N). (Y/N), these are the group of friends I was telling you about, remember?” He raised his arm to introduce you all, pointing between everyone.

You nodded in a form of remembrance, vaguely remembering the Stilinski male telling you about them during one of your annual movie nights in his room with you both tangled in his bedsheets with a movie- normally Star Wars- playing in the background.

“A-And how did you two, uh . . .” Scott trailed off, pointing a finger between the two of you as he caught onto your scent. Even if he hadn’t seen your glowing eyes, fangs and teeth come out, your own scent gave you away. You weren’t a human. In fact, your scent was something he had never even encountered before.

“I found her one night while driving back home in my jeep.” Stiles answered, feeling you clutch into his shirt tighter as he told them how you two first met. “She walked right out of the woods into the middle of the road, I almost hit her with how quickly she appeared. During that time, (Y/N) was being held against her will by hunters wanting to sell her. She was badly wounded and bruised after escaping, so I knew I had to do something.”

“So you took her back to your place.” Kira finished, watching as the sheriff’s son nodded back in an answer that she had spoken correctly. With that answer ticked off the box of questions, she asked another. “So, what is she exactly? Is she like Scott?”

“I’m a were-fox actually.” Your first words spoken to the pack forced them all to go into a silence, you looking between them shyly as Stiles rubbed his thumb over your hipbone again as a sign to keep going. “I guess my abilities are similar to a werewolf’s though- I’m just much faster with a little less strength.”

“How come you were being hunted?” Malia wondered, her eyebrows still keeping their furrowed position as she tilted her head.

Taking a small gulp, you answered with. “Were-foxes are much more rarer and valuable than a werewolf these days- there’s not many of us left. Last time I checked, I was meant to be one of the last ones left.”

“What about your family?” Liam curiously wondered, meaning no harm as his innocent eyes watched your face fall in pain.

Noticing this, Stiles cleared his throat to draw attention back to him. He pulled you softly into his side, feeling you tuck your face safely into his neck as you closed your eyes and allowed a yawn to escape. “That’s another story for another time. Right now, she’s living here with me and my dad for her own protection. I’m sorry I didn’t tell any of you guys this, but I just wanted to make sure (Y/N) settled down and grew more accustomed to interacting with strangers before I jumped ahead.”

“No, no, I understand.” Scott nodded, giving his best friend an apologetic smile as his eyes warmed back into its kindness. “I’m sorry for acting the way I had. I was just worried about you, man.”

“I know, Scotty,” The Stilinski boy nodded, looking down at you as small snores began to escape through your lips. You always were a light sleeper. His lips curled up at the way you subconsciously clung to him. “but I think I’ve got all the protection I need with this girl by my side.” He released a small chuckle.

“How so?” Lydia pursed her pink lips, flicking a bit of strawberry blonde hair behind her ears as she watched the boy look down upon the new supernatural being. The way he looked at her was filled with such admiration, as if he adored every single thing about young (Y/N)

“Because, ever since I took her back here and patched her back up, she kinda won’t leave my side now.” Stiles told them all, seeing their eyes fill with an understanding of why the boy was never gone for long periods of time now. Stiles and (Y/N) were just protecting each other. “I know this must be a lot to take in for you guys . . . but I just needed to make sure she was okay.”

“Is she part of the pack now?” Liam turned to his alpha in question, obviously still new to how the whole thing worked.

Scott stared at your sleeping form for a long moment, noticing the way both you and Stiles’ heartbeats synced tighter- which was something he had never witnessed before. It reminded him of the whole anchor term Deaton had taught him about, only this connection seemed much deeper. “If Stiles trusts her, so do I.”

“I trust her with my life, Scott.” Stiles Stilinski had never been so quick and sure to answer a question ever in his life, noticing the way Scott seemed to look as if he noticed something he could not. He would make sure to ask him about it later. “I want her to be in the pack and be friends with you all when she’s ready. I-I just want her to be happy.”

“You really like this girl, don’t you?” Kira smiled sweetly, starting to slowly grow accustomed to your presence next to her friend. She couldn’t help but find the pair of you cute with the way you acted around one another without even realising you wereit doing so.

Stiles Stilinski’s cheeks heated up in a sweet, pink blush, nodding along with the words as he felt you subconsciously cuddle closer to him. “I-I do. I-It’s like a connection that I’ve never felt with anybody- it’s near impossible to describe. I just . . . I just-“

“You love her.” Scott finished softly, tying all the strings together for a result. A pit of happiness filled his stomach for the boy, but he withheld it as he waited for the teen to answer him back.

“Yes . . . I-I think I do, guys. I think I love her very much.”

“Well, if you are willing to put your life in this girl’s hands, I’m willing to do the same.” Scott McCall sent Stiles Stilinski a small toothy smile that grew when he was sent one back. “I guess we have a possible new pack-member.”

Malia scoffed, smirking at the pair on the couch. “Yeah, and it seems as if Stiles has found himself a mate.”

Mate. The words seemed to make everything fall into place somehow for Stiles as he looked down at your angelic, sleeping face once hearing the word. He knew he was human, and how it even seemed remotely possible, he did not know . . . but it still felt so right to him.

Even as the pack said their final goodbyes to him and promised to come and check up on you two soon, the Stilinski’s mind was occupied with a rogue train of thoughts.

Could it really be possible? A human and a were-fox are mates?

“That Malia girl seems quite smart.” Stiles was taken back by your sudden voice yet again as you opened your eyes and turned your head resting on Stiles’ shoulder. “She figured it out.”

