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lanafofana · 8 months ago

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Afforded A Chance

Day 2 of #HalsinTavWeek AND WE'RE BACK BABYYYYYYY Pairing: Halsin/Tav(F) Special Guest Appearance: Yenna! Summary: Tav realizes she wants something. Halsin is all too happy to provide. Rating: Explicit. Minors DNI Warnings/Tags: Smut, Porn with Feelings, BREEDING, PnV Sex, Quickie sex, Domestic Fluff, Post Epilogue No Beta We Die Like Yonas (RIP Yonas) And an AO3 link! For those of you who are so inclined. Note: Lots of talking and feelings and ooey gooey stuff in this one, fam.

Watching the cart disappear into the distance Tav reminds herself that this had always been the plan.

Fifty children was an ambitious undertaking for anyone. While they loved each and every single one of their charges, Halsin and Tav had always known and agreed that for the majority of them, their home was but a stepping off point to get to the family they were destined for.

Still, watching the infant she had cared for so deeply and for so long, being swept off into the proverbial sunset with her new mama and papa left an ache in her empty arms she couldn’t shake. She swallows roughly, wiping the tears from her face and takes a deep, steadying breath.

Walking back home Tav’s already tender heart feels a keen sting when she spies the newest couple to their little community. The wife is a sweet young thing, barely an adult herself but newly married and swollen with child already. She looks tired, waddling along with her hand on her belly, but healthy. Happy. Tav was happy. Is happy. Of course she is.

And yet.

Tav murmurs a greeting as the pair pass, stepping off the well trodden path to give them space to amble by.

Fifty children they may have started out with but the numbers had dwindled significantly over the past year and now with sweet baby Marigold gone to a new home that put their occupancy at home down to a much more manageable ten. Manageable, some might say, but to Tav it felt like sand drifting through her fingers.

The youngest was an ornery little tiefling boy, freshly five, and the oldest was just shy of sixteen with plans to seek an apprenticeship soon. Tav was not in any way dissatisfied with her life. She finally had a home and family to call all her own after so long without either. There was no way to describe the feeling she got from just being able to be present, nurturing them, and loving them. Her greatest joy and sense of purpose was deeply rooted in simply basking in watching her children grow with the love of her life at her side. It would be incredibly foolish to covet any more than what she had been provided with.

And yet.

At home the house is quiet. The children spend every possible minute they’re allowed out in the forest during the day. Whiling away the hours of youth playing with Thaniel and Oliver till, exhausted and hungry, they reluctantly troop back to her. At any rate they’re not home yet and the house feels desolate. Yet another finger pressing on the bruise of Tav’s melancholy.

When she finds her lover he’s in his study, sorting through his never ending pile of correspondence. Unlike her, he is conscientious about not letting a letter go unanswered too long and she is loath to steal away his time.

And yet.

Halsin stands, grabbing a book off the shelf behind his desk before perusing the letter in his other hand once again. He seems to be puzzling out an answer to a specific question, his brow furrowed and his lips puckered in thought. The entire effect is so domestic it soothes some of the grief from before and lingering in the doorway Tav takes a breath, gathering her courage.

“I want to have a baby.”

The book in Halsin’s hand promptly drops to the floor. He stares at Tav in surprise, mind completely wiped clean of all coherent thought.

“With you,” she amends when he remains silent.

The expression of surprise slips into something gentle and soft. “Is this about Marigold?” He frowns, picking up the book to put it on his desk and shakes his head with a shine of regret in his eyes. “I should have gone with you. I’m sorry, my heart. That parting was destined to be perhaps the most difficult of them all. I know how deeply you loved her especially.”

Tav crosses the room and takes one of his large hands in hers. “I am sad she is gone but I am also happy she is where she is meant to be. They will love her well. I,” she swallows. “I know the timing of this might seem odd. But it’s not just because of Marigold my mind has turned to…to this.”

“To having a baby,” Halsin clarifies, his tone strange.

“Yeah,” Tav avoids his eyes while she struggles to translate her errant feelings into words.

Her thumbs stroke the warmth of his hand in hers absently. It never ceases to amaze her that to simply feel his skin against hers, chaste or otherwise, had become an anchor for her. When the storm of her thoughts threatens to unmoor her she merely has to turn into his embrace, and she is put at ease.

“Some might reconsider the toils and labors of bringing new life into the world when their home is already bursting with shoots and sprouts aplenty.”

Tav smiles and brings his hand to her face, brushing her lips across his knuckles. “When have we ever shied away from toils and labors? Or balked at adding fresh life to a garden well tended? With these hands to hold me and lend me their unerring counsel and strength, I know we can do anything. I want this…with you… if you do.” She sobered as another thought occurred to her. “But we walk this path together. If you do not–”

“Oh but I do,” he growls, hands finding purchase on her hips as he crowds into her space. “I very much do.”

The kiss is sudden and fierce; a tangle of tongues and teeth that steals her breath. Hands cupping her ass he lifts her, directing her legs around his hips. When they part for breath, Tav stares at him in wonderment.

“I honestly wasn’t sure,” she admits with a tiny huff of laughter. Tav scans his face, taking in his barely restrained hunger, the raw desire in his eyes. “You really want this, don’t you?”

The hazel of his eyes is dark, his jaw tight. “Yes.” He presses his face to hers gently, breathing deeply to quell the rising tide of his lust. “Before the Absolute I wondered if I would ever get to experience the joys of having a family again. I hardly dared to imagine a future with children. And then came you,” he pauses, a breath shuddering through his chest, “and that dream was realized in more ways than I could’ve ever hoped.”

With one hand Tav threads her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and with the other she caresses his cheek. Despite the grip he has on her, the evidence of his tightly reigned in passion, the moment feels fragile. When he opens his eyes the depth of emotion there tugs at her heart.

“When I told you of my hopes and dreams of achieving some measure of balance you supported me.” He punctuates the statement with a chaste kiss to her cheek. “When I found my new purpose here, in this place, far away from everything and everyone you know you didn’t even hesitate to abandon a life of ease in a city that was ready to celebrate you in every way you deserve.” He presses a lingering kiss to her temple. “When you followed me into the wilderness with,” he huffs a laugh, “so many children I began to worry, wondering what I could have possibly done to be worthy of such a person. It was too much. You don’t know what you’ve given me. You cannot possibly know.”

Halsin turns and sets her down on the edge of his desk, placing his hands flat on the surface on either side of her legs and leans in to steal another, longer kiss.

“I told you once that I wanted more than to be your companion, your ally, your friend. I wanted to share in your heart and your body. And instead you rewrote my entire life with your name across my very soul. Asking for nothing more than the privilege of being at my side. You don’t seem to know the privilege has always been mine.” It’s Halsin’s turn to cup her face, tracing the branch of scarring that trails down her neck. “I am undone by you.”

Tav’s eyes burn.

“I had not let myself even entertain the idea of more. But I know your heart as well as you know mine so let me at last extinguish that ember of doubt in your eyes. Yes. I want this. How could I not? To know that you, who carry my entire heart in your hands, wish to carry my seed and with your body nurture our child.”

The druid’s eyes flash and Tav feels like she’s stopped breathing. Every nerve ending feels raw and buzzing with anticipation. He’s so gentle and easy going it’s easy sometimes to forget how his gaze can pierce through her. The sound of her thudding heart is so loud she wonders if it’s the wind shaking their home in the trees or the tempest of his love threatening to unmake the world. Halsin’s thumb wipes a tear from her face she had not been aware she had shed.

“We walk this path together as one. Our hearts beat in sync.” The next kiss is hot, barely restrained passion. When he pulls away their breathing is equally unsteady. “Now let our bodies move in sync also.”

Halsin grips her hips hard and yanks her body towards himself, to the edge of the desk before claiming her mouth again. Breaking the kiss he zeros in on the spot between her ear and neck, pulling a needy moan so soft and sweet from her parted lips that something primal rumbles out from his chest in response.

He slides a hand in her hair, fingers brushing her scalp before he fists his hand and tugs her head back eliciting a gasp. Greedily he leaves a trail of open mouthed kisses down the column of her throat, his excitement only fanned by the way she trembles under his touch.

Tav feels hot from the apples of her cheeks to the tips of each finger and toe. She tugs the loose shirt he’s wearing from the band of his pants but only gets a moment to trace the blazing skin beneath before Halsin is tearing himself away to rip it off.

Her dress is next; he picks her up like she weighs nothing and divests her of the simple frock, the fabric fluttering to the floor while he tugs at the lacing of her stays. He peels the soft underclothes from her body like a child unwrapping their first gift. With great joy, expectation, and–by the telltale popping of a few stitches–a little reckless violence.

Not bothering to smother the laugh that bubbles up at his slightly contrite expression, Tav slips her fingers through the belt at his waist and tugs him closer with a smile. “I’ll need new ones anyway,” she points out with a sly look in her eyes. “When I’m enormous with your fat babies.”

Halsin’s hand drifts to her belly, hovering over the place where her empty womb waits for his seed to catch and huffs out a disbelieving laugh. “I can hardly wait.”

“Then less waiting, my love,” she casts a meaningful look to the window where the late afternoon sun hangs low in the sky, ”unless you want to give the children a first hand demonstration in reproduction.”

Halsin grins with mischief but takes her point and pushes his trousers down, freeing his already leaking cock. Despite the aching hunger burning under his skin– the primitive need to fuck, to claim, to breed her till she’s screaming– his touch is soft when he takes her hands and tugs her into his embrace.

He runs his hands from her shoulders down her arms, to her chest to knead the soft flesh of her breasts. Were he afforded more time he would worship every inch of her soft curves, each freckle, every scar. Alas, time is a luxury for those couples without a full brood vying for attention and the beast within gnaws at his control with teeth and claws.

He spins her around and presses her torso to the desk, nostrils flaring at the scent of her open cunt, already wet with arousal. She widens her legs eagerly, pressing back into his touch and though he’s had her innumerable times in the same position, it’s only this time, for the first time in a very long time, he feels his tenuous control flicker in and out of his grasp.

“This will not be gentle,” he thinks to warn her but the look she gives him over her shoulder is anything but meek.

“Stop talking, papa bear, and fuck a baby into me.”

Lining up to her wet slit he sinks home with a groan that’s more beast than man. Tav’s head drops back with an answering guttural exhalation. A hand on each generous hip he sets a punishing pace, the sharp snap of his hips, the wet hot suction of her pussy consuming him. His lover mewls a needy whine that snaps his threadbare control and he falls forward with one hand on the desk the other on her neck, pressing her face to the desk and he snarls.

Pressing into his touch Tav’s trembling voice whimpers and keens, begging for his seed, his body, his child. His rough hands and nearly violent display of ardor has reduced her to a quivering mess of desire. Each thrust of his body into hers, has her gasping, arching, desperate for more, teetering on the precipice release.

He licks at the sweat on her back and with teeth just slightly too sharp he bites the soft flesh of her shoulder. She cries out, dragging her nails across the surface of his desk, and so he does it again, lapping at the red mark in satisfaction. Removing the hand at her neck he reaches around to palm her breast, raising the top half of her body just enough to set his teeth at the nape of her neck.

The prick of sharp canines does it for her and she jerks with the release of her orgasm, crying out with a curse and a howl. At the height of her rapture her scent changes and Halsin’s grip on her neck with his teeth tightens in tandem with his balls. As she comes down from her high, the walls of her body spasming around his erection, Halsin slams into her with one final thrust. Face pressed to the sweat slick heat of her body he groans his release at last, filling her up with thick hot cords of his cum.

With great affection Halsin nuzzles her skin mindlessly in the afterglow while Tav lays boneless beneath him, her expression incandescently satiated.

They stay like that for a moment, catching their breath. Conjoined by their sex and luxuriating the culmination of their bliss.

Until a familiar voice pipes up with intense curiosity, “But what are they doing in there?”

“Making babies,” answers a disgusted teenager, her footsteps stomping down the hallway past the office door.

Tav and Halsin share a look before bursting into laughter.

“Daddy Halsin?” Says their youngest, sounding as if he’s talking with his face pressed against the door. “Can I come in and see the babies?”

“Not just now, my love,” answers Tav with a nearly hysterical edge to her voice.

“Just a moment,” says Halsin in the same breath and catching each other’s eye, still high off their quickie, they nearly collapse into giggles all over again.

They scramble for their clothes, wary of the unlocked door but both snickering so much Halsin has his pants on inside out and Tav is wearing his shirt when another voice drifts in.

“Come on, Ermir,” says Yenna with a no nonsense tone. “They’ll be out soon. Babies take ages to bake.”

“Bake?”

“Yeah. Like in Momma Tav’s tummy.”

“Wow,” whispers Ermir. “How does it get in there?”

“Ummmm,” says Yenna, stumped. “I think a bird brings it?”

“Ohhhh.”

Their footsteps fade deeper into the house.

Tav, hands on her hips with cum dripping down her leg gives Halsin a shrewd look. “It’s your turn for The Talk, I already had my turn with the older ones.”

Halsin grins and picks her up, throwing her over his shoulder and swatting her ass. “Anything you say, my heart. But first we should make sure the oven is well stuffed, don’t you?”

#HalsinTavWeek #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #halsin x tav #halsin #halsin silverbough #bg3 tav #smut

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kirkodiletears · 2 months ago

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This used to be a part of a post, but I decided to make it into a separate one, because it speaks of crusual things for understanding SVSSS, it's plot and it's characters.

As I found out recently, there's a huge misunderstanding going on in the English-speaking segment, probably dew to an English translation of SVSSS (only a speculation, I myself never had this problem, although I read in several other languages as well, so I can compare) concerning the fact whether or not PIDW was originally planned by Airplane as a yaoi with bingqiu as an OTP. (Spoiler: yes, it was). Some readers are mislead by two quotes, that they take as a contradictory, which in truth, they are NOT.

The first one is from a Chapter "The story begins". It is the last chapter of the novel, after this the extras start. And this particular chapter is a culmination: this is where the truth is reveled. Like in a detective story, where we finally find out, who the killer is. This meant to become a real "bomb", that makes a reader go WOOOW!!! And this is THE KEY for understanding the whole story: the plot and the characters, especially Luo Bing-mei (and Luo Bing-ge). And it speaks about the original INTENTIONS of the Airplane, that he betrayed in order to please the crowd and that came true in the universe of the System. (original scrapped outline(c))

The second quote, from the extras, on the other hand speaks of an EXISTING PIDW, (original outline(c)), that he actually wrote, but never finished, because he died and woke up in the Universe of the System. And it gives us a glimpse into the way he planned to finish it.

