#i perhaps made childe too pale i mean he runs around killing things all the time

[archerdepartures116]

christmas but im a day late

[2n2n]

another Little Nightmares 2 post

because the other was too long and too focused on just the dynamic between Six & Mono uhhh.. I want to share my personal thinkies about the Pale City!!! The devs are, pretty obtuse & vague & like to encourage novel thinking, so... these are just my rationalization of it (: based on what is out there & what we know in-game...

There are vague descriptions of the Pale City being based on a childish kind of perception/warping, that hyperbolic extremeness of a child's memory of something upsetting....

because the Pale City, & the Signal Tower's greater range of effect (which I do believe is ever-reaching-outward, already infecting the Hunter's island as well) is a result of Mono occupying the tower, I want to analyze it as an expression of Mono's perception of the world. I like to believe the Signal Tower cannot truly operate without a battery or power source, some person with some sort of emotional state & psyche to exploit & perpetuate onto the world. I like to think that, without any host, it is small & unassuming, & depending on its host, it can gain any amount of power gradually... and that Mono, is just an amazingly perfect beautiful host, of which the Tower is grateful for, allowing it to expand further and further, likely seeking to influence the entire world.

A bigger question I have no answer to, would be: was anything here even dangerous, before the Signal Tower? Did the Hunter kill Six, in the very first, original run? Did he mean her harm, or did he just trap her & Mono drew his conclusions? Did Six need to be saved, or did Mono merely believe she needed to be, and made it retroactively true? Our only hint is that Six is described as waking up in a world she 'does not recognize', which suggests this is not the world she used to inhabit. I would at least assume Mono has made it unrecognizable from what it was, however dangerous or safe it was before left to us to imagine.

Personally, I am a fan of Mono manufacturing all danger seen here, but also having perceived there always being danger, even before more catastrophic changes making it Nightmarish. Perhaps the world always felt like a nightmare to Mono, so he can't really understand that he's made everything want to kill Six, even things that did not before. If he believed Six was vulnerable in the first place, he could always feel like her savior.

The Viewers

Overall, I would say the tenure is that people... are helpless, stupid, mindless things. They are easily beguiled & drawn into meaningless distraction, which makes them not worth interest. I love the track title 'Disposable Entertainment' (the track for Pale City's reveal). I think that might describe well Mono/Thin Man's perception of 'people at large'. I think this sort of dehumanization... can be seen as Mono's sense of him & Six being Other, something more capable & nuanced than the world around them. & perhaps, he is not even wrong. This isn't really an uncommon way for a child to feel, by the way... it is kind of at the heart of 'chuuni' stuff, isn't it?

Something subtle that I really like in the game, is Mono's gradual increased carelessness for any of the Viewer's lives. After Six is captured by Thin Man, his desperate pursuit of her has him intentionally leading people off of ledges, electrocuting them, etc. I wonder sometimes, if the sheer number of people leaping off of building edges, while he attempts to reach Six again, represents something.... just how worthless they all are to him? No longer entertaining or distracting? A kind of coping mechanism? Like a kid throwing its toys in a tantrum....

I think the viewers are a kind of victim of Mono, suffering endlessly for the crime of being boring lol. The generalized view of Adults in the mind of a Child who perceives his inner world as more depthful.

The Hunter

I'll be playing Calvinball now here lol. When I think of what the Hunter could have once been (as much as the Viewers were surely once normal citizens), I think of how ghoulishly a child could perceive taxidermy, skinning animals, a man with a shotgun protecting his property.

One imagines the kind of nightmare a child could have, after spectating a man out in the boonies shooting raccoons & turning them into hats & mounts. A child could think, 'what an insane and violent, dangerous person, probably is actually a serial killer, only a serial killer could do such things, I bet he's shot people with that gun, he wants to kill me AAAAA' ... and that could escalate, further and further, a warping & warping perception, until the Hunter becomes a man who has killed & stuffed his own family, & now doggedly & obsessively maintains his territory, killing dozens of people for so much as nearing it.

One might imagine Mono's psyche contorts the world with the Tower's Signal, until it reaches a oneness with his internal perception. Perhaps each iteration brings it closer & closer to how he understands it, & further from whatever complexity it had before.

In older concepts, the hunter was to have more 'trophies'... but as it is, I really like them settling on him seemingly only having enshrined a single family. Thematically, that is more powerful.

There is a kind of duality in my mind to Mono's psyche, where it is this unwell combination of ... childish fears, perceptions, nightmares... and then, his own emotions, pathologically. I would like to think of the Hunter's territorial feelings, & his enshrining of his victims, as a sense of preciousness & preservation not dissimilar to what Mono feels about Six. I think representing one's own feelings as potentially monstrous, can be an aspect of such a nightmare. Seeing oneself in something terribly upsetting.

Of course what the Thin Man does to Six thematically parallels what the Hunter does to her, or how Mono 'finds' her..... in the same room, with a music box, behind the same door. A bookending of this loop ....................

A general theme of the game is described as 'escapism', and one could think of the Hunter enshrining his family in a scene of content normalcy, cooking & serving them meals, as a self-comfort, a delusion that evades guilt or recognition of what he has done. They are still here, they have not gone anywhere, and he will protect them from anyone else trying to reach his cabin.

The Teacher

it makes a comical amount of sense that a child would have a nightmare perception of a school, and personify a teacher as a cruel disciplinary force, and other children as antagonistic.

The Bullies as described, 'aren't tragic figures, no cruel parents to blame, and don't secretly crave your friendship. They are bullies, and they will get you if you don't get them first.' Which is an amazing dehumanization of other children! I like that it could be that Mono is just not that charitable to imagine any motivation, no sympathy here, even though he depicts the Bullies abused by the Teacher. They are just dumb & wanton, slovenly beasts, much like the Viewers, disposable & liable to be ruthlessly killed by Mono in pursuit of saving Six. Bad things happen to them, but we don't have to feel bad about it.

The cafeteria is such a viscerally reductive view of other children! I really like how brutal it is. I like that Mono does not see himself as comparable to this. I like how 'apart' he is from other children. It is pretty funny to envision your peers as like, banging-pot-on-head throwing-spaghetti level stupid .................................... Mono lol.... not my beautiful Six tho.

I think my favorite detail of the school, is the repetition of things like dissected frogs, anatomical models.... much like how Taxidermy/skinning could completely horrify a child on first sight, lacking worldly context, it's kind of funny to think of Mono as the kind of child very upset by an anatomical model, & thinking like, 'what if those are real organs, what if my teacher collects real organs, what if she's sadistic like that'..... it makes me imagine Mono as a paranoid kid with very fanciful fearful thoughts lol.

When I think of the 'escapism' theme, I would say the Teacher's avenue is maintaining 'normalcy' again, like the Hunter, though through the act of maintaining control, discipline, a system, a repetitive ritualistic 'job'. Again I do not think this is dissimilar to Mono, who seems to cope with his lack of control over Six's fate by controlling the entire City's fate, and performing a repetitive sequence day in day out.

The Doctor

it is again a no-brainer that a child would fear a hospital and have very ghoulish memories of a hospital stay (especially in this era, where we seem to perform electroshock therapy & double as an asylum & morgue????).... maybe even particularly ghoulish memories of prosthetic limbs stored in a closet. Like the anatomical models, it's kind of cute if Mono is just the sort of child who freaks out at the visage of fake body parts!!!! I like how EXCESSIVE the supply of prosthetics are, simply endless beds layered with them & whole rooms of shelf after shelf after shelf of them. It could have felt as if there were so many, to Mono, as a child... filled with a vision of a deranged doctor who is constantly cutting off limbs & replacing them, eventually cutting off the entire head....

Meanwhile, the dynamic described in the Hospital between Doctor & Patients is ah, oddly more charitable or pitiable than the dynamic between Teacher & Students, which is wholly about discipline/control. The patients are willing & desperate for help, coming to the Doctor to feel better, begging for more procedures to fix what is wrong... and the Doctor is ever-loyal, dedicated to them. Both his & his patients have a warped idea of 'help', is all.

While arguably the Teacher is more baselessly cruel, it is the compassionate Doctor who Mono both antagonizes & kills? One as a player would surely prefer to kill the Teacher but we do not get that kind of satisfaction, & she is even depicted kind of sympathetically with her melancholic piano-playing, as if she has a shred of humanity left in her. She's not really harmed by Mono.

Meanwhile, Mono switches the power off of a life-support patient to distract & distress the Doctor, then traps him in the incinerator to either be left to rot or burn alive.

It's kind of interesting that both the Bullies & the Patients are surely suffering, but only the Patients get a somewhat sympathetic narrative. I still think there is an oeuvre of 'they're dumb, they are mindlessly imagining procedures will fix something more complicated, they are only destroying themselves grotesquely' but, hmm. I wonder if Mono is just the sort of kid to mistrust the medical system & that kind of 'care'.... I'm intrigued that the relationship is mutually maintained but toxic. The Doctor isn't a sadistic freak experimenting on humans against their will, that isn't Mono's vision of a Nightmare Hospital. His vision is instead one where people have lost themselves in endless curatives ...

On the theme of 'escapism' once more the doctor seems to be maintaining 'normalcy' in his position, running his rounds, washing his hands, caretaking endlessly & obsessively. One could see his coping mechanism as caretaking, offering procedures over & over to 'fix', but dilapidating humans into monsters in the process, losing the plot more or less. As humans won't be made happy, they are made unthinking & inhuman, the only resort. It's really not dissimilar to Mono/Thin Man's predicament. Mono & Thin Man can't seem to agree on what Six needs... but Thin Man would see her disfigurement & sublimation as a monster as an OK compromise, if it means keeping her safe & content. Mono disagrees & will fight for Six's humanity & existence in the world outside of the Tower.... but Thin Man is a Mono with more knowledge of the entire timeline, so maybe he's right ... or is he a Mono with more warping & distortion of rational thought, so he's wrong? I don't think Mono/Thin Man can figure that out.

WELL!!!! I think Mono is of two minds about EVERYTHING regarding Six, escapism, coping, fixatives, and what is the best thing to do... I think, the entire world is wrestling with concepts of comfort & soothing VS defense & protection. Pacification & aggression. I think poor Six is at the mercy of Mono's inability to settle on a solution, for as long as she is made to participate in this loop, which is like an externalized internal argument ....

[dancingamongstdust]

Creepypasta Scenarios - First Meeting (Part 1)

Ben Drowned

You had promised, sworn on your very life, that you wouldn’t laugh. It was an oath. One to be taken very seriously.

“Using your hand to muffle the sound still counts as laughing.”

Part of you felt really bad but that made you snicker even harder. Your best friend, at the very least, did appear extremely shaken about the entire thing. She sat on the edge of the couch with her arms crossed. Dark bags had formed beneath her eyes and her attention seemed unable to stray from the Nintendo 64 that sat between you.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “But you have to understand how this sounds. You’re telling me that you’re being haunted by a literal video game.”

She pulled her legs to her chest. The amount of weight that she had lost recently couldn’t possibly be healthy. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Have you considered talking to a psychiatrist?” you offered. “Or perhaps selling this game?”

“He would kill me.”

You picked up the Nintendo 64 and stared at the main menu of the game. It looked pretty normal to you. You fiddled around with the settings to turn the music down. “I really think that talking to somebody about this would help.”

“That’s what you don’t understand,” she said. “I want to stop playing. I want to speak to people but all that he wants is for me to continue trying to beat the game. There’s no way to win! The entire thing is rigged!”

“Have you looked up a guide?”

She groaned. “Nobody’s going to listen to me.”

An awkward silence fell over the room and you shifted around in your seat before offering some coffee. She accepted but the kettle had barely been boiling for a few seconds when her phone chimed happily.

“Oh look, he wants to play now,” she muttered. She thrust the device to you. “Take a look for yourself.”

The notification had come through an app called CleverBot. It was a very simple ‘hi’ message that didn’t really seem all too haunting. You opened it up and clicked around the app for a little. “Looks like just a chatroom,” you said. “Why’d you download this?”

“I didn’t. I just woke up the one day and it was on my phone.”

You closed the app and returned to the home screen. It immediately reopened and the same message popped up again. An identical thing happened the second time. And then again.

“This looks like a virus,” you said. “It’s probably best to uninstall.”

Clicking on the button made the icon disappear for a short while but it was quick to reappear. This time, when the chatroom opened itself, the message had changed to simply say ‘rude’.

You pursed your lips. That was suspicious enough for you to understand her potential worries. “I don’t think that it’s haunted but you should probably take it to a professional to have it wiped or something. And maybe consider less porn in the future?”

Your joke fell flat but it died when the chatbot began typing. Not too long after, another message had come through.

‘I don’t hang out in such places.’

“Can…” you trailed off. “No, there’s no way that they’ve hacked the microphone, right?”

‘Don’t need to hack in to hear what you’re saying.’

The colour drained from your face and you quickly glanced towards your friend. She didn’t seem panicked, even when you showed her the message. If anything, her expression was resigned as though this was a regular occurrence.

You didn’t get too much time to respond when a horrible static sound came through her phone. The screen began flashing and blurry images raced across it. A distorted version of the Majora’s Mask theme song started playing. It felt like your ears were bleeding. Scared, you threw the phone to the floor and, with a shattering crack, everything stopped.

For a while, you stared at it but then she said, “He’s going to be pissed with that.”

There was a chime from somewhere on your right. Your own phone’s screen lit up. Nervously, you reached over to check on it.

A single notification stood there, from an app called CleverBot.

‘You Shouldn’t Have Done That.”

Bloody Painter

The park was busy this time of day and filled with an awaiting audience – whether they were interested in watching the performance or not. Many seemed to appreciate it though, taking the flyers handed out by your group.

It was nearing midday when you ran out of pamphlets. You stretched and pushed your hair away from your face, relishing in the feeling of sun against skin.

Your gaze drifted across the park’s patrons before settling on one that you had been watching since the beginning of your performance. He didn’t look up much. A sketchpad sat on his lap and tousled brown hair hung over his face. You hadn’t caught his attention once but he had certainly kept yours.

“Can you hand me another lot of flyers?” you asked one of the other girls with her.

She handed them over and you put on your best grin before making your way to the tree he was sitting under.

He looked up when your shadow fell over his sketchbook. His work was considerably abstract and nothing that you could identify with ease. There weren’t too many colors though.

“Hello!” you greeted cheerily. “I don’t mean to bother but what did you think of the show?”

He blinked up at you. “I didn’t see it.”

The man was a master of deadpan but you didn’t allow your smile to drop. You lowered the flyer and sighed, “That’s a shame. It’s so rare that we have attractive people at our shows… you should consider coming to our actual performances sometime. Everybody loves musicals.”

He didn’t even react to the compliment. No smirk or even a blush. It was as though you hadn’t spoken one word.

“I’ve seen your face before,” he said. “You do this kind of thing quite often. Don’t you get tired of people staring at you?”

You chuckled. “I wouldn’t be in this line of business if I was too self-conscious. When they stare for too long, I like to imagine that it’s because I’m the most beautiful person they’ve ever seen.” Running your fingers through your hair, you offered him your most dazzling smile. “And if you remember me, that’s a certain compliment.”

“You can take it whatever way you want but it doesn’t mean anything.”

It was tempting to give up. Flirting with cute boys was only entertaining when they responded with… something. This boy just stared.

“So you’re an artist, right? You’d have a good point of view on whether or not I’m actually pretty.”

“My opinions on people are rarely accurate.”

His response made you uncomfortable, though you couldn’t quite put your finger on why. Something of a warning twisted in your stomach. A light had lit behind his eyes but it didn’t seem like something you wanted to tie yourself to.

It appeared it was time to give up your pursuit. “Well, I really should get going. Perhaps I’ll see you at the next performance.”

His eyes drifted to the pamphlet that you held. “Were you planning on giving me that?”

“Offering it but you don’t have to –“

“I’ll take it,” he said, putting down his pencil and holding out his hand. “Your show wasn’t too entertaining but I enjoyed watching the performance you just put on. Rather like a peacock strutting its feathers.”

So he wasn’t oblivious then… just teasing. You had no idea if it showed his genuine interest or if he was merely taunting now.

With a slight scowl, you passed it over. He tucked it into his sketchbook and then closed it, standing up. He was scrawnier than you had anticipated but he still had a considerable height – holding at least a few inches over you.

“Thank you,” you said.

He left without another word. You rolled your eyes and made a point to ignore any thoughts about him for the rest of the day. Perhaps you shouldn’t have given him your information… after all, that flyer had your full name and everything.

And you knew absolutely nothing about him.

Candy Pop

Hospitals were the worst places in the world.

They smelled too clean and looked too false. You generally avoided them as much as possible unless it was absolutely necessary. When a close family member found themselves locked within the walls, unfortunately, it wasn’t possible to stay away.

You wrinkled your nose as you walked into the room. The sterilized smell burnt you.

Most of it was what you had expected but the young, child-like scream made you jump and nearly drop every gift you were holding.

Your aunt jumped up from her chair beside the hospital bed. “What’s wrong?!” she asked, fussing over your cousin.

She was barely over eleven and had badly injured her leg during a biking competition. Your mom had told you that everybody in the family was going to visit her, encouraging you to go together in order to drop off some gifts.

“I’m sorry,” the little girl said quickly. “I don’t like balloons and I thought… it doesn’t matter. Sorry.”

You moved them behind you a little, trying to block her line of sight. “No, no, I should have asked first. You could have been allergic to latex or something and then I’d be feeling really bad about it.”

“She’s been particularly on edge thanks to these awful nightmares,” your aunt explained.

“Nightmares?” you asked.

The little girl seemed pale at its mention, pulling her blanket up to her nose and watching everybody wearily. “They’re just bad dreams,” she said. “You said that they couldn’t hurt me.”

Her mother hurriedly rubbed her shoulder and offered a warm smile. “They definitely can’t,” she reassured.

“Are they about the fall?” you asked.

“Sometimes.”

You settled down in one of the chairs as your own mother began speaking to her sister. They were able to discuss everything from the colour of grass to what they thought would be the best country to live in. You weren’t particularly interested in what they were saying and, after a while of trying to chirp in, you just let the lack of sleep catch up to you.

Your dreams came to you quickly, faster than usual and sharp in an uncomfortable sort of way.

You found yourself standing in a large field. The sky was grey and the grass tall enough to reach your knees. Everything felt bright. It hurt your eyes to stare at anything for too long.

Normally, dreams didn’t feel as such, but you were certain that this was one. There was no purpose to where you were. No inclination to walk in a specific direction or try to understand what was happening.

Just confusion.

You took a step forward and a soft wind wrapped around you. It brushed through the grass, dancing around the trees. Something was watching.

You turned and two, glowing lights floated above the ground.

Slowly, mist gathered around the two spots. As you stepped back, it began to solidify – quickly forming a more recognisable shape. The figure tilted its head to the side and a slight jingling sound filled the air. It stepped forward then and the glow faded from its eyes, revealing just what stood before you.

He was a jester, though certainly more modern than the old king’s versions. Blue hair hung around his shoulders and his entire outfit jingled with hundreds of bells. A smile graced his face and he stepped forward.

You moved away.

His smile disappeared and his eyes narrowed. The mist appeared again and he vanished into it.

You looked around frantically. He was gone. The wind picked up unexpectedly, howling in your ears. You raised your hands to shield your face and something grabbed your wrist. Before you could turn to see, you hurdled away from the meadow and awoke spluttering for air.

“Are you alright?” your aunt asked.

In the corner of your eye, you swore you saw a blue jester but, when you turned to look, he was gone. “Yeah,” you said, rubbing your chest. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Your made eye contact with your cousin and swallowed thickly. The look on her face said it all.

Clockwork

Every night, without fail, you saw her sitting there when you arrived home from work.

She always wore the same thing and, initially, you had thought that she would play on her phone for hours at a time. It didn’t appear that she had a phone, however, as you came to realise. Whatever she was holding was circular and fit perfectly within the palm of her hand.

You mentioned it to the building manager the second time she was there until like two in the morning. He had said that they thought she was homeless but, as far as they could tell, she wasn’t dangerous. You reassured him that your worries weren’t about her presence due to any perceived problem but he had just nodded.

She never moved while she was waiting. Not even to adjust her weight or brush the hair from her face.

A few of your neighbours used the very eloquent reasoning that she was merely crazy.

Occasionally, you heard children from the area parroting their parents. Rumours abound that she was a ghost who would attack anybody if they spoke to her. You scoffed each time it was said but many believed the stories.

You were arriving home late one night when you spotted her sitting in the usual spot. It was strange for you to feel anything beyond exhaustion on the nights when hospital jobs ran too long but this time, a strange anticipation settled itself in your stomach.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “Are you okay?”

Her hair was dirty and her coat looked as though it hadn’t been washed for years. Now that you were close, you could make out what appeared to be dried blood on her shirt.

“Go away,” she said, shaking her head from side to side.

“I have medical experience,” you responded. “And I know some good places to stay in the area. I can –“

“Good for you,” she sneered. “Leave me alone. You’re going to make me miss it.”

The object she was holding was an old pocket watch. It looked like something you would find in an antique store and pay insane amounts of money for. Though, it didn’t appear to be working. The clock hands sat at a set time and didn’t move in the slightest.

“I want to help you if that’s okay,” you said.

She forced out a laugh that sounded as though it physically pained her. “You want to help me?!” she cackled, throwing her hair over her shoulder. “Isn’t that sweet.”

You stumbled away from her and clasped a hand over your mouth. Her face…

Her mouth was torn to pieces, jagged cuts that ripped through the skin there and had been crudely stitched back together. But that wasn’t the worst. No, the worst part of it was her left eye that had a pocket watch shoved into the socket and forcefully stitched there. The injury flared red with infection and pain.

“What’s wrong little doctor?!” she cawed. “No longer feeling like saving the poor girl you found on the side of the road?”

You steeled your resolve and straightened. “I’m still willing to offer help if you need it,” you said in your strongest voice. “That injury is severe and needs attending to if you want to save the eye.”

The eye was definitely gone and she knew it as well, scoffing at your offer. “No chance of that. Why do you people like pretending that you care?”

“I do care.”

She responded with a mocking expression and stood unexpectedly. “Sure you do.” She tapped the front of the pocket watch with her nail. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to get to work. I nearly missed it thanks to your nagging. I’ll see you tomorrow, doctor.”

And she marched off into the night.

Dark Link

The vase that you were holding was beautifully polished and almost brand new. As you lifted it, something rattled around within.

“Why are you selling this for such a low price?” you asked.

The woman was middle-aged with a falsely high voice and bright, darting eyes. “It was a gift,” she said. “But I decided against keeping it. I wasn’t sure how low the price should be but it’s not like I’m losing any money.”

You decided against buying it, thanking her and walking away quickly. While you were looking through a few pieces of jewelry, your arm was grabbed and a small object pushed into your chest.

“Here you go!” you friend chimed. “Consider it to be a late birthday present!”

You took the game cartridge and examined it closely. “Zelda, again?” you asked. “I’ve already tell you that –“

“Yes, yes, I know that they’re not your thing but if you haven’t tried all the games then how are you meant to know there isn’t just one that you like?”

Sighing, you took the game and dropped it into your purse. It was dirty and definitely well used. A bit of black paint flaked off on your fingers.

Another game for you to keep in your cupboard and not look at again until months later when you were asked about your opinion on it. It wasn’t your fault that you didn’t have the console you needed and the simple answer of ‘just buy one for cheap’ wasn’t always available.

But in the coming weeks, you quickly realised that this wasn’t just another game.

At first, the things that went wrong were too minor to even pay attention to. Electronics started breaking frequently until the point where you had replaced your stereo twice in a week and no longer had a television. After that, you started feeling sickly and uncomfortable whenever you were in the house. A feeling of imposing nature settled upon your shoulders.

You spent more time away from home, staying away for as long as you could. When you tried to dogsit for your brother, the pup wouldn’t even enter the house.

It was late at night when you woke up in a cold sweat. Nausea coiled in your stomach and your heart was beating at the speed of light.

At first, you had no idea what had woken you.

And then you heard the rattling.

It was coming from the next room over. As though somebody had taken hold of your desk and was shaking it as roughly as they could.

You scrambled for your phone but it wasn’t there. It was sitting in your office.

You took a deep breath and slowly stepped from your bed. Your head felt fuzzy, as though you weren’t able to wake up properly. Every step was slow and lethargic.

Stumbling toward the door, you gingerly grabbed the handle. As you opened it, your mind caught up with your body and you remembered that you shouldn’t just burst in on a potential invader.

But it was too late.

The person, for it had to be a person, stood in the middle of the room. Its body was so dark that it blended in with the shadows surrounding it. Two bright red eyes shone, illuminating enough that it showed some of the creatures ashen features. It had sharp features that were definitely human. Though as you stared at it, you knew that it was anything but.

It smiled and began turning into small squares, pixelating into the air and disappearing into something behind it.

You flicked on the light as fast as you could but it was gone. Sitting in the middle of the desk, the black cartridge seemed to emit its own darkness.

Dr. Smiley

The building was beyond restoration, crumbling and derelict. You were sure that it hadn’t been occupied for at least a decade. Perhaps even longer.

For months now, you had been going through the motions to have everything approved and organised. You had gotten clearance, hired the workers, discussed things with any neighbours, and even paid extra for the best machinery to get everything done quicker.

And now they were refusing to do anything.

“I’m sorry, and I will compensate for the time wasted, but my men are saying no,” the on-site manager said. “I know you’re not from these parts but we’ve always known there’s something wrong with this building. Rumours and superstitions abound and I wouldn’t blame my men for not wanting to anger a ghost.”

“They’ll be pissing off something far worse than a ‘ghost’ if they continue refusing to even go in there,” you snapped.

He glanced towards his workers and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Once he left, you turned your attention to the house. Why anybody would have wanted a house in this location was beyond you but now that you had inherited it, you could see potential.

Although the entire place was probably crawling with all manners of disgusting flora.

Perhaps you could use that to get the health counsel to do the job for you.

They will still talking and you could see the weariness on their faces. Sighing, you stalked your way to the front door and pushed it open with one hand. It creaked with the effort.

You stood with your hands out towards the men. “I’m going to walk this entire house!” you called. “And if your ghost doesn’t accost me while I’m there, then I’m going to be expecting you to all get on with it, alright?”

Nothing immediately jumped at you when you entered. The door struggled to open and it swung shut on its own accord. If that was the haunting that they were talking about…

A roach skittered along the floor in front of you, darting under a derelict sofa stained with an unknown substance. Several of the windows had been broken so it wasn’t surprising to find that graffiti and markers had been used to etch various names into the walls.

You walked through a destroyed kitchen, passed a bedroom with a smashed crib, and even kicked open a door that led to a filthy storage room.

No ghost jumped out at you.

Problems started presenting themselves when you walked down one of the hallways and pushed open a bedroom door. The entire room felt set apart from the rest of the place with almost-new curtains that had been drawn shut. Blankets covered the bed, dirty but still there. You immediately thought somebody may be squatting there but your concerns changed when you noticed the wall.

Black mold. It crawled its way up the side, covering most of what had once been white wallpaper. You brought one hand up to shield your mouth and stepped out, slamming the door closed.

If there was an infestation then you had to get the health department immediately. This was –

Your thoughts were interrupted by something grabbing you. Panic filled your mind as a sharp weapon was pressed against your throat.

“Well now, I just know that you don’t have an appointment,” a voice said close to your ear. “I don’t like trespassers.”

Thinking on instinct, you threw your head backwards as hard as you could. There was a satisfying impact followed by a loud yelp of pain. The weapon around your throat moved away so you kicked the guy in the shin and bolted for it.

