#neither are the sounds. they didn’t have to go so hard with the crunching noises

[ph4nt-mp]

Does anyone else just have the core memory of watching that one chick eat a whole-add deer after hitting it with her car in the original smallville show? Like she goes out for a drive, hits a deer, and after leaving her car she breaks her fucking jaw and munches that dead motherfucker in a kryptonite-ed fueled frenzy

Like litttle 10 y/o me just sat there and watched her unhinge her jaw and dig the fuck in like it were a four-course meal with the face of that one drawn meme with the rlly realistic concerned face and it has stuck with me ever since

[biffhofosho]

Le Cirque du Fantasme | Part One

Fandom: Monsta X

Genre: Smut, natch

Word Count: 12.2k

Pairing: Jooheon/Changkyun/Minhyuk x OC

Synopsis: Step right up! Step right up! Come one, come all to a celebration of the macabre, the daring, the enticing, and the beautiful. Inside this tent is another world—one that will challenge your senses as much as your soul. Nowhere else on Earth can you experience such an awakening. Just take caution—once you are awake, you’ll find it hard to ever go back to sleep.

The Vibe: Third person (as always), fall fog, small town, lost and found, night circus, inhumans, the seen and the unseen (heh), everything fantastical and provoking, wonderstruck OC, questioning reality, copious amounts of worldbuilding leads to copious amounts of smut, foursome, suspension, light bondage/shibari-adjacent, temperature play like woah, sexual oneupsmanship lol, acrobatic sex yw

A/N: Literally the second the opening bars hit on “Daydream,” I knew I was going to write an October fic to it. Not only that, I knew exactly what it called for.

I had originally intended to publish multiple October fics, same as last year, but since I boned myself over with my earlier writing hiatus, the least I can do is give you a twoshot. This is my love song to my readers who love worldbuilding as much as I do. I didn’t try to rein in the muse this time, so hopefully you disappear into another reality entirely with me. Also—  

Since it’s October, when we do get to the smut, I, um, went slightly more deviant than usual ahahaha. .-.

Cvr | 01 | 02 | 03

“Oh, no.”

Mariam is aware that, all things considered, she is under-reacting.

She is lost when there is no reason for her to be lost.

Only minutes ago, she was walking home from her late shift at the diner, and now she is wandering through fog as thick as stuffing and woods where there should be sidewalk. It’s nighttime, but it’s doubtful that even in daylight things would change. Even with the pale moon, she can neither see where she has come from nor where she is headed.

The fog has muffled every sound like a pair of noise-canceling headphones. She can hear only the crunch of dry leaves under her boots. And, yeah, it’s late, but where’s the traffic? She always passes a few cars on the road. She realizes that is exceptionally weird, but there’s nothing to do but move forward. Carmel isn’t very big; she’s bound to wander into one of the old cemeteries any moment, and then she’ll know she’s close to her apartment.

Still, the woods are a little concerning. Town might be tiny, but if she’s somehow wandered into the woods around Ninham Mountain, Mariam could be lost for hours. The state forest is huge and full of lakes, and she is definitely not on any sort of trail at the moment.

Slowly, her usual cavalier attitude wears thin. It’s getting cold. The chill of autumn bites at her through her flannel, and she withdraws her fingers into her sleeves before they can chap. The further she walks into the fog without a guidepost, the more nervous she gets.

“Idiot!” she curses at herself.

Suddenly, it dawns on Mariam to check her phone. She fishes it out of her bag to find she’s been walking for ten minutes, which is her usual walk home, but she can’t see a single building let alone a sidewalk. Foolish as it is, she decides to map her route, but something much more alarming happens.

No signal.

She cannot call. She cannot text. She cannot even access her GPS.

The little marker on the map has her floating in a blob of gray, which is ironic considering she is unmoored in a cottony swab of nothingness.

“Oh, no.”

This time, at least, Mariam is painfully aware that her reaction is right on point.

She keeps her phone in hand now in the hope of catching a wisp of signal. She doesn’t feel like she’s walking up hill—she doesn’t feel like she’s moving at all—but in the hopes that she is, maybe she’ll pick up the cell tower. Realistically, she can’t have gotten that lost in ten minutes.

Her ears perk. She hears something other than her own feet, and she stops to make sure she isn’t hallucinating it.

Nope, that’s music all right. It’s just really, really weird music. Like someone’s playing organ music, but it’s definitely not from the Baptist church. It’s too… whimsical?

Mariam cocks her head. It reminds her of something. She can’t remember what, but something from her childhood, she’s sure.

With no other options, she walks toward it. At least she’ll find one other human out here who can give her some directions.

She turns on her flashlight, but it just rebounds off the fog and blinds her. Mariam stumbles against a tree and waits for the flood of brilliance to wash from behind her eyes. When she opens them again, the fog has miraculously thinned.

She’s definitely in the woods, not one of the little town parks or someone’s backyard but somewhere wild and unmanicured. The trees are spindly but thick, almost claustrophobic. There’s still no sign of a trail, and yet it seems like she’s on one. In fact, she can see it laid out before her, free of brambles and thickets and fallen trees. The fog is thinner there, too, though all along the sides of her, it’s as dense as cinder block.

The only thing that makes sense is following it, so Mariam does, and as she walks, the music gets louder. It also becomes more familiar. Maybe it’s because she’s lost, but something about it is so inviting. If notes can be colorful, these are positively flamboyant. She finds herself smiling in the fog.

The trail-not-trail bends and when she rounds a big boulder, she sees it.

There, in a glade cloistered by a lush canopy of fiery red maples, squats an enormous circus tent replete with a black flag snapping in a breeze that she can’t feel. The tent is striped white and black, high contrast even in the dark. There’s a long entrance tunnel, and at its maw is a ticket window lined with warm white lights. It glows like a lighthouse, and Mariam finds herself drawn into its harbors.

There’s a man in the window. He’s the most intense blend of handsome and cute she has ever seen. If she looks at him from one side, his eyes are thin and sharp, and they cut through her like razors, but if she looks at him from the other, his dimples cup his playful mouth as though they can barely contain his inner vibrance. His hair is darker than the night itself, making his skin look white as starlight by comparison, but the booth lighting frames his head like a halo. He’s an impossible mix of everything all at once, and she has never seen his equal.

Mariam steps to the window with an overwhelming sense of intimidation.

“Welcome, fair lady,” he says. His voice is potent. He says each word with a confidence that she has never felt in her whole life even at her best, and she finds herself captivated in the span of five syllables. His eyes dance as he studies her. “You’re just in time.”

“For what?” she asks.

“Showtime, of course. I was just about to close the ticket window, but lucky for us, I didn’t.”

It’s kind of a weird thing to say, Mariam thinks, but his unswerving confidence makes her reconsider.

“Actually, I was just looking for directions?” she says with more of a question than she intended.

“It seems to me you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.”

Again, his conviction makes her question hers.

“I wasn’t planning on going to a show tonight.” She fishes through her bag and finds the small roll of ones and fives from her shift. Tuesday shifts were notoriously poor payouts, but a traveling outfit this elaborate has to cost a pretty penny considering how exclusive it must be out here in the middle of nowhere. “How much? I don't have much cash on me. You take cards?”

“Those little plastic rectangles?” he replies with a flippant smile. “Pointless.”

Mariam frowns. “Then I don’t think I can afford it.”

He leans across the counter, almost through the window itself, into her personal space. Her hands fly to her chocolate locks and gather them to one side, twisting and twisting it as tightly as she feels her stomach twisting.

“Oh, admission is very reasonable,” he assures. This time when he smiles, it feels like he’s keeping a secret. He presents a golden ticket, the glossy paper winking as it turns between his well-manicured fingers. “Admission is only a dream.”

“A dream?” Mariam says skeptically.

“Just that, miss. In exchange for the best dream you’ve ever had, we will provide you with a new one. Seems like a fair trade, yes?”

“It would be if I knew what you were talking about.”

“I promise you’ll never experience anything else like this.”

Her brow furrows as she glances up at the big top. “I don’t even know what this is.”

The ticket-taker pouts, and his lush lips fatten to sumptuous thickness. “I’m afraid the show must start, miss. Do we have a deal?”

Mariam considers. This isn’t why she came—no, wait, she didn’t intend to come here at all—but she is here now, and this charming ticket monger is next to impossible to resist. What’s the harm in telling him one single dream? He doesn’t need to know about that particular dream.

And, anyway, it’s not like he’s conning her out of any money. In essence, it’s some free, entertaining shelter from a foggy night. She weighs her options and makes her decision.

“Am I supposed to, like, write it down or something?” she asks.

“Just lean in,” he instructs.

Hesitantly, Mariam tips forward over the counter, and for a brief second, his plump lips ghost along hers.

She should jerk back. She should slap him. But she does nothing but let him kiss her like the night mist. She is frozen as a current of muddy feelings spill like water from her lips. The back of her brain tickles a bit, but it’s overruled by the more pleasant tickle of his lips dusting over hers.

When he’s done, he licks his lips, which have curled into a tiger’s grin. His eyes are lively, and he’s panting lightly. He clears his throat and adjusts his hips in his pants somewhere behind the counter.

“How delicious,” he practically purrs. “I may have to keep that one for myself. I almost feel bad for taking it from you, but I promise the replacement will exceed it.”

He presents the golden ticket, and Mariam takes it. She expects it to feel like paper or maybe metal, but instead, it feels gauzy, and she can't stop rubbing her thumb over it.

“Straight through there, fair lady,” he says. “The show is about to start, and a whole new dream awaits you.”

The ticket monger holds open the black curtain, and she enters the tunnel. The moment the curtain shuts behind her, it is blacker than an abyss. The only thing she can see is a thin, shimmering line of light at the far end.

Outside, she hears the snap of the ticket booth closing, and she knows she is alone. The music is louder now, drawing her forward more powerfully than ever, and she realizes why she recognized it in the first place. It rises and falls and scampers and twirls, almost as though she can see the notes surrounding her, teasing and laughing at her. It is the song of childhood, of delight and fantasy.

It is the song of the circus.

There are smells here, too, familiar and unfamiliar. There is the buttery warmth of popcorn and, beneath it, something much more unctuous, a bit like when the cooks at the diner render the lard for the pie crusts. There's a hint of something acrid too, and it reminds her of the smell of her father's rifles.

Mariam follows the tunnel to its end, where she parts the drape only to be assaulted by the brilliant spotlights surrounding a huge red ring. There are seats seven layers high around three sides terminating at a ring entrance shuttered by another heavy curtain, but this one is three times as tall and wide as the entrance she just came through. Just surrounding the ring are four enormous tent poles soaring to the canvas above, where wires zig and zag across the arena and café lights accent each black and white stripe, softening the harsh spotlights.

The ticket-taker is there to greet her as though he has never seen her before. He beams at her, those dimples creasing his plump cheeks. Mariam approaches with her ethereal ticket in hand and starlight in her eyes.

“What’s this? A golden ticket?” says the man with a sharp eyebrow raised. “We have ourselves a VIP tonight it seems. You’re in for a truly mesmerizing experience, miss. Follow me. I will show you to your seat.”

He does not take the ticket from her after all but, instead, leads her across the ring itself toward a pair of empty seats in a box on the floor.

“VIP?” she says as she struggles to keep up with his commanding steps. His thick black boots thunk across the floor and resound under the big top. “But I didn't pay you anything for it!”

“But you did,” he insists. “The most tantalizing dream gets the VIP treatment. After all, we have to work harder to replace what we have taken.”

Mariam tries to remember the dream she’d thought about before she entered, but where her brain searches for the memory, it finds only the lingering taste of his lips, which she savors like berries ripened by the moon until they’re ready to burst. It’s a bit of a silly thought, yet dark, sweet juice coats her mouth and whets her appetite for something even darker.

They stop outside the box seats, and the dimpled man holds open the door with a question on his face. “You want VIP, don’t you?”

“I do,” she finds herself answering.

This broadens the man’s shoulders, and now he smiles so widely that those thin eyes shut under the powerful force of his bright cheeks. “Your private seats then, my fair lady.”

Mariam sits on one of the velvet-padded seats as he closes the door and offers her a sweeping bow like the showman he is. The ticket-monger-turned-usher disappears now behind the backstage curtain, and she has little doubt she will see him in the show, most likely as a clown judging from his over-the-top antics.

As she tries to relax into her seat, Mariam spares some time to look beyond the open stage and see what other lost souls have stumbled into this weird circus. She wonders if she’ll see any of her friends or coworkers in the stands.

She does not. What she finds is far more unnerving.

There are only a dozen or so other spectators in the stands. None of them sit anywhere near each other. They are spread throughout the whole tent, high and low, mostly in shadow because the spotlights are fixed downward in the ring. At first, she thinks they are strays like her, but as they wait for the show to start, Mariam begins to doubt they are even human. If she looks at any one of them head on, they look like normal people, mostly men but a few women, too, but from her periphery, she swears she sees the jaws of a wolf or the skin of a lizard or even a pair of antlers when she turns her head. Most have eyes of glinting gold exactly like those she’s seen along the road when her high beams catch just so.

And there are fangs. Fangs everywhere, some long and thin, some fat or even serrated.

One of them, a thin, hunched man with mottled scales in patches all over his body, is eating from a black and white striped carton which might usually house popcorn, but it definitely isn’t, and he isn’t eating whatever it is with his hand but with quick snaps of a lightning-fast tongue.

Mariam is growing uncomfortable again. She had thought this place might get her back home, but it has taken her somewhere far more foreign, and she’s feeling more alone than ever. She has felt different a lot in her life but never like an actual alien.

She should probably be more scared than anything, but none of these people—creatures—are looking at her. They are all looking toward the ring. Nobody speaks although she swears she hears a snort from one side of the arena that someone echoes on the other side with a series of strange clicks.

She wishes the berry-lipped man would come back and take the seat beside her. She can’t be sure he’s human now either, but she trusts his smile and his dimples, even if she shouldn’t.

Just when Mariam is ready to dart to the exit, music swells anew. It is far more powerful than the spirited diddy that lured her here. Under the big top, the organ booms and the drums thunder, and everything feels like it’s spinning like a carousel.

“Strangers! Friends! Denizens of the dark and light dwellers alike!” comes a voice of unquestionable power from somewhere backstage. As far as Mariam can tell, there is no sound system. It's just the voice of a true entertainer filling the canvas wall-to-wall. “The time has come to revel in the greatest spectacle the night has ever seen. Pretense, common sense, even the very laws of nature itself, have no place under this canopy. What you will experience tonight will challenge your very perception of reality. Nothing you have seen before tonight can prepare you for what you are about to see. At times, you may think you have wandered into a dream, but I assure you, what you are about to witness is so much more. Welcome—”

The backstage curtains sail wide with a snap and a flutter, and a man bursts through, his arms wide and his dimples shining in the spotlights.

“—to Le Cirque du Fantasme!”

The audience applauds, rather lackluster Mariam thinks for the passion of such a lofty introduction, so she tries to clap just a little louder than everyone else. After all, she is getting the VIP treatment, so she should return the favor.

The man rises from a bow that completely folds him in half, and she shakes her head in awe. She had expected—hoped—to see him again, but she is not prepared for the striking figure the former usher cuts in his crimson crushed velvet coat. The tails swish at the back of his knees as he laps the ring. Diamond buttons splinter in the light as does the sweat already beading at his brow.

“I am Jooheon, your ringmaster, but I am also your guide. For every wonder you experience tonight, I will be by your side to remind you that what you are witnessing is indeed real. Together, we will discover there is magic left in the world if you know just where to look.”

He stops in front of the VIP box and tips his head with a smile just for Mariam, and then he is gone.

Back in the center of the ring, Jooheon enumerates the many wonders on their horizon, impossible, tantalizing things that cannot be real, yet the more he promises, the more she believes him. Thanks to this man’s unprecedented versatility, she is also starting to believe this is a one-man circus. Maybe he will perform all of the spectacular acts he’s teasing.

But Jooheon confounds her again. With a dramatic swoop of his hand, he draws the audience’s eyes to the massive curtains at the rear of the tent, and slowly, the heavy fabric parts by unseen hands.

Mariam’s seat trembles. At first, she thinks she’s imagining it, caught up in the ringmaster’s passion, but then it trembles again and again, and she realizes they’re tremors.

No. Footfalls.

The arena is dead silent.

Thwomp. Thwomp. Thwomp.

The face appears first in shadow—a great black snout snuffling so strongly that the curtains puff. Even through the veil of backstage, the eyes are clear and bright, an otherworldly metallic green that flash the same sort of gold that some of the audience members possess.

Another footfall, and the muzzle appears, ornamented with thick black lips fringed by snow white and overhung by two bone-shattering fangs as long as her hand.

Since Mariam sits off to the side, the eyes do not seem to perceive her, yet she tucks her legs up against herself and ducks her head to peer from behind her knees as the rest of the creature emerges to fill the ring.

It’s a wolf—if one can call it that. It’s nearly twice the height of a horse and just as broad. Its fur is white all over save for the silver tips to each hair that make it sparkle in the spotlight. Its chunky claws click on the ring floor as it shuffles into position.

Mariam relaxes now. Maybe it’s because Jooheon is standing there unbothered by its haunches or maybe it’s because its face is rather doglike despite its other ferocious features or maybe it’s the fact that its tail is wagging, but most likely, it’s because a man sits astride its great shoulders, scratching its fluffy ears.

“Friends, behold!” trumpets Jooheon. “Our Amorak and our beastmaster, Shownu! Together, they will take us on a journey through the world of creatures long considered too elusive or vicious to be tamed. Many have been laughed at for believing the campfire tales or legends of our ancestors, but for Shownu, these legends are not legends at all but friends and allies, and now, they will be yours, too.”

The Amorak sits down, and Shownu releases its mane to slide down its back like a child on a playground. The beastmaster lands easily and pats the great wolf’s backside. With a snap of the man’s fingers, the Amorak stands and side-steps as delicately as a pony so that even a man as imposing and broad-chested as the beastmaster stands beneath the animal, the man’s head at its elbow.

From the shadows beneath, Shownu whistles, and the wolf spins so its back legs face the audience. Another whistle, this one like a see-saw, and the creature wags its tail in huge, careful strokes that send its long fur sweeping the faces of the audience members brave enough to sit in the first couple rows. Laughter rings out. Mariam finds she is laughing, too, and perhaps even a little envious.

As if he knows this, Jooheon saunters over to the VIP box and says, “Fair lady, would you please stand?”

“What?” she whispers hoarsely.

“Now is better,” he teases with his dimples.

The Amorak shifts, and now there is no doubt it perceives her. The beastmaster steps out from the belly of the beast and walks toward her. Mariam shoots up from her seat, less out of fear of the creature than out of respect for its master.

Shownu stands opposite Jooheon at the box and centers his attention on the VIP. There is a gentleness in his face that she could never have anticipated considering his ominous moniker, but Shownu smiles at her very differently than Jooheon ever has. His lips do not part but, instead, sit neatly atop each other in a way that raises his cheeks like two little fresh-baked rolls.

“Hold out your hand, palm up,” the beastmaster instructs in a gruff but inviting voice.

Mariam does so hesitantly, and when her arm is fully extended, the Amorak raises its paw, too, and places it light as a feather in hers. It’s so huge that only a portion of a single blazing paw pad fills her palm. Its long feathery fur tickles her skin, and she finds herself giggling. The two men exchange smiles, and the Amorak lowers its head. It snorts once, and her long hair sails behind her. She laughs harder now, and the beast and the beastmaster withdraw to the heart of the ring again, her body vibrating both from the experience and the tremors of footfalls.

Mariam sits back down, cradling her hand to her chest with a slack-jawed smile on her face.

The duo performs a few other stunts—the Amorak stands on his back legs and wobbles in the circle, as does Shownu, which has the audience cackling, and then it howls, nearly blowing the roof off the circus tent, which sends the audience cowering—before the wolf takes a seat and Shownu takes a post at the curtain.

Another man, this one even broader and more muscular than Shownu, comes out just long enough to shepherd in two sweet-faced animals before he disappears into the back. At first, Mariam thinks they are fawns, but then she sees the tawny wings folded at their backs.

Jooheon introduces these as perytons, not that that means anything to her, but the antlered person she’d caught sight of earlier in the stands cheers and stamps so enthusiastically that the ringmaster practically glows with the praise.

Shownu gets the energetic little critters to perform a choregraphed dance, which would be cute enough, but then they take to the sky, and whimsy becomes awe. The perytons glide and weave just like birds though they snort and snuffle like deer. Mariam is so lost in the spectacle that she barely catches Jooheon’s note that their sweet faces conceal true power, and no sooner does he say this then one of the little deer-birds divebombs the spectator with the popcorn container and, with taloned back legs instead of its hooved front ones, grabs a hunk of what looks like entrails and lobs it back like a baseball to its friend. The other peryton snaps it out of mid-air to devour it, and the sight of a sweet little fawn face gobbling intestines is not something Mariam imagines she will ever forget. The Amorak growls, and the two mischievous babies promptly land, bleating like kids laughing at their father.

After that, Shownu spreads his arms out wide and lifts his powerful chest, and the perytons follow suit, their hawk-like wings fanned out, every feather articulated. There’s no denying the stir in Mariam’s belly as she studies the beastmaster commanding his beasts, for they follow his every command unquestioningly.

The perytons perform a few more aerial tricks of agility with a ball and a ribbon, and when they are done, the buff shepherd from earlier fetches them to the back and then returns, this time dropping a trail of meat into the ring.

From the back inches a gigantic pink blob. The front end is nothing but a gaping maw lined with hundreds of wicked teeth, and… that’s it—it’s nothing but pinkness and horrifying teeth. Again, Mariam finds herself tucking her feet up onto her chair as though she’s afraid it will break into the box and mow her clean off at the knees.

Jooheon explains this is a Mongolian Death Worm, eyeless and earless but hardly helpless. The crowd is instructed to keep quiet since it hunts by vibration, but Mariam quickly sees that is only partly true when the worm reaches Shownu, and the beastmaster stoops down to pat the top of its head while two big nostrils open for a long sniff.

The creature is longer than her father's car and the color of exposed muscle. Its segments undulate when it moves as well as when it eats, which is an awful lot like Taz from the Looney Tunes, she thinks. It should be grotesque, but Mariam can't help but find it adorable as the monster looks up at its master and seems to smile even without eyes and lips.

Through a series of stamps and claps of his hands against the floor, Shownu communicates with the beast. It rolls up and lunges on command, jawless mouth snapping. It roars with the power and ferocity of a sandstorm, and her blood curdles. Then, as if to rub its stubby pink nose in the face of its moniker, the worm curls into a ball that Shownu scoops up in his sturdy hands and lobs straight into the air for his Amorak to catch in its mouth. Finally, the big wolf drops it to the ground, and the giant wad of chewed bubble gum unspools and jiggles itself dry to the squeal of the few audience members who sat too close to the action and got sprayed with giant dog saliva.

As the laughter dies down, however, the ringmaster reminds everyone not so subtly that this is a death worm. To prove that point, Shownu brings out a giant rod with a metal ball on the end and taps the top of the worm's head. It growls—a sound that trembles in the bones more than in the ears, a bit like a building earthquake or an oncoming train—and rears up, and when it does, it puffs out almost twice its width. Fantastic crackles of lightning discharge from its head and arc into the ball at the end of the rod. They snap and pop and sizzle in yellow so brilliant, Mariam has to close her eyes most of the way so she doesn’t go blind.

When at last the worm deflates, panting in the ring, the beastmaster touches the tip of the rod to the metal pole supporting the tent, and a sonic boom shivers the canvas on its rails. The residual electricity stands up every hair on Mariam's arms and, unfortunately, most of her head, too, which she is quick to smooth down. Shownu pats the worm on the head again, and the chubby blob slinks off behind the buff shepherd, rather satisfied for a death worm, she thinks.

After a hearty round of applause, the beastmaster and the Amorak both bow to the audience, and Shownu takes the opportunity to leap between the giant wolf’s shoulder blades. When it rises again, the man sits astride with a nod for the crowd and one specifically for Mariam, and he looks as much like a cowboy on a horse as he does a man on a mythological creature.

Jooheon takes center stage again, and she is struck by just how much the man seems to belong in the spotlight. With a toothy grin, he says, “Shownu, everyone! Please let him hear how much you loved his menagerie of talented friends.”

Applause and cheers ring out, and Mariam joins in extra loudly since she’s still feeling electrified by the death worm.

“For our next act, I invite you to feast your eyes on a man with the strength of a beast, the body of a god, and the face of an angel. But it isn’t just strength he brings to the table, no, no, no, but agility. Straight from the realm of the Fair Folk, prepare to delight in the beautiful brute force and precision artistry of our resident fae, Wonho!”

The ringmaster steps to the edge of the ring as the former shepherd returns to center stage, padding out in bare feet unaccompanied. He is massive, with enormous shoulders corded with muscle protruding from his tank top. Mariam wonders how it doesn’t burst at the seams considering how the rest of his chest bulges against the fabric, but maybe that’s just another part of the circus magic or it’s simply painted on. It's not much different with his pants. The way the fabric stretches around his tree trunk thighs is perhaps even more magical, and she knows she should probably look away, but how can she when it seems as though the man was made specifically to ogle.

His white hair has the faintest hint of lilac, and like the Amorak fur, there’s a metallic glint to it, but it’s nothing to the glint in his emerald eyes. Even from ringside, they are piercing, so green that they seem lit by some internal flame, and when they fall to her, Mariam exhales so sharply that she realizes she’s been holding her breath since he strolled in.

He is carrying something in his enormous hands. It looks like a giant crystal cube, and it warps and shatters the light like a disco ball.

Wonho smiles. It’s as dazzling as Jooheon’s, all teeth but no dimples, and it accentuates just how delicate he is despite his big body. His ears stick out like little butterfly wings, but just before she can be spirited away by such cuteness, he shucks the tank top over his head, and it’s not just the intimidating display of muscle that catches her off-guard—it’s the actual set of wings at his back.

They unfurl, thin and translucent as stained glass, framed in by silver rims as fragile as the mint green panes inside. She thinks there's no way that something so ethereal could possibly be functional, but, as if to prove her wrong, Wonho alights before her eyes toward a crow's nest just above the ring. The wings make a rustling sound, like a stack of papers blown apart at an open window. They beat nearly as fast as a bumblebee’s, and when he pivots in the air, the breeze they make ruffles Mariam’s hair.

He lands on the platform there and puts down the block in his hand. He wipes his hands on his pants and then rubs them together before waving at each group of the audience. To Mariam, he adds a bow.

When he's ready, he takes several deep breaths, that gargantuan chest ballooning with every one. He picks up the block and splays his hands on either side of it, and then she hears the cracking. It sounds like ice when she pours soda over it at the diner, pops and crackles and pings.

His biceps strain and his forearms flex, and the cracking gets louder and louder and louder. Huge fissures zigzag across the cube until there's an explosion. The cube is powder now, piles in his hands and at his feet. Before anyone even has a chance to applaud, the strongman pivots and flaps his wings, and now, it's snowing under the tent. Like an oscillating fan, he swivels from side to side, and Mariam feels the kiss of snowflakes on her cheeks and lashes. It melts instantly, but its dewy memory sends a smile of pure marvel to her face.

Instead of flying down from his perch, Wonho leaps and lands on his feet with a thud so fast that the snow is still falling like glitter on his fair skin. He doesn't bother to brush it off but lets it melt to a sparkly finish that turns him into living art.

He spends a few minutes lifting impossibly heavy objects and then taking to the air with them as though they are beach balls and not anvils and boulders and other ridiculous things. With his hands, he twists pipes into shapes like balloon animals and ties a knot—out of rebar—with his feet.

Another man emerges from the back then, this one long and thin like taffy freshly pulled, but when he steps into the ruthless lighting, she sees his fair skin is covered in delicate iridescent scales. He brings a stool, a mirror, a bow and arrow, and a bullseye. The tall man configures everything carefully while Wonho makes faces at his coworker in the mirror, and Mariam realizes the strongman is just as much a clown as anything.

When everything is ready, the tall man steps back. Wonho does a handstand on the stool, his back to the bullseye and his eyes on the mirror opposite it.

