#and now this is the reality scar has to grapple with | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

imagine-darksiders · 6 months ago

Text

Eden's Heir, chapter 4 - The Jump.

I can't believe it's been almost a year since I updated this. A lot has happened recently, not all of it good, but I'm still here, and will continue to be by hook or by crook! I've had to cut it into two chapters because the final fight between the Slag Demon and the Horsemen is taking way too long to write. Good news though, there'll be two chapters in [hopefully] quick succession. Hooray! Hope you like this one, guys, thank you all so much for standing by me and waiting so patiently.. I don't know where I'd be without your support. <3 <3 <3

Summary:

As you grapple with the horrifying, new reality you've found yourself in, Strife continues to torment you in the misguided hope that somehow, you'll spontaneously start to like him. His jokes are terrible. It's just a shame you have a weakness for terrible jokes. War, meanwhile, can't stop his eyes from wandering to your fresh, undeserved scar...

You suppose that when Strife said this would be ‘fun,’ he was only factoring himself into the equation. Because for you, there’s nothing very fun about having your particles ripped apart and rocketed through a portal which, according to modern science, should not and does not exist.

Well, modern science owes you a formal apology.

As it turns out, portals very much do exist, and they’re a lot less fun than the media has led you to believe.

The experience - though you hesitate to give it such a mundane moniker - isn’t… painful, per se, mostly because the whole process is over and done with so quickly that your brain and body aren’t given the time to notice that they’ve been squished through one end of a worm hole, reassembled atom by atom, and then spat out on the other side.

Perhaps more disconcertingly than the feeling itself is the fact that when you’re hanging for that split-second moment in a space outside of existence itself, you notice that the temperature around you inexplicably skyrockets.

And frankly, you’re not sure which is worse… The stale, unwelcoming chill of the Void, or the absolute blistering inferno that greets you within less than a second of leaving it.

Before you can even open your mouth to scream at the unnatural process your very human body is being subjected to, the space around you solidifies and stabilises again, and an unexpected jolt shoots straight through you when Strife’s metal boots collide with a hard, stone surface, jarring your stomach painfully against his shoulder pauldron.

At the same time, a wave of hot, dry air sweeps over you from head to toe, cloaking you in uncomfortable and immediate warmth that’s downright oppressive, thick and inescapable, as if you’ve just been tossed onto the fiery surface of the sun and left to sizzle.

Actually, now that you’ve experienced both extremes, perhaps you are sure which is worse. At least that sinister demon’s Void didn’t make you want to peel yourself out of your own skin.

Groaning miserably, you pick your hazy head up and suck in a breath that goes down about as well as spoiled meat, and then nearly retch at the unpleasant texture of heat sliding down the walls of your oesophagus like something squirming and alive.

Even the metal chain on your bag begins to grow warm against the skin of your neck, dangling down below your head near the Horseman’s holsters.

“Hot damn,” Strife announces, concisely putting a voice to your thoughts.

Your lashes are sticky from leftover tears, clumping together when you squeeze your eyes shut and attempt to pry them apart again. It takes a few arduous blinks before your blurry surroundings bleed into focus.

You rather wish you’d just kept your head down and your eyes firmly shut.

If there were any doubts left in your mind that teleportation really is possible, they swiftly fly out of the proverbial window when you catch your first, proper glimpse of the surroundings.

Wherever you are, it definitely isn’t the same place you were in barely ten seconds ago.

Bracing a palm against Strife’s solidly armoured back, you lever your torso up slightly to give yourself a better view of the world around you.

It seems that the portal – your brain starts to ache as it tries to accept the existence of those – has spat you out underneath the roof of an absolutely gargantuan cavern.

Roving your gaze back and forth, mouth ajar, you notice the walls, floor and ceiling are made entirely of dark, igneous rock, and yet all around you, you start to spot signs of… Well, perhaps not civilisation exactly, but definitely an external presence that gives you the impression that this is a keep of some kind, dug by hand rather than time or nature.

Two, immense pillars stand proudly at the far corners of the enormous chamber, large enough to prop up the roof of a veritable mountain.

Craning your neck back until it twinges, you squint through a haze of simmering air at the ceiling far above you, feeling a trickle of dread creep down into the pit of your stomach.

Bolted into the rock between the stalactites, there are numerous, gigantic chains hanging like eerie sentinel over your heads, so large and heavy that it doesn’t look as though anything short of gale-force winds could cause them to sway. You don’t dare to imagine what purpose they might serve.

Pale, unreachable light trickles lazily down from above, dappling little patches of the grey stone underneath Strife’s boots.

With your heart wedged in your throat, you swallow another curl of heat and let your gaze wander over to the side of the keep to where the ground falls away in a sheer drop several feet from the walls. It’s from the resulting pit that a vivid, orange glow rises, carrying with it the distinct sound of cracking, like glass windows slowly splintering apart, or a lake of ice breaking under a heavily placed boot. And below that sound, a deep, subterranean rumble serves as the background noise to this stifling place, constant and oozing.

Coupled with the acrid stench permeating your nostrils and the sweltering heat, you’re suddenly struck by the very disconcerting but plausible notion that you might have found yourself in the heart a volcano.

As if your day wasn’t horrendous enough.

All of a sudden, your ears are pricked by a low grunt from somewhere just a little too close to you, reminding you of your larger tormentor’s presence with a nauseating pang to the stomach. Consequentially, the unsightly welt on your forearm gives an insistent twinge.

Twisting your head to the left, you nearly jump out of your skin to find War has appeared out of thin air beside you, straightening to his full domineering height that easily clears his brother, and subsequently, you. The hooded behemoth only spares you a disinterested glance before his pale, blue eyes dart away again just as quickly and he stomps around to Strife’s front, out of view.

A breath you didn’t know you were keeping behind your teeth shakes itself loose.

You have to peel your tongue from the roof of your bone-dry mouth like a strip of velcro before you’re able to form a small, hesitant question in a voice baked hoarse and thin. “What is this place?”

No sooner has your meek question faded below the rumble of the cavern’s ambiance than an entirely new and harrowing sound punctures the otherwise quiet air.

Howling along the cavern walls comes a piercing, anguished scream, stemming from a place much deeper than you’ve already seen. It’s a raw sound, broken and terrified and primal, like a man with his humanity stripped and skewed just enough that he can’t quite be called human any longer. It prompts a sharp gasp out of you as the sound ricochets off the rocks, curdling your blood and raising the finer hairs on the back of your neck.

As if he’s entirely unconcerned with such a horrifying occurrence, Strife plants his free hand squarely on a hip and draws in a deep, obnoxious breath through his nose before he sighs it all out again, casting a casual glance around with all the air of a man surveying a pleasant sunrise.

“Ahh~ Screams of suffering, chains hanging from the ceiling, no sign of an exit…” he sighs wistfully, clapping the back of your thigh with his palm and announcing, “Yep! We’re definitely in a dungeon.”

He seems oblivious to your apprehension as you dart your eyes to every darkened corner of the cavern as if you might find the source of the tormented scream, curling your legs up under your dress until your knees bump against the Horseman’s chest. “A-a dungeon!?” you gulp, kneading your fingers between the gaps of Strife’s armoured spine, “A dungeon for what?”

Distracted for a fleeting moment by the foreign sensation of fingertips pressing against his leather under-armour, the Horseman almost forgets to respond.

It isn’t until he notices War’s expectant glare burning a hole into the side of his visor that he gives his head a shake and promptly shrugs his massive shoulders, swinging himself around to face away from his brother, and in doing do, bringing you almost nose to chest with the surly giant.

“Beats me,” he hums, utterly heedless of the fearsome stare-down currently happening just behind his head, “Probably for the poor bastard we just heard screaming... And a few others, to boot.”

Angling your head up, you have to gulp past a rather thick lump in your throat as you peer meekly up at War, who in turn, glares right back down at you, his eyes glinting ominously from within the shadow of his hood.

Reluctant to drop your gaze or even breathe for fear of provoking him by committing some unknowable slight, you shrink against Strife and duck your head, peeping up at him through your lashes as you tap your forefinger against one of the silver armour pieces interlocking across your captor’s back.

“Um,” you start, hearing Strife’s helm brush against your dress when he turns to listen, “C-can you, uh, put me down now…” Then, following a notable stretch of deafening silence, you squeakily tack on a hurried, “Please?”

There’s no guarantee that being on the ground will be any better for you than dangling over an uncomfortable, metal shoulder, but you’re at least willing to entertain the illusion that you’ll be safer on your feet without Strife dictating your every move. A modicum of control is better than none at all.

And truthfully, you’d just like to end the humiliation of being carried around like a sack of distraught potatoes.

Yet for some, inane reason, the armour-clad Horseman doesn’t seem as eager to relinquish you as you are to be relinquished.

“Aw, what’s the matter?” he drawls, bumping his shoulder up and down playfully, no doubt to pull a rise out of you which you frustratingly give him in the form of a gasp before he continues, “You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”

Still glaring down at you, unimpressed, War gives an exasperated huff, blasting a jet of warm air onto the crown of your head.

“Put her down,” he states firmly, lifting his gaze from you at last, “You will need both hands free if we run into trouble.”

Knocking his head back over a shoulder to address you, Strife grins beneath his helm and murmurs, “Ha. You’d be amazed what I can pull off one-handed.”

Trying your best to ignore his boast, you roll your eyes and start to squirm, wriggling around under the weight of his arm. “Ugh,” you complain, “Will you please just put me down?”

“Mmm…” Humming obnoxiously, Strife sucks his teeth and replies, “Depends. You gonna try and run away again?”

That, at least, gives you something to consider. Are you going to try and run again? They certainly haven’t given you much of a reason not to.

The scar War gave you still burns when you bend your arm a certain way and the flesh pulls and stretches beyond the limits of the tissue.

More to the point, how do you really know any of what they’ve told you is true?

How do you know you’re not on Earth right now, somewhere remote, yes, but escapable. Because they told you you’re not?

You don’t know these giants from Adam.

You can’t trust anything they say. You don’t trust anything they say. And while you’ve undeniably found yourself smack-dab in the middle of some seriously unnatural goings on, that doesn’t mean you have to accept everything at face value.

Reality might be breaking apart around you, but you don’t have to join it, tempting though it may be to curl up into a ball and sob until the problem sorts itself out.

Desperate, your brain falls into a tailspin as it tries to rationalise such irrational circumstances.

Outwardly however, you’re aware he’s waiting for a response, so, sweeping your tongue nervously over your bottom lip, you finally croak out a hesitant, “No?”

The silence that follows is damn near chilling.

Twisting your neck up and back over your shoulder, you catch the shine in one of Strife’s luminous eyes peering at you, narrow and thin with obvious scepticism.

“Huh,” he says, clicking his tongue, “That didn’t sound very convincing. I’m not very convinced.” Casting a look over at his brother, he adds, “War, are you very convinced?”

Predictably, War’s only response is to glower down at the shorter Horseman and grumble impatiently at the back of his throat.

Nonplussed, Strife returns his attention to you. “I don’t think he’s very convinced.”

You have to press your lips into a firm, immoveable line and swallow back the vulgar words you’d just love to spew all over his shoulder…. Instead, you heave in a hot, arduous breath and slowly reiterate, “No. I won’t try to run away.” Then for added measure… “Again.”

You loathe that you can feel the scrutiny of not one, but two apocalyptic beings boring into the side of your head with suspicious, calculating glares.

Just as you’re beginning to consider whether pulling his hair will get him to drop you or kill you, Strife suddenly perks up, his sinister doubt disappearing as he raises his chin to pipe, “A’right. Good enough for me.”

Taken wildly aback, you let your mouth hang open whilst Strife simply raises his arms and lays two oversized hands on your hips, causing your jaw to snap shut before you can emit an embarrassing squeak of fright.

With far too much ease, the Horseman lifts you up and off his shoulder.

The moment you lose the stability of his armour under your stomach, you begin to tilt forwards. Choking on a gasp, you throw your hands up and brace them on each of his forearms.

“Don’t worry, I gotcha,” he chuckles brightly, to your immense dismay.

It’s a disconcerting sight. From the tips of your fingers to the heels of your palms, your hands don’t even wrap halfway around his armoured wrists.

Gawking down at your appendages, they seem so lost against the enormity of the arms that lower you gently to the ground.

As soon as the soles of your shoes touch a solid surface again, you waste no time in ripping your hands away from him and staggering backwards, trying but failing to extract yourself from his sturdy grasp.

Before you can get very far at all, fingers of solid steel bury themselves into your dress at the hip and you jerk to an immediate halt for fear of tearing the fabric by struggling. Arms held aloft to avoid touching his own again, you throw a wary look up at Strife’s visor, reluctantly meeting those sharp, alien eyes and finding they’ve narrowed to thin lines of gold, gleaming brightly against the shadows cast by his helm.

“You’re gonna have to get used to sticking close to one of us, kid,” he warns, his tone brooking no argument and devoid of any previous jocularity, “Cause as nasty as you think we are, I guarantee there’re things in here that are a thousand times worse.”

The well you typically draw your courage from ran dry long ago, long before you came here, long before you quietly agreed to marry Cain. So, you aren’t sure where you find the nerve to jut out your chin and bitterly remark, “Worse than trying to slice off my limbs?”

Sudden movement freezes you in your shoes as War emerges from behind his brother, moving to stand at his side and swallowing you up in the egregious shadow he casts across the ground.

Ignoring his approach, the gunslinger continues to hold you still.

“Yeah,” he replies simply, “A lot worse.”

Squeezing your lips into a tight, anxious pout, you swallow, unnerved by the way his gaze instantly dips to watch your throat bob around the undulating motion.

Gradually, you lower your head, losing the defiance of a jutting chin to instead tuck it timidly away against your chest, consumed by the sudden and unwarranted ideas that start to flash in your mind’s eye, showing you gruesome fates that could await you just around the corner.

If two gigantic maniacs wielding guns and a sword aren’t the worst you could face…

Just what the Hell have you walked into?

Regarding you closely for a few more moments, Strife eventually gives his head a satisfied bob, deeming that you’ve read him loud and clear.

Gingerly, he starts to peel his fingers from your dress, wincing when the gaps in his gauntlets pinch the delicate fabric as he returns his hands to his sides. Regardless, all of his muscles remain bunched, ready to spring into action at the first sign that you might go back on your word and attempt to flee after all.

He’s almost more caught off guard when you don’t move.

Instead, you murmur a soft, “Thank you,” which just about smacks the jaw clean off his face. Staring down at you, his lips parted by a fraction, he watches you fiddle with a jewelled band of gold sitting at the base of one of your fingers for several seconds before he remembers to blink.

Indifferent, and admittedly ignorant of his sudden bout of silence, you try to distract yourself by absently brushing the palms of your hands over your dress, tutting softly at the creases and rumples in the tulle.

It’s all you can think to do now that you’ve got a little freedom back.

Nearby, War shifts his immense weight to stand even closer to Strife’s flank, and together, the brothers share a sidelong glance before returning their attention to the fussy, little human in front of them.

Even with the helm obscuring most of Strife’s angular features, War only needs to take one glance at his profile to catch the distinct and unmistakable gleam of fascination bleeding through the cracks in his armour.

Typical Strife, he scoffs to himself. The minute something new and shiny comes along, it’s all he seems to be able to think about. And there are very few things newer and shinier than a lost human dressed from head to toe in sparkling, white garb.

Hauling his eyes up towards the cavernous ceiling, War lets out an exasperated sigh and brusquely elbows Strife aside, sweeping him backwards with the palm of his prosthetic gauntlet, much to his brother’s belligerence.

“Hey!” he barks, though he goes entirely ignored.

Stepping sideways into the spot Strife had once occupied, War places his back to the smaller Nephilim and clears his throat, curious at the way you quickly stiffen like a prey animal and gradually lift your head.

He stands so close that you have to tip it all the way back before you’re even able to meet his eye, reminding him of how much smaller humans are. Smaller, and weaker…

The colossal Horseman almost can’t quite believe that for a member of a species so vulnerable, you don’t seem to possess any weapons. Natural or otherwise.

His eyes drift down to the long, pink line he’d marked you with. You hadn’t tried to claw or bite or do much of anything to stop him, not that it would have made an iota of difference. You were helpless… And he…

A pair of snowy white brows twitch microscopically inwards.

“Do you know how to fight?” he utters at last, lifting his gaze to meet your otherworldly stare. He doesn’t miss how you seem to be fixated on something behind his crimson hood, and if he has to hazard a guess, you’re staring directly at Chaoseater’s hilt.

Pulling a face, you look back at him and croak, “I… I-I’m sorry?”

Briefly wondering why in the nine Hells you’re apologising, he presses, “Have you any weapons training?” When all he receives it a blank stare, he casts his mind about for something primitive you’ll have heard of and adds, “Swords? Axes…? Bows?”

“Guns?” Strife eagerly pipes up from somewhere behind him.

Heaving an irritated sigh, War half turns his head over a shoulder and snaps, “She is a human. She doesn’t know what guns are.”

“I… What?” you peep, wrenched from your stupor by the absurdity of his declaration, “Uh… Yes, I do.”

Bemused, War raises his brow at you and retorts, “No, you do not.”

For a moment, you’re so dumbstruck by his apparent ignorance that you forget how much larger and more dangerous he is, enough that you pluck up the gall to scoff at him and insist, “Uh. I’m pretty sure I do? Humans have been using guns for centuries.”

Raising your hands, you start to knock a list off your fingers, unaware of the behemoth’s eyes growing wide.

“Shotguns, rifles, pistols-“ you state, pausing to throw a hand out and gesture at the guns in Strife’s leather holsters. “Revolvers-!”

You’re unprepared for War to suddenly move forwards, instantly cutting off your rambling list and sending your glimmer of nerve scurrying back down your throat as he leans towards you, filling your field of view with his indomitable, ferocious scowl.

On a reflex, you tilt backwards with a hand on your chest, blinking owlishly up into the depths of his hood.

“How could you possibly know about firearms?” he demands, the sigil on his forehead burning with fiery heat as his temper flares.

Shaking your head rapidly, you stammer out, “I.. I don’t, I’m not-“

“-Hey,” Strife tries to interject, “C’mon, War. You’re scarin’ her.”

Disregarding his brother, the Horseman raises his voice and growls, “Who has been supplying you?! Speak!”

Your hands wring together as you try to form an answer, struggling in the face of someone who has proven they have no qualms about hurting you. But all you can produce is another pitiable whimper. “Nobody! We just-“

Before you can utter another sound, a large, silver hand suddenly appears over War’s shoulder, grabbing the metal pauldron that’s been forged in the likeness of a snarling face and tugging him away from you.

“War!” Strife barks, trying to wrench his brother around to face him, “I said back off.”

Savagely tearing his arm out of his grasp, War rounds on him, nostrils flaring like a raging bull. Flinging his arm out towards you indicatively, he bellows, “If humans are being supplied with weapons-!”

“-Then why’re you takin’ it out on her, and not the asshole trying to arm her species?”

War’s teeth click shut, his shoulders heaving with every breath he pulls into his train carriage chest.

