#like I just saw spy art and it made me want to claw at my skin because he looked amazing

[shadowlurkerbug]

I wanna look like one of these fuckers. Why do I wanna look like them.

[meowcats734]

(prompt response) You can see everyone's Deaths following them, arriving to offer their hands right as they die. Today, you saw something new; someone chasing after their Death, who is fleeing at a dead sprint.

"Plane of Insecurity," Sansen snapped, and we jolted into action, clustering into a circle while I gathered the liquid-metal insecurity that shivered in my soulspace. None of us bothered to ask things like how did Iola find out or what if he's just here to talk?

It was Iola. For all I knew, he'd just snapped and randomly decided to murder us. Or maybe his newfound eldritch form let him spy on us from afar. Or Odin wanted to put pressure on us, or the Silent Parliament, or some third faction that I didn't even know about. This clusterfuck of a war was exactly why we needed to get as far away from here as humanly possible, and probably further, since I was willing to bet Iola didn't count as anything remotely human anymore. 

"Knock, knock," sang Iola from the door, and his voice was garbled and fleshy and wow did I not want to find out what kind of bullshit he was going to get us into this time. With a flash of magic, we shifted into the Plane of Elemental Insecurity. Lucet let out a sigh of relief as Iola vanished, replaced by cotton-fake snow on cardboard stone—

"Keep moving," Sansen snapped, sprinting off towards the borders of town. A tiny rift into the Plane of Elemental Possibility blazed over his left eye, trailing behind sparks like a golden comet. 

"But he can't reach us here," Meloai asked, her tone more pleading than assertive as she ran. I wasn't entirely sure how her clockwork body differed from human standard, but she had no trouble speaking during our flat-out sprint.

Behind us, I got the nauseating feeling that space itself squelched. Meloai turned around, abandoning the illusion of humanity to swivel her head a full hundred and eighty degrees, then snapped her head back to normal and pushed forwards, a wordless, shocked horror on her face as she fled.

"Yeah," I panted, "evidence says otherwise."

"Why are you running?" Iola's voice was disconcertingly wet, but it was still unmistakably his voice. Morbid curiosity made me want to turn and look and see the terrible beauty of whatever abomination Iola had become—but I had to stay focused. I had to keep moving. "You wouldn't happen to be depriving a wartime effort of crucial emotional power sources, would you? Because if you were..."

"Close your eyes and follow me," Sansen interrupted, skidding to a halt. "We're plane-shifting again."

"To where?" Meloai asked. "This is the only safe plane out of—wait. Wait, no, you couldn't possibly be—"

Sansen threw both arms out, as if opening a door, and the rift over his eye exploded outwards, tearing a hole into the Plane of Elemental Possibility. Right before the rift swallowed me, I turned around, just to catch a glimpse of what was coming after us.

I really wish I hadn't.

The thing that had once called itself Iola stood in a puddle of... melted space. There was no other way to describe it—it was as if everything around where he'd entered the Plane of Elemental Falsehood had become limp and liquid and dead. I'd once seen a painting of clocks flopped over a desolate landscape like so many pancakes; what Iola had done when he'd clawed his way into this place reminded me of it so intensely I almost thought I was back in Art and Culture 102. 

But I never would be again, if Iola had anything to say about it.

His body bubbled like soup on a stove, bulges of skin forming and snapping and regenerating all along his once-perfect body. Who knew, maybe the Silent Parliament would declare this the new perfect once we were gone. His cruel smile ballooned and shrank like a frog's throat, and the corrupted arm he pointed at us shed bits and pieces of amorphous flesh even as he moved it. And yet, the transformations the Eldritch Initiative had wreaked on his body weren't even the worst part.

Because I was a witch, and I could see what they had done to his soul.

Joy should have been dew. Joy should have been pure, clear water, and it always worried me that Iola's version of the stuff was sickly and tainted. But now, the droplets that jittered through Iola's soul were infested, tiny, jittering swimming-things squirming in the inhuman emotion Iola now felt instead of joy.

In a horrible insight, I realized what those liquid, living orbs were.

They were eggs.

And at Iola's command, they began to hatch.

Thankfully, the rift into the Plane of Elemental Possibility swallowed us before I could see what that spell did. At the last minute, I remembered Sansen's instructions, closing my eyes and holding my breath—

And a cacophony of voices from every possible timeline assaulted my ears.

"Get away from me!" Lucet shrieked/shrieks/will shriek. "You're a monster—can't you see that? Can't you see what they've done to you?"

"I'm very sorry," Odin mused/muses/will muse, "but that's not the bargaining chip you think it is. Aim higher."

"Can I kiss you?" I asked/ask/will ask, my voice uncertain and frail. Lucet replies with a quiet little "m-hm!" and I can hear the smile in her voice—

That last one nearly shocked me into opening my eyes, but—fuck, I couldn't afford to get distracted, and presumably, that was exactly why Sansen had told us to close our eyes. I locked onto Sansen's soul in the chaos, following him towards the rift, and he shouted, "Lucet! Plane shift!"

From Lucet's momentary silence, I could tell she was shocked from what we'd heard as well, but—

"Gotcha," Iola said/says/will say, and his voice is disgustingly pleased as something squishes and I scream—

"Right. Everyone, gather close and hold your breath."

As Lucet prepared the rift, Sansen grabbed my arm and said, "Listen. When I give you the signal, send Lucet and I to the Plane of Calm, then take Meloai and yourself back to realspace."

I creased my brows. "What signal?"

Sansen drew in breath to speak—

Behind us, a hundred futures died screaming as Iola forced his way into the Plane of Elemental Possibility, and even though I was facing away from him, with so much of my concentration on my soulsight, I saw what he did to bore a hole between planes. The oil-droplets that normally comprised passion had turned rancid and rotten, matted with strange algae and molds, and he used that living, inhuman emotion to melt holes through thoughtspace itself. I sensed his soul shift, that infested not-joy rising to the surface, and though his next attack spell moved at the speed of thought, Sansen's futuresight was faster. Lucet's spell ended before his even begun, and we leapt between planes again, landing in the Plane of Elemental Cold.

Immediately, my entire body burned as I came into contact with air that had never known heat or light, and I instinctively flared up with passion, not that it was of much use. I had little passion left in me now, and spread thin over the four of us as it was, it only slowed the inevitable. Still, Sansen directed us to struggle onwards, stumbling over uneven, rock-hard snow, putting a little more distance between us and Iola while the heat leeched from our flesh. In the distance, through my tightly closed eyes, I sensed the soul fragments of skeletal deaths, Demons of Sorrow reaching out to take our hands and slay us with a touch—

And then, right as my lungs were about to give out and suck in a breath of deadly, thin air, Sansen squeezed my arm, and his instructions flashed into my mind. The last of my calm went into sending Sansen and Lucet into the Plane of Elemental Antimagic, while my plentiful sorrow tore a rift for Meloai and I to step back into realspace. As the rift rose around us, I sensed Iola burst into the Plane of Elemental Cold too late, the deaths scattering as Iola gleefully cast a spell—

We landed outside the boundaries of the city in a snowy plains, and it was a testament to the absolute chill of the Plane of Elemental Frost that the snow felt hot to the touch compared to my numbed, frozen skin. I cracked my eyes open—fuck, that hurt—and tried to gather my thoughts.

"What's going on? Why'd you separate us?" Meloai asked.

"I don't know," I muttered, pacing. "It was part of Sansen's plan—"

"If you don't have a plan, then we should keep running," Meloai snapped. She started to slog forwards through the snow. Her joints were seizing up and her metal body sank deeper than mine, so I got one shoulder beneath hers and helped haul her along. 

"The Plane of Calm is pretty safe," I said, thinking aloud, "but, uh, magic doesn't work in there. Even if they had an attunement to calm, they'd be trapped—you can't open a rift from inside the Plane of Elemental Antimagic. You have to coordinate with someone on the other side to open a rift from realspace."

Meloai flicked me on the back of the head. "You dunce—you're the person he sent to the other side! It's a trap for Iola, and Lucet's the bait—if you take them out of thoughtspace from this side, Iola will be stranded in the Plane of Elemental Antimagic!"

That made sense, and would be glorious if it worked, but... "I have no way to tell them where to meet up," I said.

Meloai gave me an incredulous look. "No way to tell... Cienne. Sansen is an oracle. He probably looked into the future and saw where you'd open the rift way back at the beginning."

My eyes shot open, and despite how it stretched and bloodied my cracked, frozen skin, I grinned. My heartbeat began to slow as, finally, I started to accept that maybe, just maybe, we'd done it. "Oh," I simply said, and tore open two person-sized rifts into the Plane of Elemental Antimagic.

And the four of us were reunited in realspace, exhausted, battered, and mentally shaken from our trawl through the planes. I felt like I was about to collapse, Lucet wouldn't meet my gaze, Meloai's movement was jamming up, and Sansen's eye-rift had extinguished, but the four of us were still, somehow, alive.

"He took the bait," Sansen gasped. "He's stuck in the Plane of Calm until someone thinks to dig him out."

"So we're safe," I finished. "For now, at least, we're safe."

Meloai nodded, extending a hand to Sansen and Lucet. With a weary smile, the four of us embraced, huddling together in the snow for a quiet, eternal moment.

And then the four of us began the long, tired slog from the Silent Peaks, wondering if the madness that had overtaken it would yet swallow us whole.

A.N.

Soulmage is a serial written in response to writing prompts. Stick around for more episodes, or join my Discord to chat about it! This prompt was chosen by my Patreons.

First

Previous

Table of Contents

Next

[c0zmo-writes]

Notes for chapter 5 of Flock Together.

Warning for attempted suicide.

Chapter 5- If you changed anything, would you not have survived? You’re alive, you’re alive, you’re alive

@possum-quesadilla @crawlingcarcass @raineisinkless @katslitterbox

Chapter title is from “The 30th” by Billie Eilish.

“give the little wooden carving of Champ a head pat,”

Champ is a legendary lake monster said to live in Lake Champlain, a lake in New York and Vermont (and some of Canada).

“Lydia, darling, you look exhausted!” Delia exclaimed as she came down for breakfast.

“Yeah, it’s hard to sleep when you’ve got a bulldog snoring down the hall from you,” Lydia snapped.”

Delia’s a snorer in this fic. She loves to pretend she isn’t.

“I’m sorry I said you snore like a bulldog. And I’m sorry you and dad haven’t invested in a CPAP machine yet.” Delia’s eyes narrowed. “And I’m sorry I said that just now.”

I don’t have anything to say about this, just thought it was funny.

“The second she stepped inside the dark basement, she was immediately greeted by Adam and Barbara, who wasted no time in wrapping her up in a hug.”

They hang around the basement door every night waiting for her to show up.

“She yawned and leaned into Barbara. Barbara rubbed her shoulder. A look crossed her face, although Lydia couldn’t fully identify it. Something vaguely sad, sort of happy, sort of thoughtful. Barbara rested a hand on her stomach.”

Barbara was thinking about the kid she never had btw. Lydia reminds her of that child.

“Maybe it would be better if I was dead.”

Tone shift jumpscare.

“there was this throbbing pain behind my eyes… It was like something was keeping us from turning around and leaving.”

It’s so interesting that the same thing happened to Beetlejuice just a few chapters ago. Perhaps that means something.

“It was of Lydia. She was standing in front of a large bison skeleton with glowing eyes and a glowing blue heart sitting in its chest. The same blue light was pouring out of Lydia’s mouth and x’s were drawn over her neck and eyes.”

There’s art of this at the end of the notes. That photo was originally the one she took with the squirrel skeleton.

“Here, I’ll go up and keep an eye out. Like a spy!” Adam leapt up from the couch and made a show of tiptoeing to the basement door, before pressing a finger to his lips, blowing a kiss to Barbara, and sneaking out of the basement. Barbara giggled to herself. Though the two of them had changed quite a bit since their deaths, her husband’s dorkiness was one thing Barbara was always glad that he kept.”

She loves her husband. I love her husband too.

“and you won’t even say her name!”

Musical reference.

“she overheard Charles’ muffled voice through the walls. Some of his words were hard to decipher, but one sentence was clear:

“Why does she always insist on being such a burden?”

Ouch.

“I am utterly alone. By the time you read this, I, Lydia Deetz, will be gone, having jumped off the tallest tree in the forest. There’s nothing left for me in this world. I’m reuniting with my mother, no matter what.”

Movie and musical reference.

“Lydia grimaced when she saw the way his wing was bent.”

She broke his wing.

“‘Course, if you wanna do-over, I can always fly you back into the tree,” he suggested.

“What?”

“Or if you want somethin’ bloodier, I could use these bad boys.” He flashed his claws. “They aren’t just for show.”

This part is kind of based on Funtime Freddy in Count The Ways. Beetlejuice is not opposed to murdering Lydia currently!

“Was that what was watching her the whole time?”

Beetlejuice is not, in fact, the creature that’s been watching her.

“So, Lydia Deetz,”

One of the only times he’s actually going to refer to Lydia by name.

Here is the art btw!

[gwynrielendgame]

Gwyncien part 3

Idk if y’all will like this one as much. It’s kind of a filler but it took forever to write so I’m posting it anyways. I’ll tag people who have asked below.

Gwyn thought she might puke and it had nothing to do with Lucien's winnowing abilities. She never thought she would feel so nauseas especially after the blood rite. She supposes that the imminent fear of death had her more distracted from her typical anxieties. Now that she could focus on the fact that she was actually leaving Velaris, she felt sick. She grabbed onto Lucien harder and closed her eyes tightly. What felt like hours later, although it was truly only a minute or two, Lucien spoke.

"Welcome to the band of exiles." She opened her eyes to a surprisingly large castle. She was not sure what she expected, perhaps an abandoned cabin, but the building was spectacular and beautiful.

"Jurian and Vassa are excited to meet you." Lucien added as they continued to stand out front. It appeared that he would allow her to stand here for as long as she needed. She knew that if she demanded he take her right back he would. His words finally caught up with her brain that seemed to be running a mile a minute. Why would his closest friends be excited to meet her she thought. It made her anxious for the first time. Perhaps she mistook his friendly countenance for something less than it actually was. She would address it later. She began walking towards the door, mumbling under her breath.

"Let's get this over with."

"That's the spirit!" Lucien inserted much more enthusiasm than necessary into his tone. He grabbed her arm and laced it through his which had her feeling very grateful. Her knees were shaking as she walked and she knew he could tell. Gwyn felt the need to remind herself that he had a mate. She wondered if he would be desperate enough to make a move on her. A large, beautifully decorated foyer greeted them. Two very beautiful people stood in the middle of the white marble floor. Gwyn tightened her hold on Lucien when she saw the new male, stopping them mid-walk. She started her mind-stilling technique as the anxiety clawed at her chest and throat. She would eventually have to face men if she ever wanted to get her revenge. She could not allow a few measly physical reactions hold her back. She took one last deep breathe and then continued walking towards the couple. She spent less time analyzing the female, but from what she saw Gwyn knew she was beautiful. She also had red hair, however, Gwyn's hair was more of a copper/bronze red while Vassa had a deep maroon red. Gwyn kept her eye on Jurian though.

"You are making her nervous, standing there like two parents ready to scold their children." Lucien reprimanded his friends with a roll of his eyes. The female waved his comment off, completely ignoring him. Gwyn did not miss the look they shared, however.

"I am Vassa and this is Jurian." She gestured to the male next to her. "It is a pleasure to meet you. I have heard so much about you." It unnerved Gwyn that the few interactions that she had with Lucien warranted Vassa knowing much about her. She did not think much on it as she continued to watch the beautiful male. He had hair cropped short to his head and a deep skin tone. His looks were not what had her distracted though. It was the weapons. Gwyn found it unnecessary for him to require weapons while meeting with her. Instead of exchanging pleasantries like socially integrated Fae would, she began her questioning.

"Why so many daggers?" She gave him a scathing look while cocking her head to the side. He would not manipulate her into believing anything but the truth and she wanted that to be conveyed in her facial expression. His eyebrows shot up into his hairline as if he were surprised.

"I could ask you the same question." He threw back at her with a smirk. It only infuriated her more. He could not tell she had daggers on her. She was wearing a cloak over her priestess robes with silver majesty strapped to her thigh. There was no possible way he could see the outline through her clothes. She narrowed her eyes and waited for him to respond. The staring contest was only broken when Lucien cleared his throat and Vassa nudged him.

"Fine." Jurian conceded with a smile. "Vassa is woefully bad at handling anything sharp, so I have taken on the role of her protecter while soon-to-be high lord is out and about." Both Vassa and Lucien seemed annoyed by his explanation. The anxiety began to loosen in her chest though. He was not completely trusted, but in this moment he would not attack.

"Gwyn." Is all she managed for an introduction. It seemed good enough for Lucien because he began leading her off to the side of the room towards a grand staircase.

"I will be showing Gwyneth her room and then we can talk." He threw over his shoulder. She held onto his arm all the way up the long staircase and through an even longer hallway. She laughed internally at the size of the mansion considering only three people resided here. A thought occurred to her when they finally came to a stop at a door.

"How many people live here?" She finally let go of Lucien and took a step back.

"Just us three. And now you. Occasionally we have a guest or two, but I will give you ample warning before that time. This will be your bedroom here. Mine is right across the hall if you need anything. There is a lock on the inside, but if you would like I can show you how to set up some furniture to keep the door from opening at all." Lucien gave her a small smile. It made her soften towards him even more.

"Thank you. I appreciate that. I appreciate all that you have done for me. Truly. I cannot say thank you enough." She gave him a short hug to convey her gratefulness. He returned it, hesitantly. His touch was feather light. As though he did not want to touch her and make her uncomfortable. She stepped back towards the door once more and began to walk inside.

"I will come get you before dinner. You have a full wardrobe to pick from in there if you would like to change. If there is anything you require, just ask." Gwyn nodded and then he was gone.

The first thing Gwyn noticed was that the satchel she packed earlier before leaving was sitting on the bed. She had been so nervous about everything else that she had not even realized it was missing. Gwyn continued to survey the room. It was beautiful. The decorations reminded her of the night court. Lucien really did pay attention to the smallest details. Gwyn truly believed Elain was an idiot for not giving Lucien a chance. The bedding was all black and the drapes twinkled with specks of a shiny material. It almost made them look like stars. The bed was unnecessarily large and so was the desk that was off to the side of the room. It had been such a mentally exhausting day that Gwyn decided a nap was needed. She locked her door and stripped off her cloak. She knew the lock would do nothing against winnowing, but as far as she knew only Lucien could do that. She placed her desk chair under the doorknob anyways. She fell onto the bed without even removing her priestess robes. She did remove her dagger and place it under her pillow for protection. A small smile graced her face as she thought of a certain spymaster who also slept with a dagger under his pillow.

Soft footsteps woke Gwyn from her sleep. She had no idea how long she had slept, but knew that dinner must be approaching if it had not already passed. A light knock on the door made her jump.

"Gwyn? Dinner is almost ready if you would like to join us downstairs." Lucien yelled through the door. Gwyn's racing heart began to slow as she realized where she was and who was speaking to her.

"One moment." She decided this dinner was not worth changing her clothes so she grabbed her dagger, putting it back in its sheath, and flattened her hair down with her hands. She did not want to keep Lucien waiting after all. The second she stepped out of the room, a sly smile crossed the male's face.

"What?" Gwyn demanded a tad self-consciously. She flattened her hair once more.

"Enjoyed a nap I see?" He was teasing, but that did nothing to stop her from shoving him.

"Oh shut up and show me the dining room." A real smile graced his face as he put his arm out for her to grab. She was half tempted to shove his arm away for his teasing. Instead, she rolled her eyes and held onto his arm anyways.

"Your wish is my command."

The castle was truly beautiful. Gwyn knew she could spend hours looking at the art pieces- some of them looked familiar. She would guess those were done by Feyre. The marble flooring and intricate ceilings were only part of the beauty. It has clearly been decorated. Perhaps Vassa and Lucien bonded over similar tastes in rugs. The thought made Gwyn giggle internally. The castle was so large that it took them about five minutes before they reached the dining hall. Gwyn took her place next to Lucien across from Jurian and Vassa who were already pleasantly discussing Vassa’s doomed fate. They quickly stopped talking once she sat down and turned the conversation to her.

"So I have been dying to know," Jurian begins "is Rhysand as much of a prick as he pretends to be?" Lucien sent him a glare which only had Jurian shrugging with an innocent expression upon his face. Gwyn sighed.

"Depends on who you are. He is kind to me, but only out of pity from what he witnessed at Sangravah. I have seen him be cruel to those he purposefully does not want to understand. I am not here as your spy though. That is as much from me as you will get about Rhysand." Gwyn truly felt a level of gratefulness to the high lord, however, he often squandered any other positive feelings she had of him by constantly looking at her as if he was seeing that day in Sangravah all over again. It did nothing to help her forget. Jurian gave a contemplative look before turning his attention to his plate. Vassa decided to try her hand at conversation.

"How are the Archeron sisters? I know the death of their father was hard on all of them." Vassa took a sip of wine. Gwyn did not want to discuss this either though. Speaking of Nesta made her miss her sisters.

"They are as well as could be expected." It was generic and had the fiery red head pursing her lips in displeasure. Gwyn did not quite care.

“Gwyn is a beautiful singer.” Lucien finally changed the subject to something that she did not mind engaging in. “We will need you to sing for us sometime.” Gwyn nodded in agreement. The conversation continued on with Lucien boasting about Gwyn, talking about her training as a Valkyrie and winning the blood rite. She started feeling uncomfortable with all the compliments he was sending her way. It reminded her of a conversation she needed to have with him. Right now was as good of a time as any she supposed.

"It was extremely generous of you to offer your help, but I feel I should inform you that I am not interested in anything other than your friendship." Gwyn interrupted Lucien mid-speech to clarify. He looked startled by her statement. Jurian choked on his wine and Vassa cackled like there would be no tomorrow. It made Gwyn feel as though she was on the outside of some joke they all knew.

"Excuse me?" Lucien, for once, looked genuinely surprised. It was as if he could not quite believe she would say that and needed her to repeat it just in case he heard her wrong. Maybe Gwyn misinterpreted some of his advances.

"I know our coupling seems inevitable," Gwyn explained further a bit shyly, not quite sure of herself anymore. "But I am not interested in any one that is not Azriel." Vassa's cackles slowed down to more of a chuckle and Jurian kept sending amused looks to Lucien.

"Gwyn, I am your grandfather." Lucien approached the topic slowly. "I assumed your mother talked about me, but, and I really hope this is the case, you did not know this?" His tone lifted up at the end in questioning.

Oh, Gwyn thought. She was not easily surprised, but this topped the cake. She tried to think back to anytime her mother mentioned her grandparents, but the instances were few and far between. Gwyn realized she did not even know their names. Suddenly, every compliment and favor from Lucien no longer appeared odd. He was complimenting and bragging about his only living granddaughter. This took much longer to process than Gwyn would like to admit. Unexpectedly, she felt an unwarranted amount of anger towards Lucien.

"And you waited until this very moment to tell me? What the hell Lucien? Or should I say grandpa?" Her tone was more hostile than it had been with anyone else. The sarcastic comment at the end had the red-haired male cringing. Jurian and Vassa started laughing once more.

"I know this is not great timing to interrupt, but I, for one, will be referring to you as grandpa from here on out." Jurian inserted. Vassa gave an amused smirk, but said nothing. It earned him a glare from Gwyn and Lucien though.

"I apologize, Gwyneth, for the delayed reveal. I thought you knew that's why I offered to help you, though. I assumed your mother had spoken of Jesminda and I. She was rather young when we had to surrender her, I suppose." Lucien looked so genuine that Gwyn's anger diminished as fast as it had appeared. Gwyn's family history had always been a mystery to her. She might finally get some answers.

"Jesminda is my grandmother?" Gwyn inquired. Her own mother had never given details. This adventure was beginning to answer many questions she had always had.

"Yes." Lucien said. Gwyn was trying to understand his expression and tone. She spent another minute watching him. Their other table mates had gone quiet as well. It did not take a genius to understand the moment. Jesminda had never been mentioned before to her from anyone and she was not here right now. She was dead that much was clear. Lucien cleared his throat and for a brief second Gwyn could see the emotion he was so desperately trying to hide, guilt.

"Why did you give my mother to Sangravah?" Gwyn realized it probably had something to do with Jesminda's death. She truly wanted more details. Lucien sighed heavily, probably understanding that there were many questions in store for him.

"Beron just ordered for Jesminda to be tortured and executed in front of me. I am certain if he had known of your mother, he would have had the same future in store for her. I had kept the child a secret from everyone except a brother, who helped me hide her after Jesminda's death." It did not escape Gwyn's attention that Lucien neither referred to Beron as his high lord nor as his father. Lucien ran a hand through his hair roughly. Her hair was clearly from him, but it was his one russet eye that had her pausing. An eye that suddenly reminded her so much of Catrin.

"Why did he kill her?" She asked softly. Gwyn realized she would never be able to deny Lucien anything. One look from his russet eye and Gwyn would give in simply because of its similarity to her dead twin.

"Because he's a spiteful old man." Vassa spit out. Clearly, she was just as enraged by the situation. It made Gwyn wonder if Vassa and Lucien had ever been together. Lucien rolled his eyes at the fiery female. He seemed to roll his eyes constantly while he was here.

"Because he could," Lucien added. "Your mother, who was about six at the time, was extremely unsafe even under my brother and I's protection. Beron would put your mate to shame with all the torture tactics he uses. I dropped her off on the doorstep of that church in the middle of the night. I always planned to go back and visit, but I was nervous and I knew she was safe there. I felt it was selfish to visit her since it only put her in more danger." Gwyn felt sad for everyone involved. Sad for Lucien who watched his love be tortured and executed in front of him only for him to have to turn around and surrender his daughter to a church. Sad for Jesminda who died that day. Sad for her mother who must have lived every day wondering where her parents went and why they abandoned her. Sad for Catrin who never got to meet her grandfather.

"I had a sister." Gwyn felt the need to mention. She was unaware of how much Lucien knew, but it suddenly felt important to her that he knew of Catrin.

"I know." He responded with a sad smile. "This family is well versed in tragedy." Gwyn had so many more questions. She had time to ask though. Her questions were making Lucien relive memories that were better left untouched. Perhaps he had endured enough for one night. She looked down at her full plate. She had been so distracted that she had not touched a thing. She began to devour her food as the rest of the table engaged in a debate about seasonings and which was the best.

"Have you and Vassa..." Gwyn trailed off, leaving the innuendo open when Lucien walked her back to her room after dinner.

"She wishes." He chuckled.

"Would you be with Elain if you could?"

"I would not jump into a mating ceremony but I would like the chance to get to know her. She has not given me the opportunity." He answered practically with his arms folded behind his back. Gwyn felt the need to assure him that knowing Elain would not make any of this easier.

"Trust me, it's better this way." She did not want to leave the conversation on such a sore point. As they approached her door, Gwyn jokingly shoved him. "So this would make Elain my step-grandmother?" Lucien was quiet before speaking. It was not the reaction she hoped for.

