#not in a vengeance way just so I can see them low and afraid and write notes abt how they respond

[arolesbianism]

Liking characters who are assholes is so hard because no one gets that like 90% of the time the appeal of the character to me is that they're an ass in a very mundane way that is not very unique or even justified they're just some guy who is shitty and I like that about them and the second they are made to be any level of justified or genuinely villainous they become boring to me especially if they went through some rough shit because of their actions because honestly it's often more interesting and tragic to me if the horrors they went through were because of their actions and their actions weren't justified but at the end of the day they're still just some guy who had no way of knowing things would end this way

[dr5amatic]

IN THE ASHES ,

a sentence starter prompts list comprised of quotes from the novel an ember in the ashes by sabaa tahir. please be advised that this list may involve topics including, but not limited to, murder, death, and violence. change verbiage as needed.

why do keep disappearing when i need you?

i wasn't spying.

what you saw is dangerous. you can't tell anyone about it. not ever.

keep your secrets close, love.

i'm not working for them.

don't be afraid [name], i won't let anything happen to you.

what are you doing down here?

much as i hate to admit it, you're not usually wrong.

the field of battle is my temple.

the dance of death is my prayer.

the killing blow is my release.

aren't you a pretty one.

who trained you?

keep it safe for me just until i come back.

unless you're stupider than you look, even you can see how this appears.

you worked hard. you did everything right.

go, [name]. go get some air. i'll handle this.

the ghosts of our misdeeds seek vengeance, but the cost will be high.

you are an ember in the ashes, [name]. you will spark and burn, ravage and destroy. you cannot change it. you cannot stop it.

we don't abandon our own!

who do you want me to spy on?

shadows will bloom in your heart and you will become everything you hate.

so my choices are either to stay and be evil or run and be evil. wonderful.

they always underestimate me.

this isn't a mission for the fainthearted.

go away. you're not real.

you're distracted when you can ill afford to be.

if you want to win this, you need to wake up.

i've already wasted too much time cleaning up your messes.

lay low. don't risk spying until you're certain you won't get caught.

fail me again, and we're done.

these are my friends, my family. people i know. i wouldn't hurt them.

how do i make it stop? i have to make it stop.

until you conquer your fear, the dead will remain with you.

i won't kill you. i swear it. by blood and bone, i swear it.

you're going to be fine. i'm going to fix you right up.

fight, [name]. you have to fight. you have to win.

death before tyranny.

if what you say is true, then the balance is upset, and we must restore it.

you look terrible. come into the shade.

you really should run. you’re just going to die.

wait, you idiot! it might be a trap!

i won’t let you fall, i promise.

i want you to know that i think what you’re doing is brave. really brave.

it’s not a stupid idea, just dangerous. i don’t want you getting hurt.

you’re trying to sneak out.

i wouldn’t have traded this for anything.

i live with my sins everyday. i live with the guilt.

i’ve never asked you for anything. i’m asking you now.

you think i can’t defend myself? you think i need bodyguards?

i’ve been distracted worrying about you.

i’ll kill him for this.

don’t talk. just keep quiet and… let me think.

you’re in love with me! but i'm not in love with you, and you hate me for it. you’ve let that ruin our friendship.

i could never be in love with you.

you have no idea what I’ve given up for you, the deal i made. 

who did this?

look at you–look what they’ve done to you.

you don’t have to be brave.

do you have what i want?

i have something, but i need more time.

if you have nothing, then this mission is a failure.

don’t have time for that. I’ve got other things on my mind.

if i wanted to hurt you, i’d already have done it.

as long as there is life, there is hope.

either way, you’d have blamed yourself.

either way, people you cared about would have suffered.

i should have stayed, even if it meant dying.

they won’t let you have compassion or kindness. they won’t let you have a soul.

my soul’s gone. I killed it dead on that battlefield.

there are two kinds of guilt. the kind that’s a burden and the kind that gives you purpose. 

you have a soul. it’s damaged, but it’s there. don’t let them take it from you.

you don’t need to be so cat-footed. i’m not armed.

you’re surprised? you’re naïve, is what you are. you’re a fool.

you’re sick. don’t you have any regret? any remorse?

i’ll celebrate them. i’ll mourn them. but i won’t regret what i did. i did it for the empire. i did it for my people.

don’t make vows when you can’t know their cost.

i crossed a line, and i won’t cross it again.

do you know what i do to spies?

be strong. if you don’t win this, everything is lost.

i will be your blood shrike, your second-in-command, the sword that executes at your will, until death. i swear it.

in the night, your loneliness crushes you, as if the sky itself has swooped down to smother you in its cold arms.

there is nothing of me that is worth anything.

tell me, or i slit your throat here and now.

you’ll pay for this. i swear it to the skies, to the stars. you’ll pay.

just because he’s a good leader doesn’t mean he’s a good person. he lied to you.

for the first time since i can remember, i don’t feel alone. because of you.

i can’t–i can’t stop thinking about you. i’ve tried not to. i tried to push you out.

i’ll take care of everything. i promise.

the moment i knew you existed, i hated you.

if i feel regret, it’s that i wasn’t willing to die sooner.

i’d rather die than live with no mercy, no honor, no soul.

fear is only your enemy if you allow it to be.

too much fear an you’re paralyzed. too little fear and you’re arrogant.

i’ll watch your back if you watch mine. we can make it if we stick together.

[saradika]

— BLEED FOR ME | part ii

[masterlist]

mand’alor!vampire!din djarin x f!reader

rated e - 3.4k

haunted hoedown prompts: vampire!au + “i would burn the world for you.” + vampire has a taste for specific blood + revenge + (one-sided) enemies to lovers (+ 1 to be revealed!)

tags: vampire!au, drinking blood, reader has scar on shoulder, mentions of death, shared memories, light angst

He fills the doorway, as silent as he was downstairs.

Lingering there as you try to keep your breathing under control. A second where you wonder if he saw, if he suspected - your hands clasped together on your lap to stay the tremor.

Preparing for his wrath.

Not ready for the way he waits, his low voice asking for your permission to enter the room.

For the way he comes quietly to you after - the glove that finally reaches, touches. Tipping your chin up again, like she had.

So carefully, a knuckle curved under your chin. As if he’s afraid you’ll break.

His helmet tilts, the smallest movements as he takes you in.

“You don’t have to do this.”

The Mand’alor’s voice is low - soft and distorted through the helmet. Not what you were expecting, but the words make your blood turn to ice.

Don’t have to do what? Your stomach churns as you think that he did see you - the twitch of your hand as you wonder if you could manage, if you could reach-

“I chose you,” His voice breaks the silence again. “But if you’re unwilling, I won’t feed. If it’s money you need, I’ll see that you’ve taken care of. I’ll find someone else.”

It’s so entirely unexpected. A nervous glance sent his way - and for a second, you wished there were eyes to meet. An opportunity to truly read him, for why would someone so heartless offer an alternative?

But you need him to take it. To take you - his armor shed and his defenses down, so you can put an end to this.

You deserved it, didn’t you? Revenge on the man who had stolen your home from you. The cozy life you had led, in the little cottage at the edge of the village.

It’s just a pile of stone, now.

Too much time had been spent getting to this moment for you to accept his offer, even as tempting as it is.

Because you couldn’t live here, surrounded in this finery. Playing a pet, while they depended on you.

The ones who had found you. Choking on smoke and half-dazed at the edge of the forest. Helping you up from where you were slumped against the base of that old, oak tree.

Swept until their wing after the destruction. There had been no place left for you, as the morning dawn creeped into afternoon.

You had barely escaped with your life.

And soon after, the plan was formed. If you could take down their leader, the rest would fall. Their whispers reeking of vengeance, sinking its talons into your skin.

Convincing you that you deserved it, didn’t you?

Uncertainty has kept you awake, in those days as you had thought it over. Because things could be rebuilt. The world was a vast place - you could start over.

But then they told you that this happened, often. That the vampires would crush small towns like yours, looking to feed. Leaving behind only silent memories and ghosts.

That is what got you. And it’s that thought turned into a knowing, a certainty.

You can’t let that happen to someone else.

Days of training turned into weeks, and then months. Then, a year.

Because it had to be you - there was too much history for any of the Slayers to do it. They’d be recognized a mile off.

Learning how they fight, until the weight of the silver dagger on your hip brought comfort.

“Wait until he’s distracted.”

“Do whatever it takes, just make sure-”

“Make sure you don’t trust him.”

“Not a single word.”

And finally, it had been time. You had three moons - until the winter solstice. After that, the vampires would keep inside for the Long Sleep, and not be seen until Spring.

If you did not complete your task in time, then you’d be trapped with them. If you succeeded too late, you’d freeze in the cold before you got far.

The sharpened piece of wood had been shoved into your hand, this morning.

“Run this through his heart.”

“Rip off his head. Burn him.”

“Trap him with the sun.”

Their advice hummed beneath your skin, as you had approached the castle. Your plans had been a heavy weight in your stomach, twisting with the unease at what you have to do.

To offer yourself up to a vampire was no mere feat.

But when that vampire was a Mandalorian, encased in that shining armor, it was all but madness.

It was no secret that he sought blood. That offerings were brought to him, almost always turned away.

No one could sate his thirst. He had paid no mind to the others that were ushered in with you. You had wondered if he could smell your deception, clinging to your skin.

But he had chosen you.

And if this is how you had to pay them back, you would.

Your head shakes, as you make your decision, "I… I am willing."

There's a second of silence, as if he wants to press. As if he's not sure, himself.

But then he's carefully tugging off the rust-tipped gloves, lowering himself onto the ottoman near the desk. Leaving the leather to rest on his thigh armor as his hands come into view.

You hold your breath.

But there’s no sharp claws, no blood caked under nails, no fur or scales.

It's just a hand. Tanned skin and human, as far as you can tell.

It eases some of the apprehension, though your heart still races from almost being caught. At the thought of this next part - the pain of the bite and the fire in your veins.

You had been told to be brave. To grit your teeth and work through it - that it was something you'd have to learn to bear, if you were to get close to him.

But the thought of it, that anticipation, has your muscles strung tight. It takes more effort than you'd like to admit for your head to tilt to the side, for you to bare your neck to him.

He takes your wrist, instead.

A large hand wrapping around, his thumb pressing against the place where your pulse pounds. Something hot and electric arcing through you at his touch, though his skin is cool against yours.

"Thank you." The Mand'alor tells you, and there’s a depth to his words as he's lifts the edge of his helmet.

Just to his nose, and no further. He's human here, too - a pretty curve of lips framed by dark facial hair. Your eyes linger, realizing this is a sight that near-none had seen. Curiosity sparking, until those lips are parting.

And the two sharp fangs come into view, instead.

It has you tensing, as his grip tightens - that thumb smoothing over your skin. Almost soothing in its movement, though you can't comprehend why.

"Just a pinch." He murmurs, "You'll be alright."

You huff a breath at his words just as his head dips down to your wrist - and then, he's biting down.

There's a sharp ache as his fangs pierce your skin, and you wait for more. For the feeling of being sliced open, the burn of the venom, for your bones to crack beneath his teeth.

But, none comes.

Just the sensation of pulling, the buzz of his mouth against your skin as he groans, deep in his chest. The sound sends heat to your cheeks, it feels too intimate a noise for someone you just met.

For someone so cruel.

The pain was no more than the accidental prick of a finger against a dagger. That brief pain soothed by the continuous sweep of his thumb. A strange sort of contented drowsiness passing over you instead, tempting you to close your eyes.

And then, you do.

There's flashes. The pulse of lights that glitter like stars, mimicking the beating of your heart. A snapshot of images, flickering briefly in your mind.

Some, you recognize. Your old bedroom, the garden outside. Tulips swaying in a summer breeze. A second later and it's tilting - crumbling beneath your steps.

There's a child, their eyes round and black. The flash of something black, crackling with a bright light. An ocean, beneath the ground - dragging you under.

A sensation of being lifted. The warmth of your cheek pressed against ice. A soft bed of grass, the bark biting into your shoulder.

The pulse in your throat drops down, down, down. Settling somewhere low, between your thighs. Your breath feels trapped in your chest, and when you let it loose, it's a soft moan-

You gasp, then - and your eyes are opening. He's pulled away, fingers smearing red across his lips - the peek of a pink tongue as he licks them clean. Hiding himself away again under the mask, as your wrist lies limply in your lap.

"You did well," He tells you, "I know that was a lot. It will get easier."

The images are still flashing in your mind. Ones that you know well blending with others. Had you been sleeping? Was more of your memory from that night unlocked?

There's a soft pressure against your wrist, and you jerk. Coming back from your thoughts, looking down to see him swipe a cream across puncture marks that were still raw and oozing.

An opened jar sits on the table, indentations in the pale salve where his fingers had been. Your mind feels hazy as you watch the way he works it into your skin - as the residual bit of throbbing wanes, the deep marks seeming to lessen before your eyes.

"They'll be gone in the morning." He tells you. There's a rough edge to his voice that wasn't there before, as he pushes himself up. Leaving the salve where it is, as his hands disappear behind the gloves.

Extending one though, to help you up. A little wobble to your step as you take it, as you let him guide you to the bed. It's soft beneath your touch, the mattress dipping as you sink back into it.

"Would you like anything?" The Mand'alor asks, "Food? Water?"

You feel... drained. Which is a humorous little thought, in your exhausted mind. A small smile, an echo of that low, thudding pulse as your legs push together, as you stretch.

"No, I'm just-" A yawn splits your face, coming from deep in your chest, "Sorry, just tired. It was a long journey."

It's easy to play the willing companion now, when you're fighting exhaustion. Your shields down with the promise of sleeping in a real bed, knowing you're not strong enough to fight tonight.

Tomorrow, you can try again.

"Of course." He stands at the foot of the bed. In your current state he almost looks awkward, with the cocked tilt of his hips. Looking as if he's ready to bolt, "I'll have Fennec bring you food when you wake."

Fennec. It must be the woman you met earlier. She had never given you her name.

Your nod is slow, a cracked open eye fixing on his helmet. In the light of the hallway he doesn't seem quite so big as he did before. Still broad, but you're no longer fearing what lies beneath.

"I'll be back tomorrow night." He tells you, "Not to feed, but to check on you."

You don't answer this time, already toeing the line of sleep. Missing the way he lingers for a long moment in the doorway. Before the heavy wooden door is closing, and you're left alone to dream.

Leaving you to wonder, as your eyes close - as you slip beneath the blankets, curling up. You knew he'd keep you alive. How else was he to feed?

But you never anticipated this, this...

This kindness.

