#maybe that would have detered you away from all that slaughter

[somnirous]

“ There is no good and evil. There is only power, and those too weak to seek it. ”

[bakugoushotwife]

kinktober day twenty: makeup sex

>>> this is the epitome of vanilla i’m sorry—i got carried away imagine just sweet passionate love making with geto and well here you go whores

>>> starring: suguru geto x curvy!f!reader >>> cw: breakup, angst, oral (f receiving) mating press, breeding, pet names. >>> wc: 4k >>> event masterlist

this is what hell must be like.

when gojo tells you the news, you laugh. you know he’s joking. despite his ghostly sick appearance and red eyes, you just know he’s playing a joke on you like always. you know suguru better than anyone. even gojo. you’ve been together in a romantic capacity for the better part of a year—though you’ve been together since you walked into class one day and declared yourself his friend. you know how depressed your boyfriend has been recently. you’re the one that’s been trying to piece him back together, patient and understanding and gentle as always. after haibara, you’re the only person he’ll even tolerate sharing his space—but not even you have managed to get him to open up. you know he must be questioning the nature of things as of late. the mission to protect the star plasma vessel changed him. but—to kill a village of innocents? his own parents?

“satoru, that’s not funny.” you shake your head, the more you stare at his sympathetically heartbroken face the more it sinks in that he is not joking. you stumble back into the table behind you, the familiar sting of tears ripping at the corners of your eyes.

“they want him dead.” he says with horror, though he seems to fight with himself before your very eyes. he shakes his head. “he killed them all…he..”

“i don’t care!” you cry out, heart pounding in your ears. “it doesn’t matter what he did—he had a reason! i know he did, satoru—please. he’s…he’s all we have.” you know just what to say to appeal to his heart, and know satoru feels some sort of debt to you—since he wasn’t able to keep suguru from diving off the deep end on his own.

he scrunches his nose. “i can’t kill him. not if i wanted to. tried already.” he grumbled, looking down at his shoes.

“you saw him!?” you say, quickly connecting the dots— you step up to shove his chest. he lets you, he deserves it, but the hurt on his face is clear. “you saw him and you didn’t think i’d want to go? what—“

“he didn’t want you there.” he says under his breath, making your jaw shut immediately. your eyes flash with something deeper than hurt, more like anguish. your eyes find the floor now, searching and scanning the tiles for the answer as to why. why he left you here. you would have gone with him. you would have done whatever it took to stay together. even hearing that your partner slaughtered villagers and his own family couldn’t deter you. you knew he had snapped—but he would never hurt you.

satoru slumps forward. “maybe he just…didn’t want to hurt you any more than this. maybe he knew he couldn’t walk away if you were there.”

you wish his words could make you feel better. in a way they do, they make you hope that he was thinking about you in those moments, at least. though the more you hear about him over the next few months from gojo, you doubt anything but his enlightenment carried any weight in his mind.

you’re as good as lost. you reject missions and skip class in favor of searching for any traces of his cursed energy marks with the special tools you specialized in, all to no avail. he’s gone for good. you shrink into yourself and finish your time at jujutsu tech as a shell of your former being. the shadows consumed the sunshine, you’re only able to push yourself as far as you need to in order to pass, but nothing beyond that. you feel like you only live on to spite him, to find him and confront him over all this—no matter the time that’s passed. you won’t stop until you find him again.

turns out, you didn’t have to do much searching. nearly two years after geto leaves, he shows up again. he’s sitting on your couch, giving you his signature soft smile as you enter your own home. you have to blink this mirage out of your vision—so you shake your head a little and rub at your eyes viciously. he hums your name, and your eyes fill with tears. it sounds just like always, like his own kind of love confession with how gently he lets it roll off his tongue. so much for that anger-fueled confrontation you’ve been dreaming of.

he says it again, standing from the couch. he watches your body tremble without knowing if he should stay put or step forward to hold you. he’s not stupid, he knows he lost the right to touch you a long time ago. but…it’s instinct to him. he comes closer and you don’t stop him. you just stare up at him through teary eyes, stabbing him with your pain and sadness and the feeling of betrayal. his hands hesitate to pull you into him.

“can i?” he asks, his brow ticking up in question. “i know i messed up, angel. i want to make it better.” he watches your face carefully, noticing how your brows push your worry lines forward. you’re thinking about it. and the fact you have to think at all hurts him a little, though the only person he can blame is himself. he doesn’t regret leaving. he doesn’t feel guilt over the deaths left in his wake—he hasn’t killed anyone who didn’t deserve it—nor did he feel any sadness over parting with his previous life. other than you, the only source of any negative emotion.

he left satoru and shoko. he left his teacher, his other friends at jujutsu tech. he convinced himself this was the only way, a clean break. he didn’t want it to be harder than it had to be on anyone—his fellow sorcerers. he knew you all would only try to convince him of a different path, that his relationships with his closest friends would be ruined if he had to use force to get away. in a cowardly way, he knew he couldn’t handle the heartbreak you would inevitably look at him with, akin to the look you’re giving him now, and the weakness you brought out on him was something he could no longer afford. so he made sure he never ran into you, hoping that as time went by, you would affect him less and less.

clearly, that did not go according to plan. he missed you deeply, your silken voice and warm touch was the only thing that brought him comfort during his darkest hours, you never shied away from him even when he was silent—when he was angry, irritable, and straight up rude to you, you still crawled into his bed and tugged his face into your chest. you disregarded his attitude every time, pulling the tie out of his hair and hushing him with the scrape of your fingernails against his scalp and the weight of your leg tossed over his hip. you didn’t let him push you away, that’s why you left him no choice but to abandon you. your love was too addicting in the end, though. he can’t make himself stay away—even with his renewed sense of self.

he kept coming back to the idea that you…you were different from satoru and shoko and nanami. again, you never shied away. no matter how difficult he made it on you, you remained by his side. was it too far fetched to imagine you may yet still?

you nod. he’s gentle, careful of being too foreboding and rough too quickly. he’s dressed differently, a black haori and long nagagi, covered with his patterned gojogesa. you think there must be some symbolism in it, maybe a jab to his old friend—maybe an allusion to the heian period he hoped to return to. his hair has grown a few inches, and he doesn’t keep it all pulled back anymore. you think he looks…good. he looks like him, like a regal leader—like he was always meant to be. he wraps his arms around your frame slowly, like he was afraid you would change your mind.

but then you slide your arms around him too, tucking your face to his chest with a stuttered sigh. deep relaxation. he blinks a bit in surprise, tightening his hold around your shoulders as one hand keeps your head trapped against him. his heartbeat is so steady—just like you remembered it. you close your eyes and breathe in his cinnamon bourbon scent, and tears slip down your cheeks as it comes over you in waves that this is real. he’s real, standing in your apartment with his arms wrapped tight around you like you were the one who disappeared suddenly.

“you’ve been gone for so long.” you choke out, your chest heaving a bit with your words—all the hours spent missing him cutting through your happiness to see him. he feels your body tremble, and he realizes that you’ve started to cry. he leans away from you, moving his hands to your face. “you left me here. you didn’t even say goodbye, suguru!”

he frowns, petting your hair down with one hand while the other remained cradling your cheek. you lean into the touch, his hands a bit more callused than you remember them being. they’re still so gentle, these same hands that killed his own parents. these hands that are covered in blood when they aren’t being gentle. but you don’t shudder, the chill of fear never creeps over your body. you know his hands will only touch you softly, with all his love. unless you asked for any different, of course.

“i know. i messed up, my love. i shouldn’t have left you behind.” he sighs, shaking his head at the tear tracks on your cheeks. “don’t cry. i’m here now. i’ll never leave you again. i promise.” he assured, his voice slightly deeper and huskier than it had been in school. he takes it one step further, “i came back to make you mine again. come back home with me. be my wife.”

you widen your eyes at this one, looking up at him with raised brows. “suguru—“

“hear me out, hm?” he smiles warmly, and it relaxes you a bit. you nod to him again, closing your hand around his wrist. “you never let me down…even when i probably deserved it. i don’t resent our friends. i love them! i wish to save them, to save you, my love above them all. please, i won’t ask you to be involved in my work. i just want you back. where i can keep you safe and really make this up to you. i’ll make you happy.”

“i never thought you were wrong—i knew there was more to the story…i..you know i will go with you.”

“pack your bags and i’ll tell you everything, then. you can decide how involved you want to be, i just don’t want you to feel obligated.” he insists, guiding you towards your room.

he stays true to his promise. you pack all the clothes you want to keep on hand and your valuables, and suguru tells you everything. from the mission with riko and toji, to his conversation with yuki, to the village mission and the little girls he found himself taking care of. he explains his thoughts—why this is the only way things will work. he doesn’t want it to be violent—he just loves you so much. he loves gojo, he loves shoko and nanami and yaga and even those that despise him. he wants you to live in a better world, where his twins and any kids you may have together can play freely outside without any worries of techniques and cursed spirits. where children of his that inherit his own ability will never have to endure this same fate. where gojo can relax and shoko never has to see another dead friend—not until old age, anyway. it’s peaceful. and it makes sense…you can’t be angry.

not when you want to hurry home and meet these girls of his, now about seven years old. they’ll be excited to have a mother figure, despite how young you both still are.

“i’ll do whatever will help you then, darling.” you affirm, setting your belongings by your door. “if you want me to lend you my power, i can do that. if you’d rather me stay out of the meetings and tend to the girls, i can do that too. we’ll see how it goes, hm? i’ll do anything it takes.”

your willingness takes him by surprise. he wanted to take you back home and show his devotion to you there, but your words breathe new fire into him. he knows the girls will be all over you the moment you walk in and he won’t be able to have you to himself properly anyway, but he has to worship his goddess. your room is spacious enough…and this would be the last time you’d be in it.

you know that look when you see it, even if it’s been a while. you giggle softly at him, dark eyes a few shades darker with excitement. perhaps he found your forgiveness sexy—maybe your own devotion. either way, the familiar stare lights a fire in your stomach that hadn’t burned in a long time.

“suguru…” you hum, keeping your own lusty gaze trained on him as you perch at the edge of your bed.

“anything?” he repeats your earlier words, stepping toward you. “like marrying me? i want to start my own clan.” he smirks the slightest bit, “and i want you as my wife. i want the girls to have my name, but i want you to give me more children of the same.”

you bite your lip. a family had always been in the cards for you and geto. you were probably far too young to talk about such things, but he was never shy about what he wanted his future with you to look like. you’re glad to see that hasn’t changed. gojo was right, your boyfriend just couldn’t bear watching your face as he left—or risking the heartbreak that would follow if you didn’t come with him.

“you’re built for it, love. divinely feminine and made to be worshiped. i do need to beg for forgiveness after all…” he hums, sinking to his knees in front of you. you part your knees for him from muscle memory, and he’s tugging your work slacks down your hips and pulling at the buttons on your top. he sighs with relief at the sight of you. partially because you were gorgeous, the other part because this was a view he didn’t know if he would get the pleasure of experiencing again. he holds your ankles, pressing tender kisses to each of them before ultimately picking your right leg to trail his lips along, his kisses growing rougher and more possessive the closer he gets to your folds.

you mewl and squirm under his affection, trying to muffle your own sounds with the back of your hand. he can’t help but chuckle just a bit at your squeamishness. it had been a long time—and at least the way you wiggle around his head tells him that you haven’t been with anyone since he left—thank god, he wasn’t really in the mood to kill anyone tonight. he was only in the mood to be here; contently slathering his spit along your pussy lips, humming at the tang of you that meets his tongue. he hooks his arms around your legs to drag your cunt closer, eager mouth suckling at the pearl between your legs with a satisfied grunt. your head falls back at the feeling of his practiced muscle flicking your hood back.

“god, yes sugu, feels amazing…missed you so bad.“ you sigh out, his warm mouth knows all of your secret spots, his tongue licking over each one like you had never been apart. he’s slow and meticulous with every stroke, letting you feel his rushed breath fan over your burning need. you’re almost to the point of begging for him already—when you had plans to give him a real piece of your mind the next time you crossed paths. here you are, letting him devour you at his own pace, agreeing to be his housewife or baby mama or the vice president of his cult—or some mix of all three.

he guides your hips to hump his face, the longer strands of black tickling the inside of your thighs with every languid ministration. you thread your fingers through the locks, relishing the hold it gives you to grind down on his lips, a heat only geto can bring you starts to ball up in your core. he kneads your thighs, making out with your pussy as a reminder that you’re back—he got you back. you are his again, but he needs your cum on his tongue to really convince him of that.

he dives deeper, sliding his mouth to your entrance and letting his thumb take over sloppy slow circles over your clit. you tug on his silky tresses at the roots, making him groan and speed up just a bit. it’s just like when you were teens—he can’t get close enough and you can’t stay quiet, though now that you are grown you don’t really have to.

“sugu—wanna cum for you, please…” you whine, feeling like you were rolling downhill, the feeling in your stomach so bubbly and warm you know you can’t hold out much longer. he nods his permission, now was not the time to deny you anything—though he wants your release so bad that he couldn’t tell you no if he wanted to.

he doesn’t have to tell you twice, his fingers move in a perfect rhythm with his mouth to drive you over the edge. you squeeze his face between your thighs, such a perfect feeling that he’s missed for far too long. your nectar made him even crazier—he calculated everything but how your love would control him. how this taste and the sight of you with your back arched and mouth open as you push your pussy against him repeatedly to ride out your high would have him doing anything in the world to ensure he got to see it again.

“we’ll marry when we get back to the estate.” he nods, pushing you back with a light shove—just enough to communicate his own need. your eyes flicker down to the layers he was removing to get to you—his bulge tucked tight against his hakama, trying to spring free. he growls a bit, frustrated with how good you looked laying against the pillows, how your body had thickened up in all the right places. you really were built to be a mother. he finally frees himself, finally bare to you for the first time in almost two years. he pushes a large hand through his hair, eyeing you with just a touch of that newfound craze he’s garnered. he pushes your legs back to your chest, clearly intent on using the mating press for its namesake. “it’s only right since i’m going to put a baby in you right now.”

he lays his length over your stomach, reminding you of how he’ll have to stretch you to accommodate him. he’s so long he nearly touches your belly button—and just as wide around. his balls always hang low—heavy and full as he stares at you with hazy lidded eyes, admiring the way you seem undaunted by the tall task of fitting him in your snug walls or letting him knock you up with the firstborn of the new generation, one that would grow up in a new world you would help him build. “i love you. i can’t get those years back, but i can give you the rest of my life.”

your eyes soften a bit, body melting into the mattress. he slides his cockhead along your soaked folds, arms tensing and relaxing at the feeling of your hole sucking him in—and who is he to deny you after all this time? “i love you too—“

you cut yourself off to suck in a breath as he rips the bandaid off—bottoming out and hushing you as you squeeze and writhe around him. “you can still take all of me—that’s my girl.” he sighs shakily, your clamping pussy was quickly becoming a problem. he hadn’t allowed himself to be horny in your absence; all he could do was miss you and wish he had you back in his arms. but you’ve given him more than that, you’ve given him permission to breed your tight pussy all for himself, you’ve promised to help him in his cause and watch after the girls he was willing to lose you for, albeit temporarily. you’ve given him your heart back. you’ve given him everything.

your hands fly to grip the beefy muscle of his upper arms, fighting to ground yourself through the feeling of him cleaving through you. your eyes are already rolling back in your head by the time he actually starts to move, feeling this full was satisfaction in and of itself. you think some part of you should feel pathetic and guilty for letting him do this—for taking him back, no, pledging yourself—to him once more. you know this will mean isolation, but you don’t care. you’d do anything to have him, and you don’t feel any regret in the realization. your mouth drops open a little, the way he leans over you to kiss your parted lips makes you grin. his broad frame keeps yours in place and deepens his path to burrow toward your womb. he swallows up your sounds of pleasure, grunting into each sloppy kiss. your hips absorb his thrusts, legs pinned by his huge hands ensuring you were bent to his liking. he’s slow just like before, stroking deeply and withdrawing almost all the way, brutal in his own fashion.

