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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years ago

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Wen Ruohan/Wei Wuxian?🍉

Forked Path - ao3

“You did me a favor, and I intend to repay that,” Wen Ruohan said, adjusting one of his gauntlets in irritation – more at the fact that he was sinking back into that old nervous tic, a tell that he’d thought he’d eliminated years ago than at the actual request, ridiculous as it was. “But to confirm, you’re certain that this is what you want? It’s not in my nature to stop midway, so if you have any hesitations, exercise them now or not at all.”

The two rogue cultivators looked at each other and after a few moments of clear silent communication and struggle, they looked back at him and nodded. The man did so reluctantly - Wen Ruohan looked at his wife, the immortal mountain’s disciple, and her nod was far more firm.

“Very well,” he said, lips twisting in distaste. He hated owing people favors, especially when they rejected his preferred counter-offer to graciously allow them to work for his sect, but he wasn’t yet so ungracious that he wouldn’t live up to something he had to do. “We are therefore agreed: in the event both of you die prematurely, I will take your son into my sect to be raised therein, rather than allow him to be raised alone outside or in the Jiang sect."

He paused, frowning. "To be clear, however, I am not going to raise him myself! He’ll be brought up among one of the branch families.”

Dafan Wen had some kids around the same age, didn’t they? That was pretty out of the way. With luck, he could avoid having to see the brat at all…and that was all assuming that these two died, of course. Still, based on their level of certainty and the association of the immortal mountain with divination, Wen Ruohan was going to assume a worst-case scenario was likely to occur.

“That’s fine,” the man said, his voice oddly sarcastic. “We don’t expect you to do more for us than you do for your own children.”

That pricked at Wen Ruohan’s pride, since he didn’t have a conscience to be affected.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked with a frown. He had two sons of his own, and they were being raised perfectly well by his wives, as far as he knew. It wasn’t really his concern until they were old enough to actually start getting started in cultivation, swordsmanship, or even the scholarly arts, at which point he would naturally take over their education with the assistance of many able tutors – he was far too busy to waste time with them, squalling brats that they undoubtedly were, until then.

“Nothing,” the woman said, and she looked amused – he almost suspected she was amused at his expense. “After all, with hard work, even the sharpest sword can be ground down into a needle.”

That wasn’t how that idiom went at all, but Wen Ruohan was too lazy to correct her.

Later, though, after they’d left, her words kept pricking at him in the same matter as idiomatic needle – it occurred to him that he didn’t much like his wives, even though the connections they’d brought to his sect were exceedingly beneficial. It was said that where there was a father, there was a son, the two invariably resembling each other, and he’d assumed that that would be the case here…but on the other hand, if he left all the initial raising of his sons to those wives he didn’t like, wasn’t he risking them raising the children to be just like theminstead of him? Grinding down his sons’ edges, so to speak?

That would be utterly unacceptable.

He was so busy, though. Beyond his own cultivation, his sect now controlled over a third of the cultivation world, and he was ambitious to raise that to half, and then perhaps even further. How could he waste time on something as pointless as taking care of small children?

On the other hand, he supposed that in the long run he’d actually be saving time if he at least made sure they were raised up right. After all, he’d always assumed that his two sons would be his right and left hands, his able aides capable of enacting his will, and obviously it would be a disaster to find out later on that they’d been spoiled rotten or rendered stupid....

No, he was sure his arrangement was fine. How much damage could his wives do in just a few years?

…perhaps it wouldn’t be that bad an idea to check in on them.

Just to make sure.

He definitely wasn’t going to raise that stupid Wei boy, though. Favors had limits!

“Your accomplishments do you credit,” Wen Ruohan said to Wen Qing, and even meant it the way he didn’t mean most of the things he was forced to say at these stupid discussion conferences.

After all, Wen Qing was of his bloodline, if distantly �� Dafan Wen was a branch family – but at any rate, they shared a surname, and it was sheer pleasure watching her put all those other ‘promising’ young masters in their place. Anything that added a sheen of glory to his sect was a good thing.

She saluted deeply, trying to hide the way she was beaming, and Wen Ruohan wondered once again if it was time to bring her back to the Nightless City as his ward instead of leaving her out in the wilderness with the rest of Dafan Wen. To get the sort of medical skills she had at her age showed promise and talent, and he needed people of promise and talent, especially ones with his surname, if he were going to make good on his intention to conquer the cultivation world.

He would’ve brought her back years ago, in fact, except that Sect Leader Nie said that children were fidgety, flighty creatures that were bad at dealing with change and that he’d be better off sending medical texts and tutors to Dafan Wen rather than bring Wen Qing back to the Nightless City over her father’s protests. Normally, Wen Ruohan would have disregarded advice he didn’t like and proceed with his own intentions regardless, but Sect Leader Nie had been helping him deal with his own sons ever since he’d reclaimed them from his wives, who he’d discovered had been ruining them, and it seemed unwise to dispute with him regarding matters of child-rearing at that point. After all, if he wanted Wen Xu to end up as even half the son that it looked like that Nie Mingjue was going to be, he needed the man’s expertise, and that meant making compromises, irritating as it was.

Compromises like not just killing Wen Qing’s father for refusing to hand over his children, despite it being easier to accomplish. Or not killing Sect Leader Nie himself, no matter how irritating the man was, because now his sons loved that old bastard.

(Wen Ruohan had spitefully decided to get back at Sect Leader Nie by spoiling his youngest son, who seemed at first glance to be more like the lazy scholarly type, beyond belief. It seemed to be working very well so far, including in causing Sect Leader Nie no end of frustration at his extremely clever-when-it-came-to-evading-work second son; Wen Ruohan, satisfied, viewed this result as being wholly due to his own efforts.)

“How did you find that talisman you mentioned in your last paper?” he asked Wen Qing lazily. “I hadn’t seen it before. Was it in one of the books I sent, or somewhere else?”

In truth, that had been the most interesting aspect of the presentation from his perspective – he didn’t have either talent or interest in medical cultivation, but he could recognize firepower when he saw it. Just because the talisman worked on disrupting things at a very small level for medical reasons didn’t mean it couldn’t be repurposed for larger things…

“Oh, no, Wei Wuxian invented it,” Wen Qing said. “He used it to blow stuff up until I convinced him to make a smaller version for me.”

“Wei Wuxian?” Wen Ruohan asked, frowning, and then recalled – ah, yes, the Wei boy. His parents had died some five or eight years back, if he recalled correctly, and he’d had to go fetch him pursuant to that old agreement; it had been extremely annoying at the time. He’d been in the middle of a very nasty argument with Sect Leader Nie at the time, the one that had led him to think his most serious thoughts to date of eliminating the man entirely, and then, just as he’d been on the cusp of making a decision, he’d received word of the deaths of Cangse Sanren and her husband Wei Changze.

Naturally, he needed to find and recover their son as he’d promised long ago, which given how unreliable reports of the location of rogue cultivators was naturally became a colossal waste of time, but on the bright side it had at least given him a chance to vent his spleen and get out some of his rage on something other than wringing Sect Leader Nie’s neck. It turned out that Cangse Sanren and Wei Changze had died in some obscure night hunt in Yiling, but figuring that out had all but taken a full-scale canvass of six different territories – and then Sect Leader Jiang, who hadn’t bothered to do anything near the same level of search and had opted to search the various towns individually on his own, as if that would ever work, had tried to leapfrog off the back of his hard work, thinking he could just thank him and take the boy away just like that.

Wen Ruohan had refused, of course – he had the parents’ personal request, and that outweighed Wei Changze having been a former servant of the Jiang sect or Cangse Sanren being possibly a former lover of their sect leader – and it had turned into something of a political mess for a while.

That had been where he’d gotten most of the venting out, actually.

Sect Leader Nie had sided with him in that fight, though, rather viciously, and by the end of it all Wen Ruohan was reminded of why exactly it was that the man was a useful ally to have around. He’d also forgotten what exactly they’d been fighting about, but he wasn’t going to admit that, so he just magnanimously forgave him. It had all turned out rather all right, and Wen Ruohan had put the boy out of his mind shortly thereafter.

Why would he come up now, all of a sudden?

No, wait, he’d sent him to Dafan Wen, just as he’d planned. And of course Wen Qing was from the main branch of Dafan Wen as well – she would’ve been raised with Wei Wuxian as a little brother.

“How is he doing?” he asked, more out of etiquette than actual interest, but Wen Qing lit up and started talking about how her little shidi was a verifiable genius, and so good with her actual younger brother, and whatnot. Wen Ruohan nodded, pretending he was listening, and cast his eyes around the rest of the discussion conference, looking for a distraction – there was Sect Leader Nie, who was generally good for a laugh, but he was scolding that second son of his for failing one of Lan Qiren’s classes and having to be sent a second time over. Jiang Fengmian was comforting him, telling him that he was sending his son as well this year, and of course Jin Guangshan’s heir was of age as well, and would undoubtedly be going, too…

Hmm.

“If he’s such a genius, he should interact more with his peers,” Wen Ruohan announced. “I’ll recommend him – and that brother of yours, I suppose – for the lecture series at the Cloud Recesses this summer.”

It wouldn’t do to be left, after all.

“You…you will? Really? That’s wonderful! Thank you for the opportunity, Sect Leader Wen! They’ll treasure it! How can we ever repay your kindness –”

“As long as they impress me with their talents,” Wen Ruohan said, already imagining Jiang Fengmian’s constipated expression at seeing his lover’s son that was stolen from his grasp wearing Wen sect colors and, in an ideal world, smearing his own son into the ground with his superlative skill. “That will be repayment enough.”

“You need to get laid,” Sect Leader Nie said, and Wen Ruohan was reminded again of why he despised the man and should have killed him years ago. Why hadn’t he done that again? “As a matter of cultivation.”

“You’re joking,” Wen Ruohan said, putting down his bowl of wine and staring at him in disbelief. He hadn’t expected the man to actually be serious. It was rare enough an event, but in fairness to him, he never joked about matters of cultivation. “How does one help the other?”

“It’ll help balance you out.” Sect Leader Nie thought about it. “Or at least let you get out some of that nervous energy that makes you a paranoid megalomaniacal little bitch about eighty percent of the time.”

That sounded a bit more in character.

“If dual cultivation could fix personality problems, Lao Nie, you’d be immortal.”

“Who says I’m not?” Sect Leader Nie asked, teeth bared in a smile. “Only time will tell. Haven’t I already outlived my father?”

Wen Ruohan rolled his eyes. Sect Leader Nie had outlived his father because when he’d started in on a qi deviation like every other member of his blasted family, he, Wen Ruohan, had personally dived into the irritating bastard’s spiritual consciousness and dragged him back out again. It was very much not something that people were supposed to do, being more likely to cause qi deviations in the person doing the rescuing than resulting in an actual rescue, but he’d never cared what people were supposed to do and, really, it would be extremely annoying to have to do without him now that he’d invested all that time and effort and figured out how to get some real use out of him. Anyway, they both seemed to be fine and possibly they were also soul-bonded now - he wasn’t actually sure, Wen Qing always got a weird expression on her face whenever she talked about it, and he usually stopped listening at that point.

He didn’t really care. As long as it didn’t interfere with his plans, what did it mtter?

“Who exactly am I supposed to be dual cultivating with, exactly?” he asked dryly, deciding to address the matter head-on because that was the only way Sect Leader Nie understood things. “Don’t volunteer yourself again. I already told you that I refuse to indulge your ridiculous kink for dangerous people.”

Anymore, anyway.

Sect Leader Nie made a face at him, but Wen Ruohan ignored him. He might’ve fallen for that before the whole spiritual consciousness-soulbond business, but now he knew for sure that it was a kink, so – no.

Nothappening.

“You have a kink for things that increase your power, I don’t know why you’re being so judgy about my kink,” the other man grumbled. “And I don’t know, find someone – not another wife, you hate your wives, and anyway they’re much happier with their other lovers.”

“I didn’t pick them because I liked them,” Wen Ruohan pointed out. “I picked them because I wanted to absorb their sects and all the aligned sects associated with them. Which I did.”

“See, this is your problem! You married for power, rather than power, if you get my meaning –”

This was true. If any of his wives could cultivate worth a damn, maybe he’d care more about them. As it was, getting a son on each of them had been an exercise in willpower.

“ – and now you’re too busy pursuing power to fuck anyone else. You really need to get it out of your system. Find someone who can kill you.”

“No one can kill me,” Wen Ruohan said. “I’m the closest thing the cultivation world has to a god. Everyone should bow down and worship me.”

Sect Leader Nie started muttering something about megalomania again, but Wen Ruohan ignored him. It wasn’t a qi deviation talking if it was true.

“I bet we could find someone who could kill you if we tried,” Sect Leader Nie finally said. “And if they’re powerful enough to kill you, they’re probably powerful enough for the dual cultivation to improve your own cultivation, which is all you care about…we should start a war, maybe.”

“A war? Against who? And why?”

Sect Leader Nie frowned thoughtfully, stroking his chin. “The Jin sect?” he suggested, probably because he’d never liked Jin Guangshan. “Or the Jiang sect? Or both, I guess, since they’re allied. They’re next on your take-over list, aren’t they?”

“You’re next on my take-over list,” Wen Ruohan said threateningly, except Sect Leader Nie only laughed at him. Which was fair, he supposed, that whole soul-bond thing made the whole conquering business somewhat unnecessary – Qishan Wen and Qinghe Nie were bound together now as thoroughly as if he’d married the man.

Which he hadn’t. And wouldn’t. No matter what stupid snarky comments Sect Leader Nie said about Wen Ruohan treating him as a de facto consort on account of not having devouring his sect whole.

(Which he wasn’t going to do either - his sons still loved the man, and by now they were as thick as thieves with the Nie boys. What was he supposed to do, disappoint them? It’d be the same as disappointing himself, and he wasn’t about to do that.)

“I suppose we could start a war against the Jin and Jiang,” he allowed. His plan had always called for battle eventually, since he knew there was a limit to how many sects he could absorb through political, marital, economic or other means. As long as the other Great Sects stood against him, he’d never be able to achieve total domination – plus, he’d have to continue to suffer through those awful discussion conferences with the boring lectures and the petty politics of it all. Why couldn’t they see that they’d allbe better off under his dominion? “I could send Wen Zhuliu –“

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s not how you fight wars honorably, and also because I hate that man’s guts. I can’t believe you gave him your surname.”

Wen Ruohan rolled his eyes yet again. Such petty concerns were beneath him. “If we launch a surprise attack using him assassinate the Jiang sect leaders, thereby bringing down the Lotus Pier, the war will be over sooner,” he pointed out.

“Makes it harder to assimilate them into the Wen sect afterwards, though,” Sect Leader Nie pointed out, and damnit, he had a point. “Not to mention you’re going to want some experienced people policing your waterways when you finally take over…”

Damnit.

“Fine,” Wen Ruohan said. “We’ll declare war the old-fashioned way. Maybe we’ll find someone on the opposite side that can impress me, and then I’ll marry her – or him – and be done with the whole business. Happy now?”

Sect Leader Nie made a maybe-so gesture with his hand. “Anyone who can match you in power can probably kill me,” he said regretfully. “Would you consider sharing –“

“Paws off my hypothetical future consort, you beast. Anyway, aren’t you already pursuing Lan Qiren because he nearly slit your throat with a guqin string once?”

“A man can look!”

“Say,” Sect Leader Nie said, staring at the army of fierce corpses currently shambling along to the tune of Wei Wuxian’s flute, advancing inexorably towards their enemies – an entirely new cultivation style that the boy had recently invented. In an effort to impress his benefactor Wen Ruohan, apparently. “Are you sure about the no sharing rule?”

Wen Ruohan stared at the grown man perched on a tree like a demon, wrapped in shadow and crackling with power, eyes glowing as red as the sun-patterns on his clothing, who seemed to want nothing more from the world than to serve it up to Wen Ruohan on a platter.

“Yes,” he said, voice only a little strangled. Maybe Sect Leader Nie had a point about power being a kink for him. “I’m very sure.”

#mdzs #wen ruohan #sect leader nie #wei wuxian is sir not appearing in this fic #my fic #my fics #forked path

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skeptiquewrites · 3 years ago

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Hi Tee! As you know, Nothing Left to Burn was one of my favourite reads of the year. With that absolute beauty in mind, and thinking of the central theme of that fic, i wondered if I could submit the prompt "Not At Home" for your end of year writing? (Only if it inspires you, of course). Thank you!

Hi Tacky! I'm honoured. I ended up with this. It's consistent enough to be set in the missing time from that fic from Draco's POV (or not, if you prefer!) I hope you like it.

cw: smoking, drinking, some risky behaviour

Microfic: Not At Home

Draco makes a choice early on in his travels to stay away from wizarding areas. Maybe he can become someone different when he's somewhere different. All he is now is crushed between guilt and obligation, aware that he isn't worth the grace he was granted. Peel all that away and anyone who takes a close enough look would find him wanting.

He stays in hostels, and adopts terrible habits like smoking and chatting up unsuitable dark-haired men who remind him of Harry. It doesn't help ease the heartache, but it would make his mother rend her garments with grief, so there's that. The farther south he is, the fewer owls can reach him. His parents are welcome to try to rewrite recent history without him.

The only person he wants to write him doesn't.

'What if you can't outrun your problems?' a postcard from Pansy begins. On the back there's a photograph of a white marble statue of a figure with arms upraised as if pleading with an unseen someone. Despite being used to Muggle art by now, he finds the image's stillness unsettling. Draco leaves it on a tram somewhere.

Was that in Milan or Naples? It all blurs together as the months go on. He discovers even the razor-sharp edges of newness will dull, given enough time. Time bruises more than it cuts.

It's almost a full year away when he makes fast friends with three uni students, two guys and a girl, at his next hostel, picked at random from a sun-faded tour book. Their ringleader, Klara, recognises wand grip calluses when she shakes his hand and Draco freezes, thinking he's finally been caught out. But neither her, nor Jon or Christophe, seem to react to his name at all. Jon asks where he's been travelling but not why he's alone and away from magical communities.

"Draco! Come on an adventure with us," Christophe says that evening.

They set out into the night, sharing an unlabelled wine bottle freely between them, Draco taking a few swigs, climbing stairs and stairs up a cliff. They all strip with a giggling abandon. Draco's not brave, but they hold hands and they all jump into the Aegean. Water rushes overhead in the swirling darkness and Draco emerges, gasping. Klara coughs. Salt water stings Draco's eyes and only the warmth of his tears lets him know he's crying. He treads water shakily and Jon lets out a loud whoop, echoing off the cliff face.

Even shadowed, Draco can tell jumping was reckless. No magic to save him. Nothing but faith in a few strangers he'd met that day and the embrace of the sea. He would never have done this before.

There's a special alchemy with the waxing moon and the summer night that makes him feel like finally he might like who he could be.

#asks #drarry #drarrymicrofic #microfics for the holidays #tackytigerfic

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ibijau · 4 years ago

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Counterfeit AU pt6 / On AO3

Meng Yao makes himself useful after losing his job, and discovers something unexpected

Names are funny things, Meng Yao thinks as he stares at the sheet of paper in his hand.

Funny things indeed.

After everything that went down in the Hanshi, it's Beastie that saves Meng Yao from himself.

Left to his own devices, he would have either wallowed in misery, or waste time proving to himself that everything that happened wasn't his fault, the way he knows he's done in other lives. But when he comes home after having his past lives thrown into his face and losing a job he loves, Beastie’s mother corners him just as he puts his key into his lock. Her daughter is on school holiday, she explains, and was supposed to be looked after by a friend with children of a similar age. But one of the children came down with something contagious, so the whole plan fell through, and the poor woman now desperately needs help finding someone to look after her daughter.

She’s not asking for Meng Yao to play the babysitter, but he knows so many people, he has so many connections, maybe he could pull a favour somewhere, help her out again.

“I can take care of her for a few days,” Meng Yao offers without thinking. “I’m jobless as of today.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry! What happened?”

“My employer died,” Meng Yao replies, which is close enough to the truth. He doesn’t think Nie Huaisang will continue using his Shanzi alias after this, and they’ll never meet again. He might as well be dead. “I don’t plan on looking for a new job right away, so I can babysit for a while, it’s no big deal.”

She tries to insist that he doesn’t need to be doing that, but quickly agrees after some reassurance that Meng Yao doesn’t mind. She looks so relieved she could cry as she says she’ll drop Beastie in the morning. Meng Yao smiles, certain that his mother would be proud of him for doing what’s right.

Having Beastie around is definitely the best choice he could have made. She’s a good kid, but she’s also high energy and needs to be entertained, which means he doesn’t get to think too much about how much he misses Nie Huaisang and Lan Xichen.

They watch movies together, as they’ve always done when he picked her up after school. They go for walks to a nearby park, and once to a museum to look at old armours and swords. He buys Beastie a fake sword, though they agree to keep it at his place, since her mother already despairs that she so strongly favours boy’s toys. In fact, Meng Yao ends up just spoiling that little girl, the way he would have loved someone to do for him when he was her age. He even has Nie Huaisang’s console repaired so she can play on it, instead of selling it as he’d intended.

The video games are a big hit with her. She’s particularly in love with the same game Nie Huaisang spent too many hours on, that weird little terraforming thing which Meng Yao can’t see the appeal of. He liked that it made Nie Huaisang happy. He likes that it also makes Beastie happy, and that she’s very careful not to ruin the work previously put into it, focused instead on maintaining it and planting flowers

“It looks like home,” she explains when Meng Yao asks about that, and lifts the console for him to see.

It doesn’t look like a homely place, he thinks, and more like a military fortress right out of a wuxia drama. But Meng Yao doesn’t get to make that remark, because his phone vibrates, demanding his attention. Beastie, sitting crossed legs on some cushion on the floor, goes back to watering virtual flowers, while Meng Yao checks some news from his bank account. A lump sum has been sent to him, a good deal more than his usual salary, coming from an account registered under a name he doesn’t recognise.

It has been a week since he was fired.

Nie Huaisang kept his promise.

It really is over.

Not that Meng Yao really doubted it. Nie Huaisang has many faults but indecision has never been one, though he’s always been good at pretending otherwise. Once his choice is made he toys with expectations but rarely ever changes his mind.

Rarely, of course, isn’t never. Meng Yao, foolishly, hoped to be one of those few exceptions.

Those new zeroes on his bank account feel like a divorce, and he never even got a honeymoon.

That night, Meng Yao allows himself a few hours to wallow in misery, after Beastie went back to her mother. He is only human, and it does feel good to eat take-away in front of a cheesy romance. The film's hero doesn't get the girl, who was dead all along. Meng Yao cries, even though he's seen that movie before.

By morning, he's in control again, and takes Beastie to the park so she can run around in the sun, and scare pigeons with her sword.

Those holidays are all great fun, until Beastie’s mother reminds them that she has homework to do.

Beastie is a clever kid, there’s no doubt about it, but she doesn’t much like doing her homework, least of all when she feels she could be playing. It takes all of Meng Yao’s negotiation skills to get her to even look at her school books, and he almost resorts to bribery to make her pick up a pencil. But she works hard once she starts, and Meng Yao, wanting to encourage her, sits with her at the kitchen table to update his resume. Beastie will go back to class soon, and inactivity just isn’t in his temper.

When Beastie is done with her work, she gets permission to put on whatever movie she likes while Meng Yao checks what she’s done in case it needs correcting.

But when he picks up the sheet of simple maths she’s expected to give her teacher on monday, all Meng Yao sees is her name.

It’s really funny. He knows her name of course, though he hasn’t heard it in a while. Even her mother took up to calling her Beastie after he nicknamed her that. It just fits her so well, that active little girl who prefers trousers over dresses because they're easier to move in and always wants to play at fighting. She’s a real little monster, and Meng Yao loves her like that. She’s just Beastie.

But according to the homework she’s spent the afternoon on, she’s also Nie Mingjue.

It could just be a coincidence. Names are funny like that, they pop up in unexpected places, they get forgotten and reused. Perhaps in another life, Meng Yao would have just dismissed it as a random incident.

In another life, he wouldn’t have been called Meng Yao.

It’s the first time this happens since that first life they all shared. He’s Meng Yao again, Lan Xichen bears his old name too, and now he’s found a Nie Mingjue, hiding right under his nose. A Nie Mingjue who likes fighting, and claims that her toy sword is actually a sabre, and who always insists a lot on things being fair, even when Meng Yao tries to give her the biggest share of a food she likes.

It can’t be a coincidence.

Meng Yao needs to tell someone.

He needs to tell Nie Huaisang.

He tries, of course, and without surprise his former employer’s number has been terminated. He has the same luck trying to send an email. Nie Huaisang might as well never have existed. Meng Yao feels helpless, torn between tears and laughter. After spending centuries looking for his brother, Nie Huaisang just might have lost his chance due to being so damn dramatic. Serves him right, Meng Yao thinks, still bitter about being discarded so easily, and never getting a chance to see if things might work better in this life.

Bitterness doesn’t last. Meng Yao cares about Nie Huaisang, more than he should if he were a little smarter, and he knows how important finding his brother again would be for him. And if Nie Huaisang can’t be directly contacted, there’s always indirect ways.

It’s not that Meng Yao misses Lan Xichen, he tells himself that night, when Beastie is back with his mother and he starts writing a long text message on his phone. Well, it’s not just that, anyway. He does miss Lan Xichen, sweet and funny and so eager when talking about art. But more importantly, Lan Xichen probably has access to Lan Wangji, who clearly must know how to contact Nie Huaisang.

Texting Lan Xichen is a strategic choice.

The way Meng Yao's heart jumps inside his chest when Lan Xichen immediately replies is… it's strategic too. He's just glad that his plan is working.

How have you been? :)

I could have been worse. I've just realised something and I think it concerns you. I've told you about that kid I babysit, haven't I?

Little Beastie? Is she okay? D:

She's Nie Mingjue.

This time, the answer isn't immediate. Meng Yao stares nervously at his phone, wondering if Lan Xichen thinks he's lying, or planning something. Considering their first life, who could blame him?

But after a few minutes, his phone vibrates again.

Sorry, I dropped my phone and couldn't get it back from under the couch. Are you sure?? (⊙ˍ⊙)

It all fits. You could come meet her if you want. But it's him, I'm sure.

Did you tell Nie Huaisang???

I can't contact him. Are you in touch with Lan Wangji? Maybe he can warn him.

I have his number, I just texted him! I'll keep you updated! It's so wonderful if it's da-ge!! Can I really meet him? ╰(*°▽°*)╯

Her*?

I'll send you my address. If you can come tomorrow, she'll be there.

Are you sure? I don't think da-ge would still want me around. (≧﹏ ≦)

Meng Yao gives that question the consideration it deserves. It's not an unfair worry to have, and he'd be wondering the same if he hadn't known Beastie for so long.

I literally killed him, and he killed me. If she had to hate anyone it'd be me, but we get along great. We're no longer the same people we used to be. It's the same for her.

If you're sure, then I'll come! (❁´w`❁)

Meng Yao is very sure indeed.

