#i shall peel back more layers to see the real him

[brownnipple-s]

My coworker be fucking me with his eyes.

[arealphrooblem]

Retirement

Synopsis: After years of building his criminal empire, Villain has only one desire left: to walk away, preferably with his spy and the only person he trusts.

The exhaustion that had hounded and haunted him steadily for years finally came to a head at a little villa in Tuscany. The quiet murmur of an engagement party echoed behind him as he leaned against the railing of the balcony, taking in the glowing sunset that everyone else seemed content to ignore. Every so often he would sneak glances at his spy, stunning in an elegant off shoulder gown he picked for her, as she worked the crowd.

She had been pulling off the act of her life for close to a decade, pretending to be his young, beautiful, sweet but clueless wife at functions like these, gathering intel that he later used to brutal efficiency in his deals with the major players of the underworld.

Fondness blooms in his chest, a stubborn steady heat not unlike the Tuscan sun, at the sight of her giggling with father of the bride to be, plying him with more wine and loosening that tongue. Suddenly the lack of her attention felt unbearable.

“Darling,” he called, catching her eye immediately. No matter how distracted she seemed on the surface, she always had a preternatural awareness of her surroundings, including him.

“Come look at this sunset before it slips away.” He beckoned her to him and she excused herself with a bashful smile. The man she spoke to looked over at Villain with an appraising eye, as if smelling a weakness in their love.

His spy sauntered over to him with natural catlike grace that he never failed to appreciate, leaning to kiss him on the cheek. They long since dispensed with the awkwardness of causal public intimacy. Even so, Villain felt a tiny flutter in his chest each time she did so.

“Did you find anything of interest?” he murmured, gazing out at the clouds.

She leaned their arms together, brushing her nose against his ear. Gooseflesh ripped down his arm, hidden safely underneath his linen button down.

“He jokes about the mounting cost of the wedding. I think some of his investments hadn’t borne the fruit he thought they did. And his daughter plans to drain him of quite a lot of money for her nuptials. He will be vulnerable to buy out a couple months after.”

The way she could calculate so much on such little information made her priceless beyond measure to him. Many other criminal kingpins have tried to poach her over the years, but she remained loyal to him. He wondered what made him so deserving but never dared to ask.

Then she giggled, part of the facade of the mooning couple, and nudged his shoulder with hers.

“You look tired, sir,” she said, her voice light but her gaze serious. The only person who could see through his mask. “Shall we retire in a giggling fit and let them make their own conclusions?”

“You know me so well,” he said, offering her a wan smile.

They made their excuses, his hand just low enough on the small of her back to broadcast a certain message behind their early departure. He wondered, as they drove back to the hotel, if she knew what very real feelings smoldered in his guarded heart. It wouldn’t surprise him, as so little escaped her notice. But if she did suspect, she never acted upon it or so much as hinted at it.

Their hotel rooms connected through a door in the middle. His spy peeled off to her room in the hallway, always desperate to change out of her dresses and wipe off her makeup in the shower. Left to her own devices, she never cared much for primping or enhancing her appearance. But as his “wife” she chose to look as close to the feminine ideal so coveted by the petty, shallow men of his rivals.

Villain found her stunning either way, but he much preferred seeing her in her natural state. The two of them lived under a series of masks and layers. To see underneath even one of them showed a trust that few on this Earth would experience.

He leaned back in the arm chair in the sitting room, nursing two fingers of fine whiskey, a bottle of red wine waiting for her with an empty glass. The exhaustion tugged at him. For years, playing the game, teasing power and wealth with each victory, fueled him. But now the thought of continuing felt overwhelming. At forty three, he was not old, but the thought of continuously spending all this energy to stay on top, to keep the throne he built for himself, felt like a young man’s game anymore.

“What’s wrong?”

His spy made no sound as she stepped light as a cat over the wood floors. She squeezed the ends of her hair with a towel, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Are you getting sick,” she asked again, settling into the chair next to him.

He shook his head, reaching over to pop open the wine bottle and pour her a glass.

“No, I’m not sick,” he said, handing it to her.

She accepted it with a skeptic hum, eyebrows raised. After a generous sip she set it back down and returned to drying her hair, a ritual he had witnessed many times before and yet now enchanted him. Her hair had a natural wave to it before she attacked it with products and a straightener.

“I’m thinking we should buy out his jewelry business first,” she said, back to business. “It’s newer and created by him and not inherited so he will have less sentimentality about it. Plus I would bet my life half his stock at least comes from the black market so we will gain all those contacts.”

“That is if the wedding breaks him and if he can be blackmailed to sell and if someone doesn’t get to him first and all of that remains months away.”

“Always stay five steps ahead. Is that not our creed?”

She took another sip of wine, the look in her eyes edging on concern. He ignored it, knocking back the rest of his whiskey and focusing his gaze on the flames in the fireplace. After one minute or several minutes — his mind terribly far away — the touch of fingers on his chin, firm and guiding, snapped him from his thoughts and forced his gaze to hers.

“Out with it,” she said softly.

It should terrify him how easily his mask breaks with her. How transparent it has become. Her mask remained like frosted glass, where he could see the shapes of her emotions and take an educated guess. But him? She peered through him as if he were a stream of clear mountain water.

“Does this not ever get tedious for you?” he asked. “This game. These plans. The work never stops.”

Her tranquil mask stayed firmly fixed but he noticed some tension in the rigid line of her jaw.

“Those kinds of thoughts are not a luxury I can indulge in,” she said carefully after several long moments. “The work must be done, regardless of how it makes me feel. The alternative is so much worse than tedium.”

“If you could indulge in that line of thinking, how would it make you feel?” he asked, persistent. A dog with a bone.

She licked her lips, a rare nervous tick, drawing his attention to the traces of blood red lipstick still in the crease of her skin.

“How does it make you feel?” she asked instead. Always taking her guidance from him. Always following in his shadow.

“I feel . . .like retiring.” He finally admitted.

Her eyebrows jumped up her forehead. It wasn’t often that he could surprise her anymore, but this took her aback.

“Retirement? At our age?”

Perhaps she did feel different, ten years his junior and still out for blood.

“My empire is built. There is nothing left to do but maintain it. And lately the thought of that is just . . .exhausting. I find myself thinking of just walking away.”

Horror broke past her mask before she tamped it down. “You can’t just leave.”

Me. The word hung unspoken in the air between them, thick and heavy with the childhood pain she would only admit to in hints and whispers. And he could only hear it because of how twined their lives had become, the very real intimacy in a false marriage.

“I can and I will,” he replied. “I have more than enough wealth to last me the rest of my life. I will gladly hand my empire over to you and squash any that threaten your leadership. I would only ever be a phone call away for you.”

Deep unhappiness twists in the lines of her forehead, in the corners of her mouth. “I thought we were partners.”

“You are more than capable of running things yourself. You rule from the shadows as it is.”

Anger flashed in her eyes. The Villain was a cruel man by necessity and habit and he indulged in it now, a final test. A way to gauge her reaction to his next offer. So far the thought of being apart from him seemed unbearable to her. How far would that loyalty extend? Did she only care when it gave her more power? Would she mourn the loss of him or the loss of their success?

 “Is that what you want? To abandon everything we’ve worked for and leave me stuck to clean up the resulting mess?”

Only one person in the entire world was allowed to speak to him with such disrespect and get away with it and this was the first time she used such an opportunity.

“What I want,” he said slowly, “is to live in peaceful solitude in a cabin in the Swiss Alps. To see people only in the market. To walk a rambling trail out to a crystal clear lake any time I wanted.”

He took a calculated risk — his favorite hobby — and clasped her hand in his. “And I want you to come with me.”

Bare longing crossed her face, more intimate than if he had actually seen her naked body.

“And what would I spy on out there in the middle of the mountains,” she whispered.

“My wife would not need to spy on anything. She could spend her days however she liked.”

The implications were bright, as if he lit them with neon, but she stubbornly refused to look.

“You want to keep up this charade even in retirement? Be something for old ladies to gossip about in town?”

“The charade doesn’t interest me. I much prefer authenticity.”

Her gaze bore a hole in him, trying to piece it together. Purposefully obtuse.

“I need you to spit it out in plain English,” she said, voice shaking ever so slightly.

No more hiding for either of them, it seemed.

“I want to marry you. No play-acting — the real thing.”

“Why?” She looked so lost, so off-kilter. Her perfect mask crumbling in the face of such unpredictability.

He pressed a kiss, lingering and tender, on her bare knuckles.

 “Why? What do you think drives a man to wish to marry?”

“Many reasons — cover, business, security, continuing family lines —“

“I love you,” he said.

She stared at him in uncharacteristic shock. “The terror of the criminal underworld — talking about marriage and love. You must be joking.”

“I’m not.”

Her gaze flickered over him as precise as a scalpel, dissecting him for motive, for the slightest hint of insincerity, and he offered himself up gladly to her scrutiny.

“Why me?” she finally asks, rare and precious vulnerability slipping out. He treasures it more than gold.

“Who else could it be?” He flipped her hand over, tracing the life lines with the tip of his finger. He does not miss her soft intake of breath at the touch. “Who else do I trust more than you? Who else commands my respect? Who else knows and understands me? Who else is as brilliant and stunning and perfect as you?”

A bright flush glowed on her cheeks at his praise, so rarely given and never in such abundance. It rendered her speechless and he flinched inwardly at that.

“I realize that I have cultivated myself into a person that never considers love. It’s true that I have not felt it in a long time. But I assure you that I would not pull you into a cold marriage devoid of affection. If, of course, it’s possible you should even want such an arrangement.”

What a humiliatingly stilted proposal. He used to pride himself on his ability for smooth negotiations but in the face of her, in the stakes of their potential happiness, he retreats back into a stumbling teenager.

She, in her rare shows of kindness, reached out and cupped his face. Her fingers feel cool against his face — dear God was he blushing?

“It’s possible,” she said softly.

He swallowed, feeling like a boy again, heart pounding treacherously in his chest. “Is that a yes?”

She tucks a stray lock behind his ear, fingernail catching on the shell of it, and desire swooped low in his stomach.

“I get to pick out my ring,” she told him.

He smiled, small and genuine and rusty. “Anything you want.”

She matched him with a smile of her own. “I like the sound of that.”

[deliverred]

...and then there were four.

like clockwork, the weasel cabin grows quieter each week, with this one becoming more dangerously still. not even the guise of a grand finale can mask the unsettling feeling of watching their numbers dwindle ( and all this talk of a ringmaster doesn't help any, either. )

"you know, it wasn't so bad out there," dorothea says airily, trying for a smile. "granted, we were given soapy drinks and chased through a labyrinth by something that couldn't take a joke...but see? not so much as a scratch." both arms are held out to prove a point.

"forde and i made the most of your advice. we were plenty cautious out there." despite everything, she allows herself a small laugh. "maybe a tad too much, even. but we're here now. a handful of weasels is better than no weasels at all, right?"

dorothea's voice trails off, the light-heartedness now replaced by a more somber demeanor.

"though i suppose you’ve already guessed that’s not the real reason i’ve come here." a pause ; she hesitates briefly. "if i may, lukas? you've earned the team's respect. i think a rally from you might do wonders for morale, considering the current state of things."

She's attempting to put on an act here. He's not sure he understands why she feels the need, but he would not deny her whatever rituals she desired to get through this upcoming week.

"I am relieved you both were able to return unharmed," his tone is gentle, tired gaze observing the young woman before him. No wounds, just as she said -- but he knew well, not all damages were physical. Some were in your head, your heart, your spirit. "I am sorry if my...words and advice did not serve you well. I feel as if I've made several costly miscalculations as of late, and I apologize that they have fallen back on you and the others."

He is tired, yet he cannot rest. This is not over yet, and even if the odds are not in their favor, to give up is unacceptable when they can still put forth some kind of effort.

"We're here now...," he echoes, letting the background noise of the ocean crashing against the shore fade until it was but a thrum in his veins. He pulls in a breath through his nose, holds it a moment before fully meeting her gaze with his own. There is no smile this time, no mask in place, merely the reserved relentlessness that had seen him through to this point.

"I fear you may be asking the wrong person for this, Miss Dorothea; I am not a man with which passion stirs easily, nor do I think I could blow such life into the embers of our team."

Did they see differently than he? If they peeled back the layers of steel, would they see something in the hollow space he feels at his center? A spark of light, of warmth, in the darkness?

Or would they see nothing but a hollow echo of what it means to live?

"But I shall see what I can do. Please, try to get some rest while we still have the time."

[upwards-descent]

Questing

Benjamin let out a weary sigh as he plunged his blade into the dirt, plopping down on the most comfortable looking rock he could find. The usual spray of blood and viscera was absent from his armor, instead replaced with bone-deep aching. Hours of cutting through animated trees had been necessary to gain access to the forest's heart. Some poor soul had become twisted with grief after death, taking refuge in the woods that'd been their home, bringing the flora to life imbued with necromantic anguish. A little exorcism ended the ordeal but gods, was he exhausted.

"O' seraphim who peers from beyond," Benji began to recite, peeling off his helmet with a huff and laying it nearby. He slid onto his knees in the grass, hands clasped, head bowed. "I beseech thine council...."

The world went black. And then there was light.

"Great work, Ben. You did good."

Raising his head and opening his eyes, the aasimar rose to his feet and gave his patron a slight bow. The column of angelic wings parted slightly, only just revealing a single massive eye.

"That wraith wasn't something to sneeze at. I'm impressed," A ripple moved through the fallen angel, fluffing up their feathers. "You haven't called me in a while. Everything okay?"

"... Yes and no," Benji propped his hands on his hips, heaving another big sigh. "I'm... Something seems to be wrong, I just... Can't diagnose it. I hoped to gain some enlightenment from thou."

"Oh? Let's see here..."

What had been a nice view of infinite clouds and blue skies shrunk down only to Sariel. They flitted around him, studying, examining, absorbing.

"You seem fine, Ben. Is it an internal issue?" Their wings shifted even further, exposing most of that massive red eye. "Oh, gods, are you plagued by something? A stain on your soul?"

"Ehhh," Benjamin shrugged. "Something... Akin to that, yes, my angel," His focus drifted downwards as he absentmindedly stared at his boots. "I feel... Somewhat restless. Or, rather..... Unfulfilled? Bah, I feel a fool for saying such aloud but...."

A gauntlet smoothed back his hair, then stroked at his chin.

"... It isn't as easy as it used to be, sire," Ben added quietly. "Charging into battle, offering a hand to those in need... That was mine greatest passion, and lo... It feels far more like work than it used to..."

"Oh. Oh!"

Sariel glided back, giving their charge some room. As if remembering their shame, their wings closed in again, yet some more confidence leeched into their multi-layered voice.

"You need a muse, Ben," They encouraged. "You've been without a muse for a while now, haven't you?"

Blinking, Benji's lower lip pursed as he nodded, considering the advice.

"It has been... Some time," He raised his head, and some life returned to his ethereal gaze. "I've not taken a real lover in... Pfft, years now? I believe thou speakest in great accuracy, sire," The paladin stood up even straighter. "We both know that is part of my vow, doth we not? To stoke the light within mineself as much as I do others."

"You need a more personal project, yes," Sariel agreed, and even they sounded excited, less nervous. "Take a little break from the grandiose questing, yeah? Do some side gigs, experience the stuff that makes your heart race."

"Thank you, your grace," Benji bowed even deeper than before. Through the illusion of their meeting, he managed to fumble around for his helmet, sliding it on as he spoke with the comedic effect of slightly muffling his voice. "I shan't neglect mine other promises, but this shall be mine goal for now. Peace be with you, master Sariel."

"You, too, Ben. Carpe diem and all that!"

[a-driftamongopenstars]

words with(out) meaning; astarion x oc

slowly making it through bg3, just had the first night between Astarion and my oc Gleam and i am asdfgh ough. OUGH. this is everything!! also on ao3

The sound of song and lute and dance withers as the night moves on. Conversations soften and disappear, too, and it is then that Gleam finds a quiet way into the nearby grove, knowing Astarion awaits him there.

They did not imagine their night would end this way, and yet they cannot help but savour the success of it, savour Astarion's kisses on their lips, his eyelashes fluttering as Gleam's fingers draw down his chest. 

“I am glad you made good on your promise. Trust me, my love, you shall not regret a bit of it.”

Sharp tangy wine courses through their veins, burning the tip of their tongue, coating their vision with a gentle hazy reprieve. Astarion’s words slyly make it into their mind, his flirtations beguile them. Lust is pulling, tugging at them inside, burning up, and they want to be the ashes of the aftermath, but not too soon nor too quickly. 

"Pleasure. Our ecstasy." 

The words like a catalyst, their bodies together, Gleam’s hands exploring the newly offered confidence of Astarion's body. The lean muscle, the scarred back, the curve of a neck, all that is below, offered willingly. 

Even in the haze of a deep night, against the moonlight, Astarion looks celestial, yet no creature could be further from that. His eyes are wanton, his mouth is wanting, his weight atop Gleam is promising, and they move their neck in an offering, waiting impatiently for that familiar break of skin and draw of blood. 

Astarion's eyes search their face, and something brings pause to their delight. 

"Why do you look at me so, my dear?" 

"How so?" they smile, brushing knuckles against Astarion’s face.

"Like you wish to see no one else but me. Which, by the by, is not at all unwelcome, but it is a little surprising." 

Gleam laughs, drawing their sharp claws down Astarion's thigh, causing him to rut and shiver for a bare moment. 

"Maybe that's exactly it. Don't care to see anyone else right now." 

Astarion's eyes flicker, his smile withers but for a second. 

"I would certainly hope so, seeing as I have us both in a rather precarious position, quite literally." 

Gleam smiles and reaches out to pluck a dry leaf from Astarion's hair, stealing another touch against his cheek. 

Why does it feel so much more sacred and vulnerable than having his entire body? 

Hesitation, questions fill Astarion's eyes. His brows furrow, yet he does not flinch away. Gleam brings him down on themselves, kissing Astarion, sweet and deep. 

And then they are together. Unrestrained, giving and taking. The grove protects the sounds they intend for each other, the rustle of leaves softens them as they move. Gleam’s eyes close when his neck is fed upon, a sensation that always leaves them wanting more, and more they receive.

Astarion, lost in that very ecstasy he has been craving for, his mouth still reddened by sweet blood, moves to find release. He looks feral, but for someone so unrestrained, his eyes are distant and Gleam cannot help but notice that Astarion is very aware in his love making, too. 

It makes them wonder how many layers they must peel away before Astarion willingly opens his heart to them, heart and soul. And even now it spills through his movements, the real one, that which craves intimacy and love and all of it without taking something in return.

Gleam draws him closer, both arms locking Astarion in their embrace. Encouraging, soothing, whispering in his ear all the sweet nonsense that they feel in their heart, but are too scared to make it real, lest the creature in their arms runs away. 

And ecstasy locks them together entirely, forehead against forehead, Gleam's hand holding Astarion's nape and soothing him. Loving him, as terrified as they might be to admit those words. 

"My love…" Astarion moans, fingers curling into their hair. 

My love, Gleam thinks back, ready to give these words a meaning beyond pleasure. Astarion needs only take it. 

[tightjeansjavi]

oh god the nicknames!!! I’m such a sucker for nicknames, every time he calls her something cute I literally get butterflies 😭😭

And the hand holding tore my heart out but then immediately healed it again. I love touchy Joel. Like we already said, that mans hands are going to be on Gwen somehow, as much as he possibly can. Like even just walking past her, you know his hands are gonna hold onto her waist real quick or brush over her hands. Awwwwww!!!!

I’m absolutely loving this just so much. The way you write Joel is perfect and Gwen is so awesome and them together is so amazing. I can’t wait to read more of it and then also getting to Ellie and the game/show!! I’m so excited about all of it!!

(Also I hope your day is better now! :)) much love!!!

Okay but how about when she calls HIM baby 😭 I just know his ears perked up when he heard her say it for the first time they’re both SO mushy it’s sick

The hand holding and when he gets down on his fucking knees and tells her to not listen to Tess, she’s not dying on his watch but he still wants her to take her time healing and he’ll be there when she’s ready to wake up?? Weird way of proposing but sign me TF UP

This is seriously been such a journey for me writing Joel and peeling back all of his layers 🫠 man’s is a mf onion and he’s come SO far! I’m so glad that you love the way I’ve written him and Gwen holds such a dear place in my heart as well. She’s the badass I wish I was 🥺

Soon we will be meeting Ellie!! After chapter 11! I’m still figuring out how I want to set it up and if I’m just gonna jump right into the events of the show. We shall see ☻

I’m okay now! Just tired lol it was a long day. Thank you for asking anon <3

[mrs-gucci]

I’m going to try come up with other ideas lol but these jumped out at me. I would absolutely use these for something! I’m saving them too because I just might!

But if you feel like it, these combined scenarios could be really fun for a sarcastic, grouchy ass Flip or Kylo AU. It could be anything from enemies to antagonists to the guy being in trouble with you currently from doing stupid shit and trying to make up with you! Anything you think!

your enemy has been badly wounded, and somebody needs to bandage them up, so you agree to help them, and suddenly they're shirtless, and you can't help but admire their body, something this cheeky motherfucker takes notice of

there's only one bed, but this time, they're arguing over who should sleep on the floor, which nobody agrees to, so instead they end up sharing, incredibly annoyed over having to share their space (it’s not like friends to lovers, in which they both awkwardly get into bed. this is straight up just. i will set this bed on fire if you don’t stay on your side)

The Longest Knight {Sir Kylo Ren x Reader}

author's notes: hello, hello! shannon, dear, you always seem to know what I'm in need of when you send requests in. I've been dying for an excuse to write some medieval/knight Kylo, and this fits in perfectly with that AU, so thank you! <3

**THERE ARE SOME DARK(ER) THEMES IN THIS STORY, BUT ONLY AT THE VERY BEGINNING (there’s an indicator of when the dark content ends, in bold, you can’t miss it). PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS AND TW’S BEFORE PROCEEDING!**

warnings: some angst. some gore. some fluff. smut. enemies-with-benefits. sex w/o feelings. kylo is a huge douche (but in, like, a lowkey sexy way). 

tw's: (at the very beginning): dead bodies & blood, vivid depictions of wounds/injuries, brief depictions of battle, implied (battle-related) murder. mentions of sex work (later on in the story, not relating to the reader character).

word count: 4.4k

terms to know: loincloth: groin-covering cloth tied around the waist (literally just underwear). bedswerver: “adulterer” (an insult). mamillare: medieval breast band (bra).

When the sounds of marching footfall, deep cries of manly battle, and shod hooves pounding on the drought-hardened ground had ceased from the air, you saddle your horse and ride out to the far field of your property. 

The putrid smell of rotting flesh hits you before any bodies are even in view. Your prized stallion slows his trot, nostrils flaring and ears perked forward as the scene of battle presents itself to both of you.

He begins to snort and whinny in acute panic at the sight of so many corpses, both human and horse. Your stomach begins to churn, and you can barely bring yourself to look upon the scene as your heel encourages him onward, wanting to make sure there aren’t any surviving soldiers. 

Both sides seem to have suffered great loss, although you’re unsure which corpses belong to which side. The conflict betwixt Alderaan and Naboo has been dragging on much too long, and at the end of the day, is any conflict truly worth all of the lives lost?

You certainly didn’t think so, but perhaps you’re just too close to this war, incapable of having an unbiased opinion due to the loss of your beloved husband at the hands of Sir Kylo Ren, the Alderaanean calvary general and the most feared man across all five kingdoms. 

As you make your rounds to check for survivors, much to the dismay of your steed, you quickly lose almost all hope that anyone laid here ended up surviving the brutality apparently brought down upon them during the fight. 

Suddenly, your horse lifts himself up on hinds legs ever so slightly, jogging in place as a barely-audible groan comes from one of the men. His hand moves ever so slightly, and you quickly rush over to him, dismounting with a small first aid bag.