There’s something about the way his muscles lengthen as he contorts that has Mariam licking her lips. The twitches in his forearms as he adjusts, the flare of his ribs under that dewy skin, that illicit bulge urging against the constraints of his lycra pants—Wonho is truly an astonishing sight, and there’s a pang in her heart when she realizes how much of the world will never know his beauty and grace.

When he’s balanced just so, muscles trembling and abdominals squeezing with breath and stability, the other man situates the bow with the arrow already nocked between Wonho’s nimble feet.

The strongman shuffles his hands on the stool seat and achingly slowly bends his legs, arching his chest as a counterbalance. When the bow and arrow are lined up with the bullseye, Wonho grips the bowstring and pulls it taut.

Mariam holds her breath.

Wonho holds his.

The arrow flies.

Straight into the red bullseye.

The small crowd breaks out into uproarious applause, and she finds herself standing as she claps. Wonho bows to them all as the tall man clears out the equipment, and just as the strongman finishes his rounds, the Amorak comes bounding back in.

The audience recoils at the sudden thunderous intrusion, especially since the great beast is growling, but Wonho is unbothered, and only then does Mariam realize there’s a humongous rope lodged in its great teeth. The strongman pats the wolf’s head before he snatches the free end of the rope and shakes the Amorak back and forth. The growling turns to snarls.

Wonho takes to the air, yanking and pulling, those fragile wings beating more ferociously than the snarls sound. The Amorak digs in its claws and tries to pull back, but with a cheeky wave to the crowd, the white-haired fae drags the wolf back through the curtain as though the creature ten times his size is nothing but a tiny terrier.

The room is speechless, which Jooheon is only too happy to discover.

The ringmaster slides right back into the spotlight and trumpets, “Don’t forget to let Wonho hear it if you were impressed.”

Of course, the small crowd erupts, Mariam chief among them. She can’t escape the image of those pretty wings contrasting rock-hard muscle, the kiss of ice crystals melting on ivory skin.

It’s impossible. It’s unbelievable. She is shaken to her very core.

“We’re not done yet, folks,” Jooheon promises as he cuts through her existential crisis. “Our next performer is just as sure to wow you as much with his incredible dexterity as his unparalleled visuals. I personally guarantee you have never before seen anything like his act let alone the performer himself. He has come up from the darkest depths of the sea to dazzle and delight you with wonderous abilities only a one-of-a-kind hybrid like himself can conjure.

“During portions of the show, you may feel tempted to enter the ring. For your safety as well as the safety of our performer, I ask that you please use the seatbelts provided at your seat before we begin.”

Mariam looks down and finds that there is indeed a belt dangling from her chair, which seems utterly ridiculous at first, but as she recalls the incredible things she’s just witnessed, she secures it around her waist. Only a moment later, as the click of buckles ding around the tent, Jooheon walks by with a gentle smile, though his eyes are on her secured seatbelt.

He does the same throughout the rest of the crowd while two new men, one with red hair and one with blue, emerge with Wonho from the back and lift a large wooden cover from the center of the ring to reveal a shallow pool of water. They roll the cover off to the side into a metal corral and then linger at the lip of the ring along with Shownu and the man with the scales, who takes up his station closest to Mariam’s booth. Each man turns his back to the stage to watch the crowd instead, and when the man with the scales catches her gaze, the iridescence shimmers to the sweetest pink before it goes white as a sheet.

She has only a moment to reflect on the tall man’s otherworldly elegance before Jooheon clears his throat.

“Introducing: the one, the only, the luminescent Kihyun!”

The lights dim and the gentle circus music that always swells between acts dies entirely. Each of the last two performances had music, but now, it is so quiet, all she can hear is the lapping of the pool.

It is almost pitch black, though there is just enough light to see a figure emerge from behind the curtain.

He is compact and wiry. His bare feet pad across the ring and dip into the pool with the gentlest of splashes. He wades into the center, the water rising no higher than mid-shin, and then he opens his eyes.

Mariam had assumed it was just too dark to see his eyes, but now that they are open, she understands. He’s special.

They shimmer with the same eerie softness of a glow-in-the-dark toy. They don’t have the sharpness of oncoming headlights which force the eyes away, but instead, they draw her in. They beckon. She imagines seeing them looking down at her in the dark of a bedchamber, but she shakes the thoughts away.

He stoops and rifles beneath the water and soon comes up with a handful of rings. One by one, he squeezes them, and suddenly, they glow, too. He drops four chartreuse rings back below the water to glow at his feet but holds on to five others, though each of those are different colors.

Slowly, Mariam realizes it’s not just Kihyun’s eyes or the rings that glow. Pinpricks of light stud his body like a runway, and she can see now that, though he has arms and legs like a man, he is different—he is more. His skin is also unique. Though she can’t be sure of the exact colors, his front is definitely lighter than his back.

He wears a skintight outfit, something streamlined like a full-body swimsuit though its hard to be sure in the wan light, but now, she can clearly see the outline of sharp, articulated fins both on his forearms and his back.

Kihyun divides the rings in his hands and begins to toss them in the air until a rainbow of light streaks through the darkness. He builds speed until it seems that he’s not just juggling rings but bending light all together.

Once he’s captivated the crowd, he begins to sing. It’s not like anything Mariam has ever heard. Her heart slows. Her mind muddles. She forgets things beyond the show of light and the swirl of the melody around her. Kihyun bend a series of “oohs” and “ahs” of varying textures and power and lengths just as he bends the light—masterfully.

He spins. He pivots. He catches behind his back. Through it all, he sings.

Mariam realizes vaguely that her hips hurt where something presses unfairly against her. It’s keeping her from the ring. It’s keeping her from Kihyun. If she could tear her eyes from him, she could figure it out, but she can’t risk a second away from his incandescent frame.

The music stops, and Mariam stops, too, waiting for the next dulcet note. Abruptly, the juggler gathers all but one the rainbow rings in one hand and crouches down to the water.

He rubs the pink ring along the surface in a figure eight, and when he lifts it, it is dripping loudly in the stone silent room. He brings it up to his face, and Mariam can finally see his features clearly—his angular jaw, his strong cheekbones, his sharp eyebrows. Even the bow on his elegant lips is pointed.

He puckers those dangerous lips and blows into the center of the ring. Just like a kid’s wand, a bubble appears, but Kihyun does not easily run out of breath and the bubble stays flexible. By the time he is done, the bubble is almost as tall as he is. With a swift motion, he flicks the ring inside the bubble, and it seals behind it. The surface warbles with the pink light within, and with another gust from his lips, it sails to the ceiling above Jooheon and hangs obediently like a balloon tied off. He repeats the process with the remaining four rings until there is a watery chandelier illuminating the whole room. Mariam catches a glimpse of shimmering aqua on her own skin, hears the burble of the impossibly churning water sphere overhead, but she can't bring herself to look up—only ahead.

Kihyun stoops and scoops a cupful of water, which he then pours into his mouth. At first, she assumes it’s just a necessary part of being whatever it is he is, but then he spits a thin jet of the water into the air, only when he does, it’s colored with the same eerie blue-white light that dots his body. The stream wanes, but he replenishes it with another long draft from the cup, this time arcing the glowing water like a hula hoop as he spins. On the last drink, he blows a trio of bubbles, these ones as small as his fist but infused with the otherworldly luster. He does not pop them but casts them gingerly just above his head where they hang like a halo.

Finally, he fishes back through the water again, and this time, he brings up five already-glowing balls. These, like the rings, are clearly a prop, though half of Mariam wonders if they’re actually shimmering deep sea pearls.

Kihyun starts juggling these the same way he did the rings, establishing a familiar rhythm before picking up speed until he adds a new layer. He closes those firefly eyes and trusts in whatever senses he has left to keep the balls aloft.

Above him, the little bubble crown illuminates his wet black hair, which undulates back from his face as though caught in an unseen current. It is as mesmerizing as the blender-like rhythm the balls seem to be caught in between his dexterous hands.

Sing.

Please sing.

Please.

Mariam thinks she’s said that in her head, but the whispers hit her ear, and she realizes she hasn’t.

The man with the scales encroaches at the edge of her vision, and it’s a crude reminder that there are others in the room beside the luminescent Kihyun.

As though he’s heard her, the juggler opens that exceptional mouth, and more notes pour out, and though there’s no eerie blue light to accompany them, they’re brilliant all the same. Kihyun has a way of singing that sounds as though they’re all underwater.

None of the balls waver even for a second. His unswerving confidence that he will never let them drop is almost as mesmerizing as his unearthly voice.

Again, Mariam feels that pressure across her hips, and it’s becoming more insistent by the second.

She should be in the ring by now. She needs to be. She might go insane if she’s not.

A whistle pierces the air, and Kihyun stops singing. The balls fall together in a discordant splash, and quick as the death worm’s lightning, the juggler raises his arm, forearms out and fins in a full mast. From the tips of those articulations, he shoots something too small to see in the dim light though Mariam hears the little pew-pew-pew-pew-pew as he spins in the pool.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Each massive glowing bubble explodes overhead while the rings inside fall into the hands of his fellow performers and the water rains in a much-needed cold shower over the audience. Mariam lets out a squeal as she is drenched and gulping for air against the wet chill. Goosebumps dimple her from head to toe, and she folds her arms over her chest to generate fresh heat.

The crowd is too stunned to applaud, but Kihyun doesn’t wait for it either. He exits the pool, bows to the stands, and then pads off to the back while the other performers begin the cleanup. Meanwhile, Wonho takes to the sky to buzz over the handful of audience members one by one, spinning around so his wings beat like a fan over them. He reaches Mariam last, and when he blasts her with air, she yelps and shivers, but in short order, she is dry and happy again in her flannel. He tips his impish head to her and buzzes back to help the others with the last of the preparation, and soon the ring is back as it was.

Now dry and sober, the audience remembers itself, and together, they erupt into riotous applause. Mariam tries to stand for an ovation, but then she remembers the seatbelt, and as soon as she unbuckles it, it’s like a weight is off her lap, and suddenly, it doesn’t seem so silly.

“Let him know, let him know!” cheers Jooheon as he takes center stage again. “You’ll never see another one like Kihyun, folks.”

Of that, Mariam is certain. She claps fiercer than ever even as her cheeks color at the memory of his voice.

“I’m sorry to tell you we have but two acts to go,” Jooheon laments, and Mariam laments with him. She feels the dread even before he says it. But he brightens immediately and surges forth in a sweeping circle around the room. “But the good news is they will both delight, confound, and astound you.

“First up, from far across the seas, on an untamed mountain, comes a beautiful and elusive man who both defies your notice but also demands it. Don’t let the sweet face fool you, he is wild and unpredictable and harbors a true hunger for adventure. Prepare to thrill as he risks life and limb to take you to the edge like never before! I present to you… Hyungwon!”

The spotlight centers in the ring, but no one is there and no one emerges from the back either.

“Hyungwon!” Jooheon repeats just as dramatically, but no one appears. Eyes start darting around the room, so, too, do whispers break out. The man in the crimson coat looks back to the entrance. “Hyungwon?”

The ringmaster looks a little nervous, those robust lips pulled tight as he paces the ring edge. He clears his throat.

“My apologies, esteemed guests. Hyungwon is supposed to be nocturnal, but sometimes he drifts off. Just a minute, and we'll get on with the show.”

Mariam sees Wonho darting back behind the curtains while, in the deep shadows at the edge of the ring, she spies the mysterious Kihyun with his arms stacked over his chest as he shakes his head. It's just starting to get uncomfortable, and they're all at the edge of their seats.

“Where is he?” Mariam whispers.

“Boo,” comes a totally different whisper along with a puff of hot breath beside her ear.

Mariam yells and instantly clamps her hand over her mouth as she jukes to the side in time to catch the luminous round face of the man with the scales.

All eyes as well as a spotlight turn to the VIP box to find Hyungwon with this face beside hers, flaunting a toothy grin and cheeks like doorbells begging to be pressed. His laugh is airy and infectious, childlike even, and though he has startled a year of her life from her, Mariam is laughing, too, even as her hand clutches her heart in hopes of slowing it.

How long had he been there without her knowing?

As her pulse slows, she closes her eyes, and when she opens them, he is nowhere to be seen.

Mariam swivels around like a dope, but the new performer has vanished. A few other crowd members laugh, but the patchy lizard man with the long tongue is outright cackling and applauding louder than anyone as though he understands the joke better than the rest of them can.

Jooheon, Wonho, and Kihyun are all laughing, too, so Mariam has to assume this is all part of the man's grand entrance.

And grand it is! Now when the spotlight centers in the ring, Hyungwon strolls into it. He is sporting a pair of leather pants but nothing else, not even shoes, and she can see it's not just his hands and neck and face covered in those scales but his whole body. Like the rest of his features, they are delicate and captivating, almost like glitter sewn directly onto his skin. He throws his arms wide, and she is dazzled by more than just his unique features. He is lean and sinewy with a tiny waist and shoulders as broad as a door.

Colors and shapes dance across his scales in seemingly impossible patterns; even his hair shifts like fiber optics. She recognizes many of the patterns: the tent stripes or the ring floor or the Amorak’s fur; for a moment, he even glows like Kihyun’s strange luminescence. His visual display morphs into a splash of crimson in the exact shape and design of the ringmaster’s coat, which makes Jooheon beam and clap enthusiastically. Hyungwon concludes with the most shocking display of all—he nearly disappears from plain sight by copying the patterns of the backgrounds on all sides.

But then something occurs to Mariam. Hyungwon is almost totally invisible thanks to his camouflage, but the leather cannot follow suit so it looks like a pair of pants floating in the middle of the ring. When he’d been right beside her though, there’d been nothing—not even pants. Shock and more than a little embarrassment grip her body, and she swears the performer knows because he turns to her right then with a very troublesome smile.

Mariam has been so busy being awestruck by their performances that it hasn’t occurred to her to consider how much of them is human when so many parts of them clearly are not. But now the rabbit is out of the hat and she's chasing helplessly after it, wondering what kind of lovers such spectacular beings would be. That's not a thing she should be thinking about looking at a chameleon man, especially because she is a conservative person—she has been her whole life. But sometimes she has thoughts… fantasies. Sometimes she has unusual dreams. There was one in particular she’s often thought of since, in her moments of weakness, but what was it again?

She's so far gone in the illicit thoughts that she nearly falls out of her seat when a motorcycle above her roars. She looks up, and there is Hyungwon at the peak of tent on a platform much higher than the one Wonho had risked. She doesn’t remember the motorcycle there, but it must have been. It sits anchored at the edge of the platform. It has no tires, just rims resting on top of a wire, and though there is a ring securing the machine to the wire, it won’t keep it upright. Beneath it is a perch as a counterbalance, and, of all things, one of the perytons sits on it. Its clawed back feet cling like a bird on a wire.

Hyungwon sits astride the motorcycle, now clad in a black leather vest and a pair of boots. As a whimsical note, some of the scales across his face have blackened into a sunglasses shape. He isn’t tethered to anything, and Mariam can see between his slight twitches and the peryton’s, they are working together to keep themselves upright on the wire.

The engine revs again, and Jooheon raises his hands to incite the crowd. Everyone whoops and cheers, including Mariam, and then Hyungwon zooms ahead.

The bike zips up the slight incline to the other end, where he lets off the gas, and the unlikely pair drifts backwards smooth as a sled riding down a snowy hill. Once they’re back at the bottom, Hyungwon surges ahead again, but he slows when they reach the middle of the line. He cuts the engine, and instead, the room fills with the ping-ping of the wire bobbing under the weight.

Below, the peryton wobbles and tips backwards, clinging to the rail with its claws as it hangs upside down and spreads its wings. Once it’s at full breadth, Hyungwon stands on the footpegs and slowly—tremulously, steps both feet onto the seat before propping one on the handlebars. He, too, spreads his muscled arms, and as the motorcycle glides backward down the slope, little bursts of yellow, like tiny supernovas, fire across his skin. Feathers whisper in the breeze before the crowd roars with the showcase.

Mariam’s heart is in her throat, so big she practically chokes on it. Her skin pebbles with fresh goosebumps because the pair isn’t slowing. In fact, the motorcycle is picking up speed as it glides.

Before they can crash back into the platform, Hyungwon slides back onto the seat and revs the engine again. The peryton swings back upright, and the rider tosses down some dark and messy treat to his passenger.

Mariam assumes it’s over, but then the bike sails even faster up to the peak, and this time when they brake at the top, the peryton rocks side-to-side, and just like that, the motorcycle loops like a propeller around and around the wire.

She screams. So does someone else. Both rider and passenger are completely unbothered.

They whirl backwards down the wire, and it almost makes Mariam sick to watch the spinning. Even worse, as has been happening all night, she thinks again on things she shouldn’t. She thinks on how strong his thighs have to be to hold onto that bike, and she finds herself clenching hers just as hard.

Just as they get to the platform, the peryton startles and takes flight, which immediately flips the motorcycle. Hyungwon plunges from his seat several stories above the floor. Screams ring out all around the canopy.

But not Mariam. She can’t scream. This time, she’s too paralyzed with terror.

This is it. This is going to be the show where something goes horribly, terribly wrong, and as much as she had already been changed by tonight’s performances, this will ruin her.

She feels sick.

Hyungwon’s halfway to his surefire death when the winged creature swoops down casual as can be and grabs his outstretched wrist with its back claw. He drifts like Alice falling down the rabbit hole to Wonderland onto yet another motorcycle that Mariam never even saw waiting for him in the ring.

Relief washes through her, and she realizes that over the course of however long she’s been sitting here, she has formed some kind of unnatural bond with the performers. She thinks of them not just as acrobats or athletes but as friends—or, maybe, more disturbingly, something more. Just the notion of them getting hurt tightens every muscle in her body like a winch.

But no one else seems nearly as bothered by the daring risks they’ve just witnessed. As the crowd leaps to its feet, Hyungwon waves and circles the ring on the bike a few times. With a rev of his engine and one final wheelie, he speeds to the back with the peryton in tow.

Jooheon makes his way to ring center as usual, and he’s cheering just as much as the audience. That infectious smile of his stirs the crowd as much as it stirs Mariam’s heart with gratitude.

“How about that, dear guests? I think I can boast with total confidence that that was yet another act such as you have never seen! Another round of applause for Hyungwon and Dyani. Let them hear you.”

The audience doesn’t disappoint. With each act, they’ve gotten more and more comfortable and more and more awestruck. It’s beginning to feel like an impossible ask to ever leave this big top. Yet, Jooheon’s next words send a chill through Mariam’s bones.

“As always, we close our show with the most dynamic performance of all. As you have learned by now, nothing about Le Cirque du Fantasme is traditional, so it must hold true that neither are our clowns. Not only will they take to the skies tonight, but they will take you to new heights with them. Be dazzled as fire and ice harmonize in ways you never thought possible, and, above all, expect the unexpected. Presenting The Flying Fools, Minhyuk and Changkyun!”

The ringmaster steps to the side as the final two performers enter the room.

They move in perfect unison, but that’s where the similarities end. The taller one, with hair like candle flames, presents in vivid detail. His face is shaped like a flame, too, with all the same flickering dimension and undulating contours. His skin is bright and brilliant like his smile only with a sheen to it, and when he spins in the lights, Mariam realizes it’s like a cast of gold dust upon him. She’s not sure if that’s stage makeup or if that’s just part of who he is, but considering his counterpart, it seems like the latter.

The shorter one has hair like snowflake filaments, each strand almost crystalline yet without being actually frozen. Even the cool way he strolls feels like a breeze across damp skin. Though his lines are sharp, borderline cutting, when he steps in the light, Mariam swears she can see through him. He’s sleek when he moves; every line and twitch has a purpose. It’s as though he is untethered and untouchable by everything. It’s almost as though his feet aren’t even touching the floor. She might think he’s a ghost if everyone else weren’t seeing the same thing.

With a pair of synchronized bows, the performers greet their audience silently just as the others did, saving all the talking for their ringmaster. Instead, they start their act with a series of incredible one-upsmanship. The redhead conjures fire in his palm, which the blue-haired man snuffs with a flick of his wrist. In retaliation, he then creates three snowballs of varying sizes into a very sweet but very humble snowman, and the redhead returns the favor by lobbing a fireball under his knee with the unforgiving precision of a meteor. The poor snowman explodes and melts into a puddle while the crowd chuckles.

They make faces at one another as they hurry to build their next assault. One constructs a basketball-sized snowball to the other’s fireball, and with a war cry like two brothers squaring up, they throw at each other. If either is off-target, Mariam will be buried in snow and the other side of the ring will be engulfed in flame, but their aim is true, and the two balls collide with a hiss like punching a hill of sand.

As they mock-squabble, a bar lowers from the ceiling, one side featuring a ring dangling from a chain and the other side featuring willowy baby blue ribbons fluttering as they descend. The two performers continue silently bickering as the redhead climbs into his ring and takes a seat and the blue-haired man winds his foot intricately through one ribbon while he scales the silks.

Once their eyelines are even, the bar raises, and now, the two men soar over center stage a few stories up. Closer to the spotlights, the redhead glitters like a disco ball while, at precisely the right moment, the light pierces the blue-haired man, like sun through a blanket of clouds, and shines down on the ringmaster’s grin.

As the pair reach their pinnacle, they play—not just off of the instruments but each other. It’s organized chaos. The man in the ring rocks like a monkey on a swing, his feet kicking and lifting. At first, it’s art, but then it’s clear his true intent is to toy with his friend. He drops. He swings. He pushes off of his friend’s back like a swimmer off the pool wall.

While the man in the ring flips and threads through his hoop, the man in the straps flies beside him. Thanks to the push, physics draws them back together until they’re rebounding off each other like a Newton’s cradle. Both of them are light and slender, but their sinew flexes with each choreographed move.

Watching them somehow makes Mariam feel strangely feminine, which isn’t something she usually thinks much about. Between work and TV and sleep, she doesn’t spend much time on herself. Carmel is a hamlet, too far removed from the City for the Big Apple to tempt her and too insular to attract outsiders except for the accidental stranger passing through. She doesn’t have to doll herself up because there’s no one in town left to impress, but as the dexterous duo wheels above to a chorus of ruffling silk and clanking chains, she feels soft, pliable even. She wishes she’d had time to change out of her shift clothes or apply some lip gloss. Watching them perform makes her yearn to impress them the way they’ve all impressed her.

Her eyelids droop.

They’re so beautiful. They sail as though the ribbons and chains are merely there for decoration, as though the sky would be their playground with or without them. They might be aiming to make everyone laugh, but Mariam sees beyond that. It’s their artistry she’s swept up in—the way they flick not just their wrists but echo the motion straight through to their fingertips, the way they use every part of their body to sell a complete experience, the way their no doubt countless hours of rehearsal ensures their whimsy looks as effortless as it does unstudied.

The blue-haired man chokes up on one silk as he releases the other and wraps his foot in the chiffon. He spins. He twirls. He sails by his wrist. The ribbon fans like a cape beneath him.

But when he swings too close to his fellow performer, the redhead shoves him playfully out into space to send the blue-haired man arcing over the audience to a chorus of “oohs” and “ahs”. Seeking his revenge, the aerialist slips down the fabric to angle himself like a bullet with an aim for his fellow performer.

At the last moment, the man in the ring latches on to his friend’s wrist, and together, ring and ribbon twine through the air. They circle together before they push apart and rotate like two bodies caught in each other’s orbit. It’s beautiful. It’s hypnotic.

Mariam can’t get them out of her head. Of all the things she’s seen tonight, they ensorcel her every sense. They’re two fools bickering like brothers, but without the bounds of gravity, their playfulness becomes aerial ballet. She wants to be part of the fun.

The redhead climbs on top of his hoop, legs splayed around the supporting chain, and reaches for the chiffon. While he goes high, the blue-haired man goes low, grasping the ring. He looks up at his brother-in-air and pokes his tongue wickedly at the corner of his mouth.

The next thing Mariam knows, the hoop is white with frost, and with a yank, the blue-haired aerialist shatters the ring beneath the redhead’s legs. Frozen metal tinkles to the floor. The redhead grips his chain tighter now, but there’s vengeance in those calculating eyes, and he spins so fast, he looks like a tornado of fire.

His hand lashes out.

He grabs the ribbon supporting his friend’s foot.

Flame marches up and down the chiffon, and the blue-haired man barely has time to unwind his foot and leap to the second silk before the other ribbon is engulfed. It untethers at the loop above and drifts to the floor like a snake made of fire to coil messily beside the shattered hoop.

Both men hang by one hand. The set piece begins to lower, but their rivalry does not slow. Their feet bicycle as they kick each other like toddler brothers, and the room reverberates with laughter. They collide only to push off each other’s thighs, and when they swing back, their arms are outstretched—not for each other but for their opponent’s supports.

The pair stills in the air.

The redhead grips the silk above his friend’s hand, who also has hold of the chain now.

They look each other in the eyes, each confident they have the upper hand.

Chain crackles like a sheet of ice. Fire ignites like a burner.

Their eyes widen. Their cocky grins falter.

They fall.

The pair thunders to the floor, each landing on his own feet thanks to their cleverly choreographed descent. And then they descend into a playground slap fight like the fools they’re promoted to be, which sends Jooheon skittering to center ring to break it up.

The tent is shaking with the crowd’s laughter and applause. Mariam is already on her feet and whooping at the top of her lungs like she’s never done before.

Jooheon raises the redhead’s arm by the wrist and champions, “Minhyuk!”

He does the same to the blue-haired man next as he yells, “Changkyun!”

The crowd somehow gets louder.

“One more time, my friends, for all our distinguished performers!”

Out of the back comes the rest of the circus, including the Amorak and the perytons but thankfully no death worm. Together, everyone fills the ring, the ringmaster front and center. They bow in unison, even the animals, and when they rise, Mariam thinks it’s simultaneously the most ridiculous and most wonderful family she’s ever seen.

The crowd doesn’t seem to take a breath in its cheers. The stands might not be anywhere near packed, but no one would be able to tell because the heartfelt screams—and a couple of animalistic roars, she notes—fill the canvas to the brim.

Jooheon couldn’t look prouder. His dimples have never been deeper. His eyes are little arches. His pearly teeth glimmer. He glows not from the spotlights but from the praise.

“Thank you all for coming! From all of us at Le Cirque du Fantasme, you’ve been a terrific audience, and should our paths chance to meet again someday, we hope you’ll return for another round of unparalleled fantasies. Get home safely, everyone!”

The cheering continues even as the performers head backstage, and once they’re all gone, the guests begin to filter out, each murmuring to the other strangers. It’s clearer now that the lights have come up that the denizens of the big top couldn’t be more different. As far as Mariam can tell, she’s the only obvious human.

She lingers in the VIP box. She’s probably supposed to leave—it’s clear from Jooheon’s well-wishes that they’re all supposed to—and while she’s not afraid of the strange folk after such a show, she just doesn’t want to go.

She’s changed.

She’s not the same Mariam she was when she walked through those striped flaps. How can she go back to her boring, conservative, empty life knowing all that truly surrounds her? It’s like discovering that the world she always thought was flat has a third dimension.

The big top is empty now except for spilled cartons and other litter. Humongous paw prints dapple the dusty ring floor. Motes of dust drift through the beams of light, past the gently swaying extra cache of rings, ropes, and ribbons above.

With a deep, shaking sigh, Mariam resigns herself to her fate. Just as her hand lands on the swinging door to the box seats, the backstage curtains fling open, and the redhead, Minhyuk, and his blue-haired partner, Changkyun, enter.

“Finally!” exclaims Minhyuk in an exuberant voice. “Showtime is always the hardest when you can't open your mouth.”

“I think you’re the only one who suffers on that point,” Changkyun retorts in a much gravellier tone.

The pair take to sweeping up their torched and shattered mess as though they don't even realize they still have an audience, the redhead gabbing away to make up for lost time.

Mariam doesn’t say anything. She’s sure she’s not supposed to be here, and she worries they’ll ban her from ever coming back—not that she’s sure exactly where she is or how she got here. She ducks down a little before she catches herself in her own stupidity. There’s nowhere to hide.

Should she apologize? Hurry out? She could just tell them that their rhythmic aerial battling has stirred things in her that she never thought she’d feel, but that’s probably stupider than trying to hide.

The last act is still emblazoned in her mind when the ringmaster abruptly appears from the back. While the other two men work around the tent, he heads directly toward Mariam as though he never expected her to leave in the first place.

