#not outwardly expressed still of course. but just.. my bones are made of a little more violence recently..

[icewindandboringhorror]

Current temperature inside of my room right now in the middle of the night whilst about to go to sleep... villain origin story...

[wangxianficrecs]

💙 Turnabout by miixz

💙 Turnabout

by miixz (@miixz)

T, 32k, Wangxian

Part of the MXTX Epic Journeys Big Bang

Summary: Wei Wuxian stared openly at the man sitting across from him, unable to look away from the strange picture he made. He wore common clothes and had his hair up in a simple bun, his expression was contained, but soft as he looked at the baby held in his lap. Though nothing about the way he presented himself was outwardly remarkable, his mannerisms gave him a distinguished air. There was a gracefulness to him, the type that hid strength behind it. And he was beautiful. Even missing his usual mourning white and forehead ribbon there was no way Wei Wuxian would have mistaken him for anyone else. Still, the Lan Wangji with him right now might as well be a different person from the one he knew. He was still as stoic and silent as ever, but there was a warmth in him that he’d never seen before. Or: Wei Wuxian’s life takes a turn for the unexpected when he’s approached by Lan Wangji on his way back from a night hunt. Kay's comments: Definitely one of my favourite time travel stories, it's so well done and featuring some great fanart as well! A story in which after the Sunshot Campaign, Wei Wuxian gets sought out by Lan Wangji, only he's different and also, he has a child with him. Turns out that Lan Wangji is from the future and the child - their son, A-Yuan. Together, they set out to make sure the Wens and Wei Wuxian get to live and find their way together along the way. Loving the Yiling siblings vibes, Wangxian's relationship development and Wei Wuxian embracing his new role as a father immediately. Excerpt: Wei Wuxian made his way towards Lan Wangji in a daze, and for a moment he just looked at the little boy he was holding. He hadn't taken his eyes off him since they found him earlier. Though he'd looked at him countless times since their meeting, everything had shifted with this new knowledge in place. That was his son, that was a child who thought of him as a father. He ached with the need to take a better look at him, struggling to not impulsively take him out of Lan Wangji’s hands. “Can I hold him?” “Of course.” Lan Wangji came over to him and carefully arranged the baby in his arms. For a moment the cold scent of sandalwood enveloped him and then he was left with his son in his hold. He'd never been a person who paid much attention to babies before, but the moment he turned in his arms, little fist latching onto his shirt, Wei Wuxian was convinced that this was the cutest one he'd ever seen. Lan Yuan snuggled into his chest much like he did Lan Wangji's earlier, letting out a sigh of contentment. It was a wonder for Wei Wuxian to see such an action reflected back at him, and as though that wasn't enough, the little boy whispered, so softly he almost didn't hear it, "Die…" Any doubts he had about Lan Wangji's story were gone at that moment. He knew it was possible that he wasn't the one A-Yuan was calling for, but even so, something deep within his bones felt that acknowledgement. This was it. Wei Wuxian had a son. "He's adorable, Lan Zhan, the best baby in the world. I just know it."

pov wei wuxian, canon divergence, post-sunshot campaign, time travel fix-it, time travelling lan wangji, time travelling lan sizhui, somebody lives/not everybody dies, fix-it, wei wuxian lives, wen remnants live, burial mounds ensemble as family, good parents lan wangji and wei wuxian, child lan sizhui, older lan wangji, misunderstandings, getting together, developing relationship, love confessions, wei wuxian leaves the yunmeng jiang sect, not jiang cheng friendly, good sibling jiang yanli

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[aluckiicoin]

& (ooc. for the scar meme)

Send me “&” for my muses reaction to yours tracing one of their scars.

Whoever came up with the idea to walk the remaining distance toward home instead of driving really had a brilliant idea there. It had started pouring just a few moments later, reminding the gambler as to why his mood had already been struggling the whole day.

Of course it would happen, without fail even when – never mind. The rain had only unsettled him further and that was after he had excused himself from a party earlier than he should have, dragging his companion off without much explanation after catching a whiff of a certain conversation he would most certainly not repeat.

Well, good news: they were home now but Aventurine had ended up completely drenched. His gloves were supposed to be a comfort but like this they reminded him way too much of a different sensation. He'd already tried to get rid of one of them frantically, the thief at his side all but forgotten momentarily. Sure, all of that were just little inconsequential little things but they just kept stacking up to the point that the blonde was shivering. He could blame that on the cold and being wet to the bones once his mind decided to work again. Yet when he tried to tug his arm back to get the other glove off he was met with resistance.

Aventurine startled, eyes snatching to what was going on only to find another hand wrapped around his wrist, a finger running along what makeup and bracelet had hidden before.

Oh, great. Apparently, if he wasn't lucky the whole universe seemed to take the chance to take a hit at him. He could pull his arm away from the grasp, the other's grip certainly wasn't too secure but gazing upwards came with a realization. The conman looked... worried, deeply so.

The surprise took Aventurine right out the mounting panic. It seemed uncharacteristic, mostly because people didn't worry about him. Or when they did, they were somehow too repressed to show it. The sensation of that thumb running over the marks send another kind of shivers down his spine he wasn't quite sure how to feel about. It took another few seconds for the expression and the fixation to click. Oh. Hm, he should probably say something.

His dear rat didn't have access to IPC files like other people did, he likely only knew the barest bit the blonde had been willing to give away. It wasn't due to lack of trying however, the thief was somewhat relentless in his questions. He was curiously silent now. It just made the situation so much more endearing, scary, unusual. Fingers moved up to scratch at the mark on his neck in remembrance, he still wasn't over being reminded of that after all. But, ah, how could he even put it believable, saying 'it's not what it looks like' wouldn't do. He shifted, a new kind of nervousness settling into his bones.

“Not pretty to look at, are they?”, they've been there for ages and he'd love to tell the lie that he had forgotten about the scars his shackles left. No, that wasn't exactly true. The restraints didn't leave the scars, his actions did. If he hadn't kept tugging and tearing he'd be as unblemished as he portrayed to the world outwardly.

“Rigid metal is not supposed to be worn on bare skin. Even more so if it's cheap. Especially not if it's worn tightly.”, loosing weight only made it worse because then they started to move, causing even more damage.

“Why would I ever damage something I intent to sell, hm?”, it was the best reassurance he could summon. He couldn't even be sure the other was under any misconception to begin with or just worried because he had some other ulterior motive.

At any rate, it was time to deflect “I'll need my hand back to get rid of the wet clothes. You should do the same.”

[lunar-wandering]

Lanterns and Lies

surprise!! here we go, the sequel to Glamours and Gauze!

Word Count: 7k

Read on Ao3

-

Macaque had lied, when he said the shadow lantern was gone.

When the Lady Bone Demon had caught him, she had made a specific note of needing the lantern.

And, well, Macaque wouldn't let that happen.

So he'd shattered it, again, and during the Lady Bone Demon's momentary shock, he'd taken the opportunity to gather the broken pieces and run.

One of her minions had cut him with the cursed knife while he was running away.

That didn't matter now though, his injuries had been healed, and the Lady Bone Demon had yet to make another move. For now, sitting on the roof of the noodle shop, he was safe.

He starred down at the shattered pieces of the lantern in his hands.

With a sigh, he carefully extended his magic, putting the pieces back together again, reforming the lantern. He held it gently in his hands as he looked around the roof.

Now where was he gonna hide this-

"Macaque, I brought plums!"

Macaque startled upon hearing MK's voice, he'd been so distracted focusing on putting the lantern back together, he hadn't even heard the other climb up the ladder to the roof.

The.....lantern....

Which he told MK was gone....

In a rush to avoid MK seeing the lantern, Macaque did the first thing he thought of.

He shoved the lantern into himself, letting it mix into his own magic. Not the smartest way of storing it, it was a highly magical item, who knows how it would act while in direct contact with his magic, but it was the first thing he could think of, and this was only a temporary measure, so it should be fine.

....Probably.

"Hey bud, what's up?" Macaque asked, turning around to face MK, who was setting a small bowl of plums on the ground. "...What are the plums for?"

"You said that if I brought you some plums, you'd tell me about the time Monkey King walked into a tree." MK said, "And I fully expect you to keep your end of the bargain."

"Yeah, yeah, okay." Macaque said, grabbing the bowl of plums. "Well you see, what happened was-"

-

"That had to be the stupidest shit you've ever pulled, Wukong." Macaque said, breathing heavily as he leaned against a tree. Wukong for his part, just smirked.

"I didn't see you try to stop me." He said, laughing as Macaque glared at him.

"I did try to stop you. Multiple times. But you didn't listen." He said, "You really need to stop picking a fight with every random person you meet."

"You're no fun at all." Wukong said, yawning as he stretched. Macaque rolled his eyes.

"Whatever." He said, "Anyways, we should probably head back to the cave, get some rest-"

"I'm not tired." Wukong said.

"You literally yawned a few seconds ago."

"Doesn't mean I'm tired. Besides, there's still more stuff to do." Wukong said, turning and walking off further into the mountain's forest, Macaque trailing behind him. As they walked, Macaque noticed Wukong start slouching, little by little. He didn't say anything though, knowing that Wukong would only deny it if asked.

It would be better just to watch and deal with the consequences when they came.

And oh boy, did the consequences come: in the form of Wukong turning a corner and immediately walking directly into a tree. The tree snapped in half, falling to the ground, with Wukong tumbling down after it. There was a loud thump, as dust and leaves were sent flying into the air. A few nearby birds called out in concern.

"Timber." Macaque said, a smirk on his face, walking over and crouching down beside where Wukong now lay on his back with a dazed expression on his face. "So. Not tired, huh?"

"Shut up." Wukong hissed, sitting up, pulling dirt and leaves out of his fur as he did so. "The tree just. Got in my way, that's all-"

"You're expecting me to believe that a tree got up and put itself in your path?" Macaque asked, "Wukong. I'm not stupid. Let's just hurry up and go back to the cave to rest already."

"I'm fine." Wukong said, moving to stand up, but wobbling a little, tipping backwards again-

Macaque caught him, keeping him from having another close encounter with the ground.

-

"I ended up having to carry him all the way back up the mountain." Macaque said, making little images with his shadows in order to give MK a better visual of what happened. "He ended up sleeping for like, 3 days. Took him still being tired when he woke up again for me to realize he'd gotten cursed. Wasn't hard to break it afterwards, but boy did Wukong protest the whole time. Practically had to tie him to his bed."

MK scribbled in his sketch book, and Macaque, out of curiosity, moved closer, looking over MK's shoulder to see a sketch of what Macaque had just described.

"....You're drawing this?" He asked. MK nodded.

"Yeah! I've got a lifetime goal of illustrating all of Monkey King's adventures!" MK said, pausing his sketching to show Macaque a quick flip through of the rest of the book. "...You got any other stories?"

"Lots." Macaque said, leaning back. "But you're gonna have to bring more plums if you want more stories. I'm not just gonna hand this info out for free."

"Of course, of course." MK said, standing up and walking back over to the ladder, mumbling to himself as he climbed back down. "I'm going to have to permanently add plums to my shopping list...."

Macaque stayed where he was, waiting patiently until he couldn't hear MK anymore, before letting out a relieved sigh.

That had been close.... No matter what, he couldn't let the others know that he still had the lantern. Revealing that would probably cause the others to push him away, they wouldn't trust him anymore, and he really couldn't have that. Hanging around them was the most advantageous position for him to be in right now, and he wasn't about to give it up any time soon.

...He still needed a place to hide it permanently, keeping it inside of himself probably wouldn't be a good idea in the long term. With that thought in mind, he mentally reached inwards with his magic, shadows starting to surround him as he prepared to take the lantern out-

"Hey, Macaque!"

Macaque startled again, the shadows that had condensed around him vanishing as though they'd been popped like party balloons as he whirled around to see-

Mei, who giggled at his shocked expression, holding up her phone and taking a quick picture of him before pocketing it.

"Would you two stop doing that?" Macaque asked, sighing as Mei circled around him.

"Hey, it's not my fault you didn't hear me coming." Mei said, giggling at the expression on Macaque's face. "Seriously, with all those ears you have it's a wonder you didn't-"

"What do you want." Macaque growled, "You wouldn't be here if you didn't want something."

"Wouldn't I?"

That. Wasn't a question Macaque felt that he could answer. He honestly couldn't think of a reason why any of MK's friends would want to be around him, but they hadn't really been pushing him away either....

Mei seemed a little concerned with how he'd suddenly gone silent though, so it was probably best to quickly change the subject.

"Ah, anyways, I have some stuff to do, so I don't really have time for you." Macaque said, walking past Mei and over to the edge of the rooftop. Distantly, he noted a weird tingling sensation come over him, but he ignored it, figuring it wasn't important.

"Oh, now that's a lie." Mei said, a smirk on her face. "You never do anything other than lounge around up here."

"Do not." Macaque said, crossing his arms. "I do plenty, you just haven't noticed."

"Oh yeah? Like what?"

Macaque pondered for a moment on how best to answer-

And that was when his foot started sinking into the shadow underneath of him.

Outwardly, Macaque remained perfectly calm, not letting Mei in on the fact that anything was amiss.

Inwardly, he panicked.

That was definitely not supposed to be happening, why was it happening it shouldn't be happening why was he l o s i n g  c o n t r o l-

He was snapped out of his panic when he heard the sound of an engine starting up behind him. Subtly looking over his shoulder, he could see MK, ready to drive off, probably to deliver some noodles.

Macaque made his decision in a split second.

Turning and pulling his foot out of the shadow it'd been sinking into, Macaque jumped off the roof. Ignoring Mei's shout of "Hey, wait!", he slipped into the shadow of the tuk tuk, just before MK started to drive away.

-

Macaque hung out in the shadow of the tuk tuk for about 15 minutes before he actually bothered to wonder where exactly MK was going.

MK slowed down a bit as he turned a corner, and Macaque figured it was as good a time as any to ask.

Carefully, he materialized on the back of the tuk tuk, then, after making sure there wasn't anything around for MK to accidentally hit should he swerve, asked;

"Where are you going?"

MK's foot slammed on the brakes, the tires screeching and Macaque almost falling off from the sudden inertia. As soon as they were still, MK whirled around, staring at Macaque, shocked.

"How long have you been there?" He asked, and the expression on his face genuinely made Macaque laugh.

"Oh, not very long." Macaque said, "I was riding along in the shadow for the most part."

"...You can do that?" MK asked, "You probably save like, so much money when traveling then-"

"Bold of you to assume that I have any money at all." Macaque said, "Anyways, you didn't answer the question. Where are you going?"

"Why do you want to know?" MK asked, crossing his arms. "And why are you here anyways? Usually you just stay on the roof, what changed?"

"Nothing! What, can't I just want to go for a ride once in a while?" Macaque said-

And his hand started sinking into the shadow beside him. Swiftly, he pulled it out, rubbing it to get rid of the remaining tingles. MK watched this happen with a look of suspicion.

"...Uh-huh, sure, like I believe that." He said, tone as dry as the desert. "And anyways, I don't think you'd want to-"

And then he paused, looking as though he'd just been hit with some kind of realization.

"Actually-" MK started, "I think it would be good if you came with me."

He turned back around, taking his foot off the break and turning back onto the road, speeding up a little.

"You still haven't told me where we're going." Macaque said.

"Oh, you'll soon find out."

Macaque had a feeling he wasn't going to like this.

-

He was right. He hated this.

Staring up at a temple that quite obviously belonged to Sun Wukong, Macaque regretted every decision he had made in his life that had led up to this moment.

He regretted it even more when the monkey himself opened the front gate.

"Ah, there you are kid!" Wukong said, "I was beginning to think you'd never show up!"

"I'm only 2 minutes late..." MK muttered, and Macaque couldn't help but laugh a bit at that.

Sun Wukong was not, exactly, known for being very patient after all.

"Oh, I see you brought... an audience." Wukong said, finally noticing that Macaque was, in fact, also there.

"Audience? Please, if anything I'm the lead actor." Macaque said.

"Yeah, sure, keep telling yourself that." MK said, and Macaque would've hit him where it not for the warning glance Wukong gave him.

-

Macaque ended up being dragged to MK's training sessions with Wukong, again and again. Some days it was because MK himself forcibly brought him along, and on other days it was because Macaque was simply avoiding Mei. (He denied the accusation that he was avoiding her when asked...and then almost tripped as his foot sank deeper into the shadows. Luckily he'd managed to blame it on a stray tree root, but he wasn't sure how long he could keep it up...) 

Over the course of said days, Macaque had tried multiple times to find a better place to hide the lantern than within his own magic. (He'd long since figured out that the lantern was reacting whenever he lied, thus messing with his own magic. He had no idea why it was doing this, but the why didn't really matter so long as he could find a way to stop it.) But of course, since karma was apparently out to get him, he was interrupted by someone every single time, forcing him to keep the lantern within himself, lest the others find out about it.

Honestly though, he was shocked that Wukong hadn't noticed, considering his golden vision and all, he should've been able to see the fact that the lantern's magic was contained within Macaque.

(Macaque had nearly panicked when, on day 2 of him following MK to his training, Wukong had leaned close to him with a contemplative look on his face.

"...Why are you so close to me?" Macaque had asked, and huh, how long had that slit been in Wukong's eyebrow? Had it been there for a while and Macaque had just never noticed or-

"I'm checking to see how much of the glamor you're wearing." Was Wukong's response, as he studied him. "You're still recovering, you probably shouldn't be using magic to cover all of it."

So....Wukong was concerned about him. Macaque couldn't really imagine why, but still-

"You didn't need to get so close to me- can't you obviously see I'm wearing it?" Macaque had asked, gesturing at his own face. Wukong, surprisingly, winced at that, finally backing up a bit.

"Well, I guess you seem fine." He'd muttered, turning away, "Don't know why I was even worried."

And Macaque should've been relieved, but for some reason-

For some reason he felt like something was wrong.)

-

Macaque relaxed in the shade of a tree, watching Wukong train MK. It was almost soothing to watch the mentor and student trade hits as they sparred.

But of course, being relaxed didn't mean that Macaque didn't notice things.

Like how Wukong was a full 2 seconds slower in blocking MK's attacks than he'd been when Macaque had stolen MK's powers. Which wasn't really something that would normally raise concern- he probably just wasn't being as serious as he would be when encountering an actual threat, but.

Something about it was making the alarm bells that had been constantly ringing in Macaque's head louder. (Something he, obviously, didn't appreciate. Loud sounds, even mental ones, weren't very pleasant for him).

Macaque, of course, was never one to miss an opportunity to call Wukong out.

Which was why it was so surprising when MK beat him to the punch.

"Monkey King, are you okay?" MK asked, and Macaque sat up straighter, paying more attention, because oh, he wanted to hear this.

"Of course bud! Why do you ask?" Wukong said, and despite the fact that his back was to Macaque, the shadow monkey just knew that the other was lying.

"Well I don't know, you've just- seemed off, is all." MK said, shifting back and forth as he seemed to contemplate what to say. "Like, a little slower maybe? And I haven't seen you use your cloud in days, which is kinda weird, since you normally seem to use it-"

Wukong stiffened, and it was at this point that Macaque got genuinely curious, deciding that he had to see what kind of expression the other monkey was making right now. So, he slipped down into the shadows of the tree, and reappeared out of MK's shadow, startling the both of them as he slung an arm around MK's shoulder. 

"Kid's right y'know." Macaque said, putting on a smirk as he looked at the other. "Even I've noticed, and I've barely even been paying attention."

That was a lie, and he barely kept himself from wincing as he felt the tingle of magic flow through his body.

Only for nothing to seemingly happen. That was...mildly concerning, he'd felt the flow of magic, so something had definitely occurred, he just couldn't tell what.

...Well, whatever. If he couldn't notice it then it probably wasn't important.

Macaque refocused back in on the subject at hand, studying Wukong's expression. Nothing he hadn't expected, the usual nervous smile and look in his eyes that indicated he was lying where all there.

Or, well, most of it was expected.

The slight twinge of fear was new.

"I'm telling you, there's nothing wrong!" Wukong said, taking a slight step back. "I'm fine, really!"

Both MK and Macaque rolled their eyes in sync.

"If you're so fine, then explain to me why you keep waiting until MK is almost right in front of you before blocking him?" Macaque asked, MK nodding along as he spoke. "Seriously, it's like you can't see it unless it's close-"

Both Macaque and MK froze, coming to the same conclusion at the same time. Wukong, seeing the expressions on their faces, scratched his cheek nervously, avoiding their gaze.