You keep waiting for that veneer to crack - for that monster to be released. But it never does.

There is breakfast, the next morning. Then, lunch.

The skin on your wrist is smooth again by mid-morning, almost as if it never happened. A seamstress in your room by the afternoon, her eyes glittering as you’re measured for new clothes.

“You can’t be seen with the Mand’alor with only these,” Vera had all but giggled, a manicured finger flicking towards the small pack of clothes you had brought.

Too plain. Too worn.

You dress in soft linens now, in shades of crimson and slate. That brass rack along the wall filled to the brim with new finery.

Intricate beadings and rich fabrics and when the Mand’alor visits you that night, he’s quiet.

And with the new clothes, soon you do not look so out of place when you wander the empty halls during the day.

Unable to sleep while the sun is shining. Refusing to board up your pretty windows, to mimic a semblance of night.

You live stubbornly between two worlds. Out of sync from the rest of the castle for your first week. Bidding a good morning to Fennec as she eats her dinner. Skirting around her shadow - a broad man in dark green armor.

He no longer startles you, like he did in the beginning. Another Vampire Lord from across the sea, though there seemed to be no end to his visitation.

His eyes were always dark, always watching. He did not wear the helmet as the Mand’alor did - you would watch each expression flicker across his face, before it flattened.

A different kind of mask worn.

It has you curious, in spite of everything. Even though it takes you a few more days to pluck up the courage.

“Did Boba chose you, too?” You ask Fennec one evening.

Morning, for you now, you suppose. You have been trying, lately. The bread soaks into the dregs of your soup, as you swirl it along the bottom.

“In a ways.” She smiles. That rough edge softening over the days you’ve been here - her hackles lowering when it becomes clear that you were a little different than the others.

That you were the same you as you were before.

If only she knew in what way.

“It wasn’t like yours. And it was years ago.” She continues - an elbow digging into the wooden table, a palm cupped under her chin, “I was dying, and he found me.”

It’s not what you were expecting, the hunk of bread lying forgotten in your bowl.

“I suppose you could say he saved me.” A shoulder raises, and then drops, “I’d mistrusted someone. Slipped up, and found myself nearly gutted. No one could survive a wound like that.”

You don’t think you’ve take a breath since she started speaking - there was so little you knew about vampires. Only what you had been told, the bit you had gleaned from the books in your room.

“Boba found me, and he gave me a choice.”

“But,” You blink, “But you’re human, still?”

She ate, like you did. Did not stand with the same eerie stillness, not even taking a breath.

“He did not change me.” Fennec confirms, “But his blood healed me. And I’ve followed him since.”

“I did not… I did not realize vampires cared that much for humans.” You admit with embarrassment.

She gives you a knowing look, one that you do not understand. But a voice joins yours, low and laced with humor.

“We were all human, once. And you have not seen her on the battlefield, ad’ika.”

She smirks, as Boba fingers tap against the table, where he’s come to lean.

“Yes, it’s not my charming personality that has you keeping me around.”

He huffs a laugh, and there’s something like camaraderie between them.

A friendship.

It leaves you more confused than ever.

It’s morning, when he comes next.

The gentle knock at your door startling you awake. Most of the castle was asleep by now. You’re still trying to reset your internal clock - thinking that by now, you should be making an effort.

Not expecting him to be outside, as you pulled your robe a little more tightly around yourself.

It's been four days since he last fed, though you've seen him often in that time. The dip of his head when he passes you in the corridors. Watching him from the plush seats in the throne room - his helmet just barely tilting your way when he's not being spoken to.

You wonder if he's been watching you, too. If he thinks you will bolt - if he harbors any suspicions.

"Forgive me for not thinking of this sooner." He tells you, as you step aside to let him in, "I should have been doing this from the beginning."

"Doing what?" You frown, as you move to the bench by the window. A spot you've occupied the last two visits, preferring the wide bench to the narrow wooden desk chair.

"You're still getting used to this. Visiting you as the evening falls isn't helping you adjust." The Mand'alor explains, as you tug up the sleeve of your robe, baring the skin of your wrist.

His suggestion is thoughtful. As time has passed you've grown stronger, more used to the feeling. No longer sleeping right away, able to fight that sense of drowsiness.

It extends to the during, as well. If you concentrate hard enough, parts of those visions that flashed behind your closed eyes come into focus. And if you try really hard, the images fade to just sensations.

You couldn't explain if, if you tried. It certainly hadn't been something divulged during your training. In fact, a tiny part of you wondered if any of them even had knowledge of being a companion. Everything so far has felt... off.

Distorted by a degree, as if the road you were traveling had split, but still followed their path.

"You are the Mand'alor," You shrug, trying to brush off his consideration, "I am bound to follow your wishes."

He makes a sound, a low hum. It's as close to a laugh as you've heard, as he lowers himself to the bench next to you.

"I think we are past titles, seeing as I've tasted you." His voice is low, rough behind the helmet, "You may call me Din, when we're alone."

There's a heat in your cheeks at the innuendo, though he can't possibly mean it that way. His hands are already bare, fingers pressing against your skin. Feeling how your pulse had jumped at his words.

His helmet tips higher, this time. Resting on the bridge of his nose, his full lips on display.

It’s still too hard to watch - your eyes closing as he bites down. A small inhale of breath in anticipation, but you’ve gotten used to the impact.

Your eyes fighting to stay open this time, to stay in your own head. Unable to help risking a glance, then.

At the wash of red against full lips. The scruff of his jaw, the patch of hair missing - you imagine your thumb pressing against it.

Wondering if his face would feel like face, or it would be cool marble, like his hand.

His throat bobs, with the softest groan.

It’s natural, you tell yourself. You’ve groaned while eating the freshly-baked bread in the kitchens. Though it’s funny to think of yourself as the meal.

Idle fingers play with the edge of the heavy curtain, slipping through the fringe.

It’s then that the thought hits you. How distracted he was, at this moment.

How it’s morning.

How the whole castle is asleep.

Your fingers pinch down on the tassel. Testing the tension as you eye your desk, across the room but no more than a quick dash away.

All it would take is the slightest tug.

The morning sun would pour across his bare neck, the lower half of his face. Burning him, enough of a distraction that you could go for the stake. Fit it between his ribs, in that soft spot under his armpit.

You inhale a breath, to steel your nerves.

At the movement, his fingers stroke against your wrist. A means to soothe you.

And you find…. that you can’t do it.

Not right now. Not yet.

And this morning marks the beginning of that funny feeling that starts in your stomach. An unease, though it feels like you’re drowning in it.

Is it from wearing his colors? Is it your visions, or the echoing thud that tipped towards something carnal?

Is it because the thought of your revenge was so much easier when he was nameless?

Or is it because you’re still not sure what stayed your hand?

It’s not something you can think about, now.

You just need to play your part.

thanks so much for reading! 🥀💕 if you’d like to be tagged please let me know!

(tags: @dameron-grant-spector, @sugadolly, @writingsofestella)

[silvercap]

Hiii Silver :3

Could I get "I'm not afraid of you" for the dialogue prompts? However you want to approach it 👀

Yes!!

(Prompts)

It's cold on the roof this time of year, the frigid autumn wind biting straight through Piers' thin green scrub pants, short sleeves doing little to protect his scarred, pale arms. Well, arm. He sighs, leaning his head into his hand where his elbow rests on the icy-cold metal railing. He can only imagine the chaos that's happening in the facility beneath his feet, quarantine procedures and alarm bells surely begging to be listened to; the doctors and scientists that prod at his body day in and day out left reeling now that he's escaped the pathetic little cell they call his 'quarters'. He knows it's for the good of C-virus research, for finding out the best ways to deal with his symptoms. Piers finds that he doesn't fucking care.

A metal door creaks out over the rustling of leaves from the trees down below in the courtyard, the ones that line the electrified, razor-wire-topped fence that surrounds the property. Piers doesn't bother turning around to see whatever system of restraints they have ready to snare him with, all too vividly remembering the strap-covered examination tables and sedatives they'd taken to giving him at the beginning of his captivity, until Chris had put a stop to it with a few choice words.

"I thought maybe I'd find you up here," Chris's voice says from behind, as if summoned by Piers' memory. "You should really go back in, it's cold out. You'll catch a chill."

"So they can drain me of my blood and zap me with cattle prods, again? Lock me up in a windowed room, even when I'm taking a piss?" Frustrated tears prickle at his remaining eye, the one empty socket strangely numb of any feeling at all. "I'm fucking sick of it, the way they all look at me. Like I'm... an experiment, not even human anymore."

"We got you a curtain, though," Chris says quietly, coming to a stop beside Piers. He places a hand on the back of his neck, but Piers can't bring himself to lean into the warmth. "I'm sorry. We're trying, but it's... they're very particular about how they work. And they..."

He trails off, and Piers can read between the lines well enough to know what he'd been about to say.

"They think I'm a fucking monster. You can say it." Piers swipes at his eye angrily, chest shuddering with the urge to sob. He forces it down with a vengeance, ignoring the way his elevated pulse makes his scars throb. "They're scared of me. They think I'm going to turn and kill them and destroy all their research, because I'm a BOW now, no matter what any of the rest of us think. I can't---"

"Shh." Chris pulls Piers close to his chest, folding him into a hug that Piers willingly falls into. His throat clenches around a pathetic whine, tears spilling down his cheeks of their own accord. Chris's arms are solid around him, comforting and familiar, blocking out the chill of wind and the harshness of reality. Piers sobs, hard enough that he hiccups. "Shh, it's alright."

A broad hand strokes over the short hair at the back of Piers' skull, the world disappearing for a long moment. All there is is Chris's warmth and the ground beneath Piers' feet, his shoulders quaking as he cries. Chris soothes him with mindless, mumbles reassurances, words washing over Piers as he squeezes his burning eyes shut. He sniffles as Chris's arms slowly unwind from around his back, finding purchase so gently on his shoulders. Piers would find it sweet if he didn't know Chris was just worried about hurting the damaged one.

"Listen to me," Chris says, low and calm. His dark eyes bore into Piers'. "I'm not afraid of you. Jill's not afraid of you. Leon isn't afraid of you, and neither are Sherry and Jake. So many people at the BSAA know who you are and what you've done, and not a single one of us would want to treat you like that. You're not a monster, Piers, you're just suffering. I'm here for you, okay? I trust you."

Piers can only sob in response, burying his face back in Chris's chest. Somehow, it's the warmest he's felt all day.

[paladinbaby]

the hunter & the rabbit

robot rebellion, emily axford / true blue, boy genius / the wee free men, terry pratchett / the house on the cerulean sea, tj klune / i worried, mary oliver / @curseworm / wild geese, mary oliver / @romanceyourdemons / lucy dacus on her song christine / why be happy when you could be normal, jeanette winterson

[Image Description: Ten images of text, mostly black on a white background except the last which is a photo of a book page in low light. The images alternate being one or two to a row.

1: “we can run, we can run, we can run / and it’ll be a race, just you and me / cause they can’t keep up with their metal feet / we can hide, we can hide, we can hide / and you can build a fire in a cave / and i can conjure shadows for a play

cause i am not afraid to die / long as you’re here by my side”

2: “Because it doesn’t matter anymore / Who won the fight? / I don’t know, we’re not keeping score / And it feels good to be known so well”

3: “He said it was better to belong where you don’t belong that not to belong where you used to belong, remembering when you used to belong there.”

4: “When something is broken, you can put it back together. It may not fit quite the same, or work like it did once before, but that doesn’t mean it’s no longer useful.”

5: “Was I right, was I wrong, will I be forgiven, / can I do better?”

6: “im extremely devout but nobody can figure out what im worshipping”

7: “You do not have to be good. / You do not have to walk on your knees / for a hundred miles repenting. / You only have to let the soft animal of your body / love what it loves. / Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. / Meanwhile the world goes on.”

8: “i love when a character has something terrible happen to them and as a result they can only see themself as, essentially if not literally, a ghost. and so that means they only can (and have to) do what ghosts do, ie get revenge and then cease to exist. easy as that. but then halfway through this ghost vengeance they realise hey actually i might still be a human person. with human needs. that’s incredibly inconvenient, considering how much i’ve invested in this whole ghost thing”

9: “She was dating this guy who at the time was just not treating her right, and I played her the song. I was like, ‘I just want you to hear this once. I’ll put it away, but you should know that I would not support you if you get married. I don’t think this is the best you could do.’ She took it to heart, but she didn’t actually break up with the guy. They’re still together and he’s changed and I don’t feel that way anymore. I feel they’re in better place, but at the time it felt very urgent to me that she get out of that situation.”

10: “I was hurt. / It is never too late to learn to love. / But it is frightening.” End ID.]

[imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese]

Attention on Absence

One of six pieces I wrote for the One Last Wish Ahamkara zine.

Link to Ao3 if you prefer to read it there

You asked me once what I would do if I could get my fireteam back.

I never told you how much I have been, and still am, haunted by your question. As haunted as I am now, with the phantoms of that very fireteam floating around me as I write to you.

Omar hovers near my left shoulder. He was the one among us most afraid to die. The echoes of his screams are the worst of all of them, by far. His death was so anguished and torturous because of how fiercely he clung to life. Now, out of all of us, he lingers in a way most compatible with his desires. Wielded in vengeance, he perforates our enemies’ defenses in acts of clean, effective brutality, one potent round at a time.

Would I have done anything to spare him his agony? Yes. But, would I wish to deny him the retribution he metes out still? No. I would not. I can sense he is satisfied. When I hold Xenophage in my hands, I no longer feel sorrow, only determination, focus, and a desire to continue doing what he always did best.

Vell floats beside Omar. He would ask if his death served purpose. If even one person survived as a result, he would have found meaning in it. He fought to spare himself the pain of losing any more of those he kept around him. As reluctant and resistant as I am to articulate the thought, I know he would insist that my survival made his death acceptable to him. To wish to undo his sacrifice would be anathema to him. So deep was his love for every person he saved, if there was an option to wish his death undone, he would refuse. I must respect his choice, no matter how deeply I regret it.

Eriana is behind me. She did not want to live. She simply needed Crota to die. That promise has been fulfilled. Out of all of us, she is the most at peace, now. To wish her back would be selfish and cruel. Without Wei Ning, she was already dead.

Toland’s shade is next to me, but his presence is elsewhere on the Moon, calling to stray guardians from the Ascendent plane, demanding they listen to his pontifications on sword logic.