“Well, my dear, what did you think of the show?”

His lips look even fuller and juicier somehow. She’s drunk just on the way they purse and pucker.

“Unbelievable,” she breathes. “I don’t even know what to say about it.”

“And how has VIP been so far?”

Mariam cocks her head to the side. “So far?”

“Did you think your experience ended with the show?”

“Well, yeah.”

Jooheon chuckles. “For the pretty maid in the front row, I offer a truly once-in-a-lifetime upgrade free of charge.”

“What kind of upgrade?”

“Only the most exclusive kind. We’re going to custom build you a dream, my dear.”

Mariam squints. “I thought the circus was the new dream?”

“Well, thank you, but you forget that we took your best dream ever.”

“Oh, yeah,” she says with a blush and a scuff of her boot on the floor. She's getting a strange feeling from his burrowing gaze that she's missing something more important than she’s realized. “But since I don't remember what it is, how do I know you haven't already exceeded it? Tonight was amazing.”

“Trust me, we haven't traded in fair yet. We can do better because… it’s important to me that you remember tonight—and me—forever.” Jooheon smiles at her then, but it’s different than those other flamboyant smiles. This one is gentle and sincere.

“There’s no way I could forget,” she admits shyly.

He looks dubious, but he nods and offers his hand as he opens the VIP box door, too. “Let me see to it then.”

The moment Mariam’s hand slips into his, the ringmaster’s demeanor changes. He’s been the consummate showman all night, but he’s narrowed that influence of his tremendous power to her and her alone. The big top hasn’t changed, but as he leads her to the center of the ring, it’s all much more intimate now.

Jooheon squares up to her and smiles, this time with the faintest hint of a lip bite. His thumbs rub reassuringly over the back of her hands as he takes one step closer.

“We're going to make you the star of our show.”

[mattress-ing]

Turning human (in a zombie apocalypse (pretty sure that's not supposed to happen))

500~ word SL!Zombiecleo drabble, contains spoilers for up to session 8, body horror, mentions of drowning

Another copy/paste notes app drabble, here be grammar mistakes

If there's one thing Cleo didn't expect, it was turning human in a zombie apocalypse.

She’d died a zombie. All the usual bits out of place in the way they always were -really, their decaying body wasn’t that hard to keep running once they figured out how to tell the difference between this decay spot needs air and this decay spot needs to be wrapped for a few weeks. Not feeling anything helped.

Unfortunately, having an extra exit for the water in their lungs didn’t help when there was no air around to replace it.

Bonus mental note: they still have to breathe.

They’d meant to test that one in a more controlled environment eventually but answers are answers they suppose.

When Cleo wakes up, breathing sharply for a few moments, she knows instantly that something’s off.

Her left lung usually makes a hissing sound when she breathes- stray arrows, everyone’s been there. And it doesn’t feel. Neither of them do. Or at least, they didn’t.

She goes to touch her lung. On a bad day, one where her body seems extra keen on decaying, she’s found a quick lung squeeze can help the air go in and out a little easier. She's become quite adept at blood and guts. Mostly her own.

Sighing, and closing their eyes to focus on ignoring the nauseating waves of pain, they put their fingers to their ribs, poking for any exit or entrance wounds. Somewhere to just get in and get after it. After a moment, they frown, and look down. It’s rare they’re completely healed and they’d been pretty sure there was an unhealed arrow wound somewhere in the chest area.

There’s skin.

Cleo opens their mouth but, before making a noise, decides that having skin is something people don’t scream about. She sits there for a moment, and brings a hand up to her face. Her mouth feels weird too now that she’s thinking about it. There's no more breeze from her left cheek filtering over her teeth when she moves.

“Huh.”

All of a sudden, her stomach rumbles and she pinpoints one source of the pain in her... everywhere. Hunger.

It’s jarring. And it seems to only get worse when she names it. Her stomach is cramping from its emptiness and it sends waves of pain through her lungs, stuttering her breathing. Breathing that she was already having trouble with.

It’s been so long since her body has been this kind of a problem. It’s surprisingly easy to intuitive what her body needs when she can see some of her organs. Now it’s all guess work and her faint memories of being alive.

They struggle, using clumsy fingers to pull a piece of bread out of their bag. When it hits their tongue, surprised and overwhelmed tears well in their eyes. It tastes. It’s subtle. But it's there, it's so beautiful. And when it, and another piece, and another are down, they feel full.

They feel full.

Cleo laughs, and cries, and takes a singular bite out of an apple, not because they’re hungry, but because they can taste it. They can feel the crunch like before, but it's combined with the wash of sweet apple juice to her mouth like a golden sunset.

Before their face has dried they stand, knees and hips and bones protesting their skin as they grip the apple to bruising, relearning to walk. It’s the unworking of years of decay in all at once. They press on.

She looks in the mirror. There, in the midst of the pink flesh of her flushed face, yellow eyes.

Her blood, only recently renewed, runs cold. She narrows her eyes.

She may be human now, but there’s still a zombie apocalypse outside. They're dying quicker than her, victory is within her grasp.

They draw their sword, and step out into the sun. They can taste it.

[honeyoru]

resonance (steve harrington x superpower! reader) chapter six

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

content warning for swearing, blood, gore, & death!

“Well shit,” you sighed, handing Lucas back his binoculars. The roaring echoed throughout the grounds. “You said those things came from under the lab?”

“It might not look like it, but that building is full of secrets,” Dustin said. 

Don’t I know it. You snorted, ignoring the weird look he threw you.

“Do you think there’s anyone inside?" Max asked hesitantly.

At the boys’ stares, she huffed. “Anyone human?” 

“If there are, they probably aren’t alive,” Lucas said bluntly, wincing apologetically at Max’s sharp intake of breath. “Sorry.” 

You adjusted your braid, silently agreeing with the boy.

“It’s on lockdown,” Dustin mused.  “Something must have happened.”

“Yeah,” you heard Steve scoff from your side. “Those fucking things happened, which is why none of us are going near that building.”

“That’s right,” you nodded firmly, catching his eye. “None of you are.” Glancing back at the building, you decided it was time to break away from the group. “This has been, like, super fun, but I’ve gotta blast.”

“Hey!” you heard Steve shout to your back as you began teleporting down the hill carefully, taking caution to squint hard into the darkness before popping a couple of yards at a time. He cursed from far behind, pulling a huff of a laugh from you as the group had clearly begun to sprint after you disappeared. “What are you doing?” 

“Didn’t we already have this conversation?” You called back wryly, glancing a little at the dark trees around you. You realized you were near the area where Hopper and El had found you. 

Shuddering a little, you continued towards the lab with cautious eyes, passing the barbed fence that surrounded the building into the entrance of the grounds, and noticed a couple of cars parked in front. You were just about to teleport again when the sound of clumsy, loud footsteps clamored from behind you. 

You groaned. Hopper did say they were persistent. 

“Quick question,” you said loudly when you realized they were determined to follow you. You abruptly spun, nearly whipping Lucas in the face with your braid. “What exactly is your plan here? You’re gonna just waltz in behind me?” you asked snarkily, waving your arm around. “With just a slingshot?” You put your hands on your hips, mimicking Steve, who looked supremely over all of you. “From what I just saw, neither one of you can go hand-to-hand with those dogs, so why would I let you come with me? You’d just be a distraction.”

Supremely offended, Dustin and Lucas began to babble defensively about their fighting abilities, causing you to stare at them with an open mouth. “Jesus, do you two have no sense of self-preservation?” You looked at them again, absolutely stunned. “No.”  They paused their nonsense, freezing a little when you leaned close to their faces. “This isn’t a game, you can’t just throw yourselves in danger without knowing how to defend yourselves and no, a slingshot with a few rocks doesn’t count,” you added when Lucas began gesturing towards it again. “You’ll get someone hurt or worse, killed.” You couldn’t look at Dustin without thinking of what your mother had told you all those years ago. 

You shook your head. “You aren’t coming with me into that lab, because I have a job to do, and you need to lea—” Your lecture was cut short by the sound of leaves crunching from across the clearing, and in no time at all you had quickly swept the group behind you with your hand, pushing them a few feet away. You pulled your knife out and scanned the perimeter, ready to attack. You wouldn’t let Henry hurt them, if he decided now was the time for a reunion with you. 

But it wasn’t Henry, you realized soon enough. 

It was just two teenagers, a boy and a girl, who had walked away from their car, no doubt trying to investigate the noise your group had been making.. “Seriously?" You gritted your teeth. "Does everyone in this town just enjoy late-night walks through the forest?”

“Jonathan?” Dustin exclaimed from behind you as they came closer under the moonlight. 

Max pointed her flashlight toward them, harshly illuminating their faces. “Nancy?” Steve asked, and you recognized the inquisitive girl from the store. 

“Steve?” both of them responded, clearly not expecting to see him here. 

“Jesus Christ, not the name game again,” the redhead rolled her eyes. It pulled a grin from you as you walked away from the group to teleport to the security booth. 

You weren’t surprised in the slightest when they followed.

“What are you two even doing out here?” Steve’s voice echoed throughout the clearing. 

The girl, Nancy, responded. “We're looking for Mike and Will.”

Mike and Will are missing?

You hummed. That seemed odd, but then you remembered how many times the phone had rung earlier. Could it have been them? Or Joyce? Shit, you thought suddenly, what if they were here for an appointment? 

“They're not in there, are they?” Dustin said, clearly on the same wavelength as you. 

“We're not sure,” Jonathan responded uneasily. “Why?” 

The screeching from the building answered his question, more or less.

Straightening your spine, you berated yourself for allowing yourself to get distracted. You quickly scanned the old security panel for any sign of power, pushing at the defunct buttons. The group had caught up and moved in around you, also hitting every button they could find as if it would help. Letting out an irritated sigh, you squeezed by Jonathan, ignoring the teen’s reddening cheeks as your body slid close by his. “Uh," He said. "Who are you?” 

“That’s Y/N!” Lucas answered for you while he slammed the defunct power lever up and down. “She has superpowers, just like El!” 

You heard Nancy answer. “We see that, thanks.” 

“She saved our asses,” Dustin rushed out, shoving Jonathan out of the way to hit more buttons. “We would have been demodog food if she didn’t show up.”

"Demodog?”

“It’s like a demogorgan but a dog! It’s a compound!”

“She literally just pushed us back with her mind when we heard you!”

“Can you please finish this somewhere else?” you asked from the gate that blocked the lab’s front doors, teleporting to the other side. “Preferably far away from here.” 

“What are you doing!" Steve exclaimed, putting a hand up to the fence. “Let me go in with you!”

“Wait,” Nancy shook her head bewilderedly. “You’re not actually going in the lab, are you?”

You shot her a dumbfounded look back, as you thought it was fairly obvious that yes, that was what you were doing. “If there’s a chance either of those kids are inside with those things, then obviously I’m going in.”

Shooting a pointed glare to the two kids you knew would try to follow you, you bid them farewell and a stern, “Don’t follow me,” and teleported to the front of the lab, wordlessly throwing the doors open with your mind. You spared a glance back, seeing Steve and Jonathan yanking down the younger boys from the fenced-off gate where they were, once again, trying to follow you. 

You couldn’t help but snort at their determination before you threw the doors open.

The lab you knew in the future didn’t exist yet, that much you were certain. You felt like you had just entered a horror movie scene. A silent emergency light flickered, illuminating various bodies throughout the halls that once smelled like artificial cherry. 

Now all you could smell was the terrible stench of blood. Lucas was right. 

You took a deep breath and buried your emotions, easily forcing the fear deep, deep down. In all your time working for the lab, you’d never seen this many mangled bodies all at once. 

Silently popping down the hallway, you carefully avoided the deceased staff and their puddles of blood. This was all for naught, however, as the power was suddenly slammed back on and you heard the doors to another hall further away from you be thrown open. 

Your arms went up in a defensive stance at the sound of pounding feet, ready to face whoever was coming, but instead, your jaw dropped at the sight of a familiar man who was running with a child in his arms. 

“Hopper?” you yelled, utterly surprised. Guess that explains why he was late. 

His eyes bulged out. The poor man was clearly in a state of panic and he screamed your name. “What the hell are you doing in here?” He looked you up and down before casting his eyes all around you, no doubt looking for El. 

“It's just me,” you said, and you saw utter relief pass through his body at the statement. “I’ve been tracking those demodogs all day, saw them earlier this week and meant to tell you about it but you know,” you waved nonchalantly, stepping a bit further away from a body on the floor near you. “You said you hated me and all that.”

He snorted despite the poor taste in timing and had just opened his mouth to retort when a younger voice piped up from his other side. 

“Who’s not here?” 

Well hot damn, you thought, recognizing the scowl the kid was sporting and the bowl cut on the other one in Hopper's arms. Guess Mike and Will are here.  

Deciding it was better to have this conversation another time, you turned back to Hopper. “I ran into your other hooligans, they’re all waiting outside.”

He cursed and then looked up, jerking back to face the doors he had just kicked through as if he suddenly remembered the danger you all were in while you chatted amongst the bodies. “Shit, Bob and Joyce! They were supposed to be right behind us—” 

“—I’m on it,” you cut him off. “Take them outside, they shouldn’t be here for this,” you gestured towards Mike and Will.  

“My car is out there too,” he said, already stepping over a leg to start walking towards the entrance. “I’ll hand him off and come back for you.”

You nodded, cracking your neck and took off the way they came. 

“Be careful!” Hopper screamed behind you, no doubt planning the thousand different ways he planned to lock your ass in his cabin for good if you managed to come out of this alive. 

An eerie silence enveloped you once more as you teleported down the hallway. It didn’t take long to find Joyce, her wailing practically echoed down the halls as you stumbled upon an entirely too gruesome sight after pushing through another set of doors. “Jesus.”

You assumed the man on the floor was Bob, who looked like he had only just been taken down by one of the creatures. It was still gnawing at his intestines, yanking them out to nibble at like they were hors d'oeuvres until you finally thrust your arm out to choke it, throwing its lifeless body towards the wall with barely a glance.

“No!” Joyce let out an earth-shattering scream, one that would have really shaken you if you weren’t so focused on the other three demodogs that had entered the space. You stepped in front of the two adults, holding your hands out to begin flinging the monsters around like they were ragdolls. “Joyce,” you called out, hesitant to take your eyes off of them to see how Bob was doing. They'd no doubt pounce if your attention was elsewhere.

Grunting, you slammed the stupid things into the ground repeatedly until they stopped moving. You would have rather enjoyed torturing the creatures a bit, given how fond you had grown of Joyce. Hearing her like this was almost unbearable, and you felt the dark part of yourself yearning to make the reason for her pain suffer.  

Alas, you breathed heavily, barely wincing at the gross noises that were erupting from the dogs, not the time for revenge. You killed the last one, sparing a glance at the door that more creatures were currently piling themselves against, and knew you had to get out of here. You pulled a vending machine in front of the door, hoping it’d hold them off until you left. “Joyce," you exhaled. "We have to go.” You felt a drop of blood streaming down your nose from the exertion, which hadn’t happened to you in quite some time.

“Not without Bob,” she insisted, refusing to abandon him. You wiped your nose, looking down at the man with pity.

Poor bastard, you thought grimly. Joyce’s hands were bright red from where she was hysterically trying to stop the bleeding from his side to no avail. “I won’t! I can’t leave without him!”

“Joyce,” you repeated, your mask cracking just a bit at her pain. Kneeling beside her, you took note of his injuries and if possible, frowned even deeper. They were undoubtedly fatal. 

Bob mumbled incoherently, whispering nonsense. The woman began to plead with you, wailing to no end. She called your name. "Can you do something? Anything.” She begged. “Honey, you must know something to help him. Please, please help him.”

You steeled yourself again, setting your emotionless mask back in place, and mentally flipped through every first aid method, power-related or otherwise, that you’d been taught, coming up short. The monster had pulled his intestines out for fuck’s sake, and he’d already lost too much blood. It was pooling around where the two of you were, and Joyce was fucking covered in it. 

There was no solution. Even if you managed to close the gaping hole in his body, there was no way Bob could live. 

“I can help him pass peacefully,” you eventually said, knowing you were about to crush her. “Make him feel no pain and… see something else, in his mind.” 

She screamed in response. 

Hopper suddenly burst into the hallway, halting when he saw the man on the floor.

“Joyce…” you heard Bob say weakly. “I love you.” 

You turned your head to the other door again, where the vending machine was being slowly but surely rocked as the dogs continued to pound at them. Fucking hell. 

Joyce heard them too, and she met your eyes, nodding after biting back another wave of tears. “Do it.” 

You instructed her to hold his hand, so he’d feel the woman he loved as he passed and placed your own on Bob’s forehead. Swiftly you entered his mind, easily constructing a landscape that you thought would be peaceful for him. 

He lay on a picnic blanket in a grassy meadow, one you knew existed not too far from the Byers’ house, his head in Joyce’s lap as she sat in a pretty sundress with a glass of lemonade. They were smiling. 

For a last-minute mind vision, you did pretty damn well, considering the situation you were in. You remembered Joyce telling you of the date he had taken her only a couple of weeks ago, the one she claimed made her feel like a teenager again. 

And with his love's name on Bob’s last breath, you closed the eyes of a man you’d never met but had heard so much about before slipping out of the empty void that now remained.

“Kid, we need to leave now, ” Hopper yelled, cocking a gun you hadn’t noticed before in the direction of the dogs, eyes frantically darting between where you sat and the doors. 

Joyce was still sobbing, and you stood up slowly, locking eyes with Hopper. “Take her and leave. I’ll meet you outside,” you said calmly, cracking your knuckles and pulling out the hunting knife. 

“What the fuck? No! ” he screamed but went to grab the woman anyways, gently pulling her into his arms. “There’s too many of them! If they’re breaking those damn doors down, you’re coming with us!”

“I said I’ll meet you outside Hop,” you firmly stated, evenly staring at him. “I can teleport, let me give you a head start. Don’t worry, this won’t take long,” you cracked a smile. “Give me, like,” you shot your eyes towards the dogs, “… two minutes, tops.”

Hopper had the foresight to pick Joyce up and toss her over his shoulder by the time the doors broke open. “If you’re not back in two minutes, I’m coming back!” he repeated, turning on his heel and running the hell out of there. 

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself as several of the dogs crashed through the entrance, piling on each other towards you.

Exhaling, you burst into action. 

Rows and rows of teeth snapped at you, slime and spit flying with gusto. One lunged towards Bob and all at once, you saw red. 

…

Panting a little, you yanked your knife out of the last dog that was in the room before taking off in a sprint towards the entrance, knowing that more must have been coming from the distant roars that echoed throughout the building. 

After jumping over the dead monsters, you slammed those damn doors closed again before teleporting to the front of the lab, nearly slamming into Hopper. 

“Two minutes, my ass,” he spat, pulling you in for a quick hug before shoving you toward his car, noticing the way you winced. “Any of that yours?”

“Some,” you responded, trying to quell your shaking from the adrenaline (and residual fear) rushing through your body. You weren't invincible, and some of the demodogs had come a little too close to comfort for you. 

Though you were wearing all black, you were fucking soaked in blood. You could feel it drying on your clothes, splattered across your face, and after looking down, noticed it had stained your hands as well. 

One of them had clawed down your left arm, and a slow stream of red was flowing steadily from the rip in both the sweater and jacket you wore, but as far as you were concerned, compared to Bob, it was barely even a scratch.

A cacophony of swearing screeched from the back seat when you lurched into the car. Dustin, Steve, Lucas, and Max were inside, yelling over each other as they gawked at your bloody form. “What the hell happened? ”

“Nothing much.” You panted, pulling off the jacket and yanking your sweater over your head shamelessly, leaving just your sports bra on. “Lots of dogs, lots of death.” You looked at them wryly. “Glad you two boneheads listened and didn’t follow me, that would’ve been like, ten years' worth of trauma for you.”

“Are you okay?” Steve asked just as Hopper jumped inside the car and tore like a bat out of hell into the forest. Jonathan and Nancy had already taken off with Joyce, Mike, and Will. “I know you’re like, covered in blood, but it looks like you’re bleeding too.”

“Just a parting gift from one of Dustin’s pets.” The look of anguish that washed over the kid’s face made you snort. “Kidding, kidding," you sighed. "‘Tis but a scratch." Bright red was all you could see on your blood-stained palms. They were shaking.

“You’re covered in blood and quoting Monty Python ?” Dustin asked bewilderedly. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Doesn’t look like just a scratch,” Max commented, shoving her way closer to you. “Hope you have some good stain remover, Chief. Blood is hard to take out of fabrics and that seat’s gonna have a gnarly smell if you don’t take it out immediately.”

“How do you know that?” Lucas asked her.

“Harrington!” Hopper barked suddenly. You were all thrown to the left as he drifted through a sharp turn down the dark road. “There’s a first aid kit in the back. Help her, that cut looks deep.”

“I’m fine, Hop,” you said, but twisted around to watch as the group scrambled to find it. They bickered even amidst the chaos, shoving each other in the tight space as if it’d help locate the kit faster. 

“Got it!” Lucas exclaimed, holding it out like a trophy. 

Steve snatched the kit from him and leaned in close to you over the console, looking carefully at the cut. “Don’t think you’ll need stitches,” he hummed after he eventually stopped the bleeding, quickly using hydrogen peroxide wipes to clean it. 

“So Upside Down monster germs… how do those work?” you asked, bracing yourself against the sting of the wipe. “Think it’ll get infected?”

“What, afraid you’ll get superpowers or something?” Steve teased, his eyes flickering up to meet yours warmly. With him this close, you noticed his eyes were a deep hazel with flecks of gold inside. 

Hopper cleared his throat a little too aggressively and you suddenly felt the man’s eyes burn into your skin, knowing damn well he was thinking of the much older Steve you had mentioned knowing in the future. 

“Keep it in your pants, Harrington,” Dustin said loudly, shrinking back only slightly when he received a glare from the older boy.  You snorted. “So, Y/N, how do you and Hopper know each other?”

You blinked at the kid’s audacity. "Really? You're asking that now?"

He blinked back, unperturbed. “You called him Hop,” he explained. “And he hugged you. I’ve gotten hurt plenty of times in front of him and he’s never even asked how I’m doing.”

“Twisting your ankle on the way to the restroom isn’t the same as taking on a hoard of monsters, kid,” Hopper snapped.

“Besides,” you glanced at your newly wrapped arm courtesy of Steve. “It’s none of your business anyways.”

“That’s not fair!” 

You rolled your eyes, turning back around to the front. “Tough shit,” Hopper huffed. 

“But—” 

“—It's not up for debate Hender—” he cut off with a spare glance at you. “Dustin. She's just been through a lot and since you kids have found yourself wrapped up in this shit yet again instead of being safe at home, I’d suggest you stop talking,” he stated in an irritated tone. 

“Not taking them home?” you asked, watching the road ahead of you for any stray demodogs.

“Can’t break up the Scooby-Doo gang this late in the game,” he muttered furiously, flying through a stop sign. “As annoying as they are, they’ll find a way to group up and at this point,” Hopper looked back at the kids in the rearview. “It’s safer for us all to be together. We need to figure out what the hell is going on.”

“All that blood,” Max cut in, and a wave of melancholy washed over the group. “Is everyone in the party okay?”

“It’s mostly from the demodogs,” you replied quietly, aware of how much of a shock this whole night must have been for her since she wasn't in this chaos last year. “And um, Bob’s.” You lowered your head, guilt churning in your gut at the haunting noise of Joyce's screams, begging you to save him. “It’s Bob’s too.”

You found yourself silent, along with the rest of the car’s occupants, for the rest of the drive.

[of-many-aus]

Chapter 1

You and Bucky stumbled across some people in the middle of the woods that offered you sanctuary. It’s safe to say that the two of you are hesitant

Warnings: mentions of death and dying, weapons, creepy men, slight cursing

Us Against the World Masterlist

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

The sound of leaves crunching beneath your boots was the only noise to fill your ears. A sound that had once been satisfying- calming, even. Now, deadly.

At any moment, you could step on the wrong twig, and it could alert the wrong ears. The infected could pick up on your sound first, then your scent. And once that happened, you were screwed.

From beside you, Bucky swept his narrowed eyes back and forth along the forest landscape. His hand rested purposefully right by where his hunting knife was swinging back and forth from where it was placed on his belt.

“We should make camp soon,” It was the first time you had spoken in hours. After so many years, the two of you had learned how to effortlessly communicate without actually talking. Because talking too loudly could always alert certain unwanted presences to your location.

The man beside you glanced up, squinting his eyes against the sudden harshness of the sun beating down on him and a small frown pulled on his lips, “We still have a good three hours before we even need to think about finding camp.”

You knew that, of course you knew that, and that was the reason you knew he was beginning to grow worried. Because neither of you ever requested to stop early unless something was wrong, and Bucky tended to worry when you were the one requesting it.

“I’m fine, Buck,” You automatically assured him, “Just tired s’all.”

His bright blue eyes scanned your features for another moment before he nodded, backing off, “Alright,” He agreed quietly, “We’ll get a couple more miles in and then we’ll see if we can find a cave. And if not,” He grimaced, “We’ll be sleeping in a tree.”

You cringed at the mere thought, but fell into a silence nonetheless and continued trudging on.

Not even five minutes could have passed before the rustling of leaves to the left of you two made your ears perk up and steps come to a sudden halt.

Despite the vast number of times you had gone through this process, your heart didn’t beat any slower than it did the first time you had to go through this. The same amount of panic flooded into your brain. You just knew how to better control and handle it now.

You and Bucky immediately went to stand back to back, drawing out your knives and standing in a defensive position.

It wasn’t hard to feel how tense the man’s muscular back was against your own, and the only way you didn’t mistake it for a wall was the way it rose and fell slightly with his calculatingly slow breaths.

Both of your pairs of eyes whipped around the trees and dead leaves, looking for any sign of what had made that noise. Even as the moments dragged on, you didn’t allow yourself to relax. There was no such thing as a false alarm. Not anymore.

The only thing that kept you from holding your breath the entire time was the knowledge that doing so would cut off circulation to your brain, making it harder to react within a split second like you knew you would need to when whatever was nearby showed itself.

Suddenly, four figures emerged from seemingly thin air and approached the two of you cautiously.

Though some relief flowed through your veins when you realized that they didn’t have the gray, decaying skin of the infected- instead having healthy enough looking bodies- you still didn’t allow yourself to drop your knife.

You and Bucky had run into enough other survivors in your time to know that they could oftentimes be crazier than the infected themselves. The fact that the people were carrying guns that were strapped over their necks and pointed directly at the two of you also didn’t help.

Immediately, Bucky shifted his weight so that he was standing in front of you, one hand still holding his knife in a death grip, while his other arm flew up in front of you protectively. As if that alone would stop a round of bullets from penetrating your skin.

A black man in the front of the group sighed in relief though, and dropped his weapon to his side, “Stand down, it’s not them.” He ordered the others, who did as he said without hesitation.

“We’re just passing through,” Bucky said monotonously, “We don’t want any trouble.”

The man grinned, “Yeah, I bet you don’t.” He was joking around as if the two of them had known each other for years.

Another man scowled, dropping his gun to his side, “I can’t believe we came all this way just to pick up a couple of strays.” His eyes moved from Bucky to you, and a disgusting smirk made its way onto his face as he looked your body up and down, “Although…”

A low growl left the back of Bucky's throat, something only you- who was standing close enough- could hear, but you doubted the group missed the way his fists clenched tighter and his glare became more prominent.

A blond man came over and whacked the creep on the back of the head with a gloved palm, “Don’t mind him,” He glared slightly at the man, “He doesn’t know when to shut the hell up.”

Just as the man was about to open his mouth, no doubt to let out a snarky retort, the only woman in the group- a redhead- spoke up, “We need to get going.” She said urgently, speaking to the man who seemed to be in charge, “The heard had to have grown by now.”

The black man nodded before turning back to face the two of you, “You’re welcome to join us,” He offered, “It can get pretty ugly out here when the sun goes down. The infected tend to get really riled up and rowdy around here.”

Despite the fact that Bucky stayed silent- no doubt praying that you would as well- your curiosity got the better of you, and you just had to speak up, “Welcome to join you where?” You questioned.

