#guest bird beast

[bumblesimagines]

The Beasts of The North

Request: Yes or No

Summary: When Jace travels to the North to meet with the Lord of Winterfell, he expects to meet the well-known Wolf the North. What he didn't expect was a bear residing in Winterfell as well.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical GoT/HOTD warnings, unknown age gap since (Y/N) is early to mid twenties and Cregan is mid twenties, technically not HOTD Cregan personality or appearance wise rip (inspired by Cordeliacordate on Ao3's interpretation of Cregan),

So sorry to Tom Taylor but he is not what I envision when I think of Cregan 😭 I always saw Cregan looking more like Roman Reigns or Alexander Dreymon as Uhtred

~~~

By the time the sun began to rise, Winterfell had already come alive with the hustle and bustle of servants, residents, and villagers coming and going as they began their routines. The mixture of chatter, laughter, occasional yipping of a dog, and the sound of birds singing and squawking floated through the cracked open window, reaching the ears of the two men lying beneath bundles of furs and blankets to keep them warm from the cold. 

"Cregan," (Y/N) sighed, sleep oozing out of him ever so slowly. The bed just felt oh so comfortable and heavenly, enticing him to sleep for a few more hours. There was much to be done, though, and he couldn't allow himself nor Cregan to forget lest they risked an earful from Sara. "The princeling will likely arrive today." 

"Aye," Came the gruff, sleepy response from the lord, his strong arms still coiled tightly around (Y/N) and showing no signs of releasing him so they could both begin their day. Instead of climbing out of bed and preparing himself for the day ahead, Cregan pulled (Y/N) closer to his chest and nuzzled his face against the back of his neck, the fuzz of his beard scratching and tickling him.

(Y/N) pushed his cheek into the soft silk of the pillow beneath his head, savoring the feeling for a moment before he forced himself to sit up and detach from Cregan. One of the furs slipped downward from his chest, exposing his skin to the coldness of the room, though (Y/N) had grown acclimated to the harsh temperature of the North. Cregan made a low rumbling noise of discontentment, his hands blindly searching for his lover but (Y/N) slipped out of bed before Cregan could wrangle him back into his embrace. 

"We wouldn't wish to leave a bad impression on the princeling, would we, Cregan?" (Y/N) spoke teasingly, echoing back the words Sara had told them when they received word of Prince Jacaerys intent to fly out to Winterfell on his dragon. Neither of them were fools, however, and they'd rapidly pieced together the reason why when they received word of the boy prince's uncle, Aegon Targaryen, being crowned in King's Landing over Rhaenyra Targaryen. War was brewing, and both sides needed an army before it could spill over. 

"Mm," Cregan responded, grunting softly as he pushed himself up against the headboard, the wood creaking beneath the weight of his sturdy back. His black hair had loosened free from the bun he'd wrapped it in before bed, resting and brushing over his shoulders in a mess of bedhair he'd have to brush before they broke their fast. His gray eyes watched him, lingering on (Y/N)'s nether regions with a curl of his lips until they were covered up by pants. "Starks never forget their oaths. We hardly need to be reminded of 'em."

"I detest the idea of a royal guest as much as you do, Cregan, especially one raised to believe in the Seven." (Y/N) reminded him, the warmth of the stone floor digging into the bottom of his feet as he crossed the room to close the window, finding himself thankful for whichever Stark had the idea of building the Great Keep over natural hot springs. Through the window frost, he could see those walking around below, preparing for the feast that'd be held in honor of their guest. "But supporting the boy and his mother would be better than supporting the Hightower lot." 

"The boy," Cregan echoed and chuckled breathily, his fingers scratching at his chin before he tugged the furs and blankets off himself and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He rose with a heavy, still exhausted sigh and approached him, an arm wrapping around his shoulder and lips pressing against his temple. "You're hardly much older than him, I hear. Besides, you were once new to Winterfell. Perhaps you can help him get accustomed to how things are around here." 

"What if he's a spoiled brat and I cannot stand to be around him?" (Y/N) groaned softly at the thought and rolled his head back to rest it on Cregan's shoulder. Cregan smiled and pressed a kiss to his cheek next, his palm lightly squeezing his shoulder before his thumb rubbed into the exposed skin soothingly. (Y/N)'s eyes flickered away from the roof to study the side of his lover's face. "Or what if I like him enough to entice him into bed, hm? What will you do then?"

Cregan laughed heartily and spun him around to press their chests together, his hands dropping to grasp at (Y/N)'s hips and hold him still. He dipped his head and kissed him properly on the lips, swallowing the mischievous giggle that left (Y/N). He grew back with crinkled eyes and pressed his forehead against (Y/N)'s. "I doubt some little princeling will catch your eye, my darling. He'd likely be the one trying to entice you, even with that attitude of yours." 

"That attitude had you tripping over your own feet to sweep me off mine." (Y/N) lightly jabbed his finger into Cregan's chest, feeling the lord's body shake with another laugh. Cregan didn't bother to deny his words and instead pecked the bridge of his nose, rubbing his hands into (Y/N) hips before pulling away to finally get dressed. 

Following suit, (Y/N) collected the rest of his clothes off the floor and slipped out of Cregan's bedchambers into his own across the hall, discarding the old clothes on the bed and greeting the maids that fluttered in to help him get dressed. The wool fabric pressed and dragged against his skin, the layers of clothing warming his chilly skin in a matter of minutes. By the time he finished, Cregan had dressed too, and together they headed down the hall and down a set of stairs. 

"Good morrow, you two." Sara greeted them from her spot by the table and casted them a glance over her shoulder, little Rickon fastened to her hip with two fingers in his mouth. His big brown eyes turned toward them and brightened, a wide smile breaking out on his chubby face at the mere sight of his father. He looked so much like his mother, Lady Arra Norrey, in certain lights, especially in his gleeful moments.

"Hello, my little pup." Cregan greeted softly when he scooped his young son into his arms, nuzzling his nose into the boy's belly just to hear him crack up with laughter. He freely slumped against Cregan's chest and (Y/N) pressed a fleeting kiss to his small temple, a smile tugging at his lips when Rickon giggled in response. 

"Prince Jacaerys should be arriving soon." Sara reminded them like a mother would her children, turning away once she finished her conversation with two servants to face them. Despite her status as a bastard, Sara took care of things around Winterfell just as much as Cregan and (Y/N) did, perhaps more than them. Her pale blue eyes, nearly the same shade of gray as Cregan's, flickered between the two lovers. "His room will be beside (Y/N)'s. I do hope you'll behave yourselves." 

Their smirks only made her roll her eyes and heave a sigh, her hands smoothing out the bottom of her dress as she sat beside them at the table. (Y/N) dug into his breakfast with eagerness, the subtle ache in his stomach disappearing with each gulp of food and juice until his plate was clean. He dapped at his lips with his handkerchief before brushing the crumbs from Rickon's chin, his eyes softening and a gentle smile spreading across his face. Cregan swooped in to kiss the top of his head, an act those around them hardly batted an eye at. 

"My Lord, My Lady, Ser" Maester Orwen called out when he entered the room, dipping his head in respect and greeting. He shuffled closer to them, his hand brushing over Rickon's head affectionately. "There have been reports of a dragon not far from here, My Lord. It appears our guest will soon be arriving." 

"Thank you, Maester Orwen." Cregan sighed and stood from the table, handing Rickon off to his sister with a kiss to the boy's temple before he motioned with a nod for (Y/N) to come along to greet their new royal guest. (Y/N) grimly realized he never bothered asking for how long the prince would be staying with them and gave a heavy sigh.

Maester Orwen followed the two men out into the chilly morning air, the snow crunching beneath their boots and their heads angled toward the gates. (Y/N) knew very little of Prince Jacaerys apart from the rumors circulating his parentage and the fact he was to be his mother's heir as the eldest son, despite the possibility of being a bastard.

An unfamiliar shriek echoed through the air above them and he tilted his head upward to watch the shadow of a dragon pass overhead in awe. It dipped downward toward the ground beyond the walls around Winterfell, the alarmed shouts of villagers quieting with reassuring calls from the guards around. 

The gates soon parted, a lonesome figure stepping through and making his way toward them. (Y/N) had an image in his head of what the Prince would look like; silver-haired, purple eyes, boyish features, and a snobby attitude known to royals and most nobles. That image promptly shattered when Prince Jacaerys stopped before them. His hair, (Y/N) noted, was a chestnut brown color as were his eyes, two notable Targaryen and Velaryon traits he lacked. He was lanky and still appeared boyish due to his age but his features were hardened and eyes determined. No amount of determination, however, would cover up the trembling of his body. His clothes lacked a layer or two to keep him fully warm from the cold.

"Prince Jacaerys Velaryon," Maester Orwen greeted and bowed, offering him a friendly and welcoming smile despite the glances and disinterest of those around him. A small smile appeared on Prince Jacaerys face, giving a slight dip of his head in greeting before looking back at Cregan and then at (Y/N). He paled a little at the sight of them, despite his reddened face from the cold insistently nipping at it. "May I introduce the Wolf of the North, Lord Cregan Stark of Winterfell, and our trusted master-at-arms, Ser (Y/N) Mormont of Bear Island. I am Maester Orwen, here for whatever you may require."

"Welcome to Winterfell, Prince Jacaerys," Cregan spoke, voice devoid of most emotions and face largely stoic. (Y/N)'s lips curled at the way Prince Jacaerys adams apple bobbed nervously. His lover was an imposing man, he knew that well. Naturally tall and burly with a piercing stare that sent shivers down even the most hardened of knights. What had most men cowering only made (Y/N) swoon. 

"T-Thank you, Lord Cregan." Prince Jacaerys cleared his throat. "It is a pleasure to meet the both of you. I am here, as you must know, on my mother's behalf-"

"Speaking of politics already?" (Y/N)'s head lolled to the side and Prince Jacaerys eyes flickered back to him, his cracked lips parting and closing. Cregan's features morphed, his lips tugging into a grin and eyes crinkling with amusement as he turned to eye (Y/N). "Straight to the point type of lad, aren't you?"

"What Ser (Y/N) means to ask-" Maester Orwen sent him a swift scolding glare. "-is if you require anything, My Prince. We could have a meal or hot bath readied for you, if you'd like to rest after a long... flight." 

Prince Jacaerys lips pressed together, uncertainty written on his face but he looked away when (Y/N) arched a brow at him. "A hot bath sounds lovely, thank you. I, uhm-" He swiped his tongue over his lips and shuffled his feet, his composure rapidly disappearing the moment Maester Orwen stepped away to instruct some servants. "As I was saying, I am here as my mother's envoy to garner support for her cause and claim. Many years ago-" 

"My father, Lord Rickon Stark bent the knee and accepted Rhaenyra Targaryen as the heir to the Iron Throne." Cregan finished for him and spared a glance over his shoulder before he turned to (Y/N), his eyes shimmering with amusement. His hand came to rest along (Y/N)'s midback and (Y/N)'s eyes narrowed. "My love," (Y/N) swore he heard the prince choke quietly on his spit. "Since Prince Jacaerys will be residing in the room next to yours, you should show him the way." 

"There are servants for that, Cregan." (Y/N) squinted at him, the mischief on his face clear as day. "I have squires and wards to train, not to mention-"

"All that can wait for the Prince, can it not?" Bastard.

A brief cheeky grin graced Cregan's handsome features and he leaned in to kiss the area between (Y/N)'s eyebrows, giving his back a pat and nodding to the startled prince before he turned and marched further across the yard to tend to his own duties. (Y/N) watched him go with pursed lips, making a note to himself to get back at him for it later.

"I-"

"Come." (Y/N) ordered sharply, momentarily forgetting the young man before him was royalty and not another clumsy boy he had to shape up. Prince Jacaerys hardly seemed to notice, nearly slipping on the icy stone as his legs quickly moved to follow him into the castle.

(Y/N) led him through the hallways until they returned to the Great Hall, coming to a stop beside Sara and Rickon once more. "Your brother's the worst." He muttered quietly in her ear, earning a soft snort before he turned to the prince. "Prince Jacaerys, this is Sara Snow, Cregan's Stark half-sister. This little lad is Rickon Stark, Cregan's son." 

"Ah," Prince Jacaerys dipped his head in greeting and Sara curtsied as best she could with her nephew in her arms. A wide smile spread across his lips as he took in Rickon, lifting his finger toward the boy and chuckling softly when Rickon wrapped his little fingers around it. "Pleasure to meet you both," Rickon answered in an incoherent babble. 

"I suppose I should show you around since Cregan is..." (Y/N) almost sighed. "Busy."

With Prince Jacaerys proving to be rather obedient and quiet, (Y/N) had little trouble leading him around the castle and showing him the different rooms, halls, and towers connected to it. The prince only piped up to ask questions, mostly regarding the history of Winterfell or about a member of the Stark family until they reached the hall leading to the bedchambers and pushed the door open to Prince Jacaerys temporary room. 

"The bath has already been drawn, Prince, and the belongings you sent ahead have been put away. If you require something and cannot locate anyone else, my bedchambers are to your left and Cregan's bedchambers are across." (Y/N) told him, eyeing the tempting steaming bath before turning to look at the prince. He studied his surroundings curiously. "Is there anything you need as of right now? I have fools to train."

"Are-" Prince Jacaerys cleared his throat once more. "Forgive me if I am overstepping but... are you and Lord Cregan..." He trailed off, the light red color returning to his skin and eyes jumping away from him.

"The Old Gods care not if you lie with someone of the same sex or love them, Prince. I'm sure as a child of the Seven you've been taught differently, but we followers of the Old Gods do not hold the same values." (Y/N) explained simply, watching the prince slowly nod. "Cregan and I are lovers, and if that bothers you, I suggest you deal with it for the duration of your stay." 

"It- It doesn't bother me," Prince Jacaerys assured quickly.

"Good." (Y/N)'s lips dragged into a small smirk. "Welcome to Winterfell, then." 

[amazingabellini]

Every Single Thing 621 is Called on Rubicon

Dog Augmented Human C4-621 You 621 Intruder Illegal Enemy AC Merc Corp AC Registration number Rb23 Raven Callsign: Raven Mercenary Corporate Merc Corporate Dog Interloper Military Force Hostile AC Shameless Coral scavenger Independent Mercenary Hunter Sharp A local An Independent A merc who only kills for credits A real merc G13 G13 Raven Kiddo Freelancer Maggot Fake Redgun Tagalong Sewing club member Not a total amateur Not a pro Corporate Vulture Mere pawn Scavenger Hound of Walter Competition Good for nothing Good for something Wretched vulture Unidentified AC Damn Hyena Rotten Money-grubber Corporate scum Enemy backup One of the infamous Walter's hounds Wallclimber War buddies Comrade Buddy Intruder Doser Shameless Corporate Dog Greedy Mercenary Greedy hound Daring A symbol of resolve Only Other Person That Can Keep Up With Me You Again Old Augmentation Recalcitrant Mutt Vermin Pest The Pest of Rubicon Code 15 Raven the Wallclimber Code 31C Solo Independent Mercenary Pitiful Dog Gen 4 Fine hound Another dead dog Older type of Augmented Human Tourist No ordinary tourist Smart Cookie No slouch A cut above the rest Not afraid of anything Belongs in a museum Freak My favorite little Tourist A certain someone New friend The Freelancer from the dam raid Target Walter's Hound Solo AC Independent Merc Trespasser to Rubicon Walking Advertisement Mascot AC of Unknown Affiliation Suspected Corporate Hire Single AC Code 5, Unknown AC Independent Mercenary Assembly That AC Hostile AC Priority Subject for Termination One helluva merc Hired Operative Intruding AC Grunt Famous Mercenary Fine Soldier One Loose End Corpse Quick on the uptake Not like those savages Cur Scoundrel Oathbreaker Just an AC Patchwork AC Better than the other ACs Like a bird in flight Killer Menace to Rubicon Target for Termination Unknown Intruder Intrusion Attempt Menace Volunteer The Objective Just a Gen 4 Strong Worthy of your name False Alarm Impostor Impressive Pilot Wormkiller Threat to Planetary Closure 20 Iguazus A Real Redgun Not so Special Too Dangerous to Keep Around Not Afraid to Die The Only G13 Who's Managed To Live This Long Strong A Threat Dangerous Another Threat to Rubicon Veteran The Mercenary Who Took Your Name Rat Fool The Big One Corporate pawn Rather Extraordinary Gen 4 Augmentation High Level Threat Strong Candidate One of Allmind's The One Rusty was talking about Head in the Clouds Old-Gen Alive Handler's Hound Old Colleague Subject Beast of burden Guest of Honor The Key Smartass Freelancer Wonderful People Demon Miserable Relic Trigger for the Change to come Dog without a shred of intelligence Not worthy of humanity Stray Dog Obstacle Faithful Hound Biggest Threat Legacy Augmentation The Greatest Obstacle The Liberator of Rubicon The only one The Spark of War The Fires that Haunt Rubicon The Monster who Burned the Stars One With Allmind Aberrations to The Plan Trigger for Coral Release Irregular The Old-Gen Who Could Do It All

The Freelancer Who Had It All

[bettyfrommars]

Dirty Metal Summer

a Dirty Dancing au

masterlist playlist

Part 2: The Hideout

You follow Robin over the resort property line to a place where guests are forbidden and get a glimpse of what goes on behind the scenes.

word count: 3.6k

My blog is 18+ONLY, mature themes, violence, alcohol consumption, eventual smut, fighting, mention of blood, reader is called Bird as a nickname, reader plays the cello. Reader is 21, Eddie is late 20's.

Songs for this chapter: Animal (fuck like a beast)//W.A.S.P. No one like you//Scorpions Mental Health (bang your head)//Quiet Riot Wasted Years//Iron Maiden

a/n: it has been so much fun to pull this out of the rubble and jump back into this world for a rewrite, I hope you enjoy. To my I'm on Fire peeps, there will be a scene in this chapter that feels very similar to something that happened in IOF, and that's because I originally stole it from this fic, thinking I'd never post it, lmao. Thought about changing it, but it's just too perfect. Plus, there will always be a hint of biker Eddie in all of my Eddies.

Sticking close behind Robin, you crossed the arc of a walking bridge over a creek and disappeared on a worn path through the trees.  It was only then that you could finally make out the building where the loud music was coming from.  

It had corrugated metal sides and roof, like a structure you might see on a farm that housed large equipment.  There was a picnic table out front where a few people were seated, and the shell of a vintage automobile with bullet holes in it sat in the weeds.

A little more than a city block away was a modest cabin made from actual logs with an old truck, a van, and a motorcycle parked out front.

“Who lives there?” You nudged Robin.

She stopped to see where you were looking first, and then, “oh yeah, that’s Wayne’s place.  The head maintenance guy.  This is his too,” she gestured to the metal building where the music and shouts were coming from.  “Both him and his nephew Eddie.  Have you met Eddie?”

You absolutely knew who he was, but didn’t want to come off as a stalker, so you shook your head.  

The large sliding door entrance to the building was open about a foot, letting out wafts of smoke and a hazy, golden light.  From over Robin’s shoulder, you could see quite a few bodies moving around in there, and just then came the sound of a glass breaking.  

“Ready?” She smiled back at  you, struggling to hold everything in her arms as she reached for the handle to slide the door open the rest of the way.  

“Let me?” You lurched forward.

“I got it,” she insisted, fumbling one of the guitars before catching it again with a gasp of relief.

You weren’t sure what you’d been expecting to see when she eased the door open the rest of the way, but a topless woman dancing on a table top was not one of them. 

Her hair was bleached blonde, frizzy and teased around her face.  She was tan with a prominent bikini line over her pert breasts, and it looked like she’d just pulled the top of her leopard print spandex dress down to give a little show.  

The song Animal (Fuck like a beast) by W.A.S.P. was blaring and the guys around the table cheered while the woman flipped her hair and worked her hips in a circle.  You were sure you recognized her as one of the waitresses from earlier that night. 

Metalheads of all kinds were crowded together, mingling, and you feared that you stuck out like the proverbial sore thumb. Some were in leather; some wore jean vests with pins and patches all over them.  A handful had long hair that they must’ve tied back or wore under hats while they worked at the resort, but a few of them, like Steve, kept theirs short and tidy, for the most part.  Overhead string lights swayed from high wooden beams, and a chandelier that looked like it was made out of wrenches.  An old, pea green Kelvinator refrigerator and a small kitchenette was to your left, as if someone had lived there at one point, and two couches sat against the wall that were mismatched and worn.  

Most of the crowd of people seemed to be lingering together in the middle, standing there as if waiting for something.  Taking shots, smoking blunts, and making out with each other, blocking you from seeing beyond them.  

Robin signaled to follow her, and you were hesitant to start moving through the masses, holding the guitar case flush to your body, feeling like it was something to hide behind.  You noticed posters on the walls for bands like Judas Priest and Metallica, and on the concrete floor you saw smudges from white chalk markings, dark splotches the color of dried blood, but that was ridiculous.  

You pushed between a girl with a blue mohawk and a guy with a shaved head that was covered in tattoos in a hurry to keep up with your escort, and the two shot you a hard glare.  When you could finally see the far wall, there was an oval, threadbare carpet in the corner with a drum kit set up, three microphones, two amps, and some other equipment that suggested live music would soon be happening.  

“This is where they practice!” Robin shouted over the music, directing you where to put Eddie guitar down.  “We call it The Hideout.”

“'Where who practices?’ You set Eddie’s baby near the wall where she told you to.  

“Eddie and Chrissy’s band,” she motioned for you to stand over at the wall with her. 

“Oh,” you turned to look at the instruments again, heart flopping a little at the idea he would show up at any moment.  “They're playing tonight?”

There was a commotion up ahead and you both turned to look. "Later maybe! The fights are tonight,” again, yelling over the growl of the music.  Now the song was No One Like You by Scorpions, and it sounded like people were cheering at someone who’d just come through the door. 