“Wha- we’re mates?!” Stiles exclaimed, feeling you nod in the crook of his neck. With his hazel eyes softening, he gently pulled you back so you were now face-to-face with him. His hands cupped your cheeks, you leaning into the touch out of instinct. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You gave him a sorry facial expression as you leaned forward and softly kissed the tip of his nose- your lips curling up with the way his face scrunched up cutely in a reaction. “I’m sorry, Sti, but it’s very complicated with how mating works- even for two of the same supernatural species! I didn’t want to scare you off or confuse you, please forgive me.”

“No, no, it’s okay.” Stiles was quick to assure you, rubbing your back as he pulled you into him for a tight hug and rocked you side to side. “I understand. And, for the record, you didn’t scare me off- you could never do that.”

“Even when my eyes are the colour of glowing Cheetos?” You snickered, remembering the one night he had made that joke and wouldn’t stop laughing about it as you pouted and pretended not to find it amusing . . . when in reality, you did.

Stiles let out a loud laugh, his smile making your heart lift as he looked at you in adoration and allowed his words to flow out as soft and as smooth as silk that would brush against your skin. “Even with that.” He cupped your cheek once more, his thumb rubbing over your cheekbone as he admired the way you looked at him as if he had put all the stars up in the sky for you. “I’m glad we’re mates, (Y/N). It’s going to take a lot of research and time to get used to, of course . . . but I’m happy to be yours.”

“Even if-“ the boy’s hand covering your lips made you stop.

Stiles’ cupid-shaped lips quirked upwards yet again, his face slowly beginning to lean in. He kissed you slowly and passionately, you responding in the same way as you both felt something stir in your chests. “I’m glad to be yours.” He repeated in a whisper against your puckered lips.

You smirked into the kiss, reaching up to cup the back of his neck as your fingers played with the ends of his chocolate brown locks of hair. “I’m glad, ‘cause you’re kinda stuck with me now.”

The teenager beamed at the words as he looked at you. “I don’t mind that at all.” He shook his head.

And, as you both sat comfortingly in each other’s arms in his house, Stiles knew everything was right. You were the star that lit up his dark nights . . . and he knew that the feeling was mutual.

You would protect him with everything you had, and he would do the same. You would risk it all for each other . . . because that’s what mates who love each other do.

━ 𝐑 𝐎 𝐒 𝐂 𝐎 𝐄 𝐎 𝐁 𝐑 𝐈 𝐄 𝐍

[arazialotis]

Winchester & Co. - Part 4

Pairing: Dean × Reader

Word Count: Around 3100

Summary: When most people run away, they join the circus; but the Winchester boys were running from it. They wanted more than their father’s business; a paranormal circus of horror and delight. Dean Winchester thought he would never step foot here again but John’s death obliged him to return. Now that he’s back, the only thing that may tempt him to stay is you. The girl with white hair and a gift to see the future. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Warnings: Violence, Language

Beta’d by the wonderful @misguidedconqueress

As the days passed, you were nowhere near closer to solving the mystery surrounding John’s death. Snippets of the future from staff lead to more questions than answers, loose strings that you and Dean couldn’t tie together. Your stolen moments in the field shortened as Dean dove further into his father's office, looking for hints; but soon the demands of the business pulled harder. Balancing books, distributing salaries, ordering supplies. The witch Celeste by far had the most extensive list, requiring ingredients for the potions she peddled. 

The ledgers were sprawled across his father’s desk as Dean attempted to recall the past weeks of spending and income. He scratched up his own writing and mistakes, muttering to himself at his hopeless attempt. A rapping knock at the office door stirred him from the concentration. 

“Sorry to intrude.”

Dean smiled and sighed in relief. His kid brother, now taller than he. Sam entered the room, greeting Dean with an embrace.

“Man, am I glad to see you.” Dean gently beat against Sam’s shoulder. 

Two years prior to Dean’s own departure, Sam had left the circus after a furious confrontation with John. He packed his bags and took a train out to the East Coast, landing a spot at some pretentious institute and coming out with a law degree. It was far from accounting, but as far as Dean was concerned, Sam could handle the bookkeeping far better than he. 

“It’s been too long.” Sam matched the sentiment, lightly patting Dean’s jaw, taking in his exhaustion. “An event such as this shouldn’t have to force us together.” 

“Agreed.” Dean went back to the scribbles of his books but paused again. “How much do you know?” 

Sam furrowed his brow. 

“About Dad’s death?” Dean clarified. 

Sam nodded his understanding. “I met with Crowley at the tent. He caught me up to speed, leaving out a few key details I’m sure.” 

“Call me crazy.” Dean wrung the back of his neck. “But I’m beginning to trust that son of a bitch.” Dean could see the confusion painted on Sam’s face. “He’s motivated by greed. Being Dad’s second in command was the best thing going for him. Without knowing what was in the will and a hefty pay increase last quarter, I just don’t see it.” 

“And the girl?” Sam pried. 

“What of it?” 

Sam sat down in the office chair, kicking his feet up onto the desk. “Is your judgment surrounding her clouded?”

Dean clenched his jaw. Sam had his own past here. “Why were you really at the tent?”

Sam cleared his throat and brought his feet down. “Point taken.” He shuffled through the papers. “And the will?”

Dean pointed towards a ledger and Sam found the slip underneath. “It’s pretty straight forward. Not much legal jargon you need to sort through.” 

