#even though tome is there the one with the “emergency” was supposed to be up to your interpretation. originally

[triscribe]

Chapter 4

“I’m going to get you for this,” Fren groaned, picking up yet another crate of books. “Just had to climb that tree, and see a wagon in distress-”

“We’d have come this way anyhow,” Tali pointed out. “My scouting just meant we showed up a little sooner, before Ma’am Shan hurt herself trying to lift the wagon free on her own.”

“Hn.”

“Quit griping about us doing a good thing, Freniden.”

“Hnnn.”

Rolling her eyes, the girl picked up a sack of woodnuts and swung them over her shoulder. They’d gotten down to the last pile of things that needed loading back into the peddler’s wagon, and for all of her best friend’s complaints, they hadn’t lost more than a single hour.

“Thank you again, dear,” the old goblin smiled as Tali handed the sack up to her. “You don’t know how much it means to me that a couple of youngsters such as yourselves were willing to step in and lend a hand.”

Beaming, Tali glanced over her shoulder to give Fren a significant look. He grimaced back - though whether that was from hearing Ma’am Shan’s words or the strain of lifting a heavy crate, she wasn’t certain. Tali took the opposite side, and together they heaved the container up and into the back of the wagon. Ma’am Shan, only just getting the sack of nuts situated, jumped at the sound of its heavy impact.

“Goodness!” The peddler shuffled back over. “I don’t remember that one being quite so weighed down...”

“I mean,” Fren panted, “There’s at least twenty books in there, so...”

Ma’am Shan just tutted, shifting a few of the tomes around. “Ah-ha! That’s where I stuck this beauty.” Out of the crate, she lifted a hefty sized rock with both hands, turning it from one side to other and causing the mottled gold and cream surface to shimmer.

Fren wheezed. “Is that a gryphon’s egg?!”

“You recognize it!” Ma’am Shan laughed. “Not many people would, in this day and Age.”

Tali blinked, glancing between them. “Uh. Including me, apparently. What’s a gryphon?”

“A remnant from Sarant’s primal past, my dear,” the old goblin hummed. “A fabled beast that’s grown ever scarcer over the millennia - there’s only a handful left, hidden up in the Broken Crags, which is where I came across this treasure. It’s been magically preserved, you know; this sheen, where the light hits, isn’t natural at all. Typically, gryphon eggs are extremely dull in color, to better blend in with their stony nests, much the same as the infant plumage of their hatchlings.”

Fren batted at Tali’s shoulder until she turned to meet his wide-eyed gaze. “That tapestry, in the Wizard Tower’s foyer? With the battle, and the knights on flying mounts? Those are gryphons.”

“Ohh...” Tali recalled the massive piece of art, and her bemusement at seeing it for the first time, thinking the massive half-bird half-cat creatures must have been the result of someone getting a little too excited with their magical experiments. “Those things were big.”

“Indeed,” Ma’am Shan said with a chuckle. “Flocks of them used to be quite the nuisance for dragons- but that was a long time ago, I suppose.” She hummed, running a claw over the surface of the egg, before looking at Fren with a glint in her eye. “Here.”

“Wh-” Startled, the boy only barely managed not to fumble as the egg suddenly dropped into his hands. “What?”

“Consider that a token of my appreciation, for your spell and your additional help,” the goblin grinned.

“What?! Do you- do you know how much you could sell this for in Sarantan City?!”

“Oh, quite a few copper pieces, I expect, even if it isn’t much more than a pretty paperweight right now.” As Fren continued spluttering, she winked at Tali, who snickered. “Now, I can’t simply thank only one half of my pair of rescuers - what would strike your fancy, dear?”

“Hm. Maybe something interesting to read?”

Ma’am Shan clucked her tongue. “I have just the thing, for an intrepid adventurer headed northward.” She dove back into the crate of books, digging around for several moments, before re-emerging with a tome that looked ready to fall apart. Tali accepted it gingerly, wary of the cracked binding and battered cover. “It’s hardier than it looks, dear. I’ve been carrying that thing around for years, waiting to find it a good home.”

Curious in spite of herself, Tali eased the book open to its title page, and blinked. “This is... a diary?”

“Well, more of a field journal,” Ma’am Shan replied. “But I daresay the notes inside will be of more use to you than half the treatises in Sarantan City’s libraries. Especially when it comes to being civil with Amkyn folk.”

Both kids jerked their heads up to stare at her, Tali’s mouth opening in protest, only to stall as the goblin raised a warning hand.

“This road goes straight up to the Borderlands, young ones,” she said, suddenly sounding a great deal more serious. “And for all that the lofty rulers of the southern lands like to insist on it being a firm barrier, the region is fluid, and a great deal more difficult to navigate if you’ve only learned from one side of history.”

Tali shivered, something cold creeping down the back of her neck. But when she blinked, the air once again felt warm, and Ma’am Shan had returned to smiling like a doddery old peddler.

“Now, thank you again for all your help, but I believe the time has come for us to part ways.” Surprised, Tali glanced behind her, ready to point out they still had a few things to get back into the wagon - only to pause as she realized the ground beside the road was empty of any remaining boxes or bags. “Good luck finding whatever it is you’re looking for, dears, and may the Moons give you their favor.”

“Erm, thank you? Safe travels, Ma’am.”

Both youths stared as the old goblin moved to sit on the front seat, and flicked the reins to get her horse moving. Only once the wagon was out of sight around a bend in the road did Tali manage to shake off her strange feeling.

“That,” Fren announced to the open air, “Was not normal.”

“Yeah, well. At least you got a weird egg out of it.”

As her friend launched into a rant about rarity and primal creatures and sheer value, Tali’s gaze dropped to the book still lying open in her hands, and the words written out in a slanted script not dissimilar from her own:

First Hand Accounts of Arriv and Amkyn, by Tanu

(Off-limits to any nosy mage students trying to sneak an early preview)

Carefully, Tali shifted her grip in order to flip through some pages. She caught glimpses of long paragraphs in the same handwriting with messier notes crammed into the margins, a few awkward illustrations followed by much more detailed, precise diagrams, and a different colored ink that seemed to be someone else adding their own words to the author’s accounts.

An interesting read, indeed.

Trials of Youth Ch1

(...so. So far my attempts to get in a good headspace to finish this book's second draft have not gone well, which means it's time to take drastic action. Hence, sharing the first handful of chapters here, and seeing if my friends having someplace to screech and ask what's next will help)

Dawn bloomed.

In the southern plains, sitting near the very top of a cottonwood tree, a girl admired how light spread across the land, transforming everything by simple use of illumination. When enough time had passed that she could see her surroundings clearly, the fourteen year old turned and looked down.

“Fren! Time to get up, lazy-bones!” A muffled grunt was the only response. Rolling her eyes, the girl started to climb downward, swiftly passing her own hammock to crouch beside the one below. With a teasing grin, she started to push at it, swinging the cloth and its inhabitant from side to side. “Frennnn.”

“Mm’up.” A hand and arm were stretched up out of the mess of blankets, before flopping back over.

“Freniden Brusan, if you don’t wake up in the next thirty seconds, I’m tipping this thing over and dumping you out of it.”

Bunched-up cloth and curly black hair were pushed aside so that her friend could direct his glare towards the girl. “You wouldn’t.”

“I most certainly would.”

“We’re twenty feet in the air, Tali!”

“Then you’ll just have to use your all-powerful wizardly talents to keep from getting injured.” She released her hold on the hammock and stood. “Now come on!”

“Alright, alright, I’m getting up,” the younger boy grumbled, kicking his blankets off and reaching for his bag, hanging from a nearby branch. “I swear, everyone in your family is a lunatic, rising at dawn and ordering other people to do the same...”

“I’m sorry, does this come as a surprise to you?” Laughing, Tali climbed back up to avoid the smelly sock Fren threw in her direction. Within a few minutes, both children had donned their outer traveling clothes and rolled up their hammocks, stuffing the bulky bundles into Fren’s enchanted satchel. Once they’d clambered back down to the ground, the wizardling pulled out some hard biscuits and dried meat for their breakfast.

“So,” he asked around a mouthful of food. “Now that we’ve successfully gotten too far from the city for your father’s search parties to find, do we have a destination in mind to start looking for this missing sister of yours?”

Tali frowned thoughtfully. “Well, much as I want to find Lillia, we could stop by your old home first, visit your family-” She stopped when Fren snorted.

“Bad idea. My relatives wouldn’t let us leave for at least the better part of a month, which I know would drive you insane.”

“It would?”

“Oh, yes. Nothing interesting ever happens in Fammon.”

“Well, fine then, if you don’t want to see your uncle and aunt and cousins, we’ll just go straight north.”

Fren raised an eyebrow. “That’s it? That’s all the great Petalia Crant can come up with?”

“That’s all we need,” Tali argued, looking ahead with a fierce expression. “We go north.”

“I’m starting to have second thoughts about running off with you...”

“Too late to change your mind now!” Tali playfully punched her friend’s shoulder, and giggled when the chubby boy pretended to stagger.

“Hey! Easy with those muscles of yours! I may have extra padding, but that doesn’t mean it won’t get bruised!”

“Oh, quit being such a whiner.”

“Bully.”

“Wimp!”

“Aquimbe!” Before Tali could blink, a spray of water caught her in the face. She spluttered, ducking away as Fren cackled. The spell ended after a moment, water spout fading back into nothing, though the girl remained very much wet.

“That,” she declared, wiping at her face with the edge of her cape, “Was so not fair.”

“Forgive me for wanting to get the upper hand just once,” Fren grinned.

The pair continued to banter as they walked on, eventually finding a road heading in the right direction. Tali checked it over for recent tracks while Fren whispered a quick scanning spell for nearby people. Neither of them found any signs of fellow travelers.

“Should we risk it?” The wizardling asked. His friend shrugged.

“May as well.”

Winding as it may have been, the road nonetheless took them north, and the pair made good time. By mid-morning, they’d covered several miles, and stopped for a water break on top of a shallow hill. When she handed back the water skin, Tali decided to climb another tree, to get a look at their new surroundings.

The girl had only gotten part way up the trunk, though, when something not too far away caught her eye.

Fren flinched as she suddenly landed beside him, fumbling the water skin and nearly dropping it. He didn’t have any time to ask what she’d seen before Tali was dashing off down the hill. Scrambling, Fren hurried after. A few minutes later, they rounded a bend in the road, and he too saw what had grabbed his friend’s attention.

A small, weather-beaten wagon was stuck, one of its front wheels trapped by a deep crack in the earth. The driver, a wrinkled old goblin, strained as she tried to pull it free without much success. Harnessed to the front of the wagon, her horse saw the two human youths first, and whinnied.

“Hello there!” Tali called, slowing her steps as she approached. “Could we offer you a hand?”

The goblin, who’d paused at her horse’s sudden warning, looked over in surprise. “I wouldn’t mind a bit if you did! I just need a tad more oomph to lift it free, I think.”

Tali immediately stepped to her side, crouching in order to get a good grip on the frame of the wagon before glancing over her shoulder. “C’mon, Fren, hurry up.”

He rolled his eyes. “Wizard student, remember? Elvitaere.” A soft yellow light sprang from the pendant tied around his left wrist, enveloping the wagon and causing it to slowly float into the air.

“Oh my,” the goblin gaped. 

Huffing at her friend’s dramatics, Tali nonetheless pushed the wagon’s side, nudging it away from the hole. As soon as all four wheels were over even ground again, Fren ended the spell, letting the wagon gently set back down. The old goblin clapped her hands in delight.

“That was wonderful!” She gushed. “Saved my poor back and everything! Thank you so much, dearies.”

“You’re very welcome,” Tali said. “Is there anything else we could help you with?”

“Well, now I feel silly, but I’d emptied out everything I could to make this old hunk lighter - I don’t suppose the two of you would mind giving me a hand putting it all back, would you?”

Blinking, Fren leaned over to look at the other side of the road. Sure enough, several blankets were spread across the ground, dozens upon dozens of books and knick-knacks and other peddler’s goods piled atop them. He gave Tali a side-eyed glance, and sighed when she glared back.

“Happy to be of assistance, ma’am.”

[da-janela-lateral]

Decision paralysis.

[short-honey-badger]

Peppermint Tea 10

Late night post! Couldn't sleep! Have some tooth rotting fluff!

Masterlist

The days dragged on, Mihawk actually busy for once with Navy orders to investigate a new emergence of rookie pirates at the edges of Doflamingo's territory. The world leaders knew that the pink moron would rather turn a blind eye to any criminal activity in his region. 

Even with his experience with much of the Grand Line and the New World, it still took Dracule a few days past a month for him to even return back to Gloom Island. He found that he missed you terribly, to the point that even Perona had pointed out his less than stellar mood. Not that he was ever really expressive anyway. Mihawk ignored her questions as he packed his ship once more for another week of travel. 

Perona floated after him, a scowl on her pretty face, “You just got back, and you're already leaving again? Why? What about me?” 

Hawkeye rolled his eyes, “I have a life outside of this castle, Perona,” he groused out and carefully stacked the books he had mentally chosen on his way back to Gloom Island. Last time he had seen you, you were particularly interested in the Blues. One of the thick tomes he'd picked would be a perfect gift for you. 

“You didn't three months ago,” She snapped back at him and crossed her arms in a pout. She hated being ignored! What was she supposed to do all alone in this dreary old castle? Zoro wasn't here to entertain her any longer. 

Dracule sighs, sweeping his hand through his hair and leveling the ghost girl a look, “It's rude to dig into other people's business. So stay out of mine,” He points out and then closes the bag full of books. Another smaller satchel rests at his feet, though that one is full of small trinkets from his foray into the New World. 

Usually, he strayed away from the market stalls and overpriced jewelry, but a small wind chime made of green sea glass had caught his eye. Dracule had paid for it without looking at the price and then continued on his way, unconsciously keeping a lookout for anything else that he thought you may like. 

The warlord may or may not have ended up with a few more than he had even meant to buy, but Mihawk thought about the look of joy that would cross your face at his gifts, and pushed the thought of how many he'd gotten away. 

“Well someone should be in your business! You've been so sneaky, Dracy! I want to know what you've been up to!” Perona demands again with a huff. She doesn't care that it's rude to butt into his business. He took care of her, let her stay on Gloom Island, and hadn't kicked her out like she knew he could. Perona would look after him, too! 

“Give it up, Perona,” Dracule grumbled, tone final as he picked up both bags and slung them over his shoulder. He fixed his hat with his free hand and then marched out of his study without a word to the floating pink girl. 

Mihawk wouldn't lie and say that he didn't feel at least the tiniest bit bad for lying to Perona. He did care for the girl, in a way like one would a stray cat. But she also had a big mouth, and Dracule had already slipped up once with Shanks. He couldn't do that again. 

The ghost girl pouted behind him as she followed the warlord all the way outside and to his ship. A frown took over her face when she noticed that he was packed as if he would be gone for a while. The ship looked more crowded than usual, and she wondered what Mihawk had stored away. 

“Well. How long will you be gone for?” Perona asks quietly and tries not to let it show how upset she actually was with Dracule leaving already. 

The older man sighs, stepping off his ship to trudge back inside the castle, “I won't be leaving until tomorrow. The trip takes around a week. I plan to stay for at least four days and then a week trip back,” Dracule says and makes sure to keep everything as vague as possible. He glances at the young girl and rolls his eyes when she still looks upset. 

“We will go shopping when I come back. Will that appease you?” Mihawk asks, and it's like a light switch. 

Perona grins in excitement. Shopping with Mihawk means getting whatever she wants. The warlord had more than enough berri to spend. 

“Fine! But I want to go to the best places, Mihawk! You owe me that,” She demands and crosses her arms in a huff, ready to argue her case if denied. 

“As long as it keeps you quiet,” Dracule says instead, and Perona just sticks her nose up in the air again as she floats away to her room. This wasn't over! She would find out what had suddenly taken all of Mihawk's attention. 

Dracule watches the pink girl leave with a fond sigh. He sits in his chair and reaches down to retrieve a bottle of wine from inside his desk. He pops it to let it air and then pours himself a careful glassful. Mihawk admires the red and thinks back on how this same brand of wine had stained your pretty lips. 

Now alone, the warlord allows his mind to drift without worry, eyes closing as he thinks back to the last time he was with you. His overly romantic thoughts have him sneering at himself, as if he were some prince come to sweep you off your feet. Dracule sips his wine. 

He likes to think that it's the other way around. For the most part, life had before a melancholy bore to Mihawk. Either following the government's orders to look for a good fight or nap the day away in his ship. Little caught and held his attention, but you? You are an entirely different story. 

Mihawk had never met someone so sheltered, only knowing of the world through waterlogged books and from the kindness of any pirate that may have washed up on your beach. From what Dracule has gathered, he has been one of the very few who hasn't tried to kill you. 

You were kind and intelligent. He loved the way that your eyes would light up whenever he spoke of what he knew, always excited to acquire more knowledge. Mihawk found that he wanted to teach to show you everything that he knew. 

He frowns suddenly and thinks back to the rather innocent question that had made anger and panic race through him. You wanted to know about him, not his knowledge, and it made him antsy. You didn't deserve to know the hardships and pain that he has gone through to get to where he is today. You did not need to be aware of the atrocities that he has committed over the years. Dracule Mihawk is not a kind man, and his past certainly reflects it. 

Mihawk would tell you more in time, but for now, Dracule wanted to be selfish. Wanted to hoard you away from the world and keep you safe like a dragon would its treasure. And maybe that is what you were to him. A pirate needed treasure, after all. 

The warlord finishes his glass and then stands, intending to fix himself and his ward dinner. He would leave at first light tomorrow morning, not later than that. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Hank whines at your feet, big puppy dog eyes catching your attention from where you sit slouched at your kitchen table. It's been a month and a half, and still, there has been no sign of Dracule. He had promised that he would be back, and the man didn't seem like the kind to break those, but it still made you worry for him. 

Was he okay? Did whatever business he had to attend go bad? Did a seaking attack him and somehow get the better of him? You have no idea, and your chest hurts at all the horrible possibilities that could befall your friend. 

Were you friends? Did that term apply to the two of you? The few romance books that you'd been able to cobble together didn't make it seem like the two of you were just friends. Was he your boyfriend? Partner? Lover? Again, another countless item that you did not know, however, you resolved to amend that when Dracule returned. Whenever that may be. 

“I know, Buddy. I'm sorry that I'm being such a sad sap,” You lament to your pooch and lean down to give the shaggy dog a scratch under his chin. 

Hank's woofs at, and you watch in suspicion when his ears suddenly snap back, and he wheels around to start barking at the front door. You frown as you get up and follow him, curious as to what got Hank's attention. 

That frown turns upside down when the door opens, and Dracule Mihawk strides in like he owns the place. He sets down several bags and pats Hank's head with a soft smirk before the mutt’s attention is caught by something outside. He bounds away, leaving you and Mihawk staring at one another. 

“Snow Angel,” He begins and takes a half step forward, but that's as far as he gets before you slam into him, Snow exploding around the two of you as you bury your face in his chest. You don't even care that his cross necklace is digging into your face. 

“You're back,” you cry. And when did that start? Oh, we'll. You pull away and wipe your eyes, though you can't help the tremble in your bottom lip, “I was worried that something might have happened to you.” 

Warm, calloused hands close around your freezing face, and Dracule leans in to rest his brow against your own. The feather on his hat tickles your face, but you ignore it, not taking your eyes away from the beautiful yellow ones that demand your attention. 

“There is little out there that could truly hurt me, Dear one,” Mihawk says in such a sure tone that you have no choice but to believe him. He strokes your cheeks, wiping away your tears with a soft smile meant only for you, “Though I do appreciate the thought that you worried for me so.” 