"Elain does not know. No one knows. And no one can know, even Azriel. At least until Beron is dead. Make no mistakes if Beron were to discover you, he would torture you simply to spite my mother." His lips pursued together in displeasure.

"Azriel is very good with secrets." She felt the need to remind Lucien. He is a Shadowsinger after all.

"Not with his high lord. If Rhysand knew, he would tell Beron if he had too. If Nyx or Feyre's life were on the line, he would do anything to save them. That includes selling you out. This is very important, Gwyneth. You cannot tell anyone- promise me." His stare was so intense that she could not look away. He grabbed her hands in a tight grip to make sure she understood how serious he was. Gwyneth had never purposely kept a secret from Azriel before. Hopefully, Beron would die sooner rather than later.

"I promise."

+++

Two weeks later

"What do you mean she’s gone?" Azriel was shocked to discover that Gwyn had left two weeks ago. He thought she had been avoiding training because of the kiss they shared- not because she was gone. He had been eating dinner with Nesta and Cassian when he finally had the courage to mention the priestess and where she had gone. Now he was mad that he had not asked sooner.

“She left with Lucien on some adventure. I am not really sure. Her note was unclear.” Nesta responded solemnly. The House dropped a piece of chocolate cake in front of her which made a small smile curve at the brash female’s lips. Azriel’s stomach dropped at the mention of Lucien. Gwyn did not know him well enough to go on an adventure with him. Gwyn would not leave her sisters here and she would definitely not choose Lucien to be the first person she left Velaris with. He was certain of that. He also knew Lucien to be a spiteful person. Perhaps he was tired of watching Azriel and Elain parade their relationship around him, making a fool of the one-eyed male. He could have taken Gwyn as retribution.

“He must have kidnapped her. Gwyn would never willingly leave the House of Wind with anyone- let alone Lucien.” Azriel knew this had to be true. Gwyn would never just up and leave. Guilt started gnawing at his chest as he realize he could have prevented her from being taken. If only his shadows would work properly around her, he could have prevented Lucien’s nefarious plans from being completed. His siphons started glowing the longer he though about it. He had to clench his hands around his silverware to keep from winnowing straight to the Band of Exiles and demanding his mate be given back. Nesta gave Azriel an odd look before speaking.

“She left a note that said she was willingly leaving with him and as much as he annoys the shit out of me, I don’t think he would hurt Gwyn.” A frown marred her face now, though. As if she had not considered that her sister could be in trouble. It only annoyed Az further.

“He could have made her write the note.” He reminded in a quiet, harsh voice. Gwyn and Lucien were not friends. She would have no reason to leave with him. Cassian was cautiously glancing between his mate and Azriel. He did not know what to say that would not piss off Az, so he was choosing to let Nesta handle the situation instead.

“She is not in danger.” Nesta declared after peeking at her wrist. There was no possible way for her to know whether Gwyn was safe or not. Even Azriel could not find out given how stubborn his shadows were being. He could always take a trip to the Band of Exiles, but he had to assume Lucien would not be stupid enough to take Gwyn there.

“You do not know that.” His wings flexed in anger. The siphons atop his hands were glowing dangerously bright now. He needed to get his emotions under control.

“Yes I do.” Nesta insisted with a roll of her eyes that annoyed Azriel to no ends. “My bracelet is not glowing. They glow when any of us is in trouble. It’s how I found her in the blood rite. It has not glowed since then either.”

“Hers could have fell off.” Gwyn would not have left after the kiss they shared. It was too important of a moment between them for her to have left immediately after.

“Gwyn and Lucien are friends, Az. You know if you want someone to blame for her leaving, maybe you should look inward.” It was a sharp jab that hurt more than the Shadowsinger would ever admit.

Suddenly though, he could see the hurt on Nesta’s face. It was there for only a second, but he saw it. Nesta was just as hurt by Gwyn’s departure as he was. He finally unclenched his hands from around his silverware- his fight giving out. Nesta was right. Lucien would never kidnap Gwyn especially if he thought it might upset Elain. Azriel chose this time to leave, however. He would not stoop to Nesta’s level and trade jab after jab. He headed to the training arena. It was hours later when slight footsteps could be heard making their way over to him. He was sitting at the edge, his exhaustion forcing him to take a break. Nesta took a seat next to him, resting her head against his shoulder.

"I miss her too, Shadowsinger." He said nothing in return because there was nothing else he could say. "You are worse than I was with the mating bond." Nesta tried again with a joke this time to try and get Azriel talking. She knew he was not normally one to discuss his feelings though. He gave her a withering look at that comment. It was an ongoing joke within the inner circle that Nesta handled the mate situation particularly horrible.

“Shut up.” Was all he responded with and he only said it halfheartedly.

"I am just saying, if you ask me for advice I could save you some time and heartache." They both continued to look out at the Velaris skyline.

"And what precious advice would you bestow upon me?" The comment was dripping in sarcasm, but he decided to humor her.

"Anyone other than your mate will be a disappointment, especially to you. Just accept it and her and everything else will become background noise." She looked up at him for a second before setting her head back down. He was not one to seek out comfort through touch, but sitting here with Nesta made him feel a bit better. Maybe it was because they could both ruminate in their sadness at Gwyn’s departure.

"Ah so wise. I had not considered that." Again the sarcasm was heavy.

"Well if you have thought about it and have not done it then I would consider you an idiot. You do not strike me as an idiot, Az." She was frustrated now- throwing her arms up and crossing them over her chest. He chuckled lightly.

"I think I might be." He admitted. Everything was so confusing with Mor and Elain that he lost focus of what was truly important.

"Gwyn is the most compassionate and understanding person I know. If she can love me, she can love you too. Just be honest with her." Her voice was soft now in a way that it never was. She always seemed to push him even when it seemed the rest of his family refused. It was the thing he liked most about Nesta- she was never scared of him or his feelings.

"Thanks Nes." He settled his head on top of hers and they stayed like that for hours- reminiscing in all things Gwyn.

[theodora3022]

Sheathed Claws (Part 1)

(Yandere Fukuzawa feat.Ranpo as his evil sidekick)

Summary: As a former Assassin himself, the formidable Silver Wolf Yukichi Fukuzawa can see through seemingly perfect disguises. You really should not have chosen ADA to work after fleeing the Order of the Clock Tower. 

Notes: I wrote this instead of polishing my Tetchou fic, someone yells at me to do things in order- You can sense clear parental issues here, so enjoy! The reader’s ability is modelled after Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights, the ability to control air currents. She is a former assassin leader of the Order of Clock tower, her superior being Lady Agatha Christie. I could have wrote this as a full fic, but I got too excited about a Mori fic and just...went with easy way with this one. The next part would be out next week by the latest.

Special thanks to @killuwumi​ and @bungoose​ for beta reading this mess! You guys are the best :))

Warnings: Female reader, Power imbalance, possessive behaviours(in future chapters), mild yandere themes, Ranpo gives horrible relationship advices

You thought your facade is good enough, that your acquaintances are none the wiser. And you are correct, at least to a certain degree. But for a fellow former Assassin, it is not that difficult to decipher from the way you carry yourself. Fukuzawa, the president of your current organization, for one.

You had paid an old friend a good sum, who happens to be a government official, to cleanse your dirty past. Nobody would find anything now, not even yourself.

To avoid any suspicions, you created this bubbly innocent girl mask for your coworkers, to gain their trust so even if the Order finds out about you they would have a hard time pursuing you. You never were particularly close to anyone, even when you let Naomi come to your shopping trips from time to time after her endless pleas. “Your western style is just so cute! I want to try it!!” Of course, you cannot say no. Guess Lady Christie was right, if you wear a mask long enough it would fuse in with your true self.

You act just like any other secretary in the ADA, polite, properly-dressed, hardworking and always ready to pick up any agent’s slack on paperwork(mainly Dazai’s). He notices how you would blend well with the background with that quiet nature, your presence barely noticeable, just like what he used to be in his assassin days. You also have a sweet voice and would look up to him with those adorable feline-like eyes while reading meeting reports to him.

No, no Yukichi, she is your employee, not a stray kitten you encountered in a park. You cannot pat her on the head or squeeze her cheeks, it would be inappropriate. He had to scold himself so very often, whenever you smile to greet him at his desk or wish him a good evening when you leave work. Maybe that is why he hired you, a foreigner with little work experience in Japan.

Since you are only a clerk, Fukuzawa assumed you did not possess a special ability, therefore he did not bother to check your background thoroughly. However, there is something that distinguishes you from the norms like Kirako Haruno or Naomi Tanizaki. Your quick reflexes are unusual for a civilian. His suspicions were confirmed thanks to Ranpo.

When Ranpo accidentally pushed one of his donuts off the table, you snatched a napkin, crouched down and caught the pastry with one hand. All done within half a second, without dropping a single sheet of the files on your other hand. Even Ranpo was impressed and gave you a few words of praise. You responded with a sheepish smile, but that smile does not look so harmless to Fukuzawa anymore. That is when Fukuzawa took a particular interest in you, who are you really? Those moves would take years of training to mould into one’s instincts.

You have hidden pockets in that skirt? He could just be paranoid, but that size is enough to fit a mini-gun or a dagger. In fact, you do carry these things around, old habits die hard. Decades of Assassin life had made you insecure without a weapon to hold. But young women often carry self-defence mechanisms right? Surely you would need them since you are just so cute. Is he just overthinking things?

Using his connections, the ADA president got a copy of your records from the Government Database. But they are nothing out of the ordinary, almost too normal. Maybe you are just blessed with natural talents, not some government spy.  Because that could mean big problems, as Fukuzawa hates the government to stick their noses into his Agency.

“(Y/n)-san? She is a nice girl. She is always willing to help out everyone with their troubles. Hah, one time she even went to drag Dazai out from a ditch!”

“When the powers are out, (y/n)-chan brought lots and lots of candles for us. I cannot be more grateful.”

“She loves sweets and would often bake me some! (y/n)-chan calls me her test subject for her confectionery arts, not that I mind as long as I get half of her chocolate cookies!”

Only words of praise and gratitude, Fukuzawa cannot seem to find a single bit of negativity related to you? You are so friendly towards everyone, no one ever saw you in a different mood other than cheerfully happy.

The more Fukuzawa learns about you, the more invested he becomes. Even though it started as an investigation, he had grown fond of you rather quickly. Soon enough he finds himself smiling back to your greetings and goodbyes, even sneaking gazes full of fondness when you were not noticing.

Hm, so the agency president had taken a special interest in you huh? That is better than ideal. Now you can sleep soundly at night without ten traps set up in your apartment. People usually protect what they love right? Now you got the powerful Silver Wolf, an elite swordsman as your bodyguard!

These little actions did not get past the observations of Ranpo Edogawa. You are pleasant to have around, and if you marry the president would mean you would never leave the ADA right? He can have those delicious sweets for the rest of his days! His sensei is happy, and he got an endless supply of delicious food, sounds like a win-win to him.

So when Fukuzawa asked him to use his Ultra Deduction on you, little Ranpo did not suspect a thing and gladly obliged.

“(y/n)-chaan is a skilled assassin, with at least ten years of experience...And served in the Order of the Clock Tower as one of their finest knights, but she is currently on exile.” Ranpo and Fukuzawa exchange a glance, mixed with shock and horror. Both stayed silent for a while, digesting the unbelievable truth Ranpo just dug up.

So, his hunch was correct. But how can you, a charming lady who would help the elderly to cross the street, would give up your seat on the train to pregnant women, would help out anyone in need used to be a cold-blooded assassin? (These are all classic kindness gestures in Asia, in case anyone is confused)

Can Fukuzawa imagine you in black tights(eh idk how this came up), ending people’s lives while lurking in the shadows? No, it is physically impossible. He lived that kind of life, how can you turn out to appear so innocent? Unless you hid your evils exceptionally well. This sends a chill down his spine, the thought of someone who can fool the entire Agency of intelligent agents…

You may not harbour any ill-will towards them yet, but you still pose a major potential risk regardless. You can feed the agents poisonous cakes and even Kunikida would eat them without question. Some precautions need to be taken.

“Sensei, you like (y/n)-chan, right? Why not take her in and watch her every move, make sure she is no threat?” Another win-win situation, if you ask Ranpo. You would have all the time in the world to bake! Wouldn't that be amazing?

His smart apprentice never disappoints.

[xaphrin]

Horns

Horns - Bryce Fox

THANK YOU SO MUCH @chromium7sky and @andthendk for your amazing art pieces (andthedk and chromium7sky) that you blessed me with a while ago. Sorry this took so long to get out! I just hope it’s okay! 

(and lets be real here, there’s definitely more kicking around in my head)

- - - 

Damian gritted his teeth together as he looked around the space, his lip curling up at the edges. It smelled of sweat, cheap liquor, and something sticky and sweet. God. He wasn’t sure how Raven even managed to be in here for as long as she had. After three weeks of this, he had half a mind to call her a damned saint. 

With a hushed curse that slipped between clenched teeth, Damian adjusted the dark sunglasses on his face and shoved his hands in his leather jacket. He stepped deeper into the space, ignoring the dark stare from the bouncer and the bartender near the exit. It was just after 4:00 in the afternoon, and besides a few other men milling around the stage, there wasn’t anyone here. That was good. Less people could recognize him at least. 

He wove between the tables and took a seat near the stage, kicking his feet out in front of him and spreading his legs wide to take up as much space as possible. The last thing he needed was to look approachable and have some dancer coming over and offering a private dance. Ugh. Damian picked up his phone and flicked through the messages, chewing on the inside of his cheek and trying to ignore the way his hair stood up on end. He felt like he was being watched, and every instinct inside him was telling him to run. 

“Hey, handsome.”

Damian didn’t look up from his phone, but caught a flash of pale, exposed skin from the corner of his stare. He sneered and moved his thumb to check his emails, ignoring whoever was standing in front of him. “I’m not interested in a dance.”

“Good, because I think that would be pretty weird if you saw my breasts.” 

Damian jerked and looked up into Raven’s face. She gave him a teasing smile, and he almost didn’t recognize her through the heavy makeup and extensions that curled luscious, black curls down her back. She tucked a waitress tray against her hip and her lips twitched as if she was hiding a secret about him even he didn’t know. He swallowed and swept his eyes down her body, taking in the sight of whatever she was wearing - a dark blue button down, with most of the buttons undone, tucked into a mini-skirt that barely qualified as clothing. It looked practically prim compared to what the other women were wearing, but there was something about it that set his blood boiling. He found himself thinking about ripping it off her and exposing whatever she was hiding underneath.

What was he thinking? His face burned red with embarrassment and he ran his fingers through his hair. This was his teammate and his friend. The absolutely last thing he should be thinking of, was Raven naked. 

“Eyes up here, sunshine.” 

Damian flushed and listed his eyes to meet her stare. His mouth tightened and he looked back into his phone, pretending not to be interested in her. “Any progress?”

“Mm.” Raven leaned over the table, pressing her hand to the dark surface. She dropped her voice low, barely audible over the heavy bass of the song playing. “You know most men usually order a few drinks and take in a show while they’re here. They typically don’t spend the whole time on their phone ignoring half-naked women traipsing around them.”

Damian picked up his head and tried not to look down her shirt, but he caught the edge of what looked like… webbing. Black, lacy webbing encasing her pale breasts. Oh, god. Now he was thinking about her breasts. He swallowed and looked back up in her eyes, grinding his teeth together to keep emotions from showing on his face. 

“Fine. Then, get me a whiskey that doesn’t taste like swill and glitter, and then… do whatever you need to make it look like you’re…” He paused, biting back the taste of something heavy and needy in his mouth. “…working.”

She stood back up and shifted in her too-tall heels. Had her legs always looked a mile long? “Did you want a private dance, sir?”

His expression fell. Cheeky. He huffed in annoyance and glanced back up at her. “What does that entail?”

“Bottle service and five hundred dollars.” She gave him a coy grin. “But it’s very private. So… you’re free to do… whatever you want. You can even touch me if you want to.” 

Raven leaned over in a move that was obviously practiced, and Damian wondered how many men she had tried it on before. How many private dances had she given? How many men had touched her? Ran their fingers over every inch of her body? Jealousy clawed at him, and he took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. She was undercover and this was her job, he needed to remember that.   

Without waiting for an answer, Raven held out her hand, palm up. “Will that be cash or credit?”

His stare was flat and he handed her his credit card. “I’ll expense it later.”

“I’m sure Star will love that.” Raven snorted and took the card from him, disappearing to the bar for a few minutes before returning with a bottle of some subpar whiskey, two glasses, and a key on a ridiculous and flashy keychain. She fluttered her eyelashes and motioned for him to follow her into the back, and Damian trailed after her, trying not to look at the way her plump ass peeked out from the hem of her not-quite-a-skirt. Tried not to look… and failed. His tongue slid along his lower lip and he wondered what it would be like to grab-

No. No. This was his teammate. He needed to remember that. Raven wasn’t just some girl, she was his friend and the one person he trusted more than anyone else. In fact, he trusted her more than he trusted his own family. Raven had earned his respect a hundred times over, and he shouldn’t be ogling her like that.  

Damian straightened his jacket and followed her through into a small, dark room in the back. Music poured in from overhead speakers, and the lights were low enough to cast secretive shadows over her body, but bright enough to let him see every part of her. The smell of salt and sweat and booze filled his nose again, but he choked down his response and sat down on the sofa against the far wall. Crossing his arms over his chest, Damian tried not to think about what likely happened on the black leather. Ew. Gross. 

Raven poured him a drink with that sickly-sweet smile again, her eyes fluttering. When she stood back up, she let her hips move slowly, as if dancing to the music. Damian felt his heart pick up speed, slamming wildly against his ribs as he watched Raven’s fingers glide along the buttons of her dark blue shirt. She pulled the tails out of the waistband of her skirt, and unbuttoned the last few buttons. 

Damian groaned at the sight of her dressed in black lace made to look like spiderwebs. It was dark and dangerous, and it reminded him so much of her. He bit the inside of his cheek and let his eyes wander down her body, hoping she didn’t notice how much he… he liked it. Her breasts were pushed high, gently bouncing with each movement she made, and- he shouldn’t notice things like that. Shame colored his cheeks and he looked away, rubbing his hand along the back of his neck. His friend and his teammate. His friend and his teammate. His friend and his teammate. If he kept repeating that mantra long enough, maybe he’d actually remember it. 

Raven allowed her shirt to slip down her arms, gathering at her wrists before pulling it off her, and then tossing it carelessly behind her. Damian suspected she used her powers because it landed perfectly against the frame of a mirror across from him, covering the glass. 

“Whew.” Raven’s hips stopped moving, and she kicked off her shoes with a curse. She bent down and rubbed her foot for a moment before limping over to the sofa, falling down next to him. “Thank god that’s over and you can stop pretending to watch me dance.”

Right. Pretending.  

“Sorry, I had to put on a show. The mirror is a two-way mirror, and sometimes the sleazebag owner lets people sit and watch what happens in here - sometimes for extra money, sometimes for blackmail.” She gave him a sympathetic smile, kicking her feet up on the table in front of her. “And seeing a Wayne in here would definitely give him a reason to spy.” 

“Oh.” He watched as she flicked a lock of hair out of her face, letting silence settle over both of them. Finally, he turned and stared ahead, careful not to look too long at any part of her. “So… how are you doing?” 

“Hard to say. The emotions here overwhelm me, the owner is - as I said before - a complete and utter sleazebag, and… I would give anything to take these stupid extensions out.” She tugged at her hair and groaned, her head falling back on her neck as she stared at the ceiling. A long sigh escaped and she glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “I know that what we’re doing here is important, but I cannot wait until I get to go home. I miss my friends and teammates.” Pause. “I miss you.”

That made him look up. His heart turned over and he didn’t want to think about how he missed her too. How the noise of the tower was even more grating than usual, how he got up early and felt his heart sink when he remembered that she wasn’t there. Damian glanced over at her and remembered how he had made her a cup of tea this morning, out of habit, and when she didn’t sit with him at breakfast he felt his whole body sink with disappointment. He missed their late night conversations and quiet moments together - he missed her. Every part of her. 

He chewed on his lip and looked away again, taking a calm, steadying breath. That was a bag of emotions he didn’t want to think about just yet. Right now, it was better to focus on her mission. “Did you find anything out?”

“Mm.” Raven nodded and picked at her nails, thinking. “We were right with our initial intel. He is trafficking women - Metas specifically. Most of the woman have low-level powers, but they’re still Metas. One woman has gone missing since I’ve been here, and another woman was taken about eight months ago. Long enough that it’s not raising suspicion with the police. Star and Cy are talking about how we need to do to get the owner to notice me. If he figures out that I’m a Meta, he’ll definitely cart my ass off to where he sent two other dancers.”

The thought of Raven purposefully putting herself in danger made him feel anxious and uncomfortable. He reached forward and took a drink of the disgusting whiskey before setting it back on the table. “And you… want that?”

“Not really.” Raven rubbed at her jaw, looking away. “But if there’s anyone strong enough to go up against whatever he has his fingers in, it’s me and Cy and Star.” She smirked and glanced back at him. “Unless Robin wants to join in?”

“You know I’m watching over you. But, I have to be careful with… this.” He waved his hand over his face. “If I bring too much media attention to this gross strip club, it can blow the whole mission. The last thing we need is for a paparazzi to catch me here. It would blow everything.” 

Her expression softened and she leaned close to him, a small smile pulling at her lips. “I know.” She leaned closer to him, her hand resting on his thigh. “But I seem to remember a certain masked man hovering on the roof two nights ago while I was here.”

Damnit. He had hoped she hadn’t seen him. Damian flushed and shrugged, glancing away as he scratched at his neck. “I want you to know that you’re safe. You can’t blame me for worrying about you.” 

“No, I guess not.” She pulled away, her hand falling back to her own side. “But, I’m the daughter of a demon and you think I can’t take care of myself?”

He looked back at her, frowning. “You know that’s not-”

“Shit.” Raven grabbed the sunglasses from the table in front of them and shoved them back on his face. Before Damian could question exactly what she was doing, he felt her swing her leg over his lap, and she settled onto the tops of his thighs. 

No. Oh, gods. No. He opened his mouth to tell her to get the hell off of him, but before he could utter a word, she pressed her lips to his own. Oh no. Damian’s eyes widened as his heart picked up speed again in his chest, and he felt her hand slide up the side of his cheek while her other hand guided his fingers under her skirt. He could feel the roundness of her ass flex under his touch, and that was… not helping. That was not helping at all. 

Damian ground his teeth together and tried not to kiss her back, or think about how soft she felt, or how lithe she seemed… but it was too late. Everything was too late. He could feel his whole body start to react to her, like she was his favorite meal and he was starved for her. He needed her. Wanted her. Beyond anything he had ever experienced before. Blood surged through his veins, hot and molten, and Damian’s fingers grabbed a handful of her ass, squeezing as his mouth matched hers in intensity. He needed this like he needed air. He would just have to find an apology later. 

The door clicked open and Raven broke the kiss, pulling Damian’s face into her neck. Someone was watching them, and he had a good feeling it was the sleazebag owner Raven had been talking about before. He heard her whisper a spell, but kept his face hidden by her neck just in case. God. How did she smell so damn good? 

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

It was the owner. That explained it. He was probably confused by the fact that the two way mirror was covered. Damian’s fingers stilled against Raven’s ass, but she pulled him tighter against her soft curves, and he realized that she was trying to hide his face from the owner. Smart. Of course, it was Raven, she had probably thought about this before. 

“Oh. I’m sorry for interrupting.” He didn’t sound sorry. He sounded like a wheezing bag of misplaced lust. Tch. Like Raven would ever have any kind of emotion for him. “I trust you’re taking care of our guest, Rachel?”

Raven picked up her head, her fingers tangling in his hair. “Of course, sir.” 

The owner gave a thick, fake laugh, obviously enjoying the fact that Raven called him sir. Damian didn’t dare show his face, but he could feel the leer that Raven was subject to, and he felt something possessive and angry rise up in him. Raven was-

Was what? His? Damian nearly snorted. He wasn’t even sure what Raven was to him. A teammate? Yes. A friend? Yes. But… what kind of friend admired her breasts encased in black webbing? Ugh. He kissed along her neck, his other hand sliding along her waist and pulling her tight against his chest. It was only to keep up appearances, obviously. It wasn’t as if he had… feelings for her… 

…right?   

“Good. Good…” He continued to leer at her and Damian finally growled, the sound muffled by Raven’s neck. The owner hummed, as if put out by not being allowed to join in with them. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. Let me know if you need any service at all.”

Raven nodded, and Damian waited until the owner left before he stopped kissing her neck. He wanted to let his hands and mouth wander, but he knew better. Damian looked up at her, his eyes searching her face. She looked exhausted, frustrated by the situation and uncertain about what their next step should be. The tension between them was thick, and he was almost certain that she could feel the press of his erection against her thigh. That was embarrassing. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, and Damian watched her lift her hand to brush a lock of hair out of his eyes, fingers trailing along the side of his face. It was surprisingly tender, and it made his heart turn over in his chest.  

“You should go.”

“Yeah…” His fingers trailed down the backs of her thighs, feeling the soft nylon of her stockings under his touch, and he licked his lips. “I should go.”

But, he didn’t move, and neither did Raven. 

Finally, as though he had lost all common sense, Damian leaned up to press a slow, gentle kiss to her lower lip. Raven groaned and she shivered, leaning into him. Her mouth felt… hungry. Desperate. His hand disappeared under her skirt again, and he grabbed a handful of her bare ass, pulling her tight against him. Raven moaned into his mouth, and her fingers buried into his hair, taking every kiss he offered as though she were a parched woman and he was a drink of water. She tasted of curses and mint chapstick, and Damian knew he would never taste anything better in his life. 

Raven pulled away, gasping. Damian watched as her soft breasts tightened against the cups of her bustier, the black webbing straining with every breath. Finally he closed his eyes and let his hands fall to his sides. If he kept touching her, he was going to make terrible decisions. “I… shouldn’t have gotten carried away. Sorry.” He didn’t feel all that apologetic, but that sounded like something he should say. 

“O-oh.” Raven crawled off his lap and adjusted the few scraps of clothing she was wearing, as if she needed something . “I’m… sorry too. I shouldn’t have… you know. Surprised you.”

“Mm.” Damian watched as she went to her shirt still hanging from the mirror frame, pulling it on and tucking it back into her skirt. It was like she was erasing every part of their exchange, and he… he didn’t want that to happen. He wanted to feel her bare skin against his fingers, and feel every part of her tremble and shake. 

But…

He didn’t know what they were before. 

And… 

Raven gave him a soft, almost shy smile and turned away as she finished redressing herself. 

…he definitely didn’t know what they were now. 

[vegetacide]

Deprived

Part 1 | Part 2 |  Part 3

Veg-notable:  And that’s all of it.  Just a little scene I had prancing about in my head and I figured I would share...

Series: Part of my on going Coffee series on A03 which can be found HERE

Characters: Scott Tracy, Virgil Tracy,  Kayo Kyrano and of course  V/K ‘cause let's face it.. I wrote this so who else would it be

Location: Tracy Island

TaG-verse AU

E N J O Y

8-8-8

The Walking Dead was putting it aptly when Scott finally put eyes on his Second.  