The first quote, from the final chapter:

Shen Qingqiu looked him up and down. “You don’t look crushed at all after all this foolish messing around ended up completely changing your own novel.”

Shang Qinghua said, “You can’t say it like that ah. Maybe you think it’s just all foolish messing around that isn’t worth a damn, but for Bing-ge, your foolish messing around is probably the meaning of this entire world.”

... holy s***, Great God Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky was able to say something like that?!

Shen Qingqiu was terrified. “F***. You didn’t turn back into the original character, did you?”

Shang Qinghua said seriously, “Don’t be like that. I’m also a young person with literary ideals. Of course, I have my own reflections and emotions.”

Shen Qingqiu laughed coldly. “What literary ideals? How come all I saw in the original work was shameless fanservice?” Not to mention his hand speed that could produce ten thousand words a day, and the courage to even occasionally explode with twenty thousand. If he didn’t have such equipment, there was no way 《Proud Immortal Demon Way》 would have been able to hold out before it was serialized!

Shang Qinghua spread his hands. “You think that I always wrote shameless content that lacked any integrity from the very start? I’ve also written belles-lettres4 before, but they were all unpopular, so I had no choice but to go down a path that catered to the masses. It must be said that writing novels is a very lonely undertaking. Rather than writing a stallion male protagonist who’ll be stereotypical in the end, it’s more in line with my philosophy for writing to create the current Bing-ge━this kind of weirdo male protagonist whose character is a bit more complicated, has contradictions and conflicts, and has a rough destiny.”

Shen Qingqiu concluded, “So, your philosophy for writing is to write about gay guys?”

Shang Qinghua: “Do you look down upon gay male protagonists? Works of art and artists all like to create gay guys. Belles-lettres favors gays, do you know that?”

He waved his arms wildly and passionately. “Cucumber Bro, if the System hadn’t chosen you, this faithful die-hard reader, perhaps the plot wouldn’t have deviated so thoroughly, thoroughly to the point that it deviated all the way back to my original scrapped outline. Even though the me back in reality━who couldn’t endure the loneliness and was under financial pressure━chose to finish writing 《Proud Immortal Demon Way》 according to other people’s preferences and what they found cool... now, all thanks to you, essentially everything that I wanted to write has already unfolded in front of my eyes. Cucumber Bro!”

He patted Shen Qingqiu’s shoulders with deep sentiment and solemnity. “You... are the chosen one; as for my career, I have no more regrets!”

... why did it sound like the System and this world were both products of Shang Qinghua’s resentment over scrapping that outline and going with what was mainstream?

Shen Qingqiu, who shamefully became this kind of “chosen one”: “Who’s your faithful die-hard reader?”

Shang Qinghua waved his hand and one-sidedly declared his victory. “I’m not going to talk to you; you’re an anti-fan.”

Shen Qingqiu was about to say, “I’m only an anti, not a fan!” when he suddenly heard Shang Qinghua starting crooning something like, “Emotions are warm, kindness hard to bear, lips moving together, desires turning the evening to the next morning, never resting from dawn to dusk.” The crucial point was that melody, which sounded extremely familiar to the point that it made Shen Qingqiu’s hands and teeth itch. He pointed at him and said, “Shang Qinghua, what are you singing?”

Shang Qinghua continued to croon. “The warmth of emotions makes gratitude hard to bear. Lips to lips, locked in a kiss. Let this night linger ‘til tomorrow’s dawn. Day after day, night after night; never to end. Will tomorrow be another today? When ‘til Zheng Yang reaches its zenith? As Zheng Yang ascends, the voice of Autumn stirs. A sheathless Xiu Ya, a spurt of cold nectar. Tragic pleas amidst choked sobs, thus in vain; for he rises again5...”

Shen Qingqiu was in disbelief. “F*** you—why don’t you just try and sing another line?”

Shang Qinghua said, “Great Lord Shen, why aren’t you listening to what I’m saying? You must never go around casually f***ing people. Bing-ge will go crazy. I’m telling you, this Resentment of Chunshan is equivalent to Shi Ba Mo6. You two are the legendary national homos, do you understand? I have no problems with you shutting me up, but ultimately it’s useless. You can’t possibly make all the countless people in the world shut up...” (NB, Ch 81)

The second quote, from the extras:

【 Basic completion of Proud Immortal Demon Way’s original outline achieved (slight deviation in romance plotline); objective complete. Retrieving function to return to original world; download complete. Activate Return Home sequence? 】 Basic completion of the original outline? That he agreed with. All the holes that needed to be filled had been filled. But this “slight deviation of romance plot” wasn’t quite right. Bing-ge was now fully gay; how could you say that was a “slight deviation”? Ah, fine, fine, in fact, in his original outline, Bing-ge hadn’t even had a romance plotline; he had been doomed to fade away, alone and unaging forever. If you insisted on adding a romance plotline, all right, that was whatever, so putting aside all the System’s rambling…this meant he could return to his original world?! (Seven Seas, Ch. 26)

Basic completion of the original outline and filling it's plotholes - THIS is what's talked about in this quote! Not the scrapped original outline!

The English translation, which I only read recently, in my opinion is not very clear, in comparison to, for example, Russian translations, and not just the most popular version by Псой и Сысой, for ex: there are more than one, and they all pretty much nailed it. 感情线 used in original (that's what, apparently, caused the doubts for some reason, in spite that the quote itself absolutely clearly speaks of 《Proud Immortal Demon Way》’s original outline, the one big "error of a novel", that needed to be redressed, and not the scrapped original outline that never saw the daylight) itself refers to a "romantic plotline". So the author himself tells you, that his original Bing-ge had none. But how come? Why is that? Bing-ge, as we know, has got a huge harem, he for sure cannot be the case of dying alone without love!.. Or can he? Apparently, this is exactly his fate - no love. And the Airplane, the way he planned the original scrapped outline, knows better than anyone else - there's, well, none. The Protagonist's harem is nothing to do with romance whatsoever (see the quote below from the forum as an example, what the readers of PIDW themselves think of the relationship between Bing-ge and his harem). It all has to do with protagonists coolness and power and getting everything, including all the women, because he is super powerful and he is the center of that universe. It's about power, it's about lust, it's about influence and control, and showing, who the real boss is. But not love or romance. PIDW is not a romantic novel in a slightest: its a third rate pornography and a ode to toxic masculinity, so distasteful and disgusting, that the resentment of it's author with his own creation was powerful enough to create the whole new universe (The System) just to correct it! And this particular quote speaks of Bing-ge not having ANY SIGNIFICANT RELATIONSHIP, LOVE. Псой и Сысой for translating 感情线 in this particular case use much more explicit and profound "заслуживающие упоминания эмоциональные привязанности" ("the emotional connections worth mentioning"), rather than abstract "romantic plotline". Because the only significant person in his life pushed Bing-ge away. (And we know, who that person is, thanks to the System Universe - his shizhun.) Romance has nothing to do with the amount of partners he fucks - they are not of any romantic or emotional significance for Bing-ge. This is how his relationship with the harem is described by the PIDW reader's forum in the novel:

"Airplane really doesn’t know how to write romance plotlines, best if he just doesn’t. I feel like Luo Binghe doesn’t have feelings for any of his wives, he just wants to use them. And I can’t see any of those women with real moving emotion for him. "(NB, Ch. 73)

So - no romance for Bing-ge in PIDW, the Airplane didn't grant him this privilege and happiness. And yes - the ending for the tyrant he's become in PIDW is not happy in a slightest.

So, binqui did not appear out of nowhere, and yes - it has always been there from a beginning, in the core of everything. Implied. This is not only canon: it is the exact essence of it, the base, the foundation, which explaines everything that happens in the novel and even beyond - in PIDW, where the mighty protagonist that has everything, except the only one thing he really needs - the love of his shizun - is doomed to an eternal unhappiness and loneliness.

#svsss #svsss meta #mxtx svsss #bingjiu #luo binghe #shen quingqiu #shen jiu

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 1 year ago

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hi can i request yan sebastian, grell and hell taker meeting reader as their soulmate bit reader is more likely to believe soulmate is not real and theres not such things as true love or destiny

Soulmate | Yandere Black Butler

Naturally in a world where demons, rogue angels, and grim reapers run rampant love and procreation aren’t exactly expected. But their creators gave them an out—a symbol randomly given to someone stamped with a soulmate status. Many would consider it a weakness but many others would consider it a strength of its own. Either way for them a soulmate is one in a million and they’d be foolish to let you escape whether you believe it or not:

Sebastian Michaelis

“What a glorious surprise is this?”

He never expected to find his soulmate in the devout hater for all things non-human

He’s delighted with the challenge you offer

Always keeping him on his toes

What a treat

He only really has a problem when you start successfully trying to escape

Expect to be moved into the Phantomhive Manor pronto

Undertaker

“Hehehehe what a morbid turn of events.”

To have your rejection before the revelation of being his soulmate

But what can you really say when you’re supposed soulmate is a grim reaper

Who is more than delighted to experiment with the topic of death with anyone who you seem interested in you

He doesn’t see you as a weakness not until you prove it to him

Otherwise he’ll decide you need to take a permanent staycation in his care

Or keep you running either one works

Grell

“What?! You?!”

Doesn’t immediately get the connection

Whether its an obvious vision or a physical sign

He doesn’t immediately peg you for soulmate material

Especially when you scoff at the idea of that being even being a thing

But Grell isn’t a stranger to rejection

So your protests will mean nothing

Nothing more than a new side of you to learn about

And as your soulmate its a given that he know everything there is to know about you

#yandere sebastian michealis #yandere black butler #yandere kuroshitsuji #yandere x reader #yandere x you #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yanderexrea #yandere #yanderes #yandere grell sutcliff x reader #yandere grell sutcliff #yandere grell x reader #yandere undertaker #yandere undertaker: adrian crevan #yandere adrian crevan #yandere black butler x reader #yandere kuroshitsuji x reader

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sebadztian · 3 months ago

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In relation to my previous post about demon lore, I hope we will never find out too much about Sebastian (and demons in general).

Despite what the general public think, the main character/protagonist of Kuro is Sebastian the demon. And yet, 200+ chapters later we still don't know anything much about him.

What we know so far about him is from others' POVs, the servants, the Reapers, Arthur, and even Ciel himself. But the man himself remained tight-lipped. It's just like what Bard & Ciel said in the Murder arc, none of them knew where he came from, whom he served before. Bard only knows him to be the perfect butler, and Ciel didn't care, as long as Sebastian can give him what he wanted. As for the Reapers, well, it seems that they despise each other.

Is Sebastian the only demon in Kuro? No.

Grell mentioned that she was surprised to find a demon posing as a butler, which implied that there are other demons out there, but none of them has ever played the role of a butler before (as far as Grell could tell, at least).

And Will also mentioned it in the Circus arc, implying that there are other demons who'd scavenge for a meal.

And to make things even more certain, Sebastian himself has talked about his own kind.

Even Undertaker has questioned his 'motive' in Campania arc.

Now, having said that, while Sebastian is not the only demon in the Kuro verse, we can safely assume that he's not quite like other demons. Or at the very least, he has changed. He's tired of consuming souls mindlessly and he's now actively working to cultivate his next meal, a. k. a. Ciel, as per his own words in the Circus arc.

Admittedly, the Reapers might know a whole lot more about demons compared to Ciel and Bard, but I think we can safely say that whatever these Reapers know about demons do not fully apply to this particular demon.

When it comes to Sebastian Michaelis, nobody quite knows what kind of demon he is. This is not a ship post, but I'd still say that Ciel knows him best - compared to other characters, but even then, he doesn't know a whole lot about him.

Ciel knows him well enough to trust him - and not to trust him. But even then, he still doesn't know him that wellz or at least, Sebastian doesn't show him that much part of himself, as evidenced in the Green Witch arc.

Ciel told him to be 'a beast', and Sebastian himself said later on that what he currently finds most fascinating is to play the part of Ciel's butler. Ciel clearly doesn't know/understand this.

The thing is, Sebastian is not all brawl and no brain. I personally believe that he has an eidetic/photographic memory, which means he has perfect recall. But being intelligent is so much more than that.

Throughout the manga, Sebastian has shown that he is smart, cunning, scheming, and he is one hell of a manipulative bastard. He's creative and resourceful, as shown over and over again. When he battled Grell, how he came up with the Curry Bun, how he got the information about Kelvin from Beast, how he battled Undertaker onboard of Campania, how he his own way into Weston, and he was shown taking many initiatives during the Green Witch arc.

As much as Ciel tried to keep him under control, the demon would always find ways to challenge him and find loopholes and to play his own games (like with those poisonous snakesz for example). He is no idiot.

What fascinates me the most is how little we know of him, and yet, despite all those knowledge - or lack thereof, we can see how his character developed throughout the course of the manga.

And when this is all over, Ciel Phantomhive might be a blip in the long life of this demon, but he'd have the most impact in the demon's existence & character. Which is why this demon has chosen to tell this particular story of his adventures as the young earl's butler. Because if you really think about it, Kuro is Sebastian's story about this foolish yet beautiful boy and his path to revenge. He's the narrator and the story-teller and maybe that's also why we don't quite know a whole lot about him...

In other words, Kuro is Sebastian's recipe book about how to microwave a Victorian boy.

#sebastian michaelis #kuroshitsuji #black butler #manga panels #kuro analysis

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janedoeswriting · 9 months ago

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The Way The Wind Blows (Stiles x OC) Chapter Six

Description: Rhiannon finds herself trapped within her guilty pleasure tv show— Teen Wolf. Now, she must choose which path to take… one that leads back home, and another that follows uncertain adventure.

Tags: extreme slow burn, frienemies to lovers, fix it fic, canon change, actions have consequences.

TW: angst, fluff, sexual harassment, anxiety, depression, obsession, domestic violence, manipulation, etc. Just please do not read if you are sensitive to difficult subjects.