“We have a camp set up a few miles out,” He explained calmly, “It’s protected by tall gates and patrolled twenty four hours a day. We have at least a couple hundred people safely living inside.”

Silence fell over the group of you like an uncomfortable blanket, causing even Bucky sucked in a sharp breath at his words, and you knew it was because he was thinking the same thing as you.

It was impossible, not only to have so many people in one place, but that they were also all safe. It had to be a lie.

“I suggest you decide fast,” The blond man from before piped up, “I think the herd’s coming this way.”

Surly enough, you strained your ears and were able to hear the faint sound of groaning, growling, and heavy footsteps that always accompanied the infected. And by the sound of it, there were a lot of them heading your way.

For the first time, Bucky met your eyes, and you could tell that he was as torn as you were between your two options. Going with them and risking handing over blind trust to a bunch of strangers whom you didn’t even know the names of, or sticking around for the herd to find you.

Silently, you came to a decision, and you turned back to the four people, “We’re in.”

[sortyourlifeoutmate]

Terminator and buggy

My never-ending efforts at trying to write 40k

-

With a roar of engine and crunching of gears the buggy zoomed over the rubble and came crashing down heavily in the more-or-less clear street the other side of what had until recently been some buildings. Safe. For now.

Though it was hard for Guzzdag to appreciate this, as the manoeuvre had very nearly seen him vaulted from his spot on the rear deck, and not for the first time. Only by clinging to the guns had he managed to stay on the vehicle at all, and even then it had been close. Now they weren’t bouncing around he was able to relax a little and demonstrate his unhappiness.

This he had by forcefully kicking Wazzsnik, the driver, in the back of the head.

“Wotch wot your doin’! You nearly got me out da zoggin’ buggy! Again!”

“Ah, stop whinin’ ya grot. Got us away, din’t I?”

Guzzdag couldn’t argue with this. Since the marine boys had shown up staying alive had got much harder much faster. The humies before then had been good for fighting, yes, and had certainly shot up a lot of the boys good and proper, but they’d also had the decency to die when shot at or chopped. The marines had no sense of fair play though, and were just killing everything. No fun at all.

Of course, Guzzdag wanted to argue with what his driver had said, and was thinking about how best to do this when he spotted something up ahead. Something big. He squinted.

“Oi! Wazza! Look ‘dere!” He shouted, pointing, and kicking the back of the driving seat instead, which was less liable to be taken as a direct insult.

“I see it!”

Emerging from some rubble a few hundred metres away and stomping into the street was what was obviously one of those mega-armoured marines. What one of them was doing here, on his own, was a mystery, and orks are notoriously uninterested in mysteries unless they look like the kind of mysteries you can steal and use as a weapon. This was just a target, and a good one at that - walking right into the middle of the road!

Guzzdag grinned and racked the lever that worked the slides on the half-dozen or so shootas (of varying sizes) that were strapped to the back of the buggy. He didn’t need to do this, obviously, but he wanted to do this, and it did make a very satisfying sound. He then opened fire.

“Dakka dakka dakka!” He roared, at a volume that was able to comfortably compete with the din of the guns. Enormous muzzle flare stabbed out and bullets whipped and snapped down the street, almost all of them hilariously wide of the target. The target, for his part, had stopped crossing and had turned to face the oncoming vehicle, shifting position to brace for impact. Neither driver nor gunner gave this much thought.

One or two bullets did actually land on target but, given the armour involved, this did nothing other than make sparks. Wazzsnik was highly amused.

“You’s rubbish!” He shouted backwards. Guzzdag growled and squeezed the triggers harder. Inexplicably, this made him more accurate, but all that did was make more sparks. Meanwhile, Wazzsnik was fiddling with valves. The distance was closing.

“Imma ram ‘im! Full speed! Whoosh!”

He hit a button, a big red one. The engine made an extremely loud, unhappy noise. The buggy lurched and hurtled forward even faster than it had already been going, and it had already been going so fast they’d lose one of the wheel-covers halfway back down the street when it had rattled clean off the chassis. Not that either of the orks had noticed.

What they did notice - a split-second before the collision - was the lightning playing around the big fist the marine had. It was a lot of lightning, and it trailed brightly behind the fist as the marine swung it up and brought it down…

…right on the front of the buggy.

The marine’s timing was absolutely perfect. The instant before the buggy would have made contact the fist punched straight down, crumpling through riveted armour plating, crunching the engine, and driving the whole front half of the vehicle into the road. The rear, carrying momentum, flipped, clipped the marine (who barely rocked) and carried on, now spinning end-over-end.

Guzzdag had a momentary impression this before everything went momentarily black. When that passed he was a lot further along the street than he remembered. The buggy was gone, too, though there were lots of bits of it around that he could see. Some of them were on fire. Wazzsnik was still holding the steering wheel at least, Guzzdag saw, though where the rest of him had ended up the gunner had no idea.

Trying to stand, Guzzdag found he couldn’t, and he quickly discovered this was because everything below his waist was missing. Casting his eye around he saw his legs lying on some rubble nearby. If he got them they could probably get put back on, he thought, so he started dragging himself towards them.

A giant, armoured foot then stomped down into view in front of him, casting the ork into shadow. Oh yes. The marine. In all the excitement of the crashing and the dismemberment Guzzdag had quite forgotten about the marine. He looked up.

He was looking into twin gun barrels.

“Zog,” he said.

It was all he had time to say.

[dycefic]

The Trolley Problem

Again, sorry about the slow updates, but long Covid aside, as followers of my main Tumblr will have heard, my laptop keyboard is on its way out and typing is getting increasingly difficult. I've ordered a new wireless keyboard, but it hasn't arrived yet. 🙄

Anyway, back to the superhero universe! warnings for death, police, attempted murder, supervillainy, and ethical dilemmas. Also swearing.

#

“Choose,” the villain purred. She didn’t know his name. She was new, she hadn’t learned them all yet. “Who lives? Who dies? Who will you save, little hero?”

Flitter trembled. “I’m not making a choice,” she said, and her voice wasn’t as firm as she wanted it to be, even through the voice-changer. You’re gonna let both those cages down, nice and easy.” One cage full of nurses. One cage full of juvenile offenders. He’d said so, and she could see the scrubs and the jumpsuits for herself. He really wanted this to be a dilemma, and she didn’t know what to do, aside from telling him not to do it, and when did that ever work?

“Oh, I don’t think so.” He laughed at her, hands caressing the controls that suspended the two cages over the street forty floors below. She couldn’t remember his name! She recognized the costume, the jagged streaks of green and white and vivid yellow. This was a dangerous villain, the same guy who’d cut off both of Player One’s legs with some machine just a month ago, and she’d only been a cape for a couple of weeks, she wasn’t up to this guy’s weight in any way even with powers, and she couldn’t remember his name -

And then the villain’s head exploded. She saw it burst before she heard the sound of the gunshots, so they’d come from some distance away. There was red… stuff… all over the wall behind him, and as the body toppled she jumped forward to grab at the handles he’d been toying with - but it wasn’t necessary. Neither cage had moved.

She moved closer and wondered if she should check the body, but… the whole top two-thirds of the head was gone. Trying to take a pulse at this point would just be creepy and weird.

She was still trying to figure out the controls - and trying not to throw up, which was a terrible idea in a full-face mask - when she heard footsteps approaching. Boots. Not trying to be sneaky. The little sounds of clothing, including a creak of leather. When she looked up, she saw an older woman - maybe forty-five, maybe fifty. Not a costume, she was wearing regular clothes.

And, when she stepped into the light, Flitter saw the rifle slung on her back. “Did you…” Her voice quavered, and she cleared her throat a couple of times. “Did you shoot him?”

“Yup.” The woman didn’t sound concerned about it. “Move over.” With casual expertise, the older woman started pressing buttons and moving handles. The two cranes swung out, and the people in them made some noise, but in a few seconds, the cages were over the next roof and being lowered carefully until they hit the gravel with a crunch. “Never bring them down on the same roof, if you can help it, and don’t let them out right away. Useful tip. They’re going to freak out and you don’t need to deal with that. That’s what emergency responders are for.”

Flitter was shaking. “You… you killed him.”

The woman paused, then gave her a sort of sympathetic look. “First time seeing someone die up close?”

Flitter nodded, swallowing hard.

“You’ll get used to it.” The woman sighed. “They all do.” Then her eyes shifted, looking past Flitter, and she raised her voice. “Day late and a dollar short, Box.”

The Boxer was an old, old-school hero. He’d been active for more than eighty years and still looked exactly the same. Right now, his customary faint scowl had become a lot more pronounced. “God fucking damnit, you’re supposed to be in Delaware!”

“I came back to visit some old friends.” It was strange - the woman looked like a civilian, but she was talking to the Boxer like she knew him. Usually only capes did that. “Just happened to be in the area.”

“Bullshit you happened to be in the area!” The Boxer’s fists were clenching and unclenching. “How the hell did you… no, forget it, I know you’re not gonna tell me. How the hell do you still have a fucking sniper rifle?!”

“I don’t. This is for hunting.”

“How do you still have an open carry permit!?”

“I haven’t committed any crimes.”

The Boxer made an incoherent angry noise kind of like a dog growling, and Flitter pointed a shaking hand at the body of the villain whose name she still didn’t know. “You have now!”

The woman looked down at the body, then back up at the two heroes, and shrugged. “No, I haven’t.”

Flitter stared at her. The Boxer turned away to put his fist through the nearest wall. It was a brick wall. That didn’t seem to worry him.

“But… murder?” It came out like a question, and Flitter’s face felt hot under her mask.

“Not here in Vermont it’s not. In Vermont, which has a robust approach to self-defence laws since Dilemma went active thirty years ago here in Burlington, as long as my use of deadly force ‘was reasonably necessary to repel the perceived threat’, to myself or to a person or persons unable to defend themselves, it qualifies as self-defence and is not criminal.” The woman shrugged, smiling in a way that was more rueful than smug, despite her words. “In addition, the statutes regarding capes, super-powered persons, etcetera, article three stipulates that when a known and identified villain is threatening civilian persons, no non-powered person can be held to have used excessive force.”

“Article three was meant to cover the actions of police and military, and you know it!” The Boxer had moved up beside Flitter, and though he still sounded angry, the hand he laid on her shoulder was very gentle. “You okay, kid?”

“Yeah, mostly.”

“Shock. You might wanna get her a hot drink or something.” The woman gestured at the cages on the next roof. “And let them out, since you’re such a good guy.” She unslung the gun, laid it on the ground, and sat down on the edge of the roof a few feet away from it. “I’ve already called the cops. They should be here soon.” Her eyes narrowed. “And you still don’t prepare them for the trolley problem.”

“She’s been active for two weeks, and I’ve been busy!” The Boxer sounded a little angry… and, under it, guilty. “Player One got… retired… last month.”

“I heard.”

His voice softened. “Is that why you’re here?”

Hers didn’t. “Maybe.”

Flitter cleared her throat, half-raising one hand. “Uh…. What’s the trolley problem?”

“It’s a philosophical thing.” The Boxer shrugged. “One of those ethics word problems.”

“It’s also a go-to for the bad guys,” the woman said grimly. “They love it. ‘Choose between saving the kid or saving the world’, or ‘let me kill you and I’ll let the civilians go’, or ‘choose who lives and who dies’ like this one. They just love the idea of forcing a cape to get blood on their hands.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “See, in the trolley problem, you’re on a trolley, and you’re coming up to a fork in the tracks. On one side, one person’s tied to the tracks, trapped in a car, or otherwise unable to escape, on the other, five people are likewise unable to avoid certain death. You have to decide who dies.”

Flitter swallowed a couple more times. She really wanted to throw up again. “That’s awful.”

“Yeah. Especially when it stops being a thought experiment and actually happens to you.” The woman jerked her thumb at the cages again, then reached into her pocket and pulled out something small and flat - a plastic card, it looked like. Maybe two together. She fiddled with them while she talked. “The idea is that the ethical thing to do is save the greatest number of lives, right? But the trolley problem is a con.”

The Boxer groaned. “Sometimes an ethical choice is an ethical fucking choice, R… Lou.”

“Not debating that. But the trolley problem, specifically, is a con. The person placed in the position of making the ‘choice’ is told that they have to choose who lives and who dies, and bear the moral consequences, but that’s not true. No matter what the kid had chosen, she wouldn’t have been responsible for any deaths.”

Flitter felt a little better. “I wouldn’t?”

“No. The trolley problem forces a false choice. If you’re trapped in a trolley and about to kill one or several people who are tied to train tracks, and no other options exist, you’re not actually being allowed a free choice. The trolley problem’s ostensible protagonist is actually one of its victims.” She gestured at the mostly-headless body. “The real culprit is the person who put all those people on the tracks and shoved you into the brakeless trolley.”

“That doesn’t mean that the ethical answer to the trolley problem is to kill the person who posed the problem!” The Boxer sounded like he’d said that a lot of times before.

“Of course it is. Shit like this doesn’t happen in a vacuum, Box. In any situation in which a villain is going to kill one of two groups of people, there’s almost zero probability that this is the first and last time they’ll attempt murder. Ergo, the answer that saves the greatest number of lives is always to kill the person who posited the problem.” The woman folded her arms. “You know it’s true.”

“But it’s not right,” the Boxer almost wailed. Flitter suddenly felt kind of sorry for him. He cared about people. Nobody could do this job for more than eighty years if they didn’t. The idea that shooting someone in the head without warning wasn’t a bad thing to do was an idea that was just the wrong shape for his brain.

“Maybe not. But ‘right’ and ‘necessary’ aren’t always the same thing.”

The door onto the roof opened, and several cops came through with their weapons up. Flitter tensed, and tried to pretend she hadn’t. They couldn’t tell she was black under the costume. This was fine. It was fine. Law and order was theoretically on her side in this situation.

The Boxer’s hand was on her shoulder again, and he squeezed slightly. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “They play by the rules when I’m around.”

“Drop your weapon!” one of them shouted, and even Flitter managed to look at him like he was insane.

“I’m sitting down three feet away from the weapon, which is on the ground,” the woman said very dryly. “It’s as dropped as it’s gonna get.”

The guy started to yell again, but the oldest one smacked him across the back of the head. “Don’t make a bigger fool of yourself, dumbass.” He holstered his gun, and glared at the woman. “Ms Harmer, you moved to Delaware. We checked. What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Visiting old friends.” She held out the thing she’d been fiddling with. “Here’s my driver’s license and my open carry permit. There’s the gun, which is still loaded so be careful. There’s the body of the supervillain calling himself, if I recall correctly, Inferno. I killed him in defence of two groups of civilians who you’ll find on the roof over there, in accordance with -“

“With Vermont state law regarding self-defence and the statute exempting non-powered persons from excessive force against supervillains. I know, I know,” the cop said, frustration dripping off the words. He barely glanced at the cards before handing them back.

Flitter blinked. “She’s done this before!?”

“Nine times in the state of Vermont, to my knowledge, counting this one.” The cop glared at Ms Harmer. “It was four in Delaware last time I checked, but it’s been a while.”

“And not a single charge laid.” Ms Harmer stood up. “Do you want to take me in now, Phil, or would it be more convenient for me to stop by in the morning to make my statement?”

“You - “ the overenthusiastic cop said, pulling out his cuffs.

“Forget it!” the older one snapped at him. “Just… forget it. Harmer, be at the station at nine.”

“I know the drill.”

“Sir, you’re not just gonna let her walk away - “

“Flynn, she’s done this thirteen times, weren’t you listening? She shot a known supervillain while he was in the commission of a major crime! She was sitting here waiting for us with the gun on the ground and her ID out! She confessed! She’s not a flight risk!” ‘Phil’ glared at Ms Harmer, then at the two superheroes. “Next time, at least try to stop her… not that that’s easy,” he added grudgingly. “Just… get lost, all of you. We’ll take it from here.”

When Flitter tried to move, she nearly fell over. The Boxer grabbed her and held her steady until her knees stopped buckling. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

“It’s okay, kid. First time you see a head explode shakes everyone.” He patted her back gently, and took her arm and guided her towards the stairs. “I’ll buy you a coffee.”

After a moment, an equally gentle hand gripped her other elbow. “You’ll be fine, kid.” Ms Harmer’s voice was still as calm and level as ever. “And if there’s no-one around to help next time, remember that nothing that happens is your fault. The only murderer in the trolley problem is the one who poses it.”

“Unless I kill him,” Flitter said quietly. “Then it’s me.”

“Well, yeah,” Ms Harmer admitted. “Self-defense laws don’t apply to capes. You probably wouldn’t serve time over something this clear-cut, but the other capes’d push you out if you crossed that line, even if the cops didn’t put you away.”

“There are rules.” The Boxer still sounded upset.

“Yup. There are rules for capes, and rules for cops, and rules for civilians, and the important thing to remember is that they’re not the same rules.” The woman’s hand was steady. “Sometimes you have to choose.”

The Boxer snorted. “Like you did, Ray?”

Ms Harmer stopped on the stairs, and turned to look at him. “Rachel Zimmerman is dead, old man,” she said, and her voice was very cold. “You know she is. She died on your watch. An idealistic young lawyer who moonlighted as a superhero called Scale, and died in one of Dilemma’s deathtraps more than twenty years ago. You attended the funeral. You attested to her death when the body couldn’t be identified.”

“And then you turned up,” the Boxer said, and Flitter saw what might be tears in the hard old eyes. “And I knew I was wrong.”

“You heard a voice that sounded like hers and got sentimental.”

“You know things only Ray could know.”

She leaned in close, and her whisper was as bitter as ice. “Prove it.” Then she turned away, hopping the railing to land with a thud on the next flight of stairs. Flitter heard her boots moving fast on the stairs.

The Boxer just stood there, his shoulders slumped. “I can’t prove it,” he muttered, so quiet that he might be talking to himself. “But I know.”

Tentatively, Flitter put her hand on the big, muscular shoulder, like he had for her. “It was a trolley problem?” she said quietly.

He nodded. “I always told her not to kill. Never to kill. Then we went up against Dilemma, and… they were kids. Little kids. Dilemma…”

“He made her choose?”

The Boxer’s head bowed lower. “No,” he said, even more quietly. “He made me choose.”

Flitter nodded slowly. No wonder he was so upset. “She said it wasn’t your fault,” she reminded him, knowing it probably wouldn’t help but not knowing what else to say. “She said that the person given the choice is another victim.”

“Yeah, I know. She always does.” He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “She was a good person, she never woulda wanted me to save her and let a bunch of little kids die. That she ain’t mad about. But she knows, and I know, that I coulda killed him. I coulda saved both, and I didn’t, because I wanted to be the good guy… and good guys don’t kill.”

Flitter felt the chill of that all down her spine. “I… hadn’t thought of that yet.” But now it was all she could think about. About this happening again, looking at some other monster playing with human lives, and realizing that even though the trolley problem wasn’t a real choice, she did have a choice… and what the consequences of that choice would be.

“Yeah. That’s why she does it. So kids like you don’t have to make either choice.” He sighed again, then shook his head. “But you don’t gotta deal with that right now. Come on, kid, let’s get that coffee. Maybe talk.”

Flitter nodded. “I’d… definitely like to talk.”

She didn’t look around for Ms Harmer when they left the building. But she wondered. Player One had been around for more than twenty years, she was pretty sure. Visiting friends, she’d said…

[gokartkid]

maxiel 15?

15. things you said with too many miles between us

“Uhh, yeah, hold on Daniel.”

Max’s phone is lying on the couch face up, tinny noises playing out of its speakers as he mashes furiously at the buttons on his playstation controller.

“Is your little-“ Max can hear him half-laughing, a crunch of static, “footy game not going well.”

“Actually,” he makes a face, drawing his knees up into his chest and curling his toes as- “I have just scored a goal!”

The sound of clapping from the phone.

“Nice one Max, didn’t expect anything less from a champion.” 

He can imagine Daniel’s face right now, smiling and kind of indulgent, the way he gets when he doesn’t really knows what’s going on but he’s happy to be there. 

Daniel is remarkably bad at games. It’s like, the controllers have an aversion to his hands, or that his hands have an aversion to them. Max has been confused about this every single time they’ve tried to play something together. ‘It’s just like the wheel but different’ is a sentence he’s said too many times to count.

Daniel always argues back that it’s nothing like the wheel because he knows what those buttons do and people tell him what they want him to push half the time. 

The lobby is loading again, waiting for a match.

“How has your day been?”

It’s late, for Daniel, all the way on the other side of the world.

Max hears him sigh.

“It’s been pretty good,” there’s a shuffling noise, like he’s moving around in bed, “Michelle came over, cause they’ve been away on their school holidays for ages, big trip to the Gold Coast.”

Max whistles, wiggles the joysticks around absentmindedly, fits his thumb into the groove. The circle on the screen goes around, and around.

They’re used to this routine, of Daniel being gone; it doesn’t hurt Max, he wants him to see his family. He hasn’t seen them enough over the years, if anything. Now that he has the freedom too, he should enjoy it. It’s only that if Max does miss him while he’s gone, that’s neither here nor there.

He has to remind himself anyway, that if he misses Daniel, then he must miss him back. He’s the one that calls most of the time anyway, although, that might be more about how he hates to text. 

“Did they have fun?”

“Oh yeah, heaps, Isabella couldn’t stop talking about uh,” he pauses, “this like, one slide they went on at the Wet’n’Wild.”

“Ah, that’s cute.”

Max readjusts on the couch and picks his phone back up. They’ve been calling for about two hours now, the screen tells him, before he swipes it away to get into his apps.

It’s idle chat as Daniel gets ready for bed. He can hear him brushing his teeth, asks a question on purpose to hear him say it funny around the brush and then laugh, honking more when Daniel splutters and gets faux-annoyed.

“Are you going to sleep?”

Daniel’s yawned about three times in the last 10 minutes. Max wonders if it actually is very embarrassing to get a little warm feeling in his chest about that. 

He scores a goal and tilts backwards into the couch, grinning.

“Yeah, probably,” a click, like his phone’s been set down somewhere hard, “you’re gaming, yeah?”

“It’s just the morning here now, so-“ he bites back a curse as the other team dodges past his defenders, “-I’ll be working out later, Brad has this new routine he wants me to try. Of course, I think that it will be the same as all of the rest of them but, you know.”

“Okay then,” Daniel yawns, again. 

“Go to sleep, old man.”

“Yeah, yeah,” a pause, “love you Maxy. Have a good day, or, whatever.”

“Love you too.” He tries to sound cool and nonchalant, but his thumbs jerk where they were pushing at the joysticks, “goodnight.”

[sergeantsporks]

Gilded Family

Gilded Family

Rating: Teen and Up, Gen

Ch 12/?: Someday

Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6 , Ch 7, Ch 8, Ch 9, Ch 10, Ch 11

In which none of the previous golden guards or wittebro died, actually, they're all fine and living happily together as one big dysfunctional family

Ao3

“What do you know?”

Dagger paced around a set of circles drawn in the ground. “Not a lot. Stepped on potion, disappeared in a flash of light. No traces, no magic trail, just gone. Wherever he is, it’s not somewhere we can get without the same spell.”

“Then we need the same spell,” Hunter piped up, “Can you track the witches who made it?”

“We don’t need to,” Joseph piped up, “We saw them follow after the—the owl lady?”

Caleb made a squeaky noise. “Okay,” he managed, “Okay. Hunter and I will take it from here.”

“You sure?” Cyrus piped up, “What if you need us?”

“Too many people will draw attention. Go back to the house, I’ll stay in touch. We’ll be back soon.”

The three glanced at each other, then nodded, moving towards the nearest sky boat. Hunter followed Caleb out of the city, off towards the woods.

“The owl lady? You know where she lives?”

Caleb sighed. “She’s… Achsah’s descendent.”

Hunter skidded to a stop. “Are you going to be okay?”

Caleb chuckled nervously, then put a finger to his lip, ducking into a bush. Hunter dove after him as footsteps crunched towards them.

“Are you sure the owl lady will be able to get them back?”

Hunter made a squeaking sound not unlike Caleb’s.

I’d recognize that voice anywhere.

Darius.

Caleb put a hand on his arm, and Hunter settled back, staring at the cloaked figure crossing his arms.

A smaller hooded figure shook their head. “If I know Eda, she won’t give up until she does. And she’s the only one with a link to the kids. We had the return potion. She had the connection. Neither of us could do this on our own.”

“Yes, and if someone wasn’t so intent on keeping her out of this, we could be doing it together instead of skulking around in the shadows hoping she can find a power source to use it! Face it, Songbird, our last hope was to see if the emperor’s mind held any answers to stopping his plan, and that’s shot. Those kids didn’t know what we were looking for!”

Belos’ mind? Hunter mouthed at Caleb. The original shook his head, his eyebrows scrunched together.

“We need the owl lady.”

“No. I won’t involve her. Not again. Involving her kid and… the golden guard… was an accident.”

“And now that it’s happened, we may as well ask Edalyn to join up! We’re leaving them with more questions than answers, do you honestly think they won’t seek us out? And the golden guard! We don’t even know what he’s seen or how he’ll react to it! We should be in there, helping her do the return spell and finding out what we can instead of skulking about out here!”

“We can come back to check on him. Secretly.”

“It’s not about checking, it’s about—hey, I did not say—”

“It’s okay, Darius. I know you’re worried about him.”

“I am no—worried about what damage that little try-hard will cause, maybe.”

“Uh-huh. Alright. We’ll stick around, in case he goes back to the keep after all this. After all, if he HASN’T seen anything in there to spook him, we wouldn’t want to reveal that we were the ones to send him in, would we? Or are you thinking you’d like a petrification ceremony?”

“Please. Even HE couldn’t get out of that madman’s mind without losing faith in him. I hope.”

The three of them passed by the bush, and Hunter reached out.

I’m right here

I’d help you

With Hunter, with whatever you’re planning against Belos…

I’ll help. Just…

Darius disappeared into the woods, and Hunter shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” Caleb said softly, “That can’t have been easy.”

Hunter rubbed his arms. “At least we know he’s not on Belos’ side.”

He’s not

He’s still the Darius I left behind.

“Are you going to be okay?”

Hunter shook himself. “I’m fine. But I’m not so sure about the other Hunter. Belos’ mind?”

Caleb shuddered. “If Phillip kills him in there… There’s absolutely no way we could save him, unless we got our hands on some of those potions AND found a time pool to go back, and—”

Beams of light glittered through the trees, and Hunter pushed towards the clearing that the house was in, watching the door intently.

“He knows we were in there!” came a wail, “I can’t—I can’t go back!”

The door slammed open, and the golden guard ran out, followed by his palisman. A girl ran out right after, wearing a grudgeby jacket.

“HUNTER!”

Hunter charged into the trees, and Caleb jumped, eyes fixed on the palisman. “Flapjack?!” he yelped

Hunter turned at the sound, eyes wide, his foot tangling up in tree roots and sending him crashing to the ground. The palisman stopped short, too, twisting in the air as Caleb pulled off his concealment stone.

“You didn’t tell me his palisman was a cardinal!”

Hunter tugged off his own stone. “I didn’t know what kind of bird it was!”

The bird’s head twisted back and forth, looking at its witch, then back at Caleb, eyes wide.

Little Hunter sputtered, scooting backwards. “St-stay back! I’m—I’m—you’re—” The whites of his eyes shone in the darkness, open wide. “No—you’re dead, you’re—but if you’re dead, then I—”

“You’re not dead,” Caleb told him, “Don’t worry, we’re not going to hurt you. We’re here to help. I’m sorry if we scared you. I know you’re confused, but I promise we’ll explain.”

Hunter held his hands up, approaching slowly. “This is Caleb. I’m Hunter. We—”

“You’re—you’re not—I’m Hunter.” His voice cracked, and he held out his hand for his palisman, struggling to his feet and backing away, favoring his left leg. “I’m Hunter, I’m—I’m—”

He swung one leg over the staff and kicked off, shooting away through the trees.

“Wait!” Caleb called, “Hunter—”

“We can protect you from Belos!” Hunter yelled after him.

The golden guard twisted to look back at that, his eyes still wild, but oddly… hopeful. Caleb’s eyes widened. “LOOK OU—”

The palisman tried frantically to slow down, and the younger Hunter turned around just as the staff soared under a low-hanging branch that his head slammed into with a thump and an oof.