So Lan Xichen comes.

It's odd to invite someone to his flat. It's a small place, a bit messy, full of trinkets and DVDs that Meng Yao would never admit to owning, not with the image he wants to create. He's always avoided guests. But having Lan Xichen over is as rewarding as it is terrifying. Lan Xichen brought some charming little cakes, as if he's visiting someone important, and he smiles at the sight of a movie poster on the wall, confessing he watched it so often as a teenager that the tape broke one day.

"It's my favourite too!" Beastie exclaims. "Meng-ge has it, you know! Can we watch it now?"

Normally, Meng Yao would point out that it's a little rude to ask that when they have a guest. But he can see that Lan Xichen is nervous and unsure how to act around Nie Mingjue, and maybe a movie will let them all relax.

In the end, they spend a pleasant afternoon, the three of them. Once Lan Xichen stops worrying that the Nie Mingjue of old will appear and shout at him for getting him killed, he starts chatting with Beastie about her favourite movies, what she's learning in school, what she wants to be when she grows up. She's very happy to answer, and very impressed when he explains he's a teacher, even though she's finding it hard to accept that most of his students are fully adult.

And when Beastie is back with her mother, Lan Xichen lingers for a while, tempted by the offer of Meng Yao's favourite takeaway.

“It’s amazing how much like him she is,” Lan Xichen says as they sit on the sofa to wait for the food to arrive. “It’s the first time he reincarnates, you know. At least, Wangji told me they’d never found any trace of him before.”

Guilt shoots through Meng Yao. It’s his fault if Nie Mingjue’s soul was so fractured it took him this long to be reborn. Or at least, it’s the fault of someone he was, once, which is nearly the same, and yet completely different. Meng Yao has learned from living and dying several times, and he’s lucky enough to live in a kinder world than Jin Guangyao did. It helps.

“She’s also different from him, though,” Lan Xichen continues, moving just a little closer, until they’re almost touching.

“We’ll, for starters she’s a kid,” Meng Yao points out, wondering if he should take the other man’s hand. If this had happened before the Hanshi, he would have, but he’s not sure where they stand now.

“It’s not just that. In that first life, I knew da-ge as a child too and he was…” Lan Xichen sighs and makes a vague hand gesture. “He was a lot. Way too serious sometimes. We all were, I suppose, but him most of all. The Nie tended to grow fast, to compensate for dying young. I’m… I’m glad that he gets to properly be a child this time. That she gets to be a child.”

“The world has changed,” Meng Yao says, finding the courage at last to brush his fingers against Lan Xichen’s. “Things aren’t always easy but they’re… easier, I suppose.”

Lan Xichen’s returns that touch, gentle and careful as always. This, too, is easier now than it was back then. It’s not easy, but there’s less pressure to conform, less demands to be good dutiful sons, and just a little more space to be their own people, to make their own choices.

Maybe in their next life they’ll meet again and it’ll be even easier to be like this. But even now, Meng Yao is ready to take the chances that his past self wouldn’t have dared to dream of. He leans toward Lan Xichen, hoping to kiss him, but a knock on the door interrupts them and he jumps to his feet to go get their food. The delivery man looks at him a little funny, but makes no comment. If Meng Yao is half as red as Lan Xichen, he deserves those odd looks.

Nothing happens again that night. The moment has passed, and after eating, Lan Xichen has to go home because he has engagements the day after that he can’t cancel.

It's not a date that night, no more than any of their previous encounters were.

It's not a date then, but next time, when Lan Xichen invites him to a restaurant, Meng Yao is informed in no unclear terms that this is, in fact, a date. They go see a movie after, and Meng Yao gets to kiss one of the two most handsome men in the world.

Life is good.

Life is really good, and yet Meng Yao wants more.

In spite of their efforts, Lan Xichen and him can't get in touch with Nie Huaisang to inform him that his brother has finally reincarnated. Even Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian are getting worried. From what they told Lan Xichen they haven't had any contact with him since the day they picked him up at the Hanshi.

"They say he's done that before," Lan Xichen tells him. "They think he'll return in a decade or two, maybe a little longer. Time is hard for immortals, they lose track easily."

That's all very well for them, but Meng Yao doesn't have a few decades to waste, and neither does Nie Mingjue. They're not immortals. One bad illness, a reckless driver, just tripping in the stairs, and it's all over until they reincarnate again, and Meng Yao is done with missed chances.

If he can't directly get in touch with Nie Huaisang, Meng Yao can make a few discreet calls to former buyers, and advise them to get their purchase asserted again, just in case. He makes sure to only contact people who bought legitimate artworks of course. He wants to make a wave, not get in trouble. If Meng Yao knows Nie Huaisang even half as well as he thinks he does, then even in hiding Nie Huaisang will be checking what’s happening in the world of art collectors, and he’ll hear about some of his buyers suddenly becoming fearful of fakes.

It’s a little mean perhaps, when Nie Huaisang is so proud of his counterfeits, but kindness has never been Meng Yao’s greatest quality.

Besides, it works.

One afternoon, when Meng Yao is alone at home, checking a job offer that he’s probably going to reject because he deserves better, there’s a knock on the door. Meng Yao considers ignoring it, but some of his elderly neighbours have been coming to ask for help with their phones or whatever new fancy blender their kids got them to make life easier. Usually, five minutes of easy work means free homemade food for his next meal, which is always a great deal.

When he opens the door, there’s a very old man waiting in the corridor alright, but free food is probably out of the question.

“Well, I’m here,” Nie Huaisang says. “Whatever is going on, it’d better be important.”

#xisangyao #xiyao #sangyao #xisang #counterfeit au #lan xichen #jin guangyao #nie mingjue #nie huaisang #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes

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melanielocke · 3 years ago

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Lost in the Shadows - Epilogue

AO3

Taglist: @alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer @foxglove-airmid @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @justanormaldemon @styxdrawings @ipromiseiwillwrite @a-dream-dirty-and-bruised

Previous Chapter: Chapter 35

This is the epilogue and final chapter. While there are some loose ends and I might write a sequel one day, I have currently have no plans for one so it would take some time. As it is I'm working on a Frozen TLH story (chapter 1-3 are currently published), and one post CoI story titled "We bury the sunlight" so look out for those.

Alastair decided to move in with Jem at the end of the summer. He had managed to finish decorating his bedroom just in time for the first week of university, which he was excited about starting. He wasn’t sure why, but he’d expected Jem to be overbearing and constantly worrying about his mental health. He’d always thought that was what a psychiatrist did, he guessed, just like his father had always feared Jem would know about his alcoholism from just looking at him.

He’d learnt that wasn’t the case. Jem was a doctor, he couldn’t read minds, and although he was there for Alastair when he needed him, he was family and not his doctor, which was an important distinction. Jem gave him lots of space, and the ground rules were mainly about keeping everything clean, which was no problem. Jem also preferred it to know if someone he didn’t know was visiting, but that rarely happened since Alastair only had a few friends and the only one who hadn’t known Jem before was Kamala.

It was nice, having so much space to himself. Jem had changed a lot about the house, it didn’t look like an exact copy of the house he’d lived in when he was very young. Cordelia and his mother still lived with Risa, with him gone it fit a bit better, but they were in the process of getting the house back.

He saw Thomas regularly, and they had sleep overs once a week. Alastair had bought a new double bed for his room mainly so they could share the bed. Thomas was currently adapting to student life, but had vowed to Alastair that he would not drink any alcohol. Alastair worried that would severely limit Thomas’ social life, but secretly he was very happy Thomas would do that for him. Lucie had also decided they would all start playing DnD with her, and although Alastair still didn’t understand much of the game, they had fun. Thomas, who had been in Lucie’s previous campaign as well, had helped him with his character. Right now, the group consisted of Lucie as the story teller, or dungeon master as the game called it, and Thomas, Cordelia, Kamala, Eugenia and him as the players. Alastair played a warlock, which he felt suited him. Warlocks also got nightmares they never asked for all the time and were constantly exhausted, not to mention they made deals with otherworldly beings. Perhaps it fit a little too well.

He’d also decided to take lessons in ballroom dancing, with Kamala as his dance partner at the student dance association. He almost had something that resembled a social life, which was both very new and very weird. As it was, they both were quite good at dancing. Kamala had taken two years of dance classes too, although it had been years, and together they could figure out what they remembered and how to do it. Both had been forced by their father at the time and it was much more enjoyable now that they’d chosen to pick it up again, not to mention it was nice having a dance partner he matched well with.

Thomas was still considering starting dancing, but finding a partner who was tall enough for him would be a struggle. Alastair could follow decently and dance with Thomas, although he still noticed the height difference, but with the lack of men in dancing most teachers would rather pair Thomas with the tallest girl available.

He felt like for the first time in years, he was sort of happy? Happier than he used to be at least. He still had nightmares, flashbacks, all that, and didn’t think it was going away anytime soon. If anything, EMDR made it harder, but that was to be expected. He’d known that during EMDR he’d have to talk about everything, and although in time that would make it better, at first it just brought everything to the surface. He’d learnt not to plan anything else on days he had EMDR, except maybe cuddling with Thomas.

Although relationships were still new to him, any relationships really, he was getting more accustomed to having people around who cared about him. Not just Thomas, but Lucie and Cordelia, who had just started their last year of school and came to him for help with their math homework, Kamala and Eugenia, who he’d been spending time with at the dance studio. He often visited the Lightwoods too, and he felt welcome there. Gideon and Sophie had made a habit out of inviting him along with any family outings. He’d never felt so welcome before, it had taken some time to work through that.

‘You’re going to love my gift, I promise.’

Tomorrow was Alastair’s nineteenth birthday, and Thomas was sleeping over the night before.

‘What is it?’ Alastair asked.

‘A surprise.’

‘It was worth a try,’ Alastair said. ‘How was your visit at Matthew today?’

Alastair had spoken to Matthew once. He didn’t think the two of them would ever be good friends, but they could move past school and tolerate each other’s presence. Thomas had spent the day with him today, shopping. Matthew apparently loved clothes even more than Alastair did, and had an unusual and extravagant taste.

‘Awkward,’ Thomas said.

Alastair frowned. ‘Why was it awkward?’

‘Well, he’s the only other man I know who is interested in men and has previous, uh, experience. So I figured I’d ask what to expect and what to do. It was a very uncomfortable conversation.’

Alastair started laughing. ‘You could have just asked me.’

‘I know, but I thought it would be nicer for you if I had some idea of what I’m supposed to be doing,’ Thomas said.

Alastair put his hand in Thomas’ hair. ‘That’s sweet.’

‘From now on I’ll be asking you my questions,’ Thomas said. ‘Of course, the internet has also been helpful.’

‘As long as you know where to get your information,’ Alastair said. ‘Porn isn’t real and not a good source. But I don’t mind if there’s things you don’t know yet, because I know enough.’

They had sex for the first time that night. Alastair felt it was the right time. Of course, having sex the night before his birthday wasn’t new to him. The previous years he’d spend with Charles ever since he’d turned sixteen. It was far better with Thomas. Not because of experience or anything like that, but because Alastair felt comfortable, because he was absolutely sure he wanted it and felt like he could ask Thomas to stop if he wasn’t comfortable anymore. Thomas was a little clumsy, but Alastair didn’t mind. He would get better at it with some practice.

The next morning, they went to the Victoria and Albert museum. It was early on a week day and neither of them had classes today. Thomas had been surprised at first by how empty his schedule was but had ultimately discovered much of his free time was spent on assignments and preparing for lectures and classes. Fortunately, it did mean they could easily plan such trips on times it wouldn’t be crowded. Alastair still didn’t like crowds and didn’t think he ever would. Thomas had grown over his fear of them, but he also preferred the quiet. It was much nicer this way, taking his time to let a piece of art wash over him, undisturbed by other visitors. Thomas made the occasional comment. He’d taken art history in school and could name the different styles and put works in the context of the time period. Alastair didn’t say much in response, just nodded. He felt he didn’t have to.

Thomas had promised him his gift after coming back from the museum, and Alastair was starting to get curious. Thomas had hidden the gift somewhere in Jem’s house, so Alastair wouldn’t even be able to guess from the shape. He hadn’t bothered to look for it, but had been tempted. As much as he liked the small smile on Thomas’ lips as he said ‘not yet, mi Cielo,’ Alastair was not fond of surprises. He liked to know what to expect with a three to five workdays advance notice for anything out of the usual.

‘You’d think no one has ever given you a birthday gift before,’ Thomas said. He paused. ‘Wait, is that it? Did you not usually receive gifts?’

‘No, I did, from my mother and sometimes Cordelia.’

Charles too, Charles had had a habit of giving him expensive gifts. Or gifts he’d found among his mother’s things, he guessed. Alastair had not seen him again now that he was back in London, for which he was grateful. Gideon had spoken with Charles and told him he knew what he’d done and wasn’t welcome at his house anymore. Apparently Charles had been very angry about that, but Gideon had told Alastair he was welcome anytime and it was his responsibility to guarantee his safety. Alastair appreciated that.

‘Have you been asking them about it all this time too?’ Thomas asked.

‘No just you. But you made a big deal out of it by hiding it someplace here,’ Alastair said.

‘Alright, I guess you can open it,’ Thomas said, who left and came back to the living room carrying a very big box.

Alastair carefully opened the wrapping paper, making sure nothing tore. He wasn’t sure why exactly, but he’d always opened gifts this way, as if he intended to reuse the paper, something he’d never done.

‘I thought, with how impatient you were, you’d rip it all apart,’ Thomas said.

‘No,’ Alastair said.

‘You can rip it, it’s no problem,’ Thomas said as Alastair was struggling to get a piece of sticky tape off without damaging anything.

‘No,’ Alastair said, even more determined to get everything off properly.

Once he’d gotten it open and folded away the colorful wrapping paper, Alastair revealed something that resembled a hamster cage, but bigger. There were two floors, the top open and the bottom offering a little more darkness with a little home in there an animal could hide in. There was a wheel, several balls, and a little hedgehog plushie.

‘I know you were planning to get a pet hedgehog, so I researched what it needs. This has most things it needs to live in, you just might need to add a heat lamp because hedgehogs need a warm environment.’

‘I’d been looking into what I’d need too,’ Alastair said. ‘Jem is alright with me getting a hedgehog as long as I make sure to keep Church away from him. That shouldn’t be a problem, as I would put the hedgehog in my bedroom and Church doesn’t go there.’

‘How is Church?’ Thomas asked.

‘Usually, he is wherever I’m not. He doesn’t come into my bedroom. In the living room it can be a bit more of a struggle, as he likes to claim his space, and no matter where I sit, he gets upset because that’s the spot he wanted for himself. The only moment he tolerates me is when I’m accompanying Jem on the piano.’

Alastair had picked up playing music again after years and he tried to practice for half an hour daily. Sometimes with Thomas, singing his songs and playing more modern music. But he also played classical music with Jem, who was exceptional at the violin. Jem could probably have been a concert violinist if he hadn’t chosen to become a doctor instead.

‘Sounds like Church,’ Thomas said. ‘He won’t be a danger to your hedgehog, will he?’

‘I will keep my hedgehog in my bedroom,’ Alastair said. ‘If I make sure to keep the door closed when I’m not there, I think it’s unlikely Church will even go there. Even then there’s a cover for this hedgehog home and a little house for him to hide, and of course a hedgehog can roll into a little ball of quills. I think it’ll be fine. And my therapist thought it might be good for me to get a pet, as long as I am confident I can care for it of course. Now, can you help me think of a name? I’m not great with names.’

‘You and Cordelia have been arguing about baby names for weeks now,’ Thomas pointed out.

‘Yes, the baby should have a beautiful Persian name,’ Alastair said. ‘For pets it’s different.’

‘Or dnd characters,’ Thomas added.

‘So what if my character has my middle name?’

‘No, I like it,’ Thomas said. ‘Esfandiyar. It’s a beautiful name. For a pet I think a shorter name is better. I think your plushie hedgehog is called Mr. Prickly?’

‘I named him when I was a child,’ Alastair said. ‘I’m not naming my pet something stupid.’

‘No little pipsqueak?’ Thomas said with a grin.

Alastair rolled his eyes. ‘Absolutely not.’

***

‘You mean to say you forgot to buy Alastair a gift for his birthday?’ Lucie asked.

‘I didn’t forget,’ Cordelia said. ‘I planned to do it today, after school. How was I supposed to know I was going to get detention?’

They entered the bookstore, certain she could find something Alastair would like here.

‘Sorry I couldn’t get you out,’ Lucie said. ‘Even my dad can’t do that, but he knows it was completely unfair.’

Cordelia shrugged. ‘I finished my homework. But I’m still pissed.’

She knew teachers tended to be harsher on her, Alastair had always had the same problem, and she usually made a point to behave but she also wasn’t going to let people just walk over her girlfriend. So what if she’d gotten into a fight with a bully? He’d started it, but that’s not how the teacher who’d broken them apart saw it.

‘Alastair will understand,’ Cordelia added. ‘He was often sent to detention unfairly too. Now, which of these books do you think he’ll like?’

‘Both seem pretty good,’ Lucie said. ‘What are they about?’

‘This one’s called Malice, and is a Sleeping Beauty retelling focused on Alyce, the dark grace with powers similar to the original evil witch who cursed the princesses, and she might be the villain but she might also fall in love with Aurora. I haven’t read it, but it sounds awesome. The other is Girl, Serpent, Thorn.’

‘Oh, didn’t I lend you that one last year?’

‘Yes,’ Cordelia said. ‘It was awesome and the cover is so beautiful I wanted my own copy. I think Alastair will like it too, the world is inspired by Persian culture and the Shahnameh, which he loves, and the story is very good too.’

Girl, Serpent, Thorn was probably one of her favorite books, and Cordelia ultimately decided to buy it for herself while buying Malice for Alastair. He could always borrow the other book from her, she just wanted to reread it several times and have the gorgeous cover on display.

‘I doubt Alastair minds we’re late,’ Cordelia said. ‘He’s been spending the day with Thomas.’

Cordelia sometimes envied the amount of free time Alastair had compared to her. She hoped it would be the same once she went to university. Of course, Alastair had his memory, he only had to read everything once and he would remember forever. He could save so much time that way.

It still struck her as odd how they didn’t understand Alastair’s memory. Lucie was the way she was because her grandfather was the thief of souls. Same for Tessa, who’d gotten some of her power back after his death. Thomas had the sight because his mother did, and Kamala had healing powers because a fairy had given them to her. But no one knew why Alastair was the way he was. Cordelia knew it still frustrated him, not understanding.

‘I can’t wait until I can go to university,’ Lucie said. ‘I am so done with physics.’

‘Why did you take physics?’ Cordelia asked.

‘No clue,’ Lucie said. ‘I’ll survive another year. Then it’s English literature and creative writing.’

Cordelia wished she knew what she was going to study. Half her biology class was already working on their med school applications, but Cordelia had no clue yet. At least she couldn’t really picture herself as a doctor. Part of her still wanted to be a hero, but what if like Jem she decided to retire early? Being a hero didn’t exactly pay, and it was good to have some education. She just didn’t know what. She knew, of course, it was fine to choose wrong at first. Alastair had realized being a politician wasn’t for him, and was again starting in his first year.

‘At least Alastair promised to help me with my math homework,’ Cordelia said.

Cordelia and Lucie took the metro and arrived at Jem’s house. She’d been here frequently since the summer, and it already felt like Alastair’s house. She’d considered moving in herself too, but felt like she was still too young to move away from her mother and would rather stay for now.

Alastair and Thomas were in the living room, where an animal home was standing on the table next to a bit of neatly folded wrapping paper, not a tear in sight. Alastair had always been a little obsessive in the way he opened gifts. The wrapping paper would be thrown away, yet he always opened it with such a care and he never ripped anything.

‘Happy birthday,’ she said, hugging her brother.

He’d grown more comfortable with physical affection lately, and for Cordelia it felt like it had become easier to reach him. She’d had to get used to not living in the same house as him at first, but Alastair seemed happier here.

‘Thank you,’ Alastair said. ‘I’m officially on the waiting list for a pet hedgehog. It might take some time, but I have some of the supplies I need now. I am open to name suggestions as I have not thought of anything yet.’

‘Pipsqueak!’ Lucie called out.

‘Oddly, you’re not the first person to suggest that,’ Alastair said. ‘No, I am not naming my pet Pipsqueak.’

‘That’s because I already call Alastair that,’ Thomas said.

Alastair rolled his eyes. ‘My hedgehog will have a serious name, not something a toddler would have chosen.’

They didn’t settle on a name yet that evening. Lucie kept suggesting the kind of names Alastair meant to avoid as a joke, and Eugenia did the same when she and Kamala arrived. Kamala had a few good suggestions, and Alastair decided to look into Persian pet names.

Cordelia started feeling like things would be alright again, like things would be normal. Of course, she could never be sure. Tatiana had not turned up again, Gideon had reported her missing and so far the police had no leads. Cordelia didn’t think they’d find her, and she wondered if Tatiana would come back. There was no chance she could bring back her son, not anymore, but Cordelia feared she might want revenge. Right now, she tried not to worry. She would be prepared, yes, but she would also continue to live her life, go to school, worry about things normal girls her age should be worried about. Alastair seemed to be doing a little better as well, although she knew his EMDR days were hard. He was playing music again, and Cordelia loved to listen to him play the piano while she was here.

‘Do you want to play something?’ Cordelia asked at some point, gesturing to the piano.

‘Of course,’ Alastair said. ‘Thomas, I need your help.’

‘I didn’t bring my guitar,’ Thomas said nervously.

‘I don’t need you to play, I need you to turn the page of the sheet music. One of these days I’m going to make a copy and tape this piece together, but it’s 5 pages long.’

Cordelia would always be impressed at how fast Alastair could move his fingers over the keys. He’d tried to teach her when she was younger and she could play some simple melodies with her right hand only, but she’d never gotten the hang of playing with two hands.

‘I recognize this,’ Lucie said when Alastair was finished. ‘I think it’s in Pride and Prejudice. The one with Colin Firth.’

‘That’s possible, it’s well known. The Turkish March by Mozart,’ Alastair said. ‘I’ve been practicing this for the past week.’

‘It’s lovely,’ Cordelia said. ‘I missed hearing you play.’

‘And now you only get to listen when you’re here,’ Alastair said apologetically.

‘I’m here several days a week anyway,’ Cordelia said. ‘I’m glad you’re playing again.’

‘I forgot how much I loved it,’ Alastair said. ‘But I’m happy too. Even Church likes it when I play.’

Cordelia noticed the cat was sitting up from his spot on the couch, listening intently as Alastair started playing something else. Church might hate everyone and everything, but he loved Jem and he loved music.

Thomas continued to do his job as page turner and Cordelia could see the adoration in his eyes as he watched Alastair play. She was glad they’d been able to work it out and were still together, Alastair deserved that.

When Alastair was finished, Lucie decided to present her gift, which was a story she’d written herself in an insanely short time. Cordelia had read it and helped her edit, but the premise was that it was Frozen but with Alastair and Cordelia as the main characters.

‘I’m going to read it as soon as I have the time,’ Alastair promised. ‘This sounds brilliant.’

#Alastair Carstairs #Thomas Lightwood #Cordelia Carstairs #Lucie Herondale #Thomastair #Lucelia #the last hours #tlh #fanfiction #epilogue

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marshmallow-phd · 4 years ago

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Healing Touch

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Wolf!AU

Pairing: Yixing x Reader

Summary: Medical school abroad was the last line on your to-do list before starting the rest of your life. Everything was going according to plan. Everything, that is, until tragedy strikes your campus. In the wake of a professor’s untimely death, you’re partnered with the cute boy with a breathtaking smile in the newly combined labs. You find yourself unable to resist the dimples and shy glances, but his life is here with no plans of leaving. Will you continue on as planned or will you accept the hand that Fate had dealt you?

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I Final

The door to the bathroom slammed behind Yixing as he plastered his back against the cinderblock wall. The bathroom was empty, thank goodness. His heart was pounding, beating in rhythm to the pawing of the wolf. It growled at him to go back, to find you and claim you. He fought against it. Barely.

All this time you had been here, on this campus, and he never even knew it. How many times had he come close to almost running into you? Almost had a class with you? How many times had he walked into the student union or a lab or any other classroom and missed you by mere seconds? Having met you now, under these circumstances – it almost felt like Fate was taunting him.

Sliding down to the floor, Yixing let his head fall back against the paint-flaking stone. A small smirk tugged at his mouth. He’d found you. Like a flower blooming for the first time… you were beautiful. Your smiles had been small but stunning. When your hair fell like a waterfall hiding your face, his fingers twitched to push it behind your ear. Yixing had found girls pretty before, but you – you were fascinating. Like seeing a close up picture of a new planet a million lightyears away for the first time. As quiet as you were, he was determined to flip over the stones and discover what lied underneath.

Elation soon gave way to worry, though. Now that the first step was done, he had to proceed with caution. He didn’t want to scare you off or come on too strong. Knowing himself, he could get too excited and push you too far before you were ready.

And then there were the headaches. And the lost time. He needed to find the cause of it. He needed to understand what was happening to him. Because the last thing he would want is to hurt you.

Pushing himself back up to his feet, he went over to the sink and turn the cold water on blast. He cupped some of the water in his palm and cooled off heat radiating from his neck. Icy droplets rolled down his back and over his shoulders. It helped, sparingly. He gave a single glance in the mirror before turning off the water and walking out of the bathroom.

He knew that going to his next class would be a useless action. Paying attention was out of the question. There were ways that he could catch up in his spare time. Right now, he needed to be in a place where he was both surrounded by people (to keep himself in check), and yet alone for his thoughts. So, he headed for the student union. The buzzing of a hundred conversations hit him as soon as he stepped through the doors. None of them were clear, too intermixed to be deciphered. Perfect. Now he just need to find an empty table in a corner and-

“Hey, Yixing!”

Yixing blinked, searching around for the one who had called his name.

Baekhyun was standing up in his seat, waving an arm back and forth to get Yixing’s attention. The latter sighed. Maybe this was better. Maybe being alone wasn’t a good idea after all.

Sitting with Baekyun was Chanyeol, Jongin, Sehun, and Kyungsoo. Jongdae, Yixing knew, was in class. However, Minseok was usually with them. He must have been somewhere off with his mate. A quick surge of jealous struck through Yixing’s veins, but he tampered it down quickly. Soon enough he would be there, too. Soon enough.

Careful to keep his face as neutral as his facial muscles would allow, Yixing headed over to the others, dragging a free chair over from a nearby table.

“Playing hooky?” Baekhyun teased.

“Just didn’t feel like going to class.” It wasn’t a complete lie. Nor the complete truth. The statement fell somewhere in the middle. Like most things he said these days.

“Are you sweating, hyung?” Sehun asked from the other side of the table.

Chanyeol sniffed several times. “You still smell like your body wash. Is everything okay?”

Jongin pointed at him. “Your collar’s wet.”

