#too beautiful to be seen without a small measure of horror

[grimm909]

Deep In The Sea - Part 1

Hey guys! I don't have much to say here, not to mention that I will be answering your requests as soon as possible. I'm sorry for those who wait, but I had made a promise to myself that I would do, first of all, a horror and drama story where Jade would be the main attraction. Sorry for the delay and please don't give up on me! I also want to apologize if there are any English mistakes. As I said in my first post here on tumbrl: English is not my native language. Happy reading~  WARNINGS: female gender reader, violence, yandere, obsession, non-consensual, mind break, horror, drama, mutilation, mention of pregnancy.

The creature's eyes glowed with fervent attraction, which you thought were like a child's after being given a new toy. That same heterochromatic gaze met two other eyes fragmented between fear and fascination, but equally deep as the ocean. Those eyes were too fixed to dare to look away. Those eyes were yours.

Apparently attracted to you, little by little the creature's slippery tail began to wrap itself around your body, similar to a seaweed that simply wraps itself around things, without actually squeezing them. It was almost like a preventive measure to not let you get away from him, preventing any attempt by you to escape – which you thought was a possibility.

The penknife still present in your hand — firmly attached to your fingers as the only weapon you had in case you tried to defend yourself against him — was something seen and admired by the merman, as it had been exactly the object that had saved him until a few moments ago.

And of course, you.

[...]

It should have been just another normal day of swimming for you. As a marine biologist, sometimes your job allows you to explore and catalog the different types of fish in the sea.

You don't know exactly when this desire to explore the intriguing and dangerous ocean started, but you know that's what you wanted for your life. The emotion, the adrenaline, and how enchanting the beauty of the things that existed below the water was not something that made you tired.

You also usually had the help of your friend and co-worker, who was responsible for steering a small speedboat, to take it to the middle of the ocean. Sometimes you took turns swimming, as it was not a good idea to leave your only means of transport floating in the sea. 

Really, nothing had been much different from that. You put on your wetsuit, waved goodbye to your mate, and dropped into the ocean with a waterproof camera slung around your neck. 

You dove as far as you could to the bottom of the ocean, for enduring the cold and high pressure down there was not something a human could do without the proper equipment. And his were good, but not the best. 

Nevertheless, for someone with affinity and custome, trying to go more than a hundred meters deep was reasonable. As far as you knew, the longest record ever broken by a person was 320 meters. But honestly, it's not like you're too interested in beating other people's records, if they weren't your own. 

So you were tempted to go deeper than ever before. Checking his blood pressure gauge and what oxygen he had left, he realized that a longer round trip would be possible, as long as there were no interruptions along the way. 

However, it was from this decision that things started to take another turn. 

So, well, your fault. 

You've successfully managed to bear the huge weight on your back and take some great pictures, which you use to take some daily notes later on. However, just as you were about to swim back to the surface because of the oxygen, a tiny high-pitched sound was captured by his ears.

You thought at first that it might be a whale, dolphin, or any other creature that made relatively loud sounds like that. However, this hypothesis was soon dismissed on its own when the sound again resounded in a more strangely shrill and profound way, that even the earplugs could not rid him of the momentary headache caused by the noise. 

This was unlike anything you had ever heard, recognizing that it was not an aquatic animal ever cataloged by man. You were extremely tempted to want to know what it could be, perhaps even discovering a new species of sea creature and being able to photograph it. 

Curiosity overcame your logic and you tried to guide yourself through the animal's "screams", noticing that as you swam deeper, the sound increased. Darkness began to cover more and more the entire route, due to the lack of sunlight. And you were forced to turn on the flashlight housed above your head, so you could see what was before your eyes. 

The vision was of a tortuous path with many stones, but his biggest concern was the excess of mesh nets present in the environment and other types of garbage improperly discarded, which continued along the way to where the source of the sound was. 

You checked the oxygen in the cylinder one more time and realized you had to race against the time. The movement of your feet and hands became more erratic, yet quite painful due to the pressure of being even further down than you could have anticipated. 

By the increase in speed, in the distance you noticed a strange sea shape, which for you exactly resembled an eel. However, eels didn't "scream" that way. They didn't even look as huge as this one. 

You became more cautious as you knew the good reputations of these creatures and taking an electrical shock was not in your plans. Then he tried to approach more slowly, until he noticed that the creature's shape was starting to get even weirder. 

You hid behind a rock and turned off your flashlight so the animal wouldn't see the light, then turned on the camera. Your intention was to zoom in as far as you could and try to take the picture right there in the darkness, through the flash.

Squinting your head a little, you positioned the camera towards the animal and in a quick fraction of a second, the light emerged through the click of a button. You get your photo and quickly go back into hiding, analyzing the image. 

It is not completely clear, let alone sufficiently illuminated, but the shading of the animal is quite noticeable and it would be possible to make an analysis of which species is. That is, if you knew any sea animals with arms. 

Yup. Damn arms. 

Aside from an apparently human head, of course. 

Is it possible to choke under water, breathing through a tube? Well, you almost did. 

You eyes widened in absolute surprise and her hands that were still holding the camera trembled with anxiety. 

You thought that, like every child, it was always normal to hear and even be interested in fanciful stories of mermaids and mermen. But the fact that somehow these creatures could be real stirred you in a strange way. To make matters worse, none of these stories portrayed the mermaids as friendly beings, but rather as ship sinks and fishermen killers. Especially, if you disregard the entire "The Little Mermaid" movie. 

However, you are abruptly kicked out of your own thoughts when the sound made by the creature is even worse than before, causing your eardrums to ache due to the distance of only a few meters between the two of you. 

No way. That's ridiculous. It should just be a misunderstanding on your part. It was all so dark in the image, that simply assuming it was a mythological creature without even seeing it with its own eyes, was evidently gross neglect on the part of the animal that was screaming for apparent help. Yes, animal. 

By this reasoning, which you tried to tell yourself was the only absolute truth, you put your camera in place, turned on your flashlight again, and came out of your makeshift hiding place to complete your objective. 

However, for a second surprise that day, in less than a few minutes, you realized how foolish you were, to think that your eyes had been deceived with the truth demonstrated through a blurry photograph.

It was real. The stories were really true.

For a few seconds, time stopped for you and your body remained stagnant, as if you were just some object floating in the water. The image before your eyes would be etched in your mind for a long time, both for the stunning beauty of the creature and for how deadly it looked, but especially for the deplorable state in which he found himself. 

His neck and wrists were tied to a large mesh net, linked to a generous amount of rubbish tangled around a rock. It was impossible to escape that trap caused by the illegal disposal of men, if the stone was not obstructed or if those wires were not cut. And the fact that the merman was struggling to get out of there didn't help, it just made the situation worse so that he was more and more trapped. It was like he was in quicksand, how funny. 

However, time didn't stop for him, who noticed your presence precisely by the light that the flashlight emitted, directing his attention to you and immediately growling as a probable warning. 

Soon, it all happened just too fast for your eyes to follow. One instant you were fine and the next a dull ache shot up the side of your face, so that totally unprepared by the force of the blow, you fell to the sand. 

His goggles ended up cracking a little on one of the lenses, perhaps from the fall or the attack by the merman's tail — who else could it have been and what? Furthermore, the creature's tail was the only thing it wasn't attached to, enabling it to attack anything that came dangerously close.

Afraid, you quickly sat up and crawled across the sand to get away from the monster, then raised your hands in the air and shook your head frantically from side to side, trying to indicate that you weren't there to hurt it. This didn't seem to have the slightest effect—probably because those signs didn't mean shit to him, or he wasn't a rational creature as mythological stories always suggested—whereupon the merman was now stretching his arm and tail toward him to try to reach you. Like anyone in this situation, you feared for your life, but you weren't angry at the creature for its hostile actions and you knew there was no way it could hurt you, precisely because it was trapped. 

Actions speak louder than words, however—even though there was this tremendous irony that you couldn't even speak because you were underwater, just as you seriously doubted the merman would understand you if he could—and you pulled out of the pocket of your latex coveralls a switchblade, grabbing a piece of net on the ground that luckily was close to you, and cutting it with extreme ease, then pointing at the blade and then at the net it was tangled up with, signaling that he wanted to help you. 

The merman somehow seemed to understand you bad mime, relaxing his muscles and stopping his growling, yet still giving him an extreme look of distrust. Surely, one wrong move with that object and your neck would be broken. You were just lucky this time, because you weren't close enough to take the full weight of that monster's tail in one slap.

A third time, you checked your oxygen and realized that you would now not only have to be careful to help him, but very quickly. However, fast and careful were two words that couldn't always keep together. 

You thought a little about getting close. Is it ok to untie it? Until a few moments ago, he seemed quite willing to kill you. However, you stopped to once again analyze the situation he was in. If by chance his movements in his hands and neck were not entirely restricted, he might even be able to cut the net with his teeth or sharp nails. And if he wasn't released, he might starve to death or some other predator even bigger than he would make him a snack.

You forced yourself to swallow your own fear. If I were in his shoes, I would also like to be released. Maybe he wouldn't kill you in retribution, right? 

You got off the ground and swam a little closer, breaking the safe distance from your body to his. You looked into the merman's eyes, trying to convey serenity and confidence, then looked away at the hammock around his neck, deciding that first you would free him from that agonizing suffocation he was probably feeling. 

You lift the pocketknife in your hand and carefully begin grinding the line of his neck, breaking out in a cold sweat at the prospect of accidentally cutting it. If that happened, he'd get a little cut and you'd get a broken neck. Haha, it would even be funny, if it wasn't for a cruel possibility. 

Taking longer than you'd expect, when the last line of mesh on its neck is removed, the merman looks strangely relieved and you almost swore you saw him heave a sigh. Inside, you smiled at it and then proceeded to cut the net from one of your wrists. 

When the job was done, the creature raised its webbed hand and pushed you away with a light shove to the chest. You were slightly startled by this, but then realized that he would finish the job himself, using the claws of his free hand and sharp teeth to instantly rip apart that net, much faster and more aggressively than you had done with the knife. So that was it, he was on the loose. The merman massaged his neck and wrists, relieving the likely pain he was feeling. His face, no longer nervous, looked strangely indifferent and serious, as if he had stepped in mud and soiled his shoes—that is, if he had been on land and had feet.

Then he hovered over his person and approached with a single, brief flick of his tail. At that moment, the apathetic face gave way to a brief curve of lips in a polite smile. 

And you didn't like it.

[...]

So, here was your person. Facing a potentially dangerous and definitely carnivorous creature. However, now was not the time to remember the events that had stupidly gotten you into this situation. 

After all, you were starting to run out of oxygen in the cylinder. You widened your eyes and lifted your free hand and pointed at the tube in your mouth, then up, then at the tube again. Repeating this sequence more than three times so the merman could understand his despair. 

You shook your head from side to side and touched its slippery as well as sticky tail to push it away. That bad choice only made him tighten around you even tighter, not enough to hurt, though. You thought you could use your pocketknife to hurt him, but from the look of it, he was just holding you there out of sheer curiosity, with no pretense of attacking. 

Desperate, you gave him the best pleading, desperate look you could muster, trying to let him know that you really needed to go. And all he did was just widen his smile. 

Oh no. 

From then on you swore you would die, but it was then that he surprisingly proceeded to unroll his tail from his body. The merman swam dangerously closer until his face hovered inches away from his own, causing his eyes to widen and a nasty shiver down his spine. 

His big, sharp, smacking hand touched your face, then tenderly caressed the side, in the same spot where it had hit before—and which now was a huge red smear. You noticed: he was apologizing through this act of affection. 

In another situation, you would find this very cute. But not in this one, certainly. And it didn't help much when the creature decided to break the distance, opening its mouth to lick the entire reddened expanse, with a tongue you found to be extremely long and strangely soft. 

Is this supposed to be really cute? Now it felt more like psychological torture.

You felt a tightening around your waist, this time realizing it was his arm. And it wasn't long before the merman's other arm came around his back as well. You had no idea what he wanted, however you understood when the merman began to swim up, with you in his arms. 

Apparently, he had the vague idea that you definitely wouldn't survive if you stayed there much longer, so he was giving you a ride. He was so fast! So fast that even the pressure made her head ache, needing to hug him back so she would feel less likely to end up having a stroke. You would never have had a chance to escape him if he wasn't being so friendly. Killing and eating you wasn't in his plans, apparently. 

And lucky for you, in less than five minutes, the sea started to be less dark and brighter, indicating the brightness of the Sun and how close you were to the surface. 

The oxygen time in your cylinder runs out completely, but unbelievably coincides with the time your head finally emerged from the water. You hastily take the tube out of your mouth and suck in a significant amount of air. 

How stupid of you to take such a risk, as you had taken today. 

The feeling of pure relief makes you forget for a moment that you are still facing and in the arms of a mythological creature, resting your head on the merman's shoulder and breathing heavily. 

When the world in your head finally seems to be at peace, you take your distance from the merman and this time he lets you go. Lifting your goggles, you once again stare into the creature's eyes, this time without fear. 

"Thanks." 

You thanked him and smiled, gracing the merman's ears for the first time with your thin voice, even though you were uncertain if he would be able to understand it.

He then mutters something totally incomprehensible to you, however you imagined it was his "disposition". 

You start looking around the sea, identifying to your right a distant image of what looked like a speedboat. 

Immediately turning your back on the creature without saying another word, you proceed to swim towards your only mode of transport. 

Distant enough, you turn your head back one last time to confirm that the creature was still there and that for a moment, none of this was your imagination. And to her surprise, he was. However, showing a terrifying, sharp-toothed grin, exclusively for you in delight or gratitude. You wouldn't be able to identify it anyway. Maybe you didn't even want to. 

However, you are polite to smile again—however forcedly—and give him a brief wave of your hand, thus saying goodbye to him definitively and returning to swimming without looking back. 

You hoped never to see him again.

[...] 

Telling what happened to your friend was not a complicated task, because it would be really difficult for him to believe his story. For sure, he would just think that the water pressure started to affect his head in a negative way, making him notice things that weren't there. 

And by those thoughts, you omitted the truth. Even if you had that blurry photo intact—and showed it to prove the integrity of your words—your colleague would momentarily be surprised, but then quickly dismiss the possibility of being a merman by saying you were confusing seaweed with arms. Sea shadows are never to be trusted, he would say. 

Extremely skeptical he was, just as you were. Although, now, maybe you weren't as skeptical as before after seeing that sea monster in person, touching it and still hugging it. 

You decided to frame the creature's photo in a photo panel you had in your room, to always remember that certain "things" really existed and to remember that the sea floor might not be as friendly as you thought it would be. 

You almost died, idiot.

Still, it didn't shake you as much as it should have, for after a week since your encounter with the merman, you continued to do your usual job at sea. 

You didn't find him either and didn't risk swimming too deep, fearful that she would see him again or find another creature no longer as "generous" as the first. 

However, fate seemed to have other plans for you. 

Cruel plans.

Thanks for reading this far! But if you're frustrated that you don't have any smut, know that part two will be full of it. I had to split it due to how long it was. So next time be careful with the depth!

You don't want to drown, do you?

Eventually, my work will also be posted on Ao3, in the form of two chapters. So, don't be surprised if you find him there.

See you~💙

[winter-dayz]

So naïve...

Pairing: Felix Lee x Reader Fairy AU Genre: Angst; Horror (if you squint) Words: 1197

Masterlist | Fictober Masterpost

Taglist:  @soobin-chois

Tucked away in the shadows of the attic, a dusty car sat in a box of old toys. Its paint had faded some and the wheels no longer turned, but what made it special was the tiny fairy trapped within.

Fairies are rather fragile creatures, with delicate wings and reliant on the laughter of children to thrive.

But Y/N had become twisted. Her wings, once like fine lace and the envy of other fae, had wilted and warped. They had thickened into a leathery texture and darkened from their original opalescence into a swirl of sickly greens and browns. Her eyes, once playful and joyful, were a storm of melancholy and malevolence; her mood swinging wildly with pain, wrath, and hatred.

She had been bound to a stupid toy car by an ancient enchantment, a punishment for betraying the realm of the fairies over her love of a human boy. A human that later, also, turned on her and left her to fend for herself.

Since being stashed away, her every thought had been consumed by a thirst for revenge against either the fae realm that had cursed her to such a wretched, lonely existence or the family of the human that had pushed her to betray her own kind. Preferably both.

Confined to the small, lifeless world of the toy car and without access to love or attention—the bane of any fairy’s existence—Y/N had nearly rotted away.

It was when Felix entered the attic, his curiosity piqued by his parents’ insistence not to rifle through his ancestors’ old heirlooms, that Y/N felt hope again.

She had spent decades concocting her plan, after all. All she needed was someone naïve enough to take her little car out of this place. To care for it.

So, she bewitched him, using a bit of magic and allure she drew the freckled boy in like a moth to a flame.

And it worked.

Thinking nothing of why he felt so drawn to the box of toy cars, Felix took them from his parents home.

🎃

As Felix held the little blue bus up to the sun, investigating it curiously, Y/N was enacting the first step of her plan. He was kin to the wretched human that helped put her in this predicament, so he would have to pay. And to do that, she first used his own naivety against him.

With him touching the cursed object, she was easily able to bind them together. He would never be rid of her or the bus. Even if he didn’t fall for the rest of her plan, which she really doubted would happen, he would be forever bound to her. And she would assure his life would be hell.

The binding didn’t take long, but Felix noticed. To say he was baffled by the faint glow and whispers coming from the little bus in his hand would be an understatement.

And then he spotted her.

She glamoured herself to appear as beautiful as she once did, and Felix let out an astonished gasp. “Who are you?” He whispered as she slathered on a sickly sweet smile.

“I’m Y/N,” she waved at him cautiously and then pouted for good measure, “I’m trapped in this little bus. I’ve been cursed by evil fairies for eternal torment…”

Felix was filled with amazement at seeing the little creature. He’d never believed the kid’s stories his grandparents told him could be true, but here was living, breathing proof. There was a part of him that panged in sorrow for the poor thing’s suffering too, but an even smaller piece of his subconscious warned him against being too trusting.

Unfortunately for Felix, and fortunately for Y/N, he didn’t listen to the tiny voice telling him to be cautious of a fairy.

They couldn’t lie, right? And she was trapped, so what harm could she really do? That’s how Felix rationalized spending days upon days carrying around the little toy and spending late hours into the night telling her all about his life and dreams and listening to her talk about her home.

“I miss it, y’know,” she sighed wistfully, twirling a lock of hair around her tiny fingers. “I haven’t seen the flower fields in years… Oh! And the stars… You can see them, even during the day!” Y/N exclaimed, adding a little giggle, “Your cute freckles remind me of them though, so at least that helps now.”

Felix spent those days falling in love with the wicked, little fairy, and Y/N spent those nights finetuning her plan to betray him and destroy her “beloved” home.

“Can’t you go back?”

Y/N sighed mournfully, “I would love to… I want to touch the moonlight rays and feel the misty breeze beneath my wings again. But, like I’ve told you… I’m trapped in here.”

Felix huffed, “There must be a way… Isn’t there anything I can do to help?”

Y/N felt a burst of glee. He had fallen for her ploy. Hook, line, and sinker.

“Well…” Y/N began softly, “there might be. I’ve heard that a human who captures and truly cares for a fairy is able to break curses on them…”

Felix, on the other hand, felt desperate to help the beautiful, charismatic fairy. He had squashed the subconscious fear of the unknown creature and replaced it with a childlike dream that, once freed, they would be together somehow. Love conquers all, after all.

“The power of love…” Felix breathed out. “You just tell me what I need to do, and I’ll do it!”

“You just have to wish for me to be free, Felix. We need natural water, and for you to make your wish with pure intent.”

🎃

The next morning, Felix found himself wading into the lake with the little toy bus.

“And you’re sure this will work?”

She smiled, “It’ll work like a charm~”

Felix’s eyes closed when Y/N instructed that he was deep enough. As he made his wish for her freedom, he felt his heart begin to race. It felt like his soul was being sucked away; his entire being pulled down.

Y/N snickered, the little tinkling of her laugh sounding bigger and bigger and more sinister.

That tiny subconscious thought that the fairy wasn’t to be trusted was screaming at him now, and he tried to drop the bus, but found he couldn’t. He felt too compelled to hold tightly to the toy. He felt bound.

Y/N’s snickers turned louder; she was cackling. Felix’s eyes snapped open seeing the four walls of a faded blue metal toy surrounding him. Peering through the bits of plastic windows, he saw Y/N in full size and glory.

Her bat-like wings stretched behind her, crooked smile sneering at the little toy now in her hand. Her aura seeped inky blackness, bleeding into the water and poisoning the air around her.

He had freed her. She never lied that his love would do that. She just omitted the truth that the curse required one of their bloodlines to be trapped.

“Thanks for that, angel, “ She spat with a twisted smile. “So naïve…”

[ujuzshelve-blog]

ADE'S REGRET

Once upon a time, in a small village nestled on the edge of a lush forest, lived a curious and adventurous young boy named Ade. He had a heart filled with unfathomable dreams and an insatiable thirst for exploring the unknown. However, there was one thing Ade neglected the most – listening to his loving parents' advice. Ade's parents were wise and had seen the world outside the village. They knew of the dangers that lurked beyond the safety of its walls, and they always cautioned their son to be careful. "Ade, dear," his mother would say, her eyes filled with concern, "the forest holds many secrets, some of which may not be kind. Promise us you won't go too far."

But Ade was stubborn and believed he was invincible, just like the heroes in the stories he loved to read. He would dismiss his parents' warnings with a careless wave of his hand, eager to embark on his own extraordinary adventures. One sunny morning, as Ade woke up with an overwhelming desire to uncover hidden treasures, he hatched a plan to venture deeper into the forest than ever before. The tales of a mystical waterfall, whispered among the villagers, enticed him beyond measure. "Today," Ade declared with determination, "I shall discover the legendary waterfall and prove that I am the greatest adventurer in the land!"

With a glint in his eyes and a skip in his step, Ade bid his parents farewell, assuring them he would return before sunset. Little did he know that the greatest adventure of his life was about to unfold, and he would soon long for the warmth of his parents' presence. As Ade ventured further into the dense forest, the familiar sights and sounds began to change. The once melodious chirping of birds turned into an eerie silence, and the comforting sunlight struggled to penetrate the thick canopy above. Nevertheless, his thirst for discovery pushed him forward. Hours turned into an eternity, and the booming sound of rushing water filled the air, guiding Ade toward the secret waterfall. Finally, he stumbled upon a majestic sight, a cascade of liquid diamonds shimmering under the rays of the setting sun.

Euphoria consumed Ade as he marveled at the breathtaking beauty before him. He eagerly approached the enchanting water's edge, his curiosity overwhelming any trace of caution his parents had tried to instill. Without hesitation, he dipped his hand into the pool, longing to capture a sip of the fabled waters.

But as soon as the water touched his lips, a sudden roar erupted, and the ground beneath him shook violently. Ade gasped in horror as the water around him transformed into a monstrous whirlpool, threatening to swallow him whole. Panic washed over him, and for the first time, he realized the gravity of his disobedience. In that moment of despair, Ade whispered, "I wish I had listened to my parents." It was a wish meant for redemption, a plea for a second chance. To his astonishment, the whirlpool ceased, and the waters calmed. A figure materialized from within, cloaked in shimmering silver. It was a mystical water spirit, known as Naiada, the guardian of the secret waterfall. "Child," she spoke gently, "your wish has been heard. Remember, there is strength in the wisdom of those who love you." With those words, Naiada vanished, leaving Ade trembling on the water's edge. He knew now the true importance of listening to his parents. With a newfound understanding and humility, he made his way back to the village, his heart filled with gratitude for his parents' love and guidance.

From that day forth, Ade became a more attentive and obedient son. He listened to his parents' advice, cherishing the precious wisdom they offered. And though he yearned for more adventures, he understood that sometimes the most significant journey one can undertake is the path back to the ones who love us unconditionally. And as the sun set behind the village, Ade rested his head upon his mother's lap, sharing tales of his perilous expedition. The didactic echoes of his journey would forever remind him and the other children of the village to heed the loving.

[elsewhereuniversity]

She did not apply to Elsewhere. She’s very sure she did not apply to Elsewhere. She had let her eyes deliberately slide past the name and the godforsaken crest, had made sure she didn’t take any forms she didn’t need, had double and triple checked the addresses. 

The letter came for her anyway. 

The envelope had a single stamp neatly glued to it’s top right corner, which she appreciates (it forms a nice balance with the university crest on the top left), but really, if they were trying for normality there should be a postmark somewhere. 

And they should perhaps leave the letter in her mailbox instead of on her goddamn coffee table. 

She’d like to think that she was calm when she saw it, looking like a poisoned gift in the middle of the oval tabletop, but really, her reaction was more like an amalgamation of the words ‘why god why’ and ‘oh hell no’. 

It took several hours of calming down, a box of Pop Tarts and a brief trip out for milk and salt before she approached it, a cup of warm milk in one hand. 

A bowl of salt in the other. 

She placed both on the coffee table, positioned them so they looked like they were closing in on the inanimate trespasser. It doesn’t do anything for what she’s planning, but helps with morale nonetheless. 

Grabbing a pair of tweezers (stainless steel, but it’ll do) in a gloved hand, she picked up the letter from one corner and dropped it into the bowl. 

Nothing. 

She frowned. They were getting clever. 

Taking another sip of milk, she dragged the envelope back onto the coffee table, and proceeded to rip it open with the tweezers. When that didn’t work, she got up, went to the study, and got a box cutter, fresh from it’s packaging. 

The blade snapped as soon as it touched the flap. Trying to tear it open with gloves was like catching a live fish with bare hands. 

By the time the sun went from being high in the sky to brushing the horizon, she had went from scared to frustrated, and the envelope went from unopened to slightly crumpled, but very decidedly Not Open. 

She put her head in her hand, still gloved, and let out a groan. 

Burning it hadn’t worked (she hasn’t seen paper curl away from fire like that before). Burying it in the backyard didn’t work (she had to sweep up the dirt the letter tracked in). Switching into her thinnest gloves hadn’t worked. Opening it with her acrylic nails didn’t do anything apart from snapping all of them in two. 

She grabbed the letter, went outside, and stuck it into her iron letterbox. 

When she returned to the living room, the letter was sitting on the coffee table like a smug guest. She could have screamed. 

“You,” she snarled, “are more trouble than you’re worth. Open.” 

The envelope actually deflated. Slowly, the flap curled back, revealing a sliver of cream against white. 

Pulling out a single sheet, she unfolded the letter.

There were no pretences between her and the Gentry, whether they resided in an educational institution or not. So the letter was short (by their standards, not hers) and to the point (again, by their standards, not hers). 

Dear Xian, 

She rolled her eyes. Damn their inability to comprehend Chinese names. 

On behalf of our admissions team, I congratulate you on your admissions to Elsewhere University. You have been awarded a place at our institution, Elsewhere University, by request of our generous patrons, who have agreed to finance your education during your time here. 

Generous her ass. The Folk are not generous. Not when it doesn’t suit them. 

Elsewhere University is a high ranking institution with a longstanding tradition of recognising and nurturing excellence, 

And in capture-and-release of unsuspecting college students, she’s sure. 

and we are pleased to have you be a part of our student body. 

You mean be a part of Fae TV, she thought angrily, reading the rest of the letter. It was mostly drivel all the way down, admissions statistics and how she should be proud to be offered a place. Scoffing again at ‘university traditions’, she got to the last paragraph. 

We expect your acceptance to our invitation by Beltane (May 1st). Elsewhere University welcomes you, and I personally look forward to greeting you on campus. 

Sincerely, 

An illegible scrawl, and what may be a drop of blood next to it. There was no name. 

Great. An acceptance from a university she never applied to, an endorsement from a shadowy figure, and quite literally no room for rejection. Might as well tell her she’s been summoned and be done with it. 