He tumbled backwards off of the staff, and it turned back into its animal form, flapping around his head and chirping frantically. Hunter and Caleb ran forward, kneeling down next to him. A lump was already swelling up on his forehead, the skin torn open.

Caleb tugged a handkerchief out of his pocket, pressing it to the gash. The golden guard groaned, and Hunter scooped him up. “That went well.”

Caleb winced. “Usually I don’t have to do any explaining until after you’re home. First time I’ve ever had to chase one of you through the woods trying to convince you that I’m friendly.”

The palisman landed on Caleb’s shoulder, chirping and chirping and chirping.

“I know. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to leave you, I never meant… I’m sorry.”

Hunter got to his feet, hefting the teen in his arms. Even with his armor on, he couldn’t have weighed much. “‘Chase’ and ‘friendly’ aren’t usually paired together. I think he got more badly injured running away from us than he did from whatever happened in the emperor’s mind.” He nearly dropped the kid as a thought occurred to him. “Wait—Belos doesn’t think he’s dead, he said it himself in there, he said Belos knew he was in there—Belos will be looking for him!”

Caleb hissed in. “That was… always a possibility with him. And he’s seen us now, we can’t just leave him with no explanation. We can’t leave him here at all, look at him, he’s probably got a concussion, and I think he’s hurt his ankle!”

“I didn’t think we should, I just… Do we bring him home? We could always just stay out here. If he wants to stay out, if we think he needs to stay out, he won’t know where to find us.”

“We can’t stay in the woods. If that human comes looking for him, if the scouts come looking for him… we need to go. Taking a new Grimwalker home is always a risk, but one we have to take.”

By the time they made it back to the house, the gash had stopped bleeding, and the lump had settled to the stable size of a fist, ugly purple. Mrs. Wittebane met them at the door, her lips pursed, and she took the teenager from Hunter’s arms, turning back towards the house.

“Will he be okay?”

“Not the worst I’ve seen,” she said, and ducked into another room, followed by a trail of Grimwalkers, as well as the palisman. Hunter pushed through them into the room, where Mrs. Wittebane was already working on his head wound, her healing magic sealing up the gash and shrinking the lump. Her eyes narrowed at her husband. “Not the worst at all. Caleb?”

Caleb rubbed the back of his head. “He… he ran afoul of Phillip, but… he got away.”

“WHAT?!” Jason yelped from the door.

The smaller Hunter flinched in his sleep, and Caleb put a finger to his lips. “He didn’t have anywhere to go, and we couldn’t risk losing track of him.”

Cherry shook his head. “Dad, I don’t want to… but is this a good idea? If Uncle doesn’t think he’s dead…”

“Belos doesn’t know where we are, and he doesn’t have any reason to suspect that Hunter will be in this area. Even if he’s looking for him, we just have to lay low. He’s not going to find us.”

A few of the grimwalkers grumbled to their neighbors, but Caleb shooed them away. Jason scooted in, looking up at Hunter. “What happened?”

Hunter shook his head. “I… I don’t even know how to start.”

“Going to be interesting. Two Hunters around.”

You’re not—I’m Hunter!

Hunter sat down, watching Mrs. Wittebane turn her attention to the golden guard’s left ankle. “I… I don’t know. Maybe it’s time to change?”

Jason froze, then blinked. “You said it’s your name, and you wanted to keep it.”

You’re not—I’m Hunter!

Hunter sighed, resting his chin in his hands. “I think… he needs it more than I do right now.”

Jason plopped down next to him. “What’s it gonna be, then?”

Hunter glanced at Mrs. Wittebane. “I’m thinking… Phoenix.”

A small smile crossed her face, but she continued wrapping up Hunter’s ankle without a word.

“Phoenix? Like the bird?”

“In human legends they… rise up again after they die, they burst into flames and turn into something new. The same bird, but… different. Better.”

Jason stared at him for a moment, then snorted. “That’s pretentious.”

Phoenix reached over and tousled his hair roughly. “As if you didn’t pick the name of an ancient hero, commander of armies, killer of evil uncles.”

Jason pushed his hand away. “That’s different, I’m trying to be like him, not claiming that I already am!”

Hunter groaned, and Phoenix and Jason both went silent, shuffling closer to the bed. Jason hid slightly behind Phoenix, peering around him at Hunter, suspicion radiating off of him in alarming waves. Hunter’s eyes slowly blinked open, and he stared up at the ceiling for a couple of seconds before sitting bolt upright, putting his hand to his head.

“Hah—uh—huh—”

“Morning!” Mrs. Wittebane said cheerfully, all signs of doubt or worry erased from her face, “You gave everyone a scare!”

“I—it… It was just a…” Hunter’s eyes slid across the room, widening when they caught sight of Phoenix and Jason. He buried his head in his arms. “Oh.”

“Not a dream,” Phoenix said softly, “Sorry about what happened back there. But we were telling the truth, we really do want to help you.”

“Is that why you kidnapped me?”

“Would you have preferred they just left you unconscious in the woods?” Jason snapped.

Phoenix blinked at the sudden venom. “Jason, hey.”

Hunter didn’t answer that, instead burying his head deeper, fingers tapping on his arms.

“We can get you some fresh clothes,” Mrs. Wittebane said softly, “Some food, if you’re hungry. Or… just some space?”

He didn’t respond to her, either, and she got up, gesturing for Phoenix and Jason to leave with her.

“Jason, be nice. You of all people should know what he’s going through right now. Running away from home isn’t easy, especially when he’s the person you’re running from.”

Jason’s hands twisted in front of him. “Belos knows he’s alive, it’s not the same! What if… what if…”

“You heard your father. Phillip isn’t going to find us any time soon. So just… treat him the same as you would any other new Grimwalker. Permission to touch?”

Jason nodded, and Mrs. Wittebane cupped his face in her hands, giving his forehead a gentle kiss. “You’re one of the kindest people I know. If anyone can help him feel at home here, it’s you.”

“Okay,” he mumbled, but his hands were still wringing, fiddling with the end of his shirt.

Mrs. Wittebane smiled at them both, then padded down the hallway towards the door, murmuring a protective chant as she drew a circle in the air.

She’s not as confident he won’t find us as Caleb.

If he’s even actually that confident.

Jason took a deep breath, and opened the door to the room.

The window was open, and Hunter was gone.

“Mmmmmyep, definitely should have seen that one coming.

Phoenix poked his head out of the window. He could see a glimmer of gold in the trees—he hadn’t gotten far. “We’re going to go after him, right?”

Jason shrugged. “It’s either that or we tell the whole house he’s gone with no explanation on who we are and why we have to stay secret.”

“Going after him it is.”

Phoenix hopped out of the window, running towards the woods with Jason on his heels. “Hunter?” he called.

He ducked to the side as a blast of magic nearly slammed into his head. Hunter peered around a tree, pointing his staff at them. “Stay back!”

Phoenix held his hands up. “I know you’re confused. You don’t know who we are, what we want from you. And earlier was… not the greatest first impression. But we’ll explain, if you give us the chance.”

“Then explain.”

Phoenix took a deep breath. “How much… do you already know?”

“Enough to know that you’re supposed to be dead. That Belos killed you.”

Phoenix gestured to the blotchy scar on his face. “He tried.”

“He tried to kill me, too,” Jason piped up, “But we were saved at the last minute. He left us for dead, and… someone else came along to pick us up. Do you… know about what you are?”

Hunter nodded.

“Well, our ortet, our dad, he… he came for us. He rescued us.”

“That’s impossible!” Hunter burst out, “You, being here, being this age, him being alive, all of it is—it’s just impossible!” He ran a hand through his hair. “I saw you die, I saw memories of your deaths, this is just…”

“A lot to process?” Phoenix suggested.

He let out a hysterical laugh. “Finding out I’m a copy of someone was a lot to process. Finding out that my uncle’s been making and killing nephews for centuries was a lot to process. Finding out that the man I thought was doing good is planning a genocide was a lot to process. This? This is impossible!”

A chill ran down Phoenix’s spine, and he snapped up straight. “He’s what?! When?! How?!”

“I—how could you not know? Why else would he…?”

Phoenix shook his head. “I found out that his sigils had a built-in magic drainer, but I didn’t get any farther than that before...”

Hunter hobbled out from behind the tree. “They do more. A lot more.”

Before he could elaborate, a buzz went off, and Hunter startled. “Ah—not again—”

Phoenix blinked. “Is that a penstagram?”

“Yeah, I—” Hunter summoned it, still eyeing Phoenix and Jason while he looked at the notification. His face paled. “It’s Da—it’s one of the coven heads. I…” He twisted it around to show them.

Darius.

Little Prince, where are you? There are scouts looking for you.

Are you alright?

Answer me if you’re not dead

Hunter?

Answer me right now, Hunter, are you alright?

Stay where you are, I’m coming to you.

“That’s—how is he going to come to me? He doesn’t know where I am, right?”

Phoenix frowned at the scroll. “He doesn’t have guardian remote access to your penstagram, does he? He could turn on your find my friend if he did.”

“He could turn on what?”

“Find my f—oh, titan. Did you look at your settings at all?!”

“I could barely change the profile picture!”

Phoenix snatched the scroll out of Hunter’s hand, opening the settings. “You do. You left it on. You left your find my friends on?!”

Hunter snatched it back. “I didn’t even know that was a feature!”

“What are you two talking about?!” Jason yelped.

Phoenix pointed at the scroll. “Darius can track us.”

“He can track us here?! Well, turn the find my friend thingie OFF!”

Phoenix shook his head. “He’ll just head to Hunter’s last known location. I need to take it somewhere else first, lure him off the trail.”

He might be on our side, but… him knowing is dangerous for the rest of the family.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the concealment stone. “I’ll be back soon. Hunter, I know we haven’t given you any reason to trust us, but if you know something about the day of unity… please. Let us know. We want to help, I want to help.” He held his hand out. “Let me take care of this.”

Hunter bit his lip, then put the scroll in his hand. “Don’t get caught.”

Phoenix nodded, dashing through the woods and into the town, pushing his way to a crowded square and settling down to wait.

And then there he was, across the square. Frowning at a penstagram scroll of his own and scanning the crowd. Phoenix put a hand to the concealment stone around his neck, clutching it tightly. Darius looked around again, and Phoenix held up Hunter’s scroll.

Darius was across the square in a few quick strides. “Excuse me, have you seen a teenager? About yay high, blonde hair, he might be wearing a golden guard costume, you know how kids are with their cosplay.”

Phoenix stood up, showing him the penstagram. “He’s safe.”

“Fantastic, why don’t you take me to him?”

Phoenix shook his head. “He’s safe. And that’s all you need to know.”

Darius gave him a tight smile. “I don’t think you quite understand the situation.”

Phoenix met his eyes. “I know who he is. And I know why he’s running.”

Darius dropped the smile, his eyes narrowing. “Then you know why I need to find him now.”

“He’s safe,” Phoenix repeated, “We will protect him.”

“Yes, well, people have a habit of telling me that he’s ‘safe’ when he’s actually lying dead in an unmarked grave somewhere, so why don’t you just tell me where he is.”

Phoenix felt his heart tug in his chest.

I’m sorry

I didn’t mean to disappear on you.

“He’s safe. We will protect him. You don’t want to start a fight here.”

“Oh, I don’t, do I?”

Phoenix took a deep breath, steeling his nerves. “You don’t want to fight me, I promise. He sent me to talk to you. He is safe. He is taken care of. And the people he’s with want him to be happy.” Phoenix opened the settings of Hunter’s penstagram and showed Darius the screen as he turned “find my friends” off.

“He’ll contact you when he’s ready. When he’s ready to explain where he went. When he’s ready to apologize for disappearing on you, and not telling you where he’s been all this time, and making you worry. I’ll g—he’ll get in touch with you. Let him have that space. To… figure out how he feels about all of this. To figure out how to tell you.” Phoenix put the scroll away. “Don’t follow me. I’ll know.”

He ducked away, weaving through the streets.

Darius didn’t follow.

And no guardian access suddenly turned the tracker back on.

Phoenix let out a sigh, and leaned against a wall, sliding into a sitting position as his legs wobbled and gave out. He grasped his hair, pressing his forehead to his knees as tears burned at the corners of his eyes.

“I’ll tell you someday,” he whispered, “I promise.”

[shoutogepi]

Best Friends

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𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : 𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐨 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 2.7k

[ ☁︎ ]  angst

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : unrequited feelings :’( really brief mention of sex (not nsfw tho!) & also (underage?????) alcohol consumption! 

𝐛𝐢𝐨 : On your last night in the dorms, Shouto realizes he has feelings for you, his best friend. 

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : idk honestly i started writing this last night and was gonna abandon it... but then val tagged me in an angst ficrec and i was like ok well! this is a sign to post bc then i will have at least one sho angst on my masterlist lolll oops :o

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   ─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

🅃onight was the last night in the dorms. Three long years had come and went, and now everyone’s belongings were cleaned out and secured away with cardboard and tape, leaving an empty wing that was currently filled with bodies, neon lights, and red solo cups. Music was pounding through the hallways, reaching every room and allowing no one total escape from the celebration.

You had been occupying the dance floor with Mina and Tsuyu for the last half hour, and now that you had sweat off the latest drink of the night, it was time for you to set off and find your more moderate-tempered companion. The pink-skinned girl wiggled her eyebrows at you when you alerted them of where you were heading off to, Tsuyu planting a love tap on your ass as you made your way from the swarm of people. The frog girl wasn’t usually so loose, but the alcohol that pumped through everyone’s veins had left only a select few unaffected. Tsu, just like you, was one of the ones that was happily allowing the weight of daily student life slip from her shoulders.

There were plenties of warm bodies swaying with the heavy bass rattling the hallways, shadows of couples and interested singles leaning against the walls, whispers and rowdy laughs echoing as the entire graduating class of UA partied the night away. Skimming by the line outside the bathroom, your feet found their way toward the end of the hall easily enough, taking the path you had so many times before.

A creak sounded as you pushed the cracked door open, the sight of the open shoji screen allowing moonlight to stream onto the bamboo mat floor which crunched quietly underneath your tentative steps.

“Shouto?” you whispered his name, eyes taking in the silhouettes of the packed boxes against the walls before you turned and saw a shadow sitting on the mattress beside the door.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Your voice jolted Shouto from his wandering thoughts, his attention turning to you right away. He seemed surprised to see you standing there, and he peered up at you from his slightly hunched position on the couch. He acknowledged you with your name, his voice low and steady. By the sound of it, you wondered briefly if he had even had a drop to drink tonight.

Blinking at him a few times, you tried to adjust your eyes to the contrast between the bright moonlight and dark shadows. When you could finally see the planes of his handsome, somber face, you spoke, trying your best not to slur. “What are you doing over here all by yourself?”

He paused, lagging for a second before the corners of his mouth curled and his eyes crinkled at the sight of you. “Just thinking,” he answered, examining you in that intrigued way he always did. After a moment he must have reached the conclusion that you were some level of smashed, for he patted the empty space next to him on the bed with a smirk and said, “Come sit with me.”

For a moment you wondered why he was alone, but then your brain caught up with you, and you realized that his other friends were probably busy with their own issues or endeavors. Ever since Midoriya finally grew a pair and asked Uraraka out, the two had been going at it like rabbits every spare second they had. And you could only imagine how busy Iida was as class rep, trying to keep the party at least a little bit under control. Momo was definitely helping him, and you had seen Bakugou begrudgingly holding Kaminari up with Kirishima under his other arm when you’d passed by them in the hall… Leaving only you to come and rouse the half and half hero from his solitude.

“Well that’s not allowed tonight!” You exclaimed, fist slapping against the side of your thigh. You would’ve used both hands for emphasis had the other not been occupied with a half-full plastic cup. Your legs felt like jello as you moved toward him, his cool hand wrapping around your arm to offer his support and steer you into the spot beside him. You almost fell but he held you up with the one arm, chuckling as your butt finally met the safety of the duvet.

“Thinking’s forbidden?” he laughed at your insistence, the sound rich and deep as his hand lingered on your wrist.

“Yes,” you nodded vehemently, pulling your hand away from his to cradle your precious cup and shooting him a playful, sideways glare.  “Brain turned off for the night. It’s in the fine print of the party rules, of course.”

Shouto gave you a funny look, eying you from the side. He repositioned himself, sitting upright and closing his eyes. It was hard for him to remain stoic when the quiet sound of your amused giggles tickled his ears, but he managed a nod before his eyes settled on you again. “Okay, I think it’s off.”

Conversation was always natural between the two of you, he never had to struggle to keep it flowing. And he liked talking with you, being in your presence. Which was the only reason why he was still entertaining this ridiculous charade.

“How do you feel?” you inquired, a goofy grin on your lips.

There was a twinkle in your eyes as you teased him, but Shouto held no qualms with your playfulness. Most people were still afraid to joke with him, believing that he was too obtuse to understand humor. Sure, he had struggled with the transition to school life in the beginning of their first year, but after you had transferred into their class second year, he found himself opening up even more than he already had.

“I feel… the same.” The grin on his lips remained, his eyes settled on your drunken form. His gaze flicked to your smile, shining in the moonlight and making something twinge in his stomach. He cleared his throat, pushing down the feeling that haunted him every time he looked at you too long. “This doesn’t really work, does it?”

You pretended to entertain the thought for a moment, eyes rolling as you considered it animatedly before your lips broke into a beautiful smile again. “No,” you giggled, shoulders shrugging in your cute, drunken fit. “But it’s easier when you’re not sober!”

He turned, faux surprise hung from his brow. “You’re drunk?” Sarcasm dripped from his voice and splashed onto you where his jean-clad thigh brushed against yours.

“Shut up!” You punched at his shoulder and pushed him away from you, shuffling yourself in the process.

Your hair swished with the movement and suddenly the soft, sweet scent of you was crashing over him. He breathed it in shamelessly, allowing himself to indulge in the warm feeling that suddenly emanated through his chest.

“You could try it, if you wanted. It really does help,” you offered your cup to him, shrugging.

Shouto eyed the red plastic cup, hesitant. He really wasn’t one to drink, but then again, neither were you. Tonight was about celebrating your graduation from UA, opening the next chapter of your lives. The thing was, he wasn’t sure if he was ready to move on when it meant leaving all his relationships either behind him or pushed to the side. Okay, maybe he was kidding himself… there was only one person he would miss having in his daily life, and that person was sitting right beside him— the same one who was the source of his conflicted feelings.

“Or not!” your hand retreated and you took a little sip, the sweet jungle juice washing down your throat easily. “No pressure. It’s your choice, Sho.”

He nearly groaned at the nickname, the one he only allowed you to call him. Grabbing the cup from you, his calloused fingers brushed over your soft knuckles. He smirked at the excitement that surfaced in your gaze as he brought the lip of the cup to his mouth, emptying the contents in one long go. The liquid was sickly sweet, masking the bitter poison that entered his body alongside it.

“That was… truly disgusting.”

“Whaaat?” You balked, grabbing for the cup in dismay. He kept it out of reach, even though it was empty, setting it on the far table instead. “It’s good, I dunno what you’re on. It’s really, really good. Heheh, just like me…”

Shouto blushed at the innocent innuendo, looking at you as you closed your eyes and let out a noise between a sigh and a laugh. He gulped, realizing that the alcohol was already taking effect and he was beginning to slip under its influence. Your method of “turning your brain off” was proving to be much more effective with the alcohol’s aid, but that was a whole other issue which he failed to foresee. 

He usually preferred to keep his brain on and fully functioning, especially when he was alone, with you. That way, when you roused the butterflies in his stomach and pulled on his heartstrings, he could tell himself to just ignore it and focus on how important your friendship was to him. But now, his defenses were failing him, and there was nothing he could do to stop his heart from beating faster, palms getting clammier.  

“You’re good?” he reiterated quietly, watching the way your tongue swiped across your lips, enchanted by it.

You chortled, finding the thought entertaining, apparently. “Yes! I feel really good right now.”

“Ah,” he murmured, sitting back and allowing the pillow he had propped up to sink around his form. “I feel... kinda good, too.”

A mix between a laugh and a scoff escaped you at his confession. “You feel something already, Sho? Wow, that’s so efficient.”

Shouto didn’t really know what you meant by that, but he only smiled softly at the happy look on your face. He closed his eyes and listened to the fast rush of blood in his ears, the feeling of warmth prickling at his skin. He wasn’t drunk, per se, but he felt a little lighter than usual.

You had said that drinking would turn his brain off, but it seemed only part of it wasn’t functioning. The other side of his mind was working overtime, much to his chagrin. 

He was suddenly aware that this would be one of his last moments with you before everything would change. You were going to an internship not too far from his, only an hour away by train. But seeing you wouldn’t be nearly as easy as walking down the hallway… and it could only happen if the both of you found a time that worked and had the motivation to travel the distance to meet one another. He wasn’t sure if you wanted to do all that, just to see him.The realization hit him hard. 

No more sneaking to one another’s room and having whispered, midnight conversations. No more studying together and simply being in your presence. No more opportunities to let his gaze linger on you longingly, nor chances for him to grab your hand when your knuckles brushed against his in the middle of your walks. 

He felt sick at the thought of living without you. Maybe… maybe it was time for him to face his feelings head on. He had spent so long denying the recognition of them, the acceptance of them. The loss of you was imminent, unless he could finally force himself to say something, and it had to be soon.

As if you had picked up on his distress, you hummed quietly and shuffled closer to his side. His quirk spiked at the sudden proximity, heat flaring up as your head came to rest on his shoulder.

“I’m a sappy drunk, so I apologize for what I’m about to say,” you mumbled into his t-shirt, his skin prickling as your warm breath wandered through the seams and onto his skin. 

He huffed out a laugh to ease your worries, but he stayed absolutely still, unwilling to move a muscle in case it would somehow scare your body off of his. 

Then you whispered, “M’so lucky to have met you, Sho.”

Shouto choked on thin air, subtly wiping the moisture on his palms across the tops of his denim-covered thighs. Your scent surrounded him, and he couldn’t resist resting his head on top of yours, slowly breathing between your locks. “I… I feel the same, Y/n…”

It was quiet for another moment, his mind playing out a hundred ways to confess, trying to find the right words. Meanwhile, you were simply enjoying his reciprocation and the peacefulness of the quiet away from the party, completely unaware of his inner turmoil.

You sighed and he shivered as your breath scattered across his collarbone again, almost jumping when your fingers landed softly over his. How you remained so soft with their vigorous training, he had no clue. But your fingers felt so warm, so right lacing with his. His throat was thick with apprehension, a lump forming there as the seconds ticked by. It wasn’t often the two of you were sitting so close together, and he wondered if he was a piece of shit for thanking whatever God there was out there for you being kind of inebriated and so touchy right now. 

Slowly, he turned to look at you, eyes wide and conflicted, taking in how truly astonishing your beauty was up close. You lifted your head from your perch on his shoulder, gaze locking with his before your lips curled into a meek smile. Digits tightening around his, you squeezed his hand and rubbed your thumb across his knuckles.

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, screaming at him to do something— anything— whatever it took for him to just form the words and tell you that he was in love with—

“Thank you for being my best friend.”

—you… He blinked, the words registering. 

You continued. “I know we’re moving away from each other, but I never wanna lose you. I cherish our friendship too much for that to happen, Shouto.”

Your words cut him. 

Friends. Friendship. 

His blood felt like it had frozen in his veins and he had become a statue, stock still as you carried on thoughtlessly, eyes now flickering over to the moon hung low in the indigo night sky. 

“Please promise me that we'll never change. We might grow as people, but… our friendship will stay intact, right? I don’t wanna grow apart.”

It hurt. 

Time had stopped and his lungs shriveled up, his body aching as if you had just lodged your knee straight into his ribs. His tongue tasted bitter suddenly, and he could almost hear the sound of his heart cracking.

But Shouto was good at hiding his emotions, years of compartmentalizing them giving him an edge that no one else he knew had. He kept his face neutral, even if it felt like he was withering and dying inside.

“I just… don’t ever wanna lose you.”

It was almost impossible to force his lips into a thin, hollow smile. But he managed, even if it felt like prying iron with a crowbar. He looked into your eyes and nodded.

He understood. To some extent, he truly understood. 

“I don’t want to lose you either, Y/n... Don’t worry,” he took a deep breath, forcing the next words out even if he felt like he was about to be sick.

He cherished his bond with you too much to risk chancing it, confessing to you, and throwing it all away after your certain rejection.  He loved you too much to ever hurt you, and he was too selfish to let go of you, too. The only one that would suffer from this was him, and he was alarmingly alright with that.

If it meant that he got to hold onto you, even for just a little bit longer. 

If it meant that you would be happy... Even if he wasn’t.

“We’ll always be friends... I promise.”

   ─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

.

.

˚‧º·(˃̣̣̥∩˂̣̣̥)‧º·˚ ˚‧º·(˃̣̣̥∩˂̣̣̥)‧º·˚ ˚‧º·(˃̣̣̥∩˂̣̣̥)‧º·˚ 

afJSNKJKDKJ WRITING ANGST FOR MY BABY IS SO HARD AHH I LOVE U SHO PLS... reader is so dumb to see u only as a friend i hate that dumb bitch  ughhh (TдT)

➥ masterlist

𝐂𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 © 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐩𝐢 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟏 . 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.

[vinciwolf]

Pit of Desires

Pairing: Maul x fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+, nsfw, sex pollen, creampie, unprotected p in v sex, knot kink, drunk sex(?), Maul being a dom...

Notes: This is a gift for the lovely @a-dorin and he OC “August.”

Tags: @fallenrepublick @savagesbonergarage @justalittlecloud @a-dorin

           Maul had disappeared from camp some time ago, so you and Savage went to look for him before it became too dark. You both knew he could take care of himself, clearly being a Sith, but it was unlike him to walk out of camp without telling either of you of his whereabouts and why he would leave for so long.

           Following the amulet Mother Talzin gave you for emergencies, you walked through the lush shrubbery and forest. The sun was setting below the horizon. Looking around, you did not watch your feet and stumbled over a log, almost felling into a foggy pit. After steadying yourself, you looked down at the glowing jewel and became puzzled. It was glowing brighter every time your moved it closer to the pit. You crouched down onto your knees and hands and looked down into the deep pit.

           You quieted your breathing and concentrated. Choking and muffled whines came from below. Eyes widening, you were sure that the noises came from Maul. It sounded like him. Before you could turn around and run for help, the edge of the pit crumbled and fell beneath your weight.

.

.

.

           You shake your head with a drawn-out groan. The fall made your take a small beating, but something was off about your mind. Joints and muscles sore, your body was burning up. Your chest felt light and full at the same time. It felt strangely… satisfying. Like you were drunk or half-asleep, mind clouded and foggy, but still able to comprehend your surroundings just enough to be almost fully aware.

           Looking around, you noticed a body a few yards away from where you landed. Belly filling up with heat, your face flushed from the sight you saw before you. Maul’s robe parted down the middle, belt abandoned to his side, and his pants were rolled down just enough for him to be free. His hand was stroking his oozing shaft roughly, paying no heed to the white mess getting all over his hands and thighs. The zabrak must not have heard you when you fell, for he was pleading for your name, your touch.

           “August, please, faster…” he choked as tears spilled from his crunched eyelids.

           Maul then sped up his hand. He tsked and bit back a battered moan before he came again. The cum, like his tears, ran liberally down his skin. You wanted to move closer. Something pulsated deep down to comfort him, to kiss his shiny lips, to let him be inside—No! You shook your head and took a deep breath. He was your superior and a Sith. Maul would never indulge such fantasies just for you. But each inhale that you took from the fog, floating with rosy pollen, made your mind suffocate in ecstasy… making your body gush below and more susceptible to your desires. It was intoxicating. You licked your lips, top to bottom, and rubbed your thighs together from the sudden irritable tightness of your undergarments.

           Inch by inch, your limbs compelled you forward towards the moaning zabrak. When you placed your damp lips on Maul’s burning cheek, he twitched and opened his eyes. You ran your fingers down his chest and found a hard nipple, rubbing it slowly. While kissing his jawline up towards under his earlobe, Maul gasped repeatedly under your gentle embrace.

                       “Are you real?” he asked, voice shaken. “Or have I finally gone mad and this is a figment of my imagination?”

           You laughed softly. “I am here. This is real.”