“Fights?” You leaned in to get more information when everyone started pushing back to make room for whatever was about to happen.  You remembered that one of the guys on the porch earlier that day with Chrissy and Steve had a black eye, and you’d noticed another worker at the resort who had a busted lip, but you hadn’t paused to think that maybe they were somehow connected.

It was then that you saw Eddie appear from out of the sea of bodies, and took a sharp intake of breath, holding it in, afraid to let it out for fear you might whimper.  

He was so beautiful, it made you dizzy. You stood up straight, adjusting yourself, covertly checking to make sure you weren’t perspiring too badly.

He was wearing the tux he’d had on for the show earlier, but the tie and cummerbund were both gone, and his white shirt was unbuttoned almost to his stomach.  You caught a glimpse of tattoos on his chest, and a necklace of some sort. Someone handed him a beer and he threw back a generous gulp.  

“There’s going to be boxing? Here? Tonight?” You were trying to act casual and not stare at him the whole time, but it was hard to tear your attention away.  

“Nothing professional,” she scoffed, folding her arms over her chest, putting her shoulder blades against the wall.  “Just your average bare knuckle street fighting, basically. The guys were doing it to blow off steam, but then some others got involved and people started placing bets, so a whole thing started.”

Eddie unbuttoned the rest of his shirt and took it off, passing it to someone in the crowd.  Your mouth went dry at the sight of his lean muscles under the scattered ink.  He kept his hair tied back and started wrapping white tape around one of his hands while Steve said something in his ear.  

“How do they choose who fights who?” You were invested now, wringing Robin out for any information she had.  

“I don’t know how they figure it out, but the new guys usually fight each other, and then a winner challenges Eddie or Steve or Alex,” she pushed off the wall to get a better look at the center of the room. “But it looks like Eddie is up first.” And then with a smirk she added, “all of the new hotshots at the resort think they can beat Eddie.”

“Can they?” Your voice cracked, eyes locked on the scene.  A guy shorter than Eddie but muscular in a football player type of way, was also shirtless in the circle now, with taped hands and wearing a pair of sweats with the name of a university down the leg. The guy was hopping from foot to foot to keep himself hyped up, punching the air in front of him.

“No one beats Eddie,” there was pride in her voice.  “Looks like the guy he’s fighting tonight is Lance, one of the new ski instructors.  Totally full of himself.”

Steve was wearing a white wife beater and jeans, and he raked a hand through his mop of hair just before pointing in your direction.  Eddie’s gaze followed the line of his finger directly to your stunned face, and then it lingered there.

He seemed to contemplate, wetting his lips, and then he nodded to Steve and was on his way over.

He didn’t have to push people out of the way because they were all quick to part to make room for him.  It wasn’t long before he was standing right in front of you.  You tried not to let your gaze linger on the full curve of his slightly chapped lips, or the way his wavy bangs framed his cherrywood eyes.  On closer inspection, you could see that the necklace he wore was a ball chain with a guitar pick hanging from it.  

Robin opened her mouth to say something, possibly introduce you, but Eddie cut her off.  

“What the hell are you doing here, Princess?” His voice was low with an edge of irritation.  He pulled the chunky metal rings off his fingers one by one as he spoke.

Robin cleared her throat, stepping forward. “She’s with me,” she stuttered a bit nervously, knowing full well she shouldn’t have brought you there.  “She came with me, she’s cool.”

Eddie collected all of the rings in his fist and kept staring at you as if he wanted to hear it from your mouth, not Robin’s.  

Your brain short-circuited for a second and you forgot how to form words when he was so close you could see the detail of the dragon tattoo on his chest.  But then, finally, it came to you:

“I-I carried your baby.”

The second it slipped out, you knew how stupid it sounded.

Unblinking, he gave his rings to Robin, and then he was gone.

You stared at the space where he no longer stood, flushed with embarrassment.  

“I carried your baby?” You repeated in a whisper, covering your face with your hands. 

Someone turned the music down so that Steve’s voice could be heard, and he waved his arms in the air to get everyone’s attention.  

“I don’t have to explain the rules to you, because there are none,” his announcement was met with screams and cheers.  Robin tugged at your arm, signaling for the two of you to get a bit closer to the action.  “First one to hit the ground for whatever reason is the loser.  Just fists, no blades or other stupid tricks.”

At one side of the circle of bodies, Lance the ski instructor was practicing some tight punches, and at the other end, Eddie rolled his neck while Chrissy finished taping the knuckles of his other hand.  It was then that the chalk and the stains on the concrete you saw earlier made sense.  

“You two ready?” Steve put his arm up between them, waiting for their nods, and then, at their signal, he chopped his hand down between them as if he were slicing the air.  

Lance was hopping from foot to foot, trying his best to look like some fancy footwork he saw in a Rocky movie, while Eddie walked casually, giving the guy a hooded, bored stare.  

Eddie could read Lance like a book.  A fight was a lot more than just a mindless throwing of hands, there was a mental prowess and skill needed that a lot of the punks busing in from suburbia did not have.  Street smarts was one thing, and Eddie surely had that, but he’d been fighting bullies off since he was a kid, and Wayne taught him to fight like it was a game of chess.

Eddie could tell where Lance was going to go a second before he made the move. He saw the guy was amped up, letting his emotions fight for him, and that was only one of his first mistakes.

Lance charged at him and swung, but Eddie was already steps away; relaxed and agile, holding his guard up. The ski instructor came at him aggressively, again and again, until Eddie pushed him, making his opponent stumble back. 

Keeping his form, Eddie caught you standing there out of the corner of his eye.

…what were you doing there at the Hideout?

He let himself ponder that question for too long and Lance was on him again, aiming a left jab to his ribs, and Eddie absorbed the blow with a grunt, arching to the side. 

You were not supposed to be there.  What was Robin thinking?

Mostly, Brenner and Joyce stayed out of their business, as long as whatever they did was off resort property, but if they found out one of the guests was somehow involved, there would be hell to pay.  

Lance charged again and Eddie dodged, angry at himself for not being able to focus .

“C’mon Lance, stomp that freak,” someone yelled from the crowd. 

And that was all it took

For Eddie to get tired of dragging it out for betting purposes.

Lance charged forward with a cry and Eddie socked an uppercut into his unsuspecting jaw.  

The surfer boy went down

Hard. 

Saliva and blood flew from his mouth as he flailed back, arms going ragdoll.

It felt like it happened in slow motion but soon enough, Lance was splayed out like a starfish on the concrete floor.

“Goodnight sweet prince,” Steve said sarcastically as he collected bets over the ski instructor’s limp body.

Robin cheered with her hands over her head, and you gave a few slow claps, your brain barely able to register where you were or what you were seeing.

“You want a beer?” She asked as you watched Lance numbly get to his feet with the help of two friends and attempt to shake it off.  

Robin motioned for you to follow her around to the refrigerator which was stocked from top to bottom with nothing but beer cans. She handed you one and then went to lean against the side of the appliance, cracking open the tab with a hiss.

With your back to the crowd, you prepared to follow suit, listening to Steve introduce two more fighters.

But then there was someone at your side,

“Not like that,” a voice said.

Eddie had come up behind you, wearing his white shirt unbuttoned, skin still glistening with sweat. Mental Health (Bang Your Head) by Quiet Riot came over the speakers, eliciting a wave of yelps and screams from the group.  

“Wait,” he put his hand on top of yours to keep you from opening your beer while he motioned for another guy to toss him one.  You turned to seek comfort or guidance from Robin, but she was absorbed in conversation with a girl in a platinum pixie cut who’d just walked up.  

“Like this,” he brushed his bangs to the side, and winked as he fished a ring of keys out of his pocket.  He used the serrated metal edge of one to punch a hole at the bottom of the can.  

It was the wink that made your skin flush hot, and then your jaw went slack as you watched him wrap his lips around the newly made hole in the can.  He made eye contact with you one more time before tipping his head back, and cracking the tab of the beer open with his thumb so that the liquid when squirting down his throat.  

The muscles in his throat jerked as he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing.  

It wasn’t three seconds before he lowered his head and crushed the can in his hand to show it was empty.  He let out a refreshing, “ahhhh,” and darted his tongue out to lick a droplet from his chin.  

You were still holding your unopened beer, waiting for him, mouth dry.  “I-I’m not sure I—”

Yes, you knew what shotgunning a beer was, you’d seen it done plenty of times at college parties and in movies, but had never been tempted to try it yourself.  

Ignoring your hesitation, Eddie motioned with the crook of his finger for you to come closer.  You shuffled to be within reach of him as if your knees were locked in place.  

With a gentle touch, fingers brushing yours, he took your beer from you, wiped it off with his shirt, and then proceeded to make the same hole with his key in the aluminum.  Some of the beer sprayed up and misted your face.

“Here we go,” he tipped your chin with his finger and butterflies swarmed in your stomach as his eyes searched yours. “Just let it shoot into the back of your throat.”

You swallowed nervously to make sure your throat was working, and then wrapped your lips around the can at his instruction.

“Easy, just like that, hold it there,” Eddie was so close now that your elbow was touching his bare chest.  He put a hand on the back of your head.  “When I say, tip your head back all the way, and I’ll flip the tab for you.”

You swiped your tongue over the hole in the can, thinking about how embarrassing it would be if you messed it up and beer went shooting out of your nose.  

Robin offered a few words of encouragement and you noticed a tendril of hair clinging to the sweat on Eddie’s neck, right over the heartbeat in his throat.  

“You ready?”

You weren’t but—-

“Okay, now.”

You closed your eyes, slammed your head back, and prayed, even though you weren’t at all religious.  Some lukewarm beer leaked onto your tongue, and then Eddie pulled the tab, keeping one hand over yours to hold the can steady.  

The gush of liquid hissed and exploded down your throat, and for a second you thought you would choke, but then your swallowing reflex bolted into action and it was over so fast.  

You gasped and swiped beer from your chin when you pulled away to look at the empty can, amazed. 

Eddie cupped his warm hand around the back of your neck, and you felt him shift closer until his mouth was at your ear.

“Good girl,” he whispered.

An actual chill ran down your spine.

Robin put up her hand and you gave you a high five.  “Not bad for a first timer,” she joked.  “Now crush it on your forehead and grunt.”

“Ha. Ha.” 

You turned to Eddie, “that was fun maybe he should—”

You were about to say the two of you should do another one, 

but he was gone.  

—----

The next night, Eddie couldn’t sleep, so he decided to head to the property to finish up some work at the pool house.   

The place he shared with Wayne was close enough to walk to the Hawkins Landing property, but that night, he drove.  He wanted to roll the window down on the van and blast Wasted Years by Iron Maiden and belt out the lyrics.  

He slipped into the parking lot for visitors and employees, turning the music down so that it wouldn’t be heard by any of the nearby cabins.  There were two street lamps on, but a third one he noticed was out, and made a mental note that he’d have to get Jamie to fix it tomorrow.  The sidewalks along the manicured lawn were also lined with lights that came out of the ground like little mushrooms, and the boat dock far off to his left was lit, but other than that, he was in the dark.  

Grabbing his red toolbox from the passenger seat, he put a flashlight in his tool belt holster, and the van door creaked on its hinges just before it banged shut.  His ribs still ached from the punch he took the night before, but he only allowed himself to cringe and curse in private. Luckily, his only companions at that moment were the crickets and the lapping of the water against the bank.

It wasn’t until he was a few yards down the sidewalk, head down, lost in thought, that the din of classical music made him halt in his tracks. 

It was definitely strings, possibly a violin? No, it was too deep.  

He looked up at the main house, but the sound was much too close to be coming from way up there.

He cut to the right and up the grass.

Then he saw the attic light on in cabin #11.

He told himself not to bother, but as the passion of the playing increased, curiosity got the better of him.  

He came right up to your driveway, staying half obscured by a tree trunk, and watched you.

The cello, of course that’s what you were playing.  He was no expert on the classics, but he’d always learned music by ear and had a unique sense for identifying instruments.  

You weren’t reading from sheet music, you were just playing while you stared out at the sky.

Playing something by heart, or making it up as you went along, he wasn’t sure.  

In his mind, you were so far out of league, it was criminal.

Your attention broke when a sudden movement down on the road startled you.  

The bow zipped clumsily across the strings one last time, and you stood up to get closer to the open window.

But, your eyes must’ve been playing tricks on you. 

There was no one there.    

-----

Hi hello! thank you so much for reading! For those wondering, this fic will still be centered around music, not boxing, but the little fight club they have has a lot to do with the spin of the plot soon.

thank you all so much for the suppport! we are getting to the juicy parts now! give me those hungry eyes. comments and reblogs are cherished!! like, I live for them.

-------

taglist: @tlclick73@micheledawn1975@kurdtbean@katethetank@elvendria@spookysqaush86@somethingvicked@stylesxmunson@laurenlokirby@sapphire4082 @kellsck @motherfckerrr @emxxblog @justdamnpeachy @dashingdeb16 @corrodedcoffincumslut @bexreadstoomuch

[cevansbrat0007]

Promises, Promises

Summary: Ari exacts a promise from you as a reward for his patience.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Needy Ari Levinson, Implied Smut, Light Oral Sex (fem rec), Allusions to Public Sex, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Written for my sweet friend, @curls-and-eyeliner. Just a little Ari Levinson goodness. Not sure if it has a place, but for now it's going to fall in line with my Trio Series.

___

“C’mon. C’mon.” You murmur as you try and fail yet again to maneuver the thin leather strap of your heel through the small silver buckle. “Almost – you little piece of shit!” While the shoes were wearing tonight paired phenomenally with your dress, you were starting to feel like the effort to fasten them just wasn’t worth it anymore.  

Sometimes you really fucking hated heels.

Huffing out a breath, you allow your body to go limp before collapsing back against the chair in defeat. You’d been at it for the better part of ten minutes. And frankly, at this point, you’d much rather go barefoot than have to fuck with this shoe one more time. 

Ari would just have to understand. Maybe if you asked nicely your man would get onboard with you rocking a pair of sneakers to tonight’s medal ceremony – even if they did manage to clash with your overall look.

“Ready to go, Bird?” Ari calls out from the bathroom. “I don’t want us to be late.”

“Almost!” Comes your frustrated reply, just in time for him to rejoin you in the bedroom. He gives you a thorough onceover, his soulful blue eyes darkening as he scans you from head to toe. Grinning, he runs his fingers through his already tousled chestnut brown locks.

Ari Levinson was virtually hopeless when it came to styling his own hair. The moment he got even a little remotely agitated or flustered he became unable to keep his hands out of it. Lucky for him, he somehow always managed to look positively sinful no matter what. 

And tonight was no exception. 

“Fuck, baby…” He rasps.

“I swear I’m almost ready.” You hurry to reassure him, thinking that he might be annoyed with you. “It’s this damn shoe, though. I can’t seem to fasten the stupid strap and it’s pissing me off.”

“What the hell am I supposed to do with you?” He mumbles, seemingly to himself.

“Well you could either give me another minute or you could help…” You trail off when your beast of a man drops to his knees in front of you before plucking the offending heel from your grasp. It drops to the floor with a soft thud. “...me with this clasp. What–what are you doing?” 

“How am I supposed to take you out now, looking like this?” His already deep voice lowers several more octaves. The comforting weight of his large palms go to rest on the tops of your thighs.

A sinking feeling enters the pit of your stomach. Perhaps you should’ve given your boyfriend a peek at your outfit beforehand instead of waiting until tonight. That way if he didn’t like it you would’ve had time to figure out a backup dress.

“What’s wrong with the way I look, Ari?” 

“Absolutely nothing.” His intoxicating gaze bores into you, making you feel dizzy even as goosebumps raise across your flesh. “You look stunning, sweetheart. Like a vision and a wet dream rolled into one.”

“Oh.” Is all you can seem to manage, his whispered compliment taking you by surprise. 

Although you’re not quite sure why. You could walk around wearing a pair of his boxers and a raincoat and this man would still be ready to bend you over the nearest flat surface and fuck you stupid. 

“And honestly, as excited as I am to have you on my arm this evening, I don’t know if I still want to go.” One hand slowly trails down your leg, the slightly roughened pads of his fingers smoothing their way over your calf to gently grip your ankle. 

“B–but…tonight’s supposed to be a celebration. And you’re the guest of honor.” You rasp, your mouth suddenly dry as Ari presses a tender kiss to the inside of your bare foot. 

“So?” He gifts you with another kiss, this one accompanied by the faint brush of his tongue along the inside of your ankle. “You and this dress have me thinking about all the ways we can celebrate right here. From the comfort of our home.” You feel your pulse begin to quicken. 

“We can’t.” You gently admonish as you try to pull away. But his hold remains steadfast. “Besides, if you stay down there much longer –” you gesture towards his position on his knees – “you’re going to wrinkle your pants, assuming you haven’t already ruined the crease.” Your big beast of a man quirks an amused brow in response.

“I’m serious, Ari Levinson.” You blow out a shaky breath, wishing you sounded more confident. “Now, you help me with this shoe so we can get out of here. At the rate we’re going, we’ll be lucky if we’re only fashionably late.”

“Is that right?” Ari’s eyes light up at your words, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. “That an order, baby?” 

“Uh huh.” Of its own accord, your hand reaches out to caress his freshly trimmed beard. Ari sighs quietly and leans into your touch. “You’d better believe it, Beast.” He growls low in his throat, the animalistic sound making your nipples pebble through the material of your bra.    

“Well then I guess I better do as my lady says.” A hint of mischief creeps into his tone, coupled with a smile. “Wouldn’t want to upset my gorgeous girl now would I? But before I do that, I’m also thinking I’m gonna need you to make me a promise. Can you do that for me?” 

Ari loosens his hold on your ankle only to drape your leg over one of his broad shoulders. And then his hands move to the hem of your dress, slowly rucking it up your thighs to stop just below your hips – revealing the lacy scrap of black fabric hidden beneath.

“Y-yes.” 

“In return for being such a good boy, I’m gonna need you to promise you’ll let me fuck you tonight. And when I do, I want you wearing nothing but these heels.” He leans forward and buries his face in the sweet juncture located between your parted thighs.

“Okay.” You could definitely do that.

“I get to choose the time and the place. But don’t worry, baby. You have my promise to keep you wet and ready for me until I decide on the perfect moment.” He then inhales your scent, nuzzling his nose against the increasingly damp lace. A muffled groan escapes when he does it again. His grip tightens as his fingers dig into your skin.

Almost as if he’s already regretting his decision to agree to leave the house.

“Ari.” His name emerges as whimper, soft and pleading. 

“Promise me, Bird. Promise you’ll reward me for being so good. For showing restraint.” Each spoken word feels like a heated lash against your panty-covered clit. “Please.” Ari sucks the bud into his warm mouth, making you cry out as your thighs clench around his head.

“Yes!” You hiss as he continues to tease. 

“Say my name again.” He rasps, flicking the swollen nub with his tongue. “Say it just like that when you make your promise.”

“Ooh, Ari!” Your hips buck and writhe beneath his sensual assault. “Yes, okay? I promise!”

A primal sound bursts forth from his chest – a something between a snarl and a purr – as he forces himself to pull away. “Okay.” He grunts, his breathing slightly labored.

Ari doesn’t say another word as he goes about picking up your forgotten heel. He slips it on your foot and deftly buckles the strap as if he does it all the time. Your body is on fire as you prepare to sit up and fix your dress, only for your man to stop you with a hand on your belly.      

“I plan to wear you out tonight, baby.” Two long, thick fingers hook themselves into the waistband of your panties. “Swear to God, you’re gonna feel me for days.” 

The sight of your man’s feral grin is your only warning before the flimsy piece of lingerie is all but ripped from your skin, eliciting a shocked gasp from you. Ari rises and tucks the ruined lace into his pocket before helping you stand on shaky legs. 

Ever a beast, he proceeds to haul you against his solid chest. And then your eyes flutter closed as his mouth descends over yours in a searing kiss. You melt against him as your hands fall to his biceps, holding on to him while he takes his time with you. His talented tongue dues with your own in short, playful thrusts. One of his hands slips to your ass, giving you a rough squeeze. 

When it’s over, you’re both breathless. And the impressive bulge in Ari’s slacks makes it obvious that he’s ready for more. A clock chimes in the distance, breaking your reverie. It’s a not-so-subtle reminder that you two needed to leave soon. As in now. 

“Guess we’ll just have to pick this up later.” You murmur, even though you have yet to move.

“Damned right we will.” Ari growls, his eyes glittering with unbridled lust. “So you’d better keep your promise.”

“And if I don’t?” You tease, finally finding the resolve to pull away. He lets you go before walking over to the bed to snag your clutch. Meanwhile, you busy yourself with fixing your dress. 

“You will.” Your man hands it over before linking his fingers through yours and leading you down the hall towards the stairs.

"I mean, but what if I change my mind?" You tamp down a giggle. Now probably wasn't the best time to tease your man, but you just couldn't seem to help yourself.

"You won't." Ari assures you once more before halting his movements. He turns to face you again before tenderly grasping your chin in his hand. "You'd never do that to me, sweet girl. But if you did, I suppose I'd just have to remind you of what happens to little brats who break their promises to their men now wouldn't I?" His lidded eyes practically dare you to disagree.

