#i would put more thought into the structure of this but in the spirit of presenting incredibly raw minimally edited first drafts... | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

emeritusemeritus · 7 months

Text

Sauron’s Secret [Eddie Munson x Reader]

Title: Sauron’s Secret, one ring to rule them all.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Wife!Reader {Established but hidden relationship}

Timeline: Around S4- slight alternate timeline, no Vecna. No mention of past events in Hawkins.

Summary: Eddie’s hiding a secret and Dustin is determined to figure it out.

Warnings: Swearing. Mentions of marriage. Hidden relationships, secret marriage. Mentions of drugs and marijuana. Dustin is a sleuth and I love him for it. Lord of the Rings references.

I had so much fun writing this. Set in mostly 3rd person/ Dustin POV.

Eddie Munson was allusive and mysterious, even to his closest friends.

He shared only what needed to be shared and kept his business private, just how he liked it. Eddie's favourite colour? Who knows, probably black or red but you'd never get a solid answer. His favourite movie? He says it's some old slasher film from the 50's that defied cinematic structure and gave the middle finger to the 'man' trying to oppress the creative spirit of filmmaking. Was it the truth? Probably not. His favourite book? He’d alluded to it being Lord of the rings but if questioned he would act like he’d never heard of it.

The only things he was open about were his love for heavy metal, pizza and D&D, and even then he kept his sadistic and intricate campaigns under wraps for as long as possible before the big reveal, trusting no one with his secrets.

Despite his attempts at general ambiguity, there were a few 'tells' in his behaviour, if read carefully, that could clue your in to his inner workings.

Dustin Henderson in sheer contrast is a completely open book; wears his heart on his sleeve, has little to no filter and will openly discuss all of his favourite things, regardless of if the audience is listening or not. But Dustin is also naturally inquisitive and curious, always trying to dig deeper and see the little idiosyncrasies in people that clue him in to their internal thoughts. He notices things that most people overlook and in the case of Eddie, someone he looks up to and proudly calls his friend, his curiosity is never stronger, particularly around the subject of Eddie's concealed love life.

It started a while ago, just a random day at Hellfire when Eddie came in a little late, trying to downplay his flustered nature as he shot off a roundabout apology and began setting up his campaign as Dustin looked on. Eddie had never been late, always having the table laid out perfectly, the mood lighting and repositioning all done ready for the Paladins, Wizards and Artificers ready to commence their quest. Dustin noticed as the game wore on that Eddie smelt better than usual, not that he ever smelt bad before but he seems to have a little more cologne on and his clothes smelt clean. Sometimes Eddie's clothes would have a faint tinge of damp, like they'd been sat in the dryer a little too long before airing out and being worn, only occasionally but that seemed to disappear completely after that specific meeting.

Sometimes, Dustin swears that he can smell a faint whiff of strawberries emitting from their Dungeon Master, specifically from his hair. At first he thinks he's crazy but the second or third time it happens it's definitely too much to be a coincidence.

A few weeks later when Hellfire had just come to a close, Dustin watched as Eddie shrugged on his signature two jackets and instantly frowned as he looked at the patches on the outer battle jacket. He quickly dropped the frown on his face, unknowingly doing it in the first place, before shifting subtly closer to that he could look to see what was different. The Dio patch on the back piece of the jacket was no longer raised or peeling upwards as it had been before in the bottom corner. He couldn't see any additional patches so he put it down to a fluke that Eddie just have re-sewn the patches, this time doing a much neater job than before.

But then he notices the lunches. Eddie had always brought something easy for his lunch, a bag of trail mix or questionable nut and pretzel mixes but suddenly there were sandwiches and the odd leftovers. That's when things began clicking into place for Dustin, realising that he might actually be on to something. He kept quiet about it, uncharacteristically, until he had more concrete evidence that supported his theory.

One day at lunch, Dustin walked in to see Eddie frantically scrawling ideas and little drawings on to a notepad, an actual wire bound notebook. Dustin had asked Eddie where he got the notebook but he just received a harsh glare and a dismissive insult in reply. Unfazed, Dustin smiled to himself as he tucked into his lunch tray, adding another point to his mental list, taking Eddie's defensiveness as evidence that he hadn't just stolen it from an unfortunate freshman, it was given to him. Eddie usually scrawled onto little slips of waste paper he'd find in his pockets or donated by his friends, never having brought an actual book to school in all the years that Dustin had known him, which were then folded or crumpled up and thrust into one of his many pockets.

The first Hellfire meeting after Christmas break is when Dustin realises that he'd been right all along. Eddie lights up a smoke after getting things loaded into the truck and for the first time since Dustin had known him, he wasn't using gas station grade clippers nor a random pack of matches he sometimes carried when the shitty lighters inevitably died on him. He instead lit the questionable cigarette with a black zippo lighter, one of those that were built to last, refillable and much, much nicer than any he'd ever seen in Eddie's possession before.

Still, he says nothing, content in knowing something about Eddie that no one else did, almost gleeful actually. He decides that if he's going to find anything else out then he needs to tread carefully, not wanting to alert Eddie to his inside knowledge or tip him off that he's digging around in matters that were not his own. He has to plan this carefully, asking questions that are only appropriate in the right setting, not out of the blue.

Luckily for Dustin, the moment presents itself not too long after at Hellfire when mid roll- Eddie's shirt shifts just enough for a second chain to be seen beneath his shirt, the movement of him shaking and rolling the dice allowing the pendant and chain to slip out from under his neckline. Eddie had always worn the guitar pick necklace, he never hid that beneath his shirt but this one had definitely not always been there. Dustin doesn't miss the golden glint of something hanging from the necklace, a ring that looked like a simple band. There's a few tense moments where Dustin studies the ring intensely before Eddie notices it slip, trying to quickly instil it into his mind for future reference before Eddie is alerted to his necklace being on show.

It lasts all of ten seconds before Gareth pipes up about the curious piece of jewellery in a less than delicate manner, his face scrunched up and turned to one side as he questions Eddie about it. Seemingly not missing a beat, Eddie quickly looks down at the offending article and smiles before he stuffs it into his shirt.

"That my friends is a custom made ruling ring, one ring or Isildur's Bane if you will. Genuine lord of the rings replica, 'One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them'." He smirks dangerously at the crowd after replacing the chain inside of his shirt before crouching down and casting aside one of the figurines on the table, "now, gentleman, are you prepared for your next defeat? You've fought valiantly but it may not be enough to save your sorry hides!"

Dustin gives him a lingering side eye, knowing that there was way more to that then he's made out; He'd seen the face Eddie had involuntarily pulled when he realised his mistake. Dustin was moving in on him now, biding his time until he can make his move and actually probe Eddie for the truth.

What Dustin doesn't expect however, after the months he'd spent agonising over gathering secret intel and evidence on Eddie is that one day soon, Eddie would put himself completely due to unfortunate bad luck.

It's raining, tipping it down as the Hellfire club burst through the doors of the school in sheer elation, celebrating their defeat of Vecna and his cult. The gang separates into separates cars all waiting for them and disperse as they run to get out of the rain. Dustin's mom was at work and he'd have to cycle back regardless, cursing himself for not bringing his waterproof. Eddie offers him a ride in the van, only for him to scream multiple profanities when the van only stutters before giving up completely. He kicks the wheels in frustration, already stoked to the bone from the rain in just his two jackets before he turns to Dustin to ask for his cellphone. Dustin watches him closely as Eddie dials a number entirely from memory, moving away so that his conversation would remain private as he quickly talks to someone at the other end of the phone. Dustin quickly shies away as Eddie's gaze flickers over to him briefly, acting as if he wasn't paying attention at all, until Eddie ends the conversation and hands him back the phone.

"Got a ride, stick around and we'll drop you off at home," Eddie says, nodding his head back towards the school so that the two of them could stand under the canopy to avoid getting wetter. Dustin watches as Eddie rings out his nearly flat curls, boosting them up so that his signature look wouldn't be ruined. Dustin however, pays no mind to his wetness and instead stares intensely at the road leading to the school, not wanting to miss who would be picking them up, transfixed on the idea that it might be someone he'd been waiting to meet, or prove was real, for a long time.

Dustin has to fight back a happy jig when he spots an old looking pickup truck driving up the road towards the school, eyes stinging with the rain as he daren't even blink, desperate to catch sight of whoever was driving.

When the truck comes to a stop, he falters as he sees an old man get out, wearing a boiler suit uniform having clearly been a mechanic of sorts. He then notices the logo on the side of the truck, something or others repair shop. Eddie steps forward and has a brief conversation with him but Dustin pays no mind, throwing himself down onto one of the benches under the canopy, his chin resting on his hand as he pouts.

When the older man begins to tow away Eddie's van with one last wave and a pat to the back for the dungeon master, leaving Eddie and Dustin stranded, he shoots Eddie a confused glance. Eddie simply averts his eyes, shooting him a strange look before wrapping his arms around himself, the cold clearly getting to him.

Nearly as soon as the old truck pulls away with Eddie's van, a second truck pulls around the corner, pausing briefly window to window to talk to the man in the truck from their respective vehicles. This truck is all black and seemingly well loved, an old Chevy of sorts but Dustin's not great with car models. The trucks pull away from each other and the second truck comes to a stop outside the school, right by the canopy.

"Wait here Henderson," Eddie mumbles, eyes focused on the truck as he ducks out of the canopy and into the rain. The windows are slightly tinted so it's hard to see what's going off though Dustin desperately tries to sneak a peak at the owner of the truck.

"Haul your bike in the back," Eddie calls out, pulling open the passenger door, only to be met by resistance from the person inside the car. He huffs, closes the door and helps Dustin lift the bike onto the truck bed before he opens the passenger door again and slides across the bench, giving Dustin room to climb in.

He notices the woman driving immediately but doesn't recognise her at all. She's pretty, really pretty and is dressed in a leather jacket with a material hood that is hardly concealing her hair, dark jeans and fingerless gloves.

“Hi, you must be Dustin,” she smiles towards him and Dustin has to fight a blush that the pretty girl was talking directly to him. His momentary silent pause isn’t missed by his dungeon master, who shoots him a harsh look before letting out a low chuckle at the kids face.

“Hi,” he says shyly with a small wave, which only makes the woman smile wider.

“You’re up on Cornwallis right?” She asks, turning the key in the ignition to start up the truck. He gives a little nod, still not finding his voice entirely and she smiles back, turning to check her mirrors.

“How’d you know?” He asks only a few seconds later as the truck begins to pull away. He frowns when both Eddie and the mystery woman share a little mischievous smile, an inside joke of sorts.

“I’d like to tell you it was seeing you riding past on your bike when I’d visit Barb but,” the woman says, barely taking her eyes off the road as she navigates through the heavy rain.

“Skull rock’s just behind your house, dude,” Eddie says with a chuckle, finishing the sentence for him.

“Oh,” Dustin says, “oh.”

Both of the older constituents chuckle and Dustin takes a moment to watch them, seeing that they both had a natural ease with each other, like they’d known one another for a long time. He decides a little harmless digging wouldn’t hurt.

“You knew Barbara Holland?” He asks, watching her reaction carefully. She gives a sad little smile before shrugging gently, the faint rustle of leather ringing out in the near silent truck cabin.

“Our dads used to work together at the shop, before all the shit went down, nice kid,” she replied. Dustin watches as Eddie’s hand seems to move just slightly so that he’s touching her thigh, though it’s subtle, no doubt on account of Dustin’s presence.

“So you didn’t go to school with her?” He digs further. Something tells him that with the addition of the woman, who still remained largely a mystery to him would shield him from Eddie’s wrath if he caught on, like a buffer for the situation.

She snorts a little at the thought and shakes her head, flicking the wipers up a speed as the rain continues to pour, the windshield hardly clearing before it’s full again.

“Don’t know if I should be flattered or offended by that,” she says with a smile and a chuckle. Eddie’s mouth pulls to one side, like he was trying to hide his smirk. “I graduated in 84, spend two years at high with her but we didn’t interact much, she had her friends and well, I got stuck with this degenerate,” she laughs, gesturing to Eddie beside her. He shoves her, muttering his outrage at her statement but she merely laughs harder.

So they were at school together; before Dustin had ever reached high school. He wondered if Steve knew her? He didn’t recall him ever mentioning her, though he didn’t even know her name so that was one issue. He notices they are already on Cornwallis and he pouts again, wanting to find out more about the woman but by the time they’d pulled up to the mini intersection of Old Cherry, right by his house, it was too late.

“Thank you!” Dustin says very pleasantly as he prepares to make a run for it to grab his bike from the bed of the truck, frowning as he wonders how he’d lift it by himself.

“Eds, go help him,” the woman says, urging Eddie to help with the bike. Surprisingly, Eddie doesn’t hesitate much and does actually move to help

Dustin, who gives him an odd look.

“Thank you again, errr,” he pauses before hopping out of the cab, hesitating so that he’ll grab her name.

She’s about to reply but Eddie shoves him quickly out of the cab and reaches for the bike himself before placing it on the floor and handing it to Dustin.

“Night Henderson,” Eddie says, quickly messing with Dustin’s wet cap before he smirks and hops up into the truck again. The truck doesn’t pull away straight away and Dustin realises they are waiting for him to let himself in, checking he wouldn’t be left outside. That had to be the woman, Eddie would have been nothing but exhaust smoke and tyre screeches in the distance by now.

As soon as he opens up the garage, the truck begins pouring with loud music, something heavy and angry sounding and the truck begins to pull away with a single beep of the horn.

This brief but important encounter has only spurred Dustin on further, amping up his desperate need to find out exactly who she was and who she was in relation to Eddie. They seemed overly friendly but comfortable, could she be the one that had given him the necklace? She wished he was sat next to her so he could get a whiff of her hair; if it was strawberry scented he’d have been on to a winner. The next day, he cycled to the library, thankfully it much better weather than the previous day, and had scouted through pages and pages of source material trying to find old yearbooks from Hawkins High that might have illuminated who she was. Nothing.

He cycled to family video, scrambling for any information Steve could give but he was nearly as clueless as Dustin.

“Dude I’m telling you, I never noticed Munson until the satanic rumours started, never paid any attention to him,” Steve shrugged, already having told Dustin this at least three times but the kid was persistent.

“She had * colour hair and she was wearing a leather jacket, really pretty,” Dustin tried to explain her but Steve looks vacant.

“There were tonnes of girls with her hair colour and pretty,” he says defensively.

“I said really pretty,” Dustin says, adding the inflection. Steve huffs and takes a seat on the stool behind the counter, trying to rack his brain for anyone that might have been with Eddie. Until a faint memory appears at the very edge of his brain, making his face squint as he tries to recall it, having been so long ago.

“There was a chick, she was into rock music, saw her with Billy once,” Steve says, still squinting.

“Ughr,” Dustin says, his face distorting into disgust. Steve immediately sees Dustin’s reaction and clarifies.

“No, she told him to fuck off,” he then chuckles, “was pretty funny actually.” He’s quiet for another moment before it comes to him, the memory getting clearer in his mind, the vision of her coming into full view, he clicks his fingers in a eureka moment. “Hot girl! Munson pulled hot girl?” He sounds aghast, muttering it again under his breathe as he questions it over and over again.

“Hot girl? Come on Steve, names, I need names!” Dustin says, banging his hand on the counter.

“Alright alright! Sheesh,” Steve says, running his hand through his hair. “Umm, it was… something hot.”

Dustin gives him a thoroughly unimpressed glare but he doesn’t notice, too consumed with mentally searching for the name on the tip of his tongue. “Ashle…bec..ayleigh…Rox… y/n! It was y/n!” He clicks his finger again, smiling proudly that he’d been able to recall the information. “Y/n L/n!”

“Hey!” He suddenly shouts after Dustin who races out the door with no reply and no thank you. “I need new friends.”

Dustin wastes no time as he pedals harder and quicker, his destination set in his mind, with her name repeating in his head so that he didn’t forget even a single syllable. As he pulls up in front of his house, he doesn’t even slow before dismounting the bike, leaving it on the grass in front of his house without a single care. He runs in, completely ignoring his mums greeting and whizzes over to the phone book that Claudia Henderson always had sat on the side table. He leapt towards the book and quickly began searching for her name, endlessly trawling through the alphabetical listing until her name would show.

Nothing. It was like she never existed.

“Mom! How olds this phone book?” He shouts, his volume way above appropriate for inside. When she tells him that she only got it last month, he frowns and sinks down into the chair with a slump.

“Dammit!”

“Dusty-bun, language!”

He lays off the trail for a while, exhausted by his extreme efforts, pleased that he knew her name now but feeling deflated at not getting any further. He still watches Eddie for any signs and notices a few odd things here and there but nothing feels groundbreaking anymore.

Until the Byers’ pay a visit to Hawkins. Will is immediately accepted back into the group and whilst Mike is distracted with El and Lucas at basketball, Dustin spends most of his time with Will. Jonathan mopes around most days and even his spirited friend Argyle seems a little lacklustre and irritable at times.

“What’s up with them?” Dustin asks, nodding his head towards the two older boys who are sat on the couch moping, hugging pillows to themselves and barely watching whatever’s playing on tv.

“I thought it was just Nancy stuff you know, but they’re been like it for a few days,” Will says with a shrug, casting a look towards Jonathan and Argyle who look visibly irritated.

Later that evening, Argyle catches Dustin alone and delicately tries to swoon him with pleasantries and chitchat until he finally asks the question that seemed wholly inappropriate.

“My dude, where can we find the devils lettuce?”

“What?” Dustin asks bluntly, completely lost.

“You know,” Argyle says, mimicking smoking a blunt, “some green, some kush, Chiba Chiba, ‘pass the kutchie pon’left hand side’.”

“Weed? You want weed?” He asks bluntly, not caring for the theatrics one bit.

“Well yeah my dude, if you have to be so crude about it,” he says jokingly. Dustin rolls his eyes and walks over to the telephone on the side, reaching for the phone book and flipping it straight to ‘M’ for Munson. Eddie’s side business was the worst kept secret in Hawkins, especially to his friends even though he kept discreet about it for good reason.

Dustin’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he came across the name beside Eddie’s seeing it listed directly beneath his. Y/n Munson.

“My dude! I’m the delivery guy, don’t sweat it!” Argyle shouts with a laugh as Dustin suddenly takes off, offering no explanation as he grabs his bike and pedals away, straight towards Forest Hills.

He doesn’t stop, not even to catch his breath as he nears the entrance to the trailer park, flicking his eyes around for Eddie’s van. He’d been here once or twice, mostly to try and visit Max and had spotted Eddie in the opposite plot, assuming that he lived there and had visited once when Eddie needed something for D&D that Dustin had mistakenly taken. He pushes on, catching sight of Eddie’s beat up van and the black truck parked beside a trailer and doesn’t stop until he’s immediately outside. Dismounting his bike, he gasps for air and pulls out his inhaled from his jacket pocket, wheezing as he puffs on it a few times to catch his breath.

He walks up the steps to the trailer door and knocks over and over loudly, insisting that someone come to the door. The door opens to reveal Eddie in a Metallica shirt and some lounge pants, something Dustin would never believe he would wear, assuming he wore his jeans all the time.

“Henderson?” Eddie looks around behind Dustin and pulls him inside, “the hell are you doing here?”

The place looked very, very different from when he’d been here last, the rooms clean and not fusty anymore. The walls were no longer lined with display mugs and trinkets but rather nice homely decorations that were a little off centre, framed band posters and photos of people in nice frames.

“Dustin?” He hears the all too familiar woman say as she walks through into the kitchen. She’s also wearing a band T-shirt, Judas Priest he thinks he can make out, with some plaid pyjama shorts and a cardigan. She reaches up to smooth her hair down, not having expected anyone to turn up and a glimmer of something on her left hand makes Dustin freeze, before he remembers exactly why he came here.

“You’re married?!” He asks, turning to Eddie, shocked and outraged that he’d managed to keep it a secret. The woman, who Dustin now knew to be Y/n Munson, bursts out laughing as she throws herself down onto the couch, immediately covering her legs with a soft blanket.

“You’re still playing that game?” She asks, turning to look at Eddie, who looks like he’s about to spontaneously combusts.

“Fucking Christ Henderson, you came all the way here for that?” He asks, ignoring his wife’s laughter. Dustin simply shrugs, appearing resolute on the outside but internally he’s beginning to see how much he’s overreacted.

“You ashamed of me, Munson?” His wife teases, turning her head to the side, goading him with a smile. He finally turns to her and snorts, also amused by her words.

“Yeah like getting the hottest girl in Hawkins is something I’m ashamed of.” He sends her a wicked smile and she blushes just slightly, both of them smiling at each other as their eyes meet.

“So what am I missing?” Dustin says, not reading the room. Eddie breaks his gaze with his wife to glare at Dustin for interrupting the moment, the kid clearly had a lot to learn about women.

“Just tell him,” y/n says encouragingly, reaching for the cup of tea in front of her as she watches on with rapt interest, and slight amusement.

Eddie huffs and sighs, his shoulders dropping a little as he prepares his explanation, though why he was explaining things was a little lost on him.

“We got married in October,” he pauses as Dustin immediately looks like he’s going to blow a fuse and with one harsh glare, he closes his mouth, allowing Eddie to continue. “Been together for a few years but Wayne moved out last summer so my girl moved in and then we got hitched just after,” he explains, taking a seat on the little chair, offering the other to Dustin who declines. “I didn’t tell anyone because being a married man, still in school and DM’ing a kids D&D club isn’t exactly ‘cool’,” he says, sounding honest and a little deflated.

“To be clear, you weren’t that ‘cool’ before,” his wife snarks, thoroughly enjoying the show. He shoots her a look and she simply sinks at him, seeing the argumentative look diffuse immediately from his face as he smiles at her, seeing her beaming back at him, if not a little sarcastically.

The pieces slowly meld together in Dustin’s mind, illuminating the big picture, each little thing he’d noticed now becoming clear.

“So the ring,” he says, gesturing towards the chain around Eddie’s neck. “It’s not a Lord of the rings thing?”

Y/n’s loud burst of laughter breaks the last lingering slither of tension in the room and once again Eddie sends her a warning glance though she ignores it completely.

“Yes that very powerful wedding ring forged in the fires of Orodruin by the dark Lord himself, Edward Sauron Munson. Does it enhance your Dungeon Master powers specifically or is it like an all around enchancement? Because as far as I can tell there’s been no improvement to your cooking skills,” she says with a chuckle.

“Sweetheart you are in for it,” he says threateningly, though his eyes still shine with amusement. She lifts her eyebrows once as if goading him, hopeful that his words will take on a very different meaning later.

“Why not just wear it on your hand?” Dustin asks, missing the point of it all being hidden.

