#so pale forest or whatever seems... interesting

[drjdorr]

Slightly different feeling but the way I learned bedrock wasn't at y level zero anymore was I was mining away at my staircase to bedrock (I live underground, the bedrock staircase is an almost essential part of my base) and eventually I find deep slate. I'd been watching enough minecraft stuff to know about deep slate a deep new(ish) rock type, appearantly takes so long to mine(I was using unenchanted iron, wasn't so bad. Don't know what the max enchant diamond tooled beacon boosted people were complaining about), builders appearantly enjoy it. So that was neat.

After a while I check the cords, getting pretty low, should be hitting bedrock pretty soon... several layers more, y level zero, no bedrock. Eh, usually it isn't at exactly zero. Does it go below? Probably. Just a few more layers should do it.... after quite a few more layers, I definitely should have hit bed rock... right? Like it varies but not by this much. Did I miss an update where they removed bedrock? Does it just keep going and going down forever? No surely not, they have all those advancements involving dropping down to world bottom can't have that if there isn't a bottom... right? Exept... the bottom was tens of blocks above me.

Eventually I looked it up to put my mind at ease that I wasn't going crazy or something and learned that they had dropped bedrock deep below y level zero. The really funny part though? If memory serves, after looking up how deep the new bedrock level was I went on, mined one more layer, and there it was, bedrock

every time some jerk complains about the new minecraft update “not adding any value to the game” i think about that one jschlatt clip where he discovers a lush cave for the first time and is genuinely rendered speechless by its beauty. so much of minecraft’s charm and beauty is exploring and discovering new lands and generation and falling in love with a world that was made for you and to love you

who give a shit if the pale garden doesn’t “add” anything game breaking. it will be worth it for the hundreds of thousands of players who stumble upon it by chance. only a few people will be able to relate to being handed a new op block/mechanism on a platter but everyone remembers the feeling of still being new to minecraft and the wonder of uncovering all its quirks. it’s about the loving the universe for its smallest of features and creatures as the love letters tho humanity that they are not exploiting the universe for all that its worth jackass ‼️‼️‼️

[joi-ryde]

it's officially solstice month for us Northern Hemisphere folks! ☀️

we're talking languid, hot days burning into steamier nights—monsters tied to the seasons hitting their mid-year ruts with the zenith of the solar calendar in June.

what better way to celebrate the midpoint of the year than with a scribble about a horned forest god and a reader who can only hope to outrun her fate (or perhaps not?)

(this was inspired by that cunty demon deer man, you know the one)

Horned God x Reader, Part One

male!god(demon?) x fem!reader, monster romance, blood, references to cannibalism, no smut (for now...later parts smut, we're building to it)

You've been trying to escape him for hours, and all you've managed to do is run out of daylight.

Soon, you're going to be bolting through the dark, and falling into a ravine is going to kill you quicker than whatever is chasing you.

His forest domain has become a maze that confounds your sense of direction and leaves you feeling completely lost—a familiar rock there, a thicket that has already been tagged with a torn piece of your shirt.

You double over and feel a stabbing, sharp pain between your ribs as you try to catch your breath.

The god, or demon, is fucking with you. You're certain of it as you stand there sweating through a pair of jogging shorts and your ragged, grass-stained tee shirt, collecting your thoughts on what the hell you could do next to escape a grim outcome.

And what is it that makes you think you're in for a bad ending like the final girl in a slasher flick?

Well, you're a soft eighty percent certain that the cultists who snatched you off the walking trail did so with a mind to giftwrap their chosen deity (possibly a demon, but then again one person's demon is another guy's deity) a whole ass snack.

Their setup had indicated as much. You were positioned, kicking and screaming, in a summoning circle, your palm cut, and erupting out of the very fabric of reality when your blood hit the chalk marks on the ground was a seven-foot, horned entity.

But what seemed off-script from what you anticipated next (being immediately devoured) was that everyone, even the monster the cultists called a god, seemed oddly perplexed you had slipped your bindings and bolted into the undergrowth.

What's also off-script about this situation?

The god has taken a flirty shine to you little ole you during this long pursuit. His purring interest has been constant over the last hour especially.

He asks after your name, which you refuse to give him.

He wheedles you to stop running, for he so wishes to speak candidly with you. You ignore him.

He praises your courage, your steadfast resistance, and you tell him to fuck off straight to Hell where he came from. That only makes him laugh.

"Darling, are you going to keep making such a fuss about this?"

Again with the pet names.

The voice is like sticking a tuning fork between your teeth. It reverberates in your bones and strokes over your nerves at the same time as if to say 'There, there.'

It projects from no one place in the forest clearing surrounding you. It's everywhere. It's nowhere.

"I am not," you spit, "your fucking darling, asshole!"

Is he trying to scare you afresh? Does prey that is especially keyed up with fear taste better? Does terror from the chase sweeten the meat?

You've stopped being afraid and now are only working yourself into a lather of curiosity and peevish annoyance.

And then the god steps out of your goddamn shadow and looms over you. You're frozen to the spot. Your legs, burning with the strain of having run for so long, crumple under you like wet paper. You grip the long grass underneath for something to hold onto.

It's your first good look at him.

Your panicked brain registers clawed hands that are blackened velveteen fading into pale skin once they reach his corded biceps. A sharp-featured face peers down at you with lazy, amused curiosity dancing in his red eyes.

The rack of antlers sweeping high from the crown of his dark-haired head almost brushes the lowest branch of the tree you're under.

"What a temper on you," he purrs, adding with dripping emphasis, "darling."

Oh, for fuck's sake, you despair. Of course he's hot.

Outwardly, you put on the tough, unflappable act that has gotten you out of tight squeezes. "Look, I get you've got to put on the whole big and bad act, but I need you to please cut the shit and speed this up."

The horned god rests an elbow on the trunk of the nearby alder. He leers down at you with that same faint amusement, drumming his claws against the bark of the tree. You try not to look at the gouge marks even this minor contact causes. It sizzles the wood, burning it.

"I've never had a mortal ask me to speed things along. It's quite refreshing from the usual drivel."

This devastatingly attractive god has a voice like oil: smooth, slippery, and a fucking peril to let it saturate your hearing.

He's wearing a skirt-kilt thing knotted around his angular waist that reminds you of all the artfully draped cloth over statues of Lucifer post-fall from grace.

The rest of his towering body filling your vision is a leanly muscled, naked chest covered in whorls of inked markings. His appearance is as hypnotic as his voice. You're dizzy with pinning your eyes on one spot. Pale, dark, pale, dark.

You resolve that you're going to die how you have lived: running off at the mouth and meeting his unflinching eye contact with a steely glare.

"Are you usually this much of a snotty asshole when it comes to appeasing those sycophants who ring your lunch bell? Give them a little dinner theater for their trouble?"

The god lets out an airy, amused chuckle, more of a giggle, really. Look at you! You've got the seven-foot killing machine tittering like a schoolgirl.

"I've no desire to consume you," he patiently reassures, and then he crouches down to your seated level. He reaches for you with his dark claws. "Now give me your hand, please."

He asks politely, genteelly, like it's the most normal thing in the world to request you stick out your arm, and by the by, he's not here to fucking eat you. In fact, he's here to be the very spirit of politeness.

Maybe you should humor him. You're in no position to refuse. Your legs are going numb from how they're folded under you.

"Which one?"

"The one they cut, of course," he says.

An impatient waggle of his big hand reminds you you're taking too long to go along with this. You do as he says and try not to flinch when his hand, dwarfing yours, is so big that his fingers close over your wrist when he cradles it.

His tongue lolls out, he leans in, and it's then you get a look at the serrated teeth he's sporting. They gleam like a knife in the fading light of dusk, and you let out a soft, shocked sound when the dark, leonine roll of the god's tongue swipes the wound.

It's clotted since you began fleeing through the woods, but the rake of his textured tongue, rough and firm, abrades the flesh and opens it anew.

It stings, and you want to jerk your hand back, but his hold is iron. There's a contented rumble that comes from the air around you. It reverberates the ground you're sprawled across, tickling your skin and raising hairs in its wake. And then it emanates from him; alright, he's into it.

A little too into it.

A fleeting thought of him wrenching your arm from its socket so he can chew on it like a choice bone makes you want to pass out, so you hold firm and let him lave over the wound like suffering the attentions of an overly large dog.

And then the cut starts to tingle. It feels...nice. When he relinquishes your hand after a minute of therapeutic licking and ground-vibrating purring, all that's left of the wound is a fresh, pink scar.

"I might have to revise my statement," he informs you gravely, still crouched. His elbows are set into his powerful thighs and his deadly hands hang idle between them.

"Which one?" you ask, dreading his answer. You clutch your newly healed hand to your throat, instinctually guarding a weak spot that those terrible teeth could rip and tear.

"The bit about not consuming you. Frankly, you're fucking delicious, darling."

And then you see a subtle twitch at the corner of one of his red eyes—a tell.

He's joking.

You call him out on his bullshit immediately.

"Oh, fuck off, man."

He laughs uproariously, slapping his knee, and you have to restrain yourself from reaching out to shove him onto his back. He topples over in his mirth, sprawling out on his side like a lion lazing in the last rays of sunlight.

Any residual terror fades to amused annoyance. Of all the gods to summon, you get the teaser. You are, for now, safe. He can call you darling all day long if it means you keep a pulse.

"No, but in all seriousness," he sobers, digging an elbow in the springy grass so he can rest his great, antlered head on his fist. "We're in a bit of a bind, darling."

How he puts that statement to you is like you're on the same team, folding in for a huddle to discuss the next big move, and plotting out the winning strategy.

The sun dips behind the horizon and the cascade of light illuminating the forest snuffs out like a candle.

"How so?" you lean in cautiously, mindful of your proximity to his antlers. It'd be the worst to poke your eye out on one of his prongs, and you don't want to find out if him licking your eyeball will restore your sight.

"The folk back in the glade aren't winning any prizes at summoning, I'm afraid to say. The nature of their ritual they used to call me to this plane is more...carnal, to tell you true, and meant to benefit you more than them."

Oh. Oh.

"Like a sex thing?" you venture, picking at the grass beneath your hands.

"Not entirely. That particular summoning binds a bride to me, not my dinner."

(AN: Holler if you want to be tagged when I post PT. 2!)

[olderthannetfic]

This ask is an experiment. When it comes out of OTNF's queue I'll send a followup ask explaining it, that should give people some time to respond naturally.

Please read this portion of a story (it's about 700 words) and let me know what you think of it.Be mean. I'm not an author wanting to improve my craft or find community, I'm just looking for bald faced honesty. Comment as if you're giving concrit or reviewing for other readers, and please point out anything you find confusing, strange, wrong, or off about it. Critique the writing, the story, or both, whatever stands out to you.

If you think you know what I'm up to, go ahead and share that, too :)

__________________________________________

The knight stood motionless, his black armor gleaming coldly in the pale moonlight that filtered through the ancient forest canopy. His face was hidden behind a visored helm, but the air around him seemed to crackle with barely contained power.

Suddenly, a twig snapped nearby, alerting the knight to another presence. Slowly, he turned his head towards the sound, the joints of his armor creaking ominously. A young man emerged from the shadows, his eyes wide with fear as he took in the imposing figure before him. The knight remained silent, simply regarding the intruder with an unblinking stare. The young man swallowed hard, his voice quavering as he spoke.

"P-please, sir knight, I mean you no harm. I'm just lost and looking for shelter."

The knight did not respond immediately, instead taking a step closer to the frightened youth. His gauntleted hand reached up slowly, grasping the edge of his helm.

As the knight's armored fingers curled beneath the edge of his helm, the young man held his breath in anticipation. With a slow, deliberate motion, the knight lifted the visor, revealing a face that was both hauntingly beautiful and terrifyingly cold. Pale skin stretched taut over high cheekbones, and eyes that glowed with an unnatural blue light bored into the youth's own. The knight's lips, thin and bloodless, curled into a smile that held no warmth. He reached out with one gauntleted hand, grabbing the front of the young man's shirt and yanking him forward until their bodies pressed close. The youth gasped at the sensation of cold metal against his bare skin, the knight's armor biting into his flesh.

"You should not wander these woods alone,"

The knight's voice was a low rumble, filled with an otherworldly echo. His eyes gleamed with predatory intent as they roamed over the youth's exposed chest.

"Many dangers lurk here for the unwary." One gloved hand slid up the young man's back, the cold metal sending shivers through his body.

"But perhaps...you have stumbled upon something far more dangerous than wild beasts." The knight leaned in closer, his face mere inches from the youth's. The young man could feel the knight's cool breath ghosting over his skin.

"I am Lord Valarian, master of this domain. And you, my dear boy, have piqued my interest." His other hand came up to grip the youth's chin, tilting his head back to expose the pale column of his throat.

"Tell me, what brings such a tempting little morsel to my woods? Surely you must know that wandering unprotected is asking for trouble."

The youth swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing beneath the knight's fingers.

"I...I was seeking shelter for the night," he stammered, his voice trembling.

"My horse threw a shoe and I...I couldn't go any further." He tried to pull back slightly, but found himself held fast by the knight's iron grip. Lord Valarian chuckled darkly, the sound sending a chill down the young man's spine.

"Is that so? How unfortunate for you." His thumb brushed over the youth's lower lip, a gesture that was almost tender if not for the wicked glint in his eyes.

"And now here you are, at my mercy." Suddenly, the knight's hand tightened around the youth's throat, shoving him back against a nearby tree trunk. The rough bark bit into his skin as he was pinned in place.

"I could snap your neck right here and now,"Lord Valarian growled, pressing his armored body flush against the youth's naked torso.

"Or perhaps..." His grip on the young man's throat loosened slightly, but he made no move to release him. Lord Valarian leaned in close, his lips brushing against the youth's ear as he spoke in a voice that dripped with dark promise.

"Perhaps I will keep you alive...for now. Put you to work serving me and my...appetites." His free hand slid down the youth's body, roughly palming the growing bulge in his trousers. The young man whimpered, his hips bucking involuntarily into the knight's touch.

"Mmm, such a responsive little toy," Lord Valarian purred, giving the hardening length a firm squeeze.

"I wonder how many ways I can make you scream before dawn breaks." With a sudden movement, he released the youth and stepped back, his armor clinking ominously in the still night air.

"Strip. Leave your clothes here and follow me. If you disobey..." He left the threat hanging, the implied consequences clear in his tone.

--

I look forward to the icons of teal cervids.

[balrogballs]

Hi Balls, I love your writing and I just read your Maglor/Glorfindel story after your latest fic about Feanor. Can I just ask why your Maglor is sometimes, like in that story, kind of rude and sarcastic? Your style keeps me reading, but I’m used to Maglor being more wholesome, or regretful, and I wanted to ask your justification for him being like, kind of mean in his responses. Is it an anti fanon thing or what, because he’s supposed to be the most pentitent brother so it’s interesting to see

continueing here. See him being sarkie about Elrond, or cocky about his looks, when he’s characterized as being repentent and not so confident, because of his trauma? I love your prose and it makes it interesting to read, but maybe explain your justification? Is it that his trauma doesn’t xist in the story,? Has he got over it ooor is he using it as a shield? All 3 sound possible

Hello hello!

So I assume you mean this fic? It was a last minute pinch hit fill for the Slashy Valentine event, more of a short vignette than anything. This question skipped to the top of my queue just so I could make this joke: if I had a nickel for every time someone asked me to justify a fanfic decision in the last week, I’d have two nickels… (just joking, not @-ing you at all!). Sorry about how long this is, I am very insufferable and like to ramble, but yes enjoy some thoughts about my conception of Maglor (and a little bit of Maedhros as well towards the end) across most of my fics.

So two things: firstly, some of the wording in the setup of that Valentine fic is directly drawn from an old fic I had up, in which Maglor was a bird-guy living in a forest near Lindon running a bird conservation project, which I took down after a couple of months and repurposed for other writing ventures.

And in that one, Maglor absolutely is judgy, sarcastic and “lmao memes” about most things, will not hesitate a second to call Elrond out when he’s acting like a dweeb, and some of the most fun I had writing anything was when I was writing the dialogues between him and 4 y/o Baby Arwen (who if you’ve read my earlier LotR stories, you’ll know is extremely spoilt and very much daddy’s little princess).

Reason I mention that fic is because that was the first proper or substantial Maglor-centric bit of writing I’d ever attempted and so that characterisation carries over to other fics of mine to various degrees as well, depending on setting and the role Maglor plays in the fics…

It really isn’t some sort of “anti-fanon” move, whatever that is supposed to mean… I don’t exactly make it a habit to rail against fanon as a rule, the only fic I’d say fulfills that criteria to some extent is that Mae/Elw fic, but even that is just 80% me wanting them to fuck and finding it very hot.

I just like to interpret Maglor in the way I characterise him, as you describe, snarky, judgemental and droll. There are still fanon elements to it: he’s very parental, grandparental as well, he was a very involved parent regardless of what form it takes or effect it has, whether positive or negative. Maglor in my AU also follows along those lines, just in a different context… and his very close relationship with Arwen was a pretty solid thread in some of my older works, iirc The Great Impossible showcases that best… and yes, there too he’s very laid back and honestly can be a bit of a dick, especially with his “naming 3000 generations of cats after Thingol” and “finding a very ugly cat and calling it Teleporno, only to change its name after Teleporno was nice to him”.

I don’t think it’s a beyond-the-pale characterisation, or one that seems incompatible with canon. The guy spent his life in Valinor lauded as the world’s greatest singer and what not, was a professional mummy’s boy and was a prince for most of his life. Him having a stick up his ass wouldn’t really be out of the ordinary: imagine if Beyoncé and Prince Harry were combined into one person. You’d be sitting at court bitching about people’s outfits too if you were Maglor. And then you’re commanding forces in a war, so you still have a level of authority: the Fëanorians in Beleriand weren’t exactly destitute and begging on the street getting whipped by Thingol or whatever, they absolutely had power and wealth.