You sniff and send him a glare at his teasing. Damn this man and what he does to you. What you hardly understand. 

“You're really that strong?” You find yourself asking him, and lean back to observe his chiseled physique and the sword on his back. A funny feeling shoots through your stomach when you lay eyes on the cross guard, and you frown at the negativity of the emotion. 

You're so focused that you don't notice Dracule's hesitation, though you are quick to tune back in when he speaks. 

“I am. One of my proudest titles is the Greatest Swordsman in the world,” Mihawk admits, and you can't help but think that this is an important event for him, and you delight in knowing that he was finally giving you a peek inside of who he really is.

“It sounds like you've worked very hard for it,” you say softly and reach up to cup his hands with your own, thumbs swiping gently over his knuckles.  

“I did, still do. It is a title that I will happily defend,” Dracule murmurs and slips a hand free so that he can curl his arm around your waist. You shiver at the warmth he emits, and finally feel like you can breathe properly once again. Before you can comment further, Mihawk is twisting the two of you around and backing you up against the door, “Enough of that. Do kiss me, sweet thing. I have missed your taste.” 

Your back hits the door, and then his lips are upon your, closing over your own in a heated exchange that has one of your hands sliding into his hair and pulling him closer. You kiss him back like your life depends on it, opening up for him when Mihawk's tongue licks the seam of your lips. A choked moan leaves your throat when that hot muscle sweeps inside and curls around your tongue. 

Dracule slows, this kiss turning less frantic with need and more passionate, soft pecks of the lips that still leave your heart racing but in an entirely different way. He leaves one last lingering kiss to your cheek and then pulls away to tuck your head under his chin. You take advantage and cuddle close to him, arms dropping to wrap around his waist. You hum when his grip on you tightens. 

“I missed you,” you murmur quietly, and Dracule kisses the top of your head. 

“I know, dear. I longed for you as well,” he says, and your heart flutters at his words. Did he long for you? Did he pine like the men from your storybooks? 

“Wh-What are we?” You ask before you can stop the damming words coming out of your mouth. You flush and bury your face in the crook of his neck, “I know that we're friends, right? But I don't think friends kiss and, um, touch the way we do.” 

Dracule listens to you babble, finding it endearing that you wanted his opinion on this.

 “You can call what we have whatever you like,” He decides on and then catches your chin to lift your face and place a quick kiss to your lips, “But no matter what you choose, you are my treasure.” 

You can't find any kind of words to say to that, so you just reach for him to pepper his face with kisses, giggling when his facial hair tickles your face. Mihawk allows your fun for a whole before he puts a stop to it by flicking you in the forehead. 

“It's later than I intended to arrive, Darling,” Dracule scolds with a smirk and turns to the two of you around and gently pushes you to the kitchen, “You remember how I showed you to properly open a bottle of wine, right?” 

You laugh and dance into the kitchen, gathering the glasses that he had brought from last time and showing him that you did remember his instructions. You haven't touched the dangerous red liquid since that night, but you know that Dracule enjoys having a glass or four in the evening. 

The two of you settle in the living room afterwards, and Dracule sets his wine down long enough to retrieve the smaller bag. He opens it up, and you watch in growing panic as Mihawk pulls several boxes out of the drawstring. He hands over the largest of the parcels. 

“Open them, please,” Dracule instructs, and you set your own mug away to carefully tug at the delicate purple ribbon that holds the box shut. A gasp leaves you when you take the lid off, and you reverently pull out the beautiful green sea glass and delicate metal tubes attached to the fishing line. 

“What is it?” You ask and raise it up to better examine it in the setting sun that streams through your window. You gasp in delight when you hear the melodic echo at the slightest movement. 

“A wind chime. We can hang it wherever the wind blows most,” Dracule suggests, and you nod eagerly as you set the chimes back inside the box for safekeeping. Miahwk takes it away only to replace it with another. 

You end up with a fish bone comb that has been chiseled by masterful hands. A full sand dollar that you are extra careful with, and a large piece of red glass from a broken bottle that has been sanded and polished to a shine. Each item is handpicked just for you. 

Dracule looks like a smug cat, lips tugged up in a smirk as he watches you reverently put away your gifts. You agree to hang up the wind chime in the morning and open his arms for you to fall into. You gladly do, holding Mihawk close and not ever wanting to let go. 

It's quiet between two of you, a comfortable air that puts you at ease. At some point, Mihawk takes up the book, the one that you had read to him from, and begins to read. His soft timber is enough to send you into a light doze, and he slows to a stop, not wanting you to miss anything. 

“Darling, if you are so tired, let's get you to bed, yes?” Mihawk murmurs and rolls his eyes when all you do is give a sleepy nod. He shifts forward and then stands with you in his arms, tracing the now familiar path back to your bedroom. 

Dracule tucks you in, content to leave you for the night, but he doesn't get far before your pitiful voice rings out, “Stay here with me?” 

The warlord is already sitting on the bed and tugging his boot off. You watch with squinted eyes as Mihawk reaches for his belt, sliding it out of the loops and sliding his pants off. You admire his lean form dressed only in black men's underwear. He is radiant, and it makes you a little nervous to have him so undressed and in your bed no less. 

You toss back the blankets and Dracule slips in beside you. It's a little awkward at first, but then you can feel how much heat he is radiating and desperately wants to know how it feels to have so much of his exposed skin touching you. You roll over to face him, smiling in the dim light of the moon when you realize that he's been watching you the whole time. 

“I know you're cold,” Mihawk whispers, and you can hear that knowing, teasing tone that you have missed so much. “Come here, Snow Angel.” 

You don't have to be told twice, happily closing the distance and tossing your arm over his waist, head pillowed on his chest. You press your freezing feet against his legs and are treated with the rare sight of his eyes going wide and a hiss like a cat escaping his mouth. 

You snicker and get pinched in the side for your trouble, but you can't bring yourself to care. This night couldn't get any better. 

@writingmysanity @kenkenmaaa @foggyturtleknightangel @browneyedhufflepuff @djbumblebee @goth-mami-writer @myradiaz

[cherryxblossxms]

Masturbation May - Day 3b: In the Shower (Satan)

A/N: Satan was suggested for day 3 by an anonymous sender! I couldn't quite decide the direction I wanted for this initially but finally just settled on some good ol stress relief via orgasm lol.

Featuring: GN reader || Satan x reader

Warnings: masturbation; some jealous Satan; mentions of marking and breeding (not specific to reader); just some much-needed self-assurance and stress relief in the shower~

Word count: 1411

══════════════════

Satan just needed some kind of stress relief. He knew it was just his temper, easier and quicker to rile up thanks to his sin. But it seemed like everything was going wrong lately, getting on his nerves and pushing him to the edge of exploding. Lucifer was yelling at him about something or other, his favorite cat café had to close early because of an emergency with the owner, and his brothers were all getting into silly, nonsense arguments with each other.

Normally, these things alone wouldn't be enough to make him snap completely. But to top it all off, you had gone on a trip to the Human Realm with Solomon two weeks ago, supposedly for some training and gathering some items specific to your home. In your absence, the House of Lamentation always fell into chaos, no one to buffer the ridiculousness and provide a voice of reason.

Satan knew he shouldn't blame you, or use you as a means of resolving everyone's problems. But your presence was like a magic balm, easing his spirit and always managing to wrestle the others into compliance. And now all this pent up stress was leaving aches in his muscles and gave him a near constant migraine.

He couldn't even focus on his books, attempting to read through various tomes on his ever-lasting quest for the perfect curse for Lucifer, but realizing halfway through that he wasn't absorbing any of the information. He snapped the heavy book shut in anger, sending out a plume of dust that covered his upper half. Satan coughed and set the book aside.

Great, now he was both dirty and angry.

Trying to keep his boiling rage contained, he quickly gathered clean clothes and made his way to the bathroom, hoping against all odds that no one else was in there, or he'd really snap for good. Thankfully, the room was clear, and he quickly undressed as the water grew hot.

Once he was in the water, he sighed, the heat helping to relieve his aching muscles. Although he wouldn't admit it, he often wondered about taking up an offer from Asmo for a spa treatment. He was sure he needed it, and that it'd probably do wonders for his temperament, at least for a little while. Relaxation of the body is supposed to help relaxation of the mind, he figured.

Sadly, the relief didn't last long as his now unbusied thoughts kept going back to all the annoying things happening lately. He just wanted one day of peace, of not being nagged by Lucifer for sneaking in a stray cat, or not hearing the constant whine of Levi hounding Mammon for his money. And thinking of you, he hated being away from you for so long. It was unfair that you had left him, not to mention traveling with Solomon.

Although he was usually secure in his relationship with you, something still bothered him about you being alone with the Witty Sorcerer for so long. Not that Satan didn't trust you, he knew you would never cheat on him. But he wasn't always sure he trusted Solomon and his flirty, flowery words.

Just thinking of it made his skin itch, picturing Solomon trying to court you, to take you from him. Even though he knew he was completely blowing it out of proportion, the thoughts came unbidden to him. The next time he saw you, Satan resolved he'd have to leave his mark on you, to ensure no one, especially Solomon, could ever mistake who you belong to.

The more he thought of marking you, the faster his blood pumped, something ancient and instinctual waking up in his veins. He wanted to cover you in his scent, make sure all anyone else could smell for miles was him. He wanted to leave his fang marks in your skin, leave dark hickeys across your neck and chest, somewhere highly visible so no one could mistake his intentions.

Even better, he wanted to mark you with his seed, cover you outside but especially inside, as deep as he could manage, make sure it could never leave you. It didn't matter if you could get pregnant or not, the deep animalistic need still roared inside him to do it anyway. That final thought sent a throbbing pulse down to his dick, and Satan didn't even realize he was completely hard until his hand was already subconsciously wrapping around his cock and stroking.

He wanted you there, he needed to show you that he was all you ever needed. He was your mate, your lover, and everything you ever wanted, he would provide to you as long as you'd let him. He would show you, he could pleasure you a thousand times over with the way he knows your body, so that no one, especially Solomon, could ever compare.

Satan cursed. Now he was so hard it hurt, needing you in his arms, and on his cock, immediately. The rest of his body was relaxed but now all the ache sat in his groin, begging to be inside of you. You weren't due to be home for another week, and he knew there was no ignoring his erection at this point, so he settled for relieving himself for now, already formulating a plan of attack (of the pleasurable variety) for once you returned.

He shut the water off and quickly stepped out, thankful that you two kept a spare bottle of lube under the bathroom sink. He poured some on his hand as he re-entered the shower and continued stroking. He felt ridiculous, all pent up over his dumb worries and demonic needs, and wanted nothing more than to drown his worries in the pleasures of your body. Only you seemed to know how to truly relax him, but a fantasy would have to do.

He could just picture it, the moment you came back from your trip, how he'd pull you into his room and make sure you didn't go anywhere until you were thoroughly pleasured and marked by him. He wanted to taste your lips, feel your warm, bare skin against his, hear your affirmations that he was the only one for you. The next time you saw Solomon, Satan wanted it to be obvious that he knew your body inside and out and that Solomon wasn't nearly worthy enough to be your mate.

Now fueled by anger and his lust for you, his thoughts were really letting loose. He wanted you sprawled across his bed, legs tossed over his shoulders as he pounded into you, or maybe he'd have you ride him until you couldn't hold yourself up anymore. Maybe to reassure his worries, you'd take his cock down your throat, knowing how gorgeous you look when you struggle to fit him in your mouth.

He pumped his cock faster, using one hand to hold his base steady and add more pressure, chasing that sweet high. As water droplets dripped from his hair onto his body, Satan imagined pulling you into the shower with him, picking you up to fuck you against the wall, letting your moans and screams of his name echo in the bathroom to ensure everyone in the house knew exactly who was pleasuring you. He'd fuck you as long and as hard as you could stand it, making sure to reach the furthest depths within you, as long as you wanted him.

Satan was now panting as his climax approached, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. He used the last of his sense to picture bringing you to climax, eager to cum deep inside you, release all his stress into you, and feel you clench around his cock and milk him dry. Just dreaming of achieving that pushed him into that pleasurable zone, and he groaned deep in his throat as he released the first ropes of cum, moving his hand up to work the head of his cock, drawing out every bit of pleasure and cum he could.

He came a surprising amount, likely from lack of release while you'd been gone, and he felt a little sad about the waste as it washed down the drain. But now that his mind was cleared, and his body was well and truly relaxed, he couldn't wait for your return. He was going to make sure everyone knew that you were his, and relieve all his stress with you the way only you could do.

[shirefantasies]

Hello!! I saw that you're temporarily open for matchup requests so I hope that I'm not too late with this! :) specifically from LOTR please~

I'm female, 5'7", Virgo, ISFP, with stronger preference for males. I have pale skin with dark brown hair and dark brown eyes. My wardrobe mostly consists of darker colors, my favorite combos being black with red or pink.

I consider myself empathetic and honest. I am reserved most of the time, only ever talking if someone else initiates the convo, though I can go on and on about my hyperfixations and interests. Like even when I'm with a group of friends, I'd stay quiet most of the time and just listen so I may come across as a bit socially awkward. I've been told I'm a good listener and so I end up being someone many confide in or as someone who becomes stuck in the middle of a conflict. I am a night owl and get easily exhausted or even irritated when I'm out and it's crowded so I definitely need time and space on my own to recharge after a long day. I suppose among love languages, I lean to using words of affirmation. When I do have enough energy, I also like to cook and bake for my family and friends (and get upset if it doesn't end up turning right).

I really like animals, especially big cats, dogs and wolves. My favorite genre of fiction is horror so sharing scary/ghost stories would be my favorite group activity. My sense of humor tends of be on the dry, sarcastic side. My preferred methods of workout are swimming, badminton, and walking. When I get bored, I tend to doodle and hum. I don't consider myself a good singer and I'd only get the confidence to sing in front of others if I was a bit tipsy (I don't drink much, I am so lightweight it's not even funny and if I do, I stick with cocktail or beer).

In video games that involve combat and exploration, I tend to rely on speed and stealth (my footfalls are actually quiet irl too). Among weapons, I prefer using swords (dual wielding, if available), though having a bit of magic would be fun to use too (especially if you can set things on fire) :3

congrats on the 300 followers!

You are not at all! Thank you for waiting between my recovery buffer posts & older matchups! So here we go now love! Your match is…

Legolas!

Some people joke what a funny couple you are due to you both seeming so quiet, but in truth you are drawn to each other’s peace. Legolas is drawn to your gentle presence, the light falls of your steps upon the bank of the river where he meets you, water flowing at your feet. You are not the only one swimming that day, but you cut such a majestic figure as you move gracefully through the water, emerging with illuminated droplets descending from your dark hair. Since that very first moment you stuck in Legolas's heart.

He loves the way you hum as you work, dark skirts swirling about the floor as you swish through the kitchen. A smile plays on his lips as he compliments the work you've let out to cool and you drily tease him about stealing it. Instead, he offers to help hand it out and you are grateful to save your energy. Normally you do not prefer company in the kitchen, but this elf's presence is calming rather than draining. Your motions and his assume a rhythm unbroken by distraction.

He runs into you out in town, smiling at the large dog following at your heels while you carry your basket. You look content as you go to market, purchasing all you need. Catching the way your hand runs wistfully over a small ornately bound book, he finds his feet carrying him to market as well, his hands delving into pockets and being rewarded with the weight of a tiny tome. The following day's trip to your kitchen is met not with wry humor, but wide smiles and sheepish revelations of art. "You may think them the smallest of sketches, but to me I see a connection to this world." "Is that your way of saying you can't draw?" Yet another smile you've drawn from the elven prince. "You've caught me there."

When orcs attack your village, his first thought is to get to you, your hearth and your dog and all your little captures of your surroundings, and let any who dare trifle with it know it has a blade and a bow behind it. Boots thudding lightly as always against dirt, then stone, he arrives outside your home to see you there, a glinting sword swinging in each hand. Grinning, he shakes his head. He should have known. Shooting one of your twin assailants off you, he joins the fray. "Sorry I'm late." "You should be!" You grin back at him. "This party started an hour ago."

This visit has only a few days left. Ignoring that, you climb higher into the tree before you settle, pulling the red-and-black swirled book from your small satchel. Legolas sits in the crook of the tree right below yours. "Shall I read or would you prefer to?" It's as if he can sense your energy, see right through your facade to the highs and lows of your heart. The book in question held some of your favorite ghost stories, old legends and more local frights alike. You joke about the prince being able to handle it, but in the end you know whose voice you would prefer to ring out with it that day.

You are the only one Legolas trusts to saddle up his horse, hand him the bags he'd surreptitiously caught you slipping a copy of your book of horrors into as a memento. He says your name softly as a wish when you stand at his mount's side, catching your nod before he captures your lips with his, motions slow, deliberate as if he would wake up from the dream at any moment. Your name is even more delicious whispered after a kiss. "Wait for me." "Who else would I even look twice at?"

Taglist: @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart @mossthebogwitch @ibabblealot @kilibaggins @joonies-word @stormchaser819 @pirate-lord-of-narnia | Reply/Ask/Message to join 🥰

[venture-through-the-mist]

Tennotober 2024

My collection of works based on the Tennotober 2024 prompts.

Hi all! I wanted to take part in Tennotober 2024, but I also knew that I wouldn’t be able to draw 31 art pieces, so I’m doing some fics instead!

The Warframe Tennotober 2024 Prompt List can be found here: https://forums.warframe.com/topic/1412660-official-tennotober-2024-megathread/

Day 12: Tome: Remember Who You’re Fighting For

He’s drowning in his work, in his Albrecht’s expectations. Yet, perhaps he can find something to cling to amongst those never-ending pages.

TW:

Mentions of neglectful parenting and some of the effects of that.

Also, as I’m sure y’all can guess, there’s some tiny spoilers for Rank 5 with the Entrati family (specifically just Euleria’s/Mother’s new name).

With everything out of the way, the fic begins under the cut.

The stack of massive, leather-bound volumes at his workbench—his workbench, rather—seem to stare mockingly at him, pointing out what has become glaringly obvious to him. He has no idea what he’s doing. He spurs himself forward only because it is what his Albrecht would have wished—what he does wish, he fervently reminds himself—, but his own intellect doesn’t come close to the other’s absolute madness. Loid prides himself on his mind, that is true, but…Albrecht was in a league of his very own. He sighs, a short, exasperated sound, as his hand moves up to rest on his face, his fingertips brushing through the roots of his hair for a moment. 

He might as well see if reading through these for the hundredth time yields any better solutions.

Loid pulls one of the large tomes from the stack, feeling the creases and intricacies of the dull, rose-colored bindings under his fingers as he does so. These books are familiar, comforting, even. Or, he supposes they would be, if not for everything that their presence symbolizes. If it wasn’t for everything wrong about the fact that it is he who pores over their details, in his attempt to finish what his Albrecht started. His tired eyes scan the words, the sounds of pages turning melting softly into the lonely melody that weaves itself through the Sanctum—he really should talk to her again, a fleeting part of himself remarks. However, like countless times before, his search for any answers comes up fruitless. He huffs, but finds himself continuing on. Volume after volume, chapter after chapter, and yet nothing new reveals itself. It is the same old song and dance, the same routine, and he finds his frustration building, boiling under his skin, curling around his weary bones.

Nothing.

How can there be nothing?!

What is he meant to do now?

How dare Albrecht saddle him with this.

What is he missing?

How dare Albrecht leave him like this.

What is he missing?

Curse these damn BOOKS!

