#I WOULD PUNCH THE SUN FOR HER... LOOK AT THOSE TEETH... WHAT A LEGEND

[jangofctts]

Bloodsport (din djarin x fem!reader) (part one) 

rated: 18+

word count: 5.4k

warnings: smut, knife kink (no blood is drawn and consent is clearly given), blowjobs, vaginal fingering, din is sorta a virg duDE, alcohol, mentions of violence (reader punches someone in the face kwejrkejh), some gambling (sabaac) also please let me know if I missed anything!

a/n: oOf this is the first fic in sO LONG IM SO SORRY YALL KEHJRKEJH BUT ANYWAYS I HOPE YOU ENJOY

It’s been a couple months since Din’s stepped foot on the sandy nightmare of a planet. Went through hell and back and kriff—it feels like a lifetime ago. But the landscape before him hasn’t changed an inch, Mos Eisley same as always—busy with all sorts of scum and villainy he turns a blind eye to. 

Din hopes it’s not the only thing that’s stayed the same—selfish as it is. Someone as volatile as you is bound to catalyze and shift, so is the nature of life. A lot can happen in a month or two and it’s ridiculous to think that you would ever push your life to the side and wait for him to return.    

Turns out, you are here, still working as the resident mechanic. Though in the same elated breath of hearing that tidbit of news, it’s equally dissatisfying when he somehow misses you completely. You’re off planet, looking for power converters and electrical wiring—back in few days Peli promises. Maybe by the time his wild goose chase is over, back from the butt fuck middle of nowhere, he’ll get to see you— 

Nothing goes as planned—naturally. All Din finds is a man playing dress up, an oversized lizard, planetary drama he’s forced to resolve and—to top it all off—an attempted stickup. Maker—he’s not even worried about anything save for the kid and your speeder. The very same one now scattered over the sand in miserable heaps.           

At least some of it is salvageable…

By the time Din reaches the outskirts of Mos Eisley, the binary suns are smearing across the horizon like molten puddles of magma. Deep aches amass in his shoulders and back from the weight of the speeder parts, his gear, and the second pair of armor. Maker—it feels like his arms are going to be ripped off.

The baby babbles something incomprehensible. 

“Almost there, kid,” Din responds, sparing a quick glance down the baby. “How does soup sound?”

Instead of trudging back to the hangar, Din wanders to the cantina. Call it a hunch or just you and your aunt’s tendency to lurk around the premises, he’s certain he’s going to find one of you here. 

Din is right.

The moment he steps inside, he spots your mess of hair, the low solar lights illuminating the rich colors with a soft orange. The baby coos and blinks up at Din, his tiny clawed finger gesturing in your direction. 

Din hums. “Good job—you found her.” 

The child’s little teeth peek out, pleased with his discovery. Din steps into the doorway, down the carven stairs and over to your table. A older man—a ship rigger by the looks of his uniform—sits across from you, a game of Sabaac spread across the table between you. You’re winning. 

“Hello, Shiny.” You greet, dipping your chin in his direction. “Your armor is looking a tad ripe.” 

It’s true. The layer of slime coating his armor had baked and crusted under the suns—probably doesn’t smell too good either… 

“I killed a Krayt dragon.” Din states it with a twinge of smug satisfaction despite knowing how little something like that would mean to you. He could conquer three dozen planets and shower you in all the precious metals in the world and you’d still turn your nose up at everything.  

“And I curb stomped a centipede today—you aren’t special.” Your eyes never leave the set of worn cards you hold between your fingers, acutely ignoring him like you would an overly enthusiastic puppy. You inhale and scrape your right thumbnail along the edge of the hexagonal cardstock—it’s a subtle tell, one Din would more than likely miss if he were the unlucky bastard brave enough to sit at the other end of the table.  

“You playin’ or what?” Your opponent gripes. He scratches his unkempt salt and pepper stubble and quirks a furry brow. 

You lift your chin in scorned defiance and lay your hand down—full Sabaac. The man hisses through his crooked, clenched teeth and utters a curse as he shoves his winnings towards your end of the table.  

“Peli promised me information.” Din pushes, hearing the kid coo in curiosity as you begin shuffling the cards with practiced flare. “About others like me.”

“Do I look like my aunt to you?” You grumble. It’s the first time your eyes leave the perimeter of the game to look at him. They settle on the kid first with a guarded version of compassion, then leap to the faded green armor clipped to the heavy luggage, and then his visor. Your lip twitches at the green slime still coating the beskar. “I’m assuming my speeder didn’t make it.”

“A technical difficulty.”

You roll your eyes and snort, dealing out the cards then setting the stack in the middle. “Right…”

The background ambiance of the bar and the quiet rasp of cards fill the brief lull in conversation. Any other rational person would take the blaring hint to leave, but Din is just as stubborn as you are. 

“I don’t remember where the hangar is,” Din lies, cocking his head to the side in mock innocence, “could you show me?” 

The tip of your tongue peaks out of the corner of your mouth. The unconscious tic is not one of irritation—not yet. Though before you’re able to respond, your opponent beats you to it. 

“Yeah—I know where it is. It’s between fuck off and take a hike.”  

Din turns his head, the cool, even tone of his words sharper than shrapnel as he address the man. “I was speaking to her.”        

This is funny to you Din realizes—one of the tiny mysteries of your entirety clicking into the place of the puzzle map he’s conjured for you. 

“Well, I don’t have the time of day for cowards who wear shiny buckets over their head.” The man gripes into his drink, dark eyes flicking over to Din as he sizes him up. “What’s a Mandalorian doing out here anyway? Thought your planet exploded or something.”

The man’s ignorance irks him—sure. How could it not? But with years of harsh words and jabs at the foundation of Din’s very being, he’s learned to adapt. It’ll always sting no matter how many layers of beskar he wears but you on the other hand…

Your eyes spark, molten and bright like the last solar flare on the surface of a decaying star. Each encounter Din’s had with you, he’s bared witness to the deep well of your anger that fuels your being like the auto-mechanical heart of a droid. He’s felt the bite of your rage firsthand, but this anger—this is the tragedy of the delicate mayfly wings trapped between the black teeth of misfortune—the story of the boy who rammed a spear into the flank of an ancient beast that bites before it barks and gnashes its yellowed teeth in warning.

Din’s hand inches towards his blaster. He’s not willing to weigh the safety of the kid against your rash decisions, despite it being on his behalf.   

Though, just as quick as it appears, it recedes like the cool drawback of a tumultuous ocean. Din’s arm relaxes at his side as you release a puff of air. 

Your scuffed up fingers, stained with years of engine grease, scars and dirt, curl around your half finished drink. You stand, lay your cards face down onto the table and flash the stranger a feral grin.

Without a word, you toss your drink directly into the man’s unsuspecting eyes. In another breath, the pointed edges of your knuckles fly forward and hook beneath the point of his chin with a meaty thunk. The man’s head whips backwards and connects with the gravely wall—

Out like a light.  

Jaw clenched tight, you shake out your bleeding knuckles and gather up the strewn credits over the table. You shove them into the pockets of your jacket and side eye Din. “Restitutions for damages,” you mutter. 

The other patrons keep their eyes to themselves as the three of you hurry out the door. Only an apathetic glance from the bar tender serves as proof that something did, in fact, occur. No one wants to dirty their nose sniffing about where they shouldn’t be when they have their own business to safeguard.

The crisp night air rustles the stray strands of hair that escape from your ponytail. Ghostly moonlight carves the shape of your cheeks into an almost ethereal sight—one of those deep space creatures with pointy teeth and hellfire for eyes. Stuff of legends you’d never think to look in a dingy bar for.     

But he knows—Din knows that cool mask is just a front from what you hide. It is a hungry ghost that hounds your thin stretched shadow—what ifs and the glories of war you never really escaped. You forget that you are flesh and blood and ghosts are only air and echoes, nothing more. 

Din is sharp edged steel. A stray fragment of a shattered mirror, the lacerated reflection of a nameless purpose and a faceless existence. He’s torn edges and cracked glass but his heart beats within his chest with the blood of a thousand suns. Two souls under the umbrella of the word damaged but entirely different in nature.     

“No one—“ you growl, your voice a steady and lethal timbre that terrifies a part of Din’s unconsciousness, “—speaks that way to my friends.” 

Touching. 

“Don’t look at me like that, Creature,” you huff, staring down at the child who gurgles in return. “He deserved it—“

The reunion certainly wasn’t the one Din imagined, though it’s a relief to find that there’s no roughened edge like sandpaper over skin wedged between you. Picked up right where you left off—no questions asked and no inglorious retelling of how Din nearly died on the floor of a shitty cantina. There’s not a doubt in his mind that you'd laugh at him for it—it is sorta funny…   

The rest of the evening is spent walking back to the hangar, arguing over the fact that yes Din should take the couch instead of that miserable little hovel he calls a bed, and spend the night. He’d have to find some other mechanic to work through the night if he wanted to leave in the morning, because you certainly did not want to volunteer for that. And so—Din reluctantly takes the couch and agrees to let you tackle the monstrosity of fixing up his ship for tomorrow. 

He has to admit…the couch is a bit smaller than the length of his body, but it’s comfortable…maybe he’d buy a better blanket while he was here. As a treat.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- 

You purse your lips and whistle. “I swear each time I see it, it gets worse. Y’know, I know a couple guys selling—“ 

“Can you fix it?”

You fold your arms over your chest and roll your eyes.“Yeah I can fix it, jeez—no need to get your undies in a twist.” 

You try not to take offense, because hey—you’re offering him the info on the good deals on new ships (and at this point anything would be better than this old rust bucket). But if Din doesn’t want anything to do with that, then whatever. His loss.   

When you wander onto the ship, toolbox in hand, the Mandalorian tags along. Unsure if he doesn’t trust you with his things or just wants to hang out, it blankets the space with an air of uncertainty. Turns out it was neither of those guesses. All he does is throw open his stash of weapons, collect his pile of vibroknives, and set them on a table to polish and sharpen. 

Makes sense, you suppose. Everything has to be as shiny as his armor. 

You drop to your knees near the closest wiring panel you find. You wrench open the paneling and frown at the disarray of sparking wires and tangled cords. You organized these perfectly last time he was here. “Who the fuck junked up my rigging?”

Mando sits at the little table tucked away in the corner, brooding over his cache of weapons. He shrugs. “Could’ve come loose when I landed.” 

You roll your eyes at his half assed excuse and mutter a foul string of curses under your breath that’d make even Peli wince. It’s fine. It’s cool—no biggie. You can sort through this in a couple hours, maybe three. 

But of course rarely anything goes as planned. As time ticks away, arms deep in wires older than the kriffing Clone Wars, the distractions begin. The scrape of metal on durasteel makes the hair rise into little pricks all up your arms—you shoot a glare over your shoulder. Din tilts his head, your kneeling self reflecting within the ever dark visor, features scrunched into an obvious tell of annoyance. Huffing, you bury your head back into your task at hand. 

The second distraction arrives in the form of a quiet hum of curiosity originating from the Mandalorian. Out of the corner of your eye you see him bring a vibroblade up to his visor, inspecting the notch in the blade that disrupts the electrical current that flows through the weapon. Din then rubs his thumb over the handle of the vibroblade in a slow, sensual circle. You lick your lips and tear your eyes away. That shouldn’t be hot.

You furrow your brows and tear apart another wire, but the metallic tap, tap, tap of Din bouncing the tip of a different blade over the table is bothersome. You swing your head to your left, mouth parting to snap at him, but his hand—sans glove—brings you to a halting stop. 

It’s alluring, the way his long, weathered fingers twirl the knife with practiced ease—like silk through water and followed by the low hum of electricity meant to slice through flesh. Din tosses it in the air, watching it spin three rotations then catches it by the handle. Your lips purse when his visor meets your eyes. He spins it between his fingers.  

“Am I bothering you?”

Fucker.   

You scowl. “It’s fine.” 

The soft rasp of his thumb sliding along the flat of the blade entices the eye and damnit—he’s doing this on purpose. 

“Doesn’t seem fine,” he hums. 

“Well, it is.” You retort hotly. You snatch up your pliers and imagine you’re pulling his teeth out in place of the crooked paneling. “I’m currently thriving in my element.”  

Din hums, the sound buzzing with grainy distortion. “Do you want a closer look?”

You chew your bottom lip. He’s playing with an open flame and you with volatile jet fuel. 

“I don’t know, seems kinda lame from here.” You scoff, busying yourself by pinching and twisting another set of frayed wires between your fingertips. “A toothpick if anything.”

Din snorts behind you. The deadly whisper of beskar against the durasteel tabletop makes the hair on the back of your neck prick into points. You tense as heavy boots shuffle along the floor, the near silent rustle of armor tinkling behind you as Din steps closer. You’re slow to stand, even though the presence of the Mandalorian is no less than overbearing. You wipe your grimy hands onto a spare rag, continuing to face the paneling. You then turn, a coy smile threatening to break across your face. 

Stars Din is broad—and close enough you swear you’re able to see the perspiration of your breath fog the beskar plating. Your eyes follow the seams of the cuirass, across the leather bandolier and up to his helmet that’s fixed in an impassive glare of tempered steel. Your back bumps into the wall as Din takes another step forward, boxing you in. To escape you’d need to duck under his arm and yet…you refuse to move.   

Your breath catches as he languidly lifts his hand and taps the flat side of the vibroblade over your collarbone. The sharpened point tickles up the column of your throat, a crackle of nerves and your pounding pulse following in its wake. Din turns the blade to flat edge and pushes into the space right below your jaw—you squirm when he chuckles, the sound low and deep. 

“You like this…”

Din grunts as your hand reaches between his legs, squeezing the growing hardness there. “So do you.” 

Din circles his hand around your wrist with his free palm. Moons above his hands are warm. He murmurs your name—you shiver. “Tell me you want this—want me.”

A blush, hotter than the surface of Tatooine in the midday sun, rushes up your neck and pools into the apples of your cheeks. Maker you want him. With a shuddering sigh you nod—braving the scathing shrapnel of vulnerability. “I need you, Din—please.”

A low chuckle rumbles through Din’s chest. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard you say please before.”

Din drops his hold on your wrist as you roll your eyes. “Shut up, Bucket Head.”

The Mandalorian snorts and dips his head—gesturing towards the blade still lightly pressed against the base of your throat. “This ok too, Skitter?”

You flash him a wolfish grin. “Gonna fuck me with it?”

Din swears under his breath, crowding his body closer to yours. You hear his strained sigh as he dips his head closer, the beskar a chilly whisper against your cheek. “You’re depraved…take off your pants.”

You smirk, tear off your belt and shimmy out of your pants and underwear, bottom half now bare. His visor dips, entranced.  

Your heart leaps into your throat, your pulse roaring in your ears as he settles one of his bare hands over the swell of your hip while the other trails the blunt edge of the handle from your clothes collarbone, and down your belly. From your mid thigh he skates the handle up your bare thigh and then rests it over the crack of your thigh. Heat flushes through your entire body, a stark contrast to the cool metal of the handle. A shiver races down each vertebrae when he drags it over the swell of your cunt and then carefully pressing it against your clit. You gasp and arch into the light touch, your thighs involuntarily jerking as he increases the pressure. It’s cold, rigid and filthy. Who knows where that knife has been—how many lives it’s taken or severed through muscle and skin. 

You don’t find it in you to care all that much.    

He trades his hold on your hip to slide his hand into your shirt, palming and kneading your breast through your bra as you roll and whine against his fingers. The tight circles he's drawing over your clit burns through your abdomen, drags you closer to the precipice that you’re all ready so close to. Fuck—it’s been so long since you’ve indulged in this sort of pleasure.You whine his name as wicked heat licking up your body and spreading to each limb. You arch into him, the handle of his knife slipping through your folds as arousal drips from your cunt.   

Your groan as you tilt your hips into the handle, craving any lick of pleasure he’ll give. Your breath hitches as Din pushes the hilt closer to your throwing entrance, murmuring praise as he sinks the first couple inches inside of you. It’s cold—the knobby feel of the handle not too much thicker than one or two of your fingers combines. You huff and grab at his cowl, the warmth of his hand grazing your pussy each time he rocks his wrist forward. 

“You’re so quiet,” Din goads, pulling the handle free from your aching center. “You usually have plenty to say.” 

You shoot Din a glare, tongue weighed down by arousal to come up with a god retort. You lean your head back against the wall of the Crest and with a chuckle, Din’s hand leaves your shirt to pull you against his chest, the vocoder rumbling against your ear. The blade clatters to the floor and instead brings his calloused fingertips to your cunt. He softly rolls your swollen clit between his forefinger and thumb, delighting in the way you shake. “Be a good little thing and cum for me.”

Shit, you didn’t think it’d be that easy. Your body seizes as white hot heat ripples through your core. Stars, brighter than a dying sun burst behind your eyes, a high pitched cry filtering past your lips as shake and fall apart in his arms, your cunt clenching tight around the thick fingers he slips inside of you. 

You whine as he pulls out, little aftershocks of pleasure wracking through your body in wake of your euphoric high. You groan as he lifts your head and pushes his digits, coated in your juices into your mouth. You lick them clean, tasting the tang of your own arousal and the salt on his skin. “Fuck—that was good.”

You can only imagine that Din rolls his eyes. He takes a step back but before he can escape—

You drop to your knees, a wicked smile curling over your lips. The muscles in his thighs jump as your palms smooth over the outsides of them, then up to his narrow hips, your thumbs lightly massaging the ligaments that protects the fragile joints. Din sucks in a sharp breath when your fingertips hook around his trousers. 

“What are you doing?” Din asks, brushing a thumb over your jaw. 

You pause and glance up at him. You quirk a brow. “Was gonna suck you off, but if you have something else in mind…“ He hisses and tips his head back, flashing the underside of his chin as your hand leaves his hip to cup the heavy bulge tenting in his trousers. 

“Maker—“ He looks off to the side, inhales a choppy breath and then snaps his head back. “You’d…you’d do that?”   

You nod and flash him an encouraging half grin. “Wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to.”

Din mumbles an incoherent string of words under his breath and shifts his weight onto his right leg. His fingers touch your cheek again then tuck a loose hair behind your ear. “But—“

Moons above this man is straight out of some kind of fucking fairytale—arguing about getting his dick sucked—or not. 

Whatever.       

“Din…” His breath hitches at the sound of his name. “I’m asking you kindly to fuck my mouth—it’s cool if you don’t wanna, but my knees already kriffing hurt and—“

He cuts you off with a hasty nod. “Yes—stars, please.”

Fuck yeah.

You smile and slide your eyes past Din’s legs to the cargo crate shoved up against the wall. “You should sit—easier that way.”

He nods and shuffles over, lightly perching himself on the edge and ready to flee at the barest hint of well—anything.

Din’s knee jumps when you place your palm over it. You assume his nerves are from the nature of his occupation—trouble always strikes when you least expect it—and what better time would that be when his pants are around his ankles. “Relax—I’m not gonna bite—maybe.”

He makes a wary sound low in his throat as your fingertips hook into the waistband of his trousers and pull. Din lifts up as you tug the fabric further down his legs, tan skin and solid muscle following in its wake. Fuck…

You swallow, mouth feeling quite dry when your eyes drift between his legs. Din is thick, a rosy brown color, flushed at the tip and curling towards his bellybutton. Beads of liquid shine at the tip, dribbling down the underside and pooling into the dark patch of curls at the base. Din’s fingers hook over the side of the crate, squirming under the weight of your stare. 

Yeah—that’s gonna leave your jaw aching.    

You hear his breath hitch, magnified by the crackle of the vocoder as your lips descend over a silvery scar on the inside of his right knee. You pepper a trail of wet kisses and light nips up his thighs, and by the time you reach the crease of his leg, his hips mindlessly rock with need. 

The second the wet warmth of your tongue brushes over the tip of his cock, his hips jolt off the crate, a load groan echoing through the empty ship. It’s like striking a match to an open line of kerosene—devouring and explosive that’ll leave your delicate skin singed. You’re not nervous playing with fire if this barest scrap of wild heat is anything like burning to a crisp. 

Emboldened by his initial reaction, you wrap your hand around the base, pulsing and achingly hard beneath the velvety flesh. You flatten your tongue over the tip, lapping up the sticky liquid the slip the head of him into your mouth. His hands fly to your hair, tightening into fists as he throws his head back. The beskar scrapes over the durasteel with a sharp squeal, but you don’t find it in you to care about the abrasive sound—eardrums be damned.  

“Fuck—kriffing hell—“ Din snarls, arching his hips to seek more of your warmth. “K-keep going.”  

Your own rekindled arousal blazes hot in your core hearing his stuttered pleas. You pull away to catch your breath, feeling almost guilty for doing so at Din’s low whine of protest. He picks his head up, watching as you languidly jerk him off—entranced with the way your hand rolls over the leaking tip, back down to the base, then up again. You could keep him like this—tease until he cracks under the pressure and begs you for whatever iota of pleasure you want to give but—

You’re not that mean.    

Wetting your lips with your tongue, you part your mouth and slide nearly half of his length into your mouth. Din mutters something garbled, his hips jolting as you hollow your cheeks and bob your head.

Din shifts, arching his back and stuttering out broken whispers of encouragement. Placing your hand over his thigh, you can feel his pulse thrumming beneath your fingertips, wild and alive—something real beneath all that heavy armor and unforgiving helmet. 

“You—you look…” He grunts as you hum around around his cock, swallowing him down further. “Shit—you look so p-perfect like this.”

You groan and squeeze your thighs together, attempting to ignore the gnawing hunger snapping at your insides. 

Rolling your tongue along the underside of his shaft, your fingers slide over what your mouth cant reach—squeezing and gently coaxing him towards his high. He seizes up tight—yet, just when you think you’ve got him skidding off that precarious edge—

His hand fists your hair at the base your neck and yanks you off his cock. He huffs, breathy little pants as he folds into himself like he’s been punched in the gut, his head rolling forward onto his shoulder. Din shivers as he scrambles for control, beginning to loose that slippery foothold he’s so intent on maintaining. His cock, flushed an angry red and still slick with your saliva, twitches and throbs for the release so cruelly wrenched away. 

You let him catch his breath. The fingers tangled in your hair go lax and drop away to rest at his sides. You swallow, his previous skittishness suddenly clicking into place. “Din, are you…?” A virgin. Your question tapers off, unsure if it’ll embarrass and scare him off. 

“No,” he answers—not in a sharp way like you’d hear with a bruised ego—just stating a fact. “Just not—not this. Never had someone—stars—“

Your teeth roll your bottom lip between them, forcing your face to remain neutral despite the stroke of pride blooming singing in your chest. You’re his first—lucky enough to make this the best goddamned oral he’ll ever have. Something he’ll remember for years.  

“Do you want me to stop?” You ask, praying to the Maker he’ll say no. 

He shakes his head, sucking in another calming breath and unfurling himself. His fingers clench into fists then relax, crackling with pent up energy and unsure nerves as to where he should put them. You solve it by threading your fingers through his and placing them around you head. 

Your lips quirk. “You’re allowed to cum in mouth—don’t worry about it.”

His cock twitches as a quiet moan fizzles through the modulator. “You su-sure?”

“Oh, yeah.”

With a smile you bring your mouth back to his cock, tongue swiping up the entire length of him. Din groans as the soft warmth of your mouth slips over the flushed tip of cock, his thick length twitching as you hollow out your cheeks and suck. You bob your head as you slowly work him in further because even like this, hardly halfway into your mouth, you feel your lips stretching a bit too much around him. You groan and part your mouth wider, letting him sink into the soft warmth of your throat.  Din inhales, the sound shaky and unsure as his hips twitch with a few tentative thrusts. 

You take it slow—lifting your mouth nearly all the up to the tip then back down to the base. Din rolls his hips, helping you ease into the gentle pace. Saliva drips down his cock and over your knuckles making an absolute mess you have zero intentions of cleaning up. It’s his ship after all. Din swears as his hips stutter, your hand squeeing around him, trying to push him off that edge he so deserves. Din gasps your name, the pitch of his words knocking up to a lighter, more airy tone, warmer than melted butter. 

“Ca-can’t believe, it—ah—it fits.” He groans with astonished reverence. You preen under his praise. 

You swallow around him and grunt at the abrupt jolt of his hips. There’s no distinctive rhythm you can follow as you let him rock his hips into your mouth—seeking out his pleasure without a coherent thought in sight. Just a cacophony of gasping breaths and rough moans. 

You can feel is cock twitching over you tongue—he’s close—and when your eyes roll up to meet the darkened visor, he’s gone. He shouts your name and knots his fists around your hair as he spirals of that edge. You nearly gag from the force of his release hitting the back of your throat—cock throbbing and jerking in your mouth like he’s been denying himself release for months. His moans, fragile and gasping, filling the quiet space as his hips grind his cock deeper down your throat, his hands threaded into your hair acting as an anchor—the sole tether he has to the waking world. 

Din’s grip relents as the last few catastrophic waves tear through his body. He doesn’t move his hands, just lets them rest over your skull  as his chest heaves for precious air, a harsh crackle through the vocoder. You pull his still twitching cock halfway out, dragging the tip of your tongue below the frenulum while one of your hands circles the base of his length. Maker—he’s still going—

Last little dribbles of his cum spurt onto your tongue and drip over your knuckles still securely wrapped around him. His legs and lower abdomen flex when your hand falls lower to carefully knead at his balls, milking out his pleasure for all its worth. You let his softening cock slip from your mouth when he swears and mumbles your name.      

When you rest your back against the wall, he slips himself back into his trousers and joins you. You take a risk and rest your head over the chilly beskar pauldron. You’d never call this love—the word is much too harsh for this delicate string of seconds. Love means giving pieces of yourself to others like martyrs give their hearts to the sky—or risk fragile skin against the rays of an unforgiving sun. Broken ribs and clenched fists, immensity beyond comprehension—

“You should come with us,” he says with a hesitant mumble. Love is formidable—but you know that somehow, here, pressed against Din’s side, that this is right. In a golden way, a honeyed way, a path that tastes of blood, freedom and blaster smoke that will leave your lungs stained with blackened soot. Cowardice has long made a home inside of your soul, and he’s offering you a chance to shake off the layer of frost clinging to your bones and step into the gentle merciful dawn.  