His helmet is that of a high-ranking official, but on which side he belongs, it’s too hard to tell. Not that it truly matters, you’d take just about any man with the courage to fight these battles.

“Sir?” You say, kneeling down beside the large man. “Do you remember what happened to you?”

He grunts lowly, winter-chapped lips opening in an attempt to speak. “S-Stomach.”

Once your mind registers his husky words, you look down at his abdomen and see that his armor seems to have been compromised in a spot right on the side of his stomach. Fresh blood seeps from the deep wound, and you cringe, grabbing one of the towels from your pack to gently wipe away some of the blood, but the tear in flesh is so deep, it’s impossible to do with just one towel. **dark content warnings ENDS**

“My estate is just a short ride from here. I cannot hold your weight myself, but if you can mount my horse, I will take you back and mend your wounds to the best of my ability.”

The mask nods softly, slowly but surely lifting himself up off the ground, wobbling towards your horse, who snorts nervously. He seemingly understands the severity of the situation, though, and stands still as the knight sits himself on his back. 

From there, he lays back, breath catching in his throat as his injuries are tweaked with each of the horses’ strides. You hold onto the reins, leading your stallion back to the house. 

After quite a bit of maneuvering and a lot of quarreling with the injured knight, you finally manage to set him up the cot in your spare bedroom. He sits down on the chair as you do so, mumbling and grumbling about his pain. You found it quite annoying, really, but you can’t really blame him for acting in such a way.

“You’ll need to remove your armor, sir. I cannot treat your wounds with it on.”

“By God’s bones.” He curses under his breath in annoyance, but stands and removes his body armor nonetheless.

Piece by piece is peeled from his body, his physically intimidating figure revealed slowly to your curious eyes. Only his under-layers were left, soon enough, and you found it a bit odd that he hadn’t taken his helmet off first. You would think that would be a great relief to have the proper air exposure on your face, but you’re not really in a place to make assumptions about that sort of thing.

His brilliantly alabaster skin is severely bloodied, bruised, and badly butchered. He would require quite some time to heal and recover, but if you learned anything from being married to an army man, it’s that they’re all stubborn bastards who never take the proper time to allow time for their bodies to properly heal.

He’s soon fully exposed to you, minus his helmet and threadbare loincloth, and you have to look away quickly as your cheeks heat up. The small garment left very little to the imagination, and this knight was...well endowed, to put it kindly.

Putting your own personal feelings aside for the betterment of the patient, you look back up at him with a small smile. “You may remove your helmet now, good sir.”

“I cannot reach up to grab it from my head.” He says in a flat, unamused voice.

��Of course.” You scold yourself for not thinking of that. “Well, if you lay down on the cot, I shall remove it for you.”

Instead of protest, which is what you expected, he complied with your instructions and laid down on the cot. He grunts satisfyingly at the comfort of a mattress, most likely used to sleeping on the ground.

When you reach for the bottoms of his helmet to pull it off, he suddenly snatches your wrist, stopping you instantly.

“If you need touch me, ask before doing so.” His voice is nothing more than a growl.

You almost roll your eyes, starting to truly become annoyed with this knight. You invited him into your home and you’re willing to be his bedside nurse...and he has the audacity to request something like this.

Again you’re forced to put your personal feelings aside for the sake of your patient and for the maintenance of your bedside manner, forcing a smile onto your face. “With all due respect, sir, I’m your nurse for the time being. I will be needing to touch you quite often. Am I really expected to ask each and every time?”

“Yes.” He replies.

Your jaw clenches and you wish nothing more in this moment than to smack this man right across the face.

“Fine. May I please remove your helmet?”

Sparing you the assurance of a vocal reply, the mask simply nods, and you pull it over his head. When the face of your patient is revealed to your eyes, you’re appalled.

It’s Sir Kylo Ren...the man that murdered your husband.

You drop the helmet onto the ground, metal clattering as it rocks back and forth once it’s settled in one spot on the hardwood. This can’t be real.

He snarls. “Why are you looking upon me with that expression? Have you never seen a man before? I have wounds that need tended to, girl, and I’d like to be out of here before sundown.”

Anger begins to boil your blood, tears burning in your eyes as you look down at the man before you.

“You bastard.” Your hand raises, ready to strike him clean against the cheek. He catches your fist in his hand before you can, though.

“I wouldn’t, if I were you.” Kylo warns, squeezing your fist. “I’ll have to have you beheaded for hitting an army man, and your head is much too pretty to be put to such waste.”

You snort, yanking yourself from his grip, teeth gritting as you walk out to fetch all the medical supplies. He’s wearing a cocky expression when you walk back in.

“I recognize you.” He says.

You huff, unamused. “How could you possibly recognize me? We’ve never met.”

His lips curl up into a devious smirk. “You’re right, we haven’t met before, but I recognize you from your husband’s description. I asked him what you looked like, since he was babbling on and on about you.”

You freeze up, bottom lip beginning to quiver as Sir Kylo continues.

“Then I drove my blade straight through his pathetic chest, and later that night, I touched myself as I thought of you.”

He chuckles deviously.

“Bedswerver!” You yell, cocking your fists once more and lunging at him, ready to strike once more. But then, you stop yourself, knowing the consequences you’d surely face should you actually hit him. 

Your fists lower and you simply say nothing, preparing the cloths in the warm water. The tears run down your cheeks on their own volition, but you quickly wipe them away before turning back towards him. 

“He wasn’t worthy of your company, Y/N.” Kylo says as you begin to clean the wounds on his stomach. “And he clearly didn’t satisfy you in the way you needed, considering the manner in which you looked over my body when I took my armor off.”

His hand reaches around and squeezes your ass, making you jump. 

“How long has it been, little lamb? A young woman like you shouldn’t have to live without a man to satisfy her aching need.”

You can’t pretend that you’re not aroused by his words, by his touch. But you’d never let him have you, not in a thousand years. So, you quickly swat his hand away and continue cleaning his wounds. “That’s none of your concern, Sir Kylo. I am perfectly content without a man and that’s all I’m going to say on the matter.”

He laughs. “That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one. I bet you’re aching right now, just from my words and my simple touch.”

Before he can touch you further, you back away, limbs trembling with anger and frustration. You dunk the bloody rag back into the bowl of water, ring it out a bit, then throw it onto his chest.

“Clean the wounds yourself, since you can obviously move your hands and arms perfectly fine.” You say, wiping your own on a dry cloth. “I’ll be back to bandage you in a bit.”

“Don’t think of me too much, lamb. You’ll release too quickly.” He snickers as you slam the door shut behind you, bursting into tears the moment you step foot into your bedroom.

You sob quietly, the freshly-healed stitches of your heart popping open one at a time, the grief and pain of losing your beloved consuming you once more. 

And now you’re here, mending his killer.

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

It takes everything you have, every ounce of willpower, to wake up and face Sir Kylo every single day. You know you’re doing the right thing by helping him, but that doesn’t make dealing with him any easier.

He’s impossibly stubborn, arrogant beyond comprehension, and increasingly grumpy. But, you just have to keep going, keep pushing through, reminding yourself that each day brings you closer and closer to his inevitable departure.

You’ve all but blocked out his inappropriate and antagonizing comments or remarks, just getting his bandages replaced and then leaving the room as quickly as possible.

Today, though, he’s achieved a new level of jackassery, a thing you thought impossible until he did it. And boy, did he do it.

“I’ve made arrangements for a few whores to come and provide me some...company.”

Your fist tightens around the bandage in your hand. He smirks.

“You’re more than welcome to join us. There’s plenty of me to go around, little lamb. You’ll get your turn.”

“No, thanks. I think I’d rather stab myself with a sword.” You reply, beginning to switch out his bandages. “You’re lucky I’m even allowing it to occur in my house.”

He just chuckles. “You’d probably be bad, anyway.”

You suddenly rip the bandage off of his skin, causing him to cry out in pain. He looks at you, and you glare down at him. “Just...can you please just stop talking for once in your life? Must you always berate me when all I’ve done over the past few weeks is take care of you? Is this what kindness, genuine kindness, gets me?”

He suddenly seems to sober up, to let what he’s done to you sink in. It doesn’t last long, but you still see it. Perhaps he does have the capability to feel at least some sense of remorse.

Kylo stays quiet for the rest of the time you tend to his wounds, and when you turn to leave, the two words you’ve been convinced are not in his vocabulary, come from the behind you.

“Thank you.”

This sliver of empathy is short lived, especially after the girls from the local brothel make their way up to his room. 

“Oh! Oh! Sir Kylo!”

You shake your head, attempting to read in the study, which is located on the other side of house from the guest bedroom. Yet, their screams, cries and the various other lewd noises still manage to make their way to your ears.

“Ah! Ah! Ah!” “Take it, whore, take it!” “Kyloooooooo!”

The temptation to go up there and kick the girls out is increasing by the second, but you don’t. Maybe this will help mellow him out a bit, make him more manageable.  Plus, you’re pretty sure that you’d have to carve your eyes out after walking in on whatever they’re doing up behind that closed door.

Unfortunately for you, it becomes progressively more difficult to focus on your book as the burn between your thighs intensifies. It’s been almost two years since your husband was murdered, which means that it’s been a little over that since you were last intimate with someone.

Normally, and up until Sir Kylo entered your household, you were more than fine subduing your sexual desires. You haven’t once touched yourself, not that you’d really know how to anyway, and you certainly weren’t about to start now.

You cross your legs, hoping that’ll quell some of the burning, but it only makes it worse. Another half an hour passes and your hand now rests on your thigh, slowly inching down towards your soaked and quivering pussy.

Just a quick touch won’t hurt...he doesn’t have to know...

Luckily, a knock at the door brings your motions to a stop. You sigh in relief, walking over to open the door. When you do, you’re met with a bandaged bare torso, a very muscular bare torso. His skin glistens with sweat and the smell of sex radiates from his essence. 

He’s still breathing heavily as he stands in the doorway, looking down at you.

“We’re finished upstairs.” He says breathily. “I’m due for my afternoon bandage change, whenever you’re ready.”

You watch him saunter away, admiring the way his muscles stretch and tense with each stride. You’re burning up by now, both your skin and your arousal, and you wonder how you’re going to get through this next bandage change. 

When you enter the room, the musk of sex is thick in the air, humidity at a suffocating level. You try to ignore it, try not to let it get to you, but it’s just surrounding you. 

Your skin begins to glisten, brow furrowed as you focus on trying to change these bandages as quickly as possible. Kylo seems to take notice of your hurry, your sudden perspiring.

“Is something wrong?” He asks you, biting back a smirk. “You seem flustered.”

Nodding, you continue on with the bandaging.  “I’m fine, just a bit warm is all.”

Kylo hums, reaching down to grab your wrist as you reach up to re-bandage the wound on his chest. He brings your fingers up to his lips, sucking the tips into his mouth gently, tongue swiping over the pads of your digits.

You try to pull away, to leave before you do something you regret, but his hold on you is firm. And if you’re honest with yourself, you don’t actually want him to stop.

Oh lord, this is bad. It’s so wrong. You shouldn’t want this. He murdered your husband, the man you loved. He’s so smug and cocky and yet...it’s what you’ve been wanting this whole time, the thing you’ve tried to suppress, to not let yourself want.

But now, everything else be damned, you want this. You need this. And damnit, you’re gonna have it.

His lips release your fingertips with a lewd pop! sound, an arrogant smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You haven’t tried to pull away or tell me off in a minute or two. Is everything alright?”

You huff. “Just do it.”

He raises his eyebrows, sitting up a little. “Do what? What do you want me to do, little lamb?”

“You know what I want.”

“Oh yes, I’m fully aware of what you want.” He smirks. “But I want to hear you say it out loud.”

You cross your arms on your chest, trying to ignore the twang of guilt that shoots through you as you prepare to say the words aloud.

“Fine. I want you to f-fuck me.”

“That’s right. I knew you wanted it.” Kylo takes your hand and trails it down his muscular abdomen, stopping just above where his loincloth sits on his hips.

“Take it off.”

You’re chewing your lip numb as you reach down and undo the tie holding the garment on. Your breath hitches as you slide it off, exposing his member, which is hardening steadily.

“Instead of staring, perhaps you’d like to try touching it?” He smirks.

You shoot him a glare. “Stop talking, for once in your life, please spare my ears the sound of your constant squabble.”

Kylo chuckles, putting his hands behind his head.

Your hand wraps around the base of his length, and he grunts softly. It’s your turn to wear a smirk.

“Oh, do you like that, Sir Kylo?”

He huffs. “Every man likes their cock being touched. Don’t go thinking that it means anything.”

You squeeze his shaft, drawing a deep grunt from his lips and small buck of his hips. He looks away, jaw clenched in an attempt to prevent any further noises. 

This fact only makes you more determined, hand pumping his cock with more vigor, alternating between different paces and pressures to really drive him crazy.

You’re thoroughly enjoying this, drinking in the sight of him trying his absolute hardest not to react to the touches that so obviously arouse him. You tease him even more, using your fingers to touch certain parts of his length. 

Well, it’s fun for the few minutes it lasts, but suddenly, you find yourself in his position, laid back on the cot. He’s on top of you, now, pushing the skirts of your dress up, fingers yanking the laces on your bodice.

He quickly pulls it off, followed by your skirts, leaving you in only your mamillare and your loincloth. His eyes roam your newly exposed skin for a moment before his hand slips down between your thighs, fingers pressing up against the fabric.

“I knew it. Were you listening, little lamb? Were you listening to me fuck those whores and wishing it was you?”

Your breath hitches. “Well, it was sort of hard not to listen when the girls were screaming.”

His fingers wrap around the waist tie, pulling them down to fully expose your wet heat. He smirks, rubbing around until he finds that one spot that has your back arching and a gasp escaping your lips.

Before he can even say anything, you reiterate his words in a mocking tone. “Every woman likes being touched there. Don’t go thinking that it means anything.”

He huffs, rubbing you harder.

“Tell me how wet you got when you heard me fucking those whores. Tell me that you wanted a turn on my cock, wondered how good I’d feel inside you.”

“N-No.” You say, a stern expression on your face. “I’ll never say that to you.”

His jaw clenches as he bends down, lips next to your ear. “You'll be screaming it once I’m done with you.”

Your eyes widen when his fingers slowly press up into your entrance. 

“Kylo...” You’ve never been touched in this way before. It’s...different, and not necessarily unpleasant.

He sees your hesitation. “Trust me, you’ll like it.”

And you did.

His digits begin moving in and out of you, curling up occasionally to stimulate a certain tender spot inside you. You’re biting down on your lip, surely hard enough to break the skin, trying your darndest not to give him the privilege of hearing your noises.

As you did to him, seeing you suppress your noises only spurs him on more, movements becoming quicker, swifter. Your orgasm draws closer with each skilled stroke, but just before you reach your peak, he pulls out.

You thought you wanted to hit him before; now, you kind of want to pop some of his abdomen stitches. 

“Why did you do that?”

He laughs devilishly, reaching down to pump his cock, slicking it with the juices of your arousal. “You didn’t think I’d actually let you get off that easily, did you?”

“Well, I was sort of hoping...”

You’re brought to silence when he crawls on top of you, trapping you beneath his massive form. His mushroom head swirls around your entrance, collecting some of your slick before pressing it inside of you.

It’s been quite a while since you’ve had anyone, and you don’t think you’ve ever had someone of his size before, so you gasp softly as he presses forth. Soon, his entire length is seated in you, stretching and filling you to the brim.

His eyes are squeezed shut, jaw clenched as he tries to remain still in order to allow you an adjustment period. Once you’ve had some time, he begins moving his hips, rolling them at a steady pace. 

“Knew you’d have a nice little cunt,” He growls, teeth baring. “So wet and tight for me, little lamb.”

You bite your numbing lip in an attempt to prevent any of the desperate moans or cries that want to escape. He’s doing something similar, jaw clenched tightly. 

Only the wet squelch and sharp snapping of skin colliding can be heard between the two of you, minus the occasional grunt or sharp inhale from either of you, which is quickly shut down almost as soon as it slips out.

Soon, you feel your climax begin to appear on the horizon, walls clenching and pulsing around his cock. He takes notice, quickly speeding his rhythm up, exhaling loudly through his flared nostrils.

He’s getting close, too, balls pulling up as his body prepares itself for orgasm. The energy between you two, as well as your physical movements, quickly turn desperate. 

“Don’t release inside me.”

“I’m flattered that you think I’d even want to.” He says, smugly.

You huff, rolling your eyes. “I see that even the throws of passion and ecstasy is still not enough to tamper your unbearable attitude.”

“There is nothing that can stop me from taking the opportunity to get a rise out of you, milady.” He smirks before his brows knit in the center of his forehead. “If you’re gonna cum, I suggest you do it s-soon.”

Your eyes flutter shut, hips attempting to lift up off the mattress, wanting him to hit that certain spot inside you. As soon as you find the right angle, a choked sob leaves your lips as you’re quickly brought and tossed over the edge.

Kylo groans softly, thrusting rapidly before pulling out at the last minute, spilling his seed all over your abdomen.

Both of you are breathless as you ride out your climaxes, basking in the peaceful bliss that washes over your body, basking in the luxury of his utter and complete silence. It was a welcome change, a much-needed reprieve from the past few weeks of dealing with him.

He eventually flops down onto the mattress beside you, grabbing and re-securing his loincloth around his hips. You’re already a bit sore from being stretched for the first time in two years.

“May I just sleep here tonight, Sir Kylo? Unless you’d like to carry me back over to my bedroom.”

The side-eye he gives you is incredibly humorous, but you contain your laughter, not wanting to add oil to the flame.

“I won’t be a bother. I will stay on this side of the cot; you’ll barely even know I’m here.”

“Are you truly incapable of walking yourself back to your bedroom after one session of fucking? Was I really that amazing that I’ve left you unable to move about the house?” He laughs.

"And suddenly, the pain of walking over to my room seems less painful than staying here and listening to your vexing squabble.”

Kylo huffs. “If you stay here for the night, you may not breach the center of the mattress. I will kick you out if you even come close to bumping into me or making any sort of physical contact.”

Mocking his words from earlier, you smirk. “I’m flattered that you think I’d even want to touch you.”

“Very funny.” He says, flatly, rolling over to face away from you. “Just stay on your fucking side of the bed.”

You roll your eyes, sitting up to braid your hair for bed before fluffing the goose-feather pillow beneath your head, settling down for the night. Soon, Sir Kylo’s obnoxious snores bounce off the walls and you put your pillow over your head, hoping to muffle the noise.

God, even his snores are arrogant.

-

The next morning, when your eyes flutter open at the first sign of light through the window, you find the sheets next to you vacant.

You sit up, eyebrows furrowed as you look around the room, ears open to listen for any noise anywhere in the house. You don’t hear anything.

Then, you see a piece of rolled up parchment on his pillow along with a small satchel. When you open the pouch, you’re shocked to see a pile of shiny coins. You unrolled the note, reading the sloppy script.

For the medical supplies and for your trouble. Here’s hoping our paths never cross again.

-Kylo

As you read the very brief and to-the-point note, you can practically hear his snide voice in your head reciting it. The cold, cocky tone of his words shone through the parchment and ink, incredibly so. You huff, tossing the note back onto the pillow before getting up to begin the day. 

Well...at least you’ll never have to see him again.

[fluffyfranny]

So hey! Might as well start posting! 

Starting off with an oldie in my past writing archives when I was at my peak in the Markiplier fandom. Still love his content dearly, but I don’t think I’ll write for his egos anytime soon.

Posting this with a lil motivation from @yaysof11037 who has become such a great mutual earlier on this week! (If ya haven’t checked out their works you totally should btw). In return for the lovely angst they provided for me, angst is what you shall receive in turn >:3

Hope y’all enjoy this piece I conjured WAY back in April :0

TW for descriptive gore, past and present character death and overall angst in general under the cut >:3

~Gone Too Soon~

Paranoia.

That was one of the primary emotions Eric felt all the time. The poor boy had been through a lot. He had lost a majority of his family, including his mother and the rest of his brothers, in a tragic accident, and he considered himself an “omen” of bad luck, of sorts, since things seemed to die around him.

Unfortunately, that was about to come true, once again.

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

It all started one brisk night, when Eric was having trouble sleeping for what seemed like the fifth time this week. He tossed and turned underneath the sheets, clutching his worn-down, yellow handkerchief with an iron grip in one of his fists. This lasted for about an hour.

The primary cause for this state of unrest, however, was not only his ever present state of anxiousness, but the fact that a nightmare unlike any he had ever dreamt was roiling through his mind.

He had dreamt that the rest of the Ipliers currently living in the manor, including his father, had mysteriously disappeared. Eric had been wandering the halls, calling out for them, his cries becoming squeaky as tears threatened to spill over...

Before he found his family and the states that they were in...

But then, he shot bolt upright in his bed. His breaths were rapid and his forehead was layered with a fine sheen of nervous sweat. He pinched his hand to make sure that it was all a dream, and fortunately, it was.

Eric tried to stabilize his breathing then and there, attempting to calm down. “It w-was all j-just a bad d-dream,” he kept repeating to himself. “None of t-that was r-real.”

With a sharp exhale of air, he dragged himself out of bed and left his room. He figured a walk around the vast, ever-expanding halls of the manor would calm his nerves, along with a glass of water.

The weight of his prosthetics made the stairs creak, but the other Ipliers knew better than to interrogate whoever was making such a ruckus. When they heard the familiar metallic clunk against the steps, they knew it was Eric, and they either left him be or awoke to provide him assistance, if needed.

As he made his way down the stairs and into one of the bigger hallways, he sensed that something was off. The air felt thicker, as if some invisible force was adding weight to the environment without anything actually being there.

In addition, he thought he caught a whiff of something along the lines of smoke. He shivered slightly at all of this, but shook his head in denial, brushing these factors off as remaining slivers of his nightmare that still plagued his mind.

Eric was just about to step foot into the living room when one of his prosthetic legs slipped in something wet, nearly sending him careening to the tile floor. Fortunately, he grabbed onto the railing on the side of the wall with a less than elusive yelp to stabilize himself.

He caught his breath and, with fear laced in his vision, glanced down slowly towards the ground. He nearly started having another panic attack when he saw a smear of red coat the tile and flow around the bend. The red coloration was so deep, it nearly appeared black as ink.

With even shakier steps, Eric clambered around the corner to locate the source of the stain…

Only to be met with the pale, lifeless stare of his father, lying in a pool of his own blood.

This time, Eric’s screech could be heard across the entirety of the mansion, had it been any louder. He immediately knelt down and began inspecting Derek’s clothes with quivering hands. His red, white and blue polo shirt was now dyed with an even darker crimson due to the blood seeping out of a massive hole in his chest.

“D-dad?” Eric whimpered, his handkerchief slightly speckled with Derek’s blood after placing it next to him. “W-what h-happened? Pl-please get up!”

He began shaking his parent’s shoulders rather forcefully, causing his head to loll to the side rather limply, then softly thumping back down onto the floor once Eric had ceased his actions.

Before he could let loose a scream of his own, several more heart-stopping yells proceeded to echo throughout the living room and the halls surrounding it, followed by the crashing of bodies. Eric’s head snapped up and glanced in all directions to locate who was screaming. However, despite the noises sounding like they were coming from right around him, there was nobody else with him. Aside from his father.

Then, that’s when he heard them.

“Why, hello there, Eric.”

His head whipped to his left to meet the gaze of a man talked about throughout the household, but none too kindly. Said man stood before him in a red tailcoat and black dress pants, both of which had gashes torn in them, and from these gashes seeped both red and black. Various other cuts also covered his bare hands and face. The red was definitely blood, Eric assumed, but why was this man bleeding black as well?

Either way, it didn’t matter as the man strode in Eric’s direction and placed the blunt end of the cane he clutched on the area where his heart would be before giving the area a gentle tap and stepping back again, smiling wickedly all the while.

“Wh-what have y-you done with m-my friends?” Eric stammered, trying to lace some confidence into his voice. “M-Mark?”