Toland would call you stupid. Not just for suggesting he might wish to return, but in general, he would call you stupid… and many other names. I’m sure if you seek him out, he will provide you with a litany of his low opinion of your intelligence. In fact, if he were forced to have corporeal form again and exist in your presence I cannot help but wonder if he would become so frustrated he might… combust. He is content with his fate, miserable though it may be to us. Feel free to ask him yourself, if you can get him to manifest long enough for you to do so. It may be amusing to see you try.

Sai is to the right of me. Her faded hand rests at my elbow as I write to you. She was the first one the pyramids sent to haunt me. In many ways, the worst. Of all of them, you remind me most of her.

Her wit was as sharp as her knives. You would have loved her, I am certain, as much as I. She would want to know that you had been able to make me laugh again. That would mean the world to her. She understood, as you do, the inexorable absurdity of our existence. I miss her terribly. And when I do, what I am missing is all the experiences she and I would have shared.

She died laughing. Did I tell you?

It was not the doomed laughter of a tragic clown. It was not the bitter cynicism of broken dreams. It was the laughter of one who knows something you don’t know. The laughter of someone who has won, and their opponents just haven’t realized it yet. Triumphant. Glorious, even.

Every time I laugh now, I am reminded of her soon after. She would be… no. She is… proud of me. When I wish for Sai, I wish for companionship… mirth… joy. These are things I must re-learn how to feel now. And that learning cannot be solely obtained from external sources. It must be built from within. I carry her with me, and when I laugh, she and I laugh together. So, in a way, that wish is already in the process of being granted.

It has been too long since you said something profoundly irritating and made me want to strangle you.

Send me a message when you have returned.

What I wish most in this moment now is to talk with you again soon.

Take care, Rat.

The full zine is full of beautiful art and more writing from both myself and others within it. I wish you would go read it.

[newhorizonsxiv]

((Cheating a bit on this one with an older piece of Tai and Lyneth from waaaaay back at the very beginning of their relationship. I'm not really doing the challenge proper. Just going to pop in a piece or two as I have the spoons and they won't be cut for length or formatted properly because I have to do everything on mobile from my phone in bed so... Low effort is the rule of the day. Still, hope you enjoy this little drabble.))

Barbarous

"Eh. Couldn't know why they marked me. 'Barbarism'." Tai says the word bitterly "What does that solve? Been kind of...looking for a way to get rid of it..."

He looks at Lyneth, almost apologetically. "My sole existence was always one of two things. Vengeance and protection. I am tired of the first. And I fail so often at the second." he gestures around them "But here I am, trying to make sense of a life I was never meant to live and I can't. I just..."

He stands slowly and slowly makes his way to the back of the room "I always told myself I would never fail again. But I always failed anyway. I'm so tired of failing. I'm so tired of death. I started believing that I was the issue. That if I was simply erased, everyone would be fine." he picks up a grimoire on his desk. "And you're here, telling me things that no one has ever told me."

He flips through the grimoire, stopping once several pages through, and looks back at her "What is your reason for living?"

He tears out a page.

Her eyes drift toward the bottle of brandy but she forces them away and back to his face. "I.. don't know if I've ever really thought about it before. I have.." She shrugs. "I dunno. Goals. In the moment. Things I want and ways to get those things. When I left home the goal was to find my brother. Which I still haven't done but.. will. Someday."

She rises a bit unsteadily to stand beside the table, looking at him and the book curiously. "But as for a greater, overarching Purpose? That I couldn't give you. Except that I'd hate dying now with so many things and places that I've still never seen. So many tales and songs I've yet to hear. Or to write."

"I see." he snaps the book closed and puts it back on his desk. He looks at the page still clutched in his hand. "In truth, I think I found a way to remove the mark. But, for all intents and purposes, it would require me to cease to exist so of course that would remove it." He pauses "Ugh. I'm talking like him."

The page goes up in flames.

"I never had the will to just live. Well, no, that's a lie. It was there. But it was snuffed out. I always needed a reason to drive me forward. Find who did this or protect them or...whatever. But these reasons of mine, well, they can only take you so far if you're not good at them. But you...you imply you live because of what could be in store in the future. But the future terrifies me."

Lyneth frowns, tilting her head to one side. "Why? What are you afraid of? Every breath that we take is a reminder that there is still hope. That we're still here. We can still make things better. Even when things are bleak. Don't be so afraid of losing something that you never try to have it. That's a half-life, Tai. A wasted life. And you are more than that."

She takes a step closer, gesturing toward him with one hand while the other falls to her own shoulder. "That mark you hate so much? I think maybe you just aren't thinking of it in the right way." Another step closer. " 'Barbarous.' " She rolls the word across her tongue. "That's a word that conquerors spit down at the people who will not bow their heads and be conquered. It means that you have not been broken. That you still know who you are. And that you will resist, savagely resist, the people who try to tell you who they think you should be."

"They do it to my people too. In Ul'dah. In Gridania. 'Feral' is the word they use there. But it means much the same thing. To them. And to us. We are the unbroken. And as we breathe, we fight. As we breathe, we hope." By this time her steps have taken her to stand, looking up at him, eyes fierce and burning. "There are still so very many conquerors out there. Some come with guns and some with gil, but they always come. Barbarism.. is a thing that the world does truly need."

[luna-nigthshade-wood]

What they don´t know, will hurt them

Summary: Dean Winchesters attempts suicide on a dirty motel bathtub, ending brain dead on a hospital. A trickster promises John and Sam that he will save him for “free”, as long as they both get through watching a series of Dean´s memories, good and bad. The twist is that they will feel everything Dean did at the time and they can stop it at any time, but then Dean will die. They both accept thinking it cant be that bad. Spoiler: it is worse.

Chapter 32

Ever since this whole quest started, John cant help but keep wondering, why on Earth he had to involve his children into his mess once more? Was it really necessary? Did he really need them for his mission? Or it was just him being a selfish greedy bastard that couldn’t leave things be? Because if it wasn’t for him maybe Dean would have been able to make a life of himself at Sonny´s place, maybe not one with a white picket fence, his oldest had seen way too much for it to actually be real, but a happier life none the less, instead he drag him down with him, taking Sammy too for good messure, and then threw him away like a broken toy when he was done with him. Next memories are going to be hell to watch.

Sam is scared. He knows what the next memories are going to show and he doesn’t think he is capable of watching them. He doesn’t think he can stomach watching all the rude things he said to his brother while they had their little mission for revenge.

The screen lights up once more, this time showing Sam´s apartment at Stanford engulfed by darkness, there is a small noise outside that makes Sam stand up from his bed and going to investigate, only to be tackled by Dean, and if they were in any other situation, John would probably laugh at his sons tumbling like teenagers, but this isn’t any other situation, so John cant find amusing on it.

On the screen, Dean gets an introduction to Jess. Back then Sam was annoyed at his brother´s comments to Jess, but now after watching Dean´s memories for so long, he can detect the mask his brother is putting, the one that makes him seem reckless, he wonders if perhaps that wasn’t Dean last attempt to give him an out, to give both of themselves one.

The memory continues this time showing the two brothers arguing as they climb down the stairs

-When I told dad, I was scared of the thing in my closet he gave me a .45- Sam says, and back then it sounded like such a compelling argument to show why their family life was unstable, it seemed like such a big crime, now it pales in comparison of what Sam know his brother had to go through. Meanwhile, John hides his face into his hand as he hears one more thing he failed his sons

-I was nine years old- “Sam” continues- He was supposed to say “Don’t be afraid of the dark”.

-Of course you should be afraid of the dark- Dean says- You know what´s out there- and that phrase is said in such an earnest way, that both John and Sam realize that no one ever taught Dean that.

The fight continues as the Winchesters start to feel the anger and desperation that Dean is feeling. Back then, Sam didn’t notice, but now watching closely, he can see the flash of anger on Dean´s face when he mentions their mother, now more than a year later, Sam knows it was a low blow.

“Do you think that mom would have wanted that for us?” is a question that hits John like a freighting train. It is one he had asked himself multiple times. In his earlier years of hunting the answer would have been yes, now after knowing how the story ends, he is sure that Mary would have killed him, way before this.

-I cant do this alone- Dean says, and the desperation is back in full vengeance. Back then, Sam thought his brother was trying to guilt him into going with him, but now he realizes it was the way his brother was trying to reach out, and he feels like a dick for the way he ignored it

-Yes, you can- “Sam” says callously

-Yeah, well I don’t want to- Dean says, tone raw with honesty

The scene continues, with Sam finally giving in, when asked about why Dean wasn’t with his dad when he went missing, Dean lies and says he was on a hunt in New Orleans. John is sure that had he asked Caleb back then, he would have told them, that Dean was of course doing a hunt in New Orleans with him, and he guesses that is why he went with that lie.

Sam is floored by the way he hears himself talking to his brother, he knows pretty well, that Dean is capable of working his own hunts, without their father´s help, then why on earth did he have to be so condescending when Dean tells him he was working his own gig? Sam also comes to a startling realization, when he met Dean after all those years apart, Dean was wearing a mask but had some confidence on himself, a confidence that he started to rip down, with comments and critics until it was barely there. Sam helped destroyed Dean, and this time he cant blame his father for it

Dean explains the hunt to Sam, and John cant help but be impressed at how prepared Dean is, he sure as hell didn’t give him any info, perhaps hoping to delay his sons off his track, he ends up feeling sick for doubting his son. Sam finally agrees to go with Dean, under his own conditions (and the Sam watching wants to quick himself for always having to put his conditions, that college interview sounded so important back then)

At the screen, Sam gives one last kiss to Jess, and the Sam watching lets out a single tear, this is the last time that he will see Jess alive

The memories of the case continue as Sam and Dean keep trying to find clues as to where their father is. John cant help but notice how his sons seem to be in sync, even after all this time, and he cant ignore how better they are at what they are doing, hell, they found more clues to the case in one day that what he found in a week, of course he might have found more info if he hadn’t been busy chasing information at the bottom of his bottle.

The screen shows Dean and Sam in the bridge at the middle of the night, they seem to be focusing on the case, and then…

-You are really serious about the interview, aren’t you? You think you are just going to became some lawyer?- Dean says tone full of sarcasm- Marry your girl? Does Jessica knows the truth about you?- Dean asks as repressed anger hits his family. Back then, Sam thought his brother was angry at him, but now he realizes that Dean was angry on behalf of Jessica, and he had a right to be, because Sam planned his marriage to the girl, based on lies, and that is not how Dean raised him

-You are one of us- Dean says in an ominous tone

-No- “Sam” says- I am not like you. This is not going to be my life- and the Sam watching wants to rage at his younger self if only he knew…

-To Dad? And his crusade?- And damn if that phrase doesn’t hurt John deeply, he really managed to screw both of his sons- If it weren’t for pictures, I wouldn’t even know what Mom looks like. What difference would it make? Even if we found the think that killed her, mom is gone and she is never coming back

Anger like nothing they have ever felt fills Dean as he pushes Sam against the bridge support, but there is also a lot of hurt and grief mixed with that anger, and Sam wants nothing more than the floor to swallow him, as he watches himself hurl those careless words, at the moment he felt victorious at having hurt Dean with his words, now the only thing he feels is shame; Sam takes a quick look to his dad, the exact moment that John looks at him with a glare, John wants to say something to his wayward son, but he stays quiet, it wont do to speak in anger, heaven knows that is how most of his troubles start

Dean releases Sam, only to see Constance´s ghost fall off the bridge, and then Baby starts chasing them down the bridge. John feels his heart leap through his throat and he turns to Sam, eyes wild with a scared tone

-Sam?- he asks- Please tell me your brother did not just jump off a bridge known for his suicide rate, that the ghost you are chasing used to killed herself.

-I cant tell you that, dad- Sam responds, only now understanding the gravity of the situation, he thought it was funny to see Dean covered by black waters, he never once thought that an inch to the left and he might have lost his brother

-Jesus- John responds- And he wasn’t hurt?

-Of course no…-Sam starts to answers but then cuts himself off. When they arrived back at the motel, Dean seemed to be walking more stiffly and he was sure he saw a few bandages peaked out of his brother´s clothing

-He was hurt but didn’t tell you, right?- John guesses and seeing Sam´s tiny nod all but confirms it. John puts his head in his hands, he never thought anything about the hunt he sent his boys, he never even asked about it afterwards, hell, he was uncommunicated at the time. Dean could have died, and he probably wouldn’t have answered the phone, he hadn’t answered the phone when Dean was dying.

On the screen Dean and Sam enter their father´s room and John feels ashamed at the state of his room and about the fact that he left the job without finishing it; a man died because of his inactions. He could have helped; he just couldn’t bother to give a damn.

At the screen the police arrest Dean and both Winchesters wince as Dean is slammed unto the police car, if there was any doubt that Dean´s ribs were injured, there wasn’t now, it certainly hurt as if they were broken. Dean continues antagonizing the cops until Sam creates a distraction long enough for Dean to escape with John´s journal. Dean calls Sam from a phone booth informing him of his dad´s whereabouts.

Worry fills the air as the call cuts, as Dean springs into action finding Sam at record time, Dean is one hell of a hunter, is the thought running in his family´s minds. Dean is not a second too late, because when he finds Sam, he is being attacked by Constance in the Impala, and Dean doesn’t hesitate even a second before shooting through the windows. Later, Dean would bitch about his Baby´s windows, but between his brother and his car, is clear who he prioritizes, if only his family had felt the same.

Soon enough the case is solved, as Constance reunites with her children. And John honestly thought they would feel some sympathy coming from Dean, but there is only indifference (John doesn’t seem to realize that Dean might have felt sympathy for the ghost if only she hadn’t killed her kids)

The brothers return to Stanford, Dean´s hurt piercing in the room as Sam tells him, he is not going with him.

-Maybe I can meet with you later?- “Sam” says, and both brothers know is a lie

-Yeah, alright- says a dejected Dean as Sam turns to enter his apartment

-We made one hell of a team- Dean says before driving away.

Dean continues to drive, only arriving at the end of the street before stopping the car. There is a feeling of wrongness and uneasiness in the air, it is prickling at Dean´s (and the Winchester´s) neck. Something is wrong and before he knows it Dean is turning the car around and running through the door, managing to get Sammy out before the fire engulfs him-

And just like that, Sam falls to his knees, breaking down in tears, He knew it would be hard watching this, but Jess´ death still pierces something inside him. She was his first serious love, he could see himself having a life with her. He cries bitter tears, some of them are for Jess, but some are also for Dean, his brother who had saved him more times that he cared to admit or acknowledge, his brother who had been stomping out fires his whole life, he also cries for him, and it is too much, but hell if he is going to fail his brother, again. Sam feels his father´s strong arms engulfing him into a hug, and he cant help but cry harder, because at the end his father is a poor substitute off the arms he wishes were comforting him. John sees his son break down in the seat next to him. He engulfs him into his arms in a hug, letting a few tears fall down as well. He wants to say something to his son, but he cant find the words. Any words would pale, anyways, on comparison with the ones he is sure his son wished to hear. So he holds his son, in a movement that feels foreigner, but that shouldn’t be. It is high time he starts acting like a father. It is definitely too little and pretty much too late, but he will provide what little comfort he could, before they continue their journey through Dean´s memories.