The house felt bigger while you were running but nobody came after you. You didn’t hear any footsteps or other sounds of a chase.

Bursting through the front door, you winced at the bright light. The house hadn’t seemed nearly that dark until compared to the outside.

You collided with one of the workers in your rush and nearly knocked everybody to the ground.

“What’s happened?”

“It was that ghost, I’m telling you.”

“We warned her, boss.”

You cleared your throat and straightened up, making eye contact with each man individually. “There is no ghost,” you said. “Only a squatter who I shall deal with using police force if needed. However, I do believe any construction will have to wait because I saw an excessive spread of black mold within the house.”

They all spoke amongst themselves, discussing options. You glanced back to the house and allowed your attention to find its way to the bedroom window. Though fleeting, a masked face peered out at you from within.

Eyeless Jack

In many ways, what happened that night was your boss’ fault.

Having just finished working a double shift that ended at almost 1 in the morning, you were exhausted upon returning home. You walked past the neighbouring apartment with only one thought on your mind – sleep.

It was then that you heard a thump coming from within the house, followed shortly by a muffled scream.

Tired, you had to pause to register what was happening and, by the time your brain caught up, your heart was in full-on panic mode. You slowly reached into your pocket and dialed the emergency number as slowly as you dared, whispering into the phone and being reassured that a police presence would be arriving shortly.

Your neighbour was a young man though, just out of rehab and beginning to make his way through life. The longer you stood and waited for the police, the guiltier you felt.

So you reached into the pot plant and pulled out his spare key. After a short while of building yourself up, you unlocked the door and crept inside.

It was dark with the outside world shrouded via heavy curtains. You could barely make your way through the unfamiliar apartment and you didn’t dare turn on the light. Damn, you were extremely tired.

Part of your brain suggested that you had imagined the whole thing. It was a byproduct of a sleep-addled mind or something. That would be embarrassing to explain to the police and to your neighbour. Would you get charged for breaking and entering or could you blame it on your tiredness?

Your doubts didn’t get much further than that because somebody grabbed you from within the room.

A horrible iron-filled scent attacked your senses as you took in the bedroom. It looked like your neighbour was tied to the bed though he wasn’t moving. Somebody stood behind you, their breathing heavy and their grip strong.

They pushed your wrist closer to your back, preventing you from wriggling free of their grip. A blade, small and yet sharp, pressed against the side of your throat.

“Trying to play the hero, are we?” snarled a voice. “Have you called the cops?”

The blade pressed against your skin and you quickly spat out a yes.

“Probably right before you came in, if not earlier… I’d have enough time to kill you but then you’d be an absolute waste. Nowhere to stash a body around here and they’d comb the entire area if you were missing…”

“I didn’t mean –“

You were shoved forward before you had a chance to react. In the dark, you couldn’t make anything out and you hit the wall unexpectedly. Now, far enough away, you turned and tried to make out the face of your assailant. He melded in with the shadows and you ran your fingers along the wall until you found a light switch.

The lights flickered on and you gasped.

He wore a dark blue mask, a black ooze dripping from the eye sockets and onto his hoodie. There was no reaction to the lights. Not even a blink.

“Don’t you want to beg for your life?” he asked. “The other one pleaded nearly constantly until I shut him up.”

“You killed him…”

“He isn’t dead, just unconscious,” the man scoffed. “I try to avoid killing them, if I’m able to.”

“The police will be here soon,” you warned.

“Oh I know. That’s the only reason that I’m leaving this very minute.” He made his way over to the window, never turning to stop facing you. The bedroom window slipped open without a sound and he began climbing out. “I’d keep my doors locked if I was you. Plenty of unsavory characters live in these parts.”

And just like that, he was gone.

Glitchy Red

Your younger cousin squealed excitedly, holding the game to her chest in joy. “I love it so much!” she said. “I can’t believe I used to think Pokémon was for babies. At first when the music randomly cut out, I did think it was super weird but I’ve gotten used to it now.”

“I don’t think it’s meant to do that,” you chuckled. “But cheap versions, you know?”

It was good to see that your last-minute gift hadn’t gone to waste. You had been worried that the present’s fun would be lost on your video game-hating cousin but she had actually decided to give the game a shot. Now you had somebody in the family to speak to which was extraordinarily exciting.

“What are you meant to say to Red when he asks you whether or not he’s a joke?” she aske unexpectedly. “I know that if you say no, he goes away, and I’ve been too scared to try the other option.”

You frowned. “I don’t actually remember that part of the game.”

“Really? But it happens so often.”

When she realised that you really hadn’t encountered anything like that in the game before, she told you to wait a minute and came back with her game.

“There was one around here,” she said, loading in. “Just give me a second and I’ll find it.”

You stayed much later than you had originally intended to that night. The two of you played through a lot of the game, waiting for the moment when Red would break the fourth wall and demand to know about your opinions on him.

It never came.

The game ran incredibly smoothly. It was quite odd. There weren’t any hiccups along the way nor horror-style glitches. The music didn’t even cut off which was apparently rare accourding to your cousin.

After a while, she sighed and handed it to you. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why it’s not breaking. I’ll go make us some food.”

You continued playing while she was gone, enjoying the memories that came with the game. It was as fun as you remembered until about five minutes after she left. The music just shut off unexpectedly and, no matter what you did, it refused to come back at all. Any other sound effects worked fine though.

“So you’re just programed to break when only one person’s in the room?” you joked.

Perhaps that was a bad choice.

Unexpectedly, a loud static erupted from the console, so ear-aching that it felt like your ears began to bleed. The game took on a horrible red tint and Red appeared on the screen, a dialogue box appearing beneath his blackened form.

AM I A JOKE TO YOU?

Horrified, you immediately shut down the game and threw the cartridge as far away from you as possible. You raced at full speed into the kitchen, nearly knocking several things over along the way.

“You have got to throw that game,” you wheezed.

“What? Why?” she asked.

“There is something really fucked up with that game…” you said. “That thing with Red is absolutely not meant to happen. It felt like he was staring into my soul. You have to throw it out the moment you can. I will buy you another one but do not keep that.”

“Oh, alright,” she said, seemingly confused but nowhere as shaken as you were.

A faint static came from the living room, sending shivers down your spine.

Hobo Heart

Tears flowed down your face despite your best attempts to remain composed. “I’ve known for a while now,” you managed to say.

Your ex-boyfriend seemed shocked, though not entirely upset about your admission. “How long –“

“Since last week,” you said. “Though I’ve heard it’s been going on for considerably longer.”

He shifted his weight and took a deep breath. You recognised this behavior from the past, already hearing the words you knew were coming. The apologies and the false regret, the promises about not doing it again, and then the eventual guilt-tripping. If you heard the latter, you weren’t sure your resolve would hold.

“Goodbye,” you said firmly.

“Wait!”

You ignored the calls, making your way home at a steady place. A few people offered you concerned looks so you rubbed away the tears and took a few deep breaths.

Several months of your life had been completely wasted. You had put so much time and energy into a person who didn’t care one ounce about you.

Just great.

You turned onto your street and made your way to the house across from your own. The woman who lived there was always busy and she only came home to feed her dog before disappearing again. Thankfully, she trusted you to spend time with Bruno.

Bruno came racing over to the gate and jumped up for head scratches. He was a beautiful Afghan Hound with a dark coat and bright eyes.

“At least I know that you’ll always be by my side,” you said, running his fingers through the dog’s fur.

A tear slipped out and you quickly rubbed it away. You dug around in your bag and took out a couple treats, offering him.

A second bark brought your attention to the street.

Standing there, a small white dog with a scruffy coat stared up at you. It looked friendly enough and, after cautiously checking it out, you crouched down and gave it a treat.

“Hello,” you cooed. You gave the pup a few scratches and smiled. “How are you doing, hm? No collar? But you must have an owner because your coat is all groomed and soft. Did you get out or slip your leash?”

You looked around the streets to see if anybody. Nobody jumped out so you gave the dog another treat and brought it into the garden with Bruno to protect it from cars.

The two barked and played with little issue and you messages friends and family about the events of the day.

It was about half an hour later when the air was starting to get chilly. You stood and the small scruffy dog began barking excitedly. Its tail whipped through the air and it jumped up against the fence. A man wearing a white hoodie was standing down the street. You glanced at the dog, scooped it up and made your way to where he was.

“Excuse me,” you said. “I think that I found your dog.”

He turned to look at you and you startled slightly at his rather unusual face paint. A white skull was painted onto his face, similar to something you would see at a college convention.

He glanced down at the happy dog and sighed. “So that’s where he got to.”

“I’m sorry if you were looking for him. I took him off the street to protect him from any cars or anything.”

“It’s fine. He always shows up eventually,” the guy said. “You can just put him down. He’ll follow me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

Then he turned and started walking away. You hurriedly put the dog down and it immediately bounded after him, falling into step directly beside him. They disappeared around a corner and you returned to your own house.

The day had gotten much warmer suddenly.

[cower-before-power]

Naked Attraction

Summary: A typical day in your art class turn into anything but when you’re introduced to your nude model for the week- a devastatingly gorgeous man named Levi.

Pairing: Modern AU Levi Ackerman x F!Reader

TW: Nudity, swearing, suggestive content, age gap (reader is 20, Levi is 30), dick jokes, reader is thirsty and lewds Levi hard, perhaps poorly written stuff about art and drawing because I literally know nothing haha

(minors please do not interact, just to be safe)

Link to A03 here

A/N: Hello all! This is my entry for @ghost-party’s Meet Cute Collab with my darling husband Levi. I’ve never written for him before so I was a little nervous haha, I hope I did him justice! Thank you to everyone who reads, likes, comments, and reblogs- you are all wonderful and I appreciate your support! I hope you enjoy, my sweet potatoes!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Morning,” Jean greets you with a crooked smile and a steaming cup of coffee. It’s the good stuff from the café by his apartment, your favourite thing to help your brain shift into creative mode. “You’re later than usual.”

You grab the cup from him, sighing as you feel the warmth bleed into your hands. “Overslept. Barely had time to get dressed and brush my teeth.”

Jean’s eyes rove over you as you sink into your chair, humming to yourself as you sip on your drink. “I can see. Do you know you’re wearing two different shoes? And I think your sweater is on inside out. Why do you still even have that ugly thing anyways?”

“Thank you for your comments,” you roll your eyes. “I know I look like a hot mess and I don’t need any words from you, Mr. I Asked The Nude Model Out And Got Shot Down.”

Jean’s ears turn red, and he shoots you a dirty look before busying himself with arranging his pencils. “Shut up.”

You snicker to yourself as you set up your own area. Last week’s model had been a soft, pretty brunette that had instantly made Jean all starry-eyed, like a teenage boy with his first crush. It was generally considered a bit taboo to ask out the nude models, but he’d thrown that aside and gone for the kill after she’d slid back into her clothes. She’d laughed and patted his cheek like he was a naughty child asking for candy before dinner. Then proceeded to walk out and climb onto the back of her boyfriend’s motorcycle (but not before making out with said boyfriend for a good 5 minutes, minimum).

Jean had been left with red cheeks and no date, and you’d been left with great blackmail material.

“I wonder who will be our victim today,” you decide to take mercy on your poor friend and change the subject. “Most likely a guy, since we had a woman last week.”

“We’ll know in about 5 minutes,” Jean looks up at the clock on the wall. “Old Cueball is never late.”

Sure enough, in exactly 5 minutes your very bald and very punctual professor casually strolls through the door. A short man in a green coat is following him, presumably your newest subject. You crane your neck, trying to get a better look at his face, but all you can see is dark hair falling like a curtain over pale skin.

“Good morning class,” Professor Pyxis greets you, tossing his briefcase down on his desk with his usual nonchalant air. “I see you are all ready, so let’s get right to it.” He gestures to the person beside him. “This is Mr. Levi Ackerman. He’s your model for the week.”

The class murmurs in curiosity as the mentioned Levi Ackerman turns to face the room.

You swear your heart actually skips a beat.

Steel gray eyes observe the room from a face that practically begs to be immortalized through art. Every line is hard and strong, covered in clear skin that looks like it would slide under your fingers like the smoothest silk. Your eyes drink in his features greedily, from the regal bridge of his nose to the proud edge of his jaw. You decide your favorite thing though, is his cheeks. They are utterly cherubic, round and full and dusted ever so lightly with the lightest shade of pink.

He’s possibly the prettiest man you have ever seen.

“Hey, I know him,” Jean whispers, cutting off your entranced thoughts. “That’s Mikasa’s distant cousin, the one I told you she found on Ancestry.com last year. I’ve met him once, he’s got a stick so far up his butt, he’d need surgery to remove it. Never would have pegged him for the type to do this sort of thing.”

You vaguely remember a previous conversation involving Jean’s childhood friend and some long lost relatives.

“He doesn’t look that uptight,” you muse, too busy admiring the way his lips glint temptingly under the fluorescents to really process Jean’s words. “He’s beautiful, like something out of a Renaissance painting.”

Jean opens his mouth to reply, but Pyxis begins to speak.

“As usual, draw whichever side of him is facing you, all angles will be graded equally,” your professor plops himself down in his chair, already scrolling through his phone to find the playlist for the day. “Completed drawings to be submitted to me by the end of class on Friday. Please remember be respectful and courteous to our guest. Mr. Ackerman, whenever you’re ready.”

The man nods to your professor, already slipping out of his coat as he steps up onto the platform in the center of the room. You watch, mesmerized, as he proceeds to shed himself of his clothes. It’s rigid and methodical (he folds his clothes like he’s worked his whole life in a department store), but somehow oddly endearing. Every inch of his body that is revealed is consumed eagerly by your shameless stare, and you sincerely hope you don’t start drooling. By the time he carefully removes his final items, you feel like you are vibrating in your seat.

Holy fucking shit, he’s built like a god. Like Michelangelo himself carved him out of a block of the most pristine marble. You trace your gaze down the column of his throat, over the strong shoulders and sinewy arms, the impressive set of abs, the thighs that look like they could crush your head and you’d be nothing but happy about it. It takes a minute before you’re able to make yourself look between his thighs, and when you finally do, you have to looks away immediately. Good grief, even that is stupidly handsome. You can’t help but wonder if it would feel as nice as it looks.

Your face heats from your lewd thoughts, and you grip your pencil so hard it almost snaps. Beside you, Jean snickers.

“You okay over there? It looks like you’re about to explode.”

“Can it,” you hiss, glad that the ambient music Pyxis chose will probably keep your conversation private. “I can’t help it that I’m looking at the most gorgeous dick attached to the most gorgeous man I think I’ve ever seen.”

“You haven’t seen mine.”

“I don’t own a microscope.”

“Ooooh, see if I buy you coffee tomorrow, bitch.”

You stick your tongue out at him before turning back to your easel. As you move, you catch the gaze of Levi, his expression unreadable. Warmth creeps up the back of you neck, and you duck behind your sketchpad in embarrassment. You seriously hope he didn’t hear you, he’d probably report you to Pyxis for being creepy. You decide to lock all your stupid horny thoughts deep within the recesses of your mind, and take a few deep breaths to clear your head.

It works, and as you touch pencil to paper, the desire to create overflows inside of you.

Unsurprisingly, you become utterly engrossed in your work, your pencil sweeping over the pad with almost a mind of it’s own. Levi is the perfect model; you swear he’s not even breathing as he majestically hold his pose without even a quiver. The contours of his body spring to life on the page, and you can’t stop the joyful smile that blooms on your lips as you work. It’s times like these, when everything is so perfect, that you truly realize just how much you love making art.

Before you know it, Pyxis announces class is over, and you’ll resume with Levi tomorrow. The man of the hour begins to re-dress as your fellow classmates pack up their supplies and file out. You absent mindedly wave to Jean, who is practically sprinting out the door so he can make his next class all the way across campus. You’re still engrossed in your drawing, staring at it with critical eyes. It good, one of the best starts you’ve had all year, but now that the high of creating has worn off, you can see where you need to improve.

“You’re very good.”

You gasp and jump, whirling around to find Levi standing behind you, eyes fixed on your sketch. How did he even get there? You hadn’t seen him or heard him.

“Oh, uh, Mr Ackerman!” You squeak, your heart racing like you’ve just run a marathon.  “T-that’s very nice, I mean, thank- thank you very much!”

“It’s Levi,” your muse says, seemingly unbothered by your stammering. “Yours is going to be the best one here.”

You blink stupidly at his bold statement. “Did you look at all of them?”

“No,” Levi’s voice is firm, a tone that brokers no argument. “But you had the most joy on your face while you worked. That much passion doesn’t churn out stuff that looks like shit.”

“Oh, that’s only because you are such a great model,” you gush, insides turning warm at his praise. “You stayed so still and you looked so damn regal and you’re just so pretty and-” Your eyes go wide as you realize the absolute words vomit leaving your mouth, mortification slithering up your spine.

“I’m pretty?” Levi raises an eyebrow. “You think I’m pretty?”

“No!” You shout, and the man’s other eyebrow joins the first. “No wait, yes! I mean, fuck, I mean you are probably the most handsome man I’ve ever seen!”

Levi’s eyebrows have now practically become one with his hairline. You wring your hands, wishing the floor would just open up and swallow you. “I-well- come on, people must tell you how good looking you are! I can’t be the first.”

“No, but you certainly are the most enthusiastic about it,” Levi deadpans.

Oh, someone just put you out of your misery now.

“I’m sorry,” you offer, cringing internally at your complete ineptitude to hold a conversation with an attractive man. “I....get carried away sometimes.”

“It’s fine,” Levi’s stoic expression softens just a little. “It’s kind of nice to hear, actually. Usually I’m told I’m good looking, but ‘far too short’.”

“That’s bullshit.” you say vehemently, honestly shocked people would deny this man his godhood over something as trivial as height. “Who cares if you’re shorter? It doesn’t detract from you. What’s that phrase again? Good things come in small packages? Well, not that you’re small, I’m not saying that, I just meant-”

“Yes, you did seem to find my package....good,” Levi interrupts, and you swear you see the corners of his lips twitch upwards.

Your eyes widen in horror as your brain replays your hushed conversation with Jean. “You heard that?!”

“I’m told I have exceptionally good hearing.”

“Oh fuck me,” you groan, burying your face in your hands. “I am literally so, so, sorry. That was completely out of line. I have no excuse other than it’s clearly been too long since I’ve gotten some, but that’s no reason to make you uncomfortable. Please, if there’s anything I can do to to make it up to you, I’ll do it!”

“Have tea with me.””

Your head shoots up, surprise coloring your features. “What?”

“Tch, you heard me,” Levi tuts, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out his phone. “I haven’t got free time till Saturday-stupid Shitty Glasses wanting to trade shifts-but if you want to go out, give me your number and we can work out the details.”

You stare at him with your mouth open, unsure if this is really happening or you’re vividly daydreaming again.

“Umm, are you sure?” You ask, wondering if you should pinch yourself to see if you are indeed imagining things. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m wearing two different shoes and my sweater is inside out. Believe me when I say these sorts of fashion statements happen more often than not. Plus, I practically salivated over you like some sort of horny middle aged suburban housewife who hasn’t been laid in years.” You pause to take a breath, once again unable to stop the words from spewing forth like a fountain. “And I’m so awkward! I mean, are you comfortable in this conversation? And I can’t stop talking once I’ve gotten going, and I say the weirdest shit, and, and-”

“I like you,” he says simply, as if he’s just declared something as obvious as 1+1=2. “I couldn’t give a flying fuck about all the stuff you just said, you’re just... you, and I like it. So, do you want to go on a date or not?”

“O-oh,” you suddenly feel shy, your tummy filling with butterflies at the look of sincerity on his handsome face. You’d never met anyone quite like Levi Ackerman before, and you weren’t about to pass up the opportunity to get to know the man behind the drool-worthy muscles.  “Uh, yes, please, I would like that. Very much.”

An almost relieved expression crosses Levi’s face, and he hands you his phone to type in your number. You notice the time as you do so, and sigh sadly as you hand him his device back.

“Well I better go,” you say reluctantly, suddenly fervently wishing it was Saturday already. “I’ve got another class in 15 minutes.”

“I’ll walk you there,” Levi says briskly, slipping his phone back into his coat. “To make sure you get there safely. Someone might murder you on account of their eyes being assaulted by that garish sweater. ” The corners of his lips twitch upwards once again, and you grow warm all over, from both his gentle teasing and the knowledge he isn’t quite ready to say goodbye yet either.

“Excuse me, I thought you said you didn’t give a ‘flying fuck’ about my attire,” you huff, but you��re grinning as you quickly pack up your bag.

“I don’t care it’s inside out, but you have to know that is the ugliest fucking color know to man,” Levi says, holding out his hand. Your brain malfunctions slightly for a moment, until you realize he’s offering to carry your bag for you. The butterflies inside you whip themselves into a frenzy as you pass him your stuff, your hand just grazing over his. Handsome, funny, honest, and sweet? How is this guy even real?

“I’ll have you know, this sweater is an absolute delight. When it’s inside right,” you stick up your nose, but unable to stop he laugh that slips past your lips.

Levi rolls his eyes in an almost playful manner. “Doubtful .”

You’re not sure where it comes from, but a sudden rush of confidence fills you. “If you’re so offended by it, maybe you should just rip it off of me.”

The tips of Levi’s ears turn a delightful shade of pink. You’re sure your own skin is hot enough to cook an egg on.

“Wear it Saturday then,” Levi’s ears may be flushed, but his eyes flash with something that makes your spine tingle. The insinuation of his words has your gut clenching and your mind whispering fervent prayers to please please please make Saturday get here faster, I don’t ask for much, please!

“Only if you wear your modeling outfit,” you manage to say, trying your best to sound coy when you feel like you might combust into a pile of lust and giddiness. “I’ve never seen someone wear it so well, and I want a closer look.”

If possible, Levi’s eyes grow even darker, and you just know Saturday is going to be one of the best damn days of your entire life.

“Deal.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taglist: @clovertitan @millenialfanfictionaddiction @stigandr-the-cat @axoxtxhxh @bowandcurtsey​ @chaotic-nick​ @manjiroarchiviste​

[raineydays411]

Kind of want this adventure to be over.

Bruce Banner x Daughter!reader

Summary: You have finally found your father...just not the way you expected. You sort out your feelings and have some realizations about people in your life.

You felt sick. 

You couldn’t believe it. There he was. Your father, the man who has been missing for four years. 

He was here, being forced to slaughter people as a gladiator on a whole different planet. 

So many questions were running through your mind. How did he get here? Why hasn’t he escaped? How long has he been the Hulk?

You watch as Thor attempts to talk to him, but... it was almost like Hulk...like the attention. You watch in horror as Hulk charged at Thor. Throwing him into the wall. Both you and Loki looked at each other in concern, then glance at the Grandmaster who watched in glee.

You felt dizzy as you watched you father pummel his teammate. It was like he didn’t recognize him. He fought viscously. You cringed when you saw him slam Thor on the floor.

“YES!” Loki shouts, startling you and the Grandmaster, “THATS HOW IT FEELS!” 

You both stare at him, alarmed at the sudden outburst.

“I’m just a big fan of the sport...” He chuckles awkwardly.

He sits back down and looks at you. Concerned as you looked grey, like you were going to be sick. 

He strokes your back comfortly, “ Y/n, if you need to step out...”

“I can’t...I have to stay...” You whisper, watching Thor get beat by the Hulk. You prayed that he would get up. Then it happened.

A bolt of lighting shot the Hulk off of Thor. Then he rises, lighting engulfing his hands. The two charge at each other, and Thor starts to gain the upper hand. You breath a sigh of relief. The audience eats it up. Chanting “Thunder”, but the Grandmaster does not seem happy. Just as Thor was about to finish the fight, he was stunned by something, leaving him motionless on the ground. 

You freeze, watching as your father leaped into the air and came down, smashing Thor into the ground and knocking him out. Finishing the match. You turn to see the Grandmaster lean back in pleasure. 

“So, how do you like it?” He asks casually.

You can barely speak. Too shook up to even form a thought. Seeing your unease Loki spoke for you.

“It was very intense. A very entertaining fight indeed.” He says with a smile.

“What’s wrong with the kid?” the Grandmaster asks taking in your pale face. “ She does not look good.” 

“Yes! Well, um, it seems as though she has eaten something that made her sick. Perhaps it was the jar jar fruit”

“Oh no,” The Grandmaster states, “This is terrible.”

“Yes well--”

“I had a whole bowl!”

“Yes...I’d better take her to her room. Rest shall do her some good.”

Then Loki rises and helps you to your feet. He leads you through the crowds of people. 

You can barely walk. You don’t know why you’re reacting like this. You knew your father was here. 

Maybe it was because of how gruesome this fight could have been. Or maybe because you knew that for four years, your dad has been trapped as the Hulk, murdering aliens as a gladiator for some old lunatic. And it seemed like he liked it. 

Your legs grow weak and you nearly topple to the ground. 

“Woah, easy.” Loki says, “ Darling, take it slow.” 

“I- I think I’m going to throw up” And then you lean over, throwing up into a plant. 

“Ew.” Loki says, watching you defile that poor plant. 

You wipe your mouth and try to stand, you sway a but, almost falling to the ground. Loki then sighs and scoops you up. 

Your face burns, “ I’m sorry...”

“Shut up. I shouldn’t have made you go anyways.”

You stay silent. Resting your head on his chest as he walks you to your room. 

“You know...my dad never did this...” You whisper. Loki looks down at you in confusion.

“Did what?”

“ Carry me to my room. Especially if I was sick.”

“Oh..” Loki says, not really knowing how to respond.

“My mom was the one who did all that. But then...she got sick and...” You trail off. It was rare when you thought about your mom. It hurt to remember all the good times the three of you had, so like your father, you pushed it all down. 

“My mother did that too..” Loki muttered. He walked into your room and set you on the bed. 

“Get changed and lay down. I shall be back in a moment.” Then he walks out, leaving you alone with your thoughts. 

You change clothes and ay down. Trying to wrap your head around what just happened. 

Your father was here. You found him.

But he was the Hulk and basically a gladiator. 

He’s been here for four years. Killing people for sport. 

“God, I may have seen some weird shit living with the Avengers but this really takes the cake”, You think to yourself, shifting under the covers. You sigh, laying on your back and staring up at the ceiling. After a few moments you heard the door open. It was Loki holding a tray of food.

“Here, this should make you feel better.” He says placing the tray in your lap. It consisted of a plate of some kind of soup, some cracker like snack, and a glass of water. 

“I know it looks heavy, but it made me feel better when I was a child and ill. Although, the one made by the cooks back home may have tasted better.” Loki rambles, “I do think I did pretty well, considering the circumstances.” 

Seeing this side of Loki was shocking. Sure, you both had your moments and you knew he cared about you, but you thought it was more like a forced partnership. But, he could have left you here alone and he didn’t. He went out of way to make you something so you’d feel better. You can feel your eyes water. 

And for the first time since you’ve been on Sakaar, you cried. You cried because you haven’t seen your father for four years. You cried because you were on a completely different planet, millions of light years away from your home. You cried because Loki was being so kind.  

You cried cause you were scared.  You felt like you were in over your head, like you can’t do anything but wait. You have no idea what you’re going to do from here on out and it terrifies you. 

Then you feel a cold hand on your shoulder. You look up to see sad green eyes. Then you’re pulled into a hug. 

“I know.” Loki says softly, “It is overwhelming, and you’re still a child.”