Maglor was weary of his Oath and heartsick by the end, but he was still a Fëanorian, he was still part of their wider project in Middle-Earth, not only took part in the slayings but composed music about it, etc. I used to have a little joke that Maglor was the Rudyard Kipling of the Noldor and that the Noldolantë was the pointy-eared equivalent to the White Man’s Burden poem but I stopped making it when someone tried to bite my head off for it… 😭 anyway, yes, I did not and don’t write him as someone who was opposed to it from Day One, but someone in whom regret and self-disgust grew as the Noldor-in-ME project continued.

So him not being a perfectly polite and “choose kindness always” uwu bean does track with his character in my view… it’s all just different interpretations, not exactly some act of rebellion against fanon or whatever.

Re: trauma and characterisation, I fielded this same question about Maedhros when writing Cast in Stone, but in that case it was “why is he literally deranged, like person-needing-a-straitjacket deranged instead of having a classic presentation of PTSD and depression?”

I think one thing it’s important to mention when it comes to fandom/fanwork, not just in this fandom but in general, is that trauma presents in many ways, and they’re not all going to be a) relatable b) easily mappable into Anglo DSMV terminology c) palatable. As a general rule, for both personal and literary reasons, I am always keen on exploring “madness” in fantasy. I wasn’t interested in writing Maedhros as a “guy who did big violence and then felt bad about it” neat binary, wanted to show a fractured psyche which, in my writing, presents as outright mental instability.

And yeah it’s clear in Prayers what’s going on in his head, but because Cast in Stone was set in canonverse I had a few questions in about why I did that, to which my answer was: while the story was as a whole an exploration of historiography/who-writes-history-and-how, the emotional climax of it was when Elrond admits to Estel that the reason for all that historical cherrypicking and statue-building was not due to his own personal opinion about either the Fëanorians or his parents or anything like that which you’d expect, but rather the result of a residual, misplaced anger towards Maedhros for taking his own life. And that perspective is absolutely a thing with the immortal Eldar (see: Elwing being put into a fucking tower and having to live apart from the rest of the Eldar??? 😭) but it’s also a prevalent attitude in the real world, the language of blame and accusations of “selfishness”.

And what the fic was doing was also trying to explain Maedhros’ psyche, his own outlook towards his pre-reembodiment actions, even outright telling Elrond that he’d have done it again if he was in that spot with those stakes again. Not a palatable response nor a “mentally well” one, but re-embodiment/immortality =/= cure-all, and Maedhros still being a freak on his second round in ME was just more interesting to me. And personally again, I don’t want to write Maedhros grovelling to Elrond apologising for his suicidality: in CiS he straight up says he won’t apologise, and that’s just my preference and outlook when it comes to something like that. In fact, the only explicit apology I’ve ever written for him across all my fics has been a direct one to Elwing as an individual, which takes various forms in various works, and that is not even for the violence or kinslaying or any of that (because it’s not exactly something you can “apologise” for) but rather for the specific action of driving her to attempt exactly what he later also did.

And it’s a similar sort of view I hold with Maglor, just much less intense: where the child-rearing is genuine, he grows to love them swiftly and he’s good to them, but there’s definitely a sense of atonement to it at the start, a la Kite Runner (🙄 reference, i know sorry). And someone who I write to take that approach and views things through a self-fashioned morality code (which has both good and kind elements but also elements inherited from Fëanor/general Noldor worldviews), I don’t think—again I’m talking about how I write him, not how anyone should, or even talking in canon terms—he necessarily needs to explicitly beg everyone he meets for forgiveness on *their* terms if that makes sense?

I kind of regret pulling that bird-story now because it makes stuff a bit clearer re: what I’m trying to explain here, but yeah that was his and Elrond’s first meeting since the First Age, and it very much operated on a “yeah this happened and it was shit, and you know I regret it and that I’m sorry, but okay let’s solve the problem you have now” basis. And that’s just the approach I took, I have enjoyed reading stuff where there’s an explicit forgiveness narrative especially when it’s not tropey or woobified, but as a writer I chose this other option, that’s all.

Essentially, I don’t think he needs to perform his insecurities and be outwardly self-disgusted until someone tells him he shouldn’t. Insecurity and self-hatred, if present, can manifest in ways other than weeping at Elrond’s feet, I think? Again, there’s works that do that very well and unpick it nicely, it’s just that I didn’t go that route. Especially because I don’t write Elrond as a paragon of virtue whose primary trait is unequivocally-good-despite-trauma, that trait is present yes but I still write him to have flaws, ie historical blindness (interesting in the context of him being a living archive) as well as his own biases that come from his experiences, some inherited and others from serving under Gil-galad in the Second Age… so achieving Elrond’s forgiveness, specifically, isn’t the crux of any of the kidnap-fam related stories I’ve written?

Finally, I also don’t think being someone who is sorrowful/lonely/abject needs to be someone who spends all their time crying (Maedhros in Prayers is a good example of that opinion of mine lol!) and carrying over some personality traits from your Beyonce x Prince Harry era I think is not exactly either a rebellion from fanon or canon, nor a particularly impossible characteristic to have in his circumstances.

So yeah, just my interpretation, which I’ve explained above… I love reading other takes on him and think other readings work well too of course, this was just what I chose.

Hope this all makes sense and sorry for the essay, but hey, you asked! 🤪 I was in the middle of writing some meta re: Prayers (because I’m still very irritated about that one condescending read) when this turned up and distracted me…

[whatsthethinking]

Beauty and the Beast (2)

Jake Sully x Fem!Reader

All Jake wants is a chance to prove that he’s good enough.

↦ Word count: 3.5k

↦ Warning: Nothing that I caught but let me know if there is,, ooc Tsu'tey

↦ Note: Bold italics = speaking Na’vi. 

↦ Part 2 of ?

[Part 1] ⟡ [Part 3]

The move from Hell’s Gate to Site 26 was as hectic as Jake expected. Especially with Grace watching his every move. As Norm and Trudy were loading the rotorcraft and Grace had her back turned, Jake was pulled to the side by Quaritch who asked, demanded, that Jake continue to keep giving updates on the Na’vi along with hinting that he will be watching any vlogs he records. Jake halfheartedly agreed as he felt eyes lingering on him.

“So, where we going?” Jake questioned, removing his bag.

“There’s a mobile link up at Site 26, way up in the mountains,” Grace replied, not looking up from whatever was on the desk.

“The Hallelujah Mountains?” Norm’s voice cut through the air, laced with curiosity and wonder.

“That’s right.”

“Seriously? Are you serious?”

Yeah,” Grace confirmed.

Jake looked at Norm, confusion on his face as he waited for an explanation.

“The legendary mountains of Pandora?” Jake continued to look blankly which seemed to upset Norm further. “Useless. Maybe you should stay here.” With that, Norm walked off with Jace close behind, rolling his eyes.

The skies of Pandora were clear, with barely any clouds. Looking down, Jake was fascinated by how the landscape changed. From the grey grounds and smoke fumes surrounding Hell’s Gate to the luscious green forests. Seeing the change, an unusual feeling settled in his chest, one that he would liken to guilt. The guilt of what he became a part of.

Suddenly, Trudy jerked the aircraft to the side slightly. Grace looked out of the side. The wind tousled her hair. She nodded her head toward a group of purple flying creatures passing by. “The Na’vi call them Fkio, it’s rare to see them flying this far from the wetlands. They must be migrating.”

Norm looked ecstatic hearing this information, Trudy did too. Jake hummed in interest as he looked out beside him.

“We’re getting close,” Grace announced.

“Yeah,” Trudy agreed, with a chuckle, “look at my instruments.”

Suddenly, it was as though all the clouds appeared at once. Trudy announced that the aircraft had to fly blind which caused the look of excitement to vanish from Norm’s face as it paled. As Trudy broke through the clouds, the sun hit Jake’s face and he was presented with a sight he doubted he would have thought of on a good day.

“Oh, my, god,” Norm managed to articulate as Trudy flew between two enormous mountains. Trudy had made a comment that went unnoticed as everyone drank in the sight.

“If you behave, I’m sure y/n will give you a tour.” Jake scoffed at Norm’s mumbling, shaking his head and continued to watch the mountains as they passed by.

–

As Jake got out of the aircraft and into his wheelchair. He paused to take a look around. The sheer scale of everything around him was breathtaking yet intimidating. There was no feeling like it.

Being exposed to Pandora without his avatar was a daunting experience for Jake. He felt exposed, vulnerable. As much as he was enjoying the sites, Jake was glad to be getting inside.  

“Catch up, Jake.” Trudy shouted ahead of him, “You have an important date!”. Jake’s lip quirked up at the side as he slowly rolled himself forward. The terrain proved to not be that wheelchair friendly but with a lot of upper body strength, Jake managed to get himself into the lab and was greeted to the site of Grace marching around checking all the equipment. 

“Your beds over there, put your stuff down and come eat,” Grace instructed, not giving him a second look.

Jake followed her orders and threw his bag onto an empty bed and rolled his way in between Grace and Trudy. The group sat and ate in silence, listening to nature just outside of the window. A complete change to sitting in Hell’s Gate, listening to the mines drilling away, the consistent scratching of the speakers overhead.

“So…” Jake started, dragging out the vowel, “How do I get y/n to like me?” Jake spooned what he thinks is soup into his mouth, and when he didn’t get a response, he looked up to see Grace, Norm and Trudy looking at him with unrecognisable expressions, “What?”

“Why do you wanna know that?” Norm questioned, his voice having a certain edge to it.

“I don’t wanna piss her off and get dropped again.” Jake shrugged, “I could use all the help I can get.”

“I’m not telling you how to butter her up.” Grace started, “You need to get her to like her on your own.”

“One little hint won’t hurt though, will it?”

Grace sighed and put down her spoon, her face growing serious. Jake was sure he was about to be scolded again. “Just act like you want to be there, listen to her. The rest will come naturally. Y/n’s a good girl, she’ll make sure you’ll learn something.” Grace paused to look at her watch, “Right, you’ve got 20 minutes until you need to be in your avatar. Finish eating.”

Jake nodded and focused on eating, taking in Grace’s advice.

–

Y/n sat patiently at the base of Home Tree waiting for Jake to wake up, she had gone to check on his avatar body not too long ago but she got no response. For the first time in a long time, y/n felt nervous. She had felt it during the night which kept her awake and the feeling had carried over into the next day.

Y/n felt as though she was suddenly under pressure to make sure Jake learnt enough so that he could be accepted by her people. She felt like not only was she doing this for Jake but for Grace too.

Y/n sighed, crouching beside the skull of Toruk, she wasn't sure how long she had been waiting but boredom was starting to set in. She watched the different clan members go about their day, some asking if she would play with them which she softly declined stating that she was busy, “You don’t look very busy.”

“Not right now, but I will be.”

“Please y/n.” The children pleaded in unison, y/n was about to agree since she wasn’t sure when Jake would turn up but she was stopped by the sound of someone stumbling down the stairs to her right.

“Hi. Sorry, I'm late.” Jake apologised, coming to y/n’s side, “it won’t happen again.”

Standing up gracefully, y/n nodded, dismissing his apology, “No need to worry. Shall we go?”

“But y/n.” One of the children voiced, standing between her and Jake. Y/n reassured them that they could all play together when she got back and with some convincing the children agreed.

–

As they left Home Tree, Jake caught Neytiri’s eye and looked down sheepishly, feeling the disapproval of him rolling off of her in waves. 

Y/n and Jake walked in silence, side by side. Jake noticed that wherever they were heading was becoming less and less populated. 

“Where are we heading?” Jake asked nervously, “Shouldn’t we be heading to where all the training is done?”

“We will get there,” y/n started, brushing away a large leaf that was in their path, “but we should get to know each other first, shouldn’t we?”

“Uh, yeah. We should.” Jake agreed awkwardly.

It was silent before y/n started telling Jake what she enjoyed, “there is so much to, so many people to meet. I love the forest, it is home but there is so much to explore.”, the passion was evident in y/n’s voice as she explained this to Jake. It was clear that y/n had a thirst for life, something Jake was yet to feel.

“What do you like to do?”

This stumped Jake, what did he like to do? If he really thought about it, he didn’t really like anything. He wasn’t good at anything. So in response, all Jake could do was shrug.

“What does that mean?” Y/n voice was laced with curiosity as she mimicked his action, “You must like to do something? You work with ma sa’nok, so you must like flowers?”

“Ma who?” Jake questioned but was met with a shrug from y/n, a small smile on her face. “But no. I don’t really like flowers.” Jake admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Oh… So why are you here? Working with people who like flowers if you don’t?”

Jake hesitated before he answered, “My brother died? And they needed someone to take his place and since we’re identical twins, I was their first option.”

“What is a idenical twin?”

“Identical,” Jake corrected, “it is when two children are born at the same time.”

“Hm, we don’t have that here. Do you have that a lot on Earth?”

“I think so. My dad was a twin and so was his dad. I guess if I ever have kids, they might be twins too.”

“Would you like that? To have children? Twins?”

“I think so, I don’t think I’d be the best dad though. What about you? Do you want kids?”

“I would like to travel more before I find my mate and have children. I would like to show my children this world…” Jake watched as a smile danced onto y/n’s face which made him smile also, but he wondered why he was discussing the idea of having children with a stranger from another planet but it felt right.

“So, what has Neytiri taught you?” Y/n questioned.

“Shooting and climbing? Both I’m bad at.” Jake admitted with a chuckle. “I also tried riding a direhorse but I landed face-first in the mud every time.”

Y/n looked to the ground and watched Jake’s feet as he spoke, she noticed that he slightly dragged his feet. So she stopped, allowing him to walk ahead slightly. Once Jake noticed, he turned around, an eyebrow raised, “are we stopping?”

“No, no. I am just watching. I think we should work on pon.”

“Pon? I don’t know what you mean?”

“This,” y/n stretched her arms out and took a few steps forward until they were an arm’s length away from one another, “like this.”

“Balance?” 

“You walk as though you’ve only just gotten your legs. I hear you before I see you.”

“You’re partially correct,” Jake mumbled. 

Jake stood awkwardly as y/n circled him. She stood behind him and put one of her hands on his shoulder and one on his lower back, “stand straighter and when you walk, do not drag your feet, it is noisy.” Jake took in the correction and the two set off again. 

For the next hour or so, the pair spent just walking directionless. Y/n would often correct his posture and point out different plants or animals they came across. It was refreshing. Jake found it comforting that they hadn’t started with anything extreme and that if he asked to take a break, y/n would stop without any questions. 

Jake became lost in thought, thinking about what he was going to tell Quaritch when he demanded an update and hadn’t noticed that y/n was no longer by his side until he reached a body of water surrounded by twisted vines and branches. Jake spun on the spot but could not see y/n anywhere. A part of him felt concerned, had something happened and he didn’t notice? Another part of him knew that if something did happen, y/n would be able to defend herself. But overall, Jake was lost. Had y/n abandoned him? Did he do something wrong?

As Jake was about to leave, and retrace his steps, he heard rustling behind him.

“Come on Jake, catch up!”

Jake watched as y/n emerged on the other side of the lake, a smile decorating her face.

“Across this?” Jake pointed to the narrow tree trunk beside him, it stretched the whole way across but did not look like it would be strong enough to support his weight.

“Yes, come on!”

Jake hesitated, but stepped up to it, walking across. He held his arms out to the sides for balance but kept his eyes down, making sure he didn't fall off the edge.

“Eyes up!”

Jake followed the instruction but as soon as he did, he lost his footing and toppled off of the side, straight into the water. As he resurfaced, wiping his eyes, he could hear the sound of laughter. He looked up to see y/n covering her mouth. Jake chuckled standing to his full height, the water settling just below his waist. Jake slowly waded through the water to the shore where y/n was still laughing quietly.

“Where did you go?” He questioned, brushing away the wet hair falling into his face. “How did you get over here so fast?”

“I’m sorry, Jake.” y/n began with a giggle, “You were doing so well with your walking, I didn't want to interrupt. And I walked. Up there.” Y/n pointed above their heads where a large winding tree trunk stretched across. “I was watching you, I won’t let anything eat you before your lessons are over.” 

“How lovely of you,” Jake responded sarcastically, y/n nodded along, ignoring his comment. Jake wondered if she even knew what sarcasm was.

“Shall we try again?” Y/n asked enthusiastically, reaching forward to brush wet leaves and grass off Jake’s arm. “I won’t leave you this time.”

“What happened to just walking?” Jake’s hand followed the path that y/n’s had taken, “that was more than walking.”

“We can do more walking later, I want to see more of your, uh, balance. You will need it later.” 

So Jake tried again, he walked along the tree, hands out to his side, and once again as soon as he looked ahead and not down at his feet. He landed in the water with y/n laughing above him.

–

Norm shuffled around at his new desk, trying to push down the ever-growing feeling of envy that would bubble to the surface every time he thought about Jake being taught the ways of the Omatikaya. To him, it wasn’t fair. Norm had spent years upon years studying and learning about the Na’vi and put everything on hold to come all the way to Pandora but it was Jake who was given the experience. Norm knew that Jake didn’t come to Pandora for research and science and yet he is the one getting the best benefits.

Lost in his jealous thoughts, Norm had knocked a stack of Grace’s notebooks to the floor. He quickly dropped down and began to gather them before Grace came back inside to see the mess he had caused. As he reached for the final spiral notebook, a handmade envelope fell out. Norm stared at it before picking it up cautiously. He turned it over to read ‘y/n’s Iknimaya, first try ✓, June 13th, 2144’. Now he was curious.

Standing to his full height and quickly looking over his shoulder to check if anyone was approaching when he spotted Grace speaking animatedly with Trudy, he took his chance and opened the envelope. Sitting neatly inside was a card that held 4 photographs, all showcasing y/n different other Na’vi from the clan. 

The first and second photos showed y/n standing with who Norm assumed was Tsu’tey and another girl he did not recognise. He turned it over and saw Grace’s writing in the middle, ‘y/n, Tsu’tey, Sylwanin :)”

The third photograph was of y/n and an older Na’vi man, comparing the faces, Norm assumes that this was y/n’s father. The proud look on his face helped him conclude this. 