Part of her itched to set the damn thing on fire, but another part, who had curled into herself and began to scheme, knew that it would be the worst thing she ever did in this situation. 

Her mind flickered back to a vision of rolling hills, borne out of flat land, of beings too beautiful to be seen without a small measure of horror, of standing transfixed, a child’s curiosity, still untempered by fear or knowledge. 

The sensation of being lifted up, like a flower plucked from the earth and carried away, fast and far. Of staring into eyes that she knew but couldn’t recognise, of fingernails that were suddenly too sharp when they held her (‘Mama!’ ‘I’m so sorry, my darling, so sorry, did I hurt you, my darling, are you in pain?’ ), of talons that lightly scratched at her scalp when they brushed through her hair and limbs that didn’t move as naturally as they usually did, even hours after she was brought home.

And now, it seems, she’s being called back.  

Pushing her hair back from her face, she looked at the letter again. It stared back, as well as a thing without eyes could. 

Ah what the hell. 

Peeling back a glove so it wouldn’t get ruined, she reached forward and touched the tip of a lengthened fingernail to the paper. 

The words shifted, crawling over the paper like ants to form a single sentence, written in a heavy hand: 

“We appreciate your prompt response, and expect your attendance at the University this fall.”

Well, shit. 

——————-

I devoured the Elsewhere University archives within 2 days, and have been loyally following any updates ever since, so here’s my humble contribution from playing in this sandbox. 

This was combining the partly the idea of descendants attending the same university (and one of them being rather desperate to break the tradition), the idea of a treaty with the university, current racial politics, tales of students adapting to the lifestyle and culture of another land, and a conversation with my friend that ended in “Y'know, if they were brazen enough, who’s to say they won’t steal each other’s kids? I’m just saying that someone must have tried, yanno?" 

So here’s my international student receiving an acceptance to EU without actually applying there, who is a bit more than what she seems, but is mostly human. Mostly.

(x)

[papenathys]

Indian academia

Recently I have seen a lot of excellent posts in the dark academia tags which call out the euro-centrism of this subculture and also give great recommendations for non-white cultural academia. So I decided to put together works of Indian authors that I read growing up in India as a literature student. Please note this list leans heavily towards works centred on Bengal due to my own heritage, and is by no means comprehensive or meant to represent the entire, varied diaspora of India.

Historical/political fiction:

the lives of others by neel mukherjee: chronicling the rise and fall of a bengali family against historical events like the partition, the 1943 famines, the bengal emergency etc. diverse cast of characters retelling history through multiple povs, lyrical prose, incredible research providing an insight into naxalite bengal. talks about how it feels to be a leftist when you are born and brought up in bourgeois privilege.

the lowland by jhumpa lahiri: everything!! written by jhumpa lahiri!! should be savoured!! but this gorgeous book in particular made me UGLY CRY. to summarise without spoilers, it's a story about two brothers, separated by inches and then by miles, a story about student revolutionaries, bengal burning and boston beaches, and it's a story about a beautiful, brilliant, tormented woman who loves and loathes in equal measure.

the shadow lines by amitav ghosh:** intergenerational trauma, dhaka riots and the entwined histories of two families- one in london and the other in calcutta. sharp, bittersweet and sometimes rather scandalous. if you enjoy ggm's works try this.

a flight of pigeons by ruskin bond**: after her father is killed in the 1857 sepoy mutiny, an anglo-indian girl, her mother, and female relatives are given shelter by the muslim family of one of the chief rebels. set in north india near UP, ruskin bond's writing is powerful and explores found families and the price of imperialism and war. chef's kiss.

train to pakistan by khuswant singh: the horrors of post independence sectarian violence as recounted by a fictional village on the indo-pak border with a population largely comprising muslims and sikhs. a harrowing read but evocative and honest.

shalimar the clown by salman rushdie: allegorical story about the kashmir valley unrest, told through the insane, shakespearean revenge tragedy spun out by kashmiri tightrope walker shalimar who falls in love with boonyi, a beautiful pandit girl, a love that dooms him.

a fine balance by rohinton mistry**: four strangers' lives spill into each other as india crumbles under the 1975 emergency. this one has everything political commentary, social satire, depiction of economic hardships and a whole range of characters from diverse backgrounds. side note: it's a pretty heavy and tragic read, please be careful.

Societal stories

the guide by rk narayan: raju, an impoverished, street smart boy in a fictional south indian town takes to conning people as a tour guide but things spiral out of control when he has an affair with a married classical dancer. allegorical writing, funny and eccentric, and there's a LOT of satire about desi stereotypes: fraud religious leaders, scandalous village affairs, neocolonial mindsets and well, dancing. had a great read of this one. don't watch the film, it's inaacurate and the author himself didn't like it :(

malgudi days by rk narayan: set in the same town as the guide, a collection of short stories about the colourful lives of small town dwellers, from astrologers to doctors to postmen. it's funny and poignant in equal measure. there's not a single mediocre story in here, they're all just......charming.

interpreter of maladies by jhumpa lahiri: stories set in boston and bengal about ordinary indian people and ordinary indian lives which are just so, so MASTERFULLY written and in such crystal bright detail it feels all too real. I recommend a temporary matter, when mr pirzada came to dine, sexy, mrs sen and this blessed house.

em and the big hoom by jerry pinto**: a goan family in late 20th century mumbai + their experience when the mother is diagnosed with bpd. I haven't read this book but it was highly recommended by my friends + authors who are greatly esteemed by me

any and every work by ruskin bond because my man literally GREW up around ayahs and tonga drivers and lonely gardeners and sad kite-makers and friends in small places. I recommend road to the bazaar: a collection of short stories about north indian children involving tigers in train tunnels, beetle races, rooftop gardens and the feeling of being home again.

the white tiger by aravind adiga**: epistolary novel that deals mostly with the class struggle in india as told by a village boy, who travels to delhi for work and his slow rise to success through monumental obstacles. a good read to look into the lives and the plight of underprivileged workers and the persisting class disparity in globalised india.

city of djinns by william dalrymple: travelogue/memoir/anecdotes of the author's time in delhi as he researches for the detritus of history in the country capital. non fiction but every bit as riveting as a well spun story.

Retellings/Biographies

rajkahini (transl: stories of kings) by abanindranath tagore: stories about the rajput rulers of western india and their glorious, semi-mythological histories of battles and heartbreaks and visions. the author was often termed a lyrical artist because his descriptive prose is so good it feels like a painting put into words.

empress: the astonishing reign of nur jahan by ruby lal: a feminist biography of my favourite figure from history, nur jahan, and her deliciously satisfying ascent as the sole female sovereign in the line of the great mughals. but wow, what a woman.

the palace of illusions by chitra banerjee divakaruni: retelling of the great epic mahabharata but from draupadi's point of view. poetic and magical, and her descriptions of female rage and the unfairness of society even in mythical canon is SUPERB.

Poetry!

sarojini naidu: patriotism, society, feminism, romance

nissim ezekiel: postcolonial, satire

ak ramanujan: society, classical retellings, folktale inspired poetry

agha shahid ali: socio-political, ghazal inspired poetry

tishani doshi: feminist, contemporary

eunice d'souza: contemporary, gender politics

Pure self indulgent recs

hayavadana by girish karnad: a ridiculous, criminally hilarious play-within-a-play about a love triangle and accidental body/torso swaps and a goddess who couldn't care less and a man with a horse head. yeah.

devdas by sarat chandra chattopadhyay: pls stop shoving the movie down my throat it's the cringiest depiction of bengali culture ever but yeah the novel is 💗💗 and it's about childhood sweethearts dev and paro, the cost of obsessions and lusts and an enigmatic courtesan chandramukhi who keeps loving the wrong things.

any and every work by rabindranath tagore should be considered academia but in particular his short stories, like the kabuliwalah and the postmaster.

the byomkesh bakshi series by sharadindu bandyopadhyay: written in the vein of poirot but in colonial bengal, follows one (1) sleuthy boy and his sidekick as they unravel psychological crimes and murder mysteries. some stories are just genuinely scary and all have eclectic casts. sharadindu said homoerotic/feral women/immoral genius people rights!

Like I said this list is not comprehensive!!! But I tried my best!!! I think we should really try to decolonize our reading tastes. And yes I purposely left out Arundhati Roy (because she is literally the only Indian author ever recommended in lists) Vikram Seth (because I do not like him) and Roshani Chokshi (because any one of the above)

I hope you guys get some good picks from this list :)

[** has heavy trigger warnings]

[brownandblackpearls]

🦇𝒯he  𝒱isitor (Alucard Tepes x BlackReader)

 PART 1 SUMMARY:

While trying to escape the clutches of criminals and cutthroats, you stumble across a castle beyond imagination. The corpses staked at the front aren’t enough to keep you out. But after entering, you begin to wonder what you got yourself into, and what the castle is hiding within its walls...

─── Alucard x black female reader

─── imagery + fiction

─── explicit smut

─── TW// slight gore, general mentions of rapists// Fantasy, vampires, hurt/comfort, enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, magic user, cute bats, gardening, cooking, cottagecore MC, castlecore Alucard.

☾ next.

┌───────────━┿──┿━──────────┐

└───────────━┿──┿━──────────┘

You fight through the underbrush of the woods, hurrying as quickly as your feet will allow.

They’re on your trail.

You’ve been evading these criminals from the last town you’d passed through, but they just keep stalking after you. They’d been all too eager to see a lone, beautiful woman traveling with no companions, no guides, and no guardians. 

They had tried and failed to corner you alone several times in the town and on the roads, but you haven’t made it this far on your own without some learned skills. A finger-bolt of lightning at one’s eye, a fire-heated palm tight on another’s wrist, swings of sharp dagger at all of their torsos, their throats. 

Anything and everything to escape. It’s not your first sticky situation, and it probably won’t be your last.

You know how to be quiet. How to hide. And when it comes down to it, you know how to swindle and how to fight, if need be. You try not to resort to that, not out of compassion or concern for the heathens that try to best you...no. You just know that you’re not as skilled as some of the rigorously trained ex-militia and rogue bandits that prey on loners in towns and off the roads.

You don’t know exactly what they want. A woman to toss around between themselves and torture before they descend on you like wolves? A new girl to sell on the black market? A pretty decoy to get carts and wagons to stop on the roads, allowing them to abush, raid, rape and kill as they please?

Whatever it is that they want, you’re not giving it to them.

‘They’ll have to catch me, first.’

You duck and dodge branches, bobbing and weaving through the trees before the forest finally begins to clear. You keep your hand on your dagger’s hilt, just in case.

Who knows what hides in the woods?

Finally, you come to a clearing run through by a small creek. The dense woods have seemed to disperse here, and now all that you can spy are peaceful glens and swaying flowers. Deer jump away through the grass, hares run into their holes, and fish shine from the stream. 

It feels…safe.

But you’re not one to be foolish, and so you continue on. Hoisting your basket closer, you can’t help but spy a garden as you pass through the glen.

Fat tomatoes hang on vine, bright orange carrot tops sprout from the soil, green onions, zucchini, berries and fruits….

…Someone has made a garden here. Hopefully if they’re the gardening sort, then they’re the safe sort. You quickly fill your basket with a few items, tuck some coins hidden near the stalks in apology for your ransacking, and carry on.

Finally, the glen ends, the forest stops entirely, and you stumble upon something entirely unexpected.

'A castle...? Out here in the middle of nowhere...?’

A grand, gothic castle of castles, spirals up towards the clouds in the sky. You gaze up at it in awe, sure that there is nothing else in the world quite so large or so spectacular. You’re certain that had the woods not been so oppressive and thick on the way in here, so wide and strenuous, that you would’ve spotted the castle for what it was miles and miles and miles ago.

You whistle low, impressed as you step forward. You take only a few steps before you stop.

A ripple in the wind draws your eye.

Two barely clothed bodies impaled on stakes tower before you, death etched onto their faces. The spikes go through them, hidden by the soiled shifts they wear and rising high up and out through their mouths. It is a grisly sight indeed.  Unfortunately, you’re no stranger to ‘grisly’ in these lands.

You move slower, more carefully than before.

Assessing the bodies, the blood is long dried on the stakes and the petrified flesh. Most of the meat is gone, pecked away by crows most likely, and the flesh that remains is hard and dried out. 

You have dealt with your fair share of monsters, but you’re not too sure you want to risk running into the one who did this. It was done with malice, strength, and a raw fury. A nonchalance for human life, it seems. Much like the same nonchalance shared by the evil men you run from.

You hear faint voices call from the trees. 

They’ve tracked you. And they’re coming closer.

“We can’t come here. It’s cursed ground. Don’t you know who this castle used to belong to?”

“Yeah, and they’re dead. No one’s seen em’ for ages. But I see little footsteps. Have a feeling the lass went this way.”

You freeze, glancing between the bodies, the huge castle door before you, and the mouth of the forest.

It’s the castle and its possible hidden horrors, or the men on your trail.

“Skin like ebony, that one. Pretty mouth, doe eyes. She’d sell for a pretty penny.. We wouldn’t have to raid for months.”

“…Or we could keep her to warm the cold nights.”

Your mind races, trying to choose. 

You could fight the men, still. But there are many of them, and just one of you. Your magic is somewhat abysmal without knowledge to guide you, and your dagger won’t measure up to prove the little sword skills you do possess. Your words will probably not get you out of this one, either. Not this time.

“I’d rather make her scream.”

“You would like that, wouldn’t you Macon? But you did that to the last one, and now we’re out here hunting a new lass instead of enjoying the old one.”

‘That’s it,’ you decide.

The castle it is.

You sprint away from the woods as fast as your billowing cloak and dress will allow, ignoring the foul smell of decay and passing between the bodies. You feel as though you’ve irrevocably crossed a line that shouldn’t be crossed, a decision made that can’t be taken back.

You will live with it, you decide. Better that, than capture.

Racing to the front of the grand doors, larger than the largest buildings you’ve witnessed in life before this day, you bang raptly against the wood and stone.

For a moment, nothing happens and you feel as though you will be caught right at the footsteps of this castle.

Then, you hear a doldrum, a creak and whirring of machinery and mass movement. The door shifts open just slight enough for you to slide through, making a gigantic noise in it’s wake. 

Quick as wind, you push through and fall to the floor, turning to see the grand door begin to shut closed behind you. 

The men stand before the staked bodies, unwilling to pass them and watching you as the doors close you out of their sight.

“You’d be better off with us murderers and thieves, woman!” One shouts futilely. “For even our hearts aren’t as black as the monster’s in those walls!” 

The door shuts him and the rest out. You harrumph and stand, wiping the dust off your dress and looking away.

Fuck him. And fuck his threats, and fuck his horrible little friends. Any black-hearted beasts you come across, you could handle well enough.

At least…that’s what you tell yourself to keep a brave face. Better that than nothing.

You look around.

The inside of the castle is larger than life, grand, and dark. Everything is clean and without dust as you would’ve expected from such a structure…an army couldn’t keep this clean…yet it feels unlived in.

For a moment, there is nothing but heavy, oppressive silence. You listen for a breath, a sound, but can hear nothing outside of your own increasing heartbeat.

You turn, looking to the top of the staircase.

Your eyes tell you there is nothing there, but your instincts tell you something else.

Suddenly, the lights of a thousand candles sweep on throughout the grand hall, illuminating a massive stone staircase and a figure standing at the top of it. You have very good sight, but the room is so large that you can barely make out the figure, even with the candlelight.

Nothing is said, the figure is motionless, and you begin to tremble. This must be the one who lives in this place…not an intruder or a vagrant. You don’t know how you know, but the figure is too large, too looming, and too confident even in its vagueness of detail for you to assume it to be anything other than the owner. 

The one who likely staked those unfortunate souls outside the walls.

You feel as if the mysterious figure is waiting for something, and you don’t know what to say. But something must be said.

Your voice is as steady as your fear will allow.

“My name is ———. I come from afar. I am…I am seeking refuge…if you will have me.”

“Refuge from the men outside.” 

The voice carries through the empty hall, lilting, low, and deadly. You hear hints of refinement in the speech but they are not enough to hide the white hot lethalness you sense underneath. A rage that you cannot even begin to place or name.

“Y-yes,” you stumble embarrassingly, affected, “from the men outside. They followed me here. I have nowhere to go.”

“And so you feel entitled to my protection.”

“No!’ You exclaim, shaking your head. You stopped expecting assistance from people long ago. The life of a lonely wanderer is just that...lonely. “I inconvenience you, and for that I apologize sincerely. Just…just refuge. I can be on my way after they depart.”

“To where...?” The disembodied voice says as calm as a pond at night, yet you feel the ripples that lie beneath.

“Nowhere,” you breathe.

“…And you come from?” The figure disappears like a mist, yet the voice remains.

“I…nowhere,” you gasp honestly, truly afraid now.

“Lies.” The voice spits viciously, sounding closer then far away, as if it’s bouncing around the space of the great hall.

“It’s t-true!” You insist, your trembling hands reeling in towards your chest in a futile attempt of protection from the unseen danger. “I hail from nowhere! I belong to nowhere! I have little. Just refuge, sir. A night, even!”

“I could grant you refuge,” the voice assumes, “or I could send you back out to those men and be bothered with none of you.”

“You wouldn’t,” you breathe, daring a chance to hope.

The voice chuckles humorlessly, dry as dead leaves.

“Perhaps,” it toys. “But I also wouldn’t allow a mysterious woman of mysterious origins to stay in my castle, learn of my ways, only to run back to the outside world and send a horde of farmhands sprinting over to slay me. Wouldn’t be the first time. No, I think I’ll keep you instead. Are you willing to make that bargain with the Devil?”

You pause, your mind blank. You search for an answer to reason with this...this...your thoughts race.

“Look, I know I’ve come into your abode unannounced and rather…rather rudely, making demands, but I must implore you—“

“—Answer me!” the voice barks, making you nearly jump out of your skin.

'That’s it.’

“You’re a prick, you know that?!” You blurt.

“…” You can hear the confusion in the empty air. “…Pardon?”

You push on, figuring that if you’re going to be staked by the unseen castle-owner or given up to the men outside, or toyed with any longer by any of this nonsense, that you may as well speak your mind one last time.

“You know good and goddamn well that I am not running into a fantastical, creepy castle of myth decorated by corpses on the front porch for the fun of it! As if I care or even believe some farmhands could handle much less defeat you when you can clearly impale full grown adults and work such a place as this—!”

“...”

“—And how dare you tease a woman scared out of her wits, can you even pretend to try to put yourself in my place?! Do you know how long I’ve been running from those idiots? If I had your strength I’d’ve staked them myself and added them to your lovely, little welcome collection as a visiting gift, because believe me, I’m sick of running from morons and monsters! I’m not above spilling blood! But as I said before, I possess little, and come from nothing, and journey towards nothing. From that, you can figure I can’t do much in terms of protecting myself besides running into large, spooky places and begging their arrogant owners for some rest—”

“.....”

“—So, I’d very much appreciate if you stopped toying with me and make your decision on whether you’re going to kill me, kick me out, or keep me, because I’m tired of trying to figure this all out by myself and I’m tired of the anticipation. So what’ll it be Mr. I-Like-to-Leave-Corpses-Outside-My-Castle-and-Harrass-Visitors?”

You huff after your rant, waiting.

The voice is silent for a long, long moment, before an accusing tone reverbs back to you.

“You’re the one who barged in—“

“—You’re the one who opened the door!” You return, throwing your hands out in frustration.

“I didn’t, the castle did.”

“Oh, well fuck me, then. I suppose I ought to thank the ‘castle’ and head back out to let those hoodlums try their worst. So long, strange sir! It was interesting, arguing with you.”

You turn on your heel, over this entire day, and knock at the door raptly. You tap your foot as you wait on the castle, arms crossed and dagger in your hand to strike the nearest hoodlum that likely awaited outside. What a day, you couldn’t believe this shit.

The machinery whirs once more and the door barely opens before a large, leather gloved hand reaches past your head and slams the towering door back, closing it shut. The strength the act takes is incomprehensible, you think. 

Inhuman, you realize.

The hairs at the back of your neck raise long after the presence behind you appears. You feel no breath on your neck, yet you know someone stands behind you. You can’t look away from the large, gloved hand on the door. You’re afraid to see exactly who stands behind you.

A man...? Or something else entirely….?

You try to speak but gasp instead, short and shocked.

Silence reigns before you get a hold of yourself and choke something out.

“Y-y-you’ve made your decision then…I presume...?” You stammer into a squeaking volume, your anger long gone and replaced by fear once again.

“Don’t make me regret it…” The voice sneers, close enough for the breath of it to shift your hair and the baritone to reverb over your skin. A chill runs up your back and you can do little to hide it. You feel as though the figure behind you is impossibly tall, imperceptibly assessing, and spying every single thing you do. 

You feel the presence lean in over your shoulder, a mouth right next to your ear.

“…or you will regret it, visitor. That, I can promise.”

You gulp loudly, nodding your assent without turning around. You feel frozen to the spot. The hand withdraws and your shoulders unclench only a fraction. You feel as if a predator had been standing behind you, and has decided not to destroy you...for the moment.

You wonder if you are right, and why your cheeks suddenly feel so hot when your heart is beating so fast in terror...?

“I’m going to clean the trash off of my porch,” the voice states eerily. “Don’t touch anything until I return.”

As quick as a blink, the presence disappears entirely. 

You finally turn around, alone and confused.

There is nothing but the large castle hall, looking back at you.

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AN: Do not under any circumstances copy, repost, or edit any of my work. If you see someone do so, please let me know.

☾ next. 

☾ check my blog for more imagines.

[rhysismydaddy]

Casual Ruin Pt. 3 (Elriel)

Elain’s part of the Damnation Series.

Part 1 | Part 2

God help yall this shit was a rollercoaster to write

________________________________________________

~Elain~

For a second, no one breathes, let alone moves.

Azriel’s hands are steady as he grips the gun, body lined with tension, eyes so cold I shiver. The barrel’s close enough that if I leaned forward an inch, it’d brush my forehead.

The man next to him holds a cigarette halfway to his mouth, looking at me like he’s never seen a woman before and has absolutely no idea what to do. 

And me? I’m frozen in place, horror rushing through my veins and mixing with the shock to create a nauseating cocktail I’m not sure I’ll survive.

It’s the brutalized man in the chair slumping over and hitting the floor with a loud thud that finally snaps us out of our momentary haze.

Azriel blinks and throws the gun to the side so hard it makes a dent in the wall, the stranger drops his cigarette and reaches for me, and I sprint like my fucking life depends on it. Because at this point, I’m pretty sure it might.

What the hell did I walk into? 

I race up the stairs toward the garage, where less than a minute ago, I’d heard Azriel’s voice and gone to surprise him. By the look on his face when he turned around, I’d at least succeeded in that.

I can practically feel the man behind me, can tell he’s reaching a hand out to grab me.

I’ve never been a violent person in my life, but with the amount of adrenaline coursing through me, I don’t even question the urge to use the wine bottle in my hands as a weapon.

It breaks over the man’s head, but unlike in the movies, he doesn’t go down immediately. However, he does lose his balance enough that with a firm shove to his chest, he goes crashing back down to the hellhole I’m running from.

I make it to the garage and slam the door to the basement closed, locking it for good measure. Then I drag the heavy workbench next to the line of pristine cars over in front of it for even better measure. 

I refuse to let myself stop and think, because I’m pretty sure if I do, I’ll break down into a pool of tears and never get up. I’m running on nothing but adrenaline, and I know I’ll crash soon, but I force myself to keep going.

For a moment, I’m tempted to steal one of the cars to get away, but the sound of angry Italian shouts behind the locked door makes me hesitant to waste any more time.

I also definitely don’t have time to call the cab driver that dropped me off and beg him to come back.

The fear and terror don’t give me time to doubt myself as I take my heels off, take off up the driveway, and pray I’m fast enough to escape the devil on my trail.

~Azriel~

“Get that goddamn door open,” I shout at Luca, who’s dripping wine all over the place and has a gash on his forehead from where little Elain Archeron shoved him down the stairs.

I almost fucking shot her in the head. Her. 

Dolcezza mia. The girl I’m stupidly obsessed with. The one who’s always quick to smile--the same one who sighs when I kiss her and lights up when I walk into the room.

I almost shot her between those beautiful brown eyes, almost snuffed them out forever.

I run a hand over my face, listening to the sound of Luca throwing himself into the door repeatedly. “I’m trying, boss, but I think she pulled something in front of the door.”

Smart.

Fucking annoying as hell, but smart.

If I wasn’t so damn pissed at myself for not locking the basement door behind me and allowing her to find us down here, I’d be mildly impressed. 

Two of the most dangerous men in Italy, trapped in the basement like idiots. 

I pull up the app to track her phone--which was originally for her safety, not because I’m a complete stalker--and see that she’s on foot, going behind the houses instead of down the road. She probably thinks I’ll drive by her while she gets away right under my nose.

“Fuck,” I mutter, sending out a text to all my neighbors to tell them not to shoot the beautiful young woman trespassing through their properties. She has no idea the people around us have security systems better than the President’s. “Luca!”

“Working on it,” he grunts back.

“If that shit isn’t open in the next twenty seconds, you’re going in the incinerator after this asshole,” I warn, nudging the dead body on the floor with a boot.

The threat must work, because a second later, there’s a loud bang and the telltale sound of the workbench from my garage toppling over. “Got it!”

I storm up the stairs and tell him, “Run interference with the neighbors and local police. Anyone talks-”

“Got it,” he interrupts, grabbing his phone to start threatening people.

Pulling up the app again, I track the path she’s on, curse when I see she’s headed to the bus station about a mile from here, and take off after her.

Technically, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if she got away. She’d probably go to the police and tell them what she saw, not knowing that Marco, the deputy on duty, has been on my payroll since the day he passed the police entrance exam.

Having done her civic duty, she’d probably try to recover from the trauma of what she saw, eventually finish her classes and move on, and leave. Forgetting all about me in the process.

Technically, for her, this option would not be the worst thing in the world.

But in my head, it feels worse than being stabbed. In my head, there isn’t a question about it. 

I’m going after her. 

There’s this weird, itchy feeling in my chest I’ve never felt before as I run and run and try not to think about the look on her face as she saw the body fall to the floor.

I realize the feeling in my chest as panic, something I haven’t felt since I was a teenager getting booked for stealing my first car.

She knows.

She knows, and the look on her face... she looked at me like I’m a monster. 

And fuck, maybe that’s true. Maybe I am beyond saving.

But having her look at me, and having her take away the easy smiles and bright eyes I’d grown strangely accustomed to... it feels like being robbed.

And it makes me panic.

So I’ll chase her, and catch her, and do whatever I have to do to get her back. 

Because I need her, and damn if I’m going at this alone. 

After a surprising amount of time, I see the thin outline of her off in the distance, sprinting like the devil himself is chasing her. 

I take a deep breath and try to stay quiet, but it’s hopeless. Like she’s the one with the tracker on me, she can tell the second I’m close. I can see it from the way her shoulders go stiff and her pace increases.

“Elain!” 

I call out again for her to stop, because I don’t want to tackle her and risk hurting her. She ignores me and keeps running, turning behind the coroner of one of my dealer’s house. 

That sticky, awful, panicky feeling in my chest grows as she disappears from sight, and without thinking, I follow.

Which, if I had been thinking, I never would’ve done, because shit like this leaves you open to attack. 

Which reminds me: I’ve now broken all three rules for this woman, because I don’t have a single weapon on me to defend us if something happens.

I hit the ground hard enough the wind rushes out of me and my stupid brain rattles around in my stupid skull. 

Blinking through the blur, I look up to find Elain standing over me with an empty metal trashcan raised like a bat, ready to strike again. 

I need to explain, need to talk to her, but all I can seem to say is her name.