“Yeah—alright, Din. I will.”

tags (only tagging some moots for now bc i have no clue what’s going on in this fandom anymore dbdndn): @goldafterglow @jango-fettish @djxrxn @blsmjoon @spookoofins @krissology @steeeeeeeviebb @teaofpeach @comphersjost @gummiishark @delusionsxfgrandeur @pettyprocrastination @huliabitch

[alyss-spazz-penedo]

@w1lmutt So tbh I probably could’ve had this ninth part of the unedited v!Wind fic out earlier; I already had it mostly written. But on the flip side, I’m sure you’ll be happy know that the whole story's going to be a bit longer than previously expected!

I only took my eyes off them for like a DAY, where did all these new plunnies come from aiieeee 

I don’t want to promise the next part will also be out soon bc that feels too much like jinxing it, but, um. *side-eyes the pages and pages of Stuff I've already scribbled for the next few parts*

TW: The ending scene made me cackle evily when I first thought of it. That's it that's the warning

<<First Part 8 Next>>

Twilight climbs the ladder to the lookout post the newest Link first greeted the traveling heroes from. The kid’s perched there now, kicking his heels in the open air, head resting on arms folded against the railing—just like the first time they’d met.

Such a difference a single day makes.

“Food’s ready,” he announces himself, though there’s no way Phantom hadn’t heard him making his way up. The boy doesn’t respond. Twilight musters up his patience, makes an effort to keep his voice even and nonconfrontational. “Wild made enough stew for everyone. He’s a pretty darn good cook; you’re missing out.”

Phantom doesn’t move. “Don’t need it.”

Twilight frowns. He climbs all the way into the lookout and approaches the slumped form, stopping just outside of striking distance. “You haven’t had anything all day. You need to eat, kid,” he coaxes.

“Fuck off. Don’t patronize me.” There’s no bite to the words. Twilight folds his arms, trying to project sternness. Phantom lackadaisically flips him off without even looking his way.

Twilight sighs. “...Enjoying the view?” He prods instead, changing tack.

“...A little. I’m mostly listening. I’d... forgotten what it sounded like.” A stilted pause. Phantom sighs, so quiet it’s nearly lost on the breeze. “The village, I mean. While it was awake.” 

Twilight, who hadn’t meant to provoke such honesty with his offhand comment, finds himself momentarily derailed. Phantom seems to take his silence as an invitation to continue—or perhaps he’s not talking to the other man at all, anymore.

“Aryll hugged me back today,” he says, blank. “And. Everyone’s awake. I... don’t need to sweep the porches, or trim the grass, or make sure the water in the rainbarrels is still fresh. I...”

One of the seagulls hops closer. Link holds out a hand to it automatically, but it flaps away. He stares down at his empty hand for a long moment before he seems to realize there’s no bait in it.

“It shouldn’t be this hard. It’s not anything new—I should be able to do this, greet my friends and talk to my sister and help out where I’m needed. I used to. I know I used to.”

The silence stretches.

Twilight finally sighs, breaking through the tension that had settled gauzy and ill-defined over them. “I came up here for a reason. I need to talk to you.”

Phantom finally deigns to look at him, giving the other a droll look from the corner of his eye. “Of course you do. You wouldn’t be here alone otherwise; you guys have been paired off all day.”

Smartass. Twilight hisses a breath through his teeth. “Look, it’s about Time.”

Phantom tenses.

“You’ve been hurting him. You’re going to stop doing that,” he informs the kid.

Phantom’s eyebrows furrow. “I’m not going to attack you guys again. And I apologized for the-”

“I’m not,” Twilight grits out, “talking about a physical wound.”

The boy doesn’t understand. How can the boy not understand? Twilight wants to pick him up and shake him.

“As far as I can tell, your only impressions of him come from legends that reverie him, and memories that hate him. He’s not whoever it is you’ve built up in your head, Phantom. Try opening your damn eyes for a change.”

Twilight stares the younger boy down. He needs the kid to understand: he is deadly serious about this.

The little hero is wide-eyed with confusion, uncertainty grinding away his usual guard. Phantom visibly chews over his words, slow, like they might make sense the third time where they didn’t the first. Skepticism paints his face. He still doesn’t get it. 

But he nods. Agreement, however reluctant. Twilight will take it.

"Now come on," Twilight huffs. He stalks away. "Wild's made food; the least you could do is not let it go to waste."

~o0o~

Phantom picks at his dinner. Like he'd told the Hero of Twilight, he doesn't need it—hasn't bothered with food for a long time, frankly—but refusing to eat after it'd already been doled out to him would be terribly rude. He's not so far gone that he's forgotten all his manners.

He and Aryll sit back-to-back in a ring of people, surrounding the roaring beach fire one of the visitors had made to cook with. It's still odd, feeling something moving and breathing so close to him, but... it’s not so bad when no one’s trying to grab him. He’s fine as long as nothing's moving too quickly in his personal space.

Pressed against his sister now, he remembers the times he'd hug the statues or lean on them for comfort. He throws a few token comments into the soft evening conversation, just to hear those real, actual voices respond to him, and this alone is leagues better than relying on his memory and imagination to fill the silence.

Listening to Aryll’s excited chatter, to the gentle shifting of over a dozen living bodies gathered on the same beach... he realizes how much he’d missed this.

It’s not perfect. But for the first time in a very long while, Phantom finds himself held in the grip of a feeling that could almost pass for peace.

~o0o~

They send Grandma out to sea that night.

Dusk is not the appropriate time for someone to set sail on a long journey. But for her last voyage... the darkness will see her safely to her destination. That’s what the villagers say, at least.

Phantom’s lost his share of people over the years. He hates that he should be used to goodbyes—hates hates hates that this time is different.

(It’s not even that she’s family; he was old enough to remember his parents, after all. No, the difference between Grandma and everyone else he's lost is that he is so much more directly responsible for her death.

He might've loved and missed some of those others comparably, but Grandma... Grandma is one of his mistakes.)

~o0o~

Tetra finally comes to him in the morning.

She’d been avoiding him, and he’d been letting her have her space—no matter how much he ached to have her back again. She had every right to be angry at him, after all.

(He’d failed her. In every way that mattered, he’d failed her.

All that strength and he still couldn’t keep her safe; all that resolve and he still couldn’t get her back before Bellum had dug it’s claws in deeper than he could pry out of her; all that time, and still no Hyrule to show for it. He couldn’t even avenge her, in the end; the traveling heroes had robbed him of that killing blow.)

So of course she’s angry. Of course she’s disappointed in him, of course she's been avoiding him, of course of course.

There is a time and place for regrets, Phantom knows. That time is not now; that place is not here. Not when he’s shoulder-to-shoulder with Tetra—his best friend, his partner, his anchor—finally, finally awake.

And yet. And yet.

She stands next to him without a word. They watch the dawn like that—together, with neither able to bear looking at each other.

~o0o~

The sun is fully up by the time her idiot speaks.

He fingers the mark on the back of his hand in lieu of looking her in the eye. “Do you think the power of the gods could bring her back?” He asks. He doesn’t look at her as he says this, gaze fixed on the distant horizon. “Not forever. Just... just for a little longer.”

She feels cold. “I thought we’d agreed never to make a wish.”

“...Yeah.”

Tetra scowls. “How seriously are you asking? Is this the grief or the insanity talking right now?”

“I... I don’t know.” His eyes belie this—calculating, intent. He’s looking out at the ocean, but she can’t tell what it is he's actually seeing.

“I heard the story from those other heroes. How long?” She grabs him by the arm, yanks him around until he’s forced to look at her. “How long has it been?” She demands.

Link rips himself away from her touch. “I don’t know,” he lies.

She punches him on the arm for that. He winces but she can tell it’s entirely for her benefit; he’s not hurt at all. Her blows don’t reach him anymore.

She probably hasn’t reached him for a long time, now.

“Give it to me,” she demands—suddenly, inexplicably furious. He regards her warily. She barely recognizes him anymore. “This has gone on for long enough. I never should’ve let you try to carry this power alone. Give me the Triforce, Link.”

Link’s eyes narrow. For a moment, Tetra is convinced he’s going to refuse—that she’s going to have to enlist her crew and maybe those outside heroes to hold the idiot down so she can pry the corruption from his hand. 

But no. Link deflates and, for once in his life, makes things easy for her. “Okay,” he agrees, all wilted and sad and nothing like the spunky kid who once demanded a ride to the Forsaken Fortress from her on this very shore.

She lets him twine their hands together, goddess marked to goddess marked. The symbols glow together, synchronized in a way their bearers used to be, and when they open their eyes Tetra has an extra golden triangle on her hand.

The Triforce of Power is a trip. Link’s eyes are blue again, and they widen in alarm when she pins his wrist, when she seizes him by the collar and drags him around like it’s nothing. “That’s not enough,” she growls. “I said, give me the Triforce. All of it, Link.”

“Tetra- what are you-”

“Give it to me!” She shakes him a little. “Now!”

“No! Have you lost your mind-”

She backhands him. It's the easiest thing in the world.

He goes staggering, one hand flying to his cheek and the other reflexively dragging that terribly familiar sword from thin air. He freezes before he can raise it against her. "Tetra...?"

"Fine." She cracks her knuckles. "The hard way, then."

"What are you doing?"

He looks frightened. Of her. Is this what they've come to, now? Tetra could almost laugh, could almost cry. She draws her blade instead of doing either.

"Making sure something like this never happens again," she vows, eyes burning gold, and strikes without holding back.

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (82) || atz

The sea is blue.

You stand along the beach where the land meets the sea, warm water lapping over your feet as you look out over the horizon. The beach is completely empty except for you and the sound of waves crashing against the shore.

You don’t know how long you spend standing there, but you watch as the sun slowly sinks behind the horizon, the sea enveloping and swallowing it whole. You watch as the sky fades from blue to to black, stars rippling over the surface of the water like jewels spread over the waters. You don’t move a muscle, time hung in the balance, until there’s the sound of approaching footsteps behind you.

“You’re here.”

Your voice is a disembodied whisper, raspy and lilting like the push and pull of the tide.

“You’ve not called for me for millennia.”  He sounds melancholy, and you turn to look at him. His bright green eyes stare back at you, luminescent in the darkness of the beach. “Yet now, you have... why?”

“Why do we not have names?”

His eyes widen slightly at your words, but he quickly schools his face back into a neutral expression. “We do not need them, since there is nothing like us in this world.”

“Humans are all so strange, different from each other, and yet they have names. They call for each other with them.” You murmur quietly, bending down to touch a hand to the waves. The water comes up to meet you, drawn to you, swirling and rushing out once more. Your heartbeat. “They are so insignificant, their lifespans so short, they end so easily and yet...”

He remains silent.

“And yet... today, one of them asked for my name. I was merely repeating the cycle of karma, saving his life when I had taken away others, and when he awoke... He asked for my name. He wanted to call for me.”

The man pauses for a moment. “A land child could stand in your presence?” He speaks quietly, and you nod. That fact had been equally surprising to you as well, but you had no explanation for it.

“I gave him my blessings.”

At that, time seems to stop. The man takes you by the hand, clutching tightly. “You, who have never looked at the humans from the dawn of man until now, blessed a human?”

You don’t relent.

“I promised to tell him a name he could speak.” You say, resolute. “I cannot let him die before then.”

In the back of your mind, a boy with a smiling face and a bleeding eye surfaces. He’d grabbed your hand, and promised that he would find you again even if it took the rest of his life. You had given him a rope with three knots that had been left ashore with him, blessing it with your power, your side of the promise that would tie your souls together for eternity.

The man sighs and releases your hand. “Humans are beautiful and fleeting, but they have immortal souls that we do not.” He raises a hand to cup your cheek with his palm. “We are as infinite as the sand along the beaches, as alive as the waters of the seas. We are the laws of nature, and the survival instinct that all of life has ingrained into their souls. We are as eternal as the heart of the mountains, and yet... when this earth fades away, so will we. That is why we do not have a soul, because we form no bonds with the things of this world.”

You waver for a moment, but resolve yourself. “I will find a way. There are laws holding the fabric of this world together more ancient than humankind itself.”

The man gives you a sad smile, his hand falling back down to his side. “There have been legends written in the human world.” He murmurs quietly. “Of mermaids who have given up their immortal lives for legs to live among the humans. Many of their stories ended in tragedy, even for the humans they loved.”

“I’m nothing like the humans.” You speak, voice darkening. “They cannot be compared to us in the least, Eorthe.”

His smile is sad.

“That might turn out to be your downfall, Saer.”

He melts away, his final breath lingering in the wind that caresses your hair and cheek. You continue standing at the beach in silence, and the tide rises, higher, higher and higher.

You look down at the rippling surface of the sea, and a pair of frighteningly blue eyes stare back - they are not of this world.

“I will not allow myself to end like this.”

A pair of watery hands rise up from the depths and the water turns black as the night. You try to pull yourself out of its grasp, thrashing and fighting with all of your might, but its hold on you does not yield.

You’re dragged down, down... deep underneath the waves.

It’s completely dark. You can’t see a thing.

You’re suffocating.

“Humans are fleeting.”

“They have no value.”

“They come and go.”

“They are nothing compared to what you are.”

“Humans can never accept something like you.”

You struggle to breathe. No, you’re human. You’ve always been human in their eyes.

“You are Choi Chin Hae, you are and have always been since the day I gave you that name.”

Monster.

You could never be a human.

No-

You awake with a gasp, cold sweat pouring down the back of your neck. You’re cold, too cold, and all your limbs feel weak, as if you can’t stop trembling. What had happened, all you remember is watching that crew mate that you’d been working so hard to save get shot, and then the almost unnatural, all consuming fury-

The sheets are soaked through with your sweat, even though every part of your body feels oddly cold and clammy. You’re in your bed on board the Treasure, and clambering to your knees, you press your face against the pothole to see where exactly you are.

It’s night outside, and the seas are too reminiscent of your dreams to feel comfortable. You can still see those blue eyes staring back at you with all of their terrifying intent, and immediately start to shiver again.

San, where’s your master?

The infirmary is empty except for you. Trembling, you try to ease yourself out of bed on trembling legs - and almost crash to your knees when pain lances up them like a white hot branding iron. Gritting your teeth, you force yourself to your feet and continue to walk forward, ascending the stairs to the main deck one at the time.

The lanterns burn quietly on the empty deck, everyone else must be housed in below. From what you can see around you, you’re in an empty bay circled by miles and miles of mountains. How did you escape? Where are the Royal Navy?

Stumbling forward again, you turn to the captain’s cabin, where the light is still lit. Slowly, you make your way towards it, trying your best not to fall over from the sheer pain you’re feeling. Quiet voices drift out on the cool night air as you approach.

“... so how long can we hold out?” It’s Yeosang’s quiet voice.

“A couple of weeks or so, if we ration everything out carefully.” Seonghwa replies. “But food goes bad, and well... unprecedented things may occur.”

“The Royal Navy is waiting just outside the bay for us.” Yunho says, voice tight. “An entire armada of them... they’ll lose their advantage if they come into such shallow waters and risk beaching with their massive ships, but we can’t stay here forever. We’re at an impasse.”

“I know that, Yunho.” It’s Hongjoong. He sounds exhausted, weary and your heart pinches. “Enough about this for now. San, how is Chin Hae?”

“She’s still unconscious when I last left her.” San’s voice is subdued, grim. “A few times while treating her... her heart stopped.”

Your heart drops into your stomach at his words. What?

“But she didn’t die, right?” Wooyoung asks urgently, panic edging into his voice. San lets out a sigh, one that you’ve never heard from him before. “No. But she should have. Her heart stopped for several turns of the water clock, Wooyoung, several. It shouldn’t be humanely possible at all.”

“None of us know what’s happening, not even Chin Hae herself.” Jongho wonders aloud. His words are tense. “From the way she looked at that enemy captain, it was like she wanted to destroy him completely.”

“You should have taken the shot, Wooyoung.” Mingi says sharply, and you hear the dragging of the chair across the floor.

“He was holding her! I couldn’t risk misfiring!” Wooyoung’s protest cracks at the end. “Besides, it all turned out fine in the end, didn’t it? She’s just... crazy strong. It worked out in our benefit, that’s all.” He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself.

“She almost tried to kill you at first too, Wooyoung.” Jongho’s voice is raised, and you stop dead in your tracks. You did what now? “At that moment, her eyes... they didn’t look human.”

You stumble at his words, as if punched in the gut.

You could never be human.

The sound of you falling to your knees outside seems to have alerted them, because there’s a sudden scraping of chairs and the door flies open. “Who is it-” Wooyoung’s eyes meet yours, and his face instantly turns white. “C-Chin Hae, are you alright-”

“I want to be alone for a little while.” Your words come out curt, more composed that you thought you could ever achieve in a situation like this. You push his hand away, and haul yourself to your feet, shaking.

“Chin Hae-” San’s voice sounds like it’s filled with tears. “Chin Hae, you shouldn’t be standing in this state. I’ll-”

“Leave me alone!” You finally cry out, clutching yourself close to your body. San’s outstretched hand freezes, and you turn away from them, unwilling to let them see your own tears. “Before I really hurt one of you... before I do something I regret... please.”

Turning around, you run as far as your feet will allow, anywhere, just away from them. White noise rings in your ears and you can’t hear their cries, agony strikes at your feet like hot irons but you can’t feel them against the wooden deck of the ship. You’re shaking like a leaf, arms wrapped around yourself to hold yourself together.

You find yourself huddled against the bow of the ship, at the forecastle deck what seems like a few hours later, sitting on the bulwarks, both your feet dangling over the waters. It’s a precarious position, but you feel better like this when you can’t see the ship, only the sea before you, stretching out as far as your eye can see.

You look down at your remaining hand, closing it around thin air.

Human or monster? Clay or flesh? Alive... or something else?

The Royal Navy has almost gotten their hands on you. And you can feel danger lurking in the air, in the direction of the sea. There’s nowhere left to run.

A storm on the horizon.

You don’t want to die. You can’t allow yourself to die after you’ve come this far. If you die...

“You can’t die...” A sweet, haunting voice floats along the night’s air, light as sea foam, coiling around your neck and sinking deep into your very bones. Starting in surprise, you look frantically from side to side, but see no one. “There’s no need to search for me. I am you.”

With a soft cry of terror, you glance down beneath you into the waves, and there you see her, stunningly blue eyes as bewitching as a siren’s voice. You recognise her now, she bears striking resemblance to the mural you’d seen at the sea witch’s lair. Her voice is soft, enchanting, but her eyes are terrifying dark, bottomless depths that seem to drag you down, down, beneath the surface...

“I am not you.” You hiss, wrapping your arms around yourself again. Your reflection only smiles, that sickeningly terrifying smile that seems to chill you to the very bone. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“If you were a human, I would have erased you in a heartbeat for your insolence.” Her voice is gentle. “But I will not hurt you. Hurting you would be hurting me, after all. That is why I cannot let you fade from this world.”

“You can stop me from dying?” Your attention instantly perks up. “How? Tell me.”

“We cannot die.” Her voice turns dark. “But should that filthy man get his hands on you... he will rob the heart of the sea from you. And you and I will both cease to exist.”

You freeze, completely still. She’s talking about the commander of the Royal Navy, Hongjoong’s father? “What’s the heart of the sea? Why does he want it?”

Her blue eyes shine eerily in the light of the half moon. “You are the heart of the sea, the very thing that the oceans is made of. The very life that thrives and teems in its depths... the push and pull of the tide is your own heartbeat.”

You stare down at yourself in shock, hand to your chest. “The heartbeat of the seas...?” You can’t comprehend what she’s saying. You’re an animated clay golem turned human, not whatever she’s calling you. “I’m getting off track. How do I not die?”

“The death of your body is inevitable.” Her words still you in your tracks. “That is why you must return to the seas right now... before that man captures you and it is too late.”

“What? No!” You cry out in disbelief, shocked. “I’m staying with this crew even if I die! They’re my family!”

Her gaze is merciless.

“Humans? As your family?” Her laugh is cold. “You will never be one of them... haven’t you learned?”

Jongho’s words come back to you, a painful knife in your heart. You had almost tried to kill Wooyoung. Who knew if you would do that again in the future, and succeed?

“Humans are nothing more than fleeting existences upon this earth, before their souls leave forever.” You can’t seem to stop trembling at her words. “There is no point risking so much when their days are so numbered. They will not be able to win against the foe that awaits them.”

Your voice comes out more as a snarl. “I would die to protect them.”

“Ooooh, how sweet.” Her voice is mocking. “Do you know what it means for you to die?”

Your one good hand tightens around the bulwarks. She has to be lying, she’s just trying to manipulate you, it can’t be true.

“You have no soul, so if the heart of the sea were to be robbed from you, you would cease to exist. All traces of your existence would be wiped from this earth like a blank slate. None of your so called family would be able to remember you, much less your existence nor sacrifice.”

She has to be lying, she’s lying, she’s lying-

And yet you can feel it in you that she isn’t. You know that she cannot lie. You don’t know how you know.

That scares you.

“You’re running out of time, love.” Her voice is so soothing, yet so chilling. “The last vestiges of the promise you made with that human captain is holding that husk of a body together. Destroy it and return to the seas before you’re captured. It is the only way.”

“Shut up.” Your breaths are coming out in panicked gasps now, your heart thundering in your chest. “Don’t talk nonsense. I promised him that I would stay alive. There’s no way I’m going to break it willingly.”

You can’t breathe.

“These foolish human emotions... you’ll be freed from them the moment you return to the sea. It does not feel, it does not ache, it does not desire.” The words are like a lullaby lulling you into a deep sleep. “I will save us, if you are so unwilling.”

All of sudden, you feel a weight in your remaining hand, and when you look down, you’re horrified to see a long, silver dagger in your hand. When you try to let go, your fingers are unwilling to obey, only gripping it tighter.

A voice, like a siren’s song, fills your ears, wiping everything from your mind. The last thing you hear is a single instruction.

Kill the human captain, and return to whence you came.

[six-of-woes]

The Clown and the Potato Sack (Aerin Valleros x MC)

Chapter 1/? : ...What Now?

Paring: Aerin Valleros x MC

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24533863

Word count: 2381

Summary: Now with the Dreadlord defeated and her friends out of Whitetower, Cassia Nightbloom, is bored. Extremely bored. She wants to do literally anything, but she doesn't know what. Her solution? Try to get some answers from a certain corrupt prince. Unfortunately, that leads to a wacky yet angsty adventure involving a potato sack, a wooden spoon, and A LOT of clowning around.At least she's doing something...right?

Authors Note: Hi so this is my first time posting fic on Tumblr so if I’m doing something wrong feel free to tell me just be nice about it because my ego is fragile Anyway! I hope you guys like it, I thought we clowns could use some content until book 2 comes out. Idk if i’ll ever continue this, i meant for it to be a one-shot but I couldn’t really get my whole plan into one chapter. So. Hopefully there’s more. No promises tho lol

@what-do-you-mean-theyre-evil @theclowneryqueen @findmeafterlife @0oi-io0 @thatgirlbuhle @mirabelle-choices @souhmhey @king-erzsebet @vlastomilsworm @diamonds-and-decorum @xsweetnspookyx

~~~

Cassia watched from the castle balcony as a raggedy caravan rolled out of Whitetower. They’re really gone now, she thought, turning her back on the city. There was a new kind of…emptiness inside her now that Mal, Nia, Tyril, and Imtura were all gone. Maybe they’d only known each other a few months, but to someone who barely had any family to call their own—it struck a certain chord with Cassia to see them go.

She sighed and noted the setting sun—her reminder that she should probably get to dinner. Not that Cassia wanted to spend yet another dinner answering the pointless questions of all those stuffy nobles, but she felt obliged to as Morella’s hero—at least until she figured out where she was going to go from here.

As Cassia walked through the towering corridors, she thought some more about where she wanted to go. Kade wanted to go back to Riverbend(but only after he’d exhausted the library), not in any particular mood to experience any more danger than he already had. Of course, Cassia couldn’t blame him. If she’d spent months in a realm of pure darkness being tortured, she would want at least a break as well.

But that was the thing: she hadn’t been in the Shadow Realm and she wasn’t like Kade. Cassia always thirsted for adventure and as much as she loved Riverbend, she spent twenty out of the almost twenty-one years of her life there. There was so much more out there and if her nightmare had any shred of truth, Cassia knew she had to be there.

But where? She’d already decided against going with any of the others when they left—Cassia’s injuries would make intense sailing with Imtura or any of what Mal had planned painful and difficult, and she wanted to give Nia the room to figure things out on her own. The idea that seemed most plausible for her was going undercount with Tyril. It would’ve been a prime opportunity to learn more about where she came from, after all. Yet…she still felt awkward going there—Cassia knew almost nothing of the elven societal cues and would feel a little useless when trying to help out Tyril with her duties.

She shook her head as she reached the doors of the dining hall. “Never mind all that.” She muttered. “I made my decision.”

“Finally!” Called a voice. “You had me thinking you were going to bail!”

Cassia looked up to see Kade, sitting on one of the corridor benches. He held a new book in his hand, different from the one Cassia had seen him reading at breakfast.

“Sorry,” she muttered, leaning against the closed doors. “Just wanted to make sure the others made it out of town safely.” She swallowed the knot in her throat and nodded toward the dining hall. “Let’s just get to dinner.”

Kade raised an eyebrow, but nonetheless followed Cassia into the hall.

When they entered, Cassia was surprised to see only King Arlan, Threep, and Loola sitting at the table. None of them looked particularly cheerful—not even Threep, who just stared at his dinner plate with a somber expression.

“Your majesty,” Cassia breathed, dipping into a curtsy. “It’s a pleasure to be in your—“

“Oh hush, Cassia,” Arlan said, shaking his head. “There’s no one else here and you’ve more than cemented yourself as a friend of the crown.”

Cassia coughed and straightened up. “Right…Is there any particular reason for the ah—grim mood and significant lack of nobles?”

Arlan cleared his throat and eyed the nespers. “Well…there’s news.”

Cassia felt her heart catch in her throat. News? It can’t have anything to do with what that hooded being said in my dream, could it? No, of course not. It was just a nightmare…right?

“Is something wrong?” Kade piped, eyebrows already creasing with worry.

The king shared a look with Threep and Loola, who looked back at Kade and Cassia.

“Aerin’s awake now,” Threep said, stretching his wings. “I saw him myself in the dungeons—he’s still very much corrupted, but—“

“He’s quiet,” Loola spoke. “All he’s done is hug his knees and stare at the wall.”

Kade scoffed. “Sounds to me like he’s scheming. Want me to punch him again?”

Cassia elbowed her brother (lightly) in the side. “I’m sure it’s fine. Even if he was scheming, there’s really nothing he can do. His cell is surrounded by guards 24/7, there’s a magical barrier around it, and besides, if for some reason he gets out—“ she gestured to the three weapons of legend she had strapped to her body. “I’ll have it handed.”

“Sure,” Kade said, rolling his eyes as he took a seat at the table. He went to drink from his goblet, but a playful smirk graced his lips. “You’re just saying that because you kissed him.”

Cassia grumbled as she took a seat next to Kade at the table. “We don’t have to keep bringing that up,” she whispered through gritted teeth. “That was like, a month ago—before he was you know—evil.”

“Whatever you say,” Kade taunted, still smirking as he took a sip from his goblet.

