#he has his own reasons for being a hunter and he reinforces the idea that family isn't just blood

[1-800-crscnt]

-jobs I think some clones would have in a post-war “clones are legally seen as people” universe-

Cody: plant + animal farmer. sees it as both a new experience/challenge (land, terrestrial plants and animals) but also slightly similar to what he was used to as a marshal commander. likes the hard work & care required for this lifestyle but cares more about the payoff of it all. will underestimate mint at some point.

Rex: fisherman of some kind. i don’t really have a reason for this, it just seems very likely to me. probably enjoys the peace and solitude it can bring after years of being in the situations he’s been in, but likes the learning aspect and self-sufficient parts of knowing how to fish. could also like the thrill of wrestling large fish that have bodycounts and going to competitions about it, maybe all of these options at once. possibly worries a lot about everyone else and is always sending them photos of him fishing so they respond with their own thing.

Fox: nice try. stays unemployed in a comfortable cabin in some isolated town and loves it. if he needs money, he’ll cash in on favors or do small favors for his brothers.

Wolffe: also tempted to stay unemployed, but gets restless + depressed, becomes a woodworker. doesn’t care about it at first since it’s just a way to get money and stay busy, but develops a liking towards the methodical work and the feeling of creating something very meaningful and/or beautiful with his own hands. ends up liking to create furniture for his brothers getting settled down as a hobby, but creates gothic decorations to sell as his main thing. possibly gets less depressed.

Bly: security guard, would quit, then become a geologist. liked how similar being a security guard was to being a marshal commander at times, but overall hated being reminded of how a lot of people saw/see clones. found more peace in geology bc of how delicate/patient/focused he had to be (helps reinforce his belief that he’s not a violent machine capable of nothing else), also loves learning and sharing knowledge in general. doesn’t really like working with other geologists, tends to not communicate being angry since he’s used to shutting up to get a job done. but he’s dealing. sort of.

Doom: would probably also be unemployed but because he keeps quitting any job after about a month. just can’t find anything that calls to him or keeps him happy, but knows his end goal is to have a life involving lots of plants. doesn’t enjoy being unemployed because he tends to see it as a personal failing on his part, ends up very stressed. Wolffe tries to give advice on just jumping right into plant stuff and making money off it, but Doom is hesitant to make something he loves into a job he might end up hating and quitting again.

Bacara: part-time piercer, part-time bounty hunter. likes to call them both his “piercing jobs” to the discomfort of nearly everyone else. prefers bounty hunting since he thinks it’s more necessary + familiar, but would give it up first if he was forced to only choose one (more stable pay + might live longer). backup plan is to fake his death (unnecessary & regardless of situation) and become a librarian or historian with a fake accent. sort of a nerd anyway, so this isn’t the end of the world for him, and likes how he can get away with dissociating more than he used to.

Neyo: surprisingly, professional racer. refuses to explain how he got this idea, his motives, and where the next event will be, but likes it when his brothers somehow show up. loves the exhilaration, risk (huge adrenaline junkie) and how his outfit looks. also likes the bragging rights. backup plan is to fake his death (again, unnecessary & regardless of situation) and secretly live with Bacara, becoming a chef because he likes working with knives + feeding hungry people fulfills his desire to be useful in some way. has yet to tell Bacara any of this, actually finds not saying anything about it really funny.

[yandereworlds]

they're all so cute ;0;

do you have any fun facts about dantae you want to share?

Actually, yes! Here's some Dantae Headcanons!

𖦹 Dantae is 100% a dog person. He owns two great Dane’s! One is named Marco and the other Leon.

𖦹 Dantae definitely prefers a s/o that’s shorter than him for many reasons, mostly because he likes being able to lift up his s/o whenever he feels like it and because they pose less of a threat and won’t be nearly as difficult to subdue when times call for it. I won’t say he’s entirely against dating a taller s/o, but he’ll definitely be more apprehensive

𖦹 Dantae adheres to an exceedingly strict diet, making a conscious effort to minimize carb intake. He's seemingly one of those individuals dedicated to going to the gym, exercising at least twice daily, and meticulously upholding a balanced diet. Should you find yourself in a relationship with Dantae, he'll undoubtedly encourage you to embrace his dietary choices, despite knowing your aversion to it, in one way or another. Whenever you complain to him, he’d likely say something along the lines of, “I just want to help you keep that perfect figure, Cariño. Don’t be so angry..”

𖦹 Regrettably, Dantae's persuasive nature doesn't end with his diet preferences. He would also try to motivate you to join him in morning exercises, though he won't be as overly insistent. His approach would involve incorporating you into his routines, such as doing push-ups with you sitting on his back or engaging in sit-ups while showering you with affectionate kisses every time he comes back up.

𖦹 Dantae values a significant other who possesses excellent culinary skills. After all, they say the quickest way to a man's heart is through his stomach, and that rings true for Dantae. Naturally, he would anticipate his partner to prepare meals for him throughout the day and keep the table full. These acts of service will genuinely make Dantae appreciate his significant other, especially when they are done without him having to ask for them.

𖦹 When Dantae isn't occupied with his work as a bounty hunter, he likely spends his leisure time at shooting ranges. He constantly strives to enhance his weapon-handling skills, though he usually prefers that his significant other isn’t present. However, with sufficient encouragement, he might occasionally bring them along, strictly as an observer and never to participate. The idea of his partner handling a gun or any weapon unsettles him; he firmly believes it isn't their place, and he intends to maintain that boundary, regardless if they are actually good at it or not.

𖦹 Adding onto what I mentioned earlier, acts of service form the foundation of Dantae's love language. Verbal expressions of affection aren't his forte; instead, he lets his actions speak volumes. Following a taxing evening of work, he might return home and tenderly massage his significant other's shoulders and feet, or take the initiative to handle some household chores if they are feeling exhausted. He might even draw a soothing bath for the two of you, embracing the opportunity to share a moment of relaxation and intimacy.

𖦹 Dantae is an avid horror enthusiast. He finds immense joy in watching scary movies with his significant other, relishing not only the thrill of the films, but also the comforting presence of having you clinging onto him. It reinforces his sense of being your primary protector, and there's nothing he enjoys more than that reassuring feeling.

𖦹 Probably takes photos of his s/o while they are sleeping and definitely has a folder compiled purely of all the photos he's taken of you over time.

𖦹 Dantae has a tendency to discreetly plant bugs or tracking devices on most of his darling's belongings. It's not that he doesn’t trust you, but rather he finds comfort in knowing your whereabouts at all times. Even though he could easily ask, that alone doesn't suffice for him. He's unlikely to reveal this behavior, and in the event that his darling discovers one of these bugs and confronts him, he won't try to hide it. Instead, he may openly admit to doing so, taking pride in the belief that he's merely looking out for your well-being.

𖦹 Dantae has difficulty accepting criticism, regardless of whether it is intended for his own betterment or not. Any form of correction or being told he's mistaken about something tends to trigger his anger swiftly. In such situations, he may become easily irritated or even display aggression, depending on the circumstances.

𖦹 Dantae is heavily family-oriented, he often puts them above everything else and prioritizes them. Dantae truly believes that there's really nothing else like family and if it came down to it, he would do just about anything for his family.

𖦹 Dantae adheres to a highly disciplined sleeping routine. He typically retires to bed between 9 to 8 PM, and as an early riser, he wakes up around 5 AM. Every morning, while his significant other enjoys a bit more rest, he engages in various activities such as exercising, tending to yard work, or handling tasks like fetching the mail. This structured morning routine allows him to make the most of each day and take care of necessary chores before his partner wakes up.

𖦹 Dantae's major pet peeve revolves around the silent treatment or being ignored, as he finds such behavior disrespectful. When faced with this treatment, he doesn't hesitate to become hostile in response. However, when it comes to his significant other, he may exhibit a bit more tolerance and patience, though even that has its limits, like most things in his life.

𖦹 Will always be the big spoon, it is non negotiable.

Hope this gave you a little more of an idea of the type of person Dantae is! Enjoy!

𖦹 Join our Discord server to get early access to art, polls, headcanons and more! 𖦹

[vorbarrsultana]

the vampire lestat reread, pt. 1 (lestat and nickistat)

also known as "i decided to reread tvl after the season finale because some takes i've seen online give me the impression i read a completely different book two years ago". i've finished it two days ago, and turns out i have more than 5000 words of notes that significally exceed tumblr character limit. so, i had to split them into three parts.

here is part one, all about dramatic theater kids full of love, sad violinists of infinite beauty, and friends-to-lovers romances doomed by the narrative.

i love lestat.

i forgot how fun and likable tvl lestat is from page one. and how different he is from his fanon characterization!

lestatposting is fun, i get it, but i am starting to get annoyed at the amount of fanfics where lestat needs someone to help him adapt to modern times. he is doing fine on his own, thank you. it took him less than two weeks to start a rock band.

(and the whole iphone thing from "prince lestat" is more about him not seeing it as something useful since he has a mind-skype ability to talk to any vamp on planet earth, and they cannot decline the call.)

lestat is not stupid. impulsive? yes. stubborn? of course. but clever, resourseful, and cunning when he needs to be. all of this makes him a great hunter! also, really thoughtful when the mood strikes, and his quiet, existential moments have some of the best prose in that book.

i wish someone smarter than me wrote a good meta about lestat & social class because he really seems to buy into the idea of "noblesse oblige" i.e. the belief that aristocrats are obliged to take care of those less fortunate. it's present in the way he kills the wolf pack for the villagers (who live on his father's land), and later takes responsibility for the theatre troupe & remnants of armand's coven, even though he doesn't owe them anything.

also, characterization of lestat as someone socially cluesless is simply untrue. sure, he plays dumb on occasion (and hates it every time because early life illiteracy trauma), but he is also good at reading people. like, he got a pretty accurate read of armand behind the angelic facade during their first face-to-face meeting. the only people he has trouble reading are those closest to him because he heavily projects his abandonment issues on them.

lestat's struggle of being "too much" contrasts nicely with the struggle of never being enough which is so crucial to louis. hashtag made for each other.

and juxtaposition of lestat's desire to be loved for who he is and louis's struggle with identity is also delicious.

this time i also related so much to lestat's "malady of mortality" and his search for meaning in the world. which ultimately fails because he is forcibly turned into a monster, and now every ounce of happiness he might bring into the world (and lestat desperately wants to do good!) is outweighed by him killing to survive.

and marius later reinforced the belief that vampirism has no higher purpose, and no wonder that nola!lestat is a shell of his former self.

lestat's turning is the most classic horror moment of the vampire chronicles to me. the mina harker of it all. the creature of night shrouded in terror snatching an innocent victim from the arms of their love right before bleak november sunrise.

also, all the implications of what magnus has done to lestat were even more clear during this reread, and i wonder if that was the reason rolin "i-love-narrative-parallels" jones added bruce into claudia's story.

the book also explains perfectly why lestat is so well suited for vampirism. his curiosity, thirst for new experiences, and adventuring spirit are his eternal engine on the devil's road :)

however, the downside of that personality facet is that lestat steamrolls over his trauma telling himself "this is fine! look, satan, i am making the best of it", which in turn leads to the iwtv nola mess.

and i feel like this constant search for positives in vampirism (that unwilligly turned lestat & claudia share) is why they can't really relate to louis, who chose it for himself. if these two start to get too existential, the temptation to throw themselves into the fire might become unbearable.

lestat equating his loneliness with his evilness is interesting, but i have nothing to say about that for now other than equation being there.

lestat's explosive temper is also present in the book. there is a constant pattern of lestat doing things he regrets the most (like the theater performance fiasco or eating people at notre dame's steps) when he is angry or upset.

let's talk about nicki. i love him, despite half of fandom hating on him for some reason.

lestat has a type, which is "good catholic boy" with narrow view of good and evil. except louis is of a parent's favorite, conforming variety, and nicki is the rebellious one, driven to the utmost cynicism by religious dogmas.

however, despite being a self-proclaimed cynic, nicki practically drowns in catholic guilt, almost reveling in the fact that everything he does, from playing violin in the boulevard theater to having an affair with lestat, is wrong. there is no meaning in anything, and he is doomed to die a sinner's death.

he is doomed! by the narrative though.

lestat and nicki's philosophical difference seems to be that nicki (unlike lestat) does not believe in inherent goodness of the positive emotions. for him, "sin always feels good", therefore happiness they bring performing = sin.

but still, nickistat's love is so touching. after lestat ghosts nicki to protect him, he still trusts lestat's love for him and the troupe, thinks best of him, and shuts down all nasty rumours. in turn, lestat equates all the good that was in his mortal life, all his hopes and dreams with nicki. he is a symbol of everything magnus took from him.

AND THEY COMMUNICATE THROUGH MUSIC, AND IT'S THEM AT THEIR BEST, AND IT'S BEAUTIFUL.

nicki almost became lestat's charlie. when they meet face to face for the first time after lestat's transformation, he can barely contain his hunger magnified by attraction.

the most terribly sad thing about nicki is the unfairness of all that happened to him. he had seen lestat being shot right before him, then he disappeared with dying gabrielle, then the coven kidnapped and tortured him until he lost his mind.

and for nicki, the dark gift is a confirmation of everything he believes in being true. the meaninglessness of it all. evil being the only certain thing in the world. the way to fall into a deeper, darker abyss than the one that was before the mortal him. and it is a confirmation that lestat's inner light he loved so much will eventually burn out.

(his spark in the dark, if you will.)

(and lestat's dream before turning nicki hurts, because he dreams of growing up and growing old together, of maturing past magnus's eternal lelio with sunlight in his hair and summer sky in his eyes. oh, the lesdaughter of it all.)

there is certainly a parallel between nickistat's bitter "in darkness, we are equal now" vs loustat's comforting "in the quiet dark, we were equals".

[immoralimmortals]

A Song With Ten Names

Chapter 16: Laplace's Angel

Chapter 1 ☆ Next chapter ☆ AO3 ☆ Featured song playlist

Summary of chapter: Hurt people hurt people.

Author's Note: The song for this chapter is Laplace’s Angel (Hurt People? Hurt People!) by Will Wood.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Have you ever died in a nightmare?

Woke up surprised you hadn’t earned your fate?

Have you ever felt like Atlas, threw your back out on the axis

And collapsed and threw the planet away?

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Kakuzu flips through another page. It isn’t the same book as before, not his catalog of horrible villains and great heroes alike (there is, of course, no difference once your body hits the ground), but rather an innocuous one pulled from the small library in this home they’ve invaded. A long time here with no daily escape as before necessitates a way to pass the time, and a good read or two or ten will do. How long has it been since it was occupied? How long since these texts have been touched? The traveler wonders this, idle hands behind her back, as she watches Kakuzu read.

…

…

Neither say a thing, though for different reasons. The performer walked in, had something to say, and is now distracted with the mere sight of him. Ditsy, as always, huh? Kakuzu curses with the shape of his lips alone behind his mask, no voice for her to hear and take it the wrong way. His stare is locked onto the yellowed pages, and they are brittle in his fingers. He is not going to talk to her, at least not if he has to start it.

In the corner of his reddish eye, the hunter sees her pick a book off the shelf, back facing him and one foot sticking up in the air behind her. It’s as if she was acting as someone getting a book instead of simply...someone getting a book. Her selection is made with a sing-song humming tune he doesn’t recognize and she plops down next to him on the long couch, not quite touching but still too close. Frankly, even if she had sat as far as possible, it’d still be too close. Kakuzu moves his eyes alone to watch as she places the book upon her lap, opens the cover to the back instead of the front (just as she did the first time) and pretends to do the same as he.

…

…

Kakuzu has the revelation that he can’t just ignore her, can he? Fuck. Though he doesn’t mean to squint, the expression is made anyways as a result of scrutinizing the woman so hard for this strange behavior.

“What,” he mumbles in the back of his throat. His voice is unpracticed and staggered, as if he hasn’t used it in conversation for a long while. “Are you doing.”

“Sorry,” she begins, because of course she begins with that. “I just figured...you know, how kids just learn how to read by beginning to try? Maybe it could work for me.” Perhaps the nervous element of her wide smile is invisible to him. He answers simply:

“You aren’t a child.”

And though the corners of her mouth stay up as she looks over her shoulder to him, they no longer reach their cheeks.

“No…” she admits, clinging to hope, “...But…”

A horridly awkward silence, and her instincts for keeping damn dreams and ideas to herself receive painful reinforcement. She waits just a second, for the sake of perhaps not appearing too hurt, before setting the book down on the end table so soon after being picked from the case for the first time in years. Kakuzu doesn’t get a glimpse of her face as she walks out the same way she came, but she can see her shoulders slump down, tighten closer to her sides. A double edge sword of relief hits its blow to the man’s chest. She isn’t here. He doesn’t have to worry about her being around in this moment anymore, about the tension he feels after everything.

But now...she isn’t here. He’s pushed her away.

Dammit. In his mind, he curses her for not making this easy, but deep down he knows he’s the one that should be reprimanded. His own book closes and he massages the bridge of his nose. What a damn headache…

What was Pain thinking, sending him back?

And what a painful existence old books have, interest in them merely a flight of whimsy, ending as soon as they have no purpose.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Ooh, could you take a look at me?

(It’s the norm for animals, it’s the norm for chemicals)

Am I bad, am I bad, am I bad, am I really that bad?

(It’s the norm for particles, eye for eye for tooth)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“What’s it like?!”

“Tobi—”

“Huh, Takara-chan??? What’s it like to be from space!”

“Tobi!”

Though the distraction for her prior social faux pas is much appreciated, the traveler folds her arms as patience wanes. She’s not literally from the stars...right? She didn’t fall from the sky. Not as far as she’s been aware.

“I’m not from space, I- I don’t mean to lie to you, so listen!,” she requests, “There’s just people who have gone there!”

“What did they tell you about it?” The insatiable mask cocks his head. He’s like a toddler, always asking “why” not for the answer but to see how far he can go.

“Tobi, I-...I don’t know them!”

“Why not?”

“I just don’t!”

“That’s like saying everyone personally knows a Kage, Tobi.” Kisame smirks; he looks simultaneously weary and relaxed, perching his inner elbow on a bent knee as he sits on the front porch steps alongside the two, who are leaning against the railing. “Give her a break.”

She blinks. “A..Kage?” she repeats, slowly. Someone in the background rolls his eyes but is ignored.

“Ah...that’s right. You must have different government structures than us. A Kage is...literally speaking, the ‘shadow’ of a nation. Depending on which one, they may be closer to a king than a democratic leader. Some nations choose based on merit, some based on silver spoons in a newborn���s mouth.”

The woman hums, rolling the word of her tongue again. It’s familiar…:

“The Kage is an idiot, isn’t he?! All that power means nothing with no respect. What’s a land without a leader?”

Oh yeah...back from that first day with Hidan. You know. The one where she killed a man. Goddammit Jesus Christ, she had nearly forgotten about it, but she just can’t get away, can she? She exhales, long and loud and tired, reason seemingly inexplicable to anyone but her.

“What, you getting bored?”

“Mm?” The woman looks up to the voice over her shoulder. “Oh, hi Hidan.” She opts not to explain herself, creating a fair gap of time where the reaper walks from the door, down the stairs without giving the swordsman on them a glance, and turns to face her while he stands on the ground. “What’s up?”

“I asked ya a question.” He rolls his neck upon his shoulders as if he’s stiff with idleness himself. “Are ya getting bored?”

Blink blink. Is it an insult to say she is? The woman looks to her fellow performer, the other jester in the group who wears orange and black to clash with her blue and white. Seems like he has the same idea in mind, not talking to her but mirroring the movement she makes to look again at Hidan.

“I…” she stutters. But Hidan simply raises an index finger:

“Remember how I used to make your day by bringing you snacks and shit so you didn’t just eat Kakuzu’s shitty garbage?”

“……” She narrows her eyes. It wasn’t Kakuzu’s food, it was food he gave her money to buy. She’s also pretty sure loaves of bread don’t count as a snack. That’s more of a staple food. “...Yes?” she has no choice but to say.

