#*stumbles out of ps covered in blood*

[rhaenyrasalicent]

» AEMOND TARGARYEN as THE CRUEL PRINCE 🗡️

part i of the targtowers x the folk of the air set › insp.

[boytoyhalo]

Your Selkie au is super compelling! Plus you are a very good writer. A question, will you ever go into more detail about Pac's previous captive situation? I'm very interested in how you will adapt Fuga's lore into your au. ( Specially bc of Cell and Cellbit stuff)

I'M SO SO SO LATE BUT IM USING FITPAC WEEK DAY 3 (WHICH IM ALSO LATE FOR) AS AN EXCUSE TO FINALLY, FINALLYYYYY GET THIS POSTED THANK YOU FOR BEING PATIENT ANON AND EVERYONE ELSE WHO'S AN ENJOYER OF THIS AU I PROMISE IT ISN'T ABANDONED IVE JUST BEEN IN AN END OF YEAR SLUMP

selkie au snippet #4 (i think) || T || slash (ambiguous) || @fitpacweek day 3 (belated its actually day 4) AU day!!!

read the rest of my posts about this au here

"Can I ask you somethin' personal?"

Pac paused, hand suspended halfway towards the checkerboard that was currently serving as him and Fit's way of passing the long hours up in the lamp room of the lighthouse. He kept his eyes on the round piece he was holding as he deliberated on how to answer, sure that if he met Fit's gaze his face would give away his nervousness; "personal" could mean a wide range of topics, most of which would spell disaster for Pac and his poorly constructed web of secrets. He slowly placed the piece in it's spot on the board, fighting to keep his voice even as he responded.

"Mmm, you can ask, yeah. I might not answer, but you can ask." Fit hummed bemusedly, absently flipping his own game piece between his fingers and he contemplated his next move.

"What happened to your leg?" Pac's breath caught in his throat, and Fit rushed to continue, "It's ok if you don't wanna talk about it, I get it. I just- I mean, you've probably figured out how I lost my arm, right?" Pac looked up at the familiar, mechanical clacking of the veteran's stiff wooden fingers flexing in and out of their open position, eyes involuntarily darting to the gnarled pink scarring that crawled from under his collar and up to the side of his head. He quickly returned his gaze to the board, face reddening a little in shame. Thankfully though, Fit seemed far from offended. "Heh, it's okay, I know. It's pretty obvious. And besides, you're a smart man. I'd be surprised if you hadn't assumed correctly. Me though - I'm just brawn, I don't have a whole lotta brainpower up in this thing." He knocked his fake knuckles lightly against his temple, a light smile on his face. "So if you are okay with me knowing, you're gonna need to tell me."

A small, nervous laugh bubbled it's way out of Pac's chest, his face properly flushed now in a mix of embarassment and flattery. "Don't - don't say that about yourself Fit, you're smart! Smarter than me, probably-" He cleared his throat, redirecting his focus to the topic at hand (ha.) "I can tell you, I don't mind. It's just a, it's a tough topic, you know? I need to get my head in the right place." Fit nodded easily like he understood, which Pac supposed he did at least somewhat.

"Take your time, I'm not going anywhere." The selkie chuckled a bit, tracing the edges of the paneled glass walls that surrounded them as he considered the best way to talk around the subject; he knew, or at least had decided, that he owed it to Fit to give him some semblance of the truth. After all, they had been growing steadily closed for months now and yet Fit knew so little about his life. Which was out of necessity, or course, but his friend had been so kind and so patient with him, never demanding more information than he was given. Pac needed - no, he WANTED to let him in as much as he reasonably could. He deserved it.

"I..." He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, steeling himself to sort through the painful, tangled memories and hoping he would be able to hold himself together. He starts at the beginning, where he won't have to omit too much of the truth, though if anything that makes it harder to talk about. "Mike and I were on a merchant ship off the coast of São Paulo that was attacked by axis submarines a few years back." Fit winced sympathetically, patiently waiting for him to continue as he picked his next words. "We avoided the worst of the blast, but... Mike was in really bad condition, and I had to hang onto him with one arm and a piece of the wreck with the other while I waited for help to come. By the time someone found us, I was too tired and too um- too relieved to realize that we were being taken as prisoners and not as refugees."

It was all technically true so far, just with some important details omitted: like how they were only on the ship in the first place because their pelts were being imported as merchandise by a fisherman who believed himself to be incredibly lucky, and how they weren't taken as prisoners of war as Fit was no doubt assuming. Pac fails to suppress a shudder as he remembers the smug, taunting grin of the man that stood above him on the deck of his supposed refuge, two familiar seal pelts clutched in his meaty fists.

"I'm so sorry you went through that, Pac. You don't have to keep-" Pac cuts him off, already committed to opening up.

"No, I want to tell you. We," He clears his throat again, pushing down the memories of too-small tanks full of too-salty water, of needles and IV drips and white lab coats and pencils scratching on clipboards as he writhed in pain. "We woke up in some sort of facility, I'm not sure where exactly? I think the men who had us were European but that's all I remember, it's all blurry you know? And that's where we met Cellbit and Felps actually-" The image of frenzied black eyes claws its way to the front of his mind against his will, but he can't help a small smile at Fit's attentiveness as his eyebrows raise in intrigue, the checkerboard between them completely forgotten.

"Anyway, we were there for- months, I think. And long story short Cellbit ended up, um. He tried to- to eat my leg off?" It comes out sounding uncertain, Pac having realized there was no way to say it that wouldn't raise more questions. Sure enough, Fit's mouth drops open.

"Wait he- He tried to eat you?"

"Not- it wasn't- aaaaugh, he wasn't himself ok? They were- they were cruel to us, and they injected him with these drugs that made him all crazy and violent and they kinda just. Let him do it? It wasn't his fault, is what I'm saying." Fit looks disturbed, although significantly less so than Pac would expect from most people. He supposes bearing witness to the horrors of war would give you a higher tolerance to this sort of thing.

The thing is, it really wasn't Cellbit's fault. He had been there the longest of any of them, starved and beaten and forced through their cruel experiments since he had been a teenager. He was angry and desperate and hungry, and it was pure bad luck that Pac had happened to be the closest to him when the "researchers" had decided to test the effects of whatever combination of steroids they had injected him with. The ghost of his leg twinges in pain as it remembers the feeling of sharp teeth tearing through it's flesh.

"Wait so did Cellbit..." Fit hesitates, like he can't quite put together what he means to ask. "So he, bit your leg off? but how does that even-" He's interrupted by Pac giggling, and after a moment he joins in quietly with a confused laugh of his own.

"No, no he- he just did enough damage that the sci- that the jailers had to amputate it. And it wasn't that bad honestly, I mean, they weren't kind enough to knock me out before they started sawing but at least I didn't die!" His amusement at Fit's horrified reaction to his nonchalance almost drowns out the echoes of grief that his heart sounds for one of his fellow prisoners who hadn't been so lucky. Pac puts on a wide grin, forcing himself to perk up from his slumped posture. "So anyway, that's the story! Pretty cool don't you think?" Fit sputters a shocked laugh.

"Pretty- Yeah, sure, Pac. That's- *cough*- that's cool, yeah." It's a joke, obviously, but warmth washes over him anyway at the way that Fit lets him control the weight of the conversation like always. He wouldn't be able to handle trying to talk about his past seriously, and he's grateful to whatever higher power may or may not exist for bringing him Fit, who not only cares but understands despite being a human, and who always without fail meets him wherever he needs to be at. Pac doesn't know what he did to deserve a friend like him. "So, okay," Fit's voice snaps him out of the appreciative haze he had fallen into. "How did you guys get out? Were you released, or rescued, or..." He trails off, eyes imploring him to go on. Pac feels his face light up at the opportunity to discuss his favorite part of the tale - the only part, he likes, really.

"Oh, you're not gonna believe it. It was Richas! He actually saved us!"

"What?" Fit exclaims in elated disbelief.

"Yeah! So ok - they were keeping him prisoner too, but he was just a baby, like a, a toddler right? And the guards that were assigned to him treated him like their own kid-" Minus the horrible inhumane experimentation, of course. "- and he somehow, he figured out how to use their sympathy to get them to tell him where they kept all their keys," - and all the pelts - "and then managed to convince them to let him play with us alone. So he came to me and Mike and told us, so we told him to steal us some guard uniforms and figure out where the breaker box was, and after some planning and waiting for the right time we were able to escape by having him shut off the power and filing out with the rest of the guards! Mike wanted it to just be the three of us but I told him we weren't leaving the others behind." For all the suffering they had been put through it had honestly been comically easy - the facility they were at was small and not well guarded, probably funded independently considering that if any powerful government had proof of the selkies' existence everyone including the scientists would have been in a much bigger mess - the world was already at war, Pac doubted anyone was eager to add another variable to the conflict.

Fit crosses his arms and sits back, nodding in amazement. "Huh, so little Richarlyson is a hero! That's crazy"

"What, you don't believe me?" Pac shouts in mock offense.

"No no no I believe you! That kid is a fighter, I know it. So you guys all just stuck together after that? What about Bagi and Forever?"

"Ah, so- Bagi and Cellbit, they're brothers, or uhm- they're brother and sister, yes? And Bagi had been searching for Cellbit since he was taken, and somehow she ended up at the place we were being kept just a few days after we escaped, and she was able to track us from there. She's crazy smart, Cellbit and her both are. And Forever," Well, truthfully, Forever had just swam up to their pod and started playing with Richas one day while they were searching for a new home, and then the two had become inseparable so he just... stuck around. But Pac wasn't sure how to spin that into something that sounded reasonable for a human family, so he just went with "Forever just showed up one day and wouldn't leave." Fit laughed again at that, and this time Pac laughed with him.

It felt unbelievably good to tell Fit about his story like this, even with parts of it changed. Still, he wanted nothing more than to tell him the truth of what he was - he almost did, right then and there, swayed by the sound if his laughter and the mirth in his eyes. But, he reminded himself, that had to be a family decision; it wasn't just his secrets at stake. It was all of them, and as much as he loved trusted Fit and would be happy to gamble his own safety on that trust, he wasn't willing to risk his whole family.

...But, it would be so much easier if he could just say the whole truth. He wonders if Fit would react with the same attentiveness and amazement he gave to Pac's storytelling.

The rest of the day passed with little more of note, mostly filled with idle chit chat and card games. As Fit tries to teach him how to play Kings on the Corners for the third time, Pac finds himself thinking about how much Fit was changing his life without even realizing. A few months ago, Pac had never wanted or even tolerated human company that wasn't absolutely necessary. But now, he couldn't imagine not having the veteran around to occupy his time. In fact, when Fit had taken his first two-week relief back on shore after two months of service, Pac had felt inescapably lonely even when surrounded by his pod. Not even Richas, who had also been upset over the Ramon's absence, had been able to completely cheer him up. And while Pac's always been somewhat fascinated by humans, and had enjoyed watching the previous lighthouse keepers as they went about their work, he had never found himself as interested by any of it as he does when it comes to Fit.

"What is it?" Fit's voice snaps him out of it yet again, cards abandoned as he looks at him curiously. "You're staring."

"Huh? Oh, nothing, nothing! Just thinking about Richas and Ramon - what do you think they're up to?"

"They should still be hanging out with Cellbit, right? They're probably doing puzzles or something." Fit looks at the clock over on the left side off the room. "It's almost six, Bad should be here soon to take over for the night. Do you want to go join them and I can catch up?"

"Um-" Pac flusters, face heating up slightly. He's not sure why the emotional exhaustion of talking about losing his leg is what's bringing all these revelations to his mind, but he can't seem to pull his thoughts away from how much he appreciates the man in front of him. Which.... "Yeah, I think I'll go find them now! I'll see you soon?" Fit nods.

"Sounds good, Pac. I'll see you in a little bit." With a nod back at him, Pac shuffles out the door and makes his way down the tower. Instead of going to find Cellbit and the children, however, he beelines straight to the rocks where his pelt is stashed and hastily wraps himself in it's familiar comfort, sliding into the water before his limbs have even finished morphing into flippers. Surely a nice, solo swim is what he needs to clear his head.

...If only he could take Fit with him.

[erzsebetrosztoczy]

For your wounded heart

Pt.1

Pairing: Mizu x reader

Word count: ~2k

Notes: If there will be interest for it, I'll continue the story, because so far there isn't really a Mizu x reader going on lmfaoo but we'll seeeee

Ps.: Mizu's pronounce is he/him in this part

Here's Part 2

The molten gold disc of the sun slowly crept up the horizon, pouring gray onto the world from the darkness. It rose drowsily, languidly among the tall canopies, leaves lighting up as it projected onto them as thousands of thalers appeared next to the shining disk.

The songbirds ruffled their feathers — ready for the challenges of another day, and sang happily to their companions.

A strong draft escaped from under the wooden door, making the embers of the flickering fire dance before running through your covers.

The sudden cold bit into your skin; grabbing you from the realm of dreams, dragging you back to the world of the living with its icy fingers. You opened your eyes with a terrified sigh; waking up from the warm and caressing dream you pulled yourself under the covers.

Another day, another task ahead of you.

Wearly, you dressed up before trying to gather your belongings, which you would need shortly.

A scalpel, a knife, gloves and a deep basket soon graced your side as you set off into the awakening forest.

Three days ago, you were approached by one of the most influential merchants in town. His wife caught the chills-fever, which her priests had not been able to cure with any of their treatments. Realizing that needles, prayers and incense would not help here, the nobleman visited you the day before, when the noises of the market in the main square seemed to dull down, when you started packing your goods to go home.

It had been a long time since you were last offered such a sum - too long for your liking. Short of money - and because you would have faced the wrath of a powerful man if you refused - you accepted his offer to heal his spouse.

Early in the morning, when the rooster hadn't even crowed, you were already ready to go collect the ingredients for the potion.

The sharp autumn air crawled over your skin, penetrated your bones and breathed newfound strength into your heart. Listening to the soothing soft melody of the forest, you set off towards its thickets, hoping that you would find enough ingredients for your tonics today. Everything was ready to take care of the sick wife- all you had to do was get the hojicha flower, of which you had run out of stock a while ago.

Pulling your cloak tight around your shoulders, you stepped on the wet moss carpet, careful not to slip on the rutted ground. Soon the ground would start to freeze- you thought as you tried to remember which tree trunk you marked, where you should turn right or left to reach your usual harvesting location.

"If I want to have everything in the winter, I have to collect them in time..." You sighed, stepping over a taller ditch. "Maybe I should look at the market to buy seeds and-"

"To the best of my knowledge, you have to go the other way to the nearest market." A harsh, sharp voice spoke from your left.

You immediately screamed and if the cold didn't do it until now — the stranger who suddenly stumbled here had certainly frozen your blood. The pounding of your heart only made it worse as you spun backwards, trying to face the source of the sound. Your foot slipped and you fell to your knees, hitting a wet log while you turned your head trying to find the source of the sound.

After a while, three men appeared in front of you; one from the nearby bushes, while two crept out from behind the cover of the trees; like wild dogs lurking in wait for their prey.

"The lady must be lost, people can disappear quickly in the forest..." The other man nodded with a vile grin, rubbing his palms together while approaching you.

"Certainly, it is not recommended to walk alone in such remote places at the crack of dawn." The third man took over, turning his attention to the basket lying on the floor next to you. “It's better if we accompany you… so no one attacks you.”

"I didn't, I just-" You stammered, but your voice got stuck in your throat as the three strangers walked closer and closer. Their ragged and dirty clothes, their darkly glistening dreadful eyes ruled out that they were simple wanderers.

You ran into bandits on the road, alone, in the middle of the forest. Your heart was pounding in your throat and kept yelling for you to move, escape, run — otherwise you will take your last breath here forever.

Your eyes darted to your overturned basket – deep inside your knife was glinting in a cold light. If you could be fast enough to get it out of there...Fight for your life. You fight or you die.

But instincts were stronger than reason; the Gods opened a third way for you at that moment.

You pushed yourself away with your hands, your heels digging into the ground hard, almost scraping it up as you jumped up to run away like a chased deer. You could barely feel your legs, could barely breathe as you ran through the trees with all your might, jumping over bushes, rocks, and pits. With your heart in your throat, with the sound of the bandits' steps and shouts in your ears, you kept going forward, not even daring to look back.

Your ability to navigate had left you, you didn't even know if you were running towards or away from them, there was just the feeling that you still had to go, still run, still fight. If you stopped you were dead, if you fell you were dead, if they caught up you were dead.

A huge thorn bush appeared in front of you, too high and wide it would have been almost impossible to jump over it, to get around it; so for lack of a better option you tensed your muscles, pulled your neck in, closed your eyes and ran into the branches, shielding your face with your arms.

The pain that ignited in the darkness flashed through you as a hundred and a thousand spikes dug into your exposed skin; then you felt the ground open under your feet, suddenly you began to fall.

You didn't even have time to cry out when you hit the hard ground with your side.

Lying there injured and exhausted, with a bursting heart, you realized that it was all over.

You just sealed your faith.

Panting and choking from crying, you heard the rustling of the bushes behind you, then the trampling of feet.

"Here's the little slut" One of the men chuckled, but the cheering stopped almost immediately.

You did not dare to look up from the ground, did not dare to move; you were left lying on the ground trembling, awaiting death...

But nothing happened.

Another second, but there was only silence, no more footsteps, no giggles, no shouts.

Blinking away the dirt and blood, you looked from behind your lashes and then realized why you were still breathing.

The attention of the three thugs no longer plagued you. They turned almost motionless, to the left, watching ahead of them.

You followed their gaze and saw that you had fallen on a road. On a road where a fourth stranger was now standing in front of you.

A tall, lanky stranger in blue traveling clothes, the bamboo hat he wore pulled low over his face, obscuring his features.

A stranger with a sword in his hand.

Suddenly everything around you seemed to be silent; the chirping of the birds died away, the trees and twigs no longer creaked and cracked, as if the wind itself had stopped to watch the unfolding scene.

Not wanting to break the silence, you stared at the fourth stranger, holding your breath, wondering what would happen now.

Was that your savior ahead of you? Or was he just a wanderer who didn’t care what troubled others, who would only solve his own problems, regardless of if he made others ill-fated? Maybe you got out of the frying pan into the fire?

"There's nothing to see here." The nimblest bandit growled, a rusty knife in hand. "Everybody's minding their own business, right?"

"This matter belongs only to us and this woman, there is no need to cause difficulties for anyone." The largest one with a long mustache spoke slyly, the one closest to you clutched a heavy cudgel in his fist, his knuckles white from the force with which he gripped it.

The blue-clad stranger didn't answer immediately, instead tilting his head to the side, he peeked out from behind the brim of his hat, flashing his yellow-tinted glasses in the light.

"Looking at you, I suspect you are road thugs." The sword bearer spoke, his voice softer than you would have expected. "You rob those who come here." His words didn't seem like a question.

At this, the third man - the fox with a smile, who had a katana, spat down his side stepping forward in front of his companions.

"If you want good for yourself, you turn back or walk past us without another word." He snapped in his raspy voice, grabbing the hilt of his sword as the other two tensed with their weapons as well.

Barely able to handle the shaking and the hitching of your breath, you lifted your torso off the ground with challenge, turning to the blue-cloaked stranger desperately.

"Please…" Your voice trailed off as sobs broke from you. "Don't let me die, please!" Your voice cracked; hot tears washing away the mud and blood from your face. "Help me, please!"

The lanky stranger moved his arm back, revealing the hilt of his sword as he reached towards it with his right hand.

You inhaled through your teeth when you heard the deep clang of metal and clattering footsteps as the bandits charged towards him.

You dropped back down, pulling your knees to your chest as the battle began. Only daring to watch the scene from the cover of your arm.

The swordsman reached first the blue-clad savior, swinging an upward blow from the left, but his sword met another steel.

The man in the hat drew his sword from the sheath with the speed of a viper, breaking the first attack with almost no effort. Before the thug could react to it, the man was already flying to the ground, his legs entangled as the blue clothed one pushed him away to answer the next blow.

The rusty knife reached him second, and while his companion seized the stranger with his blade, he thrusted his knife towards your helper's neck. The cloaked man shoved the katana wielder away with his foot as he turned his torso to the side, the knife still flying towards him mid air.

Taking advantage of the movement, he turned to the right, placing one raised foot in front of the other, cutting across with his blade in front of him.

In a blink of an eye, red rain shot from the arm of the knife-wielding bandit - the sword almost cut his arm off. He staggered with a sharp wail, then fell to the ground, where he continued to shriek.

The one with a cudgel on the other hand did not attack yet, instead he stopped from a decent distance so the sword of the man in blue could not reach him, seemingly considering his next moves.

But this proved to be only a distraction when the first attacker reappeared, this time springing into action behind your savior's back.

The one in blue could hear this, as he turned to the side keeping an eye on both of his attackers, but then the largest started to move suddenly in order to attack at the same time with his other partner.

Seeing the impossible situation, you already had the mental image of the swordsman slashing your savior while the other beat him to death with the heavy club — you whimpered in terror, burying your face in your arms to shield yourself from the sight.

You heard a shout and the clang of steel meeting again, something heavy falling to the ground. A dull, more watery pounding - the cudgel! Bubbling, frothy snoring- a moan of agony and then silence.

You were next, you were sure of that.

Sharp cuts, bone-crushing blows and then slow, lingering death awaits you.

But there was no movement, not even a single grunt from the fight.

Panting, you raised your head to shorten your wait, but you did not find yourself facing the person you were waiting for.

You caught the gaze of the blue-cloaked stranger. You watched with a dry throat and roaring head as he stood over the three bloodied, dying bandits, his sword still clutched in his right hand.

The bamboo hat was no longer on his head, it probably fell off sometime during the fight when you weren't looking, and now was lying at his feet, waiting to be dusted off and put on again.

But instead, the stranger staggered, his knees buckling as he took two steps forward, finally slumping forward onto the ground, leaving you alone in the field of vigilance.

[icey--stars]

Born For Tragedy: Part 11

Series Index

She was tragedy. Nothing except death, fear and pain followed in her wake. When she was young, she was beaten. Now she’s the one doing the beating as an assassin. A mysterious stranger comes to her, paying an absurd amount of money for her to kill Beron Vanserra, and protect the eldest son until the job is done. She stumbles across a story much similar to her own, and knows what must be done.

a/n: enjoy the much longer than usual chapter :)

WARNINGS: death, blood, mentions of missing body parts… whatever, this actually isn’t that graphic in my opinion. also tw for a panic attack!

PS: i might’ve cried while writing the end bit 😭

↢ 『 ☾ 』 ↣

Calanmai ball… an Autumn Court tradition where she was about to kill their High Lord and instate the eldest son who actually got the last blow. Oh, it was just so interesting.