"Y-yes." You whisper, swallowing thickly as he brushes his thumb across your bottom lip. "I'll be good."

"Well, thank goodness for that. I'm so glad we have an understanding, baby." Ari purrs, allowing his hand to fall away as you resume your procession towards the door. "Because I'd be pretty pissed if I had to fuck you in the middle of the banquet hall in full view of everyone." He opens the door and ushers you into the garage, smacking your ass for good measure.

"But that also doesn't mean I won't."

END

[izvmimi]

cw: streamer au! you and hawks have a popular channel and you have some special guests! fluff! reader and hawks are married. 'dove' as a nickname. written for @pastelle-rabbit.

“Did you finish setting up the microphones, dove?” Keigo asks, while you’re just about to adjust your PC setup. The stream begins in five minutes, and while it’s not the first time you’ve gone live with your love, it’s the first time that you’ve had guests on your streaming site, and this is highly anticipated enough that you expect a higher turnout for today, and commensurately likely more trolls. You’re used to Keigo’s trolls as a top-ranking hero, but Izuku’s trolls are a whole different beast.

“Yes!” you sing out to him. After the final adjustment, you shoot a glance to Izuku and his wife who are poised very politely on gaming chairs you got just for them; his hand is holding hers, the thumb caressing the back of her hand while she crosses her legs at the ankle. She looks distressed and you stifle a giggle. Horror and gore are the themes for your stream today and from what Izuku has told you, she’s a screamer, but so is Keigo, so the two will be squawking like birds for the remainder of the night. 

You can’t wait.

“Are you guys comfortable?” you ask. The chair arrangement is a little more complex to make sure everyone stays huddled around your huge monitor, but you’ve figured it out.

She nods slowly, and Izuku grins. “We’re doing perfect!”

There are now two minutes until the stream starts, and Keigo slips into the chair right beside you and kisses your cheek, his other hand deep in a bag of chicken chips which he brings to your mouth.

You indulge him with a bite, and he grins, then whispers if you want him to be your chair this time, and while Izuku grins politely at the two of you, you can sense yourself warming in the face.

“We have guests,” you remind him. Keigo throws a glance at Izuku who immediately waves his hands.

“Pretend we’re not here.”

“What do you mean we’re not here, we were in-”

You start the stream and Izuku’s wife falls silent, immediately switching to camera ready mode. “Welcome guys and thanks for coming back to our channel! As promised, we have special guests today! -” Deku and his wife wave politely to the camera in million-watt smiles, “- and we’ll be continuing with our horror themed stream!”

Keigo chews loudly and waves at the camera. “I’ll be here!” he motions a salute to the screen. As expected, you can already see the influx of his fans filling the chat, painfully polite in their thirst since the last time he reminded them on screen he was happily married.

“Ooh can we have streamer nicknames?” Izuku’s wife asks.

“Sure, what would you like to be called?” you offer. She looks around, then up at the ceiling, then her eyes light up.

“Hm… BLOODCRUSH.” She says with dramatic glee. The rest of the three of you blink rapidly, but no one argues. 

“Bloodcrush it is!” you announce as she kicks her feet. Izuku gives her a mildly concerned look, but then rubs her shoulder affectionately. The chat starts to rile up with comments in support of new nickname Bloodcrush (bloodcrush x deku otp, bloodcrush fighting!) to her delight while the less savory ones are promptly ignored.

“I think the rest of us will just go by our hero or streamer names, is that okay?” Keigo says, stretching out in his chair and resting his arm around the shoulder of your gaming chair, pose relaxed.

“So what game are we playing?” Deku starts per your loosely prepared script. 

“RAID AND EXECUTION,” Hawks announces, excitedly. You laugh as the story intro video begins, and Hawks claps his hands dimming the lights while Bloodcrush looks stunned to her husband then to you.

“Raid and what?”

“Oh, that sounds awesome! I’ve heard of this one!” Deku chirps, and immediately his info-dumping begins. “So from what I’ve read, this game is set in the early 1400s in the Caribbean where a group of pirates are lost at sea and encounter a group of enchanted beings, most likely zombies, and you’re meant to survive as long as possible when they’re active at night, and raid the villagers during the daytime or else you’ll run out of resources and die, not to mention the game mechanics heavily rely on you using context clues of the environment in order to determine if a settlement is nearby and-”

Hawks and Bloodcrush both scream as the first zombie shows up on screen armed with a machete and cleanly slices the head off of your avatar.

‘Ooh, that was fast,” you say, frowning as the “Game Over” screen shows up on the monitor. The chat explodes with comments telling Deku to shut the hell up which makes him frown.

“Just trying to provide context,” he grumbles. You start up the game again and instead of jumping right off the ship and walking right onto the island, you pause and look for clues. Hawks encourages you to explore the bottom of the ruins first, which has you find a rusty machete of your own as well as some 14th century hardtack, and Bloodcrush leans in and asks you if there’s any way you can find a musket or other gun.

“Baby, I think muskets weren’t invented till the 15th century,” Deku says, and she pats his cheek gently, whispering only mildly threatening, “I didn’t ask you for historical accuracy, honey.”

“Here, I think we found one!” you exclaim and Hawks gives you a high five while Bloodcrush raises her eyebrow at him. 

While you begin arranging your inventory, Hawks repeats some questions in the chat for their guests.

“So, herofootfetish69 has a question for you, Deku.”

Izuku pales while you and his wife unintentionally bursts out laughing from how nonchalantly Hawks reads the username, then your avatar inadvertently falls off a cliff and dies.

“Man!” you exclaim as you restart. Bloodcrush laughs even harder as she points to new resources that you can pick up while you’re repacking your knapsack.

“They ask, do you have time to play video games when you’re supposed to be protecting the city?” Hawks asks, then giggles.

“Why am I being heckled?” he frowns. “Yes, heroes have time off too.” He pauses. “Hawks is literally on this stream!”

“Hey, I think if you alternate the musket and the dagger, you might have a chance with those zombies,” Bloodcrush murmurs. Someone in the chat tells her that she has a better chance with the dagger alone. “Never mind, just do that.” 

“Next question for LoveDove!” Keigo presses a kiss to your forehead, then reads off, “gains4fame asks, how long have you and Bloodcrush known each other?”

“Not long!” you say, “but I think we’ve become fast friends!”

Bloodcrush’s eyes light up and she playfully bops you on the shoulder. Hawks offers an affectionate awwww, and hugs you while Deku rubs his wife’s back. 

In the process of your husband hugging you, you’re shot by an arrow.

“NO!” you and Bloodcrush scream in unison, then look at each other and giggle.

“Next question from chickenchipenthusiast-” Izuku pauses, then reaches for the extra bag Hawks has brought, “not sponsored by the way,” he reminds everyone, “for Hawks - how do you choose your guests on the show?”

Hawks shrugs. “When I called, you picked up.”

Izuku sighs in defeat.

“We’ll move on to the next question. For LoveDove again - do you think you’ll get better at these games?”

Hawks bristles but you laugh. “I’m having fun and so are you, aren’t you?”

chickenchipenthusiast writes: exactly!

You get your first kill of a zombie on the island and you and Bloodcrush share double high fives in delight. 

The chat fills with overwhelming support and the stream continues late into the night, the chatter amongst you guys never ending and the subscribers ticking higher and higher all night.

[naffeclipse]

Heya @skizabaa! I'm your Secret Skeleton! I might have gone a bit over the word count minimum, but I had so much fun writing this! Your interests/likes are exactly my jam and I loved crafting this little piece for a cozy and sweet Halloween treat for you! I hope you enjoy some creature Sun and a Y/N who wants a friend!

The Harpy and Hazel Trees

Harpy!Sun & Reader

Word Count: ~3,500 Warnings: N/A

You’re so used to the quiet—birds calling to each other, crying out about the cold, and the buzz of the last insects filling the air with the gentle crunch of leaves underneath your feet, fallen off the hazel trees. Your lone heartbeat pulses within your ears. 

The quiet eats away at you in the way a caterpillar gnaws away at a leaf: slowly devoured. And yet, you remain. There’s still more of you left to be eaten. It surprises you every time you think you can’t take another moment of silence, of a lack of another’s voice.

Behind your simple wooden cottage, you kneel. Only a pale brown fence marks your lost lot within the forest for the deer merrily prances over it. Knees sinking down into the moist earth, you tug out the last few weeds crowding your pumpkins though they are only weeds in name. The plants, you’ve learned, hold nutrients that pair well in salads. You won’t have fresh greens for much longer.

Autumn sweeps back as if this was always its home, and you, its guest. Your garden is bursting with foods that make the harvest moon happy and the dreaded months of winter bearable. The late-season sun heats the crown of your head and strokes your hair, but it is not a substitute for a friend.

You toil away, cleaning out weeds, plucking fat cucumbers, and snatching a wide green head of lettuce. You’ll have a wonderful bowl of fresh salad tonight and cook an egg to go with it. Your chickens are still producing well but when the cold of the dying year steps in, the chickens will convert their egg-laying efforts to keeping warm, and you don’t blame them. 

These winters are brutal, on body and heart.

You shiver under a cool wind. A gust flips leaves of dill and oregano and you mutter of the cold to no one.

Then a shadow falls over you. You lift your head.

You startle in your garden. Perched on your fence just a few feet away from you is a beast, one with a rather wide grin at that. A harpy. He tilts his disk-like head, a large mouth displaying sharp teeth fit for pulling meat off of bones. Beautiful feathers sway around his face, long and curved, bright as sunshine and exquisite. He holds a rather polite expression; if only you could ignore the sharp teeth. 

His wide eyes, the color of cornflowers, hold the intensity of the hawk but soften upon gazing at you. His body is covered in a finer layer of plumage, off-white and yellow, with wings for arms and long claws on the ends of his fingers, though his large, raptor-like feet wield talons that currently balance upon your poor fence. He wears no shirt but an ascot tie of silky ruby around his thin throat. Billowy pants conceal his animalistic legs, stripped in a bright pattern of red and yellow. His wings are gently tucked against his side, hands curled in front of his chest in an almost nervous, shy manner. Radiant feathers of scarlet and gold decorate his wingspan. 

You understand immediately that he is beautiful and, perhaps, dangerous.

“Hello, I’m so sorry to drop in like this,” he begins, voice bouncing and cheerful, though a touch strained. “I hope I haven’t startled you.”

You slowly get to your feet, stunned. You clear your throat, afraid of how raspy your voice will be—the only conversations you hold are with the chickens and the goat. 

“I don’t usually get company out here,” you begin, though you sound a touch defensive. You clear your throat again. “Are you lost?”

“Lost?” The harpy cocks his head to the other side, feathers swaying like a rooster’s tail. “Oh, well, I’m only lost in that I have yet to find what I’m looking for and that I don’t know what I’m looking for yet, but the most pressing matter, currently, is the oncoming storm.”

He lifts one wing, long fingers nearly hidden under the cloak of gold and scarlet feathers, to point to the sky behind you. Careful to not turn your back on the stranger, you glance in the direction.

The harpy is right. Creeping forward are black, angry clouds. They gather low, pushing through the blue skies like a stain of ash. The storm wasn’t climbing the horizon this morning but swiftly it arrived.

He is being very polite, you muse.

“Oh,” you say, then face the harpy again. You clasp your dirt-covered hands, wishing you had thought to wear your apron so you might make yourself a little more decent. Of course, who could have predicted a visitor? Certainly not you. “Yes. I assume you don’t want to be caught in it? You’ve probably flown a long way here, no doubt.”

“No doubt,” he echoes with a grin that’s still toothy but much less sharp. His eyes upturned, the cornflower color beaming. “Could I trouble you for shelter for the evening? I won’t be in your way and I’ll gladly stay in your chicken coop or wherever won’t disturb you.”

You laugh gently. The harpy waits, his nervous hands returning once more to his chest, feathers rustling.

“Oh no, you’re far too big to stay in the chicken coop. You’ll scare my rooster half to death.” You look at him, resting a hand on your hip, forgetting the dirt caked on it. “No, you’ll come inside and out of the storm. The wind that will come will be fierce.”

“Oh!” The harpy leaps from the fence in a flurry of plumage. You start at the snap of his wings but find yourself gazing up into his towering expression, his smile absolutely delighted. “Thank you, friend! You’re so sweet!”

You look away, coughing once, unsure how to take the title he already bestows upon you. Is it even true? Could it be?

“It’s nothing,” you give. 

You bend down and snap a pumpkin from its stem, the bright orange gourd is more than ready to be harvested for its seeds. On second thought, you’ll roast pumpkin seeds and have a stew today. A meal that will honor your harpy guest as much as your little garden can. 

“Would you take this into the cottage for me?” you ask, pointing. The harpy is watching you closely, his head ticking with sharp adjustments to his gaze, his alertness unparalleled and fascinating. “I could use a hand for a few other things, too… friend. If you don’t mind.”

You hesitated, but saying it out loud dusts a lightness in your chest.

“Of course!” He kneels and scoops the pumpkin into his feathered arms as if it were a mere trifle, not a fully grown vegetable. His claws carefully cradle the orange shell. “My name is Sun. I am at your service!”

You give your name in return.

It’s been so long since you’ve heard someone call for you, but when Sun says it, you feel a little more alive. A little more real.

“Do you like stew?” you ask, plucking your gathered leafy goods that will wait in the cupboard until tomorrow, and lead the way to the back door of the cottage. 

“Stew sounds heavenly compared to what I've been scourging these last few days—bugs and berries and other bitter things!” Sun’s jubilee voice is no less dampened by recounting his horrid meals. “Yes, stew sounds lovely. How might I help you, friend?”

He doesn’t see you smile. You lead him to the door and open it, holding it so that he might duck inside and not fumble the precious pumpkin.

“We’ll need a few spices, celery and potatoes. Help me dig some up.”

* * *

Harpy claws, as it turns out, are great at digging up dirt, though you think he might have put them to better use hunting. Sun is cheerful and he easily takes to work. It’s not glorious, digging up potatoes, but he does it all with a smile on his wide face. 

You love his chatter. He sounds like birds trilling and cheeping, talking of the weather and the storm and how he was alone before he ventured into these strange but wonderful woods. He doesn’t tell you what he’s seeking, but he doesn’t seem to know either. A wanderer. A lost soul.

Like you.

People like you often end up here, in this forest. A woodland of spooky, lingering things, full of yellowing trees. Everyone is seeking something. A heart hungers beside the hazels. A person gets lost here, but sometimes, a person gets found.

Taking a much-needed breather from work, you lead Sun to the hazel trees. The leaves are soft and pale as butter and halfway melted, dripping to the ground. You show him the hazelnuts, perfectly round, dark treasures. In fascination, he gazes at the hard, black shells that you easily crack, shuck, and reveal the smooth nut hidden within. 

For a while, you two snack on hazelnuts. Sun’s tongue is dark red and licks at his teeth, chewing away. You love the soft crunch, and how nutty the flavor is. In summer, you take what you have left from winter storage to mix with cocoa and sugar then crush into a paste. A treat that is so lovely you tell Sun that you wish he could be here to have a bite when you make it.

His feathers perk at the mention. He looks as if he wants to say something, something you earnestly wait to hear, but he only agrees. It does sound lovely. 

You return to work. Sun is a bit quieter, back to his anxious hand curling and feather-ruffling, almost pulling a few from around his wrists, but you don’t ask. He would have told you if he wanted to. Why confine a stranger when he’ll be gone after the storm blows through?

You taste something bitter in the back of your mouth.

He helps you haul in the potatoes, celery, and carrots. Your cottage is small, but it fits him and you just right. You begin bowling the pot, adding in bits of beef you fetched from the wooden barrel where it sat in a brine of water and salt to preserve the meat until you were ready to cook. Then you begin chopping the vegetables. Sun fetches you an onion you had forgotten, and when he returns, his feathers blown against his body due to the picking up wind, he begins asking you questions. So. Many. Questions.

You can hardly pause between them. He’s so intrigued by your every boring answer. There’s very little for you to talk about except for the years you spent here and how long you’ve been alone (you don’t tell him the last part, though he does ask about family, and you simply comment that you have none with a sharp chop of your knife across a deep orange carrot.) He smoothly moves on, tending to the boiling pot and feeding the fire when it needs more logs. 

You can’t help but stare. A harpy tending to your stew. You think this must be a dream, a wonderful, heart-breaking dream. 

Tossing the ingredients into the heated meat and broth, you and Sun wait, listening to the howl of the wind and fearfully eyeing the flames as the pressure in the air snatches at the flames by reaching down the chimney. You’ll let the fire go out when the evening ends instead of fighting with it all night, but it will get cold. You ask Sun if he’ll be alright. 

He taps his chest with a wicked sharp finger and promises that his plumage is more than enough to fight off the chill. 

You stir the stew and spoon it into simple wooden bowls. You hand one to Sun. His large, clawed hand easily grasps it. He’s so sweet, so grateful. You sit down beside him at your small kitchen table—there was never a need for a full dining room set, and now you worry it’s too humble. You never expected company.

The stew, however, is heavenly. You’re relieved and immediately warmed by the savory broth and melt-in-your-mouth bites of beef and potatoes. Sun tears into the stew and you give him a second, then a third helping. You almost laugh at how sheepish he appears until he eats once more. 

He helps you clean up… You didn’t know what you expected, but certainly not his methodical ability to sweep the floor and scrub the pot.

“Thank you, Sun,” you say softly, handing him the last dish to set high on the shelf. “You’ve been a great help today.”

“It’s the least I could do to repay your generosity.” He faces you after setting the bowl away without any stretching or tip-toeing, unlike you. “You’re so kind and there’s so much for you to do by yourself. I’m amazed you can handle all this work. It would put a whole team of fieldhands to shame.”

“Oh, stop it,” you wave him away, ducking your head to hide your bashfulness. “I put you to work. I do hope you’ll sleep well tonight, despite the storm.”

As if summoned by your mere mention, a clap of thunder reverberates through the air. Your heart quakes in the strength of the ferocious growl. Sun whips his head towards the front door as if expecting the storm to rudely barge in without your invitation. 

“It’s a very good thing you stopped here,” you say, breathless. 

Sun slowly looks back, his hackles raised, and his cornflower blue eyes fall down. You follow his line of sight to your hand touching his feathered wrist, fingers anxiously curled.

“Oh.” You drop your hand away. “My apologies. Let me get you a comfortable place to rest. I’m afraid I only have one bed.”

“No need to apologize,” Sun says quickly, “Were you concerned for me, friend? That’s alright. Friends can be concerned for each other and there’s no shame in that. I truly don’t mind.”

You nod but don’t meet his gaze.

“I’ll be right back.”

“Friend?”

You stop, looking back at him. You wonder if he intends to leave, but that can’t be right. The storm is descending with a vengeance. 

“I need only sit by the hearth. I don’t need beds or other human comforts, though I appreciate your offer.”

“Oh.” You look around, the smell of stew having long since drifted away as the fire slowly begins to die. A thick darkness descends. You regard the harpy with a worry for the morning. Sunshine will come, yes, and the skies will be clearer, but he will leave.

You find yourself dreading tomorrow.

“Very well.” You hold his gaze for one brave moment. The cornflower blue holds you. “Goodnight, Sun.’

“Goodnight, friend.”

You close the door to your bedroom. In quiet reflection, you dress into your night clothes and slip under the quilts on your bed. You are so caught up on Sun’s ruffled feathers, his cheerful demeanor, and how anxious he holds his claws. 

He calls you a friend. You’ve only just met. You shouldn’t be so attached to a fellow so quickly, yet, you find yourself wondering how you might combat the silence in the afternoon after the thunder ceased its grumbling and the harpy has continued on his way.

You hardly sleep a wink before the storm splatters rain upon the roof and sends winds to rattle the shutters. A quaking bolt of lightning strikes, the thunderous cry shaking the very cottage and you bolt upright. You cry out, disturbed from dozing, dark dreams. 

The very world is being torn apart by a dark tempest.

“Friend!” The shout is muffled through the door, but you hop out of bed, bewildered and frantic, and throw it open to find the harpy.

He stoops low, his height eclipsed by the stout door frame. You stare up into his concerned eyes, long hands almost reaching for you but hesitating.

“I heard you shout. Are you alright?”

You lay a hand over your chest and breathe out. The wild blood pumping in your veins has yet to calm, but the sight of Sun’s cheerful face plumage, swirling about his expression like rays of the sun, and his big blue eyes, looking over you for injury or harm, touches your heart.

“Yes, I’m alright. The lightning—the thunder scared me!”

“It’s alright. It startled me, too,” he gives, though grinning with the energy of a thousand afternoons.

Sun peers through the small window in your bedroom. The lightning flashes again, not so close, but the thunder roars upon the little cottage as if a beast had snatched your home into its mouth.

You shudder to think of lying down now.

You hesitate, contrite, then ask quietly, “Sun?”

He visibly perks up and almost hits his head on the top of the doorway. His golden feathers brush against the ceiling of the cottage. 

“Yes?”

“Can I sit with you for a while? If I’m not keeping you awake, that is…”

His expression blooms as if a flower under the sun. He grins, the sight so lovely and tender before he takes your hand in his down-soft palm.

“Of course! There are still hot coals in the hearth, and I do hope I can help you stay warm, just a little.”

You lower your shoulders. A calming pulse moves through your chest as Sun, your friend, guides you into the room with the dying embers that beat a last, desperate red in the sooty black.

“Are you cold?” you ask, concerned. 