“Then boy is it YOUR fuckin’ lucky day!” A thumb is used to thrust into his own chest with this uproarious promise. The shape of his mouth and the intensity in his eyes is somewhere between excited and manic. “This guy is gonna take ya out to dinner! That should make up for lost time, yeah?”

Kisame can’t believe his ears. What is it with the zombies and being uncharacteristically generous when Takara is around? She seems receptive, too, her face lighting up.

“Oh hell yeah! I’d love to!” And then those bright eyes turn to the shark. “I’d love to take everyone out to eat!” That is not what Hidan offered, but he can’t interrupt fast enough. “We can get seafood!”

“Seafood?!” A sound to feign puking comes off of a tongue he sticks out in disgust. “I was thinking steak. We aren’t fish.”

Kisame grunts under his breath. That’s right. Hidan is looking right at him, clearly with something to prove.

“Oh. Sorry...” The mousy girl shrinks into her lean onto the banister. “I just promised Kisame we’d...have seafood the next time I went to town...” Oh how heartbreakingly quick the woman deflates; she lowers her head and purses her lip, getting so hushed she’s almost not heard at all. “We were talking about how we loved it…”

Kisame gives Hidan a look. Hidan simply...looks.

He looks.

...Like he’s being asked to eat dogshit.

“I don’t mind waiting on that type of cuisine till a better time,” the swordsman offers, to save the day, voice smooth and eyes locked on magenta ones. “I’ll still tag along. Steak is fine.”

“Aw, Kisame…!” Hidan squints at the way she coos at the blue guy, how she hugs his arm in appreciation...admiration? Adoration?! The reaper’s lip thins until it starts to hurt.

…I see what game yer playin’, asshole, Hidan says only with his sharp stare.

You’re insane if you think she’s going to be alone with you for so long, Kisame returns.

It’s so nice that they’re actually getting along… the performer dreams with her eyes closed to their bickering.

And here Tobi thinks: this is going to be such a fun shitshow, isn’t it?

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

And now we're singing

Ooh, whatever you think of me

(It’s the norm for chemicals, it’s the norm for particles)

If you were in my shoes, you’d walk the same damn miles I do

(Yes, it’s only natural)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Their wrists swing back and forth as they reach the depths of the forest trail, a smile on her face as she arrives with two of her closest friends (and one guy who is just there to see it all go down). Hidan’s head, oh so slowly, peaks past the girth of Kisame’s cloak to frown at his disciple’s hand holding the shark’s. There’s no way that’d be fine by Jashin.

“…” Purple eyes slide up, deadpan and hooded at the woman, waiting as if she’ll realize her folly herself, but she does not. He needs to ask the obvious:

“Takara...why the hell are you holding his hand?”

And though she blushes and rubs the back of her head with the free palm, she laughs and her grasp does not stop. Even worse, Kisame does not make her stop. “To not get lost,” she explains, and before she can excuse it herself, Hidan interrupts with his admonishment:

“What?! What are you, fucking five?”

It always stings more sharply when someone else says what you’re thinking. So ashamed, she lets go.

...But Kisame catches her mistake, putting his grasp back into place.

“I rather prefer I not get lost.” He beams down at her; yes, she has a comrade in him. This is okay, be as silly as you like. Kisame earns her smile yet again. Hidan grumbles.

Over the next couple steps, he makes his way over to the woman’s free side and wordlessly threads her other set of fingers in his own. The two men glare sparks over the top of her head. As he’s distracted, Hidan’s other hand is held.

He nearly swings Tobi off the face of the planet.

“TOBI! GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME! I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!”

“Wao-oh-wao-oh!” he bounces with each attempted fling, sticking like flypaper to his arm. Awkwardly, the traveler giggles.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

We’re only tuning to the tone of the bell curve now

Ask not for whom it tolls

But with my head up in the clouds, I can see so much ground

And from up here you look like ants in a row

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Hidan catches a couple of people looking at his back, tugging each other’s sleeves and whispering nonsense about being Akatsuki. His lip curls down, his annoyance practicing in his throat before throwing over his shoulder.

“If you guys have a problem, you can stop being cowards about it! Eh?” The villagers are allowed to leave without consequence as Hidan gets distracted, the woman tugging on his own cloak sleeve. She’s frowning at him, like she’s worried. He doesn’t get it. “...What?” Her mouth opens, but she doesn’t come up with a soft enough explanation for him in fast enough time. “What!”

He’s just sort of...a lot. There’s not really a quick and easy way to say that to someone kindly, she realizes. “...Never mind.” Her mission was accomplished all the same, and there’s no more conflict. At least, not any she’s aware of yet.

“Takara-chan!” A gloved hand grips a surprised lady’s shoulder, pointing over to a shop with a green awning. “We should go here! I found something you’ll LOVE!”

“I—” An unwillingness to leave a distinctly sensitive Hidan alone cannot beat out Tobi’s forceful guiding, and she is taken by the arm and swept away, leaving the two red-clouded men alone together on the street, ordinary life surrounding those who are anything but. Fish eyes glance over, above teeth that grin less in joy and more like a predator bares fangs.

“It’s you they’re looking at, you know,” Kisame coolly accuses.

“What?” Hidan responds in disbelief, tilting his head to the side to make his sideglance harsher. “Watch yourself. You’re the damn walkin’ talkin’ shark, you freak.”

Words like this mean nothing to the swordsman. “Not like this they were, last I was here. It’s definitely you.”

More frowns and concerned mumbles fill Hidan’s backdrop as citizens stop what they’re doing to note his presence; he looks so different in daylight. He can’t help but turn his head around trying to take it all in. Kisame offers no forgiveness as he becomes the focus of the reaper’s gaze once more. Sharks, after all, do love toying with prey.

“From what I was told, you only have come here at night, only to brood next to her menacingly.”

Hidan’s fist is clenched so hard it begins to shake—

“Hidan-senpai!”

The crowd gasps and children’s eyes are covered as the named man punches Tobi square in the stomach the instant his shoulder is tapped. The injured part of his body is quickly held, head bobbing side to side to convey wooziness where a face cannot.

“How many times do I have to tell you! Don’t FUCKING touch me!”

“Oh, zombie?” Kisame asks.

“WHAT!”

Undeniable now, everyone’s staring right at the silver demon. Hidan has never, once, in his adult life cared what other people thought…

In the distance, he glimpses her. The figure in white so serene, so content, in slow motion loses her delight as she turns to see what he has been doing.

...He has never cared what other people thought until now.

The social outcast pushes out of the crowd straight to her, needing to forget anything has ever happened. “Heyyy,” he slides in, ignoring the stares that continue to press onto him as he joins her in the shadow of the street shop. Each word is structured, and therefore they arrive stilted. “What’s...happening? What. Are ya. … … Heyyyy.”

…

She frowns at him with worry, answering his sorta question with a mindful gaze. “I was looking at these little guys.” His too-tense stare follows her point. All in a row there are several miniature animals upon this table, none longer than your pinky, made of clay and the finest love as they stare up with marble eyes. At least, that’s what the shopkeeper tells her.

A brow raises. “What? These things?” Hidan glances down at them again from the bridge of his nose, evaluating each like he’s missing something. “...Toys?”

“Figurines!” an all-too eager craftsman chimes in from behind the counter. The tone alone is enough to make Hidan lose all interest.

“Takara,” he asks, holding his forehead, “Can we forget the window shopping and get some fucking food?”

“Who said anything about window shopping?”

An indigo fin of hair ducks under the green awning to join them, a bloodthirsty grin on the swordsman's face. Hidan hardly manages a mumble before Kisame swoops in once again:

“Oh, fuck you—”

“Takara-hime," he interrupts, "Why don’t you pick your favorite? I’m sure you’ll give it a lovely home.”

Behind her back, a man that looks closer to a wizard than a real human being nods over and over in great, nearly frantic approval, though the traveler herself hums long and in the negative. “Oh, Kisame...I don’t really need anything like this…”

“Why yes, yes you do—!”

“Can you shut UP, old man!” Hidan spits.

“How rude,” Kisame notes, much like how one would when a dog not your own misbehaves. With pupils so small, it’s impossible to tell quick if he’s looking at her or today’s rival. “I don’t think it hurts to pick just one.”

The stars in her eyes grow bigger, and the reaper realizes this is a threat. Just as her mouth opens, Hidan beats her to it, brushing by and pressing every bill into his pocket onto the table in one smooth, instant motion, gifting the shopkeep with the best day of his goddamn life.

“All of them.”

Everyone has a moment of silence before clarity kicks in. The prize talks first:

“...Hidan, I don’t—”

“All. Of them,” he repeats. Purple locks directly onto small dots on a gilled face. Between them, folded hands pressed to the front of her mouth, the woman now can feel the electricity between them using her as the conduit. A few more seconds pass. She glances to the side. ...Wait.

“...Where did that shopkeeper go?”

Poignantly, the space where the seller was is empty, as is where Hidan’s entire month-long allowance was. All of the figurines remain, his new wealth. The traveler gets the strong feeling they just bought cursed artifacts and that she can hear cackling laughter in the wind.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It doesn’t take a killer to murder

It only takes a reason to kill

We’ve all got evidence of innocence, it’s "everything’s coincidence"

The difference twixt fate and free will

Is whether you’re singing

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Soooo?” Tobi opens, resting his cheek against his palm as the others seat themselves alongside his table. His plate is already empty, nothing but crumbs. Did they really take that long, she wonders…? He continues: “Did Takara-chan get the kitty statue?”

A thud sounds beside her chair, a sack cloth with the weight of a whole baby hitting the floor. “Yup. You could say that.” She doesn’t sound very happy about it, Hidan notes, mentally blaming anyone but himself for this. And this was all good fun, but Kisame has none more in him for this nonsense anymore, so instead of arguing, he brings up the menu to his face and reads.

Hidan watches intently as she leans over to look at the fish’s list instead of her own.

“What are you getting?” she whispers, to which Kisame shrugs.

“Haven’t decided yet.” A finger points at something Hidan can’t see, to which the woman hums. “I bet you’d like this. Yakisoba.”

“Oh! That sounds nice.”

“Why.” Hidan puts his fingertips over his eyelids and pulls them down, as if it’ll make him see things clearly again. She is not a goddamn helpless kid. “Are you letting him pick for you.”

“I just...haven’t really been to a place like this?” A nervous smile covers up the truth about her literacy— at least she hopes. This isn’t really the ideal time to inform Hidan about it.

“Then just find something that damn sounds good and go for it!”

“Oh. Well...—”

Right on cue, the waiter is there, looking down at her. Oh, the social pressures of a restaurant; she’s never done well with them, ordered many a meal she did not really want. With one word on her brain, she chooses it. “The...yakisoba. Please?”

When it arrives, Hidan scarfs his own food down as fast as he can and walks outside.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

So if you wash your hands of where you’ve been until you flood the second floor

Neatly fold your skeletons but still can’t shut the closet door

The only ones in need of love are those who don’t receive enough

So evil ones should get a little more

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“What’s your fucking problem!”

“My problem? You’re the one poising about like you can’t have eyes off of you for more than two seconds.”

“You’re the one that keeps butting in!”

“Oh? Really?”

“Yeah, really! You invited yourself to OUR fuckin’ dinner.”

The accusations are thrown back and forth over her as they are nearly done walking back home. For a while, her gaze follows like it’s a tennis match, but eventually the bouncing gets too sore on her eyeballs and she chooses to look at Tobi. This situation is exactly what she was worried about.

...Minus the large bag of figurine animals she did not ask for.

The clowns share a gaze for a moment, her emotions on full display while his are gloriously hidden. The male one sighs to himself. Oh, perhaps he can do her one favor. He thinks she could play along to well enough to let one slip in reality slide. A hand grips her shoulder while the other brings a finger to where his lips should be. The woman catches on, following his suit of stopping and remaining silent, so the others meander on ahead with their arguing.

“Close your eyes and I’ll take us through a shortcut.”

Okay.

Sure.

Why not.

She’s too tired to argue this.

Some minutes later, the two cloaked men have walked all the way back to the front porch without noticing they are no longer being followed, nor that the bag of her gifts is resting upon a chair.

“See, the difference between you and me— it’s that I was there BEFORE anyone was ordered to do shit. Stop pretending like you care. You fucking don’t!”

“And you let her live in filth?”

“I was fucking busy and she never complained and it was NOT that bad!”

“Your perception of reality is in the gutter.”

"Don't treat her like a baby, she's a grown woman and can make her own damn choices! Even saw her kill a guy with her own two hands!" And a world class triple bladed scythe, but Kisame wouldn't believe regardless.

"Now you're just being ridiculous. Are these the kind of lies you tell yourself?"

"Better than thinkin' she's some kind of space princess. The hell you call her that for, anyways? Princess!"

Oh, they’re still going at it. The performer laments this fact as she wanders out the door to the spot where this all started, her leaning against the railing outside of her home. A shortcut only silences the voices temporarily. She begins to see the only solution is oh so painfully in her hands:

“Can you guys stop?”

Acknowledge her, they do. Pause their statements, yes. But stop? Hell no.

“Takara, isn’t this just fucking WEIRD?” ...Oh god.

“Weird? I say that’s how you behave. There’s a reason you weren’t allowed alone with her.” Oh god. She has just made this all even worse.

“The hell do you mean by that?”

“Exactly what I said, cretin. The only reason you were sent on a mission was so she could be safe. Don’t you remember how we were proven right?”

She wants to crawl out of her own skin.

“OI! That was NOT me!”

“But did you stop it?”

“I—”

“Kisame!” the woman shouts from her raised position to the fighting men, much like a damsel does from her tower. She already explained this to him, that it was an accident. Why is he—?

The sound of her distress only pushes him onward. He has honor to protect. He tastes blood in the water. It twists his expression into something terrible, something Hidan is quickly starting to match with absolute abandon.

Talking is over. Milliseconds split whether Kisame draws his sword first or Hidan his scythe. The woman screams, and they don’t listen, so she has no choice but to throw herself forward until they do.

Both men tangibly feel the weight of their smiling lips drop as soon as she comes between them once again.

Shing-clink, THUMP.

Two stories over their heads fly a sword of scales and a scythe of blood, in a near instant hitting the earth. Both cling into the dirt like their ends were cut off and the flat edges glued where they landed, just absolutely, firmly in place, even as thick as Samehada is. Both animals have their jaws dropped and eyes wide, but not for the hunt. The sight that splits them is their bounty, a woman uninjured yet still twitching and flinching.

Looping around her over and over— around her waist, her raised arms, her heaving chest— are black, metallic threads. Kakuzu has never said her name like this, not since he gave it to her.

“TAKARA!”

It’s a mere split second she’s kept on the battlefield, immediately whipped backwards to stand beside him at the front door. She’s horrified as she looks upon him in this new, battle ready state, still on the brink of losing everything thanks to adrenaline and misunderstandings between her friends, and the bounty hunter decides it is the best time to teach her of her place.

“What are you thinking?” His volume is so much lower, and yet she’s even more intimidated. This is a goddamn nightmare. Her saviors nearly killed one another, and now here she is captured by something she can only describe as eldritch coming forth from another who she has come to trust. The threads wiggle around him; they're so dark and tinged with a glimmer that it's almost look like you took a pencil and scribbled onto the air itself. They writhe from his sleeves like worms. Gemstones bore into her.

And boy do they see every inch of her foolishness.

“You. Were mere inches from death.” His eyes will hurt later from glaring so hard, going without blinking so long. “Do you know a damn thing, girl? Do you know how so, very close you are to dying every moment you are alive in our presence? Do you KNOW?”

The threads don’t let go, but as he looms over her so much his shadow consumes all of her body, it’s one of the last things on her mind. The stitched doll is relentless. He had warned her. And he had given her proof to be afraid. It needs to be drilled into her empty skull. His voice raises:

“Can you not even THINK?!”

“KAKUZU!”

Though Kisame’s mouth had opened, it’s not his voice that speaks. Beside him, the swordsman sees Hidan seethe. His body is leaning forward, both fists clenched to his sides. Slowly, the same way a prisoner may drag their chains, green irises fall onto the silver haired man. There’s an expression about him, the way the muscles in his face twitch with effort to hold their position; it is more than just outrage…a bit of the same thing as the night of the meeting where it started to go wrong. And then into his ear, a little sound is made, as soft and small as a squeak from a mouse. The chains drag back, eyes finally seeing her again instead of just through her.

Helpless in his grasp, like a fly twirled into spiderweb, the performer can do nothing with her body but cry. She tries not to— because he is right— but no amount of biting your bottom lip and sniffing up the tears can keep the emotion away. In fact, it only makes it uglier. Hidan says his name again, more distant to Kakuzu’s spiraling mind, and the woman feels the bindings retract, piano wire slithering away like snakes. Kakuzu steps away, gawking at what he caused, the way she holds herself exactly in place as he had demanded of her. But others are here now, judging, and so panic sets in.

He can’t even manage an apology this time as he must walk away before it gets worse.

A third time Hidan says his partner’s name, and he runs right by her to chase him, to demand answers wherever the stitched man is going to hide. Kisame is the only one left now, a frown on his face. She looks so small on the stoop, frozen with sudden terrors and harsh words. Gently, he walks the gap, approaching her in such a way he may not frighten her any further than she already is. He manages to kneel in front of her, he on a lower step on the porch than she, and a ringed hand reaches out to touch—

“Kisame.”

The hand flinches back. The one who uses his cloak like a sling is in the doorway, staring him down. As the woman throws her freed palms over her face to hide fear and shame, Kisame can only wait to be given permission. He waits, so painfully he holds his breath and waits. He waits as Itachi walks to where they are. As he takes one hand off her face to hold. As she looks to him so very, very shakily for something to stabilize her after all this.

Permission will not be given this evening, and the Uchiha alone escorts the stranger to where she may calm down in peace. That bites more than any blade could cut Hoshigaki Kisame to the bone.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You, could you take a look at me?

(You could break an angel’s fall, and ignore the Devil’s call)

Am I bad, am I bad, am I bad, am I really that bad?

(Still forsaken shoulders fall silent now)

Now we're singing

Ooh, whatever you think of me

(It’s no more than cultural, you and me inseparable.)

If the shoe fits would you walk that mile? You could put it on the other foot, it’s the same size

(It’s a small hell after all.)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

An owl of the night is a poor singer of lullabies, its voice too low and its rhythm too disjointed, the woman convinces herself. No, certainly not the fact this isn't her own bed, not that she is in Itachi’s chosen room, the man himself seated in the corner. She glances from the window to the guardian whom moonlight swathes so generously, like if he could be drowned in the stars, perhaps the night may be able to drink him in. His eyes are closed. The stranger in a strange bed has her suspicions. Worried she had accidentally started a fight, an aching heart doesn't help her wondering if she's causing more problems.

“Itachi?” Hardly a whisper, hardly heard by her own self, and yet one lid cracks open. His eye is as dark as dark can be. Hands folded over the blanket and head propped up on pillows, the woman looks to him with worry. “We can switch if you’re having trouble sleeping.”

…

He considers not her offer but the words themselves. He will not be sleeping tonight. He hardly ever does. In the end, he opts to close his eye again instead of speak. Perhaps she will not press, and she may simply drift into her dreams.

The Uchiha should know better than that.

“Itachi?”

Eyelid flutters again to see her sitting on the edge of the mattress to face him. She’s the type that if someone else is upset, so is she. Please speak your troubles, dear, her aura calls to him. My burdens are not freed until I may carry yours.

What a predicament, since that is his job.

“...You should try to sleep, Miss Takara.” No matter how softly he speaks, she can only shake her head to that.

“I don’t want to be alone…” she restates, just as before when this predicament was arranged. “...But I don’t want to keep you from sleep, too. I’m okay,” she promises, seriousness weighing her head into a downward tilt. “I’m okay if I can’t sleep. I just don’t want to be alone.”

To have emptiness in a room would allow her imagination a stage for what it’d look like if someone really did get hurt today. The vacancy primes her mind for a shadow puppet show of corpses and blood spray upon the blank walls, the turbulence of the day’s events a tornado tearing it all apart.

