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everyones-fangirl · 3 months

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Delectable Little Pet

Warnings: 18+ This will be about after ascension Astarion so expect some extreme dark romance and future triggers.

Word Count: 4,233

Chapter 13

Astarion

A deep sigh left my lips as my right hand rose once more to rub at my temples, as if that action alone would fix the mounting issues piling up around me. The council chamber, usually a place of authority and control, felt like a cage. The absence of Lucian, that treacherous snake, was a constant reminder of my own precarious position. He had vanished without a trace, evading every attempt to track him down. Even the council was left in the dark—his cowardice knew no bounds. I stared at the empty chair where he once sat, my mind awash with a thousand unformed plans. Each one began and ended with the satisfying image of his blood pooling at my feet. It was a visceral need, a primal urge to make him pay for his betrayal. But the how and when of it eluded me. My thoughts raced, a chaotic swirl of strategies and fantasies of vengeance, none of them concrete enough to act upon. The chamber itself seemed to mock my frustration. Elaborate tapestries hung on the walls, depicting scenes of ancient battles and glorious victories—symbols of a time when control was absolute and dissent was met with swift, merciless justice. The long, polished table in the center, around which the council would convene, was empty save for a few scattered parchments and quills. I rose from my chair, pacing the length of the chamber. The floor beneath me, a mosaic of dark and light stones, echoed with each determined step. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the occasional creak of the wooden beams overhead. I could almost hear Lucian’s laughter, feel his smug satisfaction at having eluded me once again.

My mind drifted to Cassara, to the turmoil I had thrust upon her in my desperate bid to save her. Her transformation weighed heavily on my conscience, a constant reminder of my failure. And yet, it also fueled my resolve. I couldn't afford to be distracted by Lucian's games. I had to protect her, to ensure that the darkness I had pulled her into would not consume her entirely. Lucian's betrayal was a festering wound, one that demanded retribution. But Cassara was my priority. She needed me now more than ever, and I couldn’t let my quest for vengeance blind me to that fact. As much as I yearned to see Lucian's lifeblood spill, I knew that my focus had to remain clear. I stopped pacing, letting my gaze settle on the flickering candle that stood on the table's edge. Its flame danced and wavered, much like my own resolve. But I steeled myself, drawing a deep breath. There would be time for vengeance, time to settle scores. For now, I needed to be the pillar of strength for Cassara, to guide her through the darkness I had so recklessly thrust her into. With renewed determination, I left the council chamber, the echo of my footsteps a promise of the bloodshed to come. Lucian would not escape my wrath forever. But first, I had to ensure that the woman I loved was safe, even if that meant confronting my own demons in the process.

Once I got back home, my steps carried me automatically to my personal office. The weight of the day bore down on me, making each step feel heavier than the last. The office was a sanctuary of sorts. The room itself was vast, with high ceilings that seemed to stretch into eternity, adorned with intricate moldings and carvings that hinted at a bygone era of opulence. The walls were lined with towering bookshelves, each shelf packed tightly with ancient tomes, scrolls, and grimoires that chronicled the knowledge and histories of countless civilizations. The scent of old parchment and leather permeated the air, a comforting aroma that was as familiar as it was suffocating in moments like these. The centerpiece of the room was the massive, imposing desk that dominated the space. Carved from dark, rich wood, its surface was scarred with the marks of countless plans and decisions made over the years. The desk was always kept meticulously organized, with maps, documents, and writing implements arranged in perfect order, a stark contrast to the chaos that often surrounded my life. On the opposite side of the room, a small seating area provided a space for more intimate discussions. A pair of high-backed armchairs, upholstered in deep crimson velvet, flanked a low, intricately carved table. Here, I often met with my most trusted advisors, the setting lending itself to confidential conversations and secretive plotting. A side table held a crystal decanter filled with a rich, amber liquid—an indulgence for moments of reflection.

I blindly collapsed into the large, leather chair. The weight of the desk’s history seemed to anchor me, grounding me in moments of uncertainty. I leaned my arms against it, feeling the cool, worn wood beneath my palms as if its solidity could ground me in this sea of turmoil. Thorne appeared in the doorway almost immediately, his presence a silent, steadfast reminder of my own capabilities and resources. His dark silhouette was framed by the dim light of the hallway, his face unreadable as always. The anticipation in the room was palpable, a coiled tension waiting to snap.

"Anything?" I asked, my voice betraying the desperation I felt. I had sent out my own to hunt Lucian down, not fully trusting the council to do so. Their loyalties were too easily swayed, their motives too murky. Thorne was my blade in the shadows, my assurance that Lucian would not slip through our grasp unscathed. Thorne only responded with a shake of his head, his expression grim. The sight of it made my blood boil. A string of curses erupted from my lips, raw and unrestrained, echoing through the room with a violence that matched my internal fury. The failure to locate Lucian was an open wound, and each moment he remained at large was salt ground into it. "Dammit, Thorne," I hissed, my hands clenching into fists on the desk. "He can't have vanished without a trace. He has to be hiding somewhere. We need to be smarter, more ruthless."

Thorne nodded, stepping into the room with the grace of a predator. He closed the door behind him, the soft click a prelude to our next move. "We'll find him, Astarion," he said, his voice a low rumble of certainty. "He's not as clever as he thinks. Desperation makes men careless."

I nodded, taking a deep breath to steady myself. Thorne was right. Lucian's disappearance, though infuriating, was a desperate move. And desperation was a weakness we could exploit. "Double the efforts," I commanded. "I want eyes everywhere—every alley, every shadow. If he so much as breathes, I want to know about it."

Thorne inclined his head, a silent acknowledgment of my orders. He turned to leave, but paused at the doorway, his gaze meeting mine. "We'll get him," he reiterated, his tone a promise. Then he was gone, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the relentless thrum of my anger.

I leaned back in my chair, staring up at the ceiling. The ornate moldings and intricate carvings seemed to mock me with their permanence, a stark contrast to the chaos roiling within. Lucian's betrayal was a personal affront, an insult that demanded retribution. But it was more than that—it was a threat to everything I had built, everything I stood for. As I sat there, the weight of the day's failures pressing down on me, my thoughts drifted to Cassara. She was my anchor, my reason for fighting through this storm of treachery and bloodlust. Her transformation, her suffering—it all stemmed from my actions. I couldn't afford to fail her again. I had to find Lucian, had to make him pay for every ounce of pain he had caused. For her, and for me. Lucian would not escape. I would see to that personally. And when I did, the world would know that betraying Astarion was a mistake that cost more than just a life. It would cost a legacy.

Speak of the minx, as if she could sense me thinking about her, the door opened and she walked into the quiet room. Her eyes were vibrant in the dim light, a striking contrast to the shadows that played across her face.They were a brilliant emerald green, more vivid than I had ever seen before, and they seemed to glow with a brighter inner light. It was as if the life she had regained was now radiating outward, drawing everyone who looked into those eyes into her orbit. She moved with a sort of poised shyness that made me want to get down on my knees and give her whatever she was about to ask for. She stepped closer into the flickering light of the candles on my desk, casting an ethereal glow that made her look almost otherworldly. I cocked a brow at her expectantly, my heart rate inexplicably quickening. She was a vision, her once frail frame had filled out, her curves returning with a graceful yet undeniable presence. Eating more had not only restored her physical vitality but had also brought a renewed sense of life to her demeanor. Her skin, once pale and almost translucent, now held a warm, healthy glow. The blood she had consumed had worked its magic, infusing her with a vitality that was impossible to ignore. Her cheeks had a faint blush to them, a sign of the renewed life coursing through her veins. The dark circles that had marred her eyes had faded, replaced by a vibrant sparkle that drew me in every time I looked at her. Her hair, which had appeared dull and lifeless, now shone with a lustrous sheen. The rich waves framed her face beautifully, cascading over her shoulders in a way that begged to be touched. Each strand seemed to catch the candlelight, creating a halo effect that made her look almost ethereal. The deep chestnut color was interwoven with strands of gold and auburn, adding depth and richness to her appearance.Her lips, full and soft, were often tinged with a hint of color, making them even more enticing. When she smiled, it was as if the room brightened, her entire face lighting up with a warmth that was impossible to resist. Her teeth, sharp and slightly elongated now due to her vampiric nature, only added to her allure, giving her an edge that was both dangerous and captivating.

The dress she wore tonight accentuated every inch of her revitalized form. The tight corset made mostly of dark blue lace hugged her chest perfectly, emphasizing the gentle swell of her breasts. It flared out into a simple skirt that brushed against her thighs, hinting at the strength and grace that lay beneath. The intricate patterns of the lace highlighted the curves of her body, drawing the eye to the delicate yet powerful figure she now possessed. As she moved, the dress shifted with her, the fabric clinging to her in a way that was both elegant and seductive. The dark blue lace contrasted beautifully with her glowing skin, creating a striking visual that was impossible to ignore. Every movement she made was a testament to her regained vitality, her steps confident and sure, her presence commanding and undeniable. As she approached, the soft scent of her perfume—a blend of jasmine and something darker, more mysterious—wafted towards me, enveloping my senses and making it difficult to think clearly. I watched her intently, every step she took drawing her closer, increasing the tension in the room. There was an elegance to her movements, a grace that was impossible to ignore. Her presence filled the room, making it feel both smaller and infinitely more significant. She finally stopped just before my desk, her eyes meeting mine with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine.

“What brings you here, my dear?” I asked, my voice a low murmur that barely broke the silence. I couldn't help but lean forward slightly, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. “Is there something you need?”

She hesitated for a moment, her eyes flicking to the side before returning to mine. “I... I just wanted to see you,” she said softly, her voice carrying a note of vulnerability that tugged at my heart. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Her concern, genuine and unguarded, was a stark contrast to the hardened world we both inhabited. It was a reminder of the humanity we still clung to, despite everything. I stood, closing the distance between us in a few swift steps, and gently took her hand in mine. "I'm here," I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

Her fingers tightened around mine as I pulled her back toward the chair I had been sitting in. I helped her perch on my lap, her feet barely grazing the floor in the tall chair. The warmth of her body against mine was grounding, a comfort I hadn't realized I needed until that moment. "I met someone in the library," she started, her voice soft and hesitant. I looked at her in confusion. "She said her name was Zariel."

I knew every single one of my spawn—personally. I knew their names, what they looked like, and where they were at all times. There was no Zariel on my team and I think I would remember turning one of the rulers of Avernus. My mind raced, trying to place the name and the potential threat it could represent. "What did they look like, my pet?" I asked, keeping my voice steady to avoid alarming her. As I waited for her response, I found myself absently winding her hair around my fingers, the silky strands providing a small distraction from my growing unease.

Cassara took a deep breath, her eyes flickering with uncertainty. "She had greenish skin, almost like a faint tint. Her hair was black and curly, cut short around her face. She had sharp black horns and a round pair of glasses resting on the bridge of her nose. Her eyes were red, and she seemed...familiar somehow." She paused, searching my face for any sign of recognition. “She said my friend Caty had caught her eye.”

My mind continued to work at a frantic pace. A green-skinned tiefling with black horns and red eyes. Realization flooded my features, and I shook my head in familiar disappointment but couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. “Her name is Sanna.”

Confusion passed over Cassara, and I could see her body tighten in anger. “Why would she lie to me?”

I forgot how sheltered the poor girl had been, briefly remembering how she told me about growing up in a Druid village. She had no idea who Zariel even was, let alone why Sanna had used that name to mess with her. “Darling,” I began, gently taking her chin in my hand to make her look at me. “It is a prank she pulls on everyone that walks through these halls. You are new and close to me, and I swear she’s a kind of trickster.”

Cassara's eyes searched mine, the initial anger giving way to a mix of confusion and hurt. “But why would she want to trick me? I don’t understand.” Her voice trembled slightly, the vulnerability in her tone tugging at my heart.

“Sanna enjoys causing a bit of chaos,” I explained, my thumb gently stroking her cheek. “It's her way of testing newcomers, of seeing how they react. It’s nothing personal, my pet. Just her twisted sense of humor.”

Cassara’s shoulders relaxed a fraction, though the hurt lingered in her eyes. “I don’t like being made a fool of,” she admitted softly.

I pulled her closer, wrapping my arms around her in a comforting embrace. “You are no fool, Cassara. You are strong and smart. Sanna's tricks mean nothing compared to your strength. She will learn that in time.”

Her body melted into mine, the tension slowly easing away. “I just want to fit in here, Astarion. It’s all so new and overwhelming.”

I pressed a kiss to her forehead, letting my lips linger there for a moment. “You will find your place here, I promise. And I will be here with you every step of the way.”

She nodded against my chest, her breathing evening out as she took comfort in my words. “Thank you,” she whispered, the gratitude in her voice making my heart swell.

She shifted her position so she faced me, straddling my lap, and I felt myself freeze underneath her. What was she— My thoughts were cut off as she blinked up at me through her long lashes with a look that could only equate to that of a small, innocent animal. A look that stirred many conflicted feelings and thoughts within me. When I saw her teeth begin to nibble at her bottom lip, I couldn’t hold back any longer. My hands found her waist almost immediately. “Pet, you are treading dangerous waters.”

“I just have a question,” she began, blatantly ignoring my warning. “Would it be possible for me to see Caty again? I’m sure she’s worried.”

My grip tightened around her at her question, and I took a deep breath to steady myself. “That is up to you, my sweet. I can arrange it if needed, but I need you to be prepared for what might happen.” I couldn’t help but think back to my own personal experience of trying to reconnect with old friends. They had told me they’d sooner drive a stake through my heart than converse with me anymore—not that Cazador would have let me anyway.

Cassara’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of hope mingled with apprehension. “What do you mean, what might happen?”

I sighed, my thumb tracing soothing circles on her waist. “When you see someone from your past, especially someone who hasn’t been through what you have, their reaction can be... unpredictable. They might not understand what you’ve become, or worse, they might fear you.”

Her expression grew troubled, and she lowered her gaze, her fingers absently playing with a loose thread on my shirt. “I just... I miss her. She was my best friend. She deserves to know I’m okay.”

I cupped her chin, lifting her face to meet mine. “And she will know, but you must be ready for whatever her reaction might be. You need to be strong, for both your sake and hers.”

She nodded slowly, determination flickering in her eyes. “I understand. I just want to see her, even if it’s just once. I need to know she’s okay too.”

I leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Very well, my sweet. I will make the arrangements.”

