#Will never not be over the solid metal plate clothes

[backpackingspace]

Shout out to shadowhunter clothes canonically being solide plated armor with leather over top. It will never not be funny to me. Truly excellent world building. I want izzy to give Simon her jacket and for him to collasp under its weight.

[korpuskat]

Worth

[Ao3 Mirror] Pairing: Ramattra/Reader (GN, has a vagina) Rating: E WC: 1.7k Warnings: Self Image Issues =

Happy one year anniversary to me writing for Ramattra!

=

“A year…” You murmur, tracing along the sharp angles of white. Even sitting in his lap, you have to look up at him, raise your arms up to touch his faceplate. “I can’t believe it’s been a year.”

In turn, his fingertips run along your cheeks, mimicking the motion and returning all of the adoration. “I know. I am… frequently in disbelief that you are here at all.” His synth is toned down, as close to a whisper as he can get.

“That I’m here?” You sputter, stroke one ribbon cable away from his shoulder. “Ramattra, I never understand why you’re here. You-” You laugh at the incredibility of it all; “you’re a leader, a hero. I’m nobody, I don’t-”

“Stop.” His hands on your face stills, turns firm against your jaw. Embarrassment heats your cheeks. “You don’t…” He starts, voice harsh- before his vents click open, releasing a quiet burst of steam as he self-regulates. “You cannot fathom why I choose to be with you?”

You can't meet his gaze. The embarrassment of having admitted it burns as badly as the fact itself that you don't feel worthy of him. You want to brush it off, to pretend you hadn't revealed a crushing vulnerability, but you can't will your lips to move, to lie to him.

Ramattra’s hands skim over your shoulders, down until they settle on your hips. “I am… truly sorry if I have not made you understand.” His thumb dips lower, slides along the crease between your thigh and hip. “May I show you?”

You shiver at his touch, but still you can’t bring yourself to look at him. Deep-rooted shame won’t let you even entertain the thought, so you deflect: “You don’t have to, Rama’, it’s okay, really-”

“But I want to.” He asserts.

Even though you do want his touch- will always want it no matter your thoughts on your worth- it’s difficult to allow yourself. But when he wants to… It’s hard to argue with that… because it would be selfish to say no, right? So carefully, quietly you swallow as much of your apprehension as you can and nod.

Ramattra’s hands shift under your immediately, lifting you, picking you up as though you weighed nothing and pulling you forward while he simultaneously drops onto the bed. His weight makes him bounce softly, but through it all he moves your entire body effortlessly, repositioning you how he likes. And how he likes is depositing you directly on his faceplate.

The view instantly makes you blush- only gets worse as Ramattra’s hands resettle your hips until the hard line of his chin is pressed firmly against your clothed sex. It’s obscene; all you can see of him is the upper half of his faceplate and the cables of his hair that have fanned out around him. You stare into the dark slits that hide his optics and tremble with nervous energy, waiting for an explanation. If Ramattra had a mouth- which you’re fairly sure he doesn’t- his intentions would be obvious. But he doesn't and you're with him holding you against solid metal.

“Tell me,” His vocoder clicks on. His voice is soft, cautious- but the effect is immediate. You gasp, clutch at his hands as his head vibrates between your thighs. Your sudden jolting makes him laugh, the vibrations wavering in time with his ha ha ha, then returns to an even pace as he continues, “I suppose it works, yes?”

As he stops talking, the vocoder clicks off, returning to stillness. You pant, “What… How did you even think of this…?”

“You told me.” Again the plates of his face transmit his voice, purring more confidently now. “You would laugh and say you liked it when I spoke while you kissed me. That you could feel my voice buzzzzZZZing.” The emphasis makes you gasp, squirming against him for more.

“Rama-”

“Shhhh,” He intones and you whine, holding ever harder onto his hands. The cadence of his voice slows, lingering over syllables just to tease you, meandering through towards his point and with it the vibrations against your pussy do the same: “I want you… to consider exactly… where you are right now… exactly what I am doing to you.”

You whimper pitifully, grinding your hips onto the smooth surface of his face to return to the pleasant vibrations of before. But you do obey, peaking your eyes open again to take in the sight of him. He’s gorgeous, dark hair splayed out over the sheets, offset by the bright titanium white of his faceplate, the burning reds of his array. If it were anyone else, perhaps you feel like you’re supposed to be the one in power here, but the grasp he’s keeping over your hips and his cool, unaffected voice buzzing right against your clit keep it very clear. You're here because he wants you to be.

“Do you think I would allow nobody to do this, hmmm?” His vocoder never clicks off, hushing down to a quiet rumble, humming in his throat just to keep it on. Shame makes you duck your head, the implicit praise already too much with the insistence of his voice box purring relentlessly. And distracted as you are, you don’t even realize he moves- one large palm catching both your wrists. The other slides up, under your shirt and immediately tweaks a nipple. You yelp from the pressure- just a touch too sharp to be entirely pleasurable- and Ramattra’s voice raises up again, “That wasn’t rhetorical.”

“No!” Without his hands at your thighs, your hips move in longer strokes, rutting against the inseam of your pants.

His hand at your chest relaxes, spreads out to massage rather than pinch. “No, what?”

You whimper, squeeze your eyes closed. You can’t say it, can’t admit it yourself- and Ramattra’s hands shift, sliding back down to your hips. No longer keeping you pinned against him, he lifts you up to your knees- and for a moment your heart drops in the cold fear of disappointing him.

He tips his head towards the button of your pants. “Take those off.” You don’t move, head swimming in the whiplash of emotions, of praise and self-doubt. But when he speaks again you all but melt, haphazardly undoing the clasps with shaking hands. “I want to feel you.”

The air is cool on your heated skin, but still not as cold as his faceplate. Even with such proximity to his main processors, the outermost layers of his armor are still chilly- makes your hips flinch as you lower yourself back down onto him. Your body soon heats him- even faster as you blush at the obscenity of your bare pussy settling onto the pristine lines of his plates.

“Comfortable?” Ramattra purrs, voice quiet and testing.

You shudder and gasp; without the muffling layers of your clothes it’s so much sharper, radiating more into your thighs. You nod, but adjust slightly, shifting, spreading your lips until your clit presses to his hard metal.

“There are so few things I truly envy in humans,” His voice rumbles softly, but directly against where you need it most. You shiver and grasp blindly below you, burying both hands in his thick, cabled hair as though you could pull him any closer. Even with his voice still lowered, it’s so intense you can’t quite process what he’s said at all until he continues: “That I cannot taste you is high on that list.”

You shiver, buck your hips against his smooth metal faceplate. Already you've made him slick enough for your pussy to glide against him without any resistance. And this only makes him purr. A soft vibration that draws a moan from your lips, a stutter in your hips.

“You're perfect.“ He says, and despite the direct feedback against your clit, you still pinch your brows, turn away from the praise. But he doesn't let you run. He reaches up and draws your chin back towards him with one cool hand. “No one is as important to me as you are.” He holds the noise, a rough rumble that makes your thighs shake and clench around him.

You bite your lip, want to deflect-- but he beats you to it.

“Shhh,” Louder now, forcefully buzzing- “No one.” He doesn't speak, only hums a smoother, consistent vibration that makes you gasp, rubbing your pussy against his face and grabbing his arm, his head for any support. And he doesn't stop. He holds that same note, makes it easy for your hips to chase that sensation, rutting against him as the heat inside you rises.

“Rama,”

His hands are on you again, sliding down to hold your hips in place, to pull you ever closer- the smooth rumble stops as he speaks again.

“Go on. Show me again how gorgeous you are. Cum for me, just like this.” He purrs again, his voice vibrating right into your clit- and with his hands on your hips you have nowhere to go, no way to escape the incessant rumbling. Pressed so firmly against him, all you can do is shiver and gasp and tug on his cable locs.

The pull surprises him- and he moans. It's all it takes, his own pleasured noises turned to vibrations make you tumble over the edge, grinding onto his face as much as his hands will let you as he purrs his satisfaction. He holds you there, keeps rumbling away until your twitchy aftershocks fade and you begin to slump down, spent and boneless.

He lifts you off himself, adjusting your limp body until you can lay on his chest. You stay there, listening to the soft hum of his internals, his fans spinning heat away from his processors, the vents on his shoulders finally opening to cycle in fresh air.

“Thank you,” You murmur after a while, sneaking a small kiss against the rib-like armored bands on his chest.

He waits a moment, before sighing and stroking your back softly. “It hurts me that your self image is so poor.“

Guilt pierces the afterglow. ”I know.“

Ramattra catches your mood shift instantly. He draws your chin up again, to meet his gaze. Instead you're faced with the cooling, shiny mess you've left on his chin, the proof of his devotion. ”The next time you have such thoughts, tell me immediately. I will correct them.“

The implication makes your cheeks heat again. ”What if I keep having them, what if they don't stop?“

His fingers shift, running his thumb along your lips. “Then I will keep correcting them until they do.”

[sinfulsalutations]

𝕓𝕒𝕕 𝕙𝕒𝕓𝕚𝕥𝕤 ⋆*･ﾟ 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕓𝕒𝕕 𝕓𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙

➼ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ☆ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ ꜱᴇɴᴅ ᴛᴡᴇᴇᴛ

⋆ ★ ᴜʜ ʜᴇʀᴇ'ꜱ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ɴᴏɴꜱᴇɴꜱᴇ ɪ ꜱᴘᴇᴡᴇᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ

⋆ ★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3 ⋆*･ﾟ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀᴍ

Hunter

The sergeant is very unruly in the bathroom.

He is the shittiest person to share a fresher with.

Somehow manages to leave the whole thing wet as he gets out of the shower, has hair all in the drains and clinging to the shower wall, and the mirror is totally fogged up to the point you have to air out the room for a solid few minutes.

All of his hair products and body care stuff also take up so much counter space, leaving barely enough for yours (which is much more minimal).

You’re trying your best to help Hunter implement new, better habits as time goes on, but it’s proving difficult.

He’d never believe you, but you might insist he’s this way because he likes to relax and not bother in the fresher, as it’s the only time for himself to truly unwind and enjoy himself.

But no. That can’t be the reason why. Right?

Tech

He is a CHRONIC nail biter and skin picker.

It’s just a constant fiddle thing.

Helps him focus on something but he also just gets picky with the state of his nails and the skin surrounding it.

Consistently gets to a point where the poor things are red and swollen and just look painful.

Subtly you try to make him stop; switching to a new soap, coating his nails with bad tasting polish and finish, etc.

It doesn’t work.

He somehow always manages to swerve around it and continue biting his nails.

One day you’ll find a strategy to get him to stop; hint, it might be letting him fiddle around with your hands a little…

Wrecker

Sloppy with food. Like, very sloppy.

If you hand him a full plate, a good portion of it will find its way onto the table, the floor, his pants, his shirt, and the surrounding area of his mouth.

He just can’t seem to keep it all in one place.

It’s not that big of a deal; if he’s truly conscious about it, he won’t actively make a mess (though he might still get some on his clothes and mouth), but a lot of the time, he isn’t.

Either way, it’s kind of charming. Seeing him snarf down food enthusiastically only fits so well with the rest of his character.

Crosshair

This man’s sleep schedule is fuuuuucked; more fucked than Tech’s, even.

He will go to bed early, wake up in the middle of night and stay up until the morning when he finally does fall asleep for a few hours but is forced to wake up and start the day.

Or alternatively, he’ll go to bed very late, sleep until noon, and spend his day taking minor naps only continuing his habit of sleeping later.

The worst part is he doesn’t make any effort to fix it and practically enables it.

What kind of fucked up form of masochism is this? you think.

He’s a quiet riser and sleeper so this habit of his manages not to affect anyone else, but it especially bothers you out of your care for crosshair and his well-being.

You might try and coax him to sleep and wake up at proper times with you, and it might work every now and then— but Crosshair’s sleep schedule doesn’t follow anyone’s orders.

Echo

This boy has really bad posture.

It’s not very obvious compared to Tech’s posture, but it causes him lots of shoulder and neck aches, especially when he’s sitting in the cockpit for too long.

You make jokes about getting him a back brace and he grumbles with a laugh, “I already got enough metal hooked up to me.”

Sometimes when you notice it and see him rubbing at his neck, you get his attention and sweetly tell him ‘shoulders up, love.’

Without fail, he does so with a soft smile and leans over to kiss your cheek as a way of thanking you for the reminder.

ragu list: @starstofillmydream @pb-jellybeans @corrieguards @badbatchbabe @ladytano420 @jediknightjana @sleepycreativewriter @shinyshayminflower @thebahdbitch @secondaryrealm @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @dukeoftheblackstar @kimiheartblade @followthepurrgil @wolffegirlsunite @starrylothcat @sev-on-kamino @aconstructofamind @padawancat97 @littlemissmanga @starqueensthings @anxiouspineapple99 @freesia-writes @wings-and-beskar @clio3kantarella @secretthegriffin @idontgetanysleep @523rdrebel @dystopicjumpsuit @mandos-mind-trick @sunshinesdaydream @clonemedickix @andrakass2 @jesjestraverse @crosshairlovebot @wizardofrozz @dangraccoon @lickylickylicky @captainfresh501 @thebomb-diggity @urmomsmattress @jedi-hawkins @who-would-want-a-broken-heart @cw80831 @bluebird-dreams @ladyzirkonia @multi-fan-dom-madness @moonlightwarriorqueen @eyeluvmusic21 @mythical-illustrator @a-single-tulip

[blood-sucking-freaks]

Texas Chainsaw Massacre Facts

TCM is one of my favorite movies so here's some facts :)

-Bubba's real name is not known. Neither is Nubbins. But, at one point Drayton calls Bubba 'Junior', so we know he's either named after Grandpa Sawyer or their late/absentee father, though as neither are named, Bubba's name was never revealed.

-Gunnar Hansen wanted Bubba to be able to speak broken sentences, but the idea was shut down by Tobe Hooper

-Was originally supposed to be titles 'Head Cheese'. The title was later changed to 'Leatherface'. A week before filming was supposed to begin the title was finally changed to 'The Texas Chainsaw Massacre'.

-The dinner scene was shot in one day. It took 27 hours. It was so hot that the meat was rotting, so between the heat and the smell, cast and crew members were running out of the house every few minutes to throw up. It was filmed in one day because John Dugan, Grandpa Sawyer's actor, refused to sit through the 10 hour makeup process more than once, so all of the scenes with Grandpa had to be filmed at once.

-Most cast and crew, especially Gunnar, didn't like Paul Partain, Franklin's actor, as he stayed in character during the entire process of filming. When the two met again after filming and Gunnar realized that Paul was simply method acting they became close friends up until Paul's death.

-Gunnar was avoided by most people during filming. The cast of Bubba's victims avoided him because they didn't want to be around their killer. Gunnar wasn't allowed to take off his wool costume, so the heavy clothing and the Texan summer heat resulted in him being very smelly.

-Marilyn Burns was really cut during the scene where Grandpa drinks Sally's blood. After multiple takes of the scene, Gunnar got annoyed and secretly took the protective tape off the knife being used and actually cut her to get a more authentic reaction.

-The chainsaw was real and almost hurt several cast and crew members, Gunnar included.

-The armadillo in the beginning of the movie was taxidermized by Tobe Hooper.

-During the time of filming, the 'Sawyer house' was owned and lived in by a family, so the production was only allowed to rent the right section of the house.

-The house is now relocated and restored, and used as a restaurant called the Grand Central Cafe.

-The bones and meat were real, as it was cheaper to rent real human bones and use actual dead animals than to make fake ones.

-Makeup artist Dottie Pearl accidentally injected herself with formaldehyde during the preparations of the dead animals.

-Tobe Hooper got the initial idea for the movie while he was Christmas shopping in the hardware section of a crowded store, when he saw a chainsaw display while thinking of a way to get out of the crowd.

-Edwin Neal, Nubbin's actor, is a Vietnam veteran. When asked how hard filming the movie was, he said that he's rather go back to Vietnam than reshoot the movie. He also said that if he ever saw Tobe Hooper again he might kill him.

-The film was shot mostly in chronological order.

-The last shot filmed was Bubba cutting his leg. Gunnar wore a metal plate over his leg and a piece of meat and a blood bag was placed on top.

-Gunnar's costume had one dyed shirt, so it couldn't be washed during the entire time filming.

-The movie took four weeks of filming every day, though it was only supposed to take two weeks.

-The victim's van belonged to one of the sound recordists, Ted Nicolaou.

-Bubba's teeth were special prosthetics made by Gunnar's dentist.

-At 6'4, Gunnar got multiple slight head injuries due to doorways and other objects. The Leatherface mask limited his peripheral vision severely. Even at his height, he had to wear three inch heels (which makes Bubba canonically 6'7).

-By the last day's shoot, Marilyn Burns' costume was so drenched in blood that it was practically solid. While most of the blood is fake, a lot of it was real, as she got badly cut on branches and undergrowth during the scene where Bubba chases Sally to the gas station,

-During the last night of shooting, the cast got high on pot brownies brought by Dottie Pearl. The brownies had to be hidden when Tobe Hooper's mother visited the set.

-Nubbin's death scene was shot in reverse.

-The narrator for the intro was payed in weed.

-During the scene where Bubba and Nubbins bring Grandpa downstairs, Gunnar kept pushing the rocking chair forwards, sending John falling into Edwin, which left neither party very happy. Gunnar kept doing this until John leaned into his ear and whispered threats.

[royalreef]

@sinshosted || Starter call.

"Oh, it is you."

It was Miranda who spotted Ava first, and thus Miranda who spoke first. Her voice was good at directing people inwards towards her, away from anything else, guiding them back to hold them against her shore and to keep them from wandering too far out ever again. Trained for that, really, practiced with a keenness that would sharpen it from intention to reality over the years that she had grown up inside of the Merkingdom.

It was also Miranda's voice, this guiding hand placed effortlessly onto the back of the conversation, that drove attention towards the other merfolk, standing at her side.

In many ways, this merfolk was Miranda's opposite.

She was blue where Miranda was pink, a lighter underbelly shaded in the hues of shallow water to contrast with the open sea decorated across her back, dappled in long stripes that stretched over her sides and down her tail.

Miranda, as ever, was dressed in a slighter outfit, one with an open back and flowing fabric in dark red and shimmery little gold details stitched in with care. But where Miranda jingled with bells sewn into the design, when the other merfolk turned to look at Ava, so that she was not just staring down the side of a rocky eyepatch, she jingled with the plates of metal touching metal, the single pauldron on her side shifting with the movement. Her clothes were shorter, thicker, exposed more around her limbs where the fabric was hemmed up, but less over her back and around her middle. They looked nearly padded, their darker navy color less fantastically detailed and catching to the eye, more stately in the embroidery tailing the ends. The pauldron itself was dark and horrible looking, long spikes extending off of it in every direction, more of a growth outlined in a strange lighter green metal than a piece of armor. It clinked against the cleaver mounted against her back, massive, easily larger than Ava herself, and only just with a smaller charm of some stuffed animal dangling at the end.

And, of course, the most telling part. While it was hard to forget the difference between Ava and Miranda on the best of days, the other merfolk made that impossible.

Miranda, low-slung and long, already looked predatory. Her dimensions pushed out in unknown and intolerable ways, her face far removed from any hints of neoteny, far closer to those things that were only just glimpsed in the water, things that should never be approached, that showed that thirst was the only way that this night would be survived. Her body was already wound through with thickened muscle and dense bone, reshaped so that the sheer physics of death would flow more cleanly.

The other merfolk ramped that up to eleven. She was a solid wall of muscle, thicker than Miranda, rounded out with muscle and armor-fat and holding a weight with her that made time itself still, wait for her first, only drip by once it was given permission to breathe. The word larger applied in every sense, Miranda nearly svelte next to her, Ava's limbs rendered down to useless instruments carved of tissue paper next to the simple sight of her head — the single eye so deep and red that it shone on the edge of purple or pink, set against that eyepatch and the web of scars that leaked out from beneath it, deep and pitted and long as they traced along her lips and against her snout.

She was standing on the far end from Ava, Miranda between the two of them, the two opposites parallel to each other. As Miranda turned her head to the side, attention diverted away from whatever business she was attending with this other merfolk, the other turned her head as well. She turned it beneath Miranda's own head and neck, lowering her head down, bringing the rest of her body lower with it, staring back at Ava with that one slitted pupil, barely visible against the vibrant magenta hue.

And then she smiled, pulling the corners of her mouth back, not breaking her gaze towards Ava.

Miranda pulled her fins back, curled her tail so that it pressed against the flat of the other merfolk's tail, looked down across the distance at Ava, not glancing back at the other merfolk.

"Greetings. I did not know you would be around today. This is Princess Bellanda Vanderbilt of the Merkingdom, Chief Warlord and Head of Military Operations. Bellanda, this is Ava."

[thatoneterrariaplayers-vault]

Dangerous Moons - Chapter 3 - First day on the job

The soft patter of rain on the metal roof is what wakes me. Evelyn is probably still asleep so I should be quiet. Peace, another thing I took for granted back then, the ability to sit with my own thoughts and just exist without disruption or fear. That peace however is short lived because Evelyn shoves open her front door like it has murdered her family. I honestly thought she was sound asleep. “Rise and shine sleepy! We have a whole day of preparations to get to.” she exclaims.

ll I can manage are the sounds of discontent at the sounds of my now disturbed peace. Old habits die hard, especially the ones involving sleeping and being lazy. “What time is it anyway?” I ask. “Almost time for lunch.” she says. “I’ve been asleep that long huh?” “It honestly looked like you needed it. Anyways you should get yourself ready and I’ll debrief you over some food.” Evelyn lends me a spare jacket and some clothes along side a pair of hefty boots. After the shower I come out and smell eggs and bacon sizzling away on the stove. Sitting down on the couch Evelyn brings out the food and begins to tell me what she has planned,“Simply put, it looks like our time on this planet is done.” “I just got here!” I protest. “So did I! Its in the nature of the job. Back to the plan however. My employer just told me where I can find my target.” she rambles on while biting her food. “Your target is who now exactly?” “Mob boss Daren Galcharon, a local big shot who has ties within syndicate, his gang acting as a police force on this dump of a planet because the actual law enforcement is to lazy and too underpaid to deal with him. This obviously allows him to supersede the actual laws and regulations while the real cops do jack.” she says, “What’s your fighting capacity like anyways?” “Oh, me? I honestly prefer fighting with swords.” “Swords? Among the brilliant weapon choices in these galaxies and you chose the way of the blade!” she protests. “You’re one to talk. Your’e not any better with those archaic pistols you wield.” I protest in return. “Please at least tell me you are good with those rust sticks of yours.” “Rust sticks! I am offended by such, you would never know the time and dedication it takes to not only train but also maintain these master class weapons, without enough training some could become good enough to block bullets even.”,I’m pissed and I’ve just woken up, “I prefer the elegance of my blade better than the barbaric bite of your bullets.” Evelyn casts me a glance that screams, ‘are you out of your mind?’ Evelyn’s facial expressions changes drastically, from her frustration with me to now looking sad and pensive. “Hey, what’s up?” I ask not expecting any solid answer. “Oh nothing, you just remind me of someone I knew.”,she says, ”Anyways, time to get yourself up and out of that bed and get ready, we have some stuff we need to do, before needing to leave.” She hastily gathers herself off the couch, taking the emptied plates of food along with her. “Hey Evelyn, why are you so eager to work with me? A stranger you met in the dark hours of the night.”,I ask. “Well firstly, we all hate Gary. At least I do and therefore the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Secondly. My previous partner was a real damn idiot and got himself killed, while you seem like the adequate replacement, nimble, fast to react to changes. Curious.” “How did he pass?” I feel as though this question might have struck a nerve but I am to curious not to ask. “Tried to double cross me. I showed him though, put two bullets in the dirtbags hands and then one last one with the infamous big one to his ugly head.” she flaunts her draw by spinning a mug from her hip, “But you won’t try to cross me now will you?” “Because the stranger with no family or place to call home will betray their only beacon of hope? Very realistic.” my sarcasm steeps the musty rooms atmosphere. “Anyways, we will have to go out and get some supplies for the ship”

“Well look what we have here?”, the man’s rough voice could be heard from outside on the roof of the warehouse. Peeking through the large skylights up there we could see the interrogation scene. In the centre of the floor is a chair where one poor man is tied onto it a bag over his head. “Let’s show this young man here, what happens when you mess with me.” Evelyn nudges me gently, “The man you saw, he is our target. A powerful close range fighter. Any questions?” “Just one. Why do you not just shoot him from over here with the big gun?”, I ask. “Well you see. It’s super loud. Also the bullets are expensive. I choose to save these for rainy days.”, Evelyn answers. Suddenly our attention is diverted to the sound of Galcharon breaking what might have been that guy’s jaw. “He’s not surviving this is he?”, I ask. “Probably not. I wonder what the poor guy did to deserve this fate.”, Evelyn seems eager to drop in and begin this mission. Time for my first taste of her combat personality. Galcharon’s arms looked like logs with barbells attached to their ends. Both Veins and muscles are displayed in high definition. His fist rained down on the man’s frail body, each hit morphing the shape of it into an unrecognizable lump. Evelyn warns me, “Ready when you are.” “Right. Let’s do this.”