Yixing shifted in his seat. Was it too early to tell them? Was it news that he should share with Junmyeon first? He knew he would end up going to Minseok at some point. Who better to go with for advice than the one person who’s lived through it already? Maybe even Ji Yeon might have a few words of wisdom for him. All five of his brothers were staring at him, waiting for an explanation, fictitious or otherwise, for this out-of-character behavior.

“She’s in my new class.”

“Who is?” Chanyeol asked.

Yixing didn’t reply right away. The words were sticking to the tip of his tongue like fly paper. Maybe he should just say “never mind” and go on with his day. This wasn’t the right setting to share this information. He shouldn’t have said anything. He should have waited until he got back to the farmhouse. He should have discussed this with Junmyeon and Minseok first. As much as he loved Baekhyun, he had a feeling this news would get back to the rest of the pack before he had a chance to tell them himself. Would Jongdae start to avoid him, too?

Before he had a chance to backtrack, Kyungsoo caught on. “Ah. You mean, her, don’t you?”

Yixing swallowed, the muscles in his throat contracting, making the motion difficult. Slowly, almost like a fishing bobber in the water, he nodded.

Letting out an exasperated scoff, Baekhyun hunched down in his seat. “This feels way too fast. I thought we would have time after Minseok until the next one.” He straightened up before leaning in close to Yixing. “Are you sure it’s your mate? Are you sure you just don’t think she’s really pretty?”

Yixing shook his head. “Minseok is right. The feeling is different. And immediate. It’s her.”

“Well, better you than me.”

“But think of the nice excuse it would give you to break up with Daisy?” Chanyeol teased.

“Who said I wanted to break up with her?”

“You did,” Kyungsoo deadpanned. “Last night.”

Baekhyun feigned being taken aback. “W-well, that was last night. I changed my mind. This morning.”

“I hope your mate gives you hell,”Jongin laughed. He turned to Yixing. “Is she pretty?”

Yixing didn’t dare fight the grin spreading across his face. He nodded eagerly. “Yes. Very. Very pretty.”

“So, you gonna tell Junmyeon?” Baekhyun asked.

“Of course. I will tonight. Back at the house.”

“At least we’ll get to see this play out more. I feel like we missed the good stuff with Minseok.”

“It’s not a movie for your entertainment,” Kyungsoo scolded.

Baekhyun simply shrugged, turning his attention back to the food in front of him. He’d gotten his teasing out of the way. Oddly enough, Yixing was feeling a little lighter. He hadn’t kept the secret long at all, but that was what a pack was for. They were there to keep you steady and to lean on when things grew tough. He could go to them for advice – well, some of them. Others were good for a laugh and help ease any weight that was baring him down. Each member had his strength, for which he was grateful. Three additional faces appeared, stopping him for a moment. But then Baekhyun started imitated one of his professors and Yixing was pulled away from the past and back to the present.

However, even as he smiled and laughed along with the others, one thing refused to leave him: Would you be safe? With his current… predicament, he worried about you. If anything were to happen to you – especially because of him – he would never be able to forgive himself.

Silently, he vowed that he would put an end to this rogue wolf – no matter who it was.

Perhaps walking wasn’t the best idea at the moment. It was chillier today; a cold front having moved in from somewhere out west overnight. The jacket you wore was thin, the wind sliding through the threads with more ease than water through a drain. But it seemed silly to take the bus with such a short distance between your apartment and the university campus. Certainly not worth the anxiety it would create.

Yes. It was good to walk. Good to get the exercise. And by the time you make it to the courtyard, you would be used to the cold. For now, you zipped the closure up to your chin and tucked your arms in as close to your chest as possible.

The campus felt like a ghost town when you arrived. Most of the students were taking refuge in the buildings, hiding from the wind between the walls decorated with tutoring flyers and motivational posters. Part of you thought to maybe do the same, to cut through the buildings to get a relief from the depressing weather, but that would take you longer. None of the buildings were straight shots. You could endure it. Or else, you could end up as another frozen statue on the grounds that would occasionally get covered in toilet paper or streamers by pranking students. At least you would actually look like something if that were to happen. Most of the artwork was of the abstract kind.

Not that that was a bad thing. Most of it was quite interesting. But it gave you a headache, turning and twisting your head to look at the statue from a new angle, the picture changing each time. You preferred less complicated, more obvious art. Old portraits or watercolor landscapes were the sections of the art museum you spent the majority of your time in. It didn’t need to be complicated to be art, in your opinion. Every new artist was trying to “say something”, which was fine. It was their art and they were allowed to do with it as they saw fit. You were just the kind of boring person who liked a pretty picture, no added thinking required.

Yes. Boring, indeed.

“(y/n)!”

You stopped walking, confused as to who could be calling your name. Glancing over your shoulder, you saw the new boy from your human physiology class – Yixing. He was jogging up to you, cutting through the grass, not caring if the canvas fabric of his Converse ended up soaked. He was huffing only the slightest bit when he came to a stop beside you. The tiny corners of his lips were slightly turned upward. You’d only met him a few days ago. How could he be seemingly elated to see you?

“Hi.”

He wasn’t the least bit discouraged by your steely reception. “Are you on your way to class?” He pointed in the direction of the science building. You nodded. Lying would make you have to take a weird, long way to the classroom and even then, you couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t see you in the hall. Besides, after your first class you would be seeing him again, at the same table. “Can I walk with you?”

Those five little words sent a surge through your brain, frying the motherboard and sending you into disfunction. Why did he want to walk with you? Pound, pound, pound your heart was going in your ears. He was smiling broader now as he waited for your answer. Surely, there were better available options in girls to walk to class.

“Why?”

Your hand nearly snapped up to your forehead. Where! ‘Where is your class’ was the question you were meaning to ask. But your brain was too focused on why he was asking you that the signals got crossed somewhere and the wrong thing came out.

The smile faded. “Oh, um… I just saw you and thought that maybe if we were headed in the same direction….” He cringed, his hand reaching behind his head to scratch nervously at his scalp.

“Sure,” you said without giving yourself a prior warning.

The smile snapped back into place. “Okay. Great.”

Neither of you moved. You were sure that part of the idea of “walking to class together” included actually moving your feet, but you didn’t start heading towards the building. Yixing didn’t budge either. He kept smiling at you.

A sudden burst of icy wind picked up. The gust bit right through your jacket, causing you to shiver somewhat violently. Your teeth were still chattering even as it died down again.

“Are you cold?” Yixing asked worriedly.

“No, I’m fi-”

He ignored you as he slipped his bag off his shoulders and removed his much heavier bomber jacket. He draped the jacket over your shoulders and replaced his bag. Now he was left in only a black T-shirt, but he seemed unaffected by the cold. Not even goosebumps gave away if he was uncomfortable or not. “I hope that’s better.”

You were hit with an overwhelming pine scent. Normally you hated the smell. It reminded you of those old car air fresheners that would hang from the rearview mirror. But this particular type… it was a struggle not to breathe in deeper. You didn’t want to come off as weird.

Or, weirder that you already were.

“Thanks,” you said shyly, unable to meet his eye. “We, um, we should probably start… walking.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re right.”

The two of you finally headed for the science building. You each stepped in rhythm with the other, falling into the pattern with such a natural ease that it made you curious. Your nerves were on high alert around him, but not in a way that made you scared of him. Not the “he’s going to kill me” kind of nervous. Just… on edge. You weren’t sure why he was interested in you – whether platonically or something else, you hadn’t figured out yet. You weren’t the typical college student in your experiences. Anxiety over social gatherings tended to limit your outings. Not that you minded. You needed to keep up the good grades to get into the university you wanted and the extra time spent studying helped. Your family was your main social outlet, but you didn’t see anything wrong with that.

The bad thing was, you knew how your family reacted and came to decisions in most cases. That sense of familiarity was lost when it came to other people, so you never were quite sure how to read them.

“What’s your first class?” Yixing asked as the building came into view.

“Organic chemistry,” you replied. Not your best subject, if you had to admit it. Biology was more your strong suit. “What about you?”

Yes. Good counter question. A natural one to ask. Right?

A dusty pink bloomed on his cheeks. “Psychology.”

You frowned. Those classes weren’t held in the science building. Those types of classes were the rest of the therapeutic college – several buildings away. Pointing to the doors that the two of you were now stopped in front of, you said, “Then why-”

“I saw you and wanted to say hi.”

Okay, like stated earlier, you weren’t the best at reading strangers. But you could almost feel your aunt nudging you with her shoulder in her cheeky fashion. And you would have to agree with her, it did feel like there was an air of flirtation underneath the innocent sentence.

“You wanted to say ‘hi’?” you repeated

He scrunched up his shoulders guilty. “Yeah. I thought that – since we’re going to be partners for the rest of the semester – that it wouldn’t hurt to get to know each other?” His eyes flickered down to the cement and then back up at you. “Is that alright?”

That simple movement made your heart flutter. “I guess so.”

Not the exact answer he was hoping for, judging by his reaction. He released his breath through his nose and nodded, his lips puckering a small amount. “Okay. I’ll see you in class.” You weren’t given a chance to respond before he stepped around you and headed off.

Now you were the one who felt guilty.

All through class, you struggled to absorb the material more than usual. You felt like a jerk to someone who was only trying to be nice.

No. Nice wasn’t the right word to use. Polite seemed too small a word as well. His interest in getting to know you seemed genuine, sincere. You were the one quick to pull away. You couldn’t help it. And you had immediately regretted it, wishing you could rewind and try a different response. Yixing made you more nervous that usual, which only overloaded your brain even more.

By the end of class, you’d settled on apologizing. You’d practice the speech over and over again in your mind to make sure that it made sense and conveyed what you were sorry for. And hopefully didn’t create a bigger mess.

Since you were right around the corner, you made it to human physiology early. You took your time taking out your supplies and lined them up on your side of the table. Every few seconds your eyes would flicker to the door in eager anticipation. The students who flowed in were never him. Oh. Goodness. Had you made him so upset that he’d decided to skip class altogether rather than sit next to you?

That fear subsided when you saw him walk into view of the open door. A shorter boy was with him. They were chatting in a friendly manner in the hallway, smiling and laughing occasionally. Yixing didn’t seem to still be upset from your earlier send off.

The shorter one, wearing a backwards cap and t-shirt despite the cold (were males really that immune to dropping temperatures?), glanced into the classroom and made eye contact with you. He whispered something to Yixing, who in turn snuck a peek of his own. He nodded to the shorter boy. The latter nodded as well. He patted Yixing on the shoulder and then left.

Oh, wonderful. Now what had you done?

Your entire speech went diving out the window as Yixing walked into classroom and sat down in his seat.

“Hey,” he greeted, throwing you off even more with a smile.

You lifted your hand and gave a rather pathetic wave. “Hi.”

“Did you have fun in chemistry?” he asked. Everything about his mannerisms reflected his earlier legitimate interest. It was almost as if the parting earlier had only been a bad dream in your head and instead had ended amicably, with no signs of awkwardness.

You were starting to relax. That was another odd thing about Yixing. Though your nervous system was on the fritz, you also felt at ease, almost. Already, you were finding appropriate and - dare you say - charming responses to his inquires and jests. “As much fun as one can with unstable molecules.”

“Better the molecules be unstable rather than the professor.”

You laughed, using your hand to cover the sound and wide mouthed expression that came along with it. Yixing dipped his head to hide a proud grin of his own. The professor walked in at that moment. You scolded yourself for not going through your speech before class had started. Yixing had distracted you. It might feel as needed now, but you still felt the urge to say the words.

And that distraction was continuing on through the period.

He wasn’t doing anything in particular, besides simply existing. Occasionally while taking notes or flipping the pages of the textbook, his elbow would bump into yours. You would mouth “sorry” before dropping your eyes down to the paper. He never looked like he was annoyed or bothered by it. At one point, you wondered if he was doing it on purpose.

Like the last time, Professor Jiang assigned the review questions at the end of the chapter to be completed during the final fifteen minutes. It took you almost that entire time to figure out the answers. You had to keep flipping back through the chapter and skim the passages to find them. You were definitely going to have to make a note to review this later if any of it was going to stick.

“Are you done?” Yixing asked once he saw that your pencil was down.

“Yeah.” Your confidence in your answers wasn’t as high as last time. To your surprise, though, your answers were more or less the same as Yixing’s. Maybe something did get absorbed during the lecture.

Taking your paper, he shuffled it on top of his to show you that he would once again turn it in for you. A pattern was beginning to form, but you didn’t want to read into it too deeply.

Okay. It was now or never. Although, you’d forgotten large chunks of your speech, you were going to go through with it.

“Yixing?” You barely made it above a whisper, but he heard you anyway.

“Hm?”

“I just wanted to say that I was sorry. About earlier. I didn’t mean to make it look like I was trying to be rude or that I wasn’t appreciative of your….” You lost the word you were going to say. The others that you grasped on to made you cringe. Niceness? Politeness? Pity? Thankfully, Yixing didn’t need you to finish.

“It’s alright. I’m not upset. I realize that I might have come on too strongly.”

“No, no, you didn’t.”

“No, I’m sure I did. Next time, if you like walking alone, you can tell me to go away.”

You didn’t like the idea of telling him to go away. You actually kind of liked him walking you to class, now that you’d had time to reflect back on it. The gesture gave you the same vibe that teen romances had given you in high school; a strange fluttering that usually only existed in daydreams.

You weren’t sure how to respond, so you gave a silent reply in the form of a small smile. Yixing took it as a good sign like you meant it to be. Then you remembered the piece of clothing you still had of his. You started to sleep out of the sleeves, but Yixing stopped you.

“Keep it. It’s not going to get any warmer today.”

You could feel your face exploding with heat. What did that mean, exactly? Obviously, you understood the direct context, but was there another meaning behind his kind intention? Whispers erupted behind you before you could really think it through. You peeked over your shoulder to see two girls staring at you as they spoke softly to each other. Their volume was too low for you to make out what they were saying, but their eyes said enough. A few flickers toward Yixing and it was easy to interpret: they were trying to figure out why someone like him was acting this way towards you.

Curious as to what had stolen your attention, Yixing looked back at the girls as well. At their continued whispering, he narrowed his eyes and then shifted his stool closer to you. It felt… protective, almost possessive. Not in a way that made you want to lean away. It was more like he was silently standing up for you. The girls immediately snapped their mouths closed and pulled out their phones. Yixing caught your eye one more time, making you smile. Professor Jiang called time on the period and you found yourself very unwilling to move from that spot. And, it seemed, neither was Yixing.

Yixing ran through the trees with pure giddiness and elation flowing through his fur.

Things couldn’t have gone better this past week and a half. You were opening up to him more, talking to him without long pauses in between and letting him walk you to classes, even if they were in the opposite direction of his own. You hadn’t given him his jacket back, but he took that as a wonderful thing. He wouldn’t have taken it back anyway. There were still things that you were holding onto, things that you hadn’t let slip in your conversations. That hardly deterred him. It would take time. These things didn’t just happen. Eventually you would let him in all the way and he would show you his true self. It was only a matter of-

Yixing stopped. Out of nowhere, his vision had blurred, blackspots covering bits of the forest. He wavered from side to side as he tried to regain his footing. The tree shifted back and forth like a teeter-totter. He pushed himself forward. He needed to get back to the house. But only a few steps and his head exploded with pain. He whimpered and, after a minute or so, he fell to the ground and the blackness took over.

#exo #exo wolf au #exo wolf!au #yixing x reader #zhang yixing #lay #exo x fem!reader #exo werewolf au #exo werewolf!au #exo college au #exo college!au #exo supernatural au #exo series #exo fanfic #exo fanfiction #The Untamed Universe #Healing Touch

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jiejie-eonni-onee-sama · 4 years ago

Text

Severed blood ties...

A gift for the dear @sergeant-donny-donowitz

Hope you will enjoy the story...

France, 1945.

Tied to a chair, Hans Landa, the infamous "Jew Hunter," furiously glanced at his jailers. The enemies he vowed to bring down were the ones who finally defeated him. Those men who the German troops nicknamed "The Basterds" put an end to the Nazi regime, stopping the war in the process.

Holding his head up, he arrogantly said:

"May I guess that you're happy, Lieutenant Raine?"

"Ya bet I am! It's been a long time since I wanna catch ya! And here ya are!"

Landa has a rictus.

"You pretend to be a hero, but we both know that you are only a redneck murderer from Maynardville!"

"Lieutenant, do ya want me to make him shut up?" asked Donny as he held his prized baseball bat.

"It would be very distracting, indeed!" smirked Wicki as he lighted his cigarette.

"Na, not now, guys!" answered Raine.

The Apache turned to the Nazi and explained:

"To answer ya question, Hans, you don't stop a war without getting yer hands dirty, right? After all, you are an expert in this field..."

"Unlike you, I don't kill people..."

"Not directly. But every time you're somewhere, it's like a death sentence!"

"I return you the compliment, Lieutenant Raine!" snarled Landa.

Utivitch raised an eyebrow.

"Is it just me or Landa seem mad at us?"

"I share your impression, Private," stated Hicox.

Stiglitz glared at their prisoner with all the hate he had. For the deserter of the S.S, Landa was the epitome of what he loathed the most.

"Why can't we kill him on the spot?" he growled.

"The orders are the orders, Hugo: the general staff wants him alive," answered Omar.

"What a shame!" scoffed Hirschberg.

"Anyway! Now, I would like to know why he seems pissed!" asked Sakowitz.

"Don't bother! He would never tell us..." scoffed Zimmerman.

"Okay, who dared drink his beer?" jokingly asked Kagan, making his comrades laugh.

However, this joke pissed off Hans, who snapped:

"You EXACTLY know what you've done!"

All the Basters stayed silent, surprised by Landa's outburst.

Wicki replied:

"Apart from screwing your plans up and killing your men, I really don't see what you are talking about..."

"Killing! What an appropriate word for your biggest crime against me, Private Wicki."

Annoyed, Donny roared:

"WHADDYA TELL US WHAT WE HAVE DONE, PRECISELY?"

"Calm down, Donny, calm down!" said Omar.

"Okay, Landa... What pisses you off right now?"

The S.S officer found his calm composure and asked:

"Do you remember Captain (Y/N) (L/N)?"

"Captain (Y/N) (L/N)... It rings a bell to me..." muttered Utivitch.

"This guy was one of the youngest captains of the Wehrmacht. A lot of people said he was a brilliant officer and a capable leader," explained Hugo.

"Sergeant Stiglitz is right. According to MI6 files, the young Captain (L/N) quickly rose to the top. He excelled both at his exams and at his missions. Even the Führer held him up as an example..." added Hicox.

"I got it! Was it not the guy we met in Italy during our mission over there, two years ago?" inquired Zimmermann.

"That's right! It was the young Kraut captain who fought us near Milan! Hell, we struggled to save our skins!" exclaimed Sakowitz.

"A brave boy, I admit. Crazy, but brave." nodded Raine.

"Tell me if I am wrong, Landa, but you hold a grudge against us because of this boy?" asked Wicki.

"Why? Because he was your boyfriend?" snickered Hugo.

"HE WAS MY SON!" exploded Landa.

When they heard that, all the Basterds screamed:

"WHAAAAAAT?"

"(Y/N) (L/N) was ya boy?" asked Raine.

Fuming with rage, the Jew Hunter sighed:

"Yes, he was. (Y/N) was my only child."

"But you don't share the same last name." pointed out Sakowitz.

"He took his mother's name when he entered the army to avoid any accusation of nepotism."

"Okay... So, all you have done against us until now... was only to avenge your boy?" inquired Omar.

"Your judgment is remarkable, Private Ulmer!" said ironically Landa.

"Don't be a smartass, Landa! Maybe the general staff wants you alive, but we can have fun until we arrive in the United States!" snapped Stiglitz.

"Would you dare wound a defenseless opponent, Sergeant? I know it is your modus operandi, but still..."

"If I were you, I would keep my mouth shut. Because my dear friend Donny here would like to bash your skull like a baseball!"

"Ya bet I do!"

"Calm down, boys!"

Suddenly, Landa heard a door opening behind him and a young masculine voice saying:

"My apologizes for being late, Lieutenant Raine."

"Don't worry, boy. We just chat with our guest."

Puzzled, Landa asked:

"Who is it?"

Smirking, Hicox replied:

"In your defense, Landa, you could not know our dear friend here. He prefers working in the shadows... Such a humble boy!"

"I am flattered by your compliment, Lieutenant Hicox." replied the newcomer.

Trying to see who is talking, Hans scoffed:

"And why is he here? Is he going to torture me too?"

Much to his surprise, the newcomer replied in perfect German:

"Nein, dafür bin ich nicht hier. Es wäre Zeitverschwendung!" (No, that's not what I am here for. It would be a waste of time!)

Impressed, Landa replied with a smirk on his lips:

"Du sprichst Deutsch wie ein Einheimischer..." (You speak German like a local...)

"Das liegt daran, dass ich in Österreich geboren wurde." (That's because I was born in Austria) replied the mysterious young man as he walked to Landa.

This voice sounded familiar to Landa, but he cannot tell where he did hear it. But this accent... He was sure he heard it before!

"Wer bist du?" (Who are you?)

"Du weißt wer ich bin ... Vater." (You know who I am ... father.) replied the young man as he sat in front of Landa.

When he saw the face of the person he was speaking to, the Jew Hunter nearly had a heart attack.

"(Y/N)..."

"Himself, father." replied the young man with a smirk on his lips.

The S.S colonel could not believe it: his flesh and blood was alive! A wave of relief went through his body. But he cannot help but wonder how (Y/N) managed to survive at the hands of the Americans.

Stammering, Hans asked:

"But... But you died! The survivors of your detachment told me that you get killed by Lieutenant Raine!"

"They thought Lieutenant Raine killed me. But the truth is... I faked my death!"

"WHAT?"

Landa could not believe his ears: his son dared betray the army he swore to serve!

"But... How could you do such a crime?"

"Let me return you the question, father. How could you sleep at night while knowing that you send innocent people to their death?"

"That's not the question! You betrayed your army, you dishonored our name..."

The loud slap on his face made him shut up. When he looked at his son's face, he saw a wave of boiling anger in his eyes.

"You thought that I dishonored our name? But look at you: you paraded with this stupid uniform until you crawl in front of the Americans for saving your skin."

"Do not talk about crawling in front of the Americans, boy! You did not act better than I do!"

(Y/N) looked at his father with disdain.

"Maybe. But at least, I redeemed myself by helping the Allies. Did not ask yourself how the Basterds manage to outsmart you?"

Hand stared in amazement as he realized.

"YOU WERE THE MOLE?"

"Bingo, dad. Unfortunately, your loyal lapdog named Hellstrom knew something was wrong and was not far from discovering the truth. It was at this moment I planned to fake my death... with the help of my new friends, of course!" explained the young man while gesturing at the Basterds.

Hans fumed with rage: he hated being outsmarted. But the betrayal of his son was the last straw!

"I can't believe you even dare betray me, your father!"

The icy glare of (Y/N) sent a chill down his spine.

"You're right: you're my father, but only for blood. The fact is you never loved me. You belittled me, pushed me away... All because you wanted me to be your carbon copy. I tried to be the son you wanted me to be, but nothing was enough for the great Hans Landa."

Every word (Y/N) was full of hate and pain, and they hit Landa like a punch.

"But I must admit that you were a great teacher. I've learned a lot from you. Thanks to you, I have learned to speak different languages. With this skill, I can exchange pieces of information with various interlocutors.

Thanks to you, I mastered the art of deception. Do you want an example? While I gave the pitch of the perfect little Nazi, I helped many Jews escaping from you."

The young man smirked like a predator.

"I have acquired so much from you that I was able to foresee all your comings and goings."

Trying to keep his composure, Hans retorted:

"And you came here just to say that?"

(Y/N) burst into laughter.

"No, dear father... I am here also to say goodbye!"

"Goodbye?"

His son nodded.

"Yes, indeed. Because this touching meeting is our last!"

"What does it mean?"

"The general staff allowed me to see you one last time before your trial... and your move to Nantucket Island. After that, you will never see me again."

(Y/N) shrugged.

"After all, you're not supposed to see me, as I am officially dead!"

He got up and said:

"Now, if you excuse me, Colonel Landa, I have some work to do before we depart for the United States. Enjoy your stay in France!"

(Y/N) went to the exit, followed by the Basterds.

Losing his temper, Hans yelled at him:

"Sure, go away! Anyhow, I have no son!"

(Y/N) turned his head and said:

"As for me, I consider myself as an orphan since my father said Heil Hitler!"

He smirked.

"Besides, (Y/N) (L/N) belonged to the past... as well as (Y/N) Landa. Now, you can call me (Y/N) Raine, like the father I found."

Smiling, Aldo gently ruffled (Y/N)'s hair.

"Come on, kiddo. Time to get home!"

As the door closed in front of him, Hans Landa let out a scream of pain and anger: this time, he lost the war for good.

And the fatal blow came from his son, who severed their blood ties with his sharp words.

Even him, the great detective, did not see that coming...

Thanks for the reading!

I hope you enjoy the story!

Your requests are always welcomed here!

Stay safe and see you later! 😘🥰😍

#requests #gifts #inglourious basterds #hans landa #christoph waltz #jannik schümann

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darylandbethfanforever9 · 4 years ago

Text

Devil’s Backbone

Chapter 6

Story Rating: Explicit, 18+

Warnings: Smut, violence, past flashbacks of sexual assault, descriptions of torture, racial hate and forced abortion. Not Tony Stark friendly.

Relationships: Bucky/OC, Steve/Natasha, Billy/Wanda/Grant, past Clint/Laura. eventual Clint/Yelena and Frank/Karen.

Summary: In the aftermath of the Blip, Bucky struggled to find his place among the world and the Avengers. However, when he is sent on a mission to Madripoor to investigate a young woman, he starts to realize that maybe his past isn’t too far behind him. Co-Written with WalkingPotterGirl14

"It was amazing, you guys. Absolutely." They had been on a video call with Bucky for about fifteen minutes now, starting to get some intake on his trip there and how everything had been going. But up until now, Steve had waited with a raised brow as Bucky described everything he had seen. "That sounds great, Buck," Steve chuckles a bit. "But there was a point of this mission." "Right, uh-" Bucky rubs the back of his neck a bit embarrassingly, chuckling. "Sorry. Sharon just knows what she's doing. I've never seen so much art and so many fancy people all in one sitting. But you're right. Sharon did direct me to the young woman that supposedly took up the Power Broker position." He pulls up photos and splays them onto the screen so they could see it. "I got some of these pictures last night before she left." Steve crosses his arms against his chest, shaking his head. "I can't believe this." "She looks just like Anastasia," Wanda remarks lightly. "See, you think that, but that's not her name – at least the one that she gave me isn't Anastasia. It's Maria Kapitonova. Interesting alias, but if it is her, she's certainly taking a different route than what I'm doing." "Did you learn anything else about her?" "Nothing that we didn't already know," Bucky states quietly. "Sharon told me that she is the one who's taken over the city, but she's dangerous, just as we suspected. She has morals and has laid down some rules but hasn't stopped herself from killing those who against them. Sharon said she's ended at least three so far. Something did sort of stand out to me for a moment though. I was talking with her and she said she moved to Madripoor to escape the cold from somewhere. If she WAS in Siberia, that would make sense." Sam rolls his eyes from where he stood. "There are a lot of cold places in the world, Bucky." "I know, I know, but it's curious, is all I'm saying." Steve sighs but nods. "Alright, at least we have that. You said you'd see her again?" "Yeah, we ah…kind of hit it off, in a way." At Steve's questioning response, he responds quickly. "Not like that, I just - I mean it seems she's willing to meet with me again outside of a party, so it'll be easier to get info." "Right," Steve chuckles, although a bit of him was curious. "Remember that this is a mission though, Buck." Bucky rolls his eyes. "I know, you don't have to remind me. I'll get the info you guys need." There was a loud meowing off screen and Bucky chuckles. "I gotta go. Alpine is being a little minx and wants some food." "Tell him that I say hi!" Wanda says, smiling. "I will," Bucky snickers before nodding at them. "I'll talk to you soon." They wave goodbye to him and he signals off the call, leaving them alone.