“Elain,” I croak, trying to force air down my lungs.

As my vision clears, I notice she’s crying, beautiful face streaked with tears and dirt. 

She pauses and looks at me, like the sight of me knocked on my ass hurts her just as much as it does me, then shakes her head to clear it. 

She throws the trash can at me and turns to flee, but I know I can’t let her go, at least not like this. Grabbing her ankle, I yank her down to me, making sure she lands on me instead of the ground. 

She screams, the sound scraping away another layer of the trust we’d built, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so desperate in my life. Elain flails around, but I use my weight to pin her, trying not to hurt her. 

She has to let me explain. She has to.

I hate what I’m about to do, but the only other option I have is making her pass out the old fashion way, which I know I could never bring myself to do.

The second the needle goes into her neck, she goes stiff underneath me, looking at me with wide, panicked eyes. 

“You drugged me,” she sobs, the betrayal in her voice making my chest hurt.

I brush the hair off her face, press my forehead to hers, and start telling her things I haven’t told another living soul.

I’ll never hurt you.

I’m sorry.

~Elain~

Am I dead?

Why does it feel like I got hit by a bus?

Where am I? 

These three questions rattle around in my brain at the same time, all demanding answers, as soon as I open my eyes. 

And the weird part is... I don’t have any.

I have no idea if I’m alive or dead, but the headache I have that seems permanently settled behind my eyes points to the latter.

I blink the haze in my brain away and realize I’m at my house in bed, but my extend of knowledge seems to stop there. 

There’s a voice in my head whispering something, but it’s too quiet for me to understand what she’s saying. All I know is that I feel like I need to do something, need to get out of here. 

I rub my sore eyes and see there’s a note on the bedside table, written in precise, calm handwriting I recognize better than my own. 

Come downstairs. 

He’s here? I thought I went to his house, not the other way around.

The blinds are closed, but when I make my way to the window and peak out, I see a dark night sky, the moon reflecting off the water and making everything seen calm.  

What the hell happened to me?

I start to leave the room, intent on going downstairs and asking Azriel that very question. 

Except as I’m passing by my closet, I see something. 

Something small and so inconsequential, I almost don’t think anything about it.

Like I’m in a dream, I feel myself walk over to the corner of the room. I feel my knees hit the floor, see my finger extend to the floor and touch the tiny drop of liquid that caught my eye.

I pull back and look, and somehow, I’m not surprised to see that it’s blood.

The floors are dark enough I shouldn’t have been able to see it from so far away, but it’s like a part of me was looking for it. 

And that’s when it comes back to me.

Coming to surprise him, seeing the door in his garage, going downstairs... I press a hand to my mouth and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to fight the tidal wave of nausea washing over me. 

I remember seeing the blood first and wondering if someone was hurt, then coming further into the room to find myself in the middle of a nightmare. If I wasn’t so strangely sure it had been real, I would think it was a horror movie.

The man strapped down had been so brutalized, I doubt I would’ve recognized him even if I’d known him my whole life.

I remember running without a thought more, giving into the fight or flight impulse to get the hell out of there. 

I remember hitting Azriel, seeing him fall to the ground and looking up at me with those deep, wounded eyes that will haunt me more than the torture he inflicted on that poor man. 

Eyes that told me everything and nothing at the same time.

I remember looking into those eyes and crying at the pain in them that was surely reflected in my own. 

And then nothing. 

Why don’t I remember? How did I get back here?

I’m sorry. 

I finally recall that last whispered promise, and if I hadn’t already been sitting on the floor, I would’ve fallen to my knees as I realize what happened.

He drugged me.

Azriel, the same man who slow-danced with me in an empty restaurant and drove me along the coast and held me in his sleep, drugged me.

And he’s downstairs.

I start to hyperventilate, because I don’t know what to do or what he’s planning to do. Why is he still here?

What am I going to do? Should I call the cops?

I realize I don’t have my phone, probably a countermeasure on his part. 

I also realize there’s no way for me to run. I remember how fast he’d caught me, how easy it had been for him to render me useless. 

There’s no escaping him. Not if he’s already down there waiting, evil plan cooking in his mind.

I have no other option, unless I want to stay in this room for the rest of my life.

So with confidence I don’t feel, I walk downstairs. 

I find him sitting at my breakfast table, leaning back casually and sipping a cup of coffee despite the late hour. 

The moonlight clings to him like it loves him, playing off of his sharp cheekbones and illuminating his features. His face is carefully blank, but there’s a flicker of something as he looks at me, something that seems almost like relief. 

He’s calm and collected and everything I’m not, and it pisses me off. My world’s on fire, yet he’s sitting here like nothing’s wrong? And he’s drinking my coffee?

I stomp over to grab the stolen drink, then sit across from him and cross my arms. 

And wait.

Because I sure as hell am not talking first. 

He stayed because he has something to say. I don’t have anything to say to him. 

For a long time, we just stare at each other, because he’s apparently playing by the same rules. 

Then he accepts his defeat, sighs, and asks, “Why did you come to my house last night?”

I purse my lips, narrow my eyes, and try to stop myself from throwing the coffee in his face. 

Because he said that almost like an accusation. 

Like the problem is that I came over unannounced, not that he was torturing someone. 

“I’m not justifying that with a response,” I eventually tell him.

He gives me a hard look. “Answer the question.”

Something about the entirely male way he demanded that, like he expects a response immediately, makes me tilt my head and ask so sweetly I almost choke, “Why? Are you going to torture me if I don’t?”

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, showing the first sign of imperfection I’ve ever seen from him. “What you saw-”

“Was horrifying, and I don’t want to talk about it.”

He acts like I didn’t even speak. “-was something I meant to keep private from you.”

I don’t tell him that’s pretty fucking obvious at this point. 

Instead I ask, “Why?” 

I’m not sure why I want to know, but it suddenly feels important. 

He doesn’t takes his eyes off of me as he says, “Because you’re you. You shine so brightly it should be illegal, and you look at the world like it isn’t a terrible place. I didn’t want to take that from you.”

My throat feels uncomfortably tight all the sudden, but I clear it and say, “Well, you did.”

His jaw clenches, and he looks down. “I know. If I could go back and walk away, I would. Shit, I told myself I would more times than I can count. But I just... couldn’t. And I couldn’t tell you either. I wanted to, but I didn’t know how, Elain.”

The sound of my name on his lips makes my heart finally start beating again, but I still call him on his lie. “That isn’t why you never told me. You never told me because you knew I’d hate you the second you did.”

“Maybe,” he admits, looking back up at me. “But now you know, and I’m glad you do. You know everything now.”

It’s my turn to look down, because while I’d wanted to know the real him, I’d never imagined I’d find something like this. 

“No, I don’t. I don’t know anything, because you haven’t explained anything.”

He tilts his head. “What needs explaining?”

I ask the obvious question. “Who do you work for?”

“Myself.”

Once again, I don’t feel like justifying that with a response. He still isn’t saying anything that explains what I saw or why he’d do that to someone. 

If he isn’t going to say anything meaningful, I’m not having this conversation.

Eventually, he seems to realize this. Because he says, “I’m Capo of the Sicilian Outfit of the Cosa Nostra, Elain.”

I bite my lip so hard I taste blood, trying to keep my emotions in check. I don’t know how to feel, other than confused and angry.

“Any other questions?”

“Why did you drug me?”

If he just wanted to talk, he could’ve dragged me back to his place or maybe just say that. Not chase me down like a rapid animal.

“You were panicked, and I didn’t want to hurt you. I needed time to explain, needed to tell you this was never the plan.”

There’s something else there, and I narrow my eyes in a silent demand for him to continue.

Azriel sighs and admits, “My neighbors are business associates-” aka fellow criminals, “and I didn’t want them to hear you yelling and come to... investigate-” aka kill me, “or watch me get knocked unconscious by a twenty-four year old woman with a trash can.”

I give him a smug smile, more than ready to give him a repeat of that show, and try to decide what else to ask. 

But before I get the chance, he says, “I don’t see why this changes anything.”

My mouth falls open.

He doesn’t see- is he serious? “You’re joking.”

“I’m not known for my humor.”

I’m still stunned into silence, so he tilts his head and asks, “Why does it matter? Why does what I do make me a different person?”

When I don’t answer, he says, “It doesn’t. Nothing I do will ever come near you. You won’t ever have to see it again. I promise.” 

“It’s not about seeing it! It’s about knowing what you do when we’re not together. You kiss me goodbye, then go home and... there is absolutely no way I can go back to what we were doing before. You killed someone, Azriel.”

He straightens his cufflinks and shoots back, “He deserved it, Elain.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”

“First off, murder is illegal. So is torture, which from the way that man looked, you’d definitely been inflicting on him. Not only is it illegal, it’s wrong! He was an innocent human being-”

“He wasn’t innocent.”

I keep going. “You aren’t judge, jury, and executioner! You-”

He’s on me before I can finish, sliding a hand over my mouth and leaning over my chair. 

God, the man is fast. Has he always been that fast, or have I just never noticed?

“Let me explain something to you, Elain. On this island, I am. I decide who’s guilty, which he confessed to being. I decide the punishment, which was a bullet to the brain. I’m the executioner, and I pull the trigger myself, because I’m not a fucking coward.”

I fight his hold, trying to push him away, but he doesn’t even budge. 

“I play by different rules, bellissima. Just because you’ve never been exposed to them, or my world, doesn’t mean it hasn’t always existed. I’m the judge, jury, executioner, and the goddamn king.”

A shiver goes down my spine at his words. 

He pushes my head back, forcing me to meet his eyes. “And it doesn’t matter.”

I shake my head, bite his finger, push at his chest. But it doesn’t do any good.

“It doesn’t matter, because like I said, we live in two different worlds. I’d never let mine impact yours.”

I want to tell him that isn’t the problem, but his hand is still on my mouth. 

“Have you even asked yourself why you’re not afraid?” he asks out of the blue, surprising me. 

I stare blankly at him, no longer fighting, waiting for whatever he’s about to say.

“You’re scared of what I do, but you aren’t scared of me. Not really. If you were, you never would’ve come down those stairs.”

That’s why he looked relieved, I realize. He was worried I’d be scared of him.

Everything he’s saying makes sense, which makes no sense at all. 

Because if he’s right, and he certainly seems to think he is, it begs the question... why aren’t I scared of him?

He seems to see my ask myself that, because he answers it a second later.

Eyes growing softer, he murmurs, “It’s because you know I’d never hurt you, nor would I let anyone else.”

I remember him whispering that right before I passed out. I’ll never hurt you. 

He comes so close I can see the individual flecks of green in his dark hazel eyes. “I may do terrible things, and I’d do terrible things for you, Elain, but I’d never do them to you.”

“So you aren’t afraid. Just angry,” he concludes. Then he looks at me like he did the other day in the sea behind his house, right before he called me his. “Do you know why you’re angry, Elain?”

Currently, it’s because he’s explaining my emotions to me, which has to be the most male, obnoxious thing that’s ever happened in all of history.

But I have a feeling that isn’t what he’s talking about.

And I have another feeling that I’m not going to like what he’s about to say.

I take another glance at the look in his eyes and realize what he means, starting to fight again. I push at his chest and hands and try to get him to not say the words I know he’s going to. 

It doesn’t work. 

“You’re upset,” he says a moment later, slow and sure like always, “because I lied to you. You feel betrayed, like you don’t know me. But that isn’t why you’re angry.”

One hand on my face, the other in my hair, he holds me perfectly still as he whispers, “You’re angry because you were falling for me.”

I press my eyes closed, trying not to hear the words he’s saying as if that’ll make them any less true. 

But it doesn’t, because they are true. 

Every easy smile, midnight whisper, and lingering kiss he’s given me in the past month has given him a permanent place in my heart, and it hurts to have that all feel like a lie.

It hurts to look at him and not know if I recognize the person holding me.

A sob escapes me, which seems to confirm what he said, and he takes his hand off my mouth to wipe away a tear. 

His brow comes to rest against mine, and I breathe him in, unable to stop myself. 

There’s a war happening inside me, and it distracts me enough I don’t stop him from pulling me closer.

My heart plays me a montage of the past month, showing me countless moments where I’d been so positive I’d found paradise, so positive I’d found someone I could trust completely. It tells me Azriel has always felt like home, like something so inexplicably right I don’t even know how to describe it.

But my brain reminds me the hands cupping my cheeks softly are covered in blood and gunsmoke and victims’ tears. It tells me I’ve never really known the man I’m currently begging myself not to have feelings for. 

The battle inside of me rages on, and I cry harder, not even knowing who I want to win.

It only gets harder to choose as he murmurs, “Ance io mi sto innamorando di te.”

I’m falling for you, too.

I don’t know what to do or feel or think, and I’m so helplessly confused it makes me want to scream. 

Yet even though I’m confused, something about this makes sense. Something about knowing what he really does for a living makes everything in my head just click.

The way he’d redirect the conversation whenever I asked about his job. The way I’d always suspected him of hiding something about himself from me. The way every movement he’s ever made with me has been lined with restraint.

He could hurt me, has had the opportunity for months, but he never has. He’s always been careful with me, has always held and looked at me like I’m something precious to him.

My brain starts shifting to his side of the argument, and I can feel my morality ripping to shreds under his hands.

Before I can think, I shove him away, getting to my feet to point at the door. “Get out. You lied to me. You’re a murderer. A monster.”

Feelings or not, I know I can’t do this. I can’t just ignore what I saw, what he’ll continue to do. So he needs to leave.

He doesn’t.

Azriel just leans against the kitchen island counter and pulls out a cigarette, lighting it as he watches me for a long moment. 

“Maybe I am,” he says eventually around a mouthful of smoke. “But just because I’m a monster, Elain, doesn’t mean I can’t give you what we both know you need. Nothing has to change.”

It already has.

“I don’t need anything from you.”

“No?”

“No.”

He prowls toward me, the intent shining so clear in his eyes I take a step back for every one he takes forward. My back hits a wall, and he traps me between it and himself, caging me in with strong arms.

The line between right and wrong, good and evil, seems to blur as he gets closer and closer, and by the time we’re sharing air, I don’t know which way is up. All I know is him.

He takes a deep inhale of his cigarette, tips my head back with his thumb, and then breathes the smoke into my mouth. 

It should be disgusting, considering I don’t smoke and make it a point to avoid cancer-causing products in general. 

It should be. But it isn’t.

It’s the opposite of disgusting. 

There’s a buzz in my veins that has nothing to do with the nicotine, and I realize too late that he’s the vice I can’t quit. 

I’m too far gone, too addicted already.

He pulls back slightly, tucking the still-burning cigarette behind his ear. His eyes burn with intensity, and his dark hair and shoulders are surrounded by the smoke clinging to his shoulders like a shadow. 

He looks like the villain of a movie I never even knew I wanted to watch, and it physically pains me to have him this close and not be touching him, so I put my hands on his chest, fingers fisting in the expensive material of his suit.

His are on the wall by my head, bracing himself as he leans in and slowly licks a line across my lower lip, like he’s tasting me. 

My want for him is a tangible thing, and I have to ask myself if he’s right. Does it matter what he does, when he makes me feel like no one else ever has? Do I care enough to stay away from him?

“You don’t need me?” he asks again, so close his lips brush against mine.

I shake my head, even though I know it isn’t the truth. I do need him, and that’s why this hurts so damn bad. Why this betrayal cuts so deep.

Even though we’re so close he’s nothing but a blur, I can feel his eyes on me, burning a hole through me. 

And then he says something that changes everything. 

“Well, I need you,” he whispers, so softly it breaks my heart.

I’m lost.

I’m so goddamn lost in him, I forget everything we were talking about, forget everything he’s done. 

My knees go weak, and I cling to him, pulling him into me as I slip down the wall.

His lips crash against mine, and I know instantly that this is him. This is all of him. I finally know exactly who he is, and he doesn’t have to hide anymore.

It’s probably our hundredth kiss, but it feels like the first, and I’m drunk on it, drunk on him.

Hands in my hair, he kisses me like he wasn’t lying--like he needs me. 

My hands pull tighter, until there’s not an inch between us, and he makes a low sound in his throat. His are on my waist, gripping me tightly and telling me he wants this just as much as I do.

The restraint from before is all but gone, and I tremble at how much power is in his grasp, how small and fragile it makes me feel in comparison. 

My willpower crumples further, like a napkin in his fist, as his tongue teases mine, making me chase him for more.

Azriel pulls my lower lip between his teeth, pulling it between us as he draws back. It’ll be bruised tomorrow, but a sick part of me likes that he’s leaving his mark on me.

“Say it,” he say roughly, voice deep and scratchy with lust.

I don’t get a change to say it, or anything else, before he’s kissing me again, running his hands up my back and into my hair.

“Say it,” he demands again.

Maybe I’m not as lost as I thought, because I know what he wants but stay silent, refusing to give it to him.

Because I can’t.

Everything he said tonight makes sense, but I just... can’t.

He kisses me again, a lingering kiss that makes my chest ache, and almost pleads, “Say it, Elain. Say it doesn’t matter. Say you need me.”

The air grows thick as I stay silent, because it’s response enough.

His eyes narrow, and even though everything inside me begs me to, I don’t stop him as he steps away. 

“Only two more months here, and you want to spend them lying to yourself?”

I hadn’t even thought about the fact that I’m leaving so soon, but I don’t let myself get distracted. “I’m not lying to anyone.”

Except it feels like I am.

A smile pulls on his lips, but it isn’t friendly. “You’re fucking lying, and you know it. You know it doesn’t matter, you just can’t admit it, because then you’d be like me.”

Heart pounding, I shake my head, but he keeps going. “Fucking a monster would be condoning the devil’s work, right?”

He takes a step in, catching my wrists as I try to push him back, pinning them above my head, and laughing. 

“You saying you don’t want me is the most pathetic lie I’ve ever heard, carro. ”

“Azriel-”

Mouth next to my ear, he growls, “You’re really telling me if I slip my hand between your pretty thighs, I won’t find you wet and ready for me?”

I push against his hands and look away, all the confirmation he needs. 

He tsks, feigning disappointment. 

I close my eyes and fight my response to him with everything I have. I try to tell myself it matters, that what he does disgusts me, but it doesn’t sound believable to even myself at this point.

“I could prove it to you, make you come right here and now, but I don’t think I will.”

I’m breathing heavily, two seconds from passing out at the intensity and violence in his voice. 

“I think the next time I fuck you, Elain, you’re going to have to tell me you need me just as much as I need you. You’re going to tell me you want me, and you’re going to beg me for more.” He licks up the side of my neck, and I press my lips together to hold in the moan that wants to escape. “You’re going to tell the goddamn truth, and you’re going to fucking apologize for lying to me in the first place.”

I glare at him, silently conveying that that will never happen. He lied to me. I’m not apologizing for shit.

He sees that and everything else in my gaze, and he shakes his head slowly. 

“I’ll get your confession, Elain,” he promises, going to the door and almost ripping it off its hinges as he opens it. “I always do.”

___________________________________________________

Part 4

@perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @shinya-hiiragi @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @bamchickawowow @live-the-fangirl-life @ireallyshouldsleeprn @nahthanks @highqueenofelfhame @autophobiax @rowaelinismyotp @ghostlyrose2 @lovemollywho @inardour @tillyrubes10 @claralady @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @thegoddessofyou @awesomelena555 @booksofthemoon @greerlunna @jlinez @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @aesthetics-11 @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace @elorcan-trash @loosingdreams @januarystears @emikadreams @swankii-art-teacher @thedarkdemigod @full-tilt-diva @biggestwingspan-az @bookstantrash @mari-highladyof-feels @pilesofriles @teddytdr

[jaskiersvalley]

🌼~BEAUTIFUL PERSON AWARD! Once you are given this award you’re supposed to paste it in the asks of 8 people who deserve it. If you break the chain nothing happens, but it's sweet to know someone thinks you’re beautiful inside and out.~🌼

This has been in my inbox for quite a while so I really hope you're still in the fandom XD As thank you for your kind message here is something really rather silly.

It had all started out with the stupid raccoon that rifled through Jaskier's bins. The mess it left behind was unbelievable, like a small, localised tornado had been by, specifically over Jaskier's bins. No matter what he did, how he weighed down the lids, there was a mess every morning. At first Jaskier tried to be more conscious of what he threw away, less food in the bins, even ate more healthily because the raccoon seemed more interested in sweet things most nights. Except for the time it seemed to go absolutely feral with the tiny styrofoam shapes from a delivery Jaskier had. When nothing else worked, Jaskier got locks on his bins. However, his raccoon must have been working out because the locks were forced off his bins and the jumper he'd put in the bin because of a hole in the elbow had disappeared. That was when Jaskier decided to invest in a wildlife camera, this was a raccoon he needed to see.

Setting it up, Jaskier did feel a little foolish. It wasn’t like the raccoon came by every night and this time he really wanted to see it. The plan was to catch it with the net he’d invested in and relocate the little bastard somewhere that wasn’t his bins. To make sure he got the raccoon on camera, Jaskier set out a couple of honey drenched pastries to lure it in.

Sleep was difficult, Jaskier wanted to watch the camera but he was an adult and knew he needed to sleep. With great difficulty, he managed to get some rest and even succeeded in going in to teach rather than call in sick so he could watch his tape. Instead, he invited Valdo over to watch with him, knowing that his claims of a muscly raccoon would never be believed.

“Right, drinks, wine?” He asked, already grabbing a bottle and two glasses.

“I’ll order the pizza I guess,” Valdo replied, resignedly pulling his phone out. “Your usual?”

“Darling, I’m providing booze and entertainment in my home, you know the least you can do is buy me pizza.”

It was a tradition of sorts, Jaskier hated Valdo’s place, finding it too drab and grey. It didn’t matter that Valdo had magazine to prove that it was the latest fashion. And the bastard had the gall to say Jaskier was the one who pandered to the masses.

Now, they had wine in hand, the TV on and playing. Jaskier had to admit, it was pretty boring.

“Oh look, a moth,” Valdo drawled, sipping at his wine. “Maybe it flaps its wings so hard it messes with your bins.”

“Shut up.” The wine was disappearing at a steady rate and both their cheeks were getting rosy. Perhaps alcohol before food had been a rather unwise idea. “Here, I’ll speed it up until something comes along.” And something had to, the pastries were gone by the morning. They watched as moths, the odd cat and rat scuttled by.

“There!” Valdo yelled and pointed at the screen. As quickly as he could, Jaskier slowed it back down. They leaned forwards as one, seeing something large and dark move in the corner of the screen. Suddenly the darkness became a blur and both of them screamed, clutching at each other. A man stepped up to the pastries, hunching over the plate and stuffing them in his mouth at an impressive rate.

Just as they were over the shock, the man looked up. His eyes, like a cat, reflected the light as he looked at the camera, head tilted. Once again, Jaskier and Valdo screamed, leaping towards each other for protection, wine sloshing everywhere. It seemed the man had no idea what the camera was, giving it a good, long look before turning to have a rummage in the bins.

“That’s a really big fucking raccoon,” Valdo whimpered and Jaskier smacked him on the arm. “You’re going to need a bigger net.”

Laughing nervously, Jaskier shook his head. He didn’t know what to make of it, a large, long haired man with scary eyes had made a habit of rifling through his rubbish.

“Sleepover,” he declared. “You’re staying here. And we’re putting more food out.”

“You don’t want to encourage him! What if he’s, you know-” Valdo broke off, “-a vampire.”

“They’re not seen on films and their eyes don’t do that. Could be a shifter.”

“Sasquatch’s freaky cousin.”

“An eldritch horror!”

“A cryptid!” That actually seemed to fit. Still, cryptids needed feeding, Jaskier was not going to be mean. So far, other than his bins, nothing untoward had happened. “I’ll leave him some pizza.”

Drinking, Jaskier decided, was definitely not his best idea. He groaned as he sat up, Valdo snoring away next to him. He remembered most of their previous night and cursed; they didn’t just leave pizza, they left a note too.

Dear Mr. Cryptid, Please don’t eat us, eat the pizza instead. Love, Valskier

Rushing out, Jaskier saw that the pizza was gone, the note was crumpled on the ground and there was a bite missing from it. At least he now knew the shape of the cryptid’s bite.

“Wake up!” He poked Valdo in the side. “We need to watch this before work.”

It was the right choice. Jaskier spent the rest of the day thinking about the strange man with the even stranger eyes inspecting the pizza, giving it a sniff while the note was on top of it. And taking a large bite out of it all. While the pizza was given a second and third bite, the note had been inspected, given a lick before being cast aside. The camera also gave them a very good view of the man, bulging arm muscles, long, probably white or blonde hair. In short, Jaskier was fucked. He bought a whole cake and left it out that night.

The strange cryptid began to show up more regularly but at least he stopped making a mess of the bins. Jaskier tried leaving a few more notes but, after watching the man squint at the note before trying to take a bite out of each and every single one, he gave up.

“What’s the latest on your cryptid?” Valdo asked in the staff room. Rather than reply, Jaskier pulled his phone from his pocket and hit play on the video.

This time, it wasn’t his usual long haired cryptid man. Instead, it was two others with the same creepy eyes, scurrying past, snagging the hot dogs Jaskier had left out and shoving the bins over for good measure as they ran. His usual cryptid didn’t show up that night.

“I told you!” Valdo screeched, earning a few scathing looks. “You feed one and more come along.”

The following night, Jaskier put out more food, hoping it would be enough for everyone. He was almost scared to watch the footage the next day but was so glad he did. All three of the cryptids lingered near the camera, eyes flashing. However, Jaskier’s blood chilled when he spotted another pair of eyes in the background, watching but not approaching.

Looking back on the videos, he was appalled to find that an extra pair of glowing eyes was often in the background. Maybe it was a mate or a very shy cryptid. Either way, Jaskier wanted to see.

“Oh. It’s an injured one!” Jaskier breathed, appalled. He had upgraded his camera and had managed to turn the contrast up enough to make out a face. In a way, he almost wished he hadn’t because the sight was so terrible. The shy cryptid was scarred beyond belief, lip caught in a permanent snarl. He seemed the most distrustful of the camera, never approaching. But, once, Jaskier watched as a hand reached in front of the camera, snagged the sugar laden jelly pot and the camera was knocked askew. Just about visible after a few minutes was a broad back in a striped and spiked coat as it retreated. From then on, Jaskier made sure to leave soft foods out too.

“Didn’t you say your raccoon had a field day with styrofoam pellets?” Valdo asked. The school had taken a delivery of biology samples which arrived in boxes filled with the stuff. Together, Jaskier and Valdo poured as much of the pellets into a box as they could and they were left out alongside the offering of food.

That night, Valdo stayed over and neither of them slept. Instead, the TV showed the camera’s feed. It was about 3am, both of them were drooping when there was movement.

“Look!” Jaskier nudged Valdo who woke with a snort. On the screen, the original, long haired cryptid had a hand clasped around the wrist of the injured one and was dragging him into view. Behind them were the other two Jaskier had seen before. He gasped, “They’re a family, aren’t they?”

“They’re something alright. Maybe it’s cryptid double date night?”

Fascinated, they watched as the four of them inspected the box. It was the smallest of the lot, one of the two Jaskier had only ever seen together that stepped into the box, hands digging into the pellets. The grin on his face spoke volumes. The other once jumped in too, the two of them beginning to wrestled for who got to sit in the box. All while, the pellets were tumbling out, making the original cryptid and the scarred one hop back. They stared at the styrofoam like it had personally offended them. Without sound there was no way to hear it but Jaskier was convinced they hissed at it. Hesitantly, the scarred one picked up a couple and, without and warning, threw it in the air. They all darted away from it, glaring as it dropped. Once again, the smallest crept closer, darting in to pick up a handful and toss it into the air, sending them scattering again. However, when the styrofoam didn’t attack, he got braver, his mate stepping closer too. All too soon, they were all tossing handfuls of sytrofoam in the air and running around. It was all fun and games until the larger of the pair picked up the box and tossed it. The scarred one caught it but staggered and crashed into the bins.

