#may day menagerie

[myceliomancer]

Some recent Menagerie City writing:

Oh, and how Jun loved its cities, springing right up around the Painted Mahogany like an ant-nest. Well, they were forest people after all, and what is a city if not a forest? And Jun’s cities were true jungles, great filthy towering things where buildings grew on buildings like galls, roads twisted and knotted and self-cannibalised, churches and temples of all shapes and sizes desecrated each other and themselves; they were hot and noisy with a cacophony of different tongues, spilling their chaos outwards and upwards and downwards uncontrollably, drunkenly.

And it was here, in the noise and the rank, amidst the monkey-lords and the beggars and fortune-tellers and the restless dead and bankers and the vermin and the gods, that the Mahogany stood, unchanging and unmoving, and she grew quiet and she grew thoughtful.

[aealzx]

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Update Post

Prologue | AO3

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“So…Let me just summarize to make sure I understand,” Jazz requested, feeling a little overwhelmed by all the new information Bruce, Barry, and Leslie had explained to her, but at least not so overwhelmed to the point of breaking down anymore. She’d just never heard of something like hemoperfusion before, so it had been a lot to take in. “Danny has blood blossom toxin throughout his blood stream, and since blood blossoms don’t exist here there’s no antitoxin to inject him with. And since developing one would take too long and be too risky, you want to try hemoperfusion. Which is like hemodialysis, except it removes toxins instead of fluids. And since hemoperfusion is known to cause a mild decrease in various common blood components, you want to have a blood donation from Danielle to offset that. Because she’s the only one here who also has ectoplasm in her blood, and you don’t want to dilute that in Danny since he’s already low…Did I get all of that?”

“Yes,” Bruce answered simply, giving a small nod. He was ready to go over anything they needed to again, a tablet in his hand ready to be used to open any of the files he’d already shown Jazz a second time. She had reacted to the information about Danny’s condition with anxious fear, but overall she was managing to remain significantly calmer than earlier that day.

Jazz was silent as she ran through everything she could remember just one more time, as well as trying to think of anything that they may have missed. Either because it was an oversight, or they simply just didn’t know. But she couldn’t see any risks other than the ones they had already told her they were aware of. She honestly wasn’t sure she would have caught the risk of diluting the ectoplasm in Danny’s blood herself. Amity always had an abundance of ectoplasm leaking everywhere, so even when Danny has spent a lot he’d always been able to recover some from the ambient. It, and the way they had addressed this situation, was enough for her to finally look to Bruce and nod. “Okay. Go ahead.”

Bruce was admittedly pleasantly surprised at the response, but kept his response in check other than a content smile. Barry’s shoulders sagged with his sigh of relief, and he barely waited for Bruce to give him a nod before he dashed from the room in a blink.

“Barry and Wally will take care of getting the supplies. We’ll test the types of resin with the blood samples we already have to make sure we use the correct one. But it shouldn’t take too long. Is it alright if we inform the rest of your family of what’s going on?” Bruce requested, not wanting Sam, Tucker and Danielle to be left out just because his own children were doing a good job keeping them occupied. Barbara had come over to meet them already, and she and Tim were indulging Tucker’s questions as well as getting some of their own answers. Then Stephanie and Cass had spent some time letting Danielle pick out some different clothes before they had joined Wally in the gym. Danielle had been ecstatic to find out about Wally’s abilities, and all four of them were having fun showing off and messing around together. Which left Sam talking with Duke, Damian, and Alfred about some of Duke’s adventures, Damian’s menagerie of pets, and Alfred’s recipes and food sources. The news would be an interruption to their fun, but Bruce had confidence that his team could help them stay occupied and taken care of instead of relying only on Jazz.

“...Sure,” Jazz agreed once more, giving another nod. They had already told her that they would have Danielle stop by the room to draw her blood, so having the three of them back in the room for a bit wasn’t a bad idea.

It didn’t take long at all for Barry and Wally to return with the equipment, getting it set up in record speed next to the bed before Barry joined Bruce back in the lab to test the different resins. They were simple tests that could all be done at the same time, so they were back upstairs soon after Leslie had finished drawing Danielle’s blood.

“Here’s the lucky winner,” Barry chimed, holding a second canister of the resin that they had found cleared the blood blossom toxin from Danny’s blood while having minimal effect on the important parts that needed to stay.

“Woah… I was expecting something bigger,” Sam admitted, watching Barry from where she was hovering near Danielle.

Barry just chuckled as he headed to the machine and popped the canister in. “It doesn’t need to be that big. We’re only pulling a tiny amount of toxin from him and putting the rest back after all.”

“Fair enough,” Sam accepted, attention shifting slightly as Danielle flexed her arm and moved around to make sure she wasn’t dizzy or anything.

“And you’re sure it’s going to work?” Tucker asked, his nervous nature prompting him to reach for reassurance despite the procedure not being used on him.

“It’s not as common as dialysis, but it’s still something that’s been used thousands of times on thousands of different people. I’m sure it’ll get most, if not all of the toxin,” Barry assured, stepping out of the way so Leslie could proceed to get Danny connected to the device. Unfortunately the IV needle that had been used was too small, so Leslie couldn’t use it for one of the tubes, even if it had been in the right place. So it was simply pinched closed, and disconnected to use again later while the other two tubes were inserted.

The others continued to chatter lightly, but Jazz was more focused on what Leslie was doing. How she was prepping Danny’s arm, where she put the tubes, trying to guess what she was looking for. She didn’t think this would be the last time Danny, or Danielle got poisoned, so she felt she should learn as much as she could while she could. It also helped her feel like she was being useful. Adding to her skillset to maybe use later instead of just sitting and being worried. It certainly helped even though once Leslie finally started the machine nothing seemed to be happening. It was a good thing though. No immediate adverse reactions, no sudden drop in vitals. Nothing but the quiet hum of the machine added to the soft beeps of the heart monitor and puffs from the oxygen tank.

Within an hour the others had gotten bored enough to easily be lured away by the rest of Bruce’s family once again.

Thirty minutes after and Jazz was the only one left, having moved to sit on the floor at the side of the bed. She wanted to be close to Danny, but she felt in the way if she sat on the bed. There were too many tubes now. Before he could have been mistaken for just sleeping. But now he really was looking like a coma patient. It made it hard to watch him, even though she refused to leave.

A short time later Jason was knocking on the doorframe to announce his presence, causing Jazz to look up.

“...Hey,” she greeted, a little confused.

“Hey,” Jason returned, “Just checking in. You need anything?” A half lie. He’d actually volunteered to hang out for a while to make sure the hemoperfusion process was going well. Luckily it looked like Danny’s vitals hadn’t changed much from two hours ago.

Jazz blinked in mild surprise at the offer, but even after thinking for a moment she couldn’t come up with anything. Part of her knew there were probably a multitude of things that she should be at least curious about, but mostly she just felt tired. The near quiet of the room while she knew everyone was okay and having fun was nice. She was content to just relax as well as she could for now. “No, I’m good,” she responded.

Jason didn’t quite believe her, his brow raising. “Says the girl sitting on the floor wearing random spare clothes borrowed from someone else, and doing nothing but stare at the other side of the room,” he commented dryly with a half smirk, stepping into the room and taking a seat on the floor near Jazz.

The comment caught Jazz off guard, but she could only give a small giggle. She probably did look at least a little unwell huh. “...I guess I just haven’t fully realized I’m safe yet,” she admitted. “It’s hard to think about anything.”

“Fair enough,” Jason accepted, being able to understand the feeling. “...Do you mind if I ask you something then?”

Another mild surprise, but Jazz just nodded after a moment. “Sure.”

“You mentioned before…” Jason started, thinking back to something Jazz had said before lunch, “that your parents tried to hurt Danny before they knew….” The reminder was potentially a very unhappy topic, but it was prodding he felt was necessary. Were they safe at home? Were they runaways? Were their parents involved with the ones that had hurt Danny recently? They needed to know if it was a good idea to try and get these kids back to their family or not. And if he was going to keep Jazz company and monitor the hemoperfusion process he didn’t feel like spending the time in silence.

“....Yeah… Our parents used to be ghost hunters,” Jazz admitted, a sorrowful smile as she stared at her hands. It seemed she was in the mood to talk, for she continued unprompted. “We grew up with their crazy antics. Making machines that could track down and destroy ghosts. Always talking about dissecting them, or using them as a power source. They had so many studies supporting the idea that ghosts were just residual emotions from people, given human form, but not actually human. So many things that convinced others that ghosts weren’t people anymore.”

“And yet… all it took was them finding out that Danny was half ghost, half dead, and it made them rethink everything they had developed. He was fourteen when… And I didn’t find out until a few months later. I didn’t even tell him I knew, because I knew if I did he would get scared. Why wouldn’t he, after all? With the idea that his mom and dad might cut into him just to satiate their curiosity looming over his head. It was an accident that they found out, and I was so scared he was going to run away. But mom just tried her best to treat him like Danny, and nothing else. Dropped her gun and told us we should go home and get a snack, because we were probably hungry. It…. it was enough to keep him home, but it wasn’t enough for everything to be okay. It was like everyone was trying to pretend everything was normal, but we all knew it wasn’t. They stopped doing their experiments. Started pretending they were oblivious to anything related to ghosts. It was awful. I felt so… so useless.”

“It was months of this stupid, awkward fake normal family facade before it finally broke. Danny accidentally got burned when mom was cooking, and she had a breakdown. We found out that our dad was okay with everything, but mom was having a hard time because she couldn’t believe that she had hurt Danny before. Even if she didn’t know it was him. But, after she had a really long talk with my brother, things started to look more normal again. Only this time, instead of being ghost hunters my parents dove headfirst into trying to figure out how to help ghosts. We realized we couldn’t take Danny to the doctors anymore, so my parents and I tried to make sure we could fill in that role. Mom would try all sorts of new, ectoplasm rich meals for him, making sure they tasted good to him. She started making smoothies for him every morning once she found ones he liked. On top of helping him study for school every day when there weren’t other ghosts causing trouble. There’s so many nights I found them asleep together on the couch. Danny was always mom’s favorite, and I think dad got jealous about how close they got. Until Danielle came back from her world exploration adventures and Danny convinced her to officially meet my parents. Then Dad and Danielle latched onto each other so quickly, and became inseparable.”

The retelling had seemed a little painful at first, but it was easy to see that Jazz was at least content with the way her family life was now. It wasn’t perfect, but then again families never were. Jason couldn’t help notice the tone of voice she took when talking about her parents favoring her siblings. She didn’t seem too upset, but there definitely wasn’t complete indifference to the facts. “...Does it make you upset? Having your siblings be your parents’ favorites?” he couldn’t help asking.

Jazz could only snicker at the question, falling quiet for a beat before answering. “Sometimes,” she admitted, then looked over with a mildly mischievous grin that made Jason semi think of Danielle. “But then I remember I’m Danny’s favorite, and I’m usually okay.”

The proud declaration made Jason snicker, glad to hear she had at least one thing keeping her from devolving into jealousy. She didn’t seem to want to talk much more though, and Jason wanted to leave the conversation on a happier note and therefore didn’t ask about the ‘Guys in White’ Danielle had mentioned before. So instead, after another stretch of quiet, he just chose to reassure her. “... He’ll be okay.”

Jazz didn’t answer immediately, drawing in a sigh and letting it go. She seemed to be doing much better as the day had stretched on, handling the news that Danny had poison throughout his bloodstream much better than the suggestion of drawing his blood. And being reassured that he would be okay, she gained a smile. “... He better be,” she commented, gaining a glint in her eye that Jason had seen in others he knew. “Otherwise the government back home will have to deal with a new super villain family.”

The comment only caught Jason slightly off guard, eyes widening just for a moment as he looked at Jazz before bursting into a hearty laugh. “Fair enough,” he agreed. The son of a family getting killed by the government was a legit enough back story for super villains in his opinion.

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lil bit of home situation dump and hopefully the last bit of the part that was giving me trouble. Nice to get to draw Jason without the suit XD though I almost forgot to draw the bandage on his fingers.

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Tag list: @galaxy-sharks-and-bottled-ships, @starscreamlover, @nerdynonnativenarnian, @dragongoblet, @megacharizardx99

@bellathecatastrophe, @cj-ghostemoji-destielpie, @asexual-insomniac, @wolfeyedwitch, @tkiesai, 

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@op-sys-chaos, @kirasigncomics, @ehobep

[howi99]

Prince of Vale 7

Meeting room

Jaune: *looking at the leaders of every major nation* Messieurs, leaders of Vacuo, Atlas, Mistral and Menagerie, i welcome you. *Bow in sign of respect to his guest*

All of the representatives: *bow to the king, showing their respect*

Jaune: *taking a seat* As all of you must know, i have summoned all of you to discuss two major incidents. The first and least important one being the demands of Jacques Schnee, demanding the day of my mother's funeral, the queen funeral, that i take one of his daughters as queen consort. The second and far more grave incident was the Prime Minister of Mistral accusing me of protecting the princess of Menagerie from the Mistralean judicial system.