Crashing through the window we ride down with a wave of glass. The initial break announced our arrival as everyone gazed up to our entrance. Ripping the man of the chair Galcharon used him as a shield to block the initial assault of glass, while his two henchmen dashed away from the window. “And who the fuck might you be?” he asks. “Your worst nightmare!” Evelyn taunts. She really does not realize how terrible that line sounded out loud right? Evelyn spins her revolver from her hip sending off a shot. It hits something alright, not our target but the poor sap in the chair. “interesting, very interesting. I never did expect the great Evelyn Deadeye to hunt me down but my goons did mention something about you being close.” he rants on. Evelyn casts me a gaze of confusion and anger. “Hey! Look at me when I talk to you.”, Galcharon demands, he has his gun drawn now, it looks puny in his mammoth hands. “let’s get this done with.”,Evelyn says while cracking her knuckles. My swords have been itching for a fight. Before the confrontation began, Evelyn handed me a semi-automatic pistol capable of supressing a nearby target, she referred to it as a ‘M1911’, not only is it somehow heavier than both my swords combined but it is also about as useful as a dull kitchen knife in terms of efficiency. More harmful to me than my target due to its terrible weight balance and the magazines holding barely any ammunition. It really does not help that Galcharon’s skin may as well be made of thick steel. I imagine the projectiles this thing fires will physically bounce off his reinforced nanite skin. I see her to taking cover nearby, the bosses goons had opened fire down the middle of the warehouse, the wave of pulse-fire would certainly fry anyone caught in its wake. When the gunfire stops Evelyn makes her first move. A quick shot with her weapon taking out one of the unsuspecting gunmen. Before the fools could realise it Evelyn had already changed her shooting angle so that, after the remaining four finished shooting at where she was last she could skilfully take out another two. Watching her work was unlike anything I’ve ever seen, the absolute grace in her movements, the skilful aim of her guns where each shot found its target with deadly precision as she dodged and weaved between bullets and obstacles. Entranced, I barely noticed the six foot tall train of a man Galcharon approach me ready to beat my face and body into a different shape. Bracing, the screech from my blades as the punch pushed my heels into the ground pushing me a distance across the floor. “So, who are you girl? Another one of her toys. Who she will just dispose of when she’s bored or tired of you?”, he asks. His words make me unsteady and he sees that, taking full advantage of my confusion and inaction. “Or, you are someone more special, more valuable than she has realised yet.” he taunts, “No matter you will both be back where you belong in due time.” Then, the world went dark. As I drift once again into unconsciousness.

My head is throbbing in pain as I awake in a strange location. I can feel the whirring of an engine, the steady vibrations can be felt through the floors. Evelyn is sitting on a chair in a corner of the room in total silence. “Look who’s finally awake. That guy really knocked you out cold! You have been out for hours.”, Evelyn says rising out of her chair, she walks over to the bed and sits at the foot of it. “I suppose you and I have many things to talk about now.” her tone is condescending, “Like who you really are, miss violet.” “What’s their to talk about, I got knocked out by the guy.” “That’s not what I want to talk about, it is actually what happened just after you got knocked out. See the boss mentioned something intriguing, so intriguing I had to delay his murder to question him and he revealed to me something shocking to me.” “What is this about Evelyn?” “Who are you really running from?” Evelyn leans closer to me,”And what makes you special that the Syndicate’s bounty on you is larger than any ever seen for some common criminal.”

Evelyn is pacing around the room, “Any answers runaway?” My heart and brain are racing for an answer, any answer. Anything but the truth. “Truth is.” my body freezes at the thought of it. “Truth is what! Knowing your Syndicate property puts so much more at risk! You are currently the galaxies most sought after woman and I’m the one who so happens to be taking care of her. I knew your face looked familiar too I just could not remember from where I saw it from.” I try to muster the courage for words but all that can come out are the silent cries for help. “Look, Violet. I won’t just toss you to the damn dogs like that, It’s beneath me really, but I can’t help but feel betrayed that you would skip out such a huge detail about yourself. I can tell you’ve been through it, especially with that prosthetic arm of yours.” “You don’t have to help me. All I am is trouble for you in reality.” “It’s not about whether or not you are trouble.” Evelyn’s words resonate with something Inside me, “I used to be like you, in parts I still am, my past is filled with troubles too. I’ve faced most of them being out here, the vastness of these stars allow one to really connect with yourself and reflect. That and the countless of bastards I murdered for what they did to me.” “Are you wanted by the Syndicate too?” “No but maybe I’ll tell you that story another time when I’m ready myself to reface those fears.” Evelyn’s words sound almost regretful. Then without warning, she embraced me in a warm hug. It’s a strange feeling, I’ve grown accustomed to being grabbed and tossed around by cold hands. I’m not very proud of what I have done to get here, those I had to kill. I can’t really help myself at this point, holding it in has become a burden and the tears start to fall. “It’s fine to cry now, you’re safe here.” safety, her words pierce the regrets and doubts of my past. Perhaps finally I can start again and figure out what to do with myself. I don’t remember when I drifted to sleep that day but when I did, I felt the warmth and smell of her body.

[pluralsword]

A Case for Trans Pride Flag Corsets~

if we had known we could greatly alleviate our dysphoria over having an organic body by wearing a chest-supporting corset that would complement our HRT by giving our torso a solid structured feel and also making our rounded on estrogens chest feel more and look more solid we would have done this years ago and it probably would have some a lot of anxiety and pain especially in various low points in our life related to gender stuff. a lot of our headmates are very happy. We in part are within the category of a trans gal who did and does want HRT and can appreciate the resulting body softness but would really rather be made of metals and/or be able to wear armor on a daily basis so-

Just putting this out there for any other inorganic or hardened matter therian and/or multiplicity people, creatures, and entities and especially to fellow mechanoidly inclined beings across the gender spectrum: if you're disappointed with the healthcare options at present for affirmation of selves and like us cannot currently afford EVA foam stuff and/or would have to deal with paint chipping that you wouldn't be able to just fix at or near home, and are frustrated you can't go through daily life in half plate, corsets are good relatively much more affordable way to go. the ribbed boning aspects hug the body really firmly and it does wonders for back support, I've never felt more ready from how I dress at any point in my life thus far before or after HRT to leap into action and stride through the needs and wants of life with gusto, and just also feel so happy (being on bicalutimide instead of spironolactone is also helping we personally no longer have to deal with side effects from hormone blockers). we would suggest to other folks who are also fat that getting ones with side lace along with the back lace will help to get it to fit around your body, having only back lace is more difficult. (and of course going by gender neutral letter sizing rather than gender divided numbers is a lot easier to navigate for shape, in this respect for trans people, gender expansive people in general, and a lot of people whose body types and proportions are not kept in mind by a lot of the clothing industry) also, if you are flatchested and like it that way or want to bind your chest, there are corsets for that! We will also say that if the options online or sold around you don't have what you need there are places that will custom-make corsets.

Lastly, we have not been able to find corsets in pride flag colors for anything other than the rainbow flag (and not a lot) , can't find a lesbian or sapphic flag one (somewhat ironic, don't you think), or bisexual or achillean or ase, or a trans or nonbinary flag one (we did find a pink corset with roses of blue and pink with white leaves but it does not have side lace so unlike our other corset we can't wear it with all the back lace in due to our size), so while it is something we've noted to eventually ask someone to make one- this is just an idea to put out there, there is a market for that kind of thing.

We think if more people in the 21st century knew that corsets can in fact be more comfortable than bras if you're willing to sacrifice back bending ability while wearing them (it's better to bend with your legs anyway, we're kind of fucked both ways on that front currently but the legs less so) then more people would be using them

-one other note if you ever get them dirty with anything elephant stone soap is very useful (never machine wash a corset, spot cleaning and airing it out after is enough)

[justrandomfanfictionskh]

Mary Todd pt 9

ao3 Beginning previous

Jason's watch showed that it was 10:45, when he landed on a building across from, WE. He took a deep breath as he looked up at the looming tower of glass and steal. He had always found the monolith of Gotham imposing and intimidating. It was just so different from the blackening, red brick, and dirty concrete of his childhood. There the buildings were old, tall, and dangerous, and yet they were always welcoming. The windows opened for AC units and clothes lines, letting out the sounds of life within. Fire escapes framed the sheer walls allowing easy access to every floor if you knew how to climb. And while the front doors were always solid with metal grate over them, they looked more like the doors you would see on a house than in the slums. WE and all the buildings like it were the exact opposite.

They soared into the sky not out of necessity like the tenements of the slums, but because they could. The windows never opened, to allow life to easily get in or out. And while the doors were glass, they were always too big, as if you needed a special kind of strength to open them. And the walls were always flat and sheer. Even if the skyscrapers were crowned with gargoyles and lined with other hallmarks of Gotham's signature gothic architecture, unless you had a grappling hook, the buildings of the elite were impossible to enter. Unless you had been invited.

And that was what put Jason on edge. The buildings of Crime Alley, and other slum neighborhoods, were places of warmth and safety that allowed access to anyone who was clever or trusted enough to get in. The buildings of the wealthy and elite were just monuments of status, that only the "worthy" could enter. Jason had never been considered worthy by the Gotham elite. He doubted he ever would be. And so, their buildings would forever be dark, staring, intimidating things. They were a means to an end, not something that he needed to protect. Not like the buildings of Crime Alley. 

Jason took another deep breath and sunk into a squat on the ledge. He was just distracting himself and he knew it. But he didn't want to think about what was about to happen. He began to scan the surrounding roof tops. He checked his watch again. 10:46. It was going to be a long 15-minute wait, plenty of time to get his thoughts in order and yet...He groaned and began lightly hitting his head against the ledge he was squatting behind. The sharp ting of the his helmet hitting metal repeatedly was the only sound in the sleeping financial district, but Jason didn't stop. He needed to decide what he was going to say. How was he going to approach her? How would she respond? How would he respond to her response? Could he convince her to set aside the mask? Should he convince her? Would he tell her his identity? B's identity? Had she already figured it out? She had been so young! How much did she remember? What was he going to do?

Finally, Jason folded his arms on the railing and leaned his head against them. The subtle pressure of metal behind leather, had a nice grounding effect, that he clung to as he tried to sort through his thoughts and emotions. Eventually he checked his watch again and groaned so loud it startled some pigeons. It was only 10:47. He stood up and caught a glimpse of movement coming out of the corner of his eye. He spun hand flying to his gun as the flicker of red and black moved silently behind him. He opened his mouth to berate Tim for spying, but froze when he saw who it actually was. 

Ladybug stood tall and serene in the city night lights of Gotham. Her red body suit was augmented with black plated armor. Armor that was scattered with small red polka dots, just as her suit had a scattering of small black polka dots. This was the third version of the hero's costume, and Jason watched them change with increasing relief as the colors had muted and become more practical and less garish. But this was the first time he studied the armor, checking it for weaknesses and vulnerabilities. He needed her to drop the mask, but if he couldn't get her to retire, then he needed to make sure, her suite was as safe as possible. Which meant...

In a flash of pink light, the suit vanished and there was Marinette. Mary. His sister. There were no more distractions. No more masks. No more secrets. There was just her, and a strange, red, bug, creature flying into the waiting handbag slung over her shoulder. She was staring at him with those big blue eyes that he had known so well. Eyes that had pleaded for just one more story and had laughed at all of his corny jokes. Now those eyes were deeply searching him, as if he were some sort of puzzle that she needed to solve. Her face emotionless, as she waited for him. 

With a deep breath, Jason took off his helmet. He was still wearing his domino mask underneath, but now she could see his eyes, and hear his voice without modulators. But that didn't seem to be enough for her, as she crossed her arms and gave him a very pointed look. Her expression easily translated into, "Really Jay-Jay?" 

He hesitated for only a moment, glancing around the roof. All of the visible cameras were off. He could see no one on the opposing roof tops. Their current position was not as secure as the WE building, but he doubted she would move if he asked. He took another deep breath and closed his eyes. The domino mask came off as easily as her had put it on, since it was perfectly molded to his face. When he opened his eyes, her face had instantly softened. 

She now looked at him with open tenderness and hope, but also fear, as she whispered, "Jason."

"Hey Pixie," he said, his voice strangely choked.

She was instantly blinking back tears as she rushed forward. Jason tensed for only a moment, but then her arms were around him in the warmest, tightest embrace he had ever known. His arms wrapped around her instinctively and suddenly he wasn't the Red Hood. He wasn't the young man who had died and been resurrected, been betrayed, and abandoned, and lost. Suddenly he was just Jason. He was just that little boy on the fire escape holding his sister, tight against the cold night air, whispering stories as the rest of the world fell away. Suddenly nothing else mattered, and it was enough. 

"I'm sorry," she whispered into his jacket, and Jason knew she was crying. 

"For what?" 

"For forgetting. I'm so sorry Jay-Jay! I never should have left! But I did! And I forgot about you! I forgot your name, your face everything! I didn't mean to leave. I didn't mean to forget. You must be so disappointed. You must hate me! I---"

"Hey!" Jason whispered as he smoothed her hair. "Enough of that! I could never hate or be disappointed in you! And you didn't forget! You remembered the stories. You remembered my nickname. You even remembered my name eventually! And I am so proud of you! You are amazing Mary! More amazing than I ever dreamed you could be!"  

Marinette pulled away to look at him, her eyes wet but clearing. Jason could now see how tired she was. Under her expertly applied makeup, Jason could see dark circle that could rival Tim's! Her shoulders slumped as if they were carrying a great weight, she had long grown accustomed too. And her eyes were always moving the way Bruce's did. The way his did. They were searching, collecting, and calculating every detail around them, as if some hidden things were about to jump out of the shadows and she needed to find it first. The familiarity of his sister's paranoia was heart breaking. He didn't want this for her. She deserved better. But before he could voice those thoughts, she spoke first. 

"Then why did you never come for me?"

Jason breathed as deeply as he could and took a step back. He needed to be careful. If he said the wrong thing, then he would lose her forever. That couldn't happen. Finally, he said, "You were so happy! Your life was so much better than anything I could have ever given you. Besides, I had to protect you!"

"From what?"

"From me."

Marinette huffed a small laugh and shook her head as she dried her eyes completely. "That's ridiculous Jay-Jay."

"Mary!" Jason began with a raised voice but then he paused to calm himself. She waited for him. "You don't know what I've done. I have enemies."

"I do know what you've done," Marinette said pointedly. "My best friend is a future reporter and is obsessed with superheroes. She's the next Lois Lane in the making, so all I had to do was mention Red Hood, and I got a full dossier on you from all the way back in your Robin days. And yes, she connected you to the second Robin. And as for enemies...well, let’s just say I probably have more than you at this point."

"I doubt that" Jason said seriously.

"Really?" Marinette said with a slight smirk. "Well then I guess every single, ancient magical cult, and mafia, and league is after you because you are the sole guardian of some of the most powerful magical items in the world too?"

Jason could only stare. How did one even respond to that? He shook his head and said, "Pixie...I...I'm dangerous. I'm...not right. I could hurt you."

Marinette's expression instantly softened. "We're all dangerous, Jay-Jay. Especially us. You don't need to be a drug lord in the City of Chaos to hurt me."

"But I shouldn't hurt you!" He insisted. "You're my sister I need to protect you!"

Marinette rolled her eyes again, as she moved to lean against the railing. "Ok first of all, we are clearly out of sibling practice, because brothers and sisters hurt each other all of the time. Trust me, I've baby sat more than enough of my friends’ little siblings to know that 'hurting' each other is part of being close to each other."

"I mean hurt you physically!" Jason practically yelled. "Hurt you in a way you can't come back from! I'm sick Mary! I could kill you!" 

Jason expected so many things from her. He expected softening sympathy, desperate pleading, or even gentle reassurances. What he did not expect was the clear uninterested casualness as she folded her arms leaned forward and said, "And I could kill you. I could hurt you. I could hurt you in so, so many ways, physically, magically, and mentally. I could tear you apart Jay-Jay. That's what happens when you get close to people. When let yourself love people. You open the door to let them hurt you. It's hard. Believe me I know." There was a flash of some deep hidden pain enveloping her whole being, but before Jason could address it, Marinette had lifted her eyes to him again, and there was nothing but fiery determination in her cold bluebell eyes.

"But that's the risk you have to take!" she declared as she straightened, "We can't be alone. We're not meant to be alone. So, we take the risk and love each other! And as for you being sick, that's what family is for. To help you through the sickness. No. Mater. What!"

"Mary---" Jason began, but she didn't let him finish. 

"And secondly! I can take care of myself! Or did you miss the whole, heroine of Paris, youngest senior member of the Justice League, honorary Amazon thing?"

"Wait," Jason said shaking his head, "Since when were you an honorary Amazon?" 

Marinette smiled mischievously, "Since Diana decided that I needed more training than the natural instincts of the Ladybug, and a few dubious words of advice from my past mentor."

"So, Wonder Woman did train you!" Jason said with a furrowed brow. 

"Not in the mentorship way that your thinking of," Marinette said casually, "But technically, yes. She and other select Amazons trained all of Team Miraculous when they visited Paris. I have my own room at the Themysciran Embassy."

Jason's jaw might have dropped a little at that, there were so many different things to feel in that little revelation he didn't know where to begin. Relief that she hadn't been completely alone, when the Justice League had ignored her calls. Anger at Wonder Woman for not bringing the severity of the Paris situation to the League's attention sooner. Pride, that she was so well respected by some of the greatest warriors in the world and considered one of them. Anguish, at the realization that he'd never get her away from this life. That he would have to fight the entire Amazonian nation in order to get her to retire. That they would never let her go. 

"You shouldn't," he found himself muttering, and he immediately regretted it, because Marinette had heard him, and had squared her shoulders as if ready for a fight. 

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

Jason groaned and shook his head. But he lifted his eyes to meet hers. She needed to see how serious he was. How important this was. "You shouldn't be a hero, Mary. I left you in Paris, so that you could have a normal life. So that you could avoid all of this---" he shook his helmet at her viciously as he cried, "Insanity! This life is dangerous, and crazy, and you deserve better! You deserve a nice happy, normal life! Being a hero, any kind of hero, is the exact opposite of that. It's a trap you can't escape even in death! And I know! I've died! I wanted better for you. I want you to be free!"

Marinette's expression was so seriously stoic, she could have rivaled Bruce's glare. She took in his words still leaning against the railing with her arms crossed. When he stopped talking, she waited for him to catch his breath, and then continued to stay silent. And just as the silence was about to get awkward, Marinette raised a finger and said, "One what you want for me doesn't matter. Don't interrupt me Jay-Jay, you've said your piece now let me say mine." Jason's mouth snapped shut, and he crossed his arms waiting for her to continue.

"What you want for me," she said again, "Doesn't matter. Yes, you're my brother, and I'll always love you no matter what. But I haven't seen or heard from you in 15 years! Jay-Jay. Not even a whisper. And for a good portion of that time, you had the ability to whisper, but you didn't! So, you don't have the right, or the authority to comment on anything that I did during that time. Any of the choices that I made were mine! I have yet to regret them yet, and I won't change them just because you've suddenly decided you want a say in the things I do. I thought I said not to interrupt me!"

Jason's mouth snapped shut again, as waves of indignation, anger, and guilt crashed over him at every word she said. Marinette then held up a second finger and continued, "Two, Not only does your opinion not matter, but you gave up the right to give your opinion. The moment you decided that my life was 'safer' and 'better' without you in it, you gave up the right to protect me, and influence me. So, unless you want to be my brother again, don't even try to tell me how to live my life! And three!" she declared, not even acknowledging his attempt to speak, "Don't tell me what it's like to die! Don't tell me about the dangers of this life. It's trap. It's suffering because anything you've been through! Any torture, pain, death, resurrection, loss, and suffering you can imagine, I have been through at least ten times! Sometimes twice before Saturday. Did you know there was an akuma born from a child being abandoned at the train station? No one in Paris will ever talk about that one, because her power was to make everyone as lost and as helpless as her! It..."

Marinette took a deep breath and Jason didn't even try to interrupt this time. The pain of his own abandonment, their abandonment, was still a fresh wound only growing fresher as her every word drove home just how much he had missed. Just how much he had failed her. Anger, and indignation were gone. Now there was only pain and guilt, as he once again took note of just how tired she was. But her shoulders quickly squared again, as she spoke with a far gentler voice that only grew in determination as she said,

"And finally, 'should have,' 'could have,' 'would have,' none of that matters any more. None of that ever mattered. What is, is what is. I. Am. Ladybug. I am the Guardian of the Miraculous. The Keeper of the Miracle Box. I can't change that without erasing all of my memories from the last five years. Including this memory of you. Of finding you, finally! And I guess what Jay-Jay, I don't want that! I don't ever want to forget what I've been through. The choices I've made, the things I've failed, the things I accomplished. I don't want to forget a single one. And no one can take that from me, unless I decide otherwise."

Marinette stood straight and proud now, and Jason was reminded of Wonder Woman. Despite her stature, she was tall. Her eyes were hard in their determination. Her jaw was set in her purpose. Her shoulders and feet were squared in challenge, and her chin was lifted in defiance. And Jason finally saw her. He saw her as a leader, as a warrior, as a hero. The little girl he had sworn to always protect had gone and grown up. She wasn't there anymore, replaced with this calm, confident, beautiful woman that had earned her place among the strongest most powerful people in the world! And she wasn't even twenty years old. And even as Jason swelled with pride and admiration for the woman his little sister had become, his heart broke, because he had missed it. He had missed all of it. And by his own choice.

Jason looked away. He couldn't look at her. He couldn't see her like this. It was just too much too soon. He couldn't look her. In the end the only thing he could do was whisper under his breath desperately, "I'm sorry." 

Marinette must have heard him because she gave a resigned sigh and moved to stand beside him. Jason felt more than saw her as she leaned against the ledge he had just squatted behind. And when she did, she said softly but clearly, "I forgive you, Jay-Jay. I think I will always forgive you. That's part of being a family, right?" 

"Even when I kill people?" Jason whispered.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Marinette shrug casually saying, "Well I mean, I've killed people too, so it's not like I have any room to judge." 

Jason snapped back to look at her shocked out of his guilt by pure astonishment. He stared at her wide eyed, but she just smirked as he said, "What?"

She leaned in conspiratorially and said, "What did you think happened to Hawkmoth?"

"I... the news said that he was consumed by the power of the miraculous, or something like that."

Marinette nodded in agreement and said, "Yeah, that's just a nice way of saying that after he took the ladybug miraculous from me, I took the cat from Chaton, and cataclysmed him into oblivion." 

Jason blinked and sputtered. He straightened and stared at her in horror and confusion. She was so casual. How was she so casual about turning a man into dust? He stared into her eyes, and it finally clicked. That hardness. The hardness that he had seen in her off and on from the moment they had met. Staring down Batman, staring down him. Calling them out over the phone. Dressing him down, just a few minutes ago. It was an edge that only came from having to make a difficult choice. The choice to kill. She had killed. His sister had killed! The pain and guilt washed over him anew as he struggled to face this new information. 

Marinette must have comprehended his struggle, because she immediately straightened and with a softer voice said, "Why don't we finish this conversation at my apartment? I might have stressed baked while waiting for the clock to magically speed up, and now the kitchen is overflowing with macarons. What do you say?"

Jason cleared his throat still thrown by everything he had learned. He needed to process, but after all of this he was now fairly determined not to let her out of his sight. "Yeah," he said probably a little more gruffly than he intended. "Macarons sound good."

Marinette smiled and transformed, she threw her yo-yo, the only thing that stayed the same no matter what costume she was in and waited for him to put on his helmet. When he did, she swung off trusting him to follow, which he did. But even as he swung, he finally understood Batman's no killing rule with the perfect clarity of an older brother who just wanted to protect his little sister. And all he could think was, 

"Fuck, I owe him an apology...Fuck ."

Next

@laurcad123 @craftgremlin @toodaloo-kangaroo @blackroserelina @maanae @kitsun369 @idkamt @aksartisticlife @its-maemain @iglowinggemma28 @officiallydarkgeek @meira-3919 @crazylittlemunchkin  @read-fantasy-to-escape-reality @raven-ette

[kakusu-shipping]

I am so sorry I am being so annoying with Self insert fanfiction recently but I don’t really mean that because this is my blog and I do as I please and also @probably-some-goat is encouraging me so you all can blame him.

Mountain’s Peak

In which I am the first of a future 3 total humans to climb the Himalayan Mountains in not nearly enough clothing

It was warm. So warm. Emile’s eye cracked open slowly to stare at a blurry ceiling he’d never seen before, or maybe he had, there was no way to know without his glasses. The bed below him was solid earth, a layer of scratchy hay separated him from the cold stone floor. He started to sit up, and a voice spoke to him from the corner of the room.

“You awake!” She chirped, too far to make out any details, “Good good.” She leaned over, patting the robes piled on top of the human in a makeshift blanket, “Warm? More warm?” She questioned, tilting her head.

Emile sat up slowly, glancing around his makeshift floor bed until he found his glasses folded neatly beside the folded robe that’d become his pillow.

With his sight returned Emile could finally take in the room. It was small, with a single roaring fire and a window currently covered by a long red cloth that spread across the floor. Over the fire place hung the humans clothes, his thick orange sweater, jeans, socks, and fluffy boots, all drying from the cold. Under the blanket he’d been wrapped in yet more robes, thin fabrics not made to keep a human properly covered in the Nepal mountains.

Finally, he turned his attention to the owner of the voice that’d greeted him. She was beautiful. An Omnic with big LED eyes in an almond shape with three sensors placed in a small triangle on her forehead. She was sturdily built, with a near solid armored frame that left no hinges exposed and cylindrical arms ending in ball jointed wrists and legs that grew thick and ended flat after the knee joint, all signs of an Omnic built for the medical field, built for precision and careful work, with the strength to lift up to 300 pounds of human and equipment if need be.