"Oh my heavens." MK said, "You need glasses."

"I do not-"

-

Tang had been having a peaceful day at the noodle shop.

Having, being the key word.

Because suddenly, said peaceful day was interrupted as Macaque appeared out of nowhere beside him. Tang barely kept himself from startling out of his stool. (He'd started to grow used to the shadow monkey's sudden appearances, but that didn't really make them any less startling).

Macaque, for a moment, looked confused as to where he was, looking around in surprise, before taking notice of Tang and schooling his features into something unreadable.

"Oh." He said, "Uh. Hello?"

"Hello to you too, Macaque?" Tang said, a little confused, before finally taking notes of one important fact.

Macaque's eyes were fully purple.

"...Ah." Tang said, "Not Macaque."

"Hm, smart man." 'Macaque' said, leaning back, "Nope, I'm not the original. Just a shadow clone, that's all I am."

"Why are you here? Is there trouble?" Tang asked, worry seeping into his voice. The clone just shrugged.

"Dunno." 'Macaque' said, "One minute, I didn't exist, the next, I'm here."

"How can you just not know?" Tang asked, blinking in disbelief.

"He probably created me on accident." 'Macaque' said, almost as casually as though he was reading out a morning newspaper.

"That can happen??"

"Well, not normally, but in certain cases-" The clone started, then paused, eyes narrowing. "Well, actually, if that's the case, he probably doesn't know I exist right now..."

"Shouldn't you... tell him?" Tang asked, and watched as the clone contemplated it.

"Well I mean, not telling him would be kind of funny." He said, before shaking himself out of it. "No- no, you're right, I should probably tell him."

The clone proceeded to go completely silent, and Tang watched him with thinly veiled concern. After about 2 minutes of silence, with the clone making increasingly dramatic facial expressions, Tang decided to comment again.

"...Are you actually contacting him right now?" He asked, and the clone broke out of whatever state he was in to glance at him.

"Hm? Oh- yeah." He said, "Mental connection, y'know?"

"Then how come MK doesn't ever-"

"Cause he doesn't know it exists."

-

Of course. Of course the lantern had made a clone.

That certainly explained why there hadn't been any obvious reaction after the magic tingle.

Although, it was weird that the clone had ended up in the noodle shop. Why on Earth would it have formed there?

(In all honesty, it was probably because, once again, Macaque felt safe there. But he never planned to admit that fact, not even to himself, so he slid that thought back into the deepest part of his mind.)

As it was now though, Macaque sat back under the tree, head in hands, mentally communicating with the clone as MK and Wukong continued to argue about whether or not the Monkey King needed glasses.

"C'mon!" MK said, stomping his foot on the ground, "Just admit that you're nearsighted already! It's obvious!"

"I don't need glasses!" Wukong said, hopping backwards as MK tried to tackle him. "I can see just fine!"

This statement was contradicted, as MK suddenly moved backwards, distancing himself from his mentor. Macaque could see Wukong squint, something he wouldn't normally do-

And then MK moved forwards, with a speed Macaque honestly hadn't seen him use before (and wasn't that funny, that somehow this argument was actually causing MK's speed to improve) and managed to tackle Wukong to the ground.

A roll of parchment fell out of one of Wukong's pockets.

"Oh?" Macaque said, standing up, temporarily blocking his shadow clone's messages out of his mind (it was fine anyways, it seemed to have gotten distracted), he walked over, picking up the roll of parchment. "What's this?"

"Wh-Hey!" Wukong said, looking up from his position of being pinned to the ground by MK, squinting his eyes as he focused on Macaque. "Don't- give that back!"

"Well now, if you're so pressed over it then I kinda have to look, right?" Macaque said, slowly unrolling the scroll despite Wukong's protests. MK, surprisingly, kept Wukong pinned, watching with curiosity as Macaque looked over the parchment's contents. "....Huh."

"What is it?" MK asked, and Macaque turned, holding out the unrolled parchment so that MK could see it. Wukong, at this point, stopped struggling, simply laying on the ground face down.

"Tell me, Wukong, why exactly do you need a map?" Macaque asked, crouching down in front of the other. "You planning on going on vacation again or something?"

"You're going to leave me again?" MK asked, and maybe Macaque was just hearing things (rather unlikely....) but there was almost a note of panic in MK's voice.

Wukong must've picked up on the panic too, as he quickly jumped into reassurance.

"Woah, hey, I'm not- I'm not vacationing any time soon." He said, attempting to shift around a little, before sighing. "...Could you get off me now, please?"

MK scrambled to get off his mentor, Wukong slowly sitting up and stretching a little. Macaque rolled his eyes at the display, shaking the map a little to draw their attention back to it.

"Hey, I'm not letting you off that easily." He said, "Explain the map. Now."

Wukong sighed again, avoiding both Macaque and MK's eyes.

"...Fine, so maybe I.....wasn't exactly on vacation...." Wukong muttered, "I was...searching for something. A weapon."

"...To fight the Lady Bone Demon, right?" MK asked, and Wukong looked at him in shock.

"How'd you-"

"Maybe leaving your successor alone when there's a powerful demon on the loose isn't the best decision, Wukong." Macaque said, rolling up the map and putting into his own pocket, before lightly rubbing his arm, a few specific... memories running through his mind. "Seriously, be glad she still hasn't gotten everything she needs."

"What do you know about what she-" MK started, then cut himself off, looking at Macaque as though he'd been given the answer to everything. "She's the one who hurt you."

Macaque didn't respond, turning around and walking away.

"Hey wait- where are you-" Wukong started-

"I'm going back to my spot under the tree." Macaque said, "You two can sort through whatever your 'vacation' was about on your own."

-

"...Huh." The shadow clone muttered, eyes closed as he seemingly listened in on whatever was happening to the real Macaque. "That's.....interesting."

"What is?" Tang asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Nothing really important." The clone said- and started melting slightly. Tang looked on in confusion as the clone suddenly panicked, stumbling over his words. "Wait- no I mean- it, it is important, but not really something I should be the one to tell you about?"

The melting stopped, the shadow clone returning to normal as he let out a sigh of relief.

"Does that....usually happen?" Tang asked.

"No." The clone answered, but didn't elaborate. Tang figured he'd just have to ask the real Macaque about it later. "...Anyways, do you think you could help the real me out with something?"

"Depends on what said something is." Tang said, crossing his arms.

"It's nothing bad, I promise." The shadow clone said, chuckling. "But, would you happen to know where I could buy a pair of glasses?"

-

"This is dumb. I look stupid."

"Aw come on Monkey King, I think you look cool!" Mei said, MK nodding along with her. "The glasses suit you just fine!"

Wukong sighed, sitting in the noodle shop with his arms crossed, leaning on the counter.

"What's with the sudden need for glasses anyways?" Pigsy asked, sliding a bowl of peach slices over to the monkey. Subtly, he also handed a bowl of plums over to Macaque, who was sitting slightly off to the side in the shadows.

Wukong stiffened, pausing for a moment before opening his mouth to answer-

"And don't lie to me." Pigsy added, and Wukong slouched a little.

(Macaque had to admit, it was kinda fun to watch the Monkey King basically get reprimanded like a child.

The only reason he didn't comment on it was that he was sure that if he did, he'd get the exact same treatment.)

There was a moment of silence, before Wukong groaned, laying his head down on the table, and muttering something that was too quiet for the others to hear, but nearly made Macaque choke on the plum he'd been chewing on.

"What?!" He said, in pure shock, "You- you're losing your powers?!"

Almost instantly, there was pandemonium.

"What do you mean you're losing your powers!" MK practically screeched, "That can happen?!"

"I don't know, but it's the only explanation I've got!" Wukong said, throwing his hands up into the air. "I can't use my golden vision or my cloud anymore- and I don't know why!"

"How, exactly, does this relate back to you suddenly needing glasses?" Pigsy asked, completely ignoring how the others where in varying states of a mental breakdown.

"I- I usually just use my golden vision to make up for it." Wukong said, "Like, magic contacts, you know?"

"...And now you can't do that anymore." Tang said, "Because you can't use your golden vision."

"......Yeah." Wukong sighed.

"Is there...anything we can do to help?" Sandy tentatively asked.

"Well, I was planning on going out and finding.... something." Wukong said, turning to look at Macaque. "Speaking of which, you promised you'd give me the map back once I got glasses, and I'm wearing them now so-"

Macaque tsk'd, pulling the map out of his pocket and tossing it over to the other monkey, who caught it and placed it upon the counter. 

"It's not like I can go and get it now though." Wukong said, the others staring over him to look down at the map. "Since I can't use my cloud anymore..."

"I have an airship." Sandy said, and Wukong turned to look at him in confusion. "We could use that, to travel there."

"What- no. No. Absolutely not." Wukong said, jumping up onto the counter (ignoring Pigsy disapproving glare), and staring down at the others. "In case you don't remember, you guys have something called mortality. I'm not going to just bring you guys with me-"

"Like you have much of a choice." A new voice said, and Macaque barely kept himself from startling as he suddenly noticed Red Son beside him.

"How long have you been there-" Macaque hissed, but was ultimately ignored.

"You coming too, Red Boy?" Mei asked, despite Wukong's faint protests that nobody was coming with him, thank you very much-

"I have nothing better to do." Red Son said, shrugging. "My parents went on vacation a little while ago, I've just been hanging around since then."

"So, we're all going?" MK asked, glancing over at Macaque, who, realizing he was being stared at, sighed, standing up and stepping closer to them, in the light.

"Fine, whatever." He said, "If you guys want me to go, I'll come, but I'm not happy about it."

The others stared at him, with a mixture of confusion and shock.

"....What?" Macaque asked, already dreading the answer. MK slowly pointed behind him.

"Has your shadow always moved like that?" He asked, and Macaque didn't even bother to look, instead immediately slamming his back against the wall to cover it as he threw a glamor over his own shadow. He wasn't sure what it had been doing that the others saw, but he absolutely refused to let it be seen any longer.

"...Whatever it was you saw, forget about it." He said, and while most of the others simply shrugged, accepting it as just him being weird, looking away-

The look in Mei and Wukong's eyes did not promise good things.

-

The first day on the ship, everyone was mainly focused on settling in, making sure all their stuff was where it needed to be, choosing rooms, so on and so forth.

And so, for the most part, Macaque was free from whatever Wukong and Mei were planning.

The second day on the ship, however.

The second day on the ship made Macaque wish the airship had a plank so he could jump off of it.

It had started small.

"Hey, Macaque?" Mei asked, grabbing his attention before practically shoving her phone into his face. "What do you think about this?"

Macaque could barely register the image in front of his face, but eventually parsed it out to be a picture of- a kitten??

"I hate it." He said, instinctively, and almost immediately started sinking into the shadow beneath him. Mei, being so close to him, immediately noticed, confusion flashing on her face for a brief second, before a smirk took over.

"If you say so." She said, and backed off, turning away as Macaque hurriedly pulled his feet out of the shadows before he could sink any further.

Some part of him hoped that would be the end of it.

As soon as he ran into Wukong though, he instantly knew that this wasn't over by a long shot.

"Macaque." Wukong said, leaning against the wall, and Macaque instantly noticed that his glasses were missing.

"You owe Tang 5 cents." Macaque hissed, it was well known that Tang had made the Monkey King promise to pay him whenever the monkey was caught not wearing his glasses. Macaque, of course, didn't really care, but he was looking for some way to distract Wukong from whatever he was planning to do to him.

"I'll pay him later." Wukong shrugged, and Macaque mentally cursed. "So. How'd you sleep last night?"

Macaque wasn't going to be led into the trap this obviously was.

"How did you sleep last night?" He shot back.

"I didn't." Wukong said, perfectly honest. "I did see you walking around for a bit though, so I'm curious as to whether or not you slept. You need it more than I do, remember?"

That.... was true. Macaque did need to sleep more than Wukong did, but-

"I slept just fine." Macaque lied, sighing as he felt the glamor over his ears fade away. Wukong crossed his arms, a concerned look on his face, but Macaque ignored it, choosing instead to walk into a nearby shadow to teleport to another location on the ship, throwing his glamor back on as he did so.

(He, in truth, was in the same boat as Wukong, both literally and figuratively. He hadn't slept at all, instead laying awake all night, worrying.

Wukong was losing his powers. MK was not nearly close enough to being ready. The others, outside of Red Son, might have some powers or abilities, but they are no where near close enough to being capable of beating the Lady Bone Demon.

He'd have to rely on the unknowns of this weapon Wukong was seeking out.

Macaque didn't like relying on unknowns.)

He emerged in the ships engine room-

And very nearly fell right on top of Red Son.

"Watch where you're going!" Red Son huffed, dodging out of the way and angrily brushing non existent dirt off of his jacket. "Seriously, what is with you guys and trying to knock me to the ground?"

"Maybe you just look very squishable." Macaque muttered, not really intending on giving Red Son a proper response. He actually didn't want to interact with anyone right now, especially not Red Son, so he turned, moving to leave the engine room-

"Not so fast." Red Son said, stopping Macaque in his tracks by grabbing hold of the back of his scarf. "I've got some questions for you."

Hm. That didn't bode well.

"What makes you think that I have any answers?" Macaque asked, only to be met by a deadpan look that promised-

That promised fire if he didn't co-operate.

If there was a list of things Macaque strictly didn't want, fire would be number one, at the top of the list.

"...What do you want to know?" He asked, slumping a little in defeat.

"Why you stayed." Red Son said, elaborating when Macaque only looked at him in confusion. "Your wound healed. You were perfectly free to go. And yet.... you stayed. Like you were....trying to protect something."

"Uh, yeah, myself, obviously." Macaque said, shrugging. "Hanging out around the Monkey King and his successor is the safest place to be after-"

"That's not it." Red Son said, and Macaque froze. "Sure, staying around them while you're weak makes sense, you'd need someone to protect you. But after you've recovered? Once you're strong again? Sure, I can understand you getting attached, but always staying around them is a little strange."

There was a glint, in Red Son's eye, and Macaque suddenly remembered a moment, yesterday, where Mei had dragged the fire demon off to the side to have a little conversation. He'd thought nothing about it at the time, but now-

"You say that you're protecting yourself....But at this point, somehow, you're mostly protecting them, aren't you?" Red Son asked, "Whatever it is you're hiding, you're hiding it to protect both yourself and them."

Macaque didn't answer, instead staring at the floor.

Whatever Mei and Wukong had been planning, Red Son was in on it.

And he was very clearly not as interested in taking a subtle approach.

"Your powers have been on the fritz lately." Red Son said, almost like it was an afterthought to his whole theory. "Don't think that we haven't noticed. It's different from Wukong though, in that you're not losing your powers, if anything, it's like they're getting stronger, almost as though they're being drawn from a different source-"

Macaque didn't want to stay here any longer.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." He lied, and didn't resist as his powers fluctuated in response, letting himself completely fall into the shadow behind him.

-

He ended up falling out of a shadow on the ceiling.

Luckily, it was in his own room, so no-one else was there to witness it.

Didn't mean it didn't hurt though.

"...That's gonna bruise later...." He muttered to himself as he slowly pushed himself off the floor and stood up.

For a moment, he just stood there, slightly dazed.

And then he started pacing.

This was not good, the others were onto him, he wouldn't be able to keep this up for much longer.

Not to mention the lantern, it's influence on his abilities was getting stronger the longer he left it inside himself. There was literally no telling how far it's influence would go.

(He'd already started noticing some strands of his fur turning purple. It wasn't anything that couldn't easily be covered up by a glamor, but the fact it was happening at all was incredibly concerning.)

He had to find another place to hide it. But where-

And suddenly, Macaque was struck by an idea. A rather bad idea, honestly, there was sure to be consequences from this, but it was the only idea he had right now.

-

The ship's clock struck 4 am.

Macaque slipped into MK's room, holding the faintly glowing lantern.

For a moment, he stood there, beside MK's bed, letting the lantern hover over top of him, thinking.

Maybe......maybe he shouldn't do this. He could probably find another way, something more reasonable than a hastily made, sleep deprived, decision. After all, the lantern had proven that it came with side effects, who knows how it'd affect MK?

Well. If he's actually being honest, he was hoping that the Monkey King Magic MK had would effectively cancel out the lanterns effects.

...He had no way of proving that it could do that though.

After a few more minutes of standing there, mentally debating, Macaque finally came to the decision that, yeah, this wasn't a good idea, he should just go back to his room and try to sleep for the few remaining hours of the night, come up with a better plan tomorrow-

A loud sound clanged from the engine room, and Macaque startled, barely keeping himself from squeaking as the sudden noise surprised him, squeezing his hands on instinct-

And snapping the lantern in half, the bottom piece falling and merging into MK's magic.

For a moment, Macaque just stood there in shock.

Then MK curled up, letting out a small noise of pain as little golden and purple sparks started shooting across his body, and Macaque panicked, reaching into MK's magic and hurriedly pulling out the other half of the lantern, shoving both pieces back into himself as MK started to stir.

By the time MK was sitting up, blinking his eyes open, rubbing his arms and looking around the room in confusion, Macaque was gone.

-

The next day, Wukong practically broke down Macaque's door, MK in tow.

"Mine explaining to me why there are traces of shadow magic all over MK?" He asked, before pausing as he registered the scene in front of him.

Macaque was curled up under his blankets, a pillow over his head effectively hiding him from view. The only part of the other monkey that Wukong could actually see was his tail, which was dangling over the side.

This wasn't really that weird, Wukong fully remembered that the other monkey was in no way a morning person.

...It was slightly more weird due to the fact that it was lunchtime.

"Is he...okay?" MK asked, leaning over his mentor's shoulder.

"You tell me." Wukong said, "You're the one with the golden vision right now."

Macaque's tail, which had been swinging idly, froze, and suddenly there was a mad scramble as he tried to pull all the blankets off of himself and sit up at the same time. Essentially, he ended up rather tangled, and was far too late to stop MK from using his golden vision.

-

At first there was nothing MK hadn't already expected. The bags under the eyes, the mussed up fur, the six ears and the scar. These were all things he knew that he'd find.

The purple streaks in Macaque's fur was surprising.

But not nearly as surprising as the lantern that lay intermingled with Macaque's own magic.

"What do you see, kid?" Wukong asked, and MK watched as Macaque sat up straighter, finally managing to pull the blankets off of himself.

"Nothing! He sees nothing! Right, bud?" Macaque asked, a panicked twinge in his voice, and-

MK could see the lantern flare, the magic traversing Macaque's entire body, before condensing around his arm.

Which proceeded to sink into the shadow on the bed.

"...Well." MK started, staring as Macaque pulled his hand out of the shadow and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "That's not something you see every day."

-

"So I was right then?" Red Son asked, "He's been storing the lantern within himself?"

"How'd you even know about the lantern..." Macaque muttered, from where he sat at the kitchen table, leaning back with his arms crossed. His glamor had been taken down, allowing everyone to see the purple streaks in his fur.

The lantern sat on the table in front of him.

"I have my sources." Red Son said, looking overly proud of himself. Macaque huffed, looking away.

"I thought you said the lantern was destroyed?" Mei said, using a spoon to lightly poke the lantern, almost as though it would grow legs and run away.

"Yeah, like, I saw you break it-" MK started, and then was stopped mid sentence as Macaque raised his fist, before harshly crushing the lantern, breaking it into pieces. A few of the others jumped. "What did you do that for-"

Macaque simply raised his hand, letting his magic call out, and letting the pieces slide back into their proper place. By the end of it, the lantern looked as good as new, as though it'd never been broken. MK watched the display with wide eyes.

"I did break the lantern." Macaque said, "It's just not that hard to fix."

"Regardless-" Wukong started, grabbing the lantern out of Macaque's hand, the lantern switching from it's usual purple to a soft golden glow as he did so. "You seriously should've told us that you have this. It would've saved you so much trouble."

"Would you have trusted me, if you knew I still had it?" Macaque asked, only to be met with silence. "...Yeah. Thought so."

There was a moment of silence as Macaque sat there, looking down, not meeting anyone's eyes. Then Sandy softly placed his hand on Macaque's shoulder.

"It's not that we wouldn't have trusted you." He said, gently. "We would've just taken a bit longer to come around, is all."

"Uh-huh, sure, keep telling yourself that." Macaque said, still looking at the floor, and thus missing the entirely silent conversation everyone else shared.

They all agreed they probably weren't going to get very far with this issue any time soon, by the look of things. (That didn't mean they wouldn't bring it up later, though.)