In an act that he’s sure he’ll later berate as being far too melodramatic, he shoves aside the tome in front of him, hearing a heavy thud as it falls to the floor. He leans over the desk, his arms shakily holding him upright as his heart pounds in his chest. Frustration and fury and betrayal and despair coil around his mind, tangling with each other until he cannot separate one emotion from the next. His chest heaves with uneven gasps as he attempts to calm himself, to work himself back into that tired rationality. He mustn’t wake the Cavia, of course. That would only be…a nuisance. He runs a hand through his hair, inhaling deeply. Eventually, his shoulders lower, his mind clearing enough that he can think once more. He bends down to collect the book—he truly hopes that his outburst didn’t damage it—, finding it splayed out on the floor, pages face-down. Loid grasps the volume, though as he pulls it from the floor, a small piece of paper emerges from between the pages, fluttering gently to the floor. He frowns, a brow raising as he adjusts his glasses, curiosity slowly drifting into his thoughts. He places the book onto his workbench, then turns his attention to the paper, picking it up almost gingerly. 

Upon first glance, he assumes it is merely a page-marker, a blank scrap that had fallen further into the book at some point during the centuries that it had been in storage. However, something eats at his mind, pleading with him to take a closer look. He turns the page over, expecting the same blank void of white to stare back at him. Instead, his eyes widen as he sees something entirely different.

It is a child’s work, Loid can tell that much from the uneven lines and the scribbled diagrams and equations scrawling across the page. His gaze drifts to the corner of the paper, noticing a small, oddly-proportioned drawing of…a child. A young girl, to be exact, with a look of concentration on her penciled-in face. There is a gap, then another drawing, this time of two taller figures. One with glasses and long hair, the other with gilded bracelets and other accents.

It’s them, he realizes, his thumb absentmindedly brushing against the figure that he knows is his Albrecht.

Euleria.

The name slams into his mind with a force that nearly causes him to keel over. She had created this, likely just a simple distraction when her father—regrettably, Albrecht had never done much to deserve the title—had given her various exercises to work on before retreating to his laboratory. Loid recalls the days when he’d fought with him, warned against his neglectful treatment of his daughter.

“She’s only a child, Albrecht. You’re treating her as if she’s already grown.”

“Come, Loid. We are about to make history.”

He had dismissed the concerns, just as he had dismissed Euleria—Gomaitru, as the Tenno say she calls herself now—, time and again. He recalls how intrigued she had been with Albrecht’s work, and how the other had twisted that, forcing her into more of a colleague than a daughter. She was always a bright child, even when her emotions grew cold, her tone sharp like a dagger, poised to strike whoever dared to speak with her. 

She was always far too intelligent for her own good.

Loid feels something wet drop onto his thumb—when had he started to cry?—falling onto the paper below, smudging the waxy lines. His eyes widen, and he forces himself to let go of the page, placing it onto the workbench with trembling hands. He sniffs, memories swimming through his mind.

Regret joins them.

He should have done more for her.

She was—is—family. 

He misses her as well.

The realization washes over him, a tsunami seemingly bent on tearing him apart from the inside. Loneliness joins it, for he knows that he cannot risk alerting the family to the happenings in the Sanctum Anatomica, not if he wishes to protect the few remnants of his Albrecht that he has left. He wipes his eyes, lifting his glasses slightly to rub his sleeve against the sheen left by his sorrow—he knows that he’ll regret the smudges later, but he cannot manage to care at the moment—, and inhales slowly as he glances at the drawing. 

This is what he is working for. 

This is why he has been driving himself half-mad with exhaustion.

He sighs, turning towards the opened volumes. He brings out his own notes, looking them over. He might not find more answers in the books, but…will it really hurt to try again?

The sooner he figures out the missing piece of the puzzle, the sooner he can see them again.

All of them.

That thought drives him, and he settles into a rhythm once more, poring over the texts while adjusting and re-adjusting his calculations. He’s missed out on far too much because of his work. He will ensure that the time was not lost in vain.

[mithranqueersmusings]

Desire I

Chapter: 1/?

Rating: T

Summary:  Tav, Karlach, and Gale are enjoying another night drinking by the fire when the roguish vampire emerges from the woods after a late-night feed.

Pairings: Astarion/Tav

AO3 link here / Fic masterlist here

It's a breezy summer's night and everyone has started to settle down for sleep. Shadowheart lies on a thin bedroll looking up at the clear sky, seemingly transfixed by whatever she sees up there. Lae'zel is in a far corner battering the wooden training dummy she has pieced together to resemble a mind flayer. Wyll has dozed off in his tent, tossing and turning as a result of the newfound discomfort his horns have bestowed. That leaves you sitting in front of the campfire, enjoying a fairly stale bread roll and a flask of ale that is bordering on too warm, with Karlach and Gale. Karlach has expressed time and time again that the heat is surprisingly making her feel better, as though being warmed from the outside offsets how overwhelming her infernal engine can be, which explains why she is so keen to move as close to the flames as possible. Gale, on the other hand, explains that he enjoys sitting by the campfire because it allows him to read his tomes more clearly, not realising that everyone is fully aware of his capacity to conjure up light withminimal effort. Considering how little he actually appears to be reading, you suppose that he is merely enjoying the company. You and Karlach have gotten into quite the habit of drinking with one another after a long day of arduous travelling. Tonight is no different, with Karlach rooting around the camp to find forgotten bottles of this and that, eager to pose yet another drinking game. Ever since you met, there was no doubt that you would get along, and as the days passed, your bond only became stronger. At night, when you aren't abruptly awoken by an ambush of some kind, you feel truly grateful for the people you have met on your journey so far, and sometimes, it even feels possible that the world outside is not on the cusp of completely imploding. When the morning comes, it is a different matter entirely, but there is no need to trouble yourself with that when there are drinks to be had and jokes to be shared.

"Ooh, lookie here." Karlach suddenly lowers her voice into a whisper, gesturing with her flask to the cluster of trees up ahead.

You turn your gaze, realising instantly that the alcohol is starting to take effect because your eyes don't seem to catch up immediately with the motion of your head. In the darkness, a figure can be seen clearly trying their best to do the opposite. It wouldn't matter if you were bordering on comatose from a night of drinking, you would be able to recognise the pale hair and even paler skin of Astarion, who is slinking from the woods looking completely dishevelled. To start with, his boots and trousers are caked in mud, but only the front, suggesting that he was kneeling down on the ground. As your eyes travel upwards, it is immediately clear why he would be engaging in such behaviour, because his previously white shirt is splattered with blood; fresh blood, that is, which you have developed quite the knack for spotting. Watching him intoxicatingly wobble towards his tent, it is impossible to suppress the laughter when you recall a time when Astarion tried to keep his vampiric nature hidden. How he was ever capable of pulling the wool over your eyes is a mystery to you. What really sends you into a fit of laughter, however, is the sight of him missing the way to his tent entirely, curving off towards Wyll's abode where he appears to have finally fallen fully asleep. Astarion evidently believes he is pulling this off, because when he trips over Wyll's discarded boots, his eyes fly open and he falls to the ground with a yelp. Karlach and Gale join in your hysterics, breaking the very brief silence that had enveloped the camp for a moment or two. Karlach is bellowing so much that she feels the need to slap you hard on the back, which nearly sends you face-first into the fire. Gale has laid his tome on the floor, demonstrating that he is far more interested in whatever is going on around him than anything scrawled on paper. It takes a moment or two before Astarion fully realises what has happened. He picks himself up, obviously standing far too quickly because he wobbles again, but is able to keep his footing his time. You imagine that if he was capable of blushing that he would have started to turn as scarlet as the blood patterning his shirt. Instead, he scrunches his face up in a scowl, directing a scornful glare over to the three of you sittingbeside the fire.

"Come on, no need to strop!" Karlach yells far louder than necessary "Happens to the best of us."

"Is that so?" Astarion spits out, making his way over to your motley crew, clearly thinking very carefully about staying upright "Pray tell what made you think that we are comparable in any way."

Karlach sputters out another laugh "Fair play. I was trying to be nice, but sod that. Guess we aren't comparable after all, because I never would have eaten shit like that." She repeats Astarion's word back at him with a snooty tone.

You've never been one to kick someone when they're down, but you are far too drunk to maintain your morals, so you mirror Karlach's laughter, which only spurs Astarion further into rage.

"Yes?" Astarion blurts out "Something to add, do you?"

"Relax, Astarion." You stretch out the first word far longer than necessary, betraying how intoxicated you truly are "Sit down, have a drink."

Astarion's pout melts away into a smirk, his hand slinking up to his hip "I appreciate the offer, really I do, but as you can see, I've already partaken."

"That explains the stumbling." Gale interjects, his voice far quieter than everyone elses but still filled with the same self-confidence.

Before Astarion can even retort with a venomous remark, Karlach is pulling Astarion down to the ground, wrapping her hand around his slim wrist and practically throwing him into a spot around the fire. A small gasp escapes Astarion's lips as he hurtles onto the dirt, managing to stop himself from falling over again. In moments like these, witnessing the sheer strength of your tiefling companion contrasted with the suppleness of your vampire accomplice that you wish you were incapable of blushing. You watch a flicker in Astarion's eyes, which you interpret as an inner conflict of debating whether to huff off to his tent after that minor embarrassment or remain seated to give the impression that he wasn't fazed at all. Much to your delight, he settles for the latter.

"So, what exactly were you partaking in tonight, if you don't mind us asking?" Gale queries, taking a sip from his wine.

Astarion chuckles, sitting up straight and flicking his hair back slightly, it clearly doesn't take long for him to reassume his persona "Quite the hunt tonight, I must say. To cut a very long and impressive story short, it was a bear."

"Cub. A bear cub, surely?" Karlach masterfully completes Astarion's sentence with a grin "No offence, mate, but I can't picture you taking down a proper bear."

"Well, darling, it isn't my business whether your imagination is limited." Astarion bites back "The fact of the matter is that I indulged in a deliciousursine beast tonight."

"Quite the feat." Gale speaks a little louder this time, it's no secret to you that Astarion leaves him a little on edge "How did you manage that?"

"Without a sweat, I think you'll find." Astarion hums, clearly proud of himself "Would you care for me to demonstrate?"

As he asks this question, Astarion's eyes trace over everyone surrounding him, finally locking with your gaze. All of a sudden you realise that you've not said anything since Astarion emerged from the woods, and now that you're desperate to remedy this silence, you can't think of anything to say. It is as if time slows to a halt, and all that there ever was is this moment. Thankfully, Karlach drives an elbow into your side, breaking you completely out of this trance.

"Sounds like fighting talk to me, soldier." Karlach pretends to whisper "Do us a favour, will you?"

You laugh nervously, trying to keep your cool "You must be joking. How do I resemble a bear in any way? Karlach is right here!"

"Yes but she's a volcanic eruption waiting to happen, it would hardly be fair." Astarion speaks quickly as though these words were pre-prepared "There's no need to get me started on the damp wizard either."

"Hey!" Gale unenthusiastically defends himself, fully aware that his participation was never up for debate.

"Come onnnnn." Karlach urges "It would be so satisfying to see you put this beanpole in his place. We'll make a game of it, it'll be fun!"

You raise an eyebrow, encouraging her to speak further.

"I've got it, I've got it. Hear me out." She rambles, neglecting to acknowledge that nobody else was speaking "You two face off, and every time one of you lands a hit on the other, me or Gale will drink."

"Now I'm involved?" Gale asks "Can I at least drink whenever Tav wipes that smirk off Astarion's face? I'm not about to root for someone who uses my own name as an insult."

"Sure, sure, whatever. I'm drunk enough as it is." Karlach waves her hand dismissively "I'll be happy just to see this shit go down."

"This is the part where you tell me what I'm getting out of this." You state rather firmly, trying to ignore that Astarion has kept staring at you ever since he posed that tantalising question.

"Fine, fine." Karlach smiles "Whoever wins the brawl out of you two can make a demand of the other one. But, if we're being honest, that will just get you a free pass for him to wash your underclothes because I don't see this turning out in his favour."

Astarion laughs loudly at this, finally breaking his eyes away from yours "Please, I beg, keep up this charade. It's ever so entertaining for me to see how greatly you underestimate my power." He pauses, locking his gaze on you once more "Do we have a deal?"

"Don't let Wyll hear you. I think those words are still quite haunting for him." Gale sniggers, the redness on his cheeks betraying how quickly the wine is taking effect.

Before you give any sign of whether you are in agreement or not, Astarion is crawling towards you on his hands and knees, still caked in mud and blood, sliding past Karlach to offer his hand to solidify the pact. With him so close now, you do not doubt that you are betraying your true thoughts somewhat, because it is impossible to look at the dried streak of red falling from his lips without your throat drying up. His hair, which is usually so perfectly moulded, has fallen apart in cascades of curls that now complement the sharpness of his bone structure. Again, you feel the world around you disappearing into silence, sharing this short moment that could not have lasted longer than a few seconds. Fearing a further revelation of your private thoughts, you consider refusing, knowing that putting yourself at Astarion's mercy is something you are unlikely to recover from while maintaining any sense of dignity. All the same, there is a darker part of your heart that is eager to have him at your mercy, to show him that you aren't an easy target to pick on. These conflicting opinions undergo a mini brawl on their own in your mind, showing no sign of a clear winner. In a compulsive instant, you reach your hand out to clasp Astarion's, a smirk growing on your lips that almost mirrors his own.

"Deal." You manage to speak firmly even though your insides feel as though they're fluttering "How do you-"

Before there's even a chance for you to finish off your question, which would have something along the lines of how you were going to start this fight, Astarion pulls himself towards you in what feels like the blink of an eye, knocking you back onto the ground while he manages to rise on both feet. You pull yourself back up, welcomed by the sight of Astarion grinning excitedly as he takes a few steps back into a relatively open space next to the campfire.

"I believe that warrants a sip of wine from our maladroit mage." Astarion practically purrs "That is, if I'm understanding the rules of this little game correctly."

Gale glares disapprovingly, but takes a gulp of his drink all the same. Karlach is still recovering from her fit of laughter, reaching with her arm to whack you playfully.

"Come on, come on!" She encourages "You can't let the cheeky git get away with that."

Despite the amount you've drank by this point, it doesn't take more than a moment for you to shift your mind into combat mode. Obviously, no weapons will be permitted, or that would just be asking for a bloodbath. Fortunately, hand-to-hand brawls have been your speciality for as long as you can remember, and it has been quite some time since you were faced with a challenger who actually posed some sort of threat. Whatever strange feelings you seem to be developing for Astarion aside, now is the time to prove your mettle. And so, you rise up, getting a few clicks out of your joints as you walk over to face Astarion with a few paces between you.

"Very intimidating." Astarion mocks, lowering himself slightly to the ground as though he were about to pounce.

There it is again, that momentary freeze. Except, this time, instead of feeling vulnerable under Astarion's fixed gaze, you are empowered by it. You've become so accustomed to this feeling: watching every tiny movement made by your opponent in an effort to predict their next strategy. In a flash, Astarion is moving again, trying to trick you into surging towards a particular direction so that he can swerve around you. He's fast, that much is obvious. Even still, you know exactly how to counteract it. As Astarion tries to slink around behind you to land a blow into your side, you turn your body around in an instant, pushing out your hand so that you catch his forearm. He is instantly stopped in his tracks, giving you the perfect opportunity to force your other fist into his stomach. Perhaps you hit a little too hard, but you felt the need to get at least a little bit of payback for his dirty tactics earlier. Astarion lets out a guttural grunt, his eyes flicking downwards to your hand as though he can't understand what just unfolded. The pained expression onhis face that lasts for a mere moment is worth it, there's no doubt about that. Gale feels equally celebratory, letting out a loud whoop as Karlach cheerily takes another sip of her drink.

"Too right!" Gale yells out "Show that fanged feind who's boss!"

Astarion tries to shake his arm away, clearly expecting that you will have loosened your grip by now. For a second, you keep him in your grasp, undoubtedly revealing that you are enjoying this experience far more than was expected. When you finally let him go, he doesn't wait for you to move past revelling in your momentary victory. Instead, he ducks down, kicking your knee so hard that you struggle to remain standing, falling forward slightly into a stumble. Karlach shouts out, likely encouraging Gale to have another gulp, but you don't hear anything she says because your mind is far too distracted by the small blade that Astarion has whipped out from who knows where. Instead of letting you fall to the ground as your knee gives way, Astarion catches your weight with one arm and uses the other to curl a knife around your neck. Ever so slightly, you can feel the coldness of the steel against your warm flesh. It is not merely pressed against the skin, it is bordering on puncturing.

"Bullshit!" Karlach booms, her festive tone clearly being overwhelmed by genuine panic "No fucking weapons!"

Astarion chuckles, a rich sound that seems to have reverberated through your own body because of how close you are. The blade is still there, requiring only a flick of his wrist to leave you bleeding on the ground. Your eyes are locked together once again, and there is such a small space between your faces that you can feel his breath against your cheek. This is the closest you've ever come to his fangs before; they look even sharper than the blade in his hand. Up close, you half expected that there would be a flaw or two to be seen, especially considering his appearance always seems so perfect when you're travelling together. And yet, you cannot see even the slightest blemish. You start to hear Gale murmuring something, perhaps a spell to pull you two apart with minimal damage, and it is only at this point that the panic sets in. There's no time to wonder why you feel more anxious about a knife being pulled away from your neck than it being pressed against your skin, you need to act. As carefully as you can, you close the distance between your bodies ever so slightly, causing the metal to minimally pierce your flesh. The feeling of blood prickling out is nothing peculiar to you, but you still need to be cautious about taking this too far. As the red starts to colour a thin line, Astarion's eyes become dark, his tongue even poking slightly out of his mouth to lick the corner of his upper lip. This is exactly what you were after. In his moment of indulgence, you act, gripping his wrist tight with one hand and pushing him backwards with the other. While he stumbles, you maintain your grip, spinning around his side so that the arm is now pinned against his back. All that is left to do is kick hard at the back of his knee, forcing him to the ground with the knife still held by his twisted arm. Allowing yourself to fall down with him, you place your knee relatively gently in between his hips; your other arm is free enough to perform a stereotypically masculine flex, signalling to Karlach to take another drink. Astarion wriggles beneath you, trying desperately to free himself from your grip, but there is nowhere for him to go. His face twists slightly so that he can meet your gaze, revealing that his white cheek has been muddied with dirt from the ground. There is a mixture of frustration and pleading in his eyes, as though you would give in not out of pity but out of fear.

"Very intimidating." You repeat, a wide grin spreading across your lips.

Gale and Karlach are both cheering from the fire "We have a winner!"

"Must I beg for you to let me up?" Astarion asks, the all-too-familiar smug tone honeying his words "Or should I get used to a new life on the ground?"

"Play your cards right, we'll see." You wink, letting go of your grip and rising effortlessly to your feet.

"Oh, I see." Astarion smirks, rolling over onto his side before getting fully up "Should I hazard a guess at what you're going to demand of me with your victory?"

His voice has slipped into a tone you've never heard from him before, as though he is speaking from the back of his throat. The words come out nearly rough, almost hard to hear. All the confidence you gained from this fight seems to wash away, leaving you again with a knot in your stomach that only tightens when you look at him.

You force a hardly convincing chuckle "You wish, Astarion. Get ready to serve as my pack horse for the next week."

Astarion matches your laugh with his own, finally rising to his feet and taking a step closer so that he can drop his words into a whisper "I don't wish, my dear, I desire. And what I desire, I get."