My gaze stayed on her as her hands found my chest, her palms resting lightly against the bare skin my open shirt displayed. I swallowed down the lump forming in my throat. In all of my sexual escapades, I was the one in control, relying on manipulation tactics to ensure my survival. To be in this position with someone who might actually care for me was an unfamiliar feeling. It left me feeling vulnerable but in a way I never thought possible. Her soft lips pressing against mine pulled me from my thoughts, and I held back a surprised moan. She shifted to pull herself flush against me, and in doing so, she brushed against my hardening cock. The noise her actions produced from me was something I couldn’t replicate if I tried—a deep, guttural sound that seemed to come from the very core of my being.

Cassara's lips curved into a small, knowing smile as she felt my reaction. Her fingers traced delicate patterns across my chest, sending shivers down my spine. “Astarion,” she whispered, her voice a seductive purr that made my heart race. “I want to make you feel as good as you make me feel.”

Her words ignited a fire within me, a longing that went beyond mere physical desire. It was as if she could see through the layers of my carefully constructed facade, reaching the vulnerable man beneath. I couldn’t help but be drawn to her, my hands finding her waist and pulling her even closer. “Cassara,” I breathed, my voice thick with emotion. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

She leaned in, her lips brushing against my ear. “Then show me,” she murmured, her breath hot against my skin. “Let me in, Astarion.”

Her invitation was both exhilarating and terrifying. I had spent so long guarding my heart, hiding my true self from everyone. But with Cassara, I wanted to take that risk, to let her see the man behind the mask. My hands moved to her hips, guiding her movements as she shifted in my lap. The friction between us was intoxicating, a heady mix of pleasure and anticipation. As our lips met again, the kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more desperate. I felt her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me closer as if she couldn’t bear to be apart from me. The intensity of our connection was overwhelming, and I found myself losing control, surrendering to the feelings she evoked in me.

When we finally pulled back, both of us were breathless, our foreheads resting against each other. “I’ve never felt like this before,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “You make me feel...alive.”

Cassara’s eyes softened, her expression filled with a tenderness that made my heart ache. “You are alive, Astarion,” she said softly. “And you deserve to feel loved.”

I froze. It was as if my brain short-circuited, and no response graced my mind. The room began to spin, the edges of my vision growing fuzzy. The only thing I could think about was getting away. I gently but firmly moved Cassara off my lap, my hands trembling. “I...I need some air,” I muttered, barely able to get the words out. The weight of her words, the sheer vulnerability they implied, was too much for me to process. I stumbled towards the door, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The walls seemed to close in on me, each step feeling heavier than the last.

Cassara called out to me, her voice tinged with concern. “Astarion, wait! Please, talk to me.”

But I couldn’t. I couldn’t face her, couldn’t confront the whirlwind of emotions she had stirred within me. I needed space, needed to regain my composure. As I stepped into a back corridor, the cool air hit my face, providing a small measure of relief. I leaned against the wall, closing my eyes and trying to steady my breathing. My heart pounded wildly in my chest, each beat reverberating in my ears like the echo of a death knell. The corridor around me seemed to shift and warp, the walls narrowing as if trying to suffocate me. I felt the crushing weight of countless years of manipulation, the ghostly presence of Cazador’s control tightening its grip around my throat. I clutched at my chest, gasping for breath, my vision blurring as panic overtook me. Memories I had long tried to bury surged to the surface, each one a sharp blade cutting through my mind. Cazador’s cruel voice echoed in my ears, reminding me that I was nothing more than a tool, a pawn in his twisted games. His face, twisted in a sadistic smile, loomed before me, the image so vivid it felt real. The idea of being loved, of being worthy of love, felt like a cruel joke, a dream too fragile to hold onto.

I sank to the floor, my back against the cold stone wall, my mind a tumultuous storm of doubt and longing. The thought of letting Cassara in, of allowing her to see the broken parts of me, was terrifying. My breaths came in shallow, erratic bursts, each one a struggle against the invisible chains that seemed to tighten around my chest. I pressed my hands to my temples, trying to force the memories away, but they only grew stronger, more insistent. The hallway felt like it was closing in on me, the darkness pressing against my vision. My fingers dug into the stone floor, searching for some anchor, something to hold onto. The past and present blurred together, and for a moment, I was back in Cazador’s lair, his voice taunting me, his touch a constant reminder of my powerlessness.

I stayed there, curled up on the cold floor, for what felt like an eternity. Each breath was a struggle, each heartbeat a reminder of the chains I thought I had broken but still felt. Alone in the corridor, I was a prisoner of my own mind, grappling with a past that refused to let me go and a future that seemed uncertain and terrifying. Finally, I forced myself to stand, using the wall for support. The world was still spinning, but I had to move, had to get away from the suffocating confines of the castle. I stumbled through the halls, my thoughts a chaotic swirl, needing the solace of the night air to clear my mind. Cassara’s words echoed in my ears, a haunting reminder of what I had been given and what I was so afraid to lose.

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blackstarchanx3new · 1 month

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FSR rambles 23

Oh boy. We're here!

This page was basically EXCLUSIVLY made to be a cover art page. XDDD

It was really fun figuring out the environment and capturing the vibe of the OOT Water Temple boss fight room with Dark Link.

This is a direct inspiration of that.

I'm STILL salty we NEVER got a proper manga adaptation of that fight.

I could go on a huge rant about how Dark Link's utilization was AWFUL in OOT's manga...like AWFUL especially knowing what it could have been with my own exploration into Dark Link's character (I say with the huge note that Dark Link is very OC coded in FSR...)

The Dark Link Fight is an isolating PERSONAL fight and the OOT manga turned it into a fucking display for the entire Kakariko village for them to kiss Link's ass for and it didn't feel properly introspective or deep or...anything. Relegating Dark to just a random demon that wore Link's face to fuck with him and not a reflection of his own darkness and insecurities, his flaws. His sins.

The reveal for Dark Link is PERFECT in the OG game, you lacking a reflection as soon as you pass the tree with a split branches. He's literally your reflected mirror image.

The fact we were robbed of seeing just how personal and frightening and introspective that could have been is just mnghghghg.

Wasted potential is the phrase that comes to mind with that adaptation of Dark Link.

There's another level of him being in the water temple because water shows your reflection. (Also...Deadhand's creepy ass getting completely cut from that manga...WHY. We could have had it all. 😭)

And it makes me so sad because Shadow is such a GOOD adaptation of an evil Link from the same artists. 😭 Giving Shadow SO MUCH that wasn't there in the og game.

Like...agh.

Dark in Twilight princess is a huge upgrade and was a huge inspiration to FSR Dark Link's character of reflection (Seriously read his scenes in TP, you will see FSR Dark Link's inspiration X'DDD)

Anyway...

I really like Legend of Zelda... And I've always loved Dark Link as a character if you couldn't tell from me utilizing him a LOT in FSR given the chance.

Anyway smth stupid about this page: hur de duur Dark is looking up Blue's skirt.

I remember just layering and layering effects onto this page. The fog and Dark's rippling visage in the water are some of my favorites.

Blue's in his cozy lil headspace.

Far away from people trying to keep him in what is to him: A torturous experience.

Blue made it VERY CLEAR he hates being Link and it's stressful and suffocating for him.

Just the thought of being Link again is deeply anxiety inducing for him. So he's retreated into a place of complete isolation.

He just wants to be alone right now.

Dark's boss room felt like a nice way to show that. ^w^

Blue in a lot of ways feels utterly LIED TO.

Splitting up with the sword was a promise they were going to be OKAY and safe. Because being Link is a DEATH SENTANCE to him.

So the prospect of going back is terrifying.

Peek a boo. Hi Dark Link. XD

That creepy ass grin as he slinks out of the water is very Ben drowned inspired haha.

There's a few pieces of Ben Drowned Fan art I've seen over the years that I thought of when drawing this one.

Like, the idea he's been walking underwater for WHO KNOWS HOW LONG just to follow Blue is very creepy.

Like, he doesn't seem the need to breathe. (He doesn't)

The lonely dirt or sand hilltop was an oasis from people but Dark pursued anyway. Dark got to him across this vacuous empty space of nothing but water.

Dark takes a moment to just stare at Blue and the situation.

And approaches slowly and carefully at first, before declaring himself and his intentions.

He gets a certain type of way when he gets no response.

Blue continues not to notice him. Green had a better handle on his own head and managed to decipher someone was up to something pretty quickly but Blue is shuts him out entirely.

He gets upset enough to clench his fist in anger but doesn't swing or do anything particularly violent yet. He just gives up and sits alongside Blue muttering he didn't really EXPECT Blue to respond but just wanted him too.

Dark Link is very used to disappointment at this point in the story. He's also the kind of person to only give as much effort as required of him.

Lifting his head back up he's in a blizzard...HUH.

He comes across a door and...just breaks the lock.

"That's not how the game is played-"

Instead of trying to get a key he just breaks it. X'D

Dark really doesn't play around.

Looking around, he gets attacked by...a blonde Blue-

Apparently this phantom is a "Faker" and "not the real blue" according to Dark.

...Care to elaborate on what that thing IS Dark- Nope okay...

If you want my stupid thoughts: It's a representation of Blue pushing people away and wanting privacy rn.

Since literally locking himself up didn't work he's lashing out.

When defeated this thing just turns into a puff of smoke that's the same shades as Dark's hair when he mimics Blue.

Dark Link doing his usual thing, which is tearing people down.

I refer to this as "The bisexual lighting Dark Link panel" because that's what it ended up being and it's hilarious.

Dark Link is the bisexual representation yall deserve-

...I'll let myself out-

Okay though seriously I do love this panel because it's so over dramatic.

Dark Link's crazy faces are fun as hell and he has a way with being a perfect muse. 🖤

The blue bleeding into red with Dark's mania and typical color scheme taking over the cold freezing blue with red hot anger and annoyance on Dark's end.

This is also a detail so small I don't think anyone would care or notice otherwise: Dark Link is drawn with Blue's nose. X'D

Him mimicking people's facial features doesn't pop up too often but originally I did want him to do it more often.

Dark has to drag himself out of his literal purpose and uhh, safe to say he's getting pissed off.

When Dark Link gets particularly angry across the "Darkblue" interaction he copes by clenching his fist in anger to try and dispel it. This dude would love stress balls X'D

Trying to keep a cheery attitude about something he WAS excited about, while faced with a task that's just infuriating him is getting to him.

he's not gloomy for long because he finds Blue hiding from him in a giant ice hide away.

Stupid art detail: I just like when Dark has gloves that are tinted red. It's cute.

Dark acknowledges he could brute force his way into the ice block if he wanted too but is just too lazy. XD

Dark just spilling his own opinions everywhere when given a captive audience.

he's just a lil guy with his heart on his sleeve, just wants to share his opinions on stuff like what color is he prefers and trying to relate to the other party.

He liked the blue fire he saw in SOMEONE's memories (Haha BOTW reference hello)

Blue's preference for green also being a reference to him trying to steal Green's clothing in the original FS. Though...there's also the question to be had if the colors would actually HAVE different likes and dislikes when it comes to things such as favorite colors or food...? Personality wise they're very different but would that change something like that?

Anyway, Blue finally starts to realize SOMEONE is talking to him.

LOL So this is the first time Dark Link's gender has been called into question by someone.

...Funny thing about that: Dark Link doesn't really understand gender. X'D

I head cannon him with an...interesting voice. Most of the time I see him sounding like Blue diamond from Steven universe.

When he's screaming though, Invader Zim. X'D (Think Zim screaming "YOU'RE LYING!!!!" and you got what I think he sounds like when he screams)

Sometimes when he's broody Legoshi from Beastars.

Basically: if someone voiced him, they'd either have to have insane range or he'd have to be voiced by multiple people.

Anyway back to Dark's gender.

he mimics people.

He's only been around MEN outside of Zelda (And her gender is less than straight in FSR lmfao, think back to when Link referred to her with they/them)

So...He's only mimicking men for the most part.

Link didn't have a maternal figure in his life, so Dark's understanding of women is super limited.

He also just uses his own name as a pronoun.

Dark Link's third person speak is very particularly written...I'm very particular about it.

Example of how I'd write a sentence and what I'd avoid if it makes sense:

Correct O "Dark Link would NEVER do that!? Do you think I'm stupid!?"

Incorrect X "Dark Link would NEVER do that!? Do you think he's stupid!?"

...I hate the idea Dark would refer to himself in complete third person. It would sound childish vs him just using his own name as a pronoun like "I/me/Myself"

Cause...if you've noticed only OTHER characters refer to Dark link with gendered pronouns. Dark Link only refers to himself as "I/Me/Dark Link"

Usually Dark Link refers to himself when he's distancing himself from his actions or just when I think it'd be funny/fitting.

So yeah, the curse doesn't really have a gender and everyone so far has just assumed he's a dude. XD Dark Link himself doesn't correct anyone because...why would he?

I don't think Dark would understand that he/she/they aren't universal pronouns for every person. XD

If you're wondering for future/current readers: This is also why he doesn't care Vio calls him an "it" or a "Thing".

Those are just descriptors of what he is.

he knows everyone calls Zelda a "She" and has called Zelda as such but I doubt he'd know why or when to use it otherwise. he'd just follow everyone else's lead.

ANYWAY.

YEAH DARK LINK FUCKS WITH GENDER.

So like...I've mentioned it before SOMEWHERE but in FS they just...straight up have telepathy??? Like Vio uses it to get Blue and Red to come to the Shadow temple AND Green (Imo) is woken up by Vio calling out to him when he wakes up from the massage.

So like...it's just cannon they can use telepathy with each other so here's blue referencing he'd know what the others sound like X'D

Cause of his curiosity the ice melts because...well he wants to know who's talking to him.

Dark's really happy about being let in. Announcing "Found you!" like he won a game of hide and seek.

Blue continues to push the fact he wants to be alone right now but Dark's too busy being weird.

Dark...buddy...Don't touch people's face like that.

Just seeing if Blue's lips are kissable I guess. XDDD

Blue's not fully in the headspace mindset yet so he's having a hard time visualizing Dark Link atm.

But he KNOWS that voice.

So Dark tries to appeal to Blue's emotions to get him to go back home...instead of just tearing him down.

Nice use of your powers buddy.

We get a nice POV shot of the blurred mess Blue sees of Dark's silhouette.

Dark's words in the first panel really do seem like sympathy...but it's hard to tell with him.

