#i feel like her outfit from creature in the pit would be easy to do and i’m so tempted

[doorstovenus]

romana i have got the biggest crush on you

[yeehawbvby]

Falling Away With You | Ch. 48

Sebastian x F!Reader and M. Rasmodius x F!Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: Y/n goes a little apeshit at JojaMart lmao

Author’s Note: *Crawls out of a pit covered in dirt and blood. Slaps this chapter down in front of you, on a SUNDAY no less!*

My health situation hasn’t improved whatsoever, but I will prevail, damnit!!

I wrote most of this and posted to ao3 early this morning, and haven't had a chance to proofread really. I'll do my best to get that done soon ^.^ Sorry if there are any weird wordings. Also sorry for the complete lack of Seb and Magnus in this one, I hope the shenanigans make up for it <3

Table of Contents + Work Summary

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I hate that stupid, cryptic, blue note I got.

Ever since it came, I think about it every time I check the mailbox, without fail. I don’t want to, I kinda just want to forget it exists, but I just… I dunno. I have a bad feeling about it. A gut feeling. Like, something’s totally up with it. It’s just been sitting in my closet for safekeeping until I decide what to do, though.

For some reason, I’ve been too nervous to bring it back up to Magnus. He’s forgotten it exists, from what I can tell. I think I’ll do my best to keep it that way for now. It feels more like my burden to bear than his, and besides, he’s already got the whole region to take care of.

After today’s confirmation that I don’t have bills or anything important like that, I head inside to get ready to leave the farm. Reeeally hoping my routine will shake out my heebiejeebies.

I got the OK from Magnus to use his fancy shrine for Spirit’s Eve. Got an idea of what I think I want to make myself look like, too. Maybe a tiefling or something. If tieflings don’t really exist, I’m sure some sort of succubi, or imps, or some sort of creature that looks like one’s gotta, no? I suppose I could always fall back on just pretending I’m an elf… man, a tail and horns would be so fun though. 

Either way, tomorrow is the big day and I am so ready for it.

I mean, like, almost ready. Whatever.

Today I’m going to Magnus’ place to get some practice in. Just a precautionary measure to try not to, like, blow myself up or something.

I’m gonna keep my outfit cozy and easy to move around in, but I have half a mind to make sure I wouldn’t mind losing these clothes in particular if something goes wrong with the transformation. Just some leggings, some crew-cut socks, an old hoodie, and my favorite boots, since I won’t have my shoes on in the shrine anyway. All of it is in black. Sebastian cosplay. 

I’ll pop my red studs in too, gotta commit to the bit. I haven’t had time to talk to The Emo and see if he actually did get his shit pierced last night, but assuming he did, and assuming he was able to use these for it, I wanna go all out, baby.

Now, before I head to the tower, I’ve got some errands to run around town. I woke up a bit late so there’s gonna be more people out than I’m looking forward to, but hopefully I have no creepy Alex encounters or awkward conversations with Shane again.

I promised Sam I’d visit him at work sometime soon, so I might as well head there first. He hates it there, and it’s been a while since we’ve caught up, so I’ll hopefully be a welcome distraction. I’ll bring him a coffee too to keep his spirits high.

After it’s done brewing, I grab two foam cups and pour the coffee in. Knowing Sam, he probably needs this stuff sweet, and I’m in the mood for sweet too, so I pour in a bunch of vanilla-flavored creamer. To make the beverages ~gourmet,~ I add a little whipped cream to each, as well as a light drizzle of chocolate syrup. After securing the plastic lids and giving Cannoli some well-deserved love, I head out.

While I pass by the bus stop, I make eye contact with Pam. I’ve never spoken to her, but… I dunno. I can’t tell if I like her or not. She gives me a nasty stink eye and I can only further assume she’s as mean as she outwardly appears. Unless she was just cursed with an intense resting bitch face...

I smile Pam’s way anyway. She doesn’t smile back, but that’s okay. It doesn’t benefit anyone to be so judgemental of her.

I pass a few local moms once I make it to the town square. None really mind me, which could mean they either didn’t notice, or they don’t care. Either is fine by me. I don’t hear what they’re saying, but Caroline talks very animatedly just before the rest of the group bursts into laughter.

I turn my attention back ahead as I pass by Pierre’s and nearly bump into Marnie as she’s leaving the shop.

We both squeak out a little “Oh!” before apologizing in unison.

“I wasn’t really paying attention,” I double down. 

“Oh, that’s fine. I rarely ever am!” She then motions to the two cups in my hands and adds, laughing, “At least the coffee’s safe!”

I awkwardly nod in agreement. Then, a brief flash of myself actually spilling coffee somewhere down the road raids my mind, my necklace tingling against my skin and my fingers practically buzzing.

Great.

“Everything alright, sweetie?”

That probably looked weird. “Yeah, sorry,” I try to recover, “just sleepy today!”

I take a sip of coffee to emphasize my point. Plus, I might as well drink what I can before these puppies go down. Hopefully I’ll be able to save at least one of them when the time comes.

“Aw, I’m sorry to hear that!” She puts a gentle hand on my shoulder. “I need to get back to the shop, but take it easy and don’t overwork yourself, you hear?” 

I nod, thanking her and waving her off with a shy grin before I continue moving. Once I get closer to the spot I’m supposed to be spilling these drinks — just before that little bridge over the river by JojaMart — I begin to walk more cautiously. If I can just keep these steady and focus on the ground… 

A sneeze creeps up on me. Oh god. Oh god oh fuck oh no.

Just as I’m beginning to carefully place one of the cups on the side of the bridge for safe keeping, the sneeze forces its way out of me. Luckily, one beverage — the one I hadn’t drank from yet — stays safely in my hand. Unluckily, the one I was working on trying to keep safe fell to the stones at my feet, opening up and dispersing its contents fucking everywhere.

God damnit. 

“Nice one.”

God fucking damnit.

I look up to the voice. It turns out Shane’s outside having a smoke. He’s at the opposite end of the bridge watching my clumsiness unfold with an aloof look about him. He’s bent over to lean on the stone wall, his right elbow propped up and his corresponding cheek in his palm. His left forearm is flat against the structure while his left hand lazily dangles his cigarette between two fingers.

Is that pink nail polish on one of them? I wonder if that’s Jas’ doing. 

I merely groan back my response, picking up the now-empty cup to discard in the trash bin near the store. As I proceed on my walk of shame past Shane, I point out, “At least my clothes stayed safe.”

Shane follows and asks, “How many ants do you think you murdered with that accident?” 

I grin a little at his dry humor. “Oh it was a massacre,” I bounce back. “The war in Gotoro pales in comparison.”

“Ha!” Oh my god, I made Shane — the grumpiest fuck I’ve ever met — laugh?! “Right on. Seems like pointless violence anyway.” 

I turn to see if I can catch him smiling for the first time, like, ever. It’s not there anymore, but there’s a residual brightness in his features.

Shane snuffs out his cig on the ashtray built into the garbage’s lid, abandoning it there before shoving his hands in the pockets of his bright blue shorts.

“Those sons’a bitches,” he nods in the direction of my carnage, “they had it coming.”

My nose scrunches as I laugh a little, giving him a funny look. “Damn, what’d they do to you?”

There’s a playful glint in his eye, as he deadpans me. “Exist.”

I shrug and nod — I get it, they can be pretty annoying! — and follow the man as he makes his way through the white-rimmed, glass-centered automatic doors. I try not to cringe outwardly at how many self-righteous pro-Joja fliers are on them.

Shane stops a few steps into the store. Turns around. I stop too and look up, tilting my head. What’re you looking at, punk? I think to myself. Dunno if I’d be pushing my limits by trying to say it out loud. Better not.

Shane gives me a weird look too, but I can barely see it. My senses are taking their damn time getting used to the obnoxiously fluorescent lighting.

“Don’t you shop at Pierre’s?” Shane wonders out loud.

I blink a few times as I adjust to the environment and then nod. “Visiting Sam,” I explain.

“Ah.” He nods too, in understanding, and then looking the other way he continues, “Enjoy.”

Shane makes his way towards a door to the right of the manager’s office. Says “Employee’s only,” so I’m assuming it’s a break room or something. I don’t miss the incorrect apostrophe, but choose not to linger on it either.

“You too.” He looks back over his shoulder, so I pair my well wishes with a lazy salute.

“Buh.”

…Buh?

I smile. I think he’s warming up to me!

Feeling a tad lost now that I’m alone, I look around before making any advances. Should’ve asked Shane if he knew where Sam would be around now. I dunno how the shifts work around here.

The cashiers to my left — a visibly exhausted red headed woman, probably in her late 30s or early 40s; and a scrawny, scruffy looking teenager, with thick-framed glasses sitting atop his freckled nose — both look miserable.

The boy is boredly leaning against the counter, zoned out on the ground in front of it. The woman looks totally spaced out on nothing in particular. It almost seems like she’s fighting off sleep, too. Poor lady. 

The woman and I lock onto each other. She looks away from my face before I can even register it, but I notice her eyes flicker longingly to the coffee cup in my hand a few times after the fact. I peer between her and the beverage twice before I all but scurry away into the aisles. I’m too awkward for this. My only option is to retreat. Never said I wasn’t a coward.

While I venture past the boatloads of boxed, bagged and canned foods in search of the resident dog boy, I observe some of the products. Some don’t look safe for consumption, while others seem like they’d be fun to try as a one-off sort of deal. It overlaps a few times as well. I mean, why wouldn’t I want to try this cereal which very explicitly states on the box that it’s more sugar than grains? It makes me stifle a giggle. I like the brutal honesty. 

I stop and stare at it for a sec. Gnawing my lip. Wondering if I should just…

No. I shan’t.

I break away from temptation and trek on. As I reach the end of the aisle, I pan across the back of the store. More shelf-stable products, a small produce section… ah!

Sam looks like he’s supposed to be mopping the floor near the freezers. To be fair, he is holding a mop, and it is touching the floor! But instead of cleaning, he uses the tool as a microphone; singing against the end of the brown wooden handle, both hands passionately gripping it as he bends his torso to quietly belt one part in particular. Sam’s eyes are shut, his bulky black headphones are secured over his ears, and he has not a single worry in the world. 

Holding his coffee in both hands now, I stop walking and lean against a nearby shelf. Observing. Waiting. Eventually he’ll have to see me.

He does a little spin move and carelessly bumps into the bucket of soapy water he’s working with, causing it to slosh around a little. Some of it lands on the floor, and some on the pants of Sam’s jumpsuit. Doesn’t faze him in the slightest. 

He does another spin the opposite way and nearly knocks over the conveniently placed display of sprinkles that are situated right in front of the ice cream freezer.

I feel like I should probably stop him before something bad happens, but he looks so damn content and so stinkin’ cute that I can’t be assed. 

Just as I’m thinking this, he opens his eyes, completely avoiding my direction while he immediately peers over his shoulder. Sam scans around, getting a full view of the proximate areas. It seems like he’s just making sure he’s not about to get caught by his boss or something, if I had to guess.

Eventually he lands on me. We both smile wide, and I triumphantly hold up his (unspilled!!) coffee in one hand, presenting it with a small flourish of the other and a bow of my head.

“For you, my good sir.” I make sure to sound extra fancy, dropping my voice an octave and annunciating my words a bit too much.

He looks around again before meeting me in the middle with a fist bump, completely ignoring my bit. Aw man.

“Hell yeah, thanks dude!” 

I shoot some awkward finger guns at him, “You got it, bud.”

“You didn’t make yourself one?”

I sigh, lamenting, “I did…”

Sam scans my face as we share a short silence. Then, the lightbulb almost visibly goes off in his noggin. “You spilled it, didn’t you?”

Pursing my lips, I nod. “I spilled it, yeah.” 

“Buuummer, dude.” He pats my head and I sigh, leaning into his touch. I’ll be damned if I don’t still love head-pats, even if it’s been a while since I’ve gotten one. “Wanna split this one then?” he offers, palm still on my crown. At this point he’s just trying to messy me up.

“No thanks, I’ll just grab another later if I’m really craving it.” Not having noticed the trance I’ve been in as my hair gets slowly and steadily ruined — it feels nice, okay? — I finally look up at him, cheekily glaring as I manually remove his large hand from me. I add on as I try to repair the frizzy aftermath, “Sick performance, by the way!” 

“You think so?” he beams. Makes me laugh.

“Of course! It looked like you were having a lot of fun.”

Sam’s face is a bit flushed as he takes the compliment, not even trying to hide it; he has a big goofy grin on his face, too.

It drops and Sam looks behind him as a deep voice with a bit of a southern twang booms from one of the aisles nearby. “Samson?”

“Shit, here.”

Sam hurriedly places his coffee into my hand and rushes back near his water bucket, looking around for his manager as he moves. I try to make things less suspicious by pretending to look at some nearby end caps. 

I take a peek over when I hear Sam greet the man, “Hiya! What’s up, Morris?”

Crossing his arms and puffing out his chest to try and make himself look mighty, a man in a navy blue suit, a bright red bow tie, and a poorly-applied black toupee corrects him. “That’s Mr. Saxton, son.” 

I roll my eyes. Awesome to know the guy running this Joja is just as insufferable as the dudes who work on the corporate side.

Sam puts an anxious hand on the back of his neck, and halfheartedly smiles as he apologizes, his speaking patterns much more formal than before. Poor guy… it hurts to see him having to tone it down so much for this dipshit.

I turn my attention back in front of me so as to give him some privacy. Not sure he’d want me to hear him getting his ear talked off.

This display is full of holiday cards... I might as well waste some time with these bad boys. I pick up one with a cartoon beagle wearing a birthday hat on it, stealing a sip of Sam’s coffee as I read the pun on the front: “Have a doggone good birthday!” Alright, nice and cheesy start…

I flip the card open. It starts blaring Baha Men’s “Who Let The Dogs Out.” Fucking hell. Jumpscare me, why doncha! I shudder at how tinny the music sounds — likely made worse by its volume — then close the card and place it back in its spot, not bothering to read more.

“Excuse me, miss?”

I peer over my left shoulder, and see that Mr. Saxton is making his way towards me. A vein is popping in his forehead, but he has a toothy smile on his face that screams customer service. Not sure what’s going on and feeling a little anxious about the situation, I don’t answer with words — I just turn my body to him and watch him expectantly. 

My eyes flicker to Sam real quick, who’s closer to the opposite end of the freezers now. He’s looking over here though, and when his eyes catch mine, he mouths “Go!” and motions his arm towards the front end of the store. Maybe he got caught socializing or something… wouldn’t doubt that there’s probably heavy surveillance in here. Man.

I look back at Sam’s boss as he says, “I’m going to need you to discard your beverage.”

My brows furrow and I tilt my head. “Why?”

Ah, he’s the asking-questions-is-talking-back type: He huffs a deep breath and tilts his head as if to mimic me, clasping his fingers together in front of his ribs. The smile and vein are both still on his face.

“It is not only unacceptable to bring your own food into a grocery store,” he strains, “but I cannot have you spilling your drink all over our products.”

…I haven’t spilled anything. What does he think I am, some crusty little kid? 

Damn, this is bringing out a rage that I haven’t experienced since working behind a Joja desk. I didn’t know I was even capable of it anymore. Must be something about the overstimulatingly bright blues, or the blindingly white strips of lights. Same ones we had above each cubicle in the office.

My anxiety is rapidly replaced with a petty yearn to cause a ruckus as I realize that I don’t work for Joja anymore. I never have to even come here again, actually.

I don’t answer to this fucko! I don’t answer to anyone!

Screw this guy!

Feeling courageous, I put on my own customer service mask as I inquire, “Do you want me to spill this on your products?”

“E-excuse me?!”

I hover the cup near the cards, tilting it a little. Doing a little eyebrow wiggle too for good measure. “It feels like you dooo.”

“I— w-what are you doing?”

Seb would be so proud if he were here. Not sure how Magnus would react, but I’d like to imagine he’d support me too.

Completely on impulse, I bring the cup in front of me and splash a little coffee in the man’s direction instead of the cards’. The now-lukewarm liquid splatters onto the white button-down beneath his jacket and rapidly seeps into the fabric, leaving a light brown, unsightly splotch.

Sick, got him where it hurts and none got on the floor! Less work for Sam!

Making sure my voice is just as cheery as Morris was trying to keep his, I cap this off, “Stop treating your employees like crap and stop treating complete strangers like children, asshole.”

This feels so good. My heart is racing and my pits feel a little moist and I might just end up an anxious mess the second I walk away, but I’ll be damned if this isn’t cool as fuck in the moment. When Leah asked me last week if Magnus ever wanted to go apeshit, it didn’t even occur to me how badly I wanted to go apeshit.

I walk down the nearest aisle as Morris continues sputtering something about me leaving, paying for this, whatever.

Shane’s kneeled down in the middle of the aisle stocking shelves. He faces me for a moment and grins slyly. “That was cool as hell.” Why does this feel so validating? “A woman after my own heart.” 

HUH?

I blink that fucking flashbang away — seriously, the last time I saw him he was still being a dick, and today he’s treating every interaction like we’re fully acquainted, if not more, what the heck — as he turns away to scan items onto the shelf again.

“I really didn’t do much…” I really didn’t. Just kinda caused a minor inconvenience for the guy. 

My hands are shaking though, so it must be catching up to me.

“That still took some balls.” He glimpses at me briefly and adds, “Y’look like you might cry, though. Get outta here before I change my mind about you.”

I huff out a quiet laugh and steady Sam’s — well, my, now — coffee in both hands. “On it, boss.”

[hawksky]

You wake up on your ex's fire escape; wc 2.5k

A/N: I don't really know how to categorize this ? starts as funny, gets into angst with a happy/hopeful ending. I might write this again for another character and make it 0 angst but using Megumi just let this get away from me. Thank you @sixeyesgojo for reading through my first draft, it helped me edit a lot since 😘. Although I have not looked over the ending since I wrote it, I'm done working on this fic so sorry if it falls flat.

CW: Mentions of excessive alcohol consumption.

Suggested listening: song 1 and song 2 you can pick just one to cater your experience (they are VERY different vibes) or switch over around the shampoo situation.

Objectively, there were good ways to wake up. In the arms of a beautiful person, with cold sheets and a warm body, or with the scent of your favourite breakfast wafting through the air. No disrespect to mornings at all, there were good ways to wake up, you were mature enough to recognize this.

A perplexingly rough, wet, and warm sensation gliding across your cheek, while last night’s jeans dug into your waist, and there was a pounding in your head? It was fairly safe to say this was not a good way to wake up.

It spoke volumes for how out of it you were that it was only just beginning to register in your brain that you weren’t at home, you were not even on a bed, and that the continued licks across your face were the work of animal far too large to be one of your friends cats.

“Fucking hell you’re supposed to be intimidating” you hear a voice grumble without much heat behind it.

As you forced your eyes open you are met with an excited dog tapping its paws in excitement of your presence, and the man behind the half hearted grumble. His gaze was unmistakably familiar, but his expression could not be more foreign to you.

“uhm, Hi” you croaked out while plastering a wide grin in hopes he wouldn’t murder you.

His eyebrow raised on instinct in response. You knew he was waiting for you to explain what you were doing, but the reality was you didn’t have an answer.

“I wish I could explain, but honestly I’m not sure what happened – last thing I remember was being bought another shot… Wait, where am I exactly?” You were desperately hoping you came off as charming instead of pathetic given the circumstances.

“How out of it are you?” he scrunched his face in confusion as he muttered to himself. “You’re on my fire escape, it’s in Ikebukuro? Tokyo… Japan, in case you needed the reminder”

It felt infantilizing to have him scold you like this, which only made this next part all the more difficult. You were not supposed to be Ikebukuro. You were not supposed to be in Tokyo. You were supposed to be in Yokohama. What was even more concerning is that you were definitely not supposed to be on your old fire escape, the one connected to the apartment your ex still lived in.

As you painstakingly pushed yourself upright, a warm weight laid on your upper thigh, a furry face nuzzling into your stomach – you wondered if she was aware of tension between you and her owner. You scratched behind her ears, letting Jade know she was in fact a good girl despite the earlier reprimand from her owner.

As much as you’d love to spend the day sitting on a fire escape petting your ex’s dog, you had to go home, you just need to call –

Your phone. Where was your phone? You felt around frantically for your phone, only to come up with nothing. A light sense of panic bubbles in the pit of your stomach, only to be swiftly interrupted.

“it’s already charging, I plugged it in last night, you dropped in inches away from falling down”

So, he was still watching you despite having returned inside long ago. It was difficult for you to parse this sort of gesture, how caring could it be to plug someone’s phone in when you still left them to sleep outside? Maybe he was just doing everything he could to get rid of you. It was too much to try and analyze for someone who blacked out and woke up in a different city.

“Why did you come here?” you hear him bite out from inside. It sounds harsh, but it feels like his stange way of inviting you inside.

