#crane sharpening her claws

[chasing-faith-and-fate]

Moon 36

Moon 35 | Moon 36 bonus

[seresinhangmanjake]

Don't Touch What’s His

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x reader

Summary: Feyd's harpies attack you while you're both asleep in his bed and he gets real mad.

Notes/Warnings: mention of blood and mutilation, inflicted wounds, and possessiveness. Related to the fic titled His, but this can be read alone. Typos (just being real)

Words: 1100

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist

You’re screaming for him before you’re even fully awake, shrieking his name before you can begin to grasp what’s happening to you. All you know is that you’re no longer warm, no longer safe as you’re yanked from his arms and dragged to the bottom edge of the bed. Claws are digging into your calf as primal grumbles and growls and the distinct sound of lips smacking in anticipation reach your ears. Your body is being pulled further and further away, and no pawing at the sheets helps to keep you on the mattress.

Another plea for him is on the tip of your tongue, but then a hand wraps around your arm, engaging in a tug-of-war with whatever monster has a hold on you. Scrapes make lines down your leg as you dig your heels into the bed and back yourself away from the clawed being. You take a few deep breaths and blink, your eyes adjusting to the darkness.

“I told you she’s off limits!” Feyd shouts in a terrifying tone. A tone most commonly reserved for those who inconvenience him: servants and prisoners and his brother. It’s not his low timbre; it’s much more powerful. So powerful that you half-expect a crack to split open the floor.

You blink again and crane your neck to peer over the foot of the bed at who he scolds. Feyd’s harpies are on their hands and knees, staring a hole into your head. It’s a daring choice. When Feyd speaks, those around must be attentive with eyes and ears, but the harpies don’t so much as glance in his direction. They’re here for you, they want you, and clearly nothing else.

“But she looks so yummy,” one of them says, a pout forming on her lips.

“And she smells even better,” the second adds. Her tongue swipes over a sharpened fang.

All three of them begin to crawl across the floor until they’re at your side of the bed. Feyd’s fingers tighten around your arm, his eyes narrowing, and you lean back against his chest just in case they get the idea to lunge at you.

“We won’t eat very much of her,” the third purrs as her hand slithers over the silky sheets, inching toward your body. “Just a few little bites. Plenty left over for our lord na-baron to enjoy.”

When her pointed nails graze your ankle, Feyd leans around you, grabs her wrist, and sharply twists until there's a snap. She yelps. Your body jolts. Tears build in the corners of her eyes. Your jaw drops.

Immediately, they appear to sober up. Their hunger, if still there, doesn’t lust for you so intensely now that fear has taken over.

“You will not sink your filthy fangs into her,” Feyd spits, baring his teeth. “She’s mine. Her flesh, her blood, all of her—mine.” The other two harpies shrink and skitter away from their injured sister. “If I wanted to share, I would have.”

Feyd releases his harpy. She cradles her broken wrist, whimpers emitting from her throat as she scoots back to join the others. They feel safer in a pack. Though you don’t think that will aid them in this case.

“W-We just thought she wouldn’t matter to you,” one of them mutters, her chin tucked to her chest. “We thought you could find another plaything.”

Feyd’s face darkens. The icy blue of his glare wavers under the force of a burning red. As he moves to stand, he jerks you to his side of the bed, separating you from the beastly women by a few more feet.

“What did you just say to me?” he grits out, rounding the mattress and stopping in front of them.

The harpies glance at each other in panic before looking back at their master. “W-We didn't mean–”

“It appears I’ve treated you too well,” he says decisively. “If you’re bold enough to defy my orders, then perhaps you need to be reminded of your place.”

You gulp. You’ve heard that tone. You’ve heard those words. But you have a feeling Feyd’s threats toward his harpies are not as empty as the ones he throws at you, and it makes your stomach squeeze.

Your presence in Giedi Prime’s fortress being the indirect cause of their harm is nothing less than unjust. It’s not their fault their master brought fresh meat home. They cannot control what they are, and Feyd routinely encourages their behavior, excluding only you from the list of bodies they are allowed to feast upon. If anything, this is his fault.

“Get up!” he shouts, and they scramble to their feet.

You rise up on your knees as he turns and yanks open the bedroom door. “Feyd, wait, you don’t have to–”

“Stay!” he snaps, pointing a finger at you.

Your mouth snaps shut and you sit, watching as his harpies obediently follow him out the door. Within the minute, you hear the screams and squeals of pain, and you wince, pressing your hands over your ears.

You don’t know how long you stay in that position. It’s Feyd’s touch that jolts you back into the present.

You look up.

Red is speckled across his torso. You feel a slickness on your face from where he is cupping your cheek, and when he pulls his hand away, you notice the rivers of blood running through the spaces between his fingers.

Without a word, Feyd pushes you down onto the bed, rearranges the covers so they drape appropriately across your body, and crawls under the sheets to settle in beside you.

“What did you do to them?” you ask.

His eyes are already closed by the time the question fully leaves your lips. He blows out a heavy breath through his nose and turns on his side to wrap his arm around your waist. “Removed a few fingers,” he says. “Now go back to sleep.”

“But–”

“Go. To. Sleep,” he grumbles in demand. “Unless you’d rather I change my mind and toss you into their feeding pit…”

It's one of those empty threats, but you don’t press him further. Not for tonight. Tonight he is tired and grumpy and nothing about you pushing him will do you any good. So instead, you allow him to do as he wants. And what he wants is to tuck your head under his chin, eliminate all space between you, and hold you in a grip that is just short of suffocating.

[kiwiokok]

𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙒𝘼𝙔 𝙊𝙁 𝙒𝘼𝙏𝙀𝙍

Previous >> Next

Pairing: Ao'nung x omaticayan! fem!reader

Summary: You have a brother??

Warnings: Angst

Author's note: hellooo, I'm so happy that part 1 of this fanfic got over 10 notes. Thank you so much! Leave a comment I love them

Credits: For the whole plot idea I have for this fanfic I have to credit and thank @lorre-verie <3

“Let me go, pxasìk!“ － Tsa’lor’s voice sliced through the humid forest air, raw and jagged with fury. She thrashed against Lo’ak’s iron grip, her wrist burning where his fingers dug into her skin. Her tail lashed wildly, stirring the undergrowth, and her ears flattened tight against her skull as she bared her fangs. － “I said let go, you thick-skulled skxawng! I can walk on my own!”

Lo’ak’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look at her. － “Keep it down“ －he muttered, his voice clipped as his eyes scanned the ground ahead. － “You’ll get us caught.”

“Caught?” － she spat, yanking her arm again. － “Maybe if you’d listened to your father, we wouldn’t be sneaking around like prey in the first place!”

Not far behind, Spider’s voice broke through the rustling leaves, casual yet curious. － “Hey, Lo’ak, you think the Sky People are letting kids our age onto Pandora now? I mean, they’d have to, right? With all the time that’s passed?”

Lo’ak didn’t answer. His steps faltered, then veered sharply off the path they’d been following. Tsa’lor stumbled, her bare feet catching on a root, and she hissed under her breath as she steadied herself. Her heart thudded unevenly—something was wrong, and she could feel it in the way the air seemed to thicken.

“What is it now?” － Kiri snapped, spinning around to face her brother. Her braid swung with the motion, and her amber eyes flashed with exasperation. － “We’re wasting time!”

“We’re supposed to be back by eclipse,” － Tuk piped up, her small hands twisting together nervously. She edged closer to Kiri, her wide eyes darting between the trees. － “You know what Dad said…”

Lo’ak ignored them both, dropping to one knee beside Spider. Tsa’lor craned her neck, her breath catching as she glimpsed what they were staring at—a footprint, deep and unnervingly large, pressed into the soft earth.

Lo’ak’s fingers hovered over it, tracing the outline with a frown. － “This… this is way too big for a human,” － he said, his voice low, almost reverent.

Spider leaned closer, squinting at the tracks that stretched toward the shadowed depths of the forest. － “Avatars, maybe?”

“Maybe,” － Lo’ak murmured, his tail flicking thoughtfully. － “But they’re not ours. Look at the tread—too heavy, too… wrong“

Kiri’s breath hitched, her annoyance giving way to a flicker of dread. － “Dad was right, wasn’t he? If the Sky People are back, they’re here, in our forest. We need to tell him—Lo’ak!” － Her voice sharpened as he stood and started following the trail, his steps deliberate. － “What are you doing?”

“Tracking,” － he said simply, his grip tightening on Tsa’lor’s wrist as he pulled her along. She dug her heels in for a moment, resisting, but his strength won out. Spider fell into step beside them, his human frame moving with surprising grace through the underbrush.

“this is stupid,” － Tsa’lor growled, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and unease. － “You’re going to get us all killed—or worse. Let me go back, I don’t need to be part of this!” － Her chest ached with the weight of her words—she didn’t want to abandon them, not really, but the fear clawing at her insides begged her to run.

“Quiet,” － he snapped, his eyes fixed ahead. － “You’re with us. Deal with it.” － The air grew heavier as they approached a crumbling shack, its metal walls rusted and overgrown with vines.

Tsa’lor’s nose wrinkled at a sharp, unfamiliar scent—something metallic and sour that didn’t belong in the forest. Her ears twitched, picking up faint sounds: footsteps, low voices. She froze as Lo’ak signaled them to crouch behind a thicket.

Peering through the leaves, she saw them—Na’vi in camouflage, rifles slung across their chests, moving with a precision that felt alien. Her stomach twisted. These weren’t her people.

“We’re not supposed to be here,” － Kiri whispered, her voice barely a breath. Her hand brushed Tsa’lor’s arm, a silent tether. －“Dad’s going to ground you for this, Lo’ak. You know that, right?”

“Shut it, Kiri,” － he hissed, his tail flicking irritably.

“For life,” － she added, her tone biting despite the fear in her eyes. － “And us with you.”

Lo’ak shot her a glare, then turned to Spider. － “Bro, we’ve got to see what’s up. Come on.” － He finally released Tsa’lor’s wrist, and she rubbed it, the skin red and tender. She met Kiri’s gaze—exasperated, pleading—and sighed.

“I could just leave you all to this madness,” － Tsa’lor muttered, flexing her fingers. － “I didn’t sign up for a death march.”

“No,” － Kiri said firmly, her hand closing around Tsa’lor’s with a gentle squeeze. － “You’re stuck with us. Sorry.”

Tsa’lor’s lips thinned, but she didn’t pull away. She squinted at the figures in the distance, their movements too stiff, too human beneath the Na’vi skin. Her heart sank—Sky People, wearing stolen bodies. Minutes dragged by, thick with tension, until Lo’ak and Spider slipped back, their faces etched with urgency.

“We’ve got to call it in,” － Lo’ak said, pressing his throat mic with a shaky hand. － “Devil Dog, Devil Dog, this is Eagle Eye, over.”

Tsa’lor sank onto the grass, her legs trembling from the strain. She tucked her knees up, watching him through narrowed eyes as the static crackled.

“You back already?” － a gruff voice replied.

“No, sir,” － Lo’ak said, a curse slipping under his breath. － “I’ve got eyes on some guys—avatars, I think. Full camo, ARs slung over their shoulders. Six of them. Over.”

“Your pos? Over.”

He hesitated, swallowing hard. － “Uh… the old shack.”

Silence roared through the line. Tsa’lor bit her cheek, tasting blood as dread coiled tighter in her gut.

“Boy, I told you to get back!” － the voice exploded, sharp and furious. － “Get the hell out of there, you hear me? Move! Over!”

Tsa’lor scrambled to her feet, brushing dirt from her thighs as Kiri pulled her along. The group moved fast, their steps hushed but urgent, weaving through the trees away from the shack.

“You’re in so much trouble,” － Kiri scolded, her voice low but fierce. － “I hope you’re ready to explain this to Dad.”

“Kiri, stop it,” － Lo’ak growled, his ears twitching.

“Guys, hurry,” － Tuk whimpered, her small frame trembling. －“It’s almost eclipse—please!”

A rustle shattered the quiet. A Na’vi soldier burst from the bushes, his massive hand closing around Tuk’s arm. She shrieked, the sound piercing Tsa’lor’s chest like a blade.

“Tuk!” － Kiri lunged forward, but Tsa’lor grabbed her shoulder, holding her back as more soldiers appeared, guns leveled at them. Spider snarled, drawing his bow, his human teeth bared in defiance. Tsa’lor’s hand flew to her knife, her heart hammering as she stepped between Lo’ak and Kiri, hissing at the nearest soldier.

“Put it down!” － the soldier roared, his gun swinging toward her. － “Drop it, or I shoot you where you stand!”

Tsa’lor’s glare burned into him, her fingers tightening around the hilt. － “Try it,” － she spat, her voice trembling with rage and fear.－ “See what happens.”

“Hey, don’t!” － Lo’ak’s voice cut through, steady but urgent. － “Tìyawn fìtseng [put it down.]” － He let his bow fall, the clatter loud in the stillness.

She hissed one last time, dropping her knife into the dirt with a dull thud. It felt like surrender, and it tore at her.

“Hands up!” － another soldier barked, his voice grating against her ears.Spider growled, his bow hitting the ground as the soldiers closed in. Rough hands seized Tsa’lor’s wrists, twisting them behind her back.

She grunted, struggling as a soldier kicked Kiri’s legs out, sending her crashing to her knees with a pained gasp. Another grabbed Tsa’lor’s kuru, yanking hard. Pain seared through her skull, and she snarled, collapsing beside Kiri, her free hand scrabbling at the grip.

“Check ‘em for weapons!” － a soldier shouted, his voice echoing in her ringing ears.

“Tuk!” － Kiri called, her voice cracking as Tuk whimpered across the clearing. － “Mawey, mawey! [stay calm!]”

“Shut your mouth,” － a soldier snapped, shoving Kiri’s shoulder. － “Don’t move.”

A shadow loomed, and Tsa’lor’s breath snagged in her throat, sharp and ragged. － “What have we here?” － The voice slithered over her, cold and deliberate, each word a blade against her skin.

She dared a glance up through her lashes—Quaritch. His Na’vi form stood unnaturally tall, his broad frame clad in camouflage that clashed with the forest’s vibrant hues. His eyes, pale and predatory, swept over them, and terror coiled tight around her heart.

She dropped her head, her braids falling like a curtain to shield her face, and whispered a silent plea to Eywa: Don’t let him see me. Not now. Not ever.

The soldier’s grip on her kuru tightened, a fresh jolt of pain searing through her skull. She bit her lip hard, stifling a whimper, her hands twisting behind her back. Her five fingers—her curse, her secret—clenched into a fist, nails digging into her palms until she felt the sting of blood.

He was here—her father. And he didn’t even know her. Not yet. The thought was a bitter ache, a wound she couldn’t name.

Quaritch’s gaze slid past her, landing on Spider. He shifted his rifle to his back with a casual flick, then turned to Lo’ak, but a soldier’s voice cut through.

－ “Hey, Colonel, check this out.” － The Na’vi grabbed Kiri’s hand, wrenching it up to display her four fingers －“Look at that—four fingers. Half-breed.”

Kiri hissed, struggling as Quaritch stepped closer, his boots crunching the dirt. The soldier seized her kuru, yanking hard, and her scream tore through the air—a sound that clawed at Tsa’lor’s chest.

Kiri panted, her eyes blazing with defiance as Quaritch loomed over her, then swung his attention to Lo’ak. － “Show me your fingers,” － he ordered, pointing a thick digit at the boy. His voice was calm, but it carried a threat that made Tsa’lor’s stomach lurch.

Lo’ak knelt, a gun barrel pressed to his temple, his tail slashing the air. He glared up at Quaritch and raised both hands—middle fingers extended in a silent, furious rebellion.

Quaritch chuckled, a low, gravelly sound that sent chills down her spine. － “You’re his, aren’t you?” － His smirk widened, predatory. － “Yeah, you’re his, alright.”

Without warning, he lunged forward and grabbed Lo’ak’s kuru, hauling him to his feet. Lo’ak groaned, his face contorting in pain, and Tsa’lor’s heart slammed against her ribs.Quaritch ignored her, pulling on Lo’ak’s kuru as the boy growled, teeth bared. － “Where is he?” － he demanded.

Lo’ak stayed silent, his defiance a wall, and Quaritch tugged harder, his patience thinning.－ “Where?”

“Ngaytxoa, oe yemstokx’t plltxe ‘ìnglìsì tsonta tskitan,” － Lo’ak spat, his voice thick with venom. [Sorry, I don’t speak English to buttholes.]

Quaritch’s smirk faded, his Na’vi clumsy but intelligible. － “Tsenga lu your sempul? [Where is your father?]“ － He yanked again, and Lo’ak snarled, his tail whipping furiously.

Tsa’lor’s ears twitched, straining to parse his broken words. Quaritch’s patience snapped. － “Really? You wanna play it this way?” － He drew a pocket knife, its blade glinting as he held it near Lo’ak’s throat—then shoved him down, hard, into the dirt.

Lo’ak hit the ground with a grunt, and Quaritch turned toward Kiri. “Kiri, no—stop!” － Lo’ak shouted, scrambling to his knees.

tears burning behind Tsa’lor’s eyes. She couldn’t look—couldn’t watch him hurt them, couldn’t face the man who’d shaped her nightmares.

“Don’t hurt her, please,” － Tuk whimpered, her small voice trembling across the clearing.