Sam leaned back, running his hand through his untrimmed hair, verging on a length the courtrooms wouldn’t find acceptable. “What the hell are we going to do?” 

It was a question Dean found himself asking over and over again this past week. It was no longer a home to him, but a home to so many. Home to you. “I have no idea.”

***

The warmth building in the caravan transmitted into your dreams, making it hard to breathe. Looking up, two unfamiliar figures loomed above you, heated in an argument. Her hair, the color of fire sparked with her temper. And he, a modest man, a cooling dark against her hot spirit. His hands were calloused from hard labor. 

“You have to keep a better eye on her!” The woman yelled. “You know it’s not safe for her to go out.” 

“What would you have me do, Eileen? I work two shifts so you have a place to live. I need to sleep sometime!” He defended. “You're not the only one who works!” Showing her hands, colored from dyes and chemicals. 

Tears slid down your eyes, though you didn’t know why. It felt like your fault. 

“All that talk? It’s all just rumors! If they see her… they’ll understand.” He begged. 

“You can’t believe that’s true. Look at how they treat us! Our people! They’ll treat her just the same. Even worse for what she is.” A kettle screamed from the kitchen, she threw her hands up and left the conversation to take it off the stove. 

He followed, the words becoming blurred as you looked out the window to towering buildings stretching for miles, wishing to fly over them and breath fresh air. 

The sound of heavy boots stomped outside the hallway. You ran to her, burying your face into her skirt. A knock sounded on the door. The couple looked at each other. The man went for a fire poker while the woman bent down to meet you. She pushed white hair out of your eyes. 

Her voice filled with worry, hissing like the kettle. “Hide. Hide, Moonchild.” 

In the small apartment, there were few places to hide. You ran to the bedroom and slid under the bed. You peeked out from the sheet, hanging an inch or two above the floor. Muffled voices and the sound of scraping feet. Maybe it would be okay. Maybe you should come out. Your heart thudded against your chest. Bang! A shot rang out through the air. A scream escaped your lips and your hands went to your ears, covering them from the woman’s cries. 

Her feet scurried into the room and her plea’s protested against the attacker. Another shot. Red dots speckled the floor where she fell with a thud. Her eyes open, staring at you. Your hands covered your mouth this time, backing up further under the bed until you hit the wall. Boots thudded around the room. You couldn’t breathe. They were right next to you. ***

You woke up in a panic. Your mouth and eyes dry, panting in the warm air. Sunlight crept through the cracks of the caravan. It was just a dream. It was just a dream. You repeated over and over to yourself until the panic subsided. 

Scuttling around your little caravan, you went for some water to quench your thirst but were out. A trip to the well then. You grabbed a large wooden bucket and rag; leaving the house, not bothering with a shawl or shoes. 

The circus was already up and bustling. They were all up earlier to be first in line for a trader from town. He came around monthly, selling goods and trinkets. Items for purchase that were not made available by John. You fancied a lotion he sold, that smelled of amber and vanilla. You took it in your hand. Strictly to use for your desire, not because you wanted to entice a certain someone. A smirk crept over you at the thought of him. Inspecting other items, you settled on just that and tossed him a few coins, before continuing on your way. 

You weaved through the stalls and shacks, waving to familiar faces as you went. You waved to Castiel who was meeting with Celeste, though he didn’t seem to notice your presence. Pausing to wait, it seemed they were having something of a debate. 

“Celeste, pull your act tonight. We’re running out quicker than I anticipated.” His arm leaned against her small home, watching as she brewed away some type of potion. “Things are going to get out of hand.”

“There are too many.” Celeste hissed. “I can’t remember them all.” 

“I’m working on it.” He assured. “Just do what you can. With both boys…” He stood straight when he noticed you. “Y/N, pleasant morning for a walk.” 

You swang your bucket back and forth, as if you only just arrived, hoping he didn’t realize you were eavesdropping. “Ay.” You agreed. “What brings you out to these parts?” You eyed Celeste suspiciously. 

Castiel pushed up off the house and joined you in the path. “Customers complaining that the love potions are too weak, making sure the next shipment has all of Celeste’s ingredients this time.”

“That seems more up Crowley’s alley.” You stood your ground, not being so easily fooled. 

Castiel sighed as your eyes darted between him and Celeste, working out what they had been discussing. “Walk with me Y/N.” He instructed. You followed him along the path to the well. The wooden shacks that passed as homes began spacing out and grass filled in the gaps. “Listen Y/N. I know how fond you are of Dean.” A blush filled your cheeks, you looked down to your feet and kicked a loose pebble. Had it already traveled that fast around the circus? He continued. “And Dean, he’s like a brother to me, but he’s been out of this a long time. With John gone, there’s a lot of gaps Crowley is trying to fill. I’m trying to help, is all.” 

You clicked your teeth, and shrugged away your suspicion, mostly. “Well, I’m not doing much of anything, so I’m happy to help.”

Castiel stopped as the path split and rested his hand on your shoulder. “That means a lot. I’m sure once we understand the scope of things, there’ll be something for you to do, no doubt.” His hand dropped as he looked down the path. “Well, I’d better get a move on it.” “See ya, Cas.” You headed down your own. “Oh Y/N.” Castiel turned from his direction. “How are you? From our last reading?” 

You chuckled. “Oh, fine. Just fine. It seemed like just a fluke. Maybe I’m only supposed to read humans, not angels.” 

Castiel nodded. “Makes sense. Take care.” He waved goodbye. 