“I don’t know what you’ve picked up from these circumstances, but not knowing is kind of a part of the problem. Believe me, there’s no amount of conscious desperation that would leaf me to sleeping on a fire escape, even yours”

You glanced around the apartment to avoid his void expression; it was spotless. But it was even harder noticing, the turned over picture frames, your favourite quilt still on the back of the couch – remnants of the past living in the present.

This tension only increased as a mug of freshly brewed green tea was placed in front of you. How thoughtful to remember you hated coffee, to realize your throat was probably killing you – you would have tasted a creeping bitterness from all these emotions, if it wasn’t overpowered by what was the distinct taste of your favourite brand that had to be special ordered.

He had always complained, there were plenty of good options for tea at the grocery store, why wasn’t that enough for you? It was so much extra effort to special order from a tea shop across town, the only place that you were able to charm the owner into ordering for you.

“How are you still so fucking awful at taking care of yourself?” he spat the words out like an insult, it was jarring honestly. Despite the time away from each other, it was no less strange to feel his detachment.

He moved towards the door beckoning Jade to follow. “There’s a towel and change of clothes in the bathroom, you should probably take a shower. If I’m not back by the time you leave, just lock up before you go, I haven’t moved the spare key.” Without looking back or waiting for a response he left.

You were starting to recognize your growing frustration – you had known him how long? Dated and lived together for a not-insignificant amount of time? Yet here you were, no idea how to interpret this strange morning, much less his last comment. Did he want you to be here when he returned? Were you supposed to leave and act like you had never been there? Could he genuinely be as indifferent as he wanted you to believe? It pissed you that your feelings were probably plain on your face.

You searched for your phone, finding it on what used to be your side of the couch. It felt ridiculous to think you ever had a side of the couch, but you were both creatures of habit and slowly without even thinking you both made your own little sanctuary mere metres away from each other.

You awoke your phone, expecting a flood of texts and phone calls from your friends, only to find nothing. Not a single check in from anyone. You open the group chat and furiously tap out a message.

<Hey assholes who let me go home on my own last night? Anyways good job I blacked out and I’m on Fushiguro’s fire escape! You are all absolutely useless to me I swear to god.>

Your phone vibrates rapidly as you place it down but you’re not in the mood to field their questions.

You’re tempted to leave now, just to get it over with, go home and crawl into bed and forget any of this ever happened. But, you felt gross, it was late enough in the morning that you could run into someone you knew, and you missed the water pressure here.

As you got ready for your shower you surveyed your options. You refused to smell like him, but the only other bottle in the shower was doggy shampoo. Surely dog’s fur and human hair weren’t so different right? Jade did have a beautiful coat, very soft and shiny… You reprimanded yourself for the ridiculous idea, but the point remained, there had to be something else for you to use.

Your brain, far more alert than it was 30 minutes ago, thought of all the things he hadn’t changed, all the fixtures still in place. You had always kept an extra set of all your supplies under the sink. By the grace of all that is good on this cruel cruel earth, they were there, in all their dusty glory, your prized hygiene products sat unmoved under the sink. It would have been sick and twisted to have to leave your ex-boyfriend’s apartment smelling exactly like him, left to spend the rest of the day agonizing over whether you should take another shower.

As you entered the shower you wondered more. He had to have noticed the softness in your eyes, the faint smile you wore just having an ounce of his attention again, the way ti widened at every caring gesture, and falling with every biting remark.

Yes, it hurt every day missing him. Yes, it would hurt if he hated you. But none of that compared to the feeling of not knowing. What were you supposed to do with all these residual feelings that have yet to go away? Were they worth the suffocation or should you strip them away?

You were proud of yourself, all these reminders of what you once had, in a place you once loved, and you had yet to break down, not even shedding a tear. If you weren’t wrapping yourself in a towel, you would’ve given yourself a pat on the back. This victory was short lived, everyone’s strength has its limits and you had taken yours too far past it already. But then you saw it, something you were completely unprepared for.

Laid neatly on top the closed laundry basket was THE outfit. It was nothing special to anyone else, just a grey sweater and loose joggers, but how many days had you spent alone breathing in his scent for comfort while he was gone? How many hard days at work had you reaching for these exact pieces as if they were the cure to all your problems?

Unable to support your own weight anymore, you fell to the tiled floor, tears spilling out, as your already sore throat grew even more hoarse – you felt like everything was collapsing around you. You weren’t expecting to see him, and you certainly weren’t expecting to need him in so many little ways. It was easy to forget how easily he weaves himself into your life, encroaching on everything you do.

The world disappeared behind each shallow breath, and an endless stream of tears you couldn’t control. Your fingers scratch against your forearms repeatedly, trying to ground yourself in some reality you could no longer grasp. It is so exhausting trying to be over him, going through these cycles of strong emotions, over and over and over again.

Suddenly, for the second time in as few hours, you felt an overwhelming weight encompass your body.

Of course, his stupid fucking perfect dog would still know how to bring you out of a panic attack like he had spent so much time training when you started dating. You clutched to Jade as your breathing slowed, but it did nothing to stop your sobs, if anything it was just another painful reminder of everything you let go.

“Uhhh….” Megumi was frozen at the door, for the first time today he didn’t know what to do. His indifferent façade dropped as he observed the scene on his bathroom floor.

There’s nothing left to lose, not for a moment that he has seen this morning have you possessed more than an ounce of dignity, “So that’s it? You don’t know what to do either? You know it’s been a whole fucking year and I still haven’t figured out how to live without you. A whole year and I’m still a mess. I can’t survive being reminded of us, look at me. And yet every attempt to get over you was a knife twisting because they’ll never be you. Now I’m here and I get to witness the wonderful Megumi Fushiguro, unaffected, and you… you have it all together.” You trail off, giving to him everything left in you.

You weren’t expecting the confused and indignant expression on his face, “You think this is having it together?” His voice lightly raising with each word “This place might as well be a sealed shrine to you and our relationship. I haven’t thrown a single thing out, moved any furniture, bought anything new – the only thing that’s ‘new’ is your stupid tea I keep buying even though I hate it, and for fucks sake y/n I should’ve moved out. Every part of me that looks like I have it together is just my version of a mess.” He brushes a stray strand out of your face, his own face moving far too close for this to be purely platonic anymore “y/n I’m no better off than you are, I’ve just kept everyone from looking”.

“So what are we supposed to do with all this?” Your eyes shining, naïve hope seeping through your defenses at the confirmation that he couldn’t live without you either.

“We could try again” Somehow, it wasn’t quite what you needed to hear. “I, am going to get dressed, and then we’ll talk, I’ll meet you in the kitchen.” He nodded lightly, pulling himself up and exiting with Jade on his heels.

Dressed in the clothes you thought would burn your skin to even touch let alone wear, you let out a long sigh as you sit on at the breakfast nook. “Look, Megumi, I need to know if you’ve worked through it, any of it? I can’t, I can’t wait another three years for you to tell me you can’t say the words I love you, that you can’t commit to more than a yearly rental, I can’t just have you here I need more security than that”

He pursed his lips, unsure of what he could say to that, how he could make sure you didn’t leave again.

“Megumi, I don’t need you to say it to me today, I don’t need you to commit to anything today, but I have to know you’ve tried that I can’t keep waiting for you”

“I… Just give me a minute, please” his voice weak pleading with you. You waited, knowing better than to rush him, laying a hand on top of his assuring him you weren’t going to run out the door.

“y/n, I’m supposed to be honest and vulnerable, I’m supposed to tell myself that people won’t abandon me just because I give them access to who I really am. I want to tell you I love you, because there’s no other explanation for feeling this way. For feeling like your eyes outshine the stars, that your mind is more brilliant than the sun. I’ve tortured myself for a year with the idea of you meeting someone who could give you everything I couldn’t, and selfishly I prayed they were awful, I wished you were miserable so I pretend the truth wasn’t real that I was not enough for you, that I couldn’t give you what you needed. I’ve never seen a loving relationship, certainly not for long enough to form memories, but I look at you and I can’t imagine anything else”

Your thumb reaches to brush away the stray tear sliding down his face as he spoke to you. Manoeuvring yourself around to be on the same side of the nook as him, you pull him into you, letting him bury his head into the crook of your neck. You placed a gentle kiss into his hair before whispered into his ear “You were always enough, I just needed you to know it too.”

not not a tag list: @satosuguslut @sandyscastle

[chipper9906]

Maybe

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR LOKI SEASON 01 EPISODE 05: ‘JOURNEY INTO MYSTERY’ AND SEASON 01 EPISODE 04: ‘THE NEXUS EVENT’

Pairings: Loki/Sylvie

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 4,124 

Status: One Shot - Complete

Chapter Preview:

He had meant for it to come out more as a question, an offering. A possibility for the both of them. But what it really sounded like was a… well; a sincere, hope-filled attempt to keep hold of… this. Whatever this was, he knew he wanted it. However things went, he knew-

He wanted Sylvie in his life.

His heart was racing in his chest, pounding almost as hard as it does in the midst of battle. In the unlikely event he’s a free man after all of this over, he’ll have to go and find his brother - if he’ll even talk to him, that is - and apologize for the harsh insult he used; for berating his older brother over his affection for that Earth woman.

He understood now.

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Author Note: 

Oh Boy, here I go again, getting sucked into yet another ship. Basically, this is a dive into Loki's thoughts during the blanket scene in Episode 5 "Journey Into Mystery" because man, I sure do love getting into a character's head and breaking down their thought process.

P.S. No joke, I think I re-watched the blanket scene like... over 40 times I counted, roughly. Wanted to make sure I got every detail right lmao.

Oh wow, would you look at that - yet ANOTHER fic based on the blanket scene? I'm sure this hasn't been done by many different people ever since Episode 5 aired! Nah, I'm sure this is purely original stuff.

(Listen, this scene and - consequently - this fic got stuck in my head and I just had to write it down and... well here we are.

* * *

This was, as he had said, new for him.

It was… strange, to say the least. Not just because the woman who was sat next to him was, technically, on some sort of level, himself. And yet… not. Sylvie was her own person, that was for sure. And the only Loki, from who he’s met, who refuses to be called Loki. She had chosen her own name, and was currently choosing – or carving, was more accurate – her own path. A way out of the never-ending, self-sabotaging, “only use is for improving others” apparent destiny they’ve all found themselves in.

She had lived an entirely different life from him - and the use of the word ‘different’ here is strongly applied. It makes him a little uneasy when he dwells on it for too long if he’s being honest with himself. Yes, there may some similarities between them, as to be expected, but Sylvie had lived her own set of experiences different to his. Differences that had shaped her, made her see the world… universe… timeline? All of that, in a different way to him. Learning of the things she had gone through, what she’s trying to accomplish… it made his “glorious purpose” of ruling over “Mid-guard” seem like a spoiled boy's desperate attempt to feel important.

Everything with Sylvie and the TVA had shut down that ideal very quickly. Or, at least, has changed his view of his “Glorious Purpose”. The one change that he hadn’t seen coming, that Sylvie herself had told him; the very first words she had actually said to him:

“This isn’t about you.”

No, it wasn’t about him. Not just him, anyway. It was… it was all of him. Every version of himself out there, and every other variant of... Of everyone to have ever existed. Those, just like him, who are punished for stepping out of their pre-written timeline. Those that, when they try to change themselves, to be the person who those that loved him did everything in their power to guide them to be, were snatched away by the TVA and sent here to this pit of unwanted, broken things; left with nothing but unforgiving and dirty survival, only to lead to their inevitable death. 

And it’s cold.

“Mobius isn’t so bad.”

Sylvie breaks the comfortable lull of silence they had found themselves in. They were, technically, supposed to be ironing out the details of this plan to enchant a creature much, much larger than them, whose only desire is to eat everything that enters the world they’re currently in. Which is why, perhaps, they had taken the moment to just… breathe. A moment of rest, side by side. Whilst it was true that his plan of killing the gargantuan cloud thing was near suicidal, it would be fair to say that Sylvie’s plan was equally as dangerous. Then again, what did he expect? Seemed that every type of Loki out there isn’t the best at creating plans…

“Or so good,” Loki counters. It seemed almost cruel to say, but… it was also true, wasn’t it? Sure, Mobius had done the things he’d done because he thought they were the right things to do – but that didn’t take away from the fact that he’d done them. How many variants, not only of him, but of so many other poor souls had been doomed to this place because of his work? Still, it wasn’t like Mobius had the full picture with everything. Mobius had been lied to just as much as he had. “I think that’s why we get along.”

A small smile pulls at Sylvie’s lips. She takes a deep breath in, staring out to the horizon where Alioth awaits prowling his territory. “He cares about you.”

That catches him off guard. He supposed that she and Mobius must have had some type of conversation in however long they’d spent driving to reach them. Apparently, the topic of conversation must have steered towards him at some point. And somehow, through that, Sylvie had deduced that Mobius… cared about him?

There’s a soft, knowing smile on Sylvie’s face as she catches sight of his reaction. It was probably the closest similarity they shared: friendships… didn’t quite seem to happen for them. 

But there’s something else there in Sylvie’s expression as she looks to him. Almost a twinge of… of sadness. It sends an aching sort of pain through his chest as he sees it, coming to a sudden realization in his head. He knew that, deep down, the reason for his own loneliness was all due to himself. He knows now that there were plenty in his life that loved him, that always treated him like family even when, genetically, he wasn’t. But he had been blinded by jealousy and hatred, hatred that they had kept the secret of his true nature quiet for so long. It was because of this; this stubbornness and this selfish, false ideal that he deserves more, that he had made himself alone. 

But Sylvie…? She had been well and truly alone. From such a young age, an age where his mother had barely begun teaching him the basics of magic, she had been snatched away from her life. Everything she ever knew and loved had been wiped away, the timeline dumped here just like everything else the TVA – or whoever the hell is actually in charge of the damn universe and its multiple timelines – decided was too much of a threat. Ever since then, from that very same day she had managed to escape their clutches, she had been running alone. All those years, fighting to survive, completely alone, existing in one apocalypse after the other. Even if she did try and interact with the people in those timelines, what would be the point? They were doomed to die, anyway… 

Her words echo in his head for a moment, her sad smile seemingly etched into his memory. A part of him, that strangely soft side he didn’t know existed that had been growing stronger and stronger these past few days, burst with the need to do something, to remove the pain she was feeling. For just a split second, he nearly gives into it. He nearly says the words that were forcing their way to the forefront of his brain. 

‘I care about you.’

But the words stay safely locked away in his head. Sylvie looks away from him, and the moment passes. He didn’t know if she had been expecting for him to say anything, and he certainly didn’t know what it is she might have thought he would say. His mind clambers for something, for anything to try and bring the moment back.

A strong gust of cool wind blows over them, sending chills across his pale skin - despite the long-sleeved shirt he was wearing. He knew that, if he really wanted to warm himself up, he could shift into his true form. Except, he didn’t see it as his true form. He has been an Asgardian as long as he can remember, and for all intents and purpose, this is who he’s meant to be. He is the son of Odin, son of Frigga, brother to Thor, an Asgardian, and he’s proud of that. 

And that’s when the idea pops into his head.

“It’s cold,” Loki states the obvious to Sylvie with a shiver of his upper body, glancing over to try and catch her reaction out of the corner of his eye. For a moment, he wonders if Sylvie has the same views on their true heritage as he does, considering that, in her timeline, she was told she was adopted much earlier than he was. 

She doesn’t mention anything about it, though. Instead, she simply agrees with his statement with a hum of “Mmm-Hmm,” but it’s exactly the kind of answer he’s looking for.

From the outside, it looks like an easy twirl of his fingers and a burst of lime-green light, but in reality, it’s years and years of practice, both by himself and… and with his mother. The weight of the blanket - though light - is comforting as it wraps around his shoulders; silky smooth to the touch and of a darker green than the light of his their magic. 

The burst of color gets Sylvie’s attention, looking over to Loki again to see the new blanket he had materialized out of seemingly thin air - which… he did. 

“I could conjure one for you, if you like?” Loki offers.

Sylvie smiles for just a split second, enough for Loki to believe that she might just say yes. But then her nose scrunches as she comes back to herself, and the belief is gone. “Tell you what, you could conjure me a new outfit,” Sylvie says off-handedly, pulling at the tight collar of her outfit. “You have no idea how uncomfortable something like this is.”

It’s a deflection. He knows that all too well, because… because it’s something he’d do. Not that he can blame her in the slightest. As he had said, just before he was pruned through the heart and sent here - this was entirely new for him. Sure, he had had his fair share of flings back home. Rare occasions when he would give in to temptations, let himself experience a slice of normality. But it was never real. He did not doubt that those that fell into his bed did not do so because they felt a connection, or saw a future. And neither did he. He was a prince, a God, and for most, saying you were able to seduce a prince was an achievement. And for him? Well, it was an easy means to an end, he supposed. 

But this? This felt real. It was strange, it was something he had never experience before, and quite frankly, it scared the ever-living God’s out of him. So sure, he knew how to flirt… somewhat. But with this, with Sylvie? Everything was different, and he had no clue whatsoever what he should do.

“So…” Sylvie breaks him out of his thoughts. “Mobius, and his theory about…”

Oh. Well, he certainly hadn’t been expecting for the conversation to go there. Really, he had thought she might try and pretend to have never heard what Mobius had said. 

“Right, right. About our Nexus event-,”

“Total rubbish, right?”

He’d be lying if he said that didn’t sting a little bit. “Absolutely,” ‘Liar’, a voice in his head hisses. “Of course, I mean-,”

“I don’t mean that it wasn’t a nice moment,” Sylvie hurries to say, and it lessens that sting just a little bit. 

“No, it was great! It was really nice.”

“It just… sounds like another TVA lie.”

Which... Yes, when he thinks about it, could you easily have been a lie. Not that he thinks that Mobius would lie to them about this, no, but that someone else within the TVA had fed Mobius the lie. For what reason, he's not entirely sure. To throw them off the scent perhaps? Keep them from figuring out what can really cause a Nexus Event so powerful that it could conceivably take the TVA down. 

Or, perhaps they just enjoyed lying. More than him even - and that's saying something. 

"A hundred percent. I mean totally, yeah."

And oh, what was this? Loki tries to meet her eye, expecting her to nod her head vehemently in agreement to his statement. But... She won't look at him. She gives a somewhat strained-looking smile, more like a grimace than anything, and if he looks hard enough - by which he means projects his own feelings onto Sylvie and hopes she feels the same - he could almost imagine there was a flicker of disappointment there, too. 

"I don't know how to do this," Sylvie says, an admission he didn't expect. She looks about as awkward as he feels, eyes fixated on her fingers as she plays with them. 

"I don't even know what we're doing," Loki returns, and dear oh dear did he genuinely mean that. One moment he thinks he should take that step, say something, anything. And then the very next moment it becomes the wrong time, the wrong thing to say, and he's back to square one. 

It was frustrating, to say the least.

"I don't have friends," Sylvie carries on, and it's another dagger through the heart. Yet another thing that was so similar, yet so, so different. He had been given so many opportunities for companionship, for friends, but he repeatedly threw them all away. But Sylvie? She wasn't even given the chance. She truly had-

"I don't have..." Sylvie trails off, a long gap where she struggles to find the right word to use. Her eyes had locked onto his, and he knew that nothing less than Alioth appearing right above their heads would get him to tear his eyes away.

"... Anyone." 

"Well, there are more important things, right?" Loki desperately grasps for something to wipe away the blank, dejected look that was etched onto her features. 

"Right? Yeah, like bringing down the TVA." 

For once, one of his plans was going well. "Saving the universe, even."

"Well, there's no need to be dramatic - but yeah, kind of!" 

Then there it was again - a particularly strong breeze pushing up to the little hill they were sat on. Sylvie gives a little shiver as it washes over them, a barely noticeable shuffle in an attempt to get warm, and Loki jumps at the opportunity. 

It only takes one small adjustment, a brief push of magic, and then the blanket is growing, wrapping itself around Sylvie's shoulders in a motion so smooth, you'd think he'd done something like this hundreds of times before. Loki smiles gently to her when she notices the change, and his smile only grows more as Sylvie pulls the blanket tighter around her shoulders, shuffling closer to him by just the smallest of movements. Yet another plan he could now say was a success. 

"It's not very snuggly."

Or, maybe not. "Okay," Loki manages to get out through a surprised laugh, but he does get some sort of gratification in seeing her smile at his response. 

"Is it a tablecloth?" 

"No, it's a blanket," Loki finds himself strangely defending his materialized choice of cloth. 

There’s a pause, the quickest of glances up to him. He sees a brief flash of pink as she pokes out the tip of her tongue between her lips, wetting them as she struggles to get out her next words. “Thank you.”

Loki gets a strange feeling she doesn’t get to say that all too often. Whether that be because she chooses not to, or because she’s never had the opportunity to. When was the last time someone did something nice for her…?

“My pleasure.”

Sure, this was all new, and all types of scary. But, as he sat here, shoulder to shoulder with Sylvie, looking out to the dreary yet oddly beautiful landscape scattered with remnants from pruned timelines, he can't help but feel that this moment right here? It was… nice. Despite the TVA, despite Alioth, despite the fear of imminent death he’s had to live through nearly every moment since the Tesseract flung him into that desert in Mongolia, he had managed to find himself some semblance of peace. 