“Because, Henderson,” Eddie says, leaning forward to push Dustin back to fall into the seat opposite him. “My girl got me this ring,” he says flashing him the skull ring that sat on his left ring finger. “18th birthday. Couldn’t get married using that so I got a normal band but this means more to us,” he says, gesturing back to the ring. “Plus.”

He then slips off the ring and extends his hand under Dustin’s frowning gaze until he spots what Eddie is trying to show him. Her initials, tattooed on his ring finger, concealed by the skull ring he always wore.

“Soon as I graduate, it won’t be a secret anymore, hell, I’ll probably shout it from the rooftops,” Eddie says with a beaming smile, “but for now, it’s just between us three okay?”

“Okay.”

It’s graduation day and Eddie proudly walks the stage in his cap and gown to accept his diploma before giving the finger to Principle Higgins on the way. His friends sit in the auditorium and cheer him in but no one cheers louder than ‘hot girl’ who stands and cheers, clapping loudly for her husband who had finally graduated.

“Dude,” Gareth says, pointing towards the side of the stage after everyone had walked and the procession was over. They all turn to see Eddie place the cap onto the woman’s head before pulling her in for a searing and very public kiss.

“Who’s that?”

“Hot girl?”

“What?!”

Dustin smiles, watching the pair only briefly before the scene suddenly becomes decidedly less PG, turning to his group of friends that all look on in complete amazement. He smirks, ready to unleash the secret he’d been hiding for months, keeping his tone casual as if it were completely obvious.

“Oh, you guys don’t know Eddie’s wife?”

Taglist Requests:

@ferntv

@aigowen

@that-lame-ghoul9000

@jules-with-stars

@sleepiemocha

@seppys-return-to-madness

@wtvbabes

@the-mrs-malik-styles

@cedslover

@nisapoosworld

@dashhhhkaaa

@ghostlytv

@nerdymesss

@costheticbabe

@cliffburtonscig

@lildrunkjkk

@levylovegood

@jewelsrules

@jphxnix

@asuperconfusedgirl

@staceys-moms-thighs

@nighttimewrites

@egghasnoleg

@mel119g

@angelrioter

@minatozsana

@quinny921

@blahhh819

@comicgollum20

@moonieseyelash

@ali-r3n

@twistedlaces1909

#emeritusemeritus #emeritusemerituswrites #eddie munson comfort fic #eddie munson masterlist #eddie Munson x reader #eddie Munson x you #stranger things #eddie Munson

315 notes · View notes

writingforsimps · 8 months

Text

Midnight Fangs - Poly BTS X Reader (Prologue)

Summary: The werewolves thought they found all their mates. They never imaged they’d met another, let alone that she’d be a vampire.

Warning: Blood, Alcohol, Sex, Breeding, Mate Au Supernatural AU, Poly Au, Unrequited Love, Rejection, Hurt/Comfort, Other… (Specific Warnings not mentioned will be made in each chapter.)

[Series Masterlist] [Your Here] - [Next] <-

You fled from your Nest.

You fled from your Nest, from the people who turned you almost 200 years ago, from the people who taught you everything you know now about yourself. Vampires have very strong bonds, they live with their Nest forever. The people who turn them and the people who are also turned. The two only reason why a vampires nest would be small is because of Hunters. You ran away from your Nest: your home, your family, your providers. Your an idiot. A lone vampire wouldn’t make it without their family.

You’ve heard phrased, phrases like “lone wolf,” and “free spirit,” everyone’s heard those phrases and in those phrases… Lone Vampire, didn’t exist. Every Vampire always said that their was a reason for that.

As the moon rises in the sky, you look at it from under a tree. Glad the sun would finally be gone from irritating your skin more. You hated swearing layers and hats, you sometimes missed the sun on your skin.

Most supernatural creatures were… sociable, but perhaps that isn’t the right word for all of them, it was more… kept to groups. There was a reason for that.

It meant you wouldn’t survive on your own.

Sociable was, however, the right word for werewolves. Wolves love the night, especially full moons. Werewolves were rowdy, social, and loud. You could tell from the howls you’d hear two miles away and from the many paw prints left behind in the mud after a full moon.

They loved many things.

In that love, what they loved and put above all else: their Pack. Werewolves, they had a more… engraved structure to their packs. For a vampire, the oldest is the leader. For a wolf, the most qualified Alpha is.

It’s a common… rumor that vampires and werewolves don’t get along. Cats and dogs as people would say. Wether that rumor is true or not, is up to a case to case Basis. Cats and dogs can co-exist in certain homes, when conditions are met.

Why was he even thinking of vampires? There would be no reason to think more of this subject. Cats and dogs, they would have no effect on his life with his pack. Jin sighs and shakes his head as he looks at his pack, his mates, trying to get rid of the thoughts.

Why would he even want to co-exist with a vampire? Most of them were too… cold, it was like they were searching for weaknesses to exploit. Always turning their noses in disgust, “You smell- horrible- too strong- like dog.” They’d say, while they smell like nothing but blood and death.

“Hey, Jin you okay?” Hoseok asks leaning his head against the omegas shoulder. The beta leaned onto the omegas scent gland, trying to soothe the Omega. He could smell a bit of his confusion and disappointment, even if it was the slightest, most minuscule change.

“Yeah, just thinking.”

“Joon and Jumin are in the garden.” The beta causally mentioned. As the two of them looked out at them in the over grown, neglect garden. Jimin trips over a bed of something the pack doesn’t care to identify. Junjook stumbled after him and trips into the plants.

“I think the garden has seen better days anyway.” Yoongi shrugged scratching his messy hair as he walked in to the kitchen. A empty cup of coffee in hand, the alpha sighed as he glanced out the window at what was suppose to be a garden.

It was a large fences off area near the back of the cabin. The pack had picked the cabin up once upon a time, it was run down and old but now it was new again, everything was working the way it was suppose to and now it was… perfect. It felt like every room was brimming with love. The garden however, no one ever got around too. The forgotten space in the back of the house. During a full moon a while back Junkook had dug the remaining dead plants up leaving behind a pile of dirt. The pile of dirt was left, the causal “I’ll get around to it” was thrown here and there. Sure, but they all knew no one would end up taking responsibility for the garden.

If they wanted to be in touch with nature they’d go on a walk in the woods. It’s in their nature, Not planting. Digging? Maybe, yeah sure. But if they wanted berries they’d go find them in the forest. It was a waste growing them when they can just go to the store anyway?

At least. Those were the justifications. Truthfully, they didn’t know why they left it untouched for so long. It was a nagging ache in their chest… as if something wasn’t right and it just… needed to be left alone.

______

Note: Hey, so… I made this because, Bts fanfiction is really easy to find and I’ve been reading it because- hey, I want to read a specific type of fic? Bts fandom has 20 of them at least! So I thought, I’d give back…? I mean the authors are all sooo good, I just hope to live up to them. But… I don’t really know a lot about the boys? I’ve watched interviews and tried my best! But if something’s off, tell me pls!

Enjoy the series! Any questions, thoughts or concerns pls don’t hesitate! And uh… bye!

#abo au #bts #bts x reader #poly bts #poly bts x reader #vampire reader #light angst #bts fanfic #bts x you #bts x fem!reader #werewolf! bts #yoongi #jimin #junkook #hoseok #taehyung #namjoon #seokjin

266 notes · View notes

missbunnybunny · 11 months

Text

🫧『𝕺𝖍 𝖜𝖍𝖔 𝖎𝖘 𝖘𝖍𝖊? 𝕬 𝖒𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞 𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖔𝖗𝖞』🫧

Tw: dark kink, unprotected sex, non-con, dark content, rough sex, bondage, kinky, breeding, praise, degradation.

A/n: If something is incorrect, please let me know. using Google Translate for Russian words. I simply put down what came to me and spell-checked it. I'm not sure whether it even makes sense or not but enjoy!

Note: I'm interested in seeing how good my writing is, therefore I'm giving it my all. I have high hopes, for this one. This is a long boy. Your meal has been served, it was my pleasure serving you all 🍽️🤵🏽‍♀️.

🎐𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝟐🎐

Oh, Who is she...

-Russia, Kubinka.-

The sky was a never-ending sea of white and grey, with no sight of the sun to sprinkle a sliver of sunshine as the snow gently fell to the earth, painting everything white as far as the eyes could see. People were spotted marching up and down with their warm jackets and hats, guns in hand, flawlessly matching one stride at a time. Not one man, hair, or step out of line, just as they were trained.

An automobile stopped in front of a large structure, the driver's door opened, and a hefty man crouched down and carefully exited the vehicle. Soon after, three more doors opened, and three guys came out of the car, closely followed by a lady. Her e/c eyes surveyed her surroundings as she expelled a little puff of air and watched it develop and dissipate, demonstrating how chilly it was outdoors.

The group entered the building and proceeded to a table; the woman sat on a couch a few meters away from the table, setting her weapon down. Her colleagues each pulled out a chair and sat. You gazed at them silently as you picked up the riffle you had placed down as you walked in, taking it into your hands and starting to disassemble it. You were cleaning the scope aimlessly when you were dragged out of your thoughts by someone calling out to you.

" Rusalka." He exclaimed. Rusalka a water spirit or a water fairy. She was frequently linked to the mythological concepts of a nymph or a mermaid. The term "Deadly but Beautiful" was given to you by your superiors. You liked the name Rusalki because she was a deadly dead creature and cursed ghost that resembled a young woman. Your countless enemies would hear your name before being struck down.

timid, helpless, and frail, some would say she was. But even the most beautiful flower may be toxic when needed. Judging a book by its cover would get you killed. You were nothing but skilled, powerful, and lethal.

"Yes, Captain Azhdaya." It signified dragon. He had a bulky physique. His face is studded with minor battle scars, except for the bigger ones. One on his left cheek a few meters from his lips and concluding just shy of his ear, a scar at the bridge of his nose, and a split on his lip. "Your location will be here," he says, pointing to a map as you stand to investigate.

"You will cover the team from this distance." He ended by tugging his finger in a direction. It was an excellent location with lots of trees and tall grass; blending in with an all-white outfit in an unending field of white snow would make it simple to conceal from the adversary and get a vantage point at the same time.

A misty memory

Leshy, the forest's guardian. His honey-brown eyes examined the chart, humming a tune under his breath as he took everything in. At 5"8, he was a few inches shorter than the captain.

Vodyanoy was discussing options that they might take advantage of. The hues of the woodland were reflected in the eyes. They were two colors, yet they were as enthralling as an unending expanse of trees and flowers. He was 3 inches shorter and had less muscular mass than Azhdaya, yet he was still a terrifying opponent to face in a fight.

Chuma and Leshy were the same height. He was a man with few words. But he was always in the mood for black humor jokes, making you both laugh and smile as the captain gazed on in fear. His eyes were clear and wonderfully polished blue proportions. He was a lovely soul, like your brother, even though you threatened to slam your foot up his ass for nearly getting killed.

You made your way to the table while reassembling your riffle. As you read the orders, your pupils narrowed. Objectives Destroy the English task force and safeguard the nuclear weapons in the ware home. Your hand reached for your hat, pulling it down slightly and readjusting it.

" Put on your armor and prepare your weapons. We depart at 0800 and expect to arrive by 1000." Azhdaya spoke up, dismissing you all from the briefing to prepare for the upcoming expedition.

You all walked out of the room and into your individual rooms. There would be no time to waste. Blood would be spilled tonight, and your squad would either win or die at the hands of the enemy.

A haunting face

The trip was uneventful. You all sat in the rear of the armored truck, silently double-checking your coms, gear, and weapons. Your seat was at the rear, and you were staring out the window idly. Watching as the colors of the night and the red glimmer of the tailgate blended together in one fast move before disappearing into the darkness. Only to pick up again.

You'd lost count of time, your attention only on the glittering lights in the night. It was lovely. Azhdaya was checking in with everyone to ensure that everything was in order. The squad represented family to him. The boys were like the sons had never had, and Rusalka, like the youngest, leave her alone, and she was going to destroy the world.

His gaze was drawn to the short figure in the rear, and he made a mental note to ensure she was mentally sound. She was threatening the guys, telling them she'd stick her pistol up their asses if they died on her.

The car came to a complete halt. "Rusalka, we're here." The person next to you spoke, Chuma patted your shoulder and stated. You blink and glance up at him, then nod your head, rise up, and grip the firearm close to your chest.

The expedition had begun; for better or worse, may you all return home.

Is she a lost embrace?

You and your riffle were hiding on a hill. A light coat of snow covered your body from head to toe. If someone looked in your direction, all they'd see is a mound of snow, plants, and trees.

They might see the glimmer of scope if they looked carefully enough.

Do you copy, Rusalka?- As a voice spoke up to you, you heard the communication link come alive. That was your captain - Yes, over. -You talked quietly and quietly so as not to draw attention to yourself.

If you detect any activity, alert us - He said, staring out the window, his figure masked by the night's darkness. The others wait in their respective holdings for any others to either fire or rethink their future movements.

It was completely quiet. You had no idea how much time had passed. More snow blanketed your body like a giant chilly blanket, completely immersing you beneath it. Your hands were numb from the cold, and you had to push yourself to remain motionless as little shivers and trembles brushed your skin.

Am I in love with just a theme?

From the looks of things, tonight was going to be unremarkable. Until you heard it, that is. Your ears picked up on the faint crunching sound. It was too big for a cat, too quiet for a fox, and too tall for a dog. It was a person, but you had to make certain it wasn't a civilian.

You adjusted your riffle slightly and focused your attention on the shadows you saw slipping away in the darkness. When you saw it, they were holding firearms and wearing protective gear. -Humans- were the words that came out of your mouth as you turned on the coms connection.

You observed three towering people headed toward the structure. One taller than the other, he wore a hood, another wore what seemed to be a skull mask, and finally, a man with a Mohawk? You hesitated briefly, resisting the impulse to chuckle quietly. You had to admit it suited him. Oh well, He was still the enemy.

Static came from your coms, and it quickly came back to life to instruct you. -headcount?- he gruffly asked you. - 3, sir.- You hurriedly spoke. - Keep a lookout two missing people. He advised you that there should be 5. You dropped your sight and examined your scope.

You gazed about the area for a while before seeing it. A person towards the front of the building, next to a shrub. - 4 shrubs at the entrance - You spoke as you gazed at the man you would have missed if you hadn't seen his little movement.

Or is Ayesha just a dream?

You were told to shoot as soon as they broke through the door. The instruction was to shoot to injure and, if necessary, to kill.

Something caught your attention. You didn't know what it was, but something was awry on the opposite side of the field. Was it the stillness, the swearing misleading figures appearing in your vision?

You couldn't rely on your vision. The darkness and shadows might generate illusions that will stymie your enthusiasm and your team's life. The door to the building burst open while your attention was elsewhere. It caught you off guard. You looked up immediately to see that they were entering the building.

They entered the building, permission to shoot.- You talked softly but rapidly. As you waited, your finger slowly fell to the trigger. - Granted-, that was all you needed to shoot at the figure as it slowly made its way inside.

You kept an eye out for any opportunities. You pulled the trigger when you saw it. The bullet sliced through the air as it approach its victim. His leg was struck. His blood had stained the snow underneath him.

A mystery

From then on, all hell had broken loose. Ghost talked on the coms after Soap was shot. When he informed his crew that bullets had been fired, their senses went into overdrive. König was ahead of the group, gun lifted, trigger finger on the trigger, ready to fire on the suspicious enemy.

Ghost was on the right, Soap was on the left, and Price was just behind them. Soap was hobbling a little, but the gunshot had not killed him. Ghost unlocked the doors and searched the rooms for any indication or sight of someone. The weapons were reported to be at the far end of the facility, according to the information.

A gunshot struck the side of König's skull, missing him by an inch. As soon as the doors leading to the weapon room opened. He and his men retreated hastily behind the door and the walls, firing back at the culprits.

Both sides were heavily armed. It could be heard over the coms as the sound of gunfire broke out in the air. Making the night more silent, quiet, and foreboding. After a while, everything was silent; neither the wind nor the crickets wanted to make an appearance. Sometimes silence was never a good thing.

Oh, who is she?

You waited with bated breath - Leshy and Chuma were shot - a voice came through. Vodyanoy was there. You exhaled a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding. You stood there watching as the man who had entered the building burst out the door.

You watched as the man with the Mohawk was assisted by a man wearing a helmet. The tallest of them all had the arm of the man in a skull mask over his shoulder. Their blood stained the snow with a brilliant scarlet tint.

That's when something occurred to you. - Vodyanoy, tell me where Azhdaya is. Unlike your normal calm and collected manner, you raised your voice. -The captain was shot in the abdomen.- As you received the news, your heart fell, throbbing and hurting. - I've already made the decision. But I require your presence.- You entered the building without hesitation, without caring if it would get you killed or if it was irresponsible.

The mission was successful, but at a high cost: everyone was severely hurt. The cost was cleared when the medical team came. Unfortunately, someone had to remain behind. You offered to remain behind because there wasn't much room in the truck, don't know how but it happened. Your team was against it, but you shot them down. You were the least harmed and would be hiding in one of the nearby hideouts.

Oh, who is she?

You arrived at one of the hideouts, an abandoned structure by a river. Your firearm was never far from your side or in your hands. Even though it was familiar ground, you could never relax your guard.

As you got closer to the building, you noticed a towering person. You'd seen him before. If you recall, he was the colonel on the other side of this combat field. You knew you could play the helpless citizen if you were simply charming to him. You could at the very least eliminate him and his squad.

You took a gamble knowing you were about to collide in this combat field unknown to him but not to you. He was tall, far taller than you would have anticipated. He towered over your commander. You choose to have some fun. You taunted him by messing with his thoughts. You become the night's shadow, the illusion that swirled in his unfocused eyes.

You observed him as he twisted and turned. Look to the right and left, up ahead and below. You chuckled a little, watching him feverishly search for you like a lost puppy. But you were disappointed since your spot had been snatched from you; you heard shouts and froze. The man in the skull mask exited the building beside the colonel. You made the decision to walk away from him. You locked eyes with him as he lifted his firearm and spoke harshly. " Get her."

A misty memory

You rushed out of there on your heels, seeking for a new hiding spot. You rushed through the deep forest, crouching low to avoid hitting a tree. You made the mistake of looking back and confronting death.

He was swiftly catching up with you. You ran and ran, and you appeared to have lost track of time, but one thing bothered you: they were both following after you, but when you looked around, you noticed the one with the skull mask.

You inhaled the frigid air, allowing it to enter your aching, anxious lungs. You proceeded to the abandoned building, taking in as much air as you could and watching for a while to be sure it was clear. You seek refuge in a dark area with access to the entrance and window.

You closed your eyes and lay back against the corner, rifle in hand, succumbing to tiredness and allowing sleep to overtake you. You were too sleepy to notice that your safe way was going to be your undoing.

A haunting face

As Ghost and König stood in front of the building König had seen you walk onto, it was late. Ghost had lost track of you, and the snow had made everything appear so familiar that he couldn't tell right from left. He waited until König returned, informing Ghost that he had discovered where you were hiding.

Now when they were standing in front of the building, Ghost crept inside quietly, not wanting you to flee. You being valuable to them since you know the ins and outs of the building. He creeps closer to the room, discovering you in a corner with a riffle in hand. Your head hung down, hiding your features. He eased you out of the corner.

He straddled your lap and took a knife from his thigh strap, pressing it to your throat. " You know, that's not nice. Everyone told you, you have a sexy waist." You voiced to him, as you looked him up and down, making eye contact, a little grin tugged at your lips.

Ghost's eyes narrow as he looks at you, moving his knife closer to your throat, a line of scarlet slipping from your slashed flesh. "I'm the one who asks the questions here." His tone was harsh and low. Sending shivers down your spine as his icy, almost lifeless eyes glared down at you.

You can feel his breath fan your face as he leans forward. You feel your cheeks get hot and flushed. Were you indeed roused by a masked guy riding your lap? Perhaps nothing is impossible in love and war.

Is she a lost embrace?

You heard a stir from behind you and tilted your head to see a tall man towering over the two of you. The moonlight behind him accentuated his silhouette. Huh? The lost puppy returned in search of his owner, you guessed. König kept staring into you quietly, observing your very move.

"as much as I would enjoy having you in my lap," you said to the masked man, carefully moving your hand, not revealing your plans for the following few seconds. "You've never said your name." You sweetly spoke, but they couldn't see it anyhow. Finally, make contact with your riffle and grip it tightly.

You heard him say, "König." His voice is deep and low, and just hearing it makes your stomach twist and spin. "Ghost," remarked the man next to you. "Rusalka," you say, raising your arm and smacking the riffle's bud into the ghost's face. Making him lose his equilibrium somewhat, providing you exactly the right amount of change.

König charged at you as Ghost was cradling his bloody nose. You couldn't feel his body as much as you wanted to. You turned and hurried out of the room you were in and into another. Will the mouse escape or will the cat devour the mouse?

I call her name

As you approached the front of the building, you could see the light at the end of the corridor. It was probably time to look for a new home, but unfortunately, like the cat that ate the canary, you were apprehended before you could safely fly away. Something heavy smacked your back, forcing the breath from your lungs in a huge gasp.

You're not sure how long you were out, but when you awoke, your wrists were bound behind your back and you were tied to a chair, your legs connected to the leg chair. "Well, aren't Kinky?" you said, glancing up at the two guys looking down at you. They look at you. Ghost approached you, his hands resting on your thighs. You could feel the marks framing the outline of his hands as he squeezed so hard.

"Since you don't want to behave, I'll teach you manners." Ghost spoke, harshly grading your chin. You felt hands on your legs before Ghost shoved it away. König knelt down and unfastened your legs. As König rose up and came to Ghost's side, you maintained eye contact with him.

Know that your thoughts were not going in circles. You noticed that it was cooler than usual. Looking down, you noticed your gear and jacket had vanished. Ghost came up behind you, untying your hands from the chair just to re-tie them. So you're not going to attempt anything.

Across an endless plain

Your face was smashed against the dirt floor in the blink of an eye, and your pants and underwear ripped off your waist as though a wild beast desired something more. Your cunt has been exposed to the stranger, Ghost. "You may scream all you want. It's just three of us here." As you felt something hard push against you, he groaned. "You want me to behave," you exhale, shifting your face to face him. "Make me," you spat in his face, you weren't going down that easy.

His cock pounding pierces your pussy lips and presses deep inside of you. Your eyes roll into your skull, erupting in a whining moan. You wept and pleaded in a high you'd never known, with each thrust driving your face further and harder into the floor, yet he never yielded. Instead, his muscular arms just held you in place until release arrived in the form of his sperm blasting forcefully into your womb. " Should've behaved." He talked as he stood, leaving your ass up on the floor, his cum flowing out of your pussy onto the floor.