Letting out a sigh, Strife sends a sideways glance at you, lowering his voice to add, “Come on. Look at who you’re trying to intimidate.”

Begrudgingly, War follows his brother’s line of sight.

You’re well aware you aren’t exactly giving humanity a good name right now, shivering like a wet leaf and holding your injured arm guardedly against your chest, all the while stifling a sob and eyeing War as if he’ll draw his sword and run you through at any moment.

For several, terrible seconds, the Horseman’s sneer remains locked in place, rigid and threatening, but as he watches you cower away from him, something in War’s almighty resolve shudders…

And yields.

Slowly, at a pace that would make a glacier yawn, his hard snarl recedes.

“See,” Strife points out, “You just look like a dick.”

The furious expression is back on War’s face in the blink of an eye, but at least this time, he aims it at his brother, opening his mouth to suck down a sharp breath, ready to berate him…

Rocks skitter across the ground somewhere too close for comfort, snatching the attention of your unlikely troop.

As one unit, Strife and War spin towards the far end of the chamber where the noise had come from, reaching for their weapons and placing their broad, armoured backs to you.

It would be the perfect opportunity to make a break for it, if you weren’t frozen solid by the prospect of running into whatever made these juggernauts so jumpy.

The former Horseman draws both of his guns from their holsters so quickly, your eyes can barely keep track of the movement. War, in the meantime, takes a gigantic step backwards as he swings his accursed sword over his shoulder, crowding you into a clumsy retreat to avoid having your toes stepped on.

Frantic, you try to peer through the gap between the titans, scanning the chamber walls for any sign of life.

“What the hell was that?” you can’t help but whisper-shout, hardly daring to breathe.

Neither of them replies for a time, not even Strife, who has his revolvers aimed out at the room, his arms still as statues as if he isn’t even vaguely affected by the weight of his guns.

Seconds tick by at an agonising pace, and the three of you wait, and wait, straining your ears to try and pick up another sound. But aside from the crackle of lava cooling as it hits the air, everything remains perfectly still and silent once more.

After another minute, War grunts, lowering his sword and casting a dark look up at the ceiling. “We’ve lingered here for too long,” he remarks, half turning to peer down at you again, his eyes skimming over you from head to toe.

“So,” he starts, “You’ve handled guns?”

Shaking your head, you hold your hands out helplessly and say, “No, I mean, I know about them, but I-I’ve never actually shot one.”

“I could teach you,” Strife pipes up, thrusting the revolvers back into their holsters with casual ease.

“Now is hardly the time, brother,” War snaps, still eyeing you pensively.

Something very strange has been hovering about you like a miasma ever since you crashed into his brother in the Void. Something unplaceable that he can’t quite put his finger on. You are human, that much is confirmed, but you’re not like any human he’s ever heard of. It’s a troubling notion, that some unseen force might be trying to arm your species. If that’s the case, they’ll need to figure out who. Then why.

But in the meantime, he and Strife have a job to do, here and now.

First thing’s first…

“… Never handled a weapon,” he murmurs aloud.

It makes sense, he concedes. Humans aren’t a war-faring species, so it’s little wonder that you don’t know how to use weapons… For War, however, a Nephilim who has been holding a blade since the day he was risen from dust, the concept seems so alien, not to mention disconcerting.

Inclining his head, he gives you another once-over before turning away, stating matter-of-factly, “You will be a liability.”

It’s such a blasé statement, accusing, as if you’re culpable of something you’ve had no control over thus far. It actually makes you recoil as you draw your head back to fix him with an incredulous frown, lips parted, and your brows furrowed heavily above your eyes.

Despite every fibre of your being telling you that there’s a terrible idea forming at the back of your mind, you take a step away, lean your weight on your heel, and start to size him up.

Now, you’ve picked some battles before, tried to stand up to people you had no business standing up to. Cain and Delilah nipped that streak in the bud back when you thought asserting your opinion on matters of marriage should make a difference. Those battles were wildly different from this one, and you lost, every time, worn down and beaten back from the woman you used to be by wills stronger and more tempered than yours. You used to think you could face the world bravely, and all it took were a few people to show you that you weren’t as strong as you liked to think you were. It humbled you, and over time, you learned an easier life was synonymous with a passive life.

But you’ve been passive a lot lately.

Maybe you’ve been running on cold feet for too long. Maybe this whole, nightmarish interruption to your routine is finally catching up to you and numbing you to sense and logic, but truth be told?

You really don’t like hearing that this is somehow your fault.

Balling your hands into fists, you swallow thickly, and steady yourself with a noisy breath, wondering if this will be the moment you get to learn if there’s a Heaven as well as a Hell.

“Hey! I didn’t ask you to bring me with you, okay?” you say in a wobbly voice, staring at a spot just past his left arm to avoid his glare lest your words fail you completely, “Maybe, if I’m such a liability, you should just leave me to find my own way home!”

His head snaps properly in your direction with such velocity, you let out a gasp, flinching backwards and shrinking in on yourself again, your eyes darting to his lips that curl just the slightest in one corner, and the little bit of gall sitting on your tongue shrivels up and dies at the back of your throat.

Oh well. It was nice to have your guts back while it lasted. Just a pity they’re probably about to get ripped out of you for raising your voice.

For a number of unpleasant seconds, War merely regards you like you’ve just completely thrown him for a loop, neither raising his sword nor his fist to send you spinning off your mortal coil into the aether.

Finally, just as you’re beginning to fidget under his inspection, he quirks his brow at you and slowly states, “If you leave… you will die.”

You were expecting him to lose his temper again, to shout you down or put you down, not remark on your chances of survival.

“Oh, as if you give a shit about that,” you huff guardedly, curling a palm over your marred forearm and eyeing the Horseman like he’ll tear you in half for daring to call attention to the injury he caused.

War’s stance and expression don’t change in the slightest. He only continues to observe you coolly from inside his hood, ignoring the frequent looks Strife keeps flicking between the pair of you.

After a further spell of silence in which you seem to grow impossibly smaller, he at last gives an appraising hum and straightens his shoulders, jerking his head towards his brother and declaring, “You will stay close to Strife.”

Wait… You will?

“I will?” you say aloud, sending the other Horseman a distrustful glance. Strife, for his part, looks conversely pleased with the verdict, his head tipping coltishly to one side as he gives you a little wave.

… Well, you suppose if you have to choose between the two, the less time you spend near War the better. You assume he feels the same about having to be close to you, at least until he adds, “If we run into trouble, his guns allow him range. He will not let anything to get close to you.”

“They’re welcome to try,” his brother says cheerfully, thumbing the stock of a revolver.

Wilting like a helpless flower plucked from its patch of earth, you weakly ask, “Do I have a choice?”

Giving a hearty chuckle, Strife takes an exaggerated step closer to your side and pivots on his heel to face the same direction, cheerfully replying, “Ah, c’mon. Don’t be like that. I thought you humans were social. Safety in numbers, and all that?”

Disconcerted by his proximity, you lean away from him, cupping your elbows. “That’s not true for all of us,” you mumble.

You hear his intake of breath and prepare yourself for yet more inane chatter, but at that moment, you jump as another howl – distant but hair-raising – comes drifting into the chamber from some unknown offshoot deeper in the keep’s depths.

“Fucking hell,” you quake, your voice shaking like glass on the verge of shattering.

At your side, Strife mutters, “My sentiments exactly.”

Raising his head to catch War’s eye, he swings his chin towards the only visible exit; the apex of a wide, stone staircase that winds down away from the chamber, disappearing into a tunnel below. “You wanna take point?”

War’s response is a rich, throaty hum, accompanied by a decisive nod. “Indeed, we have wasted more than enough time here. Let us find Vulgrim’s troubling demon and pry the artifact from its cold, dead hands.”

“Ohho-okay!” Strife grins, suddenly gleeful as he claps his hands together, “Now you’re getting me excited.”

Rolling his eyes, War turns away and makes for the stairs, swinging his arm up to clip Chaoseater into its usual place on his back. Blankly watching him leave, you give a start when something metal and solid nudges at the small of your back, prodding you to stumble forwards awkwardly until Strife’s knuckles drop and he falls into step beside you, one stride for every two and a half of yours.

“I love it when he gets like this,” he remarks.

Begrudgingly, you resign yourself to trail after his brother and ask, “What? Murderous?”

“Oh yeah. Even he can be fun.” Tilting his head to the side in thought, he adds, “On occasion.”

Sweat has been steadily gathering on your forehead, and as you finally begin to move, a tiny droplet breaks free of your brow and trickles slowly down the side of your face. Of all the days to get swept up in a Universe-spanning caper, it would be the day you elected to wear one of the most awkward and cumbersome dresses known to man.

“So far none of this has been fun,” you huff, reaching up to flick the sweat drop away with a finger.

Strife’s boots hit the top step and he twists his helm sideways to shoot you a mock-offended smirk, “Not even me?”

You don’t bother to respond to that, instead throwing nervous glances around the room as you lift the front of your skirts and start to descend the staircase, your heels clacking noisily against the hard stone underfoot and echoing off the high walls. Somewhere nearby, you can hear liquid lava squeaking and splintering as it hits the marginally cooler air, though the heat only seems to grow more stifling the further you venture.

Absently, you wonder if you remembered to put your setting spray in the bag.

The staircase spirals down into the depths of a tunnel, twisting out of view and giving you no concept of what might lay ahead. To your left, you note the presence of tall, metal spikes jutting from a pit that runs alongside the stairs, like a wrought-iron fence whose purpose has been retrofitted into an inefficient and hostile railing. From the corner of an eye, you spot something round and ivory impaled halfway down one of those spikes. A single glimpse is all you need before you immediately avert your gaze to the stairs ahead, heart thumping in your chest. Behind you, a pair of dark, unseeing eye sockets seem to sear into your back as you continue your descent.

As you move lower, more signs start to appear that you aren’t the only visitors to this keep. Sconces line the wall, roaring with open flames that cast the path ahead in an orange glow. Two, iron firepits stand on either side of the staircase at its base, and it’s here that War has paused. It strikes you that in spite of his size, he’s slightly more camouflaged in this place than he was in the void, his scarlet cloak and dark grey armour blending well with the rock and heat around him.

As you and Strife come to a stop behind War, you lean sideways and find yourself peering tentatively into the space beyond his bulk.

The tunnel has opened up into another spacious chamber, and the path beyond the stairs has opened up too, into a vast, circular area with no walls or boundaries, nothing but another deep pit that sweeps around it, carrying a river of flowing, basaltic lava to somewhere further into the - as Strife had called it -‘dungeon.’

Maybe you really are in some kind of volcano. The urge to find a way out of here increases dramatically, but with Strife watching your back a little too closely and War cutting off an escape from the front, your options, at the moment, are quite limited.

At last, War takes a step out onto the level ground, then another and another, stalking forwards with his head on a constant swivel, vigilant. Strife, in the meantime, walks out with a confident swagger, ensuring to walk slightly behind you to keep you moving up in front.

Tearing your eyes off the pit, you focus instead on the behemoth stomping ahead of you. He’s already on the other side by the time you and Strife make it halfway across. For a split second, you almost let yourself feel a pinch of guilt for wearing such inappropriate shoes and slowing the Horsemen down, but you’re just as quick to take the feeling and grind it up under said heels, curling your lip distastefully. You weren’t exactly given a chance to pack for this ‘excursion.’

“Y’know,” Strife says abruptly, breaking you from your thoughts, and just in time too. You glance down and see the lip of the platform’s edge rise up to meet you. It likely would have tripped you if you’d remained lost in your head. “I’ve been thinking…”

“Death will be pleased to hear it,” War remarks from up ahead.

The back of his hood receives a simmering glare, but Strife is quick to brush the dig aside and continue, “If Lucifer is as dangerous as the Council says he is, why’d they send just the two of us?”

If the uneven ground didn’t manage to trip you up, his comment definitely does. Stumbling on the heel of your foot, you hurriedly try to right yourself, swatting irritably at Strife’s hand that reaches out to steady you. There’s that name again. Lucifer. Would it be naïve of you to hope that their ‘mission’ doesn’t somehow involve the Biblical Devil? You’ve managed to survive for the better part of an hour, but you don’t like how the odds are quickly stacking up against you with every step you take.

“Death and Fury attend to other matters,” War responds simply, “It is not our place to question the will of the Council.”

Apparently unable to let his brother’s earlier tease slide after all, Strife rolls his eyes and quips, “It’s not my place to question your wardrobe, but I still think your armour could use some more creepy faces on it.”

You’re not sure how much you like trailing in between the sizeable men, especially when the more sizeable of the two slows his gait to aim a vicious snarl over his shoulder. “Must everything be a joke to you?” War snaps, “The Council-!”

“-Ugh!” Cutting his brother off with a pompous groan, Strife throws his helm back. “You really need to lighten up.” Then, lowering his voice to a deeper pitch, apparently for the sole purpose of mocking the far scarier Horseman, he taunts, “The Council this, and The Council that! You wanna hear an actual joke?”

Facing forwards again, War responds with a firm, flat, “No.”

Strife, of course, doesn’t seem to have the same reservations as you do about antagonising someone with the name ‘War.’

In fact, you carry yourself so rigidly in fear of being caught in the middle of a scrap that you almost have the wind knocked out of you quite literally when Strife chimes in with a phrase so familiar to you, you just about choke on your own spit.

“Knock knock…”

The classic setup, so universally understood that you almost wonder if humans are born with an inbuilt recognition system designed to identify two simple, unassuming words.

The three of you pass beneath an open portcullis, but you barely notice the jagged bars of iron looming above you because you’re so busy trying to pick your jaw up off the ground.

You can’t see Strife’s face, and you don’t dare turn around to gape at him in case you end up taking a painful tumble. Instead, numbly, you continue to stare ahead with unblinking eyes, vaguely taking in the narrow path ahead of you, and the apparent end of it fast approaching.

War makes a dismissive sound, an irked mutter of something too low for you to make out.

Clearing his throat when he doesn’t receive a response, Strife prompts, “You’re supposed to say, ‘who’s there?”

You can’t quite believe you’re hearing this. Perhaps the idea that you’ve been drugged isn’t so unlikely after all because this isn’t something you could ever come up with sober.

Ahead of you, the stone pathway falls away in an abrupt drop, and the ceiling of the tunnel disappears, both opening out into yet another cavern, this one more spacious than the first two.

Or, you continue to muse to yourself, maybe you really did die in that church graveyard, and the chemicals released in your brain have conjured a hallucination of this pair of giants to serve as some unconvincing reapers who will guide you into the afterlife.

War comes to a stop at the edge of the escarpment, and unseen by you or Strife, his expression scrunches up in confusion and he asks, “Why would I give away my location? I would simply smash through the door and face my assailant.”

Oh. Wow. That’s…

“Ugh, you’re hopeless,” Strife complains as he draws to a halt just behind you and his brother on the rocky ledge. For a second, he’s distracted with casting his keen eye over the chamber, so he doesn’t notice you lower your face to the floor, your lips pursed like you’re trying to keep a cough in.

He does, however, notice straight away when, instead of escaping through your mouth, the sound you’re desperately trying to hold in finds its escape through your nose instead, and out jumps a sharp, unbecoming ‘snort!’

It’s unexpected. So much so that you’re just as surprised to hear it as the Horsemen. At once, you slap a palm over the lower half of your face in horror, a cold rush of dread trickling down into your stomach.

Eyes blown wide open, you stare at the ground, only too aware of the heavy silence that settles over you like a blanket, thicker than the heat pressing in all around you. You’re not even willing to raise your head because you can feel two sets of eyes watching you from above.

For too long, all you can hear is the ringing in your ears and your own pulse throbbing just beneath the skin of your temples. The silence swells, tuning up like an orchestra, deafening you to every sound save for that accursed, high-pitched ringing caused by the crushing grit of your teeth.

“Did…?” Strife’s voice cuts through the atmosphere like a headsman’s axe, “Did you just… laugh?”

Your jaw eases apart, and the ringing fades.

The telltale ‘clunk’ of War’s boots alert you to him turning from the ledge, pointing himself in your direction instead.

Suddenly and appropriately alarmed that you just snorted at someone nearly three times your size, you instantly shift from freeze to flight and throw your head up, only to find yourself blinking apprehensively into War’s face, etched with his signature frown.

“I-I wasn’t laughing at you,” you rush out, backing away from the scowling Horseman a little too far and ending up colliding right into Strife’s torso.

With a tiny yelp, you leap forwards again, tossing glances back and forth between them whilst they continue to stare you down. “It’s just-! I haven’t heard a knock-knock joke in so long, it… It just surprised me.”

A pause ensues, and then quietly – eagerly – Strife asks, “You know what knock-knock jokes are?”

Wondering why that’s his first question, you offer him a timid nod. And then you’re immediately flinching away from him when he barks out an abrupt, disbelieving laugh and straightens up, his chest swelling proudly.

“No kidding. Y’know, not to brag,” he brags, jabbing a thumb into his sternum, “But I practically invented knock-knock jokes.”

Well, who are you to argue with the man carrying two guns? “O-oh?”

“Brother,” War complains, “We do not have time for your-“

“-Here! Here, try this one,” Strife rushes out, leaning towards you a little too fast for your liking, “Knock knock.”

You start to get the impression he’s been waiting for an opportunity like this to come along for quite some time. Sparing his brother a nervous glance, you wet your lips and tentatively indulge him, “Uh, okay, who’s there?”

Taking a breath as if he means to brace himself, Strife says, “The interrupting War.”

Oh… Oh, for God’s sake...

You try to steady the muscles in your cheeks, sending another wary look over at the juggernaut clenching his fists by the ledge.

Still, with Strife waiting for an answer, you slowly and dutifully sigh, “The interrupting War wh-“

You knew it was coming. You knew the gist of the punchline if not the punchline itself, but you’re still wholly unprepared when Strife cuts you off by crossing his arms over his chest and letting out a loud, resounding growl.

“Grr! The Council~!”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you immediately purse your lips, your cheeks aching with the effort of keeping a straight face. You wonder if this is the start of another emotional breakdown because the joke isn’t even particularly funny, but there’s just a familiarity to the formula that almost comes as a welcome relief, like Earth isn’t so far away after all.

A brother teasing his sibling… There’s something almost human about it, abating just the tiniest modicum of terror bubbling away inside your stomach.

Clearing your throat, you keep your lips puckered and inhale deeply through your nostrils in an attempt to compose yourself. Perhaps its Strife’s enthusiasm that lends itself to the humour of the situation, or perhaps it’s simply the absurdity of such a large and formidable brute doing something as innocuous as telling you a knock-knock joke at the expense of his brother, but whatever the case may be, when you open your mouth to tell him it wasn’t that funny, your lips spring up at their corners, contradicting you immediately.

“Think it needs some work,” you say, your voice wobbling.

“Needs work?” he parrots, his own mouth quirking into a grin as he clocks your expression, “Then why are you smiling?”

It takes no small amount of effort to wrestle your face back under control. “I’m not smiling,” you insist, “That isn’t how humans smile.”

Strife, naturally, isn’t fooled at all.