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(Hotel California by Eagles) **Note: I mean, duh.

It kind of felt foolish that they were on a bus going to a cross country meet. Stiles was restless. Between the tension of what had happened the night prior and everything that was going on, Stiles knew that they could be doing more productive things. For example: mourning the death of Derek. Another example: tracking down the Darach that has sacrificed a whopping six people so far.

Another example nagged at the back of Stiles' mind, but he didn't want to think about it. Rhiannon had already been plaguing his mind for nine days. Since she disappeared, he'd both discovered the root of the enemy- being a dark druid- and spent an inordinate amount of time trying anything he could to investigate her disappearance.

His father was doing the same-- working hours longer than Stiles had ever seen his father undertake.

Last night both Scott and Derek's pack had attempted to battle Deucalion and the alphas. It wasn't successful, and the remnant tension of it lingered in the bus like a rotting stench with no source.

Quizzing Scott on vocabulary was at least a welcome distraction to keep his mind off of everything that had occured. It almost worked.

"Okay next word-- incongruous." Stiles said.

"Um.. Can you use it in a sentence?" Scott asked. Stiles knew better than anything that Scott's mind had been just as equally distracted. This was a poor attempt as satiating the pain that persisted. "Yes-Yes I can. It's completely incongruous that we're sitting on a bus right now on our way to some stupid cross country meet after what just happened. Incongruous."

Scott sighed deeply. "Out of place. Ridiculous. Absurd."

"Perfect. Okay next word, umm...," Stiles couldn't keep his anxiety to speak about it suppressed any longer. "Darach. Darach, it's a noun."

Scott gave him a look.

"We have to talk about it sometime, okay? And we're gonna be stuck in this thing for like five hours so why not?"

Scott closed his eyes and leaned against the window. Stiles looked at him incredulously, but he knew he was getting nowhere so he turned back to the tablet and cleared his throat. "Alright, next word..."

After the crime, Rhiannon drove for a couple hours before it set in that she had to stop somewhere as soon as she could. Not only was she running low on gas, but she couldn't very well be seen in public covered in crusty dried blood.

She pulled over twice before she finally found an abandoned gas station. Both of the previous ones either had bathrooms inside or someone pumping gas. Thankfully, this one was not only virtually abandoned, but the bathroom was both on the outside and unlocked.

It took her about forty minutes to quickly scrub herself clean. She had grabbed a change of Austin's clothes that she'd found in his duffle bag in the back seat. She used the hand soap in the bathroom to wash her hair in the sink, and cleaned the rest of her body with paper towels. She scrubbed at her hands vigorously until they were raw and nothing was caked under her fingernails any longer.

She finally used the toilet and left for the truck, wet paper towels in hand. She used these to wipe any dried blood off the door handle and steering wheel. Finally, she tossed out her bloody clothes and paper towels into the garbage can and pulled up to the pump.

She found Austin's credit card and held her breath as she swiped. It worked, and she quickly shoved the diesel pump into the tank. She leaned against the car, running her hands through her wet hair and sighing.

She couldn't risk being spotted, but she was starving. If she didn't get food now in this abandoned gas station, then she would have to stop when it was daylight out, which would be a horrible mistake.

Rhiannon sucked in a breath and made her decision. She would just have to keep her head down and hope she wasn't noticed. She grabbed the cowboy hat that was on the dashboard and plopped it on her head. She almost felt guilty for wearing a dead man's clothes. But the image of his milky white eyes and sharp eerie grin banished any sympathy she had for Austin at all. She walked into the gas station and the door binged at her entry.

It was illuminated in cool toned lights and all the fridges were lit up lining the wall. It was a tiny space, but jam packed with rows of items from top to bottom. A clerk was secluded behind a glass wall and mountains of tobacco products, scratch offs, and porno mags. It was an older women, aging poorly with greying hair. She was sitting down and looked ready to fall asleep. She didn't even so much as glance up at Rhiannon's entry. This was a promising sign. Rhiannon ducked her head and walked down the snack aisle. She grabbed bags of chips and candy and some water from within a refrigerator. Her hands were full, and she came up to the counter and quietly set it all down. The woman finally looked up at her. An ashtray full of cigarette buds sat next to her. Rhiannon longed for another cigarette-- she had chain smoked the entire pack of camels dry. But she had no ID and didn't want to risk it.

The clerk began to non ceremoniously scan the goods, but Rhiannon shifted under the weight of the woman's appraising gaze.

"You're not from here, are ya?" she asked. Her voice was weathered, like she had been yelling loudly earlier. Or smoking for thirty years. Rhiannon shook her head, pretending to be very interested in their selection of lighters. "You look... familiar." the woman said.

Rhiannon's stomach dropped, but she kept her composure. The woman finished bagging her things. Rhiannon shrugged, and dared to look into the woman's eyes not wanting to be too suspicious.

To Rhiannon's horror, a look of recognition settled on the woman's features. She went calm and numb in the face in a way that almost scared her as much as Austin's transformation into a monster had.

Her eyes widened and showed the entire whites of them. Rhiannon stepped back.

"You're hands... Your hands are red. Your face is red."

Rhiannon felt like the ground had moved under her feat. She knows. This woman knows what I did.

Rhiannon's fight or flight kicked in and she lunged for the plastic bag, ready to bolt out the door without paying.

The woman was too quick, and she grabbed her wrist-- the one that was already bruised and sore from when Austin had almost broken it. "You must return to Beacon Hills. You must find Scott McCall." There was no time for confusion, but the woman continued as Rhiannon fought hard to tug at her arm. "Rhiannon Watson. FIND SCOTT MCCALL."

The woman screamed this last statement, and Rhiannon did the only thing she could think of. She leaned down and bit the woman's hand as hard as she could. The woman finally let Rhiannon go, and she dashed out the door. The cowboy hat flew off her head in the process, and she barely had taken the gas pump out of the tank and left it abandoned on the ground before she got in her car and slammed the door. She tossed the bag of food into the passenger seat and struggled to put the keys into the ignition.

Just then, a gut-wrenching ear-splitting scream like nothing she had ever heard before erupted into the air. Rhiannon dropped the keys and held her ears, squeezing her eyes shut and crouching down. Rhiannon thought it was a gunshot momentarily, but when she sat up to look outside she found the entire gas station windows had shattered. By some miracle, the car windows remained in tact. Rhiannon grabbed the keys, and this time she started the car swiftly and peeled out of the gas station back onto the highway as fast as she could.

Rhiannon didn't stop shaking or driving twenty over the speed limit for another half hour. Finally, as the ringing in her ears began to subside, she slowed her pace and took several calming breaths. Her mind was reeling, and she looked at herself in the rear view mirror. She looked shell shocked- which is exactly how she felt- and her ears had a line of blood trailing out of them and down her neck. Rhiannon grabbed a dirty sock from the backseat and quickly wiped the blood away. The woman's words rang in her ears still. Eventually, she pulled over at an exit and closed her eyes, resting her forehead on the steering wheel with her eyes squeezed shut. Find Scott McCall. So that was it. The warning of a banshee. The scream of death.

She grabbed the road map from within the glove compartment, longing for her cell phone. It was confusing and difficult to drive without GPS. She traced the lines on the map using an old red pen. The ink led straight back in the opposite direction and ended right on a dot labeled 'Beacon Hills'.

Fuck.

Stiles was pretty proud of himself for his ingenious idea of getting Jared to vomit. His plan had worked-- they had no choice but to pull over at the rest stop.

But the state of Scott certainly didn't allow him any time for pride. His worry grew with every moan that Scott uttered. He and Allison carried him over their shoulders into the men's restroom as quickly as they could with Lydia closely following to try and block anyone from seeing them.

Rhiannon groaned. The uncomfortable sensation of light in her eyes ushered her to consciousness.

Sleeping in the truck wasn't ideal, but it certainly was better than being found as a missing person. She had driven all night, and found a secluded truck stop to park in and sleep. Thankfully, no cops or suspicious people had been there when she arrived in the wee hours of the morning. She had made it back into California, but was still a good ways from Beacon Hills. She had only gotten about four hours of sleep, she realized, as she checked Austin's watch that read 12:15.

It was noon, and trying to sleep during the day and drive at night wasn't working.

She sat up, rubbing her eyes and groaning. Her hair was a mess and she felt like she'd slept on a pile of rocks. Her muscles were sore from both taking down a monster multiple times stronger than her and from sleeping in the car. Her morning breath was awful after all of yesterday's cigarettes and downing a bag of potato chips. She grimaced as her eyes adjusted to the California sun.

People swarmed the parking lot, and it was full of cars and trucks. She was all of a sudden much more awake, and ducked down, hoping nobody saw her. She was still a missing person, and in a stolen truck. And had killed a person-- who knew how long it would take for that murder to be traced back to her.

A big yellow school bus caught her eye as she peeked up just enough to observe the grotesque amount of people. A school bus?, she thought in confusion.

To her utter horror, students filed out in throngs coughing and waving their hands over their faces in clear disgust. A man was screaming out the window. Beacon Hills High School was stamped on the side of it. Rhiannon sucked in a short breath and ducked, pressing her back against the door as she crouched on the cramped floor. Fuck fuck fuck.

Rhiannon dared to steal another peek.

Her eyes searched the crowd of people. Rhiannon's stomach did another flip. There, Allison and Stiles held up a very horrible looking Scott McCall as Lydia looked around trying to block him from anyone's view. Rhiannon ducked down again. Find Scott McCall.

Fuck. She didn't want to find him so fast. She thought back to what episode this was. A school bus at a truck stop. Scott was dying. Derek "died". They were going to a haunted motel. Fuck. Rhiannon did a double take as she caught sight of a police officer on the other side of the truck. He hadn't caught sight of her yet, but he was patrolling around with a scrutinous gaze.

Rhiannon cursed, reached over to grab her bag-- the only evidence she had been in this truck (other than her fingerprints everywhere), and opened the drivers side door behind her to slip out as discreetly as possible. She blended in with the crowd of teenagers well, but was still getting strange looks from other students.

Thankfully-- none of them recognized her because she hadn't attended school. Still, her face was plastered on the news and it wouldn't be long before a stray student connected some dots. She ducked into the girls bathroom and found the handicapped stall.

Her appearance was horrible. She looked pale, and run down. Her hair was a mess, and purple circles hung under her bloodshot eyes. She quickly ran her hands through the tangles and made herself look somewhat better. She grabbed her toothbrush and ran it over her teeth and tongue without any toothpaste, and then begrudgingly took some gulps of water from the sink. It tasted like mold and metal, but Rhiannon swallowed it anyway.

Finally, she stepped out of the stall. A crowd of girls swarmed the sink mirrors and a que was forming for the bathroom. She ducked out with her head down and hands clutching her bag. She walked past students lingering around. A group of boys passed by muttering, and she caught someone saying "Closed for cleaning?" and another complaining about walking to the other side of the building to use the other bathroom.

Rhiannon hesitated, and then sighed and chucked her bag into the bottom of an outdoor trash can. It wasn't exactly ideal, but she didn't want to look like a run away when she ran into Stiles again-- not if she wanted to keep her place as Mr. Stilinski's foster daughter. And if a banshee had warned her to keep close to Scott McCall, staying at the Stilinski's was her best bet.

She approached the men's bathroom with a deep breath. The door was locked. She banged on it. "Closed for cleaning!" A voice shouted on the other side. It was clearly Lydia. Rhiannon banged again, harder. "We're closed!" Another voice sounded very loudly and angrily. Stiles. "Go. Away!"

Rhiannon sucked in a breath and despite her hammering heart, she banged again, harder and longer. She didn't stop until the door swung open violently.

"Go to-," Stiles began with a very harsh tone, but immediately caught in his throat at the sight of her. She looked up at him with weary eyes, but didn't have time to stand around and let someone see them. She pushed her way in and shut and locked the door behind her.

When she turned back, Lydia and Scott were gaping at her. Allison would have stared in shock too if Scott didn't grunt, and she turned back to him with a worry-struck expression.

Rhiannon didn't know how to approach this situation other than,

"Hi."

"Rhiannon?" Stiles asked, and something of relief and confusion both combined in his voice.

"Stiles." She said, but stepped by him to where Scott and Allison were crouching on the floor. "How is he?" she asked, lifting the shirt. The sight was putrid and disgusting. The jagged wound was growing blacker by the second and oozing with blood.

Rhiannon couldn't face Stiles, but she could do this.

"Rhiannon." Stiles said, more firmly this time as if he was realizing something. Rhiannon ignored him.

"Allison, grab some needle and thread. You need to stitch him up."

"What?!" Allison demanded. "You need to stitch him up. He isn't in his right mind. If he thinks he's healing, he will." She said, meeting Allison's gaze. They hadn't even properly introduced themselves, and Rhiannon was reaching for their trust. Willing it into reality.

"Trust me." she demanded. Allison stood, and moved to her bag. Rhiannon looked back up at Stiles, who was staring at her like a ghost.

"Get another shirt from Scott's bag."

Stiles didn't move, just stared. "What are you-?"

"Do it!" Rhiannon demanded. "Stiles, I'll explain everything later. Just go."

Rhiannon turned to Lydia. "Make sure the bus doesn't leave."

Lydia was appraising her in a similar way that Stiles was, but she didn't hesitate like he did. She grabbed Stiles' arm and dragged him out the door. Rhiannon walked up and locked it again as Allison used a lighter to sterelize the needle.

"How did you- How do you know what's wrong with him?" Allison asked, taking the thread and crouching down to Scott. Rhiannon shook her head, but said, "I can't explain how, I just do."

This seemed to be enough for Allison. She begged Scott to stay awake for a moment even when he complained he was tired. Rhiannon heard the fear in her shaky voice. She took the thread and attempted to push it through the eye of the needle. Her hands were shaking profusely, and Scott's groans and nodding head weren't helping. He was dying by the second.

"Come on." Allison begged, but it wasn't working. She couldn't do it. Allison squeezed her eyes shut. It dawned on Rhiannon what she was going through. "Your mom isn't here." Rhiannon said gently. Allison looked at her in shock as tears ran down her face. "Your mom isn't here. Take a deep breath." Rhiannon said, and Allison did so, desperately clinging to Rhiannon's calming voice. "You can do it, Allison." Allison turned back, taking another deep breath, and focused. A moment later, it was done. She desperately began to stitch him up and reminded Scott to stay awake.