“Oh, poor, sweet Eric,” Mark tutted, shaking his head and scattering loose flecks of blood and pitch-black ichor. “I’ve been waiting a while now to exact my revenge against your...family here.”

“R-r-revenge?” Eric questioned with wide eyes and a more noticeable quiver in his voice. “B-but the others a-are so sweet t-to me. They’d n-never do-”

“Oh, but my friend,” Mark interrupted with a wave of his hand. “You’ve just missed out on all the horrendous things they have done to others. Even to me.”

“T-that’s a l-lie!” Eric tried to shout. “They’d never d-do anything b-bad to others! You’re just t-trying to c-convince me o-otherwise!”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Mark began to raise his voice, inky-black ichor seeping out of the corners of his mouth. “You’re just too naive to see it! The others are evil…”

“No, t-that’s y-you!” Eric finally found the courage to retort back semi-confidently. “Y-you’re the e-evil one!”

At this, Mark’s eyes widened, and he turned his head slowly towards him, a pissed look in his eyes and on his face. He snarled, his lips quirking up to bare his teeth back at the boy.

“You insufferable brat!” Mark said, ever angrier. “Just for all that you’ve said and done, I’ll show you what has been made of your “family” and be on my way.”

Before Mark disappeared in an explosion of smoky black mist, he gave Eric one final glare and remark:

“Don’t be surprised if you end up being next.”

And with that, he was gone.

However, once he vanished, the air around the room began to shimmer before the environment revealed a truly horrendous sight from behind Mark’s illusion.

Blood and gore everywhere.

Eric felt like he was going to be sick at the sight of his friends plastered around the house, laying in their own life essence. He hesitantly gazed around and, one by one, took note of what happened to each of them.

First, he spotted Wilford in the kitchen, draped over the countertop with the broken end of a wine bottle stuck in his head, the jagged ring of glass biting into his scalp and sticking there, all the while drawing blood that flowed off of Wil’s head like tiny rivers.

Then, he saw Bim hanging from a taxidermy deer skull in the living room, the antlers emerging from above his eye sockets to make it look like he had sprouted the appendages.

As Eric shook his head in both fear and denial, he practically bolted out of the conjoining rooms and down the hall he came from. There, he saw both Google and Bing’s dismembered parts scattered across the floor, with a few limbs laying on the stairwell and a head posted atop it. Whoever’s head it was was barely recognizable, for the artificial skin was peeled away to reveal the mechanical insides.

Eric, surprisingly, only started to cry harder now, tears rapidly streaming down his cheeks as he realized that this was not just a dream.

It was a nightmare come true.

He then came across Dr Iplier, whose corpse was laying halfway inside a closet and covered with crudely stitched gashes that still leaked blood, which, to Eric’s horror, was a mixture of the red and black that Mark was coated in.

As he rounded the corner, avoiding going upstairs again, he nearly tripped over Host, whose blindfold was ripped clean off to expose his empty, bloody eye sockets. In addition, he was also missing the skin on one side of his jaw, exposing the teeth and bone beneath to give him a zombified look.

This drew a gag from Eric at the sight of Host’s mangled face, and he quickly fled deeper down the hall.

At this point, he had exhausted himself, so he simply let his back hit the wall and slide down to the floor, where he held his head between his knees. He then began to let loose gut-wrenching sobs that would make anyone else cry, as well.

He pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket and began to fidget with it, nearly tearing it in half with the force he was using on it.

Just as he was about to fling the cloth away, he felt the air around him drop in temperature, which caused him to look up. There stood Dark, his hair disheveled as if he were running his fingers through it all day. His jacket and shirt were both wrinkled, and his tie was missing.

At the sight of Eric curled up in a sobbing mess, Dark got on both knees in front of him and patted one of his own. He looked up to see the pale man smiling at him sadly.

“I’m terribly sorry, Eric,” Dark spoke at a low volume. “We couldn’t save them.”

Eric choked out another sob as he gazed up at Dark with watery eyes. “Th-they’re all dead! Even m-my d-dad is g-gone. My whole f-family is g-gone!”

He put his head between his legs again so Dark wouldn’t see him cry anymore. He felt a heavy hand rest atop his head and ruffle his hair, a seemingly kind gesture amidst these depressing times.

“Look here, Eric,” Dark said as he gently pressed a fingertip underneath Eric’s chin and raising his head to look back at him. “You still have me. We can be our own little family.”

“B-but what if M-Mark comes back f-for you?” Eric whined. “Th-then I’ll b-be all a-alone!”

“Trust me as you have in the past,” Dark drawled out, moving the hand away from his chin and dropping it back to his side. “He won’t be back.”

“P-promise?” Eric questioned, voice shaking harder than it ever had.

Dark merely responded with a nod and one word:

“Promise.”

Before he could get up and take Eric away with him, he let out a grunt and got back on his knees. Eric could only stare in horror as a spot on Dark’s dress shirt became soaked in black. The spot only grew bigger, as if he were hit with a bullet, and the blood was spreading further out.

Dark gently prodded at the fresh hoel in his gut before looking back up at Eric and uttering two words that would be the last he’d ever hear.

“I’m sorry.”

After uttering those final words, Dark collapsed right into Eric’s lap, his head landing in his cupped hands. He let out a shocked gasp and lifted Dark’s head up to look into his eyes and wave his hand in front of them.

“Oh...oh n-no, D-Dark, please d-don’t!” He began to babble uncontrollably, tears falling faster than ever, with a few landing onto Dark’s cheeks to make it seem as if he were crying. They ran down his face, which seemed to be getting paler by the second, even though it seemed impossible for him to pale any further.

“P-please don’t l-leave me,” Eric sobbed, cradling Dark’s head as he felt his blood soak into his own polo shirt, staining it black. “N-not alone in th-this place.”

Dark could only let out a faint wheeze that sounded like a chuckle before he took one final deep breath and let it out. His obsidian eyes seemed to dim as this last breath fled from between his lips.

Eric gasped as he heard this and, not wanting to lose the last friend he had left, clutched onto Dark’s body and held him close, his head lolling over and landing limply onto Eric’s shoulder.

He sat there, clinging to Dark’s body amidst the massacre of his family that had taken place just mere moments ago, and cried for hours on end.

This was truly a nightmare that Eric would never wake up from.

[everlastingdreams]

Weeping Monk x Reader : Playing With Fire     chapter 15

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Story Summary:  The Huntsman, that is what they called your brother. A name he had earned by hunting down the fey for coin. Coin that is given by Father Carden for his services. You refuse to stand aside and watch how your brother hunts down those who are fey. When you start to warn the fey camps your brother wishes to attack, you find yourself behind enemy lines. But when the Weeping Monk becomes suspicious of you, you realise you are playing with fire.

Chapter Summary: You sneak the Monk and Percival into Mirstone. Helping the Monk proves difficult as his stubborness matches your own.

Notes: Let me know what you think, please. ^.^ And sorry for some of the next chapters to come. And yep I am re-using some of the gifs I made. Also this chapter was absolute hell to write, I had like five different versions to piece this together whelp

Warnings:  Trauma, mentions of selfharm, mentions of past abusive violence.

Word count: 2841 words in this chapter.

Chapter:  15/ 33+ something (buckle up, it’s a wild ride.)

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Night had already fallen when you arrived at Mirstone, both of you had agreed that it would be wise to leave the horses in a safe place nearby just in case. You knew you would have to sneak them into the village, preferably without being spotted, you did have a fey boy with you. Luckily you had lived here long and guided the Monk and Percival past the tents and homes with ease. The Monk suddenly stopped you in your tracks when he spotted one of your brother's men "Over there." You looked at where he was pointing at. Your eyes narrowed when you saw him. Ah. Brogan. "We will have to wait until he leaves." The Monk let out a pained groan, starting to regret coming here at all. Brogan was drinking from his flask, filled with ale no doubt. As the Monk lowered to his knees to rest for a moment you took his moment of faltered alertness to move away from him and the boy. Percival noticed, you brought a finger to your lips gesturing for him to remain silent. He gave a short nod but watched with wary eyes as you picked up a shovel that was leaning against a tent. You sneaked up to Brogan who had his back turned to you, only then did the Monk become aware of your absence. He immediately looked up only to see you slam the metal of the shovel against the back of Brogan's head. Brogan hit the ground as he fell unconcious. You grabbed that stupid ragged hat from his head and shoved it in his mouth before removing his belt and using it to tie his hands behind his back. It gave you a sick sense of gratification "I should have done that much earlier..." You beckoned for Percival and the Monk to come your way. The latter looked impressed but not happy with your action. You supported him again as you helped him to your home. "That was reckless." He actually scolded you. "Says the man that tried to free a woman and boy, and ended up having to fight the Trinity Guards." You shot back. "I won..." He quietly protested and actually smirked at the memory. "Barely." You quipped nodding to him, to the state he was in. He rolled his eyes at your comment, knowing it was true. He wouldn't have survived. He didn't plan to survive the fight. He had given you an oppurtunity to run away with the boy. Never had he expected that you would risk your lives to help him. And yet, here you were, dragging him to your home. The last time he was there he had held his sword to your throat and now you were helping him. With some difficulty you were able to open the door, it's hinges were terribly rusty. It creaked open and you helped him inside, it would be a stupid thing to help him downstairs. The door let into the kitchen immediately, if someone were to look inside through the windows they would discover you instantly.

“We should go to my bedchamber. They could see us through the windows down here.” You looked at the Monk apologetic.

He moved away from you and leaned against the wall, clearly not looking forward to having to climb a set of stairs.

“Percival, you go first. Don't want you to be behind us in case he falls down. Okay ?” There was a possibility it would happen.

“Alright, fine. Do I help ?” The boy looked up at you and the Monk.

You shook your head “No, thank you. This could get dangerous.”

The boy nodded in understanding and hurried up the stairs, looking down at you now “Well, come on then !”

You nodded to the Monk, not able to suppress the chuckle coming from you “You heard him. Do you need my help ?”

The Monk seemed to consider your offer, alerting you that he was indeed not fit to climb the stairs on his own in his state. You didn't wait for his answer and moved his arm over your shoulder and wrapped your arm around his back. He was taken aback by your action but let you help him up the stairs this way. It took a while but you managed to get him upstairs without tumbling down the steps. He leaned against the doorway breathing heavily, as he regained his composure. Now came the awkward part, for you to be able to help him and stitch up his wounds, you would have to see them. And by the uncomfortable silence in the room you knew the Monk was aware of it.

“It is hard to treat wounds you can't see...” You broke the silence and tried to sound casual.

The Monk gave a nod, not looking at you. You looked at the boy who quirked a brow and shrugged. You cleared your throat and awkwardly held out a hand towards the Monk. The situation was uncomfortable for both of you but this was not speeding things up at all. His eyes focused on you now, he send you an inquiring look. You straightened your back, not wanting to show how nervous you were “Shall I take your cloak ?”

Being straightforward proved fruitful as he finally started to take off his cloak, he handed it to you and you put it aside while he started to peel off the other layers that covered his torso.

You averted your eyes and looked to the boy instead “Are you hungry ?”

His eyes widened and he nodded, you quickly went downstairs to grab some bread and leftovers you could find before going back to your room. You gave the food to the boy who uttered a 'thank you' as he shoved some bread in his mouth. You had also brought something to eat for the Monk, and put it aside. You finally looked at the Monk and felt your breath hitch in your throat. Sure, you had seen a man's torso before but none of the people in your village looked like this. The Monk was far more muscular then you could have guessed. Of course he would be, with all that fighting he did. You hated to admit that even with the dark bruises and the bleeding wounds he looked good. If he had been anyone else you would have complimented him, but this was the person who had threatened your life not long ago in the room downstairs. The Monk had not noticed you staring at him, he was busy examining the wounds on his abdomen. When he turned a little to examine one on the side of his body right below his rib cage your gaze fell on his back and you swallowed back a gasp. Scars were scattered all over his back, recent wounds were mixed between them. Your brother often 'joked' how the Red Paladins were Father Carden's whipped hounds. That was his way of saying some of them engaged in self-flagellation to cleanse themselves. The amount of scars shocked you, you doubted the other paladins would have this many of them. Deep down you knew this was because the Monk felt he needed to cleanse himself over something he could not control, his fey heritage.

Most were healed but there were recent ones that looked no longer then a day old. Had he done this to himself the day he saved you and the boy ? Had he felt so much inner turmoil that he felt he needed to suffer for it ? He turned to look at you, having picked up on the uncomfortable silence. You averted your eyes, trying not to show that you had been staring but he had caught you doing it. "I can see if I have something for those..." You quietly spoke and gestured to his back. The Monk quietly shook his head even though the wounds on his back were burning "There is not enough time. It will be dawn soon."

He went to sit down on the edge of your bed. You gave a nod in understanding, you knew it would be dawn soon but something told you that that wasn't the real reason why he had refused your help. You grabbed the bowl of water you had on the table next to your bed and wetted the piece of cloth, preparing to clean the wounds so you could treat them.

“How did you get those ?” The boy suddenly asked and you saw the Monk's expression change. He swallowed thickly not acknowledging the question. How could he even start to explain it to the boy ?

You picked up on his reluctance to answer and turned to the boy "Percival, will you help me ?" He quickly nodded and you started to give him instructions. "Thank you, listen well. Go downstairs, crawl under the table. One of the floorboards is loose, under there you will find a small chest with some bottles with fey medicine and herbs. Will you bring me that chest, please ?" The boy had left the room to fetch the items without replying. 

"He's eager to help..." You let out a chuckle unaware the Monk was staring at you.

When you looked at him, you shrugged your shoulders "What ?"

He scoffed and shook his head, not believing how reckless you had been "You keep fey items in your home ? If they had known they would have killed you just for that."

You rinsed the extra water out of the cloth and he held his hand out to take the cloth from you, he wasn't looking at you, his attention was on one of the wounds on his torso now.

"That's why they were hidden." You casually said before reaching out with your hand to his bare arm, close to the deep gash he had there. He had removed your scarf to examine it. You had just wanted to clean away the blood to look at the wound but he flinched when he felt the damp cloth touch his arm, never expecting you to take it upon yourself to help him like this.

"I...can do it." So few words and yet he stumbled over them.

You raised a brow looking at him in doubt “Don't take this the wrong way, but you already hit the ground not long ago and I almost had to carry you up those few steps. If you insist on doing this alone you will still be here when the sun rises.”

The Monk scoffed at your comment and shook his head muttering “...carry me..”

You ignored him and tried to touch his arm so you could help him.

He moved so he stayed out of your reach, some of the blood running down his arm landed on your sheets.

"Stop moving and stop bleeding !" You said in frustration.

It made him look at you, eyes slightly widened. It made you realise how strange that probably sounded to him. "You're ruining my sheets, blood isn't easy to wash out you know ?" You almost pouted at the red now staining your white sheets.

"I'm aware." He stated the obvious as he looked at the sheets now.

Finally you sighed and spoke, your voice dripping with sarcasm "Would you be more at ease if you had your sword in your hands ? You weren't this uncomfortable when you visited my home the last time."

He stared at you for a moment and then he understood what you were talking about. The night he had warned you to stop warning the fey. He had felt strange when he had to hold you into place back then too, it had felt almost intimate then as well. But now you were trying to touch his bare skin and he didn't know why it made him so nervous, as if it was almost sinful. Which was ridiculous because you were just trying to help. It was his upbringing that caused him to react like this, he knew it was.

"You were not trying to help me that night if I recall." He deadpanned.

You frowned at that "You are more comfortable with me hitting you with a pan, then me helping you ?"

In truth, he was used to violence. He was not used to soft hands carefully touching him. So you were not far from the truth when you had asked that.

He answered with a hint of sarcasm "People don't usually touch me to help me."

"I wonder why." You shot back.

He looked up at you at that, noting the smirk that disappeared a second later.

"I mean... you are not making it easy for me here..." You gestured to him, damp cloth still in your hands "Did you never see a healer ?"

He had, even though he always tried to avoid getting an injury bad enough that he would need a healer "I have."

"Well, think of me as a healer then...it's the same thing." You tried your best to convince him.

He scoffed at that, knowing it was not the same at all. He never spoke to the healers, he didn't know anything about them and none of them were women.

"It's not the same." He replied, sounding a bit shorter then he had intented.

You were getting frustrated, this was going nowhere "Why ? What's the difference between me helping you or another stranger ?"

"You are." The words spilled out of him and he wished he had kept his mouth shut.

You were silent now as you thought about that statement.

He really did not wish to elaborate further on that, what would he even say ? That you touching his skin made him feel...strange ? A foreign feeling, something he had not felt before. Something he could not place. Only that it did not feel bad. That was perhaps the problem, it felt pleasant. It was something he believed he shouldn't feel.

Then you came to your own conclusion "You don't trust me to help you..."

He looked up at you right away, one thing he did know for certain was that he trusted you. Sure, you had lied to him about having stopped with warning the fey, but otherwise you had always been honest. Blatantly and recklessly honest sometimes. And you could have left him to die alone in the forest, instead you had brought him into your home to help him.

"I trust you." It was a statement that he needed you to hear.

You were not expecting to hear that coming from the Monk.

You were a bit taken aback "If you do, then please let me help you before you bleed to death on my bed."

He avoided looking at you, the conflict inside of him was clawing at him.

You took his silence as refusal “An infection could kill you ! Don't you care if you live or die ?!" "Not really. No." The truth came from his mouth faster then he could prevent it. "I care ! So stop moving and let me help you !" You were exasperated at this point. It appears that the more frustrated you became, the more stubborn he got so you tried a different approach.

You let out a deep sigh “Please, let me help you... Lancelot.” It was strange saying his name out loud for the first time.

And unbeknownst to you, hearing you call him by his actual name for the first time was why he finally gave in. He had only ever heard you call him 'Monk' until now. Finally he caved in, he looked at you and slowly nodded.

You cautiously took his arm in your hand and started to clean away the blood. You couldn't help but feel nervous, you couldn't push the thought away that you were washing blood off of someone who could easily kill you if he wanted to.

You tried to push the thought away, so far he had not threatened you anymore. You tried to be gentle but time was of the essence, this had to be finished before dawn. And in your haste you accidentally rubbed against the wound too roughly. He actually let out a short pained yell and you jumped and flinched as if he had hit you even though he had not laid a hand on you. You had sewn up your brother before, before you knew how he got his wounds. After you found out the truth about the origin of his wounds you had sewed him up one last time and did such a terrible job that he no longer demanded you to do so. But you were so used to your brother hitting you when you accidentally hurt him while sewing him up that it caused you to panic now. And you did what you had always done in that situation, you apologized.

“I'm sorry..I...I didn't mean to...” Your voice shook and your hands trembled.

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[magioftheseas]

Gundham & Yasuke

Summary: The Forbidden Tanaka’s FTEs in the SDR2 Protagonist Matsuda Yasuke AU. YES.

Rating: PG

Warnings: Language and blood/injuries.

Notes: Unsurprisingly, Tanaka was the winner of the poll for which FTEs were to be done next. So his FTEs, quite hilariously, are getting posted on the anniverary date for sdr2′s initial release. That feels pretty...fitting. Writing Tanaka’s dialogue was really hard but I did my best. Despite my best efforts, these two don’t get along the best that they could. Cursed.

Read this fic among others HERE

Main story is HERE

Commission? Donate?

It went without saying that he didn’t have a normal middle school experience so he didn’t interact with a lot of people who exhibited the so-called eighth-grader syndrome. But he knew that once kids had the cognitive ability to identify their lot in life and long for more, such desires could get...twisted, to say the least.

Just about everyone wants to be fucking special if they’re not too focused on surviving. And most people grew ashamed of the lofty aspirations and special interests they developed in that delicate era. Matsuda understood that much, even if he was considerably detached from it. In some ways, those people were like animals. Strange beasts that acted on impulses and instincts. That still had intelligence but not, like, awareness. When it came to engaging with these types, Matsuda had no choice but to accept them even as he shook his head at their delusions of grandeur.

He understands he’s supposed to do that in theory.

In practice, however...

“Sharp-tongued fool!” Tanaka bellowed. “You draw too near to the barrier of the Ice Kingdom!”

It’s a beautiful day outside. It’s always a beautiful fucking day. Clear, sunny sky. Warm but with a pleasant breeze to keep it from being too sweltering. It’s such a nice day—and Matsuda Yasuke does not want to be here.

Without another word, he turns on his heel.

“Aha!” Tanaka sneered. “To think just the warning prose would be enough to make you turn tail and run. A cowardice I did not expect, but perhaps... I should have.”

While walking away and listening to that guy cackle to himself, all Matsuda had in response was to flip him off.

He proceeded to avoid Tanaka for the rest of the day—and would’ve avoided him for the rest of his life had fate not had something else in store.

--

It was another beautiful day. The perfect day for a walk. He was thinking by the ranch so that he could admire the chickens as he passed. Unfortunately, he not only came across chickens but also the cow that used to be a chicken he quite liked.

Also Tanaka Gundam.

And their eyes ended up meeting.

There’s no real point in reasoning with someone who exhibits grandiose delusions, he reminded himself. It’s no good to denounce them, but it’s also no good to enable them. It’s a delicate line that I do not want to fucking bother with.

Matsuda does look away, intent on ignoring the other. Despite that resolve, his thoughts don’t shut up.

I didn’t have any peers in middle school for obvious reasons. I never actually spoke to someone my own age who felt this way. I was too busy being fixated on my own goals and lofty aspirations.

A couple of steps forward. It’s fine. If he continued the way he was already going, he can just pass Tanaka. It’d be easy. Simple.

...

Fuck.

He pauses. He turns. Tanaka has already turned away, but as if guided by the third sense of a fucking Evil All-Seeing Eye, he turns back to Matsuda. His brow quirks.

“Has the barrier truly weakened so?”

“I don’t know,” Matsuda replied intelligently. “For some reason, I feel too worn down to go through the effort of pretending you don’t exist.”

Tanaka cackled lowly.

“Such an insolent remark. It seems you do not truly know your place. But that is just as well. Even now, your true name is one that seems out of my grasp.”

“I’m Matsuda Yasuke. Nice to meet you.”

Tanaka clicked his tongue, scowling at Matsuda’s blank expression and his deadpan tone.

“That,” he snarled. “Is merely a brush against the surface. It does not encompass the deepest depths of your rogue soul.”

Alright. So he wants to know what makes me tick. If I had to guess.

“Your true name,” Tanaka requested impatiently. “I have no need for superficial titles.”

“That’s cold,” Matsuda huffed. “The name my mom gave me isn’t superficial.”

...even if it is ironic.

For some reason, Tanaka does perk up. He gives a nod of approval.

“A fair retort,” he concedes. “That maternal bond is its own scarring shackle.”

That admission was the first true crack in the wall between them. Or so Matsuda supposed, and he felt himself slip just a little bit further.

What a headache...

“Anyway,” he went on with a wave of his hand. “It’d be incredibly foolish to give you my true name, right? If telling a demon my name gives them possession of my soul and telling them my birthday gives them control of my life... Then telling someone like you...”

Tanaka nodded again, grinning so widely it was damn near grotesque.

“I see...the sharp-tongued fool is still retaining a sharp mind...”

I shouldn’t have played along even in jest. Fuck.

“What special abilities do you possess?” Tanaka purrs, drawing closer now. “What hidden capabilities have you acquired?”

Tanaka stalks even closer, his eyes are flashing with curiosity and hunger. Probably because this fucking weirdo wouldn’t understand a normal interaction if it bit him in the face.

I still hate that stare. I fucking hate that stare.

“You already know that,” Matsuda snapped, forcing himself to stay relaxed. “Neurology is my talent. You even know my name and birthday because of those damn student files...”

Calm down, calm down. It’s just fucking Tanaka—

Tanaka does halt. His head tilts quizzically.

“Hmph.” With nostrils flaring, Tanaka seemed to duck into his own scarf. “I suppose you are human after all.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Simple.” Tanaka chuckled. “I sensed your apprehension, Matsuda Yasuke. I sensed—and yet, I could tell it was not a chill brought about by the Ice Kingdom.”