“Ah ha! It is! She’s smiling!” he gloats, jabbing his thumbs at his own mask, “I’m funny! And you-!” Swivelling his head up to War, he pokes a finger at his brother’s face and declares, “You were wrong.”

You make the mistake of glimpsing underneath the stoic Horseman’s hood, wincing when you find him sporting an expression of absolute thunder. He glowers down at you as if to say, ‘Now look at what you’ve started.’

Outwardly, he flattens his brows and exhales slowly through his nose, “Yes, you must be very proud that you’ve found the one, sole creature in the Universe who finds you almost as funny as you find yourself.”

Flapping a hand dismissively at his brother’s words, Strife blows a snort through his lips and tuts, “Ah, you’re just jealous she likes me better.”

You decide not to chime in with the fact that you don’t, in fact, particularly like either of them.

Besides, if War is at all concerned with his new ranking, he certainly doesn’t bother to let you know.

“If you are quite finished cheapening our reputation…” he growls, whirling away from Strife and stepping up to the very edge of the platform.

“Oh, I haven’t even gotten started.”

Before you can protest, the masked Horseman lays a hand on your back and nudges you forwards until you’re standing next to his brother, then takes up his own lookout on the escarpment to your left.

Snugly sandwiched between them, you squash your arms into your sides, grimacing at the sharp angles of their armour that threaten to snag your dress as you try to shuffle backwards, but you don’t manage to retreat further than a few inches before you happen to cast a cursory look out at the view ahead and promptly freeze in your tracks.

Eyes bulging, your jaw falls open and you let out a soft, incredulous breath, your brain racing to take stock of what it’s seeing.

“Oh god.”

The path ends abruptly, falling away just a few paces from the toes of your shoes. And waiting beyond the precipice is a rock-walled cavern of absolutely phenomenal scale, far larger than those you’ve already come through. At its centre, rising from a chasm down below, there’s a rocky platform large enough to fit your house within its dimensions several times over. From what you can see, there isn’t any conceivable way to cross over to it, save for sprouting wings and flying. You’re not even confident you could pitch a tennis ball across the gap and have it land on the other side.

Scalding heat prickles your brow, and when you glance down to see where it stems from, you give an audible gasp as you look past the toes of your shoes and over the pathway’s crumbling edge.

Far, far below you, a stomach-churning drop lays in wait.

Thirty… forty-something feet of shimmering air is all that stands between you and a vast lake of red-hot lava.

“Hey, look down there,” Strife’s voice twitches your ear.

At your side, he raises an arm to point at the platform and says, “See that grate?”

With no small effort, you wrench your eyes off the pit of death and lift it to the level of raised stone, blinking your eyes hard to moisten them again after staring at the lava.

At once, you spot what he’s indicating.

Right at the centre of the platform, set into the stone floor itself, is a large, circular grate, vaguely reminiscent of the bars of a prison cell.

From the darkness below it, you can just make out a faint, pink glow seeping through the metal gridiron.

War answers his brother with a hum that vibrates in your chest.

“What’d you think?” Strife prods, “Reckon that’s where they’ve stashed Vulgrim’s artefact?”

Studying it for a few seconds, War eventually nods. “Something is definitely down there…” he murmurs, “No doubt that grate is heavily fortified.”

Shooting him a sly look, the smaller Horseman adds, “Shouldn’t be too much of a problem for you to pick the lock though, right?”

It’s disconcerting to see War with any expression other than a scowl, so to witness him return a smirk over the top of your head sends a veritable shiver right up your spine.

Lifting his arms, he slams his fist into the palm of his gauntlet with a resounding ‘thwack.’

Amused, Strife turns to thrust his chin at the gut-wrenching gap between the path you’re standing on and the edge of the central platform.

“What about that? Think you can make that jump?”

“J-jump!?” you blurt out, whipping your head up to stare at him like he’s lost his mind.

Hell, maybe he has.

Briefly, War’s eyes flit down to you before he returns his gaze to his fellow Horseman, scoffing, “Is that a serious question?”

And without another word, he begins taking several steps backwards, away from the ledge.

“Wait,” you sputter, shooting him an incredulous look as he continues to back up along the path, “You’re not really going to-“

You don’t even get to finish your sentence.

Before you can blink, War pushes off on his back foot and lurches forwards, his boots pounding against the stone hard enough to send powerful quakes all along the path as he charges straight for the edge.

You think you let out an alarmed yelp, but there’s not much else you can do except helplessly gawk as the Horseman, laden down by his heavy, clanking armour, plants his boot centimetres from the crumbling edge of the path and unceremoniously launches himself, his sword, and all of his bulk off solid ground, soaring out over the lava-drowned chasm below.

With a comically loud gasp, you slap your palms over your eyes, yet you can’t resist peeking through splayed fingers to watch.

Why the Hell would he do that!? There’s no way he’ll make it, you tell yourself, not with all that weight dragging him down.

You wanted to get away from him, yes but… shit. You didn’t want him to get himself killed doing it!

It’s as if you’re staring at a runaway train, waiting in morbid fascination for it to derail. Something in the nature of a disaster unfolding keeps you rooted to the spot, unable to tear your attention away from it.

There’s power and grace in the way War sails over the gap, an impossible feat, further than any Olympic gold medallist would ever hope to achieve. And then, to your utmost astonishment, he makes it.

Metal boots hit the stone platform with an almighty ‘clang’ on the other side, and he dips his knees as he lands to absorb the impact.

You’re almost certain you can see the whole structure quiver from the force.

For several moments, you merely stand there with your mouth hanging ajar whilst War rises to his full height again and turns around, tipping his face up to see you staring back at him, your eyes wide with unconcealed awe.

“How. The fuck…?” you say emphatically, blowing out a disbelieving little whistle. You might not trust the man, but even you can appreciate a good stunt when you see one. Giving your head a shake, you briefly forget you’re supposed to be their kidnappee and gush, “That was incredible!”

Your voice carries easily across the sizeable gap and reaches the Horseman’s ears, erasing the hard line between his brows. Taken aback, War blinks, pressing his lips together bashfully in lieu of a response. ‘Perhaps it was rather impressive,’ he privately concedes, ‘from a human’s perspective…’

Back on the escarpment, Strife’s keen gaze makes out the befuddled expression warping his brother’s typically impassive face, and he sends several glances between you and War, pursing his lips at the glimmer lighting up your eyes.

“Oh yeah?” he huffs, “You think that was impressive?”

A loud clap rings out across the cavern, causing you to jump as Strife smacks his palms together. “Okay, little miss,” he announces behind you, “Your turn.”

Just like that, the colour promptly drains from your face. “My what?”

You don’t have time to spin around and face him, for not a second later, a powerful arm scoops your legs out from underneath you whilst the other snakes around the back of your shoulders, hauling you clean off the floor and pressing you to a hard, armoured chest.

“Oh for-! Stop grabbing me!” you complain, planting your hands on his clavicle and shoving yourself away as best you can, “Are you insane!? I am not jumping over that!”

Cocking his helm at you, he spares you an innocent blink. “You’re not?”

You don’t like how much levity is lacing his tone.

“NO!” you squawk, aghast, “Absolutely not! Let me go!”

One of the Horseman’s eyes narrows to squint at you before he angles his helm very pointedly towards the platform. “You sure?”

Something about his question gives you pause.

Hesitating, you snap your head in the same direction and follow his line of sight. It doesn’t take you more than a second to glean the bastard’s intent.

Now you really don’t like the way he’s looking at you, his upturned eyelids the clearest indication that he’s smiling quite broadly underneath his visor.

Your stomach gives an unpleasant lurch.

“Oh, if you dare…” you hiss.

Daringly, he raises his sizeable shoulders in a shrug and chirps, “Lesson one; Don’t ever dare a Horseman, kid. You’re always bound to lose.”

He wouldn’t…

Flashing you a golden wink, Strife turns his body sideways and swings you to the right, like a rugby player readying a forward pass.

It finally occurs to you that, oh, good god, he would.

“Wait-! WA-WAIT! STRIFE!” Issuing a high-pitched, wordless scream, you start to flail, but his ironclad grip on your legs and shoulders keeps you from launching yourself out of his arms.

Somewhere across the chasm, War’s voice drifts up to you, though you hardly hear it above your undignified shrieks. “Brother?”

The muscles around you bunch up, solidifying as hard as the stone underfoot.

“See you on the other side!” is all the cheery warning you get.

“Don’t you DA---AAAAARRRGGHHH!”

He’s moving before you can think to adhere yourself to his arm.

Sidestepping into a purposeful bound, the Horseman flings his arms to the left, with you in tow, and when they get to the zenith of his reach, they disappear out from under you, letting you go hurtling spine first out over the chasm like a screaming, thrashing blimp, dress and all.

You have several phobias that you were aware of before you fell into this godforsaken place. Phobias that, for the most part, have been quite avoidable in your day-to-day life.

Finding yourself suspended in the air over a pit without a safety net underneath you… add some lava to break your fall, and you suddenly realise as you’re flying through empty space that you’ve just discovered an entirely new phobia to add to the list.

Sailing in a none-too graceful arch, you stare in disbelief back at the silver Horseman on the ledge, your dress billows out behind you and the scorching air whips your veil over your face, tugging at your hair where the grips are heroically keeping it situated. Likewise, some subconscious part of you instructs your toes to grip like vices on the insoles of your heels, valiantly trying to stop them from plummeting off your feet.

Inevitably, as is the case with the laws of physics, you reach the height of your curve, and that’s when gravity seizes you by the heart and starts to drag you back down, sending your stomach crashing up into your diaphragm.

Time seems to slow as you descend, reaching back for Strife as if he could somehow stretch across the gap and catch you. You can’t see behind yourself, and it’s all you can do to hope that you pass out on the way down, so you don’t have to feel your body melt into a puddle in the hungry maw of the lava below.

It hurts your chest something fierce to think that the last anyone will see of you is your terror-stricken face and your raised hand closing into a fist, bar one choicely extended finger.

The hot wind screams past your ears and you screw your eyes shut tight, squeezing out the last tears you’re ever going to cry. Your father’s face flashes in your mind’s eye, and you wonder what you did to set off this chain of events.

Strife said he wouldn’t hurt you…

What a joke.

‘WHAM!’

Your mouth jerks open, wheezing out a gasp as something suddenly slams into you from behind, knocking the air violently from your lungs. Or rather, you crash into something with the force of a white, ruffled meteorite and nearly lose your heart through your open mouth.

At first, you assume you must have smacked into the hard side of the platform, but then the Something you’ve collided with grunts, and you hurriedly wrench your eyes open, coming to focus on a monstrous, metal gauntlet that’s secured itself under your knees, crushing your dress between prodigious fingers whilst something equally large presses across your shoulder blades.

With a kick in the guts, you realise you’re being held aloft in much the same way Strife had been holding you mere moments ago.

He caught you… War caught you.

Finally, you remember to gulp in a noisy breath to refill your desperate lungs.

You’re not dead.

But you are, in fact, shaking.

And as the revelation that you’re still alive sets in, your limbs start to wobble in earnest.

“STRIFE!” You visibly flinch when War’s terrible, wonderful, abrasive, beautiful voice booms like a claxon right above your head. “You fool!”

Even through layers of solid metal and leather padding, the Horseman can feel you trembling under his palms. Propping your neck in the crook of his elbow, he lifts his head to level a snarl up at where Strife still stands on the escarpment whilst you unclench your fists from your lap, heaving air in and out of your lungs in hysterical little bursts.

“What were you thinking!?” he bellows.

Leaning over the side to look down at you and your unwitting saviour, Strife throws his arms out wide and argues, “She said to let her go!”

“You knew what she meant!” A deep thrum rolls around in his chest, spreading up his throat and spilling out in another growl so deep it rattles the teeth in your skull. “You could have damaged her!”

“Oh relax, I wouldn’t have tossed her if I didn’t think you’d catch her.”

War slides his lips back to reveal his inhumanly sharp canines, but at that moment, something tugs very lightly at the fabric of his cowl.

Faltering, he angles his chin down and nearly gives a start.

Tiny hands have wandered towards him, found the scarlet material hanging from around his neck and latched onto it with possessive intent, fingers twisting themselves into his cowl and getting lost amongst the folds, as if you fully expect him to toss you over the side as well. The strange, white veneer lays draped across your face, so he can’t see your expression when you unexpectedly twist about in his arms and pull yourself a little closer to his chest.

Caught off guard, War remains stock-still, seriously contemplating whether or not he should drop you right then and there to spare himself from Strife’s potential teasing.

His bulging arms give a twitch, which in turn causes you to cringe, letting out a quiet bleat and further entangling your fingers around his cowl.

This, War decides, was not in the job description when the Charred Council made him a Horseman. Still, whatever he might think of you, he can’t bring himself to drop you in a heap on the ground.

For once, he might be out of his depth.

As soon as the notion occurs to him, he brusquely flicks it away with a toss of his head.

Taking a large step back, he slowly ambles himself about until he’s facing away from Strife and the platform’s edge, then stomps several paces towards the central grate, only stopping once he hears the loud clang of metallic boots hitting the stone behind him as his fellow Horseman leaps to the lower level.

Gingerly, almost as though he expects you to shatter if he moves too quickly, War bends down until he’s almost on a knee and starts to withdraw the arm that’s wrapped around your legs, a stoic frown tugging his brows towards the centre of his forehead when you refuse to let go of his hood.

Grumbling, he lowers you until your shoes click on the stone floor, and then he slips his hand out from under your knees, moving it up and taking both of your wrists between his gauntlet’s fingertips and thumb, mindful of the delicate limbs he’s handling.

He can still recall how you’d nearly crumpled to your knees when he got a little heavy handed trying to apply the poultice to your arm. He truly thought he had been correct in gauging the pressure he needed to apply to your flesh to draw blood. He’d only meant to take a little. Just enough to prove the validity of your claim. What an idea that had turned out to be. If War were being honest with himself, he’d been outright startled when your skin peeled open so readily to admit Chaoseater’s blade.

So, if he’s a little more careful in prying your hands off his cowl than he ought to be, well, that’s his own business.

It doesn’t take much coaxing before you seem to come back into yourself.

With a sudden jolt, you wrench your hands away from his hood and start to struggle valiantly with the veil on your face, flipping it back over your head and choking on a sob as your knees start to buckle.

Planting both of his palms on your shoulders, War hauls you upright again.

“Steady,” he murmurs as if he’s addressing a wounded soldier, not a frightened human, “On your feet.”

The sound of clanking boots drifts closer, approaching from his rear.

War bristles, but he’s not the only one who heard Strife’s footsteps.

“You okay, kid?” the gunslinger’s voice drifts over to you, and War watches your jaw cinch shut, the hands at your sides curling into fists as you attempt to stop them from shaking.

Whirling around, you tear yourself from the Horseman’s gauntlets, your dress twirling gracefully around your ankles to find Strife standing a few paces behind you, paused halfway between one step and the next.

Blurting out a delirious laugh, you shoot him a bloodshot stare, half tempted to rip your bag off and lob it at his head.

“Am I okay?!” you echo, “Have you completely lost your mind!?”

Peering down at you appraisingly, War makes a sound that might be affirming, and even his brother lifts a hand to tilt it back and forth in a ‘so-so’ motion.

Breathing hard, you resist the urge to scream and instead lower your head, massaging at your throbbing temples.

Slowly, through gritted teeth, you seethe, “I am trapped… inside a volcano… with two of the scariest people I’ve ever met…”

Strife shares a look with War, the former’s frame wilting as if he’s put out, while the latter, by contrast, almost seems proud of the achievement.

“I,” you continue, a humourless grin straining at your lips, “Just found out that demons exist! I also found out that Lucifer is apparently real…! It is my fucking wedding day!” Vitriol drips from your teeth like venom, and with each passing word, your voice grows louder and louder. “And! I just got chucked! Like a… like a fucking pigskin over a river! Of LAVA!”

All around you, the cavern echoes with the throes of your furious shout, bouncing off the rock walls and coming back to you ten times over before it fades into an uneasy silence.

Lungs heaving with the effort of raising your voice, you stop to breathe, finding, to your dismay, that tears are spilling onto your cheeks, only to start evaporating on your skin in the smouldering heat.

Clearing your throat, you sweep a few fingertips delicately beneath your eyes and wipe away the lingering evidence of moisture cutting tracks through your blusher. “So, no,” you sniffle, “For your information, I am not o-fucking-kay… I think I’m about as far from okay as it gets.”

It’s almost satisfying that the gung-ho Horseman can in fact be made to shut up.

Fidgeting idly with the gauntlet on his left hand, Strife shoots several glances at War, but finds no source of assistance in his fellow Nephilim’s cold, critical glare.

“Uh,” he starts, clenching his hands into fists and opening them again, “I mean… it was kind of funny, right?” He lets out a chuckle that falls painfully flat. “You should’ve seen your face.”

Your jaw begins to ache from grinding your teeth together like you’re trying to crush coal into diamonds.

“Knock-knock jokes are funny,” you say stiffly, turning away from him to scowl at the ground, “People don’t get hurt.”

Draping a hand over his hip, Strife lowers his voice and asks, “Come on, you really thought I’d let you get hurt?”

“OF COURSE I DID!” you suddenly bellow so loudly your voice cracks, “You threw me over a lava pit!”

“War caught you, didn’t he?”

“What if he hadn’t!?”

Strife doesn’t even hesitate before he offers his palms to the ceiling and says, “Then I wouldn’t’ve done it.”

“Why the hell would you-!? Why even take the risk!?”

“There never was any risk,” he shrugs far too nonchalantly, sending his brother a knowing look, “Besides, this is a good thing, right? Now you know you can trust War to keep you alive.”

Pulling a face, you allow a spiteful scoff to burst out of your mouth, arms folding sternly across your chest. “Oh, so that was all so you could prove some point to me, was it? Jesus, what is wrong with you?!”

“Now there’s a door best left unopened,” War chimes in.

At last recognising that there’s some, invisible line he’s crossed, Strife holds his hands up placatingly. “Look,” he concedes, scratching at the back of his head and disturbing the thick spines of ebony hair growing behind his helm, “After what happened back in the Void, I just thought, if we proved we could keep you safe, you’d… maybe start to trust us a little more, y’know?”

You have to take a moment to stare at him, waiting for his words to sink in for you, and hopefully for him as well. “So… you thought you’d show me you can keep me safe by… launching me over a lava pit, and expecting me to know your brother would catch me?”

The Horseman doesn’t speak for several seconds. When he eventually does, he crosses his arms over his chest and huffs, “I mean, if you’re only gonna focus on the first part, sure the plan had holes.”

“Well,” you say haughtily, “No offence, but I trust you two about as far as I could throw you. Which, you’ll be shocked to hear, isn’t very far at all. And unlike you-“ Here, you jab a finger up at his silver visor. “- I’m not strong enough to go around throwing people off the edge of cliffs!”

Once again, Strife remains silent, rapping his fingertips on a metal bicep. Soon enough however, he lowers his head and peers up at you from beneath the lip of his helm’s sockets, prodding, “It was a pretty good throw though, huh?”