Ghira: *looking directly at said Prime Minister* Is that so?

PM: *adjusting his tie* With all due respect, your daughter did participate in White Fang's activities. Both of your nations may not see them as a terrorist organization, but the material damage they are causing in the name of liberty cannot be disregarded.

Jacques: *a calculating look in his eyes* And should i remind you, your majesty, that said material was the property of the Schnee Dust Company? Not only that, but my daughter was placed in the same team as said criminal?

Jaune: *coldly looking at Jacques* First, may i remind you that you are only the manager of said company and not its true owner? *Looking at Willow* Your wife is the one allowed to speak without constraints during the meeting. And secondly, you shall address her by her title or miss Belladonna.

Willow: *surprised* Your majesty?

Jacques: ... *Sigh* I must ask your forgiveness. It slipped my mind.

Jaune: I see. *Now looking at the PM* Now, as you probably know, Miss Belladonna isn't part of the White Fang anymore. Not only that, but her crimes were committed as a minor. Furthermore, she isn't a Mistralean resident, meaning we are in no obligation to extradite her.

PM: *frowning* You are saying that she won't be punished for her crimes?

Jaune: *shaking his head* I never said that. She will be judged according to Valean laws.

Ghira: *nodding* And i approve of this decision. Tell me, wouldn't you prefer we bury the hatchet and try de-escalating the situation?

PM: ... *Sigh* What would be the sentence?

Jaune: Under our laws, she committed vandalism, vigilantism and endangerment of civilian life during said vigilantism. For the remainder of her time in Beacon, she will have to do community service every Saturday. Furthermore, she will be forbidden from leaving the vicinity of Beacon UNLESS it is for said service.

PM: ... Fine, we shall accept those conditions. *Looking at Ghira* In exchange, we simply ask for the White Fang to stop attacking the SDC shipments to our cities.

Ghira: *sigh* I would love to, but i have limited influence on them i'm afraid.

Jaune: *looking at the annoyed Jacques* Maybe the SDC could make some concessions? *Smiling, now looking at Willow* What do you think, lady Willow?

Willow: *nervous* I-i... My husband...

Jaune: *gently cutting her* Has no authority during this meeting.

Willow: *Feeling the gaze of her husband* I... *Shaky voice* Y-yes your majesty. The company has gone too far.

Jacques: *low angry voice* Willow...

Willow: *looking at Jaune with more resolve* I am fully aware of the wrongdoing of Jacques. In exchange for those concessions, however, i want the rights of the SDC's old mines back.

Jaune: *pensive* The one from before the faunus war, i assume?

Willow: *nod* Yes, your majesty... I will be frank with you, Jacques demands were mostly aimed at re-appropriating them back.

Jaune: *sigh* It would have been so much easier to say so... *Nod* You are free to restart mining on Valean soil. However, some of the mines were privatised. Is this fine with you, my lady?

Willow: *nod* I was already aware of that. Besides, competition never hurts.

Ironwood: *surprised, whispering to Winter* It's the first time i've seen her speak up.

Winter: *as surprised as him* Same for me here. I always thought she was completely under my father's thumb...

Jacques: *furious, getting up from his chair* Willow, what are you doing!? "I" own the company! "I" brought it back from the mountain of debts your father had to pay!

Willow: *looking at him* And in doing so, you ran my family name through the mud. *Getting up, locking eyes with him* You made us enemy number one of faunuskind, you supplied both the government and the criminals alike in the name of profit and that's enough! I'm through with this!

Jacques: What are you-

Willow: I'm divorcing you, you twat!

The Vacuan representative: *whispering to Jaune* Soooo.... Would it be a bad time to talk about the unlawful exploitation of our Dust by the SDC or?

[thatnonameuser]

Excuse me, but can I write something else about yandere Kalim? (Anything) What will it be like to try to escape Kalim? Does Kalim mind sharing with Jamil? Although Jamil is clearly against this... Translator

Escaping him.

Kalim is very protective of you, so he’s going to make sure that you’re protected from all the threats that could kidnap or try to kill you. So that makes escape difficult enough already. Then there’s Jamil stopping you, so that’s even worse. 

You would have to plan, while being as affectionate as possible to not tip off anyone of your escape attempt. You’ll probably have to pay someone to aid in your escape. And if that works, make sure you have enough money squirreled away to buy their eternal silence, because if offered with untold riches they’ll probably rat you out when Kalim freaks out. 

You’ll have bounty hunters chasing you down at every possible second. You’ll probably never get the opportunity to feel safe ever again. You could step outside at any moment and the next you’ll be back with your ‘husband’. 

The only way you could manage to evade him is if you sacrifice your newly gotten freedom to someone else. More specifically, his closest confidante, Jamil. He knows the Asim’s family’s secrets better than anyone and if you want to sleep well away from his side, he's your best bet. 

Sharing with Jamil.

Kalim Al-Asim had everything in the palms of his hands since the day he was conceived, let alone born. As the heir to his family’s wealth and his father’s beloved first child, he never had to want for anything. 

When he wanted a pet, he got a whole menagerie. 

When he wanted to fly, he got a magic carpet.

When he wanted a best friend, he got Jamil. 

And Jamil is the bestest friend he could have asked for! Sure, they had that one hiccup where Jamil overblotted and tried to kill him, but every friendship has its hiccups! All that means now is that Kalim has to be extra nice to him now to make up for it and change his mind about him!

And if it means Jamil will be happy if he has you too, then he’ll be happy to share! You mean the world to Kalim, but Jamil does too. 

The problem is, he never had to share anything. Not with his siblings, not with his friends. Not with anyone. So he may be a little more possessive, maybe giving Jamil a lil more work so he can have more time to spend with you. Obviously, you’ll be married to him and not Jamil, but it’s a compromise and that way everyone will be happy!(You being married to Kalim and not Jamil makes things even worse, because of Jamil's issues. But Kalim doesn't notice.)

He’s perfectly willing to share! Just as long as he gets more time with you than Jamil. Plus, Jamil’s UM can be a little helpful if you intend on being difficult.

[peggyao3]

Relic - Pt. 10 "Fettered Flesh"

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: ✧ Dreams are messages from the deep ✧

A woman from the unknown comes to Feyd in his dreams and his nights become his days as he flees to the dreamscape to escape the nightmares that haunt his waking hours.

TAGS: 18+, smut, she/her AFAB FMC, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, Porn with Plot, Feyd-Rautha's black cum and big cock, Praise Kink, Body Worship, angst/hurt and comfort, drama, fluff, Frank Herbert would frown, some politics, implied/referenced (child) abuse❗, Trauma, mentions of suicidal thoughts❗, Healing, Strangers to Lovers, falling in love, Vulnerable/Emotional/Possessive Feyd, Feyd is a sweet baby who did nothing wrong and I WILL pamper him, nurture not nature, Stockholm Syndrome but in a consensual way, lucid dreaming, implied/referenced cannibalism❗, Murder, Female rage, Teaching the Universe about Feminism, Angst with a Happy Ending

WORD COUNT: 5k

A/N: HELLO PRECIOUS PEOPLE 💕 Shit hits the Giedi Prime fan, so get out your umbrellas!! I feel like with every chapter I'm getting more excited 🥹 And everyone who has left a comment is to blame 😭 I appreciate it so greatly 😭 I've recently started an internship thingy (in a manner of baby's first real job experience lmao), so I have a bit less time to write, but chapter 11 and 12 are finished already, so I do have a bit of food in stock 💪

Reposted from my Ao3 💕| Masterlist | Relic Masterlist

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

← Previous Chapter, Next Chapter →

Day 5

Jealousy is a beast, but loneliness is a monster.

Jealousy ignites with fiery tendrils but loneliness drowns you slowly until you're staring up from the bottom of the pitch black sea, yearning for the light.

All day she's been mulling over the three woman-creatures, Feyd's "pets". What is it that infuriates her the most? The physical violence? The fear of what they might have done to her - Death, torture or worse? Their derogatory status? Their beastliness grafted into female bodies, paired with the fact that Feyd has been bedding them at some point?

Without thinking about it, and perhaps it is tactless, she has been pouring her heart out to Lilia while the attentive handmaid is treating her scabbed injuries from last night. Now it is evident that wound management is a well-needed skill around the Harkonnen palace. The sarcophagus is safely folded up and her new weapon is tucked into one of the compartments.

"Am I overreacting?!" She asks, even though - hell no - she knows she isn't, but a part of her soul yearns for human connection, affirmation, camaraderie, friendship. It feels so good to be talking to someone who is not the man she thought she knew or the belittling Bene Gesserit sisters.

"Hmm," Lilia begins tentatively and the glowglobe light brings out the unusual color of her eyes as she tilts her head, so amber that they almost appear golden. "While I'll say it's never been common for the na-Baron to practice monogamy… I'll also say that I'd be quite furious at my husband if he had three women on the side." Her voice quivers upon women, as if it repels her to describe the three beings as such. The spider in the Baron's throne room may be the most harmless monster to roam these halls.

The engineer's questions chip away and it becomes perfectly clear that it's the jealousy that cuts the deepest, even with her superficial wounds cared for, a blade is wedged inside her guts that will keep on cutting.

"And do these 'pets' have handmaids too?" A self-destructive question to determine where her own status truly lies. What's a bride but another pet to him?

"They used to have handmaids…" Lilia hesitates. "But they always ended up eating them. I'm glad to be assigned to you, my Lady."

Great. There she has another horror to add to the menagerie.

Lilia continues: "If it calms you, I doubt there will be any further incidences with them. The na-Baron has been in an, uhm, unstable mood since last night." The maid's posture turns rigid. She shouldn't be speaking about the na-Baron like that, but the Earth woman's emotions are contagious. Lilia will get herself killed if she's not careful. She's been telling that to herself since she was a little girl.

"Unstable, uh-huh, well so am I."

The Harkonnen woman nods and decides it is best not to elaborate on what it means when Feyd-Rautha is having the worst day of his life.

Vladimir Harkonnen chuckles with delight at his nephew's distress and the infantile killing spree that has been painting the halls black since last night.

It took even less time than he expected, for the new woman to be disgusted by his poor nephew and he cannot hold it against her. Feyd-Rautha is a raging child in an unfortunately manly body. 

The Baron is well-entertained by the hollow screams that blare down the hallways. First the three harpies. A shame, they had helped keep Feyd settled so nicely and they hadn't been cheap either. It's also a shame that the Bene Tleilax don't offer bulk discount, considering the number of Gholas the Baron saw himself forced to commission for the little game his nephew and he have been playing.

Next on Feyd's blade was the guard at his little witch's door, then anyone who crossed his path in the night, all the while Feyd was chafing with desire to be cut and hurt. But no one outside of the ring is allowed to raise their blades against the Baron's heir apparent, unless instructed by the Harkonnen sovereign himself.

Some fire has returned to his nephew since the woman's arrival and he appreciates that, yes, he does, but he will keep a sharp eye on the two of them. He has no doubt that she's a Bene Gesserit agent who has implanted phantasms in Feyd-Rautha's mind, but Vladimir is willing to play the sisterhood's game, for his nephew's sake, even though he had sworn to never let a witch enter his fortress again. 

Not since Lady Margot Fenring had tried to steal his lovely boy's precious seed. Luckily, Feyd's blade had worked quicker than the thief's vocal chords.

But Valdimir is willing to adapt. The boy had been boring him to death for the past two years and he used to be so entertaining and feisty!

In the evening hours after a night and day of bloodshed, Feyd still has stamina (a trait the Baron cherishes so dearly about his nephew) and comes barging into the guarded dining room, bringing with him the cloying scent of blood that sticks to the tacky soles of his boots. He wears the clothes of yesterday and blood lust in his eyes.

Careful now.

Vladimir gives no sign to the guards, chews without haste and takes a noisy gulp of wine, making sure a bead rolls down the folds of his massive neck. The muscle at his nephew's jaw twitches and his fingers strangulate the blood-slick handle of his blade.

The eight arm-legged arachnid creature shivers in its basket under the table, eager to get to Feyd, partly because his boots smell yummy, but it doesn't dare move away from the Baron's feed. Smart thing.

"Don't look at me like that. It's not my fault that she doesn't like you, boy."

Feyd halts as if struck by one of the bolts of infrared lightning that cook the atmosphere during the summer months. Tension strains his neck, a bull ready to charge at his Matador and for a second the Baron thinks he'll have to switch on his shield ring. But his nephew turns and barges off with bouncing, stomping steps, draining his stamina and wetting his knives on everything that breathes, when the only one he really wants to kill sits fat and mighty on his throne. 

It's almost cute, Vladimir thinks. The boy could kill him so easily now, if he really put his cunning, little mind to it. He's strong enough, smart enough, but his spirit - that's the crux. Feyd's spirit is broken and riddled with fear of the punishments. The last time he tried was at 17 and then never again.