Quaritch paused, then pivoted to Spider, his gaze narrowing at the human boy hissing like a cornered animal. － “What’s your name, kid?” － he asked, his tone deceptively soft.

Spider panted, sweat beading on his brow. － “Spider… Socorro.”Tsa’lor’s head jerked up, her ears flattening as her mouth fell open.

’𝗦𝗼𝗰𝗼𝗿𝗿𝗼?’

The name crashed through her like a tidal wave, drowning her thoughts. Her mother’s name—her name.

’𝗛𝗼𝘄? 𝗛𝗼𝘄 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝗲 𝗮 𝗦𝗼𝗰𝗼𝗿𝗿𝗼 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗜 𝗮𝗺?’

Her mind spun, grasping at fragments.

’𝗔 𝗯𝗿𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿? 𝗗𝗶𝗱 𝗜 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗮 𝗯𝗿𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲?’

Quaritch stared at Spider, disbelief flickering across his face. Tsa’lor’s breath quickened, panic rising like bile.

’𝗡𝗼, 𝗻𝗼, 𝗻𝗼—𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝗮𝗻’𝘁 𝗯𝗲. 𝗛𝗲 𝗰𝗮𝗻’𝘁 𝗯𝗲 𝗺𝘆－’

Her thoughts fractured

‘𝗢𝗹𝗱𝗲𝗿? 𝗬𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿? 𝗛𝗼𝘄 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗜 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄?

She ducked her head again, praying they wouldn’t see the storm in her eyes.

“Miles?” － Quaritch said, crouching to Spider’s level, his voice softening with something Tsa’lor couldn’t place—recognition, maybe, or regret.

“Nobody calls me that,” － Spider snapped, his defiance unshaken.

Quaritch’s mouth twitched, almost a smile. － “Well, I’ll be damned… Figured they shipped you back to Earth.”

“Can’t put babies in cryo, dipshit.”－ Spider retorted, his glare unwavering.

Tsa’lor’s chest tightened, a quiet gasp slipping out before she could catch it. She ducked lower, her heart a frantic drumbeat.

Quaritch tilted his head, studying Spider, then gestured sharply. A soldier grabbed the boy again, pinning his arms, and Quaritch rose, turning to his mic. －“Iron Sky, Blue One, Actual,” － he said, his voice steady once more.

“Blue One, Iron Sky, send your traffic,” － a female voice crackled back.

“We’re standing by for extract, over.”

“Dragonfly comin’ left, we are go for extract,” － a male voice replied.

“Be advised, we’re bringing in high-value prisoners,” － Quaritch added, his gaze flicking briefly to Spider.

“Let us go!” － Kiri shouted, her voice hoarse with fury.

“Shut up,” － a soldier barked, shoving her shoulder.

“Sit tight, Blue One. We’re inbound to your pos,” － the female voice confirmed. － “Bingo in ten. On the clock. Over.”

A soldier slammed Tsa’lor to the ground again, her knees hitting the dirt with a jolt that rattled her bones. － “Sit down—on the dirt!” － he snarled, pressing the cold barrel of his gun against her temple. She froze, her breath shallow, the metal a chilling weight against her skin.

“Get down on the ground!” － another yelled, forcing the others into submission.

“Lyle, get me some audio on this,” － Quaritch ordered, cradling a holographic tablet. Tsa’lor’s eyes darted to the side, watching Lyle’s fingers dance over the controls, his expression blank.

“Shut your mouth!” － a female Na’vi snapped, shoving Kiri down beside her. Kiri grunted, her tail flicking in protest.

Quaritch’s gaze fixed on the tablet as grainy footage flickered to life. － “That’s Sully’s woman,” － he said, his voice dripping with disdain as Neytiri’s face appeared, fierce and unyielding even in memory.

“She’s an animal,” － Lyle muttered, smirking.

“Give it up, Quaritch,”－ a Na’vi voice spoke from the footage, sharp and defiant—Jake Sully, staring into the camera.

“Sully,” － Quaritch growled, his fists clenching.

“It’s all over.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“Nothing’s over while I’m breathing,” － his human voice rasped from the past, a ghost of fury.

“I kinda hoped you’d say that,” － Sully replied, and then the screams erupted—sharp, guttural, final.

Tsa’lor flinched, turning her head away as the echoes of that old violence filled the air.

The eclipse clung to the sky like a shroud, the forest drowning in a thick, oppressive dark. Rain fell in relentless, icy streams, each drop a lash against Tsa’lor skin, seeping through her braids to trickle down her spine.

She stood stiff among the Sully kids, her legs quaking from hours of strain, muscles screaming under the weight of her own body. The cold bit deeper than the forest’s thorns ever had, and her breath fogged in shallow bursts, barely audible over the rain’s ceaseless drum.

She shut her eyes, forcing air past the knot in her chest. Breathe. Listen. The forest sang its fractured lullaby—wet fronds slapping together, their bioluminescent veins flickering like dying stars; the low croak of a hexapede skittering through underbrush; the drip-drip-drip of water pooling in the gnarled hollows of ancient roots.

Her ears twitched, catching the faint rustle of a leaf disturbed by something heavier than wind. But dread smothered her senses, a vice around her ribs. Miles Quaritch—her father, the demon who’d razed Hometree—if his hands closed around her throat, she’d claw her way to Eywa’s embrace first.

‘𝗟𝗲𝘁 𝗺𝗲 𝗱𝗶𝗲 𝗡𝗮’𝘃𝗶.’

she begged silently,

‘𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗵𝗶𝘀.’

“Blue One, stand by ready. We’re three minutes out,” － a voice crackled through Quaritch’s mic, muffled and jagged.

Tsa’lor’s brows furrowed, her tail flicking sharp against her leg. She tried to sink back into the forest—the tang of wet earth, the sour bite of crushed ferns—but fear coiled tighter, a noose she couldn’t shake.

“Heads up, three minutes,” － Quaritch’s voice sliced through．

Her eyes snapped open, wide and wild. Tuk whimpered at a distant yip—viperwolves, their calls sharpening, circling closer. The Na’vi soldier gripping her didn’t flinch, his face a mask of indifference, but Tsa’lor’s gaze darted to Spider. His masked eyes were locked on the shadows, breath fogging his visor.

“You hear that?” － she hissed, voice barely a whisper, her fangs grazing her lip.

Spider nodded, tense. － “Too close.”

Kiri’s voice rose then, a soft chant in Na’vi, words weaving through the rain like a thread of defiance. The soldier holding her yanked her kuru hard, snarling,

“Shut up!” － Pain flashed across Kiri’s face, her braid jerking in his grip, but she only chanted louder, her voice a quiet storm.

A sharp thwack cut the air—an arrow punched through the soldier’s skull, blood spraying as he crumpled into the mud, lifeless. Tsa’lor flinched, her ears ringing, the coppery scent hitting her nose.

“Contact near!” － a soldier bellowed.

Gunfire exploded, a barrage of light and death shredding the night. Tsa’lor dropped, the ground slamming into her knees, mud soaking her palms with its bitter chill. She crawled, breaths ragged, toward Kiri and Spider—freed now, scrambling through the chaos.

Lo’ak wrestled a soldier, green gas hissing from a punctured canister as he sank his teeth into the man’s arm, a feral growl ripping from his throat.

Tuk bit her captor’s hand, the woman’s yelp—“Ow, you little shit!”—trailing her as she darted after Lo’ak.

“Lo’ak!” － Tuk’s voice cracked, small and desperate.

“Go, go, go!” － he shouted, shoving her into the trees, their forms swallowed by the dark.

“Get back here!” － a soldier roared, his gun spitting fire.

“Run!” Spider’s yell pierced the din as he grabbed Kiri’s arm and bolted. Tsa’lor’s heart slammed against her ribs, legs pumping as she tore after them. The forest blurred—vines lashed her arms, tearing skin, their glowing tips streaking blood across her flesh.

’𝗛𝗲’𝘀 𝗯𝗲𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗱 𝗺𝗲.’

Quaritch’s gunfire chewed through trunks, splintering bark into the air, and she swore she felt his breath, his hands—her father’s hands—reaching for her.

“Grab ‘em!” － a soldier barked. One lunged, snagging Kiri’s kuru. She stumbled, a cry escaping her—then an arrow found the soldier’s forehead, blood blooming as she fell, releasing Kiri in a lifeless heap.

“Come on!” － Tsa’lor’s voice broke, raw and urgent, as she waved them forward.

They plunged deeper, boots slipping on wet grass and trampled ferns. Tsa’lor’s ankle twisted, pain shooting up her leg, but she pushed on, lungs burning with each gasp. The trees loomed thicker, their glowing veins casting jagged shadows across the mud-slick ground.

“Go, go, go!” － Spider shouted, his voice a lifeline at her back as they leapt onto a massive branch, its mossy surface trembling under their weight.

A deafening boom shattered the world. The branch erupted beneath them, fire and shrapnel blasting outward in a roar of heat and sound. Spider screamed, tumbling into the dark, his body vanishing into a snarl of vines below. Tsa’lor’s balance faltered, her arms flailing as she caught herself on a splintered edge, nails digging into the wood until they bled.

“Spider?” － Kiri spun, her voice a jagged sob. Tsa’lor steadied herself, panic clawing her throat as she peered into the abyss where he’d fallen, the vines swaying like a grave.

“Spider!” － Kiri’s cry echoed, desperate, pleading.

Vines rustled above, and Neytiri dropped onto the branch, her silhouette fierce against the flickering glow. Her eyes—sharp, yellow, unyielding—shifted between Kiri and Tsa’lor, lingering on the stranger with a flicker of mistrust.

“Kiri! Come!” － She leapt over her daughter, yanking her up by the hand, her grip a mother’s iron claim.

Tsa’lor nodded—to herself, to the void—and turned, sprinting away, Neytiri’s fierce shouts fading into the rain. She crashed into Lo’ak and Tuk, a startled snarl ripping from her chest, her fangs bared as she stumbled back.

Kiri and Neytiri’s footsteps closed in, rapid and relentless.

“We’re clear. Everyone okay?” － Jake’s voice cut through, steady but frayed, as he grabbed Neteyam’s shoulders, then Lo’ak’s, his hands checking for wounds. His eyes lingered on Tuk, her small frame trembling as she shoved past Tsa’lor.

“Mom!” － Tuk flung herself at Neytiri, who swept her up, clutching her tight against her chest.

“Tuk!” － Neytiri’s voice broke, a sob of relief as she buried her face in her daughter’s hair.

Jake pulled his sons close, his forehead resting on Neteyam’s. －“It’s okay, we’re okay,” he murmured, voice thick with exhaustion.

“Thank you, Great Mother,” － Neytiri whispered, her eyes lifting to the unseen sky, rain streaking her face like tears.

Tsa’lor’s ears pinned back, her tail curling tight against her leg. The family’s embrace was a fortress—warm, alive, unbreakable—and she stood outside it, a shadow cast by their light. Her chest ached, a hollow pang she couldn’t name.

Eywa had spared them, the ones her parents had hunted, but Tsa’lor? She was a stain, a remnant of their sins, untouched by grace.

“Where’s Spider?” － Jake’s voice sharpened, turning to Kiri.

“They took him,” － Tsa’lor said, the words spilling out before Kiri could speak. Her voice trembled, and she swallowed hard, feeling the weight of their stares—Jake’s piercing, Neytiri’s cold as stone. － “I saw him fall. The soldiers—they grabbed him.”

Jake stepped closer, his gaze narrowing as he studied her—mud-streaked, wild-eyed, five fingers clenched at her sides. － “Alright, kid, let’s have a look at you. What’s your name?”

Her mouth parted, breath shallow under the scrutiny. － “Tsa’lor. Tsa’lor te Rìkxu Omaticaya’ite.” － The words felt like ash, and she hesitated, then added, － “Tsa’lor Soccoro.” her voice dropped, barely a whisper, the human name a wound she couldn't hide.

Jake’s eyes widened, recognition flashing.

“Soccoro..” － He paused, jaw tightening. － “Your mother was Paz Socorro?”

[mystieris]

The Gods' Rage Forms

So in Urban Gods, the gods look mostly like normal humans, but when they become enraged, their elemental and animalistic sides begin to show through. Here's some ideas of how they manifest throughout the story. All of them grow taller, lose the color in their eyes as they glow with a golden light, their teeth elongate and sharpen, and in most cases their fingers turn into claws.

Hades - Hair bursts into blue flames and ram horns grow out of the sides of his head. The sound of screech owls trilling can be heard from all around as shadows wrap around him, whoever he's mad at and bleeds around the room.

Zeus - Bull horns extend out the sides of his head, hair flares out with static electricity, thunder can be heard as storm clouds gather around and eagle feathers grow out of his arms.

Poseidon - Hands can turn to horse hooves at will, coattail turns into a dolphin tail, waves can be heard crashing even when no water is around, and his hair turns into sea water, whipping around wildly.

Hera - cow horns grow out of her head and peacock feathers begin to grow out of her head and arms and the sound of roaring lions can be heard.

Demeter - Her wheat crown rearranges to resemble the feathers on the the head of a Gray Crowned Crane as the screeching of pigs can be heard, and she grows out a serpent tail.

Persephone - the sound of bats squeaking fills the air as deer antlers extend from her head mixed in with her flower crown and dark-colored butterflies begin to fill the room, making it look darker.

These are all the ones I've really written or had ideas for so far ^^ I might post what happens to the other gods later as I think of more. Follow me I'd you're interested in hearing more about this project! :)

[piperjistic]

Golden Heart - KFP

“You’re the best of us, Po.” Po blinked. Po blink again.

Tigress wears a soft and small smile, as if what she said has no weight- no- it made perfect sense for her to say while everyone downed a bowl of noodles after a hard day of training. Well, if Chi had to used then yes, it was definitely a hard day.

“What? Me? No-“

“No it’s true Po! You are!” Monkey chimed in, tapping his chopsticks together. He was smiling as well. They all were. Like they all reached a consensus without speaking. Or maybe they did the night before, who knows?

“But you guys are the Furious Five!?!”

Crane shrugs. Mantis also shrugs, replying. “So? What does that got to do with that?”

Po couldn’t believe it. The Furious Five, the ultimate kung fu fighting team that trained under the Master Shifu and Oogway. They think he’s better than all of them? No, that can’t be right. He closes his mouth, frowning. They’ve spent years together training, living, and, well, everything. They must not be thinking straight from hunger. “Alright, enough. You guys need to eat your food, you’re going delirious from hunger.”

“All of us?” Viper questions, wiggling her chopsticks at everyone.

“We are not delirious. Delirious would be me not wanting to eat your cooking.” Monkey said, Mantis nodding as he promptly stuffs a noodle into his mouth. “Mmmm…!”

“I highly doubt all of us is delirious, especially Tigress.” Crane chirps, holding his bowl to his beak. Tigress sharpens her eyes on him, he immediately shrinks.

“What’s that suppose to mean-“

“We love your cooking Po,-” Viper cuts in; reeling the conversation back in. “-but we love you more. And we truly believe you are the best of us because of who you are and what you’ve done for us.”

Po’s expression hasn’t budge from confusion. He sets his chopsticks down. “What- But???”

“Po, what’s so confusing about this?” Tigress presses on, a twinge of agitation in her voice. He exaggerates his gestures towards them to match his voice.

“You shared your pain together!” They all shrug..

“But not our laughs.” Monkey replies fleetly.

“And definitely not our bellies.” Mantis jokes. Crane follows up.

“Oo- and definitely not a more gracious Shifu. I mean-“

“Until you.” Viper finishes. Okay, that was an coordinated defense attack(?). Maybe they weren’t delirious.

“Po,” Tigress takes a softer tone, catching his eyes immediately. “You’ve done so much for us that you probably won’t realize until later, but we-… I, at least, want to properly say thank you for it. Thank you for feeding us your delicious noodles. Thank you for opening our eyes to a life that includes more than just kung fu. Thank you for giving Shifu closure and easing his soul. Thank you for everything. You have… such a way with words… you have a heart of gold. Pure and shining like the sun.” She places her paw on top of his.

His eyes widen, surprised by the public display of affection. Though his surprise at finally understanding what they meant overrides it.

“Wait so are we talking about the noodles or-“ Tigress massages her temple.

“Po-“

“Okay! Kidding…! Mostly.” He whispers the last part. “So my character?”

“Yes!” They say in unison. Crane pinches his brow, recapping for him.

“You have a heart of gold, your the best of us.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m the best-“ Monkey cuts him off.

“You’re going to be.” Then Mantis raises his claw to Po’s open mouth.

“You’re gentle, kind, forgiving, and appreciative.” Tigress tries not to grumble the last part. Viper giggles.

“And we love you for that.”

The panda was stunned by the big display of affection before him, even repeated to him no less. All for him? Really? “Aww you guys-“

“What’s this racket at this time of night?” Shifu stands at the door, frowning as usual.

They all deadpan. “Po.”

“Ah.. I see. Makes sense. Goodnight everyone.” He continues moving along.

“Whattt- Hey wait a minute!” Po trips out of his seat to follow their kung fu master. They all laugh and sigh. Now they can finish their meal in piece and let their master quell the panda.

[another-corpo-rat]

Shot by the dear @halsin💕

Victoria Crane Netrunner | Affiliation: Arasaka

“You know something I don’t? I doubt that but go on; I’m curious how you’ll waste my time.”