Ana lets out a soft sigh of content as she cooks up some dinner. While she did have someone that could cook for her, she preferred to cook her own food – usually for safety rather than convenience. She knew that there were several people who would most likely pay a chef to put poison in there. She wasn't about to let herself go down like that. As she starts to plate up her food, however, she pauses when she suddenly hears a crash from the living room. Quickly, she reaches into her cutlery drawer and grabs a knife, approaching quietly. "Hello?" She asks. No response.

She keeps her guard up as she ventures into the living room to see if anyone or something was in the living room. There was nothing aside from a card box having fallen on the glass coffee table. Luckily, it hadn't cracked the glass. She suddenly saw movement from the corner of her eye and picked up a gun that was in a drawer. Ana started cautiously walking down the hallway where the dining room was, when someone suddenly lunged at her. She moved out of the way quickly as the man jumped at her with a knife directed at her throat. She dodged out of the way as the assassin slashed at her with knife, but Ana used her ballet training to avoid being stabbed. Grabbing her by the hair, she threw him into the wall to slow him down slightly. The man glared at her disdainfully, sneering at her as he pulled out a knife that looked like it could slice her to pieces. "This is called a serbcutter, little girl. My ancestors used this knife to kill enemies of Croatia during World War II," the man taunted cruelty, lunging at her again. She kicked him in the chest, gripping her own knife and stabbed him in his left shoulder. She heard him yell out in pain, as she wrapped her legs around his neck, but he kicked her right knee, causing her to hiss in her own pain. Ana backed away from him as she saw two more of his friends had joined him. They must have come from the back garden to get into the apartment. Damn it. "Three on one…that's hardly fair," she remarked coldly, keeping a fighting stance as she kept an eye on where all of them were positioned. And then, she ran, all the way down. And they weren't that far behind in following her down into the streets.

After feeding Alpine and falling asleep, Bucky woke up to the sounds of fight from across the street. He quickly got dressed before grabbing his gun and his Da Lai knife that Steve had given back to him. It had been his when he'd been with the Howling Commandos. After locking the door, he walked quickly across the street to see what was going on. When he did find what was the cause, Bucky was stunned to see Maria fighting four people, one of whom had a knife and another man that he recognized as Diego, a Flag Smasher. "Hey, isn't four on one an unfair disadvantage?" he called out dangerously, pulling out his knife. His voice caused Maria to turn in surprise, and he sees a slight smile come over her lips at him suddenly showing up. One of the assassins tried to gut him. He kicked him in the face, causing the man to stumble back at his nose breaking from Bucky's kick. "You're pissing off our boss, Kapitonova! She wants Madripoor to be like how the country was before you arrived and started putting down all of these stupid rules for us to follow!" Axelle spat contemptuously, lunging at her with a hunter's knife. He saw Maria sigh in annoyance before punching her hard across the face, using a pair of batons that glowed dark red. They were similar to the ones that Natasha used, only hers glowed blue and not a dark crimson red. He knocked out the remaining one as Maria came over with a slightly bruised face. Her lip was bleeding, and she had a tear in her t-shirt that had blood on it. "What do you wanna do about them?" He asked quietly, nodding at two of the surviving assassins. One of the women was dead. Maria had stabbed her in the throat, severing her carotid artery and causing her to bleed out. "I'll question them…thank you for helping me," she answered cautiously, glancing up at him. He nodded and watched as she picked up their weapons off the floor. He discreetly checked to see if any of them had any identifiable scars or tattoos and got lucky. The woman had a tattoo on her back that had the words 'Elite Hunters' with roses on either side. It looked like it had been branded into her skin. He felt his blood run cold but took a photo and sent it to Steve. Maybe, they could find out who had sent them to kill Maria and why?

Steve had gotten Bucky's message and the attachment of a photo that showed a tattoo. He'd never seen that tattoo before, but Billy, Clint, Natasha, Yelena and Grant were staring at the tattoo as if they'd seen a ghost. "Do any of you know what this tattoo is? Because I've never seen it before, and I've seen my fair share of tattoos," Steve asked curiously. Natasha was the one who answered his question, surprisingly. "I do, and so do the others. It's the tattoo of a secret organization called the Elite Hunters who prey on people by luring them to holiday hotels and spas in countries such as Italy, Czech Republic, and Iceland. They revel in dark fantasies such as murder, cannibalism, and torture of many forms that include fetish pornography and amputation. Only wealthy people run the organization, and it was very secretive…until 2013," Natasha explained gravely, her face showing her disgust. No one in the room could speak. They were all horrified by what they were hearing. Wanda looked like she was going to be sick. Scott had stopped eating his slice of pepperoni pizza, while Sam looked disgusted. "Just gonna put that down," Scott mutters, lowering his slice. "So, what happened in 2014, Romanoff?" Tony asked, causing Natasha to ignore him. Steve shook his head, shocked at the revelation. "After I dumped all of S.H.I.E.L. D’s secrets, the Elite Hunters were discovered by Fury. A lot of victims that had escaped or survived killed the Elite Hunters in revenge, or they committed suicide rather than go to prison for multiple murders," she explained quietly. Clint then took over. "At least three of them escaped and went to hide in Madripoor. These are the only surviving Elite Hunters," he said gravely, as he used his iPad to pull up the images. Three images came up on the large plasma screen. One of a man with light brown hair and cold blue eyes. The next two were of another man who had blonde hair and emotionless hazel eyes that caused Wanda to shiver at his disturbing, twisted smile. The final image was of a blonde-haired woman who looked like she was a model, but she had a demented smile, one that made Steve know instinctively that the woman was dangerous. "Do we know who hired them to kill Maria?" Steve asked concerned. Before she could respond, a furious Thaddeus Ross stormed into the conference room. His hands were balled into fists, as he glared at where Steve was sitting. "Who authorized Sergeant James Barnes to go undercover as a Russian arms dealer in Madripoor!? I made it perfectly clear that the woman was to be terminated as soon as you acquired her location!" Ross shouted infuriated, causing Steve to speak up for his team and Fury. "With all due respect Home Secretary, the young woman has shown no threat to us. I personally believe, as do many of the others, that she is perhaps more like Frank Castle," Steve argued, causing Ross's face to turn an interesting shade of purple that resembled an eggplant. "You overstep yourself, Captain Rogers. As from now, you are no longer the leader of the Avengers due to your behavior as of late and your recklessness in allowing Sergeant Barnes to go on a mission without being cleared by me. As a result, Tony Stark will be leading the team," Ross said harshly, a cruel smile appearing on his face. Tony's expression was one of arrogance, triumph and smugness. "Sir, Steve did the right thing. Who else could he send undercover?" Natasha argued firmly, causing everyone aside from Clint and Sam to stare at her in surprise. Ross's lip curled, as he looked at the young woman who sitting next to Yelena. He wasn't impressed or bothered by her question.

"He could've sent you, Agent Romanoff, or Belova." Natasha's shoulders fall. "Barnes knows Madripoor far better than I ever could have. And he knows Sharon better than I ever did. He was logically the best choice for this mission besides maybe Sam, but even then, he has his duties here. Barnes didn't have further missions that were outstanding that were blocking him from going. I did, and so does Belova." Ross lets out a huff before shaking his head. "Your missions could wait for something like this – either way, it was a bad decision to send Barnes off on this. If it were up to me, I'd bring him back instantly. But that's Fury's area." He glares at him, who doesn't give a proper response, just shrugs his shoulders. "Even so, Steve's lost jurisdiction. Tony, it's your job now." He shakes his head almost in disappointment before storming out, closing the door. Steve feels himself glare at where Tony was. "You just couldn't keep your mouth shut, huh?" "Oh, stop. You're being dramatic. This is what's been going on for ages," Tony states, crossing his arms against his chest. Steve shakes his head and sits down, quieting himself as Tony started to talk, changing the screen at the front. He glances at Nat and nudges her side, to which she glances over at him. "Thanks for standing up for me, Nat." The young woman nods in response, glancing at the ground. He could see she was still uncomfortable with something sitting inside of her. He wished there were a way he could see inside her head and wonder what the hell was going on. But hey, if she were standing up for him, that had to mean something good, right?

"Wait, what happened?" After the big fight with Maria out in the streets, Bucky had instantly gone back to his apartment to tell Sharon over the phone. And she had understandably listened and been surprised when he told her about everything. "It was insane, Sharon," Bucky says, running a hand through his hair. "There were four of 'em up against her. They really wanted her gone. She ended up killing one of them but the others…think she dragged them back to her place to interrogate them." "What did you say the tattoo said?" "Elite Hunters. Don't really know exactly what they are but got a feeling that whoever sent them wants her gone." Sharon sighs from the other end of the phone. "I'll be sure to look them up and find some info – I'm sure you've already talked to Steve and the others?" He nods. "Of course." "Good. Just keep an eye out." There was a beat of silence. "Maybe you should go out and check up on her. This might be the best time for you to figure out more about her. Vulnerable and shit." Bucky raises an eyebrow. "That's a bit manipulative." He could almost her hear shrug from across the phone. "You gotta do what you have to do. Might be your best option right now." Bucky sighs a bit. She wasn't wrong. It was an option. And right now, it really was one of the best he could lean towards. "Alright…you rest up now." "See you, Bucky." He hangs up the phone after that, glancing outside. It seems that she wasn't that far from where he lived. Maybe he could walk around until he found where she lived. He saw the direction she had gone. Maybe Sharon was right. Maybe it was the best time to do it.

The sound of a knife slitting across skin was loud enough for anyone in her penthouse to hear. The scream that followed was enough to make someone cringe. But Ana didn't care. Ana wanted answers. "Now," she says lowly, pushing the man close to her. She could see it was Diego, one of the Flag Smashers from before. "Either you tell me who sent you here, or I can make your time a little more terrible like your friend over there." She points to the other hostages that were now passed out. "I'm…n-not gonna s-say shit!" He stutters. She grabs her knife and stabs it deep into his arm, to which he screams out in pain before dragging it right back up to his elbow. The blood spurts out as tears start to evade his eyes. "No, you gonna play nice?" "It-t's Melina!" he yells out, his voice shaking. She pauses. "She sent us – p-please, we were only doing our j-" She instantly brings the knife up and slits his throat, watching as he bleeds out before falling to the ground. He was no innocent man. This wasn't a job. She knew what Diego had done prior to this. The same with these two. And now, it was done. Melina…god, she was going to murder that bitch. She wipes the blood away, letting out a soft sigh before grabbing a towel to wipe the blood from her face. Before she could start wondering what to do with the bodies, however, there was a beep that came from her intercom. Her brow raises before coming over. Who on earth would be here this time of night? "Yes?" She asks as her finger hovers over the button. "Who is it?" "Miss Maria, you have a gentleman visiting you," her concierge stated from below. "A Mr. Yakov?" She had wondered why he had come out to help her like that. Seems he was a bit more than she had originally thought. But he did aid her in getting these goons…maybe he wouldn't be opposed to helping her now. "Send him up," she responds back, glancing at the mess of bodies below her. She wondered what Yakov would say to this.

She heard footsteps heading up the stairs as she grabbed a towel and wiped the blood from her face. She didn't enjoy killing people, far from it, but she was pissed that Melina Vostokoff had tried to kill her for putting down some moral laws. She was well aware that no one in Madripoor was innocent, but she wasn't going to stand by and allow rape or trafficking or any of that shit. Just because Madripoor was keeping it's lawless ways didn't mean that she was going allow the sickest people to get away with hurting people. Shaking her head, she started getting the cleaning products out to deal with the blood on the floor. She heard Yakov coming up to her soundproof room. And as soon as he walks in, he whistles at the sight of the blood before looking up at her. "Maria, what the hell happened?" Yakov asked concerned, his eyes scanning her over for any sign of injuries. She smiled faintly at his own concern for her, but she gave him a reassuring smile. "Someone wasn't happy with how I run Madripoor with a moral code…so she decided to send three Elite Hunters and a Flag Smasher to kill me. I questioned the Flag Smasher, and he spilled his guts to try and save his life," she said coldly, glaring down at the body of Diego with no emotion.

Over in Bucky's head, he felt his heart pound at her words, as his mind processed what she was saying. Someone, a woman, had ordered a hit on Maria to kill her in a violent manner, but she had fought back and killed all of her would be killers. She was definitely trained in the Red Room. He could tell that she had been trained in that facility. He just had a feeling that she had been raised in the there. God, he wished he could remember more of his time during that period. "Do you know who it was that ordered the hit on you, Maria?" he asked curiously, keeping his voice concerned. The last thing he wanted to do was to make her suspicious of him in any manner. "Melina Vostokoff, that old bitch…I was hoping she died when the Black Widow and Crimson Widow destroyed the Red Room. Well…she doesn't know if I'm dead yet and I intend on sending her a gift," she answered forebodingly, her grey eyes cold as ice. Bucky showed no emotion but privately, he knew Melina's days were now numbered. "Can you help me out here?" She asks him lightly, trying to move the bodies off of the carpet, to which he does. "You know, for someone I just met, you've been quite the helper tonight." Bucky shrugs a bit and smiles a bit at Maria. "I'm not about to let someone who's trying to at least do some good in this city die like that." "Well…thank you. That means a lot," she says genuinely. "But I don't want to drag you into this. This is my fight." Oh, he was already dragged in so deep. But for her, he could at least play it off.

#dark!bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky barnes/oc #dark bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes fanfiction #steve rogers/natasha romanoff

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rosheendubh · 4 years ago

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WIP...art-manipulation as visual inspiration for The Elegy of Dead Kingdoms...(crossover of StarWars/revamped Thrawn trilogy, FireFly/Serenity, and the Keltiad...also, spoof SpaceOpera-RockOpera featuring anyone from David Bowie, to LED Zepplin, NewOrder, U2, Ah-Ha...etc)...

~Background

~ At the impetus of River Tam, and the Operative, the Serenity’s renegade crew defies transit laws prohibiting unauthorized access to the wormhole connecting Terran space with the quadrant of the Republic Alliance and the Galactic Empire. Having only a fragmented record mentioning a lone survivor from a planetary massacre, the crew track rumors of a psionically gifted orphan said to have come from the Terran Fringe system of New Celtica, possessing the ability of manipulating the molecular structure of organic matter. An exile once in the service of Palpatine, whose skill of biokinesis Thrawn covets to stabilize the unpredictable violence of his cloned hybrids. A woman with adversaries on both sides of the wormhole, winning a Jedi to her cause, and determined to discover the key to a secret kept hidden for a thousand years. A buried legend of Old Terra, Earth That Was, that may be the last defense between the ancient darkness wakened by Thrawn‘s pursuit of absolute dominion, and the destruction of all life throughout the galaxy...(queue *cinematic drama music*)...

Somewhere between the battle of the Dark Force fleet, and Wayland, MonMontha offers a last ditch effort at negotiation with Thrawn. Imperial forces victorious in recent campaigns, have pushed back the RepublicAlliance to their InnerPlanetary systems. Rogue genetic scientists from the Terran quadrant, refusing to abandon their research after the PAX Hydrochlorate failure on Miranda, found a ready market amid trans-conduit Imperial war-profiteers, for their newest discovery. An archaic protogenome derived from dark-matter structures, endowing hybridized Reaver clones with real-time tissue regenerative capacity. These clones now render Thrawn’s army nearly indestructible. The scene above is merely my toying with a concept of the ethereal, and formidable River Tam crossing paths with the illustrious brilliance embodied in the GrandAdmiral Thrawn...

~scene~

On Coruscant, during Monmontha’s attempt at negotiating a peace, Rhyanon ferch Garowen (alluded to above) blatantly rejects Thrawn‘s coercive effort at bringing her to his side during a dinner banquet. B/c of this act of arrogance, Thrawn vows no mercy in the progression of his campaign, conquering and converting sector upon sector into a dark matter/anti-matter morass which becomes dubbed The Dimensional Rift, despite the valiant efforts of the Republic Alliance squadrons, directed by LukeSkywalker, and allies, to fend off the onslaught of Thrawn’s Dreadnaught fleet.

Before all that though, with the evening following the dinner still at hand, Thrawn abides by the Old Republic etiquette of host and guest, honoring civil diplomacy amongst enemies. A requisite social diversion-music or a dance-ensuing in the Palace reception hall holds no interest to him in Rhyanon’s absence. Preferring solitude, he meanders out to a balcony overlooking Coruscant’s expanse of lights, twinkling ladders of motion, reaching up to the lower atmosphere. And here, she follows after him minutes later, floating between shadows, a specter of innocence and dangerous beauty.

She pauses beneath a statue of some nameless goddess, a figure of Victory or Life, a pretension of lesser cultures. Weaker nations seeking hope in empty icons. The girl, young woman really, by the standards of human chronology, offers an entirely different contemplation.

From the sofa where he’s seated, viewing her from across the fountain, Thrawn appreciates the lithe symmetry of her form, a subtle disguise of strength and grace. Dangerous beauty. “You’re very like her, River Tam. A work of art, a living masterpiece,” he comments.

For as young as she is, not more than 20 years surely, she carries herself with a remarkable serenity. Stepping lightly around the other sofa, she leans her hip against the cushioned neck rest. Barely flickering an eyelid, she focuses luminous dark eyes on him, shining through the mottled patterns of light scattered between them.

Her voice resembles her figure, light and flowing. “A failed experiment, you mean, Mitth’raw’nuruodo.” Flawlessly, she speaks his name, though he knows they weren’t introduced at any point previous to this moment. ”I was supposed to be like them—the researchers were trying to make me like them. One of your chimeric hybrids.”

“Ah, the one who got away,“ he muses. Something at that stirs a flicker in her dark gaze. “Yes, little Albatross, I read the classified reports of your Core Parliament. About your brother, the escape. An elegant devising. And a lesson as to the deficiencies of private-contract security.“

Tension firms a line between her brows, hardens her expression as she glances away from him for a moment. “It wouldn’t have mattered.“

His derision comes out as a short, barking laugh. “Why? Because your escape resulted more from the incompetence of poorly trained guards than the alleged skill of your brigand crew mates?

Her attention swings back to him, conviction firm in her words. “No. Because my brother watches out for me. He protects me. And he loves me.”

Thrawn says nothing, stoic against her emotion, such a human flaw. Rubbing his thumb and middle finger together, of the hand draped eloquently off the arm-wrest, he continues sizing up this most intriguing amalgam of softness and mettle.

”Love is a weakness,” satisfaction grim in his tone, picking at a piece of this puzzle embodied by River Tam. Toying with it, testing how she’ll react. “It causes distraction from the warrior’s path. Makes them vulnerable to fear. And you, little Albatross, were foremost, molded as a weapon. A living masterpiece of perfection.”

Her lids slant, head tipped to the side slightly. “I dream about them still. The other test subjects. The Reavers. The dreams used to frighten me. They were worse when the scientists would be administering some new cocktail. They’re not as bad as they used to be, since Miranda. But their voices—I...hear them-“a frown ghosting over her features”-though I’ve learned to hush them.”

”I think you hear a lot more than that, River Tam.”

Challenge broods in a strange magnetism between them. ”So do you,” she says mildly, sending a wary shiver over his skin. How she knows about inoculating himself with the protogenome he can’t begin—

-of course he can. She’s a mind-reader, a telepath. What can’t she pick out of the whirl of thought composing humanoid psyches if she’s so determined?

His awareness smolders like embers in a breeze, open to the Shadow’s primordial sequences merged into his own cells. Enhancing perception, layers of reality peeled back when he channels this infernal heat coursing through his blood. Vision, smell, sound, his mind branching like light off a faceted diamond, reflecting images in a 1000 different plains. And Thrawn, glorying in the draught of fractured darkness.

River’s eyes glint in guarded scrutiny, attuned, perhaps to the whisper of power subsumed by Thrawn’s cultivated urbanity. Wandering over to where he’s seated, she lowers herself next to him on the couch. Her mind brushes against his like leaves floating upon a watery surface, remaining on the periphery without venturing into the depths.

“Chiis physiology-Stamina, strength, resilience against extremes of physical exposure. Superior reflexes and intellect inherent to your species, allowing adaptive advantages over the millennia. A robust psychology keeping you from succumbing to the deterioration of sensory assimilation, the way your clones eventually will. A perfect medium for channeling the Shadow.”

Thrawn wonders where she’s going with her exposition. She bears the full weight of his scorching gaze with nary a flinch. The fey-like curiosity alive across her youthful grace causes a rare unease, unused to be so unabashedly studied. He holds himself still, tensing at the light pressure of her hand taking his out of his lap, wrapping delicate fingers over a wrist corded by muscle.

”Everyone has a weakness,” she says. “Even you.”

Anger snarls beneath the surface of his poise, a broiling red froth that must have blazed up in his gaze. ”Whatever you think you see child, you take liberties of interpretation,” speaking in cold, controlled wrath before which she pales, breathing deep to collect herself. The pressure of her touch on his wrist, though, remains steady.

Her hand, slender fingers resting atop his own, no suggestion of anything other than gentleness. His own hand, larger, stronger, a grip that could crack her bones with minimal exertion. Strangle the air from her lungs, twist her fragile neck like silken twine. Tangling the rich brown waves of her hair in his grasp, forcing her head back till her spine might snap, plundering her mouth as he would plunder her body. Raze her mind till she was left a weeping pile of bruised limbs and torn clothes, cowering on the chill marble floor, her thighs bleeding like the rags of her mind.

Unperturbed, she shares every image coalesced in his thoughts. Each portrait of violence fading into the recess of darkness where the Shadow brews and twists like smoke above the infernal hells. As well, he’s viewed the record of her encounter with the Reavers after Miranda. Like Rhyanon, she would fight him with a skill capable of delaying the ultimate conquest. This wisp of a child, scarcely into womanhood, moving like sand and water, a song of death captured in every leap and twist. Every dive and slash as she wound a choreography of slaughter against an entire pack of beastial invaders. The outcome inevitably in his favor, if for no other reason than the greater strength of his sheer physicality would overwhelm, exhaust her eventually, compared to human anatomic inadequacy.

“A matter of minutes, to take you. An act of utility, really--to break you. Make you beg for a mercy that would never come.“

Her eyebrow crooks up, scolding or skepticism. “But you wouldn’t do that, any of those things.”

Her patient humoring isn’t what he anticipated. ”What makes you think so?” he asks out of mere speculation, momentarily forgetting the antagonizing subtlety guiding their conversation.

”Because you‘ve seen what I am. The weapon, not the woman. And,“ she says, sighing with an almost child-like assurance, looking out to the far horizon, “because seduction isn’t your weakness. She is.”

Damn the girl, for gut-punching through his composure with such guileless effort. His gaze follows hers, tracking the aerial traffic dotting Coruscant’s night skies in a flickering menagerie. He concentrates on keeping his breathing even, stilling his mind, as he considers his reply. The silhouettes of soaring towers outlined by shimmering lights blot out the sky, the glow which would normally be visible on a less metropolitan planet, of satellites in orbit, and stars far beyond.

”One word,” he says finally. “She could have changed the tide of this war for the Republic with one word.“

She turns, a searching intensity in her deep gaze. Seeing too much within him. “So could you, change the tide of this war for Republic,” she says softly, giving a gentle squeeze of his wrist.

Impatient and irritated with the poignancy in her tone, Thrawn shakes her hand off. “She has no idea, the fate to which she’s condemned the galaxy,” he tells her with a hard look, rising off the sofa. He looms over her, eyes burning across her face, so that for the first time, she shudders away from the brewing wrath. He marvels again, the steel disguised beneath the seeming delicacy of her body. Her sandeled feet tucked beneath her on the sofa, the fabric of her dress, simple design of polyfiber cotton, drapes fine curves of breast, hip, and thigh.

Despite her attention fastened upon the night horizon, nothing of intimidation colors her posture, but sadness tinges the turned-down line of her lips. He bows his head to her before heading back to the reception hall lying through a corridor adjoined to the balcony. A salute, a parting to conceal his remorse of the lost fate she chooses with her friends and allies.

“And you, little Albatross,“ he rasps in dire promise, the epithet snaring her surprised glance up at him. “You have no idea what’s coming. None of you do.”

A wasted masterpiece of living art, dangerous beauty.

—

Watching him stride away into the dim hall, the Grand Admiral’s disappointment aches like an overstrained joint. Bothersome, but eventually fading unless exacerbated. In his absence, the darkness hovers about her, the balcony esconsed, now, in transient quiet. Illusory peace.

Alive, so alive, the hum of myriad thoughts, voices, hopes, griefs—the gambit composing sentient life throughout the city. The planet. Her mind-reading truly can’t extend with any precision beyond the palace, but a general hum always persists in the background of her consciousness. The sound of living beings. A vibration silenced forever upon Miranda.

That silence had almost broken her sanity more than any experimentation. As scientists sought to harness innate hyper-sensory perception with neurochemical alterations, subjecting her to an intensive programming, molding her mind-body duplex into prime mental and physical conditioning. In the process, she was often torn, battered, abused, and tortured, her mind confused, shifting between lucidity and dissociation and nightmare. But never breaking.

The sound of death, of nothing. Emptiness like a vacuum, no thought, or feeling. Miranda had almost broken her. Miranda, it turned out, opened the road to a recovery of herself. What she is, what she’s meant to be? No one seems to know. At least not since Simon rescued her from the illicit lab which had been her prison. Hyper-awareness, sensory adepts, psychic traits expressed amongst humans were hardly uncommon through the Terran quadrant, both Core and Fringe systems. Posited by some scientists as a natural development of sentient consciousness, induced by interstellar travel over the centuries.

Among these foreign systems across the wormhole, peoples attributed such gifts to some metaphysical energy field. The Force. Light and Dark. The association, to River’s thinking, paradoxical for a property endemic to all beings, carrying no inherent morality until determined by the intent of the wielder. Perhaps she just didn’t quite grasp its intricacies as yet, conceding that nuances of intuition, emotion, passive reception, meditation still often eluded her. The Force embedded such concepts, rather than the more actualized focus of psychic traits held by the majority of systems native to the Terran quadrant.