“Ah, our snow bird has awoken.” A voice spoke at the door, low and soft. Emile hadn’t realized he’d been staring at his nurse until he was forced to look away from her to the tall, white clad Omnic at the door.

“ma- MASTER MONDATTA!” Emile threw his make shift blankets off in an attempt to stand to greet his idol, or at the very least sit up properly. Oh he was just as radiant in person, sleek white plating covered the Omnic’s face, his shoulder and neck supports exposed as he appeared to be missing the upper half of his chest plating, along with the protective plating on both arms, exposing the wires that would act as a nerves system that allowed the Omnic to reach out to Emile and put him back to rest.

“Easy now, little one, you must rest.” Mondatta spoke calmly as he sat on his knees beside the humble little human, who couldn’t stop shaking in his presence, “Reya has told me you are suffering a rather sever case of frostbite, it would be best if you remained still for a while.” He calmed, taking Emile’s hands into his own. The young human stared at his finger joints as they wrapped around his fleshy palm, watched his thumb smooth over his knuckles.

“Aoita making hot food. I go check.” The nurse, who Emile assumed to be Reya, patted Mondatta’s shoulder as she stood and began her way to the door, before tuning to motion to a kettle in the fire, “Hot water, rag, gently.” She made a motion of wiping her hands, and then she was gone out the door and around the corner, off to the kitchen to check on Aoita.

Mondatta gently pulled the kettle from the fire, unaffected by the metal’s obvious heat as he poured the boiling water into a bowl near by and dipped a rag into it. Gently, one by one, the Omnic massaged warmth by into Emile’s frosted finger tips, encouraging his blood to flow naturally by running circles on the human’s palm with his thumb as he gently wrapped each finger in the damp part of the cloth before drying them back off.

“Where did you come from, child? You are not from the village outside our monastery, nor the one at the base of the mountain.” Mondatta asked after a moment, Emile barely caught his words, instead mesmerized by the monk’s skills.

“Ah.. K-Kentcuky, sir... America..” Emile answered honestly, still staring at the joints in the Omnic’s fingers.

“That is quiet a long way to travel. What brings you here? Vacation with your family?”

It became apparent then that Mondatta assumed Emile to be a lost child, which was perhaps a fair assumption, as the human was only just barely 15, and looked much smaller than others his age.

“N-No sir! I came here to- to meet you!” Emile took his hand from Mondatta’s, looking the monk in the face. As he took a deep breath to build up his courage, “I- I want- I want you to take me as your student!” Emile declared as much as he could with his shaking voice and pounding heart. He gripped tightly to the collar of his robe to hold himself steady, it felt as though he needed to hold his chest, lest his heart escape. “My- My parents are.. A-Anti-Omnic, sir.. They don’t believe in your cause... But I do! And I want to support you! I want to offer you my aid and- And learn from you!”

“Your aid?” Mondatta tilted his head in curiosity, “What exactly are you attempting to offer me, child?”

“I- I grew up in a machine shop, sir. My father’s life work revolved around Omnics; Making them, repairing them. Even after the crisis we stayed afloat but running a repair shop, gr-granted only for.. Omnics who where... o..owned...” Emile felt the shame of his upbringing sink in, the grip on his robes tightened, “I-I’ve never met an Omnic I couldn’t repair! I’ve memorized every assembly book my father owned, I know I could fix and- And heal any damage that could come your way, sir, so- So please,” Emile bowed his head to the monk before him, holding tightly to his collar, “T-Take me as your student. I want to help you make a peaceful world between our kind.”

Mondatta stared at the top of Emile’s head for a moment, pondering his offer. The correct choice would be to call the authorities and send the child home. He was a minor, most likely here without his parent’s knowledge, possibly on stolen funds directly from them.

Yes, that would, morally, be the correct choice.

Mondatta put his hand to his chin, and tilted his head the other direction, “It gets rather cold here at night, and you packed rather lightly.”

Emile sat up, “I saw advertisements for the mining operation in town! I’ll get a job and buy warmer clothes!”

Mondatta gave a hum, “We do not have food supplies here, and most of the buildings do not have any heating, or a furnace.”

“I’ll be fine! There’s edible weeds growing in the hills, and I know how to start a fire safely!”

“I am not sure we have a proper place for a human to use the bathroom-”

“I can hold it!”

Mondatta’s thoughtful facade cracked, the monk broke out into cackles, bringing the human before him into confusion. A hand, warm from hot water, with smooth joints and golden plating placed gently upon Emile’s head, ruffling his snow white hair gently.

“Of course you may stay, my student.” Mondatta spoke with a smile in his tone, “No job or “holding it” required. We take care of our family here.”

Tears sprung from Emile’s eyes, his entire body shook joyfully and anxiously. In a sudden move he wrapped his bare arms around Master Mondatta, pressing his face to the remaining half of the Omnic’s chest plate, sobbing out thanks and praise, promises to repay the monk, and the entire Monastery, with his skills as a mechanic.

After a long time of crying, some hot soup by a lovely Omnic with a thick southern accent who asked to be addressed “Aoi”, and a little more care taken to Emile’s frostbite, the human realized something rather important.

“How did you get here?” Mondatta repeated his question, placing a thicker, almost quilt like robe on the human’s shoulders.

Emile nodded, “I remember seeing the Monastery, the lights in the windows but.. I don’t remember coming inside.”

“Ah. That is because you lost conciousness outside the monastery walls. Brother Zenyatta was the one to find you collapsed in the snow, he brought you to me.”

“I see... Please introduce me to Brother Zenyatta! I have to thank him for saving my life!”

Mondatta once again hummed, this time truly thinking on it. Though Zenyatta was a member of the Shambali, he wasn’t as keen on humans as some of the others who wandered the monastery halls. In fact, he was rather against interacting with them.

Perhaps then this is what one could call an opportunity. After all, Zenyatta did bring the human in, as Emile said he saved his life when he certainly didn’t have to. Perhaps this is human was a gift from the iris, one to help set Zenyatta on the right path.

“Alright then,” Mondatta nodded to himself, confident this was a good choice, “Tomorrow we shall pay a visit to Zenyatta.”

[eatingtherich-amenu]

Reuse, Repurpose, Recycle

Buying nothing is the best way to avoid sharing your hard earned cash with the mega rich but avoiding single use or new items and reusing what you already have are a great second.

The amount of waste generated by humanity represents a growing threat to our ecosystems and economies. The output of solid waste has grown from 25 gigatons (yes, that’s 25 billion tons) in 1990 to 86 gigatons in 2020 – and a projected 140 gigatons by 2050.

This expansion exceeds population growth, and is the result of a disposable-goods system that combines short-term use and long-term environmental harm. Half of all plastic production is for single-use items. To get a sense of how ephemeral a “single use” can be, consider that the average working life of a disposable plastic shopping bag is just 15 minutes and Australian’s throw away an estimated 10 million plastic straws a day.

Source: https://www.weforum.org/agenda/2021/07/reusing-plastic-waste-pollution-economy-value/

Honestly, the idea that we call something that lasts for hundreds or thousands of years ‘single use’ and have been conditioned to use it once and throw it away is actually bonkers when you consider it. 

These plastic plates and flimsy plastic toys will outlast me, my kids and their kids and yet we use and throw them ‘away’ (there is no ‘away’) with never a thought. What a crazy marketing trick we’ve fallen for as a species!

So how to prevent buying these damaging and wasteful items over and over? Buy reusable and repurpose your current items:

Beeswax

Instead of buying endless rolls of plastic wrap, opt for beeswax wraps instead.

Silicone food covers and lids

When it comes to sustainability, silicone is a bit of a grey area. But when it's a choice between reusable silicone food covers and single-use plastic wrap, it's a step in the right direction.

Paper or metal straws

Aussies throw away an estimated 10 million plastic straws a day. A DAY.

Paper bags

While it has become commonplace to wrap loaves of bread in plastic bags, paper packaging is becoming an increasingly popular and easy-to-find option.

Toothpaste tablets

Forget folding up your toothpaste tube to try and squeeze out every last bit of toothpaste; toothpaste tablets are the latest eco alternative.

Bamboo toothbrushes 

While you’re at it, you may as well ditch the plastic toothbrush and opt for a bamboo brush instead.

Eco-friendly toilet paper

Be kind to the planet and never run out of toilet paper again.

Glass soap and detergent bottles

Many supermarkets, including IGA, now offer refill-and-go glass bottles for dishwashing detergent, handwash and even hand sanitiser.

Boxed washing powder

Skip the liquid cleaning agents in plastic bottles and load up on boxed washing powders instead.

Cotton tote bags

According to Sustainability Victoria, Australians use around 10 million plastic bags every day.

Glass or metal containers

Give single-use plastic bags and containers the flick and opt for recyclable materials instead.

Reusable coffee cups

It’s estimated that Aussies throw away 2.7 million disposable coffee cups every single day.

Washable bamboo nappies

According to Sustainability Victoria, a whopping 3.75 million disposable nappies are used each day in Australia and New Zealand.

Fabric face masks

We see them strewn on the streets and flowing from rubbish bins, but face masks are part of life in a new COVID-normal world.

Reusable drink bottles

A million plastic bottles are bought around the world every minute, according to a study by The Guardian.

Microfibre cloths

As well as harbouring bacteria and germs, plastic kitchen sponges are another environmental enemy.

Soap bars

Hair-care products have taken some inspiration for their soapy cousins, with some mane players going back to basics and offering their formulas in bar form.

Recycled paper or bamboo plates and Bamboo cutlery

Why stop with serveware when you can ditch the plastic cutlery, too.

Paper cups

Whether it's for the office water cooler or your kid's 21st birthday party, there' are plenty of sustainable alternatives to single-use plastic cups.

Buy your meat or cheese from the deli and ask to use your own container.

Pre-packaged meat and cheese is usually sold in plastic or styrofoam trays, but if you buy direct from the deli butcher, you can bring your own container to transport your goodies.

Source: https://www.racv.com.au/royalauto/sustainability/sustainable-living/reduce-plastic-waste.html

Source: https://www.australianethical.com.au/blog/22-tips-for-going-plastic-free/ 

Finally, these issues aren’t able to be fixed at a personal level, they originate from large corporations mass producing plastic. Search out petitions and protests, lean on your local council and government members and support initiatives to ban plastics.

Your future depends on it.

[love-and-monsters]

The Warlord and His Lady Pt. 1

M dragonkin X F human, first person, 10689 words.

It’s the fifth birthday on this blog about a week before my birthday, so I decided to be brave and post this story. It’s in first person and present tense, which I think is slightly unusual, but I hope people enjoy regardless! It will be multi-part, with amnesia, mutual pining, caretaking... just stuff I’ve been interested in lately. I can’t promise a consistent uploading schedule, but I’m working on it in my spare time and I’ve been enjoying writing it. 

There’s someone knocking at my door. It takes me ten solid, sleep-addled minutes to realize that’s wrong.

The knocking is coming from my bedroom door. First, I don’t sleep with my bedroom door closed. Second, I live alone.

I open my eyes and everything goes sideways very fast.

I’m not in your room. I’m not in your bed. It’s four-poster, covered with a canopy of green and gold blankets. The bed is pillowy beneath me, much softer than my old spring mattress. There are tons of blankets on top of me, enough that it’s an effort to push myself upright. Pillows are stacked around me in a sort of haphazard throne, letting me sit up without any of the effort usually involved.

The knocking comes again, a little louder this time. “Ma’am? Your husband has arrived home. You requested to be told when he was here.”

Add that to the pile of weirdness: I don’t have a husband. Or even a boyfriend.

My first instinct is to stand, but even that goes wrong. As soon as my feet hit the floor, the world slants sideways. I stagger, hit the bed awkwardly, and end up on the floor with a bang.

There is silence for a moment. Then the woman on the other side of the door says, “Er. My lady? Are you all right?”

“Yes!” I yelp. It can’t possibly sound convincing, but the woman doesn’t call again. I’m alone for at least a little bit. It takes a moment of scrambling to get me back on my feet. This time, I’m prepared for the dizziness, so I don’t fall. I just flop over the bed until my knees stop trembling.

Once I orient myself, I take time to look around the room. It’s… a room. Nothing terribly remarkable. There’s a wardrobe, a desk covered in papers and books, a bookshelf that looks wildly disorganized, and a fireplace crackling away in a corner. There are no windows, and the only other partially-ajar door I see leads to a bathroom. There doesn’t seem to be any way to escape. Not that I’m sure I could run if there was a way out. My knees still feel shaky.

Footsteps thud in the hallway outside, growing louder and closer with each step. Before I can come up with a new plan of action, the footsteps are right outside my door. The doorknob twists to one side and the door swings open.

The man who enters has a stormy expression on his face. He’s bulky, with broad shoulders that are only enhanced by the armor he’s wearing. It looks a bit like a roman gladiator, with a chest plate strapped to him with leather and meatal covering his shoulders and arms down to a pair of gauntlets. He’s wearing some sort of cloak around his left shoulder, and cloth wrapped asymmetrically around his waist. Underneath that skirt is more armor, covering his legs and feet. Every step is heavy and loud, metal against stone.

His face is uncovered and he’s frowning, shaking long locks of black hair behind his shoulders. The glower he wears only adds to his intimidating appearance. Just looking at him strikes me with a sudden, piercing anxiety.

This anxiety is only increased when his stern gaze falls firmly on me.

I freeze. It’s always been my reaction to scary situations. It has never felt more fundamentally inadequate than it does right now. He’s staring right at me. He can see me. And it feels like, if I move, the tension in the room will snap and he’ll lunge for me.

It’s him who breaks the tension by turning to push the door shut behind him. He exhales slowly as he does, his shoulders slumping a little. It’s a tiny change in his posture, but it helps. He looks more tired, less intimidating.

Motion catches my eye and my gaze lowers. A shock rolls through me. There’s a green, scaly tail, poking out from his lower back and swaying gently. A real, actual tail. Attached to a human.

My brain feels like a pair of disconnected gears- it’s going very fast, but it’s not making anything happen. I can’t process this. Too much is happening too fast and it doesn’t make any sense,

The man turns back toward me. His frown deepens. “Are you feeling well? Your maid said you didn’t answer the door when she came to fetch you.” He takes several strides toward me. “Did something happen?”

Suddenly, casually, he is right in my personal space. One of his hands is half-raised to touch my face and I’m flinching away before my mind can even comprehend it.

He stares at me, hand still up. “What is it?” His voice is startled, almost irritated.

I open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Speaking under pressure has never been a skill of mine, and fear seems to act as a paralytic for my vocal cords. He continues to stare, looking me up and down as he waits for a response.

“Is everything all right?” he says, his voice a little more cautious. “You’re acting strange. Did you have a nightmare? Did something happen while I was away?”

I swallow, trying to wet my increasingly dry mouth. The initial shock seems to be wearing off. Now a deep, yawning terror fills my chest and stomach. This world is unfamiliar, I have no way to navigate it, and I’m trapped with a strange man people think is your husband. The panic escalates, drawing my muscles stiff and taut.

When he makes to move toward me again, the tension releases. I skitter away from him so quickly that my back slams into one of the heavy bookshelves against the wall. All the books rattle. Several of them topple over. The entire bookcase tilts back, just a little, and then starts to tilt forward. I feel the exact moment it overbalances and starts to fall.

There is one second in which I am absolutely certain I’m going to be crushed, and then hands slam into the shelf on either side of me. With one heave, the man sends it slamming back into place. We both stand still for a moment, me unable to move in the cage of his outstretched arms.

Then, he looks down. “What is the matter with you?”

It’s at times like this that I wish I was more prone to fainting or breaking into tears under stress. It would spare me from the discomfort of having to figure out what to say. But I have no such luck. After a few moments, I hesitantly say, “I don’t know who you are.”

There’s silence. He blinks a few times, rather owlishly. “I’m sorry?”

I swallow hard. There’s no saliva in my mouth, so it’s more of a throat convulsion really. “I don’t, uh. I don’t know who you are.”

There’s another long silence while he searches my face, first with bewilderment, then increasing desperation as he doesn’t find what he’s looking for. His arms slide off the dresser and fall back to his sides. A breath shudders through his chest. Then another.

He spins on his heels, his tail coming within an inch of my leg, and storms to the door. It bangs open and he bellows down the corridor, “Fetch me the physician! Now!”

The physician is an older man with dark skin and hair done into hundreds of tiny braids woven together in one large braid down his back. He takes the memory loss without even a blink, like he sees hundreds of amnesiacs a day. His steady, professional presence is reassuring, even as my apparent husband paces the room.

“No sign of head injuries,” the physician says as he probes at my head. His fingers slide down the back of my neck. “Lymph nodes are slightly swollen. Might be fighting some kind of infection, but I’m not sure if that’s related or not.” He tests my joints, prods at my back and stomach and makes a lot of thoughtful humming noises.

“And you say you don’t remember anything,” he says eventually, sitting back and eyeing me contemplatively.

“It’s hard to explain. I don’t remember any of you, I don’t remember this castle, I don’t remember this place at all, but I can remember my childhood. I remember growing up with my parents, going to school, graduating college. I remember going to sleep last night! It’s not like I have a blank spot in my mind, it’s like I lived my life there and today I just woke up here.” Your voice catches a little. The tailed man stops pacing and stares at you.

“Hm,” the physician says. His voice is calm, but you can see the concern in his eyes. “Physically, I can’t find anything wrong with you. At least, not anything that would account for the memory loss you’re describing.” He stands and looks toward the tailed man. “My thoughts are that this is the result of some kind of curse or other magical ailment.”

The tailed man takes a deep breath. “Get the thaumatist.”

The thaumatist is not the same reassuring presence as the physician. He’s young, with blond hair drifting in a sort of cloud around his head and eyes that perpetually seem to be looking at everything and nothing. It’s not comforting that he also always seems to be looking at a point about an inch above my head.

“Hm.” He looks properly at me for a moment, then his gaze drifts away once more. “Hmm.”

My husband glares. “Well?”

“Well…” The thaumatist tilts his head back and breathes in slowly. “Hm.”

There’s a distinct thump as my husband’s tail smacks into the bed. His arms are already folded over his chest and the corner of his mouth is crawling up into a snarl. “Is she cursed or not?”

“Oh, yes, certainly. I could sense that the instant I stepped into the room. Someone did this intentionally, there’s no doubt.” His voice is breezy, like he’s discussing party decorations. There’s another thump as my husband’s tail swings into the bed.

“Can you fix it?” he says, his voice tinged with a threat.

“Oh,” says the thaumatist, as if he wasn’t expecting that question. “Well, that depends.”

We wait for an answer but the thuamatist just sort of hums to himself. “Depends on what?” my husband sighs.

“On whether it was her mind or her soul that was affected.” The thaumatist fixes me with his gaze for the first time. My back prickles. “Her mind will be easier to fix. Her soul… more difficult.”

My husband draws himself up stiff. I hear his breath catch. “Her soul?”

“Mm. Presumably, the curse was used to replace her memories. If it was used merely to affect her mind, then it may merely take a few sessions to manually remove the obscuring memories. But if they used more complex magic on her soul, then it will be far more difficult to alter.”

“Explain,” my husband states. The thaumatist shrugs, breaking his gaze on me and looking at some point on the hall.

“Memories are complicated. Our minds discard ones they see as unimportant or useless to our daily lives. By implanting new memories into the mind, the old ones are effectively covered up. But it can be reversed fairly easily, even if it does take some time. But memories can also be affected by toying with the soul itself.

“Personally, given the strength of the curse, I think it is more likely that it affects her soul. If her soul was translated across realities, then she will have a set of overlapping memories. The more recent ones will cover up the older ones, and she remembers a different life than the one she lived here.”

“I’m sorry. A different… reality?” my husband says.

“It’s a complicated bit of thaumatic theory. There are alternate realities bordering our own. Given what you remember, and the power of the curse, I suspect whoever cast it was attempting to banish her soul to an alternate reality. Though it did fail, and her soul returned after living out the duration of her life in an alternate world. Hence the memory loss.”

There’s a long pause. My husband, previously fiddling with the straps of his armor, has gone deathly still. Even his tail is no longer moving. “Someone tried to kill her?” His voice is cold, dangerous. I find myself going still as a trapped mouse.

“Oh.” The thaumatist cocks his head to one side. “Well, she would not have died. Her body would have been functional, but her soul would not have been in it. She would have lingered for a while. I expect a few years, before her body finally succumbed.” He smiles absently at me. “Fortunately, the spell was a failure.”

I look between the thaumatist and my husband. My husband is staring at me, eyes wide. His chest heaves up and down with heavy breaths. There’s a tension in the room, growing with each passing second. I can feel it pressing on my back, stretching between him and me.

And then it snaps. “Alert the high guard. Tell them we’re going to the Warren.” The thaumatist rises and exits the room, unhurried. The door closes behind him and my husband moves to the wardrobe.

I sit up while he’s rifling through something on the bottom of the wardrobe. “I, um.” My voice comes out with a bit of a squeak. He doesn’t seem to notice. He grabs a paper-wrapped box and sets it down behind him, then crosses the room to grab a large suitcase from under the bed. “What- what’s going on?”

He pauses and lifts his head to look at me. There’s something harsh and cold in his eyes, but when he catches my gaze, he pauses. He slides the suitcase away and rises to sit on the bed next to me.

“If the thaumatist is correct, then someone has tried to kill you, and nearly succeeded. That’s an assassination attempt. We can’t stay here.” He unlatches the suitcase and glances inside it. “Your medicine and our clothes are sorted.” He glances around the room. “Where’s your cane?”

“I don’t know?” I sputter out. I can’t even remember needing a cane. He glances around a room for a moment, then grabs something from next to the bed, and places it into the suitcase.

“The horses will be ready for travel in twenty minutes,” he says. “Most of our supplies are packed already, and the kitchens can quickly prepare food to take with us. I’ll need to prepare some letters for the generals, in case I’m out of contact- can you-” He looks into my face once more and his expression shifts a little. “No, I suppose not.”

I swallow hard. “I don’t- I don’t know what’s going on.” My voice sounds like it’s verging on frantic, even to me. “I don’t even know who you are.”

He looks at me for a long moment. Slowly, he sits down on the bed again. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I say automatically. He purses his lips.

“This must be scary for you.” There’s a little strain to his voice, like he’s trying hard to keep it steady. “You need to hold on for now, okay? I can explain more when we get to the Warren.”

“I just want to know exactly what’s going on,” I say. My voice is small, and a little shaky. He presses his lips together.

“Someone tried to hurt you,” he says in a slow voice that doesn’t manage to hide his anxiety. “We need to make sure you’re going to be safe. That we’re both going to be safe. So we’re going to a safe house for a little bit. Just to make sure.”

“Okay.” Everything is starting to feel a little floaty. Maybe I am dreaming. Maybe I’ll wake up in a few moments. Things don’t exactly feel real anymore. “I- okay. I, uh. Can I just know your name?”

He blinks a few times. A flicker of something crosses his face, almost like he’s about to cry. Then it’s gone. “Rastek,” he says. “I need to go take care of some things. Stay here. I will get you when we’re ready to leave.”

Just like that, he marches out of the room. The door bangs shut and I am sitting alone.

I thought being along might make it easier to process my thoughts, but it seems to have only made things worse. My brain whirls, churning up questions that I can’t answer. How did this happen? Is this even real? What happened to my home, my family, my pet? Can I reverse this? Should I reverse this? How do I even begin to find anything out?

Distantly, I realize that I’m hyperventilating. The room sways and I’m abruptly on my back, looking at the ceiling. Everything feels strangely far away. I think I’m crying. I’m not sure. There’s a darkened spot on the ceiling and my eyes lock onto it.

After a little while, my breathing calms. The floaty sensation eases, though it doesn’t go away. I feel like I want to sleep for a week. Or just drop off the face of the earth. Am I even on Earth anymore? That thought makes me give a weird little laugh. It doesn’t sound like a laugh.

The door opens. Footsteps cross the room. “Are you awake?” Rastek asks. A hand touches my shoulder. He’s looking down at me, a slight frown creasing his brows. “We need to get going.”

My body feels heavy as rocks, but I heave myself out of bed. It’s difficult to control my body. Like I’m puppeteering it or controlling it by remote. My breathing snags strangely in my chest.

Something catches my shoulder. It takes a second for me to process that it’s a hand. “What’s wrong?” Rastek leans over me, his other hand coming up to tilt my face toward him.

“Um.” I can’t quantify what’s wrong. Everything. Everything is wrong. Rastek peers more intently into my face.

“What’s wrong? What doesn’t feel good?” he presses. Everything. I make a sort of vague gesture with my hand.

“I can’t-” My throat convulses and I nearly sob. I can see Rastek swallow.

“It’s all right. The physician is waiting for us. I can carry you.” Before I even process that, he’s hefting me into his arms with very little effort. It’s quite practiced- he settles me against his chest as if he’s done it hundreds of times before. He snags the suitcase as an afterthought, then takes off at a jog.

From my position, I can’t get a good look at our surroundings. I can just look up at Rastek’s face. His expression is stern, jaw clenched. But there’s a little quiver at the corner of his mouth that makes my heart clench.

It takes only a few moments to exit the building into a sprawling yard. The sun is bright, though there’s a chill in the air. Dirt pathways carve through the green lawn in interesting, though pretty inefficient, landscape.

There’s a gaggle of people and horses toward the center of the lawn and Rastek heads right toward them.