“No,” his eyes upturn, “If it’s alright, I would like to keep you warm.”

He opens his arms, the plumage of his wings falling like a cloak of ruffled sunshine and scarlet. His chest is fuzzy with soft down, and his billowy pants cross to make a comfortable seat on the floor before the cooling heart.

You want nothing more than to enter his embrace. Worry of the morning strains against your weary thoughts, holding you away.

“Are you sure?”

You only met him today. Why do you feel so much for this blossoming friendship, newly made under the threat of a storm and in the dirt of hard work?

He inclines his head gently, his feathers softly sashaying with reassurance. “Yes. I would be delighted to help my friend.”

His warm confidence chips away at the last of your reservations. Breathing in, you ease yourself into his embrace. Settling into his warm body—you didn’t realize how wonderfully comforting his form is, wrapped around yours, like a drop of sunshine. It immediately chases away the autumn cold nipping at your edges. Once you set your back against his chest, feeling a bit conscious of his presence and how you hold yourself, Sun wraps his arms around your shoulders. His beautiful wings cover you up in the burning colors of sunsets. Outside, the thunder and rain harmonize. 

“Is this alright?” he asks.

You nod and hook one hand over his fluffy wrist. He doesn’t seem to mind.

“Yes,” you murmur.

It’s nice to have a friend.

You sit a while, gazing at the fire. Sun hums a low, throaty sound that reminds you of birds calling to each other, and you drift quietly. Your head begins to fall. In smooth, careful motions, Sun shifts your legs so they drape sideways off his lap and guide your cheek so it might rest on the soft pillow of his shoulder. His arms fall upon you again. You are blissfully warm, sleep whispering in your ears.

“Friend?” he says. His fingers curl against your arm. An anxious clench.

“Hmmm?” Your eyelids flutter.

“I was thinking—in the morning, you’ll have so many branches to pick up off your garden and you’ll need to check your chickens and see if any of your precious vegetables have been harmed, and you have so much work to do! I could stay a bit longer tomorrow, just to lend a hand, as a final thank you.”

“Sun?”

Your eyes open in the blue dark of the autumn night. Your heart melts quietly in your chest, and you think you might be brave. You dare to want to be bold enough to let him stay with you, beside you.

The harpy titters nervously. “Well, only if that wouldn’t be an inconvenience for you, of course. I don’t want to impose or linger where I’m not wanted—”

“Sun?”

“Oh! Yes?”

You sigh softly and close your eyes.

“Would you like to stay?” You hesitate quietly. Your heart thumps with all the desire of your being. “My friend?”

The beat of silence is devastating. The echo of nothingness deafens your ears and you almost lift your head to see if you cross a boundary or assume too much, but Sun quietly trills.

“If you’ll have me.”

You smile.

“Yes, I will.”

“Then you know my answer, dearest friend.”

You soften in relief, and in Sun’s gentle melody humming in his chest and soothing your very soul, you drift away. In the morning, there will be Sun. For every day after, it will be you two in the cottage.

You and your dearest friend.

[w2beastars]

Waezi2′s thoughts on “Beast Complex” chapter 24.

Paru is back at it again!

Meet South the Iguana.

South is a twenty-nine year old lizard. Saying he is an alcoholic might be an exaggeration... but he very much have an alcohol problem. Having sensitive skin and living in a very warm area, South needs to stay hydrated, but he choose to mainly drink beer instead of water. Partly because of how it affects his skin but also o make it easier for him to not think about his problems.

But then his excessive drinking is cock-blocked by a penguin inside the beer fridge... Still not the weirdest thing I ever wrote.

Yeah, a baby penguin somehow ended up in the store where South gets his favorite brand of beer. To stay cool in the very warm area South lives in, the little guy is now inside the beer fridge and refuse to leave. Begrudgingly, South takes the little penguin to his small apartment so the shop can stock up on beer again.

Having a guest in his home for the first time in ages, South realize that his place is not just dirty, it is rather empty. He sleeps on a mattress, has a fridge for his beer and food and a microwave oven for his meals. His home is about as pathetic as he is.

As South thinks about how his life is kind of a fart, we learn something... shocking about this iguana.

Something that you have never seen before in Beastars OR in Beast Complex. Something so odd that you might find it revolting. It will make you wonder if Paru was even more unhinged than she normally is while making this comic!

You see, South...

... was in a relationship with a female WHO IS THE SAME SPECIES AS HIM!

Trust me, dear reader. I'm as shocked as you are! A Beast Complex character who was NOT dating an animal completely different from them?!

What madness is this?!

Okay, seriously speaking.

We get some good ol' Paru symbolism as we see that South's life has for a while revolved around his fridge. Or rather, what is inside it. It got out of hand to the point that his (same-species?!?!?) girlfriend dumped him and his boss feeling so sorry for him that he makes him take a break instead of downright firing him.

So South drinks when he gets anxious. But his increasing drinking makes him more anxious, which results in him drinking even more, making him more anxious and so on. As he thinks about his boss and ex, he once again gets "thirsty" and practically tears his fridge oepn.

South would probably end up as a drunken waist... if not for his new "roommate."

See, the thing about depression is that you often ends up alone, either because the people around you lose their patience or you choose to be alone. And when you are alone with a minimum of interaction with the real world, you stop caring about the small things like cleaning your home, a proper diet and your economy.

Best thing to do is actually to be useful somehow. Like doing voluntary work or getting a pet. Or in this case, a penguin in your fridge. If you are of use for someone else, you feel a little better about yourself.

And that's what South is to the baby penguin he has named Sam(a reference to the Japanese word for "cold"). The two of them can't really talk since Sam is a sea animal and has a entirely different language.

Whenever South has his panic attacks and go for a beer, he is instead met by the fluffy little bird in the fridge. So South has to clean the fridge for penguin poop and also spend extra hours in his part-time job since he spends more money on electricity because of Sam being inside the fridge. As the days pass, South finds himself acting like, well... a functional adult.

One day, South gets a reason to panic again as he realize that Sam is losing his white coat and looks skinny instead of fluffy.

If you know a thing or two about penguins, then you will know that there is nothing to worry about. But South knows jack shit about these birds, so he rush him to a hospital on his bicycle.

On their way, they pass the ocean... and we get this majestic moment.

There was nothing to worry about, Sam is just growing up and losing his fluff, finally ready to leave his nest and get in the ocean.

A pair of dolphins are luckily near and South has managed to learn to speak a little sea language so he can ask the dolphins to escort the young penguin to Antarctica.

Despite Sam having left his apartment, South still have a little of Sam in his fridge as the penguin sends him letters on pieces of ice.

So South's life still revolves around his fridge so to say, just in a much healthier way.

This was such a nice tale about a guy rebuilding his life by having to be dependent for someone else.

... Even if South is a freak, dating a fellow iguana. BE A FURRY LIKE EVERYONE ELSE, SOUTH!

I'm Waezi2, and thanks for wasting time with me.

[will80sbyers]

Do you still have the list of movies that inspired ST4? I had a picture of it but I lost it and I haven't been able to find it since. Please and thank you in advance.

Yep!

Long post warning lol

300

2001: A Space Odyssey

47 Meters Down: Uncaged

12 Monkeys

28 Days Later

13th Warrior

Ace Ventura: Pet Detective

Ace Ventura: When Nature Calls

Altered States

Amelie

American Sniper

Analyze This

Annihilation

Aristocats

Armageddon

Assassins Creed

Avengers: Age of Ultron

Arrival

Almost Famous

Batman Begins

Batman V. Superman

Basket Case

Battle at Big Rock

Beauty and the Beast

Beetlejuice

Behind Enemy Lines

Beverly Hills Cop

Bill and Ted’s Bogus Journey

Billy Madison

Black Cauldron

Black Swan

Boondock Saints

Borat

Bram Stoker’s Dracula

Burn After Reading

Broken Arrow

Blade Runner

C.H.U.D

Con Air

Cast Away

Congo

Constantine

Children of Men

Cabin in the Woods

Crank

Casablanca

Carrie

Crimson Tide

Clueless

Dukes of Hazzard

Don’t Breathe

Death to Smoochy

Doom

Dark Knight

Dogma

Deep Blue Sea

Dreamcatcher

Drop Dead Fred

Die Hard

Die Hard 2

Die Hard 3

Don’s Plum

Dances with Wolves

Dumb and Dumber

Edward Scissorhands

Enter the Void

Ex Machina

Event Horizon

Emma (2020)

Forrest Gump

Fargo

Fisher King

Full Metal Jacket

Ferris Bueller

Fallen

Fugitive

Ghost

Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

Ghostbusters

Good Fellas

Girl Interrupted

Godzilla: King of the Monsters

Get Out

Good Will Hunting

Hackers

High Fidelity

Hellraiser 1

Hellraiser 2

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

Hidden

High School Musical

Hurt Locker

Heat

Hunger Games

Highlander

Hell or High Water

Home Alone

I am Legend

It’s a Wonderful Life

In Cold Blood

Inception

I am a Fugitive from Chain Gang

Inside Out

Island of Doctor Moreau

It Follows

Interview with a Vampire

Inner Space

Into the Spiderverse

Independence Day

Jupiter Ascending

John Carter of Mars

Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom

James Bond (All Movies)

Julie

Karate Kid

Knives Out

Kingsmen

Little Miss Sunshine

Labyrinth

Long Kiss Goodnight

Lost Boys

Leon: The Professional

Let the Right One In

Little Women (1994)

Mad Max: Fury Road

Magnolia

Men in Black

Mimic

Matrix

Misery

My Cousin Vinny

Mystic River

Minority Report

Mr. and Mrs. Smith

Neverending Story

Never Been Kissed

No Country for Old Men

Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors

North by Northwest

Open Water

Orange County

Oceans 8

Oceans 11

Oceans 12

One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest

Ordinary People

Paddington 2

Platoon

Pulp Fiction

Papillon

Pan’s Labyrinth

Pineapple Express

Peter Pan

Princess Bride

Paradise Lost

Primal Fear

Prisoners

Peter Jackson’s King Kong

Reservoir Dogs

Ravenous

Rushmore

Road Warrior

Rogue One

Reality Bites

Raider of the Lost Ark

Red Dragon

Robocop

Shooter

Sky High

Swingers

Sword in the Stone

Step Up 2

Spy Kids

Saving Private Ryan

Shape of Water

Swept Away

Star Wars: Return of the Jedi

Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back

Superbad

Society

Swordfish

Stoker

Splice

Silence of the Lambs

Source Code

Sicario

Se7en

Starship Troopers

Scrooged

Splash

Silver Bullet

Speed

The Visit

The Italian Job

The Mask of Zorro

True Lies

The Blair Witch Project

The Lord of the Rings Trilogy

Tangled

The Craft

The Guest

The Devil’s Advocate

The Graduate

The Prestige

The Rock

Titanic

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

The Fly

Tombstone

The Mummy

The Guardian

The Goofy Movie

The Peanut Butter Solution

Toy Story 4

The Ring

The Crazies

The Mist

The Revenant

The Perfect Storm

The Shining

Terminator 2

The Truman Show

Temple of Doom

The Cell

To Kill a Mockingbird

Timeline

The Good Son

The Orphan

The Birdcage

The Green Mile

The Raid

The Cider House Rules

The Lighthouse

The Book of Henry

The A-Team

The Crow

The Terminal

Thor Ragnarok

Twister

The Descent

The Birds

Total Recall

The Natural

The Fifth Element

True Romance

Terminator: Dark Fate

The Hobbit Trilogy

Unforgiven

Unbreakable

Unleashed

Very Bad Things

Wayne’s World

What Women Want

War Dogs

Wedding Crashers

What’s Eating Gilbert Grape

Welcome to the Dollhouse

Welcome to Marwen

Wet Hot American Summer

What Lies Beneath

What Dreams May Come

War Games

Who Framed Roger Rabbit

Weird Science

Willow

Wizard of Oz

Wanted

Young Sherlock Holmes

You’ve Got Mail

Zodiac

Zoolander

[wangxianficrecs]

Follower Recs

~*~

What a fantastic read it was! I was really touched with this fanfic. It is set in ancient China but there's no guest lectures. There's also a podfic for lazy readers like me xD @reluctantways

Kay: This lovely person also created the lovely header for the fic rec!

Tie Your Heartstring Up Tight

by athena_crikey

M, 54k, Wangxian

Summary: Lan Wangji could not hope to find any other person like this, at least not so far from their home. But wu speak to birds and beasts across the realm. He may be known to them. He may be recognized, somewhere. The ravens and the hawks hear the name and cry it to the skies; the mouse and the fox both carry it with them through snow-washed fields. Below ground the beetles gnaw it into roots and bark. Wei Ying. Wei Wuxian. OR: Tasked with finding the Yunmeng Jiang's missing wu, a young man called Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji recruits a familiar and travels across the land in search of him. His familiar, a black hare with a little too much personality, seems to have his own secrets.

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

“Perhaps I should look more into chiropterology or ornithology as a possible future life goal after all this is over, I’m sure I’m more of an expert then others my age if not older and already on the field.”

Damian gave a quick glance over at the large bat hanging next to him on a customized bar set, customized in a way that it might actually just be a small ladder with some steps missing to make sure there was enough hanging room but to be fair it worked and was light enough for him to move around with ease even when the other choose to rest on it has well.

The bat, a Livingstone's fruit bat, just nodded its head at his statement, giving off a seemingly pleased aura at the possibility of a such careers.

Father always did seem happy do indulge them in any chosen path that didn’t involve the family’s nighttime job.

Besides Grayson’s stint as an officer…

And yes, he was sure the overwhelming sized beast of a bat was his Father, no matter what form, he would recognize the man much like he could recognize the others.

Coming home from a patrol, no it was not him and Jon hanging out, they were doing important things like feeding the stray cats, solving a simple case of stolen goods and maybe shattering the kneecap of a few jerks…okay…maybe he was the one doing the shattering but Jon took them to the hospital like the good team up they were, anyway that wasn’t the point.

The point was when he came home and discovered his family and Drake had been cursed to take on their namesake form…he didn’t act as distressed as he should have and instead took absolute delight in the fact everyone was an animal now.

Sure he too would have enjoyed being cursed, which yes, he knows that isn’t the point of a curse, but it was nice to be relied on without voiced concerns questioning him. Why he preferred animal companions anyway…

This was a learning experience for all it seemed.

Father chirped at him, head tilting in a questioning manner and eyes studying his face…concerned…

Luckily before Damian would subject himself to explaining his feelings about being the odd one out and how it seemed they all have gotten closer miraculously, the ding of the elevator caught their attention leading to Pennyworth stepping out looking neutral as a bulldog bat let its feeling known as it screeched on the gentleman’s shoulder.

The screeching most likely caused by the Asian Koel that was flying around screeching back.

Seems like Todd and Grayson have gotten in another argument…how when they are literally unable to speak was a mystery in its own…

He could hear the others starting to shrill back at the commotion and it wouldn't be long till he was surrounded by the flock of birds and bats trying to see what was going on.

The slight movement under his hood had his newest companion peeking their tiny head out in interest, the Honduran White bat just sneezed at the sight at the group crowding around the batcomputer, a few even climbing over and on Father as though he was just another hanging point or a big fluffy nest.

Damian was unsure who this was, besides the fact they obviously had something to do with this mess since every time the small bat was out and by itself, one of the others would pin it down with their weight, screech unholy at it, or even take off with it in their talons.

Most of it was scare tactics but since the last incident left his new friend with an injured wing and a few very remorseful family members. Their guest had decided Damian was the best place to hide and depend on and had refused to come out near the others.

Which was fine, it made it easier for them to work this out when both parties obviously wanted to return everyone to their right species.

They just needed a starting point…

“Master Jason please stop biting your siblings!”

And to get everyone to stop attacking each other…

Just a quick little drabble, wasn’t sure what to make everyone else but I figured others would know, hope you enjoy it though!

Livingstone’s fruit bat: One of largest bats. Wingspan can grow up to 6 ft plus.

Bulldog bat: The loudest bat. Face of a bulldog and sharp teeth.

Asian Koel: Black cuckoo bird with tint of blue in its feathers, known to be one of the most annoying bird breeds. It call sounds like its going uwu.

Honduran Bats: Tiny little white bats with leaf shaped noses.

Pfft, yes! Absolutely!

Someone else suggested Danny being the bio brother/son of one of the batfam and Desiree granting his wish to know his family and somehow turning them all into animals. Maybe she does it just for lolz her powers aren't entirely clear.

Anyway they all blame him for the animal thing and Danny is just chilling out in Damians hood/pockets. Danny likes being a bat and being spoiled taken care of, especially if he's not dealing with Amity anymore for whatever reason.

He has no place to go and no reason to leave so maybe he stays a bat even after the others are returned to thier true forms. Everyone assumes hes some type of magical bat but doesn't question it too much further until a long time later when one of the kids are in a part of the mansion that no one but Alfred ever really goes to and finds a room decorated in a space theme. Sus.

Also the tiny white bat follows Damian everywhere. School? Check. Car? Check. Patrol? Check. He just can't shake it. Frankly he doesn't want to.

[carnivorousyandeere]

Kept By The Pack

CW: details of you getting kidnapped, fear, violence, mention of animal death

This one doesn’t go into individual details of meeting each werewolf, or their individual personalities just yet. Only one is named so far.

You’d ventured out on your own to a popular, heavily forested hiking area, staying at a beautiful and absurdly cheap lodge. The employees had all been wonderfully friendly, and the weather was beautiful. You just couldn’t quite shake the feeling of being watched wherever you went, indoors and out… and the employees were maybe just a little too friendly. You started to wonder if you’d stumbled into a yellow-deli situation, but they didn’t seem to share a cohesive religious or philosophical worldview.

The real problems didn’t start until it was time to leave. First, your rental car’s engine gave out. Then, the internet went down… and without good cell service up in the mountains, you couldn’t exactly call to let anyone know what had happened.

You went to the front desk for help, of course, even if the employees made you a little uneasy. Luckily it was Hunter behind the counter. The calm and collected butch was at least one of the ones you felt more comfortable around. He promised that he would call somebody to take a look at your car, and calmed your anxieties about leaving soon.

The weekend went by, with nobody coming to fix your car. You even tried to hitch a ride with other vacationers, but nobody would take you up on it. Stranger danger, and all. You watched each person and group leave, one by one, dread slowly growing with each departure, until you were the only guest left.

Without the chatter of other guests, the lodge felt absurdly empty. You found yourself jumping at every noise, goosebumps prickling at you. It was impossible to sleep that night. Eventually, fed up with the circumstances and the lack of help from the lodge’s staff, you resolved to make your way back to the main town yourself. You packed what you could into your hiking bag and left the rest there.

You snuck out as carefully and quietly as you could, knowing that if anybody caught you, they would try to convince you to at least stay until sunrise. The forest was dangerous at night. You couldn’t rationalize why, but you felt the risk was worth it as opposed to staying at the lodge any longer.

As you walked, you thought more about your stay. The employees hadn’t done anything to hurt or scare you outright. You wondered if maybe you’d hallucinated the weird aura between them, the looks they gave you…

But it didn’t matter now. You were already on the side of the road, surrounded by giant trees on either side. All you had to do was just follow the road that few miles to town. Then you could get a new rental car, drive away, and never think about this for the rest of your life.

Then again, maybe this would make an interesting story to tell your friends. Or your therapist; they were probably the best person to ask about this whole ordeal. Maybe you could even write an article about it for a travel website.

The nighttime air was humid and windy, alternating between sticky springtime warmth and cool gusts leftover from winter, driven by the moon. A twig snapped in the forest nearby.

You took a deep breath, heart pounding already. It probably wasn’t anything major. Just a squirrel, or a bird… still, you reached into your pocket and grabbed your bear spray, pulling it out and feeling the weight of it in your hand.

You didn’t even have time to calm your heart, or flick the safety switch on the spray, before you were pinned facedown in the gravel beside the road. Head ringing from the impact, and scraped up, you laid still in shock for a moment. The bear spray clattered away uselessly.

“Don’t move,” a voice growled near your ear.

You started thrashing. Grabbing at the dirt, kicking wildly, whatever you could do. The person— the beast— flipped you over and held you down by the wrists and throat with clawed hands. You gurgled angrily, still trying to knee them, but the oxygen deprivation was too much.

They bared their teeth at you, sharp and glinting in the low light. The hold around your neck loosened ever so slightly, letting you gasp and cough. “I respect the fighting spirit, pup, but it’s time to give up. You’re no match for us.”

Your panicked eyes flicked to the tree line, where more animals emerged from the tree line to circle you. The adrenaline gave you one more rush— you growled and spit at the one holding you down. “Playing with your food like this is stupid. If you’re going to eat me, just fucking do it already.”

The wolf(?) above you looked surprised, and one or two of the others snickered.

Another voice chimed in, “Bold words for a pinned rabbit. Not our fault you’re so fun to play with… I think we’ll keep you around a little longer.” Another clawed hand grabbed your chin and forced a few pills in your mouth.

You tried to spit them out, but they held one hand over your mouth and pinched your nose with the other, with the first monster still holding you by the neck. You had no choice but to swallow, and the hands retreated from your face.

The white wolf stroked your neck gently, as if to praise you for doing what they wanted. Your head clouded too fast, with the pills kicking in and adrenaline wearing off. The wolf stood on its back legs and slung you over its shoulder.

Distantly you felt the scrapes and bruises throbbing, and heard the wolves chatting amicably with one another as they brought you back up the road, away from the rest of civilization. Dizzily, you watched the sun rise over the hills and trees. You hadn’t even been close enough to see the skyline of the town.