What a dilemma the crow is tangled in. To reveal the truth of his insomnia is to put more upon a load he means to lighten…and yet here she is, unceasing all the same. Seconds pass. Time is allowed to bring forth the solution she wants to hear:

“...We can stay up together.”

And with the warmth that weary smile beams upon him, Itachi suddenly wouldn’t want anything more. But he has his mission, his sworn duty to her. He must refuse.

“...Another night, Miss Takara.”

The smile offered lightens but does not entirely fade, just as the moon does not disappear when merely a crescent in the sky. The man closes his eye again.

...And he hears her shuffle forward and sit down on the floor, right next to his chair, where she will remain until her body demands she finally fall sleep, whether she'd like to or not.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You, could you take a look at me?

(Man no more than animal is made of moral chemicals)

Am I bad, am I bad, am I bad, am I really that bad?

(Any form mechanical, thank you God)

Ooh, whatever you think of me

(From the hordes of cannibals, to psych wards of hospitals)

If you were in my shoes, you’d see I wear the same size as you

(It’s a small world after all)

Oh oh right

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

[selenestarmoon]

Something quite interesting is that the places where Curious Cat tries to possess Ruby and possesses Neo are the specific places that represent the main fights that Ruby and Neo have always had.

When CC tries to possess Ruby, the place he chooses to try to possess Ruby is her chest, in other words, in her heart. Ruby is a person who has trouble expressing her emotions (expressing her heart) because she always represses what she feels because she thinks that her duty as a leader and being the perfect hunter like her mother is much more important than her own personal feelings and others have unintentionally reinforced this idea to the point that Ruby takes it to an extreme. Metaphorically Ruby suppresses her heart in favor of living up to what she believes others expect of her.

Later when CC possesses Neo the place he chooses to possess her is through her mouth. Neo has always struggled to be heard, to have the freedom to express what she thinks the way she wants. Her parents forced her to talk, they forced her to use a text-to-speech app that she hated so much, and the reason she finally sides with Roman is because he's the first person in her entire life to really listen to her and not force her to express herself but respects Neo's way of expressing herself. Metaphorically Neo has been trying to express herself as a desperate way to be understood and not have to try to measure up to people who don't even bother trying to understand her.

CC realizes all of the above and tries to use it to his advantage: he knows that Ruby is emotionally devastated by everything that has happened to her and he offers to replace her heart (her emotions and identity) with his own but fails for intervention of Little and Neo. After failing with Ruby, he is going to possess Neo when he finds out that she no longer has a purpose to continue living because revenge was the only thing that inspired her to continue living and when she succeeds, Neo realizes that no matter what doing anything will bring her back Roman (the only person who really heard her) so she breaks down and as a result, CC manages to possess her forcing Neo to speak with a voice that is not her own but someone else's just as it happened in her past, only instead of being a text-to-speech app, it is a being that not only controls her voice but also controls her body and heart.

[philosophicalparadox]

Werewolves are strongly correlated with Berserkers. They are the province of the god Loki in their original form - Wargs - which can be either were-wolf or were-bear.

There's not a lot of information about how or where they came from definitively - like vampires there are a thousand different origins for werewolves, but in all renditions they are beasts which are borne of human darkness. They represent the hunter, the predator, the killer we all possess encoded into our DNA, but which peaceful society denies. Wargs and were-men were originally concepts meant to explain where and why we have those seemingly contradictory things - why men feel bloodlust sufficient to murder, absent other opportunities, why we instinctively chase and stalk "prey". Why predatory people exist within our own societies, and why that only seems to affect some people and not others.

My favorite werewolf origin story is about a wanna-be berserker praying to the God Loki for the strength and ferocity of a wolf or bear (a very common, ordinary Viking occurrence) and Loki, being Loki, decided on a whim to just. Turn the guy into a bear.

Like "There ya go buddy. You wanted the strength of a bear? You got it. Oh, but uh, my magic? Yeah, kinda has a catch to it. Yeah, yeah, your family - they're kinda cursed now. Sorry about that. Yeah, you won't recognise them in your animal form and might kill them, so they're gonna like, shun you? Yeah, and your children? Yeah they're gonna inherit your little gift too. Unless you do this one really specific thing you need a really specific amulet for from a dude who, like, hates bears. Yeah. Seriosly, you didn't think you would get granted a blessing from the gods for free, did you? Least of all from ME, right?"

I've also heard that Wargs are the children of Fenrir, Loki's giant wolf child, or Garm, his evil, Cerberus-with-one-head counterpart, among many other, Christian-flavored reasonings, ranging from demonic possession, God cursing men for their rage, which is a sin, (dont forget he has canonically turned people into bears), being the children of the devil, or the result of pacts with the devil, etc.

Aaaaaanyway werewolves (or were bears) are supposed to be batshit crazy. They're creations of the God of Chaos and curses, of course they're insane. They're berserkers, unable to tell friend from foe, flying into a savage, panicked rage on the drop of a hat. That is what werewolves are.

But, A) this history, like that of the unicorn, has been perverted over the years and B) werewolves do actually experience periods of lucidity periodically in their mythos.

Also - I feel a need to point out that while deliberate berserkir were a thing among the Norse, the term berserker equally applies to men having severe mental and emotional breakdowns, usually as a result of PTSD. Which could be why and how werewolves came to be associated with the full moon in later centuries - because night raids were usually conducted under the light of full moon, preferably, and everyone knew it. Those who had fought or been attacked during full moons never knew if the next one would bring about the same calamity. Thus full moons became synonymous with both berserkers as well as general unease and insanity - hence the term Lunatic.

Yes wolves (and most predators) are also more active during a full moon, which contributes to the idea, and added to people's fears, which just reinforced the lunacy, which fed more fear - it's no wonder then that werewolves and their ilk were so, so severely feared in central Europe.

Vampires make sense. Vampires are literally just slavic fair folk originally, gradually mixing with Germanic and Frankish fair folk in later times that had a similar theme.

But werewolves. Werewolves are specific to a fundamental aspect of humanity, the manifestation of a set of fundamental fears of humanity.

They are the Fear of loss of control. Fear of Chaos and disorder. Fear of war and violence. The fear of ourselves. Fear of savagery. Fear of our darkest impulses. The very Fear of fear itself.

A werewolf without fear is like a vampire that doesn't drink blood. You've kinda missed the whole point of it if its not there.

Take your shape shifting puppies and call them what they are - skin changers, shape shifters, etc. But don't you dare call them werewolves if they aren't terrified of themselves and scare people around them. Or they're just not a werewolf.

I hate the dog-ification of werewolves >:( I by making them happy dumbos it misses the best part of transformative monstrosity: repression. If you aren’t afraid of the beast within what’s the fucking point. It’s the big bad wolf lurking on moonlit nights it’s not your golden retriever in the park at noon. Justice for repression!! Justice for the beast within!! Justice for the fear of who you could be if you really let loose! Is the monster your true self? Does the thrill of the wild outweigh the guilt that comes in the light of day, when there’s mud on your feet and blood on your hands? What does it mean that you crave that which disgusts you, that the wolf isn’t just something you become, it’s something you always were

[sergeantsporks]

Gilded Family

Rating: Teen and Up, Gen

Ch 7/?: Anniversary

Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6

In which none of the previous golden guards or wittebro died, actually, they're all fine and living happily together as one big dysfunctional family

Ao3

“Here is your prize!”

Perseus pulled the head of Medusa from the sack Hermes had given him, and instantly, the king and his court were turned to stone.

Mole tapped the top of the book he’d picked off of Jason’s shelf, and Hunter set it down gratefully. He’d thought the illustrations of heroes on the front looked interesting (and he had a distinct impression Jason wanted him to be exposed to some new names) but he’d never been much of a reader, and the pages were sorely lacking in illustrations.

Maybe that’s one of the reasons I got this far. Wasn’t able to decipher those texts on wild magic. One less crime I posed a risk of committing.

“Hey.”

Mole jabbed his thumb towards the door, and Hunter followed him. He shoved open Jason’s door, and wandered into the closet.

“Whoa, hey, are you really going to dig through his stuff?!”

Mole poked his head back out and tugged Hunter into the closet, revealing a ladder that went into the ceiling. He scampered up, and Hunter followed, climbing through a trapdoor onto the roof. Jason was sitting close to the edge, knees curled to his chest. Cherry was next to him, legs dangling off of the roof and aimlessly kicking back and forth. He glanced back, spotted Hunter, and nudged Jason’s shoulder before getting up and striding back towards the two of them.

“Thanks, Mole.” Cherry gestured back towards Jason. “All yours. I’ll be back with reinforcements.”

He climbed back down the ladder with no further explanation, and Hunter sat down next to Jason.

“Hey.”

“Mm.”

Hunter gave it a second, then, with no further response from Jason, cleared his throat. “What’s eating you?”

Jason’s fingers tapped his arms. “It’s the anniversary,” he said softly.

Anniversary? Anniversary of wh—oh.

No wonder he was so down.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, pressing his shoulder against Jason’s shoulder, “That can’t be easy.”

“Usually Dad sits with me, but Chryses is having a bad one, and that’s usually a two-person job.” Jason’s fingers kept tapping, and he stared off the edge of the roof, over the treetops. “I was really good at it, you know?”

“At what?”

“Being the golden guard. Being his golden guard. I was really good at… managing his moods, at being whatever he needed at the moment. Everyone else has these stories about him lashing out, about him hurting them for little offenses, but I…”

Hunter’s hand almost unconsciously went to the scar that ran through his right eyebrow, where his failure to capture a group of wild witches had made Belos angry enough for his curse to be set off.

Unless the curse was a lie, too.

Jason rubbed his own face. “I never made him that angry,” he whispered, “I was always good at making him happy, I watched, and I saw what the right things to say to him were. When to be familiar and show affection and when to stand silent and be a soldier.” His eyes latched onto Hunter’s, strangely desperate. “I was good,” he insisted, “I was really, really good. I passed all the tests, I got through all of the training with nothing but minor scrapes and bruises, I was good at being the golden guard, Hunter, I was.”

“I believe you,” Hunter said softly. He’d always thought he was a pretty good golden guard himself. With all the other Grimwalkers here, though, it made him wonder if Uncle Belos even had an idea of what a “good” golden guard was. Everyone here had failed him somehow in a way that had been worthy of his death. Everyone here had scars from failing him.

Except Jason.

Maybe you were a better golden guard than the rest of us.

But then, why are you here?

For the first time, Hunter felt a wriggling worm of doubt about the youngest grimwalker.

Why are you here?

He shook himself. This was JASON he was talking about. He didn’t have a mean bone in his body. He’d been nothing but helpful and friendly since the moment Hunter had met him.

If he could be what Belos wanted all the time, who’s to say he isn’t doing the same with you?

Hunter knuckled his forehead.

No.

Stop that.

No one here wants to hurt you.

Especially not Jason.

No one here will hurt you. Everyone here is like you, betrayed by Uncle Belos and thrown away.

They’re not like him.

Not everything is a threat.

Jason’s hands started to fidget again, his face scrunched up like he was holding back tears. “I just… I only messed up once. And I thought—I don’t know, I guess it was arrogant of me to think I could read him so well.” He rested his chin on his arms. “I was stupid to think he actually cared, for sure.”

Hunter opened his mouth to respond (with what, he didn’t know), but the trapdoor swung back open, and Cherry was back, with another grimwalker (Joseph, Hunter was pretty sure). He was built stocky and muscular, and his almost-white blonde hair was buzzed, displaying clawmark scars that covered almost every inch of him.

He had a cheerful grin though, as he marched across the roof and picked up Jason, unceremoniously throwing the smaller grimwalker over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Griffin time for you.”

Jason kicked and wriggled. “Nooooooooooo!” he protested, pounding Joseph’s back with his fists, “Let me go!”

Joseph carried him, struggling, down the ladder. “Nope!”

Hunter followed, bemused, as Joseph carried the still-struggling Jason outside and to the griffin coop. Joseph set Jason down with a thump on the ground, then squawked. Jason just looked resigned to his fate now, looking towards the griffin nests.

One of the griffins poked its head out of its coop, examining the grimwalker in front of it. Hunter took a step forward—those things could be dangerous, if they decided to—

The griffin lunged forward in a flash, its beak closing around the back of Jason’s shirt. Joseph put an arm out to block Hunter.

“He’ll be FINE. Lucy won’t hurt him.”

Jason swung in Lucy’s beak, yelping, and then Lucy stood up, revealing a litter of baby griffins underneath her for just a moment before she tossed Jason under with her chicks and sat back down, hiding him completely from view. Joseph patted her beak.

“Awwww, good girl. Do you have a new baby? Yes, you do!”

Hunter eyed the griffin. “Is he… going to be okay under there?”

Lucy’s feathers ruffled, and she shifted, and Jason’s head emerged from the fluff, his arms wrapped around a griffin chick. “Can you tell her to get off?”

“Nope,” Joseph replied serenely, “Brooding Grimwalkers get put in with the brooding griffin.”

“You’re the worst,” Jason grumbled, but he didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry to escape, his fidgety fingers gently stroking and scratching the griffin chick’s head.

Joseph just grinned in response, giving Lucy another pat. “Dad’s human, so he can’t eat much here,” he explained to Hunter, “I take care of the griffins so that we’ll have plenty of eggs. But we bred Lucy here because she gets lonely if she doesn’t have chicks to take care of. She loves being a momma. In a few years, when they’re out of mom’s care, we’ll probably take the babies to a stock show, or a pet store. Or there’s always a beastkeeping teacher who will buy them for their students, they make great companions.”

Hunter was relatively certain there was a high chance of griffins attempting to bite your face off when upset, but he supposed that went for MOST animals, and ‘hm’ed his agreement.

Joseph blinked. “You know, I wonder if there’s an overlap between creatures that are in human realm mythology and things humans can eat? I mean, they don’t always get it right, but still. Did you know human realm griffin stories always leave out the spider breath? And their phoenixes rise out of the ashes as a new phoenix when EVERYONE knows that after bursting into flames, phoenixes just continue their lives in the next stage, ashbirds. Somehow I think the giraffes live there, though, which is… strange. I’d love to see one one day.” He made kissy faces at Lucy. “Griffins are my favoritest though, yes you are!”

“You’re babytalking again,” Jason remarked from his place on the floor.

“Hmph. That’s because they’re the bestest little demons!” Joseph scratched Lucy’s head, and she clucked happily.

“Was one of the griffins the one who…?” Hunter gestured vaguely towards the heavily scarred Grimwalker.

“These sweethearts? Nah, they’d never. No, that was the slitherbeast Belos locked me up with.” Joseph stroked Lucy’s beak, and the griffin warbled softly, nuzzling him. “I didn’t really like the way he treated beast type demons. He said if I loved them so much, I should spend some quality time with them.” Joseph put his hands on Lucy’s cheeks, gently wobbling her head from side to side. “But I don’t hold a grudge, do I Lucy? No, that poor old Slitherbeast was just upset at being in a small room, he didn’t mean it. Nooooo he didn’t.”

She squawked in agreement and then picked him up in her beak, tossing him under with the chicks. Jason quickly rolled out from under while she was standing, the chick still clutched in his arms. “Ha!” he crowed, pointing, “Now you’re the brooding grimwalker!”

Joseph wiggled out, spitting out a feather. “Yeah, yeah.” He leaned against Lucy’s feathery side, sinking back. Jason plopped down next to him, rubbing the baby griffin’s belly. His muscles had relaxed, and his face wasn’t scrunched up anymore, just soft.

“Thanks.”

“Aw, it was nothing.”

“I was talking to Lucy. You are a rotten brother, and I hope your griffins eat you.”

Joseph grinned. “Fair enough.” He patted the ground next to him. “Plenty of space in the nest, Hunter. You can even feed the baby griffins grubs!”

“Yeah,” Jason chimed in, “Joseph has great big, huge grubs he feeds them, they’re DISGUSTING, it’s great!”

“I’ll pass, thanks. You two have fun.”

Hunter headed back up towards the house. Mole was hovering between the coop and the house, giving the coop nervous glances. Hunter remembered what Jason had said about Mole not liking the griffins, and gave the grimwalker a pat on the shoulder. “He’s alright. Feeling much better, I think.”

Mole relaxed, and Hunter went the rest of the way inside. He heard a bang and an ow from Jason’s room, and he poked his head in to see Wittebane, sprawled on the floor near the ladder.

“Are you okay?”

Their original rolled up to his feet, rubbing the back of his head. The bags under his eyes looked darker than usual. “Slipped off the ladder. Have you seen Jason? It’s a rough day for him today, usually he broods on the roof for a bit, but—”

“He’s outside with the griffins. Joseph made one of them sit on him.”

“Oh, did he? That’s great. That’s great.” He passed a hand over his face. “I should go. Yeah, I’ll go check on him. Although I’m sure the griffin is doing wonders, but… yeah.” He didn’t move, rocking back and forth like he was summoning the energy to take another step.

“Yeah,” Hunter echoed, then paused, taking Wittebane’s appearance in. “Are you okay? You seem… tired.”

“Oh. Well. You know. Lot of mouths to feed. Lot of kids to check up on, don’t want to leave anyone out. Chryses is having one of his worse days, I think what happened to Venari triggered his anxiety. He’s asleep now. And it’s Jason’s day, ah, you know, he wouldn’t complain if I spent the whole day with Chryses, he won’t want to ‘bother’ me, but I don’t want to leave him alone today.”

“You’re overextending yourself,” Hunter realized, “You’re trying to be in too many places at once.”

Wittebane laughed nervously. “Ah, it’s just a weird combination of events right now. Usually it’s not so much, but. Just the last couple of days have been… busy. I’ll be alright, don’t worry about me.”

“How’d you fall down the ladder?”

“I just slipped. I wasn’t paying enough attention. Hunter, really. Please. It’s very sweet of you to worry, but I’m alright, I promise.”

Hunter eyed him, but let him brush past.

He can’t be there for everyone all the time.

How long does he think he can keep that up?

Xxx

Burning

Red magic crawling over his skin, devouring him alive

Hunter blinked at the pillow that took up half of his vision, slowly stretching his legs out and rubbing at his eyes.

Just a nightmare.

He scratched absentmindedly at the scars littering his face and arm, padding down the hallway and checking the front door to make sure it was locked. As he turned around, he saw a flickering glow coming from the door of the oracle room. He pushed it open to see the original slumped over the table, snoring. The crystal ball showed the current Golden Guard, kneeling silently while Belos berated him. He watched as the boy spoke up, then moved to the side to avoid a blow.

Hunter flinched with him, shuddering. He wandered back to his room to get a blanket and pillow, gently easing Wittebane off of the table and laying him on the floor with the pillow under his head. He draped the blanket on top, then settled down in his place, watching the golden guard get up and back respectfully away.

It was all so painfully familiar, but it looked so wrong on him. He was too small, too young to have eyebags that matched Hunter’s own. His uniform fit, but somehow also seemed to be several sizes too big, or too fake, like a toddler getting into their parent’s shoes.

I was, what, eighteen? Nineteen when I became a scout?

Did I look that small?

Hunter shook his head as the golden guard retreated to his room my room, flopping on his bed.

Does he have any friends?

Does he even know how wrong this all is?

That, at least, was doubtful. Hunter hadn’t figured it out himself until he’d met Darius, seen how regular childhoods were, and by then it had been too late.

How long does Uncle Belos plan on continuing this cycle?

Hunter’s stomach churned, looking at the too-small grimwalker in his room.

Hunter. His name is Hunter. Just like me.

How long before Belos doesn’t want him, either?

Jason had been a good golden guard. In his own words, it had only taken one mistake. And it seemed like this Hunter had already made several, judging by the scar on his face. Hunter’s fingers traced his own scars again.

How many more can he make?

[hunters-dreams]

The Choir; Madman or Prodigal Masters?

In Bloodborne, the Choir are an observing presence felt throughout the game as a faction attached to the Healing Church. However, their story doesn't open up much until reaching the upper levels of Cathedral Ward where this faction is given their own means to experiment.

What is the Choir?

The Choir are orphans that were assumedly selected by the Healing Church and put into intensive training to become brilliant scholars in their adulthood or adolescence.