“Sir!” A woman in armor, similar to what Rastek wears, hustles over. “We’re almost ready, just waiting on your signal.”

“Thank you, general. I’ll be along in a moment. Physician! Come.” He walks a small distance away, then kneels and deposits me on the ground. “Lie back,” he says, his voice abruptly softening. “The physician will help.”

“What is the matter?” the physician asks as he comes up behind us.

“She’s unwell,” Rastek says, though he doesn’t take his eyes off me. “She’s been moving strangely, and she can barely speak to me.”

The physician pokes and prods and asks a few questions, simple enough ones that I can answer. Strangely, the experience seems to be helping. By the end, I’m feeling, if not calm, at least more attached to my body.

“She’s in shock,” the physician says. Rastek, who has been pacing, stops and drops down next to me.

“In shock?” He stares at me before whipping his head back toward the physician. “She’s not sick?”

“No. More like what sometimes happens when a soldier experiences a terrible battle. They may be physically unharmed, but they may be mentally struggling. I imagine losing her memories would be a frightening enough event to cause shock." The physician looks steadily at me. “Do you know what I’m saying?” I nod. “Good. Take a deep breath for me, all right?” I inhale slowly. “Let it out.” I exhale. “There we go. Keep breathing just like that.”

The physician leads me in breathing for several moments. His voice is low and soothing, and it’s easy to relax to. “Good. You’re doing very well. How are you feeling now?”

“I don’t know.” My voice is small, but it’s rather steady. “Everything feels wrong. I can’t-” My voice trembles.

“It’s all right,” the physician says. “You’re doing very well. It’s overwhelming. Keep breathing for me, all right?” He takes an exaggerated deep breath. I mimic him. “That’s it. I know it’s scary, but you’re safe. Everything is going to be okay.” I nod. “Okay. We need to move right now. Do you feel comfortable traveling?”

“I think so.” I’m not sure what other answer I could give. The physician offers me his hand and helps me up. Rastek hovers at my side, hands slightly raised like he’s ready to catch me.

“You’re certain she’s safe to travel?” he asks, fixing the physician with a stern look.

“In all honesty, I would prefer that she rest, but it would probably be more dangerous to her health to stay here at the moment.”

Rastek lets out a soft sigh. “Thank you for your assessment.” The physician nods and walks away toward a gathering of servants. “Come. The sooner we leave, the sooner we’ll get there and you can rest.”

He leads me over to a pair of horses. They’re both pitch black and bulkier than I was expecting. I always think horses are going to be smaller than they actually are. Rastek hesitates and turns back toward me. “I would surmise that you no longer remember how to ride?”

“Er…” I technically have ridden a horse before, but given that I was just in the saddle while a handler led the animal around, I don’t think it gave me any useable skills. “No.”

“We’ll ride together, then.” Rastek gestures for me to step closer to the horse, and I eye the saddle. I don’t even remember how to climb onto a horse. As I’m trying to decide the least embarrassing way to attempt it, Rastek seizes me around my waist and hoists me up.

It’s a smooth motion, and I’m in the saddle before I totally process what’s happening. The horse shifts underneath me and I cling to the saddle. Rastek clambers up behind me, making me wobble dangerously. “Careful,” he murmurs. He tugs me back so I’m resting securely against his chest, his other hand reaching around me to hold the reins.

Oh, god. I am way too aware of how much he’s touching me. His fingers tickling gently at my stomach where his hand rests. The warmth of his chest behind my head, shifting slightly with his breathing. The way his legs are pressed up against me. My heart is hammering and I feel vaguely tingly all over.

“Into formation!” Rastek barks. I shrink down a little from his booming voice. “Move out!”

We drop into a practiced formation as we ride, a couple of heavily-armored people in front of us, our horse in the middle, and more armored guards and servants bringing up the rear. Every now and then, the guards will switch positions or come into line with Rastek to give him an update. One of Rastek’s arms stays around me the whole time, rubbing absentminded circles on my stomach.

Riding a horse, as it turns out, is a bit like you took the worst parts of riding in a car and made them more uncomfortable. Looking at the scenery can only keep me occupied for so long, and I can’t sleep because about twenty percent of my attention is focused on not falling off the horse. It’s much more effort than I remember- even with Rastek holding onto me, my thighs burn with the effort of keeping myself upright.

The day is warm, even as we travel through shaded areas. Sweat slides along the back of my neck and sticks my clothes to my body. The horses seem to be slowing down too, lather gathering on their hides. We end up coming to a stop near a shallow brook.

Rastek swings down off the horse and tugs it toward the water. “Do you need help coming down?” he asks.

I hesitate- I definitely do need help, but I’m afraid that if I move, I’ll get tangled in the reins or straps of the saddle and fall. “Uh. I think so.”

Rastek looks at me patiently, then slightly more impatiently when I don’t move. “Lift the leg on the other side of the horse and bring it around so you’re facing me.”

That seems easier said than done. As soon as I lean to one side to swing my leg around, my entire body tilts in that direction, threatening to overbalance. My stomach gives that terrifying drop and I seize the horse’s neck, practically throwing myself flat against its back. Rastek huffs out a sigh. My face burns.

“Here.” He lifts his arms toward me. “Try again. I will catch you if you fall.”

He’s still wearing metal, so it doesn’t look like the most comfortable landing, but I don’t want to stay on the horse for the rest of my life. Hesitantly, I lift my leg again.

This time, I have a better sense of balance. Moving quickly is the solution here- if I swing my leg around and lean back against the movement at the same moment, I can keep my balance. Once turned, I’m sitting more or less side-saddle, facing Rastek.

“Good,” he says, arms still raised. “Now just slide forward. I will catch you.”

I brace my arms against the horse and, after a moment, I slide forward. There’s a moment of surprise as I start to fall. Then, Rastek’s hands close around my waist.

He holds me only for a moment before he sets me on the ground, but I can still feel his hands even after he releases me. It lingers for several moments.

“Are you feeling all right?” Rastek asks.

“I think so.” My legs are sore and shaky, and I think I have blistered on the inside of my thighs, which is possibly one of the worse sensations I’ve ever experienced. “I’m just tired, I think.”

Rastek makes a little ‘tch’ noise. “No surprise.” He touches your forehead with the back of his hand. The feeling is so gentle that your breath actually catches in your throat. “You’re still a touch feverish.” His eyes narrow just a little. “I wish you could have a little medicine, but it’s going to make you tired.”

“I’m all right,” I say automatically. “It’s fine.”

“Hm,” he murmurs. “Rest here for a bit. I’m going to discuss our travels with the others.”

I sit down on a nearby log and watch as Rastek joins a gathering of guards around a map. Their speaking is loud enough that I can hear different voices, but I can’t tell what they’re saying.

After a few minutes of waiting, I slide closer to the creek. I have to hike up my skirts and slide off my shoes to stand at the edge of the water. It’s cold against my toes. A tiny fish darts through the shallows, nearly colliding with my feet before changing direction and vanishing into shadowed water.

It’s been a while since I’ve been in a creek. There’s one near my house, but I found it harder and harder to get out. There are so many things to do, so many things to focus on other than being outside. The creek looks a lot like mine. Tiny fish, smooth stones in the shallows, green grass and reeds partially submerged in the water. If it weren’t for the clothes I’m wearing, I could almost imagine that I’m in my creek again.

A flicker of motion catches my eye. A tiny orange-brown salamander crawls from the shallows up onto a half-sunken stick. I freeze. It tilts its head to one side, sides moving with its quick little breaths.

I watch it for a while, as it sits and suns itself. Slowly as I can, I stretch out a finger until I’m just hovering above it. I reach out with the lightest of touches and rest my finger on its head.

The salamander doesn’t move. I did this with my sister, once. We dared each other to catch the amphibians in the creek. She was always more skilled at it than I was- once she caught three in an hour. I never managed to get more than one.

When I stretch my hand out to touch the salamander once more. Before I can make contact, it darts off the stick and plunges into the water with barely a splash. It’s gone within a second. I stare at the spot where it vanished, a strange sense of loss stirring in my chest.

“We’re almost ready to go.” I spin around, skirts dropping into the water as I drop them. Rastek is standing on the shore, eyes fixed on me. “Would you like to eat before we go?”

I hesitate. I’m not particularly hungry, despite it having been a while since I’ve eating. My anxiety has settled firmly in my stomach and I don’t have much of an appetite. Rastek frowns as I shake my head.

“Are you feeling nauseated?” he asks as I step out of the water and try to shake my skirts off.

“No, I just don’t have an appetite,” I say. Rastek frowns more, his tail swinging back and forth.

“You should eat a little something.” He pulls a cloth bag from our horse and rummages through it for a few seconds before retracting a peach. It looks slightly bruised, probably from being banged around by riding, but after a moment of inspection, Rastek holds it out to me.

I take it, holding it in the palm of my hand. The fuzz on its body tickles a little. It feels dense. Juicy. More out of habit than any desire to eat, I lift it to my mouth and bite.

It’s delicious. The soft flesh gives under my teeth, spilling juice down my chin and through my mouth. It tastes sweet and honeyed and almost spiced. If there was crust, it would be an exact replica for my mom’s peach pie, the one she makes for her birthday every summer. With the warmth in the air and the creek babbling behind me, I could be there. It feels like I’m there…

And then I open my eyes. I hadn’t even realized I’d closed them. Rastek is in front of me, hand still slightly extended.

My heart sinks like a weight, dragging my stomach down with it. The peach juice goes acidic in my mouth. I cough, spitting some of the partially chewed fruit onto the ground. I’m not home. I don’t know how to get home. I don’t know if I can.

I’m never going to eat my mom’s peach pie or hunt for amphibians with my sister. I’m stuck here, in a world I don’t remember and don’t understand.

My breath whistles in my chest and my vision slides out of focus. Fuck. Not again. I can’t be doing this again. I have to stop collapsing, I have to pull myself together.

“Are you all right?” Rastek’s voice is closer now. Because he’s closer. One of his hands reaches for me, stops, remains hovering just out of touching distance. He glances over his shoulder like he’s considering calling the physician.

“I’m fine.” My voice comes out weird- too strained and too flat at the same time. “I. Choked. On the juice.”

Rastek looks at me. “You choked.”

“Yes.” The strangled feeling is passing, moving on toward numbness. Good. If I can just not feel for a while, maybe I can have a breakdown in private. Just not here. Not again. Not with people looking at me.

Rastek looks highly unconvinced. His tail swishes back and forth over the ground. I keep my eyes focused on it. The movement is hypnotic. Kind of soothing. It’s at least preventing me from bawling my eyes out.

He’s just drawing in a breath to say something when one of the guards calls out, “My lord?" Rastek pauses, looks over his shoulder in her direction. “We should get going. We’ve already lingered here too long.”

Rastek huffs out a sigh. “Very well. We can move on.” He turns back toward me. “Can you manage for a while longer? We should have some dried fruit you can eat as we go-”

“I’m fine.” The remnants of peach juice in my mouth are turning my stomach. “I can keep going.”

Rastek keeps looking at me, arms folded. “At least drink something,” he says, removing a waterskin from the saddle. He holds it out to me and I take a few gulps. The water is at least more tolerable than food. It’s surprisingly cold, for having traveled so far with us, and there’s almost a mild sweetness to it. I must be thirstier than I thought.

“Up you get,” Rastek mutters as he swings me up onto the horse. He takes the waterskin, reattaches it, then swings himself up behind me. One of his hands settles around my stomach, anchoring me against him while the other takes the reins. With a quick signal to the guards, we’re off again.

My thighs burn with the effort of staying on the horse and with the friction of riding, and our brief break didn’t help much. I end up leaning more against Rastek, though that’s uncomfortable in its own way. I’m way too aware of the constant shift of his breathing and how close his hips are to me.

The sun starts to sink and we keep riding. One group of guards splits off from us as we go, heading in a different direction. Then another group. The ones remaining close rank, tightening our formation. Rastek shifts in the saddle. His tail snakes around me, holding me securely by the waist. Every now and then, he rubs my back or murmurs something reassuring to me. “We’ll be there soon. You’ll be all right.” It would be more comforting if I couldn’t hear the tension in his voice.

It’s as the last bits of sunlight finally drop below the horizon that I see a building on the horizon. Rastek spurs his horse onward, leaning forward and against me in an effort to get there faster. “Just a little longer,” he huffs into my hair. “We’re almost there.”

The building is made of stone and fairly large, though not as big as where we’re coming from. It’s larger than my house at home, that’s for sure. My skin tingles as we trot past the low, wrought iron fence that surrounds the property and into the generous yard.

“Unsaddle the horses,” Rastek says to one of the guards. “Physician, come with me. The rest of you, ensure that the kitchens are stocked and get some rest in the servant’s quarters. I will bring my wife to her room.”

He slips off the horse and turns toward me, arms lifted. This time, when I reach for him, instead of placing me on the ground, he pulls me against his chest. His arms come around me with ease, holding me tightly but not aggressively, one hand supporting my head. Despite being in a very droppable position, I feel secure.

A guard walks into the house ahead of us, along with the thaumatist. The thaumatist stops, turns in a slow circle in the middle of the entranceway.

“Well?” Rastek says. The hand supporting my head moves absently, rubbing back and forth. His nails scrape against my scalp.

“Seems safe enough,” the thaumatist says. His expression is dreamy and unconcerned.

“Safe enough?” Rastek repeats. The thaumatist shrugs.

“I detect no magic here other than what I would expect from the internal systems. But nothing’s ever one hundred percent. Theoretically, there’s a chance someone could insert a spell that disguised itself as a part of internal systems. It would be difficult, but possibly manageable.”

“Is it likely?” Rastek asks, terse. The thaumatist shrugs again.

“Not particularly. It would be a lot of effort, and it would have a high chance of failure.” The thaumatist waves a hand vaguely. I can’t tell if he’s trying to gesture or trying to swat a fly. “It is an interesting concept, though.”

Rastek lets out an enormous sigh. “Then I am going to let me wife rest.” He waves off the guard and heads down a hallway, up a few sets of stairs, and into a small room.

It looks sort of like a room you might see a character in a fantasy movie stay in overnight. A bed, a dresser, a few lamps on the walls, a dusty-looking green rug on the floor. Actually, the entire room looked dusty. Rastek wrinkles his nose and makes a noise like a choked-off sneeze. “This room will need to be cleaned again,” he sighs. “In the morning, perhaps, unless you need it now?”

It takes a moment to realize he’s looking at me expectantly. Given how rarely I actually bothered to dust my room in my own home, this place isn’t that bad. Though it does have that slightly musty, stale smell of disuse.

Rastek walks over to the bed and hesitates. “Would you like to get changed?” he asks. “I can call one of the servants to bathe you, as well.”

I’m sweaty and sort of grimy and the idea of soaking in warm water feels like a luxury. On the other hand, I’m not keen on having a servant there to bathe me.

“I can bathe myself,” I offer. Something happens on Rastek’s face for a moment. It’s hard to read his expression, but it scrunches up oddly before relaxing back into his standard frown.

“Are you certain? You must be exhausted.”

“I’m not too tired to bathe myself,” I protest. Rastek shifts his weight, his tail waving back and forth behind him.

“I’ll get someone to bring some soap,” he finally says. “Don’t bother with your hair tonight, we can have someone help you with that in the morning.” He walks over to a door that I didn’t notice before and swings up open, shifting me to one arm to free his hand. Despite only being supported by one arm, I don’t feel any less secure.

The room beyond the door is really small. By which I mean there’s about two feet of walking space between the toilet, the tub, and the sink. Rastek actually growls, a sound I feel more against his chest than hear.

“It would have been nice to have more space,” he sighs. I almost tell him I don’t mind before the gentle thunk of his tail against the doorframe reminds me that not only is he bigger, but he’s got more limbs. It’s a tight standing space for me. With his tail, I’m not sure he can actually move all that much.

“Are you going to be okay?” I ask. “Maybe we can try another room? I-”

“I’ll be fine,” he reassures me. “It’s tight, but I’ll survive.” He looks around, considering his options for where to put me. There aren’t many. After a few seconds he carefully crouches and places me into the tub. “I’ll get a servant to fetch some soap. Rest.” He pats my head and sweeps out of the room.

I sit up in the tub. I’m along again. For the first time since this morning. I’m not sure I like it. There’s too much space to think about things I don’t want to think about. I sit up and fiddle with the faucets, then look over at the toilet and sink. There appears to be indoor plumbing, which is something of a relief. Given the weird ‘medieval fantasy’ vibe everything seems to give off, I was worried about chamber pots. There are also lights, now that I think about it, though they are weird. I’ve never seen anyone light them or even flick on a switch, but they always seem to be on whenever we enter a room.

Just as I’m about to crawl up and take a closer look at one of the lights, someone knocks on the bathroom door. “My lady? The lord requested I bring you soap. And he asked for me to set some nightclothes out on your bed.”

“Oh! Um. Thank you. Thank you very much.” How are you supposed to respond to a servant? Do I need to dismiss her? That seems rude.

“Can I help you with anything else, my lady?”

“No, no, I’m all right. Thank you.” There’s the sound of retreating footsteps and I carefully move to open the door. The servant is already gone, and in their wake is a small pile of towels with some cream-colored soap resting on top. I gather them up and step back into the bathroom.

While I’m waiting for the tub to fill, I struggle out of my clothes. It’s laced up the back and it takes a lot of stretching to undo it enough to ease it off.

The water is warm and luxurious and focusing on the motions of washing helps me not think about what’s happened to my life. I stay in until the water is cold and my skin is practically raw from scrubbing before forcing myself to get out.

My nightclothes turn out to be a cream-colored nightgown and stockings. I slide them on and all but collapse into bed. The lights are still on, but I don’t know how to turn them off and I don’t care. I’m not getting back up. I’m sore. I’m exhausted. I have no idea what’s going on. I need to sleep.

I do not sleep.

My brain won’t shut up. I can’t even pin down one thought that’s bugging me. It’s just this horrible, nebulous anxiety that makes my stomach turn and my breath come in sharp little gasps.

The room has no windows, so the only way to tell time is to stare at the clock on the wall. The second tick by with horrific slowness. It doesn’t even have the decency to make a little noise; the entire house is oppressively silent.

Eventually, the restlessness crawling under my skin gets the better of me. I slip out of bed and open my bedroom door.

The rest of the house is silent and dark. There’s just enough light to make out the vague shapes of furniture. I rest one of my hands on the wall to help guide me down the hall.

I’m not sure where I’m going, but the restlessness compels me to walk. It’s only after I’ve turned down a few hallways and the light of my room is lost behind me that I realize I don’t know the house’s layout enough to navigate my way back in the dark. Whatever. I wasn’t sleeping anyway, and if I really need to, I can sleep on the ground.

There’s something comforting about walking around in the darkness. Everything is quiet, peaceful. I can’t see anything more than a few inches in front of my face. It’s sort of freeing. Like nothing else exists except for me.

And then my foot catches on something soft and warm and alive in the darkness and I pitch forward.

Whatever I just tripped on grabs my ankle as I fall. The restriction of my leg stops me from correcting my balance. I topple sideways, cracking my hip against a piece of furniture as I do. “Ow! Shit!”

The hand on my ankle loosens. “Dear one?” The voice, rough with sleep, is familiar.

“Rastek?” There’s a fumbling noise and the hand at my ankle vanishes. I sit upright, blinking helplessly in the dark. I can’t see him at all, but I can hear him shuffling into a sitting position.

“What are you doing here?” His voice comes closer, like he’s leaning over me. “It’s late. You should be sleeping.”

“Why are you here?” I whisper back. “Are you sleeping on the ground?”

Rastek snorts. “I’ve slept in far worse conditions on the battlefield.”

“But it’s not like there aren’t beds,” I say. “You could just sleep in one of those.”

There’s a pause. “There’s only one bedroom on this floor of the house and it was expected that we would share it,” he says after a moment. “The guest rooms are not fully set up and I assumed you would prefer to spend the night alone.” I hear him shift and his warmth moves away from me as he stands. “The servants’ quarters would likely have extra beds, but they likely would not appreciate having their lord there when they just want to rest.”

“If you want the bed, you can have it,” I mutter, rubbing my hand over my head. “I’m hardly using it.”

“I noticed,” Rastek says. There might be a hint of amusement in his voice, but it’s hard to tell. “Here, let’s sit on the couch. You can’t see very well, can you?”

“I can’t really see anything,” I admit.

“I can never remember exactly how poor human night vision is,” Rastek says. “Here, I’m going to take your arm…” A hand closes around my upper arm and tugs lightly to my feet. “And back a few steps, that’s it.” The backs of my legs bump against the couch and I half fall, half sit down. “There. Now, we’ve discussed why I’m here.” The couch sinks a little as Rastek sits next to me. “Why are you still awake?”

“No real reason. I just couldn’t sleep.” Rastek’s not quite touching me, but I still feel aware of how close to me he is. There can’t be more than an inch, maybe two inches between us. The space feels electric. Sometimes I can feel the slightest touch of his body against mine when he breathes in.

“Not tired enough?” he asks, gently teasing, but also probing. I huff out a little laugh.

“I’m exhausted. I just can’t- I can’t sleep. It just won’t happen.”

Rastek takes a deep breath in. It’s almost deliberate, like he’s making sure I can hear and follow his inhales. “Your mind won’t settle.”

“No. I’m exhausted and I just can’t sleep. I thought maybe getting up and walking around would help, but I just still feel… restless.”

“Is there anything you feel like would help? There are a few servants still up. I’m certain I could have them fetch you anything you would need.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what would help. I barely know where I am or what’s going on and I’m exhausted.” I slump forward, elbows on my knees. “I’m sorry, I just- I don’t know what to do.”

Something brushes against my shoulder, tentative. The touch stops, then returns, firmer this time. Rastek’s hand moves up and down my back. “I know. I know this is all so much for you. I can’t even imagine. But you’re safe, okay? I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

He shifts just a little closer and I bury my face in his chest. I can’t even bring myself to feel embarrassed about how I’m clinging to him. I’m tired and scared and his warmth is comforting. I need something comforting, more than I need anything else.

At some point, I can feel myself starting to drift off. Rastek shifts his weight a little with a groan, but as soon as I move, he freezes like a statue. “It’s okay. Shh. Relax.” He only moves again once I go completely still.

He stands, adjusts me so I don’t jostle when he walks, then sets off toward my room. It only takes him a few minutes to get there, and even with my eyes closed, I can tell when we cross the threshold because the lights are still on. Rastek mumbles something and the lights dim back to acceptable levels.

“Good night,” Rastek murmurs as he sets me into bed. “Get some sleep, now.” He fusses with the covers for a moment, tucking them around me. For a moment, I can feel him leaning over me, hesitating. Then he steps back and the floor creaks as he walks away from me.

I fall asleep within minutes. It’s the sort of thick, heavy sleep that fogs your brain and merges dreams and reality. When I wake, it feels like I’ve been sleeping for years and also five minutes. My brain swims as I stare up at the ceiling. That’s not my bedroom ceiling. Why isn’t it? Where the fuck am I?

And then everything comes flooding back. Oh. Oh, fuck.

I push myself up, ignoring the stretch and soreness in my legs. My head’s pounding too. I feel a little bit like I’ve been hit by a truck. Or spent several hours riding a horse through a forest. Either or.

Someone knocks on the door and I jump. “My lady?” I think I recognize the voice. It’s the thaumatist. “Would you mind letting me in? I’d like to give a quick examination.”

“Um. The door’s open?” I call. There’s a pause, then the door swings open. The thaumatist drifts in, looking dreamily unfocused. He pauses, blinking in the dark like he hadn’t realized the lights weren’t on for a few steps.

“Will the lights bother your head if I turn them on?” he asks.

I stare at him. “How’d you know I had a headache?”

“These curses always have some effect that will do your head in.” The lights flicker on and I groan automatically, pressing my hands over my eyes. My head throbs, as a corresponding spike of nausea jolts upward from my stomach. “You may keep your eyes closed for the examination, if that would help.” The thaumatist offers. “Oh. Hello, your lordship. I thought you were not spending the night here.”

I open my eyes and look across the room. Rastek is there, sitting against a wall with his cloak partially wrapped around his body. He groans, half lifting a hand to his eyes.

“Have you been in here all night?” I ask. The thaumatist glances sideways at me, eyebrows lifted, but he doesn’t say anything. Rastek stands, cracking his back as he does so. I wince at the noise. “That can’t have been comfortable.”

“I wanted to make sure you got to sleep all right,” he says. “I wasn’t intending to fall asleep here.” He turns to the thaumatist. “An examination?”

“Yes, your lordship.” The thaumatist turns toward me again, reaching his hands out. “Hold still.”

My head tingles momentarily and I sway. “Hmm,” the thaumatist murmurs. “Hmm.” He tilts his head to one side, gaze distant. “Hmmmm.”

It’s nearly a full minute before he takes his hands back. “The magic around you is still agitated. Your soul is… mm. Unsettled.”

Your stomach twists. “That sounds, uh. Kind of bad.”

“Yes, it can be,” the thaumstist says. He sounds more thoughtful than concerned. “Souls are more easily manipulated when not properly in their own bodies. And they can have a tendency to drift.”

“To drift?” Rastek repeats. He’s still standing near the wall, his body a line of tension.

“To wander, to slip away from the body. When the soul is detached from the body, the link between soul and body weakens. It can cause slips, where the body and soul separate from each other. Most often, during sleep, but at other occasions as well. Souls that wander are uniquely vulnerable. They can be captured or injured with greater ease. Or simply have their connection to their body severed.”