Ah-h-h, yes, the Baron has conditioned him well and he considers it his retirement plan. Age hasn't left the Harkonnen sovereign unscathed and while his mind may still be sharp (or else how would he have come up with such a genius plan!), his morbidly obese body fully relies on the protection of his shield ring, guards, lung machine and poison snoopers. But as long as the boy still fears him, the deadliest threat within these halls remains on a pretty, silver leash.

The fire of jealousy has dwindled down and now all she does is miss him, sitting lonely in her room, lonely on this planet, lonely in the universe with only inanimate objects and the virtual messages and images of dead people to keep her company. None of this can ever compare to the warm hands of her beloved and his smile, the roundness of his cheeks and his painted teeth. She misses the way his eyes used to crinkle just for her. He had made her believe that only she could make him smile and offer a sliver of peace to his soul.

It's been two years since their last dream. Why wouldn't he have taken other women?

He said he "hasn't touched them". Since when? Since he learned she's alive? Since their first dreams? Ever?

She regrets now that she denied him when he knocked on her door an hour ago. The bitter guilt of disgracing oneself crawls over her when she slowly moves towards the door, but her self-respect has cauterized and become cinders along with her fury. Feeling sick to her stomach, she places her hand on the panel and the heavy door slides open.

Finding herself face to back with a guard in bulky plate armor, she halts. She wouldn't know where exactly to find Feyd's room anyway. The man turns on his heels and salutes briskly before returning his hand to the hilt of his saber.

"Good evening. Ah, wait, are you… New?" She blurts out, not meaning to seem disrespectful. The Harkonnens often do look quite alike to her, but she could have sworn the old guard was a little shorter.

"Yes, my Lady." The man looks right above the crown of her head, avoiding her eyes.

"What happened to the other guard?"

"He was replaced, my Lady."

That does make sense and she's almost a little relieved. She wouldn't want anyone who'd let these bloodthirsty creatures inside to guard her and her most valuable possession. However, she still hopes this incident won't ruin his chances of employment indefinitely.

"I see." She glances cautiously down the austere corridor. Past the windows, there is only blackness and the occasional faraway rumble from the factories. "Do you have to stand here all night? Your feet must be hurting. What about a chair?"

"I'm not allowed such luxuries."

"Says who? You can't excel at your job while being overworked and your feet are aching in those boots." 

The man wonders if the na-Baron's Lady wishes to insult or test him. "I am at full capacity, my Lady!" He salutes again. "I have no complaints about my boots."

"Fine, alright. Could you please point me the way to Feyd's room then? I want to see him. No need to accompany me, I'm sure I'll find it, just make sure no one enters my room, please?"

"Sorry!" The man extends his arm to the side, stopping her advance around him without laying a finger on the Lady. "The na-Baron has ordered this door to be sealed unless he or your handmaid demand entrance."

"Well I don't demand entrance, I want to exit. I want to see Feyd."

The guard grows queasy. That scenario was not included in his instructions. To be fair, the briefing for his new position can be considered rudimental at best but he didn't complain. Up here has been the safest spot in the palace tonight. "The na-Baron doesn't welcome visitors in his private quarters."

"But I'm his…" She swallows uncomfortably. "Betrothed, or am I not?"

"You are, my Lady."

"So, couldn't you perhaps call him?"

The poor guard's expression says 'I'd rather not'. The na-Baron has only just settled, finally, and even the dumbest desert rat knows not to wake a sleeping tiger. All evening long he's been wondering how many of his comrades will be dead come the morning and he doesn't want to be the next one to become fodder for the slaves' food rations. "I'm sorry, my Lady. It is against the protocol to disturb the na-Baron at night unless there is an emergency. Is there an emergency?"

"No…" The woman's expression twists into defeat and she pads backwards with slackened shoulders and somber eyes. "I'm sorry to have bothered you."

The door slides shut and she is too sad to even be angry about her gentle imprisonment. There's nothing out there for her anyway, except for Feyd, and if he doesn't want to see her…

Self-destructive thoughts sprout from the cinders in her chest and grow into the wildest phantasms. The guard was too kind to tell her Feyd has visitors in his room. Perhaps he explicitly decreed that she is not to join him.

To prevent herself from hurtling into a bottomless spiral, she must find a distraction. Nearly choking on bitter tears, she opens up the virtual app drawer that she's most familiar with and selects the 3d-modeling tool. A nice, little task to keep her thoughts from straying is exactly what she needs, and so she settles down on the bed and begins to design a practical, foldable, printable chair for her guard, thoughtfully optimizing stability and the required resources.

The engineer doesn't notice when her tears dry, but they do.

Day 6

She sleeps awfully that night, despite the chip's helpful sleeping program consisting of gentle rain and soothing frequencies. It can't have been much longer than two hours when she is awoken by a knock on the door, followed by another, more insistent one a moment later.

The 3d-modeling interface still overlays reality when her eyes snap open and her sluggish brain activity requires a moment to shut it down. She was almost finished with the printable chair parts last night, but she must have dozed off eventually. 

The knocking persists and she calls: "Lilia?"

A pause. "It's me." An unmistakable, deep and raspy voice comes muffled from the other side. Feyd-Rautha, freshly showered and dressed in a clean, casual suit, leans his forehead against the cool, thick plastic, breathing hard and fast so that his respiration condenses on the door. Waiting, he pleads silently for mercy. He cannot do this anymore, doesn't want to kill anymore just to feel something other than fear.

She freezes, legs half swung off the mattress as anxiety twists her belly. All of her jealousy comes crashing back and a little demon whispers poison in her ear: Go back to your hyenas and toy around with them, not me!

When silence is the answer to Feyd's timid greeting, his stomach drops as if filled with lead. Blood pounds in his ears like the war drums on his birthdays and his breath becomes shallow, so that he no longer even hears the guard's antsy shuffling. What will he do if she never forgives him? 

A harrowing need for violence flashes through him cold and dark and his twitching hand jerks for the blade at his hip but the door rushes open before he can brandish it and his woman faces him with crossed arms, her face puffy from sleep but her eyes are wide and vulnerable.

She beckons him to enter and he follows, eyes racing to the crowns of thorns in the vase, the sarcophagus, the ruffled bed, everything the way it was. How does she deal with pain?!

"Hello," Feyd mumbles, voice reduced to a tiny, grated whisper.

"Hello."

"Can we… talk?"

The relic nods and waits, clammy fingers clutching her sleeves. But then Feyd says… nothing. His eyes are focused on an imaginary point somewhere behind her navel and his jaws strain as if chewing a brick.

So, she begins: "I'm sorry, but I was very upset." She paces, shoulders drawn up. "I know that customs are different around here, I mean, they obviously are," she guffaws quietly and shakes her head. "But where I'm from, it requires consent to have more than one partner and I never gave you that consent. I've never given my consent to anything that's happened to me since I woke up! And then I found out you're alive and I can be with you and I really believed everything would finally be better, but you-" Her voice hiccups. "I'm very upset, okay?" Her lips twist and she lifts a hand to her mouth, sobbing quietly into her palm. "You're so different in real life."

Feyd's frozen limbs regain their agility and he jumps to her side as she tries to turn away, a swift predator despite his anguish. He clutches her by the arms. "Wait! Remind me. H-How was I in our dreams?" 

"I- I don't know, you looked happy." Her arms burn where he's holding onto her with his broad palms and long fingers. "And you were kind."

"Have I not been kind to you?"

"To me, yes. But being kind only to me is not enough." She shakes her head bitterly.

"What do you want me to do?" 

"Be honest with me. Who are these three?! They said you don't play with them anymore like you used to, and they hurt me, Feyd!" She writhes out of his clenched fists and he lets her because when her fingers skim his wrists, all his muscles go weak. She yanks up her shirt, showing off the healing gash on her waist.

Feyd wants to kill his darlings all over again and his sinful mouth twists into anger. "They used to be my pets. Pleasure slaves, if you will. Just some meaningless toys, nothing more, I swear it to you."

"Pleasure slaves!" She blurts out, shaking her head. At least he's being honest but - what the fuck?! "You-" Stumbling over her own words, she backs away from him with disgust. "Who are you? Who the fuck are you?"

More violence waits on her tongue. Does he respect anyone other than himself?

"You know me! You know who I am, where are you going?!" Doesn't she know she knows more about him than anyone else?

"I don't know shit about you!" She yells. "Where were you last night?"

"What?" All color is drained from his face. How could she know?

"Were you with them because I couldn't perform the way you wanted the other day?"

"What are you talking about?!" Feyd tries to grasp her by the arms once more but she twists away. If anything, he is at blame for being unable to make his woman comfortable enough to reach her release. What a pitiful good-for-nothing he is, pathetic down to the last, rotting cell. "I haven't touched my pets since I met you and that's the truth!"

"Oh, yeah? Then why was I not allowed to see you at night?" 

"What makes you say that?" 

"I tried to come to you last night, but the guard at my door said I'm supposed to stay in this room! So, were you with them?!"

Feyd stops his advance and an incredulous shimmer glazes over his blinking eyes. He could have held her last night, against his hurting heart. A dizzying lightness befalls his chest and sorrow becomes anger and anger wings his footsteps when he turns to the door, grinning, then giggling. Feyd slams his veined hand against the panel so hard, the screen cracks and inky blood slips down the valleys of his palm.

"Feyd? Feyd! What are you-"

The baffled guard faces the snickering na-Baron behind the opening door, last night's tiger resurrected like a Ghola for one last kill. A stammered 'my Lord' on diddering lips. Feyd-Rautha looks as bestial as his hyenas with prowling steps and rolling shoulders, searing eyes locked on his unmoving prey.

"You told my woman she couldn't see me last night? S'that right?" A slip of pink peeks out of the ghastly frame of black, gnashing teeth.

"My Lord, I beg your mercy, I didn't wish to distur-"

Metal flashes. The relic screams as the length of Feyd-Rautha's blade carves into the guard's pallid neck, Adam's apple bulging and sitting on the knife like a popped, black cherry. Blood sputters around Feyd's clenched fingers and laughter has faded from his lungs at once. He digs deeper as the guard draws in gurgling breaths, bubbles of air swimming in the blood around the metal.

The relic freezes like a mouse, glued to the spot as if she might turn invisible to the cold eyes of the beast who wears her lover's clothes. He looks nothing like Feyd-Rautha now, his features empty and alien with eyes that don't feel and hands unfazed by the death that stains them in thick, inky streams that roll down his victim's neck. 

This is how the universe sees him.

Feyd's blade slashes sideways, spraying a half moon of blood across the corridor and when the guard stumbles, he falls back into the na-Baron's knife, adding a vertical gash to the horizontal one, tip sinking into the flesh under his jaws, and with a jerk - up into his tongue.

The man grunts, still clinging to his life by a thread, and lurches forwards without drawing his sword. His head falls on Feyd-Rautha's shoulder. Feet shuffle in a grotesque waltz and Feyd's bloody fingers slip around the taller man's neck, holding him there while his blade plunges into his belly between armor plates so deftly, he could find all the weak spots blindfolded. The body slackens, weighing down on Feyd-Rautha whose ichor dripping fingers aren't ready to let go.

Shuk! Shuk! 

Is the sound of his blade sinking into soft flesh and viscera, whipping back out with a spray of blood and entrails.

The Bene Gesserit may have proclaimed her human, but the adrenaline that sets her nerves ablaze is a gift from her ancestors, animals, because that's what humans are at the end or the day when facing a bigger predator.

Fwump.

Feyd looks her way, the dead body dropped, and blood covers his hand like a shiny glove of ink, dripping down the blade tip in a drizzling stream. The light catches on the sharp edges of his alabaster skull and all she sees is a new, terrifying breed of human, birthed by a world of poison and decay. There are millennia between them. They may share the same DNA but that doesn't mean he is not an alien to her. 

In the end, the man from her dreams is not the man of her dreams.

Out the door? - Blocked! Death!

Off the balcony?! - Death!

To the Sarcophagus then. To her gun.

She turns and sprints, feet skidding over the shards of her rose-colored glasses, but Feyd pounces, a beast hungry for carnage, and catches her around the waist, hurling her backwards with the strength of three men. His blade clatters to the ground.

"No, wait. No. NO! NO! You can't go," he howls. "You cannot leave me!"

Wailing, she thrashes in his grasp and slams her elbow into his guts, her foot against his shin, then his crotch and the soft flesh there is squashed by her heel. When his hold slackens, she twists away and bolts, bare toes slipping across icy marble, but blood-smeared fingers find her shoulder, tearing on the fabric. She throws herself away from him so hard, the seam starts coming apart, so his other hand flies to her throat, steel-hard fingers curling around clammy flesh, yanking her around and against the wall.

She can't be looking at him like that, like he's the devil. Like he looks at his uncle.

Desperately, his lips search for hers but she jerks her head to the side, bites, scratches, nails burrowing into his throat. No is the word that Feyd-Rautha raps out between violent kisses that seek her pulse point with his tongue and teeth, no, she can't ever leave him, no, not ever, even if she hates him like everyone else. Her fear poisons the sweat on her neck and her nails don't egg him on, they hurt. He takes a knee to the guts and his lungs pop open for a harrowed cry.