In your haze, you noticed boots in front of you and looked up to see König staring down at you; you blinked up at him, blinking away the tears that had gathered in your eyes. From the fuck Ghost had given you. He lowered himself, stroking your cheek and brushing away some stray tears with his thumb. "We might let you go if you give us what we want." You forced your lips together tightly, not making a single sound. Looking him straight in the eyes.

She'll answer me

"She's a lot more stubborn than we thought, König." Ghost declared as he picked you up by your tide hands and watched your legs try to remain erect. Ghost's knife ripped your shirt, tearing it apart in front of their greedy gaze. His left hand touched your face as he raised his mask, tilting it so he could passionately kiss you. You trembled as an enormous chilly hand clutched your chest, his right hand still firmly gripping your roped-tied hands.

Squeezing and licking your nipples like a ravenous starving man. König sucked and bit, leaving a trail of vibrant markings from your chest to your stomach and then to your core. While pounding two of his enormous thick fingers into you, he spreads your lips while kissing and relentlessly sucking your clit.

Your thoughts were racing with pleasure and overstimulation. Your lips were still being taken. You fell undone under them, Ghost's ravenous lips snatched the chances to breathe. König sipped your juices, humming to himself as if it were his sole source of relief for his parched throat. As he drank his fill, you felt the vibration against your pussy, and he drew away, licking his lips and letting his hood fall back down his face. His gaze fixed on your crumbling body.

Ghost, you let go, and you fall to the floor, your legs too weak to support you." It appears that we will have to break her." You didn't know who said it since you were too fucked up to notice or care, "Bite me." Your response was more of a drunken rambling than confidently articulated.

Wherever she may be

You became crushed between Ghost and König, and König pulled his hood up and pushed your chin up for him, tenderly kissing you and caressing your hair. While ghosts' hands raced across your body, searching every inch until nothing remained untouched by his fingers.

You could feel König's cock throbbing and dripping little pearls of cum against your tummy. Your body was drawn up until you were hovering above his quivering, gushing tip. As he split you in two, your arms swiftly curled around his neck, covering your face in his chest.

König drove himself more and deeper inside you, and with each inch, you gasped for breath. "That's a good girl…" He praised you, and you let out a tiny curse in your native tongue, feeling as though his words had kindled a fire within you. Soon after, his base kissed your cunt's lips. He let you relax for a few moments before grabbing your supple hips. It began slowly and steadily until you felt something hard press against your ass.

You totally filled König and Ghost in one fast motion. They began to thrust; being full of könig was one thing. But being filled by them both over and over again had you groaning and moaning like the slut you were for them. Every vein pressed against your walls as they gently stretched you out, shaping you to the shape of their dicks with each deep push. Bouncing you up and down, hitting every deep area that had you seeing stars. Fuck, the entire cosmos.

Oh, who is she?

König was concerned that he would inflict too much harm on you. After all, you were so little compared to him and Ghost. Nevertheless, he was losing control of himself, his eyesight obscured by the need to fill you with his seed. His head and judgment, his cock longing for release. König held you to his chest. Something about the whole event you excited in a deep primal lust, a never-ending hunger.

The only thing your lust-filled thoughts wanted right now was to be taken from behind and in front by two huge beasts like them. The lack of König's cock was already causing your insides to ache for him, and you whined for him. König whispered into your ear as he gripped a fistful of your hair, his hot breath thick on your neck. "mine! your fucking mine." He hissed low and commandingly. how you loved it, squeezing them tighter.

In one seamless stroke, könig sheathed himself into you up to the hilt, one hand on your neck and the other securely gripping your hip. The loud yell that the movement elicited from you was addictive in and of itself. They couldn't get enough of you, making an obscene squelching sound as König and Ghost brutally pounded their big cock as if you'd vanish if they didn't.

They grunted deep animalistic grunts as they pushed into your swelling pussy and ass, and you swallowed them in and contracted around them like there was no tomorrow. Not wanting to give up the mind-bending bliss.

A misty memory

"дa да да да" [yes⁴] You screamed in pleasure, feeling your body tense and quiver every time König's balls made contact with your clit and his head pressed against your womb. " я кончу! чувствую себя так хорошо. заполните меня, пожалуйста." [am gonna cum! feel so good. fill me up, please.] You mumbled in your native tongue, head clouded with pure raw lust.

Their ears were filled with your moans. They totally engulfed themselves in you, with König pushing all of himself past your lips and his head pressing against your cervix. They didn't care about the lew sounds, popping in and out of you. Not with them making you feel so amazing. " I'm-A-AHHHHH!" You could feel his cock's head pushing in and out faster and harder, a couple of thrusts of their hips. With a loud cry that tore itself straight out of your lungs, you spammed and squeezed around them.

You'd never experienced anything like this in your life, and it rocked you to your core. Underneath them, you were a trembling mess. Squeezing around them, feeling you tighten and flutter, was enough to induce them to cum inside you.

His hips were forced against you, and his cock was shoved in as far as it could go. As he poured hot ropes of sperm into your womb, his veins surged and his skull flashed. They were coming inside of you in ropes and ropes, and you were breathing heavily. Their cocks beat rhythmically with your constrictions, their testicles contracting with each spurt of come blasted into your small pussy and tight ass. There was so much of it that it started to pour out of you and onto the floor.

A haunting face

You were in ecstasy. You were warm, full, secure, and safe. You'd just had the most exquisite fuck of your life by the same enemy you were supposed to kill, and they were remaining inside of you as if they'd die pulled out of you. You've never felt more at home than right now, beneath both of them. You turned your head and kissed his cheek, despite his hood covering it.

You awoke in the middle of them, it was still dark, König's hand was wrapped around your waist, while Ghost's hand was wrapped around your thigh. You gradually broke free from their grip. You discovered your gun and jacket. You hand no pants or underwear, much to your dismay. Just a jacket, some equipment, boots, a hat, and socks. You gazed at the two men, your hat partially covering your face, but it wasn't gonna work. Ghost wouldn't mind if you searched through his belongings; after some searching, you discovered what you were seeking.

You discovered his balaclava. It was just like his. Everything was painted on the skull. His eyelashes were virtually white, and it was rather sad that your enjoyment had come to an end while admiring their loveliness. Because of obvious reasons,-Rusalka, why is your line off?- The person on the other end of the telephone chastises you. - ну да xpн, Vodyanoy.- [oh fuck off].

Vodyanoy placed his palm over his heart and added, -The love, am touched. I got you what you asked for.- He chuckled, knowing you had a scowl on your face. He was the one person you could contact and ask him to deliver your clothing with no questions asked.

Is she a lost embrace?

You did take some Vodyanoy and Leshy, as well as Chuma on occasion. They accompanied you when you went shopping for new clothing and even underwear; someone had to carry your luggage, and it wasn't going to be you. Vodyanoy was the only one who knew your exact measurements; it was actually rather amusing. He looked like a lost child the first time he went to the store to assist you pick out new clothes.

You could hear tires crunching on the snow as you walked away from the building. " I finally tracked you down. Get your ass in the car before you freeze. Short bitch." He chastised you like a child caught sneaking a cookie when they weren't meant to. As you move to the rear, you give him the middle finger.

You were finally warmed up again after changing your clothing. "Sooo… What fucked you over?" said Vodyanoy as he drove in silence. He wonders if the cold has finally caused you to lose it and go around nude. "As if you'd know." If only he knew, you retorted cynically. You snicker that he could be having a heart attack.

Somewhere across the sea of time

It was approximately 0700 when you arrived at the base. You could still feel hot ropes trickling down your leg. You were sore. Your entire body felt like it was made of cement, weighing you down. You were about to walk into your room, but life doesn't work that way.

The captain wanted to visit you in order to obtain an incident report. "Rusalka, what has happened to your face?" He inquired. Remembering the vivid moment when Ghost slutted you out on his dick and banged your face into the floor."Nothing, sir," you say as you avoid eye contact, "are your injuries better?" You shifted the topic on which he indulged.

You were surprised to learn that the higher-ups were relocating the nuclear weapons and reassigning the personnel in charge of them. You were disappointed, which meant you wouldn't be seeing them again.

"Rusalka, I was wondering where you found that?" Azhdaya inquired, pointing to his face to indicate what he meant. Oh, you reasoned. Ghost's balaclava, which you stole. "In an abandoned building. I like it," you stated casually while caressing it. It was silky and smelled like tea and dark wood. You were reminded of him, but you wouldn't tell them the truth. A tiny white lie will not harm.

You were curious whether Ghost had worn it before you stole it from him. You miss his touch, and you consider yourself addicted to them.

A love immortal such as mine

Ghost and König awoke at 0800 in the morning. He gazed about, feeling the lack of warm skin underneath him. König sprung to his feet, having awoken from an abrupt shift next to his body. He two saw someone was missing, and you were no longer there.

Everything about you had vanished, even your weapon and ripped clothes. It was almost as if you were a ghost that appeared for one night of pleasure just to vanish into the darkness. They went around the building but couldn't find anything, which is when he discovered it.

There was something in his thigh pocket, where his regular skull balaclava would be. It was a white hat. The hat that you wore when they discovered you sleeping in the corner. He investigated for any other missing items and discovered that his knife had also vanished.

As König and Ghost stood there grabbing and repairing their equipment, Ghost stated, " Clever girl." His dark eyes narrowed as he glanced at the hat he clutched in his fingers. If he gets his hands on you again, he'll tie you up and imprison you in his house like an animal.

Will come to me

Soon after, König and Ghost were picked up and joined the others. Price enquired as to why they had split up, but Ghost disregarded the question by adding, "We were surveying that area when a storm caught us." He side-eyed könig who nodded in agreement.

When they landed in England, the Price informed them that their plans had been altered by higher-ups. Laswell informed them that the weapons had been relocated to an unidentified location. And that, for the time being, they would do other things until they figured out where.

König's shoulders fell, and Ghost remained cool on the outside, but he was in turmoil on the inside. It suggested that there was a little chance they'd stumble across you on the battlefield. König hoped to see you again, to feel your delicate skin, and to hear your whimper as you unraveled. He urgently needed you, your cunt, all of you.

Ghost was disappointed because he hadn't completed educating you who was in control. And that you were nothing more than his to break and train as he saw fit.

Eternally

You'd met the two men a month ago. To say you missed them would be an understatement; you were ravenous for them to break you, make you their slave for their cock, to give you pleasure. But you'd never say it to their faces. You enjoyed the sight in their eyes when they believed they could control you, and you liked being controlled by them. win-win.

You submitted to training, gaining new skills and experiences. You even earned your nursing license. You had a good time mocking Chuma for getting into problems due to Leshy and Vodyanoy. He was like the group's older brother… getting hurt for the stupid things his younger siblings did.

Azhdaya summoned you to his office. You were aware of the situation. You submitted your application for a move in two years. You adored your team, but you felt it was time to go out to new waters.

"Are you sure?" Azhdaya asks, setting the papers down and staring at you. looking for any signs of unpleasant emotion on your face. "Yes, Sir." You formed a little smile on your face and nodded. " Alright. " He sighed and continued to talk to you.

Immortal she

It had taken two years, but the day had finally come. Tomorrow was your departure day from Russia for your new home base. The crew surprised you with a farewell party. Providing you with goodies that you may not find in your new home.

Leshy and Vodyanoy were sobbing uncontrollably. Leshy shakes you back and forth, imploring you, or rather pleading with you, to stay with him. Vodyanoy clutched your leg as if he were a kid, imploring you not to leave him alone with Leshy, and explaining that Leshy was this and that. You stroked his hair. You could have been the one who lost a screw, but Leshy was missing the box and the lock that held it in place.

You ate and drank as if there was no tomorrow. They dropped you off at the airport the following day. giving you a hugs and best wishes. - The flight from Moscow, Russia, to London, England, is about to board.- The announcement was made over the speakers.

König tapped his foot nervously. Ghost stared at him as he waited in line with his other 141 task members, giving him a supportive nod. They didn't know anything about the newcomer. They were meeting them for the first time today.

A vehicle was spotted approaching the base and slowing down before completely halting. The door opens, and a figure walks out, their h/c hair gently swinging in the breeze that blows past the base. They exchanged handshakes with Price.

When könig and Ghost turned around, they could only gaze as your s/c skin sparkled in the sunshine. The way your h/c hair complemented and framed your face, making you appear ethereal. Most importantly, the sunbeams in your eyes, causing them to glitter like a Dimond on exhibit for its beauty.

Return to me

"прывітaнне, я Русалка. It's a pleasure to meet you, " [Hello, my name is Rusalka.] You spoke quietly, offering your hand, never breaking eye contact with Ghost and König as you smiled at them. They knew, and you knew it wasn’t your first encounter with them.

To be continued......Maybe, if people like it.

333 notes · View notes

starlightsuffered · 10 days

Text

Stylist

Info - stylist reader, Timmy's POV, oral (male receiving), finger sucking, unprotected sex, sex in the kitchen, semi-Dom Timothée, cum facial

As she touched me I thought more and more about just blowing off the entire event. Her lips were a peachy pink that made me want to sink my cock in between them. Her body looked flexible and lively and I wanted to bend her over my couch. Her doe eyes would look adorable all widened when I made her cum.

At the last minute my stylist had called in sick. Apparently, he'd gotten food poisoning. I'd called the agency in a panic because tonight was the Met Gala. They'd sent a replacement and this was why y/n was currently at my apartment with her hands all over me.

"You've got a great bone structure," she commented as she brushed some powder over my cheeks.

"You've got great lips," | said in a low voice. Her eyes flickered up to meet mine. The tension was palpable.

She moved back carefully. She shook the brush off more than looked necessary. I felt giddy and wired. The excitement of a potential new bond was always exciting.

She sprayed my curls with her water bottle. Some of the liquid got on my neck. I squirmed. She blew gently where the droplets had fallen and I let out a moan.

"You okay?" She asked shakily.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm okay."

She didn't feel like someone I'd only just met. I felt like I'd known her a while. I felt like this tension had lasted centuries. With every second I felt more drawn to this gorgeous girl who had spirited into my life.

"Well, looks like you're ready," she said as he straighter my dress coat.

My eyes were tracking her every movement.

"Alright," I said in a low breath.

Our gazes met. I didn't break the contact as I reached for the door handle. I could hear the limo beeping, but I couldn't be less interested.

"Do you want to kiss me as much as I want to kiss you?" | whispered to her.

"Yes."

It was all she needed to say. We crashed together. It was a whirlwind of lust. I picked her up and lifted her to push her against the wall.

She was kissing my neck as I pulled out my phone. I squeezed it between my ear and my shoulder while I used my hands to pull her breasts out. I massaged the full mounds of flesh. I was already rock fucking hard. Her beautiful mouth was making the most lovely little O.

"Not coming," I gasped into the phone.

"What?" Snapped my publicist.

"Sick, can't come," i lied. I'd give up any event to be inside this immaculate woman.

"Timothée," the tone was warning.

"Make it up to you," | breathed. I hung up and tossed my phone on a soft surface. I lifted her onto the kitchen counter.

I palmed my aching cock over my pants as I got on my knees. I lifted her cute little sundress.

"You minx, you aren't wearing panties," | growled with need. She smiled at me, satisfied at my reaction.

I ran my palm up her soaked heat. I huffed the smell of her wet cunt. I licked a stripe up my hand. I then lifted my palm to her mouth. She sucked on my fingers, tasting herselt.

I began to lap and suck at her pussy. Her snug cunt was pretty and pure. Her raw taste went straight to my throbbing dick. It pulsed in my underwear as I slobbered over her walls. I needed to make her slick, because I didn't want go anywhere to get condoms or lube.

"You ready for me?" | asked in a ragged voice. I felt strung out on lust.

It was as if l'd just run a marathon or been to a rock concert.

"Yes, I need you. Fuck, I want you inside me," she said with a desperate tone.

"That's my girl," I said happily.

I stood up. I pulled down my slacks and showed her my pulsating cock. She let out a stream of spit. It coated my dick. I moaned as I rubbed her essence up and down my length.

"Put yourself inside me my darling God," she crooned. I could have melted. Her voice sparked every nerve ending I had.

I pressed my head to her entrance. I slowly pushed in as we made eye contact. My hands massaged her bare ass as I began to thrust. I moved in and out of her so easily from all the arousal and saliva.

"Heaven sent," | murmured as I pressed my forehead against hers. I was slamming into her as she made little erotic noises. Her face was so pretty as it scrunched and gasped. Her long legs wrapped around me.

The feelings were incomparable. I snapped in and out with a pornographic pleasure. She kept biting my shoulder to keep from screaming. Her snug walls were clenching and fluttering. I could feel her rapid heartbeat against mine. I was in another world of lust.

"I dressed you tonight," she whispered in my ear. Her high pitched, feminine voice kept hitching as I pumped my cock deeper and deeper.

"Now you do me the favour. Lose your load all over my face," she begged. The idea made me insanely horny.

"I wanna cum inside you," I moaned.

"You can, you will. Bend me over your table after this and cum in me, but right now, coat my fucking face. I want the great Timothée Chalamet to dress me in his superior semen."

"Oh fuck!" | cried. I yanked my dick out. I was jerking my cock like crazy and groaning like wild. Before I knew it I was shooting ropes all over her submissive face. Her pretty mouth hung open and waiting.

She was smiling as the first spurt hit her cheek.

She was humping the counter, getting her wetness all over it as I came on her. She looked like a desperate slut as she rubbed herself. Her hand moved to her clit to circle it as I finished cumming.

"Mmmmmmm," she hummed, making a blissed out, pornographic face. She was licking her lips.

"Feels so good," she whined. Her delicate fingers still pressed her bundle.

"Oh no you don't," I growled. I picked her up and did as she had said. I bent her over my kitchen table. The way she looked back at me, a face of sexual need, with my seed all over her, made me grow hard again. I slammed home, ready for a fun weekend ahead.

On early Sunday morning I felt like an adult film star. I'd fucked y/n on every surface of my house. We'd done nothing but had sex. Her legs were wobbling as I helped her out to her car. We'd had spent the whole weekend together.

"Thanks for that," she said, giggling because I'd made her knees weak.

"Anytime, I mean, you know where to find me," I offered and kissed her cheek.

"That I do," she nodded. She turned on her car and was about to back out.

"Sorry you missed the event."

"Oh baby," I purred. "That was the best Met Gala I've ever been to."

I winked so she'd know what I meant. A cat like smile spread over her lips. She bit her lip and backed out of my driveway. I saw a few photographers taking photos. I didn't care in the moment, I was riding the high of amazing sex. Perhaps, the paps leaking the story of me and the mystery stylist would make her say fuck it. Perhaps she'd come back to me next weekend for another ride. I'm sure l'd have some wet dreams about it. For right now, I needed to go in to take a nap and build up my sperm again.

#timothee chalamet #reader insert #timothee fanfic #timothee imagine #timothee chamalet #timothee x y/n #timothee x reader #timothée chalamet #timothee x you #x reader #timothée chalamet smut #timothee smut #timothee chalamet smut #fluff #timothee edit

33 notes · View notes

lurkingshan · 9 months

Note

Shan! After today’s episode of Only Friends, I have the feeling that I’ve lost a sense of the endgame of this series. I think I was under the impression — from the promos, the tweets, etc. — that we were going to get a summarily messy ending, with a whole bunch of toxic threads needing to be unwound. I’m intrigued by my thoughts on this — and maybe a touch concerned that we might end up getting morality stories out of this. By the time we roll around to an episode 10 or 11, what are your thoughts on a viewer not having a sense — not even of where the journey will end — but also of what the meaning of the journey was in the first place? I wonder if, in successful show construction, if I would have had a stronger and clearer sense of this earlier in the series?

Typically, we do have a strong sense of a show’s arc and narrative beats by this point in a story, but Only Friends specifically does not follow bl beats, so it’s always been a little bit its own beast. That said, it’s funny that you ask this now because after this week, I do feel like I have a sense of where this is going and I’m not sure how I feel about it. Namely, I am now fairly confident that we’re headed toward an ending with all three couples together and happyish, if not purely happy. The way this episode was structured to lead us into the final arc points to the end game conflicts—Boston and Nick figuring out where they stand on monogamy and distance, Mew deciding whether he can truly forgive Top, Ray trying rehab and Sand getting his head spun by Boeing—playing out next week, leaving the finale for resolutions and probably some kind of final word on this group of friends who barely seem to like each other.

I feel mixed about this suspicion because to me, happy endings all around doesn’t feel totally aligned with the spirit of this show and some of its themes. It feels a bit like the character arcs have been adjusted as we go, so that if you returned to the beginning and tried to draw a straight line to where we’re landing, it wouldn’t entirely track. But I’m also aware that this show has been unusually shaped by external forces like branded pairs and fan reactions.

In recent interviews the show’s creators, Jojo and Ninew, shared a few things that made a lot of this click for me:

Their original vision for this show was intended to be cast entirely with supporting actors and not bl pairs (this is why Neo and Mark were first in)

When they realized they were getting branded pairs they they were surprised and tweaked the characters and story to fit them (I’d bet money this rehab arc for Ray was added once they knew Khaotung was playing him)

Jojo allows the actors and their management to view their scenes (he said this specifically about sex scenes, but it may include others as well) and anything they are uncomfortable with doesn’t get put in the show

They have been tracking fan reactions closely and have incorporated those reactions into their final editing decisions (for example, removing a scene of Top hooking up with a random because people already hated him more than expected)

For me, all of this adds up to the conclusion that the show has in fact changed pretty significantly from their original vision, and those changes have been in the direction of a more conventional ending that will align with expectations for bls with branded pairs. In the end, branded pairs are a capitalist endeavor and they can’t let OF damage the brands. So while I do think the show has done more than any that came before it to push the boundaries of these constraints, they’re not going to be able to go all the way. The pairs need to end up in a good enough place that fans don’t want to burn GMMTV to the ground and the actors’ next projects are still set up for success.

So to your original question: I think the tension you’re feeling about the show’s overall point is a result of these changes creators are making as they bow to external forces. I personally think, given the constraints they are juggling, that they’ve still kept the story and its themes pretty legible, and some of the messaging is landing very consistently. But Only Friends is clearly not purely uncompromised art, it’s serving a lot of different needs and motivations.

#only friends the series #thai bl #shan answers

89 notes · View notes

strawberrylabs · 9 months

Text

Whumptober day 8 with Abyss!Aether!

Prompt: "it's all for nothing"

Whumptober Masterlist

Summary: For all the Abyss prince's work, he still lost everything. Including his sister, and most of all, including you.