Source: Orphanage Key

They were born in the main building of the Orphanage and now remain there, singing hymns as their namesake.

Their main purpose seems to be experimenting on Humans, as they seem to follow the school of thought once pursued by Byrgenwerth. This is obvious once you look at the Choir's helm compared to Willem's as they are influenced by each other, you could say the entire outfit is inspired by Willem's. However, who designed them is unknown as if Willem or Laurence had involvement in this is never explained.

Source: Choir Set

The Choir were also avid explorers of the Chalices that warp time. However, it also seems they discovered the old land of Isz and along with it, a Goddess.

Throughout the game Choir members are found in places seemingly spread randomly, except for once case. Let's go over the members we actually see in the game.

Choir Members We See.

We see approximately three notable members of the Choir.

Imposter Iosefka:

Her real name is never given but Imposter Iosefka infiltrates Iosefka's clinic after the first time change of the game.

She will task the Hunter to ask anybody who they come across to venture to Iosefka's Clinic for safety. However, as you will learn if you take the back route, she is experimenting on the people you send over. Turning them into Celestial Emissaries. It's not clear why she's really doing this other than the sake of it. As the city is currently in mass disarray and I'd imagine the last thing on your mind is transmogrification.

Regardless, after the seal is broken by Rom, she becomes impregnated by an unknown deity, presumable Oedon and presumably is about to give birth but never does, forcing us to kill her. However, rather interestingly, she says she is "chosen" and that she sees things writhing inside of her head.

Edgar, Choir Intelligencer:

Edgar is a member of the Choir who has infiltrated the School of Mensis. To what extent of the events he was involved with is unknown, but seeing how he is in the Nightmare of Mensis.

His motives outside of being a liaison of Mensis' plans to the Choir are entirely unexplained.

Yurie, The Last Scholar:

Yurie is called the last scholar, but this probably refers to her being at Byrgenwerth serving Master Willem, protecting him and presumably Rom. Her origin or reason for wanting to go to Byrgenwerth is never explained but only can be presumed as a means of her respecting Willem.

Ebrietas and Isz.

In the depths of the Grand Cathedral, in a gigantic chasm lays a large aquatic, yet alien creature. Her name is Ebrietas, yet another failed Great One. Dubbed the Daughter of the Cosmos.

Despite this, she is able to contact the cosmos and has augurs in forms of slugs.

She is seen in the Altar of Despair, weeping over a corpse that looks like Rom:

Side tangent, but in game this is never explained and is victim of terrible game cycles. This IS Rom, the Altar of Despair was directly under Rom's boss room and she would fall and that's why Ebrietas is crying over her!

Ebrietas is passive over humans as she and the Choir have built a relationship, as she lets them study her.

Source: Augur of Ebrietas.

When fighting her, however, she bleeds White and Red. Which the only other ones to do that are those who are Rom, who is the only other character that is known to once be human.

This is all further reinforced by the idea that Bloodborne is run by time repeating itself over and over in a cycle. There's always the beast, always the Great One, someone who ascends. It seems the first in this cycle to ascend was Ebrietas, an Iszian woman. The method is never known, but presumably came in contact with a Great One like all the others.

The Orphanage:

The Orphanage is not only where the Choir was born but now is home to many Moon Larvae. Where they all came from is unknown but all of them who are in the Orphanage have been a live for quite a while as compared to Arianna's newborn, they are much larger. However, the most interesting part is that they all face Ebrietas, it is never explained why but it's possible they are all her children. But it's not clear since a child from Oedon also looks the same.

Additionally, the Lumenflower Garden has statues of the Moon Presence:

It is unknown if this is even still apart of the story but given that Laurence would know what she looks like, it's possible he allowed them contact with the Goddess.

________________________________________________

Well, that's it for this post! Thanks if you read, I might update this post with more information or edit it over time. Sadly, there's not much about the Choir that can be extrapolated other than what's explicitly stated.

Thanks for reading!

[riotwritesthings]

I'll cave in (whenever you see fit)

A BIG BIG HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!! to @warmachinesocks​

thanks for being you that’s big sexie of you. Here’s a thing.

Winteriron, M, 5k - Vampire!Bucky, human!Tony, an abduction, a rescue, and some dry humping