Without a chance to even think of something clever to say, he is sauntering back to the fire, his hips swaying in his now fairly filthy trousers. Gale and Karlach are laughing with one another as Astarion approaches, evidently recreating some of the moments from your brawl with sweeping gestures.

"Hard luck, mate." Karlach tuts, offering a fresh cup of wine with an outreached hand "Maybe next time."

"Please." Astarion smiles, taking the wine and spreading himself out beside the fire "I hardly thought it would be good for morale if our little leader was so easily defeated."

"Your ability to twist reality is certainly impressive, I'll give you that." Gale offers up his own flask in a minimal cheers gesture.

Catching just the end of this, you reassume your space next to Karlach, picking up your own ale and finishing what is left. Karlach is ready to fill in your cup before the last drop has even touched your lips. She knocks her drink against yours, raising her eyebrows.

"Well fought, soldier." Karlach beams "Not that we doubted you for a second."

Astarion is fussing with the stains on his clothes, trying to appear far less bothered than he clearly is "I must admit, I've never known any bear to fight quite so brutishly."

"And I've never known a vampire to fight so dirty." You quip back, hiding your smirk behind your drink.

Another chortling laugh breaks from Astarion's lips "If you thought that was dirty, you don't know the first thing about me, darling."

There is a dark look in his eyes again, making you feel as though he is able to see right through you, far past the bravado you show on the surface and deep into what you're really thinking. If that is possible, it does not seem that he is repulsed in any way by the sordid thoughts taking up residency in your brain. Yet again, one of the only things you can be certain about Astarion is that he is not a trustworthy character. Maybe he is merely trying to get into your head, where he'd find space among the tadpole you don't know, so that he can get something of you. You know that you could spend all night trying to figure him out, and would probably be even further away by the end than when you started. All the same, something you know for sure is that when you sparred with him, you felt more ecstatic than you have in a long time. Looking into the beautiful face of death, you were truly alive.

[night-garden-fic]

Chapter Two: The Pressed Leaf of the Past

(Read on AO3)

"But then again, I was always an awful soldier, wasn't I?"

Chapter Two: The Pressed Leaf of the Past

     Russell never really understood why having read every book in the Library should be seen as something so remarkable.

     After all, he was a lifelong avid reader, and lived in the building besides. To him, having read everything was a simple inevitability.  It was a large number of books, true.  But the collection wasn't limitless, and his appetite for words was—or at least felt, to him—approximately so.  All things considered, it didn't take him very long to burn through the entire backlog.

     Indeed, "burning through" was an apt description for his reading habits in those lonely early days in Kardia.

     Russell had arrived in town a stranger and a fugitive; war-battered and disgraced, with little respite for his mind outside the comforting familiarity of ink on paper.  Dazed and half-shattered, he found himself falling into the pages harder than ever before, the agonized weeks and months passing by in a hectic, ink-scribbled blur.

     It wasn't until he was finally somewhat ready to integrate into village life that Russell realized he really had read everything there was to read, sometimes twice over.  And, knowing no other way to live, he kept up the habit even as his mind began to settle; reading every book that came his way, and returning to his old favorites for the third, forth, or fifth time over.  It remained a precious escape from past and self when he found he still needed one, and served as the ultimate fulfillment of a dear old dream.

     And of course, on a more practical level, it also helped him keep up with the slow, steady trickle of new material.  Having at least a broad familiarity with all the books and their contents, Russell figured, was an essential part of the job.  And, given his passing interest in nearly everything, it was probably the part of the job that he relished most of all.

     But all people have their preferences, and he was no exception.

     If one knew Russell well enough, it was probably less surprising to learn that he had read every book in the Library than it was to find out that there were some—indeed, many—that he hadn't particularly enjoyed.  It was something of a source of guilt for him, but it was nonetheless true.

     The most obvious examples were technical manuals concerning advanced, unfamiliar trades, which he generally found inscrutable, and often merely skimmed.

     Then there were the romantic stories written for a juvenile—or perhaps excessively timid—audience; the kind that always conveniently ended before anyone got up to anything interesting, leaving Russell feeling cranky and unsatisfied as he wondered, for the hundredth time, if he should just start skipping these.  Each one seemed identical to all the others, and no one but Tori ever seemed all that interested in checking them out.

     But, if given a choice, Russell knew he would rather read a thousand carpentry texts and a million treacly chaste romances than a single tome of military history.

     In his youth, he'd found it as dry and esoteric as the most complex of those vexing manuals, and could never quite create a picture in his mind of what was supposed to be happening.  Surely, there was some coherent story to be found, behind all those far-away dates and names and landmarks.  But, try as he might, he could never get it to emerge.

     And, if it was bad then, it had somehow become even worse.

     Back in those tumultuous early days of indiscriminately reading everything within arm's reach, Russell assumed having a bit of personal experience would help, but it never seemed to properly apply, leaving him more confused than ever.  Though he now understood a bit of the jargon, he still found that these texts seemed to talk right past him; telling a story in which, even now, he seemed to have no real part.

     It gave him the strange sensation of being flattened to nothing in those pages.  Like a dry autumn leaf, carefully pressed and promptly forgotten, the blood-vibrant colors of his life slowly fading away

     Still, Russell had read every book in the Library.  And, inevitability or no, it had become something of a point of pride.

     Just get through it, and you can read that nice big natural history encyclopedia you've been staring at.

     A new shipment had arrived the previous week.  And—confusing, unsettling, or otherwise—Russell couldn't just not read one of them.  So, when he unearthed yet another ponderous volume on Norad's seemingly endless border conflicts, he figured he would just go ahead and read that one first, to get it over and done with.

     Unfortunately, this was proving surprisingly difficult, mostly owing to the tome's recent publication.

     For one thing, the spine was stiff, and Russell had to make an active effort just to keep it open in front of him.  Of course, this got easier upon reaching the halfway point, but by then he was seeing descriptions of locations and practices that he actually recognized, which made his mind wander uncontrollably.

     Why can't I put it all together?

     (I remember everything.)

     Just yesterday, he'd read the description of a certain ambush technique, and lost the better part of an hour staring into space, running through the procedure in his head; surviving, dying, surviving again, and only grudgingly allowing himself to move on once his mind finally stopped letting him live.

     If you can't save yourself, have the sense to let it end.

     There were several such incidents, and they all made Russell feel as though he'd never get through the damned thing.  But still, as in most areas of life, he supposed he was making a stilted kind of progress.  He only had a quarter of the book to go, and was back to having to pin it open; a welcome, immediate annoyance.

     Having reached the end of another laborious page, Russell carefully flicked to the next, preparing himself for another dense and thorny, but mostly uneventful bramble of words he'd have to hack through.

 ��   Not five seconds later, he felt his hair standing on end with the realization that he'd found something else entirely.

     This can't be history.

     Russell's brain snapped in electric recognition; breath caught in lungs that still held a faint rattle, heart feeling like it could have beat its slick way out of his mouth.

     At first, it was just an infantry number and a span of dates, somehow as strangely meaningless as any of the others.  But the page also contained one of the volume's few illustrations.

     It only took about a second to realize what, exactly, he was looking at.

     (Tin cups. Mud puddles.)

     (My grave.)

     A scratchy woodcut reproduction of a photograph; one that he had never actually seen, though he could remember the day it was taken as though it were just last week.  The kind of day that your mind holds onto not because it was particularly important, but more so because no other day had yet bothered to dethrone it.

     Far right end of the second row from the bottom.  It won't be hard to find.  Just take a look.

     Russell's eyes tracked across the page.  And, sure enough, there he was, right where he'd left him: the vague image of his eighteen-year-old self.  He stood at the very edge of the group, spaced slightly too far from the young man at his side and looking almost tacked on as an afterthought.

     The expectation was that he would either feel either a deep crushing sorrow, or nothing at all.  But, to his surprise, Russell actually found it slightly funny.  The photograph had been a formal affair, with everyone standing at attention and holding the camera in a steely gaze.  Meanwhile, that distant teenage Russell was, to all appearances, simply trying his best.

     Gods, this poor kid.

     He wore a round pair of glasses back then, and the glare on the thick lenses must have been such that the artist decided not to bother with his eyes at all, instead rendering the frames opaque.  This gave him an unreadable, somewhat hollow look, which made him look even more out of place.  And, upon closer inspection, his posture was slightly hunched, shoulders just a tad bit lopsided.  That, he supposed, could have been the misery of his new life settling into his young, green bones.

     Poor, poor kid.

     (You wretched little killer.)

     But no, Russell remembered that day well.  He'd been assigned to help with digging a trench the day before, managed to tweak something in his back in the process, and simply couldn't handle standing up straight for as long as it took to get everyone in position and process the photograph.

     Even now, over a dozen years later, he could feel it—if only vaguely—as he slumped at his desk.  The weight of his tired spine worrying at that frayed cord, a reminder of everything else inside him that had been pulled to near-snapping over the years.

     Despite it all, he had to laugh.  It came out as an awkward, breathy bark, followed by a slight cough, but it was laughter all the same.  Of course, the Library was nearly silent, and Russell had spent the last two hours sitting all but motionless, face set in a light scowl, so this drew the attention of the entire room.

     Which, thankfully, was just Tori and Cecilia.  And Lynette, he supposed, but she was stood against the far wall with a book propped in one hand—as was her way—and quickly decided that this didn't concern her.

     (Doesn't it, though?)

     His daughter and assistant, however, were a bit more curious.  Tori looked up from the card catalog that she had been sorting through, nervously fiddling with the end of one long, yellow braid.

     "...S-something funny?"

     Russell laughed again, more quietly this time, and shook his head.

     "Not really, I guess...  Mostly just surprised.  I'm...  I'm in this book."

     Tori tilted her head quizzically, and Cecilia craned her neck over the desk to get a better look.  Russell beckoned Tori over, and moved the book aside so Ceclia could settle herself on his desk.  He carefully held the pages open with one hand while gesturing at the image with the other.

     "See the one on the end here?  That's me."

     Those two words, spoken aloud, turned to ash on Russell's tongue, drying his mouth and making his throat feel slightly constricted.  He swallowed painfully, and watched as they took him in; the bad posture, the bad glasses, the daydreamy, serious face.

     A face that, he began to realize, hadn't changed much in all these years.

     It was starkly recognizable, even in this miniscule, ink-lined state.  This was the face that still met him every day in the mirror; though by now it had grown into itself a bit, and there were a few faint lines coming in around the eyes, breaking up the general blankness.

     Surprisingly, Tori was the first to speak up.

     "You l-look smaller..."

     Russell shrugged.

     "Well, there's a lot of us in one picture, so I guess we all do.  But I wasn't quite done growing until I was twenty, so you're probably right."

     Cecilia placed her own small hand next to her father's, leaning in for a better look.

     "What were you all doing?"

     What, indeed?

     "We...  Well...  I had to fight in a war for a while.  It was before you were born.  I guess they wanted a picture of everyone, in case someone wrote a book like this someday."

     Russell supposed that was technically true enough, and hoped she wouldn't press much farther.  Suddenly, it occurred to him—with some mild shock—that this was the first time they'd ever discussed his past.  Somehow, it just hadn't come up.

     And who made sure of that, hmm?

     Cecilia studied the image for a moment more, then tilted her face towards him.

     "Were you scared?"

     Another hard, painful swallow.  Russell had to clear his throat before he could continue.

     "Sometimes I was.  It could get scary."

     Cecilia looked grave for a moment, then smiled.

     "You were brave."

     That had nothing to do with it.

     Russell forced a smile of his own.

     "I think I mostly felt tired...  I like being here with you a lot more."

     Somewhat awkwardly, with his one free arm, he pulled his daughter into a hug.  She wrapped her arms around his neck and shoulder for a moment, then hoisted herself off the desk and scampered off to the remainder of her carefree afternoon.

     Sweet girl.  You're braver.

     (You don't even know.)

     "...Gods, those uniforms are like street clothes."

     Lynette seemed to be curious after all, and had joined Tori in hovering over the desk, regarding the image inquisitively with a single crimson eye.  Russell startled slightly when she spoke, gathering himself a bit before he could reply.

     "Yeah... They weren't great.  We had some other gear to layer on for active combat, but it probably wasn't much better."

     He didn't know why he felt the need to explain this to Lynette, of all people, because she certainly already knew.  Still, there was a slight disbelieving note in her voice.

     "...I frankly don't know how any of you are still alive."

     Well, for starters, a lot of us aren't.

     Russell readjusted himself in his seat.  His clothes were sitting funny across his chest, the friction causing faint pins and needles.  Still, he let out another small laugh.

     "I got lucky, I guess."

     That I did.

     By way of reply, his chest ached.

     Did you?  Really?

~*~

     Russell always found it funny how, even when you considered the obvious, the easiest way to tell that Cecilia and himself weren't blood relations would be to watch both of them try to go to sleep.

     Specifically, the way Cecilia never had to try.

     That night, as was their routine, he'd read her one of her favorite picture books; this time the one about an old tree in an even older forest, and how it gave life to all the birds and insects living in its leaves, wood, and branches, and the worms in the soil at the roots.  She kept herself awake just long enough for him to finish that familiar tale, then seemingly turned off her little body and mind like twin lamps as soon as he turned the last page.

     "Goodnight, Ceci."

     He kissed the crown of her head, then lay there in her small bed for a few moments, legs hanging awkwardly off the mattress, listening to her quiet breathing.  In the dim light of the room, he took in all the chaotic flotsam of his daughter's messy, miniature life.  The stones on the headboard, the feathers sticking out of an old jam jar on the nightstand, and the colorful crayon drawings that already papered the folding divider they'd installed in their shared room just a day before.

     Perhaps Cecilia's restfulness was contagious.  Maybe her body contained some naive wisdom that his tense, overgrown form could learn from.

     But, of course, there was no such luck.  Russell stumbled to bed, crawled under his own covers, and began the nightly waiting game.

    On the good nights, an hour or two of reading would be enough to lull him into a shallow but reasonably refreshing sleep.  A sleep that, by its very shallowness, would remain dreamless and blank.

     Somehow, as soon as he'd extinguished the lamp, Russell knew that this would not be a good night.

     I guess I should have figured.

     The previous night hadn't been very good, either.  And nor—at least when it came to sleep—had the night before that; lying awake and bruised in Lady Ann's soft bed, watching the falling snow through the window.  And neither, come to think of it, had the night before that.

     If he kept on looking back and back, Russell could follow this span of bad nights for weeks, spooling out beyond the horizon of recent memory.

     And now he had a new addition to the torrent of images that flooded his mind the instant he closed his eyes: the younger self, rendered rather carelessly in stark, black ink.

     It's not even the real picture.

     Russell wondered why the artist—who surely could have taken liberties if they'd wished—had bothered to include his crooked posture.  It was subtle enough to ignore, and surely, it would have been easier to just render everyone the same, as that had been the goal in the first place.  But no, there it was, the time he injured himself while clumsily shoveling mud in a trench, forever immortalized in print.

     Just as it was, he remembered again, in his own body.  The subtle ache in the tendon was bothering him, and he shifted again, trying to get comfortable.

     It's never going to be over, you know.

     It already is.  It's literally in a history book.  I need to sleep.

     Arguing with himself, Russell knew from experience, never got him anywhere good.  But what else did he have to do, lying there alone in the dark?

     You're okay.  It's just been a rough year.

     Russell blinked hard, and more pictures rose to the surface to replace that bespectacled boy, frozen in ink.

     Cecilia, lost in the volcanic depths of a cave, terrified and alone.  Himself, sitting in the dirt at the cave's mouth, mentally brutalizing himself for not being the one to go in and save her, for being such a poor caretaker that this even happened in the first place.

     For scooping her up off that battlefield, just to walk her straight into other dangers.

     No, she walked there herself.

     (She's too brave for her own good, is all.)

     Time had already ground a few sharp edges off the whole incident.  But, deep down, Russell still blamed himself.  Still woke from nightmares of a small girl's keening screams, of walking into pillars of fire.

     You've been keeping a better eye on her lately.  She'll be okay.

     Will I be, though?

     As usual, Russell couldn't give himself an honest answer.  Especially not from where he was right then, cold and alone in the dead of night.

     ...Not if you don't sleep.

     Then I guess I won't be.  Who the hell can sleep like this?

     Almost reflexively, He thought of Sabrina.

     The warmth of her body next to his own, and the silly conversations she would distract him with when he was too wound up to sleep.  Her hands, which never seemed to sense the contamination he could feel coming off himself in waves.

     And how almost surreal it seemed when she and Neumann reconciled that spring, seemingly out of the blue.

     Russell was happy for her, but had to admit it took the wind out of him.

     In truth, he wasn't even sure why.  They had only been exclusive for a few months, before which Sabrina and Lady Ann had been content to amicably pass him back and forth, with no hard feelings or jealousy that he could ascertain.  Hell, for all he knew, they were messing around with each other in addition to him.  But that was one of the many, many things that just seemed to never come up.

     No hard feelings or jealousy from me now, either.

     They remained close friends, as they had been since not long after Sabrina first arrived in Kardia.  And she seemed genuinely happy, which was all Russell could reasonably ask for.  But it had been an adjustment, and after the whole mess with Cecilia had taken so much out of him...

     (I almost lost my mind.)

     ...Well, his capacity to adjust was a bit compromised, to say the least.  Every empty bed seemed emptier, every lonely night seemed lonelier, and every unspoken fear threatened to physically corrode him from the inside.

     And so, when the tanks rolled in with the summer, was it any wonder that Russell felt fully prepared to face them head-on himself?

~*~

     It was an unseasonably hot, dusty-bright, uncanny afternoon, when the worst finally happened.

     For months, there had been an escalating whisper of siege and invasion that kept Russell steely-spined and frightened; painfully alert by day and restlessly wakeful by night, nerves crackling and ready for danger.  At first, it was only hearsay and rumor, which he couldn't fully believe.

     Told himself, again and again, that he wouldn't believe.

     But even so, whatever was left of the soldier within him still knew it was best to be prepared.

     Having spent so long trying to silence that malignant sliver of self for the good of the whole, the only thing Russell had ever been entirely unprepared for was the day when the paranoid whisper in the back of his mind finally spoke the truth.

     There were tanks lining up on the edge of town.

     And, when he began to hear the distant, familiar grind of heavy treads on gravel, he knew exactly what he had to do.

     With that brave young warrior-farmer down in the thick of things, there was no one left but Russell to defend the heart of the village.  It was all on him, and he was more ready to die for the cause than he had ever been in his soldiering days.  This wasn't some abstract fight for honor and country.  This was for his home, his neighbors, his daughter's future.

     What was his life, really, in the face of all that?

     Once he had made up his mind, Russell moved quickly.  He raided Leo's empty shop, borrowing a dull old sword, an ill-fitting iron chestplate, and a dented helmet with a creaky face guard.  Having outfitted himself as best he could in other people's damaged gear, he ran down to Raguna's field and grabbed as many fist-sized stones as he could carry.

     He knew well that it wasn't enough, but it was what he had.  There was nothing left but to station himself under the first arch of the main road, and wait.

     Sabrina tried to reason with him, tried to get him to abandon his self-appointed post and shelter in the sturdy stone cellar of the de Sainte-Coquille manor with her and all the others.  She reminded him of Cecilia, and Edward, and herself, and all he had to live for.  Cool and numb, as though he had just broken through the splintered surface of a frozen lake, Russell could only explain that he was thinking of Cecilia.

     "What else do I have to fight for?"

     Realizing that reason was getting her nowhere, Sabrina grabbed Russell by the wrist and started pulling; screaming at him that he was insane, that he would die, that there was nothing to prove here.  She was surprisingly strong for her size, and definitely the more athletic of the two, but Russell had received a good deal of formal training in how to plant his feet and hold his ground.  He wouldn't budge, and eventually Neumann took Sabrina's hand, shouting many of the same words that she had just been shouting at Russell.