Jaskier jumped as the clatter of his bins falling over rudely reminded him of just how close the cryptids were. It felt much more distant when they were just on his TV. Tense, he clutched at Valdo’s sweaty hand and they watched as the cryptids ran away from the scene. The next morning, Jaskier had so much styrofoam to clean up, he regetted ever listening to Valdo.

Now that he knew that the cryptids could play, Jaskier decided that they were probably intelligent beings, it was a simple matter of finding a way to communicated.

“I’ve written a will, told my parents I love them and cleared my internet browsing history,” he told Valdo. “If anything happens, you know which box in the bedroom to burn, right?”

“You crazy bastard, don’t go out there!”

Jaskier held aloft the tray of foods, trying to look self assured. “I have new friends to meet. Wish me luck.”

With that, he marched out, ready to settle in for a long wait, confident that Valdo would keep an eye on him via the camera. As he’d said, he had new friends to meet, he just hoped they wanted to meet him too.

[draconic-ichor]

In the Steel Steeds Heart

Chapter 22: Reservoir House Call

Warnings: strong language, sexual themes, body horror

Summary: Moraue needs Heisenberg’s help.

Feedback appreciated, 18+

Movement tripped the alarms, something deep in the factory stirred the sensors. Heisenberg and Juniper entered the control room. He sat in the chair, looking over the cameras.

“What the fuck it that?!” Juniper pointed to one of the screens. Heisenberg turned to look where her finger led.

Down on the lowest reaches of the factory, where water from the reservoir flowed through the factory a large shape lumbered out.

It was a mass of fat and eyes, pulling free of the water with multiple legs.

“Aw Christ…” Heisenberg sat back in his chair rubbing the bridge of his nose, “it’s Moreau.”

 

“That’s Moreau??” Juniper said in disbelief.

By the time they made it down to the lowest level, Moreau had changed back into his more humanoid form, coughing near the edge of the waterway.

“H-Hello Juniper.” The man croaked. Seeing him now, without his usual coverings was a sight to behold. His back was covered with bulbous, pulsing growths. Damn, some looked to be monstrous eyes. A vestigial aquatic tail poked out from the mass, moving on its own accord. It looked painful, forcing the man into a hunchback.

“H-Hello.” Juniper managed.

“Yea Yea, fish.” Heisenberg stomped up, “What do you want, I’m busy.”

Moreau seemed to worry his hands, glancing down, “Brother…I…I need your help.”

“I fucking know that, what is it?” Heisenberg interjected, annoyed.

His tone made the other flinch a bit, “My television…i-it broke. I can’t f-fix it.”

Heisenberg signed, thinking over the situation. “I’ll come fix it.” He finally spoke.

Moreau’s face lit up with hope, shuffling his feet a bit. He turned towards Juniper, “You’ll come too?”

“Sure.” She nodded tentatively, hearing Heisenberg groan behind her.

“I can take you over!” The man gestured to the water excitedly.

Juniper felt a shiver, remembering what emerged from the water, until Heisenberg cut in again. “Thanks but…uh…fuck that.” He waved his hand, “Well take our own way.”

Slightly dejected, Moraue nodded, “I’ll meet you there.”

“Mhm.” Heisenberg shrugged tightly. Before anyone would speak again the fish man turned and jumped back into the waterway.

~

“Is that a purse?” Juniper asked amused. They walked towards the Reservoir, the ground muddy from the melted snow.

“It’s a tool bag.” Heisenberg answered through gritted teeth. He pulled the bag closer, it was letter and hung around his shoulder at hip level.

“It looks like a purse.” Juniper snickered, earning a growl of annoyance from Heisenberg.

As they drew nearer, past the town, the ground grew more sodden. The air slowly began to gain a certain smell, like the rotting of waterlogged plants. Juniper wrinkled her nose.

They walked through a narrow passage between a cliff face, Heisenberg holding back a bramble patch for Juniper to safely squeeze through.

She could see the windmills now, old and groaning as they slowly turned. Most of the land surrounding them had long since been lost to the rising water. The roofs of houses and other debris could be seen floating on top of the murky water.

“This is it.” Heisenberg announced, “The beautiful Reservoir, perfect place to cool off in the summertime. Just watch out for the fish!” His voice mimicked an old radio announcer as he split his face into a cheeky smile.

Juniper brushed him away, walking towards the edge to look into the swirling water.

“Be careful, buttercup.” Heisenberg came up behind her, “Won’t be able to fish you out if you sink in that.”

She felt a little shiver run down her spine.

She stepped away from the water, “So where does Moreau live?”

Heisenberg gestured for her to follow, easing his tool bag more comfortably on his shoulder. They entered the closest of the windmills. The old wooden mechanism slowly turned and groaned as they took stairs deeper into the underground. They came to a lift, resembling ones in the factory, but this one was wooden.

They rode it down into what looked to be an old mine. Juniper’s eyes caught the glittering flecks of crystals embedded into the rocky ceiling.

Going deeper still, with the far off shuffling of Lycans in abandoned mining shafts, they finally came to a metal door.

It bore the crest of Miranda.

“Don’t touch anything.” Heisenberg warned, “I don’t want you getting any diseases.”

Before Juniper could scold him he knocked at the door.

They heard mumbling and the scraping of feet across the wooden floors before the door opened. Moreau was a mixture of joy and apprehension, greeting them inside.

His ‘house’ was one of the mine shafts that had been converted into a living space. There were wooden floors and walls, and some furniture about. It was definitely sparse, save for some shelves with old books and storage containers.

Everything looked to be heavily damaged by water and the goo that Moraue would produce, not to mention the off colored stains that Juniper didn’t want to ask about.

It smelled about as one would expect, given the circumstances.

“I’m sorry…about the mess.” Moraue picked up a pile of old magazines, their covers warped and faded.

“It’s alright.” Juniper tried to sooth.

“So where is the tv?” Heisenberg asked with disgruntlement.

“Oh!” The twisted man exclaimed, “It’s right over here.” He padded around a corner into another small room. An old television set was staked on a crate, some soft things and boxes of films close by. This room looked to be the space he spent most of his time.

“Thank you, Heis-Heisenberg.” Moraue stammered.

“Yea, yea.” Heisenberg strode forward, kneeling down behind the machine. He placed the bag of tools beside him, pulling out a screwdriver.

Juniper wandered back to the entertainment room, Moreau curiously following her.

Heisenberg, busy with his task, took no mind of them. He wanted to finish this job as quickly as possible.

Getting all the screws loose he was able to free the back panel. It came away with an odd sucking sound, goo oozing out with it. The slimy substance hit Heisenberg’s boots as the television gave small sparks.

“Fucking hell!” Heisenberg grimaced at his boots, shaking the panel free of the muck.

“The TV is full of your green shit slime!” Heisenberg yelled into the next room. He heard more apologies from the room over. Grumbling, he began to clean out the inside of the box.

Juniper walked along the wall, looking at various  things that were hung alone it. Most of it was old gushing memorabilia but a few worn picture frames peaked her interest.

One photo in particular stood out. It was faded, the edges being ate up with mold. But she could still make out a man, stocky with jet black hair. He stood proudly in front of a clinic. She squinted her eyes to read the sign in the photo: Moreau’s Clinic.

“Sal?” Juniper turned, pointing to the photo, “Is this you?”

Moreau came closer, looking to where her finger led. His wide mouth parted in a smile as he spoke, “Oh yes!”

“Were you a doctor?” Juniper turned back towards the photo. Looking now she could see the shadows of his features hidden away under all the twisted flesh.

He nodded, “Yes, I took over the clinic. It was my Father’s. I helped people…before…before all..”

His voice trailed off, but Juniper understood.

He shook his head a bit, his smile returning, “But I help Mother Miranda now! I try to make her proud of me.”

Juniper gave him a small smile, knowing that nothing she said would sway his devotion.

“Heisenberg said you were sick.” Moraue looked up at her, his good eye full of worry.

Feeling her stomach she answered, “I went through a lot recently, but I’m feeling much better now.”

“Mother’s gifts hurt sometimes.” He tried to sooth, “But it’s worth it, she wants us to be strong.”

She tried to nod, her gut turning a bit at the memories.

“You are Heisenberg’s helper?”Moreau tried to change the subject.

Heisenberg’s voice sounded from the other room, “She’s my wife!” He corrected.

Moreau gave a small ‘oh’. Juniper’s cheeks bloomed with a rosy blush.

“I’m trying to teach him some manners.” She whispered mischievously, earning a warbling chuckle from Moreau.

“I heard that!” Heisenberg yelled again making the two snicker harder.

~

It was a good few hours before Heisenberg was able to get the inside of the machine clean and in working order once more. He had to use his powers with electricity to rewire some parts, replacing one of the tube bulbs and showering it with a plethora of curses for good measure during the whole ordeal.

Juniper kept Moraue occupied and out of Heisenberg’s hair. He had convinced her to look at his collection of finishing lures. Given his simple speech patterns and twisted visage one would think him very dim; but he was surprisingly intelligent and talkative with certain topics. Fishing was one of those topics, Juniper discovered.

The sound of boots tore them from their conversations, Moraue closing the old wooden tackle box to look up.

“Well I got it working again…but damn your slime mess is really fucking it up.” Heisenberg announced, holding his tool bag.

Moreau took Juniper’s hand excitedly, “Would you want to see one of my movies?”

“No, no.” Heisenberg interjected.

“One movie?” Juniper looked at him with big puppy eyes, “Just to make sure it’s working properly.”

The two looked at Heisenberg expectantly. After a long moment Heisenberg pinched the bridge of his nose and cursed, “Jesus fuck…Fine!”

As Moreau excitedly went through his box of films Heisenberg pressed, “Only one.”

“Thank you.” Juniper whispered, hugging Heisenberg softly.

Rolling his eyes, Heisenberg hisses, “I don’t know why you humor him.”

“Because it’s a nice thing to do.” Juniper snapped under her breath, “Don’t be so mean.”

When he didn’t speak she gave a little huff, wandering closer to the crouched Moreau.

The man was sifting carefully though the films, mumbling things to himself.

Juniper made a sound of surprise pointing into the box, “You have ‘The Secret Garden’?”

Moreau nodded, pulling that film free. It was the 1949 version, in black and white.

“I used to love that book.” Juniper spoke excitedly, “Can we watch that one?”

Moreau, just overjoyed to have company, instantly agreed.

Heisenberg leaned against the far wall, watching them set up the television. Moreau apologized profusely for not having proper seating, while Juniper shrugged and sat on the floor.

He smiled as the two became quiet when the movie started, walking quietly up to sit besides Juniper. He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer as he settled in.

The movie wasn’t his cup of tea, liking westerns or thrillers more himself, but the quiet was nice. Even if the place was damp and smelled.

[justanotherteentitansblog]

Bbrae Week Day 3 Into the Woods

There are giants in the sky! There are big tall terrible giants in the sky! 

The changeling had his nose buried in the score as he attempted to read the music in front of him. ‘Funny’ Raven thought, ‘I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen him reading something other than a comic book’ 

When you’re way up high and you look below at the world you’ve left and the things you’ve known, little more than a glance is enough to show you just how small you are! 

Raven hated admitting it to herself but dear god she loved his singing voice. He had this sexy tenor that was like honey to the ears. She could listen to him sing for hours and never get bored. Her favorite music was anything he sang, but she’d rather die than ever let him in on that. 

When you’re way up and you’re on your own 

In a world like none that you’ve ever known

Where the sky is lead and the earth is stone 

You’re free to do whatever pleases you

Exploring things you’ve never dared 

Cause you don’t care when suddenly there’s a big tall terrible giant at the door. 

Stupid Robin and this stupid theater that’s closing down. If Robin hadn’t made such a huge deal out of trying to save the theater Raven would never be in this mess. 

A big tall terrible lady giant sweeping the floor 

Raven was just glad she could keep her cloak on for the role at least for most of the first act, she didn’t know if she was ready to face an audience without it. 

And she gives you food and she gives you rest and she draws you close to her giant breast and you know things now that you never knew before 

A Teen Titans production of the show, into the woods. Super. Raven didn’t even know she could sing up until auditions. She had never really tried before and once she did, she kind of blew everyone away, herself included. 

Not til the sky

“Ok good work, you’ve obviously been practicing but next time hold out sky for a little longer, you’re cutting it short and you should be taking a big enough breath after before to be able to sustain that.” The music director, Dan, reminded Garfield. 

“Thanks dude! I’ll work on it!” 

“I know you will, that’s why I don’t hate you,” Dan nodded. 

Raven liked Dan, he didn’t pussyfoot around. 

Dan turned on the piano bench to face Raven motioning her to come forward with his fingers. 

Nevermind, she actually hated Dan. 

She sighed and slumped her shoulders trudging to the piano like a child being sent to timeout. She threw her hood over her face to hide the blush coloring her cheeks before Dan interrupted. 

“Your character doesn’t have their hood on at this part of the show!” 

‘Fuck you Dan’ Raven thought pulling her hood down. 

“Ok top of measure 55, here is your starting note and…..go” 

Careful the things you say

Children will listen 

Careful the things you do children will see

Gar regarded Raven’s tense form. She was nervous, and she didn’t want to make a fool out of herself in front of an audience. 

And Learn

Too bad she had probably the biggest role in the whole damn show, The witch. 

Children may not obey

But children will listen

The role really was very fitting for her. Maybe not the rap about produce but everything else about the role was very...Raven. 

Children will look to you for which way to turn

To learn what to be

If only someone could just show her how to relax into a character and just be natural in it, then it wouldn’t be so painful for her. 

Careful before you say, Listen to me

Wait! He was someone! He could definitely show her how to get into character, and you know a little extra alone time with her wouldn’t be such a terrible thing now would it? 

Children will listen….

Dan turned to Raven, “How do you think that went?” 

“Well I was pitchy on measure 75 and I think I got off tempo towards the end, also my voice cracked at measu-” 

Dan raised his hand to silence the girl, “No, you’re singing was perfect, the real issue is that you need to relax. You know what you’re doing so just let yourself do it without judgement.” 

Raven glowered at the music director, “Easier said than done, Dan.” 

After rehearsal, Raven gathered her things in her bag and was headed towards the stage door when a familiar voice called out. 

“Hey, wait, Raven!” 

“What do you want, Gar?” 

“I think I know how to help you with your stage fright, that is if you want my help.” 

Raven breathed a sigh of relief, “You don’t know how much I would love that, thank you” 

Gar chuckled, “Well you’re gonna love the means of how we’re gonna do it even more.” 

Raven was amused, “Oh?” 

“Yep, I’m gonna show you how to meditate like an actor.” 

Later in Raven’s room she had sat on her floor cross legged waiting for instructions from her teammate. 

“Ok start with deep breaths in and out. In….Out….In” 

Raven smiled despite herself, for him to give her instruction on deep breathing when she meditated everyday, it was almost laughable, but she complied. 

He guided her through a simple grounding exercise and once she was fully grounded he began speaking again, “Now I want you to imagine you’re in a cottage in a forest…” 

Ah, so this was a guided meditation, this she could handle easily. 

“Now this is your cottage and your home, understand? Around your cottage is a huge garden, full of beautiful greenery. Can you see it?” 

“Yes” 

“Spend a few moments admiring your garden, truly soak it in.” 

She did as instructed. 

“Now I want you to imagine you hear a sound somewhere in the garden, I want you to move towards the sound.” 

Raven found herself wandering a maze of vegetation in her mind’s eye until she found the source of the sound. A man in her garden. Not just any man but her neighbor stealing her vegetables! She tended that garden with every fiber of her being and the fact that someone she said hello to every morning was stealing from her, it felt violating. She was furious, she could’ve laid a spell on him right there! She could’ve turned him into stone, or a dog, or a chair…

Raven popped an eye open realizing what was happening, “Is this guided meditation based on the witch’s story in the show?” 

“Yes, now get back into it!” 

Raven shut her eyes and let her mind sink back into the story. 

Her neighbor was begging for forgiveness but she knew it would happen again if she didn’t do something to keep him away. She had been lonely and barren all her life and having always wanted a child of her own, she was envious of the baker’s pregnant wife. She offered the baker a second chance at life for the baby growing in his wife’s womb. The baker reluctantly agreed before climbing over the garden wall, but as soon as he had left the sanctity of her walls...BANG FLASH, LIGHTNING CRASH! She watched as her hands shrunk and withered into the hands of an old crone. Raven ran to a small stream that ran through her garden to look at her reflection and much to her horror and dismay a 90 year old woman’s face stared back. 

Raven sat up and screamed out of the meditation jolting Beast Boy backwards. 

“Raven, are you ok?”

“Meditation is supposed to relax you Gar, not send you horrific images.” 

“Yeah sure but...how do you feel about the baker now?” 

Raven’s eyes glowed red at the mention of the name. “Oh I don’t care what it takes, I’m getting my face back and somehow making him pay for it in the process!” 

Raven paused, confused at her own words, “What was that?” 

“That was you finally being in character.” Gar smiled up at his friend. 

“Ok but you said that you were going to help me with stage fright, not character development.” 

“I did, Rae. Now when you go on stage, you’re not going to be thinking about the audience, you’re going to be thinking about what a rat bastard that baker is and how you’re going to make him pay. You’re going to think about how everyone sees you as the bad guy because you’re the witch when really you’re the victim in the show. You’re going to think about how much you love Rapunzel and you’re not ready for her to grow up yet. All the characters on stage, they’re not in front of an audience they’re just living their lives, it’s our jobs as the actors to give a venue to tell their stories.” 

Raven was floored, since when did he get so...wise? 

“That was a very impressive speech, Garfield.” 

“Yeah well, you know, can’t be stupid all the time,” he shrugged. 

“A slotted spoon can catch the potato..” 

“See? Now you’re in the spirit of the show.” 

Color flooded Raven’s face as she stood to meet her friend at the door. 

“Thank you Gar, I don’t know what I would’ve done without your help.” she leaned up and planted a kiss on his cheek. 

Gar’s emerald skin met red as he flushed at the contact, “Uh, wait. What? Did you just?” 

“Best to take the moment present, as a present for the moment” she said, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him in for another kiss. 

[itsclydebitches]

RWBY Recaps: Volume 8 “Dark”

Welcome back, everyone! Can you believe it's been six weeks already? I can't. Something something the uncomfortable passage of time during a pandemic as emphasized by a web-series.

But we're here to talk about RWBY the fictional story, not RWBY the cultural icon. At least, we will in a moment. First, I'd like to acknowledge that shaky line between the two, growing blurrier with every volume. A sort of good news, bad news situation.

The bad news — to get that out of the way — is that we cannot easily separate RWBY from its authors and those authors have, sadly, been drawing a lot of negative attention as of late. This isn't anything new, not at all, but I think the unexpectedly long hiatus gave a lot of fans (myself included) the chance to think about Rooster Teeth's failings without getting distracted by their biggest and brightest production. There's a laundry list of problems here — everything from the behavior of voice actors to the quality of their merch — but as a sort of summary issue, I'd like to highlight the reviews that continue to pop up on websites like Glassdoor, detailing the toxic, sexist, crunch-obsessed environment that RT employees are forced to work in. A lot of these websites requires a login to read more than a page of reviews, but you can check out a Twitter thread about it here. 

Now, I want to be clear: I'm not bringing this up as a way to shame anyone enjoying RWBY. This isn't a simplistic claim of, "The authors are Problematic™ and therefore you can't like the stuff they produce." Nor is this meant to be a catch-all excuse for RWBY's problems. If it were, I'd have dropped these recaps years ago. I'm of the belief that audiences maintain the right to both praise and criticize the work they're given, regardless of the context in which that work was produced. At the end of the day, RT has presented RWBY as a finished product and, more than that, presents it as an excellent product, one worth both our emotional investment and our money (whether in the form of paying for a First account, or encouraging us to buy merch, attend cons, etc.) I'll continue to critique RWBY as needed, but I a) wanted fans to be at least peripherally aware of these issues and b) clarify that my use of "RT" in statements like, "I can't believe RT is screwing up this badly" is meant to be a broad, nebulas acknowledgement that someone in the company is screwing up, either creatively (doesn't have the skill to write a good scene) or morally (hasn't created an environment in which other creators are capable of crafting a good scene). The real, inner workings of such companies are mostly a secret to their audiences and thus it's near impossible for someone like me — random fan writing these for fun as a casual side hobby — to accurately point fingers. Hence, broad "RT." I just wanted to clarify that when I use this it's as a necessary placeholder for whoever is actually responsible, not a damnation of the overworked animator breaking down in a bathroom. Heavy stuff, but I thought it was necessary (or at least worthwhile) to acknowledge this issue as we head into the second half of the volume.

Now for the good news: RWBY has reached 100 episodes! For any who may not know, 100 is a pretty significant number in the TV world because, when talking about prime time programming, it guarantees syndicated reruns. Basically, networks don't want audiences to get burned out with a show — changing the channel when it comes on because ugh, I've seen this already, recently too — and 100 episodes allows for a roughly five month run without any repeats, making it very profitable. RWBY is obviously not a television show and doesn't benefit from any of this (hell, modern television doesn't benefit from this as much as it used to, not in the age of streaming), but the 100 episode threshold is still ingrained in American culture. Beyond just being a nice, rounded number, it is historically a measure of huge success and I can't imagine that RT isn't aware of that. Regardless of what we think of RWBY's current quality, this is one hell of a milestone and should be applauded.

All that being said... RWBY's quality is definitely still lacking lol.

Our 100th episode is titled "Dark" — keeping with the one word titles, then — and I'd like to emphasize that, as a 100th episode, it definitely delivers in terms of plot. There's plenty of action, important character beats, and at least one major reveal, everything we'd expect from a milestone and a Part II premiere. The animation also continues to be noteworthy for its beauty, as I found myself admiring many of the screenshots I took for this recap. There are certainly things to praise. The only problem (one we're all familiar with by now) is that these small successes are situated within a narrative that's otherwise falling apart. It's all good stuff... provided you ignore literally everything else surrounding it.

But let's dive into some examples. We open on Qrow starting, awoken by the thunder outside. Robyn has been watching him and makes a peppy comment about how none of them will be sleeping tonight, followed by a more serious, "Sounds bad out there." Yeah, it does sound bad, especially when they all know — thanks to Ruby's message back in Volume 7 — that this is due to Salem's arrival. I think a lot of the fandom has forgotten that little detail because people often discuss Qrow as if he is entirely ignorant of what is going on outside his cell. Even if we were to assume that he's forgotten all about the pesky Salem issue (the horror of Clover's death overriding everything else, perhaps) he still knows that Tyrian is running loose in a heat-less city with a creepy storm going on and, from his perspective, the Very Evil Ironwood is still running the show. So it's bad, which begs the question of why Qrow (and Robyn, for that matter) hasn't displayed an ounce of legitimate worry for everyone he knows out there. Thus far, their interactions have centered entirely around Qrow's misplaced blame and Robyn's terrible attempts to lighten the mood, despite the fact that a war is raging right beyond that wall. It's another example of RWBY's inability to manage tone properly, to say nothing of balancing the multiple concerns any one character should be trying to juggle. Just as it rankles that Ruby and Yang don't seem to care about what has happened to their uncle, Qrow likewise doesn't seem to care about what might be happening to his nieces. When did we reach a point where these relationships are so broken that someone can be arrested/chucked into a deadly battle and the others just... ignore that?

So Robyn's otherwise innocuous comment immediately reminds me of how badly the narrative has treated these conflicts and, sadly, things don't improve much from here. We are thankfully spared more of Robyn's jokes when Qrow realizes that what he's hearing can't be thunder. A second later, Cinder blasts through the wall — called it! — and Qrow instinctively transforms. 

The only downside to this moment is that the whole ceiling falls down on Qrow and the others because APPARENTLY these cells don't have tops on them. Seriously. As far as I can recall we don't see the stone breaking through the forcefield somehow and this looks pretty open to me.

If it is... you're telling me these crazy powerful fighters who practice landing strategies and leap tall buildings in a single bound —

— can't just hop over this mildly high electric fence to get out? Qrow can't just fly away?

We're, like, two minutes in, folks.

We transfer to Nora's perspective as she wakes up, seeing Klein giving her the IV. He tells her not to worry, that "you and your friend are going to be just fine." What friend? Penny? Klein went upstairs prior to Weiss hugging Whitley or Penny crash landing outside. I had thought them bursting through the door with another unconscious friend was the first time he learned what the big bang outside was, but apparently not.

Penny is, obviously, a mess. While I now understand the choice to make her blood such an eye-catching color when that's crucial to the Hound's hunt, I still think it looks strange visually. Like someone has taken a copy of RWBY and painted over it. It doesn't look like it fits the art style. More than that, it implies some rather complicated things about Penny's humanity, especially in a volume focused around her being a "real girl." Real enough for Maiden powers, but with obviously inhuman blood that isn't even referred to as "bleeding." Penny "leaks" instead.

Toss in the fact that she's literally an android who is made up of tech — recall the running gags about her being heavy, or it hurts to fist-bump her, to say nothing of keeping things like multiple blades inside her body — yet Klein says that her "basic anatomy" is the same and he can "stitch up that wound."

I'm sorry, what? Whatever Penny looks like on the inside, it's not going to resemble a human woman's anatomy, and Klein might be able to stitch the outer layer of skin she's got, but that won't do anything to fix whatever metal bits have been broken underneath. Penny isn't a human-robot hybrid, she's a robot with an aura. Penny has knives in her back, rockets in her feet, and a super computer behind her eyes. When our clip introduced that Klein would be the one to help Penny, my initial reaction was, "Seriously? He's a butler and a doctor and an engineer?" But RWBY didn't even try to get away with a Super Klein explanation, they just waved away Penny's very obvious, inhuman anatomy. Yeah, I'm sure "stitching up" an android wound is just like giving Nora her IV. I hope the surgical sutures he used are extra strong!

In an effort to not entirely drag this episode, I do appreciate that Whitley is allowed an "ugh" moment about the non-blood covering his shirt without anyone calling him out on it. That felt like the sort of thing the show would usually try to make a character feel guilty about and I'm glad that, for once, he was just allowed to be frustrated without comment.

Then the power goes out and May calls, which raises questions about what state the CCTS is in and when scrolls are available to our protagonists vs. when they're not. But whatever. She's checking in because she just "saw another bombing run light up the Kingdom" and —

Wait. Bombing? Salem is bombing the city? I know we've seen explosions in the sky, but I'd always just attributed that to evil aesthetic. Why does this dialogue sound like it's from a World War II film and not a fantasy sci-fi show about literal monsters launching a ground attack?

May looks pretty against the sky though. I like her hair color against that purple.

I'm admittedly grasping at positives here because we finally return to her "You have to choose" ultimatum and — surprise! — May has pulled back completely. Ruby says that once they've helped Penny, "We'll...we'll do something!" which is once again her avoiding making a decision. Ruby still refuses to choose, instead falling back on generic, optimistic pep talks. They'll figure out how to stop Salem later. They'll think about the impact of telling the world later. They'll choose who to help later. Ruby keeps pushing these problems into the future where, she hopes, a perfect, magical solution will have appeared for her to latch onto. When that continues to not happen, others pressuring her to actually do something and stop waiting for perfection — Ironwood, Yang, May — she panics and continues stalling for time. Wait an episode and the narrative supports her in this.

Because initially May was forcing Ruby to decide. Now, May enables her desire to keep putting things off. "Don't beat yourself up, kid. At this point, I don't know how much is left to be done." That's the exact opposite of what May believed last episode, that there was still so much work and good to do for the people of Mantle. This is precisely what the show did with Yang and Ren's scenes too, having people call Ruby out... but then return to a message of, 'Don't worry, you're actually doing just fine' before Ruby is forced to actually change.