Blue gets frustrated enough he drags himself into the headspace to confront this mystery guy.

OOp-

We're back in the boss room.

You know what that means.

Blue fully recognizing and talking to Dark surprises Dark since he was SHOCKED Green fully noticed him.

Though this time...he seems...not happy.

Ngl, Dark's pissed off face sends me.

He's SO PISSED that Blue's pulling this crap on him.

I think Blue's phrasing specifically is what did it for Dark to snap.

"WHEN ARE WE GOING TO GET A DAMN BREAK!?" - Blue shouted...at the disgruntled worker who can't take a break.

Dark even points out as much he could echo the sentiment.

Dark's just full of anger at this point at how this "Mission" has gone and has divulged into childish as hell insults.

Dark saying Blue's face is "hideous" and Blue immediately making an unattractive face is one of those things I just find so stupidly funny. (Dark ALSO making an unattractive face while saying it lmfao)

Just hits the funny bone just right. It's so stupid.

Dark Link proceeds to throw a piss baby tantrum.

ya know what pal, if I had to deal with BLUE I'd be at my limit too. XDDD

He's really just reflecting and taking out the rage that's been building and only getting worse since he's around Blue.

...Okay so I don't repeat myself, this entire fight is hilarious to me.

The eyebrow comment is so stupidly childish and it's funny DARK is the first one to point out Blue's MASSIVE EYEBROWS.

Dark is pissed off enough to actually fight somewhat competently to knock Blue onto his ass.

Dark's main method of attack is disarming his enemy. He knocked Shadow on his ass too and kept Vaati pinned when they fought after cutting his tentacles.

Dark's just loves breaking down your defences. ;)

HAND TRAUMA WARNING!!!

Blue accurately accesses Dark is shorter than him. (Blue's the tallest of the four colors in FSR.)

Even touching a sore spot with Dark being compared to Shadow Link.

Dark doesn't take that comparison well at ALL causing him to cut his own hand off just to win the fight.

And since the readers got hindsight: Dark Link's steaks in this fight are WAAAAY bigger than Blue's.

Dark gets chronic pain after he gets hurt by the Four Sword. (Granted timeline wise it's still the same day comic wise. 💀) Him holding the blade of his sword to avoid Blue getting him in the face and cutting his own hand off to avoid it was in a lot of ways the ONLY way out of that...Well if he was human.

I think there's a lot to be said about Dark literally harming himself to win this fight

He doesn't value himself much.

And that's a perpetual theme with him.

Dark just doesn't care about his own safety much.

Again, Dark already cut off his own hand and then GRABES THE BLADE OUCH DUDE.

These panels are pretty quick paced but dude's eyes have been the "Rage" eyes for awhile.

I usually draw Dark with these eyes when he's at his peak anger or manic.

Dark's cute lil horns popped out and his hat has a lil tail to it's end looking a LOT like vaati's.

MMMMM

Blue is SHOCKCED this guy would do something so drastic just to win.

Like reguardless of it growing back, I think most of us would have hesitation to CUTTING OFF YOUR OWN HAND.

Originally: Dark was meant to cut off his fingers, but ahh. Changed it because someone I know doesn't like finger/hand trauma. (There's a reason why there's a "mildly censored" of these pages.

Also the blood: Dark's blood dripping into Blue's eye literally clouding his vision and representing him being blinded by red/rage. XD

Hehe literal stuff.

It's also the eye that ends up glitching into Link's eye so...Hmmm wonder if there's a connection there.

Reasonable question from Blue. His shaky word bubble shows he's kinda afraid of that outcome.

Dark's downright offended by the suggestion though before laughing in Blue's face.

The "Are you stupid?" face is so silly. I'm sure a lot of you can tell it's inspired by the Excalibur face. XD

You can't "The writer's barely disguised fetish" me here, I added Dark pulling Blue's hair for someone else XDDD

FSR is nothing if not horny as hell.

The mention of Green snaps Blue out of having his hair yanked by this weirdo.

Stupid cut content rant:

Originally Dark Link was going to meet ALL the Links spare Green and Shadow all together (Vio/Blue/Red) and his rabbit dog line was actually in reference to Blue being PISSED about Dark.

La de daaa rewrites and ba boom they met here and Darkblue happened so.

Eh if you were interested. A lot of ideas end up being reused.

The idea of Dark reflecting Blue's toxic and overwhelming anger was used to a much better affect here than in the og brainstorming I think.

If you want another freaky cut detail:

Back when Dark had a bigger antagonist role. He went WAAAY deeper into his mental torture on Blue.

(Ya know. usual villain things like cosplaying vio's corpse)

Dark was less of a character in the older drafts and more of a HORROR creepy pasta character haha. more of what we saw Vio going through less of a hopeless romantic. XD

But the fact they had a boss fight has been around in the drafts since Dark's inception pretty much. Though the OG Darkblue fight had WAY more steaks and was towards the end of the og script draft of FSR.

Art wise I'm not completely happy with this page. Dark...buddy where's your eye shines. And MAN I wish I made the water more than JUST a gradient but ahh what can ya do. I release these daily sometimes with 6 page updates.

Can't always be bangers.

Dark expresses his "This is why you don't meet your heroes" rant because he's having an autistic meltdown shit didn't go the way he wanted. (Ya know what. Same sometimes pal)

Just throwing Blue back his sword in anger, to which Blue reaches for.

Dark is reasonably tired of this and expresses how HE feels about his situation.

This is more fucked up when you consider the four sword leaves Dark with serious pain.

Dude just offered to become Blue's punching bag "if it'll make him happy".

Dark's self worth is in the toilet and it's even worse because some part of him MUST think Blue might take him up on that offer.

Whatever fulfils his promise to Green.

Having this slung at his face Blue doesn't exactly take it well.

I've touched on it before but I really do feel like blue didn't ACTUALLY get much growth in his anger department. his anger just stopped being used as a punchline when he physically hurt the other 3.

Like...that's not character growth???

I really feel like we could have used a scene where characters REALLY touched on "hey, when you hurt people that isn't fucking cool" To blue but idk.

Like we got a very watered down idea of that where the fairy tells blue to stop being so mean but it's so soft and underplayed idk.

I really wanna touch on how I'd rewrite Blue's arc whenever I make a video dissecting the FS manga because I feel like blue has a LOT of potential to show someone coping with anger issues better.

Dark calling him out here forces him to recognize the gravity of his abuse towards the others.

And it'll be touched on again when Blue talks about how Vaati treats Dark Link, and how that pisses him off.

I just personally like how in realizing how his actions come off and how they hurt others (Specifically Dark Link here) Blue chooses to try and be better going forward.

Blue's defences kick in at first when Dark sugjests he take his anger out on him, and it's "Just something he needs to get used to" because he's bitter over what Vaati's been putting him through, what Shadow put him through even and the fight Blue and him JUST HAD.

Almost ALL of Dark's interactions, aside from Green's have been physical violence and that finally caught up with him and by proxy got him angry enough to confront blue on his behavior.

It's enough to make Blue think for a second like "No I'm not like that" so he immediately jumps to "Why would you say that!?".

Then to blaming Dark Link as he tries to rationalize before defaulting to wreck less anger just shouting for Dark Link to die as his terror at his own actions consume him.

The paneling reflecting how the darkness and his horror spread further and further.

We reached the 30 page limit sooooo we'll hop into this again soon. XD

#fsr rambles

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bumblingbabooshka · 7 months

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Read a fic about Tuvok having a history of self harm. It's a very short fic but it really interested me! So I wanted to doodle some stuff based on it - the first page is my interpretation of a certain summarized scene:

The concept of Tuvok's own self harm effecting T'Pel so viscerally was what got my attention most of all (as you can see) - I can imagine how much guilt that must have put on him and it's another, alien, dimension to struggling with mental health and one that would be interesting in Tuvok's position where he's now for the first time completely disconnected from his family and only has to contend with himself and his own mind. Once again, Vulcan identity is so fascinating!!! I love seeing what people do with it!

Page One: T'Pel bandages Tuvok's wrists in silence. She looks up at the man himself who's also watching the process. "It is done," she says. He does not seem to have heard her. "Tuvok," she prompts. He looks up. Speaking telepathically, he says "Yes. Your 'turn'." with some bitterness. He begins to bandage her wrists as she watches him. "There is no need for guilt," she says. Tuvok states "This is...familiar." We see a younger Tuvok; He is a teenager who appears disheveled and disturbed by the news he is receiving. An unseen individual, perhaps a guardian, says to him: "T'Pel is in the hospital." We see two knives, showing the passage of time. One is a common kitchen knife while the other is a ritual blade - they are both bloody. The guardian's words continue: "Tuvok. I implore you, stop." We see several women without defining facial features. They are both specific and representative - T'Pel and Janeway are clear and represent 'wife & friends' while the other Vulcan figure is perhaps 'family' (she could be Tuvok's mother, daughter, etc). "If not for her sake..." the unseen voice continues. "Then for your own." At that we see Tuvok appearing disturbed once again, however time has advanced. He is now aboard Voyager and lines emanating from him indicate that his bond to those previous figures has just been broken. For who's 'sake' does he have to preserve himself now? We see Tuvok alone in a severely darkened room - there appears to be a cushion in front of him. Is it for meditation or for a blade to sit upon? He appears to be bleeding. The word 'Stop' is in bold, hanging over him. It is unclear whether this is something he is thinking or the true end of his guardian's plea. Page Two has several unconnected Images. One: Tuvok is an incredibly disheveled looking teenager wearing an outfit indicating he is currently residing in the temple he was banished to at that time. He is looking down at his scarred wrist with an impassive yet very tired expression. He looks up, thinking "I feel...calm." An arrow pointing to him informs us that he has just unlocked a bad coping mechanism. Ostensibly as a 'quick fix' to the distress he was feeling at that time. Two: Tuvok is the same age but time has advanced a bit, indicated by his change in clothes. He is bandaging his wrists, looking as disheveled as ever. His 'quick fix' doesn't seem to have improved his health. He repeats mentally that this is the 'last time' - it can be assumed that he is referring to self harming. Three: Tuvok is an ensign under captain Sulu. This is his first stint in Starfleet. He is asked a question by a doctor, indicated by a question mark. "They're very old scars, doctor." Tuvok replies dismissively. Four: Tuvok is the same age but time has advanced a bit. He is lying on his bed in uniform, staring out at nothing in particular. The room is darkened and drenched in shadow. There is the indication of blood. An arrow looming over him states that he has relapsed. Five: A young Kathryn Janeway offers Tuvok a cup of what might be tea. "I'm here for you," she says, with a very concerned expression. Tuvok does not look at her. He sits with his steepled hands in his lap, staring down. He remains expressionless. There is a doodle of a ship identified as the USS Wyoming to orient us in time. Six: Tuvok and T'Pel hold hands and stare into what would be one another's eyes. Their facial features have been wiped clean. Tuvok's face is almost fully encased in an amorphous darkness which stretches across the space between them and leaks out of a hole in the middle of T'Pel's face which is being 'filled' by said darkness. The text above reads "All your rot bleeds into her." The darkness no longer has humanoid shape - there is a small white figure in its midst. It is unclear whether the darkness is emanating from the figure or threatening to swallow them. The text above reads "There isn't a scar on her that wasn't put there by you."

#self harm #self harm scars #ask to tag #doodle page #st voy #Tuvok/T'Pel #Tuvok #comix page #image descriptions under the cut!#fanart #st voyager #star trek voyager

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nhasablogg · 2 years

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For love to replace your shame

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Characters: Morgan/Reid, the BAU

Summary: The BAU are dealing with an UnSub who breaks into people’s homes and ties them up to tickle them without their consent. Reid, who knows a surprising amount of information about tickle kinks, is used as bait. Things go wrong, because of course they do.

A/N: Okay so! @ticklishraspberries was entirely right all this time and Criminal Minds is an amazing show, who would’ve thought! This one deals with a creep and some noncon tickling, but I hope I managed to make the discussion nuanced enough to show it’s not all black and white. We get some Moreid at the end, although Morgan is obviously pining for way longer. Not sure of my title, but I have nothing better. Enjoy!

Warnings: Ungraphic noncon tickling, tickle kinks, some ongoing trauma

Words: 12k

(Read on ao3)

The whole case screamed kidnapping attempts, but the BAU swiftly realized there was never supposed to actually be any kidnapping involved after they found the third victim tied up in their bed, seemingly unhurt, but scared. She claimed she’d been left there the entire night, the UnSub having broken into her home and spent approximately one hour with her before leaving. The only reason she was found was due to her not having shown up for work in the morning, which was so unlike her that her colleagues immediately contacted the authorities. The BAU arrived on scene after a short car ride only due to him not being the first one to be found like this.

“Not that I want him to murder people,” the chief had said. “But this behavior is strange enough that it makes me nervous.”

And nervous was exactly what the victims described the masked perpetrator to be, claiming they had paced the room after the initial ambush and made the victims watch them from the bed, all of them terrified, all of them unaware that they would eventually just leave the room and never return.

It was only once the fourth victim was found that any type of motive seemed to have been involved.

“He… tickled him?” Morgan rubbed at his temples. “For an hour?”

“Not entirely,” Gideon replied. “The victim said he’d first spent about twenty or so minutes hyping himself up to do it. Said it was intense, but seemingly brief once he started. As if the UnSub got one short burst of courage before he fled the scene. We’re dealing with someone who might want to try out their fantasies on people, but is afraid to.”

“Well, maybe he’s afraid now,” Prentiss said. “Who knows what could happen if he keeps doing this and getting away?”

“He’ll get bolder,” Hotch agreed. “And maybe he eventually won’t end up leaving at all.”

“That’s messed up.” Morgan glanced at Reid. “You’re not gonna share a bunch of facts about tickling with us, pretty boy?”

Reid looked up as if startled. “Right.” He cleared his throat. “T-tickle torture had been around for centuries. It was used in ancient Japan as a form of punishment when the need arose for a punishment to be administered without leaving any visible marks. There is also a consensual form of tickling which is vastly used among fetish communities, usually involving bondage of some sort. Although in recent years more evidence has surfaced that there isn’t always a sexual nature to it and some people might just simply-” He shrugged. “-enjoy it.”

“Why exactly do you know all that?” Morgan asked, shaking his head. “We think this guy is too scared to seek out like-minded people or something?”

“Possibly,” Reid said. “Some people will find this fascination, whatever form it may come in, to be embarrassing and alienating. Many find these urges overwhelming.”