~~~

The rest of dinner was relatively low-key. Cassia filled Arlan in on what the others were going to do now that they were gone and Kade entertained them all with wild stories from the deep corners of his mind.

Once dinner was over, however, and Kade, Loola, and Threep all returned to their previous business, leaving Cassia to do as she pleased. Problem was, Cassia didn’t really have anything to do.

She found herself standing in the middle of the corridor for what was longer than considered usual—even for Cassia.

“Dammit!” She cried, hours later. “I’m bored as all hells!” In a fit of rage, Cassia kicked the solid gold leg of a nearby bench. Solid. Gold. Promptly after kicking it, Cassia let out a pained yelp and brought her foot up to her arms.

After a few more seconds of hopping on one foot and whisper-shouting an array of curses, Cassia collapsed onto the bench and buried her face in her hands.

“Gods…” she groaned. “I really need to get out of here and do something more dangerous than stubbing my toe.”

But, what was there to do? The most dangerous place Cassia could think of was the Nooks and Crannies—but the real danger was really the guards and Cassia wasn’t interested in picking fights with them right now. She and Mal had already informed Arlan of the corruption, there was no need to escalate a situation that was already under control.

She thought back to visiting them with Mal…and how they got out of their scuffle with the guards.

Unconsciously, Cassia ran her fingers over the ring Aerin had given her. She still hadn’t taken it off, even after the betrayal. It was a reminder of their night at the lake.

She let out another groan. There were so many things about that night that didn’t make sense. Why would he save the unicorn? Sure, it could’ve been to defy Baldur, but…the character he’d been playing didn’t seem like the kind to do that kind of thing. And besides—it was a living thing. Cassia kinda figured the shadow realm had a thing against them—as long as they weren’t a part of their little posse. So why? Why would he do it?

And as a matter of fact, why did he actually not not want to be with her when she “pretend” (as she liked to tell herself) flirting with him during the final battle? That was weird. For someone with such a cold and hardened heart he certainly seemed pretty open to still having her be with him. Were her seduction skills really that good?

Well, to be fair, she did seduce a giant bug. So maybe they were.

So many questions and no way to get answers. Unless…?

He’s awake. Cassia thought. You could go down there…I’m sure the guards would let us—a hero of the realm—go see him. Maybe you could get some answers. Only answers though. You don’t like him anymore, remember? He kinda tried to kill you and all your friends. Also tried to take of the world. So only answers. Nothing else.

She thought about it for a few minutes. No one other than the guards would have to know, right? Not Threep, not Loola, not Arlan or Kade…and especially not Mal. The snitch.

“Godsdammit,” Cassia groaned, looking up at the ceiling. “I can’t believe I’m this bored.”

And with that, she got up and headed toward the dungeons, against her better judgement, yes, but even if she didn’t want to admit it…