Matsuda does flinch at that.

“I shall take my leave for now so that you may re-gather your peace,” Tanaka declared. “Till next time, sharp-tongued fool.”

Tanaka gave him a salute. Matsuda barely had a chance to wave back before Tanaka flipped his scarf and coat so that it would dramatically billow behind him as he made his overly dramatic exit. So fucking extra, and yet—

He left so that I could take the time to calm down.

And how the hell was he supposed to feel about that?

--

“Even now, I can hear the crackling of the Ice Kingdom’s barrier.” Tanaka was cackling. Another beautiful day. Yet somehow this weirdo was set on shrouding himself in asinine mystery as well as his own dark layers. How the hell was he not burning up?

Tanaka noticed his staring and merely smirked. “What brings you today, Matsuda Yasuke?”

Aah. Even with that pompous fucking tone, it’s an understandable question.

“I don’t like things to be unbalanced,” he said which was a bald-faced lie but sounded persuasive enough. “Since you interrogated me last time, I thought I’d ask you a few questions of my own.”

“Hmph!” Tanaka snorted. “You seek a comprehension that may underlie a deep terror that cannot be contained! Do you not fear for your sanity?”

“No, I’m insane already,” Matsuda said flatly. “I drove myself insane years ago.”

“Is that SO?!” Tanaka boomed, incredulous or admiring, Matsuda wasn’t sure. “Your humanity is one that only hangs by a thread, then?!”

I...can’t disagree with that, huh.

Matsuda shrugged.

“We’re not supposed to be talking about me. Let’s talk about you.”

Tanaka remained guarded but gave a nod.

“Very well. Demi-human or no, I shall not lose to you.”

That’s more like it. You’re much less annoying this way.

“What talents do you have?” he settles on since it’s only fair. “Even if it’s not the full roster, I’d like to know some...special abilities.”

“You shall only get a portion,” Tanaka said, sniffing. “Despite my appearance, I’m an active fiend. Between sorcery and human hunting, I manage my website.”

Matsuda blinked, trying to imagine this guy at a computer. Actually, it was really easy to imagine. There’s no way Tanaka learned to talk like an edgelord on his own.

I bet he spends a lot of time looking up stupid shit like Norse mythology. But, if he has a website, then...

“I have encrypted my research with magic,” Tanaka informed him. “Thus, only those worthy can gain access.”

...if he means through password then I could probably hack in with ease.

“If I had to guess what kind of research it was,” Matsuda mused. “Then—probably something like a pet diary, right?”

There were a series of muffled squeaks from Tanaka’s scarf. Tanaka burst into a boisterous boom of laughter.

“Even with your wits, you would only be able to access the dummy site!” Tanaka grinned victoriously, even though no conflict had taken place. “Your skill level would only open the gates of the Exciting Breeding Journal.”

“...Alright. That’s fine by me.”

You’re literally here because of your talent in animal husbandry.

“Favorite food?” Matsuda asked next. Tanaka stiffened. Growled, even. Because he was pissed off about getting such a lukewarm response? Matsuda didn’t bother inquiring, instead pressing, “Do you have one?”

“The orange melon that bears the face of the devil,” Tanaka huffed, put out. “No other food compares in terms of high nutrients or versatility in cooking methods. More importantly, its seeds are the most effective food source for my Four Dark Devas of Destruction.”

...a pumpkin. He’s talking about a pumpkin, right?

“However! Those seeds must be carefully washed, carefully dried, carefully peeled,” Tanaka rambled on. “And lightly fried.”

“How meticulous,” Matsuda muttered. “But nothing less for...them.”

“Indeed. A difficulty that beguiles pain and pleasure alike matters not in the face of a grand purpose.”

I can agree with that even if I hate how it’s worded.

“There is more when it comes to the caring of beasts,” Tanaka rumbled. “Shall I lead you deeper?”

“Uh.” Matsuda waved his hand. “Next time. Let’s talk more next time.”

Tanaka gave him a truly wicked grin. For once, it actually felt malicious.

“Take as much time you need to prepare yourself, sharp-tongued fool.”

Matsuda made a face but bit his tongue.

Piece of shit.

--

Tanaka wasn’t out and about today at the ranch. He wasn’t in the diner, either. It went to reason that he was likely in his cottage.

It’s only because I found some pumpkin seeds that I’m even going...

When he knocked on the door, he found it unlocked. Since he wasn’t an animal, he was going to wait for Tanaka to answer the door rather than barge in but...

“Ku—!”

He heard a noise. A sharp, strangled sound that was undeniably made through gritted teeth. Matsuda opened the door immediately.

“Is everything alright?”

And indeed—Tanaka was holding his bloodied hand in a death grip. The hamsters were chirping and chittering, but unaffected. What happened was clear, especially in how Tanaka’s shoulders were hunched.

Thankfully, Matsuda carried around packets of wet wipes. He rummaged through his pocket for one, stepping forward and reaching out.

“Let me...”

“NO!” Tanaka shrieked, and like a startled beast he scrambled away from his hand. He was panting, still gripping his injury with a wide and wild-eyed stare. Seeing Matsuda there did little to calm him down, as he growled, “The blood that flows through my veins bears a fearsome curse. You must step away now to spare yourself their potency.”

Thankfully, Matsuda carried around disposable gloves. He slipped them on, tearing the wet wipe packet open, and made his way closer.

“Come on. We really don’t want that bite to get infected.”

“This is not my first blood sacrifice,” Tanaka snarled, even showing his teeth. Gross. “I have no need for your medical sorcery. And furthermore, that meager covering...!”

“Oh my fucking god, shut the hell up.” Matsuda snatched up his hand, prying the other off as Tanaka shrieked some more. Thankfully, Matsuda was able to pull it away and got to work dabbing and cleaning the wound. Tanaka had completely frozen now, but Matsuda was still fuming.

“Don’t ever fucking call me meager,” he snapped, and thankfully Tanaka had spare clean bandages for him to re-wrap his hand with. “Crude and foolish I’ll take. Meager I won’t.”

Tanaka finally scoffed as Matsuda made sure the bandaging was secure.

“A demi-human like you has such pride.”

Look who’s fucking talking.

“You should not have endangered yourself, however,” Tanaka went on. “I was not telling falsehoods about my poisonous blood. It is only by a thread that you have not already deteriorated. As crude and foolish as you are, I do not desire your demise.”

“I’ve dealt with my fair share of poison, so you’re worrying too much,” Matsuda replied but winced from a sudden headache. As he rubbed removed his gloves to rub his temples, Tanaka stood up.

“You once again face the ramifications for your hubris!” he exclaimed and rushed back to deal with his hamsters. “I grant you relief, and I advise you to take your leave immediately.”

“I’m fucking fine, it’s just a migraine,” Matsuda griped and disposed of the gloves and wipes. “Should you really be handling those hamsters again so soon?”

“They are not mere hamsters!” Tanaka bellowed. “The fangs I have taken are that of the Crimson Steel Elephant, Maga-Z!”

Maga-Z blinked its bright beady eyes at Matsuda.

“For the sake of the Invading Black Dragon, Cham-P,” Tanaka went to coo over the largest hamster which was orange, not black. “A golden demon, one who understands fear all too well... Much attention should be heeded to make sure they do not get overly stressed out... While many devil beasts of this ilk are aggressive and fearfully territorial, the golden variant is the most docile and intelligent. They recognize me as...”

He trails off. It’s as if he’s too moved to speak.

I have heard hamsters had an unnaturally high rate of cannibalism, Matsuda thought. But I suppose like with dog breeds, they come in all sizes...and temperaments...

It was obvious Tanaka knew his shit, being an Ultimate at all. But seeing it firsthand, watching him dote on the beasts with a cottage interior largely dedicated to their cage and tube, the guy definitely loved animals. Like, a lot. Despite his delusions of grandeur, he at least seemed to love animals a healthy, non-obsessive amount.

“They’re living well,” Matsuda commented blandly.

Tanaka scoffed at him.

“For demons that live a mere 1095 days, the luxuries in life mean everything. I would never settle for less.”

“I see...” He scuffed the end of his shoe against the wooden floor. “That’s good.”

Shouldn’t have worn open-toed shoes, but I don’t have any alternatives. Oh, right.

“I got pumpkin seeds.” He tossed the bag and it landed on Tanaka’s lap. The hamsters jumped, and even Tanaka flinched. Matsuda, however, turned on his heel. “Sorry. Bye.”

With that insincere apology, he headed out. He could feel a disproving stare on his back but that didn’t lessen his steps in the slightest.

--

His favorite chicken-turned-cow was in a good mood today. She was accepting pets and even nipping at his fingers. All he had on him was candy. Not any fruit much less hay although...

“If you plan to feed that creature, you should be wary of apples,” Tanaka rumbled from behind. Where the fuck he came from, Matsuda wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t surprised to be hearing from him. “You can risk over-eating which will cause a bloated stomach for the animal.”

“Ah, thanks for the advice,” Matsuda said sincerely, turning back and frowning when he noticed the other’s own hanging head. “What’s with the long face?”

“I would hope that you do not consider that creature to be your familiar, Matsuda Yasuke,” Tanaka murmured sullenly and solemnly. Like he had come across something truly pitiful to the point of depressing.

Although he seems more focused on the cow itself...

“I don’t have a familiar,” Matsuda huffed.

Tanaka quirks an eyebrow at him. Furrows it, even, as if Matsuda is the one not making sense. How seriously annoying. But rather than inquire further, Tanaka just shakes his head.

“Creatures like that one are born to be slaughtered,” he said, turning on his heel. “What a wretched fate, one that cannot be escaped even with the use of the Evil All-Seeing Eye. If one is to form a bond with such an unfortunate beast, they will invite only calamity.”

“That’s...” Not necessarily true. There is livestock out there allowed to live full lives. But they’re exceptions that prove the rule, I suppose. And the fact that I even thought to use a word like allowed... “Woof.”

Tanaka barked back. “This sentimentality only arose because I have not encountered any new beasts. I shall go searching as to put my mind at ease.”

He walked on, and Matsuda found himself following. Tanaka didn’t seem to mind at all. The opposite, in fact.

“There are many creatures I’ve tamed, sharp-tongued one,” Tanaka went on to say. “The Cerberus. The Phoenix. Even then Midgardian Serpent.”

Looks like I was right on the money about him looking up Norse shit. That’s just another fucking word for Earth, asshole. I’ve read enough shitty fantasy manga to know.

“I saw a toucan one time,” he commented in lieu of verbalizing his thoughts. “And I guess there are the seagulls. Or those mascots.”

“Those uncute fiends cannot be trusted with their speech,” Tanaka hissed. “As for the others... Ah, the ravenous, feathered beasts.” Tanaka nodded sagely with approval at that one. “They are a perilous project as they are quite fearless and impulsive. Even when greater threats arise, they gather like a court waiting to hand down judgment.”

I think...that’s more something that crows do rather than seagulls.

He does think about it though, birds judging one another. If he looked up, he’d even see a seagull or two soar overhead. A phrase rose to his mind, unbidden.

When the seagulls cry...

“Hm?” Tanaka paused when he noticed that Matsuda had stopped dead in his tracks. He turned, and whatever expression was on Matsuda’s face—whatever that was had Tanaka clicking his tongue. “What is on your mind?”

“Something stupid,” he grumbled, shaking his head. “Even in peaceful times, I can’t help but worry about how easily things fall apart. Sometimes for something as petty as a broken promise.”

Is it speech alone that gives us the means of betraying one another?

Tanaka did stiffen.

“It sure is fortunate for us that we’ve yet to deal with any storms,” Matsuda went on to say. “In fact, it’s perfect weather every single day. Isn’t that strange? It almost doesn’t feel real, and if it’s not real... Does anything that happens here matter?” He paused again. “Like I said. It’s stupid.”

“Your inane ponderings still have an air of malice,” Tanaka muttered darkly.

Huh.

“Are you saying I’m someone to be on guard around?” He cracked a dry smile. “I’m not that fucking interested in messing with people. I just lack patience.”

Tanaka gave him a look. Wordlessly, he shook his head.

“I think... I will seek solace elsewhere. Do not follow me.”

Matsuda didn’t. Simply watched the other go. It might’ve been one of those annoying situations where the person was saying the exact opposite of what they wanted, but even if he could tell that was the case, he still wouldn’t have followed.

After all.

He lacked patience.

--

Tanaka seemed especially moody today. Although no matter how sullen his air was, the island sun wouldn’t let up in the slightest. In a way, that was pretty cruel, right? In that much light, it made it difficult to hide. Or something like that.

Wonder what he’s being so fucking temperamental about...

Matsuda makes his way over, waving as he does. He stops, however, when Tanaka regards him coldly.

“Matsuda Yasuke,” he rumbled in a gravelly tone of voice. “The sharp-tongued fool whose practices engage in the constitution of the mind... Would you like to duel?”

Huh?

Matsuda dropped his hand.

“...have you finally fucking gone actually insane?” He sighed. “Don’t answer that. No, I don’t want to duel. And if you push it, I’ll leave. I don’t have time for that bullshit.”

Tanaka’s cold stare became more of a glare.

“I’m afraid I do not have such luxury around you,” Tanaka said sharply. “You grind down my defenses with this continued, unsightly association. Despite wearing the face of a human, you, Matsuda Yasuke are...!”

“I’m just human,” Matsuda replied before he could finish. With an unimpressed shrug, he added. “And if you wanted me to stop bothering you, all you had to fucking do was say so.”

“I allowed these exchanges out of a sense of curiosity, arrogantly unheeding the danger,” Tanaka went on, muttering as he did. “Truly, I have been foolish.”

The sun shone down on him. On a day this bright, there wasn’t anyone to hide. Tanaka ‘Gundam’ looked a bit ill. When Matsuda took a step closer, however, he recoiled. With a sharp hiss, Tanaka held up his hand in warning.

Like an agitated cat.

Matsuda drew back with a sigh.

Someone like this—really is so needlessly fucking difficult. And for what? An inflated sense of importance? Wasn’t getting into Hope’s Peak enough?

...if he complained too much, he’d veer uncomfortably close to hypocrisy.

Hope’s Peak was just another step for me, but I wonder what it was for someone like this? Where the hell would he be if he didn’t get in? Honestly—I doubt it would’ve been all that significant.

“Alright,” he said. “Did you get anything out of our interactions at least?”

Tanaka stared at him, but being a normal fucking person without magical powers, Matsuda was more than capable of staring back, unaffected. For some reason, Tanaka did shy back a little.

“I have keenly observed you,” he said lowly. “Namely how your regard only shifts when directed towards creatures already marked for death. I suspect—you are a creature of calamity. The eye of the storm.”

“So, what,” Matsuda drawled. “Like a demon?”

Tanaka hummed, seemingly considering it. “No... That is not quite right.”

“I’m not sure what you mean, then,” Matsuda huffed, waving his hand dismissively. “But—I think I get what you’re saying. I just think it’s funny coming from you—and that you don’t understand.”

Tanaka’s stare blazed with an offense, and Matsuda paid no heed at all.

“How I regard creatures marked for death...” Matsuda snorted. “I’m a fucking doctor. Obviously, I treat them differently. It’s part of my fucking job.”

Although he’s referring to the cow, isn’t he? Seriously...

“I guess it’s weird,” he admitted. “With how shitty of an attitude I have. But I take my job seriously. If you can’t get something that simple, then your Evil All-Seeing Eye is pretty fucking lacking.”

“You...” Tanaka growled. “You’re truly impertinent. You wield your blade recklessly and foolishly. You and I both know—that it runs deeper than mere duty for you, Matsuda Yasuke.”

...so what if it does?

He supposes he should be impressed that Tanaka isn’t that fucking dense. That the animal freak is, in fact, a little perceptive.

Smiling mirthlessly, Matsuda reached out to pat the flinching other’s shoulder. He gripped him for just a moment.

“That’s all you need to know about me,” he murmured into Tanaka’s ear before pulling back. “I think we’re at enough of an understanding. Thanks for your time.” He gave a salute as he headed on his way. “We don’t need to talk again. We especially don’t need to duel. Have a wonderful fucking day.”

“One day,” Tanaka swore. “You will meet your cruel, disastrous end. That is the decree of the Tanaka Kingdom!” As Matsuda got further away, Tanaka boomed after him. “Mark my words, sharp-tongued FOOL! You are MARKED for des—!”

It was such a headache that Matsuda tuned him out. But as he found himself alone, he did wonder.

Marked for destruction? Or something else? Despite all that time, rather than growing close, that weirdo is now convinced that I’m hopeless. He might be right. Actually, I’d still consider us closer if he can recognize that. I still don’t really care. I don’t.

He walked on, moving forward because he had nowhere else to go.

Decree. What a fucking riot. If I do die, it won’t be because of an idiot like him. But whatever makes him feel better I suppose.

Matsuda shook his head, brushing the whole thing aside except...

If I die... It won’t be until I reach the very fucking pits. I won’t settle for anything less.

[jenovahh]

Wild Greens Choke Tended Gardens -  Ch. 1 - Calendula (Marigold)

“A’yana!”

Blue eyes twinkle, searching for whoever wanted their attention.

The woman they belong to turns in a rush, her plentiful skirts swaying with the movement.

A’yana Salvia smiled warmly as the Leveilleur twins ran up to her, Alisaie nearly crashing into the older woman. A’yana bubbles with laughter as she slows the girl’s momentum in her arms, encasing her in an affectionate hug. “Well, that’s quite the greeting. Are you more eager than I to be out in the field?”

At first glance, anyone would wonder whether A’yana was trying to be as provocative as possible while somehow maintaining her modesty. Her skirts reached well to the ground, covering her sandaled feet, layered with a string of potions in case of emergency along with decorative feathers and trinkets. Her top was more scandalous, nothing but strips of fabric, artfully bound together to show her cleavage while maintaining her decency.

Her skin was a deep amber, so rich and brown that she seemed to glow whenever she stepped into the sunlight. White tattoos trailed down her arms and back twirling and curving in intricate patterns. With two, large, fluffy ears poking from curly, amethyst hair, A’yana looked like any other Miqo’te, but many underestimated her power.

Stolen from her crib at birth, A’yana has only ever known the teachings of a village of women, much like her. A village of witches, masters of the arcane and magic so old and powerful that they hid themselves in the bowels of the Gridanian forest. It was these witches that had sensed A’yana was born, erasing her existence from her parents’ mind and disappearing into the night to raise her.

The tattoos on her skin had been there since her birth, heralding her as a manifestation of the trees, the leaves, of life itself. Blessed by the spirits and Hydaelyn Herself, she was both respected and feared. Respected for using her powers for good, feared for the possibility she could turn on them and no one alive could stop her.

She had been more than helpful to the cause, even if her tendency to dive into things head first without thinking had landed her in trouble more often than not. Despite that she had made more friends than enemies, and what enemies she had knew she was a force to be reckoned with.

The young Elezen finally peels off of her, giving an exasperated groan. “I cannot deny I am a tad...antsy,”

“Is that what we call it?” Alphinaud can’t help but tease, flinching slightly as Alisaie turns to shoot him a quick glare.

“Now, now, be nice you two.” A’yana giggles, rubbing her head affectionately against the top of Alisaie’s head. “Goodness. I know it will be a few years yet, but I loathe to think of a time where I cannot nuzzle the tops of your snowy heads.” With a mischievous grin of her own, A’yana gives Alisaie a light nudge. “Or when you running headlong into me won’t result in you colliding with my bosom.” she sighs dramatically, breaking out into a full laugh as both twins go red in the face for different reasons.

“We’ll see how you like being teased when I am taller than you! Shall I play with your ears?” Alisaie huffs, clearly embarrassed. It was one thing for her twin to poke fun at her, but to have the woman she had come to view as the older sister she never had never failed to leave her flustered.

“Come now, I jest.” A’yana chuckles giving one last pat on her head. “Surely you did not run because you were excited to see me. Is there news?” A’yana asks, threading her hand with Alisaie’s as they walked through Rhalgr’s Reach. She offers her hand to Alphinaud who sputters for a moment but quietly accepts it, ears reddening as she flashes him a comforting smile.

While A’yana was aware that many would say that the twins were too old for such coddling, she could not help herself. Having no real siblings of her own, A’yana doted on them constantly, always asking if they were hungry, or needed a potion of hers for even something as small as a stomach ache. There was no hiding even outside the Scions that she spoiled them, and despite their best efforts to hide it, they loved every second of her attention.

“Well, on the grounds that you’ve finished your tasks of speaking with the recruits and such for Conrad,” Alphinaud begins, giving an encouraging smile, “he is actually ready to speak with us.”

“Ah, I would hope so after all the running around we’ve had to do.” A’yana sighs, to which even Alphinaud can’t help but laugh.

“While I’m aware that speaking with the masses is not as thrilling as fighting gods, I appreciate you going along with it nonetheless.” Alphinaud thanks, giving her hand a squeeze.

“Only because I have you two kids to look out for.” A’yana snickers, giving Alphinaud’s hair a ruffle, much to his dismay, the teenager leaping away from her teasing. “I’ll meet you over at the tent. Pray tell Conrad I’ll be there shortly.” Watching him nod, her eyes follow him as he walks the path back to the tent where M’naago and Conrad await them. Turning to Alisaie, she gives her hand a squeeze. “And you?”

Shrugging, Alisaie returns her gesture. “I think I will go check up on Y’shtola and Krile, and see how they are faring. I would end up saying the wrong thing I fear if I went with my brother.” Tilting her head, Alisaie gives her a scrutinous look. “Though you seem noticeably...excited today. Is all well?”

A’yana is not surprised, given how much time she spends in the twins' presence. Of course they would pick up on even the smallest cues on her moods. “Well...I’m not particularly familiar with how Elezen find their soulmates,”

Alisaie’s eyes widen before she can even finish the sentence, mouth flying open, “You mean your soulmate is---hrrmph!” she mumbles as A’yana slaps a hand over her mouth, pulling the young girl into what looks like a friendly embrace from afar.

“Quiet!” A’yana hisses, though it lacks any real bite. Alisaie licks at her palm and A’yana takes it off reflexively, releasing Alisaie with a pout.

“Why be quiet? This should be something to celebrate!” Alisaie whispers, at least being considerate to her feelings and keeping her voice down.

“I know, I know, but we’re in the middle of a full blown war, Alisaie. I want to be able to...you know. Have a chance to be courted without fear of some primal coming down on our heads.” A’yana mumbles, somewhat bashfully. For as strong as A’yana was, she was unfortunately (at least to her) a hopeless romantic.

“Oh, you big sap.” Trust her little sister to make fun of her for it. “Well how can you tell? I heard most Miqo’te born in Ul’Dah find theirs by being able to see color when they meet. Does that mean you can’t tell Alphinaud and I dress in different colors? If we swapped clothes--”

“I can see plenty well, thank you.” A’yana grumbles, giving her a playful smack on the head. “If you don’t mind, I’ve kept your brother waiting long enough. Off you go.” A’yana shoos, complete with a limp wristed wave of her hand. Alisaie sticks her tongue out at her, and A’yana is glad to see it. They should enjoy what years of childhood they had left, even if they were teenagers.

Trekking to the tent across the way, she offers a few more cordial waves as she passes by the soldiers stationed in the reach, her tranquil aura a soothing balm to all as she passes by. As she goes to meet with the others, she can’t help but daydream what her soulmate could possibly look like.

Are they tall? Short? Would they be a refined, Ishgardian, Elezen man or a brusque, Highlander woman? Would they be a match made in heaven from the start, or would they have to learn to love each other despite their faults? Though she has waited for her soulmate like anyone else, A’yana still experienced attraction. She knew she liked women, liked men, like those who did not conform to either. She wanted to love her soulmate no matter how they presented themself, and prayed they thought the same for her.

She always imagined her soulmate would be tall, someone who would want to protect her even if she did not need it. Someone who made her feel like an average woman despite her trekking across Eorzea as the Warrior of Light. She hoped they liked her cooking. The Scions all think it’s too spicy, except for Tataru, bless her heart.