Just as Scott was nodding to sleep, Rhiannon said his name. "Scott, stay awake."

And he did. Allison finished up the stitching, and Scott came too. "It's my fault." he said. Allison breathed a sigh of relief and clung onto those eyes that were growing more lively by the second. The wound was stitched up expertly, and Scott looked down at it. "Did you do that?" he asked Allison. She was the only person in the world to him in that moment.

Rhiannon stepped back, letting them have their moment. Stiles banged on the door, and Rhiannon wrenched it open as he rushed in with Scott's bag and a shirt in hand. He brushed by her, but Rhiannon saw him meet her eyes and he seemed struck again by the reality. She was there. She was really there.

He handed the shirt to Allison, who immediately helped him dress and stand. Stiles dropped Scott's bag and turned back to Rhiannon.

His eyes said everything. Explain. Now. Rhiannon sucked in a breath and said, "I'll explain everything in a minute, but right now I have to-," she started with Stiles fast on her heels as she left the bathroom and then stopped in her tracks. The cop had brought a friend, and now they were inspecting the empty red truck together. Fuck. Stiles grabbed her arm and turned her to face him. "No, explain now."

Rhiannon glanced at the bus, where Lydia was desperately trying to convince Coach to keep the bus there just a few minutes longer. Rhiannon looked back to Stiles, grabbing his hand and removing it from her arm. "Fine. On the bus." Rhiannon said, and turned to help Allison carry Scott. Scott did a double take, and looked at her in dizzy surprise. He looked infinitely better than he had just moments ago.

"Rhi?" He asked as they made their way there. "Nice to see you, too." she said back.

"So your telling me you got kidnapped, escaped, stole his truck, and just happened to see us at this random rest stop on the side of the road?" Stiles asked on the bus. Rhiannon was actually glad they were in a public setting where Stiles had to keep his voice down, so he wouldn't yell at her.

Rhiannon nodded. Stiles was fully turned toward her, but Rhiannon faced forward in the seat next to him. Lydia was in the seat in front and looking back, listening to the story with just as much skepticism that Stiles had. Allison sat behind them, but she was too worried about Scott's dozing figure to pay them any mind at all.

Rhiannon didn't want to say it, but she didn't exactly have a choice. She had made the decision on the way back to Beacon Hills. "It was a wendigo."

Both Lydia and Stiles sat up a bit more, their attention sharpening. She glanced at Stiles, and then to Lydia. "He tried to eat me."

Lydia blinked at her, and Stiles' mouth hung open.

"A what?"

"Whats a wendigo?" Lydia bit out the question like Rhi had just walked out of crazy town. It didn't seem Lydia was warming up to Rhiannon well, and it made sense. They had only very briefly met, and all of a sudden Rhiannon showed up after nine days missing acting like she ran the place.

"It's a supernatural creature that feeds on human flesh." They both stared at her. "Like you actually believe that werewolves are the only supernatural beings that exist. Is Jackson being a giant lizard not enough to buy that wendigos are real?"

"How do you know about Jackson?" Lydia bit out sharply in a low whisper. Rhiannon looked her in the eye and could feel Stiles' stare burning into her. "Listen-- I know things. I know probably more than you know-," This was so true it was unbearable, but she continued. "I know you've been hearing strange voices. Finding bodies."

This shut Lydia up. Stiles grabbed Rhiannon's arm, but she didn't look at him. "How do you know that?" Stiles asked, a burning in his voice.

She glanced at him, looked down at her hands, and then back to Lydia. She had factored in the repercussions of what she was about to do over and over in her mind on the drive there. But she had already decided to do it, and there was no going back now.

Not after they knew that she knew about the supernatural, and everything that had happened the past few days.

"I don't know how I know things--... I just- I just do."

"Oh thats helpful. How are we supposed to belive you?" Lydia asked, and it was true. "You don't have to. I'm not asking you to."

"Oh, so we're just supposed to go along believe you aren't the- .. the Darach?" Stiles said it like he was both trying not to believe it but also like he had no other choice than to think it was Rhiannon.

Finally, she met his eyes. "If you don't trust me, fine. I wouldn't trust me either. Lock me up, then. Watch me. Next time a person is sacrificed, you can blame yourself for not letting me help you."

Stiles sucked in a breath at this and let go of her arm, which he hadn't realized he was still holding. Rhiannon turned back to Lydia. "The only reason I'm here is because I ran into one of your kind, Lydia."

There was a short moment of horrified silence. "One of my kind?! I'm not--," Lydia started incredulously. The look Rhiannon gave her cut her short. "You're smarter than that, Lydia. You know you aren't human. Not really."

Lydia sucked in a sharp breath, as if she had received terrible news. Which, Rhiannon supposed, she had. She wasn't human, and that must have been a shock to hear.

"Listen-- I don't-.. I'm not sure of what I know. I do know things. From the past. And things that may happen. But it's all like a blurry memory. Like a book I read once that I know the plot of, but can't remember the details. Some things come to me, and some don't. I'm not saying I know what I am, or if I can even tell you how to stop the Darach. All I know is that I can help you."

They sat in a heavy silence for a long time as they took in the information. Something had shifted in Stiles. He felt betrayed. How could she go missing for nine days, with himself and worse his father at fault? How could she just come back and know how to help Scott, know what Lydia was, and still expect them to trust her? He didn't. He didn't trust her, and that was all he knew. She was a liar, and something was off. "What..." Lydia said, and couldn't get the words out. Rhiannon put her hand on the seat in front of her and met the teenage girl's eyes. "You're a banshee, Lydia. You predict death."

There was a distinct feeling of being unwanted. The sun was setting slowly, and after Rhiannon had broken the news to Lydia nobody seemed to want to interrogate her anymore. She could feel that Stiles and Lydia both wanted nothing to do with her. She took her hint, and quickly made her way to the only empty bus seat. It was fine. She didn't need to be their friend. It had felt good to help them, though. To help Scott. To tell Lydia the truth. That feeling had been squashed by the mood that weighed on her. She knew they didn't trust, or like her. Maybe she had screwed up by telling them. Then again she didn't exactly have a choice. This stupid bus was her only way back to Beacon Hills. That is, if she made it in one piece.

Rhiannon thought about everything that had happened while she stared out the window. How she had ran into two different supernatural creatures in her attempt to escape Beacon Hills. She morbidly thought that maybe she was the beacon now. A horrific voice in the back of her head said, Maybe you are. You traveled through worlds. Who knows what sort of things you've changed just by being here?

This excruciating time alone also gave her a moment to collect herself and decide what her next plan of action was. And to try and sort through her memories enough to try and know what was coming next. She knew they were going to that haunted motel. That Boyd would almost drown himself in the bath. Isaac would hide under the bed. Ethan tries to cut himself in half. And Scott would very nearly light himself on fire. Stiles had saved him, that time. Would she have to sit by and let him? What would be the best way to help them all without disrupting the timeline and causing some sort of change in plot? Did this mean she couldn't help them?

It all felt wrong and horrible. Watching a Tv show was one thing. But actually being there was different. The timeline was different in real life.

Rhiannon looked down at her hands. Despite the great plethora of distractions, she could still see it. The blood on them. The smell of it. The sound of gurgling. The fading of light. She shook her head as if this would help her banish her thoughts.

"Hey." A voice said. She jumped, and turned. It was Scott, she looked around to find the bus was already empty. How had that happened? "Scott. Sorry- I- I got distracted." she said. He smiled, his bag slumped over his shoulder. He looked perfectly healthy. And like he didn't hate her. Stiles must not have spoken to him yet. He nodded and she got up to follow.

"Ya know, you have some questions to answer." Scott said, and to her horror when they stepped off the bus Stiles, Lydia, and Allison were waiting and watching her. She tried not to grimace and lolled her head to the side as if she were gravely inconvenienced by this. Which she was. It would require more lying. "Fine." She marched forward through them, and Stiles did a double take and caught up to her.

"You can't just-- walk away." he demanded. Rhiannon looked to him with a raised brow as the rest began to follow. "I'm not? Unless you want to talk about werewolves in the open parking lot," Rhi turned to Scott. "What room?" she asked.

Stiles stopped walking while the rest continued. He threw his hands up in exasperation and ran to catch up.

Rhiannon had been struggling to start this conversation for the past five minutes. They all sat on the beds, watching her pace until Allison evidently became fed up and said, "Wellll..."

Rhiannon sighed and turned to them. "Okay. Here goes."

She knew she couldn't tell the full truth, but she'd planned for this.

"Derek isn't dead."

The room went silent and Scott leaned forward in surprise. Evidently he at least believe her. The sceptical looks on the rest of them were enough to tell her she had to prove herself.

"Okay, okay. Maybe I need to start from somewhere better," Rhiannon said.

"I know things. Things about you all that nobody else knows. I don't know everything, of course, but- I do know some things. Like, for example, Allison-- I know you're family makes silver bullets with your family crest inscribed in them. You made silver arrowheads instead." She said, gesturing to her. Allison was taken aback by this, and the rest turned to her in confusion. Allison nodded. Evidently nobody else knew this fact about her.

"And, Lydia. Your grandmother's nickname for you when you were little was Ariel." Lydia blinked in shock at Rhiannon. Stiles stood up, as if this was too much, but Rhiannon laid eyes on him next.

"You had a hallucination at Lydia's party last year. It was your dad." But that was all she said about it, not wanting to bring up painful details of that memory to the attention of the room.

Stiles stepped back, and fell on the bed staring at her in disbelief. Rhiannon turned to Scott, but he looked more surprised by anything.

"The night Peter bit you, you dropped your inhaler. You haven't needed it since."

Rhiannon let them all marinate in these tidbits of information that nobody else knew about them. These pieces of truth that she hoped would convince them to trust her. Of course, Stiles didn't. "And what, do you think this makes us think your not the Darach?!" He demanded, standing up again.

"Derek is alive. He went to Jennifer's house, and she helped stitch him up. He's gonna be okay--," she started, but didn't know what to say about Jennifer. Could she tell them? Would it be okay?

She let the silence marinate. "You don't have to believe me now. That's fine. But you do have to know that we aren't safe here. Lydia- you have a bad feeling right? One you can't explain?" Lydia looked to her like Rhiannon was speaking to the choir and she desperately needed help. Rhiannon nodded at her reassuringly. "You're right, Lydia. This place is dangerous. We have to get out."

"Am I the only one who thinks this is totally insane?" Stiles demanded. "You just appear out of nowhere, saying all this stuff after you conveniently arrived to town right before the killings, and we're supposed to believe you aren't the Darach?"

Rhiannon had to admit, he had a point. She tried not to let his cold attitude hurt her feelings. "Doesn't seem like you have much of a choice right now, given that every werewolf in this place- Scott included- are about to have suicide-inducing hallucinations."

"WHAt are you TALking about?!" Stiles demanded. Rhiannon threw her hands up and turned, not believing this. She was telling the truth but he didn't believe her, and she had no way to prove the truth. "Fine." She finally said, and sat in the chair in the corner, crossed her legs and arms.

"I'll wait."

"You'll what?!"

"I'll. Wait."

She glared at him, and he glared at her back until his frustration peaked and he gave a yell and stormed out of the room. Scott quickly followed. Rhiannon huffed and turned her head, glaring at the back of the TV. She felt eyes on her and awkwardly turned to Lydia and Allison's attentive gazes. Lydia was appraising her, and Allison was watching her like she didn't quite know wether to ask her more questions or run away.

"What is a- a banshee?" Lydia finally asked, clearly not able to hold in her frustration. Rhiannon looked at her and her stony expression softened in sympathy.

"It's not a bad thing Lydia. It might be scary sometimes, but you can use it for good. It means that you know things that others don't."

"Like you?" "No." Rhiannon said quickly. "No, not like me. Your's are... different. And you can change the things you find out. You predict death, but that doesn't mean you can't stop it."

Lydia took the information in and seemed to turn it over in her mind. "Your scream helps. Sometimes you might... have the urge to just scream out your frustration or all the noise in your head. It can be dangerous if you don't learn how to control your power."

"My power?" Lydia questioned. Allion touched her friends shoulder and smiled at her. "Don't worry, Lydia. We can look into it when we get back."

"Deaton will be able to help you." Rhiannon added. "Much more than I can."

Lydia stood and walked to the bathroom to take a moment to herself. To Rhiannon's surprise Allison spoke to her.

"You knew about my mother. That I-- That I see her sometimes."

Rhiannon nodded.

"You also knew how to help Scott." Allison added. Rhiannon sighed and leaned her elbows on her knees, wringing her hands.

"I want to help Scott. I want to help all of you. I don't know if I can. I don't think I was supposed to, but... I can't not help you. It wouldn't be right." Rhiannon confessed, and it felt so relieving to get those thoughts off her chest.

"I know it may not feel like it right now," Allison said, with a gentle smile and soft gaze, "but you did do the right thing." Rhiannon smiled at her but it was more grim. She hesitated for a moment, but said the words.

"I know who it is. The dark druid." Allison was taken aback, but her attention sharpened.

Lydia had appeared from the bathroom and stepped forward, also listening attentively. Rhiannon looked at both of them. "It's Jennifer Blake. Your english teacher. She's performing a ritual-- to make her powers stronger. She's manipulated the events of tonight to try and get rid of the werewolves. To get them out of her way so she could continue her plan."

"So far, she's sacrificed Virgins and Warriors. Next, she'll try and do Healers, then Philosophers, and finally Guardians. With every threefold death her powers get stronger. She'll eventually be strong enough."

"Strong enough to do what?" Allison asked urgently.

"To kill Deucalion, and the pack of Alphas."

"Well, who is it?!" Lydia demanded. "Whose the first healer?" Rhiannon put her head in her hands. "That's the thing-- I don't know. I've been trying to remember but, it's like I said earlier. I can't remember some of the small details."

"Small details? Someone is going to die!" Lydia exclaimed.

Rhiannon could help the glare that she shot her. "Isn't it kind of your job to find out who's going to die next?" Lydia withrew sharply at the blow.

"That's if you're right about me." She said, but the room was heavy with the truth. There was something strange about Lydia. About her ability to predict death. To hear voices and ghosts.