And it was because of the person next to him.

“How do I know that, in the final moments, you won't betray me?”

Now, this was a conversation he had been expecting. How can he not? It seemed that nearly every single person he’s ever come across, who he hasn’t immediately tried to murder, wonders the exact same thing. The ‘inevitable’ betrayal every Loki seems incapable not to carry out. 

And he couldn’t blame them, just as he can’t blame Sylvie for wondering the same thing. Really, he had thought the whole reason she had wanted this moment to talk to him was to have this very conversation. It was… it was something he had thought about himself, ever since being dragged in by the TVA. It was Mobius that had shown him his consistent deceitful nature - quite literally, by showing him film of every moment in his life where his flair for dramatics and affiliation for backstabbing was apparently used for ‘the bettering of others’. 

It had become deeply ingrained into his nature. It became what he was known for, what his family knew him for. He supposed it gave him some sense of… satisfaction, perhaps? A false sense of security, that he always has the upper hand when need be. It was almost like a trial, opportunities to prove to himself that, when the time comes, he can do what it takes to claim what he, false-fully, felt he was owed. He was certain that the only path to being a rightful ruler was one filled with betrayal. 

And now, after only a few days with Mobius - and an even shorter amount of days with Sylvie, his previous ambition he’s been working towards for so long suddenly wasn’t as important. Things had changed. 

He had changed. 

And that was part of the reason the TVA wanted him dead. 

“Listen, Sylvie, I…” Loki starts, but then stops. He sighs deeply, wanting to find the best way to get this across to her. He needed her to understand. “I betrayed everyone who ever loved me. I betrayed my father, my brother… my home.”

He at least had her full attention now. No more awkward glances at one another, unable to maintain more than a few seconds of eye contact. This was important, and they both knew it. “I know what I did. And I know why I did it. And that’s not who I am anymore. Okay?”

There’s nothing on her face that he can read, nothing that says whether she believes him or not. She had been expecting him to say this, he supposed. “I won't let you down,” Loki says, and he says it like a promise - one he fully intends to keep. 

“You sure?” Sylvie asks, and he nods his head straight away in response. “ ‘Cause if we make it, and the TVA is gone, there might be a timeline for you to rule.” Sylvie continues with a challenging - yet slightly teasing- narrowing of her eyes. 

“Ah,” Loki says wistfully, looking out to the horizon as if dreaming of such an event. “And then I’d finally be happy.”

Except, he wouldn’t. He only has to look at his older self to know that. The only one of himself that had beaten the one event that’s supposed to define their lives. He had tricked the mad titan himself, found himself a little corner of the universe to live out his life in peace. No more people he has to challenge, no more opportunities for betrayal - by him, or to him. 

And he looked… miserable. 

Now, though? Right here and now, he wasn’t miserable. He certainly wasn’t relaxed, that was for sure, but far from miserable. He had ended his little exclamation with a rare smile that wasn’t a smirk - or forced- and miraculously, Sylvie returned one just as wide as his; wide enough even for him to see the little laughter lines crinkling at the corner of her eyes.

“What about you?” Loki asks. “What will you do when this is all over?”

Sylvie takes a moment to think, tucking an unruly strand of hair away from her face. “I don’t know.”

He couldn’t even begin to try and put himself in her shoes. Sylvie had spent… hundreds, perhaps even a thousand years of her life just running. Surviving. Doing whatever it takes to make sure she wasn’t wiped off the board by some mystery figure, or group, that had deemed her too dangerous to the timeline. And for what? Some kind of sick desire to have control over every single living thing in every type of Universe to ever exist?

Which… which sounded an awful lot like himself, now he thought about it. Maybe whoever was in charge of the TVA was another variant of himself…

“I don’t know either,” Loki said, and that added to the tally of growing truths he was admitting to people - perhaps the most in his life. 

At some point, this all had to be over. Whether… whether it ends in his death once again, another defeat by a power-hungry being, or with their victory. No more TVA. No more pruning of variants. No more control. Sure, Sylvie had made that joke about him ruling a separate timeline, but… what would he do once this was all over, assuming her survives it? What did he want to do?

What does he want? 

‘Look at your eyes! You like her!’

‘What?’

‘You like her! Does she like you?’

‘Was she pruned-’

‘No wonder you have no clue what caused the Nexus Event on Lamentis; both of you are swooning over each other!’

‘Tell me the truth-’

‘It’s the apocalypse! Two Variants of the same being, especially you, forming this sick, twisted romantic relationship - that’s pure chaos! That could break reality, it’s breaking my reality right now! What an incredible, seismic narcissist - you fell for yourself!’

‘Her name was Sylvie’.

Mobius had truly tricked him there. At least now he knew how cruel it was to be on the other side of such a bluff, he supposed. He had always prided himself on his acting abilities, his innate way of lying to others. Yet, apparently, when it came to Sylvie… he puts his full emotions on display. He had become too overcome with emotions at the mere thought of Mobius telling the truth, that Sylvie was well and truly gone, and he had snapped. He was…

Yes… That was the word. 

He was heartbroken. 

‘You conniving, craven, pathetic worm. I hope you know you deserve to be alone and you always will be.’

‘Do you really think you deserve to be alone?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Well then you better figure it out quick, because the Nexus Event the two of you caused, whatever that connection is, can bring this whole place down.’

Maybe, just maybe… Mobius was onto something there. Maybe Sif, even in that small, once insignificant memory buried in his mind, was wrong. 

Maybe he didn’t deserve to be alone.

Maybe he didn’t have to be. 

“Maybe…” The words get caught in his throat, spoken softer than he intended to. He involuntary finds himself leaning closer to Sylvie, to the warmth radiating from her, trapped within the blanket wrapped around them. “Maybe we could figure it out... together.”

He had meant for it to come out more as a question, an offering. A possibility for the both of them. But what it really sounded like was a… well; a sincere, hope-filled attempt to keep hold of… this. Whatever this was, he knew he wanted it. However things went, he knew-

He wanted Sylvie in his life. 

His heart was racing in his chest, pounding almost as hard as it does in the midst of battle. In the unlikely event he’s a free man after all of this over, he’ll have to go and find his brother - if he’ll even talk to him, that is - and apologize for the harsh insult he used; for berating his older brother over his affection for that Earth woman. 

He understood now. 

He almost misses the slightest of reactions as Sylvie looks up to him - and what he knows is an earnest, vulnerable glaze in his eyes. It’s the smallest of things, almost impossible to see, but there’s a slight pull to the corner of her lips as she looks to him. Almost as if she was fighting back a smile at his proposition. 

“Maybe,” She whispers back to him, just as quiet and tender as his own words. It’s not a yes, not in the way his frantically racing heart was hoping to hear, but it was a start. It was Sylvie’s own returning of a proposition, her own olive branch. The possibility he had given that she was extending right back to him. 

Maybe. 

Maybe.

Maybe.

Yes… Maybe they’d survive this. Maybe he and Sylvie would bring down the tyrant who oversees ‘the sacred timeline’. Maybe he’ll find Mobius again, alive and well, having turned the entirety of the TVA’s workforce against the organization they devoted their lives to, and burn it to the ground. 

Maybe Sylvie will let him stay by her side. 

Maybe, he’ll carve that new path in his life - with Sylvie’s intertwined with his.

Maybe he’ll find that new Glorious Purpose.

Maybe he won’t be alone. 

Maybe he’ll be happy. 

Maybe…

You know what? He was starting to like that word. 

[haru-sen]

SW/IAL Mandalorians

Thanks to the usual suspects for their interference.  Less dark than Imperial Forces, still with the usual amount of sex and violence.  Feel free to let me know which Star Wars AU is making you happier.  I’m playing with both, IAL, and finally actually working on the original piece.  Same disclaimer, set during vanilla SWTOR, Knight Strike is not the PC Jedi Knight, but is adjacent to PC storylines.  I still haven’t played SWTOR in awhile, so some details may be wrong.  Don’t come at me.  I’m too tired. 

“Woman, if you’d come dressed correctly, I might have been more inclined to hear your suit,” the Orgo the Hutt, stretched out on its massive throne.  The massive slug-beast crammed a handful of screeching fish into its maw. “But I have no interest in Jedi or Republic politics.”  He yawned loudly.  “Maybe ask Palaya to find you a nice dancing outfit.” He gave a gurgling laugh and gestured to the blue Twi’lek woman lounging beside him.  “Maybe then I will be more interested in meeting with you.”  

You gritted your teeth, feeling the numerous blasters aimed at your back.  There was nothing wrong with your gray and white robes.  You were here on official business. “Wise Orgo, I apologize if my attire has given offense,” you said, trying for your best serene and unbothered expression, the one you used when dealing with the Council. “But this is not politics, this is business.”  

“And it is bad business to be entertaining pretty Jedi,” he laughed.  “Pretty Jedi should be entertaining Orgo!”

He was dead.  Everyone here was dead.  They just didn’t know it yet.  Orgo the Hutt?  Grease paste.  The handsy Gammorean bodyguards? Pieces, that’s all that was going to be left.  The swaggering mercs, snickering in the shadows, thinking their numbers would keep them safe?  You could make a pyramid of heads when you were done with them.  You were tired of this nonsense.  You had tried diplomacy, now you could go straight to violence and-

Palaya stared blankly ahead, adorned in a blue and gold mesh dancer’s outfit, a gold chain around her neck.  

You inhaled slowly, remembering that there were slaves, bystanders, innocent civilians on site. You could not kill everyone, rather you damn well better not kill everyone, and the fact that your mind was going there was a very bad sign.  In fact, if Master Amari found out, she’d lock you in the temple meditation chambers for the next decade.  

“I would be amenable to a private business meeting, Great Orgo,” you said, sounding absolutely calm.

A shifty-eyed human man leaned over and whispered something to Orgo.  

“A warrior Jedi?  With such a high bounty?  Why didn’t you say so earlier?” Orgo laughed, rolls of skin shaking.  “I would be happy to accommodate such a gift! What good business!”  

You shifted instinctively, preparing to start cutting down guards.

And then the floor dropped out from under you.  

Orgo laughed as you fell into the pit below.  

Snarling, you somersaulted downward, torches lighting the sandy area, another seven meters down. It stunk of rotten meat and feces, but worse was the festering corruption that hung over the sand like a miasma.  It was nauseating, and your vision went fuzzy for a moment. You landed in the soft sand, in a holding cell. The wall behind you was solid stone, but the ceiling was open. The sides were four meters high, thick, metal grates with very narrow openings. You drew your lightsabers, preparing to cut through the walls.  

“Filte says you are worth more alive,” Orgo called down.  “So don’t try to escape, little Jedi.  Or Teteta will have to eat you, and he is very hungry.”  

The trapdoors slammed shut, leaving the room barely lit by torchlight, and you caught sight of the thing lumbering around the other part of the pit. Howling, it lunged at your cage, clawed hands too thick to reach through the bars.  

It was a spiky bipedal creature, thickly-built and easily two and a half meters tall and meter and half wide, with massive horns and spines coming out of its head and back.  It charged forward, trying to ram down the door.  That was all bad enough, but the thing oozed dark side energy.  And then you knew exactly what it was.

Orgo the Hutt had a pet terentatek. They were mutant Dark-side monsters with a taste for force-sensitive flesh and a strong resistance to your powers.  Allegedly created by Exar Kun, they hunted Jedi, and were very good at it.  Theron hadn’t said a damn thing about terentateks!  

Backing up, you pulled your comm unit out of a robe pocket.  “Hey, it’s me.  Things went bad.”  

“Query: Oh? Are all the other meatbags dead? Did something similar happen to the little meatbags? Are they even littler meatbags now?” HK’s hologram popped up.  

“...No,” you sighed.  “I have to deal with a terentatek now. And don’t you start on me, HK.  I was supposed to do this peacefully. Remember? The Jedi Council, potential impending suspension, kidnapped children.  We went over this already.”  

“Evaluation: It is as you say, Master,” HK-53 said snidely.  “But the Jedi Council isn’t trapped there in the cage facing a terentatek.”  

“...I’ll be sure to put that in my report,” you said, squinting at the droid over the connection. “If you can try to discretely clear the secondary route, I’m going to get out of here.”

“Encouragement: Don’t forget, those spines and tusk are venomous, Master,” HK-53 said a little too cheerfully.  “But I’m sure you’ll do fine.  If you don’t, I will definitely kill everyone in the building to avenge you.”  

“HK-”  You shook your head. “At least don’t kill the civilians.”

“Evasion: I can’t hear you, Master! I am too busy discretely killing everyone in the way!”  And with that, the comm link cut.  

...Sithspit.  

Give the fact you had just entertained similar thoughts, you could not really judge him.  You were supposed to know better, the bodyguard/assassin droid was just programmed that way. Maybe you had been spending too much time with your droid, but you didn’t have any other backup for these situations.  Not any more.

Looking around, you studied the room.  There was another empty cell adjacent to you, and on the next wall, there were two more cells, and there was a heavily-armored man in each of them.  The terentatek had stopped slamming into your cell, and was now pacing furiously in front of it.  

“Hey,” you shouted.  

They turned, and you recognized those T-shaped visors on their Beskar helmets.  One had bright blue armor, the other black with a white skull face painted on it. Mandalorians.  Hmm.  

You flicked your sabers on, the silver beams casting eerie shadows.  

“What do you want, witch?” Skull asked, his voice strangely smooth behind a vocoder.  

“Do you want out?” You asked.

“Might be smarter to stay in here, away from that thing,” Blue said, with an easy laugh.  

Caution?  From a Mandalorian?  What were the odds? Today was really not your day.  

“It’s more interested in me than you,” you said.  “Do you want out or not?”  

“What’s your plan, witch?” Skull asked.

“I get you out of your cells, you get that main door open, and hopefully that hall narrows to a chokepoint so it can’t follow us out.”  

The two men muttered quietly between themselves.  You gathered your energy, aiming for the wall that divided your cell from the one next door.  It was not high enough to get a normal person to the trapdoor overhead -  you could jump, but you probably could not force it open from this side. Better to take the exit across the pit. You leapt, propelled upward by the force, and you reached out, gloved hands catching the top of the wall.  You pulled yourself up. It was only a handspan thick, so you balanced carefully, watching the terentatek throw its head back and roar.  

“Have you come to a decision yet, gentlemen?” You shouted.

“Fine,” Skull said.  “We can group up, for now.”  

“Do you know where the keys are?” You asked.  

“Do we look like we know how a Hutt arranges his torture dungeon?” Skull snapped.  

“...Maybe?” You shrugged. Mandalorian mercs weren’t uncommon.  They would have fit right in with the other riffraff in Orgo’s throne room.  

“Most of our weaponry is on the other side of the gate,” Blue told you, gesturing to the exit.  

“Don’t tell her that,” Skull growled.  

Well, you had not actually expected them to be much help against the terentatek.

“Stand back,” you told them, waiting for them to move away from the front of the cages. And then you threw a saber, the bright light arcing downward through the shadows.  Cutting precisely through the grate took focus.  The saber hovered in front of Blue’s cage, cutting a meter high circle in the metal.  Already, sweating, you hissed as the terentatek -likely feeling your power draw- charged your cage, rattling the grate.  

The lightsaber dropped, the circle not quite formed.  Teeth clenched, you reached out, hand shaking a little as you lifted the saber from the ground and finished the hole.  Panting, you had to drop it again, making sure to shut it down so no one got hurt.  Blue then pulled the cut-out portion into his cage, grabbed your saber, put the grate back, and gave you a thumbs up.

You squinted at him, wondering if the Mandalorian thought he could collect your weapon that easily.  

He deployed the saber, nearly jumping as the beam shot out.  Chuckling, he began to slowly cut through the wall between his cell and Skull’s.  

“Be careful with that,” you said, watching his hands shake. “Where can I get one of these?”  Blue asked, as he cut an unsteady shape.  

“If she dies, you can keep that one,” Skull said, sounding almost happy.    

Charming.  You rolled your eyes.

Blue stepped back, and Skull kicked the metal, knocking it out.  

“Let’s move out!” Blue said, waving at you.  

“Just stay out of my way.”   Skull went first, heading to the wall, looking for a way to open the door.

The terentatek was still banging against your cage, not noticing the men emerging from their cells.  You flicked sand at it, trying to hold its attention.  It shrieked at you angrily.   You scanned the darkness, hoping to find a pile of poo to fling...

“I got this,” Blue muttered, as he started using your saber to start cutting through the door.  

At the sound of a human voice coming from a different space, the terentatek whirled, roaring.  

“Din ferrik, Ja’ak!” Skull hissed.  

“Shab!” Blue muttered as he dragged the blade through the metal, trying to go faster, but not entirely able to control the lightsaber.

Skull started kicking the portion of the door, metal clanging.  

The terentatek lumbered toward them.

They were going to die.  Yes, they were dumb, and it was their own damn faults, but in recruiting them, you had signed these idiots’ death warrants. Mandalorians or not, you should not have involved them.  

You took a deep breath, running through your options.  You were not equipped to take down a terentatek today. You could try Ataru form – but you would be drained afterward.  Niman would have been better to keep it distracted, but that idiot had your other lightsaber and the Sixth Form required two lightsabers.  Ataru, then.  The Fourth Form was meant to be used against a single opponent: the stance took a lot of energy, but you needed to move fast.  You opened your mental channels, drawing more power from the force.  Strength began to pour into your limbs.  

You threw back your head and roared – to get its attention- before diving off the cage walls at the monster.  You drove your saber into the terentatek’s spiny back, before kicking off the shoulder plate, narrowly avoiding a spiked elbow.  You flipped backward, senses ablaze.  

Blue was almost through the door. Skull was standing there staring up at you.  

The terentatek swung, with claws as thick as your forearm, and narrowly missed your head.  You landed in a crouch and rolled sideways as it stomped toward you, Mandalorians forgotten.  

This was not a duel.  This was a battle of attrition.  You had to whittle it down, and you had to be fast.  Swinging your single saber, you sliced across its left arm, chitinous spikes dropping into the sand.  Blood and ichor spurted from the wound.  Shrieking, it charged you again, that thick darkness assailing your senses.   You dodged, still managing to keep away from its claws.  But the terentatek was still between you and the door.  

“Get to cover, witch!”  

Bright bolts of blaster fire tore through the room.  Sithspit, Ataru was not a defensive form.  You could try to deflect bolts, but your focus was on the abomination. Still, you went low, hoping to avoid friendly fire.  

The terentatek screamed as it lunged for you.  Blasterfire was not enough to stop it.  Even as you rolled through the sand, those talons sliced through your robes and into your back, your blood already burning.  

“Fall in!” Blue shouted.  

You scrambled forward, teeth clenched as Blue grabbed your wrists and dragged you through the broken door and into a stone hallway, Skull on your heels, still firing through the hole in the grate at the beast.   It was too small for the creature to get through

“That door is compromised. It won’t hold it for long,” Skull said.

“Back exit,” you muttered. “Should be unguarded-”

“His usually isn’t,” Blue laughed, as he handed you your other saber.

“Shut up,” Skull said, and you could hear the scowl through the helmet.  

You just shook your head, trying to focus on the venom already pulsing through your veins.  You needed to cleanse your blood, but you weren’t much of a healer.  Still, you could push out the poison.  Panting, you leaned against the wall, unclean blood pouring out of your back.  

“She’s hit,” Skull said. “Hurry up.  We don’t have a lot of time.”  

“Time to heal up,” Blue told you, hitting you with a kolto shot.  “You are going to have some impressive scars.”

You shuddered, still feeling some of the poison in your system.  But you could move.  “Escape tunnel should be in the southwestern corner.”

The Mandalorians nodded, and the three of you started running down the hall.  

A Gammorean stepped in your way, but Skull raised his two large scatterguns, and suddenly there wasn’t anything in your way.  There was a large messy puddle to run through, and you kept your mouth closed, a bloody mist still hovering in the air.  

There was more screaming behind you, as the terentatek smashed through the pit doors.   You stumbled, but Blue grabbed your arm, pulling you along.

There were more screams in front of you, and Skull raised his scatterguns.  

“Query: Maaaaaaaster, are you dead?  If you’re dead, I get to kill everyone else!” HK-53 called out, his voice echoing through the halls.   More shots fired, screams abruptly cutting off.  

“No, I’m alive,” you shouted back.  “And don’t shoot the men with me.”

HK-53 rounded the corner, blaster rifle raised.   “Excitement: Oh Master, I am relieved to see you in one piece,” he said so stoically, it couldn’t be anything, but sarcasm.

“Why does a Jedi have a Hunter-Killer droid?” Skull asked, his voice low and suspicious.  

“Intimidation: Because before my last master expired violently, he willed me to her, and we have been very active ever since,” HK-53 said.  “Now, if I can’t shoot them, can I use-?”

“HK, leave them alone. I need to find those kids and get out of here,” you sighed.