…Cassia was a horny bitch.

~~~

Aerin had been put at the lowest level of the dungeons, about four stories below ground. Why the castle need that many floors was beyond Cassia, but nonetheless, she continued her journey down. Down. Down. Down.

Aaaannnnd it turns out walking down stairs for what feels like an eternity is just as boring as standing in the middle of the corridor. Only difference is the corridor is WARM!

“Do you hear that?” Echoed a guard’s voice.

Cassia stopped in her tracks.

“Yeah. Sounds like footsteps. Probably Woodworth and Highmourn coming to relieve us early. Let’s just get going early, tonight’s my anniversary and I don’t want to have to make it up to the ol’ husband again.”

“What about the prince? Weren’t we given strict orders to not leave him alone?”

“Ack, who cares? I mean, look at him—what’s he gonna do, cry about it?”

There was a bout of hearty laughter followed by the clanking of armor. Thinking fast and remembering Mal’s trick, Cassia dodged out of the guards sight and held her breath until they passed. Once she was sure they were long gone, she sprinted the rest of the way down the stairs until she reached Aerin’s cell.

At first glance, it looked like any other cell—dark, damp, and decrepit. But when Cassia got closer, she could see the gold haze of the magical barrier keeping him in. Well, if nothing else, he should at least have a hard time getting out of that. Cassia thought, slowing down to a tip toe the closer she got.

Finally, she reached Aerin’s cell. Unsure if whether or not he was aware of her presence, Cassia just stared. He looked so small. Of course, before all of this, Cassia still had maybe a few inches on him, but then, he wasn’t absolutely helpless. He wasn’t wearing the brilliant red and gold suit he wore the whole time they knew each other, instead wearing a brown tunic and pants that looked more like poorly-stitched together potato sacks than actual clothes. Even in the dark, Cassia’s elven vision could see that he was still grey. Many of the dark veins had gone, but he was still very much corrupted by the shadow.

What do I even say to him? She thought, slipping the Gauntlet of Pain on and off her wrist. Obviously, I’m just here to get questions, so like, just ask him a question. Duh. Easy. Don’t make it awkward. It’s not like you kissed him or anything—oh wait.

“Ahem—“ Cassia started.

“—I already said, I don’t want any food, Highmourn. Now please, if both of you could shut up while I brood I would much appreciate it!”

Cassia coughed. “Sounds like somebody didn’t get their beauty sleep.”

Aerin gasped and whipped around, scowl deepening when he saw Cassia standing over him.

“What are you doing here?!” He spat, rising to his full height(which unfortunately for him, didn’t really look intimidating to Castalia). “Are you here to rub it in? To gloat? Where are all your friends? Am I just not worth their time?”

Cassia sighed and rolled her eyes.

“Calm down, Aerin. I’m not here to antagonize you—you’ve already done that enough—“

“—You just antagonized me! You lie!”

Cassia raised an eyebrow. “…And you’re a drama queen. I’m just here to ask you a few questions and I’ll be out of your hair.”

Aerin scoffed and turned his back to her. “What reason could I possibly have to answer to you? You won, Cassia. You got everything you wanted and I have nothing. Why do I have to give you anymore?”

A few seconds of silence passed. Cassia tried to deny how much that stung, but the tears that started to well up in her eyes proved otherwise.

“Fine,” she snapped, voice wavering. “I’ll only ask you one thing. Then I’ll leave you alone for the rest of your miserable life. Is that enough for you?”

Aerin’s shoulders hunched. “Only if it’ll get you to leave.”

“Alright.” Cassia’s hands balled into fists. “What happened?”

Her words echoed through the dungeon. Seconds passed where the only movement was that of the salty, salty tears rolled down Cassia’s cheeks.

Eventually, Aerin’s shoulders relaxed. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because you were my friend, Aerin. And I want to know why you could so easily go from someone sweet, kind, and compassionate to literally trying to take over the world.”

“Easy,” he spat. “I’ve been corrupted by the shadow court and had a damn good way of hiding it. Can you go now?”

Cassia sighed. “But that night at the lake…you saved that unicorn. If you had such a hatred for human life, why would you save it?”

“That’s more than one question.”

Gods, is this who he really is? Incredibly difficult?

“Fine,” she sighed. “I’ll leave. Have a nice life.”

Cassia wiped her face and turned to leave. Of course she wasn’t gonna get the answers she so desperately wanted. They were right there. What was the point of coming down there anyway?

“Wait!”

She stopped.

“I’ll tell you what happened, Cassia. But…it’s a long story.”

Cassia turned back around and saw Aerin, grasping the bars of his cell with the same vulnerable, hurt, look she remembered from the Deadwood.

She walked back over and took a seat on the ground.

“I have time.”

[starkovsnesta]

We are all just stars (that have people names)

Read on Ao3

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We have calcium in our bones, iron in our veins, carbon in our souls, and nitrogen in our brains. 93 percent stardust, with souls made of flames, we are all just stars that have people names

-Nikita Gill

Kaz has barely ever known gentleness in his whole life. He doesn't remember what having a mother or a father means, let alone the small, precious moments even he must have had too: a kind smile on his mother's mouth when he did something silly, a sweet caress on his head his father must have given him. 

He had Jordie, once. Although his brother had never been like that with him. He remembered laughter, bright smiles, even hugs. But not softness. 

Jordie was cheerful, energetic. He dreamed fiercely and loved just the same way. He didn't know how to stay quiet, thinking his life's purpose was to be as loud as one can to be heard from all around the world. But he was too naive to be greedy, and that had led to his death. 

Growing up as he did, fighting his way through the cruel world with bare teeth and splintered punches, Kaz discovered how the prerogative of gentle hands and loving eyes had just faded in front of his eyes. 

Of all the most difficult things to give up on, being loved was perhaps the one that had hurt him the most. The kid he once was found that nearly impossible. Hope is a fragile and yet stubborn thing, not letting anyone get away from its hold until it's too late. 

No matter how many terrible crimes he committed, how many people he stole from, or how many others he wounded, tortured or killed. The thought wouldn't simply leave his mind. Kaz had taken it almost as a challenge. He wanted to prove himself how much of a monster he was, and how undeserving of love he was doomed to be. 

A doom he had certainly chosen and worshipped through the years. It's not love that is going to make me a king, he thought, it's power. And yet, isn't love just another form of power over someone else? Isn't it just another ocean he could drown in? 

As much as the idea should horrify him, make him run away, it doesn't when he lays next to Inej that night. 

They're on the roof of the Crow Club, a place they have been to many times before but for different reasons, regarding more the jobs he had forced her to be part of than anything else. In those times, Kaz thought she must have hated him. He knows even now that part of him had hated himself too for what he had caused her. 

Both of their bodies lay down an old cotton blanket, facing the dark sky above them. He can feel the closeness of her, the warmth that radiates from her small body is almost intoxicating. It's like a torture to be so close to her without touching. He feels attracted towards her skin like a magnet, and despite that, they don't touch. 

They have begun this new thing too recently, and given the issues they both have, Kaz isn't sure neither of them could bear any sort of touching right now. 

But he's making an effort, for her. 

This small yet lethal girl who managed to sneak up on him without making herself be heard. This young Suli that had become a legend, the Wraith, that could scare off even the richest and most influential people of Ketterdam. The discoverer of secrets, the ghost, the daughter of darkness. 

This incredible, strong, courageous creature that, for some unknown reason, wanted him, a rotten thing the world had chewed and spitted out with disgust. 

The only part of their bodies that is connected is their hands. He doesn't wear any gloves and he can feel the soft skin of her hands. They are so small compared to his that it almost makes him laugh. He has joked on her height many times, mostly to annoy her. They both know that her stature isn't a weakness, nor something to mock, but one of her various strengths. 

Inej is watching the stars with a bright light in her face illuminated only by the moon and the weak city's street lights. 

The hand that doesn't hold his raises up at times to point at constellations she knows the story of. When she explains them to him with her calm voice, he looks at the sky trying to see what she does. But most of the times he doesn't focus very much on the words she pronounces. Hearing her voice always has a calming effect on him, and he can't help but close his eyes and relax, concentrating his energies on that soothing sound instead of their bare skin pressed together. 

She knows, of course. 

And doesn't stop, not even when he stays quiet and doesn't reply. 

Right now, they're just staring at the sky, not saying a word. 

Kaz's head jumps from one detail to another to keep himself from shuttering down. The quick breathing coming out of Inej's nose, the roughness of the blanket under them, the distant chatting and laughing coming from the Crow Club below. 

"I have always felt close to the stars" Inej breaks the silence. 

Kaz waits, letting her keep talking. But she doesn't. 

He turns to look at her, and his breath is caught in his chest. She looks absolutely devastating. Her silk hair is sprawled on the blanket, like a halo. Her skin glows under the starlight, and her lips are slightly parted, as if she's stuck in a memory right now. 

"I thought you felt connected with the sky in general" Kaz answers "because of your talents" 

"I do" her voice comes from far away "but my heart has always felt attached to the stars. I think it's because of all of the tales and legends my father used to tell me when I was younger". 

She lets out a small breath, and then slowly turns her head to face him. 

Her eyes roam around his face, observing every little detail. He feels a little self-aware, but doesn't turn away. He won't hide from her. He wants her to see him.

She finally finds a point where to fix her gaze, just above his right cheekbone.

"I liked the idea of having thousands of burning stars watching over me. Just like my Saints. Sometimes I even talked to them at night." she laughs weakly "a silly habit I got rid of only after being thrown on a suffocatingly narrow carriage. At the time, I thought I would have never seen the sky again. It only added to the despair and loneliness I was fed on. " she pauses, traveling with her eyes on him again, just to lock them on his. She is burning with rage and something else he couldn't quite comprehend. "Until you found me". 

Those words are enough to make him lose his balance. It's terrifying how she can have such power on him. 

Love is indeed another form of power, he thinks. 

For a long time, neither of them pronounces a word. The statement she's done still lingers in the air between them. The small opening Inej has given him makes Kaz feel warm. He knows they both have suffered in their pasts, and came out completely different from that pain, but he can't help but feel utter fury for the dreamful, bright girl she was. 

"Inej" he whispers. The name sounds so desperate on his lips, like she was the only anchor for his sinking heart. 

She keeps looking at him, patiently waiting. She never pushes him to speak, and he feels grateful. 

For once, he lets his own gaze linger on her graceful profile. His fingers crawl with the need to trace her delicious lines. But he's not strong enough to force himself to do it just yet. 

He clears his throat. 

"You're going to need this connection of yours for your future journeys on the sea".He says the word "journeys" in a mocking way. They both know they're going to be more like missions than simple travels.

Her enemies truly don't know what's coming to get them, and he feels a jolt of pride at the thought. 

The words make her breathe a weak laugh. "I really do". 

They stay like this for what feels like eternity. And Kaz finds that he doesn't mind. Despite the fear, the intensity of her stare or even the oddness of the situation (he bet anyone would have cracked up if hearing that the bastard of the Barrel was sharing a sweet moment in the roof with his Wraith). 

Inej brushes away some hair that falls on her cheek, pushing it away behind her ear, and he is completely mesmerized by the small movement. 

Her fingers are slim and her touch is delicate, he feels it as he intertwines them with his own, feeling brave for a second. Inej caresses his knuckles with her thumb. 

The gesture is hesitant, and way too gentle, she puts little pressure on it, scared that he would run away. 

But he doesn't. 

Not even as he feels his stomach writhe for the feeling. 

He has suffered from mortal wounds, he has been punched nearly to death, he has bled and bled. 

This one is a different kind of pain, one that he's keen to welcome. 

"I wish this moment would never end" he whispers, because she has been talking to him for the past few hours just to distract him and because she has given him a confession, he finds he could give her that. 

The reaction the words have on Inej's face are worth it.

Her eyes glow with the same light she has watched him with many times, her face softens while a smile breaks on her face. A true, sun-like smile. It's so easy to make her smile like that. It could become a vice. 

She doesn't answer with words, and he doesn't ask them. Instead, she pulls his hand and rests it on her chest, where he feels her heart beating fast as if singing the word alive, alive, alive. 

Kaz closes his eyes, smiling. 

He has never known what love is, but he knows that, despite all odds, he is ready to find out that specific secret with the precious girl that is now holding him so tight. 

[fieryanmitsu]

The Heart-Pounding Sunrise Trek of Bonding | A3! | “Take the Stage” Fanzine

I am very honoured to announce that I am one of the contributors for the recently released A3! Take the Stage Fanzine! It was such a great experience working with so many talented artists and writers! Everyone's pieces turned out AMAZING, and I would highly recommend to check out the full zine! The fanzine can be downloaded for free here!

And, now that the zine has dropped, I'm able to share my piece with you all here! This story is based on the "Campfire Bonds" event and stars Muku and Citron as the focal characters!

Please enjoy~!

THE HEART-POUNDING SUNRISE TREK OF BONDING

THEME: “Campfire Bonds” event

CHARACTERS: Muku Sakisaka, Citron, Sakuya Sakuma, Masumi Usui, Tsuzuru Minagi, Itaru Chigasaki, Tenma Sumeragi, Yuki Rurikawa, Misumi Ikaruga, Kazunari Miyoshi & Izumi Tachibana

My fanfic masterpost: Here

AO3: Link in my Blog Menu

Muku stared intensely at his phone as he checked for the umpteenth time that he had set his alarm properly. Seeing that the numbers really did read ‘3:00am’, he locked his phone and placed it beside his pillow. 

“Ugh. I swear I can still taste the tabasco in my mouth even though I brushed my teeth,” Tenma groaned as he entered the tent.

“Did anyone get a normal chocolate for the s’mores?” asked Kazunari, looking up from his phone. 

“Izumi liked hers!” Misumi chimed in.

“That’s just because she’s a crazy Currian! No one would normally like a curry-flavoured chocolate,” Yuki snapped back.

“Anyway, everyone’s here, right? I’m gonna turn off the lights,” Tenma announced. “We have to get up early tomorrow, so we should sleep now.”

A flurry of mumbled goodnights flew around the tent as their leader turned off the lamp. Before long, the air was filled with the sounds of heavy breathing and light snoring. 

However, sleep continued to elude Muku as he stared fretfully at the ceiling of the tent—his brain whirring with his anxieties. Though the Summer Troupe’s first two plays had gone well, deep down, Muku felt that he had barely squeaked by with his performances. He knew that he was still the weakest link, and was terrified of dragging everyone else down. 

Just once, Muku wished he could give back to the ones who continually helped him so much. But, he didn’t even have any special skills—like Yuki or Kazunari—that he could put to use for the Summer Troupe or the Mankai Company. 

So, when Izumi had first announced this training camp, Muku had immediately volunteered to be one of the organizers, even though he had never taken on such a role before. At the time, it had seemed like the perfect opportunity to prove himself and be helpful to the others. Surely, even someone as untalented as him could manage to do this much.

Inspired by a scene out of a shoujo manga, Muku had manically researched to formulate a grand plan. First, they would strengthen their bonds as they hiked side-by-side through bountiful nature. Then, they would share a heart-racing special moment together as the rising sun etched its image into their memories. Plus, with the fresh mountain air, he was sure they would get more mileage out of their vocal exercises. 

However, when they had gathered to discuss the itinerary, his excitement had quickly been extinguished when his plan had been met with unenthusiastic faces. Some of the Company members hadn’t seemed interested in witnessing the sunrise, and many others had groaned about the early start time. 

After the meeting, Citron had clapped him on the shoulders, looked him in the eyes with a mysterious, all-knowing smile and said: “Do not worry, Muku! Your idea is most wonderful! Everyone will be super duper happy when they see the sun grating them! I will make sure of it—trust me!”

Though his brain continued to worry and fret, Muku clung to the words and reassuring grin that the Zahran man had given him that day and allowed the darkness to finally lull him to sleep…

The next morning, with much struggle—along with Citron banging some pots and pans together—the two organizers managed to wake up their fellow troupe members and line them up outside of their tents. Though, they may as well have still been laying in their sleeping bags. Masumi was draped on top of Tsuzuru’s back, fast asleep. Itaru was crouched on the ground, muttering to himself with a half-dead expression on his face. Even the ever-chipper Kazunari had his chin propped on Misumi’s shoulder, both of them nodding off despite being on their feet.

Citron came to stand beside Muku and nudged him gently. With a gulp, the pink-haired boy mustered all of his courage and stood up as straight and tall as he could manage.

“G-Good morning, everyone! Thanks for waking up so early to join us for the first item on our itinerary today: the ‘Heart-Pounding Sunrise Trek of Bonding!’” Muku announced. “I know that it’s silly to want to follow someone who’s more annoying than the itchiest bite from a mosquito that arrived earlier than the usual mosquito season—”

“Muku, literally no one said that,” Yuki interrupted with a sigh. “Just lead the way.”

“O-Oh right! S-Sorry!” Muku responded, snapping out of his rant. “P-please follow me and watch your step!”

As Muku led the way to the forest trail, with the others shuffling groggily behind him, he couldn’t help but cringe as he heard someone yawn loudly and another person let out a groan.

“Ugh, this sucks…” 

“Masumi, stop it! The Director wouldn’t be happy to hear you say that,” Sakuya protested in a hushed tone. “Look! She’s enjoying herself, so you should copy her.”

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, after all… Muku thought to himself, worrying at his bottom lip.

“Muku, why don’t you tell everyone about the path?” Citron suddenly said from behind him. “Did you not do lots of the research?”

“Really, Mukkun?” Kazunari asked, perking up and looking more awake than earlier. 

“O-Oh, yes! Apparently, this path dates back to the Sengoku era. Monks used it as part of a pilgrimage route and this campsite actually used to be an aesthetic training ground,” Muku explained.

“That’s actually really cool,” Tsuzuru remarked. “Who knew that there was so much history in a place like this!”

“Ah! That signpost there marks the quarter-way point! We can take a quick rest here!” Muku explained, noticing that they had lost a few members. 

“I-I can’t go on…” Itaru wheezed as he finally caught up to the others several minutes later.

“C’mon Itaru, we’re almost there! You can do it!” Izumi chirped encouragingly, passing the salaryman a bottle of water.

“It’s okay, Itaru! You will soon have your senses delighted by a surprise up ahead! Tell them about it, Muku,” Citron implored.

“Y-Yes! Ummm… Just down this path is a beautiful waterfall that the monks used as part of their training,” Muku responded, taking the older man’s cue. “I… I actually purposely picked this path because it would take us by the waterfall. Legend says that, if you make a wish there, your deepest desires will come true! So, I thought that you would really like to see that, Itaru! Maybe it’ll help with your next gacha pull in your games!!”

“Seriously? Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.”

Muku felt his heart flutter as the others started chattering excitedly about what wishes they would make. With this renewed vigour, their group continued on their hike, making a stop at the wish-granting waterfall on the way. 

Then, almost an hour after they had left their campsite, Muku spotted the sign marking their final destination.

“We’re here, everyone!”

There was a collective sigh of relief as the members of the Mankai Company cleared the last steps and planted their feet on the plateau. However, their mutters quickly died in their throats as they came face-to-face with the view before them. A forest of trees spread out endlessly ahead, surrounded on both sides by jagged cliffs. The sun peeked above the horizon of the valley and the sky was dyed a gorgeous blend of soft oranges, pinks and straggling blues.

“Amazing!” Sakuya breathed softly. “This is beautiful, Muku!”

“Beautiful doesn’t even begin to describe it!!” Kazunari added, immediately taking out his phone.

“You did good, Muku. Here’s a triangle!” Misumi said with a smile, handing the pink-haired boy a smooth and shiny triangular-shaped rock.

“Yeah… It made waking up worth it,” Masumi murmured, showing a rare smile.

“This was great, Muku. Thanks for planning this for us,” Tenma said, punching him lightly in the arm.

“Yeah, seriously! I’m so glad that someone was able to plan a normal activity for this training camp. Unlike a certain someone’s crazy ‘Russian Roulette S’mores’ idea,” Tsuzuru said with a sigh, throwing a baleful glare at Citron.

“Oh, Tsuzuru! You wound me! I put so much thought into making an unforgiveable event for everyone!”

“I think you mean ‘unforgettable’,” Itaru piped in.

“Look here, it’s not ‘Russian Roulette’ if all of the options are weird!” Tsuzuru exclaimed in exasperation.

“No kidding! I can’t believe I had to eat that awful wasabi chocolate because of you! I thought my mouth was on fire!” Yuki added, jabbing a finger into Citron’s chest angrily. “You’re lucky this sunrise made up for that atrocious game!”

As Citron dramatically crumpled to the ground from Yuki’s attack, a hand clutched over his heart, he turned his head towards Muku and shot him a wink.

At that moment, Muku felt a rush of warmth surge out of his chest and envelope the rest of his body. As he suppressed the tears prickling behind his eyes, Muku thought that he could now truly understand the meaning behind all of those times his shojo manga had compared someone’s smile to the brightness of the sun.

Writing this story was such a fun challenge for me! I had to work with a word count restriction, but I also wanted to make sure I somehow included every other character from the event — so it was definitely a juggling act, haha! It was also my first time writing about both Muku and Citron, so that was a new challenge in itself. Especially since I wanted to make sure I did two of my favourite characters justice!! In the end, I'm really happy I had the opportunity to write this and am so thankful that I was able to be part of this zine! Again, do check out the full zine if you have a chance!|

As always, thank you for reading and feel free to leave a comment if you have any thoughts!! Any reblogs are always appreciated!!

-Anmitsu

[thewickling]

winding moonrise - trouble

winding moonrise master post

[Context: Set before thirteen years in their last year of college.]

Lan Wangji's cheer shocks his shufu and xiong.

One imagines Lan Wangji's smile like a crack in a sheet of ice. A fractureline that is so faint one would barely notice it. That to call it lips upturned would be an exaggeration. Many of his pack believe this.

Yet it sweeps across him like sunlight touching the first growth of spring through melting snow. Touching his fold his arms to his head, he thanks Lan Qiren. His voice rings determined and sincere.

Lan Qiren hates iron for not becoming steel. He loaths that nephew has be dug up by a pig. He still thinks 'Wei Ying is a bane' on his spotless teaching career. A part of him grimaces at the thought that they could have met younger. Not a single cell of his rejoices in his decision, yet Lan Wangji's soft joyous expression gives him pause.

Dragged by the neck, Lan Qiren's xiong announces in his ear, "I've met her, my moon."

His xiong's arms trembled with the emotions that he can't contain. His timbre turned to lilts as he described her. He sang with elation.

The memory sharply contrasts the devastation and bowed head when he breathlessly voiced that she's killed their shifu. The resolution and sobriety with which he declared their marriage still sends Lan Qiren's blood boiling. Whatever hesitation catches him is annihilated.

An acridic taste invades his sense with its unwanted familiarity. Between the moon-blessed, fate does not promise happiness. He curses the moon for guiding his nephew to... He does not have a word for the various ways in which he disproves of Wei Wuxian.

Lan Wangji finally straightens as if the weight of his gratitude held him in place. He shifts and turns to bow to Lan Xichen. He repeats his thanks.

Lan Xichen ponders the last time he saw this sight. He bites his lip, recalling his di grinning on his mother's lap. It clashes with Lan Wangji's kneeling figure outside her detached house. That tiny voice inquiring is engraved in his heart: "Has she returned?"

He lowers his head.

Lan Wangji keeps his earnest posture. He acts from the pack manners carved in his bones. Inwardly, he races through the woods, howling.

His bowed figure burns into Lan Qiren's irises. Only tradition keeps him from looking away. He does not deserve or want his cherished nephew's heartfelt gradtitude. He questions if his xiong's ghost pried his begrudging consent from his throat.

Lan Wangji pleaded his case every day until he was prohibited. Then, he dug up half-forgotten traditions so that he could petition once each fornight. The numbers soared over a hundred times.

Some of their clan believed Lan Wangji's preseverance wore down Lan Qiren's ivory tower. Others suspected that Lan Xichen, who had this point inherited his duties in all but name, had said he would approve, giving the most esteemed elder of theirs no choice but to accept unless he wanted to be the first to come into conflict with the head of pack's first formal decree. Many of the Lans shared these thoughts but these were never spoken as gossip is barred.

The approval is both shocking and unsurprising. After all, a wolf meeting their moon is auspicious. It is the thing of legends. It is a blessing from the moon herself. In all of Lan's history, a moon-blessed pairing is only delayed never denied.

The elders ready red-envelopes. The more excitable ones quietly pass on suggestions. Celebration is in the air.

The atmospheric change flis over Lan Wangji's head. One of the Twin Jades of the Lan is not careless but a glance tells everyone his mind holds than any action he currently does. His daily practice croons sweeter. His manners contain extra consideration. His steps glide with excitment.

Considering the possible location and time and environment for the thousandth time, Lan Wangji thinks, Wei Ying wouldn't care.

Even if he shared his secret in the worst of conditions, but he cannot imagine that Wei Wuxian is unkind even is worst of moods, he trusts that if Wei Wuxian does not return his affections (not that Wei Wuxian has any obligation to return it, though with every breath of his life he hopes his moon will shine on him) that his secret is as safe with his moon is it is with him. Wei Wuxian might not care, but Lan Wangji does. He wants it to be perfect.

Perfection is a fool's errand.

What a better cause to be a fool than love?

Lan Qiren taught him restraint. Every lesson cautioned aganist giving in to unbridled emotion. That such a careless action is a threat him and the pack.

Lan Wangji read Confucian, stuided Daoism, and reflected on the eight-fold path. He knows the boundary. He does not expect his affections to be returned.

He also isn't bitter for how long it took to gain his pack's consent. It allowed him to grow close to Wei Wuxian. He recalls his thoughts when he first saw his moon: He looks like trouble.

The thought swelled when Wei Wuxian's scent first hit him: He smells like trouble.

A gust sweeping across a lake. A clarity and freshness that purified the sterile and musky scent of dorms. Yet rather than calming it triggered every alarm in his body.

His limbs locked in place. His heart thumped like it wanted to punch through his chest. His lungs released all their air.

Never had he felt more helpless. His eyes traced Wei Wuxian's figure. He engraved the mirthful, smiling, and handsome teen in his heart. Landing on the glass bottle in Wei Wuxian's hands, the conduct etched in his bones took over.

Grabbing Wei Wuxian's wrist, he stated, "Alcohol is banned in the dorms."

"Ge," Wei Wuxian said, wide-eyed.

His brown eyes were so bright that Lan Wangji wonders if he is sick. What else could explain why he wants to both flee that from that warming gaze and also never move again.

"Are you serious?" he laughs.

Now even his ears are overwhelmed. The timbre and tone is frustrating unfamiliar yet it comes straight of his memory. His fingers tightened to hold himself upright.

"Mnn."

"It's move in day! One of my cousins snuck into my luggage." He bowed coyly as he pleaded, "Look it isn't even open. I'll toss it out right now. You can even come with me! Ge, nobody has to know but us. It can be are little secret."

Those brown eyes peered up with him so... For the first time he understood why people wanted to melt chocolate on their tongue. Never had he been more frustrated. Principles are not principles if they bend for a breeze. He shook his head. "Rules are rules."

And Wei Wuxian literally disarmed him.

He is my moon? Lan Wangji thought, correcting stance. His reflexes honed even as his mind was in chaos. Restraining the other student again, his heart confirmed, He is trouble.

Between thoughts of the first place they met and the other firsts Wei Wuxian took, Lan Wangji considers, It was best that I waited.

It gave him time to accept his own feelings.

He settles on the park. Wei Wuxian is so clever. From the very first year, Wei Wuxian ensnared him in debate. What started as an argument carried them through the campus park in provoking discussion. He captured Lan Wangji over and over and over until it became habit long after the park stopped being a converging point between their classes for them to drift toward the park every time they crossed paths. Certainly they will continue this tradition until graduation. He wants every time they tread that path after to remind him of this confession.

The day of he presses palms tightly into his pants. His bag feels strangely heavy with Wei Wuxian's favorite spicy snack. In the crowd of students shuttling from class to class, the two fall into step as if it was explained beyond a message to meet that neither listed a place or time.

"Lan Zhan! You would never believe what Wen..."

He doesn't ignore Wei Wuxian. How could he when sun shines so enticely on Wei Wuxian's skin, bringing out warm notes that make his teeth itch and inspire him to lean down... He swallows. He counts down the steps it'd take for them to reach the groove, their favorite spot.

Ten.

Wei Wuxian's words form a piece that he never wants to stop hearing.

Nine.

His shoulders brush Lan Wangji's. The heat soaks into his skin.

Eight.

Wei Wuxian's heart stutters.

S-

The world jitters. Wei Wuxian leaps behind him. His heart gallops in his chest like a skittish horse. His fingers dig into Lan Wangji's arm.

Wei Wuxian is a handful of centimeters taller than him and they share familiar figures but with all of his ability Wei Wuxian hides behind Lan Wangji. He shifts and teeters as if noticing every exposed milimeter with dread.

All of Lan Wangji's reflexes kick in. Heat surges through his veins alongside adrenaline. The urge to shift slams him. Scanning the horizon, he analyzes, What threatened his moon?

Wei Wuxian is so brave after all. During the joint hike between their majors, he lead half of the group to leap off a waterfall. His smiled all the way down.

He assesses trees, open grass, and distant figures only to eliminate them.

"Lan Zhan! Dog!"

Lan Wangji's blood thickens, wondering how he could have missed a danger like an aggressive hound.

His attention lands on medium-sized dog, bounding toward them. A leash trails behind it, emphasizing its wagging tail.

"Save me." Wei Wuxian whispers, breathless with panic.

Confusion flushes his mind. Harsh reality chills his blood. Wei Wuxian is terrified of dogs.

He vocalizes a threat that humans' can't hear and adds a 'shoo' for safe measure.

It races off.

"Wei Ying. It's gone. You're safe." The sun shines on them but Lan Wangji might as well be in Yanluo for how freezing he is.

"Thank you! Lan Zhan!" Wei Wuxian steps out, patting Lan Wangji's shoulder. His mouth moves nervously, "My hero."

"You're the best. Dogs are the worst!" he speaks for the sake of speaking. Wei Wuxian knows it's irrational but even the smallest of dogs punches his flight reflex. When he thinks of dogs, he recalls the time one nearly took a chunk out of his face but on a level he denies their bark brings up the howl of grimey and arctic streets, their teeth of the bite of constant hunger and uncaring hands, their claws of scraped palms and hands emptied of the little food or comfort gained... "They're so scary with their teeth and claws."

Lan Wangji's blood stops. If dogs turn Wei Wuxian's scent into a tumultuous wave of polluted sewer water, what would a wolf do? For the first time, his heritage bears down on him like the curse it once was.

"Thanks for not laughing. I know it's silly but dogs and I are not met for each other or my name isn't Wei. Jiang Cheng loves them but I can't..."

"You're welcome," he says as much out of reflex as self-preservation. He is certain he is going into shock. But he can't let Wei Wuxian be mistaken. "You don't have to thank me."

"What?" Wei Wuxian quirks his head,

"You don't have to thank me or apologize." Lan Wangji's surprised he can speak but Wei Wuxian is distressed. His moon can't be under the delusion he would not sacrifice nearly everything to defend him. Or that he would want nothing more than soothe his moon even as he's certain his heart stops. "It's fine."

"Right? Why did you want to meet?" Rubbing his neck, he inquires, "Other than to show off how much of a perfect gentleman you are, anyway."

"Nothing important." He answers, reaching into his bag. He hands over the snack. His actions are stiff and heavy.

"You are the best! Did an admirer sneak it in your bag?" Wei Wuxian chatters, used to filling the space between them. Strangely, the silence is nearly unnerving, but he chalks it up to Lan Wangji processing his phobia. He spins noise into aimless words so that Lan Wangji knows that this had not changed their friendship. If anything, it is a relief for Lan Wangji to know and accept it.