Eris was already in the clearing when she winnowed in, holding a small orange bundle of clothing under his arm.

“Great,” Valda hummed, startling the heir when she spoke up from behind him. “I’ve got this, go get dressed. You can’t go in this plain clothing.”

Eris scoffed. “I’m aware,” he replied, holding out the dress. “Be aware that my mother will likely want to fawn over you.”

“Well of course she will!” Valda exclaimed. “Her son is finally finding someone worth his time.”

“Do you need anything else?”

“I have shoes, and makeup. Weapons galore- yes, I’m fine,” Valda listed off. “Go get ready.”

“I’ll meet you back here in an hour?”

“Make that two,” Valda ordered. “I’ve got to settle a bunch of bulging daggers.”

Eris rolled his eyes. “Fine, two.” He winnowed away in a brief flash of flames, and she promptly winnowed to the cabin.

She started by trying the dress on without any weapons, just to appraise herself. Lady Merle must’ve been a goddess on Prythian, because this dress fit perfectly, and looked… stunning.

It was a strapless dress that was a variety of different oranges. She didn’t even need the corset she had. No… it was perfect. There was a pattern of autumn colored leaves from the top, floating down the lacey top in varying lengths of “branches.” It was easy to lift up and move in as well. The back ended just below her shoulder blades. She’d have to glamor her back well to hide the lashing marks, but it was… beautiful. Valda normally didn’t wear dresses, as she found them too constricting, especially for her job. But this? Oh… she might just find a way to smuggle this one out of the Autumn Court.

Strapping on the weapons on her legs was easy enough. She wore knee-high black boots under it, and stuffed a dagger in each. A dagger on her left calf, and two on either thigh. She managed to stuff one down her cleavage. A small one, but it was easy enough to grab. She wore specially designed earrings that were small knives in disguise. The gold rings and the silver bracelet did not, however, have any weapons.

When she shifted in the dress, stepping over to the mirror again, there was a small clump on the ground and she moved back. A diadem was there. Bronze in color, and had leaves covering a few braided stretches of the metal. Either that just appeared out of nowhere, or Eris had snuck it into the bundle (or Lady Merle had).

Either way… it would be perfect for what she wanted to use it for. She stuffed another small knife behind one of the leaves and then placed it on her head. It rested easily on her head, and mixed well with the black hair covering her head.

Valda would’ve been scared she’d turned into some fine lady of the Autumn Court if she didn’t know better. The makeup she put on her face contorted it so that she had “higher” cheekbones and a slightly darker complexion. She looked like a brand new fae.

Distantly, she thought that was a good thing. She wasn’t Valda Callahan tonight, at least not partially. She was a different lady. Lady Fairyn was her name. It was a different female trying for the heir’s hand. Not hers. She had to remember that strictly.

When she’d finished, she stuffed one more dagger up the dress to rest up her stomach as a last chance measure, before winnowing back to the clearing.

Eris was already there, and dressed well.

He had a white dress shirt paired with dark, blood red slacks and vest. The vest had light silver buttons, and he had on a similar colored tie. Everything was perfectly tailored to his muscled physique. He wore gold rings on almost every finger, one with a bright red ruby on it. Eris truly looked like the heir of Autumn. Handsome, charming, elegant… not to say he wasn’t normally, but most of the time that charming factor went down the drain in favor of mocking.

Eris had a small smirk played on his face when she finally moved her eyes up to meet his amber ones. Gods, even his hair was slicked back to perfection.

“You look stunning,” he commented.

“And you look like someone just stabbed your cat,” Valda responded.

He choked on his surprise and she smirked at gaining control back over the conversation. “What the hell!?” He burst out.

Valda shrugged. “What? Anyone with a cat would understand that if they were stabbed, you are getting that revenge and going straight to the highest ranking individual for revenge. Dressing nice makes you more intimidating.”

“I don’t have a cat,” He emphasized. “I have dogs.”

“Pah,” Valda dismissed. “I feel like if your dog got stabbed, you would also dress like this, but come out with the red stained a shade darker.”

Eris sighed, rolling his eyes. “Are we still set on midnight?” He asked, changing the topic cleanly.

“Unless Beron isn’t at all showing signs of exhaustion, then yes,” Valda answered.

“How are you even planning on killing him without killing him?” Eris asked.

“Skills,” Valda snickered. “I’ll mist part of him while you plummet into your fire and burn him alive. The main part of my job is covering the scene with darkness.”

“Are you strong enough?”

“Don’t lose faith so easily,” Valda said sternly. “I’ll be fine.” She had to be. She had to be strong enough to escape and survive it.

“The ball will be starting soon, shall we make our entrance?” Eris asked, offering out an elbow toward her. She took it, and surprisingly… it didn’t feel weird, like it usually did any other time she took a male’s arm or hand. She took one final deep breath, locked her darkness deep inside until the moment was right and nodded.

“We shall,” she agreed.

Eris winnowed them both easily, and they were soon standing right outside the Forest House. She spotted other finely dressed ladies standing outside the doors, which were to be opened as soon as the clock rang 5.

“Brother!” Called a male from the side, clasping Eris on his shoulder. It was Kuhn. “When did you find a strong, pretty lady to keep you company?”

Eris rolled his eyes. “Don’t be annoying Kuhn.”

Kuhn looked at Valda and grinned. “Kuhn Vanserra, at your service my lady.”

She smirked and dipped her head, the most she’d be willing to do to show respect today. “Lady Fairyn,” She answered. “And dear Eris didn’t find me, I found him.”

Kuhn laughed. “Good. My brother is useless when it comes to finding beautiful females.”

Eris punched Kuhn in the shoulder. “And where is your lady for tonight Kuhn?”

“She’s coming,” Kuhn answered. “Almost here.”

“She ditched you didn’t she?” Eris asked.

“No!” Kuhn rushed to defend himself. “No, she’s just late.”

“Win some, lose some,” Valda spoke up. “Just pick up some unfortunate date whose male has abandoned them to get drinks.”

“Good idea,” Kuhn agreed. “I like you Fairyn. Stick around a while, maybe Eris will get some pointers on how to be supportive.”

“I practically raised you Kuhn,” Eris retorted. “I know plenty about being supportive. You used to fall off the swing and I didn’t even laugh.”

Kuhn rolled his eyes. “Sure, sure. You were laughing on the inside though.”

A familiar, kind female voice came from behind them. A singsong melody. “Eris dear, am I allowed to meet your lovely companion yet?”

Eris turned and Valda followed, letting her arm slip out of his to pivot and face Lady Merle.

“Mother,” Eris hummed. “Meet Lady Fairyn.”

Valda dipped her head lower than what she did with Kuhn. She took a glance around the area just to assure herself that Beron wasn’t around. He wasn’t, luckily.

Merle rushed forward with a smile, clasping her hands around Valda’s. She held back the flinch. Merle meant no harm, she told herself. “It’s so nice to meet you dear girl!” She exclaimed. She glanced down at my outfit. “Oh… the dress looks perfect on you! Do you like it?”

“I love it,” Valda answered honestly. “I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to find one so soon to the ball… but you did a wonderful job.”

“I made it,” Merle said with a smile. “I was worried myself, but I was determined.”

Valda smiled wide. “Thank you so much,” she said, squeezing Merle’s hand. “This is beautiful.”

“It looks so good on you too!” Merle agreed. “Eris, don’t you agree?”

She turned to look at her son expectantly.

“Oh yes Mother,” Eris agreed. “She is stunning beyond imagination.”

Merle seemed to take that as a satisfactory compliment, because she turned back to me with a wide smile. “I do hope I’ll be seeing more of you, but I must meet with my husband to open the doors!”

Valda nodded. “Enjoy the ball, Lady Merle.”

“Just Merle to you!” She called behind her as she walked away, toward the doors.

Valda let out a breath. How would it have been to have a mother like that? She wondered. She’d had neither parent, not truly. Her mother had begged for a nice little lamb to obey orders, and she’d earned herself a powerful daughter who refused everything commanded of her. Her father must’ve just hated her.

Eris quickly glanced behind them before leaning down to whisper in Valda’s ear.

“She’ll be safe,” Eris assured. “After tonight, nothing will ever hurt her again.”

“Good,” Valda managed stiffly. “If anyone does manage to hurt her, you come to me.”

Eris took a deep breath and then subtly kicked her ankle to face the doors. Beron was standing there, with Lady Merle against his side, an arm over her hip.

“Welcome,” Beron announced. “To this year’s Calanmai Ball.”

There were no more words shared. The doors opened and couples began to make their way into the Forest House, taking a tight left into the ballroom which she’d been forced to help sweep because of Nova. Eris held onto her arm tighter as the music began.

The ball lasted all night, but Valda knew many couples would leave early, which was good. The guards, she noticed, were dressed in much nicer armor than usual. There was an area with tables and an area for the dancers and the music. A huge room. Valda rarely saw such high ceilings and such open expanses in a room. A few white pillars ran down the sides for extra support to the massive room, but they hardly blocked much from sight.

There were also huge windows on two of the sides, showing the gardens right outside, filled to the brim with brightly colored dogwood trees. Valda scanned the room for anyone to be aware of, but nobody showed any signs of being dangerous, even if probably all of them carried fire magic.

“What do you want to do first?” Eris asked.

“Let’s start with some refreshments,” Valda suggested. “And food.”

“Alcohol?” Eris asked.

“Yes alcohol,” Valda stated. “Are you insane?”

“Just making sure,” Eris chuckled. “Your schemes are quite mysterious.”

“I’d drink more if it was available to servants,” She deadpanned. “I’d drink at least a half bottle of straight vodka if I could.”

Eris raised a brow, having the audacity to look concerned.

“Do you not drink then, general?” Valda asked. “How are you still alive? I assure you, I won’t die from that. Maybe.” She had drank that much before, but it’d been a while.

He rolled his eyes. “I drink. I just didn’t see you as the straight vodka type.”

“Whatever makes me drunk the fastest,” Valda snickered. “Now come on, I want wine.”

Eris led the way over toward the tables, and swiped a glass from a nicely dressed servant holding glasses of wine on a tray. He handed it to her, which she accepted, and watched over the edge of the glass as Eris grabbed one for himself.

“Eris!” A familiar voice called, walking over with a pretty, petite female attached to him. It was Hue. “Eris, when did you find someone to keep you company? Ah, I’m Hue. Do keep that one in check, why don’t you?”

Valda smirked. “Nice to meet you Hue. I plan to try my best.”

“Good!” Hue exclaimed. “My brother needs someone like that.”

Eris rolled his eyes. “Hue, why do you and Kuhn seem to think I’m so utterly useless without a strong lady like Lady Fairyn beside me?”

“Because you are!” Hue said, grinning. “I swear, he just keeps on moping,” he continued, looking at Valda. “Father keeps him busy, but he just mopes around and reads when he’s free. Or finds work! He’s insane!”

Valda held back a snort of laughter. If that was “insane” to Hue, he hadn’t met anyone actually insane. Example? Her. She reads, she mopes, she works and she kills people for a living. “Well, I can’t promise about fixing the reading, as I quite enjoy the activity myself. But we plan on hanging out more after.”

Eris’s bicep bulged a moment after she finished that crafted lie. He’d better not think that it was true, Valda thought. She was leaving after this. Immediately.

“Stop insulting me, Hue,” Eris mused. “I do believe you mope quite a lot as well.”

The lady that was curled under Hue’s arm sent Valda a little amused smirk. Valda rolled her eyes at the brothers' antics in response. The lady raised a hand to cover her mouth as she chuckled.

“Well, enjoy the ball,” Hue concluded. “I would like to invite the beautiful lady at my side to a dance.”

The lady quickly moved to follow Hue. Whether or not they were together was hard to distinguish, but Valda had an odd feeling that they weren’t. She drowned the thoughts of them in another sip of wine.

“Perhaps you’d like to show off your own skill on the dance floor?” Eris prompted.

Valda rolled her eyes with a small smile. “Very well, but I’m finishing this drink first.”

“I wouldn’t dream of taking that away from you,” he joked, smiling.

Valda watched the couples begin to spin to the music as she drank her wine. Beron was sitting on a throne, with Lady Merle at his side. She kept an eye on the guards surrounding them, and the look of Beron. He seemed irritated, to be honest.

Just as she finished her drink, the music changed to another classic ballroom dance. However, this particular one was one of her favorites. An Autumn Court dance with so many twists and turns that Valda tended to feel dizzy, but oh so exhilarated at the end of it.

“Finish your drink Eris,” Valda ordered, setting her glass on a passing tray. Eris gulped down the rest of his wine without another word. “I’m dancing to this one. You’d better be able to keep up.”

“I’ll keep up just fine. I kept up with Nesta Archeron,” Eris said.

“An Archeron sister?” Valda asked. “Interesting. Nesta is the eldest one– Lady Death?”

Eris nodded. “Lady Death in all her glory and protective as fuck mate.”

“Ah,” Valda hummed. “So she did get a mate. Interesting. Who might it be?”

“Cassian, the general,” Eris answered. “They’re both assholes, so perhaps it works out.”

Valda scoffed, grinning. “Are you jealous, Eris?”

“No,” he answered immediately. “Not in the slightest. I’m happy away from that witch.”

“Very well then,” Valda chuckled. “Let’s dance then.”

Eris grinned and followed her onto the dance floor, immediately taking up the proper hand placement. A hand on her lower shoulder, and the other holding her own. She gulped at the feeling of his hand on her skin.

“Shall we?” Eris asked. It almost sounded like a purr coming from his throat. Valda nodded stiffly, and followed smoothly when Eris jumped into the dance, turning and holding onto her.

Valda held back the urge to hold her breath and instead focused on the beat of the music and the movement of her feet. The first opening bit was simple. It always was, as more people joined and began the twisting dance. Valda took a deep breath when she heard the music pick up, and then the true dance began. She looked up to Eris and smirked as he led the way through a series of three tight turns and then threw her out, holding onto her hand before drawing her back.

A step back, a step to the side, another step back- Valda lost herself to the movements she remembered so dearly.

The peak neared, where the female dancers were going to twirl, and then break off for a moment, then rush back forward to begin a tight series of spins from their partner’s hand. Valda met Eris’s amber eyes for a moment giving him the briefest of nods before following in suit with the rest of the dancers and twirling.

She broke off from Eris’s hold, smirked and then came rushing back, leaping a bit, and then let Eris spin her around and around. And just as her head was beginning to get dizzy, the music stopped, and everyone stopped dramatically. Ah, that end was what she loved the most. Such a violent stop to the music made it so much fun.

Valda grinned wildly as she panted for her breath back. Eris smirked, his amber eyes filled with fire. “Well that was fun,” he stated with that smirk.

“Oh shut up,” Valda dismissed, standing back up and running a hand up toward the diadem in her hair to set it straight again.

“You’re an amazing dancer,” Eris mused. “It’s been so rare to find those as talented as you.”

“Well,” Valda said, “I was good at it. Teacher said I was a natural, even despite being a cruel witch.”

“You don’t get to do it very often, do you?” Eris asked.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you look so happy,” Eris answered, smiling softer now. His entire expression was softer. He stepped forward, and leaned toward the side of her head to whisper into it. “You might be a killer, Valda, but I still see a wild fox looking for peace.”

She stopped breathing. She couldn’t help it with Eris’s breath on her ears, and the words he just whispered so softly into her ear. From so close and her sudden resumed breathing, she caught a whiff of his scent. A bit of cinnamon and spice, in addition to the unmistakable scent of a rainstorm during the night. Oh… the number of times she smelled that scent was innumerable. On rainy nights, she wasn’t required to scout something out, but she could rather watch the darkness of the sky– the darkness which she came from.

“Eris!” A voice boomed from the side of the room. Beron’s throne, in fact. Eris turned immediately to look over. Beron was standing there, and merely lifted a finger and motioned for him to come over, glancing at Valda as well.

Eris gulped noticeably, the only thing she could see, before he was wearing the seemingly impenetrable mask of the heir of the Autumn Court. He stiffly offered an arm out toward her, which she took and schooled her face as they began to tread toward the very High Lord she was supposed to kill tonight.

“Eris, perhaps you’d like to introduce someone to me?” Beron asked.

Eris dipped his head and motioned toward Valda. “This is my guest, Lady Fairyn from Ignatius. A small town near the Winter Court border.”

Beron scoffed. “I know where my own cities are, boy. You’ve finally screwed your head on right and opted to marry. Good.”

“We aren’t-” Eris began.

“I think the Lord of Ignatius would be overjoyed to hear of an arranged marriage offer from his High Lord, offering his eldest son,” Beron said, glaring down with gleaming brown eyes. “Girl, wouldn’t you enjoy marrying my son? It would be good for you and your family, would it not?”

Eris remained silent, but Valda could almost feel the rage rolling off of him in rage. It was filling her chest as well.

Valda swallowed. “Of course, my lord. It would be wonderful for us. My father would be overjoyed if you sent a letter with such a gracious offer.”

Beron nodded. “Disciplined,” he noted aloud. “Perhaps you shall teach my son some of that.”

Valda gave Beron a brief fake smile. “I will try my best, my lord.”

“Good,” Beron stated and then waved. “Then leave me be. I shall draft an offer in the morning.”

Eris immediately went to escape, practically dragging Valda behind him until they were out of view and released her, still walking towards the drinks. Valda sighed and followed after him.

“Survive tonight Eris. I can feel your rage from here,” she said as she watched him down two shots consecutively.

He turned and sighed. “The fact that I brought a lady to a ball and he immediately offered an arranged marriage is pissing me off. I’ve done it before and he’s never done that.”

Valda hummed. “You don’t have to worry about that anymore,” she murmured. “Now, if you’re done with the shots, I believe Beron would be overjoyed to see us dancing again.”

Eris grumbled something under his breath, but began to lift his arms for a dancing position.

“Midnight, Eris. Survive until midnight,” she whispered and then followed him onto the dance floor.

For a set of seemingly endless hours, Eris and Valda danced, drank, watched and scanned the attendees, and sometimes chatted with others. However, Valda tried to desperately avoid asking any personal questions, and avoided any that were asked to her. Like Eris asking which lord she was responsible to kill in Hewn City. Or another question, not from Eris. She didn’t know this “Lady Fairyn Krauss” well enough.

At one point however, after a couple more drinks, Eris wrapped an arm around her shoulders. People had been giving her weird looks for sitting far away from Eris, but as soon as the arm came around her, they looked away.

It was like a lover’s embrace. She tried not to stop breathing even as she strategically leaned into it for show. Please don’t let this end, she begged. I love this. The embrace she’d always asked for, and was never given.

The clock struck midnight. Twelve long, echoing sounds came from a nearby swinging grandfather clock. Beron was still sitting on his throne, but Lady Merle had been indulging with the other ladies in the room for quite some time. A lot of people had left already, either fed up with teasing, or exhausted from dancing so much.

Valda stood, pulling away from the embrace of Eris’s arm, and glanced at him who only briefly dipped his head.

It was time. Time for the death of a High Lord.

Valda flooded the room with darkness. Every crevice of light fell to her rolling mist, until shrieks of fear and despair filled her ears.

A brief flash of fire was all she was waiting for before running toward Beron.

“Who let a Night Court crony in here?!” Beron boomed, but Valda’s darkness muffled the sound.

He was standing, so she yanked a dagger from her boot and ran at him, feeling for that dark power within her.

“Hello there Beron,” Valda purred as she set a knife to his neck. “I’m sure you know who I am. So I’m going to ask you to sit down on your pretty little throne.”

Beron’s hand filled with fire and rushed for her, but she took a half step back, and shielded herself from the heat.

“Very well then,” she chuckled. It would be sensual in other instances, but for now? She hoped he was feeling even just a bit anxious.

She focused her powers on his lower limbs, and…

Beron screamed.

His body crumbled to the floor and Valda dug her blade in harder to his jugular. She drew the darkness from the room inwards, making this one thicker. Perfect for a particular heir to winnow into.

“Hello father,” Eris purred as Valda cleared the darkness within the bubble enough for him to see his father, legless and crumpled up on the floor. Bleeding heavily, might she add.

“Kill her,” Beron ordered.

“No,” Eris stated. “You’ve terrorized this place for long enough. You’ve tortured my brothers for long enough. Tortured me for long enough. You have hit my mother for the last time. So now I get to be High Lord.”

Beron’s power rushed out towards Eris and Valda. She threw up a shield in front of both of them, groaning as she struggled to take the full might of a High Lord’s powers. She wouldn’t last long. The power was already draining dangerously low. If Eris didn’t hurry the fuck up, she was going to fall and die or kill Beron herself.

Eris put a shield of fire around himself, giving Valda a pointed look. She pulled her magic away to shield herself more effectively.

Eris shot his magic forward in a swift, and deadly fashion.

Beron was incinerated within a second. No time for a scream to escape his throat.

Valda collapsed to one knee, lifting her darkness and using the last of her power to shield herself from Eris’s surge in power. He combusted into flames, and she could only groan in pain from the magic she was using. Too much, she thought. Too much, too much, too much-

Her shield collapsed and she braced herself for the fire to burn her, but instead it just rushed toward her and wrapped gently around her arms and body in tendrils that didn’t burn. A wall of fire appeared in front of her. A shield.

Eris’s magic was protecting her, even as she crumbled down to the floor. Her magic had given out under a High Lord’s might, but Eris’s magic did not hurt her. No, in fact, it felt pleasantly warm and almost like she was curled up under his arm again.

But she had to escape, she reminded herself. She could not stay, she could not wait. She had to get out and away.

She stood, on shaky legs, and tried to take a step. Her knee collapsed and she fell to the ground again.

No, she begged. No, no, no, no- please no. Please.

She could not stay. She was going to die-

“Valda,” a voice whispered beside her. She turned on her back and raised that blade, a thin, small sheen of Beron’s blood was on the top as she turned to see Eris standing over her.

“No,” Valda said. “No, I’m leaving-“

“Please wait,” Eris said softly. A tone she’d heard so rarely. A soft, patient tone. Almost a beg, but not quite. “Stay. Stay with me.”

There was still fire surrounding them in a shield, and blocking the outside world.

“I can’t,” she said desperately. “I can’t, I can’t-“

“Shhhh…” Eris hushed and took a hold of her hand. She was startled to see her burn scars there. Fuck. She was so weak that she couldn’t even hold a glamor. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

“I can’t stay,” Valda said desperately. 

“Why not?”

“I can’t,” Valda whined. A pitiful excuse for the assassin she was. She couldn’t put the feeling of care, and love and everything into words for Eris to understand. She scarcely understood them herself. She couldn’t distinguish her emotions from each other, not even enough to latch onto the anger that resided inside. 