A snake in the rat’s nest, between her natural ease in lying and quiet brutality there was little doubt that Victoria Crane would flourish in the corporate life. Climbing high off of her mother’s shoulders and then higher still off the backs of beaten down peers, making sure to dig her heel into their spines, Victoria has managed to create her own niche within Arasaka. One she defends with tooth and claw.

She has had a hand in several company projects and missions throughout the years, garnering her own reputation as an individual best avoided in cyberspace. Her name gained extra polish due to her ongoing association with Adam Smasher.

Once deftly subtle in her approach, working with the cyborg for so long has taught her the effectiveness of tossing a grenade now and then.

Relationships

Partners: Adam Smasher (Current, Mainline) Unnamed wife†

Relatives: Marion Victoria-Diane Crane (mother) Joseph Benjamin Morris-Crane (father)† Angelo Victor Morris (half-brother)†

Biography

1990s-2020

Born in England in the mid-90s, Victoria was primarily raised by her mother while her father worked in the NUSA. Throughout her youth she would be repeatedly called her mother’s ‘mini’ due to their similarities in both appearance and temperament.

This temperament would be sharpened against the whetstone of her peers during her school years, aimed pointedly at those she felt didn’t belong anywhere near her social circles. She was notably unmoved following an announcement that a classmate had committed suicide, and hardly bothered when a friend of that classmate laid the blame for their death at her feet. This individual would later have to drop out due to their parents losing their jobs and standing within Arasaka.

Upon completing her education, Victoria immediately moved into a corporate job – working for Arasaka’s London Counter-Intel department. Her quick ascension through the pay brackets was accelerated by an unquestionable skill in netrunning and nepotism.

2021-2023

In 2021 Victoria was transferred to the Night City offices. Reunited with her father, she simultaneously learned of his affair and second family. Their relationship promptly crumbled.

She was kept busy during the Fourth Corporate War, assigned as the company netrunner for a hired merc, she worked with them until their attempted defection to Militech. Sloppy in covering their tracks, Victoria became quickly aware of what they were planning and alerted her superiors – she had the pleasure of zeroing them herself and did so with a brutality unique to netrunners.

Following this, Victoria was assigned to work with Adam Smasher. Throughout 2022 they would work several missions together, but Victoria would not meet the cyborg in person due to deeming it unnecessary. It was late in 2022 and through sheer luck that she happened to step into the same elevator as him on her way to a mission briefing. Their first words exchanged in person were allegedly insults.

Still, the duo would develop something of a camaraderie. One of their recorded mission communications included Smasher encouraging a less bloodless approach in how Crane should deal with her familial issues. While she agreed, Crane also claimed she didn’t want their suffering to end ‘too quickly.’

Present in Night City on the night of the nuking, Victoria was not operating within the tower as Smasher felt it stupid to have his netrunner present where the action was going to take place. This decision kept Victoria alive. She would jack out of her chair following comm disruption and repeated failure to re-establish contact with Smasher, only to look out in horror as she witnessed the sky turn red.

2023-2050s

Victoria would return to the London offices after the bomb, certain that Smasher had been lost in the attack. She would claim the contrary but it was clear to any who knew her that she was not herself for some time afterwards. Her fury at learning her father and his second family had survived was uncharacteristic as she had destroyed personal property and outright threatened the life of his mistress.

It wasn’t until 2026 that Victoria learned of Smasher’s survival. A notable relief gave way to her usual coldness in a matter of minutes. 

She would operate primarily from the Arasaka tower in London, assigned once again to be the netrunner for an Arasaka-hired merc. Enthralled with the familiar brand of violence, Victoria and the merc would marry in the late ‘30s. Neither of them were particularly loyal or loving.

Following her marriage and due to his ailing health, Joseph would reach out and try to repair their shattered relationship. While his attempts would amount to naught and achieve little else than further agitating Victoria, she made copies of his neurological research knowing they would prove useful for her own project idea that had taken root.

Joseph died in 2039 and perhaps in a last-ditch effort to make amends, had left a majority of his wealth and belongings to his daughter. Victoria would dispose of most of it and sell anything of value, but she kept a painting he had purchased specifically for her (the original of Landseer’s Man Proposes, God Disposes.)

In 2042 Victoria returned to Night City when her wife was on an operation. While she waited for her to return in the AV Hangar, she was instead reunited with Smasher who was also involved in the op. He greeted her with the news she was a widow, her wife having “gotten herself killed.”

The two would leave the hangar together to ‘catch up.’ Within a matter of days, she was reassigned as Smasher’s personal netrunner.

2053-2076

In 2053 following Smasher’s assignment as Yorinobu Arasaka’s bodyguard, the Arasaka heir attempted to replace Victoria, removing her from the position and assigning another that he personally selected. Smasher would burn through a number of these replacements in a matter of months, with the longest surviving only forty-six days.

In this interim, Victoria had dedicated her time to a personal project called OIZYS.

She returned to the role of Smasher’s netrunner within the year and would continue to work on OIZYS during lulls between work Arasaka assigned to Smasher and any personal gigs he took on.

In 2056, the project would see a successful test that confirmed its viability. Victoria pitched the project to Arasaka, successfully gaining funding and permissions for further tests on company-provided subjects.

In the same week as this successful run, her father’s former mistress would vanish following a public spectacle at a celebratory dinner for her half-brother. Angelo, placing the blame on Victoria for her treatment of his mother through the years and demanding that their father chose while simultaneously rejecting his attempts to amends, hired a fixer to plant a bomb under Victoria’s car.

The attempted murder failed, instead killing her building’s valet. In the days that followed and with the gossip mills churning, a number of Angelo’s illicit activities from the 2020s onward became public. This included videos of him in the midst of orgies, drunken slander of the Arasaka family and NUSA government officials, recordings of his calls concerning the attempted car-bombing, and his involvement in recording the torture and murder of a NCPD’s officer’s son.

He would commit suicide by the end of the week. With no family to arrange a funeral and his friends in hiding, his body was dumped in the municipal landfill.

In 2061, OIZYS had changed as Victoria was ‘highly encouraged’ to incorporate an experimental nanite technology into its operations. While the nanites solved a trigger-delay issue, they were also more aggressive than anticipated and would not stop in their assault after the amygdala had been overwhelmed.

The project was deemed a success and Arasaka has used it successfully against a handful of international targets, however Victoria and a small team are still working to iron out the kinks. These efforts have been slow-going both because of the experimental status of the nanites themselves and the uptick in work Smasher performed for the company at the direct behest of Yorinobu.

2077

Following the sudden death of Saburo Arasaka and the aggressive actions of Yorinobu in the wake of becoming CEO, Victoria became suspicious of the man’s intentions. Like many, she saw through the inconsistencies with his poisoning story but would bite her tongue to see what direction he would steer the company.

Unhappy with said direction, she acts as if her hands are tied due to the influx of work that has landed in her lap with Smasher’s promotion to Head of Security. However, some have noted her free time spent in the company of Michiko Arasaka.

Cyberware

NetWatch Netdriver Mk.5 Self-ICE | Ex-Disk | Visual Cortex Support Favoured Quickhacks: Ping | Short Circuit | Contagion | Cyberware Malfunction | Reboot Optics | Suicide

Cyberoptics, EMP Threading, Chromed cyberarms with claw mods, Chromed collar, Optical Camo, Syn-Lungs, Titanium Bones, Lynx Paws, and a Midnight Lady

Weapons

“Charon” A personalised M2038 Tactician that deals electrical damage. Rarely used but always on-hand.

“Lancehead” A gold and black balisong tipped with neurotoxin. Victoria’s preferred method for dispatching anyone who gets too close. This weapon was a gift from Smasher, she claims that holds no bearing on her favouring it.

Notes

Victoria has modified her Contagion hack to attack aggressively, causing death more often than naught in its onslaught. Even those who survive the initial upload may die days later from the prolonged assault on their organs.

Smasher is the cause for her cyberarms – having deliberately crushed her right arm in early 2023 following a flare-up of carpal tunnel. She opted to get both replaced.

Her titanium bones and syn-lungs were not wanted modifications but were necessary after Smasher’s AV was shot down by juiced-up Animals. Her lungs were punctured by her ribs when he was tossed on top of her by gravity.  

Divider by Saradika

[owlespresso]

luterius's folly. sylvain jose gautier. chapter 3 of polioctics. chapter 1. chapter 2.

tags: fem!reader, reader has a personality, manipulation, aftermath of noncon, toxic relationship dynamics

You hardly remember getting into the sleek black car Felix called for you. You recall the ride home, the leather upholstery sticking to your thighs, the lush green of the city’s outer limits blurring into a stony slate grey. The massive hillside manors give way to hold department buildings and crumbling brick, a poignant reminder of the distance between you and them.

It jams the gears sticky in your head as you clamber into your apartment, clamber into the shower to scrub the remnants of last night from your skin. The water scalds down your back, a welcome refuge from the thoughts which rattle and writhe in your head and underneath your skin. When you finally clamber out of the shower, morning’s grey light is just touching in through the windows. 

You want to call them. You want to demand an explanation so badly—want to know the whys and hows and what it all means, where you stand now. But you don’t. You dry yourself off and keep your shaking hands away from your phone, no matter how many times it rings and vibrates. 

You crack open an old, dusty textbook. It’s a volume you loaned once upon a time from university, and after the course you had been too preoccupied to return it. It’s sat on your living room bookshelf ever since, and now you comb its contents in bleak search of distraction. It’s the only book you have yet to read.

The Roman legions do not have the answers to your burning questions, but you find temporary refuge in the dates and times and tales of strategic heroism and monstrous conquering. The hours pass one after the other, until the wild pang of hunger claws at your growling stomach, too sharp to ignore. The pantry is empty, with the exception of some old bread and perishables which you won’t likely ever eat.

Takeout would be the most reasonable option, but cowering in your apartment and shoveling down greasy food would only make you feel worse. You want something to do, something to keep your hands busy and your mind active.

Thus, you throw on your most comfortable pair of shoes and hit the streets, venturing to the grocery store on the corner. Drifting through the aisles reminds you of the last time you cooked. Ingrid and Sylvain visited. You remember the succulent smell of onion and roasted meat, all cooking in one pot. Ingrid’s hands were soft when she handed you a knife to chop the carrots with. She scolded you for its bluntness, clucking her tongue as she sharpened it as best she could with your limited equipment. Sylvain laughed, light and rich, asking her to go easy on your haggard, busy self.

The once warm memory only fills you with trepidation now. A part of you is grateful for the cold that sweeps in on you the moment you step foot outside, chill prickling your cheeks and lungs filling with crisp air. You let it settle in, covet it, curling your stiff fingers around the strap of your bag. 

The store is cozy and family-run, with tight aisles and sale signs hand drawn by the owners’ daughter. You spend extra time lingering in the lanes, reading product labels you had never bothered with before. Thirty minutes later sees you back out the door and onto the brumous streets, wind sharp enough to make your eyes water. You spent a tad more than you would have liked to, but you can’t overstate the value of having little treats to look forward to after a long day. You’re feeling more than content with your purchases, already fantasizing about the warm, creamy penne ala vodka in your future.

Your hurried steps chug to a half at the sight of the man lingering before your door. 

Sylvain looks remarkably unsure of himself, loitering in the middle of the hall like a lost child. He straddles your door like he’s trying to become one with it. His neck is craned, eyes narrowed in a squint as he stares at his phone, thumbs frantically typing. You could laugh, if not for the pit which opens up in your stomach, appetite squashed and groceries suddenly feeling twice as heavy.

Forcing a smile, you finally speak.

“Hey,” you murmur, and Sylvain’s head snaps up. He blinks his eyes wide before his expression settles into a smile, the easygoing kind that doesn’t meet his eyes. “What’re you doing out here? You have a key. I don’t mind if you let yourself in.” you step past him, shoving your key into the lock. 

It’s unlike him to show up to your apartment unannounced. Or maybe he called, and you hadn’t known because you left your phone at home. Regardless, your stomach sinks as you feel him stride in behind you, door opening with a soft click.

“Forgot it at home,” he admits sheepishly. “Here—let me get that for you.” When he reaches for your grocery bag, you turn it loose automatically, like you’ve done no less than twelve times before. You’re sure he does the same for every girl he spends time with, but the gesture feels nice, nonetheless. You wonder, briefly, if any of the other girls have apartments like yours. Or does he mostly date the well-off daughters from the families he had grown up with? 

“Really?” you blink. “You usually don’t forget that kind of thing.” you motion for him to drop the bag on the kitchen counter, before beginning to sort through and store your acquisitions. “Is everything alright?”

“What can I say? I was so excited to pay you a visit that it just slipped my mind,” Sylvain schmoozes as easily as he breathes, and you don’t know whether to be offended at the blatancy or upset at yourself because it’s working. It’s unsettling, how easily you fall back into your typical banter.

“Well, better to forget it than lose it. I don’t think the landlord would appreciate having to replace another key,” you remark wryly, bustling around Sylvain, who has shouldered into the kitchen to place the pasta on its designated pantry shelf.

“I don’t think the landlord appreciates doing anything he’s supposed to,” Sylvain replies with noticeable disdain. “He left that leak upstairs alone for what? Four months?” He puts the sauce ingredients away, too. “You planning on cooking tonight?” he raises a brow. “Don’t get me wrong, I love your cooking, but you look exhausted. Why don’t you let me treat you?”

“Are you sure?” you blink, pointedly avoiding the reason for your fatigue. You bury the hazy memories deep deep within the furthest recesses of your mind. If Sylvain doesn’t feel the need to bring it up, then it must not have been terribly important to him. You can leave it at that. You’re happy to leave it at that. “You don’t have to.” But you aren’t in the habit of refusing a warm meal, or in the habit of denying him.

“I want to,” Sylvain says, and it sounds like an oath. “I like spending time with you. And spending money on you. You know that, right?”

“Well, I,” you stammer as he takes your hands, so small in his own. He’s got wide palms and elegant fingers, a pianist’s hands, you remember telling him.

“Because sometimes it really doesn’t feel like you know how much you mean to me,” he continues, plowing through your noncommittal mumblings without hesitation. It’s so different from the flimsy, idle flirting you’ve become so familiar with, that you’ve learned to ignore.

“I—” How did you respond to that? “I just… didn’t want to assume…”

“I know, because you’re sweet like that,” Sylvain says with a forlorn sigh. He threads his fingers through thick red locks.

“We can go out, if you want. I’d like that,” you say, both to change the topic and to appease him. He knows this as well as you do, but he doesn’t argue. A smile teases the corners of his lips.

He shepherds you out of your apartment and into the black car waiting out front. The restaurant you pull up to but fifteen minutes later is a diner, not too expensive, but not bargain bin cheap. Much to your relief, you are seated on the less crowded side of the diner, granting you a relative amount of privacy. 

It’s comforting at first, as you shuffle into the dark blue booth, until you come face-to-face with Sylvain, whose intentions you are still floundering to comprehend. He looks completely and entirely at ease, idly perusing the menu with hooded brown eyes. And he’s more dressed up than usual.

Sylvain, born into wealth and prestige, takes a special delight in dressing in ways his father would simply despise. But today, he’s in a clean blazer and button up, leaving you even more unsettled and uncertain. 

Maybe he just felt like dressing extra nice today. Maybe you’re overthinking it.

“So… the landlord fix the heat, yet?” he asks. Was he at all going to address what happened last night? Or had it all been some feverish dream conjured in your drunken stupor?

“He did. It more or less works now,” you reply with a weak laugh. Sylcain tilts his head and squints, before sighing.

“Alright. I thought a change of scenery would help, but you look ready to explode. Do you wanna talk about what happened—”

“What did it mean?” you blurt out. “Why did you do it? Has Dimitri not been… available enough recently? Is that why?”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Sylvain’s eyes widen, his hands raising in a gesture of surrender. “One at a time. Give me a second here.”

You settle into an uneasy silence, staring at him over the pickles and coleslaw the waitstaff brought out to the table, left untouched.

“Sorry,” your voice dies into a mumble.

“I—I know what happened last night was really sudden, but I want you to know that it was all completely genuine. What Dimitri and I have is… unconventional, sure, but it wasn’t anything like that. I wasn’t using you or anything,” he spits out the word ‘using’ with a grim shiver, as though repulsed by the idea. “Have you… ever heard of an open relationship?”

You have. From reality television and message boards in which mostly women complained at being pressured into them. The concept, whilst foreign, seemed untenable in the face of modern dating and all its challenges. Most of what you saw were complaints, rife with envy. Though, perhaps r/relationshipadvice isn’t the best source of unbiased information for these kinds of things.

Regardless, you likely should have expected this from someone as experimental and affectionate as Sylvain. Not because of his negative reputation. You’ve never put much stock into the nasty rumors spread about him. If anything, you should have expected it because of how open he is, how his affection is easily immense enough to blanket multiple people.

“Well, we’ve been talking about it—with Felix too—”

You’re incredulous. “You’re dating Felix too!?” 

“Probably should have started with that, huh? But yeah, for a while now. He’s told us to keep our yaps shut about it. You know how he is,” Sylvain shrugs noncommittally, glancing around for good measure, as though Felix would burst from the walls just to strangle him.

You can’t imagine Felix telling anyone about having a girlfriend, let alone two boyfriends who are also intimately related with each other. So you nod again. Before Sylvain can respond, a waitress returns to take your orders with a flat smile. You order something simple, lighter fare in case your stomach happens to revolt against you. Her gaze lingers on Sylvain for an extra moment, clearly appreciative. Because, despite what numerous scorned ex-partners may insist, he is a very handsome fellow.