A’yana envied other races and cultures that had more certain ways of knowing for sure when or where they’d meet their soulmate. Finding your soulmate varied from methods as vague as sharing your soulmate’s hair color, to as specific as having a specially crafted chronometer that would countdown to the time you would meet.

A’yana got stuck with the vague end of the spectrum, only able to sense when her soulmate drew near.

She had thought it wanderlust at first; a desire to leave her village behind once she had hit the appropriate age to do so. It was to her surprise that she would be discovered to be the Warrior of Light, beginning her trek across Eorzea to save it from certain doom. She had gravitated to Gridania immediately, feeling a strange tingling in her chest that would always call her back.

It is only after they crossed Baelsar’s wall had she realized that was no normal feeling.

She kept it to herself for a while, but with each passing day as she worked to bolster the Ala Mhigan resistance with Raubahn and Pipin, she could feel her soulmate drawing closer. She knew they were close, just not how close. Oh, how the wait was killing her.

One look at Y’shtola and Krile tells A’yana that as usual, Alisaie can’t keep her mouth shut. The two give her knowing, but hopeful looks. Alphinaud asks ever so politely on whether she is willing to try and storm the Castellum with Pipin, because she’s already done so much for the cause and he’d rather not presume. Ruffling his hair again, A’yana laughs that while she appreciates it, he needn’t ask. If there is a just cause to fight for, she will be there.

While this cause is just as bloody as the Dragonsong War so far, A’yana feels no less afraid to see it through. She does not enjoy killing, abhors it really, and will do what she can to spare a life, even those of an enemy unless they force her hand. Thankfully with her powers, restraining the enemy is not hard work, allowing for the capture of soldiers with minimal bloodshed.

It is better than sitting around running her apothecary, waiting for customers to stop by.

Fighting primals is much more exciting.

There are no eikons to slay yet though, Gyr Abania proving strangely tame compared to the struggles she endured during her time in Coerthas fighting the Heavensward led by Thordan. Where there was once the threat of dragons around every corner, able to fly and raze her to the ground if she let them, the only risk so far is an imperial ambush, which when next to her, was hardly a threat at all.

A’yana knew she was powerful and she tried to not let it get to her head.

Tried.

The trek back to Castrum Oriens is quiet and peaceful, the imperials most likely quaking in their boots from their last defeat by her hand. To the average person she appeared to be no more than a healer, thinking her an easy target as she balanced her astrolabe above her palm. And with skirts restricting her movement, many would think she would be incapable of hand to hand combat.

That didn’t mean she couldn’t dodge, though.

Bolstered by her own abilities, her offensive spells even as she healed were more than enough to weaken an enemy and render them unable to even lift a blade against her. And even if someone did manage to get close enough, she had worked hard to master the art of dodging a sword while in her skirts, having a few scars from some close calls.

A’yana makes conversation with M’naago until they reach the Castrum, where Raubahn and Pipin each give her a friendly welcome before getting down to business. A’yana’s attention drifts in and out of the conversation, ears flicking to and fro the only indication whether she’s actively listening or not. Thankfully M’naago is the only other Miqo’te present to recognize the behavior for what it is, and seems confident in her abilities to not comment on it. One doesn’t necessarily need the full scope of the plan when your friends usually chuck you at a primal.

Besides, she can’t help it; she feels her soulmate drifting ever closer. Could they be an Ala Mhigan? She’s never felt the buzz so strongly before, even when she had first noticed the feeling when she became an adult. If her soul mate was Ala Mhigan, she would’ve felt them this close years ago...right?

“You seem on edge.” Alisaie comments again, as they prepare to meet Pipin outside Castellum Velodnya. “Is your soulmate getting closer?”

Unable to hide her grin, A’yana nods, not wanting to burst with excitement when such a serious mission looms ahead. If scoping out the Castellum went well, perhaps she could spend the night searching for her soulmate. Surely if they are this close, they must be searching for her too? “Right now, I just wanna focus on our mission,” A’yana sighs, flexing her fingers anxiously. “I have yet to consult the stars about tonight...I’ve never consulted them about my soulmate actually. I’ve always wanted it to be a surprise.”

Alisaie gives her a teasing look at that. “Who would’ve thought the Warrior of Light would be such a huge romantic?” She sighs, complete with a dramatic roll of her eyes.

“Oh, be quiet you.” A’yana laughs, giving Alisaie a scathing look. “Don’t think I’ve not noticed you fiddling with that locket you think you keep tucked away. I believe Sharlayans often find their soulmates by a personal trinket that glows when their soulmate is near, right?”

A’yana can’t help but laugh louder as Alisaie turns as red as her gear, going on about how A’yana must’ve been spying on her. It takes Alphinaud calming both of them down (but not without getting in a few jokes of his own) to say they’re ready to head toward the Castellum.

Making sure her cards are ready and her astrolabe functional, A’yana begins to ease into her more serious persona. A’yana didn’t want to put up false pretenses when it came to her role as the Warrior of Light, but found that people took her seriously the sterner she looked. Around the Scions she didn’t mind joking and laughing, showing a side that precious few got to see. But when it came time to do battle, you would think she had not smiled in days.

With her feline hearing and the twins own sensitivity to sound due to their Elezen heritage combined, it’s nigh impossible for anyone to sneak up on them. A’yana follows close behind Pipin and the twins, careful to make sure her skirts don’t get snagged in the brush as they make their way through the forest and out to the more desert-like terrain. A’yana can’t help but be a little nervous as they creep closer to the cliffs’ edge, taking extra steps so that tripping on her skirts doesn’t spell in a long fall into the chasm below.

Winds tickle her skin, the buzzing in her chest almost turning into a light hum. It makes it hard to focus.

“...is exactly as expected. I will notify father.” Pipin’s voice drifts into her ears.

Alphinaud puts a hand on her arm, eyes silently asking if she’s all right. Thankful for his concern, A’yana nods, doing her best to push the humming feeling to the back of her mind. Whenever she did meet her soulmate, she was going to tell them they had awful timing.

“...fire! Where did it come from?” Pipin whispers harshly, turning this way and that. Panicked and feeling stupid for not paying attention, A’yana jumps to her feet, scanning the area for cannonfire she didn’t even hear. The humming is hard to push from her mind.

“Is that---” Alisaie’s voice drifts in and out as A’yana finally manages to turn to where Alisaie is facing. “Oh gods, it’s Rhalgr’s Reach!”

Doing her damndest to focus, A’yana gathers up her skirts and begins to move, before either of the twins or Pipin can say anything. “A’yana, it’s no use-- I think someone’s jamming our communications!” Alphinaud yells. Thankfully the pair are used to A’yana’s tendency to run head first into danger without thinking, quick on her heels.

“You don’t think...could this be part of a coordinated attack?” Alisaie ponders, the two of them heading North so they can cross the river and make it back as fast as possible.

Having caught up, Pipin chimes in, “It’s too early to draw conclusions. We must abort the assault and return to the Reach at once!”

Not that that wasn’t her plan anyway, A’yana trudges through the river, silently cursing that she is at such a disadvantage. Her abilities relied so strongly on a presence of plant life; and in the arid climate that Gyr Abania had, she immediately felt the loss. Whatever it was waiting for her at the Reach, they better hope--

The humming--

It almost feels like a full blown thrumming now.

She’s getting closer to Rhalgr’s which means…

Which means...!

“We have to hurry!” She cries, ignoring the discomfort of soggy sandals and damp skirts as she pulls herself from the river, continuing her run to Rhalgr’s Reach.

My soulmate...are they there? Are they hurt? She wonders, trying her best to not despair, but she can’t help but worry. Not when with every step she takes the thrumming gets more insistent until it is all she can feel, her very being feeling as if it knows her soulmate is near. She can hear the twins hurried breaths behind her, her feline eyes easily pick up on a few approaching forms in the distance.

“Krile!” A’yana calls, willing her feet to move faster. The Lalafellin woman’s eyes are downcast, only glancing up at the sound of her name being called. Her grim look only pushes A’yana forward, not even stopping to talk and hear what she has to say.

“Alisaie! Go after A’yana!” She hears Alphinaud call, as he and Pipin stay behind for a moment to talk to Krile. Alisaie is hot on her tail without even needing to be told, keeping stride with the older woman as they prepare to throw themselves into the fray.

“We have to save as many as possible!” Alisaie calls, drawing her rapier, having it at the ready. “Heal who you can. I will watch your back until the others arrive!”

Proud of her sister for thinking so fast on her feet, for knowing what she wants without even having to voice it, A’yana pulls her astrolabe from her back, the cards fanning around the globe in a flourish. Imperials meet them at the gate, A’yana able to feel the stars giving her strength as she pulls a Lady of Crowns from her globe. Channeling the energy to Alisaie, she watches as the young woman’s eyes light up, letting loose her battle cry as she takes the imperials on.

She fights off one imperial, making quick work of them and gets to calling upon her magic to cast a quick healing spell on a nearby recruit. Thankful that they’ve only sustained flesh wounds that won’t drain their life force, A’yana begins to put more of her focus into getting them a bit healthier. Only a few minutes pass before she can hear Krile and the others catch up. “Go on ahead!” Krile demands, already heading for the next of the wounded. “They need your help!”

Nodding, A’yana once again balances her astrolabe in her hand, having palmed a few cards to keep at the ready as she takes stock of who will be moving with her. Her heart is pounding; her soulmate is close, and she prays that because she still feels this thrumming, it also means they’re still alive.

“Y’shtola!” Alphinaud cries, seeing the Miqo’te woman on the ground. A’yana’s own heart stops as she spies Lyse tied up on the ground next to the unconscious woman.

“Not so fast!”

A’yana barely dodges a swipe of a blade, her skirts dancing around her as she quickly casts a Malefic at the offending enemy. More of the Skulls begin to surround her, snickering to themselves, thinking they have her cornered. Though there may be little plant life around, she knows she won’t even have to waste a fraction of her energy taking down a few mercenaries. A’yana’s eyes narrow as a young woman, hardly older than nineteen summers comes to the front, smirking as if victory is assured.

“Well, well. A rescue party, is it?” The woman grins, twirling her blade. “We’ll see about that!”

At the first step she makes A’yana easily dodges her, balancing her astrolabe in one hand while taking hold of her skirts in the other. Her pupils dilate, letting in more light on this already dark and tragic night. She dodges another swipe and hears the woman growl in frustration, making another blind charge at her. A’yana evades her once again, losing herself to the pull of combat, the humming of her soulmate’s proximity forgotten as she manages to put enough distance between her and the newcomer to cast a Malefic that sends her stumbling.

“Gah! Who in the seven hells are you?!” She snarls, her grip on her sword tightening.

“I would ask the same of you, but I remember you now...Fordola rem Lupis.” A’yana murmurs, twirling her astrolabe in hand. She’s fully dipped into the role of the Warrior now, eyes hard as steel, unforgiving in their gaze as she stares down the cause of this tragedy. “I unfortunately lack the means to restrain you properly...which prompts me to request you stand down. I rather there be no more bloodshed, even from the enemy.”

A’yana keeps her focus on Fordola, ensuring she makes no sudden movements as Alphinaud takes out one of the soldiers. “Alphinaud! I need your help!” Krile beckons, falling to her knees as she sets about healing Y’shtola and the other fallen soldiers.

Fordola makes to move toward them but A’yana is faster, casting a Malefic with just enough power to weaken her further and deter her from any foolish moves. Fordola grits her teeth, eyes burning hotly as she stares her down. “My lord, the prisoners!” She calls.

My lord? A’yana wonders, until she hears the shift of heavy armor, and the awareness of the humming returns tenfold.

“See to your men, Pilus.”

Fordola draws her sword, turning to the sound, giving the Garlean salute to whoever comes this way. Following her gaze, A’yana takes one look.

And she knows.

The armor is obviously fitting of not just a high ranking officer, but royalty. She can see strands of golden, blond hair trail from beneath the monsterish helm. She had heard stories and rumors, intel about the Garlean prince, but nothing could have prepared her for how intense his presence was--

Or the fact that he was her soulmate.

It can’t be, A’yana trembles, even as her soul sings at being so close to her soulmate. She can feel all the signs of love she had envied for so long. Her knees are weak, her heart’s beating out of time. She only has eyes for the twisted creature before her, the Prince of Garleans…

Zenos yae Galvus.

“Uh-- as you command, my lord.” Fordola stutters, rounding up what remaining soldiers she has and retreating as ordered.

A’yana is stock still even as Pipin comes up beside her, her throat locked up. She wants to say so much, but her mouth will not open. Her tongue is dry.

It can’t be.

Zenos turns to her, mood indiscernible from beneath his helm. One arm rests upon the odd sheathe that is fastened to his hip, carrying a familiar sort of confidence she recognizes in herself. A surety in your power.

The knowledge of your greatness.

“Your friends were a disappointment. But you…” The prince drawls, tilting his head slightly. “You will entertain me, will you not?”

A’yana can’t even swallow as he moves to face her, drawing a sword from his revolver.

It can’t be.

Alisaie brings up the rear at last as A’yana’s instinct is screaming at her to run away. To tell her friends to run for cover while she holds him off. But it is too late. The stage is already set.

“If we kill him, here and now, we can end this!” Alisaie roars, already launching herself at Zenos.

“As one!” Pipin cries, joining Alisaie in her attack.

“Wait-- no!” A’yana yells, finally finding her voice. Habit finally kicks in, fear an undercurrent to her movements as she begins to draw cards, ready to aid her friends where possible. He’s...powerful. I’ve never felt such strength…!

A’yana watches panicked as Zenos fights them off, expending little effort. It almost feels like looking in a mirror, watching the ease at which he dispatches her friends.

Is this what she looked like to everyone else?

“I have no need for this rabble.” Zenos sighs, unleashing an attack that sends the two flying.

“Alisaie! Pipin!” A’yana calls, having barely withstood the attack herself. Was that...magic? The prince is a full blooded Garlean-- how? Quickly glancing, she hears Pipin mumble something over the roaring in her ears as Alisaie lets loose a slew of curses, allowing her to take a breather. They’re both alive, thank the Twelve.

“Hm. You yet stand.” Zenos hums, once again drawing A’yana’s attention as well as her ire. At least now with her friends out of the fight she has to worry about no one save herself. “Mayhap you have potential.”

“Oh, I have more than potential,” A’yana hisses, beginning to draw cards. She can hear him chuckle, even from under the helm, illusionary swords appearing around her. Growling, she makes quick work of dodging their blasts while keeping her eyes focused on him.

Her soulmate.

Her eyes burn with unshed tears at how unfair this was.

For every blast she dodges, he’s quick on his feet, chasing her, hunting her, leaving her little room to even begin to cast. She’s unaccustomed to being on the run and she feels like he can sense it, can see how wide her eyes are from being on the losing side for once. She can hear the smirk from under his helm. “Better. Yet lacking nevertheless…”

Incensed, A’yana dodges his swords once again, edging herself near the water. It will take a good chunk of her energy, but if it means wiping that smirk off his face even if she can’t see it, she’ll do what it takes.

She watches him still for but a moment as her tattoos faintly glow, the water gurgling behind her. Balancing her astrolabe, she casts a Malefic with the intention of distracting him, grinning as he moves to dodge her magic. “I’ve got you!” she roars, veins shooting from the depths of the small river, launching themselves directly at Zenos.

He easily slashes at one set, but was clearly not expecting another set of vines to come up behind him, latching onto his sword arm. Regaining her confidence, A’yana cinches the vines as tight as she can around his wrist, frowning as the pressure does nothing to his armor. As a prince it would make sense he is only afforded the highest quality metal available.

Changing tactics she tries to wrench his hand behind him, but he’s far too strong for her vines to pull without snapping. She could strengthen them with magic, but she’s already using so much already since she is not touching any plants physically and relying on her own energy. She doesn’t want to use her reserves; what if she needs to make a run for it?

Would her own soulmate kill her?

Could he not tell they were soulmates?

Was she broken?

Her choice is taken away from her as Zenos gives a decisive slice of his blade through the vines, humming to himself. “An ability to control plant matter...though not without great cost to yourself.” While his tone hints that he’s somewhat intrigued, it still maintains a bit of boredom. “Come then.”

Before she can react he dashes for her, blade drawn. A’yana winces as she’s barely able to dodge in time, crying out at her blade cuts a decent gash in her side. Down, but not out, A’yana taps into her reserves by clasping his sword, using a burst of magic to snap the blade in half. As he withdraws, she falls to the ground, whimpering as she casts a small healing spell to at least stop the bleeding.

She feels him gaze down at her, feels his disdain and disappointment. Her heart still burns at his closeness, even as he draws another sword from his revolver. She glares up at him then, resolve burning bright in her eyes, even as she kneels before him. Instinct claws its way up to where she bares her fangs, her eyes become slits, and somehow that gives him pause.

All is silent save for the rolling of thunder.

“Pathetic.” He sighs, sheathing his sword once again and stalking away. A’yana watches him go, watches Fordola and her men follow behind him.

“A’yana!” Alisaie is at her side in an instant, trying to put on her best brave face. “We need to get you seen to,”

“I’m fine, Alisaie, I’ve slowed the bleeding.” Normally she’d have more than enough energy to stop it entirely. But not this time.

Not after being defeated so wholly.

A’yana was no prodigy; she had to work to her level of skill like anyone else. She was only bolstered by the fact she was a wellspring of power, and had a natural aptitude for magic and the arcane. She had long faded scars to show she trained like anyone else.

Only now, had her luck run out.

She was used to coasting on her talent, her hard work. That wasn't to say any of her battles up until this point had been easy, oh no-- taking down Nidhogg had been an arduous battle from start to finish. Even with van Baelsar she had been younger, greener, mostly sailing by on sheer adrenaline and pure luck. Overwhelming her enemies with how much raw, untamed power she held.

And now...she feels embarrassed. The infallible, unshakable Warrior of Light…

Thrown around like a doll by the prince of Garleans.

Even still, nothing made her more ashamed than the fact that he was her soulmate.

She couldn’t understand it. Comprehend it. She couldn’t deny she felt a little impatient. Not all races met their soulmates when they were young, but it was not unheard of for some soulmates to find one another even before their teenage years. She could not help the doubts that plagued her that by nearly twenty-five summers, she hadn’t felt as much of a tug. Something had to be wrong with her.

It is why she could not contain her excitement when after so long, she felt something.

It is why her heart is so heavy as Alphinaud and Krile rush over to her to help heal her enough to move.

Raubahn arrives soon after, devastated as he looks upon the Reach. He scoops her up effortlessly, balancing her in one arm as he rushes her to the infirmary, only adding to her shame.

“You’ve done well.” Raubahn assures her, hushed words only for the two of them to hear. Even though it is only for her ears, she can’t help but beat herself up for failing everyone so horribly.

She can’t tell anyone.

What would the others think of her, knowing that when they needed her most, she couldn’t fight her soulmate? That her soulmate was the very person they are aiming to defeat?

Even as she lies in bed and the chirugeons tend to her, Krile and Alphinaud having exhausted their energy just to save Y’shtola, she stares the ceiling and wonders--

What will she do?

She can’t kill her soulmate.

She already abhorred the thought of killing, but she could sense he was not a man who would allow himself to be captured. He would accept nothing less than total defeat.

Night falls over the Reach and she lies wide awake, thoughts bouncing off the walls like a child who has had too much toffee. She is restless at the same time she is tired, wanting action, wanting to do anything, wanting to prove herself--

“...Yana?”

A’yana gasps, heart nearly leaping up her throat as Alisaie’s head peeks through the privacy curtain around her bed. “Alisaie. I’m sorry. I was...lost in thought.” She moves to sit up but her gash is still healing. She’s yet to recover the strength needed to heal her wounds further, and her strongest potions were given to help Y’shtola and many others instead.

“You’re not overthinking your battle are you?” Alisaie questions, quietly reaching for a small stool to sit at her side. A’yana guiltily looks away, prompting the young girl to frown. “Yana,” Alisaie begins and A’yana can’t help but sigh. Alisaie only dropped her prefix when she was ready to chew her out.

“At least think about it from my perspective, Alisaie,” A’yana breathes, unable to even roll over and face her. “I’ve...never experienced a defeat such as that. In a way I suppose I am humbled, but I...I was also scared.”

They are both silent, Alisaie seeming to mull over her words. “Your soulmate…” Alisaie begins, causing A’yana to tense immediately. Thankfully it is still too dark to catch such minute movements. “Were they...did you sense them? Was it distracting you? They’re not…”

“No, they’re not dead.” A’yana cuts off, slinging an arm over her eyes, not wanting to show Alisaie her tears. She had to be strong for her. She had to be unshakable, an inspiration--

“Then where are they?” Alisaie presses, unable to see how A’yana’s fist clenches, how as much as she doesn’t want to, tears fall from her tired eyes.

“They’re not here. They left.” She lies. “I’m guessing they saw the explosions, heard the cannon fire from Rhalgr’s. And...I suppose that they don’t have a way to sense I’m near.” A’yana curses as she begins to sniffle, as sobs begin to wrack her body. She would never show this chip in her armor to anyone else.

“Yana…” Alisaie murmurs, reaching to hug her as best as she can with A’yana still lying down. The Miqo’te takes it, needing the comfort. She’s not surprised that Alisaie lets her think that she’s this immovable force, that she is not without flaws and fears. She knew Alisaie did not think any less of her for having weak points like anyone else.

But in her mind, nothing could make up for the fact that her soulmate was the enemy they were trying to defeat, and she just may not have the power to stop him.

[brandstifter-sys]

Molting

Word Count: 2479           (Ao3)

Rating: T+

Characters: Virgil, Remus, all other sides as of PoF mentioned

Pairing: Dukexiety (platonic but could be not platonic if you want)

Warnings: Body Horror, Spider!Virgil, knife, sex mention, grossness, Gore, swearing, physical strain, exhaustion

Virgil is a spider boy, and spiders need to molt. It’s not a pretty sight and it’s an ordeal Virgil hates. Lucky him, he has a best friend who is willing and able to help, even if it drives him nuts.

-----

"Hey Princey, where's Virge?—Whoa are you okay, you look like you need to sit down, kiddo!"

"Patton, Virgil won't be joining us for a few days, surely his eating habits and sudden baldness have been a sign of the time of year for him." Logan commented from his seat on the couch. Roman was curled up and shaking, pallid and horrified.

"You mean?" Patton squeaked and shuddered. 

"Yes. I will be joining Janus and Remus during the clean up. I suggest you try to avoid his room for the next few days. Molting is a delicate process." 

-------

Virgil felt like jello, trapped in a hard shell. He was on his back spread and nude, unable to move without the sickening feeling that came with it. His chelicerae and extra limbs were out and just as rigid, making his position more awkward. He couldn’t breathe and he desperately tried to force his gelatinous form to shift and expand where his head was. He was dizzy, just trying to crack the eggshell-thin casing like a chick about to hatch, only without anything solid to chip at the barrier.

Pop!

The casing around his head split in half, with a sickening crack, leaving him gasping for air. Oh that sweet, sweet oxygen was tainted by the taste of his own skin-flavored goo falling into his open mouth. His eyes were sealed shut, but not out of fear for what he would see, since they didn't do a great job at blocking the light. No they were closed until he was sure none of his shell got in his eyes, trapped in the gelatinous muck that would cause his eyelids to tear if he dared open them.

"I thought I might have to cut you out of there if you took much longer," someone, Janus he assumed based on the tone, hummed softly nearby, "Time to cut off the area around your shoulders. Do try and wiggle out of it once it's done. And yes, you have to get yourself out." 

Virgil tried to calm his breathing, waiting for one of the worst parts. He was too fragile and squishy to be nicked by a blade, let alone a full cut. But he trusted Janus more than the others, except maybe Remus, especially with his mouth wide open.

Virgil could feel the vibrations through the floor. The steady gait and heavier footfalls were different from what he expected, but he could chalk it up to Janus being tired, he and Remus did carry him here and set up when his outer layer went rigid and his bones melted into this disgusting jelly.