     And then they were gone; dragging a sobbing Cecilia with them, leaving Russell alone to meet thirty tons of steel with a tarnished sword and a pile of stones.

     For a moment, he thought Camus might assist him.  The sturdy young farmer ran down the lane with his builder's hammer in hand, clearly filled with adrenaline and ready to see some action.  Russell couldn't understand his mindset, but was grateful to have some help.

     That is, until Edward realized what was going on and burst out of the Clinic in a fury.

     "What the hell are you doing!?"

     "I'm not just gonna let them destroy us!"

     "You can't fight a tank with a hammer, Camus!  You need to go and shelter with the others!"

     "You're staying behind!"

     "There's a difference!  I have to stay at the Clinic in case someone gets hurt!  You don't have to fight some machine that can crush you in an instant!"

     "Russell's gonna fight!"

     "Russell is crazy!"

     Not yet crazy enough to begin insisting that he wasn't, Russell simply watched their argument with half-hearted interest.

     And then Edward—a strong man in his own right—grabbed his strapping son by the collar and began dragging him towards the manor.  For a moment, he looked at Russell as though he wanted to grab and drag him, too.  But he must have thought better of it, for he quickly turned and left, with a protesting Camus in tow.

     Edward, after all, only had one free hand.  Russell was armed, driven, and—yes, perhaps—crazy.

     One would have better luck fighting a tank with a hammer.

     Or with some stones and a rusty sword.

     Alone.

     Alone, boiling under the unforgiving summer sun, the borrowed armor hanging loose and crooked around his frame and digging heavily into his shoulders, Russell spent the better part of a day standing at attention in that first archway.  With everyone else in hiding, Kardia was deathly still, and he found he could hear nothing but the far-away rumble of tanks and the ringing clatter of his own thoughts.

     Mostly, he thought of Cecilia, and wished he had thought to bring a pen and paper, to write her a proper goodbye before he was ground to nothing where he stood.  He wondered how it would feel to be broken under those heavy treads, almost grateful that the fate he'd run from had finally found him.

     It was a chance to get it right.

     Russell wouldn't run.  Not this time.

     He would stand tall.  He would do his best.

     And yes, he would be brave.

     Then, hopefully, it would all be quick.

     Though the plan was to hold his ground until the very last, for Cecilia and everyone else, Russell had—just as he had countless times before, during the fighting years—already accepted the likely outcome.

     And, same as before, the end never actually came.

     Raguna and Ivan, it turned out, had worked some strange Draconic miracle, and the tanks were stalled in place, held to the Earth with sturdy vines and roots.  There would be no invasion.  There would be no destruction.  Kardia would hold strong, with or without Russell and his pile of stones.

     Utterly exhausted, nerves fried from too many hours on the brink, he felt his legs give out beneath him and fell to his knees on the cobbles.

     A minute or an hour later, Sabrina and Cecilia returned, embracing him right there in the street.

     Russell knew they were speaking to him, a frenetic stream of teary gratitude, but he could hardly hear them over the empty roar of his white-noise mind.  They held him tight, but he still felt himself drifting backward, staring at the horizon for so long that he too felt collapsed into a flat, distant line.  Eventually, Edward emerged from the Clinic and helped him to his feet.  Russell nodded a weak thank-you, then staggered numbly into the Library.

     I guess it happened again.

     Once more, Russell was left to face the sort of world he could never imagine.

     A world where the horror had passed, but he somehow had to keep on living.

~*~

     My eyes blink open to the loathsome summer sun, and I realize how ridiculous I'd been, in thinking it had all ended so neatly.

     That was no miracle.

     It was only a dream.

     And I'm an awful soldier, falling asleep on my feet like that.

     But then again, I was always an awful soldier, wasn't I?

     (All those lives you cut down, and for what?)

     I tell myself that I still have time to be better, if only by dying an honorable death.  The tanks rumble in the distance.  Terrable circles overhead.  I wait; though whether it's for a miracle or a catastrophe, I can't be sure.

     I wait only, perhaps, to be needed.

     I wait, always, for it all to be over, whatever that may mean.

     And then a munition whizzes up from behind the distant treetops, knocking the great Native Dragon from the sky.  The ground shakes.  Trees crack.  The world is thrown off-balance.

     (It really is on you now, isn't it?)

     I adjust the armor to stop its painful digging into my hips, get a better grip on the sword, and take up a stone.  I listen as the rumbling grows closer.

     I wait.

     The sun overheats my brain inside the helmet, and I suddenly remember that something isn't right here.  I shouldn't be hot.  I should be freezing.  But maybe I'm just thinking of my years in the trenches; which, in my mind, seemed to take place in a perpetual winter.

     (But surely, even then, it must have been summer at least some of the time?)

     (I try not to remember.)

     Luckily, I don't have time.

     The tanks emerge from the treeline and crash through the farm.  I plant my feet wide apart and square my shoulders.  I hurl my stone, and my aim is true.  It glances off the helmet of the unfortunate helmsman, but the impact still rung his bell pretty good, and I watch him slump forward in his seat, unconscious or dead.

     Then the tank keeps on rolling, and I realize the horrible truth.

     He was never in control.

     Neither was I.

     This machine was always going to crush me.

     So I drop my sword and let it happen.

     (It's only more waiting.  You can do this.)

     (I'm sorry, Cecilia.  I never had a choice.)

     Mercifully, I don't have to wait very long.

     The steel behemoth barrels toward and over me, making its vile destructive way into the town beyond.  I failed.  I was always going to fail.

     This was how it was supposed to end, and I was a fool for thinking I could ever escape.

     (It's okay.  Just as long as she can.)

     At least the chestpiece isn't hanging on me anymore.  The pressure of the treads crumpled it into my body, drove jagged dented metal into my collapsed ribs.  I can't take a breath, and I guess that's fine.  I don't have much use for air anymore.

     (It's over.  Finally.)

     And that's all I can think: "finally."

     Until, that is, I start wondering why I still have an intact head to think with at all.

~*~

     Russell woke with a start, hands flying over his ribcage in a panic.

     You're all right.  It was just another stupid dream.  Calm down.

     His chest was certainly a site of some genuine distress—lungs heavy with congestion, rib muscles achey from the persistent nighttime cough that had bothered him since autumn, scarred nerves sizzling in the wake of his hasty exam—but it was a far cry from the wreck of twisted metal and pulverized bone his half-dreaming mind had lead him to expect.

     Relieved, Russell sat up, coughed heavily, then collapsed back on the pillows.  He wasn't ground to a pulp in the street.  He was only right here; curled in a ball, blue moonlight, empty bed, daughter drifting peacefully on the other side of their divided room.  The dream had exhausted him, but he was too afraid of a repeat performance to chance sleep again.

     Not tonight, I guess.  I give up.

     Russell crawled out of bed and padded downstairs to the Library, where the thick book was still open face-down across his desk.  He lit a candle, flipped it over, and stared into his own younger, obscured face.  What, he wondered, would he tell him if he could?

     First, he tried it Cecilia's way.

     You're being so brave.

     As before, it rang hollow.  So he decided to try something else.

     I know what you're going to do.  Hell, I know what you've already done.  You make me sick.

     He tasted bile on the back of his tongue, felt his vision begin to shiver.  For a moment, Russell felt as though he was about to pass out from sheer white-hot rage, and was indeed so exhausted that it would have been welcome.

     Suddenly, a third thought; another message trying to propel itself across time, to leap into the illustration as through a magic portal.

     I know you're tired.

     Somewhere—perhaps buried in his own flesh, like a shard of jagged shrapnel—that lost boy must have heard, because Russell was overcome with something that felt too massive to name or express.

     He lay his head down on the cool scarred wood of the desk, and silently wept until dawn.

[oldmanaemon]

"So what happened to your tower?" asked Ettu, walking alongside Egdrigal while avoiding his great cloak that danced against the wind and into his face. They had marched for almost a week from Meridia. Talrie had begun to feel the sharp rocks through his sandals. Old sandals that were long past weathered and worn. But time didn't wait for no one. Not even this poor, tired green mage.

"The rift. It swallowed much of it and now it rages and grows with each passing day." He couldn't mention the Styr Caravan that arrived soon after and the mage who opened the rift in question. An old friend who his master scolded all too often. No need to sully his name, he thought. He was swallowed by that very rift alongside some of their friends. All manner of beast and terror emerged from there for days following its emergence and where it lead, Talrie did not want to know.

"It just popped up one day and decided your green tower was the perfect squatting point, ehh?" Ettu was not always keen on others not taking him seriously. This was no laughing matter to him. That he could see. "You green mages sure love your forbidden magicks. I've yet to see rift mages from any other school. So who woke the portal? A friend? Perhaps a lover or worst a mentor?"

"It was a friend" Talrie spoke impulsively hoping not to earn the ire of one of the few blue mages who gave him a time of day. He knew Ettu could sense this was a tender subject. "He was always in his tomes. Always the brightest of our tower but far from the teachers pet. He wandered too often and too close to where the Elders told him not to and it cost him and everyone he cared for dearly."

"Tale as old as time I suppose." Ettu followed. His eyes fixed on him.

"I'm sorry" Ettu finally said after a somber pause. He rested his hand on Talries elbow to comfort him. "As much as Blue mages try to be holier than thou, so much of us get caught in the monsters and beasts we channel. I can't tell you how many blue mages we've had to put down due to the constant frenzy of bloodlust. All of us mages walk a thin line between the chaos of our magicks and the weakness of the threads that make up the false sense of our mastery."

"To think I'd see the day our wiley halfling who calls upon the cries of banshees and breath of necrophage hounds would sing the virtues of restraint to a green mage." Ores was quiet most of the trip but this was the final straw for his sensibilities, it seemed. "I think I've lived a little too long for my own liking. What's next? Egdrigal wooing a drow red mage?"

"Close! He can try and woo me anytime!" cried out a voice behind the line of great trees along the edge of their path. Two tall slender figures emerged from the thicket. "A tiefling red mage and half dragonkin paladin would pleasantly welcome any flirtatious inclinations as well as a invitation to your travel party. Though I have to say, I never thought I'd meet a blue mage who could augur our coming. Always thought your kind too thick and mindless to even predict a trip hazard." The tiefling chuckled at her own joke as the half dragon-kin paladin stood silently beside her. His kind were not very common in the world and Talrie had never seen another outside of Almora. He was taller than the Orcs that were his travel companions and the Tiefling was not too far beneath his overshadowing frame. His horns protruding under his ears, like two great maws. Both braced with blue jewelry. Like two twin blue cresent moons. His blue skin as dark and as luminescent as his jewelry, a stark contrast to his red horned tiefling travel companion. Her hair was ash grey and skin was a red as Lorenan ruby wine. Her horns rising from her ashen hair like a bloody crown-

"Do you describe people's features in that same lazy way everytime you come across them? Like - I came across a green mage with the stature of a lone and weary shrub. Skin brown and glistening like freshly baked and bronzing Korian fudge cakes...see pretty lazy" she said interrupting his train of thought. She could read his mind he realized embarassed, "yes, I have the gift to telepathy but unfortunately for me, it's a curse. I can't exactly turn it off, so I'm also hearing that halfling thinking how red mages are recruiting succubi now and if the both my companion and I had any strategically placed piercings along with our jewelry."

An awkward silenced ensued with both Talrie and Ettu staring dumbfoundedly at eachother. Egdrigal meanwhile fell over laughing as if possessed.

Tiefling now smiling to herself. "The name is Amriett. Amriett of Allesh. This here is Galadion, also of Allesh. We're hunting the King of Sola and we followed your merry band from Meridia. We've had no luck finding other blue mages and you can imagine our surprise seeing three of you alongside a green mage headed to slay the same peculiar greymane. If it matters at all, I didn't have to read your minds to find out your curious quest. Most of Meridia and all her street urchins were privy to it, I'm afraid." Amriett reached for an old smoking pipe under her red scarf. She watched them carefully as she blew a few figures in smoke and passed the pipe to her companion who grunted and nodded graciously.

"You couldn't find any contracts in Oterr? There's plenty blue blood down there that will take any contract and yet everyone is coming to Meridia. Now aren't we the luckiest bunch?" Ores sounded more grumpier and tired than usual. He was reluctant to take up this lost cause if Ettu didn't spring him into it and now more strangers added to their reluctant band.

"We're not some charity work!" Bellowed Ettu now floating in the air like his usual gratuitous self. "This herb is offering wild cores. Not alot will beat that."

"We're offering our help and illusion cores. I think that's a fair trade for some share of the greymane."

"We're here for the horn. Everything else still fetches a mighty purse, but We're taking the horn." Talrie was bold to speak for the group and he could already see the contempt in Ores' eyes.

"The King of Sola has two horns. We need not fight over it" The paladin finally said, his voice soft and restrained. "We only ask for the lesser of the two. We know you are in greater need of its great purple horn and we will not ask that of thee. Allow us the lesser horn and we shall offer you our lives if need be."

"Now, now Gal. We don't need to be so dramatic. It's said the ancient horn contains enough magical potency to forge a core and we have no need of it. We're here to cure an ancient sickness. Our queen requires a horn of an elder greymane. Nothing more, nothing less. We'll be out of your hair afterwards...unless you want some more dilly dalliance.."

"I'm sorry for being rude, earlier. If you help us take down the King, I'll craft the cure for you. It's the least I could do if we make it out of the lair alive. As a thank you and apology for my impoliteness."

"Hey, kid! Who said you could bargain anything? Even your services are ours to command for as long as we serve as your escorts. I, Ettu, will be doing any and all negotiations herein. Take it up with me. If I say you get the small horn or small toe, it's my word that's gold here." Ores was brooding over the floating halfling and Amriett sent a few smoke rings in the shape of birds towards Ettus proud face. The halfling coughing and failing to keep his composure.

"I'm fine with that, Ettu, of Meridia. You okay with that Gal?" The dragon-kin nodded his head in agreement and they continued up the mountain path towards the lair of the Elder Greymane. Egdrigal and Amriett exchanging words and mocking stares towards Ettu.

Both Ettu and Ores now brooding together at the back of the party. Talrie wondered if they'd make it up the mountain in one piece let alone slay the King of Sola. Theirs was an uneasy alliance. A red mage, paladin, green mage and a group of blue mages. Only thing left was a black mage and the earth beneath them would crack open beneath them and unleash the seven hells at the impossible gallery. No god of chaos could conjure such a union. With their luck, they wouldn't only see if a green mage bled red but what sort of hell awaited one as well.

The thought amused Talrie and he could see Amriett agreed as well, her smile glaring through the smoke from her pipe.

[valorandheat]

eyes-for-justice​:

valorandheat​:

“Daraen, hm?” Jathrek seemed to muse upon her name for only the briefest of seconds, though internally, there was much more going on. It wasn’t the clumsiest or worst alias he’d ever come across, yet Robin had done nothing to disguise herself. She probably should have if she wished to remain incognito to some degree. It wasn’t as if even her appearance wasn’t well-known enough through most of this land. Not that she stuck out any more than he did, considering he wasn’t exactly a normal human, nor did he bother to disguise himself either. Business was business, and up-front honesty usually built good trust in customers…and led to returning shoppers as well as good word-of-mouth to encourage others to seek him out regardless of appearance. He’d generated enough goodwill that he could walk relatively freely, at least among this particular town.

“Well, I’ll see what I can do for you price-wise. What do you happen to be looking for in terms of wares? One snap of my fingers once you tell me what you’re after, and I can show you what’s in my possession.” He put three of his fingers on his right hand together as if to ready himself for he request…though truth be told, he was a lot more interested in her body right now than selling her something. But maybe, if she found he was just as trustworthy as he appeared to be (which he was), one thing might lead to another? 

Robin internally took note of Jahthrek’s response to her pseudonym, aware that her fame as the new prodigious tactician of the kingdom could sabotage her mission by exposing her true identity. For the time being, she needed to trust that the other customers. If anything didn’t go according to plan, she could cast an emergency forget hex, courtesy of Tharja’s teachings. “My master leads a small army in a nearby village and has sent me to contact you…” she explained, only offering small bits of truth in her story. How much of it would he be able to pick up?

“To keep it simple… We need weapons, potions and incantation tomes.” Judging from the man’s words, he was some sort of demon with great powers, but his intent was simply to enrich himself with trade. All the tactician had to do was confirm that. “If you have those in your possession, then could you show me right now, please?”

As they continued to bargain, another idea made its way into Robin’s mind: it was an approach that would barely be considered fitting of a member of the royal army, but it would definitely help gauge Jahthrek’s power. And besides… His appearance made that approach easier to consider. “As for the price… I’d rather discuss it at a later time. Perhaps…” Remembering Aversa’s compliments and encouragements about her body, the tactician subtly leaned forward and propped up her chest. “…away from prying ears… and eyes.”

The tactician at least seemed to sell her false identity well, but the vagueness of details made it seem just a little thin at best, or at least shady to an outside observer, not that Jahthrek cared too much about the intentions of his customers, though most of them purchased his wares for benign enough purposes, he supposed. Still, he was pretty certain he knew who she actually was and the company she kept.

That made it surprising when she got very sexually suggestive, leaning forward and using her form and a more seductive tone of voice to imply what she intended to give him as payment, causing him to lower his arm. He’d been about to show her a selection of some of the things he had to offer, but with this opportunity she was presenting him with...it was hard to say no. However, he did need to make one thing clear before they took this somewhere more private.

“...well, that can probably get you everything you need within reason, but just one question...” The demon’s tail twitched once more as he leaned in closer, “...do you think you can handle me? I do tend to be on the more...rough side with such things. I can’t promise you won’t be a little bit sore after the fact if we keep going along this road.”

As soon as reports about a wealthy and powerful merchant had spread all across Ylisse, a small contingent of Chrom's army was sent to ascertain the situation. Of that contingent, their tactician was the only one to enter the inn in which the target had been sighted. Had things gone awry, she would have signaled his comrades to intervene, so she was relaxed.

It didn't take long to find the objective, clearly standing out among other guests: his strong physique, his confident demeanor and his general appearance were not of a mere merchant, but... Was he a demon? Such a beast could not be let run amok, causing grief to the populace. She had to ascertain his intentions, first and foremost.

"Excuse me..." She spoke politely, trying to be as vague as possible as to not arouse suspicion. "I heard rumors of a wealthy merchant making the rounds in this area. Would you happen to know about him?"

Jahthrek's tail twitched the moment the tactician entered the room. Even before he saw her, he could...feel something different about whoever stepped in. There was something there, something...not exactly evil, but dark at the very least that he could sense. Perhaps it was something that lay underneath the surface, something that wasn't immediately apparent. Once he turned to look at her, however, it became apparent why.

Robin was rather well-known to just about everyone around here, as well as what had happened to her and who she truly was. Of course, that blood and power that had been latent within her was no longer a threat, but there was still at least a trace of it left...a trace that was to never be awakened again, however. But by the Abyss, she was sexy. There was a certain kind of 'business' he'd just love to conduct with her...so long as she was interested, of course.

At the moment she'd approached him, he'd been talking with a couple other patrons, laughing along with them about something relatively unimportant until she spoke to him. He greeted her with a thin little smirk. "Well, unless you're referring to that Anna lady- I met her the other day, by the way, charming woman, if a bit too blatantly avaricious for her own good sometimes- then that's likely myself." He held out a hand for her to shake, smirk turning into a seemingly pleasant smile. "Jahthrek Malor. Is there something I can help you with?" Probably a lot more civilized and well-mannered than she had expected, not that he knew that yet.