Bucky knows better than to get involved with a mortal, and he pays the price when Hydra kidnaps his boyfriend. Tony is human, he's questionably in distress, and he is Handling It. (minor violence, surprisingly soft all things considered.)

~~~

Bucky should have known this would happen. Fuck, he should have known.

An immortal should never get involved with a human, that’s rule fucking one because it never ends well for anyone.

Especially not for the human.

But he’s selfish, so fucking selfish, and the first time Tony smiled up at him, open and happy, Bucky knew he was doomed.

He knows something is wrong the second pushes the door open to find the basement apartment completely dark. The only light is the weak streetlight pouring in through the one tiny window, near the ceiling in the kitchen.

Even in the dark, Bucky can easily tell that the place has been trashed, though it is only a subtle difference from the organized chaos Tony usually keeps his workspace in.

The apartment is too quiet, too still, and he knows instantly.

Bucky fucked up. Badly.

Because it had been entirely too easy to get used to the warmth of Tony’s smile, of his skin, the way he so easily made a space for Bucky in his life.

It had been so easy to let himself get comfortable in Tony’s weird basement apartment that’s half home and half machine shop, perfectly Tony. The way the apartment is brightly lit with industrial lights at all hours of the day and night so Tony can see whatever brilliant new invention he’s working on next.

Bucky never had a chance at not getting attached, because in all his years he’s never met anyone like Tony.

Tony is perfect, and brilliant, left with nothing after his father's company was stolen out from under him and Tony just built himself a new life, tries to help wherever he can. He keeps erratic hours and never minds that Bucky comes and goes at all hours of the night, that Bucky can't go out in the daylight.

Bucky hasn’t been in the sun in nearly a thousand years, but with Tony in his arms, so warm and bright and alive, he could almost remember what it felt like.

And now Tony has been taken.

Bucky knew who was responsible even before he found the symbol burned into the wall. It’s Hydra. Of course it is, and those bastards won’t care that he’s human, that he never should have been involved in any of this, all they’ll care about is hurting Bucky as much as they can.

And they picked exactly the right target.

Hydra has been after him for nearly as long as Bucky has been not-alive, determined to wipe out all vampires at any cost. Even once the war was over, even after all the other hunter’s guilds signed the peace treaty, Hydra refused to give up their mission and for some reason they’ve taken a personal vendetta against Bucky. Probably because he’s evaded them so many times.

And now they have Tony.

The thing is that Bucky hasn't really known Tony that long, not even by human standards, but he is completely, irretrievably in love. He’s ready to burn the whole world down to get Tony back, even if Tony never forgives him for it.

But he’s not going to be able to find where Tony is being held, not on his own. Not in time.

The downside to immortal friends though, is that Bucky hasn’t actually seen any of them in years, because what’s a couple decades between centuries old beings? Steve is back in Europe for a while, working on his painting, and Bucky hasn’t seen Natalia in nearly fifty years now, which means she probably won’t turn back up for another fifty.

There is one more option, Bucky is just less than thrilled about it.

It’s no secret that the other hunter’s guilds don’t approve of Hydra’s methods, the amount of collateral damage they leave in their wake. The lengths they’re willing to go to.

Like kidnapping innocent humans.

It’s definitely still a stretch to hope they’ll be willing to help someone like Bucky find Hydra, but he has to try.

And he does have one idea of where to start.

Bucky and Sam don’t like each other very much, and that’s been the standing opinion for the last decade. Which for a hunter and vampire, is basically a lifelong friendship.

It’s at least enough that Bucky can show up at Sam’s door without immediately getting himself staked.

The door flies open and Bucky blinks, because it never fails to surprise him how old Sam has gotten. Every time, Bucky is a little bit expecting Sam-as-he-met-him, still a kid, on his first hunt and clearly terrified but so determined to save the world, so idealistic. And now he’s so jaded, older and tired and it’s just one more reminder of just how badly Bucky has fucked up.

Tony is going to go cold and tired and it will be all Bucky’s fault.

“You’re here about Hydra,” Sam says flatly, no preamble, and at least that answers Bucky’s question about whether or not Sam even knows that Hydra is setting up camp in his territory.

"Tell me where they are," Bucky demands, resisting the urge to flash his fangs just yet because he's not here to threaten answers out of anyone. Not unless he has to.

Although he doesn't find it encouraging that Sam doesn't answer, just clenches his jaw and swings the door open a little wider, letting Bucky see that the extra heartbeat he hears belongs to Clint. Standing in the hallway with a crossbow in hand.

Bucky lets his lip curl up a little, because apparently this is going to be that kind of conversation.

“What do they have against you, anyways?" Clint asks conversationally, like he's not holding a loaded weapon with an expression that says he'd really like to use it. "Seems very personal at this point."

“What, you want the entire list?” Bucky snaps and finds that he is more than willing to give the whole sordid story if that's what it takes.

But he doesn't have the time for that, Tony doesn't have the time.

Instead he grits his teeth and demands “Tell me where they would take a human hostage."

It has the desired effect, both of the hunters tense and Clint’s eyes go wide, and maybe now they’ll realize that this isn’t about him.

The only thing that matters is Tony, and Bucky doesn’t even care that he’s not just admitting to that weakness, he’s basically screaming it from the rooftops by telling them. Doesn’t care that Sam’s eyes narrow in painful understanding.

“We can’t tell you that,” Sam says and he really does sound regretful, but Bucky snarls because that is not what he wants to hear. “Even if we don’t agree with what they’ve done, they’re still—“

“If you don’t tell me, I will kill you,” Bucky interrupts, his voice low and harsh and it’s gratifying to hear the spike in heart rates, it means he still has a chance of convincing them, whether by threat or force.

“Barnes—“ Sam tries to interrupt, but Bucky doesn’t have time for this.

“And then I’ll find out where he is anyways,” Bucky promises, “the only thing you’ll accomplish is slowing me down.”

“You wouldn’t,” Clint says, but he doesn’t sound sure and his grip on the crossbow is white-knuckled, “you’ll start a war you can never come back from.”

“Try me,” Bucky hisses, flashes his teeth and lets his eyes flare. He wants them to know how deadly serious he is.

Clint raises his crossbow, but Sam sighs.

“In the old warehouse district,” Sam says, shoulders tight with anger and fear, “on the far west edge of the city.”

“You’ll regret this,” Clint calls after him as he stalks away, but Bucky knows that he won’t.

Not if he can just get to Tony in time. Nothing matters beyond making sure his selfishness doesn’t get Tony killed. He doesn’t care what it costs, Bucky is more than willing to leave everything and go on the run again, all he cares about is making sure Tony is alive to hate him.

Sam’s information is good, so at least Bucky won’t have to go back when he’s done here.

He’s been dealing with Hydra for centuries now, and Bucky can easily identify the abandoned factory as a Hydra base. It’s the new bars over the windows, the reinforced doors, the impression of movement just below the surface of the dilapidated building.

He only has a couple hours before the sun comes up, and then he’ll be trapped in the building with who knows how many Hydra hunters. He has to find Tony and get out as quickly as possible.

He has to make sure that at least gets Tony out.

Hydra are still setting up their bases more or less the same way they always have, the same holes in security, and getting into the building is easy. Finding the makeshift holding cells is even easier, on the south-most side of the building, but the problem is that all of the cells are empty.

The entire wing of the factory seems to be empty and there’s fresh blood splattered across the walls and the floor, still wet and shining in the fluorescent lights.

The building is too filled with the smell of mold and decay for him to tell whose blood it is, for him to have a hope of picking out the familiar sweet tang that means Tony.

He can hear the sounds of commotion in the distance, what sounds like screams and gunshots further into the factory. It’s the same direction the trail of spilled blood is leading, and Bucky grits his teeth as he follows it.

The base is nearly deserted. Bucky only sees a couple hunters as he follows the sounds of the fight. Everyone he runs into is scrambling for weapons or the exits, and they don’t seem to be expecting him at all. They seem like they’re afraid of something else entirely, like they’re trying to escape.

Bucky doesn’t let them.

They took Tony, and he doesn’t even want to let himself imagine what they’ve done to him. On the slim chance he manages to get Tony out of here, Bucky can’t have any of them going after him again.

He has to make sure they never even think about going after Tony again.

The sounds of screams get louder as he moves into the heart of the warehouse, up the stairs to the offices. The blood is thicker here, splattered across the walls and the floors with evidence of a struggle. Smeared like someone has been dragged down the long hallway kicking and fighting.

With every empty room and bloody handprint he passes his rage grows, and by the time Bucky reaches the last door all he can see is red.

He slams in the door so hard that it splinters apart, chunks of cheap plywood flying everywhere. There’s a smell in the air like acrid smoke, like melting electronics and fire and blood, nearly overwhelming.

Bodies litter the room, dead and dying, but all he sees is Tony.

Bucky has spent the last four hours trying not to let himself imagine all sorts of horrible things. Tony hurt, Tony dead, bleeding, tortured, screaming. Rightfully cursing Bucky for getting him into this mess, rightfully wishing they'd never met.

He’s not prepared for what he actually finds.

Tony is alive, bloodied and bruised but so vibrantly alive, a knife in his hand and a vicious smile on his face as he plunges it into the chest of a Hydra hunter.

Bucky freezes uselessly in the doorway, watching in awe as Tony rips the knife free again, paying no mind to the spray of blood as he spins on his heel. Buries his blade in the gut of someone trying to creep up behind him.

And all at once it’s over.

The room goes still as the last hunter falls with Tony’s knife in his neck, Tony’s knees against his chest baring him down to the ground.

Bucky doesn’t even need to breathe, but still he finds himself choking on air as he watches Tony slowly right himself again, looking over all the destruction he’s caused.

Then Tony looks up, catches sight of him, and the expression on his face shifts from cold and vicious to warm and happy in an instant. Bucky’s cold dead heart lurches in his chest.

“Hey sweetheart, about time you got here,” Tony says, tossing him a jaunty wave with the knife still in hand.

Bucky crosses the room almost in a daze, headless of the blood that slicks the floor and the bodies he has to step over. All he can see is Tony and as soon as he’s close enough he traces his fingers reverently along the line of Tony’s jaw, ghosting over the dark bruise starting to form.

“Are you okay?” Tony asks, nonsensically, leaning into Bucky’s hands on him like Bucky isn’t the most dangerous thing in the room.

And hell maybe he’s not, Bucky certainly doesn’t feel dangerous. Not faced with Tony’s bright eyes and warm skin.

He feels weak, feels completely undone.

Bucky laughs, soft and strangled, and he hasn’t been cold in centuries but his hands are shaking as he cups Tony’s face in his palms.

“No,” he chokes out around another laugh, because he’s not okay, not anywhere close. “I thought- I didn’t know if you were- Tony--”

“Hey, hey,” Tony cuts him off, pulling him in closer and tucking Bucky’s face down into the curve of his neck. Where Bucky can hear the rapid thump of his heart, smell the adrenaline and the sweat that clings to his skin beneath all the blood.

And oh god there’s so much blood, covering Tony’s skin and his clothes and the room around them. Bucky can barely smell Tony through it and he tucks his face a little harder into the hollow of Tony’s throat.

“I’m okay,” Tony promises, fingers of one hand pressing into Bucky’s hair, his other hand resting on Bucky’s side and still wrapped tightly around the knife. Still prepared, and Bucky has never loved him more.

He drags his tongue up the line of Tony’s neck, through smears and splatters of blood. It’s almost a disappointment, definitely a thrill, that none of it is Tony’s.

“What did you- how did you even-“ Bucky keeps interrupting himself, can’t get a full thought out. He’s too concerned with lifting his head and pressing his lips to every inch of Tony’s perfect, unharmed face.

“I keep telling you, I’m a bad bitch,” Tony says, that beautiful smug grin on his face and Bucky just has to taste it.

Tony melts into it so easily when Bucky kisses him, his hands demanding but so gentle, like the room around them isn’t full of carnage. Like Tony isn’t the one who put it there, like he doesn’t have a care in the world except letting Bucky lick into his mouth, taste the adrenaline and determination and life straight from his lips.

Bucky has never tasted anything like it, has never met anyone like Tony, and he could have lost this.

He has to get closer, closer. He doesn’t even realize he’s backing Tony across the room until the back of Tony’s thighs hit a metal table, and Bucky just keeps pushing. Until the table clangs against the wall, until Tony is bent backwards over the surface.

Bucky follows him down, breathing him in, pressing between Tony’s thighs and still trying to get closer.

The table clatters, covered in knives and crossbows and stakes and Bucky doesn’t give a fuck about any of that. It doesn’t matter how much noise he makes now, Tony is the only living person in the warehouse, the only heartbeat on this rundown block. The only thing Bucky needs to worry about.

He certainly doesn’t give a fuck about the bodies that still litter the floor except that none of them are Tony, thatTony put them there.

Bucky doesn’t care about the bridges he’s burned, has never cared less about the impending sunrise. All that matters is Tony.

And Tony isn’t pushing him away, isn’t complaining. He just hooks one leg over Bucky’s hip and arches up against him, finally dropping his knife to drag both palms up Bucky’s back, pulling him in closer.

Tony is so warm beneath him, wrapped around him, always pulling Bucky in when he should be pushing him away.

“Fuck,” Tony sighs against his lips, one hand in Bucky’s hair again. Tony’s legs tighten around his waist, entire body rolling against Bucky’s, his voice shaking slightly as he says “I was so worried about you.”

Bucky wants to laugh again, because that’s soTony, worrying about Bucky while abducted and fighting for his life. Caring about Bucky in the first place when he should have run, should still be running, should leave Bucky far behind and never think about him again.

Nevermind that the idea has pain lancing through Bucky’s chest like he didn’t even think was possible anymore. He’d take the pain of losing Tony happily if he knew it meant Tony would be safe.

He will walk away, once they get out of here, that’s what Bucky tells himself. He just has to breathe Tony in this one last time and then he’ll walk away.

If Tony will let him. Which doesn’t seem likely, so far Tony has seemed determined to stay by Bucky’s side no matter what, and Bucky can never deny him anything.

The warehouse might be empty now but there’s no telling how long it’ll be before more hunters show up, and they should be getting out of here, Bucky knows that. But he can’t tear himself away from Tony’s warmth, from Tony’s hands moving over him.

Bucky can’t stop thinking that he could have lost this. That if he hadn’t found Tony alive and well Bucky would have made an even bigger mess. There would be no end to the carnage.

When he pulls away from the kiss Tony is panting raggedly and if Bucky had the spare brain power he’d feel bad about that but oh, he really doesn’t right now. Doesn’t care about anything but pressing his lips to Tony’s blood-splattered cheek swearing “I never would have stopped looking for you, never.”

“I know,” Tony promises, still trying to pull Bucky back into another kiss despite the way his words come out weak and breathy, his chest heaving against Bucky’s and his heart thundering.

So alive, alive, alive.

“I’d have done anything to get you back,” Bucky growls, dragging one hand down Tony’s side to his hip, digging his fingers in and shifting them until he can feel the hot brand of Tony’s cock against his hip.

“Fuck!” Tony gasps and the scent of his adrenaline spikes higher, turns sweet and warm as his fingers tighten in Bucky’s hair. “I know, I know, c’mon honey--”

And Bucky can’t say no to that, can never deny Tony anything.

Still, even as he lets Tony haul his face up again Bucky can’t stop the words from spilling out, his voice an awful snarl as he says “and if they’d hurt you--”

It’s probably for the best that Tony slams their lips together again and cuts him off, he doesn’t need to know all the monstrous things Bucky would do in his name. Much better to just let Tony kiss him, let Tony flick his warm tongue over Bucky’s blood smeared lips and the tips of his fangs, like he doesn’t have a fear in the world.

Tony’s heart rate kicks up harder, his next inhale weak and ragged against Bucky’s lips and Bucky forces himself to pull away. He lets Tony catch his breath and moves on to biting his way along Tony’s jaw, not enough to break the skin, just enough to get the taste of his skin on Bucky’s lips.

He tastes like sweat and arousal and need, so much love pouring off of him that Bucky can practically taste it. He’ll never get enough of it, doesn’t ever think he’ll stop being caught off guard by it.

“I told you,” Tony pants out when he finally gets his breath back and for a second Bucky doesn’t even know what he’s talking about, too distracted with the wet drag of Tony’s lips over his cheek. “You don’t have to worry about me,” Tony says, one of his hands landing on Bucky’s ass to pull him in closer, harder, arching up into the demanding roll of Bucky’s hips as he moans out “‘m not gonna let anything happen to you either.”

Bucky laughs raggedly, grits his teeth, presses his face into the curve of Tony’s throat and the craziest part is that Bucky believes him. As crazy as it is he has no problem believing that Tony is equally ready to burn the world down. That the bloodbath around them is only the start of what Tony would have done.

The heat building between them is so intense that even Bucky feels warm, feels like he’s burning. Like he’s absorbing all that wonderful warmth and still Tony has so much to give, never runs out of it, never pushes him away.

Bucky growls, lifts his head to make it easier to resist the urge to sink his teeth in and instead rolls his hips against Tony’s, swallows Tony’s shaking moan with another fierce kiss. “You’re so- fuck, gorgeous, the way you looked tearing thorugh them--” Bucky can’t even find the words to describe it but Tony’s scent spikes, proud and smug and fond.

So damn addictive.

He can feel the needy throb of Tony’s cock against his hip, against his own when Bucky shifts a little more, and he grinds himself down against Tony. Chasing the shocks of heat and pleasure that shoot through his system everytime Tony jerks beneath him, everytime Tony cires out and drags in a ragged breath and then clings to Bucky harder, pulling him in and rocking up against him, so alive. Tony’s heels digging into the back of his thighs, hands moving restlessly over Bucky’s skin, sliding up under the back of Bucky’s shirt and leaving burning trails in his wake.

Tony feels so amazing wrapped around him, so alive, warm and demanding as his fingers dig into Bucky’s skin, his breath escaping in gasps and moans. The impossible heat between them continues to grow, until Bucky is sure it’s going to burn him away entirely, he can’t possibly survive something like this.

He can’t possibly keep it, not something like him.

“Bucky,” Tony whines and he’s shaking now, blood roaring through his veins. So close to Bucky’s fangs as he drags his lips up Tony’s throat.

“C’mon baby,” Bucky growls, clenching his teeth against the urge to bite, “lemme feel you sweet thing, wanna hear you.”

“I’m-” Tony gasps and then cuts off with a keening moan as Bucky pins him down more firmly, grinds against him harder. Tony tries to wiggle a hand between their bodies but Bucky grabs his wrist, presses Tony’s hand to the table beside his head.

“Just like this,” Bucky pleads, his own cock throbbing as he slows the rock of his hips, dragging his cock firmly along Tony’s until he shakes. “Just like this baby, wanna watch you make an even bigger mess of yourself, wanna fuckin’ lick you clean when we get home.”

It’s a nice thought, even if Bucky doesn’t know if he’ll actually get a chance, has no idea what’s going to happen next. At least the idea of it has Tony moaning louder, arching up against Bucky’s grip on his hip and on his wrist, always trying to get closer.

“Bucky, Bucky-” Tony wails beneath him, nails digging into Bucky’s skin, thighs tightening around Bucky’s hips, and Bucky can feel the way Tony’s breath catches in his chest. The way his heart pounds as he drags in one more breath and then breaks.

And this, this is Bucky’s favorite sound, the way Tony’s voice cracks on a loud moan as he falls apart, the stuttering jump-skip of his heartbeat. Hundreds of years wandering the earth and he’s never heard anything like it, could happily listen to all the sounds Tony makes for the rest of his endless life.

“Bucky,” Tony sighs, dazed and slurred, fingers still tight in Bucky’s hair even as his entire body shakes. “Fuck, c’mon honey, I’m right here, let me have it, let me feel you.”

He can hear Tony’s thundering heartbeat like it’s his own, can practically taste it on his tongue, and a feral sound rumbles out of Bucky’s chest as he tips over the edge, snarling against the all too delicate skin of Tony’s throat and clutching at him tighter, tighter.

“I love you,” Bucky confesses in a voice that’s so broken it’s practically a whisper, like his greatest secret. The worst thing he’s ever done.

They need to leave, need to get the hell out of here. Bucky should probably leave the city entirely, go back on the move, leave Tony far behind where he won’t get hurt.

That’s the plan.

He knows all that, but Bucky can’t seem to bring himself to let go, can’t stop kissing Tony over and over and over, feeling the warmth of Tony’s skin beneath his hands. Like it’s the last time he’ll ever feel it.

“Come on,” Tony breathes against his lips, “we gotta get out of here before the sun comes up.”

Bucky groans, but he knows Tony is right. He can feel the approaching dawn in his bones and the last thing he wants is to be trapped in a Hydra base full of corpses all day. Or to still be here when more hunters show up, to have to leave through the sewers.

So he reluctantly pushes himself upright, mourning the way Tony’s lingering warmth starts to fade as soon as they’re not pressed together anymore. Tony’s hand is so much steadier than his own as Bucky helps him to his feet, so warm and alive and unafraid.

Bucky wants to pull him into another kiss. Wants to drop to his knees and press his face to the wet patch slowly spreading across the front of Tony’s jeans, taste him, lick him clean just like Bucky had promised. Doesn’t want to face the real world just yet because that means facing the fact that he has to leave.

That he doesn’t get to keep this.

Tony’s hand is still steady in his, his smile small and fond and he leads Bucky out of the warehouse, through the room of bodies and the bloodsplattered halls. Bucky pulls them to a stop just outside the heavy door he’d ripped his way through, paying no mind to the lightening color of the sky.

Burning to dust would hurt less than this.

“I need to leave,” Bucky says, the words tearing their way out of his throat, “I may have... made some threats. In order to find you. And Hydra isn’t going to stop as long as I’m here.”

He hasn’t even told Tony why Hydra is so determined to ruin his afterlife, not entirely, and now he doesn’t have time. Tony has been dragged into Bucky’s mess and he’ll never know why, and the only upside is Hydra will blame the bloody mess inside on Bucky. They’ll hunt for him more furiously than ever, and the best thing Bucky can do is lead them far, far away.

This is why not getting involved with humans is rule fucking one but Bucky doesn’t regret it, knows he never will. And as much as it kills him he can’t ask Tony to come with him.

Tony nods, like he expected it, and then asks “where are we going, and how long do I have to pack whatever’s left of my apartment?”

Bucky gapes at him.

It hadn’t occurred to him that he wouldn’t need to ask, and Bucky knows he should be relieved but all he feels is guilt. He loves Tony, but at what cost? He would do anything for Tony, and Bucky is ruining his life.

“You- your home,” Bucky tries to protest, his entire body going cold, colder than anything he’s ever felt before. “Your workshop--”

“You saying I can’t rebuild?” Tony interrupts, “I’m insulted, honestly. How dare you doubt me.” His smile is wide, and cajoling, like he’s trying to cheer Bucky up. Like he’s trying to convince Bucky.

“You’ll have to leave everything,” Bucky insists and maybe he does need convincing. It feels a little like he’s lost his mind, like he’s dreaming. He had a plan. “Your entire life, to hide with me, I can’t- I can’t promise the next time you’ll even see the sun.”

Bucky doesn’t need to breathe but he’s wheezing for breath now, his empty chest aching it’s so full of confusion and guilt and hope. He can’t let Tony do this, he can’t ask for this, he can’t--

Tony grabs Bucky’s face in his warm hands, palms calloused and still tacky with blood, as steady as they are when he’s building the future. As steady as they were around the knife, as when he was leading Bucky out of the bloodbath.

“Bucky,” Tony says simply, dark eyes so impossibly bright even in the sickly fluorescent light that spills out of the warehouse. “Bucky,” he repeats, low and sweet and amused, his voice wavering slightly as says “You are my sunshine.”

Bucky laughs again, can’t believe how much he’s laughed on a night that started out with his absolute worst nightmare. Even if it is a little hysterical.

He had a plan, but he also knew better than to get involved with a human, knew better than to stay in one place this long in the first place. Tony has been wrecking all of his plans without even knowing it for months now anyways.

What’s one more.

“You’re stealin’ all my lines,” Bucky accuses but he doesn’t mind, oh he doesn’t mind at all. He gets to keep this, keep Tony, the brightest thing he’s ever seen.

“I love you,” Tony says, so matter-of-fact, and it almost knocks Bucky’s legs out from under him. Every single time.

“That’s my line,” Bucky says, and he smiles, and his hand is steady as he wraps it around Tony’s wrist. “I love you,” he says anyways and tangles their fingers together, doesn’t plan on letting go anytime soon. “Let’s go.”

[an-android-in-a-tutu]

trying to figure out how to explain this. Basicaly I read a oneshot that had as an incidental(!) unexplored(?!?) part of the premis the idea that the Mary that came back in season twelve was wrong somehow and crucially Cas was the only one who could tell. It has been living rent free in my brain ever since.

An important part f this is that it's unclear whether Mary has been altered by the resurrection process, or if she isn't really Mary, or if any of this was intentional on Amara's part or just a side effect of her power. And it'll never be clear cause the answer's not important. It's about what that uncretainty and ambiguity does to Mary, the person, whatever version of her is here now and whatever relationship she has to the original Mary.