He heard the blade gliding over his shell just above his shoulders with such a slight amount of pressure. It was far too smooth to be Janus's work, and Remus wasn't there, so it had to be Janus, but something about the stiff meticulous nature was throwing him off. 

"Now you have to go up towards the ears on both sides and then to the crown. Once that's done you can carefully lift those pieces away." Janus said to the person cutting his head free. Virgil's heart pounded in his ears, at least his soft organs were still intact, as intact as the situation allowed. He struggled to keep his breathing even, unsure where the blade was. 

"Would it be more efficient to cut along the fault?" That was Logan. That was okay, he was not easily disturbed. His suggestion, however, was not okay.

"Do you want to risk slitting his throat?" Janus asked with an edge to his voice, "He is vulnerable and having that scalpel near his throat will make his anxiety worse."

"I understand. In that case—" Logan trailed off and continued his task. Janus hissed under his breath, in a way that only Virgil would understand, but he didn’t, which was concerning. For the smart side, Logan had his stupid moments and this Janus was regretting bringing him in so soon.

"And to be clear, I am not supposed to peel the exoskeleton." 

"Correct. And once you remove the upper half, will you have a suitable specimen?" this Janus responded curtly. He was done sharing this vulnerable moment with the nerd. 

"Yes," Logan said as the tips of his fingers brush Virgil's new skin, making him wince, "Remus has already called 'dib'—is that the correct phrase?" 

"Yes." 

"He has already called dib on the lower half."

Virgil winced as cool air hit his tender form. He could feel the slime stretching and pulling away from him with a soft, sickening snap, with the tendrils falling back into the near liquid of his body. Logan was quick to set that piece aside and remove the other with as much dexterity and grace as before. 

"Shall I tell Remus his presence is requested at this time?" Logan asked as he gathered his samples.

"No. I suggest you sink out to your room before he bursts in like the unhinged maniac he becomes when told to sit still and wait." this Janus droned. Logan nodded and sank out. And not a moment too soon. But it felt like the other presence changed rapidly.

"Virgil, I’m the only one here with you. I'm going to clear your nose before I wipe your eyes," Remus hummed, after dropping his disguise, and knelt down beside him on the old sheet he was laying on. The bulb syringe entering his nostril was a strange sensation when his nose was basically formless, as was the goo exiting his nose, but it was a relief. 

"Stay focused on breathing, Virgil, 3/4 time—that's it. One more time." 

The second his nose was cleared, Virgil closed his mouth. Remus giggled and conjured a clean rag. 

"Whatsamatter, Soft-skull? Don't like the taste of your own mucus? It's like a giant loogie!" Remus cackled and carefully wiped down his face. 

"I thought you said you weren't gonna pull that stunt," Virgil wheezed. 

"Nerd wanted samples more than I want my dick sucked. I had to pretend to be Jan to keep things calm in here—you think the nerd would listen to me? Besides, Janus isn't good at anything but the first cuts. He thinks it's nasty!" Remus laughed, "It is but that's not the real issue—it's the mess that you leave behind that's the problem!"

Virgil rolled his eyes and focused on wiggling out of his shell instead of the duke's rant. It was the same one every season. Whether it was Janus's scales or the molting, Remus would bitch about the mess.

"... and I know what you're thinking—what everyone thinks! 'Why are you so bent out of shape? You like grossness and garbage and mess!'" Remus rambled, "There's a difference between a messy aesthetic and a mess! Organized chaos, Harlot's Web, I know exactly where everything is and where it's supposed to be even if it looks like shit! It's mine to manipulate! Your body cast is not in the design plan!" 

"Talk cryptids, dammit!" Virgil hissed as he tried to squeeze his way out of his exoskeleton, weakly curling his toes, or attempting to, "I hate this shit too!" 

"Cryptids and cursed objects?" Remus cooed. 

"Fine!" Virgil grunted, feeling the goo on his skin shifting and stretching with the slightest movement, peeling him away from his old skin slowly. He was going to take hours to get out.

"Okay so I know you don't usually watch the videos of Dybbuk box openings and you should, gets the blood pumping, but you know those are fake, right? They're all a sham!" Remus started ranting. His rage was actually quite helpful as a motivator to move. 

"...and don't get me started on the bullshit wax! It's so hard to clean! You know I have a design aesthetic and wax is not a part of it! Especially when there's no restless spook involved! It's a lot of crap with no real payout! If I wanted to have a creepy old box covered in wax I could make one myself!" 

“Fill it with spider exoskeleton,” Virgil huffed and wheezed at the exertion, “It’ll make a good snack!”

“Just like you!” Remus giggled, “But seriously, those things don’t hold any angry ghosties, and they seem problematic in other ways too, which usually isn’t a problem for me, but no spooks? That’s crossing a line! I could create better cursed objects!” Remus paused as a wicked grin split his face. Oh no.

“Get me out of here and you can see something really cursed!” Virgil spat, venom shooting from his mouth, literally, and landing on the sheet under him. He broke into a fit of coughing, his form sloshing and molding in the shape of his exoskeleton. 

"Easy there, Swamp Thing!" Remus jeered, "If no one helps Bolt, Nimby, Cirrus, Cyoomy, Hansel, or Gretel when they molt, you don't get much more help either." 

"Swamp Thing? More like the Blob!" Virgil retorted bitterly. Remus clapped his hands and grinned.

"You are so right!" he cheered, "That's a better nickname when you're like this! Like an alien creeping out of a meteor all gelatinous and prone to leaving slime trails! Emo Jello! How you still have lungs is a mystery to me! You don't even have a digestive tract!" 

"Great reminder, jackass!" 

"It is! All your fluids and organs are blended up—except for your heart, blood, brain, and lungs!"

Virgil tried to ignore the glee in his voice and focused on moving. He didn't feel like telling him that his blood was traveling through his body through osmosis, always finding a way back to the heart and lungs, he would see it eventually. The rubbery slick kept him stuck to his exoskeleton, bending and stretching, but always pulling him back. 

"You look like a jaundiced Hellboy cosplayer in a deflated Paleman blow-up suit who's gonna eat a crap ton when he gets back to normal! And then there's the whole hair growth thing! Like throwing straw on a potato sack filled with rotten meat! Do you even have eyelashes now?"

"You. Tell. Me." Virgil grunted and grit his teeth, which were far too soft to actually bite anything or grind. Remus squatted next to him and leaned in close. 

"They're coming in!" Remus grinned and stood up. Virgil groaned and flexed his chelicerae. Some movement was better than none. He was trapped, like swimming in tar, and he had to fight to escape his full-body restraint. 

"Do you want some music? I can do a striptease!" Remus asked and wiggled his eyebrows. 

"Does this get you hot and bothered, sicko?" Virgil scoffed and tried to focus on curling his fingers with what energy and strength he had. Remus pouted and wiggled his mustache in thought. 

"No, not really. But just standing here is boring! Besides, it's just incentive for you to burst out of your shell!" 

"Not. Interested." 

"You and I both know you would do anything to stop me from getting naked for no reason!" Remus teased. He was right of course, but it was still irksome.

"Shut up," Virgil hissed, still not getting anywhere, "Put on some music and keep your fucking pants on!" 

"Fine!" Remus groaned and rolled his eyes. He snapped his fingers, filling the room with some sick emo jams. At least they made Virgil more at ease! 

Two Days Later…

"Remus, c'mon!" Virgil panted as he fruitlessly clawed at the soft carpet trying to remove himself from his exoskeleton, smearing goo all over. He was weak and exhausted from the endless strain. His body was still akin to a gummy bear with a dark cherry filling, but at least his bangs were back. 

"Nope! I already cut out your—" 

"Please! I'm not even stuck!" Virgil cried, "Pull me out of here!" He was so close to bursting into tears. Two days straight of wiggling just to get back to normal took its toll on him. Two days straight of moving two inches forward and one inch back with no food or water left him weak. There was no time for sleep and no time to rest. Remus didn't sleep the entire time either and it showed. 

"I could tear you in half, and then your guts'll spill all over the floor and there'd be a huge stain and you'd be pissed off while you bleed out!" he said with a bright grin that bordered on maniacal.

"It's just my legs! Please!" he begged, "I don't have the strength!" He was actually crying at that point. Remus ceded and carefully looped his arms under Virgil's. The goo stuck to his shirt as he carefully pulled the emo from his old skin and scooped him up into his arms. 

"Easy there, Raggedy Anx, you're free to crawl on the ceiling and scare those losers like some fleshy horror movie creature bent on devouring them, starting with the eyes," Remus said and stood up. He could have easily snapped Virgil's spine over his knee, watched him writhe in agony and scream until he couldn't manage it anymore. He could watch his fluids pool under his translucent skin and ooze out of the puncture wound from the snapped vertebrae. 

He did the smart thing and placed the fragile blob of emo on the bed and stepped back. Molting meant growing and that meant he needed space as everything took shape again. Remus could already see what changes happened under that shell as Virge gasped, forcing air in to help his expansion. 

"Stress workouts?" Remus asked and stretched his arms above his head. 

"Mostly." 

"You fixed your—" 

"Yeah and that was your fault!" 

"No no no, I didn't mess up the piercing—you let it get infected and tried to rip it off!" 

"I'll rip yours off if you don't shut up!"

"I can regrow it, without going all rigor mortis alien!" Remus laughed, "But I can't make it any bigger, so you have me beat!" 

"Go to bed," Virgil huffed, "You're losing it." He kept up his hyperventilating style of breathing and closed his eyes. Just a few more hours of this and he could finally get some rest. 

"But you're not sleeping!" Remus argued, "And I vowed to watch over you while you're weak and nasty!" 

"You sound like Roman," Virgil scoffed. 

"You take that back!" 

"'I vowed' c'mon that's a Princey line!" Virgil huffed, “You need to get out of this room. Come after you get some rest and food. You did your part.” Remus pouted and snapped his fingers. The exoskeleton and sheet on the floor vanished. That was the last thing he had to do before Janus could take over. 

“Fine, but I’ll be back and there’s nothing you can do to stop me!” Remus laughed and sank out. Virgil rolled his eyes, like he could ever stop Remus from doing anything! This time he didn’t want to.

Reblogs > Likes

[flying-nightwing]

Dark Fox (4/7)

Hiiiiiiiii people! So there’s a LOT of action in this one, and also comedy relief featuring the batfam. Major foreshadowing as well, so enjoy! 

No proofreading we die like bastards.

Previous - Next 

Pairing: Jason x League!Reader

Word Count: 6819

Warnings: same as the others

Jason’s progress became even more obvious as spring rolled by. You had access once again to that clearing in the middle of the blooming nature, and the days were once again becoming longer. He would still complain about training--you didn’t think you could ever stop him from doing so--but he wouldn’t lash out like he used to. 

“Are you ever going to stop doing that?”

You smirked at his exasperation after you rolled away from his swing. Once again, you were playing it passive.

“When you’ll stop falling for it”

There was a focused calculation in his eyes, like he was trying to find out a solution to beat you. He was analysing your movements; you had noticed him doing that a lot more lately. You blocked his sword, but this time, instead of attacking again, he twisted yours and sent it flying away. He threw his beside it and engaged in hand to hand combat, forcing you out of your passive strategy.

Finally.

His hits came flying fast, but they were controlled. He moved fluidly around you, imposing his rhythm. You had to be much more proactive to avoid receiving devastating hits, as it dragged you out of your zone of comfort. You had to try and change the rhythm, risk exposing yourself to try moves to slow him down. 

His expression soon turned playful. He was enjoying this version of the fight way more, as he was clearly in his element. His strength was kept in check and so was his anger. It was a far cry than the first time he had disarmed you, for this time he wasn't trying to kill you, or strangle you. 

He got you on a high kick, as he thought fast enough to grab your ankle and yank you. You tried to pull yourself up and wrap your legs in a chokehold, but his roll forward sent you on the ground. He offered you a hand to stand up, and you took it. 

"I'll be damned" You said, dusting yourself up. "You've finally stopped falling for it"

"Huh?" He frowned, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. The sun was particularly hot that day, even if it was still early in the year. Jason was in an old ripped t-shirt, and you had ditched most of your league gear beside the pants and boots. You simply had your long sleeve base layer, which still elicited comments from Jason on how weird it was seeing you "peeled off".

"You took control of the fight without lashing out" You explained. All that time you had been teaching him restraint and how to focus his emotions rather than let them dictate his actions, and he had proved he could put it all in practice. "I've been trying to get you to that point for months"

"So no punishment for not beating you with a sword?" He raised his eyebrows, skeptical. 

"Don't be ridiculous" You scoffed. "You couldn't beat me with a sword"

"Wow"

"It was about time you finally figured that out" You teased. "Recognize your enemy's strength, and don't let them use it to dictate the fight. You decide how it goes, not the opposite"

"So next time I can disarm you in any fight?" He joked.

"Next time I'll be the only one to have a sword" You replied, carefully watching the shift in his expression, from smug to concerned. "Now we can begin real training"

"Real training?"

--------

The gym in the cave had a strong echo.

The glass cage around the sparring surface made it even worse, trapping the sounds to bounce around. Every hit of the wooden escrima sticks, every grunt of effort or every roll on the floor reverberated back to you. But you would mostly tune it out, your focus solely on Jason in front of you. 

Your duel was conducted at high intensity. Neither of you spared the other in your hits, and all sneaky moves were allowed. It was fast paced and violent, but that's how you rolled. You were used to it with him, you knew his limits and he knew yours. And you were nowhere close to them.

However, to any outsider, it would look like you were in a real fight. If you had your side open, he would hit your ribs. You would either target the back of his knees or try and elbow his stomach if you got him to raise his arms a bit.

When he missed a pace, you hit his wrist, making him drop his stick. You blocked the one remaining in his left hand with your left and rested the other on his cheek, before taking a step back and spinning them both. 

"Did she just fucking beat Todd?"

You turned around to face the small public your fight had attracted. Dick and Tim were there, looking baffled. You threw Jason his towel and grabbed yours, wiping down the sweat on your face and escrima sticks. 

"Of course she did"

A new voice warranted your attention. Down the stairs came a face that was familiar, but that you hadn't seen in a long time. Bruce Wayne followed suit.

"Mother wouldn't have chosen anyone as her right hand"

Two pairs of wide eyes glanced back at you. 

"You're--"

"You know--"

"Yeah you dipshits" Jason mused as he strutted out of the cage with you in tow. "I got my League training from Talia's number one champion"

"You're quite skilled, I see" Bruce jumped in the conversation. You glanced at him. "Would you agree to a duel? In between League trainees?"

"I never refuse a duel" You said, putting down your towel and escrima sticks. 

"Oh yes" Jason's eyes sparkled up as he walked toward you. You exchanged a smirk. "I've got to see this"

"If you're doing a League match up, I want in" Damian stepped up as well.

"FUCK YES" Jason now looked extasic while Dick and Tim looked concerned, yet curious. 

You rolled your eyes and waited for Bruce and Damian to choose their weapon before stepping up to the rack. You grabbed two identical swords for dual wield, tested them in your hands and faced the men again. You could almost hear their minds thinking of your choice of weapon as bold, but you didn't care. 

“Shall we?” You gestured to the glass cage. You watched as Damian enthusiastically went first, sending you a smirk. Last time you had sparred with him, he had been a child. Now he was a bit older, and you suspected his technique only had gotten better. You had no idea what to expect of Bruce, however, who paused in front of you before following suit. 

You went in last and watched them warm up their movements with their own sword. You noticed also Jason, Dick and Tim got closer to the glass, all a different expression on their face.

“I can’t wait to see Bruce’s ass kicked” Jason said, his arms crossing over his chest.

“What?” Dick scoffed. “No way she can hold him, let alone the two of them”

“They were both trained by Ra’s” Tim added. “I’m with Dick on this one. It’s not because she kicked your ass that she can kick theirs as well”

“Just watch and learn” Jason wasn’t fazed by their comments. "They can't beat her with a sword"

Bruce and Damian finished their warm ups and positioned themselves in front of you.

“I hope you won’t hold back” The older Wayne said as he spun his sword in his hand. “Because we won’t”

You smirked and lowered yourself in a fighting position, holding up your swords. “I wasn’t planning to” 

They both launched their first attack in sync, and you blocked both of their sword with yours crossed over your head. You paused there for half a second and made eye contact with both of them, before you pushed their sword back and attacked at your turn. The clang of the metal was fast, but barely enough to follow the speed of your moves. You relied mostly on your instincts and on where you predicted each blade would be aimed next. 

You bent to avoid Damian’s sword and used his open side from his swing to deliver a kick, sending him stumbling back. You had to immediately roll away from Bruce’s sword, which came your way at full force. You spun around and blocked his hit again, holding the blade and twisting it to make him lose balance. It almost worked, but he dropped it before crouching and catching the hilt lower. He threw himself back on his forearms to avoid your elbow, and propelled himself back upright. You chained two round kicks, which he blocked with the flat side of his sword. Then, Damian came back in the fight, but you had seen him coming from behind. You vaulted out of the way and his sword collided with Bruce’s instead.

Meanwhile, the boys were still watching on the side, their attention unwavering. Jason was still grinning, while the other two were trying to process the fact that you could easily keep up with them.

“Am I finally overdosing on caffeine,” Tim spoke up, glancing down at his coffee. “Or is it actually supposed to be that fast?”

“It’s… Not supposed to be that fast” Dick blinked a few times. 

“Told ya” Jason teased, sending a quick glance to his brothers, then returning it to the fight. 

Bruce and Damian where now coordinating against you, timing their attack to force you on the defensive. You had to have always one sword up above you to block attacks, and the other swinging to protect your side and middle. You knew you wouldn’t last long like this, so you pulled out your wild card. You dropped down, crouched with one leg extended on your side for balance, brought your sword in a X shape in front of you and opened them again in a 180 degree sweep motion. 

It was like time slowed. Both of their eyes widened as they realized your move, Damian reacting a bit faster as he had seen it before. He vaulted back out of the range of your sword before it could reach him, while Bruce had to jump last second so his kneecaps wouldn’t be reaped. You took the moment of their stupor to pull yourself to your feet again and point your swords at both their throat.

Your chest was heaving as the fight came to an end, sweat glistening on your face and back. You held eye contact with Bruce for a moment, before retracting your swords to your side. You glanced at the boys outside, then back at your opponent. You nodded at them and stepped out of the glass cage and put back the swords in the rack.

Nobody was speaking.

You could feel their stares on you, like they were expecting you to turn around and attack them all. Well, that wasn’t unusual; you had been there for tree days and that’s how they always looked at you. Jason handed you your towel wordlessly, but his face communicated enough. He had this grin that only meant he took way too much satisfaction in seeing his adopted father at the tip of your sword. Considering his feelings toward him, his reaction was no surprise. 

“Your branding” Bruce finally broke the silence from behind you. You frowned, until you realized you were wearing a tank top and the healed burn mark on your shoulder was visible. “It’s a fox?”

“Yes” You nodded, turning around to face him. 

“Why?”

“I’ve always been smaller than the other assassins, and faster” You paused to drink water. “I had to be more cunning than them to beat them. So they started calling me Thaelib fi alzalam”

“Fox in the dark” Damian translated. “I never had heard the story behind the name”

“There’s not much to say about it” Your eyes slid to him. “But I guess it sticked enough to become my name” 

“What’s your real name, then?”

You only raised an eyebrow in Tim’s direction, choosing not to answer him. He wasn’t privy to that information, none of them were beside Jason who already knew. Besides, that name had been erased from any record that may have contained it. You only existed in the world as Thaelib fi alzalam. 

“How long have you been in the League?” Bruce asked again, ignoring his son’s question. You were growing restless, with all these questions. You had already said too much, but you also knew not giving an excuse for beating him would only raise more questions.

“Roughly 18 years” 

“Jeez” Dick breathed. “That explains a lot”

“Funny enough, I thought the exact same thing when I found out” Jason snorted, giving his brother a pat on the shoulder. “Now if you’ll excuse us, spending the morning playing 21 questions with you all is not as fun as you think” 

He pushed past Bruce and Dick, and you didn’t need to be told twice. You followed him out of the cave and up the stairs, mumbling a ‘thank you’ along the way. You went back to your room to take a shower and change in your regular black attire, then found Jason waiting for you outside your room, freshly showered as well. 

“You know they’ll watch you even more after that stunt?” He spoke up, and you rolled your eyes. Of course you knew. “Bruce wasn’t happy with that kick in Dami’s ribs”

“He said not to hold back” You hummed, sliding your glance up to his face. “Besides, I’ve been sparring with Damian way before Bruce knew he existed. I knew he could take it”

“That’s true, but I doubt he’ll see it that way” His lips subtly curled up. “Why did you do it?”

“To show them I could” You shrugged. “If they’re to remain wary of me, I’d rather them respect my skills as well”

You glanced at the camera, knowing it had picked up the entire conversation. The three days you had been there, you felt you had been sidelined. Not only they didn’t trust you, but you believed they doubted the extent of your abilities. You wouldn’t let yourself be a background character in your own quest, even if it pissed off Batman himself. 

--------

You watched with a small smile as Jason carefully took the pot off of the fire and clumsily held it at the bottom, trying to keep it in place with the cloth under it. He hissed as it momentarily touched his skin, but he immediately adjusted his grip. He slowly poured the tea in both cups, the quantity in each slightly unequal, and put back the pot on the hook by its handle. He handed you a cup, and you took it with a thank you nod. 

He watched you carefully as you softly blew on the steaming beverage a couple of time, then tasted it. He was waiting for your impression, but you remained silent while you evaluated the taste. You knew he would go impatient in a few seconds, and he proved you right by shifting in his seat. You looked up at him, his eyes intensely watching your reaction. 

“A bit too much lemon grass” You commented. “But overall, well done”

He held back a smile, but his eyes lit up at your evaluation. You had let him make the tea that night from what he had observed you do, you knew he had been watching your routine closely for the last few months. And now that he had proven to you he had reached a stable state of mind, you wanted to teach him peripheral skills as well.

You drank the first cup in silence after that. You thought about the first night in the hut, when he had poured his tea on the ground while maintaining eye contact and it almost made you chuckle. There he was now, proud of his first batch of tea, even if he would never admit his pride out loud. 

As he poured the second cups, still unequal but a bit better this time, he spoke up.

“What did you mean by real training?” He brought back the morning’s inquiry, as you hadn’t really answered him then. “I doubt you meant making tea”

“Only partially” The corner of your lips lifted once again, and he rolled his eyes. “I meant that from now on, we work on your technique and your execution, and on building up strength and endurance on muscles you don’t even know exist yet”

“So we jack up my eardrums and make me move like a dancer?” 

You bit the inside of your lips, a silent laughter making your shoulders shake lightly. You shook your head at the joke, catching the grin on his face in your peripheral vision.  “If you want to see it like this”

He didn’t say more, but soon enough his expression sobered up.

“So you had to go through all of this as well, didn’t you?”

Your gaze dropped. “And some more”

He waited for you to elaborate.

“You came to Talia already highly skilled” You pointed out. “With major attitude problems, but highly skilled nevertheless” 

He rolled his eyes again.

“I came to the League with nothing” You resumed. “I had to learn everything from scratch, and believe me when I say all the ass kicking you recieved, I got first. I learned from my scars just like you did”

“I understand” He nodded. “I grew up in the streets of Gotham. It didn’t forgive mistakes a lot either, so any could be your last if you didn’t learn fast enough to steer around them”

“Did you learn it all there? On the streets?”

He sighed. “That’s a complicated story” He glanced down for a second at his cup, fidgeting with the handle. “Hold tight”

--------

It seemed your strategy had worked. For the first time, you had been invited at the round table to discuss strategy. Everybody was geared up for the upcoming patrol and recon operation. You had to locate the weapon, as it had been moved after yours and Jason’s not so subtle interruption. You also had to interrogate Stamm if he was still around, or any high LexCorp operative, and copy the entire storage disk from the labs to try and find some blueprints or informations about the project. 