“And eventually they allow them to seize control.” Gideon switched to an image of the four-poster bed of their latest victim. “He ties them up with rope, which takes longer, but I suspect using handcuffs without retrieving them once he leaves doesn’t make sense. Ties both the hands and feet, although not tight enough to really hurt them.”

“That could point to hesitation,” Hotch said.

Gideon nodded. “Or he enjoys seeing them squirm.”

Reid took a nearly - nearly - inaudible breath before he said, “Some people want their, uh, ticklees to be entirely immobile, while others want to be able to see them struggle.”

Morgan raised an eyebrow. “Ticklees?”

“The person receiving the tickling,” Reid said. “As opposed to a tickler.”

“There are terms?”

Reid met Morgan’s eye only briefly before saying, “There are terms for most things, yes. We’re talking about a whole community here. He’s painting a predatory picture, but for the most part these types of communities mostly want to be left to themselves, especially the types that revolve around aspects of humanity which are slightly more frowned upon. You know, same sex relationships, neurodivergence such as autism, other minorities. Things that don’t inherently hurt anyone, but are different from the general norm.” Reid shook his head. “They just want acceptance. I’m not saying this is necessarily a minority in the same sense, but you know what I mean.” He trailed off, seemingly aware that everyone was looking at him and refusing to meet anyone’s eye.

“You sure know everything about everything,” Morgan said, tilting his head at him, no teasing in his voice now.

Reid turned back to Gideon. “How would the victim explain the interaction?”

“Jarring,” Gideon said. “Said he kept jumping between spots once he’d started. As if he was afraid to linger for too long. Fortunately for the victim he didn’t seem to be too ticklish, which could explain the seemingly interrupted attempt. He wasn’t getting the reaction he was hoping for.”

“But instead of lashing out once things went wrong, he left.” Prentiss exhaled. “Not the typical reaction of someone who was out of control.”

“We’re dealing with someone who’s probably spent a lot of time trying to make these attempted tickle sessions happen. He’s still hesitant. He’s disappointed, but seems to lash out on himself rather than his victims.”

“He’s insecure,” Hotch added. “Inexperienced. Maybe he’s young. He attacks both men and women.”

Morgan said, “He bisexual?”

Gideon nodded. “Maybe. Or maybe just desperate. For him to have known his victims would be home alone all night it shows he must’ve kept watch for a while, and yet there’s only a matter of days between the attempts.”

“Maybe he knows them.” All eyes were back on Reid. He met Gideon’s. “I, uh, happen to know of a- tickle club. In town. The Feather? Or well, it’s more of a department of a club? It’s part of a bigger fetish chain which has several smaller locations close by catering to certain- interests. The biggest one is the BDSM one. ”

“How the hell do you know that?”

Reid met Morgan’s gaze. “Take one guess.”

Morgan burst into laughter. “Doctor Reid!” he said incredulously. “I never would have pegged you as someone who even goes into clubs at all.”

“Please shut up,” Reid said, looking down at his notes again. “I’ve never gone inside.”

“It’s possible the UnSub met the victims there,” Gideon said, ignoring Morgan’s snickering. “Maybe it was harder to connect with someone. Maybe it wasn’t what he thought it’d be like and it made him frustrated. Reid.” Reid looked up in alarm and Gideon did a relatively poor attempt at holding back a grin. “I think it’s time for you to go inside.”

“So are you ticklish?”

“Please, Morgan.”

Morgan held up his hands. “It’s just a question! A mighty relevant one may I add. Don’t want you to get attacked in there.” He made to poke him, but Reid slapped his hand away. “Aw, you’re no fun. Though I’m sure we will see plenty of people having fun soon,” he said, examining the building which, other than the relatively small sign of a feather blinking in an afternoon-dulled neon pink, looked like a regular building.

Reid said, “They should be open, although the, uh, specific activities don’t start until later.” He turned to Morgan. “Right now it’s just a bar.”

“Mm, pity. I was looking forward to seeing people giggle.”

Reid grabbed the door handle. “Really?”

Morgan shrugged. “Yeah, why not? Got curious. Did some digging. Or well, asked Garcia.”

“Did you like what you heard?”

“I wasn’t as appalled as I would’ve been had I not heard your passionate defense of it earlier. Now it just felt like something that’s not my cup of tea, but totally cool at the same time, you know?”

Reid opened the door and the faint sound of jazz met their ears. “Yeah, I get it.”

Hotch, who had been entirely silent throughout their conversation, took the lead once inside. “FBI. I’m SSA Hotchner. This is Agent Morgan and Doctor Spencer Reid.” They all showed their badges to the quite frankly extremely alarmed young man working the bar. He could barely be of legal age to be there at all, let alone work there on his own. “We just want to ask a few questions.”

“We have our permit,” he said. “And never missed rent.”

Hotch raised his hand. “Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble here. We’re mainly interested in your clientele.”

“What they do isn’t illegal either.”

“No, but when someone ties people up in their homes without their consent and starts doing what you do here it becomes a bit concerning,” Morgan said.

The guy’s eyes widened. “The hell?”

“That’s what we said.” Morgan let out a laugh, which made the kid visibly relax. “We’re just here to ask whether you’ve noticed someone who’s, well, a little strange come around here? Someone who’s seemingly new to the scene, but who keeps appearing most nights. Doesn’t really talk to anyone?”

“Dude, that’s half the people here.” The guy rolled his eyes, although his voice held fondness. “Some people here are very… shy. But they eventually find themselves, and their circle. Nine out of ten times at least. It’s pretty vulnerable, you know, coming here. That’s why I’ve suggested we start doing coded bracelets, but the boss says it will put too much pressure on people knowing why they came in to begin with. What they’re looking for and all. Some people are simply curious.”

“So there’s no one who seems particularly suspicious? Someone giving you a bad vibe?”

He looked at Morgan and shook his head. “Not that I can think of, but to be fair, it becomes quite- distracting to work here once everyone starts giggling.”

Hotch nodded. “We’ll come back tonight then.”

The guy broke into a grin. “Better be careful. Many people really value consent here, but might get poked once or twice anyway.”

Morgan patted Reid’s back, who was hovering behind them as if scared to be seen. “We’ll take the risk.”

The club wasn’t as packed as they’d thought when they all arrived many hours later, having tried their best to dress for the occasion. Only Morgan truly managed, and even he seemed much too stiff to look like he was fully enjoying himself.

“So much is happening,” he said, and he was right. While they’d been away the premises had changed and they now found thick curtains lining the walls which hid various methods of bondage. The idea was that people had the right to not have to see the activities happening unless they consented, although you could hear the faint sound of panicked laughter through the music. When the team peeked behind one of the curtains they found just simple shackles on the wall, meant to chain one’s hands above the head while the feet were free but useless. The one next to it had a chair with ropes. The guy working the bar (how long even was his shift?) told them they had several rooms in the back where people could go for more “adult fun, if you know what I mean. Not like that,” he added at Morgan’s look. “But there are more full body bondage opportunities that’s just much too personal to be held here. Although there’s one room where you can have an audience. Some of them like it.”

“What’s this?” Gideon asked, pointing to a box which was really just a bucket.

“The tool machine. You can stick your hand in and pick a tool at random. You know, feathers, brushes, toothbrushes, all that. This one.” He tapped the one next to it, which was transparent. “You can see what’s available and you grab what you want. Some people have a clearer vision while others want to be surprised.”

They walked into the bodies, some dancing, some talking, some engaging in quick and playful tickle fights and spilling their drinks during it and having to make their way back to the bar to replace it. A brilliant marketing strategy for the bartender’s tip jar.

Morgan caught a woman’s gaze and averted his eyes with a slight panic. “We can’t eliminate the idea that the victims might’ve met the UnSub here and are simply too embarrassed to admit it.”

“Maybe we should talk to them again,” Gideon said, visibly uncomfortable with the proximity of people. Despite the unfamiliarity they all seemed more curious than perplexed now about it all. Morgan hoped it would calm Reid, who’d not said a single word since they arrived, nor during their initial visit that afternoon, which was unusual. Profilers were good at their job, but he tried not to take guesses as to why he was being strange about this. It wasn’t, at the end of the day, his business.

They split up, Morgan and Reid walking together simply out of habit. “You see that?” Morgan pointed to a woman curling her fingers into another woman’s neck, making her shake with laughter if only for a moment. “That’s actually cute. I can see why people might like this nonsexually too.”

Reid glanced back at him and smiled, something small and subtle but oh so obvious to the BAU member. Morgan had to keep himself from actually reaching out to tickle him just to see it again. No matter his connection to this - was there even one or was he just being his usual knowledgeable self? - he was certain Reid was ticklish. He felt like the type. The type to squirm and flail and curl up. His reactions loud yet quiet at the same time.

Or maybe Morgan was just making that up.

“We’re looking for someone who’s seemingly shy,” Reid said, walking deeper into the room. Morgan had to jog in order to keep close enough to hear him over the booming music, which had replaced the afternoon’s calm jazz. “Someone not actively participating, and yet looking a little too intently at the others.”

“So not someone who’s making sure not to stare out of politeness or maybe timidness.”

“Exactly. This individual is desperate for it, but something stops him from joining.”

Someone bumped into Reid who in turn flew into Morgan. “Sorry!” the man yelled out, his grin huge as he pointed to someone behind him. “They got my sweet spot.”

He left as quickly as he’d arrived and Morgan helped Reid to steady himself again, unable to stop himself from laughing. “This is so… different.”

Reid turned to look at him, his face suddenly pink. “It is.”

Morgan tilted his head. “You’re making it really hard not to ask, you know. But I won’t, don’t worry.” He patted his shoulder. “Let’s keep looking.”

The room was becoming livelier by the minute, laughter and screaming and squirming filling the space and making Morgan feel as if he didn’t fully fit anymore. Reid was walking ahead of him, which wasn’t necessarily unheard of, but Morgan suspected it might’ve had something to do with him wanting to make sure Morgan couldn’t see his face unless he wanted him to. He could imagine it though. All wide, shifty eyes, the rest of his face immobile as was usually the case when Reid tried not to give too much of himself away.

His eyes told on him, though. Always had.

“Hey.” He reached out to get his attention, his fingertips grazing the small of his back. He wondered if it tickled him. Wondered if every single time they’d touched had been ticklish in any way. It was ridiculous. He didn’t even actually know if Reid was ticklish at all. “Look.” He pointed to the corner of the room when Reid turned toward him, directing his gaze to a lone man standing by the wall, visibly uncertain. “He look suspicious to you?”

Reid didn’t reply at first, his eyes fixed on the stranger. “Not necessarily,” he finally said, turning back to Morgan. “He might’ve just arrived, but we can watch him for a bit longer.”

“You do that,” Morgan said, patting his back. “I want to take a look around.”

He left him and wondered if he should’ve offered to do the opposite. Have Reid walk around without feeling his gaze on him. Free to watch. Free to explore. But they were working a case here, and he felt Reid would be grateful to not be given the opportunity to stray during it anyway, what with a group of incredibly skilled profilers walking around among him.

Morgan tried not to think about it.

He peeked behind one of the curtains, finding a man nearly tearing off his limbs from how hard he was pulling at his restrained hands, a woman letting her nails trail the bare skin of his midriff, up and down as he stood there nearly dangling in the handcuffs. Morgan felt he was intruding, which he technically was, and left, unsure of how he felt. He wasn’t meant to be seeing any of this, really, being merely a curious outsider, and so he stopped trying to understand it and focused on the people who weren’t laughing.

There weren’t many of them.

“Let’s regroup,” Gideon said when he bumped into him. He’d dropped his uncomfortable expression and was merely in work mode now. “Where’s Reid?”

“I left him watching a man.”

“Anyone of interest?”

“Interesting enough.”

But when they arrived at the spot Reid should’ve been at he was nowhere in sight.

Neither was the man.

Something in Morgan panicked, even though it was more likely for Reid to have wandered off than for him to have been forced away.

“He was right here,” he said, turning to the others. “I was barely gone for ten minutes.”

“Relax,” Prentiss said, shooting him a calming smile. “Maybe he went to the bathroom. This isn’t a crime scene.”

Hotch said, “Try calling him.”

“Right.” He fished out his phone. “A miracle if he hears anything through this music though,” he muttered, dialing his number anyway.

He craned his head over the crowd in the hopes of seeing that unruly head of hair. He couldn’t pinpoint why he felt nervous about this. As far as he was aware there lay no danger in here, only people living life in a way he’d never thought of before.

But it was a case, and the image of Reid tied up without his consent briefly crossed his mind. “Come on, pick up.”

“We’ll find him,” JJ said. “He probably just saw something. He can’t have gone far.”

“God, what if he gets tickled to death.”

“Highly unlikely, seeing as the clientele values consent more than anyone I’ve ever heard of,” Reid’s voice suddenly said.

“Jesus, Spencer,” Morgan sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “Where are you?”

“On your left. I’m waving.”

“I see you.”

“I lost the man.”

“Never mind that.”

Morgan hung up and watched Reid make his way through the crowd. “I don’t think he’s our UnSub,” he said when he joined them.

“You don’t?”

“He had several of the characteristics we were looking for, but he did one thing which made me cross him off of the list of suspects immediately.”

“Which was?”

Reid’s face pinkened. Come to think of it he’d been looking a bit flustered ever since Morgan caught the sight of him in the crowd. “He asked me to tickle him.”

“Ah.”

“Said he’d noticed me looking.”

“I see.”

“As far as I’m aware the UnSub does the tickling.”

“Right.” Morgan grinned. “Did you accept?”

Hotch appeared in Morgan’s line of vision before Reid could reply. “Outside. Come on. I can’t think with this music.”

It was cold outside. Morgan could smell snow in the air, the ground glistening with frost. His sweat would start cooling down and he would be freezing soon, but in that moment he felt as if he was overheating. “What a night.”

“And we were only in there for half an hour,” Prentiss said.

“And we nearly lost Reid during that half hour,” Morgan said, turning to grin at him only to find him staring at the door of the club, immobile. “Spencer?” When the hell had Morgan started calling him Spencer? “What’s wrong?”

Reid pointed to the glass door. “Him.”

“What?”

He turned to look at them. “We’ve been looking at it wrong. We’re not looking for someone who’s too shy to participate, but someone desperate enough to force people into it. Because he can’t participate. He’s frustrated.”