None of which even touches on May calling her "kid" in this moment. That continues to be a convenient way of absolving Ruby of any responsibility. When she wants to steal airships or Amity Tower, she's an adult everyone should listen to, the leader of this war. When the story wants to absolve her of previously mentioned flaws, she becomes a kid who shouldn't "beat herself up." I said years ago that RWBY couldn't continue to let the group be both children and adults simultaneously, yet here we are.

So that was a thoroughly disappointing scene. Ruby gets her moment to look sad and defeated, listing "the grimm, the crater, Nora, Penny" as problems she doesn't know how to solve. Note that 'Immortal witch attacking the city I've helped trap here' isn't included in that list. Ruby is still ignoring Salem herself and no one in the group is picking up where May left off, challenging her to do more than wring her hands over things others are already trying to take care of: Ironwood is fighting the grimm, May has gone off to help the crater, Klein is patching up Nora and Penny. Ruby, as one flawed individual, should not be expected to come up with a solution to everything, but she does need to stop acting like she can come up with a solution to everything when it matters most (office scene) and rejecting others' solutions when they ask for her help (Ironwood, May).

If it feels like I'm dragging the flawed, traumatized teenager too much, it's not in an effort to ignore those aspects of her identity. Rather, it's because she's also the licensed huntress who wrested control from a world leader and violently demanded she be put in charge of this battle. Ruby, by her own actions, is now responsible for dealing with these problems, or admitting she was wrong and letting others take the lead, without purposefully derailing their plans. She doesn't get to suddenly go, "I don't know," cry a little, and get sympathetic pats.

But of course that's precisely what happens, courtesy of Weiss.

During this whole scene I kept wondering why no one was celebrating Nora waking up, especially when Ruby outright mentions her. Have they just not noticed given all the Penny drama? Because Nora absolutely woke up.

Aaaand went back to sleep, I guess. What was the point of that POV shot? No worries though, she'll wake up again in a minute.

Willow arrives and announces that they can fix the power (and Penny) using the generator at the edge of the property. I'm convinced RT doesn't actually know what a generator is because the characters are acting like it's some super special device that only richy-rich could possibly have. Whitley says that it's the SDC executives who have their "own power supply" and that it's "extremely unfair." Now, don't get me wrong, a good generator powering large portions of your house can run you 30k+, but you can also get one that plugs into your extension cord and powers your fridge for a couple hundred. There's absolutely a class issue here, just not the one Whitley and Weiss seem to be commenting on. They make a generator sound like the sort of device that only a politician-CEO could possible have and it's weird.

Likely, it sounds weird because it's a choppy way of getting Whitley to bring up the wealth disparity so he can then go, 'That's right! We're crazy rich with a company housing tons of ships! We can use those to evacuate Mantle.' Awkwardness aside, I do like that the Schnee wealth is being used for good purposes, but... evacuate where? To the city currently under attack by a giant whale? In a RWBY that wasn't determined to demonize Ironwood, this would have been a great plot point during the office scene instead, with Weiss offering her services to Ironwood, even if the group decides that a continued evacuation still isn't possible.

Instead, we get it here from Whitley. Do I need to point out the obvious? That Whitley is the MVP of this episode? He's done more good in an HOUR than the group has managed in a year. Give this kid some training and make him a huntsmen instead.

We're given a (very pretty!) shot of the shattered moon because it wouldn't be RWBY if we weren't continually reminded that gods once wiped out humanity before destroying part of a celestial body... and absolutely no one talks about that lol.

Blake's coat might not make any sense for her color scheme, but it does make her easy to spot as she and Ruby run across the grounds. Oh my god, they're actually doing something together! It only took eight years. They even get a lovely talk where Blake admits how much she looks up to Ruby, despite her being younger, and once again I'm struck at how much more I would have loved this scene if it had appeared elsewhere in the series. It is, indeed, as sweet and emotional as all the RWBY GIF-ers are claiming... provided you overlook that this is the exact opposite of what Ruby needs to hear right now. She doesn't need to hear that she's more mature and reliable than her elders when she's functioning under a "We don't need adults" mentality. She doesn't need to hear that not knowing what to do is totally fine, not when that led to her turning on Ironwood, despite not knowing how to stop Salem. She doesn't need to hear that "doing something" — doing anything — is a strength, because Ruby keeps avoiding the big problems for smaller ones she's comfortable with, like standing by Penny's bedside instead of deciding between Mantle and Atlas. Blake's speech is heartfelt, but it's a speech that suits a Beacon days Ruby who is having some doubts about her leadership skills, not the girl whose impulsive — and now lack of — actions is having world-wide repercussions. Everyone is babying Ruby to a staggering degree. It's like if we had a med show where the doctor is standing by the bedside of a coding patient, fretting between two treatments. 'Don't worry,' their colleague says, patting their shoulder. 'I've always looked up to you. You'll do something when you're ready' and then they continue to watch the patient, you know, die.

Also: who does Ruby look up to? Everyone talks about how much they depend on and trust Ruby, but who does Ruby look to for guidance? A number of her problems stem from the fact that she has rejected the advice of everyone who has tried to help her improve: Qrow, Ozpin, Ironwood, even Yang. Ruby is presented as the pinnacle of what to strive for in a leader, rather than a leader who has only been doing this for two years and still has a great deal to learn.

Anyway, they get the generator on and the Hound shows up.

I am begging RT to just make RWBY a horror story. All their best scenes the last three years have been horror I am bEGGING —

Anyway, while Ruby waits to be eaten we cut to Willow and Klein, the former of which is reaching for her bottle, pulling back, reaching again, all while her hand shakes. This is good. This is what we should have gotten with Qrow. Which isn't to say that their (or anyone's) addiction should be identical, but rather that this is a far more engaging and complex look at addiction than what our birb got. Willow tells us that she doesn't drink in the dark despite bringing the bottle with her; tries to resist drinking when she's scared and ultimately fails. Qrow just decided to stop drinking after decades of addiction, seemingly for no reason, and that was that. Why is a side character we only met this volume written better than one of the main cast?

Blake manages to call Weiss about the Hound and she asks if Whitley can handle the airships without her. I mean, I assume so given that Weiss is looking at the bookshelves while Whitley does all the work lol. He makes a teasing comment about how he can if she can handle that grimm and she comments that they still need to work on his "attitude."

No they don't. Weiss stuck a weapon in her kid brother's face. Whitley made a joke. Even if Weiss' comment is likewise meant to be read as teasing, it's clear that we've bypassed any meaningful conversation between them. That hug was supposed to be a Fix Everything moment even though, as I've laid out elsewhere, it didn't even come close.

We cut back to Ruby getting thrown through a wall into the backyard and the Hound creepily coming after her. She's freaked out by this clearly abnormal grimm and Blake is weirdly... not? "It's just a grimm. Just focus!" Uh, it's obviously not. Have we reached the traumatized, sleep-deprived point where the group is sinking into full-blown denial? I wouldn't be surprised. They've been awake for like... 40+ hours.

Because the Hound knocks Ruby out with a single hit. Just, bam, she's down. "Focusing" is not the solution here.

Weiss calls to warn the others about the grimm, telling them to stick together. Willow (understandably) starts freaking out and flees the room (classic horror trope!). Klein is left alone when Penny wakes up with red eyes. Oh no!

Don't worry. You know nothing meaningful happens.

She shoves Klein before (somehow?) resisting the hack, her Maiden powers going wild in the process. Just when it looks as if Penny might cause some serious damage, Nora wakes up, takes her hand, and says, I kid you not:

"Hey... no one is going to make you do anything you don't want to do... It's just a part of you. Don't forget about the rest."

Okay. I want to re-emphasize that I love hopeful, uplifting, victory-won-through-the-power-of-love stories. Istg I'm not dead inside, it's just that RWBY does this so badly. I mean, what is this? It has similarities to the character shouting, 'No! Resist!' to their mind-controlled ally, but this is not presented as a desperate, last-ditch effort by Nora. She just speaks like this is the most obvious truth in the world. If you don't want to have your mind taken over... just don't! It's that simple. The problem definitely isn't that Watts has changed her coding and has implemented a command she can't override, it's that Penny has forgotten about the "rest" of her personhood.

And this works. Granted, not for long, but we leave Nora having successfully calmed Penny down and until her eyes unexpectedly go red again scenes later, we're left assuming that this is a permanent solution. That, imo anyway, is taking the Power of Love too far, overriding the basic reality of Penny being hacked. It’s not a personal failing she must overcome, it’s an external attack. I would have rather had Nora react to the scars she saw on her arm, or have a moment with Klein, or get some love from the group. Not a wakes up, falls asleep, wakes up again to save Penny with a Ruby level 'Just ignore reality' pep-talk, then back to sleep again.

So Penny isn't attacking her allies, or mistakenly hurting her allies with wild Maiden powers. Not that the group doesn't have enough to deal with, but still. Weiss arrives to help with the Hound and attempts a new summon, only to fail when two minor grimm burrow up into her glyphs. I really enjoyed that moment, both for the wing visual and the knowledge that Weiss' glyphs can fail if you break them somehow (which makes sense). Also, I just like that she failed in general? Weiss is, as per usual now, about to demonstrate just how OP she is compared to the rest of the team, so it was nice to see her faltering here.

The Hound tries to make off with Ruby and Blake does an excellent job of keeping it tethered. Ruby finally wakes, only to realize that the grimm is actually after Penny since it's staring at her power up through the window, no longer trying to escape. Moments like this remind me that there's someone on RT's writing team that knows what they're doing, at least some of the time. The assumption that the Hound is after Ruby as a SEW, the surprise that it's actually Penny, realizing it holds up because Ruby is covered in Penny's blood and Blake is not... that's all nice, tight plotting. More of that please!

The Hound drops her and Ruby's aura shatters when she hits the ground. I want everyone to remember this moment as an example of how strong the Hound is. The group may be tired, but unlike YJR they've been sitting around in the Schnee manor for a number of hours, regaining strength. We saw the Hound hit Ruby twice — once through the wall and once to knock her out — and then she falls from a not very high distance for a huntress, yet her aura is toast. That's the level of power and skill the Hound possesses. Decimating YJR, knocking Oscar out, same for Ruby, avoiding Blake and Weiss' hits, soon to treat Penny like a ragdoll. Just remember all this for the episode's end.

Blake tells Weiss she'll take care of Ruby, you go help the others. Yay breaking up the duos more! Bad timing though as the new acid-spitting grimm pops out of the ground and Blake is now left alone to face it.

Weiss re-enters the mansion, knowing the Hound is somewhere nearby, but not where. Suddenly, Willow's voice sounds through her scroll with an, "Above you!" which... doesn't keep Weiss from getting hit lol. But it's the thought that counts! Willow has accessed the cameras she's set up throughout the manor, watching the Hound's movements, and I have to say, that is a WAY better use of her separation from Klein than I thought we were getting. I legit thought they'd have Willow run away in a panic, meet the Hound, die, and then Weiss could be sad about losing her mom.

It does say something about RWBY's writing that this was my knee-jerk theory, as well as my surprise when we got something way better.

The Hound runs off, uninterested in Weiss, and she asks Willow to keep tabs on it. It heads for Whitley next (also covered in Penny's blood) and very creepily stalks him in the office with a, "I know you're here." Whitley is seconds away from being Hound chow before one of Weiss' boars pin it against the wall. He runs, then runs BACK to finish deploying the airships, before finally escaping assumed death. Goddamn this boy is pulling his weight.

I assume all these ships are automated then? I hope someone takes a moment to call May. Otherwise it's going to be super weird for the Mantle citizens if a fleet of SDC ships just show up and hover there...

I don't entirely understand how Weiss saved him though. She's nowhere to be seen when Whitley leaves and he runs a fair distance before he and Willow encounter Weiss again. We know her summons don't have to keep right next to her, but are they capable of rudimentary thought, attacking an enemy — and an enemy only — despite Weiss being a couple corridors down and unable to see the current battlefield? I don't know. In another series I'd theorize that this was a deliberate hint, a way to clue us into the fact that Willow, someone who we currently know almost nothing about, had training in the past and summoned the boar herself. Weiss and Winter certainly didn't get that hereditary skill from Jacques. Hell, we might still get that, Weiss reacting with confusion next episode when Whitley thanks her for the boar, but I doubt it. That scene with Ruby and the Hound aside, the show isn't this good at laying groundwork and then following up on it.

Case in point: Weiss says, "I didn't forget you" to Whitley after he gets away from the Hound, the moment trying to harken back to her promise to Willow. Key word is "trying." Because she absolutely forgot him! Weiss threatened and ignored Whitley until he proved his usefulness. I also shouldn't need to point out that, "Don't forget your brother" does not mean, "Don't let your brother die a horrible death by abnormal grimm." Weiss acts like her saving him is a fulfillment of her promise, rather than just the most basic of human decency. And also, you know, her job.

So that part is frustrating. The entire Schnee dynamic is a mess, from Weiss making a joke of her father's arrest, to Willow (presumably) fixing their relationship by putting a hand on her daughter's shoulder. Okay.

Then Weiss cuts off the Hound by summoning a giant wall of ice. My brain, every time this happens:

YOU COULD HAVE FIXED THE HOLE IN MANTLE'S WALL.

Moving on, Blake's fight against the acid... thing has some great choreography, including Blake using her semblance which we haven't seen in AGES. 

I really like the fight itself, just not what Blake is shouting the whole time. "I need you, Ruby! We all need you!" This has really gotten ridiculous. Ruby is presented as everyone's sole savior despite failing time and time again. It's not that I don't think Blake as a character should have faith in her leader, it's that I don't think the writers should be crafting a story where everyone puts their unshakable hopes in an untrained, disloyal, impulsive 17 year old. I mean, Ruby is currently unconscious, yet Blake is acting like if she doesn't wake up — she, as an individual, if Ruby Rose does not re-join this fight — then all is lost. If Ruby doesn't save them, no one can. Which is, of course, absurd on numerous levels. Blake doesn't need the passed out, aura-less Ruby right now, she needs the still very healthy Weiss pulling out multiple summons and an ice wall! Use your scroll and call for backup again.

But of course, Ruby wakes up and kills the new, terrifying grimm with a single hit. It's a preview of what's to come with the Hound and it's just as ridiculous here as it will be there.

Speaking of the Hound, am I the only one who thought this was... cute?

I can't possibly be the only one. That head-tilt is exactly what my dogs do and my brain instinctively went, "Aww, puppy!"

Murderous puppy.

The Hound realizes none of the Schnees are who it's looking for and runs off. Penny, meanwhile, has been fully taken over because, well, that's just what's convenient now. She resists long enough keep Amity up, then succumbs, then resists to apologize to Ruby, then succumbs, then resists because Nora asked her to, then succumbs once it's time to knock her out. If RWBY was willing to commit to consequences, Penny would have been taken over and that was that. The characters would need to deal with whatever outcome happens as a result. Instead, the show very carefully avoids any of those pesky consequences by having Penny successfully resisting at key moments, despite no explanation of how she's managing that.

She shoves Klein again (Klein is having a Bad Time) and starts walking down the main steps. When Whitley wants to know where the hell she's going, Penny mechanically responds that she must "Open the vault, then self-destruct." I suppose the change Watts made was the self-destruct order? Ironwood obviously wants the vault open, though not necessarily Penny's death. Think what you will of his moral compass, she's a damn powerful ally — a research project, perhaps — and a Maiden to boot. At the very least, her death may give the powers to someone even worse.

God, please don't let them have brought Penny back and made her a Maiden just to kill her again.

The Hound arrives though and, as said, knocks Penny out. We're back to square one with her, then. Note though that this attack is near instantaneous. She grabs its hands one second, is hanging limply the next. Wow, the Hound sure is a terrifying antagonist!

Not for long.

"That's enough," Ruby says and one-shots it with her eyes.

Now, I want to talk for a moment about the implications of that line. "That's enough." Obviously Ruby is #done with this situation and emotionally unwilling to let the Hound kidnap Penny (congratulations, Nuts and Dolts shippers), but there's a meta reading here as well. Not intentional, but glaring to me nonetheless. Basically, the idea that the Hound has, from a plot perspective, done enough. It has served its singular purpose. It kidnapped Oscar and now it dies. Never-mind how insanely powerful we've established the Hound to be, never-mind how Ruby's eyes also work or don't work according to whether anything of actual import is on the line. From a plot perspective "that's enough" and the Hound can be disposed of instantly. It got Oscar and gave us an episode of filler creepiness. Move along now.

The idea behind Ruby's eyes isn't bad, but the execution absolutely is. RT has undermined a huge portion of the stakes by giving their protagonist an instant kill-shot that always works precisely when she needs it to. Starting with the Apathy, we have yet to get a moment where Ruby's eyes fail to save the day when she really needs them to, no matter how incredible the challenge. The Hound was very intentionally written to be a grimm outside of the group's current power level. It thinks, it talks, they literally can't touch it. This creates the expectation that the group will need to grow stronger — or at least become smarter — in order to surmount this new obstacle, yet Ruby's eyes undermine all of that. The group hasn't grown in years, the show just makes enemies weaker as needed (Ace Ops), or has Ruby pull out her eyes as a trump card. It wouldn't be that bad if we'd at least gotten a good battle out of it, one where the group gets close to defeating the Hound on their own, but needs Ruby's eyes to finish it off. Instead, she literally walks up without any aura, announces to the audience that this antagonist's time is up, and blasts it out a window.

Granted, Ruby's eyes don't completely finish it. The Hound pulls itself to its feet and we see this.

Yup, that's a guy and yup, those are silver eyes.

I would like to issue a formal apology to the "It's secretly Summer!" theorists in the fandom. I mean, I still think it would be ridiculous (and at this point highly improbable) that Ruby's dead mother has actually been a grimm mutant this whole time, just hanging out in Salem's realm while she waits for the plot to start before attacking the world, and then sends some no-name faunus dude after the group instead of their leader's mother for extra, emotional torture... but you all were definitely right about the “It's a person” part! I... don't know how I feel about this. Admittedly, it seems to be a logical continuation of the other grimm-human hybrids we've seen — namely Cinder and Salem herself — and it finally explains why Salem wants Ruby alive (even though it actually doesn't because WHY did she want more SEWs for Hound grimm when she wasn't even attacking back then? And already has all these other insanely powerful tools??), but at the same time, it feels like it's complicating a story that doesn't need further complications. The group fights monsters and has an immortal enemy. You don't need to add 'Some of those monsters are secretly human' to the mix.

It doesn't hurt that this twist is giving me Attack on Titan vibes, which, ew. A dark time in my fandom life, folks.

The Hound staggers a few steps before Whitley and Willow dump a suit of armor on it. That's all it takes to kill the most dangerous grimm we've ever seen: a single flash of silver eyes and some heavy metal. This also wreaks havoc with the implication that Salem wants SEWs alive because they create such powerful grimm. Obviously not. I mean yeah, normal huntsmen are going to have serious  problems, we’ve seen that this volume, but any other SEWs nearby will take a Hound out instantaneously. For a villain with so many other powerful abilities — immortality, magic, endless normal grimm, her nifty soup — Salem would be much better served just killing SEWs straight out. Clearly, creating Hounds isn't worth the effort.

The Hound leaves some bones behind and Ruby collapses to her knees, overcome with the knowledge that this was once a person. Again, uncomfortable Attack on Titan parallels.

We finish our premiere with Cinder clearing away rubble to reveal Watts. Honestly, I like that we ended on this because her rescue is hilarious. She just slings him over her shoulders like a sack of potatoes and blasts off with her magic fire feet. Fantastic.

Note though that with this scene we've seen almost everything from the clip and the trailer. What's to come in the rest of Volume 8? No idea. Outside of Winter leading the charge with the bomb, we got it all here.

Time to update the bingo board!

I'm crossing off "Introducing new grimm that are quickly abandoned." Between the Hound and acid-dude both falling to a single blast/cut from Ruby, we've more than earned this square.

It doesn't look as if we'll get another Watts-Jacques team-up now that he's left, but you never know.

Maria's got me worried. I feel like her Yoda fight against Neo is the one thing she'll be allowed to do this volume, but given that we didn't see anyone except Ruby's group this episode, we don't yet know whether the story is now ignoring her and Pietro, or if they'll re-appear in another episode like YJR.  

Qrow is free. Will he get a drink before trying to murder Ironwood? Perhaps.

Still no bingo :(

All in all, the episode was by no means horrible. I think there were lots of horrible parts, but also some legitimately well executed moments, fun action, and scenes that I can easily imagine as squee worthy if you lean back and squint. Everything is comparative and in the growing collection of bad RWBY episodes, this one isn't securing a top slot. Which doesn't mean I think it's good, just... not as bad as it could have been and primarily only bad due to long-running problems, not things this specific episode has done. That's my bar then, so low it has officially entered the underworld.

Still, RWBY is back and a part of me is eager to see where this volume takes us, for better or for worse.

Until next week! 💜

[Ko-Fi]

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (36) || atz

You plunge into the sea.

For a moment, you twist in the endless expanse of water, arms flailing about as icy cold sea yank every bit of of heat from you. Panic erupts in you as you open your mouth to cry out in shock, but then the same voices from before ring in your ears, more clearly this time underwater.

“Yes…”

“Come to us…”

Your head breaks the surface of the waves and you swim as hard as you can for the sirens’ call. The sea, previously unrelenting, seems to calm just for you, leaving you an easy path right towards the sirens’ rock.

One of them, with a long jeweled tail sparkling in pearly shades of rose and tangerine, reaches a hand out for you, the smile on her face radiant as the rising sun. Two of the sirens at her side with flickering aquamarine tails slide into the water smoothly and swim with the grace of a swan to your side, like dolphins they circle you.

You’re lost in the yearning of their gaze, in complete ignorance the roar of the storm above you and the way the sea is heaving all around you. You are captured by the way their own eyes are a deep sea blue, an endless, infinite depth to them.

Then they attack.

One of the sirens lunge for you, cutting straight through the water like a shark. She clings onto your arm and bites down hard on the skin there, it breaks and pain floods through you, wiping the spell from your mind completely.

What are you doing here?

Suddenly desperate, you thrash about in the water, striking the siren hard in the face and she falls back into the water with a furious screech, her beautiful features twisted with fury and hate. You manage to feel a small bit of elation at having fended her off, but the joy at your success doesn’t last very long.

The other siren speeds towards you like a sword cutting through the waves, his teeth bared in a snarl. To your horror, you can see fangs in his mouth, each razor sharp and perfectly capable of chomping through your arm in a matter of seconds.

There’s no way you can fight something like that off. Instinctively, you raise your arms to protect your face and your eyes squeeze tight, unwilling to look at your own death in the eye as you await the teeth to sink into you.

But it never comes.

Instead, there’s the sound of a gunshot and you feel something warm splatter across your face.

Your eyes fly open in shock, only to see the face of the siren who was about to chew right through your neck in a single bite mere inches from yours. Then you see the musket ball buried in the centre of his forehead, still smoking as a thin stream of clear, warm liquid trails from the hole, his startled blue eyes staring right into yours like you’re the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

And then his entire body crumbles right before your eyes, melting into seafoam and disappearing with the waves.

The other siren screams and lunges for you once more but she’s shot down as well in a matter of seconds. There must be a deadly sharpshooter on the Treasure, because each shot is precise and measured, not a second too late or early. You struggle against the waters, trying to swim back to the ship, but then the siren with the orange tail slides into the sea as well, gliding towards you on the waves with a malevolent gleam in her eye.

Fear shoots through your body. Are you going to die here?

Then a pair of warm arms wrap around you, pulling you protectively against his chest. The blade of a cutlass scythes down at your side, cutting through the arm of the blonde siren as she reaches for you.

The limb falls into the water with a sickly splash.

You shut your eyes tight against the sight, from the sound alone your stomach heaves and now isn’t really the time to be throwing up. Instead, you turn to glance at your saviour, expecting perhaps Yunho or Wooyoung, but your eyes widen from shock when you see exactly who it is.

It’s your captain himself.

“Stay back!” He snarls at the siren, one arm still holding you protectively to him as he treads water, keeping the two of you afloat. The raging sea around you stills at once, falling obedient to the blessing of the sea god upon your captain.

The siren hisses back at your captain as one hand comes up to the empty socket where her arm used to be, clear water gushing from the wound. The threat on her face is clear, from the way her deep blue eyes flicker with raw, primal fury and her fangs resemble those of a venomous snake’s.

“Let her go, you accursed mortal!”

Her voice is more of a demonic rasp now, nothing like the enchanting songbird you had heard earlier, but you understand the words all the same.

Startled shock runs through you. From what you’ve gathered by listening to Wooyoung, the sirens tempt people into the seas with honeyed voices, luring them to their deaths by having them drown in the ocean. But why would are the sirens so fixated on trying to physically attack you instead?

You can see the fight being waged behind her eyes, torn between the desire to rip you from your captain’s arms and rip your body to shreds yet being restrained by something, whether physical or mental you don’t know, but you’re very grateful for it.

Hongjoong begins swimming backwards with you still in his arms, dragging you with him like a sack of wet clothes. The siren moves forward then hesitates, undiluted anger and pain in her eyes as she watches the two of you move further and further from her reach.

She decides to play her last hand.

“If she stays with you, she’ll die!”

Your heart drops in your chest. The storm around you seems to die away, the wind falling silent as that one sentence reverberates in your mind like a chant.

What?

You can feel your captain almost stop moving, hesitant. But then he shakes his head and continues swimming hard for the ship, hands wrapping tight around a rope dangling from the portside and tying both of you to it.

You’re lifted from the sea excruciatingly slowly, your eyes still fixed on the siren. Her gaze never leaves your, a silent plea, fingers of her one remaining hand reaching out for you.

“Please.”

And then you’re back on deck, Seonghwa bustling around the two of you with dry towels as water drips from your clothes onto the deck. You’re shivering, hands and fingers turning pale and bloodless from the cold, blood gushing from your upper arm. You must be flying high as a kite on adrenaline because you feel no pain except for a numbing sensation slowly creeping its way up your limbs, but then your master is rushing to you with a thick cloth to stem the bleeding while Seonghwa dries your hair.

You glance behind you to see Wooyoung at the railing with a flintlock rifle pointed straight into the water beneath, green eyes sharp with focus like you’ve never seen before. He’s as still as a statue, so motionless you would think he’d turned to stone if it weren’t for the way his chest is rising and falling ever so slightly with each breath. The intensity of his gaze is enough to send a shiver down your spine, and even though his face is completely emotionless for the first time you’ve seen it, you can feel the murderous aura radiating from him like heat from a wildfire.

He must have been the one who shot those two sirens.

For a second, you’re reminded of Mingi’s words to you on that beach a few days earlier, words that you couldn’t bring yourself to believe back then.

“He was a dangerous, dangerous man, to the point even I was afraid of him.”

At first, you had merely brushed the description of your mischievous best friend aside as exaggeration. Playful? Sure. A little mean spirited? Well, maybe. But dangerous? Of course not.

But now?

You almost can’t recognise him, and that scares you.

Your captain is heaving for breath as he gets to his feet unsteadily, almost falling over as Yunho supports him by the arm. All of them still have their earplugs in, and with a quick glance at the forecastle deck, you confirm that he’s standing at the wheel steering the ship in place of your captain.

And from the look he gives you, you’re in line for a tongue lashing.

Hongjoong’s one green eye snaps over to you fiercely and you flinch, suddenly fully aware of the gravity of what you’ve you’ve done. You just took off your earplugs after your captain intently ordered you not to at all costs, dived straight into the embrace of man killing monsters and had risked your captain’s own life in the process.

Your head bows of its own accord in shame.

“I’m sorry.” You manage to croak out, feeling your eyes starting to get damp. Seonghwa and San obviously can’t hear the apology as they continue to treat your wound without missing a beat, but your captain continues to stare at you with an intense look on his face.