The last photograph showed y/n and Grace in her avatar. Y/n was on Grace’s back with a large smile on her face, Grace had one to match. There was a certain look on Grace’s face, it matched the man in the previous photo. 

“What are you doing?” Norm was started by the voice behind him and almost dropped the envelope again.

“Nothing, nothing.” Norm cleared his throat, placing the envelope on the desk, “it fell and uh.”

Grace nodded, walking forward and putting the gifted shell in the corner. She then picked up the envelope, took out the card and opened it for Norm to see. 

“Thank for beliving in my.” Written somewhat messily in pencil. 

“Y/n made me this card the day after she passed her iknimaya, she was so happy when she tamed her ikran, she couldn't wait to take to the sky and explore. She was so young, one of the youngest.”

“Wow, did you watch?”

“I did, she begged me to be there. But I would've gone regardless.”

“What was it like? To watch?”

“It was,” Grace paused as she thought back to the rite of passage, “I was worried for her, scared even. She had worked so hard towards it, preparing almost every waking moment but she was so young. Just about to turn 12. But watching her complete it, tame her ikran and fly for the first time without her father, it was breathtaking to see.” The fondness in Grace’s voice was easily detected. “I’m so proud of her.”

Norm couldn’t hold his tongue, looking over in the direction of Jake’s linkpod, “will Jake get to do his iknimaya?”

“With y/n as his teacher, I’m sure she will consider preparing him for it.”

“Oh.” Norm’s shoulders deflated at the thought of Jake gaining another experience from his time on Pandora, Grace must’ve seen his face fall because she placed a gentle arm, “Don’t feel too discouraged at this, Jake’s a fool and somehow got lucky. I’m sure your time will come.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, I don’t see why not. Y/n will most likely come here soon, you can ask her to show you around.”

“Really?” Norm’s face seemed to brighten.

“Y/n is a sweet girl and she loves to make friends so I’m sure she would be happy to.”

Norm opened his mouth to ask a question about Grace’s relationship with the Na’vi but he didn't think it would be appropriate just yet since they did not know each other very well. Instead, he nodded with a smile before going back to organising his desk. 

—

After a long afternoon of walking and falling into the water, Jake and y/n had moved to y/n testing his balance while running, well jogging. Jake had found this much harder, tripping over his feet any time the terrain changed which y/n may’ve tried to hide her laugher at.

Overall, Jake would say that this had been the best day he’s had in the Pandora forest this far but of course, good things must come to an end.

“We can meet tomorrow? Get you running higher off of the ground?” 

“Ugh. So much fitness.” Jake joked, bringing  a smile to y/n’s face, “My feet hurt.”

“Stop whining, you sound like a baby.” Y/n poked Jake’s arm as they went their separate ways.

“See you tomorrow, y/n.”

“Bye bye, Jake.” And with that, y/n was gone, disappearing into the crowd. Jake manoeuvred his way around the edges, being stopped by a clan elder as they placed a wrapped leaf package into his hand, assuming its food.

Jake made his way back to his hammock, sitting on the branch overhead and ate the food in the leaf, not questioning what it was.

“Jake Sully,” Neytiri appeared almost out of nowhere, “y/n came back in a good mood, you did not disappoint her.”

“I’m glad, y/n’s great,” Jake commented.

Neytiri did not say anything in reply, she just nodded and walked away. Shrugging his shoulders, Jake finished his food and settled into the hammock and closed his eyes.

–

“How was your day with Jake Sully?” Tsu’tey asked as he sat beside y/n, facing the fire.

“It was good, I like him. He is good company.”

“You like him?” Tsu’tey scoffed, “Of course you would.”

“Do not be this way, Tsu’tey. It is not a good look for you.” Y/n joked, elbowing him softly, “He has shown me today that he has some willingness to learn, he deserves a chance.”

“Hmm, if you say so.”

“I do say so.”

Tsu’tey huffed, taking some food off of y/n’s food but y/n returned the favour, taking the whole leaf from Tsu’tey and walking off.

“Y/n!” Tsu’tey jogged after her, “Come back! Skxawng!”

“No! You’re a thief!”

“Me?! You stole my food!”

“You stole mine first!”

The pair continued to argue until they got to y/n’s family tent. Y/n walked in and Tsu’tey stormed in behind her.

“Sit down, dear cousin of mine.”

Tsu’tey sat down opposite y/n, snatching his food back. 

“Be nicer to him, for me.”

Tsu’tey stopped chewing and looked at y/n who was staring at him.

“No.”

–

Jake sighed as he settled into his bed, getting himself comfortable.

“How was it today?” 

Jake opened his eyes slightly to see Norm standing in the doorway.

“Good.” Jake closed his eyes again but didn’t hear Norm leave so he opened his eyes again, “Did you want something?”

“Don’t mess this up, for Grace.”

Jake looked at Norm blankly before rolling onto his side, “Don’t worry, I’m not planning on it.”

Translations:

Pon - balance

Iknimaya -  treacherous but fundamental rite of passage in which a young Na'vi hunter must select, capture, and successfully bond with one of the ikran who nest in the Hallelujah Mountains.

Taglist: @dorck26 @tangles711

[fallstreakfeathers]

WHERE LIGHT DWELLS

Warnings: au typical trauma, biting, Sekido bites you but not in the Fun Way, septic shock, vomiting. Not formatted for tumblr bc it takes forever on mobile We are now formatted for tumbl.hell, Reader is gn and not described.

Word Count: 8,085 8,385 8597(update as of 6/18/24)

If it's unreadable, try it on Ao3 : Where Light Dwells

( Taisho Secret: I don't like sekido.)

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Part 1

Your car purrs along the deserted backroad; a not-so-short-shortcut home to avoid the traffic on the main highway. The radio sings in the background, not that you’re really listening to it. You can’t even tell what’s playing over the wind that whips past your open window. Some old classics. Maybe country. It cuts in and out as cell service wanes. The scenery that blurs past your window is more interesting than whatever song manages to glitch its way into your car. You think that the atmosphere could fit a horror movie despite the daylight- it’s dilapidated enough, at least, and the wind pushes the canopy in a way that makes the creaking branches look as if they might just snatch you up. You drive over a pothole and the bumper jumps, jerking you in the seat. You wince. That definitely wasn’t there last time you traveled this way, but with the size of the storm that damaged the shingles on your neighbor's roof just a week ago, it was a miracle there were no downed logs. Yet. A dark, unusual shape catches your eye as you navigate the pits and ruts of overgrown foliage and litter amongst a twig-strewn dirt road. At first you ignore it- after all, it’s probably just another bag of trash someone’s dumped in the woods. But, something about the shape of that shadow tugs you back, and you hesitantly slow your vehicle and put the gear in reverse.

Gravel and dead leaves crunch under the wheels as you stop, and the closing door startles you in the uneasy peace of the forest. Even the birds seem quiet today. With cautious steps, aware that you are alone in the woods on a backroad that is so rarely traveled anymore that it’s more grass than dirt, you creep towards the dark figure and peer over the side of the ditch.

Your face pales. That’s… there’s a hand poking out from under a large bush. And ragged clothes that don't hide whatever it is from the suffocating heat. You’re trying not to freak out, praying it’s a mannequin, or even someone's… personal toy. Anything but a corpse. It stinks, a rotting, pungent sweetness that turns your stomach, and you can’t tell if it’s whatever is in front of you or if it’s the miles of trash and dead plants around you. Several steel wires had been wrapped around a cedar tree behind the bush, and you swallow hard as you see the iron is stained red. You hope it’s rust. The wind dies down, and you swear you can hear labored breathing as you crouch in the ditch, trying to see under the bush without sticking yourself in reach.  Your heart sinks further.

There’s an adult man hiding under the leaves, and you can tell from his pointed ears and the horns that curve out of his forehead that he's a demon. Someone's pet, from the looks of the rusty tag hanging from chains way too tight on his neck. Red, swollen bug bites pock his arms in a furious itchy red. You pull your own sleeves down. The bindings cut his flesh, leaving gaping wounds that cross around his body. They look inflamed, from what you can see. Something yellow oozes from a few of them, mixing with the blood soaking the ground under him.

There are several deep punctures in his arms that are obviously from another demon’s teeth. Possibly even its horns. You peer around, trying to see if this is some kind of sick trap. A joke. But you’re as alone as you were when you stopped the car. As alone as you thought you were. The wind changes and the smell hits you full force. You stumble back clamping a hand to your stomach as you try not to retch. The demon pulls his trembling hand back from patches of light as the leaves move, trying to hide his sun-burned skin from the heat. Demons… the sun hurts them much faster than it does humans, you remember. At least, prolonged exposure does. From what you’ve heard. Not that you’ve ever dealt with demons. You’ve never even met one, except for the unfortunate, skulking thing your friend kept around. The girl wouldn’t even meet your eyes, shoulders hunched and tense like she was expecting to be hit for even breathing. Her ratty hair had hidden her face. You disapproved of the concept of a demon ‘pet’, but your friend insisted it was better than a dog or cat. Traditional pets couldn’t do household chores. Or wash your car. The demon stilled under the bush, his eyelids shut tight with an ugly grimace on his face. Sharp fangs poked at his bottom lip. He was curled in on himself as much as he could with the bindings. His long, dark hair was matted with twigs and grime, and he trembled. With what, you couldn’t tell. Pain? Cold? Maybe both. You shift on your feet, a twig cracking under your weight. It seems to echo on the otherwise quiet road. In a split second, the demon lunges from the bushes with a vicious snarl, his hands outstretched before his body is snapped back by wires that held fast and branches that creaked in their reluctance to release him. You lose your balance on the gravel as you scramble backward, seconds too late. If it hadn’t been for the bindings that tied the demon to the tree, you’re sure he would’ve been upon you. For now, though, drool drips unbidden from his growling mouth, and the demon’s blood-red irises stare at your crouching form with a furious, biting hatred that had you shivering almost as much as he was. He did not want you here- that much was obvious when he attempts to lunge once more, spitting gore and drool on the ground with a howl. The chains and wires whined, creaked, snapped bark off the cedar tree as much as they dug bloody ruts into the man's skin. Then, to your surprise, he slinks back into the bushes and collapses with a pathetic groan. His eyes dart around, unfocused and… confused. Like he didn’t know where he was. You quickly finished giving him his space, breathing heavily. It was horrifying, seeing a sapient being act so beastly, but if someone could chain him to a tree then you couldn’t bear to think about what he must have been through. He’s delirious, you realize. And obviously aggressive. Scared, you tell yourself. Probably scared. Hopefully just scared. The sun is high and the demon shakily pushes himself against the tree to hide again. It’s quiet now, except for his ragged breaths. After several minutes pondering options, you hear the demon move again. He’s in the shade, straining against the creaking metal wire and rustling bush. They seem like they might snap from the struggle, but they cut his flesh more instead. He hisses, struggling like a flailing dog. You look away, unable to watch while the demon stumbles around. He can’t move more than a couple feet in any direction, and the more he moves the more entangled he becomes in the bushes. It’s quite obvious by now that he isn’t thinking clearly. You worry that the chains cutting into his throat will choke him to death, or he’ll die of blood loss. He hasn’t stopped growling, and any time you move he bares his fangs at you with a glare. You take your opportunity when he stops to rest a moment.

“Hey! Hey,” you gently call, raising your hands in a surrendering gesture. The demon swings his head towards you, eyes flashing. He loses his balance more than once as he waits for whatever you’re about to do. But, the growling stops as he stares, and he only releases an occasional hiss if you shift on your feet too much- a warning not to come close. You heed it. You feel like you’re trying to calm a bear. The demon’s wounds aren’t healing, you notice with a frown. Odd. You’ve heard that a demon has much better regenerative capabilities than humans do. They heal within hours. Sometimes minutes, depending on genetics. Unless something is wrong. You wonder if that something has to do with the petals smashed between the chains. A sweet purple color amidst the rusted reds and dying leaves.

He collapses once more, wheezing, and you make your decision. You can’t leave this man to die here, but it’s very obvious that nothing would be accomplished if you couldn’t earn even a little of his trust. You stand yourself up, ignoring his grouching, and quickly return to your car with a final glance around the area. “I’ll be back, okay?” You promise. He doesn’t believe you, pretends not to hear- has no reason to. You’re just another human. Like the bastards that took his brothers. That bound him to this horrid tree. You’ll drive off and you’ll never return. Probably won’t even drive down this road again. You’ll drive off… and he’ll suffer slowly until death finally frees him. Sekido winces quietly as the door closes and the engine roars to life. He’s too spent to move any further than to fall into the brush again, but he doesn’t think himself pathetic enough to try to crawl after you as you drive away anyhow. He’d tear his own throat out before he let himself be that weak, even in his delirium.

A knot rises in your throat as you turn a sharp corner. You knew nothing about demons. Didn’t know how much time you would have to save this man’s life. The forest whipped past. Then, you lost sight of him. I am going to die here, Sekido thought. He was going to die at the side of an abandoned road in agony and despair, and nobody would ever care for him or care that he was…. That he is scared. He covered himself with the bush to the best of his abilities, trying to fight off the chills without letting the cursed sun burn him anymore than it already had. And then, he closed his eyes with a groan. He hoped this would be the last night. Hoped he wouldn’t wake again. Hoped his brothers were someplace better than the hellhole he’d been thrust into.

-------- ≪ °✾° ≫ --------

Time crept along slowly, minutes felt like hours, but eventually Sekido had fallen into a fitful sleep. However, his brief respite was interrupted when the sound of a car door slamming startles him awake just forty-five minutes later. He holds himself still. Just wants to die in peace. Is so dizzy he could’ve sworn the trees are dancing above him. Footsteps crack on dry gravel, hesitating a moment before retreating back to the vehicle.

You approach him again slowly, trying not to scare the demon any more than you knew he already was. Or make him angrier. The emotions are so often intertwined, you muse to yourself. In your nervous hands is a package of raw meat and a wide-lipped water bottle, and for a minute you consider the intelligence behind what you were about to attempt. Demons don’t eat human food (according to the website you hastily searched up in near panic), but they can eat most meats. Usually uncooked, it had said. No need to waste the effort preparing an actual meal. Demons could even go long periods of time without eating at all, though it wasn’t necessarily healthy. Food was to be ‘used as a reward’, the website had said. Taken away as a punishment. They needed water as much as any other living thing, the article had admitted in its explanation of the twisted expectations of demonic obedience and training. Your nose scrunched in disgust at the casual cruelty. You hoped the demon would at least take the water.

“Hey,” you softly say, crouching on the ground out of the demon's reach. He stares at you as you approach, snarling lowly. His sight locked firmly on you, even as the wind blew strands of oily, matted hair into his face. But, he didn’t lunge, and that was a good sign. Hopefully. You took the opportunity to visually scan the parts of him you could see. His injuries looked even worse than when you’d found him, and with eyes that seemed to sink into their sockets, he was obviously dehydrated. You wonder how long he’d been strapped to this tree. Part of you thought it best if you don’t know.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, okay? I’ve got water.” You shake the clear bottle and take another tentative step forward. “I just want to help…” It was strange, speaking to a human-shaped being like he was an animal. But you didn’t know how else to talk to him. Weren’t sure if it would make him worse to be spoken to as an equal, or if he even understood your words- if he was as feral as he looked.

His eyes are full of doubt. Glazed. Humans don’t help. Humans take, are selfish. Lie and destroy. Beat you senseless for surviving. You can tell how sick this poor, trembling man is- even through the growling and drool. Sweat drips off his face and his skin is so ashy anyone would mistake him for a corpse. Except that he is still yowling his displeasure like an untamed cat. He watches the water longingly. Desperately. “Please let me help you,” you whispered, trying to keep your voice quiet as you unscrew the bottle and hold the water out,  approaching the demon sideways and angling your body away so you wouldn’t be crawling directly towards him. You hoped that you would seem like less of a threat that way. That’s how the internet had said to approach a stray dog, at least. There was no advice on how to get close to an angry, scared, feral demon- aggressive demons should ‘just be put down’, the sites had spoken. Your arm is just out of his reach as you await his reaction. You shuffle another step forward. He snarls again, spitting and stumbling to his knees. Droplets of blood wet the crumbling, sticky leaves. His unfocused gaze finds the water again, but he doesn’t seem to believe this isn’t some cruel trick, even as he sniffs the air at you. Your eyes mist at his stench. You aren’t sure if the demon is even aware of the way he smells. You hope not. Somehow you think that might be for the best. You wonder if he can even feel shame, dehumanized as he is. You don't let yourself entertain the question of whether someone inhuman can even be stripped of his personhood. The wind ruffles through the bushes again and the dying sun casts long shadows in the forest around you. It makes the demon look more skeletal than he did before. His eyes squinted in fury, teeth clenched so tight it must hurt, like he couldn’t believe the gall you must have to even approach something like him. You knew you would have to push past your own fear before this man would ever let you help him- and that you are his last hope. Nobody else would help an aggressive demon- much less take care of him. Too much work, some posts on that horrible website had said. Not worth it, others lamented. Better for everyone to just cut their necks and get a new demon than to deal with something that’s broken. You weren’t going to let that happen.

And so you gulp your anxiety down, trying not to let your arm shake the water out of the bottle. No use drowning the forest floor. His eyes, red as the blood that drips from his wounds, are locked solidly on you if they aren’t flickering about like a shadow might attack him. For a moment you fear he’ll lunge. When he tenses, you freeze until he stops trembling again. Like a macabre game of red-light-green-light. 

Your thighs burn. He’s ready to fight you off. That much is clear even with his sickly pale skin and panting breath. Even if he can barely stand. Even if he’s so dizzy it seems the breeze might blow him over. “Please,” you beg quietly again, moving another few inches closer to the shivering demon. A mistake. He howls with panicked eyes, springing towards you and catching your arm before you can do anything. Just as fast, he sinks his sharp teeth into your forearm with a violent snarl, ignoring your screams. He bites harder, dragging you under him as you kick at him. You drop the water bottle and it tumbles, diluting the bloody ground. The demon hovers over you, pinning you to the moss as his blunt nails dug into your flesh. 