“please—faster, oh— nghggg~” you whine out as he gives you what you asked for, bracing one hand on the headboard above you so he could set a proper tempo, fucking into you with intent to claim. you’re mesmerizing. he’ll never let you out of his sight, even, if it means you’ll be safe beside him—or under him. he watches your face contort with pleasure, hot wet walls gripping him so expertly he can’t help but shove himself deeper and deeper as fast as possible—needing to bury his load as far as it will go.

“so good angel, you’re gonna make me bust already.” he says with a gruff chuckle. you nod, egging him on. he finds that adorable, rewarding you by pinching your swollen and needy clit. your back arches a bit and you squeeze him uncontrollably. he chuckles at your reactions, pleased to have so much control. “looks like you will too. cum with me.” he hums his order gently, rubbing you in circles while his hips never slow their rocking motions, driving you to the point of whimpering helplessly. you nod, feeling the dam break and your cum rush out all at once. he groans at the growing wetness, he can’t hold back anymore. he fucks you through your orgasm, twitching at the sensitivity his dick receives from the sloppy mess that’s been made of you.

“look at my girl…stuffed full like she always should be.” he grins, leaning over to kiss your forehead. “i love you, angel. i’m so glad you let me have another chance.” he says with a smirk that tells you that you didn’t have much choice in the matter—but your cooperation meant a lot to him.

you smile softly at his praises, not at all worried about your fate with a man they considered dangerous. because to you, he was still your suguru—and he would never hurt you, his special siring sorceress.

[yaut-jaknowit]

New Feelings

Pairing: We'ar-ow (Female Yautja) x GN!Reader(Platonic)

Word Count: 3057

Summary: During this time, We'ar-ow takes a momentary step back from ruling to care for you. Just in the confinements of her private room though. You come to realize how different she acts in front of company.

Author Note: Had a bit of a mix-up on the masterlist but it's resolved now! I've also got the next chapter finished about to finish the one after that so I'm getting back to writing book. Not beta read. If there is something confusing or stupid, let me know and I'll fix it.

Masterlist

Ao3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18

In We’ar-ow’s throne room, many Yautjas have come to report to their leader. It was a short line at first when she had originally dragged you from the safety of her room early this morning. A regular amount of people, you had thought at first. It doesn’t just take one person to lead a clan like this. But more later filled the throne room that it finally hit the door.

It’s not like you paid a great amount of attention to them. Just enough to see each of their faces and file them away for a later date. All for sake of one of them being your stalker. Whoever hunted you through the halls of this very ship could possibly be in this room with you. Would they slay you before the Monarch? And what would their thought process be? Cleaning the ship of scum? Disturbing We’ar-ow?

That had you rolling your eyes, head bowed to hide away your emotions. We’ar-ow did not care that much about you to have your death disturb her. Just a fucking pet. Your senses still completely open for an attack. Anyone of them could slip out of line and slaughter you without remorse. These are hunters. Born, bred, built to maim anything in their way. A shiver ran its course through your body.

The tablet in hand was momentarily discarded mentally. The thoughts of decapitation or dismembering filled your head. None of them would blink an eye about it. Just your blood staining the like-carpet material blanketing the stairs and floor. Or the cushion gifted to you. All would be brushed off. Their day would continue like normal. You sighed heavily through your nose and tilted your head back to stare at the strangely decorated ceiling.

A mural of sorts had been painted over the expanse of the ceiling. Only spots of flush lights broke the illusion of how intricate. You shook your head and focused back on the line.

Someone bypassed the entire line and marched up the stairs that lead to We’ar-ow’s throne. Your back tensed at the sight, on the verge of snapping in half. This Yautja, male by his shorter stature, ignored you and stopped before her seat. A nearly playful look twinkled in his sea green-blue eyes. He gave a polite bow to his leader then begun to discuss with her, short, sweet.

“May I?” he questioned and motioned over to you. Your heart dropped to the floor. Instantly, you rapidly shook your head to deter him or her from getting close to you.

We’ar-ow nodded her massive head and returned her attention back to the figure before her. Your jaw dropped at her abandonment. A week ago you had almost died! Maybe, possibly. You didn’t know if death was going to happen that day but it made it all the scary of not knowing.

The new figure smiled with his alien mandibles and spun on his heel to face your sitting form. Terror ran cold in your blood at his first step. The next had you trembling. He knelt down a step just before yours. He wasn’t a young Yautja anymore. The lines and many scars the decorated his skin were an indication. What caught your eye like shining gold was his right arm. The elbow and below was gone, poof. Just a nub and gnarly scars. A well decorated hunter who’s earned his title by the looks of it.

You swallowed thickly but stayed seat on the cushion. Somehow. The Yautja huffed, the lightest of smirks playing his face. He reached out with his only hand and plucked the tablet from your grasp. “Whatcha got here?” he questioned and began to scroll through the page you were on. An article about Yautja Prime, their home planet.

He snickered and gave a look that ‘really?’. The device was tossed back into your lap but your attention was solely on the potentially dangerous figure before you. But… We’ar-ow seemed at ease around him and allowed him to approach you. Something you hadn’t expected after that night and the following days.

“If ya wanna know about home world, you could get it from the source,” he spoke in a voice that gave you smoker vibes. It almost drowned out the translator tucked underneath your skin, behind your ear. Automatically, you glanced over at We’ar-ow hard at work. A light tap to your knee had you snapping back to him. “Not her, ooman. Me!”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. Him? You just met him. Not even completely! He hadn’t told you his name. He saw the puzzle look on your features and snorted. “Monarch may say she could care less if I dropped off into the space port but she cares, doesn’t she?” What was his point? His angle? What did he want? And why was he being so friendly to you? Did he get knocked up side the head far too many times?

Plus, why did his last two words sound like there was an underlying tone in his voice. “I don’t, don’t even know your name,” you stuttered and gave him a look as if he was crazed. Curse the stutter!

“Oh, right. Thought she would’ve said a thing or two about me. Hurts the heart a little.” You just kept staring at him, puzzled on this whole attitude. He was completely different from any Yautja you’ve met before. Even if the list is fairly short. They’ve never acted so… carefree. Was this the crazy old man of the ship?

“Call me Xilo, short for Xilomere,” he finally introduced. Still tensed painfully, you stiffy nodded your head and murmur a ‘okay’, hoping it was enough to get him to leave. It wasn’t. “And you’re the Monarch’s pet. An ooman who’s been talk of the town for the last half solar cycle! You don’t realize the uproar you caused when the newly blooded brought you here. If it wasn’t for her, you wouldn’t have survived to see the next day.”

He said it so causally. You could’ve died when Dwainet brought you here… death. This was all a horrible mistake with consequences hard to live with.

We’ar-ow stopped them from killing you. She allowed you to stay. Why?! Your eyes drifted back over to the hard-working Yautja ensuring her ship and community don’t collapse on itself. Did… did she want you back then?

A hunter at their core must be patient.

That what it is to be a hunter. What did this all mean?! You gnawed on your bottom lip when the green Yautja before you patted your knee. “She didn’t tell you? Whoops.” Then, he leaned in close to whisper something of importance. “Don’t tell her I told you. Act natural.” All you could do was blink dumbly at him.

‘Act natural’? ‘Act natural’?! He was just as irritating at We’ar-ow with their up front, uncaring, idiotic words! How could you just go one knowing that if it wasn’t for her you would be dead!? Or the fact she might have been wanting you for her own pet this entire time?! Just waiting like the hunter was born to be for the right moment to snatch you up.

All of this was a mistake. You wanted to breakdown all over again. The wounds still fresh enough to ache in your poor heart.

Xilo pulled back with that same cocky smirk. “If you ever need to chat, dear ooman. My contact has been inputted into your toy. Now, I should dip before I spill more than I should about our lovely Monarch.” He pushed back up into a standing position, knees popping with the action. He gave you a two-finger salute, spun on his heel, and left through the way he came.

On his only hand, he was missing his entire pinky and the tip of his ring finger. Something you realized after he already left. You grumbled underneath your breath for a few minutes after the interaction and messed around on your tablet. He didn’t need to announce to the whole throne room what you were doing on the tablet. Yes, you were gathering information about their planet. It’s not like you freely look for ways to escape the mothership right in front of her. You were on the steps, before her throne though to the side. One turn of her head could expose your whole plan.

To be honest, you’ve thought about this. She has to have some knowledge of you wanting to escape. But if she’s not worried… that means she is confidence there isn’t way to escape. But there is. At least to get off of here. Away from being her damn pet.

The like-leather encasing your throat is a feeling you’ve started to grow accustomed to. At nights, We’ar-ow allows you to take it off. Thankfully. But in the morning, it’s back on; with complaints almost every time. It’s a loosing battle at this point. The only way to gain back what you’ve lost is to escape. Away, far from this place.

So, you learned, research what you could about Yautjas. From their planet to the motherships they use to roam the universe to the different subspecies to hunting styles. Everything. To know your enemy is the way to defeat your enemy. To outsmart them, her. It’s the only way to escape.

But is that what you want?

.

Once the day ended, in the middle of the afternoon, the two of you retired back to her quarters. The safety away from prying eyes and possibly danger. Though, to be frank, this was the lions den you not only eat and bathe in, but also sleep and relax in. You ran your fingers through your hair after the door seal shut, leaving you alone with We’ar-ow.

Said salmon pink Yautja strolled across the living room and into her room. Door left open. That struck you. The door always shuts after her. Why leave it open?

Curiosity may have killed the cat… and now you.

You tiptoed across the length of the main room and peered around the entrance of her door. You’ve been in here before. With her permission. She’s never left the door open before though. You didn’t dare take another step into the bedroom.

For a moment, you couldn’t find her until a light flicked on and caught your eye. We’ar-ow’s back was to you as she stood in the doorway of another room to the right wall. The new light shone on what looked to be clothing. She has a walk in closet, what else did you expect from her?

Then, the Yautja began to strip. You felt your eyes bulge out from your head at the sight, but unable to peel your sight away. Its not like you hadn’t seen Dwainet naked before… plenty of times, plenty. He had bulk similar to We’ar-ow but she has honed in to be able to be agile and lethal. Move faster than you could process sometimes.

You chewed on your bottom lip, eyes partially glazed over. Her muscles weren’t well defined as some you’ve seen. That didn’t mean thickly corded muscles didn’t lie underneath her thick, pink skin. No wonder many Yautjas looked at not just respect/fear of her being Monarch but for her beauty as well.

Her thumbs shimmied under her waistband and began to push down. This is where you slam your back against the wall outside of the room and slapped a hand over your mouth.

Boiling heat flushed to your cheeks, eyes clenched shut. Why had you done that?! That… that-

“You are missing the show,” We’ar-ow’s voice funneled out into the main room where you were. Your knees nearly gave out right then. She knew. Oh my god. She fucking knew! “Come on out, pet.” She used a honeyed voice as an attempt to coax you out from hiding. She already knew that you were right there.

With whatever courage you still had after all this time, you stepped back into the doorway with your head bowed. She would have to rip your head off to make you look at her.

Pink feet entered your vision. A knuckle tried to tilt your head up at first before you felt her lean down, mouth close to your ear now. “Did my pet enjoy the show?” she whispered softly into your ear. Your spine locked up, chest heaving with unsteady breaths. “Calm, little one. I asked a question.”

Anger flashed to life in your veins was quickly stomped out from the embarrassment. She wanted you to speak! Why does she keep doing that? You felt on the verge of crying. “S-sorry,” you sputtered then pressed your lips tightly against each other. Her knuckle was still firm against your chin, not relenting. But neither were you.

We’ar-ow softly huffed and corralled you to the nearest wall. Her free hand wrapped around your neck and locked you against said wall. “That is not the answer I was looking for, pet.” You best believe she could hear how wild your heart was pounding in your chest. On the verge of jumping out into her hands.

From past experiences, you knew she wasn’t going to stop until she got your answer. Lying was off the table too. Yautjas have a keen sense of smell. They know. You swallowed the lump down, feeling her hand twitch slightly around your throat. “Yes,” you murmured just above a breath. She was able to tilt your head up and you met her eyes.

Far from anger. We’ar-ow looked down at you with an alien smirk gracing her face. Your heart stuttered, but not from fear. She wasn’t furious, not at all. It’s like… oh my god, she wanted you to look, to watch even. It was all a setup. Your face soured. You had nowhere to go though. We’ar-ow had you trapped to the wall.

“Smart ooman.” She read you like an open book. You scowled at her. “I am glad that enjoyed what I offered. I will know what to do for next time.” Then, her body heat left you as she pulled away. “Go eat. There are some berries in the cooling containment for you.” Sometimes the translator wasn’t the most accurate about words.

Blindly listening to her, you unsteadily stumbled your way into the kitchen-like room. In the refrigerator, you pulled out the bowl and berries then added a couple of fruits to it as well. You were still dazed while sitting down on the one-seater in the living room.

A berry was tossed into your mouth. The taste bursting over your tastebuds. They were delicious, not something you expected from a species that looked like they had a stick always stuck up their ass. You scoffed and curled up more on the couch. Your legs tucked underneath your body with the bowl placed in your lap.

As you sat peacefully on the couch, you couldn’t help but remember what We’ar-ow had said earlier. Something on the lines of knowing what to do for next time. Next time? Why would there be a next time?! She… fuck, you couldn’t deny the fact you were watching her, curious on what lied below her clothing. Though, there wasn’t much fabric she used to cover herself. None of the Yautjas did. Nudity wasn’t frowned upon like it is for your species.

Your brows furrowed the more you thought about it. They way you watched… and she wanted you to. She set you up and you enjoyed it!

All thoughts came to a halt… Enjoyed? Did you enjoy it? You didn’t dare answer that. You frowned and shifted once more to have your legs over the arm rest, back to the other side. Another few berries were tossed into your mouth, mindlessly munching on them.

What is wrong with you? You sighed and curled more in yourself. This was all wrong. After Dwainet, you sworn to never feel a thing for any of these monsters. That’s what they are. Dwainet took you from your home, away from everything you knew and promised you love that he clearly lost for you. Now, look where it got you. In the worst place possible. Escape was hard enough but if she was interested in you… that was a whole either situation you had to worry about. At a later date. Today, you had to survive the stalker.

Warm arms scooped you up from the couch. You yelped and scrambled to right yourself but the limbs tensed and kept you firmly in place. When a familiar pink flashed in your vision you stilled, eyes wide and glancing up at the Yautja holding you. “What are you doing?” you questioned, voice faltering.