You waved him along, silent with your thoughts; sorting out the whole ordeal. You pushed it away. Celeste and Crowley, now that would be a pair to be leery of. But Cas, no. You had seen the stress trying to run the operations had caused Dean. He needed all the help he could get. Not that he would ask for it. From what Castiel had said earlier, Sam was back. That should calm things down for the foreseeable future.

The well broke away from the surrounding trees, a small clearing in the forest. It was quiet today, others were not gathered around. You lowered your bucket in and brought it up, the water sloshing as it went. 

You smiled, finally being able to quench your thirst and cool the heat of the day. You cupped your hands and brought a drink to your lips, before splashing the remainder on your face. You wrung the rag, now damp and worked it behind your neck and down your arms. Pulling up your skirt and revealing your bare legs underneath, you scrubbed away at sweat and dirt. Finally satisfied, you indulged in the sweet scent of the lotion. The sun glistened against your skin as you rubbed it up and down your legs, humming as you went. 

A whistling tune joined your melody. Your cheeks flushed and you whipped down your skirt to cover yourself, turning towards the noise. “Ah.” You scowled at Dean and tossed the rag at him. “How long have ya been there?” He chuckled and came closer. “Only a bit, didn’t want to spoil the view.” He was standing over you, smiling ear to ear. As much as you tried to suppress yours, a smirk still came through. “You rotten scoundrel.” You playfully accused.

He sat down next to you on the edge of the well. “We do have facilities with running water, you know.” 

You shrugged your shoulders. “I find this more soothing, and typically more private. Though I do realize it may not be as effective, hygienically speaking.” 

He took your chin in his hand, turning you to face him. “You smell lovely.” 

Your lips turned up devilishly. “Perhaps I taste even better.” 

Dean leaned in. His soft lips working against your chapped skin. He trailed from your lips down your neck. You moaned from the pleasure, your hand snaking through his hair, pulling him further into you. His name faintly escaped your lips as his hand clutched at your waist. The crash of the wave settled as he finally came up for air. 

“Inconclusive.” He stated. “Further testing will have to be done.” He teased. 

He leaned in, yet you pushed him away, giggling as you did. “Rotten.” You repeated before lowering your voice to a sultry whisper. “As for further testing, you’ll have to come by later tonight.” 

“So actually…” As he spoke, you huffed in defeat. “With Sam back home, we were planning a small ceremony for dad tonight.” Your pouty-ness melted away at the good cause. “Of course you’re welcome to attend.” 

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

***

A full-length mirror was one of the very few items that adorned your caravan. Looking at it now you were displeased. Not because of the chipping gold varnish, or the discoloration in the glass, splotchy, and in need of a polish. No, it was because of what was looking back. You had ditched your traditional garb for a tea-length black dress. It was John’s funeral, after all. But the material picked at your skin. The dress itself made you appear darker, more sinister than you cared for. Like you were the demon-witch they all accused you of being. You swallowed the memory. This wasn’t about you or your comfort. You’d make a respectable appearance, you convinced yourself while pulling on stockings and sliding into shoes. It was suffocating, but you could deal with it for a few hours. 

Dean, Sam, Crowley, and a few others were gathered at the Winchester’s home. You greeted Sam with a hug, keeping the moment somber, but making a mental note to tease him about his astonishing height later. Dean and you kept close but avoided direct affection in the crowd. You made your way past the garden to an oak that matched the pair at the circus’s entrance. A white picket fence surrounded the area of stones within. John’s parents, brother, and Mary before him. A deep hole now in the earth for him to join them. 

Dean held the box, wrapped in parchment, close as a local minister led the group in solemn words of prayer. Words of comfort, healing, hope. None of which you felt. You tried to picture John now. What he had meant to you. A rescuer, a savior, a home. Blood speckled across his face. You gasped, your heart picking up pace. No, that wasn’t… you pushed it down, refocusing on the minister. 

Dean’s pinky wrapped around yours. You gently squeezed against it, conveying you were there for him. When instructed he let go of you and placed the box of ashes into the ground. He took a shovel and sprinkled on a covering of dirt, followed by Sam and then others. The shovel passed to you. You dug into the mound, hovering over the hole for a moment. 

Anger flushed against you and a thought crossed your mind. ‘Rot in Hell.’

You blinked away the feeling, the emotion, and without sprinkling dirt over him, you passed it off to the next person. You shouldn’t be here. Aimlessly, you began wandering away, your head spinning with confusion. 

“Y/N. Hey.” Dean called for you, his voice out of breath. You looked back, realizing you had made it farther away than you thought. 

“What’s wrong?” Dean regained your attention, his voice filled with concern. 

“I…” Your voice faltered and chest heaved for air. 

A scream ripped through the air, both of you whipped to the direction of it. Shouting rang afterward, coming from the fairgrounds. Dean took off in a sprint; you followed quickly behind, shoes flying off as you ran. 

You slowed your pace as you neared. A large crowd circled around. Fire spitting up into the air. Dean and you pushed your way through to the front. Danny, the vampire, and a fire-spitting side act were riled up in the middle of it. Danny’s hair was noticeably singed. “Hey!” Dean’s voice boomed, with none of the gentleness you had previously known. “What’s going on here?” He demanded. 

The dragon spoke first, defending his actions “He stole it! I know he did. Saw him sneaking around earlier this morning.” 

“I did nothing.” Danny hissed. 

“Stole what?” Dean asked. “My watch. My golden watch.” The dragon begged for its return. Danny rolled his eyes. “I have no need for useless trinkets.”