"If you thought we wouldn't trust you if we knew you had the lantern, then why didn't you just, I don't know, throw it away?" MK asked, and Macaque sighed, slouching down in his chair.

"...Lady Bone Demon wanted it." He muttered, and everyone immediately stood up ramrod straight.

"What?" Wukong hissed, staring down at the lantern in his hands as though he was seeing it in a new light. "Why- what could she possibly want with-"

"Don't know, didn't stick around long enough to find out." Macaque said, shrugging. MK and Red Son both looked horrified.

"That's how you got injured." MK muttered, "She must've captured you because she wanted the lantern...."

"The Lady Bone Demon has a cursed blade..." Red Son said, under his breath, only Macaque hearing him.

"Yeah yeah, I got captured, I got injured, whatever, it's all over with now." Macaque said, waving a hand around as though he wasn't making light of something horrifying. "Anyways, anyone else got any bright ideas on where to hide the lantern?"

"....Was that a pun." Wukong asked, "Seriously. You reveal that the Lady Bone Demon is after both you and the lantern and then you swap topics with a pun?"

"You got a problem with that?" Macaque asked, a smirk on his face. There was a moment of tense silence as the two of them stared at each other.

Wukong set the lantern back down on the table.

And then tackled Macaque out of his chair and onto the floor. Macaque let out a startled yelp as they went down, before quickly switching to clawing at the other as Wukong easily pinned him to the ground-

And then suddenly Wukong's grip weakened, and Macaque easily reversed their positions, pinning Wukong to the floor. For a moment the Monkey King looked confused, before a look of nervous realization appeared on his face.

"Uh- guys?" He said, nervously giggling as Macaque and the others stared at him in confusion. "Um. I think I just lost my super strength?"

[narrators-journal]

Step three

Back with another spicy part while I wait for more tasty tasty asks! This one includes consent! Look at Illumi go!

cw: nsfw, possessiveness, mentions of murder, that’s about it honestly

Previous part: here

First part: here

Illumi enjoyed his new relationship, but he was also somewhat confused by it. He was never taught much about 'dating', marriage was about the only romantic dynamic he knew of in detail, but after 5 or so outings together with you, his mother had informed him that you two were officially a couple. However, when the dark haired assassin had assured her he'd be swift in getting a wedding band for you, she'd put a halt to his plans,           "Now now Illumi dear, you can't just jump to marriage with this girl." she'd chided gently, "She's shy, you'll overwhelm her with talk of marriage so soon. You still have wooing to do, so start out slow, 'boyfriend and girlfriend' status for now." The thought made the man grimace,          "Mother, I can further court her when she's my fiancee," His mother huffed at his stubborn tone,          "Dear, the titles of 'boyfriend' and 'girlfriend' are basically the same as fiance. The only difference is referring to this girl as your girlfriend will spook her less than calling her your wife. Trust me on this, your father was not the first man to date m-" He hung up on her before she could finish that thought. Nonetheless, he took her advice and refrained from calling you his fiancee, for now, though that's what you were to him in his mind. He'd confirmed his status on your next outing together, and it was reassuring for him to see how you turned pink at his inquiry and stuttered out your acceptance, it solidified the fact that you wouldn't be a wife he needed to worry about too much. However, this progression brought a new level of reluctance to leave you, to let Milluki watch you while he was on jobs. He very much wanted to just scoop you up now and take you to the safety of his family home, but Kikyo shot the idea down again, forcing him to 'take things slow' and 'ease (y/n) into things' . This issue was, of course, never a problem at work though. While it did bother him like a needle pressed too deeply into his shirt, he was a perfect professional, and didn't let his musings over what to do about you turn his work sloppy. If anything, his desire to return to you as soon as possible made him seek out more efficient methods of disposing of his targets, which permitted him some free time to pick off the meager few friends you had on his way back to his secondary home. That sort of detour is what earned him his current position. He'd returned home from a rather textbook assassination that had been simple to do and spared him a day or two to hunt down and kill your final remaining friend to you once again miserable.        "W-we're dating, right?" you'd asked, your voice shakey with anguish despite the (favorite flower) Illumi was standing on your porch offering to you. He nodded, hiding his disdain at the word behind a mask of his usual unchanging expression, "Than...do you mind staying the night with me? I've now l-lost all of mm-my friends and I've been so lonely..." you explained, physically shaking from the strain of fighting back tears. Illumi adored seeing you so isolated and alone, it was adorable in a dark way, and it meant he could finally be your only source of substantial human contact. You'd finally depend on him severely. Of course Illumi agreed to your demand, so the two of you spent the day together, and when evening fell, you snuggled into his side, squishing your form to him as if that would push out more of the attention you so craved. It was honestly hard for him not to smile in the dark living room while you watched a movie and clung to him while he played with your (h/l), (h/c) hair, you were just too cute when you were so needy for him. Just like she was the night I'd moved in. he thought, but than had to force himself not to recall the night you'd slept on the couch in nothing but your panties and a shirt, begging for him to claim you with the way you laid on your back, shirt pushed up just enough to preview a hint of your (r/c) panties. Now was not the time to rile himself up. He might not have much self-restraint. Luckily, he had the discipline to focus on something else aside from that night, and he found he rather enjoyed having you nestled beneath his arm, your own (s/c) arm draped loosely across his chest and, after a while, your leg thrown over his lap. The simple physical contact made Illumi burn with an addictive, yet not lustful, warmth. He couldn't place the feeling, but it made the ebony haired assassin tighten his grip on your dozing form. If he wasn't certain of your destiny as his wife, he was now. After that night, he admittedly lingered a tad. He came over quite a bit under the guise of checking on you while you were so vulnerable, but it seemed he wasn't as skilled at hiding such an unknown emotion.        "Illumi?" you hummed one night when he was over, laying between your legs with his head on your chest while you lounged on the couch with a tv show on as a way to keep you from being awkward in the silence,        "Yes, (y/n)?" he responded, moving to look up at you while you threaded your fingers through his silky black hair,       "I do enjoy you coming over and spending time with me, but you do realize you can just come over to hang out sometimes, right?" you asked, smiling slightly.        "Ah, I don't want to seem overbearing," he said, lying slightly, not wanting to try and explain this addiction to your soft, affectionate touches and cuddles. You giggled, blushing a bit as you spoke again,      "Well, I-I don't mind you being over, so as long as you ask first, I don't see how you'd be overbearing." you assured. Illumi hummed in response, looking at you curiously for a moment before he resituated himself so that he was propped up on his elbows, your face darkening in response to the shift causing his hips to be pressed more against yours, to look down at you. For a moment the two of you looked at one another, than he lowered his head and kissed you. He felt you tense in response, so he pulled away slightly, far enough to break the kiss, but close enough so that his warm breath gently fanned over your (s/c) face. However, you didn't complain, instead giggling and turning a darker shade of pink, so after a short moment, he pressed his lips to yours again in a quick kiss, pausing for a shorter time before doing it again. Much to his delight, you began kissing back. With that encouragement, he held the next kiss, leading you into a short make out session. After he pulled away again, you giggled again, your face now pretty red, which gave Illumi a spark of smug satisfaction, I'm the only man you'll be this vulnerable for. He mentally told you, but he refrained from verbalizing the thought at this moment. He could potentially get consent for sex, he couldn't risk it for his controlling urges.         "Um, 'lumi?" you asked, your voice a quiet, slightly breathy whisper, drawing the man out of his possessive thoughts and back to the moment, "d-do you think we could, I dunno, um, s-see how far this goes?" you asked, your (e/c) eyes now refusing to meet his, but this time it wasn't because of how empty they were, but because of your flustered nerves.          "Only if you want to," he assured, "though, you should know that I have a habit to get a bit rough," he warned, more to see how you'd react. Judging from your embarrassed silence, you weren't opposed to that.          Such a good girl, (y/n) He thought before going in for another kiss, moving one hand to wrap around your waist, pulling you against him possessively. You squeaked, but only wrapped your arms around his neck, wiggling your hips testingly against the growing bulge in his pants, mewling when he mindlessly rutted against you. After that, things swiftly got more heated. He snuck a hand up your shirt as he moved his mouth down to your neck, no longer hesitating to leave a trail of rather rough love-bites down to your collar bone. He relished the little noises each nip and bite brought, even if they were more pained than pleasurable whimpers, as he tugged your top off and let you tentatively remove your bra, willingly revealing the soft breasts he'd memorized the night he'd laid his claim on you. Something about you shyly removing your clothes made his dick throb more. He was rather eager to nibble and suck at the tender (s/c) skin until you were writhing and whining more, your noises encouraging his touches, especially when he snaked a hand between your bodies to press against your clit and you gasped, pressing your hips into his hand hungrily. With that, he tugged your bottoms off, getting up to shed his own pants but returning to station himself back between your legs before you could sit up. He pushed you back down onto the couch and kissed you again, this time more forceful in the way he claimed your mouth and ate the needy moans you gave in response. The way you clawed into his shirt and did your best to grind against his cock to achieve any friction you could woke that primal emotion he always failed to repress, threatening to drive him crazy.       "(y/n)," he breathed, not outwardly showing just how badly a possessive, neglected desire was burning him from the inside out beyond his stiff member and the tight grip he had on your thighs, "I'm sorry if I hurt you," he said, his urges mixing with his lust strong enough for him to realize the likelihood of him potentially crossing a line. With your shy nod, he positioned himself correctly and pushed into you. He hummed along with your slightly shocked moan at the feeling of his throbbing member pressing into the delicious warmth of your welcoming cunt until he was buried up to his hilt.        "I-Illumi!" you breathed, gripping his shirt desperately while your walls twitched and spasmed around him as you adjusted to the intrusion. He grunted and kissed you as he began moving, slowly at first, but it didn't take long for the pleasure to drive him to pushing your thighs up to your chest and speeding up until the only sounds he heard in the room was the slew of lascivious noises you made and the slapping of skin upon skin. The new position made you moan more, slurring out his name, drunk on the delectable sensations after only a short while, when you orgasmed and your walls tightened around the assassin. However, he didn't stop to give you a break, only letting one of your legs go to move his hand to your hip, keeping you in place as he now plowed into you, driven by the overwhelming waves of pleasure that rolled through him. Outwardly, he didn't seem terribly phased, making few noises, but if the rough pace didn't reveal his feelings, the burning urge to make you scream his name was a big piece of evidence.         "Tell me who you belong to," he ordered, his voice firm and steady as always, despite how he was skillfully thrusting into you to make your (e/c) eyes roll into the back of your head. "Say it" he repeated, gripping your hip so hard it'd bruise again until you managed,       "y-yours! I'm yours!" you whined, clawing into the couch since you could no longer reach his shoulders,       "Again," he ordered, making sure to hit your g-spot so that you once again arched your back and moaned his name loudly,      "I'm yours! I-I'm all yours Illumi!" you gasped out, beginning to whine and whimper from the creeping pain of overstimulation, though luckily for you, the sound of you saying you belonged to  him was the push the assassin needed. He locked his hips against yours, ensuring he was as deep as he could be before shooting ropes of cum into you with a groan. As he came down from his euphoria high, he realized he still held onto your thigh and hip so hard that your thigh at least was beginning to bleed under his nails. You, however, didn't seem to mind or notice. He could see that your (e/c) eyes were already beginning to drift shut, your brain more than likely fried from your own repeated orgasm. It wasn't a new sight to him, but he savored it and the thought that he was the only one who would give you such ecstasy from now on. Once he could regain his composure, the little he lost, the man was careful as he moved you to lay on him, his dick still nestled snugly inside you, ensuring none of his potent seed slipped out while the two of you dozed off to the sounds of the forgotten TV.

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

dearest comfy <3 what if Triss was a blacksmith AND Eskel was a blacksmith??? What then?? Enemies to lovers maybe? <3

Ellie. I love you. I love this prompt. And I love Trisskel. This is a triple threat of wonderfulness. Hopefully the fic delivers 💖💖

Warnings: no violence, some hostile Triss (mostly internal), lmao is this considered idiot and exasperated to lovers? idk you tell me, its pretty chill tbh, unless you don’t like daggers. there's lots of daggers. 

_____________________

Triss was furious. 

She had spent her whole life stoking a furnace, shadowing her father, sweating, suffering burn after burn and later cut after searing cut as she learned to forge all sorts of weaponry. Now, this teddy bear-shaped child was setting up shop in her courtyard?! Unacceptable. Unbelievable! She’d staked a claim on her territory for market day early. So early she hadn’t even made her first blade. Her father still had her hammering out decorative discs and fastenings for armor. 

One of her customers had the audacity to call him ‘cute’ to her face.

He was no more than twenty-five, tall and stocky like most people expected of a blacksmith, but they claimed there was a softness about him. Triss remembered that softness well, before loss and responsibility really set in. What others saw as sweet, boyish charm she saw as a weakness. 

She sent her assistant to assess his booth, maybe flirt and ask some questions, and was even more annoyed when they came back. 

“He’s young but he’s not inexperienced. His blades are good. So is his uh… customer service.” 

Triss rolled her eyes, “What kind of weapons was he selling? I don’t care about his looks. I have breasts.”

Her assistant shrugged and described his table. 

That following week she put in double the hours at her workshop, put the extra flourish on every piece, perfected every detail until her arms ached and her head pounded. She often forgot to drink water, let alone eat, when she got worked up, so her assistant brought her meals. 

When the next market day came, she proudly displayed her new wares.

And if she took her hair out of the usual braids and unbuttoned her blouse a bit lower than last week, who would be brave enough to point it out?

This time the newcomer had the gaul to visit her booth. 

“Good morning, Miss Merigold,” he dipped in a bow of respect before she even turned around to greet him, straightening up and disarming her with a lopsided grin, “My apologies, I meant to introduce myself after last week’s market. But you were far more efficient at break-down than I.” 

She wouldn’t have called him cute by a long shot. He was downright handsome.

Then she remembered they were rivals. There would be no fraternizing with the enemy.  

It took her a moment to gather her wits before she responded, “Good morning. To whom do I owe the pleasure?”

She knew. 

Of course she knew. But he was far better looking than she had assumed, his scars only adding to his alluring presence, and she needed to feel like she had the upper hand. 

His smile grew a bit sheepish, “Eskel of the Blue Mountains. I’m your new neighbor… sort of,” he offered his hand over her table and she took it, hoping her hesitation wasn’t too obvious. 

“Welcome. I hope the city is treating you well?” 

“Well enough,” he acquiesced, letting go of her hand after a moment, “To be truthful, I haven’t left my forge much at all. I’m still getting used to her. But you know how that goes.” 

Triss raised her eyebrows and plastered an over-polite smile on her face, “I must say I wouldn’t. I inherited my forge from my father. I learned with her. We get along quite well.” 

Eskel was called by someone from his booth as he made to speak. He waved at them to wait a moment and turned back to Triss with a wink, “Well if you have any relationship advice, let me know.”

Before she could think of a polite but not too friendly response, he was gone. 

She turned back to her assistant in a huff, “He’s infuriating.” 

“He’s dreamy.”

“Hush,” she snapped, pointing to her sketch pad, “Hand me that. Call for me if there’s a large sale or a problem.”

She sketched and planned half the day away. But when she realized how much the materials for her plans would cost she adjusted her cleavage and left her tent. Someone had to drive the hard bargain around here, and she knew her assistant was too kind. 

The next week she arrived with a beautiful set of delicate-looking throwing knives, a few different ornate daggers, and a sword fit for a king alongside her typical, practical items. However, she was seeing more than just her flowing hilt designs inlaid with etchings. 

Eskel seemed to have had a similar idea.

She wandered past his booth, pretending to buy fabric from the stall next to him, and fumed. It seemed Eskel had a sharper eye than she’d anticipated. He very clearly mimicked her setup and emphasized the smaller wares like she did. He even had the same sign in three different languages about customizations and bulk orders.

This had become all out war. 

When her sword sold that day she decided to finish off the dozen or so she had laying in wait for specific orders over the week. She even detailed a breastplate to match for three of them, guessing at the size in reference to the sword as best she could. As she worked she mulled over her new competition. His soft golden eyes that crinkled ever so slightly when he smiled were absolutely aggravating. At least that’s what she told herself. It was simply her competitive nature that had her fixating on this mountain of a man. 

She returned the next week with a spread so large she could barely fit it on her table.

Eskel had come back with daggers inlaid with precious stones of dazzling pale blue and sparkling greys and whites. Blue Mountains indeed.

Polite customers started mumbling comparisons to themselves while the brash ones outwardly used the other stall to barter a better price. Every time Eskel was mentioned Triss would bristle, hold back a snarl, and turn on every bit of innocent charm she had. 

She began leaving with a lighter cart and a challenging wink from her competition. Over the week she worked her fingers to the bone over fine details and getting the balance absolutely perfect. 

After months of competition, months of uncomfortable eye contact, she finally broke when he sold a matching helmet, breastplate, and dagger to one of her most loyal customers. 

“Eskel. We need to have a word,” she marched right up to his tent, hands tucked into her half apron at her waist. 

He smirked, “That all?”

She glared at him, crossing her arms over her chest, “We can’t keep making the same things.”

“Pretty daggers and ceremonial armor? Why not?” he mimicked her, folding his massive arms over his own chest, leaning back against his table, making him just a little bit taller than Triss rather than the usual towering over her. 

She rolled her eyes and stepped a little closer, “We’ve both done well, or I’m assuming you have, but eventually all the nobility this side of the canal will have been sold to. We’ll have saturated the market and be left with an armory full of ornate weaponry with no one to buy it.”

“Preserving the market means one gets to keep said market.”

Triss nodded but Eskel seemed unimpressed. 

“And how would you suggest we settle who keeps it?” he raised an eyebrow at her and she just wanted to smack the smug look off his face. Or kiss it. She really wasn’t sure anymore. 

She scrambled for a moment, not having entirely thought this through, “A competition.”

He stood to full height and sighed, “What are the terms?”

“One dagger. Same price. Whoever sells first gets the market. The other has to branch out or move.”

Eskel nodded and held his hand out, “Agreed.”

Triss went to take his hand but he gripped her forearm, his whole hand covering much of her elbow. She did her best not to think about how strong his arm felt in her grasp, how when she squeezed she felt a gentle give before she hit muscle. 

He winked at her as he released his grasp and turned back to work, “See you next week Merigold.” 

Triss worked on a single dagger all week. 

She couldn’t get Eskel’s stupid cocky smile or his tanned arms out of her head. The way he looked down at her with that condescending smile enraged her. Her assistant claimed he looked more fond than condescending, but Triss only narrowed her eyes and shook her head. She’d been raised in the marketplace. She knew exactly how men viewed her. 

In the end, her dagger looked very fitting for a man like him. Broad, sturdy, a bit curved at the tip, and simply yet elegantly decorated. She cooled it in a liquid mixture her father had made and kept secret, giving the blade a finish similar to copper, but with all the strength of steel. 

If she noticed the coincidence she stubbornly ignored it. 

Eskel was already set up and waiting when she arrived at the market. She spared him only a curt nod while she set up her booth as if preparing for battle. 

He sauntered over to her before dawn had officially broken, blade in hand with what Triss might guess to be a nervous expression. 

“Good morning, Merigold,” he cleared his throat and set the dagger currently wrapped in cloth on the table between them, “What have you for our little competition?” 

Triss proudly pulled the dagger she had made from her case, handing it over by the hilt as she spoke, “Good morning, Eskel.”

He took the blade and hummed as he inspected it, whispering, “It’s beautiful...”

She wasn’t prepared for such a genuine compliment. Nor was she prepared for how much she loved hearing that word fall from his lips.

“Th-thank you.”

Eskel handed it back before unwrapping his.

Triss almost had to catch her breath. It was gorgeous, gracefully curved, a turquoise stone grip bordered by an ornate handguard. The part that really got her though was the engraving on the blade. She stepped out and around the table to catch more of the sunlight to see what it was and gasped. Little jasmine flowers were etched into the flat of the blade. 

She looked up at him in awe, “Why jasmine?”

He gave her a crooked smile, rubbing the back of his neck, “You, ahm- your perfume. It is jasmine right?” 

She tilted her head and really looked at him since the first time she met him, “You noticed my perfume?”

“It’s nice,” he shrugged, stuffing his hands in his leather apron pockets. 

Triss thought about all the winks and the ‘good mornings’ and compliments. She’d thought they were just to get her buttered up, but maybe she’d been a little harsher than she needed to.

“It’s stunning,” she breathed, reaching up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, not wanting to pull away from his warmth when she had to. 