           “Please…”

           “Ask anything of me… I’m yours,” you bargain seductively.

           “I—I—want to be… inside you,” Maul struggled to say freely, admitting his most intimate wish.

           You crawl on top of Maul and kiss him, knees resting on either side of him. The zabrak’s hands find your ass and massage the mounds of flesh. Sitting up, you unravel your robe and allow your breasts to spill forward with a small bounce. The warrior beneath you took your tits and squeezed them fondly. They feel painfully heavy in his hands. Your nipples puckered and pushed forward between his fingers. Then, Maul sits up and takes one into his excruciatingly hot mouth. His tongue folds and laps over the nub, making release a baffled whine, before he retreats and helps you slip out of your pants.

           You were stark naked in front of a very powerful Sith Lord, yet he was so sweet and submissive in your presence. Pushing him lightly downwards, Maul whimpered and breathed heavier from the position that you had over him. Literally. You splayed your hands over his chest and gripped into the tattooed flesh. A long, pleased cry fluttered from your whole body as you gradually sank down on the zabrak’s sweltering cock. He tipped his head back into the ground and whimpered painfully while gripping the dirt.

           “Yes—yes!” he begged, fingers roughly indenting your ass cheeks.

           Every nerve in your heat tingled from the rippling sensation moving through your walls as Maul’s ridged cock entered you. Somehow nothing hurt, it was only pleasure that your bottom felt despite being split open. You lift your hips and sink down again. The burn and stretch of each ridge ushered more excitement in the pit of your stomach. Legs shaking, breath caught in your throat, you roll your pelvis and slowly gain traction along the cock from the thick arousal gushing from your stuffed cunt. It did not take long to build up enough lubricant between the two of you. Maul was covered in cum and your walls were dripping by the time he glided inside you.

           Each bounce of your body had you and the zabrak letting out desperate, battered cries. Your chest was heavy and your armpits and backside dripped with perspiration. It was becoming harder to gasp down enough air before another form of high washed over you both. Maul then clasped your thighs and bit his bottom lip. His fangs almost pierced his own flesh. Abs tightening, he drew back a loud, painful growl. Like he was restricting his lust to let go… to take over you. As each thrust grew shorter and rougher, something poked your entrance, and you began to understand Maul’s sexual frustration.

           Only a worthy mate could be knotted by a zabrak, and apparently your presence was enough to stimulate this instinctual bonding process within the warrior beneath you. Maul thrashed and yelled when your hips dug and bucked his cock deeper into your walls.

           “I’m yours!” you screamed.

           Maul sits up and shoves you more snug against his frame. Then he thumps you onto the ground, positioning his legs beneath your rump and throwing your legs over his broad shoulders. His cock slid into your slick heat with ease now. When he began to rut inside you, his whole body moved forward promptly, rocking you along with him. Each thrust was purposeful. Each thrust Maul pushed farther than the last to get as deeply as he could before the base of his cock swelled too big to fit. The knot expanded quickly and the round mass bloated your entrance pathway. Wailing repeatedly with each hammered thrust, your fingernails left half-sphere indents along the zabrak’s back as the knot was fully enveloped by your whole cunt. You felt tight and stiff from Maul’s cock being sealed inside you, but it felt amazing being locked together with this powerful warrior. That he chose you to bond with in secrecy.

           Then Maul turned completely feral. His chest rumbled as if hungry to finish what had started. He mumbled into your neck his pleas and curses and wrapped his strong arms around your back. Bucking his hips roughly, he pounded however he could despite the limitation of his knot. The onset of an orgasm awakened, pulsated, inside your core, spreading along your labia and blossoming clit. Blood rushed to your cheeks, your nether parts, and ringed through your ears. Fingers found your clit and rubbed circular shapes into the sensitive nub which made you unravel. Frantic whimpers and tears leaked down your face as your high spasmed and exploded throughout yourself. Maul let out the loudest shriek you have ever heard when he too finally peaked. Steaming cum shot violently inside your walls. You were filled and kept being filled until Maul’s knot emptied completely.

           Nose to nose, forehead to forehead, neither of your moved while panting breathlessly. You cupped Maul’s cheek and were about to kiss him but he pulled back with hesitancy. Then he softened and allowed your lips to connect for a moment before he pecked the underside of your chin. With reluctance in his movement, the zabrak slid out of you and flopped on the dusty ground with a thud. Both of you were exhausted. Sitting up, you wince from the sharp soreness coming from your bottom. You could sense the white liquid leaking down your folds when you carefully stood up. Your legs wobbled in response but did not make you fall. Twisting to look behind yourself, you noticed Maul erected on the ground and leaning on one of his palms, head down as if contemplating where to go next after what just occurred between the two of you. You found your robs and boots and covered yourself, then you crouched down near the Sith.

           “We don’t have to discuss—”

           “No, I… I’ve desired your company for a long time, but didn’t know how to… how to,” he fumbled with his words trying to articulate a perfect sentence to describe his feelings for you.

           “You… we… can process this all later,” you pick up his black robe, “…but this was not a mistake.” Your hand took Maul’s jaw and turned him to look at you, then you grinned contently before putting the long fabric in your hand into his. His yellow eyes traveled over your face and scanned you for lies.

           The lines between his eyebrows softened when he realized there were none to be found.

[fatiguing-thoughts]

“Fate” - Paul Lahote

Request: The reader (shy!fem!reader) meets Paul (twilight) in the woods while he is in wolf form and he imprints on her. Coz the reader is shy and has no friends (lol) she befriends the 'wolf'. So when they have been friends for a while Paul finally transforms into his human form and explains everything and then fluff? Thank you 😊❤️

The crunching of leaves. That’s all I can hear now. I continued walking forward, loving the noise and the smell of the pine trees around me. 

This was my daily routine now, for the last week. The woods were always my safe place, where I went to clear my head. It’s where I always spent my free time, my time for my personal thoughts.  

I had just moved to Forks about three week ago, I came from Oregon. I wanted to be closer to the Olympic National Forest, and for some reason, it just called to me. It called to be my new home. 

I spent the first couple of weeks unpacking and settling, but the newfound freedom and time to explore the great forests around my small town were beyond enticing. 

The loneliness was setting in, pushing me to go into the woods more and more. Even though I was still lonely out here, it was much better than being alone in the house. I missed my family and friends, but living here was something that just felt like I was doing something… right. 

The loneliness out here wasn’t as deafening than in my small home. I felt better surrounded by trees, listening to the sounds of nature, or the lack of normal everyday sound; it was music to my ears. 

As I pressed forward, I found the new clearing I chose the other day. This one a little bigger than the last, more calming to me. 

I put my blanket down, played some soothing music; a beautiful composition. I took out my sketchbook, drawing my surroundings. 

That’s when I heard the grass shift across the clearing. The leaves crunching, a shift in the atmosphere. The feeling washed over me, I was no longer alone. 

I felt my breath hitch as I tore my eyes away from the sketchbook, looking across the clearing. 

I saw a wolf. An enormous wolf. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I’ve seen wolves, and they’re not anywhere near the size of this. I wouldn’t even come up to the shoulder on this one, it had to be about 6 feet tall on all fours. This couldn’t be real.

I blink hard, but when I open my eyes, it doesn’t go away, my sight was not deceiving me. 

That’s when it happened, our eyes connected. I couldn’t break the eye contact, neither did the massive creature. 

The wind got knocked out of me, I felt something in me shift. I felt like I couldn’t breathe, but it wasn’t fear. 

No, fear was the last thing from my mind. What I felt was peace. I couldn’t imagine why I felt so at peace with a creature that could kill me faster than I could blink, but it’s all I felt. 

I broke the eye contact away, hoping that I didn’t make the situation worse and frighten the wolf. 

It walks a bit closer, head low. I still feel that feeling, the feeling of someone sitting on my chest-- but in the best way. 

“Jesus.” I mutter as it moves closer. 

The paws were easily the size of my head, thumping along the path to me. I felt the ground move as it got closer. 

A look of curiosity and caution painted the enormous face, eyes never tearing from mine. 

“Holy shit.” I mutter again.

It stops in its tracks, about five feet from me, looking at me as if it was asking for permission to approach closer. 

I gulp and swallow the lump in my throat. The sense of peace and calm is still radiating through my body. I stood up from my spot, feeling as if it was the best thing to do at this moment. 

The wolf nods its head towards me, in which I nod back. 

It walks closer before bowing its head, eyes still looking into mine. I see my reflection in the iris. Its eyes were that of a beautiful chocolate brown. I admire the rest of the wolf up close, noticing all of the different grey and silver tones in its beautiful fur. I cautiously reach my hand out, knuckles out, offering it to smell me before I even thought about petting it. 

As I outstretch my hand, I feel the enormous head under my palm. I begin to graze my fingertips along the top of its head, daring to dance my fingertips upon the center top of its snout. 

Its ears laid back against the massive head, leaning more weight into my touch. The fur was so soft, I found myself growing more and more comfortable with the presence of this being. I was way too close now, I lost all sense of caution. 

I smiled at the wolf as I returned the eye contact. It moved even closer, standing against my side. I laid my head upon the side of where its shoulder began. I never felt so small before. I felt a little grumble come from the wolf’s chest before it backed up, and laid down next to my blanket. I plopped myself back down. 

I caught the wolf’s eyes wandering over to my drawing of the clearing. 

“You like art or something?” I chuckled softly, knowing how silly it may seem to be talking to this wolf, though deep down I felt we had some kind of understanding.

The wolf nodded, before placing its head on my leg. The head was heavier than I imagined, but I enjoyed it. It was a soothing weight. The nod must have been coincidental, I tell myself. 

I then begin to scratch behind its ears, and laying the rest of my body down, head still on the front of my thigh. 

“This is the best, well only, company I’ve had in a month.” I smile to myself, once again trying to converse with the creature. 

I heard a large huff of air and felt the warmth on my thigh grow, the breath passing through my jeans.  

I check the time on my phone, seeing that it was later than I thought. The wolf and I sat here for hours, though they passed quickly. 

“I should leave now, sunset is approaching. I gotta get out of here before dark. After all, who knows what’s in here.” I chuckle as I begin to sit up, getting my things together into my backpack. 

The wolf looks at me, puffs again, and almost seems to roll its eyes. I could’ve sworn it looked just like it did. 

As I begin walking, I notice the wolf walking beside me. 

“Ah, walking me to my car? A gentleman, I see.” I laugh softly to myself. 

As we approach the end of the forest, the beginning of the treeline and my parked car in sight, the wolf looks down at me. 

I return the eye contact, and scratch behind the ear again, earning the leaning of the massive head into my hand. 

“This is an everyday thing for me. Same place tomorrow.” I say laughing at how ridiculous I sound. 

I earn another nod from the wolf and can’t help but feel that it truly understands what I’m saying. 

I walk over to my car, the distance between the wolf and I growing. I felt empty as the space grew, a newer feeling. I walked over to my car and looked back to see the wolf standing where I left it. 

I wave goodbye, earning a nod from the massive being. I get into my car and watch it run away, faster than I’ve seen anything move. 

The drive home was quick, as it mostly consisted of replaying the days events. 

I knew for certain that I was either insane or blessed. 

Sleeping tonight came easier than ever before. No nightmares, though the eyes of the beautiful creature filled my dreams that night. 

I woke up the next morning feeling at ease, but also if something was missing. I was almost counting down the minutes until I got to go back to my little clearing. Hopefully doing some work will make the day pass faster. 

I ferociously finish my work for the day, hoping that it would make time pass. Though my mind continuously wanders back to yesterday. 

Was it even real?

What if the creature didn’t show up today? Would I just have imagined the understanding that I thought we had? Was the connection just an imagination? 

No, I know what I saw. I am not insane, I am not making any of this up. 

As the agonizing hours passed, I sat and drew. I found myself drawing the eyes of the creature.  They were all I could see all day. 

I look over at the clock and basically spring off of my couch, grabbing my keys and backpack to head back out to the woods. 

I walk over into the clearing and sit in my previous spot on the blanket. This time I had some snacks with me, as I didn’t eat today from being so distracted. 

I began to peel my orange when I heard the snapping of a branch behind me. I took a sip of my water as I turned to look at what was behind me. 

The deep, chestnut brown eyes looking down at me. I felt such a connection to this wolf, I felt safe. 

It then moves next to where I sat, laying down once more. 

I place my orange down back onto the brown paper bag.

“Blueberries?” I outstretch my hand with a few berries in it, offering it to the creature. 

His snout found my hand, hot breath finding its way into my palm. The rough tongue and soft scraping of teeth against my palm as it took the berries from my hand.

I smile before getting some more, offering again. The wolf once again took the food from my hand. 

I truly enjoyed the company, though it did confuse me more than anything. I couldn’t describe the connection I felt to this magical being, but it was there. 

I began to make some small talk to the wolf, though I know I would not get a response. 

“You’re my first and only friend, bud. I moved here a little less than a month ago. Still unsure of what brought me here, but I think things are starting to add up. I just miss having people around, ya know?” I look over to the creature, noticing that their eyes never left my face. 

The wolf nods, putting his head back into my leg and nuzzling into me. I scratch behind their ears. 

“Anyway, I left Oregon to come here. I miss my friends and family, but I think I’ll be happier here. So far, I’m loving the new scenery. I used to spend a lot of time in the woods back there, it’s where I have my personal thoughts, where I unwind. Now that I’m here, I already have a buddy so soon. I always did it alone, but here you are. Even though you can’t talk, I enjoy your company.” I spoke softly to the being. 

Its eyes never broke from mine, just like always. 

“Your eyes are magnificent.” I softly chuckled. 

The wolf nuzzles closer to me, and I lay down on my blanket. 

This is how I spent my days now. This continued for weeks. Getting closer to this beautiful creature, befriending the most beautiful being that ever existed on the planet. 

Until one day, when I showed up to the clearing at the usual time. My new friend nowhere in sight. 

I sat down in our usual spot, waiting for the arrival of the creature. 

I waited for about ten minutes before I finally heard the relieving crunching of twigs and leaves behind me. 

“It’s about time you showed up, I got worried.” I bit back my smile. 

The wolf had a telling look in its eyes today, almost nervous. 

I scratched behind the large ear, once again being leaned into. I grew to really love this. 

As soon as I sat down, I noticed the wolf didn’t follow suit as per usual. 

It looked me in the eyes, nodding its head to the treeline. My eyes followed as the wolf walked behind the brush. 

I stood up, but didn’t follow the being out of the clearing. I watched from the treeline as it disappeared just out of view. 

Then I heard it. 

The shifting of bones. The brush disturbed from movement. 

I back up cautiously. 

A moment later, a tall, muscular man walks out of the tree line. 

I back up a bit out of surprise. I observed him in his entirety. His cutoff jean shorts, t-shirt, and beat up old shoes. Beautiful russet skin, cropped black hair, and... deep chestnut brown eyes. 

Those eyes. The ones that engulfed me into a state of peace with every look. I would recognize those eyes in a sea of people. 

The tall man smiles at me, walking closer. 

I don’t back up this time, confused yet comforted by the look in his eyes. He was the most beautiful man I had ever seen, I was drawn to him. 

“(Y/N), it’s me.” The man says. 

“How do you know my name?” I question. 

“Well, you told me a few weeks ago. Well, my other form.” He chuckles. 

“Okay, maybe I am nuts.” I laugh softly. 

“No, you’re not. Well, after listening to you for weeks, you might be. But, I have a lot of explaining to do. I’m Paul by the way.” He chuckles. 

“Hi Paul.”

We walk over to my blanket and he sits with me. 

“So, I guess I’ll explain to you what I am.” He says, slightly smirking at me. 

“I think you should, I’m very confused right now.” I smile back. 

“Well, I’m what you would call a shapeshifter. I shift into a wolf. You met me in that form.” His chestnut brown eyes peering into my soul, pleading for my attention. 

“But how? Why?” I manage to speak. 

“Well, we’re not the only magical beings. But it’s a Quileute legend, well clearly a lot more than a legend… I’m a protector of the land and people. But these are tribal secrets.” He says, still never breaking eye contact. 

“Protector? From what?” I was now concerned. 

“Well, vampires.” He answered, laughing at how crazy it sounds to say out loud, to explain to an outsider. 

“Vampires are real? And they’re here?” I ask, slightly getting fearful. 

“Yes. There’s been some coming into the area for some, not for anything good. There’s a coven here, though they’re what you call ‘good ones,’ only feeding off animals instead of humans.” He explains. 

“Wow, this is insane. But, how did you find me?” 

“Well, one of the other members of the pack picked up your scent, as well as one of the vampires we were looking for. So we took turns watching to make sure they didn’t hunt you. Which by the way, you should not be spending so much time in the woods alone. Have you ever heard of bears? Or murderers? Have you learned anything from horror movies?” He laughed. 

“Yes. I have. But it’s just, it’s what feels right for me.” I admitted. 

“I understand. You seem like one with nature.” He laughs.

“So you guys protected me?” I jump back a step.

“Yeah, well we took turns while the others went other places.” 

“Oh, so why did you stay for weeks? And why did you hang out with me?” “Well, when it was my turn, something happened. And then I couldn’t leave you. I needed to be the one who watched over you. I wanted to get to know you, I wanted to meet you. We connected.” 

“I know, I felt that. I feel like I’ve known you for ages. But what happened? How are we connected? Why do I get to know the tribal secrets?” I asked, I needed to understand. 

“Well, you’ve taken this so well. So there’s this thing. It’s called imprinting.” He finally looks down at his hands. 

“Imprinting?” I question.

He looks back into my eyes. 

“Well, it’s kinda like soulmates. Like love at first sight, almost. Although, it doesn’t have to be romantic. It’s kind of like-- when it happens, whoever a wolf imprints on, becomes the world. There is no gravity, it’s them holding you down to the Earth. You would do anything, be anything for them. A brother, a protector, a lover. It’s super intense, but it happens to some of us. And well, you’re my imprint.” 

I looked at him and nodded. I was trying to take this all in, it all made sense as to why I felt so strongly connected. Why I felt so at peace, why I loved being so close. 

“Listen, I know it’s a lot to take in. I understand. But just know that it is dangerous for us to be apart. It’ll hurt us both-- emotionally, physically, mentally. However, you hold the reins here.” He gave me a soft smile. 

“This is a lot. You’re right. But, I feel so connected to you. I wanna be around you, I love being around you. I’m so glad you’re actually a real person. However, I do want to take this slow. I want to get to know you as a person, not just the wolf. I want to meet the real you. I want to expand the friendship before any kind of romantic relationship blossoms too fast.” I say honestly. 

“That sounds like a great idea. Maybe you can come to the bonfire at La Push tonight. I think it’ll help you understand more. Plus then you’ll meet the rest of the pack. We could work on the friends thing, too.” He smiles from ear to ear, probably excited at the mention of a romantic relationship. 

We talked for hours, more about us personally than the imprinting thing, wolf thing, or vampire thing-- we saved that for the bonfire. 

The bonfire went well. I met the whole pack. A lot of banter and rough housing between the guys, especially when the imprint jokes came around. 

I took a liking to Leah, though she was rough on the outside I felt that we would be great friends. 

Over the next few weeks, Paul and I spent almost all our free time together. Things were great. Of course the friends thing didn’t last too long, how could I not want to have this amazing man as my partner? He was caring, sweet, protective, and even handsomer than anyone else I had ever seen. Our relationship was one purer than anything I could’ve ever imagined. 

Getting closer to the pack was great, I always had friends around. I loved Emily and helping her cook for the bottomless pit-stomached boys. It was like I was meant to be around, I guess that’s fate for you. 

Most of all, I cherished every moment I had with Paul. Stealing hoodies and having more fun than I’ve ever had before. 

I loved Paul Lahote more than I could put into words. No words were needed. 

This was happiness, this was pure bliss. 

We spent our days on hikes, fooling around and rough housing at the beach, and doing whatever we could do together. 

He whispered sweet-nothings into my ear at any given chance, causing me to smile, blushing like a maniac. His warm hugs and cuddles, sleeping next to him only brought me peaceful sleep I desired my entire life. 

Fate truly is something. 

_____________________________

Word Count: 3280

Yes this was long. No I’m not sorry. Yes I enjoyed it. Might have been a swift transition, but it’s super long and idc. Thank you for coming folks 

[criminalshminds]

A Broken Whisper

A very, very, very late prompt from @eprcntiss, but good things happens to those who wait, right???

Prompt: “What are you doing here?  It’s late.” Pairing: Hotchniss (Emily Prentiss x Aaron Hotchner) Rating: General Audiences Words: 1968 TW: Canon faked death, slight intrusive thoughts

Summary: He didn’t know why he felt the need to check up on her, but he’s glad he did.  Though he never thought she’d be here. (Post Doyle)

*****************************************************************

He couldn’t say why he had the urge to check on Emily, he just did.  Something has been up with her since she came back after Doyle. Hotch has tried to be a sounding board for her, but her walls are always up that she manages to deflect any of his concern and places it back on him. But he saw her face at the take down that night.  He saw the lone tear that fell down her cheek, one that she quickly wiped away before anyone could see it.  Maybe that one tear led him to her apartment.  He parks in a spot that looks directly up into her apartment.  A spot that he has been in plenty of times before, back when things were simpler.  Back when they would steal little kisses.  Where she would wave at him from the window in her living room as he left to go back home to shower and change before work.  Where he told her that he loves her.  Back before she started to pull away.  Back when things made sense.

Since her return, they haven’t spoken of the past.  Actually, they haven’t really talked at all.  The only words they utter to each other are work related.  Well, that’s not completely true.  She did utter a goodbye today.  Maybe that’s why he felt the need to see her.  Looking up at the window that used to hold her smiling silhouette now just holds a darkness that sends a shiver down his spine.  Like he’s not supposed to be here.  Like he is intruding in a life that he doesn’t belong in anymore.  Taking a chancery glance around the parking lot, the first thing he notices is that her car isn’t in its designated parking spot.  Second thing he notices, is that she hasn’t been home since leaving work five hours ago, if the snow piled up on the concrete has anything to say about it. Knowing that she could be literally anywhere, he huffs out a sigh before digging around his pockets for his cell phone.

“Bossman, I know I am the goddess of all wisdom, but even goddesses need their beauty sleep.”  A grumble comes through the phone, definitely not the cheerful voice of Penelope Garcia that Hotch has come to know.

“Garcia, can you do me a favor?” He speaks quickly into the phone, no room or time for nonsense.

“Does it involve me coming back into the BAU?” Hotch hears some rustling noises, and only now does he realize that he is calling at almost midnight.

“No.”

“Hit me with your best shot.”

“Don’t raise any alarms unless I say so.”  Hotch runs his hand over his mouth before asking his request.  “Can you get me a location on Prentiss?”

She immediately shoots out of bed and races to her laptop.  She skids to a stop, barely landing on her couch before frantically typing and shooting out questions.  “What? Why would I – why is she?  She’s not – “ Not again, not when we just got her back.

“Garcia!”  He interrupts her panic raise of questions hoping to keep her head on straight.

“Right, sorry.  Um, give me a minute.  You sure it’s nothing?”  She waits for a second, getting no response she continues to type on her laptop before it pings her location.  “I got it! I sent it to you.  Please bring our girl back home.”

“I will Garcia, and remember – “

“I know, I know, not a peep.”  As soon as the last word left her mouth, Hotch moved the phone from his ear and immediately went to his messages.  Letting out a sigh, he puts the car in reverse and makes his way down the empty streets.

His shoulders don’t sag in relief until he sees her car parked in the desolate lot.  Pulling into the space next to her, he glances at silver sedan hoping he’ll be lucky to see her behind the wheel.  Mentally groaning when the car is as barren as the parking lot he is in, he turns off his car and shuffles out into the chilly night.  It didn’t take a genius to know that she has been here for a while, if the buildup of snow on her car was any indication. The steady stream of snow flurries coming down has covered any footprints that could potentially lead him to her.  Although, none of that was necessary.  For the seasoned profiler he is, he knew exactly where she went once the coordinates led him here.

                                      Quantico National Cemetery

He stares at the sign, willing his feet to move.  A staring contest that even the famous Aaron Hotchner glare can’t win.  It’s not until a particularly strong gust of wind whips around him for his feet to catch up with his brain.  A shiver races through his body.  Either from the cold or from that sinister feeling of being alone in a graveyard at night. He silently moves through the sea of headstones, a walk that is second nature to him.  One that he frequented quite often for months.  He makes his way up to the tree that helped shelter the gravestone from the elements and finally sees the back of her head.   He knows that she hears him coming, the crunching of the snow beneath his feet hard to miss, even past the sound of the wind.  Stopping a few feet behind her, he waits a minute before speaking.

“What are you doing here?  It’s late.”  He’s expecting her to turn towards him, but she sits as still as a statue staring at the engraved stone.  She doesn’t respond right away, making him move closer to her.  He opens his mouth to ask again when he hears her soft voice reply.

“I come here to think.”

Curiosity got the better of him.  “About?”

“Life.”  Her soft declaration carries through the wind and wraps around him.  She reaches forward in a practiced motion and brushes the fresh snow away to keep the text visible.

                                                  Emily Prentiss

                               October 12th 1970 – March 7th 2011

                                        Fidelity Bravery Integrity

“It’s so precious.  You never realize how special it is until it gets taken away.”  He continues to stand behind her, keeping his mouth shut. This is the most open she’s been since her return and he’s not about to ruin it.  “I didn’t think it’d be this strange.  Basically coming back from the dead.  You know I came here the first time purely out of curiosity.  Taking my picture off a wall is one thing, but removing a whole grave?”  She lets out a humorless chuckle.

“With a click of her finger, Garcia could get it removed.”  He speaks before he could stop himself.  He holds his breath hoping that he didn’t just cause her walls to build back up.

“No.”  Her head tilts back towards the sky.  “I need the perspective.”

Furrowing his brow, he carefully walks next to her before slowly lowering to the ground.  He starts to reach for her before quickly retreating, remembering that she’s no longer his to touch. He starts to question what her fake grave can help her with before remembering something she said after a case years ago. I need to know that I can be human.

“Being reminded of your own mortality isn’t the right perspective to have.”  He spoke softly even though he wanted to scream.  

“Don’t you get it?  It’s a reminder of how fragile life is.  Logically speaking, I shouldn’t be here.”  She scrunches up her eyes, a tear streaks down her face as she pounds her fist into the ground.

His hand shoots out and covers her fist that is still resting on the snow-soaked grass.  His touch finally breaks her out of her trance with her eyes finally meeting his.

“But you are here.  Living, breathing.  Dammit Emily! Don’t you understand?  You can’t move on until you finally accept that you are meant to be here.  With me! With us.”  He is grasping at her hand like she will disappear any second while his shoulders are shaking with the intensity of his breath.  She keeps his stare for a second, before turning away back to the headstone.

“Am I?”  She whispers. He lightly grasps at her chin, moving her head to face him again.

“Forever and always.”  That little phrase breaks her.  In a second, she leaps from her spot into his lap, burrowing her head into the crook of his neck.  The reaction almost pushes him backwards into the snow, but he quickly settles himself. His hand moves and starts stroking the back of her head in a practiced movement before he gently starts rocking them consoling her quietly in her ear trying to overpower her chant of “I’m sorry.” They stay wrapped around each other until he spares a glance at his watch, telling him that it is half past one in the morning.

“Come on.  Let’s get you home.”  He whispers into her ear, helping her up to her feet.  He feels her shiver against him as a large gust of wind almost knocks the both of them from their feet.  Only now does he notice that she’s been in just a sweater this whole time.  

“Jesus Em, you couldn’t have brought a jacket?”  Shedding his coat, he drapes it over her shoulders before wrapping his arm around her waist guiding her to his car.

“Left it in the car.  Didn’t realize how long it’s been.”  She chatters out to him, leaning closer towards him for warmth.  He lets out a frustrated sigh before picking up the pace, trying to get her to shelter.

He helps her into the passenger seat of his car, passing off her concerns about her car.  “We’ll take care of it in the morning.”  

He quickly makes his way into the driver’s seat to turn the car on.  They sit in the warming car for a couple minutes in complete silence.  Neither quite knowing what to say to the other.  After another minute, Hotch figures it’s best to start to drive to her apartment.  It’s not until they are halfway there that she finally speaks up.