We’ar-ow held you close to her, against her bare chest, turned around, then stole your spot. A grumpy look fell over your features as you were ready to flail around to escape. The Yautja chuckled and patted your cheek. “You look cute when you are pouting,” she teased and plucked a piece fruit from your bowl. There was nothing you could do to fight her.

Stiffly, you hesitantly relaxed into her lap once realizing there wasn’t a chance to wiggle free. She let a slackened arm fall over your lap. You tensed but returned to your former position, half-mindlessly munching at the berries she snacked on as well. The Yautja didn’t say anything else and seemed to enjoy your company.

Despite the will to fight her, to fight this; after the last week living in the terror of being hunted down by a Yautja has worn you down. She was there. She willingly protected you. She carried you to her room, set you down in her bed, and locked you in her room. For your protection. She cares. To what extent is a great question you would love to answer.

For the time being, you would enjoy her warm body and food she provided. Though, it came with an unfortunate title: pet. Your lips pressed against each other at the reminder. There was always a trade off and maybe it had to come with that title to live a life worriless.

You’ve yet to come to terms with that though. The pain still far too fresh to think of lying and rolling over for her. Or anyone for that matter.

Special tag: @michellefoster12

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18

[crisiscutie]

the reunion...is nothing to fear.

Pairing: Pregnant Darling/"Fluffy" Sephiroth

Word Count: 680

Content Warning: Psychological/Emotional Abuse.

The grandfather clock ticked away as Sephiroth traced the stretch marks of your swollen belly. He used his other hand to work the tension out of your back as you kept your focus on the clock. Judging by the time, your triplet boys aren't done with school yet. Few more hours. If only you could turn time faster. But it doesn't matter. The man you were trying to escape from has now invaded your new, lovely home, humming his favorite lullaby as you sat on his lap. Your new, lovely home, now corrupted by his presence. Maybe that's why your unborn child is kicking so much now; for you to get away from him.

Yet there was something peculiar about the way his hold on you felt. It's gentle and loving, but also constricting and possessive. You're almost like a poor fly caught in a spider's web. The spider is just waiting for the right moment to feast.

Despite the effort and hard work you put into escaping with your triplet boys, it amounted to nothing. Signs of Sephiroth's presence were always around you; Your precious boys kept asking about those strange dark feathers around your new home, their school, and even in other places, like your favorite grocery store. They wanted to know when their father would stop playing games. But you simply brushed it off, telling them that their father wouldn't be joining you all soon. They were confused, sad even, but they understood the hint to drop the subject. You hated saying that to them yourself, but it was necessary.

The dark feathers you saw were some of the many invitations to the reunion that you ignored. And now, this is fate. Your precious, innocent boys will become like their father. You still loved Sephiroth, but you could never love the path he took. His relentless slaughter of innocents and confining you all in his so-called "tower of love". That's why you had to get away from him. You tried your best, but this is where your "best" landed you.

Your baby's movements grew more forceful as he stopped tracing your stretch marks. He whispered into your ear with that same charming, velvety voice, but you knew it wasn't his old self. He still had that dark look around his slit eyes and a dangerous edge to his voice. You knew that his heart still beats for his family, but it's forever enshrouded in darkness.

"I wonder," he asked, "what name have you chosen for her?" Your dull eyes darted to your covered patio door, watching the rays of the beautiful sunlight slightly retract. You should have opened more windows when you returned from grocery shopping. You're amazed that you could still see in this gloomy and dark setting. You don't want to give him the satisfaction of hearing your voice. But his question weighed heavily on your mind. It's true, you hadn't considered a name for your unborn child, let alone knew that it was going to be a girl. Your unexpected pregnancy with this little one almost deterred you from making your getaway with the triplets, but you pressed on. In the coming weeks, you were so focused on getting away from Sephiroth, you've neglected almost everything else. You didn't even have to turn around to see that his lips curled into a smirk, almost like he knew what you were thinking. His lips pressed against your ear, speaking in a lower, ominous voice.

"...JENOVA... A fine name for her."

Your eyes had widened at both his voice and his declaration. Naming your child after a dead family member wasn't unusual, but something about it had made your heart race. Your baby had ceased her kicking as his hold on you had grown slightly more constricting. Gazing weakly at the grandfather clock, you had realized that not much time had passed. He had begun his delusional ramblings, a dark chuckle echoing in your mind, as a lone tear had trailed down your cheek.

"The reunion at hand may bring joy, it may bring fear, but let us embrace whatever it brings."

This fic is based on one of my favorite prompts I've done so far on this blog. Context: The darling fled with her children to find a better life after Fluffy Sephiroth's corruption in this alternative path of the Domestic AU.

Yandere Domestic AU chronology: Christmas Kids | The Reunion is Nothing to Fear | Wait for me | Homecoming | The Crowning Moment

[the-demons-writings]

Hello! o/

Could I request a DreamSMP!Child!Reader being transported into Empires SMP and lands in Scott’s empire?

If not that’s completely fine ^-^

Have a lovely day! :)

Of course I can! Sorry it's a little rushed !

Just for you

Empires season 1 Scott x Dsmp child dragon reader

[Pt1]||Pt2

Running. That's all you could afford to do. Stopping meant wasting time and wasting time meant you'd get caught, and you can't get caught here. Not when all the adults are untrustworthy. You've made that mistake once, but never again.

Taking a quick glance behind you, you could see him . The Baron of the land Dream and he was gaining. With a small yelp leaving you you hurriedly tried to pick up pace to escape the once was bounty hunter. You couldn't go back with him, you absolutely refused. He was the one who messed up your wings. A sword right through the webbing of your wings , making it almost impossible for you to fly again.

Spotting a nether portal you hoped at least in the nether you'd be faster. You'd have the advantage compared to the bounty hunter behind you. A crossbow bolt whizzed past you as you ran your hope for the advantage you'd have in the nether only growing. You were only a foot away when you tripped rolling to a stop just outside the portal's boundaries. Dream stood In front of you the mask he wore seeming to contort into an inhumane smile. As he loaded a crossbow bolt you suddenly felt something clawed grab your hands and suddenly you were pulled through the portal harshly.

Now this certainly isn't the first time you've traveled by portal and usually you hold up just fine, but this time you felt sick. And as you were dragged out of the portal you rolled only to end up face first in snow. You sat up quickly, blinking hurriedly , there's no snow in the nether. Clearly toubaren where you thought.

Looking around it was gorgeous, a city built, into, around, and on a snow covered mountain. You were freezing. Your origin was from the nether, being in the over world was challenging enough without the cold , the cold makes it so much worse. Looking around you notice sheep. Certainly no one would mind if you just slaughtered a few and made yourself something cozy.

You moved to take a step but something caught your ear. Talking coming from above the portal entrance. You sucked in a breath aiming to keep yourself quiet as you reached for the enchanted iron sword on your hip. The moment footsteps crossed your path you pointed the sword at them.

At the end of your sword a blue haired bird hybrid (?). Honestly you weren't sure he had antlers and elven ears. You wouldn't know . Your sword was pointed up just below his chin aimed at the back . He looked bored as you did so .

Rolling his eyes he sighed. "Your stance is off if you're going to mug someone especially a king do it right

" he huffed, pulling out his own sword. Using his own sword he maneuvered your launching it from your grip and into the snow. As you stood baffled he looked you over, you couldn't be anymore than maybe ten. What were you doing here near the Portal?

Upon further inspection he noted your horns, wings, tail and the small patches of scales that littled your face. A dragons child? That certainly had to be a myth. The only person who'd even had the chance of hatching an egg was Gem and even then dragons can't seem to make it out of any kingdom except the Crystal Cliffs without being hunted into near extinction.

He stared and you stared back. When you finally deterred him as not a threat you brought your foot back and kicked him in the shins. No adult is trustworthy, certainly not one who puts a sword to you. He yelled, his sword suddenly disappearing as he dropped to assess his shins. "What the hell kid!" He shouts at you .

You huff turning to run before your picked up by the back of your shirt. Far too close to your wings for your liking "Let me go! I'll kill you, I'll do it! You bird brained bastard!" You shouted back struggling in the grasp.

Scott didn't like that, you're a dragon you're meant to be harder to pick up. He also hated the way your wings looked, tattered as if someone had run a blade through thin leather. "Calm down there's going to be a snow storm, I don't want you to freeze so you can stay in my castle." He states plane and simple. Thinking about it what's he gimg to tell Jimmy, better yet what is he going to tell his sibling Xornoth.

If anyone's better equipped to deal with a child from the Nether it's Xornoth. But he knows Xornoth is out late for the night. As he started to walk he picked up your sword only making you angrier. You hiss as your pulled along despite your struggles.

No adult is trustworthy.

Much to Scott's dismay he's able to carry you back with relative ease despite the struggling. Once he'd gotten you inside he set you down. Making the door was closed and locked behind him he didn't want snow getting in later.

The moment you were set down you distanced yourself heavily though the warmth of the room made you want to curl up. While warm it was still colder than temperatures you're used to honestly you could if given the chance, curl up and fall asleep on the floor.

Scott looked at you worriedly. He didn't like how frightened you looked , Much less how violent you seemed , he wanted to know what happened. Thinking about you seemed possibly as stubborn as his brother, maybe even as stubborn as Jimmy. Maybe he could offer you food? Slowly he walked towards the kitchen , the way you stared at him with murderous intent never seemed to leave.

"Hey, kid. You hungry? I've got soup, it's warm and you'll probably feel a little less sleepy "

You glared a growling building up in your throat. "Like hell I want food from a fuckin adult. You're probably out to poison me or I don't use me for some kind of gain!" You shout

"I'm not some adult, I'm Scott smajor, you can call me Scott if you like but the insults just won't do" Scott stares humming trying to figure out what you might eat, you've got to eat something preferably, something warm to keep your body temperature up. "Would you like to help me cook or just watch me cook so you can ensure that I haven't poisoned any of the food or anything of that manner?"

You look around then at the bird king himself. "If I don't know what it is you'll tell me what it is right ?" You asked, still opting to keep your distance the best you could. You were skeptical he hadn't done anything hostile towards you yet .

He nodded as he started pulling out a pan or two, due to your draconic nature he knew you'd prefer something with meat. His final decision was spaghetti. You both are in silence,you sat glaring at him the whole time.

After you finished you were tempted to ask for more though that would show how weak you were. Hesitantly you sighed looking over to him without malice for the first time. " Could I get some warmer clothes please" you huffed through strained teeth . The food warmed you up but it wasn't enough.

He nodded, walking over to you and offering you a hand , you don't take it but you filed him. "My sibling enjoyed wearing a plethora of clothes , if anything is to your liking please wear it, I'll be outside the room if you need anything. "

You looked at his as he left , he was just allowing you food, and clothes. What the hell is wrong with him? It made your heart all fuzzy. It was nice being actually taken care of .you found yourself a pain for warmer clothes folding your clothes and holding them to your chest.

As you exited the room Scott was there just he said he'd be. Scott raised a brow smiling at what you wore

"You look good in that, how about we find you a room?" He states and you nod hesitantly. His intentions are unknown to you and you don't know if they intend to get worse

He leads you to the spare room smiling " Could I know your name, little one? " He asks only to be met with another glare form you as you settle into the room. "Fair enough" he states closing the door and giving you time.

You sigh as the doors closed. You set your things on a dresser then flop onto the the bed, you've never laid in a cozier bed. You have the room to spread your wings and get comfortable . It's amazing. You get cozy and soon enough you're falling asleep. For the first time in a very long time, you're letting your guard down. As you start to fall asleep, Scott walks into the room. He's holding a plate of cookies. He doesn't seem to mind the fact that you're starting to fall asleep. In fact, he places the cookies on a nearby dresser and gently places a hand in your hair. "Rest easy kid"*

You huff a small churrimg noise escaping by our lisp as Scott ruffles your hair "Y/N." You correct Scott . He spares youba confused glance before it hits him that that's your name .. honestly if he were going to continue to be this nice this could be the only exception you make for an adult. Just for him .

[maimedaffair]

@seerfawn  ▐ AZRIEL &* ELAIN ↳  " please  touch  me.  "

elain doesn't know what she's asking of him. doesn't know their world -- the danger she wants azriel to risk. doesn't know that he'd do it all , for her. slaughter anyone ; burn the world to the ground. all for her. maybe she does know. maybe that's why she's looking at him with those eyes. with that ache in her he can scent &* feel &* that echos in his own chest. he doesn't want to think she could know that part of him &* still beckon him closer. not her , whom is made of sunlight &* practically grows flowers in her veins. she can't want him to mar that beauty with the shadows that haunt him.

but he would do it. if she pled with him as she does now , he'd do unspeakable things without the bat of an eye. he'll sever a mating bond. cleave it right in half , if that is what she wants. if it keeps that desperation from her eyes.

she showed up here , to the house of wind , for dinner. feyre &* rhys were out with nyx , leaving the third archeron sister alone in the river house. seems cassian &* nesta just couldn't bear that. invited her &* brought her here themselves. he'd wanted to leave when he heard she was coming to visit. found out too late -- much to cassian's amusement. when azriel excused himself for the night after dinner , she'd asked if she could talk to him later. that same imploring look she used now was used then. his will to ignore her was not strong enough , it seemed. &* then cassian had swept nesta off to the city for dancing. he was left alone in this house with elain. ( everything seems so very orchestrated -- he'll have a talk with cassian some other time. )

so he steps forward, dark gaze half lidded as one scarred hand comes to brush against her waist. the feeling of the soft fabric beneath his touch urges his fingers to curl into it. it's not often he allows himself to indulge in soft things. doesn't feel he deserves a world that is not sharp &* as equally scarred as he is. he touches her waist , even as rhy's warning from before screams in his mind. ( if i see you panting after her again , i'll make you regret it. ) rhys is too far away right now -- he'd never know. lucien is in the human lands , no where near them now. who is here to stop him or deter her from seeking him out ?

jaw clenches , teeth grit together as he tries to fight the urge in him. he doesn't want to be a liar ; not to his high lord -- his brother. but there's something here with him &* elain -- something he'd never forgive himself for if he ruined or ignored. he's not used to a woman he desires seeking him out. especially not in her nightgown , at his bedroom door.

❛   do you know what you're asking , elain ? ❜ his voice is barely above a whisper -- his voice sounds too loud , especially with the way the shadows have scattered away in the presence of her light. the quiet makes him feel exposed -- causes his wings to shrink closer &* his brows to knit. he swallows thickly , frame taking a half step towards her to angle them against the door frame. her frame is so small &* fragile , pinned there between stone &* his frame. ❛   has anyone told you what they do in the autumn court to those who challenge a bond ? ❜

[mikeyinnit]

tale as old as time

Pairing: Technoblade x GN!Reader

Summary: You’ve always wanted adventure, so you left your home. One day you meet the infamous Blood God and think that he might be what you’ve been waiting for.

Word Count: 1.2k words

Notes: Way less Beauty and the Beast inspired than initially planned, so I’m definitely willing to revisit this idea and make one that’s closer if people are interested in that! I just really wanted to make sure I get something out for you guys today <3

Tagging: @angstyx

Villages were usually thought of to be close knit communities, people living and working together and starting families. It was bullshit. At least, that’s true for yours. Your village didn’t love you, it was obvious to everyone around. You weren’t like them, the librarian liked you because you checked out books often but those books being your preferred company made you sort of an outcast among them. Honestly? You didn’t really care. This place wasn’t where you were planning to spend the rest of your days, you were going to leave one day and have the exact adventures you’ve read about. Farming and starting a family with someone you didn’t love sounded awful.