“Anyways, as I was saying, we’ve been talking about this for a long time, and we want you. All three of us.” Sylvain says.

Huh? You must not have heard him right. 

“I’m sorry?” You say with wide eyes and a blank smile.

“All three of us want you.” Sylvain repeats, and the revelation is enough to send you slumping back into the seats. 

The three of them? And you? The very idea is laughable, an absurd concept dreamed up after a serving of bad beef. You would have had an easier time believing that you wer simply a warm, wtt hole for them to fuck—a spur of the moment choice meant to spice things up one of their countless nights together. You’re friends, which means you’re easily accessible. The feelings wouldn’t be any deeper than they. They couldn’t be. What have you done to warrant such affection?

“I don’t know what to say. To that.” you say numbly.

“You don’t have to give me an answer now,” Sylvain soothes, voice honey and molasses. You drag your index finger down the side of your glass, savoring the sting of the wet, cold condensation. “I know it’s a lot to take in. I just wanted you to know that you mean so, so much to us, and that last night wasn’t some fluke.”

Silence settles between the both of you. And Sylvain seems content to leave it at that. He gives you the time to absorb all he’s dropped on you. Time feels liquid, the smooth jazz and cool color scheme of the decor urging you into a hazy, almost semi-conscious state. You stop thinking, after another minute of quiet. You don’t want to think. Not right now. Not when you’re so tired.

You’re not sure how much time passes. When you blink back into awareness, it’s to Sylvain gently calling your name, his fingers stroking up your forearm. The touch is gentle, but you jerk backwards and immediately feel horrible when his face falls. 

“Sorry. I was just… thinking.” you murmur. 

“No, that’s okay. I was just asking if you wanted to have dessert here, or go for something after?” Sylvain gives you another winsome smile, steering the conversation away from the tangled, gnatted mass it has become in your head. It takes hardly a moment to slide back into the usual tempo, to think about something else, something else, anything else. It’s made easy when he steers the conversation, letting you rattle on about your latest passions. He rests his cheek on the palm of his hand, smiles soft and eyes as fond as you have ever seen them. His ability to simply listen and continuously feign interest endears you to him immensely. For a moment, if only briefly, you can pretend someone is genuinely interested in what you have to say.

It’s a different, more adult type of playing pretend, which he’s likely honed over years of stuffy corporate meetings and charity balls and donation drives his father uses to curry favor with the general public.

Still, it’s nice to be indulged.

Like the gentleman he is, he pays for dinner. And then dessert. He escorts you home with a hand on the small of your back. He opens doors for you, leaves you at the door of your apartment with only a small embrace. It’s hard to believe that this Sylvain and the one you encountered last night are one and the same. It becomes easier when you remember how little you give in return.

Maybe, last night was the least you could have done for him in exchange for the adoration he insists on lavishing you with.

It makes sense, but it leaves you feeling distinctly hollow as you trudge in and out of the shower for a second time. An hour after you return home, you’re already wrapped up in bed. The blankets and pillow cases are freshly washed. They still smell of the flowery detergent you used, cool and buttery as you nuzzle into the cushion, let yourself sink into the folding embrace of the sheets.

Two hours later, you jolt awake, staring into the nighttime dark with wide, wide eyes.

Are you pregnant?

[a-what-without-who]

❝she loves me like a dog❞ but actually in a way of ❝my teeth will only cut your lips❞

from a perspective of the most angry and unimaginably terrifying people. from those, who are irredeemable in their own way and can't hide their claws and teeth. why? it simply is, it was and it will be the only possible way to live. to survive. to love animalistically, not being able to tell whether the other one will hold you in a hug or will hold you in a chokehold. or will put a chain on you.

in a way of than one dog, that scared you in a childhood. that dog, that watched you from a neighbour yard with the boiling dread. it only guards the neighbourhood house, why should it be scary? you know that this dog's hunger isn't satisfied. and you know that this house is almost abandoned. the owner of this house isn't willing to give enough to this creature. feed its hunger, fullfil it, this is the kind of hunger that simply can not be fulfilled.

daisy sharpened her teeth with all that hunger and it made them fangs; she totally isn't the person who simply loves like a dog, she is that one stray dog or even a wolf who will bite, whose hunger takes all of her own being. the relief of giving in to destruction, the joy of leaving claw marks from only a touch. but at the same time the joy of feeling warmth of others hand, softness and tenderness of something as simple as this. just because she knows how cold the winter nights are. this warmth is like an unknown nourishment she didn't even know she was longing for. but still she was and will be chained to herself. it feels awfully like hell but at the same time it feels real. it helps feel her existence real.

thus, this is a kind of love that feels awfully a lot like a desperate violence. and basira knows this. she truly knows.

[chaosbuzz]

rook

“time was not passing… it was turning into a circle.”

wisps of smoke from a snuffed out candle • goblets misting on a table • a sudden storm on the high seas • sundials in moonlight • a flash of claws and teeth • skulls on the mantlepiece • a beating heart • fungi on a damp log • “checkmate” • fairy circles • the winning hand in poker • a murder of crows • dragon scales • sharpening a knife • hidden treasure in murky pond water • a glittering gem

hummingbird

“i still tend to decay / back into myself.”

quiet smiles • new ideas • freshly baked cookies on christmas eve • dried flowers pressed between pages • blowing dandelion seeds • green fields far as the eye can see • dog snuggles on a sunday • guided meditation • laying in the sun • listening to the universe • folding an origami crane • learning from history • friendship bracelets • being tucked into bed • a doe with her fawn • an old polaroid

falcon

“i ask god to send a swordsman / and god says ‘look at your hands.”

dried blood under fingernails • knife to a gun fight • thorns on a rose • tearing down barbed wire • the screech of a hippogriff • the oncoming storm • three rounds in the ring • “in peace, vigilance” • stepping on broken glass • intense eye contact • adrenaline rushes • leather jackets and combat boots • crime scene do not cross • onyx statues • bitter nightshade

owl

“I do not know what hunger is for / or what to hunger for.”

wire-rimmed glasses on the bedside table • dog-eared pages • candles burning all night • to do lists • unorganized nightstands • piles of unread books • the crunch of autumn leaves underfoot • cozy sweaters in the fall • clear crystal balls • goal trackers • the scratching of a quill • untested potions • ivy on old houses • keeping multiple journals in leather notebooks • late night regrets

lark

“the truth would be death-dealing and i prefer fairy tales.”

stepping out of your heels • gold tassel curtains • surprise birthday parties • bright strawberry dresses • popping a balloon • a swipe of paint • glowing neon signs • bookshelves arranged by colors • getting a song stuck in your head • old things made new • listening to the universe • champaign rose • dancing in the rain • “what’s your poison?” • riding a horse on the beach

[chasing-faith-and-fate]

I really want to know more about Cranedance. Crane is my girl, I adore her. So anything about her.

Pffftt what's there to tell about her currently,,,

Umm she's getting her own page dedicated just for her innn I think it was moon 44?? But I'm thinking about pushing it to an earlier moon maybe 41 or 42, because I'm pretty excited about it

Already written it and it's called The Crane's Crowning Dance, the page is just a bonus page and therefore doesn't actually have a title but it has a title in my heart

About Crane herself, you can get some general info on her:

- She's the only cat in the clan to 1) scar another cat, 2) have an actual fight with another cat, and 3) kill another cat! Yeah Moth planned the murder on Quiver but because he's shit at combat (he got lucky with the swift fox) it was Crane that was put in charge of the actual killing.

- She is constantly sharpening her claws in game and glaring at other cats. The only cat she's never glared is Valley.

- She has recently realised (tho I forgot to include it in the page and I am so pissy about that) that what she sees is not the normal world. Don't know how to include it now so??? Just,, it happened in her own private time

[aloneinthehellfire]

Chapter 5: Wounds

Fortress Of Memories

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: swearing, mentions of blood, scars/wounds, general violence but it's over pretty quick

[A/N: i kinda hate this chapter was it was needed to progress the story so pls bear with. i also rushed in editing this so if i missed anything, pls let me know :)]

Wounds

Present Day. Hawkins Memorial Hospital. Upside Down.

- Will, Mike, El, Dustin, Lucas

“I can’t hold them all off!”

El cries barely registered in Will’s mind as he ripped off his mask and applied pressure.

Mike was attacked, a Demogorgon managed to claw at his goggles and now all Will could see was the blood marking his best friend’s face, barely moving, as he shook in fear.

El did her best to take out the majority of the Demogorgons circling them, ripping them apart and throwing them further away to allow more time. But the more she destroyed, the more emerged from the shadows. And she knew this was One’s doing.

Lucas was running out of arrows, Dustin doing his best to spear any monsters that got too close. They knew they weren’t going to make it. But they had to keep fighting.

“I’m out!” Lucas yells, his heart almost beating out of his chest. All he could think was that if he died right now, he would have failed Max, and she’d be lost forever.

“You’re okay!” Will was insisting over and over again, tears streaming down.

Mike’s hand grabbed onto Will’s wrist, holding tight, as tried to open his other eye. But he couldn’t.

“Shit!” Dustin’s spear flies out of his hand and he ends up on his back, the Demogorgon approaching him with its wide mouth. Arms outstretched, claws on display.

“Dustin!” El cries, turning to help her friend. But one after another lunges at her, forcing her to stay and fight them off.

Dustin feels his breaths becoming shallower, scrambling backwards. He sees the Demogorgon jump at him and his eyes squeeze shut.

A screech catches his attention, looking up to see the creature was now lit up, flames burning its grey skin as it struggled against the pain. He frowns, but another lunges at him and he lets out a scream.

Before its claw can touch him, the Demogorgon is struck by a weapon, causing it to topple over. Dustin cranes his neck to see something beating it to death, over and over again. With a squint of his eyes, he can just make out a silhouette of a baseball bat. A nailed bat.

“Henderson!” Steve’s voice called out to him as the older boy runs towards him, crouching down. “Shit, man, are you okay?”

“Y-yeah.” Dustin stammers out, grabbing Steve’s hand and lifting himself from the ground. “What-”

His question is answered as he looks around him, hope humming in his chest.

Robin and Argyle were making quick work of lighting bottles and hurling them at the creatures, the fire dancing between the creatures and knocking them down. Behind them, Jonathan and El were holding off any attackers, Jonathan’s sharpened club plunging through Demogorgon chests while El threw them with her mind.

One by one, the monsters decreased in numbers and Dustin lets out a breathy laugh. “Yeah!”

He turns to celebrate with his friends before his stomach drops. Mike.

Lucas was now crouched beside Will and Mike, frantically trying to keep his bleeding friend awake.

El rips apart the last Demogorgon, panting for breath. Jonathan places a hand on her shoulder and she offers him a smile, wiping away the blood dripping from her nose.

Jonathan lets out a sigh of relief, turning around. Then, with the drop of his face, he rushes over to where everyone was crowding around. He manages to peer over Steve’s shoulder as the guy was wrapping something around a boy’s head. Mike’s head.

“Mike?” Jonathan panics, eyes trailing over the blood pouring down the boy’s face, staining his skin.

“I’m… okay.” He replies, allowing Will and Lucas to help him sit up before he winces, shaking his head. ���It hurts a lot.”

“Here!” Robin calls out, pulling something out of Argyle’s backpack and thrusting it into Steve’s hands.

“When did we bring paracetamol?” Steve wonders out loud, Lucas giving Mike a water bottle while Steve hands him a few pills.

“When we realised you were coming.” Robin says casually, earning a glare, “Hey, whenever we go anywhere, you’re constantly getting into fights.”

“Where did you guys come from?” Mike frowns after swallowing, head pounding. He was pretty sure he was losing his hearing in his right ear. He was certain he had lost sight in his right eye.

“How about we get the hell out of here first, yeah?” Steve says and they all nod, eager to get off the street crawling with monsters.

Will and Dustin looped their arms under Mike, helping him up. But, as soon as he got onto his feet, he felt himself wobble, the boys almost dropping him until Lucas stepped forward. He slung his backpack off and handed it to Dustin, turning around and lowering himself slightly.

“Get on.”

Mike doesn’t think he’s heard him properly until he shrugs, looking back.

“Look,” Lucas places a hand on his shoulder, expression unreadable, “If you’re worried I’m gonna drop you, don’t be.”

“He did work out an excessive amount last year.” Dustin nods.

“Okay.” Mike breathes out, too tired and in pain to argue.

Will and Dustin help him up, Lucas securing his friend onto his back and giving everyone a nod.

“Alright, everyone stays together, Lucas and Mike in the middle.” Steve orders and they all fall into position.

Walking up the street, their weapons never lowered, El leading the group and keeping her eyes peeled. Jonathan manages to catch up to Will, bumping his shoulder.

They would leave the exchanges and greetings to later. First, they needed to get the hell out of enemy sights.

Present Day. Elm and Cherry. Upside Down.

- Nancy, Y/n

“So this monster… it’s big.”

Nancy was trying to wrap her head around all the information you were giving her. It was coming to you in flashes, some part of your brain still scrambling to retrieve important information.

“Yeah.” You breathe out, glancing around you as you walked with Nancy. It had been a long time since you felt afraid of the Upside Down, unsure what would jump out of the shadows. “And Vecna controls it. So does Eddie.”

“I’m sorry you’ve had to go through this.” Nancy whispers and you stop, looking at her with a smile.

“Nance, you don’t have to keep apologising, okay? I’ll deal with it all once this is over.” You nod, continuing your walk. “But at least this monster is easy to spot, you know. Huge wings, three heads, gaping mouths, sharp teeth-”

“Gaping mouth?” Nancy’s eyes widen and you slow to a stop, frowning.

You’re unsure what she’s getting at until your memories reveal all, remembering Nancy’s sobering visions. She had talked of Hawkins fall, death and destruction. But most of all, she had warned of a creature with a gaping mouth.

“The worst has already happened.” You say, biting your bottom lip as you grip your spear tightly. “This thing is bad but if we get to Eddie, we at least have some shot of controlling it.”

“Right.” Nancy agrees just as a sound echoes from the darkness.

Abruptly stopping, you both look to eachother. Nancy pats her body before her face drops, looking back at you with a whisper.

“I don’t have my gun.”

“What?” You frown, shaking your head. “Why don’t you- oh.”

You both exchange a look and you swallow your guilt; Nancy would have her weapon if you didn’t attack her. Instead, you shift your body closer to hers, spear held out and eyes scouting the area.

A few seconds ticked by before you noticed it, the faint outline of breath hitting the cold air. Lowering your spear, you step forward, ensuring Nancy was protected. Considering how low the breath fogged, you knew exactly what you were dealing with.

The creature pounces at you and you lunge forward, striking your spear up and through its stomach, a loud and unsettling screech filling the silence before it dropped.

Planting your foot on the body, you use your strength to pull the spear out and step back, barely breaking a sweat. Behind you, Nancy lets out a small gasp.

“Where did you learn to do that?” She asks, eyes wide.

You look down at the demodog by your feet, sucking in a breath.

“You have to strike before they do.”

4th November 1984. Junkyard.

“Steve! What are you doing?!”

Once Dustin started yelling, you turned around to see the door of the abandoned bus close and your breath hitches. You were hesitant, looking between the shadow of your ex-boyfriend outside and the young boy next to you.

After a moment, you let out a sigh of frustration. “Fuck it.”

You grab the can of hairspray out of your bag and jump off the bus, instructing Dustin to stay inside. Then, you slowly approach Steve who reacts with a small jump when you start rifling through his pockets.

“Woah, woah, what are you-”

“Got it.” You mutter to yourself, stepping back before lifting your head to see confused eyes staring back. “What? You’re gonna get yourself killed.”

His shoulders slump as he takes a step towards you, “Can we not fight right now?”

“You’re the one making it a fight.” You raise an eyebrow just as a twig snaps in the distance.

Steve spins around, bat held out, and shifting himself in front of you. Even if you weren’t getting along, he wasn’t putting you in more danger than you already are.

“Guys! Behind you!”

You turn around and notice more of the dog-like creatures emerge from the shadows, eyes widening.

“You’re seeing this too, right?” You ask, back to back with Steve.

“Yep.” He breathes as you circle around.

When the first strikes, Steve swings his bat and hits it squarely in the chest, sending it tumbling across the path with a yelp.

The cry for help encourages the others to attack. Steve fights off as many as he can before a growl catches his attention, turning with a panicked breath to where one jumps at him.

Unable to bring his bat up in time, Steve stumbles back, preparing for the pain, until suddenly a scorch of flames engulf the creature, leaving it screeching on the ground. His eyes travel to the source, finding you stood with his lighter and a hairspray can, panting.

“Told you.” You shrug and he nods in gratitude.

“Behind you!” Dustin yells and Steve spins around to bat away another.

But, as he does so, another stalks towards you and you raise your arm, ready to use the fire to your advantage.

And yet, it just stares at you, tilting its head. So, you hesitate.

Bad decision.

It attacks and you don’t react in time, the force of its weight pushing you to the ground, causing the can and lighter to tumble from your hands as your back hits the cold floor.

Its claws slash at your chest, tearing skin, and you scream, managing to kick it off and scramble away.

You fumble around for your weapon, finding it’s too far to reach, just as the creature approaches you again. Instead, your eyes catch something glinting in the moonlight and you glance back at the threat.

The demodog stares at you once again and you hold your breath. You knew what to expect this time.