“I doubt the weapon will be any close to the new lab, or to LexCorp headquarter” Bruce said. “So we need to determine the most probable location and tag it while we distract at the two other places”

You watched the plan of the city intensely. The weapon wasn’t that big, so it could easily be dissimulated among typical lab equipment, but it couldn’t be subtly carried on one’s person. Luthor wouldn’t store the weapon at the docks or anywhere near it, the risk was to high for Falcone, or worse, Sionis, to just take it for themselves. He wouldn’t either store it on Joker’s territory, or around city hall. Too open for random attacks, and according to Bruce, Luthor wasn’t just ready yet to use the weapon. So it left roughly everything inside Upper East Side and Old Gotham. Luthor was based in the Diamond District, and both the previous and currently used LexCorps lab were based around Gotham University, just above the Upper West Side on the other side of the Finger River. You traced your finger from one location to the other, then completed the triangle to…

“Upper East Side”

The chatter you had tuned out died down as they took in what you said. They all looked at you like they had no idea what you were talking about. Jason walked closer to you, observing the map and frowning at your finger tapping the location.

“He’ll keep it within Gotham Upper East Side”

“Batman’s territory?” Damian raised an eyebrow. “That would be a bold move, especially since he knows we’re after him”

“The district with the most vigilante arrest…” Jason mumbled like he was trying to reach your reasoning. “... And the most security”

“Exactly” You nodded. “It would be the smartest move if he is not to keep it close to home. His target is not yet known, or even acquired. He stays in the middle, away from the gangs, safely protected and ready to strike. This is his move”

“How can you be sure?” Bruce narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms in front of his armored chest. He was almost intimidating in his Batman costume. Almost.

You clenched your jaw and exchanged a glance with Jason, one that obviously didn’t go unnoticed by the bunch of colorful vigilantes in front of you. It was sharp and meaningful, but he understood what it meant. “Logic”

“Logic” Tim repeated incredulously, eyebrows raised like you had said something wild, like magic or assassin instinct.

“That’s what I would do if I were him” You snapped your attention to him.

“Me too” Jason backed you up. “So unless you feel like racking up Gotham from one end to another, I’d say we go with this plan”

Bruce sighed, then nodded. He still had his doubt toward you, and there was definitely a suspicion of something else going on with you brewing in his mind. There was a specific reason you were there and he did not know it yet, but he could trust Jason’s judgement. Besides, something told him you knew more about this than you let on and he was determined to find out.

“Alright. You and Jason track the weapon, Dick and Tim distract Luthor’s headquarters. Damian and I--”

“No” You interrupted, and eyes widened around you. You knew only Jason hadn’t even if you couldn’t see it, as he was probably expecting your disagreement to your assignment. “I go to the headquarters”

Now you felt Jason stare on you. He did not see the direct approach coming, but he should have. Still, he was surprised with your decision to go for it tonight.

“Excuse me?” Bruce blinked slowly, unimpressed. “This isn’t--”

“Up for debate?” You finished for him as Jason sighed and massaged his temple. He should have known your presence here would grind up sparks, and that you would end up pissing everyone else. He had forgotten how stubborn and confrontational you were when you decided to open your god damn mouth. “It’s not indeed”

Jason did his best to mimic an apology, while Damian sported an amused smirk. Bruce and Dick looked slightly insulted, and Tim had an unreadable expression on his face, so blank it reminded you of other assassins in the League. 

Bruce glanced from you, to Jason beside you, to his three other children lined up coincidently in height order. His eyes rested on you again and a flat determination set in his eyes. 

“Fine, you’ll have the headquarters” He conceded. “With Red Robin. Dick and Jason, you track the weapon, Damian and I will go to LexCorps labs”

“Wait what the fuck--”

“You’re not making a mess again” He interrupted Jason, pointing a finger at him but also meaning you. Jason held up his hand in sarcastic surrender before Bruce backed off. “We leave in five”

The boys emptied the room, and as you were about to follow then, Jason’s hand gently gripped your forearm, halting your tracks. He waited until everyone left before turning his head sideways to look at you.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” He muttered so the mics on the cameras wouldn’t pick it up.

“I’ve been preparing for 18 years for this moment” You replied at the same volume, meeting his eyes. “I’m ready”

He sighed, conceding. “Be careful”

“I can take it”

“I know” His replied harshly. “I mean be careful about Tim. If not he’ll figure it all out before you can spell his stupid three letters name”

So, that was the real reason Bruce paired you up with someone else than Jason. To have a babysitter slash detective watching you. You nodded at Jason and sidestepped him, joining the others in the garage. Everybody was around their vehicle of choice, and a single black ninja bike remained unclaimed. Bruce appeared in your field of vision, holding a key in his left hand. He began handing it to you, but paused mid way.

“Not a scratch, you’re only borrowing” He warned, but didn’t move afterward. You clipped your gas proof half mask in place before reaching out for the keys, then took a step back and did a last check on your ammo.

Your quiver was full, your sword was sharp, and your five smaller arrows on your arm were loaded. The two tranquilizer darts were in the inside of your arm as well, and your bow string was still strong. You gave one look at your full face mask on the table, but you decided to leave it there and only pull on the hood of your suit instead.

Jason noticed from the other side of the room, and he suppressed a smile at your voluntary omission. 

-------

You crouched on the ledge of the building, looking down at the sidewalk some storeys down. Luthor would be supposed to be arriving at his building in about fifteen minutes. You had searched on the facial recognition software for his position, and after you found him at some town hall meeting, it had been easy to tag his position and anticipate his trajectory.

“So you trained Jason?”

You casted your eyes up, then back down again. You weren’t feeling another conversation about your past, and especially not with the spy that was sent to report your every move. Tim was standing a few feet in your hindsight, his red and black cape lightly flapping in the wind making a soft background noise beside the distant sirens and traffic sounds.

“Oooookay” He hummed. “You’re in full gloomy assassin mode. Got it”

You exhaled slowly through your nose. This would be a long night.

“So, what’s the deal with you and swords?” He asked again, taking the remaining steps to stand beside you. “C’mon Foxy, you’re--”

You snapped your head in his direction, and your glower was enough to make him shut up. “Don’t ever call me that”

“Shit, sorry” He mumbled.

“It’s time” You said and stood up straight. You grabbed your bow and grabbed your flare arrows, shooting two in the air. Then, you  aimed in the middle of the LexCorps building to a storey that had no light on. You shot a grappling line on the structure above the window and looped the loose end on a solid structure on the rooftop. You pulled on it to test its tension and hooked your bow to it. You stepped back on the ledge and nodded at Tim, who had already hooked his own pulley a few steps behind you. You jumped and slid down, your hand reaching for your high frequency dart. You loaded it on your arm and shot the glass at the end of the rope. You reached it moment later, feet first, and the window easily shattered with the velocity at which you barrelled into it. You grabbed the frame above you and tugged on your bow to free it then graciously rolled on your feet. Tim wasn’t far behind, jumping in with his momentum. He took a moment to disable all cameras and gave you a thumbs up.

You made your way out of this particular room, knowing the alarms would trigger a partial shutdown in less than a minute. You had to make it seem like you had a purpose being there, so all attention would be focused on LexCorps tower. Luckily, you knew there was a safe somewhere on the middle floors of the building. You had almost reached the stairs when the lights shut down, plunging you in a red glow. Only three floors would be on lockdown for now, yours and both the one above and under. You stopped by the door and gestured at it.

Tim took the lead and stuck a small explosive to the door, then shut his ears with his fingers for good measure. Seconds later, a quiet explosion when off and scrambled the electronic lock system. He pushed the door open and you engaged in the stairs. He pushed button on a device on his forearm, scanning the building for unusual electromagnetic waves. He halted his steps as the computer came up with a location, and he looked up the stairwell.

“Floor 17” He said, followed with a sigh. “I never signed up for all those stairs”

You only sent him an exasperated stare, and he got on the move again. One would have thought climbing the stairs six floors up would have never been a deterrent to an ex-robin, but here he was. You followed him silently, ears strained for any sound of footsteps that weren’t your own. Only when Tim set the second charge on the 17th floor door that shouts echoed below you, probably from the 11th were you had came from. The silent explosion came again, and you slipped through the kaputt door. You went left, a few paces behind Tim who was guiding you to the safe.

“Freeze!” 

You were about to round the corner when you halted your steps. Tim spun around, but you sent him a warning glance not to make a noise. They most likely hadn’t seen him yet. 

“Drop the bow!” The man barked again. “Drop the fucking bow!”

You smirked and crouched to put the bow down as ordered. Tim leaned on the wall, understanding your body language. He remembered that same morning when you all but humiliated Bruce in a duel, and decided to let you handle it. 

“Turn around”

Slowly, you spun on your feet to face the man ordering you around. He was the leader, probably, of a squad of ten men with their rifle facing you. Still in slow motion, you raised your arms, but drew two shurikens from your belt on their way up. Before they could take one step toward you, you threw the sharp stars shaped weapon and it stuck in two of the men on either side of the leader. You dropped on your knees as bullets started firing, grabbing back your bow and firing in the middle of the chaos. You moved on the floor, shooting gunmen as you went. Seven, six, five, four three, two…

Fire stopped and you held your next arrow nocked, ready to go. Silence had settled, and you glanced sideways at Tim. He shrugged. Then, an almost inaudible click reached your ears. Without looking away, you shot straight onto the explosive thrown your way, and he raised an eyebrow. You glanced at it, stuck to the wall for a second before going off.

“Show off much?”

“I’ve been known for it sometimes”

“I’m calling dibs on next batch--”

Your eyes widened when he stopped talking and drew one of his own shuriken, throwing it seemingly in your direction. You dodged it last second, then glanced behind you at the grunt and thumps. The last security guard had almost sneaked up on you. You glared at Tim with confusion and incomprehension, while he seemed smug enough.

“I’m telling everyone about this” 

You rolled your eyes. “We’ll see” 

You resumed your treasure hunt toward the safe, expecting the second wave of security anytime soon. Tim lead you to the safe, which was hidden in a fancy looking lounge. It was behind a portrait, in a most unoriginal way. You pulled it from the wall, knowing that alone would trigger alarms to disclose your position. You just needed a bit more artifices to keep the attention on you.

“How should we proceed?”

You raised an eyebrow at him and gestured to the safe vaguely. “Be my guest”

He grinned and got to work while you watched the door. The stomping of the next troop was steadily growing, so you readied your bow. “Two minutes, babysitter, two minutes”

“This one’s mine, remember” He huffed as you heard him press on random buttons. Then, you heard another explosive. Jesus, how many did he have? “Don’t you dare go for them Foxy”

“It won’t be a problem if I kill you first” You grumbled. “One minute”

“How many?”

“At least twenty” You informed him after listening to the sound more closely. “Thirty seconds. You sure you want them all?”

“Shut up and watch” 

He breezed past you, and seconds later, the door busted open. You retracted in the shadows, watching as he fought the armed men. He got to work with his bo staff, knocking out the first ten or so guards without breaking much of a sweat. But then, he became overwhelmed by the second half. He was surrounded, hitting blindly around him at this point. But he held on as much as he could, and his stubbornness reminded you of Jason’s. Except Tim didn’t look like a loose canon. 

“A little help here?”

“You told me they’re yours” You mused, distracting two guards that hadn’t seen you. They were searching for you in the darkness, and Tim took advantage of their distraction to knock them out too. “I wouldn’t dare”

“C’mon man!” He grunted. “I have twice as you did, and you owe me one!”

You rolled your eyes and put your bow down, then reached for your katana on your back. You took a few step forward and spun the long blade before attacking. Three men went to attack you when they noticed you step out of the shadows, but they didn’t really stand a chance. It took a minute to take down the remaining men.

“I still got more than you” He panted, retracting his bo staff. You watched as one guard pulled himself to his feet, raising his rifle to shoot Tim in the back. You lifted your arm and shot a small arrow in his throat.

“Now we’re quit”

He looked in between you and the man you took down, then to the device on your arm with wonder. “You’ve got to get me one of these”

You furrowed your eyebrows in frustration. “You’re a lot harder to rile up than Jason”

“The bar cannot be lower” He snorted. “Is it annoying you?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Yes”

He grinned, but didn’t elaborate. 

“Do you think we did enough?” He changed the subject, but didn’t let you time to reply. “On second thought, don’t answer that. I’ll connect Batman”

You lifted your arms in exasperation. Soon enough, the comm in your ear connected with the rest of the group. 

“Nightwing, where are we with the tag?”

“We found it” Dick replied. “Coming to you as we speak. How’s it going on your side?”

“We blew up things. Foxy got her sword out”

“Foxy?” Jason repeated, and you could only picture his expression. 

“I will push you out of this window and I am dead serious” 

“Oh my god”

“Children” Bruce interrupted. “We copied the files at the lab. If you could pull one more distraction, we’re almost out”

“Copy that” Tim nodded and turned off the feed. “Let’s drop the grand finale”

“I’m tempted to shove an explosive up your nose and make a firework out of your head” You said dryly, not losing the glare.

“Jeez, now I see why you and Jay hit up so well” He chuckled and you frowned.

“Shut up”

“Only when I’m dead”

“No” You hissed. “Actually shut up, I’m hearing the next wave and something sounds weird. It’s like they’re rolling in something…”

He stopped talking as you tried to figure out what was the sound. You padded to the door, sheathing your sword and took a glance in the hallway, hearing the sound gradually come closer. It was heady, that was for sure, with some metal trailing behind. Then a black, metallic nose rounded the corner, and your eyes widened. Fuck.

“What’s going on--- oh shit”

“There they are!” A voice yelled as bullet began raining down on you. You didn’t have your bow, so you were forced to retreat. “Get Big Ben closer!”

“They have a fucking machine gun!” He yelled over the bullets.

“No shit!” You yelled back, sliding through the room and grabbing your bow on the fly. You then crawled behind the desk and flipped it on the side with a strangled cry of effort. It was pure wood, and judging by its heaviness, it would at least protect you from a while. Tim caught up on what you were doing and helped you push the desk against the busted doorframe. 

“Grand finale you said?” You huffed sarcastically once you were both crouched behind the desk. It wouldn’t last long against the machine gun, so you’d have to act fast. 

“At least we won’t have to come up with some dumb stunt” 

“Wouldn’t be so sure” You bit your lip, looking in between the window and the desk. They were drilling the machine gun to the ground on the other side. Your arrows wouldn’t do much against that, but you had another idea. You grabbed an explosive arrow and send it through the window, making it shatter in tiny pieces. “Cover me”

“What?” He hissed, watching you stand up when the fire ceased for reloading. “No-- Don’t-- Shit!”

You walked backward to the open window and shot a grappling line through the desk, as he fended off the guards with his shurikens. You pulled on it, and when you were sure it was secure, you whistled to grab Tim’s attention. “Time to go, babysitter”

He stood up and walked backward as well, emptying his shuriken reserve on the men. You grabbed his wrist and shoved your bow in his hand. “Hold tight”

He frowned at you, and you pushed him out of the windows with a smirk. You then returned your attention on the blocked doorway, lifting your arm once again. You waited until the desk was beginning to be dragged toward you by Tim’s fall, seeing the nozzle of the gun. Before they could fire, you shot an arrow right into it. You then jumped out of the window to avoid being reaped by the desk and grabbed the line. 

You let yourself slide down, clenching your gloved hand on the line to slow your fall. Soon enough, the ground was meer feet away. You gripped the line with your other hand to reach an acceptable speed to hit the ground. You finally pushed away from the line to give yourself space to grab your bow at the end of the line, and landed gracefully on your feet on the ground.

“You fucking pushed me out of the window!” Tim yelled at you.

“I told you I would do it” You replied flatly. 

“You’re insane!” He threw his hands up. “What if I had..”

You tuned his yelling out as someone caught your attention behind him. You took one step forward, your hand instinctively reaching for an arrow. There he was, the bastard that had killed your mother. 

Luthor.

He was exiting the building alone by a back exit, cell phone to his ear. You shot an arrow, but he dodged it last second. His wild stare stopped on you, already reloaded and ready to retake your shot. But he took off, and ignoring Tim’s protest, you went after him. You exchanged your regular arrow to an explosive one and shot it through the concrete archway leading to Robinson park. It came down and blocked his path, and he was trapped. He spun around with a gun at the same time you shot your arrow. You dodged the bullet just on time, and your arrow knocked the gun out of his hand, and for a second you just stared at each other. Then you slowly lifted your arm and aimed at him, pulling back your hood. You wanted to have a good look at him without being shadowed. 

His brow creased. 

Your breathing was loud through your half mask, but you didn’t back down. All you had to do was to take the shot and quickly, swiftly, pierce his throat and make him drown in his own blood. But your muscles were frozen in place. 

Behind you, an explosion went off. 

From your peripheral vision, you watched as a block of concrete was projected from LexCorps’ building structure. Then, you drew its trajectory down to a group of homeless people in tents. You clenched your teeth, your focus returning on Luthor, his expression set as if he dared you to take your shot. The homeless group started screaming and scrambling. You swallowed back a yell of frustration and reached for your last explosive arrow, aiming it at the concrete and destroying it in harmless pieces. 

When you looked again, Luthor was gone.

[zombiesbecrazy]

So Much More

Summary:  Despite the no kill rule, sometimes accidents happen. Jason gets an unexpected visitor in the middle of the night and has to take control of a situation he wasn't expecting.

AO3

Jason was brushing his teeth when he heard the tapping at his living room window, a soft but intentional sound, barely heard over the howl of the wind and the splattering of rain against the glass. It was a terrible night to be out on patrol, wet and windy and just down right miserable and Jason wasn’t surprised that one of the others was dropping in, either calling it a night or taking a short reprieve to warm up a smidge before heading back out. It happened more often than Jason really wanted, someone encroaching into his space unannounced, but he couldn’t deny that he liked the visits. The tap happened again, a little louder than the first time. It didn’t sound like Tim’s usual rhythm of knock when he dropped by and Dick had a habit of not knocking at all, simply slipping in and making himself at home whether he was invited in or not, so the list of usual suspects was dwindling fast.

Unlocking the window, Jason stuck his head out and spotted a familiar hooded figure sitting on his balcony, back curled against the wrought iron railing, looking small and chilled as the wind violently whipped through the alley.

There was a click of the tongue and the hood was pulled off in one motion of feigned dignity. “I need asylum.” A crack of lightening punctuated the statement and lit up the sky, only for a moment, but it was more than enough for Jason to see everything he needed to.

Damian was covered head to toe in blood. Unlike the rain pelting down, it was sticking to his uniform and no longer slick, clinging to him, threatening to never become clean and with a thick and dried smear on his cheek just below the edge of the mask. Bruises were blooming on his neck, large hands and fingers clearly marked as they had curled around his throat.

“Shit. Get in here.” Jason opened the window fully and stepped back as Damian stumbled through, tripping over the edge of the frame and into Jason’s conveniently positioned arms. Two deep but shaky breaths later Damian struggled to stand on his own, swaying a bit but shrugging off the hands hoping him up and taking a step out of reach. He pretended to ignore Jason and glared at the floor as if it has insulted his Father. Or Dick. “Are you okay, Kid?”

“I am unharmed,” sniped Damian but it lacked any sort of real bite, more of a reflexive reaction of a hurt animal growling when someone had time to help and Jason really didn’t have any patience for that sort of nonsense when said animal had shown up on his doorstep asking for help.

“Like hell you are. You look like you sliced an artery clean through.” His eyes flew over the smaller boy’s form, trying to suss out where the bleeding was coming from or where the worst of the damage was when Damian’s nostrils flared, only for a moment and it would have been easily missed if someone wasn’t paying close attention, but it was his version of flinching back violently after being burned, hand blistered and scalding after touching a stove. Such a small motion but it told Jason everything that he needed to know; an artery had been sliced, but it hadn’t been one of Damian’s own. “Oh.” Jason took a step back into his space and crouched down in front of him, hands sliding down Damian’s arms, no longer looking for injuries but in order to grasp his hands and squeeze them gently. "Self defense based on the marks on your neck." Damian avoided his look but nodded, rest of his body remaining statue still on the floor with a tremble coursing through his veins that Jason could only feel through their joined hands. “It's okay. You're alright. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He stood, dropping one of the hands but holding onto the other one tight, and led Damian through his bedroom and into the ensuite bathroom. They were silent as they worked together to remove the Robin armor, greens and yellows stained by the red, and dropped it to the floor piece by piece until Damian was only wearing the base layer. Jason worked against the edge of Damian’s mask with delicate fingers, peeling the edges back with practices ease to minimize the pull against his skin. Once the mask was gone, Damian quickly reached up to rub his face, but not before the redness and puffiness were seen.

“Thank you. For letting me in. I cannot go back to the cave. Father will…” Damian’s voice was soft, but threatening to break apart with the smallest misstep, continuing to rub at his face. “I cannot go to the cave.”

“Never a problem. Why me though?” Jason hadn’t asked, but it had been running through his mind. He understood the hesitation to go back to the cave better than anyone, especially in a situation such as this, but he still shouldn’t have been at the top of the list for the kid to come to for comfort or help or whatever this was. He wouldn’t have even put himself in the top half of the list. “Why aren’t you on your way to Bludhaven?”

“Grayson would take me in but…” Damian’s eyes cast down, to his hands and rubbed them together roughly in a way that Jason was all too familiar with, trying to get rid of the feeling that they were still caked in blood despite his gloves now being in the pile on the floor. “Maybe later if I am needing a more permanent housing solution. For now I need…” his voice trailed off and he stared at the shower knobs.

Fascinating as his generic faucets were, Jason had a more pressing concern. “Do you need help with the evidence?” He really should have asked sooner. It really should have been the first question when Damian was out on the balcony, but now was better than never. “I get it. I’m the brother that will help you with disposal of a body.”

There was a small head shake. “I took care of it.”

“You sure?”

“I said it was taken care of, did I not?” snapped Damian, shoulders tensing in… something. Rage. Embarrassment. Guilt. Or a little bit of all three or perhaps something else entirely. “No. I just needed somewhere where I wouldn’t get that look, if only for a little while.”

“What look?”

“Disappointment.” Damian broke his stare-off with the shower, closed his eyes and let out a long breath in a clear attempt to try and centre himself. The gesture felt eerily familiar, like looking in a mirror from the wrong side and Jason was uncomfortable when he realised that Damian had pick up that particular routine from himself. “Whether Father yells or accepts it calmly, or if Grayson pretends like everything is fine or insists on comforting me, it is all the same. I let them down.” Damian turned slowly, craning up his neck to set his eyes on Jason, hard and cold and challenging him to be prove him wrong. “Even if tonight wasn’t intended, I am still just a murderer. It’s all I’ve ever been and all I ever shall be.”

Hugging Damian when he wasn’t expecting it was always a risk, but knowing that all of his weapons were currently on the floor of the bathroom helped Jason make his decision. Hell, Jason would have done it anyway because he hadn’t even thought to consider it, just automatically dropping and wrapping his arms tight around him. “You aren’t ‘just’ anything, Kid. There is so much more to you than any blood on your hands.” Damian’s small body relax against him. It wasn’t a lot but it was enough. Jason massaged the back of Damian’s head softly and as he did, Damian returned the hug, hesitantly at first but then his arms were tight around Jason’s neck.  “Maybe you are right and we can’t wash the red out, not completely, but that doesn’t mean that is all that we are.”

Damian’s head nodded against his shoulder and dropped his arms, breaking the hug. Jason turned away, giving Damian the illusion of the privacy that he knew the boy wanted to believe to be true after such a visible display of emotion, and turned on the shower, steam rising quickly against the cold air. “Need any help in the shower?” Jason knew what the answer would be, but he had to ask. As the Robin costume had been removed, Damian had become more unsteady, becoming less of a well trained machine and more like the child that he still was. Like all of them had been. Shaky and scared and more than a little out of his depth now that the adrenaline was wearing off in a familiar and secure environment.

“I’m not a child, Todd. I can shower unassisted.”