“What happens if the connection is severed?” I ask. My voice comes out sort of strangled; I hardly recognize it leaving my mouth.

“Typically, the body dies and the soul moves on or fades,” the thaumatist says. “I can create a personal ward for you that will help tether your soul more firmly in place, but I cannot guarantee anything. Soul magic is difficult.”

“Create the ward as soon as possible, then,” Rastek says. “How long will it take?”

“Oh...” The thaumatist pauses for a minute. Then another minute. Then another. I glance at Rastek just as he turns his head toward me. Our eyes lock for just a moment and I catch a flicker of incredulity, like ‘can you believe this guy?’ written across his face. Then he seems to catch himself and turns his head away. Something in my chest twinges, an odd sense of loss.

“How long?” Rastek repeats, terse. The thuamatist blinks like he’s just registered that he is speaking with other people.

“I’m not sure. All wards are different. A few days, perhaps?”

“Then she’ll be vulnerable for a few days more,” Rastek says. His voice is still tense, but the thaumatist barely seems to register it.

“Yes. I can create something simpler by tonight, something that will detect if her soul is drifting. A shock will return her soul to her body.” The thaumatist tilts his head to one side. “She probably shouldn’t sleep. It weakens the connection.”

Rastek’s tail swishes back and forth. “Very well. And her memories?”

“The memories can be difficult to recover. I can perform some spells that may help. Or they may not. The memories may return on their own. Or they may not return ever. Souls are complex and ill-understood.”

There is silence for a moment. I can see Rastek’s shoulders set tight, barely rising and falling with his breathing. His head is turned away, but I can catch just the unhappy line of his mouth. “Do you want the spells?”

It takes a second to realize he’s talking to me. “Wh- what?”

“The spells to help you recover your memory. Do you want them?” This time he looks fully at me. I can’t read his expression. It’s stern, revealing nothing of his thoughts.

“I- I think so.” I can’t think of any reason to refuse them. If I’m hallucinating, I can’t imagine they’ll do anything and I this is real… then I do want to remember. If I’m supposed to be here, I want to know.

Rastek nods toward the thaumatist. “Then start the treatment.”

The thaumatist turns back toward me and I feel a flicker of nervousness, like I’m about to have a dental procedure. “This won’t hurt,” he says, looking marginally more focused than I’ve ever seen him, “but it will make you woozy.” He extends his hands and rests them on either side of my face. His fingertips press against my cheekbones.

There’s nothing for a moment. Just the thaumatist’s face uncomfortably close to mine. And then, an intense sense of vertigo.

My head spins like I’m somersaulting. I can’t get my eyes to focus. The world looks like a kaleidoscope- just colors spinning and blurring together. I squeeze my eyes shut, which helps the vertigo, but makes the weird sensations in my body all the more obvious. My back burns like I’m lying out in the sun, one of my arms breaks out in goosebumps, my legs tingle with pins and needles, and a sense of pressure rests on my chest. The feelings are intense and disorienting- I can’t get a sense of time or place. It could have been hours since the thaumatist started, or seconds. I could not have moved an inch or I could be somewhere entirely different. I can’t get a sense of where my body is in space.

Finally, it stops. The sensations taper off until I can get a sense of my surroundings again. There are soft sheets at my back, a lightly cool air on my face and the sensation of my nightclothes against my skin.

I open my eyes slowly. I’m still in my bedroom. The thaumatist is sitting back on the bed, looking at me with a curious expression.

“Your soul is complex. And guarded,” he says. “I will be back later with the charm.” He stands and drifts out of the room.

I watch him go before cautiously turning my gaze toward Rastek. He shifts in place, folding his arms over his chest. “Are you feeling all right?”

“I think so,” I say. “It was, uh. Pretty weird.”

His brows pinch. “You were crying out.”

“I- was I?

“Yes. The thaumatist said it was normal.” Rastek closes his eyes for a moment. “He said you might be… experiencing something.”

“Mostly, I think I just felt weird. Not bad, just kind of weird. It didn’t feel like I was doing anything.” Rastek looks neither reassured or concerned by what I’ve said. He just looks at me for a long moment.

“I’m glad you weren’t distressed, then,” he says finally. “I expect you’ll want to get dressed. I can call a servant to assist you.”

“No, I think I can get dressed on my own,” I say hurriedly. The idea of having someone trying to tug me into clothes like a toddler is humiliating. I swing my legs around, stretching in preparation to get up. Rastek turns his head away, stifling a yawn with his hand, and I really look at his clothes for the first time. They’re the same ones he was wearing on our ride, significantly rumpled from sleeping on the ground. His hair looks oddly limp and a bit tangled, and when he turns his head back toward me, his eyes look puffy.

“Hey, uh.” He fixes his gaze on me and I waver for a moment before continuing. “Maybe you should, uh. Get changed too? Maybe take a bath? You must be exhausted. Might help you feel better.”

Rastek stares at me, then looks down at himself. Did he even realize he hadn’t changed his clothes? “Yes. I should. I’ve been… somewhat preoccupied.” He passes a hand over his face. “I’ll have a servant stay near your room. Just shout for them if you need anything. Anything at all.” His expression grows stern. Well, sterner. “Make sure you’re taking care of yourself.”

“I will,” I say. His voice makes butterflies dance in my stomach. I hurriedly beat the sensation away. “Make sure you’re taking care of yourself too, okay?”

He blinks twice in rapid succession. For a moment, he looks almost startled. Then he gives a quick little nod and hurries out of the room.

As it turns out, getting dresses it a little harder than I was anticipating. I can get into my underclothes, a sort of long linen dress, just fine, but the outer dress proves stubborn. The fabric is thick, making it difficult to move once my arms are in the sleeves. There’s also lacing in the back, which I can reach, but I can’t move my arms enough to pull it taut. Every time I get it tight enough, the slack I have to put into the bindings to make it possible to tie it just loosens the entire thing again. Not to mention that moving in the wrong position makes my back and arms throb with pain.

I wrestle for a while between the desire to do it myself and the desire to actually be able to get dressed. I almost open the door at least three times, but can’t manage to actually go through with it. The idea of asking for help from a stranger because I can’t do up a simple dress is mortifying.

All too soon, there’s a knock at the door. “Are you all ready? You must be starving.” Rastek’s voice is gentle, comforting, and completely unwanted. “You need to eat and take your medicine, still.”

“Um.” My voice comes out way too high pitched. “Can you just- um, I need- uh. I- ow!” I stretch one of my arms back too far and something stings with a sharp, unsettling pain.

“Are you all right?” Rastek’s voice sharpens. “Are you hurt?”

“No, no, I’m all right.” I fumble to lace up my dress and fail once more. “God dammit!”

Rastek is silent for a moment. “Can I come in?”

I fumble a little. “Um. I- I’m not totally…” I trail off. “I’m… uh.”

Rastek waits for another moment. “Are you certain you’re all right? I can send in a servant if you’re not-”

“No! No, I-” I trail off, then slump over in defeat. “I can’t get the dress on. I can’t lace up the back.”

There’s a pause, then a hear the doorknob slowly turn behind me. The door opens one cautious inch at a time, like he’s giving me an opportunity to stop him. “Do you want some help?”

I sag back, sitting gently on the edge of the bed. “Yes.”

Rastek crosses the room and sinks onto the bed behind me. His fingers brush against my back as he gathers the laces. “Were you trying to do this on your own?” he asks. I nod. “The whole time?” I nod again. “Your shoulders must hurt.”

“Yeah.” Rastek tugs the laces until the dress is comfortably snug on me. When he reaches in to tie the laces securely, his fingertips brush against my spine. I shiver.

“It’s not easy to do this on your own. I thought you would ask a servant for help,” he says.

"I... don’t like asking people for help,” I mumble. Rastek makes a strange, almost strangled noise. His hands still and I feel him shaking behind me. After a second, I realize he’s laughing, soft, huffing laughter.

“I should have thought. You really are just the same.” His voice is saturated with warmth. It makes my stomach flip. I swallow hard. “There you are. Laced up.”

“Thank you,” I sigh. Rastek moves his hands up my back, around my shoulder and I freeze.

“Tell me if this is too painful,” he murmurs. His thumbs dig in and the muscle protests for a moment before the feelings settles into the strange pain-relief of a massage.

“It’s always right here that you pull,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “We can put a warm compress on it later, but this should at least help the initial pain.”

After a few minutes, he sits back, his hands sliding off my back. I feel oddly cold in his wake. “Breakfast should be ready now,” he says as he stands. “I’m afraid there’s not much- we have provisions, but they’re limited.”

“I don’t eat much for breakfast usually,” I say, not really thinking. “Just some toast is fine.” At home, breakfast was usually toast or dry cereal, eaten as fast as possible, and yogurt if I was feeling fancy. It’s a fair sight better than most people I know, who are pleased if their breakfast isn’t a cup of coffee.

Rastek stares at me. “You need to eat more than just a slide of toast. You’ll make yourself ill if you don’t.” He extends a hand toward me. “At least try to eat something, all right? You need something in your stomach before your medicine.”

I tentatively lift my hand, my fingers hovering over his. I can feel the warmth of his skin, even without touching it. It’s surprisingly intimate, considering that I spent most of yesterday clinging to his back. My fingers close around his hand and his thumb brushes against my knuckles. A shiver crawls along my spine.

“Let’s go.” Rastek’s hand squeezes around mine, then he gives a gentle tug and leads me out into the hall.

Part 2 is here

[aerynwrites]

Hiraeth

Machine Herald!Viktor x Fem!Reader

A/N: Viktor in this is inspired by @grumpyoutlaw and their design of MH!Viktor. You can see their work HERE. So this is what Viktor looks like in this story! Definitely check them and their amazing work out! ❤️

Word count: 2.9K

Warning: canon typical violence, blood, mentions of severe bodily harm/trauma/missing limbs, mentions of prosthesis/non consensual augmentation, fire, explosions, mentions of death, but also Viktor saving reader.

Next Part

Hiraeth (noun) - a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past

Fire. 

It’s the first thing you feel and the last thing you remember when consciousness creeps into your mind. 

The memory of it flashes behind your eyelids, vivid and bright orange and all consuming as it also seems to lick at your skin. 

A burning, searing pain rushes through you all at once and your eyes snap open, but they are unable to fully comprehend where you are. 

It’s dim, the only source of light is a small table lamp in the far corner of the room, and the dull purple glow peeking out from under the blanket covering you. 

Wait…blanket?

Your eyes screw closed, another wave of pain washing over you, worse than the last. 

The only thing you can get your mind to focus on is the pain. The pain and trying to figure out where you are and what happened last. 

Your memory is blank, or…it feels like it is. It’s all murky and cloudy. You want to remember, and there are little flashes, but they are gone before you can decipher them. 

Taking a deep breath you bite back the agony that wells up in your throat. The wail that wants to force itself out and instead peel your eyes open, try to steady your breathing and take in your surroundings again. 

A bed.

That’s the first thing you notice when you focus in again. The head of it is propped up slightly and it’s actually quite soft beneath you, the sheets are a bit scratchy against your skin adding to the constant burning sensation that simmers beneath the surface of your whole body. 

Okay. What else?

Tilting your head forward slightly, lifting it off the pillow beneath you, you see an IV protruding from your arm. It’s connected to a fluid filled bag hanging from a pole to the right side of the bed. 

A bed. An IV. Are you in a hospital? 

Finally, a groan of pain works its way from your lips and you finally register that the main source of pain is coming from below your waist. It feels like your leg is being burned alive. Like you were dragged through fire again and again. 

Sweat beads on your forehead as you shakily clutch the edge of the blanket between your fingers. You can feel beads of sweat roll down your temple before traveling lower and down your neck, disappearing beneath the baby blue hospital gown you just now notice you’re wearing. 

The purple light the peeks from beneath the blanket makes your heart rate spike. And you can’t explain why. But before fear can stop you, you rip the cloth away from your lower half. 

Your breath sticks in your throat like honey. Your chest heaves as you try to take a full breath but it feels like no air will enter, no matter how far your lungs expand. 

Metal. Smooth and cold with purple light shining through the plates where they connect. That’s the sight that greets you instead of flesh and bone. Your entire left leg is gone. 

Well. Replaced. 

Instead of smooth skin, your fingers run over dark grey metal and you can feel it. 

You can feel your fingers run over the solid plates that somehow feel warm beneath your fingertips. Everywhere you touch it ignites the burning, making it even worse. As if your synapses are misfiring and replacing touch with pain. 

What the fuck. What the fuck-

Your fingers pull frantically at the edge of your gown, pulling it up, up, up - waiting for your fingers to brush skin once again. 

But the metal just keeps going. 

Up into your hip, plates finally meshing cleanly with the skin of your belly but still traveling upwards over your ribs before finally stopping beneath your breast. 

It seemingly melts together with the skin already there, and expands with each breath you take. The plates shift seamlessly with your movements, the purple glow shining brightly beneath them. 

Most of your left side from your chest down isn’t you. It’s machine. It’s fabricated and it’s…

You flop back against the mattress, mind working overtime to try and comprehend what the hell it just saw. 

You need to leave. 

That’s the only thing you can think to do. Get away from this place. Get away from whoever did this to you. 

You’re sitting up and trying to swing your legs over the edge before you can think. You rip the IV from your arm, uncaring of the thin trickle of blood that drips down your skin because of it. 

In fact, you welcome it. It shows you’re still human. Some part of you at least. 

However, as you begin to move you quickly realize something is wrong. While your right leg moves as expected, swinging off the side, your left leg doesn’t. The metal appendage feels like dead weight tugging at you as you try to move it. Like something isn’t connected properly. 

Fuck it. 

You quickly grasp the leg and pull it off the side of the bed to join the other one. You move to stand, slowly putting all of your weight on your right leg, unsure if the left one could hold any weight at all. 

The moment you try to move even an inch, shooting pain soars through your left side, the weight of your leg tugging at where it joins with the skin. 

It topples you before you even make it away from the bed. Your knees meet the ground harshly and you hear a violent snapping sound as you catch yourself against the bed. 

The purple glow gets brighter and your eyes are drawn to the pool of purple liquid pooling on the floor below your knees. 

Shimmer. 

The pain is excruciating now, almost blinding as you try to get to your feet again. The world is blurring around you, and you know you’re about to pass out, your vision narrowing dangerously. 

The ringing in your ears nearly drowns out the slam of a door opening and the hurried footsteps that approach you. 

Muffled curses in a language you don’t understand meet your ears before solid arms slide beneath you. One across your shoulders and one behind your knees as they lift you effortlessly from the ground. 

You want to fight back, your mind is screaming at you too. But you can’t. Your arms feel like lead and your head falls sluggishly back, just enough to catch a glimpse of the person above you. 

Searching for their eyes, you want to look into them before darkness pulls you under again. But all you see are pools of black and gold before pale skin dissolves into a dark metal mask. 

The last thing you register is a pinch in your arm and a wave of relief washing through you like a flood. 

Then darkness consumes you. 

———

Memories finally come back to you in your dreams. Little flashes between consciousness and unconsciousness. 

Fire. Screams. Explosions. Pain. 

But what intrigues you most in these memories is the dark figure that flashes across your vision from where you lay on the ground. 

The screams are all around you and the pain is all consuming but his hands are gentle as he picks you up from the blood soaked dirt and carry’s you away from the carnage. 

The grey streaks in his hair is the thing that lingers in the front of your mind as unconsciousness melts away from you once more. 

Waking up this time is different. Better. Less pain than the first time. 

In fact there’s no pain at all really. Nothing other than a dull ache on the left side of your body. 

The room is also lighter this time, and you notice a few windows you hadn’t noticed previously, gentle light streaming in through the panes. 

“Don’t try to get up this time.” 

The unexpected voice saps all sleepiness form your veins instantly. Your eyes snap open fully, flitting around the room until they land on a form sat hunched over a table at the far side of the room.

Your voice is a pathetic rasp as you speak, throat dry from disuse and lack of water. 

“W-what?” The single word comes out garbled and stunted, as if you’ve forgotten how to speak all together. But the man hears. 

“I’m advising you to stay in bed.” He repeats, standing from his seat as he sets aside whatever he was occupying himself with. “You damaged your leg severely the last time.” 

You say nothing else as he turns to face you, taking slow measured steps towards the bed. 

His slow approach gives you ample time to take him in, and you feel uneasiness settle deep in your belly. 

His body is almost completely augmented. Legs, arms, torso…all of it replaced with intricate plates of metal. They move seamlessly as he does, gliding against one another much more quietly than you would expect of a completely metal man. 

Scraps of red fabric rest around his neck and also hang from what looks to be a belt of some sort around his waist. In fact it looks like there’s a set of metal armor covering the augmented parts of him. 

A three pronged claw appendage is connected to his shoulder, hovering behind him and moving as if it was analyzing you. 

Finally, your eyes fall to his face as he stops at the edge of your bed, and you’re met with golden irises embedded in black scleras. 

The only thing to even clue you in that the man beside you is human, is the small expanse of milk white skin around his eyes, the lower half of his face remains hidden behind a mask. 

“Are you going to kill me?” 

The words slip from your lips before you can stop them, much clearer than before but still withered due to cotton mouth. 

The man let’s out a small ‘tsk’ sound from behind the mask, and you swear he rolls his eyes. But you don’t have time to dwell on that fact before he is handing you a cup of water. Procuring it from a table at the end of the bed. 

“If I was going to kill you…” He says, tapping your left leg over the blanket. “Why would I have spent so much time helping you?”

His eyes never leave you as he speaks, and a twinge of familiarity shoots through you. His voice, while heavily modulated by the mask sounds…familiar. 

You shake it off, brows tugging together as you quickly down the water he gave you before shoving the cup back into his hands. 

“Helping me?” You ask, heart rate picking back up at the reminder of what hides beneath the covers. “I didn’t…my leg is gone! You fucking experimented on me-“ 

“It’s not an experiment if I’ve perfected it.” He cuts you off, eyes narrowing. “Do you prefer death?” He asks. 

You physically recoil from the question. “What? Of course not-“ 

He cuts you off again. “That’s what would have become of you, had I not intervened. Your leg is simply rebuilt. When I found you, you didn’t have a leg at all. Your ribs and chest cavity were crushed, and more damage was done to your-“ 

The dizziness hits you out of nowhere and you shake your head, fisting the blanket tightly between your fingers. 

“Stop.” You say, voice weak as you fight the bile rising in your throat. “I don’t…what happened?” 

Despite the dreams you had, your memory is still fuzzy, filled with gaps and blank spaces that you can’t seem to remember. 

The man above you is silent for a moment before he lets out an almost inaudible hum. He turns away from you to head back towards the table he was sitting at earlier, picking up a few things before returning to your side. He brings the chair over with him as well, positioning it next to your bed before sliding gracefully into it. 

He places what you realize now are various tools on the table at the end of the bed, before rolling it closer to himself. 

“There was a riot in the marketplace.” He begins simply. “Enforcers got involved and I assume someone thought it would be a good idea to try and escalate the situation.” The man sighs. “A bomb was detonated too close to a cache of shimmer and well…you can imagine the rest.” 

The pillow squishes beneath your weight as you sag back into the bed, still sitting upright but reclined slightly. 

“You were simply at the wrong place at the wrong time.” He offers, voice much gentler than it has been. 

You scoff. “That’s an understatement.” 

He gestures to your blanket covered legs, no longer looking at you. “I would like to work on your leg more.” He says. “There are still some things I need to perfect before you can begin using it.” 

What choice do I have?

You bit back the scathing thought, not wanting to anger the man who holds your ability to walk in his hands. So, you just give him a small nod, looking away when he pulls the blanket down. 

However, you can’t seem to look away for long. The gentle pressure of his fingers against the appendage is much better than the previous painful one you remember, and curiosity gets the better of you. 

Silently you watch as he works, popping plates up and off to reveal the intricacies of what lies beneath. Wires and tubes and other mechanical things you’ll never understand. All of it illuminated by the familiar purple glow of shimmer. 

“So you’re the Machine Herald?” You finally ask after a long stretch of silence. 

Of course, you know the answer to your own question. But you need confirmation. You’ve only ever heard rumors of the man before you. A man turned machine, who helped those who sought him out.

Arms, legs, lungs, hearts. 

The Machine Herald was a genius and was using it to help those who needed it. Replacing fleshy appendages with metal ones. And as far as you’re aware he doesn’t ask for much in return. 

“An astute observation.” He says. “I wonder what gave it away?” 

The huff of laughter that bubbles from your lips is unexpected.

“Did you just make a joke?” 

He shrugs, picking up one of his tools. “I have found they help put patients at ease when they are under my care.” 

You hum, watching as he moves the tool towards the opened panel in your leg. “I guess. You could probably work on - ow!” 

Your augmented leg jerks at whatever he just did, a small spark flashing from the wiring inside. He pulls away instantly, eyes immediately flicking up to meet your own. 

“You felt that?” He asks, eyes widened slightly. 

You have to stop yourself from reaching down to soothe what felt like a burn. “Yes I felt it! If fucking hurt-“

The man mutters to himself again, before setting the tool aside and reaching for another panel higher up on your leg on the side of your thigh. 

“I was wondering what possessed you to try and walk the other day.” The panel opens with ease and his metal fingers sift expertly through the exposed wires, tugging at one before grabbing a small pair of pliers and cutting the wire in half. 

Immediately, all feeling in your leg and left side disappear. The dull ache is gone and all other sensations as well. The pressure of the mattress beneath your leg, the feeling of his hand. 

It’s just…nothing. 

You look up at him, mouth agape.

He shakes his head, muttering to himself again. “I mistakenly connected the sensory reception input. What did you feel when you woke up the first time?” 

“It felt like…fire. Like my leg and entire body were being burned. It wouldn’t…it wouldn’t go away.” 

The man sighs, and his eyes flash with something like regret before it’s gone in an instant. 

“I apologize. It shouldn’t…it shouldn’t be like that. I don’t typically connect that until the end, to give the body time to adapt.” He looks away from you then, closing the panel at your thigh before returning to the one lower down. 

“I didn’t mean to cause you pain.” 

His words, which you’re sure come from a place of fact rather than genuine sorrow, tug at your heart. That nostalgic feeling from before returning as you watch him work. 

“It’s okay.” You say gently, shrugging your shoulders. “I could be dead. So, pain just proves I’m not.” 

You see him look at you from the corner of his eye, and the corners crinkle just slightly. 

Is he smiling underneath that mask?

“A jaded way of looking at it.” 

You shrug again, sinking back into the pillows. “What other way is there? I got blown up. I lost my leg. I’m in some strangers clinic. But at least I’m not dead.” 

He’s silent for a moment. The only sounds being his tools clinking against metal before he finally speaks. 

“Most see it as a positive change. These…augmentations. An evolution, if you will.” 

A glorious evolution. 

The words you’ve heard whispered through the lanes along with the Machine Heralds name. 

“Is it worth it though?” 

Your words cause him to pause. 

“Is what worth it?” 

You worry the thin sheet beneath your fingers. “Becoming more machine than man? I mean, at some point…” you trail off unsure of your next words. But a quick glance from him makes you continue. 

“At some point won’t your humanity go with it?” 

The silence is deafening, and you choose to let it persist, fearful that you’ve upset him in some way. 

However, unbeknownst to you, the man before you doesn’t answer because he simply doesn’t have an answer.

Will his humanity disappear as his flesh does? 

An unanswerable question. 

And yet, one that plagues him long after you ask it.

[waiting4inspiration]

дорогая (The Winter Soldier One-shot)

Summary: Bucky's Winter Soldier programming has been triggered. Turns out the Winter Soldier has a thing for you.

Warnings: winter soldier!bucky, does this count as being a bit dark?

One-Shots Masterlist II Part 2

Recently, HYDRA's always been able to find a way to mess up every plan the team makes. On this mission, they decided to have a go at the person that was supposed to lead you all through the base; Bucky. It was an all-hands-on-deck situation to try and subdue the Winter Soldier. And you'll never forget the way he looked at you while Steve and Sam were pushing him onto the jet.

Bucky would never look at you like that. Like you'd be an easy target for him. Bucky's always been kind to you, gentle even. A real friend. It's almost as if a completely different person was sitting across from you on the entire way home.

"Why so tense, дорогая?" he asks, leaning as far forward in his seat as the restraints will allow him, his cold eyes boring right into you making you shift uncomfortably.

Natasha taught you Russian. This wasn't supposed to be the reason. You didn't want to know that he had called you 'sweetheart' and that's what probably made you cringe even more.

Sam pushes him back into his seat, making his gaze turn up and a smirk grows on his face. "Why don't you leave her alone," Sam roughly says.

But the Winter Soldier looks back at you with the same smirk on his face, running his tongue over his lips like he's going to enjoy whatever is to come.

You're happy to get back to the compound because not only can you take a shower, but you can also get out from The Winter Soldier's stare. You know that everyone else can handle him and you would rather not be the subject of any more 'sweethearts' that you're sure would come your way if you tried to help.

You pay no attention to the sounds outside your bathroom as you shower, focusing more on relaxing in the hot water on your back. It isn't until you actually hear something moving in your room that you snap out of the relaxed mode you're in and quickly turn off the water.

Listening closely for any more noise, a breath catches in the back of your throat when you hear footsteps in your room. Thankfully, you brought clothes in with you so that you don't have to face whoever it is in a towel. It is cold outside so you planned on getting dressed in the warm steam. You'll have to thank your past self for that later.