“Take that back!” The dragon snarled, his throat turning red from the heat.

“Hey!” Dean pushed himself into the middle, separating the two. “Knock it off!” When he felt assured the dragon had calmed, he looked at Danny. “Turn out your pockets.” 

“I don’t take orders…” He started. 

“Turn out your pockets!” Dean yelled again. 

Danny obliged. Nothing but an empty vial, a paper parchment, and a spare string. 

Sam caught up, pushing his way to the front, but not interfering with Dean’s authority. 

“Sam, round up a few volunteers and search Danny’s belongings.” Dean heard the vampire growl behind him. “If he is innocent, then he should have nothing to hide.” 

Sam nodded and called on a few to follow him. “As for the rest of you!” Dean’s voice boomed over the crowd. “We have a business and show to run, now get back to work!” The group began to disperse but Dean grabbed the dragon by the collar of the shirt. “Don’t make a habit out of quarrels.” He threatened in a hushed tone. “Come to me before taking it into your own hands. Understand?” The dragon nodded and Dean pushed him away. As a few straggled behind, he found you, himself at a loss for words or explanations. 

“Since when did the dragons here give a shit about treasure?” He asked you, perplexed as if he had forgotten the past. 

“They don’t.” 

Dean sighed, rubbing his forehead, waiting for the next disaster to strike. He was off to follow Sam to ensure Danny wasn’t causing any additional trouble.  

“Mr. Winchester, Mr. Winchester!” A shapeshifter ran through the grounds calling after him. “It’s the werewolf. She’s transformed. On her own!”

“What?” Was all he managed to mutter. 

“The angels have her cornered, trying to corral her into the cage.” 

He caught up to speed. “Is anyone hurt?” She shook her head no. 

“Fetch Crowley, have him meet me there.” He instructed. 

She jolted off. 

He looked at you, a young innocence shining through his eyes. He didn’t sign up for this but it was in his hands now. 

“Go!” You waved him on. “Go.” 

His feet sprung before he intended to, swinging into motion, running towards the tent. He didn’t look back. You thought about joining him, but a werewolf on the loose was out of your element. You’d just be another body in the way. 

Taking in the faces on the grounds, you slowly spun around as they got back to work. Sweeping steps, practicing tricks. Their faces, shallow and sunken. Stress and tensions high. The circus no longer felt like a sunlit field, a refuge from the world. No, this was dark. Gloomy. A horror people perceived your kind to be. 

 “Are we all going mad?” The panicked question caught your breath, rushing out unexpectedly, to no one in particular.

----

Tags:

Forevers: @mogaruke @deanwinchesterforpromqueen @jotink78 @blushingdean @sup3r-pott3r-lock3d @dancingalone21 @carryonmyswansong @atc74 @superapplepie @cassieraider @adaliamalfoy @iwriteaboutdean @spnbaby-67 @monkeymcpoopoo @adoptdontshoppets @maddiepants @onceuponathreetwoone @thisismysecrethappyplace

 Dean x Reader: @akshi8278 @boxywrites @its-not-a-tulpa @tacklesackles @aubreystilinski @iamabeautifulperson18 @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @ria132love

Winchester & Co: @flamencodiva​ @shamelesslydean​

[20poundsoftrouble]

Scourge Attack

((Co-written with @brent-sunborn / @thefugitivemango. It’s backdated to when the scourge event happened.))

The shop closed early for the day, much to Hyacinthe’s delight. So many orders were coming in for traps and explosives and cloaking devices that their hands ached from wiring and bolting and fastening. The devices weren’t difficult to build, just tedious. And that was the worst part. Nothing could be done to speed up the process, they just had to work straight through it.

Outside of Cut Throat Alley there were sounds of a bit of commotion, but it was hard to tell exactly what was going on. Given the recent celebrations for All Hallow’s Eve, the engineer figured that people were carrying on like they did. Things on the warfronts had quieted down with everyone’s efforts, so a bit of relaxing was due. With a smile, Hyacinthe retired to their loft bed, limbs aching with each ladder rung.

A scream cut through the walls of the shop like a knife, loud and shrill. The bard jumped, then scrambled across their bed to the window at the head and pushed it open. Said window overlooked the canal, where Hyacinthe could clearly see people running now. There was an acrid stench that hung in the air, but it could almost be dismissed before their blue eyes settled on it.

The risen scourge beast was giving chase to the woman who had screamed, dirt and grime falling off of its decaying body with each footstep. Old bandages trailed behind it, and where that one came from there were more shambling in. Hyacinthe’s heart dropped to their stomach at the sight, fingers digging into the window sill until their knuckles were white. The woman hadn’t escaped, and her screams had trailed off into a sickening gargle when the scourge beast bit into her throat.

“I have to run,” Hyacinthe muttered, yanking the window closed and bolting it.

They had already packed some bags in preparation for the newest dig, which was fortunate. It was easy to shove a few more things into a bag, just in case they could never come back. Hyacinthe’s heart was racing and sweat was beading on their forehead, causing the dirt and grime to pour into their eyes and hair to stick to their skin. For just a moment, the bard pulled their hands back from the bags and just looked at them. They were shaking, skin pale.

It was just like before.

Hyacinthe almost flew down the ladder to the ground floor with their bags and guitar, barely missing a beat when they shouldered the main door open and turned to lock it behind them. The air in the alleyway was cool and briefly felt like a blessing, but what was the next step. They looked down the small corridor that led to the canal-lined road, where they’d seen that woman get killed.