“It was a very good throw!” you agree sharply, blowing out a rough exhale as your heartbeat finally begins to ease off the throttle, “Neither of you even had a run up. You two are like something straight out of a comic book… Except without the charisma… and altruism...”

“Comic…?” War asks, frowning, “Then… you are amused?”

“No, not comic like-…” You inhale. You exhale. “Never mind. Weren’t you guys supposed to be looking for something?”

Just like that, the pair of titans straighten up with a start, and you wonder if their ‘mission’ really had slipped their minds for a while.

Rolling his shoulders back, War just grumbles something inaudible and begins moving purposefully towards the grate.

You stand back to let him pass, chewing thoughtfully on your bottom lip as you mull over what you’re about to say.

“Hey, big guy?”

At once, War stops and swivels his head sideways, silver hair spilling out from underneath his hood.

Shuffling awkwardly on your feet, you avoid the pale, unblinking eye that’s trained on your face and call, “Thanks…. For catching me.”

You won’t thank him for healing your arm when he was the one who cut it in the first place. But this? You can swallow your grudge for this. At least for a little while.

Several seconds tick by without a response, and the only sound you can hear is the heavy clanking of boots on stone as Strife ventures up behind you.

And then at last, War’s head falls and rises in an almost imperceptible nod.

When he turns away, you suddenly feel like you can breathe again.

How can one man be so intimidating just by standing still and saying nothing?

You’ve already deduced that the two Horsemen are like chalk and cheese, with one half of the duo serving as the strong, silent type, and the other, a smart-mouthed chatterbox.

… Speaking of whom.

Just as you start to trail after War towards the centre of the platform, an enormous shape sidles up next to you, easily keeping pace with your diminutive gait.

“Hey…” Strife tries, actually sounding hesitant for a change, “Knock-knock.”

Ah. There it is.

“Strife…” His name still sounds foreign on your tongue. “I’m… look, I’m not in the mood, okay?”

“…”

Scoffing quietly, you give your head a defeated shake and sigh, “Fine… Who’s there?”

“Eyes wear.”

… Okay?

“…Eyes wear who?” you venture, hesitant.

Swivelling his helm towards you, Strife bends his neck down, chasing after your face even as you try to ignore him by staring straight ahead.

“Eyes wear to… never throw you across any more chasms,” he offers, tipping his helm upright again, “Lava filled or otherwise. How’s that sound?”

Your lips quiver. “Wow,” you drawl, “I think that was even worse than the last one.”

“Oh yeah?” he replies coyly, “Then why’re you smiling?”

You jerk to a halt mid stride, taking stock of your expression.

Damnit. You are smiling.

You’re a little too slow to force the corners of your lips back down into a straight line, and of course, Strife sees it, tipping his chin back to peer at you triumphantly. You may not be able to see his mouth beneath the visor but judging by the upturned curve of his golden eyes, you just know the smug son of a bitch is grinning from ear to ear.

“I was not smiling,” you insist.

Quick as a whip, he retorts, “Well now you’re lying.”

Stuffing your teeth into your bottom lip, you kick yourself into gear and speed up, marching up to where War has stopped by the grate. “I am not lying, I’m leaving.”

The Horseman’s chuckle haunts you all the way across the platform.

#darksiders #darksiders genesis #strife x reader #war x reader #bride reader #fluff #angst #hurt/comfort #Strife being Strife #Fear #Bad Knock knock jokes #Reader has had enough

103 notes · View notes

th3-c0ll3ct3r · 5 months ago

Text

I love how all the winner of the life series could essentially be the main character of their own story.

AND I'M HERE TO EXPLAIN IT TOO YOU!

Grian, the obvious, the original, there in the series because of him they're going through death games because of him and he's the only one who remembers the first one and is the only one who remembers the initial reason why they're there.

He was not doomed by the narrative. He doomed everyone else in the narrative and he asked to watch them die over and over again it's his fault he is the Doom in the narrative.

He's like a psychopathic main character trying to make everything right but it's not working out

Scott, because if Grian isn't the main character then it's Scott.

He figured out what Grian what Grian was BEFORE THE OTHER EVO MEMBER DID-

He knew that something was fucked up and he went against the Boogeyman causing him to move down a placement every other game. To be infected with coral diseases, and give his soul mate intentionally mental harm so that they'd hurt themselves to spite him.

He does everything for his friends, even if they don't remember. He does what he can for his husband, even as he watches him fall for a man other then him everytime.

He's making SACRIFICES for Grian mistakes, making sure that the next winners dont wake up in a cruel soulless void like he did.

Pearl, waking up after winning only to find out that the man she'd been made to hate so much actually let her win, and let her know the truth, and it's her own BROTHER'S FAULT/BESTIES FAULT THAT SHE HAD TO ENDURE ALL THAT.

She's now left with thought of what happened after Evo, how she hated someone that care so deeply for her safety that he literally committed suicide, and how her brother/bestie betrayed her.

Martyn, has been dealing with the voices inside his head for ages now. It is recognised by the previous winners so Scott teams with him to set him free.

He is now left, the winner of a game that he never wanted to play, a broken man. What happened to Ren? What happened to Evo? WHAT DO YOU MEAN I'M A LISTENER?!

It's Grian's fault that he has to deal with the voices in his head? Scott a man who cared for him so much he betrayed in an instant because of the voices he couldn't control? He'd Crawley thrown pearls to the side when it was clear she needed him most?

He has to now look Jimmy in the eyes, knowing what they are and who they used to be and continually failing to protect him, only spurred on by the fact that Scott never gave up on Jimmy too so why should he?

Scar, being the initial Collateral Damage to Grian's doings, once he wins he'll have to grapple with the fact and face his new reality. Like an ordinary man being hit with 10 to 15 trains.

He sacrificed himself in the first game for what he thought was his forever partner, his soul mate, only to be cheated on 2 games later? He was isolated and seen as a liability. You'd have to look pearl in the eyes and recognize their past actions of both torturing themselves and another.

The only man who had faith in him was Scott, allowing him to win that game but at what cost? Did he really have to know?

He's tired of not understanding... And the watchers will use his envy, hatred and raw confusion to there advantage, Grian's foil.

Cleo, seen as the underdog yet brash ally, she clawed her way to victory easily, within a day even.

She's immune to the Watchers effects, as you can see how the other winners were left poisoned.

Her friend Grian, the reason why she's here.

Scott, someone who tried to save her, by giving her knowledge.

Pearl, an evil to ally. An unwary friend.

Martyn, her soul mate and by technicality ex, driven into madness.

Scar, He's Scared he's anxious and he knows just as much as she does. He feels useless because others have treated him as such. Her own son, plagued with self-deprecating thoughts.

And the watchers taunt, as she has to put the piece back together of what they've broken. So that they can overcome and win.

55 notes · View notes

stardustdreams-andcaffeine · 2 years ago

Text

Reluctant Protector | Din Djarin

Part 2 of 2

Din Djarin x Fem!reader

Summary: After being abandoned as a child, you grew up working for one of the most prolific crime lords in the galaxy in order to survive. It all comes crashing down as a split second decision has the Mandalorian hunting you. As it turns out, your hunter might be the only one who can save you. After all, the lines between predator and prey have always been blurred.

Warnings: angst (what's new), mild language, panic attack, violence, fluff, mentions of human trafficking (brief), Mando being a fool in love, adult themes throughout, happy ending (again, what's new)

A/N: This is part two to the request I mentioned! Once again, got carried away and I kinda love it, hope you love it too!

Part 1

You managed to wrestle off the growing panic attack for close to an hour after Din left.

You sat close to the child, reminding yourself that Din at the very least would not leave the youngling he protected so dearly. When your mind began to doubt even that certainty, you could not stop the flashbacks when they began. The scenes of that night you remembered so well began to torment you.

Flashes of your father’s last words, of his lies that your innocent being so willingly believed. Flashes of your mother’s absent gaze. Flashes of Vince swooping in to claim you.

Vince. Din had said it himself, the bounty was at an unbelievably high credit amount by now, and only a fool would keep helping a bounty that could fetch such a high price. This thought crumbled whatever little strongholds remained on your self control and you shot to your feet, garnering a confused babble from the kid.

“Stay here,” You breathlessly instructed, touching the blaster at your waist as you stumbled for the hatch.

You would not be left, not this time. Not again. Not when Din meant so much to you.

You made sure to close the hatch behind you to protect the youngling within and set off for the city beyond where Din had no doubt ventured to begin his hunt. Your vision was blurred with uncried tears, and your chest was ever so slowly constricting upon your heart and lungs. Your stomach twisted with nausea and breathing became a conscious chore as you grappled for sanity, for reality. You would find him, you decided. You would find him and help him on the hunt.

It was stupid and irrational to anyone else, but you were haunted by ghastly memories and scarred by trauma and it wasn’t stupid to you. All you could manage to think was that it would not happen again. You would not be left again.

Din Djarin

Din trailed his target from afar, his trained eyes tracking the bounty’s every move and interaction.

After close to an hour and a half, he’d finally managed to banish you from the center of his thoughts and instead focus on the task at hand. But even then, as he waited for the bounty to enter a vulnerable, isolated area where he could confront them, Din could not stop his mind from traipsing to the Vince situation.

You had been dragging your feet for weeks to come up with a solid plan to confront your old boss, and Din knew that it was because of the way you felt indebted to Vince for raising and protecting you all of those years. You had never mentioned how you’d come into his service, but Din knew well enough that Vince was the father figure in your life. As much as he wanted to let you have time to keep working through that struggle, Din knew that time was running out. The hunt for you was only intensifying, and soon enough the two of you wouldn’t be able to keep up this quiet lifestyle. You’d be on the run, and Din wanted nothing more than for you to be at peace.

He was so distracted by that thought that he hadn’t even noticed the growing commotion on the street below his perch until the scream of civilians and the crashing of metal and glass caught his attention. Din snapped his gaze down to the street only for his heart to drop straight to the floor.

Because there you were, sprinting as hard as you could away from a hunter with a tracking fob in their grasp.

Din instantly snapped into action, a nasty curse slipping past his lips as he dropped down from the roof he was crouching on and broke into a run. He cursed you in his head, furious that you’d left the safety of the Crest even when he’d told you not to.

“Move.” Din growled, shoving past patrons and bystanders as he sprinted after the trailing commotion of you and the bounty hunter.

Thinking quickly, Din took a shortcut through an alleyway. After scaling the wall at the end of it and dropping at the other side, he managed to emerge just ahead of your frantic escape. Adrenaline tangling with dread in his blood, he managed to grab ahold of your running form just as you sprinted past the alley’s opening. Whipping you inside, he had you pinned against the back wall with a hand at your mouth to silence you before you could even scream.

The panic in your eyes at the sudden movement lessened as your eyes focused on him, your body pinned snugly between the wall and his beskar-plated chest. This was the closest he had ever been to you, what with no space at all remaining between the two of you. If it were a different circumstance, Din’s mind would be clouded with thoughts of your body so close to his.

But there was a hunter after you, and for that reason alone Din forced himself to ignore the press of you against him.

Din could hear your voice muffled against his hand, but didn’t pay attention as he pressed closer to hide you and glanced out of the alley just as the bounty hunter jogged past. The hunter looked utterly confused, wondering where their bounty had just disappeared to.

Before the hunter could think again, Din had released you and rushed them. He grabbed the hunter and dragged them into the alley harsher than he had you, and just as he did, you whipped out your blaster and landed a fatal blow to the hunter’s chest. Din released the hunter, letting their body slump to the ground between the two of you. As a deafening silence settled over the absence of chaos, Din looked up from the hunter and to your trembling form.

He was furious.

You had almost gotten yourself captured, and he never would have known until he would have returned to the Crest after the hunt and seen you gone. The very thought had his throat closing in terror, and it was that terror that Din was able to blanket and express as rage to hide the blatant outpouring of how he really felt about you.

“Vaabir gar ganar a jaro?” Din raged, not even realizing the words were Mando’a until he saw the flash of confusion on your utterly perfect face that was contorted with an emotion Din was too angry to notice. He repeated, “Do you have a death wish?”

“Din, I-” You tried, your voice trembling almost as badly as your body.

“You could have gotten killed, or worse!” He shouted. Your chest was rising and falling rapidly now, and in his horror-driven anger, he still hadn’t noticed. You had never heard him speak this loudly before.

“I-I’m sorry.” Your voice was frail and unsure, so unlike how you usually were, “You left me, and I didn’t…I didn’t know what to do.”

Din stormed forward, grabbing your arm firmly, but nowhere near painfully, “I said I was coming back! Why would you-”

Din’s words died on his tongue. Now that he was touching you, he finally noticed the tremors surging through your body. Like the plug of a drain had been pulled, his rage flooded away and he could no longer conceal the concern he harbored for you. Din examined your face for a moment and took in the faraway, haunted look in those stunning eyes of yours. He saw the way you weren’t fully present in this moment and he realized suddenly that you weren’t just scared, you were in the midst of some sort of panic attack.

“Cyar’ika, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” Din’s voice was tender compared to the fury that had bridled it before. “You left me,” You repeated, ever so softly and brokenly, “You left me and I didn’t know if you were going to…going to…”

You couldn’t even get the words out, you were so badly shaken, and it broke something so deeply within Din. Suddenly, he couldn’t care less that you had almost been captured. All Din could think about right now was how to help you, how to bring you back to him.

In the darkness of the alley, Din brought his hands to your face. His thumbs ran along your tear-streaked cheeks and Din knew that the sight of your tears was one of the most rattling he’d ever encountered. He wished he could mark down every one of them and note where and who they came from so he could hunt them down and make them pay.

“What’s wrong, cyare? I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me, sweetheart.”

Your hands grabbed onto Din’s arms as he cupped your cheeks in his hands. To Din, it almost seemed as though you were holding onto him as if your life depended on it.

“You can’t leave me too,” You finally managed to gasp out, your large, panicked eyes rising to meet his through his mask, “You can’t leave me too.”

The very thought of leaving you made his stomach turn and Din instantly let go of you just so he could tug you close to his body. He’d never wanted to take off his armor as badly as right now. He wanted to pull you closer, closer than the beskar allowed. The way you instantly crumbled into him made his heart shatter, and it killed him not to understand why someone so fortified and seemingly unshakable was so utterly terrified.

“I’m not gonna leave you, cyar’ika,” Din mumbled, rooting one of his hands through your hair to hold you closer to his chest, “I’m not gonna ever leave you.”

In that moment, Din forgot everything else besides what it felt like to have you in his arms. He wished that it could last forever, but he knew that this was only a temporary fix to whatever was happening to you. Besides, the longer you were out here, the more likely it was that another hunter followed a tracking fob here and found you.

“Come on, let’s get back to the Crest,” Din softly urged, pulling back but not daring to let go of you. Instead, he kept his arm wrapped protectively around your waist as he led you back to the Crest.

He needed answers. He needed to know what had caused you to be in such distress.

|||

Your POV

It had been nearly three hours since the incident in the town today.

In the time that followed, Din had gotten you back to the Crest and launched you immediately off of the planet and into a far corner of the galaxy from Serreno.

Once he was sure you were far from the planet you’d just been tracked down to, he left the cockpit and settled you onto the cot in your room with a blanket around your shoulders. He left only for a handful of minutes before he was back with a steaming mug of soothing tea. Then, he simply sat down beside you in silence, allowing you to soak in his presence and strength until you felt ready to speak.

Now, hours past the episode earlier, you finally had worked up the courage to speak to him.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” You mumbled, not being able to meet the Mandalorian’s gaze, “I know I jeopardized all of our safety by leaving and I know I should have listened-”

“Hey, stop that,” Din interrupted, making your rambling instantly stop. You kept your gaze firmly down on your lap and you heard him sigh from beside you, “Look at me, cyar’ika.”

Cyar’ika. You weren’t entirely sure what the word meant in the common tongue, but coming from Din it sent warmth spiraling through you. Din surprised you by gently grabbing your chin and turning your face to meet his.

“I’m not mad at you. I was just…scared.”

The rumble of his voice grounded you, and as he dropped his hand from your chin you almost reached out to stop him.

One vulnerable moment passed by and you sighed deeply, “I was too.”

That was what Din had been waiting for, you could tell by the way his entire body seemed to stiffen. With intrigue that he could not hide well, he tilted his head at you.

“Why?”

The question jolted through you even though you had known it would be coming. You peered deeply into the depths of his mask that had become a safe haven to you, and you made a choice.

“My parents abandoned me when I was seven years old,” You started. And when the Mandalorian bounty hunter, perhaps the most intimidating person you’d ever met, reached over and took your hand in his, you had the strength to keep speaking.

You told him everything. Afterwards, as you lay staring up at your ceiling that night, you realized just exactly what Din Djarin meant to you.

And you were finally ready to let go of Vince Hanon.

|||

“Are you sure this is going to work?”

The Mandalorian’s voice rang with uncertainty just as you finished rigging up the comlink with an untraceable chip, just as Vince taught you as a child.

“Have a little faith in me,” You quipped, glancing up at Din as you leaned back in your chair sat across from him with the rigged comlink between you, “I know Vince Hanon better than anyone. It will work.”

Din sighed, resting back in his chair and propping one arm up on the side of it, “As long as that comlink won’t lead him right to us, I guess nothing bad can come of a conversation.”

“I’ve been rigging coms since I was eleven, Mando. This baby is untraceable,” You assured, savoring his low laugh in response. The two of you sat in Peli’s hanger on Tatooine. You had met her only a week ago, and yet she’d taken quickly to you. Already, you felt the familiar ache in your chest every time you had to leave just as you began to make a friend.

You couldn’t allow yourself to think that way, not right now. So. you sucked in a deep breath and leaned forward, activating the comlink. A series of beeps sounded out as you typed Vince’s connection swiftly into the com and then…silence.

Silence.

And then…

“I have to admit, Prodigy. It took you longer than I originally bet to contact me. I’m impressed.”

As Vince’s voice wafted out of the comlink and stung your ears, you had to bite down on the inside of your cheek to keep from breaking apart all over again. In a moment, you had your composure back and leaned forward, feeling the intense gaze of Din all the while.

“What else did you bet on concerning me, Vince? I’m sure you’ve lost more than a few up to this point.” Your voice was sharp and light, and you hoped Vince did not see through the ruse and notice how frantic you really were within.

His laugh barked through the comlink, setting you slightly at ease. At least he wasn’t yelling. Yet.

“Good to hear you haven’t changed,” Vince mused.

“You’d be surprised,” You bit out. On the other end, Vince hummed in response.

“Tell me, my prodigy. What is it that pushed you to contact me now, after months of running?”

“It’s just that,” You replied, your heart now ricocheting in your chest. This was it. What came next were the lies, and you hoped and prayed that he would buy them, “I’m tired of running. I want to know what it’s going to take for you to end this, to let all of this stop.”

“Aw, now tell me the truth darling,” Vince tsked, and you nearly lost your cool as you waited in dread-filled anticipation for what he would say next, “This wouldn’t have anything to do with that Mandalorian that you’ve had as your guard dog, now would it?”

You made sure to wait a beat to respond, “He left me on Serenno. Now I’m on my own, and I think we both know how long I’ll last like that.”