Once you collected enough money from different jobs around town, you were ready to go. The librarian let you keep a book as a parting gift, you chose the worn out copy of Greek myths you’ve read time and time again. With that, you said goodbye to the only home you ever knew and set off for your own great adventure.  

While you traveled, you heard other tales, legends of a man called the ‘Blood God’ and the terror he inflicted on people. You weren’t even sure they were true, it sounded like something from a story that was made to keep children from misbehaving. But there were enough villages that spoke of him that you were beginning to think there may have been something to the tale. It wasn’t long before you met the man yourself.

It had been some time now since you’ve come across another village, and your horse was growing tired, so you swung your leg over to get off and found a tree to have some shelter for the night. While your life hasn’t necessarily been as exciting as the books you loved so much, it was better than being stagnant in a place that didn’t want you there.  

Unfortunately, your wish for a good night’s rest couldn’t be fulfilled, as a large group of zombies found you. You had some experience defending yourself against one or two of the monsters but you didn’t have enough weapons or skill for a whole horde of the undead. On the other hand, you were fortunate, because a stranger with long pink hair seemingly appeared from the shadows and gave you a hand with the zombies. And by a hand, you mean he completely slaughtered them in no time. Needless to say, you were impressed.  

“Thank you, you really saved my life.”  

The man seemed almost uncomfortable with the gratitude, or maybe he was uncomfortable with speaking to strangers, as he just looked at you and nodded in response. But it didn’t deter you in the slightest as you held out your hand with a large grin, almost as if you hadn’t just been nearly killed moments ago. “My name is Y/N.”

This time, the savior at least gave a verbal response, “Technoblade.”

There was something about that name that seemed familiar, you certainly haven’t met him before, but you still couldn’t shake that feeling. Seeing that he won’t return the hand, you let it fall by your side silently. “What are you doing here? Most people would be inside their homes at this time of the night.” Granted, you weren’t, but you also didn’t have a home currently so you had an excuse.

“I had things to do.”

And with that, the tall man moved to leave. His work here was done, he wasn’t even planning on stopping but he wasn’t going to ignore a zombie horde in his path. You just happened to be there and couldn’t take them all on your own. Before you could even say a goodbye, the stranger was gone and you were alone with your horse once more.  

But shortly after he left, you noticed something on the ground where Technoblade stood minutes before. It was a book, one similar to your own, full of tales of Greek Heroes. You knew you wouldn’t want to lose your book forever, so you tried to follow him. You saw the direction he left in and figured he couldn’t have been too far ahead, continuing to follow the path straightforward until you came across a large castle. Dark and towering with seemingly no light inside, it was one that could be considered terrifying to most, especially at night, but to you it just looked beautiful. The building was like a present waiting to be opened, you weren’t sure what was inside or even if the man you were following was here, but you didn’t feel any fear as you pushed the door open. The creak was loud and surely would have caught the attention of anyone, or anything, inside.  

Luckily, it did.  

Unluckily, this attention was the man who had saved your life earlier tonight holding a crossbow aimed straight at you.  

“Why did you follow me?”

For the first time tonight, you figured out why that name was familiar. Technoblade, otherwise known as the Blood God. This was the man that had countless stories told about him, all full of the pain he’s brought and people he’s killed. But he also saved you for no real reason and carried around a book of Greek Heroes. Even with this new knowledge that he will not hesitate to pull that trigger, you still weren’t afraid of him. You couldn’t really say why when you had every reason to fear him, there was just something about this man that was just like the castle the two of you were in. Most people would say it looks scary and wouldn’t want to be near it but you felt the opposite. Soon you finally snapped yourself out of your thoughts and spoke, your gaze trained on him the entire time, “You dropped your book. Yours looks more worn out that mine so I figured you wouldn’t want to miss it.”

The crossbow stayed on you for a few moments while Technoblade considered your words, it helped that you had the book in your hand to confirm your story. Finally, he lowers the weapon and just murmurs a simple thanks as he takes the worn leather book from your hands.

“Which one is your favorite?”  

The question made him pause, and you took that pause to continue speaking. “Or at least a favorite. I know it’s hard to have just one, I usually go with Pandora’s Box but I love Orpheus and Eurydice too.”

There was an expression on Technoblade’s face and you couldn’t figure out what it was. He wasn’t used to people casually talking to him and while it was more of their preference than his own, he didn’t mind the solitude. Not only did you follow him just to return his book, you were staying to ask questions even after he nearly killed you. None of this was normal. But something about him didn’t hate it, so he indulged you for the night. You two spoke all night, sharing your favorite Greek myths and discussing the different versions you’ve found.

Before you even realized, it was daytime. You had spent the entire night talking with a near stranger who had a very dangerous reputation. And it was the best night of your life. You were getting ready to leave, feeling like you overstayed your welcome and that Technoblade would probably want to get back to whatever he was going to do before you showed up. Before you could open the door, his hand grabbed your arm.

“You don’t have to go yet , Y/N.”

And you didn’t hesitate to step away from the door. One more day with the Blood God couldn’t hurt, in fact, one could even consider it an adventure.  

[allthingskenobi]

Obi-Wan in Exile – Owen Lars

(Originally published on AllThingsKenobi.com January 10, 2021)

Welcome to the second in a series of looks into Obi-Wan Kenobi’s time in exile on Tatooine between Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith and Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope. We’ve tried to mine as much Legends and canon material as possible to help guide you through some of the period’s most common and repetitive themes so that when the new Obi-Wan Kenobi series airs, you’ll be ready.

Not everything he ever did in the entire 19 years will be explored here, but as we said, we’ve tried our best to pick out the most prominent and impactful moments to give everyone a better understanding of exactly what one hermit had to endure out there all alone in the sandy deserts of Tatooine.

There’s no way around it: Owen Lars hated Obi-Wan Kenobi. But why? A young Luke Skywalker could have benefited greatly from the two men working together, but it was not to be so. Here we will look at just a few of the many times the Jedi was rejected by the hardened moisture farmer in an attempt to understand just how fraught with tension their relationship really was.

“That wizard’s just a crazy old man.”

STAR WARS EPISODE IV: A NEW HOPE C

Owen Lars was the very first person to ever paint a picture for us of the now-illustrious Obi-Wan Kenobi, and this is what he had to say about him. Though we, alongside Luke, quickly recognize Owen’s words for the untruths they are, we were left to wonder exactly where the animosity, and possible bad blood, between the two men began. Especially since well up until Attack of the Clones was released, Owen was Obi-Wan’s biological brother (as confirmed in original drafts of Return of the Jedi), which made the exchange all the more tragic.

“But what if this Obi-Wan comes looking for him?”

“He won’t, I don’t think he exists any more. He died about the same time as your father.”

STAR WARS EPISODE IV: A NEW HOPE C

Owen continues to try and deter Luke by point-blank telling him that Obi-Wan is dead. It’s another clear falsehood that, at the time, carried little to no weight until twenty-eight years later when we witnessed the “deaths” of both Anakin and Obi-Wan on the slopes of Mustafar in Revenge of the Sith. But that’s a story for another time…

“He makes his terms abundantly clear: “We’ll take him in, but you’ll play no part in his upbringing. If you have to stay on Tatooine, you keep your distance, do you hear? You neither see the boy nor speak to him. He must know nothing about his father.”

“TIME OF DEATH” – FROM A CERTAIN POINT OF VIEW C

“Obi-Wan was glad and relieved that Beru and Owen agreed to raise Luke, but his mission did not end there, as it was also his duty to watch over the boy. He had thought that his ongoing presence would be some comfort to Owen and Beru. He soon learned that he was mistaken.”

LIFE AND LEGEND OF OBI-WAN KENOBI L

Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith

From the moment Obi-Wan arrived on Tatooine with a newborn Luke Skywalker, Owen made it abundantly clear that the Jedi would have nothing to do with the child. It was an unfair set of terms that Obi-Wan, while doing his best to adhere to, would breach with regular frequency, often pushing his already contentious relationship with the farmer to its breaking point.

Over the years, not only would Obi-Wan often be forced into interceding on the family’s behalf as protection (much to Owen’s chagrin), but he would also willingly cross the line to try and form a relationship with Luke from afar. Whether it was a simple gift of parts for Luke’s skyhopper (1) or a handmade wooden toy (2), the attempts would be vehemently denied and Obi-Wan would find himself right back where he started.

Star Wars 15 C

Was Owen right to be concerned that trouble would follow Obi-Wan back to Luke and their homestead? Of course. Obi-Wan understands and even acknowledges that his watchful gaze could attract attention (3), so he backs off, moving farther out into the Jundland Wastes until the time comes when he is needed. (3)(4) But Owen took his concerns above and beyond, twisting reason into a deep-seated personal hatred of the other man.

“The hut was approximately 136 kilometers from the Lars homestead—farther than Obi-Wan would have preferred, but probably still too close to satisfy Owen Lars.”

LIFE AND LEGEND OF OBI-WAN KENOBI L

“I managed to steer clear of Owen Lars this time. The man doesn’t like me at all.”

KENOBI L

“I’d always believed – always hoped – that Owen’s anger would cool toward me, that one day I would be allowed to train young Luke in the ways of the Force.”

“TIME OF DEATH” – FROM A CERTAIN POINT OF VIEW C

“Old Wounds” – Star Wars Visionaries L

Why? Why did Owen Lars hate Obi-Wan Kenobi so much? First and foremost, he placed the blame of Anakin’s downfall solely on Obi-Wan, going so far as to accuse Obi-Wan of “murder.” (1) It’s interesting to say the least that Owen would have such strong opinions about a man he’d only met once (5), but it seems to become more clear when you take into consideration that Owen adored his step-mother, Shmi. But while Shmi no doubt loved her adoptive family, she often spent her time looking to the horizon waiting for the day when Anakin would return. (6) So for Obi-Wan to have lost Shmi’s beloved son might have been too much for Owen to bear.

We’ll discuss this more in depth later, but Owen even removed Shmi’s headstone, along with the stones of other family members, so that Obi-Wan could no longer visit the site. (7) Consequently, it also ensured that Luke would never know about his grandmother. At least not while he lived at the homestead.

“If killing me would have brought [Anakin’s] mother back to life, I know he would have killed me then and there. I could see it in his eyes.”

LIFE AND LEGEND OF OBI-WAN KENOBI L

At some point, Owen also seemed to have distrusted the Jedi as a whole. It was a prejudice formed the day he watched an angry and unrepentant Anakin Skywalker return from slaughtering a village of Sand People. (2) That being his only interaction with a Jedi before Obi-Wan came along, Owen didn’t want Luke to have anything to do with what he saw in Anakin that day.

“Everyone was stunned when Owen abruptly told Ben to leave and not to come back. The experience had left Luke baffled. Even now, some ten years after the incident, he still did not know why Owen had been so angry with Ben. From what little he knew, he assumed that Ben’s purpose on Tatooine had been to discreetly watch over him while Owen and Beru raised him as if he were an ordinary child, not the son of a Jedi-turned-Sith Lord. But if both Ben and Owen had been responsible for protecting Luke, why hadn’t they gotten along? Luke could only imagine why Owen had so aggressively objected to Ben’s presence. Luke remembered listening to conversations between his uncle and aunt, practically spying on them, hoping to hear any small detail about his father or Ben Kenobi. Owen and Beru never revealed much but merely reinforced that they preferred not to discuss either man.”

LIFE AND LEGEND OF OBI-WAN KENOBI L

Luke cheers, running full pelt toward me, arms as wide as his smile. There is a crunch behind me and I turn, Owen’s fist burying itself in my nose. I slam down hard on the ground, the lightsaber skittering from my hand. All my training, all my experience, and a humble moisture farmer has achieved what neither battle droid nor Sith has achieved, knocking me flat on my back.

“Uncle Owen!” Luke cries in confusion as his uncle manhandles the boy toward his aunt before turning to glower at me.

“Go,” he all but spits, an accusatory finger punctuating the furious decree. “Get away from here. Haven’t you people done enough to this family?”

“TIME OF DEATH” – FROM A CERTAIN POINT OF VIEW C

Lastly, and most unfortunately, Owen never minded expressing his distaste for Obi-Wan in front of Luke, going so far as to strike Obi-Wan and send him away while the boy watched. Would Owen’s treatment of the strange desert hermit help one day drive a wedge between the boy and his uncle? Maybe. Maybe not. All we do know is that Luke, like his father before him, was already inextricably linked to Obi-Wan Kenobi. And there was nothing Owen Lars could do about it.

Citations:

Star Wars 15 by Jason Aaron C

“Time of Death” – From a Certain Point of View by Cavan Scott C

Kenobi by John Jackson Miller L

Life and Legend of Obi-Wan Kenobi by Ryder Windham L

Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones C

Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones Novelization by R. A. Salvatore L

A New Hope: The Life of Luke Skywalker by Ryder Windham L

[static-fanatic-1]

How would hisoka,chrollo and illumi react to the reader escaping for 4 years with a three yearold?

Hisoka:

• Hisoka is surprisingly a patient man, though it may seem otherwise. When it comes to people, especially you, he tends to toy around with them until he gets bored. With you he never gets bored, and in return he almost has infinite patience with you.

• The keyword there is almost, because after a year he becomes rather irritated because he can't have his fix. He can't have you. When that point hits it is a bit too late. His bloodlust will be at an all time high for as long as you are gone.

• When around people he might be able to suppress it as him being around others could serve as a temporary distraction, but again it is only temporary.

• After two years he has chilled out a bit, now dedicating his free time to finding you, and when he does he will give you hell.

• After four years he finally finds you, huddled in a small town with a even smaller house. He's surprised you evaded him this long, but when he sees you it'll be obvious he found you. His blood lust will fill the entire house when he sneaks in.

• You would panic and scramble in the house, trying to gather things until he shows up in your bedroom door with a sadistic smile. He'll lick his lips and saunter over to you, telling you how much of a chase you put him through.

• Until distresses cries come from the room next over. The cries of a young child.

• Hisoka will be confused at first, his gaze shifting from the door to you and back to the door. His blood lust would pause when he heard the cry, and the room would be dead silent.

• A small child would reveal itself in the doorway, crying for you to hold him close. You would hesitate, but quickly regain your ground and shuffle around Hisoka to hold your child close. The two of you would stare at each other until Hisoka says something.

• Is this kid his? Yes, yes it is. He can tell by the bright yellow eyes and hints of red in the kid's hair.

• At first Hisoka would think it over, slightly forgiving your escape in the process. It seemed the both of you never thought him to be a good father. But that still wouldn't excuse you.

• He would smile and act all nice and kind to gain your child's trust, teaching him minuscule magic tricks. It would honestly be pretty nice.

• But you wouldn't escape again, and you defiantly won't escape punishment.

Illumi:

• Not even a month of you escaping Illumi would be furious of you escaping. He would look everywhere and use everything at his disposal to find you, even using Hisoka if he isn't busy.