The only thought that she could make out was that she couldn’t hurt Eris. But why? She couldn’t even answer that.

“Shhh,” Eris cooed, and ran a hand up to her fingers, gently gripping only the tips with his. “Let’s get you somewhere safe. I’ll deal with this. You rest.”

She felt the familiar whirring of winnowing before the fire dissipated. Valda looked around and startled when she felt tears falling from her eyes. Eris had winnowed them to his room, and not just his room, but right onto his bed.

“You’re safe here. Nobody can get through the wards I just put on this room,” Eris said. “You are safe. I want you to rest, okay?”

This was a different Eris than she was used to. A softer Eris. A calmer Eris. A kinder Eris.

“Percy! Jack!” He suddenly called. The two dogs immediately appeared at the door, and then jumped onto the bed, cuddling up near Valda who still looked dazed and disoriented.

“Stay here,” Eris ordered. “I’ll be back soon.”

Then he winnowed away and Valda heaved for her breath back.

Percy licked her face gently, whining. Jack laid across her feet. Valda burrowed her face into her hands and sobbed.

She sobbed for her care, and the fear of how much it will hurt her soon. She told herself not to stay, not to see Eris when he wasn’t bogged down by his father— to care, and yet here she is. Sitting on his bed, cuddling with his dogs after he’d just said the kindest words she’s heard in a long long time.

Valda sobbed until she was dry heaving. Percy never once broke contact with her, sometimes licking up her tears, while other times he was nuzzling into her neck. Jack stayed lower, but noticeably tensed every time a broken sound came out of her.

“I’m sorry Friar,” Valda whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

↢ 『 ☾ 』 ↣

TAGLIST (see post for getting added)

@bunnymallowo, @officiallyunofficialperson, @margssstuff, @rebloggiest-reblogger, @inpraizeof, @graciereads, @eos-princess, @imma-too-many-fandoms, @mali22, @sassybluebird, @bubybubsters,

[ex0rin]

Whumpcember 2022 - Day 8

@whumpcember - Day 8 ALT Lashing Out Brock Rumlow, The Soldier, Agent Cole, Jack Rollins - 580 words confusion, jealousy, a broken nose

ps: if anyone was ever wondering about what my sweet child Agent Cole actually looks like it's Orlando Bloom in Black Hawk Down:

(my gif, shout out to black and white for covering all manner of sins)

The soldier watches as the youngest and newest of his commander’s team, Agent Cole, sways intentionally to the side and nudges his shoulder up against Rumlow’s as they talk in the hallway of the safehouse - the agent is smiling and there’s the faint trace of red sitting high on his cheeks; the soldier doesn’t know why this makes his chest tighten and his mouth press into a firm line.

He doesn’t like the way his commander laughs under his breath and doesn’t shift away from how close the younger man gets. 

There’s no reason for this level of closeness - the agent and Rumlow are already close enough that they can easily hear each other and if it wasn’t part of the soldier’s training to not listen into other conversations unless explicitly told, he would also be able to hear them. 

The soldier must be making a noise from his throat because Rumlow glances up and away from the agent to look at him and raises an eyebrow before turning back to whatever Agent Cole is saying - that compression in his chest extends into his stomach and makes him feel uncomfortable all over; it twists up inside of him so tight that he should tell his commander that there’s something wrong with his functionality.

The younger man sets a hand on his commander’s shoulder and the soldier feels like his vision tilts to the side as fingertips press in hard enough that he can see the way Rumlow’s shirt dips around the pressure. 

He doesn’t consciously make a decision to move - even if he could, he’s been given orders to stay where he is, orders from his commander that should override everything else but it’s too late to stop, he’s already moving; the soldier’s hands find purchase against Agent Cole’s back, pushing the younger man forward hard and fast enough that there’s no time for the agent to react. 

The soldier follows the movement, crushing his body up along the agent’s back; he doesn’t remember putting a hand along the crown of the younger man’s head but it’s there, forcing the agent’s face back before shoving it up against the hallway wall with a startling, sickening crack - Agent Cole’s breath goes pained, sounding wet like there’s already blood in flooding into his mouth. 

“Soldat.”

One word over the rushing sound of pounding in his ears. 

He stumbles back, turning to face his commander and only peripherally noticing the way that the other agent’s body slumps down onto the hardwood floor. 

The soldier hears the snap, loud over everything else and goes to his knees in front of Rumlow; his commander’s dark eyes are narrowed, mouth pulled into a frown and his insides twist up even more - there’s another sound in his throat, low and keening.

“Report.” Rumlow says and the soldier can hear the anger in his commander’s voice. 

“Agent Cole was too close to the commander.” the soldier starts, his head struggles to make sense of the original cause of the violence he’d just done to Agent Cole - he feels his mouth open and close, his hand moves to his stomach, to where the tangled-up feeling lives, “Uncomfortable tightness here.” 

“Uncomfortable tightness,” Rumlow repeats, saying the words slowly like the commander is testing them out, trying to understand and find the correct punishment for the way the soldier disobeyed. 

“Jesuschrist,” the commander’s second starts and the soldier tenses along his shoulders - he hadn’t even noticed Agent Rollins moving to collect the younger agent from the floor, “it’s fucking jealous Brock.”

[clarktooncrossing]

HEY THERE PEOPLE OF TODAY AND ROBOTS OF TOMORROW! IT'S ME, CLARK! There is a madness deep in the dark catacombs of Castle Clarkenstein. For years these claustrophobic corridors have been the home of the ghoulish giraffe himself, watching as the world passes by. He prefers it this way. It gives him more time alone with the voices. The voices tell him many strange things. Yet they always come back to one: make more monsters! Everyday they tell him this. Everyday he is unable to comply. Hey, being a mad scientist on a budget means he can’t afford the fancy scientific equipment needed to breathe life into newborn abominations. Guy’s gotta afford pizza somehow. Luckily, he has discovered a way of sorts to please the voices. During all those years of watching, Dr. Clarkenstein noticed a particular pattern. Every night during October saw artists posting new pictures based on peculiar prompts. Many of them based on children of the night. While the spotted specter might not be able to craft new zombies, he can sure as heck sketch’m! As such, I provide this friendly warning to you all now: Be afraid. Few people can survive the horrors that are DUDELZ of the Damned!

By that I mean I decided to do my own take on Sketchtober this year just minus the prompts. Anybody gotta problem with that? Tough, cuz I already drew this crap so you might as well check it out.

How does an alien hailing from the planet Garbanzo manage to run a successful drive-in business in the age of streaming services? By not being an idiot. After buying a former run-down truck stop turned drive thru, Ziggy realized his enterprise had to cater to a niche audience. A niche audience that, like him, realizes the best way to watch B-Movies is on a big-screen from the comfort of your car. It’s why the Robot Monster goes to such great lengths to keep everything running smoothly. Thus everyday he sweeps the parking lots, pops fresh popcorn, and inspects his projectors. Gotta make sure the movie can actually be watched, am I right? Can’t very well enjoy The Blob when your equipment’s possessed by evil and spewing out blood like a gore geyser! It’s why he and his wife Wanda make sure to sharpen the chainsaw whenever possible. That’s just smart business!

It’s also an excuse for me to pay tribute to Evil Dead. Specifically the scene near the end where Ash (Bruce Campbell) stumbles around the cellar of the cabin, looking for buckshot only to find more blood. The poor man has the stuff dumped onto his head by the gallon via leaky pipes before he’s seen quivering in front of an antique projector. More of the red stuff leaks onto the lens, making it look like the whole world is turning a creepy shade of crimson around our hapless hero. According to Campbell, the scene was meant as a tribute to one of the production’s backers, Andy Grainger. Thank goodness for Andy then, cuz it’s easily the most ironic moment in the movie, even serving as the cover for the comic adaptation years later. It at least serves as the perfect visual for Sam Raimi’s style of directing. Weird camera techniques, buckets of blood, and Bruce Campbell’s sanity shredded to pieces. Now here it all is in my tribute to the films starring Clarksburg’s resident B-Movie expert, Wonder Ziggy. I hope to draw more of this crazy character soon, but for now I hope you all enjoy this DUDEL!

MAY THE GLASSES BE WITH YOU!

PS: In case anybody's wondering where yesterday's DUDEL is, sorry folks, my schedule got wonky. I plan on re-releasing that soon, but first I gotta finish a commission for my friend AND cleaning my entire house to bottom. My entire body is sore, though given Ziggy's circumstance, maybe I shouldn't complain. XD

[shes-a-gryffindor]

i wanna know about the ring composition meta!

Ok, so, I am a bit unhinged about this 😂 I quite literally froth over all the parallelism, the foreshadowing and chiastic structure of these books, so I decided to put it all in once place and write a meta ... but the trouble is, there is SO much ground to cover that I am having difficulty breaking it down. Here are some of the main snippets and a few of my favourite points -

If something is characterised by chiasmus it denotes a structure in which words/events/stories are repeated in reverse order. For a Harry Potter relevant and more visual representation, it looks something like this -

PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OoTP, HBP, DH

or refer to this excellent little diagram -

The chiastic structure and ring composition in Harry Potter can be broken down in a few main points -

The beginning (PS) and end (DH) meet - a story in which the beginning and end are at one point.

The 'big turn' or central line and Parallel halves - If the beginning and end are going to meet, the story needs a 'big turn' (a 180 so to speak) at some point to divide it into two halves, with the first half of the story being the outgoing and the second half, the returning. In the case of the HP books this is done by creating seperate sections (PS, CoS, PoA) that are placed against one another (OoTP, HBP, DH) across a central dividing line (GoF), thus making these halves parallels of one another.

Here are a few of my favourite examples of the joined beginning and end

The Forest Again: Harry's first encounter with Voldemort takes place in the forbidden forest, having stumbled upon the dead unicorn. This first encounter is echoed in 'The Forest Again' in DH which is to be Harry's supposed last encounter with Voldermort. 

Hagrid and Harry, together again (🥺): Hagrid brings baby Harry to Privet Drive on Sirius's motorcycle, Hagrid takes adult Harry away from Privet Drive on Sirius's motorcycle. Hagrid introduces Harry to the Wizarding World and is the one to tell him about Voldemort, Hagrid witnesses Harry's supposed death at the hands of Voldemort in The Forest Again and carry's his body to Hogwarts. 

Parents at Christmas (this one has to be my favourite): Little Eleven year-old Harry sees his parents for the first time over the Christmas Holidays, full of hope and longing, he is fascinated and absolutely entranced by their living reflections in the Mirror of Erised. On Christmas Eve in DH, Adult Harry visits his parents graves for the first time and, perhaps also for the first time ever, grieves fully. He sees his would-be home for the first time and experiences the murders of his parents through Voldemorts memories. 

The other Gryffindor champion (ahhhh another fav!): In PS,  Dumbledore awards Neville Longbotton, the decisive last-minute points necessary for Gryffindor's victory over Slytherin for the House Championship. Similarly, in DH, it is Neville's contribution in the final hour, his killing of the serpent Nagini with the Sword of Gyrffindor, that takes Voldemort over to mortality, thus ensuring victory once more. 

And some of the parallel halves

in CoS Harry takes a wrong turn in the floo network and ends up inside the vanishing cabinet at Borgin and Burkes where he spies on Draco Malfoy. In HBP, Harry once again finds himself spying on Draco Malfoy at Borgin and Burkes when he should be with the Weasleys, suspicious about what Draco is purchasing, which incidentally turns out to be, yep, the very same vanishing cabinet.

Both CoS and HBP have major plot points around the significance of a mysterious book, CoS - Tom Riddle's diary, HBP - the Half Blood Princes textbook.

In PoA Harry is introduced to his godfather, in OoTP (need I say more? 😭) he loses him.

In PoA we witness an authetnic prophecy made by Professor Trelawney, in OoTP we witness the authentic prophecy made by Professor Trelawney.

In PoA Snape is furious with Harry at the story's end, he is borderline unhinged because he suspects Sirius's escape has everything to do with Harry. in OoTP Harry is furious with Snape at the story's end, he is borderline irrational after Sirius's death for which he wants to believe Snape is responsible.

There are many, MANY more, but these will have to suffice for now, this is already turning into a thesis 😂

The last point where the ring composition in HP is concerned is -

The rings within the rings - What really takes this from interesting to remarkable is that not only is the series as a whole structured this way, but so is each individual book. Each and every book has its own joined beginnings and endings, an echoing midpoint and story turn, and chapters that echo one another across the story in axis. There are rings within the rings. 

Some super quick examples of this are (it's important to note that the chapters mentioned below are almost always each-others actual numerological parallel within the book) -

First and last chapters of CoS (1-2, 17): Harry meets Dobby on his Birthday, Dobby gives him a dire warning and tries to imprison him to keep him away from Hogwarts. In the latter, Dobby's warnings come to fruition and Harry gives Dobby freedom.

Chapters 4 and 20 of PoA: The trio frets over Scabbers failing health, mysterious longevity and about the ministry's efforts to capture Sirius. In the latter chapter, the trio corner Sirius, learn of Scabbers real identity and the true reason behind his seemingly ill health.

Chapters 8 and 30 of GoF: Harry sits in the top box with Barty Crouch Jr, Ludo Bagman, top Ministry officials and the Malfoys a the Quidditch World Cup. In the latter chapter, Harry finds himself sitting in spectator-full courtroom to watch the trials of Barty Crouch Jr, Ludo Bagman and other former Death Eaters by top Ministry officials.

Fourth and Fourth last chapters of OoTP (4, 35): In what is Sirius's first appearance in this book, we see him fighting with and pulling a curtain over his mother, an insane member of the Black family. In what is Sirius's last appearance in this book, we see him fighting with and being sent behind a veil by his cousin Bellatrix Lestrange, an insane member of the Black Family.

Again, there are many, MANY more but I think I'll stop rambling and save them for the meta 😆 sorry for the extremely long winded answer here!!

[heyitsjay03]

I saw request we’re open for RE8. Could I please have a fem! reader who tries to get rid of Ethan Winters because he keeps causing distress to her wife, Alcina? Please and thank you.

yes. yes you most certainly can have this.

i have been DYING to write about some alcina x fem!reader for the sole reason being that i have NEVER questioned my sexuality so hard since this damn game came out so yeah.

ps: wrote this in first person hope that's okay!

pps: there is some major plot deviation because.... i felt like it. idk. it fit??

DISCLAIMER: I do not claim to own Resident Evil or its characters or plot. CAPCOM please don't come for me.

here you go love >:)

word count: 1.57k

"Girls!" I call, closing the door behind me. "My darlings, I'm home!" Shifting the grip on the parcel of items from the village, I look around.

Usually one of the girls would've answered by now. Bela is usually here to greet me.

She's probably with her mother.

I shrug off my fur coat, handing it to one of the maids. She takes it and lays it over the back of a chair. I can tell by the large, gnarled scar on her forearm who she is "Marienna," I mumble, staring up the stairway. "...where're the girls?"

Marienna's face pales as she stares back at me. Her mouth opens and closes like a trout. "Well?" I snap, "D'you know where they are or-?!"

A crash resounds down the hallway. Alcina's voice tears from her bedroom, followed by a shuddering sob.

I'm hurrying up the stairs in seconds, abandoning the parcel. My body collides with the door- forcing it open.

Our bedroom is destroyed- the vanity broken to pieces. Alcina's soft hands cling to the golden wood, thumb rubbing against the varnish. Slowly, her eyes trail up to me. A smile nearly as broken as the vanity crosses her painted lips. "...I loved this damned mirror," she mumbles, eyes turning down to the broken pieces again.

"What happened, darling?" I coo, stepping over the pieces to stand beside her. My hand on her shoulder, I turn her face gently towards mine. Tears are streaming down her face- leaving jagged streaks of mascara. "Are you alright? What happen-"

Alcina's body tenses under my touch. Trembling, her grip tightens on the wood. It cracks before being wrenching in twain in her hands. "It was that stupid manthing!" She hisses, standing back up to her full height.

"...what 'manthing'?" I ask, "Your brother?"

Alcina ignores me, leaning back down to pluck one of the larger fragments before throwing it across the room. "He laid his filthy paws on our daughters!"

My mind races as it struggles to understand what the hell is happening.

Manthing.

It's not Heisenberg. He'd never lay a finger on the girls.

Some brutish village slug- that's got to be it.

But why? Why on earth would they...?

It doesn't matter.

As Alcina leans down to grab another bit, I grab her hand. "...are... are the girls okay? Where are they?"

A shuddering sigh passes her lips. "...they're all together," she whispers, wiping tears from her face hastily. "Bela... she was... that disgusting beast, he nearly killed her!"

"What?" I mutter, eyebrows drawing together as I step back. "...what... well is she okay? What happened? Is she going to be alright?!"

Alcina sighs again. "...she'll be alright," her hand wraps around mine gently. "Her sisters found her. Brought her to me."

"Where is she now?," I ask, tightening my grip around her finger. "My baby girl... where...?"

Alcina smiles warmly, getting down onto one knee. Her fingers brush back the hair from my eyes. Tears fall quickly down my face as I realize what could've happened if Cassandra and Daniela weren't nearby. "She's with her sisters," she answers gently. "Resting... waiting for her mother to get back with the flowers and silk from the village."

A cold laugh passes my lips before I sniffle. "...her mother should've been there. Should've never left."

Alcina's face tightens. "You can't blame yourself, darling," she mumbles, turning my chin up so I can face her. "No one knew this... Ethan Winters... would be so hideously vindictive."

I nod slowly, wiping the tears from my face. "...can I see her?"

"Of course, my love," she says, leaning in to press her lips to my cheek. "Of course."

The two of us walk down the halls to the center of the house. 'Safest place for her' Alcina had told me.

She had spoken to me the entire way over here, trying to get me out of my own head.

Bless my beloved wife for trying.

But that name. It just keeps buzzing around my mind.

Images of my hands, covered in thick blood, gripping the handle of a sickle play through my head. The blade going through the jugular of this 'Ethan Winters' and popping out the other side. Him desperate for air, choking on his own hot blood, as he watches me loom over him.

His last words will be for mercy.

His last view will be my blade.

My breath is bated as I watch him stalk through the darkness of the courtyard. In the moonlight, I can see is head is down, eyes wary as he keeps a fair grip on his pistol. The cool air lets me see him regulating his breathing- keeping him steady, keeping his pistol steady.

He's experienced.

My grip on my own weapon tightens as he stops in the gazebo. His eyes narrow as he turns around, his pistol raised. I watch in mild amusement as he whirls around, looking for something to shoot.

He's experienced, yes, but still not experienced enough.

I tug the fabric around my face higher along the bridge of my nose. Gripping my sickle, I balance on the balls of my feet.

Ethan finally relaxes, dropping his arms with his back to me.

A small smile creeps along my lips under the mask. A foolish move made by an even more foolish man.

My body slides underneath the stone railings for the stairs leading into the center of the courtyard. Untucking one of the smaller knives from my belt, I pinch it between two fingers and flick my wrist forward.

The knife goes flying- landing right between Ethan's shoulder blades. A guttural yell comes from him as he spins around to face me. In a blink, I'm up in front of him, nose brushing against his.

I can see the fear in his eyes.

I can't help my smile growing beneath the dark fabric.

Ethan raises his hand, pistol in his palm. With a tut of my lips, I shake my head and stab his hand through with my sickle. "...no, no," I mumble as he continues to scream and thrash against my hold. "There'll be none of that, I'm afraid, Mister Winters."

His teeth gritted, he hisses as my sickle is pulled from the inner part of his wrist. A bitter laugh bubbles up from my gut as he stumbles back onto the floor of the gazebo, now holding the pistol in his shaky left hand. "You can't be serious!" I giggle as Ethan pulls the trigger.

A wet squelch hits my ears as the bullet tears into my stomach. I sigh dramatically, looking down at the gushing hole in my dress. "You didn't think I was human- did you?" I ask, twirling the sickle in my hand.

"Wh- what?" Ethan mutters, eyes fixated on the bullet wound in my torso.

"I'm not," I continue, stepping closer to him as he tries to back away. Another gunshot echoes through the courtyard- the bullet landing in my left shoulder. "Not entirely, anyways."

"What the hell are you?!" Ethan yells, firing three more shots. One in the crook of my neck, one just barely grazing my temple, one lodging itself in my hip.

My jaw tightens as I hurry forward, grabbing him by the collar and throwing him back into the center of the gazebo. "I!" I snap, grabbing him again and gripping his wrist. "I... am the mother of the girl you almost killed!"

I pull another knife out of my belt. Trailing it down his lips, I smile. "And the wife... to a woman scorned." With a single swing, the knife digs into the flesh of his palm and nails it to the gazebo.

Ethan yells in pain. As I step back, his other fist cracks across my face. I stumble back. Grabbing at my cheek, I chuckle darkly. "Oh, Ethan," I coo coyly, grabbing my sickle. "You really shouldn't have done that."

I swing and watch with what could only be described as 'glee' as the blade pierces his throat. Covered in blood, the blade glistens crimson in the pale moonlight. Ethan's choked pleas are drowned out by my laughter.

"Why?" is the only word able to leave his lips without being smothered in a gush of blood.

"Because, Mister Winters," I hum, my nose brushing against his as I watch the life in his eyes flicker. "You should never have touched my family."

BONUS ENDING:

"What is that delicious smell?"

I turn around to see Alcina bending down to peek outside. A smile crosses my lips as I gesture to the mutilated corpse with the end of my sickle. "Dinner, my love," I hum, wiping off the blade with the fabric I had used for a mask. "Sorry it's not the cleanest."

Alcina scoffs and waves me off. "It's fine, _________. I'll just go let the girls know their mother brought dinner...," she pauses, eyes flicking over the gushing body. "...who was that? He smells... familiar."

"Just Ethan Winters," I answer nonchalantly.

"...y-you..." Alcina stammers, eyebrows weaving together and lips pursing. "You... when did you-?"

"He must've been tired," I continue with a small smile. "He was not nearly as difficult a kill as I thought he'd be."

"...I'll... I'll be going now."

"Okay, love," I chirp, "I'll drag him in in a second. Love you!"

Alcina's eyes are still wide, mouth slightly agape as she steps away from the doorway. "...love you too... darling."

can you tell i had a lot of fun with this?

yeah. because i did.

i hope you enjoyed! writing lady d is so much freaking fun i kid you not.

big vampy lady make brain go brr

[cryo-locket]

hello! I just stumbled across your blog and found writing good writing

anyhoo, for the Halloween treats event, can I request Hershey’s kisses in purple, with albedo and Xiao and a little child reader? platonic of course

if the reader has nightmares of, I dont know, whatever’s in the kisses can albedo and xiao comfort them pls? lmao ive never been to a haunted house before so I have no idea whats in one

thank you!

ps I love your writing its so much better than mine

regards☕️

Haunted Halloween

Note: Hiya! I’m glad you think my writing is good but I’m still learning wwwwwww- So don’t put yourself down like that

(￣Д￣)ﾉ≈♥️

I haven’t been to a haunted house in awhile but I remember most of them had specific age restrictions, as the blood and gorey decorations in haunted houses are not suited for children to see. So I made this a little milder like those haunted mazes for children! Reader is about Klee’s age here!