Lan Wangji drinks in it, but realizes with startling clarity that the sound is just as sweet as a few minutes ago. Wei Wuxian hasn't changed. He has. That the sound he considered an upbeat, love ballad now sounds like a lamentation on lost.

After all his heart is gone, he gave it to Wei Wuxian long ago, but his moon will never shine on him.

Another epiphany strikes hims him like a lightning tribulation. That he is shouldn't be a jade of his pack. After all Lan Qiren cautioned him from birth and raised him to restrain his emotions.

He was blind to his hubris. I don't have any expectations?

The version of him that died minutes ago was truly a fool. He did not meditate enough. His understanding of principle of Confucian, the Dao, or the Buddha barely skimmed the surface.

Did he not hope or pray or wish that Wei Wuxian would love him?

No.

He wanted it like air. Now he suffocates. His throat constricts. His unwarranted expectations choke up there.

A hollow exists where his heart should be. In a utopia, Wei Wuxian would have placed his heart in Lan Wangji's care. He cannot take back his heart nor does he want to. The moon may not bless people once but he has made his choice. His love where it is rightfully where it belongs. Love is no obligation.

The fault lays in his shallow cultivation. He swore to never impose their fated-bond on Wei Wuxian. That much he barely managed. He intends to keep that oath. For the rest of his days, he will mind his position. He will hope for the honor of remaining Wei Wuxian's friend. He has to.

Wei Wuxian can't discover this. That he has fiercesome teeth. That his claws are more menacing than a dog's. That he is the kind of being that his moon despises.

He dare not exist then.

The Lan juniors being adorable part has been linked incase you need to recover from the above.

[scribeofmorpheus]

THE HIDEOUS ONE [PART 2]

SERIES MASTERPOST | Main Masterlist | AO3

Rating: Assume everything under my blog to be M for Mmmm-kay

TAGLIST IS OPEN; SEND ASK OR REBLOG

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CHAPTER TWO: T’SHANKMA

“Should I bother asking what the job is?” Mando said as he followed Fenkili to her rented mounts. She didn’t saunter, her walk demanded space—a wide berth. She carried herself with an edge, not the peacocking kind like some untrained pirate who learned to pull a trigger in a bar fight. Her edge was purposeful, honed.

A dust storm brewed on the far edge of the landscape. Maybe a day or two out from hitting the settlement. Nevertheless, Fenkili still had to pull up her face conforming mouth guard.

“A legitimate salvage,” she answered with verve.

Mando’s lips pulled up at the corners, “So, it’s theft then.”

“Think of it as reclamation of lost properties.”

Mando didn’t need to look at Fenkili to know she was smiling. She certainly had a way of making words work for her agenda. He was also relieved. Stealing meant a little distance from murder jobs, which meant less danger. It wasn’t like he only had himself to think about now.

Mando looked to his side, his mind used to having the little one in his cradle tethered behind him. His heart sank when he remembered why he was with Fenkili in the first place.

Get a tracker. Find the Child and Greef and Cara. Repay Fenkili with her heist job. And then…? Mando thought of what the future held. It was a guttural punch to the stomach when he realised he didn’t like how ambiguous it looked to his eyes. As long as The Child is safe.

Fenkili spoke to a Jawa that had been sleeping by a hitching post. She slipped him some credits and he untied the ropes on the mounts.

Fenkili hopped onto her saddle, choosing the male mount. A part of Mando knew it was because the creature’s mane complimented the vibrant dyes of her attire. She had a dramatic streak it would seem.

“That one is yours,” Fenkili said as the Jawa handed Mando the reigns. “Saberbacks are the best way to get about. Yours is a female. Be careful. They tend to be more temperamental.” She added with a lick of her lips.

Mando swallowed, thinking back to his adventure with the Blurg. He opened his palms to seem docile in the face of the female saberback’s narrowing eye-slits. She shuddered, reptilian scales opening and closing in a way that made Mando think of the Razor Crests wing flaps. The creature shook its shoulder muscles and hunkered low, as if ready to pounce.

“She likes you,” Fenkili said before yanking her reigns and yipping so her mount would start moving.

Mando’s mount purred and closed her eyes, he took that as a sign of acceptance and climbed onto the saddle.

They rode in silence—both the saberback’s and Mando and Fenkili. The terrain looked familiar, he realised they had taken an alternate route back into the canyons. In the dark, the canyons held an eeriness. It felt like a graveyard with no tombstones to mark for the dead. He didn’t notice his hand was pre-emptively resting atop his blaster.

“Relax, the canyons are quiet at night. This is the kind of planet where darkness is your friend, friend.” Fenkili said.

Mando remembered the piercing wail from earlier. “Is there something that should be feared during the day?”

“Yes,” Fenkili answered. “The planet.” After a second’s pause, she continued: “Most of the planet’s creatures are diurnal. The nights are too cold to hunt, see. So they hibernate. There’s a legend that the reason is because the planet's creatures await to see god.”

“A god?”

“A sun-eater. I’ve seen the local cave drawings of it. A hideous eye that saps from the sun. Quite the tale.”

“Hmmm,” Mando ended their conversation.

After a nights ride, when the sun peaked over a rock formation to the south, Mando and Fenkili came about a small farm. A saberback was grazing on some pasture watered by condensation drippers. A water tank was overflowing, the borehole pump still cranking on. Beneath it, several fat, flightless birds squawked under the pauper’s waterfall. The main hut was made of different infrastructure than those he’d seen. Wood and clay composite, a roof of thatch that was unnecessary since there was already a clay ceiling present. Childlike drawings decorating the clay areas. They were undoubtedly done by a child when the hut was being constructed. That thought gave Mando some ease.

Flowers and vegetation bloomed from every concealable crevice; growing out of old pilot helmets, engine piping, a creature’s skull and most alarming of all, a giant snake's intact skeleton that formed a type of fencing. A wind chime made of bird bones and junk clanked with the wind.

“What is this place?” Mando asked as he dismounted.

Fenkili removed her mouth covering and made a tongue trilling noise in place of a whistle—an intimate, tribal shout. There was no reply, but Mando guessed that was more of a knock than a call. She gestured for him to go towards the house.

“T’Shankma,” was all she said.

Mando dismounted. His saberback purred, bobbing its head. He took that as a sign to approach cautiously.

He banged on the door, lightly. The urge to draw his weapon pulled at his gut. He took a glimpse over his shoulder, Fenkili was leaning against the snake-bone fence, legs crossed and hands working a twig between her teeth. Seeing her relaxed posture, he ignored his instinct to be armed.

With a mechanical groan, the door opened and out stepped the grey-furred creature he had seen in the canyons. Now that they stood on the same ground, he noticed the creature was only a few inches taller thanks to the volume of long fur on its head.

“T’Shankma?” he asked.

Fenkili stifled a laugh.

The creature lunged. Suddenly, Mando was in combat. T’Shankma—the creature—was surprisingly light on its feet. Twisting, jumping and using its memorised layout to its advantage. Mando reached for his blaster and T’Shankma snapped a stick from the base of the thatch of the hut. It was thick enough to use as a weapon. T’Shankma knocked the blaster out of Mando’s hand. The strike from the stick hit the space of unguarded muscle on his wrist. He seethed. Mando knew it would bruise. The stick acted like an extension of T’Shankma’s would-be punches or kicks or claw slashes.

Interestingly enough, the thing about their battle that perplexed Mando was how little T’Shankma relied on vision to see. Many times, when it would strike Mando, it wouldn’t be to counter a move it saw, but a move it predicted. T’Shankma almost never looked directly at Mando when trading blows.

The animals didn’t react. Neither did Fenkili. Instead, she walked to a sproutling and plucked an orange fruit. Biting into its juicy flesh and slurping as she watched Mando go toe-to-toe with his well-matched foe. Not equal foe. Well-matched. It was the unfamiliar terrain that brought his downfall.

T’Shankma swept its stick under his legs and Mando tripped backwards. He was about to use his grappling hook to counter when T’Shankma removed the staff from the threatening position above his crotch.

Fenkili clapped and tossed Mando a fruit. T’Shankma thrust the stick into the dry ground, it stood erect like a flag-post without a flag.

“You pass,” T’Shankma signed. “Why do you seek the Hideous One?”

Mando was thrown off by T’Shankma’s use of the third person. More so by the fact the creature could sign. There was something…off about T’Shankma. Its appearance didn’t match its fluid movements. And the place it called home was a stark contrast to what Mando had imagined a creature like it to live in.

Mando grunted, feeling winded. He wound his rotator cuff until the joint popped. Then, he signed in reply: “I need a tracker.”

T’Shankma offered its hand, padded paws joined to blunt claws that looked more like a glove than a hand from the sagging palms. Mando shook it.

[bruciewayne]

5 minutes

stevetony post-avengers, 2012 era, getting together, fluff, 2.2k

for ‘steve rogers’ on @iron-man-bingo​

--

At first, Tony didn’t know what to think of Steve Rogers. Actually, that’s a bald-faced lie. He knew exactly what to think of him; arrogant, pigheaded, stubborn, and of course, nothing like the stories. At all. But apparently, he’s been under the influence of Loki’s sceptre (yeah, that guy from Norse mythology who fucked a horse (Tony’d went on a week-long wiki-venture in the middle of writing his thesis. It’d been a tough time.)), so it didn’t count, he’d apologised after.

They did say ‘never meet your heroes’ after all. 

When he was younger, he was so sure that if he ever got to meet Captain America he’d hug him, thank him for his service. When he grew up, he promised himself that if they ever found him, he would deck his probably-perfect teeth. Adult-Tony does neither.

Adult-Tony keeps his distance. He so badly wants to punch him, because of everything his father said, but he feels as though he should wait until he has actual, reasonable grounds to punch him, things he’s done, not what his father did. The fact that his face would most likely break his hand also factors into his decision of simply shaking his hand when they part ways.

They’ve had a couple of small, quiet moments, mostly amidst battle, that make Tony think that maybe he’s not an asshole, and maybe he could get to know him, but at the end of the day, Tony really doesn’t know what to think of him, he’s good in the field, he’s a good leader, but outside of that, he doesn’t really know him. At all. 

Thanks to dear old Nick, that changes, fast.

Well, about half a year after New York, maybe a month after his whole Mandarin/Killian. He spends the time ‘bettering himself’ and getting on and out and back in and then permanently out of a relationship with Pepper. On one hand, he hasn’t been all too productive (making, then destroying dozens of suits cancels each other out, really), on the other, it makes him a prime target for Fury to shoot at.

“You told me the Initiative was scrapped,” Tony says. He can’t believe he actually went to SHIELD for this. He, by choice (like, 21% choice) went into SHIELD HQ, to talk to their resident pirate. About letting five strangers move into his tower. 

“You assumed the Initiative was scrapped, assumptions just make an ass of you and me, Stark, you know that,” Fury says, evenly, “you have the space and the funds. Stark, you know that something like Loki is going to happen again, the best way to prepare for that is like this, all of you under one roof, learning to become a team.”

“Your little boyband saved New York, once, by the skin of our teeth, and now you want us to protect the word.”

“Your boyband, and you lot aren’t the only people in my phonebook. Look, all I want is for you to become a team, for the future,” Fury pushes a manila folder to Tony across the desk.

The Avenger’s Initiative

“Fine. You owe me,” Tony concedes, leaving the room. He doesn’t take the file.

Within a week, he has two more assassins under his roof, with the next he has another scientist (a biologist). It’s awkward, for a bit, everyone staying in their own corners, so to speak, until Agent Bart-- Hawke-- Clint proposes weekly movie nights (Tony just thinks that he wants an excuse to watch movies (they’re going to be very good friends)) and much of the awkwardness dissipates.

It’s fascinating really, they know each other so well on the field, they work seamlessly together, but put in a civvie, normal, situation, and now no one knows where to sit, but the movie night thing helps and everything just clicks. Tony thinks he has friends now.

Except there’s something, someone, missing.

He doesn’t even know why he wants him here so much, it’s not like they got super close or anything,the four of them click, and based on what Clint says, Thor would slip right in and he’d barely be here anyway (which is a shame, because Tony really wants to get his hands on that hammer), but none of them know their captain at all and Tony can’t help but look at the four of them and think there’s something missing.

“The god and the legend too good for us?” Tony asks Natasha one morning. She’s the most open and vulnerable she’s been ever since she started living here, maybe a month ago; she has messy hair and she’s wearing a hoodie at least two sizes too big. It might be Clint’s. Tony’s not going to think about it too much. (And if he wasn’t in fear of attack-via-butter-knife, he would call her cute.) Anyway, he’s asking her because she’s the one reporting to Fury at the end of every week, and out of her and Clint, she’s more likely to tell him something (Currently, Clint’s giving him the silent treatment for putting purple dye in his shampoo (he drew over Dum-E with glitter glue (He’ll never admit it but Dum-E likes it))).

She gives him a look he doesn’t really want to decode. “Thor’s dealing with his own stuff, off-world, and Rogers is still at SHIELD.”

Tony gives her a disbelieving look, surely the team captain should be with them, and not in a cinderblock room eating crappy food (Tony’s been to SHIELD HQ exactly once in his life and never in the residential areas or the cafeteria (In his defence, he’s not too far off)). 

Looks like he’s going to be getting another stamp on his SHIELD loyalty card.

It doesn’t take much to find out where Rogers is, a little hacking tells him his apartment details and a little more gives his security camera access. Rogers is pitifully predictable, Tony watches what he did in the past week, cutting between days and decides he needs saving. 

All he does is go to ‘class’ (some guy explaining something, probably everything that happened in the past 70 years, while he takes notes. Captain America takes handwritten notes. (He should mention that he has godawful handwriting (Maybe Tony enhanced the image out of curiosity, but only JARVIS knows that and he’s well aware of the national ‘no snitching’ policy), he should also mention that he’s a doodler. Tony’s far happier than maybe he should be to find that he has a flaw - not so perfect now, huh Dad?)) and the gym (maybe he’s untouchable but damn Tony really wants to touch those muscles) and that’s it. He also leaves for hours at a time, only at night, and Tony could probably find where he goes, but SHIELD most definitely already does, and he thinks the guy deserves a little privacy from him (He leaves when the sun sets and comes back when it rises and looks the exact same. Not particularly suspicious until you realise that it means that he doesn’t sleep. Not Tony’s problem - he probably has therapists anyway.). He’s going through the motions, head down, quiet, Tony doesn’t think that he’s seen him smile the entire week.

JARVIS tells him that the sun sets in just under 20 minutes. He takes the suit.

“Going anywhere?”

“What the-- Mr. Stark?”

Tony’s always enjoyed the dramatics. He steps out of the shadows, still in the suit but with the helmet off, to face Rogers, legs straddling motorbike.

“Eh, call me Tony,” he says, casually leaning against a concrete pillar. God, the SHIELD garage is depressing. SHIELD is depressing.

Rogers still looks confused. And ready to book it straight out. “Anything I can do for you?” 

“Come live with me.” Tony’s been told that statements usually make people do what he wants, instead of questions, and this statement is to a living legend, the Great American Hero. Telling him to live with him.

Rogers looks even more confused, “I already have a place?” He says, like even he’s not too sure.

“Fury didn’t tell you? Everyone has to live in Stark, well, Avenger’s now, Tower. For team bonding or something. In all honesty, I think he just wanted to get Legolas off his back, so to speak.” When in doubt, talk.

“Legolas?” Rogers still looks confused, but under it, there’s excitement, or proudness, or something, like he’s trying to tamp it down.

“Yeah, archer from Lord of the Rings, sequel--”

“To The Hobbit!” 

Tony expected many things from him, straight up refusal was one of them, but not excitement at the Hobbit. If he couldn’t easily throw Tony a city block, he might have called him cute. (Whatever, he’s goddamn adorable, okay?)

“Yeah, kid,” he says, voice softening of it’s own volition. He clears his throat before he says anything more.

Rogers smiles at him, small and shy, and fiddles with something on his bike. “Were you, were you serious?” He looks at Tony likes he’s expecting him to pull the rug, yell ‘Sike!’ and fly away cackling.

“Yeah, you were meant to be there since the beginning,” Tony wishes that he has that file, from so many weeks ago, just to prove to him, ‘Look, you’re meant to be with us’. Fuck, a couple months ago he was ready and willing to punch this guy in the face and now he wants to wrap him in a million blankets and make him marathon the extended versions of the Tolkien-verse movies until he’s happy.

He’s going to be having words with Fury.

“Oh,” he says, like he never really considered that, “when can I move in?”

“Now’s always good,” Tony replies, challenging him with a raised eyebrow - ‘now’ means breaking out of SHIELD, ‘now’ means no more lectures from SHIELD personnel.

Rogers brightens up, it’s not much, but a 0.2V lamp in a basement seems like a quasar. (And if it makes Tony himself happy, to see him like this, well, no one has to know.)

“Let me get my stuff,” he swings off the bike and that should not be as attractive as it is. Bikers never really interested Tony, but there’s something about this one in front of him.

Tony comes with him, still in the suit, because he has to see his cinderblock in real life - hopefully the camera made it worse?

The camera did not make it worse. It takes him under five minutes to pack, and everything can fit in a standard backpack.

By the time they get back to the garage, Tony learns a couple things: 1. He knows what the internet is, and enjoys it, 2. The lessons are going incredibly slowly and he watched some Youtube videos and went on Wikipedia and already knows everything they’re telling him (they’re at the 70s and they skipped the formation of Queen), and finally, Steve Rogers, not Captain America, because in that short five minute walk he’s learnt so much about the man behind the mask he’s determined to never let him be forced behind it again, Steve Rogers is a nerd, a geek and a little shit.

And lonely. So fucking lonely. They pass so many people, walk straight through the canteen, twice, and while, yes, they get some double-takes (mostly baby agents (they’ll grow out of it)), no one says hi, or waves, or greets them or anything, even the guy who Tony recognises as Steve’s ‘teacher’ doesn’t say anything when they pass by in front of him.  

He’s entirely untouchable, a living legend, Tony gets that, hell, even though that ten minutes ago, but under all that, under the fanfare and the applause and the costume, he’s a person, curious, bright, intelligent, funny, flawed. He wishes more people knew that.

“So, how fast can that new-fangled suit of yours go, Mr. Stark?” Steve asks putting on an ‘old Brooklyn’ accent and tilting his head and scanning it up and down as he straddles the bike again, bag on his shoulders.

“Fast enough,” Tony replies narrowing his eyes.

He grins. Bright and unabashed and it’s wonderful, but Tony only gets to see a second of it because he’s whipping out of the garage, yelling “Race you,” over his shoulder.

Tony’s laughing as he engages the suit, snapping up the helmet and following hot on his heels.

(They tie (4. Steve Rogers drives like a madman), shaking on a rematch.)

((It’s the happiest Steve’s been in the new century, in his life.))

It takes them a while. It takes them so fucking long even the new baby (practically foetus) agents are done with their shit. 

It takes years of longing looks and brushed hands and secret smiles and quiet nights and flirty one liners and compliments, but eventually, eventually, Tony admits to the torrent of butterflies that inhabit his insides whenever he even looks at Steve and he kisses him, grinning so goddamn bright Tony’s positive his heart is going to burst.

“You gave me a home,” Steve admits quietly to him. Tony can’t see his face like this, in his arms, but he can kiss the side of his neck, hopefully communicating more than he ever could with words. Steve gets it. 

“You make me happy,” Tony says, simply, into his skin, holding tighter.

(They tie the knot three years after that (the baby-- toddler agents yell Mrs. Rogers to Tony and Mr. Stark to Steve for a month straight (Tony doesn’t think too hard about the implications)))

((It’s the happiest Tony’s been in his life.))

--

iron man bingo masterpost

ao3: ineffablestarkrogers

[starfaring-princelotor]

The Prison Kingdom

Chapter 2: To Create A Name

-

Summary: With new companions comes new information you were unaware of before.

Warnings: Mentions of suicide and blood.

★ Disclaimer: I do not ship Lotura and I respectfully ask that this story to not be tagged as Lotura. This is a Lotor x Reader/Self-Insert OC story which is in no way related to Lotura at all. Please be respectful of my chosen pairing. ★

A/N: Click here to learn more about fairies.

1 . 2 .

-

“I didn’t know pirates can read.”

“Aye, fancy that, eh? Learn something new with every rising sun,” you closed your book then fully turned your attention to the man leering over your shoulder, “I didn’t know that incubus’ can be nosy, little whelps, and yet, here we are, mate.”

Lance, he said his name was. Young faced with an offended scrunched up frown because of your comment, he seemed fresh to the battles of blades. And of insults. Rule number one when growing up under the honorable tutelage of your aged seafarer captain: whatever you do, do it well. May he rest in peace, the poor fool who took a cannonball to the gut. 

“Hey! I’m not nosy!” came his witty reply, accompanied by a muttered grumble.

You took that as his white flag.

“Pirate.” 

“Aye, capitain?”

Shiro said nothing else, only gave you that good old “stop picking on the soldiers” look. You shrugged in response. He stated that he needed to stop by his neighboring guilds and request assistance from a few specific set of people. And thus, along with you and a few others who gathered at Altea, Shiro created a small group of warriors for this expedition. 

There was Ulaz, a powerful necromancer who channeled spirit energy from the dead to do his bidding. Attractive mercenary with those glowing eyes and pointed ears, leader of the Blue Tail Guild. Then that one golem from the deep mountains, what was her name? Shay of the Yellow Eyes faction? Those fancy jewels embedded in her rocky exterior were tempting, but you were sure she could pack a punch if you tried to use your five-finger discount. And, last but not least, a dryad ghost who calls himself Rolo, belonging to the Green Claw Guild. His skills with traveling between planes of existence at ease would be most useful for scouting. 

Right now, the only one left was meant to be meeting at this farm on the outskirts of a small, unnamed village. Someone from the Red Teeth Guild, supposedly the one King Alfor led until his untimely demise. Her name was Hira, one of the Alteans who was tasked with defending the royal family. Keyword: was. She gave up that title and dedicated her life to hunting monsters with vengeance, more importantly the dragon that razed Altea to the ground. Though she lacked the magical abilities passed down by her ancestors, she made up for it in pure strength as a berserker. 

“- He is ready, Shiro. I have seen the boy fight alongside Lance, they both would make worthy comrades in battle.”

You could sense the pride and ushering tone in, who you assumed, was Hira. Off in the distance, the two boys mentioned were tending to a bull peacefully. Out here, it was easy to fall into the dull sense of a domestic life. A farm, crops to harvest, animals to feed. Making pasteurized cheese from only the freshest of milk. A humble existence, not one meant for the explorative type of people. Much too docile, too vulnerable.

“No, Hira. They are just boys. If we were hunting wild boars, yes, I would bring both Keith and Lance along, but this mission is too dangerous for the inexperienced,” Shiro argued, voice muffled behind the bales of hay, “I’m not putting their blood on my hands. Are you willing to?”

A pregnant pause, only to be interrupted by the peppered clucks of chickens nearby.

“Altea needs soldiers, Shiro.”

“Children are not soldiers, Hira. I’m done discussing this. Are you with us or not?”

“Fine. But keep your Galra scum on a leash. This war still isn’t over and I won’t forget what happened a decade ago,” she spat with spite lacing each syllable in her words, “His kind shouldn’t even be joining this party.”

“No one would forget, but his skills are invaluable if we’re going after a dragon that uses quintessence as an energy source. Our mission is to kill it so a repeat of the past doesn’t happen. Do you understand?”

Part of you wanted to say you didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Really, you didn’t, it was just convenient that your hearing was much more enhanced than the average being. And, judging by the pupiless stare of Ulaz, you knew he heard them, too. That slightest, almost barely noticeable twitch in his ears gave him away. 

“That bull is going to charge them. Watch,” Rolo informed, also watching the spectacle of Keith and Lance’s shenanigans.

As if able to predict the future, Keith must’ve patted the animal a little too hard, which irritated the beast. He started hoofing the grass, gave one loud baying screech, before shoving both of them away in a disgruntled thrash. Don’t run, you thought, but it was instinct to flee when something once neutral becomes aggressive. Pity that Keith fellow was wearing red, though. 

“Useful trick ye got there. Ever thought about trying yer hand as a fortune teller? Could swindle a few fish for quite a bit o’ gold,” you chuckled, recalling the time you did such a thing yourself. 

“Huh. Wonder if Nyma would be up for that gimmick after this hunt.”

“This hunt...it is such a small group. Can we really fight a dragon?” Shay’s inquisitive voice openly asked, “I have heard rumors and stories of such feats only being accomplished by massive armies, yet we are of only 10 bodies.”

“We are not going to kill a dragon. Shiro needs us to find it first before requesting for support from Altea. Perhaps the kingdom’s allies can send reinforcements as well.” Ulaz spoke of Shiro as an old friend, an old comrade in arms, and oddly enough, that fact was reassuring, “We can not trek through enemy territory with siege weapons and cannons. Not yet.”

Not until we know what we are going against. 

“Can you build, pirate?”

“Can a shark bite?” you immediately retorted, but judging by the blank look on his face, he didn’t understand the reference, “Aye, aye, I can build. Bless me with a keg o’ gunpowder and I’ll gift ye bombs strong enough to take out me other leg.” 

Shay giggled, Rolo smiled, and even Ulaz found the dark joke a little humorous. 

-

There was something stifling about traveling by foot through the thicket of the woods. You would take the open sea and the ship over mangled trees and looming leaves any day. Rolo, however, was in his element. It seemed like the vines were reaching towards him to give an odd embrace from the trees themselves. Was it just you or did that trunk have a face carved out in it? Perhaps you’ve been spending too much time reading that book of yours. 

[Not every spirit is malicious. Some belong to those children who ventured too far, unguarded and blind to the dangers lurking deep within. Be careful if you hear echoed giggling of the young. Faes are master tricksters. Under no circumstance should you ever answer their question, lest you wish to be swept up and vanished into thin air. Avoid rings of mushrooms at all cost.]

Below was a quickly drawn image of cap mushrooms formed in a circle. There seemed to be a child-like figure with butterfly wings attached on its back. You came to realize then, while sitting around the campfire and partaking your turn for watch, that the creatures of the land vastly differ than those of the sea. You expected this, of course, but something in the back of your head had one question buzzing in your skull: how far could you flee if you came across such beasts?

Shuffling off to the side alerted you of Shay awakening. Slowly, she emerged from her tent as the fire danced, making those gems glimmer even more beautifully in the night. 

“Are you well, p-pirate?” she asked albeit hesitantly stuttering on the title.

With a nod of confirmation, you shut your book quietly just as she took a seat across from you. She seemed to be lost in thought, curious even, and it amused you greatly to see her glance away when you caught her stare. Then, her gaze stayed locked on the very interesting rock by your wooden leg. 

“Lass, does this ol’ thing give you the willies?” you tapped your leg, already quite used to not feeling anything come from the action, “It t’aint rigged with explosives, ye can trust me word on that.”

Now, she quickly snapped her wide eyes up at you, “No, no, not at all! I mean, it’s a little...I have seen such things before. But that is not why I was - forgive me - for staring.”

“Eh?”

“Your name. The captain calls you ‘pirate’ and you were introduced to us as so. I have never met someone who doesn’t have a name,” Shay rubbed her hands together unsurely, wondering if her question came out too personal, “ I - does it bother...do you have a name that you wish to be called instead?”

Cute and utterly kind by a default. You liked that about her.

“Would ye like to hear a story, mate? A story of the Name-Stealing witch of the sea?”

At that, her attention was completely enraptured by the flourish wave of your hand and the quill you pulled from your coat sleeve like magic. If there was one thing you enjoyed more than crafting bombs, it would be telling stories embellished in exciting lore and haunting truths. Or lies. That was left to be decided by the listeners. 

“Aye, among those who were unfortunately marooned on desolate islands, legends say that the nights following an empty sky, there be but a single bottle floating to the shore. No matter where, it always held a single piece of parchment and quill. You nay see her on the bank, or hear her whisper, but some say she stands afloat as a speck on the horizon. And some say...she will grant ye solace if ye but write yer name on that there paper.”

You now pulled out a rolled-up sheet from your other sleeve, earning a gasp of surprise from your audience. Well, your one audience.

“I came across her one fateful night. There’s a rule among us pirate folk: those who fall behind are left behind. Ye carry yer own weight to survive out there and me weight was just a little too heavy,” cue you knocking on your wooden leg, “I was starved and alone with nothing but me ‘n me pistol. Good ol’ trusty Kretch. Once the taste of sand could no longer sustain me, nor the grass, nor the leaves of the palms, I had to decide if I wanted a quick death to be my end.”

Concern. Of course she was concerned to hear those dreadfully haunting words. 

“But she came to me one night, offering me nothing but a bottle. I told meself, if there were a chance to live, I’d take it without thought. And I did. I wrote me name, but oh, what a fool I was. There I lay, death washing upon the shore, and she came to me. She took it with a kiss, so I may never speak it again. She took that parchment so I may never write it again. And when I woke on a different bank, and when those kind souls helped poor little ol’ me, and when they asked who I was…”

You crumpled the paper then immediately tossed it into the fire, the blaze quickly sparking a green flame in a show of bedazzlement.

“...I couldn’t remember it.”

At the end, Shay was practically sitting on the edge of her log with wide-eyed awe. Couldn’t remember your own name? The very idea seemed appalling and completely impossible. Not even magic can do that...right? 

“But why? What could a sea witch want with a name? Was she born without one and chose to steal names, collect them, to satisfy her own cruel jealousy? Or was she searching for hers? She may still be out there yet, Shay, ready to make a deal with those desperate enough to survive. Perhaps she even haunts those in the forests or the caves…”

“No! I want to keep my name, I - “ she shook her head to get the jitters out, clearly displeased with the thought of losing something so important, “Can you get it back? Your name?”

“Many have tried, but all have failed or perished in the pursuit,” you paused, letting a slow, sneaky grin spread on your lips, “Unless...ye have more than one name to go by.”

“More than one?”

“Aye. That’s why ‘tis important to make a name fer yerself. And that’s why Shiro calls me pirate, fer me own safety, eh? Not even she can steal a title like that.”

“Can...stealing a name kill someone? Do you think she can kill a dragon if she took its name?” Shay questioned more for herself than for you, “It’s scary to think about…”

“Ah, but then ask yerself, do ye want t’forget the dragon? Pain is the world’s cruelest teacher, but I cannot imagine waking one day and not remembering how me family died by the dragon’s fire,” you explained before tilting your head in thought, “Were ye there, lass? When the dragon attacked?”

She shook her head no, “I wasn’t, but my people helped with saving the injured who were buried under the wreckage. Many were worried about the royal families and of the prince and princess as well.” 

Now it was your turn to lean in, intent on catching every word she shared.

“It is tragic that Queen Mellanor passed at Allura’s birth. Even more that her father was killed by the ally he trusted. We weren’t able to find Prince Lotor nor Emperor Zarkon, assuming they had fled as soon as the attack had started. It was horrible, hearing the survivors share their woes. I wish it hadn’t happened. Even a few Galra citizens living in Altea were affected, but…”

Here, she began fidgeting with her hands nervously then lowered her voice down a pitch as if the forest have ears of their own.

“When we uncovered Galra citizens, they were herded off into the castle...and they never came out.”

Somehow, Shay’s story was much more frightening than yours. Not only because you believe her, but you also believe that the fate of those Galra was likely leading to an unhappy ending. 

“I think - “

A rustle, one against the wind, and your head snapped in the direction of the noise. 

“Shh - wait, I hear - “ and before you could finish your sentence, a blunt force punched you in the face, sending you flying off your seat to knock into an allies tent. 

You heard Shay let out a yell, a battle cry and a way to warn everyone that an intruder was here. A cacophony of noises rose in volume, people scrambling to attack a wisping shadow in failure, for the punches came too quick and too powerful. A whirlwind of purple light trailed by each landed blow and, tried as you might, every shot from your pistol did nothing against the flurry of that damn bludgeoning weapon. 