• After you evade for a year he has lost it, killing anyone who might have been close to you once before. Anyone that might have an idea of where you are now would be tortured and killed after questioning.

• His family would get involved as well, knowing how much Illumi loves you. He would refuse any contracts in order to find you, and for the Zoldycks that is a bit of a problem.

• After evading for another year they presume you to be dead, Illumi won't give up by his family will have their doubts. By this point Kikyo would pity him and tell him to keep looking on the condition he starts taking hit again. She convinces him that maybe he'll find you close to a hit. Silva and Zeno will outright tell him to do his damn job.

• Finally, after four years he found you and he is the happiest person alive... for about three seconds. Then he comes furious at your ability to evade him and his family for so long. We won't hesitate to confront you with his blank expression and tell you you are coming home.

• If your kid isn't with you when he first confronts you, say you're working when he finds you, then something will probably tell him. Your coworker would wonder who this dark and handsome man is, you simply tell them it's someone you know. Illumi will straight up shoot you down and say you are his wife. Then the coworker would happily ask where he has been and that your kid is the cutest thing ever, which it is.

• When this information is leaked Illumi will look at you, horror written on your face, and beam happily. A kid? That means you can have more! That means you are fertile and he can have the big family he's always wanted!

• Illumi will immediately take you from where you are and to your house where the kid is. If you are with your kid he will take you both back 'home'.

• His mood will immediately be improved and he will be happy and ready to begin teaching the kid how to be a Zoldyck. Though you won't escape punishment.

• First of all he would be so excited knowing you can have kids so he would get you pregnant again. In a way that is your punishment. The other half is keeping you locked up until he decides he can trust you with wondering round his wing of the mansion again.

• To simply put it he won't torture you because he is distracted by the kid, so he'll do other things to keep you in line. Depending on what you might think this could be much better than torture.

Chrollo:

• Just like Illumi, how the hell did you escape?

• Chrollo would quickly act once you are gone, and it will be clear he is affected by your disappearance. He will order a full blown search the moment you are missing, I mean he has enemies.

• The linger you are away the more blood soaks his hands, he doesn't care who but as long as they are affiliated with you so some degree, he will kill them.

• Any family or friends you left behind won't survive, even if they haven't seen you in ten plus years. It doesn't matter to Chrollo. If a person sees you he will collect information and then slaughter them.

• After two years he hasn't given up, and neither has the Troupe. They will help hunt you down. Shalnark will keep tabs on cameras in cities and towns. Feitan and Pakunoda will be in charge of extracting information from people. Uvogin, Phinks and Nodunaga will hunt you down on the streets, slaughtering those you once knew. The entire Phantom Troupe will be involved to some degree when it comes to finding you. They won't let up until they do.

• In a way they will treat it like a a game of hide-and-seek, the winner being whoever finds you first.

• Once they find you they will be cautious about approaching you, Chrollo will be the ultimate say in confrontation. He will choose to wait until it is night outside, and then he will, as well as a few members, go to collect you.

• The big buff boys will be on guard to make sure you don't escape the house, while the few that went in with Chrollo are on stand by.

• You will wake up to see him in your doorway, looming in the dark alone. You will stutter when talking, Chrollo will be as calm as ever.

• That is until the members on standby in your house hear something in another room. Two of them prepare for a fight while the others stand on guard. Quickly they learn there is no danger, a little kid rubbing their eyes wondering if the figures in the dark is their mother.

• Pakunoda takes the kid and interrupts the two of you, the little kid in tow. You will quietly beg for him to leave the kid alone, because you know for a fact Chrollo won't really care about it.

• Still it doesn't deter his plans, he kidnaps you again but with the addition of the kid. Chrollo uses the kid as a bargaining chip more than anything, after all he only truly cares about you.

[rosethornewrites]

Fic: a grain of millet drifting, ch. 1

Relationship: Niè Huáisāng & Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn

Characters: Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian, Original Characters, Nie Huaisang

Additional Tags: Assassination Attempt(s), Introspection, Regret, Travel, Post-Canon, POV Third Person, POV Wei WuXian

Summary: Wei Wuxian wanders after parting from Lan Wangji, looking to understand the changes in the world since his death, seeking to understand his place in it. He doesn't realize he's being watched. Frankencanon, so this has a liberal mixture of CQL and MDZS.

Notes: See end.

AO3 link

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

Wei Wuxian hadn’t lied to Lan Zhan after their brief confrontation with Nie Huaisang in Cloud Recesses, not exactly. 

Knowing why he’d been brought back, whether somehow his old friend had chosen him specifically for his own reasons, or if that had been entirely Mo Xuanyu’s call, wouldn’t change anything.

And part of him didn’t want confirmation of how much Nie Huaisang had meddled with along the way.

So much had been broken, so many people lost, and a part of him wanted to believe the façade that the indolent Nie Huaisang he had known during their days in the Cloud Recesses still existed. 

But once he’d left Lan Zhan and set off on his travels with Little Apple, once he started getting used to being alive again, to having even the tiny wisp of a jindan, barely beyond zhuji, that Mo Xuanyu had gifted him, something he could build on, something other than the gaping hole that had ultimately consumed him, he’d had to face some truths. 

He had no family, no home. He didn’t know if Jiang Cheng would ever want anything to do with him, and he wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t. As much as he would always love Lotus Pier, he didn’t know that it had ever really been his home. 

In some ways, his leaving had been inevitable. Despite being head disciple, he’d never been welcome. And the fall of Lotus Pier would forever be his fault, the ghosts of his own doing. He’d never regret protecting Mianmian and Lan Zhan, but he would always regret the massacre that had followed. 

Even if he’d technically been absolved of the death of Jin Zixuan and the bloodbath of Nightless City and shijie’s death, his actions had still led to them. 

Wei Wuxian spent long, sleepless nights under the stars and listening to Little Apple snore outrageously coming to the understanding that he’d left the Burial Mounds with his sanity shredded. The war and continued use of resentful energy without a jindan had only worsened it. He’d raised the dead, the ancestors of their enemy, defiling their bodies to win the war, and he’d earned a dark and deviant reputation in doing so.

After the war, he’d taken to drinking to dull it all, and doing so had destabilized his mind further. He was sensitive about his inability to cultivate, but couldn’t explain why. Surrounded by people who wanted him to do what he could not, he had spiraled. 

Really, by the time he’d saved the Dafan Wen temporarily from their fate and gone back to attempt to live in the Burial Mounds, he’d been hanging by a thread. Wen Qing had bullied him into taking care of himself, for the most part, but he’d spent more days than he could count in the Demon Slaughtering Cave capable of little more than opening his eyes, what little energy he had dedicated to keeping the Seal under control. 

He remembered very little past Jiang Yanli’s death and waking up in the Burial Mounds with the remnants of the Wen who knew death was coming. The seal wanted more, another Nightless City. And he’d known he could absolutely destroy the Jianghu—but that the Seal wanted it gave him enough pause that he knew he needed to destroy it and end it all. 

He’d managed to find a way, but the Siege happened just as he was ready. What little sanity he had left went toward an attempt to hide A-Yuan—maybe the one good thing he had managed. And then, as the aunties and uncles and popo were massacred around him, he could only focus on destroying the seal. 

Dying in the way that he had, ripped to shreds by corpses, had been agonizing, though the benefit of Jiang Cheng stabbing him had meant he’d died faster. He didn’t know if his shidi had meant it to be a kindness, but ultimately it had lessened his suffering before he died. It was likely a better death than anyone else would have given him. 

But Jin Guangyao had been right: even before he’d absconded with the Wen remnants, his actions during the war, his temper and frayed sanity, his rages, his desecration of the dead… All of it had painted a target on him. 

No, he’d painted it on himself with blood. 

Wei Wuxian had come back in a body not tainted by the resentful energy that had burrowed its way into his bones before his death, despite it being his old one free of scars and birth marks, his sanity somehow restored, and was able to see his own self-destruction and how he had made that the only path he could walk through his own trauma-fueled hubris. 

Maybe those years dead had done something to heal whatever damage he had inflicted on his own soul, as well. He remembered nothing of that time, and waking up in a body had been like opening his eyes after a long sleep. He’d known he’d been dead, had known time had passed, though not how much at first. Everything that had occurred leading to his death felt so immediate, particularly shijie’s death and the knowledge he’d left A-Yuan hiding but didn’t know if he’d survived. 

The relief he felt that he had at least saved one person couldn’t be quantified. 

Part of the journey was trying to find where he fit into the world now, but most of it was reflection and coming to terms with the reality that now existed. 

He’d steered away from larger cities, opting to travel smaller roads to villages off the beaten path. Many, it seemed, had problems with restless spirits and the like—the occasional yao, even. He took care of what he could, and drafted letters to Lan Zhan when it was something that required more than he was currently capable of. 

Perhaps that was something he’d learned—to rely on others and not try to fix everything himself. He could probably handle it all, but there were costs of using resentful energy too much, and in this life he didn’t particularly want to pay them. 

So he communicated with the odd hungry ghost, used talismans to take down roaming fierce corpses, and handled the smaller yao that he could handle with the jindan he had, using these night hunts to help develop it further, hoping one day he could retrieve Suibian from Jiang Cheng and be able to wield the blade again—assuming his once-brother would let him have the sword. 

Everything beyond, that would require more spiritual energy than he had or more resentful energy than he was comfortable using, he sent to Lan Zhan so the local cultivation sect could be alerted. He dared not send them a letter himself; people still had strong feelings about the return of the Yiling Patriarch, and it was just as likely he’d be blamed for the problem as anything. 

The rural route he took left him able to travel in anonymity as a rogue cultivator, offering essentially any name but his own. Thanks to the ugly Yiling Patriarch talismans, the common folk didn’t know what he looked like. Most often, he went by Wei Yuandao, reminded of Mianmian’s happiness at seeing him when he did, that there were people in the world who didn’t hate or fear him. The villagers didn’t know him, were grateful for his help, whether in setting a spirit to rest or helping with odd jobs in exchange for a meal and a place to sleep by a hearth. 

Much of the time, though, he slept beneath a blanket of stars. 

One night like that, he heard the sounds of a scuffle and rushed to see what was going on. He expected to need to fight off a bandit, but instead he found a man in Nie colors running through a man dressed head to toe in black, face masked.

As he stood gaping, the Nie disciple bowed to him.

“Wei-gongzi.”

That confirmed a suspicion, and the logic of the situation ran through his mind at the speed of light. The courtesy, the Nie colors, what was clearly a would-be assassin’s body at his feet. Finally, Wei Wuxian sighed. 

“How many assassins?”

The young man smiled.

“Five in as many weeks. You are as smart as Nie-zongzhu said.”

Wei Wuxian snorted at that. 

“Not if I didn’t realize assassins were being sent after me. I’m guessing Nie-xiong knew they’d be hired and sent you to protect me in secret?”

He’d honestly thought he was being left alone by the cultivation world, especially since he wasn’t causing any trouble. How very naïve. 

The man nodded curtly, then bent to rifle through the corpse’s clothing, looking for clues and stripping it of valuables, every bit a Nie. 

“He wanted you to be able to travel without worry.”

Ah, Nie-xiong…

Perhaps Nie Huaisang was used to working from the shadows and had an agenda, or perhaps he truly just wanted Wei Wuxian to be undisturbed. Whatever his reasons for the secrecy, with this that ship had sailed. 

But Wei Wuxian had no idea why Nie Huaisang would bother, not after he threatened him at the Cloud Recesses. Implied threat, but still—he’d expected that would burn a bridge. Not… this. 

“I suppose I’m overdue for a visit to the Unclean Realm,” he said after thinking it over. “You may as well travel with me openly, unless Nie-xiong would prefer you watch over me in secret?”

Despite the protection he’d sent, Wei Wuxian didn’t know if he wanted the Nie clan officially associated with the Yiling Patriarch.

“Sect Leader was not specific about this eventuality. Traveling together openly may deter assassins, though it is easier to catch them off guard if they believe you unprotected.”

Ah, so Nie Huaisang didn’t care. Wei Wuxian waved off the concern. Now that he knew the threat, it was easily dealt with. 

“I can set talisman traps around the campsite. Probably should have done that to begin with.”

But he’d been trying to have faith in the cultivation world, he didn’t say. Once again, misplaced faith and he should’ve known better. 

“At least that way you can get real sleep as we travel to meet with Nie-zongzhu.”

They were a week of travel from the Unclean Realm, and he supposed he’d get answers to questions he hadn’t known he had then. 

He headed back to his campsite, happy to see his Nie protector was following, and set a gourd of water near the fire to heat and pulled out some tea. 

“In the meantime, we can talk about these assassins, eh? We’ll bury the body in the morning.”

It’d been over a decade since he’d last dug a grave, and it wasn’t to bury a body, but he was sure he could manage with the Nie’s help.

----------

Zhuji is the foundation building stage of cultivation, the stage before forming the jindan/golden core. Basically, Wei Wuxian is saying Mo Xuanyu was barely into the stage of forming a golden core, so it’s barely a wisp, but is still something that has the foundations built for him.

This fic was… unexpected. I wanted to write something for Nie Huaisang’s birthday, kind of a reconciliation between him and Wei Wuxian, and this happened. It will likely be no more than three chapters.

The title is a reference to a translation of a Su Shi poem, “First Ode on the Red Cliffs,” which was written after his first exile (he was exiled twice, both times for his poetry), while he wandered. There are several translations floating around, but I liked the wording of this one.

[anxiousnerdwritings]

Hi! How are you doing today?. Can I request some platonic X-Men evolution x23 headcanons please? Thank you for like writing platonic yanderes there's just something so much scarier than romantic yanderes.

Yandere Platonic!X-23/Laura Kinney

Laura is full of anger and hostility when you first meet her. Can you blame her after everything she's been through?

You go out of your way to make her feel welcomed and accepted. Maybe you eve have the ability to control emotions or you have a calming pheromone that instantly calms anyone you're around.

At first Laura would be a little uneasy about someone putting so much attention in to her but she eventually grows use to your persistence. You don't seem to be afraid of or weary of her and that makes her feel a little better.

She'll slowly open up to you the longer you show that you're genuine in wanting to be her friend. Sooner or later, you will become her confidant, her human diary, telling anything and everything.

Laura will progressively become more and more protective of you. You're her best friend, her first and only best friend and she won't let anyone ruin that.

Spending so much time with you, she'll ever so slowly become addicted to your calming nature and or the pheromone. She didn't know how to feel about it before, but she likes not feeling so angry and emotional all the time. It's nice to just be calm and content, especially by your side.

If you show any interest in dating someone, Laura will either deter you from them or scare them off when you're not around. She doesn't want anyone else taking her place or wasting your time and attention.

She'll often sleep in your room with you, whether she actually shares a room with you or not, she's always there.

Ever since you started pursuing a friendship with her, Laura will follow you everywhere. Isn't that what friends do, go everywhere together and do everything together.

She doesn't even have to stalk you, cause she'll be with 24/7. And from all her pre-existing training as an assassin, she knows how to make her presence known and when to hide, so you won't feel so suffocated, even when she's breathing down your neck, watching your every move.

Laura would slaughter anyone for you without hesitation. They wouldn't even have to do anything other than look in your direction and she'd kill them. But she wouldn't do it with you around, she doesn't want you to witness something like that. And she'd only get caught up with your mutation stopping her.