Because she doesn't know. Initially she has no reason to believe she isn't Mary. Cas knows before she does. Sort of. He doesn't know what she is and he can't say for certain she isn't Mary Winchester, but he can tell that there's something off with her, even if he doesn't know what he's sensing. Initially this sparks wariness in her and mistrust in his intentions, especially because she's just as quick to pick up on the fact that there's something inhuman about him (something she attributes to Hunter's instincts at first but quickly starts to realize is something else entirely).

But as she starts to realize that Cas may be right about her, might be the only one who sees her for what she truly is, he becomes a very real threat to her that she attempts to remove by whatever means necessary.

This results in a vicious cycle where she tries to undermine Cas' place in the family to preserve her own, and then when it works, because he serves as her only example of how Sam and Dean treat a non-human they claim as family, this just reinforces her fear and paranoia. Anything they would do to him is something they would do to Mary if they found out about her, so the more she turns them against him the more she feels the need to protect herself.

And Cas ends up in a situation where trying to cast doubt on Mary just makes him look like the untrustworthy one, and creates furthur conflict between Him and Sam and Dean, so even when things start to escalate and become actively threatening, he ends up keeping quiet and covering things up because by the time shit really gets bad he no longer trusts Sam and Dean to take him at his word that something is wrong.

I don't want to paint Sam and Dean as complete assholes here, so I think they're at least trying to be mediators here, but while they (mostly Dean) are desperate for Mary's regard and want to convince her to stay, Cas has proven time and again that his loyalty is entirely unshakeable, so while it's hard to get Sam and Dean to actively distrust him, it's very easy to get them to take advantage of him and get him to make concessions on her behalf. They always side with Mary on a practical level, even if they think they're being fair.

I think this culminates with a situation where Mary clearly and unambiguously attacks Cas (maybe because he goaded her into it to get her to reveal herself) and Sam and Dean still ultimately side with her. Sure they say Mary is in the wrong, but the result is that Cas is the one they think should go for a while while they work things out with Mary. For his own good, right?

This ends up being the last straw for Mary, who by this point is fully aware that she's not human and maybe not Mary at all, and has become increasingly conscious about her and Cas' similar positions in relation to the family, and she just does a complete one eighty and hangs all her hopes on Cas getting her the fuck out of there.

I think she stows away in his car when she tries to leave and just like frantically confesses everything and tries to get him to run away with her, and while Cas probably only initially agrees because he thinks it will keep Sam and Dean safer if she's with him, it's not long before he starts to understand her genuine fear and feel compassion for her, and like they quickly start to relate to each other as outsiders to humanity. And of course there's this massive ammount of distrust that has grown between Cas and the brothers, so even if he won't consciously acknowledge it, part of him is receptibe to Mary's fears about them, enough not to reach out and to try to handle things with Mary on his own.

Of course Cas and Mary disappearing at the same time right after an altercation between them doesn't look good to Sam and Dean, who set out to hunt them down...

Thinking about Mary came back wrong au from the discord chat again

[starlightrows]

4 — The New King

The Queen of Tatooine Masterlist

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Pairing: Boba Fett x reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Discussion of losing parents, mention of disordered eating, bed sharing

Summary: Saved from an untimely death by starvation and exposure, Boba offers you a place in his palace

*This chapter contains an Easter Egg for an upcoming series that severely deviates from canon*

When you wake up your head is throbbing and you feel sick to your stomach, you’re so hungry. But the one thing you don’t feel, is cold. In fact you’re actually quite warm and comfortable at the moment. You crack your eyes open and are confused to find yourself wrapped in a worn blue blanket, laying in what looks like a large storage closet with a mattress on the floor.

You peer out the open door and see you’re on a ship. How did this happen? Who’s ship is this? Suddenly your stomach growls loudly… you smell something… something good. It doesn’t matter who’s ship this is, you have to eat whatever it is that smells that good.

You clamber out of the sleeping closet and see Boba turning off a hot plate and sealing a bag that surely must contain dehydrated food. He turns when he hears you.

You stare at him, at the food. You’re confused and starving. Having no idea what to stay you just stand there.

He offers you a hand, a gesture to approach “It’s not the most flavorful or healthy dining option” he says “but it’s hot, and will be ready in just a few minutes”

You step closer cautiously and look up at his face “How did you find me?” You ask in an unsteady voice

“I went back to the inn and saw what happened to it. And the town. Followed the road, I figured you’d take the shorter path with water even though it would be uphill and colder” he explains, handing you the sealed bag and a long handled spoon. You open the bag and dig in, not even caring what it is. “Eat slowly Princess, you’ll make yourself sick”

He’s right. You’ve seen it before. Travelers who haven’t eaten in days… weeks even… come to the inn and eat a lot of food in a short period of time… they land up retching in the woods behind the inn. So you slow down and actually taste the food as you eat it.

You make it about half way through the meal before you feel a little sick. You don’t normally eat this much food to begin with. So you set aside the bag of food and let your stomach settle. Boba is eating from a similar bag of food. You study your current meal companion and apparent savior.

“Why did you come back? Why did you come after me?” You ask

“I told you I would” he says “I came back to extend you an invitation, to come to Tatooine”

“You want me to go to Tatooine with you?” You're surprised by that. Sure he’s said it the last time you’d met, but you didn’t think he’d meant it. Men who pass through little towns like yours generally don’t keep promises to return.

“You don’t have to by any means” he says “But the offer is on the table”

“I can’t exactly refuse, can I? My home and businesses are gone…” This is coming out all wrong. This man just saves your life and you’re treating him like he planned this all out “I’m sorry… that was rude and ungrateful”

“You are not wrong” he points out “Put it another way. As you have said, you can’t go back. So I’ll offer you a choice, Princess. Come with me to Tatooine, or tell me anywhere you’d like to go and I will take you there”

“You would really do that? Just ferry me anywhere in the galaxy or take me back with you to Tatooine? That is a kindness I can’t repay”

“You already have. You saved my life that night in the storm. And I did promise you I would come back for you”

“Why?” You ask in a whisper “why would you come all the way back here? You owe me nothing… even if I did let you come in that night”

“Because you made an impression, little one. I found myself thinking about the sweet innkeeper at the edge of the universe often. Even before you saved my life. I always planned on coming back for you, I only wish I had done so sooner”

You let his words sink in. I always planned on coming back for you. You can feel your heart beating in your chest and your cheeks flushing with heat. “I’ll go with you” you say softly “back to Tatooine… Let me work in the kitchens or something to be useful in your household”

“We can talk about that later” He chuckles. “I know it isn’t flavorful, but I want you to eat and get more rest. Replenish your strength”

Your stomach is full, given that you usually don’t eat heavily on a regular basis. But he’s right, you know you need to eat more. Not just right now to recover from hypothermic exposure, but in general. That’s always been a struggle for you. But you do try. The food is right there, and he has been kind enough to offer it you freely.

Boba returns to the cockpit to manually fly his ship, you force yourself to eat at least a few more bites of the rehydrated food he prepared for you. You take the blanket from the cot where you woke up with you, and climb up into the cockpit to sit with him.

He doesn’t turn when you slide into the seat next to him but he does when he notices you wrapping the blanket over your shoulders.

“Apologies Princess” he says “This ship was not built for comfort”

“It’s alright. Just a little cold” you run the edge of the blanket between your finger tips

“You won’t be cold when we reach Tatooine” he chuckles

“No, I suppose not. I’ve heard Tatooine’s binary suns make it so that nothing grows” you can’t imagine it. A world where nothing grows. You grew up in the greenery of a forested planet, at the base of a mountain with rich soil for growing vegetables.

“Tatooine is rather desolate” he admits “Most of the palace is actually built underground to keep cool”

“The palace” you muse “And how does being king suit you so far?”

“The Hutt’s left that place a mess. The palace and their business affairs. It’s all been a nightmare cleaning it up” he admits “My partner Fennec and I have only been able to clear out a few rooms, the business affairs take precedent”

The word partner pulls you up short. Your heart sinks. Partner… your mind immediately jumps to significant other. If that’s the case, then why is he inviting you into their space? Does this person know Boba has made this journey to see you? Do they know he’s bringing you back with him? Your mind races, and you feel a bit measure of panic setting in. What if this partner has no idea, and gets angry? What if this situation turns sour and you have to figure out somewhere else to go?

“You’re awfully quiet” Boba observes “Have I said something to offend you?”

You figure you may as well ask… better to know what you’re walking into rather than go in blind. “Your partner” you swallow the waver in your voice “What are they like?”

“She’s a former bounty hunter like me” he says

Oh no… now you’re really in trouble…

“Hmm… and she’s just fine with you flying off to the edge of the galaxy to visit an innkeeper?” you try not to make the question sound like an accusation.

He turns to look at you with the ghost of a smile on his lips “You misunderstand little one. Fennec is my business and hunting partner. She has no influence or opinion over my personal affairs”

Relief floods your heart, followed instantly by embarrassment. “Oh, that’s… that’s good I suppose. I just didn’t want… I didn’t mean… I just don’t want to cause problems”

“You’re not causing problems. I offered this to you, and to be honest I am glad you accepted,” he admits

That makes you feel better, a little more at ease. In that moment, you realize why you’d reacted so suddenly and severely in your mind. You like him.

You haven’t had many crushes in your life, not a ton of opportunity for it. When you were young there were a few other kids your age in the settlement, maybe one or two of them caught your interest, a few secret kisses in the barn or behind the one roomed school building, but it never lasted, and for good reason. The people who passed through your inn were never really the type you had interest in either. Until now…

Hours pass sitting in the cockpit next to him, chatting about your life in the settlement and his traveling on his own since the age of ten.

You don’t want to pry, but you do make a comment on it “Ten is quite young to be on your own”

“You said yourself you were young when your parents passed and left you with the inn” he points out

“Suppose loss like that makes a person independent” you sigh

“Would have been nice if we didn’t have to be independent so early in life” he said curtly

“I would have liked to have brothers or sisters” you say wistfully “At least things seemed to turn out well enough”

“I think if my father had lived longer, I would have had a younger sibling” Boba says “I think my mother wanted a another son or daughter”

“Your mother never found love again?” You ask sympathetically

“No idea, I haven’t seen her since the beginning of The Clone Wars” he says, starting the command sequence to drop out of hyperspace

Since the beginning of The Clone War… over thirty years ago… “That’s very sad” you say quietly

“It’s better this way. I don’t think she would be proud of some of the things I’ve done” he says “But maybe someday I’ll find out what happened to her” You take that as a queue to drop the subject.

The ship drops out of hyperspace, and Boba starts the landing approach sequence. Tatooine is a massive planet. Even from space you can see it’s yellow sand and rock formation topography. It’s a wonder how any species manages to live there, given the prominent lack of water or greenery.

As the ship flys down closer to the surface you find that the chill of space dissipates, and heat radiating off the planet's surface permeates through the reinforced walls of the ship. You shed the blanket that had been keeping you warm before even touching down.

The palace is massive. The biggest structure you’ve ever seen. Three cylindrical towers built into the cliffs overlooking The Great Dune Sea.

Boba engages the ground security protocols, and lowers the ramp and escorts you to the intimidating durasteel door. There are no guards, no one patrolling to prevent entry. Boba opens the door with no indication of announcing his entry. The entryway is a short sandy strip of a room leading to a descending staircase.

He offers his arm to you “Careful Princess, these shifting sands make these steps more slippery than you’d expect”

You accept his offer, and place your hand in the crook of his arm and start down the staircase. He’s not wrong, loose sand on stone is slippery and you are glad to have his arm for stability.

The staircase ends and leads into a large space clearly meant to entertain groups. The room is in disarray. It is clear, based on the drag marks and blood splatter in the sand, Bib Fortuna and whoever else of Jabba’s entourage remained died at the hands of Boba and his partner. Outcropping in the stone walls lined with low couches, pillows, tables and chairs. Many of which are broken or knocked over. A large grate in the center of the floor sits at the foot of an elevated platform. A throne.

Boba lets your arm go, freeing you to move about the space and explore. He ascends the shorter staircase to reach the throne and sits, quietly observing you. After a moment you turn to him, and take in his regality. He’s intimidating with his emotionless helmet and solid stanced posture. A king in every right.

You smile at him and give a small curtsy “My lord”

He chuckles behind his mask, so very contrary to the stoic picture he paints with his armored silhouette. “Come, allow me to show you the rest” He rises from his seat, and extends a hand for you to take.

He shows you down a hallway lined with doors, explaining they’re private rooms previously used for guests. “Most of them haven’t been cleaned in decades”

“You would think with all the credits the Hutt’s had, they’d pay for cleaning services” you shake your head

“Unfortunately I haven’t had the time to clear out many of the private quarters. Just the Master’s chambers and a single guest room Fennec uses” he tells you, turning down a hallway with an ornate door at the end. Clearly the Master’s chambers he was referring to.

The room is bigger than the footprint of your inn. High ceilings to let hot air rise, an en-suite fresher with a deep soaking tub, a massive bed is the only furniture left in the room. It’s beautiful despite not being decorated or well maintained. But you could imagine it was much worse if this is what Boba describes as “cleaned out”.

“If you are comfortable, I would like to invite you to stay with me in the Master’s chambers” he says from behind you “At least until a room can be cleared out for you, if you so choose”

You whip around to look at him. An offer to share a bed with a king. He must see the touch of fear in your eye because he quickly speaks again.

“I have no intention of asking favor of you. I only wish to make sure you’re comfortable here. You have my word.”

You soften at his promise, and give a silent nod before thinking better of his hospitality. “Thank you”

Later that day you finally meet Boba’s infamous partner, Fennec Shand. She’s got a sharp eye, quick wit and a taste for good spotchka. It’s an interesting tale to hear how they came to meet and land up in each other’s company.

As there are not yet staff or guards in Fett’s employ, dinner is some kind of hunted desert beast Fennec killed yesterday. It’s actually not too bad, but not like the game hunted on your homeworld.

“In time we will get this sorry excuse for a capital back up and running” Boba says when the meal is finished “Full staff and guard and reopen trade”

“I can help begin clearing out the palace” you offer “Make suitable accommodations for your staff and guard, and any allies that may come to stay”

Boba looks to you “You are not obligated to do so little one, but your help is appreciated”

“I enjoy having projects” you admit with a smile “Things to work on and keep me busy”

“Then you make take the task, for so long as you choose” he smiles at you.

Despite his haggard appearance, Boba has a nice smile. It softens him, brings out the light in his eyes. You find yourself returning the smile, and unable to wipe it from your face.

The evening comes to an end. Fennec excuses herself to return to her own bed chambers. Not without casting a sidelong glance between you and Boba, still chatting away. Eventually Boba leads you back to his own chambers. True to his word, he takes his robes into the fresher to allow you the privacy to change into borrowed sleeping clothing.

“I’ll buy you new clothes tomorrow” he promises, climbing into the oversized bed beside you.

Your impulse is to thank him politely and decline the offer, but given that you are his guest and no longer have property of any kind, it’s a kindness you have to accept.

“Thank you” your cheeks burn with heat, a little embarrassed to be needing so much from him at the moment. Borrowed clothing, a place in his palace and in his bed.

You get down under the blanket on the bed. Night time in the desert is quite cold, and sandstone walls that keep the palace cool during the day turn the air chilly when the binary suns set.

Boba turns towards you, laying on his side, he looks as if he wants to say something. Ask you something. But instead he just stares, with his dark soulful eyes and seemingly perfect hint of a smile

“Goodnight Princess”

Tag List: @cannedsoupsucks @otterly-fey @paige6768 @littledragonlady @star-hoes @aeryntheofficial @xx-small-town-witch-xx

[mrsgiovanna]

Dueling with destiny -Part 1 (Castlevania AU) (Dhampir!Giorno x Vampire!reader)

I think everyone who has been here for a while knows about my Castlevania brainrot, and my incessant rambling about dhampir!Giorno, thus this JJBA x Castlevania AU was born. Thank you to @rubyninja1 for the idea. I hope this is what you had in mind as well.

TW: mentions of injuries, character deaths,

Word count: 2.8K

16 April, 1587

The acrid, smoke-laden air stung your nose as you held your partner by the waist, linking his arm over your shoulder to try and drag his limp body to safety. Golden hair concealed a handsome face contorted in pain- but it was finally over, Giorno had defeated his father… and almost paid for it with his life.

Dio was a formidable opponent and had it not been for your combined efforts, the dhampir might have been defeated by his vampire father. Dio wasn’t always as unhinged as he was in his final moments… sure, he could barely contain his disdain for humans, but all of that changed when he met the woman who would become his lover and bare him a son. For all intents and purposes, they were a happy family, living a quiet existence in the heart of the Naples forest, it was remote enough to distance himself from the rest of humanity, but close enough for his beloved to get what she needed from the nearby villages, and see her family and friends every once in a while. Slowly, he had become less disillusioned with the accursed humans as she and their son had chipped away at the hardened exterior to reveal the kindness that he thought he had long since snuffed out.

This had been the case for more than a few years, the young Giorno maturing into an adult relatively quickly, had been forging his own way, being that link between the sacred and the occult- that is how you viewed him in any case. Your kind- the vampires- have long been a group that have been hunted and persecuted, and as such have existed on the outskirts of society, however, with Giorno, people were different, accepting, even looking up to the young dhampir. And just like that, so too was your own faith in humanity restored. All that would be laid to waste by the senseless killing of Giorno’s mother.

And just like that, Dio’s sanity had abandoned him, proving his initial opinion of humans as correct. To say that he had gone insane would be an understatement, as his grand plan was to simply eradicate all of mankind, leaving only the vampires behind. Not seeing the flaw in his own plan, he summoned his comrades from the world over to aid in his conquest, as such, they were laying siege to the country, one scorched landscape at a time. Giorno had tried to reason with his father time and time again, but to no avail, and you could tell from the ever present scowl marring his once serene face, that he was close to breaking… and so you both did the unthinkable by rebelling against his father. Hours and hours of fighting had culminated in Dios bitter defeat, but you had hoped he would finally be able to rest with his beloved in the afterlife, and that Giorno would be able to recover from this both in body and spirit.

Finally reaching the castle, you carefully made your way to Giorno’s chambers and laid him in his coffin, getting everything ready for his slumber. He had taken an immense amount of damage from his father, far more than his regenerative powers could handle, and thus he needed time to recover properly. His castle- what was left of it- was still hidden deep in the forest of Naples, but had been rigged with various traps to dispose of any intruders or hunters that would want to get rid of the “monsters”, you decided that you would reinforce those with a few more measures once you got Giorno safely ensconced in his coffin.

“(y/n) … I don’t think I said this before, but thank you… you could have died, but you decided to help me despite the odds. I…” Giorno’s voice was quiet and you could tell from his labored breathing that he was really struggling to speak so you silenced him before he could go any further.

“Giorno, it’s okay, I know, conserve your energy… I don’t want you to hurt yourself any further. I’ll be right here when you wake up and you can carry on then, for now you need rest,”

“I can’t ask you to stay here, I don’t know how long it’s going to take me to recover,” he argued as you unraveled the now tangled triad of curls from his hair and gently brushed out the knots.

“Well, you didn’t ask, I just volunteered… besides I have nothing but time on my hands, might as well prevent you from being stolen and sold on the black market,”

“I’m but a half breed, they’d pay a prettier penny for you… I’d hate to have to wake up earlier than I have to all to save you from a bunch of hunters,” he retorted to your quip.

Finally, you mused, the light lilt had returned to his voice, you knew it was too quick to count this towards his recovery, but you were thankful nonetheless.

“(y/n), if things get too dangerous, run… don’t look back, you need to protect yourself first, promise me you’ll do that,”

“What kind of a-”

“Promise me, (y/n) you know I hate repeating myself!” the intensity with which he looked at you and the harsh tone of his voice cut short any argument you were trying to put forward, not wanting to agitate Giorno any further, you agreed reluctantly.

“Fine, fine, don’t get upset… I can fight though; you’ve seen this for yourself. And there’s traps all over the place, I’ll be alright,” he smiled weakly and nodded at your assertion. With a gentle smile you closed the coffin as Giorno closed his eyes. Thus began your vigil.

You didn’t mind staying behind and protecting Giorno, you hated to admit your feeling to yourself, but you were completely in love with the young dhampir. Not quite sure of how or when it happened, you found that your relationship with him had evolved from one characterized by playful teasing to flirtatious banter, matching him in both wit and strength, you two were inseparable, however, you were far too scared to confess your feelings for him, and the opportunity to do so had simply not presented itself as yet.

With all the time in the world at your disposal and not much to occupy it with, you started exploring the castle. At first you began to straighten it out, working section by section, reinforcing traps, and mending what you could until you had finished sprucing up the entire place. The surrounding area was quiet enough for you to venture out on your own, and you managed to gain a firm grasp on where the best hunting areas were, what to forage and the best times to go out. Obviously, you had to stay away from the sunlight, but the armory had some very useful cloaks that were able to filter out all sunlight, allowing you to venture out during the day.

Seasons had passed and soon you would be approaching a year of living in the castle and waiting for Giorno to wake up. Life had been peaceful, however, there had been a few strange occurrences in some of the neighboring villages, which sent a large amount of people past the castle. Up until that point you only had to deal with the odd lost traveler here and there, but for the most part, you were left alone. Dealing with that many people peering curiously at the castle and even daring to darken your doorstep left you on edge, but nonetheless, none of those individuals had threatened your safety. You wondered what, or rather who was the cause of the unrest, but your desire to stay out of trouble was far stronger. Unfortunately, the trouble you so diligently attempted to avoid had come looking for you.

It was a normal day, you had risen and were in the process of preparing yourself for the day, however before you left to go downstairs you were interrupted by a noise from the other end of the castle. Afraid that Giorno had woken up and set off one of the traps in his disorientation, you rushed over to that side of the massive dwelling, not expecting the sight that greeted you, you were thankful for the longsword strapped to your side when you happened upon the three shrouded figures.

Drawing your sword as quickly as your reflexes allowed you to, you addressed them from your vantage point just outside Giorno’s room.

“Stop, you will go no further! Announce yourselves, trespassers…” you called out in your most threatening voice. The tallest of the three had slowly raised his hands and inched his way toward the landing of the stairs. Instructions mean nothing to him… he must be human you mused, still on high alert as you waited for a response. The tall man unhooded himself and examined you with the most intense cerulean eyes you had ever seen.

“My name is Bruno Bucciarati, I’m a speaker magician from the neighboring village… this is my apprentice, Guido Mista, we mean no harm… we actually come seeking the aid of he who lies asleep in that crypt you’re so carefully guarding,” he explained with a velvety voice and all the grace of an aristocrat. You wondered if he was just a normal magician with mannerisms as delicate as his, but the question that burned with more intensity was that of who the third person was and why he chose to conveniently leave them out of the introductions.

“And who’s that? The little one over there?” you asked, pointing your sword to the one who still remained cloaked.