There was another pause, and your mind was racing with the possibilities of what would happen should he not believe you.

Vince sounded humored when he finally responded, “He left you. I’m sorry child, but I’m starting to see a pattern here. First your parents, and now your bounty hunter.”

“Watch your mouth, Vince.” Your anger was not forced.

“Oh, I struck a chord there.” Then he paused again, and laughed suddenly into the silence, “Oh no, please don’t tell me you grew to care for this bounty hunter.”

Suddenly, Din’s gaze on you was burning hot and your heart missed more than one beat. You had to grapple to keep your composure, for it felt almost exposing to have this topic brought up when you knew you wouldn’t have to lie as much.

“It doesn’t matter anymore. He left, and now I need to know what it’s going to take for you to end this hunt,” You gritted out.

“Come back to me, then I’ll call it off.”

You didn’t even hesitate.

“Not a chance,” You assured, your pulse racing a bit faster, “You’re a businessman, Vince. Let’s make a deal.”

This was it. That was the bait, now you just had to wait and see if he’d take it.

And if you knew anything about Vince Hanon, you knew that he couldn’t deal over a comlink.

“Tempting,” He pondered, seeming to pause to consider the trap laid before him. You were sure he considered that possibility, that the Mandalorian had not left and you were setting him up, which you were. Luckily for you, Vince Hanon had always underestimated you.

“Tell you what,” Vince finally decided, making you sit up a bit straighter and look over at Din briefly in anticipation, “Come back to homebase, alone. We’ll talk and see if we can’t come up with something.”

“And how am I supposed to be sure you’re not going to attack me as soon as I do?” I questioned in return. Vince laughed heartily across the comlink.

“Oh how I’ve missed you, my prodigy,” Vince chuckled, sighing to himself, “We’ll make it a neutral zone. You have my word if I have yours.”

You knew he was lying, but you could lie too.

“Done,” You reply.

“Good,” Vince purred, his voice making your stomach turn, “I’ll see you tomorrow. I have missed you.”

That was the one part that you could not be sure was a lie or not.

“See you then,” Was all you said in response before shutting off the comlink and sitting back with a huff of relief. After a brief pause of silence, you glanced up to see Din already looking at you.

“Told you it would work.”

Din nodded, standing up from his spot across from you, “Now for the hard part.”

The two of you had walked through this plan at least a hundred times in the last week. It was simple. Get access to Vince’s homebase, get him to talk with you, and then, when his guard was down, Din would come in through one of the secret passages only you and Vince knew about and help you end this for good.

You stood as Din made his way over to you and handed you a small pouch heavy with metal, “Here’s enough credits to get a ship. There’s a shipyard a couple hundred paces from where we’re docked. Get one and head straight for the homebase. I’ll trail you there tomorrow morning.” You accepted the credits gratefully and nodded, “Remember, be careful. Vince will have all of his outposts looking for you. He doesn’t trust me anymore, he’ll be expecting you.”

Din nodded stiffly, “I’ll make sure the kid is safe with Peli before I leave.”

You nodded in return, and the two of you stood there in tense silence for a moment. You both knew what was coming next, and you both knew the risks.

“It’s gonna work. I know it will,” Din assured. You took in a deep breath, your brows drawn in worry as you met his gaze through the dark of his mask.

“It has to.” You suddenly were slammed with a piercing ache in your chest as you realized this was a goodbye. Even if it was just for now, it scared the hell out of you.

You didn’t want to leave him.

Without uttering another word, Din stepped forward and tugged you close to him. He seldom hugged anyone, and had only done so once with you when you had completely broken down before him on Serenno. Now here he was, holding you just as close as you were holding him.

“Thank you,” You breathed, not moving back an inch, “For everything. I could never repay you for all of this.”

“You’re not gonna pay me for helping you. I’m not in this for a profit.” He rumbled, and his voice once again reminded you of what home really was, “If I was, I would’ve turned you in months ago.”

A surprised laugh broke through you and you stepped back, reluctantly pulling yourself out of his arms, “Another joke, this is becoming a new habit.”

“Only for you, cyar’ika.” His voice was like honey to your soul and you were reminded of how addicted you were.

How in the hell did this happen? When you first met him, he was a hunter and you were his bounty. He then became your reluctant protector, which you could understand enough, but now….Somehow Din Djarin went from a reluctant protector to the one person who made you believe in fate.

“Be safe, Din.” You instructed as you slowly walked back.

“You too.”

And then you left, turning around and heading for the shipyard he pointed out. As you did, your heart stayed right there with the beskar-coated Mandalorian.

His hands were safe, they would protect your heart. Even if he wasn’t aware he had it yet.

|||

Walking back along Vince’s turf, you realized just how many scars you bore from this place.

Some were physical, but most were internal. Either way, those scars reminded you of the caution you needed to proceed with and exactly what was at stake. Those scars helped you walk with assurance into the mansion that you had fled from what felt like a lifetime ago.

“There you are! The lost child finally comes home.” Vince’s voice echoed through the halls of his mansion, making adrenaline spike instantly through your veins. The crime boss walked to meet you in the foyer of the mansion, his lips alight with a smirk but his eyes uneasy.

“She came alone, sir,” One of the five guards with you reported, before holding up a single blaster gifted to you by Din, “She was armed only with this.”

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you, prodigy?” Vince mused, taking the blaster and examining it for a moment before tossing it aside. The metal guns slid across the polished floor.

“Five guards, is that really necessary Vince?” You inquired, gesturing to the five hulking members of Vince’s crime organization around you. All of them were familiar to you. In fact, you were close friends with most of them before your fallout with Vince. To be on the other side of this was about as unpleasant as you assumed it would be

“As I said, you are full of surprises. I had to be sure you would hold up the neutral zone,” Your old boss replied, examining you closely for a moment before turning and leading you off into the mansion you knew like the back of your hand, “Come. Let’s find a place to talk.”

Vince led you off into the bulking facility, finally guiding you into the massive conference room where he holds most of his meetings. The room sat near the highest floor of the mansion and jutted out the side, leaving nothing between you and the floor hundreds of feet below except for a solid, metal floor.

To fully convey the type of business meetings Vince held here, there was a large, circular hole in the middle of the floor near where Vince finally stopped walking. Air roared in through the hole, and you didn’t have to question what it was for. You’d seen Vince use it before when clients were being…less than compliant. The drop was fatal, and there was no one who had ever survived it.

“Now, you wanted to talk so badly. So talk, child.” Vince announced, turning to you with an almost taunting gaze.

You wasted no time getting to the point, “What is it going to take for you to stop this hunt?”

“Woah now,” Vince chuckled, clasping his hands before himself, “Let’s ease into this. First, I have a question I have just been dying to ask you.”

He took your silence that followed as a sign to continue on, “Just how did you manage to get the Mandalorian bounty hunter to be your loyal guardian?”

“I don’t know why he did it,” You responded truthfully. You left it at that, not wanting to do the ‘small talk’ thing with Vince.

“I mean, it really is quite interesting. A bounty hunter as respectable as the Mandalorian tracks you down, but instead of cashing in my generous bounty, he helps you evade me. Then again, you always did know how to sweet talk, didn’t you?”

His words bit into you and you absorbed them with as much composure as you could. Surprisingly, you found that they did not hurt you as much as they would have months ago. Vince’s words are beginning to mean less to you with every passing day.

“Get to the point, Vince.” You drawled out. He is unfazed by your words and continues on his tangent as he often does.

“What really boggles me, though, is that he just left. He didn’t cash in your bounty, he just…left. Why is that?” Vince presses, looking like a cat that has caught a mouse in a trap. You refused to be trapped, though, and didn't cower away.

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

Vince hummed to himself, his eyes seeming to pierce straight through you, “So you do care for him, then.”

That took you by surprise, but you absorbed it as best as you could.

“Until he left me,” You admitted, deciding to allow Vince a hint of truth caught in the lies you were spinning, “But I guess you and I both have a habit of caring for people we probably shouldn’t.”

Finally, you were able to catch him by surprise with your biting retort. Even the guards around you seemed to take in a collective, sharp gasp. Vince’s gaze faltered, and you could see the fury he kept well-hidden behind his smirks and calm facade.

“You wanted to do business, so let’s do business,” He averted, and you took the small victory his avoidance indicated.

“I’ll call the hunt off with one condition. Come back to work for me, and all will be forgiven.” This time, you actually laughed.

“You’re kidding, right?” You retorted, looking at Vince as though he was insane, “I came here to compromise. You want me to work for you again, but I never will. Now, we have to find a common ground. We have to make a deal.”

“I’ve taught you well,” The crime boss admitted. All the while, your mind was split. You knew that Din was somewhere close by right about now, and you would only need to stall for a little while longer before he showed up.

“What do you propose?” You pushed, needed to continue the conversation to give Din more time to get into the mansion. Vince paused for a long while, and the guards around began to get antsy in the silence. They shifted from foot to foot before finally Vince broke the silence.

“Here is your deal,” He finally spoke, his eyes lit up with excitement as he surveyed you, “I will give you a test. If you pass, I’ll call off the bounty. I’ll even publicly announce a penalty if anyone still pursues to take or harm you.”

You went to respond when he pressed on, “And you will have your freedom from me.”

This was where you faltered. You knew that Din was close and that soon enough everything you were dealing with Vince would not even matter, but his offer still made you pause. Interested, you couldn’t help but take the bait.

“What’s the test?” You asked warily.

“And where’s the fun in that?” Vince hummed, shaking his head at you, “You’ll have to take the deal before I tell you.”

That was a dangerous game. You had no idea what his ‘test’ was, and you knew that whatever it was would not be pleasant. But, you were running out of time to stall Vince and you needed to buy Din more time.

So, you did exactly what he wanted you to do. Din would be here soon anyways, what would the deal really stand for?

“Deal,” You agreed. You watched surprise flicker across Vince’s features. He hadn’t expected you to agree so easily. Looking all too pleased with himself, Vince clapped his hands together.

“Wonderful!” He turned to gesture to two of the five guards surrounding the room, “Please bring in our test.”

The two guards spared you a long glance, and in that glance you noticed a shred of pity. These were people you grew up around, people whose lives you’d saved and who had saved yours. To see them hesitant to do Vince’s bidding made you even more uneasy, but it brought you a shred of hope. If these guards still shared a thread of loyalty to you, maybe they would not kill you if it came to that.

You were so focused on thinking about your own survival that you didn't even realize the guards were dragging someone, not something, into the conference room until a glint of light on metal caught your eye.

Nothing could have prepared you for what you saw when you looked up, because there he was. Your Mandelorian. He was in cuffs, stripped of his weapons, positioned right near the open hole in the floor, and…

A gasp left your lips and before you could register what was happening your eyes were locking with his. Not his mask, with his eyes. They took his helmet off, and now you were looking at Din Djarin’s face.

You allowed yourself one selfish second of taking in the sheer rugged beauty of his features that nearly knocked you off of your feet before you forced your eyes to train on Vince. If you closed your eyes like you wanted to, it would give away too easily just how deeply you cared for Mando. You didn’t want to shatter his anonymity, but you knew there was no escaping it. That didn’t stop the guilt that shriveled in your gut, or the memory of those piercing brown eyes that was being burned into your brain.

“What the hell is he doing here?” You asked, masking your sudden, rising panic with feigned anger. Vince looked all too smug as he waltzed over to Din and placed a hand on his beskar-armored shoulder. His face was drawing you in like a magnet, but you forced yourself not to look. Din didn’t choose to do this, to break his code and his way of life, you couldn’t violate him like that.

No matter how badly you wanted to see his breathtaking face again.

“I caught him on the outskirts of my mansion,” Vince replied, making you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from flinching or showing your terror, “Which is interesting since you just said that he had left you.”

“He did,” You asserted, not fully being able to hide the tremble in your voice, “On Serreno. I don’t know why he’s here.”

Vince laughed at that, “Oh I have a few ideas. Your freedom depends on which one of them is true.”

“What’s the test?” You gritted out, your heart beginning to keep an irregular beat.

“The test is simple,” Vince announced, walking away from Din who was surrounded by two of the three guards and approaching you, “Prove to me that you do not care for the Mandalorian.”

“What?” you breathed out, growing more and more erratic with each passing moment. Vince just kept on smiling

“Prove to me that he means nothing to you. Prove that he’s not here because he never left you at all and this is all a trap for me. Prove that you do not care for him.” His words were dripping with arrogance, but you knew Vince Hanon well enough to see the truth. His words rang with jealousy.

Vince could not stand the very thought that you could care for someone who was not him. He wanted to be the only person you truly cared about, he wanted you to love him like a little girl would her father, he wanted you to love him like he loved you.

But a father would never do this, and this wasn’t love.

You had always wanted to love Vidar like you saw other children love their parents. You wanted him to be the father you had lost so badly that you were willing to convince yourself that he really cared and that you did too. You both had been lying to yourselves, but it was too late now.

Now, you had to play along and find a way to save the one person you truly cared for.

“How?” You asked, trying to look as calm as you could. Vince seemed surprised by your sudden shift in character and seemed to lower his guard for a moment. He grabbed the blaster the guards had confiscated from you and shoved it into your hands.

“Take this, and shoot your Mandalorian in the head.”

Your world seemed to stop as you simply stared down at the gun in your hands. No longer being able to avoid it, you gave in to your desires and looked up to lock eyes with Din. He was already staring right at you, so as soon as your eyes met, something broke within your gaze so that only Din could see it.

He was so so handsome, and you realized that they had taken off his helmet not just to allow you to shoot him, but to try and shake you as well. Before you could even turn the blaster on Vince, your boss interrupted, “And don’t even think about shooting me instead. If you do, Mando here will be dead before I can even hit the ground.”

On cue, the two guards who you were raised with lifted their blasters to point at Din from either side. True helplessness welled up in your gut. There was no way out of this. There was no way you could save him without giving yourself up.

As you raised your blaster to point at Din’s head, you knew you couldn’t do it. Din saw the brief flash of defeat flicker through your gaze, and his features went from nervous to utterly frantic. He didn’t dare say a word, but he shook his head the slightest bit. His intentions were clear.

Do it, Din was practically screaming at you, Kill me. Don’t go back to Vince.

The blaster shook in your hands, and you once again saw the pity on the guards' faces as tears blurred your vision. With every moment that passed, your facade crumbled. It was plain to anyone in the room that you were moments from agreeing to go back to Vince, and Din was growing more and more restless.

“Come on,” Din breathed, so low you could barely hear it.

Your heart was shattering within your chest and a single tear managed to slip down. That was your tipping point, and you no longer tried to hide the quivering of the blaster in your hands. Din’s gaze was growing desperate the more distraught you became, for he knew exactly what you were going to do to save his life.

In an act of pure defeat, you dropped the blaster with hot tears already slipping past your defenses. Din struggled slightly against the vice grips the two guards had on him, and it only deepened the crack opening in your chest. When your eyes clashed with his, you knew this was it.

You looked over to Vince, not able to look at the despair in Din’s gaze. Just as you were about to say you were going to go back to Vince, you noticed the twitch of pure rage across your old boss’s features. There was a flicker of jealousy that quickly followed, and then, quicker than you could stop it, Vince took a step closer to Din.

“Always have to do it myself,” Vince spat, turning to the Mandalorian and kicking him squarely in the chest.

You gasped in horror as Din’s eyes went wide and he stumbled backwards towards the opening in the floor leading to a couple hundred foot drop.

“NO!” You cried out, shoving away from the guards around you and tossing the blaster aside. The only thing you could see was the Mandalorian falling without his jetpack that they no doubt stripped from him.

You sprinted as hard as you could, and before anyone could stop you, you dove and slid across the hard floor. You slowed to stop at the edge of the hole and threw your arm down, managing to latch onto the cuffs bracing Din’s arms just as he fell through.

The weight of Din snapped you forward towards the hole, and you had just enough time to brace a foot against the lip of the hole as you held fast to your Mandalorian. Your soul-sighing relief at catching him did not last long when his weight held by one of your hands on his cuffs dislocated your shoulder with a sickening crunch.

Your scream of agony echoed through the meeting room, and you managed to pry open your eyes to peer down at Din through the roaring of wind. Your eyes met his as he dangled hundreds of feet above the ground, the only thing keeping him alive being your already-weakening hand secured to his restraints.

“Din,” You breathed, your tears falling down into the wind.

The horrifying sound of cracking metal made you snap your attention to his restraints. Under his weight, they were beginning to bend and fail.

“You gotta let me go,” Din choked out, and more tears fell on cue. You shook your head almost violently, your vision dotting with white amidst the blinding pain.

“Help him!” You begged, your voice raw and cracking, “Help him, please!”

One of the guards moved to help you, but Vince stopped them with one raised hand, “I will. If you agree to rejoin my organization.”

“No!” Din’s sudden shout, something extremely rare for the Mandalorian, took you by utter surprise, “Don’t. Please.”

More cracking sounded from his restraints, and in a matter of seconds, the metal binding his hands together had begun to snap apart. You had enough time to latch onto one of his wrists just as the restraint integrity failed and snapped apart, but the weight of holding him by one hand only now nearly tore you apart in anguish.

You couldn’t lift him on your own, not with your shoulder in this state. You couldn’t save him, not without damning yourself.

“I’m sorry,” You sobbed, looking down at the man who had saved your life.

“Cyar’ika please, don’t do this. Just let me go,” Din pleaded.

You could tell that he was trying to pry his hand free from yours to make the choice for you, but you held fast to his wrist.

“I can’t.” Your breath was almost lost to the wind, but it was loud enough for Vince and his men when you spoke next.

“I’ll do it, I’ll come back to you! Just help him.” And with that, your fate was sealed.

The guards sprung into action, darting forward and grabbing onto the Mandalorian and tugging him out of the hole. Relief danced with misery in your chest as you helped drag him fully out. As soon as his body was out, Din slid away from the drop off and tugged your body instantly into his.

You melted into him, dropping your head into the crook of his neck and savoring the feel of his stubble. One of his arms was wrapped around your back diagonally, holding you impossibly close. With the other, he gently prodded your injured shoulder. You hissed instantly in pain, wincing as his fingers danced across it.

“I know, darling. I know,” Din murmured, then held you closer as he quickly and expertly relocated your shoulder. Your cry of pain was short and immediately chased with a relief of pressure that made you drop further into him. One of his hands found your jaw and angled your face so your forehead was pressed against his.

Skin on skin, breaths mingling—it would be heaven if you didn’t know the hell of saying goodbye was on the horizon.

“I’m sorry,” You sobbed, not caring what the two of you looked like to everyone else in the room with you practically in his lap, “I’m so sorry.”

“None of that,” Din urged, his nose brushing yours, “I’m the one who’s sorry.”

There was such defeat in his tone that it tore you apart. There was so much you hadn’t told him, so much he didn’t know about how you felt about him. You did not have to look around to know that the five guards who were once your family were watching the ordeal with a somber facade.

“Din-”

“I know,” He whispered, his lips brushing yours and sending electricity crackling through your body.

You knew Vince was watching your every movement and you knew that if he was jealous before, he’d kill you for this, but you did not care. All you cared about was that the Mandalorian was holding you close and his lips were so close to yours that they almost touched.