They were interrupted by her assistant and set a price quickly before scurrying back to their tents. 

All day they would glance toward the other’s booth, but Triss was no longer checking his table. She was looking for him. His kind smile and boisterous laugh. His easy charm and especially his humility under pressure. 

All day she struggled with the realization that she was just a little bit in love with her competition. 

Nearing sundown she told her assistant to begin cleaning up and grabbed her coin purse before marching over to his stand once again. 

“Did you sell it?” Eskel looked disappointed and she was surprised to be glad to tell him no. 

“I have two things to say and I will only say them once, so listen carefully. I realize I’ve been unduly cold to you and I want to apologize. You’ve proven that you’re not only a skilled craftsman but seem to be a good man as well and you don’t deserve it. “

“Apology accepted,” Eskel grinned, leaning back on his table as he waited for her next item.

“Thank you. Now, I’d like to buy the dagger. The one with the jasmines.”

Eskel frowned, “You- you’re forfeiting?”

Triss bit her lip and forced herself to look him in his honey gold eyes, “Yes. Though I hope we can both agree to stay where we are? I think I might miss you if you leave.”

He grinned and pushed off the table, standing just inches from Triss now that he was upright. His hand hesitantly brushed a stray curl out of her eyes as he leaned closer, hesitating to give her time to leave if she wanted, before he brushed his lips against hers. She melted into him, wrapping her arms around his neck as they kissed. His hands covered her back, pressing her to him and nearly lifting her off her feet. 

When they parted they were gasping for breath they both wished they didn't need.

“What about a trade and a truce?” 

Triss nodded, standing up on her tiptoes to plant another kiss on his lips, “And dinner.”

Eskel chuckled, “I think that’s perfectly reasonable.” 

[strafethesesinners]

Tagged by @blissfulalchemist to post a fic from a year or more ago (? I think that’s how it goes). None of my Far Cry 5 is a year old yet, but I’ll take this opportunity to post this Dishonored oneshot I did back in 2016. 

(I’ll tag some people if you want to do it or just want to read @risenlucifer @nightwingshero @chazz-anova @smithandrogers @madsismad @amistrio @chyrstis @consumedkings @faithchel @shallow-gravy)

Spoilers for the Knife of Dunwall Dishonored DLC Warnings for violence and gore Words: 2392  also on AO3

Daud was drowning. The icy, stinking water of the Wrenhaven River grew darker and darker above his head as he sank further into its depths. Daud was a strong swimmer, but something had a hold of his legs, pulling him down. He looked below him and screamed. Hundreds, thousands of corpses clogged the riverbed, clinging to his legs, his arms, and tearing at his clothes with rotting claws. Water rushed into his throat, but he could not close his mouth or his eyes. The more he struggled, the harder the bodies gripped him. They were screaming, moaning, begging for mercy. The water became blood: the blood of every person he had ever killed. It was choking him, yet he could not die. The pleading eyes of the corpses turned black and Daud understood: he was already dead and this was his hell. Still he fought against it, trying in vain to break free and reach the surface, but the ghosts clung on, all of them wailing as one.

“Mommy!”

Daud woke up shaking, his stomach curdling. He sat up and dry heaved over his blankets, but nothing came up. He tore off his sweat soaked shirt and tried to stand. It took him several minutes to regulate his breathing and bring his mind back to reality. It was barely after sunset, judging by the faint light coming through the glass-less windows. Daud lit a cigarette and walked out onto his small balcony on the top floor of the Chamber of Commerce building. He took a deep breath, welcoming the cool air on his sweaty face. The Flooded District smelled of Weepers, dead rats, and whale oil, but it was a familiar smell, and lately, Daud had been latching onto anything even vaguely comforting. He was starting to think his assassins were right, and he was losing it. He could sense them losing confidence in him day by day, and he was grateful none of them were here right now to see him trembling, and sweating, wearing only his trousers: terrified of a dream. But as his mind grew clearer, it seemed odd that no one was around. Daud’s eyes scanned the rooftops carefully. There were no Whalers in sight. A different sort of unease pricked at the back of his mind, as he tossed his cigarette butt away. Instantly, he was alert: listening, watching. He tensed. His scarred hands gripped the iron railing, the Outsider’s Mark glowing faintly on the back of his left hand. Daud was about to turn back into his room when he heard a click behind him, and the cold metal of a pistol pressed against the base of his skull. 

He froze. There were only two people in the world that could sneak up on him undetected. Not sure which one he was dreading more, he spoke.

“Billie?”

“Yes.”

The shock of hearing her voice was colder than the hands of the nightmare ghosts. Daud now knew he would have gladly taken the Royal Protector over this; he would have taken anything over this. Daud’s mind was reeling, but he kept himself absolutely still, and his voice calm.

“You’re here to kill me.”

“Yes,” she said again, although it had not been a question. His dream came rushing back to him, and he was suddenly afraid. All these years he had often longed to die, but now a terrible thought occurred to him. What if these dreams were glimpses of what was to come? He never asked the Outsider, but he assumed that his spirit would go to the Void after his death. What if his fate was an eternity drowning in blood in the Void; tormented forever by those he had slain? 

I don’t want to die, he thought, almost frantically, I can’t die. His heart was beating hard, but still he remained outwardly calm. Billie kept her pistol at his head, but had not moved to pull the trigger. Daud took her hesitation as a good sign. This would not be an easy thing for her. Daud had not become the most feared man in the Empire through violence alone; he was as cunning as he was ruthless, and he had talked himself out of sticky situations almost as much as he had fought his way out. If he could somehow convince her to spare him…..

“Billie…” he began.

“Don’t try to talk your way out of this one, Daud,” Billie said. Her voice was clear; she wasn’t wearing her mask.

“You know me too well, Lurk,” he said wryly.

“Shut up, I know what I’m doing and you’re not going to change my mind.” The slightest tremor ran up her arm; Daud could feel it through the pistol point. 

“Kill me then,” Daud said. She did nothing. Daud took a chance, and turned slowly around to face her. She did not lower the pistol, but neither did she fire. Billie’s eyes were wide, but there was a determined set to her jaw. It was an expression he knew well. She had the same look when they had first met, and she had dared to face him: clearly frightened and yet too stubborn to back down. 

“Can at least ask why I’m about to die?” He looked her in the eye.

“You’re weak,” she replied coldly, “and old. This outfit needs a new leader. Someone to get us through this plague, and the chaos you caused by killing the Empress. I don’t want to do this, but it has to be done.”

“Does it now?” Daud snapped. There was an awful pain in his chest. Worse than any physical wound he’d ever had. It was a pain he hadn’t felt since he realized he would never see his mother again. “I always assumed one of you would kill me and take my place,” he said more softly, “ I just never thought…” He couldn’t finish his sentence. He knew he was too compromised to get out of this one by talking, Billie was much too close to him and had learned all his tricks over the years; the realization made him sick. He had never felt so vulnerable. 

“You’re right, Billie,” he said, “I always thought of myself as clever, but clearly I was a fool for ever trusting you.”

Billie smiled her little apologetic smile; the one she would wear when he scolded her for killing one guard too many, and she knew he didn’t really mean it.

“There’s more to it,” she said, “you deserve to know the truth. The woman you’ve been seeking, Delilah,”

“What about her?”

“She…..came to me, a while back. She offered me so much…...showed me a new way to see; she gave me so much more than you ever did. More than you could ever hope to give.”

Daud could hear the contempt in her speech and it hurt. But now anger was starting to burn in his veins. Of course it all came back to her. Delilah. She had taken his best fighter, his best friend even, certainly the only person he cared about in the world, and turned her against him. A familiar itch clawed it’s way down his arms, making his fingers twitch and ache for a blade. The sun went down behind the buildings, and the Flooded District was doused in the cool grey glow of twilight.

“The power she has, Daud,” Billie was saying, “you can’t even imagine. She’s stronger than you, stronger than anyone I’ve ever known. And all I have to do to be at her side is…..get rid of you.”

She stared at him and her eyes were sad. Daud’s head was pounding.

“I’m sorry, Daud,” Billie said. 

“Me too,” he said. 

Daud’s hand flashed up and grabbed Billie’s arm, forcing it to the side. Her shot went wide, and he twisted her arm hard. She gave a gasp of pain, and the pistol fell over the railing into the muddy water far below. Daud transversed past her back into his room. He snatched his sword up from beside his bed, there was no time to grab anything else. Billie drew her sword. The metal floor was cold on Daud’s bare feet as they circled each other for a moment; the Outsider’s Mark burned hot. Billie sent a wristbow bolt at his head, and he dodged, then drove forward with a quick thrust at her midriff. She blocked it just in time, and pushed back against his blade. She stomped down on the top of his right foot with her boot, the pain made him falter and she beat his sword aside and punched him in the face. Daud hopped backward, ducking as another bolt flew over his head. He spat out a mouthful of blood with a curse, and then transversed behind her and struck. She turned and parried, and he blocked her retaliatory slash. They battled back and forth across the metal walkway that served as Daud’s bedroom for what seemed like an hour. It was hard to measure time during a fight. But Daud was the better swordsman, and he was closing on Billie when she crouched, opened her mouth, and screamed. 

The sound was like a physical force. It lifted Daud up off his feet and sent him tumbling over the railing into his office below. He landed hard on his desk. For a brief moment he lay stunned; the air knocked out of him. Then her heard the sound of Billie blinking down next to him and jumped up as quickly as he could. He wasn’t quite fast enough. Her sword missed its target of his neck, but cut his shoulder to the bone. The pain of it spurred his desperation, and he attacked with everything he had left. Billie was never taken off guard, but his fury did seem to rattle her some. He managed to get in a few cuts of his own in as her first few blocks came too slow. But against her padded leather whaler suit, the damage was nowhere near as bad as when she hit him. Soon he was bleeding heavily from wounds to his forearms and chest, in addition to his shoulder,and his strength was starting to fade. He could barely lift his sword arm high enough to parry her strikes. He curled his Marked hand into a fist and sent a call out through the Void, but no assassins appeared. Billie must’ve told them ahead of time what she planned, and killed anyone who objected. Daud wondered if Thomas was dead, or if he had also turned against him. He retreated across the room. He tried one of the doors, thinking of escape, but they were barred from the other side.

Of course he thought grimly. He spied the open window behind his desk, and blinked over to it, using the last of his energy. He turned to locate her before he jumped. Billie was standing in the middle of the office. She raised her hand, and sent a shower of several shadowy darts flying at him. He blocked some with his sword, and covered his face with his other arm. But there were too many. One went through his thigh, three into his unprotected guts, and one into his chest. It had missed his heart he know, or he would already be dead, but he could tell it had punctured his lung. He fell to one knee, struggling to breathe. Billie came towards him, but stopped at his desk, just out of reach. Daud still gripped his sword tightly. She approached him slowly. He attempted one last weak slash, but she grabbed his wrist and wrenched the sword from his hand. Gently, she set it down on his desk. 

“It’s over, Daud,” she said quietly. 

“Looks like it, huh? I taught you too well,” he laughed, and blood came bubbling up his throat. He choked and coughed, the blood spattering down his bare chest and onto the wooden floorboards. He slumped back against his bookshelf. Billie stood watching him. When he looked up at her again, her eyes were wet. Daud had never once seen her cry. And yet, staring into her eyes, Daud knew she was still going to go through with it. He wasn’t ready to face the Void, but, now that it seemed inevitable, he wasn’t so afraid as before. There was no point. The best he could hope for was that he was wrong, and that there was nothing after death. And the worst…..Daud wondered if it was possible to fight ghosts in hell. He wanted to laugh again, but it hurt too much. Blood leaked steadily from the holes in his gut. 

“It was always going to end this way, Daud,” she said, “You and me. It’s our nature. But you’re not as weak as I thought.”

“Thanks,” Daud coughed again. The pain was agonizing. “Could you find it in you to end it quickly?” he gasped out. Billie continued to stare at him, unmoving. Daud didn’t know how long it was going to take to die, maybe up to an hour depending on how bad the wound in his chest was, maybe even longer.  But maybe that was all part of it. He never thought Billie hated him so much. He tried to reach up to her and she flinched back, still wary.

“I’m not going to fight you anymore, Billie, I just need you to do it now. If you ever had any….feeling for me at all, don’t let me die like this, make it a clean death.” She still did nothing, looking at him almost in disbelief now, as if she didn’t quite trust what she was seeing. “Billie, please,” Daud said, “don’t make me beg.”

Without a word, Billie took his sword from the desk and knelt down so she was level with him. She reached out and cupped his face in her gloved hand, and then drove his sword into his heart with all her strength. He convulsed once as his life bled away.

“Sorry, Daud,” Billie whispered. 

Her whisper went on and on and turned into the haunting hiss of runesong, which became the mournful cry of whales. The pale blue light of the Void crept over his sight, obliterating everything else, and the Knife of Dunwall was dead.

[sireniana]

A Gift of a Better Kind- Part Six

"I- um, am I here to be a vessel?" No use putting off the inevitable, after all.

"No! No, you're to-too special for that, I don't like using nice people. Makes me sad."

Nice? How on earth had I been nice to him?

"I'm not special, unless you count being a weirdo to be particularly special." I mumbled, crossing my arms over my chest defensively.

"You're not really a weirdo! Besides, you're special in my m-mind. That counts, doesn't it?" He hurried, words more fluid in his apparent urgency.

Ok, why is he being sweet? Isn't this man supposed to be a creepy, cold blooded, human-experimenting cultist?

"Ummm, I suppose in a way, yes." I managed as calmly as could be expected.

My train of thought was cut short as a cold wind whipped up from the water and rapped itself about me like a chilling embrace, sending a shiver down my body. Even in the height of summer the domain of Lord Moreau held its own chill, pressing in like an unwelcome guest. I shuddered again, trying to wrap my thin, short sleeved dress closer about me.

A door creaked, and then:

"Come in, it's no good for you to be out here getting ch-chilly."

I stepped slowly across the platform, boards creaking slightly with every step, and at last reached the open doorway. Hesitantly, I moved through it, wishing for the hundredth time that I could have foregone the abhorrent blindfold.

"Moreau?" I asked, testing his name, and finding it gave a similar chill to his territory, "May I take this off now?"

A sudden shuffling sound, like he expected me to grab for it again.

"Wa-wait till I hide, please." Came from my left, and then more hurried shuffling.

I waited, still feeling like the wind held me tight, despite being indoors now. Finally, after a bit of shuffling and bumping into things:

"Ok, you c-can take it off now."

I did just that with much relief. Despite being somewhat short sighted, I relied heavily on my sight to guard from dangers, such as: giant monsters who wanted to lock me away.

Not like that was a likely scenario or anything.

Through with my mental sass, I eyed my new cell. It was an old shack, small, decrepit, and littered with old rags and fish bones. Gross, but still nearly not as bad as my friend's room. At least I had something to keep me occupied.

He must have still been able to see me because he abruptly began apologizing for the state of the place.

Barely resisting the urge to spin toward his voice, I waved him off gently; something a bit more interesting (not to mention organized) had caught my eye.

A small bookshelf, the only thing that seemed well maintained. At first I thought it held what most bookshelves find themselves laiden with: books. And there were a few, but what really caught my eye were the movies.

Hundreds of dvd cases, many of them in black and white and almost all romance, sat neatly stacked on the shelves.

"You really like romance, huh?" I blurted before I could think.

"...Yes." He mumbled. He sounded closer than before, but I ignored my immediate goosebumps.

"I wouldn't know what I like," I said lightly, "I've never seen a movie before."

A small gasp, and then:

"How could you not have? They're so wonderful!" He was no longer reserved, for the moment he seemed positively bubbly.

I laughed, this new mood was so surprising that I couldn't help myself.

"I never got the opportunity, we aren't exactly loaded with technology in the village." I explained hurriedly, before he could ask why I was laughing.

A pause and then, timid again:

"Would you like to?"

One little movie couldn't hurt, after all,

at least I'd come back to the village with more stories to tell, right?

It turned out that I do, in fact, like romance movies. And if I and the giant monster just out of my sight both let out a sob at the exact same time on numerous occasions, well, nobody needed to know.

I wiped the tears (Moreau had been cutting onions, there was no other reason) from my eyes and smiled.

"That was so cool!" I grinned.

"Yes, the cinematography is excellent, especially for the time. I just wish they hadn't killed him!"

Moreau agreed, voice full of passion this time, not mucus.

"I mean, he did kidnap her…." I argued hesitantly, despite agreeing with him.

"He didn't know how to express his love!" He clamoured, and I chuckled.

"Fine, fine, I admit I was sad they killed him." I begrudgingly conceded, throwing up my hands in defeat.

"Seee? I told you!" He rumbled happily.

"Yeah, but at least I wasn't yelling at Christine not to take his mask off!"

He stopped, and the room fell dead quiet.

"What?" I asked, inadvertently turning slightly.

He let out a terrified "No!" And I heard running, and a splash.

He thought I was going to look at him. Why did he care?

What was with him? Shouldn't he love his "gifts" or whatever that Mother Miranda called them? It made no…

Sense.

"Mother!" Squealed a five year old me, "Why did the doctor become a monster?"

Her expression changed from wistful to serious instantaneously.

"My dear…" she began slowly. "Have you heard of… Mother Miranda?"

"Of course! People talk about her all the time! I'm practically an expert!" I grinned with all the self importance a chubby little girl can muster.

"And of her "gifts" she gave to those whom she took many years ago?"

"Yup!" I said, looking up at her with bright eyes.

"You know how Mother Miranda gave her "gifts" to many, but only few could truly receive them?" She asked, looking pale and tired, like this part of the story was more than a fairytale.

I nodded, my eyes growing round with curiosity.

"The doctor, poor man, was doomed to be between, never fully receiving or rejecting, but always bearing her gift outwardly, to show the world what she could do to those who questioned her. You must always remember, only a true monster can take an innocent and create in them something monstrous too. It only makes sense."

It would seem that some stories ring with more truth than even the tellers imagine.

♥️

[all-theimaginess]

“Awkwardly Close”

Prompt: Imagine injuring yourself on a mission and Pietro is the only one in the tower so you have to ask him to help you get undressed Requested by: Anonymous Warnings?: Partial nudity. Language? A/N: Happy New Years Eve! I hope you all enjoy this. Not my gif. This is a repost!

Of course you had to accidentally hurt yourself on a mission. It was bound to happen sooner or later, but you were hoping it would have been much later. You wince when the quinjet lands, clutching your arm which was in a makeshift sling. Somehow you had managed to dislocate your shoulder, which Clint popped back into place, fracture a bone in your upper arm, and bruise a couple of ribs. Needless to say, S.H.I.E.L.D. got you out of there as soon as they could. You slowly rise from your seat as the door opens and make your way inside. The feeling of being home was the only relief you felt as your side throbbed.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., Is there anyone here?” You ask when you finally get inside.

“Just you and Mr. Maximoff. Do you need assistance, Y/N?” The system asked.

“I might.. but unfortunately I don’t think that it’s anything that you can help me with.” You said, doubt in your voice.

You wince as a fresh wave of pain radiates through your body. You couldn’t wait until you could go in your room and relax. The thought of a shower made you smile, but then you remembered your predicament. How were you going to change? You groaned outwardly as you sat gingerly on your bed. You guessed the shower would have to wait, but you still needed to get out of your battle worn clothes. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., could you please get Pietro for me?”

“Right away, Y/N.” There’s a brief pause before the A.I. speaks once more. “He is on his way..”

“Thank you.” You say as you feel a gust of air across your face.

“What do you need, draga.?” He asks with his signature smirk.

You eye him as you grasp your side. “I might need some help… I’m having some trouble lifting my arm… And I would really like to change out of these clothes.” You explain, watching his expression and the realization hitting him.

A smirk appeared on his features so quickly that you weren’t sure that the previous one ever left. “You need help undressing?” He asked, confirming.

“Yes..” You reply hesitantly.

Pietro’s expression softened as he took a couple of steps toward you. “Of course I’ll help you, Y/N.” He said sweetly, touching your good arm and trying to make you feel more comfortable.

You smile in gratitude before moving to your closet. It took more effort than you would have liked, but it was manageable. A couple of minutes later, you had a nice comfy outfit to change into. You glance at Pietro and he offers you a warm smile. You sighed and a another wave of pain coursed through you making you whimper. You carefully turned to Pietro. It wasn’t like you were going to be completely naked in front of him. Maybe you were more nervous than you should be. It would be just like him seeing you in a bathing suit… but there was something different about underwear. You and Pietro were friends and you hoped that this wouldn’t be too awkward.