“Why?”

His voice is stern, not mad like you had expected it to be, and you raise your head to look at him in surprise. He meets your gaze evenly, repeating his question one more time.

“Why did you take your earplugs out?”

At that, you frown in confusion yourself. Thinking back, you were very sure that you had your earplugs in securely, you couldn’t hear a sound after you had put them in. Yet, when you had closed your eyes after Wooyoung had left with Yunho to fix the sail, you had…

Shock descends upon you as you realise exactly what had happened.

You had heard their voices in your head.

As much as you’re glad to have made the discovery that it wasn’t entirely your fault, you’re equally scared about what it might mean. Just like that monster from earlier, right when you had joined the ship… you had heard their calls in your mind... but how?

“They’ll try to bring you back to them at any cost, even if it ends in death.”

Were those sirens… the ones who didn’t understand? Why were they trying to kill you?

“Captain…” You ask suddenly, having forgotten his question a while ago. “The monster that I spotted when I first joined the ship… what was it?”

Your voice is surprisingly steady and Hongjoong frowns at the abrupt change in topic as he sheds the red jacket, freeing his arms. “From Yeosang’s books, I believe it was called the Kraken. A mythical beast rumoured to be a servant of the sea goddess. You had good eyesight, that’s how you spotted it, isn’t it?”

“No…” You trail off in a whisper, terror sinking deep in your chest. You had thought that your identity problem had been more or less cleared up when Yeosang had found out that you were a golem, but it seems a bit more complicated than that. “I… I heard it’s voice in my head. Just like how I heard those sirens even though my ears were plugged.”

Your captain’s eye narrows at your words in disbelief. “You… heard their voices? In your head?”

Barely managing a nod, you stare back at Hongjoong. “What… what am I?”

Your voice breaks at the last word and you’re fighting to keep yourself from hyperventilating. All this is too much, too crazy. Who are you? What are you? Why were the sirens trying to kill you? What are you trapped in? And that siren… she said…

“If she stays with you, she’ll die.”

“Die?”

You didn’t want to die.

Gasps force their way from your chest in shaky, uneven pants as you shiver uncontrollably from the fear. Your captain immediately steps forward, putting both hands on your shoulders and squeezing them reassuringly. Seonghwa and San must sense something in wrong, because they both pull away to stare at you in abject concern, your master eyeing Hongjoong as if trying to communicate without words.

Your captain ignores him, looking you in the eye seriously. His gaze burns bright green.

“I won’t let you die.” Hongjoong says solemnly. You can feel the weight of every word that leaves his lips, and deep within you, you know it is something more than a comforting phrase, more than just lip service to get you to calm down. He truly means every word he says.

Then you nod, because as much as some part of you knows it’s impossible to keep such a promise, you want to trust him. Your fear suddenly fades away, like his words are some sort of magic spell, and you’re stunned to find you’re breathing normally once more, shoulders relaxing under his touch.

“Chin Hae? Chin Hae, are you alright?” San asks you earnestly even though he can’t hear you, concern shining in his eyes as he shakes you a little. You nod back at your master, trying to convey that you’re fine and he wraps you in a shaky hug, not even bothering to ask for an explanation why you jumped into the sea in the first place.

Hongjoong gestures for Seonghwa to remove his earplugs.

The cook finally does so, sighing in relief when he can hear once again. Then he turns to wave at the rest of the crew, signalling that it’s safe, and all of them begin to remove their earplugs, shoulders slumping when they realise that they’re finally out in the clear.

Only Wooyoung remains unmoving at the bulwarks, rifle still fixed at the sea, green eyes unblinking. There’s something dark in his gaze that unnerves you, but you remind yourself that this is gentle, sweet Wooyoung, who risked his life to save you back on Nassau, who gave you the hairpin you treasure so greatly.

You rise to your feet, intending to tap him on the shoulder and tell him that it’s over, but then Hongjoong grabs you firmly by the wrist before you can take a step forward.

You turn to look at him in confusion.

Your captain shakes his head grimly. “Wooyoung’s in a… mood… right now. It’s better if you don’t catch him by surprise.”

Your heart sinks in your chest.

Hongjoong must see your expression, because he simply turns you around by the shoulders and steers you towards the sickbay, telling San to accompany you and heal your arm. “Leave me to it, alright, Chin Hae?”

And you nod, because you can’t refuse your captain, and you throw one last glance over your shoulder as you leave.

Just as the door shuts behind you, there’s the sound of a musket shot.

[ladyhallen]

A Conversation in the midst of Conflict

Read on AO3 | FFN

Sansa was born from a clutch of five eggs.

Her dam, a red fire dragon from the south, was probably the reason why the eggs hatched slowly and not all at once, as it usually happened in the North. Her sire, a regal ice drake of the North, viewed this as a sort of terrible thing and regularly nosed worriedly at the rest of her slowly hatching siblings.

Robb, first, with the ice scales of their sire and fire breath of their dam. Sansa, who had felt her sire nosing at her worriedly, went next just to reassure him. She had the coloring of their dam and her fire claws, but the ice breath of their sire.

The rest of the clutch hatched more slowly and it took Sansa a lot of effort to distract their worried sire.

Not that Sansa was that overly concerned. As a young dragon, technically a hatchling until she passed her third decade, Sansa was more concerned about food, play hunting with Robb and finding treasure.

Dragons loved treasure, though it varied on what that treasure was.

Sansa’s dam treasured beauty, thus she surrounded herself with beautiful things. That was one of the reasons why she mated with Sansa’s sire who, as an ice drake, was naturally very beautiful.

Sansa’s sire treasured sharp things, hence his need to hunt down some animals for their claws.

Robb and Sansa discussed their possible treasures under the wide, comforting wings of their dam. With just the two of them, it was quite cozy and she sometimes didn’t understand why her sire was so worried about the rest of the clutch that were taking their time hatching.

Robb, who already shared their dams tendency to fixate on something, wondered if his treasure would be a mix of both. Sansa, who was more whimsical, wondered if hers would be difficult to find.

All that went away in the events of the following years.

A decade under her belt, the rest of her clutch hatched and the western dragons arrived and talked of interlopers. Small, bipedal and without wings or claws. They were also killing dragons.

Sansa curled up under her dams wings and listened with fascination and no small amount of horror.

Without wings, claws or scales, they were killing dragons and stealing their eggs and their treasures.

Her sire, being the strongest dragon, banded all of them and they stood under his banner. He trooped them all to the west and negotiated.

Sansa, of course, was left with a handful of the younger hatchlings, as well as the older dragons. They watched over the mountains and Robb watched with ever increasing vigilance over them. This made Arya and Bran chafe something fierce, when Robb had previously been a fun playmate.

Torn between rowdy, rambunctious clutch-siblings and a fiercely overprotective clutch-brother, Sansa took to wandering down the mountain and finding something else to do.

Hunting was a communal activity and everyone contributed. At most, that took a few hours. Sansa had the rest of the day to think about what to do.

And then she encountered a shiny pink bipedal.

It took Sansa a while to understand what she was looking at, because she had never seen a bipedal of her own.

She crawled forward, trying not to make noise, like she was hunting the skittish hairy buffalo’s. She crawled until she was nose to nose with the strange creature and could smell him.

And it was a him, she realized. There was a distinct scent of maleness and steel. Oil, steel and salt. And something sour.

With another whuff of breath, Sansa realized that the bipedal was awake.

It’s eyes were wide and it was saying something with its maw. Nonsensical noises that no dragon could hope to understand, because it was so loud.

“Hello?” she said, hoping he could understand her.

The bipedal went still and the sour scent increased. He gripped something iron firmly and Sansa touched it curiously with her nose. She sneezed when the scent of old blood overwhelmed her.

To her horror, that old blood scent was of dragons.

Sansa back-pedaled in a hurry, staring at the steel. What a horrible thing. Did he wash his iron in dragon blood?

Sansa wanted to fly away, but if she did, this bipedal might hunt her down. She knew some dragons who liked the hunt. If this bipedal wanted to hunt her, she would not oblige him.

With a low growl, Sansa crouched and prepared to pepper the interloper with a blast of ice breath. It might not be as impressive as her sires, but it would hopefully blind the interloper on what direction she would fly to.

The bipedal dropped his iron and Sansa was confused enough to stop. What was he doing?

He knelt and…he showed his neck.

Different species though they were, surrender was something universal, as was submission.

She got closer, because he smelled better without the iron thing muddling his smell. Just to be sure, she blasted it with a bit of ice breath, coating it in ice and snow and burying it under the earth. The air smelled clearer and she approached him with an energetic swish of her tail.

“Better,” she decided loudly. She sniffed him again and added a lick for good measure. There, he smelled like her.

His eyes were wide and he smelled overwhelmingly sour again.

“Are you afraid?” Sansa asked, realizing why he smelled sour. “Do not be. I will not harm you.”

Sansa curled around him, letting him rest on her fire scales so he would be warm and purring, a low rumbling sound that was designed to put hatchlings to sleep.

When she next looked, the bipedal was asleep.

Sansa purred deeper and rested her snout on her paws.

.

.

Sansa blinked and realized that she’d fallen into a light doze. A muffled groan made her realize what woke her up.

Her bipedal was awake! And he was no longer smelling sour.

Sansa hurriedly stood up, stretching her wings wide and investigating the scent of meat on fire.

“Why is your meat on fire?” she asked. “And why are you eating it like that?”

The bipedal went still and then continued moving, offering her a bit of the burned meat.

It was an insult to offer burned meat to an ice drake, but Sansa realized that this bipedal probably didn’t know that.

With a huff, she froze the meat before eating it delicately between her fangs. It was difficult, because the bipedal had drained it of blood too, making it incredibly dry to eat. Her nose wrinkled the entire time and the bipedal made a chittering noise.

Sansa blinked at his maw full of fangs.

He didn’t smell aggressive. Instead, he smelled….happy?

With a hesitant twitch, Sansa imitated him and he chittered louder. He smelled happier. Sansa purred.

.

.

Sansa bundled up her bipedal in a warm cave and hunted him a buffalo for good measure. She dropped the struggling creature in the cave, to the bipedal’s loud shouts. He killed it, which made Sansa huff irritably. Well, maybe he liked his prey to be dead? Sansa preferred to hunt hers.

Sansa nosed a couple more leaves on top of the entrance and a few more piles of snow, before leaving. She could not stay a couple more hours, or Robb would ring the alarm and the search would begin.

Something made her want to stay. This bipedal, this pink, hairless creature…he was so helpless. He shivered constantly unless she was touching him. He was also helpless at catching prey. He was…important.

The bipedal touched her snout and Sansa shivered.

With a sigh, she licked him head to toe again and left.

.

.

Robb looked at her suspiciously the entire time, but Sansa had rolled in the lake before entering the cave, so he couldn’t possibly smell the bipedal on her.

“Where were you? I needed help with our clutch-siblings,” he exclaimed, his tail thrashing back and forth irritably.

Sansa herself was still. “You were being annoying. Dam and sire are not here, but that does not make you in charge,” she said sourly.

“But I am,” a larger, elderly dragon posited, bulk unnoticed with his dark color in the cave. “And where were you, Sansa ice-eater?”

Sansa sniffed. “By the lake. Because you were all smelly.”

They let go of that and Sansa huddled with her clutch. She found herself idly wishing that she was curled around her bipedal.

.

.

Cor struggled with sleep, because he was so tired.

Tired, cold and exhausted, but not hungry. Because there was a freaking water buffalo hanging in a spit in front of him.

He was also, he thought with some hysteria, some sort of friend to a dragon.

He hadn’t actually wanted to kill any of the majestic creatures, and after his first kill, he deserted, leaving the army and hoping to die in the colder climate of the mountains.

He just hadn’t realized that the mountains were the home to the stronger, more deadly dragons and he’d realized he was fucked the moment he woke up from his exhausted nap face to face with a fucking ice and fire drake hybrid.

He saw the fire scales, and the ice fangs and knew he was a dead man.

Except.

Except the hybrid hadn’t eaten him, and other than sniffing his sword and threatening to kill him, hadn’t even looked like it wanted to hurt him.

He’d discarded the sword quickly and the hybrid had buried it in ice and dirt. A dragon who breathed ice. It was insane.

The hybrid then curled around him and Cor was exhausted enough to fall back asleep because the hybrid was a furnace of heat.

He woke up, caught a bird and roasted it, which seemed to wake up the hybrid. He offered it some and he damn near cackled at its face when it ate cooked meat. It had to ice it over. Note to self, no cooked meat for the hybrid.

He didn’t regret throwing away his sword because the dragon was cautiously friendly.

He regretted only having a knife though when the hybrid dropped a living water buffalo near him and he didn’t have his sword to kill it with. A lucky strike and the buffalo was dead. The dragon looked confused but not offended.

It also left, but not before piling the entrance of the cave with more ice and dirt. More a blockade or a door than anything.

Also licking. Let’s not forget the licking.

Cor was confused, but alive. He was also very much done of smelling like dragon drool and had to wiggle out of the pile of ice and dirt just to have a bath. He knows there’s a lake near, because water buffalo’s lived near water.

It took a while to find it, and he was almost in tears at the sight of all the water.

The first splash of water on him was heaven sent and also ice-cold freezing.

He was in and out in five minutes, the fastest he’d ever bathed in his life. There was a lack of soap and his clothes were still dirty, but it was warm and he’d rather have dirty clothes than hypothermia.

A huff of air behind him, and Cor knew it was the hybrid dragon before he could turn around.

“Good morning!” he greeted, more cheerful after the bath.

The dragon huffed at him, looking confused, before opening its mouth.

Cor, somehow, knew it was going to lick him again.

“No!” he exclaimed, dodging the tongue.

The dragon looked even more annoyed.

“No licking!” he cried out.

The dragon rumbled a sour growly note, but stopped trying to lick him. It nosed at Cor’s hair and sneezed.

“I know, I smell,” he confided. He felt a little bit mad at talking to a dragon. “But there’s no soap here, or soapwort.”

Soapwort, which you could crush and simulate the effects of soap. Extremely handy during long campaigns and the army ran out of soap. Except, it seemed to thrive only in hot and temperate climates. Not in the extremely cold mountains.

The dragon made its own rumbling noises. Noises that had so alarmed Cor the night before seemed to be more conversational than anything in the light of day.

It was more of a comfort to Cor than the dragon probably knew. He had been alone for so long that even random noises that seemed to answer and talk back at him was more conversation than he had in weeks. At some point, Cor gestured and dragged his hand across it’s scales.

The dragon then went still.

Cor also went still, because shit, he’d forgotten he was talking to a dragon.

Then.

Then wonders of fucking wonders, the dragon pushed up at Cor’s hand.

Cor had acquainted himself with enough animals to know what that meant.

Cor petted the dragon. The dragon fucking fell asleep on him!

.

.

Sansa had fallen asleep on top of her bipedal and he had looked uncomfortable and smelled hungry.

She hurried him along to his cave, where she knew his food was.

Some of the hairy buffalo was still there, he must not have been so hungry then if he left some. Sansa watched him eat and wanted to purr again. There was something incredibly soothing watching her bipedal take care of himself.

She could just watch him move around and do whatever it was that bipedals do and be content.

An alarm rang in her hindbrain and Sansa raised her head up.

Her bipedal..??? Had she…had she….made this creature her treasure???

With a squawk of alarm, Sansa licked her bipedal goodbye – ignored his shout of disgust - and flew back to her elders.

“How did you realize you’d found your treasure,” she asked the Eldest of twelve clutch. Her name was a long one and Sansa only bothered to call her Eldest like all the other hatchlings.

The Eldest peered down at her through old, milky eyes and smelled amused.

“I looked at my treasure of shiny rocks and wanted to no one else to touch them,” she crooned in her old, soothing voice.

Which. Was exactly what she felt, staring at her bipedal.

“Ah, thank you, Eldest,” she said.

Sansa wandered over to her clutch-siblings and curled around Rickon tightly. He was still a few months old and struggled to coordinate wings, tail and limbs without tangling himself up.

Robb stared at her suspiciously, because he was just like that, and Sansa rolled her eyes.

She was just in time for storytelling and listened with interest about the dragon who went mad talking to birds. The lesson being to eat your prey quickly and not to play with it, or it’s blood.

Sansa had heard the same stories told over and over since she was hatched. Some of them were boring, but something about the story made her hackles rise up and listen.

What about old Aicorn who played with his bird before eating it. The bird had gotten a bite at Aicorn’s tongue, drawing blood. Aicorn, who drank at the bird’s blood too…and both of them apparently went mad.

Blood. Sharing blood?

Sansa felt her tail move in excitement. To be able to understand her treasure. What a gift.

Sansa curled tighter around Rickon, who grumbled irritably, and went to sleep.

.

.

Cor was alarmed to find the dragon sniffing him over with intent the next day.

The dragon hadn’t done that since that disastrous first meeting and Cor wanted to cry. Why? Why was the dragon suspicious? Had he done something wrong?

He did notice that the dragon had left really fast yesterday, seemingly alarmed over something.

Then the dragon opened its mouth and revealed those incredibly sharp fangs. Cor went still, especially when the dragon aimed those fangs at his…at his fingers? Did the dragon want his finger?

Cor obliged, cutting a finger at one fang and the dragon licked at the blood, wrinkling its nose.

It hurt, but not so much, because the dragons fangs were ice cold too.

Then, to his horror, the dragon bit at its own forepaw and offered the welled up blood to Cor. Difference in species or not, the gesture for that was the same.

“Are you insane?” he asked loudly.

The dragon huffed, a tail pushed him forward and he tripped. The dragon, in a crazy show of coordination, pushed that bleeding forepaw at him and Cor involuntarily licked and swallowed.

He wanted to wretch immediately.

“Eurgh!” he gagged. “Oh my god, it tastes like day old buffalo blood.”

To his alarm, there was a hum in his mind, a feminine voice going, “How do you know what day old buffalo blood tastes like?”

Cor wasn’t educated, but he was smart. He immediately understood what that blood sharing was for.

“Did you…just exchange blood with me so we could talk?” Cor asked. He wasn’t sure what to be surprised about anymore.

“Did you not want to communicate?” the dragon asked, sounding distressed. “I thought you did, you chittered about so loudly.”

Cor was loud. The dragon, who made a thud every time she landed. The dragon who purred like an extra large cat. And sure, Cor was the loud one.

“Communication is fine,” Cor said dryly. “What’s your name, anyway? If you have one. My name is Cor.”

“I am Sansa of the Stark line, First Clutch of the Fire Drake Catelyn and Ice Drake Eddard, Lord of the Northern Mountains and Protector of the Seven Dragon Clans of the North,” the dragon announced proudly.

Cor was pretty sure his mouth was hanging open. What the fuck.

He was hanging out with a fucking Drake Lord’s daughter.

Practically a princess.

And she kept licking him.

Cor blinked out of his thoughts and looked at the dragon in front of him.

“Nice to meet you, Sansa,” he said. “Why do you keep licking me?”

Sansa laughed, which sounded rumbled terrifyingly out-loud, but sounded nicely in his mind. “Because you smell wrong. Like oil and salt and steel.”

“What are you called, Cor?” she asked. “I keep calling you fleshy bipedal.”

Cor choked on a laugh. “You’re not wrong. I’m a human.”

“A human! What a nice word. Yes, I will say it often. Human,” Sansa sang. “Much better than bipedal.”

“Have you been calling us that?” Cor asked with a smile. Yes, he could see the humor. King Mors thought that the dragons were savage, beastly creatures. But instead, they had clans. They had hierarchy. They had Lords. They were nobler than the humans that Cor knew.

“Yes, it was what we saw, so we called you that. Cor, why are your people here?” Sansa asked. She sounded curious.

“Because King Mors is a crazy, bloodthirsty monster that wants your peoples gold,” Cor answered bitterly before he could think about it.

“Gold?” Sansa asked, looking curious.

If what he remembered about theories about telepathy was true….

He thought long and hard about gold and tried to project the thought to her.

“Oh! You mean the shiny, yellow stuff!” she exclaimed. “It’s useless. It’s too soft to be used as a structure and too easily mixed with other metals for anything else. It’s mostly just good for decoration.”

Cor really did laugh then. Dragons found gold useless. What else?

“You don’t use gold as treasure?” he had to ask. “Then what do you treasure?”

Sansa sat on her haunches and tucked her tail around her limbs neatly. “Different things. It depends on the dragon? My dam treasures beautiful things. My sire treasures sharp things.”

That was fascinating. Different dragons and different treasures. He knew that lore book on dragons was trash.

“And you?” he had to ask. “What do you treasure?”

Sansa peered at him, blue eyes slitted and intelligent. “I treasure you, my fleshy bipedal human Cor.”

.

.

After that declaration, which Sansa found immensely embarrassing and simultaneously pleasing to say so bluntly, her human, her Cor, turned red. It was a fascinating look on him and she wondered why she turned that color.

He spluttered and made flailing motions with his limbs and Sansa just watched him. She could really just watch him move around and be pleased. He was such a helpless thing and she treasured him so.

After he calmed down from his upset, Sansa and Cor talked long and hard into the afternoon about serious things. Mostly about the war and what they could do to avoid it and possibly stop it.

“My dam and sire are trying to open negotiations,” Sansa offered. “Though no one knows how that is going. They have been gone for three moons and the hatchlings are lonely.”

Cor snorted, that strange affectation that conveyed so much with so little. “If King Mors is who they’re negotiating with, then no, things won’t go well. But. If they talk to Prince Regis, then things…might be resolved.”

Sansa pondered this. “How do we make your Prince Regis be the Lord of the humans then?”

Cor answered hesitantly, “When King Mors dies.”

Sansa smiled, a mouth full of ice fangs. “Then he will die. And then we will talk to your Regis.”

.

.

Their conversation, which had veered into the treasonous territory (for Cor that is), was derailed when a large hybrid ice drake dropped down and landed on Sansa’s back, screeching.

Since Cor had no connection to that ice drake, he didn’t attack immediately. It might be friendly. Or not. Cor could understand Sansa and she sounded annoyed, not angry.

“Clutch-brother, what are you doing?” she demanded.

The ice drake hybrid, her freaking brother, growled. Low, deep and threatening.

Staring at the two dragons and cataloguing differences, Cor immediately realized that the other dragon was male. It was smaller, and it’s wings wider. It was also covered in more spines than Sansa and it’s claws were ice instead of hot-bone. But it was also older, the feet more proportional to the rest of him and none of the awkward coltishness in Sansa’s limbs.

“I have found my treasure and I am talking to him,” Sansa suddenly said and Cor wanted to die all over again. Declarations of affection so boldly said were awful. Cor had absolutely no defence against it.

The embarrassment almost made him miss the other dragon’s squawk of offense.

“Treasure is treasure, especially if you’ve found it. Stop being dramatic. My treasure hasn’t hurt me at all and he is a helpless thing, always easily cold and I have to hunt for him. He’s not a monster,” Sansa said reasonably.

Embarrassment faded to outrage. He was not helpless, thank you very much. Just very unused to the weather. Eos was much more temperate and he knew what he was hunting there. Also, he couldn’t use his sword. Sansa had very much buried it under dirt and ice.

The other dragon stopped sounding so angry.

“Of course I can talk to him,” Sansa said, making Cor huff. “And yes, he can talk back and we understand each other. We shared blood. Like Aicorn the mad and his birds.”

Like Aicorn the who??? Mad? Does drinking dragon blood make one crazy?

Cor had concerns.

Both dragons suddenly turned to him and Cor wanted to be nervous but he was just. Tired. It was almost five hours since he last ate.

“My clutch-brother wants to talk to you as well,” Sansa said. “Shall I use my fangs? His teeth are uncomfortable. It is always hot.”

No, thank you. Cor had a knife.

The other dragon licked at his wound and offered Cor his own bleeding paw. Cor braced himself for the taste for the second time and gagged again.

By the Astrals, the taste was not improved with knowledge. Day old buffalo blood, somehow, more spicy this time.

“I swear, it really tastes awful,” Cor groaned. “I need to wash my mouth out.”

A distinctly male voice sounded in his head, very offended, “You don’t taste like venison either, fleshy bipedal. You taste like over-fermented lion.”

“Call me Cor,” he told the dragon. Fleshy bipedal sounded distinctly condescending said in that voice and Cor hated it.

The dragon sniffed like a crotchety old grandma. “Robb of the Stark line, eldest child of the First Clutch of the Fire Drake Catelyn and Ice Drake Eddard, Lord of the Northern Mountains and Protector of the Seven Dragon Clans of the North,”

By Bahamut’s wings, did these dragons have to announce themselves like that all the time? It must be tiring.

For the second time, though with another, older and wiser dragon, plans continued. Still treasonous. Though Cor was getting very fond of the dragons and angrier with the humans for killing dragons.

Plans solidified, and Robb, while a very stuck up and paranoid dragon, was obviously a genius strategist.

“While it pains me to suggest this, clutch-sister,” Robb eventually said slowly. “Your treasure might have to part ways with you to seek out this Regis. He has to be informed of what his sire is doing before things go beyond terrible. I will have to go with him, because how else will he convince the humans of our bloodsharing?”

“And why can’t I go?” Sansa demanded. “Do not forget that we are born only a few days apart, clutch-brother.”

“I can leave without garnering suspicion,” Robb explained. “Since sire and dam need reports and might need help. I can convince the Eldest to send me. You, however, are the only one that can control our clutch-siblings. Which you have been leaving to me while you cavort with your treasure.”

The last was said with such a dirty look that it made Cor laugh despite his exhaustion. So. Sansa was supposed to be babysitting but was instead with Cor.

“Do not laugh,” Robb said sternly, which made Cor laugh harder. “Our clutch-siblings are hatchlings. And they all three breathe fire. It is a miracle that there hasn’t been an avalanche yet.”

Okay, point.

“Don’t be sad, Sansa,” Cor said, because he did agree with Robb. “I’ll finish this as fast as we can.”

Sansa, there was no other way to say it, pouted.

“I will miss you, my treasure,” she whispered to him.

Cor blushed again.

.

.

The human encampment was exactly where Cor left it. The only difference was the multitude of dragons surrounding it.

Robb eyed it and exchanged glances with Cor.

“We might need to change our plans,” Robb said.

They couldn’t sneak in, there were too many sensitive senses watching.

“What’s happening? Can you tell?” Cor asked.

Robb sniffed long and hard, eyes on the encampment and on the very large ice drake by the very middle.

“There is no war,” Robb said. “But negotiations are not going well. Neither side understands each other. I have no idea what magic your people are using to talk, but it is not translating well.”

Cor immediately smacked his head. Of course, the king and his blood had magic. He had forgotten.

“I don’t think magic does well with dragons,” Cor said, remembering the king’s face when he tried a fire spell at one dragon. “I think you’re all immune to it.”

Robb tossed his head. “And what do we do now?”

Cor, because he was regaining his old confidence, laughed. “We drop in the middle and I’ll talk. You make sure no one kills me.”

Robb eyed him. “If you die, my sister will kill me. I am not jesting. She will rip me limb from limb.” The dragon sounded nervous.

Cor smiled toothily. “I don’t die that easily.”

.

The good news was that King Mors was dead.

The bad news was that the very large ice dragon in the middle of the encampment had killed him with one ice spear and it was making negotiations…icy.

Fortunately, Cor had a reputation before he left as a prissy asshole prodigiously good with a sword. That meant the newly crowned Regis remembered him well.

Clarus pointed a sword at him, but Cor just ducked aside impatiently.

“Hey, King Regis,” Cor shouted. “Let me talk to you. You’re going about this wrong.”

A lot of the imperial soldiers tried to skewer him right then and Cor sort of forgot that he only had a knife. And no sword. Fuck.

But he had a dragon behind him.