Just as it pounces, you grab the metal pole beside you and strike it upwards just before it collided with you, the pole piercing the flesh as it let out a terrifying screech, body collapsing on top of you.

Steve uses as much force as he can to drive the nails into another demodog, watching it fly into the side of an abandoned car. Taking a breath, he runs a hand through his hair and looks behind him, his heart stilling.

You were led on the ground, one of those creatures on top of you.

“Y/N!” Steve runs over to you, skidding across the floor and finds the demodog isn’t moving. With a forced shove, the body rolls off of you and he looks down as you let out a shaky cough.

Propping yourself up on your elbows, your widened eyes stare down at the monster beside you, its claws still coated in your blood.

“Shit, Y/n.” Steve gasps and you look down, your shirt torn in three red gashes. His eyes find yours, holding worry. But you don’t have time for comfort.

“Guys! Move!” The kids yell from the bus and you both look behind you, seeing the faceless creatures approaching.

Steve grabs your hand, pulling you to your feet, and keeping hold as you sprint towards the bus, knowing these scars would last you forever.

Present Day. Hawkins Public Library. Upside Down.

- Eddie

Vecna disappeared once the kids were rescued from the Demogorgons.

Eddie had stayed put, watching as the bigger group carried off the wounded one, sure to stay close together and move quickly.

A breath leaves his lips, one he hadn’t even realised he was holding. Was it… relief?

The giant creature above him lets out another roar and Eddie holds his hand up, ordering it to stand down. And it does, retreating back into the rubble of the library building.

He had felt some sort of fear, watching the Demogorgons attack. It was strange, the feeling. He hadn’t felt it since seeing you with tears streaming down your face.

You. Eddie frowns at the memory, causing his eyes to drift across the scenery. The last time he had seen you, Vecna was instructing you to take one of the intruders. But since then, he hadn’t been told anything.

The building he had helped you carry the body to was North and so, with a spread of his wings, he jumped from the building and headed to you. Something just didn’t feel right. And he was hoping you would have the answers he so desperately needed.

But, when he arrives, you aren’t where you’re supposed to be.

The house is empty, his chest feeling heavier the further he searched. Why was he worrying? What was he worrying about?

The last room he checks seemed familiar to him, as if he had been there before. He searches the desk top, noticing the box of shoes. And then, a diary, opened to the last entry. Without having to look, he knew what date was there. But why did he know that?

Then, as he sweeps the room, he sees the shrivelled remains of vines discarded on the floor by the foot of the bed. From closer inspection, they had been cut with a sharp dagger. His heart skipped. You had a dagger.

“Find her”

Vecna’s voice pounds in his mind and he straightens, ignoring whatever it was screaming inside of him to wake up. Wake up from what?

Walking towards the window, he drives his elbow through the glass and smashes it to pieces. With a sharp whistle, he steps back and waits for the flutter of wings to approach him.

Demobats flock into the room, perching on any surface they can find, screeching at his orders. Wordlessly, he holds up a dead vine. He didn’t need to speak to command them.

With an ear-piercing chorus of screeches, they fly away from the building and into the distance, shadows blackened against the burning red sky. He stands by the window, watching, waiting.

Eddie was going to find you.

Present Day. The Palace Arcade. Upside Down.

- Will, Mike, El, Dustin, Lucas, Jonathan, Robin, Steve, Argyle

In fear of Mike bleeding out, the group located a safe building to hide in, their efforts leading them into The Palace Arcade.

Dustin stood by the door, standing guard, as the others rushed in and set Mike down. His heart was beating fast, watching as Mike lets out a groan. They should have listened to Will and taken the longer way around.

His eyes drift across the space, the arcade machines still stood in their respective places, not updated since 1983. Then, his gaze lands on a familiar game, causing him to turn around and stare out of the window. Madmax reserved the rightful crown on that leader board.

Robin panics as she roots through Nancy’s backpack, throwing out any thing that relates to first aid with shaking hands. They were going to find her, whatever it took. But Robin couldn’t bear facing her friend with the news that her brother had died. No one else should have to die for this to be over.

When she sets down the last of it, Steve grabs as much as he can and leads Mike to the back room for privacy, nominating himself to treat the wound since his experience of losing fights had strengthened his abilities in this area.

The air is thick with worry, El and Lucas sat side by side trying to take deep breaths from the guilt they were feeling.

Jonathan looks around for his brother, noticing Will sat on the floor by a machine, head leant against the back.

He joins him on the ground, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“He’s gonna be okay.” Jonathan comforts and Will nods slowly with tear stained cheeks.

“Yeah.” He agrees, taking a deep breath. “Thanks for saving us back there.”

“You’re my brother.” Jonathan states matter of factly, bumping his shoulder. A frown appears on his face and Will widens his eyes.

“Right. I guess you’re wondering why we’re here.”

“Damn right, I am.”

“Hey, you’re not meant to be here either!” Will complains and Jonathan sighs, rubbing his face.

“Yeah, well, I’m glad I was.” He looks at Will, tightening his lips, “I can’t lose you, too, buddy.”

Will’s face drops. He hadn’t thought of it that way.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers out before widening his eyes. “I have so much to tell you.”

“Me too-” Jonathan begins, but Will is already rambling.

“Lucas thinks there’s a way to get Max back, so we came down here with El to try and figure it all out but then you’ll never guess who we ran into.”

Jonathan’s breath hitched, lowering his head and staring at his shoes. Did Will know?

“Who?”

“Eddie.”

Jonathan whips his head up, eyes wide. “Wait, what?”

“Yeah. I mean, it was weird. He had wings.”

“Wings?”

“Hm.” Will nods, scrunching his forehead, “And I know I never actually met him, but he was nothing like how Y/n used to describe him.”

The mention of your name makes Jonathan’s mouth run dry, guilt seeping into his chest. He had to tell him.

“Will-”

“We think he’s being controlled by Vecna.” His brother continues, nodding quickly, “Maybe. And if Eddie is alive, then maybe-”

“Y/n’s alive.”

Will stares at him, barely moving, as he searches for any sign he didn’t hear him correctly.

“W-what?”

Jonathan leans closer, lowering his voice. On their way to rescue the kids, the others had made a promise not to mention you until they had found Nancy and killed Vecna. They didn’t need any distractions, nor a useless load of hope for something they didn’t understand. But you were their sister. And Jonathan just couldn’t keep that from Will.

“We saw her. She… she’s not the same. I think she’s being controlled, too.”

Will’s eyes were gleaming with tears once again, eyebrows softly scrunched together. “Can we get her back?”

“I hope so.” Jonathan breathed, shaking his head. “She’s in there. I just know it.”

“Then we’ll find her.” Will nods. “All of us. Together.”

They share a smile, the hope of reuniting with their sister warm in their hearts. Even if they couldn’t kill Vecna, maybe they could still save you.

“Where’s Nancy?” Dustin’s voice calls out and Jonathan’s stomach drops for a whole new reason.

“Uhh…” Robin sends a panicked look to him, trying to find the words. “She… well…”

“Kidnapped, bro.” Argyle mumbles, chewing through a protein bar.

“Kidnapped?” El widens her eyes, sharing a look with Lucas who appeared to be just as surprised. “By Eddie?”

“Eddie?” Robin frowns, raising her voice, “Wait, Eddie is alive too?”

“Too?” Dustin questions, joining everyone in the space now with a confused look, and Jonathan stands up.

“Okay, let’s all just-”

“Yeah, sister Byers is up and about too, dudes. She stole Nance and just disappeared.” Argyle chuckles, “Crazy stuff, am I right?”

There’s a wave of silence before a cough sounds from the back of the room.

“Nancy’s gone?” Mike’s worried and tired voice sobers everyone immediately.

Steve had done a good job of wrapping him up. A long cotton pad stretched across the right side of Mike’s face, covering his eye and ear, secured with tape. His face was cleaner, too, but the faint red of blood still stuck to his skin. And the scar running from his nose and across his right cheek, stopping just at his jawline, didn’t go unnoticed either. He was lucky Lucas had shot the Demogorgon when he did, otherwise Mike would have lost his life.

“Okay.” Jonathan sighs, standing where everyone can see him. “We came down here to kill Vecna. But, when we did, we ran into Y/n.”

“She’s alive?” Dustin asks and he nods, slowly.

“But she’s being controlled.” Jonathan explains.

“Just like Eddie.” Lucas adds and Steve widens his eyes, running a hand through his hair.

“So what happened to Nancy?” Mike insisted, sitting beside El on the bench and she rests a comforting hand on his leg.

Will averts his eyes, focusing on his brother.

“When Y/n found us, I…” Jonathan takes a breath. It was his fault. It was all his fault.

“She managed to grab Nancy when we weren’t looking.” Steve steps forward, crossing his arms. “We think Vecna is trying to scare us, using Y/n to do his bidding.”

Jonathan looks to him in surprise. Steve simply nods at him, shifting to look when Lucas spoke up.

“So, how do we know Nancy is okay?” He asks the question that was burdening their minds and Robin lets out a loud sigh.

“We don’t.” She says truthfully, “But we’re gonna do anything to find her, right?”

“And how do we know we can get Y/n back? Or Eddie?” Mike questions, shaking his head. “I want them to be okay, but Eddie had changed. Physically. Did Y/n have anything like that? You know, wings?”

“Eddie has wings now?” Robin frowns and Dustin nods.

“We’re thinking vampire.” He shrugs and Lucas sighs.

“No, you’re thinking vampire.” He retorts, “But the demobats definitely did something to him.”

“You like Rocky?” Argyle suddenly asks, showcasing the rock in his hand to the girl next to him and El raises her eyebrows, nodding.

“He’s… lovely.” She smiles and he hums happily.

“Y/n wasn’t like that.” Steve says, shaking his head. “She was just… cold.”

“But we can reach her, right?” Dustin asks with wide eyes. He had always been fond of you, treated you like you were his family. Because, in truth, you were. If he could get Eddie back, he wouldn’t think twice of saving you, too.

“Yeah.” Steve breathes out, and Robin risks a glance at her best friend. She knew how bad he’d been feeling since telling Jonathan the truth. She obviously knew about your history, but you and he had been close, regardless of if you were involved romantically or not.

“How do you know?” El questions quietly and Robin widens her eyes just as Steve looks startled.

“We… we could tell.” She offers, only to receive doubtful looks.

“You could tell?” Lucas raises an eyebrow, “How?”

“Uh…” She tries again and Steve clears his throat.

“Because she’s tried reaching out for help before.” He shares and the silence from the room urges him to continue. “Six months ago, at Weathertop. I… I thought I imagined it. Imagined her. I mean, she wasn’t there the next time I went.”

“And you’re sure it was real?” Mike was the first to speak, looking up at the boy above him.

“After today… yeah.” Steve nods, noticing Dustin’s avoidance of his eyes completely. He expected that, especially knowing how you and Dustin were as close as siblings.

“Shit.” Lucas finally breathes, rubbing his face.

“I know.” Steve hums, but Lucas shakes his head violently.

“No, no, I-” He takes a deep breath and El frowns.

“What is it?”

“I…” Glancing between concerned faces, his shoulders slump. “I saw her too. Six months ago.”

Wide eyes were scattered across the room until Argyle burst into nervous laughter.

“Well, damn, I didn’t see that coming, dudes.”

taglist: @h-ness1944 | @ali-in-w0nderland | @dylanmunson | @silky-luxe | @mothmanatemycat | @sattlersquarry | @sadbitchfangirl | @fangirling-4-ever | @averagestudent03 | @gnnnne | @munsonology | @vintagehellfire | @bokuto-kinnie | @crissicat13| @katie-tibo| @harrys-tittie| @the-world-is-a-mess-and-so-am-i | @lxvesickreality | @fracturedarkness | @frogers | @we-out-here-simping |

[lover-of-skellies]

One Fear

Cosette doesn't like being forced into tight spaces, and Monty finds out the hard way

Another blurb that I physically couldn't stop myself from writing. So ye. Once again, this is yet another fnaf based thing

Cosette let out a high-pitched shriek and thrashed in her captor's hold, her eyes wide and her sharp teeth bared. Monty let out an exaggerated groan, once again attempting to push her into a charging station, "Kid, c'mon! Your battery's gonna die and you're gonna crash at this rate. Is that what you want?" The little mime immediately shook her head, her arms and legs flailing as she fought against the alligator's grip. She swiped at him with her hands, her sharpened fingers scratching away tiny flakes of paint from his arm. In response, he growled lowly, trying harder to force her into the charging station, "Then quit fightin' me! I'm just trying to help you, small fry!" 

The mime raised her hands and signed, "If you really want to help, then let me go!" Understanding what she was saying with relative ease, Monty shook his head, "Can't do that, sorry. Look, your battery is super low, and you shouldn't be running around like that. What are you supposed to do if you crash somewhere that no one can get to you?" She hissed at him in response, and he sighed, "Fine, whatever. You won't cooperate, so we're gonna have to do this the hard way, aren't we?" Without giving her a chance to respond, he forced her into the charging station. Before he could get the door shut, her head spun around, now facing him. Her legs swiveled around to face him as well, and she swung her body up, wrapping her legs around the alligator's arm. Her arms followed, winding around him as tight as possible, and he stared at her in disbelief as she gripped onto him, her clawed fingers scraping away his paint.

The whites of her eyes flickered and faded to black, and she offered him a freakishly wide, sharp-toothed grin, giggling before craning her head to the side and lifting herself, somehow sinking her teeth into part of his hand, leaving a noticeable dent in the metal. Monty immediately released his hold on her, internally beginning to panic as she refused to let go of him, only biting down harder when he began to shake his arm. He shouted at her to let go, which earned a muffled giggle from the mime. Nearby, Roxanne and Chica stopped what they were doing, glancing at each other and debating whether or not to help him. 

Monty began attempting to peel her off of himself with his free hand, and she growled loudly, her jaws remaining clamped down on his other. She unwound her arms from his arm, choosing to roughly grab onto his free hand, and the gator shouted again as she ripped off his index finger and haphazardly tossed it aside. That was it. Roxy wasn't sure about Chica, but this was her cue to go help the alligator. She trotted over to them and called out, "Hey, kid! What are you doing?! You can't rip apart your friends; that's bad!" Cosette released Monty's hands and hissed at Roxanne, her teeth still bared. Roxy's ears flattened against her head and she growled back, reading into the mime's behavior as challenging. 

She reached out, grabbing onto Cosette's torso. As she started attempting to pry her off of Monty, Cosette tightened her legs more around his arm, rotating her upper half just enough to swipe at the wolf. Roxy growled again, "Kid, what is your problem?! Seriously, you don't have to act like this!" Cosette responded by tearing off one of her studded bracelets and throwing it. Roxanne gaped at her before narrowing her eyes and roughly yanking on her, still attempting to pry her off of Monty, "Ugh, you're so lucky that Freddy's not here! He'd be so, SO disappointed with you!" The mime growled louder at her; she couldn't care less about what Freddy would think at the moment. She had one objective, and that was to make Monty regret trying to shut her in what was essentially a big box.

It was at that exact moment that another familiar voice spoke, causing Cosette to immediately fall silent and freeze in place, "Oh my! What's going on here, hm? Whatever game this is, it doesn't look like anyone's having very much fun!" Cosette's attention immediately shifted to Sun, who was now standing several feet away. His arms were crossed over his chest, and there was an underlying seriousness to his words that she knew all too well. She immediately released Monty's arm all together, dropping down to the floor to run to Sun. Knowing what she wanted, he opened his arms to her and leaned down, easily catching her when she leapt and latched onto him, her arms winding around his neck. As she turned her head and hid her face, he sighed, absentmindedly raising a hand to rub his fingers through her hair. 

He took a moment to observe the open charging station, the state Monty was in, and how agitated Roxanne seemed before reaching a conclusion about what could've happened. Although it was brief, two bright white pupils could be seen in his otherwise empty eyes, and he lowered his voice a few octaves, "We would appreciate it very much if you didn't force her into anymore boxes. Please and thank you." The pair of band members were silent, staring as he turned and began to carry Cosette away. 

When they arrived back at the daycare, Sun made a beeline for their charging station, and Cosette tightened her grip on him. Sighing again, he slowed to a stop, "Cosette, how much battery life do you still have?" The little mime hesitantly met his gaze and signed, "One bar." The taller animatronic made a face at her, "Oh geez, that's not good. Nope, not at all. We really should get you into a charging station, you know." The whites of her eyes faded from black back to their usual white, and she flicked her tongue at him in silent protest. Sun hummed, tilting his head in thought, "Would it help if we kept the door open? I could stay here with you too if you wanted, since I just finished cleaning up." 

She shrugged her shoulders and lowered her gaze, trying to avoid his. He tilted his head to the other side, "Hmmm.... What if we used the extension cord in your back? We could plug you in somewhere with that, and then while you charge, we could sit together and I could tell you a story or three." With much reluctance, she gave a tiny nod and signed, "Ok. Can we go to your room? I want to be up there, away from everyone else." Sun nodded back, "Of course, we can do that. Anything for my favorite helper!" The mime couldn't help but smile, and this caused Sun to perk up, giggling and ruffling her hair as he began carrying her back to his and Moon's room, "There we go! That's what I like to see!" 