“Explanation: Oh, bad news, Master,” HK-53 said with exaggerated sympathy. “They’re already gone.  Orgo shipped them out last night.  This whole trip was a waste of time!”  He cackled.  

Scowling, you grabbed HK-53’s arm.  “Where?”

“Master, if you insist on clinging to me, I can’t fight properly,” HK-53 said.  “They’re off Taris and on their way to Nar Shaddaa.  I sliced the records for you – we can look at them later, when we’re not killing our way through a Hutt’s basement.”

You followed HK-53 through a cleared path, seeing over a dozen smoking bodies along the way.  The Mandalorians kept you between them and your murder-happy droid.  

The sunlight was a relief as you stumbled out the door.  It didn’t smell like death and rot out here, and you were far enough away from the corrupt influence of the beast that you could breathe comfortably again.  Of course, you would have to come back here and finish it off.  You could not let a terentatek live. But that was a problem for later. “Come on, this way,” Blue said, tugging your arm.  

“Master, we can get to the spaceport-”

“She’s been poisoned,” Skull said.  “We can try to fix her up at camp, or you can cart a dead Jedi off to Nar Shaddaa.”

HK-53 looked you over.  “Smuggery: I told you they were venomous.  If you die, can I kill these meatbags?”

“No HK, and I do not have the patience for this,” you growled, staggering forward. “We need to get to Nar Shaddaa-” You said, before falling over, your legs no longer responding to your orders.  “Sithspit,” you muttered, twitching in the dirt.  

“Stupid witch,” Skull said, bending over you.  

And then everything faded away.

** “How can they just sit back and do nothing?” You snarled, pacing in front of the fountain.  “No, this is worse than nothing.  Not only are they doing nothing, they’re arguing over whether or not they should punish me for doing something!” You threw your arms up in frustration.  “They’re the ones who sent me to Alderaan!”

“Yes, to Alderaan, not to Balmorra, nor Nar Shaddaa, and certainly not Corellia,” Master Amari said, sitting back on the bench, expression dangerously placid. With her striking blue robes, gold jewelry, and tattoos, she looked more like an elegant noblewoman than a Jedi Master.  “You were just supposed to find out what happened to Master Nomen Karr, not follow in his footsteps.”  

You squinted at her.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He always had a hard time staying away from the war,” Master Amari said.  “I am not saying we cannot be involved in conflict. I agree with you, we have an obligation to use our powers responsibly.  But Nomen Karr loved to fight, and he held a deep hatred for the Empire.  He could not let that go, and it ruined him.”  

That she didn’t just come and say the obvious thing both reassured you and infuriated you.  No one wanted to talk about what happened, not even you, but seeing your Master shy around the topic made you angrier than you expected.  

You had to remember to breathe.  “I don’t hate the Empire,” you said.  “It’s too broad a construct.”

“Semantics, Strike.  You know you’re not supposed to be in contact with certain people. But still you obsessively track Lord Talon.  You repeatedly undertake unsanctioned missions for SIS in exchange for data on him. You keep that abominable droid in your living quarters,” Master Amari’s voice was gentle.  “That may not be hatred, but given all that has happened, it certainly is enough to make me worry about you.”  

“HK can’t help the way he was programmed,” you muttered, because she wasn’t wrong. HK-53 was an absolute bastard to everyone.  “And I got official approval to embed with Delta Squad.”  

“...After you ignored three summons to return to Coruscant,” Master Amari said, shaking her head.  

“Must have gotten lost in transmission,” you muttered.  “Still not enough to warrant an entire meeting about my conduct.”  

“You know that isn’t the only thing on the table,” Master Amari said sternly.  

“I was cleared of any wrongdoing months ago,” you said sharply.  

“Yes,” Master Amari nodded. “And I agree, what happened was not your fault in the least.  I just wish you could see that and step away for a moment.”  

You flinched.  “I’m the one with the best chance-”

“Of getting dragged under with him,” Master Amari said.  “You’re already struggling, we both know it.”  

You inhaled deeply.  You wanted to go back to the front.  You couldn’t sit here in the temple, meditating on peace, while Lord Talon and his apprentice were out there slaughtering more people.  But now that you were back on Coruscant, the Council seemed damn keen on keeping you there.

“You did a lot of good and made some important allies during your military tour, Strike.  If you want to go back out in the field, it is not out of the question,” Master Amari said, adjusting the hood of her robes.  “And I don’t disagree with your reasoning.  I also think you are the one with the best chance to stop him.  But you’re not in the right spot mentally to do it yet and I am very worried about you, as my friend.”  

You groaned, because she was right. And when she was this honest, you couldn’t be mad at her. This wasn’t her mess.  She was the one who taught you that it was easier to ask forgiveness than permission, but Master Amari had a finesse that you lacked.  She certainly didn’t get a whole Council convened because of her “questionable conduct.”  

“They’re trying to make an example out of me,” you said, with a scowl.

“Which will backfire, as long as you behave yourself,” she said sternly.  “You are a decorated war hero.  There’s an entire subset of delinquent padawans who want to be the next Knight Strike, and it is infuriating several of my peers. On top of that, they have to sit there calmly, pretending like they aren’t outraged.  Plus the Republic military is impressed with your work and is pushing for even more joint operations,” she laughed softly.  “And because of that, this has become political. I am just reminding you to be more diplomatic with the High Council.  You have allies there: don’t alienate them.”  

She was right.  Master Lacroix had requested a meeting beforehand.  He was not on the High Council, but he likely would be some day soon. And he was the one who warned you about the potential pending disciplinary charges.  He was also the one who might have suggested rotating comm frequencies and upping your encryption standards during your travels, so the official High Council summons to return to Coruscant never reached you.  

“You’re not alone in how you feel, and you’re absolutely right, they are indecisive, cloistered, and afraid: I don’t blame them.  They’re responsible for the future of the entire Order, and all the lives in their jurisdiction. We are weak right now. We can’t afford to just throw good Knights into a meat grinder. We’ve lost enough already. We can’t afford to lose you too.” She leaned forward.  “And this war has taken its toll on you, Strike.  The violence, the death, the guilt, our losses: you’re balanced on a knife’s edge, and we both know it.”  She looked at you, solemn as you had ever seen her.  “If you fall, I will be the one they send after you.”  

You blinked.  Because of course Master Amari noticed.  You wondered about Master Lacroix.  The consular was a subtle man, shrewd and political as any SIS operative. He had to see the signs too.

“...Master Amari,” you said, giving a formal bow.  “If I fall, it will not be because of anything you or the Council did.  It will not be something you can prevent, unless you plan on locking me up for the rest of my life. If I fall, it will be because there is something out there worth saving, that is more valuable than myself and the Jedi Council’s ideals.”

Master Amari nodded. “I know you see it that way, but if you fall, will you still be able to protect that thing that matters so much to you?  You saw how it went.  I doubt that was the expectation at the time.”  

You thought back to that terrible day on Corellia.  “I don’t know.  I wasn’t able to last time.” You stared up at the sky.  “I suppose that’s why I keep HK-53 so close now.”  

**

You stood in the Council Chambers, shoulders square, in your gray and white robes, your twin sabers on your belt.  You bowed your head respectfully to the Council, gaze flicking to Master Lacroix who stood by the door. He sat there, hood up, face inscrutable, as always.  

“Knight Strike, it is good to have you back on Coruscant,” the Barsen’thor told you, with a smile and a wink.  She had been one of your fellow padawans on Tython, and had fought on Corellia. She had spoken in your defense at the first inquiry.  She had dealt with similar issues in the past, though of a more exotic and conspiratorial nature than your own.  

You allowed yourself a smile in return.  You knew whose side she was on.

“It is always nice to see you,” you told her.

“This is a High Council meeting, not a class reunion,” Master Nobil said coolly.

“It is good to see you too, Master Nobil,” you said, politely.  

You didn’t actually hear the Barsen’thor laugh, but you could feel it.

“I’m afraid we might have to skip the opening formalities today, Knight Strike.  But rest assured, we are all pleased to see you standing here in Coruscant, in person,” Grandmaster Satele Shan said.  She stood there in her plain brown robes, dark hair pulled back in her customary braids, those pale blue eyes piercing your mask of civility.  Shan knew exactly what you were about, and she would only tolerate it to a point.    

You bowed.  

“Today, we have convened to discuss the appropriate outcome for your nontraditional approach to acquiring intelligence on Master Nomen Karr.  While we appreciate you finding out the actual details, you certainly took a...circuitous route.”

“Are we not going to talk about-” Nobil began.

“No,” Grandmaster Shan said firmly.  “That issue was settled months ago.  Knight Strike bears no fault there, and there is no need to rehash that.”  

Nobil did not quite sulk, but he crossed his arms and stared very hard at you, like you were a padawan who was lifting extra desserts.  

“Now, what do you have to say about your...unorthodox method of intelligence gathering, Knight Strike?”  Grandmaster Shan asked.  

“The Force works in mysterious ways,” you said, with a bow.  

Grandmaster Shan sighed.  “Don’t be coy.”

“My apologies, Grandmaster,” you said. “I do not wish to deflect from my own responsibility in the matter, but I do wish to state that I did not simply go rogue. I-”

“-Had tacit support from a number of Masters, some of them in this room?  I am aware,” Grandmaster Shan said archly, giving numerous people hard looks.  “And that issue has been discussed as well. And I agree, it would not be fair to punish you for taking poor counsel from your superiors.”  She looked around the room, expression severe.  

“What would you have me say then, Grandmaster?” You asked, because of course she already knew almost everything.  Most of it had already come out in the first inquest. “Why am I here?”  

“Originally, we had considered issuing consequences for your unsanctioned foray.  However, in light of your honorable service and your resilience in the face of darkness, I don’t believe any further disciplinary measures will be necessary.  So no, that is not why I have asked you here today.” She leaned forward.  “How familiar are you with the Tarisian branch of the Exchange?”

You blinked, not expecting that question.   “Orgo the Hutt is in charge of that sector.  He has alarmingly friendly relations with the Empire,” you said, raising your head.  “He especially likes exporting Sithspawn, rakghouls, and other abominations for the private menageries of Sith Lords.  His personal habits are...not fit to mention in polite company.”  

“What about the Balmorran branch of the Exchange?  Where do their loyalties lie?”

“That’s more complicated. Breaking the blockade is a lucrative business, and they’re happy to play both sides,” you said with a shrug.  “They import much-needed food, medicine, and other basic commodities in exchange for a cut of the weaponry produced on the planet.  Then they sell it to the highest bidder.  Balmorra is a competitive market: no one who wants to stay on top can pick a side.  Profits are the driving force and their black market goods are integral to the population’s survival.”  

Grandmaster Shan nodded.  

“What about the slave markets of Nar Shaddaa?”  

“...I have been,” you said tightly.

“Could you go again?”

“If it is necessary, I could go in quietly. I could also go in...less quietly.”  You smiled slightly at the thought of letting HK-53 loose on the slavers.  

Grandmaster Shan gave you a disapproving look, like she had picked up your exact thoughts. Which, given her powers, she probably had. “...And what would you say of the criminal known as Rogun Matt’rik?”  She asked you.  

“For a man called “the Butcher,” his sandwiches aren’t very good.”  You shrugged.  

There was a low murmur.  

“You have...shared meals with Rogun the Butcher?”  Grandmaster Shan’s expression was too calm. You knew, from experience, that meant you were getting to her.  Which was an accomplishment, though of dubious value.  You did not need to get slapped back down to Tython. You needed to stop taunting the Grandmaster.  

“Nothing fancy, obviously. We have worked together on occasion. He is a crime lord and not really someone you should eat with, unless you’re stuck in the trenches and can’t really get out because there are Imperial forces strafing you, and you’re the one reinforcing the shield that’s keeping everyone alive,” you said, after a moment.  “But he’s one of the few who is loyal to the Republic, and puts that loyalty a little bit ahead of his profits.  If the SIS-” you paused, wondering if Satele knew how often you worked with her son.  “-doesn’t know something, Rogun can often find it out.”  

“You admit to associating with criminals of that notoriety?” Master Nobil asked, outraged.  

“He says, I’m a good influence on him,” you said.  “For the record, I have talked him out of killing several people.”  That was true.  If they were useful, he turned them over to the SIS.  It was a moral grey zone, you understood.  But Rogun knew better than to do certain things in front of you. And if he had a Sith problem, well, you could help him out with that.  It was mutually beneficial for you, him, and the Republic.

“Well then, this has been very enlightening, Knight Strike.”  Grandmaster Shan touched her forehead, like maybe she was getting a headache. “I have to agree with Master Nobil, you are walking a dangerous line.” There was concern in her tone.  “But I am afraid we have no choice, you are the best candidate for this mission, and it is an urgent matter.”  

You straightened up.  “What?”

“That isn’t to say that we can condone your unorthodox behaviors, Knight Strike.  I think you know that we have been very close to taking disciplinary action,” Grandmaster Shan said sternly.  “But as you said, the Force works in mysterious ways.”  She leaned forward.  “As you are undoubtedly aware, the Sith Academy on Korriban is always taking in more force-sensitive individuals, as they kill them at an alarming rate.”

You nodded.  

“There have been a string of child abductions in Republic space– Exchange thugs killing entire families to abduct the younglings before we can get to them.  We’re not exactly sure how they’re finding them first, but we’ve lost over a dozen juvenile candidates before they are ever properly assessed or invited to Tython.  Some of them have been spotted in the markets on Nar Shaddaa, in the company of Orgo the Hutt’s men.  We need this to stop.”  

You stood there for a moment.  Orgo was middleman.  If Orgo wasn’t doing the trade, someone else would step up.  Whoever was picking the younglings was force-sensitive or had access to the candidate lists that the Council kept.  Given the fact, the children were being taken before any official assessment was done, it was likely that you were dealing with a Sith with an eye for talent.  The mission parameters were clear: Find the Sith, destroy the relevant Exchange infrastructure in the process, and retrieve the children.  

“I understand,” you said with a bow.

**

Once you had the details, you sat down in Master Lacroix’s office, making several calls.  You would be heading for Taris tomorrow.  

“I realize you’re frustrated,” Lacroix said, sitting down at his desk, lowering his hood.  He was a slender middle-aged human, with a ridiculous fondness for his mustache.  “But it was unwise to antagonize her like that.”

“I know,” you said, tilting your chair back.  “But I’ve been rotting here for over a year-”

“You haven’t been locked in the temple.  You’ve been going down to the lower levels and picking fights,” he said with a frown.  

“Gotta keep my skills sharp,” you said with a shrug.  “There are too many gangs.  Law enforcement can’t keep up and sometimes they’re just as bad.”  

Lacroix sighed heavily.  “That isn’t the point, Strike.  You and I both know that.”

“If I’m such a danger, why did you nominate me to take this mission?”

Lacroix chuckled, because he knew that you would figure it out.  “Because you have the skills and the contacts, and a deeper interest in the perpetrators,” he said, pouring himself a drink.  “But also, I have been thinking on your personal problems, and I may have a solution.”

“Which one?  How I have a slew of moralistic busybodies probing and questioning my every action?”  

Lacroix rolled his eyes.  “Don’t be silly. They aren’t aware of half the things you get up to.  Do you honestly think you would be getting away with this slap on the wrist if they did know?”

He had you there.  You waved your hand, for him to continue.

“I think you know, Lord Talon is likely involved,” he said.  “Though perhaps you should wait till you’re off-world to give any evidence of that connection.  They won’t send you if they suspect his presence.”  

You nodded.  “I wasn’t enough to stop him last time.”  You stared at the floor for a moment, feeling sick.  “But I’ve been training harder.  I’m better than I was a year ago.  I don’t know if it’s enough, but it will have to be.”  

“I know you’ve improved, but I don’t think killing Talon should be your priority,” Lacroix said.  “I think we both know that.”  

“...Obviously. But I don’t know if there’s any way for me to get through to-”

“There might not be, and you need to go in there knowing that you can try, and there may be a miracle, but it’s been a year.  If things were going to change, they would have already.  He hasn’t contacted you. You don’t bear any more responsibility in this, other than to stop Talon.”

“It’s not that easy and you know it,” you growled.  

“It’s not, but that’s the truth.”  Master Lacroix stared off to the side for a moment.  “You and I have both seen people fall.  The change is often so drastic and immediate, it is understandably terrifying.  People who were compassionate, funny, and logical suddenly become vicious, cruel, and homicidal.  It is hard to see a fall as anything but a catalyst for madness.”

You closed your eyes.  “I know it’s not something we can magically reverse.”

“But it is something we might be able to guard against. I have a hypothesis,” he said, eyeing you shrewdly.  

“And I’m your test subject?”

“You are the one who might benefit most from this knowledge,” he said.  “The cause of this massive reversal is likely because certain Jedi have spent so long being a conduit for the force, for the lighter half, that they are overwhelmed by the sudden imbalance.  It is like...wine rushing into an empty glass.”  He set one in front of you to demonstrate. “It splashes and forcefully displaces the air. Whereas, if you already have some liquid within, the result is not so volatile.  I wonder if dealings with the darker aspects could play out similarly.  And since you have some experience managing these situations, perhaps you would not fall as hard.”

“This is heresy,” you said, as he handed your cup.  “Tell me more.”  

“Yes, it is, isn’t it? You have heard of Gray Jedi?”

“Aren’t they just Jedi who don’t like how restrictive the High Council is?”  You asked. “They get married, they go to war, they wear gray…”  

“Maybe “Dark Jedi” is a more accurate term,” Lacroix said, clasping his hands together.  “But yes, depending on practices, they are viewed as a heretical offshoot, even a danger to the order of the Order.  I have met a few in my travels, on both the Sith and Jedi sides.”  

You studied his thoughtful expression as you sipped the wine.  “I have also met Light-leaning Sith.”  

“Then you understand how...the balance of the Force is not always so clearly delineated,” Lacroix told you.  “We are taught to be vessels of light, not how to manage our own darkness.  It is a mistake, in my opinion.  But Gray Jedi walk that line, and more interestingly, they can tap into both light side and dark side abilities.”  

“So are you trying to get me to prove your thesis?”

“I think you are a very capable knight going into some very trying and uncertain circumstances.  I think you are off-balance, and that this is a dangerous time for you, for many reasons.  But I also don’t think we can accomplish anything by keeping knights like you locked up in temples.”  He regarded you gravely.  “I wanted to remind you that your choices are not binary.  That you can always forge a different path, no matter what the Order has told you.  If you fall from grace, you don’t have to land in darkness.”  

“And yet, you still want me to go out there, knowing the Council would disapprove if they had more details and knowing that I’m in rough shape,” you laughed. “You’re a real bastard, Master Lacroix.”  

“You’ve always known this.” He raised his cup, smiling sardonically at you.  “And yet it’s my counsel you sought out.”

“I’m known for my questionable decision-making and unorthodox behavior.  What’s your excuse?”

[inkribbon796]

In Propria Persona

Summary: Logan’s not usually a revenge-type person, but he feels in the mood for some good old fashioned revenge.

A/N: For Logan’s birthday. The title is Latin for: “in one’s own person” and I felt it was fitting for Logan.

Logan was good at information sorting, he’s not so good at this feelings thing. He could manage finances, take care of the Light Sides’ schedules, run advanced battle simulations, and even perform repair work on Bing and Oliver.

But it seems the one thing he couldn’t do was treat his own insomnia. He needed help for a lot of things, and just talking about his issues with the other Sides wasn’t doing enough. Logan felt less inclined to share the same night terrors, the same fears. Even though he knew talking about them helped, and he knew they were eager to listen.

It was a frustrating rut, and Logan felt like his mind was at war with itself. He eventually decided that he needed outside help. After a couple weeks, Iplier had helped find one for him.

Virgil and Eric had both gone to see her on different occasions and Logan and Dr. Iplier had decided that she might be a good fit for Logan as well, and if not they could look for other options after that.

Her name was Amaya Williams.

Logan’s first appointment wasn’t as helpful as it probably could have been. He left the room feeling like he’d been complaining more than trying to work towards improving his own mental health.

Still, Logan decided he wanted to keep trying and getting to test insomnia medication. In the end he wound up with Virgil’s old insomnia medication which didn’t stop the nightmares so much as keep him from remembering his dreams. But he got sleep, he was at least a little less tired.

It might now be the best fit but it was the first thing that had worked in months.

It took at least three months for Logan to realize he wasn’t just “complaining”. He was avoiding the conversation wholesale. The thought of almost dying at the hands of a cannibal. Logan’s personal figurative boogeyman.

Logan hadn’t realized that much damage had been done to him, and that bothered him more than anything. He was unsure if it was the proximity to his own death, which if not for Janus and Virgil, he would have certainly died a very painful and gruesome death; or if it was the fact he was blinded before Dark had placed him in that room with his cannibal demon child.

Talking about Bim and that night was much harder than Logan thought it would have been. Even saying his name took a lot out of him. It was shocking, and then infuriating. Logan told his therapist as much, that he was angry and frustrated and he should be above this.

Logan was reassured that it was more than a normal reaction, the fear and the frustration. He had been attacked and his brain was reacting the way hundreds of thousands of people reacted to trauma.