You could feel the second your skin gave way and ripped. His body quaked in his violence, even as you sobbed. “Stop!” You wailed. You swear you can feel something cracking in your arm, and shriek again as his teeth grind further. Your vision blurs. You push your leg against his stomach, hitting against his head with your free arm in hopes of getting him to release you. It does nothing to stop the hissing beast atop you. “I’m sorry! Please!” You cry. You’re not sure what you’re apologizing for. You know that nobody travels these roads, which is why the demon was dumped there in the first place. 

Nobody would help you. You were entirely at the mercy of a violent, sick demon out of his mind with rage (terror). Your blood is hot, painfully so against his sticky tongue. 

Almost sweet. He’s not sure if it’s the chills that have wracked his body for the last two and a half days, or if he’s just so starved that anything in his mouth burns like an open wound. A flicker of emotion passes over his face, disappearing as quickly as it came but you recognize the fear through your tears. He’s terrified of you, of the lies you’re surely speaking, of your impending attack, impending violence, even as his drool mixes with your blood. You can’t breathe against the grip he has on your neck, and you know it’s going to bruise if you get out of this alive. Flailing weakly, you push against the demon again, grabbing at his cracked, flaky horns, and again it’s useless. Even in his half-starved, dehydrated and ill state he is so much stronger than you. You… vaguely remember something about that on the website as black spots dance across your horizon. “Don’t kill me, please don’t kill me,” you rasped, trying to swallow any amount of air to soothe your burning lungs. Petrified. The demon doesn’t let go, but he isn’t biting any harder. You hope… you hope maybe you’ve gotten through to him somehow. You wonder if anybody would ever find your body out here. If so, would they find the demon as well? You hope he doesn’t have some transferable disease. You curse yourself for stopping your damn car. You hope he remembers to let go of your throat as you finally fall to the darkness and go limp under him. You don’t feel him trembling, collapsing against your chest with a weak groan.

-------- ≪ °✾° ≫ --------

Your throat burns, feels like sandpaper against the flesh as you wake to starry skies and a deeper, throbbing pain in your arm. Something heavy lays over you. Shivering. Muttering something as it twitches. Your clarity returns and your vision adjusts to the dark, revealing the demon that has fallen over you like a limp doll. Pale as death. Exhausted and groaning in his sleep. His eyes flick under the lids. The demon's teeth had abandoned your arm. Left gaping, circular holes that you don’t look at lest you panic. You take in your surroundings with nothing but the moonlight illuminating the deserted forest road. The water bottle had been drunk- what was left of it, anyway- and left crumpled on the ground. Streaks of blood painted the inside, like the demon had tried to sweep up any of the moisture that refused to fall with his tongue. You winced, moving your injured arm, but stopped when the demon grunted. His body jerked in his sleep, brows furrowed. Cloth had been tied tight around your wound- the man’s hand was still touching the wrappings. He must have used the last of his strength to prevent you from bleeding out, using scraps he tore from his own filthy, barely usable clothes. And then, he fell from the effort. It would explain the haphazard way he was draped over you. Your nose wrinkles from the stench, and you have to try yet again not to choke as you feel his greasy hair brush your face.

The poor thing seemed to have a permanent scowl, his face downturned even in his restless sleep. You make use of the opportunity to take in his appearance more. 

He was almost entirely human-looking, except for the two curved horns on his clammy forehead and the wine-colored cracked skin that stopped before his brows and also colored the underneath of his eyes. His nails, long but blunt, had bits of dried blood under them. You couldn’t tell if they were naturally that dark blue color or it was the dirt caked to them. The demon looked as if he would have been quite built had he not been so emaciated. Even his face, sickly as it was, seemed like it had a hidden beauty to it that couldn’t be marred by his ragged trousers and worne wife-beater that was barely passable as a shirt anymore.

His weight against you is uncomfortable- sharp bone poking in all the wrong places, his breath quick and harsh against the quiet night. You breathe shallowly yourself in an attempt to avoid absorbing his fetid air. Sweat continued to drip from his forehead. You slowly, carefully, hold your uninjured hand in front of his dirt-caked skin and frown. You could feel his fever from an inch away. The wires tying him glint in the moonlight when he shifts. You had bolt cutters in the trunk of the car, along with a cooler of bottled water and more meat. He hadn’t eaten anything- the package was too far out of reach and now ruined by the sleeping sun. Your arm needed to see a hospital. He had missed any arteries, thank God, but you probably needed stitches. And antibiotics. Who knew what was in a demon’s saliva. But… Something in you knew you couldn’t leave this demon alone here, even with the injury he’d inflicted. If you left the demon here and went to the hospital, if the staff found out he was the one responsible, he would be killed without hesitation. Without compassion or compromise. As your thoughts trickle through like a stream through pebbles, you wonder if you might just be crazy. 

You had to be. 

The demon stirs, slowly opening his eyes. His hands press against you as he blinks, clearing his vision. He growls again with a sharp grimace, then he looked away, scowling tensely at a bush. Like he could light it aflame with his anger. Of course. Was he ever going to stop growling and giving you the stink-eye? It had surpassed the point that it was no longer frightening you. Now it just made you sad. It seemed as if he had no real control over his reaction to people, even if that person was trying to help. As if the anger that found its way through his clenched teeth was instinctual. You wondered if he’d ever had a moment of peace in his life.

You stay very still, trying not to scare him. Or make him angrier. With his weight against your sternum, it's not like you could really move if you wanted to. Quietly clearing your burning throat you open your mouth to speak, then close it, unsure of what to say or how to break the ice. What do you say to a demon who nearly tore your arm off a couple hours ago?

His eyes narrow, and for a brief moment you worry he might attack again. When he doesn’t lunge, despite his feral gaze, you finally speak. Maybe you could still work your way into his trust? Or at least, get him to stop jabbing you with his elbow.

“If you let me up,” you rasp quietly, softly, almost a whisper,  “I can get those wires off of you. And get you food and water, but… but you have to promise that you won’t bite me again.” Your eyes are misty from the pain that throbs in your arm. Gravel digs into your back, and despite your compassion for a demon you knew probably had not an ounce of love shown towards him, and your honest wish to help, you are very scared of what this man might do to you if you tried to do anything without his acceptance again.

He studies you intensely, and you can almost see the gears turning in his head, contemplating your offer. Like he knew you’re his last chance. He finally nods with a derisive snort, shakily leaning himself off you and slumping against the cedar tree.

You slowly move back, away from his reach, and realize that you don’t even know what to call this man. “What's your name?” You weren’t expecting an answer, weren’t even sure if the demon could speak. For a long moment there was nothing but silence while he continued to gawk at the ground, then- “Sekido,” he muttered quietly. His voice was deep, hoarse, like he hadn’t spoken in a long time. Like a gravel road. You waited for him to keep talking, but he doesn’t. 

Just stares at the dirt. “Okay… okay,” you take a deep breath. A name is progress, even if minorly so. “Sekido, I’m going to go to the trunk of my car. I have bolt-cutters in the back. I’m going to get that wire off you before we do anything else, okay? But I can’t do that if you’re going to bite me again. Do you understand?” You prayed he understood. Prayed that he’d let you get this over with. Prayed this was a bad dream and nobody could be so cruel, and you’d wake up without a bite in your arm and gravel embedded in your elbow.

Sekido’s body stills and he nods slightly, just barely noticeable. “Fine, human…” he grumbles. Spits ‘human’ like it’s a disease. As you shuffle to your feet, your legs numb and tingling, pondering the inhumanity that led this man to be tied to a tree, you think it might as well be.

You limp to your car and open the trunk with one hand, shuffling through the random assortment of items stored there (you’ll use them someday) until you reach a small red toolbox. You take the mini bolt cutter and trudge back to the rut. “I’m going to come beside you, okay?” You’d definitely learned your lesson about approaching this man without explicit permission. You weren’t eager to risk a repeat, so for now you would narrate everything you were about to do (in an effort to keep him from panicking) and wait for Sekido to confirm that it was okay.

He eyes the tool in your hand with scrutiny, trying to read your true intentions, and finally gives the slightest nod of his head. The wires cut into his skin horribly- far worse than you’d originally thought. Every movement sawed them deeper. Some areas, the few those odd purple petals were absent, had begun healing over. Quite literally trapping the metal inside flesh. You couldn’t force yourself to imagine what that felt like, but you cursed quietly. “Sekido, I… I don’t know how to cut these things in a way that isn’t going to hurt,” you admit slowly. “They’re in you pretty deep, and-”

“-Just do it!” He snapped, glaring at you viciously. “Or are you too stupid to cut me free?” You blink at the insult. This demon… is not very nice, you think.

Not that you really blame him. Some part of you thought it was a good thing that he felt okay enough to hurl insults, so you said nothing in return. Maybe he didn’t think he would be punished for it. Or perhaps he simply didn’t care at this point.

At least he was cooperating.

“I’m sorry.” You lift the pliers to cut the first wire, and it twangs loudly, springing away with coiled force. Sekido jumps slightly as the wire breaks, then glares at you again like you weren’t supposed to see that minor display of weakness. Sticky crimson drips from the open wound. “You’re slow, human. Cut me free.” You ignore his impatience, unwilling to harm him any more than he already was. They were good cutters, but the vibrations left from the cut metal sent ripples into your hand. Rendered it numb. Spilt trickles of blood from the wound on your arm that you caught the demon glancing at once or twice. Finally, all but one had been cut from Sekido’s body. The man had torn the metal strings from his healing body as soon as they’d been clipped, despite your horrified gasp. Saved you from fumbling with them like an idiot.

Now, only the one wrapped around his neck remained. You were in awe that anyone could survive these injuries, even a demon, and you stare with hesitation at the wire cutting his throat. That is an incredibly vulnerable area. Sekido, to his credit, kept himself rooted to the spot throughout the process, but he flinches violently when you reach for his neck. Still, he does not bite you again. “Hurry up, stupid human. You’re wasting time,” he grumbles. Tries to hide his shaking hands by gripping his thighs so hard it tears through the cloth. His sanguine glare seems like he’s challenging whether you’re brave enough to even attempt it. “It’s gonna be okay,” you whisper. You aren’t sure if it was for him, or for your own state of mind, as you finally reach his neck. As your fingers finally make contact with his neck and the wire, the demon abandons his bravado with wide eyes and a sharp growl. Within milliseconds, his hand grips your wrist, digging into the skin. “Sekido.” His eyes have glazed again. He wobbles a bit, shifting on his knees with a labored groan and steadies himself with a hand against the moss-covered ground. “Hey, look at me,” you coaxed gently, your voice a mix of concern and compassion. As you reach out, your hand delicately covers his. He hisses at the contact, but you don’t pull away. You realize, now, that even if you managed to get this demon free- even if you get him to a vet- he will never survive the week. His chance at rehabilitation is slim at best. He would never be able to handle people or the basic expectations society has of demonkind. You wonder if he even knows how to respond to kindness. Or his own fear- you couldn’t imagine not being terrified in his circumstances but Sekido seemed to consider it a weakness. Even if you saved him tonight, he would be executed before the end of the month for his behavior. For what society believed was nothing worth saving. Unless… “It’s gonna be okay,” you reassure him with startling conviction. You’d keep him. You have to, and there’s not a doubt in your mind now that you’ll have a new, half-feral companion in your house come tomorrow. Somehow, you don’t feel so afraid anymore- not of this man who does not know kindness’s name. He desperately needs to. You just hope that he can deal with that.

Finally, Sekido releases a heavy breath and lets go of your wrist. “Quickly,” he orders, tilting his neck just enough to expose the horrible steel binding. The tension in the air is palpable as you gingerly push a finger under wire, fingering away one of those gentle purple petals, your fingers stained red.

You can feel Sekido’s studious gaze on you. The intensity makes you want to crawl away and hide. You shake the thought from your head and continue to unwrap the cords. The pain in his tense posture is undeniable, but he holds himself still again until the wire slowly begins to loosen its grip on his throat. You can see the relief wash over him as the pressure fades, but the blood flows steadily now.

Another glint of steel beneath the blood forces bile up from your stomach again.. The wire had crossed over itself, pushing its brother deeper into Sekido’s flesh than you’d initially thought. Whoever tied Sekido to this tree wanted him to suffer until his death. Until the steel beheaded the man. You wipe away the misty tears threatening to form. How could anyone possibly be so cruel to any living being? Much less to something so human? “There’s another one,” you manage to tell him. “Sekido, I’m not sure if I can…That one is so deep, I…What if you…” Your voice trails off, your concern too heavy to speak. The depth of this wound is staggering, and the thought of worsening his condition looms ominously in your mind. Wilts away the courage you’d managed to keep thus far. Sekido’s lip curled, his patience wearing thin with your hesitation. The demon grunts irritably, his tone laced with anger and frustration as he retorts sharply- “What? What if I bleed out? Idiot human, I’ve been doing that for days!” He grabs your wrist again, and this time he thrusts it to his neck, nearly bloodying the rest of your hand in the wound. “Get this fucking thing off me!” He barked. His pale fangs glinted in the moonlight. “I don’t care if it bleeds! Cut it off!” He’s breathing heavily, grips your ankle as you stand up. You slip one blade of the cutters under the wire without another word, at an angle in an attempt to not touch the exposed flesh underneath. Then, as he opens his mouth to order you again you press the blades together with all your strength. It snaps and you hear Sekido’s teeth crash together again. Sends vibrations up your injured arm. You yelp, collapsing beside the demon and curling over on yourself and clutching your bitten arm in an attempt to mitigate the pain with a groan.

Sekido stares at you, gazes at your injury- the injury he caused- and looks away as you catch him.

He won’t apologize. You don’t expect him to, wouldn’t ask it of him. Somehow you know that’s not in his nature.

Instead, you slowly gather yourself as the pain fades and back away from him- give him his space. Now that he had no reason to force himself to accept your presence you weren’t sure how he would behave. So you rise shakily to your feet and turn to stumble your way back to the car. He watches you. Stares into your back as you put the tool back in the box and contemplate how you could get the demon to follow you now. Thanks to that stupid website, you knew that demons were trained to follow a human's command- under the threat of punishment usually, should the demon refuse. You would never hurt him, but… maybe you could order him into the car? But, would he even listen? You are not his master. You open the backseat door anyway, turn to face the demon who’s eyes seem to glow now in the moonlight. “Sekido,” you start firmly, hoping you wouldn’t have to order him like a misbehaving dog. “I would like you to get in the car.” Sekido’s eyes harden, and his body stiffens. He does not move, glares at you like he’s been doing all evening. After a long and awkward minute of staring at each other, seeing who might break first, you steel your resolve with a shaky breath. “Sekido, get in the car,” you order him firmly, though not unkindly. He stays for a moment. You think he might refuse again, but then he slowly, dizzily, stands up and limps his way forward. You want to help him but he snarls when you take a step forward, so you let him crawl from the ditch by himself. He pauses before the door. Grumbles a quiet, “I hate all you humans,” and then slumps over on the seat before pulling himself completely into the car. You almost allow a small, fond smile. What a brat.

“You can hate me as much as you want. I wouldn't dream of stopping you,” you replied. You were shocked he was complying so quickly, but it suddenly made sense when he collapses completely in the back. Only then did the thought pass that perhaps you should’ve laid some kind of cover on the seat to protect the leather from the blood and filth. Returning to the back of the car, you grab another bottle of water from the cooler and uncap the lid. You hold it out to Sekido. “Slowly.” Sekido stares at you, then the water, and now your extended hand. He grabs the bottle. Then, he sits there with it, just… staring. “Please drink?” You wait patiently for a few moments, shifting awkwardly on your feet, but he does not drink. You knew the water would be like heaven to his parched throat, but he simply held the liquid, quivering. What else did that awful web article say, you tried to remember. Ah. That’s right. Demons weren’t allowed to have anything, own anything, use anything without permission. Only people own things. You were sure now that Sekido’s previous caretakers had beaten him for simply eating or drinking. Surviving. He obviously wanted the water- his eyes hadn’t left it- but… 

You frown, and Sekido gives you a long look- mistaking the downturn of your lips as dissatisfaction with him. You look up at the bright moon, steeling yourself for again treating this person as less than, because there was no other way to get through to him right now. “Sekido, drink the water,” you order quietly. He clutches the bottle, crinkling the plastic as he raises it to his lips immediately. Sekido flinches when the cool water drips on his sunburned chin, then he tips his head all the way back and swallows the liquid hungrily. He’s drinking so fast he’s nearly choking on it, and the bottle is empty in seconds- before you even have a chance to request he slow down. “Give me more,” he says bitterly. “I’ll get you more,” you promise slowly, “if you can keep down what you’ve swallowed. You drank that really fast…I want to make sure you don’t get sick, okay?”

You hope he’ll understand your concern. “When we get home, you can have as much as you’d like. And some food, too.” You’d decided against feeding him for the time being- just until you knew he could keep liquids down. If he couldn’t handle water, he definitely couldn’t handle anything as heavy as meat. Sekido glares at you from the back seat. He tries to take a deep breath, but coughs instead. “Just give me more!” He snaps. You want to, you want to more than he knows. “You’ll get more, Sekido. But we have to make sure you don’t stress your stomach. I swear, you’ll have so much water you’ll be bored of it!” His lip curls, and he slams his clenched fist on the leather. “Give it to me now!” he bellows angrily, gripping the back of your chair hard enough to leave imprints from his long fingernails. He didn’t seem concerned at all about consequences anymore. You flinch hard at his volume, startled. Even with all his snarling and grumping, he’d yet to shout at you. You shake your head in frustration, but you could see the desperation in his wrath. In an attempt to keep control of the situation, you take a breath to calm your voice, and you close the back door. “Let’s go home, Sekido,” you say as you slump in the front seat, nose scrunching at the putrid smell that’s invaded your vehicle. You wonder if you’ll have to have the seats scrubbed- remind yourself that it isn’t his fault. Sekido’s head jerks toward the doors as the lock clicked and the engine roared to life. You glanced in the back seat, at the demon you met only hours before- a stranger now trapped in this vehicle with you. His trembling had gotten worse, even with the uncomfortable heat in the car- a burning warmth that brought sweat to your brow. You exit the car again, unlock the rear door, and pop the back hatch to grab an old blanket you’ve kept for emergencies. “Here,” you hold it out to Sekido with your injured arm. He glances at the blanket, then slowly at you- does not take it, even when you push it a little closer. Does not make a sound.