🎃 Halloween Treats Event 🎃

Pairings:

Albedo, Xiao x Child!Reader(platonic)

Order: Hershey’s Kisses - Purple

𝙾𝚁𝙳𝙴𝚁 𝙱𝙴𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃... 📦

✨ Successfully Received! ✨

It was finally Halloween night and Albedo had promised to bring you to the Halloween festival this year.

After you finished getting dressed-up in your costume, you went outside and saw Albedo was already waiting there. He held out his hand to you and you two set off to the festival.

Upon arriving, your eyes lit up at the many decorations and game booths present at the festival. One particular attraction caught your eye as it led into a little cave.

You skipped along with Albedo following behind to see what it was and it happened to be a haunted maze. Curiously, you entered the maze with Albedo by following the guidance of one of the employees.

Going in, it was dark as you walked through the tunnel. When you reached the other side, it was an open maze under the night sky. The place was decorated with Jack-o-lanterns, cardboard cutouts and some hanging ghosts as you started walking through to find the way out.

You started walking through the maze trying to find the way out. Unbeknownst to you, Albedo had gotten distracted halfway through and got separated from you.

When you turned around to find that you were alone, you started to panic and run around trying to find Albedo.

You got lost and wandered into a part of the maze that was covered in fake cobwebs and it looked really eerie. Suddenly, a cardboard cutout of a ghost had popped out from the side of the maze surprising you, causing you to tumble onto the ground in shock.

The fear of being alone in an unknown place suddenly washed over you, and you started sobbing quietly then you remembered Xiao telling you to call out his name if you ever needed him.

You softly called out Xiao’s name through your little sniffles, hoping he’d actually hear you.

“You called?”

Turning your head towards the voice, there he was standing right next to you.

Feeling a sense of relief after seeing him, you jumped onto him, trapping him in a hug. He was surprised and concerned by your sudden reaction, but still tried to keep his composure.

You explained everything to him about how you got separated. After understanding the situation, he immediately escorted you out of the maze.

You found Albedo at the ending of the maze talking to one of the employees, he seemed to be in quite the panic.

You ran over and called out to him.

“[Name]! There you are!”

He sounded quite worried. You turned around to thank Xiao, but he was gone.

After that incident, Albedo decided to bring you home early as you must have been tired, and one incident was enough for the day.

When you got home and bid farewell to Albedo, you headed to your room and got ready for bed. Plopping down on your bed, fatigue took over causing you to fall into slumber almost immediately.

When you opened your eyes, you were surrounded by darkness.

Where were you? Weren’t you sleeping on your bed just a moment ago? Endless questions flooded your mind.

Looking around, you were alone. You tried calling out for someone, anyone, but no one answered your calls. You even tried calling out to Xiao, but he didn’t appear as he usually would.

You started panicking. You were afraid. You were alone again. You didn’t know where you were, but you started running, hoping to find something, or someone...

All of a sudden, you tripped, but before you could hit the ground, you heard someone call your name.

You opened your eyes in shock. You were in you room, and on your bed. Was it just a dream? Your face felt damp. Were you crying?

You looked around. Standing next to your bed was Xiao..? He looked worried...

“Xiao? Why are you here?”

“You called my name and you were crying.”

Did you call his name in your sleep? How long has he been here for?

The dream you had suddenly came back to you. You didn’t know why, but you suddenly hugged him. Perhaps it was out of fear...

Xiao was startled and flinched at the sudden contact.

“Please stay with me...”

He loosened up upon hearing your request. Placing a hand on your head.

“Rest. I’ll be here.”

Sorry for the long wait! My brain died so many times writing this. I didn’t really know what to add for the nightmares and comfort part but I hope it still made sense!

This was so long-

Hope you guys enjoyed reading this!

Reblogs are much appreciated!!

（＾∇＾）

[myaimistrue]

36 for kissing of 34 for touching pretty please 👉👈

Ps you rock !

Love love love your fics

sorry for the delay on this--i'm slowly working my way through the rest of these requests! hope it's worth the wait and thank you <333

prompt: washing the other's body

---

Jack is the one who goes wading into the primordial ooze of the Empty to pull Cas out. Dean paces back and forth in front of where the portal was, chewing on his thumbnail and occasionally bursting out with some panicked thought, while Sam just nods along, trying to distract himself with a book; all-in-all, this lasts for six hours before the portal snaps open again, Jack and Cas stumbling through covered in blood and guts and inky black goo.

It’s kind of a blur, after that. Dean half collapses into Cas’s arms, crying like a child and saying as many I love yous as he can manage, and then they’re both crying. Sam checks that everyone’s safe and the portal’s really closed, then leads Jack out of there with the promise to watch a movie once he gets cleaned up. Dean and Cas, on the other hand, stay there for a long time, hanging onto each other and confessing a thousand things long unspoken in hushed tones.

Eventually, though, Dean’s instincts to take care of Cas kick in. “We’ve gotta get you in the shower,” Dean says, glancing over the viscera covering almost every inch of Cas. “And then you need to get some rest.”

“I’ll go shower,” he says. A quiet smile, one just for Dean, is on his face. “I also think I got some of the Empty on your shirt. You might want to change.”

“I’ll just come with you,” Dean says, and he’s kind of shocked it even left his mouth, but there it is. His face goes red. “Not like that—I mean, I want to, but it’s—you just got back, you’re not ready—who am I kidding, I’m not ready—I just wanna help you clean up, no sex or anything, unless you want, maybe, and then—”

“Dean,” Cas cuts him off firmly, still smiling that secret smile. “I understand. You’re welcome to join me.”

So that’s how Dean ends up naked under the shower spray with an equally naked Cas, trying desperately not to stare too much. Or to stare too little. Or to make Cas feel at all uncomfortable because he’s finally home and safe, and he shouldn’t ever feel anything but loved and cherished and adored for the rest of his life.

“Is the water okay?” Dean asks instead of saying any of that. “I can make it warmer, if you want.”

“It’s fine, Dean,” Cas says. He looks sort of amused. “I’m fine.”

“Okay. Good.” Dean lets out a shaky breath. Cas is here. He’s alive, and he’s here, and that’s all that matters.

He reaches for the soap, and Cas observes him quietly. They don’t have any loofahs or anything—Dean considers that maybe they ought to invest in one, at least for Cas, so he has something softer to use—so Dean squeezes the soap out into his hands, lathers them up. And then, like it’s not the scariest thing he’s ever done, Dean reaches out and begins to wash Cas’s body.

Most of the gross stuff rinsed off already, so now Dean is just making sure Cas is fully clean. It’s a heady feeling, having permission to explore Cas’s body like this; he’s never touched this much of him at once. And through it all, with each tender touch, Cas watches him with so much open affection it almost doesn’t seem real.

“Now me,” Cas says when Dean is finally done. Dean half-heartedly starts to argue, but his tone leaves no room for it. Instead, Dean closes his eyes as Cas’s big hands roam his body, wiping him clean and making him whole again. He can’t see it, but he knows Cas must be smiling.

They take turns washing each other’s hair, then waste even more hot water trading slow, easy kisses. When they’re finished and the shower’s off, Dean wraps Cas up in the fluffiest towel they own and pulls him close.

“I’m glad you’re back,” Dean says quietly. “I missed you so damn much.”

“I missed you too,” Cas says. He kisses Dean more gently than anybody’s ever kissed him before. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Dean says.

“For loving me back.”

Dean could say, You’re welcome. He could say, It’s my pleasure. He could say, I’ve loved you for years, I couldn’t help it, I don’t ever wanna help it, of course I love you back. Instead, he leans in and kisses that perfect secret smile, hoping Cas understands. Dean’s pretty sure he does.

---

send me a number from this list and a spn character or relationship and i’ll write a little drabble

[one-boring-person]

Hey, if you take requests, can I ask Eric x Reader where he’s obsessed with her? Ps. "Stiff, huh?" Is so intense ... Eric is wow

I do take requests! Thank you for leaving this, it was fun to write! I hope this is alright! And I'm glad you enjoyed the other fic 😊💛💛

I'll Cover You.

Eric Coulter x reader

Warnings: swearing, injury, blood, violence, gun use

Masterlist

A yelp inadvertently escapes me as a sharp bolt of pain goes through my right hand, my punch falling short as I flinch back in surprise. Biting my lip, I shake my hand, glancing around at the other initiates nearby, thankful that no one has noticed my brief moment of weakness. Discreetly, I unfold my fist and examine it, trying to discern exactly what caused the sudden discomfort, looking over the purple bruising dusting my knuckles, as well as the grazes adorning the same areas. I frown, unsure of what happened. Shaking it off, I simply get back into position and go to strike the punchbag again, tensing my core before I do anything.

A stern voice interrupts me, however, as a familiar figure steps up beside me.

"Take your thumb out of your fist, initiate." Eric commands, staring me down with his icy blue eyes.

"S-sorry?" I stutter, unsure of what he means as I look down at my fists.

He rolls his eyes and sighs, forming a fist with his own hand.

"Like this. It's not hard." He shows me, gesturing to my own hands.

Trying not to look at his bulging muscles, I observe his hand and copy it, only now realising what he meant.

"Never punch with your thumb in your fist, or you'll end up breaking it. Wouldn't be a great start, would it?" Are his only words before he stalks off, going to watch over some other initiate, leaving me blinking in his wake.

Keeping my hands as he showed me, I start beating the bag again, ignoring the slight stinging from the grazes as I work on the efficiency of my blows. With each punch, I make sure to hold my composure, stepping back from the bag as if my opponent were retaliating, keeping my eyes trained on it, so much so that I completely zone out the area around me. That is until I hear my name being called.

"(Y/n)! Kai! In the ring, now!" Eric orders us, voice resonating around the training area as it always does, his authority lacing his tone.

Swallowing nervously, I cautiously walk over to the raised platform, terrified at the thought of facing off with this particular initiate. People stare as I climb up, their eyes roaming over my body critically, comparing me with the hugely muscular boy across from me. Kai is massive in every sense of the word: bulging muscular arms, visibly toned torso, thighs like pillars and with a towering height that looms over the tallest of people. Surprisingly, however, his personality is much softer, the guy being relatively friendly with everyone, only really using his strength (gained from hard work in the Amity fields) for good use; he almost always apologizes for hurting someone. As I square up to him, I feel myself becoming more and more nervous by the minute, his fists easily the size of two of mine, but I ignore the rising sense of dread and wait for Eric to start us off.

"Go." The leader simply grunts, watching closely as we start circling each other.

Controlling my breathing, I move my weight onto the balls of my feet and hold my arms over my body, providing some protection from the oncoming onslaught of blows. Judging his step, I make eye contact with Kai briefly before suddenly ducking into his space and jabbing my fist out at his lower abdomen, striking his rock-hard abs with some force. Instantly, I recoil back out of reach, prepared for some form of retaliation in reaction to the blow, somewhat surprised when he shows minimal pain. Distracted by this, I quickly receive a blow to the stomach, having left it unguarded from my previous attack, the breath leaving me as his knuckles make contact. Grunting, I stumble backwards, ducking over my body to protect myself, only to accidentally make myself into an easier target as he grabs hold of my head and smashes my face into his lifted knee. Tears spring to my eyes as my nose audibly crunches, blood starting to pour from it as I begin to lose some focus, the pain raising in my face very disconcerting. 

With my head still in his hands, I feel him lift it again for yet another blow with his knee, my mind racing as I jerk out my arm and jab it into the space between his thighs. A grunt escapes him at this, instinctively releasing me as he goes to protect his intimate regions. Relieved, I slip out of his reach and readjust, taking note of his slightly hunched position. Moving swiftly, I get closer and swing my leg round in a sharp kick to his jaw, throwing his head to the side painfully, the muscular boy spitting out a mouthful of blood as he goes, one of his teeth coming loose from the sudden impact. Triumphant, I go to repeat the action, only to find my leg grabbed by him, his hand closing around my limb tightly. Smirking, he quickly uses this hold on my leg to pull my feet out from under me, easily throwing me over his shoulder and smashing me into the ground, pain blossoming in my chest as it collides. Winded, I lie there, only just managing to twist onto my back as he lifts a foot over my head, ready to kick me into unconsciousness.

"Stop." Eric's cool voice interrupts us both, breaking through the haze.

Both our heads snap round to look at him, my vision spinning as I do so, confused as I stare at our leader through blurry eyes.

"Go to the infirmary and get yourselves fixed up. Now." He commands us, turning away from us and going to stand a little way away.

As soon as his back is turned, Kai crouches down to my level and offers me a hand, grey eyes clouded with concern.

"You alright? I'm sorry, I went too far." He says, helping me upright, slipping his arm around my back and lending me his shoulder to get me walking.

"It's fine, Kai, don't worry. It's what we're supposed to do, after all. I'm sorry about hitting you...there." I apologise, wincing as my chest heaves slightly, my ribs clearly bruised.

"Don't worry about it, it's fine."

As we walk, neither of us notice Eric's eyes following us out of the room.

*

For once, I don't barely climb onto the train as I speeds by, my arms somehow managing to pull me inside with time to spare, a smile working its way onto my face in triumph. Usually, I seem to struggle with having the distance, but tonight I managed it with some ease, meaning I didn't have to embarrass myself under the watchful eyes of Eric, who stares down at me as I straighten again. As always, his face is blank, his arms folded tightly across his chest, his muscles straining under the fabric of his coat. Suppressing the smile on my face, I bite my lip and look away, ignoring the slight twitch of his brow as he looks me over, eyeing me carefully as I go to stand with Kai, who has quickly become a good friend of mine, the huge boy turning out to be very caring and enjoyable to have around. 

"Where do you think we're going?" The brunette asks me as I go to lean on the wall beside him.

Shrugging, I watch as the rest of the initiates join us, the Dauntless-born easily springing onto the moving train whilst the others, like Kai and I, struggle a little. Four is last to hop up, as always.

"I don't know." I inform my friend, looking to the bags at Eric's feet.

"Well, if you wait patiently, you might just find out." Eric suddenly bites out, his gaze fixed on the two of us.

Surprised, we both now, exchanging a glance between us.

"Oops." I mutter to him, falling silent as we watch the leader step forwards into the middle of the initiates.

"We're gonna play some Capture the Flag tonight. Four and I will each lead a team, each of which hides a flag and has to defend it. First team to get the opposing flag wins." He explains briefly, bending to unzip one of the bags at his feet, pulling out a type of gun I've never seen before, "You'll each get one of these. They're loaded with neurostim darts, which will simulate the pain of a gunshot wound without actually injuring you. They hurt like a bitch, so watch yourselves."

As he says this, Eric allows his eyes to fall on Kai and I, narrowing them as he finds my friend.

"Ok, Eric and I will now pick our teams. Eric will go first." Four chips in, gesturing for the leader to start.

"I'll take (Y/n)." He chooses, staring at me as I double take in surprise. Dumbfounded, I nod once, signifying that I heard him.

Four appears surprised momentarily, before he blinks and chooses one of the Dauntless-born.

Five minutes later and we've all been picked for a team, each of us sidling over towards our corresponding team leader as the train starts to come to a slowed pace. Kai was picked for Four's team, so I shoot him one last look before going to stand with the rest of Eric's team, taking one of the proffered guns and comfortably resting it against my hip, keeping the safety on for now. Looking up, I make eye contact with the stern leader, just catching his eye before he quickly glances away, saying something to Four as we prepare to leave the train, having been told to do so.

Without warning, Eric and Four throw themselves from the vehicle, landing somewhere in the darkness as the rest of us follow hastily, unwilling to be left on the train. Slinging the gun over my shoulder, I launch myself into the black night, my feet colliding with the ground seconds later, causing me to roll to absorb the shock, my hands scraping slightly on the uneven gravel. I'm quick to right myself, however, taking the gun off of my shoulder as I take out my torch and light it, easily locating Eric and going to stand with him. The rest of the team joins us and we leave the main area, walking for a few minutes until Eric stops.

"We'll need a tactic. Four is good at this, but I've beaten him most times so we need to make sure we don't lose to him tonight, got it?" The leader briefs us, holding out the luminescent flag to one of the Dauntless-born, "Go hide this in that old ticket booth over there. It's easy enough to defend and it's hard for them to find. The rest of you, find somewhere to hide around it. (Y/n), you're coming with me."

Surprised, I look at him but agree anyway, glad to have some alone time with the leader, watching as he elects one of the more experienced initiates to take charge of the defending team, before he signals for me to follow him. Taking the safety off my gun, I do so, keeping my footfall light and gentle, staying low to the ground to avoid being seen. Eric does the same, his movements calculated and practiced, his muscular frame somehow managing to step stealthily over the uneven ground.

"What did you want me for?" I hiss at him, keeping an eye out for any attackers.

"I need you to climb that tower and locate their flag. And you have the best aim, so I'm gonna need you to snipe out any guards if you can, so that you can then go in and get it." He whispers back, pointing to a nearby tower.

Frowning, I go to respond.

"And what about you?"

"I'll cover you, obviously." He replies matter-of-factly.

"Right."

As we approach the tower, he breaks off and goes to hide behind a nearby dumpster, reinforcing his plan to me as he does so, expecting me to scale the riveted wall of the abandoned structure by hand. Swallowing, I replace the gun over my shoulders and look over the rough surface before me, wondering how the hell I'm ever going to pull this off. Finding a handhold, I start ascending, using the marks to my advantage as I hoist myself higher and higher, ignoring the aching protests of my arms. Grazes litter my fingertips, my muscles trembling with each pull up, the gun knocking gently against my lower back. 

It takes me a few minutes, but soon I'm high enough that I can see the area around us, my eyes roaming the dark area with scrutiny, looking out for the fluorescent flag. I spot it easily, the colourful fabric glowing brightly on top of another nearby tower, just a little way away, a figure guarding it alone, though there are most likely others at the base of the structure. 

A sudden cry of pain snaps my attention down to the ground again, my eyes swiftly finding the silhouette of a body lying on the floor, Eric swiftly moving out to make sure the threat stays down, his fun levelled in preparation. Upon seeing this, I start climbing back down, spotting another three oncoming opponents just a little way away from us, their voices somewhat raised. Taking note of this, I hasten down, managing to hop down in time to face off with the newcomers, who are faced with a swift barrage of darts. Two fall, clutching at their legs in pain, the third taking a little more to neutralize before he too drops to the floor, squirming in agony.

"You find it?" Eric questions me, secretly checking me over for any injury in the darkness, aware that he can't really see much 

"Yeah, it's this way." Turning, the two of us run in the direction of the other tower, thankfully staying clear of any enemies until we reach the low wall surrounding the structure. Circling it, we soon figure out why this particular tower was chosen.

"There's only one way into the tower past this wall, and they'll all be around that area." Eric muses, stopping with his back pressed against the offending architecture, "Any ideas?"

Thinking for a minute, I eye the wall carefully.

"I think so. We didn't get shot at as we approached it, which means they must all be at the other end, or not paying any attention, so one of us could climb over the wall  and get in that way, but they'd be vulnerable when they were climbing the tower." I suggest, tapping my weapon slightly.

"I said I'd cover you. You climb and I'll shoot the bastards, then I'll join you at the top." Eric confirms, gesturing for me to go.

Nodding, I make my way around to another part of the wall, starting to scale it in the darkness as I did before, hoping no one will catch me. Gritting my teeth, I haul myself over the structure and drop into the enclosed area, glad to hear the cries of alarm coming from a different part of the circle as I run over to the base of the tower. Thanking my aptitude for climbing, I start making my way up the building, trying to ignore the possibility of falling to my death as I start to get higher and higher off the ground. It takes me a little while, but I eventually manage to pull my aching limbs up and onto the balcony of the upper floor of the tower, somehow still out of sight of the guard, who is shooting at what I'm assuming is Eric down in the circle. Quietly, I slip into the shadows and ready my gun, shooting the unsuspecting initiate into the back, their sharp cry of surprise and pain resonating loudly around the room as I take up the flag and go to the open window. Leaning out, I scream out to the people below, waving it around triumphantly as a chorus of groans escapes the gathering of defenders, Eric already climbing the steps inside the tower. 

Ecstatic, I shake the flag around more, happy that I may have proved myself as capable for once, my face split into a proud grin. Behind me, Eric suddenly bursts in, coming over to me with a smirk of his own.

"Congratulations, (Y/n)." He says, seemingly considering something.

"Thank you." I murmur, fighting off the blush as he stares at me, his eyes concealing a different emotion to what I was expecting.

Suddenly, he leans in and presses his lips to mine, swallowing my squeak of surprise as he starts to move with me. Cupping my face in his hand, his other at my waist, pulling me closer, Eric continues to kiss me, the sensation stirring up butterflies in my stomach, my body craving his touch as he presses himself flush against me. Briefly pulling apart for air, he manages to say something before he closes the gap again.

"God, I'm obsessed with you."

[mandoinevarro]

heyy so i heard you were taking suggestions???

i cant stop thinking about this modern au where din is a detective and reader is either another detective or a witness or something and they end up working a case together? maybe set in christmas for an extra creepy vibe? smut or not ill leave that to you, but youre one of my favorite writers and id love to read your take on this :)

hey anon, you heard right! i'm sorry that it took me a bit long to write this but i liked your idea and i wanted to get it right, so here it is. i changed a few things, but hopefully you'll still enjoy it.

Din Djarin x f!reader

Rating: uhhhhhhhhhh T? M? i'll probably write more about this AU and if i'm being honest it'll most likely evolve into E—either way no minors

Warnings: well no smut so far but i have 0 self control so who knows what the future holds… anyway: crime, c*ps, mentions of blood, mentions of murder, missing people, mentions of drugs, and very unethical journalism :D

a/n: I realize that Horatio Mythrol is the dumbest name in the world but let's see you come up with a better one

Words: 4.8k

       TWELVE DRUMMERS DRUMMING

The early December drizzle fell like frozen needles on your cheeks. It dragged the lampposts’ light like smudged watercolor, creating a fuzzy orange halo around them, the only pigment outside of the black and grey spectrum. That and the yellow tape.

The sirens are off. Red and blue rotating lights are no longer necessary to alarm neighbors of possible dangers. This quiet suburban neighborhood in the outskirts of Nevarro has learnt to recognize the screeching tires of squad cars, the panicked murmuring of half-asleep officers and detectives.