You take a deep breath, taking in the scent of leather and something sweet. You then closed your eyes sinking into the embrace.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In another part of the castle, Thor had just woken up. Scaring the crap out of the women who were tending to his wounds.

He painfully stands up, looking around the room he was in. It wasn’t like the first cell he was in. No, this one was actually clean. It didn’t smell like body fluids or...death. It was red and white, with weapons and armor laying around. He can see a large bed and a hot tub in the room. 

Thor looks out the window, taking in the scenery and trying to figure out a way to escape. He’s startled out of his thoughts by a splash. He turns to see the Hulk in the tub, sitting in the shadows.

“...Are we cool?” He asks, holding his hands up in surrender. 

He doesn’t get a response, just a low growl. But he isn’t attacked so Thor takes it as a a sign. He goes to the window again and mutters to himself, “Huh, a Hulk in a hot tub.” 

Then he turns to Hulk, “ How long have you been like that?

“Like what?” Hulk grunts

“Like this. Big, green, and...stupid”

Hulk sits up slightly, half of his face in the shadows, “Hulk always Hulk.”

Thor doesn’t respond, opting to look out the window again, then he realizes,

“How’d you get here?”

“Winning” Hulk says proudly.

Thor rolls his eyes, “ Do you mean cheating? Did they have one of these shocky things on their necks? I meant, how did you arrive here.”

Hulk imitates a whooshing and crashing noise, “Quinjet.”

Thor gets excited, “ Yes! Okay and where is the quinjet now?” 

Hulk doesn’t respond, instead he gets out of the tub. The only problem is that he didn’t have a towel...or anything to cover himself. Giving Thor a good look at his goods.

“That’s naked...very naked” Thor says cringing. “ That’s in my brain now.”

“Quinjet.” Hulk says, pointing to where the plane is. Uncaring about the state of undress he was in.

Thor gets excited again, “Yes! I can get us home, off of this awful planet. You’ll love Asgard! It’s like earth but gold”

“Hulk stays.” Hulk grunts, taking a bit out of some fruit.

“What? No no no, I need your help to prevent Ragnarok.” Thor says desperately.

“Ragnarok?” Hulk questions uncaringly. 

“Yes, its the destruction of my home planet, the end of times.”

“Thor go. Hulk stay.” Hulk says stubbornly. 

Thor is desperate. He needs to get home before Hela completely destroys everything he holds dear.

‘Look, I’ll tell you what, you help be get to Asgard, and I’ll help you get back to earth.’

“ Earth hate Hulk.”

“What?” Thor exclaims, “ Everyone loves Hulk! You’re part of the team, you’re our friend!”

“Banner’s friend.” Hulk grunts, not believing a word Thor is saying.

“WHat? I don’t even prefer Banner” Thor says awkwardly, “ He’s all ‘ NUmbErs aND SCienCe’ and stuff.”

“Banners friend!” Hulk exclaims. 

By now Thor is frustrated, “Fine. You stay here on this awful planet. Besides this room his hideous. The red and white, like just pick a color.”

“Smash you.” Hulk grunts

“You didn’t smash me, I won that fight.”

“Smash you!” Hulk throws the fruit at Thor.

Thor dodges it calling Hulk a baby. He heads toward the entrance that is left open.

“Thor go!” Hulk shouts.

“I am going!” Thor shouts back, but before he can step out of the room he’s shocked. The obedience puck stunning him

 As he falls to the ground, he can hear Hulk laugh. 

“Thor no go. Thor home.”

He sighs, looking out the window. He briefly hears Hulk say something about training. Then he sees her. The woman who got him into this mess in the first place. 

She pays no mind to him, instead greeting Hulk like they were long time friends. 

They go train, leaving Thor alone with his thoughts. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wake up in the dark room. It seems that Loki has left as you were alone. Your eyes sore from crying, you look around for your bag. You find it, pulling out your phone, earbuds, and journal. 

You write your feelings as you listen to music. 

You don’t know what to do. Part of you wants to go find your father and Thor, but another part trusts Loki and wants to stay. It doesn’t help that he has been the most fatherly figure you’ve had in a  while. 

Sure you had the Avengers. You could even argue that Tony has filled that role of father figure since your dad went missing. But, you and Loki formed a tight bond in a few days that took months for you and Tony to form. You both got along well, bonding over distant fathers, dead mothers, and theater. Not to mention you both had a sarcastic attitude. If anything, he’s taken over a big brother role, but nevertheless; betraying his trust was one thing that you couldn’t do.

You sigh, knowing what you were going to do. 

You were going to find your father.

So you get out of bed and change into your suit. You put your phone in your stuff in your bag and grab your weapons. 

You walk down the hallways, not knowing where to begin to find your father. Then an idea hits you. If you can find out where Thor is, you’d most likely find out where your dad is. So with that in mind you decided to ask a guard. 

“Excuse me.” You say to a red guard, “ Do you know where the …”Lord of Thunder” is staying? The Grandmaster allowed me to go and meet him. I am a big fan” 

The guard hesitated, not knowing who you were. But since you dropped the Grandmasters name, he pointed you to the hallway Thor was supposedly in. 

“Thank you!” You beamed, making sure to skip away as if you were a fan. You skip till you were out of sight and sigh, slowing down to a walk. You strolled down the hallways, throwing fake smiles at the guards you passed. 

Finally, you reached a room at the end of the hallway. You notice a woman pass you and walk staright into the room. You hide behind a wall and listen to the conversation. 

“Hey big guy!” She says, you notice that she has an accent similar to Thor’s.

“Angry girl!” another voice says...Your fathers voice. You can hear footsteps coming your way. You quickly pull out your phone and sit down, hoping they’ll walk right past you. You don’t need Hulk seeing you right now. If anything, he’d change back to Bruce and that’ll cause a whole bunch of problems. 

Thankfully, they pay no mind to you. You watch as they joke around and nudge each other. It’s strange, seeing the Hulk to at ease with another person. 

It kind of hurts, in the same way it hurt to see your dad with Natasha. It was like you couldn’t get close to either side of him. Or he chose not to get close to you. 

Pushing away your feelings, you get back to the mission, finding Thor. 

You head  to the room at the end of the hallway. Surprisingly, there were no guards or even a door blocking your way. You can see Thor, standing by the window. His back was turned to you but he was completely still. 

You walk through the door way, and look around the room. It was messy and kinda ugly. The red and white really didn’t clash well.

Then you were startled by Thor loudly gasping. You run up to where he was.

“Thor? Thor are you alright?”

He focuses on you, eyes widening at your presence. 

“Y/n?” He says slowly, “ Y/n?! What are you doing here?”

“The Dr. Wizard said my dad was here. So I came looking for him...” You say slowly. “ Are you okay?”

“I’ve been better.” Thor laughs, “ Have...have you been here this whole time?”

“Yeah, I got here the same day Loki did, so about two weeks ago. Since then I--”

“Wait, have you been with Loki this whole time?” Thor asks.

“Yeah, he’s the reason I’m still alive to be honest.” You say, “ He helped me get in favor of the Grandmaster and he’s been looking out for me ever since.”

“Loki?” Thor says in disbelief, “ My brother, Loki? He has been taking care of you?”

“Yeah, I didn’t believe it either...but he’s been so kind to me, Thor. Kinder than anyone has been in a while.” You say softly. 

Thor smiled, he was glad that there was still a part of the Loki he knew growing up. That you were alright. 

“You look awesome.” He says taking in your outfit, “Where did you get those clothes?!” 

You laugh, “ It seems like the Grandmaster likes to give make overs.” You look at Thor, “ Dude they cut your hair?!” 

“Yeah some creepy old man cut it off.” He says, suddenly he pulls you in for a hug. “ I am beyond glad to see you here.” 

You blush and hug him back, “I’m glad you are okay.’

Then you frown, “ My...my dad...he’s here.”

Thor freezes, “ Oh Y/n I completely forgot..”

“It’s okay... he looks fine” You say bitterly, remembering how chummy he was with that girl.

“ He can’t know I am here.” You say quickly, “ If he does, he’ll change back and raise suspicion.”

“I need help to get out of here.” Thor says, “ Asgard is in danger.”

“Why don’t you just walk out the door?” You ask

“Because, this neck thingy shocks me whenever I try to leave.” Thor says showing you his neck.

“Ohh so that’s why you lost the fight,” You say realizing what happened.

“I dis not lose” Thor said, “Your father cheated.”

You snicker, “What ever you say Lord of Thunder.” 

Thor sighs at the name, knowing that you weren’t going to stop calling him that. 

“Y/n, I need you to help me get out.” Thor says desperately. You furrow your brow, thinking of a way to get him out of here. 

“Okay...I have an idea.” 

You spend the next thirty minutes comin up with an idea. Revising and editing ideas that’ll get him out of here unscathed. 

That’s when you realized that you shouldn’t be here when Hulk gets back. 

“I have to go.” You say quickly, gathering all your stuff. 

“Wait, wait, how are you going to escape...” Thor says worriedly. “ Your father doesn’t even know your here.”

You sigh sadly, “ I doubt he cares. He seems pretty content here.” 

“Y/n, that’s Hulk, not Banner. Your father loves you.” 

You chuckle, “ You know, in last few weeks. Loki showed he cared about me more than my father has in all the years I’ve been alive.”

“Oh...that’s bad.” Thor says, because if you knew Loki cared about you and not your father...that was saying a lot.    

“Good luck Thor, I better go before some guards show up.” You say, patting his arm and dashing off. And again, Thor was alone. 

Running through the hallways, you bump into someone. You fall to the ground in a huff.

“Watch where you’re walking!” 

“Sorry dude, jeez don’t get your undies in a twist.” You say, getting up from the ground. You look up to see the girl who was with the Hulk. 

“Do..do I know you? You look familiar.” She says, closely looking at your face. 

“Umm, I tell stories to the Grandmaster.” You say quickly, “I better go.” 

Then you run off again, leaving a confused Valkyrie behind. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You finally make it to your room. Panting as you close the door.

“Where have you been.” 

You jump, not expecting anyone to be in your room. 

“Relax, its just me.” Loki says, rolling his eyes, “ Now, where were you? I came back into your room, expecting to find you in bed, resting.”

“Sorry, I... I went to see Thor.” You say honestly. 

“Y/n.” Loki starts, but you interrupt him.

“I know! I know I shouldn’t have gone, but I felt really bad and wanted to make sure he was okay.” 

Loki sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked at your face, seeing your guilty eyes and frown. He’s demeanor softened, “ You are too kind for your own good.”

You chuckled, “Well, one of us has to have redeemable qualities.”

“Hey!” Loki shouts offended. You laugh at his face.

“I can get used to this” You think to yourself. You yawn, suddenly tired from all your activities.

“Get some rest.” Loki says, “You’ll need it’” 

Then he leaves the room after ruffling your hair.

As you get ready for bed and finally lay down, you realize you can’t sleep.

 You have a crushing feeling that something big was going to happen the next day.

[chubbycatsupremacy]

❖ Yandere Mono x Fem! Reader —《When you save their life and their reaction afterwards》❖

☆『Mono』☆

Mono is always vigilant and he is also very confident in his own abilities. Mono's confidence is not unreasonable either, he has enough stamina to be able to run and climb non-stop. And don't forget Mono's superpowers, he can use it as an ace, when in danger, he only needs a TV to teleport somewhere else.

Mono is strong both physically and mentally, it's not just luck that he's survived until now, it's simply because Mono is a very resilient boy. Mono always holds his head high whenever he proudly tells you about his accomplishments, such as defeating The Doctor or The Thin Man (himself).

But no one has never made a mistake, of course Mono is not an exception. You know that Mono can be a bit subjective sometimes because of his over-confidence. And it was Mono's subjectivity that resulted in two of you almost died at the hands of The Teacher.

Mono didn't pay attention to the location he would go to when teleporting over to the TV, so instead of a secluded and safe place as usual, the two of you accidentally fell out of a TV hanging overhead. Fortunately, there are soft mattresses where you two landed. But you get panicked again as soon as you realize where the two of you are at the bedroom of The Bullies, worse than The Teacher standing right there, watching the "students" with a ruler in her hand.

The Teacher spotted the two of you almost immediately, she let out a shrill scream and The Bullies suddenly got up out of bed, chasing after you and Mono. Mono grabs your hand without hesitation and he drags you down the hallway, the two of you dodging traps and trying to find a TV or some other way out.

Perhaps your luck is still on, as Mono has finally found a TV set in the corner, flashing red lights indicating it's still working. But it's not turned on yet, there's a remote on the side table, the problem is that Mono will need time to climb onto the table and get the remote to turn on the TV, he won't be able to do it if he gets The Bullies chase.

You need to extend the time for Mono.

Your eyes move around, you are looking for something that can be used as a weapon, and you immediately notice an ax stuck on the wooden door. Without hesitation, you jerk your hand away from Mono's and run towards the ax.

"(Y/N)! It's dangerous, get back here!" Mono shouted your name in panic, pure fear taking over his mind. On reflex, Mono reached out to pull you back, but you quickly pushed Mono's hand away and pointed towards the TV.

"I'll buy you time, grab the remote to turn on the TV!" You say aloud, Mono tries to pull you back, but you don't care and rushes towards the ax.

You jump up to grab the handle of the ax, you have to swing back and forth a few times to let the ax fall to the ground.

Mono bites his lips so tightly that he bleeds, although he doesn't want you to have to fight alone with The Bullies, but Mono knows now that he has to turn on the TV, then both of you can escape.

He needs to hurry! He has to turn on that damn TV!

Mono used the fastest speed ever to climb onto the table, he tried to keep himself from distracted by you, but the noise coming from behind still made him unconsciously shiver.

Stop shaking, focus you idiot! Mono shook his head vigorously.

The Bullies surround you and try to grab you, you repeatedly swing the ax to smash their porcelain heads, you have opened a path towards the TV. Thankfully, The Bullies seem to have all of their attention on you, and Mono has smoothly left their encirclement.

Oh man! This is terribly heavy! You are gasping for breath because of the weight of your oversized ax, your wrists and calves ache after just a few swings of an ax.

You wonder how Mono felt every time he fought with his giant ax and hammer, he even had to go a long way with them in hand, and you've never seen Mono complain about that...

"Got it!" Mono exclaimed happily as he held the remote in his hand. Mono turns on the TV without hesitation, the familiar screen appears, but Mono does not immediately leave, instead, he turns his head to call you.

"(Y/N), let's go!"

You raise your head to respond to Mono, but the scene ahead makes you dread dumbfounded. The Teacher was right behind Mono, her neck stretching like a snake, Mono hadn't even noticed yet!

Mono is in danger!

"Get out of there!" You push Mono aside just before The Teacher can grab him. Mono falls to the floor from being pushed so hard by you, but right now he doesn't care about the pain.

With all the strength you have, you swing your ax to slash The Teacher's head. Unfortunately, your speed is so slow, she dodges and immediately switches to attack you. You are almost bitten by The Teacher if Mono doesn't pull you into the TV in time.

Mono took the two of you to a safer place, of course he carefully checked the place they were going this time. You both fall on the floor, you are still panting, your heart racing with adrenaline. Mono is not much better than you, what just happened still shocked him.

Lucky for Mono because you were with him then, if Mono was alone, perhaps his body would have been cold in that school.

You're really glad you have a quick enough reflex to push Mono out...

"(Y/N)! Were you injured?" Mono frantically grabbed your shoulder after he calmed down.

"I'm okay, don't worry." You replied. Except for your wrist that hurts a bit from swung an ax, you're fine.

Mono is still not assured, he carefully examines you from top to bottom once. Finally, his eyes are fixed on the bloody cut on your lower leg.

"You're hurt!" Mono spoke in a high voice, his dark eyes filled with fear.

You didn't even know about the wound, maybe you accidentally injured yourself while swinging the ax around, you were too panicky and focused only on getting out of danger, adrenaline makes you forget all the pain. Now that you're safe, you finally feel the terrible pain radiating from your shin, and you wince in pain.

"Oh damn it..." You groan, the wound is deeper than you thought.

Unbelievable you are completely ignorant of it, you even ran the whole distance with a wound on your leg...

Mono instantly turns pale when he hears you groan, he frantically searches for first aid supplies to help you stop the bleeding. Unfortunately, this apartment is nothing more than a TV, a dusty sofa and a collapsed bed.

"Wait a minute, I'll go find some medicine and bandages! Stay here and wait for me to come back." Mono gently helped you sit down on the sofa, then he hurriedly ducked into the TV again.

Mono returned after only a few minutes with a box of bandages and alcohol in hand, you guess Mono went to the hospital to find them.

"Thanks, Mono..." You say in a weak voice.

Mono avoiding your eyes.

"... Don't thank me."

Mono helps you clean your wound in silence, his movements very gentle and careful, but you still hurt to the point of shaking. You instinctively pulled your foot back when Mono accidentally grazed your wound.

"Sorry! Did I hurt you?" Mono apologizes frantically, his reaction makes you feel as if you have been amputated or something...

"Don't worry, it's just my body's natural response." You shake your head in reply and smile reassuring Mono, you don't want to make him worry.

Mono wrapped the bandages for you and chirped non-stop, "Don't be afraid, don't be afraid, it will be alright, everything will be all right..."

You stare at Mono, you feel he's comforting himself, not you, because you're not really panicking at all, the only one scared here is Mono.

You decided not to say anything and let Mono deal with your wound, you also noticed Mono's regretful eyes, you knew he was blaming himself for endangering you. Honestly, Mono was really wrong in this case, he was too subjective and accidentally put both of you in danger. But you also don't want to blame Mono, you know he didn't mean to do it, Mono also really regrets it and will never make this mistake again.

"I'm terribly sorry, (Y/N)..." Mono bit his lip, he lowered his face, letting his long bangs cover his eyes. Mono said in a choked voice, "I put you in danger! I was so subjective, I'm an idiot, I should have paid more attention! You almost got killed just for saving me! I..."

"Stop blaming yourself, Mono. Everyone made mistakes, and we're still alive, that's the most important thing. You just need to stop being so subjective." You interrupt Mono, you don't want to hear him blame himself.

If you were injured for saving Mono, you definitely won't regret it, it's the decision you've made so you have to take responsibility for it yourself. Anyway, you feel it is the right thing to do, if you have the right to choose again, you will still choose to save Mono in spite of the danger.

"There won't be a next time, I'll always be careful, I promise!" Mono grabs your hand tightly and assures you in an affirmative voice.

"Even if you have superpowers, you shouldn't be arrogant, considering today's accident is a lesson for you. Keep in mind, we're not always as lucky as we are today." You patted Mono's shoulder, the child said nothing, he just stared at you with a complicated expression.

"Aren't you mad at me?" Mono stammered slightly.

You shrug and roll your eyes, "If I said no, that would be a lie. But you saved me anyway, I won't be angry at the person who saved my life."

Actually, you see Mono saved you so many times, you owe him too much...

Mono just stared at you without replying.

"By the way, I also want to ask you a few questions." You suddenly remembered your question.

"... Huh?" He finally talks instead of just staring at you.

"Do you get tired or hurt your hand every time you use the ax or hammer?" You cleared your throat, deciding to change the subject to make the atmosphere less tense.

Mono gets confused when you suddenly ask an unrelated question, but he still honestly replies, "Of course I do, especially since I have to use them most of the time."

As if thinking of something, Mono suddenly narrowed his eyes, "Wait, why are you asking that?"

"I used an ax to fight The Bullies today, and then I think about how you feel..." You smiling sheepishly.

"What? Did you have a pain in your hand?" Mono only notices the front side of the sentence, he immediately grabs your wrist to check. You try to pull your hand back, but Mono holds your hand too tightly.

"Just a little tired, but I realize that fighting is really terrifying and dangerous. You always protect me without ever complaining, even if you get hurt... I feel so heartless because I have never asked you about this, you must have been very tired."

"From now on, please let me know if there's anything I can do to help."

Mono looking you straight in the eye for a few seconds before he lowered his head again.

"... Don't say that, I never mind, actually I'm happy to protect you." Mono shyly scratches his cheek, he averts his gaze and fixes his eyes on the floor.

You chuckle as you flicker Mono's forehead, "You didn't notice but I did! Thank you for always protecting me, Mono."

Mono was stunned, his cheeks flushes like a fever, his heart beating fast like a drum.

"Next time let me help you! We can work together to defeat monsters!" You took Mono's hand and said.

Mono's smile disappeared as soon as he heard you say that, his embarrassed expression was immediately replaced by fear, Mono raised his voice to protest at you immediately. Mono's reaction startles you.

"No! Once like today is enough!" Mono squeezed your hand, his shoulder blades shaking a little as he said, "Do you know how scared I was? Can you imagine how I felt?"

"Mono..." You spoke softly, trying to calm Mono down, but Mono didn't give you a chance to finish your sentence. He was like an angry animal, only screaming in anger.

"When you suddenly let go of my hand, I was so scared! And when you almost got killed by The Teacher... Just thinking about losing you and being alone again, I feel myself going crazy!"

Before you can comfort Mono, he jerks his head up and looks you straight in the eye.

"Promise me, never do that again."

"... But if I hadn't, you wouldn't have had time to turn on the TV." You sigh, "I have to do it for us, Mono."

"We can think of another way! We can find a hiding place or a different route! Anyway, it doesn't matter if it takes a little time!" Mono replied in a harsh tone, his eyes were bloodshot and his angry words were spat through clenched teeth. The lights in the room kept flashing because Mono's emotions were fluctuating, the air seemed to thicken, the whole room shook violently as if there was an earthquake, everything look like a slow motion movie.

You press your back against the back of the sofa and instinctively move away from Mono. Mono looks about to lose control again, this happened before when you were attacked by The Viewers. Mono has not been able to fully control his superpower, he easily loses control when he is too angry or sad, that's why Mono always tries to keep himself calm in all situations.

Mono was almost out of control, but when he saw that you were wary of him, Mono's anger immediately disappeared like a punctured balloon.

The lights come back on, the earthquake has stopped and you breathe a sigh of relief, you don't even realize you held your breath.

Mono never wants to scare you.

Mono looking down at the bandages wrapped around your legs, his voice sound low as if he was muttering, "I can't lose you, (Y/N). If you die, I definitely won't be able to control myself anymore. "

You know Mono isn't joking, because you know what kind of person Mono is.

He will be really mad.

You feel so lucky that you and Mono were able to escape The Teacher in time, if you were killed at that time, you can't imagine how Mono would react...

[wildernessuntothemselves]

Oppa Knows Best | Part 6

Word Count: 2.3k (short but super sweet) Genre: Angst, minimal smut Summary: How will Jaehyun react when you suggest that the two of you separate? 

Warnings: violence, blood, manipulation, abusive relationship, suicidal thoughts, dub-con

Gif credit “I think… I need some time to think about this.” You say, wrapping your robe tighter around your naked body and warily glancing at Jaehyun who was now dressed in his boxers and pacing around the room. Just as predicted, he stops abruptly at your words and turns to you with barely contained wrath and exasperation. He was at the edge of his rope and you could tell. “You’ve had your time! I’ve waited years for you!” 

You gulp, staring down at the knot tying your robe together, and seeing the thin fabric vibrate over your skin with the power of your erratic heartbeat. “I know but---can’t you wait just a little bit longer.... This is all too much for me and I-- I don’t know what I should do.”

“It’s always been too much for you. You’ve always run away from confronting this and I won’t let you run again. This ends tonight.” The finality of his words suffocates you. He has you trapped, forcing you to make a decision that you don’t even know if you can make. 

“I didn’t know...I never wanted to hurt you, oppa.” You put your head between your hands, but his accusations still cut their way through to you easily.  “You knew. No one is that fucking oblivious. You must’ve seen how you pulled away from me every time I tried to confess to you.” 

Guilt eats away at you as you remember all the times you had inexplicably shied away from him every time you seemed to get close to getting what you’ve always wanted from him. You never understood it. You would just close up--the blood in your veins drawing back to your heart and pooling into your abdomen, leaving your limbs cold and shaky. You’d feel so imperiled, like any utterance of his potential love for you would make you bleed out. It didn’t make any sense but it was just so overpowering, a survival instinct, that you were forced to follow it.  You couldn’t even discuss it with him, because how could you without revealing your true feelings for him? A prospect that terrified you just as much as the other one.

You shake your head, feeling your mind swelling up with confusion. “I can’t think right now, oppa.” 

“There is nothing to think about. You’ve been running from this for years and look where it led us. You tried going after someone else, and look where it led us. You want me and I want you. We are made for each other. There is nothing else to think about.” 

“But what if we’re not good for each other?” You whisper quietly, fearing the blasphemy your own tongue was speaking.  “What if it’s not healthy…”

“And who told you that, your barista boy?” Jaehyun accuses indignantly, “What the fuck does he know about us? You had no business involving him in our lives. We were doing just fine before he came along.”

“No, we weren’t!” You can’t help your outburst when he’s always refusing to acknowledge the flaws in your relationship. Just because he ignores them, doesn’t mean they’re not there. The least he could give you is to acknowledge your problems and reassure you that he sees them too and wants to solve them. “You were controlling my life and treating me like a slut for sleeping with other guys.”

“You were whoring around. I was protecting you!”

“This is exactly what I’m talking about! You keep hurting me, and you don’t give a shit! You are so obsessed with getting me that you are willing to break me down so I’d only have you to turn to.” You shrill, unable to hold back your emotions.

“And you chased away any woman I could possibly be with so I’d only have you!” He shouts right back at you, not missing a beat. 

The two of you are at a standstill, anticipating the other’s next attack, and you’re tired of it. You can’t keep doing this. So, full of worry and trepidation, you suggest, “Then maybe we should just stay away from each other for a bit. Take some time to look at things from a---”

“Don’t…” He grits out, fury coiling under his skin.

“I just think it might do us good if--”

“Absolutely not.” He barks at you, making you flinch back, and a thought like a parasite springs up into your mind, taking over you and forcing itself out into the world. “If you can’t even handle me stepping away for a bit then maybe we should just...stop.”

He stares at you in shock and betrayal, hardly believing what you were suggesting. “Don’t you dare.” He hisses, eyes red with tears. 

“We can’t keep hurting each other, oppa.” You futility try to explain yourself to him, and perhaps to yourself too.

“No. You can’t do this to me. Not after everything I’ve been through for you. I won’t let you.” He grabs you by the arm, shaking you roughly and jostling the tears out of your eyes.   “I love you so much, oppa, but--”

“No, fuck you!” He throws you on the bed, the veins in his neck bulging out as he screams at you. “You promised. You said you’ll never leave me.” 

Your fingers dig into the blanket under you, trying to find something to tether yourself to as your world spins into chaos around you. “I was a child back then. I didn’t know how bad things would get.” 

“No, you just didn’t have anyone else to latch onto back then, but now that you do, you’re throwing me out like yesterday’s garbage and hiding behind your bullshit excuses. I stayed loyal to you all this time. I never tried to replace you. I dumped Miyeon for you. I never pursued another woman for you. Everything I ever did was for you, and you're abandoning me the minute someone else gives you any attention?" He grabs your face and presses his forehead against yours. "I can't let you go. I won't. You're mine."

"You're hurting me, oppa." You tremble as his fingers dig into your jaw, but he doesn’t let up.  "Maybe you deserve it. You're a selfish fucking bitch. All you do is take, take, take! You made me dedicate my entire life to you and now you want to leave? Fuck that."

“That's not fair! I waited so long for you.” You cry out, reaching out to him, needing him to reassure you that he believes you. You’re not some evil person that was playing with him all this time. You don’t want to leave him just because you have someone else now. No one could ever replace him. 