“Aaron?”  She says no more than a whisper.

“Hm?”  He hums out, sparing her a quick glance before looking back to the empty road.

“I – I, thank you.”

His lips start to curve up into a smile and he removes one hand from the steering wheel to grasp at hers, stopping her from the continued picking of her nails.  He squeezes her hand gently in response before leaving their fingers intertwined.  Neither of them speak until he parks back at her apartment complex.

She starts to let go of his hand to make her exit before his voice stops her.

“Em?”  With her hand still on the inside latch, she turns to face him.  “I know it’s not my place anymore, but please don’t be afraid to come to me.  If you’re having a bad day, let me know.  You mean so much to me.  I meant it when I said forever and always.”

She slowly nods her head, before leaning forward to give him an awkward hug across the center console.  Pulling away, she shyly gives him a peck on the cheek before whispering.  “Forever and always.”

She opens the door, and goes to leave his jacket on the seat, but he holds up a hand to stop her.  “Give it to me tomorrow.”  

Smiling softly, she nods before closing the door.  He patiently waits until he sees the light go on in her apartment. He waits until he sees her figure standing in the window, giving him a small wave.  Like before.  He slowly pulls out of the parking space, smiling to himself.  Yeah, things are starting to make sense again.

[mylifeisactuallyamess]

Poe Dameron x Female Reader (Armitage Hux too if you squint.)

A/N: I actually set this in my Somewhere in the Dark, Your Light Finds Me fic. You don’t have to read it to know what’s going on I do try and cover the basics so it all makes sense. On the other hand if you did want to read the fic this is full of spoilers 😅 Writer Wednesday (I bet you always look forward to my sadness….) @clydesducktape @autumnleaves1991-blog

Warnings: Possible gaslighting, mentions of infidelity, Poe is a bit of an ass. Mention of baby/pregnancy loss, mention of PTSD, arguments, alcohol mention, broken down engagement. Oh yeah it’s all sadness up in this house.

Word Count: 4276

You stared at your computer screen, the words and numbers all blurring together. Your heart was heavy, still ringing with the hurtful words from your fiancé yesterday. You hated fighting with him, you were due to get married next week but right now that was all up in the air. He had been so angry, his words like poison as he dripped them all over you. You’d seen Poe’s temper before, you’d experienced his hurtful words when he was having his PTSD moments but nothing could have prepared you for the last few months. The constant nit-picking at everything you did, trying to trip you up in a non-existent lie. This year has been awful for both of you, in fact it has been a rollercoaster since you’d met but you had hoped, together, you’d battle the darkness that threatened to cloud your relationship. Only he seemed to be feeding it now and you didn’t know what to do. There were only so many times you could tell him you weren’t cheating on him, you weren’t having an affair with your boss. You ran a hand over your forehead, didn’t they say the one doing the accusing was usually the one doing the thing they were accusing you of?

“Are you ready for some lunch before you run off and get married?” You looked up to see your boss standing next to your desk, his hand was fiddling with his cuff as he looked at you with those green eyes. His red hair was placed perfectly as always, ever looking the part as the owner of a profitable business.

“Right, lunch,” you mumbled and he smiled slightly.

“I can’t let my best accountant go without a decent lunch.”

“Is it Friday?” You asked and his gaze flickered over you quickly, the smile faltering as he saw how exhausted you were.

“Yeah it’s Friday. You were supposed to finish half an hour ago. I thought I’d missed you.”

“Oh right,” you mumbled again, going through the motions and switching off your pc. You flinched slightly when his hand brushed your elbow, your fiancé’s words suddenly loud and accusing in your mind. Armitage walked you to the lift in silence, the handles of your bag felt heavy in your hands even though there was barely anything in it. The ride was a couple of minutes long, the silence almost deafening as your boss clearly couldn’t think of anything to say and you were too trapped in your thoughts to even make a sentence let alone conversation. When the doors opened the noise of the foyer almost deafened you, Armitage let you out first and suddenly you felt like everyone was staring at you. All the chatter became whispers, accusations, rumours and you wanted to run and hide, your heart fluttering with anxiety. The sound of your name made you start slightly only to find Armitage staring at you now with real concern.

“Is this wedding jitters, or something more?” You felt frustrated with yourself which made the increasing pressure behind your eyes worse.

“It’s nothing,” you muttered.

“Ok let’s skip lunch, there is a little van by the river where we can grab a hot chocolate and have a chat.”

“Yeah ok that sounds good,” you felt yourself relaxing already. The idea of someone seeing you out for lunch with your boss was much harder to explain away than a simple drink by the river. Because you had to think about these things, what with Poe now driving himself crazy you were having an affair and you just wanted to prove you weren’t. Because you weren’t. The street your building was on was just a short walk from the river, and took you both less than a couple of minutes. Trees lined the street all rich in orange, red and gold, their leaves littered the pavement like discarded jewels. Nature had put on her autumn coat and it showed in such wondrous glory. There was a slight nip in the air but it wasn’t constant enough to warrant a coat, not this late in the day.

You leaned on the railing looking down into the water as Armitage ordered the drinks, already you felt better being out here, the smell of the water carried on the breeze and the freshness that came with the river compared to the rest of the city already blowing the cobwebs from your mind.

“Here,” you took the cup he offered you with a quiet thanks, the heat of the hot chocolate bleeding through the sleeve and you rested it on the railing. You pointed at the marshmallows floating on the surface and shot him a quizzical look. He shrugged, that telltale blush creeping over his cheeks as he leaned next to you. “You looked like you needed cheering up.”

“Well thanks,” you bumped his shoulder and he bumped you softly back.

“Are you going to tell me what is going on?” You sighed loudly, trying to expel all the bad feelings you had tumbling inside you but it didn’t work, nothing would.

“Poe thinks I’m having an affair.” There. You said it. Now it was real, taking shape out of your body. Your fiancé had been accusing you for months, but last night it had really blown up all because you worked late trying to tie everything up for leaving early today.

“What?” Asked Hux angrily. “What gives him that idea?”

“Well he’s been accusing me for months,” you swallowed some hot chocolate, hoping it would ease the emotions that were forcing their way out of you, but it didn’t. “I stayed late last night to try and finish up, you know because I’m the best…” you tried to joke but the sound of your voice made it fall flat. “Anyway, when I got home he started immediately, demanding to know where I’d been, accusing me of all sorts he just wouldn’t drop it no matter what I said and then….” You looked up at the sky desperately trying to stop the tears from falling but they did anyway, big fat ones rolling down your cheeks. “And then he left,” you said thickly. “And I haven’t heard from him since.” Armitage sighed loudly looking down at his hot chocolate.

“So he thinks you’re having an affair with someone from work? How daft is he?” He shifted next to you, turning so his back was to the river and he looked up and down the street trying to figure out what to say next. “I’m so sorry, why didn't you say something? I’d have shortened your hours or I don’t know….helped?” He offered but you shook your head.

“That wouldn’t have helped Armitage,” you replied softly, dabbing at your eyes and sniffing loudly.

“Who does he think you’re having an affair with anyway? All you do is sit at your desk, crunch some numbers, write a report and go home,” he gestured with the hand holding his hot chocolate and you tilted your head to look up at him letting out a quick bark of laughter.

“Armie, if my job was that easy I wouldn’t be having problems, anyway…”

“But what gave him the impression you’re having an affair?” He asked angrily before holding up his hands. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be prying but this has got my back up, I see how hard you work all the time you love your job.”

“I do,” you whispered.

“Why…I don’t understand?” You pulled your bottom lip into your mouth debating whether to tell him but it burned in your mouth and you wanted to see how he would react, you supposed.

“It’s you, Armitage. He thinks I’m having an affair with you.” Hux froze, his hot chocolate halfway to his mouth before he made an expression of disbelief and lowered it again.

“Me?” He turned to face you, a finger pointing into his chest. “I’m sorry, me? Poe Dameron…curly haired, finely chiselled jawline, god amongst men, Poe Dameron thinks you would choose me over him?” He leaned back against the railing, a smile playing around his mouth. “Oh yeah he really has lost the plot,” he chuckled to himself. He took a sip from his cup as you both stood there letting the news sink in, filling the cracks of the silence you both found yourself in. “But you’re getting married.” He stated, almost in quiet disappointment.

“I’m supposed to be, but how can I, if I don’t even know where he is, who he’s with.” Hux looked down at you as you leaned over the railing looking at your reflection, rippling in the water.

“He wouldn’t…” Hux started but you snorted in disbelief, cutting him off.

“He might. We’re all capable of it aren’t we?” You mused. Hux’s arm jostled you slightly as he leaned in next to you, his bright red hair almost glowing in his reflection. You turned to look at him, he was so close and you found yourself recklessly wondering what would happen if you kissed him, here, now. You’d been accused of it enough, so why not put some weight behind those accusations? For all you knew your fiancé was out doing god knows who right now….so why not right?

Hux turned to say something else but you found yourself tipping forward just at the right time and your lips met his in a surprise kiss. A kiss that neither of you pulled away from straight away. Hux backed up a step, his eyes wide with surprise and you instantly felt the flush of guilt roil through your gut.

“Oh god. Armitage I’m so sorry!” You stumbled over your own feet, clutching the railing to steady yourself. “I should go home. I need to go home.” You turned, throwing away your half empty cup into the bin and striding away before Hux could say anything to stop you.

When you opened the door to your flat you were surprised to see Poe standing in the kitchen. His arms were crossed over his wide chest, his thumb gripped between his teeth with worry and his eyes were wide when he looked up, raking over you quickly. You softly shut the door, so many questions were filling your mind you didn’t know where to start. You dumped your bag and keys on the side, opening the fridge and pulling out a bottle of wine.

“Bit early for that, isn't it?” He asked darkly. You ignored him and opened the bottle, not even bothering to get a glass. “Where have you been?” He asked.

“Work.”

“But you had a short day today?” So it begins… You turned and pointed at him, narrowing your eyes slightly.

“I’ve got a better question. Where have you been?”

“I stayed on Finn and Zorii’s sofa.” You nodded, taking a long swig from the bottle letting the lie settle before you tackled it.

“Mmm, do you want to rethink that answer or are you sticking with that story?” You saw his expression change at the not so veiled accusation.

“Damn it, why don’t you believe me?” He glowered.

“Like you believe me?” You shot at him. “When I stand here baring everything to you screaming at you that I’m not having an affair and still, still, you don’t believe me.” You felt the tears again and you bit down on your lip. “We’re supposed to be getting married in about 5 days. But right now you’re the last man I’d want to marry.” Poe rolled his eyes to the ceiling and you smirked, it always went like this. Now you were the emotional one, the dramatic one, the one who lost her head and made the argument more than it should be.

“You’re so dramatic…”

“Am I? Am I though?” He watched you with distaste as you took another gulp of wine. “Just so you know I rang Zorii last night, now either you tiptoed in when they were asleep or you’re fucking lying to me.” Poe shifted uneasily against the counter and you just knew. “You might want to start talking, flyboy.” He shrugged and for a moment you felt a blazing white hot anger course through you. Without waiting for an explanation you were never going to get you marched into the bedroom, slamming the bottle down on your bedside table and dragging out the suitcase from under the bed.

“What are you doing?” He asked heavily.

“Well I’m just deciding if it should be my stuff that goes in here, or yours.” His face twisted as his own anger boiled to the surface.

“Why don’t you fill it with your shit and then you can scurry off to Armitage!” He shouted.

“Maybe I’ll fucking do that!” You shouted back, throwing up your arms.

“I knew it!” He snarled, stepping forward and pointing at you. “I knew it, I was right you’re having an affair with him…”

“For fucks sake Poe I am NOT!”

“You pretty much just said it! So come on! When did it happen? Months ago? Maybe when you started the new job? Come on, I want details!” You ignored his ranting, gritting your teeth as you filled the suitcase with your own stuff. “Oh my god you’re actually going? I’m sure he’ll be so happy to fucking see you.”

“Oh god enough!!” You screamed, dropping more clothes into the suitcase. “You really want the details?” You asked. “You really want to know what’s been going on?”

“You know I do baby,” he sneered sarcastically. “I love it when you prove me right.” You took a quick breath, trying to steady yourself and not fall apart right now. Not yet.

“Nothing has been happening, he is my boss…”

“You’re such a lying bitch…”

“I’m not, I'm not lying!! But…” you choked off mid shout. You had to tell him, didn't you?

“Well, I’m waiting.” He rested against the door frame, his posture full of arrogance and anger as he waited for you to finish what you were saying.

“Today, we had hot chocolate by the river,” tears filled your eyes as the guilt reared up inside you. “I kissed him,” you sobbed. “It was just a peck but honestly you’ve been accusing me of worse for months and months and I thought, why the fuck not? He didn’t even see it coming, it was all me.” You looked up to see he hadn’t moved and more hot tears spilled down your cheeks. “Do you see how these accusations are hurting me?? You’re forcing me away and I don’t want to love anyone else Poe! But you make it so hard…it-it feels like we don’t fit together anymore.”

“Maybe you’re right.” He said calmly.

“What?” You whispered.

“You’re right, we don’t fit together anymore.”

“Poe…?”

“I just feel like we’re going through the motions, we’ve been through too much, it’s been damaging for us, maybe it’s time to give up.”

“I-I don’t understand?” You whispered suddenly feeling slightly woozy and you leaned heavily on the dresser. “After everything… the accident, Ben, our-our daughter and this…you asked me not to give up on you! So I didn’t, I kept fighting for us, for this! And this is how you repay me?” You turned to face him. “I gave everything to you. EVERYTHING!” He sighed and rubbed his hand over his face.

“Confession time?” You nodded, not liking his grim tone and expression. “I wasn’t at Finn’s last night…”

“No shit.” He glared at you before continuing.

“I was with Rey.” Your brain stuttered to a stop. Rey. A laugh erupted from you until you realised what he was saying.

“Oh, you were with Rey…” your hands shook as you carefully sat yourself down on the bed. Rey. She had taken Ben from you a few years ago and now….now she was taking Poe. A sob beat your chest as despair ripped through you, after all the darkness the pair of you had endured, this was how it was ending. You clutched your stomach trying to hold yourself together, everything you’d been holding back came spewing forth, the sobs were loud and fast barely giving you time to breathe.

“I’ve packed a bag already. Look,” he sighed. “I didn’t want it to come out like this.”

“Like this?” You cried. “5 days before our wedding? How long were you going to wait for Poe?” You sniffed and wiped your face. “Were you going to leave me at the altar? Or were you going to wait until we’d consummated the marriage? Or maybe you weren’t going to tell me at all!!” You shrieked.

“I would have told you, before it was too late,” he stated but you’d heard enough.

“Too late??” You stood, pointing frantically as you struggled to get your words free. “Out I want you out!”

“Listen…”

“JUST GET THE FUCK OUT!” You screamed, clawing at your own face in anguish. “I hate you! I fucking hate you!” You followed him through the flat, screaming how much you hated him, how much he’d hurt you until he slammed the front door in your face leaving you alone with only the sound of your wailing to keep you company.

You slid down the door, all the strength leaving your body and you slumped there sobbing. Finally your cries dwindled as you watched the sky through the window, seeing how it changed from the crisp blue colour with white cotton like clouds to a rich navy colour, the clouds now gold as the sun set. The need for wine drove you to get up and you hated how familiar this all felt, except when Ben had left you had turned to gin. At least when Ben had left it was more out of the blue, sure it had been hard to come back from but you hadn’t gone through the same earth shattering things with Ben as you had with Poe. But then, some things a couple just can’t come back from, you guessed. You had never stopped believing the fun loving Poe would come back to you after his accident and he did, for a time. But then the pregnancy…

The bedroom suddenly felt so empty and you noticed how certain things of his were missing, like his phone charger and his favourite pair of trainers. You sat back down on the bed, gently teasing open the drawer to reveal the tiny pink hat that had belonged to your 16 week old daughter. Running a finger over it you remembered the heartache as though it was yesterday, you hadn’t been yourself since giving birth and then losing her immediately after. You’d spiralled, quitting your job, staying at home, refusing to see anyone. It was no less than what Poe had done when he was suffering from his PTSD, but one rule for him it seemed and a different one for you. Maybe it was your fault Poe ran off with someone else, but still the bitterness filled your throat and you grimaced at the taste. You had nursed that man, looked after him, got him through one of the toughest moments of his life and he could barely do the same for you. But fucking Rey? You hiccuped slightly trying to laugh but it just came out as another sob, what a joke.

The engagement had been a bandage on a broken limb, now you thought about it. This would never have worked whether Rey had been on the sidelines or not. You slammed the drawer shut, making your way back into the kitchen you picked up your phone seeing the missed calls and messages from Ben and Zorii, Poe had obviously told them what happened. A reckless idea formed in your mind and you raced back into the bedroom, packing your suitcase in earnest as the phone rang loudly in your ear.

“Hello?”

“Armitage, I have a question for you.”

“Is this about earlier, because I really think we should talk about it more…”

“I agree. But hear me out. What if we talk about it on a plane?”

“A…what are you suggesting?”

“I have a holiday coming up…”

“You have a honeymoon you mean.”

“Not anymore.” You toyed with your lip not enjoying the silence from the other end of the phone. “Anyway, I am going on that holiday and I have a spare ticket. I’ll send you the details and you can decide if you want to come or not.”

“Alright….” He sounded hesitant but you didn’t care. He either came and you had a great time together or he didn’t and you had a great time anyway.

“I’m heading to my parents for a few days, but I will be at the airport on Wednesday. Come, or don't, it's up to you.” Putting the phone down you let out a long exhale not believing what you had just done. You just invited your boss to your honeymoon? What on earth were you thinking? God, you were so damn reckless at times! You dialed another number, sitting your phone between your ear and your shoulder as you packed everything you could.

“Mum, don’t freak out but I have some news….”

You got to the airport early, you were always early. The fear of being late was an absolute curse especially when it came to catching planes, trains, busses or basically anything that could leave without you.

You stood in the airport car park enjoying the way the cooler autumn air rushed over you. Soon you’d be replacing it with heat and sun but for now you were going to remember this. It was cleansing in a way, the freshness of it dancing over your skin, the rich rustle of the golden leaves in the crisp breeze. Taking a few deep breaths to try and calm your fluttering nerves before heading inside.

You tried not to look at your watch, you tried not to scan the crowd every 5 seconds looking for that shock of red hair. You hadn’t contacted him and he hadn't contacted you which was fine. It was fine.

The few days you’d had at your parents had been fraught, your mum cried more than you did as you cancelled as much as you could trying to get a fraction of the money you laid out back into your bank account. Your Dad, he been quiet, stewing over a man he’d accepted into the family had done this to his baby girl….he asked you not to date anymore because his heart couldn’t take the strain. You’d had a conversation with Zorii and Ben, talking them both down from hunting Poe down and ripping his balls from his body, well that's what Zorii said. Ben had been quiet, too quiet and you wondered if he remembered the way he left, with the same woman. You didn’t care, you were going on holiday by yourself it seemed. Ok you did care, you cared so much it threatened to consume you, to rob you of all function as you walked through the airport but you shoved it all aside. You’d deal with it later, that was a problem for future you, post holiday you.

You cast one last look around for that head of ginger hair, disappointment filling your chest and you blinked back whatever was happening with your eyes because you refused to shed more tears here. You handed your ticket over and strode into the plane with your head held high. Settling in your seat you immediately put your headphones in and watched out of the window trying not to think of how different this should be. You should be happy, newlyweds, all excited and flushing with joy. You should be holding hands and performing hideously embarrassing PDAs, you should be giggling and loving life, not slumped here with your face pressed against the window.

The music blared loudly in your ears, you didn’t notice when someone took the seat next to you, too lost in your pit of despair you barely managed to wipe your face dry. Something tapped on your arm and you ignored it wishing whoever it was would get the message and piss off. It happened again and you sat up ready to spew some horrible words but they all choked and died in your throat when your gaze locked with his pale green eyes. A soft smile rested easily on his face but it slipped when he saw your distraught expression, you pulled the headphones off not even daring to believe he came.

“Hi,” he said quietly.

“Oh…hi.” He reached out and swiped a thumb under your eye, catching the fresh tears that welled up and trickled down your cheek.

“I’m sorry I’m late. I wanted to be here earlier but…work.” You gasped through a sob and nodded.

“It’s ok.” You pressed the heels of your hands firmly into your eyes creating those white splodges all over your vision as you fought so hard to bring yourself back from the edge of that black pit that called your name all the time. “I’m ok,” you sobbed. Armitage snaked an arm around you and pulled you into his shoulder.

“Listen, we are going to enjoy this holiday, we are going to have a great time and drink and eat, we are going to go to the beach and you are going to sunbathe while I hide in the shade,” you chuckled though another sob. “So good times only, until we get back and have to face the music of reality. Deal?” His finger and thumb gripped your chin lightly making you look up at him and you managed a watery smile.

“Deal.”

[mandoalorian]

Found Family [Din Djarin x Reader]

Word count: 2.1k

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: mention of anxiety, slight angst and feelings of guilt, general Star Wars lore.

Author's note: short and sweet because I'm super excited for the Mandalorian season two! Only five days away! Enjoy!

Translations:

Mesh'la - beautiful

Cyar'ika - darling/sweetheart

Aliit - family

MASTERLIST

You sunk into the co-pilot seat of the Crest, feeling a wash of anxiety flood over you. You awaited the Mandalorian to return to the cockpit— he was just checking on the child. The child was unconscious after mustering up all of that mysterious energy he whelmed to save your life. The child saved your life at the risk of losing his own. You couldn't understand it.

You crossed your arms over your chest and as you heard his footsteps near you, your heart rate increased speed. With every heavy footstep he took, the armoury hung on the walls clattered. Without a hitch or a noise, he slid into the pilot seat, setting destination back to Nevarro before flicking a few buttons and pulling a lever down. You felt the Crest bolt forward as it lifted from the ground and into the air.

For the first few minutes, you both sat in silence. Glancing down at Din’s vibroknife, pushed into his holster, you figured you could use it to cut the tension that hung in the air. You fumbled around with your fingers, trying to just focus on the journey ahead— but your mind was wandering. "Din…" your voice was merely above a whisper. "I'm sorry."

He didn't reply. You saw the dirt stained leather of his gloves tighten around his fingers as he flexed them over the nav system. You waited a moment, in desperate hope he’d say something. Anything. But not a single word came from his mouth. The guilt you were feeling was surreal. "Please…" you said softly, closing your eyes and sending a silent prayer to the Maker. In this moment, you had wished for an Imperial Star Destroyer to come out of lightspeed and blast you into a billion pieces. You wanted a black hole to swallow you up. 

You had never seen Din so angry. Of course, you hadn't even seen him without his helmet before but— it was in his movements. The negative energy resonated with the way he walked, the lack of communication, his stiffness...

"I… I didn't mean it." You promised Din, finally earning a modulated grunt from him as he briefly shook his head in disbelief. He didn't move. He didn't turn to you. His eyes were still locked on the route ahead. "You were gone for so long."

It was hardly an excuse and you knew it, but you were just trying to swindle some kind of response from him. You couldn’t stand the silent treatment. Din had gone on a very important bounty three days ago. Sure, he told you to wait by the ship, but as time went on and the nights got colder… you felt an ache in your heart. Pent up worry. What if something had happened to him? You and Din had never discussed such contingency plans before. Did he just expect you to wait at the Crest for the rest of your life? On a planet as dangerous as Felucia? It wasn’t like you could pilot a ship as unique as the Razor Crest. You relied on Din and you had to know if he was okay.

It just so happened, as you left the Crest that afternoon, Din and the child were on their way back. And thank the Maker for that. Carrying the child in his satchel, Din raced through the vibrant floral forest - blaster in hand - shooting at the running bounty. You heard his blaster first, stopping abruptly in your footsteps, your boots crunching in the autumnal orange leaves that laid beneath you. You heard running, followed by further blaster bolts. Hurtling towards you was a fair skinned man dressed in what could only be described as ex-Imperial uniform, a crimson red cape loosely tied around his neck. You froze up as his cold eyes bore into you and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t move. You were stuck. The man dived on top of you, pushing you backwards into the mud and slamming his hand over your mouth. You shuffled helplessly underneath him, trying to rid yourself from his grip - but it was no use. You wanted to cry. 

Din hurried towards you, his heart sinking when he saw his bounty straddling you. Seeing the bounty reach in his pocket and grab a knife, he held it to your throat. Din dropped his blaster and scrambled to get his pulse rifle out of his pocket. The little green ears of the child poked out of Din’s satchel and engulfed the image of you being held hostage by the bounty. The child raised his hand and closed his eyes. It was that mysterious energy again. The bounty froze up, knife in hand, just inches away from your neck. It gave Din enough time to wield his pulse rifle and set it for stun. Instantaneously, Din shot him. As the man fell limp on your body, so did the child, falling back into the satchel - unconscious. Din ran towards you, hap-hazardly pushing the man off you and kneeling by your side. “Kriff, are you alright?” He asked, cupping your cheek with his hand. “What happened?”

Dazed, you tried to refocus your eyes on the Mandalorian who was kneeling before you. “H-had been gone for days,” you said, forcing yourself to sit up and dust the dried up mud off your clothes the best you can. “Was worried.”

“So you left the Crest and came looking for me? Are you out of your mind?” Din raised his voice and you began to feel the guilt pool up in your stomach. “Did you not, for one second, consider your own safety? Look at you,” Din scoped your body. “Didn’t even bring a weapon.”

With a heated sigh, Din stood up and began walking away from you. Confused and with a little wobble, you scrambled to your feet before chasing after the Mandalorian. “I- I didn’t plan on going far,” you told the bounty hunter. “I just had to see if you were nearby.”

The Mandalorian didn’t speak a word to you until you had both returned back to the Razor Crest later that night. The memory of what had happened earlier that day felt like a dagger in Din’s heart. He couldn’t stay mad at you for too long. You were foolish, yes, but he knew you didn’t have any bad intentions. Din contemplated for a moment before finally deciding to part his lips.

"And I gave you specific instructions to wait here for me." His voice was cold, but you breathed a sigh of relief. At least now he was talking to you.

"You had never been gone this long before," you informed him. You felt ashamed, embarrassed. Not only had you done a really silly thing, but you had done it against the will of one of the most esteemed bounty hunters in the parsec. "And the child…" 

"You would've died," he deadpanned. "If it wasn't for me, you would've died." You couldn't count on it, but you were sure that you heard his voice break slightly as he spat out those words. And it was true. If Din hadn’t been on the tail of the bounty then who knows what would’ve happened to you.

"I know, Din." you couldn't find excuses. You knew it would just get you into more trouble.

More silence filled up the cockpit. "And what would I do if you had died?" He paused, realising he might be sounding only a touch selfish. "What about the kid? He needs you." You placed a hand on his thigh, rubbing small circles in a comforting manner. "I need you." he revealed, looking down at your fingers and letting his gaze follow up to your arm and to your face. You were still looking down at the ground when he removed his hand from the steering device and tilted your chin upwards. "Look at me, mesh'la." His voice was low and rasp.

You looked up at him, blinking a few times to try and rid yourself of the guilty tears threatening to spill from your eyes. "I'm sorry Din." you repeated, hoping he could find the genuine sorrow in your voice.

"He- he was an ex-Imperial warlord. A big name in the Empire," Din informed you, gesturing to the back of the ship at his bounty who had only recently been frozen in carbonite. "People like him… they're dangerous. Do you know what they would do if they got their hands on someone like you? Someone as beautiful as yourself?" Din cursed in Mando’a under his breath and you shuffled in your chair uncomfortably. "Yeah…" Din's voice said, sensing your discomfort. "Fuck, it would be bad."

"I know Din." you wiped a tear from your eye. You didn't know the Mandalorian cared for you this much. You supposed it was because neither of you had ever been faced with a situation quite like this before. It really put things into perspective.

"Stormtroopers are one thing," Din conceded. "I've been to places. Seen things. Warlords like him hide on outer-rim planets, hiding in palaces being worshipped by the low ranked ex-Imps. Oh, they'd love someone like you in the outer-rim. Such a pretty thing. They'd keep you as a slave, for sure."