Warnings: death, blood, war, inaccurate depictios of the inner abyss due to lack of canon depictions available

"I'm sorry Aether... I didn't want it to come to this!"

Lumine stood above her brother, the Abyss crumbling around them.

Creatures of the abyss lay dead, the structures surrounding them crumbling.

Lumine show one last look at her brother- for she knew she would not ever see him again- and left the collapsing domain.

She had done it. She stopped the Abyss and found her brother.

It's just a shame that over her journey, her loyalty towards teyvat outweighed her loyalty to her kin.

Maybe if it weren't so, Aether wouldn't be laying on the ground with his sister's elemental infused sword stuck through his chest.

Aether stared at the sealing of the Abyss

"So.... It's all for nothing."

Aether thought back on the 500 years of work he put into crushing the archons... the work he put into making them pay

Only to have it all blown back in his face.

Aether refused to cry in his final moments, but he could already feel the semblence of hot tears in the corners of his eyes.

It was all... for nothing!

The experiments, the traps, the years of watching the Khaenri'ahns turn into monsters, yearss of watching the final descendants go mad!

For nothing!

Years of careful planning to persuade his sister to see the right path and join him, only for his plan to be thrown by a stupid talkative little fairy and the archons- again!

Aether could no longer fight the sobs.

He not only lost his hard work, he lost his people, his followers, his nation, his sister!

And he lost...

You-!

Where were you?!

Aether groaned as he pulled out his sisters' sword, blood pooling on the ground.

He knew he would die quicker this way, but he had to find you.

All his hard work was gone, but maybe you weren't.

You, who stood by the prince during all his hard moments, you who reasured him that Lumine would see the truth eventually- although it seems this "eventually" you spoke of came too late.

You who last he remembers-

Was... fighting off Lumine at the entrence of the Abyss.

Aether was so caught up in his engagment with his sister that he didn't stop to think

If Lumine made it to the throne room where Aether was

What happened to you..?

Aether dragged himself in the direction of the domain's entry.

His vision was fading, his chest ached with the pain of despair, betrayal and impending death.

No!

He had to find you! He had to know you were ok! He had to-

...

It was all for nothing.

Aether saw your body slumped on the ground.

Blood pooling from a gash on your head and a grisly cut on your neck.

Aether hurried his crawl, coughing blood in his panic and disarray.

He huffed in exhaustion, vision continuing to swirl as he pulled your limp head into his lap.

He wish he could say you looked peaceful

Your face was contorted in pain- not physical, but emotional.

Your lips are pulled in a frown, and tear stains line your cheek.

Aether hates to think that your final moments were spent blaming yourself for the fall of the Abyss.

Aether cries as he gently cradles your face.

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry.."

He really has lost everything.

Lowering himself beside you, gritting his teeth as his movements jostle his wound, he pulls you into him.

He can only pray to whatever forsaken power of the damned world will hear him, that your spirit can feel his love in whatever afterlife you've gone to.

It was all for nothing.

The last Prince of the Abyss died on that cold floor of the shadowed domain, reeking of despair.

His once powerful, strong willed kingdom was reduced to corpses, tears and blood by the hands of the one he once trusted more than his own sense.

His hard work, his people, his followers, his nation, his sister, his life.

His love.

He lost it all.

And no one will remain to remember.

@rainswept here you are pookie

this- isn't what was originally planned but ya know slay ig

#whumptober2023 #no. 8 #abyss!aether x reader #aether x reader #abyss prince aether #aether x reader angst #genshin x reader #genshin impact #death tw #blood tw

114 notes · View notes

david-talks-sw · 1 year

Text

Luke Skywalker in 'The Last Jedi' (1/2)

Luke in The Last Jedi... love it or hate it, it's a difficult subject.

I personally stand somewhere in the middle. I don't think Luke was "ruined"... I'd argue that, from a purely in-universe perspective, his subplot actually tracks with what was previously established in the original films.

There are issues, but I think they are mainly found on an out-of-universe/structural level (which I'll get into in post 2/2). For now, let's take a deep dive and unpack why this portrayal isn't all that problematic.

The most commonly-heard argument is that:

"They ruined Luke's character! He would never go into exile or abandon his sister and friends!"

Simply put, Luke used to be:

an optimist

so brave he'd risk his life to save his friends,

aspired to become a Jedi.

Whereas, in The Last Jedi, he's:

jaded and depressed,

hides/abandons his sister and friends, like a coward,

says the Jedi need to die?!

Now the fact is... Luke is 24 years older when he goes into exile, 30 years older in The Last Jedi. People change, with age.

In Luke's case, he matured from an impatient kid who'd rashly run to save his friends, like in Empire Strikes Back, to a grown-up who makes hard choices and restrains himself from doing that, even though he desperately wants to.

Luke tells himself this is a self-sacrifice, this is for the greater good.

"Because he’s the last Jedi and a symbol of that it then becomes this self-sacrifice, he has take himself out of it, when he knows his friends are dying, when the thing he’d most like to do is get back in the fight." - Rian Johnson, The Empire Film Podcast, 2018

And Rian Johnson didn't want Luke to come across as a coward, so he also gave Luke an argument that initially seems to make sense:

The Jedi way is flawed and inevitably leads to arrogance. Proof: the Sith originally came from Jedi. His own new order is no exception to that rule, even if he thought it was (in his arrogance, he believed his own legend).

So if he leaves and stays in exile? No more Jedi, no more Jedi-turned-darksiders that can mess up the galaxy.

The Force will keep trying to balance itself and a new, worthier source will appear (in the form of Rey).

But while his reasoning that "the Jedi are inevitably arrogant" seems sound and reasonable... it's wrong.

Just like Dooku's reasoning that "the Jedi are corrupt" seems sound, but is ultimately wrong.

Just like Anakin's rationalization that "the Jedi are evil" seems sound nope, that one doesn't even seem sound, it's just plain wrong.

Where is it wrong, in Luke's case?

Well, he's rationalizing his actions by blaming the Jedi religion, instead of admitting his own failure.

"The notion of, 'Nope, toss this all away and find something new,' is not really a valid choice, I think. Ultimately, Luke's exile and his justifications for it are all covering over his guilt over Kylo." - Rian Johnson, The Art of The Last Jedi, 2017

"In his own way, [Luke is] trying to disconnect, he’s trying to throw away the past, he’s saying 'Let’s kill [the Jedi] religion. It’s the thing that’s messing us up, thins thing right here, let’s kill it.’ And the truth is, it’s a personal failure. It’s not religion, it’s his own human nature that’s betrayed him." - Rian Johnson, The Empire Film Podcast, 2018

He fucked up, plain and simple.

But it's not because “he’s a Jedi and that made him arrogant and the Jedi mentality is flawed”, as he claims early on in the movie.

He failed because he's flawed. Luke is human and had a moment of weakness where he was scared shitless and acted on instinct.

Yoda's spirit helps him realize this, and he fixes his mistake by allowing Leia and the resistance to save themselves. And as he does it, he acknowledges the importance of the Jedi and their teachings.

And it's also why, in The Rise of Skywalker, he has the maturity to admit that he wasn't staying on the island out of some self-sacrificial gesture, as he kept telling himself. Truth is, he was afraid. Afraid he'd screw up again.

Do the movies go about this in an emotionally-satisfying way? That's debatable. But, on paper, I don't think Luke's behavior in The Last Jedi is too much of a shark-jump considering how

THE ORIGINAL IDEA CAME FROM GEORGE LUCAS!

In the couple of months after the Disney sale, Lucas developed the Sequels with Michael Arndt in late 2012/early 2013, and concept art was made by artists like Christian Alzmann.

Note: the image on the left got a “Fabouloso” stamp of approval from Lucas!

Lucas’ sequels would feature a Luke Skywalker who was a figure like the jaded, reclusive Colonel Kurtz in the movie Apocalypse Now (which, fun fact, Lucas helped write and was originally set to direct).

The reason why Luke was in self-imposed exile wasn’t specified, all we know is that he was:

hiding from the world in a cave,

haunted by the betrayal of one of his students,

and spiritually in a dark place.

Other concept artists, like James Clyne, tried to illustrate the First Jedi Temple and some of the designs were approved by Lucas, such as the one below.

Eventually, Kira the female Jedi-wannabe protagonist (who eventually became Rey) would seek him out so he can train her.

This Luke would be a much more prominent part of Episode VII (instead of only appearing at the end) but still died at the end of Episode VIII.

For sources and more information about George Lucas’ plans for the Sequel Trilogy, read this post.

The only part that wasn't detailed by Lucas were the specifics of why he went into exile. But all in all, this sounds pretty similar to what we got in The Last Jedi.

"Luke would never try to kill Ben!”

I agree. And he didn’t try to kill Ben. He stopped himself.

And this version of the event?

This didn’t happen.

What Kylo tells Rey is his version of the story. And he thinks he’s telling the truth... but his recollection of the event is warped as this was obviously a very traumatic event for him.

"I don't think he's lying actually. In my mind, that was his experience. [...] I think that it's probably twisted a little bit by Kylo's own anger and his own prejudices against Luke, but I feel like he's actually telling her the truth of his experience." - Rian Johnson, Star Wars: The Last Jedi commentary, 2017

The narrative frames the third version of the story as the one that’s objectively how events went down. Because Rey believes him, and Rey is both the protagonist and a stand-in for the audience.

Now, if you think Luke’s word is unreliable and you have an easier time trusting Kylo’s version of the story, go to town.

But I think that if you actually believe would Luke would never try to kill Ben, you’d take Luke's second retelling of the story at face value.

I know I do.

“Okay, but he would never consider killing a child, like Ben. He saw the good in Darth Vader!”

First off, Luke refers to Ben as "a scared boy" because, he's a middle-aged man. But objectively, Ben was 23 years old.

But also, I mean... with Vader, Luke actually had the luxury ignorance.

Do you think would have truly gone on that Second Death Star if he had actually witnessed Vader:

choke his Padmé,

kill Obi-Wan,

actively try to kill Ahsoka,

murder Jedi younglings,

betray and hunt down his other Jedi brothers and sisters,

and cold-bloodedly kill countless innocents, one by one?

There’s a difference between watching him kill Ben Kenobi (who still ‘lived’ as a ghost and talked to him seconds later) and hearing a couple of rebel pilots get blasted in the trench run, and actually seeing all the horrors he’s committed.

Don't get me wrong, Luke knows Vader is evil, absolutely. But if he had seen this side of Vader, the needlessly cruel side...

... I'm not sure he'd have been as compassionate.

Proof: Obi-Wan, someone who deeply loved Anakin (to the point where he could never bring himself to kill him), someone that genuinely wishes that Luke can redeem him... also feels that, realistically, attempting to do so would be pointless.

And hell, even without really seeing all the massacres Vader committed, the second the latter threatened his sister, Luke went berserk and almost killed him!

So the question becomes:

“What could make Luke - trained Jedi Master, long-time optimist and overall compassionate to a fault - consider killing Ben?”

All we’re told is that he looked into Ben’s mind and saw darkness and the destruction, pain, death, and the end of everything he loves.

The specifics are left to our imagination. They could include:

the sight of Kylo slaughtering his parents and Chewie with a smile on his blood-smeared face,

the smell of Han's burning flesh in the air,

the wails of Chewbacca as he's run through by Kylo,

the faint sound of Leia's tears hitting the ground,

the destruction of the New Republic's citizens and planets.

Whatever it may have been, it was intense. Because Force-induced visions are vivid as hell, as has been shown throughout the franchise.

It's not like watching something on a TV, you're there, all your senses are affected in an extremely powerful way.

And the vision Luke experienced scared him so much that even shortly after it, when looking at a sleeping young man, all he sees is that evil monster from the vision. So he tremblingly draws his saber.

But it's evident that Luke wasn't thinking clearly or rationally.

His base emotions had taken the wheel, he was being tempted by the Dark Side.

"He doesn’t give in to the Dark Side, it’s a moment of temptation to the Dark Side. It reminds me very much of when Vader is tempting Luke, when Luke is underneath the stairs in [Return of the] Jedi, lit with that very beautiful half-and-half, the duality of these two sides of him being pulled. And that’s really what that moment is for me, it’s a moment of temptation to the Dark Side for Luke." - Rian Johnson, IGN, 2017

And yet despite seeing all that... Luke catches himself.

It's not the first time that Luke almost does something horrible to a family member and catches himself. Again, 24 years prior, he almost murdered his own father in a fit of rage.

The scene in Ben's hut intentionally parallels that outburst he has in Return of the Jedi.

A terrible future is presented before Luke.

He reacts instinctively, is tempted by the Dark Side.

He snaps out of it.

Even the angle and framing of the shot is designed to match:

tumblr_video

"Some of these parallels are just “it’s a close-up of the same character” but this one was very intentional. It’s why I had him look down at his mechanical hand holding the saber." - Rian Johnson, Twitter, 2019

The only real difference is that, in Return of the Jedi, Luke only comes to his senses after a frenzied onslaught during which he actively tried to kill his own Dad.

24 years later, despite having witnessed that terrible future even more vividly than he did on the Second Death Star, he catches himself merely seconds later. Instead of going on a whole rampage, he stops the moment the lightsaber turns on.

I'd call that "progress".

"But Luke should've learned his lesson and known better than to give in to the Dark Side!"

Resisting the temptation of the Dark Side is by no means a one-and-done thing. It's not a power-up that you get, it's a constant struggle.

"I think it disrespects the character of Luke by treating him not as a true mythic hero overcoming recurring wounds & flaws, but as a video game character who has achieved a binary, permanent power-up." - Rian Johnson, Twitter, 2019

Dave Filoni says so too.

"In the end, it’s about fundamentally becoming selfless, moreso than selfish. It seems so simple, but it’s so hard to do. And when you’re tempted by the dark side, you don’t overcome it once in life and then you’re good. It’s a constant." - Dave Filoni, Rebels Remembered, 2019

Hell, even George Lucas stated something along those lines:

"The Sith practice the dark side and are way out of balance. The Jedi aren’t as much out of balance because they’re the light side of the Force. They still have the bad side of the Force in them, but they keep it in check. It’s always there, so it can always erupt if you let your guard down." - George Lucas, The Star Wars Archives: 1999-2005, 2020

Learning the lesson once doesn't mean you've learned it forever. Especially with the Dark Side, which poses a never-ending battle.

In-universe examples: Anakin learned to let go of his attachments during the “Padawan Lost” arc of TCW.

A year and a half later, he’s butchering kids because he can’t let go of his attachments.

And during wartime, Yoda found himself repressing his darker instincts and ignoring their existence. Thus, when he had to face them, he struggled to acknowledge and control them.

So considering Luke didn't go "rampage mode" with Ben, as he did when he tried to kill Vader, I think he deserves some credit.

Finally, I've heard this insane argument many times, as a response to the above points:

"Yeah but Luke wasn't actually trying to kill Vader! He was holding back, he was trying to keep him alive!"

And, uh... no. He wasn't.

He lost his shit, folks. And almost killed Vader.

Like, right here?

⬆️ If Vader hadn’t moved his saber to intercept Luke’s blade, Luke would’ve stabbed Vader in the face.

⬆️ If Vader hadn’t held his sword up in time, SWISH, there goes the top of his helmet AT LEAST, if not the rest of his head.

⬆️ If Vader hadn’t dodged he’d be chopped in two.

⬆️ If Vader’s arm gave out slightly sooner, if his blade faltered just a little lower, if he loosened his grip on his saber a bit, Vader would be cleaved in two.

My point is that if you swing at someone with a lightsaber? They’ll get chopped. And if you aim for the head or the chest? You’re trying to kill them.

Before Luke got a grip, throughout that whole rampage, the only thing that kept Vader alive was his own skill.

Otherwise, Luke would’ve murdered him in a fit of rage.

If Luke was holding back, then the theme of "resisting the Dark Side" completely falls apart.

There's no indication that he was restraining himself, in he script.

And just look at the imagery.

Luke is surrounded by darkness, symbolizing how he's being seduced by the Dark Side, he's being tempted to give in to his anger towards the man who hurt his friends and took his hand.

Then Vader threatens Leia.

And the next time we see Luke, he's silhouetted, his face is all black.

Luke was originally trying to hold back and talk Vader down, but fails to control his instincts and gives in to fear, to anger, to the Dark Side... and goes all out.

He swings at his father furiously and keeps swinging, until he cuts off Vader's hand... and he is about to deliver the final blow…

… when he sees Vader’s mechanical hand and realizes that by giving in to his anger, that path will inevitably lead him to become exactly like this half-machine half-man laying at his feet. That’s where the path to power leads.

And so he makes a decision:

He’s a Jedi. Like his father before him. His compassion for Anakin is stronger than his hate for Vader.

That's the narrative intent.

It has to be.

Because if he had been "holding back" throughout that entire bit, then the stakes are lowered immeasurably, John Williams' saddening score is misplaced, the lightsaber choreography is misleading, etc.

For the above-listed reasons, I think Luke's portrayal in The Last Jedi doesn't really contradict anything in the previously-established lore. It works, it's the typical "old cowboy needs to get back in the saddle" trope. Frankly, I can defend this subject all day long... so where's the problem?

The problem comes in at an out-of-universe level. While it's not inconsistent... it's also not satisfying.

The thing is, if you...

... take one of the most brave and optimistic characters in the franchise, then open the film saying "well, now he's jaded and in hiding", without giving us context on how he became that way...

... take a character whose arc was specifically about controlling his emotions, then show him be ruled by those emotions without providing context for what made him do that...

... then that kills the suspension of disbelief, for a lot of fans.

And, as such, they'll have a much harder time going along with what you're saying.

Because "show, don't tell" is one of the most basic principles in visual storytelling. And we weren't shown:

"Ben being increasingly violent during training",

"Luke sitting Ben down and having a talk with him, only to be ignored" or

"the horrors Luke saw in Ben's head".

I have no doubt that those things happened, in-universe.

But if we're talking about a movie-going experience, many were left emotionally-unsatisfied.

Because all that stuff was in there... but only subtextually. It was up to the fans to imagine on the details. Normally, I'd argue that's what Star Wars is all about: allowing fans to dream and think outside the box. But in this specific case, I think many fans would've rather had a more complete and explicit story. Because it's Luke Skywalker.

And yet... even these structural and writing issues had a logic behind them, and if you ask me... there was no other direction that this story could be taken in.

We'll explore this in more detail in part 2/2.

#Luke Skywalker #The Last Jedi #Rian Johnson #Star Wars episode VIII #star wars #jedi order #meta #long post #Ahch-To #in defense of the jedi #episode 8 #Ben Solo #Kylo Ren #Mark Hamill #star wars sequel trilogy

246 notes · View notes

ganondoodle · 11 months

Note

I'm curious, in your totk rewrite, would the final fight with Ganondorf be the same, or would you do something entirely different?

somewhat, this is a bit of a different take on ganondorf though, it makes more sense in context of his changed ... or added rather, backstory;

you fight him once before, not a phantom like in canon but him physically, were hes still trying to cope with the horros he had lived through being half awake for such a long time so he isnt much for talking, at the end of it he has like a breakdown that essentially causes cataclysm 2.0 (that might even open up new caves that were previously just cracks in walls too) and which spawns the miasma/memory trees that contain his memories, all of which you need to collect to unlock the ending-

structurally the final fight is similar:

theres a horde of enemies you fight all together and the sages get taken away once you reach ganondorf; when you find him hes all calm and collected but does not allow zelda to talk to him despite her understanding how it had come to all of this and her wishing for a different solution; the fight begins but over time as he loses HP he start to act differently, less calculating and like he is in control and more and more aggresively, and more jumpy like he is afraid of something

phase two he gets too cornered and activates his enigma stone + the sages rejoin you, he is visibly just trying to put an end to you using everything he has to offer, phase two of phase two, he loses it and changes into a beast form (a miasma version of the best forms we know basically, i made a sketch of it once but it was only a rly early concept; i need to put more boar features on that

(unsure whether i want this to be his engima stone active version or the actual beast one) after he changes into beast form he charges at link and zelda and essentially burrows through the earth with them, breaking through the surface in the hyrule plains where the dark beast ganon fight happened in botw, here you fight him in the open, any weathher and time of day can happen here so its a much more diverese vibe each time; he is very fast in this form, if you are familiar with bloodborne im thinking of something akin to the first phase of ludwigs fight but a little more coordinated

this fight ends with zelda telling you to shoot at her so she uses her shielding powers (sth she can also do in the game itself) to reflect your arrow in a certain angle (reference to how ww zelda shoots an arrow you need to deflect in order to defeat gan but in reverse), it hits the ornament keeping the enigma stone in place from the side and it flings off

the battle seemingly ends with beast ganon falling to the ground, zelda tries to run and take it away but gan is still awake and sees in her how sonia sealed him way back, so in a last ditch effort to avoid the fate he had just escaped (despite zelda not wanting to do any of that) lunges for the stone and swallows it

he transforms into a dragon snatching up the both of you and flying high into the sky, zelda can wriggle free but falls and while she could land safely with her paraglider gan is flying off with link so she makes a last moment decision to take in her enigma stone as well, she transforms, rams into gan to free link and a somwhat similar fight as in canon happens, though i would like zelda to be more openly agressive towards dragon-gan

sicne in this version gan doesnt have his stone on the forehead somehow but inside like you would expect you need to fly into his mouth to end the fight, assuming you have found the lab that held the moonbloom (perhaps kogas so tie him nicely into it all) needed for the reverse dragon medicine (bc i wanted to involve links passion for cooking somewhat i thought it would be cool if he takes the chrage on that to make that special dish), you now use it, causing gan to spit out his stone and reversing (still unsure whether he survives this or not, but i thought of the scene from spirited away when chihiro gives haku the lil herb thingy to make him spit out whats killing him when i was coming up with this) zelda catches you again and you use the second charge on her to reverse her as well, boom you got your epic falling scene, the sages also now have made their way up through the tunnel, perhaps they catch gan too

this is a super rough current concept for it, it might all change still so dont take this as the final version, still working on it all after all

#ganondoodles answers #zelda #totk #ganondoodles rewrites totk #again this is quickly and sloppily written #but maybe theres some good on this #though i might all change still if i can think of sth better

129 notes · View notes

leggerefiore · 1 month

Note

Sorry if you’ve already gotten this ask, I’m not very good at looking for similar posts:

We’ve seen what happens when the villains and their S/O meet their Rainbow Rocket counterpart, but what would happen if there was also a RR version of their S/O? Someone who failed to stop them from becoming villainous, or perhaps even joined them?