First chapter ;<Previous Next>>> AO3

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Forbidden Lessons XXXII (Path B)

Masterlist

Make sure to follow which path you’re reading and I hope it’s not too confusing. Each path (a and b) are separate storylines.

Warnings: noncon, age gap, abuse of power, coercion, mentions of suicide, depression, pregnancy and abortion, violence. Y'all know I do it dark and spicy. You have warnings, use them.

Thots, comments, screaming, and feedback are welcome and highly encouraged. Thank you!

You walk through campus with a sense of sullenness. You recall the first day you got to college, how hopeful you were. Your aspirations weren't high or extravagant, you were only happy for the possibilities. You could be your own person. Away from your mother and your childhood bullies.

That day, you walk over your crushed dreams strewn in the wet grass. It's been so long, no doubt, you've been scrubbed from the class lists. Your tuition forfeit just like your independence.

There is little solace to find in your circumstance. You can stay with Bucky, afraid and alone, or you can strike an ounce, a semblance of vengeance.

You feel the tickle on the nape of your neck. That day in his class when he sat beside you, his arm hooked behind your seat, as he played the tortured admirer. Then all those times, in his office, in hushed tones in the hallway, in his car, at the hotel, how he bemoaned the wrongness, the risks.

Well, he gambled and he will lose. Something, anything, maybe not everything.

You get to the historic building and look up at brown brick, set a century or so ago, standing the test of time. It stood here long before you and will remain long after you. You climb the steps to the arched wooden doors and let your feet carry you off sheer memory.

As you near his office, the door is closed. You recall how you met him here, what he did to you inside, the words, the way he touched you, the way he coiled around like a snake around a mouse.

You read his name engraved in the gold plate and raise your hand, pausing as you hear a giggle from within. You step closer and turn your ear to the wood. The laughter turns to a purr, the shallow breaths of pleasure underline by his low encouragements. Those once spoken to you.

You hit the door. Hard.

The office goes quiet and you wait. Whispers, waiting. Then it starts again. You knock just as quickly, hammering with the side of your hand.

A sigh and some muttered disappointment. You hear shuffling and the click of his soles as he nears the other side. You haven't thought of what to say. Or even do.

"May I--" he stops short as he sees you. His face tenses with his surprise and he fixes his tie.

A young girl stands by the chair, gathering up her bag as she tries not to show her awkwardness. She keeps her lashes low and refuses to look at you.

"Professor, I should go--"

"I'm pregnant!" You burst out suddenly.

Her mouth hangs open and Loki blinks slowly, eyes rolling sardonically to the side.

"And what does that have to do with--"

"It's yours," you interrupt, shaking with adrenaline, plunging headfirst into the unknown. "You know," you step forward and elbow past him as you speak to the girl, "I sat there once. He said the same things to me, touched me the same way, told me he's too old, too afraid..."

He grabs your arm and pulls you back, "don't listen to her. She doesn't go hear anymore, for obvious reasons. She's delusional."

"I'm not delusional, maybe a little broken, maybe a little sad, maybe?" You tug away from him, "but don't be like me. Say something or run. Do anything but let him do what he does."

"Loki?" She murmurs as her eyes shine.

He huffs and waves her off, "whatever, it was fun while it lasted."

She scoffs and her brows arch, "you're a pig. I should tell the dean--"

"That you came onto me? I'm certain he'll believe you. Besides, the union will protect me. Like they did last time."

You're surprised by that. Last time? Doesn't matter. She sneers and storms towards him. He doesn't flinch even as her palm collides with his face.

You step aside as she sweeps out with some select words for the professor. He shakes his head as he watches her go with dull irritation. He grasps the door and swings it shut, jolting you.

"Well, what is it you want from me? You and your... bastard?"

You squint at him. He hasn't changed, not that you expect he would. It only emboldens you to keep on.

"It's yours, we both know it."

"Do I? No one's seen you for two months. How do I know you haven't been hiding with some boy. We both know it isn't very difficult to get between your legs--"

"You know," you insist, "I'm not that far but I am."

"You stupid girl--"

"You stupid man!" You bluster, "you did this. You... you know better. The first time, the second time."

He looks away, crossing his arms as he paces. It's the first time you've seen him uneasy. Truly and completely unprepared.

"Your mother--"

"Should I tell her too?"

"She wouldn't believe you. She thinks you've run off with some college boy, just like she did. She did tell you about your father, didn't she?"

"Don't," you warn.

He chuckles and turns to lean against his desk, long legs angled beneath him, "she still calls. Drives in every weekend so I have to hide away my pets..."

You shudder and clench your fists, "I will tell everyone I need to destroy your life. Just like you did mine--"

"Or perhaps you might take a tumble down those stairs and it there won't be anything to tell?" He stands straight, "we can both make threats."

"I'm not walking away with nothing. Not again."

"Oh, I know you won't, because you can't," he says loftily, "no doubt, you've escaped whatever fool you've been hiding with. I have an idea of who it is. He did make another visit after our last romp. He left without content. Pity."

"I'm not going to get rid of it."

"No, I suspect you won't, so let us barter," she nears and brings a curled finger up under your chin, "you're nothing special, you were just another girl and yet, I do look back fondly at the feel of you around me."

You grimace and pull away, "you're disgusting."

"And you're a used toy," he counters, "so, money? Is that what you seek?"

"It's what I need, what your baby needs," you affirm.

"And you you expect me to... care for that child?" He asks reluctantly.

"I don't expect you to care about anything. I learned that the hard way."

"Well, I suppose it's only owed. Your needs taken care of, and the child too," he turns his hand out, "I can afford it. Your mother may not be happy to have her tainted daughter back on her doorstep--"

"I'm not going back to my mother."

"Certainly, you won't stay with me--"

"Never," you snort, "my own place, for me and the baby."

His jaw grits and his lashes flutter in agitation, "fine."

"Fine," you agree and stretch out your fingers.

"And I will visit, like a good father and you will behave as a good mother," a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, he reaches for you once more, walking you back until you hit the door, "like the good little pet you always were."

"No. No," you catch his hand, "I can't. I won't. My mother--"

"Your mother would let me bend you over in front of her and enjoy her wine all the more," he swats away your hand and frames your through, "she might even love you if you can make me happy."

You swallow and press yourself to the wood. This was a bad idea but what other option do you have?

"Please, I'm pregnant--"

"As you do keep reminding me off. So, you protect that child, we wouldn't want you getting hurt," his green eyes gleam, "do we?"

You reluctantly nod as his hand slips under the weight of yours. He slides it down to grope your chest and squeezes with a hum.

"Take a seat, pet, you did interrupt me and office hours are not over," he pulls you away from the door, "doesn't this bring back memories, darling?"

[depressed-avocado]

||SAKUATSU AND THE JAPANESE MEDIA||

have you all noticed how we have an abundance of sakuatsu fics, fanart and stans in the western media but very few and rare doujins served by the japanese side of the fandom?

even the sporadic content we see has a very different take on sakuatsu than we do..

now, take myself as a referance. i entered the fandom with a vengeance against all but suga, avoided sakuatsu and kagehina like it was the COVID epicenter itself but a year and a half later ended up reading one teeny fanfic on ao3 out of dire curiousity and ended up with sakuatsu as my adopted babies.

there was a lot of discussion on this ship on twt, tumblr and the like, but when i searched up for doujins to satisfy my horny hunger, i found none?

the very few and far between were actually AtsuSaku (top atsumu, still not much common with the english speaking world) and SakuOsa (poor atsumu 🤣) and featured sakusa as a very grumpy, tsundere, devil-may-care lover whom atsumu had to ask permission just to kiss. compare THAT to how the western fandom potrays him as the blunt jerk who is nefariously down bad for atsumu, but is still kinda loveable and chaotic in his own steed.

the thing is, sakuatsu is a rare ship. there are hardly 5 panels on interaction for them in the manga, and still quite less info on sakusa available, which gives the people the opportunity to mould him into any shape they want. atsumu has more chemistry with hinata, aran, kita, suna, hell you'd even find more miyacest content in japan than sakuatsu. it all started out as a crack ship, something similar to matsuhana, and exploded exponentially in a span of few weeks like it was set on fire. honestly, covid-19 would be jealous.

in the year 2020, the world recieved so many beautiful fanfics, maybe some of the best in the fandom. the same teenagers once raving after kagehina and iwaoi were now adults and have had enough of bubbly, tooth rotting fluff and circumstancal angst.

iwaoi's biggest potential for angst is them seperating for college, same as bokuaka and kuroken. maybe an external factor causing a rift in the couple. very basic.

they wanted something dynamic, something real, something which allows your creativity to leap out the box and sprint several kilometres ahead.

the salient answer was sakuatsu.

only in sakuatsu, the angst potential come from the characters themselves. sakusa and atsumu are insufferable, totally unlikeable people (though i have met a lot of people like atsumu and they get on with their day just fine). they have no chill, no qualms, no redeeming feature other than volleyball and their looks and maybe this could work out?

two jerks, aint afraid to talk shit, bringing out the best (or worst?) in each other. maybe they could find love afterall? huh.

what's this? a chance for ao3 authors to expand their creative writing skills to new horizons and take artistic liberties indulgently but still have a locus to ground themselves to so that they don't go all hocus-focus?

you bet they'd take this chance.

famous fics like 'a liar's truth', 'hand study', 'burden of blame' were released and it was the explosive and beautifully belligerent start of a ship no one saw coming. riding on the highs and lows of a relationship, depicting exactly how toxic yet fulfilling realistic dating can be, its upto you how you'd end up. these fics depicted the shimmering tension, the passionate abhor and the disastrous clashes.

there was no way a huge chunk of japanese fans, enough to catalyse its popularity, would be able to reach these fics and fanarts, which were usually just characteristics fleshed out in the author's mind. ooc, if you will.

sakuatsu is literally whatever you want it to be. a murder mystery or a romcom, you decide. it is ever changing, ephemeral, dangerous. you need to keep up with every step to find its beauty.

its a pity that the japanese fandom wasn't able to catch onto this sakuatsu fever and create some god-tier content like they usually do with other notorious ships like kageoi or kitaatsu.

also, osaatsu/atsuosa, kitaatsu and atsuhina are already selling there a lot (which makes a lot of sense in hindsight than this sakuatsu, no offence) and view atsumu as a TOP.

also, also the japanese part of the fandom have no qualms with shipping komosaku and ushisaku and do it graciously, so well both characters are satisifed fully with the japanese seperately as far as they are concerned.

well, if the movies come out, there is a good chance that the sakuatsu car ride would be just around the corner again and maybe this time, the japanese fandom can hop on a ride? and show atsumu riding on sakusa too pls i need to see thier bful art ahaha

[clarchive]

THERE'S FRUSTRATION THAT tugs his shoulders tighter together at his words; just as infuriating as his sister, just as on the side of too perspective for his own good like his sister. and just as right as his damn sister. because every inch of him knows it, and that's the worst part. the part where he realizes that there is another player in this game that maybe he can't punch his way through, that he can't intimidate with well placed jewelry or tattoos that scream to stay away. that maybe there's someone out there that is actually going to stand in the way of him giving persephone the one thing he keeps promising her  ––  fletch will be the cost of her freedom.

in truth, for as much as he's done to him, what mahito has done to him, sukuna isn't completely afraid of kenjaku. no, he's afraid of what'll happen to yuji because of his repercussions, but that's about it. when it comes down to the guy he's just another head honcho that has weaknesses that can be exploited, another rich prick that sits himself on a throne and makes a show of the fact that he's there. so no, kenjaku doesn't scare him  ––  he plays dead for the sake of his brother, but other than that, there isn't actual terror. anger, vengeance maybe, but not fear.

not in the way that it seems like everyone fears fletch. his name enters the arena and the air changes; everyone bows their head and tucks their tails, and he's starting to think that this is going to be more of a problem than he had anticipated. if it had only been persephone's conditioning that had them so fearful, he would understand it and write it off. but even orion shudders at fletch's name; his voice pitches low and urgent, like he's about to make a giant mistake by entering the ring with a heavyweight that he hadn't trained for.

and much like kenjaku with yuji, there's the soft fear in the edge of his chest at the thought that stepping out of line will come back on persephone. that that fucker, whoever or whatever he is, will put his hands on them and make them fear him all over again. his jaw clenches, twitches at the edges as crimson eyes stare orion down  ––  no, the fear that is in this man isn't manufactured, it's learned. something about that makes his blood run cold. 

perhaps he's going to have to think even further on this plan, put more contingencies in place than he had been working with before. because now things are complicated  ––  when it had been taking down kenjaku, it hadn't been a problem. but now persephone is involved, and everything has changed. 

he doesn't like it. he also doesn't like the reminder that he may be weaker than fletch. that this situation could be entirely out of his control and that he's been feeding lies to a pretty girl who is about to be destroyed because of it. 

he acts before he can stop himself; his fist slams into the place next to orion's head, dents the drywall there  ––  it makes him flinch because he knows that he's going to have to reset his hand later, knows that it's in the still healing injury from that night. but in that moment his eyes remain on orion, on the face that looks too similar to persephone's, and feels like it's all starting to spiral out of control. 