What she is. What she‘s meant to be—*a weapon, a work of art*. *No*, she answers her own query, the feeling of defiance liberating. *A failed experiment. The one who got away.*

”And you forget,“ she whispers to the attentive night. “I can still hear them in my head. All the time. Just like you do, Mitt’raw’nuruodo.”

Miranda is not what Thrawn has in mind, that sort of emptiness. He wants something more. Under Imperium’s auspices, subjugating and assimilating one star system after another, spreading this corruption of time and reality, bleeding the Dark Entity’s ravenous, primordial substance like an oil-slick settling into the sinkholes of what had been viable Star-systems. Seeding these tortured hybrids cloned of Reavers, and whatever other mutated derangements of horror will fuse and divide in an incubator. With his enhanced soldiers, their minds a racket of incessant savagery, submission to Thrawn throughout the galaxy seems inevitable. Especially now that Intel, and Republic specialists working with Rhyanon, recently confirmed the adaptive capacity of certain hybrids to infect other living creatures with their intracellular genetic material.

They’ll never be completely hushed, even in the deepest caverns of her own mind. Reavers. The chimeric hybrids. They howl, writhe, snarl, and scream in agony beyond their comprehension. But the havoc of their consciouses, keeping the hybrids contained as a utilizable resource requires increasing concentrations of sedatives, hyponotics, and psychogenic pharmaceuticals.

She can feel their echo within Thrawn, too. Not of the violence, but his craving the Shadow’s power. It’s why he covets Rhyanon-her abilities of biologic manipulation, transforming the very backbone molecules of life. Healing, rejuvenating, reconstructing, restoring from disease, infection, deterioration and decay. Thirsting for the surcease she could provide, balancing the Dark Entity’s immersion of his own constitution. A living masterpiece, the kind of gifted elegance Thrawn desired, Rhyanon, like River, was another one who’d gotten away. Another failed experiment. Another dangerous beauty.

Rhyanon loathes him. Holding her captive on his flagship under the influence of cortical inhibitors, and hallucinogens. Trying to force her into stabilizing the synaptic connections of higher brain function in his hybrids. Dampening their insanity as the cloned offspring reached maturity. Coercing her in other ways as well, while she resisted the influence of intoxicants deluging her system. That was why she rejected his play at truce earlier during the dinner, an offer to join him voluntarily. That. And the fact she and the Jedi were patently lovers. A circumstance exacerbating the already furious enmity between the Grand Admiral and Luke.

Rhyanon would use those same graces of biokinesis to tear him apart one atom at a time, despite the danger of inducing her own body’s destruction. The price of biopsionic talents, a check limiting the potential for abuse of that power over life and death. Unfortunate, in that Rhyanon’s ability, synergized with the particular strengths shared between their small group of Force-wielders and sensory adepts, offers the only potential counter against Thrawn’s growing influence.

Finding some way of battling this Dark Matter entity. This Abaddon, commanding elemental forces dating from the universe’s origins. A being capable of destroying multiple star-systems if they resist its Seeding. They’d all seen what happened on Namsonis 4 in the aftermath of losing the majority of Dreadnaughts. A desperate evacuation. A world wrenched apart like a ball of mud crushed in a fist. A solar system facing a monstrous dehiscence of time and space, heart of chaos, blowing a hole through the core of a sun, and incinerating the other 6 planets spared Namsonis’s fate. Hours later, a festering wound across the void of black, rocky debris and ionized gas discharges the last traces of a star system no longer existing between tomorrows.

Contrary to the stillness in which she sits, River’s thoughts spin countless strands in the spreading web of her mind, her fingers running absently along the ridge of her collarbone. Picturing simultaneous star-maps, envisioning parallel scenarios of navigation vectors, battle engagements, the stratified calculations worked in trans-dimensional matrices. Always hearing the Reavers seething in the recess of her soul.

Finally, arriving at some conclusion, she reveals to the passing night, ”I do know exactly what’s to come.” And maybe, maybe there’s a chance. One distant, improbable-verging on impossible-chance they have of subverting this menace before it reaches the Terran quadrant.

#Star Wars #firefly serenity #grand admiral thrawn #River Tam #Rhyanon ferch Garowen #Luke Skywalker #Lattice of Infinity

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max-is-tired · 5 years ago

Text

Misconceptions: A Show

Pairing: Intrulogical

Characters: Remus Sanders, Logan Sanders, Roman Sanders, Patton Sanders, Virgil Sanders, Deceit Sanders.

Words: 3.941

Warnings: sympathetic Deceit & Remus, swearing, some graphic talk bc it’s Remus, screaming in caps

Notes: Finally, I can post this monster of a fic -hey there, @princeyssash, guess who was your secret santa? This fic was honestly so much fun to write, I swear -I loved all of the prompts I had, but this one just called to me,,, I had to,,

Big thanks to @purp-man for betaing this fic for me and listening to my 3am rambles, and shoutout to @afulldeckofaces for helping me flesh out some plot points, like Virgil memeing his way through Roman’s plans. You’re the absolute best <33

Commission me!! Buy me a coffee!! My Discord server!! AO3!!

It was a normal day in the mindscape.

Patton was humming happily in the kitchen, shuffling around with a pep in his step as he mixed the batter for some cookies. In the living room, Logan and Virgil were enjoying each other’s company while doing their own thing, may it be reading or half-slouching on the couch while scrolling aimlessly through Tumblr.

Everything was peaceful.

Until it wasn’t.

“YOU DIRTY LITTLE SEWER RAT GET BACK HERE THIS INSTANT!!”

Everyone jumped at the sudden shout, Virgil going as far as tumbling off the couch with a startled yelp. From upstairs, Remus’ unmistakable laughter bounced on the walls, followed shortly after by the twin himself bolting down the stairs with a maniacal grin on his face.

“Oh god,” Virgil groaned from the floor, pinching the bridge of his nose, “what the fuck did he do now?”

“Language, kiddo,” Patton called, emerging from the kitchen with a confused frown on his face.

Turns out, they didn’t have to wait long for an answer.

“REMUS!!” Roman screeched, running down the stairs. He looked thoroughly pissed, eyes flashing dangerously as he glared daggers at his brother.

Virgil took one look at him, blinked, and then promptly broke down cackling.

“Stop laughing, Hot Topic!” Roman exclaimed, cheeks flushing red. Not that his blush was very noticeable, due to the various scribbles and crude drawings covering his face. “Look at what he did to my beautiful face!”

“You just don’t understand real art, brother dearest,” Remus snickered, waving the marker in his hand around.

“Oh, I’ll show you real art,” Roman muttered darkly, unsheathing his sword as he stalked down the last steps of the stairs.

At the sight of the unsheathed sword, Virgil’s eyes widened in alarm, his body tensing slightly as it became clear the situation was starting to escalate. Beside him, Logan looked at the two brothers, sighed in resignation and snapped the book in his hands shut.

“That’s quite enough, you two,” he said, staring the two brothers down with a raised eyebrow.

“Specs, he drew penises on my face! Multiple times!!”

“Which you can easily snap off with a wave of your hand,” Logan pointed out, “I do not believe there is any need for all this screaming, or for weapons to be brought into the picture.”

“Logan, you don’t understand, I gotta fight him now! For my honor!!” Roman exclaimed, waving his arms around -and therefore further proving Logan’s point by almost cutting Deceit’s head off as the side rose up to check what the commotion was about.

“Oi, watch it!” Deceit called out, ducking to avoid another accidental swipe of Roman’s sword, “who are you, Zuko?”

“If Roman’s Zuko then Logan is totally Uncle Iroh,” Virgil added, still lying on the floor.

Logan shrugged. “If we are referring to the first season of Avatar: The Last Airbender then yes, I can see the similarities.”

Roman squinted at them, finally lowering his sword. “There is an insult somewhere in that phrase. I don’t know where, but I know there is.”

“It’s because you’re a dumb-head, bro!” Remus cackled, once again calling the attention to himself.

Roman growled, looking more than ready to stalk through the room and tackle his twin to the ground, but Logan anticipated him before the situation could escalate once again.

“Remus, I believe this is quite enough,” he said, turning towards the aforementioned twin.

“Aw, but Logan, I’m just having some fun!”

Logan simply raised an eyebrow, staring him down.

“Ugh, fiiiine!” Remus finally groaned, throwing the marker somewhere behind himself, “that does not mean I’m happy about it though!”

Then, he sank out.

Peace once again established, Logan hummed and leaned back on the couch, going back to reading his book.

Or at least that was the plan.

“What the fuck just happened?” Virgil asked, staring at him in disbelief.

“Virgil, language!!”

“Sorry Padre, but I gotta agree with Cout Woelaf here,” Roman said, sword laying limp in his grip, “that was nothing less but weird.”

“I honestly do not understand where all of this apparent confusion is coming from,” Logan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You told Remus to stop!” Roman exclaimed, throwing his arms up, “and he listened to you!!”

“Roman, your sword!” Deceit hissed in frustration, having had to duck for the third time to avoid being cut in tiny scaley pieces. “If you don’t put it down this instant I might just try and stab you with it, do not try me.”

Roman grumbled but complied, making the sword disappear with a wave of his hand. Then, he crossed his arms, looking once again towards the logical side. “My point still stands though. Remus never listens to anyone, like, ever.”

“Yeah, I think I have to agree with them here Lo,” Patton said, still standing under the kitchen’s doorway, “that was a little weird.”

“Well, I do not know what to tell you,” Logan countered, “I asked him to stop, he complied and then sank out -it’s as simple as that.”

“If you say so,” Roman said, squinting at him in suspicion.

From the other side of the room, Deceit gave him A Look, appearing to be torn between amusement and concern. Logan subtly raised an eyebrow in response, making sure the others would not notice their silent exchange.

After all, it wasn’t like he could just tell them the truth, could he?

+++

When Logan finally sank up in his room, sometime later, he was not surprised to see a very familiar side sprawled on his bed, head hanging from the side of the mattress as he threw a tiny dagger up and down in the air.

“Lolo!!” Remus grinned, spotting him, “took you a while, I was starting to get bored!”

“I wanted to finish this novel first,” Logan said, putting the book in question back to its place in his large library, “it was rather interesting.”

“You know what would be interesting?” Remus asked, not looking away from the other as he kept playing with his dagger, “to find out what would happen if this dagger hit me in the eye!! Do you think it would reach all the way to my brain?”

“I suppose it would,” Logan hummed, sitting beside the creative side and quickly catching the dagger out of the air when Remus threw it again, “but between proving that hypothesis and spending the rest of the day with my not-injured husband, I think I prefer the second option more.”

“Oh really?” Remus grinned, sitting up -a slim silver chain fell out of his shirt with the movement, the golden ring hanging from it twinkling in the light of the room. “And tell me, how would you like to spend that time, my dear?”

Logan hummed, the light pressure of his own ring hiding under his shirt bringing a smile to his face. “Oh, I’m sure my dear husband will have some ideas of his own to share.”

“Oh, you are wicked,” Remus said, before leaning in to capture Logan’s lips in a kiss.

+++

For a while, it seemed like whatever had happened in the living room had been forgotten -the others were still confused by how easy it was for Logan to make Remus listen to him, but most of them waved it off as Logic easily overpowering Intrusive Thoughts with rationality and all that shit.

(Deceit knew better than that, but that was mostly because lying to him was next to impossible and Logan had been smart enough to let him in on their secret as soon as it had started to become a serious thing, both to help the couple lie to the other sides and to avoid him finding out on his own and potentially jeopardizing their cover.)

Point is, no one had yet discovered the real reason between the apparent chemistry between the two sides. But that didn’t mean they weren’t starting to notice things.

The first one to start suspecting something was, surprisingly enough, Virgil.

He had been sneaking to the kitchen around 3am, planning to grab a quick snack from the pantry and then tip-toe back to his own room, all the while hoping not to alert anyone of his nighttime escapade -he had already been at the receiving end of several stern talks about his fucked-up sleeping schedule and did not want to have to sit through another one, thank you very much.

What he had not been expecting, was to find himself staring at Logan’s back, the logical side looking busy filling two mugs with steaming water.

Virgil froze on his tracks, eyes wide in alarm as he tried to figure out how to sneak back out of the kitchen and up the stairs without being noticed. Unfortunately, Logan seemed to have other ideas and turned around before the anxious side could make up his mind about the next course of action.

“Uh,” Logan said, blinking in surprise, “hello, Virgil. I have to be honest, I was not expecting to meet anyone at this hour of the night.”

“Likewise, I guess,” Virgil shrugged, giving the other a tiny smile, “why are you up at this hour anyway? Weren’t you the one waxing poetry about the importance of a regular sleep schedule?”

“I got sidetracked, I guess. One late night won’t harm me in any way or form, I assure you.”

Virgil snickered. “I’m telling Patton you said that.”

“I don’t think you will,” Logan countered, calm as ever as he put down the kettle and moved to grab the two cups, “because if you do I will tell Patton about you sneaking into the kitchen at 3am with, as it appears, not a single ounce of sleep in your body.”

“... harsh, L. Real harsh.”

“Just stating facts,” Logan said, before walking out of the kitchen.

Virgil stared after him, watching the logical side leisurely cross the living room and walk up the stairs until he could not see him anymore. Then, he shrugged, quickly walking to the pantry and grabbing the snack he had come for.

He straightened up, holding triumphantly a bag of chips, only to freeze up again when a tiny detail finally struck him.

“Wait, why the fuck did he have two mugs?”, he wondered, turning back to glance at the stairs. Then, he turned towards the kitchen counter, noticing a little bag sitting just to the side of where Logan had been standing just a few seconds before.

“Kuding Tea” read the caption on the front of the bag, the inside filled with slim, dark tea nails.

Virgil frowned, rolling the name around in his head. He was sure he had heard it before, but where?

+++

The second one was Roman.

He had been strolling idly around the Imagination, humming a song under his breath as he walked along a path in the woods. Of course, his guard wasn’t completely down, not now that he was so near Remus’ side of the Imagination -while his relationship with his brother had greatly improved in the last year or so, he was still very much aware of the dangerous creatures lurking in his brother’s domain, and Roman had no desire to be caught by surprise by one of them.

Could you imagine the teasing, if Remus ever were to find out?

So yeah, he was still being very attentive to his surroundings -that’s probably half of the reason why he found himself hesitating when what sounded like distant laughter reached his ears.

Roman stilled, focusing on his surroundings. But all he could hear was silence, and after a few more seconds he was about ready to shrug it off to his imagination.

Then, the same, faint sound echoed from somewhere in the forest.

Curious, Roman started following the sound, watching his steps as his hand moved to hover over the handle of his sword -better be safe than sorry, he figured.

It didn’t take long for him to reach his destination, the forest receding just a few feet in front of him to make room for a vast, lush clearing. What he found, however, was something he could have never fathomed.

In the middle of the clearing, sitting on the grass in front of each other, were Remus and Logan, looking way too engrossed in their own conversation to notice the stunned prince staring at them from just behind a tree.

Remus seemed to be showing Logan something, looking completely enraptured by whatever Logan was saying.

The logical side was talking animatedly, waving his hands around with a grin as he occasionally gestured to something sitting between them. And Remus, well, he was staring at Logan with an expression Roman was pretty sure he’d never seen on his twin’s face.

He was looking at Logan like he was the sole holder of every secret of the universe, like he was everything he could see and hear.

He looked absolutely, utterly smitten, and Roman did not know what to do with that information.

+++

For Patton, well, it was more of a gradual realization.

He may not be the smartest in the group, but he was not by any means an idiot. He had noticed right away the potential chemistry between the two sides, the way Logan never seemed to be fazed by Remus’ shenanigans or the way Remus seemed to enjoy poking fun at the logical side.

Initially, he had not been very thrilled about it. But as time went on and they started to get closer to the dark sides, he could see how those two being friends could be highly beneficial for everyone, Remus and Logan included.

And he thought that was all it was -a blossoming friendship!

But the more time passed, the more Patton started to realize how that wasn’t exactly the case.

He didn’t know what initially tipped him off, really. Maybe it was the shared glances when one of them thought the other wasn’t looking, or the smile both of the sides seemed to fight down when in the presence of the other.

Maybe it was the subtle change in Logan’s demeanor, the way he’d grown calmer, happier, metaphorically softer around the edges ever since he and Remus had started growing closer.

Something was starting to bloom between the two sides, and Patton was not so sure it was a simple, innocent friendship anymore.

+++

Things came to a head one fateful Saturday afternoon, with Logan stuck revising schedules with Thomas and Remus doing who-knows-what in the Imagination.

The other sides were all lounging in the living room, all doing their own thing.

Then, Roman spoke up.

“Do you guys think something’s going on between Remus and Logan?”

Virgil, who was very much not expecting to hear something like that in the foreseeable future, jumped up from where he had been sprawled on the couch, headphones hanging limp from his neck as he stared wide-eyed at the creative side.

“Please tell me you’re not implying what I think you are implying.”

Roman shrugged, looking away as he scratched the base of his neck. “I don’t know what to tell you, Panic! At The Everywhere -I’m just asking.”

“If I have to be completely honest, actually,” piped up Patton from his place on the floor, stopping the episode of Parks & Rec they had been using as a background, “I have noticed some strange things too.”

“Right??” Roman exclaimed, “I saw them in the Imagination, last week, and I swear to god at one point Remus’ expression almost rivaled the way Logan usually looks at a jar of Crofters.”

“Whoa there Princey,” Virgil said, “don’t you think you’re exaggerating a little?”

“I know what I saw, J.D-lightful.”

“And I think Logan could be developing some feelings for Remus, even if he probably hasn’t quite realized it yet,” Patton added.

Virgil went to argue, but suddenly a realization struck him.

“Oh fuck,” he whispered in shock, suddenly looking like he was reevaluating everything he’d ever known.

“What?” Roman asked, confused.

“I caught Logan down in the kitchen, the other day,” Virgil explained, “he was brewing two cups of tea -which I found rather strange, really, but it was something like 3am so I didn’t question it too much. But I saw the name of the tea he brewed, and it felt familiar but I didn’t connect the dots until now.”

“Well?” Roman prompted, “We’re on the edge of our seats here, Marilyn Morose.”

“It was Kuding Tea, aka Remus’ favorite,” Virgil revealed. “He made us brew it all the time, and he was the only one able to drink that stuff because it’s one of the most bitter things you could ever try to swallow.”

Patton hummed, looking deep in thought. “Looks like those two might be closer than we thought.”

Roman grinned, something akin to mischief glinting in his eyes. “How about we help them grow just a little bit closer, uh?”

“We can discuss all of that later, Ro, but first there’s another thing we need to talk about,” Patton said, before turning to look at Virgil with a stern look on his face. “Virgil Sanders, what’s this I hear about you being up at 3am again?”

(Engrossed as they were in the new revelations, none of the sides noticed the tiny smirk stretching on Deceit’s face as he watched the scene unfold. He could have tried to stop them from trying to meddle, sure.

But where would be the fun in that?)

+++

As it turned out, not a single one of the sides’ plans came even close to its goal.

First came Patton’s idea, which was arguably the most subtle. They set up a family dinner, pestering the two sides until they confirmed their presence at the table. Then, very last minute, everyone gave random excuses as to why they couldn’t come. Everyone was sure it would work, even if they didn’t stick around to find out -knowing Remus’s tendency to make things rather… spicy, they didn’t want to find out what would happen after the two finally confessed their feelings.

However, when, the day after, they asked Logan how the dinner had gone, the logical side simply leveled them with a confused stare.

“Since you all weren’t there we just agreed to bring the food back to our rooms and keep doing our work -I still had some possible scripts to read through so it worked just fine for me.”

So, it looked like plan A had been a failure.

Roman, in all of his finesse and “romantic prowess” (his exact words), decided to put his own plan in action -which consisted of not-so-subtly shoving the two sides in the same room and “accidentally” break the doorknob, effectively trapping them inside.

(“Wow, a true Cupido alright.”

“Oh, shut up, you Emo Nightmare.”)

However, Roman’s incredible, astonishing, foolproof plan (again, his exact words) did not account for one specific aspect, aka Remus’ tendency of not letting puny, material things like doors keep him trapped.

In less than five minutes, the two sides were free once again, easily sidestepping what little remained of the door with Remus still holding his morning star in his hands.

And just like that, plan B joined its predecessor down the metaphorical toilet.

Last came Virgil’s plan, which was quite different from the other two’s -it was succinct, concise, and the farthest thing from subtle you could ever think of.

“Hey L,” he called one day, not even looking up from his phone, “what if you went and kissed Remus?”

Logan slowly looked up from his book. “... I apologize, what?”

Virgil shrugged, smirking. “Don’t worry, I’m just kidding. Unless…?”

Logan blinked at him, looking thoroughly confused. “Virgil, are you unwell? How many hours of rest did you get last night?”

And that’s how plan C joined its sibling down in the metaphorical sewer.

(“Your plan was a meme??”

“At least I didn’t try to cliché them into a relationship, Princey.”)

Point is, by the end of the week the three sides had still to come up with a tactic that could actually work. So, they planned another brainstorm question in the living room.

Only, they appeared to have greatly miscalculated Remus and Logan’s whereabouts.

“Alright, you guys want to share with the class what the fuck is going on already?”

The three sides jumped in unison, whipping their heads around to stare at the two sides standing at the bottom of the stairs. Remus was leaning on the railing, looking at them expectantly, while Logan was standing just beside him with his arms crossed in front of his chest, one single eyebrow raised in a silent question.

“Uuuuuh…” Patton spoke up, looking at the other two in search of help, “language?”

“Pat, I think my language is the least of our problems now,” Remus retorted, refusing to drop the subject, “so, who wants to start talking first?”

The three sides, who looked like three deers caught in the headlights, seemed to grow more panicked by the second, searching for a possible explanation and coming up empty-handed.

“We found out you guys have a crush on each other and wanted to help you two get together!” Roman finally blurted.

“Roman!” Virgil growled, turning to glare at the creative side.

“I’m sorry!” Roman squeaked, throwing his arms up in frustration.

“You could have been a little more… tactful about it, kiddo,” Patton said, smiling nervously as they all waited with bated breath what the two’s reactions would be.

Logan and Remus blinked, dumbfounded. Then, they turned to look at each other, before Remus decided that the best course of action was, of course, to break down into hysterical giggles, compete with wheezing and tears prickling at the corners of his eyes.

As for Logan, well, he limited himself to chuckling, looking downright amused by the whole situation.

So yeah, not exactly the reactions the others were expecting.

“... what?” Virgil asked, “please tell me I’m not the only confused one right now.”

“Apologies, Virgil,” Logan said, as Remus kept merrily cackling his lungs out on the floor, “we just thought something serious was going on, since you have all been acting strangely during the last week or so. Discovering that the reason behind your strange behavior was that, well, is rather amusing.”

“Wait, is that your way of telling us you actually don’t like Remus?” Roman said.

“Actually, I do like him, in a romantic sense,” Logan chuckled, throwing a fond look at the side wheezing on the ground. “We have been engaged in a romantic relationship for a while now.”

“... I know I probably sound like a broken record but what?”

“He wants to tap this booty, Vee!” Remus cackled, “and I’m 100% down for that!”

“ By the horn of a unicorn, please spare us the details,” Roman muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“So that means you guys are already in a relationship?!” Patton exclaimed, a wide grin on his face as he clapped his hands in obvious delight, “oh my gosh, that’s so cute! I’m so happy for you guys!!”

“I don’t know if I want to be angry because you guys didn’t tell us or because my brother somehow managed to score a boyfriend before me,” Roman grumbled.

Logan and Remus shared a glance at that, mischief twinkling in both of their eyes. Then, once it appeared they were both on the same page, Remus spoke, barely stopping himself from giggling in anticipation.

“Actually we’re married, but go off I guess.”

Silence fell, seconds ticking by as the news started to sink in.

“Now hold on a second you guys aRE WHAT-”

And then, chaos.

#sanders sides #intrulogical #lomus #remus sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #sympathetic remus #swearing #caps #intrulogical fluff #lomus fluff #ts fanfiction #sanders sides fanfiction #maxiswriting

964 notes · View notes

nafeary · 4 years ago

Text

“Family Day”

⚬ Pairing/s: Theo/Reader, Vinart undertones

⚬ Characters: The. Entire. Cast

⚬ Word Count: 5,6k

⚬ Warnings: None!

⚬ Event: Theo Route Countdown Party [D-5: Prompt - Theo and Residents] hosted by the one and only @delicateikemenmemes

✧✎ Synopsis: Free days are supposed to be spent in the company of your loved ones, yet they are all busy running around somewhere. On top of that, it had been a busy week, tiring the art dealer considerably. But never fear! His surrogate family is prepared to use every measure to cheer him up... they tried to, at least.

✧✎ A/N: ughhh finally I managed to publish smth once again! School and moving has been very hectic, but I still managed to piece this together in celebration of Theo Week hosted by the most amazing, brilliant, beautiful, stunning, and thirsty hoe @delicateikemenmemes. This is such a self-indulgent piece (I love platonic relationships almost as much as romantic ones) so I hope everyone enjoys this as much as I did~ make sure to drink water y’all!

Gadver...

He had thought nothing of it when King had demanded a walk at stupid’s hour. He had thought nothing of it when that golden retriever had suddenly run off. He had thought nothing of it when he had returned, accompanied by a little, and dare he even say cute, rabbit sitting atop his head.

But as soon as that thing had opened its eyes, one gleaming like gold and the other bathed in blood, Theodorus Van Gogh had wanted nothing but to scream.

The ball of hazel fluff gazed up at him, blinking it’s fatigue away (which was definitely not cute), apparent that it had been sleeping just before his dog had discovered it. Considering that the sun had barely peeked past the horizon, it was way too early for that two-faced klootzak to have visited the mansion... so why the actual fuck was his pet in their garden?

He had already made up his mind to just leave that thing there and to mind his own business, but King’s jovial shuffling and the rabbit’s unabashed manipulation—aka its not cute button eyes shining with mirth—were threatening to melt his iron resolve. Nonetheless, his folded arms remained powerful as he looked down at the two animals, his height only adding to his dominance.

“No, absolutely not. It’s my free day and I won’t entertain your incessant yapping.“ Not even his dog’s judgmental expression could waver his conviction; he took pride in his mental strength and stubbornness, after all.

“No, King.” He once heard a saying that pets always take after the owner’s personality... perhaps there was some truth to it, now that he witnessed his unwavering gaze.

“...No.” Would those two stop looking at him as if he was akin to a monster?

“Godverdomme! Alright! I’ll bring it back to that bastaard!”

As he beckoned King to follow him, Theo swore that he saw the bunny smirk in undeniable schadenfreude when his pet skipped past him in enthusiastic strides.

Truly, like owner, like pet.

When he returned to the mansion, two hours wasted just to cater to his dog and morals, he saw the resident physicist, shuffling rather awkwardly outside the former emperor’s room, obviously in peril. Before he could slip away to mind his own business, King took it onto himself to greet him.