~~~

You woke with a dry mouth and pounding headache, body uncomfortably warm. You tried to push off the heavy fur blankets, but— it wasn’t a blanket at all. Of course not. Of course, with your luck, the monsters were right there, piled on top of you and each other.

You were too tired to panic, and your thoughts flicked from once place to another lightly, as if you weren’t afraid you were going to be tortured or die soon. They were still playing with you, like a cat cuddling a mouse it intends to kill later, weren’t they?

You stared at the ceiling, eyes tracing over the lighting fixture and paint details. You were back at the lodge… and the wolf that pinned you had the same hair, and eyes, and quality of voice as Hunter.

Werewolves. Of course. It all made sense now, you thought deliriously. Monsters that you loved reading about happened to be fucking goddamn real. You’d be thrilled if you thought you were going to live.

Werewolves… yes, the pieces began falling in place. They weren’t a cult, per-se, but a pack. Belatedly, you thought it would’ve made an interesting anthropological study topic… if they hadn’t fucking kidnapped you. The absurdity of it all…

One of the wolves at the edge of the pile snuffled, and began kicking as they chased rabbits in their dream.

[shuttershocky]

I'm so glad you like World. I really really loved World and wasn't having nearly as much fun in Rise, and couldn't really articulate why. You managed to put words to what I was feeling; Rise was feeling way too straightforward, where every hunt followed a set route to collect the right set of floating bird things, then beeline to the monster without ever stopping. I loved the slower paced hunts and tracking and how ALIVE the world felt, and I wasnt getting that in Rise... I'm glad I'm not alone

Don't get me wrong, I'm having fun with Rise! It's got the more varied cast of monsters, bigger weapon movesets, and significantly better music (the frost islands battle theme is SO good), but World has the environment act almost like an immersive sim which just makes the setting come alive in a way Rise can't replicate for me.

I think the best example is how they execute sandpits. If you hunt a Barroth in the desert, Rise offers you sandpits as an easy way to trap a monster without items. You just lure them into one, they sink, and now they're a sitting duck for you to hit. In World however, a sandpit is an actual hazard. The first time you find one you don't even know it's there; the ground shifts and suddenly you and the Barroth desperately run in a futile attempt to escape from its pull, until you are both sucked in and fall 30 meters into an underground cave system. As you and the Barroth shake off the fall, you find that the cave is also home to a Diablos, and he wasn't expecting guests.

Rise was designed for monster fighting. Your movesets are huge, preparation is minimal, the wirebugs allow you to be sloppy, and the game is streamlined to let you run down your prey as fast as possible. You are so powerful in Rise that monsters don't pose a big threat to a decent team, at least until Sunbreak, and so the game feels like you're playing around. You're a superhuman running circles around beasts.

World on the other hand emphasizes the hunt. Preparation (both for build and knowledge about the map and monsters) matters more, mistakes are punished harshly, you really feel like a human with a big stick poking a t-rex, which means you better know what you're doing. And even if you do, the plan can go wrong as soon as a second monster realizes there's a free meal to be had.

___

I know Capcom has promised both the Clutch Claw and Wirebugs won't be returning in Wilds because Hunters got too powerful for their liking, but I do hope we see switch skills and the larger movesets of Rise stay in Wilds while continuing World's living environment. The best of both will be an amazing game to me.

[shadowphoenixrider]

Over a Bowl of Gumbo

(Direct sequel to Sins of the Past, where Gambit makes good on his promise to Shadow, and they Talk. More fluffy than the other one, but about the same amount of talking! At least we know where all the X'Men's 'talk about your feelings' budget went.)

Gambit made his way down the dormitory hall, following the voices that floated up from the dorm with its door ajar, keeping careful hold of the bowl in his hands.

Almost as soon as he'd crossed the mansion's threshold Shadow had been taken from him, bundled away into hot towels and towards the medbay, Beast rattling off orders in Medical-Speak that Gambit had no hope in understanding.

He'd not seen her since, and though he knew full well Beast would take care of the mutant, Gambit had found his mind loud with chattering worries. He couldn't silence them, but he could busy himself the only reliable way he knew how - something that made an even grumpy Scott forgive him. A bit.

As he approached the room, the voices became clearer; a warm southern drawl and the quieter accent no-one could place, talking casually. Gambit smiled warmly, gently drumming his knuckles on the door before pushing his way in.

Shadow was sat up in bed, propped up by pillows and in soft long-sleeved pyjamas, whilst Rogue sat at her feet.

"Hope Gambit not interruptin', mes amies?" He asked, glancing between them.

"No, we're fine here, sugah." Rogue smiled, eying the bowl in his hands and standing up. "There any more of that gumbo of yours?"

"Some, if ya quick. Hopefully Wolverine ain't ate it all." Gambit replied. He noticed the two women share a glance and smile, before Rogue began to take her leave. "She ok?" He asked lowly as she passed him.

"Doin' better now." Rogue nodded. "You did good, Remy."

They shared a smile before she left, and Gambit made his way into the room.

"What've you got?" Shadow asked, shifting to sit more upright.

"Gambit do believe he promised you a bowl of his gumbo when we got back. Careful, it still hot." He smiled, gently passing it to her. Their fingers brushed, and both had to resist the instinct to recoil. "No shrimp, only de chicken."

"And enough spice to kill?" Shadow raised an eyebrow, setting the bowl in the dip of her crossed legs. Gambit chuckled richly - he hadn't realized how much he'd missed her ripostes.

"Need a little spice to warm ya up!" He grinned, sitting where Rogue once had. "Beast would agree!"

"Uh huh." Shadow stirred the stew, taking a conservative taste. Gambit found himself watching her face carefully, gauging her reaction.

To his relief, she smiled, uttering a pleased hum. "Mmm! I can see why Rogue wants to get more."

Gambit beamed at her praise, not quite sure why.

"Glad ya like it, petite." And with that, Shadow dug in - her hunger clear.

Gambit turned his attention to her room, letting her eat in peace. Despite her still being at the X-Mansion as a guest, Shadow was already making her dorm her own. Large posters clung to the wall, one of a sci-fi show Gambit was fairly sure Beast also liked, another that listed all of the raptor birds that could be seen in their area, and yet another with all of the constellations in the night's sky. Books and textbooks were propped up haphazardly together, ranging from the expected subjects of cell biology and biochemistry to a variety of sci-fi and fantasy reference books, one about cat behaviour and another with a title Gambit was sure was there to embarrass people snooping in her room.