❝ i'd like to see him try. unlike you little mice, i'm not scared of the big bad wolf. ❞  he steps back from his personal space, takes the effort to not shake out his hand and show the very obvious injury as blood drips down his fingers, on to the floor beneath him. 

he starts to head back down the hall, heart pounding in his chest, but he pauses enough to call back over his shoulder,  ❝ i don't give a shit about her. she's just another pawn, just like you. you're all little simpering mice that need to find their way into traps. ❞

he hates himself for saying it  ––  it feels uneven on his tongue, poison. but he has to make them think otherwise. he has to protect some part of whatever this is, even if it's not truly his to protect.  ❝ maybe one day you'll become a real man and stop pissing your pants because someone yanked your chain. ❞

ORION IS USED TO PEOPLE LOOKING at him and seeing his sister. though no one in their right mind would call persephone aisa an extrovert, there is no doubt who makes a bigger impression when someone meets the twins — which, in fact, orion has always preferred over the alternative. being noticed himself without preparation makes him want to exit this plane of existence. but over the course of their lives, he has become hyperattuned to those subtle expressions: the flash in the eyes, a slight tightening in the face. he's even been able to tell if someone has a positive or negative opinion of seph simply by the way they look at him.

maybe he should have been sad about that. but his sister is his armor — they used to be, anyway. before all of this, before something happened to her that shattered her into pieces and put her back together wrong. she was a shield, always willing to put her life on the line, to step between him and the world that wanted to sink its teeth into him. persephone is the reason orion bears no scars. and he is the reason she bears so many. that was why it hurt so badly when they left him; he remembers that day right down to the violently clear sky, the cicadas outside the open window in the unseen's private hospital. he remembers taking them home, sitting them down, dressing and redressing the bandages around their throat. making smoothies with their favorite fruits and watching them not react at all, just suck down the liquid as if it were water.

he remembers their screams in the night. the same scream that radiates through city blocks every time hellhound is about to kill: rage and anguish so palpable the soundwaves cut through skin and bone. he never understood how they got monster from that cry. to him, it sounds terribly, achingly human.

whatever the reason for her leaving, something deep that he refuses to acknowledge knows that she thinks she's protecting him for it. the last time they spoke, persephone struck him for the first time in their life — he never got to tell them it's okay. the least he can do is not give a shit when other people see her face in his.

and the least he can do is protect her in turn, whatever way he can. as pissed off as he is at them.

❝ honestly? dude? i hate hector as much as you do. if you two killed each other, that'd be fine by me. ❞

that wicked smile sends a chill through his bones, and he feels his body stiffen like a rabbit's as sukuna approaches, leans close to whisper into the space between them. orion's eye catches the glint of diamond and gold; there's a minute, irritated look as he stifles an eye-roll at the opulence of it. the wall is cold against his back as he presses himself into it, as if the hard surface could cave in and wrap around him if he pushes hard enough. for a second, he's positive sukuna is about to beat the shit out of him.

but he doesn't. orion has a sinking feeling he knows why.

the pat to the cheek earns the eye-roll he was promised moments ago, even alongside an involuntary flinch. this guy... he talks a big game, but how much bite is behind all that bark? before sukuna can turn to leave, orion finally speaks up, breaks his stony aisa-twin silence.

❝ you don't know what you're talking about. ❞ there's a genuine edge to his voice, part bitterness and part warning. ❝ here's the thing, sukuna. i think you give a shit about them — maybe just a fraction of a shit, but you do. you think i haven't learned a thing or two by having the same face as her for our entire lives? ❞ he tosses his cigarette to the side, and doesn't even bother to stamp it out. ❝ if i'm right, you'll watch your fucking step with fletch. you'll watch your words. you'll be nice. because every stunt you pull falls back on her, and i don't think you're enough of an idiot not to put two and two together about why she's such a sycophant for them. ❝ but hey. maybe i'm wrong. in which case, go ahead and disrespect them. let seph take the hit. i'd love a front row seat to fletch wiping the damn floor with you. ❞

he's scared — it's crystal-clear in the pallor of his face and the nervous edge to his stature. if sukuna advances, he'll flinch and sink back into the wall, but it doesn't stop him from running his mouth ( it never has. ) a pause. ❝ for what it's worth, i can see why she likes you. you're both hothead pieces of shit. how's that for singing your praises? ❞

[wild-karrde]

Reunion - Part 7

Master List | Previous Part | Next Part

A/N: Heads up for some light smut this chapter (I think it's light? I'm not good at determining what that constitutes...so...now you know). As always, thank you the wonderful @teletraan-meets-jarvis for editing this for me! :)

Rex couldn’t help but grin as Echo threw his arms around him in a hug. “Rex! It’s been a while! I’m glad you’re safe.” Echo stepped back from him, looking him up and down before his gaze turned to Senna. Rex couldn’t help but notice that something was wrong. Senna was clearly happy to see them, but her teeth were gouging into her lip. Echo didn’t appear to notice as he moved over to hug her.

“It’s good to see you again!” Echo said smiling.

Rex stared at the interaction warily, something like a warning bell beginning to sound in the back of his mind. He’s behaving as if they just saw each other.

Tech stepped forward, gripping Senna’s arm in greeting. “Good to see you again, Senna, although I didn’t anticipate it being so soon. You’ll be interested to know I’ve made several adjustments in Echo’s hand since we last saw you that I think we can…”

Rex didn’t hear the rest of what was being said due to the blood rushing in his ears. Senna whirled to look at him as he came to the realization. She’s seen them. It wasn’t from a distance. And they didn’t tell me. They knew where she was.

Without a word, he turned on his heel, stalking away from the reunion, all of the anger that he’d set aside rushing back to the forefront. I can’t be around them right now.

Tech paused in his ramblings to watch the captain retreat. “Is he alright?”

Echo turned to look at Senna. “You didn’t tell him, did you?”

Senna stared guiltily at the floor. “No. I hadn’t found the right time to. I figured this would be the reaction and was trying to come up with a way to soften the blow, but I’m afraid it’s too late for that now.” Her teeth dug into her bottom lip and Echo grimaced.

“You’d better go talk to him.”

The Jedi nodded. “I’ll catch up with you guys in a bit, alright?” With that, she quickly walked off in the direction Rex had gone. It took a bit, but she found him outside the base on the tarmac near his ship, his back to her with his eyes staring out over the forest. She quietly approached, coming to stand next to him. He felt himself pulling away from her, sliding back down the slope to where his anger and grief festered and flourished, blossoming once more in his chest as questions crashed around in his mind. How long ago did she see them? Has it been since the last time I spoke with them? Did they know where she was? How long was she with them?

They stood for a few moments before he broke the silence. “Did everyone know where you were? Was it just me that you hid from?” he asked, his voice low and venomous. The anger that had dissipated in the time since he’d picked her up on Takodana had come surging back with a vengeance, consuming him to the point where he almost couldn’t recognize the man he had been just minutes earlier.

“Rex,” her voice was barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to run into them. It was by accident.”

He whirled on her. “But they knew where you were, and I know Echo. The only reason he wouldn’t have told me that he saw you was because you asked him not to, right?” His golden irises burned into her, and her expression was confirmation enough for him. He scoffed. “Unbelievable.” He turned his back to her, the anger and hurt radiating off of him once more. “You let me run around the galaxy like a love-sick pup, turning over every rock trying to find you, all while you watched at a distance, letting me struggle. You watched while I suffered, and then you brought my own brothers into your sick game.”

“Is that really what you think?” she snapped, a hint of anger finally dancing at the edge of her voice. “That I did all this to hurt you?” She stormed around in front of him, daring him to ignore her, but this time, his eyes locked on hers, amber coals smoldering against blue flames.

“Why else would you be so cruel?” he demanded.

“TO KEEP YOU SAFE, REX! You think it was easy to leave? I felt like I’d lost a part of me, but I love you, and I couldn’t be the reason you got killed.”

“And yet you stayed away and hid yourself from me,” he snarled, rolling right past the three words he’d craved from her, his pain blinding him. “You told my brothers to lie for you. Hardly the actions of someone who loves me, I’d argue.”

“You really want to question that?” she snapped.

“I do.” His eyes were glowing in the evening light, his irises fanned back to a steady flame from his anger and his grief.

Senna returned his glare, extending her gloved left hand out to him, and his brows furrowed in confusion slightly as he kept his arms crossed. “Take the glove off, Rex.”

Slowly, he reached forward, pinching the leather in between his fingers and tugging. The glove slid off of her wrist, palm, and then fingers, exposing the metal limb. He remembered when she had gotten it, tweaking the design and functions with Tech for weeks before she was satisfied and able to use it effectively. He fought against the smile that threatened to creep across his face at the memory of her undoing her own boots again for the first time with both hands. However, those thoughts were interrupted when she turned her hand over and the etching on her left ring finger caught his eye. He took her hand in his, pulling it closer to his face for inspection.

There, in the twilight, he finally saw that she’d etched a pair of tiny Jaig eyes into the ring finger of her left hand, right where a wedding band would sit. They were painted what was undeniably 501stblue. Rex’s heart stuttered in his chest, tears threatening to overwhelm him as his anger dissipated like a fever breaking. All this time. Senna leaned closer to him, the anger still flaring in her eyes.

“Don’t you dare question if I love you or not, Rex. Everything I’ve done has been for you, to keep you safe. You think I wanted to leave you? The person I love most in this galaxy? I did it because I thought there was no other option, no way that I didn’t endanger you. You may not like what I did, but don’t pretend you don’t understand why I did it.” She whirled, preparing to storm off until his hand wrapped around her metal arm, holding her in place.

“Don’t,” was all he could choke out as everything shattered within him. “Don’t leave. Not again. Please.”

“Rex, I-“

His lips crashed into hers without warning, teeth clicking against hers almost violently as he gripped her tightly, his other hand wrapping in her hair to pull her closer to him. At first her body stiffened in his arms, but she didn’t pull away, her hands eventually coming to rest on his chest as they melded together, fitting perfectly as if they’d never been apart. The feeling of her in his arms was the most natural thing to him, and he felt like he could breathe again for the first time since she’d left, inhaling her as if she were the oxygen needed to keep his heart beating. When Rex finally relented, she rested her forehead against his, panting quietly as his heart raced in his chest.

“Please,” he whispered hoarsely. “Please stay.”

She nodded against him, tears sliding down her cheeks.

“Alright.”

That single word was all it took to shatter the wall between them. Rex slipped his hand into hers and led her inside his ship quickly. He barely left time for the hatch to close before he was walking her backwards towards the bed, his mouth back on hers. She was yanking at his shirt, pulling it up and over his shoulders as he worked at the tie on her tunic. Her legs bumped back against the bunk, and Rex slid his arms around her once more, cradling her gently as he lowered her onto the bed before kicking off his boots and climbing in after her.

His fingers found the edge of her breastband as his lips trailed along her throat and the scar on her collarbone, pulling gasps from her lips, a sound he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed. Rex gave the band a firm yank, undoing it and tossing it aside as he lowered his bare chest to hers. Her fingertips trailed across his spine as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Rex’s fingers fumbled with her belt, a race against her own hands, which were working to undo his pants. He let loose a frustrated grunt as his fingers slipped once more before finally taking the worn leather in his hand and ripping it in half at a weak point.

“Hey, I liked that belt!” she protested.

“I’ll get you a different one.”

He tossed the ruined belt aside, sending her datapad pouch and lightsaber with it. She glared at him playfully.

“The datapad will be fine, and I have it on good authority that General Kenobi dropped his lightsaber from stories up at a time. A few meters won’t break it.”

She rolled her eyes, but before she could come up with a snarky response, his lips were on hers once more and her retort was forgotten. Senna lifted her hips, allowing Rex to yank her pants and undergarments off as she pushed his down before reaching for a blanket to pull over the two of them, but Rex stopped her. Kneeling above her, he took her body in. They’d been like this before of course, bare to one another, but he never got tired of seeing her like this. He’d dreamt of this more nights than he cared to count, Senna stretched out beneath him, reaching for him. Rex noted the additional scars that scored her flesh, his thumb grazing the large scar on her abdomen left by a blaster bolt on Lothal almost reverently. It had been the first time he’d really kissed her, telling her how he felt after facing the first moment he thought he’d lost her. Her hand slipped over his, pressing his palm to her stomach, and he met her gaze.

Senna’s hair laid out underneath her head like a sunburst and her blue eyes glinted like the clearest ocean waters, drawing him in easily since all he wanted to do was drown in her. He leaned down, keeping his hand pressed to her hips and pinning her in place, ensuring she wouldn’t evaporate and be lost to him once more. Calloused fingers traced scarred skin as their lips found each other again and Senna pulled him down into her.

Rex made love to her as desperately as he had that first night on Lothal so long ago, but this time, he already knew her secrets, how to make her come undone, and he pulled pleasure from her at a patient pace. Her brows pinched as her back arched and he wished with all he was worth that he’d never forget how she looked right now, laid out below him and wrapped around him, his name falling from her lips like a prayer.

His hand drifted up to cup her cheek as he panted against her neck, and Senna whipped her head around to plant a kiss to his palm. He felt her groan into his skin, and he slid his hand around the back of her head, slipping his fingers into her hair as he pressed his forehead against hers.

“I love you,” he breathed. “Please don’t ever leave me again. I love you, Senna Aven.”

“That’s not my name,” she replied, and he paused staring at her.

“What?”

Senna wore a smirk on her face that he found infuriating and endearing at the same time. His eyes searched her for a brief moment, trying to find some sort of understanding.

“I changed it a little while ago, after I saw the boys on Naboo. Or just started going by it since I don’t technically exist,” she said quietly. “’To endure.’ That’s what it means, right?”

It clicked in his mind.

Atiniir.

The Mando’a word they’d chosen as their future surname that night on Alderaan so long ago. Rex’s heart stuttered in his chest and his breath hitched in his throat. Senna’s face shifted to an expression of concern, her hands reaching for his face, but he clutched her left hand in his and pressed the etching on her ring finger to his lips.

“Well, I’d say we’re certainly living up to the name,” he said quietly before kissing her harder.

Rex began moving again with a renewed fervor, any lingering doubts about Senna’s intentions crushed by her admission. The realization hit him and he choked on the emotion. She never stopped. Even when she was gone. She always loved me. And I tried to forget her. A tear slipped unbidden down the bridge of his nose, and before he could turn away, she saw it. Senna rose up to meet him, pressing her lips to the moisture before moving to his cheeks, forehead, chin, all of him.

“It was always you, Rex. I meant it when I said I’d always love you. I still do.” Her voice broke and he paused once more, but she wrapped her legs around his waist, spurring him on. “I’ve missed you so much. So damn much.”

Rex pressed his body against hers, burying his face in her neck as his movements became more erratic and Senna gasped and writhed beneath him.

“I love you, Rex.”

“I love you, Senna. Always will.”

She cried out, her back arching to meet him once more as he peaked at the same time, muffling a shout against her shoulder. He tried to roll off of her, but Senna gripped him tighter, burying her face against his neck.

“Just stay like this,” she panted. “I’ve got you.”

They laid together for several minutes until both of their pulses slowed and Rex went to find something to clean themselves with before slipping back under the covers with Senna. They lay on their sides facing one another. Rex reached out, brushing some of the hair from her face, and she gave him a small smile.

“Forgive me,” he whispered, and her brow furrowed in confusion.

“For what?”