Laura feels like she has to keep people away from you. She doesn't want anyone taking you away from her. And she doesn't want anyone taking her from you. If she could, Laura would want to be attached to your hip all the time, she may as well be anyway.

All the other students will purposely avoid you because of Laura. When she's not around which is very rare, other people will be more personable with you but it doesn't last long. It's like Laura knows when an outsider of your friendship is talking to you, that's because she does. You're never really alone. Ever.

Laura would be so soft for you. She basically just melts when your around, whether that's because of your mutation or just her being whipped, she doesn't care. She'll let you play and or braid her hair and she'll do the same for you.

Whenever you leave the mansion, she's right by your side, where she belongs. Do you have to run an errand? She'll come with you! Are you going shopping? Laura wants to come! Have a date? Laura doesn't have any plans and doesn't want to be alone, mind if she tags along?

Laura will always find a way to weasel her way into being with and going with you anywhere, doing whatever. And you're none the wiser, just happy that you got through to her and that you're best friends. You couldn't be happier.

You don't even notice the other students parting like the red sea when you and Laura are walking through the halls. And Laura doesn't care, actually taking a little pride in it.

Overall, Laura can be utterly terrifying to anyone outside of you. She won't take any risks of anyone trying to take her place. I mean you purposely went out of your way to be friends with her, so you obviously want her around and she doesn't plan on going anywhere, any time soon or ever.

[robininthelabyrinth]

MDZS Prompt: In Chinese mythology, the Dragon's Gate is located at the top of a waterfall cascading from a legendary mountain. If a carp successfully makes the jump, it becomes a dragon.

sequel to dragon NHS (also on ao3)

--

There were places where humans were not, and have never been, welcome.

It was more than just a feeling – the rocks reached out to trip your feet, hoping to break your neck; the trees lashed out with branches and refused to burn when cut, hoping to see you freeze; the clear water abruptly turned polluted if it even suspected you wanted to drink.

And then there was the weather.

Nie Mingjue staggered when the heavenly lightning arced down towards him for the countless time. It was almost as if it realized that simply giving warning blows wasn’t enough, escalated to strikes with murderous intentions, and then to its frustration realized that it wasn’t as easy to kill him.

At least, not by hitting him with lightning.

Nie Mingjue rubbed his neck, where the scars of Jin Guangyao’s treatment of him still remained – it was uncomfortable, having a weak point like that, especially one that was so obvious, but he supposed it was better than the alternative of still being dead.

In fact, this entire trip was only possible courtesy of the toughness of his resurrected body, courtesy of Wei Wuxian’s only somewhat voluntary assistance. He’d tried to apologize later, but Wei Wuxian had only cried from laughter until he nearly choked himself to death – apparently, hearing Nie Mingjue refer to his little brother turning into a gigantic dragon in order to threaten people into doing as he wanted as being “in a snit” was all the payment he required.

The Yiling Patriarch was a very strange man, Nie Mingjue decided, and side-stepped the next bout of lightning.

The only problem with being a fierce corpse was that it depended on resentment – and for all that Nie Mingjue’s temper was notorious, it was more like fireworks, burning bright but swift, than it was long-lasting; unless he was continuously stimulated, he would be more inclined to forgive than hold a grudge.

(He shouldn’t have forgiven Jin Guangyao.)

But his enemies were dead now, the author of his demise thoroughly destroyed in his name; there was very little to be resentful about. Nie Mingjue was not Wen Ning, who kept his grievances hidden so deeply inside his heart that even he himself did not know them; he was too straightforward for that. His resentments in life were slowly being relieved, one by one, and when they were gone there would be nothing to keep him from entering the cycle of reincarnation.

Nothing to keep him here, by Nie Huaisang’s side.

And that was intolerable.

Nie Huaisang might be a dragon, his life longer than most cultivators; he might have access to that secret place where the Nie dragons retreated; he might be perfectly capable of executing a decade-long revenge plan – in the end, he was still Nie Mingjue’s little brother.

No one would be allowed to cause him pain, least of all Nie Mingjue himself.

And so he’d come here, to this forbidden place, and braced himself for the agony of the journey.

He’d been travelling for days already, maybe weeks – it was getting hard to tell. Fierce corpses, conscious or not, did not feel pain in the same way, but pain was still quite possible; he’d been burned and stabbed and bludgeoned, he’d been attacked by purification in the same way he’d once attacked corpses himself, and it all hurt exactly as much as he’d thought it would.

He wished he could have brought Baxia with him. She wouldn’t have put up with this nonsense.

But this was something he had to do alone.

He had nothing with him but the clothing on his back, the familiar clothing of the Nie Sect Leader he no longer was, and even that was being slowly ripped apart and peeled away from him as he climbed.

His fingers were in agony as he gripped rocks that turned cutting edges against him, his teeth were gritted as the water sprayed down at him in full force, and he did not let anything deter him.

He would get to the top of this fucking waterfall.

He’d say that he’d do it or die trying, but he was already dead. Failure was therefore not an option.

“There is a type of immortality in reincarnation, you know,” the woman’s voice said in his ear again. “You are already existing beyond the fated span of your life – why not enjoy the time you have left, and then move on to try again? Why force yourself to stay in a body that cannot eat, cannot drink, cannot live?”

“I was never much of a glutton,” Nie Mingjue said back, ignoring the way the water tried to drown him. He was a fierce corpse, he didn’t actually need oxygen; the way his lungs strained and his mind panicked was only the memory of a prior life. “Or much of a lecher. A half-life is fine, if I can accompany my brother to live a full one.”

“You’re very stubborn,” she sighed.

Nie Mingjue bared his teeth. “My sworn brother once said that he tried everything he could to tempt me – women, liquor, riches, art, calligraphy, antiques, fine tea – and failed. You’re going to need to try harder.”

“What if your next reincarnation could be guaranteed as auspicious? Your conduct was upright and righteous throughout your life, and even after death – you would be born into a family that loved you, with divine talent for cultivation and all the resources you could think of. You would have the opportunity to break your way into the heavens.”

“And if I accepted that, I would be worthy only of being reborn as a pig fit for slaughter,” Nie Mingjue said. “I already had that life: my family loved me, my talent was not bad, my resources extensive. And in the end the only part of it that ever mattered was my father, who I avenged, and my brother, who avenged me. I am already decided – go away, Baoshan Sanren. Don’t you have your own chicks to worry about?”

She was silent for a moment, as if surprised that he’d identified her.

He’d suspected it from the first moment he saw her, the beautiful and arrogant Zhuque – the vermillion bird of heaven, come down to watch him as he climbed this mountain, this waterfall. He didn’t know why, but it suddenly all seemed to make sense: who else would rescue children only to release them? What else could explain the inconsistencies of time, where little Xiao Xingchen could remember Wei Wuxian’s mother as his shijie even though she’d died long before the time he should have been born?

Why else would all of her children be tagged with such terrible luck?

“What if this hurts your brother?” she suddenly said, abrupt in her question. “You know the doom that has befallen each of my disciples once they leave my nest – what if this is more of the same? What if having you by his side is enough to doom him?”

“Have to hope for the best,” Nie Mingjue said briefly. He’d considered it, of course, and the idea worried him – he was going against the heavens here, and it wouldn’t be too much to think that they’d seek revenge beyond merely inconveniencing him with some lightning. It was a risk. But he’d never stopped from taking the course of action he thought was right simply because of risk. “If fate turns against us, we can cross that bridge when we reach it – why worry now?”

He’d always been called a straightforward man, and it had irritated Jin Guangyao beyond words whenever it turned out to be true – it seemed Baoshan Sanren had some of the same instincts, because she huffed and tossed her head, the beautiful fiery plumage streaming in the wind.

“Stop making me like you,” she said, her voice querulous. “I’m supposed to be stopping you.”

Nie Mingjue grinned. “It’s not going to happen. No matter what you offer or threaten – as I told you, I decided long ago that I would do this. Aren’t I a cultivator? To cultivate is to fight against the heavens, to seek your own fate. This is the fate I’ve chosen. I will not be dissuaded.”

His hand, which had been steadily reaching above him, finding a rock, and pulling his body up after, reached up again and abruptly hit nothing but air.

Nie Mingjue squinted up but could not see anything; the haze from the waterfall was too much. He reached again, stubborn, and this time he found that there wasn’t any rock above him – but there was further out.

He’d reached the top. There was no more to climb.

The only way forward was to leap.

“Good luck,” Baoshan Sanren said. “I hope you make it.”

Nie Mingjue didn’t hesitate.

(Far away in Gusu, Wei Wuxian looked up at the sky and said, “Oh shit now there’s two of them,” but when Lan Wangji asked what he’d meant, he realized that he had no idea.)

[enithinggoes]

The witch’s teachings, lesson 4: Power and its price

Lyssa’s presence changed our day-to-day slightly, about one hour before meals the witch would ask one of us to do chores such as looking for food(I was more adept at gathering, roots and fruit, while Lyssa had an easier time hunting), and she would use the time to teach the other one.

What made me curious was that from what I’d seen, we were not being taught the same things, while I had by this point been Morgana’s apprentice for a few months and she’d taught me next to nothing about combat, though she’d given me a knife, mostly for cutting ingredients, I had yet to touch a sword. Meanwhile Lyssa was already about as good of a swordsman as any from my home town, though she’d prefered to use two shortswords instead of the witch’s one.

When asked about this during one of my own lessons, My master, her unequivocal tone giving an impression closer to a consultation with an ancient goddess than a questioning of a human teacher, told me “When you asked me to take you on, did you ask for my power? Was your wish to match me as a fighter, or as a scholar? What you begged me for was wisdom, so that’s what I am attempting to give you, knowledge of the properties of all sorts of natural and supernatural, one day you shall be able to see as deeply or more than I am into the forces most struggle to even comprehend. However, I am myself a multi-faceted creature, and what Lyssa needs from me isn’t the knowledge you crave, that won’t help her protect herself from greed, hate and weapons from people whose reason for attacking her can’t be circumvented without fighting back. Right now, she needs to become a warrior, she wants to become a guardian, so her mastery of the blade is more important than that over the land. Of course I want to have you know how to defend yourself and her know how to use subtler methods than swordfighting, but it is better to prioritize.”

While I took in her explanation, her expression softened as she sat down close to the fire and ushered me to do the same. She took a deep breath, then spoke once more “It is good that you asked me that, it reminded me of something I feel I should tell you, and I’ll explain later why I do not plan on doing the same for Lyssa yet,” she stared into the flames, “It’s about how I got these hands, and the power they hold.”

“I grew up in the village of Krymmen, a place that no longer exists, outside of the reach of the duke that owns this tenure, I do not know how  much you’ve heard about him, maybe less than I, since I assume his rule is all you’ve known, but the common way of doing things here and now hasn’t always existed. Where I was born there was no use for silver and gold except for fighting werewolves and making accessories, there was enough food and housing for all of us and all who contributed to the community had access to it. My function, much as it is now, was to protect people from supernatural threats and their effects on body and mind.”

“One day, emissaries from “duke Louis of Drakenguard”  appeared, we hosted our visitors well, interested in what knowledge they could have to share with us. But they were measuring us up, learning about our defenses and armed forces, making sure they could easily destroy us. They came back, with numbers and weapons, an emergency exodus was declared. Me and my comrades stayed behind to hold them back, we were fierce fighters, but there were too many of them, we drove them back, just barely, but I was the only survivor, and it would not be long before they caught up with the civilians after the next wave was done with me.

“So I got desperate,” she clenched her fist, “There was a legend in Krymmen, about a cave from which none who ventured returned, the stories told of a slumbering dragon, at least as large as an elephant and as smart as a person, I headed to the cave, planning to beg the beast to protect the people who had coexisted with it for all of our centuries long history.

“Once I arrived, I was awed by the creature’s bright red scales, gigantic wings and terrifying maw. However its eyes surprised me most of all, they were orange and slitted like those of a crocodile, but they regarded me  with such superiority, curious interest at best, like how a man may look at a cat. It gave me time to say my piece, but seemed to disregard it entirely, instead lazily turning to my sword and offering it’s own proposal. It’s deep grumble echoing through the cave’s chambers.

“I have no intention of concerning myself with the squabbles between you pitiful creatures. Still, I can feel some fire within you, if you wish for my assistance, prove to me you are worthy of my time,” it stood from the pile of bone and discarded armor where it sat, “If you are capable of landing a single blow upon my flesh, I shall grant you a morsel of my power.”

“For many moments it was all I could do to stand frozen still, its glare made it clear that the moment I moved forward, that could be the end of my life, still it was my only chance to protect the Krymmen people, and if my comrades could give their life for that before, so could I now. I started to dash forward, but the dragon’s claw was even faster than I could expect, I did my best to deflect it with my blade, but the force from the clash still sent me rolling over the ground. The dragon simply raised its head and looked down on me as I scrambled back onto my feet, as if waiting for me to continue the challenge it had issued. I felt as if it had held back on the last strike, trying to bring the most out of me, and to be honest, it made me furious, I was determined to prove the power of humanity.

“I sprinted forward, goading it into striking before quickly stepping back, then dashing ahead once more, It’s next attack I evaded by rolling behind a rock, using it for cover by crouching. The beast lowered its head, and I beheld it open it’s enormous jaws and a bright orange flame gather inside it, too wide to dodge to the side and too powerful for my stone cover to protect me. In a final desperate gambit I climbed onto the rock and, as it approached to launch its attack. I lept towards it, plunging my blade onto its snout with a fierce battlecry.

  “The sword pierced only a few centimeters through  my foe’s scales, but it ceased its fire breathing, and for a few instants, we were both so still we could only hear the dimm whistle of the wind through the cave. I saw the dragon stare towards me with something entirely foreign in its eyes, recognition, perhaps even respect. It lowered me gently to the floor, backing away as I pulled my blade from its snout.

“Very well,”said the dragon, “you’ve proved yourself tenacious and brave beyond any human I’ve seen before. I shall offer you a magnanimous offer, accept the pact, and you will be given power over the most powerful element in creation. The flames that herald both oblivion and rebirth, there is but one condition.

“Though after such an arduous trial almost nothing could deter me from accepting, I still asked “What is the condition?”

“The dragon explained, “You will yourself become forever bound to the changing winds and the flicker of the flames. If you ever fall idle, without a mission or destination, the very powers you will be given shall turn agains you, destroying your body”

“I nodded, accepting these terms, “Very well,” spoke the dragon, “extend your arms, and the pact will be sealed,” I did as I was told, and did not back down, even when the beast opened its maw wide, waiting for a moment, as if precisely measuring  its position. Before snapping its jaws closed in but a split second. I felt immense pain, like my arms had been cut in half, before a powerful burning sensation accompanied by the same orange light Inside the dragon’s mouth I’d seen before. I clenched my teeth so as not to scream, and in a few seconds, the dragon released my arms, satisfied, revealing that, from the forearm down, my arms were now as black and hard as coal, and I could feel heat like never before emanating from them.

“You’ve risen closer to a dragon than most could ever hope, the last thing I have to give you is my name. Names have power, child, so when you wish to use your new power, remember the name Gorchfygwr and all flames shall obey you.” The dragon explained.