"You know I'm not wrong. And if my powers only extend so far, then your's can fill in the gaps." Rhiannon concluded. It was pretty easy to pretend like her memories of a tv show were actually powers of predicting the future and knowing the past. And maybe they kind of were. Maybe she was some supernatural creature-- one that could travers the multiverse.

Lydia lifted her hand and turned her head, her eyes going distant as if she were trying to listen to something.

"What?" Allison asked. "Shh." Lydia said quickly as she craned her head to listen. She slowly approached the air vent above the bed, and lifted her ear to listen.

Lydia stepped back in a rush, her hand to her mouth. She desperately turned to them. "Did you hear that?!" She looked deeply disturbed.

"Hear what?" Allison asked. "The two people in the other room. They shot each other!" Lydia said, panic thick in her voice as the led the way out of the room. The two other girls followed closely behind her.

When they burst into the room and turned on the lights, they discovered it was deeply underway of a total reconstruction. Tools, drop cloths, and lumber took up the space of the room. Rhiannon gritted her teeth, noticing the very saw that Ethan would later try to use to cut himself in half.

"We have to find Ethan. We have to find all of them." Rhiannon said. Her voice was growing thinner and wearier by the second, and Lydia's shock and fear was enough to cause Allison to adopt the same level of urgency. "Allison, what is your great uncle's name?

"Great uncle-... uhh Alexander?" She asked. Rhiannon nodded. "And do you know how he died?"

"I-I don't know. My dad never talked about it."

Rhiannon nodded and looked to Lydia.

"Lydia, you aren't wrong about what you just heard. Grab the bible in the side table," she said, gesturing to the drawer. Lydia did quickly but was visibly confused.

Rhiannon took it and quickly flipped the front cover till an article fell from the book. Rhiannon crouched and grabbed it, holding up the title. 'Couple commits double suicide at Motel Glen Capri'

They both inhaled sharply.

"This motel is haunted. Allison, your great uncle was bit by Deucalion. He came here and killed himself so he would never turn into a werewolf. This motel has been haunted ever since, and any werewolf that steps foot here is in danger of being next." Rhiannon explained.

It was a lot to take in, but to Allison's credit she processed the information quickly. And unlike the boys, Lydia and Allison seemed to trust what she was saying now.

"Scott's in danger, isn't he?" she asked.

Rhiannon nodded. "And so is Isaac and Boyd. And Ethan. We have to get them out of this place before it's too late."

Allison nodded, serious like she was on a mission. Rhiannon was struck with the thought-- How does she do it? She's so strong and level-headed. Lydia's panicked expression moreso matched how Rhiannon was feeling.

"Here is what I know: Boyd is going to try and drown himself in bathtub, using a safe to weigh his body down under the water. Ethan is going to come in here and try to use that saw," she pointed to it "to cut himself in half." The two girls made horrified faces, but Rhiannon continued hurriedly.

"Isaac is hiding under his bed having a panic attack. And Scott... he covers himself in gasoline and tried to light himself on fire. Stiles saves him. Actually, he saves everyone." Rhiannon looked down at the floor in shame. She shouldn't have fought with him earlier. She shouldn't have let Scott and Stiles get seperated from them.

"We have to find Scott." Allison said with combined worry and determination. Lydia nodded. "We can split up and try to help them." "They won't be in their right minds. Only heat will help them."

"Heat?" Lydia asked.

"Burning them snapped them out of it. Like pain is the only solution. There were flares...? I don't remember where you got them from, but they worked."

"The bus. It has emergency flares." Lydia said. Rhiannon nodded, and they met eyes. This was it. Where Rhiannon's memory failed, Lydia filled in the gaps. In that moment, Rhiannon felt a connection pass between them. A mutual understanding.

"I'll go find Scott and Stiles. Lydia, you go to the bus and get the flares. Rhiannon, find Ethan." Allison barked out orders military-style.

Rhiannon nodded and pulled the lighter from Autin's cigarettes out of her pocket. She felt quite lucky that she had kept it.

They all turned and began to walk out of the room and ran straight into Stiles.

"Stiles? What are you doing, where's Scott?" Allison demanded. Stiles read the fear and urgency radiating off of all three of the girls.

"In our room, why?" Lydia cut by him and ran for the bus.

"What's going on?!" Stiles demanded.

"Take me to your room, now." Allison said.

Stiles looked to Rhiannon in both question and anger. That was when it happened.

Ethan was quiet and distant when he approached them. He didn't say a word and his eyes were glassy. He was gone.

Rhiannon stepped forward, struggling to make the lighter catch flame. He shoved her to the side as she tried to block his entrance to the room. His strength was too powerful, and Rhiannon was thrown to the side so hard she caught air. Thankfully, Stiles caught her just in time. She grabbed onto him desperately but her lighter had flown out of her hand and into the parking lot.

Allison acted quickly and ran into the room after Ethan, and Rhiannon did the same as soon as she got her footing. The sound of a saw turning on. Rhiannon's heart leapt into her throat. Allison grabbed onto his arm, and Rhiannon ran forward to help. Thankfully, Stiles reacted quickly too and grabbed his other arm. "The heater!" Rhiannon exclaimed. Allison and Stiles didn't seem to need any further instruction.

They used all their strength to throw him into it. He landed harshly and exclaimed in pain as the smell of burning flesh wafted into the room. In the process, the saw was thrown to the floor along with Stiles. Rhiannon's body reacted before her mind could, and she grabbed his arm. His face came within inches of the saw. She used her body weight pulled him up. The saw came to a stop, and Stiles stared at it in disbelief, looking back up at Rhiannon, who still held him desperately.

They were all breathing heavily and Ethan staggered back. "What just happened?!" He demanded.

"Get back to your room and stay there." Allison demanded as Rhiannon helped Stiles to his feet. "What the fuck?!" Stiles demanded. He was breathing heavily and shaking. "They're hallucinating Stiles. They've been poisoned by wolfsbane-- all of them."

"We have to find Scott." Allison said, more urgently now. Stiles nodded, and looked to Rhiannon. "I'll go find Isaac and Boyd. What room are they in?" She asked.

Thankfully, Stiles told her.

As they ran out the door, Lydia had made it back with two flares in hand. Rhiannon grabbed one and so did Allison. "Come on," Rhiannon said, and Lydia followed her to Boyd and Isaac's room. Stiles and Allison ran the opposite direction to find Scott.

When they got there, the door was open. Boyd was standing in the bathroom, holding the safe and about to step into the bath. As Rhi ran, she ripped off the cap of the flare and struck it hard.

It lit on the first try, and she made to Boyd who had two feet in the bathtub. She used it like a weapon and pressed it into his side. The safe dropped with a loud THUD and he let out a roar of pain. When he turned, his eyes were aglow and canines sharp. He came to, and looked around in confusion.

"What's going on?" He demanded.

Rhiannon turned and handed Lydia the flare. "Under the bed," she inscructed and turned back to Boyd. He looked in better shape, and had stepped out of the water.

"Wolfsbane. You're gonna be okay."

A yelp sounded in the bedroom and they rushed out, finding Isaac standing up from the floor and Lydia crouching down, still holding the flare even though it had gone out. She looked to Rhiannon and Boyd.

"You okay?" Rhiannon asked Isaac. He eventually nodded, but looked shell-shocked.

"We have to find Scott." Lydia said, standing up.

The two boys followed them out as they rushed to Scott's room. When they burst inside, Rhiannon let out a breath of relief when she found Allison clutching Scott in her grasp as she held him. Stiles was holding a still-lit flare.

After a few moments of that sweet relief, Rhiannon turned and walked out of the room. She thought about how thankful she was that they had gotten there before he'd gotten his hands on any gasoline. About how all of them were safe, and okay. Stiles had followed her out without her even noticing. She could really go for a cigarette. He looked at her as she leaned against a pillar, calming her breaths. "You saved them." Stiles said. That was all he said. Rhiannon finally turned and looked at him. "I wouldn't have been able to without Lydia or Allison."

She looked to where Lydia stood watching her in the doorframe, and Isaac and Boyd who were both doing the same now. Rhi stood back up. "Come on, let's get your stuff. It's gonna be a long night's sleep on the bus."

Rhiannon hadn't been mentally prepared for Stiles grabbing her arm and pulling her to the side as they loaded up into the yellow school bus. But she didn't protest-- she was too worn out.

"My dad thinks you were kidnapped. So did I." he said.

Rhiannon shrugged, but knew this wouldn't be enough so she said, "I wasn't lying about the wendigo, if that's what you're asking."

"Did you run away?" He asked. There was hurt in his voice, and for the first time Rhiannon considered that Stiles might have blamed himself after she had disappeared. At the time, she had been so angry with him that it didn't matter.

She thought about telling him what she had planned to tell the police upon her return to Beacon Hills. The story she had rehearsed over and over in her mind.

She decided against it when she looked into those brown eyes.

"I- I thought that Beacon Hills was dangerous. And it is..." she said, before continuing. "I tried to get out. I didn't want to hurt your dad. Or you. I- I didn't really think about anyone but myself. I just didn't want to get caught up in all this supernatural business and get myself killed. But it seems like the supernatural business just followed me anyway. I ran into a woman after I escaped Austin-- the wendigo."

His eyes told her he needed an explanation. "I thought he was a regular person, but he, uh. He wasn't. And then I saw this woman. She told me--... she told me to come back to Beacon Hills. To find Scott McCall. I think... I think that's the only way I can stay alive in this world."

She looked up at him before he could get a word out and quickly said. "You can't tell your dad."

"I know," he started, but she interrupted.

"No, you can't tell him I ran away. I... I know it's a lot to ask. You already have to lie to him so much about all this." and she gestured around, referring to the supernatural world. "I know it isn't easy for you. But I don't want him to think I ran away because of him. He was good to me. He took me in without question when he didn't have to. I didn't want to leave, but I was scared of what would happen if I stayed. And it wasn't his fault, or yours."

He sucked in a breath, listening despite clearly wanting to say something. She continued. "I want to stay with you."

This statement was totally awkward, and Rhiannon quickly followed up. "I mean with your dad, and at your house. I think... I think I was supposed to. Like how I think I'm supposed to help you now. Like there's a reason I'm here."

"You can't lie to police. They'll know."

No they won't, I've done it before. But she didn't say this thought.

"I want to try. I'll come up with a story. I'll tell the FBI agents it isn't your dad's fault. That I want to stay. But I need you to help me."

She waited in anticipation. He eventually nodded slowly. "Fine. But only because you saved my friend's lives. And I'm still not buying that you aren't the Darach."

Rhiannon held up her hands. "I don't doubt it. I'll tell you everything I know." Not everything, but he doesn't have to know that.

Stiles sighed.

"By the way, the wolfsbane is in Coach's whistle. Next chance you get, get rid of it."

Stiles nodded begrudgingly, and they boarded the bus.

"So is anyone gonna tell us who that is?" Isaac asked, gesturing to Rhiannon.

When they got off the bus, the police were waiting. Rhiannon had told Stiles to call his dad and tell him that Stiles had found her. Upon sight of Mr. Stilinski, she was caught off guard by a hug. Mr. Stilinski grabbed her and his son and pulled them in tightly. Rhiannon hesitated, and then sunk into the embrace. It felt good to actually have someone who was happy and relieved to see her.

When they pulled apart, he inspected her. She must have looked as ragged and dirty and smelly as she felt because his face was etched with worry. He then turned to his son, holding his face and neck in one hand and clapping him on the shoulder in the other with a proud sort of smile that only a father could muster for his son. "Good job, son."

Stiles blushed and looked down bashfully. "I didn't mean to find her. I was on a cross country trip."

Rhiannon smiled and elbowed him in the side playfully. "He did though."

"Actually, we have a few questions about that." an FBI agent said, stepping in much less friendly than Mr. Stilinski had. Rhiannon nodded, expecting this. "You too," they added to Stiles, who had begun to step away. Rhiannon looked to Stiles and sent him a reassuring smile, and Stiles in turn nodded back. They'd discussed the plan on the ride there, and knew they would both have to answer questions. It took a couple hours of questioning. The entire time Rhiannon had demanded from both the agents and CPS that she stay under the care of the Sheriff, who she said was the most fit to protect her after the events of her 'kidnapping'.

She covered the events that had occured, continuing to stick as close to the truth as possible. She didn't disclose the gory details of her murder, or of her running away. She instead claimed he'd apprehended her in the street with a cloth to her mouth, and when she came to she was riding in a car, tied up and gagged. She described a story of how she escaped from the truck when they had pulled over off the highway.

"I ran through a ditch. I fell, but kept running. There wasn't anything around-- not even a gas station. I didn't know where I was. I kept screaming for help. I thought maybe there had to be someone around. But it was nighttime. He pulled around and cut me off with his truck. I tried to run around it but he grabbed me by the wrist."

She held the bruised and swollen wrist in her hand as she spoke. Everyone in the room was eating it up, looking at her with sympathetic eyes. Especially when she dipped into the memory of the real terror she had felt during Austin's attack. His bloodthirsty stare with those soulless empty eyes. The teeth dripping with drool. Head cocking to the side as he cornered his prey.

She let the feeling bubble to the surface, and didn't have to fake the terror that came with it. "He had a knife. I-I kneed him... between the legs. He let go of me so I grabbed his head and brought it down onto my other knee. He was on the ground. His face was bloody, and he dropped the knife. I grabbed it. He started to try and come up again so I- so I stabbed him... Right here," she pointed to the crook of the neck. It wasn't true, she had stabbed him through the neck, but the details didn't matter.

"I was bloody, but I ran to the truck. I was scared he would get back up again, so I drove off down the highway. In the opposite direction we came from. I didn't have a phone, or know where I was going. I was going to pull over, but I saw a sign that said Beacon Hills on it. I didn't know how far it would be. I ended up driving for a long time. I got tired, though. I almost fell asleep on the highway. I stopped at the next rest stop I could. There weren't any cars, and I was too scared to get out, so I fell asleep in the truck.

When I woke up, it was daytime. There was a school bus, and that's when I saw Stiles and Scott and their friends."

"Your friends didn't want to call the police?" One of them asked.

"I asked them not to. I wanted Stiles to call his dad. The rest of the police don't matter."