You move as quietly as you can, thinking to yourself that the worse thing that could happen is that The Winter Soldier escaped from whatever holding cell the team placed him in until Bucky came back into consciousness. Knowing the luck you had this week, that's probably the case.

When it's quiet outside the bathroom, you slowly push open the door and step into your bedroom. "It's about time you came out."

Before you can even comprehend that Bucky's voice coming from beside you, his metal hand wraps about your arm and pulls you towards him, spinning around, and then pushing your back against the wall as he steps in front of you to cage you in.

You look up at him, hoping to see some light in his eyes, a sign that Bucky is back and not still The Winter Soldier. You try to push him away, but it's like pushing against a solid wall and it only makes him chuckle at your attempt. "What do you want from me?" you question, keeping your voice low to make sure it doesn't shake to reveal your fright, still staring up at him.

"That's just the thing, дорогая," he whispers, stepping forward and making whatever space there in between you two even smaller as he lifts his arm to rest his hand beside your head, making sure you can hear the whirring of the metal plates. "I haven't wanted much before, but I want you."

Had it been said by Bucky and under different circumstances, you probably would have reacted differently than shrinking back against the wall, practically fearing for your life.

Maybe Bucky doesn't like this either. Maybe you can reach other to him and break him out of this. "Bucky, this isn't you-"

You don't have time to finish your sentence before his metal hands wraps around your neck, his thumb and index finger hold your chin as he leans closer to your face. "Oh, мой дорогая. If only you knew how Bucky really feels about you."

Your eyes grow wide, your throat going dry even though he's not applying too much pressure, as you breathe in a shaky breath. "What are you talking about?" you question, making him smirk wickedly at you as his metallic hand slides down your neck and over your chest.

"If you could see the dreams he has about you," he starts, his eyes falling to his fingers tracing shapes over your skin, smiling at the way goosebumps rise after his touch. Then, he hums, looking back into your eyes, leaving you to imagine the rest of his words. "What he would do to you if you were his. It's nothing compared to what I would do."

He moves his knee between your legs, making you gasp and your hands snap up to his shoulders. "Bucky, please snap out of it," you whisper.

The desperation in your voice makes him stop for a second, turning his head away from you as if fighting with himself internally, grunting in frustration before his eyes land back on you. "Stop saying his name. He's not going to help you."

The way he says that unsettles you even further and you shake your head to yourself. "What have you done to him?"

Your question makes him smile wickedly. "Let's just say he won't be coming back for...a while. Bucky is gone. It's time for me, the Winter Soldier, to have some fun."

His hand returns to the base of your neck and he starts applying pressure, making your vision start to go hazy before completely blacking out and falling into his arm.

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[bontenten]

Bewitch

Pairings: Osamu x F!Reader x Atsumu; Miyacest WC: 7.4k Genre/Warnings: smut, fairytale retelling (Hansel and Gretel), magic au, dubcon/noncon, incest (miyacest), fear, knife, monster, bondage, snuff, vore, gore/blood, object insertion, body horror, a bit of size, tummy bulge, oral (m.receiving), anal (m. receiving), masturbation (f. & m.), voyeurism, arson...

Summary: The unexpected guests at your cottage have a mysterious past and hidden agenda. Will they allow you to accompany them on their journey?

Travelers are advised not to spend the night in the Dark Woods. It's said that beyond the last hiking trail, past a brook, lives an Evil Witch. That witch is vile and merciless; often, fools lost in the woods are never seen again. It's said that she must be over 800 years old, feeding off of the essences of children and young men unfortunate enough to cross her paths. It’s said that she even eats fellow witches. No one really knows. After all, no one who has seen her has lived to tell the tale.

It's been a few months since your teacher has left you to fend for yourself here in the woods—your first time alone during this apprenticeship. She said she had to attend a big conference with a whole bunch of other grand witches. You asked if you could tag along, but she insisted that you stay and watch the cottage. The lack of company is about to drive you insane so you often resort to conversing with yourself or the forest itself.

The soft moss muffles the sound of your footsteps as you begin the trek back home, a faint off-trail path away from the main road that no one else would usually notice. On any other day, you would just go home without a fuss, but loneliness makes people do some bizarre and odd things. For instance, the desperate longing for companionship leads to you dropping a not-so-hidden trail of fancy pebbles to inadvertently lead someone to your abode.

For most travelers, going off-trail is akin to a death sentence as any wrong turn might lure them into the forest's deadly maze. Not for you though, you know this place very well: every fallen tree, overturned log, the wanted signs nailed to the trunk...

Wait. A wanted sign?

You can make out from your distance that there are two heads on it, but the details are fuzzy, and the bounty looks smudged. Before you can get a closer look, you hear the birds caw in the trees, signaling the beginning of sunset. You pull your attention away from the poster and continue on to your way home.

The cottage is extremely cozy and warm. The windows are bejeweled and the door is solid wood. You live here comfortably with your teacher, after all, learning about the principles of magic and what it means to be a witch. It's much more than curses and spells, as your teacher would tell you, witches have character and a moral compass. Although there are certainly those who decide to experiment with the darker arts.

While you get a fire going in the huge furnace and boil some water on the stovetop, you hear two voices squabbling outside followed by three raps on the door. You're stunned by the noise, turning to face the shut door wondering if you were just dreaming about the noise. Is it? Visitors? No, you must have heard wrong.

"'Samu, I bet it's a farce, let's not." The voice sounds both tired and weary, almost out of breath.

"Let me just try again, I can smell a working kitchen in there, someone is definitely there," another voice insists. Three more knocking sounds. "Excuse me! Is the owner of the house available? My brother and I followed a path of colored stone and came upon your establishment...could you spare us some water? A bite of food?"

Two men, though they sound friendly. You're frozen in the kitchen, staring at the door that remains between you and the strangers.

"Is there someone home?" The second voice tries again. "Please, my brother is not feeling very well."

Your initial wariness for the stranger melts when you hear about the brother, which does not sound like a lie based on the raspy voice you first hear. A witch's character is fundamentally kind to all sentient beings, especially those in need. But you're still nervous, so you end up grabbing a metal ladle before carefully going to open the door. When you crack the door open, you see a pair of twins. Beautiful men, one blonde and one grey-haired. The former, with a quirky grin, although his eyes certainly look lackluster. But the other seems like he's at the right place, eyes peering past you into your home, fixated on your kitchen.

"I'm Osamu. And this," he gestures to his twin, "is my brother Atsumu. We're a bit lost, you see."

You nod your head in a casual greeting and introduce yourself as the resident apprentice at this cottage. As a good host should, you open the door to the weary guests preparing to welcome them in.

"Are we welcomed in?" Osamu asks, not moving from his spot. Atsumu isn’t budging either, arms crossed and only looking at you from the corner of his eye, waiting for your answer.

Without giving much thought you nod and open the door wider. "Both of you are most welcomed in."

"Then we thank you for your hospitality," Osamu says, taking a step inside, dragging his twin with him.

Words, especially spoken words carry power and hold intent. And a witch's words, no matter how careless they slip out, contain magic. Welcome, as you say. So welcome, they are.

You shut the door behind them and prepare to go give your first-ever guests some water. When you turn around, you notice Osamu already in the kitchen, the sleeves of his tunic rolled up past his elbows.

"Your food is about to burn. Heat's too high," he tells you, expertly taking control of the sizzling pots and pans. "I got it, don't worry."

Feeling flustered at the faint smell of scorching food, you hurry over to see if you can be of any assistance. "Let me help out."

"No, it's quite alright."

How can a host let her guests do all the work like that? And the first company in a while too! What an utter failure.

"How—" you try to argue back, but you're cut off by Atsumu tugging on your wrist, dragging you over to the sofa in the corner.

"Don't worry about him, he loves to cook." Atsumu brushes out the wisps of his bangs with a huff. "And actually quite good at it. Anything that goes through his hands...well, in short, all become part of his design."

Like his twin, Atsumu's frame is broad and huge, but there is a quality of emptiness of sorts. Osamu's shoulders are wide but there's more substance to it, whereas Atsumu's form seems contained. You can't help but use your learnings to see if you can figure out just what's off about Atsumu. He's slowly walking around the living room and studying the portraits hanging on the wall. He picks up a frame that is set above the fireplace and comments, "None of these are you. How come?"

"Oh, they're my teacher. I'm just a witch-in-training at the moment, so—"

"A witch?" Atsumu questions, clenching the frame tightly. His hands begin to shake, the glass under his thumb beginning to crack.

You did not expect Atsumu to display such a visceral reaction upon the mention of witches. After all, witches normally stayed far away from ordinary human society and when they do mix, it's often a role of healing. But the look that sparks in Atsumu's eyes, it's almost—feral.

"'Tsumu!" Osamu yells while stalking over quickly from the kitchen. He throws his arm around Atsumu's neck and drags him off into the shadows. You can't make out the muffled voices and deep growling noises that are coming from down the hall.

It's their private matter, so you go back to the kitchen. True enough, Osamu's hands are almost like magic. The bubbling pot of broth doesn't seem to be on the verge of overflowing, the onions caramelizing beautifully, filling the air with deliciousness.

Moments later, the twins come back. You notice that Osamu clothes are wrinkled from tugging Atsumu around, but at the very least, Atsumu is looking much better than before.

The three of you set the table for dinner. Osamu brings out the plates as though he knows the kitchen inside and out already. Atsumu comes emerging from the cellar with two bottles of fine wine that you didn't even know your teacher had stowed away. Surely, she wouldn't mind? With Osamu and Atsumu sitting to the left and right of you at the round table, it almost feels like a more familiar, cozier gathering between friends than a situation of a host and her guests.

They tell you that they have been traveling across the lands for a long time now, looking for a cure for Atsumu's illness. It reminds you of the hollow, repressed form you saw earlier and your curiosity gets the better of you. They don't tell you the nature of the malady, but what they do share is that they are looking for a witch to undo the curse on Atsumu, a result of dark witchcraft.

"I am a witch!" you exclaim, feeling your call to action at the moment. "Please, is there truly nothing for me to help to undo the spell?"

Osamu leans in close to you, and wipes a bit of sauce staining the corner of your lips with the pad of his thumb. He smiles. "We're looking for a very high-level witch. One day, maybe you'll get to the level of magic needed."

"You're too weak," Atsumu bluntly points out. You're sure Osamu means to say the same thing, but Atsumu's words are really sharp.

"I know," you sigh. "My teacher tells me that all the time. So, I'm really trying. I'm sure there's at least something I can do."

"I definitely think that. Don't be so hard on yourself," Osamu comforts. "Have you been living alone here for a long time?"

You feel two pairs of eyes glued onto you waiting for your answer. You smile reflexively before your eyes trail to the empty plate and carefully choose your words. "Yea. Just me and my teacher. She's a grand witch...maybe if you wait here for a few days, you can meet her when she comes back from her conference."

"We—"

"We'll be gone tomorrow!" Atsumu snaps, staring into Osamu's eyes.

Osamu doesn't pay any mind to Atsumu, and puts an extra piece of dessert onto your plate.

"We have a long way to go. Atsumu's condition isn't getting better, so we can't stop in one place for long."

It makes you a little sad, because you were hoping to spend some more time with the twins, both of whom you have grown fond of. Osamu and his gentleness. And even Atsumu, despite his quick remarks and outbursts, adds a particular spice to your mundane life.

"Maybe we'll bring you with us," Osamu comments lightly, "'Tsumu, wouldn't that be nice?"

"She'll just be dead weight," Atsumu retorts. You wonder if he absolutely hates you. Is that why he is always so against you being next to Osamu?

Osamu puts an arm around you and blows on the shell of your ear. It tickles and you can feel his body enveloping you. "But she's so sweet," he tells Atsumu and whispers into your ear, "Aren't you?"

You find your wandering gaze looking into his half-lidded grey eyes. His face is right next to you, lips just hovering barely five centimeters away. The overwhelming presence of him is undeniably alluring. Your breaths become shallow as your heart rate speeds up with desire.

"I'm exhausted! 'Samu you too. We're going to bed!" Atsumu drops the silverware onto his plate and stands up. He comes around the table, muttering curses under his breath. Atsumu grabs Osamu by the wrist and drags him off towards the guest bedroom you have shown them before.

You didn't quite catch Atsumu's angry mutters, but you hear "slut" and "harlot" thrown around a few times. Were they directed at you? No, you're not like that, you tell yourself. Atsumu must have been thinking that you are trying to seduce his twin. After you clear out the table, you decide to clear up any misunderstanding.

You tip-toe down the hall to the guest bedroom prepared to knock when you hear muffled sounds coming from inside. You carefully press your ears to the crevice of the door and clamp a hand around your mouth upon hearing the stream of moans.

"'Samu, 'Samu please, ah—"

That's Atsumu? Your eyes are wide and still trying to process the shock of what you're hearing. You tell yourself you shouldn't be here. You should not be listening to whatever is happening behind the closed door, but you can't help it. Hearing Atsumu's moans makes you want to squirm.

You slightly jump when you hear a slap, followed with a pleasured groan. The sound is so clean it feels as though the phantom hands are touching your own heated skin.

Osamu's chuckle nearly makes your knees weak.

"Don't get cocky, if it were any other day ngh—, any other day, I would be the one pushing you into the mattress."

Slap. "Shut up, cute 'Tsumu. I like you being so needy for me like this. What do you want from me? Tell me."

"Fuck me, 'Samu."

"With pleasure."

The wood creaks loudly and you tell yourself, you really need to get out as you back away and try to quickly walk down the hall back to your bedroom.

You throw the door open and lock the door behind you with a click. With your eyes closed, you try to steady your breath and the building heat in your core. It's quiet. There's no noise coming from their room. But they are twins! 

You remind yourself that a witch is all-accepting and kind. There are so many circumstances beyond your understanding, judgement is not a part of your nature. And if what they are performing is wrong, what should you say about yourself? You peel off your clothes and step out of the soaked panty that is proof of your lust.

Pillows are fluffed and covers are pulled over your body. You try to sleep, but each time you are about to drift, Atsumu's cries of pleasure come back into your head. Your hand trails down your navel until the fingertips trace over your clit. Gathering some slick from your cunt, you drag it across the sensitive bud.

You shudder from the touch as images, constructed in your fantasy, cloud your mind. You imagine Atsumu's hands spreading your legs apart and Osamu's teasing words next to your ear. He would tell you to open wide and shove his cock down your throat. You suck on three of your fingers until lips wrap over the knuckles, your saliva pooling from hunger. And slip your fingers into your cunt easily, curling them against the plush walls.

"F-fuck me," you moan into your pillow.

With pleasure.

You quiver, clit pulsating, and your pussy juice dripping into your palm. The wash from the high soon takes you into sleep. All throughout the night, you squirm and feel the phantom sensation of being watched. Not just observed, but studied, by two pairs of glinting hungry eyes. You can almost imagine them on either side of the bed, trapping you into the mattress no matter which way you turn.

A few times the weird feelings almost pull you awake, but you don't dare crack an eye open to confirm your suspicions until the morning light begins to filter through the windows, rousing you from sleep. The air is filled with fragrant herbs and the sizzle of delicious brunch from someone awake before you.

No doubt, it's Osamu, because who else can it be? Atsumu? Please. The twins....

You climb out of bed and stretch your neck on the way to the washroom. Your bedroom door is open, but it's too early to notice that detail.

"Morning!" Osamu greets you from the kitchen. You find a fresh mug of coffee shoved into your hands from him.

You mumble thanks and sip at the brew while watching Osamu fry the eggs. Osamu looks to be deep in thought, probably thinking about something pleasant from the faint smile ghosting on his face. You feel a pang of guilt from both listening to their private lives, and also the strange feelings that maybe they heard your private life too—it's all your paranoia talking.

"You're so talented," you blurt out, fisting the fabric of your long skirt.

"Thanks, but better not let 'Tsumu hear ya, he gets jealous super easily."

Even if Atsumu hears, it's fine. You really mean both of them. Both of the twins both seem super talented as a duo; like they've been out there and seen the world. Meanwhile, you're still stuck here, without company. Would it be possible...if they simply stayed?

Osamu senses the words that are stuck in your mouth and answers them for you. "We're gonna be leaving right after breakfast. There's still lots of ground to cover today," he explains, plating the pancake before preparing to ladle a spoonful of batter for the next one.

"Do you have to leave?" you ask, almost pleading.

"It's cozy here and comfortable. We enjoy your company too, but we have to go. Your teacher would hate us, immensely, and on top of that...let's just say, we're always on the run."

"You say it like you two are fugitives or something."

Osamu chuckles and leans closer to you, hot breath flaming your cheeks, or maybe it's just the heat from the stove. A teasing grin pulls his cheeks up slightly as your eyes flicker over to see his lips spell out, "Maybe. Scared?"

Embarrassed, you take a defensive step back, squeaking and bumping into another body.

"MORNING!" Atsumu announces behind you. He's in good spirits and he has his hands on your waist to steady you; he sniffs your hair and smiles before letting you go. "I smell something delicious."

"Breakfast is ready," Osamu says, plating the pancakes. "Hungry 'Tsumu?"

"Tch." Atsumu shoves past you and knees Osamu, mood doing a complete 180. You're almost left like a fly on the wall as you watch the scene unfold.

Osamu is quick to catch his balance while keeping watch on the stove. "Not awake yet?" Osamu grins and passes him a plate of pancakes, essentially telling him to shut up and eat. "Who shoved a stick up your ass? Go eat."

"Fuck you."

"Hm."

Atsumu grumbles but digs into his food anyway. Osamu catches your amused expression in the corner and explains, "It's always like that between us. It's our...way of showing how much we care."

"I know." It's sort of endearing, the banter between the two brothers. Even if the world turns against them, no matter what the odds are, at least Miya Osamu will have Miya Atsumu, and Atsumu will have Osamu. Perhaps it's exactly that sort of bond the two share that you're envious of. Body and soul. Because if only you could have just an ounce of that sort of familiarity with another. But you're just an outsider without an invitation to join in.

While you're mulling over your thoughts, you don't catch the darkening gazes being exchanged between the twins. At some point, Atsmu's plate is already emptied and the wooden table is cleared while you're still lost in your mind. Osamu is fiddling with the metal tea strainer, bobbing it up and down to brew a mug of tea. He threads a cotton string in and out like it's a plaything.

"Do you really want to be with us?" Osamu asks nonchalantly. "'Tsumu and I were talking about it. If you do, maybe we can work something out."

"I just..." You feel like this is your final chance to tell them that you don't want them to go. None of the going around circle hinting that you have been doing. This is the moment to just tell it to them. If you miss this chance, you feel like you won't have another. And even though a pit pulls at your inwards telling you to reconsider, you're brave. "I just want to be together with you all, and help you cure Atsumu. My teacher is so talented, I'm sure she'll have a remedy."

They grin.

Osamu is a great cook, he can do that. Atsumu sometimes seems lazy, but he's super strong and quick to help too. And you can pick up all sorts of other tasks in the area! Maybe because they're so helpful, your teacher will even let them stay once Atsumu is cured. Maybe they can learn magic too! You have heard of warlocks who are powerful with spells too. And you can already imagine, the three of you, like a team, eventually going out into the world to fight demons and monsters and—

"Open wide," a sultry voice sounds next to you. Backing away automatically, you find Atsumu standing right behind you.

"W-wait," your voice shakes, stuck in your throat. "What are—"

His fingers reach for your mouth, prying it open. Before you can voice your distaste, a warm, metal ball gets shoved into your mouth, the thin chain quickly tangles into your hair. The faint traces of tea seep out of its small holes down your tongue and throat, while some spill out the corner of your mouth like trails of drool down your jawline.

Osamu smiles and wipes the liquid away with his thumb, relishing in how your widening eyes gape at him in confusion.

"Being together," he answers the question you wanted to ask, "is what you want isn't it?" He takes a spool of kitchen twine and begins to secure the tea strainer in your mouth. The thin cotton threads wrap around your head over and over again, tightening the steel against your tongue.

You shake your head and try to take another step away from the man you're beginning to become wary of, but the strong grip of Atsumu's hands on your shoulder prevents you from squirming at all. His fingers dig into your flesh, and when you turn to look at him you catch a glint in his eyes, glowering down at you.

"No, no, no, behave," he taunts you, "listen to 'Samu. He'll make you feel real good, trust me."

With the gag in your mouth, all you can let out are weak, warbling gargles from the back of your throat. Why are you doing this? You weren't like this before? Loud snorts flare out your nostrils from the fear screaming through your body.

Osamu comes back with a paring knife, examining the edge under the sunlight filtering in through the stained glass. He presses the cool blade along your cheek, dragging with the dull edge just enough so the sharp end doesn't cut your skin. You feel your knees growing weak and if not for Atsumu's hold on you, you would sink into a shuddering heap on the floor.

"You know, I think you might be the best meal yet," Osamu compliments, blade trailing down to your collarbone. The tip of the knife toys with the first button, pressing tension on the x-cross stitching. Snap. The first button pops off, dropping onto the wooden floor and rolling away to an inconspicuous corner. "I'll prep you well."

Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap. The knife flicks again and all the buttons clatter on the floor before running away for refuge.

Atsumu has cleared the table already and you find yourself hoisted up and laid onto the surface like a slab of meat on a cutting board. The cold surface presses against the back of your shoulder and ass. Osamu ties your wrist together with a hemp rope and secures the other end around the table leg. He also secures your ankles to two other anchor points.

You're utterly exposed and ashamed at your body's display, mortified at how your body is reacting when you catch sight of Atsumu, his eyes dilated, looking at your slit that you know is drenched already. The rough texture of the rope presses painfully into your skin from how tight the bindings are. You can only let out gagged whines in complaint, chest rising up and down from the loud breaths.

"Can't do, love," Osamu chides, kissing the knot at your wrist, satisfied with the results. His fingertips trail down to cup your jaw and his thumb runs across the tea strainer. You close your eyes and groan at his touch. Osamu murmurs, "I won't let anything go to waste."

Atsumu is growing impatient at the sight of his twin treating you like the finest specimen ever. You're not the first one. You won't be the last one, but he still can't stand the sight of someone looking just like himself having first tastes while he's missing out himself. He wants to shove Osamu aside, but he knows that Osamu absolutely hates it when he ravages the meal when it's not ready.

Atsumu unzips his pants and lets his hardened, leaking cock spring free. You stare at Atsumu who is fixated on his own pleasure. His hand wraps around his cock and pumps the length up and down.

Osamu turns your head to look at himself instead. "Someone there is impatient, but let's not learn from him, okay? I want to take you slow, make sure you'll be ready. I don't want you stressed, you release too much cortisol and that toughens the meat."

Anything that goes through his hands...well, in short, all become part of his design.

His hand kneads your breast and toys with your nipple, circling and tugging on the tiny, erect bud.

"Relax," he whispers into your ear. "Just like you did last night."

You try to clamp your thighs shut from reflex. Immediately the resistance from the rope ties stop your movements. Osamu squeezes your thighs and pushes them apart once more.

"Right here isn't it, after hearing me fuck 'Tsumu..." Osamu's finger runs down the sides of your labia. "You just couldn't help touching yourself too huh?"

He knows. They know. You feel your cheeks burn at the realization.

"There's nothing embarrassing about it. If anyone should be, it should be us twins, " Osamu's fingers easily slip in, your pussy already dripping with arousal. "Oh woops, I shouldn't need to comfort you. You're clearly not shy."

Osamu's fingers are thick and long, able to reach far deeper than you ever can. Your tongue is still struggling against the gag while your saliva steeps the tea leaves trapped in the ball.

"Oi," Atsumu cuts in with annoyance. "I thought you said to not play with food. What the fuck are you doing, chef?"

Osamu stops his finger in you for a moment before dragging them out. You're trembling at the sudden emptiness and desire to fill the space immediately. The lack of stimulation is irritating and you are desperate.

Osamu walks up to Atsumu, bringing his drenched fingers covered in your slick to his lips for a taste. Before he can do so, Atsumu grabs Osamu's wrist and takes in those digits, sucking on them gingerly.

Osamu smiles and runs the other hand through Atsumu's hair.

"Patience is a virtue, 'Tsumu, I was just getting her fully prepared for you. I'm giving her all to you already, you couldn't even let me have a taste of her?"

Atsumu releases Osamu's fingers with a pop. "I never said I wasn't going to share," he mutters before pulling Osamu in for a kiss, passing the taste of you along their tongues.

Your body jostles as you finally get a visual matching what you heard last night. You feel your pussy leaking with more excitement, the arousal drips all the way down to your asshole. And the more you squirm, it's as though the rope ties become tighter and tighter, rubbing your skin raw. But even that pain is incomparable to the need to quell your fire.

Atsumu pulls away and presses one last kiss on Osamu's nose. "I always love what you serve, thank you 'Samu." Your heart rate rapidly speeds up as Atsumu comes towards you. He's positioned between your legs, both hands on your thighs, marveling at the display of your body. His hands feel hot.

Atsumu grins. "You probably didn't expect me to be the one taking you, huh?" He guides his cock to your entrance, the bulging tip prodding along your puffy lips. "Did you want Osamu to be the one fucking you?"

No? You want to argue, straining your head up slightly, but only tea-laced saliva drips out from the corners of your mouth.

"'Fuck me, 'Samu. Fuck me, please.' Is that what you heard? Is that what you wanted to say too?"

Your screams are muffled whimpers.

Osamu snorts off to the side, watching Atsumu do exactly what he accused Osamu earlier of: playing with his food. Hypocrite.