“I’d prefer not to say… not just yet, we have to protect her until we secure enough help… there’s something dangerous looming, bigger than us all, if we don’t fight it, we will all be doomed,”

“I’m sure you know the type of being you’re speaking to, my kind have survived worse… so no thanks, be sure not to get killed on your way…” before finishing your sentence you found yourself having to leap out of the way of a tiny silver projectile fired at you by the one who went as Guido. A gun? How does he even possess one without our science? Your mind raced, thinking of how to eradicate them all at once, still being unsure of the abilities and identity of the third figure.

“Mista! Stop!”

“Bucciarati, its pissing me off!” exploded Mista clearly annoyed by your flippant dismissal.

“It? You’re referring to me as it? You humans are all the same, you live this pitiful existence and call it a life and have the audacity to insult beings far superior to you… you will always be preyed upon with that attitude,”

Just as you were about to launch into an attack towards the gunslinger, a voice you hadn’t heard in almost a year had rung out.

“(y/n), that’s enough… conserve your energy, I’ll take care of this,” said Giorno, his silver sword whizzed past you, and would have skewered the insolent gunslinger had it not been redirected by the magician. Giorno’s figure had floated up and out of his coffin, and he made his way towards you, summoning his enchanted sword to him once more, taking a fighting stance in front of the intruders as the gunslinger prepared to fire once more.

“Mista, stand down,” commanded Bucciarati, surprisingly however, Mista had maintained his aim on Giorno.

“I’m not going to stand down until he does Bucciarati,”

“Well I hope you’ve made peace with your gods then, for you will soon be meeting them,” declared Giorno in a calm, even voice.

“Stop! Please, just stop fighting!” called out the little figure, as she dropped her hood to reveal a shock of pink wavy hair and intense, emotion-laden eyes that looked at the scene unfolding. The two men stopped in their tracks and lowered their weapons reluctantly, waiting for the pint sized girl to continue.

“My name is Trish Una… I come from the same place as Bucciarati does, however, we come from the neighboring territory of Campania. Bucciarati is actually my personal guard. He is right, we have come to seek your aid, our land is all but destroyed and that wicked man… he is hell bent on taking over everything one territory at a time until everything is under his control… please we need your help,” she went on to explain emphatically.

“Who is this person?” asked Giorno plainly. Between Bucciarati and Trish, they explained that the ruler, who went by the name Diavolo, was a powerful, albeit maniacal magician who had been obsessed with unlocking the secrets of traversing the very fabric of time itself, and to the detriment of humanity, had recently obtained that power, however, even that wasn’t enough to sate his appetite for power.

“Legend has it, there’s an enchanted object, an arrow of sorts, that grants unimaginable powers to the wielder if they are strong enough to control it, if this has to fall into his hands, we will all be doomed,” explained the young girl with glossy eyes.

“Why do you care so much?”

“(y/n) …” Giorno spoke your name with a hint of disdain at the manner in which you asked the question.

“What? It’s a fair question…”

“She’s right,” interjected Trish, “I feel I need to stop him because… because he is my father…”

An eerie silence hung in the air, somehow making it more difficult to breathe. You looked over at Giorno whose expression was now dark… as if the memories from a year ago had been poured into his head all at once.

“I’ll help you… but we need a plan, if we are to best someone as powerful as he, we need to know exactly what we’re dealing with… all the knowledge and developments contained within these walls are at your disposal, I’m sure that we will be able to find something that could help us” offered Giorno. He understood the young woman’s plight better than anyone and felt it was a moral obligation to help the band of travelers.

“Just like that?” quipped Mista, making no attempt to conceal his suspicion.

“Mista, can you drop your guard for just one moment…”

“It’s alright… Bucciarati- Was it? A year ago I was in the very same predicament that Trish currently finds herself. If it wasn’t for the assistance of a precious ally, I might not be here to have this conversation with you,” explained Giorno as he looked over at you with the gentlest expression. Offering him a kind smile, you were thankful for how well he had healed, and how much he sounded like his old self. Turning your attention to the trio of travelers, your expression softened when you noticed the poor condition they were in.

“You all look a bit travel-worn, we can offer you a place to stay while we figure out how to tackle your problem, if you’re okay with that Giorno,” you suggested, knowing that he would have suggested that as well.

“Of course, there’s more than enough space,” he agreed with a nod.

“Thank you so much for your kindness, we’ll humbly accept your offer,” Bucciarati looked at his travel companions who also expressed their thanks at the gesture. You took them to the rooms that they would be occupying and showed them where all the necessities were before coming back to check on Giorno who you found sitting on the edge of windowsill gazing thoughtfully outside. Noticing your presence, he shut the curtains once more, preventing any sunlight from entering the room.

“It’s alright, if I stay over here, it won’t reach me, that’s not important though, how are you? I know this isn’t what you expected to find when you woke up, these weird things just seem to… happen,”

“I’ve gotten used to expecting the absurd… the real question is whether or not you’re alright? You certainly look well,” he said, cupping your cheek with a gentle hand. That small gesture made your heartrate escalate, and so you averted your gaze in the hope that it would calm down and that he wouldn’t notice.

“Well, I won’t keep you, I’m sure you have a lot that you’d like to do, I’m going to get started on some food, you all could use something to eat…”

“Wait, I’ll help you,” Giorno suggested following you out of the room.

“Say, Giorno… are you really okay with all of this? I know this must be difficult, and judging from what they’ve said, this Diavolo person sounds terrifying, are you sure you’re up for this?” your concern was genuine and it warmed his heart that you were so thoughtful of him. He contemplated your question for a moment before answering.

“Well (y/n), it seems that these duels are etched into my destiny, whether it’s a blessing curse remains to be seen, but I know for sure that with you by my side I’ll be able to face anything.”

[hanibalistic]

#8A4961 | BANG CHAN.

genre | werewolf au, questionable fluff

word count | 2016

warning | mention of injury, mention of poison

the pocket knife in your hand was bloodied with the werewolf hunter's blood, but all you could do as you run the opposite direction from where you were once walking toward was to pray that the wounded hunter, and his friends, did not catch a glimpse of your face.

chan has shifted to his wolf form shortly after the bullet poked through his chest. despite his strong resistance to losing control, whenever emergencies arise, such as being exposed by hunters in a local bar during a quiet drink, even a mighty alpha like him would take precaution and howl to the moon for strength.

chan had no idea where those men came from. he has never seen the likes of them, and he thought he knew all of his enemies already. were those new people? if they were, why have there not been any words spread between packs about this? this is no ordinary matter, this is about a hunting group, a common enemy—he would know if someone new came along.

you made a lucky stab to the closest man when you found out they meant harm, then you jumped off the wooden stool and raced out the bar with chan, who bolted the door to the bar with the heavy, decorative logs placed just outside as a waiting area.

you two did not make it far before a whimper left chan. you paused immediately at the pitiful noise and you turned around to find him barely standing on four paws, wheezing and whimpering with slow, heavy breaths.

widening your eyes when he fell to the side, you rushed toward him, sliding across the snow in the process. you knelt next to him. your weak hands were unable to lift his body when you wanted to examine his wounds, so you resulted in shifting through his furs carefully to find the bullet hole.

you knew there was nothing you could do, there was nothing you knew how to do. staying with seungmin, a beta your age who specializes in herbs and medicine, has taught you nothing about dealing with injuries. but if you could just take a look, you could access how severe it is and plan from there.

"ah–found it!" you brightened up when you found a trace of veins, but as quickly as your smile came, as quickly as it went. that was not the bullet wound, those strong veins were the aftermath of it—the aftermath of a poisoned bullet.

to kill an alpha, a simple bullet would never be enough, not even when he takes it to the heart.

even though you never understood why the killing was not necessary; people are so afraid of potential threats, it is almost stupid, especially when dealing with it causes more loss than letting it be.

"okay, it's okay, let's just... let's find a place to hide and rest," you huffed out quietly, looking around the foggy, snowy forest with furrowed brows, trying to find a way out.

your heart dropped when you found lanterns flashing at a distance.

the hunters were already here.

you saw chan's eyes shift downward, his ears flapping gently. he must have heard the sound of footsteps, or he sniffed out their malicious scent from all the way over there. either way, he was not happy with their approach, and he showed it by letting out a tantrum-like huff.

"it's going to be fine," you told him, but you were more so trying to comfort yourself when you realized chan may soon lose the complete ability to stay conscious and you would be left alone in a foreign tree maze. you slid your hands under his body and struggled to tuck him upwards. "come on, just try to stand, please."

chan complied with your request. he moved slowly, his legs bending and his feet anchored on the ground. he whimpered again when he added pressure to stand, and he fell almost immediately after his attempt. you barely caught him, and your yelp turned the lantern lights toward you.

he gruffed out when he heard the footsteps quicken toward you. he could hear their conversations: talking about your whereabouts, talking about the werewolf in a man's disguise, talking about his faceless companion who could be a potential liability, talking about taking the alpha's weakness.

his gaze sharpened. evidence kept being added to his theory. the fact that he has never seen nor heard of these hunters only proved that they could be sent through a rival pack who deliberately hid the information from them. now, with all this weakness talk? it only reinforced his theory.

chan looked away from the lantern lights to you. your frightened expression made his heart clench—the same expression you held when he found you hiding in your small closet after you got chased down the block and had your apartment door kicked open. the fact that he has to see it again made him fume with anger, and he couldn't think of much else but this: nobody takes you. absolutely nobody takes you, no matter what.

he already killed those who tried once, he will not hesitate to do it again.

"i am so sorry, but please just endure it a little more," you said, mistaking the nudging of his leg as a sign of pain spreading. turning to the approaching light, your breath quickened and you cursed.

think fast, think fast! do something!

you had refused to train to learn how to fight better, and you were unable to participate in meetings of private pack matters. you knew nothing about farming, or hunting for food, or cooking and knitting. you were practically useless, to be harsh, but because of chan, you still have a spot in the pack, a home.

you still stayed with chan's pack despite being traditionally unwelcomed as a human. for what reason, you never knew. some suspected that you may be the alpha's mate, or because chan was just being more generous than usual.

either way, everyone has treated you politely at best, some friendlier and more docile than others. you still have a place to sleep and food to eat. you were still alive right now. and it was all because of chan. he doesn't seem to like you, but he kept you safe nonetheless.

the least you could do was think of a plan. you owe it to him to not panic.

"i–i got something! just move a little for me, chan, please?" you said as you tugged at his torso and attempted to drag him with you. "just to the tree here, really close, please?"

he huffed questioningly but complied. he didn't stand to walk, he wasn't able to. his heightened senses could feel the silver poison spreading through his veins, burning and burning to weaken his system.

all he could do was dig his claws into the ground and drag his body as you pull onto him. it took three big strides for you two to arrive at a snow-covered tree. when you two were there, you immediately took off your jacket and draped it over him.

chan grumbled in protest when you pulled him toward your chest. you snuggled him against you, covering his wound and making it appear as if you were just someone sitting under a tree with a sleeping wolf.

"this is going to work," you muttered to yourself, "we are going to be okay."

the swaying of the lantern sounded—the noise of a door creaking, the sound of a high-pitched rusty gear. the circle light expanded until they were blinding your eyes. it moved away with a creak of the rusty lantern and standing before you was the hunter you remember you nicked with your blade, holding a shotgun in his hand.

"hello? did you need some help?" you asked first, attempting to establish an upper hand in the situation.

it was possible that your face was not discovered at the bar, and there was also a possibility that chan was only known in his human form. you could pass off as a normal residence in this area who is friends with a wolf, that was all.

"this forest is pretty big, it is very easy to get lost," you said with a laugh. "i learned it the hard way."

the hunter raised his brow, suspicious but not backing down yet. he tilted his head, nudging it to the side. "really? i suppose you know how to navigate through it, then?"

you shook your head calmly, a hand sifting through chan's fur. "no, but my friend here does."

"a friend?" he questioned, glaring to the side when his friends snickered under their breath in disbelief. "a wolf is hardly a friend."

"only if you fail to domesticate it."

chan deadpanned quietly. he knew better than to protest loudly at such a thin-ice situation. but please, him? an alpha? being domesticated? what a joke!

"what are you doing here?" ignoring your remark, the hunter asked, to which you sneered gently and sighed.

"i asked you first," you said. "do you need help? this is a big forest."

chan twitched beneath your jacket. you spared him no glance but ran a hand through his fur to soothe him. tilting your head, you flashed an impatient look, urging someone to talk.

"we are... we are looking for two people. one of them a man with–"

"didn't see them. i was sleeping," you interrupted.

"uhm, we followed a trail of footprints and they lead us right to you," he said, gesturing toward the ground where the footprints stopped right at where you two left off.

you raised a brow then, your heart palpitating strongly. but you took a short look at the snowy ground and you relaxed. pulling chan's warm body against you, you slumped closer to the ground and faked a yawn.

"look at the prints, sir," you muttered, "do they look like they came from two people, or one person and one wolf?"

"you guys walked into the wrong forest, sir," you said after a plop of silence. "there are only me and the wolves here."

the man lightly dropped his hand. you raised a fair point, unfortunately for them. despite his suspicion, capturing you both on the spot would be a bad look for them. not to mention, this area is known to have normal wolves littering around befriending humans—more people would believe in your faux innocence than their werewolf story.

"alright then," he voiced, deciding to call the hunt off now. "still, you should be cautious around wolves. they are loyal only to their own, and you are not their own, if you understand what i mean."

chan eyed up at the men. there was a low growl in his throat, the hostility spreading through his instinct to protect your rightful place in the pack, as well as to protest their assumption that you will ever be hurt by his hands.

you kept silent as they took their leave. your mind lingered at the hunter's words, realizing that a part of you knew you thought of what he said before he told you. you could not possibly be considered as their own, after all.

"chan..." you called, "when will i outgrow my welcome in the pack...?"

he shifted, a whimper leaving his lips. his healing ability is ultimately weaker in his human form, but he felt that if he stayed in his wolf form to maintain as much health as he could, he would miss an opportunity to make you feel better. sometimes words do speak louder than action, especially when the action is unclear and ambiguous to the receiver.

“no...” 

steam flowed upwards when chan shifted back to his human form. his clothes were long gone since they got torn apart after his shift. pressing his head to your shoulder to mask the pain in his chest, he huffed, “no.”

that was not a yes or no question, but you understood.

“okay,” you said. “let’s get you home now.”

chan nodded weakly. however you planned to do that, he has no idea.

[starfallskitter]

THIS is Chloe’s redemption arc

Hi! I don’t usually do big media analysis things, but I like Miraculous Ladybug and I’m a writer and familiar with these tropes. I was thinking about Chloe’s character in season 4 and how everyone’s been so upset with what seems like a reversal of her character arc, so I wanted to unpack everything and explain what I believe is going on.

In short: Chloe getting worse, becoming mean again, is the only way she can, after the three seasons she’s had so far, get a satisfying redemption arc. 

Zoe is also very important to her arc; while it could perhaps have been done differently, Zoe’s introduction is perhaps the clearest way of developing Chloe’s character and giving her redemption. But I’ll get to that in a moment.

I recently rewatched the first half of season 1 and most of season 3, so I’ll probably draw from more recent memories in discussion here. Season 4 is, however, the main point of discussion in this post, so big spoiler warning if you aren’t up to date on Sole Crusher and Queen Banana at the very least.

So, character arcs can generally be shortened to a question of, ‘what does this character need to learn? And do they learn it?’, although typically there are bumps along the way, with characters learning the wrong lessons, making mistakes, backtracking, etc. Sometimes it’s a negative character arc where they learn a lie, or refuse to change.

In Chloe’s case, the thing she needs to learn is simple. She believes, in season 1 episode 1, that she is inherently better than other people. She still believes this throughout the entire show up to this point. She needs to learn that that’s not the case.

Success to Chloe is how much power you have, and she expects power. It’s reinforced for her at every turn. Her dad gets her everything she wants, and he’s the Mayor, so his power becomes hers. Her ‘best friend’ is a rich, famous supermodel, which is ultimate success to her, and at the start she’s his only friend, so he must consider her on his level (how he came into this situation doesn’t matter to her). She’s constantly followed by someone who lets her have complete power over her just to get a glimpse of Chloe’s wealth. Bullying and beauty are both sources of power to her as well. Power is success, she has a lot of power, she’s successful, she’s acheived all she wants to.

So, naturally, she loves Ladybug, the most powerful superhero in Paris. She wants to be accepted by Ladybug, and loved by Ladybug, because Ladybug has power, and Ladybug accepting her as her peer means Chloe is on her level. Everyone loves Ladybug, therefore Ladybug has more power than Hawkmoth, the real reason Chloe is on her side.

This doesn’t change much throughout season one. 

In Season 2, though, we meet her mother, who can be summed up as the main source of this thought pattern. Chloe idealises her, more even than Ladybug, and her approval as a powerful person who knows it feels like all Chloe needs. When Chloe gets the Bee Miraculous, it’s not because Ladybug thinks she’s a peer, but Chloe, somewhat desperately, believes that being a Miraculous holder will make her good enough in her mother’s eyes. From the wiki:

Chloé, however, is furious and angrily asks her mother why, out of all people, she would take Marinette to New York City instead of her own daughter. Audrey says that it's because Marinette is exceptional. Chloé retorts that she's exceptional, too, but Audrey says that the only thing exceptional about her is her mother. Hurt by this comment and wanting to prove her mother wrong, Chloé reveals that she has the Bee Miraculous in her possession and transforms into Queen Bee in front of everyone, including the press.

When she gets the Bee Miraculous, it’s not because she’s changed in any way, and it’s not a catalyst for change. The whole plot of Queen Wasp is that Chloe is trying to prove she’s exceptional, but her being exceptional is not what she needs to learn; in fact, it’s the opposite. She needs to learn that she is no more exceptional than anyone else. She doesn’t learn this here.

Again, from the wiki:

Marinette tells Audrey that Chloé is exceptional -- exceptionally mean. She lists all of Chloé's worst qualities, angering both her and Audrey but also making the two realize that they have a lot in common. When Marinette leaves, Audrey asks Chloé if she is really as bad as Marinette said, to which Chloé says that her only friend in school is Sabrina, and she enjoys giving her butler a hard time. Audrey takes back her earlier comment about Chloé not being exceptional, embraces her, and decides to stay in Paris with her.

This is just reaffirming the problem: Chloe’s belief that her power, coming from her cruelty and bullying, makes her special, so she deserves the power, etc. This is not a change in her character arc; this is still setting her up to change later on.

What this sets up is Chloe’s false character arc. It seems, on the outside, that what Chloe needs to learn is how to be nice, or good. That being kind is something she doesn’t know how to do, and she just needs to try. 

This is often a character arc that children’s show bullies have because it’s easy and simple to understand, but it’s not realistic. Bullies are usually not bullies just because they don’t know how to be nice; some are, perhaps, but the truly mean ones who do acts of cruelty because they can have a fundamentally twisted view of the world, like Chloe’s.

A lot of people think Chloe’s false redemption arc was her real one, and it got thrown out the window. Here’s why the false one is important for the real one.

For Chloe to learn that she’s not special, she has to get rid of the idea that being powerful in any way leads to happiness, or the power is equal to success.

In Season 3 we get continuance of the false arc. Importantly, we see her core behavior has not actually changed. At times, she acts heroically, but it’s not necessarily out of the goodness of her heart; and at the times she does this doesn’t necessarily change her character arc, either. She still has a heart. It’ll come out much more later. But she’s still pushing people around. There is no significant change in how she fundamentally treats Sabrina, or her butler, or Marinette, or her father. She doesn’t see them or relate to them any differently. She’s also using her superhero identity to reinforce the idea that she’s special; she remarks constantly about how she’s Queen Bee, she’s a hero, she’s better than everyone, you get the gist. Becoming Queen Bee has reinforced the primary lie (that she is special) that her character arc is going to change.

We see, in Miraculer, Mayura demanding Chloe join them, and Chloe refusing.

At first, it seems like Chloe’s doing well to refuse. Like she has a sense of justice. In truth, though, she’s mainly on Ladybug’s side because the heroes are usually seen as more powerful and cooler than the villains. There might be a sense of justice there, but that’s ultimately irrelevant to the core flaw that she needs to fix to become a better person.

And then, Heart Hunter and Miracle Queen. Ladybug doesn’t give her enough power, so she takes Hawkmoth’s side.

While Ladybug, Cat Noir and Ryuko fight Heart Hunter, Chloé becomes furious and throws her bee signal off of the roof, losing her hope. Hawk Moth comes and tries to convince Chloé to join him. Chloé is reluctant at first, because he is the one who akumatized her parents. Hawk Moth asks what Ladybug has done for her, since Chloé was the one who trusted Ladybug the most as a fan. Chloé finally agrees, but demands that Hawk Moth deakumatizes her parents first. Hawk Moth accepts these conditions.

This is the ultimate thing that reinforces the lie, that she is special and more powerful. The false character arc, that she just needs to learn to be nice, is thrown aside; she was nice to Ladybug, put herself on Ladybug’s side, and tried to work for justice, but it didn’t change that what she ultimately wanted, and felt was most important, was power, being special, status. The moment at the end of Heart Hunter is where she does her heel-turn, and now, what happens next?

Well, rememeber that she needs to learn she’s not special. As of now, she’s had the belief that she’s special reinforced, not weakened. It’s been reinforced as far as it can go. There is nothing she can do to believe she’s any more special than she believes she is. And now, being pissed at Ladybug, her false arc thrown aside, there’s no reason to try and act nice. It didn’t make her happy, after all.

So in Season 4, she doubles down on what she still believes matters: Power.

She’s worse to Sabrina, locking her in her closet, making her chase after the car, etc. She will only consider the best, most powerful friends like her: Zoe, her sister, has to be just as special, just as powerful.... and as we saw at the end of season 2, that means mean.

Which brings me to Zoe.

Zoe is important because she’s everything Chloe could’ve been if she’d already learned her lesson, for one. She’s successful at making friends because she cares about how nice someone is, not their status, which is what Chloe doesn’t get. She’s so frustated that Zoe makes friends at the end of Sole Crusher by just being nice. Chloe wants those friends, but everything in the show so far has taught her that power is important and it’s what will get her love and attention, and her power comes from, again, bullying and her dad.

And that’s also where Andre comes in. The other thing Zoe does is change Chloe’s biggest enabler- Andre. In Queen Banana, he refuses Chloe’s demands for the first time pretty much ever, and draws a hard line in the sand.

Suddenly, a little bit of Chloe’s power is taken away from her in that moment. She can’t understand how Zoe can be happier than her or why her father might tell her no. They’re incompatible with her worldview- that she is special, and powerful, and deserves things just for being special.

At this point, Chloe has to lose everything. She thinks that cruelty to others will make her happy; that demanding things gets her what she wants. It has, so far. So for her to change, that needs to not work. We’re seeing just the beginnings of that in Season 4 so far; she can’t demand anything from her father (although Queen Banana is full of demands she does get). Zoe didn’t find happiness through the method Chloe said she would in Sole Crusher (really, Sole Crusher lays out what Chloe’s been imagining the world is like the entire show. That’s it in a nutshell, really). Adrien told her she needed to be nicer and lowkey rejected her friendship at the end of Queen Banana. Zoe, the sister who is better off doing the opposite of what Chloe thought would make her happy and successful, took her symbol of power- the Bee Miraculous, her superhero identity- away from her. Chloe’s worldview is slowly unravelling as of Season 4.