He found his brother leaning heavily on his arms and morosely staring at a fresh pot of Sumatra’s best percolated in the coffee machine.  His fingers drumming out a rhythm on the counter of the frustratingly impatient.

When he heard Scott approaching the hairy eye-ball that came his way was sure fire sign that Virgil’s ursine persona was well and truly in the house and not to be messed with.  

Claws out,  teeth bared.  Scott knew this creature well and after all these years, it didn’t frighten him in the least.   His other brothers may take issue with facing this side of Virgil, as rare as it was to be seen but Scott knew his brother well and by his rough appearance he knew Virgil wouldn’t have the energy to keep up the growling for long.  

Scott simply grabbed a mug for himself, set it beside his brother’s bucket on the counter and settled down on a stool.   

Poking the bear was a guaranteed way to get bit so waiting him out was the best approach. 

In the meantime,  Scott crossed his arms over his chest, settled back and watched his brother snarly at the speed of the coffee maker.   

Virgil looked like shit and that was putting it mildly.  

He was in his comfy clothes. A pair of soft cotton, track pants that sat loosely and a bit too low around his waist. Too tired it seemed to do up the ties or hike them up higher.  It was paired with a rumbled A-shirt that had seen better days and his feet were bare. 

A riotous mess of black, bedraggled hair haloed his head at all different angles and his jaw-line was shadowed by several days worth of growth.  Top that all off with the dark bruises of exhaustion hanging under his eyes and he painted the picture of someone desperately in need of sleep for a solid eight to ten.

He wouldn’t say it though.  He was not putting himself in the line for fire for that.  Scott would sit here and wait until the coffee was done and his brother had inhaled a gallon of it.  Or his Grandmother got sight of him. Whichever came first.   

“Scott, stop assessing me.”   Came the rough, sleep deprived baritone of his sibling. “I can feel your eyes on me and I know what you’re doing.”

Scott chuckled and clasping his hands, rested his elbows on the counter. “I didn’t say anything.”

Dark eyes turned back and glared at him over a well defined shoulder. “You didn’t have to.” 

“If that’s the case, you should know that I think that coffee is the last thing you need right now.”

Virgil snorted and turned back the coffee pot. “Well, I didn’t ask.”

“Obviously…” Scott replied, rolling his eyes.   Oh ya,  his brother was in a mood that was for sure.  

Virgil made no other comment and Scott sighed, planning his next move.  

Before he could formulate a plan though,  Kayo floated down the stairs and ghosted across the kitchen on silent feet.  She smiled at Scott and gave a little head bob of greeting before gliding over to Virgil. 

“Hey, Big Guy.”  She said,  placing a hand on Virgil’s forearm and pushing up on her toes to brush his cheek with a kiss. Her gaze shifted to Scott for a moment and Scott blinked at the wink she sent his way.  “Staring at the coffee machine isn’t going to make it brew any faster.”  

Looks like Gordon had gotten Kayo after all. He wasn’t sure if he was pleased with that or not but in the end if it worked, beggars really couldn’t be choosers.  

Watching the couple interact though was something that blew Scott away every time he saw it.   For the most part the couple kept their intimacy to themselves.   Privacy had always been a big deal with Virgil and he wasn’t one to showcase his inner workings despite his artistic nature.  

He created because that’s what he did.  Music, art,  machinery.  Those were how he expressed himself.  The calm exterior, a shield and his craft a venting mechanism.  So to see the obvious affection between him and Kayo now spoke volumes to how tired his brother actually was.

Feeling like a voyeur, Scott looked out over the patio expanse and took in the world at large as the soft low drown of Virgil’s voice replied to Kayo’s whispered words.   

Scott wasn’t one to eavesdrop though even if he wanted to in this instance all he got was the tones and not the words. Whatever was said for some reason had heat rising in his cheeks.  Unsure if he should stick around and make a hasty exit he braced to get up. Kayo was more the capable of dealing with this and a good commander knew when to delegate. 

Spying the exit he flinched when a  full cup of coffee was placed in front of him, waylaying his escape. Kayo arched a knowing brow at him as he looked from the cup to her and back again before turning back to V.  

“You need sleep,  go back to bed before you give Gordon and Alan a complex.  Those two are as jumpy as cats right now.   I closed a door and Gordon was looking for the exits and Alan said he had homework to take care of.”

Scott took a sip of his coffee, savoring the bitter warmth on his tongue and chuckled.  Hard for Alan to have homework when he’d graduated.   

“Don’t roll your eyes at me. The coffee starved Bear and those brows have no effect on me so save yourself the energy and go back upstairs.”

“I gotta help…” 

Here Scott jumped in, taking the opportunity now that Kayo had pried the door open. A united front always got things done quicker. “Brains is running diagnostics now. It will take a few hours for him to run through it all and he can more than handle it himself.”  

“But…” 

“No buts, Virg. You’re turf side and racked until he’s done and that’s final. Dad would have my hide if he found out you were up and about already.  And don’t even get me started on Grandma..” 

“Sleep. Now.”   Kayo commanded, her hand sliding up to cup the back of her lover’s head and tug at his mussed hair in mock frustration.  “I have to put in a call to one of our Hong Kong agents. When I get back if I find out you’ve snuck off to pester Brains or you’re ass deep in Two exhaust systems I will lay you out on the floor, hog tie you and take pictures for Gordon’s personal use.” 

That had the protest dying instantly on Virgil’s face and his mouth snapped shut.  Kayo had the means to back her threat up and she had on more than one occasion followed through with various other members of the family so the danger was very real.  

“Yes, Ma’me.” Was the only appropriate response.  

Kayo grinned sweetly, “Good Boy.”  And patted Virgil’s check before stealing his bucket of coffee and gliding for the room.  

Scott snorted into his cup.  “She’s scary.”  

“You have no idea.”  Sighed Virgil looking forlornly at the now quiet percolator.  

“Have a nice nap.”  

Virgil flipped him off as he headed for the stairs.

8-8-8

The End

[thearcana-junkie]

@syrisart Ask me to do a Lucio X Pregant! MC a while back in my personal messaging. To be honest i;m really honored they like my writing enough to request more (I love their art so much!!!!!!) Plus this also gives me en excuse to write more oneshots so I’m not all HC’s. Anyway without further a do!! I tried to be as gender nutural as I could. Thank you so much for waiting all this time!!!

“Sharing Is Caring”

Summary;; You feel off. Lucio thinks your just sick so he calls his best doctor (Julian of course), Your hunches have been correct the whole time. When you announce to everyone your pregnant, everyone is so happy for you. Except for Lucio of course...

Warnings// Pregnancy. Angst To fluff. Gendernutruel. Morning Sickness. Sharing issues.

Pairings: Lucio X Pregnant MC.

Long Fic under The cut

——————————————————————————————————————————————

The moment you lifted your head off the pillow you felt sick, so sick, so much so you had to run to the bathroom to keep from up-chucking all over your boyfriend who lay sleeping beside you. Oh boy, what a way to wake the Count on a weekend. He did though, he awoke to you loudly voiding your stomach of its contents in the bathroom. Lucio’s stomach started to turn from the sound, to the point he had to cover his ears with his pillow to keep from hearing you or else he’d be in there beside you vomiting. It wasn’t that he didn’t love you enough to go check on you, he just had a very sensitive stomach.

Once you came out of the bathroom he sat up with concern. “Are you okay?” He asked tiredly as the pillow fell behind him, he leaned back and outstretched his bare arms, one golden, one flesh. You crawled into the bed and curled up to his side laying your cheek on his naked chest. “I don’t feel to hot this morning Honey...I think I’m sick...” You mumbled weakly causing Lucio to frown. “No you cant be sick, we had so much fun stuff to do this weekend.” Lucio whined sadly, you whined right back at him. “Okay... Okay, take the day to rest okay? The faster you rest the faster you recover.” He hummed as he gently kissed your head.

You didn’t know you had drifted off to sleep until you woke up in the bed alone, Well not alone-alone, Mercedes and Melchior were laying on the bed with you. On you was more like it. When you sat up you realized you didn’t feel sick anymore, not dizzy or nauseous at all. So you got up, got dressed, and went down to the dining room. In the room sat Nadia, Asra, and (To your surprise) Muriel. “Hey there’s the sleeping beauty!” Asra exclaimed cheerfully. “How are you feeling my dear?” Nadia asked with worry woeful look as you sat down. “feeling?” You questioned, “Lucio said you were sick so we let you stay in bed...” Muriel said softly, despite his stone look his eyes said that he was worried.

“Sick Smick, I told them you were fine and you were just tired. You look fine!” Asra stated proudly, “that’s cause I feel fine. Actually I’m starving, what’s for breakfast-lunch?” You asked as you rubbed your hands together excitedly. “Well we have Salmon, and eggs, and lobster, and—“ while Nadia listed off all the food in front of you, you slumped a little.

Nothing looked appiticing what so ever...

“What’s wrong?” Muriel whispered to you from across the table, he was so quiet Nadia hadn’t even noticed so she was still listing off the food. “Nothing looks good...” You frowned and whispered back to him. Asra, being nosy of his two friends talking without him, leaned into Muriel. “what’s up?” Asra whispered, Nadia continued talking oblivious to her friends conversation, probably because Asra would comment on what she was saying. “She doesn’t see anything good here.” Muriel whispered to Asra. “Ah well no wonder, there’s no Pumpkin Bread, it always soothes upset stomachs.” Asra said. Suddenly pumpkin bread sounded very good. “Are you three planning something I should know about?” Nadia asked her friends. “Oh! No! Nadia, Mc’s stomach is upset and she doesn’t find anything here to sate her needs.” Asra explained rather brashly. “N-not that I don’t like your food, I do!” You squeaked out, you couldn’t bare hurting one of your friends feelings. “don’t worry so much my dear, What is it that you want to eat? Perhaps such elegant food is to harsh on the stomach of someone not used to it.” Nadia said with a calm smile.

“Pumpkin bread.” You and Asra said at the same time.

———————————————————————————-

Two days have passed, you’ve woken up the same way. Each morning you’d wake up, run to the bathroom to vomit, go back to bed and sleep for another few hours then get up and have Lunch-Breakfest with Muriel, Asra, and Nadia. To which you’d find nothing at the table good and Nadia would send the servants to get you and Asra an unhealthy amount of pumpkin bread.After that normally you were too fatigued to do much other then hang out with the three friends.

You started to suspect the obvious, you were pregnant.

“MC!” Asra shouted making you jump out of the skin,”what!?” You snapped a little more aggressively then intended. “No need to be hostile, we wanted to know if you were listening.” Nadia sighed, you felt your cheeks heat up from embarrassment. “Sorry Asra...” You mumbled softly, Asra brushed it off like nothing happened and continued talking. “We asked Julian to come by and scedual a visit with you to make sure your not coming down with something.” Asra explained. “It’s not healthy what you’ve been doing for the last three days.” Nadia frowned at you in a concerned friendly way. “Of course it was all Lucio’s idea. He asked us earlier before he set out on a hunt with his mongrals.” Asra stated while making a claw motion with his hands. You huffed, “I happen to love those dogs thank you very much, their very well trained” You glared softly, Today you weren’t in a good mood as evident by your snapping and glares. “I don’t need a doctor I’m perfectly fine.” You crossed your arms in a stubborn manner. “Well you’ve been getting sick in the early hours.” Nadia noted. “And you only crave pumpkin bread.” Asra added. “And your moods change... a lot.” Muriel added quietly. “My moods do not change!!” You yelled, Muriel flinching way made you move back from him.

Oh gods, You just yelled at your friend. Not just your friend, the quiet friend who wouldn’t harm a fly. Oh you felt horrible now, horriable to the point you started to tear up. “Oh my gods I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to yell at you I’m truly sorry Muriel. Your right i am being a bitch.”

Muriel was unnerved, one minute you were yelling at him now you were crying. “It’s fine, Please don’t cry!” Muriel tried to be as comforting as he could without touching you, he’d never really been in this situation with you so he didn’t know if it was okay for him to hug you so he settled on a hand placed very gently on your shoulder. Julian opened the doors in a flourish motion, “The doctors innn— Oh gosh what happened why are they crying??” Julian turned very concerned when he saw your tears eyes and wet cheeks. “They heard you were coming by and bursted into tears.” Asra smirked, he wasn’t lying but he was leaving out some very important details. “Asra! Stop being mean!!” You yelled at him, Muriel quickly removed his hand from your shoulder seeing your mood had changed. “Julian if you don’t mind giving them their check up as soon as possible, the last thing I’d like is for hem and Asra to start arguing or for dear Muriel to endorse anymore emotional whiplash.” Nadia frowned. YOu nodded and glared at Asra who stiffened on the spot like a startled dear.

“ah, okay Darling if you’ll come with me I’ll take you to a private room.” Julian smiled softly, but for some reason his smile just rubbed you the wrong way and pushed your buttons. You stood and walked through the door flinching off his hand when he placed it on your shoulder. He raised an eyebrow and looked back out on the balcony to siliently ask the group what he did wrong. Muriel just shrugged at him while Nadia sighed. “They’ve been like that for the whole day.” Asra put simply, Julian nodded in acknowledgement before closing the door to follow you. You sat on the dinning table, “Alright, your room?” Julian suggested, “Here’s fine.” You grumbled with your arms crossed, Julian opened his mouth but closed it without saying a word. “So what’s been going on?”Julian asked he most basic doctor question, “Oh don’t act like you don’t already know what everyone’s said.” You hissed at him. “Actually—“ Julian sat down beside you the table. “No one’s told me anything, I was told to come here because everyone’s was worried about you.” Julian said simply as he leaned forward his his arms resting on his knees.

You looked down and pouted, “Sorry... Ive been getting sick, having weird cravings— can we just cut to the chase? I’m already certain I know what it is.” You explained exasperatedly, “And what’s that?” Julian questioned with amusement. “I’m pregnant.” You mumbled tensing up softly. Your muscles that were already tense reacted so fast that you jumped when the door to the balcony flew open with three vary familiar people following it.

“Muriel! I told you not to lean to far or the door would open.” Asra whined at his dark haired friend, “You stepped on my hand...” Muriel blushed in embarrassment. “I can’t believe you two let the countess be caught spying. Remind me to not hire you if i ever need someone to go undercover.” Nadia sighed as she walked over to the table where a very irritated and upset you sat with a Julian who could barely contain his laugh. “I can’t believe the countess of Vesuvia SPIES!” He gasped dramatically with a hand softly on his chest, “You saw nothing, Devorak. I don’t want any rumors starting.” Nadia raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t dream of it m’lady.” Julian smiled roguishly.

You cleared your throat to gain their attention, in an instant Asra was at your side smiling ear to ear. “Are you really pregnant!? Who’s the baby daddy!?” Asra asked with excitement, “Uhh... Lucio?” You said with an eyebrow raised, as if it wasn’t obvious. “Asra who else would it be? It’s kind of obviously Lucio.” Julian said with his arms crossed Asra laughed nervously at his stupid question while he rubbed the back of his neck. “what’s obviously me?” Lucio asked from the doorway, all heads turned to see him as he walked in with a bag dripping blood (No doubt with his small kills inside) and two very muddy borzois beside him. He handed the bag to a servant who quickly took the bag to the kitchen while the count walked over to you and your friends. “I...” You started but stopped and looked at your friends for assistance.

Julian smiled, he was no stranger to bringing news like this to people, he was a doctor after all. “Our dear MC here is expecting.” Julian said with a smug smile. Lucio raised an eyebrow, “Expecting what?” He asked, Julian’s smile dropped as he looked back at the group and shrugged.

Nadia sighed, “Let me try. Lucio.” Nadia started, Lucio’s attention shifted to her at the mention of his name. “We’re going to have a new face around the palace.” She said slowly, Lucio sighed in annoyance and looked up. “Oh gods, are we getting new servants? What’d they do now? Whatever they did they probably didn’t mean it, i really don’t want to get new ones. These know the system of things and getting new ones means we’ll have a lot of errors to fix and mistakes made.” Lucio went on explaining why the servants they had now are better then new ones, while it was sweet he was defending them he was really missing the point. Nadia put a hand to her head in annoyance, “I think I’m getting a headache.” She sighed hopelessly. “Guess I’m not the dumbest person in the room anymore.” Asra chuckled, “You try to tell him Muriel.”

Muriel thought for a moment as if he was putting it as simply as he could in his mind before speaking. “There’s going to be a small child running around.” Muriel said slower then Nadia and softer. Lucio stare at him a moment before cracking a very proud smile. “Scourge! You sly dog! When are we gonna meet the little guy!??” Lucio asked as he slung an arm over Muriels shoulder. “What!? No! Not me!!” Muriel steadily got redder in the face as he pushed Lucio off and away. “OH MY G O D S!!! Lucio I’m pregnant!!” You screamed so loudly the devil could have filed a noise complaint. Lucio sputtered for a moment, “What? How? Since when?!” Lucio’s words ran together at he looked at you “Aw, Lucio did your mom never tell you how babies were made? That’s fine, I can tell you and Asra both.” Julian smirked, Asra stood for a minute before looking up at Julian, “Hey!” Asra whined making Julian chuckle.

“I know HOW their made! I just don’t know WHY their made!” Lucio corrected Julian before he gained a pout. “Their messy, and loud, and annoying.” He added. “Lucio, you didn’t think this would happen at some point? Don’t you need a heir to your monarchy?” Asra questioned the older man, “I dunno! I kind just figured I’d always be around, I mean when i was married to Noddy this wasn’t an issue!” Lucio opened his arms in a dramatic wave. “Simply put; I refused to help with the continuation of your hare-brained bloodline.” Nadia said rather bluntly. “Lucio, Your like what— in your forties? What’s going to happen when you eventually kick the bucket again?” Julian asked with an eyebrow raised, “He’s ri~ight, You could keel over any day old man.” Asra sang cheekily, “Hey! Watch it you little urchin! Your aging too!” Lucio snapped at the white haired man, “Yeah but I have magic on my side.” Asra smirked up at him.

Muriel cleared his throat to gain all their attention, when granted he started blushing from said attention and glanced away. “Uh... MC left right after Lucio started talking again...” He pointed out while pointing to the space you had currently been. “They seemed pretty upset.” He added quietly. “Oh dear... How did we fail to notice them leave?” Nadia asked the group with slight surprise and bewilderment. “This is all Lucio’s fault.” Asra huffed with his arms crossed. “I’m sorry, excuse me!? My fault!? What’d I do!?!” Lucio yelled at Asra with one hand outstretched and one on his chest for punctuation. “Well for starters, your initial reaction could have been better... LIke seriously, ‘I don’t know why their made!’ ?” Asra scoffed at him. “I...”Lucio got tongue tied for a moment while he thought of what to say, he eventually sighed an ran a hand through his hair. “It’s to early for this, i thought we’d get married first and i didn’t plan on that for another few years!...I also thought that at that point I could talk them out of it with an exspensive pet...” Lucio’s sentence turned into a mumble at the end while he looked away.

“Look, unplanned things happen, Plus for the first few months to a year you wont even have to do anything that’ll hurt your old bones. They pretty much just sleep, eat, and do their bissinuess in a diaper.” Julian exsplained while taking at jab at Lucio’s age which didn’t amuse the count. “Isn’t there a way to... Undo this?” Lucio asked hesitantly, Nadia gasped in shock at the idea. “Lucio! I’m appalled you’d even think of such an idea!” She scolded, “Yeah, no, i didn’t think so...” Lucio sighed in annoyance, “You really have no idea how these things work.... Do you?” Asra purred.

“Well no, not really. Mother wasn’t the best... Mother. I mean I’ve had a few scares with the maids before i was resurrected—“

“Pardon?” Nadia raised an eyebrow.

“Not important! The point is, I’m not ready to be a dad! I don’t have a parental role model here!” Lucio huffed out. “Join the club.” Asra sighed longingly earning a nod in agreement from the rest. “I get the feeling this isn’t about it being ‘too early’. What’s the real reason?” Julian asked as he waved off what Lucio had said eariler. Lucio bit his tongue for a moment. “I... Well, babies take up a lot of time and attention... What if MC doesn’t have time for me anymore...” Lucio looked down ashamed, “That’s the most childish thing— OW!” Asra yelped when Lucio stomped on his foot, the white haired young man grabbed his foot while hopping on the other one until the sting went away. “What is it with you and those damn heels!?” Asra hissed in pain while hopping before he put his foot back down. “So I can stomp my enemies and look good doing it.” Lucio smirked at the younger.

“Back to the conversation— I don’t think that’s it, so spit it out.” Julian called him out with his arms crossed. Lucio looked even more ashamed, “i-I’m afraid I’ll turn out like my mother...” Lucio mumbled as he plopped down into a chair.

“Bingo!” Julian smiled victoriously as the others mumbled their agreements.

“I can see why’d you fear that.” Nadia added

“Yeah. Your mom’s like actually terrifying.” Asra shivered.

“Don’t get me wrong. She cares about me, in her own fucked up sort of way, but why else do you think i turned out the way i did.” Lucio looked up at the other four. “Well don’t worry about it, it wont happen.” Asra said with a wave of his hand. Lucio, being a little more then pissed Asra could just wave off his concerns like that, stood up. “Could you be a little more empathetic!? I get that you don’t like me but seriously! You’d think you’d do if for Mc’s sake.” Lucio snapped at Asra who only sighed. “I believe what Asra is trying to say is; You’ll be a better parent then your mother because you fear becoming her.” Julian clairified with a hand on Lucio shoulder, Lucio who made a soft ‘oh’ sound at Julians exsplaination.

Lucio smiled softly, “So you guys think I’ll be a good dad?” He asked, the small group erupted in words of agreement to the point it was all jumbled. “Maybe this whole parent thing will be fun.” Lucio smiled with his newfound confidence.

“Ha! No, It’s going to suck! All the crying and poopy diapers. You said it, their very loud and messy and annoying.” Julian laughed wholeheartedly.

“Be prepared to get more crows feet’s, old man, cause with the sleepless nights to come your gonna wish you had been smart enough to wear protection.” Asra added with a smirk.

And just like that, Lucio’s new confidence went right out the window. He slumped and whined softly as he watched Nadia grab the two men by the ears and give a harsh tug to make them wince. “Hush you two!” Nadia almost growled at them before letting them go to place at hand on Lucio’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, you’ll do great.” She smiled softly at him, Lucio’s confidence returning ten-fold. “at least MC will, Their the one who beat the devil and changed you so they can pretty much do anything.” Nadia added last minute clearly getting some enjoyment out of her ex-husbands suffering.

There went Lucio’s confidence yet again out the nearest window. “WILL YOU GUYS STOP DOING THAT!?” He yelled.

————————————————————————

There was a knock on the bedroom door where you stayed, Your’s and Lucio’s room to be exsact. You laid on your stomach on the giant bed, your face in the pillow. Mercedes and Melchior laid on the floor with soft whimpers, they were to afraid to lay on the bed after sensing how angry you were. You didn’t bother addressing the person at the door much like how they didn’t bother to wait for a reply before they walked in and sat down at the edge of the bed beside you. You knew very well who it was. “MC?” Lucio’s asked softly, “What?” You groaned from the pillow. “I wanted to apologize.” He stated, “Oh really? What for?” You asked sarcastically from the pillow. “For my reaction when you told me...” Lucio stated, these one sentence conversations were already starting to become the death of him. You said something but it was unintelligible from the muffle of the pillow, after a moment of Lucio’s silence you sat up. “I said! Are you going to leave me “ You repeated loudly, “No! Of course not. What gave you that ridicules idea?!” Lucio asked equally as loud.

You just stared at him for a moment so the pieces would click together. “Oh... Right. MC, I’m not leaving you! I intent to do this with you, I’m confident that we can do this. How hard could it be?” Lucio tried to smile confidently but it came out kind of wary. “Asra and them did that thing where they play tug of war with your confidence... Didn’t they?” You asked with an eyebrow raised, Lucio let out the breath he was holding. “Yessss.” He whined.

You rolled over onto your back and sighed, you looked over at him expectantly. “Truth is, I’m terrified... But i know that as long as your by my side we can do this. I trust you.” Lucio confessed as he laid down beside you, You curled up to his side and hummed. “I’m terrified too so don’t leave me if this gets to hard for you.” You said as you looked up at him. He smiled roguishly, “Wouldn’t dream of it my dove. Speaking on which i have a very big surprise for you.” Lucio smirked.

You bolted upright. “Your not proposing to me, are you!?” You asked curiously as you looked down at Lucio who’s smile was gone now. He stared at you like a deer in headlight for a moment before laying his head back and groaning. “No, Darling, I love you but please— One life changing event at a time!” He whined, you laughed softly at him and yourself. “So what was the surprise then?” You asked as you slowly laid back down.

“I was going to say that I’m having Nadia arrange a giant baby shower for you.” He smiled.

“Oh. Yeah, that’s a good surprise.” You laughed at yourself for being so off in your guess.

————————————————————————————————————————————

As the months went by everything started changing, slowly but still changing.

It started out pretty simple, just what had been happening the days prior to your ‘check up’. But soon Lucio started noticing little changes.

Mercedes and Melchior would follow you around everywhere, nipping at anyone who dared get to close. This included Lucio on a number of times. Often times when you slept Mercedes would sleep beside you for warmth and comfort while Malchior would stand or sleep by the door or outside the door, barking and growling at anyone who dare walk by or into the bedroom. The dogs weren’t the only acting odd though, Camio also started following you around and going after Lucio to request something for you so you didn’t have to get up. Lucio started questioning if they did the things they did because they could tell you were pregnant or because you had trained them to do so.

Then Lucio started noticing the bigger changes;

You started to get more off-the-wall cravings at the most random times. The moments when your emotions would be off the wall started to get closer and closer to each other. When you started to gain wheight the moments when you were ‘fine’ seemed nonexistent, you were either crying over being fat or yelling at Lucio for doing this to you. The Count tried his hardest not to get mad but his paients can only be worn so thin before he’s yelling back at you.

The last few weeks were non-stop screaming matches where you guys would end up sleeping in separate rooms before Lucio would finally cool down and go lay down with you— He wouldn’t apologize and you never asked him too because after all you had been pushing all his buttons. Taping them down was more like it, but he still loved you. The night before you had went into labor was one of the worst fights you guys had since the whole mess started.

You hadn’t seen Lucio since after you had the baby and everyone had filed out of the room to let you and the baby rest. That was when you heard a very fimillar knock at the door, Lucio stood in the door way like a kicked puppy. “I’m sorry I wasn’t in the delivery room... I figured you didn’t want to see me.” Lucio said quietly as he eyes wondered the room for the obvious, his eyes landed on the bundle of blankets in your arms, he wanted so badly to run over and take a peek like a little kid getting a new sibling— however he wasn’t about to enter the room without you asking him to, he’d learned once or twice before when you were still mad at him when he came to bed. “You can come see her.” You hummed in a soft motherly way, Lucio perked up and walked over quickly so you didn’t change your mind before he got to the bedside.