You winced at the revelation. You had heard of such stories, and you could only imagine how worse it would’ve been under New Republic rule. Imperial hide outs had always been scattered around the outer-rim but now, after the Empire had fallen, the New Republic seemingly ignored everything that wasn’t in the core or deep core. That’s what made bounties so dangerous, especially this one to Felucia. Crime syndicates patrolled the planet and you should’ve known better. The Mandalorian had put his trust in you, but you had failed him. "Din…” your voice was small and meek, almost shying away from him. “None of that has happened to me. I'm safe. I'm here. With you."

Din sunk back into his pilot chair and breathed a sigh of relief at your words. You were right. You were safe, and that's all that mattered. And Din was more than happy to take rest on Nevarro for a day or so before getting back on the move. He knew the return of this warlord would earn him enough credits that he could justify a day off.

From such a young and tender age, Din had lost everything. He never spoke of his parents; only once, and the discussion was very brief. You didn’t think it was appropriate to ask questions although your curiosity always peaked when it came to Din and his past. Nevertheless, he knew he valued family and his Creed more than anything else in the world. And his love for the child was immeasurable. To serve as a reminder, and hopefully provide him comfort, you were struck with an idea.

You got out of your chair and sauntered back to the ship, picking up the sleeping child from his cot and cradling him in your arms. You brought him back to the cockpit and watched the foundling as he stirred slightly, opening and closing his mouth like a fish. Still asleep, he cooed quietly, and an air of satisfaction relished over you knowing that he wasn’t injured.

"What are you doing?" Din asked.

"What is that thing you always say?" you asked, cupping your hand gently around the child's face. "Aliit…"

"Aliit ori'shya tal'din," Din whispered, extending his arm and pulling you onto his lap. He draped his strong arms around your waist and peeked over your shoulder at the sleeping child. "Family is more than blood." he translated.

You rest your head in the crook of Din's neck, feeling a slight warmth radiate from under his beskar. You let your fingers trace the signet on his shoulder. "Clan of three." You smiled.

"Cyar'ika," Din hummed, taking in your scent and enjoying the close proximity of you sat on his lap holding his son. "Please, promise me you'll never do anything as stupid as that ever again."

"I promise Din." you shuffled around, just a little, but enough to be able to face Din.

The Mandalorian leaned his forehead against you, the coldness of his helmet making you shiver. He pressed a keldable kiss into your skin. "Clan of three." he confirmed, voice low and modulated. His grip on your back tightened and in that moment he swore that he would protect you and the child with his life.

[votederpycausemufins]

Alright, I’ve been sitting on this idea for a while and I finally wrote it. Bird brain Grian hours time! Gonna do a few more short writing pieces, but then I got an idea for a multi chapter fic.

Grian groggily woke up. For whatever reason, he couldn’t get to sleep the night before. He wanted to just curl up and go back to sleep, but there was something keeping him from doing that. Or rather, someone. Professor Beak was chirping loudly and keeping Grian up. The avian tried to muffle the noises with a pillow, but he had little luck.

“Okay! Fine!” Grian finally got out of bed after more chirping. “What do you want?” The parrot flew over to the door of Grian’s bedroom, it currently shut. Grian groaned, but opened the door and let the parrot fly out. Not thinking he could get back to sleep, Grian followed behind letting his wings drag on the floor.

As he made himself a simple breakfast of toast, Grian watched as Professor Beaks flew out of the mansion, and then eventually return with another parrot. Being an avian, it was easy enough for Grian to tell the parrot wasn’t tamed, but he wasn’t really looking for a new pet, so he wasn’t going to tame it.

When Grian finished his breakfast, he grumbled at the situation past him had put him in, now needing to preen his feathers after dragging his wings on the floor. He went outside to not leave feathers everywhere in his kitchen, then started working. It didn’t take too long, so before the sun had risen much, Grian was out flying to the shopping district. His first stop was the barge, making sure to restock and put away his earnings. At least most of it. After the barge, Grian headed over to Aqua Town to buy from some of the shops there.

When he went into the Moo-Pop cafe, Grian was a little surprised to see Scar was currently there. Glad to see another hermit, the avian made a beeline over to the mayor. “Hi Scar!”

Scar looked up from his communicator. “Oh hey Grian! How are you doing.”

Grian shrugged, his wings opening a bit. “To be honest, a little tired. I didn’t really sleep well last night. I was hoping visiting the shopping district would help wake me up.”

“And did it work?”

“I’m not feeling completely awake, but it did help.”

Scar smiled. “Well that’s good to hear.”

Grian nodded, then moved so he could look over Scar’s shoulder. “So, who are you messaging?”

“Hmm? Oh, Bdubs was going to meet me. I’m setting up something so we can sell more land for Aque Town.”

Grian ignored the urge he had to frown. “That sounds nice!”

“Yeah. I’ve already built something for it. It’s- Grian, could you close your wings?”

Grian was confused for a second before looking behind himself and found his wings fully spread. He quickly closed them, giving an apology. “Sorry Scar. Didn’t realize I had done that. Maybe I’m more tired than I thought.”

“Don’t worry, it’s fine.” And then Scar pointed out the giant statues of him and Bdubs, explaining his idea of the Land Games.

Grian listened intently, giving Scar his full attention. He would have listened longer, but the sudden addition of a new voice made Grian jump. Bdubs had arrived.

The avian moved out of the way to let Scar join Bdubs, watching as the two walked outside. Grian stood in place for a bit before walking outside and getting into the air, shopping trip completely forgotten. While flying, he realized his hands were currently clenched into fists. He relaxed then and found his nails had dug into his palms, breaking the skin a bit.

Grian shook his head. Obviously he was still out of it. Flying hadn’t worked and obviously he wasn’t paying attention to pain. The next option was to splash water in his face, but the ocean was all salt water. But then he saw the large turquoise building in the middle of the ocean, and the mini water park on top.

With a flap of his wings, Grian managed to make it over to the top of Pacific and dive into the water. He knew he would probably be stuck up there for a bit now that his wings were wet, but the sudden cold water seemed to finally wake him up.

Grian just floated on his back, spreading his wings to help him keep afloat. He stared up at the sky, watching the clouds go by. The chlorine made the new cuts on his hands sting just a little bit, but since he hadn’t cut them deep enough to draw blood, it wasn’t too bad.

The avian wasn’t sure how long he was floating there, but a voice suddenly made him look up. “Grian? What are you doing here?”

Mumbo was looking down at Grian, standing on the edge of the pool. “Oh, hi Mumbo!” Grian said, smiling and glad to see a friend. “Didn’t sleep well and thought the water would wake me up. It did but now I don’t want to get out and have to deal with my wings.”

“Well, just so you know Iskall and I are supposed to have a meeting today. I doubt we’ll be up here, but you should probably have a heads up.”

Grian frowned, but he couldn’t tell why. Was it because he didn’t want to have to leave? That was probably it, that’s all. “Alright, well if you need me to move, just say the word.”

It turned out they didn’t need to use the roof, so it was perfectly okay for Grian to stay. And he would have, but hearing the conversation from the floor below him got on his nerves, for the avian got out of the pool and shook his wings out. He couldn’t fly with them in their current state, but he was at the very least able to glide. There weren’t many places in gliding distance, so Grian ended up back at the shopping district.

The avian ended up wandering back into Aque Town, mainly since there were so many plots of land nearby. Free open spaces, right in the sun, perfect for if you needed to dry something. Technically he could also go in the nether, but that was only really for emergency situations since the dimension was so dangerous.

Grian flopped down in an empty plot of land and spread his wings out, taking in the warmth of the sun. He just sat there, basking in the sunlight, wondering if maybe he could catch up on sleep right there, when he heard voices getting closer. Opening a single eye, he watched as Scar and Bdubs were coming closer to where he was resting. Another look showed him a trough of water that probably wasn’t there before, so that was likely involved with whatever they were doing.

Even though the two of them were being a bit loud, Grian just didn’t feel like moving yet again. Fortunately, it seemed that the two of them were more focused on whatever they were doing that they didn’t really notice Grian. The avian curiously watched them build up with scaffolding up past where Grian could see without craning his neck up. 

Grian almost just closed his eyes again, but then he heard Bdubs shouting. “I don’t even see it- Oh I see it! I see it!” And then there was a crunch as Bdubs crashed into the ground. Bdubs of course respawned nearby, a bed having been set up, so he was fine, so Grian didn’t feel bad at all for laughing at what happened.

The laughter caught Bdubs and Scar’s attention, making them finally notice Grian. “Oh hey, what are you doing around here?”

Grian flapped his wings slightly. “Needed to dry these out. This was close, sunny, and open ground, so it was perfect for that. I’m guessing this is part of those land games you mentioned?”

“Yeah, right now we’re sort of competing to see who gets to sell what plot. We’re actually fighting on the one you’re in right now.”

Grian smirked before asking a question. “Does the winner get me as a prize too?”

“You know what? If you’re offering, sure!” Scar joked along. From there, Grian watched as the mayor proceeded to climb up and also splat himself on the ground.

Next Bdubs went again, And Grian found himself wanting him to miss the pool of water, which he did. Following that Scar first managed to fall off the scaffolding, but then also fail the jump, making Grian frown. The competing pair wondered if it was a bit too hard and made the trough bigger, but still Bdubs failed his next jump.

As Scar climbed the scaffolding once more, Grian watched, actually watching him get to the very top. He could just barely hear the mayor counting down before he jumped and then finally landed in the water. He cheered a bit and the plot of land was marked with some orange wool, Grian getting up and finding his wings only slightly damp at this point.

The avian watched as a platform was set up out of stone. The next competition was just going to be a fist fight, so Grian sat to the side closer to Scar. Since he was a third party, Grian was asked to start the match for them. “Alright, the feat of slapping strength! Go to your sides. Ready? Three, two, one, go!”

Grian watched as the two started slapping each other. Scar was calm during the match while Bdubs seemed much more nervous. As it got to the end of the battle, Bdubs started panicking, worried he would lose, but instead, Scar lost all his hearts first, respawning in the nearby bed. Scar looked away in shame while Bdubs bragged, neither of them watching as Grian got up from where he was sitting. The avian’s vision had blacked out, his body going on autopilot.

The next thing the avian knew, he was looking down at Bdubs, who was now unconscious on the ground, and his hands felt sore, the fingers currently curled into fists. He looked around, confused and trying to figure out what just happened. Scar was to the side, looking scared of Grian, which didn’t make the avian feel any better. He went to look back at Bdubs, but for a moment, he saw someone else.

“Oh my god! Grian what did you do?!”

“H-He was getting too close. He might have hurt you! You’re the mayor after all!”

“I’m only mayor because I was the only candidate left.”

“Yes, and obviously he’s upset about that and he-”

“Grian stop. You’re… you’re acting like he did…”

Grian looked at his hands. He had done this to Bdubs. He had hurt his friend. The avian jumped slightly as Scar started to say something, but immediately Grian panicked and flew into the air, heading towards his mansion. He messed up again, and the only thing that worked last time was staying away, so he would have to do that again.

.

.

.

It had only been a day since anyone saw Grian last. Normally that wouldn’t be too concerning, but news of what had happened in Aque Town had spread from Scar trying and failing to message Grian and ask what had happened. Because of that, everyone was a bit concerned for him.

Grian wasn’t answering any messages that got sent his way, having turned his communicator off completely. The only company he had was Professor Beak and his new friend. They were fun to watch, but also made Grian feel worse about having to stay away from everyone. But it would only be for a few days until he felt better, that was all.

But then Grian heard voices. “He’s not in this room either. Are we sure he’s even staying here at this point?”

“Xisuma said this was where his communicator was last active. Even if he’s not here, we should still be looking for that.”

Grian recognised Iskall and Mumbo’s voices. Half of him was glad to hear his friends, but at the same time, he was silently freaking out. What if one of them came in and he hurt them? He didn’t even want that to happen to Bdubs, so a second person was definitely not something he was after.

The only thing Grian had going for him staying hidden was the fact he had made a secret room to stay in. There weren’t any doors for them to look in, and the only window was there for the parrots to go in and out of. There was no way they would find-

“Is that Professor Beak? Where’s he going?” Iskall asked.

“He might be going to Grian, so we should probably follow behind.” Mumbo replied, and then Grian could hear as they started getting closer. The avian quickly looked around to see if he had any blocks to quickly plug up the hole, make it so the parrot couldn’t get in.

Grian carefully opened some chests, doing his best to stay quiet while also in a rush. Finally, he managed to find some left over from when he made the place and then flew up to the hole. He was glad to get there before Beak, closing the window, and then gliding back down to his bed. Now all he could do was wait.

Grian covered his mouth to make sure he didn’t make any noises as Mumbo and Iskall’s footsteps came from the other side of the wall. There was a bit of squawking from the other side of the wall as well as some scratching. At the very least it sounded like Professor Beak was at the wrong part of the wall, so if they broke in, they wouldn’t find him.

Still listening, it sounded like they thought Beak was just being an odd bird and weren’t going to follow him. Grian wanted to sigh in relief, though he still needed to stay quiet. Mumbo said something which made it seem he and Iskall were going to leave, but then Grian realized his mistake. The parrot Professor Beak had been with was still in the hidden room, and when it realized its friend was missing, it started squawking loudly.

Grian flew up to grab the parrot and force it to shut up, but it just flew away, making the avian struggle to grab it. He was panting by the time he finally grabbed the bird, but that alone seemed to work, until suddenly Beak was flying around him angrily. Grian swatted at him to try and get the parrot to leave him alone, but then stopped when someone spoke.

“Grian? Is this where you’ve been?” Grian looked over to where Iskall and Mumbo had broken through the wall, having heard the other parrot enough to find the source, Grian’s attempts at trying to catch it just helped, as he wasn’t that quiet. 

Grian let go of the other parrot, and they flew away with Professor Beak, Grian considering flying off after them. “Y-Yes. Now go away.”

“No, are you okay? We heard about what happened with-” Iskall started to say before they were cut off.

“That’s exactly why you should leave!” Grian shouted at them. “So get out!”

Mumbo and Iskall looked at each other before leaving the room, Grian just watching the newly made entrance and trying to unpuff his wings. There was some whispering from the pair, which didn’t help calm Grian down. And It really didn’t help when they walked back in. “Okay Grian, Xisuma told us we should take you to Doc.”

“I don’t need to go anywhere! What I need is to stay right here!” Grian argued. He wanted to say more, but while he was focused on yelling at Iskall, Mumbo snuck up behind him and suddenly wrapped him in a blanket. Grian struggled a bit, but Iskall quickly came over and before long, Grian was wrapped up in the blanket like a burrito, finding it surprisingly calming. Since he still hadn’t slept well, it wasn’t long before the avian fell asleep in the blanket as he was carried away.

He was next aware of things as something nudged his side a few times, making him wake up with a slight trill, trying to move his wings, but he was still wrapped up and couldn’t move them. “You with us Grian?” Grian half nodded, feeling sort of like there was cotton stuffed in his head, making the voice a bit muffled, but he still recognized it as Doc. “Alright, open your mouth.”

Grian opened his mouth, and then something was put in and under his tongue. “Close your mouth.” Grian complied and then just sat there before there was some beeping from whatever had been put there. “Alright, temperature seems maybe a little high. That could just be from the blanket though, but we should still keep an eye on it.”

Grian felt himself being moved and then he was freed from the blanket. “So can you tell what’s wrong?” That sounded like Mumbo.

“Not yet. Theoretically there’s nothing that seems like it could be causing the problem since he was violent before locking himself away. What exactly happened with Bdubs?”

“That’s something you should ask Scar or Bdubs himself.” Iskall answered. “We weren’t there.”

“You weren’t?” Doc sounded confused. “Then can one of you see if Scar could come here. He might have a better idea of what’s going on.”

“Right, I’ll do that.” Mumbo spoke, and Grian made a sad noise before Doc patted his head.

“Don’t worry, he’s not leaving.” The creeper hybrid reassured Grian. “Looks like this year’s hitting you hard, huh?”

The question just left Grian confused, but before he could ask anything Mumbo spoke up. “Scar’s on his way over here. It shouldn’t be too long.”

“Right. By the way, where was Grian set up?”

“Er, well he had a room in his mansion.” Mumbo answered.

“Alright, so that’s probably not it either.”

“What does that tell you?” Iskall asked. “I mean, I thought it would be the obvious answer.”

Doc shrugged. “I mean, it would be, but that’s why I needed to ask. If he were somewhere else, that location might have been unfavorable and helped cause this.”

Grian half paid attention from there, half letting instinct take over because it felt easier. At the same time, his head still felt stuffed, so when he tried walking when everyone was looking away for a few moments, he ended up on the ground. He was given a glass of water after that, which helped his head a bit, and around a minute later, Scar finally arrived.

“Alright, so what exactly did you need me for?” Scar asked, Doc giving an answer. “Oh, Bdubs and I were in Aque town dividing up land to sell. Grian was there and watched us. We did a slapping battle for one section of land which I lost and then Grian suddenly started attacking Bdubs.”

“Right, I’m guessing that’s the big problem. Mumbo, Iskall, do either of you want to explain it?”

The pair just looked at each other confused. “Explain what exactly?” Iskall asked, having no clue.

“About Grian.” Doc supplemented, but there was still confusion.

“Doc, we came here because we don’t know what’s up with him.”

The hybrid sighed. “Okay, we don’t know exactly about the violent part, but I was talking more about the partner part.”

There was silence for a moment. “What are you talking about?”

“Wh- I’m sorry did you think this only happened once?”

“Once?” Mumbo asked, sounding even more confused.

Doc rubbed his forehead. “Alright, a year ago today, what were you guys doing?”

“I was working on my base. I think also doing my villager district around that time?” Mumbo answered first.

“I was also working on my base.” Iskall answered, and then they looked over at Scar.

“I killed Cub.” Everyone sort of stared at Scar. “What? It was the head games and I managed to hit him while flying and then kill him. His head was worth a lot of points and I didn’t think I could get a pvp kill so I really remember it.”

“Ah! I’m glad you brought that up. Alright, so likely he’s dealing with the fact that all of you were busy this time.”

“Doc” Mumbo spoke up. “You seem to think we have some clue of what’s going on, but all of us are completely confused. Can you explain it like we know nothing at all?”

Doc sighed. “Alright fine, maybe that will make you remember.” He gestured to Grian. “Grian is an avian, specifically a parrot hybrid.” He paused to make sure they were all following along. “Hybrids often show traits from the animal they are a hybrid of, me being a good example.” The other hermits nodded. “While they’re usually adapted because of hybrids being more human than mob, traits will line up. Currently, it’s around the time of year where parrots are looking for someone to be their… partner in a sense and-”

Iskall cut Doc off. “And Grian’s doing that?!”

“Uh, yes. I thought you would be aware from season six but-”

“Hold on, I’m still a bit lost.” Mumbo spoke up, also cutting Doc off.

“Scar, please tell me you know what I’m talking about.”

“I don’t have the slightest clue.” Scar replied, making Doc groan.

“Alright, I think we found the problem.” Doc said, sounding frustrated. “It’s that you three are all idiots. Long story short, when the bird species an avian belongs to have their mating season, the avians will be clingy and need companionship. I’m not sure how none of you noticed last year or the year before, but obviously, you somehow missed it and helped him at the same time.”

Before any of the trio of other hermits could ask any more questions, Grian was the one to speak up. “What are you talking about?”

Doc was quiet for a few moments before making some hissing noises that everyone was pretty sure were curses. “Grian, how do you not know that? What did you think was going on last year?”

“Last… year?” Grian tried thinking back, but he didn’t remember anything. “This didn’t happen last year. It hasn’t happened since Evo.”

“Ah, that would make this even more of a problem. You’re repressing mob traits. To be completely honest, this explains a lot.” Doc pulled Mumbo a bit closer to him and Grian’s wings puffed up. “Yeah. Your instincts are more pronounced which is making you a bit more violent.” Then he pulled Mumbo closer to himself, Grian’s wings puffing up in response. “He’s gotten to the point where the more feral side of him is trying to take control and further repression is making him violent. For now, I suggest taking him back to his mansion, give him plenty of blankets, stay nearby, and keep hermits he gets upset at or they could end up in a similar situation to Bdubs.”

“Anything else we should know?” Mumbo asked, feeling a little concerned for his friend.

“Oh definitely, but I’d like Grian to be more lucid for it, so I’m just giving the necessary information and you can come back here in a few days for the whole thing.”

“Wait, did you say a few days?” Scar asked, sounding a little concerned.

“Up to five depending on how bad Grian’s mob side is, but probably it’ll only be two or three days. Think of it like… a long slumber party where you’re hostages to a parrot.”

“That doesn’t make it better.” Iskall spoke up, but then Doc started pushing them out the door along with Scar, Grian and Mumbo. 

They weren’t able to get far though, since Doc ignored his own advice and just made Grian upset. He pulled away after a few moments, but even then, that didn’t seem to work. That confused Doc a bit since obviously Grian had been protective of Scar with Bdubs and Mumbo with him. Though Iskall… Doc pulled Iskall away which seemed to help Grian. “Huh, guess I was wrong about that.”

“About what?”

“I thought since you three were so close last season, Grian would want Iskall around, but I guess that’s not the case.” Doc explained.

“Well I guess that means at least one of us can work on Pacific.” Iskall shrugged.

“Message me if you need anything about it.” Mumbo said before looking to Scar. “Well, I guess you and I are going to be hanging out for a bit, now aren’t we?”

“I guess so. Let’s get Grian back to his place.”

.

.

.

When they first got back to the mansion, Grian still seemed nervous about the whole thing, trying to lock himself away. Mumbo and Scar did their best to reassure him, and listening to Doc’s advice, they found some blankets. 

The way Grian reacted had Scar laughing as he compared it to when Jellie saw a toy to go after. Grian had almost immediately pounced on the blankets and started forming them into some sort of nest before dragging Mumbo and Scar into it against their will. Since neither of them had wings, Grian instead groomed them by keeping their hair and clothes tidy. Mumbo did his best to reciprocate by helping to preen Grian’s wings, also showing Scar how it was done since he had little clue on what to do.

Because it was really just the three of them, Grian didn’t have many problems other than him worrying about himself. The worst was after a day into their hanging out that Jellie came looking for Scar and was not expecting what was essentially a five foot tall bird attacking her. The only injuries were a few scratches that the cat gave Grian, but some bandages quickly patched him up and he seemed to like the care that he was given from it.

It also seemed the scuffle helped Grian out, making him more lucid, instincts calming down a bit. He still felt a bit protective of Mumbo and Scar, but for the most part it was just him complaining as they stepped away to grab something to eat or just needed to stretch. And if Scar kept getting out, that was just because his bones get stiff easily, not at all because he liked watching how dramatic Grian got at him being two blocks away. Not at all.

“Grian, you’re fine. Scar is right there.”

“Nooo! He’s abandoned me! I’m unloved! I have no friends!” Grian complained, flopped on top of the blankets.

Mumbo patted Grian’s head. “That’s not true. I’m here too, aren’t I?”

“But you’re almost always around. This is different.” Grian pouted. “Besides, I have two hands! I can hold yours but also someone else’s. Like Scar’s.”

That left Mumbo a little flustered, especially as Grian took his hand and also grabbed towards Scar. Scar reluctantly moved close enough for Grian to grab him, surprised as he was suddenly yanked down and landed face first into a pile of blankets. Grian gave a chirpy laugh before trapping Mumbo and Scar in blankets before squeezing himself in there and wrapping the pair in his wings before settling down to nap. The pair tried to escape, but had little luck, and ended up stuck in the blankets and wings. 

They weren’t as tired as Grian seemed, since he still hadn’t quite caught up with his missed sleep, so the two of them chatted for a bit, sharing plans and ideas. Still, in such a position with not much to do, already buried in blankets, it wasn’t long before they also nodded off. 

Because he went to sleep first, Grian was the first to wake back up. He was finally feeling well rested and back to his normal self. He especially felt back to his normal self when he saw Scar lying there, making a smirk creep onto his face. Grian carefully pulled himself away, not wanting to wake the other two hermits. Then he crept over to a window and looked out, finding there were still chests sitting on the hill behind his mansion near the cows Zedaph left behind. Everything was in place, all except for Scar.

Grian moved back over to the pile of blankets and did a few stretches to make sure he didn’t hurt himself. He was pretty strong from always carrying building supplies and climbing all over the place to actually build, but just being an avian made him somewhat weaker than a normal human, his bones more like a birds to make it easier for him to fly. But despite all that, he was pretty strong, which is why he was easily able to lift Scar above his head and hold him there.

Scar woke up suddenly from being moved. “Hey! What’s going on?!”

“You still have to do the back of the mansion Scar! And you’re here right now so I’m putting you to work!”

“Nooo! Grian why?! I was just here to help you!”

“And now you can help out more. There’s already supplies down there, so just go until they’re all used up.” Grian said as he took Scar to the supplies, the mayor jokingly complaining the whole way there. Mumbo, who had been woken up by the scuffle, followed the pair outside with a yawn to see what exactly was going on. When Scar saw the redstoner, he pleaded for Mumbo to help, but he just watched as Scar worked on terraforming with some help from Grian.

Mumbo didn’t do much for a bit, letting Scar build for a bit before going down to stop them. “Alright, while I’m sure neither of you want to stop right now-” Mumbo paused from Grian snickering. “-Doc did want us to meet up with him again when Grian was feeling better, so we should probably do that. I’ve already messaged him and he says he’ll be at his base when we arrive.”

“Can’t we stay a little longer?” Grian pleaded, though Scar was ready to go.

“Nope, I’m sure this is really important. Much more important than the mansion.” Grian pouted a little, but then followed Mumbo and Scar to Doc’s base to visit the scientist.

.

.

.

“Yeah, it looks like Grian’s doing fine now.” Doc said as he finished giving the avian a check up. “It looks like the whole problem was mob trait repression, I had just never seen it that severe. Though that could also be the only case I’ve seen is from myself. I could barely deal with a few months, I’m surprised Grian was able to go years.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Grian asked. “I mean, I’m obviously bad enough on my own and I’m just an avian, I can’t imagine trying to deal with being a creeper hybrid.”

“See, that’s part of the issue. You’re not supposed to be acting violent like that unless you’re repressing traits. Think of it like trying to cage an animal. When they don’t want to be locked up, they’ll do what they can to get out. Being an avian doesn’t just make you lighter and give you wings, there are things you have to deal with. Sure you already deal with some of it, like always having a sweater on to deal with getting cold easier. But this is just another cookie incident.”

Grian crossed his arms. “I’m not actually allergic to chocolate, I just get indigestion.”

Doc just sighed. “Right, well, obviously in this case at least, you had no clue what was going on. Can I ask why?”

Grian ruffled his feathers. “It’s not like I grew up with any other avians. I just had to figure it out on my own. And even outside of that I didn’t have the best life growing up. Then the Evo experiment was a mess, but that was the calmest I had been, so when I… hurt someone-”

“Alright, that makes sense. Instinct took a back seat because you felt in danger. When it was finally calm enough, it had been repressed long enough that it made you more violent. That worried you, so you continued until you got to this point. And you had no clue that that was what was causing things.”

“Uh, yeah, I guess that sounds about right.” Grian answered, rubbing the back of his head. “So wait, is all this going to happen again?”

Doc shook his head. “Not to this scale. Just make a mark on your calendar to watch out for this next year. Then just contact Mumbo, Scar, or anyone else you need and just hang around each other for a few days. No one will get hurt and you’ll feel fine.”

“Hey, that’s great and all.” Scar cut in. “But I think he should probably learn from example, right Doc?”

Doc was slightly flustered and tripped over his words slightly. “I-I’m sorry? I’m not sure wh-what you’re talking about.”

“You’re forgetting the few times I had to shove you out of Area 77 because you were sizzling too much. I may not know what it looks like when avians are repressing instincts, but I know how it is for creepers.”

Doc sighed. “Alright, yeah. Just took a few days waiting for you guys. But a few days is still better than a few years, so it’s not that bad. I’ll just… have to follow you guys back to the jungle.”

“Why the jungle?” Grian asked curiously.

“Uh… creeper thing. Long story.”

“How about we meet a bit more so you can tell me some avian things and you tell me some creeper things?” Grian asked with a smile.

“I’m not so sure about-”

“Oh, what’s this? A stray cookie?”

“Alright! Fine! I’m not dealing with that and Stress isn’t close enough to take over. Let’s just go.”