“The bartender,” Gideon suddenly said.

“I talked to him,” JJ said. “He’s here almost every night. He knows nearly everyone.”

“So the chances of him just picking random people are slim,” Gideon said. “He probably knows exactly who’s home alone when. Regulars have a tendency of trusting servers way too much once alcohol gets involved.” For some reason he moved his gaze to Reid. “We need to talk to the victims again.”

“Why me?”

“Reid, you really want me to answer that?”

Reid had his back to Morgan, but he could see him stiffening. Hotch was walking beside him and turned to shoot Morgan a warning look which he chose to ignore. They’d barely slept. He couldn’t bother with Reid’s attempt at playing nonchalant. He’d never questioned why he should be the one to meet victims before.

“Look,” he said with a sigh, regretting his tone. “You were familiar with it, and so I assume you’re the least likely to judge and they will feel it. That will be important.”

“We need them to open up,” Hotch agreed. “Because if they don’t we have no reason to suspect the bartender, but I’m going to assume they find this embarrassing since they never said anything about it. At least in the case of the last victim. I reckon the others couldn’t know what he’d been planning on doing.”

Reid hummed, but didn’t answer. Morgan thought of pulling him into a side-hug, letting his fingers dance over the back of his ribs and telling him to lighten up. But he had a feeling Reid wouldn’t appreciate that, especially now.

He still didn’t know if he was ticklish. Sometimes it felt he would never find out.

And why did that matter anyway?

The latest victim, a young man barely older than Reid, let them into his apartment warily, and Morgan felt a bit bad for the questions he was about to receive. He could only imagine how awkward it would feel for the freaking FBI to ask you about your kinks out of nowhere and for you to have to answer them honestly.

“Thanks for talking to us, Mr Johnson,” Hotch said.

Johnson crossed his arms. “Anything to catch this creep. Have you found him?”

“We may have a suspect, but we need you to be honest with us about something.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

Hotch turned to Reid. Your turn.

Reid cleared his throat. “The one thing about your case which sticks out from the others is the fact that you got tickled, so we visited The Feather.”

Reid purposefully said the club’s name and they watched Johnson stiffen semi-visibly. To them it was as clear as day. “The what?” he said anyway. Morgan nearly smiled. He sounded like Reid, in a way.

“The tickle club downtown,” Reid explained. “Are you familiar with it?”

“Not really.”

“Mr Johnson. Curt. Can I call you Curt?”

Curt shrugged. “Sure.”

“We need you to be honest, because if you’ve never been there we have no reason to suspect the person we suspect as there will be no connection.”

Morgan and Hotch fell back and watched Reid lean back against the wall, relaxed and calm, but tilting his head in a way that would hopefully make Curt feel safe.

Curt flushed. “I- okay. I’ve been. A few times.”

“We went last night. It’s fun, isn’t it?”

“I guess.”

Reid smiled, eyes downcast as he continued. “I’d never been inside before. I guess this was as good of a reason to try it. Well, not try it. Working a case and all.”

Curt let out a laugh. “I get you. I, uh, don’t think I gave anyone any reason to come do that to me, though. I’m a ler.”

This time it was Curt who was testing Reid. Morgan and Hotch watched Reid’s grin grow, but the way he’d tucked his hair behind his ears made the tips of his ears turning red quite visible to them all.

Morgan shook his head. Clever bastard.

“We spoke to the bartender,” Reid continued. “Are you close?”

“Charlie? We’ve talked. He’s almost always there.” He’d dropped his denial, which was a good sign. “I wouldn’t say he’s my best friend, but he’s friendly. Why? You don’t suspect him, do you?”

“He’s a person of interest, that’s all. But he fits well enough with the profile.”

“Which is?”

“Someone who observes and never joins.”

“Well, he works.”

“And yet he’s never gone there when he’s off, has he?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“If he’s usually there when it’s open it means he rarely has the day off when the club is open. It can be frustrating to not be able to find what you want, especially something so… vulnerable.”

Curt cocked his head, smirking at Reid now. “You’re very right, Mr-?”

“Doctor.”

“Funny last name.” Reid laughed and Curt added: “You have a nice laugh.”

Morgan suddenly didn’t like this at all.

“You were flirting with him.”

“I wasn’t flirting with him.”

“Uh huh. Well, he certainly was flirting with you.”

“That doesn’t mean I was flirting back,” Reid said, running a hand through his hair. They were in the elevator, Hotch between them. “You wanted me to talk to him, right? I was charming, right? Timid, safe, relatable. Wasn’t I, Hotch?”

“You certainly knew what to say to get him to talk, yes,” he replied, not looking at either of them. “Now stop bickering. I truly do believe this Charlie is our guy.”

“I wasn’t bickering,” Morgan mumbled as they exited the elevator and walked into headquarters. “But better be careful, Reid. If you start becoming too friendly Charlie might kidnap you next.”

“I’ve barely talked to him. I can’t see that happening.”

“I’m just looking out for you. I don’t know how ticklish you are.”

Reid rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to share that information if that’s what you thought.” But he was blushing and suddenly Morgan was too.

Lord help him.

Morgan and Hotch were the first ones in the room, Reid having had to go fix something and the others not yet having arrived. Morgan sat down where he knew he would have a good view of the board, which he was sure Reid would be standing by to speak even if only for a moment. He was so focused on choosing his seat that he didn’t notice Hotch’s eyes on him at first.

“Morgan,” Hotch said, sounding rushed. “Be careful, okay?”

Morgan frowned. “Careful? I’m not ticklish.” A lie, but he truly wasn’t that bad, okay. “Why should I be careful?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Okay. Well, unlike Reid I’m not a mindreader.”

“You’re taking this case personally.”

“What? Have you seen Reid? He’s more skittish than ever.”

“You’re taking it personally because of Reid.”

Morgan spluttered, but Gideon chose that exact moment to enter the room and he wasn’t able to reply. “You okay?”

“He’s fine,” Hotch said, and Morgan could’ve sworn he saw the hint of a smile on Hotch’s lips.

“Reid, fill us in, will you?” Gideon said two minutes later, the room full and Morgan still speechless.

Reid cleared his throat and stood, and Morgan now wished he’d chosen any other seat. “We talked to Mr Johnson. He didn’t admit to our suspicion verbatim, but as our conversation continued he made it very clear he visits the club frequently and has talked to Charlie.”

“Charlie?” Prentiss asked.

“The bartender,” Reid clarified. “We talked to the other victims who, after some gentle prying, admitted to having visited the club too, so I think we can agree that the UnSub probably saw them all there.”

“And are we sure about Charlie?” JJ asked.

“They described the UnSub as about 5’4, lanky, skittish.“ Reid closed his notes. “But what really settled it was that the first victim recognized his voice when she visited the club again this past weekend.”

Prentiss threw her hands out. “So all we gotta do is prove it’s him?”

“Exactly.”

“And how do we do that?”

Reid’s face changed and Morgan realized what he was about to suggest before he even said it. “Reid, no.”

Reid found his gaze, something determined yet much too vulnerable in it. “It’s the only way.”

“It’ll take too long.”

“Not actually. The second victim said they’d only been to the club a handful of times and I don’t see any reason as to why they would lie.” Reid shrugged. “We could get it done in less than a week if I just go every day.”

“What exactly are we talking about here?” Prentiss asked and Reid turned his gaze back to her.

“I’ll go to the club and befriend Charlie. Drop hints of where I live. Maybe we can get a temporary apartment he can break into. We catch him in the act.”

“He knows you’re FBI.”

“Yes, but I never said anything so he won’t recognize my voice. And I mostly stayed out of view when we first visited him.” Morgan remembered. Reid hiding behind him, as if scared of being caught looking too hard. “You of all people know I can disguise myself quite well when I want to.”

Morgan exhaled slowly. “Just. Be careful.”

Reid smiled, something small. “I always am.”

“So are you ticklish?”

“Derek.”

Morgan held up his hands. “I gotta know, pretty boy. What if he actually does tie you up.”

“I’ll survive.”

“Is that so?”

Reid flushed, turning back toward the road. They were sitting across the street from the club, waiting for it to get late enough for Reid to enter. Hotch and Gideon were in another car, all of them having decided to wait outside during the hour or so Reid said he would be inside. It had taken everything in Morgan to agree not to join him.

“I don’t remember us having to take a tickle endurance test before joining the BAU,” Morgan continued, grinning as Reid’s blush intensified. “So I’m just gonna assume you’re either not ticklish at all or that you don’t fully mind it.”

“Not that I’m not easy to crack, I see.”

“Not being easy to crack and having a terrible time while tickled are different things.”

“Nor that I trust you will get to me before it happens?”

“Reid.”

Reid looked at him, maybe only because Morgan had reached out and grabbed his wrist. “I’m, uh, sensitive there,” was his reply.

Morgan raised an eyebrow. “What? Your wrist?”

“Just a little. It’s enough for me to pull away if someone traces it lightly.”

“I see.” Morgan moved his hand up toward his elbow. “And here?”

“On the inside, yes.”

His shoulder. “And here?”

“No.”

“I think you’re an upper body type of ticklish, am I correct?” Morgan hovered his hand over his ribs now, fingers wiggling in the air.

Reid covered his torso with his arms, a giggle slipping out which was so fucking adorable Morgan nearly combusted right then and there.

“Ah, so I am correct,” was all he said, his hands still hovering. “Come on, let me try.”

“That’s not how that works,” Reid choked out, but he slowly moved his hands to the side and gave Morgan slight access to his ribcage and Morgan wasted no time. “Ah, no!”

“Oh my, Spencer Reid,” Morgan sang, letting his fingers poke and prod the skin while he could, narrowly managing to not let Reid’s flailing hand collide with his nose. “Oh, this won’t do, you know. He’ll break you immediately. We should call it off.”

“No, don’t!” Reid said, answering him, or possibly just being tickled. Morgan wasn’t sure.

“Is your belly ticklish too?”

“Derek, pleas-AH!”

“Very ticklish, I see.”

The sound of Morgan’s phone going off interrupted them. A text from Hotch. ‘We can see you, you know.’ Reid started spluttering, but all Morgan could do was laugh more hysterically than the situation called for.

“Well, guess you’re ready to go meet some other giggly people now,” he said, patting his arm with a grin.

Reid huffed, rubbing at the spot he’d been tickling. “It’s not- I’m not-”

“It’s okay, Spencer. You don’t have to explain.”

Reid nodded. “Okay. I- Thank you.”

Morgan smiled innocently. “For being decent or for tickling you?”

“Oh my god, please shut up.” He opened the door. “I’m going now.”

“Have fun.”

“Shut up.”

“Spence?”

Reid turned back to him. “Yes?”

“Please be careful.”

His face softened. “I will.”

Morgan sat in the car for approximately 23 minutes before he got restless enough to become semi reckless. When he pressed his face to the window of the club he could see Reid, dressed in a mesh top which showed off an unfair amount of his abdomen, leaning against the bar and blinking his glittery eyelids at Charlie. If their theory that he was bisexual due to his way of targeting people of all genders was correct, he should be eating this up. Morgan knew he was.

Would.

His phone rang. “Get back in the car,” Gideon said tiredly.

“I just wanna see.”

“Morgan, it’s an order,” Hotch said somewhere in the background and Morgan sighed. “You can pine over him at a later date.”

“Oh, you’re mean, you know that?” he said and hung up, but not before hearing the rare sound of Hotch laughing.

He watched Reid for a moment longer, knowing he was using borrowed time. He was smiling at the bartender, something shy yet curious. Morgan felt as if he was truly watching Reid take in the situation he was in, which made him feel as if he was prying. He wondered if he would’ve ended up here without the case, blinking timidly in the crowd, or whether Reid truly lived more in his head than in real life.

Reid was disappearing into the crowd. Charlie’s gaze followed him for only a second longer than Morgan liked.

He huffed. He wondered if he would’ve ever known about this, without the case. Why would he? He’d never even tried to tickle Reid before, which was strange considering how playful he was with most people, but maybe not strange when you took into account how Reid would react to physical touch. He shied away from it, or he simply seemed entirely in awe of it. Touch starved, Morgan realized. Touch starved and unsure of how to act.

Oh, Reid.

“My pretend apartment is nicer than my real one,” Reid said the next day, visibly tired not from how late he’d left the club, because it hadn’t been that late and all four of them had left simultaneously, but Morgan imagined he’d stayed up half the night, pondering it all.

“Well, I hope yours has slightly more personality,” Morgan said, taking in the blank walls and beige interior. They had no time to make it quirky. Charlie wouldn’t care anyway. “But hey, at least the bed’s comfy,” he added, wiggling his eyebrows at Reid who merely rolled his eyes.

Garcia was setting up discreet cameras around the apartment, focusing specifically on the windows facing the street in this first floor apartment, the front door and the entire bedroom. Morgan had been busy trying to convince Gideon he could hide perfectly well in the spare room while waiting for the UnSub, but he kept getting shut down.

They didn’t expect the UnSub to break in tonight, since Reid hadn’t told him anything about where he lived yet, but they were planning on having Reid stay at the club until it closed the next night with the hopes Charlie would follow him as he drove to his fake apartment. They’d found out what area he lived in and had Reid set up house only ten minutes away from him to hopefully catch his attention.

“You’re gonna have to stay here for the rest of the week,” Hotch was saying, pointing to the four-poster bed. “But do try to get some sleep too, okay? We’ll alert you if we see him moving.”

“What about you then?”

“We’ll take turns sleeping, don’t worry about us.”

“The bedroom’s all set up, wonder boy,” Garcia said, swiveling around to face Reid. “But no cameras will be on while you’re alone, we promise.”

Reid shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

“Well, if everything goes to plan we’ll know exactly when he shows up,” Morgan said. “No need to intrude on your privacy, as fun as it would be.” He poked Reid’s side, finding that now that he knew he was ticklish he couldn’t stop.

Reid squirmed without a sound, maybe trying to keep it cool in front of the others, maybe not wanting to alert anyone else of Morgan’s shenanigans and his adorable reactions.

Garcia grinned though, wide and toothy and utterly delighted. “Oh, do that again. I want to see him smile.”

“Your wish is my command, baby girl.”

Reid properly jerked away this time. “Hey. Don’t be mean.”

“Me? Oh, never.”

“Morgan, behave.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Morgan said, catching Hotch’s eye.

He simply pointed to the monitor which was currently resting on a chair beside the bed. “The camera’s on.”