Sensing your pause, Pietro sped over to you. “It’s okay draga. This is only as awkward as we make it, right?” He paused, looking into your eyes. “I will try not to look if that makes you feel better.” The silver-haired man said in a comforting tone, which you really appreciated, so you nodded. Then, Pietro slowly moved to help you with your jacket, which had been ripped on the sleeve during the battle.

You tried to relax a little, but every time you did, a spasm of pain would hit you. You could see the worry in Pietro’s eyes every time you flinched. “I’ll be okay, Piet.” You assured him with a weak smile. The time had come for him to help you with your shirt since your jacket was laying in the chair next to your closet. ‘This is probably going to hurt like a bitch.’ You thought to yourself.

“Do you have another one of these shirts?” He asked, to which you nod and give him a puzzled look.

“It’s a long sleeve though. Why? What do you want to do?”

“I just thought it might be less painful for you if I just rip the shirt.” He suggested.

You pause in thought before responding. “Okay, go ahead.” You concede, giving him permission.

Probably about two seconds later your shirt was in two pieces, ripped at the seams, and laying on your floor. You tried to cover yourself with your good arm over your bra while Pietro stood in front of you with the tank top that you had chosen. You thought that you saw his eyes widen, but maybe it was a trick of the light, nonetheless heat still rose to your cheeks. He leaned in, raising the shirt above your head and bringing it down. The fabric slid down your body easily as your good arm came out and went into the designated arm hole. Pietro tried to help you move your wounded arm gingerly into the arm hole. This sparked more pain radiating through your arm and side. You winced and bit your lip, trying to hide some of the whimpering that was sure to follow soon. Unknowingly, a tear fell down your cheek from the pain. Finally your arm was through the hole and back to your side.

Pietro wiped the tear away. “The worst part is over, draga.” He assured you with a bit of relief. He didn’t like seeing you in pain like this. “When everyone returns, we should get you to the infirmary.” He suggested.

You nod, still trying to mentally make the pain ease. Reaching down, you try to unbutton your pants, successfully. You know it’s a rare kind of day when you can say that undoing your pants is a win. You wiggle your hips gingerly, your brows furrowing when the pants only went down a little bit.

“Let me help. I thought that’s what you asked me here for.” He smiles, grabbing the sides of your pants and pulling them down.

“Show-off.” You grumble as you kick off your pants. You look back to Pietro, who now has your comfy shorts in his hands. He kneeled with his head down and you put your hand on his shoulder for support. One foot in after the other. He slid the shorts up your legs as he lifted from the kneel. Your good hand caught the shorts and pulled them up the rest of the way, fixing them the best you could. Pietro pulled up slightly on the other side so that the waistband was just above your hips.

Pietro stepped back and smiled. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“No, it wasn’t.” You smile weakly back, starting to feel woozy. “Thank you for helping me, Piet.” Your smile was warmer this time around.

“Anytime, draga.” He smiled warmly back. “Do you want me to stay with you? You know, until the others return.. In case you need anything..” He offered sweetly.

You nod once more, clutching your side, and Pietro helped you to your bed. You ended up sitting straight against your headboard while you and Pietro watched television. “I have to thank you again. Not only for helping me, but for being a perfect gentleman through it.” You smile over to him.

Pietro smiled back. “Again, anytime. Don’t tell anyone about the gentleman part though, I have reputation to protect.”

You chuckle in response. “Yeah, okay Speedy.”

[cummingforkylo]

I was wondering, if you could write a Kylo and reader smut where he’s got the readers back like presses against his front while he’s fucking her and maybe chokes her a bit. Cause like. I need they in my life. Maybe even someone like Hux walks in on them? I really just need some rough dominant kylo smut in my life. 🤪😍 your writing is amazing by the way

Okay so I may have wrote something really long, really smutty and like...really terrible. Like...Kylo is not even kind of a good guy in this. So I mixed this request with another one: “hey!!! Love love LOVE your blog!! 😍 alsooo could you write something in which Kylo and reader are not really together but they have really really rough sex and kinda dub con but not really and the reader asks him to stop bc it’s hurting a little too much and kylo realises and starts being super soft™️ and kissing her and saying he’s sorry?” but like...god he does not say sorry and is not soft. So maybe this isn’t anything either of you want, its entirely self indulgent, annndd actually kind of personal? But it is SUPER long so you know:

Following Rating: Explicit/NSFWCW: dubcon/noncon, nasty sex, throat fuckingWord count: 2,234Prompt/summary:rough dominant Kylo, mildly obsessed reader. 

Your mind was always filled with daydreams, plans, fantasies, impossible ones but you couldn’t help but indulge them. You had lived on and off Star Destroyers and other ships your whole life. You mother was a highly regarded engineer, your father, the Captain of a Dreadnaught, they were decorated veterans of the Empire and now decorated in The First Order. You were supposed to follow in their footsteps, be smart, powerful, courageously  wage war agains the Resistance, but you couldn’t find that drive in you. What motivated you was the love of language, of stories, fantasies, and people. You always felt too connected with people to be part of the cold regime of the First Order. You couldn’t detach yourself the way others could, you couldn’t let go of your empathy. Your daydreams and feelings had always been a source of frustration in your parents, you were born into a good family, a good name with the chance to really make a name for yourself, they gave you all the opportunities. The best education. The best introductions. Yet, you still struggle.

You still lived in your father’s quarters on the Supremacy while you finished your schooling, but you had begun to fixate on something, The Supreme Leader. You didn’t see him often, but when you caught glimpses of him around the ship your imagination would run wild. You wondered what he was like, if he was really as hot tempered as everyone said, you wondered at how powerful he was and you tried to understand how someone so outwardly beautiful could be as dark and twisted as everyone said he was. You didn’t believe it so you did something stupid. You took to following him around the ship. You tried to stay back from him and of course, you could never go into rooms you didn’t have clearance to enter, but you lagged behind him as he walked through the halls. You listened to his hushed conversations with Generals and other leaders within the First Order.

You ever started to write about him, just little notes about the way he moved or the tilt of his head as he listened to something he didn’t like. Nothing of significance to anyone but yourself. You kept it all on your datapad, not thinking about if anyone would be able to read it. You were finishing writing something down in the hallway right after he had ducked into a door you couldn’t follow him through when the door unexpectedly opened with a blast of air. You jumped so bad you nearly dropped your datapad and you tried to step towards the wall so Kylo wouldn’t notice you but it was too late, he had stepped into your path, towering over you.

“Are you following me?” He asked, his voice filled with a dark anger.

“N-No!” You said immediately, but your voice was shaking. Kylo’s eyes darted over your face, taking you in.

“Then how come every time I turn around, I see you?” he asked, he took a step towards you, you stepped back but it didn’t do much, he was still directly in front of you. Your heart thudded in your chest hard, you had thought you had been so sneaky, you had thought no one noticed. That was obviously not the case.

“I…” You didn’t know what to say, you had no explanation. His dark brown eyes seemed black with anger and there was a spark of electricity that ran through his expression. His energy crackled with instability. It was everything that had attracted you to him in the first place. You swallowed, searching for something to say. You were at a loss though.

“Nothing to say?” he asked.

“I don’t f-follow you.” You insisted. His mouth twisted into a grimace at the lie and he lifted his hand. There was a moment where you wondered what he was doing but then he was in your mind. You felt as though your skull might crack open from the pressure. It came in waves that staggered you, you stumbled backwards again and your back in the wall. He must have followed you because as you tried to force your eyes open to look at him, he was still right in front of you. Each thought of him was pulled to the forefront of your mind, your attraction, your curiosity, your admiration, your interest, and your writing. The vice grip on your mind released in a whoosh and a gasp. You leaned forward, trying to catch your breath,

“Insolent, girl.” He snarled and his hand closed around your datapad. You lunged for it but your hand froze in the air, it tensed there, completely locked up. Panic swept through you as he looked at the datapad, scrolling through your pages of notes on…him. There were things in there that you would have never admitted to anyone. “You stupid girl, did you think I didn’t notice you lurking around me?” he asked, looking up from the datapad. He dropped it onto the ground, it didn’t smash but the screen went dark.

Kylo released the Force that had been holding you but his hand found your upper arm. His fingers closed in a vice grip reminiscent of what he had done to your mind earlier. He drags you away from the wall, across the hall to the door he had come out of. He placed his other palm against the scanner and the doors whooshed open again. He marched you inside and shoved you so hard that you lost your balance and fell to the ground in front of him.

“If you’re so obsessed with knowing the real me, why don’t I show you?” He asked, his voice had a tiny tremor in it, like he was trying to keep himself under some control.

“No, I didn’t mean-please!” You gasped but he strode up to you and grabbed the back of your head, his other hand worked on his trousers, unbuckling them with a swift precision. You found yourself in a position you had thought about a number of times.You were stiffened by fear much more now than you had been in your fantasies but at the same time, liquid excitement gathered in your belly. It made your nipples go stiff, it made your heart beat a little faster-or maybe that was the fear.

“I thought this is what you wanted, you dirty slut.” His breathing was rough, that strained lilt in his voice echoed in your mind. His hand had worked his pants down by now and the size of his cock panicked you and turned your bones to mush.  “You fantasized about it, little girl. You’ve never been fucked by anyone and yet you thought about getting on your knees and pleasing my cock, haven’t you?” he asked. He didn’t need to ask, he had seen it. He had watched your fantasies in your mind. “It’s almost endearing. Your obsession.” He said. Your face was hot with embarrassment and tears welled up, making your eyes prickle and you lip tremble. You had no words.

“I didn’t-“

“Didn’t what? Want this?” His hand curled into your hair, his fingers scraped your scalp as he gathered a fistful of it. “We both know that isn’t true.” He said through a nasty chuckle. You hated that he was right. “Open your mouth before I lose patience.” He said. His fist in your hair dragged you down towards his cock, your mouth opened almost instinctually and you felt the warmth of the tip of his cock thrust into your mouth. His hips rocked forward and his cock entered your mouth, enveloped in heat and wetness. Your tongue circled his head, while your lips struggled to wrap around how thick his cock was. His hand in your hair tightened, pulling you unquestioningly forward, the tip pressed into the back of your throat. Spit filled your mouth, slipping in streams and rivulets down out of your mouth and down the sides of his cock. You gagged and tried to pull back. His hand at the back of your head an immoveable barrier, keeping you locked on his cock.

You couldn’t breath, your body screamed for release from choking on the intrusion in your throat. Your throat contracted around his cock, tears streamed out of your eyes. Kylo ripped your head back from his cock and you sucked in air finally. You nearly retched. He caught your face in his hand, pinching your cheeks between his thumb and his fingers.

“Do you think I’m as dark as everyone says I am, yet?” his deep voice rolled out of him and that sparking energy around him burned through you.

“Yes,” you managed to garble out through your spit and tears. You regretted every thought you had had about him, everything you wrote wondering if he was really as fearful as everyone said seemed so foolish now.

“I dont think you understand just yet.” He said. He shoved you down by your hair, pushing you onto all fours.

“No, no, no no!” you sobbed, realizing what he was doing you struggled forward but he caught your hips in his big hands, keeping you in place. You said no, but your body was a traitor and it was screaming yes. Kylo’s hands shoved your skirt up. It would only take a flick of his hand and he would see your shame, he would see how excited you had gotten by being used by him. Kylo must have head this in your thoughts because his hand paused in its movements,

“You’re desperate for me, aren’t you, little slut?” he asked. You whined, unable to manage something else. He knew it was true. He could see your mind. There was no use arguing, and he was going to use you even more. You wanted it and didn’t at the same time. Your cunt was throbbing with need but you remembered his size, you remembered how rough he was and ice daggers of fear spiked through you.

“You write all about me, about how you know I would make you feel good and now you can’t even manage a ‘yes sir’ ? Disgusting.” Kylo ripped your underwear down and you moaned in shame, pleasure and fear. Course leather ran over your exposed pussy, dipping into the folds. He knelt behind you, your fear and burning pleasure mounted at the same time. He pressed the head of his cock against you, running it along your slit, it grazed against your clit and you yelped at the sensitive bundle of nerves being touched without warning. Involuntarily your hips shimmed back towards his cock,

“You nasty girl. If your cunt didn’t look so inviting I wouldn’t bother giving you what you want.” He growled. You wanted to sob that it wasn’t what you wanted, that you couldn’t take his cock but you doubted it would matter to him. He shoved himself forward and the breath was kicked out of you in a gasp. He filled your whole pussy, he had buried his  whole cock deep inside of you in one thrust. There was no room left for motion, you were sure of it. Pleasure, pain and a mix of desperation and distress filled your body, you felt weak and unable to move. His cock felt like it would split you in half but you could also feel how lubricated you were.

“Your cunt  is so tight,” he gasped, he started to drag his cock back out, looking down at it. “You didn’t even bleed, little girl. You’re just that desperate.” He growled. Your pussy was burning with the stretch, burning with the pleasure. His cock smacked into you again, you felt garbled, uncontrollable and lost. You felt like you were unfurling underneath him, your fantasies becoming reality was too much and you were losing your mind each time he slammed into you. Each thrust sent your jerking forward. Your face pressed into the floor and he held your hips up as he rocked into you. Your breath came out in gasps or low pained moans,

“Oh…ah…Oh! No! Oh…” each thrust sent fireworks bursting under your skin, not only in a good way, not only in a burning pain. All of the above.  Kylo leaned over your back, pressing his lips to your ear,

“Do you think you understand me now?” He asked. You sobbed in response. His fingers closed into your hair again and he ground your face against the floor. “Do you think I care even a iota about you? Or that you’re sobbing on my floor?” His hips hadn’t slowed, they snapped into you again and again and again.

“No!” you sobbed.

“Good job, whore. You’ve gotten one thing right.” He snarled, his hips smacked into yours over and over. Pleasure washed over you, but it was like an out of body pleasure. You could feel your own orgasm mounting. He must have heard this, “No. You don’t get to cum.” His hips sped again and the pleasure mingled with pain once again. With his hand in your hair, tugging your head back from the floor now he thrust one last time inside before ripping away, leaving your cunt dripping and clenching on air. Hot ropes of cum spilled over your back, ass and up into your hair. Kylo smacked your ass and stood up.

“Get out.” He said.

[afni-fics]

In Hindsight: Chapter 5: In the Present... At Face Value

In Hindsight: Chapter 5: In the Present... At Face Value by C_R_Scott

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Tim Drake/Tam Fox, Jack Drake/Janet Drake, Janet Drake & Tim Drake, Jack Drake & Tim Drake, Lucius Fox/Tanya Fox, Tim Drake & Tam Fox

Characters: Tim Drake, Tam Fox, Janet Drake, Jack Drake, Lucius Fox, Bruce Wayne

Additional Tags: Tim Drake-centric, Family Drama, Family Secrets, Family Feels, Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, Childhood Memories, Childhood Sweethearts, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Good Parent Janet Drake, Bad Parent Jack Drake, no beta we die like robins, Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

Story Summary: What if Tim Drake was originally raised by his maternal grandmother for the first eight years of his life due to "circumstances" involving his biological parents? What if Tim's grandmother was also the next door neighbor and occasional sitter for Lucius Fox's family?

Chapter Summary: When Tim was a child, his father Jack had told him and his mother that his beloved grandmother had passed away while she was in the hospital due to pneumonia. But eight years later, a trusted family friend is telling him something very different.

"Is that what Jack told you and your mother? He told you both your Nana was dead?"

Out of all of Bruce's Robins, past and present, Tim was proud of having the distinction of being known as the best detective out of all of them. His mind was as nimble as Nightwing was agile. He had figured out Batman's true identity at age nine. He discovered his father was lost in time when everyone else thought he was dead. He successfully routed Ra's al Ghul and prevented him from stealing Wayne Enterprises out from under the family.

Unfortunately, having such a nimble mind meant that the moment Lucius Fox's words left his mouth, Tim was already more than halfway to formulating a theory based on the statement he heard and the context of the conversation that immediately preceded it.  However, it was the horrified tone of Lucius's voice, the appalled expression he saw on the elder man's face, and something deeper in his subconscious that slammed the brakes on his thought processes and caused his brain to short circuit before it could reach the conclusion they had been barreling towards.

Tim froze. He felt his heart stutter in his chest. Outwardly, he clamped down on his composure before daring to add his voice to the air.  He took a deep breath and released it slowly. 

"I'm fine," he thought to himself. "This is all just a misunderstanding."

Everything Jack told him that awful day was burned into his memory. It was the very first death of a loved one in his life and his first experience with grief. However, it endured it. He accepted it. He moved on.

"Everything is fine."

"Of course he did," Tim said matter-of-factly with a slight tilt of his head. "Nana was sick. She passed away in the hospital. Dad told us the day he got the call."

However, Tim felt a churning start low in his stomach as he observed Lucius's reaction to his words. The sensation was faint at first, but grew slowly in intensity as he watched the man on the other side of the desk. Lucius's expression was stricken as he shook his head.  "No. Timber..." he started tentatively, as if trying to speak to a spooked animal. "That's not... Your grandmother isn't--"

"She had pneumonia," Tim interrupted with a shake of his head as he turned away from his old family friend, from the man who had been like an uncle to him once upon a time. "And she never got better." He closed his eyes as he clung to his faded memories from that horrible time so many years ago. "Mom was so depressed because we couldn't go to the funeral. She and Dad had a job in Cairo the same--"

"Timothy--"

He felt Lucius's hand settle on his shoulder. It should have been a comforting gesture, along with the elder man's gentle but firm expression of his full name. Instead, it caused of army of goosebumps to race across his skin and seemed to disconnect his brain from his voice box. Lucius waited until Tim hesitantly turned to meet and hold his gaze before continuing.

"--There was no funeral." 

The muscles beneath Lucius's hand tensed immediately. 

"It took a few months, but she recovered. She went home. She's alive."

Tim shook his head again before finally finding his voice. When he spoke, his tone was strained and brittle. 

"No. That can't be right," he said. "Dad said... He told us she died. Why would he tell us that if it wasn't true?" 

"I'm sorry Tim, but Jack lied to you and your mother."

The faded memories in Tim's mind began to crack. The aborted theory his brain had been processing earlier suddenly re-asserted itself and reached its logical conclusion. However, it was not a conclusion that Tim was in any frame of mind to accept.

Not in that moment.

"I'm sorry Lucius. I... I need to go."

Before Lucius could say anything more, Tim shrugged himself out from under the older man's hand and slipped out of the office, shutting the door quickly behind him.

As soon as he was in the relative privacy and safety of the elevator, he used his security clearance to make sure it would go straight to the garage where his car was parked without stopping on any other floor. As the elevator descended, Tim backed himself into the corner and buried his face in his hand while his mind ran a mile a minute. 

"Nana can't be alive. Dad said she died...

"But Lucius would never say something like this if it wasn't true...

"But it can't be true...

"If Nana's alive, then that mean...

"No! That makes no sense... 

"Dad wouldn't have lied to me about Nana...

"He wouldn't have lied to Mom...

"He couldn't have...

"He didn't...

Tim lifted his head from his hand and stared at hand, which was trembling slightly.

"Did he?"

   It was a little nearly ten in the morning when Bruce's cell phone started ringing, the light from the screen illuminating the nightstand that rested next to his bed in the otherwise pitch black room. A weary arm snaked its way out from beneath the thick comforter on the bed. It took several tries, but finally the hand landed on the phone and pulled it toward the head still lying on the pillow.

Bleary eyes squinted as they peered at name on the too-bright screen before reluctantly pressing the "Accept" button. 

"Yes Lucius?" Bruce mumbled, his deep voice weighed down by the bone-deep fatigue trying to drag him back into slumber.

"Is Tim at the manor?"

Bruce's brow furrowed. There was an edge of distress in his old friend's voice that managed to shove some of the lethargy out of his mind with a small spike of adrenaline. He pushed himself up into a seated position. "He shouldn't be? Last I saw him was around five am in the Cave before I went to bed. Did he not make it to the office?"

"He did," Lucius confirmed as Bruce put on his bluetooth headset so he could pull on his housecoat. "But something happened in the office that upset him, and now he won't answer my calls and the tracker in his work cell has been shut off."

It didn't take long for Bruce to leave his bedroom and go a few doors down the hall to Tim's bedroom. As he expected, the room was empty. The bed itself was still perfectly made with Alfred's usual attention to detail, but his closet door was open and there was a notable gap where one of his spare business suits was missing. His bathroom door was also ajar. Tim may not have slept at the manor, but he did shower and change there before heading to work. 