Pain used to be pleasure but everything hurts, she doesn't love him anymore. One more meek and quiet final 'no' as he abandons the assault on her neck and his slackened arms wrap around her middle, hiding his face from rejection in her shoulder's soft flesh. Tears drip hotly, finally. All day and all night he's been waiting for the cathartic downpour, but not even the most pitiful plea could rouse a sliver of empathy in the hollow of his chest. Now he bawls like a baby forgotten in its crib and his blood-soaked hands seek purchase at the back of her shirt.

The woman grows still, nails still wedged inside the bloody crescent indents in his neck. Her lungs ache when she draws a trembling breath and Feyd-Rautha's hard, heavy chest moves with her, no more fight left in him. Quietly, she cries with him and curls her arms around his round shoulders, holding him there as he clings to her like an abandoned child and sheds tears for all the hurt and all the fear.

The man of her dreams is still there, somewhere, under the alien shell, vulnerable, weeping.

"You hate me, don't you?" A broken sob.

Looking over his head, the dead guard's viscera glitters darkly on the hallway and she is surprised to realize that even now, she doesn't hate him.

Feyd continues: "This is why I never wanted you to know who I am. I am awful."

"You're not awful," she whispers, fingers slipping around the back of his head, nails rimmed darkly by Feyd's blood.

"I have to be awful. I was born to be awful." 

"That's not true…" He was groomed to be awful.

But Feyd isn't finished. In a fashion of now or never, confessions spill out of him like poison rain. "I killed my mother when I was four. I don't remember why. I killed my pets. I kill men for sport. I kill people for fun. I kill because it's the only thing I can do. Yesterday, I-" His voice breaks. "I killed anyone I could find and no one fought back. I lo-o-ost count."

A full glass can't get any fuller when pouring more water, so shock and disgust are lost to the acceptance that has smoothed over the crescendo. They're just information to be added into a folder in her head. Feyd killed his mother. Feyd kills people for fun. Still, she holds him, fingers sliding up and down the back of his head as his shaky sobbing turns breathless and ugly.

"Okay," she whispers and rests her cheek on his head, exhaling softly so her warm breath fans his scalp. "For fun?"

"Ye-e-es."

"So, you had fun last night when you-" She swallows. "Killed?"

"No."

She lets out a thoughtful hum and Feyd's grip on the small of her back tightens. Still, he doesn't dare look at her and tears and snot have soaked her shirt. With her emotions currently defective, her ability for logic is still sharp, and so she concludes, it does all make sense.

Her poor Feyd, a current had pulled him under when he was barely a child and then layer after layer, he has been building his armor so as not to drown in the maelstrom of abuse. With every kill, a little boy has been screaming for help in an empty room.

Soft lips press a kiss to the crown of his head and Feyd's breath trembles in her hold, a beast tamed by a loving caress. That's all it takes.

Just because she understands his actions, doesn't mean she endorses them.

"Will you still be my wife?"

"I haven't decided yet." Another kiss so gentle, it taunts the corpses stacked up in the processing hall.

"So, we're no longer engaged?" 

"I don't think we ever were, not to me. But that doesn't mean I don't love you."

Dizzily, Feyd-Rautha raises himself. If not for the fingers twisted into his woman's shirt, he might just topple back into the spinning vortex at whose edge he is teetering now, one foot in heartbreak, the other in salvation. Blue eyes crack open, rimmed with dark blood vessels. She doesn't flinch, doesn't bolt, only her hands slide to the front of his suit and slip under the lapels, thumb rubbing where his heart hammers.

Feyd sees the tracks of dried tears on her cheeks and the shadow of horror tucked away in the corners of her eyes in a way that is all too familiar to him. More than anything, he wants to delete the images from her head and close the door, kick the blade under the bed, pretend it never happened. He tried to do everything right, got her flowers, hid her away in her own room away from state matters, made love to her with all his heart, but at the end of the day he is still who he is when he can't hide within a dream and it'll never be enough.

"Feyd, is… Is Lilia okay?"

"Yes, she is," comes the earnest reply and she exhales shakily, head sinking against Feyd's chest, arms sliding around his waist beneath the suit where his skin is burning hot.

"Thank God." Her voice warbles, the only warning before her knees give out and every other muscle along with them. The pair sink to the cold, hard ground.  "I just want to go home," she sobs and crawls in her beloved's lap which is still the only place in the cold, hard universe that soothes her soul.

Not her sarcophagus, although it is tempting to freeze herself up again and sleep forever. No, it is still him. A new home, not what she had imagined, but a home.

"Me too," Feyd sighs and squishes his cheek against the top of her head, closing his eyes to envision the bedroom of their shared dream, blue pillows, a white bed, a softly rustling fern in a terracotta pot, her in his arms. Home.

How easy it would be to demand of him: 'If you kill one more innocent, I will leave you!' But she might just kill more than she saves that way, and maybe him too, and maybe herself.

"Feyd, can you-" She sniffles. "If you get angry again, please never hurt Lilia. And whoever the new guard will be, don’t hurt him either. Can you do that for me please?"

"I promise." He squeezes her tight, eyes screwed up so tightly that he sees only dizzying stars. "I love you. I'm sorry."

She cannot fix the whole world, but she can start where she can see. It's not a solution, but a sapling, and a sapling can grow.

Mother Father How did I end up here, stone bound? All I feel ist the striking distance to the clouds My flesh is fettered on the skin of the soil But even so I almost reach the sparks in the void Sailing through the vacuum, am I drowned or alive?

- Cepheus by Fewjar

A/N: Okay, I promise promise this was the angstiest chapter, we're climbing uphill from here!! 🥺🥺🥺 Hand over your guesses, what do you think will happen from here? 😌💕 Thank you so much for all of your time!

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@coastalcowgirl35, @esolean, @szapizzapanda, @tatertooted

[anthurak]

Ruby's and Yang's Family Reckoning

Has anyone else noticed how each of the post-Beacon arcs thus far have featured a member of Team RWBY returning home and reconciling/repairing issues with their family? Volumes 4 and 5 had Blake returning to Menagerie and reconciling with her parents, while Volumes 7 and 8 had Weiss returning to Atlas and helping repair the broken relationships with her siblings and mother.

With that in mind, I think it’s easy to imagine that Volumes 10 and 11 will be Ruby’s and Yang’s turn to sort out their long-standing family baggage. I mean, they’ve got two of their parents/parent-figures already in Vacuo, the third and their childhood home is just a quick bird-mom-portal away, and it turns out they ALSO recently got information that their fourth parent might not be as dead as they thought.

And here’s the other thing: we’ve also seen an escalation in just how complicated, dysfunctional and overall ‘fucked-up’ the family issues faced by our heroines have gotten over the last two arcs.

As many have noted, Blake has the only unambiguously good parents among her team, with the worst of the ‘issues’ they had to deal with being some simple estrangement. Instead, the real family ‘issues’ Blake had to deal with Volume 4 and 5 was reclaiming her family’s legacy, ie; the White Fang, from Adam and the Albain brothers.

Then we went from that, to the long-abused mess that is the Schnee family.

So going off that trend, as well as several other factors…

Yeah, I have NO doubt at this point that the STRQ family is going to find a way to be an even BIGGER fucked-up, messy, dysfunctional train wreck that Ruby and Yang are going to have to sift through and repair.

Now I know some people are probably wondering how Team STRQ could possibly be worse than the Schnees? After all, they had actual Worst-Dad™, Jacques Gele. How could Summer, Taiyang, Qrow and Raven be worse than that?

Here’s the thing though: The Schnee family may have been a wreck, but it was also a fairly uncomplicated wreck with a singular, easy-to-understand root cause; one utter shitbag who was making life terrible for everyone else. And the solution to the family problems (or at least the START of the solution) wound up being likewise simple and straightforward; just kick out the aforementioned utter shitbag and the family can start healing. I mean, it took less than a day after Jacques was given the boot for Weiss, Willow, Whitley and even Winter to make major steps in patching things up between them.

The STRQ family on the other hand aren’t going to be anywhere NEAR that simple. They are ACTUALLY messy and dysfunctional and complicated and ambiguous and all the other things fandom claims to love yet more often seems to just break their black-and-white-morality-loving brains when they actually see it.

Because unlike the Schnees, Team STRQ DOESN’T actually have just one terrible person who can easily be pointed to as the root cause of their problems (No, not even Raven)*. Instead, I think it’s becoming more and more apparent that Summer, Raven, Qrow and Tai are simultaneously good people who all love their daughters and genuinely want the best for them, and are also all MASSIVE dysfunctional fuck-ups in each their own way who have FAILED Ruby and Yang as parents in one way or another.

Summer the ‘supermom’ who also obsessively chased her hero-complex into martyrdom.

Raven the ‘daddy had a good reason for leaving you’ who actually didn’t have a good reason.

Qrow the ‘cool uncle’ who’s actually spent the last 15+ years wallowing in alcoholic depression.

Taiyang the at-first seeming ‘reliable’ father who turns out to actually be a MASSIVELY dysfunctional wreck.

All while Ruby AND Yang can both state openly and matter-of-factly that YANG was the one to RAISE RUBY. The kind of sibling relationship we might generally expect to see in two orphans. Which does NOT, in any context, speak highly of the parenting they received.

And I think Volumes 10 and 11 are going to be when the story finally shines a light on all those problems and forces Ruby and Yang to finally confront them.

Simply put, I think this is going to be when the story effectively yanks the rug out from under us and flips the script on basically everything we, plus Ruby and Yang, long assumed about Team STRQ has been wrong. Or alternatively for Ruby and Yang, everything that’s been right in front of them, yet have been refusing to confront all this time.

Things like just about everything Yang thought she knew about her family when she explained her backstory to Blake in Volume 2 (and which has served as the basis for nearly ALL of our assumptions about Team STRQ) turning out to be wrong in one way or another.

Or things like Taiyang being shown to be just as big a dysfunctional fuck-up parent as Qrow and Raven.

Or things like Qrow being called out for ditching the family pretty much just as much as Raven did to join Ozpin’s secret society.

Or Raven turning out to be Ruby’s dad.

Or Summer turning out to NOT actually be dead and is basically Salem’s Darth Vader via horrific grimm-hybridization.

And ultimately, just how much Summer, Raven, Qrow and Taiyang all FAILED Ruby and Yang as their parents, as illustrated, once again, by the fact that Ruby considers her primary parent-figure to be none of them, but rather YANG.

Ever since Volume 1 featured songs like Red Like Roses Part 2 and Gold, the fact that Yang raised Ruby has been a proverbial Sword of Damocles hanging over Team STRQ. Representing the fact that that ALL of them, Summer, Raven, Qrow and Tai, FUCKED UP as parents.

And I think in the next couple volumes, that sword is finally going to fall.

--

*Okay, maybe Ozpin.

[pampushky]

Foot of the Gallows

trafalgar d. water law/reader - chapter 5 - 3.2k

ao3 link | masterlist | series masterlist | next chapter

5.) lion's bane

A powerful sedative once dried and powdered. When picked fresh, it can be pickled and then eaten to help children sleep before significant procedures. Legend says it was once used to make a fierce mountain lion sleep, so that it could then be put into the royal menagerie.

You’re on your way back from foraging for a certain mushroom that only grows deep in the forest when you see someone leave your shop, which is interesting. Because your shop was always closed during this specific time, on the same day every week, it makes you freeze before you sprint back to the shop, fearing some version of a robbery only to find…. a clinic.

Lined up around the first floor of your shop are dozens of people staring at you while you stand there with your chest heaving, your harvesting sickle held out like a weapon. And sitting behind the counter, in your stool that has always been your stool since you could walk, is Law, focused entirely on the swollen wrist of a mink-hybrid child. Tiny little cat ears flattened to their head while a doting father hovers, a bushy white tail twitching back and forth as Law murmurs and draws a shimmery black string of mana a centimeter or two over the child’s wrist. The string flashes, sinking into the child’s skin, watching as the wrist stops swelling, while Law scribbles down something on a piece of paper— your paper! 

He blinks at you as you stand there and give a little wave as you look at the line of people. They’re mostly peasantry, the same people who you would have ended up writing prescriptions and waving the payment, though you do see a few nicer-dressed folk, who look rather embarrassed to be sighted alongside the lowborn seeking Law’s care. 

“You were gone, so I opened up my clinic here.” Law gestures to the line and how he’s set up at your counter. Using your pens and paper. Offering the younger patients sweets you saved to keep off your hunger during rushes.

“You’re in my stool and using my paper,” the words come out before you can stop them. And you feel your face heat up. Because that’s not what you’re really mad about, but you still want to let him know that you’re mad about them. 

So you turn right on your heel and go upstairs to start to dry the mushrooms you’d foraged, but it’s not right, because you’re supposed to be downstairs when you do this. After all, that’s the best place to do it. It’s not too humid, and the light around this time of day is perfect even when you’re an hour late or early from coming back. But it’s too loud down there, and the floors will be covered in mud, and you’ll have to clean it all again before you can start, meaning that the mushrooms will take longer to dry, or they may not dry correctly at all. 