“Oh, right.” Reid had gone red, which Morgan had found was his new favorite thing. “Looks like you’re in luck, pretty boy. Or should I say ticklish boy.”

“Oh, please, I’m sure you’re just as bad,” Prentiss said from somewhere behind him.

Morgan turned to raise an eyebrow at her. “Careful now, Prentiss. You don’t wanna start a war with me. I have two sisters.”

“Sounds to me like you’re scared, Morgan.”

“Who knew this case would turn into this,” JJ said with a laugh, and when Morgan turned to point to Reid, to say something about it being his fault, Reid had left.

He found him in the kitchen, staring into the mostly empty cupboard he’d opened. Morgan approached loudly enough to not startle him and leaned against the counter next to him. “Hey you.”

“Hey.”

“I’m sorry.”

Reid glanced at him briefly. “For?”

“Well, I assume I embarrassed you and that’s why you left. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s fine.”

“Reid.”

“You are simply trying to lighten up the mood while using relevant methods related to the case. I’m acting irrational. It’s fine.”

“Reid, please look at me.”

Reid didn’t immediately and Morgan had a terrifying moment of wondering if he’d crossed a line.

When Reid did, he looked so vulnerable Morgan wanted to cry.

“Look,” he started, crossing his arms. “I don’t really know what’s going on with you and, well, this. I’m sorry if it’s uncomfortable for you. I’m sorry if it’s nothing and we’re making it seem like it is. But just know we’re really grateful you’re doing this. I’m sorry there’s no other way.”

Reid smiled. “It seems to me as if you’re rambling, Derek Morgan.”

“Oh, shut up, pretty boy.” Morgan made to poke him out of habit and caught himself just in time. “Shit, sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Morgan saw him blush just before he turned away, finally grabbing one of the few glasses from the cupboard. “I don’t really mind it in private.”

“Is that so?”

“Don’t tease.”

“I would never.”

“Uh huh.” Reid filled his glass with water and took a sip, staring at Morgan over the edge. His face was still red. Morgan realized he’d not really seen him blush before this case. Get uncomfortable, sure, maybe even border on embarrassed, but never blush. He was slightly obsessed with it now.

“You really think this will work?” Reid asked, setting the glass down on the counter.

“I hope so,” Morgan said. “Otherwise we have no way of proving it’s him.”

“Unless we follow him.”

Morgan hummed. “Actually, maybe we should. Hey, Hotch? Reid had an idea.”

Morgan arrived at headquarters the next day feeling surprisingly well rested. Most of the team was already there, downing cups of coffee and looking over their plans for the day which would involve Reid going back to the club for the third night in a row and then go stay at his fake apartment. The others would be staking out outside while a couple of agents would make sure to follow Charlie in case he decided to go for another victim instead. It was as fool proof as they could make these things.

“Morning,” Morgan sang as he entered the room. “Reid here yet?”

“No.” Gideon was frowning. “I reckon I can’t be mad if he’s a few minutes late seeing as we’re forcing him to go clubbing each night, but he’s never usually not here at this time.”

“He’s not late yet though,” JJ pointed out.

“No,” Gideon replied distractedly and Morgan felt panic seize him. “Let’s wait it out a bit, okay?” Gideon said, catching his expression. “Maybe try calling him.”

“Calling him. Right.” Morgan fished his phone out of his pocket and dialed Reid’s number, the room becoming more tense the longer the phone rang without anyone answering. “Dammit. I’m going over there.”

“Morgan, wait,” Hotch started, but Morgan held out a hand to stop him.

“With all due respect, Hotch, I’m not staying here. If Reid’s on his way I will see him coming up.”

“You’re not going alone,” Gideon said, standing. “Let’s go.”

Morgan, Gideon and Hotch sped to Reid’s apartment five minutes later when the genius still hadn’t arrived and still wasn’t answering his phone. Hotch was driving only because both Gideon and Morgan were too freaked out, but that didn’t keep Morgan from urging him to drive faster.

“We should’ve followed Charlie last night too,” Gideon said. “We were careless. Careless with Reid.”

“Let’s calm down now,” Hotch said, rounding a corner. “The UnSub doesn’t actually hurt people.”

“How exactly can we know that?” Morgan asked. “We’ve only seen failed attempts. And Reid. He’s ticklish, right? I don’t think he could pretend he wasn’t. The UnSub might get crazy or something that he’s actually getting a reaction. Who knows what he will do.”

“Morgan.” Gideon’s hand reached back to touch his knee. “Breathe. Reid will be fine. He’ll probably just be tied up and unable to call anyone.”

“Oh, god.” Morgan could see it. Reid struggling against his restraints half the night, all the while remembering nothing but Tobias Hankel and how he’d treated him while tied.

Reid was half-asleep when they kicked the door in, blinking at them in a mix of confusion and relief. “Finally,” he said hoarsely, pulling weakly at his hands. “My blood flow is all messed up.”

“Oh no,” Morgan said, fully entering the room. “Shit, Reid. I’m so sorry.”

Reid exhaled. “Just get me out of these.”

Morgan and Gideon started untying the ropes while Hotch called in the others. They had a new crime scene, after all. He started in on the ropes around Reid’s ankles once done, all of them grateful that the UnSub had at least thrown a blanket over him before leaving to keep him from getting cold. He was very much nearly naked underneath.

“You okay?” Gideon asked quietly when no one said anything, finally managing to free one of his hands which Reid brought down slowly, rotating his wrist.

“I’m better now,” Reid replied, closing his eyes. “I can’t believe I actually slept, but at least that helped time pass. I knew you’d arrive in the morning.”

“We should’ve not even let him get that far.”

Reid opened his eyes. “Derek.”

“It’s the truth.”

“You couldn’t have known.” Morgan freed his other hand and Reid, of all things, brought it to Morgan’s chest. “Can someone get me water?”

“I’m on it,” Hotch said, leaving the room as quickly as a ghost while Gideon moved down to untie Reid’s foot and he was free.

They helped him sit up, Morgan grabbing the first items of clothing he could find and throwing it in his direction. “I’m sure you’d rather shower, but-”

“We need to see if there’s any DNA on you,” Gideon finished for him, smiling weakly. “Sorry.”

Reid shrugged, pulling the covers up to his chin. “It’s okay.”

“We’ll try to be quick.”

“Okay.”

“Reid.”

“Yeah?”

Gideon rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I won’t rush you, but you’re going to have to tell us exactly what happened, okay?”

“Okay.”

Morgan sighed as Reid fell back into him. “I’m gonna kill him.”

“It was definitely him,” Reid said. “He was wearing a mask, but I recognized his voice.”

“Jesus, he talked to you?”

“Not very much,” Reid mumbled. “But he, uh. He tried to tease me? It was highly uncomfortable, which he probably agreed on since he only did it a couple of times.”

Morgan wrapped his arm around him and pulled him even closer. “I’m gonna kill him,” he repeated.

Reid didn’t reply, only shut his eyes and rubbed at his wrists. The others arrived only minutes later, tiptoeing around them until JJ finally gently asked Reid to get up, leaving the room for him to get dressed.

It was all business after that and Morgan didn’t see Reid until much later, sitting curled up on his couch with Gideon who was balancing a notepad somewhat awkwardly on his lap. “So a noise woke you up.”

“Yes.”

“But before you could get your bearings the UnSub was in your bedroom.”

“Yes.”

“And then what happened?”

Reid picked at his nails, not looking at anyone in particular. “He overpowered me. Taped my mouth so I couldn’t scream before cuffing me to the bed.”

“Cuffing?”

“He wanted to restrain me quickly before changing it into ropes. It makes sense actually. No one would be still for long enough for him to tie them up properly, especially since he doesn’t actually seem to have any type of weapon with him.”

“Your mouth wasn’t taped when we found you.”

“He took it off before he left.”

“So he kept it on for the entire, uh, session?”

“To prevent me from laughing too loud since I live in an apartment complex, yes.” Reid crossed his arm. “He seemed to try to make sure I wouldn’t suffocate since I couldn’t breathe properly. I don’t think it was only hesitation, especially not once he’d been at it for a while.”

Gideon wrote something down. “How long was he at it?”

“A couple of hours. It was hard to keep count after a while, but I am pretty certain he broke in at around 1:30AM and left around 3:30. I think I fell asleep at 5 and you arrived at 8:15.”

The whole team was listening to him now, all hovering in various corners of the apartment. Morgan was standing right in front of them, not sure what to do but wishing Reid would look at him.

“Would you reckon he’s still insecure even though he got what I assume is a satisfying reaction from you?”

Reid hummed. “I would say his conscience is too strong. What difference does it make to me if he does it for two hours or five? As long as he left before morning he had as much of a chance at getting caught no matter the time, meaning not much of a chance at all.” Something crossed over Reid’s face. “But of course, he’s had no chance at checking my schedule, so maybe he got paranoid this time around.”

“He’s getting more desperate, but he’s not bold enough yet to keep going once his impulsivity has passed.” Gideon wrote something down. “Just for clarification, he did tickle you, right?”

Reid twitched and briefly met Morgan’s eyes. “Yes. He tied me up and tickled me for nearly two hours straight. After he’d undressed me.”

“Undressed you?”

“I don’t sleep in just boxers.”

Gideon looked like Morgan felt. Ready to kill a man. Ready to die for Reid. When he looked around, the entire BAU team looked exactly the same.

“That’s all he did,” Reid continued, staring a hole into the floor. “Tickled me everywhere and then left. Like I said he tried to tease me a little. ‘Do you like that?’ ‘That’s a good spot’ and so on. But he was mostly silent. It was nearly the worst part. He felt so-” Reid cut himself off, shaking his head. “Inhuman. Like I was just a thing to him. And since the tape was muffling my laughter the whole ordeal was just so silent. I felt as if I could die and no one would hear.”

JJ and Prentiss were on his side within seconds, but Reid wouldn’t accept their outstretched hands. “I’m fine now,” he insisted. “It’s been over for hours. It didn’t hurt.” He let out a humorless laugh. “It just tickled.”

“Prolonged tickling without a break does hurt,” Gideon insisted. “Especially when forced upon you like this. You don’t have to pretend as if it wasn’t terrifying, Reid.”

Reid leaned his head back and blinked at the ceiling. Morgan had a moment of panic thinking he would start crying, but he simply said in a steady voice, “I guess.”

Gideon closed his notebook. “Well, I think we have enough of the story to piece this together. I’m having agents outside his apartment and work. We’ll catch him in the act, I promise.” He patted Reid’s knee. “You rest.”

Reid sprang up so suddenly he nearly knocked over the coffee table. “No.”

“No?”

“I can’t.”

“What-”

“Stay here.”

“Reid, we can have agents outside here too, but I doubt he will return.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“Don’t you want to have a shower first?” Morgan said, speaking for the first time. “Wash him off of you?”

Reid blinked at him. “We have showers at work.”

“Indeed we do,” he replied with a sigh. “All right, come on, pretty boy. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Morgan panicked only for a moment about the fact that he couldn’t find Reid and hadn’t seen him for the past two hours before Garcia, clever as she was, texted him that he was in her room. When he peeked his head in, Reid was curled up on an armchair in the corner which Morgan didn’t remember belonging there, his gaze stuck on the floor. “Reid.”

“Shh, don’t disturb him,” Garcia said gently. “He’s reciting Don Quixote from memory.”

Morgan blinked. “Right.”

“He found out I’ve never read it, but that I love knight stories.”

“Well, Alonso Quijano isn’t technically a knight but merely believes it from consuming an enormous amount of chivalric romances. However, it is classified as one of the first novels, at least in western society, and therefore I found it only appropriate that she gets to hear the original story and not just the version pop culture has adopted.” Reid looked up and met Morgan’s eyes. “I just find I’m jumping between different translations and it bothers me.”

“You’re distracted,” Morgan said. “Makes sense.”

Reid looked down on the floor again. “I don’t like it,” he muttered and Morgan let out a surprised laugh.

“I’m trying to get him to eat something,” Garcia stage-whispered. “But he keeps saying after the next chapter.”

“Oh? That’s no good, pretty boy. You’ve not eaten since yesterday.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re lying. Baby girl?”

“Yes, sugar?”

“I have a protein bar on my desk. Could you get it?”

“Of course.”

Morgan turned back to Reid once Garcia had left, knowing he didn’t have much time. “Hey. You okay?”

Reid didn’t reply immediately. “Define okay.”

Morgan crouched down to get to his eye level. “I know this is weird for you. I’m sorry. But you have to remember to take care of yourself, okay?”

“This is so stupid.”

“Reid.”

“It’s, like, negative two on the trauma scale.”

“Reid, he literally tied you up and tortured you. I don’t care if he didn’t hurt you, it’s still torture. Even if you might normally like it.”

Reid covered his face. “Please stop. I can’t. Not now.”

Garcia returned before Morgan could reply. “Thanks, mama,” he said, grabbing the protein bar and forcing it into Reid’s hands. “Eat. Garcia will let me know if you don’t.”

“He’s hiding in Garcia’s room,” Morgan said. “I think he’s embarrassed and Garcia’s the only one who didn’t go to his apartment, well, after.”

Gideon sighed. “Well, I can’t blame him.”

“I have no idea what to do.”

“Give him time.” Gideon smiled, small and sad. “He’ll bounce back.”

Morgan rubbed his temples. “He says this shouldn’t be something to be traumatized about.”

“Ah.”

“I wish we’d not let him go home last night.”

“I know, Morgan, I know.”

Reid was hovering by his desk at the end of the day, visibly unsure of what to do.

“Pretty boy.”

He looked up, his face softening. It caught Morgan entirely off guard to see it.

“Uh,” he started, feeling dumb. “Let’s grab dinner.”

Reid shifted. “But the case.”

“The club’s not even open yet. We can have a bit of a break.”

“Okay.”

Morgan grinned and slung an arm over Reid’s shoulders as they walked to the elevator. He didn’t ask anyone else. No one else offered to join.

“So how far did you get in your Don Quixote recital?” he asked later, both of them halfway through their burgers.

“Oh, they just met Cardenio.”

“That tells me absolutely nothing, but I’m sure that’s great.”

Reid let out a laugh. “Nearly halfway through the first volume, Well, it depends on the translation, of course.”

“Of course.”

“I’m quite looking forward to reciting the part where Don Quixote pines over Dulcinea. I think Garcia will like it.”