"What happened at the office?" Bruce asked as he left Tim's room and made his way downstairs to the kitchen. 

It took longer than it should have for Lucius to answer. "It's complicated."

Bruce frowned. Something was wrong. He could feel it in his bones. "One moment Lucius." He'd just entered the kitchen and zeroed in on Alfred, who was sitting at the breakfast nook sipping a cup of tea. 

The old butler was startled at the sight of the Wayne patriarch awake and out of bed before noon. "Master Bruce? What on earth--" 

"Has Tim come back from the office this morning?"

Alfred shook his head. "No. I haven't seen him since he left the manor around eight am." He set down his teacup and immediately got to his feet.

"Can you check the Cave and make sure he didn't return when no one was looking? Also, if he's not there, can you activate the tracker in his personal cell and find out where he is right now?"

"Of course sir." With a crisp nod, Alfred went to the library where the entrance to the Cave was hidden.

Finally, Bruce turned his attention back to Lucius. "I'm back, so explain. What happened at the office?"

"It actually started last night when Tim got hit with Crane's new fear toxin..." Lucius told Bruce about the encounter Tim had with Tam after crashing into her apartment, and quickly explained how Bruce's adopted son was actually the same boy who used to live next door to him for several years as he was raised by his grandmother.

Bruce absorbed the new information with confusion. "Ok... That's definitely surprising, but doesn't sound bad at all. Why would that upset Tim?"

On the other end of the phone, Bruce could hear Lucius groan in frustration. "When Tim was eight, his grandmother got sick and ended up hospitalized so he had to go back to living with his parents. Then Jack told him and his mom that his Nana had died."

"I remember. Before I adopted Tim, he told me all his grandparents had passed away, and he had no other living relatives."

"Jack lied."

Bruce's blood ran ice cold in his veins. "What?"

"Tim's grandmother never died. Her name is Susan Klein and she still lives next door to my family. I tried to tell Tim his Nana was alive, and that's when he ran off. I think he's in denial."

Bruce had to sit down as he processed this information. For years, he'd cared for Tim while his parents were out of the country, and then after his mother died and his father was in a coma. And then when Jack died, he adopted the boy he'd grown to love as his own son... But it was all under the assumption that Tim had no one else in his life. Tim had believed he had no one else.

And it was all a lie?

"Why?" Bruce asked, confused. "Why would Jack lie about that?"

Before Lucius could offer any explanation, Bruce saw Alfred emerge from the library. "Timothy is not in the Cave, but I did track his phone. Right now he's stationary in his new house in Gotham. He's logged into his workstation in the Nest." The old man's brow furrowed. "I've tried reaching out to him both by phone and computer, but he's not responding to anything."

Bruce got to his feet. "We can talk more about this later, Lucius. Tim's at his new place in the city, so I'm going to check on him now."

"I'll have Tam meet you there."

"That's not necess--"

"Do either you or Alfred have a key to the front door, and have your biometrics been programed into the house security system yet?"

Bruce and Alfred shared a glance, but said nothing, much to both of their mutual surprises.

Lucius apparently took their joint silence as a negative. "Tam was present while the theater renovations were in their early planning stages, and her biometrics were preinstalled into the security matrix while Tim was programming it. She can get you in without the Nest locking itself down." Bruce could hear the sound of Lucius's computer shutting down as well as the rustling of an overcoat being pulled on. "I'll call Tam on my way home."

"You're leaving the office?" Bruce asked as he went to his bedroom so he could change out of his nightclothes.

"This is a family emergency, and Susan has been like a grandmother to my own kids for nearly twenty-five years now. She needs to know her grandson is alive and well."

Bruce had just gotten back to his room, though he paused at the door. That feeling of ice in his veins had reasserted itself. "Did she think Tim was dead?"

In the background, Bruce could hear the sound of Lucius taking the elevator. "Honestly... we didn't know what had happened to him," Lucius admitted in a low tone. "We weren't sure exactly what Jack was capable of back then."

Once inside his bedroom, Bruce immediately began to quickly gather his clothes to change. "Please Lucius. I want to help my son, but I need more information. Tell me what you know about Tim's parents and grandmother."

Author's Notes:

At first, I was going to make this a much longer chapter. However, midway through writing it, I decided to split this chapter into two parts, with another chapter taking place in the past splitting the differences. I really hope everyone is enjoying this tale so far. If anyone has any questions or comments, please feel free to post them. I'll do my best to answer them.

#tim drake#tam fox#tim/tam#red robin#fanfiction#wip#rr: in hindsight#batfam#batfamily#lucius fox#bruce wayne

[its-warm-in-here]

This is an early draft of an Astarion x Ofc thing that might continue. Buuuuut it may not go that direction. Im not sure! I haven't written for a fun in a while and hopefully I can actually see this though. Nothing explicit! hardly anything but a start

In all honesty, she had smelled fantastic. And in his defense, he was very, very hungry. It was hardly an uncommon habit at this point. Astarion knew his companions were aware that sipping her blood has become almost a nightly ritual here in the underdark. Still, as Wyll fired a blast of eldritch energy into the bulette, his gaze was firmly locked to the vampire’s teeth affixed to the inside of her wrist. Her wrist! It was hardly the most scandalous place he could have bitten her. Nizana hardly seemed to mind the nip. He had caught her arm on the way to nock an arrow and she didn’t even hesitate to extend it to him. Astarion released her, quickly pecking a quick kiss to her warm skin. She fired her shot without a second thought and the shaft impaled itself into one of the beast’s eyes.

 Yet, he could feel the warlock’s eyes glaring cinders into his skull. Astarion swiped his open palm against the hard scales of the bulette, leaving a greenish line of necrosis as he did. Inwardly, Astarion groaned at the thought of having to put up with another one of the lad’s righteous anecdotes which he knew would soon follow.

The thing leapt. This time outwardly, he groaned again. He supposed it could be called graceful. For the large monstrosity that it was. It always seemed to know just where to fling itself and send at least two of them flying. In this case he and Shadowheart. Astarion barely had time to register the stab of pain in the back of his skull when the bulette’s jaws snapped hungrily above him. With little grace, the elf threw himself in a half tumble away, somehow managing to make it to his feet in the process, rapier at the ready. Astarion flashed the bulette a dark smirk before plunging his blade into its thigh. The thing’s cry was piercing and suddenly Asatrion was reminded how unstable this cavern was. The floor swayed and the very air rumbled. From above, the sound of stone crumbling and rocks falling could be heard. Unconsciously, he hunkered a bit lower to the ground. 

Then came a crunch and a squelch. Another piercing cry was cut short as Lae’zel’s warhammer burst through it’s skull. With a heave, she brought the weapon down a second time, the beast letting out one last whimper before collapsing to the hollow ground. Lae’zel brought the hammer above her head a third and final time; she took in a deep breath and let out an echoing victory cry. 

Astarion sliced his bloodied rapier through the air before him, then delicately swiped the blade between his gloved fingers. “Excellent show, my dear, but do be careful to not bring the ceiling down on us, won’t you?”  He gave the sword one last flick befor replacing it at his hip. 

The gith hopped from her position on her kill’s head. “Chkt. Would you rather that thing slither off and come after us again? I would not,” she scoffed. 

“You bashed it’s brains in, I doubt its slithing anywhere,” he put plainly. She waved him away with another scoff, no longer interested in his opinions. 

It wasn’t long before they were back on the path. The bulette held nothing of interest and they had little reason to hang around this territory any longer. And of course Wyll was side eyeing him. Astarion’s lip twitched, threatening to turn into a smug smile. The warlock wasn’t even subtle about the disapproval. Still, Astarion composed himself, keeping his expression blank as possible. “Is something bothering you, Wyll?” he asked, biting back as much malice as he could muster. 

“Hm?” Wyll looked him dead in the face, the resentment suddenly hidden, but not gone, “Nothing. Well, I was wondering why you would think draining us in a fight would be a good idea.” 

Astarion opened his mouth to respond, venomed words at the ready. 

“We already discussed it,” Nizana cut him off. “There’s not much he can hunt down here and I don’t mind.” 

“Really.”

A lie. Astarion quirked a brow at her backside, the smirk he’d been trying to hide breaking into full over his features. “Yes, we want me at my best, especially down here,” he quickly agreed. 

“Look, we don’t need our archer light headed because you needed a pick me up,” Wyll said. He wasn’t hostile. “Nizana, we need you at your best too.” 

She rolled her shoulders and turned back from her position to look them up and down. “It’ll be easier on me if he doesn't drain me dry all in one sitting. I can make my shots.” Wyll gave her a conflicted frown which made Astarion’s eye’s roll. With a sigh, she added, “If it becomes a problem, we,” Nizana gestured between her and Astarion, “will address it. It is my blood, you know.” 

Wyll’s frown deepened, but he let out a defeated sigh, “You’re right, it’s none of my business. Just, don’t let it become my business, alright?” He flashed a good hearted smile.

“Believe me, we will not,” Astarion added flatly. 

-

It wasn’t long before they stopped to rest. Camping in the underdark was different from the surface, that was certain. There was too much light for one thing. Too many of the plants would glow. Even the cavern ceiling and walls were luminescent in places. Disappearing away into the night was much more difficult when all times of the day were equally well lit. Still, slipping away after dinner wasn’t too hard. He found Nizana a few levels down, atop an outcropping of giant mushrooms. The drow greeted him with a half smile. 

Astarion took a seat next to her on the orange fungus. “Here I was, impressed that you would lie to a stranger without my ask. But our companions?” he let a hand trail up her back, all the way up her spine to her back of her neck. “And I thought you counted Wyll as a friend." 

Nizana shivered at his cool touch, "It's not like he couldn't find out if he wanted to." She taped her ring and middle finger to her temple. The worm in his head shifted in response. 

"So lying for me, and taking advantage of our resident monster hunter's good nature," he notes with a touch of pride. 

"It's like I said; I don't mind," again Nizana brushed her short hair away from her jugular. The puncture wounds at her throat had become an ever present adornment ever since arriving here. Astarions thumb left the nape of her neck, and instead gently teased over the bite. She was bruised, that much was certain. Her dark grey skin was nearly purple around the abrasion. It bloomed rather nicely near her collar bone, Astarion decided. Like lavender, or maybe a lilac. Either way, it suited her.  

He let out a hum as she fell back onto the spongey surface, "You know,I think you might enjoy this as much as I do."

[witchcraft-in-wonderland]

Merfolk's Curse (Pt.7)

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

Logan hardly felt emotions for himself, or at least, felt them outwardly, but the pit in his stomach couldnt seem to settle. He felt lost without Roman, and guilty at what had been done to him. He was lost in his own head and he desperately wanted to get out.

He couldnt sleep it off, for his dreams had turned to sharp-toothed nightmares of drowning and song.

He couldnt bring himself to eat anything, it never stayed down for long, and he couldnt drink anything either, it seemed to have the same results.

"Roman I'm so sorry. . . it's all my fault. . ." he whispered, seemingly to no one.

By the next morning he hadnt done much, his bones felt to heavy for his body. His mouth was dry and his eyes were watering from fatigue.

"Logan! Logan you've got to see this!" Patton called from the top of the ship. Logan got himself dressed and walked back to the top, Patton was holding a letter in one hand, and in the other was perched a larger raven with what looked to be a purple collar around its neck.

"What is it Patton?" Logan rubbed his eyes.

"Its a letter from Roman, some of his old friends found him at a carnival, theres an address, he even signed off with a fin-print!" Patton shoved the letter in Logan's face. Maybe it was the sleep-deprivation, or Logan's hopelessness, but it took him a while to understand that the letter was authentic, the crown shaped edges on the fin-print were exactly the same as those on Roman's tail and dorsal fin. Logan felt as if he might cry. He was going to see Roman again, and Roman was safe, he was with friends and he was happy. He was actually genuinely happy.

"Shall I set out a course then?" said Patton, smiling.

"Wh- oh! Yes- I'll uh- be in my cabin," Logan said, walking away. He'd almost gone downstairs before remembering to give the letter back to Patton so he could set out a course.

Logan decided to try and sleep again, with the news of Roman's safety in his mind, he was much happier.

Roman himself was faring much better than he had in the past few days, no longer malnourished and exhausted, he and Janus could chase eachother in the large lake out back for hours at a time.

"You two better not scratch each other up to much!" Virgil said from the chair overlooking the lake.

"We wont darling dont worry," Janus said, pinning Roman to a wall almost imeadietly afterward.

"No fair! I wasnt paying attention!" Roman pouted, prying him off.

"All's fair in the lake little prince," Janus chuckled as he chased him down again.

"I missed this witty banter of ours, yknow, it was nice," Roman hid himself behind a set of rocks, burrowing slightly into the sand.

"I missed it to, I tried finding you but it seemed you were never around this part of the ocean when I looked," Janus replied as he dragged Roman back to the surface.

"Boys! News!" Virgil called. The two mermen rested the top halves of their bodies on the shore, watching as Virgil's personal messenger raven perched itself on the ornate stand next to his chair, and jostled its neck to show off the letter attached to its collar.

"Good girl, now go on, theres treats for you in the kitchen," Virgil said, taking the letter from the bird and watching it fly away.

"What's it say darling?" Janus tilted his head, leaning it slightly on one hand.

"They're charting a course for us now, should be here in a few days time," said Virgil.

"A few days?" Roman said, voice falling slightly.

"I'm sure it'll be alright Roman, dont worry your pretty little head about it," said Janus.

But Roman didnt feel fine. He swam laps in the lake, and rested uneasily at the bottom of the indoor tank for nearly a week, before finally, six days later, an announcement was made.

"Ship! On the docks!" Janus go get Roman!" Virgil's voice echoed through the house, the next second Roman was being pulled out of his tank and rushed outside.

He didnt understand what was going on until he was in the arms of someone much more familiar.

"Logan. . ." Roman buried his face in Logan's chest, relishing in the smell of his cologne.

"Oh Roman I'm so sorry, I love you so much Roman I'm never going to let you go again," Logan whispered in his ear. Roman could feel Logan's tears falling onto his face.

"Its not your fault Lolo, it's not your fault I promise," Roman responded, nuzzling further into the crook of his neck.

"BROTHER!" Roman was startled out of his trance by the booming voice of his brother, Logan set him down in the water next to him.

"And where have you been for the last two years?" Roman said, raising an eyebrow.

"Building an island," Remus said this casually as if it was something all meroctopi were capable of doing.

"Oh- and uh- taking care of my daughter," Remus said, sinking down slightly to show Roman the little girl cradled in his arms. Her eyes were a mixture of sea green with a tinge of red, and brown curls lay nearly to the bottom of her face.

"Aaaaaaawwwww- shes so tinyyyy," Roman said, holding a hand out as Carly made a grab for him.

"Her name's Carly," Remus smiled as he replied, handing the bundle back up to Patton, who was still standing on the deck.

"Well, are you ready to get home?" said Remus. Roman nodded enthusiastically.

"Would you prefer open ocean or a luxury trip?" Remus said.

"I want to be as close to Logan as possible," Roman responded, looking over his shoulder at the man. He smiled with satisfaction as he noticed the blush that crept up Logan's face.

He hadnt realized until he was on the ship how little he liked being in ship tanks at this point. It was nice, yes,nearly perfect, but it still reminded him of what had happened. So he kept most of his body at the top, talking to Logan.

"Roman- theres- something I have to tell you, something I learned on the way here," Logan said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"What is it?" Roman's expression shifted to one of worry, Logan being nervous was never a good sign.

"I was- reading something about merpeople- about sirensong mutations- and their ability to gain legs and- oh Roman I'm so sorry it's all my fault I never shouldve rejected you so harshly," Logan nearly flung himself into the tank before Roman caught him, holding him close.

"Logan it's alright. . breathe Lolo, breathe. . ." Roman ran his fingers through Logan's hair, watching as tears formed in his eyes.

"But Roman! You might never have legs because of me!" Logan said, tears falling even faster now.

"Logan I don't care about having legs anymore! I care about you!" Roman pressed his forehead to Logan's, smiling slightly.

"You. . . dont? But you always seemed so excited?" Logan puzzled.

"That was because I missed my friends and family, but now I know where they are and how to visit them, now i have you! Logan it's ok! I dont need them," Roman said.

"I'm just happy you're safe," Logan said as he climbed back onto the deck.

"I'm happy to," Roman smiled, resting his head in his arms now that they werent wrapped around Logan.

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

Tag list:

@nerosdayinhell

@official-lucifers-child

@spooky-scary-virgil

@youtuberswithalex

@misunderstoodshadowling

@pretty-as-princey

@meowthefluffy

@sleepy-sphinx

@cemmy

@romanvirgil

@seraphlies

@sassismypower

@melodiread

@lallyphant

@tssidesfamily

@soup-stars-and-silence

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

What if the Animorphs could use magic-like, in addition to the morphing?

All her life, Cassie’s dad has treated raccoons and ferrets, the occasional goose or hawk.  And for as long as she can remember, he’s treated other things too.  There was the pine marten with tiny horns that the long-fingered man with the scars on his face brought from under his coat.  There’s the seahorse that buzzes up to their door on the regular, gossamer fins beating hummingbird-fast at the air as it hovers five feet off the ground.  There are winged foxes and antlered rabbits and animals for which Cassie has no comparison.

Walter never comments on them directly.  Instead he skids the Venetian blinds closed and pulls out his other kit — the one with bone needles and spools of spider silk and not a trace of metal throughout — and gets to work.  Cassie can’t remember how she learned never to comment directly on these night customers.  But she knows.  She does not mention them aloud.  Most of all, she does not thank them or ask for favors.

They never pay in coin, these visitors that step over the back threshold and never come when there is road salt on the ground.  It doesn’t matter.  Every stock share Walter and Michelle buy proves to be lucky; every item they store in the downstairs refrigerator never spoils.  Michelle can heal animals at the Gardens that no one else can save.  Cassie’s parents are careful never to ask for these gifts, or indeed express any opinion on them at all.  Their night visitors bargain exactingly, mercilessly, without quarter.  The only recourse is not to bargain with them at all.

Tobias doesn’t believe he’s a changeling.  Not really.  He’s pretty sure that’s just something his aunt says to excuse how little she cares about him.  That doesn’t stop him from leaving a capful of her Rodda’s clotted cream on his windowsill every night, especially because he wakes every morning to find the cream gone.  Just in case, he tells himself.  Just in case his real family is out there somewhere, keeping an eye on him.

Jake has no thoughts on magic or fae.  If asked he’d shrug and casually disbelieve.  But he listened all the same when his Grandpa G whispered the secret to controlling a golem, to making life of clay.  To destroying that life with a press of the thumb.

Marco learned not to count anything out he hasn’t seen disproven with his own eyes.  Eva lit candles for the Virgin Mother and for the ancestors, for Rihannon and Guabancex and the Holy Ghost.  Marco doesn’t always honor the old rituals, but he also doesn’t cross still waters or take favors from strangers.  He always cleans spilled salt and keeps a tiny iron knife tucked into one pocket.  He wears his underwear inside out and spits on the floor after wishing good luck.  He hedges his bets.

Rachel’s heard of the old gods, of course she has.  They were the fascination of her entire primary school year for a full week, just after unicorns and slightly before everyone became silly amateur witches.

Andalite culture frowns on superstition, and so Ax does as well.  Outwardly, at least.  That means not telling anyone how thoroughly, how casually, Elfangor has always believed in magic.  It means not thinking of the still pool of water, the silver knife, the other scrying tools from eldritch andalite culture… and the way his brother would, just sometimes, know things it was surely impossible for anyone to have seen.

“I put no faith in magic,” Marco says, when Cassie tells them about her dreams.  “I don’t trust it, and neither should you.”

«Fine, then.»  Tobias glares at him.  «Explain how we had the same dream, about the same voice, every single night.  Go ahead.  We’re waiting.»

Andalite magic isn’t like Earth magic, they’ll come to learn.  And sometimes the magic and technology are hard to tell apart at a glance.

It was just a long-distance call, Ax insists when they find him.  He doesn’t know how they talked to a whale.  He can’t explain why Tobias, but not any of the others, would have received that call.  Surely it doesn’t mean anything.  Technology only looks like magic, when viewed from a distance.

Tobias sees the rabbit disappear when it enters the unnaturally round circle of mushrooms.  But he’s hungry, and he’s tired, and the rabbit is fat and white and moving slow.  He doesn’t pull up from the dive in time.  Instead he follows it inside—

And hits the ground on two stubby-toed feet, strong human arms thrown out for balance.  He’s naked, but that seems incidental.  He’s human.  He hasn’t been human for almost six months.