“Her...?” He asked wonderiously, “Yeah, Lucio say hello to your daughter. Lillian.” You hummed as you gently pulled back the blanket she was swaddled in. The moment Lucio saw her he fell in love, She had his hair and your eyes. She stared up at Lucio like he was some giant wonderful creature an adventurer had found. Lucio entry moved her platinum bland hair from her face, she however took the chance to wrap her hand around his finger. “She’s so tiny...” He barely whispered.

You had expected him to cry until his mascara ran clear, but no, he just stood there staring at Lillian like she was the most beautiful-rarest-most exspenive thing he’d ever seen. Lillian stared back at him at him for a moment before breaking into a giggling fit.

“Do you want to hold her?” You asked him, “Can I? You wont try to kill me like a momma bear...?” He asked, you laughed before handing Lillian to him. He stood stiff and held her tightly, he’d never held something so fragile before— he’d held one of a kind glass objects before but nothing was more fragile then his little girl in this moment. “Hi...” Lucio said awkwardly, Lillian squealed at him— at which point he did finally break down and start crying. “Monty! What happened?!” You asked worriedly, “She thinks I’m funny!” He sobbed loudly, You laughed louder then his sobbing.

Lillian reached up and put her hand on his cheek to touch his running mascara. Lucio sniffed and smiled with such fondness.

Mercedes and Melchior came bounding into the room together as if they had been waiting for their turn to see the baby. Lucio sat down in the floor for them to come over and see her. Melchior thought she looked rather funny so he stood back, Mercedes on the other hand couldn’t get enough of Lillian. She licked and stuck her nose in Lillians face. “Okay okay, calm down. This is Lillian— Your job is to protect her.” Lucio explained to the two white dogs that wagged their tailes excitedly.

This had been the happiest day of Lucio’s life.

————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

In the coming months Lucio took on everything with a happy-go-lucky aditude.

Lillian crying at night?

“Ill get her, You sleep.”

Dirty diapers?

“I got this one! You get the next.”

Teething?

“Oh pumpkin, please don’t chew on daddy’s arm it’s sharp. Here, here’s a toy you can chew on.”

He always gave you your alone time.

He doted and spoiled Lillian rotten. He took her everywhere with him, including meetings— He did use her as a way out of meetings every once in a while but he always told you it was because; “Too much real life exposure will crush her imagination!” It was like she knew exactly when to start fussing so he could leave.

When Lillian started learning to walk is when she really gave Lucio a run for his money. Between trying to catch her running naked down the halls so he could give her a bath to having to put her in timeout because her and the dogs got in trouble together. She didn’t like Camino very much because he was Lucio’s little spy that told on her. He would never spank her though. This didn’t mean her and Lucio didn’t do everything together still, including things he didn’t exactly want to do (I.e; Teaparties.)

When she got into her kid years, she often hung out with Asra, Nadia, Portia, and Muriel. Lucio would of course be the one to drop her off with them on Yours and his date nights.

Lillians teen years made him a nervous wreck, Always sneaking out and getting into trouble. She was never hurt since she played the royalty card and her favorite dogs were always by her side. Still though, that hadn’t stopped her from being brought home in the middle of the night by Julian who found her at the Rowdy Raven starting fights— Not after topping off her glass before he brought her home of course. Her hanging out with Julian did make Lucio feel better since he knew Julian would never let anyone touch her.

Even today, Lillian as an adult scares him to no end. Lucio and Her were back to being as close as they were when she was a baby, but he insisted on her having a cottage in the palace gardens, you and her both tried to remind him that he cant always protect her. It wasn’t until he was too old to continue that he realized; Lillian will be fine, she’s smart and cunning and can definitely beat ass, but what really put him at peace was the man she married, he knew she was in good hands then even if he didn’t think the guy was good enough for his little girl.

[ngame989]

“Friends” - TGG SVTFOE Fanfic Collection Ch. 12

Writing: @ngame989​​

Art: @toxicpsychox​​

Editing: @ubercelloczar​​, @seddm​​

Alternate fic links - FFnet, AO3

Summary: Ludo needs help making friends and turns to Star and Marco for help, but things quickly spiral out of their control.

Comic Page

Masterpost

It's been an incredibly trying month for me and I'm unsure about a lot of things in my personal life now, but this isn't one of them. I'm so happy to finally be getting back to my feet so I can make more of the Starco content I want the world to see. Hope you enjoy, and thanks for your patience. (Also, fair warning, there’s one ever so slightly steamy Starco scene here)

“Have you ever wondered why heart thingies are hearts?” Marco stopped chewing on a bite of his burrito as he turned his full attention to Star. It wasn’t the most confusing thing she’d ever said, but it was up there. “Like, why does this symbol mean hearts and love and stuff?” she clarified, holding up a piece of heart-shaped candy from the post-Valentine’s Day shopping spree Eclipsa had taken her on weeks ago.

“Dunno,” he responded. “Maybe it’s what people used to think hearts looked like or something.”

“None of the hearts I’ve seen on hunting trips with Dad ever looked like this. Although one was made of chocolate.” She shrugged and popped the treat into her mouth, dumping some more from the bag into her mouth soon after. Her cheeks were puffed out, stretching her heart marks wide and Marco couldn’t help but giggle at the sight. “What?” she mumbled, still chewing. He pantomimed the sight in front of him, pointing to his own puffed-up cheeks. Star quickly grabbed two more candies, licking the backs of them before sticking them to Marco’s face, smiling quite smugly at her handiwork. “Now we’re heart twinsies!” She scooted around the table next to him and leaned in, snapping a selfie. “The kids will love this one.”

He swallowed the last bite of his burrito, thanking the heavens for the new Taco Baco location on campus. The other food options there were… lacking, to say the least.

“The Valentine’s Day Chocopalooza was a smash hit, but I have no clue how to follow it! I can’t have peaked after half a year, Marco!” The memories came flooding back: brownie batter as far as the eye could see, melted chocolate inflicting its goopy wrath on every surface in the kitchen, and so much frosting that he still didn’t want to even look at the stuff.

“I think they just like spending time with you. You’re really good with kids, Star. Besides, the only other holiday coming up is Easter, and you’re terrified of it.”

“It has a giant rabbit that lays eggs, Marco! How do you not see how horrifying that is?”

A loud cough from the bushes behind them might normally have only caught Marco’s attention for a passing moment, but another voice frantically shushed it. “Dennis, quiet! The giant bunny schtick is too good!”

“Ludo?” Star and Marco said in unison.

“Hello, Star and Marco!” Ludo exclaimed with an emphatic wave. “So wonderful to see you again! How’s your kid?”

“She’s not… she’s fine,” Marco relented, estimating that it wouldn’t be worth the hassle. “So… how’s it going?”

“Things are fine, family’s good. Bird and Spider told me to say hello.” He seemed even twitchier than Marco remembered. Dennis prodded his brother with a wing, clearly trying to be surreptitious about it and failing spectacularly. “Ahem, well, there is one teensy tiny issue… I ran into Bearnicorn a few days ago. I totally froze up! Things were pretty awkward last time I saw the whole gang and I think I’m finally ready to try again, but I have no idea how to do that. You might not know this, but I have some issues getting over things,” he stated earnestly. Star and Marco exchanged a bewildered glance - he couldn’t be serious, right? Wait, what were they thinking, Ludo could totally say something like that seriously. Ludo took a deep breath and continued, “But Dennis suggested that I come to you two for help, since I had actually managed to work everything out with you.”

Star munched on another chocolate heart as she mulled over what he was saying. “So you want our help to… make friends?”

The edges of his beak-mouth turned up in an ecstatic smile. “I would like that very much!”

***

“You’re sure about this, Star?”

“He’s not hurting anything, Mom.” Star didn’t glance up from the piles of clothing she was rummaging through at the sound of her mom’s wary question; it wasn’t an unfair one, considering the history involved. Even though he was friendly now, Ludo was too much of a wildcard to completely discount as harmless. Still, though, Star saw no reason to suspect any tricks up his sleeve (though there were probably some bugs there). The nostalgia of reconnecting with Ludo was oddly calming for Star, and considering how quickly Marco agreed to help Ludo with his issues, despite the craziness of midterms approaching, she guessed he felt the same. Drawer after drawer bore no fruit in her quest to find the sweater for Marco’s all-important psychology ensemble - the book and glasses had already been secured.

“Though I didn’t say anything, I admit I was initially hesitant about you two sharing living quarters like this, but I must say Marco’s organizational skills seemed to have rubbed off on you,” Moon said with a snicker. She bent down and checked under the bed, pulling out stray bags of cereal and bottles of soda that Star recognized from her and Marco’s late night movie marathons slash cuddle sessions. “...somewhat.”

Think Star, think! When was the last time you saw that dang sweater? Let’s see… he wore it on our Valentine’s Day date so it can’t be that hidden - it was a bit snug on him which made it extra adorably handsome. He’d said he’d wear it more if I wanted, and I fell over laughing when he wore it just last weekend before we… oh corn. Star now recalled where the sweater would almost certainly be as a wave of horror washed over her. She slammed the dresser drawer and whipped around for a mad dash to the nightstand, where- pegasus feathers. Moon had just found the sweater, which was great, and with it was the exact last box she wanted anyone else (and especially her mom) to find, which was... greeeeeeat. Star generally felt she had a solid, trusting bond with her mother, but she’d never been - and still wasn’t - the first person Star blabbed to about her personal affairs.

“Mom, I can explain-”

“Star, sweetie, I’m not upset. What you do with Marco is none of my business, you’re a grown young woman who is more than capable of making her own decisions. If anything I’m simply relieved that you’re taking such sane precautions. I may be old, but I’m not ready to earn my place in the Grandma Room quite yet.” Despite her embarrassment, Star had to admit she was eased by her mom’s understanding,. “And don’t worry,” Moon said softly, “I’ll handle the subject with your father for you, if you’d like.” And just like that, any comfort was washed away by a tidal wave of beet-red cheeks and incoherent sputtering.

Marco poked his head in, causing Star to yelp and jump off the bed. “Hey, you almost ready?”

“Yep! Totally, totally, totally ready and not discussing anything about our personal lives with mom!”

“Uh-huh…” Marco responded. “Well, I’m ready down there if you are. Oh hey, there’s my sweater. Good, we’ll need it... I, uh think we have our work cut out for us.”

Star was worried, but also kinda happy to have an excuse to leave the current conversation as soon as Mewmanly possible. She handed the sweater from her mom to Marco, who put it on as they walked downstairs to where Ludo was curiously poking around the living room.

“Oh, hello Star! I was just admiring your lovely castle. Bit small for my tastes, but what do I know, haha!”

“Yeeeeeeah…” She then leaned over to whisper to Marco. “So, like, what did he say so far?”

“He said that he tried practicing talking to people with garbage dolls.”

“Weird.”

“I don’t even know where to start, really.”

“Hey Ludo,” Star called out, walking over and sitting on the couch next to him. “So, bud, whatcha need us for here, exactly?”

“Ah, yes, well… I’d like to be able to talk to my old friends again without being their boss. You know, the whole scheming to defeat you… steal the wand… take over Mewni and rule it with an IRON FIST-” He had gotten so worked up that he was on his feet jumping up and down on the couch, but stopped and took a deep breath before chuckling. “Aha, see, there it is again! It’s usually not like this, it’s been months since I’ve even once brought up the wand in a game of cha-rads…”

Yeah, this might be a liiiiiiittle tricky. She tented her fingers as she came up with a plan. Could I… nah. Would it…? Mmm, no go. Wait, Star, duh! “ Alright, Ludo, it’s time for some patented psychomological work from Star Butterfly, H.P.D. We need to see what’s going on in your head.”

“Ooo, sounds fun! So for starters I think there’s some lice-”

“No, no,” she responded calmly, “I mean we need to find what’s making you tick.”

“Yup, I’ve got ticks too!”

Marco put a hand on her shoulder, his worried expression clear even to her peripheral vision. “Are you sure he should be in the same house as Mari-”

“Not now, Marco,” Star hissed, swatting his hand away while keeping her gaze trained on Ludo. “Why are you having trouble talking to your old friends again? What’s the first thing that comes to mind when I say ‘Boo Fly’?”

“Messenger.”

“Buff Frog?”

“Excellent spy.”

“Lobster Claws?”

“Putting his claws on the wand- oh, wait, I see now! This is like cha-rads but with just words! You almost got me!”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re getting it! OK, one more… Toffee.”

“Candy! It’s so delectable with chocolate-”

“You know what, that one’s probably for the best,” Star murmured. “Well, Ludo, it seems to me like your biggest problem is that you aren’t even thinking about your old crew as regular people. Try this. Think of doing something you’d normally do with your brother.”

“Picking the worms out of our feathers to eat-”

“Yeah, no,” Star cut him off. She wanted to help, she really did, but she had a million other things on her mind and now was just not a great time for endless Ludo shenanigans. “I was thinking something less gross…”

“Basketball?” he cheerily offered.

“Sure. Imagine yourself playing basketball with your brother…” She paused a moment as he started miming out dribbling in his seat. “Now imagine doing the same exact thing but with Bearnicorn there instead of your brother.” His arms twitched a bit.

“Keep dribbling, man!” Marco called out encouragingly. Ludo shut his eyes in concentration and after a moment got back into his awkward, gawkish basketball form.

Ludo’s bulbous eyes snapped back open, frantic with glee. “Aha, yes! I think I see it now! Oh, thank you, Star and Marco! I’m off to go find my friends again!” With that, he bolted out the front door and scurried down the road until he was out of sight.

“You think that’ll work?” Star asked hopefully.

Marco sighed and hugged her from behind. “Not a chance.”

***

“Alright, we have a few minutes left in class so if anyone has any questions on the graded midterms I just passed back, let me know. Otherwise you’re free to leave. Have a good weekend!”

Marco hunched over in his chair as he quickly scanned through the multiple choice questions and short answers. A few stupid mistakes here and there, but still an A - he’d even gotten a smiley face next to his essay assessing some example personality type or another. All in all, things felt right. Karate, sword-fighting, and adventuring were important to him but he’d always felt the most fulfilled helping others with their problems - psychology just seemed right.

A high-pitched, squawking voice interrupted him. “Hey, dude, what did you get for number 12?” Marco looked up at another student - Matt, if he was remembering correctly - who was hovering over him at an uncomfortably close distance. Even with how much life had changed in the past few years, his academic reputation stayed the same.

“Uh, C,” Marco responded absentmindedly.

“Oh, that makes sense. And what about 13?”

“B.”

“And… 14 through 35.”

“Just talk to Mrs. B, man,” Marco irritatedly replied, shaking his head. Normally he enjoyed helping classmates if he could, but he had promised Star he’d helm the planning for the daycare’s Easter party on account of her phobia - well, that, and he’d heard Matt bragging about how he’d blown off studying to play the new Super Slash Sisters game all night long. He looked back down to check over one last page and grinned to himself. The final essay prompt hadn’t been for a grade, but instead asked a simpler question: Why are you here? Without context, it might have seemed odd or downright rude, but the teacher had spent the first few months of the semester encouraging all the students to reflect on their goals and what they hoped to gain from the psychology program. The blunt prompt had caught him off guard, but after realizing what it was asking, he’d spent probably about as much time as he had on the rest of the exam combined describing his experiences and motivations on Mewni that drove him to help and support others.

Of course, he couldn’t help but talk about Star at length as part of that. His adorable, brave, compassionate best friend that inspired him to be more. Where would he even be now without her? He could still be at college, he supposed, but that wasn’t saying much. It was humorous to imagine: waking up, being driven to college by his mom, waving hello to Jackie every day (his foolproof plan to woo her had involved eventually moving past nodding, after all), getting straight As, working fruitlessly towards a red belt after classes, then… what? The world had so much more to offer him, and vice versa, and Star was the one who’d helped him realize that. The words had just flowed right out of his pen, paragraphs and paragraphs of glowing praise and affection, enough to leave his chest feeling as warm as it did when she was physically there.

“Hey, Marco, I have a question-”

Stirred from his contemplative state, Marco wheeled on the figure that had just tapped him on the shoulder, ready to tell Matt off for interrup- oh.

“Ludo? What are you doing here?”

“Oh, well, I was in the neighborhood and I thought I’d just drop in! But also, please help me. I did what you said but then I dribbled Boo Fly on the ground and he got really upset and-”

Marco sighed. Hope Star’s fine with me being late.

***

Most days, Star loved everything about her job. It was hard work, but it was so satisfying bringing smiles and warmth to the faces of the kids in her care and seeing them light up with stories to tell their families at the end of each day. Her hours were flexible, she got to spend time with Marco, and Antonio was a wonderful boss.

Today, however, was not most days.

Of freaking course Easter was Antonio’s favorite holiday.

The kids seemed to be enjoying his antics as he pranced around in a bunny costume, but for the life of her she just couldn’t understand why. Is it a normal rabbit or a person-sized one? No one even seems to know what it is! Does it lay bird eggs or rabbit eggs? Both are pretty horrifying if you ask me! If you get chocolate eggs in your Easter basket, does it lay them too? I’m not eating any soft brown rabbit droppings, Marco! They didn’t even get any days off for it, so Star was convinced the best thing to do was ignore its existence as a holiday entirely. Her incredibly valid concerns had largely been met with amusement, even by Marco, but Antonio had at least offered to let her keep her distance and work behind-the-scenes for the party they had planned, which was now going on in the main playroom.

Packing baskets with candy was easy enough. Chocolate, gummies, cookies, donuts. Candy corn for the humans and candied corn for the Mewmans - as much as the humans liked Mewman corn, they hadn’t quite accepted it as a valid dessert yet. There were a few special ones marked down as well. Some marshmallow mice for the Septarians, a ribeye steak for the Johansen - her third cousin or something like that, she wasn’t even sure exactly whose kid he was - and some dried bugs for the kappas… wait, since when were there any kappas at the daycare? She yanked the full list out from underneath the pile of sweets and quickly scanned it. 105? Aren’t there only 104 kids in the program this semester?

She almost missed it at the very top of the list: “Manudo Avarius”. She vaguely remembered hearing about a sibling with that name at some point… maybe they just joined? Something still seemed off to Star but she pushed it aside and finished the last of the baskets just in time for the end of the party. As the kids left, Star cheerfully handed out the baskets to the tune of joyous squeals from the kids and careful warnings from the parents to not eat too much at once. Pffftt, come on, I eat cake for breakfast and I turned out fine!

Curiously, she hadn’t spotted anyone that resembled Ludo yet even as the remaining crowd dwindled to almost nothing. Antonio had already begun to put away decorations when she finally spotted the figure, taking the basket over to them. But when they turned around, showing a braided beard… oh pegasus feathers.

“Star Butterfly! So good to see you again.”

“Hey Ludo,” she said. “Are you picking up Manudo?”

“Why would Menudo be here?”

“Well the paper said Manudo-”

“No, no, that’s not how it’s spelled, but besides, I’m here by myself. A large man with a magnificent beard asked me for my name and told me I was missing a party with lots of sweets! He kept calling me a child and I said I was a man and that my name was Ludo, but who cares when there’s free chips, am I right?” He reached into one of the five chip bags in his arms and stuffed a handful into his beak.

Man-udo. Dangit, Antonio. “So… good to see you, but what brings you here?”

“Well, I talked to Marco just the other day because it still just wasn’t working, but then I tried something else and that still didn’t work, so now I need your help again. It all started on Tuesday-”

Star slumped down into a beanbag chair and reached into the basket, deftly avoiding the bugs as she searched for cookies to nibble on. This is going to be a while.

***

“So what did you say this place was?” Tom asked as he glanced around the restaurant. The vibrant cherry-red booths and soulful singer crooning over the speakers created a very different atmosphere than anything in the Underworld, but he liked it.

Sitting across from him, Marco downed another fry and took a sip of his water before responding. “Diners are the best places to go for comfort food. Burgers, onion rings, waffles, all that kinda stuff. Emilio’s is the best in town.”

Next to Marco, Star was wolfing down onion rings by the handful. “The secret is that he hired a bunch of Eclipsa’s old chefs, so they make great Mewman and monster food too. Don’t tell Mom but their Mewnipendence Day pies are the best I’ve ever had - though they don’t call it that anymore.” She was still chewing when she spoke, but after so many years of knowing Star he had no trouble understanding her garbled words. “It’s really cool that Emilio was able to get back on his feet after the incident.”

“What incident?” Tom asked, eliciting an irritated groan from Marco.

“So basically, a few years ago, Ponyhead and I-”

“Oh boy, a Ponyhead story,” Janna sarcastically said, rolling her eyes, and Tom elbowed her side.

An older man with olive skin approached the table. ““Does everything taste alright? If your dining experience isn’t absolutely perfect, please let me know, I can get you anything. More to drink, dessert, maybe some mushrooms...”

“It’s great, Emilio,” Marco mumbled.

“Good, good…” Emilio was smiling a bit too hard as he backed away, his eyes lingering on Marco’s meal.

Marco caught Tom’s curious gaze and buried his head in his hands. “Look, it’s a long story. There was this pizza, then spiraling alcoholism, then a bit of arson…”

Janna’s hand, resting on Tom’s leg, unconsciously twitched as she perked up. “Woah, OK, now I actually do want to hear this.”

“Too late, no take backs.”

“Aww, you’re no fun.”

“So anyway, we picked the restaurant this time so have you two decided what we’re doing after?” Oh crud, we forgot to plan. Tom’s initial instinct was to claim a beginner’s mistake, since it was only the second of their monthly double dates and their first time planning the after-dinner entertainment… except the actual reason was that he and Janna happened to get into their first major makeout session the night they had set aside for planning, burning thoughts of accomplishing anything else to a crisp in the process. Star and Marco were the last people that would be squicked out by romantic affection- that wasn’t the problem. After years of slacking on responsibilities and having any kind of social life at all in a misguided attempt to chase after Star, he couldn’t help but feel extra guilty over this specific lapse.

Janna leaned in, whispering in his ear. “Can’t we just hit up the Sands of Eternal Torment?”

“For the tenth time, Jan, no,” he hissed through his teeth. “There’s, like, a 25% chance you’d all have your souls violently ripped from your bodies.”

“Only 25? Ew, nevermind, just let them pick.” She leaned in even closer, her breath hot in his ear. “If it’s somewhere boring, we could always just sneak away and-”

“Good evening!” Tom squeaked and quickly turned his head at the sudden boisterous call from his other side, almost smacking Janna in the temple with his horn in the process. It was an incredibly short bird creature with a thick grey beard - a kappa, if Tom was remembering correctly. It wasn’t their same waiter from before, but hey, what did he know about how Earth restaurants worked?

Tom held out his glass, but the supposed waiter ignored it. “Yeah, can I have a refill on the demonade, please?” Star and Marco glanced over at the waiter, their eyes opening wide before they both groaned and smacked their faces on the table in unison. Alright, maybe he’s not a waiter then.

***

“Star...” Marco uttered. Star removed her wandering lips from his neck and propped herself up to look lovingly at him, shivering slightly as she abandoned the warmth of his bare skin. It had been probably over a year now since they’d first become more intimate like this, but the fire still burned just as hot. Heck, it was better now than those first forays, Star reckoned; with time came confidence and experience that let them enjoy themselves and each other to the absolute fullest. They’d both had busy lives the last few months or so, and with the end of the semester fast approaching Star knew they would be even busier soon, but none of that seemed to matter in this time they’d taken for themselves. Even after a break for a shower and snacks, their present cozy state under the blanket with nothing between them still felt as radiant as any proper afterglow could.

“Mhmm?” A devious thought crossed her mind, but she tried her best to feign innocence as she slowly slithered down his body, leaving fiery trails of kisses down his chest and sweet, sweet abs.

“Not that I don’t like, you know, doing this but I don’t, uh, know if I have it in me for another rouuuuuuuu-” His voice shot up an octave and his whole body jolted as she blew raspberries on his belly button and snuck her arms up to tickle around his armpits. “Star, please- I can’t- I’m- can’t breathe-” he sputtered out between hysterical bouts of laughter.

She was laughing too by the time his flailing pushed her off of him. Before he’d even collected himself, he lunged forward, trying to catch her with a determined-but-still-goofy grin on his face. Star dodged and backed away from the bed entirely as Marco grasped at her limbs. He finally gave up, lying on his stomach while resting his head on his chin and staring up at her. Even though his tush was right there for the ogling, Star was instead captivated by his enamored gaze and dopey smile.

“Dangit, Marco, you know I can’t resist that look,” she huffed, allowing him to take her hands and pull her next to him on the bed.

“I know,” he said smugly. “You’re not the only one who can weaponize being all lovey dovey.”

“The student has become the master,” she quipped, their hands still joined between them as they lay on their sides.

“But I do mean it, Star. I love every single part of you, and that’s not gonna change. Things have been hectic lately for both of us, but stuff with the daycare, what you want to do for a living, Ludo… we can figure that all out. Just reach into your pocket if you need me.”

She gently patted his head, running her fingers through his freshly shampooed hair. It was alluring to smell, to hold, to feel brushing up against her. Though the problems they faced now were of a different kind than the forces of evil that they’d spent their earlier years tackling, his presence was still what she needed most to ground her and make everything feel alright. Her face dipped in for a kiss, initially short and sweet but quickly succumbing to a familiar hunger. She pounced on him but miscalculated her momentum, rolling the whole way over him and pulling him with her so he lay on top. Not complaining, she thought as she hugged him close and indulged in the sensory bliss of his skin on hers.

He lightly rested his forehead on hers. “Do you, um, mind if we maybe don’t, y’know…” he trailed off sheepishly.

“Marco,” she crooned, holding his face in her hands. “How many times do I have to say it: I don’t want to do anything if you’re not comfortable with it.”

“I-I can try that, um, thing again, though, instead if- if you want?” Oh sweet, sweet Marco. Even after years together, he still couldn’t rest until he was sure he’d done everything he could for her.

“Yeah,” she implored, breathy with the mounting anticipation as he began a trail of kisses downward.

“What thing are you two talking about?” Time seemed to stop as any building pleasure completely evaporated. Marco grabbed the crumpled bedsheet and pulled it over the two of them as the couple stared at the window in complete incredulity to where Ludo was standing on a flapping Dennis’s back. “Well, anyway, I need some more advice-”

“GET. OUT!”

***

Marco rested his chin in his hands while Star paced in front of him. Three months. Three months of Ludo showing up at the most inopportune times, three months of Star trying and failing to feel satisfied with her efforts at the daycare, three months of a semester so intense that they were both at their wit’s end with all of it. Ludo had once again come to the college for advice after his 26th attempt to regain his old friends failed just as catastrophically as the previous 25. He was persistent, Marco had to give him that, and the old monster crew had even been pretty supportive when Star and Marco had tracked them down themselves and explained the situation. The issue seemed to be entirely from within Ludo’s own mind, which made it a dozen times harder to solve. It was the last day of the semester and they’d been haunted by thoughts of every minute of summer vacation spent throwing themselves at the brick wall of Ludo’s psyche, so they’d made a pact that today was all or nothing. Neither wanted to ditch Ludo, he wasn’t a bad guy, but enough was enough.