Another pile of books sat on the desk by the window, conspicuously kept separate from the others - one Star Wars novel, another about dragons and the last about bird migration. A model of one of the ships from the sci-fi show sat in pride of place in the window, along with a small black resin Egyptian cat, painted with colourful jewellery. Gambit smiled to see it.

"I told Rogue." Shadow's voice broke the Cajun from his thoughts, and he looked back to the young woman. She was stirring the gumbo thoughtfully, having devoured a good half of it already.

"'Bout what happened with your powers?" He asked. She nodded.

"Yeah. I figured that of everyone here, including you, she'd know what it's like..." Gambit nodded.

"That she does, petite. What'd she say?"

Shadow smiled.

"Oh, sugah." Rogue reached forward, gently taking Shadow's hand in her gloved one. "Ah'm so sorry."

"Yeah. When I saw it happening to Wolverine, even on purpose..." Shadow shook her head. "I panicked. It brought everything back, and I just...bolted."

Rogue squeezed her hand reassuringly.

"Ah know that feelin', sugah. Did it myself when mine came in too." She smiled sadly. "Folks 'round here have similar stories, though. You're not alone."

A small smile pulled at Shadow's lips.

"I...yeah. I guess you're right. I just...I didn't know how you'd react. I was scared-"

"That we'd treat you differently." Rogue finished for her. "Oh hun..." Another gentle squeeze. "We all have our demons in our past. If we turned you away for yours, all the X-Men'd have to disband!" She smiled softly, kindly. "You're safe here, Shadow. They'd understand."

Shadow's smile trembled, eyes stinging.

"I, I hope so."

"Gambit brought you in like a bedraggled kitty cat he found in a storm drain." Rogue chuckled. "You're not gonna get left out in the cold like that here."

Shadow took a shuddery breath, trying to regain her composure.

"Thank you. I...I'm still not looking forward to telling the others about it."

"Don't worry about that. You can tell them today, tomorrow, or never at all, if ya like." Rogue said. "No-one needs to tell their stories if they're not ready or don't want to." She smirked. "And if they start buggin' you? They'll have to go through me!"

That made Shadow giggle.

"Thank you, Rogue." She squeezed the other woman's hand. "I really appreciate it."

"No problem, sugah."

Gambit smiled fondly.

"Rogue always better than me at sayin' the right things," he said.

"I dunno." Shadow said, a shy smile playing on her lips. "I think you did alright."

"You're very kind, petite."

A comfortable silence settled between them, the young woman finishing off the last of her meal. Gambit noticed that the teal-clothed pyjamas she was wearing were patterned with sleeping cats, one curled into a ball prominently stitched over the shallow swell of her right breast.

Lifting his eyes to her face - least he be caught staring at that area - he noted that whilst her eyes were still a little red, that was the only evidence of her previous sorrow and distress. The colour was back in her face (perhaps a little intensely thanks to the spices), brightening her nose and cheeks. Her hair had mostly dried, curling tightly in on itself - she seemed to have lost an inch of height, but her brunette curls were now defined, almost like ringlets. He could just glimpse her pale ear lobes hiding behind the thick curtain of her hair.

"You're staring." Her voice snapped him back to reality, and to Gambit's surprise, he felt heat rise into his face.

"Ah! Jus' admirin' the scenery, petite!" He said, scratching the back of his neck. She raised an eyebrow at him, that same unconvinced look as she'd had when they first met. "I...Ya look much better, Shadow."

"I am." She nodded. "I should be better tomorrow, but Beast wants me to take it easy until then. Says it's better not to tempt fate after a shock to the system like I had." She paused for a moment, spinning the spoon in her fingers. "I don't know if he told you, but...I was entering a bad stage of hypothermia."

"Yeah." Gambit looked away, out of the window, where the rain still hadn't let up. His gaze drifted to where they had been. "Said that it were lucky I found you when I did. That..."

"Shadow's hypothermia symptoms were progressing fast." Beast said gravely. "She was displaying one of its most insidious symptoms; confusion. If she had been left alone for much longer, Shadow might not have been able to rescue herself, either under her own power, or to have enough wherewithal to call for assistance."

"You mean..." Gambit's heart felt like it stopped in his chest. The doctor dipped his head.

"Yes. We could have lost her, if not for your intervention."

"Yeah." Was Shadow's soft assent. A long pause, before she made a little 'hah!' "I guess that's two I owe you, now."

"Two?" Gambit raised an eyebrow, looking back to her.

"When you saved me in that alley, remember? When we first met." Shadow smiled. "Now you can add this to the list."

"Hah! You don't owe Gambit anythin', petite." He chuckled. "Gambit just happy you're safe. Besides, ya did pay me back for de first save. Healed me, remember?"

"Oh, yeah." She chuckled. "Well...I guess this gumbo makes two, then. It was fantastic." True to her word - aside for the last remnants of brown liquid at the bottom, the bowl was cleaned.

"Ah, only too glad ya liked it, mon amie." Gambit smiled proudly. "It be a Gambit special."

"It certainly was special. Thank you." Shadow's smile was warm and reached her eyes, making his heart trip over one of its beats. She reached to put the bowl on the bedside table, and Gambit leant over to help. Disappointedly, there was no accidental contact between them this time.

"How mad was Scott?" Shadow asked.

"Very." Gambit chuckled ruefully. "Guess most of it were out of worry for you, be fair. Did kinda disappear without tellin' them and didn't have my comm on. After what happened wit you, makes sense."

"Not mention you have that ability to magically disappear and appear without anyone hearing you." Shadow smirked, folding her arms.

"Hah! So ya keep tellin' me." He chuckled. "Didn't even me a chance to get outta my gear 'fore he be givin' me de lecture 'bout always keepin' my comm on, not disappearin' when he talkin' to me, all de usual." He leant back, stretching his long legs out. "Heard it all before."

Shadow raised an eyebrow at him.

"I dunno Gambit, if he has to keep saying it..."

"Don't! Ya as bad as Rogue!" He laughed. "Least he be keepin' it shorter dis time. Worried 'bout ya. Though, Gambit did manage to sweeten him up by promisin' to do his gumbo for dinner."

"Aw, and here I thought I was special!"

"Hey now, Gambit did promise ya first!" He turned his head, and noticed Shadow's eyes were roving down his body, specially down his legs. He gave no indication he'd seen her. "Gumbo take a while to cook anyway, so might as well do a big batch for de team too, non?"

"That's fair, I guess." A thoughtful pause. "Hey, Gambit?"

"Mmm?"

"...Why did you turn your comm off?"

Ah.

"Well..." Gambit rubbed the back of his neck, feeling traitorous heat start to crawl up his face. "If I knew you were in the state you were, woulda kept it on. But..." Why was finding the words so difficult all of a sudden?

"Gambit thought ya needed time. Scott can be pushy, even when he mean well, and...Gambit didn't think dat was what ya needed right den. So, he figured if he find ya first, you would have the time ya needed...and not be alone."

Shadow fiddled with the bedsheet, winding it around her finger.

"How did you know I didn't want to be alone?" She asked quietly. Gambit tried to ignore the sting in his chest at the insinuation.

"Let's jus' say Gambit have some experience wit this," he said. "De types of alone ya wanna be that nearly kills you...That's when ya need someone more den anythin'."

Shadow opened her mouth. Closed it. Just stared at him for a long couple of seconds, before she glanced shyly at her crossed feet.

"Thank you, then," she said softly, raising her head to look him in the eyes. "For...not just rescuing me, but being there for me." A smile grew across her lips. "For being my friend."

Gambit smiled back, feeling warmth blossom in his chest.

"De rien, petite." He replied. "Any time. You make it easy."

He was pleasantly surprised to see her blush slightly, and more so when she reached over, taking his hand. Though her hand was much smaller than his, her fingers were long and delicate-looking - surprisingly elegant for a woman who presented herself more as scrappy and laissez faire.

"I mean it, Gambit." Shadow said, her gentle voice full of deep-hearted conviction. "Thank you."

The Cajun found himself lost for words for a good few moments, before he clasped her hand in both of his, encompassing her with warmth.

"I feel de same, Shadow. Merci."

Her smile was like a sunrise, and Gambit found himself lingering, staring into blue eyes that reminded him of aquamarines, enjoying this quiet, peaceful moment.

That was until Shadow yawned widely.

"Urgh. Mmm, sorry Gambit." She rubbed her eyes with her spare hand. "Guess I'm more tired than I thought."

"It ok, mon amie." He smiled, squeezing her hand with his. "Ya been through a lot. An' de gumbo probably makin' ya sleepy too."

"Yeah." She looked at him from under regretful hooded eyes. "Sorry to chase you away."

"Non, don't be. Gambit happy to stay an' watch over you, but ya probably get better sleep without him." He smiled sadly, reluctantly getting to his feet.

"Depends on how loud your card shuffling is." She smiled, settling back onto the pillows. "But yeah. I think I need a kip. Thank you again, Gambit. For the save and the food."

"No problem." Gambit replied, taking the bowl. "Get some rest now, ok? Don't go sneakin' out again."

"Hah, rich coming from you." She chuckled, her tone light. "Alright. I'll see you when I see you."

"Sleep well, mon amie." Gambit said, stepping away. Shadow's light went off behind him.

Just before he left the room however, he stopped, glancing over his shoulder. Shadow had her back to him, only her wild messy hair visible above the sheets bundled around her.

"Fais de beaux rêves...chère." Gambit whispered softly, before he closed the door behind him.

[vodika-vibes]

The ARC and the Monster

Summary: Three months after the events that left him with prosthetic legs and a prosthetic arm, ARC Knight Echo is on a journey to relearn himself. And while on this journey, he discovers a village that doesn't exist.

Pairing: ARC Knight Echo x Reader

Word Count: 5810

Warnings: Mentions of death

Mando'a Used: sen'ika - little bird (according to the website I saw, lol)

A/N: I am very bad at writing fight scenes, I should work on that, lol. This is a twist on Beauty and the Beast, and I'm actually happy with it, which is surprising.

Divider by saradika

“Morning again, darlin’,” You smile tiredly at the merchant, “Bacon and a fresh loaf of bread?”

“I don’t suppose you have anything new?” You ask as you lean against the counter.

The Merchant laughed, “You know I don’t, darlin’. One loaf of bread, and one rack of bacon. As normal.”

You sigh and rest your head on your palm, “I am so tired of bacon.” You say with a sigh.

“Ah, I know darlin’.” He reaches out and lightly pats your hand, “How are things at the palace?”

“Same as ever. As per normal.” You smile at him as you take the bag of food, “How’s the wife?”

“Exhausted. We both are. We never expected our son to be an infant for almost 30 years.” He sighs, he accepts the credits and you wave as you head towards the door.

“Maybe someday the curse will be broken,” You call from the door.

“You won’t find many people who still have hope, darlin’. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You wave and step out of the shop, allowing the door to swing shut behind you. You neatly side-step several other people, and start walking the meandering path headed back towards the manor.

At this point, you can walk the path while wearing a blind-fold, you’re so familiar with the path between the village and the old mansion you call home.

You are, or were, the head chef for the Duke of these lands. In charge of all of the cooking and all of the food shopping. At the time it was a good job, high paying with incredible job security, and a chance to move up in the world.

Of course…that’s not what actually happened.

Thirty years ago a stranger appeared at the palace doors on the night of the young Baron’s 15th birthday. The Baron himself answered the door, though it wasn’t his duty, and he sent the guest away with a harsh word and a violent hand.

The Stranger was a Sorceress, and she was so put out by the Baron’s actions that she cursed the entire land. The Duke and Duchess vanished, trapped in a painting to your best guess, the young Baron twisted and changed, until his looks matched his personality…and everyone unfortunate enough to live in this Duchy ended up trapped in a time loop. 

This day, the day of the Baron’s 15th birthday, repeats over and over and over again. And the only way for the Curse to break is if the Baron show’s any true remorse.

But…

Well…

He doesn’t. 

You stop in front of the manor, and then turn to walk around the building to enter through the rear. No need to draw attention to yourself, if at all possible.

There are some good sides to being trapped in a time loop, you suppose as you push the door open. For example, anything that happens today will be reset when the clock strikes midnight. Any dishes that get broken will be repaired, any injuries will be healed, and any money spent will end up right back in your account.

Also, no one can die.

But no one can be born either. 

You kind of feel bad for one of the Housekeepers, she was 7 months pregnant when this whole fiasco began, and now, thirty years later, she’s still 7 months pregnant.

But that not dying has been a boon. Especially those first few years when the Baron was so angry at everything that he lashed out at everyone.

It was incredibly…strange. Getting ripped to shreds and then waking up in bed the next morning like nothing happened.

Luckily, the Baron has since learned that his temper tantrums have no lasting effect, and has since locked himself away. You don’t know what he eats…and to be honest, you don’t care. You have more important things to do than deal with a self important brat.

You step around one of the butlers, who is dutifully dusting a vase, “Good morning, Chaz,” You greet.

“Good morning, Miss.” He replies, “Did you have a nice walk?”

Your smile is wry, “Well, it’s warm and sunny, right now, and not a cloud in the sky. So, I was miserable.”

He chuckles, “I sent the young ones to the kitchen for a baking lesson, they seemed thrilled.”

“Well, if I had the choice between cookies and math, I would choose cookies too, Chaz.” You joke as you lightly pat him on the shoulder, and then step around him.

“Quite right, Miss.” He says with a laugh, “Also, the Young Master is in a foul mood today, I would avoid the southern gardens.”

“When isn’t the Young Master in a foul mood.” You reply, “But I’ll tell people to stay clear.” You toss him one last smile, and walk the short distance from the side entrance to the kitchen, and you set your bag on the counter, “I have bread…and bacon.” you call out to your staff.

The room erupts into groans of dismay. “If I have to have bacon one more time,” One of the maids says dramatically as she drapes herself across the prep table, “I’m going to throw myself off a bridge.”

“That would be impressive since there are no bridges in the Loop.” You counter dryly, “Also. I’m making soup with bacon and chicken.” The moaning slows to a stop, “Great. Also, Chaz says stay out of the Southern Garden. Also, who’s doing baking lessons?”

“Granny’s got the kids,” One of the other maids calls from near the window, “And I saw the young Baron head into the Garden, he looked mad enough to spit fire.”

“Alright everyone, let’s get to work. We have a manor to feed.” You call, and the room devolves into organized chaos, and you smile. Running a kitchen is a dance, and it’s a dance you’ve performed over ten thousand times. Everyone is in their positions, and though the room looks chaotic…well, they’re performing a masterpiece. 

You smile and slide yourself into your position, and begin your part of the dance.

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

It has been three months since the events that saw ARC Knight Echo losing his arm, and both of his legs in a magical explosion. And while he has prosthetics, and they work well, and he’s comfortable with them, he’s still not comfortable with his new body.

It’s why he went to Rex and asked for time. Time to heal on his own, without people hovering around him. Time to get used to the prosthetics and the way that his body moves now.

And after two weeks of camping, he’s starting to feel more like himself. Still, he’s not quite ready to return home just yet. For all that he claims that he hates camping…he’s actually enjoying himself. Enjoying the hunting and the fishing, and navigating the land with nothing more than a map and a compass.

Still, Echo is beginning to think it’s time to return home. There’s only so much time he can spend on his own before he starts missing his brothers, and starts talking to the trees around him.

He glances at his map, and then at the bridge several feet away, “Well…I’ll get to the top of the hill, and then I’ll turn around and head home.” He says to himself. He looks over the map one more time, and then folds it and slides it into his jacket pocket. He then hefts his bag over his shoulder, and he crosses the bridge.

He walks up the shallow hill, crests the top, and then he stops. Slowly, without moving his eyes, he pulls the map out of his jacket and he looks down at it, and then back in front of him.

There is not supposed to be a village here. And yet there is.

A well settled village, at that. The houses look old, like they’ve been there for a while, and the road is cobbled, rather than dirt. Echo pockets his map, and carefully adjusts his jacket so he’s able to rest his hand on the pommel of his blade.

And then he starts walking down the cobbled road.

This is strange, and he loves solving strange.

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

Once more, you walk the distance between the manor and the village. You go to the grocers, you buy bacon and bread while making jokes about having literally anything else, and you leave the shop.

Normally you don’t pay any attention to your surroundings, you’ve done this thousands of times now, but for some reason, today you do. Maybe you’re just feeling wistful, remembering the days when you could crest the hill and cross the bridge and head into the forest.

You flicker your gaze towards the village exit, and your breath catches in your throat.

There, standing next to the welcome sign, is a man. A strange man.

And, after thirty years, there are no strange men in this village.

You turn and walk towards him. He’s tall, though not the tallest man you’ve met, with dark skin and dark hair. As you get closer, you notice that his hair is curly, and that he’s got a prosthetic arm.

By the time you’re close enough to talk to him, you’re sure. “You’re from outside,” You breathe out.

He pins you in place with a curious stare, “If you mean that I’m not from this village, then yes, you’re right.” He looks away from you, his dark eyes scanning the village properly, “This village isn’t on any map.”

A pained look crosses your face, “We used to be,” You say quietly, “But…not anymore, I suppose.”

He glances at you, and then at some of the other people in the village, some have stopped what they’re doing to stare at him, while others blatantly ignore him, “Why are they looking at me like that?”

“People don’t come here,” You explain, “I…I’m sorry, what’s your name?”

“I’m Echo. Echo Fett. I’m an ARC Knight of Mandalore.” 

You introduce yourself with a smile, “I work at the manor, as the head chef.” You explain as you motion, vaguely, to the manor, “Um, so you asked what people are looking at you-”

“Yeah. They’re staring at me. I know prosthetics aren’t normal-”

“What? No! That doesn’t have anything to do with it.” You hasten to say, as you reach out and touch his arm lightly, “Just…please, will you listen to our story?”

He turns his attention back on you, “Yeah, alright.”

You tug him off the main road, and to a small park. Families used to picnic there, but not anymore. 

You sit on one of the benches, and wait until he’s sitting next to you. “So…what’s the story with this place?” Echo asks.

“Um…okay. So this story begins thirty years ago, on the night of the Baron’s 15th birthday.” You explain, your voice quiet, “You have to understand, the Baron was never a good child. He was always harsh, always cold, always mean…no one ever had anything good to say about him. I can’t even describe just how awful of a boy the Baron is.”