Atsumu glares at Osamu before turning his attention back to you. "You'll be begging for me, Atsumu, after I'm done with you."

He lines himself at your entrance and inches himself in, groaning at how your cunt is somehow just sucking him in. You're so warm and tight inside, wrapping perfectly around every part of him. He sits in you for a moment, just enjoying being blanketed by your muscles and chuckling how you tighten around him every now and then.

You whine, urging Atsumu to move a little.

"Okay, okay. Geez, and 'Samu says I'm impatient." Atsumu slowly draws his cock out and snaps his hips forward, the base of his balls slapping against your ass. He delights at how you squeeze your eyes shut and continues rocking into you at a comfortable pace.

Osamu enjoys standing off to the side for a while. He always liked watching Atsumu savor and delight the food he prepares. Atsumu always eats with such gusto. It should have always been that way, until the witch ruined everything. The curse, an experiment with the dark arts, should have never happened. Above all else, it should never have been on Atsumu. Osamu can only wonder if the reason they are subjected to this fate is because they are twins. Until a cure is found, Atsumu, his most beloved other, will have to replenish himself in this way.

A sharp pain rips through you and tears well up in your eyes. You feel Atsumu's cock suddenly begin to pulsate and grow in size. At first, you thought it was because you're clamping down on him too hard and will yourself to relax. But the cock, the thing, is certainly unnatural now. And between your tear-stained vision, you can just barely make out... Monster.

You begin to thrash wildly, head tossing side to side, back arched as much as you can in a futile escape attempt. Atsumu's claws rest on your hips while he pounds into you furiously. His groans, now deep growls, send vibrations that you can feel within your throbbing clit. You fear that you'll actually be ripped in half by the way Atsumu is thrusting into you. The engorged cockhead hits your cervix each time and his ball sack, even heavier, bowls and knocks against you.

Osamu unfolds his arms and comes over.

"It'll only hurt if you don't relax," he tells you, reaching out to press on your clit. "Just let him have his way."

"Go fuck her somewhere else," Atsumu snarls. His voice is warped and bellowing. Your mind is getting foggy as Osamu's fingers on your clit don't stop teasing the bud while having a petty talk with Atsumu. And Atsumu, ticked off by Osamu, picks up his speed.

"There we go, now that's beautiful," Osamu comments, taking his hand away and watching you unfurl in your pleasure. Your abused cunt is puffy when Atsumu pulls out, and you feel the thick liquid start to flow out when you take breaths.

"No, don't do that," Osamu chides, taking three fingers to gather the cum spilling out and stuffing it back in. "Better keep it all in. 'Tsumu isn't done with you yet."

Not yet? You can't even voice your thoughts except weakly shaking your head and moaning into the steel gag. In the moment, your stomach rumbles loudly.

"'Samu, she's hungry," Atsumu points out, rubbing your tummy. "You feed her and I'll stuff her."

Osamu ruffles Atsumu's long hair and gives his new, erected horns a teasing squeeze. Atsumu yelps at the touch. "'Samu!"

"Okay, okay," Osamu relents and stands next to your head. You see him take the paring knife again and slide the icy blade between the cotton ties and your hot cheek. A quick slice and you feel the pressure of the gag release. Osamu removes the tea strainer from your mouth and tosses it into the sink.

"Must have been so over-brewed, I apologize for that," he says. You know he doesn't mean it at all.

"Why?" you croak out. Your jaw and cheeks are sore from being held in position for so long. There's so many things you believe you can ask why about. Why they are prepping you like a meal, fucking you like a toy...Why Atsumu is the way he is. Why Osamu is not who you think he is either. Why you.

Despite Atsumu's grotesque figure, you're sure that you fear this twin more. Osamu's thoughts are so well-hidden behind his eyes; he never gives away what he's thinking or planning. You can only accept his decisions from the receiving end.

"Because of Atsumu," Osamu answers. Everything is for 'Tsumu. "I'll feed you."

Osamu cradles your head with both hands, his fingers tangled in your hair. He prods his cock against your lips. Feeling your resistance, he grips your hair tightly, painfully pulling on your scalp, and presses the tip of his cock to force your lips open. You nearly gag at the length entering your throat and your hands ball into tight fists. Your nose is buried in the base of his cock, pressing into his balls. Each breath you take is heavy with his musky, hot scent.

It's easy to focus on Osamu's cock fucking into your throat, leaving an unamused, monstrous twin off to the side preparing to turn your attention back to him by force.

Atsumu rubs himself against you, preparing to enter you again. You're sure that he has become even bigger. When the tip pushes through, your body attempts to fight the intrusion in self-preservation. The claws at your hips dig in and Atsumu all but pulls you onto his length like a sock. You scream around Osamu's cock, throat clenching around his thick length, and nearly black out from the stretch.

You never had anything this big in you before. Atsumu lifts you up slightly, his grasp becoming large enough to encircle around your whole waist. Your ankles are still tethered and tug on you, much to Atsumu's annoyance. He easily slices through the bondages with a sharp claw. Now free of restraints, Atsumu can cradle you more easily, finally pushing the last section into you. 

Crack!

You can’t cry while you're stuffed with Osamu’s cock, but tears stream endlessly from your eyes. You’re sure your pelvic floor is broken, completely forced apart in a futile attempt to accommodate Atsumu stuffing you beyond your physical capacity. Your hips give out as your two legs, bone out from their sockets, dangle grotesquely.

“Just focus on me,” Osamu wipes your tears away and continues to pump into you. But you cannot focus on the human object in your mouth when your whole lower half and inwards are broken, stretched or squashed.

"Hey look ‘Samu! It's bulging," Atsumu marvels at the imprint of his tip pushing your flesh out from the inside. “Look, my cock is saying ‘hello’.”

Atsumu excitement translates into messy thrusts, treating your body like a game. “Maybe I can even touch your dick through her!” 

Your whole body is numb, the brain shuts its pain signals off completely, and hormones pour through your bloodstream in overdrive. The broken climax spasms through your body like the last bits of a faltering system.

“Better hurry...she’s...she’s fading soon,” Osamu warns between his grunts. He clasps your head and spurts his seed into you. You mindlessly swallow every drop of him, letting the contents slowly flow down your throat. You can’t process anything nor recognize any of the murky images. Who are you? Where are you?

Your memory fades in and out as your eyesight drifts between black and white. You can’t do anything about how the monster is now on all fours over your body, unrecognizable as Atsumu. You don’t feel any fear towards this grotesque figure. You don’t register how his tongue licks your neck.

Your mouth is now empty but you can’t formulate syllables.

“I’m sorry,” you hear Osamu whisper before sharp fangs pierce into your jugular, digging in deeper and tearing a chunk out. Red sprays across your body in fast spurts, drenching Atsumu and covering Osamu. The teeth at your throat gnaw at the flesh, starved, tearing through the skin, fat, and tissues like a child crunching fruit. 

You can feel the droplets falling onto your face like fresh rain after a storm. You vaguely remember your teacher and her warning of strangers. She always reprimanded you and you wanted to make her proud. There will no longer be any chance of that now. You weren’t a good student, and only an utter failure.

Osamu waits for Atsumu to finish you off. Atsumu always gets messy at this point. Osamu tried to help Atsumu section his prey off by cutting and organizing the limbs and even attempted to debone the meal beforehand, but Atsumu has his preferences, and Osamu respects them. So, Osamu delegates cleaning duties to himself instead. 

You’re already beyond recognition when Osamu comes back with barrels of oil. All that is left is a kitchen stained with blood and a pile of bone with chewed connective tissue left. Atsumu sometimes eats the bones too, but not always.

“‘Tsumu, are you full now?” Osamu asks, reaching out to cradle his twin. Atsumu has now transformed back to the way he is supposed to be. Osamu threads his hand through Atsumu’s blonde hair and inhales his twin’s scent.

Atsumu doesn’t respond and tugs at Osamu’s collar, trailing down his arm to bring Osamu’s hand to his own cock.

Osamu grins and kisses the top of Atsumu’s head. “Do you want to fuck me ‘Tsumu? I know you like to, after your meals.”

Atsumu whines and nips at Osamu’s jaw, pushing the twin down on the blood-stained floor.

“Okay, okay.” Osamu unzips and pulls down his pants before crawling onto all fours.

Atsumu’s hand cups Osamu’s ass and pries the cheeks open before curiously fingering at the specimen plugging Osamu’s hole. Atsumu holds onto the base and turns the object, before laughing.

“‘Samu, what is this you have in your ass,” Atsumu teases. “I like this presentation.”

This time, Osamu is the one embarrassed. “Last meal, it hurt like hell. So...I wanted to prepare a little.”

“With an egg holder?” Atsumu cackles again, fiddling with the ceramic object. “Should’ve just told me ‘Samu, I could never bear to hurt you.”

Atsumu holds onto the base and slowly pulls the object out before tossing it aside. He smiles and teases Osamu’s enlarged hole that’s opening and closing around nothing. Gathering up some saliva, he spits onto Osamu’s asshole before lining his cock at the rim and slowly pushing in.

Along with the curse comes a near insatiable lust. Atsumu knows that if he doesn’t fulfill his need to fuck or be fucked, he will snap. He doesn’t really care who he kills during a frenzy of that sort, but it’s too risky to get Osamu caught up in the collateral.

The witch that wanted to create the perfect weapon, failed. She failed because she underestimated the twins’ bonds for each other. She failed because the twins discovered that witches excrete a very special hormone in their body after climax, and it is exactly that substance that is slowly curing Atsumu. With every witch eaten and absorbed, Atsumu is healing and gaining magical powers. He is even capable of passing those essences to Osamu. One day, everything will be the way it's supposed to be.

Osamu plays with a few strands of Atsumu’s hair. Atsumu’s softened cock still buried inside of him. Atsumu has his jaw resting on Osamu’s shoulder.

“You make me feel so good,” Atsumu sighs, enjoying the quiet moments after his high.

“And what about her?” Osamu asks, gesturing to the table where your remains are still at.

“She made me feel good too. The best one yet, but don’t be jealous.”

“Come on, let’s clean up and get out of here.”

After washing their bodies and changing into clean clothes, Atsumu and Osamu are ready to say goodbye to the cottage they have overstayed their welcomes at.

"Let's go 'Samu, we're already behind." Atsumu finishes dumping the last bucket of oil along the edges of the room.

The clamor of boots stride across the creaking wood. As though with the passing of its owner, the cottage itself has lost the will to live.

"Coming," Osamu calls back, walking past the makeshift funeral pyre for you. He notices a flash on the ground and bends down to pick up a button.

"'Samu! Get the fuck out or I'll burn ya down too!"

"Yea, yea."

Osamu drops the button into his shirt pocket and joins his twin outside. Atsumu strikes a matchstick and tosses the small flame into the cottage. Fire meets oil and spreads in an instance, engulfing the cottage in an angry blend of orange and red, devouring all contents and remains within. The smell of scorched wood reaches the twins who are looking at the sight from a distance.

"She was good," Atsumu comments, looking at his twin unsure about what Osamu's grey eyes are thinking about. Atsumu realizes that he didn't specify what good exactly means. But it doesn't seem like Osamu is paying much attention. Is Osamu thinking about you? Is he unhappy? Does he regret what happened to you? Although what's done is done already, if time can go back, would Osamu choose? You or Atsumu?

Osamu slips his hand into Atsumu's, erasing the unspoken worries away. He gently leads Atsumu onto the trail, leaving the burning cottage behind.

"Stop thinking such nonsense," Osamu mutters, squeezing Atsumu's hand. No matter what happens, Atsumu will always come first. His needs, his desires. That's what it means for Osamu to love Atsumu. Even though the rest of the world may not understand the relationship the twins share, calling it depraved and disgusting, it's still selfless on their part. What sin is there to honestly love? What sin is there to try and save his loved ones?

While Osamu admits to himself that he does feel a deep attraction to you and knows that Atsumu feels the same pull as well, there's nothing that can be done about Atsumu's condition. But it's not as though you are completely gone. Your essences and core are within both twins, being absorbed as one with their bodies and soul. You'll forever be with them in that way, even if you no longer have any sentient memory of it.

Osamu fiddles the button in his pocket; there's still a physical reminder of you in that tiny form.

It must be about a twenty-minute trek from the burning site. Although the flames are already far from eyesight, the scorching smell and embers still drift over. The twins pick up their pace, eager to exit the forest before nightfall and make it to the next destination. On the way, they pass by the tree trunk with a wanted poster.

"They never get my best angles!" Atsumu complains, ripping a wanted poster that is nailed to the tree trunk.

"It's not like you have a good angle, ‘Tsumu."

"Shut it, we look the same ‘Samu. You're just calling yourself ugly too!"

Osamu shrugs and continues his trek down the main trail. Atsumu huffs, tearing the parchment into indistinguishable pieces before throwing the shreds up into the air like confetti.

"Wait up!"

Osamu stops in his tracks. "Hurry up, loser. We still have a long way to go."

Atsumu takes a few wide strides and swings his arm around his twin's shoulder. Behind them, a very light drizzle falls from the sky.

[just-a-creep-babe]

Giving In

Yandere!Masky x Reader

Commissioned by anonymous—thank you so so very much, I really hope you enjoy ���💖💗

Requests are closed

Masterlist: x

You don’t know what day it is, or even what time it is, when he finally comes back from his mission

All you know is that it’s dark out, and he looks absolutely exhausted

He stumbles through the door, half-heartedly locking it behind him, and then he makes his way to the dingy couch where he almost immediately collapses in a miserable, overworked heap

You hesitate for a while, unsure of whether or not you should approach, unsure of whether or not he’s in a bad mood, before he finally glances up and notices you

Dark brown eyes wordlessly trace up your form, taking you all in

You shrink beneath his gaze, hints of fear and panic seizing your chest in anticipation 

But all he does is murmur a tired “...c’mere”

He shifts on the couch and extends an arm out, expecting you to curl up against him

You know better than to misbehave

So you inch forwards, one step at a time, and nervously lay down next to him

He feels warm and solid as your back presses against his chest

You ignore the smell of copper lingering on his clothes as he wraps his arm around your torso, securing you snugly against him

There’s just barely enough space for you to be comfortable

“Mmh...” he sighs into your hair, holding you tighter

It, admittedly, takes you a moment to relax

Your muscles are stiff, your heart thumping sporadically in your ribcage as you try to calm down

You’re certain he can feel how tense you are

But he doesn’t say anything about it

Instead, he simply enjoys the quiet moment of peace shared between the two of you

After a few minutes of laying in his arms, you finally manage to calm down enough to settle against him

He groans into you, and murmurs something under his breath that you don’t quite manage to catch

The rest of whatever’s left of your evening is spent in his hold

You hear him quietly dozing off behind you, exhausted from the long mission, before he eventually falls into an even deeper sleep

You consider trying to get up and leave, but something keeps you there, and before you know it, you’re lulled to sleep by the sound of his gentle snoring

He’s still clutching you to his chest when you wake up the next morning

You squirm in his hold, trying to loosen his grasp without waking him up, but you quickly realize that your situation’s hopeless

You’re trapped for good until he finally decides to wake up

And it takes a while, but eventually, he does start shifting behind you

His chest rumbles with a deep sigh, lips pressing to your neck in a slow, soft kiss

You heart rate kicks up at the contact, and you feel him smirk faintly against your quickening pulse

“Morning, sunshine~” he hums

His morning voice is low and husky, and it has small goosebumps prickling all over your skin

“M-morning…” you answer, trying desperately not to sound too flustered. “Can you... can you let me get up? I need to stretch”

He sighs again, making a quiet noise at the back of his throat, clearly admitting that he doesn’t want to

But when you shift and squirm, trying to find a better position, he grunts and gives up, finally releasing you

You get up off the couch and stretch out your stiff muscles, nearly painfully aware of his gaze lingering on you the whole time

“I think... I think I’m gonna go get breakfast ready”

Your excuse is just passable enough to allow you to slip away

Bare feet tread on cold hardwood flooring all the way into the kitchen, where morning light filters through the double windows sitting above the sink

You take a moment to yourself, basking in the warmth enlivening the room, wriggling your toes and feeling your whole body buzz pleasantly in the patch of sunlight spilling onto the floor

When you hear Masky in the other room starting to get up, you decide that you should probably get cooking

You turn on the stove to prepare some eggs, sunny-side up, just the way he likes them, and set some toasts down into the toaster

Masky’s footsteps sleepily trudge down the hall, and into what you assume is the bedroom, as you take care of handling the food

You half expect him to get a shower going, considering that he probably still has blood and dirt smeared all over him

But instead, after a couple of minutes, he returns to find you in the kitchen

You take a shy peak at him from the corner of you eyes, and find that he’s changed into some gray sweatpants and a black tee

But either way, you try not to concern yourself with it too much, and while you’re busying yourself with the eggs, he starts making coffee

He fills the machine with water and its usual ground beans, then flicks it on, and it comes gurgling to life

He rolls his shoulders, stretching out his back and biceps, before finally turning around, leaning back and resting his forearms on the counter

Even without looking, again, you feel him gazing at you—as if watching you cook is the most interesting thing he’s ever witnessed

You try not to let his intent stare get to you

Instead, you focus on your task, acting like you don’t notice him at all, like he’s not even there to begin with

But with every passing second, your nerves steadily start creeping up on you

And the more you urge yourself to calm down, the louder and more frantic your heartbeat seems to grow

It pounds into your eardrums, as if trying to warn you that you‘re always in danger with this man

The fear is nothing new—it regularly checks up on you like an old friend, at this point—but that doesn’t make it any less stressful

Maybe he’s watching you like this because he’s finally grown bored of you, and he‘s just waiting for the perfect opportunity to grab one of the knives and drive it through your sternum

The egg sizzles on the frying pan

You breathe in through your nose, and out through your mouth

Pushing down the nausea and the sickly cold sensation of dread licking at your spine, you turn the stove off

“It’s ready...”

Your voice sounds shakier than it normally does

You cringe at the sound, wondering if he noticed

The eggs slide off the pan and onto a plate that you’ve readied

His eyes never once leave you as you set the food down in front of his seat

Then, just as you’re straightening yourself out, a strong pair of hands wrap around your hips

You jump, gasping, almost expecting a cold metal to tear through your flesh, but all you feel instead is... warmth

He chuckles, slow and gravelly, the sound resonating right next to your ear

“You know, there’s no need to be so jumpy, sunshine~”

He gently rubs his thumbs into your hips, as if trying to calm you down

“I’m-I’m sorry,” you stutter, because you don’t know what else you should say

But he only chuckles again, then his warmth disappears as he moves away and takes a seat in front of the plate you’ve set for him

Something akin to guilt, strangely enough, washes over you—along with the feeling of relief

Your eyes linger on him for a beat longer than necessary, and as the pale morning light catches his dark brown locks, you notice, for the first time, that his hair has streaks of faint bronze highlights

Sensing your gaze, he looks up, but you quickly turn away before your eyes can meet

You busy yourself with preparing your own food

The rest of the morning passes by without anything too remarkable happening

After he finishes his coffee, he heads off to the shower, and you’re left alone once again

You clean everything up in a vain attempt to distract yourself from the bubbling mix of emotions in your chest

Your sight falls to the forest outside the windows as you wash the plates, absent-minded, your thoughts drifting on their own accord

Once everything looks neat and tidy and in the right order, you wander to the living room, wondering what you should do next

And that’s when you notice it

On the couch, haphazardly thrown over the armrest, is a familiar yellow jacket

Streaks of dried dirt and flecks of scarlet stain the sleeves, along with the front, sides and the back

Hell—even the interior of the coat looks like it could use a good wash

You hesitate in your tracks

You can still hear the shower running, and you know that he‘ll probably be a while, since he enjoys taking his time after long missions to unwind

You creep closer to the dirty material, and shyly pick it up to examine it more closely

His scent still lingers on it, pine trees and cigarettes, and part of you hates the voice inside your head urging you to breathe it in deeply

Shaking your head, you ignore the temptation

Your finger pokes and prods at the many patches of grime, and you realize that it could easily be cleaned off if you took some time to do so

If you pushed aside your disgust at the thought of washing someone else’s blood from your captor’s clothes, maybe you could make it look more presentable

You don’t know why you have the urge to do this for him, all things considered, but you don’t bother questioning it

Maybe you just need something to do

Offering one last fleeting glance at the closed bathroom door, you return to the kitchen, bringing the stained coat with you

The tap water runs over your hands, changing from cold to lukewarm in a few seconds

You gently pour some soap over the filthiest parts of the jacket and get scrubbing at the grime until the soap suds up

Whatever material it’s made out of, you realize it certainly must not have come cheap

There almost seems to be a protective coating that has even the darkest patches of filth washing right off

It doesn’t even leave any stains behind

The clean water dripping down the sink turns into a murky mess as it spirals down the drain

Something about the small, mundane task is oddly soothing

You find yourself humming quietly as you rinse it all off

And the birds chirping outside almost seem to join in on your song as you do

Once it looks mostly clean—at least much cleaner than it was before, you dry it all off with a towel

You hold it up to the light, watching it glint as it catches rays of sunshine, and the sight has you cracking a smile despite yourself

You quietly make your way back to the living room, where you fold the coat and neatly place it where it’d previously been carelessly thrown

Maybe you did want him to notice, all things considered

Maybe you were expecting him to smile, and to see his eyes light up as he saw what you’d done for him

Maybe that’s why you feel a twinge of disappointment when he comes out of the bathroom and doesn’t even look at it, doesn’t even bat an eyes in its direction

You don’t mention anything about it

And the rest of the day carries on as if nothing happened

Sometime down the line, he takes it from its spot, but you don’t catch him doing so

His coat just disappears from off the couch, and you assume he’s put it away

If he appreciates—or even notices the gesture, he doesn’t show it

A few days roll by and you practically forget about the whole thing

You push it to the back of your head and carry on with life as per usual

One late evening, he comes up to you while you’re in the bedroom, doing some light reading before heading off to sleep

“I’ve got another job to take care of. I’ll be leaving soon,” he says

You blink in surprise

“... Again?”

While it isn’t uncommon for him to leave so often, you thought he’d at least have a few more days to himself, considering how long and grueling the last mission had been

He looks at you with a wry grin on his face

“Awh, what’s wrong, sunshine? Scared you’ll miss me too much?~” he teases

“N-no! That’s not it,” you answer, trying not to look flustered, but failing miserably

That can’t be it, right?

His all-too-knowing smirk doesn’t leave his face as he reassures you, “It’ll be shorter than the last one—I’ll be gone maybe just a day or two”

You look off to the side, trying to hide that slight rush of warmth creeping up your face

“...Ok, bye then”

He chuckles, leaning in to kiss your forehead

And then he’s getting up and leaving, and you’re left trying to decipher what the pit of sorrow and regret at the bottom of your stomach means

Why do you suddenly care about him leaving for work again?

Guilt, confusion and, admittedly, a bit of loneliness, keeps you up longer than usual that night

You spend the next day all by yourself again, keeping as busy as you can, just like you normally do when he leaves

It’s late in the night when he finally does return

You’re woken by the sound of familiar heavy boots thudding on the hardwood flooring

There’s some shuffling, followed by a smaller, duller thud, and then quiet again

You look up at the dark ceiling above you, counting up to 100 in your head

And then you sneak out of the comfort of your bed and quietly check up on him

It’s dark, but your eyes are already well-adjusted as you slink out of the bedroom and down the hall into the living room

Just as you suspected, laying on the couch, is Masky

Judging by his heavy breathing combined with the occasional snore, you assume he’s fast asleep

You’re not sure what to do, or why you even bothered to get up and peak at him, so you sort of just stand over him and watch for a few minutes

The air is chilly, so you wrap your arms around yourself, chewing your lip

You notice he doesn’t have anything covering him besides his usual clothes, so you creep back to the bedroom, grab one of the throw blankets, and return to the living room

Slowly and gently, careful not to disturb him, you cover him with the blanket

Then, right as you’re about to turn and leave, something grabs your hand

You gasp, turning back to look at him

And as you do, he pulls you in, and your lips connect in a slow, sweet kiss

Your eyes widen, a small noise emanating from the back of your throat in surprise

But you don’t pull away

And after a few brief beats, your eyes finally fall close, and you allow yourself to return the kiss

He groans quietly against you, almost humming, the sound deep and low and wonderfully satisfied

By the time you eventually part from him, your knees feel weak and your head is spinning

He looks up at you, his eyes as deep and dark as ever in the quiet of the night

“Do you love me?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper

The question catches you off-guard

You know that you probably shouldn’t answer

Or you should at least lie—both to him and yourself

But your body responds before your mind can stop you

You nod, swallowing thickly

“I... I think I do,” you quietly admit

His hand reaches up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear

Shivers dance up your spine, your arms lining with goosebumps

And then he’s tugging you back in again

The second kiss is more impatient, more demanding—like he wants you to prove that you love him

You kiss him as hard as you can—until your lungs are burning and you think you might lose your balance

He brings you in even closer, and you’d stumble and fall, if it weren’t for his strong hands gripping onto you and guiding you on top of him

Everything feels hot and heavy, and you’re breathless and panting, practically shaking by the time you pull apart again

He looks up at you like you’re a goddess on top of him

His lips are parted and he’s panting as well, as his hands occupy themselves by roaming up and down your form

“You’re mine,” he murmurs, “all mine. My little ray of sunshine. My darling”

You nod

You know that it’s hopeless, after all

Try as you might to push him away, to close yourself off from him, you realize that you don’t have a choice

You never had another choice

You were meant to be with him—to be his

“I’m yours,” you finally agree, breathless and borderline euphoric at the realization, “all yours”

He smiles

It’s an honest, genuine smile that sends your heart fluttering in your ribcage

“Say it—say that you love me,” he groans

There’s a sort of insistent urgency in his eyes, like he’s afraid you don’t mean it

You want to prove it to him—prove that you’d do anything for him

“I love you,” you breathe, “I really, really do”

He leans up on his forearms to give you another quick peck to the lips

And then he lays back down again, pulling you along so he can wrap his arms around you while you rest your head on his broad chest

You nuzzle into him, his scent familiar and comforting

You know that no matter what, you’ll always be safe in his arms

The both of you stay quiet, enjoying each other’s embrace in the darkness

Until eventually, the steady rhythmic thumps of his heart slowly lull you to sleep

His hands keep stroking through your hair until he also finally falls asleep, the faint hints of a satisfied smile still tugging at his lips

His

You’re all his

[foilfreak]

4 Lords Raise Rose AU Ideas

Not a single person asked for this, but that other post where I talk about the 4 lords adopting Rose but still technically being terrible people got way more popular than I expected it to, so, with about 6 shots of tequila in my system and a terrible urge to spit my thoughts out for all the internet to see and judge, I’ve decided to make a follow up post. Here’s how I think the 4 lords would take care of Rose in the event they rebelled against Mother Miranda and decided to raise Rose as their own instead, but like under the cut after a little bit cuz i accidentally went way too fucking hard with this and I don’t want ppl to get mad at me for making them scroll for an hour to get past this post:

First and foremost, I think they’d do it in stages, and what I mean by this is that Rose would essentially be given to a specific Lord for some period of her life, like a couple years, and then when she was deemed old or strong or annoying enough, she’d be moved to a different lord for some period of time and so on and so forth. They would do this because a) they all live in different areas and have shit to do so it’s easier to have Rose live with one lord at a time and then the other lords can just go visit her there from time to time, rather than try to work out a weekly custody schedule which we all know Alcina and Karl would NEVER be able to agree on so let’s not even bother, and b) because each lord would have either some skill or set of knowledge that would make them the best for caring for Rose at that specific point in her life. This way, all the lords have a (somewhat) equal chance to be a part of Rose’s life and teach her something while she’s with them. So with all that in mind now, let’s get down to who would have Rose and at what point in her life.