The jolly skipped in big strides toward the slightly build man, who was already awaiting the impact with a horrified grimace, and he would have torn him down had he not shouted, “Volg Rechts, King!”

When the retriever dutifully returned to his side, unapologetically letting his tail run slaloms, he addressed Isaac, “He’s all bark and no bite, you know?”

“That sounds terribly like yourself.” Now, he might have grown used to Arthur’s British slang and accent, but even if the Lincolnshire voice was more than a little unique, he was still pretty damn sure that he heard that right.

Just as he was about to snap, a tuck on his pants made him turn to his orange furred companion, repeatedly nudging his glistening button nose into Isaac’s direction. It almost appeared as if the door was posing as one grande formula with how much it was being stared at by the scientist.

Sighing in resignation, he glanced at King once again, who sported the same guilt tripping expression he had had before. Of course, it didn’t take an Arthur to figure out what the Brit had been tasked with, but that didn’t compel him to his support. Formula weren’t his area of expertise, after all.

...Although, Theo did technically owe him for the fright his dog had given him.

“Want me to wake him up?”

Visibly startled by his stoic tone, Isaac whirled around. “Ah— Theodorus... you don’t have to. I was just...” he trailed off, tilting his head in a habitually manner as he fumbled with the apple-shaped pin in bouts of disquiet.

Grumbling in irritation, he replied in an effort to appeal to the contrarian, “You’re right, I don’t have to.”

He made sure to turn around completely, taking a few steps to show he took the naysayer seriously. And the Brit’s voice rang out not long after. “Wait!”

Theo regarded him once again, smirking slightly at his successful tactic.

“It’s— we were supposed to visit the children early today...” he said, twisting the tips of his coral hair. “But I am not exactly keen on waking him—for obvious reasons.”

“Move aside.” He clasped the shorter man’s shoulder, who spluttered at the impact of his scabrous tone which was not unlike the strikes of a mighty church bell. Nonetheless, a tiny gratitude found its way past his lips, sounding almost amusingly brittle.

Theo couldn’t help but grumble at his notion. “Don’t thank me, I have business with him, anyway.” This wasn’t a complete lie, as Napoleon had requested a favour from him—which he hadn’t voiced so far, however.

Isaac’s torso sagged in relief, dismissing the breath he’d been holding in, yet he was unable to meet the art dealer’s eyes—aware that this was a chore no one was particular fond of. Theo was about to tell him to halt his incessant twiddling; but yet again, he was probably trying distinguish the awkward fog that clung like cobwebs to the air.

Something about the atmosphere surrounding the physicist made him feel... disgustingly soft.

Perhaps he was a lot like Vincent, albeit rather brash, and he couldn’t shake off the urge to ruffle his hair—so he did just that.

“I’ll make sure to tell him to quit his puppy nap in favour of your appointments,” he told him, not particularly caring how Isaac would respond to his uncharacteristic action of affection.

As the door closed behind the Dutch, Isaac was unsure how to feel about the oddly pleasant gesture, but he supposed that it was a lot nicer than Dazai’s and Arthur’s quips.

“...thank you, I suppose.”

“Oy! Napoleon.”

“Napoleon!”

“Wake up, you—“ He managed to keep the ravaging profanities from leaving the confinements of his mind. A different strategy wouldn’t be unwelcomed... before he really went ahead and insulted the Nightmare of Europe.

Sighing for the umpteenth time that day, Theo ripped the blanket off the sleeping emperor, subsequently wrapping it around the source of assault—his hands and head—hoping it would buy him enough time to recoil.

The restriction didn’t seem to faze his flexible attitude; despite the thick cocoon of fabric hindering his hand’s movement, Napoleon somehow still rose to capture his cheeks, pulling him closer in a forceful grip. The kiss might have been interfered with the layer of blanket in between them, but the art dealer still shrank back, face unable to hide his affronted expression.

Of course, this wasn’t his first time—they all had to share this chore after all—but it was the first since entering a relationship with his... hondje. It certainly wasn’t helping that the French man was as skilled of a kisser as he was wonted to be.

“A blanket? That’s a new one,” the aforementioned French man, fully detangled from the blankets, mused, coming to stand in front of him to tilt his head. He couldn’t help the furious blush from colouring his complexion, and Napoleon’s nonchalance—and bare torso—were not helping the matter.

“You seem flustered? Are you—“ Without much warning, his mouth formed a teasing smirk. “I do hope your amoureuse won’t be too upset when she hears about this.”

“Hou je muil!”

There was no creature on earth that could resist Napoleon Bonaparte’s charms; indeed, even his own dog seemed to prefer the former emperor above his own owner.

“Well, thank you for letting us borrow King.” Napoleon’s typically-French adenoidal words broke through the quiet, crouching down to ruffle the golden fur “I’m sure the kids will love him, isn’t that right, bon chien? Oui, t’es un bon chien—”

Once Napoleon had ceased his agitating flirtings, he has asked him whether he could borrow King for the day. He would have asked Arthur, too, but apparently Sebastian had mentioned that Golden Retriever were especially children friendly.

The retriever barked with enthusiasm urging his tail to wag—did he just purr?

As Theo was contemplating the fall of his dog (who was being belly rubbed by Napoleon), he let his gaze drift toward the physicist sporting a rather odd expression, seemingly trapped between trepidation and uncanny interest.

Mayhaps, the perk portrayal awakened the abberant’s trust, longing to step past his walls of comfort.

“No problem, he does seem to like you a lot.” He crosses his arms, smirking slightly at his following act of shrewd scheming. “However, King’s mood does tend to deteriorate quite quickly”—a half lie—“so don’t feel pressured to take him, Isaac. Napoleon can take him for you, after all.”

Considering the fact the Isaac was probably smarter than most of them combined, he was entirely too ignorant and easy to influence, and, determination having turned the valve of unsettling panic tight, he grabbed the leash from his awaiting hand faster than his blossom orbs could perceive the starting position King went into.

“I never said I wouldn’t try to hold him—“ Before he could finish his sentence, King had already ran off, pulling the quiet physicist along; Napoleon laughed heartily before thanking him one last time and hurrying after his companion.

He was just about to push apart the heavy gates when the former emperor jogged up to him once more, halting his tracks. “Theo! It completely forwent my mind to tell you to go to the kitchens. Sebastian asked for you.”

His eyes stretched into slits. “Did he tell you why?”

But the demi vampire was already on his merry way, only turning back to grace him with one of his overly beguiling smirks.

It smelt delicious. Utterly delicious.

While Theo wasn’t planning on eating anything that morning, Napoleon’s instructions pulled him like a magnetic force towards a familiar, albeit original scent wafting from his destination. He heard the exchange of frantic foreign words, confirming his suspicions to the cause of the heavenly scent.

Announcing his entrance, he was immediately greeted by the two Japanese men—and the kitchen in an utter mess. They both sported aprons; while Sebastian proved himself to be ever the skillful butler, his apron more pristine than ever (suspiciously so), Dazai’s was almost fully dressed in pure batter and oil stains. He appeared not unlike the untidy room, which practically shined with all the fat sticking to everything its path.

As unsurprising as it was (he had long since discovered that there was no such thing as a normal day in the mansion), it still perplexed him when wondering what might have rendered him and their surrounding that sullied. “...Just what are the two of you doing?”

“Well, Sebas-chan mentioned that the modern Japanese have a treat called Fluffy Pancakes, so we’ve been trying to figure out the recipe.”

As alluring as his smile was, it was blatantly conspicuous. Sebastian regarded the author’s shtick with scrutiny, his brow twitching as he perceived the chaos. “Dazai-sensei... from what I can recall, you told me I’m not allowed to help you in any way, or to show you the recipe I’ve already created.”

Well, that explained the rather clean condition of his apron, and that of the other man’s and the kitchen’s. Dazai—who was by far not as talentless as certain residents—was nevertheless a walking disaster. His reputation as the mansion’s most haphazard and arbitrary was hardly at risk (especially as his most recent scheme entailed stuffing the entirety of Isaac’s room to the brim with apples).

Nevertheless, after having acquainted the Japanese man, sharing some common interests, Theo had been able to observe that he wasn’t as disastrous as he made himself out to be, but it was simply the way he liked his persona to be portrayed. Namely, running around in an attempt to improve other’s smiles while disregarding his being unable to reach his eyes.

Why he felt the need to act the part of as klutz was beyond him, and it wasn’t his place to pry into someone else’s past.

Some of the batter resting in the pan suddenly grew in size, forming a dangerous dome threatening to explode in seconds.

And it did.

Three hours. It had taken them three hours to clean the entire mess they (read as: Dazai) have fabricated—including the thirty minutes spent on persuading the author to drop his disastrous challenge.

Once they had finished the entire debacle, Sebastian had sent them to table, asking, begging, them to stay put while he made some actual, non-toxic pancakes. It left Theo in the companionship of the simpering klutz whom he just couldn’t seem to figure out. Many of his actions were contradicting, his mannerism a mix of contrasting impulses and reflexes. However, he was more than aware that he was no fool—not completely, at least.

Dazai could read people and situations just as well as he observed paintings.

It was nearly too convenient that Sebastian was busy making pancakes, despite having mentioned that he’d be preparing croissants the other day, when he was in a particularly bad mood after having almost submitted to the devil’s rabbit... especially if he considered that it had been Dazai’s idea and that Napoleon had ushered him there under the guise of their butler’s request (which he hadn’t feigned knowledge of).

He could have further inquired on his suspicions, or pointed out the dubious timing, but it wasn’t his battle to face. If the author did indeed go through all that trouble to hide his intentions, he probably wouldn’t want it to be remarked. For that, Dazai was much too genuine to bask in the attention of gratitude—that much he knew.

Silence reigned between them, yet he didn’t conceive it as cramped. It was akin to the humidity on a summer’s day, leaving him entirely at the mercy of the sun’s moods; in fact, it was a pondering kind of atmosphere that enveloped him, almost surprising Theo that Dazai simply closed his eyes, his everlasting smile brightening the room.

Whether his train of thought pointed toward the truth or not, he supposed that he was thankful either way.

Sebastian then joined them, carrying the two plates of fluffy goodness and an entire pitcher of maple syrup; it was a modest amount, but it should suffice.

Curiosity piqued his mind as the two Japanese clapped their hand together, wondering what their particular customs entailed. He’d noticed some of the more religious residents reciting silent prayers before their meals, but the men before him were the only ones from a more tradition-loving country. Certainly, the knowledge could help him encourage the trust of some possible foreign clients. As such he voiced his queries.

“...you want know of the protocol we perform before we eat?” At his reconfirming nod, the notebook idly resting on the table was quickly snatched by the butler’s hand, almost frantically writing into it. Dazai and Theo briefly looked at one another, knowing what the human butler was up to—most of the inhabitants were pretty much aware of the eccentric diary’s existence, but they preferred not to coexist with the idea of it.

If Sebastian had the tact not to mention their rather unpleasant first life experiences, they could let him entertain the impression of the diary’s stealth.

Chortling at his incessant scribbling, the simpering man eventually answered him, “We usually clasp our hands together and say ‘Itadakimasu’, which roughly translates to ‘I humbly receive’.” As he spoke with his tone laced with honeyed serenity, he reached into his sleeve to fetch a pen, drawing the stunning symbols onto a napkin. ”However, it isn’t meant to solely appreciate the food... we want to thank the farmers and nature for granting us the meal, too. I hope that satiates your inquiry, Theo-kun.”

It was a beautiful concept, for sure, making him wish that le Comte would have collected a larger variety of residents; he always perceived the convictions and perspectives of other cultures to be entirely too refreshing for the busy lifestyle of Europe.

Instead of answering the Japanese, he copied the joint hands of Dazai and Sebastian (who’d by then stashed the peculiar notebook away, smiling at the both of them). “Itadakimasu.”

Once he had thanked Sebastian (and by extension, Dazai) for the passable meal—although he supposed the fluffy clouds of dough melting together with smoky syrup and nutty butter were more than slightly passable—he made his way to his brother’s room, the great meal having boosted his mood through the clouds.

On one hand, he was rather perplexed that he hadn’t come across the hardworking artist yet, but he also had to ask how the commissioned pieces were coming along.

Just as he was about to climb the staircase to his floor, a certain plummy voice resonated within the hallway. “Theo. How has your free day been so far?“

Turning around to meet the owner of the mansion, he drove his hands into his pockets, shrugging slightly. “It’s not quite living up to its expectations, Comte.”

Le Comte simply smiled. “Vincent asked me to relay to you that he is currently out in town.”

While it was off-putting, the lord of the house’s ability to interminably determine the issues plaguing their minds came in handy at times. It saved him the trouble of having to seek him out himself. “Did he tell you why exactly?”

The count’s smile stretched into a wide grin, as if knowing that this particular piece of information would aggravate the business man. “I’m afraid he didn’t, but I do know that it must have been nothing too grim as he seemed quite elated by Arthur’s side.”

It wasn’t surprising to the art dealer that his brother was spending his time with the Casanova. Considering that Vincent did occasionally tag along on their late-night shenanigans, their friendship was purely based on either annoying or calming Theo—and nothing in between.

At least, that’s how he’d preferred it to be. Recently, however, they have taken to spending their time in shared companionship more often than just seldom. It rendered him both utterly perplexed and seething; the most gentle of all beings on earth, and an infamous Casanova, and never the twain shall meet. While the crime novelist was the closest he had ever considered a friend, the thought of his behavior possibly triggering his sensitive brother were plaguing his mind, causing steam to emit from his pierced ear shells as ire within him burned ablaze.

“Would you perhaps mind joining me in organizing Leonardo’s collection of Whiskey?” le Comte interrupted his fuming, his scheme to persuade him shadowed by his polite facade. “I’ve been soliciting for him to at least discard a part of it, but he’s been stubborn with the argument that he is but a stranger when it concerns determining the quality of each, so I deemed it appropriate to bring you alone.”

His chestnut eyebrows furrowed. “And just what makes you assume that I would want to help you out?”

“There will be a considerable amount of whiskey, of course.”

“Do I look like an alcoholic to you?”

“Certainly not, but you do seem rather penurious after the news I’ve given you.”

The Dutch’s cerulean eyes flashed at the count’s insinuation, the temperature dropping several degrees. It wasn’t that hatred obstructed his vision of his sire; in contrast, he was deeply grateful for having tided his way back to his brother, letting them live together, properly this life around. Nonetheless, he had his way with fueling the ire of his residents, especially to those that weren’t gifted when it came to French.

While they’ve all learnt to speak the lovely language at some point, many of them were still obscured by fog when it came to their sire’s rather gaudy vocabulary. Thus, while he might not know the entire meaning behind his words, his expression was a telltale to what fact he was alluding to—and he wouldn’t grant him the satisfaction of assuming right when saying that the delivered news had gotten to him.

“Very well. It better not be disappointing—and I do expect that beast to be gone.” Taking a sharp pivot around to venture down the hall, the ailurophobe could say without doubt that le Comte’s orbs of molten gold had widened in surprise without sparing him a single glance, yet he was unaware of the contented glint shimmering within them.

Theo seemed to always expect the worst of him, and as such, if you were desiring to help the obstinate business man, you had to appease to his expectations without disregarding his obvious acuity. Shakespeare had sent a letter earlier this morning—speaking entire tales of gratitude for returning Puck unscathed—and he had immediately considered the possibility of the savior’s identity (and the darkening mood it might have caused a certain person). And what better way was there to a man’s tranquility than with a shared glass of amity.

Keeping to that scenario, he’d asked his dear old friend prior to ensure his feline‘s absence.

Le Comte stepped alongside the other man, and he could only simper as he was, once again, proven right. He could only hope Leonardo would keep to his end of the bargain.

It happened too frequently that the residents forgot the polymath‘s range of expertises; his aptitude for the arts were often overlooked when he stood alongside Vincent van Gogh, his discoveries neglected when talking about Isaac Newton. Perhaps, being regarded as the jack—no, master—of all trades did not come with solely advantages.

Not like the Italian minded all that.

“Are you going to stare at the painting all day? We have plenty whiskey to consume.” Leonardo was impishly sprawled on the floor, a lazy smile gracing his face as he arranged a stack of books beneath his head.

He had asked the Italian on multiple occasions to allow the display of his artwork; alas, he’d be incessant in waving him off, despite his obvious talent. Pioneering techniques of realism through the means of the revolutionary sfumato method, it was a shame to let his works go unpublished.

Certainly, it pained him to neglect such powerful talent, but he had accepted his obvious wishes long ago.

“I’ve just been wondering why you wanted this particular piece of yours,” he inquired, rolling his eyes at the polymath’s accusing frown, confirming that he wasn’t trying to pawn it off of him.

On the floor, turned onto its side in a haphazard attempt to get it out of the way, lay the Lady with an Ermine in all her youthful glow. Even his first life self had never been able to omit his marvels of this particular artwork.

When he joined Comte, the epitome of elegance completely out of place in the junkyard, at the tea table, Theo heard him say, “You have sent me through quite the tribulation to aquire this piece, yet you’ve never indulged me in your reasoning.”

“Well, you wouldn’t like my reasoning, at any rate.”

Gracefully crossing his leg above the other, the nobleman started pouring the golden drops—not unlike his own inquisitive eyes—into some glasses. “And what made you assume so, old friend?”

“Because I am certain that you do not favour yourself being compared to 16 year old adolescents, “Comte”,” he elaborated after a booming guffaw.

As they argued—ever so politely, in his eyes—Theo couldn’t help regarding their relationship as identical to that of a bickering couple. It reminded him to heavily of those evenings, spent with some vacant residents and alcohol, cackling at the prospect of the mother hen and their resident father acting as if borne for these roles. And perchance, there was more that some truth to their fatuous, going by the intimacy reigning their relationship (a past flame, at least?).

Theo averted his gaze and grumpily snatched the water pipette resting beside the bottle of one of the dozen of bourbons, not wanting to contemplate the romance involving the two men.

Since his most fateful encounter with the time traveling woman, he’d been exposed to ideas and concepts transcending his 19th century mind (Active protests against racism, commercialized public transportation, travelling durations having been reduced to mere hours between continents...).

One particularly controversial idea was much more toilsome for him to come to terms with—the rather incomprehensible topic of same-sex marriage and the general idea of being able to love whoever you want to—but she’d been entirely too understanding of his upbringing, patiently justifying her beliefs.

As open as he was to the concept at that point, the inclination of his brother having feelings for his best friend was no snip to process (he could practically see her crossed arms at his hesitance). He really was not keen on pondering his housemates’ love lives.

Leonardo, seemingly done with their pointless banter, rose to grab one of the prepared whiskeys. “If I remember correctly, this one was gifted to me by my family.” He downed the liquid without hesitation, not even the smallest shudder becoming cognizant. “Tastes just as horrid as them.”

Le Comte truly had a bias toward men with tragic childhoods.

...perhaps Comte wasn’t too far off with his accusation. He did really need that drink.

Mortifyingly enough, after they’ve put him through his eighths trial of whiskey, Theo had been the first one to surrender his tolerance, the two pureblood vampires still being able to converse sans any slight slurs or drawls. Were he on his quotidian bar strolls with Arthur, he’d have regulated his intake significantly more; be that as it may, the myriad of benumbing variations, and the inhuman intuition to know just the right amount of water to add made the whiskey persuasive in its case.

Three of his shirt’s unapologetic buttons had become undone in the overbearing heat the delicious tipple provided, and while stroking King’s luscious fur (when did Napoleon return with him anyway? And since when did he fit in his lap this easily), he overheard bits and pieces of the ongoing conversation.

“I believe it’s safe to assume that we’ve succeeded in relaxing him.” So his assumption was indeed correct. It wasn’t too startling that they’d all go to such lengths to please him; it was a wonted stratagem in their mansion, after all.

“...I’m afraid that won’t be perennial.” There he goes with his irritante French.

He heard some shuffling, followed by a quiet click—as tantalizing as it would have been to investigate these sounds, his eyelids were uncooperative as his lashes weighed them down with the power of a dozen horses.

“Getting the camera was an exceptional idea, it seems.”

“Cara mia proposed the idea to preserve moments like these. I can’t wait to find your vulnera—.” The chuckling brunette was interrupted by the livid Dutch, who had managed to sober up halfway only to full on glare at him. “Hey... you can’t call her that, zakkenwasser!”

A glimpse of the paper le Comte was holding made him stop, the photograph portraying a disturbing scene of himself holding Leonardo’s little demon.

He didn’t dare to check the actual identity of the animal in his lap—which was clearly not King.

Theo may, or may not, have screamed in absolute terror once he’d had the beady slits in his sight, and he couldn’t help but shudder as he saw the onyx fur sticking to every inch of his skin and clothes. He swiftly stripped out of them, deftly wrapping a towel around his waist before approaching the tiled entrance

Leonardo had bellowed in absolute amusement as he stroked the feline’s chin, while his sire could only manage to sent the slightest of reprimands toward the other pureblood, though he was unable to hide his own chuckles from falling from his usually well-mannered lips. He’d, of course, apologised in place of the actual perpetrator, and suggested him to indulge in the streams of the thermae.

As if he needed him to tell him that.

Nonetheless, Theo followed the count’s advice. Reflective droplets, commingled by the steam emanating from the entrance, ran along his tight abdomen where his entire vexation was building up. On one hand, he truly appreciated everyone’s efforts; cheering him up is one hell of a task—that much, he was aware of—but in the end, there were only three people in his life who could truly conjure serenity from the pits of his ire, and those were all busy running errands.

This only fueled his frustration further, and it irritated him more than anything else. Godverdomme! Just why did he have to be so incredibly difficult? Perhaps if he could find release—that thought almost made him choke on his own air. No, he’d let his hondje deal with his problem when neither of them were at risk of being disturbed.

Inhaling and exhaling thrice, he entered the thermae at long last, only to be greeted by two soft voices. Whereas one of them was undeniably French in nature, the nasal, albeit graceful high-pitch, enough to indicate that, the other was an ironic amalgamation of the softest lullaby and the most thunderous of compositions.

Mozart and Jean, the only residents who hadn’t had their attempt at improving (worsening?) his day, were lounging in the water. Theo could have bet his entire collection of artworks, without letting his pinky twitch, that Comte knew exactly that those two were here (considering they were probably the only ones to either consider it more profitable for them not to get involved, or to simply not care).

With an annoyed puff, he lowered himself into the tranquilizing pool, allowing the murky mist to grant him cover to unwrap his towel. As he did so, the musician to his opposite issued a histrionically deep sigh, amethyst orbs narrowing in repulsion as he became cognizant of some minor cat fur still sticking to his skin.

“And here I was hoping that Lackaffe wouldn’t send you here,” the man sneered, brushing some alabaster strands out of his piercing glare.

“Trust me, the feeling’s mutual.”

“Keep it fortissimo, would you?”

Feigning ignorance of Mozart’s comment, he spoke to his quiet companion, “How in the world can you put up with him?”

The French man only shrugged slightly, the motion prompting the lilac bangs to shimmer in the light. “Have you considered asking that Monsieur Doyle?”

He felt a drop slide down the side of his face as he shifted his eyebrow up. “What does he have to do with that.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” the composer snarked, superciliousness guiding his lips into a full on smirk. “He’s alluding to the fact that you are just as vexing.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me just right.”

“I’d just love to know who shoved that stick up your arse.”

“While it’s relieving to know that you can accommodate enough brain cells to learn foreign phrases, it is less surprising than you turning to these juvenile scatological remarks.”

“Oh, rot op. As if you are in the position to lecture me on my shitty humour.”

“—did you seriously just jet water at me?”

Jean sighed in resignation, wishing his friend could reign his hauteur for once at least; yet, the fracas they caused let the tiniest spark of amusement twinkle in his starless eyes. Despite himself, he did nudge the Austrian in an attempt to quieten him. Mozart, who wholeheartedly disregarded his warning, only continued to smirk, winking as he did so. Without omitting to fire another insult at their frontier, he merely directed Jean’s attention back to the Dutch, stupefying himself as he perceived the witty jocularity flowing through the air in playful currents.

Perhaps Mozart had been planning from the start to abandon their placid laissez-faire attitude. It was obvious they were both thoroughly enjoying their arguing, even if it made Jean want to burn his ears off.

Later that night, aquamarine eyes shone in the moonlight’s rays, revealing a scene of absolute love an affection for the entire canopy of stars to marvel at. His pannenkoek’s arms were wound around himself in a loving embrace, her nimble hands trying their best to cradle his head as he curled into her like a clockwork. Her melodic pulse induced him to ponder the day’s occurrences.

It had left him worn out, the energy of spending some amount of time with almost the entire residency such a rare event that it rendered him as tired as a bear before winter if it did happen.

She had giggled mellifluously at his drowsy babbling (“You really are just a giant teddy bear, aren’t you?”), letting her fingers dance in featherlight strokes down his toned back as she massaged him—partially for him, and partially because she had simply wanted to “feel him up” as she had mentioned.

Natheless, even if they tired him, aggravated him, or even made him want to move to an entirely different planet, their makeshift family was a huge array of multicolored and textured patches, which all came together to form one sui generis artwork.

A scream torn from a certain defenestration-loving bastaard, and multiple curses ranging from German to English later, left him grumbling once again.

As much as he liked their aloof painting, the colours were still fucking obnoxious.

Tag List of the most amazing sweethearts (who better be drinking some water *squints*: @juminly @kisara-16 @sweetlittlemouse @thesirenwashere

#theo route countdown party #ikemen vampire #ikemen vampire scenario #ikemen scenario #ikemen vampire fanfiction #ikemen napoleon #ikemen mozart #ikemen leonardo #ikemen arthur #ikemen vincent #ikemen theodorus #ikemen theo #ikemen dazai #ikemen isaac #ikemen shakespeare #ikemen jean #ikemen comte #ikemen le comte #ikemen sebastian

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tothedarkdarkseas · 4 years ago

Note

You've done most/least favorite Murdoc and Stu illustrations, but how about: Most and least favorite Murdoc and Stu dynamics in an illustration?

Whenever I have to find artwork, I go through this massive Google drive which has a lot of older artwork, but stops somewhere in phase 5 and has nothing after that-- so by no means is this a comprehensive list, I just can't remember anything that portrays them together in a significant way after that to seek out. Behind the cut so I don't spam your dash!

I was pleasantly surprised to find there were many more I liked than disliked-- I think most of my disliked art is either solo or a group shot where the two aren't significantly interacting.

(I've also discovered while trying to make this post that Tumblr is now apparently enforcing "only 10 images per post" even in the answer to a question or text post, which is rubbish. I'll work around it.)

This is a classic one and just has an unusually non-manic, non-sensationalized feeling to it which is right up my alley. I love this style and the watercolors and ink, I'd like to see it again.

Love Stu's awful face and his pipecleaner arm draped over Murdoc. I love how huge Stu's paws look-- I just have to pretend Murdoc's look smaller and sharper than they really do here, haha.