@eyes-for-justice

[moodymelanist]

OMg, like a demon! Azriel and witch! Gwyn

I’ve been so excited to do this one y’all have no idea lol. Also check out @c-e-d-dreamer because she has a demon!Nesta thing going that I’ve been enjoying so so much and it has similar vibes to this one!

Gwyn looked over her assignment one last time, groaning in irritation as she realized she’d have to draw a pentagram onto her living room floor.

She was a witch-in-training at the Salem Institute, and for her class on demons, they were required to attempt to summon an actual demon for their midterm. She’d put it off until the last minute and was now seriously regretting that decision, but her at least her roommates-slash-best-friends wouldn’t mind if she dug into their supplies for her project.

She took another fifteen minutes to gather everything she needed and moved the coffee table out of the way so she could draw a decent-sized pentagram. It took her longer than she planned to sketch one out, but as she sat back and examined her work, she was pretty pleased.

Gwyn reached for her thick tome of demon summoning spells, making sure to stay within the recommended pages. As curious as she was, she had no interest in summoning anything she wasn’t supposed to and causing the end of life as she knew it. She flipped through the pages and eventually settled on a scary-enough sounding one — the Prince of Shadows.

She took a deep breath and lit some more candles before carefully reciting the words as the spell required. The further she got into it, the darker the room seemed to get, until she was in almost complete darkness as she finished the spell. She gasped as the pentagram flared the color of blood before changing into the bright blue of her magic, showing her that she’d performed everything correctly. Now all she had to do was wait and see if the demon would actually show up.

She thankfully didn’t have to wait long. A tall, muscular form emerged out of the inky darkness, complete with giant wings seemingly made out of shadows. “Who dares summon me?”

“Hi!” Gwyn called out cheerily. She grabbed some more candles and lit them to bring more light into the room, enough to see the Prince of Shadows was actually… handsome? Even though he was looking down at her with a look of complete shock, he had one of those classically beautiful faces that she thought belonged in a Renaissance painting and not a pentagram.

“Uh… hello?” he responded.

“Sorry if this isn’t how this usually goes,” she said, reaching for her homework assignment. She grabbed her nearby pen and balanced everything on her magical tome. “But I summoned you for a homework assignment. Do they have homework wherever you’re from? Anyway, I just need you to answer a couple questions for me, and then I can send you back home no problem.”

The Prince of Shadows stared blankly at her as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What is this… ‘home work’?”

“My professors gave me an assignment I have to complete before I go back to class,” she explained. “Wow, you’d think they would have homework in a demon dimension, but I guess not.”

“And you think we are the bad guys,” he muttered. He looked around the room before settling his gaze back onto her. “If I help you with this… homework… you’ll send me back?”

“Yup,” Gwyn confirmed with a smile. “Otherwise you’ll be trapped in here, and I don’t think my roommates will be happy about that.”

“We cannot have that,” the Prince replied dryly. He sighed before lowering himself to the ground and sitting down casually. “Alright. Ask what you must.”

She perked up and looked at the sheet of questions, deciding to start with the easier ones first. She learned his actual name was Azriel — apparently he hated this Prince of Shadows nonsense — and he came from a demon dimension called Prythian. He’d been alive for over five hundred years, and had only been summoned once before almost two centuries prior, which explained why he spoke that way. He was also funny in a way that reminded her of Nesta and Emerie’s humor, and she found herself laughing at his little jokes here and there. He wouldn’t give too much away about how his powers worked, but he did tell her that the shadows told him things, which she found incredibly interesting.

“May I ask a question of my own?” Azriel asked, tilting his head at her.

“I think that’s only fair,” Gwyn replied.

“Would you…” he trailed off, suddenly hesitant. “Would you summon me again sometime?”

Her mouth dropped. Was a demon really flirting with her? “Really?”

“Yes,” he said. “I find myself curious about you. And you were not scared when I emerged, which is a welcome change to what I am used to. And I like your cheerful questions.”

“Oh.” She could feel herself blushing furiously. “Oh. Um. Well, okay. Yes. Sure.”

Azriel smiled at her, revealing the barest hints of little fangs. “Alright. Well, I have business to attend to back home, if you would not mind sending me back. But I will see you… soon?”

“Oh! Right, sorry,” Gwyn replied, jumping into action. She put her papers aside and flipped to the proper page in her tome as Azriel stood up and dusted himself off, looking up one last time before she began the spell to banish him. “See you soon, Azriel.”

[scuttle-buttle]

Chapter 2

Summary: Professor Laszlo Kreizler is a pretentious ass - that's the only way you could possibly explain the man. That being said, you needed a job to help pay for grad school, and the position of being his TA was the only thing available. You'll suck it up and deal with it, but the last thing you'll do is let this man get inside your head in the process.

WC: 1131

Rated: M

Chapter Tags: laszlo is very to the point with his expectations.

🧠

Monday morning came too quickly. There was no need to dress super professionally as a TA, but you still found that you wanted to at least look presentable on your first day with the devil himself. One less thing for him to judge you on, right?

The hall in the Psychology wing was quiet, only a few students could be seen shuffling to their early morning classes. A tall guy walked past you, offering up a pity-smile in your direction as he saw where you stood. If what you had seen on the professor over the weekend was any real indication, you felt bad for the psych majors. Even so, you would do your best to withhold judgement until you met the man.

You stood outside his office. The dark mahogany door was shut, a gold “Dr. L Kreizler” placard adorned the wood. Pulling out your phone you check the schedule for the tenth time this morning.

Schedule:

MWF 8am-12pm

TTH 3pm-7pm

You lick your lips and look at the clock on the wall - 7:59. The second the hands switch to 8 you knock on the heavy wood. There is a muffled “come in” from the other side.

You don’t know what you anticipated as you entered the office. Taking a minute, you examine the decor he has set up. It felt like walking through a time capsule; as though you were transported to the gilded age. Rich, dark colors of wood and tapestry filled the space. Large bookshelves had tomes that looked to be at least a hundred years old, well worn and rubbed off of their titles. Small artifacts, pictures, and old scientific instruments line the shelves. The room is massive, not something you would have anticipated. He does not use the fluorescent overhead lights, instead having a series of tall warm-toned lamps scattered around the room. There is even a couch along the back wall, decorated with swirling filigree carved into the arms and legs. A laptop and second monitor on his desk bring you back to reality.

In your admiration of the office you pay no mind to the man it belongs to. Finally, you notice him as he stares at you from his chair, looking annoyed at having to wait for your introduction.

Even with the less than pleased look he’s giving, you can’t help but notice how attractive the man is. The picture had done absolutely nothing to show off the depth in those brown eyes, the softness of the delicately styled hair, the fullness of his well-groomed beard. He was much younger than you anticipated too. If anything you figure he’s maybe early 40s. And fuck, he’s just your type. Too bad he’s an asshole… and your boss…. you think belatedly.

“Oh! Sorry, um, I’m the new TA,” you introduce yourself and tell him your name. “It’s very nice to meet you professor.” You reach out to shake his hand. He does not move to return the favor, but instead keeps his calculating eyes on you. The silence tics on as you wait, hand outstretched. Clearing your throat you drop it back to your side.

Finally, he speaks in an accented voice. “You may call me Dr. Kreizler. I have space for you there,” he gestures with a nod of his head to a desk in the corner. “I’ve taken the liberty of preparing a list of expectations for you. Should you have any questions or concerns I expect that you address them with me directly. You’ll note that I have included my personal number for work purposes only. I expect you to provide me with your own should I need you outside of contract hours. Do not contact me while you are intoxicated or you will be dismissed from this position.” To the point then, you blink at his directness. And presumptuous as hell to assume that you would even consider drunk texting him.

He briefly explains your role and clarifies some of the less detailed points on his list. The entire time he’s speaking his focus is on whatever work sits in front of him, not you. A beat passes once he’s done.

“Sounds great, thank you.” You had done your best to remain civil and polite, ignoring the ill-reviews in hopes to create your own opinion. Quite frankly, he wasn’t faring well so far.

He looks up at you; his eyes are piercing. Does he always look like he’s picking apart people like they are a specimen he’s studying?

“I suspect you have done your research on who I am, yet you are still present today. That is promising. But tell me, who are you?” he asks, sitting back in his chair.

You’ve never been good at talking about yourself when put on the spot. “Well I’m 26 years old, I graduated magna cum laude with a dual degree in history and political science. The last few years I’ve been working with the graduate studies program to get my doctorate in history. My thesis is on 1960s shifting cultural norms and the development and impact of countercultures on American society.”

“Have you considered the emerging role of sequence murderers in your studies?” He almost looks interested as he asks.

“Some, not as much as I would like yet, though. I suppose a perk of taking this position means you can give me some insight on that since you teach about it.” You give a little smile-shrug, hoping the statement will earn you some points with him.

He ignores it. “And what background in psychology do you have? Or do you even have any?”

You are a bit taken aback by his tone. “I took an introductory course with Professor Stratton during my undergrad years.”

“Hmm. That will have to suffice. In the meantime I would suggest you make haste with the reading I’ve left you. It’s best you spend this week with that so you can be most useful to me this semester.”

Looking through all the contents he’s left on your desk you see two books, a textbook, a few slide show print outs, and his syllabi - each marked up with his cursive and colored tabs to mark pages of importance. Sitting down, you give an inaudible sigh; this is going to be a long semester. You pick up the first syllabus and get to work.

Noon rolls around after what feels like a lifetime. Packing up all the materials he’s provided, you wish him a good afternoon. As you are walking through the door he calls out to you.

“Next time, do not be late.” You give him a confused look, seeing as you got there exactly at 8am. “On time is late,” he explains curtly.

“Noted.” You don’t catch the door as it all but slams closed.

Tag list

@hardlyinteresting @lorna-d-m @livvyshmiv @somethingthatsaysbubbles

[sezja]

Febuwhump Day 2: Failed Rescue Attempt Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV Characters/Ship: Sanson Smyth/Guydelot Thildonnet Triggers/Content warnings: Major character death

Guydelot's blood is still pounding in his ears as he sprints through the autumn-dappled trees of the North Shroud, going as fast as he can; it was chance alone that he overheard a pair of Adder scouts mention the intel that Nourval and his cronies were lurking in the relics of Dalamud. He'd taken off running and hasn't stopped since. Vorsaile'd yelled something after him, but damn the man anyway - he's an Adder, after all, and not a damn one of 'em cares about Sanson.

Sanson. Sanson. I'll be there soon.

All that matters is getting there before the Twin Adder does. Getting past the sentries shouldn't be too hard, right? Then it's just Nourval...

I never should've agreed to bring the bastard along. This is all my doing, ain't it? He'd been the one who laughed at Nourval's boldness, tricking the Order into sending out a unit to search for the damn tome... or, as it turned out, just to get him an excuse past Baelsar's Wall. Sanson hadn't wanted to bring a civilian along, but-

Guydelot clenches his jaw so hard his teeth creak. He's gonna put an arrow right into Nourval's smug eye. What he wouldn't give to have Eve here, though; he couldn't afford to wait for her to turn up in Gridania. Couldn't take the time to go ask Jehantel for more last-minute advice. No, it's down to him, just him, but then, maybe one man can slip past the defenses better than two...

An arrow punches into the ground at his feet, and he skids abruptly to a stop. Two archers emerge from seemingly out of nowhere.

Damn it all. He'd gotten careless.

"Drop your weapon," the nearest calls, leveling his own bow at Guydelot's heart. "Your friend yet lives, but do aught careless-"

Guydelot draws and fires, cutting the man off with an arrow to the throat. He hadn't aimed; anger and instinct hone him into a weapon he scarcely recognizes. Sanson. Fear makes him cold; he prepares to turn his bow on the remaining archer-

But by then the enemy has already recovered from the death of his companion, and fires an arrow of his own; it takes Guydelot in the shoulder. Any lower and it might have pierced his heart, not that he suspects he'd feel it, with his heart already one desperate ache; he scarcely feels this one, though the blood pools around the arrow. He wrenches it out, not hesitating to fit it to his own bow and fire.

The alarm has sounded, though, and even with the slaying of the two sentries, his path has grown harder.

Damn it all. Rolling his aching shoulder - he'll patch that up later - he dives into the hive.

A skilled bard, a skilled archer, but he's only one man; he's no Warrior of Light, no hero skilled at picking apart armies. By the time they drag him before Nourval, Guydelot is riddled with arrows and the ungentle kisses of blades and lances; his coat is more red than turquoise.

It's nearly worth it, just to see Sanson again.

Sanson's eyes are awful, too painful to gaze into for long; the despair in them is painful... yet Guydelot can't look away. How could he?

I've doomed us both, Chief. But I couldn't stand by and do nothing. You understand, right? I couldn't just let it happen.

He'd say it if he could, all the things he's never said. He can't seem to find words. Pathetic, a bard without words...

"Well! This is unexpected. I hope you weren't sent to deliver the Gridanians' answer," Nourval says, kneeling down to get a closer look at the battered bard. "I had hoped you might have more care for your friend."

He's my whole godsdamned world, and there's not a damn thing I can do to save him.

Guydelot manages to spit in Nourval's face. Grimacing, the man wipes away the glob of spittle and blood, then stands. "Well. Not an official messenger then, I suppose-"

"Nourval-" Sanson's voice, strained. Terrified; has Guydelot ever heard him truly frightened before now? "Nourval, you don't truly want to do this-"

"He's no use to me," Nourval explains, as though speaking to a child. Horror prickles over Guydelot's skin as reality dawns: Nourval means to kill him, before Sanson's eyes. Until the Adders move, Sanson still has use as a hostage... at least until Nourval realizes they have no intention of playing along. Does he even know the Adders don't have the journal?

Oddly hilarious, that. Good thing he'd hidden it. Now no one will find the damn thing.

"Please," Sanson tries again, struggling against his bonds. "Nourval, please don't harm him; he's only-"

"I suggest you look away," Nourval says, almost kindly. Almost.

But Sanson can't. And neither can Guydelot.

"Sanson-"

And then the lance pierces his heart.

[shinra-agent-phoenix]

With The Shephards

A/N: Takes place during Turnabout Emblem

Trucy woke up in the base. She wandered out of bed.

“Oh hey. The kiddo’s awake” Sully said.

“Who are you?” Trucy asked.

“Name's Sully. We’re from another world.” She said, gesturing to Chrom.

“Your father is tracking down the other people who ended up here alongside the other agents of Shinra.” Chrom said.

“So…you're babysitting me?” Trucy asked.

“Yes. We are. Is there anything you want to do?” Chrom asked. She thought for a minute.

“Can I spar with you?” She asked.

“I don't see why not.” Sully said and got the child a wooden sword.

She immediately charged at the royals and was easily parried. She huffed and ran at the again. Same result.

Robin decided to stop reading with Priam and went to see their friends. They saw Trucy, who looked exhausted and still charged at Chrom with the tiny wooden sword. She looked at Trucy to see her stats. Her strength was VERY low but her magic was shockingly high.

“Hey, maybe you shouldn't be training in swordplay. Your magic is pretty high. I can help you train in that.” Robin said. Trucy threw the sword away and hit Chrom in the face with it as she ran to Robin

“YOU'LL HELP ME WITH MAGIC!?” She squealed.

“Yes! I'll help you train!” Priam said. He loved training. “I'll even make you a training regime!”

As Priam ran off to make a training regime, Robin took out three books.

“These are three basic tomes. Wind, Fire, Thunder. You use the tomes to cast those spells.” Robin explained. Trucy took the books. Robin took out another Thunder tome, did a pose, a weird thing appeared under her as a ball of lighting flew from the book and hit something.

“SO COOL!” Trucy said, bouncing.

“Ok. Stand here. Open the book. Feel the energy flow through you and the book. And then…release by moving!” Robin explained.

“Any way I'm supposed to move?” Trucy asked.

“Not really.” Robin responded.

“Ok.” Trucy said. She took a breathe, opened the book as the circle appeared below her. And then, she twirled and released a gust of wind!

“I did it!” she said, and then started repeating. Robin chuckled. The damage done by that wind spell was as much as she could do with rexcalibur. Trucy's magic was very high. As was her speed. Her defense and resistance though…

Trucy was a glass canon. Able to dish out lots of damage, but one hit is all it takes to end it.

Priam returned with a training regime on paper.

“Thanks Pri!” She said.

“Oh and here.” Robin said. The convoy was missing a lot of things (she'd check later) but it had all 99 Wind Tomes, 99 Thunder Tomes and 99 Fire tomes. She gave them to Trucy who put them in her bag.

“Each has 50 uses before it breaks.” Robin explained.

“Got it!” Trucy said.

That's when Lissa and Ricken showed up.

“Oh hey guys!” Lissa said.

“Hey Lissa.” Priam said.

“Oh hi!” Trucy said. “I'm Trucy!”

“A kid?” Ricken asked.

“Yup! My daddy is an agent of Shinra!” Trucy said.

And then Frederick and Sumia showed up. Lissa smiled mischievously.

“Come on kid, lets have some fun.” Lissa said.

Not long later, as Frederick went to clean his axe, a bunch of frogs jumped on him. Trucy and Lissa giggled.

“Lissa! Was this your doing!?” He yelled. The girls laughed.

“Hold on, is that the girl Chrom said we are supposed to look after?” He asked.

“I'm Trucy!” Trucy said. She smiled…and then ran off.

“Wait! Come back!” Frederick yelled.

After a few hours of chasing Frederick gave up. And started beating himself up about loosing Trucy. She felt bad and emerged from her hiding place.

“Ah. There you are.” He said, relieved.

“Hehe! Hey Freddie! Can you help me?” Trucy asked.

“Certainly. What do you require my assistance for?” Frederick asked.

“I'm an escape artist. I want you restrain me in the best way you can and I'll escape.” Trucy said.

“Very well, I shall do my best.” Frederick said.

“Uh…Frederick? I think you may have gone overboard…” Sumia said.

“Nonsense. This is what the girl requested.” Frederick said. Trucy was tied to a chair, with ropes everywhere. And tight ropes. With a blindfold and a gag. And the chair was in a cage. Which was in a box.

“THANKS FREDDIE!” Trucy shouted. Evidently the gag was off.

“See. Everything is in order.” Frederick said.

Trucy managed to escape in an hour without Frederick or Sumia. By then, many more people from the other world had arrived. Trucy snuck off and found a wyvern.

“WOW! YOU'RE SO COOL!” She said as she approached the creature, who licked her in response. Trucy giggled.

“Aww. It seems Minerva likes you.” Cherche said.

“And I like Minerva!” Trucy said, still showing the dragon affection.

“She is the cutest wyvern.” Cherche said happily.

“I wouldn't call her cute. More fierce and cool!” Trucy said. Minerva roared happily.

“Trucy! Trucy! Where have you gone?” Frederick said, looking for the girl.

“That's my cue! I gotta go! Don't tell Freddie!” Trucy said as she ran off. As she ran off, she ran Into another little girl. This one had green hair and pointy ears.

“Hi! I'm Trucy!” Trucy said.

“Oh hi! I'm Nowi.” The girl said.

“Can you help me? I'm trying to hide from Frederick hehe.” Trucy said.

“That guy can be such a kill joy! Follow me!” Nowi said. She and Trucy ran through the place.

“Hey, wanna play hide and seek?” Nowi asked.

“I'm already playing with Freddie! He just doesn't know it yet.” Trucy said.

“Alright, then we can play later!” Nowi said. Trucy climbed into the vents and waved goodbye to the girl.

As she crawled, she heard someone laughing. Jumping out of the vents, she saw a white haired mage and a pink haired lady.