So you leaned forward and pressed a feather light kiss to his lips.

You wanted more, and you could tell from the way Din almost chased your lips after you pulled away that he did too. You couldn’t, though. Not if you didn’t want Vince to kill him. But that one small, fleeting kiss was enough to ignite you, to strengthen you, to forever rip you apart. A confirmation of what was swirling in your chest and a reminder of what now could never be.

It was Vince Hanon’s voice that broke the silence, but not in the way you expected him to.

“You love him.” Not a question, a statement.

The words jolted through you, but you accepted them with a bittersweet ache of your chest. You locked your gaze with the dark brown eyes of the Mandalorian and nodded, “I do.”

Those two words seemed to shatter whatever was left in the depths of those brown eyes. There was a solemn silence that followed your response, and when Vince spoke next, it was so quiet you almost didn’t hear it.

“Take him and go.”

Not daring to hope in the words just uttered, you swiveled around to lock your gaze with the equally broken one of your old boss. Vince Hanon looked down at you and for once, you could see a flicker of the love of a father in his torn eyes.

“What?” You breathed. Vince swallowed hard and held his jaw tightly.

“Take him and go,” He repeated, his eyes softening upon the closest thing to a family that Vince had ever known, “You’re free.”

Not waiting to see if he would change his mind, Mando and you managed to climb to your feet. Instantly, you looked to the nearest guard who looked at you with…happiness.

“His helmet and jetpack,” You inquire, to which the guard nods and jogs away to go and grab Din’s belongings. The Mandalorian’s hand dropped to grab onto yours and you looked over at him with a bright, uncontrolled smile. You didn’t know if you were going to be able to see his face at the end of this, so you tried to capture every detail.

“Didn’t I tell you that it was all going to work-”

Your words were cut off sharply by the sound of a blaster followed by the explosion of searing heat through your upper torso.

Bits of blood and seared flesh splattered across the beskar armor of the Mandalorian as, in the split second of happiness you both had allowed, Vince had changed his mind, and the love in his eyes had melted away as he lowered his smoking blaster. Your sharp groan of pain splintered through the shocked air, and your wide eyes met the petrified, fury-lined gaze of the Mandalorian.

“Y/N,” Din breathed, his arm circling your waist as you collapsed into him, “Y/N stay with me. Stay with me!”

His frantic voice was dulled in your ears as you slipped down to the floor. He followed you, cradling your body into his lap as your organs slowly began to shut down in the shock of the injury. Your breath came in gasps and you couldn’t seem to fill your lungs no matter how hard you tried. You managed to look over to Vince, who stared down at you in furious, jealous determination.

In his eyes you saw the answer to why he’d taken back his word—If I can’t have you, then neither can he.

“Kill the Mandalorian and dispose of the bodies,” Vince ordered flippantly, an ice cold wall slamming down within his mind.

You clutched Din’s hand tightly, your half-lidded gaze slipping up to his. Not even thinking twice, Din held you close and shielded your body with his. It wouldn’t do much—you were already dying. You were going to die with him in his arms, and you could think of no better way to go. Just as you braced for the blaster shots, you heard the click of metal followed by an astonished gasp. Slowly, Din moved away from you and you heard him release a low, shaking breath. In your half-delirious state, you managed to look over to the source of the commotion.

There was Vince Hanon, standing in shocked outrage as the five guards he’d just ordered to finish you and Din off now stood with their weapons pointed at Vince.

“Sorry boss,” One bit out, his chin lifted high as he defended you, “This one’s personal.”

At the rollercoaster of grief to panic to relief and back, your body slumped further into Din now that you knew the two of you were safe.

Well, at least he was.

“Get the med kit!” Din shouted to one of the guards, who readily sped off to the corner of the meeting room and grabbed the bacta kit that was kept there for emergencies. Din looked back to you, running his hand along your hair, “You’re gonna be okay, cyare. You’re gonna make it.”

“Can we go home now?” You breathed, your eyelids growing heavier by the moment. Din nodded, running a finger along your cheek.

“We’re gonna go home,” He vowed.

It was his vow that allowed you to blissfully drift into the comfort the darkness brought you.

|||

Arriving into consciousness was a series of steps.

You remembered flashes of light and sound and beskar steel all wrapped in darkness and sleep. There were groggy memories of strong hands and whispered vows as you slowly ascended back into the waking world.

When you finally awoke, you barely felt the pain you’d fallen asleep with.

As you slowly sat up, one hand braced against your barely tender and mostly healed torso, you took in the familiar surroundings of the Crest. With furrowed brows, you glanced around the small cramped room that had been yours during your months with the Mandalorian.

Din.

The thought shot you out of your half-awake stupor, your mind sharpening at the chaotic memories that infiltrated it. You and Din had survived. You had escaped Vince and you survived.

Even though a part of you wanted to crawl back into bed and delay whatever conversation was coming, you forced yourself to stand on wavering feet. Instantly, you could feel the ache of the shoulder you had dislocated and a slight burn of pain where you had been shot.

With more strength than you previously thought you’d have, you stumbled out of your room and into the hull of the ship. The space was empty, but you heard the wafting of a voice from the cockpit above. So, gathering what little strength you had, you managed to make it up the ladder and up into the cockpit. As you swayed to your feet on the solid floor, you couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Din sitting in the pilot’s chair with the youngling beside him.

“I don’t know, kid,” You heard him sigh, turning from the child to look out the front of the ship and into the space beyond, “She’s been out for three days. She should be awake soon.”

His voice was unsure, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sight of your beskar-plated protector. The child noticed you before Din could, and his large dark eyes connected on you. The youngling let out an excited squeal and jumped down from his chair, scurrying over to you.

“Hey kid what are you-”

Din’s voice cut off sharply when he heard your laugh and turned to see you hoisting the small, green child into your arms, “I missed you too, buddy.”

You smiled sweetly down at the youngling who nuzzled into you, melting your heart as you held him close. Even though your gaze was down on the kid, you could feel Din’s burning stare on you. Looking up, you smiled at the sight of that familiar helmet.

“Morning,” You greeted. When Din slowly stood and said nothing, you gently set down the kid. You saw him take a shuddering breath, almost unnoticeable if he wasn’t the sole focus of your attention.

“You shouldn’t have come up the ladder, could’ve gotten hurt.” Was all he said. You laughed softly.

“I think a fall from a small ladder would be the least of my injuries right now,” You pointed out. There was a dragging silence that followed, and your smile faded. There was no avoiding the conversation to come, “Din, I’m so sorry. So many things went wrong back there and I-”

Din just shook his head and moved so swiftly that it made your words stutter in shock. Before you could finish your apology, Din was pulling you into him. His grip was firm, but gentle around your injured shoulder. Now that he was touching you, you could feel the tremble of his hands.

“I almost lost you,” He mumbled. Sudden, hot tears sprung to life in your eyes.

“I almost lost you,” You reminded, holding him a bit tighter, “How am I alive?”

“Right after the shot, Vince’s guards helped stabilize you with bacta before we could get you to a chamber.”

You nodded, your throat nearly closing up at the thought of Vince’s guards turning on him. Now that your mind was upon the subject, you mumbled against Din’s chest, “And Vince?”

“His guards turned him over to the New Republic on attempted murder charges. They’re bringing the whole organization down.” Din answered, one of his hands stroking your hair.

You thought that hearing those words would burden you with guilt or haunt you with sour memories. But, for the first time since Vince took you in at seven years old, something within you could rest. It was over. The pain, the loneliness, the obligation to serve a man who you felt indebted to—all of it was over.

Before you could reply, Din swiftly pulled back and slid his hands to cup your cheeks. Your heart missed two separate beats before it settled back into rhythm.

“Next time your life and mine are on the line, let me die.” It was not a suggestion, it was an order.

“I can’t do that,” You all but whispered. He shook his head vehemently.

“Let. Me. Die. Are we clear?” Din repeated, no room for negotiation in his tone. You held his gaze through the beskar helmet for a long pause before a sad look passed through your gaze. You were transparent, and you knew there was no longer anything you could hide from him.

“Let’s hope we’re never put in that position again,” Was all you could respond with that would be true. Din just shook his head at you, releasing your face and mumbling something beneath his breath about ‘stubborn’ and ‘head-strong’.

“If you were in my position, would you not have done the same thing?” You couldn’t stop the question, and even though you hid your curiosity with a scoff, the question burned in your mind.

Would he? You were almost positive that he would have, but you needed him to say it. You needed to know that you weren’t being delusional in the heat of a chaotic moment.

You needed to know if what you felt was shared by him.

The question seemed to catch the Mandalorian’s attention and he sighed, reaching up a hand to trace it along your cheekbone, “In a heartbeat. Cyar’ika, there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

For a moment, you swore your heart stopped beating. The two of you were dancing around what was at the forefront of both of your minds, but you couldn’t last out much longer. As you stared into the shining beskar of his helmet, you remembered the features of his face. His rugged jaw and kind, brown eyes. You remembered it all.

“How the hell did we get here?” You breathed, smiling up at Din softly. He let out a slightly trembling breath.

“I don’t know,” Din replied, swiping his thumb across your cheek again before settling his hand under your jaw, “But I think I was made to love you.”

If your heart stuttered before, it gave out completely now. For a moment, the only thing left in the galaxy was you and him and the youngling staring up at the two of you with large, curious eyes. You were where you belonged. Smiling, you stood on your tiptoes and pressed a kiss to the cool metal of his helmet.

“I love you too,” You whispered, walking past him and settling into the seat beside him. As you did, the youngling walked up and jumped into your lap, making you giggle softly, “Where to, Mando?”

Din, almost seeming dazed, stumbled slightly to his chair and sat heavily. You chuckled at him as he fumbled with the controls for a moment before he cleared his throat and seemed to gain his composure.

“I need to find more of my kind to help with the kid,” Din replied, looking over to the small green child sitting in your lap.

“Well then,” You sighed contently, strapping yourself into the chair and making sure to secure the child, “Let’s go find them.”

Din reached out a hand and grazed yours with it, holding it for a moment before turning to the control panel and punching coordinates. As you watched him, you knew you could do this forever.

You still didn’t quite understand what could make two unlikely paths tangle. After all, you never should have met the Mandalorian. And even when you had, he was meant to be your reaper, your reckoning.

Instead, he had become your everything.

And if you had to endure your parents’ abandonment a thousand times over just to meet Din Djarin, you would do it with glee.

Over and over and over again.

#din djarin #din djarin angst #din djarin oneshot #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #angst #fluff #star wars #din x reader #din djaren #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x f!reader #mando x reader #mandalorian x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader

279 notes · View notes

indie-ttrpg-of-the-week · 5 months ago

Text

Songs for the Dusk

Hope you like flower motifs!

Touchstones: On a sunbeam, Dream Askew, She-Ra, Destiny, Pokemon Mystery Dungeon are cited as touchstones on its page

Genre: Post apocalyptic

What is this game?: Songs for the dusk is a game about rebuilding society after the collapse of capitalism

How's the gameplay?: SftD is FITD, roll many dice and take the highest, and is overall a very similar system to the original blades, albeit with some core differences, Crews instead of representing your gang's reasoning for their crimes, represent your methods in how to rebuild community, characters can heal scars, vices are instead Beliefs, what your character thinks their ties to the community is, and so on. Songs for the dusk is one of the few games that I think truly gets the strengths of the original Blades in the Dark, and uses it to its advantage

What's the setting (If any) like?: Songs for the Dusk's setting is a glowing pastel post-apocalypse, things might feel dire, but in reality they're getting better due to good people trying their best to fix the world, some groups try to grapple onto idealizations of the old-world, while some try to rebuild even better than before

What's the tone?: Overwhelmingly hopeful, the world is healing, people are inherently good, and kindness is always rewarded

Session length: 2-3 hours, SFTD has some complexities but its overall pretty dang simple

Number of Players: 3-5 works best

Malleability: SFTD has some info on how to change the setting to whatever you'd like, but in my opinion the base setting is malleable and vague enough to have some fun in

Resources: As a very recent release, SFTD doesn't have many resources, at least as of right now

Songs for the Dusk is a game I could talk about a lot if we're just talking about tone, setting, and writing a very interesting world, but wouldn't have much to say in the gameplay department other than "It's good", it really is just simple done well

#ttrpg #indie ttrpg #ttrpg community #songs for the dusk

33 notes · View notes

jasonswh0rre · 7 months ago

Text

Heal What Has Been Hurt

AK! Jason Todd x OC

Pairings/Characters:

Main Characters: Jason Todd (Arkham Knight), Amira (OC)

Setting:

Arkhamverse (Batman Arkham Games)

Warnings:

Alcohol Use

Emotional Distress

Mental Health Issues (Depictions of trauma and PTSD)

Violence and Past Abuse (Mentions of torture and scars)

Rating:

PG-13

Summary:

In the aftermath of his alliance with villains like Scarecrow and Deathstroke, Jason Todd grapples with the weight of his actions and their consequences on those he loves. At a secluded safe house, he confronts his emotional turmoil and reveals his deepest secrets to Amira. Together, they navigate a path through betrayal, hidden truths, and the harsh realities of Jason's past actions and current crises.

Author's Note:

On Thomas and Martha Wayne's grave I will post the x reader story. But in the meantime, here is an OC storyline that I wrote

"We can fix this together," Batman said. Jason thought those words to himself. Speeding on his motorcycle, he rode to a safe house on the outskirts of Gotham. He kept Amira there, guarded by two of his militia, aware of the danger but still very much dependent on Amira's presence.

"Sir?" One of his militiamen said

"Leave. You're relieved of your post," Jason replied. The two men nodded and left their station. Jason entered the safe house and ensured it looked like a natural home, keeping Amira safe and none the wiser about what was happening.

He walked to the fridge, taking a beer bottle out. Looking at the bottle, he angrily threw it across the room. Hearing the noise, Amira left the bedroom. She watched Jason drink a beer with four empty beer bottles beside him. His hand squeezed on the bottle so tight that his knuckles turned white. He was swaying slightly, and his eyes were red.

"Jason?" Amira called out, her voice barely a whisper. He stared at her, mouth slightly agape, nose red, eyes bloodshot. The tears were like an overflowing dam had burst. Amira treaded carefully towards him. Jason rushed into Amira's arms, arms wrapped tightly around her waist. He cried profusely in her arms. Amira was taken aback, but noticing his struggle, she rubbed on his back, consoling him.

"I'm sorry I brought you into this; I'm sorry for everything," Jason cried; his breathing was erratic as he was crying.

"Jason—" Amira couldn't understand what Jason was saying. Before she could ask for clarification, he pushed her off him, grabbing another beer and downing it. Grabbing his sixth beer, Amira held his hand. She tried to grab the bottle from him, but Jason's grip was iron-shut.

Jason watched her; his eyes were glazed over. He loosened his grip, and Amira put the bottle away.

"I don't know what to do– I don't know how to feel," Jason confessed, sniffing his nose; Amira wiped the tears from his eyes, which only caused Jason to cry more as he leaned into her touch.

"Tell me what you feel now?" Amira asked, putting her head on top of Jason's. Their foreheads touched as she placed her hand over his heart.

"Angry, confused– and sad, I feel... lost," Jason said; he put his hand on Amira's, his breaths easing in a gentle rhythm.

"Okay, tell me what's making you feel this way,"

"I did a lot of bad things. If I tell you you're going to leave," Jason said; Amira got closer to Jason, her body pressed against him as she kissed his lips.

"When I saw you in Venezuela, you asked me to stay with you. It was like I had a whole world I didn't know existed back in my life; whatever it is, I'm gonna stay," Amira said

So he told her everything, his alliance with Scarecrow and Deathstroke, the real reason for the militia, the cloudburst, why Amira and Chloé were kept in this safe house, and his devotion to killing Batman. Even telling her bits and pieces of his torture caused by the Joker. Amira listened, and she listened intently; she did step away slightly from him for a moment, understandably seething from anger. Jason picked up the beer bottle and drank it as Amira paced along the living room; he attempted to follow her and tried holding Amira's hand, standing still when Amira flinched it away.

"You put me and Chloé in danger!"

"I know,"

"You– nearly destroyed the city!"

"I... I know,"

"You—You planned it the whole time. You were planning when we were in Venezuela, and I was pregnant. I thought I was helping when you had me working in the medic; I taught them life-saving techniques!" Amira ranted. By the time she finished, her anger had receded. She was tired of the lies, but she also saw how much pain Jason had gone through himself. He started to remove his armor, baring his body.

She had only seen Jason naked a handful of times, and it still made her stomach turn to look at him; there were scars all over his body, the bruises were all around, raised against his skin like unintelligible braille, and there were stitches on his chest and stomach.

"It looks like a buckshot wound," Amira thought. She approached Jason, who turned his back from her, leaning against the kitchen island, holding his head, and swaying.

"I'll transfer enough funds into your account, take Chloé and get out of here," He said

"Even his back looks worse for wear," his spine was slightly contorted, and his back and shoulders looked tight and tense; walking behind him, she wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her head on his back.

"I told you– I won't leave you. No more lies, though," Amira said. Jason was silent, but he touched Amira's hand, recognizing her loyalty to him even if he didn't feel like he deserved it right now.

"Scarecrow will unmask him; he wants the world to see Bruce Wayne," he said; his voice was indifferent, with no indication of what he may have been thinking.

"You should help him," Amira added; she wrapped her arms around Jason's waist a little tighter, resting her head on his back.

Jason thought about it. Turning around in Amira's arms, he lifted her up in a bridal way and carried her to the bed, tucking her in and kissing her forehead. Jason then turned to the cradle. Chloé was sound asleep. He grazed her cheek with his finger, eliciting a small coo from the infant.

Jason yelled at Bruce that he didn't deserve friends or people who loved him, but he was starting to think he didn't deserve that either. He fixed his red helmet and made a new symbol for himself on his uniform. Jason thought about what Amira had suggested, eyebrows furrowed and conflicted. He put his helmet on and left the safe house.

Making his way to Arkham Asylum.

End Notes:

Thank you for reading Heal What Has Been Hurts. As well as your likes, comments, and shares.

#arkham knight #jason todd #arkham batman #red hood #jasonswh0rre #red hood x oc #arkhamverse #fanfic #jason todd x oc #dc comics #batman arkham knight #batman family #bruce wayne

30 notes · View notes

dystopicjumpsuit · 6 months ago

Note

DJ!

For your ficlets, could I request

'Mumbling unintelligibly into the embrace'

With Scorch from Delta Squad?

He's a soft boi really, and if anything happens to him in the finale, I will be cry 😭😭

Love you! ❤️💜💗♥️💚💓💖💙😍

A/N: Hi @arcsimper5! I’m so relieved to know that the person claiming to be Scorch in TBB was in fact an identity thief, and that the real Scorch is safe and happy and hanging out with Sev, whom he scooped up from Kashyyyk as soon as Scorch flipped the Empire the bird and dipped after Order 66. This ficlet takes place shortly before the brothers reunite. 💛💛💛

Pairing: Scorch x Reader (GN, has a pet vulptex named Lyca because I really want a pet vulptex and I would name her Lyca)

Rating: T (but as always, minors DNI)

Wordcount: 485

Warnings and tags: nightmares; panic symptoms; angst; hurt comfort; cuddles; Scorch blew up canon with a thermal detonator and the galaxy was a better place for it

Summary: Scorch grapples with the aftermath of Kashyyyk.