As you may recall, the solo version of this Stu art is like, my favorite ever. It is so unhinged. The hammer! Holding the ciggie that way! The sunglasses and smirk! It is... cool guy drug stuff, you have to assume. But I do love this Murdoc as well, and appreciate that you could see them as in-sync bothering Jamie and Damo, or just looking right past them to squabble with each other. (PS- "Jarvis: See His Plums!")

*burning hair smell*

This doesn't have much of a "dynamic" to it I suppose, but it's unique.

Murdoc's face does detract from what could otherwise look like a fairly serious bit of artwork (...ignoring the planes and guns and robot as well, of course) but I think it's worth including. I do love the "neon rot" aesthetic of Plastic Beach, but I like that this takes a much more muted and therefore somber-looking color palate, yet it shows the two seeming more comfortable together than I actually believe they were.

This is cheating a bit as it looks like it's from one of the little 360-degree house tour things, but I will count it!

I just enjoy the pure chaos of this picture.

I have to trim one more picture here to fit under the 10-photo limit, so I'll downgrade this to an honorable mention: I do really love this artwork, and to me it has a definite vibe, I can feel a dynamic around their characters that really matches my characterization, but I suppose it doesn't really show their shared dynamic exactly.

Least favorite is a brief list:

This is definitely an all-time least favorite for me. The dynamic at play is obviously at ends with my preferred one, but the height fuckery is equally to blame. Stu is not that small! Murdoc is not that big! This is an outrage!

I don't get particularly upset about any of the cartoon violence as I take it all to just be slapstick, and it's not present as either a comedic or serious thing in any of my own work; I just think of the two things as totally removed from each other and that, for me, is fine. But still, if asked I'd say I don't love how buff and angry the sketches for Murdoc in this storyboard look, nor how small and pitiful Stu is. I just don't find it to be an especially exciting or interesting dynamic.

I am out of photo space, but special mention goes to the dog lead picture I guess-- I don't hate it really, I think Stu looks quite peeved so I can work with the idea of this being a photoshoot and Murdoc's talked them into this photo against Stu's wishes (and he's gonna be in a foul mood all day because of it, and probably spit in Murdoc's drink) but y'know, I suppose I don't like what it's done for The Culture around the ship, haha. If I'm being candid about that! But I think there are some quotes that have done worse than that picture did, so it's not a massive source of ire.

#photo post #thank you!

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rpgmgames · 5 years ago

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November’s Featured Game: Grimm's Hollow

DEVELOPER(S): ghosthunter ENGINE: RPG Maker 2003 GENRE: Indie RPG, Adventure WARNINGS: Discussions of death, losing a loved one, grief SUMMARY: Grimm’s Hollow is a spooky, freeware RPG where you search the afterlife for your brother. Reap ghosts with your scythe, explore haunted caves, and eat ghostly treats on your journey through death.

Download the game here! Our Interview With The Dev Team Below The Cut!

Introduce yourself! *BB: My name's Bruno and I did some of the music along with Nat! I’m super happy to have participated in this game! *NW: I’m Nat Wesley, a.k.a. Natbird! I’m a composer available for hire with a few projects in the works. I’m honored to have had the chance to work on the soundtrack to Grimm’s Hollow! *GH: Hello! I go by ghosthunter online; I started developing RPGs with a friend in school when we found out that we both enjoyed RPG Horror. I enjoy art, webcomics, cartoons and narrative-driven indie games a lot. I bought RM2K3 on sale and started pouring pixel art into it, before learning how to do things like chase scenes, cutscenes, etc. I used to fantasize about making my own game, drawing dungeons and ghosts in the back of my sketchbooks, before I finally started Grimm’s Hollow. Now I’m near the end of high-school, and I’m hoping the best for uni!

What is your project about? What inspired you to create this game initially? *GH: Grimm’s Hollow, originally, wasn’t as ambitious or personal. It was simply just going to be “my first game”, something that I could finally put my doodles and RM2K3 skills to. I wanted a game that a younger me would have enjoyed, back when I first discovered the classic RPGMaker games and replayed them constantly for those endings. That was my initial inspiration. It eventually evolved into an action turn-based RPG that relies on timing, yet it’s mostly narrative-driven. You traverse death in search of your sibling, and try to make an escape. There are unexpected pieces of me that ended up in this game, some of which I’m still noticing even now.

How long have you been working on your project? *GH: Since the summer of June 2018.

Did any other games or media influence aspects of your project? *GH: Standstill Girl, OFF by Mortis Ghost, Undertale, Over The Garden Wall, and the animation medium in general.

Have you come across any challenges during development? How have you overcome or worked around them? *GH: Many! Making your first game is such a giant learning curve, that the list of challenges goes on. I would say that the most difficult issue I encountered (and that, in some ways, I am still facing after release) is working around the limitations of the game engine I am using. I wanted to see whether creating an engaging but simple 1-party RPG in RM2K3 (without going completely custom) was feasible, and I experimented with quick time events as part of that. I worked around the engine’s built-in formulae so players could see progress when they upgraded their stats - although the game might display as defence as “10”, in reality the game stores it as 40 since the engine splits defence by 4. Since I did not want to create an RPG which was too complex for my first game, I also scrapped traditional staples such as armour or weapons. There were also issues such as having an appropriate “game over” handling event which wouldn’t shoot you back to the title screen after you lost a battle; getting RM2K3 to play a small cutscene where you faint and respawn somewhere else was tricky. I felt that if the player had to reload after a loss, it would disrupt the game flow.

Have any aspects of your project changed over time? How does your current project differ from your initial concept? *GH: Like I mentioned before, the game started off impersonal. I just had a soft spot for a spooky cute aesthetic, and I wanted to indulge in that. It was (and in its essence, still is) meant to be a short story, to keep the player invested for the short game length - nothing grandiose. The original draft did not have Baker play a role in the narrative - he was just an ordinary shopkeeper NPC. For a long time during development, Lavender did not even have a name. In the very first draft, she was a silent protagonist the player could name and customize. But she played a very active role in the final outline, so it was hard not to give her own unique voice when one emerged from the narrative naturally. I am glad I did; she grew on me quite quickly! Grimm was virtually unchanged from beginning to end. The only difference was that a close friend suggested that he seemed like he would be into drinking Oolong tea - so that’s what he offers you when you meet him. Timmy also did not go under massive overhauls like Lavender and Baker did, but his relationship with Lavender became much more fleshed out as I wrote the narrative. In other facets of the game’s design, there were not many changes to the original prototype.

What was your team like at the beginning? How did people join the team? If you don’t have a team, do you wish you had one or do you prefer working alone? *GH: It was just myself, doing the art, writing, programming, etc. But halfway through creating the second cave, I realised I would need a very specific sound for Grimm’s Hollow. So, I contacted Nat for music, but I also created a post on tumblr calling for a composer since there were many tracks to make. I met Bruno as a result! I am very happy with their work and I am so grateful I’ve got to work with them! (Some players are asking for an OST release, which is in the works).

What is the best part of developing a game? *GH: I really enjoyed the early stages of development: creating new tilesets, sprites and maps and piecing them together in the editor, then taking a small screenshot and sharing it with my friend over summer vacation … It was nice to see the game’s world slowly come together. I think that’s what I enjoyed the most from beginning to end: that sense of world-building, that sense of relaxation from making a small cosy game. The latter started to disappear as work and other responsibilities started to intrude, and pressure began to seep into development time - but I never stopped loving making the world and characters. I also want to say that, by lucky chance, I have met a lot of kind people from making my first game. I’m very grateful for that, so thank you to everyone.

Do you find yourself playing other RPG Maker games to see what you can do with the engine, or do you prefer to do your own thing? *GH: All the time! Other RPG Maker 2003 projects are great inspirations for pixel art tilesets, as well as how to code harder features such as custom menus. They’re also just fun to play.

Which character in your game do you relate to the most and why? (Alternatively: Who is your favorite character and why?) *GH: Lavender and Timmy are relatable to me in multiple ways. I can’t elaborate on Timmy since that would go into spoiler territory, but I somewhat relate to Lavender’s insistence on managing her life on her own - sometimes to her own detriment. I’d say the most fun character to write for was Grimm. He can be unintentionally silly while speaking in the most formal way, but also very caring too. Everything he does and says was easy to write, whereas I had to think harder for the interactions between everyone else - especially for very crucial scenes regarding their development. That being said, my favourite is still the game’s central two siblings. I can not pick between them for the life of me.

Looking back now, is there anything that regret/wish you had done differently? *GH: I wish I started testing even earlier! Not only does it give you a good sense of what’s missing, but seeing people enjoy what you’ve made yet get hindered by bugs is a very strong incentive to fix your game immediately. When I was lacking motivation or was stuck, I found that good feedback and support made me motivated again. I also wish that I could have pushed the deadline a little further, or perhaps released the game on Early Access since it will take me a while to refine post-release bugs - but as it is, the 31st of October really was the deadline for my game due to external circumstances (no, that deadline wasn’t just because it was Halloween!). Other than that, I wonder if using an updated version of RPG Maker would have produced the same game …? It’s hard to tell, but I hope people enjoy it for what it is - I will be working on that post-release patch soon!

Do you plan to explore the game’s universe and characters further in subsequent projects, or leave it as-is? *GH: There are no current plans, but I would be happy to have the opportunity to improve and expand on the game. As it is, the game’s released for free and done as a hobby, so I would struggle to do that by myself.

What do you most look forward to now that you have finished the game? *GH: Earlier on, I was really looking forward to players’ reactions. Games are made to be fun, and I would have felt distraught if my game didn’t achieve what it was set out to do. Yet it was not just about the gameplay; it was about the narrative. I hoped that what I found funny, the player would too; what was heartfelt to me, was heartfelt to the player as well. Like sharing a laugh, or just a good experience together. I hoped they would enjoy the feeling that went into it, despite the struggle of making it against circumstance and limitations. Now, I look forward to resting and sleeping once this over. I want to explore my other interests, improve, and explore new media. I want to relax, and refocus again like I was before the heat of development.

Is there something you’re afraid of concerning the development or the release of your game? *GH: Bugs! Some are easy to fix, but others are harder due to the limitations of the engine (e.g an error in one ending is caused by an overflow error).

Do you have any advice for upcoming devs? *GH: Show your game as early as possible, to as many people as possible. As soon as you have something playable, it’s ready for feedback. You’ll see if that game mechanic you spent hours refining works, or if it doesn’t work and why. You’ll understand what players enjoy and what they want more of, but also what they don’t like or don’t enjoy. And you will definitely encounter bugs. You’ll be able to pinpoint and fix minor problems early on that can easily become a larger issue later. You’ll be able to fine-tune your game so its best bits shine, and the difficulty is just right.

Question from last month's featured dev @dead-dreams-dev: Is there anything you’ve added to your game for no other reason than because you’re hoping fans will get a kick out of it? Fanservice, fourth wall breakage, references to other games, jokes, abilities that are just ridiculously overpowered and badass, etc? *GH: It’s hard to say; game design is trying to find the intersection between what’s good for the player, what the developer enjoys, and what’s feasible to implement. Every decision made should be conscious of that … I think a lot of the game’s early light-hearted jokes was not only made because I enjoyed it, but I hoped the player would “get a kick out of it” too. But more so, I think it’s because I would struggle to write a story which is serious and bleak from beginning to end. The game is a little self-indulgent in the narrative that way.

We mods would like to thank ghosthunter & team for agreeing to our interview! We believe that featuring the developer and their creative process is just as important as featuring the final product. Hopefully this Q&A segment has been an entertaining and insightful experience for everyone involved!

Remember to check out Grimm's Hollow if you haven’t already! See you next month!

- Mods Gold & Platinum

#rpgmaker #rpg maker games #indie games #pixel games #rpg #adventure #cute #grimms hollow #grimm's hollow #gotm #game of the month #gotm 2019 #2019 #game of the month 2019 #november #november 2019

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purelyfiction · 4 years ago

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Title: The Return of A Royal

Summary: Din had agreed to take a break from the boundless jumping from planet to planet, and so the group gathers what they need to stake out for a few days, figure out a way to find the information they needed without wasting so much fuel. When they land on their chosen destination Mari finds wonder in the planet, taking her time to relax, finding that the Mandalorian doesn't seem to know the meaning of the word. She decides to return the favor of bike lessons by teaching him how to find calm and to clear his mind for once.

Word Count: 5,328 (I DON’T KNOW HOW I DID IT EITHER SO DON’T ASK)

TW: this chapter is honestly my favorite so far there’s so much !! important stuff !! in it !! i think the length is based off of the fact i drew concept art for the chapter and then fell in love sooooo yep. completely PG chapter but it is beyond wholesome so !! enjoy !

Chapter 8: Made to Fall

The afternoon sunshine fell on the sands of Tatooine with ease, leaving Mari to sit in front of the Crest on a mat, watching the suns begin to sink behind the mountains of granules of sand. Mando watches over them, knowing that she's more than capable of watching over Grogu, and steps off the ship to look at the two of them before giving a nod. "I wanted to run into town to see if they had some more food and supplies that we'll need before we leave. Are you going to be ok with him alone?" He questions, Mari's face moving so quickly that the bangs across her forehead flitter with the movement.

"Yeah. You're not gonna be long. Besides, by the time the suns set he'll probably be ready to sleep for a bit." She nods, pulling him to her lap slowly, hoping to offer more reassurance that she'll protect him. The Mandalorian seems content with her and starts off back towards town, giving a second glance when he sees the woman pointing to something flying by. The smile that's on his face is guarded by the helmet and for once... he wishes it wasn't there.

Din makes his way to town, finding the nearest shop and entering with ease. An older woman draped in shades of brown stands at the back of the store, broom in her hand. "You're lucky I decided not to close up early tonight! What can I do for you?"

The armored body moves forward before he speaks. "I was looking to see if you had food supplies. And.. perhaps sleeping accessories." He offers, the woman setting the broom against the wall before she takes clumping steps to a rack.

"Sleeping accessories. We have blankets, pillows, some quilts -"

"A cot. A folding one preferably." The elderly woman nods slowly.

"Ah, yes. However, it is not a standard cot. It fits two persons. I've found that there is not nearly the same demand for such a thing - many travelers like yourself come alone and see no need for it." The Mandalorian's helmet reflects the suns rays coming in from the open doorway, flashing over to a wall, letting him spot a thick yellow quilt tucked in the corner.

"Do you have comforters?" He asks, his stride moving to the quilt and picking it up, unfurling it to see an intricate pattern of different shades to the patchwork. Some type of design alternated on each square, and it looked large enough to cover more than one person. He folds it once more looking at the woman as she brings over a heavy brown blanket, filled with some form of polymer to make it rather comfortable.

"This is the last one I have. You've picked some of the heaviest things. Going somewhere chilly?" She asks, beginning to pick out food items, mainly canned goods - they were on a desert planet afterall.

"Not at the moment. I just don't have enough material for my crew." He explains, stacking the yellow quilt onto the comforter and moving to the counter. The woman moves to the counter, box of food in her arms before a hand falls to the quilt, admiring it and smiling softly.

"The woman who made this quilt dropped it off, didn't ask for any payment before I sold it. She said she'd made it for someone she'd not been expecting to come into her life. And just as soon as she had completed it - they were gone." The white haired woman sighs, only to begin totaling the purchases. "It never got any use to it. She'd spent such a great deal of her time on it. I do hope you are able to get use out of it."

"We will." Din pulls the required credits out of his pocket when he recognizes that she hadn't calculated the cot into the numbers. "I'm taking the cot." With surprise, the woman gives a smile and nods.

"Alright then. Thank you for taking it off my hands." He simply nods, following her to where she'd pointed to and gathering the device.

He'd ended up renting a cruiser to take him back to the Crest, knowing he'd never be able to carry the items at a fast enough pace to get back before it was completely pitch black out. He arrives seeing a glow come from the inside of the craft, the suns now below the sands, an orange glow creating a thin line in the distance. More credits to hands, before he's pulling his purchases onto the ship. Mari's made a comfortable seat in the corner, using a pile of blankets that the two shared to lean into the metal wall comfortably, a manual from the Crest in her lap. Blue eyes look up when Din enters the ship, a small smile on her face. "Welcome back. Need help?" She asks, slamming the book shut and moving to stand up, the Mandalorian raising a hand to tell her to stop. She returns to her relaxed spot before a clunk of weight falls to the floor.

"I've got it. Just need to put things away and then we'll start off." He explains, grabbing the box of goods and moving to his makeshift pantries beside the small kitchenette in the ship. Despite his words, Mari stands, moving to the pile and seeing more blankets - her eyes particularly trained on one of the items in the pile.

"Did you buy another cot?" She asks, starting to tug on the metal frame in front of her. She pulls until the device is removed from the weight of the other items, seeing it clearly. "This thing is huge, where are you supposed to put it?"

"Against the wall. I'll fashion something to help tie it down for when we're in motion." The reply is rather quick, clearly wanting to focus on the task at hand, so Mari keeps quiet. She refolds the blankets he'd purchased, setting them on the cot neatly for sleeping later, taking a moment to appreciate the craftsmanship of the quilt in front of her. The yellow is vibrant and looks like the dye was chosen very specifically for someone. She's distracted from the woven fabric at a small cry, both Mando and herself moving to look to the creature, who was looking at the two of them with tired eyes.

"I guess someone is ready for bed." She speaks, making quick paces to meet Grogu and help him into his hammock. Once he's there, she tucks him in with the small blanket remnant Mando had split down to give the child some insulation for when he sleeps. When a soft snore comes from him, Mari finally backs up, and shuts the door to the chamber, turning to where the male had been standing not even four minutes prior. When he's not there, she climbs up the ladder, her head popping up and pausing when she meets his brown boots, looking up to him looming over her. "You've got to quit doing that, it's freaky." She complains, only for Mando's hand to extend and help her up again, Mari leaning into the action with familiarity.

The two sit in the cockpit as The Mandalorian navigates to their next destination - one he's being highly secretive about. They'd been in hyperdrive for nearly three hours, and Mari's starting to get tired. "Is there a reason you won't let me see the nav screen?" She asks, holding her knees to her chest, boots below her on the floor, slightly shivering again. She's still in just the black tank and stretchy pants, leggings maybe, and the cold metal of the ship wasn't much for insulation.

"I picked out the planet, it's good for trying to escape for a bit. Seeing as you have this uncanny ability to know so much about the systems and ships, I wanted to see if you could figure it out." He offers the explanation, moving the chair to turn to her. Mari lets her head tilt slightly, giving a nod.

"Interesting. It'll give me something to do then, huh?" She teases, Din snickering the slightest bit.

"Yes. Now, if you're going to get any rest tonight, you're best off heading down now. We have a few hours before we land, and even then I'm sure it'll be some time before the sun rises after we get there." He explains, and Mari gives a nod, this time a yawn coming from her.

"Ok, ok, I'm going. You want the new cot or the old one?" She asks, standing and leaning on the back of his chair since he now faces the front of the ship.

"Don't care." Short, but expected.

"Alright. Actually try to get some sleep, will you?" She speaks before heading to the ladder, humming a goodnight before dropping to the hull.

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The Razor Crest made decent time as they arrived to the lush planet, still encased in mainly darkness with the exception of small glimmers of light from small creatures along the meadows. Din wasn't on the planet much, if ever, and he found that there was a bit of excitement for Mari to discover where they were. He'd remembered in passing her mention of her home planet being that of a desert planet, similar to the one they'd just departed.

He's left the cockpit now, and maneuvers around the hull, starting to remove armor slowly, stacking each peace by the cot before moving the one comforter on the device to lay it out, noticing that it's missing a pillow. He shrugs it off, and climbs onto it with ease, pulling the blanket over him with a contented sigh. His head sits uncomfortably in the confines of the helmet, and he shift to make it a little more bearable. He finds himself staring at the ceiling, counting the bolt marks and tracing the lines in the metal before arguing with himself. Just take it off, you'll sleep better. She's not going to be awake for a while. And with that rationale, he does, setting the casing on the floor beside him and rolling into the awkwardly large surface. It was somewhat cold without another body present on it, but he pushes past it.

Just as Din's dozing off, the cot chamber door opens and Mari slinks out of the area, uncovered feet hitting cold metal below her. Her feet move her to the refresher, eyes barely open, mere slits to get to the room. She flicks on the fluorescent light, turning to shut the door and she does - but not without seeing a flash of brown resting on the new cot in the hull. The door is shut fully now, and Mari's much more awake. The shade she'd seen was not a familiar color. Whatsoever. Sure, most of Mando's clothes were brown or black - but this brown... wasn't it. She pulls herself onto the sink, slightly regretting it when she realizes the cold metal is on her somewhat bare behind. She's got a thing about sleeping with pants on - it's never been an issue, until now that is. The whole damn ship was a icecube when they were in cold conditions. She figures that the ship hadn't regulated temperature to the planet's just yet. Despite that, she takes a minute. She'd seen his hair. That had to have been what it was. Mari tries her best to erase the thought, knowing that if she were to accidentally reveal the new information - she might lose any trust he's gained in the past two days. After finishing her time in the refresher, she makes sure the light is off before walking out, moving back to the compartment. She stops when the new memory flashes again. He didn't have a pillow. His neck is going to kill him. She can't leave him like that, she knows how uncomfortable she'd been sleeping in the cockpit, it wouldn't be fair for him.

So she does the next best thing. She grabs one of the pillows littered in the cabin, and moves in Mando's direction, eyes closed. She's shuffling slowly, moving from memory. When her shin hits the cot, she lets out a restrained hiss, before crouching and carefully finding his head, beginning to lift his head and maneuvering the pillow - only to be stopped by a firm grip on her wrist. Her breath catches, and she speaks almost too quickly. "My eyes are closed. They're closed." She whispers, his hand still not moving. Maybe this was a bad idea. Yeah, this wasn't smart. She should've just went to bed. There's no doubt that he's going to yell at her, tell her to go to bed, continue the scolding in the morning. Except it doesn't come. Instead, his head shifts up, giving her space to push the pillow under his head. His grip softens once it's secure under him, his voice groggy, as though she'd actually woken him up by trying to give him a pillow.

"Is your leg okay." She's... caught off guard by his question. It's not what she'd expected but she manages an answer.

"Yeah. Yeah it's fine." His fingers are still wrapped around her wrist, but they're far more gentle now.

"Good. Go to bed, Mari." He returns a command, before his hand slips from hers, the large figure in front of her shifting, rolling over. She's glad the dark is encasing the two of them, because he can't see her reaction, which is a small smile as she stands and immediately turns around so she can open her eyes and do her best to navigate in the dark. Once she's back to the cabin, curled under the yellow quilt from Tatooine, she hears his voice again. "Thank you."

Mari wakes to the door of the sleeping chamber sliding open, Mando standing at her feet. She groans, pulling the blanket over her to hide the light. "C'mon, we've got a day ahead of us." He comments, Grogu moving in his hammock with a content coo as his father moves to pick him up.

"I could've been naked." She complains, finally sitting up and rubbing at her eyes, hair a mess from tossing and turning the prior night.

"Not that it would have mattered." He reminds her, causing her to scowl at him. With the child on his hip, a slight chuckle leaves him when he sees her expression. "Let's go, princess."

Mari watches as he falls out of her view, sitting still as her heart recovers from the beat it had skipped at the word. She'd not used the word in almost 15 years, and it used to be commonplace in her life. It was her title, everyone she knew had called her by it. Princess Mari. And yet, when he said it... it wasn't the same. It wasn't a position, a requirement or a standing. It made her heart malfunction, her stomach turn and goosebumps raise on her skin. She pushes herself from her spot, getting out of the comfort of warm blankets and to where her closest was.

"You figure out where we are?" His voice is louder, coming from above her, in the cockpit clearly. She'd not actually thought about it til then, and takes a minute to do so as she pulls a grey t-shirt from the pile.

"Um, no. I fell asleep before I could do the math." She offers, quickly switching out the shirts before grabbing a pair of pants. They were a deep blue, and the color combination wasn't... awful, but nowhere near ideal. Despite that, she pulls them on rapidly before Mando comes back to the hull. A pair of wool socks are being tugged on as he finally joins her again. She's quiet in thought, the man moving about to gather things. He pulls the yellow quilt from the sleeping quarters, putting it in a bag with some food and water. Sat on the metal floor, Mari is tying her boots when she finally looks up to him. Her brows are furrowed as she does so and Din's own raise as he waits for her guess. "We came from Tatooine... and we have to go to Coruscant next... but you weren't in hyperspeed for more than five hours, right?" Din gives a shake of his head, sitting on the floor across from her, one leg relaxed, the other propped up with a boot flat on the floor as Grogu shuffles about the ship in excitement. Finally, her eyes light up and he lets a smile fill his face as she shoots up. "We're on Naboo! Mando, I've only read about this place." She offers as he gives a grunt standing up, pressing a button on his vambrace, letting the side hatch begin to open, Mari moving to the door as sunlight floods the interior of the ship.

Once the ramp has extended fully, she's slowly stepping out, looking at her surroundings. A wide open field, surrounded by trees, mountains in the distance... and so... much... green. A breath moves through her, in complete awe as she slowly starts into the terrain, taking in the blue skies, the dark green trees, the tall grass shifting as a breeze passes through. It's warm, and pairs with the sunshine beautifully. Mari moves to rake her hands through her hair, awestruck. "I never thought I'd leave Esno... when I did it was all so similar. None of it felt... like what I'd pictured. There were shops, buildings, and it was all so..."

"Brown?" Finally Din's voice comes from behind her and she looks to him. It's his turn for his breath to be knocked out of him. The way she looks to him, with so much joy. He'd imagined it, thought about it the entire way there... but he'd underestimated. She looked so content, and her eyes seem to melt into the skyline, yet shine so much more brightly. He's certain he's never seen her like this, so... carefree. She's been on highwatch for so much of her life, being surrounded by others, never truly having free reign. Now she has it. A smile fills her features before she turns to the landscape around her once again.

"Yeah... brown." At this point, the child has started following Mari through the grass, following in her footsteps to avoid blades of grass to his face. Din finally lets his feet move, letting her start off in whatever direction she wishes, simply letting her explore. She's not even begun to pick out each of the sounds that fill the air around them, the rustling of the trees through the gusts of air that pass by, the accompaniment of birds and other creatures, the wisping sound of the grass as each step falls onto them. And in the distance, a loud roar. "What is that?" She finally asks, her head tilting back to the fellow bounty hunter, trying to place it with other things she'd heard.

"What's what?" Din asks, not really following her thought process. He simply was letting the two roam, knowing that the new experience would keep them amused for some time.

"That sound. It sounds like some sort of... Maker there's nothing I can compare it to. Wait-" She raises a hand, making all three of them stop and just listen for a few moments before Mando finally snickers.

"Follow me."