While comforting every once in a while it didn’t alleviate the frustration. His first step really was to try and make the treat feel lessened, at least in his mind. Bim was still a danger to everything that breathed around him, he was a cannibal. He — Bim — deserved nothing more than to rot in prison, away from people.

Then braver Logan got about Bim, the more brazen he became. That Dark still had enough of this city dancing to his corrupt beat to keep Wil, and his children out of prison. The police were obviously afraid of Bim. Something about Bim made people afraid of him.

But Logan was angry and he refused to bow to that fear. It had taken hold of him for too long. And Logan knew this was a dangerous undertaking, but it had to be done. If he could put Bim in jail he would sleep easier, he just knew he would. If he could beat him, he surely would have nothing to fear. Bim would be beatable, depowered, and while still a threat he was not worth being afraid of.

His logic was sound.

But as he would learn shortly, also flawed.

From his undercover work, Logan knew a bit about how Bim hunted, what he liked to hunt. He was a serial killer, kidnapping co-eds and transients and then killing and eating them. Dark had no interest in stopping Bim, in fact he fed the monster that he and Wil coddled like a child.

His notes also gave him a pattern, times when Bim would be more likely to feed again, to hunt some unsuspecting soul. After a couple failed attempts to find him, Logan got lucky, and had of course signaled for backup. There were too many variables not to come without Abe or someone else’s assistance.

Bim was walking next to someone about his age. They looked drunk or high out of their mind, and Bim was doing most of the talking.

It was easy for Logan to shoot a bolt to push the person out of Bim’s hands. Bim reacted as any other predator would to another disturbing his prey. He turned and glared at Logan, hissing at him.

“Do I know you?” Bim hissed, a flash of recognition in his glowing eyes that caught the moonlight like a wild creature, reminding Logan that they’d never met while Logan was in his Logan outfit.

“Not in this costume,” Logan told him flatly, a pit forming in his gut at the sight of Bim again. “I am Logic.”

“Right one ‘a their brainiacs, that’s right, you do have the visor,” Bim recognized, then he pointed at the unconscious person on the ground. “You want to apologize to my friend, pretty sure you guys aren’t allowed to shoot people.”

Logic wanted to say something confident and reassuring but for a couple seconds words got caught in his throat. He cleared it and managed to speak.

“Bim William Trimmer, you are under arrest for the deaths of 65 people, a number that grows by the week and is a pale reflection of the death toll you have wrought over your life,” Logan told him, starting to read him his rights.

“Buddy I’m not going back to that cell,” Bim flashed his teeth, they looked sharper than they should be. He was slowly reaching for the unconscious person and another hand going for his black suit jacket. “So go and fuck off and leave me be.”

Then the body suddenly shot away and disappeared, Bim’s pupils dilated when he realized his quarry had been taken from him and almost disappeared into thin air. Bim let out a cry that locked Logan’s legs and muscles in a distant memory, the half human gripped his lapel in reflex and suddenly a portal opened up behind Bim and gore hand that buzzed with Dark’s red and blue aura appeared and quickly yanked Bim through the portal, protectively encasing him in his aura as Bim screamed in rage and tried to break through.

It took a second or two but Bim was gone and Logan didn’t realize he was shaking until a hand came towards his arm and Logan jumped when he saw it coming towards him before he realized who it was.

Roman had his hand a couple inches from Logan, and pulled a bit further away when he saw his boyfriend jump. His mouth was moving and Logan realized he was talking but it took a second to realize it was his name.

“Logic?” Roman’s voice finally sounded in his ear. “Hey, pocket protector, it’s us, you’re safe now.”

“R— Princey?” Logan recognized.

“Yeah,” Roman smiled, looking relieved.

“You okay?” Silver asked, Crank suddenly appeared out of thin air beside him, Silver was carrying the currently unconscious almost-victim.

Logan nodded, “I may have overestimated my ability to fight him. He is more inhuman than he appears.”

“Yah think?” Roman reminded, touching his forehead to Logan’s. “I applaud bravery, but if he had grievously injured you I don’t think I could handle the shock.”

“I would like to go home,” Logan decided, “and rethink my next approach.”

“And how about you leave the overdramatics to me, my dear,” Roman asked him, smiling.

Logan nodded, but promising that next time, he would best him. He didn’t know when but he’d make it his life’s mission to not let Bim kill another soul again.

[maple-writes]

WHG 13: Post Games 2

tagging @concealeddarkness13 @ratracechronicler @onmywaytobe and @nightskywriter

(Takes place towards beginning of pre-heist prep week)

Indigo leaned back in her office chair, scanning over the documents on her computer screen. Research, reports, contracts… All things that she made a note to go over in detail later, after her meeting was over. She glanced down at her watch. He would probably be here soon. Maybe she should go wait for him out in the lobby, though on the other hand, he knew where her office was. Technically this lab was owned by the capitol anyway so he could come and go as he pleased. Indigo tapped against the armrest of her chair, letting her jaw set in frustration. How good would it feel to wait for him here, to make him seem like he wasn’t even a priority?

But she sighed, stood, and made her way down the hallway. As nice at it would be to try and knock Snow down a level, she couldn’t have him suspecting her little grudge.

He wasn’t there yet when Indigo stepped into the lobby, typical. Behind the front desk, the receptionist popped her head up with a polite smile. She was new, only worked there for a few months since she her predecessor mysteriously disappeared. It was a shame; he’d been good enough at his job. Rumor had it he’d gotten a little too comfortable criticizing Snow in circles which he should have just kept his mouth shut. Not that his replacement was bad, but Indigo wasn’t really sure they even needed a receptionist most of the time.

The front door opened and in stepped one of President Snow’s advisors. Indigo smiled as she greeted him and led him down the hall towards her office, pushing down her resentment. Snow said he would be meeting with her, not his advisor. Sure, maybe something had come up, and it wasn’t like she hadn’t met with this advisor countless times for their less than legal agreements, but still. How dare he.

He took a seat across from her desk as she closed the door behind them. “I don’t remember the last time I’ve been in here,” He said. “Hasn’t changed a bit though.”

Indigo sat across from him, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other. “If it works, why change it, right?”

“Still,” He looked up over the desk, meeting Indigo’s eyes in an inquisitive stare. “Why the sudden change of heart? What’s wrong with the apartment? It would have been nice to have this conversation over some wine like usual.”

Right. She usually used it for these casual, off-the-record chats, but now… Well she’d had to move it to her office last minute due to the whole conspiracy to commit treason. Of course he would have found it suspicious, why hadn’t she thought of that?

“Truthfully,” Indigo let her head fall to the side, pressing her hand against the side of her face. She sighed. “I have a rat problem.”

“Rats?”

She nodded. “They’re huge and they eat everything they can get their thieving little hands on.” And responded to questions with far more snark than Indigo would have liked for an uninvited guest. “If you happen to know a good exterminator, let me know because I don’t know when I’m going to have the chance to deal with it myself.”

The advisor laughed. “Good luck with that.”

“Thank you.” Indigo let her hand drop and sat up straight again. “So, what brings you here?”

The joking atmosphere vanished and the advisor leaned forward. “Have you heard what’s been going on with the games?”

Indigo paused before answering. She was fairly certain he was referring to the band of rebels she’d picked up, but there was a chance he was talking about something else. “What part of the games are we talking about?”

“The tributes.” He answered. “One in particular.”

Oh, the one they’d picked up in the arena. “Skylar Tresting?” When he nodded, she continued. “I’ve heard bits and pieces, and I saw what they did at Robin’s interview.”

“Well, Snow isn’t happy with what they’ve done.” The advisor said, as if that wasn’t crystal clear or their probable intention. “And given how rebellious these games have been, I’m sure you understand the need reign in control again.”

Indigo nodded along, watching carefully. She wished he would just spit out what Snow wanted from her. He never came, or sent someone to talk to her, unless he wanted something.

“He’s planning on using them to do it, but I’m sure that you’re aware that they’re… A challenge to control.”

If they could remote hack into a capitol video feed, than a ‘challenge to control’ was an understatement.

“So, where do I come in?”

The advisor smiled, manufactured of course. “Snow’s planning on holding a gala as a show of power, and to make some important announcements about the future of the games, and will be having Skylar attend. They’ve been outfitted with, for lack of a better term, a remote shock collar, but we don’t want to underestimate them again.” He leaned forward. “So he was hoping you’d be able to help.”

Did she look like a peacekeeper? “How so?”

“Well, it’ll have to be something effective, yet not something that would look too out of place.” He went on. “It’s supposed to look like nothing is wrong after all.”

If he was coming to her, he was probably expecting a mutt. “Considering mutts aren’t usually at parties, I’m not sure how inconspicuous I can be.” She thought a moment. “Although…”

She opened a drawer on her desk, took out the tablet inside and scanned the reference files for the creatures she had actively on hand. Something with sharp spines, huge teeth, obvious aggression or venom were probably out of the question, which ruled out a good chunk. Something noisy would draw too much attention, and something too big would probably take up too much space. She opened one of the files and scanned through the notes. With a few tweaks, there was one that might just work.

“It’s a prototype, but it might be useful for you.” She slid the tablet towards him.

Displayed on the screen was a creature that looked like a  wolfhound, save for overlapping viper’s scales on the lower legs and muzzle, and the pit organs along it’s upper lip. It wouldn’t be fun if they sent it after Skylar, and might make their little plan of freeing them a bit harder, but unless something went wrong it’s attack strategy wasn’t lethal. Usually.

“It’s being developed primarily for catching, subduing, and retrieving.” She smiled, “It’s fast, agile, powerful, and has modified canines like a viper’s fangs that retract backwards out of the way when not in use, but delivers a fast-acting venom that paralyzes it’s victims so they can be dragged back to it’s handler more easily.” She pointed at the face. “And the pit organs allow it to seek out it’s target via heat if sight and hearing are compromised.” She leaned back again, tapping a finger against the side of her head as she paused. “Usually I’d avoid anything with any kind of venom for this kind of situation, but the most recent group we’ve raised are actually quite friendly most of the time.”

The advisor gave her a look. “Most of the time?”

“Besides when they’re attacking, yes.” She nodded towards the tablet. “I’ve been experimenting more with the inclusion of mechanics and little devices to better control neurological function. If Skylar still has their transmitter from the games, I can implant a receiver, program it to the right signal, and the dog will only see them as their target. It can be remotely activated as well, so at the push of a button it’ll go from docile to targeted attack in an instant.”

The advisor looked over the profile. He seemed to be considering it, evaluating it, but Indigo knew he didn’t really have a clue what he was looking at. As good as he was as Snow’s advisor, he didn’t know a whole lot about genetic engineering. But she didn’t mind the pause. She’d have to find a way around that dog herself if there was any chance of messing with Snow at his own party. With the receiver tuned to Skylar’s tracker, there wouldn’t be any deterring the dog, and even if they could kill it, moving a paralyzed body amid amped up security would be no easy feat. As much as it wasn’t her problem if they succeeded or failed, it would feel like a lot better of a screw you if their plan worked. It would be a bit too obvious if they just cut Skylar’s tracker out right then and there.  

Although, the receiver was capable of being tuned to different signals…

“If that’s the best you’ve got, I suppose it’ll do.”

Indigo barely hid her distaste. The best she could do? It was exactly the kind of thing he was looking for! “Do you want it or not?”

He nodded. “Sure.”

“Alright then, I’ll have one tuned up and ready to go in a few days.” She leaned forward to take the tablet back. “On one condition.”

The advisor looked up, and he didn’t look particularly happy.

But Indigo smiled sweetly, resting her hands on her lap. “I want an invitation from Snow, and I want to be seated at the same table as him, the head gamemaker and anyone else of any importance.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, but must have thought better of it when he sighed and stood. “Fine.” He turned towards the door. “I’ll be back for the dog in four days. It better be good.”

Indigo watched as he left, then leaned back. It was a risk, what she was planning to do, but oh the look on Snow’s face as the dog came at him would be priceless. The only snag would be switching the receiver to the alternate signal. Oh well. That was going to be a problem for the rest of them.

[livralph]

19 from this list— “You won’t scare me away.”

A/n: this may have become much longer than intended bc I forgot to post it.

Luna had never thought settling down was for her. Moving around had been her thing. Travelling thousands of miles and never staying anywhere more than a week just so she could continue to explore the world. That had been when she was younger, when staying on the move made her feel free, like nothing bound her to the world other than the creatures she was so fond of. As she became older— after the war— it felt different. The moving from place to place so often made her feel like she was running away from something. Perhaps herself, perhaps her past, perhaps everything and nothing. Whatever it was, it made her more determined to keep going. The longer she stayed at home with a friend or her dad the more anxious she became.

A minute too long in one place and she’d feel her blood run cold. A pit in her stomach would open up and she was out of the door at an obscene time with nothing more than a note left behind saying goodbye to whoever had hosted her for her return. Her bags were packed with a wave of her wand and she would cast a second spell to shrink her luggage to the size of a purse. Then into her pocket it went as she ran from the door, locking it with a flick of her wand. And into the night she went.

Harry worried. Scared for what she was doing or what would happen if she continued to disappear for weeks, even months, at a time. No one could contact her despite their efforts, and after Luna shouting at Draco for asking her to stay longer no one did. Well, to say no one asked would be a lie. There was one person who always would and never failed to have Luna stay grounded a moment longer. No one understood how Ginny did it, but no one ever asked.

Luna stayed with Ginny more than anyone else she stayed close to. At least every three months Ginny would wake to a gentle knock at her door and know who it was before she’d even left her bed. The rest were lucky if it was once a year. Every time this would happen both of them would lose their breath a little. They both knew why.

~~~

“Ginny, no ones seen her in four months.”

“She’ll be fine.”

“For Merlin’s sake—“

“Harry.” Draco said softly from where he sat beside him. Harry looked at him desperately, wishing his husband would side with him for once even if he knew that in this argument he never would.

“It’s been longer than usual, but she’s okay. I know she is.”

“How can you just know, these things, Ginny?”

“Because I—“ Ginny didn’t say what she’d been going to. She’d never say it to anyone but the person who needed to hear it. “Look. I know her better than you. Hell, I know her better than anyone. If there was reason to be scared, trust me, I’d be terrified right now. She’ll be here soon. Whether it’s in a week, a day, a month, who cares? She’ll be okay. She always is.”

Harry sighed, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes under his glasses while Draco scanned Ginny’s face carefully. He knew what she’d been about to say from the amount of times he’d almost slipped up when he and Harry were yet to say the words, but if Ginny wanted to keep that to herself that was her call. “I’m sorry.” Harry muttered. “I just worry. Can’t help it.”

“Hero complex.” A gentle smirk climbed Draco’s face as he elbowed Harry gently in the ribs then leant over to kiss Harry’s cheek. “It sweet.” He said against Harry’s skin before moving away. To look over at Ginny, stood leaning against a the counter looking at them sadly. In apology the blonde offered a half smile. Ginny may have not been at the point of saying anything, but she was certainly in a place where she knew Draco could read her as easily as a book. “C’mon. Let’s go, Harry. I’m sure Ginny would appreciate us leaving before the sun rises this time.”

Ginny seemed to be thrown back to herself at these words because when Draco said them she stood up properly, stepping away from the kitchen counter and walking to the hallway. “No, no, you can stay. I’ll make the spare bed for you guys so that—“

Draco put his hand on her upper arm gently. “No need. Really. We have somewhere to be in the morning and Merlin knows we can never leave your house on time.” He didn’t say that she might need the spare bed in case Luna arrived but it was obvious to Ginny what he meant when she looked at him. Draco saw something flicker through her expression but it was gone before he could think of what it was.

Harry and Draco left ten minutes later, leaving Ginny alone. Honestly, she was worried about Luna, it just wasn’t something she felt she could say in front of Harry. He may have been panicking but knowing Ginny was would send him overboard. Since they’d left she’d been sat staring at the cupboards above the counter and nursing her almost empty bottle of beer. The guys had brought a six pack, having one each themselves and leaving the rest for her. She was still on her first and likely wouldn’t drink another.

From the hall her clock pinged and Ginny counted each. It was three in the morning. Draco was right, him and Harry probably could have ended up staying until the sun rose again. It was somewhere around four in the morning now, and Ginny could never get to sleep after that. She knew she should sleep, every time she missed out it was hell to catch up but she’d been struggling recently and to fall asleep when she thought Luna would be at her door any second was never easy.

“Go to bed.” She said to herself harshly, downing the last few mouthfuls of her drink in seconds. And she did got to bed, cleaning her teeth and changing out of her robes in favour of a slightly over sized muggle t-shirt she’d bought at a concert last time Luna had been back. After that she climbed into her bed and fell asleep almost immediately after her head hit the pillow

~~~

Ginny groaned, hearing a tapping. Who the fuck was awake so late? She turned over pulling the pillow further over hear head to drown out the sound. Didn’t anyone get that some people were trying to sleep? She stayed in her bed a moment longer before she remembered who would be tapping this late at night, that it was someone knocking on the door more uncertainly than ever but still in the exact same rhythm she always did. It was Luna.

Without even bothering to put at least some leggings on over her underwear so that her legs didn’t freeze from her cold apartment, Ginny was on her feet, running to the front door. She knocked her hip on the sofa back as she passed it but ignored the slight twinge she’d felt. “I’m here.” Ginny said just loud enough to be heard through the door as she began unlocking it.

Then it was open and there was Luna. And oh, Merlin, maybe Ginny had forgotten just how beautiful she was or maybe somehow Luna looked more gorgeous than usual but she’d lost her ability to breathe for around thirty seconds that they both spent looking at each other, relearning the way the world stopped when they were together.

“Hi.” Luna was the first to speak, an awed smile growing on her face as if she’d just seen the best thing in the world. And maybe she had. Ginny didn’t even try to respond, she only threw her arms around Luna and hugged her tightly. Her face was hurried in the crook of Luna’s neck, blonde hair that was longer than the last time they’d met by inches smothering her.

Eventually, they let go of each other knowing that the hallway was both extremely cold and not the most private place for a reunion. “Harry’s been worrying.” Ginny said once she’d closed the door again, looking over to where the other girl was stood, fingers tracing the intricate wooden pattern of her kitchen table.

“He always worries.” She shrugged, looking up at Ginny with twinkling eyes. “You carved this, right?” Ginny nodded, knowing she was talking about the table. “I could tell. You don’t leave a signature, but your method... it’s very you. Beautiful.”

Ginny fought of a blush. She didn’t know quite what Luna meant by that but she didn’t have to. The words sent her spiralling anyway, even when she knew they were a compliment like most of Luna’s other ones. Vague, ambiguous. They could mean any number of things and whatever someone thought she meant it was always something more obscure. For once it seemed pretty black and white. One thing or another.

“I’ve been worrying, Luna.” Ginny pressed, wanting to move her mind on from where it had been.

Luna’s eyes shut for a moment. “I know.” Merlin, how she knew. Ginny would always ask her to stay, one more night at least. Not once had Luna said no because if there was anyone she missed the most when she was away, it was Ginny. When she left she knew Ginny would spend the week after doing practically nothing but eating and sleeping. Draco had told her too many times that it killed her every time she left. “I’ve missed you so much.” Luna smiled at her.

Ginny could do nothing but return it. “Do you want food? Something to drink?”

“Water would be good, thanks.”

Luna watched her walk to the sink and turned to look at the mantelpiece above the large fireplace. There were a few framed photos of her and her family, Harry and Draco, then on the end one of Luna. It was a few years old now, she could tell from the way her hair fell just below her chin. She scrunched her nose slightly; that never had been her favourite hair cut. It looked as though Luna wasn’t aware of the photo being taken, but she knew she was. The day it was taken sat at the forefront of her mind constantly, though it had taken a moment for her to place the picture.

She was wearing these baggy patchwork dungarees and a t-shirt splattered with paint. She still owned the outfit, buried somewhere in her bag. They’d been painting the furniture Ginny had bought for her bedroom. Covering them all in white paint before Luna asked if she could add on some patterns. Patterns became flowers, mostly sunflowers climbing up the headboard of the bed, and daffodils in grass along the bottom of the footboard. The furniture all matched and by the end they were both covered in paint. Some on their noses and clothes and ankles. It was one of Luna’s favourite memories.

Ginny tapped Luna’s shoulder gently to pull her out of the memory. She’d seen the photo Luna was gazing at but also the glassy look in her eyes. They’d both gone over that day a thousand times without discussing it. “Water.” Ginny smiled.

“Thanks.” Luna took the glass. “Had you been asleep long.”

“Barely. About half three I got to sleep. Harry and Draco left at two.”

Luna nodded slowly, biting the inside of her cheek gently.

“If you’d seen their car would you have come in?” Ginny said quietly, hand finding Luna’s free one between them without saying anything about it.

“Good question. Wish I knew the answer. Probably not.”

“You don’t like them asking loads of questions.”

“And you do?” Luna laughed faintly, the ghost of what her laugh used to be, when they were teenagers in school who didn’t realise their young bliss would end the way it did.