It’s ridiculous. You know that. They’ll dry fine on the kitchen counter as long as you cut them the same way and use the same spells to help wring the moisture from them. But downstairs was where your mother had taught you how to do it. Where your Uncle had helped you learn the spell to pull the water from it, and it was always where you had done it.

Downstairs is where Law had become your husband now, too. 

With matching embroidered cuffs and necklines, as was standard for the couples that could afford it, it was your fault for not clarifying to the tailor that he didn’t have to do that. You look down at the thread around the cuff of your sleeve. The serpentine body entwined with the ivy. Constricting, tightening around the neckline of your dress, and by instinct, your hand goes to your throat as if to ensure nothing is there.

Why do you keep having to remind yourself that Law had never choked you on that day? You place your hands flat on the counter, counting down from ten as you had learned to do when your mind got the better of you in these moments.

Law can feel the prickle of annoyance and anxiety trickling down his back as he helps the next person in line. Your mana makes a prickling noise, almost like a Geiger counter, in his ears (not that Law knew what a Geiger counter was or could even comprehend the idea of nuclear waste). And continues to feel it, crackling in the back of his mind until there’s no one left in the shop. He’s well aware it’s yours, but he’s not sure about what. It’s been a week— the pattern you two have set out has worked thus far. 

Or, he thinks it has. You don’t talk to him unless it’s absolutely necessary. But the anxiety says otherwise. And just when he’s about to start sweeping, he can feel a jolt of rather violent anxiety spiking— enough so that he sprints upstairs just to see you with your palms on the countertop, staring at a pile of neatly-sliced mushrooms on your drying rack. He can hear you mumbling, one of your hands clenched in a tighter fist than the other. 

The mushrooms are dried now, or close to it, but you still seem frazzled. Eyes squeezed shut as you count your way down from fifty. 

“Are you alright…?” Law stays at the top of the stairs, not wanting to get too close. Your hunched form leaning against the doorframe of your bathroom haunts him still. 

“Fine.” You gasp out as if it’s painful to do so. “Perfect. Amazing. Stupendous. What are other synonyms, you were always better at the languages than I was,” you trail off, and he can see how labored your breathing is as you start to count down from sixty. 

“...You don’t sound it,” Law speaks hesitantly. Weighing your symptoms in his mind, practiced eyes taking in your entire body. Anxiety attack. You need grounding, and fast. You’d never been good with more practiced methods– he recalls that much, or rather, has had those details committed to memory forever. So, he walks briskly to your side, pulls you to the kitchen sink as you briefly protest, only to plunge your hands into a stream of icy cold water. “Five seconds. Then I want you to go from cold to hot.”

“What—”

“Do you have any ice?” Law rustles through the cabinets, knowing that you had at least oneenchanted one to keep produce and meats fresh, and then another to keep things frozen, he just can’t recall which one it is. 

“Yes— top right–”

You shriek when he pops an ice cube rather forcibly into your mouth, and the anxiety that had been trickling down his back pops, as though it never existed to begin with. 

And then you cuff him in the ear while trying not to drop the ice cube from your open mouth.

“Law Water D. Trafalger—!” You screech, and he can’t help it. He starts to laugh, dodging your clumsy swipes at him, easily blocking them. This seems to enrage you even more. “What the hell were you thinking—!?”

“A way to stop your panic attack,” Law laughs, grinning so widely as you pause, as if you’re still processing what he’s said, before scowling at him. “C’mon, give me some credit. I’ve known what your panic attacks look like since we were kids.” 

“You also once shoved a pill bug in Luffy’s nose when he was sleeping.” Your tone is so dry as you turn off the faucet and leave the ice cube in there to melt. “Shanks was pissed,”

“He bit me!”

“He was like, seven!”

“I didn’t bite when I was seven,” Law sulks, leaning against the counter. “I just watched my parents die.”

“.... By the gods above and below, you’re still such an ass,” You mumble, bracing yourself against the counter, turned away from him. But he can still see the little smile on your face. Good, he’s distracting you. Forcing you not to think about whatever had upset you so much. 

The mushrooms catch his eye again. Lion’s Bane. He’d always needed more of that— it helped him to sleep when he’d first moved to the southern continent when the pain of the curse had really started to kick in. Before that, he’d spent most of his nights passing out from exhaustion when he finally couldn’t take it anymore, and asked Doflamingo if there was anything that could help him. Anything. 

And, of course, there was. But it came with a price. Everything that was given to him came with a price: another tight wire coiled around his neck to keep him under control. 

“Hey— these look good,” Law plucks one of the thin slices from the drying rack, carefully examining it. “You really have gotten better. With your earthen magic, I mean.”

The anxiety immediately comes back, and it nearly knocks Law over. Okay– one question answered, but now another presented itself to him. Why were you so anxious over the Lion’s Bane? These were perfect— he wasn’t joking about that. You were one of the best apothecaries he’d ever worked with. Yet your anxiety said otherwise. It was making him feel nauseous. 

“No, they’re terrible,” You sound so certain. So utterly devastated. “I wasn’t as fast with drying them, which means they won’t be as effective when powdered.”

“That’s… a thing that happens?” Law puts the mushroom back down. “How much does it affect it?” 

“It takes five and a half minutes longer to kick in,” You mumble, and he hates how tears are threatening to spill over onto your cheeks— 

But he laughs. And you look utterly startled. 

“Then they’re just fine for doctors,” Law does mean to, but he takes your hands. They’re clammy and shaky, and he worries about your circulation for a brief second before he snaps back into gear. “I promise. How many minutes do yours normally take to kick in?”

“Ten minutes,” you whisper, still with tears threatening to spill, “They’re gonna take fifteen and a half—” You stop speaking when you notice how baffled he looks. “What?”

“Your Lion’s Bane powder. It only takes fifteen and a half minutes?”

“Ten normally,” you pull your hands away from his and start to wring them nervously. “Why?”

“They take about forty minutes on average. From every other apothecary I’ve gotten them from. How— what are you doing to them? Whatever you’re doing to them, you’re making them so much more effective,” Law looks at one on the drying rack, then at you, and then back at the drying rack, snapping one up as he makes his way over to the couch. “Time me. I— I need to test this, this is remarkable if you’re right—“

“You shouldn’t eat an entire dried slice—“You make a grab for his hand, but he’s already dangling it above his mouth and drops it in, chewing and then swallowing quickly. He looks at you, and suddenly, you’re both fifteen and seventeen again. “Oh my fucking Gods, Law, I’m gonna kill you.”

“Are you timing it?” He grins at you, and you have half a mind to have Gertrude smack him in the back of the head or reach down his throat to pull it from his throat.

“What— no— I should be shoving charcoal down your throat right now—“

“Well, there goes the experiment!” Law slumps onto the couch. “Where are you even getting them from, I can already feel the effects— yes, slight blurriness around edges of my vision, slowed reaction time,” he adds when you pitch a pillow at him, and he doesn’t even dodge, letting it hit him square in the face, pulling it to his chest. “This is remarkable!”

“They’re just in the woods outside the city wall! It’s where my family’s been getting them from for centuries—“

“You need to show me.”

“Excuse me?”

“These could be…” he yawns and blinks sleepily, “…a huge breakthrough for… for chronic insomnia…”

Law is slumped against the wall before he can even finish his sentence, drooling onto his tunic as you watch him. There’s gentle shuffling behind you as Gertrude comes to set a leaf on your shoulder. You pat their leaf gently and plop down onto the opposite side of the couch, rubbing your forehead. Gertrude wordlessly starts to get you a glass of water while rifling through the cabinet to find the charcoal you’d mentioned when Law first ate the mushroom. “Thank you,” you mumble, taking the charcoal from the plant, along with a glass of water. The charcoal is already crushed, meant for emergencies with your customers. In this case, just for your idiot of a childhood friend and now husband. Law snores as you mix the powdered charcoal with the water and doesn’t even flinch as you pour it into his mouth, tilting up his throat and having him swallow, keeping his head tilted forward so he doesn’t choke. It’ll be a bit late to help him wake up, but you just sigh, leaning back against the couch. Gertrude brings you a cup of milk tea, gently patting your head with one of their leaves before going back to being nestled around the top of the cabinets.

Your eyes close softly after you finish the cup of tea, still caked in mud from your four-hour hike through the woods to get to the lion’s bane.

When you wake up, Law is looming over you. You do the natural thing and scream, kicking him immediately in the place you’ve learned is the weakness of most men, regardless of if they were born as one or not. You kick him straight in the balls, watching as he topples nearly instantly, clutching his groin while holding in several groans as he bites his lower lip.

Gertrude is laughing, the little shit. They’re laughing, and you’ve just kicked Law in a very sensitive area. Rustling their leaves from the top of the cabinets until you shoot them a stern glare. 

“G’mornin,” Law’s voice is several pitches higher. Still holding his crotch and looking at you with a very shocked expression. “That hurt.”

“Why were you hovering over me,” you steady your breathing. You still have your leg outstretched to kick. Your hands brace on the couch. “Like a fucking weirdo?”

“You’re getting mud on the couch.”

Your eye twitches. And you stand, even when you want to sit back down and rub mud into the fabric just to spite him. But you know you’ll be more upset in the end if you do end up doing that. The mud feels so wrong against your skin when you’re in your casual wear. It would stick to your skin all day, even if you’d washed it away.

“It’s my couch.”

“Our couch.”

“Fuck off, you literally ruined my day yesterday,” Your voice is venomous, and he seems shocked by the anger. 

“How?”

“You— ugh— you wouldn’t get it,” 

Because he probably wouldn’t. You’d tried to talk to your parents about it, especially when they still worked with you. You liked things done a certain way. There was always a proper way to do things and a certain place to do it all. When trying to tell your mother that, while she was turning the orange roots of a fire bush into a paste, she just quirked an eyebrow at you and told you, albeit lovingly, to get over yourself and that any place in the shop was the right place to work, so long as it was clean. She didn’t understand that while it may be that way for her, you liked your rhythms. The specificity. It had taken years to develop these routines and patterns for harvesting and processing all of your medicines. Along with finding the perfect materials to label and write your detailed notes. 

Kizaru had somewhat understood. But he also was in a very different profession than yours. Yet he understood nonetheless.

“Why not?”

Why not? Because he would likely tell you to get over it like your mother had and would make you work out of your comfort zone. Sometimes, it helped. Other times, it made it worse. She hadn’t meant anything by it. She just didn’t understand.

“Because— because I’m weird about my shit, and I don’t like it when people use it,” You blurt out, “Like my paper! That paper is resistant to most degrading compounds, so it’s safe to not only label but use as a packaging thing, and I really, really hate when people sit in my stool because it’s my stool and—“

“Calm.” You feel a wave of ease roll over you, with Law pressing his thumb to the center of your forehead. 

You feel like the world is moving much slower. Or your brain is. The prickling under your skin is gone. “I do actually understand that,” Law says, pulling his hand away from your forehead and kneeling so he can look you in the eyes. His hands are warm, cupping your face, making sure you’re looking at him. “And I’m sorry I invaded your space like that. You’d been gone for two hours already, so I figured it would be alright if I opened my clinic down there.” “It takes me five hours to get the lion’s bane, and then I dry it downstairs. That’s how I’ve always done it.”

He hates how tired you look. How soft your voice is. He knows exactly why you’re like this, too. You’d always had… peculiarities about doing things your way. It’d make you cry if you couldn’t do them the way you’d always wanted to do them, sending you into a quivering mess. Your mother had accidentally triggered one of these when she’d been drying out thunder root and had nearly panicked when you couldn’t voice why you were so upset. 

“I didn’t know. But I won’t do it there, or at that time, again. Okay?” Law pulls his hands away, and he thinks he’s imagined the way you almost chase after his touch. “... do you normally panic when things like that happen? It… hasn’t changed?” “Yeah,” you pull your knees to your chest. “I think. It’s just been piling on. All the stuff from the past three weeks.” Law nods, rocking back on his heels. 

Just the two of you. Law on the floor, you on the couch, both of you with your knees to your chests, looking at each other. It’s painfully familiar and foreign at the same time. 

“...I never apologized. For….” “Don’t,” Your voice quivers. The fight and anger are gone. You just sound defeated. And he can feel the weight of the sorrow on his soul as you tuck your head into your arms, hiding away your face. “Please.”

The sorrow gives way to fear. Of the wetness of mud caked on your skin, slinging to your hair and eyelashes. How it weighed down your clothes, your skin, your hair. How cold you’d felt as you trudged back to your home. 

You hate mud. Yet you’re still in the mud-caked clothes from your hike to forage for mushrooms yesterday. “Alright.” Law chokes, unable to handle just how heavy everything feels from your side of the bond, “Alright.”

You don’t know how to feel when there is an unfamiliar twinge of guilt and longing that is not your own. The door down the hall shuts as Law shelters himself away in his room. And you just cry into your arms, your tears turning the dried dirt on your sleeves to mud again. 