“Oh, I’m sure she will.”

“Have you read it?”

“No. Not really my type of literature.”

“The sign of a well read mind is to read it all.”

“Did you just call me stupid?”

“Oh, no.” Reid grinned at him over his burger. It was the first real smile Morgan had seen all day.

“Hm. You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

Reid ducked his head. “Am I?”

Morgan blinked. “Of course. I keep calling you pretty boy, aren’t I?”

“I thought it was an insult of some sort.”

“Why would I be insulting you?” Morgan would feel offended had he not known how Reid felt about being complimented. He never really seemed to believe it unless it had anything to do with his intelligence.

Reid shrugged. “I just didn’t expect it to be a pet name.”

“I call Garcia all sorts of pet names,” he countered. “Flirting’s just our thing.”

“So you’re flirting with me?”

Morgan opened his mouth, but whatever he’d been about to say died at the tip of his tongue when he saw Reid tilting his head, eyes so fucking innocent Morgan knew he was messing with him.

Right?

“Yes,” he finally said. “Is that bad?”

“Not now that I know you’re doing it.”

“Is that so?”

“And that you’re doing it to Garcia too. It makes it less loaded.”

“Oh.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

They finished their food in silence. Morgan could practically see life return to Reid now that he was eating a proper meal. He sat up straighter. Looked less pale. Wasn’t just a shell of a person anymore. It made Morgan briefly consider not bringing him with him to the club - he shouldn’t have to see that man again.

“Tell me about Don Quixote,” he said, shoving fries into his mouth. “Please.”

Reid met his eyes. “From the start?”

“From the start. No reciting, though. We don’t have time.”

Reid smiled, bright and beautiful and heartbreaking. “Right.”

The club closed earlier on Thursdays, but they had been parked outside for the past two hours. They’d not said much, Morgan and Reid, but Reid had been picking at his nails and shaking his leg for nearly the entire time, which said much more than words anyway. Morgan sighed and reached out to place his hand gently on Reid’s knee, mentally slapping himself when Reid jumped at the sudden touch. “Sorry. You just- your leg-”

“Sorry,” Reid said, stilling it instantly. “Old habit.”

“That’s okay.”

“It probably gets annoying though after a while.”

Morgan let out a laugh. “A little,” he admitted.

Reid laughed too, both of them in stitches for nearly a whole minute for no real reason.

“He tickled me there,” Reid said once they’d calmed down. “On my knees.”

Morgan’s smile fell. “I’m sorry.”

“And behind them.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“I know. But I want to. I need someone to know exactly what he did, but- it can’t be because it’s a case. It can’t just be evidence. Does that make sense?”

“It does, yeah.”

Reid slid down the seat, eyes on the street outside. “He started with my feet. Pretty classic way to start it, I think. Many people have foot fetishes alongside other kinks. Anyway. He tickled them for maybe 20 minutes and then moved up to my knees, then torso, armpits. Finished with neck before starting over, although he wasn’t doing it in order after that. Just random. That was almost worse.”

“Reid, I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah. Me too.” Reid let out a humorless laugh. “Actually, the worst part was when he found this spot around here-” He pointed to his upper ribs. “-which was probably my worst spot. I didn’t even know about it. He wouldn’t stop tickling it.”

“Reid.”

“Sorry.”

“No, no, don’t you dare apologize. I just- I don’t want you to feel like you have to tell me everything now. It’s a day tomorrow too.”

“That’s true.”

“But if you want to tell everything now feel free to.”

“Actually, maybe I will wait until tomorrow.” He checked his watch. “The club’s about to close anyway.”

As if on cue they watched the security guards usher the last people out, all giggling, all unaware of literal FBI agents sitting just outside.

“He probably has to clean up,” Morgan said. “Hey, hey. Breathe.” Reid had gripped his arm, squeezing it tightly enough for Morgan to turn to fully face him. “Reid. He can’t hurt you again. I won’t let that happen.” He grabbed his hand. “You hear me?”

Reid nodded. “I hear you.”

“We’ll catch this creep, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Now breathe.”

Reid breathed.

They watched Charlie exit the club twenty minutes later. Hotch called them, all cars slowly trailing the bartender who was driving a tiny red thing as Hotch gave Morgan instructions. They were to take a shortcut once they’d determined what direction he was going in. If everything went according to plan Morgan and Reid would see where Charlie would go in, whether it was an apartment complex or a house. If they were lucky they wouldn’t lose him. Morgan was determined not to lose him.

“Be careful,” Hotch told them before hanging up. Morgan wasted no time and they were soon flying over the roads as subtly as they could, until he swerved into a side street and picked up pace toward the part of town they had guessed Charlie was going toward. Reid was leaning forward, as if willing the car to go faster. He wasn’t speaking, but Morgan was muttering curses enough for them both.

Charlie pulled up to a house on an otherwise calm street and Reid, faster than Morgan had ever seen him move, made to exit the car as soon as Charlie did until Morgan stopped him. “Wait.”

Reid huffed, looking as if he was about to disobey for a second before he deflated, and together they watched Charlie round the car, pace back and forth as if hyping himself up, before disappearing into the shadows. The others rolled up not long after, and together they waited, needing him to actually break in and overpower the victim in order to make sure he was their original UnSub. They had no space for mistakes.

Once Hotch gave the signal they ran, quickly and silently, agents surrounding the house as Morgan kicked the door down and rushed inside, Reid just at his heels. The UnSub must’ve heard the commotion and was trying to climb out the window when they burst into the bedroom upstairs, but they had agents beneath it and it had slowed him down. He raised his hands as Morgan pointed his gun at him. “Don’t shoot,” he begged, practically shaking.

Morgan tilted his head. “Reid.”

Reid crossed the room, turned the UnSub around and cuffed him. Hotch and Gideon entered just as he removed the mask to reveal a silently sobbing Charlie. Morgan didn’t feel bad for him at all.

Reid shoved him against Morgan. “You’re under arrest,” he said, turning toward the victim, a man, freakishly similar to Reid. Charlie was starting to develop a type. “Are you okay?”

Only one of his hands was tied, duct tape covering his mouth. He nodded. He was still dressed.

Reid went to help him. Morgan exhaled and glared at Charlie who was blinking at Reid, mouth agape. “Don’t look at him. Let’s go.”

He pulled him out of the room, nodding at Gideon.

It was over.

Only it wasn’t really over, was it. Reid wouldn’t look at anyone for the rest of the night, nor the next day. He seemed tired. Eyes constantly blinking as if fighting off sleep. Eyes not really meeting anyone’s gaze as he hovered in the background, or hid in Garcia’s room. She’d fed him, she told Morgan, although he’d not eaten much of it.

“Did you sleep last night?”

Reid looked up with a start. Morgan had cornered him on the way from the bathroom. “Oh, uh-”

“Reid,” Morgan sighed. “You should’ve called. Hell, I should’ve offered.”

“Offered what?”

“For you to stay with me.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know.” Morgan pointed at him. “But I’m offering now.”

“It’s a Saturday tomorrow.”

“So?”

Reid shrugged. “I figured you’d want to be free of me on the weekend.”

Morgan snorted. “I’ll kick you out in the morning, obviously.”

Reid laughed. A genuine, beautiful laugh. “Deal.”

They cooked. That was unusual. He never really cooked for himself, especially not on Fridays, but he figured Reid probably needed the distraction, needed the smell of onions and garlic sizzling in a pan until they realized they’d burnt them, needed the potatoes roasting in the oven and the chicken on the grill, the kale being chopped into pieces slightly bigger than the cubed bell peppers and cucumbers and tomatoes. The mundanity of it all. The normalcy. “I only have beer,” Morgan said. “Beer would be great,” Reid replied. In a different life, maybe Morgan would play music and they would dance. In a different life, maybe Morgan would kiss him.

Yes, that was where he was at. No, this was not a new realization.

“Thank you,” Reid said much later, both of them on the couch, full, sleepy, content enough. He was curled up on one end of it, as opposed to the way Morgan was sprawled out on the other. Morgan had only thought of him giggling under his fingers once and hated himself for it.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Morgan said.

“Yes, I do.”

“Okay, well, you’re welcome then.”

Reid ducked his head, but Morgan could still see him worrying his lips through his teeth, over and over. “I also want to thank you for, uh. For acting normal around me? Well, as normal as you can when I act like this.”

Morgan tilted his head. “You don’t have to thank me for that either.”

“I know I’m difficult.”

“You’re the exact opposite of that, Reid.”

Reid looked up. “Really?”

“You’re not lashing out. You’re not demanding anything. You simply slip away. You hide. I don’t want you to feel as if you need to hide.”

“I’m embarrassed.”

“I know.” Morgan turned to fully face him. “But you have no reason to be.”

Reid looked down. “I can’t help it.”

“I get that, I just- You’re a victim. You shouldn’t have to feel like you need to avoid us all.”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“But it was, Reid, it was. He tied you up against your will. He touched you against your will. That's a violation. I don’t care if you’re left without visible wounds. If you’re ticklish-” Reid twitched at the word. “-it’s torture to get tickled for too long without getting away. It doesn’t matter if you might otherwise like it. If there’s no consent there’s no enjoyment. Hey. Look at me.”

Reid did.

“I can see how this is an uncomfortable situation for you. Trust me, I get it. But no one thinks anything less of you because of it. Hell, we’re all probably just blaming ourselves for letting it happen. And if you’re embarrassed about being ticklish, let me just tell you that we’re all probably just as bad. Well, maybe not me-”

Reid laughed. “Oh, really?”

Morgan grinned. “Hush, pretty boy.”

Reid fiddled with the hem of his shirt. “You called me ticklish boy once.”

“Well, did I lie?”

“I guess not.” His face pinkened. “I, uh. I guess I can’t really explain why it embarrasses me that I’m so- sensitive.”

“I think that’s pretty normal, though? It’s kind of seen as a weakness, and since our reactions are involuntary it can be a bit vulnerable.”

“I guess.”

“Spencer.”

“Mm?”

“Come here.” Reid did without a word. “Roll up your sleeve and hold out your arm.” He did, again without questioning him. “See this?” Morgan hovered his hand over Reid’s wrist. “This is a spot that I know is ticklish. Am I tickling it?” He wiggled his fingers in the air. “Maybe you feel like I am, or like I will, because you anticipate the sensation and sometimes that’s worse. But I’m not going to do it, because you trust me not to.”

Reid inhaled sharply, watching Morgan’s wiggling fingers for a moment. “What if I wanted you to?” he asked quietly.

“Well,” Morgan started, unsure of why his heart was suddenly racing. “If you wanted me to, I’d probably do it. Because even though we’ve been talking about how it shouldn’t be embarrassing, it’s still really fucking cute that you’re ticklish, Spencer Reid.”

Reid flushed. He’d tucked his hair behind his ears and Morgan watched how they grew red first, his blush then spreading down over his face. Maybe, if Morgan flustered him for long enough, his neck would join in.

He still hadn’t pulled his hand away. Morgan experimentally moved upward, hovering over the inside of Reid’s elbow. “Just say when.”

He kept moving over his arm, watching how Reid visibly started recoiling as he got closer to his neck. He’d probably start giggling if Morgan kept it up, which was so adorable Morgan nearly did, but he moved back to his wrist, unsure of where the line was. He refused to cross it.

“He didn’t tickle my arms,” Reid suddenly said. “I guess it’s an unconventional spot.”

“Like palms.”

“And shoulders.”

“Your shoulders aren’t ticklish.”

“You remember.”

“Of course I do.”

“My palms are.”

“Oh? Isn’t that something I’m supposed to figure out myself?”

“Not if you do that.”

“I won’t touch you until you tell me to.”

“That’s cruel.”

Morgan let out a laugh. “Is it? I thought I was being quite merciful.”

“You know how I feel about it.”

“Do I?”

“You’re a profiler.”

“I try not to profile my friends.”

Reid huffed. “So how did you guess?”

“That you like it? Oh, I don’t need to be a profiler to figure that out.”

“I want you to do it.”

“Tickle you?”

“Uh huh.”

“Now?”

Reid hesitated.

“I’ll stop as soon as you tell me to,” Morgan promised. “We can even have a safe word.”

“Vegas.”

“Vegas? Okay. Can I start here?”

“Uh huh.”

“I need you to say yes, pretty boy.”

“Yes. Please.”

Morgan let his fingertips collide with Reid’s palm, his fingers twitching as Morgan moved over the skin gently, not necessarily tickling it, but being so very gentle he knew it probably tickled anyway. He glanced up and saw Reid staring at his hand, as if mesmerized. “How’s that?”

“On the verge of unbearable.”

“And this?” He moved upward, ghosting over Reid’s wrist, grinning when Reid made a sound which was eerily similar to a yelp.

“Much more unbearable,” he breathed out, covering his face with his other hand.

“You ready for me to go for your elbow?”

“Wait. Vegas. No, wait, don’t stop, but just- wait.”

Morgan stilled his hand, eyes never leaving Reid’s face. “Just say when.”

“I think this will make me start squirming.”

“That’s okay. That’s part of it. You’re not supposed to stay still. Well, unless you’re into that. But squirmin’s half the fun.”

“Right.” Reid breathed out a laugh. “Okay, go.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, go.”

“You sure sure?”

“Derek- ah!”

Morgan laughed as he wiggled his fingers over the inside of Reid’s elbow, following him when Reid moved, a dance of some sort. “I’m gonna get your neck now.” He gave Reid a couple of seconds in case he wanted to protest before curing his fingers beneath his chin, delighted at how Reid finally giggled. “Oh, that’s a good one, huh?”

“Oh my god,” he said through his laughter, his voice high pitched, his body unraveling in order to instinctively push Morgan away. “Not there.”

“No? How ‘bout here?” Morgan wormed his fingers under Reid’s arms, causing a ripple of events that resulted in him nearly getting a foot to his face. He grabbed his ankle. “Careful.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry.” His smile was so bright Morgan nearly cried.

“Hmm.” He squeezed his foot. “Tell me if you want it.”

“That’s so mean.”

“Nah, it’s the opposite of mean, pretty boy. I’m being considerate.”

Reid’s smile fell. “He wasn’t.”

Morgan dropped his foot. “Reid. He was an UnSub. He had no consideration for others. That doesn’t say anything about your worth just because you happened to cross his path.”

Reid nodded. “Okay.”

“You’re not believing me.”

“I will.” Reid sat up. “I promise I will one day, I just- I need time.”