“Any ideas?” Star piped up, sounding entirely lost and uncertain as her gaze kept nervously darting over to Ludo who was brushing his beard and snacking on its droppings in the empty playroom. “We’ve tried psychology, reverse psychology, pep talks, reverse reverse psychology, all-you-can-eat chips, ygolohscysp-”

“Which still isn’t a thing,” Marco interrupted.

“Well I’m sorry, I’m not the one with a fancy degree, Marco!” she growled, tossing her arms out. “Ugh, sorry, this is just so frustrating. Doesn’t he have, like, a thousand brothers and sisters he could hang out with? If he can’t relax around the monsters, why does he always have to pester us when he could-” Her pacing instantly halted as her eyes opened wide. “Oh crud.”

He stood up and placed a hand on her shoulder reassuringly, unsure whether her apparent epiphany was a good or bad thing. “Star?”

“He came to us for help becoming comfortable around his old pals again because he already was comfortable around us.”

“Way too comfortable,” Marco muttered with a wince that Star mirrored. They were still a little bit traumatized from the shower incident. “But that means-”

“He never needed his monster pals, he just needed… friends,” she said just as he had the revelation on his own.

Marco smacked his forehead and sighed. “And he spent so much time fixating on this one thing, and we spent so much time just trying to solve his problem and shove him out the door, that we never tried just… being his friends.”

They both looked through the little window into the playroom, where Ludo saw them and waved with a giant smile.

Star buried her face in her hands, messing up her hair like she was prone to do whenever she was feeling frazzled. “Ugh, I feel terrible.”

“Same, but… we can’t be his only friends, though. I feel bad for him, but I don’t know if I have it in me to be his BFF.”

“You’re right, you’re right, but who else could even handle that? Who? The guy’s so hyper and weird, ugh, he reminds me of me as a kid, except way less cute.”

“...a kid.” They both mumbled simultaneously. It was as if a single lightbulb had gone off above both of them at once as all the pieces fell into place. “That’s it!”

Star bolted out the door to gather the handful of children that hadn’t been picked up yet while Marco got Ludo. A few minutes later, they met up at the rec center basketball court where Antonio helped them set up some kid-sized hoops. It took a bit of coaxing, but after a few minutes Ludo was having the time of his life tossing the ball around. The kids seemed to enjoy it, too, as he regaled them with tales of his adventures on Earth (and a few about a space princess with a cyclops and robot for friends that Marco was pretty sure he made up). Star and Marco had joined for a few games but both decided to just step back and watch from the bleachers for a while.

As they observed the scene, listening to the ecstatic wails of everyone on the court as they ran around with the ball, there was a smile on Star’s face that was more content than Marco had seen in a while. “See? You made their whole week just by giving them someone fun to play with,” Marco said, lacing his fingers through her hand. “They like you a lot more than they like balloons and candy.”

“Even I don’t need candy with you here being so sweet,” she cooed, nuzzling into his shoulder, neither taking their eyes off the courts. Ludo passed the ball to Trevor, who spun around and passed it back in a fluid motion that allowed Ludo to score. The blissful, carefree sight was soothing after the intensity of Marco’s life lately. Just some kids and a small bird man having fun playing a game together… life didn’t always have to be so complicated. The serene moment abruptly ended when Ludo’s beak caught on the rim, leaving him dangling above the ground and shrieking for help. As Star squeezed Marco’s hand, sighed, and stood up to go help the poor kappa, Marco knew it could never be truly simple either.

[erudite-rebel]

Title: Forced Offerings Summary: The recounts of Bartholomew Oobleck regarding an incident which took the lives of his parents when he was a child.  Characters: Bartholomew Oobleck, Qrow Branwen, OC’s Notes: I’m posting a bit of writing I did. A few people who follow will be familiar with my Magnus Archives AU, or at the very least have seen me spam about it and draw art for the (3) other people who I know that listen to the podcast. I’m actually very proud of this little bit of writing, though I understand not everyone would want to read it. I’m trying to get myself back into properly writing, and though this is fanfic I think getting it out there and maybe receiving feedback could help?

It’s a horror story. One I kind of want to adapt, honestly, to a Creepypasta to submit to NoSleep, but for now it can remain like this.

Warnings for body horror, gore, and guts.

“There has to be some sort of rational explanation for-”

“For someone wearing someone else’s skin like a meat suit?” Qrow’s words were calm. Somehow he was always calm. Even after all of this. 

Barty leaned against the chair, hands gripping the back of it until it was twisted and pressed against the table. He had dark bags under his eyes and was unsure of the last time he’d had a proper sleep. Every piece of him felt tired, from toes to fingertips, and he knew if he laid down there would be nothing to gain for it. Just wakefulness, watching, waiting.

“I always thought I wanted it to be real, Qrow,” he said. “All my life. Ever since the wanting to know dug its claws into my head for the first time. Even when we both should have run away after the incident. I- but now I’m here. And I really do know now, even if there’s so much more that I don’t. Hidden. Layers waiting for me to scrape away and dig down into them.”

When he looked back up Qrow’s face was near unreadable, as it always was. As though his old friend had at some point become a spy. “You can still get out, Bart. Quit. Forget.”

Barty laughed weakly. “You don’t… you don’t think I tried? I attempted to write up a letter of resignation, and it was as though the keys had transformed, like staring at some unknown machine as the cursor blinked. So I took up a pen, determined to write it, and I forgot how to write. And when I saw Ozpin I… the words. They wouldn’t be spoken. I don’t think I can quit.”

He sagged then and pulled out his chair, sitting heavily down. His head was laid in his arms, trying to think it through, but what was there to think of? To understand? He was trapped. A group of beings wearing skin suits had attempted to break into the archives. He’d looked at one of them wearing the face of a person he’d taken a statement from. Veronica Chase of Leeds.

“Everything I remembered pointed to… to the world being a very dark place, but I think I. I was too young to understand just how horrific.”

Cool fingers curled around his. Barty squeezed them on reflex, trying to convince himself not to do anything so childish as cry. There was so much going on. Too much going on. And he knew Ozpin, Qrow, perhaps some of the other assistants, he knew they knew more. And those secrets, that untold knowledge, burned like a hunger in him as much as recording statements had become. A part of him, one he didn’t yet know how loud it truly was, wanted to devour that knowledge.

Qrow’s voice broke into his thoughts. “...Have you ever spoken about it?”

Barty considered the question a moment before he lifted his head. Qrow was no longer unreadable. He was sad. Maybe angry as well. 

“I haven’t.” He’d alluded to things to Qrow, when they were young and just a few stupid, desperate children, but he’d never told the full story. Perhaps not even to the police.

Qrow nodded to the tape recorder. “Maybe now’s the time.”

“You mean give a statement?” He sounded incredulous, as though that was the last thing he ought to be doing.

The other man shrugged, but thin fingers curled a little tighter. The gesture was soothing. “Couldn’t hurt.”

Barty sat up straighter, looking at the recorder waiting for him to merely press record. It called to him. With a sigh he picked up his glasses and placed them on his face, straightening his back. Qrow’s hands retreated over the table to his lap, and the other man was silent as he slouched and stared at Barty.

The record button depressed with a satisfying click, and the gears within ground softly with their age. The sound tingled along his spine like light, tickling fingers.

“Statement of Bartholomew Oobleck, regarding a series of deaths at Eastwyke Museum of Artefacts and Antiquities in 1996. Statement taken on November 22nd, 2020. Audio recording by Bartholomew Oobleck, Head Archivist of the Beacon Institute, London.” He paused a moment, as memories returned, like he’d merely opened a door. He remembered being a young and curious boy, and the scent of dust and paper and age in the museum’s storage. It was almost as if he were there, and he knew he’d be able to tell the story down to the deepest detail, and when he began to talk he wasn’t entirely sure who he was talking to - Qrow, the tape, or himself. 

“Statement begins.”

I don’t suppose there are many people who would remember the Eastwyke Museum of Artefacts and Antiquities anymore. Or if they do, they might pretend not to. The galleries had originated from the private collection of Duke Francis Egerton, who had been the Duke of Eastwyke for perhaps a decade in the eighteen hundreds and primarily concerned himself with gathering rare and unusual antiquities. In the 1950’s several of his descendants saw fit to open it to the public, perhaps to use it to make a little money or invest. Despite that it didn’t see tourism. The patrons were mainly students from Oxford, or travelling academics. Anthropologists, archaeologists, Egyptologists… even had an entomologist come in weekly to just sit in the insect room and take it all in. No, not many people would remember it, but it was my childhood.

My parents, Pearl and Mathis Oobleck, were archaeologists. They were often abroad with work and digs. Sometimes I went with them, sometimes I stayed at home with my grandfather Tennyson, who had a little cottage on the grounds when he worked as curator. When he retired the mantle passed to my father and they were home a little more, unless going off to expand the collection. It was… a happy enough childhood. Maybe lonely sometimes, but I had an entire world of secret knowledge to explore, a library to devour and help curb my hyperactivity. I was content prowling those halls, which felt more like home to me than our cottage.

When I was nine the proprietors purchased a considerable number of artifacts from a private auction, something to do with a portion of Duke Egerton’s original collection that had made it into the hands of a branch of the royal family they’d had a rivalry with. The purchase caused quite a stir. All sorts of wild stories were told… not the least of which was that many of the artifacts there were once bought from grave robbers. I never heard the truth of it, though I suspect it was. Most private collections are just that. Stolen.

I was forbidden to go near the newest items. While it was next to impossible to keep me out of the storage rooms, I had learned early not to touch anything, and was not allowed in the room where they were held without an accompaniment to make sure I kept my hands well off. I remember standing in the middle of the room, hands stuck firm under my arms to resist the temptation to touch the pottery or old weapons. I must have looked like I had seen Father Christmas as I turned every which way trying to get a peek at it. I was a horrible annoyance, I suspect.

One part of the lot, though, I remember very well. It had been a beautifully preserved set of canopic jars. I recall being told they were from the eighteenth dynasty. They were made of black stone, each head carved with exquisite detail, the polish hanging on despite the millenia since. All over the surface of the jar were carved hieroglyphs, uncharacteristic of the usual designs. Several people believed the jars to be fake, as the material was wrong for the time, and the glyphs were unusual, but carbon dating seemed to suggest it was an immutable fact. I think there was a lot of discussion whether to open the jar and study the remains inside.

The largest advocate for their authenticity was Dr. Herbert Renshaw, a loud and corpulent man. I never knew him well. He was the sort of man who didn’t have patience for even a docile child, let alone a hyperactive boy with a million questions. He usually didn’t want me about so I didn’t hear much of them until he’d found me one day loitering near the entrance of the archive where they were being kept and he asked if I would like to come inside.

I remember finding that odd, chiefly because I knew he didn’t care for me, but also because of the look in his eyes. I was never much good at deciphering human emotions when I was younger, but even then I thought there was something of a gleam to them. I readily agreed, though, and darted inside the moment I was allowed to.

We didn’t have much in the way of conversation. He talked at length about the glyphs carved into the rock, and how they’d seemed to be in several different languages. His speech had been rapid, I remember, and I’d had difficulty following along. All the while I’d been edging closer to them, feeling captivated by the staring eyes of the figureheads atop the jars. I felt as though they were looking back at me, urging me in. 

I hadn’t even been aware of reaching for them when Dr. Renshaw’s hand slapped down hard over my own, knocking it away. Knuckles stinging, I’d turned and fled as he glared. But even now I’m not sure if I ran from the slap, the look in his eyes, or the fact that there had seemed to be radiant, physical heat from those jars. 

For the next few days I was kept busy with my homeschooling and hardly got a chance to go into the museum beyond writing a maths test in my mother's office. Whenever I was in, though, I happened to see Dr. Renshaw. Normally he was a neat and tidy sort of man, with expensive suits and his moustache waxed within an inch of its life, yet… it seemed as though he was keeping less care of himself. Hair unbrushed, buttons undone, bowtie lank or missing. And as he walked he’d mutter to himself and turn a wild sort of gaze on a person, something that made you feel less like a person and more like an object.

When I asked my mother about it she dismissed it as him being overworked and told me to concentrate harder on my studies. I tried, but the memory of the way he walked and stared wouldn’t be banished from my mind.

It was on a Monday that it truly started. I had left one of my science textbooks in my mother’s office and needed it for that day’s lesson, but it was on Monday’s the museum was closed, so I took my father’s key and let myself in the back entrance. I was hardly afraid. I knew these halls like the back of my hand.

As I was passing through one of the archives - it had been stuffy and hot with summer, without climate control - I heard an odd sound. A sort of whimpering coming from further in the dark. At first I rooted in place, wondering if I should run and get my father, too afraid to call out. When the sound came again I crept through the shelves, terrified of what I might find, when I came upon one of the librarians, Maggie Law. I’d always liked her. She let me read what I like and sometimes would sneak me toffee’s or other sweets. I’m certain she had a kind, round face, but now all I can remember is how she’d looked there in the shadows. Yellowing skin and eyes, soaked with sweat, hands clutched over her side. I remember her crying, her voice so broken and small as she said ‘he pulled it from me, he pulled it from me.’ 

I ran then, straight for my parents. It had taken them a good five minutes to get me to talk enough sense to call an ambulance. I remember watching from my window as she was taken away, staring through old warped glass at the blue lights. 

I also remember something else, though. Dr. Renshaw. His face looking out from a window at the same scene. Even though I couldn’t see him clearly, my vision what it was, I felt sick just to look at him. I felt dread.

More attacks followed. The following day the groundskeeper, Kevin Rutherford, was found dead, torch in hand. I overheard the police telling my parents he seemed like he must have had a heart attack while patrolling the grounds that night. The day after that an archaeologist named Judith Churchill was found in a state of shock in the parking lot, having finished up late that night. 

The museum closed. Everyone by that point was terrified, and the police were doing regular patrols. I was thirsty to know what was happening but my parents refused to tell me, so I’d taken to listening in on the telephone whenever someone rang. I eavesdropped on one such call and learned that Maggie Law had died. Hepatic encephalopathy, they’d said. I remember struggling an ancient medical textbook down from a shelf just to look it up. It’s a condition caused by acute liver failure.

I was in a right state after that. My parents were making sure to keep the doors locked. I remember my mother tucked me in and told me not to worry. I try to always remember that.

It was around ten pm that a knock came at the door. Unable to sleep I’d made a little tent of a blanket and was reading by torchlight when I heard it. Curious who it could be at that hour with so much going on, I crept from my bed to go to the stairs to watch the front hall. I thought perhaps it might be a policeman, that there’d be some news.

It was my father who answered the door. On the threshold stood Dr. Renshaw, and he looked haggard. Deep bags below his fever-bright eyes, cheeks almost sunken, hair a mess. I remember he had a hand tucked into his jacket. 

My father invited him in, of course. There’d been concern in his voice as he shut the door and warned him he shouldn’t be out so late with such strangeness going on. 

I remember the door swinging shut. I remember Dr. Renshaw pulling one of the jars from his jacket and noticing the eyes of Qebehsenuf, the falcon, somehow staring out from its black and smooth surface. And then Renshaw reached for my father.

Words do not feel as though they can describe. I watched as his hand seemed to sink through clothes and skin and flesh without a drop of blood. I remember my father’s face going stark white as my mother asked what was going on. And then Renshaw pulled his hand back.

It was like nothing I had yet seen. Pink, almost purplish, tubes were gripped in Renshaw’s hand. My father screamed then, falling to his knees, watching as this mass was pulled from him. There was too much even for Renshaw to hold and it slipped to the ground with a wet splat, and seemed to move like a languid snake. 

My father fell over then, as my mother screamed hysterically. All I remember clearly was Renshaw looking up at me as he held my father's intestines like fleshy ropes, letting them drag on the ground and slap his clothing. Our eyes met. They were like I had never seen before. There was something mad there, but also elation or euphoria I couldn’t understand.

I ran then, bolting for my parent's room. I remember crawling under their bed and curling up beneath the headboard, hands over my ears as I listened to my mother scream before it just… ended. I waited to hear boots upon the stairs, for Renshaw to come and stick his hand into me, but he never came. All I heard was the door swing shut.

I didn’t leave until morning when the police arrived. The maid found my parents, and the police found me. Had had to drag me from under the bed, in fact. They didn’t let me see their bodies, and the funeral was closed casket. I told the police who I’d seen but Renshaw had disappeared along with those canopic jars. Jars I worry that had gotten full on what was stolen from his coworkers.

I went to go live with my grandfather after that. There was a lot of therapy. I was pushed harder than ever into my schoolwork, and I treated it like a drug to quiet my mind. Eventually I think I half convinced myself it was a hallucination by the time I went to high school. Now I know better.

Statement ends.

[grimmseye]

A Bird in the Hand: Chapter Nine

Read on Ao3 here!

Rating: M

Fandom: Critical Role

Relationships: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss, Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast (eventual),

Chapter Characters: Mollymauk Tealeaf, Essek Thelyss, Jester Lavorre

Chapter Tags/Warnings: Molly Rez, Amnesiac Mollymauk, Oh My God They Were Roommates, Acrophobia, Violence, Tarot, Bed-sharing

— — —

Essek goes silent in the days leading up to the peace talks. It's an affair Mollymauk only faintly understands, static-filled memories informing him of something, some tension in the air of impending violence and fear. There's a memory of his own voice urging them to get out, there's a reason he doesn't want a Name, attention is fine but being known is not.

This is going to determine the immediate fate of two countries. The lives of their soldiers, thrown to the slaughter for a cause Mollymauk could not comprehend, could be saved. And that was good, yes, in a distant and grand sort of way. It was too big for him to fit it into a scope he could understand.

Essek, he was sure, knew that scope, and yet Mollymauk doubted that was the source of his stress. There was something else under the surface, that connected to the way his ears started to droop when the conversation swung to the Mighty Nein. More concerning, though,was the fact that Essek had started to disappear. Where Mollymauk had previously heard a muffled voice from the tower's door, there was now silence, the kind that emerged from an absence of a person to be quiet. By the time Mollymauk took notice of it, the absences were regular enough to be timed.

Let the world feel a shudder wrack its spine when Mollymauk Tealeaf produced the beginnings of a plan.

It would never go beyond those beginnings — he wasn't the planning sort. Essek disappeared, which meant that his room was empty and unguarded, which meant that if Mollymauk was going to break into his space, it would have to be now.

He didn't even wait to be sure. A minute spent double checking was a minute sooner Essek would return, so the moment that silence made itself known, Mollymauk was already crossing the tower's bridge. He checked the lock for anything that would explode if he tried to pick it, found nothing, and grinned to himself as he slipped a homemade set of thieves tools into the slot.

Molly's triumph was short-lived. The hook found nothing, no tumblers to leverage into place. It was like the inside was perfectly smooth, but when he tried the knob, it refused to turn.

A grimace stole his face. "Wizards," he growled. A vague sense of someone disappearing in the middle of a fight, off to who the fuck knows where — but that hadn't been a wizard, had it, no, that was the odd drawling voice that asked after Molly's swords and he didn't feel a lick of guilt spinning a lie on the spot because it made relief light in Fjord's eyes and wasn't that a good thing, better to comfort someone with a lie than torment them with a meaningless truth.

Fjord. Taller than Molly with a frame that suggested a strength he really didn't have. Sneaking up behind him and dunking his head under the water and laughing as the man began to sputter, that'll show him. Warmth in the chest as — that was the wizard, yes, the one who froze amid fire and didn't even know how to skim off the top — as someone offered a gorgeous sword to him that let him flit out of one space and into another. "Mister Mollymauk."

"Mister Caleb."

The words fell from his lips, thick as honey. His hand slipped from the doorknob, and he felt a soreness in his palm. How long had he been gripping it?

Mollymauk shook his head to clear it, grinding his thumb against his temple. Door was locked, so —

Windows. He could always get in through a window.

The brick of the towers were uneven enough to climb, though falling from that height without a net to catch him would not end well. Right about now he would kill for a sword that let him teleport. Or Nott's feather spell to catch his fall. Yasha, who he knew would throw herself off a ledge to catch him, and be just fine when she hit the ground.

His chest felt tight, the aching loneliness clawing to the surface. Suddenly he regretted not telling them, these people who were blurred in his mind but make the space beneath his ribs feel hollow.

He drew a sharp breath. The Nein meant something to him. Essek, no matter how much Molly liked the man, was doing something to harm them.

The first brick was cold under his hand. He wasn't the strongest individual, but he knew how to climb. Molly kept himself level with the bridge so if he did lose his grip, he wouldn't fall all the way to the ground below. His muscles ached far sooner than he would prefer. He might have to start doing strength training on top of his stretches. But his hooves took to the narrow brick, his tail working as a counterbalance, and it was only in the moments where he had to ease away from the safety net of the bridge that his pulse really began to race.

The window was positioned where a drop would send him directly to the ground. Much as Molly wanted to stop and catch his breath, freezing now wasn't an option. He dragged in slow breaths to try to calm his palpitating heart. Hand then foot then hand then foot. Sweat on his fingers made his grip slide, panic washing cold over his back as he seized the brick and panted against it. The pitching sensation continued, his body screaming at him for this foolishness. He'd dug himself out of the dirt twice only to break himself from a fall. It likely wouldn't even kill him, just crush his bones, sternum crunched into his lungs for him to bleed out his mouth until he either expired or Essek returned to find him.

He nearly sobbed when he felt the cold of the window against his fingertips. Molly braced his hand against it, palm sliding over the glass with a squeak. Nausea rose in his throat. Did the window even open? Was it locked, or just stuck from disuse?

Grinding his teeth, Mollymauk braced as much weight as he dared against that hand, trying to muster the leverage to force the window up — gods he'd break it it necessary —

A loud crack split the air. Molly's hand slipped.

He watched the tower fall away and blur, too quick to feel anything but shock as he hit empty air. And then something else hit him, knocking the wind out of him as he tumbled, stars spinning to earth before coming to a halt clutched in Essek's arms.

Molly wheezed and clung to him, the position awkward — Essek's shoulder dug just between his ribs, but he was more than happy to sling legs around his waist and claw at his mantel for a handful of material. In the haze of his manic vision, he saw branches of light — spectral wings that extended from Essek's shoulder blades, flapping periodically to keep them aloft.

The descent made Molly squeak and cling tighter. Sweat was dripping from his temples, shaking violently as Essek stooped down to force his hooves onto solid earth with a grunt of exertion. Even then, Mollymauk didn't let go of him, just clinging to his arms instead.

Essek yanked himself away. Molly let him go, wrapping his arms around himself. He forced a grin, saying, "Good — g-good save, Mister Thelyss."

Molly had never seen anger on Essek's face before. It was a quiet thing, simmering beneath a frigid surface. The pin of his ears, the tremor in his hands, the clench of his jaw, those were the things that tipped Molly off to just how badly he'd fucked up here.

"What were you doing?" Essek asked, voice dangerously steady.

Mollymauk even considered telling the truth. Then he remembered how Essek had physically crushed a person's body into an unrecognizable mash, and said, "Well — let me tell you — that was not worth it." It let his brain race ahead as he lifted a finger and played up his breathless state. Not snooping, not spying, just — "I even forgot to actually bring the paints with me."

"The —" Essek's anger faltered. "Paints?"

Molly gave him a grin, rubbing the back of his neck. His legs were trembling too violently to remain upright, and he let himself collapse into the grass instead. Play up the pity angle. He's just a frightened, helpless tiefling, nothing to see here. "I was gonna paint a dick on your window."

Blue, blue, blue. Blue skin, blue hair, but she danced with every other color. A streak of mischief that Mollymauk adored, and he'd snarl in infernal just to delight in her laughter, the best audience he could ask for.

Essek's eyes took on the same hopeless adoration that Mollymauk felt. His shoulders slumped, and he ran his fingers through his hair. Then again. On the third time, his fingers caught, and he tugged at the white strands, for Molly to push himself upright with a "Whoa, hey —" and then to pitch forward as black spots flitted in his vision.

He landed against Essek again, and wheezed a laugh. "I need to sit down. Like, now. Come on."

Molly grabbed Esseks arm and fell back onto the grass, yanking the drow with him to bully him into lying down. It was tempting to just burrow against his side, bask in pressure and warmth. Instead he just let their arms brush where they splayed in the grass.

"These are expensive clothes," Essek said.

"And you can magic the dirt off them, can't you?" Mollymauk looked to the stars. He wasn't sure if they were different here than in the Empire. He thought he remembered somebody pointing shapes out to him, an art not unlike the cards he dealt. You could be born under certain stars, but Molly didn't know them. No matter how many times the lines were traced, he only saw a field of pinprick lights.

"That was stupid, you know," Essek murmured. "Climbing the tower. At least Jester can catch herself if she falls."

Mollymauk scoffed. "Who needs magic? Well, their own magic, anyway. Apparently I've got a wizard at my beck and call."

"Oh, gods," Essek rasped, and Molly cackled. "I should have let you hit the ground."

"It was your fault I lost my grip, anyway," Molly snorted. "Is teleporting always that loud?"

"Yes. Something to do with the displacement of air." Essek raised a hand, curling his fingers through the air. "If you had not been scaling my tower, you would not have fallen."

"Now let's not go pointing fingers." Molly smirked as he grabbed Essek's hand to force it back down to the grass.

The moon smiled down at them, lopsided and thin. A cloud skimmed past it, stealing away the light that bathed them. Mollymauk wasn't particularly devout, but he had to wonder if it wasn't Her blessing.

The Peace Talks arrived almost without Mollymauk's awareness. They were only heralded but the shift in Essek's attitude, from a quiet that was uncharacteristic even for him to snappish remarks, banishing Mollymauk from any space the two of them just happened to end up in together. That was only when he made himself visible at all, still shutting himself away in his towers, shielded from prying eyes.

Mollymauk still wished he'd managed to get in, but whatever was coming, he would have no say in it. And really, that was just fine. Molly really wasn't one to interfere, only to react.

Just waiting had his nerves twisting up, and he found himself slipping things into a bag throughout the day. Swords in their scabbards, the sturdier outfits Essek bought him, gold pieces stolen unabashedly from a cloak left hanging up to be washed later. He hardly realized he was doing it until there was no more room, and he was having to stretch the chord to fit it around the button.

A sigh pushed from his chest. Mollymauk set the bag aside and reached for his supplies. He had a card to make.

The Eclipse was joined with Fractures. Upright, it meant convergence, the joining of multiple parts. Reversed, it was separation, a breaking point. One of the more straightforward symbols, and one that felt right as he began to sketch the pieces.

The sun, and the two moons, overlapping in a line of three. At the edges where they met, they shattered.

Molly, Molly, what does that one mean, is that you?

He was smiling before he looked up. Jester was practically sprawled over his back, her hands falling on his shoulders as she peered at the cards he'd laid out.

"Naw," he grinned. "It's us."

He was being facetious, but there was a sliver of truth tucked into it. Jester gasped, "Us? Us like you and me or like all of us?" A grin spread across her face as she pressed her cheek to his. "Molly," she giggled, saying his name like Mawl-ee with that curling accent of hers, "do you have a crush on me?"