Suggested Listening:

This fic smells like: Pillowtalk Poet by Pinrose (rumpled sheets, soft musk, quiet whispers)

Masterlist | Sign up for my tag list

Scorch lurched forward, his eyes snapping open before he even realized he was awake. Sweat beaded on his skin as he sat up in bed, and he shoved the blankets away, suddenly overheated and overwhelmed with claustrophobia. He heard a faint tinkling sound followed by a small whimper as your pet vulptex nuzzled him gently, her cold nose bringing him back to his body.

“Hey, Lyca,” he gasped.

He gave her a reassuring pat, then scrubbed his hand over his head, blinking hard as he tried to get his bearings in the darkened bedroom. His thumb traced over the smooth scar where his inhibitor chip had been removed, a grim reminder of a terrifying reality.

The sheets rustled, and he knew he’d awakened you. Kriff.

“Scorch?” you murmured hoarsely, reaching for him. “Are you all right?”

Your hand rested on his shoulder, solid and comforting, and he reached for it with his own, holding onto you tightly, afraid that if he let go you might vanish into nothingness.

“Yeah,” he lied. “Just a bad dream.”

You were quiet for a moment, then you sat up and scooted closer, wrapping your arms around him. “Kashyyyk?”

He nodded, burying his face into the nook between your neck and shoulder as he clung to you. He mumbled against your skin as you stroked your hand up the back of his neck to tangle your fingers in his hair.

��Hm?” you asked as you pressed your lips against his head.

“I miss him so much,” he repeated, squeezing his eyes shut tight to keep the stinging tears from falling.

“I know,” you whispered. “I know you do. We’ll find him, I swear to you. We’ll get him back.”

“I should have gone back,” he choked as his throat constricted with grief. “I should have—”

“Stop,” you said firmly. “What happened was not your fault.”

“But—”

“It wasn’t.” You tightened your arms around him, holding him close. “You can’t keep blaming yourself like this, or it’s going to eat you alive.”

“Then whose fault is it?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you replied. “All that matters is what we do now. You told me you think Sev is still alive, right?”

“I know he is,” he said. “I can feel it.”

“Then he needs you to be on top of your game.” You kissed the side of his head again, then whispered, “I am here for you. I will do whatever you need me to do. But I can’t do it alone. We’ll get through this together, and we will find him, I promise.”

Slowly, he nodded, then pulled away just enough to look into your eyes as they glittered subtly in the semi-darkness. He rested his forehead against yours as he sighed, “I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve better,” you said quietly as your lips brushed against his in the lightest kiss imaginable. “You deserve everything I can give, and more.”

---

Want to request a ficlet? Check out this list of prompts! Requests are open, but my writer's block is still plaguing me, so I might be a little slow in filling them, but I will fill them!

Want more Delta Squad? I have Sev fluff and spice!

Taglist:

@secondaryrealm @sev-on-kamino @523rdrebel @wings-and-beskar @merkitty49

@anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @arcsimper5 @starrylothcat @clio3kantarella

@cloneloverrrrr @goblininawig @ladytano420 @arctrooper69 @sunshinesdaydream

@littlemissmanga @stunkbiggu @starqueensthings @marierg @idontgetanysleep

@moonlightwarriorqueen @dudewhynotthis @sleepycreativewriter @tcwmatchmakingau @littlemissbshine

@multi-fan-dom-madness @heavenseed76 @wizardofrozz @bobaprint @sweetcream-coldfoam

@skellymom @pickleprickle @trixie2023 @mythical-illustrator @dickarchivist

@cw80831 @kimiheartblade @flyiingsly @lightwise @swcowgal

@reader6898 @cdblake1565 @epicy0n @starstofillmydream @msmeredithrose

@totallyunidentified @eclec-tech @euphoriacafe @hipwell @yve-barr

#guess who managed to write today?#take that writer's block #scorch #rc 1262 #delta squad #scorch lives #star wars #republic commando #repcomm #dystopicjumpsuit writes #scorch deserves better #god damn it #yes i did choose a repcomm gif on purpose because the character in tbb is not scorch

25 notes · View notes

ms-kio · 5 months ago

Text

Demon(slayer?)hood

Izuku Midoriya, Eri X Demon Slayer! 2296 Words

“Remember, boy. If you see me, run. I’m only about four hundred years old then. I will not recognize you.” The six-eyed demon commanded his pupil, the only sign of his aging being the silver white hair streaking his ponytail.

Izuku bowed, “Hai Sensei!” He said, the necklace gifted to him bouncing off his chest as he righted himself.

“And hide that necklace.” Kokushibo reminded Izuku. “Having one of my eyes on you is an immediate trial in the Demon Slayer Corps, and potential execution.” The boy nodded, tucking the jewelry under his shirt.

“I’ll only use it as a last resort.” Next to Izuku was a little girl, Eri. Since Overhaul had been imprisoned and not killed, she had no faith in her safety anywhere in this world. She was eager to step through the rip in reality behind her, to leave forever.

Kokushibo stood up, walking around his desk and embracing the two silently. He didn’t ask if they wanted to turn back, or change their minds. All he did was shove them through the portal, turning to face a mask, and a pair of golden eyes.

~ ~ ~

Izuku immediately turned, frantically looking for Eri. Where was she? He drew his Scorpion Stinger, wandering into the forest at the sound of rustling leaves. “You! Bow to the power of the Great Inosuke!” Now, Izuku knew someone named Katsuki Bakugou, and immediately recognized the attitude.

“Fight me!” The greenette shouted back. “Whoever wins has to help the other with one request!”

The boy paused for a minute, as if not believing what he was hearing. “Finally! Someone wants to fight me! Bring it on!” Inosuke howled, charging Izuku. The youngest of the Midoriya Family expertly sheathed his sword, entering a grappling match with his new friend.

Eventually, Midoriya decided to end their match, taking a deep breath in. ‘Broccoli Breathing, Friendship Bat!’ Izuku landed a roundhouse kick on Inosukes skull, causing the boy to collapse, his boar mask falling off and revealing one of the prettiest faces he had ever seen. But not as pretty as Eri’s, of course. Izuku picked Inosuke up, along with his mask, carrying him down the path towards the Final Selection, which Kokushibo told him he needed to attend if he wanted assistance from the demon slayers in any significant way.

Izuku had planned on just living a quiet life with Eri as his pseudo sister, but now with her missing -most likely separating in the portal- he needed all the help he could get.

: : :

About an hour later, Izuku had taken a break from carrying Inosuke, stopping by a river to bathe himself. The water was cold at first, but felt nice against his scars. Scars he had earned in only his first year of hero training.

The boy had given up heroism after the year was over. It had become too much for him, and he wanted to preserve himself for the people who he loved; Every inch of unscarred flesh, and every bone left unshattered in his body. He’d given OFA to Aizawa-sensei to give to students of his choosing, teaching the man how to separate the quirks and transfer them individually with Quirk Pass and how to use them over the summer. However, Aizawa had decided to have Izuku keep Danger Sense and Black Whip, being one of the few who knew of Izuku's plans to enter a world of demons, with a little girl to protect.

They had delivered the news in a last minute fashion to his classmates (aside from Bakugou), only telling them that he would be leaving, and not coming back. Izuku had cried when he told them, but he didn’t regret it. He couldn’t bear to look at the world he lived in any longer, cloaking disdain for it every minute of every day he was allowed to let his thoughts stew.

And what better place to go than Kokushibos own world? A place he might be able to find something familiar without wishing it wasn’t there.

Izuku was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed Inosuke join him in the river until now, quiet and with his back turned as he washed himself. His mask and clothes were on the riverbank with Izuku's belongings, however, they weren't folded like the greenette’s was.

The duo continued to respectfully ignore each other until the hour was up, when they both left the river to dry and get dressed.

“Inosuke-san.” Midoriya spoke up after a minute, drawing the boy's attention. “Are you alright?” Inosuke paused for a minute, before sparkling and answering.

“Yup!” The bluette replied. “I was being quiet because creatures usually don’t like to talk while they are vulnerable, or their scars are present.”

Izuku smiled, then grinned. “Thank you Inosuke. By the way, what is your full name?” He asked.

“Hashibira! Hashibira Inosuke! What is your name, person-I-owe-a-favor-to?” Hashibira asked in turn, still sparkling.

“Midoriya Izuku.” The boys sparkling intensified, causing Izuku to shield his eyes. “Tone it down, will you?” The sparkling went down, and Izuku was able to see again. “My little sister went missing. She has pale blue hair and red eyes. Would you look for her when we part ways?”

“Fine! I will find your sister! You can count on it!”

~ ~ ~

Eri opened her eyes, looking around. Where was she? Where was Izuku?!

Suddenly, the horned girl heard the strike of a biwa, and her surroundings changed. She was on a tatami mat floor, in a room that had walkways and stairs on the ceiling and walls, appealing to have infinite surfaces in every direction. "W-where am I?" She asked quietly, too confused to be scared. "You are in the Infinity fortress, young one." A femenine voice replied. Up on a raised platform, a woman holding a biwa looked down at Eri. "Tell me girl. Are you human? Can you walk in the sunlight?" Eri nodded, hesitantly looking around. The woman struck her biwa again, teleporting next to Eri, causing her to jump a little. "Sit, girl. What is your name?" Eri sat down obediently next to the woman,"My name is Eri Aizawa."

~ ~ ~

Nakime glanced at the girl, noticing the exhaustion on her face. "Come, girl." She said, putting her biwa down. "You look tired, you can lie on my lap." The pale blue haired girl cast her a thankful look, accepting Nakimes offer and almost immediately falling soundly asleep, in what looked like the first time in days.

Not an hour later though, Nakime sensed the Upper Moons. They were granted permission by Muzan to enter whenever they pleased, much to her irritation, so Muzan allowed her to kick them out after 24 hours if they were too bothersome. Kokushibo and Akaza were never a problem, Daki and Gyutaro mostly minded their own business, but the other three could get annoying as hell. It was even worse when Doma and Akaza were in the same area, she always had to clean up their messes. Though, she really couldn't blame the ladder.

Kokushibo was the first to reach Nakime and the sleeping girl, much to her thankfulness, who seemed to catch on to the situation and went to quiet the loud ones. Namely Doma, but the others too. Roughly 15 minutes later, the others arrived.

They were all quiet, much to Nakimes temporary relief, until Doma opened his mouth. "Aw! How cute!" He said quietly, to everyone's surprise. But, he wasn't quiet enough. The girl jumped, clutching onto Nakimes kimono in fear, snapping awake instantly. The biwa demon glared at the blonde, placing a hand on the girl's shaking form.

"Doma, you fool." Akaza hissed. "Kokushibo said to be quiet." The demon promptly decapitated Doma with his hand, veins bulging.

"I was just trying to be nice!" Doma protested.

Nakimes anger had been steadily rising, but immediately simmered down when the girl stopped shaking, standing up and timidly approaching the decapitated head. The gore didn't seem to bother her as blood dripped onto her feet, proceeding to hold the head up to Domas' still standing body. "H-here you go sir." She said quietly, the demon taking his head and putting it back on his head.

"Why thank you little girl!" He said. No longer trying to be quiet, but not loud either. The girl quickly zipped behind Kokushibo, clutching his hakama pant leg as she eyed the other demons cautiously.

~ ~ ~

Kokushibo looked down at the little girl, giving her a questioning look as she returned his gaze. It was silent for a moment as they had a small staring contest, until she wrapped her arms around his legs. "You look like you need a hug." She said, as she closed her eyes and pressed her face into the side of his thigh. The demon's stoic demeanor broke as a small smile graced his face, placing a hand on the girl's head. A calm, peaceful sensation washed over Kokushibo as he ruffled the girl's hair, his eyes falling closed in a happy manner, his smile widening ever so slightly. But, the moment was ruined when the duo heard the metallic clang of one of Domas' fans clattering to the ground.

Kokushibo almost felt bad for his second.

~ ~ ~

As Akaza turned around to face Kokushibo, he saw something he never thought he would ever see in his life. 'Kokushibo is smiling. Upper Moon One is fucking smiling.' Using his compass, Akaza sensed Doma was about to turn around and say something stupid, so he quickly slapped a hand over his superiors mouth, motioning to Kokushibo.

'And Doma stayed quiet. Doma is being quiet- WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON!?'

~ ~ ~

Muzan Kibutsuji was quite confused when he felt large amounts of panic, shock, and confusion from Akaza. But oddly, Upper Moon Three wasn't dying. This caused Muzans confusion to rise. He looked into Akazas head to hear: 'Kokushibo was smiling. Upper Moon One is fucking smiling.' Akaza then quickly slapped a hand over Domas mouth.

'And Doma stayed quiet. Doma is being quiet- WHAT THE FUCK IS-' And thats where Muzan left Akazas mind.

He then decided to visit Kokushibos head and felt a peaceful serenity in the demon. His eyes were closed, but he could feel a small child hugging the demon's body. From Upper Ones memories, he saw the face of a red eyed girl, with a small, barely noticeable stub of a horn. In the background, the demon king could hear Daki fawning over the girl in her head. Muzan then shifted to Doma, who was stunned to silence, almost feeling bad when the blonde dropped his fan.

~ ~ ~

Eri jumped when she heard a metallic clang, looking over to the blonde man, who seemed relatively shocked. Eri hesitantly let go of the six-eyed man's hakama, walking over and picking up his fan. "S-sir?" She stuttered out, drawing his attention. "You dropped this." The girl held up his fan, seemingly snapping him back to reality.

"Oh, thank you! I was just surprised, it's not often you see Kokushibo-dono smile." The blonde smiled, who Eri remembered his name was Doma, from when Mr. Kokushibo was telling them about his world.

She gave a small nod and hurried over to said pink-haired man, hugging his legs in a similar manner. "You also look like you need a hug." Eri said. This one was Akaza. Kokushibo had described him as one of the better ones, he wouldn't hurt her. She didn't notice Akaza giving Kokushibo a panicked look, asking for advice. The demon only nodded towards the girl's head with his own, prompting the nervous demon to pat Eri on her pale blue locks. Eri didn't notice any of this, only leaning into the demon's touch, happy for the comforting gesture.

Eri then passed out, stressed by the recent development, and light headed from the last blood draw.

~ ~ ~

Akaza panicked again, quickly catching the girl's limp body as she fell. Did he do something wrong?! He glanced around to see the other Upper Moons snickering, even Kokushibo had an amused glint in his eye. Akaza then glanced at Nakime, begging her for answers. She only smiled and gestured to her lap, Akaza quickly placing the girl with her.

"Akasa, you dolt." Daki snickered. "The kid's just tired and stressed. Don't worry your pink-haired head." Akaza sighed in relief, almost wilting. But he, and all the other Upper Moons, went ramrod straight when they sensed Muzan in the room, bowing immediately. Aside from Nakime, who simply straightened in attention.

"Originally, I was going to make her my heir, and train her to be the next Demon Queen." He stated. "However, it seems being with you six would be better for her. Teach the girl the ways of the Upper Moons, only then I will make her the new ruler of demons." Muzan then warped away, presumably returning to his office. All of the demons were shocked at this new development, Muzan was not one to give up even an ounce of his power.

"Well well well!" Doma was the first to speak up. "That is quite interesting! What should we teach her?" He asked.

"I'll teach her hand-to-hand." Akaza offered.

"Swordsmanship." Kokushibo continued.

"I'll teach her how to appear human for when she becomes a demon!" Doma said.

"I'll help with that." Daki also said. "And Gyutaro says he'll teach her about poisons. Hantengu, you and Doma can teach her psychology. And Gyokko, you and Nakime can teach her about music and craftsmanship." The lewd demon ordered, not afraid of her superiors. During this, Nakime had put the girl to bed, much to Akazas relief. He swore, if anything were to happen to her, Akaza would kill everyone in the room and then himself.

~ ~ ~

Muzan choked. What now?!

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #izuku midoriya #eri bnha #eri mha #crossover #fanfic #mentor kokushibo #post manga ending #demon slayer x my hero academia #kimetsu no yaiba x boku no hero akademia #kny x bnha/mha

13 notes · View notes

letsquestjess · 1 year ago

Text

The Comfort of Your Arms

Summary: When Tech wakes from a nightmare, Phee is there with open arms to comfort him.

Word count: 948

Warnings: Depictions of injury and interrogation (Tech is not having a good time of it). Hemlock being... well, Hemlock.

A/N: Since this has some depictions of interrogation right from the start, I'm putting it all under a read more.

-- -- -- -- --

He couldn’t see anything. Darkness blanketed him like a shroud. Everywhere he looked held the same inky isolation, but he sensed eyes watching him, analysing his fear. He attempted to wrench his arm free from his restraints, but an abrupt jolt halted his endeavour. He pulled again and urged his muscles to work harder.

“Do not trouble yourself, Tech,” a slow, menacing voice told him. “You won’t be getting out of your cuffs. We’ve made sure of that.”

Clenching his teeth, he repeated the motion, straining his arms then his legs until, with a strangled cry, he thrashed against the chilly metal beneath him. A rapid stab to the side of his neck put an end to his frantic movements.

“I told you what would happen if you did not cooperate,” Doctor Hemlock said as he stepped from the shadows, a holo-transmitter in his upturned palm. “And yet you went against what I asked of you. Chose to be stubborn. You gave me no choice.” The silver disc flickered and images glimmered in the vivid light. Stormtroopers marched. Shots were fired. Siblings fell. Life blinked out, one after the other. Hunter. Wrecker. Crosshair and Echo. Little Omega. Phee.

Tech squeezed his eyes shut and recoiled. “You did nothing to them,” he growled. “I do not believe you.” He was brutally wrenched back to reality when Hemlock snatched hold of his chin and held his face towards the footage.

“Whether you believe it or not is of no concern to me, because I know you sense their loss. All of this is real.” The doctor stooped low, studying the scars on his exposed arms and poking at the lacerations and bruises on his collar. “You failed them. You did this.”

Unsteady breaths shivered within Tech’s chest as he kept Hemlock’s icy fingers and cruel prods from reaching the part of his mind that remained intact.

“They are dead because of you. If you’d have cooperated, they would be safe.” Hemlock tutted and lifted himself up, hands clasped behind his waist. “I consider it a great shame you choose to go against the Empire. Your intellect would have been appreciated here.”

The doctor’s clicking footsteps trailed into the darkness and Tech’s ribcage heaved. Droplets trickled and stung the open cuts on his cheeks. His body felt hollow. They were gone. And there was nothing in the galaxy that would bring them back.

He balled his hands into fists and grappled to move his limbs, but the solution circulating his system him held him aggravatingly still. Frenzy and fury igniting in his veins, he opened his mouth and screamed.