The trip to the taller animatronic's room passed by quickly and in relative silence, save for the sound of him humming the daycare theme. Setting her down, Sun twirled a finger, "Turn around, sunbeam. I have to open that hatch on your back to get the extension cord out." Cosette playfully rolled her eyes and turned her back to him, rolling up the back of her shirt and staying still, allowing him to open the compartment in her back, carefully withdrawing the cord and looking for an outlet. Finding one, he moved to plug her in, watching as she seemed to perk up a little. He took a moment to search his internal library for stories she'd like, and after selecting a few, he sat down on the floor and leaned back against a wall, smiling warmly as the smaller of the two immediately seated herself on his lap and cuddled against him, offering no protest when he wrapped an arm around her. 

The first story was told without interruption, before Sun noticed the way her eyes were slowly beginning to drift shut. His expression softened slightly and he continued his storytelling, and it wasn't much longer before Cosette drifted off to sleep. Processing the situation, he allowed his counterpart to take over, fulfilling his programming's need to put others to sleep. Looking down at Cosette and understanding that that was what she was doing, Moon felt himself relax, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on her arm. Remaining asleep, she cuddled closer to him, and he watched her quietly, his eyes flickering and fading to solid white.

This was oddly peaceful, and although he could certainly appreciate that, he knew it wouldn't last long. As soon as she had a full charge and woke up to see him there with her instead of Sun, she would immediately fly right back into her usual habits, following him around and seeing how much he'd tolerate before he snapped. As soon as her nap was over and he was free, he knew he'd be heading off to find Monty. The alligator started this, so the alligator should be apologizing for it. Cosette shifted, still asleep, as she lifted a hand to grip his neck frills. He could only stare at her for a moment before shaking his head and sighing; whatever. This wasn't cute. She was annoying. An absolute pain and a thorn in his side. There was no way he'd ever settle for doing this again. Not ever. Not as long as she still dedicated so much time and energy to being as irritating as possible to him.

In their shared mind, Sun could be heard murmuring a single word, "Liar." 

[ragingbookdragon]

Of Nights So Hollow, Of Legends So Great

Night Culture AU!Batfamily One-Shot

Word Count: 1.8K Warnings: Angst, Uh..Scary? I guess?

Author's Note: This is based on the wonderful @bunnvoid Night Culture AU and I felt compelled to write this at midnight because I couldn't stop thinking about it. Bunn, I hope I did your ideas justice! Honestly, I keep going back and forth between the drawings to make sure! I had fun writing it! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

It was said that at the heart of every legend there was a grain of truth. Legends are just pieces of history fabricated beyond wildest belief, built upon by centuries of retelling, each story sewing a new thread into the tapestry from whence it came. But that’s all that legends are. Threads twined together, woven greater and farther than the original fable.

***

The old castle was a legend. Perhaps not the castle itself, but what supposedly resided inside. Supernatural creatures that skirted down cobblestone alleys and between taverns, seeking out fresh blood in the night. That was one form of the legend, if you believed it. The other form was that of creatures who skirted down cobblestone alleys and between taverns, seeking out evil and destroying it where it plagued innocence.

The chateau lied in the midst of the Devilwood Wilds, just outside the City of Old Gotham. Even during the days when the sun would peek through the gray clouds, it appeared gloomy, blackened stone walls, charred shingles and shutters. The giant Devilwood and Shadow trees prevented sight of the doors of the castle; only the top could be seen, to get the real view, one would’ve had to go into the forest. There was another legend: the horrors of the Wilds.

Whispers on the school-grounds told of a creature, big and terrifying that could be summoned with ritual stones and fresh bat blood; those that summon the beast are never seen again. The adults were less convinced of the idea, though they still forbid their children from reaching even the edges of the forested area. Whilst they believed those that went in were never heard from again, it wasn’t from a creature eating them, but a lack of guidance. Starvation. Wild animals. The freezing fog that made your breath turn to frost.

Timothy remembers hearing those whispers when he passed the old schoolhouse. His mother and father didn’t let him interact with the common children, instead his lessons were taught by private tutors from the wealthiest lands, paid for with the Drake treasure of gold and gemstones.

What more so Timothy remembered was the inhuman being that appeared in his father’s manor, striking down his mother with a slash of black magic, his father following. He remembers the way his father’s eyes rolled back in his skull, fear spreading through his body as he hid in the corner of the room, whimpering and crying. And he most certainly remembered the cold hand of the demon sliding between his shoulder blades before it dug into his skin, piercing his flesh, laughing as he cried out in pain as pricks spread out along his back and down his arms.

Warmth bled down his back as black feathers pushed from his skin and Timothy panted as his fingernails grew in length, sharpening as they darkened. He remembered scrambling to his feet, darting away from the creature as he ran. Forgetting the corpses of his family and staff around him, throwing the door open, bursting into the night, and sprinting down the street, leaving a trail of bloody, black feathers in the direction of the Devilwood Wilds.

***

The first night was the least remembered but the darkest. Violent and corrupting nightmares slithering inside his head as he tossed and turned along the frigid ground in a feverish deathlike state, the wings at his back only growing in size.

The second night was less nightmare-ridden, but much more painful. Timothy had pierced a wing on a stray Devilwood tree, the syrup like poison only infecting the wound. He was hungry and cold. Exhausted and scared. He tried to remember all the books he read as a child of the knights facing the elements for a week in order to ascend knighthood; he couldn’t seem to recall a thing.

The third night seemed to be his last. He lay huddled up against a raised Shadow tree root, the ebony wood providing stability for his wounded wing. Timothy sniffled, dragging his knees to his chest as he lay his chin on his arms, ignoring the grumbling of his stomach as it ate itself in hunger.

A tree branch creaked above him, and he craned his neck up, eyes widening when he saw the glowing eyes of the masked creature. The legends were right. The creature’s head twisted sideways, reminding Timothy of an owl, then the other way, like it was observing him. It made a noise and he scrambled to the floor of the forest, curling his injured wing above his head and over his body to protect himself.

THUNK!

Timothy whimpered, ready to be torn to shreds, but when no vicious claws or snapping teeth came at him, he carefully peered between his open wing. There lie a satchel, as long as his forearm and as wide as his middle was. He looked up towards the tree branch to where the creature had sat, but there was nothing there anymore; he glanced around, it wasn’t in sight.

He blinked and shuffled towards the satchel, untying the drawstrings with fumbling clawed hands. Inside lay a pair of thick wool socks, a small blanket, and another small bag. Timothy pulled it from the satchel and opened it; half a loaf of bread and a chunk of meat the size of his hand were stowed inside.

Timothy forewent the etiquette he was taught as a child, giving into his ravenous desire as he devoured the meat. It was tender and juicy, the glaze a mixture of honey and cinnamon.

A memory flowed to his mind, the dinner after the rising of the first star, his family and staff all surrounding the dining table, a divine feast laid before them. The smiling faces of his mother and father stilled his hunger and he placed the food back in the satchel, uncurling the wool blanket. Timothy lay underneath the raised Shadow tree roots, one wing curled around him, and he fell into a restless sleep with tears frozen on his cheeks.

***

When he awoke the next morning, his wing was no longer torn and infected. A new feather had appeared where the wound had been. Timothy wanted to learn to fly. He’d owned a bird once. A Ruby Firebird, with long, crimson-colored feathers and big ruby eyes. It had been his only real friend and he’d watched it a lot. It couldn’t be that hard.

He stretched his wings out, unable to fight the urge to touch them with a single black claw. It tingled. Timothy blinked and beat them, unsure. He beat them again, this time a little harder, keeping at it until with each beat he was able to blow the long grass flat against the ground. A giddy smile came across his lips when the tips of his toes grazed the ground.

What he had not counted on was how tired he was going to get after only a few brief minutes of trying. His wings felt sore. Timothy would try again tomorrow to rise above the tall grass.

***

The creature would appear at odd times during the night and Timothy had stopped feeling the cold fear in his gut when it did. It never came near him; it just watched with the cocked head, back and forth, then would drop the satchel again and disappear. Sometimes there were scribbles inside. He didn’t know what they meant; but he knew the language. Thaatisgani. An old language his writing teacher had shown him one day. A language long died out amongst the common and even the elite folk.

Timothy wanted to know what it meant. He wanted to know what the creature was. His determination drew him to the front of the castle during the night of the harshest season storm. Lighting crackled across the sky, the thunder rolled along the clouds and the rain came down in torrents. He was freezing and soaked to the bone and the weight of his wings had him crawling up the steps, collapsing at the door.

He weakly raised a clawed hand, one nail scratching the black glazed door and he descended into darkness.

***

His mother liked to wear scented oils. They smelled of Queen’s Briar and Golden Belladonna. Before he was older, she used to let Timothy sit beside her when she would apply them to her wrist and ears. She would smile at him and tell him stories of far away lands.

Warmth spread across his eyes, and he rolled over in what he thought was his dream, only to roll onto the ground, landing awkwardly on his wings. Timothy whined and unfolded himself off the ground, rubbing his eyes, only to see the creature a hair’s breadth away from his face.

Timothy choked on his fear and scrambled away, only for the creature to grab his shoulder.

“Stay.”

He halted, looking back at it. “You speak the common tongue?”

The creature stared at him. “You are Timothy Drake. Son of Earl Drake.”

“I am,” Timothy responded, then looked at his hands. “But my family is…is dead.”

“Killed by a slithering demon from the Farstead realm.”

Tears prickled Timothy’s vision. “It killed my parents and cursed me.” He looked at the creature. “I’m a monster.”

“You’re cursed to believe what you think you are.” The creature waved a glowing hand and Timothy blinked in shock as the wings disappeared and his hands turned to normal. “It’s merely an illusion. You’ve only been tainted with cursed magic.”

It was much too complicated for Timothy to pull apart now. “Can I be healed?”

The creature blinked its glowing obs. “Cursed magic cannot be healed…but it can be trained.” They leaned forward, getting in his face. “I can teach you to control and transform.”

“You’re not going to eat me?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“…Yes.”

“You hesitated just a bit right there.”

A bottle rolled out from the corner of the room and the creature sighed, turning its head to it. “Richard. Jason. Come here.”

Two young boys, not that much older than Timothy appeared from behind a corner, guilty looks on their faces as though they’d been caught eavesdropping.

The creature nodded to Timothy. “Take him upstairs. He is dirty and tired.”

The tallest one, Jason, crossed his arms over his chest. “Just like that, Bruce? You’re going to take the witch boy in?”

“Pot-kettle,” Richard coughed, smiling when Jason elbowed him.

The creature, now known as Bruce, sighed. “Take the boy. He is tired.”

Jason and Richard obeyed, each hauling Timothy up under the armpits, leading him to a dimly lit staircase.

“Are you two going to eat me?”

“Yes,” Jason replied without hesitation.

“Jason!” Richard barked. “Stop.” He looked down at Timothy. “We’re not going to eat you Timothy…we’re going to help you. And that includes having a warm bed to sleep in and hot food to eat.”

Tears once again gathered in Timothy’s eyes, and he lowered his head as he sniffled. For once since that night, he felt safe.

These were the legends that prowled the city streets. They were supposed to be vicious and dark, evil and bloodthirsty, not ribbing and warm.

But then again, what are legends, but threads twined together, woven greater and farther than the original fable?

[ahatintimepieces]

The Bedridden Prince

And one more gift fic for the incredible @smieska-draws‘ sick au! Hattie’s forced by the shadow Queen to bring her prince tea! But the manor is creepy and Hattie’s dreading her encounter with the prince. Meanwhile Luka’s fever spikes and well... he’s having a rough time...

Word Count: 3573. CW: emetophobia, illness, vaguely painful transformation

Hattie gripped the thermos in her hands as she slowly climbed the steps to the manor that were slick with ice. She nearly slipped on the top step and stumbled forward as she caught herself. The eerie manor groaned in the whirling wind that held winter’s bite. She stepped through the powdered snow in an effort to keep from sliding on the ice again and crossed over to the front door. It was unlocked and creaked open.

She entered the dim hallway. Scorch marks dragged across the wallpaper and ashes dusted the floors. Swallowing thickly, Hattie tried to remember the shadow Queen’s instructions. Vanessa needed someone to deliver tea to her prince. She had been very particular about making sure Hattie used a tea set with winter scenes on it so that the prince would think of his queen while drinking the tea that was supposed to ease his aches and pains that came from a terrible illness that left him bedridden.

Hattie had asked what kind of illness and if it was contagious, but Vanessa had dismissed her and gone back to the village to boss her subjects around. Normally, Hattie wouldn’t think much of it, but the fact that the manor was in such a desolate part of the forest and how everything about the manor seemed extra creaky and creepy, she was nervous about what state the prince would be in.

Or if he was even human as she suspected the queen wasn’t.

It was when she was halfway across the hallway that a crash exploded above her, shortly followed by a horrible, retching sound. She jumped, nearly dropping the thermos, as she craned her neck. Terrible sounds of furniture being slammed around, and splintering wood came from the floor above. The ceiling shook and dust and ash fluttered to the ground like snow. The retching became haggard as it dissipated. Pained, distorted groans took its place. Heavy thumping and clatters followed the groans as something large moved around the upstairs.

Hattie bolted into the kitchen.

She carefully shut the door behind her, not wanting to alert whatever was upstairs to her presence. Blessedly, the sounds were muffled down in the kitchen, and Hattie was able to calm her pounding heart.

Until she thought about how it was more than likely that the thing making those sounds was the prince. And she had to bring him a cup of tea.

Great.

Because she did not want to face the brunt of Vanessa’s ire, she shook her head and summoned her courage by searching for the specific teacups Vanessa wanted her to use. Probably since they were used so often, there were a couple identical cups in the sink, all with some sort of purple residue, and one or two clean ones on the counter. Since she wasn’t asked to clean the old cups and she didn’t want to stay in the manor for longer than necessary, she grabbed a clean cup and unscrewed the thermos.

She was supposed to leave the thermos for him too, so that when he finished his first cup, he could refill it himself, but a sudden and frightful sound of glass shattering came from upstairs. It startled her so badly that as she was finishing pouring the cup of tea, she whirled around and dropped the thermos. It tumbled to the ground and an amber tea with a twinge of purple seeped into the carpet.  

Hattie froze as a doleful lament reverberated with the wind howling outside. Even after it faded and the only thing that she could hear was her own heart pounding against her ribs, she waited a few extra seconds. Finally, she stooped down to pick up the thermos with trembling hands. There was only a couple drops left. Deflating, she poured the last bit of tea into the cup and then lowered the thermos into the sink. Now the hard part.

The teacup rattled against the saucer as she slowly exited the kitchen. In the hallway, the thumping and low, agonized groans were clearer and much more unnerving. The door across from the kitchen taunted her as she listened to what sounded like claws scraping against wooden floors.

She took a deep breath, and then another. Finally, she willed a foot forward. She jolted when a layered cry that pitched into a whine resounded above. A bit of tea sloshed out of the cup and landed onto her fingers and the plate. The liquid was hot enough to be uncomfortable, but at least it wasn’t scalding.

The cry had seemed… rather sad. And though her heartrate was as swift as the spread of wildfire, a small part of her began to worry about the ghastly creature as it thumped around with anguished cries. That worry for the creature’s sake was enough for her to overcome her fear. Carefully, she crept into a dusty billiard room.

Snow danced outside the windowpanes and the light that reflected off of the snow cast a pure, gentle light into the dark room. Hattie crossed through the room and over to the stairs, where the unnatural cries of the creature were magnified as the staircase funneled them towards her. The stairs creaked underneath her boots, and the cup balanced on the plate clattered unsteadily. The tea rippled.

Hattie reached the top of the staircase and stood, petrified, in the shadows. At the end of hallway littered with used, burnt tissues, a terrible creature hunched in the corner.

The creature was enormous in the cramped hallway, with a torso that ended in a long, winding tail. He had two lanky arms with pronged claws, currently tearing into the ground. His head was round and a mane of the same purple fur that covered his body was currently slicked back. The purple fur had a pattern of flowers printing across his arms and chest. Vines trailed down his twitching tail and petals traced an eye that gleamed gold.

The creature retched. Vile globs of golden, molten liquid were expunged from the creature’s throat. The scent of burnt acid and smoking wood reached Hattie and her breath caught in her throat. The flames flickered momentarily from the puddles forming by his claws, but it didn’t burn through the wood. Squinting, Hattie could see ash crusting underneath the gold, spreading as the searing goop cooled.

“N-nesssss” the creature hissed once he spat out the last of the burning globs. His tail thrashed behind him and his claws flexed. He pulled his head back and turned, blinking in a daze as his glowing, fanged mouth pressed into a thin line. The glow highlighted the pair of sharp fangs.

The blank look on the creature’s features flashed with recognition and his gaze zeroed in on the trembling teacup in Hattie’s hands.

Her heart leapt to her throat.

“Nesssssss!” The creature’s eyes widened, and he whirled around. His tail thrashed against the walls as he clawed his way across the carpet, swiftly charging towards Hattie.

At the sight of the large purple monster lunging towards her with claws leaving scores in the carpet and golden gunk dripping his maw, Hattie did the only thing she could. She dropped the teacup and ran back the way she came.

*

Luka had been in bed, sinking back into the pillows, when his fever spiked. It started with a burning in his chest, and he began panting as he numbly tried to air himself out. His sheets were kicked off of the bed and he carded trembling fingers through hair matted with sweat. The constant aches and pains that plagued him since the illness began in earnest sharpened and he sputtered as he flew forward, clutching at his shirt.