So, what needs to happen next?

One: she will lose everything. Two: she’ll learn that power doesn’t make her happy. Three: she’ll realise that kindness and justice and equality, etc. are more important. Four: she’ll do something major to show that she understands this and has changed. Five: she’ll permanently stop putting herself above others.

I can’t project too far in the future, but what I can say is what is probably going to come next for the topic of her losing everything. Her father is going to say no more often; her mother will disappoint her; Zoe will continue to do well. Chloe may learn that Zoe is Vesperia, I’m not sure.

But the one main thing that I think, personally, Chloe needs to lose in some dramatic way is Sabrina. Sabrina is just about the last thing that has remained the same for Chloe so far. And I think that that change won’t come by Sabrina’s doing, necessarily. She’s not vengeful and doesn’t see or care about Chloe’s flaws.

But the thing is, it seems obvious by now that everyone in the class is getting a Miraculous. We’ve seen spoilers for Mylene’s and Juleka’s, and my personal opinion is that the four remaining unpaired Miraculous pair up to the three remaining classmates + the one other student who seems to recur (personal guesses: Ivan - Ox, Nathaniel - Rooster, Marc - Dog, Sabrina - Goat), but regardless, what I imagine would break Chloe’s existing worldview more than anything else, and leave it open to change, is Sabrina getting a Miraculous, and Chloe knowing it’s her.

Sabrina is Chloe’s trailing, forever-present symbol of power. She’s always got power over Sabrina. Sabrina being special in a way that Chloe no longer is, a way that got taken by her ‘lame’ sister who she views as less powerful than her, should put a lot into perspective for her.

In short: Chloe is going to have a bad time, and be a bad time, for most of this season, if not all of it. She’s got to learn that her worldview is wrong.

That’s how her character arc will end. That’s how we get a satisfying change, something meaningful happening to her, and her really changing from the bully she was. Miraculous is a lot more complicated than most kid’s shows and it didn’t simplify it down to ‘bully learns to be nice’- Chloe’s character arc is about changing the fundamental thing that made her so mean in the first place. It’s about learning that she is not at all exceptional, and that she is just like anyone else. And that she’ll prefer it that way.

[chiafett-moved]

Using all the clones from ur high school au, what kind of civ clothing do you think they'd wear?

Okay okay okay I took some time and went to TOWN on this one so clone clothes below the cut

Fox:

First and foremost, Fox has his own pinterest board. There’s not much in the way of clothes there, but yeah. 

Lots of red and black

Hoodies and jeans. Jeans and hoodies. Hoodies and Jeans

If you saw the shape of my body No You Didn’t 😁

Someone help him

Always dressed as though it’s approximately 20C. Sort of like a comic character who wears variations of the same outfit.

For someone who hates being perceived, he does wear some tight clothes

Overall, sort of unintentionally punk/emo and tired

Lip, tongue, and ear piercings

Hunter:

Also has two pinterest boards (butch AU and normal)

Cottagecore farmer. Lots of neutral tones and loose, soft fabrics

Loves knit things

Very picky about texture and fit. If it’s tight, it gets donated

Wears things until they fall apart. This does not take long

Soft, waterproof, ankle-high hiking boots that he wears everywhere

L a y e r s 

Constantly putting his hair up or taking it down

Very concerned with taking care of his curls (and for good reason; they’re gorgeous)

Farmer’s tan n freckles

Tech:

Business casual some days, absolute trash others. There is no rhyme or reason. 

If Hunter’s all about consistency, Tech is the opposite (autism vs ADHD in a nutshell lmfao)

Pockets are a must

He has a messenger bag a la Spencer Reid 

Big ol’ glasses with a thick enough lens that you can see behind him if you look at the right angle

Converse

Has these awful graphic tees from the time he went to Goodwill with Hunter

Wrecker:

Big comfy sweaters like those ones they sell at Old Navy

Walking hug with steel-toed boots

He has trouble finding XXL Tall clothes that aren’t Barbecue Dad™ so he takes what he can get 

Rips the knees of pants first

Rips the tags out of everything

Cannot match colors to save his life and hasn’t yet figured out the Hunter tactic of just owning neutral things

He has a lot of fun hats

Carhartt short sleeve shirts and jeans with sharpie and paint on them

If he can’t move in it, he doesn’t want it

Big fan of open short-sleeve button downs over tees

Constantly asking Tech to hold things for him (they get lost in the Bottomless Messenger Bag)

Crosshair:

Typical teenage boy with a side of edgy

You know those joggers with the puffy knees or the cargo pockets? Big wearer of those

Sneaker Snob

Once he dressed up for a school event and he looked so good but pretended not to notice

Big City Gay energy

Constantly has a pack of cigarettes on him, so he’s got to have a pocket for them. He’s got to have a pocket, right? I just can’t see it from here. There must be a pocket because otherwise where is he getting those he’s pulling them out of nowhere send reinforcements—

Steals Hunter’s worn-out, oversized flannels but he’s a tall bitch so they’re pretty normal on him. How is he making them look so edgy?

Dogma:

Wears the same outfit a concerning amount. Like, you don’t notice anything and then all the sudden he’s been wearing the same thing for two weeks. Doesn’t smell bad or anything, though, so ?????

Always put together, but in that way that’s kind of fraying around the edges

I don’t really know how to describe his clothes beyond a sort of vibe? Idk

He’s a really skinny guy and he loves clothes with angular shapes and hard edges, so he kind of looks like a stick figure with really cool geometric designs

He tries to look sort of formal and aloof, but it doesn’t work

His Manic Art Kid vibe is visible from space, though

He looks cute but in a freshman kind of way. Like, “aww, look at him!”

But also radiates the kind of energy that makes people highly concerned

Many ear piercings and one eyebrow piercing

Tall gangly and intimidating

Always carrying his backpack

Tup:

Basically Dogma but with softer edges and rounder shapes

The Ridiculously Well-Adjusted Art Kid

Always has paint somewhere

Looks like a mess but makes it work

Messy buns

Big fan of overalls and colorful shirts

Likes long sleeves

Converse out the ass, but in a ton of different colors

Big sweaters

People forget he’s tall and Stronk because the way he dresses makes him look small (oversized things do that)

Got his ears pierced when Dogma got his third helix, but let them close

Stacked bracelets

Echo:

Somehow soft punk meets varsity kid? He makes it work

Khaki pants but cool 

Open zip-up hoodies and comfy, well-fitting tee shirts

Sneakers only, unless he has to be fancy

Sometimes wears fingerless gloves and refuses to explain why

Undercut

No I lied sometimes he wears stompy boots just because they’re at odds with the rest of his aesthetic

Basically big calm comfy vibes without looking sloppy or informal

Will wear button downs as normal shirts with jeans

Likes to do the graphic tee over thermal shirt thing

Joggers

SKATER BOY. That’s the word I was thinking of. Soft skater boy (he and Fives both skate)

Fives:

Band tees and jeans 

Not a fan of shorts. Has anyone ever seen his legs?

Constantly has this big-ass set of headphones around his neck

Beanies

Also a graphic tee and thermal shirt layerer

Rarely not wearing jeans

Sometimes wears pajamas to school specifically to piss off teachers

Snapbacks

Paints his nails a variety of colors, but mostly black. Somehow the polish is always chipped

Big wearer of Vans, actually is a skater

Tears through the elbows of his jeans jackets falling 

Cody:

Gay smart kid. Debate team captain. Soccer captain. Looks better than you. Looks better than the teachers. Could kill you. 

He wears a lot of half-zips and khakis, but makes it look less nerdy than usual

Sports paraphernalia helps. Hard to look nerdy when the zip-up you’re wearing is from wrestling Nationals

When he wears tee-shirts, they’re always tight? Does he buy them a size small on purpose? (yes, yes he does)

Collector of those really nice zip-up hoodies with the geometric designs that make them look really nice and neat

Actually wears sunglasses when it’s sunny

Has never been seen in a hat

Neyo:

Oh god oh fuck DIY punk? He’s oh god he’s

Neyo my dear that sweatshirt is falling apart

Neyo is. Troubled and in a Bad home. His clothing choices reflect this. 

He does not want to touch or be touched and he wants to look cool doing it

Stoner kid but Spiky

And also he doesn’t actually smoke

Wears combat boots that look like they’ve seen blood

Skinny jeans bc he’s edgy and cool

Patch pants/vest

Also has a pinterest board

Bacara:

Bland depressed kid. Jeans and dark hoodies

Seriously he’s just trying to vibe. He wants to be comfy and he doesn’t want to draw a ton of attention

Black converse

Constantly has a farmer’s tan

Not a fan of short sleeves

Thinks Neyo looks ridiculous

Has never been dress coded in his life 

Seriously Bacara’s idea of spicing up an outfit is wearing like. A polo. 

[paper-cloud]

i. the crushing weight of what happens next

part of "(there will be a) tomorrow"

fandom: prospect (2018) characters: ezra, cee rating: T words count: ~3K context: post-canon general warnings/tags: see series masterlist warnings/tags for this chapter: ezra's pov. angst. not graphic descriptions of wounds, blood and amputated limbs. mentions of minor characters' death. (probably very) inaccurate but anyways vague descriptions of medical treatments and post-anesthesia symptoms. taglist: @ravensmutty @buttercup--bee @thegreenkid (again, thank you all for your interest and encouragement! :3) @krissology @ezrasarm @bonktime (please forgive my nerve, i won't tag you in the next chapters unless you'll explicitly ask me to! just thought about someone else who might be interested and you guys are AMAZINGLY talented and inspiring "prospect"/ezra writers. it's not my intention to waste precious moments of your time! 🤡

[SERIES MASTERLIST] [MAIN MASTERLIST]

He'd have thought it was almost ironic – opening his eyes to the light only to see nothing. To feel pain.

He'd have laughed about it, most likely. A bit later, he'd have acknowledged it was a reasonably fair compromise; for him and any other wretch that'd ever dared play dice with darkness and miraculously made it out alive.

And in the very end he'd come to laugh at himself, too.

He knows the drill. Someone who trades their own life with the contract of the highest bidder doesn't see the universe in black and white, let alone is in a position to draw the hypothetical line between the two of them.

Must be an even more wicked universe than he's ever cared about, then.

At least, that's where the struggle of opening his eyes made him stumble upon; when a blade of light thrust through that hint of a gap he'd pushed himself to create in the middle, resonating through the dark coils of unconsciousness like a harsh, unforgiving bell.

A skilled mariner over silky rivers of natural redundancy and rapids of professional edges, Ezra is a man who can appreciate a sharp wit when he recognizes one.

That was too much even for him.

Floundering in between a blinding whiteness and a black hole that wasn't even completely black, but permeated by a thick, suffocating haze that filled every ghost haunting his mind with its stench. With the color of diabolically lush leaves.

Forest— spores— poison— death.

It hadn't been enough to let him dangle in apnea above a roaring vortex of lifeless emerald; take him away from the grey flow whose elusiveness he'd come to appreciate more than he'd ever hated to endure its chaos— from the bubble built on the routine series of one last jobs that, in the end, never really were.

There'd been a moment when, from the higher parts of the room, his pupils tumbled down, tripping over a patch of green discreetly lurking in a corner.

He almost threw up.

It had taken him a while to clear out the misty grit clotted in his corneas— focus on white walls, light wood paneling... a harmless seedling in a pot.

He'd breathed heavily, deeply. He sure hadn't got much relief from it. Still, he'd been able to hear its sound, louder than he'd ever heard it before, the musical, cooling mesh of oxygen particles in and out of his lungs almost begging his fingers to be touched.

Oxygen.

Fresh air.

Had he been less sore – less convinced it was just the residual effects of anesthesia pulling pranks on him –, he would have burst out laughing. Even more so if some poor soul of the medical staff nearby would have called for reinforcements from the other side of the space station before storming into his room.

He'd be laughing now, too. The best he can manage is sitting on his bed, leaning his back on the headboard – which is what he's struggling to do right now— and well, sometimes the room lighting still slightly bothers him. Of course, with all the painkillers and antibiotics they've given him, he wouldn't feel like the wound on his stomach is swallowing the entire arsenal of stitches and bandages.

He just wouldn't like her to get the wrong idea.

He blinks several times, like a man who no longer trusts his eyes. How can he, when they're burning like that, in such a different fire from the one from days before – damp and flickering? For reasons he can imagine, she seems to be faltering. Totally beyond his comprehension, he could swear she's smiling at him. Something inside his ribcage creaks oddly, while the curve of his chest arches upward.

"Birdie."

It's just a huff of breath, weak and hoarse, yet scratches his throat all the same, in a way that its walls feel studded with rock spurs. Actually, Ezra doesn't remember talking since they left the Green behind – which, being him, is saying something – and it's like an eternity has passed since their pod docked up there.

The nurse who let her into his room has just left and Cee sinks her hands into the pockets of her sweatpants. She's still smiling— just the faded shadow of a smile, now that he takes a better look at her.

"How's your wound?"

It sounds a lot less plain than he expected.

She hasn't moved towards him any further, and for now she's not showing any hints at wanting to. In her irises, Ezra recognizes thumping stars and cerulean clouds, all clustered in the black circle cut by the large porthole next to his bed. All before catching the thin mist veiling them. As if she did want to reach those stars, let herself get carried away by those streams of bluish dust, but she had no idea how or what to do there.

He looks down, the borders of the bandages over his abdomen slightly raised under his black short-sleeved tee. He clears his throat.

"S'healin' nicely", he says, with a deliberate lightheartedness that costs him a sharp, bizarre inflection in his voice. He closes his eyes soon after, tilting his head condescendingly. "That's how the nurse feels about it, anyway... S'not like I can feel much more right now."

This reminds him of those vacuous moments between brief, chaotic waking states and delirious dreams. When he'd managed to reconnect some essential key points scattered around in the talks of surgeons and nurses; the weariness he felt from simply gathering he was on a space station due to enter the orbit of Mesos in three cycles and something standard hours. All while his only solid reference point – the only indisputable proof he was still alive – was the sequence of beeps chirped by the medical monitor perched nearby. Constant, not monotonous. Friendly, even. Sometimes, he actually comes to miss it.

"A trust fall to the extreme, I'd guess", he snorts, a sly laugh as weak and heavy as the words trudging out of his mouth. As the whole rest of him.

Whatever answer she's considering, Cee freezes it in a quick purse of her lips – maybe a nod, but for his own good he'd rather be doubtful. Then she starts looking around.

There's a chair under the board firmly anchored to the opposite wall – probably a desk or something he's never needed to test, whatsoever. She grabs it and puts it next to his bed. She sits down, bringing her legs to her chest, squeezing them in her arms.

Waiting for what, Ezra has no idea, and he's afraid she doesn't have any, either.

He doesn't speak, though, nor does he encourage her to do the same. Her pearly gaze roams steadily but unhurriedly from him to somewhere beyond him, her nose buried in the gap between her knees. He studies her carefully, two purple crescents above her cheeks, a few hair strands swinging down her face without her wiping them out. The nights she's slept through haven't been any more peaceful than his.

Trust, he recalls in the meantime.

It sure brings an odd taste to his mouth. Something close to sweaty spacesuits, grimy paths and gone-off ration bars. A single word for two human beings forced to share the same air filter for days; that, and the image of a dead body left to rot miles behind and the desperate commitment not to end up in the same way.

His gaze just happens to trip over his right side, taking in the deflated sleeve over the emptiness that saved his life. When he lifts it back to the girl, meeting her eyes just before they can flutter away, he realizes they were both looking at the same spot. And he realizes something else— something he's already understood, yet not quite.

There is no tube binding them now.

"Why d'you do it?", he mumbles a split second later, almost like somehow the thread of his question has immediately knotted to the one of his previous thought.

He huffs. He shouldn't even have asked her, in all honesty. Seeing her like this, at least he should have put it in another way, danced around it, it's not like he’s never been good at stalling, after all—

"Comin' back", Ezra says instead, and when he swallows, he mainly does it to send his heart back down his throat. If he'd died without being given the last chance to be this straightforward on this matter, he would have probably kicked his ass all the way to the other side. 

This time, Cee doesn't avoid his gaze. He shouldn't be surprised by how collected she looks, given the calmness she handled his infected arm with and then told him about when she used to slip into Jata Bhalu carcasses. But he can't help it when he thinks she can't be much older now than what she was then.

He watches her breathing in, wobbling her pupils here and there, seemingly considering his words. She's not afraid, not any more than what she seemed to be when she walked into his room. Maybe she's just better than him at playing pretend – but this, he can't tell whether it's more of a good than a bad thing. Especially for her.

One thing he can tell is that she's not the same girl who pointed a trembling gun at him before running away into the woods. He knows she's not afraid.

He knows...

So is it the hunter's instinct he has to blame if he feels she is?

"Guess I've seen too much death on that forsaken moon to just... turn my back on one I can help– one I can do something about."

If he was standing in front of an entire mountain crumbling down into the ocean, he wouldn't hear its sound. ‘Wouldn't even be the worst he deserves. She did hesitate before adding the last few words, but Ezra refuses to believe she did that because she was afraid of hurting him. He may be a wretch, but not a fool.

Kevva, for a man who's always managed to untwist himself from far tougher situations with the tangles of his tongue alone, he's sure having a deal of trouble – and he wishes he could put all the blame on his current physical condition.

There is no word he doesn't have to weigh carefully now, to prevent it from taking too sharp edges once out of his lips. He may float around it forever. But once he's let her go without saying anything, he'll hardly find the courage to look within himself again, more than after any other job that hardened his hands with calluses and tarnished his eyes with blood.

He doesn't know for sure. In fact, everything he was sure to know – about the turning direction of the universe and the one of the wheels in his head – has already collapsed in front of him, tracing a flaming tail. An unforgiving meteor following a trajectory far beyond his grasp.

He just knows silence scares him, in a way that a wrong word will never do again. It terrifies him. More than as a talkative person, as a castaway on a hostile moon for too many cycles to keep their count – with the only company of a mute. Silence is green; the green of the most poisonous pollen, lethal in his brain just like toxic spores enveloped in his lungs. The green of snake scales ready to stand and scratch his flesh until liquid crimson pours out of it.

And at the end of the day, this is the only fucking thing he can tell himself to know without having his guts churning and chest heaving a beat later.

"Stop looking at me like that."

It's more of an exhausted prayer than an annoyed remark. Ezra blinks, stunned by the sudden return from the shapeless stream of his thoughts.

"Like what?"

"Like you're looking for the words to thank me", Cee settles back into her chair and this time she lets one leg touch the floor, "Tell me you owe me, and you– you're sorry about what you did."

Ezra sniffles. "Would it be bad?" 

"No, it—". She closes her eyes for a moment, clenching her jaw. "Just no good", she breathes out, calmer.

And the discordant note in those words conjures up ghosts not yet vague enough for Ezra to be able to tolerate them without something twinging inside him— like a violent flutter of wings. Voices groping their way up ravels of compromises. Damon, deep in the forest. Himself, with the mercenaries in the Queen's Lair. Cee, days before that. After he—

She's right— those words she hasn't said yet, but whose shadow he feels looming every time he catches her wetting her lips.

Some things just can't be split evenly.

"This is not the Green", she states, suddenly more confident but no less exhausted. "If you're going to hang around just because you need to, once we reach Mesos¹ you'd better be on your way."

Ezra doesn't interrupt her. A faded echo starts making its way into his ears. A former prospecting partner, many years ago. An easy job on a forgettable Fringe moon.

Gems don't have an expiration date. Deals do. Strike 'em if you need to, get rid of them as soon as you can. Unless you care to dig a quicker way to your grave.

He didn't pay attention to it, then. He'd thought it was just the empty rhetoric prospectors drop absentmindedly to fill the time between an unrewarding digging and the next. All the more so under the rickety advice of a couple too many.

His eyes still wide open, hands shaky, he merely reciprocated the awkward bottle lift of his partner, whom he didn't know more than the meanders of that quarry. A toast to a faceless future – a nothingness still more reassuring than what was all around and behind them. Not to the darkness of the cave, basically unbreakable if only for the red halo thrown by the twinkles of sharp, sinister Prystines². Not even to the two poor bastards that had set out with them, ending up skewered a few hundred paces behind – one by mistake, the other to return the favor of saving him from the clutches of a furious Aiu³.

Like an idiot.

Several contracts later preventing him from missing a beat in front of similar hiccups, the logic of that statement no longer sounds so absurd to Ezra. Luckily for him, Cee understood it long before him.

"I was just lookin' for the words to tell ya you'll be better off without me—"

Half a truth. Half a heartbeat. After all, she isn't the only one of them who knows how to sell it.

He leans his head back against the headboard, eyes half-closed, a sly grin baring a couple of his upper teeth. It would almost be intimidating, except that the glint hitting them doesn't quite match the dying one in his eyes.

"—But you beat me to it", he finishes, and he sounds like he's about to fall asleep.

He slowly turns his head away, looks through the porthole. His gaze clutches to the passing asteroids outside, distant nebulae spraying the sidereal black with hues of purple, blue, red— then green, again. A climbing plant squeezing him from the inside, discomfort starts creeping on him an inch of his body – what's left of it – at a time.

He doesn't want her to think he's angry at her, and it's the only concrete foothold emerging from the fluid, magmatic chaos in his mind.

How could he be, when she came back to get him?

She didn't have to.

She doesn't have to be here, either...

"I'm sorry", she suddenly blurts out.

He meets her eyes again, a mix of bewilderment and disapproval shading his own. He shakes his head.

"Don't."

"I just—". She starts fiddling with the extra fabric created by the folds of her sweatpants. Then she sighs deeply. "I have no idea what I'm gonna do now."

He snorts. "Not that it's s'pposed to make you feel any better, but... neither do I."

He doesn't have a hazy helmet choking the glimmer in his eyes, an air filter breaking some frequencies in his voice— maybe just those making him sound sincere, while saving those trapping him into the swamp of self-loathing.

He was nothing but honest when he told her the rules of the game on the Green. When he openly admitted he was a killer, and when he assured her he wouldn't trade her for the Sater's Aurelac. And she's always seemed to believe him, maybe for that kind of desperate inertia that washes over people when they need something to cling to. Whatever the case, Ezra can only hope she wants to believe him now. But she doesn't speak, and for a moment his fear of not saying enough overcomes that of crossing her boundaries.

"But w—", he immediately bites his tongue, "—you still have three cycles to figure things out. Someone up here will be able to help you. Even so, please know you'll always have my most sincere gratitude."

The effort of lining up all those words and so few pauses to catch his breath casts a thick fog over his ears. His eyes suddenly hurt again and he finds himself squinting.

What happens next, he just records it, hardly managing to follow each cause-effect relationship. A series of events softly raining on him without making a noise, while he can quite imagine them to be way more prolonged in time. Cee leaning towards the lighting panel on the wall, sliding her finger counterclockwise, and the white coating the walls turning less painfully bright; her getting up, walking away, dwelling just before the door. "I'll come to check on you tomorrow", she says, sniffling.

She tilts her head, holding his gaze in her watery one for an agonizingly slow while – Please, don't ask me why.

He blinks once – Of course.

Then, the automatic door is once again engulfed by the wall, closing behind her with a metallic rustle.

Tomorrow.

His heart is taken by a spiraling jolt that leaves an empty cave behind. When it falls back into place, Ezra finds something has tripped in there, shapeless and quivering like the nucleus of a newborn star.

Hope, terror and everything that lies in between. 

___________________

NOTES:

1) Mesos — Invented planet. Its only raison d'être is that "mésos" in Greek means "middle" and my intent was to frame this story in a moment of transition (after those of movies) for both Ezra and Cee. 2) Prystines — Invented kind of crystals. They're implied to be huge, red and very sharp, thus endangering the path through the cave. 3) Aiu — Invented predator, ideally a big feline.

A/N:

Yeah, uhm... at this point, if someone was ever to give me any kind of feedback, constructive criticism or random thought, I think I'd just melt into a puddle for the attention alone. And to all those who came all the way down here, your bravery shall not be forgotten. ♥️✨

In my defense, it's (almost) all P**** P*****'s fault & of his habit of taking orphans under his wing from one planet to another.

I know people in the fandom generally tend to make Ezra and Cee go along straight away after the movie, so this will be a slightly different take on things, I guess... But even if I don't know if I'll keep this series going atm (life & maturity exam suck), a final reconciliation is definitely on the way. ;)

Oh, and any beta reader that should feel like helping me out for when I'll have the next chapters ready is warmly welcomed! My DMs are always open and I swear I don't bite! :3