But he throws you back against the bed before you can touch him and he whirls around the room like a hurricane, grabbing whatever he can get his hands on and chucking it against the wall, breaking anything and everything. “God-fucking-dammit!” 

Soon the entire room is in disarray, but it does nothing to buffer his anger. You gasp in horror as his hand collides with the mirror, his skin breaking along with the glass. Seeing crimson blood gushing down his pale skin, you jump off the bed and run to him, your fear for him overpowering your fear of him. 

But when you get close, he grabs you by the neck and slams you against the wall, the back of your head bouncing back against the concrete and the shock of the impact making your vision go spotty and your ears ring for a few seconds. 

When you come to, you feel the warmth of his hand being replaced by something cool and jagged pressing against your neck, and you stare at him in horror, hardly believing what is happening, but there is no denying the resentment and malice murking up his warm brown eyes. 

“I have no one else but you. You think I’ll just let you leave?” He asks, voice as jagged as the glass he has pressed against your throat

You close your eyes, a small part of you wishing he’d just do what he’s clearly threatening to do. You’d rather die than live in a world where your oppa would ever try to hurt you. You’ve been struggling for too long and you just want it to stop. This will be easier. You won’t have to fight anymore. 

But you feel the glass move away from you and hear a thud as Jaehyun falls to his knees in front of you, sobbing loudly. “I love you so much. Why are you doing this to me?” 

You feel a twinge of disappointment as you open your eyes and look down at the destitute man in front of you. He looks so small, so scared, resembling the little boy you had made that promise to so long ago and it makes you feel wretched. You were telling him you are going to take everything away from him again after promising him that you’d never leave--after telling him for years and years that you love him and that he’s the most important person in your life. You’re abandoning him just like his father did.

You feel the cold shard of glass on your skin again, this time in your palm as Jaehyun places it in your hand and closes your fist around it. “Kill me then. I’m already dead without you.”

You gasp, shaking your head and trying to pull your hand away. “Stop, please.”

But he tightens his hold around your fist, making your hand close tighter around the glass, the edges of it cutting into your palm. “No. I’ve shielded you from the consequences of your actions for so long. It’s time that you face what you’ve done to me.” 

"I never meant to hurt you.” You wail as your own blood seeps between your fingers. “Please, oppa, stop this. I'm scared. I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“You’re killing me.” He insists, poking the skin of his neck with the sharp point of the glass, nicking a small area. “This is just quicker.” 

"I won't leave. I swear I won't leave.” You choke out desperately, panicking at the trail of blood running down his neck. “Just stop it, please!”

He finally loosens his hold on your fist and you immediately drop the glass and pull your hand up to your face, watching the shaking, bloody mess it had become in horror. 

"I love you so much, angel." You hear him say and feel his face nuzzling against your lower belly. You look down at him numbly and see him pulling your robe apart so he can lay kisses directly on your skin.

You can’t feel the warmth from his lips, not when your hand is gushing hot blood still. He doesn’t care though, continuing down your body towards your heat, seeking another warmth all-together. 

You gasp when his tongue slides between your lips and your hand shoots out to clutch at his hair, not caring that you’re messing it up with your blood. Jaehyun’s mouth on you manages to warm you up a bit, and you focus all your attention on how his tongue feels licking around your clit, trying to drown out everything else, trying to pretend that this is just a normal day. 

You almost fool yourself too--if it wasn’t for his quiet sobs that drift up to you every once in a while and the way his hair becomes matted and discolored with your blood, you could almost believe it. But when he stands up, his dick nudging between your legs, you can’t bear to look at him. 

So you turn around and face the wall, feeling more than hearing the strained sound of pain emanating from his chest and flowing into your back.  "I'll make it up to you, angel. I'll make us happy again. I promise you." He grunts, resting his forehead on your shoulder as he pushes inside you. 

“It will be just like before.” He promises lowly, his words are a hiss in your ear, making you shudder. You bite down on your lip to keep down your own cries as he fucks you against the wall like he intends to prove to you just how much he means his words. 

And you stand there and take it. You’re just so tired of fighting back. You don’t want to hurt anymore. 

__________________

You lay in his arms in the bathtub, the hot water running down your bodies and carrying the blood with it making it look like a crime scene. And maybe it was. Here lies all your will to break free and every hope that things could change. They wash away from your body like cheap paint to reveal the scars Jaehyun has permanently etched on you, reminding you that he will never go away. 

When the water stops running red with blood, he carries you out of the tub and into the bedroom where he dresses you up and bandages your wound, pressing a gentle kiss onto your palm once he’s done. With not a single evidence of the night’s violence on the both of you, he kneels down in front of you, and grabs your fidgety hands in his bigger ones, squeezing down on them and prompting you to look at him. When you do, you see the determination strong in his eyes and you wonder how he could possibly have the energy to fuel it when you were all dried up. 

You decide that he must’ve stolen it from you.  

"You will not communicate with that boy again. And it goes without saying that Soojin is out of my life too." He informs you. 

You stay quiet, staring straight at him and he sighs, kissing your hands again before getting up to lay the both of you on the bed under the blankets. Pulling you in his arms, he rubs a hand up and down your side soothingly as he whispers quietly to you and smiles his dimpled smile, just like he always does, but it doesn’t look the same to you anymore.

"I won't let anyone tear us apart… even you."

________________________

A/N: I know this is super short but like there ain’t much else to say :’) I went with the ending that made the most sense so I hope you guys like it

[robininthelabyrinth]

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 25 - ao3 -

“Qiren-xiong! Qiren-xiong!”

Lan Qiren opened his eyes, disoriented and confused at being so abruptly disturbed in such an unexpected fashion. This sort of shouting and running around were not permitted in the Cloud Recesses, lest they disturb the cultivation or quiet contemplation of others, and anyway he had never heard such panic in Lan Yueheng’s voice before. Not even with his first explosion, back when he’d still been afraid of fire.

“Yueheng-xiong?” he asked, unfolding his legs from his meditation posture. Taking that as permission, Lan Yueheng burst through his door. “What’s happened?”

“Something terrible,” Lan Yueheng said. His cheeks were pale, his eyes wild; Lan Qiren had never seen him like that. “Qiren-xiong…it’s your brother – no. It’s He Kexin.”

“Say one, say the other,” Lan Qiren said dryly, trying to lighten the mood a little without any success. “What about her?”

“She’s killed someone.”

“What?” Lan Qiren stood up almost too fast, and his head spun. “Who? Not one of ours?”

“A teacher!” Lan Yueheng wailed. “I don’t know which one, but one of them – an honored teacher – she killed him – ”

Lan Qiren rushed out the door, a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach. There were teachers he liked and teachers he didn’t like, teachers that were good at teaching and teachers that were poor, but they were all his teachers – teacher for a day, father for a lifetime, as the saying went.

Even the ones he didn’t get along with so well, he’d made up with in time, and he was on good enough terms with all of them now. So was his brother, for that matter…

A horrible thought occurred to Lan Qiren: would this be the thing that finally broke his brother’s madness? Was blood truly necessary to wash away his obsession – or would he persist onwards, ignoring even this?

Surely that was impossible.

Surely not even their family’s love-madness –

Lan Qiren felt even sicker, and hurried his pace still further. 

He knew the histories of the Lan sect better than many others. After all, it was his personal family history as well as the sect's history, and there had been a period in his life when he had briefly focused in on that history to the exclusion of everything else as a subset of his interest in the Lan sect rules; in retrospect, it had probably been in part a misguided subconscious attempt to make himself fit in with the rest of them through study and sheer force of will.

Unfortunately, that knowledge meant that he knew enough not to be able to even finish that thought. His family’s tendency towards love-madness was truly terrible, a panacea in small doses and poison in large: his ancestors had achieved miracles that no one had anticipated on behalf of their loved ones, but they’d done terrible things for love, too. When it was good, there was nothing better; when it went bad, there was no limit to what they might do. There was a reason everyone had been just waiting around hoping for his brother to get over it by himself…

Lan Qiren made it to the hanshi and saw several of his elders there, including a few teachers. Each one he saw and recognized made his heart relieved, and yet also tighten in terror: what about the rest?

Which one had been lost? Which familiar face would he never see again?

He didn’t doubt Lan Yueheng for a second. If he said that someone had died, it must be true - and even if he had harbored any such hopes, the grim expressions on everyone’s faces made clear that there was nothing good to be found here.

It was all happening too quickly. He didn’t have time to think.

(Who would be gone from their holiday feasts, their seat left empty or taken up by someone new? Whose voice would go missing from their debates, their wisdom and insight lost forever? His swordfighting teacher, who he’d butted heads with more often than not? His music teacher, who had praised him and defended him as a child? Who?)

“Qiren, good, you’re here,” one of the elders said upon seeing him, waving him forward and glaring at the other disciples milling around until they scattered. “You’re needed – there must be a trial.”

“Of course,” Lan Qiren said, suddenly alarmed at the suggestion that there might not be one. If there was a death, there would need to be a trial; their sect valued the rules, and would never condone an outright execution without appropriate judgment.  “Yueheng-xiong said – a murder?”

“A killing,” the elder confirmed. “It looks to be murder, but there’s been no investigation yet – but she’s admitted committing the act.”

There was no need to specify who. In the last month or so, there had been only one person on everyone’s lips.

Lan Qiren swallowed, braced himself. “Who was the victim?”

Hearing the name was like receiving a blow, making him stagger and want to sit down.

Neither his teacher in the sword, with whom Lan Qiren shared a small enmity and who his brother adored, nor his music teacher, who Lan Qiren held dearest of all and his brother was indifferent towards - but the old one, the one that spoke up only rarely, preferring to spend most of his time sleeping, but which always put in a good word for everyone whenever he did so. 

He was one of their oldest, well-meaning if perhaps too strict, a respected teacher for years and years. He had been their father’s teacher, once, and Lan Qiren remembered how he used to keep sweets in his pockets and distribute them to the juniors - in some cases, long after they were too old for such things. Lan Qiren remembered his brother’s long-suffering expression when he was “snuck” such a treat well into his adolescence; he remembered, too, how his brother had eaten the candy anyway and how it had improved his mood - he had even smiled in amusement at Lan Qiren when he had gobbled his own down without any grace at all. 

He had praised Lan Qiren’s academic skills and encouraged him - had been one of the ones who took him to see his father every month as a child, had been one of the few who had scolded Lan Qiren’s brother for not being kind because not even Lan Qiren’s father could prevent him. He had a reputation for being a little overbearing, a little nosy, a little tactless with the carelessness of age, but that had mostly come from how much he wanted everyone to get along. 

He was someone who was greatly respected and admired by everyone.

“Why?” Lan Qiren choked out. 

It made no sense for He Kexin to kill him. If anything, she should have seen him as a natural ally: he was one of the ones who most vociferously opposed the match.

In fairness, by this point, most of the teachers had settled on that position, reluctant as they were to reach that conclusion when it was something that Lan Qiren’s brother so obviously wanted. It was simply too clear to everyone that He Kexin, whatever her somewhat improved opinion of ‘her’ Qingheng-jun was, was not interested in becoming Madame Lan, either now or later. 

If Lan Qiren’s brother had had any notion of true filial piety, if he had been strictly taught the rules and taught to keep to the rules, he would have dropped the suit long ago, knowing that his sect demanded more from him than what he was giving to it. But he wasn’t, and he hadn’t, and Lan Qiren recalled with great bitterness all the times when his brother had equated the well-being of the sect with his own interests and no one had opposed him, least of all their father. 

Here was where it all ended up. 

“Why did she kill him?” he asked.

“We don’t know.”

“Worse than that,” one of the others said, hands gripped so tightly behind his back that his shoulders bent backwards. “We don’t know...the sect leader has been informed, but he has not yet issued a judgment.”

He meant that he didn’t know if Lan Qiren’s brother even would.

Lan Qiren shook his head. “Uphold the value of justice,” he said, and looked at his teachers and elders sidelong. “Take the straight path, reject the crooked path. Do not take a life within the premises. The rules are quite clear: a murder within the Cloud Recesses calls for a trial, and for a harsh response, no matter the personal cost. Do you agree?”

The elders looked back at him, surprised: Lan Qiren had never cited the rules as a warning before. He had never made clear that he, at least, would have no intention of stepping aside this time – brother or no brother, sect leader or no sect leader, this was simply a step too far. There were rules that could be bent and rules that could be broken, ones that could be responded to with punishments and others that had to be dealt with harshly, living up to the demands of justice no matter how bitter.

If they bent the rules on something like this – there would be no point in having the rules at all. They would only be making a mockery of them, paying lip service when whole-hearted adherence was what was required; they might as well throw them out entirely rather than let themselves become hypocrites of the worst sort. Lan Qiren knew that he tended towards inflexibility, that he was too stern and too unforgiving, but this was the sort of thing that simply could not be forgiven; they could not find a loophole, they could not be moved by mercy, they could not simply bow their heads and shrug their shoulders and look away this time, the way they had so many times before. 

If they allowed for power and influence, the protection of the sect leader, to overcome their principles – if they punished only those who were weak and had no backing, and refrained when it was the sect leader’s beloved – then they ought to lose the right to call themselves Gusu Lan.

“You’re right,” his teacher finally said. “The rules are clear. We must do what is right.”

“Yes,” Lan Qiren said, and braced himself. “No matter the cost, we must.”

This was going to hurt.

Not just his brother. Lan Qiren didn’t know what his lovesick brother would do in response to this fiasco, but he was certain it wouldn’t be good, not for him and not for her and not for any of them, the sect and all. This was going to hurt everyone.

But then again – hadn’t all this hurt them all already?

A feeling of deep foreboding settled deep in his gut, Lan Qiren entered the hanshi, where his brother was waiting, eyes narrow and features set and defiant, standing in front of He Kexin, her own features equally defiant and yet also strangely confused, as if despite the fact that her sleeve was still splattered with blood she had not yet absorbed what she had done.

When all the present elders and members of the main Lan clan had gathered – all the ones who, when all together and speaking in a single voice, were entitled to override the orders of the sect leader – the argument began in earnest.

Everything happened very quickly after that.

After, when it was all over, Lan Qiren didn’t remember the exact words said or the arguments made. He didn’t remember the rules he cited or the positions he took – he barely even remembered that he had for the first time in his life spoke out in earnest, acting as a full adult of the Lan clan with all the rights and privileges he had never felt truly entitled to claim, standing in actual opposition to his brother and refusing to yield and insisting that for once, for once, the rest of the sect refuse to yield alongside him. 

He didn’t remember much of anything else, either.

He didn’t remember the details of He Kexin’s defense, didn’t remember the stupid reasons she’d spouted for what she had done – her story only made sense if you assumed the worst in people, and then acted upon it without bothering to check. Thanks to Lan Qiren’s brother’s endless persistence, He Kexin had a terrible impression of the Lan sect; it had made it easy for her to believe it when her friend abruptly claimed that the teacher had engaged in misconduct, when in fact he had only correctly identified that He Kexin’s beloved ‘sister’ was using Qingheng-jun’s love-madness and indulgence to try to benefit her own sect, and had scolded her for it. 

He barely remembered the way He Kexin’s story had collapsed in the face of even the most basic of questioning, all of her assumptions falling apart one right after the other, and then falling apart even further in the face of actual presented evidence. The way that it became increasingly obvious that one of her friends had lied to her in order to manipulate her, had been lying for weeks on end and encouraging her to carry on the relationship just to take advantage of her. 

He scarcely recalled the exact words that were spoken when even He Kexin’s friend, already captured by Lan sect disciples on account of the crime and dragged in to give account, denounced He Kexin’s actions. If only she had been less arrogant, her friend complained, less overenthusiastic - she hadn’t mean to push He Kexin to go so far as to kill the man, had meant only for her to use her influence with Qingheng-jun to immunize them against the teacher’s criticism. Only in her excess disdain for the Lan sect, He Kexin had jumped straight to the worst conclusions and gone too far, and now she had now ruined everything…

The details didn’t matter.

What Lan Qiren did remember was the look of horror on He Kexin’s face when it all fell into place. He remembered how she stared down at her hands that had killed a man for so little purpose, for no purpose at all, on the basis of false accusations because of her blind trust and unwillingness to question, her refusal to communicate and her unwavering belief that she knew best. He remembered the alarm and very real fear that appeared when the first elder proposed a sentence of death, pointing out that the only appropriate resolution for such a pointless murder was the most severe, that it would be a life for a life in the traditions of the cultivation world –

Remembered the expression on her face when his brother proposed a different solution.

Remembered the expression on his brother’s face, fanatical and determined, the whites showing all around his eyes, the reckless madness of love writ all over his face – it had consumed him wholly. He had given himself away in full, and there was nothing left, nothing binding him back other than the duty that had always weighed him down.

Remembered how he had responded – what he had offered –  

“This cannot be,” Lan Qiren said numbly, walking out into the light of dawn – they had argued the whole night through before reaching the end. “What are we going to do?”

“Qingheng-jun is entitled to resign his position and enter permanent seclusion if he so wishes,” his music teacher said heavily, his voice nearly as dull and shocked as Lan Qiren’s. “His wife, whoever she may be, is entitled to do the same, matching her actions to his. It is our sect’s way: that those who travel the same path as Dao companions be allowed to continue down that same path, never being parted in life. The precedent was set years ago…”

“As was the one that dictates that those who are in permanent seclusion cannot be removed against their will for any reason,” his swordsmanship teacher said, his voice equally solemn. “Not even for trial, should a crime later be discovered. As their seclusion is permanent, they are removed from the world – they are considered as if already dead, never showing their face under the heavens.”

Lan Qiren knew all of this. He knew all the stories, all the rules, all the precedent – not that it had ever been used this way, but his brother had always been one to find loopholes in the rules, to bend their letter to his will rather than bend his neck to honor their spirit. If He Kexin was his wife, she could accompany him anywhere, including into seclusion; if they were both in seclusion, she could not be tried; if she could not be tried, she could not be found guilty and sentenced to die.

“He condemns her instead to a living death, then,” he said woodenly. “She doesn’t even – like him.”

“She is not the one who chose seclusion. She is welcome to leave at any time,” his swordsmanship teacher said bitterly. “Provided, of course, that she is willing to bear the cost and lose her life to pay for her crime.”

He Kexin wouldn’t do that, Lan Qiren knew. She was vivacious and bright, full of life and humor and hope; she feared death, as any regular person did, and she was not part of the Lan sect – she didn’t know how strict their seclusion was. She didn’t know how taxing it would be on her, how little she would see of the world, how disconnected and isolated she would be.  

There would be servants to care for her in her seclusion, but they would seek to minimize their presence as much as possible to avoid disturbing her, speaking to her only when necessary. She would be able to speak with her husband, to meet with him on occasion – their seclusion was technically shared, and therefore meetings between them were not counted as a breach of that seclusion, but they would not be permitted to meet too often, lest they be distracted from the higher purpose of cultivation by bodily affairs.

Permanent seclusion was rarely chosen by those young enough to allow for the possibility, but should there be any children born into her seclusion, they would be taken from her and allowed to visit only rarely – the exact frequency had not been recorded, and would probably be a matter of debate should the issue ever come up. Their father would likely see them even less often, only on holidays involving filial piety, and whether he would speak to them would be entirely up to him; there was no obligation on his part.

“How could this be worth it?” Lan Qiren whispered. “How could he…?”

“He is in love,” his music teacher said, as if it were a death sentence.

It was a death sentence.

“We must send word to the former sect leader,” his swordsmanship teacher said, shaking his head. “He, too, is in permanent seclusion and cannot be forced out, but he retreated from the world in honor, not on account of a crime; he could break his seclusion voluntarily. He has always cared deeply for the affairs of the sect – surely he would…”

He trailed off, shaking his head a second time. A motion was taken among the elders and members of the Lan clan, each one of them deeply subdued – He Kexin had already been taken away by her bridegroom to perform the marriage ceremony in the memorial hall, without any of the usual trappings of such a festive event – and a runner was soon sent to the rooms that Lan Qiren’s father had selected for seclusion.

Each of them anticipated a long wait, expecting the former sect leader to demand a full explanation of all that had occurred before emerging, yet to their surprise the runner returned within half a shichen, scarcely enough time to get to the rooms and to return.

“Seniors,” the runner cried, throwing himself down on his knees and touching his head to the floor. “I sought to alert the sect leader of what passed here this night. I called his name time and again, rang the bell to alert him of an emergency…”

“And what?” one of the elders demanded. “What happened then? Why have you returned so quickly?”

“He did not respond,” the runner said. “No matter what I did…I thought the situation was desperate, and so acted rashly. I bypassed the prohibitions and looked through the window – seniors, honored teachers, the former sect leader is dead!”

Lan Qiren started violently.

“What?” his swordfighting teacher demanded, rising to his feet – they were all rising up, all but Lan Qiren who only sat there, stiff in shock. “What do you mean? Even if his cultivation failed, it would not be so soon!”

“It cannot be doubted. After what I saw, I went inside to confirm it. He is dead.”

“When,” Lan Qiren said dully, barely bothering to make it a question.

Everyone turned to look at him.

“It has been an entire night,” he said, staring down at his hands. “Bad news flies on swift wings, and spreads as quickly and inexorably as ink in water. Tell me - did my father die by his own hand before or after he found out what his beloved eldest son has done?”

Nobody answered him.

[pet-genius]

The Death Eaters as a Cult - Part 3

Follow up to this and this. Trigger warning: Cult abuse.

Draco is vulnerable to being recruited simply because he’s Draco - his father is a Death Eater, and he's eager to prove himself to the master he grew up believing in. I’m not usually sympathetic to Draco, but this line makes me feel for him:

“everyone thinks he’s so smart, wonderful Potter with his scar and his broomstick —”

“You have told me this at least a dozen times already,” said Mr. Malfoy, with a quelling look at his son. “And I would remind you that it is not — prudent — to appear less than fond of Harry Potter, not when most of our kind regard him as the hero who made the Dark Lord disappear.”

This makes it clear that he’s been indoctrinated from a young age into a fringe belief (his belief in the Dark Lord, not in blood supremacy - that’s mainstream), and into hiding it, even after the cult disbanded. This contributed to a sense of isolation from mainstream society, and for someone like Draco, exacerbated his existing condescension and entitlement. The same must be true for Crabbe and Goyle, who on top of being children, are stupid and lacking in critical thinking skills, which means an escape was nearly impossible for them, and indeed, Crabbe died, and who knows if Goyle was clever enough to stay out of Azkaban.

Throughout HBP, Draco goes from boastful to scared for his life.

From DLA:

“What say you, Draco?” asked Voldemort, and though his voice was quiet, it carried clearly through the catcalls and jeers. “Will you babysit the cubs?”

The hilarity mounted; Draco Malfoy looked in terror at his father, who was staring down into his own lap, then caught his mother’s eye. She shook her head almost imperceptibly, then resumed her own deadpan stare at the opposite wall.

Once on top, now the Malfoys are too scared to make eye contact with anyone and protest at their humiliation. Draco is looking to his parents for protection, but they know they can’t provide it, even though Narcissa is trying.

Regulus was in a similar situation to Draco - I think he felt pressured to prove himself after the bitter disappointment Sirius had been. He and Draco were marked before they were of age, whatever being of age means in the wizarding world - meaning Voldemort was not above using minors. He also used children: the Daily Prophet writes that the Ministry has captured a nine year old child who had been Imperiused into murdering his family.

Snape’s vulnerability is glaring. In a nutshell, his extreme poverty and the neglect and abuse played a part in his decision to join the Death Eaters, and there’s a reason why Lucius is seen patting him on the back as soon as he is sorted. Perhaps the policy was to groom all newcomers. Like Barty, he might have looked for a father figure. Harry notices the many similarities between Snape and Voldemort (and himself), and these are all things Voldemort must have used on young Snape as well.

Snape is an example of how disposable Voldemort’s followers were, to him - he sent him to Hogwarts to get the cursed DADA job, meaning he was willing to let a potentially horrible fate befall Snape within the year. Even after Snape ascended to #2 by killing Dumbledore (on Voldemort’s order, no less), Voldemort killed him to gain mastery of the wand Snape became master of by doing Voldemort’s bidding.

Snape also explains the Dark Mark

“There,” said Snape harshly. “There. The Dark Mark. It is not as clear as it was an hour or so ago, when it burned black, but you can still see it. Every Death Eater had the sign burned into him by the Dark Lord. It was a means of distinguishing one another, and his means of summoning us to him. When he touched the Mark of any Death Eater, we were to Disapparate, and Apparate, instantly, at his side.”

A famous cult in my country did this: The leader made his followers tattoo pictures of him and his name on their body. It’s this association that originally made me think of the Death Eaters as a cult. Voldemort branded his followers like cattle, and he expected them to drop everything they’re doing to run to him whenever he wants.

Snape was constantly tested, too. He was assigned a servant he despised, for one, and tasked with killing Dumbledore. Even after he had accomplished that, Voldemort did not fully trust him:

“Yaxley. Snape,” said a high, clear voice from the head of the table. “You are very nearly late.”

This is a threat, since they’re not actually late; I think it’s meant as a “hey, remember when I tortured you once for being late?” It is followed by:

“Saturday... at nightfall,” repeated Voldemort. His red eyes fastened upon Snape’s black ones with such intensity that some of the watchers looked away, apparently fearful that they themselves be scorched by the ferocity of the gaze. Snape, however, looked calmly back into Voldemort’s face and, after a moment or two, Voldemort’s lipless mouth curved into something like a smile.

Voldemort is using Legilimency - he still does not trust Snape, he still needs to interrogate him so carefully that the others are afraid to look.

Next, there is this:

“Do you recognize our guest, Severus?” asked Voldemort. Snape raised his eyes to the upside-down face. All of the Death Eaters were looking up at the captive now, as though they had been given permission to show curiosity.

That the Death Eaters all knew not to look up at the gruesome sight without permission, goes to show, again, how fun it must have been to be a Death Eater. In general, I think the best way to read “Dark Lord Ascending” is to pay attention to where people are looking, and how - it’s important in general, but especially in this chapter.

Lucius is an anomaly. It’s very hard to picture him kneeling, and there is no obvious reason why he should forfeit his dignity. Cults don’t typically target the elite, and in this, the Death Eaters are a bit strange, unless Lucius was also recruited at a young, impressionable age. This can be resolved if you consider that Voldemort is the Heir of Slytherin, and unlike cult leaders, he really is super-powerful, and the person with the most potential to achieve political goals the Malfoy family is interested in.

Privileged as he was, even Lucius had vulnerabilities, and Voldemort was a Legilimens, meaning it was very easy for him to tell what they were.

This is how he treats Lucius in DLA:

“As I was saying,” continued Voldemort, looking again at the tense faces of his followers, “I understand better now. I shall need, for instance, to borrow a wand from one of you before I go to kill Potter.”

The faces around him displayed nothing but shock; he might have announced that he wanted to borrow one of their arms.

“No volunteers?” said Voldemort. “Let’s see... Lucius, I see no reason for you to have a wand anymore.”

How… emasculating.

Lucius Malfoy looked up [so he was looking down until then]. His skin appeared yellowish and waxy in the firelight, and his eyes were sunken and shadowed. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse.

“My Lord?”

Lucius looks like he’s been through a lot. Also, since this scene takes place in the middle of July, why is there a fire? I’m theorizing that it’s for Nagini, or perhaps Voldemort is cold-blooded now, but in any case, he doesn’t care about the others’ comfort level. Maybe he even wants them to sweat.

“Your wand, Lucius. I require your wand.”

“I...”