So you make the decision for him and carefully wave it over his back. “Try to relax. Just a little… if you can.” The back door closes before he can respond, and then you’re slowly stepping on the gas pedal to leave the crackling gravel road. You don’t crack the windows.

The overwhelming reality of his situation hits him like a crashing wave, and he clutches the blanket tightly over himself- grateful your eyes are on the road and not on his pathetic display of weakness. It is the first time he’s had such a simple comfort in longer than he remembers. A sigh leaves his cracked lips at the minimal relief it provided. He is alive. He is alive, and in a car, and someone saved him. Believed he was worth the trouble. It didn’t matter now the reasons behind this odd human’s relentless pursuit of him despite his aggression. All that mattered was that he would survive tonight, even if you would inevitably abandon him. Even if his head was swimming, and he couldn’t focus, and it took all his strength even to sit up. Even if his stomach cramped, and his wounds hurt, and he was still bleeding crimson pus on the leather seats. Even if the heated cushions and warm air did nothing to stave the chills that kept him shivering like a dog. Why on earth was he still so cold?

“Who are you?” Sekido’s gruff voice drifted from the back seat.

You give him your name, tell him you’re nobody special- was just passing by on the road. Couldn’t leave him there. He listens with an almost-amused snort.

Stops cold when you ask him about himself, if he has family. For a long minute, the car is silent except for the sound of the wind rushing past. You peer in the mirror, and see his eyes are closed. Maybe he fell asleep. You wouldn’t blame him for it.

Would be grateful, even. Then, slowly, quietly: “I… had… family.” You could barely hear him. It was like the words had to be forced from his throat. The wind whipped past the closed window with a hollow sound as the treeline closed in, leading you into a tunnel.

“Can you tell me about them?” Part of you was afraid of pushing too much, afraid that he wasn’t ready to talk about something personal, so you don’t hold your breath as you awaited his response. You just drive, sailing smooth around bends and corners as you try to bring this tortured soul home- attempting to make the journey as gentle as possible. “Three brothers,” he said simply, his voice heavy. “I had a father… a long, long time ago. Dead now, most likely. The old coward…” he trailed off. He didn’t seem to hold hate for this father of his- despite the insult, there was little bite in his words. You decide not to press further about that one yet. “Tell me about your brothers,” you replied softly. “... Aizetsu is the youngest,” Sekido said slowly. “He’s always sad about something, but… kind. Compassionate.” The demon shifted, shivering and pulling the blanket tighter against himself, hoping the pressure might ease his nauseous stomach. “Urogi is obnoxious, loud and stupid. He never shuts up. Always too damn friendly with everyone. Always has enough energy to go around…” He coughed with a grunt and sigh. You glanced in the back, making sure he was alright but said nothing to ask about his condition. Somehow you knew it would only anger him to be seen in this state of supposed weakness. “Karaku is the eldest under me… and so different.  Karaku never gets angry about anything. He’s the most relaxed of any of us. He always had to be touching you… I-... I hated them,” Sekido lied, choked wetly on his own untruth as he tries to bury his emotions the way he buried his head against the seat. Tries to slow the rapid bump-bump-bump of his heart before this strange human hears it. He had no control here. But then, when had he ever had control of anything in his life? “They sound entertaining,” you offer, thinking of your own family. You wonder what yours is up to now, as you pass fields and factories that dot the side of the road. The familiar sights meant that you wouldn’t have much farther to drive. You can’t bring yourself to consider what might have become of your demon’s siblings.

“They are…” He stopped with a frustrated mumble, trying to choke out the words. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, and he snarled at his own patheticness, grateful you couldn’t see past the blanket covering his head. “They were all I had,” he finished so quietly you had to strain to hear him over the hum of the engine.

Your own heart ached at the bone-weary exhaustion in his voice. Part of you wanted to tear apart the earth until you found Sekido’s brothers, but you don’t know what they look like and you couldn’t bring yourself to make this man an empty promise. For now, you settled with being glad he was with you, and hoped he would tell you more about himself eventually. Though he had trouble getting the words out, talking seemed to help quell his nauseated stomach a little. “Thank you,” you said, “for sharing. It means a lot.” “Mmmn,” Sekido grumbled quietly. He was trying to act indifferent in an attempt to keep himself calm, but you thought you could feel his appreciation all the same. Even if he didn’t show it in his stoic, angry face. “Just… drive,” he sighed. You allow yourself to smile as you watch the road in front of you. Sekido’s bossy attitude would be considered a good thing- it meant he might trust that he wouldn’t be hurt for it, and if that was the case then he was welcome to be as commanding as he wanted.

The car was silent for several minutes, except for Sekido’s uncomfortable shifting in the back seat. Then he let out a pained groan. You were already concerned about his awful wounds. You’d hoped they’d start healing, like demons usually do- like you’ve read they usually do, but now that you’re stopped at a traffic light and can finally turn to see him again, you can tell they’re just as inflamed as they were before you got Sekido into the car. The website had said that wounds heal typically within minutes, except if something is wrong, or a demon has bad blood. Perhaps Sekido was a low-end demon? Your eyebrows furrow when he releases a small whimper, holding his head with his elbows on his knees. What if… What if something terrible happened before you could get him to a doctor tomorrow? He was incredibly sick already, though the worst had been coming in waves. “Sekido?” He sat back, his head swaying dizzily while he looks at you. Sekido’s bleary gaze wanders aimlessly, unable to focus despite his heavy blinking. His face is pallid, like it’s been drained of blood. “... don’t feel good…”

You debated pulling over but didn't, despite your urge to tend to his distress. You don’t want to upset him more and you were so close to home now anyway. He opened his mouth and you thought he might say something, but all he does is moan again through clenched teeth as he shudders and holds his stomach. “Sekido, are you okay?”

Drool drips from the corner of his panting mouth as his body wavers. You watch him anxiously. Sekido’s eyes go wide, and his chest heaves, spasms so harsh you can see it in the mirror.

And then he retches.

You can hear it splash on the floor, and your own stomach kicks. “Oh. Oh, God,” you say, one hand against your mouth, pulling over. You crack the window open. Sekido, sits up again with a hiccup, slumps his back against the seat with vomit dripping from his nose and sweat from his brow. Doesn’t have the strength to be disgusted with the bile covering his lips.

He said nothing- looked close to falling unconscious. Or worse, your fear told you. You still know nothing of demons except for what that website promoted, but… he really did look like he might be dying. Sekido’s hands tremble more. You’re trying not to vomit yourself from the smell, bitterly sour and somehow so much worse than the original scent of decay and dirt that had permeated the vehicle with him. You look glance at his wounds again, and the angry infected flesh around them as he falls over again and stays there. Reaching back, you gently pat his upper arm, wincing as the movement sends a spike of pain up your own forearm. “Hey…” No response. “Sekido?” You shake him, an icy fear shooting settling in your chest. Something was wrong. “Hey!” Finally, he slaps your hand away with a whiney grunt. Something was very wrong. You shake your head. This demon cannot wait until tomorrow for a doctor. He needs one right now. You tap letters into your GPS system, then your face falls. The nearest 24-hour emergency veterinarian that takes demons is 3 towns away- that's over an hour drive!

Sekido pants something to himself, convulsing with a pitchy groan. His eyes squinted, rolling back as he huffed.

“Hey, you stay with me, okay?” You say with a pained smile and a firm squeeze on his arm. “I told you that you’d be okay, didn’t I? You gotta try to stay awake for me.” “...Tired,” Sekido grumbled quietly.

“Don’t sleep, Sekido. Don’t you dare.” ‘Don’t make me a liar’, you wanted to say. Couldn’t bear the thought of breaking your promise now. Didn’t know if he would wake up again if he slept. Couldn’t bear the thought of this man dying in the backseat of your car after everything.

You weren’t going to let that happen.

Tires squealed, quickly turning the vehicle around. You hoped the streets would remain as empty as they have been. Prayed no cops were on the prowl tonight, as you take a deep breath and push your foot on the gas pedal. Wind tears through your hair, howling as it passes in your race against time. Every second counted.

[theonlyonesora]

CH02: A Dance Under the Moonlight

The forest hummed with a nighttime symphony—the rustling of leaves, the distant hum of crickets, and the occasional splash of the river gently cutting through the valley. The moonlight stretched across the land like a thin veil, casting long shadows that danced in the breeze. Akari Uchiha wandered along the riverbank, her mind tangled with thoughts she didn’t care to unravel. Her encounter with Tobirama earlier that day lingered like an itch she couldn’t scratch. And then, like a shadow slipping between the trees, he appeared.

Tobirama Senju stepped out of the darkness, his pale hair shining in the moonlight. The cool night air seemed to follow him like an aura. His ruby-red eyes shone with suppressed emotion—something unreadable, a reflection of the ever-elusive man behind them. Akari froze at the sound of his approaching footsteps on the soft forest floor.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice sharp.

Tobirama’s lips twitched slightly in what could only be called a wry smile—though it was fleeting, a flicker of amusement quickly extinguished.

“Nothing that concerns you.” His voice was calm, indifferent, yet carried that underlying edge that never failed to annoy her.

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re so rude. No wonder you’re still single.”

The jab was meant to sting, but she didn’t expect it to catch him off guard. Tobirama’s expression flickered, just for a second, and she caught it—a rare moment where the cold Hokage cracked. But just as quickly, his mask slid back into place.

“I’m not single because I can’t find anyone. I just have no interest,” he retorted flatly, folding his arms across his chest as if that settled the matter.

Akari scoffed, crossing her arms. “Sure. I’ll pretend to believe that.”

His jaw tightened, the smallest sign of irritation flashing across his face. Few people ever dared to challenge Tobirama Senju, and Akari seemed to enjoy doing it just for sport. Why does she get under my skin so easily? he thought, annoyance simmering beneath his stoic exterior.

“It’s the truth,” Tobirama shot back, his voice even colder now.

Akari gave a dismissive shrug. “Uh-huh, of course. Whatever you say.”

A muscle ticked in Tobirama’s jaw. Her ability to frustrate him was nothing short of remarkable. He wasn’t used to people talking back to him, especially not with such flippant ease. Yet here she was—Madara Uchiha’s little sister, of all people—pushing every button he didn’t even know he had.

He stepped closer, his crimson eyes locked on hers. The air between them was thick with unspoken tension. “Why are you so interested in my personal life?” His voice was low, almost a growl.

Akari met his gaze without flinching. “I’m not.”

Tobirama leaned in slightly, his height casting a subtle shadow over her. “It doesn’t seem that way.”

“It’s not my fault you’re so fun to annoy,” she shot back, tilting her head, a sly smile tugging at her lips.

A flicker of something—amusement, irritation—danced in Tobirama’s eyes. He stepped closer still, the space between them shrinking until Akari could feel the warmth of his presence, despite the chill he exuded.

“And it’s not my fault you seem... overly interested,” he teased, his voice smooth but laced with sarcasm.

Akari rolled her eyes dramatically. “You wish.”

Tobirama chuckled—a rare sound, deep and quiet. “Oh, I’m sure I’m at the top of your list of suitors.”

Her lips curled into a smirk. “Hardly. I have better options.”

“Is that so?” His eyebrow arched. “Like who?”

She crossed her arms, feigning indifference. “Some Uchiha men you wouldn’t know.”

Tobirama scoffed, the sound full of derision. “Of course. Uchiha. Why am I not surprised?”

The smirk on his face widened when he saw the flicker of irritation in Akari’s expression. “Is that the first time someone’s told you the truth about your standards?” he asked, his voice mocking, sharp.

Akari turned away from him with a huff, crossing her arms.

Tobirama took a step forward, now standing behind her. He leaned down slightly, his breath brushing against the nape of her neck. “Are you pouting?” His voice was low, teasing.

Akari whipped around, glaring up at him. “You’re impossible.”

Tobirama chuckled, a sound full of mischief and amusement. “You just now realized that?”

Her glare deepened. “Why can’t you be more like your brother? At least he’s kind.”

The playful gleam in Tobirama’s eyes vanished instantly, replaced by cold irritation. His expression darkened. “Don’t compare me to Hashirama.”

Akari raised an eyebrow. “Why not? He’s gentle with me. You, on the other hand—”

“Gentle doesn’t make you a good leader,” Tobirama interrupted, his voice hard. “Do you really think being soft will earn you loyalty? You have no idea what it takes.”

Akari rolled her eyes. “And you think being cold and distant works?”

Tobirama’s smirk returned, though it was sharper now—almost predatory. “It works better than you’d think.”

The air between them thickened, charged with a tension that was no longer just playful banter. Tobirama’s gaze lingered on hers, unwavering, as if daring her to challenge him further.

Akari held his gaze, refusing to back down. “You’re not as scary as you think, Tobirama.”

He leaned in just a fraction more, his crimson eyes burning into hers. “And you’re not as indifferent as you pretend, Akari.”

The river whispered beside them, the moonlight wrapping them both in silver. In that moment, standing so close, it felt like the forest had faded away, leaving only the two of them—caught in a dance neither of them fully understood but neither wanted to stop.

“This is going to be a long night,” Tobirama muttered, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

Akari’s lips curved into a grin, mischievous and challenging. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The tension between them hung heavy in the air, like the stillness before a storm—dangerous, electric, and impossible to ignore.

"That's the end of the second chapter! Let me know what you guys are thinking so far—I’d love to hear your thoughts. I’ll be back soon with more. Stay tuned!

[snowbunn15kaiii]

Scaramouche x reader 

cw: bad writing, ooc scara(?), grammatical and spelling errors, english isn’t my mother tongue.

synopsis: As scaramouche was strolling in Chinju forest, he stumbles upon a  yōkai—which he didn’t know it was. Who followed him even though they would disappear if a mortal being touches them. Inspo: Hotarubi no mori e

An incident have occurred that made the balladeer awfully angered that resulted to him having a stroll in Chinju forest. While letting of some steam, he wandered deeper into the forest, he found it simply calming—the soft breeze hitting his porcelain face, the soothing sound the river makes, and the brushing of the leaves.  However, something else caught his attention while he was on his walk, there seems to be a mortal wandering around the forest, but there’s something different about their aura that says they aren’t human at all.  Out of curiosity, he got closer, he observed the figure, but when he turned his head, it’s gone, no where to be seen. He scoffed to himself, thinking is was stupid of him to waste his time in such matter.  So he decided to just shrug it off and go back to where he resided. “BOO!” the ‘person’ yelled, their skin was pale and their hair was covering their face, trying to scare off the harbinger, in which they failed miserably in. With furrowed brows and squinted eyes, Scaramouche lets out an annoyed sigh, “Whatever you are on mortal it won’t work. Me? A feared harbinger, frightened by you? Give yourself a break.” 

You, on the other hand is confused, what’s a harbinger? and why is this person in front of me looks too unimpressed? And he’s feared? BUT HE LOOKS LIKE A CHILD. This is humiliating, maybe playing and scaring children is a bad idea after all. “Feared? not to be rude but you look like a child...”

“Excuse me??” 

“..you’re excused” The yōkai gleefully replied with a smile from ear to ear, they didn’t know how to reply, they weren’t taught how to, nor did they try to learn how to. Seeing Scaramouche’s annoyed expression, the yōkai just dipped away from the scene, disappearing into thin air, and leaving the harbinger alone. afraid of what he could do.

On the other hand, Scaramouche had enough of whatever is going on, so made his way back to his camp. If he was right, that was not a normal human, no that wasn’t human at all. But they don’t seem like a youkai with that human looking physique either. 

As he was walking back, he felt as though someone was behind him, he could already hear the bushes rustle, and the fallen leaves crunch beneath the ground, but not because of him. He knew someone was following, but as he turn his back to look at it for the nth time, he never seemed to catch the stalker. He still of course had his guards up ‘till he went back to his camp, until he couldn’t sense the presence of the unknown stalker anymore.

---

The said yōkai, wants to know how, and what kind of interesting things humans do. It wouldn’t hurt to find that out right? Even if it meant to follow and risk their life to observe a stranger they tried to scare.

---

This yōkai soon learns that the person they’re following, isn’t actually just any person.. They were someone the Electro Archon made. They found out about his ‘job’ and why he’s here in Inazuma, what he’s like and what he likes and dislike. A stalker yes, but they’re just observing because they’re curious!! ALSO, who knows, what if some human “the lord harbinger, Scaramouche” accidentally touches them? They’ll get erased from existence. So they just kept an eye on him, appearing as one of his subordinates from time to time

---

Scaramouche was just done planning how to get the gnosis when you suddenly reveal yourself out of nowhere, you thought maybe it’s time to try and socialize with him, maybe be friends? It’s not like you’ll get close, you can’t anyways, he looks too intimidating to be in close contact with. Although looking at him now, he does look like he was carved by an archon himself —which he is. 

"It's you, the one in Chinju forest The one who tried to scare me with that stereotypical ghost thing."

"Yup, ding ding ding ding!"

“and you’re not even ashamed of yourself?!”

"Uh.. yes.. :D"

Before the harbinger can process what had happened, you peace sign and slowly faded away. It was already humiliating that he still remembered what happened a few months ago, more so you didn’t know what else to say next. Maybe try to be friends some other time... for now, let’s learn how to talk with people.