They all glanced at each other. She had said this last part with a bit of venom.

Sheriff Stilinski himself had been asked to sit this testimony out due to his interfering biases, but Rhiannon refused to speak unless he was in the room. He said, "Rhiannon, I know you've been through a lot, but if you're ever in trouble you should contact the authorities. They're here to help you."

"No, your here to help me. Stiles is here to help me. They just hold me in little rooms and ask me questions I've answered a million times. They treat me like I'm crazy."

Her adamant biases in favor of Sheriff Stilinski and his son were purposeful. They weren't necessarily false-- she did like them. But she needed to make it clear that she had no intention of cooperating if the sheriff wasn't involved.

She had to make it clear that the only person who could help her was Sheriff Stilinski.

It took hours. Stiles and Rhiannon were both kept separate. Stiles' questioning seemed to go well though, because at the end of the day Rhiannon had returned to the Stilinski household after a hospital visit and some strict lecturing from both CPS and the sheriff himself.

The FBI had immersed themselves in the new investigation of Austin. Rhiannon had both given falsified and biased information about him. They had found the truck, which matched her story. But she wanted their discoveries to end there. If his body was found... she wouldn't know what to do.

It was a long night, and when Rhiannon finally thought it was over she heard a knock at her door. She crept over and opened it an inch. Stiles stood there with pursed lips.

"What?" She asked.

"Let me in."

"That's inappropriate."

"You owe me an explanation if I just-," he harsly whispered, "lied to the FBI for you."

Rhiannon could see in his eyes that he wasn't backing down. She stepped aside and he shoved his way through, closing the door behind him very quietly.

"Didn't your dad tell you that you weren't allowed to come into my room?" She asked him.

"How do you know that?" He demanded.

"I didn't. But now I do."

He gave her an exasperated look but gestured his hands around for her to speak. He was so expressive that Rhiannon knew what he was thinking at just about all times. She sighed and sat on her bed. The comforter was fluffy, which she normally didn't like, but ever since she'd begun living there she had grown fond of it. Stiles stood, but she waited for him to finally sit on the bed next to her.

"Listen-- I don't know what I am. I don't know how I got here or what I'm doing here. All I know is I can help you and your pack."

Saying it felt silly, but he didn't cringe so she continued. "For example, I know who the Darach is."

He held on to her words. "It's your english teacher. Jennifer Blake."

He blinked at her and she spoke so he didn't have to. She told him everything that she'd told Lydia and Allison the night before. About the sacrifices, and how she didn't remember details. About Lydia's powers and how they could use them to try and find out who the next victim was.

"The veterinarian that Scott works for? Deaton. He's an emissary. Well Jennifer used to be an emissary too. For a different pack. The female alpha? The one with the claws and is always barefoot?"

Stiles nodded.

"Well, she didn't kill Jennifer. And after she survived, Jennifer decided to take it upon herself to get revenge on them. Deucalion in particular. With each trio of sacrifices, she gains different powers. And with the next round-- the healers? She'll gain that power. The power of accelerated healing. And when she finishes all of them, she'll be powerful enough to kill Deucalion."

Stiles processed the information and Rhi could almost hear the cogs turning in his mind. "We'll need to talk to Deaton. He'll know more about everything than I will. He'll be able to help Lydia hone her powers. Maybe he'll even know something about where I came from and what I am."

She said this last bit knowing that it was the partial truth. Of course, she wasn't a supernatural creature, but maybe he had heard of people traversing time and space.

Maybe he was the key to getting her back. The key was here in Beacon Hills all along. Stiles took in this information slowly. Which was funny to watch, because Rhiannon didn't even know Stiles could sit still for so long. Finally, he said, "Okay. Tomorrow, we'll talk to Deaton."

Notes: Thank you! I love seeing you guys interact with my posts. I'm glad she's back at Beacon Hills now. Six episodes into season three already. You guys are getting a little taste of the 'fix it' aspect of this fic. Rhi's got a lot of opportunities to change things, so I'm excited to pan that out. The gif at the top is how I imagine Rhiannon to look-- grey eyes and brunette hair. She's a model named Andreea Diaconu. Obv I've had her and others describe her looks to be insanely beautiful so it only makes sense she looks like a model.

PART SEVEN

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starrypawz · 9 months ago

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AO3 What can I say I had an idea

On the shore of The Dreaming he senses something that ebbs and flows with the tide.

Whatever that something is very…

Small

Tired

With a broken heart…

But the heart still beats strong.

Curious.

Gently he reaches out and

A crow? Most curious.

The crow, more than a little bedraggled, tilts their head as they stand.

“Caw?” (weakly)

“Easy now,”

Caw…. Caw?... Caw! (Slightly panicked)

“No you are not, much longer though and you likely would have met my sister,”

Caw!! (Profanity)

Caw (Apologetic)

“That’s an… understandable reaction… although I will say she is actually… very nice.”

Caw?

“I am known by many names but… Often I am known as Dream,”

“Caw!” (Introductory) Dream gives a faint smile, “I am aware,it is a pleasure to meet you Monty the Crow”

He regards the Crow who has just informed him that he is known as Monty (although he knew that already) some more and then asks.

“What was your aim?”

“Caw,” “London?”

“Caw,” and then “Caw?”

“Unfortunately you didn’t get very far,”

“Caw,” (Dejected)

“Agreed, that was a rather foolish idea,” Dream tilts his head, “I must ask why did you undertake this fool’s errand?”

“Caw?”

“I… can only sense fragments, you are rather weak right now,”

“Caw,” (Panicked)

“Do not worry, you are safe here,” “Caw,” (Grateful)

Dream pauses.

“So Monty the Crow what was the goal of your fool’s errand?”

“Caw?”

“I only sensed fragments, you are… rather weak right now,”

“Caw,”

“You are safe here,”

“Caw,” (Grateful)

Monty pauses and the way his feathers ruffle translates as a sigh before he takes a couple of hops that translate somehow as ‘pacing around whilst trying to get your thoughts together’

“Caw…” Another hop, “Caw… Caw…. Caw,” Another hop, “Caw” (Dejected)

“That… that is a rather noble cause,” Dream reaches out and then pauses, “May I?”

Monty nods.

Dream lightly scratches him on the head, feather soft under his fingers and Dream feels a soft rush of affection run through him as Monty leans into his touch and ruffles his feathers and gives the faintest hint of a smile.

“I… I sense you have not been treated kindly,” He offers his hand and Monty struggles to hop up.

“Let me,” He soothes as he carefully guides him into his hand and lifts Monty closer to his face.

“I am sorry that has happened to you,” Dream stiffens, “Who… Who did this?”

“Caw,” “A witch?” He pauses and… feels, “One named Esther Finch, I know of her and… I can sense she has met her long overdue fate,”

“Caw,”

“Maybe that offers you some comfort?” Monty moves his wings in a way that somehow reads as a shrug.

“I… I know what it is like, to be trapped,” Dream sighs, “Taken by someone who seeks power they do not deserve.. Let alone understand.”

Monty tilts his head again.

“Tell me Monty, Tell me your story,”

“Caw-”

“I am fond of long tales…” Dream smiles, “And we have all the time in the world whilst you are here,”

Monty ruffles his feathers and then

“Caw-”

And then after some time.

“That is… quite the tale.”

“Caw?”

“Yes… now what,” Dream sighs, “I think I can aid you?”

“Caw?”

“Do not worry, I would not pull you into such a bargain, I would also not expect you to serve a new master so soon after gaining your freedom,”

“Caw?”

“So…The Witch Esther Finch turned you into a human, tell me Monty do you wish to be back in that form?”

“Caw… Caw…” He pauses, “Caw?”

“I see… Understandable you do not want to be bound to one form… even if you found thumbs incredibly useful,” He gives an amused snort and gently scratches Monty on the head, “I believe… I believe I know someone who can aid you,”

“Caw?”

“No he is not a witch… although I guess he is bewitching in his own way,” “Caw!” (Teasing) Dream swallows, “I am… incredibly fond of him.” Dream pauses, “You… you remind me of him, he is… an incredibly kind soul, eternally joyful,” He smiles, “Even if he is a little foolish at times, His name is Robert Gadling although he prefers to go by Hob, ” Dream pauses, “So Monty The Crow if you agree, once you awake you will find yourself in London,”

“Very well them,” Dream pulls him against his chest, “Now rest,”

Monty rests.

Hob awakes to early morning light through the window and realises he forgot to shut the curtains again as he winces whilst in the background he can hear the ever present drone of the traffic of 21st century London. He finds his laptop in the bed and connects dots he was planning to grade just a couple of more papers last night, but judging from the Turnitin page that greets him when he wakes up the laptop that he’d fallen asleep about a quarter into grading the first one.

Later… later. Deal with that later. At least two cups of coffee later.

He’s just about to pass through to the kitchen when he notices something at the living room window.

Matthew?

No that’s not Matthew.

Wait… that’s not a raven anyway, the beak’s the wrong shape and they’re too small that’s a…

Crow.

Oh.

There hadn’t been A Visit last night (It’s actually been a while but not quite long enough that Hob is worried) but Hob had in that point where reality is a little… loose between waking and sleeping had heard a whisper. It’d been somewhat cryptic (He didn’t expect anything less) but the pieces start to slot together.

Hob shakes his head with an affectionate snort as he lifts the sash window. It’s thankfully a warm morning.

The crow tilts their head at him.

“Well… come on in?”

Hob takes a step back and watches as the crow hops through the opened window, carefully he shuts it behind them.

There’s a pause for a moment before they hop from the windowsill and then

Falll to the ground.

Hob is caught off guard for a second before there’s a ruffle of feathers and then.

So that’s why there’d been something about ‘spare clothes’ that’d sounded rather out of place coming from Dream.

Hob now looks at the dark haired teenager who had been a crow moments ago who sits on the sofa. The borrowed t-shirt and shorts hang loose on him in a way that looks more ‘Handmedowns from an older sibling’ than ‘fashionably baggy’

The teenager looks up at him through curtain bangs with dark eyes that are bright and… oddly captivating.

Just like someone else I know.

“So… Monty, right?”

Monty nods.

“Dream?” They say, voice still croaky, “Sent me to you… somehow? Said you could help me?”

“Hopefully?” Hob clears his throat, “So… are you hungry?”

“I’m starving,”

Breakfast. Right. That’s at least a problem he can fix.

“Ok,” Hob smiles, and hopes it looks less nervous than he feels. “I’ll go make us something and you can tell me all about… whatever’s going on,”

“Sounds great!,” Monty’s voice is bright, almost a little too bright for this time in the morning and gives him probably the softest smile he’s ever seen before Hob turns into the kitchen.

What the hell have you gotten me into this time?

#starry writes stuff #the sandman #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dead boy detectives #monty the crow #monty dead boy detectives #dbd monty #dreamling

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drivinmeinsane · 4 days ago

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Lights : 12 Days of Goosemas

Day Four ❆ Henry Letham / Reader

{12 Days of Goosemas 2024 Masterlist} ※ {Regular Masterlist} ※ {ao3}

❆ Summary: Something about Henry Letham makes you feel as though you are a traveler in a vivid dream. ❆ Rating: No mature content. ❆ Content/Tags: Mention of suicidal ideation, Mention of self inflicted injury, Pre-relationship, Art student!Reader, No use of Y/N ❆ Word Count: 1537

Henry carries a cloud with him—a strange, dream-like aura that warps your reality and twists your thoughts until you don’t know which way is up. It’s enough of a sensation to cause even the most mundane interactions with him to be a strange affair. He is a reoccurring figure in your life, often appearing up in places where you would expect to find an art student—be it in eclectic coffee shops, rarity bookstores, or the discount bins of Columbia’s nearest craft store undertaking the quest for something that can be used in a last minute assignment you’d all been given in one of your classes. More than once, you’ve caught sight of his lowered head in a subway car or spotted the cherry-red end of his lit cigarette while he sneaks a smoke in the dark alcove of a thrift store you chanced to visit.

He is not unlike a ghost. He haunts the chambers of your mind with a persistence that none of your other classmates could achieve. More and more, you’ve been catching yourself thinking of him.

It only makes sense that you see a flicker of a dark coat sleeve followed by the wafting scent of tobacco smoke as a lean figure darts past into an alleyway, all long limbs and dangerously delicate wrists. Your specter has manifested into your shaky reality.

“Henry?” you call, reflexively taking a step to follow after your presumed more-than-an-aquaintance-but-not-quite-close-enough-to-be-friends friend. Your camera is clutched in your hands. The bag that normally holds it is dangling empty over your shoulder. For now, your project is set aside in the pursuit of something you’re not sure is real.

The man in question materializes in front of you out of the growing gloom caused by the sun’s decent below the towering efforts of humanity to live and work among the clouds for an ever higher view. For a foolish moment, you feel as though you summoned him into being with your voice alone.

He looks tired—worn down to the bone in a way you can hardly comprehend.

Who died? you wonder in the deep recesses of your mind, though you would never dare to give it voice.

“I haven’t seen you in class for a while. How have you been?”

Blue eyes trail over your face, mapping it into shapes replicable by human hand. His fingers twitch on the strap of the satchel digging into one narrow shoulder. The other—unburdened—one rises in a halfhearted shrug. His gaze drifts and he lights a cigarette as if he were a sleepwalker, vacant and hollowed into a mere shell.

“Looking for anything in particular?” he asks, a question in return for yours.

Your mind stumbles, struggling to make sense of his meaning. It clicks. He is drawing your camera into the conversational focus.

“Oh,” you say, words tasting clumsy on your tongue, “I was going to take some shots of that old apartment building over on Empire.”

“Any special reason why?” He says it with a tone of someone who had been taught to express polite interest.

“Chanukah.”

Comprehension dawns on that pale face. With genuine interest softening the starved angles, he asks, “Matthewson’s lighting project?”

You flash him a smile, pleased that he’s caught on so quickly. At the start of your shared courses at Columbia, he had always been one of the first to raise a hand and enter the fray in a debate or to provide an insightful remark. As the semesters have passed by, though, he’s seemed to grow more subdued. His sleeves have grown longer and his layers more numerous even during the warm months as he became more hunched into himself. The Henry that you had met has all but disappeared all-together in these past few weeks.