The witch clapped her hands and turned to me. “And that’s how I got these hands, I apologize for not telling you sooner, but I needed to be sure to not give information about the source of my power to someone who would get themselves killed trying to obtain them, or worse, who would be able to gain this sort of power and use it for evil. In time I learned more about pacts like these, they are the main way for humans to obtain power beyond our physical limitations, but, and you may consider this your fourth lesson, power always has a price, and with time I learned the dragon had truly been relatively generous with mine, likely because he had gotten his entertainment out of testing me first. Some creatures, like demons and fae may cause their lords to lose their minds or commit atrocities they could never imagine.”

I nodded in agreement. “I understand. There are some questions I wish to ask, if you’ll pardon my curiosity, What did you do after sealing your pact? Did you face the duke’s armies once again? And why did you not want Lyssa to know this story?” for all that her fierceness had unnerved me initialy, my “colleague” did certainly seem to have good motives, more surprisingly, she was gentler than I’d imagined, never once commenting on my obvious lack of strenght when compared to her and offering to guard me from possible dangerous animals when searching for food.

Morgana sighed and turned back towards the fire. “I killed them, I went back into my ruined village and I slaughtered wave after wave of those soldiers until the futility of expecting them to stop coming solidified in my mind. By now there was no way they’d catch up to what remained of my people, there was no longer any reason for fighting. I felt so purposeless I just… wandered. Eventually I learned that I could use the skills from my old profession to earn a living and help people still, and memorized the optimal routes I could use to travel from town to town.”

She continued, her head hung low, betraying a fatigue I hadn’t before seen. “I’ve been doing this for years, familiar, long enough to obtain a large arsenal of magic not as powerful as what I received from the pact, that’s how I could make you my familiar. In some way I feel I’ve been delaying an inevitable direct conflict with the duke, I mean, look at Lyssa! aren’t I one of the only people with a chance to stop this for good? As for why I’ve avoided informing Lyssa of the source of my flames, I have no doubt her reasons for fighting are good, but with her current fervor, I fear she may seek out a patron before she’s ready and put herself and others in danger, although I have a feeling she may inevitably attract the interest of one by living the eventful life she is currently seeking. It is a difficult balance I am attempting to strike, too soon and her haste may be her doom, too late and she won’t be aware of the consequences when she receives an offer.”

I was a bit hesitant to question my master’s judgement, but still I couldn’t help but ask “don’t you feel you should put a little more trust in her prudence?”

She turned to me and smiled. “That may be so, still It’s best to be cautious. Thank you for telling me this. It’s part of a familiar’s function to council the witch in times of decision. Now scram, you, I see Lyssa coming back and we’re gonna need some fresh water from that creek to cook the hares she brought,” she waved me away gently.

As I walked away, Lyssa greeted me, her muscles had been steadily growing more defined as she’d been training for combat, I also noticed she’d been binding her breasts recently and respected her commitment to agility. “Hey… cat, can I call you cat?” she asked, a bit embarassed, to which I smiled and nodded in agreement, “alright, cat, did Morgana say anything about me? I haven’t exactly been apprentice to a witch before, and she did tell me a familiar is something different, but you’re my best point of  comparison and I’d like to know if I’ve been doing well.”She seemed excited to compare our experiences, and I felt a pang of guilt about witholding some information from her.

“Don’t worry, she’s very impressed with your growth, thinks you’ll soon be a match for her at this rate, though your parry could use some work.” I answered, and it was true, despite me omitting the witch’s concerns about her impetuosity. “Now get going, master’s waiting for you and she doesn’t like to wait. .” I told her, continuing my towards the creek.

“You too.” She said, and I could tell my answer had made her happy.

[pitchblackkoi]

Jon as an avatar of the Powers

The Web got to Jon when he was only a child, easy to change into what it needed. He walks strangely, though by the time you would notice it would already be too late and he would have your mind in his grasp. Instead of being afraid of them, spiders are his only companions. They whispers secrets to him that help him puppet his prey all the better. The one person he won’t control, though, is Martin. Something about the way he had looked at Jon when they met, with kindness in his eyes. Fear, yes, but not as much as he was used to. Letting him make his own choices became a game and it became love, eventually. Martin sees the monster, yes, but he loves him all the same

Loneliness has been a constant companion of Jon’s, from being orphaned young to being raised by a grandmother who never showed much affection. It only makes sense that eventually that fog would take him. In the Lonely it doesn’t hurt to be alone. It feels right, even. And when he feeds that entity, well, it feeds him as well. Until Martin that satisfaction is the only feeling he has. With him he feels more. He thinks he might even know what love feels like. And maybe that sharp feeling of loneliness that Martin feels when Jon leaves him feeds him as well.

In life Jon had been starved for touch, for closeness. He needn’t crave that anymore now that the Buried has taken him. His world is walls surrounding him and the satisfying weight of soil on his shoulders. Maybe he always has dirt streaked on his hair and clothes and skin but appearances don’t really matter now, do they? He had never cared much for them anyways. It is not as if the people he crushes under the earth are thinking too hard about such things. Martin doesn’t mind, just smiles and runs his hands through Jon’s hair, not seeming to care that his hands come away streaked in soil. He doesn’t care that Jon stands too close either. Just holds him close in return.

Jon has never been under any illusions about his appearance. People don’t find him particularly attractive and that’s fine. Especially because with the Flesh he has the opportunity to be more. He can add bones, organs, to his body however he likes. It’s like an experiment, seeing how he can add and rearrange his body. He knows he is monstrous, and yet Martin takes his mangled hands in his own and presses a kiss to him. Listens to his garbled voice and laughs when he makes jokes. Jon thinks he can stay human enough to love and protect Martin.

The Desolation gives Jon the opportunity to make his anger known. Not to the point of cruelty (though he can get carried away, he will be the first to admit), but there is an amount of satisfaction that comes with setting something alight and watching it burn to nothing. He tends not to burn more than he needs to in order to keep himself from burning out. Jon has to be careful not to burn Martin. The one time he forgot himself and accidentally burned Martin’s arm still haunts him and the scar it left won’t let either of them forget. So he bundles himself in a coat in gloves and pretends the trust he was given wasn’t misplaced.

Something about working for the End feels right to Jon. It’s orderly. Things live and then they die and go to his patron. There isn’t anything for him to do personally, unless someone is trying to run from the inevitable. Then Jon becomes that figure of death that people so fear. It’s funny how dying gave him a purpose. People don’t want him to stick around, which is fine by him. He knows his presence feels like death. He doesn’t understand why it doesn’t deter Martin, though. Why is it that he would know what Jon is and still hold his hand and offer him tea and look so excited to see him? It’s no matter though, because in the end his patron will have him in it’s grasp as well.

The Dark is not so scary as people fear. There’s something so simple about it, really. Jon exists in the darkness and he also is the darkness. He doesn’t even remember what he looks like anymore, which doesn’t bother him as much as he thinks it once would have. All he has is his voice and the tendrils of darkness that are at his beck and call. It is very easy to corner people in the dark when you can kill the lights with a thought. People become so scared when they can’t see what’s coming. Martin isn’t though. Jon can always feel his smile in the darkness, how happy his is when his surroundings darken. All because he knows it means Jon is coming.

Jon is never alone now that the Corruption sings its sweet song to him. It provided him with his moths. They live in him, exiting from the hollow in his back like he is some sort of huldra, hiding it so that he is not discovered. They nibble at his clothes and the edges of the books that he reads and they tell him things. Sometimes they tell him secrets or things they learn or just about how good he is, how much they love him. Like all moths they are attracted to the light and the real light in his life is Martin Blackwood. They love him as Jon does, consider him family and fly to greet him when he is near. Martin is gentle with them in return, though he has made it clear that he doesn’t want to become a host. That is just as well, because that means Jon can have Martin to himself.

Jon used to feel helpless but there is something about the way his blood sings when he holds a blade that makes him feel alive and present. The Slaughter replaced helplessness not with control but the kind of wildness that makes him feel free. With a weapon in hand he could do anything and there is nothing so satisfying as the flow of blood after a good kill, his patron’s song swirling in his ears. He is reckless, knows when and where to kill. More so, he knows who it is okay to kill. Martin makes the song in his blood quiet, but not in a way that’s scary. It’s calming, his gentle nature. He makes Jon tea and holds him close and he almost feels human again.

The Hunt puts Jon’s mind to its full use. He is good at tracking people down, putting the pieces together to be able to find them. While he is more physically stronger now, he is much better at putting together traps that will make sure whoever he is after cannot escape once he leads them there. He knows people’s minds, how they think, and that is what makes him the most effective Hunter. It is satisfying, too, to know that if anyone tried to get to anyone he cared about he would be able to easily find them. He would be able to find Martin anywhere. And fool be anyone who would take Martin from Jon because he is the only one that can keep him human.

Jon is with the Stranger and he is an imposter. Jon isn’t even his name, it is one he stole. He took it along with some poor person’s life. He is an ill fitting puzzle piece sat in someone’s life, alike enough that it isn’t questions but off enough to make people uncomfortable. Fear feeds him, yes, but it is also a lonely life. Not fitting is what he does and that means people don’t get close to him. But Martin did. Martin knew he was wrong and got to know him. Not the person who’s life he was inhabiting but him. He is still a monster but this kindness offered has made all the difference.

Jon spent all of his life looking up at the night sky and the stars it contains, so it is no real surprise when the Vast takes him. It’s nice, being able to be in that glittering void without having to worry about the altitude making him sick. He tries to share it, but people are always too busy worrying about choking due to lack of air to appreciate the constellations and galaxies above them. The only person that listened to him as he spoke of the vastness of the universe was Martin and so Jon saved him. And Martin stuck around. Now Jon points up at the sky from the ground and regales him with stories of the sky above them.

They say that genius can easily turn to madness and that’s what the Spiral drove Jon to. His terrible work ethic added with his insomnia, it was really bound to happen. Spiraling into research and books until he didn’t realized that what he was researching was nonsense. Now he is a creature that knows much about things that do not exist, spirals in his eyes and a body that seems to curl in on itself. No one really tried to talk to him until Martin, who had noticed him many times and was unnerved but not afraid. He listens to Jon ramble on and on about things that are not real with a gentle smile.

[pernatius]

Lost in Space Part 6: Ch 2

Ch 1

Summary: With the fate of the universe resting in her hands, an unnamed Space Explorer and Saamuki first must find Syco to get back their friends.

Lost in Space on Tumblr

Lost in Space on ao3

A swig of alcohol later and Saamuki throws the curtains open and storms out of there with me trying to catch up. Somehow with being both tipsy and shorter than me she’s able to make quite a distance. As I try to catch my breath in front of the pacing Saamuki, I curiously pressed, “What’s up north?”

It takes her a moment to answer, either because she faded me out or that she’s no longer sober, “Big festival. Definitely not for me. Explains why this planet has become a ghost planet.”

“But Sakhra is there. Isn’t he? We have to go.”

“I know. I know we do, but why did this have to happen today? Ugh. Okay. Let me just compose myself. Give me a moment.” A few, long breaths and her talking to herself, a long awkward moment of me looking at the sand around us, and she’s leading me to where the festival is. It was several lengthy, empty roads and alleyways, and me having to hold my breath because three of them were a tight squeeze. At least the trip wasn’t as long as the labyrinth underneath Cabelo’s hotel and I had actual scenery rather than dusty, muddy bricks with some sort of greenish substance. They were structures. They were buildings. They were homes. It was interesting to see how these people lived because as I said before they are just like anyone else. They lived like how any other person would live in these conditions. Some homes were five-stories. Most were either one- or two-stories. Each held a different shape. There were ones with a round roof, others had the classic triangular roof and some were super creative by going the extra mile of concave roofs. Each held a different personality that probably represented their owners. All were made out of a mixture of rock and mud. By the time we reached the outskirts of the town, we were greeted by the mouth of a small cave that sloped downward at about a forty-five-degree angle. Swinging the staff across the gaping darkness, I see another hole shooting straight down. “It’s up north then down south,” I commented. 

She turns to me, revealing a blush, and laughs. Saamuki laughs like it’s actually funny. Like it’s the best joke she’s ever heard before. I’m not a comedian as I have a poor sense of humor, so I know it wasn’t funny at all. She wipes away her tears of joy before nudging me to head in with her. 

The ladder wasn’t cold. It didn’t feel like it was never going to end, but I still struggled to keep my grip because of all the dirt and mud sticking onto it. By the time we hop off, I note the lanterns hanging along the walls of the cave and the stream, which has a golden glow because of the lights above, between us as I shake off the mess on my hands. That feeling I always get when something bad is about to happen hits me. I don’t hesitate to point the staff in front of me, but Saamuki doesn’t hesitate to go on ahead. I follow her with my grip tightened with a bit of hesitation in my footsteps. 

When Saamuki said big she really meant big. It was packed. It was as if twice as many people who were usually at the flea market were all in here, stuffed in the cave. Although, calling it a festival is an understatement. You’d assume it would be a celebration filled with merriment like laughter and smiles, but nope. Everyone in here is unusually, eerily quiet with their heads down underneath a thick, black robe. We were the outliers, but no one paid any mind to us. They remained pointed forward. Pointed forward at what I had no idea. The tallest seemed to be standing in the back, unintentionally making an unwavering wall. Saamuki grumbles and looks around. She then takes my hand and leads me to one of the only open spots in this place. “This will take a bit,” she explained to me. 

Because of all the crampedness, it felt like a sauna. I tugged my collar, hoping some cold air would shimmy down underneath and cool my sweating chest. It did, but not as much as I hoped. 

A figure stepped onto a makeshift podium. “It’s been six months since we placed that torch. It’s been six months since her murder. She was killed by a Space Pirate. She was one of our own. No, she was one of the greatest among us, yet they’ve forgotten about her.” Getting who he was talking about, I take a glance at the lip-biting Saamuki. “Brothers and Sisters, they have let us live, or so they would like us to believe. They claim it’s for balance. Well, that balance is shifting. It’s becoming clear that they’re no longer needed. It is only a matter of time before the Lords come looking for our children, our lovers, and ourselves. They’re killing us off one by one, yet it is only now we take notice. For centuries we have been their lackeys, their slaves. We’ve always done their dirty work. We never questioned once because we were blinded by the gifts, the freedom. No longer shall we live this way. No longer shall we let them control us. True freedom is not one built on fear. Brothers and sisters, it is time we rise. The time is now. There is no better time than now. Their most precious pets are at war with each other as we speak.”

“Brother, they will listen to us for some things, but not for this. They will massacre all of us within a blink of an eye,” a voice from the crowd replied. 

“Sister, what are rulers without followers? A hundred of us they will slaughter without a thought, but thousands of us is a different story. One voice is a whisper. Ten voices is a mutter. A hundred is heard, but not listened to. A thousand is a call to action.”

Another voice from the crowd countered, “Even if we wanted to, brother, we don’t have the supplies to stage such a theatrical war and we especially don’t have the manpower. Most of us are well over the age of action. This includes you, brother. Besides, we can’t just leave our children unattended if all goes south.”

“That is true, brother, but that’s why I ask for all of you to bury down your pride and seek the help of the public. Billions of voices can not be unheard. Brothers and sisters, it is time we act before it’s too late. They are feared because we let them be feared. We feed into the power they have, but power is a belief. It cannot be touched, but it can be broken. You and many others in this room know that is true.” 