“Rise!” Ulaz shouted and, instantly, a cooling spell fell over you, releasing you from the bruising pain of your crushed rib. 

You owe him a drink for that one. 

“Form up on me! Shields up!” Shiro ordered, equipping his own shield to cover his front, but it was already too late. 

By the time the chaos settled and the dust came down, the attacker had Hira’s throat in a deadly grasp while holding her body up in the air. Metal claws were cutting into her skin, drawing a line of blood, just to emphasize how serious she is close to dying. One wrong move, and her life would be forfeit. You waited with held breath on a command, anything from Shiro, but nothing came in one, two, three seconds.

Then, Shiro’s eyes widened at the person standing across from his infantry.

“Sendak?”

[dammitdobrik]

Such a Pain | DAVID DOBRIK

Description: Your Soulmate David Dobrik was quite a pain in the ass, both literally and figuratively. A Soulmate AU where you and your true love feel each others' pain and receive each others'  injuries.

Author's Note: This fic will heretofore be known as the Soulmate AU no one asked for but Phoebe wrote anyway because she wanted to. Let me know what ya'll think of this and your favorite Soulmate AU's because who knows I might just write another one ;)

Word Count: 5974

  The first time (Y/N) remembered ever being genuinely concerned about her soulmate’s wellbeing happened a year before they ever met.

She was walking across the campus of USC to her next class when she gasped and dropped her phone with a scream of pain.

The students who flooded the sidewalk at that time of day all turned to stare at (Y/N) as she dropped to her knees and clutched her hand tightly to her chest.

She squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip to stop from crying out again, not wanting to make a bigger scene than she already had.  A sharp stabbing pain reverberated throughout her palm and made it feel as if every nerve were on fire.

“Hey are you alright?” someone asked, squatting down next to her.

She shook her head. “I don’t know my hand-,” (Y/N) gasped out, gritting her teeth.  “-fuck it really hurts.” She pulled it even tighter against her chest as another wave of pain hit her.

They placed a hand gently on her wrist and tapped it. “C’mon let me have a look. I’m a student at the med school here I can help.”

Letting out a shaky breath, (Y/N) opened her eyes and pressed her wrist into his touch so he could examine it. As he gently tugged it away and she unclenched her fingers, (Y/N) was able to get a good look at the injury for the first time.

There was a deep cut running along the palm of her hand from her thumb all the way down across to the base of her inner wrist. It was bleeding profusely. And with a quick glance down to where her hand had been pressed into her chest, (Y/N) realized that her one white shirt was now ruined.

“You’re definitely gonna need stiches,” he said only after a moment of examination. ‘Maybe even a brace to protect it for a bit.”

“Seriously?”

He nodded his head. “You can go ahead and thank your soulmate for this one.”

Until that point, (Y/N)’s soulmate hadn’t given her any injures quite like this one. She used to get scraps on her knees when she was younger and the occasional scratch on the arm from him, but nothing too serious that she had any need to worry.

But this, this was different. This was the first injury she’d received from him that required medical attention.

(Y/N) hoped he was okay; and while she was sitting in the ER later that afternoon waiting to have her hand stitched up, began to think of every scenario possible that could’ve lead to such an injury.

  The first time (Y/N) saw her soulmates face was the night she’s pretty sure he got punched in the face.

She was hunched over her desk focusing solely on the textbook laid out open in front of her. She chewed on the end her pen absentmindedly, waiting for important information to jump out at her so she could write it down in her notes.

That’s when (Y/N)’s head jerked as her face contorted into a wince. A hiss escaped from between her teeth as she reached hand up to cover her mouth instinctively.

A dull pain radiated from her bottom lip and the taste of copper began to fill her mouth. (Y/N) tugged her lip down and picked up her phone to look at it in the reflection of the screen.

There was small cut on the inside of her lip that looked like it came from a harsh impact with her tooth.

The door to her dorm room opened and in came her roommate smelling lightly of alcohol and sweat.

“Hey,” she said, closing the door behind her. She tossed her keys and wallet down on her nightstand and collapsed onto her bed with a thump. “Have you seriously been studying this whole time?” she asked, turning her head to glance at (Y/N). “Wait what are you doing?”

(Y/N) put her phone down and let go her lip, rubbing it lightly. “I think my soulmate might be an asshole.”

“Huh?”

“I’m pretty sure he just got punched in the face,” (Y/N) said, showing her roommate her middle and index finger which were covered lightly in blood from her lip.

Her roommate laughed. “Speaking of assholes,” she said, sitting up on her bed, “-you’re never going to guess who I saw at the party tonight.”

“Who?”

“David Dobrik.”

(Y/N) furrowed her brows and spun her desk chair around to fully face her roommate, her chemistry textbook now long forgotten. “Who?” she repeated.

“You know, the Youtuber? He used to be pretty big on Vine.”

(Y/N) smiled grimly and shook her head. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

She let out a breath of exasperation. “He’s the guy you hear about on campus all the time. Him and friends are the one who show up to all the parties and film people doing crazy shit.”

“Ohhhhhh.” Now that rung a bell. (Y/N) definitely knew who she was talking about now.

David and his friends were a bit of local USC legend. She’d never actually seen them or watched any of their videos because (Y/N) was, as her roommate so nicely put it, a fucking nerd who spent way too much time studying and needed to let loose more.

“Yea. I heard a bunch of screaming coming from another room and when I went to check it out I saw him with his black hat and camera filming his friend making out with a bunch of girls.”

(Y/N) cringed and swiveled her chair back around to get back to work. “Gross.”

“Yea I know.” The bed creaked as her roommate stood up and walked over to (Y/N), slamming her textbook closed.

“Hey!” she yelped in surprise, jerking her hand away before it got crushed. “What was that for?”

“It’s 2 am (Y/N). You’ve been at this for hours I think you’ve done enough,” her roommate said. “I’m gonna take a shower, and when I come back you better be in bed. Okay?”

“But I-“

She pointed at her bed. “Sleep.”

They glared challengingly at each other for a moment, (Y/N) sighing in defeat when she realized her roommate wasn’t ever going to back down.

“Fine,” she conceded, a wave of fatigue hitting her like that punch her soulmate got to the face.

While her roommate was in the shower (Y/N) changed into her pajamas and pulled her (Y/H/C) hair away from her face then hoped into bed, only slightly begrudgingly.

She was sleepy, but not tired enough to pass out just then. It only took a moment of staring at her dimmed phone screen for (Y/N)’s curiosity to get the best of her.

She opened the Youtube app and searched up David Dobrik’s channel.

For the next the hour while her roommate took one of her notoriously long showers (Y/N) watched his vlogs on autoplay. They came on one after another, and she watched in amusement as a few people she knew from her classes made appearances in his clips from parties at USC.

As the sun got closer to rising in the East, her quiet laughs began to come less and less frequently as her eyelids became heavy with sleepiness. She let out a yawn and clicked her phone off for the night just before her roommate came back in from the bathroom.

And if (Y/N) wasn’t so tired that night from hours of studying chemistry, she probably would’ve gone back in his vlogs far enough to watch David cut his hand open with a wine bottle in the exact same place it had happened to her.

And if (Y/N) wasn’t so busy with school from that point on, she probably would’ve watched the vlog he posted the next day titled I GOT HIT IN THE FACE!! AMBULANCE CALLED!!, and realized that David Dobrik might be her soulmate.

But she was tired, and was busy with school, so (Y/N) did neither of those things.

They’d meet eventually, but the night David got punched in the face wasn’t that day.

  The first time (Y/N) met David Dobrik she had no idea that he was her soulmate.

It was the final day of her sophomore year of college, and she was out celebrating with her roommate after having taken their last exams.

(Y/N) had agreed to go with her to one of the many parties being hosted on campus that night, and 15 minutes after leaving her dorm room realized that she would never agree to such a thing again.

She knew that USC was a party school, and that parties at any college could get crazy, but she was in no way near prepared to experience it firsthand.

(Y/N) learned that night that she hated the smell of tequila and that the quietest place to run off to at a frat party was the back yard.

The bass from the speakers that were blasting some random Top 40’s hit track seemed to literally be shaking the walls of the house as she opened the back door and stepped into the fenced off yard.

(Y/N) took in a deep breath of fresh air, hoping to purge her nose of the smell of alcohol. She rubbed her grimy hands against the tight sequined skirt she was wearing and walked further into the yard to sit in one of the outdoor chairs that surrounded a dirty glass table.

It was comforting to know that wherever you went, the same hard metal chairs with minimum cushioning and square foggy glass table would always be in everyone’s back yard.

She sat down with a sigh and wiped a stray strand of hair away from her face. She tilted her head back and looked up at the starless, monochromatic black blob of sky that was above LA. The humidity of the air was almost suffocating.

(Y/N) turned her head at the sound of the patio door sliding open, the music from inside bursting out into the somewhat quiet night air before the door was shut again.

A boy wearing black jeans, a black t shirt, and black hat with tufts of curly hair sticking up from underneath appeared holding a professional looking camera. His face and boyish looking grin that he flashed at (Y/N) seemed very familiar, and it only took a second for it to hit her that this was the infamous David Dobrik.

“Is it okay if I sit?” he asked, gesturing with his free hand to the chair across from hers at the table.

(Y/N) lifted her back up to its normal position and nodded her head. “Go ahead.”

He gave her a quick thank you before sitting down in the chair. They sat in silence for a while, (Y/N) enjoying the weight lifted off her shoulders from the end of exams while David went through his camera footage.

He glanced up at her every now and then as if expecting her to say something, but looked back down at his camera screen quickly when she turned to look at him.

“Yes I know who you are,” (Y/N) said after he did it for the 5th time.

David’s eyes looked up from his camera in surprise.  “I never asked if you did.”

An amused smile graced her lips as she raised an eyebrow. “Yea well, you weren’t asking very loudly.”

He chuckled and clicked a button on his camera to turn it off, putting on the table between them. “Sorry I’m just- well if people don’t greet me because they know who I am they almost always ask about the camera with the microphone on top of it. You did neither so…” David trailed off, shrugging his shoulders.

“What are you doing out here anyway?” she asked. “Shouldn’t you be in there filming some crazy montage or something?”

“I already have enough footage for one” he said with a smile, “- and I don’t have a lot of battery left so I’m saving it for the all the dumb shit my friends are gonna do in about an hour when they’re drunk off their asses.”

David leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs, running a hand through his hair as he took off his hat and set it on the table. The weird shadow that had been casted on his face from it disappeared giving (Y/N) a good view of the light stubble that ran along his jaw.

“So what about you?” he asked, tilting his head to look at her, then repeated her earlier question teasingly. “What are you doing out here anyway?”

(Y/N) shrugged her shoulders and began to pick at her nails which rested in her lap. “My roommate took me out to celebrate taking our last final, but it took me coming to party to realize that I don’t quite like them.”

“They aren’t my favorite thing either, but I do like the stories they bring so I can always suck it for a few hours in the name of good content.”

“You mean clickbait?”

“Same difference.”

They both let out a laugh at that, then settled into a comfortable silence as it echoed off into the night sky.

Soft smiled adorned their faces as they held each other’s’ gaze. (Y/N)’s heart began to beat loudly in her ears as it thumped against her chest.

But if you were to have asked her what that meant she would’ve said it was because she downed a cup of lukewarm beer only 20 minutes prior.

David’s phone rang then, disrupting the trance.

He smiled sheepishly at her and muttered a quick apology before answering.

“Hello? Heath? Wait he’s doing what?”

A loud cheer erupted from inside the house at that moment, and (Y/N) knew that it probably had something to do with what David was talking to Heath about on the phone.

He stood up out of the chair quickly and grabbed his camera. “Be right there,” he said then hung up.

David turned to run back inside but stopped in his tracks right before reaching the door. He turned his head for one last look at (Y/N).

“Y’know, I never did get your name.” He had that confidant, boyish grin back on that always made people bend to his every whim.

“(Y/N),” she said with a smile. “It was nice meeting you David.”

He nodded his head. “You too (Y/N). Duty calls.” He held his camera up as another cheer came from inside the house and went inside without so much as a goodbye.

It wasn’t until he and his friends had already left that (Y/N) realized David left his hat with her.

  The first time (Y/N) and David could’ve found out that they were soulmates happened when they met for a second time.

Classes for her junior year of college had just started a week prior, and (Y/N) was still getting back into the swing of things.

That included remembering to set her alarm so she was up in time for her noon lecture.

(Y/N) was in such a rush having woken up late that she was shoving her notebook and pencils and pens into her bag as she sped walked out of her off campus apartment and onto the street towards her car which was parked a little ways down the road.

That was one of the downsides about not living in a dorm room anymore, the fact that she now had to drive to class instead of just walking. And since USC was in LA and she wasn’t a millionaire, (Y/N) couldn’t afford an apartment that came with parking so she spent at least 15 minutes a day wandering the streets trying to remember where she left her car.

(Y/N) turned around a particularly sharp corner, not watching where she was going, and let out a squeal of surprise as she colliding with someone and knocked her head against their chin.

They both stumbled back with a wince as (Y/N) dropped all her belongings onto the sidewalk.

“Oh shit sorry I’m- here let me help,” a familiar voice said, then leaned down to start gathering the papers before the wind blew them away.

“No it’s fine it’s my fault I wasn’t watching where I was going,” she said doing the same.

(Y/N) stood up straight looked forward right as they did the same and held up the papers they’d gathered.

Her lips parted in surprise at the sight of thier face. “David?”

He squinted his eyes and tilted his head a bit. “(Y/N)?”

If either of them had been paying more attention to the pain they felt from running into each other, they might’ve realized right then that were soulmates.

(Y/N) didn’t think about the pain she felt on her chin even though she’d done nothing to injure it. She didn’t realize that it came from David’s chin knocking into her head.

David didn’t think about the pain he felt on top of his head even though he’d done nothing to injure it. He didn’t realize that it came from (Y/N)’s head knocking into his chin.

And because of that, they went right on talking.

David grinned as look of remembrance overcame his face. “We met at a party a few months ago didn’t we? At USC?”

She nodded her head, taking the papers from him and shoving them into her bag with the others carelessly. The corner of (Y/N)’s lips tugged upwards. “I’m surprised you remember,” she said with a laugh.

He ignored that comment and pursed his lips, hesitating for a moment before asking, “Are you doing anything right now?”

(Y/N) checked her watch and scrunched her nose when she saw the time. “Well I’m supposed to be in physics lecture but seeing as I’m now half an hour late…” she paused and looked back up at David, “No. I’m not doing anything.”

She furrowed her brows at him suspiciously. “Why?”

“I’m actually on my way to get lunch with Matt, Carly, and Erin,” he said, gesturing vaguely in the direction he was heading before they knocked into each other. “You wanna come?”

She repeated herself. “Why?”

David seemed a little taken back by that. “I don’t know you seem pretty cool and I,” he stuttered lamely.

“Yes” (Y/N) interrupted, surprising even herself. “I’ll go.” She gave him a gentle smile. “Thanks for inviting me.”

He nodded his head with a relived smile. “No problem, it’s the least I could do considering how I just kinda ran off last time.”

David gestured for her follow him and they started the trek to the restaurant, arms brushing against each other every few steps. “I think you’re really gonna like them, my friends I mean.”

  The first time (Y/N) thought she and David might be soulmates happened when he wanted redbull.

At that point they had been friends for almost 4 months. (Y/N) had made a few appearances in his vlogs, but she didn’t consider herself a regular because she was so busy with school a majority of the time.

Anytime David decided to go to USC for footage she accompanied him and helped them figure out where the parties were and how to get there. When he was done shooting and his friends wanted to continue partying, they’d do what they did the first time they met and sneak off somewhere quiet to enjoy each other company and talk.

(Y/N) definitely had a crush on David. That much she’d admit.

He was so much fun to be around, and he always managed to make her laugh. They could talk for hours about anything and everything and never grow bored of each other. His smile was contagious, and just being in the same room as him gave her an energy that made (Y/N) think she could take on an army emptyhanded.

It was intoxicating.

And that was a bit of problem, because for all (Y/N) knew at that point, David wasn’t her soulmate. And she was starting to worry about what would happen when she finally met him, if what she felt for David would just go away.

And her biggest problem was that she didn’t want it to, because she loved the feeling she got around David. She could live off it, and never tire of it.

She’d always go straight to his house on Thursday’s after her last class of the week, and hang out with him while he gathered last minute footage for his Friday vlog or simply edited what he already had.

On this Thursday, David already had enough footage for his Friday vlog. He shot with Howie Mandel earlier in the week and had leftover clips of him that he didn’t use in the previous vlog to put in.

(Y/N) was sitting on the couch in David’s living room watching reruns of Parks and Recreation with Zane, Natalie, Jason, and Todd while the owner of the house finished editing his video a few feet away.

Right as the show cut to commercial David shut his laptop with a groan and threw his back against the cushions. “I’m getting some redbull.”

“Hold on let me CNN on the phone,” (Y/N) said in a dramatic voice, pulling out her phone. “They’re never gonna believe this.”

A resounding chuckle erupted from around the room as David stood up off the couch.

“Haha very funny,” he said rolling eyes playfully, then went off into the kitchen.

“Hey,” Zane started, grabbing everyone’s attention. “Did I tell you abou-“

(Y/N) felt the pain in her side right before David’s yelled out from the kitchen, “Ow fuck!”

The way she sucked a breath in between her teeth and winced as her hand went to rub her side in an attempt to soothe the pain radiating from it went unnoticed by everyone around her because they all turned their heads towards the noise.

“You good Dave?” Natalie asked, ever the good friend.

He let out low groan and (Y/N) bit her bottom lip to stop from doing the same. Her side really hurt.

And when Jason asked David what happened, something in her already knew what he was gonna say because it was something everyone had done before in their life and never forgotten; it hurt almost as much as stepping on Legos barefoot.

“I ran my hip into the corner of the island,” he replied, coming into sight. He was holding his redbull in one hand while the other rubbed his side. “Makes me wanna baby proof this fucking house.”

(Y/N) sat up straighter and relaxed her face and body to look the part as if nothing were wrong.

While in reality, her mind was screaming almost as much as her hip was.

This had to be the most coincidental coincidence of all time. David Dobrik couldn’t be her soulmate... could he?

And the more she tried to convince herself that, the more (Y/N) realized that he just might be.

  The first time (Y/N) knew that David was her soulmate was the night Jason had her babysit Wyatt and Charley.

His ex-wife had a date with her boyfriend and asked Jason to watch after the kids for a night because she planned to spend the night at his house (awkward). Jason said yes, but one thing lead to another and he ended up having to go do something with David so (Y/N) graciously offered to watch over them for a few hours until he got back.

They were well behaved, and old enough to not be too much of a hassle. She made them dinner and cleaned up the kitchen before leaving them to their own devices.

When she went upstairs to check on them at 10:30, Charley and Wyatt were both already sound asleep in bed.

She watched TV downstairs for another hour until Jason got back.

He opened and closed the door quietly as to not wake the sleeping children. “Hey,” he said with a smile. “Were they okay?”

(Y/N) nodded her head with light laugh. “Yea perfect, way better than I was a kid I’m sure.”

She got up and turned the TV off then followed him into the kitchen to grab her keys and wallet. And maybe it was because Jason was a dad and old and wise and stuff that (Y/N) felt okay asking him the question that had been setting fire to her head for days at that point.

“Jason?” she asked, sounding a lot more timid then she wanted too.

“Hm?” He turned to look at her. “What’s up?”

“How do you-“ (Y/N) paused and licked her lips. “How do you know, like- for certain, that someone is your soulmate. Like I know there’s the whole pain thing but-“

“Hit yourself in the face,” he said simply, shrugging his shoulders.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m being serious.”

“Me too.” He raised an eyebrow at her questioningly. “Did Scott never tell you the story of how he found out Kirsten was his soulmate?”

She shook her head.

Jason let out a laugh and smiled wistfully as if the memory were his own. “Well, you know they met at Coachella right? And after Scott talked to her for a few minutes he just, I don’t know, got this feeling that she was the one, so he hit himself in the face.”

An amused smile broke out on (Y/N)’s lips. “Seriously?”

“Mhm. And when he looked down to see that she was cursing and rubbing her nose, Scott knew then and there that Kirsten was the one.”

“In a weird way that’s oddly poetic.”

“I know. It’s literally my favorite story of all time.”

Jason studied her a moment then cleared his throat. “But seriously (Y/N), when you know you know. I like to think that the whole pain and injury thing is for the cynics and pessimists who need some kind of proof before taking a leap of faith with someone.

“If you think you’ve met them, then you probably have. There’s nothing quite like it, nothing comes close to it.”

(Y/N) wanted to ask about him about Marney, his ex-wife, because they were soulmates and they didn’t work out. She thought better of it though because honestly, she wasn’t ready to go down that road quite yet.

“So….Who is it?” he asked.

She furrowed her brows. “Who’s what?”

Jason rolled his eyes and gave her a pointed look. “Don’t play dumb with me, I’ve been around long enough to know how this works. You wouldn’t have asked that question if you hadn’t met someone you though had soulmate potential.”

(Y/N) opened her mouth to retort but let out a sigh and relaxed her shoulders. “Okay fine, I have, but I’m not telling you anything.”

“It’s David isn’t it?”

Her lips parted in shock. “How did- how did you know that?” she stammered out, unbelievably surprised.

“I didn’t until just now,” he admitted with a proud smile. He settled his lower back against the kitchen counter and leaned against it, crossing his arms over his chest. “How long have you felt this way?”

(Y/N) eyed him suspiciously.

Jason held his hands up in surrender. “I won’t tell him anything, promise.”

She pursed her lips and looked down at floor in front of her feet, fingers playing with the hem of her shirt. “I’ve felt the way I do about him for almost 2 months. But the soulmate thing…” (Y/N) trailed off and looked up at Jason, “I just found out about that a few days ago.”

“How?”

“Remember when he ran into the island of his kitchen? I think-” she paused and shallowed harshly before continuing, “I felt it too. I’ve done it myself so I know what it feels like and…. and that was it. The pain I got in my side when he ran into it was that, I recognized it.”

It was quiet between them for a moment, the gravity of what (Y/N) said hung in the air.

“Do you want to know for sure?”

(Y/N) moved her gaze from the floor back up to him. “You mean right now?”

Jason nodded his head. “If you want to know why wait any longer? I can give you proof that David is or isn’t your soulmate in 2 sentences. Wanna hear them?”

Growing up, (Y/N) always imagined that her soulmate reveal would be something out of a Nicholas Sparks movie. She never pictured it happening in the kitchen of a divorced 40 year old who had two kids asleep 10 feet above their heads.

But life wasn’t a Nicholas Sparks movie, and (Y/N) couldn’t have another sleepless night before a test because she was too scared to face the truth.

So she bit her lip, closed her eyes, and nodded her head yes.

Jason hesitated a moment before speaking, the weight of what he was about to say was almost suffocating. “Two years ago for a bit, David and I started tossing wine bottles between us. He missed one and cut his hand so badly that we had to take him to the ER to get stitches.”

(Y/N) felt her heart skip a beat as something she’d been wondering for years had finally been answered. She finally knew who her soulmate was, and better yet, what the dumbass had been doing to get such a deep cut on his hand.

“So?” Jason asked timidly after a beat of silence passed.

She opened her eyes with a soft smile and looked at him, her finger absentmindedly tracing the scar that ran against her palm from the stitches she’d needed there.

Not able to speak quite yet, (Y/N) just nodded her head.

Another beat of silence. “What are you gonna do?” he asked quietly.

She snorted and gave him a pointed look. “Well I can tell you what I won’t be doing, I won’t be slapping myself in the face.”

“Hey it was only a suggestion!”

  The first time David knew (Y/N) was his soulmate was when he accidentally shot her with a paintball gun.

She hadn’t wanted him to find out that way, with a paint bullet to the leg. She planned on telling him, really, but there just never seemed to be a good time to break the news.

What was (Y/N) supposed to do? Just walk up to David and say Hey guess what? We’re supposed to spend the rest of our lives together and get married and have kids and stuff isn’t that cool?

No. Only someone stupidly impulsive like Todd would ever do such a thing.

There would be a time when the stars aligned to create the perfect moment, just like the sight of David’s paintball gun aligned perfectly with Todd’s leg then.

There was this new thing David did where he’d give someone $100 and in return they had to agree to let him shoot them once anytime throughout the week with his paintball gun.

This week, Todd took the bait.

And today, David took his shot.

“Hey Todd!” he called out, coming out from his hiding spot in the hallway.

Todd whipped his head around, and the rest seemed to go in slow motion.

David took the shot, not seeing that (Y/N) was standing directly behind Todd because they were previously having a conversation.

Todd, so used to getting shot by this point, had honed his reflexes and jumped to side with almost super human speed.

(Y/N) and David both let out a yelp of pain as the paint bullet spattered onto her jeans. The gun clattered to floor and they both reached their hands down instinctively towards their leg.

Everyone went silent. Their eyes darted between the two of them with wide eyes.

“David…” (Y/N) said slowly, standing up straight. Her heart stopped as their eyes met. She opened her mouth to continue but couldn’t get any words out. Not knowing what to say, she looked at Jason for help, which didn’t go unnoticed by David.

“Wait.” He paused and looked at Jason then (Y/N), and she just knew that her eyes were betraying all their secrets. “You knew?”

(Y/N) was never good with emotions and reading people. She was always better at science and reading data from lab reports.

That’s what made sense to her, science. Not emotion. Not the look on David’s face. Not the feeling of dread that welled up in her stomach at his continued silence. Not the urge to cry she was suddenly hit with and fought off with all she had.

Having no idea what to say or what to do, (Y/N) went with her gut instinct and pushed passed everyone to get to the front door; and she didn’t take a second to breathe and calm herself down until she was already in her car coasting down the freeway.

She wondered if soulmates sharing pain extended past physical too emotional as well if it were strong enough.

She held herself together.

  The first time both David and (Y/N) knew with absolute certainty that they were each other’s true love happened when they kissed.

It started to rain on the way home back to her apartment. Of course it did.

When (Y/N) walked up to the entrance of her apartment building already soaking wet from having walked to it from her car in the rain, David was already there, also soaking wet. Of course he was.

They stood there in silence with three feet of space between them, staring at each other as rain continued to pour down from the heavens. Of course they did.

“How did you…” she trailed off, confused as to how he got there first considering she left before him.

“Tesla.” Was all David said, as if that answer alone could solve all the world’s problems.

He reached up and pinched his arm then smiled wryly as (Y/N) began to rub hers in the same spot with a hiss. “Sorry, just wanted to check,” he said.

Another moment of silence passed between.

David, realizing that (Y/N) wasn’t to talk, sighed defeatedly. He took a small step closer to her. “(Y/N) why did you- why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you say anything?”

She shrugged her shoulders lamely and wiped some water of her face. “I don’t know Dave I just- I couldn’t figure how.” Her (Y/E/C) eyes met his as she said, “You have to admit it’s not the easiest topic to bring up.”

“How long have you known?”

“Three weeks.”

“And are you happy?”

(Y/N) pushed a wet string of hair behind her ear. “About what? About you being my soulmate?”

David nodded his head.

She snorted and smiled at him in disbelief. “Of course I am David. Why wouldn’t I be? You’re- at one point I liked you so much that I was beginning to worry what would happen when I met my soulmate because I was so scared of having to give you up.”

His expression softened at that, and (Y/N) felt her chest warm against the chilled rain pelting them from above.

“Are you happy?” she asked, heart hammering against her chest in anticipation. “That I’m your soulmate?”

David exhaled deeply like a weight was lifted off his chest. A smile broke out across his face. “(Y/N) I’m so damn grateful that it’s you. I can’t imagine it being anyone else.”

A crack of thunder sounded overhead as he reached out and pulled her face forward to meet his lips in a searing kiss.

His eyelashes brushed against her cheek along with falling raindrops as (Y/N) threaded her hands through his wet hair and kissed him back immediately with just as much intensity.

Anything that wasn’t able to be put into words was put it into that kiss.

And at that moment, there was no longer any shadow of doubt in either of their minds about being each other’s true love.

Because that kiss? It was everything.

Absolutely everything.

[pip-n-flinx]

What Lay Behind Us

I know my first chapter didn’t get much traction, but here is second chapter of the Witcher fic I’m working on!

“Legend has it they wilt unless nourished with blood, and also if it’s ever sold… But give it to someone you love, and it’ll live forever.”

“This one’s for you Triss. If there’s any truth to the legend it should never wilt, even if you pluck a petal or two.”

Triss found herself staring at the Rose of Remembrance that Geralt had given her more than six months ago. No one would ever accuse Triss Merigold of having a green thumb, and indeed she left the growing of herbs to the alchemists her whole life. But it still bloomed, beautiful as the day they had found in, growing on the elven statue in the garden.

    She’d carried it with her. Sentiment. Just couldn’t bring herself to leave it behind. Smiled every time she looked at it. Pulse elevated. Breathing ragged. And that bath afterwards. She missed him. So much. But he remembered Yen now. Heartbroken, she turned back. Too good to last. She’d known from the start. Even if she was beautiful, Yen was more. Much more. The Djinn had seen to that. Bound her crush to her friend. There were other men. Handsome men. Winsome pairings. Other witchers even. It didn’t matter. She looked into those gold eyes and her heart broke. Torn. Then she found him. He’d forgotten. Forgotten Yennefer. Forgotten the Djinn. And her emotions had swept her away. But she’d known, even then. Doomed, this tryst. Doomed from the very start.

    Tears slid down her face and quiet sobs racked her chest as she clutched the rose close. It was almost too much to bear, seeing him again. “It’ll be nice?” She asked herself as she sat on the stump that passed for a chair. “It’ll be nice?! What was I thinking?” More sobs, more tears. Embarrassing, Triss thought. As an advisor to the king, before the coup, before the assassins, before the war, before the witch hunt, before all this, she could have had most any aspiring noble. Most were fine enough, but no. Her heart had seen fit to fall for Geralt. This all would have been so much easier if she had fallen for any other man. Damn, even Emhyr var Emreis was a more likely husband then Geralt, bound as he was by his own wish. Damn him, and damn Yen too. Clenched teeth, silent sobs now. Crying over a rose that would never wilt, never die. A constant reminder both of her lover and her own indiscretion. But she couldn’t just leave it. Not here. Not anywhere. She’d carry around her badge of shame until she died...

    They’re writing songs of love, but not for me.

    A lucky stars above, but not for me.

    With love to lead the way,

    I’ve found more clouds of grey     Then any tragic play could guarantee.

    I was a fool to fall, and get that way.

    Oh woe! Alas! And oh so lack-a-day.

    So while I can’t dismiss

    The memory of their kiss

    I guess they’re not for me.

    Dandelion’s song had come back, unbidden. Damn that bard, his songwriting always hit too close to home. Prescient even. She’d even wondered if he had the gift of dreams, at one point. There were some things he had no way of knowing, but know them he did.