Malfoy glanced sideways at his wife. She was staring straight ahead, quite as pale as he was, [...] At her touch, Malfoy put his hand into his robes, withdrew a wand, and passed it along to Voldemort.

Voldemort is making Lucius give him the wand himself, to reinforce his submission - he could have used magic.

“Give you my wand, Lucius? My wand?”

Some of the throng sniggered.

“I have given you your liberty, Lucius, is that not enough for you?”

Indeed, Voldemort has given Lucius his (questionable) liberty, but again, he is expecting gratitude for something Lucius would have had in the first place, were it not for him: Lucius was imprisoned because he was caught at the Department of Mysteries fighting for Voldemort.

“But I have noticed that you and your family seem less than happy of late.... What is it about my presence in your home that displeases you, Lucius?”

“Nothing — nothing, my Lord!”

“Such lies, Lucius...”

The soft voice seemed to hiss on even after the cruel mouth had stopped moving.

[...]

“Why do the Malfoys look so unhappy with their lot? Is my return, my rise to power, not the very thing they professed to desire for so many years?”

“Of course, my Lord,” said Lucius Malfoy. His hand shook as he wiped sweat from his upper lip. “We did desire it — we do.”

Remember the fire? Do you notice Lucius sweating? His hand shaking? See how terrified he is, and how awful it must be to be forced to state how much he loves being treated like that?

To Malfoy’s left, his wife made an odd, stiff nod, her eyes averted from Voldemort and the snake. To his right, his son, Draco, who had been gazing up at the inert body overhead, glanced quickly at Voldemort and away again, terrified to make eye contact.

This is what has become of the once mighty Malfoy family.

Legilimency is important - because it means Voldemort typically could spot the mere thought of defection, and manipulate it out of the offender or outright kill them. The DEs know he can read minds, and so averting your eyes could be seen as admitting to a lie, unless you avert your eyes regularly. Breaking eye contact is a gesture of submission, and if one’s body is forced into it enough, it becomes ingrained. Every mention of eye contact in Dark Lord Ascending reinforces that. Their body language in that chapter also shows how controlled they are. I believe Death Eaters are learning to occlude involuntarily, to deceive themselves into only having permissible thoughts and feelings, to ensure their own survival. This makes it impossible to escape.

Finally, there’s JKR’s statement that Snape was the only DE who could produce a Patronus. This can't be because he's not evil (Umbridge can produce a Patronus), and it can't be because he's the only DE who is more powerful than 13 year old Harry. I think it’s because they were not allowed to - I think a spell that requires you to think genuinely happy thoughts would have reminded Death Eaters that their happiness does not come from Voldemort. The rigid mind control screams "cult" to me, and I think it's a much more interesting take on them than "bunch of plot-stupid people who had somehow managed to terrorize the wizarding world despite being incompetent".

Hope you now feel the same and thanks for reading this thesis <3

[minor-solemnity]

Invention and Intrigue

This might turn into a multi-part fic? I haven’t decided yet, but let me know if you want to read more of this one though!

He doesn’t look angry, or even particularly concerned is the thing. He looks like he’s considering something. Thoughtful, interested. “That was quite the performance,” He says at last and walks over to you, his shoes tap tap tapping against the stone floor. “I think I’d like an explanation.”

The dungeons are one of those places that you don’t go near unless you can absolutely help it. You’d dropped Potions the moment you’d been allowed, not because you’re not good at them - it had been one of your best subjects in actuality - but because the dungeons aren’t safe. Not for someone like you. 

This is why you’re currently cursing every bloodline that makes up your best friend’s family tree as you gingerly descend the stone steps into the depths below. Melanie Lindhurst has a date. A date with a boy who she has been pining after since fourth year. She also has a very expensive rare textbook that she needs to return to Slughorn that night but she can’t because of said date. This is why you’ve been roped into finding Slughorn and returning the book yourself. Which means you have to go into the bowls of the castle and pray you don’t run into any Slytherins whilst you’re there.

Melanie had said you were being dramatic when you’d grouched about it over dinner. She finds your reticence to go near the dungeons very amusing. But then she’s not the one who spent most of fifth year creeping around the castle waiting for a mystery monster or madman to sneak up behind you. She’s not the one who had Victor Lestrange whispering that he wished it had been you when they removed Myrtle’s body from the bathroom. So Melanie doesn’t get to laugh at your objectively sensible reluctance to step foot in the snake pit.

After ten minutes of wandering the corridors, you have to admit that you’re lost. All the tunnels look exactly the same and you don’t know where Slughorn’s office is. Maybe Melanie had a point when she said you have a flair for the dramatic, but honestly, never mind Slytherins, you’re going to die down here because of your terrible sense of direction. You take another turn and hear voices coming from behind a door. Lestrange’s unmistakable cackle carries through the air and the door slams open. You press yourself against the wall and hope that no one spots you. Tom Riddle leads Avery and Lestrange out of the door.

God. The snake pit indeed.

You’re in the middle of breathing a sigh of relief at not being noticed when Riddle stills and turns to you. “Are you lost?” He asks, and the other two boys turn to stare at you too. You school your expression into something polite and unassuming and valiantly try to ignore the nasty smile that’s stretching across Lestrange’s face. Riddle, for his part, looks faintly amused. Like he knows exactly how little you want to be here and finds it all rather funny. Still, you feel yourself stand a little straighter despite yourself. He’s the Head Boy, after all, well known in the castle for his pleasant, quiet demeanour and his strict adherence to the rules. It’s not strange that you want to make a good impression.

“Good evening. I, ahh, I have to return this book to Slughorn. My friend borrowed it and he wanted it back tonight.” You explain, feeling vaguely ridiculous as you raise the book up to show them that you aren’t lying. “I don’t suppose you know where he is?” 

Avery rolls his eyes, reaches towards you and takes the book. “I’ll bring it to him. I need to talk to him about my last potions essay, anyway.” He says. You notice that he very carefully doesn’t touch you and you bristle at the implication that the thought of touching a muggleborn is beneath him. 

“Of course. I’m sure you’re more familiar with this area of the castle than I am.” He leaves soon after. You decide to switch Melanie’s conditioner with hair dye as vengeance for her leaving you. In the snake pit. With Lestrange. The two remaining Slytherins watch you - Lestrange with haughty contempt and Riddle with a kind of detached interest. You rather get the impression that he’s waiting for you to do something idiotic. “I… Well, good night.” You say at last deciding that making a speedy escape is your best plan of action. 

You've made it to the end of the tunnel when you hear Riddle say goodbye to Lestrange and his footsteps recede into the distance. You frown and your grip on your wand tightens when you don’t hear Lestrange follow after him. “You're being paranoid,” You mutter to yourself and begin to try and retrace your steps. Five minutes later, you realise that you’re even more lost than you’d been to start with. With a rueful smile, you have to admit it’s hardly surprising. You haven’t stepped foot in the dungeons in two years, and even then it was only ever to the Potions lab. Your knowledge of this part of the castle is severely lacking.

It’s as you’re mulling over your predicament when a flash of purple light illuminates the space around you and a cry escapes you as your shoulder erupts in blistering pain. Lestrange’s laughter echoes down the hallway and before you can think it through, you’re lashing out with your own curse. “Confringo!” A stone bust next to where Lestrange is standing explodes and he yells in surprise as a chunk of marble very nearly knocks him over. He raises his wand but you’re quicker: “Crudesiko.” 

The effect of the spell is immediate. Lestrange staggers back, his eyes wide and fearful. You smirk. Serves him fucking right. His already pale complexion is turning practically ghostly and when he opens his mouth, blood burbles up the back of his throat and spills down his chin. You’re fairly sure that if you left him much longer, he’d die. Which would be bad. Very bad. You don’t want to go to prison for murder. With a flick of your wand the curse lifts and Lestrange stops coughing up blood. You stalk over to him, anger and adrenaline making you reckless, “If you ever try to touch me again, I swear I will do so much worse. Do you understand, Lestrange?” You hiss, your wand digging into the hollow of his throat. He nods, still pale, still shaken, still scared. “Don’t tell anyone about this - stupid little muggleborn like me? Compared to your fucking pedigree? No one would believe you.”

Over his shoulder, something shifts in the shadows. You take a step back from Lestrange and let out a shaky breath. He gathers himself, schools his expression into one of disdain and quickly retreats back to the safety of the Slytherin common room. Now that you’re alone, the weight of what you’ve done hits you. You’d hurt him… Hell, you could’ve killed him. You sink slowly to the floor and stare blankly in front of you, unable, or perhaps unwilling, to think about the gravity of your actions. Adrenaline bleeds out of you and you have to choke back a sob. Regardless of what you’d said to Lestrange, you know that if he so much as breathes a word of what transpired you’d be facing expulsion. Probably worse.

“Scourgify,” A smooth, calm voice interrupts your panicking and you snap your head around to stare up at Tom Riddle who is currently cleaning up the trail of blood Lestrange left in his escape. He tucks his wand away and turns to meet your gaze, one brow arched. He doesn’t look angry, or even particularly concerned is the thing. He looks like he’s considering something. Thoughtful, interested. “That was quite the performance,” He says at last and walks over to you, his shoes tap tap tapping against the stone floor. “I think I’d like an explanation.”

You don’t get up from the floor. Resignation sits uncomfortably on your shoulders, the weight of your disappearing future hanging heavily over your head. Head Boy Tom Riddle is your judge, jury, and executioner. “Do you really need one? You saw what I did.” You mutter, unable to look at him as something like shame curls up your spine.

He sighs and then, as though he’s explaining something very simple to a small child, he says, “I didn’t say I needed an explanation. I said I wanted one.” You chance a glance at him then and find yourself fixed under the weight of his scrutiny. When you still don’t say anything, he sighs again and this time you can detect a hint of impatience. “Or perhaps you’d prefer to explain this to the Head Master?”

“No!” You yelp, unable to stop the hint of hysteria from creeping into your voice. He hums approvingly and you’re not sure why, but you start to believe that maybe you’re not going to get into trouble. “I just… Lestrange started it.” You gesture to your shoulder which is still aching, the fabric of your shirt is slashed open where the curse hit you revealing a nasty burn across your shoulder and collarbone. “I’m not helpless. I’m not going to just… not defend myself because he thinks he’s better than me.” 

There’s a tense moment where neither of you speaks. Riddle’s gaze is impossibly intense, his eyes flicker from the burn to your face to your wand and you can’t look away. From your position, he towers over you and you think you should be afraid but somehow you can’t will the emotion into existence. After what feels like an age, Riddle takes his wand and murmurs something under his breath. A pleasant coolness wraps around around your shoulder and the pain recedes and the burn mark melts, leaving smooth clear skin in its place.

He offers you a hand. You’re a little surprised by how delicate his hands look. Pristine pale skin stretched over piano players fingers. He’s wearing a gold and onyx ring on his ring finger. It looks antique; strangely it suits him. As though he was born to wear that ring. You take his hand and he pulls you up in one fluid motion, a display of strength that you’re not sure why shocks you. His skin is cool and the way he holds your hand and doesn’t let go even when you’ve found your footing sends fission of something down your spine, pooling in your stomach.

 “Allow me to walk you back to your common room,” He says and begins to lead you down the hall. He still hasn’t let go of your hand. “What spell did you use?” He questions after a few moments of silence and you can practically hear the wheels turning in his mind as he considers you as though he’s truly seeing you for the first time. “I didn’t recognise it.”

Despite yourself, pride twists in your chest. “You wouldn’t have,” You say simply. “I invented it.” At this, Riddle’s eyes widen briefly before he dispels the shock from his face and regards your guarded curiosity. At his prompting, you explain what the spell does. “It’s designed to drain the blood from the victim. Ideally, they wouldn’t start coughing up blood, but I’ve never used it before so I guess there’s room for improvement.” 

To your surprise, he laughs. It’s not the polite hum of mild amusement you sometimes hear him make in front of professors, it’s surprisingly high pitched, light, melodic. “This is your main concern? That it didn’t work exactly as intended? Not the fact that you almost killed the heir to one of the most respected pureblood families in Britain?” He must sense the sudden flood of panic and worry that washes over you because he glances sideways at you, a small, oddly reassuring smile curling his lips. “Lestrange won’t breathe a word unless I tell him to. And I think this might be a secret best kept between us, don’t you?” He smiles down at you and you could maybe believe that he’s just being immeasurably kind if it weren’t for the dangerous glint in his eyes and the way his hand tightens around yours. It’s a warning, maybe. It feels like a promise.

Riddle walks you the rest of the way to your common in silence and you’re painfully aware of how close he stands when he finally comes to a halt. You can feel the heat radiating from him, the weight of his hand around yours, the light puff of an exhalation against your cheek as he leans down and murmurs in your ear, “I think we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other from now on.” He raises your hand between the two of you and grazes your knuckles with his thumb. It’s an oddly tender gesture. “Good night.”

You stand there, alone in the corridor, for several minutes after he leaves, wondering just what in the hell you’ve gotten yourself into.

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4)

[acourtofsnakes]

Tome - Rogue, Chapter 10| The Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader

Summary: You find yourself talking to a mysterious stranger, whom you can’t help but feel a pull towards. Will the Mandalorian get there in time? And what will happen when he shows up?

Warnings: Gonna put this as an 18+ but it’s not SUPER graphic,  Swearing (this is a given by now), a little angst, sexual tension – a lot - &mentions of sex that are kinda detailed, WE GETTING HOT IN HERE TODAY

AN: I was trying to hold off on the sexual tension but I couldn’t wait any longer and I needed to add some of Din’s darker side – I blame all the fanfics and Tik Tok, and i’m not ashamed 

Word count: 6.5k+

As always, credit to whoever owns the gif. I usually find them on Google or Pinterest, so message me if it’s yours ♥︎

Rogue Taglist:

@snipskixandbeskar @weirdowithnobeardo @the-bottom-of-the-abyss @jackgrzs @sarahjkl82-blog @boomtownboy @goldielocks2004 @seninjakitey @what-iwish-you-knew

Rogue Masterlist | Introduction| 1: Solus| 2: Arir | 3: Tor | 4: Gaa'tayl | 5: Kyr’am | 6: Cabur | 7: Ret'urcye Mhi | 8: Haran| 9: E’tad | 10: Tome |

Mando’a translation: Tome – Together

You studied the man as he drew off his hood. 

He had inky black hair, so dark the loose waves caught a blue tone in the light of the cantina, like the wings of a crow or a raven. 

His skin was softly tanned, yet still a little pale, the pallor set off by the darkness of his hair. 

But it was his eyes that drew your attention first. 

They were the colour of melted amber, shockingly bright, like they almost glowed from within. They sparkled with flecks of gold, watching you with a keen interest, seeing what you would make of him and his offer. They glimmered like they already knew the answer before you did yourself. 

He was heartbreakingly beautiful, and he knew it. Almost flawless. 

So, where was his mark, his tell of a dark past, twisted with horrors and darkness that always seemed to follow beautiful people?

There. 

As the light shifted, you saw that he bore two long, wicked scars on his face. 

One began just above his eyebrow, parting through it and narrowly missing the edge of his eye, before coming to a thin point on his high cheekbone. 

The other was smaller, drawn across the plush curve of his lips. It twisted it only slightly, just slightly tugging up one corner, but they did nothing to mar his sheer beauty. 

It was.. almost otherworldly. Disarming. 

That, combined with his watchfulness gave you a distinct feeling that you were dancing the line between prey or… company?

Or maybe it was the way the light seemed to shy away from the planes of his face, whereas the shadows clung to him like a second skin, like they were an extension of him. 

You remained perched on your seat, torn between immediately leaving and putting distance between yourself and this too-beautiful man… or joining him. 

He tilted his head, leaning back in his seat and he motioned gracefully to the stool in from of him, “Join me, love. I won’t bite.” His lips curled up into a wider grin and you swore you could almost see fangs, “Not unless you want me to.” 

You rolled your eyes, but something about the comment made you realise he probably wasn’t going to kill you if he was flirting with you. “Well, since you paid for my drinks.” You shrugged lightly, slid off of your seat and then joined him at his table. “I’m not so easily won over though, just to inform you.” 

The man’s smile turned lazy, feline and he chuckled. The sound of his laugh was like velvet, sliding over your bones and whispering in your ear, “Oh, I don’t doubt that for a second, love. I can tell you need more than a few looks and drinks.” He ran those ridiculous eyes over you, taking in every inch and it felt like was seeing straight into your soul. He made a thoughtful hum in the back of his throat, lifting his eyes to yours again, “No. You strike me as the kind of girl who needs to be truly impressed with more than empty promises.”

Your skin warmed with his gaze, your eyes narrowing a little, but you mirrored his feline smirk, leaning forward and dropping your voice, “And you think you’re the one to impress me, do you?”

He looked over your face, leaning forward and the scent of rain-kissed cedar and thunderstorms washed over you, swirling around your head and filling your lungs, “Maybe. Though something tells me that I might have a contender.”

Unbidden, the thoughts of that night on the Crest came back in a rush, Lori’s bare hands tracing over your skin, your throat and pulling through your hair with utter adoration. 

You tensed, an ache of longing ripping through you and it blew your cocky response out of the water. 

The man blinked a little, his eyes softening as he read your response that was obviously clearer than you’d like it to be, “Apologies. I didn’t mean to step over the line, so forgive me if I have.” He leant back again, raising his drink to you. 

You shook your head softly, giving him a smile that was perhaps only a little forced, “Don’t worry about it, really.” You clinked your glass to his and then sipped your drink, maybe taking a deeper drink than the situation required. “So, what really made you pay for my drinks?”

The man looked a little bashful, gazing at the back of his gloves, “I’ve only been on the planet for the day. I saw you practising with the Marshal earlier and I was impressed. And… wanted to meet the woman who fought like she was dancing.” With his eyelashes lowered, you could see that the scar just tugged at the edge of his eyelid, and you briefly wondered how he managed to walk away with his eye still in his head. 

However, his words had you frowning slightly because… they were the exact same words the Mandalorian had spoken to Greef, in awe of you.  “Mmm-hm…” You raised an eyebrow at him, starting to believe you may have made a mistake in sitting here. “What’s the real reason?”

He lifted his eyes back to you, and had the good grace to look a little awkward, “I…” He sighed, “I fear I’m giving you the worst first impression of myself.” He spread his hands on the table almost in a gesture to show he meant no harm, “There have been rumours that… The Mandalorian who stole the Child had taken off with another bounty. And that…” 

Your gaze was level and hard on him, wanting an answer and wanting it now, “And?”

He bit his lip, that curl of hair still resting over his forehead and making him longer especially with the guilt in his expression, “That there was something between him and his old bounty. Him and… you.” He inclined his head toward you slightly. 

Warning bells began to tinkle in your head. “And where did you hear that?”

He shrugged lightly, lifting a hand, “Oh, one hears many things. Especially about you, my love. You’re famous in planets that don’t even know about the Mandalorian. Everyone knows someone who’s seen your puck.” He was reaching toward the sword on his back, his hand closed around the hilt.

Within a blink, your hand was on your own knife again, “I am going to give you thirty seconds to tell me the truth, or I swear, I will run my knife through that pretty eye of yours so quickly you won’t even have time to breathe.”

He blinked, something flickering in his expression, but he held his hands up further, “Easy.” He pulled his sword free of his holster, setting it on the table between you both. “I’m not here to take you in. I was shown your puck, but I refused. I had heard you were here, and I wanted to warn you.”

Your hand didn’t budge from the knife, “Warn me? Of what? I know that everyone is after me. I don’t need some stranger telling me that.”

The man tilted his head, adjusting the hood of his cloak over his shoulders now that his sword was out of the way, “Don’t you want to know who employed them all? All of the people who have been after you?” 

Is he playing with you?

You were entirely focused on him, ready to fling the knife and bolt should you need to. You knew how to get out of here, how to get up to the rooftops and dart across them. 

Don’t. Don’t ask him, just in case. Get out now.

He knew… He knew who sent everyone after your head.

No. 

This man knew who was responsible for the lives of friends and strangers.  

You shouldn’t ask. This was a mistake. You needed to leave. 

You looked away from his golden stare, drawn to look at the sword lying there on the table. 

Your brows furrowed imperceptibly as you beheld the strange symbols carved onto the sheath. 

Something about them seemed… familiar. Strangely so. They itched at the back of your mind like a forgotten language. 

He lowered his golden eyes to the sword between you, sucking in the light of the room.

“The symbols on this sword… they call to you, don’t they?” He ran a gloved finger along the sheath, tracing delicately over the inscribed symbols. 

You bit your lip, hesitating as you watched him. 

He looked up at your expression, your hesitation and then he slowly unsheathed the sword, revealing the blade to you. 

The blade was made of a deep, dark obsidian coloured material. It was like no metal you’d ever seen. It seemed sheer almost, like a gemstone but it was a rich ebony colour, as endless as space. It pulled in the light around it, sucked it dry and seemed to use it to glow darkly from within. 

Along the centre of the blade, the same symbols were inscribed, but this time in a rich golden gilt. 

With each symbol that was exposed, something rose within you. 

He was right. 

They truly did call to you. You didn’t know how, or why, but you felt like you knew what they meant, that you should understand them. 

The caged power of the Force within you felt it too. 

That’s what they were calling to, what they were connecting with.

The raven-haired man smiled that disarming smile again, his lips twitching up in delight, knowing he was correct. He remained silent for a few seconds, “They call to your power.”

Wait. 

He… knew? 

How the fuck did he know about you?

No one knew. Not even the Mandalorian knew. 

You reached for your blade instinctively again, watching the man in front of you. 

Fear must have registered in your eyes, mixed with a defensive warning, because he held up his hands. 

“Easy, I’m not going to hurt you. I already told you that. I’m not here for you, or the bounty.” He shrugged a little, “Okay, I am here for you, but not like that. You see, my sister was the same. She had the same… gifts, as you.” He mercifully kept his voice low, soft enough that only you could just hear it. 

You didn’t speak, couln’t say anything, only watched him. Waiting. Even if curiosity did spark within you. 

He smiled softly like he saw it, the scars on his lips doing nothing to mar the overwhelming, stunning impact of that simple gesture, “That’s right… she was so incredibly talented, and I adored her to pieces. She was beautiful and had such a light within her. Much like you. And I want to help you… like I tried to do for her.” He tilted his head a little, his molten eyes shimmering with sadness as he spoke about her. IT was etched in every line of his body, the pain of losing a loved one that you held so dear. 

You swallowed, slowly letting go of your knife, “What happened to her? How do you know about me? Who is sending the hunters after me? Who are you?” The questions tumbled form your lips like rain, unable to stop them as you were faced with a man who could.. maybe help you?

He chuckled softly, filling the air with that musical sound again, “Let me answer the easiest one first. My name is Rena and-“

The doors to the cantina opened, letting in a warm, volcanic breeze. 

You felt, rather than heard his presence behind you. You could recognise the almost silent footfalls, the barest scrape of armour as it got closer and closer to you. 

With every step, it felt like you might jump out of your skin. 

He was here. 

He’d come back. 

Had he come back for you?

“Get away from her.” His snarl made the chatter in the cantina drop a few notches, the atmosphere subtly changing as everyone tried not to listen in. 

You could feel his height rising up behind you, and turned around in your seat to greet him, despite the snarl in his voice. Your elation at seeing him, the very way your bones hummed in delight made you miss what he just said. 

“Lori.. you’re here.” You couldn’t deny the way you greedily took in his tall, beskar-clad form. His armour looked… dustier, dirtier than it usually did. Like he hadn’t had time to clean it. There were a few patches smudged over the chest plates, and the fabric beneath looked a little torn. The more rugged look was good on him, giving him that edge that you knew lingered beneath the surface. 

Grogu rested at his side, in his little pouch bag. He cooed delightedly when he saw you, earning himself a grin and a wave. 

And in the Mandalorian’s other hand…

Duru. 

Held in his hand like he normally held the Child. 

You tilted your head, reaching out to take her, “Lori, why are you carrying my cat like a baby?” You laughed, holding her furry body close  

He ignored you, his helmet focused on the figure opposite you. “I said, get away from her.” The rough baritone of his voice held a fierceness you’d never heard before, the promise of a thinly veiled threat should your companion continue to ignore him. 

You blinked in surprise, at the fierceness in his tone. 

You’d expected a ‘Hello’ at least, but here he was, acting like you were invisible and giving a death stare (you presumed) to the man opposite. 

Rena chuckled softly, that laugh like flowing water over smooth stones, “Calm down, friend. I’m not going to hurt her.” He smiled at the Mandalorian, all easy charm and glowing eyes. 

Mando growled, striding forward and he flung his arm out across your body… like he was protecting you? 

“I am not your friend. And you are nothing to her. So back off.”

You frowned, something prickling at the back of your neck, a feeling you couldn’t place. You appreciated the Mandalorian defending you but… from what?

Did he think you couldn’t be trusted to sit and talk to someone? That you were dumb enough to make a foolish mistake with so many after you?

“Mando. Enough. You don’t even know Rena. Neither do I. Calm down.” Your voice was soft, but firm. To tell him you appreciated the defence, but you didn’t need him to save you. 

Besides, you wanted to know more about him, more about how he knew what lingered within you and how he planned to help. 

He barely looked over his shoulder at you, keeping his head turned to Rena, “You’re right in that you don’t know him. But I do. So forgive me, but I’m the one calling the shots in this situation. Take the kid and go back to the Razor Crest. We’re leaving.”

Your shoulders straightened and your eyes flashed as you raised an eyebrow at him, “You’re the one calling the shots?” Your voice was flecked with icy coolness, and disbelief, “I can make my own decisions, Mandalorian. Despite what you may think.” You let acid creep into your tone, let him know you were referring to him decided to dump you here. 

Rena’s amber eyes flicked between the two of you, dancing in amusement as he tilted his head, “I’d listen to her, Mandalorian. I think she knows what she’s doing. She doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman who likes to be told what to do.” The light bounced off his dark hair, making the inky curls catch a deep blue. His posture was at ease, leaning back in his chair, his sword within easy reach, should he need it. 

The cantina was silent now, everyone flat out watching or listening to the potential fight that was going to ensue… and whether it would be between Mando and Rena, or Mando and yourself. 

Mando still had his arm across your body and Duru’s too, actually. “And you don’t strike me as the kind of monster that plays with their food for so long. I know you like to have your sick little games, but this isn’t exactly your style is it.” His words were venomous, a tone you’d never ever heard before. 

Anger flashed through you, chasing away the initial delight you had at seeing the Mandalorian. You understood his wariness of strangers, but he was being out of order. You weren’t stupid. You’d been doing this for long enough that your instincts were pretty sharp when it came who to trust and who to run away from. 

You stood up, glaring at the back of his head, “Enough, Lori. This is ridiculous.” 

Mando ignored the cold anger of your voice, finally looking at you over his shoulder. “Just wait outside. Please.” 

His plea stopped you short. He had only ever used that word in such a tone once before.

In the kitchen area, with his hands on your skin and in your hair. 

Please.

And… was there a layer of fear beneath it?

You sighed, looking from him to Rena, reluctant to leave them in case the fight did indeed break out. This man… he said he could help. And he couldn’t very well do that dead, could he? 

You didn’t doubt for a single second that Mando wouldn’t go down without a fight, but you sensed there was something coiled within Rena, a slumbering beast that was waiting to be provoked. It prowled behind his eyes and his smile. 

As if reading this in your eyes, Rena smiled at you, shaking his head a little, “I’m not looking for a fight, love. Your Mandalorian will come back to you in one piece. And I’ll leave here in one piece as well.” His eyes shifted to Mando, something in them shifting, “Won’t I?”