How does seeing this alternate version of their partner affect them?

cw: slight hurt and comfort, redeemed/retired villains

characters: Lysandre, Maxie, Archie, Cyrus

🔥Lysandre🍷

☕️ The red-haired man opted for a vacation due to a frustration with various happenings in Kalos. His obsession with beauty and creating a perfect world still continued to haunt him despite his best attempts to put it all behind him. Jail had only been avoided due to his deep connections with many authorities, but he could feel the shame constantly. Sycamore had come to him in tears afterwards while his lover seemed horrified by his plans. Having two people so close to him utterly mortified by his actions snapped him back to reality before he activated the weapon. He was truly stopped right in the knick of time. But, now, he was in Alola. At one of its most expensive resorts, too. It was time to work on managing his obsession.

☕️ His time had mostly been kept at the resort, too. Lysandre would not lie and say he was some rugged explorer. It was plain to see that he was a man more than used to the finer things in life. The beach was thoroughly enjoyed by lounging and having a few drinks. He had a few rounds at the golf course, too, naturally. Though, his favourite time was spent locked away in his suite with you. A quiet escape from the constant burden of people and to enjoy fully the person he loved most. Though, his time felt consumed by endless tasks, even on vacation. Especially when the sudden appearance of a familiar International Police agent happened. A request was politely made to chat with a business acquaintance of his and see whether she had any ill intentions was struck up. He agreed, not wishing to see anything ugly happen to such a beautiful region.

☕️ His trip to Aether Paradise had been a fine one. The president spoke with him normally, seeming to find a certain kindred spirit in him. There must have been no better bond than someone who horribly messed up and had to back out while working for a redemption. His heart felt strangely more at ease. He parted with her after their chat, with his determination on the situation entirely decided. Walking around on the conversation floor, he searched for you, as you had tagged along to see the majesty of the structure. His gaze flowed down the pathway before him to spy a familiar uniform. He froze. That shade of red was recognisable anywhere to him. The familiar hair made his stomach twist. What were you doing? Whatever doubts may have lingered about this being another person tormenting him faded as they turned around. Your face greeted him, eyes lighting up with recognition. You rushed over to him.

☕️ “Lysandre,” you called out, “Oh… I know you said not to wander, but I got curious about this place… Isn't the nature here wonderful?” He blinked. Did he say that? He did not believe that he had. You were free to explore any of the public areas, as he was unsure of how long his meeting with the Aether President would take. A nod came from him at your words. “What happened to your clothing?” you reached forward to feel his shirt, “… Is something wrong? I thought you planned to stay in your office while planning to preserve this world's beauty, too.” Lysandre froze. Perfect, too? Office? Your attire suddenly hit him harder. What was going on here?

☕️ Yet, his distress was set only to grow. Another person called out his name from behind. There stood you in a familiar attire set for Alola. You waved at him before walking over, clearly having been searching for him. The you in front of him took a step back from the confusion, blinking at the you behind him's appearance. Lysandre could barely process the situation himself. The you in clothing he recognised stepped to his side and grasped his arm. Your gaze stared at the copy of you in a Flare Admin uniform while they stared back at you. “… Is this some sort of trick?” they spoke, apparently unamused, “Who are you? Is this an attempt by that annoying officer to stop us?”

☕️ Lysandre closed his eyes for a moment. They seemed convinced that they were his partner and spoke of his previous plans. Their clothing was a uniform that he had retired. You stood at his side in the vacation wear he had recalled you wearing before parting, and you seemed just as horrified by their presence as he was. “… I believe you have mistaken me for someone else,” his voice held authority as his gaze narrowed, “Is this some sort of prank? Neither of us finds it funny. Do not harm my partner in an attempt to attack me.” He pressed you closer to him unconsciously, unsure of just what their reaction would be. Their eyes went wide, but before they could open their mouth to argue, something went off into their earpiece. Whatever was spoken made them back away in a rush, vanishing through the twists and turns of the conversation area.

☕️ For a moment, Lysandre spiralled. You had never sided with him… You had been adamantly opposed the moment you learnt of his plans. But, possibly, in some alternate universe, a version of you did. You had supported his plans, and perhaps they had even been successful. Preserve this world's beauty, too… He closed his eyes. No. No – His plans had been stopped. Xerosic had attempted to convince him to, but he – Everything was interrupted by a lovely voice calling him by a nickname. His eyes opened back to reality. True beauty remained at his side. You would never allow him to follow such a path again. He wanted to follow that person, yet he felt that nothing good would follow. Instead, he opted to see some of Alola's natural beauty with you.

🌧Archie🌊

💧 Alola was a change-up for Archie. He needed to get away from the horrible guilt he kept feeling when he looked at Hoenn's beaches. While he had changed his group's initiative from expanding the ocean to instead working to preserve natural aquatic habitats and cleaning up pollution, the glares of those around Hoenn did get to him. His apologies meant nothing, which he understood, but he was trying desperately to repent for his actions. Though, it had unfortunately become too much after a recent incident. A vacation was a suggestion he made to you, his spouse, and you saw no reason to deny the trip.

💧 He had fallen in love instantly with Alola. The endless seas, the natural beauty, the careful preservation of nature. It was no surprise that he found himself at home in the beaches of the island region. His pokemon were let out to join him as he enjoyed the temperate waters. You had joined him sporadically, but your enjoyment for the sea had run out much sooner than his, and you had departed back to the motel. He managed to get his fill when you returned and suggested a visit to the Seafolk Village. Archie wanted to make sure that you were enjoying this trip away as much as he was.

💧 You had hung behind to chat with someone in the restaurant while he stepped out to look at the glistening seas. The shape of the houseboats was fascinating, and the idea of living out on the sea almost did call to him. Perhaps it would get him away from all the lingering shame for a while. His feet carried him out towards the end of the wooden port to stay out at the setting sun. This region really was beautiful. The stress from his mind almost drifted away as he sat down to let his feet rest in the water. Yet, someone called his name. His attention shifted to his left. You stood there, in clothing that bewildered him. An Aqua Admin uniform? And… why were you getting off one of those Aether boats? You were in the restaurant, were you not?

💧 “Archie,” you spoke properly and tilted your head, “Did you get a tan that fast? How did you do that…? Oh, and your beard grew…” He felt bewildered. What about a tan? His beard was well trimmed still — also. One a second glance at your outfit, he went quiet. That was not the wetsuit uniform at all. Was that denim…? Paired with a blue banana? He was silenced. It felt like an earlier decade take on his team's uniform. “Are you getting ready to use Kyogre? That man said you shouldn't, though,” you continued. Archie felt dizzy. Kyogre?! He had not thought about the Sea Basin pokemon since he came to Alola. It certainly was not in his possession either… As much as he adored it, he simply would not allow himself it.

💧 His panic grew worse when another called out his name. He knew that voice. Eyes whipped over to the Wailord shaped boat. You rushed over to him, grinning brightly. Your clothing were the ones he recalled you wearing. The other you seemed taken aback as you hugged him tightly. Slight relief entered his mind. You were not being all weird after all. “Who are you?” the other you snapped, reaching for a pokeball. He was brought back to reality. Right. Something unusual was happening.

💧 “Stop,” Archie ordered. They froze, listening to him. He could not grasp this situation entirely. Two versions of his partner… One in some odd Aqua uniform and the other wearing the clothes he knows they were earlier. One telling him about using Kyogre. His head heart. This area of thinking was not his usual one. He cared more about marine biology than complicated things like theoretical situations, but he identified it due to some show he watched. “I guess you're an alternate version of them,” the Aqua Leader really had no idea what he was saying, “You said your Archie doesn't look like me, yeah?” They blinked at his words. “You said I had a tan that he didn't or whatever,” he shrugged. Suddenly, they tossed out their pokeball to reveal a Sharpedo and surfed away on it, leaving you both alone.

💧 Archie was really lost. None of that made sense. Was there another him with a Kyogre here? Panic rushed through his mind. But, he was forced back to reality by you tugging on his Alolan shirt. Right. That could be handled later. Whatever was happening was concerning, yet he felt a strange urge to stay out of it. Coming face to face with a version of himself who succeeded in getting Kyogre... He felt strangely ill. Clinging to you, Alola suddenly felt a lot less like paradise.

☀️Maxie🌋

🪨 Something haunted Maxie as he tried to go about his day to day after everything. Naturally, people were upset with him. His actions were deeply misguided ultimately, and he felt foolish for not stopping when Tabitha had warned him. His madness to complete his work – To prove himself to everyone and bring about his ideals were too strong. What a fool he had been. He swore against going to such extremes ever again and dedicating Team Magma to bettering humanity through other means. Alola was a recommendation by his partner. A change of pace but not too dissimilar to Hoenn for it to be unbearable to Maxie. Somewhere nice for him to get away from his stress.

🪨 Alola had been a pleasant change in the end. While he may not have been the biggest fan of most water activities, which led him away from the beach, Akala offered a volcano for him to eagerly observe the rock formations at for hours. The Aether Paradise had been a place of interest, too, as the large structure floated in the water. Its dedication to pokemon preservation was fascinating, as well, and the many scientists in the facility were good conversation for him. He also travelled through the Haina Desert alongside the Lush Jungle to observe the variety of the islands.

🪨 A suggestion by him for another trip to the Wela Volcano Park for a hike together had been accepted by you. The heat was a bit unbearable to most, but Maxie quite enjoyed hotter environments. Everything had been going well, light conversation was shared, and he felt at ease with you at his side. Then, you mentioned needing to take a quick break to rehydrate and sit down for a moment. While he planned to stay with you as you rested, you encouraged him to go on ahead to enjoy more of the volcano. He agreed. Yet, a sight bewildered him as he went further up the mountain. A familiar uniform came into his line of sight, but it was slightly off. The fabric was different. He felt utterly confused when the person turned around to face him. You… How…? He was stunned into silence. That seemed utterly impossible. You had been behind him, after all, and he did not think your bag was large enough to carry a change of clothes.

🪨 You trailed over to him in a trained stride. Something that was expected of his grunts. The Magma emblem on your chest made him pause. Of course, the horned hood should have been a dead giveaway, too, but Maxie had held on to a small hope that he was simply seeing something else. “Leader Maxie?” you called to him, stopping a few steps out, “I thought you sent me here to investigate the terrains of this world before you initiated your plans. Did something change?” Maxie blinked. His plans…? He supposed he had intended to ask you out to dinner, but that did not seem related. Leader Maxie? Hearing his title come from you felt unbelievably odd. “Are those specialised glasses?” you continued, “Actually, what happened to your uniform?” He took a step back. His uniform? Well, he certainly had no intention of wearing that on his vacation. Then, his panic worsened. Another voice called out to him from behind.

🪨 You waved at him and jogged over, apparently recuperated. Two of you…? Except, logically, the you that had just appeared was almost certainly the real one. The doppelgänger recoiled at the sight of you standing at Maxie's side. You stood bewildered yourself. “Leader Maxie?” they called out again, “… What… What is going on?” He struggled to comprehend everything himself. It was truly maddening. Yet… He would not call himself unimaginative or ignorant to certain concepts. The multiverse theory entered his mind. Was it possible that…? He almost wished to deny it. There was no way that in some other universe, his plans had actually continued on without being stopped. The idea was simply too terrifying.

🪨 “… I believe,” Maxie spoke carefully, “You have mistaken me for someone else.” They seemed lost, as did you. He sighed. There was no need for an entire explanation, was there? His hand unconsciously moved to grasp yours in a hidden motion. Everything felt like it was spinning. The redhead swallowed. “Let's go,” he tugged on your hand, “I wish to see the peak again before it is too late.” You seemed to catch on to his wish and followed him immediately, not wishing to be left with your odd look-alike. They did not seem to follow.

🪨 He nearly fell to his knees once they were out of sight. Heavy breaths came from him. Did you support him in some alternate world? The thought terrified him. Then you seemed to agree with his plans of expanding the land even here in Alola. He simply felt shaken to his core. Before he could fall further into emotional turmoil, you called his name, pulling him back to reality. A shaky breath was sucked in. None of that mattered. No. He had changed and learnt from his errors. You had expressed your opinions to him, he recalled. His plans always seemed like some blown up argument between him and Archie. He soothed his hair. Embracing you, Maxie forced down his panicked thoughts. For now, he would enjoy the volcano park with you.

🌌Cyrus🛰

☄️ Alola... The salty breeze and tropical heat brought him back to a place he would rather forget. One that would torment him possibly throughout the rest of his life. Cyrus fought against the mental chains that sought to bind him. He had been born anew, in a sense. The pain that he used to allow to dictate everything he did was suppressed. It could not be forced away – be it through remaking this world without spirit, nor could it leave through his best efforts. He managed it. That was all he could do. The life he had, after all, was not so bad. Galactic allowed him as their head, and Cynthia managed to convince the International Police to let him go. Something lingered in her eyes that had bothered him. But, he was enjoying his pseudo-vacation. In truth, he had been asked for his aid personally on the Hokulani Observatory's recent project… And by a certain officer to help manage suspicious goings-on.

☄️ His romantic partner, you, naturally had decided to tag along. While he had not mentioned the information about possible investigative work, you seemed to enjoy the thought of a proper tropical getaway. Cyrus ultimately had been unable to say “no,” past the first time. His pay cheque was still handsome enough that he booked a place at the Hano Grand Resort, and he planned that it should keep you well enough entertained while he attended the meetings required of him. Molayne had been quite impressed by him while his younger cousin, Sophocles was fascinated by the company president. What Looker asked of him had not been so unbearable, either. It had taken him to the Aether Paradise to investigate lightly about his general feeling about their true nature. It appeared they were moving away from their more sinister actions, in his opinion.

☄️ His plan was to leave and meet Looker about his findings, but a figure on the elevator caught his attention as he was going to leave. Familiar hair colour appearing up from the lower floor. The docks, likely. However, something truly gave him pause. A familiar uniform. No, he had not retired them, but you had never really worn any, nor did he think that you would pack it. Your eyes lit up when you spotted him standing near the front desk. Shoes clicked against the floor as you rushed over to him. His stomach twisted. Why were you doing this to him? Had you not been the one to encourage him to change?! You stopped just before him.

☄️ “Master Cyrus?” Your voice sounded far too formal for his liking. Hearing that title come from you made him feel more distressed. “I thought you wished to remain in your office. This world was too filled with spirit to be bearable, you said,” it was trained manner of speaking, not to let emotions enter. He had been changing, he swore. Your suggestions for him to move forward despite his shame helped him finally leave the Distortion World. Not once had he let his mind linger too long on his hatred of sprint. Why would you claim him to say such a thing? Sickening feelings swirled around inside him. Then, another voice from behind called out his name. His head turns to see your visage again, plainly dressed for Alola.

☄️ That version of you rushed over to him, grasping him arm in a playful manner and smiling up at him. Clearly, this encounter had been unexpected but exciting. His hand shakily went to your cheek to cup it. Warmth. His attention went back to the other you in the Galactic uniform. They stood frozen, blinking a few times and trying to process what was happening. “… What is this…?” their voice filled with confusion. You stared at them in as much shock as they were. “Master Cyrus…?”

☄️ “… How odd that I let you call me that,” Cyrus's scientific brain quickly worked to unravel this mystery. Something was amiss here, and they did not seem like an illusion or anything similar. A theory of many worlds entered his mind. A version of you that sided with him. One that perhaps had succeeded. A chill ran down his spine as his arm pressed you closer to him, afraid that if you strayed too far you may vanish. “An alternate version of…” he called your name, “… One that supported me.” They took a step back in shock, eyes going wide. No discussion followed as they rushed away in the depths of VLFS. He decided that chasing them would be a box that he was not ready to open just yet.

☄️ You called his name, reaching a hand to cup the back of his neck. He felt his breaths growing short and quick. Embarrassment flooded his mind. Here? Of all places? He wanted to curse the spirit in his chest – But, he was stopped. Your voice pulled him back from the madness he had been driven back to the precipice of. His new world… It was long gone. Perfection lied here in this one. It lied at his side. The way you called him your sun forced him back here. The meeting with Looker needed to be postponed. He needed time alone with you first.

#pokemon x reader #lysandre x reader #archie x reader #maxie x reader #cyrus x reader #pokemon/reader #pokemon lysandre x reader #pokemon archie x reader #pokemon maxie x reader #pokemon cyrus x reader #lysandre/reader #maxie/reader #archie/reader #cyrus/reader

52 notes · View notes

c4t1l1n4 · 2 months

Text

So I wrote a quick little short fic about THIS cute comic by @uhuraborealis. I wrote it just now in like 10 minutes so it's not edited, but you can read it under the cut!

Vulcans Tell No Lies

Spock knows that when Jim approaches him with a look like that, nothing good is going to come of it.

“Spock,” Jim asks, voice full of wonder and eyes full of stars. “Can you meld with the Enterprise? Tell her I love her?”

Spock considers the captain for a moment. It’s not something he’s thought about—mind-melding with a ship. He doesn’t really think that anything would happen, as much as he’s touched the console and felt nothing in response. He knows that humans refer to ships as female and often personify them out of loneliness or a need for bonding. He doesn’t understand why humans can’t just appreciate a machine for the tasks it performs, but seeing as much as Dr. McCoy tries to project his human emotions on Spock himself, he supposes that it must just be second nature to them.

He indulges in a more human tendency, seeing as it was just him and Jim, and sighs. It cannot hurt to try, if not for the very least on the premise of scientific discovery, and it’s not like there’s anyone around to judge him.

“Fine.” He agrees rather bluntly, but Jim just looks at him, enthralled.

Spock supposes, as he places a hand on the console, that he can always lie for the sake of appeasing Jim. Vulcans do not lie, but as McCoy always points out, Spock is only half-vulcan, and half-vulcans can bend the truth.

However, as he reaches out for what he can find of the consciousness of the Enterprise, he finds that he has no reason to lie. He is so caught off guard by the discovery as some form of being reaches back towards him, that he is overwhelmed by the experience.

The Enterprise does not think in the same way, with clear structure, intent, or words. No, she thinks with colors and emotions, bright and loud, filling up his senses. She is overwhelmingly a she, and she imparts him with the notion that she will tolerate nothing less from him, even if it means zapping him through the console like a misbehaving child.

He supposes that might be the best way to describe the way she feels about the crew—as children. They are all so much smaller than her, and she cares for them, treating them as gently as she can. In return, they treat her with love and respect and keep her in working order. If Dr. McCoy would stop hitting the biobed display screens when he was frustrated, she would appreciate that, though.

After taking a moment to reign the sensory flood back in, Spock organizes his mind and sends a specific train of thought to her. The words do not translate to her, so he tries to phrase them in a way she would understand, thinking of command gold, bright eyes, and a happy spirit. He focuses on the general sense of cheer, well-being, and concern that Jim carries for every member of his crew, but also on the horribly mushy feeling Spock gets on the inside when thinking about him.

Color ripples across his vision, something like laughter, and he thinks she gets the point. The reply he gets in return is what he sent tenfold—a tidal wave of things he could not possibly put into words and yet understands perfectly. He thanks her, sending a bright wave of gratitude radiating warmly from deep inside him, and pulls away.

He opens his eyes and looks over to Jim, who is waiting patiently. Curiosity and excitement dance in his eyes. There is no possible way to convey what he experienced in what felt like hours but was probably only seconds, so instead he says, “She loves you back.”

When Jim beams at him, smile wide and eyes glistening, Spock is glad it is no lie at all.

#star trek #fanfiction #star trek tos #star trek fanfiction #drabble #quick fic #inspired by art #fanart #star trek fanart #please excuse the lack of editing #i'm tired and this inspiration came out of nowhere #probs to the original artist #please check out and interact with the original post #hints of spirk because obv

26 notes · View notes

separatist-apologist · 1 year

Text

Wishing On Dandelions

I see forever in your eyes

Summary: When Elain is gifted a castle from her late Uncle, she expects it to come with bats in the attic and ghosts in the halls.

Not a grouchy English Lord hell bent on pushing her out.

Note: A final thank you to @the-lonelybarricade for both validating all my worst impulses AND being my UK consultant.

Part 1/2 | Read on AO3

To say Elain’s castle was a mess would have been an understatement. Nestled in the English Countryside, on paper it was perfectly picturesque. Charming, even. Elain had known the minute she’d learned of it she wanted to turn into a bed and breakfast. It was, for four straight months, all she thought about. Elain spent those early months picking out swatches and doing expensive surveys on the structural damage–of which there was a lot. She’d bought soil and seeds and enough gardening supplies to shape the whole of England if she’d truly wanted to.

And it had all come crashing down around her, crushed under the immaculate boots of Lucien fucking Vanserra.

“I own this place.”

He’d said it in that posh accent she loathed, arching one immaculately groomed brow before his lawyers had swept in. He wasn’t wrong—though he wasn’t entirely right, either. His father and her Uncle had owned half, and now so did she and Lucien.

Elain and tried to turn on the charm. She’d smiled and put on her lowest cut dress, had bent against the desk they’d spent so many months arguing over, and asked to buy him out. Lucien had been unswayed—uninterested.

Elain blamed that entirely on how poor Lucien’s vision was. She’d learned this from a friend, who’d given her all the Vanserra gossip. His father had been a Duke before he died—allegedly murdered by his wife, who was little more than a common American actress. It had apparently been a terrible scandal, made worse when people suspected Lucien, his youngest son, wasn’t even his son at all.

And in between all that, she’d learned that the Vanserra patriarch had been terribly abusive, though that was said like an afterthought. What was important was Lucien’s parentage and the fact that perhaps his claim to the castle wasn’t even legal.

Only, it was. Beron Vanserra had claimed him, and Lucien was uninterested in selling. It left Elain with the option of letting him buy her out, or convincing him to let her renovate and make him her partner.

Graysen wanted her to sell.

And Lucien had agreed to be partners, so long as he was allowed a fifty percent share, and say in her remodel. It was how, six months later, Elain found herself staring down paint swatches over a renovated office her and Lucien managed to share, despite their obvious desire to kill the other.

“You want pink and green?” he asked dryly. Elain gave herself permission to study him only for a moment. She’d never asked him just how much he could see—the cane he often used to navigate with told her whatever sight he had was limited.

And none of her business.

A trio of scars raked over one of his eyes, like someone had dug their nails down his cheek in an attempt to gouge out his eye. It did little to diminish just how handsome Lucien was, though his mean spirited personality certainly made his good looks almost worthless by comparison. Still, his eyes were the most peculiar shade of russet brown, set in pretty, warm brown skin. His hair was a lovely auburn red and long enough he often tied it off his face, which gave him a rather rakish appearance. He wore a navy button up, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and a pair of well tailored trousers that showed of his muscled thighs, spread apart as he examined each of her swatches with a scowl.