Mostly human.  There are feathers on his arms and along his back.  He sees through hawk eyes and hears with hawk ears, a raptor’s head on top of a human body.  He thinks of ancient Egypt, of that god with the ankh, when he imagines how he must look.

And then he staggers back several steps, all the way to the edge of the suddenly-vast circle of mushrooms, at the sight of the beings who approach.  Their leader is a tall man made even taller by the enormous antlers that sprout from his head.  Behind him walk trees who are also teenage girls, goats upright on two legs, an entire court of half-human half-other beings.

Tobias’s whole body is cold with fear.  He tries to fly, but his wings cannot lift heavy human bones.  Tries to speak, and a hawk’s harsh cry comes out of his mouth.

“Come, little hunter,” the king who is both stag and man says.  “Dance with us.”

«What will you give me if I do?» Tobias asks, finding a different voice.  A stupid and brave thing to say.

The king smiles.  “An answer to one question.”

Tobias doesn’t ask what’ll happen if he refuses.  He’s no fool.  So when they start to dance, he joins the flow of their bodies.

His body moves with grace and speed impossible to him.  There is no music, other than the endless eerie wails of the other dancers.  The dance rages around him, drags him down into dizzy undertow.  He can either keep up, or he can be crushed underfoot.  Those are the only options.  He dances.

It’s been no time at all.  It’s been years.  Exhaustion sets in.  Hunger.  Thirst.

But Tobias is no fool.  He refuses their cordials and fruits, their temptations of hide and bone.  The glistening pomegranates and airy cakes are easy to ignore.  The fresh-killed snake, the blood-warm fox… Those are much harder.

Once, they bring before him a plump, struggling rabbit.  It’s enormous, fat and juicy and still kicking, and he feels himself weaken.  But just before he swings his enormous beak forward to rip at the flesh, he catches a hint of its true reflection in the eyes of the river-maiden who holds it.

It’s not a rabbit.  It has the seeming of a rabbit, but even now he can hear its cries.  Close to rabbit cries, close… but not quite.

Tobias rears back.  He doesn’t see what happens to the not-a-rabbit, because he chooses not to.  And it’s easier after that, so much easier, to refuse the haunches and marrows that they try to pass his way.

Maybe that’s why they throw the net over him.  Darkness and pain cage him in.  His inner hawk panics, screaming and breaking bones against its sides.  But a half-remembered bit of lore surges to the front of his human mind.

He morphs.  Speed is of the essence, and he twists down to the shape of a garter snake he has never acquired.  The net tightens, so he grows large.  Becomes one of the hork-bajir that haunt his nightmares, with blades to slash the net.  So it becomes sticky and dense, and he becomes a spider who can scuttle along its lines.  It grows heavy enough to crush him, so he surges upward and out as a stegosaurus.  It ensnares him with clever knots, and he grows human fingers that he might untie them.  It weights him down, so he goes hawk to fly free.  It becomes fibers that abrade and embed, so he takes on andalite shape to slash the bindings to pieces.

After that, the net falls away.  He stares around the clearing in all four directions at once, seeing them now for what they really are.  His chest is heaving, his tail blade trembling.  He’s desperately tired, but here is no place to sleep.

The woman whose hair drags clear the ground steps forward.  She presses a hand against his cheek, and just like that he’s the human-hawk again.  Only the andalite stalk eyes remain, along with the taloned feet of a hork-bajir.  The world around him remains vicious and savage and beautiful.

“You have entertained us well, little changeling,” she says.  “You may go now.”

«Wait—»  Tobias knows it’s stupid to argue, but he also knows it’s even stupider to leave here with a bargain unresolved.  «My question.»  He takes a breath, filling human lungs nestled between andalite hearts.  «What am I?»

The woman laughs, a tinkling sound that fills the clearing.  “My dear boy, there’s no need to ask us directly, not after we just spent all evening answering you.”

And just like that, Tobias is a hawk.  Or something with the seeming of a hawk.  He sits on the ground just outside an ordinary circle of mushrooms, the rabbit he followed mere inches away.

He watches it leave.  He’s not hungry for rabbit anymore, and suspects he might never be again.

Little changeling, she called him.  And he cannot help but wonder what might’ve become of the boy he replaced, remembering the not-a-rabbit’s helpless cries.

“Fuck it,” Marco says.  Only it comes out like “f-f-f-f-f-fuck i-t-t-t-t” because his teeth are chattering so hard.  They ended up somewhere covered with ice and snow and devoid of life except for polar bears.  No.  Scratch that.  They’re nowhere.  This place might as well be the surface of the fucking moon.

Which is why he’s gone just crazy enough through some combination of hypothermia and desperation to be trying this now.  His fingertips and toes are already grey-white with frostbite at the edges.  Ax is upright for now, but has already collapsed twice.  They’re fucked.  Utterly and completely fucked.

Unless, of course, Marco can coax fire from ice.

The theory behind it is perfectly sound.  Take a beam of sunlight, direct it through a curved lens — in this case a chunk of ice floe that Ax carved with his tail and Marco shaped with what little heat is left in his hands — and that’ll generate heat.  Generate enough heat, and the kindling should ignite.

Only, if you stop to think about it for half a second, that’ll never work in an environment as cold as this one.  If Marco stops to think, he’ll remember that the tiny pile of kindling will burn up in an instant if it even combusts at all.

The kindling is a pile of hair, blond and brown, black and blue.  And a single crumpled feather, striped in brown and gold.  A small, sad pile.  But also: A sacrifice.  An evocation.

It shouldn’t work.  It shouldn’t.

Cassie is murmuring something that Marco elects to ignore.  Because Marco doesn’t believe in astrotheology.  He doesn’t believe in pyromancy.  He just needs to believe in reality.

The sun’s own light casts through the fragment of glacier in his hand.  The concentrated seed of its power rests squarely in that nest of hair.  Don’t move, Marco wills his aching, cold-numb hands.  Don’t move.  Focus.  Breathe.  Don’t move.  Believe.

Smoke curls.  Jake makes a noise, cutting himself off.  Marco imagines his own mind, focusing in a beam just like that weak Arctic sunlight.  Imagines it bending into a pure, strong core with the power of that ice.  The world fades away.  The cold recedes, or maybe that’s just the final stages of hypothermia setting in.

The hair puts up a tiny curl of flame.  The flame gutters and grows.  It races along strand after strand.  The smell is something animal and awful, but the fire is growing.  It’s becoming red at the edge and blue at its core, hotter than the meager fuel should allow.  Marco’s teeth are clenched so hard they cannot chatter, his whole body clenched around where the dying skin of his hands presses with unforgiving power against the ice that kills it.

The flame grows.  It grows.  It’s not possible, and that very fact seems to add strength to its stubbornness.

It’s candle-sized by now.  It could illuminate a lantern.  It’s throwing shadows and glow onto Cassie’s face where she crouches across from him, still chanting.  It’s a fistful of flame.  It’s a campfire.

The hair is gone by now.  Even the ice is melting away, every drop of water that hits the flames becoming like oil in its power.

Marco sits down, hard, on the now-slushy ice.  Jake is leaning forward, laughing, crying, tears frozen to his face.  Rachel thrusts both hands at the flames, fingers starting to unfurl from their painful permanent clench.  Even the frostbite on Cassie’s nose and Ax’s stalk-eyes is visibly healing, another impossibility even with the hearthfire now flowing strong between them.

“This,” Marco whispers, sunning himself in the heat of cannot-be, “is insane.”

Cassie steps out into the daylight beyond the barn, half-startled as always by the shock of its heat.  She isn’t like Marco; she doesn’t need explanations or words.  Her father has always just focused on using whatever works, without trying to apply her mother’s formal empiricism.  Sometimes the creatures bring themselves in for healing, and usually when they do they don’t look like any animal that has ever appeared in one of Michelle’s zoology textbooks.

Sometimes Walter sits out all night with a deer’s head cradled in his lap, a snake wound through both his hands, or one of the beings who is neither mammal nor reptile sheltered by the curve of his body.  He wills, on those nights, and sometimes a broken-legged deer will run free or a fatally ill snake will roll healthy from his palms when he’s done.  Whenever that happens, whenever the will succeeds, he’ll come inside with a few more white hairs, slightly more of a limp in the creeping arthritis of his knee.  That’s the reason Cassie isn’t allowed to join her father on those nights, isn’t allowed to help beyond her mother’s methods: needles full of cortisone, needles trailing twine.

It’s also the reason she doesn’t know how this works.  She suspects that her father doesn’t know either — Walter’s the type to shrug and say they can either explain the molecular structure of water or they can fill this water trough that’s empty now, and only one will ensure the horses remain healthy on a day this warm.  So maybe not knowing isn’t a hindrance, not when it comes to willing wellness to travel from her body into another.

The being she holds in her hands has certainly never appeared in any of Michelle’s books.  Which is part of the reason that Earth’s weak yellow sun, giver of both cancer and trees, can do nothing for her.

Aftran needs kandrona, needs the rich light of her homeworld.  Cassie has no kandrona to give.

“Please,” Cassie whispers.  She holds the fragile little body toward the sky, an offering to Sol.  “Please, just hold on for a little while longer.”

Aftran doesn’t answer.  Aftran cannot hear her, cannot see the brilliant star that warms them both.

Cassie can feel the weakness inside of Aftran, the hunger.  Tonight they’ll take her to the sea.  Tonight they’ll give her whale DNA, and a new chance at life.  She only has to make it that long.

She’s not sure when the trance begins, or how long it lasts.  Later, she’ll have no memory of her knees giving out and her shins hitting the dirt, or of the hours she spends with her hands raised toward the sky in supplication.

It’s Aftran who wakes her.  Aftran who sends a jolt of something through the connection they’ve shared ever since their minds were briefly one.  It jars Cassie and causes her to topple over.

Aftran is strong, scrunching and stretching fins as she basks in the glow of a sun she shouldn’t even be able to see or feel.  Cassie is weak, joint-aching and head-pounding as she fights unconsciousness.  The feeling is so overpowering, so painful and unlike anything she’s experienced before, that it takes Cassie several seconds of lying on her side fighting even to breathe to recognize this as hunger.

Not hunger, famine.  The dangerous kind that leaves her body screaming for sustenance, devouring its own fats and muscles in its desperation to find more fuel for the fire that keeps her alive.  Cassie has grown up secure, with a full refrigerator and loving parents.  This ravening full-body ache brings to mind her great-grandmother’s stories of sharecroppers so desperate as to devour earthworms and hay seeds.

But Cassie has it easy.  She is on her own planet, and she is a child of plenty.  All she needs to do is crawl the ten feet to her parents’ vegetable patch.  To rip the first of the row of carrots from the ground, rolling the dirt off between her palms before she eats it.  Stealing the sun’s sustenance from this plant that has worked so hard to store it.

She is human.  She cannot make her own energy from suns’ light like Aftran.  To be human is to murder and devour just to stay alive.  But to be human is to choose, at times like these, to share the plenty that surrounds her.

Aftran rests on the back of Cassie’s wrist now.  Stronger than she has any right to be.  Cassie rips the life from another carrot, and stops for a moment of gratitude before she begins to devour.

Rachel takes time to gather the supplies.  A mason jar emptied of jam.  Nails and tacks and razor blades, sharp nasty iron and steel to keep evil at bay.  Sea salt and rosemary to purify and protect, layered inside the jar overtop.  And then, last of all, several ounces of her own urine.  To mark it as hers, old-school the way that wolves do.  The lid sealed with wax from a black-tallow candle, wrapped with red ribbon to keep the magic inside.  She buries it at the edge of her yard, whispering invocations to Aphrodite and Ares as she does.

She can’t take it with her, especially not when she morphs, but she can create a bubble the length and width of the property.  She can carve out a space for herself and her mom, Sara and Jordan, that no yeerk can enter.  She has power.

She tests it one time, calling Mr. Chapman to come pick up Melissa at her place.  Smiling, lips pulled tight with glee and anger, she watches him get to the edge of the property line and… stop.  

Watches as his head shakes, his body shifts, and he comes no further.  The spell holds.  The yeerk leaves.

And then comes the day when Melissa herself freezes at the edge of the yard, an expression of confusion on her face.  She leaves, after a while.  Only it’s not really her leaving.  Not anymore.

Rachel doesn’t feel so smug about the spell, after that.

«Please be quiet,» Ax says, after the fourth or fifth time Jake asks Cassie in an undertone how much longer this is going to take.  «I am not confident in this process, and cannot do with distractions.»

They stand at the edge of a waterfall deep in the California woods.  It’s not much, less than ten feet tall, but that’s not what’s important.  What’s important is the place, and the harmony of that place.

What’s important, Ax knows, is the entropy.  Water eroding rocks, breaking down walls.  Trees broken apart by murmurations of termites and fractals of rot.  Nature building and pulling down, creating and destroying, allowing no rest but in rhythmical motion, chasing everything out of one beautiful form into another.

Entropy is a release of cosmic energy.  That’s what Elfangor taught him, anyway.  And if he does it right, if he feels this place — water in his hooves, wind in his fur, seeing and feeling and becoming a part of that steady joyous death — he can harness and direct some small fraction of that energy.

The energy flows out of him, and down the bond.  He thinks he can feel it.  His strength becoming Tobias’s, Tobias’s pain becoming his.

“Is it working?”  Jake loses patience again.

«I believe it might be,» Ax says.  He reaches out, all four eyes closed, and takes Jake’s hand in his.  A second human hand, strong and blunt and warm, wraps around his other wrist, as Cassie takes hold.

His shorm is not here.  His only family on this planet is in the yeerks’ hands.  They are hurting Tobias right now.

Rachel and Marco are on a rescue mission.  Jake and Cassie and Ax are here, having walked for hours in the wrong direction, standing by a destructive stream.  Keeping Tobias alive.

Jake sinks to his knees, gasping hard.  Cassie is making a small noise in the back of her throat, one that has no words.  Their strength flows through Ax, and away.  The power in their joints, the sight in their eyes and the succor in their limbs, drains away.  Every heartbeat, every breath, leaves them and does not return.

No one asks if it’s working now.  There are tears running down Jake’s face, his hand trembling in Ax’s as it squeezes hard enough to grind bones.  But they don’t let go, and they don’t end the spell.  They send strength down the bloodline, down the lines more powerful than blood, until one by one they fall into the icy current when they have nothing left to give.

“I don’t believe in magic,” Marco says, but he uses the same tone as when he says “I don’t believe in aliens.”

Cassie asks her father, her grandmother, and her mother’s grandmother more questions.  She pretends it’s idle curiosity, any time her father asks.

Rachel finds that coven she once thought so silly.  They teach her to write names on willow-pulp paper and freeze them underwater, to drag minds away from the forces that might otherwise take hold.  “Melissa,” she whispers, “Melissa Andrea Chapman,” and she prays it will work this time around.

Anyway, they kind of win.

The first person to appear to him is an unfamiliar woman with rough-cropped hair.  No one Jake knows, or no one he remembers, anyway.  But she wasn’t on the dead, drifting hulk of the Rachel a second ago, and now here she stands.  So the ritual must have worked.

“I’m sorry to disturb your rest,” Jake tells the ghost.  “I just…”  He looks down at the drying clay still smeared across his hands, the familiar characters in cascading rows across his arms and across the metal of the deck.  It’s earth, farther from the Earth than any precious quantity of dirt has ever been.  Just like him.

“I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t choose it.”  She crouches in front of him, placing an inexplicably warm hand over his.  “I’m Jondrette.  You saved my life at the battle under the garment factory.  You should’ve killed us.  Instead you called off your forces, told us to run.”

“You died anyway,” Jake says sadly.  “You owe me nothing.”

“Not before I returned the favor.”  She smirks, proud of herself.  “Visser Three would’ve killed you in that hospital garage, had we not shot him from behind.  I owe you nothing,” she agrees.  “Because you’re going to die anyway.”

“I’m scared,” he confesses.

The Blade Ship, and the thing it became, are gone.  He rammed it.  Shattered shrapnel floats past through the Rachel’s failing gravity.  He won, and all it cost was everything.

“I don’t think I want to die anymore, but…”  Jake laughs, harsher than expected.  There’s no one to lead here, no one to impress.  “It’s a little late for that now, huh?”

«It’s all right to be scared,» Elfangor says, when he appears.  «You’ve done well.»  He looks andalite and human, standing guard over Jake’s death as Jake once did for him.

Jake nods, and Elfangor returns it as a bow.

«You’ve honored us all, and it was an honor to serve with you, my prince.»

This new ghost causes Jake to surge several inches off the deck in horror before he falls back, lacking the strength to stand even in this reduced gravity.  “Ax,” Jake gasps.  “Ax… No.  You?”

«It’s all right,» Ax says.  «You killed it.  You honored me.  The ritual of mourning is complete.»

“I wanted to save you,” Jake whispers.

«And you did.  Rest, Prince Jake.»

«You were feared by your enemies, beloved by your cousins.  No higher praise can be spoken of any warrior.»  Arbron, when he appears, is the same strange duality as Elfangor: all andalite and all taxxon, all at once.

Jake wonders if it’s a nothlit thing, if Tobias…

No.  Tobias and Marco, Jeanne and Menderash and Santorelli, all made the escape pod in time before the collision.  Jake has to believe that.  He has to.

«Rest,» Ax says again.  «It’s time.»

“He’s right, you know,” a new voice says, and for the first time Jake feels his eyes prick with tears.  “It’s the easiest thing in the world, once you let yourself go.”

A familiar arm slips around him, and Jake lets himself lean against his brother’s shoulder.  “You’ll stay with me?” Jake asks, hating the weakness in his own voice.  “You’ll stay?”  He doesn’t know how long he can keep up the ritual.

“‘Course,” Tom says.  “No getting rid of me now.”

The specter shapes crowd the room by now, crouching close or standing by.  All here, if Jondrette is to be believed, because they chose to be.

It’s harder to breathe, now.  Harder to see, darkness blurring his vision.  Tom is warm against his side, but Jake is bitterly cold.

“I don’t want it to end,” Jake slurs.  Falling asleep never hurt this much, and the dreams that awaited him on the other side were rarely kind.

“It doesn’t.”  She’s already grinning when she appears in front of him, like this is the greatest daredevil stunt ever pulled.  “We go on.”  Rachel gestures around to the crowd on the bridge.  “Aren’t all of us proof of that?  Nothing is ever lost.”

“Go on to where?” Jake can’t help asking.

At that she laughs.  “Like I’d spoil the surprise.  C’mon, I’ll show you.  Let’s do it.”

She grabs his hand and yanks him forward.  Or maybe that’s Tom, shoving him from behind.  Or Ax’s smile, eyes only, pulling him in.

A small strand of space-time goes dark and coils into nothingness.

[mackenzieparker]

ok lets do this one more time, yeah? for real this time. this is it. my name is nika (she/hers, est). i like to write and hang out cool communities like this and for the last first time, i have brought a brand new muse to y’all. below you’ll find all the details on a ms. mackenzie “mack” rae parker, plucky country gal and badass babe. please love me and her and smash that like button or send me a dm (discord ichoosenikachu#4859 )  to plot.

( tw: drunk driver, death, sexism )

B A C K S T O R Y →

meet mackenzie rae parker, born august 17, 1989 in grove, oklahoma. mack (as she’s gone by since she was a kid and it won’t be changing anytime soon) was born to two loving parents Steven and Margaret Parker, the youngest daughter of three boys: morgan, matthew, and merritt. yes, her parents did have a thing for m names--and no, it didn’t help her momma remember her name any better, like they told their kids growing up. 

Maggie and Steve loved their daughter--their whole family, really--to bits and pieces. It had been Maggie’s dream to have a little girl when the couple first got together and when they had first received the ultrasound, well, they were overjoyed. When Mackenzie came into the world, there was cause for joyous celebration and laughter. Everyone was happy the Parker’s finally had a little pink bundle of joy. 

Little Mackenzie’s personality was--well, let’s just say she had never been one to shy away from an exciting situation. Her brothers’ had taught her early on that life wouldn’t always be easy so she had to be tough enough to take it head on. In fact, they made it a point to remind her whenever they had a chance. Buts she was also their little sister, and fiercely protective of her. And while it annoyed Mack to no end, she adored her brothers endlessly. 

Mack may not have been the strongest Parker in the household, but next to her Momma she was the wittiest. Her comebacks were always sharp and as she grew up, she honed her sarcastic, dry wit in addition to her own athletic talent.