Mando was still, his instincts on trigger mode and just waiting to explode, “I don’t like making promises I can’t keep.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes as you took Grogu from Mando. “Fine. You have five minutes.”

You rested the bag across your body, ignoring the eyes watching you as you stalked out of the cantina. “Men.”

~~

The cantina door opened, and the Mandalorian walked out. 

A quick inspection revealed no damage, so you turned your gaze back to your knife. 

You were perched on a wall, Grogu on your lap and Duru around your shoulders as you waited for the Mandalorian. 

Having spotted you, he walked over, hesitating a few steps away like he was approaching a raging fire. 

Good. Let him hesitate. Let him know how fucking furious I am with him.

You said nothing, continuing to clean the blade of your knife on the edge of your cloak. 

Silence stretched between you, broken only by the soft thump of Duru’s tail, and Grogu’s tiny huff as he looked between you both. 

Mando observed you for a moment, before placing his hands on his hips and sighing, “Come on then.”

You turned over your knife, methodically buffing up the blade, “What the fuck was that? Do you treat all strangers the way you did in there?”

The Mandalorian was still, watching you carefully, “He’s not a stranger. He’s dangerous. Deadly.”

You still hadn’t looked at him, “I am dangerous. And deadly. I’ve killed people and ‘played with my food’. Does that mean I am a monster too?”

He shifted his weight to his other leg, “I didn’t call you a monster. You know I wouldn’t do that. I’m sorry if it stirred anything up, I didn’t think” Your old argument must have flashed through his mind because it did yours. But that wasn’t the issue. 

Grogu looked at you as you shook your head, “Nope. You didn’t think, did you? You waltzed in there. And made a scene.” 

A noise filtered through the vocoder and over to you, “A scene? I would hardly call it making a scene. That guy is a stone-cold killer. He was sitting there, toying with you and no one would have batted an eyelid to help you. There are people after your head, him especially!” 

Fire simmered through your veins. “Oh, for the love of all the stars, grow up! He isn’t deadly. He knew who I was, and he didn’t once raise a hand to hurt me. He said as much himself.”

The Mandalorian laughed, that damn laugh that made your teeth set on edge, “He told you, did he? Oh, forgive me then. Of course, he was telling the truth.” He shook his head, pacing and then coming back to you. 

You frowned, watching him pace, “What is your problem with him? So I was talking to some guy in a bar, that immediately makes him a monster?” 

The Mandalorian made a frustrated noise, raising his hands, “My problem, sweetheart, is that I thought you were smarter than that! Some creep tells you he knows who you are but he ‘isn’t going to hurt you’ and I thought you’d be running the other way and he’d be laying there with a knife in his chest! Not laughing with you over that fucking sword of his.” 

This man was being ridiculous. 

“So, this about my supposed stupidity now too, is it? Because I did something that you didn’t expect me to do?” You shoved your blade back into it’s sheath, nearly slicing your leg as you did. 

Mando made another frustrated noise, “Fucking hell, you’re not listening to me, again!! This is not about you! This is about him!! He cannot be trusted. He is a monster and a murderer. And I don’t care if he was singing you nursery rhymes or telling you about the baby Porgs he adopts, he was lying! He is going to kill you and I am not letting that happen!”  

Jaw clenched, you glared at him still, “Have you seen him do such things? Where’s your proof he was going to kill me. Do you know him?”

“Not exactly. But I-“

“No. You don’t know him at all. You didn’t trust me to be able to handle the situation, even though there wasn’t a situation until you walked in.” 

Mando crossed his arms across his stupidly broad chest, “Like I said. You clearly didn’t know what you were dealing with. Again.”

You slowly looked up at him, eyes blazing and Grogu made a noise, his little body going still. “Oh?”

The Mandalorian kept his gaze firmly on you, oozing that cockiness that grated on you as much as your own grated on him, “Nope.” He tilted his head, “Someone has to keep you safe.”

It was the insinuation on the word, ‘someone’, that had you picking up Grogu and placing him on the wall. He immediately tucked his chin into his tunic, his hands coming up to cover his ears. 

A beat later, your fury exploded. 

“Someone needs to keep me safe?! And I suppose that title oh so graciously falls on you, does it? Because you know everything about everyone who comes into contact with me?” You stalked toward him, poking a finger into his chest, “I was doing just fine before you. I don’t need you to keep saving me. If I remember correctly, it was me who saved you the last time. So don’t come out here on your high and mighty hero argument, you pretentious, shiny, asshole!” You pointed at him, “You can’t just walk in and start accusing people of being murderers when you clearly don’t know them!”

The Mandalorian sighed, “Don’t start this again. You know I didn’t mean it like that. So, don’t start calling me names either. I was trying to protect you, like I keep saying.”

You growled at him, “So you’re allowed to waltz in there and start spewing accusations, but I’m not allowed to call you out for being an asshole?”

Mando walked over to the wall where Grogu and Duru were perched, “I wasn’t spewing accusations, princess. I was telling the truth. When are you going to believe me?” He scooped up the kids, placing Grogu back in his pouch over his shoulder and holding Duru in his arm again. 

For some reason, that fuelled your anger even more, that he took your cat and strolled off. You scrambled off of the wall, “Are you going to explain to me how you know then?” You followed him as he began to walk down the street, winding through the paths. 

He didn’t even look at you just kept walking, “I just know that he went in there to kill you. He was playing with you first.”

You darted around a fruit cart, the setting sun bouncing off his shiny head and getting in your eyes, “And I asked you for your proof. Which I’m still waiting for.” 

Mando stopped, so suddenly you bumped into his back with a soft oof. “Look. I just know, okay. Can’t you leave it at that for once?” You just knew there was a pleading expression underneath the helmet, but you weren’t letting it go. 

You crossed your arms, arching a brow at him, “I’m gonna give you a minute to remember who I am and answer that question for yourself.” 

He groaned, dropping his head back and looking at the darkening sky for a moment. “Fine.” He lowered his head to look at you again, “In Mandalorian culture, there are legends of a creature so foul, he was spat back out of the deepest pits of darkness. A man so cruel that darkness itself shies away from him. They say he has no soul. I didn’t believe in it when I was a Foundling. I thought it was just a story they told us to make sure we stayed in line but… I know that it’s true now. He is true. We call him Haran. It means cosmic annihilation, because that’s what he brings. He kills people for pure pleasure, but he drags it out in the worst way possible first. And he’s after you.”

You said nothing. Simply staring at him. 

He stared back at you, waiting. 

The seconds ticked by, Grogu and Duru looking between you both. 

Finally, you spoke. Your voice was very quiet, very calm, “You mean to tell me. That you walked into that cantina, after over a month of not seeing me, without even saying hello, I might add. And you walked over to this man, accused him of being a murderer and threatened him… because you think he’s a children’s story?!” 

The noise of exasperation that came from the man before you mirrored your own emotions, “For the love of- You’re impossible.” 

“And you’re talking bullshit.” You snapped the words, arms still crossed, and you were just getting madder by the second. But something was suddenly becoming clear in your mind, some dark whisper to play with him. 

Mando almost audibly rolled his eyes, shaking his head before turning around and continuing to walk. “Whatever, princess. You asked, I told you.”

There was no hesitation as you followed him again, “You’re lying.” 

“Am I?” His voice was flat now, bored almost. He weaved through some more corners and streets, the paths getting quieter and some empty buildings rising up around you.  

“Yep. And I think I know why. I know why you suddenly went alpha male protective on me. I know why you made such a scene. And I know why you’re acting like this now.” You were poking at him; sure you knew the truth now. And if you were wrong, hell, maybe you could make him as frustrated as he had made you. 

“Do enlighten me, princess. How do you know such things?” There was an edge to his voice, like he knew where you were going with this. 

“Because to me, it sounds like you walked in there, saw me sitting with someone else and…”

He stopped, putting the kids down on a wall again as he turned to look at you, “And what? Say it.” The visor of his helmet was locked onto you and you had that feeling again that you had locked eyes. 

You stared back at him, crossing your arms, voice dripping with fury and contempt, but now with an edge, “You were jealous.” 

The evening was quiet, this part of town abandoned by the look of the crumbling buildings around you. 

The Mandalorian laughed, but there was no humour in his voice, “Jealous? You think I was jealous of him?”

You bristled at the cocky laugh, eyes flashing again and that hidden part of you shimmered and trembled, “It sure as hell looked like it. You didn’t even say hello to me before you were descending upon us like an alpha male claiming your territory.” You stalked closer to him, two predators dancing around each other again, “I am not your territory, or your property. I am no-ones.”

Mando didn’t move, letting you come closer, “I know that. I never once laid claim to you. But when I walked and saw you sitting there with that.. that..”

You snarled softly, “Don’t say it again.”

He looked at you for a moment, “That creature… I lost it. You shouldn’t be on the same planet as him, let alone across the table.” He dropped his arms to his sides, displaying that restless energy that was so rare for him. 

You couldn’t help but laugh this time, “Because he’s some kind of spooky shadow man from your childhood stories? Please.”

Mando shook his head fiercely, pointing at you, “It’s the truth. Haran is real. And he was sitting opposite you, playing with you and pretending to be some bashful pretty boy.”

You prowled toward him, mimicking the shaking of his head. “No. Not good enough. Stop lying to me, Lori.” 

“I am not lying to you!! Get it through your head, he was going to kill you!!”

You were right in front of him now, peering up at him, “Admit it.”

His voice was tight, but he didn’t back away, “Drop it, princess. I already told you.”

You shook your head, “I don’t believe you. If you wont tell me the truth I’ll help you.” You took a tiny step closer, so close your chest brushed against his as he panted a little. “I think you went to my room, expecting me to be there. You saw that I was gone and Duru was alone. You immediately thought the worst, and came rushing down to the cantina, hoping you’d find me there. And you did. Only it wasn’t what you expected.”

Mando was silent, his hands curling into fists and uncurling again. 

You continued, relentless, “Instead of being on my own, you saw me sitting with another man. A damn good looking one at that.” You cooed the word at hi, dropping your tone to a seductive, needy one.

You wouldn’t have heard the soft growl if you hadn’t been this close, and it only spurred you on. “You saw us laughing, talking. And you didn’t like it.” You tilted your head a little, “You saw us and thought… how well do they know each other?” You lifted your hand, placing your fingertips on his chest, “Maybe we knew each other as friends. Or… maybe we knew each other more than that. Maybe we’d spent nights together...” You began to tap your fingers down the Mandalorian’s chest plate, as you lowered your voice to a seductive purr, “What if we couldn’t wait, couldn’t wait to get to the bed and he threw me against the wall, tearing the buttons off my trousers in his haste.” 

Mando was breathing harder now, his hands curled up tight. You knew you were pushing his buttons, edging him to possible fury but something in you ached to do this, to feel something like that night before. You wanted a reaction out of him, something more than just protectiveness and care. You wanted him to lose his cool, break free of his restraint and just… do something. 

“Maybe I tore off his clothes too, both of us kissing so fiercely we couldn’t breathe, our tongues dancing around each other as we grabbed at each other, pulling away the layers of clothes until…” 

You rose up on tiptoe, your hands resting against his belly for support, and you knew the helmet would pick up your whispers, “Until he sunk into me, pushing me against the wall and fucking me, so hard and so loud that everyone in that building heard, that everyone knew what was happening. They knew his name, they knew my name, and they knew that we did not stop going. That we had sex on every available surface in that room. That I threw him on the bed and rode him until he was clawing at my hips. Do you want to see? Do you want to see the bruises that you think are on my hips?” 

You turned your head, so your lips brushed the edge of his helmet and fire burned through you as he turned his head into your words and his hands twitched, “Do you wish it was you, Lori? Do you wish it was you that was making me scream? That you were the one leaving marks on my body? That you were the one buried so deep within me I could feel you in my belly?” You pushed your body into him, effectively pinning him to the wall with your own body, “Did you think about me whilst I was gone? Alone, in the middle of the night with only your hand to keep you company?”

Your fingers trailed to his clenched fist, curling your hand around it to bring it to your waist. 

Only for him to let out a choked growl that set your bones ablaze. He spun quicker than you’d ever seen him move, switching the position and holding your hand against the wall, his other next your head, effectively creating a cage with his body, “Shut up.” 

You grinned, hearing the rasping tone of his voice, “I knew it, I knew you were jealous. You did think I fucked him, didn’t y-“

Suddenly, his hand had left yours and was over your mouth, “For a girl who acts like a princess, you have a fucking vulgar mouth.” He tilted his head down to yours, his voice rumbly and sparking all sorts of images in your mind. “Maybe I was a little jealous. I’ll admit it.”

Your eyes flared with triumph, even if the hand on your mouth was coiling heat in your belly, making heat flood through your body – and between your legs. 

The Mandalorian leant in closer, surrounding you with his scent again, smokey leather, metal and that distinct woodsy smell. “You asked me if I think about you… but what about you, cyar'ika? Do you think about me when you’re alone?”

By the stars, the way his voice dropped and rolled along your spine like a caress. It opened up the corner of your mind that you tried to ignore, the corner that spilled out every night, into your dreams. 

“Do you think about that night on the Crest? What might have happened if we weren’t interrupted? Would my hands have gone lower? Touched where you wish it was me? Sunk into you and stroked you until your legs shook?” He chuckled lowly, a sound that would have brought you to your knees if he wasn’t caging you to the wall. He was so close you could no longer see your reflection in his visor. His head titled a little and you felt his body push into yours gently, all hard, cold armour, but beneath that… beneath his hips, he pressed into you. 

You could feel the hard length of him, feel that he was turned on by this just as much as you, maybe he wanted this as much as you did. 

Wanted the images searing through your mind, of his hands tearing around your clothes, dropping to your thighs and lifting them around his waist, gripping them so hard he left bruises as he pushed into you..  

Fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck. 

Electricity crashed through your veins and your darkened eyes rolled back a little, thighs clenching. You couldn’t help it, your lips parted and a soft moan slipped from them, muffled against the leather of his hand and without thinking, you bit down on his fingers, tasting the leather. 

His hand tensed over your mouth, his body jerking into yours a little as his breath left him in a soft huff. “Fuck, you d-“

“Uh, guys?”

Cara’s voice filtered through the haze of lust that clouded your brain, and immediately, the Mandalorian jumped backward, the two of you parting like you’d been shocked. 

Heat flooded your cheeks and neck, not from embarrassment so much as a response to his words. 

The man made you furious, made you see red but… you couldn’t deny the fire between you. The way you were dancing around each other since you met. You were seemingly in a constant stay of being polite, flirting with each other or being at each other’s throats – either through anger or pure lust. 

“What is it, Cara?” Mando turned to her, his voice coming out a little harsher than intended due to the roughness of his voice, betraying the reactions of his body. 

Her eyes flicked between the two of you, and you just knew she saw it all from the way she was holding back a smirk as she looked at you. “That guy from the cantina asked me to give you this.” She held something out to you. 

You cleared your throat, pushing away from the wall and walking past Mando carefully, like the faintest touch between you both would ignite something. “Thanks, Cara” You took the object she held out and it was a thin metal card with a code embossed onto it. You frowned, flipping it over but all that lay on the other side was a symbol. A two headed snake coiled around a sword that looked a lot like the one that had been sheathed on his back. 

The Mandalorian answered instead, thankfully staying where he was, “It’s a comms code. If you input it, it’ll connect you to him.” His voice was tight, “If he thinks-“

You held up a hand, not looking at him, “Don’t even finish that sentence.” You pocketed the card, letting out a breath, “I’m going to go and sort my things out. I… I’ll meet you all in a bit.” You allowed yourself a glance back at the Mandalorian, skin heating when you found his visor already trained on you. 

You swallowed thickly, your blood simmering again but you made yourself turn around, avoiding Cara’s smirk, “C’mon, Duru.” 

You headed back to your little apartment, relieved when you heard no trailing footsteps behind you. You needed the time alone for a minute, to process what the hell just happened between you both. 

And maybe to cool down. 

He would be the death of you. 

Previous| Next

[dapandapod]

Child of surprise

So my darling gremling @geogrewife were supposed to help me pick a Wip to work on but made me write this instead. Please enjoy!  On Ao3 here

Warning: fluff. so much fluff. Like, fluffy fluff.

“Somethings wrong with Roach.” Geralt frowns at Jaskiers words. They have been staying in a cottage all winter, deep in the forest away from prying eyes. They found it when the first hint of gold appeared in the trees, and they decided that this is a good a place as any. It has been restful. No big bad monsters around, just the normal inhabitants. Roach has been away a lot, roaming the forest but always returning unharmed at nightfall. The cottage didn’t have a stable so they simply made a new door to the cottage, making a pen out of one of the corners. Geralt can be a handyman when it comes to the comforts of Roach and Jaskier relentlessly teases him about it. This is one of those nights they spend in peace, wind whistling among the trees and hard rain falling on the roof. “No?” Geralt protests, because he can see nothing wrong with her? And he is clearly the superior horseman out of the two. “Uh, yes? Geralt, I know I know very little of horses but something is clearly different? Can’t you tell?”

Geralt puts down his gwent cards and gets up from the wooden chair he sat on. Roach is ignoring him, munching on her hay in her corner, resting one hind leg as she does when she is relaxed. He walks up to her, hand on his chin and eyes squinting. He looks her over but sees nothing obvious, so he focuses, letting all other sounds fade away. Geralt rarely uses his witcher senses on her, but she smells like usual? He senses no wounds, no pain, nothing sticking out. Her fur is all shaggy now in wintertime, but that’s about it. “I can’t see anything.” Geralt mutters, returning to the table. “Did you look at my cards?” Jaskier scoffs. “I don’t need to look at your cards to win. Just. Let’s keep an eye on her?”

Time passes slowly. Winter is dark, and every day Roach wanders the woods. Geralt is out hunting for dinner but stumbles on her tracks among the trees. He is very far away, he wasn’t aware Roach made such long trips. He suspects Jaskier might be right. Something is off with Roach. She is getting slower, sometimes in the mornings her legs get a little swollen. Geralt massages her and tries to keep her warm and well fed but he will not be in the way when she wants out. But it’s probably time to see what she is up to. It seems like this stretch is well walked, many hoofprints covering the ground in both directions. Geralt follows her tracks and stops mid step when he notices where they lead. Up ahead is a clearing, a frozen creak glistening in the sunlight, snow heavy on the branches. It looks magical. On the other side of the clearing stands Roach. Only, she is not alone. Next to her stands a white horse. So white it almost can’t be seen against the snow. It has long white mane with grey streaks and the body is powerful. And it’s a unicorn. The horn is long, sharp. Dangerous. The unicorn could easily kill Roach with it. But it doesn’t. They are standing peacefully next to each other, her dark fuzzy fur a stark contrast. They use their muzzles to push away the snow to get to the grass underneath. Geralt barely dares to move, barely dares to breathe. As far as he knew there were no unicorns left. Obviously he was wrong, and it has taken a liking to his Roach. Geralt tries to back away quietly, stepping into his own footsteps, so that he doesn’t startle them. But the unicorn must sense him, his head shoots up and then runs away. Roach startles and looks around, but when she sees Geralt she relaxes. Well. “Hi girl.” He greets her. “Uh… sorry. I didn’t mean to startle your... friend?” Oh. Ooooh. That’s why she’s been away so much. That’s why there was more than one set of hoofprints. Probably. He wonders how long they have met out here in the woods, and he feels oddly protective of her. Roach makes no effort to walk up to him so he leaves her there in the clearing.

When he returns to Jaskier some time later, two winterbirds under his arm, he realizes Jaskier was right. He kicks his boots on the doorframe on the way in, ridding himself of most of the snow. “You were right.” He calls as a greeting, and Jaskier hits a sour note on his lute. “‘Scuse me?!” Jaskiers eyes are huge, startled. “Did you hit your head while hunting?!” Geralt chuckles and hangs up his outer clothes. “You were right about Roach. There is something up with her.” “OH! Yes, I told you so! You know what it is?” Geralt settles down to pluck the birds. “Yeah. She has met someone.” Jaskier picks up his playing again, plucking on the strings in a soft melody. “Oh really? Are there more horses in the woods? Or a nymph perhaps?” “Unicorn actually.” Again, Jaskier makes a sour note on the lute and Geralt cringes at the sound. “Sorry, but. Did you just say you saw a fucking unicorn?!?” Jaskier gapes, not believing a word he hears. “Yeah. It got scared of me though and ran away.” “THIS IS WHY I NEED TO COME WITH YOU GERALT!!!” Jaskier abruptly stands up from his chair, dragging a hand through his hair. “I MISSED A UNICORN!” Geralt smiles again, fingers still working on their upcoming dinner. “You will never let me out of your sight again, are you?” Geralt says fondly and Jaskier huffs. “You are absolutely right!” He plops back in the chair again but lets his lute hang from his hand and rests on the floor. “I can’t believe this.” “Don’t pout. I��ll bring you with me in a few days.”

And so he does. They let Roach get a headstart of a few hours, but it takes two months before they see it again. By then Roach has eaten through a third of their collected hay for the winter. Her legs are still swollen and her back seems to sink a little. Geralt is starting to suspect he knows what is wrong with her.

They follow her to the clearing, this time walking with her instead of sneaking behind. They see her go about her usual routine, scraping a hole in the stream to drink and them starting to push the snow around. It takes almost an hour before she raises her head and she whinnies towards the woods. There is a deep rumbling neigh in return. And there he is. He trots up to her, his neck curved and tail raised.

Because it is a he, Geralt realizes. A stallion. And there is nothing wrong with Roach. She is with foal.

Beside him Jaskier draws in a breath, mouth open with awe. It’s like a picture from a fairytale, the snow glistening, the world holding its breath. The unicorn nuzzles her thick fur, and they start scratching each other's backs. Next to him Geralt can hear Jaskier sniffle, and he is not far away from breaking a tear himself. The unicorn sees them, ignoring Roach buffing his side to continue, and stares. Geralt really, really hopes he won't attack. He is not sure he would be able to flee it, and that would mean fighting it. Luckily it seems to decide they are no threat and turns away. The two horses go back to inspecting the other and then walk off into the woods without a backwards glance. Jaskier and Geralt stay in the clearing for a while longer, breaths as clouds in front of them.

“Wow.” Jaskier finally manages, wiping at his eyes with his ungloved hands. “Too bad I can never sing about this.” he smiles, blinking up at the afternoon skies. Geralt sees the reasoning in that too. The moment rumors of a unicorn comes out there will be people hunting it. He takes Jaskiers freezing hands in his and leads them back towards the cottage.

When the first spring flowers peak through the snow Roach is heavy. It’s clear they won’t be going anywhere for a while. So they prepare to stay for even longer. Geralt leaves for two weeks, trekking towards the closest village. They need more supplies and food, and getting there by foot and back is going to take some time. To Jaskiers surprise (and Geralt's despair) he returns through a portal, Yennefer close behind. She stays for a few weeks, cooing at Roach like she never had before, lovingly petting her down and spoiling her absolutely rotten.

She comes back in the middle of summer. Because it’s time. During the night Roach is restless. She walks around outside the cottage, snorting and panting. Geralt, always the light sleeper wakes up and goes out to her. There is no need for her to sleep indoors during this time of year, and she leads him towards her clearing. It takes another hour for her to lay down, and by then both Jaskier and Yen found him by her side. Roaches sides are slick with sweat, and the small hoofs sticking out from her are just as brown as she is. Geralt wasn’t sure what to expect of this foal, if it would be white or brown. But it would seem that it’s brown. When the first early rays of sunshine filter through the leaves the foal, a little stallion, takes its first steps. His eyes are pale blue, his body a dark brown like his mother, and his mane a shade paler. There is no sign of a horn and Geralt can’t decide if he is relieved or disappointed.

They stay for some time longer, making sure Roach is alright before retreating back a bit. By now they have learned the unicorns habits a little better. Geralt and Jaskier double back to the cottage to bring some breakfast back. Jaskier squeeze his hand all the way there, and when they get inside the door Jaskier pulls Geralt close. He smiles at Geralt, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Why do I feel like a proud parent?” He asks and Geralt chuckles. He couldn’t agree more.

Jaskier decides to name the foal Pegasus. The little thing is feisty, he nips after them even though he doesn’t have any teeth yet. He kicks and he bucks and he flies over the grass. His father didn’t come on the first day, nor the second. But when he comes there is a full show of sniffing and buffing. When Roach thinks he is too rough on Pegasus she steps between them, ears slicked back and teeth on display. She turns around and half heartedly kicks at the unicorn and Geralt swells with pride. When they calm down Pegasus tries to imitate his parents, doing his best with his short neck to bend down towards the grass. He can’t quite reach and stumbles. “I can stay here for hours.” Yen says softly, a soft smile on her lips. Geralt knows how she feels.

And they do. They stay for hours and hours to watch Pegasus and Roach, sometimes around the cottage and sometimes in the clearing. Still no horn in sight, just a small bump in the middle of his forehead. Pegasus seems to have taken a great liking to Jaskier. Whenever the bard sits in the grass, leaning back on the wooden wall with his lute, Pegasus scampers over to inspect. He pulls at his clothes, steals his expensive hat and tries to nibble at the lute.

They talk about what they should do. Yennefer comes and goes, unable to stay away from the little menace of a foal. She claims she wish to study him, if he got any magical abilities, but they all know better.

Perhaps they will make their way towards Kaer Morhen. The area isn’t perhaps the safest for a horse, but at least there won’t be any prying eyes in case Pegasus actually shows any abilities. Jaskier speaks of the coast again, and about Lettenhove. Traveling with a foal however is not the safest nor the most practical thing. But the summer is still young.

They have time.

[vanserraseris]

END OF PART II - Everyone was so nice and supportive and I appreciate it so much!!! Warning, Eris has friends (soldier friends cuz I just think he’s close to his soldiers) and because I don’t like the idea of him being lonely. There’s a time skip from the last part, but we get baby Lucien. Thanks so much, Ruchi :)

im loving this sm and YES give eris friends. love you lots ash <3

Prince of Ashes. Part II.

masterlist.

“Stop that.” The words were no more than a low growl. 

Micah let out an exaggerated sigh, tilting his head back to look up at Eris from where he was sitting on the floor, back against the couch and cheek against Eris’s knee. He’d been leaning on Eris’s leg the whole night, tapping annoyingly on the top of Eris’s foot with pale, scar-flecked fingers. Enya, one of Eris’s hounds, was sitting by Micah, his other hand idly stroking her sleek fur.

“Asshole,” Micah mumbled, running a hand through his now messy, chestnut brown hair. With a groan and one final pat of Enya’s back, he pushed himself up off the floor and sat on the couch right next to Eris, their shoulders touching. Lagos was leaning against the arm of the couch, his legs tucked in close to his chest so as not to touch Eris. He’d been sitting there quietly the whole night, braiding and then rebraiding his long, dark hair.

Grass green eyes on Eris, Micah said, “Just because your little brother’s a walking faelight doesn’t mean you get to be an asshole.” Eris felt the sudden urge to hit Micah upside the head with the flimsy book in his hands, but he knew better than anyone that Micah wouldn’t be too bothered by it. Having known his friend for centuries, Eris was almost positive Micah would just laugh. Eris shut the book, it was useless anyway, and settled for jolting the leg Micah had seen fit to sidle up against.

With a bare foot, Lagos kicked Eris on his thigh. “I’m telling you, this is Day Court magic. You can read a million more ancient books from your little library, and I’d still be right.” 

Eris could have hit him with his book as well. “When I find the fucking bastard, I’ll kill him.” 