It’s nice to see a glimpse of his old self, to pay witness to the young man that had had such a spark of life in him. Impulsively, you make a decision.

“Want to come with me?”

Henry stands silent, rolling his thoughts over in his mind. His expression is carefully blank until he surrenders with slight tilt of his head. “Sure.”

His answer surprises you. You had really expected him to find a reason to fade into the growing night. You can’t help but smile at him, honestly happy that he has chosen to accompany you.

“Alright,” you say, “Let’s get a move on then. They’re going to start lighting the candles soon.”

Without allowing yourself to think too deeply about what you’re about to do lest your nerves get the better of you., you slide your arm around Henry’s. The two of you are locked arm in arm. There’s an irrational part of you that worries he will fade away somewhere between here and your destination if you don’t touch him. He stiffens as though he might pull away, but in another surprise of the evening, he relaxes into the contact.

The artist feels cold as a corpse and too thin. Thinking back all those semesters ago, Henry hadn’t ever been anything but slender, but it’s all too clear that he has not been taken care of himself for quite some time now. You can’t bring yourself to remark on it. It’s not your place.

Silently, arms linked, the two of you make your way down the block and across the intersection that gives way into the borough that is home to the apartment building you’re seeking.

“There!” you say just as Henry utters a soft, “Is that…?”

The old structure is a small thing nestled among the much larger and newer buildings crowding in on either side. The sleek, modern surfaces of the fresher builds are doing their best to swallow up any semblance of individuality, to consume it into the sea of inoffensively bland architecture. How dare anyone have a non-sanitized vision in the modern age.

Art is dying , you think, distant , becoming too commercial and here, in brick and mortar and steel, it has suffered the most.

“It’s sad, isn’t it?” Henry say s in a way that has you wondering if you had aired your pessimism over the steady roar of traffic and the sporadic honks of impatient drivers. All around, the sea of humanity floods on either side of you as if you were of no more consequence than two pebbles in a stream. In this moment, you feel so small. So insignificant.

“At least that’s still standing,” you reply and break the delicate connection between you and Henry. The space against your ribs where his arm had nestled feels empty now. It almost aches.

“Sometimes staying upright is the hardest thing in the world,” you hear him say, disjointed. It’s a dreamy statement, suitable for the night that has taken hold of the city.

There’s a part of you that expects to wake up any moment slumped over your battered desk, having stayed up too late in the effort to meet a deadline. Nothing about this experience feels real, not even the uneven concrete under your feet.

Humming in agreement, you raise your camera to your face and press your eye against the viewfinder. You adjust your stance on the pavement, unbothered by the bodies bumping against you. Even if you can’t see him, you can still feel Henry at your side. He is matching you step by step as you get into position. You might be insignificant in this world, but you are not alone, not in this brief moment.

In the dark, illuminated by thousands of lights, you work. You let the long exposure of the camera tick down after pressing the shutter button. It captures the flurry of the motion in the streets, on the sidewalks, in the windows, smearing into a blur representing mankind’s restless race to the end. But in the heart of the shot towers the steadfast visage of the apartments across the street in front of you. The gently flickering candles of the menorahs are set in crisp lines among the chaos. Despite the changes of the world, there are pockets of tradition that remain despite every attempt to wipe them away.

You lower the camera. Pleased with the images burned into the film, you turn to Henry with a grin. You’re startled to find him already looking at you with considering eyes. His lips are twisted into a thoughtful frown.

Before you can ask him what’s wrong, he beats you to the punch.

“I was going to kill myself,” he says, not any more concerned than if he were commenting about the color of paint he might like to use, “Tonight. At midnight.”

Your stomach swoops unpleasantly. You grasp at his sleeve in shocked silence. What is there to say? What should you say?

He slides out of your hold like sealant dripping off a canvas. There’s something almost tender—almost apologetic —in the way he brushes a thumb over your knuckles as he lowers your hand back down to your side.

“I’ll see in class Monday,” he adds, and then he’s gone as though he were no more substantial or tangible than the puff of your breath in the cold night air.

You will yourself to wake up.

You don’t.

<- previous day // next day ->

#stay (2005)#stay 2005 #henry letham #henry letham x reader #ryan gosling #ryan gosling x reader #x reader #12 days of goosemas #goosemas2024 #.my posts #.my work

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bats-and-birds-24 · 8 months ago

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Chapter 4:

Tim wasn't going to Sullivan's Island, not yet at least. It would be foolish to undertake a mission of this magnitude before knowing your opponents, yourself, the landscape, culture, and tools at your disposal. Bruce had drilled that fact into him from his first day as Robin.

No, he was headed to his base in the heart of Gotham's financial district. There was a Drake Industries owned building that was mainly a residential building for lower income Gothamites, with the exception of the top most floor, which was a massive space that Tim called his Nest.

The Nest was close to the heart of Gotham while also being inconspicuous. Who would think that the partner of one of the most mysterious and silent vigilantes around would have his base in a noisy lower income residential building?

Tim stowed his bike in the hidden underground parking lot and took his private elevator to the top floor.

Bruce knew where Tim's base was, but he didn't know how to actually get up there, so he should be safe from Bruce's meddling if he ever found out about his mission.

Before he could start planning, he needed to know everything there was to know about the league of shadows and the league of assassins. Bruce should have info about them in his old case files relating to them.

Not for the first time since he became Robin, Tim found himself making an extra strong cup of coffee at night, with his laptop open and various notes in messy handwriting scattered around his bed.

He wrapped himself up in an extra thick blanket and prepared for the long night ahead.

Back in Nanda Parbat, Jason's usual training session was interrupted by Talia.

She had an odd look in her eye and was trying to hide a smile. Jason's tension lessened when he saw that, whatever she had in mind must be positive then.

Talia began, "Jason, I've been made aware that you have been progressing rapidly in your studies and training," she paused and took in the shy smile of accomplishment on Jason's face before continuing, "as such, it was decided that we should amend your training to include sparring partners of a higher calibur. Meet Cassandra Cain, she's one of the best fighters the league has to offer."

A slight figure emerged from behind, she must have been barely 4'7". She was a small child clad in all black, with black hair and inky black eyes. Her eyes were what perturbed him the most, they were simultaneously excited and hopeful, while also carrying a deep burden.

She also seemed lonely. Jason decided that it would only be polite to greet her, "Hello, my name is Jason Todd."

To his surprise, Talia answered for her, "Ah, right, I forgot to mention that she's mute. In any case, there isn't going to be much talking going on between you two so speech won't be necessary."

He was taken aback by this and saw that the girl before him, Cassandra, looked down at her feet as that fact was revealed.

Jason didn't know what her age was, but it couldn't have been more than 10 at the most? Although, she could be older as the league's intense training may have stunted her growth.

Jason and Cassandra bowed as Talia made her exit. There will be time for questions later, but right now, they had training, and faced each other.

#marked au #batfamily #batfam #batsiblings #tim drake #dc robin #batman #jason todd #red robin #bruce wayne #red hood #cassandra cain #black bat #orphan #batgirl #talia al ghul

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kaixserzz · 2 years ago

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Loyal Knight 1

ੈ♡˳ Il Dottore x Gn!Reader *ೃ༄

ੈ♡˳ 4.5k words ┊ Fluff + Hurt/comfort *ೃ༄

ੈ♡˳ Masterlist | Part 2 *ೃ༄

author's note ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

I DON'T WRITE FOR MONTHS AND I REREAD MY OLD DOTTORE FICS AND IM SUDDENLY OBSESSED WITH HIM AGAIN. I WILL RECLAIM THE TITLE OF HOUSE OF SOFT DOTTORE. a long one to make it up to yall ,, but i have to cut it into 2 parts bc its too long LMAO <3 also inspired by @fatuismooches's dottore fics, they're too good

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ cw: canon typical violence, basic dottore warnings, injuries, blood, mentions of lots of scars, experiments, and death, dottore and reader r both crazy, obsessiveness/possessiveness from both parties

i. foolishness

Peaceful and quiet are the words that describe the small village where you spent your childhood. Nothing ever happened in your village. There were no attacks from the monsters that lurked outside the lands, no arguments between neighbors, and crimes rarely occurred. People freely walked outside without a sense of fear in their hearts.

It was incredibly boring, to say the least.

Not a single form of entertainment has occurred since you came into existence, and the village will continue to be boring unless you depart as soon as possible. Playing with other children can only do so much to quell your thirst for adventure, to swing a sword— a real one, not the wooden sword your mother gave you— and finally experience the thrill of a battle, be it against a monster or a fellow adventurer. The itch for excitement consumes you, and you realize that this insignificant village will never fulfill your desires.

That is until you met him.

The sun was beginning to set among the tall trees of the forest, concealing itself within the deep shades of green from numerous leaves. However, it still managed to blind your eyes as beams of light peeked through the forest's lush trees. In your hand, you gripped a real weapon, though smaller than a sword, perfectly suited to your tiny hands. The weight was light enough for you to hold it upright with ease. It was your father's dagger, kept hidden in a chest that your parents believed you would never discover, let alone open. Yet, little did they know that your burning desire for an adventure would defy all odds.

As you ventured deeper into the forest, your eyes were drawn to the sight of smoke a few paces away from your position, casting subtle hints of orange onto the surrounding trees. Fire.

Could someone be camping out there? It seemed likely, and your heart skipped a beat at the thought of encountering another adventurer. A smile emerged on your lips as you suppressed your excitement, crouching down to stealthily approach the camp.

To your dismay, it wasn't what you had hoped for. Instead of encountering another adventurer, you found yourself overlooking a small Hilichurl camp nestled beneath the edge of the cliff where you stood. It was a rather underwhelming sight. If you could recall correctly, it was a mission your father discussed with your mother. This Hilichurl camp posed no real threat. Despite a posted mission to eliminate it, no one had bothered to undertake the task, mainly because the camp was so weak that the rewards offered were hardly worth the effort.

Nevertheless, even at the young age of six, you possessed the understanding to recognize that what might be considered weak for seasoned adventurers was still stronger than you—a battle-hungry kid. Perfect! Excitement surged through your veins as the thought of battling real monsters with your father's dagger filled your mind. But before you could proceed any further, your attention was caught by a nearby bush. The Hilichurl seemed oblivious, but you were certain you saw it tremble ever so slightly...

To your astonishment, a person of your own age crouched behind the bush, clearly hiding from the Hilichurl. Recognition immediately hit you as soon as you laid your eyes upon the kid's teal curls, the gloves on his hands that you never saw him without, and the prominent scowl on his face, sharp teeth poking out for view.

It was none other than Zandik, the child who was often subjected to rumors and whispers in the village. The other kids labeled him as a 'weirdo' due to his disinterest in playing outside like children of his age and his lack of enthusiasm for socializing. You've heard your grandparents curse Zandik behind his back, talking about being a heretic at such a young age and conducting 'weird' experiments on live animals or machinery.

He was an oddity to your village, that's something you'd agree amongst the numerous rumors about him. But he certainly spiced up your boring life in the village. You've tried speaking to him a couple of times but to no avail, getting shut down faster than you can think. Despite this, you discerned that he was just an introverted kid with unusual interests. What was so wrong about that?

Still, what was he doing in the middle of the forest? Doesn't he hate being outside— wait, why is he creeping closer to the Hilichurl camp!? Without hesitation, you swiftly lunged toward the bush, attempting to maintain as much stealth as possible, and managed to tackle the boy to the ground. Your hands moved swiftly to cover Zandik's mouth, predicting his enraged cries. Fortunately, due to his smaller stature, you easily pinned him down.

"Hey, hey- calm down!" You whispered, trying to maintain your grip on him despite his excessive squirming and weak punches "It's just me! I live a few houses down yours!" Still, that didn't subdue the furious boy, scarlet eyes glaring right at you as he dug his sharp teeth onto the tender flesh of your hands.

Biting back a scream of pain, you glared back at him with the same caliber and got off of him, holding your poor hand that was on the brink of getting bitten off by your crazy neighbor. Zandik regained composure, showing pure disdain at you and at his dirtied clothes, before pointing an accusing finger at you. "How dare you attack me!? You wretched vermin! Who do you think you are for laying your hands on me!" He spat, rubbing at his skin restlessly as if attempting to rid himself of an imagined filth.

"I-I wasn't-" You cleared your throat as you scooted away from him, giving him much-needed space, and raised your hands up in surrender. "I'm sorry, I must've startled you. I wasn't gonna attack you, I just... acted without thinking..." The boy's eyes just narrowed at you when you hastily explained yourself to him, voicing out your concern for his safety being so close to a Hilichurl camp. Understandably so, he seemed unconvinced by your words.

"Well, there's no need for you to play the role of a 'knight in shining armor', thinking you're saving me from harm." The boy scoffed, rolling his ruby eyes as he heeds you no mind once more, already over with this senseless conversation. "I am perfectly capable of handling this situation on my own, without anyone's assistance. So kindly run along and refrain from uttering another word to me ever again."

Yet you spoke anyways.

"Whuh- but you have no weapon. How are you going to fight those Hilichurls?"

Another roll of his eyes— don't you listen to a word he says? He grumpily huffed at your stubbornness, "I had no intention of engaging in a fight with them. I merely had a need for something that happened to be in their camp."

You arched a brow. "They'll attack you on sight."

"I am aware."

"Okay, then how are you going to get it then?"

Before Zandik could utter a word, a Hilichurl emerged from the bush, startling the two of you. Out of instinct, you grabbed the collar of Zandik's shirt and pulled him back, narrowly evading the swing of the Hilichurl's club. You were quick to pull out the dagger from the hilt when Zandik stopped you, a wide, toothy grin on his lips.

Something metallic emerged from the ground, ensnaring the Hilichurl that tried to pursue you both, only to perish from the electric shocks that surged through the contraption, rendering the creature unconscious within mere seconds.

"Traps..." You muttered under your breath, amazed at the machine you'd never seen before, glancing at the boy beside you. He had this crazed glint in his eyes as he relished his accomplishment. "I see, guess you really didn't need my help."

Somehow, you were more shocked to see the boy look so smug, crossing his arms at you as if to say 'I told you so'. But of course, things don't always go according to plan. Danger has a way of creeping up on unsuspecting, vulnerable sheep in the wild.