“It’s for the garden view rooms,” Elain explained patiently. Sometimes she thought Gray was right—this was all a monumental waste of her time. She could be back in London planning their wedding like he wanted her, not two hours away negotiating with a terrorist.

“Why not wallpaper?”

“There—” she was going to kill him. “There could have been wallpaper, but you hated that idea last week. Why not paint, that’s what you said.”

“I don’t recall.”

Elain clenched her hands to fists. “I still have all the wallpaper swatches. Would you like me to get them?”

“I’m surprised you didn’t bring them with you,” was his dry response. If looks could kill, he would be dead. Elain’s anger practically radiated off her, not that he noticed. Elain was certain he did this in an attempt to wear her down. He’d agreed to be partners because the alternative was a long, protracted legal battle that would have exhausted them both. But Elain wasn’t stupid, either.

She knew Lucien wanted a full share and her out of his life, and it was probably much easier to annoy her into quitting.

Elain clipped out, heels echoing as she made her way through the nearly completed castle. As she went, Elain looked out one of the hatched windows to the moody sea in the distance. She could see it just beneath her bedroom window, crashing against the cliffside her castle stood atop. He’d get tired, too. Lucien would bore of all this eventually and return to London and she’d be free of him.

Elain brought the envelope of wallpaper samples to him, dropping it loudly on the mahogany desk he still sat at. Lucien reached for it with long, strong fingers while Elain sat in the chair opposite him.

“When is your wedding, again?” he asked in that bored tone. She must have told him a thousand times. Elain’s stomach clenched as she answered.

“Five months from yesterday.”

He nodded, his eyes landing on her. She didn’t think he could see much of her, and still squirmed under what he might find, regardless.

“You must be dying to return.”

“Of course.” But that was a lie. Elain and Gray were fighting, though she wasn’t entirely sure he was aware of it. And truth be told, Elain was starting to get cold feet. Did she want to marry him?

Everything had happened so quickly, a whirlwind of romance that culminated in a marriage proposal before she’d ever managed to catch her breath. She’d liked how honest he was, how he wasn’t immediately taken with her face like everyone else was.

But sometimes she thought it might be nice to feel beautiful. Or wanted. Or even special. Graysen didn’t think any of those things were necessary.

You already think so highly of yourself. Why should I add to it?

“How long for the honeymoon?”

“Trying to get rid of me? Or are you mourning the loss of Graysen?” she asked snappishly.

The corners of Lucien’s mouth twitched, like he was suppressing a smile. “I’m told he’s very handsome.”

“He is,” she said defensively, nearly adding, unlike you. But that seemed cruel and was an incredible lie. Lucien was the most handsome man she’d ever seen in her life and she dreaded when Graysen realized this. He, like everyone else, imagined Lucien as a stuffy old man. Elain had never corrected this misconception as it made her life far easier.

Graysen was coming to visit in the next month and Elain knew it would be a miserable fight the second he laid eyes on Lucien.

“How terrible to be away from him,” Lucien said crisply. “I would think you’d want to spend every moment possible with him.”

“I’d think you would have learned to mind your own business by now,” Elain retorted. Lucien did smile then, and she wished he wouldn’t. It was far easier to hate him when she wasn’t reminded that he was beautiful.

“Pick a sample, Lucien, or I’ll do it for you. And I’ll make it ugly and claim it was your design.”

Lucien, who was so fashionable, scowled. “Yes, that is exactly the sort of immature antics I’d expect from you. Do whatever you like—in truth, I don’t care.” “Of course you don’t. This has just been a week of wasted time,” Elain snapped, rising from her chair to gather up her samples.

“You’re not in London, are you?” he replied smoothly

“Mind your own business, while you’re at it,” Elain ordered, storming from the room before Lucien could say anything else that might convince her to finally wrap her hands around his throat and squeeze.

-*-

“This looks nice,” Elain lied, staring at the garish pink couch now sitting in what would become her lounge. “Very vivid.” “I thought you’d enjoy it,” Lucien murmured. He had one earbud in, listening to something softly on his phone. She knew he wanted her to throw a fit over how ugly that sofa was. She refused, if only because Elain couldn’t stand to see Lucien happy. Irritating her pleased him, and so Elain would merely vent her frustrations to her sisters later when he wasn’t around.

Lucien didn’t notice the shovel in Elain’s hand. That wasn’t his fault, given Lucien could just barely see when his hand was two inches from his face.

Elain liked to think that if Lucien could see her, he would have known not to try her when she was so capable of digging another flowerbed out back where his lifeless body would become nourishment for generations of tulips.

Elain trekked out into the first warm, sunny summer day. She’d been growing most things indoors using little planters, and over the next week, Elain intended to begin repotting it all into the yard. She had her classic English garden to add a lively bit of color to the grounds, and then her herb and vegetable garden so she could boast of having both on her website.

Lucien very rarely bothered her out on the ground, primarily because the guys who were supposed to be laying down her path kept rescheduling on her. Lucien didn’t like the uneven ground, which made it the perfect place to avoid him.

Outside was Elain’s sanctuary. She had a little glass greenhouse for her tomatoes, and other things she wanted to grow when it got too wet and rainy to support much outdoors. And she had a pretty, white shed that she stored all her things in—of which, Elain had a lot. Gardening had fast become her hobby.

Elain had a green thumb and, beyond that, loved the peace of doing something gentle. Elain felt most herself when she was in her garden, and could easily forget all her worries, her insecurities, her sense that the world was all wrong and only she could see it.

And for all his snobbiness, Lucien had never once made a comment about her broken nails or her sunburned cheeks when she returned inside. Of course, Lucien couldn’t see those things, but still. It was nice not to have him constantly scrutinizing her appearance.

It was a low bar to not dislike Lucien simply because he couldn’t see her, but it seemed like lately all Graysen did was comment on her appearance. She’d once loved that he was taken by her beautiful face. Graysen had joked he ought to have taken her swimming so he could see the real her beneath.

Though, during one rather heated argument, he’d said her looks were passable at best, and hardly special compared to other women he’d known. And though it was shallow, his words still bounced through her head on occasion. Why did she care?

But if Elain wasn’t beautiful, what was she? No one had ever valued anything else, and neither had Elain. It was, occasionally, pathetic how much she cared and how hard she tired. She knew everyone thought so. Both her sisters found her shallow and insipid and in love with London’s social scene.

Elain had never been happier than she was in the castle. If Lucien would just go, Elain thought she, too, might retreat entirely from life in the city. And maybe it was a good thing he stuck around, given Elain would definitely have postponed her engagement forever if she’d had that kind of peace.

Elain pushed those thoughts from her mind. For six blissful hours, Elain did nothing but practically bathe in dirt. She returned that afternoon sweaty, her overalls caked in fertilizer and soil and with two broken nails. She came back happy.

Lucien paused, walking the familiar path from his bedroom to the dining hall. “What’s got you so happy?” “How can you tell I’m happy?” she replied, as if she wasn’t grinning ear to ear. Even Lucien couldn’t ruin the good day she’d had.

Lucien frowned. “You’re glowing.”

Elain might have asked him to expand on that had she not been so surprised. Lucien continued forward, his immaculate shoes clipping over the wood floors they’d bickered over for weeks. Elain hated that Lucien was right—both the herringbone pattern and the crisp, light wood had been the right way to go.

She watched him go, eyes narrowed. That was, perhaps, the nicest thing Lucien had ever said to her. Elain wasn’t even certain he’d paid her a compliment at all. Arms crossed over her chest, Elain turned for the winding stairs that would take her far, far away from him.

Not even Lucien could ruin a perfect day.

-*-

Lucien was insane. That was the only way to describe what was currently happening in the courtyard. He’d lost his mind, holed up with only Elain for company, and was now certifiable.

How else did one explain the four roaming hens making a mess of things.

“Lucien!” Elain screamed, hands balled into fists.

He took his time, dressed immaculately in a butter yellow button up and charcoal slacks. Elain marched toward him, leaned against the archway that led back in.

“Do you think I won’t make you try and catch them?” she asked him, furious he’d brought livestock to the castle. “Because I will, Lucien. I swear to God—”

“You wanted farm to table, Elain. Now you have four egg laying hens, and a pen just out back by your greenhouses. What could you possibly be upset by?”

“You’re a stupid blighter, Lucien,” she snapped, resisting the urge to shove him. “You know this isn’t what I meant.”

He pressed a hand to his broad chest. “How could I possibly know anything about what you mean when you refuse to speak to me?”

“I wonder why!”

“I thought you wanted to be partners,” he chided, making a mockery of her.

“I did, Lucien. You’ve been nothing but rude and petty this entire time!”

“Yes,” he replied dryly, his eyes wholly focused on her. She wondered if she was glowing to him now, or if some other color had overtaken her. “I have been the problem.”

“You have,” she snarled, taking two steps forward to jam her fingers into his chest. “Spoiled, princely Lucien Vanserra didn’t get his way. Has to share one of his toys with me. You could have left me here and stayed in London, but you couldn’t stand—”

“That’s enough!” Lucien snapped, his chest rising and falling. “You’ve said quite enough. Anymore and I think it’ll be unforgivable.”

Elain yielded a step, unsure when she’d come so close to him, or when she’d begun to notice he smelled like warm cinnamon and leather.

“The hens aren’t going back, Elain. They’re a gift.”

With a huff of air, Lucien turned, walking off like he’d been the one injured and not her. Like she hadn’t just dumped a bunch of brown and white hens in the middle of her lap with no concern given to their lives or her ability to even care for them.

Elain was a plant girl—not an animal one. She sighed, bending as one particular white feathered bird rubbed its face over her leg.

“Alright,” she grumbled, holding the bird in her hands. “I suppose we ought to get you four settled.”

By the time Elain had corralled all four birds, she’d also given them names, marked by yarn she’d tied gently against one of their legs. Henrietta wore pink, while Laya green, Cooper yellow, and Meggatron wore purple. Elain spent the rest of her day in the village, talking with a local farmer who had, coincidentally, sold Lucien the hens, on how best to care for the birds while dodging his attempts to unload several more on her.

Elain would have her revenge in the form of the sweetest hen, who, over the course of several irritating days, became her strange companion. Henrietta followed her about, weaving through her flower beds and her newly laid path, clucking her observations while Elain pretended she knew what was being spoken.

Lucien could now join her outdoors if he wanted—and he often did, if only to annoy her. Henrietta didn’t like him. Perhaps she remembered how he’d dumped her out here to fend for herself. Maybe he just radiated something the chicken didn’t like. Whatever it was, Henrietta’s feathers would ruffle, flapping as she chased after him and nipping at his ankles until he was far from Elain. Only then would Henrietta waddle back, preening and waiting for Elain to stroke her feathers.

“She’s a menace!” Lucien snarled one day, watching Elain from the patio, arms crossed over his chest.

“She’s a gift,” Elain replied, throwing his own words right back into his face. Lucien had given her, perhaps, her first real friend. A bird friend, but a friend all the same. Every morning Elain traded her hens eggs for breakfast, and every afternoon while the other ladies traipsed about, clucking gossip and exploring their enclosure, Henrietta inspected the grounds, kept Lucien far from Elain, and Elain got to waste time outdoors while Lucien focused on their internal operation.

It was always meant to be that way in Elain’s mind. She’d handle the aesthetic, the day to day, and Lucien would oversee the financials, the business-y things Elain couldn’t be bothered with. Elain still had hope that could be their arrangement if Lucien ever got over his desperation to be freed of her.

Elain was careful that evening with her hens, looking up at the sky which seemed moodier than usual. The air whipped around her, far colder than the day had been, and beneath her, Elain could hear the ocean crashing against the cliffside chaotically.

She debated bringing them inside, weighing the damage they might do indoors with what a storm would do outdoors. Elain locked them up, deciding they’d be fine. She was anxious, though, watching the windows all evening as if a raging hurricane was going to just appear on the horizon.

By the time Elain fell asleep, the night was merely windy and nothing else. She felt silly for how stressed she’d been.

And vindicated when she woke to the sound of glass breaking in the distance. The castle had come with old, thin stained glass she and Lucien had argued endlessly about keeping. Most of it had been ruined, but some had managed to survive centuries of abuse. Lucien had wanted to carefully cut it out and preserve it while Elain wanted to keep it in the windows. She’d won that argument, perhaps to her detriment.

Elain kicked off the blankets, heart pounding. Dressed in a thin tank top and hip hugging shorts, Elain flew down the hall toward the sweeping steps that would take her to the grand hall. All she could think about was her chicken, locked outside in that rickety pen.

Elain’s bare foot hit the wood, propelling her forward. She ran for the door and might have made it had a strong arm not caught her around the middle. Lucien hauled her off her feet, stumbling when she flailed. The two of them hit the ground in a tangle of limbs.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, just barely visible to her in the dark.

“The chickens, Lucien, let me go—”

He’d pinned her back to his chest, wrapping muscular legs around her waist to keep her trapped on the ground.

“Don’t be a muppet,” Lucien grunted, struggling to keep her from breaking free. “That storm will blow you right off the cliff.”

Elain’s panic threatened to overwhelm her. “Lucien, Lucien please, please let me go—”

Somewhere in the castle, more glass shattered under a deafening crack of thunder. Lucien’s strong arms came up over her face, pulling her closer as if he expected that glass to explode around them. Elain turned into him, feeling his thudding heart through her skin. Lucien wasn’t wearing a shirt, she realized. Just a pair of loose trousers slung low over his hips.

“I’ll be fine,” she breathed, ignoring the way the wind howled. She’d be lucky if all her plants survived this night. “Let me go.” Lucien’s hold on her relaxed enough for her to stand. Elain took his hand in hers, knowing that if she was struggling to see, it would be twice as bad for Lucien. He allowed her to haul him to his feet, fingers laced as the pair of them went toward the door. Elain didn’t dare look up at him, nor did she drop his hand as she unlocked the front door and pulled.

Wind slammed into the pair of them, causing a jumpy Lucien to shove her behind his much larger frame. The world was a violet shade of black, and moving sideways in the rain. She could see nothing at all and knew, looking outward, that Lucien was right. It was foolish to go out there and risk being harmed.

“Elain,” he warned, one arm thrown out before her. “You can’t.”

A soft sob escaped her. “I knew I should have brought them in.

It took Lucien effort to close that door, leaving the fury of nature to rage against the wood and stone. Instead, Lucien took her hand again, either to steady himself or to comfort her. She assumed it must be the former, given how little he thought of her.

“Come on,” he said, tugging her to the left. Elain flipped lights on as they went, which improved the confidence with which Lucien moved, though he never dropped his hold. He took her to the study they shared, a familiar battle ground and the only place the two of them willingly went to see the other.

Lucien put Elain in a chair before seating himself not behind the desk as he so usually did, but on the arm, the two facing the wall of windows behind the desk that would tell them when the storm ended.

“You can go back to bed,” she told Lucien, angling her body so her legs were tucked beneath her. Her head was just a tad too close to his thigh, something that would have bothered her any other time. Now, it seemed almost comforting to have him so close.

“I’m fine,” Lucien replied, his eyes not on the windows, but on her. Maybe it was her fear—or maybe curiosity finally won out—but Elain couldn’t help herself.

“What do you see?”

His eyebrows raised ever so slightly. “Very little,” he admitted after a moment. “Shapes, color. The further away I am, the more of a haze it appears.”

“And when you’re close?”

“Even if we touched nose to nose, I’d never truly know what you look like.”

Elain nodded. “Does it bother you?”

“No,” he murmured, turning his head away. “Not anymore.

It was the end of her questions. Anything else was obscenely personal and though she and Lucien had struck a strange, almost friendly truce in the moment, she knew once the storm quieted, she would pay for this moment of weakness.

Elain fell asleep to the sound of thunder and the worry that all her chickens—including her beloved Henrietta—would be dead in the morning.

She woke to Lucien’s voice. “Hey,” he murmured, poking her in the ribs. She opened her eyes to find him crouched before her, this time in a plain white shirt. And tucked beneath his arm was a bleary eyed, rather exhausted looking Laya.

“Henrietta?” she asked, thinking only of her favorite.

“Tried to murder me on sight,” he replied dryly, giving Elain the bird. “But they’re all alive…as well as your plants.”

He’d never been so close to her. In the hazy morning glow, Elain saw the shadow of a beard grazing his sharp jaw. She thought of his chest, all carved muscle now hidden beneath a t-shirt stretched over his body, and how he’d held her down with so little effort.

How he’d used his own body to shield her not once, but twice.

“Thank you,” she told him. Lucien didn’t quite look at her, nodding silently. He rose to his feet, tall as he looked down his nose at her.

“Get that bird out of our house, Elain.”

And that was that.

-*-

“What happened to your face?”

Graysen’s question drew Lucien’s attention from across the room. Eyes narrowed, knuckles white as he gripped his pen. Elain hated that every time Graysen spoke, she found herself looking at Lucien. She ought to look at Graysen, who she wanted so badly to be happy to see. She’d been right to think Gray would hate Lucien, but she’d also thought Lucien would like Gray.

She’d been very wrong. Lucien loathed Graysen for reasons that eluded her, and the entire week had been either avoiding the pair of them entirely, or trading verbal insults with Graysen. He’d also begun joining them at dinner, providing a buffer between her and her tense fiance.

“It’s a sunburn, Gray,” Elain replied, embarrassed to have both of their attention on her.

“Ah, of course. My wife is so very common.”

She hated when he called her his wife. He made it sound like something filthy, something insulting.

“Did you not see the vegetables Elain has been growing?” Lucien inquired, his expression betraying the fight that was brewing. His fingers drummed against the wood grain of the desk while

Graysen sat in the same chair she and Lucien had slept in not a week before.

“I saw the livestock,” Graysen replied, his brown eyes laser focused on Lucien. “Elain says that was your doing.”

Elain winced.

“Yes,” Lucien agreed, reclining back in his chair. He was so obviously the lord of the castle, and though she was loathe to admit it, her ally in that moment. “They are like children to me.”

She stifled a laugh.

“I was just telling Elain how capable you seem. Everything is in order, is it not? She could return this evening with me. Tell her, Vanserra, that she’s not needed.”

Elain looked up at Lucien, who in turn was staring right back. Was she a haze to him? Could he feel her desperation, her sinking misery as she realized Lucien was about to get everything he wanted. Graysen would needle her into going home, into finishing their wedding planning. As Elain was hit with the realization she didn’t want to marry Graysen—like, at all— Lucien replied,

“Elain is very needed. None of this works without her.”

“Oh, that seems impossible,” Graysen snapped, his temper rising to the surface. “I see her little touches, but what does Elain know of running a business? I assumed that was what you were for.”

“You assume wrong. I merely pick out paint swatches,” Lucien replied dryly. “And, of course, tend to my beloved chickens.”

“What exactly is going on between you two?” Graysen demanded. He rose from his chair, eyes on Elain. She hadn’t told Graysen that Lucien couldn’t see, which might have settled some of the jealousy now careening through him. He went to her, wrapping a possessive arm around her waist. Funny, how common and mediocre she was right up until another man might have even a passing interest.

“Nothing, Gray, come on—Graysen he’s blind, he can’t see you!” she snapped when he pressed his mouth possessively against her own. He’d begun to grope her through her dress, which filled Elain with miserable shame.

A lazy smile graced Lucien’s handsome features. “If Elain wants to return and plan her wedding, she knows she always has a place here. That won’t change.”

Elain wrenched herself from Graysen’s grasp, striding across the room. Elain couldn’t be sure Lucien was being honest. For one terrible moment, she considered leaving with Graysen and going back to London, where she knew she’d fold like cardboard. Graysen’s family was without titles, was self-made in the same pretend way her father was—generational wealth that went back generations, had allowed both her father and Graysen’s to create new business ventures that had become wildly successful.

“You heard him,” Graysen followed Elain out of the study and into the hall. “Go pack your things. This has gone on far too long.”

“You’re right,” Elain agreed, whirling on her heel. Lucien would hear the entire thing, which embarrassed her more than she was willing to admit. Better him than all of London when she was fleeing the altar at the last minute. At least Lucien would merely mock her in private. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Graysen’s features hardened. Elain took a step back, positioning herself in the doorway, trapped between Lucien at the desk and Graysen in the hall. “Can’t do what anymore?”

Elain couldn’t breathe. She hated confrontation. “I—”

“Sounds like she’s breaking up with you, mate,” came Lucien’s steady, cool voice. “What else could that possibly mean?”

Lucien was just behind her. She could smell the warm cinnamon and leather of his body, was certain if she took a step back she’d be touching him.

“Who asked you?” Graysen demanded, hands balled into fists. “I don’t seem to recall wanting the opinion of a lowborn bastard—”

“Graysen!” Elain snapped, eyes wide. She threw out a hand as he surged forward, clearly looking to vent his fury on Lucien. In his haste, Graysen shoved Elain with more force than, perhaps, he’d meant to. She hit the corner of the door frame with a gasp, collapsing at Lucien’s feet from the echoing pain ricocheting through her temple.

A crack of bone and Graysen’s groan told Elain that Lucien had retaliated. He’d hit him. Lucien had hit Graysen in the face. Graysen stumbled backwards, blood dripping from his nose. His eyes were wild with hatred and as Lucien began to crouch to help Elain to her feet, she saw what Graysen intended to do.

Lucien, of course, did not. She flung herself upward as Graysen lunged, sending both her and Lucien flying to the floor. Elain screamed, her fall broken by Lucien’s body. They knocked over a small table, shattering a lamp and sending several well chosen books thudding to the ground with them.

“Don’t!” Elain demanded breathlessly as Lucien locked his legs around her. They were sitting on the floor, chest to back, staring up at a bleeding, enraged Graysen. “Don’t you dare touch him!”

Something like regret flitted over Graysen’s features. He offered Elain his hand and Elain, in turn, pressed closer to Lucien. “Get out, Gray.”

“Don’t you ever come back,” Lucien added roughly from behind her.

Graysen set his jaw. “I get it, Elain. Why you’d prefer someone who can’t see how terribly mediocre you are. How utterly plain—a disappointment to everyone who loves you.”

Lucien started to stand, but Elain grabbed his wrist, pulling him back to the ground. She’d expected this lashing out. Hurting her to make himself feel better. That was Graysen’s way.

He left her there on the floor, raging as he made his way upstairs for his things. Elain winced, rising to her feet only when she heard the front door slam.

She brought Lucien with her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking out his bruised, bleeding hand. “Hitting him was a mistake.”

“Are you hurt?” Elain asked, though what she wanted to say was, why did you hit him?

The sound of rubber against pavement drew them further apart. Elain knew their engagement wasn’t over. Graysen would go home and sulk for a day or two before he tried calling. Tried reframing what happened as somehow her fault, or Lucien’s, or some trauma from his childhood that still haunted him.