[crazyyluvr]

Gotta put Some Color in the Miserable Place — Much to Dirtyhands' Liking

pairing: kaz x gn!reader

summary: A famous graffiti artist has been roaming around Ketterdam for a while now. It was about time you set your sights on the Slat, bare and just waiting to be painted on. A certain gloved man didn't exactly like that.

genre: idk how to label it but it's the beginning of something

wc: 2.3k

content: art-inclined reader, they/them pronouns, kaz getting annoyed, ooc kaz? not sure how to write him properly yet, spraypaint exists because I need it to, fighting

note: just a little something to get me out of my slump — it sucks, i'm sorry

oneshot under the cut :: not edited :: part 1/?

Ketterdam wasn't known to be the most luxurious of cities in Kerch. Yes, it did have places where people with money could settle down and quality napkins for them to wipe their buttcheeks on, but the "slums" part of the city overpowered that luxury. There were numerous criminals, thieves, pickpockets, and people of other illegal occupations roaming around the streets, especially the streets of the West Stave. At every alley, there would be at least some signs of a beating that occurred not too long ago. Even when people inhaled the air, it didn't feel clean.

One of your biggest concerns about the city, however, wasn't about how cleanly it was. What worried you the most was about how damn plain it seemed to be.

Where was the color? The flare? Come on, if people around the lands travel to Kerch for business, they might as well have some pretty things to look at as they cautiously walked on the streets.

You took it upon yourself to rectify that. Which was why, for the past two years, you have been one of the most sought-after criminals of Ketterdam that everyone called the “Painter”. Not because you murdered people or stole kruge, no. It wasn't even because of the fact that you decided to spray your art without permission.

It wasn't really the art that concerned other people (most of the time), but rather where you decided to put it up.

Plain old alley walls weren't the only victims of your spray bottles. Your style ended up on the main doorways of well-known brothels like the Menagerie, or the ground leading to the secret bases of different gangs. It made you a target not only of officers, but of other criminals as well. You may or may not have been the cause of the Dime Lions losing one of their main strongholds to a rival gang because you put skipping stones of Pekka Rollins' name leading to it.

You were flattered by the attention people were putting on you, but you felt unsatisfied. You had tried to put at least a little bit of your art on every visible wall of the West Stave and some of the East Stave as well, but there was something missing. Like there was one part of the Ketterdam map that hasn't been colored by you.

You got the answer to your problem one mundane day, while you were coming back from the market with a bag of groceries.

The Slat.

You had no idea why it hadn't hit you sooner. Sure, the Slat was the home of the Crows besides their bar "The Crow Club." Sure, the gang had been gaining a dangerous reputation this past year. Sure, the man calling the shots was scary as hell.

But it was just perfect.

You had long admired the Crows and their leader Kaz Brekker. You had spotted him going about business during late nights when you decided to test your skills by evading the Wraith that always pursued him (you hadn't been attacked by her, so you assumed that you were really good at sneaking around).

He was a man of business, a boss that liked getting his hands dirty — maybe that was how he got his nickname Dirtyhands. You don't see much of that in Ketterdam, and that interested you quite a bit.

Not to mention he was attractive in his own, ghostly way.

The Slate was also one of the very few canvases that you had left blank in this wretched city due to some unknown and unconscious reason, but now you had just the perfect artwork in mind for it.

—————

Kaz was in a bad mood today.

He woke up to his leg in pain. Well, it was always in pain, but it felt particularly worse that day. He almost face-planted while hobbling down the stairs in the Slat.

He had a small heist, with just him, Jesper, and Inej, but it was still messed up due to the unexpected appearance of a drunk group in the house they were robbing.

He got jumped on by some stupid pickpockets, idiots who were unaware of his identity and his reputation. He didn’t obtain any injury, but the blood that still stained his black gloves and his long black coat made him feel disgusting.

Just when he thought that he would find peace in the Slat, peace in just holing up in his office with no one to bother him, he limps down the streets of West Stave to the home of the Dregs to find a small crowd gathered on the side, murmuring to each other.

They were all members of the Crows, and they were all looking at something that was on the wall of the Slat.

His already creased brows creased further at the sight of the gathering. What were these idiots looking at this time?

Jesper was the first one who first saw him, eyes drifting over his blood-splattered clothes in slight concern.

“What’s going on?” Kaz asked, not giving Jesper the opportunity to worry over him.

“It seems that the Painter finally set their eyes on the Slat,” Jesper replied, his voice containing its usual mischief and mirth.

Kaz forged onwards, making the sharpshooter step aside to make way for Dirtyhands.

The small crowd parted for him as well, conversations dying down to small murmurs as Kaz got a better look at what they were ogling at.

He had to blink to make sure he was actually seeing what he was seeing.

When “the Painter” left Jesper’s mouth, Kaz wanted to run his fingers through his hair in frustration. The days when infamous the Painter set sights on establishments or gang bases were the days when gangs or businessmen would get publicly humiliated by the art on their walls. Normally, it would ridicule the head of the place (The Menagerie spent a significant amount of money to wash off and paint over the caricature of Tante Heleen in a horrid neon green outfit) or reveal some interesting gang secrets (two gangs were exposed to be stealing from each other and there was a little war between them).

Which was why Kaz had to blink twice to make sure he was seeing it right.

The artwork on the side of the Slat was a large mural of the Dregs’ signature crow perched on the lip of a cup, but a trail of black roses swirled around it in a spiral. Surrounding it was the Crows’ motto “no mourners, no funerals” in black and white. The irregular red and white shape behind it all emphasized everything, making it look like a banner rather than something someone actually took the time to spray on a wall.

It was unlike any artwork that was spotted anywhere in the city.

And even Kaz, who’s never had any particular interest in art, had to admit that it was nice. Flattering.

Beautiful, even.

"The Painter has their favorites, huh?" A Crow chuckled, making his mates laugh and shake their heads.

"If everyone's done having a staring contest with the wall," Kaz called, making everyone turn to their boss, "get back to work."

And just like that, they lost their interest in the artwork and dispersed. Some drifted away to different alleys to visit some gambling house, most passed by Kaz to finish some unfinished business of theirs, and others went back inside the Slat.

Kaz felt a familiar presence beside him. "Can you find this Painter, Inej?"

The Wraith that appeared out of nowhere replied, "I can try, but they're slippery."

Kaz rose an eyebrow, curiosity piquing. Someone who can evade his best spider? Now that caught his attention.

"Do it. Bring them to me," Kaz said, dismissing her with a wave. He didn't have to look to know that Inej had dissolved into the shadows.

He examined the mural once more, the barest ghost of a smirk on his face. Maybe you can come around to work for me, "Painter".

—————

You were having a good time.

If running away from some angry traders was something people would consider a good time.

"I'll kill you!" One of the men chasing you bellowed, hurling a stone that hit a wooden pillar dangerously close to your head.

You laughed, a manic cackle that only came from someone facing a certain death.

You leaped over crates, weaved through people with barely any gracefulness that would have made dancers feel second-hand embarrassment, but you didn’t care. Being chased around West Stave was one of the best things to do in Ketterdam, and you were enjoying every single bit of it.

You turned left into a random alley, only to find that it was a dead end. You looked upwards, but found only ladders that led to heavily-barred windows. You were trapped.

"Nowhere left to run, scum," A man laughed, his companion grinning as well.

You turned to flash them a charming smile. "Actually there is one way, but you're blocking it, so if you'd kindly move aside so I can peacefully make my leave."

They both looked at each other before turning back to you. "Not until we've got our money."

You pretended to think for a moment, not knowing what they mean, until you widened your eyes. "Oh! The money! That's what you were after? Why didn't you just say so?"

You rummaged through your deep pockets. "Here it is!"

You took a few quick steps forward and took out a spray can, squeezing it and drifting it over the closest man's eyes, creating a thick yellow line across his face.

The man yelled and stepped back in surprise, prompting you to catch his heel in yours and pull, making him fall.

You bent down to punch him twice before rummaging in his pockets, taking out a few loose coins and pocketing them.

You turned to face the other guy, who you found already on the ground with a figure standing above him.

The Wraith.

"Oh." Your gaze alternated between the sudden assistance and the man on the ground, before you decided to focus on the one standing and smiling at them. "Thanks for your help, Miss Wraith. Now, if you don't mind, I'll take my leave —"

You turned, only for Inej to block your exit, making you sigh. "What is it that you want from me this time?"

"For you to come with me to the Slat," Inej responded, grabbing your wrist and dragging you out of the alley.

You sighed again. This was going to be a long day.

—————

"Look, if this about money, I don't have any. I'm very broke." You stared at the man sitting in front of you, a desk separating him from your standing figure.

The Bastard of the Barrel didn't respond to your statement, opting to just look at you, his eyes examining your movements.

You let the silence drain on for a few more seconds before you lost patience. "What do you want?" You asked, frustrated.

"You're the Painter," He responded, putting his elbows on his table and lacing his gloved fingers together.

You waited for a moment, waiting for him to say more. When he didn't continue, you replied. "Yes."

"Everyone in Ketterdam is aware of your reputation to leaking powerful people's information," Kaz finally continued. "But that's not what's interesting. What intrigues me, is how you acquire the information in the first place, when the Wraith has never spotted you out in the open other than spraying on some random wall."

You shrugged. You had your ways, and if the Dirtyhands didn't know your methods, then there was no way you could reveal them. "I have my ways."

Kaz rose an eyebrow. "I can have you killed right here and now, did you know that?"

"And I’ve gotten out of these chains three minutes ago, did you know that?" You mocked him, shrugging the cuffs off and tossing them on his table. Inej moved, pulling out a dagger. Kaz put up his hand, and Inej paused, waiting.

You approached the desk, putting your hands on it and leaning forward, leaving half a feet of space in between your face and Kaz's.

"You want to know my methods so you can have the Wraith master them and use them," you said, leaning a bit more. "But then she can't. No one in this place can do what I can."

"I suppose there's an underlying deal somewhere in those words," Kaz hummed, seemingly unfazed by the distance.

You grinned. "Indeed there is. I can work for you, as long as I get paid. I'll do my thing, get your information, even infiltrate a few places if you like."

"Hmm," Kaz thought about it for a moment. "Two thousand kruge for each mission."

You paused. That would be enough to buy your food and pay your rent for a week or two, maybe even enough for some new clothes.

Yeah, you didn't have that good or luxurious of a lifestyle, but hey, money is money.

"Alright," You decided, sticking your hand out to seal the deal.

Kaz stared at your hand for a moment, before taking it. You pulled him up from his chair, face now barely away from yours. "If you think about double-crossing me and leaving me out in the cold, then you risk some of your own information being revealed... Rietveld." Your voice was barely louder than a breath, words only for Kaz’s ear.

His eyes widened, looking at you. Just the mere mention of his old last name, the one he shared with his brother, was enough for the water at his ankles to pool around his knees.

But you had already pulled away, brushing against the Wraith with a nod as you left the office without another word.

"What was that?" Inej asked — more like demanded.

Kaz didn't spare her a glance, his eyes glued to the door. It took him a long pause to reply.

"The start of another painful alliance," Kaz muttered, running his hand through his hair.

The start of something indeed.

[baldurs-gape]

Traditions

Every tradition had to start with its first iteration as some point. The hope was that the reunion party was going to be something similar to what Withers had hosted six months after the Netherbrain's defeat but with more people attending. As well as the regular suspects, friends and family were also welcome, which was how Ulder Ravengard was stood next to Minthara and finding himself both enchanted and caught in a web of ambition. Their little chat was interrupted by none other than Astarion and Gale.

"All I'm saying is that my mother has a lot of opinions and will share them with those who care to listen and those who don't."

Astarion's scoff was audible from quite a distance away.

"At least we know where you got that particular trait from. Tell me, was she also the one to teach you that tongue trick?"

Lae'zel clapped her hands over Xan's ears and glared at the two bickering.

"Rolling one's 'r' is an essential part of wizardry, even first years at Blackstaff could tell you that enunciation is vital in spellwork. But see? This is exactly what I'm trying to say. You won't get my mother's blessing, she's very much a woman of her generation."

"You forget how old I am, dear. Trust me, I know how these things go, you'll be betrothed to me by the end of the night."

Perhaps it wasn't the most romantic of proposals but then again anyone who knew Astarion would have thought Orin was back if he suddenly got all sappy. Even Gale's determination to have his mother's blessing was expected too. The most surprising part of the whole thing was that Gale and Astarion were actually still together. Maybe it shouldn't have been such a curiosity, Gale was loyal to a fault and Astarion was not in the habit of letting go of good things he could sink his claws into.

Any further bickering was cut short by the arrival of none other than Morena Dekarios. She greeted her son with a sturdy hug before giving Astarion the same treatment.

"It's good to finally meet the one my son has been so besotted with."

"The honour is all mine," Astarion drawled and took Morena's hand in his, kissing the back of it. "Though I believe we have another matter to discuss. In exchange for Gale's hand in marriage I can give you four hens, two geese, an ox and a piglet."