Hilichurls residing inside the small tent near the campfire emerged, their anger palpable as they confronted the sight of their fallen comrade and the presence of two children. Judging by Zandik's expression, he hadn't considered the possibility of more Hilichurls being present. And truth be told, you hadn't either. It seemed both of you had underestimated the situation, assuming there was only one Hilichurl in the camp.

"So," You began, positioning yourself in front of Zandik. You thought you saw his hands tremble at the threatening growls of the Hilichurls about to attack him, but whether it was just a delusion or if it was real, you didn't mention it to him. "How about I finally take the role of the knight and shining armor?"

Zandik still found it in himself to glare at you once more. "I-I can handle this on my own-"

You ignored the slight shake in his voice. "Can you fight?" The Hilichurls took a step forward, hissing and growling louder. When Zandik stayed silent behind you, you merely shot him a smile. "Thought so. Let me protect you then!"

That made him frown. You? Protect him? Of all people? He was well aware that the villagers would rejoice upon hearing news of him, the so-called freak, being attacked by monsters in some unknown location. Why would you bother exerting the effort to 'save' him when you could easily turn your back and abandon him to face the situation alone?

Zandik refused to express his confusion though.

"You are not gaining anything in return from this, you vermin."

With a sharp laugh and a shake of your head, you raise your dagger. "Sure, I didn't expect anything anyways." Giving him a wink, it was now your turn to smile, even as your enemies closed in on you. "I'm your knight in shining armor, after all!"

ii. friendship

It was merely transactional at first.

Well, for Zandik at least. You believed that the two of you were friends after you've graciously 'saved' him from the rest of the Hilichurls that attacked you both. You were especially convinced by your own imagination when Zandik took it upon himself to patch you up from your injuries.

"To avoid suspicion," He told you, his displease was seemingly permanently etched on his expression as he put a bandaid on your cheek. "They will ask where you got your injuries from, and your mouth will blurt out the truth before you have a chance to think. I'm doing this for my own sake, to save myself from further humiliation." Though, Zandik knew that you thought otherwise if the big, dopey smile on your face wasn't telling enough.

Zandik only tolerated your presence out of convenience. He would never openly admit, especially not to you, that without your combat skills and knowledge, he wouldn't have made it out without injuries. After several days of deep contemplation, he finally proposed an agreement of sorts that would benefit both parties to you.

As long as you would provide him with your assistance for his projects, whether it involved acquiring necessary items, fighting monsters, sneaking into your grandfather's workshop, purchasing supplies (he was considerate enough to give you his allowance), or even just gathering plants during your walks outside. In return, he would help you stay out of trouble. He quickly learned that your parents would ground you if they found out about any reckless actions (you once pushed a kid into a lake to 'teach him how to swim' and you've been grounded for a week ever since).

You would tease him for this, reminding him of the words he once told you.

"You are not gaining anything in return from this, you vermin."

And Zandik would always counter it with a fierce glare, then say, "You can't be of use if you're stuck inside your house. If you want to be... 'friends' with me, then it's essential that you listen to what I tell you," It's hard not to giggle whenever he says that word with such disgust.

He might have taken you for a fool, believing that you were easily swayed by his words. However, deep down, he always had a lingering suspicion that you were merely humoring him, following along with his plans for your own hidden intentions. Despite that, he didn't see it as a significant threat to himself, considering that your compliance and patience had not caused any real harm so far.

As the years went by, Zandik's initial hostility and indifference towards you gradually transformed. From pushing you away when you get too close, straight up insulting you, or merely ignoring your very existence, to allowing brief physical contact, bringing him outside for trivial activities such as watching the sunset or having a picnic, and taking your words of criticism into consideration.

Truly, he did his best to keep you away from him, giving you dangerous tasks to somehow scare you off, but you only took this as a challenge, your physical prowess growing more day by day. In a way, he unwittingly became a catalyst for your growth. It doesn't help that you've shown genuine interest in his studies. It was an unexpected and intriguing dynamic that kept drawing him closer to you, even as he tried to maintain his distance.

The way your eyes would sparkle in wonder whilst you read his notes, or watch him tinker with whatever he was working on had an unexpected effect on Zandik. It made him feel a sense of warmth in his chest, an odd feeling of pride for managing to captivate and awe you.

Since when did he start feeling that...? No matter, it's not much of a big deal.

Zandik's attempts to deny you even a sliver of satisfaction by withholding his attention were in vain. You had a knack for asking thought-provoking questions that ignited a buzzing curiosity in his mind, questions that were too intriguing to be left unanswered.

Once, he would bury his nose in books whenever you were around, hoping to ignore your presence until you eventually went away like the pest he saw you as. But now?

Closing his book upon your grandiose entrance to his bedroom, he raised a brow at your current predicament. "You look awful." That was an understatement. You had a black eye, your clothes were tattered and blood dripped down your nose. He could also spot the subtle limp with the way you walked.

You rolled your eyes at his comment, "I did something stupid." That was all you said, too tired and hurt to quip back at him. With an annoyed sigh, Zandik stood up from his bed and went toward his drawer to grab the medicine kit inside. "Some kids found our usual spot and trashed it... Decided to give 'em a beating cuz of it." Zandik narrowed his eyes at your words and you gave him a half-hearted smile. "I hit 'em with the scabbard."

"You always do something stupid." He scowls, takes a seat beside you, and began to patch up your injuries. "There was no need for you to attack them; they might end up telling your parents about it later. Besides, we can always find a different spot."

Completely ignoring everything else he said, you brightened up against his touch. "So you do pay attention to me!"

Zandik glares at you, shaking his head. "Don't twist my words, you buffoon."

You merely laughed out loud, throwing your head back as your shoulders shook, only to be cut off with a yelp when Zandik presses his finger on a bruise on your arm. "Do not misconstrue our association as having any significance. It is purely beneficial for the both of us, and I harbor no sense of concern or attachment towards you." Zandik hissed.

Despite his digging nails onto your bruise, you chose to bear the pain and gave him a thoughtful look instead. "Mhm, is that why you took out your medicine kit even though I haven't asked you to patch me up?" You queried, tilting your head at the amusing sight of Zandik pausing for a moment, staring at his hands that held bandaids and rubbing alcohol.

"Or when I get too close to a plant that could kill me, you'd stop me and tell me how dangerous it is when I could always step on it and get whatever sickness from it, just so you could try and cure me?"

Zandik pursed his lips at that. He didn't even think of that... Why didn't he...?

You find this hilariously satisfying, so you continued. "I've been hanging out with you for a few years now, I think I'm confident to understand some shit that goes through your head. You could easily get rid of me since you can defend yourself, better than we first met, but yet here I am, inside your room, sitting on your bed." And as if you're victorious, you placed your hands on your hips, puffing out your chest. "In conclusion, we are best friends!"

For the first time in his brief existence, Zandik found himself at a loss for words. He couldn't refute the undeniable truths you presented, backed by compelling evidence that could surpass any hypothesis he could conjure. He was unable to distance himself from you as effortlessly as he once did.

What is this...? Is this what they truly called friendship? A companion who would place unwavering trust in him? Zandik couldn't help but recognize the subtle rhythm of his heartbeat whenever you were in close proximity, or the way his fingers involuntarily twitched at the sound of your laughter or the sight of your smile...

What a load of shit.

The boy rolled his eyes, "Whatever helps you sleep at night, indulge in your fantasies. You are simply a tool of convenience to me."

You couldn't have expected less. You weren't hurt by what he said, you're far more used to harsher words. But you know that you've hit him right where you wanted, seeing the boy fuming where he sat, but you'll drop it for now. You can always prod and tease him in the future.

With a bright smile that made Zandik more confused about his emotions, you let it go. "Right right, of course."

iii. familiarity

From the moment Zandik met you, you became a constant presence in his memories. You stuck by his side like some parasite, annoying him to no end but still proved yourself to be a companion worthy of praise. Strangely enough, you were obedient to him mostly, as if your world began to revolve around him.

So when he was exiled from the village, it came as no surprise to find you faithfully by his side, watchful for pursuers, hand on your sword's hilt.

Zandik had no choice but to let you follow him to the Akademiya and include you in his plans. As long as he remained in control and you willingly played the role of his complaint 'knight', he had little reason to complain. Though Zandik was sure you were going to be a thorn by his side, now that you've also decided to be his roommate.

As to why you were adamant about living in the same space as he does, "You'll die before you can even reach your goals. You can't cook for shit, forget to sleep, and the only way you'll do any of your chores is if they're starting to irritate you or get in your way." You confidently declared, earning an expected glare from Zandik.

"So you'll be the housekeeper of our dorm," he snarkily remarked, crossing his arms as he suspiciously eyed you. Your growing smile only confirmed his skepticism that you were up to something. "Is that what you want? Then go be someone else's housekeeper."

Rarely did his words offend you, but this time, you unexpectedly sighed, your smile losing a bit of its spirit. Your reaction caught Zandik off guard, but he never brought it up. Nevertheless, you wrapped an arm around his shoulder, poking at his cheek to piss him off even more. "Nah, you're not getting rid of me that easily." You chuckle when he swatted your hand away from his face, "Jus' wanna be of service of you, I guess."

Zandik couldn't help but scoff. How long were you going to cling to that foolish agreement the two of you had when you were children? He was already capable enough to go on on his own, and you've always had the freedom to do anything you pleased. And yet, Zandik never once told you to leave, nor did he provide any reason for you to depart from his side

True to your words, you did most of the housework of your own volition, nor did you voice out any complaint. In fact, you quite enjoyed it. Doing laundry, cooking, cleaning the house, throwing the random person you've kidnapped for blood samples in a random alley— while Zandik himself kept himself cooped up in your shared bedroom, slaving himself in whatever he was currently working on.

You still did whatever task Zandik has given you and allow you to contribute more and more to his projects, though you had to remind Zandik repeatedly that, while he was at the Akademiya, not to learn, but take advantage of its benefits (like a good workspace for him and abundant sources if Zandik ever sought knowledge on a certain topic), he was still required to attended classes.

Other than a few problems here and there, living together felt increasingly natural for both of you. Zandik couldn't deny that a sense of closeness had developed between you since you started sharing the same living space. It wasn't as bothersome as he originally thought. It was actually... Nevermind.

You placed a plate of his favorite meal onto the less cluttered side of his desk, as well as a piping hot cup of coffee, even though the clock just struck 12 AM. You knew Zandik would refuse to get a wink of sleep as long as his paperwork was unfinished. He didn't even spare you a glance, merely grabbed the cup of coffee and began to sip while his other hand never ceased its precise and fluid movements as he continued to write. Nothing was bound to break his concentration.

Letting out a small yawn, you gently placed down the bag full of supplies that Zandik needed to complete his current project onto his bed, before kicking off your shoes and climbing onto the top bunk. "I've got everything you needed. I also explored some ruins like you asked and jotted down anything interesting I found on paper." His writing briefly paused, his clothes rustled, and a faint hum of acknowledgment reached your ears. A smile formed on your lips as you peered down at him from above.

"You're lucky we have the same classes since we're in the same Darshan, so I also wrote you notes. It's not like I think you won't catch up, but I thought I'd just spare you the effort of trying to pay attention in class, so you can go ahead and keep doing your personal work."

You watched him momentarily stop his writing to stretch his back, popping his joints, before scarfing down the meal you've cooked just for him. "How thoughtful of you." He quipped, his own way of expressing gratitude, you've liked to think.

But of course, would it truly be a normal day without your drama?

"I know right, I am thoughtful." You said with a swoon onto your bed, dramatically sighing and expressing your woes.

You could basically feel him roll his eyes at your antics. "My, you are unbelievably humble." Zandik sarcastically remarked,

"Oh, just what would you do without me?" You teased, and you intended to leave it off from there, exhaustion weighing your bones. It was just one statement really, but you didn't expect him to cease his relentless scribbling. You raise your head and peered once more at Zandik's hunched form.

"Well, I suppose I wouldn't have made much progress in all of my projects, considering you've always taken care of obtaining my supplies and other necessities," he admitted, putting down his pen and leaning back in his chair, lost in thought. "You've grown smart enough to provide actual solid feedback, even giving me opinions when I hit dead ends. You've proven yourself to be quite useful as my assistant."

You clicked your tongue. "What a charmer."

"Though, even without you, I could still make progress. It wouldn't take me long to solve the problem of acquiring my own supplies and resources." He added, which you pouted at.

"Wow, you had me fooled by a second there. Thought you'd want me to stay by your side."

Zandik raised a curious brow at that. "You've always had the choice either do as you pleased and leave me. It's clear that I don't care much for you." You held back a laugh at that declaration, shaking your head in amusement. "I never asked you to come with me, you were the one who followed me here of your own accord. I was the only one who was exiled between the two of us. But you insisted, even going as far as raising your sword against your own parents just to be by my side."

Without much thought, you simply shrugged at that. You eyed your sword that sat at the corner of your room, eyes trailing each intricate design of its scabbard. "I just did what my heart told me."

Zandik scoffed at that, finally tilting his head up to where you looked down at him, an unimpressed expression on his face. "The heart is merely responsible for pumping oxygenated blood throughout the body. It is the brain that you should listen to."

You barked out a laugh, your eyes getting heavy, but you refused to close your eyes just yet. "Hah, if I start listening to my brain, then I wouldn't be me! Besides, I do use my brain!"

He didn't seem convinced at all, snorting at the notion. "Oh? When? I don't recall a single moment that you have." A small smirk formed on his lips as he saw you glaring at him.

"When I fight! I'm a pretty good strategist."

The silence between you grew more tense than you would have liked, as you found yourself staring into Zandik's scarlet eyes for what felt like an eternity. Eventually, he broke the silence and admitted, in defeat,

"... I suppose you're right."

You let out a gasp at his words, a wide grin spread across your face as you quickly retrieved your notepad from your pocket. "Another mark for the 'agreement tally'!" You exclaimed, visibly delighted by the turn of events.

You cheered loudly, prompting an exasperated groan from Zandik at the sight of that dreaded notepad, and opted to return to his paperwork. "Unbelievable," he muttered quietly, focusing completely on the task at hand, already being held back for long enough.

Yet, he couldn't help but bite his bottom lip to stop himself from smiling.

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