“Nyaha! Look! A little kid from the walls!” The man said.

“O-oh! I think this is the little girl Chrom was looking after.” The woman said.

“Hi! I'm Trucy!” Trucy said.

“Nya ha! You’re so small!” Henry said.

“Wow… you're magical! I can tell. Hey Robin taught me to use tomes!” Trucy said. Before Henry could say something, Olivia interrupted.

“We are not teaching her dark magic.” She said.

“Aww…” Henry said but still smiled.

“Er, Frederick. Its been hours. Maybe now would be a good time to check on Trucy?” Chrom asked.

“Very well.” Frederick said. As he dismantled his little trap, he looked shocked.

“Frederick? Is something wrong?” Chrom asked.

“She… She isn't here.” Frederick said.

“Oh gods she's gone!?” Chrom yelled.

“No need for panic, M'lord, I’m sure someone has seen her.” Frederick said. He turned and spotted Panne.

“Panne, have you seen a little girl in a bright pink outfit?” Frederick asked.

“I believe I saw a young human child of that description with Henry and Olivia.” She replied.

“She's with HENRY!?” Chrom said, panicking.

Immediately they raced to Trucy, only to find her sitting on the floor while Olivia told them stories.

“You forgot Inigo turned out fine with Henry as his father?” Robin asked. Chrom yelped in surprise, startled by the tactician suddenly appearing behind him.

At the end of the day, Miriel, Donnel, Cordelia, and Libra showed up, alongside Maya, Phoenix, Reiji and Xiaomu. And Phoenix passed out on the ground. Hey, at least Trucy got to have a sleepover with Maya since she had to carry Nick outta there!

Trucy And Her Babysitters

With Xiaomu, Reiji, and Doctor

A/N: This Chapter takes place during Chapter 1 of Bail Out

Phoenix left to go get lunch, leaving Trucy with Doctor. The two looked at each other, unsure of what to do.

"So! What are we gonna do?" Trucy asked.

"Hm…wanna check out my machines?" Doctor asked.

"Ok!" Trucy said, as she started humming the song that would play before Troupe Gramarye's shows. The two explored and Trucy was honestly kinda bored. Science wasn't her thing and Doctor wouldn't stop rambling on and on and ON. Then, there was a flash of light! Trucy covered her eyes, while Doctor looked away from the brightness.

“Oh my... Where could this be?” A woman said. She wore a very expensive light blue dress. With her was some sort of portable shop.

“Oh hello Sylphie,” Doctor said.

“Ah! Urashima, one of my best customers!” Sylphie said. Trucy went up to Sylphie.

“Hi there!” Trucy said.

“Oh, and who might you be?” Sylphie asked, bending down to look at little Trucy.

“I'm Trucy! A magician!” She said.

“A magician! Well, can I interest you in some magical items?” Sylphie said, not passing up an opportunity for a sale. Trucy gave a happy gasp.

“YES YES YES YES!” Trucy said, jumping around happily.

Doctor chuckled and left to go do some maintenance. A few minutes later, she got a notification on her phone informing her of a high charge on her credit card. And she saw Trucy running towards her, holding a saddle handbag.

“Doctor look! Ms. Sylphie gave me a special bag! It's called a Hammerspace Bag and it can hold ANYTHING!” Trucy said with excitement, ”But that's not all! I got so many other magic supplies! I'll be able to do SO MANY new tricks! I'll be the best magician EVER!!!!”

“Ok, maybe don't spend so much, moneywise! What were you thinking!? That was my money you spent!” Doctor scolded.

“What? Sylphie said she was just giving them to me!” Trucy cried. As if on cue, Sylphie ran off.

“GET BACK HERE!” Doctor yelled, running at the dimensional traveling saleswoman.

“Sorry. I have business to do elsewhere!” Sylphie yelled before vanishing in a flash of light. Doctor cursed to herself, not loud enough for Trucy to hear.

“I'm sorry, Doctor…” Trucy said, looking down sadly. She really did feel bad. Doctor sighed.

“Its alright. You didn't know. Come on, let's go see if Xiaomu and Reiji are done training,” Doctor said, giving Trucy headpats, making the 8 year old giggle. Trucy hid her new bag of holding under her cape and followed Doctor as they went to check on the field agents, humming the Troupe Gramarye theme once more.

Reiji was looking at data from big machines. Trucy didn't understand any of it. Lots of maps, numbers, and pictures. Xiaomu was sitting on a bench and watching, yawning and pretending to fall asleep.

“Come on, this is boring!” She said, moving to a laying down position.

“Its important! How are we supposed to get missions if we don't check these things?” Reiji said.

“HQ will call us?” She said sarcastically. Reiji sighed. Could she take nothing seriously? He knew she could but sometimes it didn't feel like it. At least she wasn't acting dirty since Trucy was here. Then Xiaomu noticed Trucy.

“Hey Trucy! Reiji is being a stick in the mud, so wanna do something fun?” Xiaomu said.

“HEY! There's a mysterious person who knows about us! Shouldn't we be trying to track him down!?” Reiji retorted. When Phoenix told them about the Shadowy Man who appeared, it did get them worried considering he knew about Shinra and Shinra's very existence is supposed to be a secret to the general public. Who knows what he’d do with that information… Xiaomu waved him off.

“I'm sure we'll find him soon, don't worry!” She said.

“I'll help you, tracking-wise,” Doctor said, walking over to the monitor with the maps.

“Thank you,” Reiji sighed. At least SOMEONE was helping.

“Alright! Let's go play some games!” Xiaomu said. Trucy cheered and the two walked off.

“So what are we gonna play?” Trucy asked, looking at the vast library of games and consoles.

“Wanna play Smash Bros?” Xiaomu asked. Trucy nodded.

As Super Smash Bros Ultimate was booted up, Trucy had a thought.

“You met Ryu, Ken, Lucina, Chrom, and Kazuya, right?” Trucy asked as she selected Robin, who she liked because he used magic! And she used male Robin. She completely forgot that he isn't an easy character to play as.

“Yup! That was fun! We all saved all the dimensions!” Xiamou said as she picked Palutena, who was a top tier, but also reminded her a bit of Valkyrie.

“But don't Ken, Ryu, and Kazuya come from this dimension? Why were they invited to this tournament and you and Reiji?” Trucy asked.

“Because they're BIG SHOTS!” Xiaomu said. Trucy laughed as Xiaomu did that last bit like she was singing the deltarune song, Big Shot.

“But so are you!” Trucy said.

“Also there are…regulations in the tournament…” Xiaomu said.

“Oh. Ok!” Trucy said.

As the two played, Xiaomu won every match. She was a pro-player, after all.

“Augh! You keep winning! Can we play something else?” Trucy asked.

“Ok! How about Mario Kart?” Xiaomu asked. Trucy agreed.

Again, every race went to the pro player, Xiaomu. Trucy kept getting frustrated. Going from Mario Party, all the games in Wii Sports Resort, MANY fighting games (Darkstalkers, Fatal Fury, Mortal Combat which Doctor quickly noticed and stopped Xiaomu from playing with the 8 year old, and more), Dr. Mario, and more, finally, they played Tetris.

And both won a round.

“Alright! Down to the wire!” Xiaomu said.

“I wouldn't have it any other way!” Trucy said. The two played. Neck and neck. Blocks falling, placings at breakneck speed. Complete concentration. Blocks rapidly disappearing. Garbage blocks appearing! Tetris Type A playing loudly! And then Phoenix showed up. Trucy quickly abandoned the game and went to see her dad, she was happy to see her daddy but also happy she beat Xiaomu once

[hekate1308]

Fictober 2022, #28

Prompt: “We all have our reasons“

Fandom: Star Trek TOS

Rating: G

Pairings: Spirk

My very first Star Trek TOS fanfic... Enjoy!

Leonard had had a bad feeling about this planet in the first place. While they didn’t have much information, everything indicated that the flora and fauna were rather hostile to human life, but of course, better reason had never kept Jim from doing what he considered his duty, and during their mission, this meant exploring strange new worlds such as this very planet, so here they were.

Spock had immediately begun to scan the area with Sulu’s help, while he and  M'Benga had gone to investigate some of the plants – you never knew, there might be something new to learn that could help them in the long run – while Jim was checking the perimeter with a few other members of the away team.

Of course today of all days something had to go wrong. Granted, he usually thought so, because when things went awry, they tended to do it in a spectacular fashion, but still.

It had been inevitable, because of course Jim Kirk would jump in front of a crewman when a non-identifiable animal attacked them. Of course he would. His ship, his crew, his duty.

And so, they were busy when they hard the screams and hurried over.

It didn’t surprise him to see Spock already kneeling over the captain. There were some things one couldn’t overlook, neither as a doctor nor as a friend.

“What happened” he asked, dropping down next to the prone body and adjusting his scanner.

The shaken crewman was just about able to tell him.

“Anything on the creature?”

“It appears that it fled into the jungle.”

“So we’ll have to go with descriptions” he said, alarmed at the readings he was getting. They definitely should not be spiking like this, not with a human. “We need to get him back to the Enterprise, now!”

Spock, as always efficient and reliable when he needed to be (you wouldn’t hear him tell the pointy-ear menace that any time soon, though) nodded and they did what needed to be done.

The trouble was, once they had Jim at the sick station, Leonard had no idea how to proceed. The animal or alien was still missing, even though Sulu and the rest of the away time where desperately trying to find it, and Jim… well, he seemed to be stabilizing.

But for all of that, he didn’t wake up. It made no sense. There had been that first spike in the readings, but after that, nothing. Why wouldn’t he wake up? He’d already tried everything.

“Thank you, Nurse”.

“Oh, Doctor… excuse me, but…”

“Yes?” he asked. Nurse Chapel had a lot of experience, and he knew that that was almost always more worth than any fancy education or title.

“What if this is not a physiological problem, but a mental one? We know there are substances out there that can put people in a trance of sorts.”

He glanced at Jim. “You may be right, but how are we supposed to get him out of that if it’s the case?”

They looked at one another and had the same thought, saying almost at the same time, “Spock.”

He called unto the bridge, expecting Spock to tell him to wait for the end of his shift or that he had to find someone to take over, but without mentioning any of the kind, he told him he would be right down and arrived barely two minutes later.  

Now, he knew that Vulcans were hesitant when it came to mind melts, as they had every right to be, and –

The second he was done explaining, Spock asked for privacy to perform the necessary procedure, as he called it.

He knew better than to argue when he used this tome of voice (at least in emergencies) so he complied.

Five minutes later, Spock called him back in and to his utter relief, he found the Captain sitting up in bed, a little tired but nothing the worse for wear.

Jim soon fell asleep with one last thankful smile aimed at them both.

As the Vulcan was leaving, he just had to ask. “Spock, why did you agree to the mind-melt so quickly? I can imagine that many other Vulcans would have wanted to discuss it further…”

Uncharacteristically, Spock hesitated, his uncertainty plain to read for everyone on his face. It was so unexpected that Leonard almost felt taken aback by the sight.

Then, just as he had given up on actually getting a reply, he said, "That may be. We all have our reasons, Doctor."

And with one last look back at Jim, he left.

As he resumed his own duties, he couldn’t help but reflect on those reasons. On the one side – on the one side Vulcan traditions, an upbringing that had taught their Science Officer (and his friend, although he wasn’t too eager to admit that, even to himself) to control his emotions to the point were it was easy to make the mistake – he himself had done it – to think that he didn’t have any.

On the other, a human side that yearned for human connection, that was reaching for –

He glanced at their captain’s sleeping form and concentrated back on the tasks at hand.

[acourtofsnakes]

Haalur - Rogue, Chapter 17| The Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader (f)

Summary: Din begins the frantic race for your life, desperate not to lose you. 

Warnings: Swearing, injury, drowning, talks of death, brief mention of suicide, angst, fluff

AN: The good times start from here, folks. I’ve put you all through enough ♥︎

AN: I highly recommend listening to Bruises by Lewis Capaldi for this chapter for the vibes 🖤

Credit to whoever owns the gif 🖤

Word count: 5.5k +

Rogue Taglist:  @snipskixandbeskar​   @weirdowithnobeardo​  @the-bottom-of-the-abyss  @jackgrzs  @sarahjkl82-blog  @boomtownboy @goldielocks2004  @seninjakitey  @what-iwish-you-knew @queenofthefaceless  @rosiefridayrogersunday  @greeneyedblondie44 @itsnottilly  @welcometothepedroverse​

Rogue Masterlist | Introduction| 1: Solus| 2: Arir | 3: Tor | 4: Gaa'tayl | 5: Kyr’am | 6: Cabur | 7: Ret'urcye Mhi | 8: Haran| 9: E’tad | 10: Tome | 11: Aliit ori'shya tal'din| 12: Mar’eyce | 13: Kov’nyn| 14: Ne’tra| 15: Or’dinii| 16: Dar| 17: Haalur| 

Mando’a Translation: Haalur - Breathe

As soon as you were sucked into the water, Din felt a terror so potent that he was sure he had just died. It gripped his heart, pulverising it in his chest and making it hard to think, breathe or even see. 

He was rigid, unable to comprehend what was happening, before Grogu’s repeated warning cry jolted him awake. 

Din hesitated no longer. 

He sprinted across the surface of the lake, going too fast to worry about the huge cracks forming under his feet. 

The stretch to where you had fallen seemed like miles, like you were getting further and further away despite the closing distance. 

By the time he made it, the hole had already begun to freeze back over, and Din frantically smashed at it with the heel of his boot. He couldn’t risk shooting at it, in case he caught you in the firing line. 

With a suitable hole made, he turned on the flashlight on his helmet, sucked in a deep breath, and then dived straight in. 

Immediately, the sub-zero temperature of the water gripped his ribs like a vice, a cold so intense it felt like his bones would snap under the force of it.

Glacial water immediately gushed in under his helmet, choking him with the bitter taste, burning his eyes and rendering him blind for a moment. 

He choked, thrashing around for a moment as he struggled to breathe.

“Calm down.” He snapped at himself, “Stop panicking. Breathe. This isn’t about you.”

 Saving you, that’s all that mattered. 

Din allowed his body to relax, to will his heart to slow down. 

He moved his head around, searching the cloudy, pitch-black depths for any trace of you. 

The weight of your clothes and the force of your drop would have sucked you down quickly, and Din felt the clock begin to tick down, the timer of your life being thrust into his hands. 

He shifted his body around, using the ice above his head to push himself down and begin to swim for you. 

It was just so dark down here, like he’d gone through the ice and emerged up into space, blindly navigating the cloudy abyss whilst searching for the one person he wanted to give everything to. 

Panic and terror fuelled his strokes, the weight of his armour aided him in sinking deeper. 

It might have been hours; it may only have been seconds. 

Din’s lungs burned, and his head throbbed with the pressure of the arctic water. 

Every pound of his heart reminded him that your own may have stopped - 

There!

Sinking slowly to the bottom of the water, looking like you were plucked straight from the stories the elders used to tell him, there you were. 

Eyes closed and lashes brushing your cheekbones… like this, in the dim light from his helmet, you could simply be asleep. 

He nearly sobbed in relief, scrabbling in the water and he tugged you gently to his body, holding you against him and he started to kick toward the surface. 

But it was harder, more of an effort this time.

He was graceful on land, able to move with the ease of a shadow even with the armour but underwater, his beloved protective shell made him cumbersome, the weight combining with your limp body threatening to drag him down. 

He kicked his legs harder, keeping his head focused on the ice above. He was desperate to open his mouth, to suck in air, even though it would only be a mouthful of bitter, icy water. 

Din didn’t have the time to worry about his own rapidly clouding vision. 

Your clock was nearing its end, the thread of your life fraying and unwinding from his own.

Just when he thought he might simply pass out, that the pair of you would sink back down, maybe be devoured by the creatures that he had luckily avoided so far, he saw it. The opening. 

Though it had begun to freeze, it was just visible with the strange light filtering through. He fumbled for his blaster, shielding your head and he shot at the ice, quickly rushing up to the gap it opened. 

He hauled himself up, depositing you gently onto the side of the ice and then he dragged himself over the edge, sodden fingers scrabbling on the ice as he collapsed next to you. 

Din sucked in a few deep breaths for a moment, coughing and spluttering but then he turned his attention back to you. 

He rolled you gently on your back, and his heart constricted at what he saw. 

Your lips were already a purple-blue colour, like a bruise. The water on your skin had already frosted over, giving you the appearance of being encased. Your hair crackled as it froze together in matted knots and you just looked… well, dead. 

He fumbled with his gloves, willing his numb fingers to cooperate and he eventually yanked them off, pressing them against the soft, cold skin of your neck. 

Nothing.

Din blinked a few times. 

That’s not possible… You’re just unconscious, you’re just… you’re not-

He shook his hands out, trying to get the blood flowing in them again, that’s all it was. His hands were too cold. 

He pressed them to your neck again, but… your pulse that usually beat so strongly, so familiarly… it wasn’t there. 

You were dead.

“No, no, no, no, no-“ He burst into a frenzy, ripping your cloak out of the way and he begun to do compressions on your chest, remembering the movement from battles far and wide. When all the tech failed, when the sprays and med-kits didn’t work, this was the last resort. Manually encouraging a heart to begin to beat again. 

But what if it didn’t want to?

No. 

He couldn’t think like that. 

He kept the compressions in time with the counting in his head, pausing every now and then to pinch your nose shut and blow air into your lungs. 

Except the more he did, the more he heard the bubbly sound of the air hitting water. 

Your lungs…you must have somehow swallowed the icy water, which was stopping you from being able to breathe. 

“Okay, okay... lift her up. Get rid of the water.” He whispered the instructions to himself, and then followed them. 

He braced your chest against his arm, leaning you forward so your head was tilted and then he delivered a harsh smack between your shoulder blades. 

The movement jolted your body but did nothing to remove the water. 

So, he tried again, and then again harder. 

He heard it shift, and a small trickle of water just slightly dripped form your lips, so he began a frantic routine of compressions, mouth-to-mouth and then smacking the water from your lungs. 

It might have been hours, or only minutes, but his instinct was telling him what his heart couldn’t bear to acknowledge. 

It wasn’t working. 

He couldn’t lose you. 

He just couldn’t. 

You were everything he needed, every single possible thing. You both slotted together, the cracks and dents in your souls fitting and securing each other. 

This couldn’t be it. 

The relentless hand of the clock was slowing, each tick becoming heavy and tolling, taunting him. 

Din sobbed, gripping you against his chest, rocking from side to side, “You can’t leave me. You can’t do this.” The tears that slid down his cheeks were hot, almost stinging against is frigid skin, “You promised me you wouldn’t leave me. It was supposed to be me, you and the kids remember? A clan of three. Clans don’t just leave each other.” He rested the forehead of his helmet on the top of your head, his chest aching, everything in him just hurting as he held the dead weight of you against his body. 

Grogu’s sniffling sobs, and Duru’s broken yowling provided the only other noise in this barren, frozen land of death. A heartbreaking symphony to the scene unfolding. 

Over and over, Din mumbled to you, “You promised, you promised, you promised-“

How could you do this to him? How could he have let you be ripped out from under him?

He was going to do it. He was going to tell you how he felt when you’d left this planet. 

It was all planned in his head, exactly what he wanted to say. 

He’d even splashed out some extra credits and bought the sweet treats you loved, storing them safely away so they’d stay fresh. 

He didn’t even get to show you his true face…

A frustrated, desperate growl slipped from his clenched jaw, and he braced you over his arm again, delivering one final blow to the middle of your back that he knew would leave a bruise, that even stung his hand. 

Silence. 