“You’d kill your younger brother’s father?” Micah was always trying to convince Eris, and perhaps himself, that Eris wasn’t some horrible monster. Sometimes, Eris grew tired of it.

“I’d kill my own,” Eris said with a shrug, “You really believe I’d be uneasy about killing someone else’s?” 

“I don’t think anyone here believes that,” Lagos mumbled. Eris glared at him, no real hate in the look, but one that might convey the feeling that he regretted having befriended Lagos in the first place. Lagos simply flashed him a dimpled grin, before he turned to look at Lucien. Widge had the little runt sitting on his knee, he looked entirely relaxed.

Lucien was smiling, his red hair a mess, his tiny fists reaching out to grab the harmless little fox that Eris had made out of his flames to bounce around them. Eris had never disliked his mother more as Lucien beamed like some sort of pixie in the dimly lit sitting room of his cottage. Beron would kill them all if he saw this, Eris knew, and had practically stolen Lucien from The Forest House before anyone took notice of his new talent.

Eris scowled as he struggled to think what might have set off the strange magic. Eris had been sitting in front of the fireplace, Lucien caged between his long legs as he crawled in the small space. Eris had, in a moment of weakness, let Lucien curl his chubby fingers around one of his own. Lucien had let out a little shriek, lifting Eris’s finger like some sort of trophy, and much to Eris’s horror, had started to glow. Not even a year old, and Lucien was already causing trouble for Eris.

Widge looked at Eris then, his copper brows raised and his dark eyes wide, “Do you glow like this, too?” 

Eris had to stop himself from snapping an irritated “no.” Widge was always a little stuck in his thoughts and almost never paid attention to what was going on around him. Eris shook his head and Widge simply nodded, eyes going back to Lucien. 

Lucien laughed, red curls bouncing as Eris willed the fox closer to his youngest brother. If it was possible, Lucien became even brighter.

Eris snarled, a sound that came deep from his chest, as he tried to remain calm. The little fox instantly disappeared, the book in his hands burst into flames, the fireplace flared on the other side of the room. So much for keeping calm, Eris thought, as Lagos moved his foot so that it was no longer on him. Beron had finally stopped thinking that Lucien was another male’s son. Eris was just starting to feel like he could let down his guard, that he no longer had to hover over his youngest brother and ensure Beron didn’t get his hands on the tiny thing. Eris didn’t need to look in a mirror to know that there were flames dancing in his eyes, he breathed in through his nose. Eris didn’t want to look in a mirror anyway, he found he looked most like his father in anger.

The gentle hand that squeezed his arm had Eris clenching his eyes shut. He took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose, his lips pressed together as he tried not to sneer. He wanted to tell Micah to move his hand. Almost as if he’d sensed it, Micah’s fingers tightened only briefly before he took his hand off of Eris. 

“Is it just me, or does the runt smell like a fucking heir?” 

Eris might have been losing his mind.

“Your nose has been broken one too many times,” Lagos muttered. That was probably true. 

Eris had never been more glad to have met Micah as he spoke with a confidence that could reassure Eris in the worst of his moods. “We’ll figure this out.” 

While Eris may not always share his carefully crafted plans with his friends, he had no doubt that they’d have his back.

Eris faced Micah, frowning. He was beautiful, the traditional Autumn Court tattoos shining gold against the pale skin of his throat, bringing out the lighter strands of the shoulder-length brown hair that framed his sculpted face. Eris hadn’t loved Micah as anything other than a friend for centuries, but he was always struck by how lovely Micah was. Not only that, but Micah was steady; One of the only dependable and constant things in Eris’s long life.

Micah flashed him a warm smile, clear green eyes on Eris, his head tilting just a bit, “So try not to worry over it. I hear that if pretty males frown and furrow their brows, they get wrinkles.” Eris couldn’t help but scrunch his nose, he couldn’t care less about wrinkles. Lagos spoke again, Eris could hear the smile in his voice, “And if you get all wrinkled, that bewitching female you’ve been trying to bed will lose whatever interest she has in you.”

“What female?” Widge questioned. 

“The one Eris can’t stop talking about,” Lagos replied. Eris didn’t think he talked about her that much. The face Widge made suggested that he had absolutely no idea who they were talking about. Eris felt slightly validated, but coming from Widge, that confusion meant absolutely nothing. Lagos knew that as well. “Come now, Widge, he’s been talking about her for months,” he added, his grin widening.

“Bit offended, mind you, he never talked about me like that,” Micah grumbled, his shoulder knocking into Eris’s. 

Eris scowled when Lagos leaned over him to mouth “he did” at Micah. Eris shoved Lagos with a hand, his friend yelping as he tried not to fall off the couch. Eris could have sworn on the cauldron that he hadn’t talked about him too much either. 

Widge just furrowed his brows, “The last person I remember Eris talking about was that human general.”

“Cauldron, he’s talking about your obsession with Jurian over 200 years ago.” Lagos sounded very pleased by this. 

Eris could feel his ears heating. Not one of his finer moments, and not like he’d call it an obsession, but Lagos liked calling it that. “I got over him quickly,” he defended. 

“Yes,” Micah smiled, “Only to throw yourself at a river nymph.” 

Eris rolled his eyes, still relatively frustrated, but feeling much better than he had before. “I’m out of ideas,” he announced.

“How in the hells can you be out of ideas, we’ve given you so many,” Lagos said, exasperated. 

“None of which were even a little helpful,” Eris raised his brows, looking at Lagos. 

Lagos shrugged. He’d had the most useless one, suggesting that Eris move to Vallahan with Lucien. “Two birds, one stone,” he’d stated. “You leave the throne to Cato like you’ve always wanted, and you keep your vow.” Much easier said than done, but as the night wore on, Eris was finding it the most appealing option.

Eris ran his tongue over his teeth, “I should just kill him.” 

Micah stiffened at Eris’s side, Lagos almost snapped his neck to turn and look at Eris with wide eyes. 

Widge tucked Lucien into his chest, almost as though to shield him from the heir of the Autumn Court. “You wouldn’t,” he said disbelievingly, “Eris, you wouldn’t.” 

“Not the child,” Eris snapped, he crossed his arms, feeling very offended that his only friends thought him capable of killing his own little brother.

It was no secret that Eris wasn’t above murder, wasn’t above killing Beron, but killing one of his brothers seemed to be a line he wouldn’t cross. “I was talking about our well-loved High Lord.” 

“Yes, because you were so successful the last time you tried,” Lagos patted Eris on the knee. 

Micah eased back, “If you’d been talking about the child, I would have been very angry with you.” 

“Whatever would I have done,” Eris said under his breath.

Micah and Eris had argued quite a bit when they’d first met. It was definitely Eris’s fault for the most part, but Micah was headstrong and stubborn. Micah had spent 50 years climbing the ranks of the military only for Eris to waltz into the role of commander. He’d been extremely irritated at having to deal with a spoiled prince in his war camp and Eris had taken great joy out of bothering the experienced general. 

Micah smiled, “Probably sit and brood.”

“You could always just tell the High Lord he’s been cursed by a witch,” Widge offered. He was a bit behind on the conversation, but at least he was thinking about something other than his formulas. 

“Smartest male in all our armies and he comes up with that,” Micah muttered. 

Eris frowned. It wasn’t like anyone else had come up with something better. Perhaps he should just tell his mother, let her deal with it.

Lagos suddenly launched off the couch, nearly tripping on the edge of the carpet as he fell to his knees in front of Widge. “You brilliant, brilliant oaf,” both hands cupping Widge’s freckled cheeks as he shook him slightly. 

“Care to share, Lagos,” Micah asked as Lagos placed an exaggerated kiss on Widge’s forehead. Widge’s eyes were wide, both his eyebrows raised, as he moved Lucien away from Lagos. Eris was glad to see that everyone else looked just as confused as he felt.

“We can put a spell on him.” - The whole room seemed to freeze, even Lucien had stopped blathering. 

“You’re not going to curse my brother,” Eris thought that would have been rather obvious. 

Lagos grinned, “No, definitely not. I don’t want your ire directed at me, ever.”

Eris scowled, reaching for Lucien. “Then I’d advise you—” Eris took Lucien into his arms, the fireplace flaring. He pointedly glared at Lagos, “Not to curse the child I’m sworn to protect.”

Lagos only smiled, wiggling his fingers at Eris as a warm glow radiated from his brown skin. “My mother is from the Day Court, dumb ass.” Eris was still glaring at him, not like he’d forgotten. “She specialized in protection spells at one of the academies,” he dipped his chin, “Not curses.” 

It couldn’t hurt to casually ask Lady Morai some questions about the whole thing. Eris frowned as he looked at Lucien, speaking to Lagos as he gazed fixedly at Lucien’s glowing little nose.

“And this is normal?” Eris tried to keep the concern from his voice. 

“He is a bit young,” Lagos didn’t look too worried about it, “I started doing that at about half a decade.” He smiled, “Scared the shit out of my father.” 

Eris looked at Lagos again, “Can you honestly fix it, then?” 

“Not sure it’s something that needs to be fixed,” Widge countered. 

Before Eris could bark an irritated “no one asked you,” Lagos raised his hands, taking a step closer to Eris.

“We take him to my mother, she can suppress his magic, she did the same with mine.” Of course she had, Eris thought, knowing very well that being different in the Autumn Court was oftentimes a death sentence. “Just until he grows old enough to break the spell, no fixing is needed and nothing is permanent.” It sounded so very simple. Eris had always been wary of things that seemed too easy.

Eris bit his lip, thinking on this new proposal. He’d met Lady Morai, had been to her home on more than one occasion, but he didn’t necessarily want to trust the female with something like this despite the liking he’d taken to her. Telling his friends was one thing, telling anyone else … 

“But no harm will come to the child, correct?” Micah sounded like the general he was in that moment. Eris was glad Micah had asked the question he’d been thinking. 

“Precisely.”

“And your mother won’t tell anyone?” Eris didn’t want to have to kill the parent of one of his only friends. He hated himself for even thinking it. 

“She thinks you’re the Autumn Court’s fucking saviour, the Mother only knows why.” Lagos raised his brows, “She’d take this to the grave, I swear it.”

No one spoke as Eris considered this option - it was the best one he had. “And you’re sure she can do this -”

“Sure enough,” Lagos replied. 

Eris snarled. 

“She knows what she’s doing,” he reassured.

Eris hoped that was true. 

Lagos held out his hand, golden tattoos on each finger of spell-cleaving characters, “I’ll winnow us.”

“And we’ll be here when you return,” Micah glanced at Widge. “Maybe we’ll feed the hounds.”

Lagos flashed Eris a smile, hand still outstretched, “Come on, you can trust me.”

Eris did. Lagos had been the first person Eris had ever truly befriended, having arrived at the war camps in the same year Eris had been sent there. They’d grown as close as brothers.

With one last look at Lucien in his arms, Eris tentatively reached out to Lagos, holding his hand. Lagos closed his eyes as the magic in the room swelled, warm and gentle and nothing like the crackling flames of the Autumn Court. Eris turned away from the bright light when he could no longer look at it, and for the first time in over two centuries, Eris prayed to the Mother.

[sabraeal]

Whenever I view the moon on the battlefield

[Read on AO3]

Written for @bubblesthemonsterartist, on the occasion of her becoming older than me once again. Old as dirt really. Practically middle aged...😂

It had snowed the night before.

Kai can taste it; it’s a sharp bite in his nose, a vivid chill on his tongue. There’s nothing to show for it now; the engawa creaks beneath his tabi, but there’s no crunch, no wetness to tell it was once there. Only the lingering scent remains, and only for those who know to look for it.

Hah, reminds him of someone he knows. Oh, how it would annoy him to hear it, to hear his shadow wrapped in strokes and made solid on the page. Maybe he would whisper it in the Vice-Commander’s ear one day; at least then that bit of poetry could come from a welcome mouth.

He takes in another breath, the cold burning deep in his lungs, and-- ah, it’s not just winter on the air today, but something else. A buzz, a jangle of bells; something dissonant with the usual bustle and boom of the compounds. This is a place filled to the rafters with young men; it should be boisterous, a raucous din of swords clashing and chatter threading through the air, but instead--

Instead it is silent. Kai is not one to put a hand to hilt, not when there is no reason to draw, but in this loud lack, he considers it.

Kai is not a small man; we could put you in the ring, Nagakura would tell him when his wallet no longer made the sweet music it ought, really give those sumo a run for their money, eh, Raki-san? He would laugh-- what man wouldn’t, when Nagakura rolled his words in his mouth, undaunted by sake or sense-- but it was true he was of a size with those men, that he could make the ground thunder under his feet should he choose it.

But when he paces the engawa now, no boards sing beneath his feet. Sound is a choice, but silence takes practice, takes precision. Babes are born into this world wailing, but it takes a lifetime to learn how to stifle a step, how to sit with a quiet mind and a calm heart. When they write of him, they will say that Shimada Kai moved mountains when he walked, but only the Watch will know that he could breathe so slowly that dust would lie still.

Well, the Watch and Gen, who slides open the shoji with a sigh, wiping at his tonsure with a grimace, and promptly jumps.

“Shimada-san,” he laughs, weakly. “I didn’t hear you coming.”

Kai would assure him that he wouldn’t be the first, but considering his reputation, he doubts that will be much of a comfort. Besides, this is hardly the first time he’s caught one of the captains unaware. I’m going to put bells on you, the Vice-Commander told him more than once, frowning at his spilt tea, then at least I’ll know you’re coming before your shadow arrives.

There’s voices coming from behind the paper; the Vice-Commander’s low, intense rumble is one of them, as well as Okita’s higher, prodding tones. The two of them sharing a room without shouting was rare enough, but for Gen to have subjected himself to it-- “There’s a meeting of the captains?”

Gen’s men call him stern, an exacting task master as relentless as any dojo’s sensei-- but they never fail to remark upon his kindness either, nor the open warmth his smile radiates, like the gentle heat off a hibachi. Expressive, a learned man might say; it makes him a good captain, a lethal warrior, and a terrible diplomat.

“Ah...” His mouth pulls tight, a grimace that flashes before he is able to school his face. “Yes. Er, or should I say, among some. There was quite a commotion last night.”

“A commotion?” It had been Okita in that room and the Vice-Commander. It would be a necessity to have Kondo as well, to keep them from nipping at each other’s throats. Captains, with Gen but one among them, but not all-- the arithmetic alone makes his blood run cold. “You mean with the Furies.”

The word alone sets Gen’s face slack, his eyes pulsing wide as he searches the courtyard, fearing the ears that might hear them, unwitting. “Yes,” he replies slowly. “Two ran free last night.”

If Shimada cussed, he would be sorely tempted to do so now. “There were bodies then? Has Yamazaki-kun--?”

“Toshi sent him out last night,” Gen assures him. “Just after he returned with Saito and Souji. There will be nothing for anyone to find when they wake this morning.”

He would be back soon, then. Dawn leaked over the horizon, lazy as it always was in these last few winter months. “Then why have the captains met?”

Gen’s breath tumbles into the air, troubled. “There was a witness.”

“A witness?” Kai shifts, restless. That would make things complicated-- or simple, depending. With their luck, however...well, anticipating the worst made more answers seem sweet.

“It’s a boy, barely more than a child.” Every word bobs heavily between them, weighed down by Gen’s disapproval. “We’ve had him in custody since last night.”

“Even a child can hold a knife.” Something a man who knew Okita as a boy should know, if half of what he’s heard is true. “And those that can’t have eyes and tongue still.”

“You would say that,” There’s no heat behind Gen’s words, just a reluctant fondness. “But you still let them beg you for candy in the marketplace.”

Ah, he would bring that up. “Even a child can hold a knife,” Kai blusters, “but that doesn’t mean every one does.”

“Then you see what I mean.” Gen shuffles down the engawa, casting a thin scowl toward the shoji. “This boy’s cheeks are smooth, not a threat of stubble on them, and yet we have him bound hand and foot like some common criminal. And all because he had no choice but to witness...”

His words stumble, but Kai does not need to hear them to know just what those child’s eyes have seen. Yamazaki may be the one that cleans up after the Fury’s missteps, but he has seen what their bloodlust leaves behind. Pieces, never enough to be made into a whole; hardly enough to throw into furnace for ashes.

“Toshi wants me to bring him,” Gen mutters when Kai matches his recalcitrant pace. “A boy not old enough for a razor, but they’ll interrogate him to see what he knows.”

“No.” The answer rattles around in his chest, hollow. “They want to know what he thinks he’s seen.”

“They might as well ask a man asleep in his bed for all the good it will do them.” Gen’s mouth is little more than a blade’s edge, hardly parting as he grits out, “Fear paints uncertain memories, and the terror this boy must have witnessed...”

Kai does not speak, but in his silence, he agrees. The Vice Commander could fire his barrage of questions, as relentless as any Black Ship, but for a child to remember anything but the beating of his heart as he waited to die-- he would be a true warrior, not to be wasted on Okita’s blade.

“It won’t be so bad,” Gen says with a wave of his hand, as if the movement alone could banish their concerns. “Heisuke is of an age with him. You know he could hardly stand to see a potential comrade in distress.”

True enough. Shinpachi used to tease him about Serizawa’s page; to hear him tell it, the boy had barely awoken before Heisuke asked him to call him by the same, bandying about the name Ryunnoske like they were brothers rather than strangers. He doesn’t, not anymore, not since...

Well, perhaps this time Heisuke would not be so quick to adopt a stray. Not when the last had hardly washed clean from the river’s shore.

“And Shinpachi-san and Sano-san won’t suffer it either.” Gen’s voice bubbles brightly, like the sunshine over a still river’s rapids, danger lurking just beneath the surface. “They might sit quiet now, but once they see this child...”

That, Kai doubted. Both were good men, but they made better warriors. Perhaps if this boy were as pitiful as Gen claimed, he would have the right of it. But otherwise, his age might work against him; boy he might be to men such as them, but to two that were used to thinking of Heisuke as an equal rather than a child--

“Okita will want to kill him,” Kai reminds him instead; the largest danger. Shinpachi and Sano would bend whichever way the Vice Commander’s wind would blow, but Okita is ruled by his own whims-- or Kondo’s word. And Kai knew which of those were faster.

“There’s few enough men he doesn’t,” Gen grumbles. “He can say what he wishes. I doubt his word will carry much weight among the captains, after...”

Everything. The Shinsegumi’s name might be new enough to shine, but already it is smeared with blood, and most of it from Okita’s blade. No one would be eager to follow his lead, not when Serizawa’s influence sat heavy on him as a yoke.

Gen hesitates, steps stilling on the boards. “You’ll watch for him, won’t you?” He turns his head over his shoulder. “Yamazaki-kun, I mean. Toshi will want to speak to him, once all this is...decided.”

Between a body and a hostage, he means. “I will,” Kai promises. “We will be ready, when it’s time.”

One way or the other.

Kai knows better to linger when Gen brings the boy out-- he needs to make a show of normalcy, of everything being what his men expect to see, even if Shinpachi is not there to drill them when they stumble from their quarters, bleary-eyed and cotton-mouthed. He does, however, catch a glimpse later when he lingers at Nagi’s well. 

The boy’s a narrow thing, undersized, not dressed in the more subdued kimono of the emperor’s dictates, but a pale salmon. Not that it makes him strange among the men here, but still-- it’s odd, as is his lack of haori, and the way his hakama sit on his hips. There’s something strange in the way he walks too, in the flexibility of his spine, but Kai can’t put his finger on it, the answer just out of reach.

“There was a witness.”

He does not startle as Gen did; instead Kai peers up at the roof, gaze catching on the shadow that doesn’t sit right until it resolves into a man instead. Yamazaki isn’t a small man-- though he’s not tall either-- but he seems it crouched there, dressed in unrelenting back.

“There was,” Kai confirms, “but the captains mean to keep him.”

Yamazaki nods, eyes too serious above the cloth of his mask. “Until they know what he knows.”

Yamazaki had always been serious; Kai noticed it that first day in Nagi house, when they swore to uphold the name of the Roshigumi. Such gravity is not often seen the young; it marked him to Kai’s eye, made it easy to take him on as a colleague in the Watch, despite their difference in ages. But he had hoped, as he watched this young man take his first stumbling steps toward friendship, that it would lighten him, give him back some of the boy he still should be.

Whatever youth Ibuki had brought out in him, there’s no trace of it left now. All that remains is that stern intensity, that arrow-like focus.

It makes him afraid. Not of Yamazaki-- he is not the sort of man one needs to fear without reason-- but for him. He’s too young to throw himself away on the dreams of other men, but it’s useless to tell him so. At his age, Kai would have been much the same.

“Yamazaki, perhaps--”

There is a commotion in the courtyard; one loud enough that his hand is on his hilt before his thoughts catch up to him. The captains have converged already, all of them on a single door, and he can’t imagine why, until--

Until he catches that glimpse of salmon, and the wide, determined eyes of their captive.

“Idiot,” Yamazaki grumbles. “Who would try to escape when they know they have the notice of the Vice Commander?”

“I don’t think...” Kai slows his tongue to match his thoughts. “I don’t think he did. I think...he doesn’t know he’s of interest at all. He hardly even knows what he saw, let alone what it means.”

The air prickles with silence.

“Enough,” Yamazaki says, decisively. “He saw enough.”

By the time the Vice Commander calls for them, Yamazaki has changed into his jinbei; no longer the lethal ninja, but a mild-mannered acupuncturist. Still, it does not change the intensity his eyes take when he kneels across from Hijikata, nor the way his hands clench at his pants.

His head bows. “Vice Commander.”

“Shimada. Yamazaki. Thank you for handling our problem last night.” A faint smile lingers around his lips, but with his next breath, it’s gone. “But I’m about to hand you another one.”

Yamazaki jerks up at that, eyes pulled wide. “Sir?”

Every word is sour when Hijikata replies, “We’re keeping the girl.”

A pin could drop, and they all would hear it.

“Girl?” Kai’s voice lifts an octave. “You mean that the boy was--?”

“A poorly disguised girl? Yes. And that’s not all.” His mouth pulls thin with distaste. “She’s Kodo’s daughter.”

Were it in him to goggle, Yamazaki would. “Yukimura-sensei’s...?”

“Yes.” The word twists wryly in the air. “Quite the coincidence, isn’t it?”

Kai shifts restlessly on his knees. “Then does she know--?”

“She doesn’t know a damned thing about Kodo’s whereabouts,” he spits out, mouth rumpled in an irritated knot. “To hear her tell it, it’s been a year since she’s heard a single word. Came all the way down from Edo to look for him.”

“Alone?” Kai asks, too sharp.

Hijikata’s brows lift. “That’s what she said. She was coming down here to find Matsumoto, see if he’d heard anything since him and her dad were old friends. But apparently he’s out of town, and she’s out of luck.”

Kodo Yukimura’s daughter showing up on their doorstep mere weeks after his house burned to the ground with not a body to be found... it’s too good a story to be true, too convenient. Still, Kai find himself believing it, believing this girl he’s only seen a glimpse of.

Hijikata sighs into their silence, leaning an arm against his desk to lounge. “Sanan thinks that if we keep her here, Kodo might finally peek that shiny head out from where he’s hiding.”

“Do you think she’ll cooperate?” Yamazaki asks, every word dripping with doubt.

“Maybe. She’s quiet enough.” The Vice Commander huffs out a laugh. “Well, except when she tried to sneak out. But to be fair, I wouldn’t stick around if Souji said he’d kill me either.”

Yamazaki goes rigid at the sound of that name, knuckles blanching on his knees. Still, he stays silent.

“For the record, I don’t think the girl lying,” Hijikata mutters, already ill tempered from the thought. “But as long as we keep her, I want you two to keep an eye on her.”

“But Vice Commander--”

“Yamazaki.” The name cracks like a whip from Hijikata’s tongue. “Are you questioning my orders?”

He squirms on his knees, mouth bowing into a frown. “N-no, Vice Commander.”

“Good.” Hijikata’s mouth twitches. “Her identity stays between us. The men don’t need to know there’s a woman among us, no matter how she’s dressed.”

Kai considers that. “But if she’s meant to stay here, at Yagi House...”

“She’ll need a better cover. I know.” If anything, the Vice Commander turns...petulant. “Souji had the bright idea of putting her as my page, and Kondo thought it was a good idea--” the implication in his tone that he did not agree was impossible to miss-- “so make sure that’s the story that circulates.”

He nods. “Of course.”

“Good, then you’re both dismissed. And Yamazaki?”

The boy perks up, eager as any dog for his master. “Yes, Vice Commander?”

Hijikata hesitates, his face growing lean and wary, the way a hunter’s does before the hunt. “If she runs, you have my permission to deal with her.”

[keelywolfe]

(A Spicyhoney ‘The Village’ AU)

Author’s Note: I am so sorry this chapter took so long to come out! Thank you so much everyone for your patience and all your lovely comments, I adore and appreciate every one! 🧡

The story so far:

1. Crimson | 2. Yellow | 3. Blue | 4. Blush

5. Sallow | 6. Russet | 7. Spice| 8. Whiteout  

9. Sable | 10. Blue on Black | 11. Midnight | 12. Ebony Falling

13. Golden | 14. Magenta | 15. Marigold | 16. Coquelicot  

17. Daffodil | 18. Verdigris | 19. Honey | 20. Scarlet

21. Alstroemeria | 22. Onyx | 23. Gray | 24. Vellum  

25: Iris | 26. Null

~~*~~

Read ‘ Chapter 27: Dappled ’ on AO3

or

Read More Here!

~~*~~

Josie, their old milk cow, was licking him, her rough tongue sweeping wetly over his skull. Her patience with his secret naps in the barn must have finally run out and now she was here to drive him from her stall. Her broad tongue swiped over his face again and Rus tried to push her away, flailing out with a limp arm and mumbling, “no, bad cow, go find your trough.”

The wet tongue halted and then came in his brother’s amused voice, “Well, that’s one you’ve never called me.”

That gave Rus a drowsy pause. Whatever was his brother doing in their little barn, he hardly ever came out, always trusting Rus to take care of their small menagerie. He only cared for their livestock when Rus was sick—

Oh.

Come to think of it, he could feel the softness of a feather tick beneath him, not scratchy hay atop an old horse blanket. He must be having another one of his spells and there was a distant regret that Blue must have needed to tend to him. His sockets were still reluctant to open, they felt gluey, too heavy yet to lift.

“brother,” Rus slurred out, “i had the strangest dream…"

A dream? No, that didn’t seem right.

Memory began to filter back, a flutter of mental pictures passing through his drowsy mind; of his home in the woods, the cave, the diary, the snowstorm…and Edge. Realization struck with the force of a slap and Rus opened his sockets with a gasp to look directly into Blue’s starry eye lights. He tried to sit up, reaching for him, and his strength failed him the moment he was upright, a wave of dizziness sending him straight back to the bed, “brother?”

“Easy,” Blue soothed. His small, familiar hands settled on Rus’s skull and the damp cloth he’d mistaken as a surly cow’s tongue gently patted away the sudden beads of sweat that were rising from his brief exertion. “Gracious, child, you’ve been ill for days, you need to take it easy.”

Rus heard little of the words, he only knew that his brother was sitting next to him, his dear brother whom he’d bid goodbye some weeks ago. The last time his sockets were open, Rus was staring out at an endless snowstorm as he waited to die and now, he was in an unfamiliar bedroom, wintry sunlight pouring in through the cheery window curtains.

Rus swallowed hard, croaking out, “what happened?”