Robb roared and when that made everyone else scrabble for weapons, the even larger ice dragon roared louder.

“No, really,” he shouted in the sudden, suspenseful silence. “I have to talk to you. I know how to talk to the dragons.”

King Regis looked more tired than anything. “Sure. We need all the help we can get. The translation spells aren’t going well since they keep slipping off.”

Cor shook his head. “Of course it won’t, the dragons are nulls. You have to bloodshare to be able to talk to one another. Though it really tastes terrible.”

Regis stared. “What?”

“Yeah, what he said,” Clarus said, sounding stunned.

Sighing, Cor explained.

.

.

Sansa sat at the ledge and stared at the horizon irritably.

It had been five days and Sansa missed her treasure. Terribly. Incredibly. It made her very being ache.

“Sansa, you’re so boring nowadays,” Arya complained.

Sansa slid down and curled around Arya, who protested. “My treasure is away. I miss him.”

Arya nudged her and nudged her until, annoyed, Sansa lunged and chased after her. Bran and Rickon, who were watching, the little rascals, joined in and climbed up her wings.

The rest of the elders watched them indulgently.

They rolled around, biting, scratching and play hunting until the hatchlings fell asleep, exhausted. Sansa returned to her ledge, sighing.

Except.

There, on the horizon, were several dragons.

And on one dragon was her treasure. Her very being just knew. That one was hers.

With a cry of happiness, Sansa launched herself off the ledge and flew towards him.

Her lovely, her precious treasure.

He launched himself at her in mid air to Robb’s alarm. But Sansa caught him. She would always catch him.

And she felt it as she held him in the cradle of her fire claws. That she was whole.

[daydream-believin]

A Nice Rock For You, My Love (Please Accept)

Summary: Douxie would like to give the reader a special present.

Warnings: Swearing, stabbing, blood, swords and a knife.

Word Count: 3092 -ten pages 12 point times new roman, baby!

A/N: even i couldn’t predict where the hell this was headed. have fun with this. i sure did ;)

Douxie placed his newest rock onto the window ceil in his bedroom. He’d display it for a while, but add it to the collection jar with the others once it was replaced. Every morning he’s wake up, see the shiny stone on his window ceil, and think of his wonderful significant other.

Y/n was an odd duck, but an endearing one at that. They spent most of their time out in the local forest. Douxie wasn’t sure what they did out there for so long each day, but that didn’t matter as long as they’d come back to see him in the evenings. They’d return to civilization every night scruffy, smelly, and with twigs stuck in their hair, but he thought they looked lovely. Enchanting even. A little dirt never did hurt anyone.

He was going to have to get a new jar soon. Every week or so, Y/n would present him with a new one. A token of their affection for the wizard. He kept every single one. He kept one in the pocket of his favourite jacket. Y/n had found that particular one in the flat of a creek bed. They were drawn in by the bright blue color, reminding them of their beloved wizard’s most recent dye job. After fishing it out, it turned out to be a piece of beach glass, but it was very smooth and rounded. Douxie was using it as a worry stone.

Of course, rocks weren’t the only thing Y/n had brought him. Any small thing not tied down the forest could offer was up for grabs to the local cryptid. Sometimes they’d leave him feathers from a bird they swore they got permission from to take. Sometimes they’d give him sticks they carved intricate designs into. Sometimes bones. A lot of times bones. Not enough bones for visitors in his home to question though. They just assumed he was really goth. One time, Y/n even straight up gifted him a jar of mud. Well, it supposed to be soil from the picnicking spot they often spent their dates, some water from the nearby stream, with a few hand-plucked flower heads added to the top. Romantic, right? Unfortunately, it was accidentally shaken up between the time Y/N made it and the time they presented it to Doux. Still, it was proudly displayed on his shelf.

As tokens of affection began to collect, Doux decided he should return the favor. He’d find the perfect gift for his dear Y/n. One to show them just how much he cared, just how far his affection for them reached. Something to make that toothy smile light up their pretty face. Something to seal a promise to them, that he’d be by their side until the end of time.

So here he was, in this jewelry store, trying to find that perfect shiny rock for his significant other. It wasn’t going too well, to be honest. Everything was too fancy, and quite frankly, too expensive. It was like the whole store was polished and perfect. All those rings were beautiful, yes, but they looked like they belonged on the finger of a middle-class suburban spouse, not his wonderfully scruffy partner. His darling sasquatch. Too impersonal for his taste.

He’d decided that the only way to match Y/n’s energy was to find the stone himself. Luckily, he did live in Arcadia. Right below his feet were a system of caves that spanned at least a hundred miles. Surely the local trolls wouldn’t mind. Okay, so they did, but that wasn’t going to stop him.

After some exploring some of the tunnels for a while and getting a wee bit lost in the maze, he eventually came across a patch of purpley clusters growing from the cave wall. Amethysts, he guessed? Maybe fluorite. Either way, it was marvelous. The color was even close to that of Y/n’s magic. They put off a nice good energy too. This would be perfect. He just needed to find a small enough piece, or chip off a bit, and his quest would be complete. He magicked himself up a knife and set to work. It took him several tries, but eventually he wound up with a nice rock. It wasn’t perfect, even kind of lopsided for a ring, but it was a really good purple rock. Raw too. Uncut and unpolished, like them.

He brought it over to his work buddy Annie’s place. She had been really into jewelry making this year. Douxie had seen some of her work. It was top notch. She’d make him a nice personalized ring and set the stone into it. And he’d have the peace of mind knowing that this gift would be an excellent piece of craftsmanship. Hopefully Y/n wouldn’t lose it in the river. Thankfully, he had measured their ring size during their nap yesterday. So it would be nice and snug. Not drop-in-the-riverable at all… He’d enchant it.

Now all there was to do was wait. He had to give it to them at just the right moment for maximum romantic impact here. He’d watched a thousand proposal videos on youtube to get some semblance of an idea of what he was supposed to be doing. To be honest, a lot of them seemed kind of over the top and forced. While Doux was a showman, he didn’t want to go that route. This moment was going to be special. Intimate. Full of love.

He’d set up a lovely date for the occasion. A moonlight picnic in their favourite spot. Romantic, with candles. And roses. And champagne. He’d bring his acoustic too, to play for them. A classic serenade for his love. He also dressed up the trees around with some twinkly magical lights. He was thinking of making them a little show with magic lights too, to narrate their love story. After it was all over, they’d head over to the clearing to go star gazing. And they’d fall asleep under the stars in each other’s arms as a betrothed couple. Okay, so maybe he was going over the top after all. Just a tad. He couldn’t help it.

Once he got it all set up, he asked Archie to watch over it while he went to go get his darling. He even acquired a blindfold so he could get that maximum surprise effect. But he didn’t take into account the fact that nature isn’t exactly flat, and he had to help them carefully navigate the forest floor. At a certain point, he just decided to just pick Y/n up bridal style and carry them, eliciting a giggle from them. It was faster and easier for both parties. Also more romantic. A win-win. Y/n noticed his heart was beating pretty fast as they leaned against his chest. He was getting antsy as the spot came into view.

He was pleased and relieved to see that nothing had gone amiss so far. Everything was intact. Archie was just lazily snoozing on the blanket. Douxie cleared his throat to catch Arch’s attention and silently shooed him away with a head jerk. The dragon-cat nodded and took off towards town. Douxie placed Y/n down onto the blanket, oh so gently, taking their blindfold off to reveal everything. Y/n was, to Douxie’s dismay, immediately aware that something was up. This was quite the set up before them. They reacted nervously, which disheartened him slightly, but he couldn’t back out now. He wouldn’t back out now. He won’t.

He handed Y/n the bouquet of roses, and they flushed. That wonderful pink color of their cheeks somehow gave him enough courage to help him make it through his entire prepared speech without stuttering. What a feat. Despite their earlier wariness, Y/n was captivated. They hung off his every word. Douxie came to the conclusion that he must be using every drop of luck he had right now. Now for the best part, or the part that could embarrass him the most, depending on whether or not his luck continued. Time to woo his beloved with a special song he wrote just for them. Time to bear his soul. His fingers danced over the strings with practiced skill. The most beautiful melody Y/n had ever heard. They had stars in their eyes. He was halfway through his serenade when the heavens opened up.

Douxie almost instantly cast a magic shield over them. It was beautiful, in a way. The raindrops bucketing down, hitting the transparent glowing shield. It made a private percussion symphony just for them. Rain. Douxie saving the day. It was so cliché, they laughed together. Those freckles on his face danced adorably as he shook with laughter. So, in the spirit of clichés, Y/n decided to repay him for all his chivalry with a kiss. It caught him off guard at first, eyes wide, but he quickly melted into it.

As the kiss deepened, he pulled his fingers through their hair. They let out a moan into his mouth. He couldn’t help the lovesick grin that spread across his face. He turned his attention towards their neck. They tipped their head to give him better access, letting their hands travel down his back. He smelled smokey, he must have had some spell backfire on him today. How endearing. As Doux kissed right under their jaw, they opened their eyes just a half-lid. And then promptly snapped them open all the way. They briskly pulled back, eliciting a whine from Douxie.

“Uhhh, Doux,” He turned around to see what had frightened them.

“Oh fuzzbuckets,” he blinked at the sight, “is that a wolf?” Douxie exclaimed in disbelief.

“No, no, not a wolf. It can’t be a wolf. There’s exactly one singular wolf pack in Cali and its definitely not in fucking Arcadia Oaks.”

The wolf stepped forward. It was smaller than a normal wolf. A wolf-dog maybe. It snarled at them, spit dripping from its sharp teeth. They dared not move, and risk provoking it. Still as statues, Y/n and Douxie watched as it howled a warning to them. Or at least they thought it was a warning.

Suddenly, a very tall figure appeared through the trees. Black cloak billowing in the dark storm, it was if cooked up from some horror novel. Well, a children’s horror novel. It probably could have been much, much scarier. Especially to a couple of wizards that also frequently wore black and walked through the dark with their own less-than-domestic pets. But nevertheless, the sight raised the hackles on the backs of their necks. The wolf-dog ran to its master’s side. The figure patted his familiar’s scruffy head, then strode towards the picnic.

Douxie and Y/n swiftly sprang to their feet. Doux stepped in front of Y/n, to their annoyance. They could hold their own and Douxie knew it, but he couldn’t help those protective instincts. As the figure came closer, he dramatically tossed back his hood. Lightning struck at the very moment his bearded face was revealed to them. Completely by coincidence, honest.

“Eoin?” Douxie exclaimed in surprise. That expression of surprise then twisted into one of disgust. “Oh bleeding balroths, it’s fucking Eoin.” He half-shouted, half-grumbled.

“Aye, Hisirdoux! My old pal! How’ve you been, bruv?” Eoin flourished his cloak and smirked at the two. He eyed up Y/n. “And what a lovely partner you’ve got here, might I add.” Y/n shifted to be a bit more behind Doux.

“What do you want, my friend?” Douxie frustratedly asked. Y/n was getting the impression that, despite the terms of endearment here, these two were not friends.

“Why, don’t you already know, little Douxie? I’m here to settle something I should have long ago.” He said in a now less-than-friendly tone of voice.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” Douxie was exasperated. Eoin just started coming closer. “Alright, mate,” Douxie raised his hands, flicking through his cuff, getting ready for what he knew was about to transpire without any more delay. His adversary shot up his hands to stop him.

“Oh! No, no, no! Friend, we’ll settle this like men. The old-fashioned way.”

Eoin summoned two rapiers out of thin air. Both some sort of gleaming black metal and glowing jewels. He kept the one with the red gems in his right hand, and tossed Douxie the one with the blue gems with his left. Color coordination, one supposes. Douxie tested the blade with a few swings and parries. His eyes looked down at the rapier and then to Eoin. They sort of bowed to each other.

They fenced back and forth deftly. It was like a dance. A tango. Y/n was impressed at how light footed Douxie actually was. Maybe he planned this? Was this a part of the show or something? It would be an excellent way to prove how capable he was of defending them from evil or whatever. But they got the feeling that this was undeniably real and not planned by, if not for the rancid aura hanging in the air, the absolutely murderous looks in the two men’s eyes.

The wolf-dog came towards Y/n. They readied a spell for defense, but the dog just, sort of sat next to them? It looked like it was also watching the fight intently. It would woof at the two whenever its master got the upper hand, almost as if cheering him on. Strange. A good boy, Y/n supposed. They’d reach down to pet it but they didn’t fancy losing their hand.

Eventually, Douxie came out on top. The duel had been nasty, but it now looked as if it was all but through. Douxie had Eoin knocked onto his back in the mud at the base of one of the massive old oak trees Arcadia was known for. He held his blade to Eoin’s throat, and they locked eyes. Douxie was huffing for air. But to Eoin’s surprise, He started apologizing. An entire speech. Confusion flashed on Eoin’s face. Hisirdoux had always felt guilty about his transgressions as a lad, about the people he trampled in order to survive before Merlin gave him a home. So he’d spare his old enemy. He was terribly sorry he’d begun this feud in the first place.

“And what say you, old buddy,” Douxie grinned hopefully with a glimmer in his hazel eyes. Douxie held out his hand in an offer of actual friendship. He stared into Eoin’s eyes. Eoin stared into his. Eoin’s shaky hand began to reach up to take Douxie’s. They clasped their hands together. Brothers. And for a moment, Douxie had really thought they had made up this time, looking into Eoin’s feeble smile. That is, until Eoin yanked Douxie down towards himself on the ground. Right into his ready, hungry blade.

To the soundtrack of Y/n’s screams, Eoin stood up, casually tossing Douxie’s limp body off his sword. The wind whipped his cloak as he stormed off, into the storm. The wolf-dog followed his master, howling in victory. Y/n was crossing the woods to cling to Doux in an instant.

He coughed up some blood, and intensely stared into Y/n’s eyes. He weakly took their hand, and caressed their cheek. Then remembered to reach into his pocket and pull out that special ring. He slipped it onto their slick, wet finger. Oh, it appeared that their hands were covered in blood. His blood. Neat.

“I- I wanted to a-” he coughed up some more blood, “to ask you if-”

“Yes! Yes, of course,” they sounded panicked, “please, save your breath, my love.” They pleaded. He feebly leaned in to kiss them, but then his world went black. His body fell like a ragdoll into Y/n’s arms.

Try as they might, they weren’t a healer. Purple light shone like a beacon in the black stormy night. They performed as many healing, even vaguely healing-ish fixit spells as they knew. Unfortunately, this was a stab wound from a magic blade. They couldn’t take him to the hospital, even if they had any trust in modern medicine. Hot tears streamed down their face. But the word hopeless is not devoid of hope. Hope sparked in their heart as they remembered something, somewhere, important.

They had to get him out of here, and fast. He was bleeding out. There was so, so much blood. It had positively soaked through Y/n’s already wet clothes before they were even half way to their destination. The smell of the rain mixing with all the blood was sickening. It was hard to find their way in this darkness. They slipped on the mud and tripped over rocks. Y/n was starting to slip into a panic attack. They couldn’t even go very fast, he was so heavy in their arms. And Y/n was frightened of hurting him even more by accident. Y/n was very, very frightened in general.

Time moved like molasses. In what could have been years for Y/n, the cave they were carrying Douxie to finally came within sight. Their heart was threatening to pound right out of their chest. They mustered up the last of their strength and broke out into a sprint. Bolting through the curtain doors of the cave and knocking around the strings of bones that hung with them, Y/n dropped to their knees.

“Please! Save him! I beg of thee.” They pleaded to the three old women sitting around the hearth.

***

Douxie was awoke to the sound of shuffling and unintelligible whispers. He could smell a strong mix of herbs in the air. He felt the soft back of a cold hand rest on his forehead, so he slowly opened his eyes. He was met with the red tear-streaked face of his beloved. Y/n gasped. they excitedly called to whoever else was in the room with them that he was now awake. He did not recognize these women. He did not recognize where he was. He supposed that didn’t matter.

Y/n pulled him into a gentle hug, as if he were made of glass. A handsome glass sculpture that would shatter if they let go of him. They just lied there, holding onto each other for dear life, for what must have been an hour. Breathing in each other’s scents, they had still refused to let go, but Douxie started to cough again. They reluctantly pulled apart, and y/n started their interrogation about any pain he might be experiencing. He was alright, a little sore, but fine. Nothing time won’t fix. And time he was glad to still have with them.

***

bonus A/N: i swear this was supposed to be normal, just a sappy proposal fic. but once i set everything up i was overcome with the urge to stab him. so i created a character specifically to stab him. idk im not sorry. at first i had eoin like, cheat the duel with magic, but i figured doux would be his own downfall with that bleeding heart of his we all love so much. happy november y’all.

[thrillridesz]

the story of us ▫ eric

➳ pairing: ex husband and father!eric x fem!reader ➳ genre: angst, slight fluff ➳ word count: 3.8k ➳ requested?: yes

a/n: this is written as a part two to this timestamp!

Eric peered nervously at his watch, frowning as he watched the time tick by the second.

Just where were you? It was already nearing eight and the two of you were supposed to meet at seven in the restaurant. The dinner plans had been made over a week ago when he finally mustered up the courage to ask you out for a meal. Moreover, the restaurant he had picked required a special reservation given how popular it was and frankly, Eric was starting to feel more and more uncomfortable by the minute in a fancy restaurant like this one.

People were starting to cast sympathetic glances in his directions, murmuring amongst themselves about the man sitting alone at the table, no doubt making their own speculations about him as the lonely guy stood up by his date. Eric felt his shoulders sag and disappointment seep in. Were they going to be right about their speculations after all?

Trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his heart, he whipped out his phone and texted Sangyeon.

i don’t think she’s coming. this is a mistake.

The response was almost immediate.

wait, she’s not there yet??

no

that’s kinda messed up, she stood you up?

i don’t know, i think so

There was a pause while Eric awaited Sangyeon’s response, downing a glass of wine in an attempt to hide his sadness.

man, i’m rly sorry to hear that :/ do you wanna just come over and hang? there’s a crazy match going on today, we can get some beer too

Staring despondently at his phone, Eric bit his lip anxiously, feeling a lump starting to form in his throat. Were you really standing him up? He briefly recalled your reaction when he had asked you out for dinner over the phone after he had coaxed his daughter to sleep that day. He had been a ball of nerves and if it wasn’t for Sangyeon’s encouragement, he would never have had even thought about asking you out.

“I don’t know if I can do this. What if she says no?”

“Then you take it like a man. Either way, you have nothing to lose if you try and everything to lose if you don’t.” Sangyeon replied and Eric could hear the audible sigh in his voice.

As he paced the empty living room, he said, “I mean... You have a point but this is y/n we’re talking about. My ex wife. You don’t just call up your ex wife for dinner.”

“You don’t?” came the reply as a distant crash sounded from the other end of the line followed by a screech so sharp that made Eric wince in pain.

“No, stop that! Taeil, give your sister back her doll right now! Sorry, give me a moment.” 

“Wait-”

Sangyeon didn’t even wait for his response before leaving the phone call on hold and Eric could only glare at his cellphone in irritation. Shaking his head, he sunk into the couch and rubbed at his temples. All of this on top of work was giving him a mighty headache. As he pressed his fingers to the side of his head and rubbed, he suddenly remembered how you would always give him a back massage after a long day at work back when the both of you were still a married couple. Gingerly placing a hand on his shoulder, Eric longed so badly to feel your hands on him that his heart hurt. How did things go so wrong?

Looking up, a small picture frame next to the television caught his eye. It was a picture that the two of you had taken on the day he proposed to you years ago. The happiness in your eyes was unmistakable as you held up your hand pridefully, the ring shining brightly on your finger. His arm was looped around your waist as the two of you leaned in for the picture, the love the two of you had for each other obvious even in a still image. It had been ages since he had been able to hold you like that or even seen you smile that radiantly around him. There was absolutely nothing he wouldn’t give to see it again.

“Hello? Eric?”

Bringing the phone to his ear, Eric tried to keep the sadness out of his voice. 

“Yeah?”

“Sorry, it’s the kids again. They were fighting, tearing the house apart literally. Anyways, you’re going to call her right? Y/n?”

He glanced wistfully at the picture before answering, “I don’t know.”

“You’re still hesitating?” Sangyeon groaned.

“I-” Eric opened his mouth to retort, only to get interrupted by yet another piercing scream from the other end of the call. He could hear soft mutterings of profanities as he stood waiting for the scream to die down.

When it did, he cleared his throat. 

“That’s not very nice, Sangyeon. You know, swearing.”

If it wasn’t possible to feel someone rolling their eyes on the call, he certainly felt it from Sangyeon. 

“If you had children like Taeil and Jisoo, you’d love them to death but also wish they could stop their shenanigans for once,” he replied before adding, “I have to go for real now anyways.”

“Alright.” Eric laughed.

“Call her! Tell me how it went at work tomorrow!” Sangyeon ordered before ending the call, leaving him staring at the phone in the silence of his home.

“Should I?” He thought as his thumb subconsciously scrolled down his list of contacts and hovered over your name. Looking at the time, it was already midnight. Maybe you were already asleep. What if he disturbed you? What if you were in the middle of a shower and couldn’t answer the phone? He would look like an idiot. Tossing the phone aside absentmindedly, Eric looked up at the ceiling and closed his eyes. It might be for the best if he didn’t call you or ask you out. It’s probably what you preferred.

“Hello? Eric?”

He sprang up from the couch in shock. Was that a ghost? Was he hallucinating or was that your voice calling him? The colour drained from his face as he realised to his sheer horror that he had accidentally tapped on the call button earlier and the call had gone through.

Immediately when the ball dropped, Eric made a beeline for the phone and before he knew it, he was falling forward. As he landed on the floor with loud thud, he mentally cursed himself for being clumsy when you asked, “Is everything ok? I heard a loud noise.” 

Fumbling for the phone, he gasped out, “Yes! Everything is great, I’m really sorry!”

“Um, ok. I just thought I heard a really loud noise. Why did you call anyways? Is there something the little one left behind?” 

Eric bit the inside of his cheeks as he thought hard for an appropriate response. What is he going to say? Yes and make up a lie about something stupid? Or... 

“Ask her out?” He whispered under his breath.

“What was that?”

Eric almost wanted to slap himself for saying his thoughts out loud and he frantically backtracked, “Nothing! I was just wondering...” He trailed off as the picture caught his eye again. 

This could be his chance to salvage everything and shoot his shot for another opportunity to get back the life he had left behind. Briefly recalling what Sangyeon had said, his grip on the phone tightened as he debated.

Either way, you have nothing to lose if you try and everything to lose if you don’t.

“Will you go out with me for dinner?”

When the question escaped from his lips, it was too late to take them back. He heard your breath hitch from the other end and a chill ran down his spine. There was a moment of silence and waiting for your reply had been the most nerve wracking couples of seconds of his life. 

“Why?” Your voice was soft and there was a hint of caution in them.

Flustered, Eric fumbled to find the right words to reply. He had expected outright rejection and that single word had thrown him off completely. Deep down, he felt a spark of hope began to bloom. You didn’t give him a straight answer but at least it wasn’t a no although it wasn’t exactly a yes either.

“I... Um... I just thought... Um... Maybe we could just c-catch up on some stuff?” He asked as he screwed his eyes shut, anticipating your answer.

“...Sure.”

Eric almost hurled his phone across the room. 

Shut up. 

Was he dreaming right now? Did you really just say yes? Pinching himself for good measure, the stinging pain did little to dull his uplifted mood. This isn’t a dream after all. He was suddenly filled with such joy, he thought he could explode.

“I-I... That’s awesome! How does friday night next week sound?” 

He could hear the smile in your voice that he had grown to love over the years.

“Friday night sounds lovely.”

Come to think of it, were you hesitating? 

“Did she only say yes because she was too afraid to say no?” He thought to himself, eyes widening in horror. 

“Hey! I’m so sorry, I’m late.”

At the sound of your voice, he looked up and felt a shiver run down his spine. You had always been beautiful to him but today, you looked simply stunning and for a moment, he just stared without moving the slightest bit. You were wearing a gorgeous blue dress that fell gracefully to your knees and although your hair was slightly messy and unkempt, it only accentuated your beauty as wisps of hair framed your face. 

Taking a seat across from him, you barely even noticed his blatant gaping as you settled yourself down.

“I’m so sorry for being almost an hour late. The babysitter was late and the traffic was just insane out there, I hope you’re not mad at me.” You said, laughing softly in embarrassment. “Eric?”

Blinking, he snapped out of his daze and his cheeks turned pink. 

“Oh! It’s no worries, I completely understand.” A wide grin tugged at his lips as straightened his tie, suddenly conscious of how he looked in front of you. The patrons had stopped whispering and had gone back to their meals, the sheepish expression on some of their faces plain as day.

As Eric placed his hands on the table, he accidentally knocked over his glass of wine, sending the glass crashing to the ground. Shards of glass skidded across the marble floor as the ruby red wine formed a small puddle. The splintering sounds of glass against the hard floor turned heads and for a moment, everyone stared at the two of you. Some wore disapproving frowns while others simply looked away hastily as a waiter rushed forward to assist.

“I’m really sorry! I didn’t mean to,” Eric exclaimed anxiously, internally wishing he could dig up a hole and hide in it. Barely one minute into dinner, he wad already making a fool of himself in front of you and in a fancy restaurant no less. 

The waiter only smiled at him good naturedly before waving away his apologies.

“It’s perfectly alright, sir! This is no problem at all! I’ll go get a mop and a broom.”

Nodding weakly, Eric sat back in his seat with his face downcast. He couldn’t possibly look at you straight in the eye after that blunder he made. An unexpected, soft chuckle made him peek up at you shyly.

“That waiter definitely did not look happy.”

“He didn’t?”

You raised an eyebrow at him quizzically before leaning forward and he briefly caught a whiff of your intoxicating perfume. Roses and jasmines, sweet and subtle just like you.

“Look over there.” You whispered, pointing to a far corner of the restaurant and he turned.

From afar, the disgruntled look on the waiter’s face was vague but it was nothing either of you could miss. Bending over to whisper something in his colleague’s ear, they both peered over in your table’s direction. Quickly, the both of you turned away, pretending not to see.

“Man, I guess it’s not alright after all.” Eric rolled his eyes and you nodded, taking a small sip of water. 

“When you work in the service industry for some time, you’ll notice these stuff eventually.” You replied, smiling kindly at him. 

“Right.” He cleared his throat awkwardly, remembering that you worked as an operations manager for a cafe downtown. There was a moment of silence before he asked, “How’s work?”

“Oh, just...” You waved your hands, “We’re revamping the menu and business is going smoothly. Honestly, there’s nothing much. You?” 

“Um... Nothing much either, I suppose. Some financial reports for the year are rolling in and my clients are-” Eric trailed off. What is he doing, rambling off like that? No, no. He had to backtrack. Talking about work is a bad idea especially since it was the reason why the two of you had separated in the first place. 

“My day was great,” he clasped his hand together on the table before he continued, “It’s nothing much to talk about. I’d rather we just talk about other things besides work.”

For a moment, he thought he saw a look of confusion and surprise flash across your face before you replied, “Oh, alright. I thought you used to have a lot of new work stories every day?”

“Ah no... I don’t. Today, I want to just catch up with you.”

You regarded him skeptically for a moment before you shrugged.

“Sure, I’m up for that. Do you want to order some food first?” 

“I... Okay.” Deflating a little, he pored over the menu. Basic french words were already difficult to understand but throw in some culinary terminologies, Eric was completely lost. Everything was like hieroglyphics to him as he surveyed the menu blankly. 

“Do you know what you’re going to get?” You asked him, without looking up.

Eric stared hard at the menu, so hard until the words were starting to blur together. There had to be something he understood from this menu. Internally, he began to regret choosing this restaurant but then he remembered that you loved french cuisine. 