Mack loved her Momma. In fact, if she had to pick favorites her Momma would have won every time. It wasn’t that she didn’t like her father. Her father was a good man--he was a local mechanic at Grove Automotive, always greeted everyone with a smile and cared deeply for his family. But Mack and him were never as close as she was with her momma. Maggie understood her daughter’s firey nature but compassionate heart and saw the way it warred within her--especially after she’d gotten into a fight with one of her brothers. 

( tw: drunk driving & death ) When Mack was twelve, though--tragedy struck. Maggie was on her back from work after parent teacher conferences; she was the local kindergarten teacher at Grove Elementary, when a drunk drive t-boned her car and Maggie was killed on impact. thankfully (if one can say that in this situation) no one else was in the car. but suddenly the Parker family had lost its matriarch and Mack, the one person who might have been able to understand her. 

She had always grown up as a tomboy--a fact that even her momma, a woman who had been raised in South Carolina to rather traditional parents couldn’t stamp out of her. But even so, after Maggie Parker passed on, Mack became even more of one, almost shunning all that was feminine away from her, as if any reminder of her mother would be the end of her as she knew it. And, for her, it might have been. It was no secret she had been the closest to Maggie--and her death hit her the hardest. Mack got rid of all her dresses, all her skirts, anything that reminded her of her mother--save for the small box of photos and momentos she kept heavily hidden under her bed. On her worst days, she’d pull the box out and talk to the photo of her Momma--it was the only time the blonde ever outwardly expressed emotions, specifically crying. 

To distract herself from the grief, Mack threw herself into everything she could in high school--archery, debate, robotics club, anything to keep her mind off of the encroaching cloud that now lived around her heart. It was in Robotics club, though, she learned she had a real knack for using her hands. She had learned early on about cars and the like--her father’s occupation and brothers’ fascination with the thing gave her unparalleled access to a number of cars being torn apart and rebuilt from the ground up. But Mack--Mack was always more excited about what flew above their heads than right next to them. A junior in high school, she had made the choice that she wanted to be an engineer--one who would eventually design an entire new fleet of Boeing Jets for commercial use. She had only ever flown on a jet once--to see her grandparents after her momma’s passing--but it had been the only thing to give her relief from her sadness that day. It’s where her love affair with aviation began. 

Mack graduated top of her class (nerd, her brothers would always joke) and soon found herself enrolled in the University of Oklahoma’s prized engineering program (boomer sooner!). Of course, she wanted to stay close to home--one, to keep the costs down but two, leaving her family felt wrong, even six years later. And for the most part, Mack loved it. She got involved in all sorts of things--engineering clubs, intramural sports, and even, yes, a sorority. It went against all the things she hated in relation to femininity, but her mother had spoken so highly of her experiences in the organization, and Mack felt a pull to join her. To her surprise, she didn’t hate it--and it was with those women she really started to learn about feminism. 

You see, when Mack would go home, all the women in town would ask her about if she was seeing a boy. Mack had never understood why it mattered so much if she had a boyfriend or not--she was getting her degree in mechanical engineering, wasn’t that a tad bit more impressive than whatever guy she might be seeing? But soon, it occurred to her that the women in town would never understand anything other than her finding her future husband at school. The fact shocked her, considering it had never occurred to her in the slightest that she’d ever go to school to get��a husband in the first place. After the shock worn down, it enraged her and made her work harder. Because now, she was getting disparaging comments from the folks back home and the men in her internships and co-ops. Women can’t build things--they’ll break a nail. Why are you in pants? Your legs would look better in a skirt. Mack had never been one to bit her tongue, and on more than one occasion was able to test out what her brothers’ had taught her growing up. No one was going to tell Mack what she could or could not do. And certainly not because of her gender. 

Mack eventually graduated college--though deeply in debt thanks to all those added fees for science labs #thanksUofOklahoma--but realized that going back home would never be realistic for her. So, she packed up her truck, Betsy, and headed west. Originally, she had meant to go to Seattle or Portland--that’s where Boeing was, that’s where her dream landed. But something about Charming, CA caught her eye--and she found herself intrigued. Plus, it sure didn’t hurt that no one seemed to care when she applied to work as a mechanic in their autoshop. Now she’s been here about 8 years and she hasn’t grown sick of it yet. She still has dreams of working for Boeing, but as she grows more comfortable in Charming, they seem to be slipping to the wayside. 

Mack’s vibe is...well, she’s a loyal friend, a good listener and kind, though not sunshine and rainbows. Growing up without her mom really changed her--she still had a compassionate heart but it’s not as obvious as it once was. She’s still sassy, sarcastic and witty, but she is friendly as well. Smart too--and a bit of a nerd, loves herself some comics and documentaries. all around, she’s genuinely a good egg, just a little...rough around the edges at times. 

H E A D C A N O N S →

Mack never, ever goes by Mackenzie. In fact, you’ll never know its her full name unless she drops her ID. The only person you’ll ever hear call her that is her father--or brothers--when something is wrong. 

Her favorite food is chicken cordon bleu. She knows it sounds fancy but literally, her favorite is the one where you buy it frozen and pop it in the oven. She is a simple gal, truly. 

Her favorite shoes are her various pairs of converse, although for work she can be seen wearing docs so she doesn’t get oil all over her shoes. 

Betsy, her truck, is very special to her--she takes extra good care of it. She’s a 1967 Chevy C10 Pickup in a robin’s egg blue color--and her pride and joy.

Even though she loves her truck no matter what, the woman has worked on enough bikes for the various motorcycle clubs around town to know that if she had even gotten enough money--she’d get herself a nice bike. Flying down the road on open asphalt? Doesn’t get better than that. 

Mack loves classic rock. Like love loves it--but also the women of the 90′s like Alanis Morisette, Liz Phair, The Cranberries--she loves a good women rock group. 

P L O T S →

friends

exes

situationships/flirtationships

fwb

slowburn

coworkers

any connections to the motorcycle gang

literally i suck at listing plots out, just hit me up and i’ll be EXCITED TO PLOT!

[talesofpanem]

On the Wednesday Train

Author: @xerxia31

Rating: K

Summary: The Wednesday train brings a visitor from Katniss’s past, but she’s not ready to see him.

I sit on the porch swing Peeta made last fall, reading and re-reading the few simple lines scrawled on the thick Capitol paper trembling in my hands. I want to see you. And from the one person I never thought would write them.

It’s been more than five years since the end of the rebellion, more than five years since I killed Coin, more than five years since I was exiled to District Twelve. More than five years since I’ve seen my former best friend. 

More than five years since he killed my baby sister.

Behind me, our cottage door creaks open on hinges that I mentally remind myself to oil. “Are you hungry?” Peeta’s voice is low, tentative. He knows what’s in the letter, was beside me when I opened it. But like always, he’s giving me the space to come to terms with its contents on my own, no pressure. Peeta never pressures me into anything. I glance over my shoulder at him and he smiles softly. “Dinner is ready, if you want.”

I toss the letter onto the table that rests just inside the door as I follow my husband into the cozy little home we built together a couple of years ago. If the past five years have taught me anything, it’s that I can now afford to think before I act. I don’t have to answer the letter now.

I don’t have to answer the letter ever.

—–

It takes a month.

A month of thinking. Of reliving that awful day in the city circle, of nightmares and tears and hours spent staring into the void. Of missing Prim so much that my very bones ache with it. 

A month of long walks in the forest. Of reliving those quiet moments of innocence, of brotherhood, of shared responsibility but also shared triumph, so sweet in memory but gone forever.

A month of yelling and of whispered conversations. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough to see him,” I confess one night, long after we’ve gone to bed. We’re on top of the sheets in deference to the heat, a faint breeze wafting through the open window to alight on sweat-sheened skin.

“You’re strong enough to do anything,” Peeta reminds me. “And you don’t have to do it alone.” He’s right, of course. There aren’t many in District 12, even still. But the few of us who are here have built a community together. Our friends, our family of choice if not by birth.

“He hurt me.” There are so many more layers to my fear, my reluctance to see Gale again. But the simplest truth is that Gale’s actions hurt me terribly, irreparably.

“I know,” Peeta says, tracing soothing circles on the scarred skin of my belly. “But he loved you too.”

-----

He arrives on the Wednesday train, which surprises me. I’d thought a fancy government job in District Two would have afforded him the means to travel via hovercraft, or maybe even private car. Instead, Gale is taking a train along the same tracks that twice hurtled Peeta and me towards certain death.

We don’t meet him at the station. I pace our porch until the train whistle echoes through the district. Then I switch to pacing our small living room.

Peeta, though outwardly calm, has covered our kitchen table with baked goods, the scents of hot yeast and sugar filling our home even with all of the windows flung wide. He’s sheepish, but I know how keeping his hands and mind busy helps him fight off the false memories that still plague him from time to time, memories that so often involve Gale and me and things that never happened between us. 

And things that did.

Despite his clear inner turmoil, Peeta abandons his baking to pace with me. “What could he possibly want after all of this time?” I mutter. It’s a hypothetical question; I could have asked in my return letter weeks earlier but I didn’t. I only wrote ‘okay’, and left it at that.

Peeta wraps his arms around me and kisses my temple. “I don’t know, love,” he says, the same answer he’s given me every time I’ve asked. “But we’ll find out soon enough.”

I know the district like the back of my hand, know exactly how long it takes to walk from the train station to the little cottage Peeta and I built about a half mile from where the fence once stood. That span comes and goes, and then a second of equal length. Peeta and I stop pacing, and eventually move out onto our porch, settling into the swing together, his arm still holding me steady, my head now settled onto his shoulder. “Maybe he changed his mind,” I say, voicing the thought I know we’ve both had. “Or missed his connection?”

Peeta merely hums above me, a sound that could be agreement but I suspect is not, and sets the swing in motion with a push of his good leg. And he’s right, because only a few minutes later a long shadow turns down our walkway. Gale, silhouetted by the sun, strange and yet somehow familiar too.

And not alone.

Peeta’s smile is genuine and delighted as he takes in Gale’s companion, my expression is likely the confused scowl I’ve spent much of my life wearing.

She has straight black hair that bounces with each step, and wide, wary almond-shaped eyes, so dark they glisten like wet coal in the afternoon light. As Gale approaches, she tucks her face into his shoulder shyly.

“It’s good to see you,” Peeta says when my own silence has stretched too long, clomping down the porch steps while I stand frozen at the top. Gale shifts the dark haired toddler on his hip to reach for Peeta’s outstretched hand.

“It’s been a long time.” I jolt a little at Gale’s voice, just the same as it always was, and yet different too. Older. More tired.

Gale’s pint-sized companion peeks out at us again, gazing back and forth between Peeta and me, her little brow wrinkling. “And who is this?” Peeta asks, smiling at the little girl and ducking to her level. She reaches out to pat his golden curls before retreating again.

“This is Iris,” Gale says. He turns to speak directly to her. “Can you say hello?” The fondness in his voice reminds me so much of how he always used to speak to Posy, and to Prim. 

Prim.

My throat closes and heavy clouds descend over my heart. I think Peeta notices, even as distracted as he is by Iris. Peeta loves children. He’d make an incredible father, if he had a different wife. Instead, he comes back to the wife he does have, me, and wraps his arm around my shoulder again, taking some of my weight as my knees tremble.

Gale follows him up, until he’s standing just feet away for the first time in so long. Solemn grey eyes regard me cautiously. “Hey Katniss,” he says and a part of me is inexplicably saddened by the loss of the nickname I always hated. 

“Gale,” I whisper. Then nothing. We size each other up like rivals before the duel, the air between us fetid with grief and fear.

“Come inside,” Peeta encourages.

We move into the living room that bears Peeta’s touch on every surface, bright pictures on the walls and soft blankets tossed over the comfortable sofa and chairs. It’s smaller and simpler than our old houses in Victor’s Village, but palatial compared to the Seam shack where I grew up. And like all of our little house, it’s warm and welcoming, just like the man who makes gentle small talk as we settle in, asking about the trip, the weather, bringing out sweet tea and plates of baked goods. 

Gale sits on the couch with Iris on his lap and my gaze is drawn to her like a magnet. She’s perhaps two, or maybe just a bit older, and admittedly adorable, her initial shyness already fading as she looks around curiously. 

A child. Gale has a child of his own. It hits me hard, the unfairness of it. That he should have a perfect family when he stole that future from my sister. That he’s built a life when there are still days I can’t even get out of bed.

Peeta glances at Gale before asking, “Do you like cookies, Iris?” Gale grins, and Iris nods, a huge smile dimpling her plump cheeks. Peeta holds out a cookie, cinnamon, the kind I like best, and she takes it in that trusting way that most kids seem to exhibit with Peeta.

We fall quiet again. Gale bounces Iris on his knees while she messily devours a cookie, giggling and feeding him bites. She clearly adores him. And the way he looks at her fills my chest with an unfamiliar longing. Not for Gale, not even for a baby of my own. But for the contentment of a life I’ve never even wanted.

Peeta carries the conversation, telling Gale about the medicine factory that is slated to open in the fall, the influx of new people we expect will follow. Gale speaks not about his life in Two, but about the new housing going up above ground in Thirteen, now that the decontamination there is complete. 

When Peeta inquires if Gale is part of that project, he shakes his head. “My mom’s house will be in the first group. Rory is on one of the construction crews.”

“They’re not with you in Two?” I ask, the first words I’ve said since Peeta’s return. Gale stiffens, a frown tugging at his lips.

“They’re not,” he says, and ever after five years I can read his pain, hear it in his gruff voice. “But I speak with them a couple of times a month.” That surprises me, Gale was always so close to Hazelle, even when the mines, and then the war, took him away for so many hours, he still made time for her. I wonder why he hasn’t brought them to Two.

Iris is getting restless, climbing over Gale and making little whining noises. When Peeta offers to take her to feed Haymitch’s geese (“they’re much tamer than the man,” he assures Gale) I feel betrayed. I don’t want to be alone with this stranger who isn’t a stranger. So much for not having to do this alone.

Peeta takes Iris’s hand, she follows him happily. It’s quiet for many, many long moments, only the soft murmur of Peeta and Iris’s conversation floating in from the kitchen as they gather bits of stale bread for the geese, and the wind through the willows just outside my window. The front door creaks again, announcing their departure.

Then Gale and I are alone. I shift in my chair by the fireplace, across from Gale, and really look at him.

He’s well put together, nice clothing and new shoes, neatly trimmed nails with no coal dust under them. But he seems so much older than his not quite 25 years, the line between his brows a permanent feature, a weariness in his grey eyes. He regards me the same way, cataloguing the changes that five years have wrought on my own face. I know what he sees. While my face was spared in the explosion and fire all of those years ago, the burn scars that mar my arms and legs are on full display. I’m no longer self-conscious enough about them to wear long sleeves, especially in the late August heat. This is who I am, and the people of Twelve accept me, faults and all. More importantly, Peeta loves me despite everything. I have nothing to be ashamed of. And I remind myself that I have nothing to fear here either.

“How old is Iris?” I start. There are a thousand things we should be talking about, but his daughter is perhaps the easiest.

“She just turned two in April,” he says.

“You didn’t mention her.” 

He nods. “Her mother was my neighbour, in Two. She died just before Christmas. There was no one to take the baby.”

“Oh,” I say, surprised. “She’s not your-”

“She is my daughter,” he interrupts, voice hard. “In every way that matters.”

I’m momentarily stunned, not just by his vehemence, but that he’s taken in an orphan, and is raising her apparently alone, without her mother or his own. That’s not the Gale I remember, who cared about his family, sure, but not for strangers. He never seemed upset about the kids in the community home like I was.

“She’s why I’m here,” he admits.

“You wanted me to meet her?” He could have just sent a photograph, like Annie did when little Finn was born. 

“No, I mean, yeah, I did, but that’s not what I meant,” he stutters. I bite my tongue, giving him the space to sort out his thoughts. “Having her in my life…” he trails off, and stands, walking over to the window. I can see his pained expression reflected in the glass.

“I wanted you to know that I get it now,” he says, still facing away. “I didn’t really understand, after.” He sighs, but I stay still and silent. “I felt bad.” He shakes his head and turns to face me. I’m shocked to see his eyes are shimmering. “I feel bad, I feel fucking awful, about what I created with Beetee, what they used it for. But until Iris, I didn’t really understand. I do now.”

I frown and shake my head. Having a baby shouldn’t be necessary to understand why blowing up a bunch of kids is wrong. This is ridiculous.

“I understand,” he tries again, “that there are things more important than being right.” He tries to clear the roughness from his throat. “Back then, I was always so angry, so damned righteous. I hated being so powerless.” 

“We all did,” I remind him, anger in my voice. “Nothing makes you feel quite so powerless as seeing your little sister’s name pulled out of a giant glass bowl. Of hearing her essentially sentenced to death.”

“I know,” he says softly, though he doesn’t. The only person who really understands the scars I bear on my soul is Peeta. And maybe Haymitch, on his more lucid days. “Once the war started,” he continues, “and we were in Thirteen, well, people started giving me a little bit of that power I craved. It was a heady experience.” 

“It never felt like that for me,” I grumble. My experiences with the people of Thirteen were so different. I never felt like I was being given the power to change things. I felt like a tool, or a puppet.

“I know,” he says again. “And that should have been my first clue. You knew, you always knew, right from the beginning, that Coin was using us.” 

Gale closes his eyes, head bowed while I stare, unable to absolve him. My sister is dead, as are a lot of other kids and medics. While their deaths aren’t wholly his fault, his contribution is unforgivable, despite the pressure we were both under in Thirteen. “I’m not asking for your forgiveness,” he whispers, as if reading my thoughts. “I just want you to know that I am so very sorry. But more than that, I understand, and I pledge to you, and to Prim, that I’m going to do everything in my power to make the world a better place.”

Honestly, that still sounds like what he thought he was doing with Thirteen, and I frown. “You don’t believe me?”

“I do.”

“But it isn’t enough?”

“I guess I don’t see how it’s any different. You’ve always wanted to change Panem, Gale. You’ve always wanted to forge ahead full speed and crush anything in your path” I expect him to get angry, to defend himself. Instead he smiles, wistfully.

“You’re right,” he says. “But it is different now. I’m different now,” he emphasizes. He turns away again, leaning on the window sill. I join him, our shoulders nearly touching as we look out over my front yard, the laneway beyond it. Victor’s Village is too far to see from my house, but when the wind blows just right I can hear the sounds of children playing on the green there. Not today, though. There’s only somber silence. “I’m trying,” he says finally, the words defeated. “I may never get it right, but I’m trying.”

“I don’t understand.” Trying to get through to me? Trying to be a good dad? I just don’t know.

“Trying to be like you. I used to think you were weak,” he says, and I bristle. “I thought your compassion was cowardice.” He faces me again, and this time his tears have spilled over, twin trails tracking down his cheeks. “But it’s the opposite. Your compassion is your strength. It’s why you both survived the Games. Why you found Peeta and nursed him back to health. Why you dragged him through the sewers instead of letting him kill himself.” He turns away and I absorb his words. Compassion. It’s a word I’ve always associated with Peeta. But maybe I have a little myself too. 

“It’s why you’re listening to me now instead of chasing me down the lane with your bow,” Gale murmurs. A reluctant smile lifts one side of my mouth. Under all the bluster, under the fancy clothes and the fancy haircut, he’s still Gale, still that boy who was once my best friend. I’m not so petulant that I can’t admit, if only to myself, that I’ve missed him.

He must see the softening of my expression because he laughs quietly and wipes his face roughly with a sleeve. He doesn’t ask me for forgiveness, which makes me glad. I’m not sure I’m ready to forgive him yet. But maybe someday. 

We watch the trees wave in the light breeze in silence that feels far more companionable until toddler squeals float through the woods, approaching. Peeta and Iris returning. Reality returning. 

“Are you okay, Katniss?” I know he means more than am I all right with him being here and the things we’ve talked about. 

“I am. We are,” I say, meaning me and Peeta. And maybe meaning Gale too. 

They stay only a few minutes longer before Gale takes his tired little girl to the boarding house where they’re spending the night. Peeta offers our spare room, but I’m not sad when Gale declines. We made progress today, but I’m not ready for anything more just yet. 

We watch their retreat from our porch, Peeta’s arm again wrapped around me. 

“You were so brave today,” Peeta says when they turn the corner and disappear from view. I nod, turning into his arms, inhaling his scent. “And so was he.”

“So was he,” I agree.