Her giggling said it was a joke but he purred, "You know I do, dear." And again, he sort of meant it. Not really, not like how she obviously pined over Mister Fjord, but Mollymauk gave his heart easily, and if almost anyone of this ragtag group wanted to hold his hand or take him to bed, he'd be happy to follow along.

"Okay okay okay, but you only have one," Jester points out. "What are the rest?"

"You want a full reading?"

He was already reaching for his cards as Jester swept a chair to his side and threw herself into it, tail curling with excitement. "Of course," she scoffed, and then perked up. "But first, what's that one?"

"The Eclipse," Mollymauk told her. "So if you take this as the past for the Mighty Nein, this is very literally just our meeting. It's the convergence of multiple parts into a singular whole, see? Now, for present..."

He spread the remainder of his deck on the table. Molly reached for her, saying, "Here, take my hand. Since this is for all of us, the more guiding our hands, the better." And if maybe he nudged them to his own pick, all that mattered was that Jester didn't realize.

He guided her hand to the middle of the arc, then drew and flipped a card. This one was an image of two coins, one gold and one silver, balanced on opposite ends of a scale. "The Coin," he announced. "Reversed. Also known as Risk. Things are uncertain right now. We may be headed for misfortune — but it's not defined just yet."

"What kind of misfortune?" Jester asked.

"Well, they're not exact," Molly chuckled. "But maybe the Future will tell us?"

"Oh!" Jester perked up. "Can I pick it?"

Molly laughed and leaned back, offering her the table. With Eclipse out of the way — and more importantly, Fractures — there wasn't much that could give her a terrible reading —

Jester pulled a card towards the end of the deck, flipping it with a "Hah!" and all but slamming the card on the table.

Even though he was the one to make it, Mollymauk felt his gut twist at the sight.

"The Broken," he announced. The image looked like a web, twisted, jagged spokes of a wheel that ran into one another. "Upright, this card calls for..." Tragedy, specifically. Not always, but often. "Harrowing times. Loss. It looks like we've got our work cut out for us, Jes."

Molly looked at her, feeling his heart skip at the crestfallen expression on her face. He reached for her hand, giving it a squeeze. "So it's good we're together, yeah?" He cajoled, bumping his shoulder into hers until she started giggling.

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right. Thanks, Molly." She stood up and, sensing the cue, Molly went with her. It was entirely unsurprising when she wrapped her arms around him. Their tails twined together, mutual purrs rumbling in their chests as they swayed back and forth. Then she stepped back, going, "Okay okay okay. Do me, now!"

"I already gave you a reading."

"Yeah but that was age-s ago!"

"Alright, alright, but it'll cost you."

The cracking sound of a teleportation spell snapped Molly out of his reverie. He gasped, sitting bolt upright and gouging into his work. His face was wet. The card was ruined.

Cussing, Molly wiped at his eyes. He tossed the card aside, not the least bit satisfied by its tap against the wall as he headed for the door.

Night had long since fallen, keeping the halls dark as he nudged the door open. From below, a sound made his heart skip: a heavy thud, and rasping breath.

Molly froze for just a second, then grabbed one sword before rushing downstairs. The moment he hit them, he could make out Essek's collapsed form, small and shaking. Snippets of his voice were muffled by the curl of his own body, unintelligible muttering between panting breaths.

"Essek," Molly started, "what the hell —"

"Leave me alone, Mollymauk." His voice was a whisper. Essek draw a sharp breath and started to force himself to his feet, the legs quaking so violently they threatened to give out.

"You're a wreck," he shot back, reaching for Essek's arm. "You —"

Essek snarled. Gravity impacted Molly's chest, spots flying in his eyes as he was clawed away from Essek. He collided with a table, the panel of glass screaming against its metal stand, the sound of a crunch as pressure fractured it down the middle. A hot, throbbing pain settled in his back where he'd impacted.

Molly stared at Essek, where the drow stood, a hand still outstretched. His eyes were wide, pupils blown and ears pinned back. A croaking down dragged from his throat.

Molly groaned and staggered to his hooves. His hand dipped to the handle of his scimitar, lips peeling back as he glared at Essek through narrowed eyes.

"Mollymauk," Essek panted, a tinge of shock in his voice. His hand wavered and then fell, he took an aborted step forward.

Molly prowled towards him. Essek gave no fight as Molly drew his sword and walked him back against the door. Essek's feet were flat on the tile, putting him low enough for Molly to crane his head up into his face.

"Are you done," he asked, voice dripping with derision. "Or do you have to break something else to feel better?"

It was satisfying to watch the shame drip into Essek's face, a horrified light behind his eyes. He didn't speak, only stared, chest heaving.

It was a testament to how rattled Essek had to be that he didn't put up a fight. Molly didn't think he could take him one on one. The man could skip through the air, twist his mind like puddy, turn his body into a puppet on strings if he needed to. But he only shrank against the wall, lips trembling, looking an inch away from crying.

Molly could push him that extra inch.

"Answer the question."

"I'm — sorry —"

Molly cut off his gulping with a, "I didn't ask if you were sorry. I asked if you were done with your tantrum." He pressed a hand to Essek's sternum, intentionally trapping him against the wall. "Well?"

Embarrassment flooded Essek's cheeks, staining his ears as he looked away. "Yes," he rasped. "I... I am done. And I am sorry."

"Care to explain what the fuck that was about?"

Essek took another breath, sharp and shallow. A second. A third. Molly could feel his heart pounding under his palm.

"I..." His voice faltered, and he licked his lips. "I. Today. The Nein discovered my betrayal. That... that I stole one of the Beacons of the Dynasty, and handed it over to the Empire to be studied."

Mollymauk studied his face, Essek's pale moon pupils. There was a sheen to them, not yet crying, but close. He could hear each breath, pulling in and hissing out, feel the heaving us his pulse. He eased up on the pressure, letting Essek stagger away from the wall.

"Alright," Molly said, "that certainly sounds like a lot."

Essek glowered. "You don't even know what that means," he sneered.

Mollymauk bared his teeth in return. "Enlighten me, then."

It didn't take much. He remembered what the Dynasty had done to retrieve their Beacon, the collapse and the panic, the call to war. Essek just drew the line between the dots Molly already had.

As they spoke, more and more of that brief spark of life drained out of Essek. He sagged against the wall, cheek turned away from Mollymauk to speak to the air beside him.

It was bad. It was really, really bad. Worse than anything Mollymauk had forgiven before. Still, he listened, as Essek's voice shook through each word, until they broke into a sharp sound and lapsed into silence. And then it was just Essek, eyes squeezed shut, hands clutching at the wall as he gasped for breath.

Mollymauk drank the image in, and let out a sigh. "Okay," he murmured. "C'mere." He cupped Essek's jaw, drawing him down to press his lips to his forehead. A gasped wrenched from Essek's throat, and Molly hushed him. "Shhhh," he soothed. "Shhhh-shhhh-shhhh. Come on."

Mollymauk took him by the arm, guiding him up the steps. It was slow going with how Essek trembled, and when they reached his bedroom door, Molly had to remind him to open it. Whatever enchantment kept Molly from breaking in parted the way for Essek.

His room was exquisite. Four-poster bed, large enough to comfortably fit two, maybe three. Satin pillows, dramatic curtains framing the window, a shelf of organized components, the rest heavy with books. A bathroom was attached, and gods did Molly want to spy on what was in there.

That was a good idea, actually.

"Have you eaten anything?" Molly asked, unsurprised when Essek shook his head. He didn't say anything else for the next few minutes. Instead, it was spent figuring out how to undo his mantel. First the material, falling away heavier than expected. The metal that guarded his neck came apart in two pieces. Then earrings, Essek's ears twitching away from his touch. Essek stood still, letting him do as he pleased.

"Can you get the rest?" Molly asked, tugging his shirt for emphasis.

Essek took a solid moment to process it, and gave a single nod. He reached slowly for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head.

"Great," Molly smiled. He cupped Essek's face, making sure their gazes met. "You take a shower. Just rinse off, you don't have to do anything else. I'll be back up with dinner for you. Alright?"

"... Alright."

"Wonderful." Molly gave his cheek a solid pat and pushed him towards the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He didn't wait to head down the stairs, but listened for the spray of water as he scrapped a meal together.

He made two trips, one for a pitcher of water and glasses, the other for two bowls of soup. By that point, Essek had emerged from the shower, dressed in a long robe and seated on the bed, staring at the floor. He was mostly dry, but his hair was messier, so Mollymauk had to assume he'd magicked the water off. That was a good sign.

Molly set one bowl down on a dresser to click his fingers. "Hey," he said, voice sharp in a way that wasn't meant to snap, just to catch his attention. Essek glanced up, and Molly handed the bowl over. "That's yours. Eat as much as you can."

It was good soup. Simple, but good. That was most of what Molly knew how to make.

The first few bites were a visible effort, but they seemed to awaken Essek's hunger, as he hurried through the bowl, only breaking to take sips of water. When their bowls were empty, Molly set them aside and banished Essek to the sink to brush his teeth, vanishing to do his own.

He ended up having to pull Essek away from the mirror with a huff of, "Come on, no getting existential before bed."

When he pulled the covers back, Essek only stared at him. A raised eyebrow got an explanation: "I do not need to sleep."

Mollymauk squinted at him. "Right." He drew the word out. "You meditate. Well. Can you meditate laying down? Like, you have a bed. If you're not using it, then you will give it to me. Capiche?"

Essek stared through him for another few moments before absently nodding, and climbing into the bed, letting Molly pull the covers up around him.

"There we go," Molly smiled. "Snug as a bug in a rug."

"A bug in a rug would likely be hopelessly lost," Essek murmured. His eyelids were already drooping.

"Oh hush," Molly snorted. He hesitated for only a moment before saying, "Now, I'm gonna ask you a question here. No judgement, alright?"

Essek heaved a sigh. "That is always a good start."

"I said hush, no more sass." Molly flapped a hand. "Do you want me to stay here tonight?"

That got his attention. He looked more alert than he'd been since leaving this morning, just gazing at Mollymauk without saying a word.

Molly gave a faint smile. "Let's make this easier. Do you want me to leave?"

A moment's pause, and then Essek shook his head.

"Great. Will you flip out if I get in the bed next to you?"

Another shake, this one with an eye-roll to boot.

"Excellent," Molly purred, and wasted no time in sliding into the bed. He immediately seized a pillow to bunch under his head, stretching out with pleased sound. "Oh, fuck, this is wasted on you. Wasted." What was the nicest bed Molly had ever slept on? It didn't matter, this won.

Essek gave a quiet, breathy sort of laugh. "Your turn to hush," he murmured. "I... am exhausted." And it showed.

Molly made a show of theatrical offense, before settling back down and tucking just one lock of loose white hair back into place. "Alright, then. Goodnight, Mister Thelyss."

The sounds of their breaths became the ambience of the room, amid the cool breeze outside, nighttime dwellers singing their songs. Amid it all, Molly very nearly missed Essek's whisper, muffled and half-slurred as it was: "Goodnight, Mister Tealeaf."

[thebiasrekkers]

Make It Right [BTS Mafia!AU]

Pairings: Jin x OC | Taehyung/Hoseok x OC | Yoongi/Jungkook x OC Genre: BTS Mafia!AU Warnings: Graphic Violence, Heavy Language, Angst, Smut, Slow Burn WC: 2996 “It’s always darkest before the dawn…” It’s a dog-eat-dog world in Seoul, South Korea. One has to dwell in the shadows in order to reach for the light. What are you willing to sacrifice in order to feel the sunlight on your face? What will it take to drag you back into darkness? How long will the journey be to make it right?

AO3 | WP

Chapter 07: Look Here

"Us meeting isn’t just coincidence. Meeting you was what I wanted."

Anastasia took a deep breath as Jimin closed the doors behind her. When the soft click ensued, she stepped forward and noticed that the person sitting behind the large desk was not facing them. In fact, all she could see was the desk, the nameplate (which had traditional Chinese characters on it), and the back of the large leather chair. She cleared her throat in an attempt to get the person’s attention, but when there was no response, she decided to wait patiently until she was acknowledged.

This wasn’t America, after all.

Taking a moment to busy herself in the silence, Anastasia made a note of how big the office was. The floor was made of premium marble and the oak desk was clearly well-polished. There was a set of six black leather chairs, three on each side, around a black and marble topped coffee table. Another black leather chair sat at the head of the table just feet away from the desk situated on a slight riser from the rest. 

It was modestly decorated, dark green curtains framing a set of bay windows and French doors led to an outdoor balcony. A few pictures hung on the wall but there was a hand-embroidered image of a golden jackal situated on black canvas that was framed and hung over the desk. This kept her attention longer than it should have, but she couldn’t tear her gaze from it. Anastasia knew that she’d seen that before somewhere, but less ornate and less prominent. 

She could at least say that it was a lovely piece of artwork.

But where have I seen that from?

“Long time no see, Anastasia,” came a voice suddenly, knocking her out of her thoughts.

Even though she hadn’t meant to, a soft squeak escaped her as she felt her shoulders jump. Anastasia lifted her purse up to her chest, clutching it just a little bit tighter as her eyes focused on where the voice came from. Blinking at the back of the chair at the desk, she watched as it slowly turned. It was like a scene from The Godfather , and when the chair was fully turned around, there in the large leather chair was none other than Kim Seokjin. If he’d been holding a cat, he would have been Claw from Inspector Gadget and then she really would have fallen out.

“W-Wait a minute!” Her eyes practically bugged out of her skull. “Kim Seokjin-ssi, what are you doing here?!”

Pouty lips spread into a knowing smirk, his elbows resting on the arms of the chair while he steepled his fingers. “I work here.” He answered like she’d asked him a math question. “Or, rather, this is my company.”

Anastasia blinked rapidly, her lips opening and closing as a few stammering sounds spilled forth. “What did you say?”

His smile widened further. “I said that this is my company. I own Golden Star.”

She couldn’t believe it. There was no way that he was serious. Seokjin must have cashed in a favor and she was being played a fool. Someone was playing a prank on her! The Kim Seokjin that she knew was a gangster. All of his friends, the ones he called his brothers, were all gangsters. Weren’t they all running around trying to make a name for themselves, getting themselves caught up in the streets?

Her eyes lifted to spy at the art piece of the golden jackal. Their gang was known as The Golden Jackals. Anyone who was even remotely aware of the underground circuit knew of them and was also aware that they were an up and coming group. Their domain was the street, though. At least that was what Jungkook told her when they were still together before they ended their relationship.

So what had changed in that short amount of time? Had they been working on building toward this even back then?

Anastasia suddenly remembered why she was there. She was supposed to undergo an interview to see if she was qualified to be a financial advisor for another company. Not that she had anything against the stock exchange firm she was currently employed with. But she knew that there was limited room for her to grow and to really showcase her skills. Coming from a background that lacked money taught her how to utilize funds and how to properly shift one’s finances to benefit a company and to encourage its growth. This was her chance to finally climb higher and to stabilize herself without worrying about living from paycheck to paycheck.  

But this? There was no way she could have prepared herself for this.

Her moment of shock started to ebb away and she took a breath. Anastasia’s eyes narrowed and she frowned. “No.” 

Seokjin’s smile fell as he canted his head slightly. “What?”

“No way.” She pivoted on her heels and made her way toward the door. “There is absolutely no fucking way .” 

Her hand landed on the door and she began to pull. However, instead of wrenching the door open like she’d anticipated, it held; resisting against her. For a second, all she did was blink - staring at her hand in disbelief. Had she been locked in? Again, she pulled - harder this time, and again, she was met with resistance. 

“What in the hell?” Anastasia began pulling more aggressively, using both hands and all the door did was rattle in response. “What the hell is happening?!” She swiveled around, ready to ream into Seokjin when she saw he was directly behind her. Anastasia let out a scream, pressing a hand to her chest as her back slammed into the door. “Wh-Wh-What do you think you’re doing?!”

Seokjin leaned forward, peering into her face. Her cheeks flushed and she mentally kicked herself for her own body reacting involuntarily. She wasn’t sure if it was because he was so close to her or if it was because she was halfway down the road of embarrassing herself. Or was she already there? Well, whatever the case, Anastasia didn’t appreciate him invading her personal space like that.

“I don’t know what’s funnier,” he said slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, “the fact that you’re spazzing out for no reason or that you’re pulling on a door that you’re supposed to be pushing on.”

“Huh?” 

What had he just said? 

Seokjin reached forward, gripping the handle of the door and he pressed the latch situated at the top. With a gentle push, the door swayed open. Anastasia peered over her shoulder and saw Jimin sitting on the waiting bench, thoroughly engrossed on whatever was on his phone. When the door opened, he looked up and then smiled - giving a pleasant wave to the two of them before going back to his phone. 

All she could do was blink in both parts amazement and disbelief. 

When it looked like Jimin wasn’t going to intervene, she saw Seokjin moving out of the corner of her eye. He reached forward, grabbed the handle, and then pulled the door closed. Anastasia felt it brush against her shoulder blade, her eyes never leaving Seokjin’s profile even as the door closed with a soft click . His arm lingered there a moment longer before he straightened up to his full height. Some of his hair fell across his brow line and the lump that was unknowingly forming in her throat made her even more aware of their close proximity.

Seokjin normally wasn’t the type to invade another person’s bubble like this. At least from what she knew and of the few times they interacted with one another.

Finally, his smile returned and he looked at her. “Now then,” he began, turning to the side and gesturing toward the array of leather chairs with a wide flourish, “if you’d be so kind, can we get this little meeting underway?”

She felt his hand resting at her lower back and Anastasia’s legs moved unconsciously. What in the world was happening, exactly? Well, she couldn’t be sure. But before she could issue a protest, she was sitting at the chair closest to the one at the head of the table. 

“Can I offer you something to drink?” he asked, already making his way toward the area where various liquor decanters were situated. 

“Bourbon if you’ve got it. Whiskey if you don’t.” 

He chuckled while setting aside two glasses. “And if I have neither?”

“Vodka.”

This elicited a sudden laugh from Seokjin and he came back to the table, holding out the glass containing the amber liquid. Two cubes of ice were inside the tumbler and she looked at it before lifting her gaze to give him a curious look. He settled into the chair, his own glass filled with a similarly colored drink. His contained no ice. 

“I remembered that you’re a fan of bourbon. I was just teasing.”

Anastasia pouted, taking a ginger sip of alcohol while secretly thanking him for remembering to pour her drink on the rocks. After taking a moment to appreciate the smoothness of the booze, she set the glass down on the wooden coaster. She crossed one leg over the other, not caring that the toe of her shoe was brushing up against one of the table legs.

“Seokjin-ssi,” she said, her tone as serious as she could manage. He raised a brow at her as he drank. “What is this all about?”

He swallowed, setting his glass down. “I thought you knew what this was about. Isn’t that why you came out here?”

“I came because I was called about a financial advisor position.”

“Well, that certainly hasn’t changed, so what’s the issue?”

Anastasia felt the vein near her temple throbbing. “The issue is that I didn’t know this was your company!” 

“Is that a problem?” He smirked. “I didn’t realize me being the boss was a problem for you.”

“It’s not about you, dammit!” she snapped, her neck flaring up with the steady rise of her anger. “You know of my history with Jungkook and it’s not like I’m completely ignorant to who you guys are.”

Seokjin’s smile fell just a fraction. A thoughtful expression soon replaced it as he crossed his legs. “I thought you and Jungkook broke up mutually and are still on good terms.” He looked at her, a single brow raising. “Is that not the case?”

“Well, no, we’re still friends...but--”

“And if it’s the background you’re worried about, you can do some digging if you’d like. Golden Star is a legitimate company, Anastasia.”

“That’s not--”

“Then I guess I’m failing to see what the problem is.” Seokjin folded his hands in his lap. “Care to enlighten me?”

For one of the few times in her life, Anastasia actually had no words. None. It wasn’t like she despised the company of the Golden Jackals. She mostly hung out with Jungkook, Taehyung and Jimin. She could confidently say that they were her friends. Namjoon and Hoseok were nice and Seokjin was always a polite gentleman toward her. There was no real reason for her to be on the defensive.

And yet she still felt like she’d been suckerpunched in the stomach.

She sighed, her hostility deflating as she sank back in the plush leather chair. “Why me?”

Seokjin’s smile returned. “Why not you?”

She scoffed. She couldn’t help herself. “Oh, don’t give me that, Seokjin. You could hire anyone. Especially if you can afford to run your business out of a building like this. It’s almost as big as the company I work for.” Anastasia gave him a pointed look. “I’m one of hundreds of office workers. I literally work from a freaking cubicle. I’m a damn dime a dozen.” Her accent was coming out and she hated it, but she knew that once she got rolling, there was no stopping her. “So why me , Seokjin-ah?”

Anastasia was a professional 99% of the time. It was very rare that she wasn’t, especially when it came to her work. But when the polite form of address was dropped, when honorifics and protocol were thrown out the window, it was when she meant business. She loved her job and she loved the country she was now living in. If it was one thing she wasn’t about to do, it was jeopardize any of that for any reason at any time and not for any one .

A moment of silence passed between them and Seokjin’s arms moved to rest on the arms of the chair. He steepled his fingers again, pressing them against his lips. Anastasia watched him as he tried to formulate the words that she needed to hear. If it was something she wasn’t okay with, her plan was to walk straight out of that office and not look back. Her career meant everything to her. Stability meant everything to her.

She wasn’t in the business of taking risks for no damn reason.

“You’re driven, Anastasia. You’ve always been like that.” He looked at her and she felt her fingers curling into the fabric of her dress pants. “The company you’ve been working for doesn’t know what to do with you. You’ve been with them for five years and three of those five years have been spent here. It’s unheard of for employees starting out to get reassigned to other countries. You’ve clearly got ambition.”

Warmth touched her cheeks and she wasn’t sure what to make of what he was saying. Were they compliments? He wasn’t trying to pull a fast one on her. It simply sounded like he was stating the facts. 

She remained silent as he continued.

“But you’ve hit a point where you’re not going to be able to move forward. You’re smarter than half of your co-workers but because you lack a certain set of connections, you’re at an impasse. You can’t move ahead and you can’t just go back.” Seokjin paused, his smile returning. “What if I told you that you wouldn’t have to worry about that here? I need someone who can keep this company financially on track but who also isn’t afraid to make a few risky moves if it means turning a higher profit.”

His offer was enticing. How could it not be? But while she was in the business of taking risks, that didn’t mean she was going to step out on thin ice if she was confident enough to swim in freezing waters. 

Reaching for her glass, she tried to appear unimpressed with his words. “What’s the pay?” Anastasia pressed the glass to her lips, letting the alcohol gently touch her tongue.

“Ten thousand dollars the first month.”

A mist of alcohol sprayed from her mouth. Anastasia began coughing furiously, her hand slapping her chest in an attempt to open up her airways so she could breathe. When she was able to gather her senses, she looked at Seokjin with eyes as wide as saucers. 

“...what did you just say?”

“And you’ll be getting an additional ten thousand dollar signing bonus.” Seokjin winked. “But that’s because I like you.”

She frowned, coughing one last time as her eyes narrowed. “Stop playing around.”

“I am dead serious.” 

“You’re crazy.”

He shrugged. “I’ve been called that and then some, but I can promise you that I am very much within my right mind on this.” His eyes met hers, the smile gone from his face completely. “So, what do you say? You in or out?”

Anastasia picked up her drink and drained the glass. Once she was finished, she stood up from the seat and looked down at him. “You’re only getting one chance to draw up a proper contract. If it’s not to my satisfaction, you can forget it.”

Seokjin stood, one hand sliding into his pocket. “You’ve got yourself a deal.” He looked like he’d already won and this made the muscle at her jaw tick. “I’ll have it sent to your place and you can look over it at your leisure.”

“Fine.” She slipped her purse over her shoulder and made her way to the door. “You’ve got three days, Kim Seokjin-ssi.” 

Anastasia pushed the latch on the door handle and pushed this time, the door swaying open easily. Jimin seemed to be waiting on her and he slid his phone into his pocket. He smiled at her cheerfully and she immediately puffed her cheeks out defiantly. Ignoring the arm he held out for her, she huffed her way down the hall. 

“I’ll see you in three days, Anastasia D’Angelo,” called Seokjin from down the hall. 

Jimin caught up with her and pressed the button to call the elevator. She knew she wouldn’t be able to get back downstairs without his clearance. But that was the only reason she was even waiting on him. As they stepped into the elevator, she saw Seokjin still standing in the doorway of his office. Just before the doors closed, Anastasia stuck her tongue out at him and she had to ignore the way her heart thumped as he laughed - watching him disappear back into his office.

As Jimin swiped his card, he pressed the main floor button. “Did you have a good talk, Noona?”

She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Don’t you start,” she warned and he laughed. “You’re in trouble.”

He nodded, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Yes, yes, I know,” he said, gently bumping her shoulder with his own. “Can I buy you dinner to make up for it?”

She folded her arms across her chest and huffed. “Black Bean Noodles or it’s no deal.”

Jimin laughed. “It’s a deal!”

A sigh left her as she side-eyed him, wondering how she wound up in this situation. She certainly couldn’t be mad at Jimin. He was just doing his job. But this?

Well, this was just something she wasn’t really prepared for. But one thing was certain. She would know in three days what her answer was.

Anastasia could play nice until then.

[perditaalottachocolate-blog]

April Weather (20)

@adrinetteapril​ 2018, Day 20: Scarf

Days: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | art | 6 | 7 | 8 | art 1 | art 2 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | art | 19 | art | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | art | 29 | 30 |

AO3 / fanfiction

‘Kill me, Tikki,’ Marinette whined. ‘Put me out of my misery!’ She dropped to her cushion again with a dramatic flail of her hands.

‘Get yourself together, Marinette,’ the kwami was hovering over her head with a motherly scowl on her face. ‘This is not the end of the world.’

‘It definitely is,’ the girl pouted. ‘I messed up things with Adrien. I used my secret identity to spy on him. I used that knowledge against him. I’m gonna go die an old unloved crazy spinster, and I’ll be found three weeks later half-eaten by Alsatians!’

Tikki shook her head. ‘Aren’t you overreacting a little bit?’

Marinette stuffed her head under a pillow.

‘It’s not like you’re old already or keep any animals,’ the kwami pointed out. ‘And with your luck you might even get mummified into a nice wrinkled and dry corpse.’

A blue eye peeked from under the pillow. ‘Thanks,’ Marinette grumbled sourly.

‘You’re welcome,’ Tikki beamed at her. ‘It’s good to always stay positive,’ she lectured. ‘Now get up.’

More of Marinette’s face appeared. She shook her head. ‘I am never leaving this bed again,’ she stated solemnly.

The red sprite giggle was cut off when she looked at her Chosen.

‘I’m serious, Tikki,’ the girl warned. ‘It’s already decided. I will stay here and this way I won’t do any more harm,’ she declared.

‘Come on, Marinette,’ the kwami pulled at her pigtail. ‘There are far worse things than learning your crush might reciprocate your feelings,’ she suggested.

‘Yeah, continuously lying to your crush is probably near the top of that list,’ Marinette sulked. ‘I am never getting up. I’m a mess, worse than Chat’s cataclysm,’ she reasoned.