His stomach twisted and he felt bile rising. Slapping a palm over his mouth, he stumbled out of bed. He headed straight for the wastebasket that was filled with and surrounded by tissues covered in purple snot and stained by black ash. But his legs felt like they liquified and he dropped before he could reach it.

Searing bile bubbled in his throat and he willed his legs to function, but he couldn’t separate them. He had to use his elbows to crawl within arm’s reach and barely manage to yank the wastebasket in front of himself as his stomach emptied.

It burned. He couldn’t register anything but the heat swelling in his head. He couldn’t feel how his hair lengthened into a mane. He couldn’t feel the fur spreading across his skin or how his tail thrashed behind him as his back arched and stretched. Tissue burned in the wastebasket as globs of the horrid tasting goop slipped from his open jaws.

A whine escaped as he threw up. Squinting his eyes shut, he clenched his combining fingers. They melded together and claws extracted from his pronged hands. It wasn’t until his stomach slowly settled that he pulled away from the wastebasket.

He had grown much, much larger, but as he lifted his head to dizzying heights, he could only groan as he desperately looked around for something to cool his head. His vision was blurred with gunk and his stomach still ached. His legs weren’t working but anxiety took hold over his muddled thoughts and he clawed his way through the bedroom. His tail knocked into furniture and split a stool on his way out.

“Ne-nessa.” His voice was slurred as he circled the nursery connected to the bedroom. “Pl-pleeeessss. H-hheeeennnggg.” His tongue felt thick, and he let out a cry when he knocked his head against the ceiling. His eyes burned and hot droplets of flaming gold oozed out like tears. He hissed at the heat.

“C-cooooold,” he choked out to the empty manor. The hot tears pooled, and he whined as he continued to aimlessly wander out into the hall. His tail thrashed as he tried to use his legs. It knocked into a bookshelf which toppled over with a crash. He barely heard it.

Everything was just too hot! He couldn’t focus as his whole body burned and ached. Through the fog that was his mind, he remembered the faucet in the bathroom could provide cold water! He snaked down the hall in desperation. His claws clutched the door handle and he shoved himself through the cramped doorway. Turning towards the faucet, he looked up above the sink and!

There was a monster staring back at him.

Panic overwhelmed him and he scrambled back, flipping over his tail and, for good measure, he smacked it against the monster! The sound of shattering glass accompanied a sharp pain in his tail, and he let out a wail that intertwined with the mournful cry of the wind. With fear and pain spurring him on, he darted back into the hallway, retreating from the terrible creature with glowing eyes and a fanged mouth and that horrible purple print spreading over fur.

He paced, groaning as he ached for comfort but not knowing where to find it. His stomach twisted and he pulled himself into the corner, having enough foresight to limit the mess he made, but unable to think through his actions enough to run to the toilet or wastebasket.

Crouched in the corner, he trembled as he waited for the worst to pass. Clawing into the wood, he retched until his stomach was empty. Finally, the ache in his stomach abated and he spat the rest of the gnarly tasting bile from his mouth.

“N-nesssss.” He just wanted her to be there, to chase the fever away.

Leaning back and panting, he turned, looking down the hall. His gaze narrowed on the teacup.

Vanessa!

“Nesssssss!” He slurred out in excitement. Vanessa! Help! In his fevered state, it did not dawn on him that the figure in the stairway was far shorter than Vanessa, nor did he understand why she dropped the teacup and ran!

“Ne—sa!” Luka tore across the carpet frantically. “Com—commm back! Pleasssss!”

He followed the girl as she flew down the stairs and out into the hall on the first floor. Unable to redirect his momentum when he entered the hallway, he slammed into the wall. He shook his head before looking up in time to see the girl slip out the front door.

“No!” He yelled with a cracking voice. “Nesssa! Pleass!”

Please help. Please, please help.

He scrambled after and clawed his way to the front door.

“Ness!” he cried as he flung himself through the door and out onto the snow.

Snow.

He made eye contact with the girl who had already cleared the stairs leading to the porch. She watched with wide eyes. A relieved smile played across his dazed features, then he dropped.

Steam billowed around his shrinking form. Fur receded, but his skin remained purple with flowers and vines blooming across his body. His tail split and he groaned as the burning in his head and chest cooled. He was still feverish, and his head felt stuffed from illness, but it was a far more manageable temperature.

Then, the ice began to set in with an unforgiving chill. The wind bit into his skin wet with melted snow and his sweat. A violent shiver tore through his body and he pushed himself up on trembling arms, panting.

“Are you alright?” A voice called.

Luka jolted, looking up in a daze. His mouth hung open as he stared at the small child wearing a purple tunic, yellow cape, and a matching top hat. His chest burned with a golden light that cast a faint glow against the back of his fangs. He blinked, rubbing at his gunk-filled eyes with similarly glowing irises.

“Are you…” the girl paused, “the prince?”

He nodded as he rubbed his eyes. What was he doing, again? Why was he outside? He last remembered being in bed… and something about Vanessa? The wind whistled, reminding him that he needed to go back inside.

“We need to—oh!” Luka jumped when he lowered his hands, surprised to find that the kid had climbed the steps and was standing right next to him.

“Let’s get you inside,” she offered and held out her hand.

Luka nodded, letting her yank him to his feet. His brain whipped around his head from the sudden movement, and he flung himself towards the outside wall of manor for support. While lifting a purple hand to his head, he groaned.

“Sorry,” the kid said quietly.

Luka slowly shook his head, and when he was steady enough, reached his other hand out and waved it dismissively.

“W-we sh-should—” His teeth chattered. He swallowed thickly before forcing himself to articulate, “We should go inside.”

“Yeah.” The kid slipped her hand into his and gently tugged him back into the warm manor.

He continued shaking from the cold of his illness and kept his palm pressed against his forehead. The kid said something, but it was just background noise as he fought to remain conscious. He suddenly felt so tired, and his legs threatened to buckle underneath him.

“Hey!” The kid gave his hand a squeeze and he blinked, glancing down in confusion. She repeated, “I spilled your tea.”

“Tea?” Luka echoed, crinkling his nose. Suddenly, realization hit. “O-oh! Vanessa sent you then?” A wave of sorrow crashed into him and he sniffled. “That means she’s too busy to come herself, isn’t she?” Whoops. There go the waterworks.

Before Luka could stop himself, hot, salty tears dripped down his cheeks and he stumbled under the weight of despair. He pulled his hand away from the kid and tried to wipe at his tears, but they came in unrelenting waves. His chest shook from his crying as every part of him shivered.

“Hey!” The kid was startled by his emotional outburst.

“A-apologies,” he choked out.

He just missed Vanessa so much (though his fever and fatigue didn’t do his increasingly brittle emotional state any favors). It felt like it had been ages since he’d last seen her, and even though she sent others to take care of him, or he would wake up to steaming tea by his bedside, he missed being held. He missed her cool hands abating the worst of the fever. He missed hugging her tightly and feeling safe with her nearby as he slept. He missed waking up from fevered nightmares to his beloved’s soothing embrace. Lately, his nightmares were his only company.

A hand gently patted his hair, and the touch was enough to cause his tears to falter. He looked up at the kid, eyes wide.

“Let’s get you to bed,” she said matter-of-factly.

He nodded. Right. Bed.

She helped him up again, slowly this time, and gently led him down the hall and towards the billiard room.

“Do you always turn into a monster when you don’t feel good?” she asked as they reached the stairs.

“What?” He tripped on the first step and immediately thrust out his arm to catch himself on the railing. His head throbbed with pressure and he paused, waiting for it to disperse. While he waited, he muttered, “you certainly have an active imagination!” He couldn’t help but crack a smile, baring one of his fangs. It dug into his lip and his smile fell.

No… no! Haha… it was just her imagination. He would remember if he had turned into a monster, right? But it was disconcerting that he couldn’t remember how he had gotten outside… No! It was probably just sleep walking or something.

He eyed his purple hands with an edge of nervousness.

“Hmm.” The kid sounded unimpressed. “Well, anyway, I was supposed to deliver tea, but I spilled it all. Vanessa’s gonna be mad.”

“Oh, I’m certain she wouldn’t be.” Luka smiled as they slowly climbed the stairs. “She would understand! But if you’re worried, you can tell her you delivered it and I won’t say anything to the contrary.”

“Really?”

“Really.” His stomach wasn’t feeling well anyway. He would manage with just water.

“You’re a nice prince, then! When you aren’t being scary.” She nodded like she just discovered something.

Luka quirked an eyebrow. He didn’t really understand what she meant by scary, and it made him a little anxious to think about what the answer could be, but he let it slide.

“Thank you! But you don’t have to call me Prince, or anything. My name is Luka.” He forced a smile.

“I’m Hattie!” She beamed up at him.

“Very nice to—” a tickled rose in his throat and he turned away and into his elbow. He slowed to a halt and Hattie waited with him as he coughed. His chest rumbled with his haggard wheezing, but finally, he expelled a glob of purple phlegm tainted with more ash than usual. He wrinkled his nose before lowering his arm with the goop clinging to his sleeve. Clearing his throat, he weakly said, “Nice to meet you, Hattie.”

“Nice to meet you, too!”

Hattie kept him steady as he stumbled towards the bedroom. They were both surprised to find the furniture a mess. The bedside table was overturned, and the poor stool was merely splinters! When Luka expressed his bewilderment, a knowing look flickered across Hattie’s features, but she kept her thoughts to herself.

Deciding to worry about the furniture later, he shuffled over to the large canopy bed. He dropped down, going limp as soon as he reached the mattress. His uncontrollable shaking grew worse, as if knowing he was too weak to fight through it any longer. He numbly yanked the sheets around himself and grunted as he nuzzled into a tight cocoon.

Hattie told him to wait a moment and he nodded, slipping into a bit of a stupor as he shivered under the blankets. In what simultaneously felt like ages and no time at all, Hattie appeared with a glass of ice water.

“Drink!” she commanded.

He shifted, extending a hand and accepting the glass. He was too tired to sit up properly, so he drank at an angle that left him spilling a bit onto the mattress next to him, but he didn’t care. The water was sweet and refreshing and felt good on his raw throat. He drained the glass in seconds. After, he blindly reached for the bedside table, forgetting it had been knocked over. He dropped the glass, and Hattie had to hurry to catch it before it shattered against the floor.

“You need sleep,” she observed.

He nodded, flopping back into the pillows.

“Thank you, Hattie,” he mumbled, feeling his fatigue slowly overtake him.

“Do you need anything else?”

He shook his head, meeting her bright blue gaze.

“I’ll be back, probably!” She waved as she headed for the door. “Try not to be scary next time, okay?”

He returned the wave weakly as she slipped out of the room.

He watched Hattie leave with fear squeezing his chest. He didn’t want to be left alone again, but she was just a child. Certainly, she shouldn’t be taking care of him and, heaven forbid, she shouldn’t risk catching whatever he had. No. She needed to leave.

He shifted under the covers, pulling them tightly over his eyes as he squeezed them shut. He tried to force his ailing body to sleep. If he was asleep, he couldn’t feel the acute ache of loneliness.

And he was so tired of feeling lonely.

[another-corpo-rat]

Assorted

A small gathering of very short drabbles to play around with catching other character's voices and getting lil ideas out there. Below the read more: Mythology | Goro Takemura & OC Aftermath | Adam Smasher/OC Treason | Michiko Arasaka & OC Impression | Mitch Anderson & OC Kintsugi | Sandayu Oda/OC

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[Mythology]

“My, my, Takemura; such ill-mannered language.” Her lips twitch minutely, it takes but a moment for her to let the smile bare her teeth. There is nothing sweet about it now; what he sees is the grin of a rasetsu, eager to devour. “It’s almost like you can’t stand me.”

“Because I cannot.” Something sharpens in her smile, a glint alight in her eyes. “You have polished yourself to a shine Ms Crane, but that does not hide the rot within.” She doesn’t insult him with the pretence of offense; they both know his opinion is of no matter to her now. If he has heard the whispers, then there is no doubt she also knows what he has been coined; the bladeless rōnin. A toothless dog.

[Aftermath – Follow up to Midnights]

It was calmer now, a sort of ease between them that she hadn’t anticipated; one that makes her shoulders rise with tension and clench her jaw as she waits for the other shoe to drop. It didn’t come hours nor days later, now they were pushing into weeks and her bones were aching with how tightly she’s held herself.

Adam’s fingers, cold chrome, comfortable in his Dragoon frame once more, are gentle as they curl around her own. Like a knight in an old tale he lifts her knuckles to his jaw, brushing them against his mandible in his mimicry of a kiss. It’s a bold motion in its blatancy, drawing curious eyes of significant enough faces – they look away when met with his unblinking stare, the unspoken challenge to question him. None do.

Her shoulders relax.

 [Treason]

“I think,” Crane pauses, mulling over her words as she stares into the deep red of the wine. It’s an odd sight for how long the younger woman draws it out, lets herself express freely the thoughts that pass her mind. The beauty of wine, Michiko thought, disarming even those with a knife for a tongue. “That perhaps Yoriunbo knew what he was doing, in the long run.”

“You don’t think he overestimated Smasher’s loyalties?”

“Everyone knows Smasher is no samurai, he’s not bound by devotion the same way Takemura or Zaburo are,” she lifts her glass, gesturing carefully to the balcony where Michiko’s own assigned guard stands; still watching, but respectful of their space. “He’s more like…like a praetorian guard.”

There is a significance there that Michiko is not entirely aware of; history had always been a blind spot of hers. She waits, but Victoria offers nothing further as she sips at her wine, gaze distant as she follows that thread of thought privately.

[Impression]

She was a spiteful thing; that much Mitch knew just by looking at her - could see it in the distaste that caught in her eyes like a shine whenever Saul’s back was turned, the way her lips pressed tightly, screwed upwards whenever someone that wasn’t him opened their mouth. Try as they might, corpos could never really grasp how nomads worked; placing genuine value in someone else’s input was a foreign concept to them. Add to it that that someone was coated in oil and dust and they looked at you like you just sprouted a second head and started speaking gibberish.

His lips twitched, more than happy to be the source of this suit’s disgruntlement.

“You got a problem?” And this is where he expects a surprise, however brief, that she was caught. She offers none, merely looking down and slowly, purposely, clawing her gaze back up – it never lingers, but he catches how her eyes narrow now at the state of his clothes.

“Multiple.” She says, an exaggerated exhaustion clinging to the word.

 [Kintsugi]

“It was cruel what he did to you.” Oda’s words are a mere whisper, almost lost to the din of Night City’s ambiance as his fingers deftly trace where golden chrome meets skin. Later tonight, his lips will follow that same path; as gentle and ghosting, tender in a way she’s wary of.

“Hardly.” Victoria hisses, needlessly defensive of a dead man. “It was necessary.” The cyberninja pauses, pale eyes narrow as he considers his next words; caution was always advisable when the topic of Smasher breached its head. The memory of him as unpleasant as he had been in life; his grip on Victoria still as tight, and she entirely unwilling to shake free.

“Do you truly believe that?” He presses gently, a kiss placed on her shoulder to soothe the rise of frustrations he expects will come. It does not, instead a shuddering, uneasy breath takes its place as she crosses her arms tightly across her chest, shoulders hunching as she pointedly looks away.

He accepts the victory with a grace she was never offered.

[yespolkadotkitty]

Querida

Oh, fucking hell. This fic has eaten my life for the past 2 (?) days.

Tovar and William arrive at the Great Wall and things change irrevocably.

Warnings: first time, shameless smut, indulgent smut, no actual plot.

Word count: 4,000

When the outsiders were dragged in, they looked more animal than human, long hair and thick, knotted beards, covered in thick, dirty armour and furs. You struggled to make out their features from across the huge hall.

If this was what existed beyond the protective barrier of the wall, well, you weren’t missing anything. 

The only other Westerner you’d seen was William Ballard, the former mercenary who’d been held here since he tried to steal black powder over twenty years ago. You were only a small girl then, but over the years he’d taught you English, gained your slightly dubious trust. 

You saw him eyeing the two strangers - one fair haired, tall, one darker, stockier, and wondered if he’d try and make friends.

Ballard was polite to you, even kind sometimes, but you never suspected that he’d stopped trying to escape. He always looked furtive, always seemed to have an agenda crawling under his skin, barely concealed.

The strangers were led off to the barracks. You could smell them from here, and, disgusted, you dipped your head back to your bowl of hot, fragrant stew, pairing it with soft, spiced bread.

You hadn’t missed the way the captured soldiers had eyed the food and suspected they were hungry. Maybe even starving. According to reports from the scouts, there was precious little in the way of vegetation of sustenance in this part of China, so they’d have been hard pressed to stay well fed.

******

As you trained with the fellow members of your patrol unit, all the gossip centred around the two strangers, and how yīngjùn  - handsome - they were after cleaning up in the barracks. You bent to your task and tried to ignore the idle chatter. Sometimes you indulged, but ever since your mother had been savaged by a Tao Tei that breached the wall, costing her her arm, you’d forgone any sort of idleness or pleasure, focusing on being strong, preparing to fight the monsters, and helping to work on strategy against them.

At dinner, you joined everyone in the great hall, and after gathering your food and sitting, you found yourself opposite the two Europeans. You stared for a moment, reconciling them with the two hairy, unwashed oafs you’d seen only yesterday. 

“Evening to you,” the fair-haired one said in a lilting accent. He elbowed the darker one. “Tovar.”