A wave of whispers and hushes filled the room. A voice broke through the sound with a shout. Anger then erupted. Arguments had awakened. Then, as quickly as it came it all quieted. Silence filled the room. A single, familiar-looking hand is then raised. Everyone around eyed him. The owner of the hand had spoken, “I will join the cause that affects all of us, brother. I stand by your offer without any hesitation.”

“Classic Sakhra,” Saamuki mumbled with a smirk and a still blushing face. 

Of course, when one person confidently makes their voice heard then others are bound to join in. One by one everyone in the room is recruited. The last one to raise their hand, with what I think is an eye roll and an exaggerated swinging of his arm, is the man that tried deterring the announcer. 

The announcer started again, “With that settled, let us drink.” Everyone cheered and Saamuki turned around and covered her ears. Right when I’m about to question what had gotten her so disgusted with what’s just a town hall meeting, two cloaked figures threw a tied up, whimpering body in front of the announcer. The body couldn’t be any younger than the other prisoner on the Trauvox ship. Whoever this new character is clearly has seen war. They’re wearing a ripped, navy blue uniform and a tad of white with bloodstains. Purple spots have grown over where blood has been splattered. What was once pure white has now turned into a pinkish handkerchief. Their puffy pants, which are mostly tucked into their knee-high, dark brown boots, have battle scars of their own. Tears and scratches have made their name on them as well. The announcer bends down. “Speak, child. Let your voice be heard,” he continued.

The soldier doesn’t even take a glance at the man above him. Instead, they try to struggle free. Clearly, they’re outnumbered. If they were to loosen the rope tying them down just enough for at least one of their arms to be free they’d be welcomed to an onslaught of getting their ass beat by hundreds. They’re weaponless, I need to add. I don’t know what sort of training they’ve gone through, but it didn’t train their common sense. Maybe the type of training they went through suppressed it to outweigh honor. Maybe they’d rather die fighting than be at the announcer's mercy. Maybe it’s just the youth talking. 

Because they failed to answer, the announcer gets up and slams his foot into the soldier’s chest. I hear the sounds of ribs cracking as the soldier cries and spits out blood. My knuckles turned white because of how tight my grip on the staff has become. I try fighting myself. I want to go and help him. It sickened me seeing this type of excessive treatment, but at the same time, I know that doing so would probably get me to wind up like him. Saamuki tells me, “I know, but it’ll be all over soon. Just wait.”

He’s beaten—bloody nose and teeth, a split lip, and twitching hands. He stammers out as his collar is about to give in from underneath the clutch of the announcer’s hand, “B-Battalion five. I’m from battalion five of Quadrant Forty. I’m just a private. P-Please, have mercy.”

With that, the collar gives in. The private falls with a hard thud. Again, the announcer lowers. This time the private flinches when he speaks. “Ah, now was that so hard?” The beaten, young soldier shakes his head. “Good, but, unfortunately, it took you this long for you to crack. Most last far longer. One lasted a whole week. His lips remained shut even as we ripped each of his nails. Although, and of course, I didn’t beat him for every second that week. Even we get tired of torturing, but you’re just a private. Still, you’ve given your life to the Lords and that means you represent fascism.”

“If you want intel I don’t have any. They don’t tell us anything.”

“Yes, I already know, but that’s not why you’re here before us. Also, I didn’t ask you to speak.” The announcer slaps the soldier right across his face. A tooth is shot out and rolls off the podium and into the crowd. “You’re here to honor a friend’s six month death anniversary.”

His torturer moves his hand into his cloak and pierces a dagger into the soldier's stomach. Forcing the blade to go right through the soldier, the soldier gags and starts shaking. Then, he returns to screaming when the weapon is slid upwards. When my eyes meet with his guts and especially a beating heart, that’s when I gag. As blood is sprayed out and his organs topple to the floor, the announcer kicks him into the crowd. They pile on top of him and in the most horrific way to die they feast on the barely living, young man. Saamuki throws up with her back still turned to what now appears to be a cult. The announcer licks the soldier’s blood off of his hands and then his weapon as his followers rip right through and consume the private. It’s as if they haven’t eaten in days. It’s as if they’re wild animals rather than people. My insides are empty, yet I feel like I still have something to puke up. At least it didn’t last for long, but I, unfortunately, learned why Saamuki was so hesitant to come here. 

[wyrm-wolf]

Could you listen to I'm not supposed to love you anymore by Bryan White and write a sterek fic on that with a happy ending?

First of all how dare you, second of all HOW DARE YOU!! This hurt a lot! Third off all, this took me a while because my muse suddenly said ‘Let’s add a plot twist!!” Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Angst, Feral Behavior

~~

Derek has only cried a few times in his entire life. Enough that he can count it all on one had. When his family was burned alive, Boyd was killed, getting married to Stiles and then getting his heart torn apart by Stiles.

Looking down at the photos taken on their wedding day, Derek feels like he’s on the verge of crying. He tosses them back into the shoebox and shoves that under his bed. Having the box under his bed isn’t the wisest choice. It feels like every time he walks into the room the box is haunting him; reminding him of the days when he was happy when things were better, when Stiles hadn’t… A tear slips down his cheek, and Derek rubs at his so furiously that his cheek starts going raw from the harsh rubbing. Standing up he leaves the room so he doesn’t get the urge to open up the box and pull out the shirt Derek stole. 

It’s pathetic.

He’s pathetic.

Keeping a shirt that Stiles use to wear all the time around the house, the human wore it so much his scent is practically ingrained in the piece of fabric. He should just throw it away. Maybe burn it. But the moment his fingers touch it he’s rendered useless, his wolf whines and howls for Stiles to come back. It makes him go insane with want and yearning. The feeling of being slowly buried alive. But Stiles isn’t coming back, he’s moved on with his life while Derek’s stuck in time. Like a dinosaur who walked right into a pt of tar and is slowly dying of starvation until they finally just drown in the pit. Stiles may have moved on, but Derek was stuck. He couldn’t move on. He was stuck still loving Stiles because they were-

They were-

He can’t even say the word without breaking down.

Sipping the now cold tea he left in the kitchen, Derek gets lost gazing out the window. After the divorce, Derek made himself vanish from everyone’s lives. He couldn’t go to pack meetings without thinking of Stiles, couldn’t talk to Scott or the Sheriff to help out with the most recent monster of the week without thinking of Stiles, infant he couldn’t be anywhere near or around Beacon Hills without thinking of Stiles. The pain was too much for him to handle. So he chucked his phone off a bridge, moved to some remote location in the woods and wolf his car. He just wanted to be alone after all that happened, living seemed too much for him so now he was here in his cabin. Stuck. Crystalized forever.

He’s not supposed to love Stiles anymore. 

Stiles made his peace after they divorced, after he broke Derek’s heart. No. That’s to light of a way to put it. Too gentle, makes it sound like what they had was a high school romance, but that’s not what it was at all. At least not too Derek. Stiles didn’t break his heart, he demolish-annihilated his heart. There was nothing to pick up once Stiles had slaughtered him, and he woke up to an aching gap in his chest. When Derek thought too hard about the ache he thought about the last conversation he had with stiles before vanishing.

They had been sitting in the house they had bought together, signing the divorce papers. Derek struggling to even finish writing his name as his hands trembled with hot white anger. When he finished with the last paper, Derek had thrown the pen across the room watching the thing shatter against the wall, ink splattering against the tan wall.

“Dude! We still have to sell this thing, don’t damage it.” Stiles snapped at him.

“We? There is no ‘we’ anymore Stiles. I don’t care about the damage. It’s yours. Everything’s yours. Just take it all with you, or throw it away, it’s not like it matters to you anymore.”

Sighing, Stiles reached out to place a hand on Derek’s shoulder, only for the werewolf to recoil from he touch. If Stiles had touched him he wouldn’t have fought anymore, he would have folded in half and break down right in front of the human. Stiles made him weak. He made him human. But apparently Stiles didn’t seem to care about any of that, now did he?

 “You were the only person I could trust, Stiles.” Derek growled half heartedly, the anger burned inside him but the pain wasn’t easy to ignore. The wolf inside of him felt like it was tearing his insides apart, leaving him wide open. He left after that, slamming the door hard enough he could hear the wood shake beneath his fury. 

Sighing, Derek set the tea down and looked over to the couch where it was stacked with chains to hold him.

It was the full moon tonight and Derek didn’t know if he could hold the wolf back anymore. Last full moon he almost lost himself too the animal, but now as the moon begins to rise he thinks, ‘Would it really be so bad?’

He’d be ok with loosing himself. Stiles would have been dissappointed in him for giving up, but Stiles isn’t here anymore. Stiles doesn’t care anymore. This time when the moon rises, Derek lets the animal loose. He goes feral, claws and teeth shredding his last bit of humanity as he cries to the moon. Being a wolf is freeing; the ache is still there but he doesn’t think about it as much, can’t think of it was much when all the wolf want’s to do is run and hunt. So he let’s himself get lost, he forgets his life as a human, he forgets his name.

But most importantly he forgets Stiles.

~~

3 Weeks Later

The Wolf smells something strange in his territory. It growls and snaps at the air when it’s nose picks up the scent too close to his den. The wolf does not remember much. It thinks it had a name, or perhaps lived somewhere else. But the wolf knows that if he tries to remember that bad-pain-ache-hurt-no comes back and the wolf does not enjoy the unfamiliar ache in its chest. It growls and tracks the scent hoping to scare off whatever is rummaging in his den. When the wolf gets a few feet from its den it growls sharper when it smells another wolf, ‘bad smell’ the wolf thinks to itself. Not good.

The rummaging stops and then a two legged creature comes running out of the wolfs den. He has seen these weird things before, the two legs are tall but easy to scare once they see him, so he snarls and snaps. But the two leg does not run. Instead it shouts and makes strange noises the wolf does not understand. A noise catches his attention and he snaps his head to the side to bare teeth at the other wolf, strange-wolf-who-walks-on-two-legs seems confused by his warming and tries to flash red eyes. They seem familiar to the wolf, but the strange-Alpha-two-leg doesn’t deter his hackles from rising, he has no pack-at least not one he remembers.

Loud-two-leg takes a step closer which get Alpha-two-leg to make a noise that sounds like a warning. But Loud-two-leg is either braver than it looks or stupider. The wolf gets ready to pounce and maul the two leg when he catches wind of the scent.

It makes his body freeze up because he knows that scene. The wolf sleeps on a soft bedding made from that scent. That scent brings along bad-ache-pain and makes him feel weak and upset, but this same smell makes him feel things too hard to comprehend as a wolf.

“Derek? Derek are you in there? Give me a sign, please, anything?” Loud-two-leg says to him, the wolf understands simple words and the sound it makes brings back that ache.

The wolf whines when Loud-two-leg gets closer, he can’t fight back, all his instincts scream at him to lick two-legs face or bury himself against that scent. So he does neither and watches as the Loud-two-leg gets closer and closer, a strangely flawed hand reaches out and when he thinks he’s about to be attacked the wolf is frozen when the hands are gentle to touch. 

Hands.

Yes. That’s what they’re called.

Loud-two-leg continues to gently pet and caress the wolf until his hackles have lowered and he’s found himself pressing closer into that touch. When Alpha-two-leg tries to step closer he snaps and snarls, pushing Loud-two-leg behind him so he can protect that good-ache-smell. Loud-two-leg squawks and makes another sound that sounds like a wolf pup yipping. Maybe Alpha-two-leg and Loud-two-leg are packmates, but the wolf does not care, Loud-two-leg is his! 

Alpha-two-leg walks away after exchanging strange sounds with Loud-two-leg and all the wolf can think is, ‘Good riddance.’ He waits for a time until he’s sure the other wolf is gone before whipping around to push Loud-two-leg down on the ground and roll their scents together. Loud-two-leg huffs and says something but again the wolf does not understand the strange noises Loud-two-leg is making but he feels comforted by them and presses his muzzle against the two legs throat to comfort it. The two leg sighs, a hand reaching up to scratch at the wolf’s fur while continuing to make the noises. The wolf ignores the sounds enough that they become a buzzing sound to him, like when he listens to the woods at night and only hears the chirping crickets, the owls hooting and some of the nocturnal animals moving about.

“Derek.”

The wolf startles at the noise-no, the name. The wolf knows it was something other long ago, once it even understood the noises Loud-two-leg are making right now, but that one word strikes a chord. It makes him…remember…That aching feeling comes back and the wolf-Derek-wolf-Derek-it hurts! He snarls and jumps off Loud-two-leg-smell-good as he feels his skin begin to crawl, bones creaking and his teeth grinding in pain. When his body is done shifting and changing the wolf-Derek; his name is Derek and he…

Derek growls, blue eyes flashing at Stiles who is still sitting on the ground with his mouth open like a fish out of water, “What are you doing here. Haven’t you hurt me enough. I was just fine-“

“Fine? Holy shit, Derek, the little cabin you ‘lived’ in is in ruins. I had to track you by your car-which you sold three towns over, and then Scott heard something about a wolf living out here. He followed your scent to this shit hole, and when we find you your feral! Derek you didn’t even know who I was-how long-how long have you been out here likes this?”

“Does it matter?”

Stiles glares, “Of course it do-“

“Does it?” He snaps, claws extending and fangs begging to drop. Derek knows he would never harm Stiles, but he can’t stand being around him for long or else he becomes human again. “You wanted the divorce re-“

“Derek! That wasn’t me!”

What?

“What?”

Scrubbing at his face, Stiles breathes out through his nose before explaining, “A shaman kidnapped me when I was coming home work and kind of Harry Pottered us by making something that was like polyjuice, and was living as me for months. And then Peter came by after hearing we divorced to kill me, which ended up being how the pack found out it wasn’t me when he found the man changing from me to himself. He was trying to destroy our pack, and almost did until Peter came.” Stiles huffs, “I’m actually-and don’t tell him this, or I’ll ban sex forever-but I’m actually really grateful he came to kill other me when he thought we divorced.”

“How long?” He grits his teeth, “How long has he been you, did you-“

“Derek, if I really wanted a divorce would I have spent the last week spending every second of the day looking for you? Would I have dropped everything all together the moment I heard what the shaman did to you-to us? Just to come here and find you-”

Without waiting for Stiles to continue Derek leaps at the man, teeth clacking as they kiss, Stiles making a noise that goes from startled to pleasure when Derek swipes his tongue against the inside of his mouth. They lay like that for a while just kissing and touch, Derek’s primal need to rub his scent all over Stiles until those other strange scents aren’t driving him crazy, or Stiles just running his fingers through Derek’s too long beard and commenting how the werewolf could be the next Tarzan. They’re interrupted when Scott comes back and chokes as he sees Derek shoving his tongue down Stiles throat, “Seriously guys? Can we go now?”

“Fine. Fine.” Stiles mentions off handedly, before pointing a finger at Derek, “When we get back home we’re having so much sex. I mean all the sex.”

“Ok, Stiles.” Derek grins, stopping as he follows them back to the car to run back to the house and pull out the shoebox that he kept. He sighed in relief when he found all the contents still inside and intact. When Stiles raised a questioning eyebrow at him, Derek opened the box to show him the wedding ring and photos he kept.

“God, you massive sap. I love you so much.” Stiles tells him, tears in his eyes.