“Kai will be fine, she’s strong,” the bard muttered to themself, taking a deep breath to try and calm their nerves. “Brent. I need to make sure he knows.” Luck and adrenaline made the trip to their dig partner’s apartment quick, and they had narrowly avoided a group of geists feasting on a corpse. Hyacinthe knew how this would play out, they’d been through it before. First, the smaller undead came through and caused havoc. They were pawns, expendable. When the city was exhausted from wave after wave of geists, ghouls, risen skeletons… That’s when the bigger monsters would come. Abominations would lumber through and crush everything in their path. Armored skeletons with glowing eyes and large swords would swarm. Was Stormwind going to be razed in lichfire like Quel’thalas had been?

The engineer almost ran into Brent’s door before pounding on it, looking down the street to make sure there were no scourge following them. Tears poured from Hyacinthe’s eyes, anxiety unable to stay dammed up and controlled. Their breath was fast, hitching with fear as they pounded on the door again. “BRENT!” Hyacinthe shouted, voice cracking. “Please be home…!”

The door swung open just as Hyacinthe started pounding again. A hand reached out to grab the bard, and tugged them inside brusquely! Before they could say or do a thing about it, the door closed behind them. 

“--Keep it down!” Brent hissed, shouting in a whispered tone. “You want to attract them all here?!”

The lights were out. Windows were boarded up and barricaded in the entryway. Quickly, he moved to re-barricade the door itself. It seemed Brent was well aware of what was happening outside. Or… did he always live like this? It was honestly hard to tell, both with how sturdy-looking the shutters were, and how well-practiced he seemed at barricading the door behind him. The front entryway of his domicile seemed rather barren. Simple crates and a small weapons rack filled with knives and swords and… a few pistols?

“Ditch anything you don’t need. Quick.” he instructed.

“Wh…?” they blinked, eyes adjusting to the darkness quickly. 

Without really thinking about it, Hyacinthe set down their bags and guitar case, swallowing hard against their quick breaths in an attempt to slow it. Really, the inside of Brent’s apartment was a new place, but this wasn’t the time to be nosey. Their gaze settled on the weapons rack, then shifted to Brent again.

“Can we run? Should we run?” the bard asked almost frantically as they reached for the two sheaths attached to their guitar case, a set of vicious looking daggers pulled from them. Hyacinthe’s mind was going a mile a minute, but everything felt like it was in slow motion.

“--Of course we’re gonna run.” Brent snapped, clearly on edge, himself. “The city will be overrun in mere hours. I’m not sticking around for that again.”

With the door barricaded, he turned and strode with purpose towards another room; the doorway separating the entryway and deeper into the domicile veiled by a large, rather plain-looking drape. 

“This way, quick-- bring whatever you’re taking, and leave the rest there.”

On the other side of the drapery was… another world entirely! At least, it seemed that way. The dark, warehouse-esque entrance hid a lavish interior in the main room, much better lit than the entrance. The room was reminiscent of a den in Silvermoon, with violet cloth and silver trim rather than the traditional red and gold. In lieu of any furnishings, pillows were strewn about on small platform-like mattresses-- there wasn’t an inch of the floor that didn’t look like it’d make for a comfortable seat or bed! The walls were indented in several hexagonal shelves, resembling something of an elegant honeycomb. Each shelf displayed something different; a vase, a bust, a mask, an ancient weapon on a stand… archaeological pieces, every one of them. A few had incense stands, burning lightly to fill the room with an intoxicating lavender undertone. Elsewhere on the walls were paintings, of an unusually erotic-yet-abstract nature.

None of this, save the artifacts, seemed at ALL like Brent.

As Hyacinthe entered the room, he closed a large, vault-like door behind them, and began to barricade the entrance all over again. He latched it closed, turning a large wheel to lock mechanisms on all sides. Then, as if that weren’t enough, he began placing beams in cross-pattern to further secure the doorway. Pre-cut beams and pre-sized slots… this room was designed for such security. It was a door fit for a royal vault, decorated like a royal brothel.

“Fucking Scourge… I knew we hadn’t seen the last of them.” he grumbled to himself, as he worked. “Why the fuck didn’t Kai say something?”

“She might not have known…” Hyacinthe’s statement trailed off, eyes going wide at the abrupt change in decor. For just a moment they were distracted, but the visions of Silvermoon made their heart ache anew. The bard was sweating again, breath short and fast as they stood still. No, no it was happening again. The purples and silvers and opulence brought back the sounds of screaming from the taking of Quel’thalas, and tears welled up in Hyacinthe’s eyes. The daggers that they’d been holding clattered to the floor. It was clear that though they were physically there, mentally they were disassociating enough that Brent ceased to exist.

Hyacinthe could remember very clearly the day the attack happened. Both of their parents had gone out to help defend the city, leaving their daughter behind to hide at home. While their parents were out, Hyacinthe had barricaded themselves in their closet, curled up behind the hanging robes and other outfits in the dark. The only sounds they could hear above the clamor of battle outside was their own choking sobs.

Brent, meanwhile, frantically focused on his preparations. The room was well barricaded now with the door secure. Still, his mind wouldn't leave it. He double checked - and triple-checked - each reinforcement measure once by one, hoping for a sense of security that simply wouldn’t come. Not facing this again. By all rights, the Scourge should have killed him in Quel’Thalas all those years ago. He knew that. Since then, he always felt he was living on borrowed time. He wanted only to stave off his death as long as possible. And now that the Scourge were here again, he took no shortcut-- spared no expense-- to ensure that.