Too cheesy. True-crime-podcast level of cheesy. Not that the Nevarro Bee was the pinnacle of investigative journalism and crime reporting, but the last thing you needed was to look like an amateur in your first assignment.

You hadn’t had time to give yourself a pep talk before the call came. It had jolted you awake, your screeching ringtone cutting through your slumber like oil in water, a rough voice that took you a couple of seconds to recognize: “Horatio Mythrol. 352 Cypress Street.” A pause. “You were right.” The line went dead.

Your stomach swirled with dread and sick excitement. With pride. Your hunch had been right.

The next call had been less ominous.

“I dunno, kid,” your editor slurred. You could hear the clicking of his typewriter, a leftover from his time as a stringer in the 80s. 2:50 a.m. and the old worker bee was still at the office. “You’re a rookie. This isn’t rookie work.”

“Come on, Fett, I got the tip.” All that time reporting on Little League games and interviewing the kaki-wearing winners of the Best Lawn Award had finally paid off. This was your one-way golden ticket out of covering county fairs—you’d rather stick your fingers below carnival bumper cars than writing another piece on the latest hot dog eating competition. “Fennec’s out covering that embezzlement thing in Corellia, who’re you gonna send? Calican?”

You heard him huff in time with a key jamming.

“Be serious.”

“I am.” You were already half dressed, stumbling from cold bedsheets to a colder bedroom with a leg half up your jeans. “I got the tip straight from the police department. From my source. I can do this.”

He typed to the rhythm of his ruminating. “You sure you wanna jump on the crime beat, kid? Cops can be assholes.”

“Can’t be worse than soccer moms.”

“Might be dangerous.”

“I’ve got pepper spray.”

It hadn’t been raining when you left your apartment. The jacket you’d worn for the cold, but you’d foregone the rain boots. You inevitably felt out of place in your stupid soaked sneakers, as you watched from a block away the warm, protective gear that cops and crime scene techs were clad in. A boulder settled deep in your stomach when you imagined yourself walking across the street with shaky hands and a notepad filled with more doodles than quotes—Baby’s First Crime Scene. The uniforms on scene would raise their snouts and smell it off you like brand-new plastic: a rookie, some amateur, a kid among the pros.

No. No, you could definitely handle this. You got the tip. For the time being, you were the first and only journalist on scene—even the nightcrawlers seemed to have missed this one—and this was your story. Christ, you could do this. Fett only asked for ten inches of copy and one quote from law enforcement. Piece of cake.

Your sneakers squeaked across the shining asphalt as you crossed the street, fingers trembling in your pockets from the cold and the anxiety. Nobody seemed to care much about your presence on the sidewalk. Officers circled around you, spoke codes into their radios, helped techs unload equipment. You were early. The chief of police wasn’t here yet, and neither were the detectives. Your source had been the first on scene—thanks to you, of course—so he’d kept his word, which you’d only half-expected.

A heavy-limbed officer ducks behind yellow tape with a black light in his arms. A crime scene technician in a white boiler suit carries a jug of luminol inside the luxurious 70s bungalow at the end of Cypress Street. Despite the fully-equipped van, the squad cars that keep rolling in by the second and the top-notch technology at the disposition of Nevarro PD, every uniform on scene carries the haunted look in their eyes of someone who’s been in this position one too many times. They know that luminol will not flare up white and neon inside this bungalow. They know that the only prints they’ll pick up will belong to the owner of the house, Horatio Mythrol, the man who is currently missing.

You walked until the yellow tape grazed your waist. Cops bumped into you, murmuring apologies or curses. Word was starting to get out, but not fast enough. The police station was a twenty-minute drive away from the crime scene. The uniforms that were already here had either been patrolling the area or running red lights. Or, of course, they’d already known what houses they needed to stake out—which was the case of your source. A man you couldn’t find anywhere among the hive of buzzing cops.

Shit. You needed that quote.

Flipping out your legal pad and asking random, grumpy cops for on-the-record quotes, pretty please, didn’t seem like the most sensitive plan of action.

This is the fourth disappearance in less than two months. The Nevarran upper-class neighborhood that has been rocked by what some call a crime wave (nobody really calls it that—most women in the line at the grocery shop insist it’s a serial killer) already shows signs of the fear settling into its inhabitants. Tall fences have been built, CCTV cameras blink red at passersby, some front doors have ditched Christmas crowns and mistletoe for triple locks. And yet, Nevarro PD insists the cases are not related. The public isn’t so sure. (The public, aka, you.) Last week during a press conference (that you hadn’t been allowed to attend) Chief—

“You, with the sneakers,” someone barked behind you.

It made you jump. It made your ears and neck warm because goddamnit you had to wear those fucking sneakers. Mostly, it made you want to trade places with Horatio Mythrol when you turned to find an officer in full uniform scowling at you, and you said the single stupidest thing you could: “Me?”

“Yeah, you.” The cop’s arms were crossed, highlighting the nametag on her left side that read Reeves and the badge on her right side that said Captain. “You live here?”

“Um, no.”

“You see anything?”

“No, I’m…” You knew it was a mistake before you said it. “I’m press.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Really? What, you want a quote?” Captain Reeves stepped towards you, you stepped back until your waist bended the yellow tape. Somehow, you didn’t think saying yes and pulling out your pen and legal pad would do you any good. “Well, here’s your quote, Press: The last thing we need in an active crime scene is a glorified web sleuth getting in our way and distracting officers. We have this under control.” She paused for a second to let it sink in. It did. “Beat it.”

And beat it you did.

Sort of.

You wore your best wimp face and scurried away like a scared little mouse running away from the Big Bad Wolf, an act you knew cops soaked up as their daily shot of god complex. You were only half-acting. Reeves’ coal eyes burned into you all the way to the end of the street, where tall cypresses prevented passersby from plunging into the river below. It was only after you spotted her telltale cop smirk and she turned around, that you took cover behind the cypresses to trek back to the house with what you knew was a shit-eating grin.

If one believed town gossip—and you certainly did—Captain Koska Reeves had a reputation for bending civil rights as far back as she did suspects’ arms: guilty ‘til proven innocent, anything you say I’ll paraphrase to my liking, if you cannot afford you ain’t getting one. Anyone with a brain would’ve marched straight back home—that is, anyone who didn’t know that Miss Congeniality here didn’t have the upper hand for once. Fourth disappearance in less than two months and Nevarro PD had a whole bunch of nothing, not a single print or drop of blood or speck of semen to waive around as a white flag. You saw it during the press conferences, when they babbled about unreleased information and an abundance of physical evidence. Bullshit. Reeves’ eyes had sunk deep into their pockets under the weight of all that imaginary evidence, under the Chief’s pressure and the Mayor’s boot. They couldn’t afford to fuck up, so she was playing this one close to the chest—if you had to guess, you’d say she was only calling in the police officers she trusted the most—the ones who were only mildly dirty— which is why, when you reached the back of the bungalow, there wasn’t a single one in sight.

Back in the 70s Nevarro was a hot hippie hub, believe it or not. This was before the real estate whales and big developers from Corellia moved in and ran anybody with sandals and bloodshot eyes out of town before they could say “fascist.” But Horatio Mythrol seemed to hold on to the summer of love, judging by the dream catcher hanging by the porch and the bright green conversation pit in the middle of his living room that you caught a glimpse of when you snuck to the bungalow’s backyard.

One thing about these authentic midcentury modern houses: the fences are never tall.

Still, not an easy climb. With the rain-slicked fence and the sneakers that you were definitely burning after this, you slipped and fell like a sack of potatoes into the backyard, crashing butt-first into a charming little allotment of what smelled like weed. Jesus Christ.

Moron Journalist Arrested for B&E, Tampering with Evidence

So when you rolled off onto the mushy lawn and peered at the property damage you’d caused, you thought you were imagining it. A flash of silver blinking at you from between the spiky marijuana leaves, it could only be an hallucination caused by your fall—but when you reached a hand inside the orchard and closed your fist around the glint, it materialized. Cold, ragged and metallic: a key.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

The scratchy voice fell on your shoulders like a piano in a cartoon. You jumped a couple of feet into the air and scrambled on your hands and knees, limbs shaking like industrial drills, searching in the dark for the source of the commanding voice that could only belong to a battle-worn detective or a serial killer or God. Either way, you were fucked.

A dark shadow stood above you, ominous like a closing shot of The Twilight Zone. You were dizzy from the fall and the adrenaline, blinking against the darkness to try and gauge the outlines. Tall male, broad shoulders, hands stuffed inside the pockets of a trench coat. Face darkened by the leaves of a sycamore above him. If the cold-induced mist coming out of his mouth had been cigarette smoke, he would’ve been a picture-perfect noir detective, the cover of a pulp paperback.

Mystery Man slowly removed a hand from his trench coat’s pocket. Your heart picked up its galloping, you thought you smelled blood. Your eyes were stuck on the pocket, racing with possibilities: handcuffs, a gun, Horatio Mythrol’s severed hand. No, just—a hand. His own hand. Extended towards you, palm up, like he was approaching a scared dog who needed to sniff his fingers before trusting the well-meaning stranger. It took you a moment to realize he was offering to help you up.

Probably not a serial killer, then. You lifted your right fist an inch, before you remembered the cold weight of the key, and extend your left hand instead. He grabbed you by the elbow and hurled you to your feet until your nose was a fist’s length away from his chest. He smelled like soap and rain and baby powder. You hoped he wasn’t some pervert.

“What are you doing here?” The voice was familiar. Not acquaintance-familiar, not like a neighbor or a friend. Backdrop-familiar. As if you’d heard it before in a crowded mall.

“I just…” Warning signs with Captain Reeves’ face flashed in your head. You stuffed your hands into your jacket, feigning a little shiver, dropping the key into your pocket. “I saw the squad cars and the tape.” Not a lie, a petulant little voice supplied inside you, as if you weren’t already on thin ice, I did see them.

“You live in the neighborhood?”

You knew you were walking the tight rope of what constituted honest-to-god, Pulitzer-worthy reporting. Below, the murky swamp waters of unethical journalism bubbled and invited you to fall over.

“I’m not far off.” Ten minutes wasn’t far.

“Right.” The voice gave nothing away, steady as a monitor flatlining. You couldn’t tell if he believed you.

“Are you…” Careful treading here. “Are you a detective on the case?”

You still couldn’t see his eyes, but you felt them on yours. On your shoulders, your arms, your entire face, unlike him, you didn’t have a sycamore to shield you from the moonlight. “Something like that.”

That was your cue to be a good little journo and reveal that you were press and hope you weren’t kicked out for the second time. But you had already ignored an officer’s orders, breached into private property, stepped into a crime scene. Most importantly, this man was law enforcement, and you still needed that quote. Dipping your toes in that murky water couldn’t do that much harm.

“Did…did something happen to Horatio?” You called this act Scared Neighbor. You even managed a little stutter and a shiver.

“That’s what we’re trying to find out, ma’am.” You caught a glimpse of his chin when a sliver of moonlight trickled through the sycamore leaves. Patchy stubble, strong jaw.

Trying to find out. Just like you thought, another crime scene where they would get jack shit. A couple of months weren’t nearly enough to declare that a case had gone cold—not even lukewarm—and yet your source was positive that this one would never be solved. The way he’d vaguely described it, the other houses looked like your run-of-the-mill suburban burglary: upturned mattresses, open drawers, slashed cushions. But a burglary didn’t explain the missing home-owners.

It didn’t help that nearly all cops in the department were busy protecting their sponsors. Good old Nevarro PD was a delightful bottomless pit of filth—they wouldn’t give anyone a parking ticket without triple-checking that they didn’t work for someone they worked for. Looking up at the shadow in front of you, you wondered who filled his pockets.

If the detective’s grasp on your arm hadn’t tightened, you would’ve thought he’d turned to stone. Whatever. He was welcome to think he was comforting Suburban Damsel in Distress as long as he gave you the information you were fishing for.

“Oh, I hope he’s okay,” you murmured in your best Snow White voice. “I…I heard about the other cases and… You don’t think it’s connected to those, do you?”

For a second, you saw the glint of his teeth. A tiny grin or a brief snarl. “Why were you awake?”

The commotion in the front porch was getting louder, more squad cars’ tires were screeching on the asphalt, your brain was going ninety an hour. “What?”

“You said you saw the squad cars. Not hear them.” His voice sounded amused—not in a friendly way, not inviting you in on the joke. You figured he was more used to playing Bad Cop. “They didn’t wake you up. So why were you already awake, looking out the street at three a.m. if—”

Someone flicked a switch inside the bungalow, and the sliding doors came to life, flooding the backyard in bright yellow light. The hand on your elbow pulled hard, guiding you to take cover behind the sycamore and dropping to the wet grass, bellies to the ground, guerrilla style. Uniforms and boiler suits poured into the mint green living room splashed with bright orange cushions and psychedelic carpets on the walls that could only be described as “groovy.” A Ouija board in the middle of the conversation pit. Had the spirits had the chance to warn Horatio of his untimely disappearance?

The detective’s breathing was hot on your ear and strangely comforting. His shoulder against yours, his heart racing as fast as yours, both of you staring holes at the sliding doors, trying to catch some irregularity, something they’d missed on the last crime scene, anything that would make this case make sense.

You were close enough to the sliding doors to count the hairs on the officers’ heads; and they were close enough to count yours, if any of them spared a glance at the backyard. You scooted closer to the sycamore’s trunk.

The place looked trashed enough for a burglary, all right. Stabbed cushions with their cottony insides spilling to the floor, open drawers with their contents scattered, an upturned table that seemed too short and sturdy to naturally tumble to the side. Your proto mattress was also disheveled enough to fit the style of the rest of the property. What you’d thought was a small personal allotment of cannabis for Horatio’s nostalgia nights turned out to be a plot that ran all the way past the sycamore, close enough to the fence that it wouldn’t be seen by outsiders.

“Huh.”

The detective’s shadow of a head turned to look at you. “What?”

You pointed a finger at the patch. “Didn’t take the weed.”

The patch where you’d fallen was the only part of the culture that looked disturbed; the rest of the plants were tall and perky, surprisingly green and purple for the winter, and most had already flowered. Any self-respecting burglar would’ve known that cash and drugs were the easiest goods to move—no middle man, and they change hands fast enough that in a few days they’d be untraceable.

The detective remained quiet for a long second, and you were starting to wonder if you’d have to explain what you meant when he whispered, “Maybe the burglar doesn’t smoke. Or wouldn’t know where to sell it.”

You managed a quiet snort. “In this town? Toddlers here can roll blunts.”

He was quiet for a longer moment, trying on your theory like a glove, flexing his knuckles to see if it fit. “You could be right.”

You barely had time soak up the pride when the commotion outside became tomb-quiet, snatched from the root. Seconds later, an officer marched into the living room: redhead, girl boss haircut, giving every tech and cop in the living room a foul look, as if they’d all fucked up already just by existing and were in for it. None of the cops met her eye.

“Chief Bonnie looks better on TV,” you whispered.

A sharp exhale, probably his version of a laugh. “If she ever hears you call her that she’ll plant coke in your car.” The woman took slow steps around the living room; everything she saw made her eyebrows furrow deeper. “Stick to ‘Chief Kryze.’”

You grinned. “What do family and friends call her?”

“‘Chief Bo.’”

You could’ve laughed, if Chief Kryze hadn’t turned to the sliding doors. You swallowed it down and tried to sink into the muddy earth. The chief of police opened the door, stepped into the grass, made a sour face at the allotment of weed where you’d landed. The detective had gone stone-still, his breathing imperceptible, and then it hit you—if he was a detective, why was he hiding?

Chief Kryze’s combat boots crushed the grass, her gaze made the air on the backyard collapse. She approached the sycamore, stared up at its branches or the moon or the heavens. You didn’t know if you should run from her or from the stranger beside you. With a hard sigh, she turned back to the bungalow, leaving you half-relieved and half-paralyzed with fear. You still needed to get away from this man, whoever the fuck he was.

You slowly tried to get on your feet but—of course, of fucking course—your sneaker squeaked like rubber ducks.

Chief Kryze’s head whirled back like whip, she snatched the flashlight from her hip and shone it right at your faces.

“Get up!” she barked, approaching you in long strides. You stood on noodle legs, ears buzzing, squinting at the light. “Get the fuck up and—!” Two long strides and she was almost chest-to-chest with the stranger. You were trying to block out the flashlight’s glare with a hand when her voice turned low and bitter, only a step above a growl and a badge above a punch: “Djarin.”

The flashlight clicked off. You blinked against the dark spots in your vision that it left behind, big enough to cover most of the chief of police’s face, but not dark enough to black out the fiery rage in her eyes.

“Good to see you, Bo.”

“I swear to God, Djarin,” Chief Kryze spat in a harsh whisper. “I swear to fucking God that if you have anything to do with this case, I’ll—”

“You think I kidnapped Horatio? What, for kicks?”

“I wouldn’t put it above you. Lots of people in this town wouldn’t.” He promptly shut up after that—it hit a nerve. And Chief Kryze knew it, judging by the long, triumphant gulp of December air she took and the lazy tilt of her head.

She strapped her flashlight back to her hip and said in her confident TV voice, “Frankly, I don’t give a rat’s ass if you did it or not. Actually, I’d love it if you had, that way I could slap a pair of handcuffs on you and throw you in gen pop, so don’t tempt me, Djarin. If I ever catch you at one of my crime scenes again, or at the station, or anywhere where I can fucking smell you, I’ll have a couple of uniforms stock your apartment full of hippie shit with Horatio’s fingerprints all over them, and sprinkle a bit of his hair there too, so I can be sure it sticks. I don’t have to tell you where that special someone you’ve got at home would be spending Christmas—I hear you’re well acquainted with that place, too.”

She closed her speech with a short exhale and a winning grin that, even in the dark, you could tell contained no joy—it was all teeth. Her eyes fell on you for the first time, looked you up and down, quirked an eyebrow. “You brought a date?”

“Came here all by herself.” Still his steady, low voice, rough like pavement; it tickled your spine. If not for the next thing he said, you would’ve liked the sensation: “She’s press. Nevarro Bee, right?”

The tickle became a sting, like an icicle lodged between your vertebrae.

You were gonna be sick. “I… I mean…”

“Unless you want your speech word for word on tomorrow’s front page, Kryze, I suggest we both forget about tonight. We both know Fett won’t think twice about printing it.”

Bonnie Katan-Kryze grabbed your wrist and yanked your paralyzed self towards the light spilling from the sliding doors. She gave you a look that matched the weather, a snarl pulling at her lip, her nostrils flaring. She was memorizing your face.

When you looked back at the sycamore, the man’s shadow was gone. Fuck him. Whoever that man was—pervert or detective or serial killer—, fuck him. He threw you like bait and scurried away to save his own ass.

“Unless you’re fucking brain dead,” Chief Kryze said slowly, as if she were, in fact, talking to an idiot, “I don’t think I have to tell you what will happen if you even think about printing anything you heard tonight.” Her fingernails dug into your wrist. “Because if you think that your little friend back there had it bad, you have no idea—”

The sliding doors opened a crack.

“Hey, Chief.” This time, you knew exactly whose voice that was.

“What?”

“Better take a look at this.”

Chief Kryze rolled her eyes and turned to the officer, ready to tell him to fuck off, when she let go of your wrist. The officer was holding the Ouija board. It was made of a dark wood that looked expensive, decorated with intricate arabesques, pentagrams, a siren. The letters were carved rather than drawn—and blood filled letters N to Z, numbers 1 to 0 and the “Goodbye” sign at the bottom.

Kryze dug a pair of latex gloves out of her pocket. Her hands were shaking when she put them on. “Mayfeld,” she said, as she carefully took the board from him. “Escort this woman off the crime scene. Frisk her for a note pad or a recorder. Take her name and address.”

Chief Kryze stepped into the living room looking ten years older; Officer Mayfeld stepped out looking like he was trying real hard not to give you a black eye. You followed him to the back of the yard, where you could see the river shining black. He opened a gate on the corner of the property and shoved you into the empty lot next to Horatio Mythrol’s house. You almost crashed face-first into an idle scissor lift. Fuck knows what they were building in there.

“So,” he says behind you, clasping his hands together, “did you hit your fucking head or something?”

Now that danger wasn’t imminent and the adrenaline had crashed, you wanted to sleep for three days. You were cold, tired and dirty with mud where that fucker had made you lay down on the ground. The last thing you were in the mood for was Mayfeld’s lecture. “Give me a break.”

“No, I’m serious. You need me to call you an ambulance, sweetheart? Because I don’t understand how anyone without brain injury would walk into a fucking crime scene—into Chief Kryze’s fucking crime scene—and get caught!” Under the moonlight, Migs Mayfeld looked paler than a ghost—a ghost about to get audited, pacing back and forth, rubbing a palm on his head. “You got any idea what you’re playing at? Huh? Why don’t you just print my face on the front page next time and call me a snitch?”

“Relax, nobody noticed I even knew you, let alone that you’re my source.”

“Source? I’m not your fucking source. I called you this once as—as a professional courtesy—”

“—because I did your fucking job for you. You would’ve never been first on scene to collect your Good Boy Badge if I hadn’t told you—”

“—I called you so you could write the story before any newspaper, not so you could come skipping with your goddamn notepad to play detective and network with the crowd. Who was that on the backyard, anyway? The guy Chief Kryze was talking to?”

He stopped pacing, breathing hard, but suddenly calm, his tone gentler. Piece of work, Mayfeld was. He could be booking you for murder and he’d still try to figure out a way to be buddies if it benefitted him.

You kicked a pebble. “Don’t know. Chief Kryze called him ‘Djarin.’”

Migs Mayfeld stared at you like you were Horatio Mythrol’s ghost making a peace sign. He didn’t blink for a full minute and then murmured, “Jesus H Christ.”

That got your heart racing again. “What?” You pictured Most Wanted lists, local prowlers, ex-cons. You’d been checking those lists since you started digging into this case, but you hadn’t been able to see the man’s face; you wouldn’t have recognized him either way. “Is he a suspect?” You thought of his hot breath on your ear, so close to each other.

Migs shook his head. “Christ, you really are new at this.” You gave him a blank stare until he exhaled the last of his patience. “Din Djarin? Private detective Din Djarin? Public-fucking-enemy number one to every cop in this town? Solved the Tusken Murders last year and made Chief Kryze look like a moron? Ring a bell?”

A chilly gust of wind came blowing from the south. Mayfeld trembled like a leaf, his teeth rattled like bones. He couldn’t stop shaking his head.