“Good point. Draco’s better than Harry. Even if he knows there’s something going on that you aren’t saying, he leaves it be until you’re ready to say it. If you’re ready to say it.” Ginny was thinking of what she’d said earlier, the way he’d looked through her and seen what her words were going to be before she caught herself. Now Luna was looking her over in an equally perceptive way.

She smiled. “Merlin, he’s really got his head screwed on these days. When we were younger he might as well have been walking on the ceiling.” Somehow when Luna threw out things like that Ginny felt better, like they hadn’t changed in the past eleven years since the war had ended. Even if she knew Luna said things like that just so people worried less about her, thought she was just as happy as she had been in school, it made Ginny feel at home.

“I don’t know. It was less like he was walking on the ceiling more walking on every surface and hoping one of them was right.” She mused, pretending just as much as Luna. They both held their serious expressions for a moment before bursting out laughing. The words were barely something Luna would say now, let alone Ginny and somehow that made them grin. “I’ve missed you, Luna.” Ginny said when they were both standing upright again with easy smiles on their faces. The kitchen had been heavy with an abundance of feelings that were nowhere near the elation she usually felt when Luna returned since Harry had arrived but now, finally, she felt happy.

The look on Luna’s face changed, barely noticeable but it was there. “You have no idea.” Was all she replied before moving onto another topic. Where she’d been in the past four months, the crazy animals she’d encountered and drawn in her sketch book. The excitement in her voice as she spoke of the mermaids she’d met in China with beautiful tails made of red scales and fins that were so thin they were translucent but still strong and gorgeous. She said she’d labelled many of the diagrams and managed to expand her dialect by communicating with a colony in another country.

At five in the morning, the sun was up, and they were sat at the kitchen table. Words had recently stopped flowing but the silence was comfortable. They were sat beside each other, Luna’s left hand and Ginny’s right resting on the table interlocked. Luna’s thumb was gently smoothing over the back of Ginny’s hand. The touch was the only thing keeping her awake. Eventually, they stood up, walking slowly to Ginny’s room, hands swinging between them easily.

Luna pulled her trunk from her pocket and waved her wand, reversing the charm that held it so small. She moved it to a corner of the room so it wasn’t in the way and pulled out some pyjamas. “I’ll be back in a minute.” Ginny had already tucked herself under the covers when she spoke and a fond smile took over her face. A few minutes later she returned to the room wearing a pyjamas Ginny had given her a few years ago, and sat on the side of the bed, taking out her earrings before lying down beneath the duvet.

The slow steady breathing beside her lead Luna to believe Ginny was already asleep, so she rolled over to face the window. Apparently, she’d been wrong, as a few minutes later Ginny took a deep breath, holding it for a second. Searching for words. “Last time...” she began, “last time you were here you said there’d be a time you wouldn’t leave.”

Luna bit her lip, she’d thought Ginny was asleep when she’d said that. “I did.” She rolled back over to face Ginny’s back again, only to come face to face with her. That had surprised her as she hadn’t felt the bed shift or heard the sheets move. Ginny said nothing, but through the darkness she could see a question resting in her eyes. “You’re asking if this is it.” It wasn’t a question, maybe Luna had meant it to be one but by the time the words were out she couldn’t tell.

“You hate it when people ask you to stay.” Ginny muttered, hand finding Luna’s under the covers as if hoping it would stop her leaving.

“Not you.” Luna breathed, removing her hand from Ginny’s grip and moving it to rest on her cheek, brushing strands of red hair back.

“Still, I don’t want to scare you away by asking things you can’t answer. There are so many things I need to say, have needed to say for years, luna, but I haven’t. I can’t, because—“

Luna shuffled closer to Ginny on her side and pressed their lips together gently. The reaction she felt was immediate, Ginny melted. The quickened breaths that had been leaving her stopped completely for a second and then the touch was gone. When Luna next spoke, she had rested their foreheads together. “You won’t scare me away.”

They fell asleep like that, the space between them non existent, hands on faces and foreheads touching, the air they breathed mingling together.

[hauntinghilarity]

(FICTION) The Cosmic Lord, Joelene

First off, I didn't realize I misspelled the name until I looked up what outfits Dolly wore while singing this song. Given I kept referencing lyrics in order to write the parody song... i don't know how that happened either.

Anyway, I had often had the urge to make a song that implied Jolene from Dolly Parton's song was an Eldritch horror ever since I saw a post somewhere on the internet (likely on Reddit in the tumblr subreddit, leading to my confusing uncertainty) that suggested doing just that. It had been in my mind ever since.

So, upon finally doing that... I just felt it wasn't enough to just have the lyrics. Especially as I just rewrote lyrics that already existed. No, no a PARTICULAR damn muse decided that this was not enough. This particular muse had to be brought into the party!

So here is Doc and the woman I made up to sing the song sealing some Cosmic Lord that Doc decided to name Jolene because its horrible, mouth splitting name couldn't otherwise be turned into a song that he could force a human haunted by the said creature to sing. Possibly purely for his own amusement.

Enjoy, I'll add the lyrics alone at the end for those interested.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A hut deep in the middle of the swamps was certainly not where the average problem was solved, this was far from the average problem. Iris had, apparently, found herself in a cosmic love triangle. Not that it could be called that, her husband very clearly was just not that into her. This cosmic entity did not, apparently, take well to rejection.

A unique and maddening plight, Iris had never been one to back down so easily. She wouldn’t have gotten anywhere with that behavior, and her grandparents had taught her act in a far more civilized manner in such trying times. It was the only way to get anything done in these types of situations, especially the situations that one believed to be unique.

Lucky for her, while a strange case, it was not as unique as she believe. Similar instances seemed to be sprinkled through history. Easy to miss or shrug off as the superstition and legends of their more imaginative ancestors. Given the distressing nature of her comatose-yet-deliriously-screaming husband, she was forced to do her best to connect some dots.

To her delight, there seemed to be plenty of more in-depth entries on this and a number of other creatures sprinkled throughout different books she decided to look into. What one might find suspicious, should they not feel the time-ticking on the safety of their loved one, is that a number seemed to have been inserted. A modern book full of laminated pages did not often have a piece of parchment, with the script clearly having been handwritten, fused to the spine as if it had been manufactured in such a manner.

A desperate mind seeking desperate knowledge did not often have the perception to notice these details when time was an issue. Stress had a matter of forcing tunnel vision of even the most powerful of minds. Especially when, regardless of its origin, the details these entries gave her made far more sense compared to the superstition-laden legends she had previously been finding.

She did become rather disturbed when a note was clearly left for her. Just like the rest, it was implanted in the book in such a way that tearing it out would be noticeable, both visually and audibly.

‘Iris, yes YOU Iris,

‘This is getting rather tiresome, and you are reading plenty of notes that have been written for different eyes. This would be far less of an annoyance if you bothered to put the books back where they had been placed. Do you know how long it took for me to understand a dewey decimal system?

‘You meat-bodies have ENOUGh languages that are troublesome enough to learn. Maddening book math is not what I was signing up for. If I had signed up for anything.

‘The book YOU are, or were, supposed to read on your problem you just.. Kept avoiding. Now it is checked out, and I have to write ANOTHER one of these because my attempts to do this subtly and properly got thrown out of whack trying to understand the aforementioned book-math.

‘So, to save us on time and to get something out of this headache that highly benefits the both of us, reading to this point will have given you a sudden feeling.

‘Please do not fret over this. Merely some ink-based shenanigans. Nothing that’ll harm you, it merely saves me placing a map. It will lead you directly to me.

‘That is, if you want to get a particular cosmic parasite yanked from your husband’s dreams.’

Signed, much like the other letters, Doc Boots.

Iris wasn’t entirely certain what part of this bothered her more. The fact it was clearly, and pointedly, directed to her. The fact she was called a meat-body, or that fact that she DID have a very strong desire to take a walk down a particular path found on a particular street that would have her in a particular neck of the woods taking her into a peculiar neck of a swamp that had her find a particular hut.

Many would probably find coming to such a hut in the first place foolhardy, let alone irrational. Irrational problems required irrational solutions. This was far better than the option she was beginning to feel was the best, which involved finding books on Necromancy, deciding if Necromancy worked or not, and using this knowledge to bring a particular horror writer back from the dead to answer a series of pointed questions. This somehow seemed the better deal. If anything, the letter writer could deal with all this morally-gray-supernatural-foolishness.

Regardless, nothing could quite prepare her for what awaited her within the hut that the same odd feeling that lead her here told her was her destination.

The entirety of the inside seemed to be dedicated to the alignment of a single ritual sigil. A dizzying series of circular and fractal designs that weaved throughout the central floor of the hut. Various areas of the floor were raised or lowered with delicate precision to conform to the different areas of the sigil.

Dizzying as it might be, Iris could come to understand that there was a circular, flat area in the center of the entire design where every edge, curve, and rune converged on. The design was covered in runes and symbols that conformed to the shape like an artist obsessed with point-shading. A number of platforms, that took on a shape that vaguely made her note a solar system before all the strange details continued to keep her mind reeling, were raised and held a number of bundled objects. Given the darkened liquids of varying colors, though equally metallic smelling, she was certain she was comfortable being left in the dark.

Strangest of all, the structure was encircled by a number of... Vegetables. While the same size and shape of the numerous vegetables each individual entity made up, stubby stems sprouted from them in order to form the vague shape of limbs. Sunken pits in the shape of spiraling stems formed where they stared out into the world, and sharp cuts where their mouths opened.

The creatures swayed and bounced to a harmony they kept. Strange noises based on the vegetable they were grown from making up a unique melody. One she found oddly familiar. The gourds, such as the pumpkins and squashes, made up a range of deeper breathy tones while the smaller, stalk-like vegetables made increasingly higher pitches.

She was so taken aback by every eldritch detail she had to accept within the hut that it took her a moment to realize that she wasn’t alone, besides the strange sentient vegetables. An androgynous creature that, at first glance, was easily mistaken for a humanoid. The more she focused on him and more her mind allowed her to process, the more she began to second guess her decision. Especially thanks to the petals encircling one of the creature’s equally strange looking eyes.

Not so much out of fear, with her history Iris had become rather hard to spook. She was beginning to feel, at this point, that the supernatural shenanigans she had so rigidly attempted to avoid belief in, less out of a stubborn grip on pure material-sciences and more due to a brief understanding on the power belief held in such beings, were now becoming so… Silly in their abrupt in-your-face hijinks that it had long since plummeted past the point of ridiculousness and was spinning annoyingly around the pit that would send it going down to rock bottom.

Then the notable eye slid from the creature’s orbital cavity, connected by a series of spindly stems that spiraled into a rope that connected from the end of what turned out to be an actual flower and disappeared into the orbital cavity of the creature’s vine-infested skull. The eye that took the space that would normally hold the flowers pistil was intently focused on her, the vine connecting it to the creature’s eye extending outward. ‘Zooming’ in on her features while the other eye seemed to be keeping stock of what seemed to be his odd minions.

“Good. ‘ere I thought I’d been keepin’ de veggie cult practicing for an eternity. Ya meat-bodied creatures just neva’ seem capable on keepin’ a reasonable schedule dese millenia. Makes de plots I bake ta keep de balance HIGHLY difficult. I ‘ope ya know de ‘eadaches I take on ta keep ya bumbling evolved-baboons from killin’ yaselfs. Equally so de fumblin’ evolved-fools that make up what I think are my kind…” The strange creature piped up suddenly.

Iris had a bit of trouble following the creature’s words for a number of reasons. For one, the movement in the creature’s throat was highly distracting. Not only did it alert her to the slithering that seemed to happen under the creature’s skin with every movement, she was becoming increasingly aware that the vines seemed less like a strange quirk and more like an invader. One that was intent on talking to her.

She really hated fire-with-fire situations.

The second problem was that the creature’s voice was mildly off-putting. It snapped between sounding feminine and higher, to a raspy deep tone somewhere between a dying male smoker and a newborn banshee. The latter snapping briefly like the static of a rapidly tuning radio as the slithering vines beneath the creature’s skin worked to play and tune the creature’s larynx, vocal chords, and neck muscles in a complex dance it clearly only somewhat understood. It did not help it seemed to insist on trying its best to put on its best attempt at a Cajun Accent. She had to admit, it helped make the creature’s tone sound more melodic rather than like nails on a chalkboard run through autotune.

The final problem was the creature spoke at an annoyingly excited speed, which made it very hard to tell if the creature was complaining like he was being underpaid for a difficult service or impatient in his excitement to perform whatever service seemed to be on offer.

She finally had to hold up her hands in the hopes it would calm him a moment to interject. To her surprise and delight, he quieted immediately and seemed to be forcing himself to patiently wait for her to speak. She had a small suspicion as to what sort of creature she was dealing with. Her grandparents always told her that, in the case she was suspicious of, it was best to be polite. One catches more pixies with honey than vinegar, or whatever ‘nanaism’ it was.

“Not to disrespect the time and effort you clearly put into getting in touch with me…” Iris relaxed somewhat. The creature seemed to perk up when she spoke to him politely, it seemed it wasn’t the first impression he normally got. Strange as the situation seemed, it seem the perfect amount of lunacy to help her with the dream-whore currently lurking in her comatose husband’s mind. “What is it I may or may not be on time for?”

The flower extending from the creature’s eyesocket perked up a bit, as if it had been startled into remembering what it had been doing, before swiveling to look at the strange ritual that seemed to be waiting for her in the center of the hut.

“Right, right, dis. Well, long story short, I became aware of ya plight. Well, ta be honest, I became aware of de PREVIOUS couple’s plight. A hint too late, sadly. Life’s not to focus on our failures though, merely learn from dem. Dis gave me a startin’ point. It ‘as been a lil bit, but ya seem ta be de latest one bein’ bothered by dis particular problem. De stars merely aligned so dat I can assist. Merely assist thought. I can put all de pieces inta place. It is up ta you ta do de rest.” The previously annoyed sounding tone had been replaced with a far more excited, and somehow quicker, one.

The creature held out a rolled up piece of parchment, giggling to himself as he did. “As ya meat-bodied types seem ta ‘ave trouble wit’ de name dat rings ta mind for m’self, probably would ‘ave issues if anyone understanding dat type’a magic anyway, I been introducin’ myself as Doc Boots. A scholar, but goin’ by ya kind’s stories, I guess ya could call me a witch doctor? What some’a de ones I’d consider colleagues bein’ called. Dat’s besides de point. Dat.”

Doc pointed towards the parchment he had forced into Iris’ hand.

“Dat explains your part. As ya see, I been preparin’ for ya showin’ up. Just got de Veggie cult tuned.” He gestured to the group of sentient, singing, swaying vegetables.

As Iris eyed the scroll she was given, she had a sinking feeling. She recognized what tune the cult was singing. Something the freaky flower seemed to have noticed.

“Oh, good, ya familiar wit’ de song. It required some rewrites, but given de last one who got taken by dis problem it seemed de most fitting. Gotta honor a failed patient afta’ all.” Doc said with a simple, sweet smile. Even as Iris glared daggers at him.

“No, you are clearly messing with me. There is NO way this will work.” Iris protested. She didn’t consider herself much a karaoke singer. Nor a fan of parody, yet apparently, here she was. This could not be real, this had vto be an elaborate prank her husband had set in motion. He always talked about starting up a couple-prank youtube. Denial was hopeful in believing maybe, just maybe, Doc was just and elaborate costume.

Sadly, the creature followed her protested with a good point. “What about dis situation leads ya ta doubt me? Look at me. Would ya truly believe my concept’a a joke involves ya simply singin’ a song ta seal away a cosmic deity I may or may not have drawn de attention of?”

Iris narrowed her eyes. “Not until ya gave too many details.”

Before she could protest further, she found herself standing in the middle of the sigil. The creature returned to the outside of the sigil opposite of her. His hand being placed on a rune carved skull in front of him, placed on the outer ring of the sigil leaving Doc standing just outside of it. “Regardless of who did what, de point’a de matter is what do ya got ta lose from singin’ a song, when de certainty of not singin’ it is some cosmic boogun is gonna use ‘is soul ta decorate ‘er growing pocket dimension?”

Iris stared a moment, then looked at the paper. “Is that why this lyric here is..”

The freaky flower stomped the bundle of vegetable that had long since replaced his host’s foot. “Ya not ‘ere because I needed critique on my song lyrics! I personally think I did q-REGARDLESS of the origins of lyrics, ya must sing it wit’ conviction. Sing it wit’ anger and a need ta fight.”

Opening her mouth once more, Doc seemed to know immediately it wasn’t to sing. His hand snapped up, and with a snap of his fingers, a purplish green glow shot through the runes on the ground, lighting up any that the ‘pulse’ that radiated from the creature ran into on its way to the woman in the center.

Before she could react, the pulse interacted with her. She didn’t even have to look down. She knew in her gut and the immediate clear smart-ass nature of the creature she had to deal with what fate had been forced on her.

She found herself in a familiar white suit befitting a well-known country singer, with an elegant design created from what she assumed to be diamonds. It was magically created, it had to be diamonds. It had not been elegantly enchanted onto her. Instead of replacing her outfit, going by the bunched fabric of the outfit she had been wearing poofing from the open chest of the jacket. The creature had just shoved her into her and called it a day. As she lifted her head to protested, she was quieted by the fact the outfit included a well-secured wig. Going by how it shifted, she was certain she probably now looked like the singer of the song the ritual was clearly based off of.

Giving a deep sigh, her shoulders dropping, she figured she might as well. If anything, this entire damn experience had distracted her from her problems at hand. The vine riddled being would at least be useful to fling at a cosmic beast should all else fail.

“Should match de beat fairly well. De one writin’ it was mildly under duress. As I popped outta nowhere and demanded it. I always forget I need ta lead wit’ de money ‘n riches first. Otha’wise, for whateva’ reason, ya meat bodies just think Imma rob ya. If I am what I think I am, de place dat I draw power from wouldn’ take too kindly ta me stiffin’ someone on a deal. Especially not an artist. Now! De outfit should ‘elp inspire ya. Didn’ shove ya in it purely for shits ‘n giggles. As de beat starts, just get goin’ and ya should be fine.” The flower did its best to console her.

“De veggie cult is doin’ de work’a dancin’ ta keep de fabric’a reality around ya secure enough. Just keep singin’, me ‘n de sigil I built will do de work’a keepin’ ya protected. Oh, and before ya ask, no. De thing’s name ain’ exactly Joelene. Ain’ even spelled like de song, but I was able to put some loopholes inta de belief and understandin’ of de writer. None of us could pronounce it, and it’d make a rather poor song anyway. Luckily, de previous couple was rather obsessed wit’ de song ‘n de boogun decided ta roll wit’ dat. Dey really must learn ta stop leavin’ lil loop’oles. My kind’s king’a dem!” Doc giggled wildly and gestured to the singing vegetables.

The ‘cult’ of vegetables surrounding her stopped for a moment, before restarting the beat they had been practicing. Iris gave a heavy sigh and, otherwise without options, began to sing.

“Joelene, Joelene, Joelene, Joelene,

Invoke thy name because you took my man.

Joelene, Joelene, Joelene, Joelene,

You won’t take him just because you can. “

To her surprise, as she began to sing the walls of the hut, illuminated by strategically placed candles, cast shadows that made it appear as if a group were dancing around them, based on how everything had been lined up. The flicker of the candle and sway of the cult must have been the cause.

From the back of her mind she felt an odd tug. The world at the end of her perception flickered and swayed like the illusion cast by heated air. She did her best to cast her concern and sing with conviction, with strength. Her dearest depended on it, and she would be damned if her husband would be taken by something Lovecraft should have vomited out.

“A form humans can’t come to bare,

With captured souls turned into hair,

Eldritch Skin,

And eyes countless,

it seems…”

She could have sworn she felt something behind her. At that very moment, Doc slammed his vegetation laden foot onto the beginning to the sigil’s runic circle. A more concentrated and steady glow, like before, began to spread throughout the sigil. As it made contact with each pedestal, the runes scribbled over the cloth covering the bundle would glow bright enough to cover the object in its blinding light, before bursting into a sea of glowing balls.

These wisps of light buzzed around the circle, and they seemed to be collecting behind her. Iris held back a flinch, as she swore she could sense something screaming. She did not know how to describe it, as the only noise she heard was crafted for the ritual. The screaming, however, felt like it was radiating from her very subconscious. Like it was somehow coming from somewhere far, far away and only its faintest echoes could be felt behind her.

Somehow, this replaced her uncertainty with hope. She began to sing with more confidence. The concern replaced by the fire of her rage, which she pumped into the words. It seemed to have an effect, as the glowing runes at her feet added an orange hue to the show of color which rippled out to the remaining runes.

“Your smile cracks across their dreams,

Your Presence warps reality,

And yet here I stand against you,

Joelene.”

Bit by bit the offerings were consumed. Her vision warped in lines around the sigil. Something her mind refused to admit was surrounding her was moving in rapid, frantic trails. The screaming, she felt in her gut, was originating from this strange anomaly in her vision. This must be the beast that was tormenting her husband. This had to be her prey.