‘Wouldn’t be so sure about that,’ Tikki said under her breath.

Marinette’s phone chirped, but she made no move to retrieve it. The kwami sighed deeply and flew to the device.

‘It’s the Ladyblog,’ she said matter-of-factly.

‘Akuma?’ the girl raised the pillow only a bit.

There was a beat of silence, as Tikki read the entry and frowned.

‘Tikki?’ Marinette called. ‘What’s happening?’

‘It’s Chat,’ the read sprite replied thoughtfully.

‘Is something wrong with him?’ the girl sat up so fast she felt dizzy. ‘What does the Ladyblog say?’

Tikki brought the phone to Marinette. A deep wrinkle ran across the cute black dot on her forehead as she chewed at her cheek. ‘I don’t know,’ she finally replied dropping the device into the girl’s hands. ‘It says here Chat was spotted on the Eiffel Tower some time ago and he just sits there. He doesn’t move, he doesn’t speak. He’s wedged tightly between the beams and only his feet are visible from below.’

Marinette quickly browsed through the post and included pictures. She looked to the window. It was barely noon and there was no patrol scheduled for today. Why would Chat do such a thing? If he was in trouble he would call Ladybug or in other way let her know he needed her help.

‘I need to check on him,’ she decided forgetting in an instant about her plan to never leave her bed.

Tikki gnawed at her bottom lip. ‘I don’t like it,’ she mused. ‘Be extra careful, okay?’

Marinette nodded in agreement and called on her transformation. Soon she was approaching the tower. She spotted Alya at the base.

‘Hey,’ she called. ‘You’re the Ladyblogger, right?’

The girl turned to her and sighed in relief. ‘Oh, Ladybug, thank god you’re here.’

‘What’s happening?’ Marinette felt the sudden spike of panic.

‘Nothing really,’ Alya explained. ‘We’re just worried because Chat is always so chummy and outgoing. And now he doesn’t reply to anything.’

‘Maybe he’s taken a cat nap?’ Ladybug jested but it came out a little strained.

The blogger knitted her brows. ‘I’m sure there are far more comfortable places to chill than this.’

She pulled up her gallery and showed the footage of two feet dangling from a beam.

‘That is strange,’ Ladybug agreed. ‘Well, time to see what’s this all about.’

She climbed to the second floor before looking around for Chat’s location. She spotted him soon enough. He must have felt extra mean choosing that place, because there was nowhere to stand on. She would have to hang on her yoyo if she wanted to get to him.

As she neared him, it turned out that he was hidden under a beam in such a way, that she couldn’t see the upper half of his body, no matter how she angled the yoyo.

‘Chat? Chat!’ she called, getting as near as possible, so that she wouldn’t have to shout.

‘M’Lady,’ a mumbled acknowledgement of her arrival came from under the beam.

‘Is everything okay?’ Ladybug asked, relieved that he at least spoke to her. ‘Why are you here?’

There was a deep exhale and a screech of his claws against the metal of the beam.

‘Nothing is okay,’ he muttered.

‘Welcome to the club,’ she snorted.

Chat hummed something inaudible in reply, but to her ears it sounded suspiciously like “Not yet”.

‘Wanna go somewhere else?’ she asked instead.

‘I’m gonna stay here, thank you very much.’

Ladybug rolled her eyes at the grumpy tomchat’s antics. ‘Wanna tell me what happened, then?’

‘Can’t,’ he droned. ‘It concerns my civilian identity.’

‘Oh,’ she tightened her grip on the yoyo. Her arms begun to go numb from hanging in this position for so long. ‘Is there a way to tell me without giving me too much personal details?’ she asked. ‘Maybe I can do something.’

‘Oh, you’ve already done enough, believe me,’ his voice sounded almost ominously, but there was no doubt that he was hurting.

‘Come on,’ she encouraged. ‘Give it a try. We’re friends, right?’

His snort was so loud, people downstairs probably heard it too.

‘Chat?’ she was grasping at straws at this point, uncertain how to get to him. ‘Please, talk to me?’

There was another deep sigh, a pause and-

‘There’s nothing to talk about, LB,’ he finally said. ‘I screwed up. Big time.’

‘Oh.’

‘There’s this… girl,’ he continued and Marinette’s heart clenched. This was something new.

‘I- I was stupid. At first I didn’t see how amazing she was. Then I did, but I was still stupid because I thought of her as my friend and before I realized I-,’ he sighed again,’ I hurt her.’

This sounded oddly familiar. Her ears twitched as she listened to his story, peppered with sighs and pauses.  

‘She agreed to my moronic idea of fake dating even though it must have been really difficult for her,’ she heard him say and her grip on the yoyo loosened, causing her to slip down a few centimeters.

‘Fake d-dating?’ she asked faintly, catching herself before she slid further down.

‘Yeah,’ he confirmed gravely. ‘The stupidest of my ideas that made me fall for her and lose her at the same time.’

She heard a sniffle that probably marked the end of the tale, but she was unable to respond. Between the numbness of her hands and the numbness of her brain, she couldn’t sort out what she should do. There was a thought nagging at her mind, that she couldn’t quite shape, like an itch that she couldn't reach.

‘So there you go,’ Chat breathed sadly. ‘My misery in a nutshell.’

‘It sounds like…’ Ladybug hesitated, briefly wondering is she had the right to make that assessment, ’it sounds like you love that girl,’ she pointed out, ignoring that strange tug her heart gave.

‘Yes,’ he whispered through a shaky breath. ‘I do.’

‘I- ,’ she squeaked, ‘I’m sure you’ll find the way to make this right,’ she offered. ‘You can start by being honest with her.’

‘I already have,’ he replied scrambling to his feet. ‘Kind of started anyway.’

His head emerged from under the beam, hair in even more mess than usual, ears dropped. He smiled sadly at her. ‘Thank you for listening, my Lady. I feel better now.’

‘Of course,’ she nodded watching as he crawled into her view. ‘If you ev-’

She choked on her tongue, when she saw a blue scarf wrapped around Chat’s neck, obscuring the bell from her view and billowing behind him. Her partner pulled himself up to the beam, oblivious to her shock

‘W-where did you get that?’ Ladybug burst out before he could get away.

‘You like my scarf?’ He smiled tenderly, hand clutching at the garment. ‘She made it for me,’ he purred, his claw tracing the edge where a silver thread was woven into a curvy M.

‘I’ll be going, LB,’ the lovestruck smile morphed into his trademark grin, ‘As I apparently like to say, a hero’s work is never done.’

With that he shot her a two-finger salute, and vaulted himself of the building and into the brightness of the sunny afternoon.

Ladybug let go of her yoyo.

[spideyxchelle]

love is universal. it spans time and distance. and sometimes, on the rare occasion that love doesn’t quite get it right the first, love spans for more than one lifetime. this is that story.

in this life they are called Cécile and Mailhairer. in their last they are called Peter and MJ.

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4]

Cécile slammed her wine cup on the table in anger. Her brother Louis, the more gentle of the two siblings, seemed unbothered by her outburst. But his friend, Jean, more revolutionary than man, seemed delighted by her display. 

“Tell us, my little dancer, why the long face?” Jean cooed. 

Louis gave his friend a hard, unimpressed look to which Jean only laughed. Cécile growled, “I have been summoned to court.” 

The two boys sat up, their attention finally caught. She knew that would get their attention. They were all children of the French revolution and hated the court as much as all of the other commoners, if not more violently. 

Louis shook with fear for his sister, “Cécile, what have you done?”

“Nothing,” she was quick to say. “I was dancing at the nearby tavern. One of those pompous ballet men over at Versaille saw. Monsieur Bernard or something.” 

Jean’s shoulders caved with laughter, “The court composer? The court composer summoned you? Why?” 

“To dance,” Cecile reiterated to the oaf, her cheeks heated with embarrassment. She knew she was a commoner and she looked as straggly and drawn-out as one, but she could dance. There were two universal truths in Cécile’s life:  the monarchy was evil and she was a born dancer.

The man in the tavern seemed to think so as well, which was why he as good as invited her to dance with the ballet company at Versaille. Good things did not happen to poor people. This felt like a trick. And, most of all, she did not want to rub elbows or interact with any of the courtly gentlemen. Villains. All. 

Jean pranced behind Louis, his crude impersonation of Cécile’s dancing, and said, “I say you go, Cécile. Find out what you can for the revolution. Catch the ear of the ladies you can.”

Louis scowled and knocked his friend in the stomach, “You don’t have to, Cécile.”

“Of course she does,” Jean argued. “Else why would she go? To dance?”

Cécile flooded with anger at Jean’s antics but his words struck a chord with her. To bring down the monarchy there would need to be the brave few that faced the men of the court and herded their secrets. Being a member of the royal ballet would offer her such intricate knowledge.

And for this reason, and this reason alone, Cécile packed the meager dance shoes she had and made the long journey to the ballet. When she arrived, a gruff guard led her down a windy corridor and jostled her into the practice room with a push. 

She fumbled into the room and gulped. Everyone stared. All of the lithe, pristine, white women with their hair twisted elegantly at the top of their heads. Her own messy, updo stood out. 

The jovial man she met at the theatre, slid across the room and shook her hand. There was a bolt of electricity between them that she pointedly ignored. His showed all of his teeth when he smiled but it wasn’t overwhelming or crass, it was warm, “You made it.”

“You asked me to come,” she mumbled.

“Yes,” he raised an eyebrow, “but that hardly guaranteed you would come.”

She could feel the other dancers prickling at his attention to her. Cécile did not want the attention or the heat of his eyes that seemed to ask a thousand questions of her. None of which she knew the answers to, mind you. 

“Come,” he led her to a bar at the front of the studio. He cleared his throat and all of the other dancers stood at attention, “Ladies. This is our newest member-“ He looked at her like he was eager for her to supply her name in his silence. She denied his silent request. So he was forced to carry on without her name, “a charming young dancer I saw at a tavern not far from here.”

“Monsieur Bernard,” one of the ladies pipped up, “Perhaps we should discuss such rash decisions in private.”

His continued on like he had not heard the other voice, “We will start with warm-ups, as per usual.” He sat behind his piano and began a jolly tune that felt out of place in the tense, charged room. 

Monsieur Bernard’s words, however terse, were final. And, just like that, Cécile was a part of the royal ballet.

After the first rehearsal, as the other girls filed out in droves, knocking into Cécile’s shoulder as they went, Monsieur Bernard crossed to her with a box in his hand. Her expression was questioning and so he laughed, “Open it.” He seemed to be radiating in joy at her presence, which made gave her a healthy dose of suspicion. She was no one to him and yet he was looking at her like she hung the stars. 

Cécile clawed open the box and there, hidden between the fine wrappings, was a pair of dance shoes. She blinked, “Monsieur Bernard, this is…too much. How did you even know I would come back?”

He adopted that mysterious, fond look again and whispered, “I just knew.” 

“Monsieur Bernard,” she started. 

“Mailhairer,” he said, dripping private amusement, “My name is Mailhairer.”

“And why,” she pressed, “is that so funny to you?”

“It means ill-fated, which I believe is the most apt name bestowed on me yet.”

Cécile crossed her arms over her chest and asked, “You put much stock in names, monsieur?” 

He distractedly brushed a lock of hair off of her shoulder and the brief skin-to-skin contact on her neck stole all of her breath. “Tell me yours and we shall see.”

Her voice broke on her name, “Cécile.”

“And what does that mean?” he asked, his eyes fiercely intent on every small movement in her face. 

Cécile brushed his hand away to regain her senses and said as nobly as she could manage, which did very little as her voice still shook, “Blind. It means blind.”

His lips curled into a knowing smile, “Then, yes, I would say I do put great stock in the meaning of names.” 

Her back straightened, “Are you teasing me, monsieur?”

“Perhaps,” he smiled and spun around on his heel. His feet clicked with each step away from her and she raged from the thought of him having the last word. Cécile opened her mouth to speak but Mailhairer spoke again, “You are dismissed.”

That night in the privacy of her Jean’s cellar, Cécile recounted her first day at the court ballet. Her words were drenched in ire as she spoke of Monsieur Mailhairer. 

Jean and Louis shared a curious glance and Cécile barked them down, “What?”

Neither men seemed shaken by her outburst, Cécile was prone to them. Instead, Jean stood and reported his wine, “He likes you.”

Cécile scoffed, “Don’t mock me.”

With the gentle patience of a saint, Louis added, “We would never mock you, my darling girl. This courtly gentleman, this composer, he likes you.”

“And you know this how?” 

Jean threw back his wine, “Don’t act the innocent, Cécile, it hardly suits you.”

Cécile set her lips in a thin line. She knew what Jean was going to suggest, she knew what other girls in the revolution did to gain information and she was not one of those girls. Especially not to some second-rate, terribly confusing court gentleman with the musings of a child. Music was a fancy of the wealthy. All art was the playground of the rich.

Before Jean could even suggest it, Cécile shook her head, “No cause is worth my honor.”

“I dare say,” Jean slid his eyes over to her in irritation, “You traded your honor to a stable boy a few years ago. Or was it that traveling salesman?” 

“Jean,” Louis slammed his hands on the table. 

Cécile dropped her shoulders, “What I chose to do with my body is no business of yours.” 

“If this Mailhairer likes you, Cécile, do you have any idea what kind of information you could glean on the enemy? Do you know what sort of bedfellow he could make? The secrets he knows? He has the ear of the king, you vile, little-“

“Then send another girl.”

“What other girl?” Jean posed. “Fate has placed you in this Mailhairer’s path. For better or for worse, this is your mission. Your duty to France.”

Cécile looked to Louis for some kind of aid, words of defence, but she found none there. Instead, her brother’s eyes were glued to the table, his fingers glided against the rim of his drink. Her voice was small, “Louis?”

He sighed and did not look up, “For the revolution.”

The next few months she was dancer and spy, a dazzlingly confusing combination. While she loved to dance, she hated all of the women in her troop. The shining stars of society that seduced and stole the hearts of the French elite. Cécile was like the bastard cousin of the fine art, but Mailhairer found cause to always include her. 

He laughed heartily at her jokes, he hung on her every word like he was learning some new, wonderful thing. In this case, the new wonderful thing was her. And she began to suspect that Jean’s suggestion, a warm bedfellow for the court composer, would soon be upon her. Everyday he looked at her longer and harder and more passionately. 

It made her skin prickle as she danced, the way he watched her over the top of his pianoforte. 

He finally managed to get her alone when she debuted with the ballet several months after joining the company. Mailhairer, never to be outdone on gifts, gave Cécile her own dressing room just off stage left. It was a small, but beautiful room. 

Her costumes hung limply on the wall and a beautiful vanity set leaned against one of the walls. Mailhairer had put a vase of flowers on the stand beside the vanity and Cécile tried not to be delighted. 

He was the enemy. The seat of privilege. 

And yet, when she turned around to gape at him for his generosity, he was standing nervously in the doorway gauging her reaction. His shoulders were hunched, his demeanor cautious, and Cécile laughed.

He startled and she laughed harder. “What?” he squeaked. 

“The great Monsieur Bernard practically shaking in his heels over the opinion of some lowly dancer.” 

“Low?” he whispered reverently. “You are not lowly. You’re…my god, Cécile, you are exquisite. If you could only see-“

Cécile dared to ask, “And how do you see me?”

His eyes were liquid, “You know.”

Her stomach turned over in clenching delight, “You shouldn’t. We shouldn’t.” But even as she said the words they fell flat on her tongue. She was a good spy, but a mediocre liar. Being around Mailhairer made her feel different. Cherished. She had never been cherished before, had never known dedicated, focused attention. He looked at her like he saw her and, she figured, that was how all people wanted to be gazed upon. 

“We should,” he groaned, closing the final steps between them so they were flush against one another. Her body instinctively arched against him, like a well rehearsed dance. 

The stood there, bodies touching, but nothing more for quite some time. She realized he was waiting for her to make the final choice. It was her decision. To leave or leap. 

She leapt and the world cracked open with endless possibilities. 

He singed hot, feverish kisses against her lips. His chest purred in delight and her stomach turned to liquid gold, beautiful and warm. “Oh Mailhairer,” she sighed. 

He grabbed at her waist and lifted her up onto his vanity, knocking all of his baubles aside to make room for her. Her silky legs wrapped around his waistband and she felt the dizzying pulse of his body tuning to hers. “We shouldn’t,” he teased her, dragging his hands underneath her skirt. Her mouth fell open as he prodded at her with solid, eager fingers. 

“We should,” she scrambled for fabric on his shoulders to steady herself as he worked her to a swift, floaty release. She crowed his name in ecstasy as he took her on the vanity. The mirror banged against the wall with every moment of bliss until the banging stopped and Mailharier stood slumped over her, kissing the exposed patches of skin on her shoulder. 

She breathlessly dragged his mouth to hers to punctuate their finish, which only served to send his prodding fingers below her skirts again to take her dancing along the stars. She saw brilliant colors and heard distant tongues as she fell into the void of his relentless pleasure. 

And, finally, when they were done she let out a throaty laugh, “Four times was unnecessary.”

He nibbled on her neck, “Five times.”

“Four and a half,” she submitted. “Where did you learn to do that?”

His eyes darkened to storms, “Old lovers.” It felt like one of his half truths, again, like he did not trust her to know his past. Or worse, like he suspected she already mystically knew. 

“Old lovers,” she repeated, “How worldly of you.”

“Rather worldly, yes,” he nodded, sucking a patch of bruises into her skin. “One was Egyptian. Another English.”

“No French?”

“None before you,” he said honestly. 

His overeager hands slipped back beneath her skirts and she squealed, “Mailhairer.”

“Yes, that’s it,” he smirked, “Say my name.” 

And she did again and again that afternoon.

Laying with Mailhairer, after that, became an easy habit to make. She spent the better half of every day in rehearsal with him as he led the troop into the next dancing fancy of the king. And when rehearsal was done, she would linger backstage where Mailhairer would find her. Sometimes they would spent all evening talking, revealing secrets, and others they would say nothing at all. Save each other’s panted names in the darkness.

She knew the other dancers considered her Monsieur Mailharier’s exotic fancy, but when he backed her up against the set piece backstage and sung praises into her neck she could not allow herself to believe such horrible things. Not that she should care, she reminded herself. He was the enemy of the French people, born with privilege and a silver spoon of opportunity in his mouth. 

He could lay with her, make her insides squirm with the tides of his body, but she would one day bring him down when the revolution took back the country. And he would die. She wished he would die.

Except in the morning when the sunshine made his hair look almost auburn and he dressed her body with the softest, sweetest kisses a man could ever bestow.

If he knew that she relayed the court’s secrets to the revolutionaries, he never said. Sometimes, she suspected that he had an inkling that the French people were going to rise up against the monarchy. When he did not think she was looking at him, he would gaze at her so sad. And why else would he be sad?

One year of bliss, a happiness that felt dishonest and on the best days felt like cheating, passed. And then, two. And only into the second year of their affair did Mailhairer finally begin to relax. He stopped looking for problems around every corner and Cécile hated herself for feeling content. 

And so, she stormed the Bastille. And the revolution exploded into action and the monarchy was in disarray. When Mailhairer found her the following day in the midst of the people’s chaos she looked wild and like the daughter of the Revolution she had always been in hiding. 

He gave one look at her and rubbed his eyes like he was so tired of something. She could not pinpoint what. Mailhairer spoke nonsense, “So this is how it goes this time.”

Cécile blinked in confusion but she did not relent. The revolution was upon them. 

It took some time for the monarchy to recover after that, but they eventually found a tentative peace with the people, and the ballet opened again. Cécile was not welcomed back. The other girls were skeptical of her motives and Cécile could not blame them. 

But Mailhairer did not stay away long. He found her a few months after the storming of the Bastille in Jean’s little tavern. He was dressed in his usual finery and the men whooped at him as he entered. Cécile stood up and pushed herself through the crowd to him and drew him into the back room. 

“What are you doing here?” she demanded. He pulled back his cloak and kissed her all in one foul swoop. She squeaked and tried to pull away. “Stop,” she pushed at his chest and he sorrowfully let her go. She gasped for air, “What are you doing?” 

“If you think I care about the lying and the spying…I don’t.” His eyes were sunk-in and sad, “I don’t know how much time I have left now.”

“What are yo-” she tried to speak.

He pressed on, “You and I both know this peace cannot hold. They’ll start killing us soon.” She remembered Jean’s whispers of a machine, a blade that brought death down upon the monarchy’s head. He kissed her hands, “Cécile give me whatever days or months or, god bless me, years I have left with you. Please.”

In the end, they had years. Four of them. Horrible, bloody terrible years with endless cries for murder against the monarchy. Until, finally, the fighting ended. 

And the killing began.

Jean crowed about the guillotine. He said it was more mercy than those evil bastards deserved. He leered down at Cécile, always looking like one day he might pound on her, and told her that had taken her composer, too. 

It had been several days since she had seen Mailhairer, not an uncommon occurrence at the height of war, and knew if Jean was telling the truth he would only be in one place. The place where all of their troubles had began: the Bastille.    

Dressed in her uniform of freedom, Cécile slipped past the guards and into the prison. As she looked out the window of the prison, she could see the scaffold in the moonlight waiting for the morning. Calling out to its victims to be ready. 

A whisper tickled at her ear: 

It’s a trap, Peter. It’s a trap. 

She turned around sharply to see no one. The voice, the echo, was just the wind. Cécile pulled her cloak closer around her shoulders. 

When she found Mailhairer he looked like he had not eaten in days. His face was long and drawn but his smile was always the same and it shone in a special way just for her. 

She sat on her knees and scooted as close as she could manage to the prison bars, “Mailhairer.” 

He croaked, his voice raged from days without water, “Femi?”

She shook her head, “It’s Cécile.”

He laughed until it turned ugly and hoarse like a cough. 

She had a painful thought. She was the reason he was in here. When so many people in court had run away, escaped to nearby countries Mailhairer had stayed. And he had stayed for her. 

Cécile might as well have been the man bringing down the ax.     

“It never hurts,” he hummed to himself, speaking to Cécile like an easy companion, not his pseudo-executioner. It startled her, his words held a rush of honesty that were tangled in a web of confusion. 

She pressed, “What doesn’t hurt?”

He reached for her hands through the bars and she allowed him to brush her knuckles, a parting gift for a dead man. “Dying,” he chuckled. “It never hurts.”

Her face transformed into skeptical curiosity, “Are you being poetic?”

“Not in this life,” he shrugged in an infuriatingly wise manner. Whatever his words meant she could not piece out for herself. He was as maddening now, hours away from the guillotine, as he was the first day she met him at the ballet. The only difference was his finery had been stripped away. Mailhairer looked awfully common in his tattered rags sitting on the dirty prison floor.

Cécile yanked her hand away from him and stood up. 

She would not feel sympathy for this man. No matter who he had become to her. She was a daughter of the revolution, France was for freedom now, not the tyranny of the royals. She had drawn a line in the sand the day she had decided to infiltrate the ballet and learn their secrets, she reminded herself. Every moment she shared with Mailhairer was a lie, a carefully crafted folly to gain intelligence for the revolution. 

Or it had been. Once. 

He smiled tiredly at her and her heart cried out a name. Two names that were not his own: Marcus and William. 

“You talk in riddles, monsieur.” 

“You always say that, too.” 

She screeched in anger. Nothing he said made any sense. He was not the person in control here, she was; after all, Cécile was the one that might as well have walked him to his death. She had been the woman that had spied on him from months at the foot of his bed. She had been the person who had laid tangled up in his arms and spoken into the morning in hushed whispers about her dreams and aspirations. And he had been the one that had indulgently listened, hanging on to her every word like scripture. 

“Mailhairer,” she croaked, overwhelmed by the memories of days as good as gone, “I’m sorry. I’m the reason this is happening to you.” And while she did not regret the revolution, a traitorous part of her heart cried out for the man behind the bars. He was scarcely out of boyhood, his face grew hair in patches and they were going to cut it clean off of his shoulders.

His face softened and he implored her to reach back through the bars and grab his hand, like that small gesture would offer him immeasurable strength to face the morning bells. “I have loved you,” he said emphatically, “And I will always love you.” 

She realized he had not disagreed with her. He did not deny that she was, in fact, the reason for his death. Perhaps, she considered, he had always known it would end in this manner. The French court had known for years that the common people were unhappy. They had to have suspected something like this would happen. 

But Mailhairer’s calm was unlike that reasoning. It was a deeper, more resigned knowing. Like, he had met her in that crowded room and something in the world told him he would die for her. Like, she was his death sentence. 

She could tell he sensed her thoughts turning dark and cold because he squeezed her fingers, “I do not regret choosing you. To have you for a year or for a minute. It doesn’t matter. I would have chosen you.” 

“You’re an idiot,” she chastised him, pressing her face up against the bars to try and find his lips. She knew she was a spy, she knew it was meant to be fake, but the string of fate pulling at her abdomen, dragging her back into his orbit, would not quit. 

He twisted his face to fit through the bars just enough to kiss her. She felt wet, hot tears on her face and was horrified when she could not figure out who they were from. “Mailhairer,” she cried into his mouth, “I’m so sorry.”

“Hush now,” he pecked her lips, “It’s going to be okay.” 

In a wave of reckless sentiment, she announced, “I’ll save you. I can break you out of here.”

He gripped her hands through the bars and looked at her in the most serious manner she had ever seen grace his features, “Don’t you dare. This is how it’s supposed to go. Don’t you change a single thing, not a single moment.”

“I could save you, you fool,” she snapped. 

The future shouted into the void:

Let me save you, you stupid idiot! 

“You don’t know if that changes anything. Leave me be, Cécile. Let me go.” He withdrew his hand from her grip. “It’s almost light. You should go. The monarchy has fallen and so must I.”

She pressed her body up against the bars, “Mailhairer, in the grand scheme of injustice against the people-”

“I am a part of the nobility. Your people will never let me live. And they’ll punish you for trying to help me. Listen to me,” Mailhairer whispered, his nose poking through the bars, eyes locked on hers, “we had seven years, Cécile. It gets longer each time. It’s okay.” 

Cécile knocked her nose against Mailhairer’s and her eyes shuttered close, “Please, make sense.” 

His warm breath tickled her cheeks, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” The glow from a lantern turned down the corridor and Mailhairer retreated into his cage. Cécile bit down the sob forming in the back of her throat and he smiled sloppily at her, a reckless boy to the end, “Go now, my love.” 

My war. 

When the sun rose on the scaffold, Cécile clutched her dance shoes to her chest. The crowd around her called for blood, for battle, for war. And that was when Mailhairer and his comrades at the nearby prison climbed out of the carriage. The other men were shaking, terrified by the glistening silver blade dangling overhead. Mailhairer looked bored. Like death was a bothersome friend that was wasting his precious time. She could have strangled him for how caviler he looked in the midst of a battle. 

His eyes found hers as the guillotine dropped down on the first man’s head. The crowd whooped and cheered. And Mailhairer smiled. Not a dark, burdened grin that indited his murderers. No, an effortless smile that was only meant for her. 