Jason nodded. “Towels are on the counter. I’ll look some clothes out on the bed for you. I’m going to make tea. Any preference?”

“I’m sure whatever you choose will be suitable.” The response did nothing to settle Jason mind though because it wasn’t like Damian to not have some sort of opinion on anything, even something as basic as tea. Especially when it came to tea. Jason went to leave the room when Damian's hand grasped around his wrist to stop him. "It was truly an accident, Todd. I threw him off of me and he sliced his throat on some abandoned machinery. I tried to stop the bleeding, but it was too fast and he was gone in seconds. I couldn't even call for assistance in time."

It was what it was. It wasn't something that they liked to talk about a lot, but accidents happened in their line of work and this was far from the first time that something like this had happened, but as far as Jason knew, this was the first time that it had happened to Damian and he had clearly panicked, as anyone would.

Accidents always felt a thousand times worse than something done with purpose.

"It's alright, Damian. I'll take care of it."

The bathroom door locked behind him and Jason leaned against it and sighed, running his hand through his hair and taking a moment to sort out his plan of action. He took three deep breaths to try and settle the twitching that had started beneath his skin, the want and need to go out and do something rash, before pulling clothes out of Damian’s drawer for him, setting them on the bed and headed to the kitchen.

After starting the kettle, Jason opened his laptop and accessed the Batcomputer, logging into the tracker surveillance that followed where all of them went in their suits. It wasn’t something that was actively monitored on a regular night, only when something big was going down or if someone requested some back up, so Jason hoped that anything irregular wouldn’t have be noticed yet and narrowed down the filters to just watch the green dot indicating Damian’s trail, travel through the city at high speed. He had left the Manor at 8:37 and had seemed to be following patrol route C, a familiar one that followed a path through the western side of the city, far away from Crime Alley and the Ace Chemical, but still through neighbourhoods that tended to get ignored by the cops because they were not important enough to be protected but simultaneously not bad enough to have a regular presence. It was one of Tim’s favourites, but it wasn’t uncommon for Damian to take it.

It was when Damian’s tracker hit the farthest point of the route, at an old canning factory where a residential neighbourhood hit industrial, where things got interesting. Jason didn’t have any way to know what was going on because Damian hadn’t activated his mask cameras but from what he could deduce from the tracker staying fairly stationary, at least in the same building, for over an hour of time was that this is where whatever it was had gone down. He pulled up the health monitors, synced up the timeline and noticed that that Damian’s heart rate had risen, obviously showing that a fight had gone down, but then the heart rate had stayed high for far longer than it normally did and his respiration and cortisol readings were off the charts. Jason huffed in irritation because this was something that should have set off alarms in the cave, alerting someone that Damian was in trouble but it clearly hadn’t.  

It was then that he noticed that the alarms had gone off and that Damian had used his comm to assure Alfred that he was fine and just winded after a hit to the chest. Alfred’s notes in the system had then had even said that Damian was going to go to Jason’s place instead of back to the manor to ‘take refuge from the storm’ and signed off.

It was smart and stupid and sneaky rolled up into a mess. He really should have told Alfred what had happened then and there, but he had clearly panicked instead and this is where they were now.

In the end, whatever had happened in the warehouse had been an accident and in self defense and the other person involved hadn't been an innocent bystander because Damian's reaction would have been much more extreme. It didn't make it better, but it could have been far worse. What he had to focus on was what to do about it now.

He wanted to trust Damian on the evidence situation, he really did, but the kid was rattled and not thinking straight and Jason couldn’t just leave it to chance. He couldn’t call Dick or Tim or Bruce. Not yet. What he needed was someone who could separate emotions in the moment see the bigger picture and help fix the problem rather than get upset by what was already done.

He pulled out his phone and called Barbara.

“Jason.”

“Red.” The kettle started to whistle on the stove and Jason stood up to remove it from the heat, pouring the water into the pot to steep. “I need a no questions asked kind of favour.”

“Why is that?” He could hear a something on in the background, some sort of sitcom based on the laugh track, and he could almost picture her curled up in her apartment because the two of them were the only ones with enough sense not to go out on a night like tonight unless absolutely necessary.

“You are doing terribly at this no questions asked thing,” he said, and she chuckled in response. “Please, Barbara? You know I wouldn’t if it wasn’t important. I need some old school Oracle magic.”

“Jason…”

“Help me, Barbie-wan Kenobi. You’re my only hope.” He could keep this light and fun, he could try and convince her that nothing was wrong and everything was fine. He could do this.

“You’re big nerd.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“Touché.” There was some tapping on the other end of the phone and he knew that she was on board. “What do you need?”

“Old warehouse on Vanderlei and Fifth. The cannery. I need to know if there is any evidence of something going on there tonight. Anything… messy.”

The tapping stopped and there was a pause and he knew that he had said too much to just slip by Barbara like that. “What did you do?”

“No. Questions. Asked, BG. And nothing. I’ve been a good boy and stayed in all night reading a book about evolutional linguistics for fun because, like you said, I’m a big nerd.” She was completely going to figure out what had happened.

The tapping started up again and within moments, Barbara hummed in the way that Jason already knew meant that she couldn’t tell him what he needed to know. “There’s no cameras there and all of the drones are assigned to other things tonight that I can’t redirect.” There was silence between them, Jason trying to think of what to do next when Barbara continued. “Would it be okay if I send Canary to check it out? She’s in the area on a stakeout that is about to wrap up.”

Jason considered his choices. He trusted Dinah and she wouldn’t ask a lot of questions about it, especially if the request came from Barbara, and it was a better option than doing nothing or leaving Damian in the apartment alone for him to go check it out by himself. It wasn’t ideal, but it was good enough until tomorrow. “That’s fine.”

“I can see that Robin’s tracker was there for quite a long time earlier tonight,” Barbara commented flatly and Jason was about to remind her again about what kind of favour this was when she cut him off at the bit. “That was an observation, not a question.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. And Jason?” Jason raised an eyebrow, forgetting that she couldn’t see him but it didn’t seem to matter because she probably already knew. “There seems to be something wrong with the trackers tonight and there is some glitching happening. I may have to scrub the system to reboot them properly. Some data might be lost.”

There was no way that she'd permanently delete it. She was simply buying him some time to get everything in line. It was her way of saying ‘I’m trusting you to look after this’ and Jason had no way to repay her for it, but he’d try to think of something. “Night, Red.”

Jason was pouring the tea when Damian shuffled into the room and sat down at the counter, too big hoodie hanging past his hands and fluffy purple socks on his feet, making him look a lot younger than he already was. It wasn’t the shirt that Jason had taken out for him but he recognized it as one of Dick’s, which meant that Damian had gone hunting for it on purpose instead of putting on his own.

He understood Damian’s hesitation to go to Dick with this, but having Dick around would have been useful right now, as someone who knew the kid better or just as someone who was better in general at the whole comforting people thing than he was. Did Damian need to talk about it or did he want to ignore it? How much did Jason need to know? The who or why or how? Or did it matter?

“It’s peppermint oolong,” said Jason, immediately feeling stupid for not having anything better to say or any way to make any of this better.

“Smells good.” Damian took a sip and winced as he swallowed, the bruising around his throat and the unspoken strong choking that must have accompanied it for the bruises to be appearing so fast must have made it hurt to swallow, but he said nothing so Jason let it go. He was sure that there was more bruising and pain that Damian was hiding, but Jason was trusting him to manage it on his own or tell him if he needed medical attention. Minor physical damage was unimportant tonight.

As far as his brothers went, Damian was the one that Jason knew the least. He knew his background of course, and basic things like that he liked animals and that he was a talented artist, but there was so much that he didn’t know about Damian as a person and it left him a little bit in the dark about how to make him feel a little more at ease.

In the end, he decided that the best person that Jason could pretend to treat him like in this situation was Jason himself. He wouldn’t want to talk about it, at least not now. He’d want to process with a mild distraction in the background and just be by himself for a while, whether it be alone or not. He would want to feel quiet and safe and secure. He would want time to just be.

These were all things that he could do.

They each finished their cup of tea at the same time, Jason deposited both mugs in the sink and nodded towards the living room. “Come on, squirt.”

Jason walked slowly with Damian following closely behind, grabbed the remote, starting up episodes of Planet Earth and turned the volume down low. Damian settled down onto the couch, head on the pillows at one end and curling his body out so that his feet were just over half way across the middle and Jason draped a thick blanket over top of him before sitting at the other end. Damian’s socked feet dug into his leg and he could feel the cold from them seeping through despite the overly fluffy socks and hot shower, and he found himself tucking the blanket around them tighter, trying to keep the warmth wrapped around the younger boy. Damian’s attention turned to the TV, and Jason picked his book that he had abandoned earlier that night off the coffee table and picked up where he had left off, losing himself in The Unfolding of Language all over again.

Twenty minutes in, his phone vibrated with a text, but it turned out not to be from Barbara but from Dinah herself.

Queen Canary: O sent me to an abandoned warehouse that looked like it hadn’t been touched for months for absolutely no reason when I could have been home in my PJs and not freezing my ass off after the stakeout that would never end. I cussed her out but she said it’s your fault, so fuck you. You owe me a beer.

Jason sent back a thumbs up emoji and let out a sigh of relief that he didn’t realise that he had been holding in, and his hand was trembling as he put his phone back on the table. Owing Dinah a beer was a very small price to pay for what she had done for them, whether she knew it or not.

An episode and a half passed with just the background noise of the program before Damian shifted around and flopped down again, this time the other way around and using Jason’s thigh as a pillow, curling the blanket around him tighter. Jason set his book aside and watched the boy who was keeping his focus on the TV, but looking distracted and probably not paying a lot of attention to whatever David Attenborough was talking about on screen. Jason reached down and carefully carded his fingers through Damian’s soft hair, and watched as a single tear slide down his cheek, quickly followed by another and then some more,  but neither of them said anything about it. Jason had always loved the feeling of hands in his hair, remembering when his mom did it when he was sick as a kid, and how Bruce had done it after Jason had woken up with nightmares or had been injured or sometimes just because, and it appeared that Damian felt the same way.

It made him curious is Talia had ever done this for Damian when he had been a child. He hoped so.

Thirty minutes later when the episode ended and blackness took over the screen with just a prompt to click on the next episode left, Damian spoke up. “I have to tell Father.” Not a question, just the acceptance of reality. He was quiet but resigned, tear stains on his cheek not leading to a crack in his voice. He was calmer than before, more relaxed after being given the time to decompress.

And maybe having a good cry helped a little bit.

“You do, but not tonight. Tonight you are going to stay here and watch nature documentaries and then in the morning I’ll make you breakfast before you head home.” He paused his fingers and Damian let out a barely audible whine at the lack of motion, so Jason started up again and Damian cuddled in further. “I can come with you if you want. Be there when you tell Bruce.” He was a good kid. Bruce was going to see that; his firm no kill rule had unspoken leniency for accidents which this clearly was. Jason knew that everything was going to work out fine and he was sure that deep down inside, Damian was sure of it too. That didn’t mean that it was any less scary, to tell someone of your mistakes and know that you disappointed them. The undercurrent of anxiety would never leave when it came to something like this.

Jason felt the small head nod against him. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“Want to keep going? The next episode has giant salamanders.”

Damian made a noise of assent, and Jason started it up again, this time choosing to watch instead of ignore it for his book. Waves crashed on the screen and Damian turned his head to look at Jason, locking his eyes on him, full of determination. “I hope you know that you are as well. What you said earlier. We are both more than just this one thing, brother.”

Hearing his own words back at him and the way that Damian had lumped the two of them into the same category made Jason’s heart soar in an unexpected way. It felt so good to know that he had been able to help in a way that was unrelated to his size and his violence. Maybe he had been the right person for Damian to come to with this. “That we are, Kid.”

[rachelbethhines]

Tangled Salt Marathon - Before Ever After

So we’re back and kicking off the salt marathon proper with the pilot movie, Before Ever After. Lets dig in shall we.

Summray:  Six months after the events of Tangled, Rapunzel is settling into life as princess of Corona, but is unable to enjoy it with the constant protection of her father's guards. When she and her lady-in-waiting, Cassandra, sneak out of the castle, they come upon some black rock spikes that magically bring back her long blonde hair. Meanwhile, a figure from Frederic’s past is out for revenage. 

Lack of Set Up

Right off the bat we got our first flaw. The show opens with a song reintroducing our main characters, where they are right now in the story, and showing off their goals and personal conflicts. All save for Cassandra that is. 

This is Cass. You wouldn’t know it from the pilot but she is the secondary protagonist of the show. (I’m sorry Eugene fans, like it or not she is) And that’s precisely the problem. She gets no introduction. She’s just there. Her entire motivations, goals, and interpersonal conflicts are suppose to drive the story line of the last season and a half, but we have no idea what any of those things are from her beginning episode.     

The show-runners have tried to excuse this with wanting Cassandra’s arc to be a ‘slow burn’ but that’s not how a slow burn actually works. A ‘slow burn’ is either a background element/character being established early and then reveled to be plot important later, (think McGucket in Gravity Falls) or a prominent character being given a seemingly shallow goal/motivation and then slowly peeling back the layers and showing more complexity behind that goal/motivation. (like Zuko in Avatar) 

Cass is neither of these things. She’s not a background element. She’s there from the word go and given the same amount of screen time and focus as both Raps and Eugene through out. But she’s not been established like Zuko either. We won’t know what motivates her until four episodes in, it’ll take another four episodes to show all of her important interpersonal relationships, and it’ll take a whole S3 seasons just to give us a clear goal. 

These are not things your audience should be left guessing about. They are what propel your story forward and must be made clear from the get go. 

Not a Flaw, But...

I don’t like that the series blends several different time periods and cultures together into a grab bag of world building.

Now this is an opinion, not a critique. What’s the difference?

A flaw in writing is a failure to communicate your ideas clearly to your audience. The lack of introduction for Cassandra, as mentioned above, actively gets in the way of the story the writers want to tell. That is a flaw. 

But this? This an idea that the creators wanted to use and they conveyed it quite well. They use various fashions to show off different characters’ personalities, anachronistic technology in order to make certain plot points happen, and visual cues from other cultures around the world to give a feeling of fantasy to the series. It’s very well done. I just don’t like it.      

I personally prefer a more anchored take on world building with an actual designated time period and place, even in a fantasy world. Once again is this just an opinion and there’s no right or wrong here. Just preference. 

And I bring this distinction up now to show that one can have both personal preferences and still give valid criticisms. The existence one does not invalidate the other. Some sub-sections of the fandom love to shut down any sort of critical examinations by acting like having a different opinion is grounds for dismissing critique entirely. 

That’s not going to fly here. Which brings me to...

Lack of Follow Through

Initially, I enjoyed the conflict presented here between Rapunzel and Eugene. Young couples just starting out often have disagreements on what direction they want their lives to go in. It’s very real and very normal and I know actual people who have been there or are currently there right now. 

Unfortunately there’s no follow through. 

The core conflict is never actually resolved on screen at any point in the show. The characters keep putting it off and then it’s suddenly forgotten about by S3. We the audience are just left to assume that they worked things out some where off screen. 

If the lack of intro to Cass showcases the series problem with establishing plot points, then the treatment of Eugene’s and Rapunzel’s relationship shows us the other half of that coin. The show often steps things up or makes a big deal out of stuff that is never again brought up or resolved in a satisfying manner. 

Failure to Learn 

It also shows the fundamental flaw behind the premise of the series. Rapunzel never learns. 

Oh she changes through out the show. The Raps we see here is not the Raps we end up with. But how she develops doesn’t involve her owning up to any of flaws that she presents. 

This conflict with Eugene requires showing the audience that Rapnuzel is not good with communication and by the end she is still not any good with communicating. However, Eugene, and by extension the show itself, just gives her a free pass. 

The show wants to be a coming of age story, but fails at the one thing required for it to be a coming of age story. 

Show Don’t Tell

Getting back to Cass, another problem with the show is it’s over reliance on exposition. In a visual medium, like animation, you want to show the audience the information they need to know when ever possible. You can have exposition from time to time, but you generally want to use it sparingly and not rely on it for really important stuff, like idk... say introducing an important character relationship. 

This scene actually showcases the issue quite well. We are told two things about Cass here.

1. That she collects weapons, indicating is a warrior/tomboy

2. That Cass is the Captain's daughter.      

The first one is shown to us, by seeing her collection, and the second is told to us through a single line. Of the two which would you think is the most important to the story?

You’d be forgiven if you thought her weapon hobby since that’s what the scene focuses on, but it’s actually her relationship with her dad. A dad we won’t see on screen doing anything until episode three, and won’t see him interact with said daughter until episode eight. 

Cassandra's relationship with her parents is supposedly a driving force behind her decisions in season 3, which in turn drive the main conflict, but we so little see those relationships that they leave little impact once they become important. in fact the audience is mostly just left scratching their heads and guessing what went down between them. That’s not a good thing. Once again, motivation, goals, and inter personal conflicts should not be left to viewer interpretation. They need to be established. This line does not establish what audience needs to know.   

Eugene Deserves Better 

On that note, Eugene is set up pretty well, but he doesn’t get the focus he deserves.He’s constantly shoved aside for either Rapunzel’s or Cassandra’s conflicts/goals instead.  

As the series goes on, this translates into him actually being subservient to Rapunzel herself while she goes around bullying, dismissing, and actively brow beating him until he complies to all of her wishes. And the line above is foreshadowing for that. 

The writers don’t consider Eugene a main protagonist, even though they should, and think that all secondary characters must comply to anything and everything the protagonists desire. Which it not how you should write characters ever. 

A good compelling protagonist won’t get everything they want and nor should they. Likewise just because a secondary character wants or needs something doesn’t mean their goals or desires should be ignored. 

The result of this line of thinking is to present an obvious power imbalance in numerous relationships throughout the course of the show, which are unhealthy and uncomfortable to watch. 

As for New Dream specifically, they go from being a cute couple who are learning from one another equally to a toxic relationship where one character is a doormat to the other. The fact that this is presented by the show as ‘positive character development’ and a healthy relationship that is to be emulated is one of the more repulsive elements to sit through. And looking back you can see the warning signs starting all the way back to here in the pilot. 

Lady Caine is Wasted   

Speaking of undeserved characters, meet Lady Caine. By all accounts she should be one of the main antagonist of the series. 

She isn’t. 

If Cass lacks set up, then Caine has too much. She’s given a complex backstory, sympathetic motivation, and a understandable goal from her first reveal. And none of it matters. 

She only appears three times in the series and each time she is cast aside. Her original goals and motivations ignored upon subsequent appearances.   

She is made to be the perfect foil for Rapunzel. Her opposite in every way. And is presented as someone important to the audience. Everything about her screams main villain and the show never delivers on its promise. 

This is Abuse

Another thing the show fails to acknowledge is calling out abusive behavior, routinely. 

In this episode alone, Rapunzel’s father 

Dismisses Rapunzel’s autonomy as a grown adult.

Repeats Mother’s Gothel’s lines about the world being a ‘dark and cruel place’ nearly word for word back to Rapunzel in order to guilt her into staying, there by preforming the same abuse as her former abuser

Is constantly feared by everyone, even his own daughter. To the point that no one trusts him with the truth for fear of what he may do. This is passed off as humorous until you remember he has the power to hang people and has done so for non-violent crimes 

Is hinted at being a totalitarian ruler who disproportionately enacts punishments upon poor people who need to steal to survive. 

Is hinted to have orphaned a child once and may have done so to numerous other children    

Abuses his authority as king to coerce his daughter into obeying him

And that’s only in the first episode. It gets worse guys. Much worse. 

Oh Look! Foreshadowing that Means Nothing

You can’t tell but that’s suppose to be Quirin. This winds up mattering not in the slightest. 

Conclusion

So in conclusion, Before Ever After is a false advertisement. A pilot is suppose to inform the audience of the premise of it’s show and give them expectations of what is to come from the series. Nothing that’s set up here comes to fruition and things that do wind up being important aren’t established properly. The only reason to watch is to find out how Rapnuzel got her long hair back and get the mystery of the rocks. As a singular episode it’s ok, as part of ongoing series it’s dismal. Which is the majority of this show in a nutshell.  

[star-puff]

ok here i am Again w a submission … so i think suga and yams would be Drawn to the Sweet Girl Surface … not to say they wouldnt like the rest of you but thats the thing that catches their attention!!! they see the like …… controlled chaos ykwim? suga would rlly vibe w it and tho yams is more controlled than chaos i think hed also appreciate the capital-F Flavor 😈💯 take him to flavortown, guy fieri 🗣🗣

another person i rlly see is shirabu (but would you like him Back ….) . i think he likes people who are competent and have Standards for what they consider quality work so i think that he would be kinda Interested 🙈 you bond over bitching over the other ppl in the group project and it turns into a friendship that goes Beyond the grade…only problem is hes um . kinda looking forward to your texts now and he doesnt know what to do.

i typed this whole thing abt suguru out but it was kinda incoherent so heres me trying again: its kinda like . dependent on which side he shows you . bc theres the part of him thats willing to do Whatever It Takes to win and is kind of um . An Asshole but its kind of that shirabu type where he knows you in a diff light than the Sweet Girl Surface . a quiet rivalry as you duke it out for being top of the class (a quick look at the wiki says hes in class 6 so you know he has A Brain) and its kinda like begrudging respect (and perhaps 👁 the realization that You’re Not So Different After All)

but if he Does know you as The Sweet Girl its different. my god is it different. you know the way he acts w mika …. the Good Boyfriend Suguru ….. even tho theres a panel where they go out to eat and she tells him she KNOWS hes a slimy bastard NSKDFSD i think if he isnt competing w you hes trying real hard to woo you …… if i were you id let him idk 🙈🙈 the grass jelly lookin kinda good tonite idk idk 🙈🙈🙈🙈

and finally its a bit situational but i do see makki 😈😈 the hard part is befriending him to the point where the Surface Layers you both have get peeled away but i think once they do theres a lot of laughter to be had …. its good times with good energy and Yes . bonding over shared opinions (and complaints)

this is obnoxiously long but i hope . i have answered the question 

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nsdflksdf ARI YOU NEVER DISAPPOINT . ok let’s go through this one by one shall we .

suga and yams - I’M STILL CRYING OVER  “take him to flavortown, guy fieri 🗣🗣”. BUT SECOND OF ALL. this one actually . fits so well . i indeed radiate Controlled Chaos energy esp underneath the Sweet Girl exterior . i think i would send suga a keysmash and he just Knew that there was more than what it seems in Meg Town

shirabu - shirabu…sorry babe maybe after timeskip since you’re a doctor and i think my parents would be happy about that but! not with that 2am quarantine haircut 💔 But Yeah . bitching over groupmates does seem like my MO LMAO. we’d be doing a group project and we’d decide to split up the slides for like, 2 per person, but Shirabu’s and mine are the only ones that actually look good and not 1) 5 words max on a slide or 2) a copy-pasted wikipedia article. but he’s prbly gonna be left as an ig mutual only once our project is over 💔 maybe a convo every other month 💔💔 but he was a great groupmate and companion 😀👍

suguru - oh my god rivals to lovers . but onesided . honestly though i feel like . if it’s any class regarding Language (aka syntax, spelling, the objectively correct subjects) i would be So Competitive. like, obnoxiously competitive SDLFKD, but we would definitely have a Rivalry going on . (i’m going to pretend for a quick min that i’m Not a dumbass in regards to academics but its For The Scenario .) AND NSDLFKSDF i cannot see myself acting as the Sweet Girl to suguru . i just can’t. he’s the type i would shade nonstop to my friends i just know it . rivalry it is 🤝🤝🤝🤝   

makki - MAKKI 🔊🔊🔊🔊🔊 i think the same too. like if we Somehow got close enough to text daily i think we would vibe very well . i feel like we share the same sense of humor too SLFKS like. just make fun of Everything & not take life Too seriously. yeah . sigh. i just want a makki to liven up my day is that so much to ask 💔