Tech’s eyes shot open. The crisp air sweeping through the window washed over his sweat-soaked face and cooled his clammy skin, soothing him with the smell of seaweed and sapphire blossom. For a moment, he couldn’t move, half in his dream and half stirring from the terror. He wriggled once he could shift and shuffled onto his side.

Phee propped herself up on her elbows and squinted at the faint morning glow. “Tech? Are you okay?” she asked within a yawn. “You cold? I can shut the window.”

His hold on the bedsheets loosened. Reminding himself of where he was, his eyes stopped frantically darting around the bedroom and settled on the woman beside him, his lashes damp with tears.

“Another nightmare?” Phee said, coaxing him into her embrace. He nodded against her shoulder. “You’re awake. It’s okay.”

Tech clung to her as though she contained all his oxygen, breathing in the remnants of her perfume and relaxing into her soft touches. “You’re here?” he whispered.

“I’m here,” she promised.

“You were all gone. My brothers. Omega. You. He… he took all of you.”

“Hush now, I’ve got you.” Little by little, the trembles subsided and steady sniffles sounded from the curled bundle in her arms. She handed him some tissues and lightly dabbed at the wet streaks sliding onto his chin. Golden brown eyes searched hers and she pressed a kiss to his forehead, carefully helping him to sit up. “Wait here. I won’t be long.”

Resting against the headboard as Phee padded out of the room, Tech filled his lungs and exhaled a shaky breath. He drew in another, and another, until the pounding of his heart calmed and the sweat on his palms began to dry. He dragged his fingertips along his neck, searching for the bump of an injection site, but all he found was unshaved stubble.

Phee returned with tip-toed steps and passed over a glass of water, climbing back into bed. “Your brothers are fast asleep. Omega is curled up with Wrecker, though how she can sleep next to him when he’s snoring like a speeder engine is beyond me.” She kept an eye on Tech as he sipped on the cold drink, and the tension in his shoulders slowly melted. “I counted them. Twice. They’re all there, sleeping soundly.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, setting the almost empty glass on the cabinet and nestling into her side. A smile of relief tugged at his lips when she encompassed him in her comforting arms again. “This is an illogical reaction and I apologise for waking you.”

“Don’t apologise,” Phee said softly. “Tech, you have been through a harrowing ordeal, and your nightmares, your fears, are perfectly natural responses to that. I only wish I had the power to wipe it all away.” She wove her fingers into his hair and caressed the pressure from his temples. “But I will be here for all the bad nights and the good, and the nights in between. That awful place is behind you. You’re with your family now. You’re home.”

#tbb #the bad batch #tbb fic #tbb fanfiction #star wars the bad batch #the bad batch fanfic #the bad batch fanfiction #sw tbb #sw the bad batch #tbb tech #tbb phee #sw tbb fanfic #sw tbb fanfiction #sw the bad batch fanfiction #tech x phee #techphee #phee x tech #tw: depictions of interrogation #tw: depictions of injury

108 notes · View notes

bardic-tales · 10 days ago

Text

11.14.24: Blurbo Blursday: Issue 3: Backstory

Good morning, fellow OC creators, artists, and readers. Today, I decided to focus on Bianca. It’s hard to believe that Bianca has been around for around 27 years now. The journey she under went from just a ‘Final Fantasy 7’ OC to what she is now is amazing to me.

Bianca is a character that spans two fandoms and original work. She is a temporal angel that can control time, space, and reality.

If your character could change anything in their past with no consequences, what would it be and why?

Content Warning: abuse, body horror, coercion, forced pregnancy, forced reproductive procedures, gaslighting, genital mutilation, medical trauma, manipulation, psychological trauma, surgical mutilation, trauma, violence.

If Bianca Moore could change anything about her past without consequence, it would be prevent her capture and experimentation by Shinra. Diana Ravenscroft and Professor Hojo subjected her to a period of abuse that shattered her sense of security, dignity, and autonomy. This left her with lasting physical, emotional, and psychological wounds that continued to affect her for years. The horrific experiences of being surgically cut open, forcibly impregnated with a doomed pregnancy, used as an experimental subject, and injected with foreign substances, all while being treated as nothing more than a specimen, deeply scarred her emotional well-being and sense of self.

Without these experiences, Bianca may have retained a stronger connection with her celestial essence and a more balanced path. Her ordeal deepened her distrust in authority and heightened her fear of medical settings and equipment — fears that she constantly grapples with even Sephiroth, her closest confidant.

Without this harrowing experience, Bianca would have had a very different relationship with her demonic powers. The instability caused by the infusion of Jenova and S-cells into her made her powers volatile and difficult to control, forcing her into an identity known as the “Angel of Vengeance’, instead of someone who could harness both sides of her heritage with of her life-stealing corruption of her celestial powers. Without the influence of Shinra, Diana, and Hojo, Bianca might have been able to explore her own potential as an anti-hero, instead of a villain.

Ultimately, changing this part of her past would reclaim her self-worth and her power. In erasing Shinra’s abuse from her life, Bianca would discover a path grounded in her own choices rather than a reaction to past harm. By removing the need to rebuild herself from trauma, she could define her life by the pursuit of her own destiny and untainted by Shinra’s manipulation.

#long post #oc: bianca moore - ff #oc: diana ravenscroft - ff #my ocs #ff vii oc #blorbo blursday #characters: fwc #characters: fwc: ff #bb: fwc #bb: fwc: ff #bb: issue 3: backstory #bardic tales #bardic-tales #cd: backstory #character: professor hojo #gif

9 notes · View notes

kaces-graham-crackers · 2 months ago

Text

Ebonhowl: The Raven's Hound - Prologue

Wednesday Addams x Female Character

Authors Note: Hey, everyone! This story is an origin tale for my original character, Ken Pollard, set two years before Wednesday even steps foot in Nevermore Academy. It’s a slow-burn journey where Ken, a rare Black Shuck (Hellhound), grapples with her dark family legacy and navigates life at Nevermore. There's plenty of mystery, self-discovery, and tension along the way. Eventually, the story will blossom into a Wednesday Addams x Female character romance—but for now, it's all about Ken's personal journey. I’ve had this story tucked away for a while, but my friends loved it and urged me to share it. So here it is! Stick around, get to know Ken, and follow her as she learns to thrive in the strange, dark world of outcasts.

Summary: Ken Pollard thought she could leave her dark past behind, but the scars—both visible and hidden—linger. As she faces the daunting reality of her unique abilities and the legacy of her Hellhound ancestry, Nevermore Academy might be her only chance at a fresh start. With an open house on the horizon, Ken must decide if this strange academy is where she belongs or if her dangerous lineage will be too much to keep hidden. Two years before Wednesday Addams arrives, the stage is set for a slow-burning journey of self-discovery, secrets, and survival.

Word Count: 962 words

My name is Ken Pollard, and I attend Nevermore Academy…Well, I will soon enough, anyway. I fumbled with the pamphlet; the front cover had a rich, deep indigo with intricate yellow embossing of the academy's crest. The crest features a stylized raven in mid-flight, wings outstretched above the crest, "Nevermore Academy" is written in elegant, gothic lettering. I flipped to the back of the pamphlet, examining the faces of two creatures, one vampire and the other a gorgon smiling. "You know, hon, your father and I had a great time at Nevermore Academy," my mother chimed, staring at me through the rearview mirror. Looking up, I smiled and nodded "Mhm." I glued my eyes back to the embracing species, and above them, the same style of gothic lettering read, "We're dying to meet You!" Don't get me wrong; I'm excited to attend my parents' alma mater, but having to live up to their expectations and legacy isn't making this transition any easier. Not to mention, my grandfather is the most feared hound in history. So, everything I do needs to be perfect and flawless.

I forgot to mention that Nevermore Academy is not just a private school; it is specially designed to cater to individuals considered as "freaks, monsters, or outcasts." Any outcast who wants to understand their abilities can attend. Nevermore Academy's curriculum is tailored to the unique abilities of its students, offering comprehensive training in a wide array of supernatural talents. The school has an expansive library of invaluable resources, including extensive notes, informative texts, and detailed records documenting various species and their capabilities. Now I know what you are wondering: If my parents and I attend such a lucrative academy, what species am I? We are Black Shucks. Or more commonly known as Hellhounds. I can already imagine the first thing that comes to your mind is those fire-engulfed wolves; we're not. Hellhounds consist of three breeds. Grytrash is a "ghostly" black dog that can transform into horses, mules, cranes, or dogs that haunt the lonely roads when a traveler comes along. Black Shucks and Barghests originated from common ancestors, evolving into distinct species as the Barghest traveled northward, bearing large teeth, claws, and thicker fur.

On the other hand, Black Shucks are jet-black, large dogs with red glowing eyes. If you hear their howls, death indeed follows. Residing along the coastline and countryside of East Anglia. I threw the pamphlet onto the seat next to me. Looking forward, I watched as we passed an iron-wrought gate with the illusion of a raven flying decorating the very top. Directly under that, the words "Nevermore Acadamy." were skewed across. As we grew closer, my anxiety intensified. Here I was, one of the most endangered species in creature history. Will I become an outcast of all outcasts? Or will I be feared? I let out a labored breath, not realizing I was holding it in. "Kenyara!" snapping out of my trans, I studied my mother's facial expression. Worry painted on her face. "You ok, honey? You seem quiet." "Too quiet," my father chimed, darting his eye from the road to the rearview mirror. I looked between them both. I smile weakly and say, "Sorry, I'm just thinking." At that moment, my mom turned her head and body to see me. She just looked at me with her signature "What do you really mean" face.

Sighing in defeat, I spilled my thoughts out. "Oh hon…" my mother was now waiting for my father's reaction. "Pup…you shouldn't be worried about that; your grandfather was a feared hound, but that is why Gytrash. Barghest and Black Shucks alike are endangered. We are not sending you here to hold such a burden." His voice was always booming and stern, but listening to him this time, he was soft-spoken, gentle, almost as if he was afraid to be above a whisper. "Ken, my sweet girl, we want you to enjoy yourself and get an education in a safe place to learn about yourself and other species around you." My mother finished. I looked at my hands and then back to my parents. Who were sporting giant grins; I mirrored their infectious smiles before I knew it. "There's that beautiful smile we love!" my father's thunderous laugh echoed.

The surrounding forest had suddenly disappeared. Replaced with scattered orange shrubbery, adorning indigo ribbons. Well, would you look at that?" My mother sighed, leaning forward to look up. "Looks a lot bigger than I remember." my father hummed. "We haven't been here in 11 years, Lawrence. It's gonna look larger than before." Their banter caused me to look forward. Squinting, I carefully inspected the gothic building through a ghostly fog. The building itself seemed gray. Why is everything gray and purple? I questioned. " Nevermore didn't want to stand out, fearing they would be targeted. Indigo, yellow, and black. Indigo, the primary color, represents integrity, wisdom, and institution." Mom said.

Drawing closer, I still couldn't shake that feeling…I don't know why it's happening again. Finally entering the courtyard of the school, we pulled up to a woman who was directing cars. "Mr. and Mrs. Pollard, it's a pleasure to see you too again." she flashed a devilish grin, revealing her fangs. Simultaneously, my mom smiled while my dad visibly sank in his seat. "Dr. Vanry, you're still working at Nevermore Academy?" My mother asked. "Of course, dear; who else would prepare the next army of outcasts." They both laughed. Pulling out a clipboard licking the tips of her fingers. "Now, where's the little Pollard?" My dad only cleared his throat and rolled the back window down. I froze, staring back up at her. Her face was etched with lines and a few wrinkles that revealed the passage of time.

The most alluring were her features, high cheekbones, piercing eyes, and jet-black silky hair pulled into a ponytail. "This is Ken Blakesley Pollard, our little pup," he murmured, never meeting his former teachers' eyes. She lends down, observing me extensively. "Hello, Ms.Pollard. Both of your parents were known throughout their time at Nevermore. Let's hope you've inherited your mother's behavior. I froze, our eyes glued to one another. Her eyes were a deep crimson reminiscent of freshly spilled blood, and her irises shimmered with an inner intensity, adding to her intimidating presence. It felt as though she was looking through my soul. Without hesitation, my mouth spilled, "I won't be a problem, Ma'am!" Straightening her posture, she hummed, "Mhm, you have manners; that's a good sign." She walked to the front of the car.

Lawrence Odin Pollard, it hasn't been long enough." she scolds him. It's good to see you too, Ma'am." he huffed. "Mr. Pollard, fix your posture and speak clearly; last time I checked, you are not a young boy anymore!" As if a drill sergeant just yelled at him, he did as he was commanded, putting both hands on the wheel and barking back, "Y-Yes, Ma'am." I dropped my jaw. For 14 years, I've never seen anyone discipline my father. Dr.Vanry smirked as my mother stifled a laugh. Looking at her clipboard, she checked something off her eyes, finally meeting my dad's. "Park anywhere in Lot 4 and follow the Open House signs to Check-In. "Thank you, Dr.Vanry; it was good seeing you! Mom waved as Dad's posture fell, putting the car in drive. The silence in the car grew. Mom and Dad both looked in the rearview mirror, looking at my expression. Defeated, my dad sighed. " Go ahead, ask."

"Who was that, and what happened," I questioned, more panicked than interested. "She's the devil," he grunted through his teeth. Earning him a slap from mom. "She was the only woman your father feared." "I. DON'T. FEAR. HER." he snarled. "I said "was," didn't I. She scolded him. Finally, he pulled into a parking spot and shut off the car. While dropping his head and sighing. "I'm sorry she just brings back the worst in me." he turns back and looks at me sternly. "I used to be a rough, rowdy type of teen. So she made it her mission to…" he paused, taking a breath, softening his eyes. "Tame the Beast within, as she called it." He looked at the back of his hands, riddled with healed scars. It was always a sensitive topic, the origins of the many lacerations from his hands to his arms. Especially the three slashes across his left eye stretching from his forehead to his left ear. Mom gently grabbed his hands before he could touch the battle scars on his face. "That was for the best, though." she smiled wholeheartedly before intertwining her fingers with his. He nods. Turning back towards me. I smiled at him softly, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Yeah, it was." he smiled back at me. I knew the rest of the story.

My father always says, "…if it weren't for Nevermore." Mom and Dad consistently speak highly about their time at Nevermore. Which makes sense based on their reputations. My dad was president of the wrestling club, and my mom was captain of the debate team. Both were known for their skills. That's how they met…though instead of falling in love, they hated each other's guts. They both claimed to be better than the other, constantly fighting to be at the top of every class. That was until my dad saw her being bullied by some normies. He immediately interfered to protect her. He claims he never knew why, but Mom says he always had a crush on her. He didn't win that fight; it was six older, more muscular boys, but he did, in fact, win her heart. Not so bad, right? "Alright, enough about the past; we are here for our little girl!" he boomed, pulling me out of my thoughts.

As we approached the entrance, the scent of dampness permeated the air, mingling with the fragrance of decaying leaves and morning dew. The building seemed to grow larger, casting a foreboding shadow over us. While bringing a sense of enchantment and delicacy, the indigo ribbons defied the desolate atmosphere, seemingly frozen in time. I stopped observing the pile of unforgiving masonry as the feeling of dread returned. Almost as if something sinister resided within. This feeling is weird; almost like I've been here before, like Déjà-vu. It makes my skin itch like my Ebonhowl is clawing my insides to burst out and wreak havoc. My rampages are often violent, but the last time I acted on it, I almost killed my best friend as a puppy.

I will never unleash complete control of Ebonhowl. While in my head, I hadn't realized we had finally reached the entrance. Crossing the stone threshold, I stuffed my hands into my pockets. I could smell the hundreds of different species in the great hall. Werewolves and vampires are the most distinctive. As for the mix of others, I couldn't tell what they were. My mother, reading my mind, replied to my contorted expression. "There are many different species to haven't met." she laughed, ruffling my hair. Knowing I hated that, I brushed off that she messed with my hair. I shot her a cold look. She quickly whispered, "Sorry, I forgot," putting her hands behind her back and chuckling. It usually takes me an hour and a half alone to fix. After I finished scolding my mother, I finally observed my surroundings. High vaulted ceilings adorned with delicately painted designs riddled with cracks revealing stories lost to time.

A grand chandelier with bright crystals hung from the ceiling, casting a slightly brighter glow upon the typical dim scene. The light caught dust fragments, shimmering like ethereal particles suspended in the air. The walls themselves seemed to come alive in the lighting. It is adorned with tapestries depicting scenes from many of Edgar Allan Poe's poems and writings. Ribbions suspended from archways and windows, swaying slightly, hinting at a breeze. "So what do you think, hon?" my mother asked, putting a hand on my back. I simply pulled one hand out of my jacket pocket and scratched my neck.

"It's cool but foreboding, like eerie?" My father's hand lands on my shoulder. "That's Nevermore Academy for you; if your hair isn't standing up or gettin' goosebumps, then you're someplace else. We reached the registration table. "Well, Well, Well, if it isn't Lawrence and Nicole," an elderly woman chimed. She was dressed in typical secretary attire. A tailored charcoal gray skirt with a crisp white ruffled trim blouse was neatly tucked in. A burgundy silk scarf was loosely laying around her neck, adding a touch of color to her ensemble. Although the scarf looked like it was breathing. My eyes widened slightly as it flexed tighter around her neck.

"Miss Hildegard! You're still here! My father beams. "Yes, I am, but this is my last year with Nevermore. I'll be retiring," she replies while putting on a pair of black cat-eyed glasses. I had to admit the woman was the embodiment of professionalism, with her silver hair pulled back into a neat bun and a pair of pea stud earrings that glinted brightly in the light. She was flipping through her clipboard with a warm, business-like smile. Until she found what she was looking for. "Ah yes, Kenyara Blakesley Pollard. What a lovely name!" She broke her staring contest with the clipboard and landed her eyes on me. I copied her smile. "Thank You, Ma'am." She seemed surprised at my manners. "Cute and well-mannered, you'll fit quite nicely in Nevermore Academy." she smiled. "Nothing but well -manners, cuteness, and smarts with this one!" my mother kissed my cheek. I hid my face in my hands. "Mom!" The three laughed; I begged for the floor to swallow me whole.

While Miss Hildegarde and my parents continued the sign-in process and reminisced on the "old days." I turned to survey the attendees. They all had a sense of enigma about them; this was the first time I hadn't been exposed to different species like this. I went to a creature school, but it was mainly werewolves and a few vampires. The attendees seemed to hide behind masks of polite smiles, and conversations were collectively held in hushed tones.

The ambiance and unidentifiable smells made me feel like I was on another planet. "Kenny, can you come here, please?" I turned back, returning to the table, for I had mindlessly wandered away. "We need you to sign this, Ms. Pollard. It's to confirm that you have attended and automatically enter you in a chance to win some Nevermore School Spirit merchandise." I looked at my mother and father, sporting grins and holding their phones, ready for a picture. I smiled and chuckled at their antics. Putting pen to paper, swiftly signing my name. The flashes of my parent's phone went off. All signifying me signing my soul to Nevermore Adacemy.

#wednesday netflix #slow-burn #x female reader #Ebonhowl #Inspiredbywednesday #nevermore academy #wednesday addams x female character #writing

18 notes · View notes