His voice cracked. “I tried so hard to forget you, Senna. It hurt too much to hope. I just couldn’t keep looking.”

Senna scooted closer to him, cupping his cheek in her left hand as she nuzzled her nose against his. “There’s nothing to forgive, Rex. I knew what might happen when I left. I knew you might find someone else, and-“

“No, not like that,” he said a little too loudly before recomposing himself. “There was no one else. I just…I gave up on you. I didn’t hold true to that surname we chose.”

“Rex, I disappeared. I hoped against hope that you might forget me, and that would make it easier to be away from you. My small bit of solace was that perhaps that was what it would take to keep you safe. But you were so determined, so I pushed harder. In the beginning, you almost caught me a few times,” she said, a gentle smile playing across her lips.

“Where?”

“I was on Corellia for too long. I saw you in the market one day and ran.”

The memory crept into his mind. Blue eyes. The flash of metal at her waist. A datapad blinking on her hip.

“I saw you,” he whispered. “I saw you that day.”

Her eyes were wet once more. “I thought you did. I almost couldn’t move. I felt like my feet had turned to duracrete, and Maker, I almost gave in.”

“That was early on. You’d only been gone a few months.”

“It was.” Her fingers glided down his chest, tracing the twin scars just below his collar bone. One he’d gotten during the war, and one he’d gotten on Lothal with her. He’d almost died, but she’d transferred some of her life force to him, keeping him alive. Rex had often thought of that piece of Senna that he carried with him.

“If anyone should be asking for forgiveness Rex, it’s me.” Senna’s tears were flowing freely now. “I just couldn’t…I couldn’t let you die because of me, and after what we saw in that freighter. That young boy that Inquisitor killed.” He felt her shiver and he pulled her close, pressing his lips to the crown of her head as she buried her face against his chest. “I had to keep you safe, and if that meant me leaving, I had to do it. I know I should have talked to you about it, but I was so afraid you would have stopped me. And I know now that maybe the Inquisitors aren’t as attuned to Force sensitives as I thought they might be, but at the time, it was too great a risk. I just couldn’t-“

Her sobs wracked her body and Rex clutched her tighter as he rocked her gently back and forth.

“I know why you did it. You were right. I understood that part.” He pulled back from her, his hands cradling her face as his thumbs swiped at her tears. “I just wasn’t objective enough to accept it. I’m still not. I’d gladly face the risk of death any day rather than live another second wondering where you are and if you’re alright, Senna. I will do almost anything you ask of me, but please don’t ever ask me to not follow you. I can’t do that.” He gripped her metal hand, rubbing his thumb over the etching. “Atiniir. ‘To endure.’ I plan to do that with you forever. I mean that. Can you do the same?”

She sniffled, her fingers grazing his scalp through his short hair. “I can. And I will. I promise.”

Rex wrapped his fingers in her hair, pulling her to him and pressing his lips to hers once more. He felt like he’d never get enough of her, never be able to make up for the time that they’d lost, but he’d gladly spend the rest of his life trying. Senna shuddered in his arms, her cheeks wet once more, but this time, he was unsure if the tears were hers or his.

They stayed like that for what must have been hours, holding each other and whispering in the dim light of the ship as if the rest of the universe had fallen away outside. In Rex’s mind, it could all wait, the Empire, the rebellion, all of it, as long as he had this time with her.

“We should go find the others,” Senna finally whispered. “We’ve barely seen anyone here.”

“I know,” he said quietly, running his fingers through her hair as she rested her head on his chest. He tipped his head to press a kiss to the crown of her head, and he felt her squeeze his torso before sitting up. He let his fingers trail down her bare spine as she pulled her hair into a braid once more, her fingers working nimbly to weave the strands together before pulling a tie around the end. She glanced at him over her shoulder, her trademark smirk sending warmth cascading through his chest. Reaching back, she trailed her hand along his arm before gripping his hand. He pulled her knuckles to his lips as he watched her, and she flushed.

“Are you sure they’re out here, Echo? I haven’t seen them around at all.”

Senna’s eyes widened, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle a gasp as Rex sat up quickly, a finger pressed to his lips.

“I thought they came out this way, but maybe I was wrong.” Echo and Hunter couldn’t have been more than a few meters from the ship.

“Awww, I wanted to see them both. Been awhile.” Wrecker.

“Yeah, but they had some stuff to work out,” Echo replied.

“She didn’t tell him, did she?” Hunter asked. “That she’d seen us on Naboo.”

Senna’s gaze fell to her lap, but Rex crawled to her, pulling her chin up to look at him. He pressed his forehead to hers. He’d never tried to really direct his thoughts at her before, but he tried now, thinking as hard as he could, hoping she’d hear it.

I forgive you. We’re past that. I love you, and I forgive you. For all of it.

Senna let loose a shuddering breath, gripping his hand in hers.

Thank you, Rex. She tipped her chin up, grazing her lips over his as her voice echoed in his mind.

“Let’s hope that’s all she’s gonna tell him now. Rex’d kill me if he ever found out-“ Hunter paused, seemingly cutting himself off mid-sentence.

“If he found out what, Hunter?” Echo asked, his voice borderline accusatory.

“Nothing. No, wait NO, WRECKER PUT ME DOWN!”

Senna clapped a hand over her mouth, stifling a giggle, and Rex raised an eyebrow.

“Come on Sarge, now you have to tell us,” Wrecker cackled.

Rex and Senna slid out of bed, dressing quickly and quietly before sneaking closer to the hatch door. Rex carefully pressed her up against the wall, nuzzling into her neck as they listened in on the conversation taking place outside.

“PUT ME DOWN, WRECKER.”

“Hold him there, Wreck. Now, I’m curious,” Echo teased.

Hunter let loose a loud sigh. “When Senna and I were doing recon the one night on Naboo, we got in a bit of a tight spot. I was being chased and ran down a dead-end, and her brilliant idea was to…uh…to pretend we were…em…doing something in the alley.”

“Something?”

“Oh come on, Echo. It was late at night, we were in a seedy part of town, are you really going to make me say it?”

Rex pulled back from Senna’s neck to give her another skeptical eyebrow.

I had him pretend I was a prostitute and that he was a paying customer to hide in plain sight. Hands stayed above clothes, but I did have him pick me up and push me against a wall. I had to beg him to get a bit handsy to sell it. He hated every second of it if that helps.

Rex couldn’t contain the laugh that burst from within him at the thought of Senna snapping at Hunter to pick her up and be a little intimate with her, particularly with how he was reacting outside. Senna clapped a hand over his mouth, but the damage was done. All three voices went silent outside.

“Oh, kriff,” Hunter muttered as Rex slammed the button to open the hatch, illuminating the three clones standing outside in the cool night air. Senna doubled over at the sight in front of her, tears of laughter leaping to her eyes.

Wrecker had Hunter by the ankle, dangling him a meter off the ground while Echo stood with his arms crossed, impatiently tapping a foot with a raised eyebrow. When Wrecker saw Senna, he unceremoniously dropped his commanding officer to the ground, rushing forward to envelope her and Rex in a bone-crushing hug, lifting both of them off the ground. Senna giggled while Rex squirmed. When he finally set them down, Senna rested a hand on his shoulder before striding down the ramp and offering Hunter a hand up.

“The sergeant here was nothing but a perfect gentleman, even if he hated having to do it,” she grinned, tweaking his chin. Hunter sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, and she grinned, enveloping him in a hug. “Good to see you, Hunter.”

“Yeah, you too.” He glanced over her shoulder, extending a hand to Rex as she released him. “Cap, glad to see you’re still around, although I have to say I was surprised to hear that you two arrived together.” He glanced back and forth between them, and Senna noticed his gaze lingering on Senna’s re-fixed hair and missing belt. When their eyes met, he cocked an eyebrow at her, and she shook her head slightly at him. He just smirked at her.

Echo was also giving her an inquisitive look, and as Hunter and Wrecker conversed with Rex, she stepped closer to him, leaning her shoulder against his. “You get all that figured out?” he asked.

“Something like that, yeah,” she replied, keeping her eyes down to hide the flush in her cheeks. Echo chuckled softly.

“Good. Rex’s shirt is on inside out, by the way.”

[lovelyghostlyharmony]

how to train your dragon: how you met your dragon

Skrill-

Why did you do this? Are you insane? Just because you really want to train a dragon doesn't mean you let yourself be captured by Berserkers! You idiot! Well, to be fair, you did fly on one - for about a few minutes - then you fell and the Gronckle left you on the spooky island. And why you may ask? Because you didn't create a bond with it! And it was scared! It was a Gronckle! As you were pacing in your cell and waiting for Daggur to show up, a man suddenly broke into the hall. "We need you two outside! Some Whispering Deaths escaped!" And just like that, your guards disappeared.  Well, now you can escape - you only need to figure out how. You looked at the bars, trying to find a weak spot or something, but you didn't find anything. Ugh, if only you had a key!  You defeatedly sat down next to the bars, resting your back against the cold rocky wall. Are you going to die? Are you about to be slaughtered? Pf, you went to find a dragon and now you are going to be its food! This is surely your lucky day. You were just about to rest your head against the bars when you realized, that uncomfortable rocky wall wasn't upright. A little bit of the lower part was missing, making a distance between the wall and one of the metal bars big enough for you to crawl through. That's it! You can escape! You took your chance and began to run. You didn't remember where was the exit, so you just carefully followed your instincts. The very first thirty seconds went great, but then one guard spotted you. Oh no! You ran in a different direction and hide in a room. It was a really weird room, really. There were keys everywhere! Fortunately, the guard didn't think about checking the room, so you were safe... for now.

You looked around, admiring the key room. Well, it saved your life, after all. And apparently, it really liked you, because you spotted another door! You opened it and found dragon cages! There were no guards - they were probably still fighting Whispering Deaths - but there were lots of other dragons. Few Monstrous Nightmares, Deadly Nadders, Gronckles, and at the very back of the room a Skrill. Yes. A Skrill! And not just any Skrill. It was the one that met Hiccup and Toothless. You were in shock at seeing it. Didn't Hiccup set it free? Why is it here? The Skrill is intelligent enough not to be caught! You curiously went to its cage and found out the Skrill was kept in a little pool of water, so it couldn't shoot the lightning. "You poor thing," you said, but the Skrill growled. He looked frightened and hide in the corner, so the only thing you could see were spikes on his head and dark purple color. You badly wanted to touch it, but you knew that it would hurt you. "I will get you out of there!" You run back to the key room and checked all the keys. All of them were marked - and one of them had Skrill word written all over it. "Yes!" you said to yourself. But that was when the guard finally found you. "There you are!" he hissed and went after you. You reacted quickly and run towards the Skrill. He wasn't happy to see you, but when you tried to open his cage, he came out of the darkness and exposed his teeth.  "It's okay. I want to help you," you whispered, but that was the time when the guard caught you. "No!" you yelled and tried to fight back but it was no use. The guard was stronger. You looked back at Skrill, finding him looking back. He wasn't exposing his sharp teeth anymore. He looked as if he was thinking. 'Well, hopefully, he is intelligent enough to see, that I am not his enemy,' you thought. 'Or else, I'll be dead.'  Just as the guard finally realized you're not fighting anymore, he loosed his grip. But that was a bad move for him because you easily slipped out. "Hey!" he roared surprised. But it was too late. You opened the Skrill's cage. You didn't know if you should have been scared or happy, but either way, it was your only chance. He was your only chance.

And he knew that!

That's why he quickly flew out of his pen, taking you by his strong legs, and passed the frightened guard. You just hang there, shielding your eyes from the wind and waiting for the Skrill to find the exit.

Now and there he shot the lightning, but it didn't scare you. You somehow started to trust him. Well, you saved him and now he is saving you - and that's enough to begin to bond with a dragon, right?

After he found his way out of the Berserkers' island, he landed on some rock. "Thank you," you said. He just purred, placing his body right in front of you, watching your every move.

You looked away. "It may sound crazy, but even though people are more afraid of you than of the Night Fury, I don't. I trust you." You reached out your hand towards him, focusing your eyes on the ground. "Do you?"

The Skrill placed his nose against your palm and you smiled.

"Now, what should we call you?" The Skrill looked at you with his big eyes, understanding your every word. Just as you were thinking, he shot his lightning towards the clouds. "Hm, Bolt?"

He didn't complain, so you smiled and scratched his scaly skin. "Bolt it is then. How about I introduced you to my family and feed you some fish?"

As much as Bolt enjoyed the scratching, he licked his mouth and lowered his body, so you could hop on. This was the start of your relationship.

Hideous zippleback-

It was late in the morning and you were just leaving your house. You had a great dream and you were well fed. 'Well, this is going to be a really good day,' you thought. You headed towards the woods and soon found a little cave. It was small as your bedroom and it had this really big opening that kind of looked like a large window.  "Hello," you greeted your two friends, Odias and Hanka. "Here is our sleeper!" said Odias amused, while he was drawing something on the paper. "Why do you always sleep so long? It's almost lunch!" "Gotta get my beauty sleep." You sat down next to Hanka and asked: "What have you guys been doing?" "Playing with Bea," she simply answered and took the little Terrible Terror from the ground. "She is so lovable, isn't she?" You looked at Hanka's bright red dragon and scratch it under the chin. "Yeah, yeah," you agreed, but you haven't sound as enthusiastically as she.  "Why don't you get your own little dragon?" She asked you and smiled at the thought.  "Err, but it's just a Terrible Terror. What's the point of having a dragon, if you can't ride it?" Suddenly, Hanka became angry. She couldn't believe what you just said! She felt insulted. "What's the point of having a dragon, if you're not brave enough to get one!" "What did you just said?!" You two stood up and faced each other. "I am brave!" It was normal for you to have a fight with Hanka. I mean, she has been your close friend since kindergarten and arguing with her was quite normal. "Then prove it!" "Fine!" And without another word, you left the cave. You needed to chill out. The forest was warm at this time of the year so you decided to take a short walk. "Not brave enough," you mumbled under your breath. "I'll show her." After like ten minutes, you found two Terrible Terrors playing with each other. You sat down next to them and they curiously came closer. You scratched one Terror's head and it purred. "You dragons are soo easy to get." You picked one up. "Come on. Let's get you to Hanka." Terrors still thought you are playing so they didn't mind going with you. They looked really happy, but you were so annoyed, you almost didn't see a movement from behind the bush. "Who is there?" you asked out loud while placing the Terror back on the ground. "Hanka?" Is she stalking you? Or is just someone pranking you? "Show yourself!"  The creature came from behind the bush and your eyes opened wide. It was a goldish green Hideous Zippleback with red spikes. Its heads were calmly looking from you to Terrible Terrors. The Hideous Zippleback probably sensed you were a friend to dragons and that's why it came from its hiding place. "Well, you will help me with my 'Hanka problem' just fine," you smiled, forgetting all about two Terrible Terrors. You reached your hand and touched one head. "But maybe I should name you first." You touched another head and scratched it. The Hideous Zippleback liked it and fought for your attention. It was amazing how one dragon can have two personalities.  "How about Vengeance and Revenge? I think it'll suit your next task."  *** "Where are you?!" yelled Hanka. "Look, I am sorry. I shouldn't have said you're not brave!" "Yes!" agreed Odias, yelling as well. "She is an idiot! Now don't be angry! Show up!" They have been searching for you in the forest for the last ten minutes and your amusement just grew. You have been looking at them from the sky (of course, you have been riding Vengeance and Revenge as low as possible for your friends not to see). "Show yourself! Please!" While Hanka yelled, Vengeance quickly showed Odias from the ground and put him onto his neck. He looked shocked but after he saw you, he grew mischievous as well. "Odias! Where are you?!" Vengeance and Revenge hid themselves in the bush and when Hanka turned around they roared.  "W-who is it?" She held her Terrible Terror so tight you had to cover your mouth not to laugh. "Now," you whispered to your new dragon and it jumped from behind the bush. Hanka fell on the ground looking pale as the moon and breathing heavily. You and

Odias burst in laughter, jumping from the dragon. "Got you!" "What?" asked Hanka. "That's my new dragon. Vengeance and Revenge," you said casually. "Still think I am not brave enough?" Hanka stood up - but she didn't look angry nor pale. She just looked sorry. "Ok. I am sorry. You got me." You two smiled. "But seriously, you've got yourself a dragon and named him Vengeance and Revenge just to show me up?!" "Yep." "Well, I should've known." "Wanna ride?"