“If Din Djarin’s got his head in this case, it means we really are fucked,” he murmured, pacing again. “Happy fucking holidays to me.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

taglist: not sure?? who to tag??? i don't know any taglist etiquette + i know a lot of you were in for rmrb, so please don't hesitate to let me know if you wanto to be removed or if you only want to be tagged in Rule Maker, Rule Breaker stuff

@rosetophighlander​ @hellomothermoon @newyorksins​ @leo-moon @benedrylcumbersnatch @corrupt-fvcker @seratoninforyouseratoninforme @multifandomlife22 @justanotherblonde23 @abysshaven @equalstrashflavoredtrash @16boyfriends-and-me @ihaveashield @dinispunk @bananaagurl @mstgsmy @absurdthirst @cowboy-kylo @roxypeanut @heyitmelexie @readsalot73 @krazykatkay456 @elusive-danger-noodle @ofstardustandbone @nikkiparthena @lifeisapitch15 @teaofpeach @auty-ren @anewrule @hyp-oh-critical​ @pascaliprincess​ @geannad​ @coaaster​ @frietiemeloen​ @yourbucky084​ @brynnstudies​ @elfwoodfae​ @ms-fatally-yours @hansonveggieclub @artsymaddie @the-scandalorian @tilltheendwilliwrite @anewrule @hyp-oh-critical @pascaliprincess @f4llingfairy @shestillwrites1 @itsjustaphase8 @lackofhonor @geannad @sofithewitch @sfr99 @thatonedindjarinfan @yooforia @dar-manda-rjct @starsfordays @usualsworld @greeneyedblondie44 @the-importance-of-being-sasuke @promiscuoussatan @carbonite-cruncher @speideysimpossiblegirl @fangirl-316 @multifandom-superlover @sirianisrock @hdlynn @hellabaybee @lellowberry @thevoiceinyourheadx @dins-helmet @cowboy-kylo @coaaster @djarrex @ms-fatally-yours

[criticofallthings]

SO IT’S 5:12AM BECAUSE I’VE BEEN TYPING AWAY A NEW HEADCANNON PIECE OF CRACK IDEA THAT WOULDN’T LET ME SLEEP IF I DIDN’T. edit: bc tumblr mobile app is dumb I had to restart in a web browser and it is now 6:03 AM.

Anyway yeah so that Hawkmokn lore tab where we see Guardian lad and Crow get drunk and be merry (brain’s a little scramble rn, but I’m preeetty sure its the Hawkmoon lore tab)?? Yeah so that and trauma bonding / healing bc if I haven’t said it a thousand times and then sme yet, Imma say it again: POOR TRAUMATIZED GUARDIANS OMFG 😭😭😭

No title no beta bc literally just shat this out the past couple of hours:

cw/tw: ptsd, referenced major character death, death, implied depression/major grief, self depreciation

ps. usually I write nonbinary Guardian, but today we got lady she/her Guardian

pps. this fic is a heckin chonker compared to the previous ones

———————————————————————

Crow’s lips were gentle against the Guardian’s own, a bit dry, but sweet and heady with the lingering wine. The kiss was sudden. It was spontaneous. And it made something warm and so soft and so, so very fragile, hatch within the Guardian’s chest.

Until she opened her eyes and saw those golden eyes, glowly softly in the dark, beneath dusky white and raven black fringe. The pale smokey blue of his skin, luminous where it reflected the warmth of the campfire, and cast in deep shadows where the night’s darkness fought to shade his face. The smell of ash suddenly weighs much heavier in the air.

That warm, soft, and fragile thing in the Guardian’s chest goes cold and sharp and hard. Time slows and speeds up at the same time within her mind, stealing her away to a prison of memories. Blood rushes to her ears, drowning out the warning from Ghost to Crow and Glint.

The Guardian shoved Crow away and stood up, a heavy handcannon with a white spade on the stock materializing into her hand, aimed at Crow’s heart. An errant blip of data-Light to Crow’s left is all that hints at Glint’s swift dematerialization. Crow stays prone on the ground, spawled on his back, one hand raised up, in an attempt to pacify —unwittingly making it harder for the Guardian to snap out of that memory.

The stench of burnt oil, sweat, and soot fills her nose. She only hears the crackles of flames and electric buzzing as her heart pounds, coldly staring into Crow’s bewildered eyes. Those deep golden eyes that had haunted her waking hours and chased her down in nightmares. Those eyes filled with cruelty as they watched her stumble to Cayde’s dying side. She doesn’t realize yet, but the tears she couldn’t shed before, now weep from her eyes. The handcannon trembles slightly in her grip.

Ghost floats over into his Guardian’s field of view. He’s careful to let her know he’s doing so by giving her shoulder a bump as he glides to a rest above the stock of the handcannon. He hovers there, his one eye searching both of hers, glow dimmed slightly. His shell gives a soft whirl before he speaks, leaning in gently towards her.

“That is not him.”

The silence is deafening, every second only increasing the tension. Ghost clicks his shell, uncertain if his words were even heard. He tries again, bobbing in the air.

“Crow is not him.”

The handcannon trembles. But the Warlock doesn’t move, bound by so much tension you’d think she was a Hunter about to leap into the air to throw a Blade Barrage.

“Crow is not him.”

Ghost speaks again, insistent, shell whirling softly as he flits closer to his Guardian. A flicker of recognition crosses her face. The handcannon falters, no longer aimed directly at Crow’s chest. Ghost nudges her hand, bumping the Guardian’s aim to the ground.

She trembles, a full body shudder and the handcannon slips from her grasp. Suddenly she’s aware, all too aware of what happened, and the tension holding her still dissipates. She falls to her knees, energy completely spent.

“I, I-I’m so sorry.” She’s barely able to whisper the words in his direction.

Before her, Crow watches, eyes wide and doe-like, shocked and unsure of what to do. Of what just happened. A sinking feeling blooms in his gut.

He knows he wasn’t a good man before he died. Plenty of guardians had made that clear through their boot heels and fists, gunfire and knives, with their Light in three different energies: arc, void, and solar.  As did the Eliksni, who cursed him in their language while their Captains tore him apart with their four arms.

Crow knows it’s an understatement to say he wasn’t a good man in his previous life. Even if he could never learn about who that man was, what he did, and would only by the number of shattered bones and bruised flesh just how much pain that man had caused —Crow decided early on that he could take it. It was penance. It was justly due and therefore he couldn’t call it painful.

But this? This hurt.

It hurt because now he knows that the man he once was had struck an incomprehensible blow to the Guardian he had come to know more of. It hurt because he had been holding on to a small hope, an indescribably small bit of hope, that of all the people he had encountered in his previous life that he had never met the Guardian. Because if they had never met, then maybe, maybe there was someone he didn’t hurt. His first friend. His savoir. His now not-so-secret-crush. And the longer he thought about it, the greater that sinking feeling in his gut grew.

He could no longer deny the shock and subdued anger and almost very well hidden grief he had seen flash across her face when he revealed himself to her and Osiris. He could no longer deny the way they had kept him at distance while easily in sight with a hand hovering over their gun every time they met him for a Hunt or to study a newly sprouted Cryptolith. Why his attempts at humor and jokes were met with cool silence. Why whenever he saw that handcannon, he instinctively recoiled away from it, phantom pain bursting sharply in his heart.

——————

Crow remembers the first time he saw the Guardian wield that gun. How she had effortlessly cleared a pack of thrall in one clip, each headshot exploding in a flurry of solar. How his body reacted: legs collapsing beneath him, his heart burning painfully, lungs gasping for air that never seemed to make it into him, retching pathetically, as tears streamed down his face.

Why was he crying?

Why did he feel an insurmountable wall of sorrow and regret?

She had seen him fall and before the last thrall had burnt away completely, she came running towards him. All he could see in that moment was that gun getting closer and all he felt was an innate desire to get away.

Run, run, run, run, run before you die!

Run you before you burn!

The Guardian came close, hands splayed before her, voice speaking in soothing tones, words lost upon his panicking ears. He had screamed then, in abject terror. It was a garbled and pitched sound as he tried to breathe and vomit and scrabble away all at the same time; his eyes riveted to the handcannon now holstered at her side. Her Warlock mind, keen to details, quickly realized what had triggered his panic and she deftly threw the gun to her Ghost who transmatted it away mid-air.

Crow doesn’t remember what the Guardian said to him, but he remembers how carefully she reached out to him. How she framed his face in her gauntleted hands, so gentle, so lightly, as if he might shatter into glass —just to touch her forehead to his. How the puffs of her outward breaths ghosting by his cheeks helped calm his own.

And he knew then, in that moment that no matter what that gun meant that he was already in too deep. When with a simple touch, the Guardian could soothe away old terrors he himself knew nothing of, Crow knew then. He loves her.

——————

Crow slowly got to his feet, mindful of the Guardian (who was despondently staring into her open hands while Ghost hovered on her shoulder). He looks at that gun, chest starting to burn, heartbeat increasing. Clenching a fist at his side, Crow takes a tentative step and then another until he’s close enough to pick up the handcannon. He gingerly picks it up by the barrel, keeping his hands off the stock on purpose. It’s another small step towards the Guardian before he kneels in front of them.

He pauses there, unsure of what he can do —of what he did that caused the Guardian to react so violently before. He doesn’t think it was the kiss itself...that seemed to be fine until she looked at his face, into his eyes. Ah. Crow rests the handcannon on his thigh and pulls up his hood, jerking it to cover more of his face. Cautiously he grabs the handcannon by the barrel again and with his other hand, slowly reaches for one of the Guardian’s own. She lets him guide her hand to the handcannon and once he’s sure she won’t drop it, Crow gently pushes both towards her again. The Guardian looks away, but cradles the handcannon in her lap.

More hesitantly now, Crow raises his hands to cup her face just as she once did for him. He can’t exactly see with his hood covering so much of his face, but he slowly gets nearer and carefully moves his hands over the side of her face. He leans forward to rest his forehead against hers, the edges of his hood brushing across his nose as he did so, fully obscuring his vision. Crow doesn’t know of anything he could say in this moment —what could he of all people say to her, Guardian of guardians, that could possibly make a difference? So he doesn’t say anything. Instead, Crow softly hums.

It’s an old melody, a lullaby he found while exploring abandoned freighters and passenger ships in the Reef. When Glint discovered his fondness for it, the Little Light would often hum the tune, sitting on his chest, to soothe him on several sleepless nights in Spider’s Lair. Crow hopes that this at least, can help ground the Guardian in the present and away from the painful memories in her past.

They stay like this for a while. The Guardian’s breath evens out and somewhere along the time past, Ghost had dematerialized. It was just the two of them now. Crow stops humming when he feels the Guardian raise a hand to cover one of his over her face. She leans into his palm, then forward against his forehead for a moment.

“I’m sorry, Crow, I’m so sor—“ She starts to apologize and it’s a whisper until she says his name to apologize once more. Crow doesn’t want to hear this, he doesn’t deserve an apology. So Crow cuts off the Guardian by dropping his hands to her sides and pulling her into his chest.

The sudden movement sends the Guardian toppling onto Crow. He curls forward to protect his head, but keeps his arms around her, falling flat on his back. The Guardian doesn’t move to get off of him and Crow takes that as an okay sign. He keeps one arm around her, the other he moves to card his fingers through her hair.

“Of all the people in this world, Guardian, I am the last of anyone to whom you owe an apology.” Crow let’s his words hang in the air, trying to keep his breathing even so his heart would stay less frantic too.

“If anything,” he pauses to admire a particularly silky strand of hair as it slips through his fingers.

“I am the one indebited to you.”

There’s another pause as he sorts his next words before speaking. His hand idly resumes carding through the Guardian's hair again.

“So much so that I wonder if it’s selfish greed that makes me want to stay like this.” Crow sighs, looking straight up into the star speckled sky above them. At this angle he can’t see the Guardian, but he feel her shift slightly in his arms.

“Even though you’ve done so much for a worthless stain of a being as me…Even though I can never atone for the things I’ve done befo—“ He’s interrupted by the Guardian slapping a hand over his mouth.

“You are not him.” She shifts in his arms, sitting up, moving a leg over to straddle him properly.

Crow grabs his fallen hood in a panic, pulling the fabric so swiftly up around his face he hears the fabric creak as its seams struggle to stay sewn. Still, he doesn’t let the material go, trying to keep his face hidden.

“You are not him.” The Guardian repeats herself, lifting her hand from his mouth. Crow can’t tell with what emotion she said it with and he’s too afraid to check just yet. He doesn’t want to cause her harm again, regardless of how circumstantially accidental it was.

“Crow…”

He freezes at the way she calls his name. It was different from how she usually said it. It sounded soft and so warm in her voice. The Guardian prods at one of hands clamped on his hood. He turns his head to the side, trying to escape beneath a look he could practically feel brushing against his hands.

“I...I-I don’t want to hurt you...again.” Crow’s heart beats skittishly within his chest, causing a lump to form in his throat. He’s barely able to say these words out loud without an audible whimper to them. He tries to speak again, but fails.

The Guardian leans forward over him and a shifting moment later he feels her tap her forehead against his. Her hands rest, half-covering his own, but exerting no force to push of pry his fingers away from his hood.

“Crow.” She whispers his name, just as soft and warm as before. Her lips ghost across his clenched hands when she spoke, sending goosebumps down his arms. Crow tenses.

It’s a full body reaction as Crow completely freezes up. Once more he tries to swallow down the lump in his throat with little success. His tongue feels dry and too heavy in his mouth. He can feel his heart rate spike, beating so hard now he’s unsure if the metaphorical ache that had been nesting there is becoming a real one.

“Please, Crow?” The Guardian pleads softly, leaning back and letting her hands slide from his face to over his chest.

“You can’t hide your handsome face forever.” She tries to make it sound light hearted, an easy joke, but the anxious tapping of her finger against his chest reveals her anxiety. Crow takes a deep, shaky inhale, holding it a second before letting it out.

“I-I can’t.” Crow sputters, the breath he had taken just before speaking seemed too little for all the things he wanted to say. Did she really just call his face handsome right now? Oh Traveler, why was that now all he could focus on??

He feels the Guardian shift in his lap again. The movement snaps Crow out of his thoughts and inadvertently he tightens his grip on his hood again. Somewhere behind his head, a seam in the hood gives way and the fabric tears from the stress.

A small chuckle near his ear catches him off guard and Crow isn’t able to stop his head from jerking sideways. This gives the Guardian an advantage and she presses against him, letting her head rest side by side to his. It keeps him unable to turn his face again. Even still, Crow maintains his hold over his ruined hood.

“Well then...” The Guardian pauses. Her voice, low and smooth, is right next to Crow’s ear. Crow flinches slightly, swallowing rapidly again, not expecting her to be so close.

“...how am I supposed to kiss you back?”

“Huuh??”

Crow lets out a confused sound, brain derailing instantly, but also cutting some of the tension out of his body. Certainly, he must have heard the Guardian wrong. But the sound of two ghosts  re-materializing interrupts the Guardian (who Crow is now very aware is straddling him) from speaking as she suddenly freezes.

“OH. Oh! Oh...well uh, w-we’ll come back later!! N-n-not too soon, ofcou—” Ghost’s shocked rambling is halted by metallic clinking as Glint’s shell collides with his. In the background, Glint’s hurried whispers of “Just go! Just go!” are just barely audible before the two Little Lights decompile once more.

Above him, the Guardian lets out a heavy breath once the two ghosts are gone. Beneath his hands, Crow breaks into a brief smile at that. The brief interruption had brought a measure of calm to him and he didn’t want to waste the moment.

“I, well...the man I was did something pretty horrible to you, didn’t I?” Crow lets the question hang in the air, but pushes on. If he lets the Guardian speak now, he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to say these words again.

“Not just you, to all the guardians...the Vanguard, and even the Eliksni, maybe even to the Scorn.” The Guardian is still above him, listening, but against his chest Crow can feel the heavy, measured beating of her heart.

“A-and I know. I just know. That that handcannon --the one with the white spade— I know that man died to that gun...This body remembers, but I also think it’s much more than that.” Crow stops to take a shuddering breath in. He focuses on the steady feeling of the Guardian’s heart against his chest to center himself.

“When I see that gun...it’s like I can feel that final shot burning again and again. But then there’s so much more to it. So much pain that isn’t from that bullet, so much grief, and fear, and even anger. Anger at myself, knowing I —all I did was —all I caused was…” He trails off, not able to find the words to describe how those moments felt. When he speaks again, it’s all in whispers.

“But when I see you, I know it’s not right, I know it’s selfish, I know you didn’t even like me at the beginning….but when I see you, I know I’ll be okay. Because the Light gave me a second chance to be okay and you did the same.”

Crow stops when he feels the Guardian shifting again. She grabs him by his elbows and slides off of his lap, tugging on him to join her in a sitting position. His knees are now tucked under his chin and he can feel her legs framing his own. It’s silent for a moment, but then he feels her edge closer to plant a chaste kiss to the back of his hands.

“It was an accident, a trick of the light and shadow…I—you are not like him in many, many ways.” For a moment Crow’s heart plummeted to his gut, wrenching at her first few words. Her hands cover his own again and Crow’s heart grows light.

“Please. Look at me.” The Guardian asks Crow while gently pressing against his knuckles. She rubs her thumbs over the side and backs of his hands, small soothing gestures.

Crow clenches his jaw, then decides against it. He releases his hold on his cloak’s hood, fingers stiff and aching from how tightly he had clung to the material. Crow doesn’t let the hood fall from his face and keeps his eyes shut. The Guardian takes his hands into her own, warming and massaging them to ease the stiffness.

Once she deems his hands warm enough, the Guardian lets them go. Crow rests them at his side, not confident yet to open his eyes. He focuses on the way the air moves instead, trying to anticipate her next move so he doesn’t jump.

Slowly, the Guardian moves the hood off of his head. She cups his face with one hand while the other strokes his cheek before tucking several stray strands of hair behind his ear. Throughout it all, Crow is still. However, his heart beats fast within his chest.

“Wha-“ Crow’s questions are cutoff before he could even start to ask —the Guardian smothering them beneath a passionate kiss. She teases his bottom lip with her teeth and in his surprise, Crow opens his eyes.

He’s immediately consumed by the Guardian’s smoldering eyes, half-open to catch his reaction. Crow’s not one to be outdone, and he raises a hand to cradle the back of her head as he presses into the kiss. He teases the Guardian back with a lick of his tongue, half expecting nothing, but pleasantly surprised when she returned in kind. It’s a sweet and warm moment and once again the Guardian feels that soft and fragile thing flutter in her chest.

“See,” the Guardian whispers against Crow’s lips as she caresses his face, maintaining steady eye contact, “all okay. You are you.”

Crow’s brows upturn at her words, feeling almost overwhelmed. Those words offered more solace to his heart than the kisses —kisses which he could hardly believe happened. He’ll have to make sure she was on the same page as him later, because any further and Crow would fall even more inextricably in love with the Guardian.

They lean into each other for some time, letting the comforting silence speak for them. Beside them, the fire pops as it fades off, nearly just embers now.

Crow’s the first to move, stretching behind himself to reach a spare log. He tosses it onto the middle of the fire. It doesn’t catch right away, but the Guardian flicks a bit of solar Light at it and soon the fire cackles warmly again.

Adjusting himself, Crow scoots closer to the Guardian so that they’re sitting shoulder to shoulder.

“Could you tell me—only if you want to—about…” Unsure of how to ask and knowing it’s taboo for guardians to learn details of their past, Crow trails off.

“I-I just want to listen...if that would help.”

The Guardian catches his hand at that and brings it to her lips. She plants a gentle kiss on his palm. Looking into Crow’s eyes, she slowly nods. He leans forward to give the Guardian a chaste peck on her lips. Crow adjusts how he’s sitting to embrace the Guardian from behind and she shifts to lean into him.

“No questions about details related to your past, alright? Only if you don’t understand something like time or place.”

Crow nods several times, suddenly feeling shy and too anxious to speak. He hugs the Guardian tightly before easing up to let her speak.

“Alright,” She sounds a bit tired now, the exact kind of weariness that only comes from raging against a deep grief and losing the battle, but accepting the scars and moving on. One foot in front of the other. “it’s a Golden Age saying that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions.”

“Let me tell you the story of how a beloved space cowboy, an enigmatic jailer, and a terribly misguided, but utterly-devoted-to-his-dead-sister brother collided into absolute tragedy.”

[bigskydreaming]

And one more bit from the “Kings of the Sky” AU albeit several installments in, because I just......don’t know when or why I stumbled into an obsession with the dynamics between Dick and Jason and Cass as the eldest three Wayne siblings, but its there, its real, and its happening. I’ve stopped fighting it. I just....enjoy writing those three being dumb siblings who are dumb like so, so much.

Anyway, in this AU series, Jason doesn’t go to Ethiopia and die, but rather eventually joins Dick at Titans Tower more regularly and is Flamebird. Both are closer with Bruce here than in canon because Dick helped Bruce and Jason get through the Garzonas stuff and Jason helped kick Bruce in the direction of Dick and adoption papers right after the Brother Blood storyline. Then Cass is actually the third to join the family, by way of Babs, and she’s Batgirl and then Black Bat, but there’s a period of time when its just Dick, Jason and Cass as the Wayne kids. 

(PS - this is the same series as where Jason ends up with his own age group of Titans, and accidentally falls into a love quadrangle of doom that is absolutely NOT a polycule dammit, with Tom Bronson (Tomcat), Ray Terrill (The Ray) and Todd Rice (Obsidian). Which amuses his brother and sister to no end).

Tim and Duke are both next, but sorta at the same time? Like Tim’s story takes a sharp turn when Robin II never dies and obviously is Flamebird now like Robin I is Nightwing, and Tim winds up in foster care after his parents die differently than in canon. Duke is also in foster care at this time, though a different placement, and while no Robin has died here, its been awhile since there’s been one in Gotham, and to kids who grew up with the idea of there always being a Robin, that feels weird and wrong ultimately. 

So Tim and Duke both hit on the idea of being Robin like, at around the same time and totally disconnected from one another, and that leads to them both joining the Batfam around the same time, and co-sharing Robin until Damian arrives much later and they both move on to new identities. But there’s no real confusion between Robins because Duke is the daytime Robin with more yellow coloring in his costume and Tim is the nighttime Robin with more red, and people say Red or Yellow if they ever need to differentiate which Robin they’re talking about. Anyway.

************

So [Tim and Duke] run into trouble eventually and then when running from trouble they run into each other and they’re like….huh. Awkward. And then they decide well, might as well both run from trouble in the same direction, I guess. So they do.

“Did you have a plan for dealing with these guys?” Tim yelled at Duke. The other boy looked back over his shoulder briefly and gave what would probably have been a half-shrug if he didn’t awkwardly try to barrel-roll over a car two seconds later.