“It’s worth it if she’s satisfied,” he thought firmly to himself as he flipped over the page. Just how thick was this menu? This could be a library book. By the time the waiter stopped by the table, he still hadn’t made up his mind.

“May I take your orders?”

“Yes, please. I’ll have the soupe à l’oignon,” you replied as you handed the menu back to the waiter. “Have you decided on what you want, Eric?”

“Um...” He hesitated for a moment before pointing at something random on the menu. “I’ll have this.”

The waiter bowed as he left with their orders and you asked, “What did you order?”

Eric felt his face heat up as he stayed quiet. He couldn’t just tell you that he randomly chose, how pathetic would that be? You would see him as a try hard for picking an upscale restaurant with menus in a language he didn’t understand a word of. 

“i just got clams.” He smiled, taking a hasty sip of water. 

“Clams. I didn’t know you liked clams,” You said, looking at him curiously. 

“I thought I’d try something new I guess,” he laughed, fists clenched at his sides. “Anyways, how are things with you lately?”

You sighed and Eric had to resist the urge to reach out and hold your hands in his like he always did whenever you were visibly stressed out. So near, yet so far.

“Oh, things have been alright lately. It’s just that the restaurant is getting busier these days and our daughter is having a school recital soon. Her teacher wanted me to go buy her a dress for it but I haven’t got the time lately.” 

“Recital? What recital?”

“The one happening in September? Did she tell you about it?” You asked, looking at him wide-eyed in surprise. 

“I guess she didn't,” Eric said softly, feeling his stomach churn uneasily. He should have known. Although these days his relationship with his daughter is improving, there are definitely still some things she wouldn’t tell him. He didn’t blame her though, since he had been absent for a large part of her childhood. If only he was so career oriented then.

Your expression softened as you reassured him, “Maybe she forgot. Don’t ponder about it.” He nodded weakly at your words, forcing a faint smile as he gripped on tightly to the tablecloth. You leaving him had been one of the hardest things he ever had to go through but couple that with a lack of a familial relationship with his own flesh and blood? If time travel was possible, he would have went back and given his past self a good beating. 

He was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he almost didn’t notice that you had your hands on his. Slowly, his gaze drifted down but before he could hold you, you quickly withdrew your hands. Pushing your hair away from your face, you avoided making eye contact. 

“Y/n-”

“I was just trying to reassure you and make you feel better.” 

It would be a lie if Eric was to say he didn't feel disappointed. The spark of hope in his heart dimmed slightly as he reared back like a wounded child. He tried fervently to ignore the sinking feeling in him as he looked at you. When you turned away, it felt like needles stabbing in his heart. 

“I-”

“Soupe à l’oignon?” The waiter placed a steaming bowl of creamy soup on the table. 

“That’s mine.” You gestured, a grateful look on your face.

When the waiter left, Eric sniffed curiously before pointing out, “Is that onion?”

“Yeah, it is.”

“I thought you hated onions. You said once that you’d rather eat crickets than onions.”

“I guess I just started liking them,” you shrugged as you dipped your spoon into the soup. 

Why is he feeling so upset over this?There was a lump in his throat as he croaked out, “When?”

Hearing the tremble in his voice, you snapped your head up to look at him. Seeing the hurt look in those dark eyes of his, you felt your heart fall with a messy splat. You didn’t know why he was feeling that way and you would have tried to coax yourself into thinking that you don’t care but your heart couldn’t help it. If you were being completely honest with yourself, you still cared for him as much as you hated to admit it.

“Eric, are you ok?”

“I... I’m fine. It’s just that...” Millisecond by millisecond, he could feel his restrain crack. He could feel the formidable guard he had built around own emotions starting to shatter. 

“I guess you’re just different from how I remembered. I feel like I don’t know you anymore and that hurts me.” Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Stop talking. “I feel like I’m now a stranger to you and...” He felt his lower lip tremble and tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. 

“And what, Eric?”

He could practically feel his restrain break free as he blurted out, “And I feel like we’re not lovers anymore! I mean, to be fair we’re not... not married anymore but fuck. I still love you. I still love you with all my heart and seeing you and talking to you without being able to hold you or express my feelings... That kills me inside every time. I used to love the fact that we both know each other inside out but it feels like the longer we are apart, the closer I am to losing that. I never meant for the story of us to end this way and I know it was all my fault. I was the one who fucked up. I single handedly ruined the family we had but I’m begging you to give me another chance. Please, y/n. I need this, I need you. Will you give me a chance?”

Everything came out in a rush and by the time he ended his sentence, a single tear was rolling down his cheek. You stared quietly at your bowl of soup, not looking at him and not uttering even a single word. If his heart was broken enough, it certainly was now. 

Taking a deep breath, Eric choked out, “I-It’s fine. I understand if you don’t love me back anymore. If you want to leave, you can. I’ll pay for-”

“Okay.” 

He almost fell out of the chair as he peered at you, alarm written all over his face.

“What?”

You stared him straight in the eye as you mumbled, “I said okay. I’ll give you a chance.”

Did God finally decide to have mercy on him? Are the stars aligning in his favour? Eric couldn’t believe his ears and he had to smack himself to make sure this wasn't a dream. The loud slap rang through the restaurant and several patrons turned to your table as you gasped in shock.

“What are you doing?!”

Feeling the stinging pain on his reddened cheek, he replied dumbly, “Making sure this isn’t a dream.”

You couldn’t fight the giggle that gurgled up within you as you held his arm, “It’s not a dream. Don’t hurt yourself, Eric.”

This is actually happening. To think if he had chickened out, he would never have had this opportunity. He should definitely treat Sangyeon to a meal tomorrow. 

“I... I just can’t believe it. You have no idea how overjoyed I am right now.” His bright grin stretched from ear to ear and you felt yourself almost melt. Maybe you do still have some feelings for him.

As he reached out to hold your hand, you leaned away causing him to look at in a rather bewildered way. 

“If we’re going to do this, we’re starting over.”

The tension in him dissipated quickly as he hurriedly stuffed his hands in his pockets. 

“Alright then. That is completely fine by me! I never want to make you feel uncomfortable.” He grinned, a sparkle in his eyes. “What do you mean by starting over though?”

You pondered over his question for a moment before holding out a hand, which he simply stared at before looking at you with a questioning look.

“Nice to meet you, I’m y/n.” Realisation dawned upon him as he chuckled.

“Wow, you really do mean start over,” he said before reaching over and shaking your hand. “I’m Eric. Eric Sohn.” 

“Rouille de seiche?” The waiter placed a hot platter of what looked like cuttlefish in tomato sauce in front of him.

He gazed at his plate for a moment before he turned back to you. You could barely contain your laughter.

“That doesn’t look like clams to me.” 

“Well, I didn’t understand the menu so I just randomly chose. If there’s one thing you need to know about me, it’s the fact that I’m not a huge fan of cuttlefish but I didn’t know that when I ordered,” he smiled at you.

[flowerbeom]

Double Pepperoni | LJB

Part of The Pleasure Chest | A GOT7 Cringe Collaboration

Lim Jaebeom x Female!Reader Genre: College AU, Crackhead Comedy Smut Rating: Mature. So very mature. Warnings: Bad puns, Swearing & Explicit smut scenes. Word Count: 4k

Concept:  to: cassandra.l@unisk.edu.com hey cass, its me. your best friend. or what’s left of her. remember that kinda hot but kinda gross pizza delivery guy? the one with the nose ring and always smelt of cheetos? yeh, he’s looking less gross these days. what?! don’t judge me. desperate times call for desperate measures. it has been 154 days since i’ve had sex. shit’s dire here man.

A/N: If you lean into how bad this is purposefully meant to be, you’ll really enjoy it. 

All GIF credits for this series go to @defsenses.

Day 97 

📧 to: cassandra.l@unisk.edu.com hey cass!  yes my phone is still broken, and i have no idea when im going to get a new one cause im broke from visiting you in another goddamn country - so just suck it up and reply to my emails like the good best friend you are.  fuck i miss you already! why the hell did you have to be smart and shit and get into that international program and go to college in Seoul of all places!  do you know how far away that is?! 16 hours cassandra! 16 fucking hours on a plane with no leg room, subpar food and a middle aged balding man snoring next to you the entire time so you get no sleep on a 16 hour flight AWAY FROM YOUR BEST FRIEND.  it was really good to see you though, can you thank mrs kim again for me - you really struck gold with that housing sitch you got - especially your roommate! that fine ass college freshman you DID NOT allow me to fuck!  yeh yeh whatever, i get it - how the hell are you meant to look mrs kim in the eye again when your childhood best friend who you talked up to be an angel fucked her only son on the fold out couch. yes i get it, stop rolling your eyes at me.  either way, its still the dry season down here. miss you, love you. bye. 

It’s funny how jet lag after coming home from a holiday feels almost identical to a hangover; it’s a painful reminder that something that was quite enjoyable is over. The headache feels almost the same, along with the cotton mouth, hunger, dehydration and utter disappointment and resentful emptiness that the fun you were having is completely done - but only one makes you hurl your guts out at the smell of orange juice. Condolences to those who are unlucky enough to hurl in both instances. 

Either way, that’s where you found yourself - Thursday night, half unpacked suitcase lay in the middle of your living room, eyes bloodshot and staring blankly at the television; an all consuming headache pounding between your temples. Lucky for you, you knew a sure fire way to get rid of it without painkillers. Insert Mr. Pene Falso. No literally, insert it. You didn’t call your vibrator Fake Penis in Spanish not to insert it. And in case anyone hasn’t caught on yet, an orgasm legitimately helps get rid of a headache. Try it next time. 

As ever, positioning is important - preparation is key. Sweatpants pushed down to your ankles, one leg completely fished out. Sideways lean, cushion under one elbow, completely bare leg propped up onto the couch; allow for maximum spread when those pre-orgasm hip rolls start. Set Mr. Pene Falso on one, there is no need to go hard straight away - ease into the session, let the endorphins build. You have been deprived of a real penis for a while, so you know you’re eager; but a little self control will yield the most delicious of results. 

You will run the long race to Destination Stimulation and you will bite that bottom lip as your eyes roll back into their sockets as your long awaited, slow built, easy increase of settings on Mr. Pene Falso brings home the most delectable of orgams. It will not be a dry night, no sir. So lower that beautiful vibrating, bright pink silicone wand onto your clit-- 

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK 

Who the fuck..? Your eyes snapped to the front door, your hand clenched around your vibrator just millimetres away from your clit. A small loosening of your grip dropped the angle and the tip of your vibrator dipped against your clit, sending shockwaves through your body. A gravely moan escaped you; your focus immediately brought back to the task at hand. Literally. 

Ignore it, it’s probably no one important. That’s what you told yourself, shaking your head and leaning back against the couch once again. You licked your bottom lip at the enticing notion of self-induced euphoria. Spreading your legs further than before, you corrected your grip and pushed Mr. Pene Falso into you. Your head dropped back involuntarily, your teeth marked your bottom lip and those pre-orgasm hip rolls started slowly. It felt devine, finally some release; a little bit of pleasu--

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK 

“Who the fuck?!” 

“Pal’s Pizza!” 

Tossing Mr. Pene Falso aside, you yanked on your sweatpants, wiped the one bead of sweat off your brow and stampeded to your door. 

“You got the wrong house, buddy!” Ripping it open, your rage was greeted with a face you had not seen in a long time. Your eyes blew wide, as the eyes of the man before you narrowed; complimenting the smirk etching across his face. The ever familiar smell of cheetos, weed and pepperoni of years passed filled your nostrils and nostalgia wasn’t a word you wanted to use in that instance, but repressed memories were being dug up nevertheless. 

A few moments of stone-cold silence passed before a subtle hum started to invade your auditory peripherals. Leaving your eye-line, Mr. Pal’s Pizza leaned sideways, throwing his smirk into the apartment behind you and directly onto the bright pink silicone wand still vibrating on your couch. All colour drained from your obviously stiffened face. 

He scoffed. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt your alone time. Mind if I join you instead?” 

Day 106

📧 to: cassandra.l@unisk.edu.com hey cass did you know that there’s a woman in Georgia, who due to a rare disorder, experiences hundreds of orgasms a day? she’s just persistently aroused and will climax any time, anywhere - even in the most obscure of places. whereas I cannot even have one, in my own goddamn apartment.  because you will never guess who delivered a pizza to the wrong house last week. Crusty Jae. Yyu heard me. Fucking Lim Jaebeom from high school! Who by the way, still looks like a tryhard 2006 Skaterboi with his stupidly baggy jeans, Stussy t-shirt and bad haircut - or lack thereof who fucking knows.  AND he still smells like damp. No no, he doesn’t smell damp. He smells like damp. Like the idea of damp. but istg i could still cut myself on that jawline of his. and come to think of it, I haven’t had pizza in ages.  miss you. love you, bye. 

Day 114 

“Seriously dude, you need to stop ‘delivering pizza to the wrong house’. It’s getting pathetic.” You feigned irritation despite taking the box out of Jaebeom’s outstretched hand.

“Bruh, I am not. The guy’s next door never answered. So you--” He shook back his overgrown fringe and shifted all his weight back, angling his pelvis towards you. His eyes traipsed up and down your frame, saliva clearly pooling under his tongue. “-- get a free pizza delivered by this handsome mug.” 

You didn’t even try to bury the scoff that escaped you as Jaebeom dug two thumbs into his chest; a pungent smugness wafting from his stained Pal’s Pizza t-shirt. You practically laughed in his face. Yet he didn’t waver. 

“You’re still the same overconfident creep from highschool, Jae.” Jaebeom faked offense, a hand slapped on his heart - leaving a faint damp hand print. 

“And I still managed to nab all the ladies.” Sliding his tongue over his top teeth, he winked and you almost gagged. The fact that Crusty Jae, the school’s resident stoner, managed to have the highest body count by graduation is something that still baffled you. Something must have been seriously wrong with the girls who let that inside them. There were rumours of course, but you weren’t willing to explore any of them to prove if fact or not. 

Lifting the lid, you inhaled a glorious whiff of mozzarella and pepperoni but caught Jaebeom scratching his head from the corner of your eye; little flecks of dead skin floated to the ground and you couldn’t help but focus on the flakes of what looked like parmesan on the top of your pizza. Horror ensued, visible in the quiver in your voice. 

“You.. you don’t make the pizzas do you?” 

Jaebeom smirked, and ran a clammy hand through his greasy hair. 

“Nuh babe, I just deliver them.” He punctuated his statement with a wink and pucker of his lips. You were not comforted and turned away before he could see the grimace on your face. You dropped the pizza box onto your couch and fished a twenty-dollar-bill from your wallet and returned to the door to slap it into Jaebeom’s hand. 

“Nuh baby, it’s free.” He insisted with a stupid slanted grin. You shook your head, pushing the money harder into his hand and away from your door. 

“Keep the change.”

“Damn, thanks for the tip.” He smiled softly. Maybe he isn’t so much of a creep anymore. 

“Want a taste of mine?” 

You couldn’t have slammed the door in his face any harder.  

Day 129 

European. What about Lebanese? Kirby? No, too short. Continental? Way too long. But then again Kirby cucumbers have girth, and it’s not all about length. It’s how you use it. Would you go raw? Or would you wrap it? How sturdy are Kirby cucumbers? You’d obviously have to wash it first. Oh shit, could they poison you if it smooshes up while inside you? No, well you eat them so they can’t be too dangerous. How much lubrication would you need? 

“Little to none if you’re warmed up enough.” 

Cutting off your mental ramblings and ripping you back into reality, your head snapped towards the voice. Jaebeom’s voice. Of course it had to be Jaebeom. Why is he suddenly everywhere? 

“Excuse me, what?!” 

“Lubrication. You wouldn’t need any if you’re warmed up. Cucumbers just slide right in.” He said with total confidence as if speaking from absolute experience. If anything, the pompous smile was enough to tell you what he was saying was true. You tried to swallow and gasp at the same time, causing you to start choking in the grocery store. 

“Wh-wait-what, I was saying all of that out loud?!” You prayed it didn’t say all of it out loud. 

Are you really that delirious from lack of sex that your pathetically curious and completely comedic wonderings about cucumbers as dildos was said out loud in the grocery store?! Have you become that incapable of controlling yourself that you can’t even keep being a horny bitch on the inside?! Must you zone out in full stereo?! 

Jaebeom giggled. 

“Maybe. I heard from about ‘What about Lebanese?’.”

You froze, the hand gripping your shopping basket growing dangerously limp.

“So pretty much all of it.” Jaebeom laughed again and reached across you to pick up the thickest Kirby cucumber from the pile and dropped it into your basket. 

“Think of me.”

“What!?” 

His smirk thawed you completely, leaving you standing in a lukewarm puddle of distaste. “Later babe.” 

Seriously, you needed to find every girl who fucked him in highschool and just ask them “WHY?!” 

Day 147

📧 to: cassandra.l@unisk.edu.com hey cass he ran out of battery I have no spares I live in a wasteland of despair miss you love you bye

Day 165

ring-ring-ring

“Pal’s Pizza, can I take your order?” 

“Hey Jae, it’s me. The usual please.” 

“Stuffed Crust?” 

“No thanks.” 

“No probs. How about I stuff you?”

“Bye.” 

“See you in twenty minutes!” 

Day 167 

📧 to: cassandra.l@unisk.edu.com hey cass I think I’m living in a permanent fever dream today in my tech drawing class my professor told me if I lick the tip I’ll get better results so I asked him, if i let him lick my tip would I get extra credit? HE MEANT MY PENCIL CASSANDRA, HE MEANT TO LICK THE TIP OF MY PENCIL SO I GET THICKER LINES what the fuck is wrong with me?!  oh I know.  it has been 167 days since I’ve had sex ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY SEVEN DAYS and Mr Pene Falso still does not have new batteries.  miss you love you bye

Day 175

You had never felt more accomplished in your life. In one hand rested your brand new phone, shiny and in-built with all the things to keep your easily distracted brain entertained. No longer did you have to make calls from the decrepit pay phone outside your apartment building. No longer did you have to sit on buses and pretend to like reading. No, you were reunited with the technology of your generation and you were ecstatic. Full time college and part time employment didn’t always meet the needs of your demanding lifestyle, but you saved enough to finally get a brand new phone.

And in the other hand lay two beautiful AA batteries. You know perfectly well what they were for. You were equally as ecstatic. But for some reason there was one person you wanted to talk to about it. 

Your fingers dialed the number almost on their own; muscle memory taking over. It rang six times. 

“Hello?”

“CASS!” So excited to hear your best friend’s voice you tripped on the corner of your rug; your body colliding with the couch. 

“Holy shit, you finally got a phone. Took you long enough.” 

“Shut up, I’ve been busy.” Rubbing the part of your shoulder that managed to miss abundant cushioning on the couch and hit the tiny piece of wooden framework beneath it all. 

“Sure. Busy trying to get yourself off every chance you get.” 

The fingers trying to unscrew the bottom of your vibrator halted; your bottom lip folded between your teeth - a pout formed in your silence. 

“I--” Lost for words you resumed unscrewing the cap, placing one battery into each slot. 

“You’re probably gonna go masturbate after you get off this call.” 

The last battery dropped in with a clang, albeit muffled by Cass’s muffled laughter. 

“You know I’m messing with you right?”

“..Yes.” 

“Good. So how’s Crusty Jae?” She continued to laugh as you groaned.

“Dude, can you please explain how he managed to pull so much in high school?! Please! Am I the only one who doesn’t get it?!” Suddenly incredibly frustrated, you screwed on the vibrator cap with so much gusto that your grip accidentally turned it on; the abrupt buzzing ripping out a quiet yelp. 

“You know his nickname used to be Double Pepperoni.” You scoffed so hard, you felt it in your ribs. “Nuh apparently he was packing.”

“What? Like what, like he always had slices stuffed in his pockets?”

“No, like p-a-c-k-i-n-g.” 

“I highly doubt that flat-ass McGee is huge.” You smirked while Cass tried to stop herself from choking on laughter. “And even if he was, dude, I still don’t understand how that seemingly unhygienic mess can score so much.” 

“Bro, I don’t know either. But from all the girls I’ve ever talked to about him, they all say that whatever he did to seduce them or whatever - their reactions were purely carnal.” You made a pathetic noise, like a dying car horn to highlight your skepticism. “Like apparently, he would do something or they would see him do something and they’d just snap. Fuck him once, have a great time but then refuse to ever bring it up again. Except to me.. Cause after all, it was Crusty Jae.. But that’s beside the point.”

“They’d just ‘snap’?” 

“Yup. Like a fresh green bean.”

“Weird metaphor.” 

“But you got it.”

“Sadly. I’m going to go now.” 

“Happy Orgasm!” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Miss you.”

“Love you.”

“Bye!” 

From putting down one electronic device to picking up the other, you settled into the couch cushions with Mr Pene Falso in hand - recharged and ready to go. Yes, you were obviously going to prove your best friend painfully correct by getting off as soon as you hung up that call, but honestly - fuck it. You deserved it. 

Remember, preparation is key. Sweatpants pushed down your ankles, one leg completely bare. Hair pulled up into an overeager and messy as ever bun. Sideways lean. Mr Pene Falso, setting one. 

It’s not meant to be pretty, the faces you pull while masturbating. And the sounds one makes, equally as carnal. But who the fuck cares. You’re doing this for you. And as those pre-orgasm hip rolls get more and more intense as your clit is vibrated right down to Destination Stimulation, you moan in pleasure for you know you are finally getting what you’ve wanted for so lon-- 

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK 

“Hey it’s me!” Your head snapped so fast to the door it cracked every bone in your neck. 

“Jae!?” 

“Yeh, can I come in please?”

“Oh come on, what the fuck!?” Fury swallowed you whole, Mr Pene Falso slamming into the ground in a fit of rage. “What do you fucking want, Jaebeom?!” 

“Please, I need--” Jerking your pants back on, you charged at the door; ripping it open. 

“Need what?!”

“-- to use your bathroom.” Sheepish eyes met your own; blown wide and shaking. Jaebeom stood before you, pizza delivery bag hung loosely in his hand; completely soaked from head to toe. 

“Sorry, it’s fucking pouring outside and I delivered next door and I just want to dry off a little, that cool?” 

His usually loose shirt clung to his body, every inch of his torso outlined. His hair, normally shaggy and overgrown, was completely pushed back off his face; slick and saturated to show every carved line of his face. Was his eyes always this piercing? Or was it only because it was in context with the rest of his beautiful face? 

“So..?” Jaebeom reeled you back from your slow descent and you shook it off violently. 

“Uhh yeh, that-that way.” Throwing a thumb over your shoulder to show him the way, Jaebeom slinked past you; a marginal waft of damp weed followed behind. 

What has gotten into you? This is Crusty Jae we’re talking about here. You are not meant to find him attractive. Nothing about him is meant to be attractive. But there you were - standing in your hallway, dumbfounded as you watched Jaebeom take off his shirt and wring it into your sink. You tried to tear your eyes away from how broad his shoulders were, or how all the muscles around his waist tensed as he squeezed all the water out of his shirt. You couldn’t even fight off the shiver that crawled down your spine when you watched his triceps flex when he pushed his hair off his face. You swallowed hard when that shiver landed right between your legs. 

“Like apparently, he would do something or they would see him do something and they’d just snap.” 

He didn’t see you come up behind him but he felt the hand you placed in the middle of his back. Turning to face you, his eyes were as dark as yours were crazed.  

“Sup.” His cheeto breath didn’t deter you.  

“You’re a pal, right?” You swore you couldn’t sound any more desperate. 

“Says so on my shirt.” You couldn’t quite figure out if it was Chipotle or Flamin’ Hot cheetos. But it wasn’t the time or the place. You had needs. 

“Be a pal then.” Jaebeom quirked a lewd and curious brow. “Get me off.” 

The speed of which he had his hands under your arms and lifting you onto the benchtop was frighteningly fast. Your shirt was pulled hastily over your head and thrown aside, your pants were torn down your legs equally as fast. You had no time to question, no time to doubt - not when Jaebeom’s mouth was on yours, his tongue rolling over your teeth as if searching for hidden cheetos in your cheeks. But with the way his thumb circled over your clit through your underwear, you weren’t going to complain. Go on, fish for those cheetos baby. 

Through wet and messy kisses, your hands tracked down his chest; stopping at his belt buckle. Of course, you thought, it was one of those snap closure canvas belts - ridiculously too long and matched his ridiculously baggy jeans. Nevertheless, you snapped open the buckle, fished it out of the loops and his pants fell instantly to the ground. 

Jaebeom broke away from your mouth, leaning back to make room for his hands to pull off your underwear; just to have his lips crash back into yours the moment the lace garment hit the floor. 

“Conmg-do. Cone--. Con-” You mumbled against his mouth. Strong hands pushed against his chest; disappointed eyes flashed for a moment, before turning devious at the sight of your naked breasts. 

“Condom.” He nodded and you swung around to grab one from the medicine cabinet. Rounding back to face him, you saw his underwear was on the ground, his very erect penis greeting you fully. Double Pepperoni…  

He ripped the wrapper open with his teeth, slid the condom expertly onto his length and caged you against the mirror in one fluid movement. He waited, paused for effect if you will and you weren’t having any of it. One hand scratched into his hair, the other pulled on the chain around his neck.

“Oh, you want me to stuff you do you?” Said with total hubris. 

“Like cheesy crust.” Who have you become?! 

Jabeom’s heavy hands found themselves on your hips, pulling you down onto his dick. He filled you wholly, deliciously; throbbing against your walls so achingly good that you didn’t even care that you could feel crumbs of garlic bread that did not belong to you in your mouth. 

He pounded you roughly; each thrust making you bounce on your porcelain sink. His hair, still wet, dripped onto your shoulder and down your back as his teeth marked your neck. Your bathroom began to fill with lewd and erotic noises, squelches and squeaks of wet flesh against wet flesh and some against hard surfaces. 

Jaebeom snapped his hips harder and harder into you, moans tumbled from your mouth as the orgasm you have craved for finally rounded the horizon. He was merciless, relentless, completely determined to drive you home. 

You yanked harder on the fist full of hair in your hand, ripping a loud and gravely groan from Jaebeom. Not one to be upstaged, Jaebeom shoved his hand into your hair, tangling his fingers into your bun and pulling down to expose more of your neck to him. His pace had not slowed down at all. 

He marked your neck, sucking and biting on your flesh so gloriously that you began to mewl - high pitched and needy, and it’s what sent Jaebeom over the edge. His hips snapped harder, forcing his dick deep into you; hitting spots you had forgotten about completely. 

Different colours were flashing behind your eyelids and you were close, so close. 

And as Jaebeom neared climax, he tore his hand out of your hair. Though in his earlier fervour, got so much of it tangled around his fingers and stuck under his ring, that your whole body was torn sideways and off the bench. 

Landing on the floor, shocked eyes watched Jaebeom ejaculate all over your sink as your own orgasm retreated away; shrivelling up into dust and blown away in the wind - his hand still stuck in your hair. How the fuck, wasn’t he wearing a condom, you thought, only for you to reach down and find it stuck inside your vagina, half hanging out. There was literally nowhere lower you could go. This, this is rock bottom. 

“Haha, holy fuck. Sorry babe.” Jaebeom leaned down and carefully untangled his fingers out of your hair. Towels were passed around for hygiene purposes and you almost vomited when you saw cheeto crumbs wedged between Jaebeom’s butt-cheeks. 

You weren’t really sure what happened after. You think Jaebeom said something crass. Or maybe he said thank you. In a crass way. Either way, he eventually left and the two hour shower you took still didn’t make you feel clean. Especially not after finding a half-dried pearl of cum on your toothbrush. 

But there was one thing you knew for sure. You totally snapped. 

Day 0

📧 to: cassandra.l@unisk.edu.com hey cass in the interest of our friendship and for the purposes of full transparency it has been 1 day since ive had sex and we will never speak of it again