(had to put that gif there lol)

Razorwhip-

It was that time of the year when Gothi gave you a list of ingredients you needed to find on the Healer's island. You really liked doing it. You had a free day for yourself just collecting flowers and stuff. Who wouldn't want that, really? Every time, you pick some random Gronckle to give you a ride, so you don't have to get to that island on the boat. You really liked Gronckles, but they weren't your type of a dragon. You wanted a strong and fast one. But there wasn't enough time to find you your own dragon, so you just used Gronckles when they were needed.  It was a really great day. Sun was shining, birds were singing and your basket was slowly being filled. At the time you were heading towards the rare yellow flower, you heard a loud sound - as if someone was smashing a piece of metal against another piece of metal. It was weird. As you were wondering what could be possibly making that sound you saw it. A female Razorwhip. From what you could see, it accidentally got its long neck in the rope that was hanging from the tree and when it was trying to broke free, it sliced the tree in half and as the tree fell on top of the dragon, it knocked off one big stone from the rock wall and that stone fell on the dragon's wing, trapping it completely. "Oh my gods!" you exclaimed looking at this mess. You immediately dropped the basket for Gothi and made your way towards the poor Razorwhip. Your steps were slow, but that didn't stop the dragon from being scared. It raised its tail and shot the spines but because of the fallen tree, it was unsuccessful. "Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you!" You made your way back towards your basket and found a dragon nip you store there for Gronckles. You picked it up and made your way back to the Razorwhip. You didn't get too close, of course, just enough for the dragon to smell the dragon nip. When you saw that the dragon relaxed, you decided to come even closer. And fortunately, the Razorwhip let you. You let her smell the green plant some more, but then you let it fell to the ground so you'd get the dragon's full attention. It was a girl - cause it had really long eyelashes - and her eyes were, unlike Windshears, red. But not bloody red, more like strawberry kind of red.  "Now let me help you," you said while reaching your hand. Razorwhip had to be really intelligent because it pressed its scaly head against your palm, letting you touch it. She probably knew you were her only chance now. After you caressed her smooth metallic grey scales on the head you took insight into her full appearance. Well, you definitely needed some help with that stone on her wing and also with that entire tree, but the loop on her neck could be removed easily straight away. "Now I will take my knife and cut that rope off your neck, okay?" you informed her. "Please don't freak out, I won't hurt you with that knife."

Razorwhip purred, so you carefully took out the knife from your pocket and did as you said. The dragon didn't even flinch. "You're a brave girl, you know?" you said happily because it went so easy. "How about I call you Fearless?" She looked happy since her neck wasn't in the loop anymore so you could tell, she was content. "Now how do I take care of this?" You made your way towards the stone and then the idea hit you. "Wait here I'll get some help!" Fearless roared for you, but you ran away. Soon, you came back - but on a happy green Gronckle. "We'll get that stone away, okay Fearless?" you asked and fly towards it. "Don't worry, it will be over soon!"Gronckle's strong legs lifted that rock up and placed it on the grass. Then you made Gronckle do the same with the tree. It was tough at first, but with Fearless's help, you actually managed to break her free. "That's it!" you yelled happily and quickly made Gronckle land on the ground, so you could hug Fearless. "I told you I'd help you. Is your wing alright?" She raised both of her wings straight up to the air, showing you her strength. You laughed and waved at the leaving Gronckle. "Now, do you want to help me found a yellow flower? After that, we'll get you some sea slugs and you could come home with me back to Berk!" You were really excited about creating a bond with her! But so was she.

[autumnslance]

FFXIV Write 2021 #4: Baleful

“It’s the damndest thing, ma’am,” the young dragoon said as Aeryn looked over the reports. “Ser Alberic looked over the reports, went all pale, mumbled something about needing some fresh air, and then just...left.”

“And you have no idea where he’s gone?” She asked.

The young elezen shook his head. “I...I am ashamed to say none of us thought to follow him for a moment, and by the time Clarisse stepped outside to ask if he was all right, he’d vanished. The sentries say he Jumped away.”

That made her raise an eyebrow. Alberic did not often employ the methods he taught anymore. “Two days ago, you said.”

The young man nodded. “We just...don’t know what to do, or where to go. We thought perhaps you might.”

“I’ll try,” she said, gathering the portfolio again. “May I take this?”

He nodded. “I made that copy just for you, ma’am.”

She smiled a thanks and stepped out of the barracks and into the cold, sunny streets of the Observatorium. The portfolio had been about attacks from remnants of Nidhogg’s Horde, old fighters who didn’t want to accept the peace and still fought bitterly against Ishgard and those of Hraesvelgr’s brood who allied with the city-state.

The main concern was the ringleader of this particular surge of activity; an ancient red dragon called Avengret, last active around the time Ferndale was destroyed and thought killed at the time. Apparently she had merely slept and recovered, and had awoken very recently. Not originally a member of Nidhogg’s brood, she had not been compelled to awaken right away when he called for the final verse of the Dragonsong War.

She was the best place perhaps to start, but Aeryn needed to know more. If she couldn’t find Alberic, then another source of information about Avengret was needed.

—-

Gullinbursti raised his head as Snowlight landed nearby. “Ahh, Aeryn; to what do I owe the pleasure?”

She smiled sheepishly. “I wish it were a social call,” she said apologetically. “I need help finding a wayward Dragoon instructor.”

“Oh?” He stretched, scales rippling in the sunlight shining over Bahrr Lehs. “I don’t know much about Dragoons. Tend to avoid them.”

“You know of Ser Alberic Bale?”

“The previous Azure, of course. A bane to us all during the war.”

“He’s gone missing; so far as we can tell, of his own volition. He received a report of one of Nidhogg’s generals, a dragon called Avengret who was thought killed at Ferndale but has resurfaced. I thought you might know of her since, well…”

“Since she is of Ratatoskr’s brood,” Gullinbursti said quietly. He looked off into the sky for several long minutes.

“I...don’t want to ask you anything that might harm your kin. I’m just worried for Alberic and what he might do.”

Gullinbursti seemed to recall she was there, suddenly looking into Aeryn in a way that almost made her fidget. Finally the old dragon sighed. “...Leave it, Warrior of Light.”

“Beg pardon?”

“Send someone else to find your missing man. This is not an adventure you should accept. Go home.”

“I promise, I don’t want to hurt one of you—”

“I would kill Avengret myself were she here,” Gullinbursti said bluntly. “She is a dangerous creature of honeyed words, the sweetness hiding the poison, distracting from her claws. The great love she once bore for mortals was twisted irrevocably when our mother died, and all she wishes is vengeance. Do not involve yourself.”

“You know I can likely face her; she can’t be more powerful than the First Brood.”

Gullinbursti growled. “There is more at stake than your prowess, Champion. Send someone else. Trust me.”

Aeryn grit her teeth. “I do trust you--but you must also trust me, Gullinbursti. And I can’t leave Alberic out there. If you don’t tell me, I’ll find another way.”

The dragon let out an exasperated growl-sigh, then shook his wings and roared. Moogles and Temple Knights around the plaza jumped and stared. Gullinbursti glared down at Aeryn. “Stubborn as ever! Very well. On the southern edge of Coerthas, in the Eastern Lowlands near where the hills make way for the Shroud, are the ruins of a small village. Hard to find, but you’ve always had a keen sense for the hidden. To the east, across the old sheep paths, is a ruined tower. You may find answers there. You may not like them.”

Aeryn frowned, but nodded. “Thank you, Gullinbursti.” She bowed for the elder, and then turned away.

Tarresson was watching, alerted by the dragon’s outburst. “Everything all right?” He asked as Aeryn returned to her chocobo.

“Alberic’s rushed off without a word, and now Gullinbursti is reticent to share what he knows of the dragon I think Alberic’s chasing.”

“Oh?” Tarresson raised a brow as he stroked Snowlight’s neck.

“Have you ever heard of Avengret?”

The former count let out a long, low whistle. “Afraid I have; I thought that bitch was dead--pardon my language. If Alberic’s looking for her…” Tarresson huffed. “She had some part of the Ferndale business. It could be that he’s seeking a bit of closure. Unfortunately, I cannot help with where to find either of them; I am sorry.”

Aeryn nodded and swung up onto the saddle. Tarresson grasped her arm. “If you must, return to us here; we’ll think of something. I’ve a bad feeling about all of this; please be careful.”

“Always,” she said, giving his hand a squeeze. He nodded and let her go, watching as she and Snowlight flew off.

————-

She must have come this way before, but the snowfalls made it difficult to tell.

The border outposts were of some help, in outlining the region and offering a warm place to stop, have a drink by the fire and check the maps. An old knight pointed out a watchtower she thought perhaps the one Gullinbursti had mentioned.

“Just beyond what little’s left of the village of Fawn’s Hollow,” she said. “Was a nice place once. Calamity saw the last of its few folks leave, though.”

Aeryn frowned, something familiar stirring. She shook her head. “Thank you, I’ll check into it.” She bundled up again and retrieved Snowlight, despite the chocobo’s protests to remain in the warmth of the outpost. They made their way across snowy fields and woods to what was left of the village.

A lump formed in Aeryn’s throat from an emotion she could not identify as she navigated the ruins of the village. This close to the Twelveswood, the snow was thinner, sometimes even melting entirely, so the shape of the old town was easy to follow. Most of the buildings were gone, burnt and broken in the Calamity or soon after, no one left to stop the flames. She found herself pausing before a low stone wall, the boundary of someone’s yard once perhaps. Her head whipped around at what she thought was the sound of a familiar laugh, but it was just the wind moaning through the old bell tower, the only part of the chapel to remain.

Shaking her head, Aeryn continued east, finding the hint of sheep paths even through the snow; flocks gone wild, and other animals besides, retained the habit and followed the old path.

Snowlight’s swift stride soon brought the tower into view. Ruined even before the Calamity, it was an older design missing the hallmarks of Dzemael construction of the last hundred and fifty years. Even with the fresh few ilms of snow on the ground, it seemed far too cold and quiet.

Snowlight warked unhappily, flapping her wings as Aeryn dismounted. “Shh, it’s all right,” Aeryn said, stroking the chocobo’s beak. “I feel it too,” she admitted, turning to face the entry she could see, a swollen old door, half off its hinges.

It took a good deal of effort before the old door budged, crashing from its place, the sound like cannonfire in the too-quiet woods. Aeryn winced and held still, listening for anything that might have come to investigate the noise.

Nothing.

She wasn’t sure if that was better, or worse.

Aeryn stepped into the ruin, Snowlight hesitantly following behind her, feathers puffed and ruffled. The entire tower seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for something--or someone, perhaps. The halls had not seen habitation for some time, everything cold and damp, the air heavy with frosted dust.

The rooms opened into what should have been the center of the tower, but now exposed to the sky. There were signs it may have once been a dragon’s roost, but so long ago there was no trail here to follow.

Still, there were also signs the tower had been inhabited once, possibly by any heretics following said dragon. Avengret’s profile said she tended to gather followers, nurturing them into shock troops for the Horde.

As she searched, Aeryn thought of the nearly-mindless dragons that had thrown themselves at Ishgard’s defenders numerous times, scaly forms littering the Steps of Faith. She shivered.

Snowlight perked up and whistled, calling Aeryn’s attention to the entrance. There was the sense of movement and sound. Woman and chocobo dashed for cover behind fallen masonry, Aeryn’s rapier drawn.

A moment passed and a familiar red-clad figure stepped into view, confident despite his caution, his own rapier drawn and tail lashing. “I know someone’s there,” he growled.

“X’rhun?” Aeryn called back, a part of her smugly satisfied to see him jump in surprise as she stood from behind the masonry. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing, my dear,” he said, laughing hollowly as he put away his sword and focus.

“I asked you first,” she teased, sheathing her own weapons as she walked over to him.

It wasn’t difficult to note the strain in his usually easy smile. “I’m here on behalf of Ser Alberic, in regards to my occasional work aiding the Holy See with their heretic reintegration project.”

“I’m looking for Alberic,” Aeryn said. “His students called me when he left abruptly a few days ago, and hasn’t been heard from since.”

X’rhun pinched the bridge of his nose and swore softly to himself in three different languages, all of which the Echo picked up and made Aeryn blush. “They weren’t supposed to do that; I doubt he thought of that, damned fool.” X’rhun let out an exasperated breath. “Well there’s no cause for alarm; Alberic and I are working together, and I assure you he’s quite safe. You may tell his students not to worry.”

“From everything I hear of this dragon he may be pursuing, ‘safe’ seems relative,” Aeryn said, crossing her arms. “You might even need an Azure Dragoon.”

“Well I’ve already got one,” he replied dryly. “I assure you, it’s naught we can’t handle. You can easily return to your latest round of saving the world,” he tried to tease, but her Echo still caught the unease he tried to hide.