“Umm, sorta?”

“How sorta are we talking about? Maybe the two of us together could fill in the gaps in the plan and come up with one full plan?”

“Uh yeah, no, its not that kinda sorta. I meant sorta in the sense that I thought I had a plan but it didn’t work and that’s why these guys are after me. Sooooo…”

“Not helpful, basically.”

“Yeah. Pretty much. And hey, I don’t hear you offering up a plan! Did you even have one at all?”

“Uh….I mean I kinda didn’t think I was going to need one because I figured some kid running around in a mask making a nuisance of himself was the sorta thing that was bound to attract Batman. And so I was just pretty much running around until that happened, and then I’d make a case for how I obviously need training and Gotham needs Robin and if its not me its likely to be someone else trying eventually anyway so why not be me?”

Duke paused just long enough to squint at him. “That’s a terrible plan.”

Tim rolled his eyes. The effort didn’t pair well with his huffing and over-all exertions from running for his life and all that, but necessity demanded. “Yeah I know, that’s why I never said it was a plan! It was mostly….more…idea-ish.”

“I’m just saying, I thought I was doing this wrong, but at least I had a plan! I mean yeah, it might have ended up with me accidentally busting in on what I thought was a bunch of Riddler’s henchmen setting up some kind of clue thing, only it was actually a bunch of Intergang type guys with alien space guns or some shit all dressed up as Riddler henchmen for some reason? I dunno what they were trying to do honestly, but so yeah I might have ended up running away on foot from like twenty of them and some kind of hovercycle -”

“I’m going to cut you off there and say wherever this is going its probably not the superior vantage point I think you think you have.”

Meanwhile, Batman was not going to be coming because he’s off on a JLA mission. However, in his absence Dick and Jason are in town filling in, and they finished taking out the bad guys several blocks back and caught up to whomever was running from them, figured out the situation and are currently sitting on the edge of a rooftop watching them realize they’re totally lost and trying to figure out where to go from here. Mostly because Dick and Jason are incredibly amused listening to their back and forth and also just…this whole situation.

Dick justifies not piping up to let them know they’re safe now by saying this is good intel gathering so we can offer Bruce our assessment as to whether they’re gonna try and keep doing this whether we train them or not, and also how they handle this whole being lost situation. Not knowing they don’t have to run anymore isn’t going to hurt them and really, this is a good field exercise almost.

Jason justifies not piping up by saying this is fucking hilarious and I will hurt you if you end this any sooner than we have to, I deserve this, I had a rough week.

Which is right around the time that Cass pipes up from where she’s been lurking unnoticed behind them this whole time: “Oh no. Was it Tom? Or Ray? Or was it Todd?”

And she does it right in Jason’s ear so he kinda aborted-shrieks and almost falls off the roof except Cass is ready for that and grabs his arm to steady him.

“I hate when you do that!” Jason growls in an attempt to cover up how badly she got him and also because he hates when she does it which is why she does it a lot. Again, they don’t hate each other at all, but they do seem to act like it a lot, and neither of them is entirely sure why. They kinda just started doing it and have each been trying to get the other back ever since and ended up locked in an unending spiral of gotcha-gotchaback, except, y’know, Batfam style.

Dick occasionally picks sides just to muddy the waters. And then he randomly switches sides without warning, so neither of them ever wants to risk getting too peeved at him even when he’s helping the other, because that might push him fully over to the other side and leave them permanently outnumbered, so they’re kinda stuck, which is exactly as he likes it, lol.

“Why are you Satan,” Jason hisses dramatically as he gets up and stomps over to the other side of the roof to sulk, lest she almost knock him off again. Its not the almost falling part that bothers him, its that she’s the one that snatches him to safety each time. She’s like a freaking cat toying with a - yeah not going there, just blaming Selina. Knew them hanging out was going to be bad news for me somehow, he gripes.

Cass just shrugs and smoothly sits down cross-legged right where she is, grinning Cheshire-cat style at him from there. “Childhood trauma,” is her answer.

“Great, and now you’re stealing my comeback on top of it?! Is nothing sacred to you?”

She offers another shrug. He would like to return those for store credit please. Maybe get something useful instead. “Haven’t decided yet. Babs is still helping me explore my options. We’re going alphabetically and we’re only on  the E-religions.”

“God, you’re the worst. I can’t believe you ruined sisters for me.”

“You already used that same line last week when you came out of your room still half-asleep and she was just sitting directly across from your door waiting and staring unblinking and you yelped and dropped your laptop on your toe, and then cursed so loud that B came running around the hall thinking we were being invaded,” Dick reported idly, still perched in the same position he’d been in all along and watching the boys below them. “Just in case you thought no one noticed when you recycle.”

“I noticed too,” Cass added solemnly.

“I have no siblings,” Jason intoned. He threw up his hands dramatically and then loudly jumped down to the street below with a little help from the fire escape. It drew both Duke and Tim’s attention and they startled before realizing it was Flamebird. And that he’d landed on the street and was stalking past them while barely acknowledging them. And that that was Nightwing standing on the roof now with his hands on his hips yelling after him.

“Oh, reeeeeeal subtle. You’re not having fun anymore so you gotta make sure nobody else does either. Wow, the Brat-like behavior, just jumped out of the shadows with that one!”

And that was Flamebird not even turning around and just yelling back. “I HAVE NO SIBLINGS!”

And also they were both pretty sure that was Batgirl crouched on the roof next to Nightwing now, and she was…..sticking her tongue out at Flamebird’s back? No, Batgirl very much definitely was sticking out her tongue, that wasn’t in doubt, it was more just….very unexpected to see.

What was happening right now?

********

Eventually Tim and Duke have inevitably worn down [Bruce’s] resistance to training them by insisting they’re gonna keep doing this and if its not them its gonna be someone sooner or later anyway. Because, as they put it, you guys may not know this but Gotham’s gotten used to Robins by now and it freaks people out not to see one and Robin’s as important as Batman really and there needs to be a Robin and its not just us that will think that, like look at the fact that already two of us had the exact same idea, huh? And also, we’re gonna keep doing it anyway, sooooo….there’s that.

And then Cass vouches that they’re both 100% serious about that.

And then Dick vouches that as a former determined daredevil kid that was absolutely going to keep doing the same thing no matter whether you’d helped me or not, B, I also am of the assessment that these two mean it all the way.

And not to be left out and just to have something to contribute but also grumpy because his brother and sister are picking on him and he’s eighteen going on ten, Jason throws in: “And my assessment is that they both definitely seem dumb enough to keep doing this without help anyway and they definitely need help or they definitely will die, I’d give it a month, month and a half tops.”

And then Bruce dryly thanks his children for their contributions, their keen insights in this matter have been absolutely invaluable, he has no idea how he would make a decision here without it.

“Oooh, a rare sighting of Bat-snark in the wild. Someone call Nat-Geo quick, maybe he’ll do it again,” Dick says.

Bruce sighs. Duke and Tim look like they’re trying to decide if they’re allowed to be amused or if that’s also part of some weird Bat-test that they’re probably taking without even knowing it.

So Tim and Duke move in, start training together, and then also get sent to school together and it takes a month or so of settling in before they decide whether or not they actually are happy about this. There’s a period of deciding they’re supposed to be bitter rivals who snipe at each other back and forth across the dining table at every available opportunity, but that changes the first night Dick and Jason come back from the Tower since Tim and Duke have moved in and where Cass is also home instead of at the Clocktower with Babs.

Since all three of the older Batkids, upon seeing Tim and Duke squabble at dinner, decide to obnoxiously coo about how adorable it is watching the kids play. Which pretty instantly cements Duke and Tim as realizing their best chance of surviving the sudden acquisition of three older superhero ninja foster siblings who all can be as obnoxious as they are dangerous but also as much as they are - Duke and Tim are convinced - all quite insane.

A belief further cemented the next morning, with all three of them having spent the night at the Manor as well. Treating Duke and Tim to their first Saturday morning episode of the Cass and Jason show.

In this episode, Jason emerged from his bedroom in his pajamas still but warily peeking his head out first to look both ways down the hall before deciding it was clear…..and then makes it just almost to the end of the hallway leading to the stairs, when Cass drops down from where she’d been waiting perched above the other side of the door, in such a way as to suddenly fill the doorway just in front of him, hanging upside down suspending herself just with her feet wedged above the doorway, all while keeping her hands crossed her chest, a dead-eyed expression on her face, and with her tongue hanging out like she’s some kind of vampire hanging upside down in mid-slumber.

Jason shrieked and stumbled back a foot before catching himself and shoving two fingers in a cross shape in her direction.

“Demon! DEMON! Goddammit, I abjure thee, that’s supposed to fucking do something about having a demon sister, now what the fuck does it take to banish you!?”

“Can’t be banished,” Cass informed him, still upside down. “Can be bought though.”

Jason halted. “What?”

“I’m really surprised you never figured it out,” Dick said from his room further down the hallway. He was leaning against the doorjamb, arms casually crossed.

“Why did you think she never goes after me?”

Jason swiveled back and forth between his siblings suspiciously, trying to scry both their inscrutable (and in Cass’ case, still upside down) faces for signs they were telling the truth. “You’re telling me that Little Miss Monstrous has been a pain in my ass from day one and the reason she’s never so much as eked a single boo in your direction is you’ve been bribing her all this time?”

Dick shrugged. “Its all about getting in on the ground floor.”

Jason squinted, still unconvinced. “Nuh-uh. No way. You’re just fucking with me. Like if this is for real, what have you been buying her off with?”

Dick smiled beatifically. “Cuddles and hugs.”

“NO! NO! Bullshit! I am NOT falling for this crap again, you are not gonna get me this way this time. I call BS, fuck you, nuh uh, you’re lying out your ass and your ass-face both.”

“Wait, what is this ‘this’ that I did before? What ever are you talking about?”

“You know damn well what I’m talking about.”

“Is this about the Care Bear you had when you were fifteen?”

“Shut upppppppppppppppp, I didn’t have a Care Bear then, you’re such a - “

“Oh, I dunno, I’m preeeeetty sure there’s some holiday photos from that year that would say otherwise, pretty definitively in the form of you and your Care Bear….”

“That I only had because you literally just gave it to me as a present solely so that you could claim that I had a Care Bear when I was fifteen, you douchebag!”

“Just because I gave you the Care Bear didn’t mean you had to keep the Care Bear and hold the Care Bear and love the Care Bear, Jay. You chose to do all that.”

“I only kept the damn thing because you’re an asshole who lied about it being a family heirloom so I felt like I had to or I’d be a total jerk. Is nothing sacred to you?”

“I didn’t lie! It is a treasured family heirloom! Its the first Care Bear I gave to my little brother to teach him the important and valuable lesson that Care Bears - say it with me now - “

“Finish that sentence and they will never find your body.”

“CARE!” Cass shrieked from behind him before jumping on Jason’s back and bearing him down to the floor in an undignified tangle as she splayed atop him like a starfish and he stared up at the ceiling in a kind of strangled frozen fury, like there was so much emotion he wanted to process he’d overheated and now was stuck like that until he cooled down.

That was when Dick leaned over him and solemnly added one final thought, as though it was a crucial addition of the gravest importance:: “A lot.”

Jason’s eye twitched.

Dick’s eyes went wide in response. “Uh oh. He went to the Danger Zone. Run Cass. We’ve unleashed the dogs of war!”

Cass was off and on her feet in a second, taking off down the hall like a rocket. “Not the dogs of war!” She yelled.

Dick was only seconds behind her when behind him, Jason rose like an eruption, growling wordlessly and sparks practically flashing from his suddenly flinty eyes. He charged after them like an enraged bull.

“Kenny Loggins wouldn’t want this!” Dick yelled over his shoulder as he rounded the doorway and vanished. Jason rounded it in hot pursuit.

“Poison Ivy won’t even be able to make compost from what’s left of you when I’m through!”

The yelling and running vanished into the distance. Duke and Tim finally looked at each other blankly.

“What?” Tim asked. Duke shrugged helplessly.

A door opened at the end of the hallway. Bruce stuck his head out. “Is it safe?”

Tim just stared at him.

“What?” Duke asked.

**************

LOL mostly I just want to get to the tail end of the series, when Dick and Jason go undercover as supervillains in the Society of well, Supervillains....Dick as War Shrike and Jason as Gray Jay. (A kind of bird usually known for or referenced as being thieving and unpredictable and unexpectedly dangerous despite its size. Jason never went into the Lazarus Pit here and so isn’t as huge as he is in canon, he’s on the smaller side due to his early life’s malnutrition. Living with Bruce helped him catch up enough that he’s not TINY tiny, but he’s still smaller enough that this particular mantle fits him a little better than it would his massive canon depiction).

Cass also partakes in the undercover storyline, just showing up uninvited in a persona she’s crafted for the mission and calls Black Swan. And War Shrike and Gray Jay are both so startled and obviously a little freaked by her unexpected arrival, that combined with her being ticked at her brothers for leaving her behind, RUDE, and them sufficiently cowed and guilted by her wrath, that it all adds up to the other villains as being clear evidence that she is the boss and they are her advance minions. 

Which mollifies and satisfies Cass immensely, and leaves Jason grumpy that their mission was hijacked and also his sister is The Worst, and leaves Dick temporarily disgruntled because This Whole Thing Was His Idea DAMMIT but then five seconds later finding it hilarious because Dick is a chaos connoisseur and he has an appreciation for whimsy and the unexpected.

“I can’t believe you not only gate-crashed our extremely sensitive and delicate undercover operation, but you completely hijacked it as well! This is so typical,” Jason grouched.

Cass simply swept ahead of him and strode down the hallway with lethal grace. “Silence minion.”

Jason spluttered behind her and she grinned to herself. He really made it too easy sometimes.

[blitheringmcgonagall]

My Gallant Lad - Part IV

So I got a wonderful anon telling me that this is their favourite Lily Rescues James fic, it’s part of my finished canon marauders fic We Can Be Heroes. But, because it works as a stand alone story, I posted it here in four parts. I hope you enjoy it! Set during the first wizarding war, Lily is very BAMF (but tbh so is James)

TW: angsty and violence

Part I here: After their worst row ever, Lily and James get captured by Voldemort...

Part II here: James tries to save Lily

Part III here: Lily tries to save James

PART IV

(PS this is not pro- Snape at all, quite the opposite, for this to make sense you’ll have to read the other parts, lol!)

Mulciber swallowed.

“Now help me lift Potter, and for fuck’s sake be careful, he’s perilously close to death as it is!” Snape said.

He was so angry his body was shaking in agitation.

Mulciber lifted James’ body as though it were made of glass.

                                       ***

“I’ll take it from here,” Snape ordered.

They were standing underneath the main door of the castle, which led into the courtyard.

“I thought we were bringing Potter and his vile mudblood to the Dark Lord?” Mulciber said, frowning suspiciously.

“Change of plan, Mulciber,” Snape said matter-of-factly. “I want to try and get Evans to talk, that way if Potter snuffs it, we won’t risk being beheaded by him.”

“What do you mean?” Mulciber looked at him in bewilderment. “If you attack Evans and manage to injure her also, we’re doubly fucked!”

“I won’t fuck it up, unlike you dithering idiots I actually know what I’m doing!” Snape says angrily.

Mulciber stared hard at him.

“Are you sure you’re Snape?” he said, narrowing his eyes and reaching for his wand. “You’re acting strangely and I-“

“He’s Snape all right, but under the Imperius Curse,” Lily interjected. “Expelliarmus!”

Mulciber’s wand flew into Lily’s outstretched hand.

“You?” Mulciber seethed. “How in Morgana’s hell did you manage to Imperio him? Last I heard you were wailing painfully awful songs from your cell, giving us all a headache! I thought you’d given up!”

“The great Gaels of Ireland are the men that God made mad, for all their wars are merry, and all their songs are sad,” Lily shrugged. “You just hadn’t experienced the merry part yet!”

“You’re not a man,” Mulciber sneered.

“Ha!” Lily’s face broke into a harsh smile. “What Chesterton didn’t say about Irish women is that when they’re angry, all their wars are won!”

Mulciber stared at her sullenly.

“Not my fault that you consistently underestimate me, Mulciber!” Lily shot back. “You think you’d have learnt by now!”

Mulciber’s face looked like curdled milk.

“Too late,” Lily said. “Obliviate!”

Mulciber’s expression changed slowly to one of utter confusion as he looked between Lily, James and Snape. He hadn’t even seen the spell hit him.

“What happened to him?” he said, scratching behind his ear and staring at James’ body. “Where’s your Head Girl badge? Your uniform?”

“Quidditch injury,” Lily said flatly. “Vicious Slytherin tactics. One hundred points from your House, now back to your common room before I have you expelled!”

“Whaat?” Mulciber said, looking utterly bewildered.

“I’m counting till ten. Ten… nine… eight…” Lily said.

Mulciber stumbled and turned immediately, muttering incoherent protests.

“Not bad, Lily Evans,” Snape whispered with a vicious grin. “Not bad at all.”

                                                  ***

“Outside! Now!” Snape ordered.

Lily Evans remained silent as she walked outside at a steady pace, Snape following her and dragging James Potter’s body along the ancient flagstones.

“Now, it seems that nothing will persuade Dumbledore’s man to reveal what has happened to the Dark Lord’s precious treasure, a book Dumbledore’s men stole! Potter nearly died refusing to tell us. I’m ordering you to tell me, or I’ll make you kill your own husband!” he called out.

“No, I won’t tell you anything,” Lily said with effort.

“Wow! That’s dope!” Villiers whispered loudly to Wilkes.

The two men were sitting on the battlements having a smoke and peering down with interest at the scene unfolding below them.

“Look what Snape is up to! I never thought he was into that shit!” Wilkes replied. “He usually lets us handle that kind of stuff, says it’s boring!”

They looked at each other and grinned.

“Massive!” Villiers giggled, bumping fists with Wilkes.

Snape picked up his wand.

“Last chance, Miss. Evans,” he said, dragging James closer to the middle of the courtyard.

He was holding two other wands in his hand.

“What is going on here?”

Snape whirled around.

Voldemort was standing at the castle gate, and with him Evan Rosier. Voldemort’s wand was pointed at him.

“I am quite simply trying to establish the whereabouts of your missing book, my Lord,” Snape said. “I thought this might work.”

“Rosier here tells me you have been acting exceedingly strange,” Voldemort’s voice was icy. “He thinks you may be under the Imperius Curse.”

“Rosier is neither observant nor intelligent, my Lord,” Snape said stiffly.

“Be that as it may, Severus, you are not yourself, you would not usually dare speak to me with this much courage,” Voldemort replied, stepping forwards.

“My Lord?” Severus replied.

“Let us see what happens, shall we?” Voldemort said, whirling around at the last minute and pointing his wand at Lily.

“Stupefy!” Voldemort said with a lazy swish of his wand.

Lily Evans crumpled to the ground. Snape stood motionless, as though unsure what to do.

“Ah, the spell fades, I see. I had hoped you would not be so easily overcome by it. You disappoint me, Severus, I thought you were stronger than that. I thought you knew the mudblood well enough to watch out for any tricks she might play? Or were you too enticed by her beauty to focus on doing your job properly?” Voldemort spat out. “You shall pay for this mistake! And the object of your affections will most definitely pay.”

“I’m afraid I underestimated the mudblood,” Snape said, with a condescending smirk at the Dark Lord. “I don’t know her as well as I thought I did. She should perhaps have been sorted into Slytherin. It appears that Lily Evans is a devious little bitch!”

Startling emerald eyes glared at Voldemort from Snape’s face. As the wheels in Voldemort’s mind whirled, Snape removed a leather bracelet from his wrist and tapped it, revealing a large glittering brass key.

“Póg mo thóin, Riddle!” he said, flicking the V at Voldemort (who looked momentarily stunned) as he grabbed hold of James’ arm and apparated into thin air.

“I don’t get it,” Rosier said, looking at Voldemort and rubbing his forehead as though in pain. “Was that Snape? No, hang on.. what was..?”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” roared Voldemort, raising his head as his blood-curdling screams carried over the courtyard and into the surrounding forest.

He kicked out viciously at Rosier’s leg sending him hopping around in circles howling with pain. A family of carrion crows, disturbed by the commotion, flapped and squawked upwards from the turrets and battlements.

“Which one of you is the imbecile who allowed Lily Evans to escape?” he screamed at Rosier. “Why did none of you stop her?”

Villiers and Wilkes ducked down behind the walls of the battlements, grimacing.

A splash of white bird dropping landed on Voldemort’s nose. Rosier stared at him.

“You have some…” he said, pointing to Voldemort’s face. “Just there?”

Voldemort looked ready to kill him.

“If you don’t permanently dispose of this group of crows by Salazar’s soul, I will feed you to them myself!” he shouted wildly, waving his wand at Rosier, and rubbing his face furiously with the back of his sleeve.

“A murder of crows, not a group, but whatever,” Rosier muttered to himself, looking peeved, as he aimed Avada Kedavras at the screeching birds.

Voldemort walked over to the body of Lily Evans and stared at the darkening hair and sallower skin, Snape’s eyes looking up at him.

“Legilimens!” he intoned.

The memory was tampered with, powerfully, so that he was unable to see some of the earlier incidents, but he could see the conversation between “Snape” and Avery, Fuck Voldemort, I hate that bastard! Avery running off to hide from him. Seething with rage, he grabbed Rosier’s arm and touched his dark mark.

He watched as all his followers apparated around him, all except Snape who lay half-stunned on the ground, and Hugo Avery.

“Find Avery, bring him to me, now, or you all die!” he hissed, the red veins in his sclera protruding menacingly. “Nooooowwwww!!!!”

                                                  ***

 “I don’t know what happened,” Frank said, his croaky voice difficult to understand in between coughing fits.

“He needs to come with me to the Infirmatory,” Poppy interrupted, looking at Dumbledore and pointing towards the door.

Frank continued coughing and shook his head forcefully.

“We were ambushed… they were waiting for us… they wanted to get Black and Lupin,” he wheezed. “They got Lily and James… I wanted to create a diversion but before I could move, one of them released noxious fumes, no doubt to catch any other Order members, I was knocked out cold… I fell backwards and the thicket hid me from sight… woke up freezing cold a short while ago… I couldn’t find any trace of them whatsoever. I only got back just as Lily apparated here with James, he looks bad.”

The ancient double door burst open as he spoke, and Sirius Black stormed inside, his black jeans soaking wet, his leather jacket still in his hands, closely followed by a haggard-looking Remus Lupin.

“We came as soon as we got your owl. Where are they?” he roared, going straight up to Frank and grabbing hold of his collar urgently. “Where the fuck are they? Tell me!”