"Astarion!" Gale half hissed half yelped. All eyes and ears were on them.

"Hush dear, it's okay, you're worth it. And I won't even ask for proof of your virginity. That's a little too old fashioned for me. What do you say, Morena? May I take Gale as mine?"

A titter of laughter was the first reply before Morena hid her grin behind a hand.

"Oh dear. You're rather serious, aren't you?"

"I can make it two piglets if you insist." Astarion gave a wry smile and eyed Gale before turning back to Morena. "You drive a hard bargain but you're right, if I could, I'd offer the world to you for his hand."

Morena patted Astarion's arm, eyes soft.

"That's all I need to hear, dear. And why don't you keep your menagerie for the start of your married life? The youth need all the help they can get in this day and age. Just ask Gale if he'll say yes, you have my blessing."

Eyebrow raised, Astarion turned to Gale.

"Well?"

"Of course I'll marry you. Even if you have some strange ideas sometimes."

"Excellent." The cocksureness melted from Astarion and he looked sheepish. "I don't suppose you know what to do with some hens, geese, an ox and a couple of piglets, do you?"

[aquagirl1978]

Hello, aqua! May I please have chevalier and "cupping his cheeks and calling him cute"? I want to see his reaction :)

Thanks!

Hi anon - thank you for this request. I am always happy to write my favorite

The Exchange

A/N: Part of my Naughty or Nice event Pairing: Chevalier Michel x Reader Prompt: cupping his cheeks and calling him cute Word count: 1071 Tags: fluff

It was just another day in the office of the foreign affairs faction – Chevalier was seated regally at his desk, quill in hand, while Nokto, who was seated nearby, was reviewing trade agreements. Clavis was off somewhere, presumably the garden with Cyran digging traps. Luke was likely napping in the gardens, a menagerie gathering on his sleeping body.

You had just returned after visiting Sariel’s office, arms ladened with papers the king needed to sign. Chevalier looked up, his gaze softening upon seeing you, his smile gentle as you approached his desk. His eyes never left yours as you placed the stack of papers on his desk, waiting for you to take your seat next to him at his desk.

You worked seamlessly as a pair, barely a word needed as you pointed with a fingertip where he needed to sign. He quickly scanned the documents placed before him, pleased with your diligence in reviewing them. He’d then silently pass the documents back to you, his gloved thumb barely grazing the back of your hand.

“King Highness, the Jadean delegation will be here in a few days. Prince Keith will be arriving with them.”

“I’m aware,” Chevalier replied, his gaze fixed on the paperwork before him. Nokto sauntered over, winking at you as he leaned against his brother’s desk. 

“Then you know they will be looking for…”

“Yes, I know,” he said with a sigh, setting down his quill. His eyes flicked up, blue meeting red. “If they want me to entertain their demands…” he added with a wicked smirk.

“How’s three?” Nokto asked with a tilt of his head.

For all his frivolity, Nokto was quite adept not only at his job but handling Chevalier. While the king of Rhodolite was notoriously stubborn, known for not doing a single thing he didn’t want to, it was a poorly kept secret that he could be bribed – with books – to do those things he didn’t particularly want to do.

You watched your love, waiting with bated breath for his reaction.

“Four,” he replied, his gaze averted. “They still owe me one from the last time Prince Keith was here.”

*******

A few days later….

It was already dark when there was a knock at the door to the office. You glanced at Chevalier, the only other person in the room with you, wondering who it could be at this hour.

Rising from your seat, you walked around the desk and opened the heavy door. “Prince Keith, what a pleasant surprise,” you greeted, inviting him to enter.

The tall man bowed his head. “Forgive the intrusion, Your Majesty,” Keith said, “but I just ran into Prince Nokto who reminded me of something.”

“Yes?” Chevalier asked, resting his chin in his hand.

Keith approached his desk, his long legs swiftly taking him there; the moment Chevalier saw the books Keith was carrying, a soft smile spread on his lips as his gaze lingered on the treasure Keith was holding.

Leaning against the wall, you quietly observed Chevalier, your gaze never leaving his.

“On behalf of Jade, I’d like to request an audience with Your Majesty…” Keith stood tall before the king, a slight tremor in his hands as he gently held the books. 

Chevalier waved a hand, his gaze fixed on the leather-bound volumes cradled in Keith’s hands.

“There’s five,” the king said softly.

“My sincerest apologies, Your Majesty. I brought an extra since I was so delinquent in getting you that book you requested on my last visit here. I am so sorry,” Keith replied. “May I?” he asked, seeking permission to place the books on the desk. Chevalier nodded, his gaze still on the books. “This one,” Keith said, proudly pointing to the book on top, “was recommended to me by my friend, Maeve. I hope you like it as much as we did.”

Chevalier steepled his fingers, silent in thought. “The others, they’re all by the same author.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Sonia is my friend, she is quite the popular author in Jade and I thought –.”

“Your friend?” Chevalier interrupted, eyes widening.

“Yes, I feel like I’ve known Sonia forever. She’s always wanted to visit Rhodolite. If she ever does get to travel here, I could arrange for you to meet her.” Keith stopped, and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I’m being far too presumptive…”

“I’d like that,” Chevalier said simply. “I’ll meet with you and your delegation tomorrow afternoon.”

“Thank you,” Keith mumbled while bowing his head, somewhat stunned things worked out as easily as Nokto had told him. “Thank you again for your graciousness.” Keith, head still bowed, bumped into a chair behind him. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to the chair before escorting himself from the office.

As soon as the door closed, and with a bright smile, you made your way over to Chevalier’s desk. You didn’t wait to be invited; you took it upon yourself to sit on the king’s lap. Cupping his cheeks, you tilted his face towards yours.

“You’re so cute when you get excited. Like when you see books.”

Chevalier scoffed,  his eyes gleaming with mischief. “I get excited with you.”

Your cheeks flushed with warmth. “That’s not the same,” you said softly, slowly stroking his cheek with the pad of your thumb. “ It’s different when you see new books. Your eyes sparkle and your face lights up like a child on Christmas morning.” 

“It’s a rare joy I don’t often see you express,” you continued, tracing his lips with your fingertip, “but one that I carve into my heart every time I bear witness to it.”

“Are you done yet?” he asked with a laugh. The corners of his lips twitched, curling into a smile, while his gaze drifted towards the pile of books lying on his desk. Your hands fell from his face and settled on his shoulders, his quickened pulse easily felt by your fingertips grazing his neck. 

Leaning closer, you tilted your face so you could whisper into his ear. “I know you’re itching to read those books. Let’s retire to your room.”

Your words – or perhaps it was your warm breath on his skin – caught his attention. He wrapped a clumsy hand in your hair, pulling you close for a kiss. 

“After I’ve had my fill of my books,” he whispered between kisses, “I’m devouring you next.”

His ice blue eyes warming as he gazed into your eyes. 

Tagging: @redheadkittys @alixennial @rhodolitesroseforclavis @chaosangel767 @queengiuliettafirstlady

@queen-dahlia @ikehoe @ikemen-writer @talfollowingstuff @kpop-and-otome

@drachonia @ranhanabi777 @silver-dahlia @keithsandwich @lunaaka

@kisara-16 @altairring @lucyw260 @lordsisterxotome @umi-adxhira

@crypticbibliophile @lancelotscloak @scorchieart @tele86 @nightfoxqueen

@nightghoul381 @maries-gallery @xbalayage @xenokiryu @alydra

@melodiousramblings @wendolrea @aceuuuu @randonauticrap @aria-chikage

@portrait-ninja @sh0jun @ikesenwritings @kalims-pessimist-bestie

[thewritetofreespeech]

Domestic

Astarion x Reader

Astarion had never considered himself a domestic.

Much like being ‘the hero’ of any story, he also never thought of himself as one for settling down. He always thought that was an innate trait within himself. To always be hungry for more; his vampirism just brought it out closer to the surface.

He couldn’t remember much of his human life after 200 years. But the few times he tried to think of his life, his former home, any family, a bitter copper taste would flood the back of Astarion’s throat. Not like blood, he was used to that, more like bile. Or that distinctive taste of disappointment. So, he didn’t try anymore.

He had a house when he was bound to Cazador, but it was never a home. As his master’s favorite & most efficient lure Astarion was granted greater freedoms than his siblings. But he was constantly reminded that nothing there was his. None of the lamps. None of the floorboards. None of the air he breathed was his. Everything was Cazador’s, and he was lucky to be given what he got.

Then he was granted freedom, via way of another imprisonment, and met [Y/N] and the others. The menagerie of unlikely heroes and thieves and just downright oddities of nature that were mashed together by happen stance. If not for their abduction, none of them would have given each other a second glance on the street. Let alone bonded in a way that could never be explained or replicated by anyone else.

And then there was [Y/N].

[Y/N] who offered him a place in their throng, even though it was probably against their better judgement at the time. [Y/N] who accepted him, even when his darkest secret was revealed, and he took advantage. [Y/N]…who always saw the better in him, even when he didn’t see it in himself, until he believed it too.

They gave him a purpose, friends, fun, real freedom. Not just to be out and about on his own but to choose what he wanted to do with it. So of course he had chosen them.

And now here he was. No longer in the grand palace of Cazadors steps, but in a small, cozy home he and [Y/N] had made for their own. The kind of place Astarion would call ‘quaint’ with that superior, classist sneer just under the compliment back in the day. Let’s be honest, if it was anyone else’s home, he still would. But this was his. This was his home. With his books, with his chair, with his fire, and his lover humming quietly from the bath in the other room. This was all his. He suddenly wondered what the aversion had been to all of this.

“Astarion…?”

The vampire’s attention perked up as he turned around and saw [Y/N] there. Damp from their bath, in one of those thin robes Gale had given them that he suspected was more of a gift for him than them, looking at him with those doe eyes that, even though he had the fortitude & freedom to do so now, he could never say no to.

“Oh, sorry my sweet. Did I keep you waiting? I was lost in my new book.” He closed the book just as he stood to greet them with a smile as he wrapped his arms around them. Sealing off any questions on it like the pages. Astarion’s life may be different, but old habits die hard. It was still so much easier to shift into his charming persona when cornered. Not that he was in danger. He just didn’t like to be snuck up on. “I planned to join you but looks like I missed my opportunity. Shame. Guess we’ll just have to get you dirty and try again.”

[Y/N] giggled at his antics when he kissed their ear. Without the parasite, they just have to trust what he says to them, and they do. Something Astarion would never take for granted. He also just doesn’t want to talk about what’s on his mind.

He wants to think about [Y/N] in his arms. Their fire behind them. Their bed around the corner. Their life together. Happy and content and domestic.

[deusvervewrites]

How about an AU where Izuku has the powers of Polymerization and De-Fusion from Yugioh?

Midoriya's Quirk is called Combine. He discovers it at around, say, three years old when he fuses his bed together into basically like a beanbag chair but bed sized. He was confused but excited! Especially when he discovered that he could reverse it. I'm very proud of Midoriya for making it through seeing a doctor and having his Quirk registered and I think even making it a few days longer before accidentally fusing himself with Inko.

Combine tries its best to average out every component in the fusion. Among other things, 3-year-old Izuku fusing with 31-year-old Inko averages to 17-year-old. Additionally, their minds and personalities sort of gestalt together. Both of them are present, but secondary to the combined persona, if that makes sense. And yes, this new fusion is extremely confused. Luckily, they remember that Izuku can de-fuse things so it's not a big deal. Izuku is thrilled by this and the possibilities. I should note that certain physical characteristics don't really average out but semi-combine (no pun intended), like height.

Unfortunately, Bakugou is still Bakugou and in Aldera. While he does understand why Combine is a useful Quirk for being a Hero, you could call Bakugou a film reel operator with the projection he does. As such, Bakugou breaks off the friendship like he does in canon, and does so before Midoriya can reveal to him that he can do human fusion.

Inko is happy to help Izuku practice his Quirk; not just human fusion but fusing objects together or Izuku fusing with objects to see what happens. Izuku doesn't actually get to decide the results of the fusion so it's a bit of trial-and-error.

UA Entrance Exam was a great time for Izuku with all the fusion material the robots gave him. However, it wasn't enough to stop the Zero Pointer when Uraraka was in trouble, so she became the second person Izuku fused with.

+1. As you may recall when I did some Quirk Analysis for Menagerie, but the Quirks that impose physical alterations that we see in MHA don't wear off. Combine, likewise, will not wear off on its own. Midoriya has to undo it himself.

+2. Combine's Quirk Registry wasn't updated after the discovery of human fusion because it was technically covered by the initial description.

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

with february 22nd being cat day, what do you think of some cat-themed hcs?

The Arcana Mini-HCs: M6 at a cat cafe

~ not so subtly inspired by your fantastic fanart ~

Julian: goes in for the coffee, stays because it's been forever since he's felt this calm getting to pet so many small fluffy creatures

Asra: lies down on the floor without hesitation and turns into a pile of purring fuzzballs. may or may not try to taste the cat treats

Nadia: she came because you invited her here and now she's losing her composure over how cute the food is. and the cats. and you

Muriel: this was your best shot at getting him to visit any kind of cafe. with how warm he runs and his optimal climbing height, he's popular

Portia: she is in HEAVEN ohmygosh MC do you Pepi would be jealous if she adopted another cat? what about a kitten, to raise?