“Rhun,” she said, quiet and flat. “What the seven hells is going on? First Gullinbursti tries to tell me to leave, now you’re doing the same. Alberic left without any word--and I get the feeling that was meant to keep me out of things, except an enterprising pupil decided to risk sending a message anyway. Please, just...tell me.”

He was quiet for a long moment, tail flicking behind him. “I wish I could,” he finally said. “But I made a promise.” He sighed. “It’s a complicated mess, my dear, and Alberic is taking it personally. Which is why I’m here to help him.”

“I’m taking this personally,” she snapped, hands balled into fists as she stepped closer. “This whole thing seems strangely familiar and everyone’s trying to keep me away and won’t tell me why and I swear if you just tell me to return to Mor Dhona—”

Snowlight kwehed in distress as she forced herself between Aeryn and X’rhun. Aeryn reeled back, looking from her bird to X’rhun, struggling to keep himself calm--though her Echo caught his whisper of concern as her temper had started to fray.

Aeryn covered her face with her hands. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“I know,” he said warmly, his hands on her shoulders now. “I’m not making this easy and you’ve already seen enough to make you curious. You’re concerned for Alberic, and rightly so; he’s a stubborn old knight looking into something dangerous. But I need you to trust me for now. I will tell you what I can, when I can--and I will try to get him to do the same.”

There was something he wasn’t saying, an unspoken line, but she wasn’t sure what. Aeryn let her hands fall and looked at X’rhun. “I do trust you,” she said. “But I’m not leaving. You don’t have to tell me anything, but I am going to help.”

He looked about to protest, then sighed again, shoulders slumping as he laughed helplessly. “I know there’s no dissuading you. Very well; I suppose we shall see what happens from here. Now, have you had the chance to explore this tower?”

She nodded. “There’s nothing of interest that I could see.”

“It’s been too long since she’s roosted here, and all her followers have moved to other locations as well,” X’rhun mused. “Let’s return to camp, then, and plan our next move--the sooner we put this place behind us, the better. It feels…”

“Like it’s waiting for her to return,” Aeryn said. “Like we’re being watched though there’s no one here. The place itself wants us gone.”

He nodded. “Just so. Shall we then?”

She followed him out of the tower, to where his own borrowed mount waited. Snowlight huffed in relief as they exited, shaking out her feathers.

Aeryn spared one last glance at the ruined tower as she mounted Snowlight to follow X’rhun. The old building sat still and dark, and she shivered as they rode away.

[clarchive]

a soft scowl settles on his lips when he sees the cleanly patched up skin –– the only hint that it was freshly healed was just the soft pink tint to it, something that would fade in an hour or so. it's not that he's not grateful to shoko and the healing she can do, it's just that...he wants to be free of this place. some days he wishes that he could take rose and get completely away. he knows she has her pledge as a sorcerer or whatever it is that they do, but she could be so much more. and if it's safety she's after, he can provide. the two of them are powerful in their own right –– why do they need to bow at the feet of these people of all of them? so sure in their self righteousness. then again, maybe malachi's just put out because they constantly look at him like he's less then because he won't join their merry band of dead soldiers.

❝ you heal just fine in the moon light. ❞ the words are a soft grumble, but he reaches out, gingerly smoothing his thumb along the healed spot. eyes glance up at the woman who's watching them carefully –– probably afraid he'll make some sort of rash move. he swears they're like victorians seeing an ankle for the first time every time a curse user comes around. ❝ thank you. ❞ the simple thanks is curt, his arm wrapping protectively around roselle when her own wrap around his neck.

❝ you know we're going to have to stop for cat food on the way home, righ? i tried to just...feed her the kibble again and now i'm pretty sure there's going to be disgusting hairballs in my clothes for another week. ❞ his nose scrunches up in detest –– he's never been a cat person, but he does like bon bon. he just wished the damn cat actually liked him back instead of taking every mistake and turning it into a moment of absolute vengeance. he guesses it makes sense that she's rose's cat –– she's got the quick temper and low tolerance of him that makes them twins.

he picks her up, easily, hooking his arm underneath her knees. ❝ c'mon, you don't need to be walking down all those steps on a freshly healed side. you sure you're feeling fine? ❞ head tips back, watching as the clouds begin to part. ❝ looks like your moon wants to help you feel better as well. ❞

her injury wasn't as bad as it seemed, shoko had taken her in and immediately set to work. the reason it no doubt looked so scary was because of rose's fatigue, but that was due to her low amount of moonlight, which didn't help her physical condition when she was bleeding. it just meant she wouldn't clot as easily, hence the amount of blood she lost. which was the reason why it took a little longer. the medic gave the french sorcerer a piece of chocolate to help bring her sugars up, and then, and only then, did she seem to let rose go out to her boyfriend, who she could see peeking through the small windows of the double doors every so often.

see. a puppy.

when she's given the all-clear to head out, she does just that, pushing the doors to the morgue open, allowing her attention to instantly land on malachi. ❝ miss me? ❞ her voice is a little hoarse, as to be expected, but there's her usual playful pitch behind her question. she's without her sword, having decided to leave it in the morgue for tonight and collect it when she needed it next. strolling over to the man, her hand dips down to her torn shirt and hikes it up just enough to reveal the spotless skin beneath. ❝ i wish i heal as fast as she heals people. look, there's no scarring left or nothing. ❞

some skills just couldn't be taught, and this was one of them. sighing, roselle drops her shirt with a stifled yawn, exhaustion taking over her as both of her arms instinctively reach out for him, reaching up to wrap around her neck, prompting her onto the tips of her toes. ❝ shall we go home? bonbon will be missing me. ❞ just her, of course, bonbon picks and chooses when she likes malachi.

[nillegible]

Jin Zixun accidentally saves canon, Part2

(Read part one of the fic, here!)

“Did you hear? The Yiling Patriarch killed Jin-er-gongzi, and dragged away his corpse.”

Jiang Cheng might not have been the intended listener, but he has no qualms in stalking toward the cultivator who was speaking. Pale green robes with white accents, he must be from Laoling Qin. Jiang Cheng doesn’t take him by the collar, but his fingers twitch. He definitely wishes to.

“What did you say?” he asks.

From the expression of abject terror that crosses the other man’s face, Jiang Cheng didn’t do a particularly good job at appearing non-threatening.

“Jian-Jiang-zongzhu. I. Jiang-zongzhu, it was. They’re all saying.”

“That Wei Wuxian killed Jin Zixun and took away his corpse? When did he even get here? Where did he drag him away from?”

“Ah, no. It wasn’t. Jiang-gongzi must know I don’t speak for Jin sect, but it wasn’t here.”

Jiang Cheng considers shaking a more coherent answer out of this coward, but decides against it. Gods knew what nonsense he would actually spout. No, he needs a better source, he needs Shijie.

Protocol forgotten, he storms into Koi Tower.

*

Oooh, Jiang-xiong looks furious. Jiang Wanyin had stormed into Carp tower like a small purple thundercloud. He’s taller than Yu-furen was and less delicate looking, but one could absolutely see that Jiang-xiong was his mother’s son. The air even smelled electric when he strode by, purple sleeves billowing elegantly.

Where is Jiang-xiong going, making quite so much of a display? Huaisang directs his casual wandering in his wake, stretching his cultivation senses to keep track of him when he storms out of view. He wonders if this is about the rumours that have been slowly spreading from the anxious and guilty looking Jin cultivators. And there are so many­, oddly many, low-level cultivators who can’t have all been invited at this time for the naming-day ceremony, it was gauche. So much yellow, they interfere with the decorations.

“Whatever did Jin-gongzi do this time to anger Jiang-zhongzu so much? Ah, I’d hoped a nephew would mellow him,” Nie Huaisang complains, or something along those lines to the most disgruntled people he crosses, with a laugh and conspiratorial smile. The reminder of Jiang-xiong’s rather Extra tendencies seems to put people at ease, and Nie Huaisang sails through, keeping an eye out for anyone who might actually matter.

He sees Lan Wangji, who, in spite of the way he stands separate from the crowd like a drop of water on a lotus leaf, definitely matters. Nie Huaisang makes his way towards him.

*

“What nonsense is everyone spouting about Wei Wuxian and Jin Zixun?” Jiang Cheng demands, bursting into Jin Zixuan’s office, where the wary Jin disciples had directed him.

“Jiang-gongzi!” says Jin Guangyao, the first to stand, just as Jin Zixuan says, “Jiang Wanyin, you’re here!”

Jin Zixuan says, after a beat, “Wei Wuxian and the Ghost General were seen taking my cousin away.”

“Surely even he couldn’t attack and cart someone off from Koi Tower. What would he even want from Jin Zixun?”

“It wasn’t from Koi Tower, he didn’t reach here,” says Jin Zixuan. “It was on the way.”

“Explain,” says Jiang Cheng.

“A-Yao will explain,” says Jin Zixuan. His voice is colder than Jiang Cheng has become accustomed to hearing it.

“Jin Zixun was cursed. It was the hundred holes curse. He got it into his head that Wei-gongzi had to be the one who did it. I only found out this morning, but he – he went to waylay Wei-gongzi and demand that he remove the curse.”

“Leaving aside the absolute idiocy of Wei Wuxian being the one to curse him, why would Wei Wuxian then kidnap him? Maybe he actually knows a way to remove that curse, and Jin Zixun’s gone back with him.”

“Ah, it wasn’t quite so amicable as that–” Jin Guangyao looks towards Jin Zixuan, but when he doesn’t take over the explanation he continues, “Jin Zixun took three hundred archers with him –”

“THREE HUNDRED archers? Why would the Jin sect send a full battalion to ask Wei Wuxian to remove a curse?”

Jin Guangyao’s voice, which was already quiet, lowers further, “I believe that the show of strength was only meant to make Wei-gongzi give Jin-er-gongzi his due consideration. Wei-gongzi doesn’t always listen.”

“That is not what you told me,” Jin Zixuan says.

“He may… he may have planned to end the curse in a different way if Wei Wuxian didn’t comply,” says Jin Guangyao, finally.

Jiang Cheng tries to choke back his rage. How dare they! “If it turns out that Wei Wuxian has been harmed, Jin sect will not be forgiven,” Jiang Cheng threatens. “He may not be of my sect anymore, but to ambush him and try to kill him on such a stupid pretence, after you invited him to my own nephew’s ceremony! As if Wei Wuxian would not kill Jin Zixun himself if he had wanted him dead, and reanimate his corpse!” Jiang Cheng knows what happens to those his brother punishes. Jiang Cheng had joined him, in exacting their vengeance against Wen Chao, Wang Lingjiao, and Wen Zhuliu.  

“Jiang-zonghzhu, seems to be planning to do that, now. They say he carried Jin-er-gongzi’s body away,” says Jin Guangyao. Implicit in that is what foul things Wei Wuxian is known to do with corpses.

Jiang Cheng just can’t believe it. In a rage at the people who had murdered Wen Ning? Perhaps. But to kill Jin Ling’s uncle on his special day? Wei Wuxian would know better! And there’s more that doesn’t make sense. “How did Wei Wuxian kill Jin Zixun? You said he took a whole battalion!” Even if Wei Wuxian had killed half of them, it’s unlikely he could get away, especially if they were archers.

“Ah. Uh. Wei-gongzi did not kill him. The Jin archers shot him.”

It takes Jiang Cheng a moment. “The Jin archers shot Jin Zixun?” he turns to Jin Zixuan for confirmation. His brother-in-law looks miserable and angry, but nods. “How the hell did.” Jiang Cheng is out of words. “Do you not train your disciples to aim?”

“Faced with the Yiling Patriarch, one of the younger disciples may have been afraid? As far as I gathered they were actually aiming for Wei-gongzi,” – Jin Guangyao winces as Zidian sparks – “but he ducked, and so Jin Zixun was shot.”

“He ducked,” repeats Jiang Cheng, looking between Jin Guangyao and Jin Zixuan, who don’t disagree with that frankly ridiculous assessment. They have to be joking. Or worse, they have to be lying. And if they’re lying to his face, then who knows what really happened? Jiang Cheng bows lightly to his brother-in-law. “Jin-gongzi, I take my leave of you. My apologies for missing Jin Ling’s celebration, but if I’m lucky, I can fetch Wei Wuxian and be back in time to meet my nephew and my sister before they retire from the feast. I know how much A-jie was looking forward to seeing our brother.” Jin Zixuan winces at that, no doubt imagining explaining to Jiang Yanli that his stupid cousin had tried to murder her brother.

That’s Jin Zixuan’s problem though. Jiang Cheng is going to fly to the Burial Mounds and his brother’s awful little encampment, and shake him until he gets some answers.

He ducked.

Which meant, at the least, that Wei Wuxian was being shot at. Stupid, I told you I couldn’t protect you, and this is what you get up to? Jiang Cheng had thought his brother would keep his head down until people forgot about him! Some sort of self-imposed imprisonment that kept him out of everyone’s way. That was why he wasn’t even invited to the wedding. Stupid, stupid Wei Wuxian.

As Jiang Cheng sweeps out the doors of the main hall, he sees Lan Wangji, looking stiff, and if Jiang Cheng isn’t just projecting, angry. He meets Jiang Cheng’s eyes and weaves his way closer.

“Jiang-zongzhu.”

“Hanguang Jun,” returns Jiang Cheng. On any other day he’d wait and glare until the second jade spoke his mind, not making it any easier for him. Today, he hasn’t the patience. “If you’ll olease make my excuses to Lan-zongzhu, but I will be unable to greet him. I need to go to Yiling and find my–” he realizes with a jolt that he’d called Wei Wuxian brother too many times today in conversation already. “-Wei Wuxian. There’s all sorts of rumours flying about, I don’t like it.”

“I will come with you,” says Lan Wangji.

Jiang Cheng eyes him. “If Hanguang Jun believes me incapable of judging Wei Wuxian if he is at fault today–” he snarls, but is cut off by a sharp gesture from Lan Wangji. And what might even be a real emotion on his face.

“Wei Ying would not have,” he says, with a certainty that even Jiang Cheng could not feel. Jiang Cheng hates how much he appreciates the words. “Let me come.”

Jiang Cheng should say no, should say that Wei Wuxian was his responsibility.

‘Just Let me go. Tell the world that I defected. From now on, whatever Wei Wuxian does, it would have nothing to do with Yunmeng Jiang sect.’

“Fine,” says Jiang Cheng. “Just keep up.”

He knows from experience, as he takes off into the sky, that Lan Wangji can keep up.