She could only offer a watery attempt in return. He lifted his chin as if to tell her to keep her head up and she did a pale imitation of his request. 

The executioner jostled Mailhairer to the guillotine and Cécile locked her jaw down to stop whatever emotions threatened to bubble to the surface. His steps were heavier than she had ever heard them. It was like his death march was the only sound in the whole square.

She wished he would look away so she could do the same, but she would not turn away from him first. If he needed her strength to face his death than she would stand by and hold him up in whatever way she could do from the crowd below.

When they strapped him in to the machine, the crowd jeered. The tacky blood of the first man dashed across his throat like an angry cut. A priest began to pray for his soul, heaven almighty protect him, and Cécile panicked. 

He was going to die. In that moment it all became outrageously clear that if she did not do something he would die. She stepped forward and began to make her way through the bodies blocking her way to the scaffold. His eyes widened and she was not sure whose heart was beating faster: hers or his. But she could feel them both pounding in her chest. 

The man in the mask asked, “Any last words?”

And Mailhairer looked her dead in the eye and roughed out, “Michelle, no!”

The name startled them both. A new name, but one familiar to both Mailhairer and Cécile. She knew it was her, somehow, she knew to take it as her own. He tried to say something else. Something significant-

And the blade came down. 

She collapsed in agony in the crowd. A sharp and indescribable pain shot through every synapse of her body. It radiated in her neck and traveled down to every inch of her skin, like it was on fire. There was no breath, no life, no feeling except agony. 

The people surrounding her rustled in concern and Louis broke through the crowd to pick his sister up. His voice called out to her, “Cécile, my sweetest sister.”

She covered her ears. All of the noise and the feeling was too much. She could not concentrate on one particular sensation. They were all drowning her. 

And she could not breathe. She choked on air. 

Until finally, she passed out.

When she woke she felt a hollow pang in her chest. She had, for a moment, felt two heart beats surging there. Now, neither. She was certain she was alive, but she did not feel alive.

Cécile curled in on herself and cried. 

Louis joined her a few hours later as she stared blankly at the wall. He offered no kind words, only this, “I didn’t know.” 

She rolled over to face her back to him. 

Many weeks later, she finally rose from bed. She packed her bags and took the closest ship to London. There, she went to an old theatre where Mailhairer had once told her he had seen the most spectacular play. Epic love, he had called it. Fate guided each of her steps. 

And like Mailhairer, or some greater force, was looking over her, the theatre was putting on William Barker’s play. The one that Mailhairer had told her about. 

She sat impassive the entire play until the last line whispered an augury of fate: we will meet again, my love. 

[saintheartwing]

May The Force Be With You, Part Five

“IIIIII love you mooooore! Than I did the week beeeeefore! Since I discovered alcohol!”

Tom’s bar was positively filled to the brim with chattering and drinking and partying people, from left to right, top to bottom, the whole place was jumping as people sang loudly and proudly by the nearby karaoke machine. It displayed the lyrics to the songs in a holographic display as people clinked their glasses and their mugs, and smiled happily, but all the same, for many of them there was a…

Fakeness to it. A desperation. A NEED to be happy, to just drown out their current life in drink if only for a few hours so they’d feel somewhat better. You could see it in their eyes, you could see it in their smiles, and even the music they sang, in a way, contributed to this. After all, the overwhelming majority of the songs came in from the Dyad, who’d released them as singles for the people to consume. Even what they used to forget their crappy life...made them think about their crappy bosses. 

Kendall couldn’t help but notice that one guy was looking pretty cheery though. Genuinely cheery. It was a Trandoshan, a reptilian monster with clawed hands, scaly skin, horned head, reddish eyes and thick-armored frame. His name was Grohtk, and Kendall had treated him for two years. 

As Han and Leia, disguised under their holograms, intermingled with the people, Kendall sat next to Grohtk. The music had now played to a metal song, “The Memory Remains”, as Kendall ordered a drink for the Trandoshan. “I’ve not seen you in a while. I take it you’re not getting shot at as much?” He wanted to know.

Indeed, Grohtk was a very, very good security officer. But he had taken many a laser bolt blast for his clients, and sometimes his whole arms and legs had been blasted off, and Kendall had helped the good doctor put the limbs back on. Once, Kendall had even healed Grohtk’s eye when the doctor had been out. It had been an INCREDIBLY delicate procedure, Kendall had had to be super careful he pulled the chunk of knife out just right or the eye would have been damaged permanently, but Kendall had hands that were steady and swift. 

“I’ve gotten a job at the “penthouse” suites up at the Dyad’s tower.” He admitted in his growly voice to the Logosian. “I enjoy it...for the most part. They scare me, a TON, but...it pays well. Real well. Especially for me and my dad. I’m even going back on the dating scene.” 

Kendall smiled, patting Grohtk’s shoulder as the Trandoshan grinned. “Heck, if you’ve got nothing you’re doing tonight, maybe…?” He asked.

“Sure, I’ll give you a call later. I’m game if you are.” Kendall told him. 

He and Grohtk shared something in common. Both of them were from races who did NOT treat gay people well. Or bisexual people well. Really, anyone who wasn’t straight was looked up with scowls. For both, it was a matter of faith. For the Trandoshan, the goal was to adhere to the teachings of the Scorekeeper, who asked for them to track down and hunt particularly worthy prey. The current interpretation of the teachings was very conservative, stating that focus on such things took away from the hunt. Really, sex itself was almost demonized, and was barely tolerated in the name of propagating the race and, thus, the hunt…

Though plenty of the Trandoshan felt this was a stupid way to look at the teachings. Perhaps, soon enough, things would change. The grumblings on the home planet were getting louder.

For the Logosian people, it was their tight adherence to their holy book and to the teachings of the exceptionally beautiful prophet known as Ethos. Ethos had had long flowing hair like the river running down his back, and his heart had glowed like the sun, especially when he was laying hands on the sick and the dying to heal them. The teachings had told the Logosian people to love the family above all else. Well, since “family” had meant a mother, father and child, it hadn’t been hard for anti-straight relationships to be demonized by them. 

It wasn’t perhaps FAIR to blame people like the Scorekeeper or God or Ethos. After all, people interpreted even basic things stupidly every day. But Kendall could no longer look at Ethos with his leafy Crown of Morality, and the soft white robes he’d worn, and that smile and...and, well, not see a representative of everything he despised. The same way Grohtk could no longer really look at his own kind and not see everything HE hated. He’d been relentlessly hounded and teased and mistreated by his species for years. Only amongst the aliens, the “other”, did he feel happy. Well...there was also his Dad.

Sometimes Kendall wished he’d had Grohtk and Thwurl’s relationship, the two really clearly loved each other. His own father…

No matter how kindly he’d been, and how much he’d tried, he couldn’t truly remember his Dad genuinely smiling. Truly, utterly happy. Grohtk and his father, they always seemed to be.

“How come the Dyad scare you?” “Well...okay, look…” Grohtk hesitated. “Promise you’ll keep this quiet. But when one of the guards brought up the incident that got Darth Furiosa’s grandmother killed, she shocked him so hard he was almost electrocuted to death.” “What did he say?” 

“Well, she was talking about how it was the anniversary of her mother and grandmother’s death. Darth Furiosa was thinking out loud, she brought up how her mother had died, fallen to her death during the fight, and she talked about how Han Solo had shot her mother and everyone in the room was all quiet and nervous and unsure what to say, well...one of the guards said “I guess Mr. Solo should have given your grandma a “head’s up”. The guy always was making bad jokes and the Dyad never minded it before, but when he told THIS one, she immediately electrocuted him. He almost died.”

“Damn…” Kendall cringed. “I get it was insensitive to say that thing about your dad but...but you don’t almost kill someone over that.” He mumbled. “They should be able to control their temper! That’s disgusting. You FIRE someone for stuff like that, or dock their pay or something, you don’t FRY THEM WITH A LIGHTNING BOLT!” “And yet they get away with it because of who they are.” Grohtk muttered. 

“Ah, to be rich and powerful.” Kendall sighed as Han and Leia walked over.

“We actually got them to talk a bit. They want to come over for drinks.” Leia admitted as she looked at Kendall. “They also seem to like you a lot. You’ve treated so many of them for wounds. I’m surprised.” “Our clinic was really close to where they worked, and we’re free. So...we got a lot of business.” Kendall confessed with a grin. 

“How come you never became a doctor?” Han wanted to know, looking interested. “You seem smart enough.” Kendall hesitated. “I...I choke up all the time when it comes to actually remembering the terminology you need to pass the license to become a doctor.” He muttered as the other workers walked over to sit down by him. “Thing is, I’m good at recognizing obvious wounds and treating them. I know all the basics easily. I can fix them super quick and do it really well, but anything more complex is...a crapshoot for me. Sometimes I’ll remember, most of the time, I don’t. I mean...I mixed up a trytophatic nerve with a angliatic point.” He groaned as he hung his head. “Three times. And it’d be like mixing up your arm with your leg. I mean...yeah! They’re both limbs, but that’s about it! No real doctor should make mix-ups like that, you did that, you’d kill your patient.” 

“Hey, you’re the best nurse WE had.” One of the workers said. “And you didn’t treat us differently because we were soldiers for the Dyad.” He added as the others nodded. “We get a lot of side eye and worse because we work for them, it was nice to just go somewhere where there was no judgment.” 

Kendall looked up at them and smiled a bit. “Well...I’m a nurse. If someone’s hurt, I try to help them. I always thought it was that simple.” He admitted. 

“They actually agreed to do us a favor if we’d do THEM a favor.” Leia admitted. “They’re going to give us access to the camera system in the building that analyzes and records everything inside. We’ll be able to spy on the Dyad whenever we want. But they DO want us to break up a protest going on at the docks.” “We’d go but...well…” The guards standing by their fellow Dyad workers gulped a bit nervously. “They uh...the protestors kinda...outnumber us this time.” He muttered. “And we just had to shoo protestors away from the docks yesterday and they threw bricks and stuff at us.” “We’re really, really getting sick of them always screaming at us and tossing things at us.” Another guard admitted. “It isn’t like we can just take another job. Nobody else would hire us. The Dyad paid us really good wages for people like us, we barely completed our college education and nobody wanted to hire us because our degrees don’t mean squat on Nar Shadaa. It was either work for them or be janitors somewhere or be on the streets.” 

“It couldn’t have been THAT bad, what were your degrees?” Han asked. “Art?” “Yeah, man. ART.” Said the guard from before as Han looked stunned. “You think Nar Shadaa gives a s--t about analyzing interior design and comparing the different pillar structure types of the ancient sith? Only the rich assholes care about that stuff because they BUY the art. But they weren’t going to have some kids out of college working for them, they’d fly in professional art critics with snooty monocles and stuff who did their stints on Coruscant. And we didn’t wanna work for the Hutts anyway, we heard they occasionally ATE people who pissed them off! Gross, man!” All of them nodded, several workers nearby enthusiastically saw. “Yeah, I SAW them do it. Twice.” One of them confessed. “I used to do electrician work for them before I switched to the Dyad, I thought a couple of lesbian Sith would be WAY less scary to work for. I was barely right.” 

“SHHHH.” One of his friends shoved a hand over his mouth. “Be careful about what you say. Even mentioning that they scare you can get you in trouble.” He whispered. “We’ve ALL got to be more cautious, we dunno who’d be listening.” “I wish I could say far worse about them.” The guard who’d spoken before muttered. “But they’ve done some sick things to people who insult them to their faces.” 

“Like what?”

The guard hesitated. He seemed to be chewing on the words, but then he explained. It had been the day of new hires. The Dyad had been speaking to all of the new guards they’d brought in and were doing some additional background checks by asking some personal questions. Like, for example, would they be comfortable working for two Lesbians. Luckily, all of the guards didn’t seem to mind. But unfortunately, the man who’d brought in the new hires on his ship was getting impatient.

“Can we hurry this up? I got other places to visit. The Hutts want me to bring in some off-worlders for security. And hopefully they won’t smell as bad as this batch.” The Rodian remarked as Darth Furiosa looked at him, Darth Raize raising an eyebrow. She was sensing something from him, and her eyes narrowed slightly before she spoke in a calm, cool voice.

“Are you not comfortable with lesbians yourself, sir?” “...I don’t really see how that’s relevant.” He remarked stonily as Raize nonchalantly walked over to Furiosa, and sloooooowly put her arm around her beloved.

“Oh, well that’s good. You know, my wife and I were just discussing our planned vacation to this charming island planet. Long, lush beaches, soft wind, the rolling waves. We’ll just eat barbeque on the beach...play some volleyball, and ah...well...take nice, long swims.” She intoned in a husky tone as the Rodian visibly flinched.

“...can you please keep the...sex stuff to yourselves?”  He asked. “It’s creepy hearing you humans talk about it openly. YECCH.” 

“Ohhh, so it’s not us being LESBIANS that’s really what turns you off, it’s us being humans, is that it?” Raize asked as the Rodian frowned. 

“You humans act like you’re so much better than 90 percent of the species here on Nar Shadaa, so forgive me if I think that, though well behaved, you’re at best all monkeys shaved.” The Rodian captain of the taxi ship the new hires had arrived in intoned. 

SCHWISH! 

Something red flashed through the air and the man’s head plopped down. Several of the guards screamed in horror as Furiosa lowered her lightsaber, and Raize turned to the other guards. “Just so there’s absolutely no mistaking this, let us make something very clear. If you’re really concerned that we may, perhaps, be making a mistake in how we handle our security, by all means, you’re welcome to let us know. We’re not going to punish you for little mistakes. Nothing will be off limits. Except the kind of bigotry on display moments ago, either towards ANY species, or ANY sexuality. Because the price of doing that…”

She lifted up the Rodian’s severed head, and shook it in front of them all. “Is that we will use your skull for a DECORATIVE BIRDHOUSE. So if any of you have any niggling little biases you’ve been keeping from us that you want to get out of your system, either do it now and then leave, or we collect. your. fucking. head. WELL?!” She roared out, her eyes flashing like lightning as the new hires all gulped. 

Then somebody spoke up.

“Uh...is...being afraid of Hutts...does that count? I’ve never liked them because my dad owed a bunch of money to them and they decided they’d make him pay it off by eating him and my mom in front of me, then saddling ME with the remaining debt.” “...you know what, that one’s fair.” Furiosa confessed. “You can stay.” 

Han and Leia’s mouth hung open. Kendall flinched. “I can actually testify to the...behavior...of some of the Hutts. We once had a Hutt come in. An off-worlder who thought he could get in on the action. He failed miserably, got beaten very badly in a fight, and he oozed his way to our free clinic. We did our best, but...well, we couldn’t save him. When we did the autopsy, we opened his stomach and...well, we...we found half-digested guards inside. So evidently they really AREN’T above eating people in a pinch if they’re super mad or desperate.”

Leia shuddered and shook, shaking her head back and forth. She looked positively horrified, and Han had to give her a deep, passionate hug. “Hey. Hey, it’s okay. I’m here. I’m here. I’m here.” He spoke lovingly as Kendall looked at the two. He had a feeling that Leia was suffering from some sort of PTSD herself that pertained to Hutts, but he thought it best not to ask. She didn’t look well at all. 

“Let’s just get the business at the dock over with.” Kendall sighed as he put his hands in his pockets after lifting the hood to his blue, slightly puffy jacket up over his head. He and Han and Leia shook hands with the patrons they’d been speaking to, and then made their way back out, heading for the docks.

Sure enough, it was a most unpleasant scene. A VERY clearly outnumbered small security force was trying to guard several of the Dyad’s ships, but a large crowd of angry, righteously furious protestors were  holding signs up. Some of them were normal, written down on big thick white paper in large letters. Others were holo-signs, held up on pen-like emitters. A few were tossing tomatoes and other types of fruit at the security force, and many were chanting.

“Hey Ho! Dyad’s Got to Go! Hey Ho! Dyad’s Got to Go!” 

“The Dyad are Shit! Trash their ship! The Dyad are shit! Trash their ship!” 

“Our taxes pay your salary! Our taxes pay your salary!” 

And a few others were singing, pushing up against the security officers. Loud cries of “Move, bitch, get out the way, get out the way, bitch, get out the way” echoed through the air as Kendall dryly chuckled at how the security force was trying...and failing...to look stoic. They were getting more and more antsy, a few of their legs were jiggling, some of them were casting furtive, slightly worried glances at one another.

“I’m surprised the Dyad didn’t just get a bunch or robots to do this for them.” Han admitted as they approached the crowd of protesters.

“That’s one of the ONLY things we’re really glad they didn’t do.” One of the protesters said, the twi’lek shaking her head. “They try to hire local all the time to boost the economy and give the average person a job, and they didn’t replace people with machines either. We used to appreciate that, sure. But now we see it as a double-edged sword. If it’s our friends and neighbors hired as their goons, WE’RE less likely to get really wild with them the way we would with a robot.” 

“Let us by! The Dyad havve been bossing us around long enough! Its time we sent a message!” Said one protestor, who finally decided that tossing crumpled up paper, or fruit, or vegetables wasn’t enough. He shoved one of the security guards. The guard decided this was enough. She slammed her baton into the guy’s stomach, knocking him back. 

“That’s it, get them!” She yelled out as the security force raced forward. The protesters were caught off guard, it was turning into a madhouse. Leia and Han and Kendall tried to help the protesters, to tug them away from sweeping batons and electro-stun staffs, Kendall yelling for everyone to please, try to calm down! 

It wasn’t working. It was turning into chaos. People were yelling angrily, attacking the guards, who were beginning to get overwhelmed. They punched, they kicked, they even tried biting a few times. Loud THWAK-THWAK and crunches and cries of pain were echoing through the air, but then there came a very loud, horrible, wet noise. 

That horrifying wet noise stopped everyone else in their tracks. They all turned to see what had happened and they saw that one of the security guards had gotten their electro staff stripped from them, and one of the protesters had struck them so hard...they’d cracked their helmet...and their skull open. 

People reeled back as Kendall raced over, carefully removing the the helmet as he looked down at the guard. He’d been hurt badly, the unfortunate human guard had cracked his head badly. Kendall could see the BONE. “Oh no, no, no, no.” Kendall’s eyes went wide. “I need a towel or...or something soft! Somebody?!” He cried out. 

Everyone looked around. But nobody moved forward, out of a mixture of shock, of fear...and in some cases, a sense of “let the pig die”. Kendall frowned furiously at the faces who looked down at the security guard with disdain, spitting on the ground as he ripped his jacket off, and got his undershirt off. “You’re PATHETIC!” He snapped as he wrapped it around the man’s head “Get the FUCK out of here if you’re not going to help!” He roared. “I’m a registered nurse, so get out of the way, and let me do my job!”  

People stepped back as Kendall looked at the man’s eyes. “His pupils are dilating. He’s sweating heavily, his breathing is getting more difficult. I need to get him to a proper place to treat him. Does anyone have any Bacta or Kolto or any medical packs?” 

Leia, luckily, stepped forward. She pulled out a small medical kit, kneeling down as she administered the liquid within the pack to the man’s lips. He was barely breathing, he struggled to gulp it down as Kendall examined the wound. The med-kit liquid was working, the man was stabilizing, but barely. “I need to stitch his head up.” He murmured as he tried to lift the security guard up into his arms and then turned to the other security guards. “I can’t carry him alone!” He insisted. “Help me get the armor off at least!”

The guards glanced at each other, then began to help get the armor off. Soon, at last, the poor man was almost utterly naked, but easier to carry as Kendall helped carry him off to Leia and Han’s vehicle. The guards glanced at the protesters, then quietly, somberly, stepped away from the Dyad’s ships. The protesters looked at each other, and then moved quietly to the ship, and began to push it over silently, saying nothing as they did so. It finally flopped over, onto its side, with a loud THRAKKA-THA-SCHOOOOM. Now the ship finally laid on its side, some windows blown out as the protestors stared at the thing. It laid on the floor of the docking bay like a dead beast, and they began to quietly head out, each returning to their homes. 

“Okay, keep the vehicle steady.” Kendall said as Han and Leia drove back to their hotel. “We need to get him more proper medicine. I’ll have to check the wound to see if any parts of the weapon got stuck inside him like shrapnel.” He told the two. “...I don’t suppose...Leia, could you, like...force heal him?” “Unfortunately, I don’t know that skill.” She confessed. “Jedi do heal naturally faster than most, and we can heal ourselves fairly easily but when it comes to other people, that’s a bit harder. I don’t know that technique yet.” 

“Damn.” Kendall hesitated. “Well, then I’ll just have to examine the wound and hope basic bacta will be enough. I’ve never treated a head wound as badly as this. In THEORY the bacta should do it. But...well, what works in theory and abstract isn’t the same as what actually works in real life.” He muttered. 

“Hey. It’ll happen, kid.” Han said gently, looking up in the mirror. “...you’re gonna do fine.” He told Kendall, who tried to smile back, though he could barely return the smile. 

[multifandomhaven]

Of Whispers and Dragons

Hey guys! This is another Jon/OC request I've gotten! It's been so much fun starting this one! I don't think this story will be a super long one, but it's going to be a multi-chapter fic. I am still working on The Warden's Duty, no worries about that one being finished!

Requested by ra-veela-claw

Chapter One

"This is unbelievable, Raenerha," the princess said with a genuine smile. Somehow her delicate voice had cut through her servant's mindless humming, something the princess had learned to appreciate unlike her older brother, Joffrey - he detested it. "Thank you."

Raenerha pinned a few more pieces of hair in place, the corners of her lips twitched into a grin. "Thank you Princess Myrcella. I treasure your kind words. Truly."

"How did you learn such techniques?" the princess wondered, her green eyes wide as Raenerha twisted her golden locks. "Surely it's taken years."

Raenerha nodded, her bottom lip between her teeth as she concentrated. "T'has. When I was a servant back in Braavos my master's wife always wanted the most intricate hairstyles for her parties, she loved to impress her friends, so I was forced to learn. Not that force was necessary, of course. This is my passion. My art."

"Well, you've certainly mastered your craft, haven't you?" Myrcella complimented sweetly.

Raenerha bowed her head slightly. "You're too kind, Princess."

When she got the last piece of hair tucked into place the Princess excused her. Raenerha bowed and made her leave.

Raenerha didn't like King's Landing. The politics were everywhere - Raenerha kept her head down, trying to steer clear of the games that threatened to smother the city around her, but somehow she'd been noticed by one of the most dangerous people in King's Landing - The Spider, The Master of Whispers. He appeared out of nowhere, even in the moments she thought she was alone leaving her with cryptic messages.

"Lady Raenerha Waters," an almost condescending voice came from the shadows. Raenerha startled a bit, still unused to Varys' silent slinking about. The Spider strolled toward her, his hands hidden in the billows of sleeves. "I must speak with you. May I have a moment?"

"Of course, Lord Varys," the girl forced a smile - she didn't particularly like the man, but she knew better than to cross him. It was common knowledge that he could have whoever he wanted crushed beneath his slipper clad foot like a bug. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Varys held his arm out, signaling her to walk with him. Raenerha obliged wordlessly, folding her hands in front of her. Nervous wasn't the word she'd use to describe how she felt around the man. His words were sickly sweet while his eyes held a different meaning entirely. He somewhat reminded her of her brother, they way he used his words to bend people to his will - the difference was if she angered Varys it wouldn't be waking the dragon, she would simply be killed for an imagined slight.

"There have been some interesting talk among my little birds," Varys stated quietly, glancing at her without turning his body. "They've been chirping of a dragon that's hidden among the lions. Have you heard any such tales yourself, my lady?"

"I have not, "Raenerha replied quickly, her voice a bit strained. Her steps had faltered slightly with his words and she prayed to any God who would listen that Varys hadn't noticed. Her heart beat was thumping wildly in her chest and she wondered if Varys could hear it, too. "What am I, a simple serving girl, supposed to do with this information, Lord Varys?"

"You are anything but a simple serving girl, though, with your coal stained hair and your violet eyes." Varys made a point to look into her widened pale eyes. How did he know she stained her hair? Was the coal boy she'd gotten the dust from one of his little birds? "Your sister is causing quite the ruckus across the Narrow Sea, is she not? She's building quite the army."

Raenerha's lips were locked in a tight line. "I'm sorry, Lord Varys, but, I don't know what you're referring to."

"Of course not," Varys nearly rolled his eyes. "This is not a visit of leisure, my lady. I come here to give you a warning. People are beginning to talk - should that talk reach the ears of the king or his family you will be hunted like game. You are one of the only members of your family left living, a family that is very vocal about reclaiming the Iron Throne that was stolen out from under them. You will be labeled a spy, working for the Dragon Queen across the sea. You will be executed for treason."

Raenerha's spine stiffened. "I'm no spy, I was sold to the royal family! I had no part in my being sent here."

"I find it hard to think Cersei would let you live based on that testimony alone. Should your identity be compromised you must go North. Castle Black holds a member of your family that most can't remember. He is the maester there. He will help you."

"Why are you telling me this?" the girl hummed quietly. "What have you to gain?"

Varys raised his eyebrows slightly. "Alliances, my lady, are the most important thing to have in King's Landing. I am forging a new one of my own."

"With me?" Raenerha asked disbelievingly. "What could I possibly give you?"

"We can help each other. Word will spread, my lady. Be ready." With that Varys left her in the gardens with a deep bow.

Raenerha couldn't sleep that night.

Varys' words kept floating through her mind, keeping the young woman restless throughout the evening. They were going to find out. The secret she'd kept hidden for all those years was about to be exposed and she would be killed. Varys wouldn't have risked coming to her in the middle of the day, just outside the Princess' chambers unless it was dire.

Raenerha's eyes popped open and she jumped out of the bed as quickly as she could. She wasted no time throwing the only what she needed to move into a small pack. Quickly she threw an old cloak on and ran to the stables just outside her hut.

Pepper wasn't fastest steed, but she would do.

Raenerha threw her hood up over her head and looked to make sure no one had saw her, and then she took off. She dug her heels into the horse's side desperately, her hands gripping the reins so tightly she thought they might burst open at any moment, but she didn't dare stop.

She rode until her bottom was raw.

Raenerha slid off the saddle and onto the ground with a groan. She hadn't packed much to eat, but what she did pack would get her out of the Crownlands, at least, then she could rest a day before journeying forth.

When she reached an inn far away from where she'd stared she was approached by an elderly woman with a headscarf on her head. The woman's back was bowed with age and tufts of grey frazzled hair peeked out from under her scarf. Her eyes were a glassy green color.

"Are you Raenerha Waters?" She asked in a frail, old voice.

Raenerha raised a brow at her. "Who's asking?"

"A little bird," she said quietly. "I've been asked to relay some information to you by our mutual friend. There's a boat leaving Rook's Rest, and it will not leave without your boarding. You must go, my lady. It is the quickest way to arrive at Eastwatch-by-the-sea. From there a Night's Watchman will escort you to Castle Black."

"How do I know you haven't intercepted a letter of some sort and are just out to get me killed?" Raenerah asked quickly, her eyes narrowed at the old woman.

The woman's mouth twitched slightly. "You had to leave - you were the dragon among lions."

Raenerah sighed, humming in irritation. "As you wish, then."