‐-----------------------------------------------

Every time something bad would happen—a stressful day, an underling had messed up, he got a big decision to make— you would always, always show up, talk a bit, then leave fade into thin air. Even if the talks are short, you were able to learn about it bits by bits, especially on how to comfort.  And somehow he came to like your presence. Especially that you don't get to annoy him much since you leave right away. It was nice. Although, he won't admit that, this is Scaramouche after all. One time though nothing really went wrong, you just wanted to talk? Besides you don't only show up to be a stress reliever. Even so you had the balladeer surprised when you suddenly appeared right behind him. "Hello." you cooed right into his shoulder. Scaramouche jerked his head to look at you, who’s softly smiling. “Oh, I thought you only appear once something bad happens?” “no, I just thought maybe I’d help ease your mood or sum...besides I talk... normally”

But wait.. How do you even start a conversation? suddenly, your mind is blank with no thoughts on what to say whatsoever. So you turn to leave, forgetting the thought of having a normal conversation. However, you felt something(or someone) come in contact with your skin. Curious, you turn to look at it. Only to realize the balladeer held your wrist in an effort to stop you from leaving. That’s so out of character for him.. You thought, your face being flushed pink. Wait... he grabbed you... ? A human came in contact with you..? oh. you’re dead. Say your last goodbye and wait to fade away. 

“Your face looks stupid.” you heard scaramouche utter in a tone laced with disgust. The grip on your wrist had now loosen, but you’re still partially in a state of shock.

,,How did I not fade away yet..’’  

“And why would you fade away?” Scaramouche question.  tbc..... 

This had been in my drafts for almost a year i just wanted to get it out.. :V

[fernnshxj]

Eeeeehhh, okay okay okay!! Info dump time! Hope you ready!!

So, as I mentioned before (I think I have said so before, idk-), Joan will unfortunately pass away from an illness that is incurable in that time (ya know, cancer). She would have tried to figure out a remedy so that she can be back on her feet but it is all in vain. She feels herself getting weaker, it’s harder to take a breath, to move, everything… She does not tell Kuno or Finja, she wishes not to burden them with this. They notice she doesn’t appear as active but she brushes them off.

Fun fact: The veil from her hat not only works to completely hide the details of her appearance but it can also be used as a sort of magical window that can see things the normal eye can’t see, specifically the divine and spiritual. Which means Häxa keeps seeing this one figure in the distance. It is dark, and at first very, very far but not malicious. She ignores it at first but the sicker she gets, the closer the figure is. It takes a while but she realizes who the figure is: Death. Not the one she had fought and killed, no, that one was a mere entity who called itself that. It was not one of True Death’s reapers but True Death herself. She is kind, patient, caring. She keeps getting closer and Häxa realizes she doesn’t have much longer to live, so she writes a letter to her friends. Kuno and Finja get their letters from different crows and the letters go like this:

‘I am sorry. I am sorry but I cannot keep hiding this anymore. I have been getting weaker by the day and I did not have the courage to tell you. I keep seeing her. I keep seeing True Death every time I wear the hat. She is getting closer. I wish I had told you sooner, maybe I would have been more at peace than I am now. This is my last letter to you. I am so proud to have been able to accompany you this far but I am afraid my journey ends here. 

For so long, I was nothing but a shell of my former self. For so long, I have forgotten my name. For so long, I forgot that I was only human. For so long, I forgot I was not a weapon. 

I know we did not get along at first but getting to know you both has been a blessing. You were like a breath of fresh air to me. You gave me life again, even if it didn’t seem like it. You became my family. I will cherish you both as I rest eternally. I wish I had done more for you but now I can only hope that we can reunite in whatever afterlife there is or maybe even in a new life. I hope we meet again.

-Häxa’

And with each letter they got, they got a lotus flower colored their respective colors (blue for Kuno and red for Finja) and a medallion with Häxa’s emblem (or whatever it be called).

Meanwhile, with the last bit of her strength, Joan would have gone to a secluded part of a forest where she laid herself to rest, surrounded by moonflowers. She awoke and was greeted by the sight of a lady so pale with long, black hair and bright golden eyes. She wore a mofuku (funeral kimono apparently!) her whole body covered except her face. She had a smile on her face, one filled with melancholy. She whispers softly ‘It’s time to go’ and extended her hand to Joan. Joan hesitates. She is scared, which is rare for her. She hasn’t been scared in so long... But she’ll see her sisters again… She’ll finally be at peace…

And so she takes True Death’s hand.

-And das what I have so far! Hope you liked this info dump and if it made you cry then good, I achieved my goal! Häxa angst be best angst!-

love me some angst……yeeessss……

did a doodle as well just cuz

miori isn’t scared of dying and she knows people die and she will too someday. but it would probably affect her if one of the only people she trusts dies outta no where. hehe :3

idk why i’m jsut now realizing this is formatted kinda funny apologizes i’m not gonna fix it lazy :3

feel free to gimme more lore if u want!!! i think it’s neat n interesting :3 !,!! makes me wanna lore dump too hrmmm…,.., might

[zeenmrala]

The Ladies Nienna and Ayane

this beautiful piece was created by @kimageddon, commissioned by @stardustbee for my birthday and it has to be one of the most special and gorgeous pieces i have ever received!!! it was inspired by a fic i wrote for bee about the friendship our OCs have between universes, the second time they meet. nienna (left) is my oc who is also the reader character from my fanfiction by the light of the second moon and ayane (right) is bee's oc from her fic the dance of sun and moon. this piece is part two, part one was a gift from bee last year which you can find here here. i'll post the new fic below just in case any friends are interested. love you, thank you so very much!!!!!!!1

The lady Nienna sits alone in her gardens, on the edge of a shallow pond, beneath the branches of draping swaying trees. It is a fragrant dusk evening on Naboo, and the growing summer breeze licks at her skin, her lower arms exposed from her sweeping green gown. 

She is sketching privately in a little book, a habit from her youth that she was never able to forsake. Her drawings are much more profound than they were when she was a young woman, her skills and precision having improved over the years during her career as a portrait artist and art-critic. What has stayed the same however, is her muse. Her lover from her days as a young adult, and once again now, as a grown woman of thirty-five: the renegade Sith Lord Maul. Her reacquaintance with him did not go as smoothly as their first meeting all those years ago did, with petty squabbles and resentment and unspoken words muddying the waters of their reunion. But in the last year they have comfortably settled into a relaxed yet unusual dynamic. She cannot call it a relationship, no - he is much too damaged and maddened and chaotic for such a thing. However, whatever it is that they have now, it suits them well enough. 

Nienna assesses her work, the sketch is of her lover from their meeting a couple of days ago. He had paid her a surprise visit, handsomely stylish in new robes and a pendant around his neck, an emblem of a rising sun that signifies his underworld criminal venture, Crimson Dawn. She thinks that his new aesthetic suits him now that his frame has grown larger with age, power and wealth. The dark tunic and gold regalia fits the powerful vision of him impeccably. His durasteel legs gleam in the same way that his brushed chromium weapon does, the hilt of the thing bold and dangerous: he carries it constantly at his hip like another cybernetic limb. She hums softly as she looks over her rendition of this strange man that is inexplicably tangled up in her life, feelings of an even stranger love tugging at her heart. She thinks over all that they have been through together, all that they have faced alone. How they have found one another again. 

She notices a change in the air, then. A hazy sweeping density that plunges her into a soft weightlessness. She blinks rapidly, dropping her sketchpad to the plush grass as she stands. It is a unique dreaminess that she has felt before, in a life long ago, but cannot seem to place. She spins around, searching between the trees and exotic flower-beds as she senses that she is being observed. The forest before her morphs, the rich greens and browns of leaves and soil twisting into deep reds and hazy ochres of a rocky landscape. Before she can register the ominous curiousness of her current predicament, a silhouette emerges from the blur, the definition of the figure slowly morphing into full clarity. It is a vivid and feminine shape, tall and striding with purpose. 

A woman that is heavy with child.

She is wearing a black dress with silver detailing at the waist and the dark fabric flows around her exquisitely as she walks, her thin hand resting protectively on her large belly. Her pale shoulders are exposed, but the reddish light of the strange scene warms the tundra of her skin. A choker of gleaming metal adorns her throat, the necklace engraved with the emblem of a raven, bold and solid. She has dark inky hair that is swept neatly from her face, half is up, braided with a twisting delicacy at the back of her head, the rest of it straight and silky, falling shiny and rich down her back. 

Nienna becomes painfully aware of her own appearance, of her hair, which sits wild and bushy and curly around her head, her fingers stained with charcoal, her long dress, though custom-made, artisan and beautiful, has foliage and dirt littering the materials of her skirts from lounging in the grass all afternoon. Why must she always appear moonstruck and crazed, especially when facing strangers in the woods? It is a commonality of her whole life, her wild, earthy aesthetic always coinciding with strange meetings in the forest. She sighs, attempting to maintain her dignity and embrace her own rugged beauty in the face of the regal brilliance of the stranger's own. 

The woman stops when she is a few strides from Nienna, squints her eyes at her, as though trying to place her. Close up, she seems less ravishing and more…frightening. Ethereal wrath burns beneath her expression, the weight of experience roaring in her irises. Those eyes…

"It's you," says Nienna, recognition morphing her expression into awe, astonishment lacing her words. "Ayane. The friend from my dreams in girlhood." She tilts her head, takes in the image of the looming, elegant woman before her. "My, you've changed."

Her friend’s eyes are the same colour as she remembers, but where they were once the blue of open summer skies, they are now the iced rage of a stormy sea. Though she seems more mature and wise, there are no lines of age marking her skin. Those lines are around Nienna’s eyes though, the years of her life beginning to stain her complexion, the youth slowly being leached from her skin. Ayane looks frozen in time, yet vibrant with the wisdom of a lifetime. 

“Nienna,” greets Ayane, a soft smirk pulling at the corner of her lips. “It has been a while.”

“How are you here?” The shorter woman asks bluntly, her confusion overriding her politeness. She reaches forward into the red mist that has followed Ayane into her vergant gardens, wiggles her fingers in it. It's cold.

Ayane purses her lips, looks around her. “Curious, isn’t it?” Her palm circles her pregnant stomach as she wanders. A silence settles around them, both unsure of how to approach this odd reunion. A crater of years rests between them, a vast distance between universes, as well as the inherently perplexing nature of their meeting. Nienna has thirsted for knowledge since she was freed from her home planet, and has scoured the worlds in search of it. She is an intelligent and well read woman, the itch to learn and rid herself of that childish naivety she has always loathed in herself as necessary for her as breathing. She researched her dreams, her strange visions and the odd meeting she had with Ayane as a young woman, and has only discovered one potential connecting factor - The Force. It beguiles her, frightens her. Mystical and maddening, its clutches have haunted her for her entire life. Is it the cause of this meeting now, too?

Nienna watches Ayane closely, following her movement with wide, green eyes. Then the woman stops cold, and a wash of menace sluices down Nienna’s spine.

"What is this?" She asks sharply, danger rippling in her voice. Nienna follows her extended finger, which points to her sketchpad on the ground, its pages open to her newest sketch of Maul.

Nienna frowns, blinking. "My art," she answers defensively, not appreciating the sneering nature of Ayane's tone.

"Why are you drawing him?" There is confusion and accusation in her eyes as she glares at her. The grave shadow in her gaze starts to become literal, the whites of them darkening to black. Her anger burns her irises red, and her lips instinctively pull back, revealing sharp fangs. She all but hisses at her.

Nienna flinches. She is perplexed at her friend’s sudden wildness and grim transformation, at how she recognised her lover in the sketch. "You know him?"

“Know him?” spits Ayane violently, "He is my husband. The father of my children."

Husband? Nienna is dumbfounded, completely taken aback. “Impossible.”

Ayane looks down at her body, swollen with the very opposite of Nienna’s truth. “This babe will be our third.” When she looks back up again, her darkness has dissipated, her anger quelled by the reassurance of their unborn child. Her eyes are the familiar blue Nienna first recognised, her mouth and lips returned to normal. It is as though Nienna imagined it. 

Perhaps she did. 

Third. The word rings in her ears. Three children? How could he possibly reproduce? It is physically unfeasible. A fantasy. Nienna bends to the ground and picks up the book. 

“This sketch of him is an image from three days ago, Ayane. Look closer. At his lower half,” she insists, assuming this all to be some terrible mistake. 

The pregnant woman takes the sketchpad from Ni with gentle fingers. She straightens upright, then brings the drawing closer to her eyes. She looks over the subject of the drawing, making note of such a unique face, a face that definitely belongs to Maul. It is unmistakable, what with his casual expression of contempt, the imposing crown of horns, his handsome nose and jaw: her soulmate's features are as familiar to Ayane as her own body is. She sees the cybernetics of his legs, and her bewilderment grows. Why does he have those? Why is Nienna drawing him? 

“Who is he to you?” she demands coldly.

“I don’t have words for it,” Nienna replies truthfully, unable to make sense of what he is to her. Ayane stays silent for a moment, and Nienna tries to further explain, but the words do not come easily. “He is my liberator, my tormenter…my…” she tapers off. 

Ayane disappears from herself for a moment, her gaze vacant as she looks into the distance, as though she is searching for something. And she is, internally, reaching out to her bond with Maul, trying to pass the bridge that connects their minds in the Force. But there is nothing there. No bridge, no connection. No bond.

“I cannot feel him,” she whispers, fear and awe strangling the reality out of her. “Not here.”

Nienna’s sense returns to her at these words, and she recalls her previous experiences with Ayane. She is not from this world, this galaxy, this universe - that much is clear. Perhaps she and Maul exist together as husband and wife, as parents…somewhere else. A different set of circumstances, a separate path. 

Another Maul.

“Was he not bisected, where you are from?” she asked tentatively, her stomach twisting. Marriage. Children. How would he be capable of such things?

“Yes,” Ayane says sadly, to Nienna’s shock. “He was grievously injured in battle. But he was healed.” Her watery blue eyes meet the earthen green of Nienna’s. Nienna raises her hands to face, turning away from her friend. Healed?

“I don’t understand,” mutters Nienna, her heart pounding. “How does one heal from an injury of that magnitude?” She has never heard of such a thing, not once in her life. How does a man regain his legs, his reproductive organs, when they have been detached from his body? His survival itself was a miracle, and now this?

“We are from different planes,” assumes Ayane calmly. “My dimension is vastly dissimilar to this one.” She pauses, her lips pouting, her hand on her chin, her eyes glowering in thought. “It appears this…connection…that you and I have, Nienna, is somehow attached to our relationship with him.”

Nienna turns back to face her, and her expression is painted with disbelief. "We are connected…by him?"

“It is our commonality, is it not?” She asks, running her eyes over Nienna. “What is your relationship with Maul?” She spits, and she waits for that violent rage to erupt inside of her, the horrific rush of vengeance that rattles her bones when another woman is associated with him. Nienna doesn’t answer, and Ayane’s patience runs thin, unable to prevent herself from adding, "Do you love him?”

The air is sucked from Nienna’s lungs as she nods. “I do,” she admits breathily, in slight fear of Ayane, the image of her strange eyes and sharp teeth so recent in her mind. She braces herself.

But Ayane does nothing, says nothing, because she is taken aback by her absence of rage. Then she suddenly makes sense of it: it’s because the man Nienna loves is not her Maul. She is not connected with him in this realm, which is why she cannot reach him through their bond. It isn’t him, here, he isn’t hers. He is Nienna’s. Nienna has the same realisation, as she registers that she has not felt any resentment or animosity to Ayane since discovering their shared lover. That she has felt no need to lay claim to him at all.

“Oh,” Ayane murmurs, then smiles, the lack of fierce fury a soothing relief. She looks at Nienna, fondness in her eyes. A pause. “Nienna, this is ever so strange.”

This was not what Nienna expected to come from her friend’s lips. Compassion and empathy courses through Ayane, as she considers the Maul in this dimension, his disability and trauma. The toll this must have on her friend.

"I'm sorry," says Ayane softly. "That in this dimension you will not be able to bear him children."

Nienna snorts. "Don't be. I'd never have his children, even if he could give them to me." Ayane steps back, starting, her hands protective over her stomach.

Nienna’s eyes widen. "Forgive me. What I mean is that I never would have children. Not his, not anyone's."

Ayane seems confused by this. 

“I birth enough creation with my art,” Nienna explains. “This world, this galaxy, this universe. It's no place for a child.” She shakes her head. “Not here.”

“What about marriage?” she asks.

“No,” Nienna insists. “Absolutely not.”

“Are you…happy together?” asks the dark-haired woman curiously.

“That is a complicated question. Our…romance,” Nienna answers, “is not at all conventional.”

Ayane giggles, and it is a heartfelt melodic laugh that breaks the tension between them. “I suppose that’s an intrinsic element of loving him.”

Nienna nods, then pushes her hair from her face. Hesitates.

“Can I ask? Your eyes. They changed colour…”

“Ah yes,” Ayane says nonchalantly. “That happens. I’m not exactly human.”

Nienna does not need to know any more, doesn’t want to. She accepts Ayane’s answer, happy to move on. A hard lesson she has learned is that though truth is sweet and enticing to her, sometimes it is the best course of action to resist knowing more than you need to, more than you are entitled to. She has become rather skilled at treading that line.

“Tell me, Nienna,” requests Ayane, extending her pale hand towards her to give her back her artbook, “of your non-conventional relationship with my husband. I am curious.”

Nienna snorts a laugh at the ridiculousness of that statement, and Ayane begins to giggle in tandem with her. Nienna takes the sketchpad back from Ayane, then reaches out and takes her friend’s hand. “I shall enlighten you whilst I take you on a tour of my gardens.”

The two wander in the timeless dreamscape, and Nienna identifies and shows off her multitudes of flora as she weaves her life story into words. She tells her of the Moons, her youth as a surgeon’s daughter, Maul’s sudden imposition on her life and the harrowing changes he inflicted upon it. She leaves out the details of their physical relationship, because though integral to their story, it does not seem to have a place in this conversation. Nienna sensed the depth of Ayane’s jealousy that rages in her blood. It is less painful for them both this way.

The walk of the forest is hazy, littered with odd watery scenery that indicate they do not walk the physical realm of her world. It is perplexing, how they are together, why they are together and what relevancy it has to their relationships with the former Sith Lord. The two recall their time in the woods, all those years ago, how they both awoke with a physical remnant of the dream; their flower crowns. 

“I treasure that gift,” Ayane confesses. “I still have it, to this day.” 