“Okay. So he’s a brat, the son of a Duke?”

“That’s right,” You nod, “Well, there was a surprise visitor. And for some reason the Baron answered the door himself. He turned the stranger away with violence…and it turned out that the stranger was actually a sorceress.”

“Oh no.”

“The entire Duchy was cursed as well.” You say quietly, “The Duke and Duchess were trapped in paintings. The Baron has become a monster. And the rest of us…well, we’re trapped.”

“In what way?” Echo asks.

“We have to live the same day, over and over and over again. We can do different things, within reason, but time never moves on for us.” Your voice is soft, “You’re the first new person we’ve met in years.”

He leans back against the bench, and he doesn’t say anything for a really long time, “So…what happens when time resets with me still here?”

You bite your lower lip, “I don’t know.” You hesitate, “I would suggest staying away from the manor, though. Until we know if the loop affects you…you need to stay away from the baron.”

“Why?” Echo asks.

“Because he’ll kill you.”

Echo stills, and something flinty enters his eyes, “Does he kill people often?”

“Oh, he hasn’t killed any of his employees in five years now.” You try to soothe, “And, well, it resets at midnight anyway, so…”

“Does that make it better?” Echo asks, his voice very gentle.

Your hands shake slightly as you remember razor sharp claws and teeth dripping with saliva, “...no.” You admit. You clench your hands tightly in your lap, to try and stop the trembling.

Echo glances at your hands, and reaches to place one of his hands over yours, “It’s okay. You’re safe here.” 

“For now.” You answer softly, your hands moving slightly to lightly grip his hand, the metal is cool under your hands, but is also soothing somehow, “It’s why you need to leave.” You say as you look from his hand to his face, “If you stay here-”

“No.” He interrupts, he smiles at you to soften the harshness of his word, “Look, you said that the curse is based around the Baron, right?”

“Yeah. He changed, and then his parents were trapped in the painting, and then the duchy was trapped in the loop. In that order.” You reply.

“Okay, so with the curse centered on the Baron, then to kill the curse we need to kill the Baron,”

You’re already shaking your head, “He’s too violent. If we get too close to him he’ll kill us.”

Echo frowns thoughtfully, “Then I’ll do it.”

You start and stare at him with wide eyes.

“I’m an ARC Knight, this is what we do.” Echo explains, his voice very kind.

“Free people from decade long curses?” You ask doubtfully.

He laughs softly, “Fight things that other people can’t.” He squeezes your hand, very gently, “Trust me.”

You hesitate for a long moment, and then you slowly nod. “Okay Echo.”

He smiles at you and gently releases your hands, “I’m going to need your help. Can you get me into the manor?”

Your gaze lingers on his clothing for a moment, and anxiety twists your stomach, “What if he claws you?” You ask, “His claws are…they ripped through me in one…”

Echo reaches into his backpack and pulls out a small metal orb, it’s glowing faintly, “This is an armor sphere. This is where I store my ARC armor when I’m not actively using it. Don’t worry, sen’ika, I’ll be wearing armor when I fight the Baron.”

“...okay.” You stand and gather your shopping bag in your arms, “Then you should probably follow me.”

“Yes ma’am,”

Echo follows you through the streets, and down the path that leads to the manor, and he follows you around the building to the side entrance. You hold the door to the manor open for him, and he steps into the worn down hallway that leads to the servants quarters.

Chaz is waiting for you. His severe gaze looks from Echo, to you, and then back to Echo. “The Young Master is in the library,” He says in a clipped tone, “I have instructed everyone to remain in their rooms for the time being.” He exhales slowly, and then lightly touches Echo on the shoulder, “Good luck, young man.”

“Thank you,” Echo replies, growing slightly startled when Chaz bows deeply, and then turns and vanishes into a side room. “Sen’ika, I need someplace to put my armor on.” He says to you.

“We can use the kitchen, it’s the one place in the manor the Baron never comes to.” You say, “Plus it’ll be empty right now.”

“Great, lead the way.” He follows you down a side hallway and into the kitchen, where you help him clear one of the prep tables, and he activates the little sphere, and lays all of his armor out on the table, and he quickly starts strapping the pieces to his body, “Where’s the library?” He asks.

“It’s part of the main building, on the third floor.” You explain, “You’ll never find it unless I show you…it’s not like there are any maps of the manor.”

He cuts his gaze towards you, “I don’t want you anywhere near the fighting.”

“I’ll be careful,” You reply, “But you’ll never find it without me.”

He sighs quietly, “Fine, but you will listen when I tell you to do something.”

“Yes sir,”

He finishes pulling his armor on, and he hooks his blade to his hip and then grabs his helmet, “Alright. How big is the library?”

“Massive. The Duchess was all for education.” You answer as you head out of the kitchen and into the hall, “She purchased several copies of every book ever printed and all of them are kept in the library.”

“So it’s cramped?”

“Less so than you might assume…it’s just very big.” You guide him through the twisting halls, until you reach the main living quarters. Unlike the servants quarters, which are clean and well maintained, the main house is dimly lit.

The wallpaper is ripped and torn, and there are some places where the wooden floorboards have been ripped up and flung into the wall. Pictures have been torn to shreds, and none of the furniture is usable. “The Baron did all of this?”

You nod, “He destroys the house every morning…at this point it doesn’t even take him an hour to destroy the house.” You carefully step around one of the floorboards, “Follow me, we need to go upstairs.”

You move silently through the house, and Echo is just as quiet, in spite of the armor he’s wearing. Finally you stop in front of an ornate door, “Is this the library?” Echo asks, his voice hushed.

“It is,” You hesitate, “You can still leave, Echo.”

“I’m not doing that.” Echo replies.

You sigh softly, and then you push the door open just enough that the pair of you can enter. Just like every other room in the main house, the library is destroyed, but you lightly touch Echo’s arm and you point at the ceiling, “There.”

Echo’s gaze follows your finger and he inhales sharply, “That used to be a man?” He asks.

The creature is shrouded in shadow, with claws long enough to rip a man to shreds without trying, and teeth that barely remain in his jaw. He clings to the ceiling, as though gravity has no effect on him. 

“Yes,” You whisper, “That used to be the Baron.”

Echo motions for you to get back, and draws his blade, “How do I get him down?” He hisses.

You glance at him nervously, and then you lift your fingers to your mouth, and you release a loud whistle that echoes through the chamber. And then you immediately duck under a fallen bookcase.

The Baron’s eyes snap open, revealing blood red eyes, and he releases a noise that sounds like a million angry snakes hissing at the same time. And you watch as the Baron moves, lunging at Echo with his terrifying speed.

But Echo is just as fast, and his blade is just as sharp as the Baron’s claws. 

You watch, terrified, as Echo proves just how good the average ARC Knight is, and you gasp when, in a smooth motion, Echo severs the Baron’s head from his body.

You slide out from your hiding space, and take several steps towards Echo, when the pressure in the room changes suddenly. You clamp your hands over your ears as the pressure increases and becomes painful.

You feel Echo’s hand lightly against your shoulder, and just barely hear him calling your name. And then there’s the sensation of a baseball bat slamming against your chest and the world goes dark.

**********

You wake with a painful groan. Your entire body hurts, and your head is throbbing. You let out a noise of discontent as your bedroom door bursts open and Chaz hurries in, “Good you’re awake. Get up, get dressed.”

You groan and roll out of bed, landing on the floor with a painful thump, “Why does everything hurt?” You rasp out.

“You were standing right there when the curse reset,” Chaz replies as he pulls you to your feet, “You took the brunt of the reset.” He explains.

“Oh…it sucks.”

“It does.” He agrees as he shoves an outfit into your hands, “Get dressed, you need to get out of the manor.”

You clumsily take the clothes and start peeling off your sleepwear, replacing them with the loose tunic Chaz gave you, “Why?”

“Echo killed the Baron yesterday, didn’t he?” Chaz asks in return.

“Yeah. He did. But if the world reset-”

“I broke a plate yesterday, it’s still broken.”

Your fingers pause on the ties of your shirt, “That’s impossible.”

“It’s improbable, but killing the Baron caused a change. You need to go back to the village and see if you can find Echo. He’s not in the manor.” Chaz pauses and leans in, “I think he was flung outside of the loop, since he’s not a part of it.” He motions to the blue and black backpack sitting in the corner of your room.

You pull your trousers on, and then pull on your boots, “That makes sense,” you say quietly, “What if he doesn’t come back?”

“He’ll come back. I have a good feeling.” Chaz replies, and then he grips your shoulders tightly, “Listen. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, but I think if we kill the Baron once for every year that we’ve been cursed, the curse will break.”

“30 deaths? There’s no way. We already know that the Baron remembers things that happen in previous resets.” You remind him, “There’s only so many times that Echo will be able to kill him with a sword.”

“Agreed. Don’t worry, we’ll handle it.” Chaz pushes you out the door, “Now go!”

“I’m going, I’m going.” You allow him to propel you out of your room, and down the hall, and then out the side door, and he slams the door behind you.

You huff out a heavy breath, and groan as pain shoots through you. You slowly walk the familiar path to the village, where you’re greeted by enthusiastic shouts. The grocer is missing a loaf of bread he sold the day before. The baker’s flour level is down just a little bit.

There’s change for the first time in years.

You walk to the Village sign, and lean heavily against it, your arm folded protectively against your ribs. You had forgotten how pain lingered. You don’t like it.

Your head snaps up when you see movement from in front of you, and a relieved smile crosses your face when Echo, still clad in armor, walks over to you. “Are you okay?” You ask.

He pulls his helmet off, “Are you? I found myself on the other side of the bridge when I woke up. Why are you holding your ribs?”

“They’re bruised, I think.” You reply, “I woke up in bed because of the reset.”

“So it didn’t work.” Echo says with a frown.

“Well, it is. But the curse is just…cracked. At least, that’s what we think.” You step closer to him, “Chaz broke a plate yesterday, and it’s still broken.”

Echo frowns, “You have a theory?”

“We think that if the Baron dies once for every year that we’ve been trapped here, the curse will break.”

“Thirty deaths?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

Echo exhales sharply, “How many more times can I use my sword before he learns how to avoid it?”

“Better to not risk trying it again,” You reply as you reach out and take Echo’s hand, “But, we have lots of weapons…assuming you know how to use them.”

“I haven’t encountered a weapon I can’t use,” Echo replies dryly, “Come on, back to the manor.”

“Yeah.” This time Echo guides you to the manor, and through the side door.

Chaz is sitting in the kitchen with one of every weapon from the armory, “He’s in the west garden today,” He says as soon as he sees Echo, “Which one of these do you want?”

Echo presses his blade into your hands, “Keep this safe for me,” He says, and you nod, curling your arms around it, while he picks through the weapons, eventually grabbing a pair of axes which he spins expertly, “How do I get to the west garden?”

“I’ll show you,” You say.

“You’re already hurt,” Chaz says, “I’ll show you,” He says to Echo.

“But-”

Echo smiles at you as he pulls his helmet on, “Don’t worry, sen’ika. I’ll be fine.”

You watch him walk out the room, led by Chaz, and you tighten your grip around Echo’s blade.

***********

You wake up in your bed, dressed in the tunic and pants from the day before, with your arms wrapped securely around Echo’s blade.

You lay in bed for ten minutes. Whatever Echo did to the Baron clearly worked, since the day reset less than three hours after it began.

You roll out of your bed, and hurry out of the manor. And by the time you reach the village sign, Echo is waiting for you, his arms folded. “You’re okay?” You ask as soon as you’re close enough.

“A few bruises,” Echo replies as he takes his blade back, “I don’t want to get close to him again, I don’t think.”

“We’ll figure something out.” You say as you hug him quickly.

“I’m sure we will.”

The third death involves a massive amount of crossbows, which pin the Baron to the wall of the ballroom.

The eighth death involves a truly terrifying amount of fire.

The fifteenth death involves an explosive made from flour and gunpowder.

“Halfway there,” Echo says as he leans back on the bench in the garden, “Only fifteen more deaths.”

“Are you okay?” You ask as you reach out and touch a bruise on his cheek.

“Just exhausted, sen’ika.” He smiles at you, “The people sure seem happy with all of the changes,” He notes.

“Change is good, Echo. Being trapped is…it’s a kind of hell. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.” You say quietly. 

“Well, with any luck, you’ll soon be free from this curse.” Echo says with a grin, “What’ll you do first?”

“Leave. I’m going to go literally anywhere else, and I’m never going to eat bacon again.”

Echo laughs, “Maybe I’ll take you back to Mandalore with me,” he says lightly, “It’s very different from this little village.”

“Oh, I’d like that-” You start to say, only to pause when something hits your face. The bustle of the village, just one street over, descends into silence, as the sky opens and rain starts falling.

You scramble to your feet, holding your hands out as the cool water splashes against your hands. And then you laugh, “Rain,” You whisper, “It’s raining!” You laugh again and spin in the rain, turning to grin at Echo, “Echo! You brought the rain back!”

From the next street over you can hear triumphant shouting, cheers of delight, and laughter.

You spin away from Echo, giggles of sheer delight falling from your lips as you stand in the pouring rain.

And Echo…well, he leans his elbows on his knees and he watches you with a fond smile on his lips. And when loud music starts playing the next street over, he gets to his feet, and he lightly takes your hand in his, an impish look crossing his face, “May I have this dance?”

You grin at him, and spin into his arms, “You may,” You agree as you look up into his eyes.

The seventeenth death involves an intricate trap with ropes, pulleys, and the heaviest bookshelf in the manor.

The twenty-first death involves a pit filled with lances.

The twenty-ninth death is much more straightforward, with Echo using a truly amazing number of potions to kill the Baron.

“This is the last one,” You whisper as you apply a healing ointment to Echo’s arm, and then reach up to patch up the bruise on his cheek.

“I think you’re more worried about this than I am.” Echo teases as he gently grabs your wrist, and lowers them away from his face, “Everything is going to be fine, I promise.”

“This is the closest we’ve been to freedom in years, Echo. I’m just…I’m nervous, that’s all.”

He smiles at you, warm and soft, and he leans in and lightly presses his forehead against yours, “There’s no need to be nervous.” He murmurs, “I’m going to take care of you.”

You release a shaky breath, “Okay. Are you sure you want to use your sword?” You ask one more time, just to make sure.

He laughs softly, “Yes. I’m sure. He won’t be expecting it.”

“But-”

Echo presses a light kiss to the inside of your wrist, “Trust me, cyar’ika. This is for the best.”

“I do trust you, but I’m still nervous.” You murmur, even as heat floods your face at his gentle kiss.

He smiles reassuringly at you, and gently releases you, “Go and take your position.”

You nod once, and take half a step back. Then you hesitate, and step back towards him and stand on your toes to press a kiss against his cheek, “Good luck, Echo.” And then you turn and hurry away.

Echo lets out a quiet chuckle, and then he pulls his helmet on. He walks the familiar path to the main room of the house, and he glances up at the second floor, where all of the employees of the Manor are standing, watching.

There’s the sound of angry hissing, and then the Baron is there. Twenty-nine deaths have left the creature angry and paranoid. Angry enough that his gaze was locked on Echo, and not any of the innocent people in the room.

Echo spins his blade with the ease of someone who knows what he’s doing and he takes a step towards the creature, “It’s time for this to end.” Echo says flatly.

The creature snarls and throws himself at Echo.

But Echo has already killed this creature twenty-nine times. He knows how he moves, how he acts in a given situation, and he’s clever enough to be able to make educated guesses on how he’ll react in unknown situations.

The whole encounter has already played out, hundreds of different times, in Echo’s mind. He already knows how it’s going to end. And so do the people watching the last fight.

Echo moves, just enough out of the way to not get hurt. He activates the runes on the blade, and he strikes. The Baron releases an inhuman scream, and spins to try and flee, but Echo strikes two more times. 

And the creature falls still.

Nothing happens for a long moment. And then the shadows that cover the creature disperse in every direction, washing over all of the people, then across everything in the Duchy, and then the shadows vanish as if they never existed to begin with.

You look at the massive clock on the wall and you watch as the calendar and time speed up to match the current day and year, and then you hurry down the stairs, “Echo!”

He pulls his helmet off and grunts as you crash into his side, “I’m okay, he didn’t even touch me.” His arm slides around your shoulder as you hug him tightly.

“No!” You both turn at the wail coming from the young man kneeling on the ground, “No! How could you? I was strong! I had power!” The Baron, a teenager again, gets to his feet, his teeth bared. “I’ll kill you!”

Echo lightly pushes you behind him as the teenager lunges at him. He draws his fist back, and then slams his fist into the boys face, sending him reeling back to the ground, “On the authority given to me by the Royal Family of Mandalore, you’re under arrest.”

“I was cursed!” The boy spat, “You can’t arrest me for being cursed!”

“No, but I can arrest you for the repeated murders of your employees. Just because it didn’t stick doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.” Echo says flatly, and then he presses the tip of his blade against the teenager’s throat, “Unless you think that none of them will testify against you.”

The boy hesitates and then looks away.

“That’s what I thought.” Echo effortlessly cuffs him, and then tosses him against a wall.

“So…what happens next?” Chaz asks.

“I have to make a phone call to Mandalore, we’ll get people out here to help you all get resettled. Thirty years is a long time, my friend.” Echo says as he clasps Chaz’s shoulder, “Although, unless anyone wants to stay here, we’ll probably reach out to different nations to help you get settled somewhere else.” He smiles at the group of people, “A new start…for all of you.”

He steps away from Chaz as the older man begins giving orders for information to get passed onto the village proper, and he leaves the manor. You chase after him, “So, what happens with me, then?”

“A new start,” Echo says, stopping as you hurry to his side, “Doing whatever you want, wherever you want.”

“What if I want to stay near you?” You ask.

He pauses and looks at you, “Well, I might be able to help with that.” Echo says with a slow smile. “If that’s what you really want.”

You hum thoughtfully, “You brought the rain back, Echo. And you fought for our freedom. There’s nothing I want more than to stay with you.”

He laughs softly, “Come here, sen’ika.”

You step closer to him and he lightly hooks an arm around your waist, pulling you even closer, and then he lightly bumps his forehead against yours.

“I have an idea,” Echo says lazily, “How about, once I make this call, we go down to the village and buy sandwiches from the cafe, and we have a picnic while we wait for help to arrive?”

You rest your hands on his chest plate, “Like a date?” You ask softly.

“Exactly like a date,” He confirms.

You smile at him brightly, and you raise up on your toes to brush your lips against his, “I like that idea.”