Lucio: this is like his menagerie, but fluffier! ignores all the friendly cats in favor of trying to win over the ones that won't look at him.

[reashot]

Day 9 of 9 Days of Lancaster: Hero.

Warning: Angst.

Ruby: Hey Jaune. It's me again...

How are you today?

... I know stupid question, right.

I mean it's not like there's anything interesting going on right now.

I mean after we defeat Salem and bring peace to Remnant. Everything that came after feels a bit boring in comparison.

All the four kingdoms are slowly rebuilding, with even talk of Menagerie being elevated into a proper kingdom. Cool right?

....

Eh, you want to know about what happened to the rest of us?

Well, let little miss crater face tell you all about it.

*clears throat*

Let's start with my sister, she and Blake is going to get married this year.

Weiss is leading the reconstruction effort on atlas. She's been very busy. But she will make time for the wedding.

Oscar is still coming to terms with Ozpin being gone after the battle.

And me... The reason I'm still here is because of you Jaune.

*starts tearing up*

Because you sacrificed your life to save me...

Originally I wanted to come here to thank you for saving my life. But after coming here I realized that you're a piece of shit Jaune!

You should have saved yourself instead of saving me! Because of you I have to live knowing that you have to die in order for me to live.

Do you have any idea what it does to me? Your sisters may not blame me for your death but I know that deep down they probably do.

I hate you Jaune...

I hate you, because you I blame myself for your death.

And I hate you, because I can't forget you.

I wish I never met you Jaune. That way at least you don't have to die...

*breaks down crying*

Wh-who am I kidding I don't want that. I want to be together with you. To spend the rest of our days together...

You know Jaune. Everyone calls me a hero, the red hooded warrior, the silver eyes huntress and other such names. But when I asked about you. No one knows who you were...

The boy who saved my life and everyone already forgot you even exist... It's all just a big joke. Because to me you're my hero.

[thatguythatdrawsalot]

Blake - Atlas Design Critique.

Yippee I have more to say about character designs, this time it’s Blake’s turn with her Atlas look, there isn’t going to be a redesign but instead my OCs to prove a point. I promise next time there will be a redesign. 

RWBY Archives

This is gonna be interesting because before I can talk about Blake’s Atlas look I gotta briefly talk about Blake’s Menagerie design. This is all gonna culminate into the huge mess that is Blake’s Atlas outfit. Now this look has some meaning to it, by what it says Blake was wearing more white to hide herself, which makes sense for her arc at the time. It may look bad but the white coat had significance, when she ditches the coat and faces Adam to be in more black again it has a meaningful impact that she’s no longer running/hiding… plus the look with the white coat gone makes her look stunning! So tell me why she regressed her arc of hiding to be back in another uglier white coat to hide her ‘not dark enough purples’? It’s because the designer took the Menagerie look but made it sci-fi. They had no idea what to do for Blake other than to exemplify all the bad decisions in her previous look. Silly zippers that are reminiscent of Adam, a cat suit that’s impossible to put on and to take off, and ugly belts clamping her wrists for no good reason. 

And one other thing, why ditch the gold for silver? Wouldn’t it be nice for someone in team RWBY to wear yellow/gold? Why not the girl who’s going to be Yang’s girlfriend???

She’s the second one to freeze to death in team RWBY.

Hair

Again, I never want to direct hate towards a modeler, end of the day it’s the people who make the final decisions for the product who are at fault. When Volume 7’s poster came out nearly everyone was super excited to see Blake with short hair, it looked really cute and framed her face adorably. When the teaser/trailer for the Volume came out… everyone lost their mind at just how ugly the hair looked. False advertising at its finest. Blake’s hair was one of the ugliest examples of modeling I have ever seen in the show proper, it beats Weiss’ chunky braid. I cannot comprehend how Blake’s model got the approval with the hair alone. The hair was a droopy blanket/helmet. When they tweaked it, it still didn’t look good or even like the concept art. 

Primary Color - Black?

I’ve already mentioned that White has overtaken her color palette to regress her character development and her primary color along with purple. There is no ounce of pure Black on Blake. You can have Blake stand next to Cinder, Penny, Ruby, and Yang and they’ll have more Black than her. They try to compensate for the lack of Black with her GRAY hair, and Blake’s INDIGO catsuit. 

It’s ridiculous how the showrunners turn the B for Team RWBY into the representation of the color purple/white than BLACK. Are they afraid of having Blake be a black blob on screen? The reason she had limited black in the past looks was because of her long hair, but she cut it! Put as much black as you want now! Actual black! Stop overdoing white and purple. The black I used was from a direct screenshot of Blake in the DC movie, one where she had on her old outfit that represented her color and looked good- Positives?

I think Blake tops Weiss’ Atlas outfit cause I really can’t think of anything positive to say. If there was a lack of zippers and the concept of Blake was regulated to being a background character rather than a main character, the outfit could stand on its own. Or just MAYBE this would’ve been a better look for Ilia. It can be better for any other character than for Blake. I can just imagine Blake’s excuse for wearing this being “It looked better in the picture.”

Bonus Round - Ghira and Kali

You can skip this and go to the conclusion if you want, this is just me talking about how much I dislike the ‘Spitting Image Of Parent’ trope in fiction, as this always nagged me about Blake, Ghira, and Kali’s design. Alright so I don’t mind Blake being a cat faunus, I just hate the uncreative reason as to how she became a cat faunus, this was a trait inherited by her mother. Kali is a cat faunus. In the World Of Remnant series, an episode dedicated to the Faunus had a rundown that if two faunus’ of the same kind had a kid together, it’d be the same faunus. If two faunus’ were completely different, their child would be completely random. Kali is a cat, and Ghira is a panther, both felines technically but they really couldn’t just make her parents be human/faunus? They instead just increased the odds of Blake being a cat than something else or even her parents? They made her parents similar… a little too similar. Blake’s parents read to me as brother/sister by just how similar their colors and appearance are. It feels like two artists were tasked with making a mom and dad but didn’t communicate with one another on traits Blake could inherit from the other. I appreciate that they made Kali tanner with better-looking animated cat ears but seriously they start with black hair, yellow eyes, and end with a color palette being black/purple.

I don’t understand how Yang and Ren’s parents can feel like parents with their appearance but then drop the ball for Blake’s. It isn’t that hard, up above are my OCs; John and Penelope Ironwood aka James’ parents. You can argue that I made John be a spitting image of James but at least I TRIED. I had James inherit his mother’s navy eyes and curly hair. Whenever I draw/color James I just mix John and Penelope’s skin tones to make it James’ skin color. I tried to make them look like independent characters who could look like James’ parents but still unique. Conclusion

I don’t think anyone at RT can make Blake stunning, I hope Viz Media gives Blake a good outfit.

From the teaser image it looks like Blake is wearing black, only downside is the gold piercings. I like the idea of gold piercings but my god she looks way too much like her mother… and I really don’t like that trope.

However I’m gonna keep having my hope be alive for character designs than the story. Out of team RWBY I’m most excited to see Blake’s looks, if she looks awful for the final season I’m going to cry-

But of course, it’s just my opinion. If you love this design or hate the design, please share your opinion. I’d love to hear it! :D

[iamthecomet]

𝘔𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘺 𝘔𝘢𝘺 𝘋𝘢𝘺 𝘌𝘭𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯: 𝘗𝘢𝘱𝘢 𝘛𝘪𝘮𝘦

Rating: G Pairing: Mountain & Primo Words: 1k

Had a sudden lightbulb about the Abbey having a botanical garden and Mountain being mildly obsessed and then this happened. No warnings, just the old man and the soft earth ghoul being sweet to each other.

Mushy May brought to you by @forlorn-crows Divider by @ghuleh-recs

The botanical garden is Primo’s pride and joy. Sure, being the satanic pope was fun and good. Touring the world was entertaining. Playing music was…ok. But this expansive glass building built on the eastern side of the main Abbey building? This is everything.

He designed it all. Each pane of thick glass, the metal that holds them together, the stones that make up the floor and foundation. All of it from his hands, his mind. It’s been here a long time. Long enough that ivy grows along the southern gable. That the glass has become milky with time. The roof–once shining copper has gone green with oxidation.

For a long time, he was the only one who cared about it.

Sure, siblings and ghouls enjoyed it. They’d walk through the massive building and coo at the plants, the brightly colored flowers, the pitcher plants big enough to eat a human hand if they really wanted to. They marvel at this impossible beauty. But they never stay long. It’s too warm. Too humid. Too…strange. It’s a museum to them. Something to be looked at and enjoyed from afar.

Even many of the earth ghouls were a little put off by it–didn’t understand it. These plants weren’t supposed to grow here. So many of them had hang ups about not native species and practicality, it made Primo’s head hurt. So little appreciation for all of his hard work. For this beauty that should be impossible but by the grace of lord Lucifer it isn’t.

And then, Mountain came.

Primo had misjudged him–he’ll admit that now. He had seen the tall lanky earth ghoul with his antlers and his gentle manner and Primo had assumed he’d be just like the others. That he would appreciate from afar, that he would pitch in when needed but not really want to help. But Mountain surprised him.

Mountain’s first trip through the botanical garden left him in awe. He named half of the plants with ease, latin spilling from his mouth as he reached out to touch delicate dew coated petals. And Primo had stared. He couldn’t help it. He felt the thrum of Mountain’s magic through the stone and a fly trap that had been struggling perked back up, leaves unfurling.

And when Mountain smiled–sheepish–Primo thought it was a little like looking at the sun.

Mountain still spends most of his time in the more practical greenhouses and gardens. Harvesting food and teas and herbs and making sure the Abbey is well stocked and taken care of. But he spends every Sunday here with Primo. Closed inside the bright, stuffy, greenhouse. Tropical at all times. Brightly colored flowers still blooming in the dead of winter. It’s Primo’s favorite day of the week–he isn’t afraid to admit it. When he gets there on this particular Sunday, Mountain has beaten him. It’s the first Sunday since the band got back from touring and Primo missed the earth ghoul. Missed hearing him hum to himself as he worked. Missed watching him perk up plants with his magic, feeling the pull of it through the foundation.

When he slips through the door Mountain is nearby, tending a patch of vibrant blue orchids–fickle things that only seem to like Mountain’s touch. They’ve been suffering while on tour, but Primo notices that two minutes with Mountain has left them fresh and healthy.

Mountain startles when the door closes, he turns to look at Primo. That hesitant smile tugging at his lips like always.

“Papa,” Mountain says, straightening up, tall as ever. Antlers dotted with tiny blue forget me not flowers. “I brought you something.”

Primo steps further into the warmth of the building, walks closer to Mountain. Shoes clicking on the stone. He inhales. Smells a menagerie of flowers and green and life that makes his chest constrict. Everywhere else in the Abbey feels dark and oppressive. Here–he really feels at home.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” Mountain sits down on one of the stone benches that lines the path, he pats the space next to him and Primo sits. Smelling the deep evergreen and cedar that is Mountain. He always smells like a forest at mid-winter. Even in here, Primo loves it. Loves the constant reminder that this strange tropical word they’ve built here is unnatural for this climate. It makes him that much more proud of it.

“So why?”

“I couldn’t leave it there–not when you needed it for your collection.”

Mountain is the only one who truly understands. That this is a collection. That is is not just a garden. Primo has done all he can to fill it with all kinds of rarities. Strange insects, and butterflies, snakes and lizards and vibrant blue tree frogs. Whatever he can find that will thrive in this climate he’s created. Oddities that he cannot resist.

Primo feels his heartbeat quicken. “Show me.”

Mountain produces a small seedling in a pot that fits in the palm of his big hand. Primo studies it, breath catching as he starts to recognize the leaves, the color.

“Is that–”

“A corpse plant. Yes. I saw it growing on the side of the path when we went on a hike. Cirrus thought I was crazy when I started digging it up. But I couldn’t leave it there.”

Primo strokes the leaves. It doesn’t look anything like what it will when it’s full grown. And Primo cannot guarantee his unnaturally long life will be long enough to see it bloom. But he finds he doesn’t mind. It will be here, part of his legacy whether he is or not.

“Oh, Mountain this is–I���ve always–It’s my holy grail.”

“I know.” Mountain grins at him, a real smile. He sets the plant down and slings his arm around Primo’s shoulders, pulling him in for a half hug. “Consider it a thank you, for letting me work with your collection–for letting me spend time with all of them.”

Primo feels himself flush–an odd occurrence considering his age. He leans into the fresh winter smell of Mountain and lets his eyes fall closed as Mountain holds him close.

“Our collection,” Primo corrects, he can’t pretend it belongs only to him anymore. And he finds he doesn’t want to.

Mountain makes a small surprised noise, but then he’s nodding, acquiescence. “Ours.”