That would be when they’d truly be done. Elain would say it again, with feeling, and then she’d deal with the ugly fallout. She’d make all the apologies and let Graysen paint her as a whore, shacking up with Lucien Vanserra out in the country, despite her and Lucien just barely able to tolerate each other.

Or, she thought anyway.

“No,” he murmured, looking at his hand before reaching for her face. Lucien’s thumb swept over the forming bruise, eliciting a hiss from Elain. She jerked from his grasp.

“I’m fine. It was an accident.”

“Sure. How often do these kinds of accidents happen?”

And Elain hated him, because she couldn’t say it was the first time she’d been shoved by Graysen. Or the first time she’d excused it as an accident. Her silence was damning.

“Right,” Lucien finally said, drawing a deep breath. “Well, far be it from me to tell you how to live your life, but—”

“It’s over,” she said softly, swallowing the urge to cry. “There’s no need.”

She started to walk away, intending to ice her face and lay down and pretend none of this had happened. Lucien would let her, she thought. He’d go back to ignoring her, just as she’d been ignoring him.

Elain turned. “Thank you. For ah…”

He nodded, clenching his jaw. “It was nothing.”

How wrong he was.

-*-

Elain and Henrietta were pulling weeds from a crack along the sidewalk when Lucien’s shadow blotted out the sun. Henrietta immediately began squawking, lunging for his ankles. Elain caught the bird as Lucien stopped back, brows furrowed.

“That bird is a menace.”

“You bought her,” Elain reminded him, not for the first time. “You brought your own worst enemy into our home.”

“So I did,” Lucien murmured, blinking against the brightness of the day.

“Did you want something, Lucien?” she asked, shifting from foot to foot before him. Lucien so rarely came to see her unless he wanted to complain or pick a fight. Despite a shared moment with Graysen–who still hadn’t called her, despite going on day five—she and Lucien had slid right back into their usual squabbles with no trouble at all.

“Would you come to the village with me?”

“Me?”

But Elain knew why he wanted her to go with him. It was new and unfamiliar, and even with his cane, Lucien was wary of places he’d never been before. There were whole swaths of the castle Lucien had never ventured, places Elain would retreat to when he was especially irritating.

Lucien said nothing at all, waiting for her to either tell him yes or no. Elain sighed softly.

“Yes, I’ll go, but only if you swear to be polite to everyone we meet.”

He pressed one of his large, strong hands against his chest. “I am always polite.”

As if his knuckles weren’t still bruised from hitting Graysen.

“You have never been polite a day in your life.”

“You wound me,” Lucien said in the driest tone known to man. She didn’t know why it made her smile.

“I’m starting to think you’re quite charming.”

“I am incredibly charming,” Lucien told her, following behind her as she went to secure Henrietta away.

“What does that say about me, then?” she wondered, more to herself than to him.

“You are terribly unlikable,” he said, her voice suggesting the opposite was true. Elain didn’t dare touch that, opting instead to brush her fingers against the back of his hand.

“This way.”

He brought his cane with him, rolling it over the pavement as they walked. He still kept close, his free hand occasionally bumping the back of hers as they went.

“Step,” she murmured, grabbing his hand as the path became steep and narrow, carved out centuries ago when people didn’t have such wide feet or were somehow better able to balance themselves.

“Thank you,” Lucien replied, squeezing her hand as they went down together.

“So…your brother,” Elain began, wondering what topic was safe to broach. Probably not the rumors his mother had killed his father.

Surely Eris Vanserra was safe to discuss.

“Like his movies, do you?”

“He’s very handsome,” Elain said by way of agreement, unwilling to admit that Lucien was far lovelier.

Lucien scoffed. “Wait until you meet him.”

“Is he coming here?” she asked. Lucien had never mentioned his family and they’d never come to visit, either. She was surprised he’d kept this from her.

Pink stole over his cheeks. “I’m sure he will,” Lucien mumbled. “He’s a nosy fucker.”

“Is he as charming as he seems?”

“Hardly,” Lucien replied, some of his embarrassment fading. “Eris is an asshole and everyone who knows him well thinks so.”

“Well, I can’t wait to meet him. And…and your mother? She was an actress, wasn’t she?”

Lucien nodded, his grip on her hand tightening. “Before my father.”

“You didn’t want to act?”

“I don’t have the face for it,” Lucien said.

Elain, forgetting that he was talking about his scars, retorted, “You must be the best looking man I’ve ever seen. Of course you have the—”

Lucien was grinning ear to ear. “You’ve ever seen?”

They’d readed the edge of the village, which was more of a sprawling town than anything. Elain quite liked it, with the cozy farmland that stretched further inland, and the vine covered structures that made her feel as though she’d stepped into the pages of a storybook.

“That’s not—I didn’t mean—”

“You must be looking at some dreadful men.”

“I think I proved I was,” she grumbled, pulling her hand from his. Lucien was still smiling, still so obviously delighted by her admission. “Surely you must know that.”

“It has been said before. Usually with the caveat that the scar diminishes it.”

“Well,” Elain murmured, feeling more stupid by the moment. “It doesn’t.”

“I’ll take your word for it, given how lovely my mother assures me you are.”

It was Elain’s turn to look at him. “Your mother said that?”

“She said a lot of things about you.”

“Such as?”

“That you were quite accomplished and that I ought to endeavor to be a little nicer.”

“Well,” Elain sniffed, secretly pleased that someone's mother liked her. “She’s right.”

“So I’m learning. We got off on the wrong start. I’ll take all the blame for that.”

“Why did we?” she asked, falling into step with him as they began walking the uneven cobblestone streets. Elain was tempted to take his hand again under the guise of keeping him from tripping, though in truth she liked the steady warmth of his touch.

He blew out a breath. “You aren’t the only one with a failed engagement.”

“You—?”

“Not me,” he interrupted, a dark shadow passing over his face. “Her. She—”

“Was stupid?” Elain offered in the most light hearted tone she could imagine. “And you’ve been hiding out here ever since?”

A whisper of a smile slid over his face. “Something like that.”

"I suppose we can hide together now. I doubt I’ll be able to show my face in London anytime soon.”

Lucien glanced down at her. “I could live with that.”

“Well that’s good,” Elain said lightly, ignoring the jolt that passed through her when his fingers brushed hers. “Because you have no choice.”

“Neither do you.”

Elain had to look away to keep him from seeing how she smiled.

No choice sounded so good.

-*-

Lucien found Elain in the drawing room, staring at her phone with misty eyes. She heard the clipping tones of the soles of his shoes before she saw him, dressed in black trousers and suspenders hugging a muscular frame. She liked the navy of his shirt, liked how he always rolled his sleeves to his elbows.

“There you are,” he murmured, dropping a stack of envelopes in Elain’s lap. He didn’t know she was sad, nor did he care. “It’s time to start thinking about hiring staff.” “What is this?” she asked, clearly her throat. Lucien paused, brows knitting together.

“Resumes…is…are you well?”

“Perfectly content,” she lied. Feyre had texted that she was getting married to a man Elain had once to be nothing more than a fairytale. In a month, no less. It was dredging up old feelings—of wanting to be married and how Graysen was still ignoring her, waiting for her to come crawling back to him. It put a giant question mark on everything. If she’d been less of a coward she would have just called him and ended things definitively.

Elain never wanted to talk to him again. The bruise on her face had just faded, and Lucien’s knuckles were no longer swollen. It was as if Gray had never been there. Almost like she’d never met him, despite the engagement ring sitting on her desk upstairs. She needed to return it to him.

“I ah…” Lucien cleared his throat. “Did something happen?”

“No. My sister is getting married,” she said, careful to adopt her cheeriest tone.

“Ah,” Lucien replied, coming around the sofa. Elain pulled her legs back quickly before Lucien sat on them, leaving a cushion of space between them. “You’re missing Graysen, then?”

“No,” she said too quickly. She sounded like a liar. “No, I don’t miss him, I just…I don’t know. My whole life I thought I’d be married first. It was…” How embarrassing to admit it had been her biggest goal. “It was what was expected of me.”

Lucien raised his brows. “So you want to be married?”

“Shut up,” she grumbled.

“Who is she marrying?”

Elain looked back at her phone. “Rhysand Campbell—”

“Oh.”

Elain stared him down. “What do you mean, oh?”

“You can’t be too mad about that. He’s a Campbell.”

“That’s meaningless to me, Lucien.”

“A Marquess, the Duke of Campbell's only son. Distantly in line for the throne, I’m sure. Obscenely wealthy. I’m surprised they managed to keep it a secret.”

“You don’t know Feyre, then,” Elain murmured, resting her head on her elbow against the back of that ugly pink couch. “I’m sure this quick wedding is her attempt to keep things quiet.”

“Are you going?”

“Of course. I’m going to offer some of the things I already put deposits on.”

The air was thick around them. “It gets easier,” he finally said, misunderstanding her.

“I don’t miss Gray. We moved so fast, and…” And it was all wrong, though she didn’t know how to say that outloud, either. “Your fiance left you, I take it?”

“For another man,” Lucien murmured, his eyes far away. “They’re married now.”

“Do you miss her?”

He frowned. “No. I forget about her entirely most days. But when it first happened, I felt adrift. Pointless. I loved her and how could I not see she’d fallen out of love with me?”

Elain said nothing. What could she possibly offer to him that wouldn’t sound cheap or meaningless? They were just barely friends, still sniping more often than they didn’t. It felt less antagonistic to her, now, and more like a byproduct of clinging to their former dynamic in favor of whatever this was.

“You’ll always be the one who got away from him,” Lucien finally told her. “So, at least you have that going for you. And, if what my mum says is true, you’ll be married by the end of the year to someone new.”

Elain swore she detected the faintest hint of bitterness in his words. “You know what we should do?” she asked, tossing his resumes to the coffee table.

“What?” he asked warily.

“Get drunk and watch a movie.”

A smile crept up his face. “Are you hiding a television somewhere, Elain?”

She grinned. “In my bedroom.”

It was how they found themselves sitting on her rose and cream duvet, surrounded by several bottles of wine—no cups, which Lucien swore wouldn’t be necessary—a few bags of crisps, and a selection of the worst horror movies known to man.

“Here are the rules,” Lucien began before pulling the cork of his bottle of red out with his mouth. “Drink every time someone makes an unfathomably stupid mistake. Drink every time American politics get referenced. Drink if two people have improbable sex during the worst possible moment.”

Lucien had told Elain he enjoyed movies, despite his limited sight. In the driest tone imaginable, he’d said, “I do possess an imagination, you know,” which had shut her right the hell up.

“Also drink anytime something horrible is a reference to being a woman,” Elain told him, earning an arching look.

“I’ll leave it to you to let me know when that happens.”

“Oh, I will be,” Elain assured him. It should have been strange to have this man she’d hated for so long stretched out against her bed. Instead, Elain thought it was so normal it was above approach. She turned on the movie and immediately the pair began drinking. More rules were added—every time someone pulled off a shoe to throw it at the murderer, every time someone tripped over a tree root, every time someone stopped running to scream.

Elain was well and truly drunk by the time they were halfway through. Lucien was laying against her pillows, hand on his stomach as he laughed himself stupid. Elain was on her stomach, head propped up on her hands, defending the choice to go into the cellar.

“The door locks!” she insisted while Lucien wheezed, laughing harder than she’d ever seen.

“God, Elain, I’m begging you, stop. I can’t breathe—”

“You’re being an ass,” she grumbled. Lucien had paused so he could try and choke down his laughter.

“You’re telling me, if someone broke into our castle, you’d go running for the dungeons?” he asked, wiping at the tears beneath his eyes. “Would you chain yourself up for them, too?”

“I’d leave them to Henrietta,” Elain snapped.

Lucien chuckled, about to make some remark about Elain’s chicken when her phone rang shilly. Lucien, startled, rolled off the side of the bed with a heavy thud. Elain giggled, reaching for the device on her nightstand.

Graysen.

Elain hit answer, putting him on speaker before she could chicken out. “Hello?”

“Darling,” Graysen began. Lucien’s head popped up from behind the bed, tendrils of copper-colored hair falling against his face. “I need you to come home this weekend.”

Lucien crawled back up the bed, mouthing what?! as Elain shrugged helplessly.

“For what purpose?”

But she knew. Graysen was going to pretend nothing had happened. He’d spent the week mulling over what had happened and must have come to the conclusion that he was wrong. He couldn’t apologize, though, so instead he’d pretend nothing happened. Let her slide back into the familiar dynamic without risking a fight.

“Father will be in town and wants to discuss some aspects of our wedding.”

“No.”

Lucien gave Elain a thumbs up and a smile.

“No?”

“We broke up,” Elain reminded him as everything she’d rehearsed flew out the window. Lucien’s presence was helpful. She kept her eyes on his hand pressed against the bed. It was a reminder of what he’d once done, and what he might do again.

“You can’t mean it,” Graysen protested after a moment of silence. “Elain, it was one fight.”

More lies. “I’ll send the ring back. Keep whatever deposits you can get back.”

“Elain, talk to me—”

“I don’t want to,” she whispered. And with that, Lucien reached over and ended the call.

“He doesn’t get to ruin tonight,” Lucien told her, blocking Graysen’s number before he could call again. “Or any other nights.”

Elain sighed. “I don’t know if I can.”

“C’mon,” Lucien said, clearly rallying for her. He thrust his bottle of wine into her hands, nodding at the neck. “Drink.”

Elain did, and as it turned out, Lucien was right. Drinking masked how badly she felt until she didn’t feel bad at all. Of course, then Elain felt nothing, which explained how she found herself asleep in bed, still in her sage colored sundress from the night before. One leg was thrown over Lucien's waist, her cheek stuck to his bare chest, unbuttoned but still technically draped in the navy button up. He had one hand resting on her hip, the other dangling from the edge of the bed.

For the life of her, Elain could not remember how they’d ended up like this. She didn’t remember the end of the movie, either.

“Lucien,” she whispered. He grunted in response.

Elain tried to pull away but Lucien’s grip tightened.

“Don’t,” he rasped, eyes shut tight. “If you move, I think I might throw up.”

“I have to pee,” she said, rolling over clumsily only to fall out of bed. The whole room was spinning, and Lucien wasn’t wrong. Elain used the bathroom and was braced over the sink, wondering if she was going to puke, when he came stumbling in and occupied the toilet.

“We drank too much,” he gasped as Elain tumbled to the floor so she could hold his hair. Cheek resting against the cool wall, Elain nodded.

“It was fun, though. Right?”

“It was,” he agreed. “I can’t wait to do it again.”

-*-

Was Elain insane?

Yes, Lucien was good-looking. That was like saying the sky was blue or her name was Elain. It was merely a fact, one she’d always been aware of. What was new to Elain was thinking Lucien was hot. He’d tied his hair into a messy bun at the nape of his neck, had rolled the sleeves of his white shirt, and sat with his ankle over his knee just beside her as they began the process of interviewing new staff members.

Elain couldn’t focus. She kept staring at the veins running from his hands into the corded muscle of his forearms. Elain was hyper aware of his thighs, outlined in his nice pants, and the cut of his jaw. Lucien was wholly unaware of her attention, and why shouldn’t he be? Just that morning Elain had called him a wanker over toast and jam.

Lucien offered up a dazzling smile to the young woman they were meeting with before sending her out. He waited until the door closed to sigh, stretching long legs out in front of him. Elain had to look away.

“That’s the last one,” he said, stretching his neck. “Who did you like?”

“Er–” You. “They were all good.”

“That is my exact problem, too. Probably later tonight we should go back over resumes and pick who is best qualified.”

“Yeah. Maybe over dinner?” she suggested, well aware what she was asking him for was a date. She was losing her mind.

“That works for me,” he said absently, glancing over at her. Elain was dressed far too nice and she knew it—Lucien couldn’t see the swell of her breasts or the way the skirt of her dress was riding up her thighs. Elain didn’t know how else to communicate to him that she liked him—or even if she wanted him to know.

He stood and so did she, unsure why. You’re losing your mind, Elain. Sit back down.

Lucien glanced over. “Are you okay?”

“Tired,” she said too quickly, the word half a squeak. “Just–tired.”

He looked like he might say something before nodding, leaving her alone in the drawing room. Without his presence, Elain felt almost rational. Normal.

Well, normal except for wondering what his mouth would feel like pressed against her own. But otherwise Elain was totally normal. Sane, even, when she went into the dining room to find Lucien undoing his top button. He had a glass of what looked like gin and something set before him, along with a spread of resumes. Elain indulged in a quick fantasy of him tossing them to the floor, grabbing her by the waist, and hoisting her atop the table where he’d kiss her until someone of her good sense returned.

“Want to get started?”

I’ll show you started— “Yeah,” she managed, sinking into a chair. Lucien joined her at the head, drumming his fingers absently against the table.

It was hell. That’s where she was, that’s what was happening. Sitting three feet from him, his shirt unbuttoned just enough that she could see the barest hint of his chest. Broad hands gripped around that glass he kept bringing to his lips. She was, as she so often was, grateful he couldn’t see any part of her. It was bad enough her fidgeting occasionally drew his attention.

They were getting nowhere, thanks to Elain’s distraction. He did notice that.

“Nervous about going home?”

“Huh?”

“Your sisters wedding?” he clarified, pink creeping up his neck. That was interesting, she decided. What was he embarrassed about?

“Oh. Yeah, I suppose I am a little distracted.”

“We’re nearly done,” Lucien hedged, tilting his head in her direction. “Though, just in time for the off-season.”

“I was thinking that, too. Maybe we should…maybe we should slow down a little? Focus on finishing our renovations and look at hiring in February?”

Which, of course, wasn’t selfish at all.

“What were you thinking?” he asked, unaware that Elain was merely trying to buy more of his time.

“Well,” she chewed on her cheek. What was she thinking? “I—”

“Maybe we should consider installing televisions in the bedrooms?” he interrupted, back to drumming his fingers on the table. “And I was thinking it would be nice if we had a restaurant instead of the a la carte we were thinking.”

“Yes!” Elain breathed. Yes, getting a restaurant in one of the large halls would take so much extra time, which meant the two of them could continue living alone, sniping over the details. “I love that idea.”

More color flushed over his features. “We could go into the village tomorrow and see what…ah…right.”

Elain’s stomach sank. She’d be on her way to Feyre’s wedding tomorrow. “Well…you could always go without me. Tell me what you learn.”

“I’ll wait,” he said, and Elain swore there was heat beneath those two words.

“It’s just a few days,” she added, wondering what would happen if she just left the morning after the wedding. “It won’t change anything.”

He nodded, rubbing his fingers over his lips. “No, you’re certainly right.”

Lucien rose from his chair, shaking out his hands. “I ah…well, I should er…go…give the bad news.”

Elain watched. “Okay.”

Lucien seemed flustered and out of sorts—so wholly at odds with himself. He cleared his throat, looking as though he needed to say other things before finally leaving her, once again, alone to her thoughts. Elain stood, intending to follow him before she thought better of it.

Better to go to her own room before she did something stupid. Something rash. Her and Lucien were friends after six months of fighting. Why ruin it over a passing moment? Because somehow Lucien was still the nicest man she’d ever met? Certainly the best looking, which did little to help.

Elain slept like shit. She tossed and turned until she was miserable and dawn was peeking through her curtains. With nothing to do but shower and get herself ready, Elain whiled away the rest of her time at home curling her hair and checking her luggage one last time.

Lucien was waiting in the hall just outside the door, pacing slowly back and forth. “I didn’t think you’d be awake,” she said, secretly delighted to see him. Lucien was casual, dressed in athletic shorts and a plain blue t-shirt.

It was his hair, though, that made her heart pound. He always had it pulled off his face but today he’d left it down to spill around his broad shoulders. While normally he seemed rakish and yet refined, that morning he was somehow undone. She’d seen him like that only once before when they’d drank too much in an effort to chase away her thoughts of Graysen.

Elain wanted to glide her fingers through the silken strands.

“All set?” he asked when she was just in front of him. Elain plastered a smile on her face she knew he couldn’t see. He could hear it, though.

“I am,” she said brightly. “You didn’t have to see me off.”

But when she tried to push past him for the door, Lucien’s fingers curled around her wrist. “Elain,” he murmured, forcing her to look up at him. They were so close. She could have surged up on her tiptoes and kissed him if she liked. “Be safe.”

Elain kept her feet on the ground. “Of course. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Gently, she pulled her wrist from his grasp. Lucien wasn’t done, though Elain didn’t know it. He caught her elbow, pulling gently. Elain, head turned, started to ask what he was doing.

His lips connected with the corner of her mouth, though she suspected he’d meant to kiss her on the mouth. A rush of air escaped her and the kiss ended before she could lean into it. Before she could turn and grab him by the neck and kiss him like she’d wanted to the night before.

Lucien’s cheeks seemed to burn with heat. He blinked, dropping his hold on her, and before she could say a word, turned and left her there.

Standing by the door.

Wishing he’d done far more.

#elucien #elain x lucien #elucien fanfic #what has elain been up to?