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The hike to their location is filled with the two walking side by side, listening to the sounds the planet had to offer, Grogu tied to Mari's back with a piece of fabric she'd found on the ship. As they seem to descend into a slight valley, the noise grows louder when his footsteps pause, and Mari finally sees what was creating the roaring noise. A dozen or so waterfalls are carved into the cliffside in front of them, water cascading to a pool below them and into a river that ran the length of the valley. "Holy kriff." It's so soft he nearly misses it, the two of them standing uniformly and watching as the water free falls in a grand motion. The outline of the city of Theed sits on top of the falls in the far distance, a mere blip in the skyline. The Mandalorian begins to move again, leading the way down to the valley in the safest manner, Mari having a hard time keeping her eyes off the body of water.

They walk nearly silently, coos coming from the child on her back as they inch closer and closer. Eventually they reach the shores of the water, as close as they can become without entering the water. "The hike is worth it, don't you think?" Mando questions, looking at the woman who's now drenched in sweat, but despite it, holds the brightest smile.

"Every minute of it." She sighs, watching quietly as he moves to the bag he brought, pulling out the canteen and handing it to her. She takes it with a quiet 'thank you', twisting the cap off and looking as he moves to a spot a little off the shore. The quilt he'd snatched comes from the bag, and is tossed to the ground. She's quick to catch on and moves to his side, picking up the fabric and unfurling it in the air so it's spread across the ground. Once it's out, Din lets the bag fall to the yellow material, and then speaking.

"Let me get him off your back, and then we can settle in." Mari turns her body away from him, feeling as he unties Grogu from his makeshift carrier and the weight is off her back. The kid is set to the ground to explore leaving her to finally sit among the white flowers that are littered in the area, something she'd not noticed until she reaches the ground. The Mandalorian finally slouches down beside her, a slight huff coming from him. She finally turns to him, realizing that if she's hot, he must be boiling.

"Why don't you take off your armor? You'd probably be less hot." She suggests, the man's head moving in her direction. He's about to retort something, but... he can't find a good reason not to follow her suggestion. So he does, starting the process and letting each piece stack up into the black bag beside them. Eventually, all the beskar rests in a neat pile - except the one above his shoulders. "Better?" Din nods, letting his arms reach behind him and leaning onto them to look around at the visual that they'd found. Mari moves her body so her back is against his right shoulder, watching the water travel so elegantly, eyes deterring to find the child, seeing him running around after some sort of butterfly. Blue eyes return to the falls and she sits in the natural silence. The deep blues pop with each thrush wave of white that is created off the rocks below. The entire area was something out of a dream to her. She's so overjoyed in the moment. Safe, secure, and surrounded by such beauty. So why does her mind wander...

"Your helmet... it has a sound processor doesn't it?" The question is so sudden that Din nearly jolts, having found comfort in the quiet.

"Yes." The response is an answer she already knew, so she's unsure why her heart sinks a little. He's not hearing the same thing as she is. He's probably not seeing the same thing either. He doesn't get to feel the blades of grass that her fingers have been fiddling with as she gazed. Doesn't get to smell the cleanest breath of air she's ever had. So she sits up and shifts to face away from the falls, shuffling her legs around. "What are you doing?" He's matching her movements, sitting up himself. Mari's legs move to cross over his, shifting til she's completely in his lap, and leans into him, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, her chin resting on his left shoulder blade.

"Take off your gloves." Her voice is soft, nearly drowned out by the rushing falls behind them.

"Mari-"

"Please? My eyes are closed, I promise." A mere whisper before he's reaching behind her, fingers tugging on the leather on his hands before he drops them to the quilt in front of them. Once they're off his hands fall to her lap. Before she speaks, she holds on a little tighter. "Your helmet."

"Mari, I'm not doing that." He scoffs, nearly pushing her away before she stops him with a squeeze of her hand on his arm.

"I'm not going to look. I want you to hear this. I want you to see what I'm seeing. Not a computer screen or a speaker. I want you to experience it. Not ... render it." He stays still, her words starting to do a lap in his mind. She says it so cautiously... as though he'll yell at her for even speaking. His hands finally move from her thighs, and he reaches up, pulling the helmet as softly as he can, the softest release noise accompanying the action. He lets the beskar shift to his left hand, his right moving around Mari's back in a gentle holding motion as he sets the helmet down at his side. Mari finds a more comfortable position, her cheek against his shoulder, facing his neck as his other hand wraps around her again. "Now listen. Look."

And he does so. His head moves to the water, the smell of the flowers and the moisture of the air finding his skin. It's so peaceful. The sound of the falls, the breeze drifting across his exposed skin and rustling through his hair. He's not felt that since he was a boy... and what a relief it was. Mari lets herself relax in his arms, listening to the water calmly as she counts his breaths, her body moving slightly as his own breaths make his chest rise and fall. Each one of her own breaths brings a familiar scent. Cool mint, soft lavender... and that one she can't quite place. The same scent from that third night. It was him. His shirt lingered his scent that night. And she'd slept in it every night since. The smell had faded now... but now she knew the source.

They sit there for what feels like hours, but really couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes. She can feel him shift, a hand moving from her side to move to his helmet. "Wait." She stops him, letting her head return to it's upright position, her hands moving to the sides of his face. The familiar abrasive touch of the hair on his chin is met with her hands, causing a small smile. Her fingers then pull his head down slightly so that she can press her lips to his temple. Mari lingers for a moment, his hand returning to her side, a gentle motion to tell her to let go. She does, letting him pull the helmet on once again.

"Open." She does, and the image of what she had imagined in her head is pushed away when the familiar glint of silver reaches her eyes. She gives a meek smile, her hands resting on his arms.

"I couldn't let you miss that." She offers, a thumb running along the fabric of his sleeve. She notices he's in no rush to put his gloves back on, fingers making small shapes along her side.

"I appreciate that. Truly." Despite the modulation of his voice, she can tell he means it.

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

They spend most of the day on that quilt, in the middle of nowhere on a planet neither of them are familiar with. Mari had sat watching clouds roll by as Din sat in a seemingly content meditation. Grogu had fallen asleep not long ago, so the two were debating if they wanted to start to head back. "I think I'd be content if I never left." Mari voices, the other looking to her.

"If only we could." He volunteers, a sigh tagging along with it. He's right. The two of them couldn't stay here. Someone was bound to notice a bright shiny spaceship in the middle of nowhere. She reluctantly gets up looking to the gleaming water once more. "You think the water's cold?" She asks abruptly, Mando following her eyeline to the water. He sits on the idea for a minute before standing up, walking to the water with no inclination of what he's doing."Mando? What are you doing?" He says nothing, causing her to have to get up from the spot they'd not left most of the morning in. He's crouched at the front of the water, ungloved hand dipping into the flowing blue.

"Checking the temperature." He replies, standing up before his foot is pulled up, and his hands move to meet it, untying the laces on his boot and pulling it off. He's not actually...

"You're not actually thinking about it are you?" She asks, arms crossing across her chest. Soon enough, both boots are off and he's got both clothed feet in the water. What on Tatooine is he doing?

"Nope. I'm doing it, there's a difference." He turns to face her, now knee deep in the water before he falls backwards, sinking into the water until he's chest deep.

"You're going to get your helmet wet, Mando." She scolds, moving to sit at the shoreline.

"Impermeable. One of the benefits of beskar." He's got a response for everything, doesn't he? "Come in. Answer your own question."

She looks at him with her legs crossed under her. She swallows harshly before looking to the top of the falls, and then to the man mingling in the water. It's a beautiful location, she's beyond grateful for the experience but...

"I don't want to be wet on the walk back."

"Is that what's stopping you?" Her eyes move away from him as he moves to swim towards the shore, starting to climb out of the water. When she turns back to look at him, water is dripping from him, and what once were bagging clothes were now clinging to every part they could. Her stomach does a somersault at the sight, jumping when he speaks again. "Mari." She quickly scrambles to her feet, arms moving back to her chest with a grunt.

"I can't swim." She grumbles, and Din suddenly has a moment of clarity. She grew up on a desert planet. There were hundreds of moisture farms to make up for the lack of water. Of course she's never learned to swim, she wasn't expected to have to face such a thing. He's now on the shore and looking at her. Blue eyes look to the slit in the visor with hesitation. "There was no point to learn on Esno." He's quiet, only before an overly smart response comes from him.

"So why were you on Trask?" Mari nearly snickers at his question, a smirk on her lips.

"You gonna look for a princess who can't swim on a planet that's mostly water?" His eyebrows rise at her question, and he gives a nod.

"Smart girl." He takes a step and then holds out a bare hand to her. "Unfortunately, you're around me now. You should know the basics, in case of an emergency." Din can see the fear that sparks at the idea of getting into the water. She's only ever known showers and ultrasonic varieties. Not being submerged in it.

"Mando... I..." She's holding herself tighter, and he slowly moves to take her hand, pulling it away from her body. Fingers wrap around her own with reassurance.

"I'm not going to let you drown. Your head will never go under the water. I promise." As she gives a reluctant nod, she notices the thread that's slowly being woven. It's built with letters, and wraps around them with colors of trust intertwining them.

I promise.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian smut #mandalorian fanfiction #mando fanfic #mando smut #mandalorian fanfic #din djarin #din djarin fanfic #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin smut #Star Wars fanfic

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scandalsavagefanfic · 5 years ago

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DC Kink Meme Prompts List

Since the kink meme is getting a lot of attention and growing daily, I thought I’d post a convenient place where I can keep track of the prompts that I’d like to see filled again. I figure you’re all here because we share similar interests and this way, if you’re a writer with looking for a prompt, you don’t have to scroll through the almost 400 prompts that are currently posted.

So here we go. Beware, this is a kink meme. These are nsfw and some may be triggering.

JayDick Watersports - Filled HERE

sub!Jason & Dom!Dick are in a consensual D/s relationship that has a heavy Master/slave dynamic (whether 24/7 or primarily during sex is up to you!). They're on a stakeout one night, and it's really cold, and, aw, fuck, Dick needs to piss, but he doesn't want his dick to freeze. Good thing he's got his bitch there with him, right? Dick pissing in Jay's ass preferred just to show the level of not caring about Jay's comfort [it's still cold!], but totally not gonna complain about piss drinking, either, if Dick's feeling a little more charitable. Is Jay surprised because it's the first time Dick has done this? Is this a normal, expected duty that he performs regularly? That's up to you!

Tim/Jason A/B/O - Filled

In an A/B/O world where omegas are in charge and alphas are treated like animals, or kept as pets, CEO Tim decides to treat himself to a new toy and buys Jason. Feel free to go as wild as you like with the kinks, I'm pretty unsquickable

Tim/Jason Stalker!Tim - Filled on the Meme by anon and HERE (by me)

Older Tim, younger Jason, where Tim's stalking gets a little obsessive once Jason takes over as Robin, and he starts stalking Jason out of costume as well as at night. A little judicious hacking later and he's able to keep an eye on Jason's internet activity too. Once he finds Jason looking at gay porn he knows he's got an in. And he starts blackmailing Jason, online at first, but escalating every time he gets Jason to go a little further, until he gets him to submit in person.

Slade/Dick/Jason - Filled amazingly HERE

Dick's been with Slade for a while, and now that he's stopped fighting and given into his training, Slade thinks he deserves a reward. Every good boy deserves a puppy, and Batman's new Robin looks like he could fit the role perfectly.

Jason Todd - Object Insertion - Filled on the meme (art)

Honestly, that's all I've got for you. I just want someone making Jason take things up his ass that have no business being there. Consensual or not are both fine! Any ship, though definitely a strong preference for Roy, Slade, Tim, Kyle, Dick, Roman or Ra's. Preferably not underage, but I'm not entirely opposed.

Ra's/Jason - Filled HERE

Ra's test drives an undunked Jason. The boy must be useful for something, after all, and he looks so pretty in chains. ABO welcome.

Prompt- Pegging (Jason) - Filled HERE

Jason gets pegged by one (or more ;)) of the lovely ladies of the DC universe. And enjoys it thoroughly Pairing is dealer's choice. <3

Bruce/Jason

Bruce takes in Jason off the streets, but more for use as a personal whore than to be Robin. Bonuses for Bruce still adopting Jason and getting off on fucking his son. EXTRA bonus points for Alfred's unfazed acceptance/support of it and perhaps even his participation.

Jason Todd Intercrural Sex - Filled on meme

This man deserves more thigh fucking and so do we! All ships welcome!

No Title - Bruce/Jason, Dick finds out Bruce has been sexually abusing Jason

One of the other prompts made me realize that while there are a lot of fics where Jason discovers Bruce has been abusing Dick, there are none the other way around and suddenly I have a craving. So I would like for Dick to find out (maybe right after Jason returns, Dick catches them and overhears Bruce say something to indicate it used to happen regularly) that Bruce had been sexually abusing Jason since the moment he found him and try to save him. And like, because of his background as a child prostitute, Jason kind of thinks it's normal or that it's the only way he could earn love? Maybe Bruce implies that Jason is useless otherwise and he'd end up back on the streets if he's not useful. Maybe Bruce is even happy to point out that the reason he never even considered touching the others is because they were too good for it, pure and wholesome, while Jason was ruined goods.

Dick/Jason fuck-or-die bottom!Jay

I would absolutely kill to see a fic where Dick is forced to fuck Jason (for whatever reason but preferably not due to sex pollen/aphrodisiacs/drugs - I would prefer if they were both in their right minds please) Preferably they wouldn't be in a relationship or have secret feelings for each other and this would be mutual noncon/rape with a focus on how horrified they are that they're having to do this to each other. I would really, really like if it was bottom!Jason for this, but that there is acknowledgement that Dick is being raped here too!

Skeezy Ric Grayson

One specific fic I read has completely coloured my perception of Ric, and now I'm just desperate to see him being a total creep. Perving on his siblings and former friends. Would love to see him not take no for an answer, especially with someone who doesn't want to fight back because "it's still Dick in there somewhere, I can't hurt him" or something like that. Preference for Wally (HiC who?) or Jason, but Tim, Roy, Babs or Donna would be okay, too! A/B/O with Alpha!Ric would be a bonus but isn't necessary.

Cassie/Rose bondage spanking and D/s, semi-dubious consent

Cassie has had enough of Rose mouthing off and causing trouble, so she ties her up with her lasso and lectures her. Rose mockingly asks her if she’s going to spank her for being a bad girl, and much to her surprise, Cassie does. They both enjoy it much more than expected

Nyssa/Talia

Nyssa/Talia, set post-Death and the Maidens, Talia restrained while Nyssa gets her off, begging to be allowed to reciprocate. Bonus points for twisty fucked up Nyssa POV with all kinds of big global megalomaniacal justifications for what she's doing and how important it is to the greater good. (Reposted from old DC kinkmeme)

Jason Todd/Dick Grayson/Roy Harper/Koriand’r

Kori loves watching her subs play with each other and rewards them well for good behavior

JayTim hatesex

Jason and Tim having incestuous-sibling-rivalry-hate-sex against the memorial

Any Bats/???, Alfred has to clean up

Poor Alfred often gets stuck cleaning up the mess when any of the family bring partners over. The crackier the circumstances the better!

Slade/Jason identity porn

Slade and Jason fuck while in costume as and pretending to be Batman and Nightwing respectively

Kyle Rayner/any

Kyle winds up working as a stripper somehow. Some other heroes find out and pay him a visit

Batfam/Jason; non con or resigned-to-his-fate cumdumpster!Jason

Could also be Earth-3 Owlfam/Jason. A/B/O welcome but it doesn't have to be. Would appreciate any one or combination of the following: dehumanization/objectification, humiliation, public sex, breeding kink, restraints, fucking machines, cum enemas, lots of cum in general, size kink... I just want something unapologetically filthy. I'm pretty much good with everything but scat.

Dick/Tim non/dub-con, universe hopping

Dark Dick from a dark universe ends up in the main universe, where he is delighted to find a brand new Timmy to play with, who unconditionally trusts his brother and doesn't know he's been replaced. Cue Dick slowly luring him in so he can have his fun. Tim doesn't realize until it's too late, or doesn't realize at all and has no idea how his beloved older brother could do this to him. Main universe has fully platonic, familial relationships within in the batfam. Feel free to imply/state anything you like about the dark universe. Grooming/slowly warming Tim up to more and more touches, crying, overstimulation, bondage, or any combination thereof are all bonuses

Young Justice S3 Dick/Jason omegaverse

Alpha!Dick Grayson is stuck on a mission and somehow has to help the mysterious Red-Hooded omega through his heat. But they have to stay quiet in order to not wake the pup Damian sleeping right next to them. Preferably there's an identity reveal in there where Dick finds out the omega is Jason Todd under the mask.

Addict!Roy Harper Noncon

Noncon (or possibly dubcon, if the manipulation is clear enough to readers) with Snowbirds Don't Fly era!Roy Harper as the victim. Could be an OC, another Titan, a Leaguer, a canon villain... Dealer's choice! Looking for something that really focuses on how he's being taken advantage of, rather than just "can't technically consent because he's high, but is totally into it."

Woder Woman/Batman, Rough Sex

Bruce loves it when Diana is rough with him

Bane/Bruce, violent noncon

Something set during Knightfall, where Bane decides to take “breaking the Bat” even further by raping Bruce and possibly also his precious little Robin

Jay/Tim bdsm AU, sub Jay

What it says on the tin. Was thinking maybe also an arranged marriage of sub Jason to dom Tim Drake, to cement a business union but also because subs aren’t full citizens.

Robin!Jason/Bruce Somnophilia

Bruce drugs his new little Robin and slips into his room. He takes his time with him, enjoying Jason before carefully opening and fucking him. Would be great if Jason wakes up towards the end but can't do anything but take it- maybe because of the drugs, maybe because of the way Bruce is holding him down, or even because he likes it.

Sidekicks/Villains noncon glory wall

Any sidekicks you want—Speedy, the Robins and Batgirls, Kid Flash and Impulse, the Wonder girls, etc.—being displayed in a glory wall, leaving their holes open for fucking. Interested villains can pay to fuck any hole they desire, and they enjoy wrecking the sidekicks and filling them with come

Robin!Jason/Villains & Henchmen?

Robin Jason gets captured and tied up by the villain of the week, who decides to take advantage of the situation. Robin is blindfolded and groped/fucked by the villain and maybe some henchmen while waiting for Batman to rescue him. Batman finding a bound and blind Jay too tempting to resist is a bonus.

Dickjay daddy kink

Older! Dick and bottom! Jason. Jason came back years later and Dick is around 40.

OmegaJason/Batfam first heat, lactation

It's Jason's first heat and the alphas of the pack know that his milk is on its way soon. All it needs is a little encouragement. A few knots and some nipple play should do it. His milk tastes perfect as it starts to flow.

Jason/Dick, Jason/RomanSionis, Hooker!Jason & Officer Grayson

So this is based off a discussion from AGES ago in the jayroman discord server that I still think about to this day XD A no capes au in which Jason never gets picked up by Bruce and ends up a crime alley prostitute who somehow along the way caught the eye of Black Mask and winds up working for him. And Black Mask has basically the whole city in his pocket, including the police force, which is why it’s so annoying when this little upstart, Officer Dick Grayson, starts to try to challenge his hold on the city, the little goody two-shoes denying any and all bribes and refusing to back down in the face of threats. And it should be easy to squash one annoying little bug, but somehow all attempts have failed and he can’t openly go after him without risking his reputation as a clean, law-abiding businessman, a reputation that’s slowly starting to unravel thanks to the dogged efforts of Officer Grayson, because the little shit is annoyingly not as stupid as his attempts to go after Roman would make him seem and despite all of Roman’s power and having basically the entire police force and the various other government officials Roman has in his pocket against him, he has made far too much headway in his endeavors So Roman gives Jason the job of seducing Dick, because if bribery and threats don’t work, video evidence of an officer fucking an underage hooker makes excellent blackmail material, and should be enough to take him down for good if he ever steps a toe out of line again Except no matter how Jason tries to seduce him, Dick is just too decent a guy to take advantage (Ex: Jason: *shows up wearing even more revealing clothes than the night before.* Dick: “You must be cold, here, take my jacket.” etc.) And before he knows it, Jason finds himself growing weirdly fond of the infuriating idiot with his stupid puns and painful sincerity

Roman Sionis/Jason Todd, AOB noncon impregnation gang rape

Intersex AOB verse. Roman wants to punish and claim the upstart omega, so he plugs Jason’s cunt and lets his men anally rape Jason until the omega begs Roman to breed his pussy

TimKon, a/b/o, alpha!Tim, bottom Conner

Humans have a/b/o. Kryptonians do not. Alpha!Tim thinks that he shouldn't bother Kon about Tim's rut. Kon thinks otherwise. Whether Kon can keep up with Tim (superpowers got to be good for something, right?) or is overwhelmed is up to anon :) I am absolutely unsquickable so whatever extra kinks are fine with me. Just please top!Tim only. Please, my crops are dying.

past romanjay now mobJay, gangbang

After getting tired with his new toy, Roman decided to just give his subordinates a chance to have fun with it. But mostly he just want to see the red hood to get more humiliated after destroying his empire.

Damian Wayne/Jason Todd, bestiality

It's time for Damian to introduce his new acquired pet to the pack, Titus and Ace.

Tim gags and spanks Damian

Red Robin has to take Robin out on patrol because Batman is away, Damian is reckless and keeps disobeying orders so Tim punishes him while having him gagged for being mouthy. can progress to something more sexual but doesn't have to be. Damian secretly enjoying it is a bonus.

Deathstroke/All the Robins

Slade really has a thing for fighting and chasing after Batbrats…

Rose/Jason mommy kink edging and pegging

Jason wants to be a good boy for mommy, Rose rewards his good behavior

Jason Todd/Kyle Rayner hatesex - Filled

I’d love some rough, angry, violent hatesex between these two. Bonus points for snarky asshole bottom!jason and kyle using his ring to make restraints/other kinky constructs ;)

Flashpoint!Father Todd/Incubus!Dick

Incubus!Dick seduces Father Todd. Jason holds out longer than most but Dick prides himself on being irresistible. He’s never failed before and he doesn’t plan to start now. But maybe, instead of his usual dine-and-ditch MO, Dick think’s he might like to savor this meal for long. Jason falls so beautifully. (bottom Jason please) Catholic aesthetics, blasphemy as kink, church sex (altar, confessional, pews, etc)

Flashpoint Thomas Wayne/Father Todd

Thomas Wayne as Batman bends Father Todd over the altar. In uniform. (At least for Thomas. It would be super hot if he strips Father Todd out of his robes first. Maybe everything except his rosary?)

Jason/Tim rape

Tim ties down Jason and rides(rapes) him. Pls let Tim use Jason as nothing but a mere meat dildo.

Titans/Dick, Titans/Jason, Titans/Tim consensual gangbang - Filled

The not-so-secret tradition of team bonding by fucking the current Bat on the Teen Titans is well-adhered to, especially given the enthusiastic consent of all participants Feel free to include any or all: garden sex, pool sex, power use, DP, riding, pegging, toy use, CBT, nipple play, cockwarming, CFNM/CMNM, and consensual somno All other kinks welcome excluding scat, watersports, emeto, ageplay, vore, and anything else bloody

Thomas Elliot/Bruce Wayne (Rape/Non-con)

Bruce doesn't realise how obsessed Thomas really is with him. Leads to Hush raping Bruce. Can be when Bruce knows who Hush is or when he still doesn't know.

Evil!Dick and Jason, noncon or dubcon

Jason comes back to his safehouse and is surprised to find Dick already there. After the initial surprise, Jason is quick to find out that there's something... off, about this Dick. He's not acting like his usual self. It turns out this isn't the usual Dick that Jason is familiar with, instead, he is a darker version of him (drugged? Talon from Earth-3 that somehow ends up in the main universe? other possibilities? all welcome options!), and this Dark!Dick is obsessed with Jason and wants to fuck him... and he doesn't take no for an answer. So there's a setup for a non-con or dub-con(in case Jason also has a crush on main Dick) for you. Restraints (gags, ropes, tapes etc.) are also welcome but doesn't have to be present.

Kon-El/Lex Luthor Daddy Kink DubCon

Lex genetically programmed Kon to need his daddy to fill him up when he created him. Lex made Kon to check all his boxes (ie Superman, something he made, a gifted teenager). Kon can’t actually consent because of programming, and he doesn’t want it until he’s getting it. Can be simple daddy kink or full of abdl. Bonus points for trans!Kon

Guy Gardner/Bunch of Aliens possible Dubcon/Noncon

Macho, hotheaded, shit-talking Guy is the embodiment of hyper-masculinity, and that arrogance of his gets him into a lot more than just a bar fight. All of Guy's enemies seem to be of the huge, muscular variety, so let's see the most stocky lantern get put in his place. Does he secretly love it? Does he outright hate it? Maybe all that shit-talking was just a ploy to finally get someone to "punish" him right. The choice is up to you. Maybe it's a bunch of random aliens Guy's ticked off in a bar. Maybe all that showboating's pissed off Kilowog or Arkillo. Maybe Lobo's still put out after being tricked one too many times by Guy. Perhaps, Atrocitus's still kinda harboring a grudge for Guy kicking him out of the Red Lanterns. Then there's always the way too touchy Dementor with his Vuldarian kin. I'm all for any other kinks or situations, I just would prefer no bathroom stuff. Go absolutely wild.

Black Mask/anyone, bathroom control, omorashi - Filled on meme

I'm a simple person with simple needs: Roman controlling whether or not someone's allowed to piss. can be consensual or noncon torture, the victim can end up pissing themselves or make it to the bathroom safely. just as long as Roman's in total control of the situation, and smug about it. bonus points: tears, begging, banter, degradation, embarrassment, additional torture, anything else along those lines. watersports only, please, no scat!

Roy Clones/Dick gangbang omegaverse

YJ season 3 episode 4 has excellent gangbang material just so you know Add omegaverse to it and its perfect Noncon/dubcon is accepted also

Titans/Jason Gangbang

Prefer comics based more than the show but either is fine. Dick and his friends welcome the new Robin the Titans way, by breaking in that hole. New kid is always the team toy, and it's even more fun now that it's Nightwing's bratty kid brother. Consensual or non con, dealer's choice. Double (or triple) penetration, dirty talk, and powers used for sex are favorite kinks but I'm good with pretty much anything.

Willis Todd/Jason Todd, Mob/Jason; Incest and forced underage prostitution

Willis pimps out his kid for cash and drugs. Catherine either pretends she doesn't know or knows and helps/doesn't care. And like any good salesman, he makes sure to test out his product to make sure it's up to snuff.

Make it cruel and awful and hopeless. Dehumanizing and degrading. Jason is just a hole to sell and use. belting in sensitive areas, beatings, violent sex, cum play, blood play... I just want something dark and nasty.

____________________________________________________

Woo! Ok. I’ll try to keep this up the best I can. I’ll link/mark when prompts are filled so that you guys can check it out if you want (all filled prompts can be reached by the link in the title, but some have ao3 links that I put on the “Filled” note).

I’ll also reblog this with any new prompts that come up or if I find I’ve forgotten one.

#DC Kink Meme #long post #too many things to tag #content and trigger warnings apply to some of the prompts #enter at your own risk #mostly Jason Todd centric #but others that I liked too

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