“You’ve come to take him in his sleep,

But there’s nothing I can do to keep,

From trying, as he screams your name,

Jolene.

From what I’ve come to understand,

You’ve stolen the souls of countless men,

To shape your own destiny,

Joelene.“

As the anomaly continued to frantically flail through her vision, she felt there was power in the anger she had begun to harbor for this creature. The despair and trauma her relationship had undergone due to this horror, she felt, could be pumped into her words in order to give them more power.

As all the runes that covered the sigil found their glow and all the offerings had begun to consume, the area directly beneath the rapidly moving anomaly gained a brighter glow, tracking and following it as the light pulsed towards the skull Doc held, his mouth moving rapidly in a quiet chant.

“You forced my little talk with you,

This song I sing will capture you,

Not matter what you try to do,

Joelene.

Joelene, Joelene, Joelene, Joelene,

The cosmic lord that tried to take my man,

Joelene, Joelene, Joelene, Joelene,

Sealed away, she won’t try that again."

Doc joined her, backing up the repetition of the name they had forced upon the entity. The blurring anomaly in her vision was forced into the glow beneath it. The sigil, glow, and runes slid rapidly beneath her, encircling the glowing bundle she assumed was the newly captured ‘Joelene’.

"Joelene, Joelene."

The final runes that lead to the skull seemed to be sucked into the upper jaw of the skull. The entire strange scene finally got sucked into the skull, which kept an ethereal glow in its sockets and runes, but otherwise, held no clues towards what the entity with in was. It seemed to have even sucked up the outfit and wig that had been forced on her.

Doc picked up the skull, beaming in delight. “Well, should I be correct on our timin’, ya husband shouldn’ ‘ave been so deep in ‘er clutches dat dat would’a caused ‘im de slightest bit’a ‘arm. Should be makin’ ‘is way back ta ‘is body through de dreamlands as we speak! Might not be awake when ya get dere, but will be soon enough.”

Now clearly preoccupied with the skull in his hand, the strange creature gestured to the door. Clearly indicating it was time for her to make her leave. “De contents of dis skull is all de payment I need. No need ta concern ya’self otha’wise. De danger dat could ‘ave befallen you or your husband and my choice ta withhold dat knowledge from ya until now will be considered enough payment.”

Iris was rather overwhelmed. She wasn’t even certain she was even living out this experience and not dreaming of it in a fury of sleep deprivation. She couldn’t quite feel any relief. In fact, she felt rather numb. She was rather certain, thanks to the lunacy of this entire event, she would find herself waking with a start huddled in her husband’s hospital room.

The vegetables began to force a line and hop, one by one, into the mouth of a pumpkin whose mouth had opened wide enough to accommodate them. She could swear that, instead of the inside of a pumpkin, she saw a strange and horrifying orange world filled with the strange, sentient vegetables. Maybe she would prefer it be a dream after all.

Shaking this belief and concern off, Iris quickly took the opening given to her and immediately fled from the hut and the swamp it was in, content to be back with her beloved and as far from this lunacy as possible.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Joelene, Joelene, Joelene, Joelene,

Invoke thy name because you took my man.

Joelene, Joelene, Joelene, Joelene,

You won’t take him just because you can.

A form humans can’t come to bare,

With captured souls turned into hair,

Eldritch Skin,

And eyes countless,

it seems…

Your smile cracks across their dreams,

Your Presence warps reality,

And yet here I stand against you,

Joelene.

You’ve come to take him in his sleep,

But there’s nothing I can do to keep,

From trying, as he screams your name,

Jolene.

From what I’ve come to understand,

You’ve stolen the souls of countless men,

To shape your own destiny,

Joelene.

Joelene, Joelene, Joelene, Joelene,

You made a poor choice trying to take my man,

Joelene, Joelene, Joelene, Joelene,

You won’t take him just because you can.

You could have had your choice of man,

But then you came into my den,

You can not keep him from me,

Joelene.

You forced my little talk with you,

This song I sing will capture you,

Not matter what you try to do,

Joelene.

Joelene, Joelene, Joelene, Joelene,

The cosmic lord that tried to take my man,

Joelene, Joelene, Joelene, Joelene,

Sealed away, she won’t try that again.

Joelene. Joelene.

[halfbloodlycan]

Pathfinder (Evil Campaign) Story

“You’re Mitsu, right?” A fellow in the tavern asked her. He had been eying her ever since she walked in. She kept her ears and tail visible as she played her gong in mournful salute to a patron who died the previous day to an animal attack. She ignored the man’s question and continued beating the gong through to the end of the song. When she was finished, and collecting the gold the patrons had given her, the man approached her again. “You are Mitsu, aren’t you?” She caught a glimpse through his illusion, a silver kitsune with a strong aura of magic flowing around him. Her ears twitched with irritation, “I was in the middle of something.” One of the grateful patrons had some useful information for her that would benefit the thieves guild. That fox had been a mentor in her early years, guiding her into dangerous situations all for the sake of ‘training’. “Kotu, what do you want this time?” The kitsune frowned, “I’m hurt by the tone in your voice. You might as well have stabbed me.” He took a drink from a nearby table, the patron it belonged to was too drunk to notice. Kotu sipped at the drink, “I need you to get the head of the kitsune clan leader, Raigo. The bastard keeps stealing from my warehouse.” “Raigo, hmm?” Her gong disappeared into thin air. “What do I get out of that? More praise for doing your dirty work? If you hate Raigo so much, go kill him yourself.” She went over to the bar and pointed at him, “Drinks on him,” and headed out the door. The rest of the group had to be nearby. Vance, Lilith, Zygurd. Her ears caught the shuffling noise of Kotu following her. She whirled around and growled a warning, “I’m not doing shit for you. Fuck off!” He twirled his tail in his hands nonchalantly. “Oh? But I have a friend of yours who asked for you. What was his name? The anti-paladin human?”   “Bullshit, he would’ve crushed your skull before you could so much as look at him.” She had seen it first hand when he had wrecked a few bantering mercenaries. Then there was that time he sliced a man open for spilling his drink, then set the tavern on fire. “How he was captured is none of your concern,” the kitsune replied. “Although, I must say I was deeply surprised by how much he can drink. A mistrusting human can certainly be goaded into drinking a lot.” “Regardless, he certainly wouldn’t ask for me. What makes you think he needs my help? He’s probably escaped and looking for you as we speak.” Her tail twitched, and her ears flattened back defensively. The roads were relatively quiet this time of day, and she had managed to wander across town with no sign of her comrades. Kotu gave her a broad smile that made her want to punch him in his sly face. “If I send you his arm, would you change your mind? I haven’t had them cut it off yet but…” He looked thoughtfully into the sky. “Perhaps I’ll send them the go-ahead now. He’ll feel pretty useless with only one arm.” A one armed anti-paladin would be pretty useless… “You don’t need time to think it over, do you? You can search the town all you like, but all you’ll find is a package with an unpleasant surprise should you decline me right now.” “If you show me he’s still in one piece, I’ll do it.” Kotu grinned, “Of course.” # # #

She followed him to a compound down by the docks. The docks appeared to be part of a bigger cascade of tents and vendors all selling eyes, and parts of animals she couldn’t identify. A stall garnished with kitsune tails made her clutch her own to her chest, and change her appearance to hide her nature. Kotu seemed unaffected. He saw these stalls all the time. They stopped at a wooden junk heap of a warehouse that looked as easy to light up as kindling. If Vance was still here, she would be surprised. Inside, they went through a series of hallways until they reached a door that was open, and leading to a room full of cages. The bars dug deeply into the rotting wood, beneath the wood she could see flecks of metal. “The floor beneath the cells is metal covered by the wood. The building was made strangely.” He stopped her from entering. “Beneath this part of the floor, there is only one path. The rest is full of pit traps that’ll rip you to shreds.” Vance was in one of the cells at the far end of the room. His great sword leaned against the wall as far away from the brooding anti-paladin as they could get within the same room. He was in one piece, but there were no guarantees he would stay that way. “I have to kill Raigo? That’s it, right?” She hadn’t seen the kitsune leader since she had been recruited by the Bloodstones, and she hadn’t fulfilled her mission to him yet either. Kotu gave her a sly grin, “Yes. I’ll even let the anti-paladin go. You have my word.” Such an honorable fox, she thought sarcastically. He actually thought she believed him. She was certain the moment she brought back Raigo’s head would be the moment he would kill her and Vance. Luckily, he was so caught up in his game with her, he didn’t notice when she swiped the keys to the cell. She could get across with almost no issue, but getting Vance out of the room would be difficult.   A sultry voice called to Kotu and he rushed down the hall to answer the call. How lucky for her. Mitsu leapt through the room and unlocked the cage door. “If you get my sword, I can take care of the traps,” Vance said. She made it to the sword with no problem, but the thing was a little heavy for her, and as she made her way back to the cell, she stumbled. The floor opened up beneath her, she was so close to the cell. The sword caught the edges of the pit and she dangled above several rows of sharp spikes that jutted up from the floor. Vance lifted the blade from the pit with her clinging to the sword for her life. When her feet touched the ground, she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. There was a pattern to the traps that Vance quickly disabled. He sliced through the floor and revealed the only safe path. The warehouse was eerily quiet as they left. There was no sign of Kotu, and no sultry female voice telling them to stop. Mitsu took a torch from the pack she’d been carrying and handed it to Vance. “You’re burning it down?” “You’re not mentioning this to the others,” Was his only response. The flames climbed to the roof like a hungry animal, devouring the wood. By some magic, the surrounding tents and buildings didn’t catch fire. The walk back to the inn was silent save for the clanking armor. It was hardly worth reminding her that this would be kept between them or she would find herself six feet under the burning ashes of the warehouse. Lilith and Zygurd had hardly noticed their absence. “Where were you?” Lilith chided. “Did you hear about the fire by the docks? You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” “We had a business deal to take care of. It might’ve gotten a little out of hand,” Mitsu lied. “Did you find anything out about the-” Vance tapped her on the shoulder and she stopped cold when she saw Kotu seething at the door to the inn. He hadn’t noticed them yet. She could see beyond his poor disguise, singed fur on his ears and tail. The lobby was filled with people oblivious to the rising tension Mitsu felt. Her mind flashed back to the tavern incident when no one survived except her. In an effort to clear the area, she created an illusion of a monster coming down the stairs. There were screams as people scrambled for the door to get as far away from the creature as possible. It roared into the crowd, but Kotu easily saw through the simple illusion and glared at them as he dodged the flow of the crowd. He disappeared into the crowd so fast, Mitsu lost track of him for a moment. “Ow,” Vance winced. He turned to grab the silver fox who nicked him, but Kotu dodged out of his vision. “All I need is this,” The kitsune sang. He disappeared again, this time Zygurd felt the same sting of a knife pricking him. The snake grabbed him with his tail and crushed the laughing Kitsune’s body. Kotu continued to laugh hysterically. A voice sucked the life from the remaining patrons in the room. Those who tried to leave were greeted by a tall woman with blood red hair and a shimmering green outfit. She spoke to them in sharp whispers, and they appeared to fall dead with stab wounds- Mitsu could see the extra arms that the woman was hiding under the illusion. Each hand held a sharp blade dripping blood. The woman licked each blade. Kotu had dragged himself over to the woman. He held up the blade for her and she tasted the blood. “Mmm, human? This place is so full of human.” She drolled. “Which one? The one in the armor over there?” She glided over to the group, catching Mitsu’s horrified face. The woman bent down to stroke her cheek. “Little fox, can you see through my illusion? How impressive.” She turned her attention to Vance, “Oh my, I feel like you’re suppressing something. Why don’t you take off that ring? I need to see your aura.” He tried to back away from her caress, but she pulled him forward like a puppet, unable to control his own movements. She plucked the ring from his finger, “Oh, quite the vicious aura you have there.” She put the ring back. “You’d be perfect for…” she trailed off into a fit of maniacal laughter. She glanced over at the tiefling and the naga, “What about you two? Some skill with magic, and a voracious appetite? Your little group sounds like a perfect fit. If you come serve me, I’ll make it worth your while.” Her sultry voice had a slight hiss to it as she broke the illusion. Her extra four arms, wielding four blades, were restless at her sides. Her eyes were slits reminiscent of Zygurd’s snakelike features, and her body was covered head to toe in shimmering green scales. “Andirifkhu, sometimes known as the Razor Princess, or Mistress of a Thousand Cuts. Take your pick.” Mitsu was quick to give in, seeing how easily she had controlled Vance. Lilith must’ve noticed it too, because she was just as quick to pick sides. Vance crossed his arms, “Why would we do that again?” He felt the tug again and this time, he pulled out his blade and held it up to his throat. Zygurd felt a similar tug on his arm, drawing his axe without any control. “Because if you don’t, you are worthless to me,” her voice was as sharp as knives. “Make your decision quickly. It’s because of your blood that I control you now.” Vance sighed in resignation. “I don’t really have a choice then, do I.” ###

[pandabearlikes]

My Husband, Kim JunMeow

Table of Contents 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Chapter o4. Perfect Son-in-Law

“Well??  When is he going to have this discussion with me?” my father asks for the billionth time.  Biting my nails, I pace around my room and try to brainstorm some excuse in between ‘uhs’ and ‘ums’.  “And don’t tell me he’s busy.”

“Dad…” I plea for his mercy.

Perched comfortably at the foot of my bed, like the cute little fluffy potato he is, JunMeow blinks and listens intently to my conversation after witnessing my hair pulling and silent grunts.  His toys sprawl all over the mattress; he plays with the bright lattice ball with his tiny paws so that the jingle of the bell rings as background music.  

“Honey…” my mother’s voice sighs after my father passed off the phone.  

I stop in my tracks and chew my lower lip.  That tone of voice is only ever used when she’s heavily disappointed in me.  Naturally, I take a seat on my bed.  JunMeow climbs onto my lap and tilts his head up as if asking, “What’s wrong?".  I stroke his fur as I await my mother’s words.  Tears already gloss over my eyes.

“Meow…?” the kitty meeps but I hold a finger to my lip.  

“It’s your father’s birthday soon…do you want him to be stressed and unhappy even then?” she guilt-trips.  

My lips flatten to prevent myself from bursting into tears.  Sensing my impending breakdown, JunMeow nestles himself closer and wiggles his body, so that his fur tickles my skin.  I almost let out a giggle.  

“Bring your husband to your father’s birthday dinner,” the older female instructs.

“But—“

“No ‘buts’!” she cuts me off and hangs up.  

Groaning, I fall back against the bed with the cat still against my abdomen.  “Argh, what am I going to do?!” I whimper into my palms.  Junmeow walks up my torso and chest.  “Ooow…” I complain but he quiets me with his gentle pats of my head.  My face of aggravation cracks into a small smile.  But I won’t admit it.  I don’t like cats…

“What use are you, you smelly little butt?” I pout and play with his two front paws.  “You can’t pretend to be my husband like Kim Junmyeon can…” I sigh.  

“Meow~” the majestic feline trudges back down my chest and starts to knead my tummy.

Running my fingers through my hair, I ponder out loud, “Where is he?”  It’s been two weeks.  “He said he would come back…” and he needs to come back soon…

With a grunt, I fetch a mouse toy from under my head.  It’s wet with saliva.  “Eww,” I comment and lightly smack my cat’s bum.  He stops his kneading and comes up to play with me.  I place the toy on the top of his head, causing him to go crossed eye, and eventually falling backward against my abdomen.  Laughing, I straighten up and attack him with tickles on his exposed belly.  Elated purrs vibrate into my ears; he marks his human with gentle love bites.    

What am I doing.  No I don’t love this cat.  

I lean over and kiss him on his pink nose.  

“Meow~  =＾♥ ⋏ ♥ ＾=,” JunMeow gazes up at me with lovestruck eyes and a moment of de ja vu hits me.  I swear I’ve seen those unique shining orbs before.  

Shaking away the unexpected feeling, I poke his tummy and ask, “You hungry?”

“Meow!” my cat chirps, his adorable paws roll against his cheeks…and it’s just so cu—

“Come on, let’s fatten you up,” I say.  Tossing my legs over the bed, I pick JunMeow up and head to the kitchen.  “Man…you’re leaving your toys everywhere; clean up after yourself, will ya,” I playfully scold.  

~

It’s today.  My father’s birthday dinner is in two hours and he’s expecting his son-in-law’s presence.  But said son-in-law is nowhere in sight.  Habitually, I pace around the room like a lost kitten.  Nail biting, hair clawing, staccato breaths.  I’m already dressed in an off-the-shoulder maroon chiffon dress as if I’m really daring to arrive without my male companion.  

“Meow?” my cat tilts his head and lets his gaze follow me around the room.  The black suit and tie on my bed remains unclaimed for another thirty minutes.  

I skid to a stop.  My head lifts up.  “Should I just tell the truth?” I ask in a defeated tone.  Guilt sinks into the pit of my stomach.  

“Meow…”

“I shouldn’t have lied in the first place…” I sadly conclude as I look into my cat’s pearly eyes.  “How am I going to explain having a naked man on my bed?” my lips ripple at the thought of the disappointment on my parents faces.

My phone buzzes.  With my head low and ashamed, I swipe the screen and slowly bring the device up to my ear.  JunMeow dashes away, abandoning me to do this unfortunate call by myself.  

“Hi Dad…Happy Birthday…” I start.

Sprinting into the bathroom, JunMeow back kicks the door shut and uses the force of both paws to turn the bathtub faucet on.  His soft pads slip and slide but he is adamant about completing his mission.  At last, success, water starts to spray down from the shower head.  The majestic creature tilts his head up and does the unthinkable by surrendering himself to a bath.  Cats hate baths - well, most of them and JunMeow is not an exception.  But for today, he’d brave it out…Splatter, splatter, splatter.  His fur coat glows in silvery sheen.  Splatter, splatter, splatter.  He allows water to soak into his pores.

“…I have a confession to make…” I bite my lip and say, “Kim Junmyeon isn’t who you think he is…he’s not my hus—“

The bathroom door swings open with dramatic force.  I whip my head around to face Kim Junmyeon.  Streams of liquid rush down the contours of his bare body.  A bath towel ties around his hip.  My eyes widen and I almost drop my phone.  Gulping, I grab hold on the sofa arm to aid my wobbling legs.  

“He is not what?” my father snaps on the other end of the call.  

Light-headed and bewildered at the sudden turn of events, I fail to form words from my lips.  My eyes tail Junmyeon as he advances toward me.  If he was handsome before, he’s Godly in this moment.  His wet hair makes parts of my body perk alive.  Water trails down his jawline, collecting at his chin and it takes the control of my entire being not to eat him up then and there…because the thirst is real. Inches from me, he retrieves the phone from my hands.

“Sir, sorry, we’re stuck in traffic but will be there as soon as possible,” Junmyeon remarks into the phone.  Even his voice is a little huskier and it turns me on.  I suck in my breath and handcuff my own hands behind my back.  “Yes.  Mhmm…Sir.  I apologize; I’ve been busier than normal, lately.  Yes, Mmhm…” he replies.  My tongue moistens my lips.  It doesn’t help that I’m ovulating.  

When he’s done with the call, I discover myself already under hypnosis.  My dilated pupils dart back and forth.  He’s innocent but can tell through my labored breathing and constant lip licking that I’m aroused.  It doesn’t help that in his cat form, he has witnessed my late night sexual frustrations and my sudden awakenings from wet dreams calling for “Kim Junmyeon.”  I want him to touch me.  Automatically, my hip bucks forward.  

In his eyes, I’m the same but different today.  Putting effort into my appearance really works wonders but it’s my slow movements, sultry part of the lips, and gentle tracing of my fingertips down his arm that gets him derailed from his logic resolve.  

“Hey…” he’s first to break the silence and greet.  His fingers run along my jawline and loops a strand of hair behind my ear.  

“You covered yourself today…” I mention, almost a little annoyed by the fact.  However, a moment standing still in front of him is a moment too long for my burning core.  

“Yeah, I didn’t have time to run into the bedroom to grab some clothes.  What would you like me to wear today?” he breathes.

Nothing.

“Junmyeon-ah…” I press my palm against his bicep and call.

“Hmm?”

“Let’s have se—“

The vibration of my phone interrupts my request.  Flattening my lips, I answer the call.  “Dad, we’ll be right there…” I report with a hint of annoyance.  In front of me, Junmyeon signals that he’s going into my room to get dressed.  I nod and take a seat on my sofa to finish the call with my helicopter father.  

When Junmyeon comes out, I soon realize that I need to never dress him in a suit ever again.  The fitted outfit left only so much to imagination and it’s crazy but he appears even sexier than before.  With his lower lip protruded out, he heads over to me and confesses that he doesn’t know how to tie a tie. It’s so cute and innocent, but sexy.  Forgive me, I’m just a young hormonal woman.  As I wrap the tie around his neck, my brain fills with sinful images.  Secretly, I wanted him to spank me while eating me up.  

Noticing my lost trance, my pretend husband shakes me a bit.  My name slips out of his lips and I just ‘bout lost my head.  It takes me three tries to get the tie on correctly.  