“Oh, plenty, little brother,” Blue said lightly. That was a voice Rus knew all too well, the gentle bedside manner he used on those in his care, particularly when there was bad news that needed to be shared. Chilly fear was settling into Rus’s soul and he might have demanded answers if Blue hadn’t gone on. “I don’t mind telling you, you gave me quite a start! Popping right into the living room like that and bringing your husband with you, along with a pile of snow for good measure!” He laughed softly, shaking his head. “You always did have to make a mess.”

“edge? edge is here.” Rus closed his sockets and sagged with relief. Rus hadn’t abandoned him then out in the white coldness, though he had only the vaguest of memories about it. Then what his brother was telling him made him frown. “popped in? how do you mean?”

“Oh, yes,” Blue assured him, “it was quite a sight! I always thought you may have some power lain dormant, but I could hardly have guessed how your magic would manifest, brother! Appearing from nowhere at all? That was certainly never mentioned in any of the texts!” He busied himself wetting the cloth again and wringing it out, patting at Rus’s forehead. “It’s been said that a bad fright or danger can sometimes bring out the ability, you’ve certainly proved the theory on that!”

To hear his brother, the one who’d raised him, the one who’d cared for him, who’d dutifully taken him to prayer meetings and obeyed the word of the Elders, speaking so boldly of magic, and not only magic, but of Rus’s magic, was nearly incomprehensible. He wondered dimly that he wasn’t still asleep or worse, still lost out in the storm, burrowed in Edge’s arms as the cold overtook them both.

The trickle of cool water running down his skull belied that. He was here, they both were, and his brother was speaking of magic with nary even a hasty ward signed against hexes in sight.

“you know,” Rus said, slowly. “you know the truth, don’t you.”

It was not a question and Blue did not pretend to mistake his meaning. “I do,” Blue told him softly. He smoothed a hand down the heavy quilt on the bed, chasing out the wrinkles. “I know some of it. There’s few of us living in the village who do.”

“but…you never said…you never said a word!” Tears were warming his sockets. He’d believed since he was no more than a child in the evils of magic and the creatures that lived in the wood, the Monsters, devils dressed in crimson that would kill any they saw, tear out them open and consume their very soul. To learn the truth the way he had by being cast out from his home and then dealing with his own disbelief at what Edge told him about himself, that he was magic? He never could have guessed that Blue knew otherwise and kept such secrets from him, never would have believed if it hadn’t come straight from his brother. Those welling tears spilled over, leaving wet trails down his cheekbones.

Blue’s face twisted in anguish. “Oh, little brother, I couldn’t tell you, I was sworn to silence.” More tears swelled and ran down his brother’s cheekbones in a match to his own. “The risks are ever so much higher than a simple broken promise. Lives are at stake as well as the little knowledge we have left of our people.” Blue set aside the cloth and took Rus’s face in both gentle hands, fruitlessly smoothing away those tears only for fresh ones to take their place. “I tried to push your magic to manifest properly as well as I could, but neither could I risk you accidently performing some spell in front of your peers. They liked you little enough as it was, certainly they wouldn’t keep your secrets.”

As much as that hurt to hear, Rus couldn’t argue with the truth of it. His agemates would have gleefully betrayed him to the Elders with nary a regret.

“No matter what I tried, I couldn’t seem to tease it loose past those basic healing charms that you struggled with,” Blue sighed out, “I only know what little Healer Gestor taught me and nothing at all about what key might have unlocked your cage. But that journal you brought along certainly held a wealth of new information.”

Rus looked up, astonished, “you read it?”

“I did. I had little else to manage, you’ve been asleep for three days.” The stars in his eye lights faded, leaving behind pale, worried orbs. “Brother, I knew of magic and what could be done with it, but I could never have suspected the truth of the creatures of the Wood. That our people were once one.”

“but now you know.” Rus struggled to sit up again, fighting against a renewed wave of dizziness. “they are lying to us all, they are the evil ones, murderers and betrayers! something must be done!”

“Lie down,” Blue scolded, and reluctantly, Rus did as he was told. “I agree, brother, but it isn’t that simple! What would you have us do? Do you think the elders are going to let us stand in the town square to preach our word, perhaps? We’d all be cast out or killed, or worse. We are few, brother, and they are many. Now, enough fussing on that for right now, how do you feel?

The urge that had been driving him to bring the diary to his brother, to share the truth, was left grasping at nothingness. There was only a gaping emptiness as his labors proved fruitless. In the end, he’d changed hardly anything at all, and nearly died for it, even endangering his own husband in his foolish attempt.

But that was hardly what his brother was asking.

Despite the guilt resting heavily in his soul, he could honestly save he felt quite well. As weak as he still was, he felt better than he ever had after an illness before.

“hungry,” Rus admitted.

Blue beamed happily. “That is a very good sign.” He pushed his low stool back and stood. “Let me go downstairs and get you some broth to start with. If you manage that, perhaps a slice of bread.”

Downstairs, hm, that bore another question with it. Rus looked around at the unfamiliar room again. Aside from the lovely bed quilt and curtains, it was nearly empty, the only other furniture a mere stand with a water basin atop it. “where are we?”

“I’m afraid I couldn’t keep you at home,” Blue said, “there’s far too many noisy neighbors about in town. It took some doing, but we managed to smuggle you both out in the dark of night. We’re out at Dogamy’s farm taking up his guest rooms. As far as the townsfolk know, little Emma has the grippe.”

Both? Wait.

“where is edge?” Rus cried out, aghast. He struggled to sit up again despite his brother’s exasperated scolding and hands struggling to hold him down. He thought of Azzy, dear, sweet Azzy lost to them all these years, no, it couldn’t possibly be, Blue had said both of them. Rus relented only when it was apparent that his weakness couldn’t combat his brother’s strength. “where is he,” Rus pleaded, “where is my husband?”

“Easy, now, he’s here, he’s resting. He’s hardly left your side at all, so naturally that would be when you awoke, you fickle thing,” Blue chuckled. “That was quite a first meeting between your husband and I.” There was a certain determined glint in Blue’s eye that Rus knew quite well, the very same that allowed Blue to stand unswaying beneath any familial protests when it came to the care of his patients, the same that allowed him to stand before Elder Smith and not bend. “Well, we've managed to gain something of an understanding between us, I believe. He was terribly concerned about you and didn't want me touching you at the beginning. I…persuaded him."

Rus was torn between gratitude and disappointment at having missed seeing that.

“I’ll just go wake him and get some porridge for you. Don’t you budge an inch from that bed, little brother, you were quite ill!” Blue scolded. He rose up on his toes to press a light kiss to Rus’s forehead and pulled the blankets up to tuck around him, then bustled out of the room.

Hardly a moment passed before he heard footsteps hurrying in his direction. The door flew open and his husband tall form filled the entire space of it.

Or, well, he assumed it was his husband. It was certainly his much beloved face looking at him anxiously and the darkened circles beneath his sockets spoke of many a sleepless night.

But the rumpled clothes he was wearing were not ones he’d ever thought to see on that broad frame.

Gone were his tunic and leggings, as well as his long, scarlet cloak. Instead, he was dressed entirely in clothes from the Village, worn castoffs with mismatched patches at the elbows and knees. The oversized shirt hung loosely on him, the top two buttons carelessly undone. Whoever’s trousers they’d given him were far too short, hardly reaching midcalf and his sagging socks might have been acceptable if it weren’t for his bony big toes poking through. He looked, Rus thought fondly, as if he’d dressed himself entirely from the prayer house charity bag and probably wasn’t far from it.

“oh, dear, whatever did they do to you?” Rus asked in amused sympathy.

“Well, we couldn’t very well leave him standing around in the forbidden color, could we.” That familiar gruff voice came from the hallway, Dogamy’s broad head peering around Edge’s side. “Here he was, standing about bold as you please in red! Even if I could explain a stranger in my sitting room, I’d not be able to make much excuse for that if anyone cared to take a peek through my front window!”

Edge paid no mind to any of that. His jaw worked, his eye lights fiercely bright and in two long strides he was by the bedside, falling to his knees and burying his face directly into the blankets covering Rus’s lap. Both his arms worked their way around Rus, holding him with an implacable grip, and his scarred hands fisted in the blankets. His shoulders heaved, a shudder going through his sturdy frame and that banked guilt rose up to choke Rus, to know he’d worried Edge so.

“oh, my darling,” Rus murmured. He settled a gentle hand on the curve of Edge’s skull, stroking gently, earning a muffled sound that was very nearly a sob.

A slight cough from the doorway made him jerk guiltily, both hands fluttering to shield Edge from view, but Dogamy’s expression was one of fond affection. “Ah, that’s the way, then, he’ll be better for seeing you. Your man was worried for you, he was. It’s good to see you awake, lad, and make no mistake. Never you worry, my missus’s soup will have you back on your feet in no time!”

“thank you,” Rus said, heartfelt, and for far more than any healing that could come from any sort of broth.

“Och, it was nothing that a good neighbor wouldn’t do,” Dogamy scoffed waving him off as though he’d done nothing more than lend a cup of sugar.

“i shouldn’t even think to ask even the best of neighbors for such that you’ve given us, and my brother as well.”

“P’rhaps,” Dogamy admitted, one shoulder rising in a shrug, “but we were happy to share whatever help there was to give. Now then!” He clapped his furry hands together lightly. “I’ll head off and leave you two to get some rest.” He put deed to words and turn away, his heavy footsteps carrying him away down the hall.

That left him alone with his husband and for a wonder, Rus couldn’t think of a thing to say. What apology could suffice, how could he possibly beg forgiveness for the dangers he wrought upon them both with his foolishness? Rus swallowed hard, tracing Edge’s coronal sutures with gentle fingertips as he only held on tightly.

“edge?” Rus asked softly. Whatever else he might have tried to say was stifled as Edge abruptly pulled free from Rus’s loose grip, though he didn’t go far. He didn’t so much as hesitate to crawl right next to Rus, sprawling with him on the mattress and things that seemed perfectly acceptable when living in a cave in the woods shook his sense of propriety here in a proper bed.

“oh, you shouldn’t—” Rus began weakly, even as strong arms circled him once again, forgiveness granted before it could even be asked.

He wasn’t particularly surprised to be utterly ignored, resigning himself with near tearfully relief into Edge’s embrace even as he began to scatter kisses on Rus’s skull and face in almost desperate little pecks.

“I supposed I should have known to specify that any calisthenics while you’re abed are also out of the question.”

Rus squeaked at the sound of his brother’s dry voice, blushing hotly up to his browbones and beyond as he struggled to wriggle free. But Edge refused to release him and Rus was forced to relent, settling back into his arms and hardly able to meet his brother’s very amused look as he said, meekly, “i am sorry, brother.”

“Nonsense, you’re married,” Blue said stoutly, “and even if you weren’t, this one seems to think you hung the very moon and stars in the night sky. Angel forbid anyone try to stand between the two of you, certainly I won’t.” Blue moved the basin from the nightstand and set a steaming mug in its place, then spoke to Edge directly, “I trust you’ll help him take his meal?”

“My Rus,” Edge said, with enough surly venom to make Rus blink in surprise even as he was clutched tightly to Edge’s chest.

Gracious, that glare could stop a bear in its tracks and send it scurrying on its way. His brother was clearly made of sterner stuff and only sighed, shaking his head.

“Of course he is,” Blue said briskly. “As I’ve told you every time you’ve said so. Brother, you may wish to work on reassuring your husband that we’ve no intention of keeping you from him. I’d not interfere with such love for all the gold in the village.” His smile was faint and tremulous, his starry eye lights suddenly luminous with memories. “I’m glad to see you’ve found your one, little brother, so very glad. Now, drink your broth and get some sleep.”

With that, Blue left the room, closing the door softly behind him. The moment it was shut, Edge’s grip eased. Had he thought Blue might snatch him away, Rus wondered, more than a little bemused. Well, he’d disabused Edge of that foolish notion soon enough. For now, there was soup to be had and his soul was eager for any meal at all.

“all right, then.” Rus shifted, reaching for the mug, only to squeak in surprise as Edge’s arms immediately tightened. “come now, shan’t I get to eat?” Then slower, in Edge’s language. “let me have food?”

It was the wrong thing to say. Edge drew away, stricken, hardly the reaction Rus hoped for, but at least he reached for the still steaming mug. Rus waited patiently as Edge blew on it to cool it, testing it carefully before handing it over and even then, he kept an anxious hold on the cup, hands hovering in case it slipped from Rus’s hands.

Such a fuss, even worse than Blue, but somehow, it was warming rather than irritating. After enduring that snowstorm, surely it was churlish to complain about any overprotectiveness. Rus shuddered at the memory and curled up closer to Edge, sipping at his broth and basking in the comfort of his arms.

All too soon, his cup was emptied, every drop of broth eagerly drunk, and Edge took it from him to set it back on nightstand. For all that according to his brother he’d been asleep for three days, exhaustion was already tugging Rus into another kind of embrace. There were things yet to discuss and sins to repent, but those would have to wait.

“sleep with me?” Rus mumbled hopefully. The bed wasn’t the size of their pallet back in the cave, but it was at least wide enough for two, particularly those who didn’t mind sleeping close, and closeness was what Rus craved, a desire within him to all but crawl right into his husband’s ribcage next to his soul to keep him near.

Edge nodded, releasing him long enough to reach for his shirt buttons. His hands, so nimble when they dealt with Rus’s clothes only pawed clumsily at his own and with some amusement, Rus helped him, carefully peeling away his unfamiliar shirt to reveal the well known and well-loved scarred bone beneath. It was just as well he was as tired as he was, Rus thought ruefully, or else he might not be able to resist pleading for his spousal privileges despite his brother being only a room or two away.

As it was, he lifted the blankets in silent invitation, one that Edge took, sliding bare between the soft linens. Rus pulled him close with a happy sigh, settling back against the pillows even as Edge chose to rest his own skull atop Rus’s rib cage.

Edge pressed a gentle kiss to his sternum through his thin nightshirt, murmuring hoarsely. “Rus, k’uhah.”

“k’uhah,” Rus murmured sleepily. “yours, always.” He settled in and let sleep claim him.

tbc

[fulokis]

Wrote this little dadneto in the MCU thing, so have fun. ‘

____

Erik Leshner stood in the collapsed building, next to the bomb siting on the floor looking harmless. He could barely look at the destruction around him. He had left his children in their hands, two of the only people in the world who knew why he had to abandon the twins. Now they were gone, their bodies lie somewhere underneath the rubble their last breaths long gone from their lungs.

The songs of war had moved into the distance, leaving their path of destruction in their wake. A path that his children had been right in the middle of. Erik wanted to scream, to tear the broken building off of its foundations and throw it far away. But deep down he couldn't, he was still too numb from hearing about the tragedy. Not only that but he couldn't destroy  the  resting place of the Maximoffs no matter how hard he tried.

Irena and Oleg, Erik wasn't even sure how he had known them. Perhaps it was through Magda, or perhaps he pondered he had known one of their parents a long time ago. Either way he knew them and despite being so closed off, liked them. They liked him too, by some twisted logic they trusted him and adored him like family. So when he ended up at their door asking them to take the twins, the only reason they hesitated was to make sure Erik had been sure of the decision.

Erik had never been sure of the decision. Now standing here among the wreckage he felt even less sure, as if he had made the wrong one. One of thousands of wrong decisions that he had made in his life. One of many more yet to come. Still Erik couldn't help but wonder how any of this would have turned out had he decided to keep the twins with him. He told him self over and over again that the outcome would have been worse. He could have had an attachment to them, and then have them ripped away from him. Just like so many other people he had cared for throughout his life.

Erik turned to face the giant hole in the building. Snow and ash fell on his hair making it look much more gray than it was. The smell of the cold mixed with the smell of burning wood and plastics from the nearby rubble where buildings once stood. Erik couldn't help but turn again to take a look over the destroyed apartment, hoping to find the bodies to give them a proper burial. All he could see were the shattered remains of items that had belonged in the apartment.  Most items held little to no significance, a broken TV playing some sort of sitcom, the couch where they had told the Maximoffs that they were expecting, the small guest bed strangely still intact.

Erik took a double take, the bed as he had remembered it was hardly steady. For it to survive the initial bomb blast was nothing short of a miracle. An extremely unlikely occurrence considering there was what appeared to be a defective bomb sitting right next to it. That's when he noticed the room itself was not nearly as damaged as it should be. One side had been obliterated, whilst the other remained almost perfectly intact. The other three small rooms of the apartment seemed to be gone themselves, with nothing but piles of concrete in their place.

Erik walked over slowly to the bed and closed his eyes in relief as he heard the squeak of a terrified child from under the bed. Erik chose a slab of concrete to sit down on, trying to make himself less intimidating to the child underneath the bed "Its okay I'm a friend." He said in broken Sokovian.

"You don't speak Sokovian that well." Came a young boy's voice from underneath the bed.

"No I don't. You however speak English quite well for someone your age."

"I'm not young your just old." The child said sticking his face out slightly eyeing Erik with curiosity.

"Peitro don't." A second child's voice came out from under the bed, much softer than the boy's.

"It's okay I don't bite." Erik said, releasing some of the tension in his shoulders. They had both survived, and since they had survived one or both of them had manifested their powers.

"What are you doing here?" The boy asked still timid but not nearly as much as his sister.

"I was looking for survivors Peitro." Erik said.

"Hey how'd you know my name!" Peitro yelled.

"Your sister told me." Erik replied knowing he just lied to his kid.

"Oh." Peitro said, inching further out from under the bed, "You look funny, kinda like the people on the TV."

"Peitro!" The girl cried slapping him on the arm.

"Wanda what was that for?!"

"You don't know if we can trust him, besides that wasn't nice." Wanda said.

"You can trust me Wanda." Erik said, "I won't hurt you I promise."

A DVD case flew out from underneath the bed, clearly propelled by something other than a child's physical hand. Erik attempted to dodge the object but failed when it veered off what appeared to be its projected course, hitting him in the shoulder. Wanda peaked out a bit testing the water trying to see if Erik was telling the truth. "You promise?" She asked hesitantly.

"I promise." Erik said reaching a hand out. The girl slid from under the bed into the pale light of the street lamps reflecting off the snow. Erik had expected her to be covered in bruises and cuts, but all he could see was dirt and grime. "What day did this happen?" He asked softly his heart sinking as Wanda took his hand. She looked pale, and it was clear that she hadn't had any food or water in a day or two.

"Friday." She said a distant look in her eyes. Erik could feel his heart clench, last he had checked his watch it was one in the morning on Monday. These children— his children had been stuck up in the building for two full days. Sitting waiting for either the bomb, the exposure, or the lack of food and water to kill them. Erik silently cursed as a tear ran down his cheek. "Are you okay?" Wanda asked.

Erik took his free hand and wiped the tear away, "I'm okay." He said to her trying to reassure himself that he wasn't about to lose it and add to the chaos. "A little ash in my eye that's all."

"What's that?" Peitro asked pointing to the tattoo on Eriks wrist.

Erik looked down and slid his sleeve up a little more so that the twins could see. "I'm an orphan like you." He said quietly, "Some very bad people took my parents away from me. Then they gave me this tattoo and told me to work. There was a lot of killing, and a lot of families were torn apart."

"Are we gonna get torn apart?" Wanda asked.

"No." Erik said, "You two won't because I know you two will stick to each other like glue."

Wanda turned to face Peitro and the boy nodded. "Are you going to take us with you?"

Erik felt his heart sink. That was the exact question he was asking himself. "No, I can't. My work doesn't leave me much time for family."

"What do you do?" Peitro asked.

"Why are you here then?" Wanda asked.

"Slow down." Erik said aiming the comment towards his son than his daughter. "I work on top secret missions for the US government. Missions that don't allow me to have a family." Erik said knowing he was yet again lying to his children. "As to your question Wanda, I knew your parents."

"I would remember you." Wanda said.

"I knew your parents a long time ago, before you were born. I'm sure I knew them as very different people than you did. When I heard about what had happened I had to see. I'm glad the two of you are alive."

"Barely." Peitro said "I'm starving."

"How about this, I take you back to my hotel room and you can clean up and sleep? I'll take you two to the orphanage in a couple days." Erik said knowing it was a stretch. The truth was he needed to make himself scarce soon otherwise the authorities would find him, an occurrence that was sure to become nasty.

"No." Wanda said, "We go to the orphanage in the morning."

"I understand." Erik replied. He did understand, to the twins he was a stranger. A stranger looking to use them rather than it being out of the kindness of his heart. They were probably right, had they been any other kids he would have used them, or even disregarded them and left them to die.

"What now?" Wanda asked.

"Tell us a story!" Peitro said, running to where the bookshelf used to be at a slightly inhuman speed. "Aww they’re gone." He grumbled running back to his sister and Erik.

Erik smiled softly, Magic and superhuman speed, just what the situation would have needed. Magic was in the twins veins, and their mother was quite gifted with her magic. Speed on the other hand seemed to be a new addition to the mutant tree, but that didn't mean that it wasn't predictable. After all Peitro had seemed to be constantly moving around in the womb, and the one time Erik had called Irena, she told him they couldn't stop Peitro from running off.

"Do you have any stories?" Wanda asked looking at her father.

"Yes I do Wanda. Not in books though, stories in my head."

"Tell us one!" Peitro yelled.

"I know the perfect one." Erik said standing up and sitting on the guest bed back against the wall. He patted next to him and one twin sat on either side of him. "A long time ago there was this group of people..."

"Is there any action?!" Peitro asked.

"Why is it always fighting?" Wanda asked "Why can't you accept a peaceful story about people?"

"Shh, there's plenty of both." Erik consoled the twins before starting the story again. "This group of people were fighting for people like them, people who were different."

"Different how?" Wanda asked.

"These people had powers, abilities beyond your wildest imaginations. They fought so others like them and their children could live in a world that accepted them. Some of them looked different, and had strange appearances. Some of them looked like you or me, but had powerful abilities that one would never be able to guess."

"Like flight?" Peitro asked.

"Yes like flight." Erik confirmed the soft smile returning to his face, "They created silly little names for each other, each one embraced a part of who they are. They called themselves the X-men."

"Are the X-men real?" Wanda asked.

"Maybe they were. This was so long ago no one is quite sure. I doubt if they were real they are still around anymore." Erik said pausing to collect his thoughts. It had been so long ago on the beaches of Cuba where he had stood, in his mid twenties and full of rage and anger. That man that had stood there was gone, replaced with a much more dangerous combination of those primal emotions.

"Keep going?" The boy asked leaning in closer to Erik.

"Only if you don't interrupt any more." Erik teased.

"We won't we promise." Wanda said sending a glare towards her brother.

Erik continued to tell the twins the exploits of the X-men. How in the end they saved the world, and how they were held as heroes among the people they had fought so hard to gain acceptance from. How in the end they were forced to keep themselves a secret for fear that they would be hunted down despite their heroics. How even though heroes can do all the right things sometimes life makes them walk a different path.

Erik finished the story and looked down. Both twins were snoring softly, having fallen asleep likely for the first time in days. Erik couldn't keep in the tears, he could feel as they ran down his face. The cold making the trails of moisture they left behind burn on his skin.

He still remembered the last time he had held them like this. Three days after they were born Magda had come down with a fever. Three days after that she was dead, not even the hospital was sure what had happened. Erik still could feel as both newborns were in his arms fast asleep unbeknownst about their mother in pain and agony next to them. He could still feel the tears as he watched the doctors rush in to try and save her. The numbness when it was all over and when the sun rose. He still felt the pain, sometimes as if it were happening all over again. 

That was the first time the twins had lost their parents. Erik knew he changed after that, he always knew he would. Now sitting here holding the twins he realized they never even knew that they had lost their parents before. For them this was the first time they had experienced this, pain that lasts for a life time. Erik had given them up so they wouldn't have to experience this in the event he got into some trouble he couldn't simply solve with magnetism. Ironically that didn't save them. The act meant to save them and let them be children had failed.

So what was stopping him from taking them home? Living a quiet life somewhere? Erik knew the answer, he was afraid. Afraid to loose again. He knew that if he knew them, and then lost them things would go bad very fast. He didn't want that, Magda, his mother, anyone who had loved him, didn't want that. The anger and rage he held would explode, and Erik knew that if he were to explode the world might not be around anymore.

Peitro stirred a bit, and Erik looked down to make sure he was still asleep. Both twins looked a lot like their mother. They had inherited the dark brown hair and the same shaped nose. Peitro's eyes were just like Magda's. Wandas eyes were like his own, as well as her personality. Erik feared for her, not about what had happened but rather what would happen and what events might set her down an even darker path than the one she walked.

Erik sighed, exhausted from finding his way to the small country. He had seen the news, the several city blocks leveled by bombs. Thousands dead by the estimates and thousands more injured. He had come as fast as he could, unfortunately he feared he was not fast enough.

He pulled both twins in closer to him, in the hopes that his body heat would be able to keep them alive for the next few hours. Neither one seemed to mind or maybe they were to tired to even care. For a second Erik could imagine that they were at the little home he and Magda had bought, sitting in the room with the skylight watching the stars. But they weren't and they never would. Erik placed a small kiss on the top of each twins head before drifting off to sleep himself.

Hours later he was woken by the flashlight of a Red Cross worker. Erik wasn't expecting them to have shown up, but it was for all the better considering the twins had to go back into normal society. Although most people would write the story of him floating the three of them in the air down to the ground as the overactive imagination of a child.

The volunteer that had climbed over the building started speaking Sokovian. Erik could barely understand them, and neither twin was up, "Ich spreche Deustch." Erik said without thinking. 

"Um." The young woman said, "Do you speak English?"

Erik chuckled, "Yes I speak English."

"Are you hurt? Are either of your kids hurt?" She asked, slowly trying to remember the right sounds to say.

"No. The kids need food and water though." Erik said softly looking at the twins. They looked worse than they had previously, something Erik attributed to the lack of light at night.

"You are fine?" She asked confused.

"Yes, I'm a friend to their family." Erik said.

"You were not here when the bombs dropped then?"

"No." Erik said.

"Can you carry them?" The woman asked signaling some people at the bottom of the building.

"Yes." Erik said, "One at a time though." The woman nodded at him and Erik stood up sliding Peitro to lie on the bed while scooping Wanda in his arms. Erik nodded at the young woman and she helped direct him to the edge of the building where there was a makeshift rope ladder. Erik took hold of the ladder with one hand holding tight onto Wanda. Erik climbed down carefully trying to protect Wanda from the wind blowing snow and ash their way. Erik made it down and placed Wanda on a makeshift bed in the back of a pickup truck. Erik repeated the same thing with Peitro nearly falling a couple times due to the wind.

Erik placed Peitro next to his sister and looked at the two of them sleeping peacefully next to each other. He sighed knowing what had to come next. He didn't have the heart to wake them up, they needed their sleep. "Don't loose each other." He started to whisper to them "Don't let anyone push you down. Stand up for one another and stick together. The world is hard and cruel, having someone by your side will soften the blows. I wish I did. Don't forget who you are either, don't loose yourselves to the pain and rage. Just remember who you are and you'll be fine."

Erik stood up and looked at the young woman who had climbed down after him. "Can I trust you'll get them somewhere safe?"

"You are not taking them?" She asked confused.

"No." Erik felt his voice crack, "I can't." The woman nodded at him and the small band of volunteers packed up the area. Their sweep had yielded no one except the twins and there was no reason for them to stay in the area. Erik watched as they climbed in the back of the truck protecting his kids. He watched as the trails of exhaust disappeared off into the distance. That was it he knew, he was lucky to even get this chance. For the second time in his life Erik Lehnsherr had abandoned his children, and this time he was even less sure of his decision. But now it was over, he would never see them again, and he knew that was for the best.