“I have enough food for two weeks, if we’re conservative about it.” he told Hyacinthe, as he began to kick a few pillows aside. “I don’t know think they’ll get through, but if they do, there’s an escape hatch that leads through--”

He blinked, as the High Elf simply… stood there. Wearing a look of shock on their face. He huffed, reaching out and plainly slapping Hyacinthe!

“--Hey! Focus!” he shouted! “You let your guard down for even a second and we’ll get eaten! You understand that?!”

The strike twisted their head to the side, but not a noise was made as they brought their hand up to their face. It did snap them back to reality, but Hyacinthe just nodded quietly before looking around again. This wasn’t Quel’thalas, and this wasn’t their closet. The current sights and smells were leaking back into the bard’s perception like the first spring rain rolling off of a roof, bringing clarity back. “Yes, sorry. We… We won’t get eaten,” Hyacinthe’s voice cracked, the corners of their eyes still wet. When they dropped their hand, the red mark from Brent’s slap stood out bright on their pale and freckled skin. “We’ve got each other’s backs.”

Hyacinthe looked around the room, slowly becoming more animated. A little closer to the Hyacinthe Brent knew. They’d think about the sad another time. Now, blue eyes were searching for anything to help rig up traps. If the scourge got this far, the rogue wanted to get them hung up a little longer, allow them and Brent to get farther away. Managing Brent’s anxiety with over fortification would be easier than dealing with their own PTSD, at least for the moment.

“You said food, and a hatch? I’m sorry, I… Could you say it again? I’m here this time, I promise.”

Brent huffed, turning from Hyacinthe back to the clearing in the pillows he’d kicked aside. Reaching down, he tugged a section of the rug up, revealing a small floor panel with a handle set in. He tugged it up, revealing another well-secured trapdoor beneath it, boarded and bonded similarly to the larger door leading into the room.

“This’ll lead to the sewers, if we need to get out of here. There’s another door like this at the end of a long stretch of tunnel, guaranteed to be clear. For now.” he explained. “Last resort, though… we gotta hold it down here, alright?”

He closed the panel back where it was, leaving the rug and pillows disheveled on the floor around it. Instead of tidying up, he stepped over to one of the wall shelves, and opened a small jewelry box. A light shone from within it, from which Brent himself seemed to recoil.

“Come here.”

“We’ll be fine. We won’t need to run,” they nodded, more saying it to themselves than Brent.

With how fortified the room was, Hyacinthe was feeling just a bit more safe. They weren’t alone this time, and their partner was more than capable. The tension was dissipating a little bit, and it showed in their shoulders. The bard let out a slow breath, starting to realize that where Brent slapped them stung just a bit. Rude, but needed. Probably.

“What?” Hyacinthe wandered over, stepping over the piles of pillows that had been discarded to peer at the jewelry box. “Oh that’s pretty. What is it?”

“A Lightbomb.” Brent replied

He stepped back from it fully-- to give Hyacinthe a better look, or just to keep his distance, it was hard to say. The object was a glass orb, and as the name implied, it was aglow with a brilliant-yet-soothing Light which seemed to swirl within it like a liquid. It was rather calming to behold, warm to touch, but looked rather fragile as well. The box was lined with velvet padding, indented on the bottom to keep the orb from rolling around.

“Something I… found. A while back.” he half-explained further, with a shrug. “Throw it at a mass of undead, and it’ll vaporize them all. You’ll… you’ll have to do it, if the need should arise, yeah?”

He turned, stepping from the shelf to stand over beside a long bench, leaving the implication to hang in the air a moment. 

“I didn’t know these were still around!” the bard shifted the box carefully to watch the swirling Light inside, visibly relaxing. Whether it was the effects of the orb itself or the distraction of the ever changing glow was unclear.

For Hyacinthe, remembering that Brent was void-touched only ever happened when they saw him from the back, the tentacles quite visible among the locks of dark hair. Curious things, dark purples and blues with an illumination that seemed to flicker like fire through them. The bard was drawn to them like a moth to flame, and it took considerable willpower to not just...reach out and touch them. As their thoughts wandered further down that path, Hyacinthe had to peel their eyes away from the orb and back into reality. Again.

“If they get in, I’ll burn them down while you open the trap door. You know I’ll watch your back, right Brent?” they offered a small smile, still not as bubbly as they once were. “And...thank you for not leaving me alone in this. I couldn’t do it without you.”

“Hmph.” Brent scoffed. “Don’t get all sentimental. You’re just lucky you showed up before I locked the doors.”

The archaeologist huffed in a show of irritation; a facade to cover his lie. He’d locked up well before Hyacinthe showed up. Painstakingly and at no small risk to his Scourge-survival plans, he’d removed the beams, unlocked the latches, and pulled Hyacinthe in without giving it too much thought. But they didn’t need to know that.

His adrenaline started dying down as he knelt beside the bench. The slip-cover pulled off easily, and the top opened up to reveal a cache of survival rations-- the same tasteless hunks of nutrients the two would take out on digs. 

“Like I said, I got enough here to last two weeks, at least. So long as you don’t binge eat the whole damn stash. Control yourself, like our lives depend on it.”

That said, he withdrew a ration and unwrapped it, taking an unappealing bite out of one of the corners. He sighed, sitting with his back to the wall on the sea of pillows; the only real place the floor itself could be seen in here was where he’d uncovered the hatch. There were definitely less-comfortable places to wait out a Scourge invasion.