        She remembered clearly the day she had heard. About the Djinn, about the wishes… She hadn’t had time to weep, not in front of Yen. It was hard, hearing Yennefer rail against the man Triss had her heart set on. Harder still to hear Geralt had chosen this. She’d been bitter, she knew. Her friend had come back beautiful, and scorning the love of “that scheming, manipulative, golden eyed abomination!” if memory served. That had hurt more than anything.

    Later on, she’d taken the time to cry it out. Hell, she’d even taken Eskel to bed with her, trying to forget Geralt. It hadn’t worked, of course, and Eskel couldn’t have cared less. He just wanted the flame haired sorceress underneath him. So when she’d snuck into Kaer Mohren and to his bed, he hadn’t objected. Triss regretted the decision instantly. What was she trying to do after all? Make him jealous? All she’d gotten was a pale imitation of what Yennefer had. It was a mistake, and one she’d never owned up to. Not to Yen, nor Ciri. Not to the other witchers, and most certainly not to Geralt. She didn’t know if she could. No, she held that secret closer than she did even the Rose of Remembrance. That too, she would carry to her grave.

    Then Geralt had returned, remembering nothing. Not her name, barely her face, but perhaps more stunningly not Yennefer of Vengerberg either. It was too good to be true. It wouldn’t last. Whether it was a curse or just a bump on the head, eventually he’d be back to normal. He’d lived so many years, there was no way this would be the undoing of the Butcher of Blaviken. Nevertheless she’d taken advantage of it. It almost hurt more, realizing just how right she was. Eskel was a shadow of the man Geralt was. He’d fought through hordes of soldiers to save her, for no personal gain other than her favor. Risked his life countless times, even treated her like a lady on occasion. He wasn’t the most romantic man, true, but he didn’t lack for spirit or passion. It ached to remember him. The elven bath in the ruin, that mischievous glint in his eyes, the smirk. He flinched when he saw her naked, then tore off his clothes to jump in after her, nearly tripping along the way. It was… cute to see him so frazzled. After the stunning beauty that Yennefer had become, she had thought she would never make him swoon for her. True, she was fit. Some men even favored red heads. It had hurt to think she was a wilted flower beside her friend though. An additional strain on the relationship. But Geralt watcher her with eyes that flickered from near predatory desire to childlike wonder for a time. Gods she had missed him.

    And then back he strolled, right in on her meeting in Putrid Grove, bartering as if her life depended on it. Her life did depend on it, of course. It was hard to hide in a basement next to the fish market, the smell of fish and the stench of rotting meat never left her nose these days. A far cry from the oils, candles, perfumes and colognes of her past life. Into this, with Triss about as debased as she had felt since she was held tortured by Letho’s men, Geralt had walked. Memory restored.

    She had tried to duck out then. It had been too difficult meeting his eyes. It was always hard to read those vertical pupils, but his expression had softened when he looked at her. Bedlam had noticed too, damn him. Triss wondered why Geralt would hold anything but suspicion and hostility for her. She had, after all, used his amnesia to worm her way into his bed. Triss imagined she wouldn’t have been so kind had their roles been reversed. If someone had used amnesia to trick her into leaving Geralt, she certainly wouldn’t have any sympathy for them upon waking.

But when she tried to excuse herself he had followed. Offered to help. Swam in the filthy channel to retrieve her lost implements. Haggled on her behalf with Brandon. Defended her when Radovid’s goons were set on her. Again, he risked life and limb for her. She hadn’t even paid him first! She was sure that was against some ancient witcher code somewhere. She smiled through her tears.

She paused a moment, considering the rose in her hands. Come to think of it, shouldn’t it have wilted now? Surely now that Geralt remembered Yennefer he loved her and not… Perhaps the magic only cared if the rose were given in love? But then what sustained the spell? Surely a flower so fragile it required a blood sacrifice to grow couldn’t be sustained by a discreet act of love. Yet there it be, blooming as if he still loved her. Impossible. Another sob racked her chest.

“What was I thinking, inviting him here!”

“I come at a bad time?”

Whirling, she saw him. Damn. Crying so much I don’t even notice the Butcher of Blaviken walk in.

“No,” she managed to stammer while dashing tears from her cheeks “now’s fine.”

    She even managed to muster a small smile for him. Why now of all times. She hadn’t thought to see him until at least tomorrow. Never in her wildest thoughts would he come to her immediately. It had scant been an hour since he had set off, back fading into the dim sun and smog of the Novigrad evening. Candles flickered around them, on the meager desk and on the small bed frame that made up her abode. She was embarrassed, frankly. It was hardly the kind of dwelling she wanted to invite handsome men home to. Though she supposed, upon review, that this was preferable to him walking in on her chained to the wall, blood crusted on her lips and eyes swollen nearly shut. At least then she had felt relieved when he walked in the room. Now she was more nervous than ever.

“See you kept that Rose of Remembrance I gave you back in Flotsam”

“Seems so long ago. Probably because so much has changed.” 

    Setting the rose aside, not wanting to dwell on it with Geralt right here, she turned back. Now would be a good time to change the subject. Anything would be better than this. Well, maybe not stories of Geralt and Yen’s love-life. That might send her over the edge. Ciri. That was a safe topic. She opened her mouth to try and divert this before the conversation spiraled out of her control, but he beat her to the punch.

“How long you been in Novigrad?”

“Long enough to know how not to get caught, and to survive.” “And before you came here, where were you?”

“Oh, places… where I managed to get by without your help, too.”

    Too biting, she could tell. He even averted his eyes at that one. Damn him, why did he have to pry? She was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Ready for his questions to get personal again. A sigh, a grimace. She didn’t want to chase him away, but she needed some time to gather her thoughts.

“Which doesn’t mean I’m not happy to see you...”

    Eyes averted, fidgeting with her hair, feet dragging side to side in the sand of the floor. Damn, he’s got me acting like I’m twelve years old again, nervous in front of a boy. It’d be too much to ask that he not notice. Witchers tended to notice everything. Even the dim light wouldn’t hide her blush from him, certainly not at this distant. She could tell he’d washed up a bit, he didn’t smell of river and sewage anymore.

“You know Triss, it's good to see you again”

    Good? To see me? She could barely keep up with today. It’d been bewildering enough to see him again, but this? This was too much. She wanted nothing so much as to run into his arms again. What would he do? Triss hadn’t the foggiest idea what Geralt intended by coming here.

“Your rose is still blooming I see. Almost as red as your hair too.”

    Compliments? She raised her head only to see the man blushing. Blushing! A nervous laugh escaped her lips. Was this a dream?

“Flatterer. Tis a far deeper shade of red than my hair. Your rose is far prettier too,” she said, gently caressing one petal with her left hand.

Taking a moment to revel in the feel, the texture. Soft as silk, nearly creamy on her skin, and redder than blood. A fitting memoriam of their time together. She’d always wished for more stable times, when great gouts of fire and magic were less necessary. She never wanted to live in such troubled times. Perhaps she’d been born at the wrong time, the wrong age. Maybe a hundred years from now…. 

She stifled the thought. She’d trade no amount of shame and suffering for her time with this witcher. Smiling broader this time, she looked back up at him. His eyes had followed her fingers, and she left a finger on the rose petal in what she hoped was a dainty gesture.

“Explain something to me, Witcher.”

[wndmxmffs]

From Insanity to Humanity // Prologue

Summary: HYDRA agent Lyra Lennox has one mission in life, to achieve more, to do bigger and better each time around. This mission is not as noble as it may sound. All Lyra wants, or more so, needs out of life is to leave a legacy, to be written about in history books and taught about in schools. Whether this is as a hero or villain is not something she particularly cares about. Lyra has got blood on her hands, blood of hundreds of people. Who they were? Why they’re gone? Again, not something she cares about. Her priorities lay with herself and herself only- after all she is the reason why the world keeps spinning and why the sun keeps rising. Her twisted view on reality could endanger the whole world’s safety. Life to Lyra is a game of chess and the people she encounters are merely pieces to help her win. Her opponent? Anyone and anything in her way. And all those who think they have control over her? They will learn how wrong they were over time. She plays people. She is cold. She has a mission. The only ones able to stop her from doing something to fatally jeopardize a mission are the ones preserving Earth’s safety, The Avengers. Will they be able to bring out the humanity buried deep inside?

Word Count: 1.6K+

Warning: get ready for a pretty dark fic babies lol. mentions of child abuse, mentions of murder, being captured, mentions of starvation, blood, also some cursing but that really doesn’t matter here lmao

A/N: okay so this is that series i was talking about. i’m soso excited about how it’s going to turn out and i just really hope that you guys will enjoy it. i know that Lyra might not seem the most likable character ever but i have so much planned out for her so stay tuned my loves. big shouout to my girl @microwaveddrabbles for writing the summary, for being an amazing proof-reader and for being here for me throughout the whole process, giving me ideas and encouraging my own ones. i love you so much baby, you deserve the world! happy reading babies! xx

The ice-cold, concrete floor of her cell wasn’t the most comfortable place for a good night’s sleep by any means, but wasn’t the worst either. She had slept on much cooler and much harder surfaces, causing her back to ache and creating overall frustration. That was one of her weaknesses- she could get very angry in a very short time. Every time something didn’t work out as she had planned, she got frustrated, furious even, which she wanted to let out as soon as possible. So, Lyra visited the nearby woods to scream until she found the relief she sought, leaving the bodies of dead birds and deer behind, making everyone who was nearby, deaf.

Her cries could tear the organs of people and animals to pieces, causing immediate death. This, however, wasn’t the deadliest thing about her- she read and analysed people all the time, digging up their most well-kept secrets by making her way into their minds carefully. She pictures their minds as though they were the hallways of a museum where she could roam around freely, with no interruption nor distraction. Most of the time, her victims weren’t aware of her actions, their unknowingness enabling her to do as she pleased. Lyra was well aware of her abilities and was never afraid to use them for her own gain, and her own gain only. Everything she did and everything she had ever done, was for her own satisfaction. She never thought about anyone or anything else. She had been left alone, to be raised by evil itself and Lyra learned the most important lesson at a very young age, ‘never trust anyone but yourself.’ This made her view on the world somewhat deranged, altering reality in all sorts of twisted ways. To Lyra, however, it didn’t matter, because she was successful, her name was known among her people and more importantly- she was feared.

Lyra was woken up by the piercing light coming in from the corridor outside, letting her know that the guard was here with yet another plate of bland food she was not going to eat. This time, it wasn’t just the guard- she had a visitor as well. She slowly pushed herself up in the corner of the miniature cell when she heard light footsteps approaching and the husky voice of a man standing by the closed door. She rubbed her eyes before lifting her head up to look at him and she couldn’t help but chuckle when she recognised Nick Fury himself.

“Aren’t you getting bored of this outfit?”, she whispered in a croaky voice. The result of refusing to talk for a whole week.

Fury slowly tucked his hands in his pockets, looking at the bony girl lying in the dusty cell. She was the complete opposite of what she looked like when they captured her- Lennox had been fiery and fierce back then; kicking, punching and even biting his agents causing them to almost lose her. And now, after what was almost a week, she appeared broken and on the verge of giving up. Fury was certain she would go as far as trying to kill herself had she been given the chance.

He turned his head towards the plates filled with untouched food, completely ignoring Lyra’s snarky comment. He looked at the guard standing on his left and asked him what that was.

“She refuses to eat, Sir. Probably trying to starve herself to death”, the guard replied, while Fury glanced at the girl who had a small smile on her face framed by her messy, dirty, brown hair. He decided to get closer to her and pulled his hands out of his pockets as they were beginning to sweat.

“If you think that we only want to keep you alive so we can torture you, you’re dead wrong. Just go ahead and eat, you already look like a sack of bones, girl”, he stated, earning an unimpressed look from Lyra, who had gotten used to the feeling of hunger since HYDRA had never been famous for its excellent cuisine.

“Your concern truly melts my heart but I’m good, Mr Fury”, the girl answered in a monotonous tone and Fury knew they had broken her. What he did not know was just how great of an actor Lyra Lennox was. It was just another show for her and she was enjoying her role. After all, she’s leading ‘the’ Nick Fury on.

Fury told the guard to get rid of the food and added that he wanted to talk to Miss Lennox alone. The guard gave a quick nod and left, closing the door once again, leaving the two of them alone. Lyra flashed a fake smile at the boss of S.H.I.E.L.D. who didn’t return the gesture. He furrowed his brows instead and looked deep into those piercing green eyes, trying to see through this girl who barely had close to no humanity in her. No one is born like this, Nick was very aware of that fact. He also knew HYDRA’s ways of breaking their agents, turning them into weapons but he had never met someone quite like her.

“How did you get here, girl?”, he asked, folding his arms against his chest, not taking his eyes away from her tired and tortured face. She wanted to stay in control and keep herself collected desperately, but even the toughest ones give up when locked away in a cell with barely any light and no sense of time.

Lyra leaned her head back against the dirty wall, thinking about everything she’d gone through in her still rather short life, which could come to an end any moment now. She was not going to give away everything about herself- she was well aware they could, and probably would, use it against her and she couldn’t put herself at such risk. She had to be in control and being an open book to her enemies wasn’t going to help her achieve that.

After a minute of silence and contemplating, she looked at Nick Fury again and started talking slowly.

“You know, it really does suck when your parents are two crazy Russians who think it’s a good idea to experiment on their infant child in an abandoned lab”, she started, looking deep into Fury’s brown eyes, not breaking the contact for even a second. “That’s how I got my powers. Or so the legend says. As a kid, it was hell learning how to control them instead of letting them take control of me. My father wasn’t that bad of a parent, you know. He spent all his time with me, taking care of me and playing with me. Dealing with my whiny self. People hated them for what they did, but he was innocent. He was brainwashed by HYDRA and they played some mind games on him during the experiments. But my mother. Oh man”, she paused there as she remembered and let out a light chuckle, shaking her head, “she was one fucking crazy bitch. She was even more of a control freak than I am. She was in charge of my training and she was the cruellest teacher you can imagine. Then, one day, she got on my nerves and I made her deaf. The end.”

Fury listened to the story with no expression on his face and he was waiting for the girl to continue, but she clearly wasn’t going to. Lyra looked around in the cell again, then her glance returned to the man and she opened her mouth once again.

“Also, why put me in a cell? You’re aware that I can make your skull explode with my mind, right?”, she questioned, earning a sarcastic smile from Fury.

“I am. But are you aware of that little device in your neck? Stops you from doing anything stupid or something you’d regret.”

“I have no regrets and you’re a fool if you think I regret anything”, she replied, spitting the words out through her teeth, growing tired of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s shitshow. For the first time this week, she felt the irresistible urge to use her powers. It had been lurking in the back of her mind all this time, but she had ignored it. She thought that if she would behave well, they would let her go sooner. That’s clearly not what happened, and the realisation hit her hard. Lyra was a caged animal at the mercy of S.H.I.E.L.D. and the idea of that had started to make her go crazy just again.

Her pupils widened as she looked around the cell over and over again, feeling like the walls were getting closer and closer to her, feeling like she would die while being captured by a fool with an eyepatch. Lyra couldn’t let that happen- she always had to be in control, otherwise all hell would break loose and she would die like all those other people with their names completely forgotten. She turned her head towards Nick and slowly pushed herself up to stand on her two feet covered in bruises and scars. Lyra was dizzy and hungry but she didn’t care about all the physical pain, she wanted to break free and she would do anything for that. She wanted to gain control all the while losing control over herself.

“How do I know it’s not some kind of trick?”, she whispered, very much reminding Fury of a snake. He kept himself collected and cool; he’d seen much worse stuff and a crazy witch in a cell was nothing new. He never would have thought that Lyra would be able to go ahead and tear the little device out of her neck with one simple movement of her hand. Fury’s eyes widened when he saw the blood, dripping down the girl’s neck slowly and the bloody chip in hand. She didn’t cry. Lyra simply stared at her in blood covered hands and gave Nick an empty look before she collapsed into his arms, whispering something in Russian that the man couldn’t understand.

Please, leave some feedback and let me know if you want to be on the taglist for the series! 

[foxsdana]

she’s singing to me, “glory”

rating: T pairing: bellarke chpt: 2/? summary: ancient rome!au. Bellamy’s a gladiator, Clarke’s a senator’s daughter, and they might as well be Rome’s Romeo and Juliet. (pt 1 here)

Bellamy’s sword swung down hard, the sound of metal on metal ringing through the air harshly. With a flick of his wrist, he knocked Finn’s sword to the side and stepped into him, slamming his shoulder against the boy’s chest.

His opponent tumbled to the dust, the wind clearly knocked out of him. Breathing heavily, the dark-haired man didn’t bother to follow through, instead offering a hand to his friend.

“You need to not plant your feet,” he said as he pulled Finn back to his feet. “We won’t ever be the strongest men in the arena. If we want to survive, we have to use this,” he tapped his temple with his index finger, “and these.” He dropped low and swung his foot out, swinging a circle to take out Finn’s legs from beneath him.

But this time, the boy was ready. He let out a small shout and jumped, Bellamy’s legs swinging through nothing but sand and dirt.

“Good!” he exclaimed, dropping his sword. His hands came up in defensive fists as he nimbly shifted his weight from one foot to another. His movements were sharp, precise. A light hit on Finn’s shoulder. A tap on his ear. A duck as Finn swung at his head only to rise up as he surged forward, landing a softened uppercut in his friend’s gut and swiping at his head. Before the younger boy could react, Bellamy had him in a headlock and was swinging him in circles as he clawed at his arms. A smile like a wolf baring his teeth and a harsh laugh escaped him as obscenities spilled from Finn’s lips.

“Hey!” a gruff voice called. “Are you playing or training? You boys know I don’t allow anything but focused preparation among my gladiators!”

The two friends separated immediately at their head trainer’s words. Bellamy’s eyes locked with Pike’s, his spine straightening. “Yes, doctore,” they said in unison, waiting until the trainer’s gaze shifted away from them.

Finn elbowed Bellamy’s side.

Bellamy slapped the back of his head.

“That’s cute,” a voice came from behind them.

Read More: (Ao3) (FF.net)

“Shut up, Miller.” Finn’s voice held no animosity, and a small smile escaped Bellamy as he turned to see his friend.

The youngest gladiator gave a grin, his teeth flashing white against his dark skin. “Is it my turn to fight?” he asked with sarcastic anticipation. “The Sandwalker or the King of the Arena? “

Finn tossed his sword in the air. “I’ve suffered enough humiliation today,” he said. “You have your turn.”

Miller snatched the weapon out of the air and grinned. “The King it is.”

Bellamy let out a sigh, shaking his head ever so slightly. The sun was hot and his body was slick with sweat. The wounds from the day before still ached, and he felt a small trickle of blood run down his arm where he had reopened a small scab. He crouched down, picking up the sword from where he had let it drop to the ground. His eyes found Finn’s as his friend walked beneath the overhang of the house and into the shade.

“Always leaving me out to fend for myself, aren’t you Finn?” he said.

Finn smiled. “Only because I know you can handle it.”

His right hand tightened around the sword while his left dug into the sand. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Miller lunge forward. A flick of his hand and sand covered the air. He ducked and rolled.

He sensed a body moving where his own had been a moment before. Instinctually, he swung his foot out, the same move he had used on Finn moments before. This time it worked. Miller’s foot caught on his calf and the boy went tumbling. He was on top of him in an instant, his knee on the boy’s back and his sword to his spine.

“Too aggressive, Miller!” Pike called from across the training yard.

“You fucking suck,” he muttered under his breath.

Bellamy laughed, not knowing if the statement was directed at their doctore or himself. He clambered off the boy and gestured for him to fight him properly, a smile still ghosting across his lips.

Their swords’ song echoed across the yard, mixing in with the music of the countless other gladiators training. A block. A parry. A duck. Even a few punches. Bellamy had to admit; Miller had gotten good. He had come far from being the beaten boy slavers had dragged in from Carthage. 

He still favored his left shoulder though.

Bellamy was just about to take advantage of his friend’s weak point when Finn spoke.

“You missed out yesterday at the colosseum, Miller,” he said haphazardly, leaning against the door frame in the shade. “Our favorite viator was there.”

Clarke. My name is Clarke.

He didn’t know how he missed the arc of the sword or why his movements were slower than they should have been, but before he was fully away or what was happening, he was jumping backward, and Miller’s sword was slicing a long, thin cut across his chest.

The sword fell from the boy’s hands as soon as he saw the blood. “Fuck, Bellamy!” Miller said, rushing towards him. “Shit, are you okay? I’m sorry.”

Bellamy waved him off, inspecting the wound. It was shallow. Barely bleeding. More of a sting to his pride than anything else. “Don’t be,” he replied. “It was a fair hit.” He gave a smile, assuring his friend that everything was fine. “All that practice with Sandwalker must have made me rusty. Not enough of a challenge.”

“Well, that’s just rude.”

“Just the truth, Finn.”

“Miller!” Pike’s voice interrupted them again. All three men looked to see their trainer gesturing for the youngest gladiator to come. Miller shot Bellamy a nervous look.

The dark-haired man clasped him on the back. “Don’t worry,” he said softly. “He probably just wants to work on your form.”

Miller nodded. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked once more.

Giving him a small shove, Bellamy replied, “I won’t be if you ask me that again.”

The boy shot him a smile over his shoulder before jogging to their doctore.

Bellamy picked up his sword and made his way to the shade, sitting on the ground cross-legged in front of Finn. His chest stung, but it was nothing compared to the ache in his arm and the ghost pains in the scars across his chest. It was moments like this that he realized just how much of a toll the arena had taken on his body. There had been a time he didn’t feel like this, so broken, so tired, as though each breath made his limbs heavier and heavier. There had been a time, he just didn’t remember when.

“You need to be more careful,” Finn said quietly.

 Bellamy didn’t even have the energy to pretend not to know what his friend was talking about. More than that, he didn’t have the energy to have this conversation. But he knew Finn better than he knew his own self these days, and if Finn wanted to talk about something, there was no way to avoid it. So, he simply chose not to say anything.

“The viator. You have a soft spot for her.”

“You sure you’re not projecting?”

He didn’t have to turn to know that the Sandwalker was angry. The viator (Clarke) was a sensitive subject between them, one he had often been careful not to bring up. He had seen gladiators favor the same woman before, and it never ended well. They had no say in when they killed, who they killed, or how their bodies were used. The little control each still held over his own lives was guarded viciously, and love was one of the few things that could turn a gladiator mad.

“This isn’t about me,” Finn hissed behind him. “This is about you being reckless. All it takes is one man finding out and suddenly, every gladiator you’re up against is taunting you in the ring. You’ve lost a lot of people a lot of money, Bellamy. You know they’re constantly on the lookout on how to take you down.”

“It’s not an issue, Finn,” Bellamy said, his face expressionless as he gazed out at the gladiators training before him. His mind was in two places at once, both listening to Finn’s words and examining those training before him. Riley’s foot was dragging. Atom’s posture was too tense. Derek was still favoring his left knee, the one that had been injured two weeks ago. Pike was watching Miller spar with Ethan. A swell of pride bloomed in Bellamy’s chest as he saw the boy throw a handful of sand in his opponent’s eyes and sweep his feet from under him.

“You won’t think it’s an issue until death is staring you in the face, Bellamy. You never do.”

He stood, tearing his eyes away from the training yard and striding up to the Sandwalker until he was nose-to-nose with him, staring into his eyes, unblinking.

“It won’t be a problem,” he said slowly, “because we won’t be here much longer. C’mon, Finn. Look around. We’re legends. We’ve won hundreds of fights; they know our names in the streets. No one’s been able to stand against us for a long time now. They can’t hold us much longer, not without it looking like something suspicious. We’re winning our freedom soon. I can feel it. And when we do, we’re buying Miller and getting as far away from this place as we fucking can.” He reached out his hand, “You with me?”

Finn’s eyes looked into his, intensity and skepticism behind his brown eyes. Then he reached forward and clasped his friend’s forearm. “You’re just trying to save your own skin,” he said, a smile dancing across his lips.

A grin broke across Bellamy’s face. Maybe he would know life without sand and blood again.

“I always am, Sandwalker. Good thing I always end up saving you while I’m at it.”

~*~*~

“Tell me again what they’re like.” Raven flopped on the couch, a dreamy look in her eyes. “I can’t believe you actually talked to them.”

Clarke sipped her wine, trying to hide a smile as she sat in her room with her best friend. “They’re just men,” she replied. “Often men in pain when I see them. I don’t know why you seem so fascinated by them.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” the dark-haired girl replied, rolling her eyes. “You’ve met them. I, on the other hand, have neither the connections nor the clout to sneak into gladiator pits by myself, so your stories will have to satisfy me. So spill.”

Clarke snorted, almost choking on her wine. “Okay, okay, okay,” she said, placing the glass on the table and leaning forward. “What do you want to know.”

“Tell me about the Sandwalker.”

Clarke grinned. Of course she’d ask about him. “He’s probably the most charming of the bunch,” she said. “Kind. Outgoing. A little bit of a flirt. But…” she paused, hesitating for a moment. “But it’s obvious that he doesn’t enjoy it. The games, fighting. I don’t think any of them do. They always are saying things like, ‘if I leave,’ and ‘if I ever get out,’ but so reverently. As if hoping for freedom is almost too dangerous.” She paused, swallowing hard. “Raven, it’s so heartbreaking.”

Raven reached forward, her hand wrapping around Clarke’s. “Then I bet they’re all the more grateful to have you there with them,” she said softly. “If there’s anyone who could bring hope to such a tragic place, it’s you.”

A forced smile passed her lips. Bellamy’s words echoed in her ears. “You don’t get to say that,” he had told her. Was her privilege really so obvious? Gods, she hoped not. “I hope so,” she said softly. Fighting to bring brightness back into her tone, she said, “I think you’d really like them. They really seem like kind people at heart.”

The joy seeped back into Raven’s face. “Finn, definitely,” she said. “I hear stories about him from the colosseum guards and the girls who work in the ludus. They say he’s compassionate, that he doesn’t care for violence like most the other gladiators. But the King of the Arena?” she shook her head. “Clarke, I can’t believe you even talked to him! He seems so terrifying. The girls at the ludus say they never even see him smile.”

“He is somewhat of a brooding character, I will give you that,” Clarke conceded with a laugh. “But he is clever. And intelligent. And honest.” Her eyes shifted, making sure that no unwanted ears listened in. “He found out my true identity.”

Raven gasped. “He didn’t!” she exclaimed. “Clarke, you can’t go back there. What if he tells someone?”

“He won’t,” she assured her friend. “What would he gain in doing so? Besides,” she hesitated for a moment, “I trust him.”

Raven raised her brow. “Clarke,” she said, skepticism lacing her voice. “You can’t be serious.”

She felt herself bristle and fought to keep the defensiveness out of her voice. “I am!” she said. “He’s not like the other gladiators, Raven. I can tell he hates the violence, hates killing men. It wears at him, exhausts him.”

“You barely know him!”

At that, she had to blush. Her friend wasn’t wrong. She really didn’t know him that well. But still, something inside of her trusted him. He would not be cruel for the sake of being cruel. And besides, going to the gladiator pits as a healer was dangerous enough as it was. What would be the difference of one man knowing her name?

“Uh oh,” Raven said under her breath, “quick, pretend that we’re talking about something other than your dangerous hobbies.”

Clarke’s eyes looked across the courtyard to see her mother walking into the villa, pale white toga wrapped tightly around her figure and her hair done in ornate golden braids. She must have just returned from the senate meeting at the palace. She looked frustrated; a nearly constant emotion etched across her mother’s brow since she took the mantle of her husband after he was assassinated nearly four years back. Her swift stride brought her to the entrance of the house in moments, and before Clarke could form a cohesive thought, her mother was standing at the entrance to the terrace.

“Mom,” Clarke said, offering a smile. She tried to mask the caution in her voice with happiness, her mind running a thousand miles an hour, reading the situation to recognize anything awry. “How was the senate today?”

Her mother did not answer her question. “Raven,” she said sharply. “Go help Roma prepare the evening meal.”

The two girls sat in shock for a moment, caught off guard by the older woman’s harsh tone. Their hesitation clearly was not the desired reaction, because almost immediately, Abby snapped, “Now!” and Raven scrambled towards the door.

“Yes, Domina,” she said. “Apologizes, Domina.”

Raven’s figure had just disappeared out of sight when Clarke turned to her mother, livid. “You can’t speak to her like that,” she seethed, anger seeping through every atom of her being.

“I will speak to her as I wish,” Abby said coldly. 

“She is a sister to me! And a daughter to you!”

“By adoption only.”

Clarke’s whole body was vibrating with anger, but her mother’s gaze remained terrifyingly stoic. She hadn’t seen her like this often, and somewhere in the back of her mind, she wondered what the hell happened to cause this kind of behavior.

“You rejected another suitor.”

Oh. That’ll do it.

“Was Senator Cage not good enough for you?” her mother asked, anger and frustration permeating her own tone now. “Not attractive enough? Not wealthy enough? Not powerful enough?”

“Not kind enough,” was Clarke’s short reply. “He is twice my age, and I already have heard the stories of how he treats his women servants. Plus, he owns the second largest ludus in Rome. I will not marry a man who profits on the pain of others.”

“Then you will never find a man to marry.”

“Good.”

Abby let out a sigh, sinking into the recliner across from Clarke. Her hand ran over her face, and for the first time, Clarke noticed just how exhausted her mother looked. Though to be fair, she had not looked rested since before Jake Griffin died.

“He was not an ideal match, that much I will admit,” Abby conceded. “Somewhere deep in my heart I am relieved you turned him down. But I wish you would have told me first, so I didn’t have to find out about it when he was the deciding vote on a law I was trying to pass in the senate.”

Clarke bit her lip, a minutia of guilt passing through her for a moment. “The one lowering taxes for the poorest sectors of Rome?” she asked. Her heart sunk as her mother nodded. She had worked on that proposal for months. “I’m sorry,” the blonde whispered. “I’m sorry, I should have told you.”

Abby sighed and shook her head. “It’s alright,” she replied. “There was no guarantee he would’ve voted for it even if you had said yes. It would be taking money directly out of the senators’ pockets. I’m surprised it was even considered by so many in the first place.”

“You could always talk to Emperor Thelonious about it.”

Abby snorted. “Too many senators already resent the Griffin family’s close ties with the emperor. If I use that avenue, my fitness to be senator will be questioned even more.”

“It’s already constantly questioned by the mere virtue of you being a woman,” Clarke responded angrily, “even though you’ve passed more legislation in the past three years than some of those men have in decades.”

A wry smile passed Abby’s lips. “Such is the way of a woman,” she replied. “Do twice as much for half the credit.” She stood and sat next to Clarke, raising her hands to gently cradle her daughter’s face between her palms. “We must use the gifts the gods have given us,” she said softly. “Though sometimes those gifts do not translate as well for our calling.” She pressed her lips together in a tight line, studying the blonde’s face. “You should have been born a man, Clarke,” she whispered. “You have so much to give. You are such a gifted being. Such a leader.”