Din closed his eyes, feeling his entire being split in two, everything he had built and hoped for shatter in front of him like the ice that had stolen you. 

What was he supposed to do now?

The clock had stopped ticking. 

~~

~~~

You were floating. 

It was quiet here, peaceful. 

There wasn’t a darkness, so much as an absence of light and… things. It wasn’t warm and it wasn’t cold… and there was noise yet… silence, all at the same time. 

You don’t know how long you floated for, just being at peace, but you felt a warm breeze wash over your face, smelling of flowers and something sweet. 

It was a smell from your childhood, one you hadn’t been near in… too long. 

Your mother. 

“Hello, my sweet darling.” 

“Hello, mama… I’ve missed you so much...”

“I know, my dear. We’ve missed you too. We’ve always been watching… So, so proud of you.” 

“Proud of me? Mama, how can you be proud of me? The things I’ve done… the people I’ve hurt... you didn’t raise me to hurt people, mama. You shouldn’t be proud.” 

A new scent suddenly appeared, rich, earthy and a little spicy almost, “We raised you to take care of yourself, starlight. However, you need to. You’ve grown, sweetheart. You’re a warrior.” 

“But papa… I don’t want to keep hurting people. I… I hurt people every day by lying to them. By putting them in danger-” You felt your throat close, tears springing to your eyes even though you were both everything and also nothing in this floating world. 

You felt a phantom caress over the top of your head, the same feeling you used to have when your father brushed back your hair, “My sweet starlight, you do not bring danger to people. You are a joy to them; you help them see the world through a different set of eyes. Through eyes that see wonder and beauty even in the darkest of places.” 

You felt the brush of your mother, stroking her fingers on the back of your cheek, “You have always been such a wonder, darling. You feel everything so intensely. Such happiness that shines from you like sunlight, sadness that drowns you like a wave, anger that burns as fierce as the brightest flame in the darkest night… I know it’s hard sometimes, sweetheart, I know that sometimes you want to give up… But there are people that need you.” 

Your heart ached in your chest, feeling both heavy and light, “But… I can’t help but feel…” 

You might have seen your mother smile in the darkness, her head resting on your father’s shoulder, “You feel that you are a burden… Darling, you’re not. I assure you. People need you in their life… The Mandalorian needs you...” 

That surprised you. “Din… needs me?” 

A gentle, rough chuckle that belonged to your father, “Of course, starlight. He needs you far more than you know. Do not let go of him… The threads of your life are so tightly entwined... you have belonged to each other since the Maker and the stars decided it.” 

“Okay…” 

“It’s time to wake up now, sweetheart…” Your mother’s voice was sweet, fading a little. 

“Can’t I stay here with you and papa? It’s been so long…” 

Your father’s voice faded as well, “I know, starlight… But we’ll see you again. There are other people that need you more now… We love you, starlight..” 

“I love you too, mama, and you too, papa..” 

“Goodbye, my love...” 

~~

~~~

Awareness came rushing back to you with complete and utter sheer intensity. 

The biting cold wind, the ice beneath your limp body.

You could hear frantic sobs, mumbling in a familiar deep baritone, “Haalur, haalur, haalur, haalur. Come on, princess, please… Please. You promised me.” The voice was tight, leashed emotion barely restrained. 

There was a sharp thud on your back, and then another, right between your shoulder blades. 

Something inside your lungs shifted, and then exploded as you erupted into deep coughing, choking up the bitter water. 

That power inside you seemed to me forcing the water up as well, pushing it up out of your chest, aiding in helping you breathe. 

It came pouring out of you, coming out of your mouth and your nose in a vast torrent, choking you and burning like fire despite how cold it was. 

Dimly, you heard a strangled noise of relief, “Oh.” And arm leaning you even further forward, supporting your body and rubbing your back, over the bruise already forming, “Easy, princess…”

Everything hurt. 

But it wasn’t “I’ve just been punched whilst fighting for my life” sort of hurt. 

This was… so much deeper than that. 

This kind of pain lived in every weak thud of your heart. 

The frantic shivering of your body only jolted each broken part, but you couldn’t stop shaking. You were just so cold. 

It ravaged your lungs raw with each gasping breath, but you were unable to slow it down, because you needed the oxygen now that you had emptied half of the lake from your body. 

You needed more. 

There simply wasn’t enough, you were drowning again, sucked under into that deep abyss and trapped beneath the surface, your lungs filling up and freezing – 

“Easy, easy, darling.” A hand rubbed your back, coaxing your airways to open up, “I’ve got you. You’re safe now… Haalur…” 

Of course, it was Din… who else would dive headfirst into a frozen lake to save you. 

You became aware of his arms, one supporting your chest to lean your limp body forward, and the other across your back. His hand continued to rub soothing circles on your back, mumbling, “Haalur…” softly, over and over. You had a feeling he wasn’t just doing it for you, but for himself as well, like he was using the rhythmic motions to hold back some kind of flood of emotion. 

You forced your sluggish brain to focus on the parts of him you could feel, your eyes still a little too blurry and just… so heavy. You were so tired. And so damn cold. 

You tried to speak, to ask him if he was okay, but your aching throat cracked and gave out on the first syllable of his name. A soft whimper escaped your lips, fresh tears rolling down your cheeks and you tapped at his hand. 

Din understood, because he gently eased his arm under your legs, scooping you up into his arms and keeping both sodden capes around you. “I’ve got you, it’s okay.” His voice sounded all funny, all bubbly and full of static, presumably from the water. 

Guilt wracked through your body, and you tilted your head up to look at his helmet. You wanted to touch it, but your arms felt too heavy to move. You swallowed, managing to barely croak, “Y-your helmet…” 

Din shook his head slightly, whistling for Duru and Grogu and he began to carefully and quickly make his way across the lake toward the bank, “Don’t worry about it.” 

Ice sparkled on your lashes as you blinked, dancing across your vision like little sprites lulling you to sleep, “But...” 

Din shook his head harder, helmet focused forward, not looking at you, “Helmets can be fixed. You cannot.” Below the static, his voice was hoarse, from the crying you’d heard before you fully came back to yourself. 

But… there was something else. An underlying note of… anger? 

You decided to keep silent. 

The gentle sway of Din’s body didn’t help the internal struggle you were having not to fall asleep.

With his footsteps as a steady ambience, you allowed yourself to succumb to the darkness, where there was no pain. Only peace and the scent of leather, metal and something woodsy that was distinctly him. 

~~

“Cyar'ika?”

That familiar voice was reaching through the darkness again, pulling you back toward the surface.

“Hey, open your eyes…” 

A gentle tap against your face tugged you upward, and you struggled through the veil for a moment before it all came rushing back in at once. 

The fuzziness cleared and you saw that Din was looking down at you, the planet too dark to allow you to see your refection in his visor. 

His shoulders seemed to slump in relief when he saw you awake, and he looked away quickly. He fiddled with something and then you heard the ramp open, “Keep your eyes open.” There was a trace of command in his voice, enough that it riled you just a little. 

You had just died after all. 

“Why? I’m freezing and I’m tired.” Your voice was still hoarse, but the rest he had dragged you out of seemed to have helped. 

Din walked up the ramp, closing it behind him, “Because I don’t want you dying on me again. That’s why.” His voice was thick, a little ragged. He propped you up on a low crate, leaning your back against the wall of the Crest. He reached into a box, and then removed the two sodden cloaks, and replaced it with a thick, dry blanket. 

Duru jumped up opposite, with Grogu in her mouth and pair watched you with large, worried eyes. 

The warmth surrounded you, making you audibly sigh in relief and it perked you up just a little, despite the shivers that still wracked your body – and the strange atmosphere coming off of Din. You tugged the blanket a little higher, leaning into the wall. 

Little did you know, now that you were… somewhat okay, his fear had turned into absolute seething frustration. Not directly at you, more the situation. 

You watched silently as he rummaged in the med-kit for something, the line of his shoulders taut beneath the frosty armour that was slowly beginning to thaw. 

Din turned to face you, holding a bacta-injection in his hands, “Show me.” He motioned to your side, where Haran had driven his lightsaber through you. 

A slightly hysterical laugh bubbled out of your chest, “You’re kidding, right? There is no way you’re coming near me with that.” You would have crossed your arms, if you’d had the energy. But you didn’t, so you settled for raising your eyebrows at him in a disbelieving manner. 

He walked over to you, stopping in front of you. “I need to make sure it isn’t infected. I know it’s already cauterised but who knows what you picked up in that lake. Show me.” His voice was firm, no room for argument. 

You swallowed, watching the frost on his armour melt and roll down the armour in rivulets. “We might need it some other time. It’s expensive… I don’t need it. I’m fine. Truly.” You shivered again, a wave of cold washing over your body as water ran off of your hair and down your back. 

Din sighed, “You’ll face off against a creature four times the size of you, but you won’t face one tiny injection?” That strange, clipped tone was back in his voice and you started to realise he might be mad at you. 

Still avoiding his stare, you nodded once, still watching those water droplets. 

Din muttered something you didn’t hear from the static in the modulator and made as if to turn around. 

You relaxed, closing your eyes but then suddenly, you felt a sharp stinging just under your ribs and then a push of liquid being forced into your body. 

That bastard!

A snarl worked its way up from your chest and your eyes snapped open. “Hey!” You glared at him, eyes spitting fire and a little hurt, “What the hell did you do that for! I said no!” 

Din growled himself, pointing a finger in your direction, “You don’t get to make the decisions tonight. I do.” He threw the empty syringe to the side, and then scooped you back into his arms. 

Struggling slightly, you made a noise of dissent, “So, you’re going to lock me up somewhere now, are you?” 

He practically stomped through the levels of the ship, making his way to the living area, “No.” He walked down the hall and opened the door to the ‘fresher, “I’m warming you up considering you’re still shivering so hard I can hear your teeth grinding.” He swiped the small collection of cleaning supplies off of the ledge, and then set you down inside, leaning you against the wall and the small ledge. 

Okay, so he had a point there.

But that didn’t mean he had to be so… Din about it. 

“I can get myself in here you know.” 

Din turned his attention to the taps, “Mmhm. I’ll believe you when you can take off your tunic.” 

Your cheeks coloured just slightly at that, but ever the stubborn one, you reached down and fumbled with the ties that held the outer tunic together. 

It was just a simple knot holding the lacing together, but your hands were still numb and uncooperative, and you couldn’t gather the strength to grip the string. 

You clenched your jaw, knowing Din was watching you and you absolutely hated it when he was right. 

Almost as much as you hated being this weak and helpless. 

Gloved hands gently pushed yours out of the way, and within seconds, he had freed the laces and tugged the tunic off of your body, leaving you in the long-sleeved undershirt. He threw it out of the shower with a wet thump, “You were saying?” He fiddled with the taps again, and then warm water cascaded down over your body. 

Despite Din’s frustration with you, you sighed in delight. The water probably wasn’t even that warm in reality, but compared to your icy body, it felt like absolute heaven. 

After a few moments, you couldn’t bear the tense silence. 

Peering at Din, you saw that he was leaning against the wall watching you, overly tense and you realised he was trying to hide the fact he was shivering himself. The armour would have been like cubes of ice on his body, trapping the cold in the damp underclothes that clung to his skin. 

You cocked your head, feeling coming back into your body now, “You should be in here too… You must be as cold as I am.” 

He shook his head, “I’ll wait.” 

Stubborn. 

“Din, you and I know both know the hot water won’t last. Stop being a stubborn ass and get in here.” You pointedly closed your eyes, to show you wouldn’t look. 

You heard him hesitate, but a few seconds later, you heard the sounds of metal on the floor as he shed his armour, and then felt his presence as he stepped in with you. 

A soft sigh escaped his lips, and you couldn’t help the smile that just tugged at your lips, “See, I told you.” 

Din snarled again, very quietly, “Shut up.” 

Surprise filtered across your expression, making you raise your eyebrows, “Excuse m-“

“I said, shut up. You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to make jokes after what just happened. Not this time.” There was something behind his words, the sense of that breakdown that he had been holding back on the ice. 

But still, how was this your fault? “Why am I getting the blame? What could I possibly have done wrong? I didn’t ask to be stabbed with a lightsaber, or fucking drown! If you have a problem, go and sort it out with Rena, Haran – whatever the fuck his name is. Not me!”

Din laughed, but it was cold, almost somewhat hysterical, “Oh don’t worry, princess. I plan to.” He moved closer to you, creating a darker shadow across your darkened eyelids. “But I am mad at you. I am… furious with you.” He stopped just in front of you, the slight raggedness of his breathing audible, “I warned you not to call him, or get involved with him. And you didn’t listen to me.”

You opened your mouth in protest but felt his bare finger press against your lips. 

“No.” There was that tone from that night, in the kitchen when it was all command and pent-up emotion. “You talk when I say.” He removed his finger, but stayed close, “You went ahead and called him anyway. I don’t know why, and I’m not going to ask, but how could you not think something would happen? All I knew, was being in this damn shower, and then everything exploded. I felt the Crest go down, I heard you scream. By the time I got my armour back on and got out of here, I didn’t even know which way was up. I couldn’t get to you.” 

His words were slowly getting a little quicker, and it floored you because in the entire time you had known him… this was the most he had ever spoken. 

That was the only reason you bit back your retorts and stayed silent. 

You heard him suck in another breath, “When I woke up, I searched this whole ship, this whole fucking ship three times over. I couldn’t find you, or Grogu, or even Duru. You were all just… gone. I didn’t know if any of you were alive, if you’d been hurt, if you were stuck somewhere, if someone had taken you. 

I went out straight away, and all I could think was… what if I couldn’t get to you in time?” His voice was choked a little, still mixed with frustration and you heard him pace across the tiny area of the refresher. This had really shaken him, allowed him to feel a fear so potent he didn’t think it was possible. 

If you opened your eyes, he would still have his helmet on, but you would see the rapid rise and fall of his armourless chest, see the way he held his body, like he was preparing for battle as all of these emotions and words tore out of him, like he could no longer stop them. 

The water still poured down over the pair of you as all of this emotion cascaded out of him, “When I saw your arrows on the floor and the dead Trooper, I knew you were alive.” He paused for a breath, or maybe to try and stop his outpouring?

Either way, you took the advantage, “How? How could you know I’m alive just from arrows and a dead Stormtrooper?” 

You felt him look at you, his voice softening for a moment and sounding sort of… proud? “Because if you were killed, there would have been a hell of a lot more mess. You wouldn’t have gone down without a fight. It was too clean, so I knew you were hurt. And then… Then I felt it. A pull toward you. I ran, so hard, so fast and when I saw you, trapped on that lake-” He cut off with a soft noise, “My entire world stopped. He had you. He had you there and I couldn’t do anything to stop It without risking you or the kid. And I shouldn’t have hesitated like I did, I shouldn’t have sat there and let him dictate his terms. I should have just killed him as soon as I saw you and none of this would have happened.” 

He was starting to spiral into guilt, you could feel it, and it physically pained you to hear him blame himself, “Din, stop. Please. None of this was your fault, none of it at all.”

“No! It is my fault!” His cry was so different to his usual lower baritone, that for a moment you thought he was someone different. “The only reason you went to him, is because I haven’t made you comfortable enough to trust me. To trust me with… whatever it is you went to him for.”

He carried on too quickly for you to register where he was going with that. “You were kidnapped by him, because of me. He hurt you, and did Maker knows what to you, because I couldn’t protect you. You went into that lake, you nearly died… because of me.” His voice cracked on the word ‘died’ and broke to a whisper at the end. 

It tore straight through you, and you pushed off from the wall, stumbling the few steps to him blindly and you rested your hands up onto his helmet, “Din…”

His hands flew up, grasping your wrists by instinct but then they softened, holding them gently, “Please don’t tell me otherwise.” You could barely hear him over the sound of the water. 

Ignoring him anyway, you forged on, willing him to understand with your words since you couldn’t let him read your eyes, “None of this was because of you. You have made me feel comfortable and safer than I ever have before, in my entire life. I trust you, completely. What happened to me, today, it was my fault. My foolishness, so please, please stop blaming yourself.” 

It was like Din didn’t even hear you, like your words floated in one side of his helmet and dropped out the other, “Do you know what I would have done? If I hadn’t been able to save you on the ice?” 

Tightness gripped your heart, and you shook your head, “Don’t.”

He grasped your wrists a little tighter, “I would have hunted Haran down and killed him and then I would have taken Grogu and Duru to Peli. And given her the Crest, she’d look after it. Or sell it for parts. Either way, it would have been in good hands. And then I would have lain you to rest, somewhere beautiful and peaceful, like you always talked about.” 

You tried to pull your hands away, but he held fast to you, gently, “Din, stop. Please don’t say it, please-“

“And then I would have laid down next you, taken off all my armour and I would have driven a blade into my own heart.” 

A hard flinch ran across your body, and you shook your head fiercely even though the action made your head swim, “Don’t you dare say that again. I don’t even want to think about you doing that, Din. Why would you even do that? Why wouldn’t you just live out the rest of your life in peace? Go to that Sanctuary planet you talked about and be free? Don’t throw away everything you’ve been through because of my own stupidity.” You yanked your arms free, backing up a few steps and stumbling up against the wall again. 

The shadows shifted and you knew Din was following you forward, “Because I would have failed you. I do not deserve to live after it’s my fault you died. Grogu shouldn’t be brought up by someone who can’t save the people he lo – cares about.”

You made a noise of frustration, turning away so your back was to him, opening your eyes and you glared at the wall, tears stinging your eyes, “Just stop!! I don’t deserve that! How can you talk so easily of throwing your life away for someone like me! Just stop, Din – it’s ridiculous.” 

Even though your parents words echoed in your mind, you just… couldn’t believe them. 

Din’s hands rested on your shoulders, “It’s not ridiculous, cyar'ika. It’s the truth.” He said it so simply, so easily and that just made you even more frustrated. 

“No!” You shook your shoulders, ignoring the bolt of paint hat ran through your side, “It’s not the truth. You can’t just leave the kids without a father; you can’t just lay down and die just because I’m not here. I don’t mean that much to you, Din, honestly.  I’m a pain. All I’ve done since I came here is cause you more grief. So, if you say one more time that you’ll die for me, I’ll – I’ll..”

“You’ll what?” 

You swallowed, a tear rolling down your cheek, “I’ll leave.” The words stung, low words that hit below the belt, but Din had to understand. “You have to understand, Din. I am not worth that.”

He remained close but didn’t touch you. His words were in that rumbly baritone again, the one that shot straight through you, “You have to understand, princess, that I can’t stand here and listen to you talk about yourself like that. You are worth everything. All of this, all these people after us, the old and the new, it doesn’t bother me. I don’t care.” 

You groaned, raking your fingers through your knotted hair in frustration, “You’re not listening to me!!” 

Din’s voice rose, equally as riled up again, “No, you’re not listening to me! I’m trying to tell you what I’ve been thinking about for… fuck, for months. And you’re not hearing it, you’re not listening to what I’m saying!! Just like always.” 

Without thinking, you spun round, eyes blazing, and you waved your hands in the air, even if it did make the floor feel like it was swaying, “Then what do you have to say, Din? What are you so desperately trying to tell me? Huh?” 

Din didn’t react to you seeing him in his helmet and black underclothes. It was like he didn’t care. 

His hands were shaking at his sides, curling and uncurling into fists, “I’m trying to say that – that I..”

You rose your eyebrows, “Well? Come on, spit it out if it’s bothering you so much that I won’t understand. The floors all yours, Din. You have something to say-” 

Before you’d even finished speaking, he cut you off, shouting above you and the water, 

“I love you.”

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