1. Starting off with infant Rose, I think she’d end up with the Dimitrescu’s for the first few years of her life, and the reason why I think this is because... well, Alcina IS already a mother to 3 girls, and while we don’t know a terrible amount about Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela’s “upbringing” under Alcina, we can gleam and theorize from her notes that, despite their fully grown bodies, the girls could very well have started out with the mental and physical capabilities of infants, and thus needed to be cared for and brought up in a similar manner as infants or children until they reached a certain point where they could officially be considered adults in mentality and ability, not just in physical appearance. So with this in mind, it’s entirely possible that Alcina could have at least some vague idea of how to care for an infant child through her experiences with the bug sisters; perhaps there’s some gaps in her knowledge, but if nothing else I imagine Alcina would be an infant Rose’s best shot at surviving infancy if only because the other 3 are so incompetent on how to care for a baby that Alcina looks like an expert in comparison. Not to mention that, of the possible locations for an infant to be raised, I do genuinely think that castle Dimitrescu would be the safest place for Rose to be kept during this vulnerable part of her life. Not only that but if Alcina has actually come to care for Rose as though she were one of her own daughters, then she would absolutely spoil Rose rotten with all the nicest clothes and fanciest toys, things that a small infant wouldnt be able to appreciate but would show that she’s loved and cared for nonetheless, and don’t even get me started on the bug sisters, I could see them fawning over Rose for hours on end, playing with her, singing to her, telling her stories of all the man-things they’ve gotten to play with today, and so much more. Overall, Rose would just be the most spoiled and pampered little baby with the Dimitrescus and there’s no changing my mind about this. The only thing I’m struggling to wrap my head around is how they’d feed her, since I doubt a small infant would take very well to blood wine and human flesh. I suppose it wouldn’t be terribly outrageous for them to hire a wet nurse/nanny to care for Rose during the day while the other Dimitrescus go about their daily duties, and when Rose is finally old enough to be introduced to solid food (I.e. fried human flesh cubes) they could do what they always do and turn the nurse into wine too, I guess. It’s not a solid idea but it’s more plausible than anything else I thought of so it’ll work!

2. After spending about 3 years with the Dimitrescus, Rose would then be moved to the Beneviento house. Now, If u don’t know anything about 3 year olds, then you’re probably ignorant to the fact that they are some of the craftiest, sneakiest, and most coniving groups of people to exist on this planet. 3 year olds are masters at getting into and touching just about anything and everything u don’t want them to touch, and worst of all, u won’t realize what they’re doing until they’ve already done it and left a huge mess behind, so while the Dimitrescus love and adore Rose dearly, they know it’s sadly time to hand her over when they find her sitting on top of a pile of dead bodies playing with a metal scythe in the dungeons. Once Rose is dropped off at the Beneviento house, I imagine Donna is her usual stoic self the first few weeks Rose is with her. She’s not cold or distant necessarily, in fact she’s quite happy that it’s finally her turn with precious baby Rose, but Donna isn’t exactly known for being outwardly expressive herself (and even Angie isn’t being quite as forward as she normally is), so things are quiet and peaceful for the first little while that Rose is under her care. It’s not until Rose takes an interest in her doll Angie, and more importantly the things that Donna can do with Angie, that things really start getting fun. By the end of Rose’s first month in the Beneviento house she and Donna are the best of friends and often spend their days either playing dress up and make pretend with Donna’s extensive doll collection, or playing elaborate games of cat and mouse, where Donna will set up lots of puzzles throughout the house for Rose to find and solve (I.e. rose has to match her dress to the doll with the same one as her to find a map telling her which kitchen cabinet Donna hid the chocolate in, or something like that), but be careful little Rose, Angie has been trying to get her hands on that chocolate all day, and if u take too long, she’ll find the map first and eat all the chocolate without saving you a single piece. Just silly little puzzles with enough at stake to engage the mind of a curious 3 year old, but never enough to put rose in any actual danger. Donna is nothing if not a watchful caretaker, so she makes sure she has sight of Rose at all times, occasionally giving her a hint if she’s struggling, and perhaps occasionally making things harder if that day’s puzzle is proving too easy for her. Overall, Rose’s time with Donna, while not as grand and luxurious as the Dimitrescus, was still a fun and enriching experience for the young girl, and there’s nobody in this world who thinks that Donna’s scar is cool more than Rose.

3. After another 3 years with Donna, Rose is now 6 years old and officially far too good at puzzle solving for Donna to keep up with. No matter what she tries or how hard she makes it, Rose just keeps blazing through the puzzles at an almost alarming rate, making it clear that Rose is desperately in need of not only a change in scenery, but also a change in education, and this is where Salvatore finally comes in. After leaving the Beneviento house, I think the next logical place for Rose to stay would be with Salvatore, who, with lore hinting at him perhaps being a scholarly man of some kind, would basically act as her elementary school teacher throughout the duration of her stay. Now, to be fair, Rose could have gone to Heisenburg’s factory, but Heisenberg outright refused to take her and the other 3 lords decide that the factory is simply too dangerous for Rose rn, who thus far hasn’t shown any signs of being anything other than a normal human girl with no noticeable abilities (save for a smart mouth and a terrifying habit of popping up when least expected, a habit she mostly uses to mess with Heisenberg, much to his disdain and Lady Dimitrescu’s delight), so it is to the mutant fish man’s unimaginable delight that he is unanimously voted Roses next caretaker, and the one responsible for her basic education. Despite his initial excitement however, when Rose is finally dropped off at the windmills by Donna, Salvatore realizes that he’s not 100% sure what to do with Rose now that he has her. He’d like to get started on her education right away but at the same time he’s so fearful of Rose hating him because of his disgusting appearance that he kind of just... avoids her entirely at first. He’s never far away from the little girl and is always ready to jump to her rescue should she need it, but other than that Salvatore seldom allows himself to be seen for the first month that Rose is with him, the only sign of him still being around being the platefuls of food that mysteriously appear in Rose’s room 3 times a day, as well as the occasional shiny trinket Salvatore found and thought Rose would like. At first, rose doesn’t seem to mind being left entirely to her own devices, but after every stone, log, and rotting fish corpse within 5 miles of the lake has been turned over and thoroughly examined, Rose decides she’s had quite enough of her Uncle Sal ignoring her, prompting the headstrong little girl to go looking for him herself. She finds Salvatore hiding underneath a patch of floating algae not far away from where she was playing and all but demands that the mutant man come out of the water and give her something to do or she’d tell Mother on him. Salvatore, shocked by the small child’s fearlessly blunt request, hesitates, not wanting to frighten Rose, but ultimately relents, crawling out of the water and timidly suggesting that he teach her how to read and write. Rose quickly agrees, seeming totally unbothered by Salvatore’s grotesque appearance, and the two quickly move to the schoolroom that had been set up specifically for Rose, where Salvatore spends hours upon hours a day teaching Rose everything he knows, filling the little girl’s head up first with the basics, letters and words, then numbers and simple equations, followed later by historical dates and time periods, algebraic formulas, and classic literature analysis, then biology, chemistry, physics, astrology, calculus, ecology, and so much more. Basically, anything there is to know, Salvatore knows at least something about it and he’ll make sure that Rose knows about it too. In the 3 years Rose spends with Salvatore she goes from already sharp as a whip, to being smarter than most adults even, and Salvatore takes immense pride in how intelligent and knowledgable Rose becomes thanks to his surprisingly effective teaching style. Overall, as a caretaker, Salvatore is pretty weird and doubts himself a lot, but Rose thinks he’s funny and loves learning from him so they get along very well and she loves him very dearly! He probs teaches her to swim and fish too.

4. So another 3 years come and go with incredible speed, and its with great sadness on Salvatore’s part that Heisenberg finally comes banging on the fish man’s door, all but demanding that he now be given his turn with Rose. Now, personally, I can see several different arguments being raised by the other 3 lords over why its a terrible idea to let a 9 year old anywhere near Heisenberg, much less be given into his care fully. After about 9 years of seeing his siblings paling around with the constantly growing child, and looking like theyre having the time of their lives all the while, however, Karl decides that perhaps there’s more to this little girl than he originally thought, and, with his interest now piqued (or at the very least looking forward to pissing the other 3 off for entertainment purposes), that its only fair that he be given a turn with her now too, seeing as how he’s the only one who hasn’t been given the chance to be her caretaker yet. This naturally does NOT go over well with the other 3 lords. Alcina all but threatens to kill Karl should he step so much as within 10 ft of Rose, while Donna pipes up and demands to know what his sudden interest in Rose is. Even Salvatore, who is quick to flinch away from direct conflict, goes as far as to harshly point out the plethora of times Karl had outright denied their previous attempts to get him to engage with Rose, so why on earth would they hand her over to him now when he’s previously shown to have absolutely no interest in her? After a long spout of yelling between the 4 siblings, an agreement is reached, wherein Rose herself will be given the chance to decide whether she wants to go with Heisenberg, or whether she’ll return to one of the other 3 lords for the time being. It is to Alcina, Donna, and Salvatore’s absolute horror however, that Rose enthusiastically agrees to go with her Uncle Karl to live in his factory, and with the deal already set, the other lords can do nothing to stop her from going. The trip to drop off Rose at heisenberg’s factory is a long and arduous one, especially for Salvatore, who sobs the whole way there about Rose forgetting about him despite the young girl’s insistence that she’d visit. The first thing Karl does after officially having Rose handed over to him, is give her an extensive list of all the places in the factory in which she is under no circumstances permitted to enter without his permission (which basically only leaves the control room and the old storage closet that acts as her bedroom as viable places for Rose to go and explore). The second thing Karl does is dump her in her new storage closet bedroom and then hightail it for his workshop to work on whatever sick and twisted amalgamation he’s got cooked up this time around. At first, Rose isn’t terribly bothered by this, since she’s used to having something of an “adjustment period” when she’s with a new caretaker, but unfortunately for her, this adjustment period lasts a hell of a lot longer than the others did, and by the time 3 months of almost no meaningful contact with Karl, Rose decides to take matters into her own hands and ascends into the depths of the factory despite the express orders not to do so. Now, going back to the idea that the 4 lords are still pretty terrible people, I doubt Rose has been kept ignorant to the less savory aspects of her caretaker’s lives, and tbh she probably doesn’t think anything of the fact that the Dimitrescus makes wine out of the blood of virgin women or that Salvatore still does cadou experiments (and had her help on occasion), but I imagine even Rose would find the projects Karl works on to be at least a little

4, cont. gruesome and horrifying in nature, especially since Heisenberg is the one she knows the least about. However, instead of turning Rose away from Heisenberg, these terrifying metal creatures she sees locked up only spark her already insatiable curiosity, and by the time she finally tracks Karl down, Rose is all but trembling to learn more about this horrifyingly fascinating metal world. Unfortunately, Karl is not nearly as happy to see Rose as Rose is to see him, and the engineer all but grabs Rose by the scruff of her neck and drags her back up to the control room, yelling and screaming at her all the while about how she was explicitly instructed not to enter these parts of the factory without his permission. Needless to say that Rose does not enjoy this treatment and immediately lashes out, half out of anger and half out of confusion as to why Karl was treating her like this. He was the one who wanted her here in the first place, so why the hell was he just ignoring her now? It didn’t make any sense and it was starting to piss Rose off, so naturally the only thing left for her to do in order to solve this complicated situation would be to continue to disobey Karl until he either gave up and sent her back to one of the other lords, or finally payed some damn attention to her for once. So that’s exactly what she did. Every single day Rose left her room (which Karl kept telling himself he needed to put a lock on, but never did cuz he’s an idiot) and descended down into the depths of the factory looking for something ogle at or tinker with, and every single day Karl would track her down wherever she’d managed to get to and throw her back upstairs threatening to feed her to the lycans if she did it again. This incredibly frustrating cycle continued on for the better part of the next month or so, finally coming to a head when Rose managed to wander into the part of the factory where the... less than successful experiments got put whenever Karl doesn’t have any further use for them but is feeling too lazy to kill them off himself. Long story short, Rose runs into a Sturm that chases her around the factory, causing all manner of mayhem and destruction, and would have torn her to ribbons had it not been for Karl, who jumped in at the last second and was able to fend the damn thing off long enough for Rose to get the ever living fuck out and back up to the control room where it’s safe. There’s a lot of loud noises and explosions coming from deep within the factory that last for what feels like an eternity, but Rose doesn’t dare venture out again until everything has gone eerily quiet and a deep sense of worry has settled in the pit of her stomach over what had become of her latest caretaker. Turns out the Sturm had recognized its creator and, after watching its initial prey escape because of said creator, quickly decided that it fucking hated Karl with every fiber of its being and wanted him dead if it was the last thing it’s propellers did. Now, we all know that Karl is a big strong boy who’s more than capable of handling his own creations and taking down strong enemies, but the Sturm is a creation that even he struggles to control on good days and today is decidedly not a good day so not only does Karl not have the slightest bit of control over the death machine trying to kill him, but its also a lot stronger than Karl initially thought and apparently not picky about the method which causes Karl’s death, which is evidenced by the nearly dead Sturm ramming itself into a power generator as a final act of defiance and nearly blowing up the whole factory and everybody inside. Heisenberg is able to contain the explosion somehow but not without considerable damage to himself first. Rose is, naturally, quite horrified to find Karl passed out in the elevator that had taken him up from the lower levels of the factory where the explosion was, skin burnt nearly to a crisp in certain areas and blood pooling from just about every part of him, and immediately heads over to try and help her injured caretaker.

4, cont. again cuz I physically can’t stop myself. Now, I imagine that any normal 9 year old probably wouldnt be able to handle this sort of situation in any meaningful way, but i think we can all agree that Rose is the furthest thing from normal (especially considering who raised her) and has probably seen enough blood and gore to not be terribly freaked out by it, but this is where things get a little speculative because we don’t know what Rose’s powers are exactly but we do know from the final cutscene that she does have them, perhaps even a plethora of abilities, and I like to think that some of those powers are related to Ethan’s superhuman healing capabilities, but unlike Ethan however, who from what we’ve seen could only heal himself, Rose can actually heal other people (tho this isn’t something she’s aware of at this point in time). The second the elevator door opens to reveal, what looks to be, a half-dead Karl slumped over in the corner, Rose panics and runs to him, doing everything she can think of save for maybe grabbing him by the collar or slapping him across the face, to try and get Karl to wake up, except nothing works, he wont wake up no matter how hard Rose tries and i imagine this must be incredibly distressing for Rose who never intended for something like this to happen or for her caretaker to die because he had to protect her even tho he told her not to go down there because its dangerous and anything down there WOULD kill her if given the opportunity. Anyways Rose is now full on sobbing on top of Karl like only a 9 year old who just discovered that her actions have consequences can, but unbeknownst to her (and technically Karl cuz he’s a little busy bleeding out all over the floor) Karl’s wounds are slowly beginning to close, the burns on his face and hands shift from a bright red to a dark brown before crusting over and flaking off, and even his breathing, which had been labored and inconsistent at first, began to level out slightly. Karl woke up not long after that and was surprised to find that a) he was still alive, which was cool, b) he was injured but not in indescribable pain, also cool, and c) there was a literal sobbing child all but sitting on top of him, which is definitely not something Karl was expecting but he supposed he’s been met with worse things upon waking up after almost dying so why question it. After taking a moment to gather their bearings, the two return to the safer parts of the factory to rest and recover and for the most part this little incident of their’s goes largely unspoken, with Rose not exactly in the mood to talk about how her disobedience nearly got herself and Karl killed, and Karl being too fucking tired to go after her about it, especially since she seems to have learned her lesson. The only downside to this whole thing is that now Karl has a busted up fuckin leg thats gonna take an eternity to heal even for him, and with so much work to still do he’s more or less forced to drag Rose around the factory and use her like the annoying assistant he never wanted (except he did want her, thats how this whole fucking mess started, you lug), except that Rose, who is more than used to playing lab assistant from her time with Salvatore, quickly proves to be a rather capable and handy person to have around, if only because she knows the difference between a philips and a flathead screwdriver even better than he does. An amicable, if still slightly awkward peace settles over Heisenberg’s factory once Karl starts actively engaging with Rose and giving her something to do on a daily basis, even if its just standing around watching him work and occasionally having her questions about what he’s doing answered. It doesn’t take very long after that for Karl to begin realizing that perhaps throwing a huge tantrum to get Rose to come here only to ditch her upstairs by herself for 3 months might not have been the smartest (or most considerate) thing he’s ever done, and even goes as far as to (kinda) apologize to Rose for being such a dick to her since she arrived.

4, last one i swear. Rose forgives him, though not before adding that she already knew he was an asshole from Alcina, which earns her a halfhearted swipe from Karl that Rose easily dodges with a childish giggle. From that point on their relationship improves astronomically as Karl finally gives in and teaches Rose about about engineering and everything else that goes into making the metal horrors that he’s known for. Karl is shocked at how quickly Rose picks up on the trade, getting to the point where Karl wonders if he should start giving Rose her own projects to work on, but quickly rolls his eyes and groans when he remember that Salvatore was the one responsible for her education up until this point, the mere thought of having to give compliments to that “moronic freak” for giving Rose such a good educational foundation makes him want to vomit despite how secretly impressed he is. Overall, Rose’s time with Heisenberg starts out shaky, very shaky even, but after a bit of disaster and some swallowing of the pride on Karl’s part, they end up growing quite close and have a nice fun Uncle and martass Neice dynamic. They make a good team and Karl does genuinely enjoy having a little assistant around to help him with his projects, even if Rose can sound a bit too much like Alcina on some days for his liking.

5. 3 more years come and go and now Rose is a strong and healthy 12 years old, perhaps riddled with a few more scars and smearings of ash and motor oil across her skin than when she first arrived but still strong and capable nonetheless. Going back to that first statement however, this of course means that it’s time for the other 3 lords to come banging on Karl’s door for a change, all but demanding that Rose be handed back over to them. Karl of course refuses, telling them all to fuck off and that Rose didn’t want a leave the factory, so upon realization that all 4 lords were gathered here with the intention of taking Rose back to live with them indefinitely, a fight immediately breaks out between the 4 siblings, as each one makes their case as to why Rose should be returned to them and not the other 3, which of course none of the 4 lords can come to an agreement about because they ALL want Rose to stay with them. So after another long and pointlessly arduous argument, Alcina finally breaks, proclaiming that they’d be here for all eternity of they didn’t make a decision now, and that, like the first time the 4 siblings argued over whether Rose should go with Heisenberg or return to one of the previous lords, Rose would be the one to decide which of her four caretakers she would return to. The agreement is made reluctantly, mostly on the part of Salvatore, Donna, and Heisenberg, but there was seemingly no other way for them to come to a decision, so it would unfortunately have to be up to Rose to decide which of her 4 caretakers she wants to stay with permanently. Rose is quickly brought before the 4 lords and explained the situation, before being given some time to herself to think and make her final decision. A tense and uneasy silence falls over the 4 lords as they wait for the little girl, who they had shown an uncharacteristic amount of mercy and time and devotion and love in the 12 years since Mother Miranda had brought her to the village with the intention of using her to revive an already lost and long-gone baby that she never would have gotten back no matter how hard she tried. Although they refused to admit it to one another, the lords all secretly knew that Rose had wormed her way into each of their cold, dead hearts, reviving an aspect of their humanity that they’d all thought had been lost ages ago. Rose came to the village bringing with her a wave of death and destruction, and yet throughout her childhood she has brought them nothing but light and life, illuminating their previously dark and desolate existences. The 4 lords loved their Rose very dearly and desperately wanted her to be happy, yet each of them possesses a dark and selfish desire to have Rose pick them over the other 3, to come and live with them forever and fill the hole deep inside them that they never knew needed filling. After a short while, Rose comes back out and stands before her 4 beloved caretakers, looking around nervously as she picks at her fingernails. The silence is thick and heavy as the 4 lords stare at the young girl, waiting with bated breaths for her to give her final verdict. Rose continues to say nothing as tears begin to flow from her eyes, sliding down her cheeks in thick streams as the girl begins to sob, dropping her head and clenching her dress. The 4 lords look between one another in confusion, unsure of what to do with this sudden burst of tears. Rose tearfully admits that she can’t and doesn’t want to choose which of the 4 lords she wants to live with permanently because she loves them all very much and wants to be able to see and live with all of them, like they’ve done thus far. Although the lords detest the idea of having to share Rose with anyone, they reluctantly come to an agreement for the girl’s sake, deciding that they would continue with the arrangement they’ve had thus far, only that Rose would switch between caretakers every 3 months instead of every 3 years, giving rose plenty of opportunities to see each of her caretakers just like she wanted. From then on, Rose continues to live her life

5, cont. growing up and learning more and more from each of her beloved caretakers. Although Rose would likely never know what a normal life looks like, living with 4 criminally insane monsters in the remote mountain village in Romania, it would be impossible to say that she wouldn’t have a happy life despite that. Perhaps its because the girl simply doesn’t know any better, so she doesn’t have the ability to see just how messed up her life and her 4 caretakers really are, but i imagine that Rose probably wouldn’t care very much to learn even if she had the opportunity. She’s a happy little girl living a strange but enjoyable life with the only family she’ll ever need. What more could she possibly ask for?

6. As for how Mother Miranda would play into this whole scenario I’ve just drunkenly spat out, im honestly not 100% sure. Ive seen some people suggesting that MM just kinda chills and lets the lords do what they want with Rose, but tbh I honestly don’t see that happening in this universe. MM would still have been just as crazy and driven to get Eva back as she was in canon, so i doubt she’d willingly standby and let her “false children” take away her one shot of getting her real child back simply because they didn’t want to hurt her, i just don’t personally see that happening. The two most likely scenarios i can come up with is that the Lords either banded together and look Miranda on together, their combined forces being enough to take her down and kill her, OR, Ethan is the one to take down MM like he did in canon but he passes out before he can get to rose, giving the lords (who he hadn’t ended up killing but just escaping from i guess) the opportunity to slide in, grab rose, and hightail it out of there, leaving Ethan’s body to be retrieved by Chris, who, due to not seeing or hearing Rose anywhere, believes that Rose must have been accidentally killed along with MM, which he later tells to Ethan and Mia. Regardless of how MM gets taken out of the picture (or if she’s given room to potentially come back later), the 4 lords retreat with Rose and begin the whole cycle I explained up above, but i did want to briefly address how I saw MM fitting into all of this since she is a vital part of the original story and the biggest obstacle to the lords having anything to do with Rose.

Anyways, that was so much longer than I intended it to be but I had so much fun with it just because it gave me the opportunity to spit some fun ideas and potential plot points out about this cool AU that I like and hope someone does SOMETHING with, please god someone do it, I’d do it myself but i have enough projects at the moment unfortunately. If you managed to make it all the way to the bottom, thank you for reading all of that, I appreciate it, and I hope you enjoyed at least some parts of this, and maybe even agree with some of the things I said. Feel free to leave your own ideas in the comments, I’d love to read them and hopefully if enough people like this maybe i will actually do something with it. Who knows? I certainly dont. Anyways thank you for reading all this, i hope you have a great day, and maybe ill see you around in another post. Bye!!! <3