“There is nothing that I have that I cannot give,” she replied. “You taught me that a woman can lead just as much as a man can.”

“And I believe that,” Abby said. “It’s the rest of the world that needs to learn.”

“Then we will teach them.”

Abby laughed, a loud, genuine laugh. Those moments were becoming increasingly rare, and Clarke cherished each one. She beamed at her mother, and a semblance of the former tension dissipating like mist in the sun.

“Go.” Abby waved her hand, shooing Clarke away. “Go find Raven and steal some sweets, or beads, or boy’s hearts. Whatever it is you girls do.”

Clarke leaped to her feet and planted a kiss on her mother’s cheek before rushing out of the terrace, her eyes already searching for her friend.

“Make sure she knows I love her!” Abby called after her daughter.

“She always does!” Clarke shouted over her shoulder, her bare feet feeling the pleasant coolness of the marble stone as she ran.

Another day, another arranged marriage avoided.

Let them try to tie me down, she thought to herself. I will fly like a sparrow up into the clouds and when I return, they’ll learn a bird’s song is so much sweeter if she is free.

[skylanders-after-the-end]

Queen Midas

The Golden Queen has spent hours and hours wandering through an endless desert. After months of travelling and avoiding getting caught, the villainess thought that she had finally reached her home. However, she soon came to the realization that it was just a random desert without a single palace in sight.

“Curse this no name desert! I should have never gotten onto that ship that brought me here.” The queen mumbled to herself as she continued to stomp through the yellow sand.

The sun was burning, unbearable for any regular creature. Luckily, goldlings were not as sensitive to the heat and could easily withstand such high temperatures and the lack of hydration.

“There is absolutely nothing useful in this desert!” The woman once again talked to herself and began to regret her choice of abandoning the Doom Raiders and going her own path.

Golden Queen squinted her eyes when saw something shimmer in the distance. Filled with new hope, she quickly ran over to the object. With greed in her eyes she reached a sphere made out of pure gold which was sticking out of the sand. She leaned down and was about to grab the valuable treasure, but it was stuck. At first, she thought it must be too heavy, but even after using her powers without any success the desperate queen knew that something was off. Then she suddenly had an idea. Golden Queen took a couple of steps back and focused on the golden ball. She raised her hands slowly and the entire ground started to shake. It was like an earthquake, the grains of sand were thrown up into the air and spiraled like a cloud of dust. The goldling smiled as the object started to move upwards, revealing that it was part of an entire palace buried underneath the sand. After a few more moments of the queen moving the entire building up, it stood in its full glory again.

“Finally, something I can work with!” The queen smiled sinisterly as she ascended onto the steps leading to the entrance of the palace. This could be the beginning of her new reign.

The Golden Queen’s reign over her home, the Golden Desert, has lasted for many years. She was the youngest member of the royal goldling family who ruled over the land for as long as anyone can remember. The king and queen were just and wise rulers, treating their subjects with respect and generosity. Gold was their most prized possession, but the rulers were not greedy since it was common in their land. Instead, they distributed their gift to the rest of the world. Legends even say that they were the source for all gold in Skylands. But their daughter, at the time named Golden Princess, was not as benevolent as her parents. Even though they wanted to raise her to be a good-hearted person, her greed always got the best of her, until there was nothing left that they could do.

The royal guards in front of the Golden Princess’ room stood there patiently, but neither of them could hide their fear. The goldling spawn was stomping through her room as if she was trying to break through the very floor. It was her 16th birthday and the princess was outraged by the gift her parents have given her.

“A book!?” She yelled for the fourth time in less than a minute. “What in Skylands am I supposed to do with a book!?”

The bratty teenager threw the piece of literature against the wall before it dropped down to the ground, falling open on a certain page. After scoffing some more about the ridiculous gift, the Golden Princess wanted to pick the book back up and throw it into the nearest pit. However, as soon as she laid eyes on the open page, the princess became interested. It was a book about her family’s ancestors and the page documented the reign of the mysterious King Midas, who was assumed to be the first goldling. She held the book in her hands and read through the many words and sentences. The princess reached a part which said that the ancient king possessed never before seen powers that could turn anything he touched to pure gold. The girl’s red jewel eyes sparkled in an eager light.

Golden Princess slammed the door to her room open, causing the guards outside to jump up in surprise. She made her way through the dark halls of the Golden Palace until she reached the outside, strolling to one of many small brick walls surrounding the building where she would be at peace. One more time, the princess read through the paragraph about the former king turning objects and even living beings into gold, before putting the book aside and focusing on the structure in front of her. She closed her eyes and stretched her hand out, thinking of nothing but gold. The girl attempted to activate her powers by shaking her hand, but without any success. She opened her eyes just to see the wall still in its plain dusty state, without any hint of gold. The goldling punched the air with frustration before her entire skin started to glow in the sunlight. Finally, a beam of golden energy bolted out of her hands and hit the wall. It instantly turned into solid gold and the princess interrupted her tantrum to smile with pure joy after seeing the result. The Golden Princess grabbed the book and hurried back to the palace, she wanted to prove to her parents that she is the only one truly worthy of the throne.

It didn’t take the Golden Princess long to reach the throne room where her mother and father, the current rulers of the Golden Desert, have spent most of their day. With the book tightly in her greedy hand, the princess walked up to them and caught everyone’s attention.

“Mother, father, I want the throne!” The Golden Princess said without any hesitation and full confidence in herself.

The parents looked at each other blankly before looking back at their daughter and laughing. “Sweetie, we’ve talked about this.” The humored father responded. “You are to wait in line to take seat on the throne. You are the youngest of your siblings, so you will be the last to inherit it.”

“That doesn’t matter!” The princess stomped her foot so heavily that an echo travelled through the entire area. “I am the most deserving of the throne, and I will prove it to you!”

The goldling looked over to one of the guards, who returned a rather frightened look. She held her hand up and closed her eyes to focus. In a few short moments, the princess shot a golden ray straight at the guard which turned him into a golden statue. She smiled upon that transformation.

The king and queen were shocked. They just witnessed their daughter wielding powers which haven’t been seen since King Midas. “Who taught you that?” The mother asked completely bewildered.

“He did!” The Golden Princess opened the page in the book about the first king Midas and presented it to her parents. “I am the chosen descendant to possess his powers!”

The rulers were at a lack for words and could only look at each other baffled. “We gave you the book to learn about your ancestors, not to revive his legacy!” The king said in a stern voice.

“But he was the first king and I have his powers!” The princess immediately argued against her father. “I should be-”

“Enough!” The king silenced his stubborn child and stood up from the throne. “Go to your room! We need to have a talk about this in private.”

The Golden Princess inhaled furiously and twirled around to run back into her room. Meanwhile the other guards observed their frozen companion and tried to reverse the mysterious transformation.

The king stepped into his daughter’s room and sat onto the large bed, which was covered with all kinds of jewels and other valuable accessories.

“Goldy.” The king addressed his daughter with her nickname that only the parents knew of. “I am glad you took the time to read through the book we gave you, but there is something you must know about King Midas.”

The princess was in her bed rolling her eyes at her father’s words. She just wanted the conversation to be done with so she could continue to argue about her heritage of the throne.

“King Midas was a very… ruthless king.” The worried king began and remembered the dark tales his own parents told him about their ancestor. “He was gifted with the power to turn anything he touched to gold, but he decided to abuse them. He started to turn the food and water into gold whenever he was in a bad mood, and it got to the point where he turned his subjects into statues as well.” The father was very concerned and scared about his daughter repeating that mistake. “I don’t want you to go down that path as well. I know that you’re frustrated you won’t get the chance to be queen because you’re the youngest, but being a princess also grants you a lot of power and-”

“Who said I will never be queen?” The Golden Princess finally spoke up and looked her father in the eyes.

The king sighed and wanted his spawn to understand that she can’t have everything. “Goldy, it’s highly unlikely that you will outlive your youngest brother before you get onto the throne-”

“I don’t care about that!” The princess raised her voice and a glowing light emitted from her body. “I have those powers for a reason. They were lost for centuries, but I discovered them again, that’s why I should be queen next!”

“Goldy, enough of this nonsense!” The king lost his soft attitude and felt it was time to use other measures to put the princess in her place. “You will follow the rules just like everyone else and wait on your time, with or without powers!”

“I will not!” The young goldling yelled and glowed even brighter. “I will become the next ruler!”

“You will not!” The father countered. He raised himself from the bed and had enough of his daughter’s tantrum. “You are to stay in your room until I tell you otherwise, understood?”

“No!” The princess clenched her teeth and denied her father even further. “If I won’t be the next queen… then I will be the queen right now!”

She stretched out both of her arms and shot a powerful golden ray at the king, turning him into a statue immediately. Instead of panicking or feeling remorse, the sinister goldling smiled and stepped out of her room to finally take what she believes is rightfully hers.

The young princess arrived at the throne room where her mother was patiently waiting on the king to return.

“Where’s your father?” The queen asked slightly concerned after seeing her daughter’s satisfied gleam in her eyes.

“He won’t be coming back.” The Golden Princess answered, leaving her mother without words.

“What have you done?” The queen rose from her chair and approached the princess. “Tell me!”

The Golden Princess grabbed her mother’s wrist as soon as she got close enough and slowly started to turn her into gold. “The same thing I will do to you.” She started to glow, and before the queen could react, she ended up as a golden statue as well. The merciless teenager then looked up and saw the crown on top of her mother’s head. She reached up to grab it and put it on her own head, symbolizing that she was the new queen.

The Golden Princess went on and froze the guards, allowing her to walk up the stairs to the throne and sit on it. The princess smiled as she was now the highest ranked member of the family, and no one could take that away from her. The subjects of the kingdom were summoned to the throne room to witness the chilling sight of the frozen queen and guards and the greedy princess sitting on top of the king’s throne.

“Where is the king?” One of the citizens asked.

“He’s gone.” Golden Princess answered while one of the remaining guards carried the king’s golden body into the throne room, leaving everyone in utter shock.

“You are speaking to your new superior, peasants!” The Golden Princess didn’t hesitate to make her position clear and already set the tone for her reign. “You may address me as the Golden Queen.”

The following years have been the darkest the kingdom has known since King Midas’ reign of terror. The Golden Queen was ruthless and couldn’t care less for her subjects. She denied them any privileges that her parents allowed them before and only cared about the gold they brought her. Everyday, all of the citizens would have to pay the queen with all of the gold they could find in the desert, otherwise they would end up as one of her golden statues that she proudly set up around her palace. Her older siblings were banished from the desert and never seen again, leaving the Golden Queen as the last sole ruler of the kingdom. Her reign has reached the point where her subjects starved to death and their lifeless bodies could be found in the hot sand of the Golden Desert. However, the queen knew that she couldn’t do everything on her own, so she used ancient magic to revive the citizens as undead soldiers, leaving them no choice but to serve her.

The Golden Queen’s reign went on for many decades, centuries even. With undead soldiers guarding the entire desert and keeping intruders from getting too close to the palace. It wasn’t until one day, the former pharaoh and ruler of the Golden Desert, Grave Clobber, returned from the dead just to find his kingdom in the clutches of the goldling queen. He and his brothers ruled long before the line of goldlings, but due to their dysfunctional relationship they ruined each other and left the kingdom without any ruler, allowing Midas to take over all those years ago.

Grave Clobber arrived at the Golden Palace, where he was able to get past all the guards, mostly by beating them to dust. When he reached the throne room, the Golden Queen was outraged to see a stranger who dared to face her.

“What is the meaning of this!?” The queen stood up and started to glow in her rage. “I will not tolerate any intruders! Guards!”

The few remaining soldiers who were meant to protect their queen hurried to the throne room, but they were all intimated by the mummy’s presence. “What are you doing in my palace?” He finally asked the goldling.

“Excuse me?” Golden Queen spit the words out to express her outrage. “I am the Golden Queen, ruler of the Golden Desert. I don’t know, nor do I care who you are, but you will obey me!”

“I am Grave Clobber, pharaoh and ruler of the Golden Desert.” The hefty being didn’t even think about giving up his kingdom just because his brothers buried him alive and he couldn’t escape for hundreds of years. “And you will give me my kingdom back.”

The Golden Queen laughed. A hollow, wicked laugh that echoed through the entire building. “You must have taken a wrong turn looking for your tomb.” The queen teased the emotionless mummy. “Bad Juju! Take care of this!”

Upon those words, the spirit emerged from the sand which was present throughout the entire palace. With a staff in her skeletal hand and a swift movement, she teleported herself right next to the queen. “How may I be of service, your highness?”

“Use your magic on this imbecile so that he follows my orders without hesitation.” Golden Queen didn’t want to waste any more of her time and turned around while her servant fulfilled her demand.

“Gladly, my queen.” Bad Juju was about to cast a spell on the mummy that would turn him into one of Golden Queen’s slaves.

“Wait!” Grave Clobber interrupted the process and caused the Golden Queen to stop from walking away. He realized that he stood no chance against the queen and her minions, so he bargained. “I can make you an offer.”

The goldling slightly turned her head so that she could see the mummy from the corner of her eye. “I’m listening.”

“I know the desert. I know all of its secrets and hidden treasures. If you let me rule by your side, we could expand our kingdom and conquer all of Skylands!” While he would prefer to rule the Golden Desert on his own again, he was willing to share it with Golden Queen rather than being one of her mindless servants.

“Why would I want to share what belongs to me?” The queen turned around again to look Grave Clobber into his hollow yellow eyes. “Then you would take all of my gold! I did not collect gold for all those years just so someone could take it away from me!” The queen stomped her foot with such force that a small crack appeared underneath her. The insatiable greed for the mineral was all that was on the goldling’s mind. She didn’t care about the benefits of another experienced ruler, all she wanted was gold.

“Gold?” Grave Clobber was confused about the queen’s absurd obsession. “Gold will have no use to you when your kingdom falls apart and gets taken over.”

“Nonsense!” The goldling yelled furiously, stomping once more and spreading the crack. “Gold is the most powerful weapon anyone can have!” While gold has always been of great value in the kingdom, the queen’s parents were never as greedy as their daughter and always tried to keep her from becoming like this. “We all live because of gold. You need gold to eat, you need gold to sleep, you even need gold for love!” A toxic mindset that was natural to the goldling was that you could buy anyone’s love with enough gold. The fact that her parents used the gold found in the desert to help others and thus gain respect and a certain position in society gave her the impression that it was the ultimate form of power. “There is nothing I desire more than gold! It is the purest of all minerals and the most wanted product in all of Skylands!” The goldling smiled with greed as she looked around herself and saw all the gold surrounding her. She wanted to have as much of it as possible, even going as far as to create a golden river running through the throne room underneath her. “I don’t need the power of ruling over the Skylands! I already have the greatest power! Gold is power!”

With her final sentence the Golden Queen raised her foot once again, just to let it sink to the ground with such power that the floor underneath her gave in. Before Bad Juju or the queen could react, she fell through the stone floor and landed in the river of liquid gold. Bad Juju gazed through the hole with shock. She could see a few air bubbles rise to the surface until they disappeared. There was no sign of the queen.

Grave Clobber felt no sympathy and instead of looking for the queen, he approached the throne.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Bad Juju held her staff tightly and hovered in front of the chair.

“I’m taking back what’s mine.” Grave Clobber wasn’t in the mood to argue and simply pushed the spirit aside. Before he could take seat on the throne however, Bad Juju cast her spell on the mummy, causing him to stop and turn around.

“You will not do anything as long as the queen doesn’t tell you to.” Those were the words the mummy would live by from that moment onward. Just another one of Golden Queen’s loyal subjects.

Even though Golden Queen possessed the rare golden powers, the goldling wasn’t able to free herself from the shimmering substance she fell into and turned into a golden statue herself. Her servants didn’t know how to help her, so they decided to create a pedestal on top of her throne and put her onto it, serving as nothing more than a glorified decoration. Many years after that, due to a mysterious event, the queen was set free and more powerful than ever before. She searched for more villainous creatures that would help her conquer the Skylands to reclaim all the gold that has been stolen from her home. They were later known as the Doom Raiders.

Now the Golden Queen has finally found another place she could claim for herself. After the temple emerged from the sand and she entered it, the goldling recognized it right away. It was one of the royal family’s former domains. Under King Midas’ reign the people of the desert lived here and followed his every order. Legends have it that it used to be one of the mighty Arkeyan’s temples. The Golden Queen was delighted and soon found the throne in the heart of the building. It was even more glorious and intimidating than the one at home. She knew that if she wanted to rule the Skylands and claim all the gold for herself, she would have to build an army. She sat down on the throne, as that was the place where she came up with the best ideas. She then noticed something shimmering in one of the corners of the hall. It looked mechanical, almost robotic. Her jewel eyes opened wide when she realized exactly what that was. The legends were true after all. The queen started to laugh. It echoed throughout the entire palace and got louder with each passing moment. The wicked sound could be heard beyond the thick walls and far into the deserted land. The villainess finally found a way to win.

[wolfieonatypewriter]

Echoes Across Time And Space

Summary:

Bayonetta was very much ready to have a great and relaxing birthday in the company of Jeanne and a ton of free time when one of her gifts turns out to be more than what she bargained for.

The Remembrance of Time of the day she was born that their absent god had sent her way could prove to be too much, even for her.

Word count: 2.6k

A/N: Golem the discount store siamese is Jeanne's cat that she finds as a stray and he's pretty consistent across my fic universes

“Golem, I swear to fucking God that I will boil you in a big witchy caldron if I go back there and see anything broken!” She had opened the door to their swanky Manhattan high rise to the cute delivery girl for some of her birthday parcels but there was a distinct ruckus of someone breaking things. “I'm sorry, it's the cat you know.”

The other lady laughed and tucked in her signing machine underneath her arm, handing her the parcel emblazoned with ‘From: Luka Redgrave’ in swirly, obnoxiously composed handwriting. “This one is fragile, so maybe do keep it out of reach.”

Cereza carted the box back to her kitchen and to the source of the disturbance, only to find the balcony door wide open to the snow storm and Golem meowing in displeasure from the other side of the room.

“You shouldn't have opened this then, you butthole.” He pinned his ears back and harrumphed out with an upturned tail, showcasing such a body part right at her as he trotted away most imperiously.

“About as charming as your owner.” She mumbled to herself, rubbing her bare arms and crossing the expansive kitchen to shut the balcony doors before the blizzard parkered itself on their home.

The wind must have been truly hazardous to have slammed the door open. She spared a thought to Jeanne, out and about in the city probably getting some private party favours for a little birthday one on one fun. She loved her toys and not even the dreadful weather had dissuaded her, especially considering those had been a backed up special order that had been ready at just the right time.

With a graceful pivot, she hummed her way back to the kitchen island, her favorite marble monstrosity, when a twinge of magic rippled in the back of her head. She turned, looking around for what might have caused it. If angels decided to rain down on her for her birthday, she would march straight to Paradiso and punch Jubileus in the face.

Odd, there was nothing out of the ordinary and the flick had since passed with no hint that it had ever happened. With a shrug, she turned back to her parcel on the marble countertop.

Luka had promised something good and she had no doubt he would deliver. What could it be, he was very tight lipped about it but had sworn up and down she was going to love it.

When she looked again, the brown box was no longer anywhere to be found and in its place rested a single blue card.

Aesir.

Cereza jumped into action, looking around wildly and turning her living room around searching for any clues on where he might be. The apartment was as she had left it, everything undisturbed, not even Golem was around to make a mess of things.

“Come on, little one! You can't just drop by like this.” She called out, walking back to the kitchen island once more. Spotting a note that wasn't on her fridge before, she snatched it. “At least show up for a chat…”

Hey, Bayonetta! I got you a little something I do think you'll enjoy. I still don't think you look like a Cereza but after hearing about it, I could be convinced.

Cereza huffed, rolling her eyes. Couldn't anyone in her life not be a dramatic ho with a flair for the theatrical? The simple sheet did not reveal any other tricks so she pinned the damn thing back to the fridge.

The card rested face down and another cursory look revealed that the box Luka had sent was resting on Jeanne's favorite chair. A sense of exhilarating anticipation itched in her chest, a feeling she hadn't gotten since she asked Jeanne to move in with her. As soon as her fingertips touched the card, a rebound of energy coursed through her arm.

With a flick of her wrist, the card was now facing up and a picture of her mummy and Balder appeared. It was stylized in the same way as Loki's old cards, her parents back to back with their hands clasped together.

It was a beautiful figure, bold in it's intent but sad given all that she knew had transpired between them.

“Sentimental, little one.” She was about to grab it to stash it somewhere safe when it lit with a surge of incomprehensible power. The world around her turned to gold and blue, her living room ending up looking like it had been ran with a bad photo filter.

She was about to move when the distant cry of a baby started up. Bayonetta looked around her apartment for any clues, bringing forth her guns from her summoning pocket.

The sound was seemingly everywhere at once but no images materialized. In between whimpers and bouts of crying, a voice sounded over it.

‘My most precious starshine, it's your first morning. What has you ever so displeased?’ The man had a rich baritone, so loving and emotional that something stabbed through her heart at the realization. He wasn't speaking English, it sounded like something of a cross between Portuguese and Galician which could only be Vigridian. Cereza was astounded she could still understand it.

This was a remembrance of time and that was… ‘She’s so Umbra but reacts so well to your magic.’ A woman chimed in, voice low and somewhat hoarse. Tired but content and Bayonetta wasn't dumb enough to miss why. All in all, she had to thank Rosa for a job so well done.

‘Daddy loves his little girl so, he can hardly stand to part with her.’ The rustle of cloth followed his statement and she strained to try and picture what could be happening. Was he holding her? Passing her over to Rosa? ‘Mummy has food, tasty and delicious. Is that what you want?’

After a few seconds, the unmistakable sound of a baby nursing filled the silence. In that time, Bayonetta came crashing down to earth on what she was seeing and hearing. Her parents, her very own parents were there in echo on what seemed to be the day she was born. Balder sounded so soft, so in awe of what had happened. His tender tone was ripped right out of a fairy tale, of parents not filled with grief, not confined to the back of an annulment cell. Of all the things she knew of him, distorted and fragmented as they were, this facet was the hardest to swallow. Father Balder had been dramatic and violent, his younger self has been angry and hurting. In neither of those had there been any space for the loving care she was hearing.

Bayonetta didn't know what to do with that information but she didn't have much time to chew it over as Rosa started speaking again.

‘She is so small… felt much larger a couple of hours ago though.’ They shared a chuckle and a the sound of a couple of soft kisses reached her ears, the rawness of their affection was obvious even without visuals. Young spouses, newly minted parents with their whole world suckling peacefully in front of them. 'Well then, what will our daughter be called?’

'I think Cereza is a perfect match.’ he supplied, words reverent and Rosa laughed in reply, so joyful and unfettered like Bayonetta only heard a scant few times in her life. ‘And may her life always be bathed in the summer sun.’

There it was, oh there it was. A name that was a blessing of the highest calibre coming from her Lumen father. A prayer that had fallen on deaf ears.

‘She was born in the dead of winter, Balder. Might I add, exactly as a good little Umbra should.'

A small sob escaped her throat and before she knew it, a couple of stray tears made their way down her face. This wasn’t...it wasn’t fair and Bayonetta had no clue on how to process the turbulent tide of her overwhelming sadness, her unconfronted grief or even just the unfairness of her misplaced anger at her parents and their decisions.

“Cereza!” The rapid staccato of heels pounded across their foyer and Jeanne sprinted into the kitchen only to halt immediately at the scene that greeted her harried entrance. “What is…”

‘That’s precisely why she needs a summer blessing. To balance it out!’

That voice brought back a flood of memories and she raised her guns, teeth gnashed and all of her was ready to summon Madama Styx right then and there but when she noticed there were no threats at their gates, she uncoiled enough to take a good look around.

Her most beloved was crying, their kitchen felt like an hub of undetermined energy zapping through her whole soul and Jeanne, brightest witch in an age and Elder of the Umbra Witches, had no clue what was going on. So she did the first thing that came to mind. Envelop Cereza in a hug.

‘The daughter of the night and day, an auspicious portent. Though many would disagree.' Rosa's voice continued to sound in their spacious kitchen, gaining a harder edge and at some point Jeanne realized that it came from the card on their table. Oh no, a remembrance of time. ‘ How long do you figure this safehouse will hold? A month?’

She hugged back, burying her face on Jeanne's shoulder and biting her lower lip to keep from shedding more tears while the memory kept going like a stuck tape on a broken recorder.

'At best, yes.’ All of a sudden he sounded very tired and they heard a sigh. ‘For now, we can all rest. This is as isolated as isolation can be, it seems the legends about Fimbulventr are not as true as they seem.’

‘For now as well, the people's whispers are too loud to ignore.’

Bayonetta lifted her head from Jeanne’s shoulder and furrowed her brow at those words, turning to her. They had taken refuge on the Holy Mountain and somehow had been taken in with warmth. Her personal experience told her acutely that being received kindly in there was next to impossible.

A thousand and one questions burned inside her head but none more intense than the age old query: Had their absent God interfered? Had he taken pity in his own Eyes, harbouring the Left and Right facets of creation and their precious bundle of the apocalypse in his own domain?

Little whimpers broke up their strategy meeting and rustling cloth sounded up again. ‘You’re daddy's girl already and you barely know what a daddy is, moonstone.’

Balder chuckled at her words, whimpers growing louder. ‘Why do I think it's not a me she likes best. You might be right, she pays attention to my magic but it's not working now.’

A string of lilting bird calls, like one would expect from a songbird, followed his statement and Jeanne just held her close, commenting “Lumen sages are keen on their bird natures, it's part of their communication.”

‘See, she likes that.’ Rosa’s voice had a hint of smugness that sounded so very characteristically Bayonetta in its execution. However, despite having quietened down a touch, little Cereza still made her discomfort known.

‘Not enough to soothe her it seems.’ He replied, chirping a little more but without any further success. A rumbling purr broke through and that Bayonetta knew what it was.

Somewhere in the back of her memories, she remembered her mummy purring at her, as close as she could through the thick bars of her cell. Her chest rattled and rumbled and her little tiny self would bask in the comforting certainty of it all.

The lack of visuals was both infuriating and a boon, as they could only guess at Cereza’s adorable fussiness from the squirming sounds she was making.

But it also meant Bayonetta couldn't see the love in her parents’ eyes, couldn't see their weariness and their bone aching tiredness tinged with overwhelming relief of having found shelter just in time for their little one to be born.

Couldn't see all she had missed.

‘Fly me to the moon…’ Their perfect harmonizing jarred her from her thoughts like a vengeful poltergeist.

‘And let me play among the stars’ the song was perfect in it's execution, a performance born of repetition. ‘In other words, please be true.’ Of singing it many times together.

‘In other words…’ No fussiness could be heard anymore, only the well polished lullaby in the unique duet version Bayonetta had never even guessed could exist.

‘I love you…’

The magic faded slowly after the last bar like a record player winding down and the last she heard was the faint noise of another soft kiss.

At that time, she had stopped caring about the tears streaming down her face or the fact that she was hanging on for dear life on Jeanne. It was embarrassing and heavy but at the same time a part of it felt…

Good.

A soft purr vibrated near her cheek, breaking the uncomfortable silence of their apartment and Jeanne held her closer. The purr picked up, higher pitched and softer than her mother's great big tiger purr, causing her to scrunch her eyes shut for a second.

“In other words.” Jeanne started, her words vibrating through her rib cage.”I love you…” Cereza felt a kiss to her hair and she sniffed, wiping her stray tears with the back of her hand.

She lifted her head and Jeanne smiled, kind and caring and loving and all just for her. She replied with a watery smile, disentangling from her lover and taking off her glasses to rub at her eyes.

The card was facing up near them on the countertop, Rosa and Balder with clasped hands staring back at them, defiant. And wasn’t that the foundation of their life, a relationship forged out of defiance. A daughter born out of love.

“Please tell me you didn't get me an emotional gift as well.”

Jeanne chuckled, snaking her arms around her waist and kissing her lips softly. “I have some things you'll like in my bag of tricks but it's mostly earthly pleasures, I promise.”

Cereza was exceptionally hard to shop for so she just got her luxury spa days and shopping trips. She had gotten her a pair of heels her most beloved had commented she had her eyes on for Valentine's and Cereza had replied the fun was in the going. Going out shopping with her was always an event that had even the most upper brow places at the beck and call of Cereza’s inexorable charms.

With a tentative touch of her fingertips on the card, Bayonetta snagged it from the kitchen island and stashed it on her summon void. She hoped beyond hope it didn’t start up again, another tongue lashing of emotions and past trauma would surely leave her soul even more raw than what it currently was.

That would take time to process and she was sure to either yank little one’s ears when she next saw their absent God or thank him for giving her such a thing, she wasn’t sure which one yet. In any case, that was an issue for future her because for now…

“Earthly pleasures you say?” The flip to predatory was so fast that Jeanne didn't even have time to react before a nip to her neck dragged an embarrassing moan out of her. Cereza had snagged her up with feline proficiency, the back of her thighs bumping against the countertop and Jeanne found herself at the complete mercy of Cereza’s hungry grin “Did you find what you went out for.”

Oh yes, she had and she was more than ready to see how it worked.

“Yes.”

Golem wouldn’t even complain.