Tovar looked up from his food. “Buena noches.” He’d shaved all his beard save a moustache and some scruff around his jaw. The removal of the scraggly beard showed off the shape of his face, drew attention to his big, soulful brown eyes.

“That’s “good evening” in Spanish,” the fair-haired one added, amused. “I’m William.” He seemed to have a sunny disposition, his jaw also freshly shaved, hair tied back as he ate amiably. In contrast, Tovar ate in silence and you noticed a wicked-looking scar arching over his left eye. He glanced around as he chewed, as if worrying someone might remove his food at any moment.

You introduced yourself. “Thank you both for helping. Yesterday, against the Tao Tei.”

Tovar grunted in response. William smiled lopsidedly, his manner affable and relaxed. “You’re welcome.”

******

After that, you didn’t see much of the Westerners. Every day it seemed the weaponsmiths came up with new methods to keep the vicious Tao Tei at bay, and you immersed yourself in learning, as usual, between visits to your mother in the secluded gardens within the widest part of The Wall. She was in good spirits for once, letting you help her eat, laughing at your descriptions of the stinky Europeans.

When you left her, you stopped by the armoury to change your daggers. The ones you’d been using for a few days would be sharpened by the boys drafted there. No one could afford a blunt weapon when every moment the Tao Tei seemed to be evolving; everyone needed to be as sharp as their blades.

Yours were useful in targeting the eyes, you’d trained hard and your aim was often true.

You stopped dead at the sight of Tovar in the armoury, hefting an axe as if testing the weight. You must have made some sound, because he turned, brown gaze raking over you suspiciously. He did everything suspiciously, it seemed.

“Where’s William?” you asked, to cover the fact that you’d started to admire his broad form in the leather armour.

Tovar scoffed. “You like him, do you?”

You shrugged. “Everyone likes him. He’s friendly.”

Turning the huge axe in his hands, Tovar scowled. “And handsome, I guess you’re going to say next.”

You weighed your words carefully. 

Yes, William was easy on the eye, and several of your fellow soldiers had said so. You suspected even Commander Lin Mae had a crush, though she held her cards close to her chest like any good military-bred woman. But your dreams had been filled with soulful brown eyes and what the touch of scarred hands might feel like. How it would sound to have Spanish murmured in your ear in the darkness.

“He is pleasant to look at,” you said at length. 

Tovar looked away, muttering something, and for a second before he’d turned, you thought you saw a flicker of sadness pass over his stocky features, but the light in the armoury wasn’t good enough to tell.

You left him to his grumpiness.

****

You woke with a start at the sound of the horn blasting - an attack was on its way.

Dressing deftly with practiced speed, you hurried up to the wall to see several lines of soldiers already in place. Other women and men from your unit joined you in full armour. A few feet away, William and Tovar were also fully armoured up, grim expressions on their faces. Unlike you, they’d only faced Tao Tei once before in their lives, and although they’d proved themselves formidable, it only took one mistake, one slip in a pool of blood, one misjudged dagger throw, and a warrior could be cut down in an instant.

The crane unit deployed as the creatures climbed over each other, jaws snapping, eyes blinking red and gold in the half-light of early morning, the lit torches only adding to the atmosphere of the scene unfolding.

As usual, Ballard hid behind a pillar, only half his face visible.

Then two creatures breached the top of the gargantuan wall, and all hell broke loose.

You swung your swords as best as you could, holding the line with your unit, the armour of the soldiers atop the wall a cacophony of colour and reflecting light as the fighting raged.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Tovar and William battling the second, hulking Tao Tei, jaws stringy with saliva, reptilian eyes wild, claws scrabbling. Tovar caught it in the belly with an axe as William scored an arrow in its left eye, and the scaly beast crashed to the floor in a pool of blood, twitching.

You turned back to your own fray as lightning crackled, luminescent and fierce. Thunder followed, the sound splitting the pitch black blanket of the sky. The remaining Tao Tei on the wall tossed its head in fury, its jaws snapping and catching the soldier in front of you by the spear, hurling them over your head, knocking out William, whose bow went hurtling away across the stones.

Frozen in fear, you stood rooted to the spot as the Tao Tei opened its jaws, and you stared into the yawning darkness of its mouth, towards certain death.

The scream of an axe flying through the air broke the spell and just in time, you ducked as the spinning blade sliced through the jaw of the hulking green beast, throwing it off its stride. Undeterred, it reached out a huge claw, dripping with the thick blood of your comrades, and swiped-

The air was knocked out of you, and your back hit stone, cushioned by your thick armoured doublet.

Tovar stared down at you, breathing hard. “Eager for death, querida?”

Embarrassed both because you were caught like a deer in headlights, and because you’d reacted instantly to the feel of his hard body pressed intimately to yours, you shoved him off. “I can look after myself.”

Tovar lay on the stone for a second, staring at you, and then shook his head, standing. “Obviously.”

You struggled to get your head back in the game after that, but managed to use your throwing knives to cut out the sight in one of the Tao Tei’s unblinking eyes, internally sighing in relief that you weren’t rendered totally useless in combat.

****

It took a long time to cut up and drag away the two dead Tao Tei. Sometimes, they were tossed over the wall, but this time, Strategist Wang had deemed that too big a risk before the bricks broken today were repaired.

You headed to the courtyard garden to lick your wounds - mainly your pride, thankfully - and stopped short, seeing Tovar sitting on the edge of the fountain, washing his face.

He looked up at your approach and then looked away, a scowl crossing his darkly handsome face. Come to think of it, you’d never seen him smile.

You sat a polite distance away, decided that washing might feel good, and scooped up water.

As you looked into the reflective surface, your face as well as Tovar’s looked back at you. His hair curled damply, the scar across his eye pale in the morning light, his mouth set into a grim line.

“What I said earlier,” you began.

Tovar looked away. Forget it, si?”

You couldn’t forget the look on his face. The one that said he’d handled a lot of rejection and now expected it, handled it with standoffishness and grumpiness. He stood up, his shoulders set, and turned away.

“William is pleasant to look at,” you ground out, “but I prefer looking at you.”

Tovar stood stock still, so you knew he’d heard you.

“Do not make fun, querida,” he said, very softly, but his words carried to you in that husky voice.

“I’m not.”

He turned back to face you very slowly, his face set in a serious expression, and then a slow smile slid over his face, lighting it up, and for a moment he was so handsome, he stole your breath.

****

From then on, whenever you saw each other, you and Tovar would sneak little glances. Sometimes if you sat together at the long dinner tables, his thigh would touch yours, and your heart would thunder in your chest.

For his part, Tovar seemed much happier to be within the confines of the Great Wall, joining in the combat drills and showing some of the patrol units his axe throws.

Life continued, without any attacks from the Tao Tei, for some time. Spring started to bloom all around, and the three large cherry blossom trees in the garden courtyard sprouted perfect, pale pink flowers.

The morning after they bloomed, you found one waiting for you, tucked into the door handle of your small quarters. And another, the day after that, until the blooms dropped to the ground and were swept away.

“Thank you,” you murmured to him at dinner.

“De nada,” he smiled, looking at you with those dark eyes, and you wondered what he wanted. What his endgame was. All you knew was that when he looked at you, you melted inside, and each little touch stoked the flames, until you’d reached fever pitch.

You finished your food, went to stand, and he touched your arm. “Meet with me, si? In the courtyard. When the moon is high.”

You nodded shakily, your heart somersaulting, ready for your little routine of smiles and heated glances to move to the next level.

******

The full moon hung waxy and heavy in the sky, surrounded by pinprick stars, when you entered the courtyard on stealthy feet. Your eyes adjusted to the darkness and you made out Tovar’s silhouette under the cherry blossom trees, now entirely green and leafy.

He tipped his chin in silent greeting as you crossed to him, standing awkwardly for a second, unsure what to do, how to act.

Fantasizing about him covering you in the night, his deep voice murmuring to you in Spanish, was very different to being only inches away, breathing in the scent of his rosemary soap and just a hint of the lemon oil he cleaned his armour with.

“Querida,” he whispered. “You want this, no?”

The edge of trepidation in his tone made your decision for you, and you closed the distance. Tovar cupped your face in his gentle, scarred hands, and dipped his head to kiss you. You met his lips eagerly, if a little clumsily, and drunk in his little groan as your tongues danced. He tasted of spice and tea, addictive, and you slid a hand up his neck into the silky mass of his dark hair, threading your fingers through the strands.

Tovar was not the first man you’d kissed, but the incendiary feelings this kiss incited in you made the others pale into insignificance.

He slid his arms around you and pulled you close, aligning your body with his, and you thrilled to the feel of the evidence of his desire hot and heavy against your belly.

You sucked in a breath when Tovar broke the kiss, his dark gaze searching yours. “You truly do not fear me, little one?”

“I never have. Should I?”

“Never, mi corazón,” he whispered. “I should fear you. What you could do to my…. Old, scarred heart.” He tipped your chin up with a gentle hand. “Do not give me hope where there is none, si?”

“But there is.” Sweet man, you thought, pulling him in for another kiss. “Come…. Back to my quarters?”

He nodded silently, and you felt something drop in your stomach, as if things were about to change irrevocably.

You led him by the hand up the steps to the main gatehouse, and through the silent corridors to your quarters. The sound of the key in lock seemed loud, but then Tovar shut the door behind you, and he dominated the space in his black tunic, leathers and breeches. 

Unsaid words littered the space between your bodies, the only light a faint glow from the wall sconce above your tiny desk.

Anticipation pooled in your belly, warring with nerves. “I.. I’ve never done this before-” Twenty-four summers old you might be, but when you lived in a cold, stone fortress, with the constant threat of a Tao Tei attack and cared for your mother, there wasn’t much time for romance.

“We will start slow, then.” Tovar closed the gap between you and again cupped your face in his hands, kissing you again, seducing you by tiny increments. You felt your body begin to relax as the kiss turned leisurely, and your hands slid up the wall of his chest, his heart beating a ragged tattoo under your palm.

His armoured leather spread warm and soft under your hands, but you wanted more. His breathing hitched when you started to unlace the tunic fastenings, but he slid his hands down to your hips, letting you have your way.

Outside, an owl hooted in the distance. Your own heart thundered in your ears, desire making your blood feel syrupy, as you pushed the leather off his shoulders, only the worn, soft fabric of his black shirt underneath. You met Tovar’s gaze and found something dark and hot and yours in his tea-dark eyes, and it made you greedy, so you gripped the hem of his shirt and pulled it up. Tovar helped you, lifting his arms and bending, and you’d seen what his arms and hands could do with an axe, so his gentleness both humbled and aroused you.

The shirt fell to the floor on his armour, and oh God, he was big and broad and muscled. Fascinated, you spread your hands over his chest, your skin pale compared to his golden tan, mapping the myriad scars over his chest. A wicked one ran from one nipple down to the side of his hip, the end white with age, and, overcome with how painful it must have been, you bent and pressed your lips to it.

He was silent, breathing ragged, as you did the same for all the scars you could see, tracing them with first your fingers and then your lips, learning the feel and taste and smell of him as his heart thundered, hands clenched on your hips.

A sound that might have been pleasure or pain escaped his lips, and you looked up, meeting his gaze, seeing fire there. “Enough,” he bit off, and he lifted you off your feet and carried you to the bed, laying you down as gently as if you were the most precious of jewels, and in the next breath he covered you, and your arms wound around him. 

You spread your palms over his back greedily, drinking him in by touch, and he lowered his mouth to yours, starting the whole process anew. Kissing you until that fluttering starting in your belly again, until you were arching your hips to get closer to him, to feel more of the hard, hot length of him against you.

Curious, and eager, you snuck a hand between your bodies to cup him through his breeches, and a muttered slew of Spanish passed his lips as he bucked into your palm, then grabbed your wrist.

“Next time, perhaps. It has been too long for me, comprende?”

He guided your hands upwards, set them on the pillows above your head. “I want to focus on you.”

And wow, that made want and need clutch at you, deep inside.

Tovar undressed you slowly, and you watched his scarred hands work in the low light from the flickering sconce flame, peeling back each layer of your robes. “Hermosa,” he whispered reverently, and then, as if remembering you didn’t speak Spanish, he added, the butterfly wings of his breath warm against your skin, “Beautiful.”

His words warmed you inside out, and then he touched his mouth to your skin and all thoughts left your head.

Aside from a handful of nervous fumbles in the armoury, right now was the closest to sex you'd ever been. As Tovar drank you in, his tongue learning the flavour of your nipples, you broke the invisible hold he'd put on your wrists and touched him, raking your fingers through his hair and smoothing your palms over the golden skin of his broad back.

He mumbled what you guessed was praise in Spanish as he licked and kissed endlessly. You felt him hard and unyielding against your thigh, but he seemed uncaring of his own needs, existing, for now, purely for your pleasure.Time ceased to exist and your world narrowed to each lick of his warm tongue, each stroke of his big, scarred hands, over your skin.

“What did I do to deserve such beauty?” he mused, moving down to feather kisses on your stomach.

“You… bathed,” you muttered, completely at ease with him, and he coughed out a surprised laugh.

“I’ll spend the rest of my life under water, querida, if this is my reward.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but then he spread your legs and put his mouth on you, and nothing else mattered, save the curl of his tongue where you were damp and ready, the glide of his lips on your inner thighs, then the tickle of his facial scruff across your clit, the press of his fingers inside you. You clenched your muscles around his digits and felt him sigh against you, pleasure and anticipation wrapped up inside that single breath, and you arched into his face, chasing the sweet release that every flick of his tongue promised.

Your thighs trembled as Tovar gentled the pace, then sped up again, keeping you on the edge of your climax. This was nothing like what you’d experienced at your own hand, you were bent to his will, control out of your hands-

He licked a long strip over your with the flat of his tongue and you came with a keening cry, turning your face into the pillow to keep from making a sound. The walls might be stone here, but it was better not to take chances.

Tovar propped himself up on his elbows, and the pleased look on his face made your stomach flutter anew.

“Now, I think you are ready, hermosa.”

He disrobed quickly, and you watched every inch of tanned skin revealed in the half-light from the wall sconce. The sliver of moonlight through your window kissed the curve of his shoulder, the scar across his eye, and you had never seen anyone so beautiful.

You sighed with pleasure as he moved atop you again, gloriously naked, and his skin was smooth and hot, and instinctually, you shifted and wrapped your legs around his hips. Tovar growled into the curve of your neck and positioned himself, and your inner muscles clenched greedily in breathless anticipation of this, the first time having a man inside you.

“I will be gentle,” he promised, and you nodded, mumbling his name, not sure what you wanted, but just knowing you needed-

The hot press of him inside you kindled another fire deep in your belly. The head of him brushed the sensitive bead at your apex and you arched desperately -

The pain sliced through you, and Tovar dropped his forehead to yours, going totally still inside you. You felt him trembling slightly, braced on his forearms, his dark eyes filled with concern.

“It’s..” A tear rolled down your cheek and he went to pull away. The fact this big, world-weary, grumpy, strong mercenary would stop, without a word from you, made your heart turn over, and you banded your arms around him.

The pain gave way to a feeling of fullness, and you experimentally clenched your inner muscles around him. Tovar bit off a string of curses in Spanish, shifting slightly, and the movement sent little licks of pleasure ricocheting inside you.

“Good?” he whispered against your lips.

“Good,” you agreed, breathing him in, tasting yourself on his mouth when he brushed a kiss over your lips, the breath shuddering out of him.

He moved slowly, seducing you again with his gentleness, capturing your little gasps of sensation with his mouth, until there was more pleasure than pain, and you needed to feel all of him. Testing, you lifted your hips, dragging him deeper, and he made that addictive growl again, his hips moving faster. You clenched your hands on his big shoulders, digging your heels into his thighs, urging him on. 

“Carajo,” he cursed, his hips stuttering, and he thrust out and back in again, touching a spot inside you that crashed waves of pleasure through you, and you keened his name, pressing your face into his shoulder.

Tovar went still, eyes closing for a second, then pulled out, taking himself in hand and finishing across your stomach, his breath coming raggedly, before he collapsed beside you on the narrow bunk.

After a moment he turned on to his side and stroked damp strands of hair back from your face. “Querida.”

“What does that mean, exactly?”

“Darling.”

He dropped a kiss on your lips and then moved off the bunk, finding your bucket of water, refreshed each day, and soaking a cloth, wringing it out before gently cleaning off your stomach, then standing awkwardly, his gaze searching yours in the low light, questioning.

Your heartbeat settled. Tomorrow you would have to wake up with the sun, and train again, and fight for your life. Tomorrow you would have to decide what you wanted to do with this new thread between you and Tovar, the emotions that lightened your heart and swam in your head. But for now, it was night, and you wanted to push the Tao Tei and the fighting away, to not think about whether Tovar would one day want to leave the safety of the Wall.

So you crooked your finger and lifted up the blanket. “Stay.”

Relief crossed his dark, handsome features, and he did as you bid, gathering you close. You snuggled your cheek into his warm, scarred, solid chest, burrowed into his warmth, and, forgetting about everything except the sound of his heart beating, you dropped into sleep.

Thankyou so much to @restingnurseface​ for the company, read-throughs and encouagement.

Tagging people who might like this @bunnyart-blog​ @spacegayofficial​  @tiffdawg​ and my regular “whole shebang” taglist: @wolvesandhoundshowltogether​ @just-the-hiddles​ @littlemissthistle​ @palaiasaurus64​ @adorkabeezle​ @myoxisbroken​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ please ask to be added or released!