“Let’s go,” the male takes my hand and encourages.

In the backseat of the taxi, I’m finally calmed down enough to comprehend the situation.  Junmyeon had somehow miraculously rescued me in the nick of time, again.  And without my fogged brain and hyper hormones, I can conclude that this man in black suit is seriously in his own league of visual perfection.  

“Do you know what’s happening today?” I softly inquire.  

Squeezing our intertwined hands, he nods and says, “Yeah, you told me.  We’re going to your father’s birthday dinner.”

“Wait…when did I tell you?” I tilt my head and jolt a bit to the fact that he had obliviously brought our interlocked hands to rest against his thigh.

“You’ve been stressed about it for over two weeks…” he reasons.  That’s true but it still didn’t answer my question.  I shrug it off anyway.  

“My father’s not going to be easy…” I warn.

“I know,” he squeezes my hand again with reassurance.  My heart can’t stop drumming loudly into my ears.  

~

“Ah, there they are!” my mother, who has been desperately trying to calm my impatient and grumpy father, hops up in her seat and announces Junmyeon and my attendance.

“Mum,” I let go of Junmyeon’s hand to hug my excited mother.  

Straightening myself and dusting off my dress, I turn to my father and greet, “Hi Dad…”

He clears his throat and gives Junmyeon and me a curt nod.  The two of us are scurried to take the empty chairs on the round table.  Immediately, I start dissecting the Grilled Tuna and piling the most delicious parts onto Junmyeon’s plate.  Meanwhile, the gentleman unfolds a handkerchief and places it onto my lap.  

“This is Bluefin Tuna!  It’s expensive and really yummy.  You should eat more,” I whisper into my husband’s ear when he gives me a confused look and holds his hands out to tell me it’s enough.  

“Ahem,” my dad clears his throat again.  

My name hisses from my mother’s lips.  “Serve some to your dad too,” she scolds.

Lips form in an “O”.  Embarrassed, I nervously laugh and pick up the chopsticks to serve my father some food, as instructed.  But Junmyeon beats me to it - he takes his own plate of Bluefin Tuna and offers it to his father-in-law.  The latter’s eyes lit up, surprised but impressed by Junmyeon's actions.  

“Sir, please try some.  I heard they’re the most expensive fish in the world,” he politely offers.  As he sits down, I tug on the bottom of his sleeve and frown.  

“I gave you the fish belly, called Toro, - it’s the most delicious part!” I susurrate with a pout.  Smiling, Junmyeon pats my hand.

“What is this?  Already doting the husband so much that you don’t remember you have a father?” the older male grunts.  

Frowning at his passive aggressiveness, I grumble, “That’s not it, Dad.  It’s just that fish is Junmyeon’s favorite food and he’s never tried Bluefin Tuna before.”

“Should I give it back to your husband then?” my father challenges.

With a grimace, I part my lips to argue but Junmyeon takes hold of my hand and tugs me to sit back into my seat.  My mom throws me a look of disapproval.    

“No, it’s fine, Sir,” he assures, “Today is your birthday; you must eat well and be happy.”  The young man’s maturity douses the older man's fire.  He accepts and begins to eat the Toro first, in a purposeful manner, I know is set to push my buttons.  

Instead, I flatten my lips, pick up my chopsticks, and begin to grab a variety of food onto a plate.  This time, I serve my mother first and all my aunts, uncles, and cousins one by one, so that they wouldn’t nitpick and use my ill-manner to target my husband.  By the time I get to Junmyeon’s plate, only parts of the head and tail of the extravagant dish are left.  Still, he beams and munches on his meal with gratitude.  

“Is it good?” I muse as my lips naturally curve up at the sight of his joyous expression.

“Mmhm!” he nods, “Do you want some?”

Shaking my head, I lie, “I had some the other day.”

Amidst the noisy family conversations, Junmyeon and I start to feel like we're in our own little world.  It’s almost like a date.  My tummy flip flops.  Every time, the two of us try to talk, the rambunctious dinner-mates make it impossible to hear so we end up leaning over and whispering into each other’s ears.  His warm and concentrated breath tickles the croak of my neck and I let out a giggle.  He laughs along, blessing my world with his signature, soft, and unpretentious smile.  Motivated by my enraptured face, Junmyeon whispers a joke into my ears.  In all honesty, he’s not entirely cut out to be a comedian but the fact that he’s trying to make me laugh earns him massive brownie points.  At one point, I end up laughing so hard, I belch over and almost fall off my chair.  My male companion hooks an arm around my waist to steady me.  I press my hand against his arm to encourage him to keep it there even after I’m steady in my seat.

“So where have you been?” I bring up.  I missed you.

“I was with you the whole time,” he honestly answers.  His thumbs rubs the small of my waist without his own knowledge.  It sends sparks down my spine.  

“Are you trying to pull some pick up line and say you were in my heart the whole time or something?” I raise my brow and tease.

Junmyeon shakes his head and refills my glass of water.  

“Do you have a lover somewhere?” I try my best to cover up my interest by munching on some strawberries.  

“Uh…” Junmyeon rubs his neck.

I gasp.

“…Do you count?” he innocently ask.  I hide my growing smile by turning away.

Unknown to us, my parent’s eyes are like laser beams, observing our every move.  They watch as my eyes curve into happy arches, my lips tremble from laughing so hard, and how Junmyeon took off his jacket and placed it around my bare shoulders even before my first sneeze.  My mother pats the back of her husband’s hand, the latter settles back into his seat.  

“Do you want some lamb chops?” I inquire as I spin the lazy susan.

“No, I can’t eat lamb,” he addresses.  

“Oh,” I mouth and then crinkle my nose, “That’s okay; they’re not that good anyway.”

The handsome male chuckles and nods.  Setting down the utensils, I lift my hands up to fix his collar, only to be interrupted by a hand on my shoulder.  

“Hey!” the husky voice greets.  

Light dims in my eyes as I recognize the sharp features of my childhood friend, Kim Minseok.  My vision lands on his hands, which are intertwined with a beautiful and feminine woman's.  Her ring finger sports a shiny engagement band.

“Long time no see,” Minseok grins, “How are you?”

“Ye-yeah…long time no see…” I breathe and lower my head. Junmyeon’s brows twitch to my downcast mood.  Braving on a wide smile, I say, “Good.  What about you?”

“Great!  I’m actually getting married soon,” Minseok merrily announces and ends the statement by lacing my name with the same silky voice I recalled from years ago.  It throws me into a world of nostalgia.  “Come to our wedding."  

“Oh!  Minseok-ah!  It’s Minseok!” my mother calls with delight.  Even my father gets up with both his hands outstretched and his face glowing with elation.  Away from the spotlight, I drop my head and take a sip of wine.  My male companion peers at me with concern but I’m too engulfed in my own thoughts to acknowledge him.  Kim Minseok wasn’t only some childhood friend but my unofficial betrothed.  Our families used to ship us together and tease us so much that I started to harbor romantic feelings for him.

“Ah, Minseok.  I heard your father’s company is doing really well!  And WOW, what a beautiful fiancé.  You have such good taste!” the older woman praises and it shoots bullets into my heart.  I down my glass of wine and take Junmyeon’s too.  “Good thing you didn’t choose our plain jane…” my mother continues and I understand it’s a forceful speech to show humbleness while complimenting the opposite party but in that moment, it hurt.  

“Hey…” my pretend husband attempts to get my attention while I indulge in alcohol.  

“Aigoo, our daughter doesn’t have the privilege to be with you…” my parent’s words make me want to vomit.  “You’re the perfect son-in-law anyone could ever have."

Privilege?  

“What’s wrong with being with Junmyeon?” I murmur louder than I thought.

They turn to me and immediately, my father makes a negative remark about my semi-drunken state.  I counter by repeating the same question.  

“Why are you discussing this like I’m invisible?!” I squawk.  Normally, I suck down the disrespect but today, I’m burning with rage.  My nails scratch at the surface of the wine glass as my head totters.  No one responds.  “Why are you discu…cussing this like I’m trash that nobody wants?!” I reiterate, this time louder, but more slurred.  For the first time, my family ceases their conversation.  It’s completely quiet as I struggle to pour myself some more wine.  Beside me, Junmyeon takes the wine bottle from me and whispers something into my ears but I don’t quite comprehend in my inebriated state.

“I’m married already!” I shout, “Stop linking me to that man who didn’t love me!”  

My mother hisses and my father stomps his foot on the ground.  “Look, look at her!  Would you just look at your daughter,” he automatically attributes the parental failure to his wife.  “She can’t even behave during my birthday dinner!”

“Behave?!” I jolt up onto my feet, causing Junmyeon to almost have a heart attack because he had been holding onto me to prevent me from toppling over.  “How exactly do you want me to behave, Father?!” I challenge.  

The middle-aged man scoffs and turns away in utter fury.  It’s a sign for my mother to run around the table to force an apology out of me.  I fling her away, the force almost sends my own body falling forward had Junmyeon not caught me.  Again, the sweet son-in-law swallows down the insults and tries to calm me down with his whispers but when I’m drunk, I lose control of my temper.  

“Like an innocent doll?” I sarcastically say, “Can’t do this.  Can’t do that?”

“Take her away,” my mother alerts Junmyeon when she realizes that my two decades worth of bottled up emotions are finally going to burst.

“Can’t have sex before marriage because it’s a sin?” I fuss, “Meanwhile, Dad, you’re having sex with multiple women behind Mum’s back?!”

A hard slap lands across my face.  I gasp and turn to stare at my mother, who grabs onto her pulsating hand with tears rushing down her eyes.  Lifting my palm, I try to apply pressure onto my bruised cheek but soon realize that Junmyeon’s hand is already cupped around my face.  I turn to him, tears uncontrollably falling down my eyes.

“Junmyeon, take her away,” my mother demands.

Nodding, he rounds his strong arms under my thighs and behind my back and lifts me up.  I go in and out of consciousness, only, recalling being inside a taxi and my heading bouncing up and down Junmyeon’s shoulder as words slurred from my lips.

“Why’d he take your tuna?” I whine.  Of all the things to complain about…

Junmyeon pets me on the head and kisses my earlobe, “It’s okay.”

“He eats it all the time!” I carp, “I can’t afford Bluefin Tuna for you…I wanted you to get some to eat…”

“I did, my Love, I did and it was delicious,” he strokes my head and replies.

“You did?” I pop up, sniffle back tears, and ask as if I really didn’t know…I mean, in my defense, I have really low alcohol tolerance.

“Yes…” Junmyeon laughs, “You’re the one who gave it to me.”  Scratching my head, I blink and hiccup.  The caring man holds his jacket, that’s around my shivering body, close.  

“I think I did…” I conclude in a slur when he picks me up and walks up the stairs to my apartment.  Junmyeon’s chuckles, at my delirious state, echoes down the hall.  

Images swing back and forth like an illusion.  Gently, Junmyeon places me onto my bed and tucks me in under my covers.  I shiver from the abrupt temperature change.  He tosses off my heels; his fingertips inadvertently tickle the bottom of my feet and I roll my head back in momentary ecstasy.  While some emotions grow numb under alcohol, others multiply.  Naughtily, I kick the blankets off and roll over in bed.  

“No! No,” Junmyeon props both arms out like ledges to prevent me from clumsily falling over the edge.  Grimacing, I start to pull on my dress.  “What’s wrong?” he inquires.

“Uncom…fortable,” I slur and struggle to pull the back zipper.  When I begin to yank it, Junmyeon turns me around and helps me.  I let the dress fall down to my waist.  The attractive man’s pupil’s dilate at the sight of my body, only covered by lacey undergarments.  Immediately, he turns away.

“Let me get you some PJs to change into,” Junmyeon nervously suggests and gets up.  But I yank him back down by his tie.  He ends up sloppily landing on top of me on the mattress.  I can feel his heat throbbing against me.  My warm breath tickles his cupid’s bow.  

“Let’s have sex,” I wildly propose.  I yank on his tie and bring his lips to smash right against mine.  

A/N: ₍₍ (ง Ŏ౪Ŏ)ว ⁾⁾ Well, well…

Haha, JunMeow’s love is so strong, he voluntarily gave himself a bath to rescue her.

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Cynthia Nixon, Lots of Feelings and an Outfit Change: Haley’s NYFW Diary

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Cynthia Nixon, Lots of Feelings and an Outfit Change: Haley’s NYFW Diary

7:50 a.m.

I didn’t set my alarm last night with the hopes that I might sleep in (I didn’t get to bed until 2 a.m. last night and my first show isn’t until 1 p.m.), but I wake up at 7:50. Nooooooo is the internal dialogue kicking off my day, which seems like a good sign.

9:13 a.m.

After laying in bed with my eyes closed like a dead person with a racing mind for a riveting 83 minutes, my boyfriend Avi texts me good morning and I give up on sleep. He asks if I’d like to meet for breakfast — we haven’t seen each other in a few days — but I tell him I have some work to do and probably shouldn’t. The truth is, I’m feeling kind of depressed and don’t want to see anyone (a surprising feeling given my recent headspace, but this week’s been hard and brought up some old stuff).

9:17 a.m.

When he replies, “Well let me know if you change your mind and want me to grab you a coffee and just say hi,” I decide to FaceTime him and share my honest feelings. He says he’s going to bring me a coffee and I agree I could use some company.

9:20 a.m.

I get up and start to clean vigorously. I put things away, wash the dishes, sweep the floor, brush my cat, tidy the living room, light a candle. Do, do, do instead of think, think, think.

10:17 a.m.

Avi arrives with coffees and walks into me putting final touches on my house while listening to Phoebe Bridgers, which I believe is the perfect emotional fall music. We spend the next hour talking on the couch. I let everything out that’s on my mind and feel 100 pounds lighter. He shares stuff too. It’s not that everything in our lives is solved, we’ve just given it all some space to breathe. A necessary step.

11:28 a.m.

We hang out until it occurs to me that I’ve squandered all the time I’d blocked off for working and need to get dressed, so I hug him for five minutes straight and then firmly kick him out.

12:10 p.m.

I’m currently doing an outfit recipe on Man Repeller’s Instagram story. I feel brighter, more energetic, more like myself. I think about how many emotions can fit into a day, and how easy it is to flatten yourself or others into the last emotion projected. We are such complex creatures. Did I mention I’m PMSing?

12:43 p.m.

The Eckhaus Latta show is in a warehouse in Bushwick, a 17-minute drive away or a 47-minute train ride. Such a tough decision, I did not think. (I’ve had a week of nightmare train mishaps.) I call an Uber. I have exactly as much time as I need (17 minutes), which I should have known would not be enough, because after five minutes, the Uber cancels. I call another in a panic. Thankfully it gets me there by 1:08 p.m., which is good enough.

1:28 p.m.

After riding in a crowded elevator and finding my seat, the headache I’ve been nursing for two days kicks up a notch. It dawns on me that I have not eaten yet today, which is very unusual for me. My unexpected cleaning stint and therapy session with Avi derailed my breakfast plan.

1:44 p.m.

The show finally starts. The music is the simple, arhythmic chaos of kids banging on drums and screaming. This doesn’t strike me as the best treatment for my headache, but I’m not a doctor. There is lots of ruching; mint and forest greens; structured utility pants slung low on the hip; midi glove heels; pencil skirts and tailored blazers paired with stringy mullets — it’s all very business-casual-made-grungy. I love it.

At the end of the show, a bunch of kids skip down the aisle. This is the third show I’ve seen that incorporate kids and it’s only day 3. I wonder whether designers are looking to younger people to help them inject optimism into an anxious and cynical time.

2:02 p.m.

I’m happy to be in my old neighborhood. I decide to walk to AP Cafe, a place I used to frequent before I moved to Bed-Stuy in May. When I notice it’s unusually crowded, I remember that Avi told me about a meet-n-greet happening here today with a rapper from Queens named Anik Khan. I spot him across the room with a crowd around him. I order a rice/bean/chicken bowl and find the only open table in the far back corner, which — miracle of all miracles — is situated right now to an outlet. I plug in my dying phone.

2:31 p.m.

When my food arrives, I scarf it while considering whether I should write about my issue with conflict aversion. Should I fight more with the people I love? Do my relationships suffer for their lack of brutal honesty?

2:54 p.m.

I map to my next show — Christian Siriano at Gotham Hall. It’s only 30 minutes away! Bless the L train = something I never expected to think.

3:07 p.m.

On my way to the train, I decide to stop by Hana, a grocery store I used to go to all the time. I miss this place! It smells the same! I buy some candy, gum, water and two individually packaged doses of Tylenol, which I take immediately for my pounding head.

3:11 p.m.

When I get into the station, I’ve missed the train by a second, but the next one is only three minutes away. I’m not used to this kind of service on the A line. I bless the L train a second time, shocking myself.

3:20 p.m.

I read the profile of Mac Miller that Vulture published shortly before his tragic death on Friday. I’m not that familiar with Mac Miller, but the profile is really interesting and made sadder by its new, unintended context. In my reading I miss my stop and ride the train an extra two stops to the end of the line. I get out and remap.

As I transfer to my next train, I consider how many celebrity profiles I’ve read lately. Is it just me or have there been a lot published in the last month? Is this the dawn of a boom? If so, what does that say about this cultural moment?

3:55 p.m.

I arrive at Gotham Hall and it’s a zoo! Tourists have stopped to watch the media circus, which includes hoards of photographers mobbing around a carpeted walkway into the venue, onto which important people are exiting from their black cars. I stand awkwardly to the side until Emily texts that she’s looking at me from 10 feet away. I go over to her immediately, thankful to see a familiar face. We chat until Nora texts that she’s running late and I decide to go in.

4:06 p.m.

I find my seat, which I’m excited is right on the runway, but bummed it’s kind of facing a wall (the runway is a long and winding path around the massive floor), because it means I can’t people-watch, which is half the fun of shows like this. I take a few antsy laps, hoping to run into Emily and Nora or perhaps Whoopi Goldberg (which I did — she’s at everything — and I see Cynthia Nixon, too! Speaking of which, don’t forget to vote in the midterms! I have a story highlight on my Instagram that explains the process if you find the Google results extremely confusing) until I finally sit down and open my bag of candy. I still have a headache, maybe the sugar will help? Again, I’m not a doctor.

5 p.m.

The show is really fun, full of big, ruffly gowns and lots of Miranda Hobbes green. (I wonder if Cynthia noticed?) When I get outside, it’s raining. I don’t have an umbrella. My phone is at 5%. I finish my candy as I walk to the train.

5:25 p.m.

I arrive at Spring Studios for PRISCAVera and run into Reese and Molly Blutstein. It’s always nice to know people at these events.

5:38 p.m.

I’m seated. I tried to charge my phone in the hallway but someone told me I wasn’t allowed to, so now I’m just looking around, forced to confront my surroundings for a lack of cell phone-as-distraction.

6:01 p.m.

I stare at the photo pit and notice it’s filled with about 35 men. Where are the women pit photographers? I recall interviewing a pit photographer last season and regret not asking that.

6:16 p.m.

After the show (a delightful array of fabrics and textures, from knit and silk to PVC and patent leather, in undeniably 00s silhouettes and rendered in even more Miranda Hobbes green), I run into Aemilia Madden, Senior Fashion Editor at The Zoe Report. We take five minutes to complain about how hot this week was and how tired we are and other riveting things, and then she hops in a car. I watch her drive off and then make my way to the train.

6:29 p.m.

I’ve been waiting on a platform for a long time. My head kills. The trains are messed up, as usual, so I’m being rerouted, as usual, and the train is late, as usual. It’s over 100 degrees on the platform and everyone’s dripping sweat. As usual?

7:16 p.m.

I’m soooo happy to be home. But my headache is getting worse. I immediately undress and put on a pink Caron Callahan set to lounge on the couch and eat cheese and crackers. My next show is at 9 p.m. I take three Advil.

8:02 p.m.

The thought of skipping my last show enters my mind and keeps tapping me on the shoulder. The Advil’s not working. I consider taking my migraine meds but they make me drowsy. I text Harling, who I know is going: “Would your heart be broken if I skipped? I’m nursing a headache that won’t quit.” She says she’s sad but wants me to rest. I thank her profusely and sink ~8 feet into the couch.

9:01 p.m.

Avi arrives to find me curled up on the couch in my head-to-toe pink outfit. He kisses me hello and accuses me of dressing like a “strawberry shortcake supremacist.” He offers to make us dinner, like a gem, as I’m sensitive to light and can’t do it. He makes us pasta and sausage in my almost completely dark kitchen.

9:36 p.m.

We turn on Sex and the City. We’re rewatching the series because Avi has never seen it. He considers it cultural research and spends most of the time shouting at the TV or laughing at everything Miranda says. While I’m a fan of the show, a lot of it is cringey and hasn’t aged well. Except Miranda. Miranda’s aged perfectly.

10:49 p.m.

After a second episode, we call it a night. My head’s still hurting so I finally cave and take my prescription migraine meds and sleep like a dead person with no racing thoughts at all.

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