“So do I,” says Nienna. The delicate blue crown made with flowers from Ayane’s world sits under lock and key, alongside her other most valuable and sentimental artefacts. It lies in the pages of her secret sketchpad that she treasured all those years ago.

After a pause, Nienna turns towards Ayane and asks, “What do you suppose is the meaning of our meeting tonight? Do you believe there is any rhyme or reason to these events? You are clearly much more knowledgeable and experienced in these matters than I am.”

Ayane sighs softly and shakes her head. “I have not the slightest idea. But I am glad that, for whatever reason, we were able to be reunited again.”

“Me too.”

The two women have now completed a lap of the entire gardens, and have returned to the spot where they were first reunited. They both perch on the edge of the pond, and Nienna retrieves her pouch of pencils that she placed between the rocks. 

She smiles softly, then places her sketchbook and tools on her lap. She has an idea, and is slightly nervous to ask Ayane about it. Eventually, she takes a deep breath, and flicks through to an empty page and looks at her friend. 

“Ayane, would you mind if I did a quick sketch of you? I am a portrait artist, I’ve spent my life perfecting my technique and collecting the faces of those from across the stars. It would mean an awful lot to me to put this beautiful evening to paper, to be able to draw…you.”

Ayane blinks slowly, her hand still resting on her pregnant belly protectively. She seems unsure, but after pondering it for a moment, she ultimately nods, and a tender smile forms on her lips. “Of course, my friend. I would be honoured.” She looks around herself, and reaches for her hair. “Do you want me to…should I…?”

Ni shakes her head. “No, you look great where you are. You’re perfect, Ayane.” 

And so she begins to sketch her muse, starting with an outline of the vampiress. Nienna’s wrists and fingers glide swiftly across the page, and she works fast but precisely, her expertise apparent in her quick fingers and the concentration painted on her face. 

Ayane feels awkward at first, and doesn’t seem to know what to do with herself. She shifts, and looks at the ground, her body rigid. She looks more and more uncomfortable as the time stretches on.

“Try and…relax,” advises Nienna kindly when she notices Ayane’s discomfort. “Just look at the stars, at the moon. Watch the sky. Think of your family. Think of…him.”

Ayane nods, and exhales softly. She shifts again, and then looks up into the sky, and smiles. “I’ve always loved the stars, the moon.”

Nienna smiles, sketching as she replies. “As do I. It is a joy to be able to walk beneath the light.”

After a while, Ayane inquires softly. “Do you know of Dathomir, Nienna?” 

“I do.” 

“Dathomir is where I reside,” she says, looking around her at the abundance of flora, the vibrant greens and earthy browns. Nienna’s gardens appear to be the very antithesis to Ayane’s home of rock and red mists. “It is rather…different from yours.”

“Stars,” Nienna exclaims, “you live there? How do you stand it?”

“What do you mean?” asks Ayane, somewhat shocked. 

“It’s not the…um…most comfortable of environments?” 

Ayane nods, and smiles knowingly. “I suppose it can seem that way to some. For me, it’s my ancestral home, the residence of my kin. It is where I was born to be.”

“I do not have the same attachment to it. I went once, at the request of…him. It was not the most pleasant of atmospheres, to put it lightly. I haven’t returned since.”

Ayane giggles. “I can only imagine what the humidity did to your hair.”

“Exactly! It was awful. He said I looked like some kind of wild woman.”

Their laughter fades, and then the peaceful silence returns until Ayane breaks it. “Tell me Nienna, have you watched the moons from the Dathomiri mountains?”

Nienna pauses, and exhales. “No, I haven’t. I have yet to accept another of my lover’s invitations to his native home.”

“The next time he requests your presence, oblige him,” Ayane suggests. “Allow him to walk you up to the mountains. Watch the skies at night. It is the most beautiful thing - I can hardly bring myself to describe it. If your Dathomir is the same as mine, that is.”

The artist pauses in her sketching, and looks into the ocean eyes of her friend. “I will, Ayane. Thank you, that is very thoughtful. And I shall think of you when I look upon the moons of Dathomir. I will give the place another try.”

The two women sit beneath the Naboo night sky as Nienna continues to sketch Ayane under the moonlight. The breeze remains gentle and floral, and it brushes against them in a soothing caress, the leaves around them rustling softly. The evening stretches into the timeless dreamscape, and then, it is almost finished.

Nienna completes her sketch, drops her pencil and flexes her fingers and wrists. “Ah,” she sighs in slight pain. “My hands aren’t what they used to be.” She then shuffles over to Ayane and presents her the portrait. “What do you think?”

Ayane sucks in a sharp breath as she appraises the image of herself on the paper. Lady Nienna is highly regarded as being in possession of a rare and unique talent: in laying bare truth. She is able to present to the world, in full clarity, the hearts and desires of her subjects through their eyes and expressions. 

The drawing of Ayane presents a softened reflection of the vampire, as though Nienna has delved deep into her mind and forced forth the girl from her younger years. Hope and loss and confusion gleam in Ayane's eyes, her hands clasped tightly in her lap as though in anticipation - as though that young girl she used to be is poised and ready to run from her life. 

It's raw and candid and real: exquisite. 

"Oh, Nienna…" Ayane says, her voice trembling with emotion. "I've not seen this version of myself for many years." 

Nienna smiles softly, her eyes glazing across her work. "That's the person I first met. The Ayane I know." She meets her gaze. "The Ayane you are, deep down. My friend."

A tight fist of sentiment twists in Ayane's chest. Then, a soft breeze flickers the pages, revealing a self portrait Nienna sketched a few moons ago. 

"This is you," Ayane says. The woman in the sketch has darkness in her eyes, yearning warping the clothes she is dressed in in a strange darkness. Her face, though neutral in expression, screams for purpose and liberation. Haunted. 

"It's who I was. Who I am."

A pause. The dreamscape warps and glitches, and Ayane becomes slightly…transparent.

"It's fading." Ayane looks around herself, hesitance and resistance paints her expression. "Our time is coming to an end."

"Take this." Nienna tears out the self portrait, crushing it into Ayane's palm. "Remember me. I'll remember you."

Ayane's eyes water. "I hope to see you again, one day."

"As do I." Ni swallows, holding her sketchpad to her chest. "Goodbye Ayane."

"Nienna," Ayane says as she begins to fade, reaching her hand towards the shorter woman. "Remember the Moons."

And then she disappears, the crimson dawn of her home, universes apart, evaporates into the dark swamp greens of Nienna's gardens.

Ni takes a breath, the weightless feeling dispersing. She is grounded again. With charcoal stained fingers, she flicks to the page in her book that held the drawing of Ayane. 

It's still there.

-

[blackjackkent]

Rakha's head continues to ache terribly simply at the presence of Isobel and Aylin in camp, and she stands deliberately some distance away from them, in the hope that it helps keep the murder urges down. (I think she also maybe has Wyll hang out nearby during this whole conversation - she's told him everything about Sceleritas and the Urge and everything, so he knows about the beast's specific interest in Isobel.)

This conversation isn't really about her though (thankfully) - Shadowheart is already talking to the aasimar when Rakha arrives.

"What do you know about me?" she demands. "You spoke of my past, being chased by wolves... I told no one about that." A pause. Her eyes flick minutely in Rakha's direction. "Almost no one," she amends. "But I certainly didn't share that with *you*."

She casts the word you at Aylin like a slap, an aimless lashing-out. Aylin doesn't flinch from it, but looks at Shadowheart steadily with her moon-pale gaze.

"There is nothing I can tell you that you do not already know yourself," she says calmly. "They trained you well, trained you hard. Chiseled away any part of you that did not fit their plan. They made you forget."

(A/N: For some reason all the shots of Shadowheart in this scene make her face look really long and thin and I don't know why. XD )

Shadowheart stiffens angrily. "I *chose* to do that," she snaps. "For the mission. To protect Shar's--"

"--secrets. Yes, yes." Aylin shakes her head. "That is an old song, girl," she says. "Your goddess cares more for her precious secrets than she does her devotees.

Shadowheart's jaw works. "Get to the point," she mutters.

Dame Aylin tilts her head thoughtfully for a moment, then goes on. "When you freed me, you severed a bond between me and that dog, Thorm. A bond of pain - his, inflicted on me. When I laid eyes on you, I sensed a similar bond. You, tethered to two others, someplace distant."

She leans forward, her eyes fixed intently on Shadowheart's. "Let me help you remember," she says. Her voice is firm, but not harsh. Cool but kind.

Shadowheart shivers visibly. Her eyes flicker half-closed.

Narrator: You feel Shadowheart's mind tug at the edges of your own. You know this sensation. She wants you to see whatever is about to be revealed.

It takes a moment for Rakha to register the gentle nudge in her mind; it has to break through layers of pain and the struggling growl of the beast aching to be set free. But she does feel it - and it is natural enough to let the connection through. It is not, after all, the first time they have made use of the tadpole to share memories - what little memories they both have.

Open your mind to that sensation.

Narrator: Your mind joins with Shadowheart's. Something pulls at you both, bringing you elsewhere.

It's the same memory again, the one Shadowheart shared with her so many weeks ago. The lost girl, the dark-robed figures. The wolf.

Only it isn't a wolf.

The memory shifts, twists, reveals a fallen dark-haired man, writhing with fear beneath the tips of Sharran spears. He reaches out, his face a mask of anguish, as the girl is pulled away into the shadows of the forest.

The images fade.

Narrator: Something sparks in your memory. Teachings about Selunite rites of passage, about how they would abandon their children in the wilds and force them to find their way home. It seems that one child never came back. She was taken.

The facts churn through Rakha's head. Shadowheart was a Selunite child. The man is her father, certainly, to judge by the resemblance. Her memories of him have been wiped away - by force.

Shadowheart is struggling more to process the implications. "What-- who was that man?" she asks unsteadily.

"You already know," Aylin answers. "Did you not see yourself in him? Do you not recognize your own blood?"

Shadowheart swallows. "My father?" she whispers. "That was him?"

"That *is* him," Aylin corrects her. "He lives still. And your mother, too."

Shadowheart goes deathly pale, her eyes widening. "No. It can't be..." she says haltingly. "I'm-- an orphan..."

"And who told you that? Your adoptive family?" Aylin asks. Her voice is still low, and yet it rings like a rallying cry, like a bell. "You are not to blame. You were young, impressionable. They took you because they wanted to break and remake you. But you are a child no longer. You are a woman! One who knows what must be done."

A long, long silence. Then Shadowheart looks towards Rakha, a mute appeal in her eyes.

"My parents," she says. "I... need to save them."

Rakha draws a slow breath, lets it out heavily, trying to keep her mind under control. Her head still aches terribly and she is acutely aware of Isobel sitting only a few feet away, playing with Squire. Focus.

They are already going to save Wyll's father. They will save Shadowheart's as well, then. Natural enough. Another addition to the pile of obligation sitting on Rakha's chest like a lead weight.

Do I have a father? she wonders abruptly. A mother? I must... She had a sister, after all, it seems. Who bore them? What would she do, if a memory was returned to her of her father's face?

"I'll help," she mutters, almost too low to hear.

Shadowheart gives her another quick sideways glance. A look of gratitude, quickly masked again behind a troubled frown.

Aylin nods crisply. "Your parents are with your abductors," she says. "You will need to return to their lair. But be warned-- you may have once thought of them as comrades, mentors, friends, even lovers. They will all be enemies now."

She stretches out one hand towards Shadowheart. "You have been forewarned for what is to come, but not yet forearmed."

Rakha watches with some fascination as a burst of magic shivers around the aasimar's body, the Weave rippling with it. When it settles, a long spear rests in her palm. The same spear Shadowheart hurled from the platform in the Shadowfell - the Spear of Night.

Her eyes narrow in muted surprise, but she says nothing.

Observe silently.

"The Spear..." Shadowheart murmurs, disbelieving. "How do you hae it? I threw it into the Shadowfell!"

"Shar is quick to discard whatever she has no use for," Aylin says gravely. "I think you know that well enough. But I felt it call to me as I took flight. Whatever Shar calls her own, Selune has equal claim to. They are one and the same. Their power is matched and mirrored."

She presses the shaft of the spear into Shadowheart's hand. "Take it," she says. "You will find it useful. What you do with it... that will be up to you. Same as before."

Shadowheart slowly turns the spear in her hands, feeling its weight. Rakha can see the slow shimmer of magic through the wood, along the metal of the point - divine magic untouched now by Shar's darkness. Selunite moonlight.

"I'll need every advantage, it seems," Shadowheart mutters. "Thank you."

Aylin gives a single sharp shake of her head. "A debt repaid. You returned my life unto me. Now go and claim your own."

If Shadowheart plans to answer, she is cut off by a sudden surge of energy into the back of her hand, the wound that still lingers there. "Ngh..." she groans. "It hurts..."

Aylin frowns - and for a moment her placidity slips, and Rakha sees a flare of the same rage that lit her eyes when her boot crashed through Ketheric's skull. "Shar torments you still," the aasimar murmurs. "What a spiteful creature she is. This will not stop until you take action." Her eyes flick briefly to Rakha, then back to Shadowheart. "See that your parents' sacrifices are not in vain. Allow the Moonmaiden to guide you at last."

[kitcat22]

Dark Melian au part 2

Aredhel glares at the monster before her, snarling as he stares back unflinchingly.

He is very good at that, she has discovered, making himself seem unbothered and collected. His pale face is still and well carved as one of her Aunt’s statues, a faint smile on his face. Aredhel is not fooled however, she is well acquainted with the mannerisms of sly politicians and egotistical lords from her childhood in her grandfather’s court. She know how to pick the signs of annoyance from his face and movements.

She is pleased that she irks him so.

He speaks again in that deep pretentious voice of his.

‘Will you not attend lunch with me my lady wife? My mother had such little chance to meet you at the wedding what with having to manage my father and many weeks have passed since then, she is ever so eager to see you.’

Wife

The word made Aredhel’s stomach roll in disgust. It was never a word she had wished to have any claim to, much to her parent’s initial dismay. When the haziness that had consumed her mind from whatever magic was contained in this forest had finally faded Aredhel had been left in horror. To be married against one’s will was an unthinkable crime, her only reprieve came in the fact he had not laid with her yet. Their marriage was only one in ceremony, their fea were unbound and separate as they should be. This confused her slightly, why bother with the ceremony at all if he wasn’t going to follow through.

Still, she counted her blessings.

Her memory of the events leading her to now where blurred and distorted. She remembered walking through through the forest deeper and deeper until up seemed like down and forwards like backwards. She remembered her dark stranger of a husband looming over her as she lay weary on the forest floor. She remembered the event that had been her wedding only as dazzling lights and strange foreign people. Maia, she had realised later, there was hundreds of them with colorful skin and hair, flowing clothes and painted faces. To see so many in one place was unusual. Everything about her situation was unusual.

He was still staring at her, waiting on a response

She ground her teeth together, lips prim and bloodless. She did not wish to give him the satisfaction of an easy agreement.

‘Well?’ He said, still smiling that patronising smile.

‘Your mother wishes to know me but i have little desire to meet her. Tell me is she as corrupt and immoral as you?’

His smile widened ‘more so, i would argue, its what makes family dinners so interesting’

She said nothing hands curled into fists at her side with the rage at his amusement. How dare he be so happy after confining her so. How dare he. There was no point trying to attack him though. She had learned that in the weeks past. Every time she tried, to punch him, or scratch him or to tackle him this force stopped her. Her husband was a powerful being it seemed. She had thought at first he was a maia but couldn’t understand why he would marry her if he was. Maia and elves were of separate kindreds and there had never been any crossover. She could not understand why an elf would be among so many maia either though. Whatever he was he was well skilled in the art of magic.

He continued on ‘my father will be there also, by his own insistence. My mother is wary of letting him loose from his cage but it has been a long time since he has shown as much interest in anything as he has you’

‘Am I really so interesting to them, their son’s newest slave?’

‘My mother’s interest no doubt lies in figuring out how to best manipulate and use you against me. My father’s interest is of a more personal note. It has been many millennia since he has meet another of the eldar.’

‘So you are an elf then. I thought…’

‘That i was a maia?’ His eyes twinkled ‘An easy mistake to make, as i am partially. My mother is a maia by the name of Melian and she is queen here in Nan Elmoth. My father is of the elven kind and goes by the name Elwe.’

Now that came as a shock.

‘You jest surely!?’

Both names were deeply familiar to her. Melian she recognised as the sindarinized version of Melyanna who had been a servant to Yavanna and later a follower of Melkor. Some maiar she had met as follower of Orome had spoken of Melyanna as cunning and ambitious, a traitor to their kind.

Elwe on the other hand was the more suprising. A haunting figure in elvish history, Elwe’s disappearance had always been the source of much grief in Aman. A brave leader and explorer lost to the darkness of middle earth. Once when she was small she had walked with her grandfather, hand in hand, down the the palace’s hall of tapestries. With a quiet voice and a sad look on his face, Finwe had introduced her to the tapestry of an ellon dressed in ancient clothing with long silver hair and a bright smile. Elwe Singollo she knew had been on his way to visit the visit her grandfather when he had disappeared into the sprawling forests, never to be seen again. ‘Taken’ the people had whispered when her grandparents could not hear ‘stolen away by the dark lord to be remade like those before him’. This had been his presumed fate for thousands upon thousands of years, the reason why Olwe had been so cold when meeting Mekor and her grandfather and Ingwe so uncharacteristically unsure. Yet here this beast of an ellon claimed…

She looked into his pale silver eyes. Eyes that matched her grandfather’s tapestry almost exactly.

She loosened her fists and dropped her defensive pose into something more dignified and stately.

‘Yes. I shall attend lunch with you’

She had much investigating to do after all.

[nonamedrk]

TOGETHER WE STAND pt. 1

::Summary:: PAST - Ysolie meets Melianne for the first time.

::Content Warning:: Children

Thanks for reading!!! 💙

[<- Previous: Custom And Tradition pt. 3]

Spring was very pretty and Ysolie liked seeing the flowers most of all, because they reminded them of their dad, and they really loved thinking about their dad.

Sounds of the other children, playing and running about the grove echoed through the trees, as they ventured further and further away from the main group. They had seen something move over here— they swear they did.