“Do I really look like the type to binge eat anything?” Hyacinthe poked at their own stomach, smirking. Truth be told, they could stand to eat more…

As everything was seemingly returning to normal, or at least the current normal, the bard felt themselves relax just a little. This whole room looked so….extravagant. And here they sat, pants still slightly greasy from work, shirt smudged and ripped in a couple of places, hair a mess. It was positively backwards.

Hyacinthe had so many questions. None of this fit with the Brent they had started to know, but maybe there was much more to the man than they’d anticipated? There were worse places to be, especially given the circumstances, but this… This was different. The bard looked around the room again, as if taking it in piece by piece. Their eyes scanned over everything as they looked. Hyacinthe found a comfortable place to sit, drawing their knees to their chest and wrapping their arms around them. “Do those things taste terrible on purpose? To keep people from eating too many in one sitting? Maybe it’s to make sure people actually drink water…”

“They’re practical. All nutrients. Nothing added for taste. Extra shit like that just adds more weight to them.” he shrugged. “They’re not supposed to be treats, just energy to get you through… whatever you’re doing.”

More often than not, Brent ate these as meals. Not just on the go, or as a last resort; too often he was busy or distracted, and wouldn’t sit down to prepare a meal or seek one out. Whipping a ration out of one of his pockets was simple enough to do. He always carried at least two or three. 

He motioned to a curtain-- it looked like the other curtains in the room that filled in as wall decor, but on closer inspection there was a small door behind it, easily missed unless you were looking for it. 

“Water’s in barrels in the washroom, through there.” he told them. “If you’re thirsty.”

Another bite, as he rested his head back with a sigh. He’d calmed down pretty well, by now. His ear flickered at every sound, but most of them were muffled beyond hearing. Occasionally a scream could be heard, if it was high-pitched enough. Brent tried not to dwell on what was happening outside. It seemed all he could do to keep his mind off of it.

“... Fucking undead.” he grunted. “Ruined the surprise.”

“Practicality doesn’t have to taste, or feel, like a brick…” Hyacinthe muttered, but they weren’t quite keen on eating one just yet. Not after what they’d seen…

Their eyes drifted from Brent to where he’d motioned, making note of the washroom. If they were going to be stuck here for weeks, at least they wouldn’t stink. Though, their mind was drifting along with the idea of being stuck anywhere for weeks. With Brent or no, the idea of being trapped made their skin crawl. There was only so long that staring at everything would occupy their time.

“Surprise? Did you buy Kai something to smooth over her being mad about you having a new partner?” they tilted their head to the side curiously, grateful for a distraction.

"Hah…" 

Brent exhaled a dry and humourless laugh, bordering on a sarcastic scoff. He shook his head.

"That's… no. Not even close. You don't really have a handle on my friendship with Kai, so it's fine. But we're not the 'get each other gifts' kind of friends."

That being said, Brent himself wasn't entirely sure what kinds of friends he and Kai'eka even were anymore. It definitely didn't feel the same as it did back before the void. And her death only seemed to drive them further apart. Like the elf herself, their friendship seemed like a hollow husk of what it was before. He sighed at the thought, before shaking his head again.

"Last gift I got her was a box of cigars. She totally missed the point of them, though. Just demanded more later on, like it was one more use she could squeeze out of me…" he huffed. "But that doesn't even matter, yeah? I thought her death was the end of it. The chapter closed up on it. But then she had to go and get raised…"

Hyacinthe nodded quickly in understanding. They hadn’t thought Kai was the type for gifts, based on the brief meetings of her. A curious lady, brash and rude but it was...interesting? Not a person the bard would have ever chosen to interact with, but not unpleasant either. Hyacinthe watched Brent’s face as he spoke, trying to glean more from his expressions to add to his words. They had a small talent at reading audiences, might as well put it to use now.

“She wasn’t done causing you grief, apparently,” they smiled, chin resting on their knees. “So what was the surprise that was ruined?”

They tilted their head to the side curiously. The mention of the surprise was a much needed distraction, and if Brent was observant enough he could tell that Hyacinthe was slowly relaxing from where they sat trying to make themselves smaller in the strange room. No, they weren’t adjusting at all, but they were less terrified. And less worried about feeling stupid about that fear.

The Ren'dorei regarded Hyacinthe a moment, seeming to read them right back. His chewing slowed, eyes narrowing-- not in conjunction with a scowl, but rather in a pensive manner. A sharp exhale out his nose, and he shook his head.

"You'll see." came the unsatisfactory reply. "Later."

Content enough where he was, he crossed his arms and leaned his head back. With the adrenaline dying down, he felt fatigue starting to set in. They were safe enough for him to lower his guard and relax… but those ears of his kept perked and twitched at every little sound. He needed sleep, but knew it wouldn't be restful. Just as well.

"Now keep quiet and still. Don't rustle around too much. You'll only draw attention." he huffed. "We're okay for now, rest while you can, in case we have to run or fight later."

Hyacinthe knew as well that neither of them would be resting, but sleeping was the best way to pass the time. It’s how they had passed the first day of the attacks when they were younger as well. Without complaint, the bard shifted around pillows until a nice little nest was made, then curled into it. They wrapped their arms around a pillow and hugged it tight, closing their eyes and trying to not think of the things they’d seen on the way over here.

Though their body settled into a sleeping rhythm after a while, Hyacinthe still looked on edge. Their dreams wouldn’t be pleasant, but there was a small measure of safety in not being alone. This deep in hiding, the sounds from outside were mostly muffled.