154 notes · View notes

tokiro07 · 11 months

Text

In a recent interview, Eiichiro Oda said that he probably won't do any more manga after One Piece (or at least nothing huge) because the world he constructed for One Piece inadvertently allowed him to explore pretty much every type of story he wanted to: Mock Town was a Western, Egghead is both a sci-fi and a murder mystery, Thriller Bark was a horror, etc. He never did it, but Oda probably could have found a way to work in a high school drama or romantic comedy if he'd really wanted to. I would argue that's how the Hungry Days promotion came about, he probably wanted to see it explored at least a little bit but couldn't quite find a good excuse for it

Undead Unluck, as I think at least one of us has mentioned before, is very similar: it can be whatever it wants to be whenever it wants to be. A sci-fi horror against the emotion-eating aliens on the space station, a zombie apocalypse Western against Spoil, a wuxia against Feng, competitive gaming against Spring, sports against Void, and now of course the high school AU centered around Chikara; Undead Unluck can do it all! If we end up going into Lucy's mind and it becomes a swords and sorcery fantasy with Lucy captive in a castle by a dragonified Ruin, would any of you really be surprised? Would any of you even complain? I wouldn't, and in fact I hope it happens now. That'd be such a funny way to get both Ruin and Lucy back into the main story

I don't know if I've ever really talked about it before, but there are certain niches that Jump manga fill. I don't mean in the sense of genre like sports or gag manga, I mean more thematically. When My Hero Academia started, the consensus was that it was the "new Naruto," with its plucky underdog protagonist competing with a cruel and prodigious rival and a society that discredits him for the circumstances of his birth. Black Clover draws inspiration from a ton of big name manga, but Bleach is probably the one that it best resembles in the structure of its world (the Clover Kingdom resembles Soul Society, the Magic Knight squads resemble the Thirteen Court Squads, and the Grimoires are basically simplified Zanpakutou)

Over the years, I've seen many things take major inspiration from Naruto, Bleach, Dragon Ball, etc., but shockingly, there was a long stretch where I never saw anything try to emulate One Piece, at least not in a way that was particularly obvious. The closest was Toriko, creating wild and imaginative animals, plants, etc. the same way that One Piece creates its islands, but nothing had a cast that felt reminiscent to me

Interestingly, the first one that I noticed that felt like what I was looking for was Dr. Stone, and that only sunk in for me when Senku had his group build a boat and put up a sail with their own unique symbol. I realized in that moment that where Toriko had covered the spirit of adventure that One Piece had, Dr. Stone covered the spirit of friendship and togetherness: every time a dilemma came up, the solution was almost always finding a new ally and awakening their talents, applying them in a way that they'd never thought to before, or reconciling with an old enemy for the sake of progress. "My friends are here to do the things I can't, and I'm here to do what they can't." This is one of the core tenets of One Piece, and while it took me a while to notice, it was equally a part of Dr. Stone's core as well

Undead Unluck does something pretty similar, though not as overtly, since the cast don't really have neat roles like "navigator" or "doctor" or "chef;" instead, everyone has their areas of expertise that can be used in multiple situations, so the individuals best suited for each situation are carefully selected, and if none are available, the hunt begins for someone who is. I think this didn't sink in because it didn't become nearly as prevalent until after the timeloop, but in retrospect, the first half of the story was like the pre-timeskip Straw Hats', unprepared and unable to reach the world's ceiling when finally faced with it, only to come back stronger and wiser in their journey to come back together

Coupled with its ability to be (Chucky voice) genre-fluid, Undead Unluck has unexpectedly become in my opinion a more than worthy successor to One Piece's particular niche in Jump. I've had this thought for a while now, but I think that Undead Unluck might actually be a good glimpse into what One Piece would have been like if Oda had been able to stick to his original five-year plan. It isn't able to take nearly as much time to flesh out its world, but its streamlined approach elegantly allows us to get to know enough about the cast to be invested while still allowing attentive viewers to pick up on fine details. Where One Piece ballooned to be a 30-year venture because Oda kept having more ideas he wanted to share and angles he wanted to analyze, Undead Unluck seems to have a stronger clarity to its vision and commitment to ensuring that vision is realized ASAP without sacrificing any of the essentials. Neither approach is wrong, it's just good to see that there is in fact a world that exists where One Piece would have been able to be just as solidly executed even without entertaining every whim and flight of fancy that its author could dream of

Of course, One Piece is still going, and likely will be when Undead Unluck naturally concludes, so calling UU its successor is definitely a bit of an overstatement, but my main point is that I'm glad that we're starting to see authors who aren't afraid of sharing One Piece's niche, and more importantly are doing it in a way that's fairly subtle, but identifiable. It's an extremely comforting sign for the rapidly approaching post-One Piece world, and I can't wait to see what fills the coming power vacuum

#undead unluck #uu spoilers #fouryearsandananime #one piece

59 notes · View notes

the-sky-queen · 6 months

Text

Y'know what? I'm just gonna do it. I'm gonna lore dump everything I have so far for my Darkling lore!

First of all, yes. I decided that the Darklings are a separate species from the Black Arms. Eclipse always seemed so different from any of the Black Arms we've seen to me. I just couldn't see him as 100% Black Arms when the rest of the race looks almost nothing like him.

This means that Eclipse is a hybrid, just like Shadow. (Though he's 50% Black Arms and 50% Darkling instead of Hedgehog.) Though I haven't quite figured out . . . why Black Doom would want his next offspring to be half Darkling instead of full Black Arms. I'm working on it. Darklings must have some kind of biological advantage, but I haven't figured out out yet.

Full lore under the cut!

History

The Darklings used to live on their own planet. They were free and were split up into different tribes. They were pretty civil towards each other, but the did occasionally have conflict. Then, a couple hundred years ago, the Black Arms invaded. The Darklings were massacred, but a few managed to bargain for their lives. In exchange for being left alive, the remaining Darklings would become slaves to whoever the current Black Arms leader was. So, they were taken from their home world and placed on the Black Comet, never again to be free. They were destroyed with the rest of the Black Comet at the end of Shadow the Hedgehog.

Beliefs/Religion

The Darklings didn't believe in gods, rather they believed that the spirits of their ancestors controlled the many aspects of nature and their lives. Several important ancestors had their own holidays and festivals, but most were worshipped privately among those who were directly related to them. Deceased family members were given little shrines to honor them, kinda like an ofrenda. During the Black Arms captivity, many began to lose faith, angry that their ancestors allowed this to happen.

Appearance

Since Eclipse is a hybrid, I had to decide what traits he has belong to the Darklings, and which he got from the Black Arms. I can explain my thought process more in depth later if you guys want, but for now, I'm just gonna list the traits:

five fingers

long, snake-like tail

coloring is dominated by more earthy/natural colors, for better camouflage during hunting

black sclera, eye color varies

Y'know that weird head structure Eclipse has? Yeah, they have that

scaley, but not as reinforced as Black Arms

I'll really have to draw one of these guys for you to get the full picture

Biology

Cold-blooded and lizard coded

They lay eggs

Naturally very skilled hunters

Heightened senses (smell, night vision, etc.)

Very agile (not that strong, but can out-maneuver almost anything)

Prehensile tails

*insert whatever advantage they have that made Black Doom decide his next offspring should be a hybrid*

On Eclipse

Eclipse's mother was a Darkling, and she was allowed to raise him for the first few months of his life. She taught him a lot about the dying Darkling culture and what it meant to be a Darkling in the first place. Eclipse loved his mother and always tried to make her happy. Eventually, Black Doom took him to begin his training, and Eclipse wasn't happy about it. He hardly got to see his mother or any of the other Darklings after that.

Eclipse has struggled with his identity for a long time. He was always told by Black Doom that he was the Ultimate Black Arm, but after a while, Eclipse decided he wanted to honor his mother and her culture and began referring to himself as a Darkling instead. This confuses a lot of people who don't know him very well. Eclipse doesn't usually like to talk about it, even to Shadow.

To this day, Eclipse tries to uphold the traditions of the Darklings. He puts on little celebrations for the important ancestors and honors his mother with a little shrine for her in his room. Eclipse has spent the last several years trying to draw an accurate picture of his mother for his shrine, with varying degrees of success. Shadow doesn't understand a lot of Eclipse's traditions, especially since he doesn't talk about why he's doing what he's doing a whole lot, but Shadow still tries to join in when he can and support his little brother.

Note: I just realized I've been referring to Eclipse as Black Doom's offspring when he was created by Black Death in the comics. Just to clarify, in my personal Sonic-verse, Eclipse is Black Doom's son, making him Shadow's actual half-brother. He was raised and trained by Black Doom until he was sent away to help Black Death with a conquest right before the Shadow the Hedgehog game. He and Black Death then later showed up for Shadow Fall.

#Sky Queen #Sky's Sonic-verse #Darkling Lore #Sonic the Hedgehog #Eclipse the Darkling #Black Doom #Shadow the Hedgehog

24 notes · View notes

twilights-800-cats · 2 months

Text

<< Chapter 19 || Chapter 20 || Chapter 21 || From the Beginning || Patreon & Ko-Fi >>

Chapter 20

Shadepool fumbled in the darkness, uncertain of where she was - she guessed that this was someplace between dream and reality, like where she had floated just before entering StarClan's hunting grounds. She wished that Yellowfang's tongue had just sent her into the waking world instead, but perhaps her own troubled thoughts were miring her here.

As if in reflection of that, Shadepool saw shapes form in the darkness. It took her a moment to recognize what they were - the thick, winding branches of a bush, thick as sycamores, all tangled in on themselves to form an impassable wall that Shadepool couldn't even see through. Impossibly huge thorns bristled from the surface, keeping her from drawing too close to investigate.

Shadepool shivered. There was something so familiar about this structure. Was this the barrier she had erected between herself and Nightfrost? Or, more importantly, was this the barrier that Nightfrost was maintaining now?

Her claws flexed. She wanted to rip it all down but knew that she would tear herself to pieces trying.

Onewhisker is gone, and so is Barkface, now, too, she thought miserably, staring at the thorny wall. There's no way to learn the truth of what happened. StarClan doesn't have any answers, and they might not even be able to help. What are we supposed to do?

It's all been for nothing!

Not long ago, she would've been able to lean on her brother and share her misery with him to keep her head clear enough to think - now, though, it was all hers and hers alone. It was so heavy and suffocating, and Shadepool felt like she was drowning.

“You'd be shocked just how much of it all was you, Shade,” he'd said.

He's right, she thought, crouching low. She shut her eyes tight. I... I've never been able to handle anything without him.

I put too much on him; now he's gone, and I don't know what to do anymore.

She tried to will herself to wake up. Was this StarClan's doing, keeping her here? Perhaps it was the shadow-cats trying to steal her spirit as they had with Onewhisker and Barkface. Shadepool shivered, feeling cold.

Did StarClan know what darkness lay here beside the lake? If they had, why did they send the Clans here?

Shadepool opened her eyes and saw a pair of white paws. The white cat stood before her, their pelt so blindingly bright that it seemed to absorb the darkness, creating a strange glow around their body. It wasn't starlight, like StarClan spirits, but it reminded Shadepool of the Moonstone, back in the old forest.

“It's you,” she said, too upset to be as incredulous as the last time she had seen the creature. Shadepool lifted her muzzle, looking at the white cat in the starry pits they had for eyes, trying not to get lost in their depths. “What do you want?”

The white cat, as always, said nothing.

Shadepool frowned. “Whatever,” she sighed, exhausted. “Just stand there and stare. I still don't know what you're supposed to be, but whatever you are, I guess it's not helpful.”

“Wait for me!”

Shadepool's ears twitched. The high-pitched voice did not belong to the white cat, but it was familiar.

That sounds like...

A small hole opened in the thorn wall, just large enough for two kittens to stumble through before it closed up tight. The kitten in the lead, a she-kit with a tortoiseshell pelt, was far ahead of her littermate, a little black tom who was fumbling behind her on stumpy little legs.

Shadepool's eyes widened at the sight.

“Come on! Keep up!” the little tortoiseshell mewled.

The stumpy tom was trying his best. He protested, “I'm too short! It's not fair!”

Shadepool watched as the little she-kit stopped and turned, looking back at her littermate with shining eyes. She waited for the smaller tom to catch up, the two touching noses and purring as they walked off as one, pelts brushing.

That's... us.

Shadepool glanced back at the white cat, confused. They seemed unaffected by the kittens, who had faded into the darkness.

“I'm not sure I understand,” Shadepool admitted. “Nightfrost and I were always close, but now there's this between us.” She gestured at the thorn barrier with her tail. “What does this even have to do with what happened to Onewhisker and Barkface, anyway? What's going on?”

The white cat said nothing.

Shadepool hissed through her teeth. Not sure what I expected from you there. The vision likely had nothing to do with the white cat at all if this was Shadepool's own mind. Thinking about how things used to be with Nightfrost must have summoned a vision of a happier time, simple as that.

Winding her tail around her paws, she asked, “Is there anything you can do to help me? Anything at all?”

The white cat swished their tail and burst into hundreds of blinding white moths.

Shadepool jerked back, shocked at the suddenness of it all - the entire dream world was filled with the moths like stars in the night sky, illuminating the thorny cocoon of Shadepool's mind. It was as beautiful as it was haunting, and Shadepool struggled to comprehend it, jaws agape at the sight.

One of the moths fluttered towards her, landing on her nose and flapping its blinding white wings. Shadepool kept herself still, uncertain what to do - she tried not to blink, but the moth was too bright to look at, and she had to shut her eyes.

When she dared to open them, she was lying on her side by the Moonpool.

Her entire body ached, and she struggled to move as if the black sands beneath her wanted to swallow her whole. Her eyes worked just fine, however, and she found herself staring at the waters of the Moonpool, the surface lit blinding white by the light of the full moon.

She had slept for a whole day.

Shadepool immediately sat up, ignoring the protestations of her body. Her heart thudded in her ears like a thunderstorm - a whole day? Brackenfur would be furious! How could she ever justify it to him? Moreover, what was Tinystar thinking at this moment?

Great StarClan above; they're going to split my pelt between them!

A commotion at the top of the hollow made Shadepool turn her muzzle to the scraggly hawthorn. Her heartbeat accelerated, blood roaring in her ears - was this Onewhisker and Barkface's attacker? A wild animal? She had been a fool to come to the Moonpool alone!

But the muzzle that pushed through the dry brush was familiar and golden-brown colored, touched with white and gray: Brackenfur.

For a moment, Shadepool and her mentor stared at one another, one at the top of the hollow, his thin shoulders lit by moonlight, the other at the bottom, half-covered in black sand, eyes wild with sleep and fear.

Shadepool tried to guess what Brackenfur was thinking, but his expression gave nothing away. Her stomach curdled with disappointment in herself - Brackenfur was definitely going to yell at her for this, especially since he had come all this way to get her himself.

He didn't have to say anything. Shadepool got to her paws and climbed up the narrow path to meet him, ignoring the sleep dragging at her muscles. Her shoulders felt heavy and her belly sick, and resignedly, she decided that Brackenfur could be as angry at her as he liked: She deserved it. She had disobeyed him again, and again, it had been for nothing.

Brackenfur slid to the side to let Shadepool pass. She heard him sigh softly, his breath stirring the fur on her flank.

“There you are!” Sorreltail's voice surprised Shadepool. The tortoiseshell she-cat was sitting with Sun and Cloudtail, the three she-cats pacing a stony patch just outside the hawthorn. Sorreltail was staring at Shadepool, ears pricked.

Shadepool blinked. She supposed it would be foolish if Brackenfur had come here alone, and Cloudtail was the best tracker in ThunderClan. Sorreltail and Sun's presence, though, was far more comforting despite how wretched she felt.

“We were looking everywhere for you,” Sun fretted. She glanced at Cloudtail. “Thankfully, Cloudtail caught your scent before-”

“We should head back,” Cloudtail meowed sharply, cutting Sun off. She yawned, pausing to stretch, curling her white tail over her back. “Lots to do, and all that...”

Cloudtail began heading down the slope. Sorreltail and Sun glanced at one another, then at Shadepool, who could only hang her head in shame.

“I'm sorry,” she murmured. “I didn't mean to worry anyone.”

“It's okay,” Sorreltail told her, though Shadepool heard some hesitancy there. “It was medicine cat business.”

Sun nodded her head in agreement. “Tinystar was quite worried, though.”

Worried is a word for it, I'm sure, Shadepool thought. She looked over her shoulder at Brackenfur, wondering if he had anything to say now that they were out of the Moonpool's hollow.

He limped past her, heading after Cloudtail. Not yet, it seemed. Shadepool sighed and trotted after them. Sorreltail and Sun flanked her.

The walk back to camp was quiet and slow to account for Brackenfur's leg. Shadepool felt the silence ringing in her ears, rattling her mind. She wanted to at least talk to Sorreltail, but it seemed like the tortoiseshell she-cat was focusing intensely on the path in front of her - she looked tired, and Shadepool saw that she stumbled over more than one root twisting out of the earth.

Shadepool's pelt prickled. They were all tired because of her. She fought to keep her tail from dragging in the icy leaf litter. Nightfrost was right - she always dragged everyone else into her problems.

The moon was setting as they approached the thorn tunnel. At a signal from Brackenfur's tail, the warriors all filed in, leaving him and Shadepool alone outside the camp. Shadepool did not miss the sympathetic look that Sorreltail flashed her before she disappeared through the entrance.

“Come,” Brackenfur rasped.

Shadepool, confused, followed Brackenfur as he limped away from camp and down towards the lake. They took their time, walking in the quiet gray predawn, a warmish breeze rattling the leafless trees above as the stars of Silverpelt began to disappear.

ThunderClan territory did not have the prettiest shoreline with the lake - no grass giving way to soft, pale sand like in WindClan; rather, it was a sudden transition between a grassy slope and a line of wet pebbles, worn smooth by the lapping waves of the lake. A wooden half-bridge was stuck out close to ShadowClan territory, slick with frost and bare of any activity for seasons. It was pretty enough but not ideal for patrolling or hunting.

Brackenfur settled down at the edge of the pebbly shore with a sigh, taking a moment to bend down and lap at his twisted leg, which looked sore and swollen.

Shadepool sat beside him, wrapping her tail tightly around her paws. Guilt bit at her pelt like ants, and the anticipation of what was surely coming next made her fidget.

“You're lucky that Mothwing told me that you had left the Gathering early,” Brackenfur rumbled, lifting his muzzle from his leg. “When Tinystar saw that you hadn't returned with us, he almost jumped to accuse WindClan of taking you hostage. I was able to stop him from sending a battle party right into their camp - he was preparing for it when Cloudtail caught your scent trail in our territory.”

Shadepool's ears burned. Had she really almost caused a battle between ThunderClan and WindClan?

“I... I didn't tell Mothwing where I went,” Shadepool mumbled, shuffling her paws. “How did you know...?”

“I'm not daft!” Brackenfur scoffed. The fur along his neck lifted slightly. “Considering the timing, I assumed you went to the Moonpool to look for Barkface's spirit, despite me not wanting you to. Cloudtail finding your scent on the trail to the uplands confirmed it.” He took a deep breath and exhaled through his teeth in a stressed hiss. “What did you find?”

Shadepool dug her claws into the earth. The sound of lapping waves filled her mind, but they did not ease her. When she spoke, it was as if she were choking on a frozen mouse: “Barkface isn't there, either. He was taken, like Onewhisker.”

Brackenfur closed his eyes. He shuddered from ears to tail. “I had hoped...” he breathed, “but...”

He seemed at a loss. Shadepool did not blame him. She wished that she had better news. She wished that it hadn't been for nothing again.

“Did StarClan have any more information?” Brackenfur asked.

Shadepool shook her head. “Nothing helpful. Yellowfang says they're just as confused about it as we are.” Shadepool hunched her shoulders, shivering. “She thinks the shadow-cats I saw at the ambush site might be responsible for it.”

Brackenfur frowned at that.

“Also...” Shadepool hesitated to talk about it, but she supposed she might as well while Brackenfur wasn't yelling at her: “Spottedleaf was acting so strange - she kept ranting about some Omen she'd seen, and she wasn't herself at all. It's like she was obsessed with it. She wouldn't hear a word I said to her!”

“An Omen?” Brackenfur repeated.

Shadepool frowned at him. He didn't sound the least bit surprised, and his expression hadn't changed a whisker. That was very unlike him.

“You knew about that already,” she guessed.

Brackenfur nodded.

“And you didn't tell me?!” Shadepool hissed. The fur along her spine rose indignantly. “Why not?!”

Brackenfur sighed. The morning breeze stirred his pelt. “I did not tell you because StarClan knows as little about it as I do,” he answered frankly. He stared out over the water. “If it has consumed Spottedleaf, though, it is surely dangerous.”

Shadepool huffed. “So nobody knows anything about anything,” she concluded, frustration prickling in her pelt. The grinding of the stones beneath her paws reflected how she felt right now. “We're all just fumbling in the dark - even StarClan.” She sighed. “Aren't they supposed to know everything?”

Brackenfur twitched his whiskers. “I once thought so when I was younger,” he admitted. “But, perhaps there are things even StarClan cannot comprehend. It seems we have stumbled into some darkness beneath the lake, and we must figure it out together if we are all to survive. Perhaps that is why the Clans were brought here.”

But why is it our responsibility? Shadepool wondered. Why us?

He glanced at her as if he could read her thoughts, and he looked older than his seasons and tired enough that a moon's worth of sleep would not heal him. She understood then that he had been changed by his knowledge of the Omen - though not in the same way that Spottedleaf was. That weight had been crushing him for who knew how long.

Now, the burden was shared.

Shadepool touched her nose to his shoulder. “What do we do?” she asked.

“I do not know,” Brackenfur said. “We must trust that when StarClan finds an answer, they will tell us. For now, we can only guide our Clanmates through the fog of the unknown.”

Though he was just as clueless and uncertain as she was, Shadepool felt comforted by Brackenfur's presence, the idea that she didn't have to be alone with this. Perhaps he felt the same. She felt his chin rest on her forehead, his breath tickling her ear.

The closeness was bittersweet, however. If Brackenfur knew that she had love in her heart for Crowflight, this would all evaporate like mist in the sunshine. There was no way he would ever understand, no way that he would ever be able to trust her again.

“What will you tell Tinystar?” she asked, pulling her muzzle away. She couldn't even fathom how angry her father was with her.

“Medicine cat business is, in the end, medicine cat business,” Brackenfur rasped. His yellow eyes flashed in the orange light of dawn. “Even Tinystar must accept that that is all he needs to know.”

Shadepool's tail twisted with discomfort. “We're not going to tell him about Onewhisker and Barkface, or the Omen?”

“Not yet,” Brackenfur told her. “I'm not sure what good it will do right now. Tinystar is already fighting a war on two fronts - the last thing he needs right now is more to worry him. For now, this is a medicine cat problem.”

“Is that the best idea?” Shadepool ventured. She had told Crowflight about Onewhisker already, and she dreaded the idea of telling him that Barkface had suffered the same fate.

“I do not know,” Brackenfur said again. His muzzle pressed thin. “I imagine that all of this - the WindClan situation, the disappearing spirits, the Omen - is connected somehow. Until we have more information, though, we risk speculating wildly, and the more that know, the more likely panic will arise.”

Shadepool didn't like it, but she nodded in agreement. The last thing they needed right now was more cats becoming as deranged as Spottedleaf. Perhaps I ought to keep this close, then. Only for now.

She really didn't like the idea of keeping a secret from Crowflight, and she wasn't sure she could, really - but she also didn't want him to spiral from the knowledge and the hopelessness that it brought. He had reeled from learning about Onewhisker, after all. She wondered if Nightfrost might listen, but the tightness of the thorns came to mind, and she pushed it aside.

“We should return to the Clan,” Brackenfur meowed. “They will be missing us.”

Shadepool nodded in agreement. She got up and stretched, her paws scattering a few pebbles down into the lake's cold, gray water. Above her head honked a group of geese as they flew in formation, their bodies black against the rising sun.

Geese? she thought, glancing at Brackenfur, who seemed just as surprised to see them. Does that mean...?

“Newleaf,” Brackenfur sighed, his eyes sparkling. “Finally, some good news: newleaf is finally here!”

#tb au #tb twilight

13 notes · View notes