Curious, Ysolie ran toward it— that thing they thought they saw— when Blademaster Guillaume wasn’t looking and had walked off to find some other kid they’d tricked into running in the opposite direction.

Trips to the surface weren’t rare but they weren’t often enough for Ysolie’s liking. There was so much to see up here and so many new animals to find and always, around this time, when the sun was high up at noon— or so they had been told— they would sometimes see something over here.

Something moving.

But they hadn’t seen it in a while now.

“Shit,” Ysolie mumbled as they trudged deeper into the trees, worried that they may have lost the whatever-it-was for good.

They walked along, staring up into the canopy, where the trees were so tall that the clouds scraped them, as the sound of birdsong fell toward them. Most of the trees stood all year with green up high in their branches, their trunks dark and mossy.

Still, dotted here and there in the forest, were those pale trunks, whose bark shed and made the best drawing surface, and whose leaves turned pretty colors just before the snow came back. Every crunch of those old leaves that could be found, after the spring-melt, was savored as they walked among the ferns and rich soil.

Their meandering steps— accented by halts to stare at weird mushrooms, strange piles of animal nuggets, and a few very strange and lazy hairy giant rats— eventually lead them toward the sound of running water. Picking up their pace, Ysolie ran toward it, and emerged from the clearing to find a small creek.

And another kid.

Open mouthed, Ysolie stared toward the kid, then pointed, “The thing I saw was your head.”

From across the creek, the kid stared back with wide pale blue eyes, and took a nervous step away, to which Ysolie immediately threw their hands up and made a soothing gesture in greeting.

‘Can you talk? Can you hear?’ Ysolie gestured to them.

Nodding timidly, the strange kid looked at their feet, before seeming to yank their gaze up instead, with a struggle going on to maintain eye contact.

This made Ysolie arch an eyebrow, “Why is your hair white?”

The kid frowned deeply, snorted in displeasure, then stared toward the creek.

Ysolie offered, “I thought you were a bird.”

Crossing their arms, the kid continued to stare at the creek.

Inquisitively, Ysolie asked, “Why do I not see you with the other kids, ever? What are you doing over here?”

At the sound of a distant voice calling out, the kid looked up at Ysolie, then over their shoulder. Turning halfway, they stared back toward Ysolie, then abruptly sprinted off—

Ysolie called after them urgently, “No— wait!”

As Ysolie looked down toward the creek, trying to judge if they could make the jump across, a voice called from behind them, “OI, YOU LITTLE SHIT— come back to the group!”

Ysolie looked over their shoulder as Blademaster Guillaume came charging up behind them— still far enough away— they got this—

“HEY— STOP!”

But there was no stopping Ysolie was they were already in the air, leaping across the creek. Landing on the other side in stride, then quickly zigzagging into the underbrush.

They ran as fast as they could after that kid and away from the Blademaster— he was boring and mean anyway!

Pounding the ground with their feet hard, Ysolie ran toward where they saw the bushes still moving, and they didn’t look back— they didn’t want to look back— because everything more interesting was ahead of them…

—🕷—

“There you are, child.”

A subtle wheeze could be heard, rattling about the panting child’s chest, as they came sprinting from the underbrush, their white hair flying about like smoke.

“There was no need to run so hard—” all it took was the noise of something approaching from the woods for them to place the child protectively behind them. One hand on the broadsword at their waist, they waited a moment— the sound of those feet approaching seemed a bit too light for an animal—

Ysolie burst from behind a fern, then came to a stop at the sight of the Blademaster before them. Panting heavily, they doubled over, their eyes traveled to that kid— that strange white head kid— huddling protectively behind the Blademaster’s legs, then back to the Blademaster.

As they had been taught, they held firm eye contact with the adult, even though it felt like their lungs were going to burst and their heart was going to jump from their chest.

Eyes narrowing as they took their hand off their weapon, the Blademaster asked, “I recognize you. Ysolie, isn’t it? Child of family Erceneaux, correct?”

As Ysolie nodded, the Blademaster asked, “What are you doing here?”

“Hi. Enforcer Rejeanne,” Ysolie panted, pointing, “Their hair. Looks like. Spider silk.”

Arching a brow, Rejeanne looked down at the child clinging to them, then nodded in agreement, “Fair. But that does not answer my question.”

Shrugging so hard they flailed their arms, Ysolie elaborated through gasping breaths, “I asked. Why. They were not with. The others. Because. I want. To be their friend.”

“But you’re odd,” spoke the white haired child.

“So are you,” Ysolie immediately snapped back, gesturing a swearing taunt toward the other, in a manner that Rejeanne recognized immediately, as an exact mimic from one of the kid’s relatives.

Laughing slightly, Rejeanne spoke, “Both of you are odd— therefore you must meet.” Rejeanne firmly but gently pried the child away from her legs, then pushed them toward Ysolie, “Give your name proudly. I will not make introductions for you.”

Looking as if they might cry, whilst so tense as to be trembling, as they were clearly forcing themselves to hold eye contact with Ysolie, the kid spoke, “I am Melianne of Guilbeault family.”

Ysolie rolled their eyes, “Whatever! Do you want to play or not?”

Rejeanne coughed to disguise a laugh.

Melianne held their chin up higher and declared, “It is not whatever— it is Melianne of Guilbeault family— and you did not give your name— that’s rude!”

Ysolie scooped up a handful of leaves then launched them at Melianne.

Flailing to fend them off, Melianne shouted, “Stop it!”

Yet Ysolie only launched more, which Melianne answered in turn by kicking fallen leaves toward the other, whilst shouting, “Stop it, oddball.”

“Make me! MAKE ME,” Ysolie shouted, continuing their barrage, which, of course, escalated quickly into an all out leaf throwing vortex that Rejeanne, fully aware of the rules of engagement, graciously stepped aside to leave space for…

[NEXT -> Together We Stand pt. 2]

[ch4rryc0smos]

I WOULD RIP MYSELF APART / IF IT WAS GONNA HEAL YOUR SOUL ! — BREAK MY HEART | MATT HANSEN.

── .☘︎ ❝ M A R I O N V A L E N T I N E R O S E V E L T . ❞

𖦹 — xx | cancer | infj | british ⏳

appearance ; pale skin with freckles over shoulders and face, mole under the right corner of her bottom lip, forest green eyes, 5'11 [180 cm], athletic [or sleeper] build. barely noticeable scars on hands and knees, scars over most of her body, most visible on back. dimples when she smiles hard. dimples on her back when she stretches. ombre [brown-blonde] hair.

beliefs ; things happen for a reason. lingering on what is done does not change it. made of stardust, why do you let yourself burn out? you exist infinitely, in all things, do not forget yourself.

⋆ ─ life will love you, if only you love yourself first. it is there for you to live, so don't just exist. ⋆ ─ your heart is beautiful, even when you think it is not, it is fragile, and you must tend to it, tape those cracks back together, and live.

personality ; gentle, intuitive, charismatic, vigilant, observant, meticulous, calm, collected, diligent, loving, realist, nurturing.

positive traits ; compassionate, selfless, empathetic, kind, voice of reason, accountable, notices other's emotions & fluctuations in behaviour[s].

negative traits ; anxious, bottles up her emotions, skeptic [has trust issues], struggles with boundaries, overworks, cares too hard.

quirks ; fidgets all the time | stutters when nervous | bounces from heel to heel when waiting in queues | gets louder and faster when talking about passions | has an oral fixation | tilts her head when she's focusing.

likes ; nature, psychology, sociology, anthropology, freedom of speech, anarchy, deep conversations, late-night car rides, coffee, biology [many branches of it], museums, gardens, aquariums, deers, red pandas, art of living, art donaldson.

dislikes ; arthropods, heights, loud noises, narrow-mindedness, extreme temperatures, snobby people, arrogance, dishonesty, being under pressure, confrontation, disorganised places.

deepest secrets ; just wants to be someone's first choice, wants to be the person someone chooses to share their joy with first, wants to be seen for more than whatever is seen at first glance.

⋆ ─ she's always wanted the best for everyone around her, she thinks she owes them that, and tries to supplement a need that was never fulfilled for her. ⋆ ─ she hates big expensive parties, all thanks to her parents hosting them.

── .☘︎ ❝ B A C K S T O R Y . ❞

ORIGINALLY from manchester, u.k, marion rosevelt is born to two rich parents, with the world in their hands, and power in their hearts. she grows up, a spitting image of the perfect prodigy she is expected to be, she is born into the world and from the moment she learns how to walk, the expectations pile on her shoulders.

she grows up, studying in the most esteemed schools in london, having moved there early on so she could receive the best education. she was forced to attend parties, receptions, every event her parents could think of, she was not allowed to befriend just about anyone.

she spent a lifetime having her life nitpicked by the second. everything she'd ever know about herself seemed to be a lie. at least that's how it seemed until one faithful business dinner. sitting awkwardly in her seat, she stared ahead at her untouched plate. nothing about the adults piquing her interest until a daughter is mentioned. a young girl, much like herself.

she finally listens, learns about this tashi, who is promised to meet her the next time mr. duncan (she learnt is his name) visited. and he became the only adult to have ever kept a promise, with marion. so, the next summer, her life finally felt like flowers that blossomed in the spring and not the dried up leaves that scattered the pavements in autumn. she met tashi, tan skin, eyes filled with the same warmth her movements radiated.

for the first time, marion has a friend, a friend who actually likes her too. who she likes as well. it felt like a dream. even more so when tashi somehow convinced her father to take marion along to the u.s. wildly enough, she's never travelled anywhere else. and from going to the u.s for vacation, it turned to her father having a staple business there, to living there for months on end, if possible.

she moved schools many a times, never bothering to befriend people because she knew she'd get hurt when she did finally leave. but just one time, at fifteen, probably one of the worst years of her life, she made a mistake, of not ignoring her seatmate, who for once, wasn't tashi duncan, her best friend. instead it was, art donaldson. who somehow, someway, found his way into her guarded heart.

the rosevelts never liked him, but she did. it didn't last long though. she should've known, she bared her heart, and all that happened was that it broke. and tashi was there, to console her, but her parents thought her a fool.

she tried to not think of the blond boy that used to sit next to her in physics and biology, the one who'd share his food with her, the one who somehow was the only other person (other than tashi) to know when she wasn't feeling her best.

the years passed, and soon enough, she had graduated, simultaneously moving between the u.s and u.k. but then tashi wanted to move back to the u.s for university full time, or as she called it, college. she wanted to go to stanford, play tennis professionally soon. marion didn't want to be left alone again.

when she finally moves to the u.s full time, along with tashi. the last person she expects to run into is art donaldson.

── .☘︎ ❝ C U R R E N T . ❞

ONLY second best to someone like tashi, marion rosevelt takes the world by storm. from her first year at stanford, she's been the one to look up to academically, the one to be. she came from the u.k, and she has the u.s wrapped around her little finger, they say. but they don't know the truth. tashi does, and she scoffs every time her best friend gets catcalled.

of the many things marion might've expected while studying at stanford, the last would've been to run into art donaldson again. something about seeing him in statistics, and noticing him walking with this other guy she'd learnt from tashi is called patrick zweig, it tugs at her heart strings.

she tries to put it off, every time in class when their eyes meet, when tashi takes her to tennis games, when she's cheering on her best friend. and the one time she noticed he was cheering on her too. marion doesn't know how to feel. especially about the way patrick keeps on grinning at art, about tashi. marion's best friend. the looks don't feel right.

and she vows that the next time she sees him do that, she'll punch him back into his place. she hopes she won't have to see him again, but then tashi has a party, she's been sponsored by adidas, and for some reason, despite knowing that marion values her scores and her peace, she forces her to accompany her.

the boys (art and patrick) approach tashi, marion's noticed them staring, they'd been doing it the whole night. she scowls every time. she leaves her best friend alone for just a second to get a refill, and when she's back, tashi's gone off somewhere, and when she finds her, she's talking to art and the guy he's always with for some reason. it's like art and patrick are connected at the hip.

marion builds up the courage and finally approaches the back of the mop of strawberry blond hair. she taps on his shoulder. he turns back, and her heart is suddenly stuck in her throat, but she ignores it and smiles at tashi, averting her gaze.

that night, she has to accompany tashi, and the boys to the beach. her best friend practically has them dancing around her finger, hearts in their eyes. something about the way art looks as he smokes and grins, while marion is sitting away on the sand, further away. the way she looks away every time his blue eyes meet hers, she can't bear to keep on looking.

she doesn't want to stay a second longer, but then tashi agrees to come over when the two ask for her number, and marion doesn't trust the dorms that aren't theirs. so she walks her best friend to their door, leans on the wall beside her and tries not to laugh when she hears all the scrambling, the yells of 'oh shit!' and a few things dropping.

and then the door swings open, two breathless boys, a brunette and a blond, staring, lips parted, at her best friend. she tries to shrink into the wall. thankfully for her, they don't seem to notice. she doesn't know what tashi does in there, but she doesn't leave, she stays.

waits.

her best friend walks out, grinning, lips red. marion eyes her up and down. tashi mentions art, blond boy, whatever. tells marion that she knows her eyes have been on him since the first time she noticed him around campus.

marion doesn't say anything, she isn't forced to, not until she visits art's games with tashi, finding out that the latter had made some bet with the boys, and now she's going out with patrick. that leaves marion in an awkward position, lots of time alone, with art.

but something about their silence feels natural, something about him is so alluring, all these years later, well, three. but still, ever the charming.

apparently, all of this is in tashi's plans, that's what marion finds out one night, but she can't care to complain, not when she's with him.

not when she can have him for more than a just a few fleeting moments. when her arms can hold him, and he lets her.

she can learn to have him around again, and she will.

── .☘︎ appears in selcouth [complete], scent of summer [complete].

★ ; finally another s/i post, thought i could push out two, but i BARELY managed this one, not even kidding, one of my friends watched me make practically the whole thing, you can ask them. this is mad, i'm telling you, but anyway, meet marion <3 i love her.

ch4rryc0smos © 2024

[tomjamesavery]

Chapter Update! Story summary: One summer day, Lily Evans meets a fiery red-haired girl at the pond, she would not know that from that point on her life was destined to change. Two girls, two best friends-, thrown into a life they had never expected. Through high and low, facing a growing evil in a world of Witchcraft, Beasts, Knights, and Castles. Chapter Four: The Weasleys After the horror of the Troll attack and discovering Ginny's mysterious powers, they make their way to the Burrow, where Lily is greeted by an interesting family of red-heads. Read the full Chapter on: AO3 FFN Snippet from the Fourth Chapter

Ginny watched the dust slowly settle, the last few late evening sunrays making it glimmer in the air. Her eyes fell over the giant troll, lying motionless next to the stone it had just been flung against.  She still couldn’t believe what had happened, all she knew was, that whatever this power was, it had come from her, her alone.  She had felt it, like a current traveling through her body, uncontrollable and mighty.  It seemingly shot from her fingertips, striking the towering creature with such incredible force…

She swallowed, her mouth feeling dry, she didn’t know she possessed such powers, to say that magic was a rare gift was an understatement. She had never met someone magical in her life, only heard the stories of old, mighty witches and wise sorcerers.

She knew it ran in her family bloodline, she had heard the tales of Catherina Weasley, a powerful witch once upon a time, serving on the royal court, far away from here.

But that was many hundreds of years ago, since then no one one in their family had shown any signs or inclination of magical powers, her family was incredibly ordinary.

But her mind drifted off, to the many times she had overheard her parents or brothers talk about the fact that something about her was special. The first girl in seven generations as well as the seventh-born child… But that didn’t have to mean anything, it could just be a big coincidence, she was just Ginny, a little ordinary girl from St. Ottery.

“G- Ginny, a- are you a- alright?”

Lily’s shaky and whimpering voice pulled her from her thoughts.  Goodness, they were still in the middle of a forest with another forest troll lurking around, she could sulk over all of this horrible mess later.

She spun around, now facing a still cowering Lily, the girl was shaking, her face was tear-streamed and ghostly pale, her green eyes watery and puffy. To Ginny’s delight, she otherwise seemed to be unharmed though, not being able to make out any blood or superficial injuries on the sitting girl covered in dust.

She quickly closed the distance before kneeling down in front of her, not caring about dirtying her clothes anymore, if more was even possible.

“Are you alright? I mean, neither of us is alright, but are you hurt or injured?” Ginny shakily asked, still checking over the trembling girl before her.

Lily took a few more deep breaths until she finally spoke up. “I- I think so.” She stuttered. “It c- couldn’t get to me in time.” She slightly raised her chin it was covered in dust, her eyes still wide. “You saved my life!”

Ginny’s lips curled into a small smile as she replied, hoping it comforted herself as much as it did Lily. “I guess that makes us even!”

[365runesofthesystem]

what does the glitch doctor look like??

[ thoughtful ]

interesting question there, chiquito, let's see if we can't grab some random images to help ya out.

for the most part, the glitch ain't much of a persona; honestly, the most solid part of his current form is the plague doctor getup it dawned to play with you.

we know for a fact that it don't got a solid body; it is filled with Blight, ink, glitching code / parts, and random shit that it takes from its environments and prey.

so its body - and the fucking Shade, hate that thing - is mostly just an amalgamation of shadows and glitches. and now, it kind of just twists itself into seeming like a Plague Doctor.

its face, however, is the thing with the most glitches. it doesn't have a face and honestly, it more uses the face of whatever it is copying / reflecting to make itself a face to use. it don't really use its mouth either - those chompers are actually from the Shade - and it shifts from not having anything there to hiding behind the plague mask.

a lot of the glitching code and bit and parts are purple colored - pale ones that could fade into a fog if you weren't looking for them. think lilac, lavender, a purple light enough to mingle with grey and lose itself if the glitch didn't try to force itself into one spot.

the outfit it now has it mostly dark and dirty greens. we would say motley shit that hides fuckers in forests and environments but also kind of is a little glaring different than its body. if you see green, it's trying to hide itself underneath clothes and masks and shit. if you see lilac, it is having a hard time staying in one Reality.

have fun.