Remus found himself unable to utter a single word.

                                                     ***

The door of the Infirmary flew open, Sirius breathless as though he had just sprinted up five flights of stairs (which he had). He looked at Lily and seeing the pain and fear in her eyes, he forced himself to look at James lying unconscious in the bed behind her - it didn’t look like his brother, the bruised and battered body covered in what he immediately recognised as myriad curses, his usually tanned skin a deathly pale colour. He looked already dead. He looked back at Lily, the darkness under her eyes, her quivering lips.

“Lily,” he tried to say her name but no words came out, caught in his throat.

“I know, sweetie,” Lily’s voice a hoarse whisper.

Then they flung their arms around each other, gripping on for dear life. Sirius felt her chest heave and held her even closer as her quiet sobs filled the silent room, shattering his heart.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered back, his breath still caught inside his chest, trapped.

What could he say, hearing her heartbroken sounds?

“We won’t... we shan’t let him die,” he managed to say eventually, shutting his eyes tightly to stop himself breaking down. He moved to take both her hands in his own, looking down at her with tears in his eyes.

He didn’t even know was he trying to comfort her or was he trying to comfort himself.

“I… I used an Unforgivable, Sirius,” Lily said eventually, keeping her head down.

“I would have sprained my wrist throwing Unforgivables at the bastards!” Sirius said. “I wish I could have done it for you.”

He had badness in him already, let him hold it for all of them.

It should have been him. He should have been there instead of James, instead of Lily.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Lily’s voice shook. “I did it to save James… it felt wrong, Sirius, it is wrong and disgusting, but I know I’d do it again to save him. Am I a bad person, Sirius? I.. I saw what they did to him, I wanted them all dead… I thought about it... I wanted to. I don’t want to become like them, Sirius, but I wanted to kill them, so badly!”

“Lily, you didn’t kill them. You could have tried to, but you didn’t. You saved James. Merlin, you saved my brother, the only brother I have left, I can never thank you enough,” Sirius’ voice broke.

He wondered what he would have done in her place.

“It was Snape, he wanted to save me, but I had to find James, I couldn’t… he hurt James, I hate him for it,” Lily said desperately, squeezing Sirius’ arms.

“Fuck that creepy bastard!” Sirius said.

“What if Voldemort kills him? What if he dies? It will be my fault!” Lily whispered. “I hate him so much, but I don’t want to get him killed. I wouldn’t care if he died in battle, not now, not after everything he’s done to James! But being tortured and killed for trying to save me? I don’t want that, am I mad?”

“You had to,“ Sirius said, gripping her tightly. “You had to try to save James. You couldn’t leave with Snape, you know that would have been wrong! You are not to blame for anything Voldemort does!”

“I need James too, Sirius, he doesn’t see that, he thought I could manage without him, he’s so stupid, such a stupid, darling, beautiful man,” Lily stopped, her hand over her mouth.

“He can’t die, Poppy won’t let him die,” Sirius whispered back.

Lily nodded, still crying. He saw her sway and grabbed hold of her shoulders.

“Merlin Lily,” he said anxiously. “Sit down immediately! Are you alright? Are you hurt? Do you need Poppy? Will I get-“

“ No, please, Sirius, I didn’t get hurt, James-“ she stopped, unable to continue, and bringing her hand up to her mouth again.

He didn’t think he could handle hearing what had happened.

“Hush, Lily, you’re both safe now,” he heard himself say.

“He... I couldn’t... I tried...” she said. She closed her eyes and swayed again, sitting down suddenly and placing her head between her knees.

“I need some water, and something to eat,” she said, sounding suddenly anxious as her almond shaped clear eyes searched Sirius’ for reassurance.

“I... Merlin, yes of course, Darling, let me get that for you!” Sirius said, relief blossoming at some small task he could do to help. “Do you want a firewhisky instead?”

“No! I can’t drink now I’m ... I’m a bit dehydrated Sirius, I better stick to the water,” Lily said, placing her hand over her lower abdomen in a protective gesture.

“Yes of course,” Sirius said feverishly, throwing his leather jacket on.

“I’ll get it,” Dearborn was standing in the doorway looking at Lily uncomfortably.

“Lily, I know you already had a debriefing with Professor Dumbledore, but he was wondering if you wouldn’t mind answering a few more-“ he continued.

“No!”

Both Lily and Sirius spoke at once.

“Not now, my husband needs me here, Dumbledore can wait,” Lily said, staring at Dearborn with a hostile expression as she swiped at her red eyes furiously.

“Tell him to go fuck himself,” Sirius growled.

Dearborn nodded, recognising defeat.

“You get some food and water for Lily, Caradoc, I’ll tell Dumbledore,” Remus said. Remus stood quietly behind Dearborn, a grim look, no obvious emotions displayed on his tired face.

“Righto,” Dearborn nodded reluctantly.

“Hurry up,” Remus ordered. “We don’t want Poppy to end up with another patient.”

“Righto,” Dearborn said, looking relieved to have an excuse to leave.

                                                      *** “You wanted to speak with me, Mr. Lupin?” Dumbledore said, gesturing vaguely towards the chair in front of him.

Remus sat down. The silence made him nervous.

“You feel guilty for swapping your week on call with the Potters. You want to make sure that your friends are protected from danger as much as possible from now on?”

Remus felt his cheeks flush. He nodded, feeling even worse.

“Good,” Dumbledore said. “I can see why you’d think that way.”

Remus swallowed. Dumbledore blamed him too? He wanted to crawl under the floorboards never to re-emerge.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, looking down, unable to meet the Professor’s gaze. “I should have stayed…”

“That’s quite alright, Remus, these things happen, and we have to learn from them,” Dumbledore said.

Remus felt himself slide further down the chair. He wanted to cry. It reminded him of The Prank at the end of Fifth Year. It should have been him. He should have insisted Sirius go with someone else. He felt personally responsible for what had happened, and if James died because of him… if James died…

“What can I do, Sir?” Remus whispered hoarsely. “Tell me there is something I can do to help!”

He looked up and caught Dumbledore looking at him keenly, with an astute gaze.

“Of course there is something you can do to help, Remus,” Dumbledore said, steepling his hands together. “It will be dangerous though, the most dangerous mission I have ever given any member of the Order.”

Remus nodded dumbly.

“It is also top secret. You must not discuss this information with a single soul,” Dumbledore said, his blue eyes assessing Remus coolly. “Not the Marauders, not Lily Potter, especially not Sirius Black. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir,” Remus said, sitting up straighter. “You can trust me.”

“I hope so, Remus,” Dumbledore said. “Most people wouldn’t.”

Remus froze, taken aback.

“I…” he stuttered.

“Luckily for you, I am not most people, Mr. Lupin,” Dumbledore smiled pleasantly. “Lemon sherbet?”

Somewhere in the back of Remus’ mind the words you bastard and what the fuck presented themselves as appropriate responses.

He declined politely.

“I have a singularly important and quite unusual mission, and it seems to me that you are the perfect candidate to volunteer for it,” Dumbledore said, sucking loudly on the muggle sweet and leaning back into his chair.

Somehow the wizard’s eyes seemed beadier in this light. Remus waited.

“I will of course understand if you turn down this opportunity, Remus, that you may be too frightened to go,” Dumbledore said. “Other Order members may be more-“

Remus’ jaw tightened. The words you bastard and what the fuck once more presented themselves as appropriate responses.

“Other Order members have no idea how little I fear most things,” Remus said, his eyes narrowing.

“Yes, of course, Remus, I am well aware that compared to most-“ Dumbledore said, with a placating raise of his palms.

“What mission?” Remus asked.

“A mission to infiltrate Fenrir Greyback’s werewolf pack. I am aware you have already made his acquaintance,” Dumbledore said. “To see if they can be persuaded to abandon their leader and join our side in the war. And to spy on them, at any rate.”

Remus felt a cold shiver of dread run down his spine. His old Headmaster couldn’t be serious, surely. That was a hopeless mission, a pointless waste of life, a …

Greyback…

An ear-splitting scream of terror, his own. Rabid eyes. Massive yellow canines lunging towards him, saliva dripping off them. Laughter and howling.

“Tell your Daddy I said hello!”

A tearing sensation as huge teeth sank into his hip. Another ear-splitting scream, this time of pain…

He felt his hands tremble and gripped the edges of the armchair in agitation.

“If you’d rather not, I am sure I can persuade another member of the Order to pretend to be a werewolf. With some clever Transfiguration spells, which many of our members are particularly gifted at, especially your own friends-“ Dumbledore said.

“No!” Remus said, standing up suddenly and staring hard at the other man, his breathing erratic. “Merlin no! You have no idea…”

His voice trailed off again, his heart hammering wildly against his ribcage.

“So, Mr. Lupin, you don’t feel you can bring yourself to-“ Dumbledore said.

“No!” Remus practically shouted. “I’ll do it! Don’t even think about asking anyone else… I’ll do it, alright?”

“I see,” Dumbledore smiled kindly again. “My deepest apologies Remus, how very brave of you. I should never have doubted you.”

Remus bit the side of his lip. This was akin to agreeing to a suicide mission. Any sane individual would have refused to accept the offer. But surely Dumbledore had guessed he would never allow any of his friends or colleagues to go instead of him, to risk being turned? The bastard must have known all along. Yet he owed so much to this old man, this powerful wizard, the one they were all relying on to beat Voldemort and to win this war. The one who had given him a chance. Who had risked his reputation by allowing him into Hogwarts. Who had not expelled him after the disastrous Prank in Fifth Year. Maybe he was being unkind and unfair to the man. Perhaps this mission was genuinely important?

“No need to apologise, Sir,” Remus said with a small smile, extending his hand out.

“Thank you, Remus,” Dumbledore said, shaking his hand warmly. “I do appreciate your help in this war. I shall contact you shortly with more information about this entire affair. Please remember to keep this top secret.”

“Yes, Sir,” said Remus.

                                           ***

He opened the door quietly. The room was dimly lit by the fire and the large candles on either side of the infirmary bed. James looked the same, somewhere between life and death. Lily was sitting on a chair, her head lying on the bed beside him, still fully clothed, the dark shadows under her eyes more pronounced in this light. She was holding James’ hand. Sirius was nowhere to be seen, but at the foot of the bed, on top of the carefully folded blankets lay Padfoot. He was whimpering in his sleep. The shaggy dog opened his eyes briefly, fixing Remus with his mournful grey eyes.

“Sleep, Padfoot,” Remus said quietly. “I’ll stay up. I’ll call Poppy if there’s any change. There’s nothing more we can do.”

Padfoot yelped quietly, turning to look at Lily and James and then looked back at Remus and whined. He was looking at Remus accusingly. Where had he disappeared off to, why hadn’t he comforted Lily? Did he not care?

“I’m sorry,” Remus said.

It sounded curt. Inadequate.

What more could he say?

Padfoot whined once again, dropping his head into his paws, looking dejected. Remus sat on the ground, his head in his hands. He could go over, talk to Sirius, but his boyfriend always knew if he was hiding anything from him, and he was too tired to make up an excuse for what had just happened. Too tired, too traumatised, too selfish…

He stayed where he was.

Padfoot slept fitfully, beset by nightmares. Remus did not sleep a wink. He did not allow himself to sleep. The fear of nightmares kept him awake, as though he were four years old again. Besides, he did not deserve to sleep.

                                          ***

PS Póg mo thóin - kiss my ass in Irish

PS To find out if James is okay, and if Lily is in fact pregnant and if yes, what happens next etc, I’m afraid you’ll have to keep reading  We Can Be Heroes. If you just want to read on, it’s from Chapter 45.

 If you want, I can post more stand alones (Harry’s birth? the Jily engagement? Jily Wedding? Wolfstar first kiss etc??or the next part but it just leads into more stuff!)

[valeskakingdom]

Request

Hi! I wanted to make you a request for a jerome x reader bc I saw that you write so well! Anyway, could you do a one shot where jerome and female reader meet when hes been kidnapped by Theo and she's an assasin that works for him that interrupts his speech that he's doing to the maniax (and if you could do her with a few tattoos, dressed in leather and covered in blood bc she just ended a "work" For Theo it would be great but you're not obligated) and they are fascinated by each other and begin to be friends and.. Idk if you can use your mind to make them sleep together 😂 and one last thing she has a strong personality but it's not like she never smiles like she has emotions ahahha (so she's not bitchy like I've seen doing in other fics), and she's kinda dominant in bed.. Like she is a switch, if you don't want to do it bc you don't like the idea it doesn't matter

Requested by @rott3nheart

Thank you!! Okay so, I tried to do my best on it. Honestly about the switch thing I kinda felt uncomfortable but still I tried to do my best. Hope you enjoy reading:)

PS: sorry that I took so long. had a lot of stuff to deal with

PSS: I split that request in two parts again because of the enormous length. Post the next part right after that here

Jerome x female reader (part 1)

Warnings: mention of sex, murder and violence

Another day full of work. Another day where a human life had to end.

Another day where you had to do a favor for your boss Theo Galavan.

He want to become the most powerful man in Gotham - the major. He wanted to win the election. It would be a tragedy if he didn't because any of his competitors seem to be better. It would be scandalous, wouldn't it?

Your previous days were the same as now: Theo called you, he wanted you to do him favors which obviously meant to kill people that could cause trouble.

Every day you came back covered in blood with messy hair, Theo thanked you, you had a nice conversation with Tabitha - your best friend - and then you made your way to clean your weapons and slowly drift to sleep.

Your every day life didn't bore you though. Oh no, you loved it! You loved the thrill every time you chase someone, tortured him and then killed him. The whole process was giving you chills, just the thought of it was enough.

You walked after that guy through a crowd of people. You took your time, even bought a coffee and some candies for yourself while chasing the guy. You didn't want to stand out.

Then you just waited for the perfect moment where barely people were around you and BOOM! - that guy was shot by you.

You tried to call Tabitha telling her Theo's competitor was dead, she didn't pick up.

It made you suspicious - usually she always picked up. So either she was busy with killing someone or she had to help Theo with some business.

You sighed for yourself and looked down at the dead body right in front of you. That corpse had to disappear. And so you decided to do what you always did: you carried the corpse to a forest, chopped it up with your axe and buried it anywhere.

And that was what you did. You carried that dead guy, stumbled at first through his weight but then you quickly made your way. Luckily the forest was near the place where you killed him and second of all, you made sure no one was watching you. You knew many ways through where you could literally invisible.

You walked through bushes, ran through little dark alleys and finally arrived the forest. You walked through it, deep enough until you were sure that this place was perfect to bury a corpse. You let the corpse fall on the ground, staring at it for a while. The guy's skin was pale already and he stopped bleeding.

"Well, I'm sorry my dear, but it's time to chop you up." You grabbed the axe from your back pocket and started the process.

First you chopped up the arms, then the legs, the head and then the guy's body in little several parts.

Of course, you always had a shovel next to your axe. How else should you eradicate a corpse? As fast as possible you dug little holes into the ground to shove the guy's body parts into them. It didn't take you that long, maybe an hour or two.

As you finished your work with pride you slowly walked out of the forest still making sure no one was watching you - and luckily no one did.

You tried to call Tabitha again - but again she didn't pick up the phone.

"Ugh, I hope she has a good reason not to respond. If she's fucking someone then I'll fucking kill her!" you hissed putting your axe and the shove back in your pocket and quickly made your way to Theo's Tower.

***

Finally the elevator opened and you entered Theo's living room.

People in some kind of small wagons were standing with their backs in front of you being tied up. Tabitha stood aside while you heard Theo was holding a speech about people's attitudes - you didn't pay attention to his words.

Being covered in blood and dirt you stepped forward, straight walking to Theo.

"Hey, Theo. Work is done!" You nodded to him, then turned your head to Tabitha "Hey Tabby."

"You have some uhm..." In disgust, she gestured that you have 'something' in your face and your body.

"I know. Had to chop up that guy." You shrugged. Somehow you felt watched so you turned back to Theo and his 'fellows'.

Every one was looking around besides a young ginger boy. He was eyeing you with a mischievous grin. His eyes expressed the pure evil. That guy was born to be a villain, that you can tell.

You viewed him from head to toe. He was still in his Arkham clothings.

His skin was pale, almost white. His eyes were as blue as the ocean, his lips red with a permanent smile on his face. The ginger was tall, not too skinny and not too fat. He had a standard body, maybe with some abs. Craziness was written in his face. You could tell he was crazier than all the others together. For you, he was interesting. You saw him as an opportunity to have some fun at work if Theo allows, or for fun after work.

"(Y/n)..." Theo gave you a little annoyed smile which let you know that you interrupted "Haven't expect you yet. You arrived here quite early."

"A simple kill isn't hard work, T," you crossed your arms with a slight laughter positioning yourself right next to Tabitha.

"Anyways," Theo looked back to the inmates walking past them slowly "Today is the first day of a wonderful future for all of you. If you wanna."

"Who are you?" A blonde, actually pretty girl asked him with a stern undertone.

"Well, now the question is: who are you?" Theo turned to the ginger "The world sees criminal lunatics. I see brilliance...I see charisma..." He walked back to the blonde "And power." And that was what he repeated while making deep eye contact with the blonde.

"Yes, exactly my man." The ginger growled with a sigh "That is so spooky, that is me to a T." He swung his head to the other inmate's direction contemptuously "These other bozos are, I don't know but you're singing my song." The ginger grinned.

You zoned out for a moment not listening to what Theo was saying.

You started thinking about the ginger: about how he and you made plans to kill others. It'll surely be crazy. For you he seemed to be like a showman. He needed attention, he was always right, he acted like his actual rivals mwere his best buddies... You could take advantage of it plus he could entertain you a little with jokes or his ordinary behavior.

"(Y/n)?" Tabitha snipped with her fingers in front of your eyes interrupting your train of thoughts "You alright?"

"Yeah. Was just thinking about something." You shook your head quickly trying to stop thinking about that ginger.

"About what?" Tabitha frowned "is it the ginger?"

"Why do you ask?" You scoffed taking a look at your fingernails trying to act completely uninterest. You hated talking about such a topic - especially when there weren't any kind of feelings, just nice thoughts.

"Don't play fool with me-..."

"I'm not." You interrupted her "Have no reason to."

"Tabitha, would you uh...?" You heard Theo say gesturing to the old inmate that Theo has uncuffed before.

Oh damn, that old guy will die you thought because you knew Theo. When he has a plan, everyone had to agree. If not, they'll die. There was no other option, he never showed any mercy.

"Miss Kean is coming with me." The inmate was uncuffed and he made his way to the blonde girl.

"Oh, she doesn't wanna go where you're going to." Theo stated shortly before Tabitha swung her whip and strangled the man.

His head already reddened and gagging for air. His hands tried to pull her whip away from his throat to breathe again. It didn't work though.

Tabitha pulled him on the ground and continued to strangle him. The other inmates, Theo and you just watched the whole scene.

Then she kicked him in his stomach as she sat on his body. He gasped for air still being strangled by her whip and then...she stabbed him - over and over again until she slit his throat. Blood was splashing on her and on the inmates' clothings as it spread along the floor. You heard gasps from the blonde and others every time Tabitha's knife drilled the old man's skin.

One of the inmates, it was a fat smeary man with grubby hair, kept staring at them almost psychotic with a grin. The ginger stared at the corpse staring to cackle.

It made you chuckle. You liked this straining atmosphere somehow. Most of the inmates' faces expressed fear and so you knew they'd do what Theo, Tabitha or you say anyhow. They surely didn't want to end like this old man.

"Anyone else who wanna leave?" Theo gave one of his mischievous grins. The inmates said nothing, some stared at him in fear, others just simply nodded.

"Tabitha, (Y/n)! Uncuff the guys. I'm sure no one likes to be handcuffed at home."

So that's what you did.

You took the little knife that was hidden in your pocket and severed the roped that were tied up all around them. Then you opened their handcuffs.

The smeary fat mam was the first, then a tall baldy, and then the ginger.

You looked at him for a while before you uncuffed him. He was kinda hot in your eyes as you examined him from the near. You affected his craziness, it even turned you on - somewhat. He was kinda special.

Most crazy people you knew were stupid, and dirty, and disgusting. You really didn't want to interact with them - not even for money.

And then there was the ginger. He wasn't nothing of it. He seemed to be clever, have brains...he knew what he wanted and he got everything, whether with or without violence. The word crazy was written in his face - he was everything else than normal. Maybe he was crazier than all the other inmates together? You didn't know yet, but you'd like to know. He aroused your interest a lot with his abnormal behavior.

"How many people have you killed doll?" He turned his head to you that he could still see through the corner of his eyes.

"Surely a lot more than you, sweetie." You responded with a slight chuckle "Guess, I'm some longer into that business than you, freshman."

"You're a feisty one, I like that." He grinned at you as you stood right in front of him.

"And I'm a lot more." You chuckled dark ripping the last handcuffs from his wrists.

You teased a little hoping you aroused his interest as he did with you. You knew Theo wouldn't let you take that ginger. It would cross all his plans and he'd be mad at you, threaten you and such. So you needed play tricks on him.

You didn't know what led you to all this. You just wanted that little ginger for yourself.

"We both speak the same language, how exciting! Finally I'm not only ordinary kid under all those apes. By the way, I'm Jerome." Grinning wider the ginger took a step forward to come down from this wagon and rubbed his wrists "Damn, they were tight."

"(Y/n)" you gave him a short smile "And yeah, just wanted to make sure the little bad boy's not escaping." You grinned shortly before you turned around to head back to your room.

"Oooh! What's that?" You suddenly felt Jerome's grip on your axe - your holy axe.

Within 2 seconds, you pulled your axe out of the back pocket and pressed the blade in against his throat. You could see how some blood covered the blade.

You hated it when someone touched your axe. It was your axe. No one besides you was allowed to touch it, not even to use it. Not even Theo or Tabitha.

Jerome gasped in surprise - probably by your fast reaction. And then again you saw a little smile was formed in his face.

That guy really cannot stop smiling, can he? You thought.

"You shouldn't touch other people's weapons. You could get killed." You pressed the knife a little harder against his throst.

"I know, how impolite, isn't it?" He sighed in shock "People really have no manners."

"(Y/n)! I'd feel relieved if you didn't kill our guest right after their arrival." Theo claimed giving you a stern look.

"Wasn't about to do that," You put the axe back in your pocket giving Jerome a mischievous grin "Just taught the little ginger one of our most important rules." 

You turned away again and walked along the floor to your room and swung your hips exaggerating. You knew Jerome was staring at you and you knew he examined your body.

Before you could even open your door, Jerome ran after you eagerly. It was amusing to you. He seemed to be interested in you as well. You felt strange though because he was running after you like a poor dog.