He smiles against your lips, “Glad to hear it, cyar’ika. Now, I really do need to make this call, but you don’t have to move if you don’t want to. Actually, they’re probably going to have some questions for you, so it’s best that you don’t move-”

You grin and lay your cheek against his shoulder, it’s not a happily ever after, not yet at least, but it’s a start and that’s all you can ask for. 

[evenhisfacewasanalias]

Fragments of Eros (Part 5)

Lady Jane Grey/Guildford Dudley

Rating: Adult

The last of the embers turned to ash, and something brushed her hand. She let out a small cry at the brief touch, the anticipation of claws or teeth that followed. But none did.

Only the feel of a warm circlet of gold slipped around her ring finger by human hands. The sound of a man’s voice, gentle, and not a beast’s.

“With this ring, I thee wed.”

A Cupid and Psyche/(Beauty and the Beast) AU, inspired by and encouraged by schokoleibniz.

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Chapter 5: The Athenaeum

By the time she reached the castle’s inner yard, Jane realized there was nowhere for her to run. The doors were all barred to her, the walls far too high. She was without her shoes and still dressed in her bedclothes. She thought only to hide, and hoped that the creature she left in her room wouldn’t come for her. 

With every possible shelter taken by their new guests, Jane found herself again climbing the apple tree she had found before, hiding herself among the darkened leaves there. 

It didn’t take long for Jane to notice she was not alone atop the branch. A speckled hawk sat at her side, only barely visible under the new moon. Jane nearly smiled at so easily recognizing the strange form of her old friend, but her feelings were conflicted. 

“You knew,” Jane accused.

And then it was Susannah, the woman, at her side.

“Aye, but it’s not as bad as all that. He only looks frightening,” her friend assured.

“There was blood,” Jane began.

“There’s always blood, even if he were to only eat apples all day and takes no meat.”

“Where does it come from, then?”

Jane’s mind pondered over yet another mystery.

“We were hoping you might figure that out - but that’s telling too much. He’s supposed to be the one to ask you.”

“Ask me what?” 

Susannah merely tapped the side of her nose. “I think it’s time you talk to him.”

“Why on earth would I do that?” Jane frowned. She wasn’t about to go back there. 

“Because he’s your husband,” Susannah laughed. “You just spent the past two days searching the whole bloody castle for him.”

“But I didn’t know then,” she started.

“You did know though, Jane. You knew all along he was one of us.” 

Jane felt her friend’s disappointment in her words. Jane had professed to all of England that the beasts were not to be feared but to be seen as equals. And now here she was running away at her first encounter with one that hadn’t been so charming in appearance. It was easy not to fear a bird or a rabbit, and even the wolves and bears among them seemed so docile as to be mistaken for housepets. Her husband had a far more fearsome visage. 

But he had not hurt her. Perhaps it was only her surprise - and his own - that had made him seem so fearsome in the candlelight? If she returned, he might appear more as he truly was.

She nodded at the wisdom of friend’s words, and made her descent from the branches. Susannah was right, she and Guildford needed to talk. He might even finally give her the answers she sought, if he was not too angry at her for tricking him.

“Do you think he’ll forgive me?” She asked her old friend, still so gracefully perched on the branch above, though in human form.

“He had better,” she grinned. “I warned him that eventually your curiosity would get the best of you both.”

And with that she was a hawk once more, flying back to her own lover who awaited her.

Lady Jane gathered back her courage as she ascended the familiar staircase back to her room. She convinced herself that Guildford’s beast could not be so horrible as she remembered it - it had merely been the dark night and the surprise of his metamorphosis that had caused it to take on such a menacing aspect. Lost in such thoughts she found herself back at her own door before she had quite fully prepared herself. 

She knocked tentatively.

“Jane?” Came the familiar voice of her husband. “You must shut your eyes before you come in.”

“No,” she refused. “I wish to see you as you truly are.”

“I am many things, but the beast is not my true self. You may see it if you wish to but you must not get too close.”

“Susannah told me I was in no danger.” What was the truth?

“And you won’t be - if you can temper your natural curiosity, as difficult as that might be for you.” 

His teasing tone relaxed her greatly. This was the man she felt she had known.

He repeated his warning, however. “Stay out from underfoot, and remember that its teeth can be sharp.”

Jane puzzled at Guildford referring to the beast as something other than himself - so unlike their other friends - but cast her agreement through the door all the same.

“Then, if you are certain.” He invited her in.

She entered the room slowly, remembering his words, though she anticipated finding his beastly form far less frightening at this second meeting.

It was not to be so. The light of the reawakened fire had in no way diminished the horrifying aspect of his transformation. The beast was still nearly at the height of the ceiling, and it was a wonder he had not crushed their bed under the weight of his hooves - the wooden chair that once sat in the corner had not itself escaped such a fate. Though he held steady as possible, the beast still moved in such a way it was clear he would never be fully reigned in. The eyes were just as fiery as she recalled, and the teeth as sharp and bloodstained, its breath smelling of ash and death. The coal dark body and rough mane of the beast in no way invited her to reach out to it, so it was no hard task indeed to obey her lover’s warning. It was clear this was no ordinary beast - something unnatural such as not even Archer’s gigantic bear shape had been. 

Jane nearly trembled at the sight, but held herself still in its presence. She had asked to see this, and she wouldn’t back down now - even though it still frightened her in some deeper part of herself that she could not control. She wished she still had his voice here with her, to answer her doubts and set her at ease, even with his jesting. She could imagine no better anodyne to this moment than his mockery.

Guildford had told her that if she were to look at him, that he would disappear - she realized now he meant that the man she knew would go away. He had apparently been telling the truth in this. Though now she wondered if the opposite was true.

She shut her eyes. There was a strange noise, the slight feeling of air rushing past her bared limbs. The warmth from the fire blew out towards her and the horrible scent of death disappeared. And then she heard his voice.

“Was I really so frightening? You do not need to hold your eyes shut quite so firmly.” He teased, but she could hear the undercurrent of truth to his question. 

“I wished to speak with you again, and it is difficult to keep one’s eyes closed in a conversation.”

The low rumbling of his chuckle ghosted over her ears, he was standing far nearer to her now. “Then you now understand my reasoning for blindfolding you.” 

“I understand you thought it necessary.” It is as close as Jane will come to conceding his point. “Will you now tell me what you are?”

“First I must show you something. It will be easier if I blindfold you once more.”

If Jane found it surprising that she could trust him again so easily after all he had hidden from her, she ascribed it to merely her own desire for answers. And so she allowed him to tie the cloth back over her eyes, and let her eyelids relax beneath the protective darkness of it. 

He took her hand within his own - strong, human, familiar - and gently led her down the staircase. She recognized their pathway at first but lost track as he continued to guide her deeper within the castle, to where she had rarely explored herself. It felt as though they were in some kind of narrow passageway, the walls closed in on either side and above her. Only their soft footfalls made any sound within the space, echoing forward and behind them but with none of the familiar sounds of the castle’s other residents. This must have been how he avoided being seen by her in the daylight. 

Eventually, they emerged into a larger space, though this too was equally devoid of other inhabitants. He let go of her hand, asking her to stay. She could hear the soft flicker and hiss of a candle being lit - first one, and then another, and then many more, until she could almost glimpse their soft glow through her blindfold.

And then she heard his voice echoing from somewhere behind her, “you may look now.”

She pulled the blindfold from her eyes to take in the room before her. More than a room, she realized - they had somehow entered into the castle’s chapel. Though small in appearance from the outside, inside, the stone walls and high windows lent it a more impressive air. Starlight dimly glowed through the stained glass arch at the front of the chapel - an ancient portrait of the Virgin with the Child cradled to her heart, both of them haloed with gold and light. All else was lit by the many flickering candles placed around the small sanctuary, most of them atop the large altar at its center. There sat a large collection of books, in fact there were an unnumbered many littered across windowsills and pews. As if someone had tried to turn this small chapel into something of a library. She clasped the first volume she sighted.

“Quam ut rememdium bestia,” she took up another, “Das Biest Beenden, Euripides, Diodorus Siculus - these are all books on beasts, and ancient myths.”

She looked back without quite meaning to, though her lover had hidden himself well enough behind the stone columns at her back. 

His voice echoed from the shadows of the narthex, his tone less certain. “To answer your earlier question, I don’t know what I am. I had hoped to find the answers in these books, though I have not yet found any such satisfactory account.”

Jane turned back to marvel at the collection. “How did you even find all of these? Many of them are said to have been lost.”

“My man Rupert travels the world to collect them for me, any time I get word of a new volume. He has always been loyal to a fault.”

“Most of these are in ancient Greek or Latin - though this one is in the Sicilian dialect, and this in Aramaic - can you read Aramaic as well?”

“I know some little Church Latin, and Rabbit knows some German, but we are none of us able to translate the preponderance of these. I had heard that you were the most learned woman in the kingdom, a polyglot of sorts.”

“SÌ - though I’ll confess I know the Florentine Tuscan better than the Sicilian.” 

She was already trying her hand at the Diodorus Siculus in front of her.

“Dante or Petrarch?” He guessed at the source of her knowledge.

“Boccaccio,” she argued. Though in Latin, his De Mulieribus Claris on the great women of Italian history had been as a bible to her.

“Jane, will you close your eyes again?” Came his voice from behind her.

Reluctant though she was to set down the ancient manuscript, she acceded, turning towards the columns to show him that she had done as he asked.

She felt both her hands taken into his. He was now directly before her. The temptation to open her eyes nearly overwhelmed her, even though now she knew precisely what she would see.

His voice was filled with solemnity. “Will you help me then? To discover the source of my curse and its cure?”

“Your curse?” It was the first she had heard the word, but as she said it she started to understand. 

The other beasts could take what shape they willed, could walk in the light as man or beast. None were so terrifying as her husband. But also, none could protect them half so well.

“You wish to cure yourself?” She altered her question. 

“You wish to be wed to a monster?”

“I had no wish to be married at all,” she reminded him. “But you are the source of safety for all these people.”

“And at what cost?” His voice grew bitter.

“Yes, I understand something of that cost,” Jane’s hands tightened in his. “But you have succeeded where I failed to protect them.” 

He pulled away.

“And for how long? How long will they stay safe with me? How long will you? I cannot stay trapped in this castle any more than you can. I have no control over this.”

Jane could understand this feeling, more than perhaps anyone else she knew. She had endangered everyone she loved in challenging the laws and tradition of her Kingdom. The nobility had turned on her swiftly, even as she held the support of the people, and they were all of them stripped of their former station. Still, she is not certain she would have acted differently, even knowing how it would all end. Her family had survived, whatever the personal cost to her own freedom.

Guildford sensed her hesitation, though he did not seem to understand its true source. “If you were to find a cure, we could both leave here. I promised you I would set you free when it was safe to do so - this is the only way I can honor that.”

Janed frowned at this. Apparently his earlier promise had been more conditional than she had hoped, and now he expected her to do the impossible. In all of her studies she had never read of such a condition, far less any possible cure.

“What do Archer and the others say of this?” Surely if anyone knew of a cure, it would be his fellow beasts.

“Archer insists there is no curse, that I must accept what I am to gain mastery of it. But it is curse enough to remember what the beast is capable of - controlling it would only compound my guilt.”

Jane’s breath halted at his words.

He continued. “Surely you don’t think a mere glance at me was enough to scare away the Kingsland guard - even though it clearly set you running.” 

“It merely took me by surprise,” Jane insisted, not wanting him to think her still afraid of him. “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

But Jane had heard their screams, and she had seen the blood on his teeth - no matter that Susannah had assured her it was no more than false conjuring. If this was indeed a curse, there must still be some source. How many stories were there of those driven to such an illusion by their guilt?

Jane couldn’t find it in herself to condemn his actions however. Though she had been unwilling herself to demand the execution of her opponents, they had never held a sword to the throats of her friends. She imagined someone threatening one of her sisters, or Susannah, or even the man in front of her in such a manner. Jane knew already she would make the same choice to defend them, by whatever means she could.

“Then will you help me?” His hands took hold of hers once again.

“I will try,” she hesitated to promise.

“Please, that is all that I ask. It is the only way I will be able to set us both free.”

Still, she had her doubts.

“But Guildford, what if it doesn’t work?”

His lips pressed to hers, taking her by surprise.

“What was that for?”

“That’s the first time you’ve ever called me by my name.”

She blushed to hear the delight in his voice at so small a gesture.

“This is the first time I feel as though I actually know something of you. But Guildford,” another kiss, “I still have so many questions.”

“I expected you might,” he teased.

“To start - how does this work? Can no one look at you? Or is it just me?”

“No one.” His hands tightened around hers.

Jane breathed out a small sign of relief. At least she was not bound up in this curse as well.

“Can you look at yourself then?”

“No. If I were to see myself in a mirror I would transform just the same.” 

Jane realized there were no mirrors in her room, no reflective surfaces at all.

“So then you don’t know what you look like as a man?”

“Jane, I have not always been what I am now,” he chuckled.

And of course, she knew that. He had been a part of the Court once, and she recalled hearing of his name as his father’s son. But first one and then all three Dudleys had been exiled from the Court before her ascendancy to the throne.

“Wait, let me turn around - I don’t wish to be blindfolded again but it is difficult not to look at you.”

She turned from him, but he lingered near, wrapping his arms around her and pressing his face into her curls. This way, she could not so easily glance around to see him.

“Why didn’t you tell me at our first meeting?” This question is foremost in her thoughts.

“I had thought you might run at the sight of me, and, as it turns out, I was quite correct.” His words were harsh but his tone was teasing. He did not fault her for this, at least.

“I might not have, had I had some warning.”

“I did warn you not to be so curious.”

“You might as well ask a bird not to fly, you knew what might happen.”

He laughed. “I had hoped I might have a little longer to convince you to stay.”

Jane thought  back to their nights together - every time she had asked him any real questions about his nature, he had drawn her back into their marriage bed. Had it all been an attempt to convince her to stay with him?

“And that was how you thought you might win me over?”

“I believe the seduction was mutual.” A soft kiss was pressed to the side of her neck, and she shivered at the touch. Jane couldn’t deny that she had drawn him in just as readily. “But how does one win over a Queen? Surely you wouldn’t be impressed by jewels or fine dresses.”

“If I were, then Rabbit might better have won me over,” she teased. “I think I’d rather have books than any other gift you could buy.”

“I thought offering you any from my own collection might give away my secret too soon.”

“Then perhaps the way to win over a Queen is with honest conversation,” came her retort.

The low rumble of his laugh tickled her ear. “I gave you poetry.”

“I prefer non-fiction.”

Another laugh. “I presented you with a challenge, which I know you like best of all.”

This she could not argue, though she greatly desired to do so. Instead, she reached for the blindfold still atop the altar.

“I thought you didn’t wish to be blindfolded?” He asked, even as he helped her to tie it once more around her eyes.

“Can’t I change my mind?”

“Yes - I often expect you to do so.”

There were many ways she could interpret his words, though she hoped to persuade him that she would not go back on her promises to him at least. She would aid him, as he had asked her to, and would stay with him until she was assured of both their safety, and that of her friends - whether she cured him or not. She would not be afraid of him again. 

Jane could think of no better means of communicating this than to turn and take his lips with her own. Her fingers slid into the soft familiarity of his hair, and his lips opened easily to the tender press of her tongue. His arms stayed wrapped around her, hands flexing against her spine as she drew a pleased noise from her reavowed lover. 

She pressed him back toward the altar rail, and he went willingly at her tough. But in her blind state she could not accurately judge the direction of her aim, and Guildford instead stumbled over the raised dais. He fell back to seated just beside the altar itself, laughing as he went. He reached up to pull her down with him, until she was settled astride his lap, the stacks of books just over their heads. She pushed at his shirt, realizing that he must have dressed himself after she had caught her all too brief glimpse of his naked form, and she could imagine no greater shame. Her hands traced over the muscles of his chest and stomach, melding the tangible sensation with her memories of their appearance. She wished she could see him again, feeling greedy for the sight of her lover - and jealous that he could so easily see her. All of her but her eyes, at least - despite it all, their eyes had never once met. This thought suddenly overtook her.

“My eyes are hazel,” she breathed out, thinking to even this score between them. 

His lips met hers again with fervor, and she knew he had understood what she was trying to share. He pulled away but for a moment. “If you can cure me, perhaps I will one day see them for myself.”

“I will do my best to see that happen,” she promised, and Guildford’s lips surged towards her once more.

But Jane was now placed above him, and it was so easy to slide her hand along his jaw and into his hair, catching at the thick tufts of it tightly enough that she could take control of their kiss. She felt his groan of pleasure against their lips.

It was the work of only a few moments as they tugged off his trousers, and rucked up her chemise so that the heat of her was pressed against his waiting skin. Jane pushed him to lay back as she positioned herself above him, breathing out his name as she took him back inside herself. Her own name was on his lips as their bodies met, both trembling at the feel of what they had almost lost. 

When Jane attempted to shift her hips upward, Guildford’s hands pulled her back down again, and together they built a rhythm between them. Their sounds of passion echoed through the church but no one was around to hear them. 

She spared a thought for her cousin, the Queen Mary, and how she might view this as proof that Jane truly was a heathen. And perhaps she was, though there was nothing unholy about this union with her husband. Even if the bonds between them weren’t til death, he was hers to have for as long as she stayed here. And in this moment Jane saw no reason to leave.

[scummy-writes]

[A Letter Found By a Clumsy Paper Crane]

@kissmetwicekissmedeadly Sent in:

I hope you enjoy this, Mo!! I feel like every time I've written Napoleon, it's just been for you HAHA

Never in my life did I anticipate being jealous over ducks. But my nunuche has always been a silly goose, hasn’t she? Heh. You stared at our uninvited guests during our whole picnic, eyes lit up like the sun. …I couldn’t be mad at the animals, not with how sweet and happy you looked.  I’ll tell you a secret. Dazai let me know about this pond, and what foods to bring our guests. I’ll never forget the way you gasped when I showed you what I brought. We’ll have to have more picnics with our new friends. Today was the first holiday I’ve spent around so much paper. Origami, right? Your nimble fingers were fast with making more bird friends, yet my clumsy hands only made beasts for company. …I heard your laughter, nunuche! You tried to hide your beautiful smile behind the swan you folded, but I still saw. The swan you made me sits on my vanity now. I can’t wait for the way you’ll light up when you see it.  Next year, I’ll make you an army of swans to decorate your room. I’ll practice every day, if I have to, just you wait.

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