“I have all the time in the world. And whatever it is that you feel about this, I want to understand.”

“Maybe I’ll tell you one day.”

Morgan grinned. “I’m looking forward to it. Now.” He hovered a hand over his knee. “What was it you said about your knees again?”

Reid giggled, his reaction instant, genuine, so fucking adorable that Morgan knew he could never pretend it wasn’t again. He vowed to make this enjoyable for him again, even if it still embarrassed him. Even if Morgan might not fully understand, although he wanted to try.

“We’re not all creeps,” Reid would say later, both of them lying side by side on the bed. The room was dark, although the light coming from the street lights outside illuminated Reid enough for Derek to see him moving. “I need you to know that.”

“I know, pretty boy.”

“A lot of us value consent.”

“I know.”

“Although many like bondage.”

“Do you?”

Reid hesitated for a moment. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, that’s fine too.”

“I don’t even think it’s because of, well, you know. I just don’t think it’s my cup of tea.”

“Totally get that.”

Reid turned to his side, hand hovering over Morgan’s ribs. “So are you ticklish?”

Morgan grabbed his hand. “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Sounds a bit like a lie to me.” He was grinning. Morgan had to laugh. “I’ll get you, Derek Morgan.”

“Only for me to get revenge, right?”

Had it not been dark Morgan was sure he’d see him blush. “Shut up.”

“Mm, make me.”

Reid did. It was their fourth kiss of the night, but who was counting.

(Morgan was, although he lost count by morning.)

Two weeks later they went back to the club, hand in hand.

#tickling #ticklish!reid #ticklish!spencer reid #moreid #criminal minds fic #moreid fic #criminal minds #tickle fic #n writes #for love to replace your shame

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bihanarms · 1 year

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Chapter 11 : Now your Mess is mine.

Here it is ;) sorry for the delay and enjoy the last chapter !

With heavy and numbed eyelids, Krauser felt his mind slowly emerge from the darkness. A hazy veil gradually dissipated as he became aware of his presence in an unfamiliar room. His body lay on a bed, with fresh and soft sheets caressing his skin. Bandages wrapped around his chest, tight but comforting. He felt a slight tension with every movement, a sign that his body had suffered serious injuries. A throbbing headache pounded in his temples as if someone were relentlessly hammering inside his head.

Krauser blinked, trying to recall what had happened. The memories were blurry, like scattered fragments of an incomplete puzzle. Images of a fierce battle, explosions, muffled screams, and menacing shadows overlapped in his mind. But nothing was clear, nothing made sense. How did he end up here? Where exactly was "here"?

He cautiously attempted to get up, being careful not to make any noise. His movements were slow and labored, but he was determined to find out where he was and what had happened. Silently, he left the room and entered the living room, his gaze scanning the area for clues.

Suddenly, his eyes fell upon a young woman of familiar appearance sitting in front of a computer, wearing headphones. Krauser observed the scene for a moment, assessing the situation. He decided to act swiftly, his hand instinctively reaching for a knife placed on a nearby table. Without hesitation, he approached her from behind, placing the knife against her throat.

"Don't make a move," He murmured in a low but menacing voice. "Tell me where I am and what happened."

With a swift yet cautious motion, the woman abruptly paused the melody resonating in her ears, raising her gaze to find the man she had just saved staring at her with a threatening gaze. "Is this how one expresses gratitude towards the one who just saved their life?"

The man, recognizing the young woman despite his recent wounds, displayed a gaze now more perplexed than murderous. A sudden pain shot through his mind as the blade still grazed (Name)'s skin, causing him a sharp headache and making him abruptly release the knife, which crashed to the floor.

Freed from his grip, she quickly stood up, concerned, attentively observing the condition of the former soldier. With genuine worry in her voice, she urged him to lie back down, noting the remnants of his injuries. "You should lie back down; you've barely recovered from your woun-

Suddenly, Krauser regained his senses and firmly grabbed (Name)'s arm, restraining her once again in a hold she couldn't escape on her own. "Where am I." he demanded.

He hadn't changed a damn bit... The muscular arm of the former wounded soldier tightening around her neck as she struggled to utter the following words. "We're in the cabin I had reserved in Spain for my initial investigation, far from Valdelobos, far from the island..." As she spoke, He slowly loosened his grip to allow her to continue more clearly. "You transformed into... I don't even have words to describe it, but well..." She took a deep breath tinged with sadness before continuing. "I found you, dragged you to a laboratory, and we escaped from there using an old motorboat... just before the island exploded in a way I can't explain."

Krauser released (Name) completely, appearing suddenly confused. His gaze drifted into the distance as he tried to piece together the fragments of his memory, with memories of past events gradually returning to him. Images flickered in his mind like fleeting flashes of a reality he struggled to reconstruct.

He ran a hand over his forehead, looking troubled, then fixed (Name) with a mixture of disbelief and recognition in his eyes. Emotions swirled within him, a complex mix of confusion, gratitude, and incomprehension. He attempted to form the words, but his voice seemed trapped in a vice of fragmented memories.

"An island... exploding..." he articulated with difficulty, trying to reconstruct the missing pieces of his personal puzzle. Memories seemed to float in the dark corners of his mind, distant echoes of a reality he now had to confront.

"You completely lost control of yourself, honestly.." the young woman said, her expression compassionate.

"Yeah... I remember some things, as the infection took over, everything became blurry in my mind, but, I remember the most important... unfortunately," he sighed.

"I'm sorry." she finished.

Krauser, perplexed, scrutinized (Name) with a mixed expression of incomprehension and curiosity. His mind was haunted by a persistent question: why on earth had this young woman saved him when she could have escaped without him, without caring about his fate?

"(Name)," he uttered with a confused voice, "I don't fully understand why you saved me-

"You did it twice. We're still not even," she cut him off, a smile appearing on her face.

As he observed her, he noticed a complex blend of emotions on her face: compassion, compassion for him, even after everything he had done. There was a spark of empathy, a glimmer of hope in her gaze.

She had seen beyond his monster facade, beyond the violence and anger that had consumed his being.

As he remembered what had happened, a surge of energy entered his voice as he seemed to recall something in particular. "What about that bitch in red dress? And Wesker? Those sons of bitches..."

"I have no idea, honestly. The island was reduced to ashes, but I can't confirm anyone's death," she said, her tone compassionate.

"But them... I have to find them and kill them."

(Name) knew that deadly glint in Krauser's eyes all too well. She had faced it too many times... fortunately, that gaze was now directed elsewhere. But when it came to those two, he wanted them dead. And she could only understand that.

The urge to leave immediately, to chase after them, burned within him like an unleashed inferno. But even before he could step across the threshold of the cabin, she stepped in, firmly holding him back by the arm.

"Jack. you're not in any condition," she declared with a determined voice, her eyes fixed upon him with a glimmer of concern mixed with determination. "You won't accomplish anything in this state. You need to rest, heal yourself before embarking on this quest."

"That's none of your concern," Krauser growled in annoyance, his impulsive nature clashing with her logic and caution. He tried to break free from her grip, but she tightened her hold, not yielding an inch.

"You're right, it's none of my concern. Once you're completely healed, you can do whatever you want and walk through that door to never hear from me again." She held his gaze, unwavering. "But for now, it's a no."

Always so stubborn, he thought deep within himself.

"Why?"

"What do you mean?" she said.

"Tell me, really, why are you doing this?"

"I told you. You saved me twice, and we're still not even. It's simply a matter of feeling indebted, of making myself feel better."

What a terrible liar.

Well, partially. It was true that she felt indebted, but deep down, she knew it was much more than that. The time she had nursed him back to health, that kiss... Not only did she understand his anger, but it had also become a part of her. She felt it deep within herself—their stories were now intertwined, bound by an inexplicable force. She felt it vividly, even now as he locked eyes with her. She couldn't describe it in words, but it was undeniably powerful.

"Very well." he finally breathed out, letting out a resigned sigh. "But it better be quick."

(Name) gave a grateful smile. "Yes, sir. But for now, let me take care of you. I need to change your bandages." She finished by gesturing for him to follow.

Let me take care of you. It was the first time he had ever heard those words, he who was accustomed to fending for himself.

What a strange feeling.

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

As the days passed, a particular dynamic took hold between (Name) and Krauser. While she took care of him, tending to his physical wounds as well as his inner ones, a mutual trust grew.

Initially, he was reluctant, feeling uncomfortable receiving so much attention and care. His rebellious spirit was used to relying on himself, counting only on his own strength. But gradually, as the days went by, he began to let go, to let down his defenses.

He realized that (Name)'s presence was not a weakness, but a strength. She was there for him, supporting him wholeheartedly, and it gave him a strange sense of security. He started to acknowledge that perhaps he couldn't face everything alone, that he wouldn't say no to someone by his side if it was her.

One day, as the cabin was enveloped in a peaceful calm, (Name) attended to changing Jack's bandages. Their routine of care had created a unique intimacy between them, but this time, there was a palpable tension in the air.

As (Name) gently adjusted the bandage, her delicate touch grazing his skin, they exchanged an intense gaze, their eyes seeking each other. A subtle electricity ran through the space between them, creating an atmosphere charged with unspoken emotions, an atmosphere they had felt before.

Their emotions and desires clashed in a silent dance. Then, she broke the silence with a soft but uncertain voice.

"How did we end up in this situation..." she tried to laugh to ease the atmosphere, " given how it all started...

The young woman felt her heart race, the beats resonating in her temples, while Krauser seemed serene, not letting her gaze escape. How can he be so calm?

"You kissed me right?"

In an instant, silence fell once again, as she felt her heart might explode, heat rising alarmingly within her body. Does he really remember that? How awkward..

"N-no, well, y-yes, I didn't really have a choice and given the c-circumsta-"

Without warning, he leaned slightly towards her, delicately gripping her neck with his strong hand, allowing his palm to glide over her soft skin. His gesture carried an unexpected tenderness as he gently pressed his lips against hers.

(Name) was taken aback by Krauser's audacity. Her heart leaped in her chest, while her cheeks flushed under the sudden kiss. She was overwhelmed by a wave of conflicting emotions, uncertain of how she should react. "I-"

"Shh."

He kissed her again.

And it felt so much better than the first one

The end. I sincerely hope you enjoyed this fiction; I loved writing it... Apologies for any possible mistakes. As for the ending, I wanted to give this man the happy ending he deserved, so it might be a bit too cute, but I like it. As for what comes next, feel free to imagine it yourself! And don't hesitate to share your opinion with me.

#resident evil #resident evil 4 #resident evil remake #leon kennedy #jack krauser #major krauser #krauser x reader #krauser #re4 krauser #resident evil krauser #major jack krauser #jack krauser x reader #wolfgang krauser #re4r #re4

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torchickentacos · 2 years

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Every Opportunity Pokemon Missed by not having Drew in Destiny Deoxys: A Non-Comprehensive But Still Long-Ass list

Art above- credit to the lovely @salon-maiden-anabel ! So. This is a topic that, if my sister mentions, she knows I will go off about it at the dinner table while my mother stares on confusedly. This is a topic I feel very strongly about, and I decided to put it into words for this post-and I KNOW I'm not the only one with strong feelings about this topic! @raich-raichu I know you showed interest in this topic when I said I'd do it so hope you don't mind if I @ you! THIS GOES FOR EVERYONE: PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE REBLOG WITH YOUR OWN OPINIONS AND/OR ADDITIONS ON THIS. I thrive on hearing everyone's takes and opinions. Images are included which makes it kind of long, each number on my list has a corresponding image below. For funsies. Also, I imagine this happening right before the last grand festival, though I know that’s incorrect. It just gives me more developed characters to work with since advanced and battle frontier Drew are pretty different development wise. This is with late AG Drew.

Some background. Why do I think Drew should be in Destiny Deoxys (which will be referred to as DD for the sake of my carpal tunnel)? What is the connection? Why DD and not, say Temple of the Sea? The key is the location. Drew is canonically from LaRousse City. And DD is the ONLY time we ever get to see it. Connection has been established. So... what would he even do in the movie? I'm glad you asked! Let's get into it. A numbered list of every missed opportunity the writers had by not including him.

1.) Character building through backstory. We know little to nothing about Drew's backstory, and this would have been a really natural way to learn more about it. We could have had a scene where we learn, oh, this is the flower shop his mother worked at and he grew up helping tend to the plants or whatever. This is the garden where he met budew. Just little things here and there would have been fascinating, and this movie's setting was a PERFECT opportunity for it. Plus, here's the vision. We get a semi emotional, nostalgic scene with his favorite place as a child, right? Rare Drew emotional moment, maybe sharing it with May and co.? And then, later in the movie, we see that place destroyed by the conflict in the city and we get an emotional sad moment there!!!! And in the ending credits with the song??? WE SEE HIM AND HIS POKEMON STAYING BEHIND IN THE CITY AND STARTING TO REBUILD IT (after waving at Ash and co. on the train back to mainland Hoenn). Guys, my vision is CLEAR AS DAY. Greenhouse time.

2.) Seeing him interact with other characters. Drew isn't the most extroverted guy out there, and we only ever really see him talk to Ash, May, Solidad, Harley, and Brianna. Also, May is the only consistent one in that list. That's literally five people, for those of you keeping count at home. In DD? A large cast of interesting characters for him to interact with, possibly childhood acquaintances that know him! We have Rebecca, purple hair metagross trainer who likes her computer more than most people. Sid, a human golden retriever. Rafe, who's basically Drew but with brown hair and none of the redeeming qualities. The two twins, whose names are never spoken and are only in the credits as Audrey and Kathryn (one of them also has a masquerain iirc, or at least a Surskit!). And Tory, kid who is scared of pokemon and tbh I wouldn't change Tory's role or screen interactions much. I would, however, say the others have a lot of potential for interactions with Drew. Rafe taunting both Ash and Drew at the same time? Rebecca and Drew getting along well because they're the only two who appreciate silence as a form of hanging out? Audrey and Katherine taking little sibling roles, possibly? Tons of possibilities here.

3.) Shamelessly plugging the contestshipping agenda here, but why else do you all follow me? Anyways, Sid from Destiny Deoxys has a sweet but entirely blatant crush on May (who actually knows and does not give much of a shit, though they get along well anyways). Now, I usually do not like jealousy tropes. I think they're easy to do poorly and for them to come across as posessive, which I am not a fan of. HOWEVER, I am a fan of Drew being all moody and bitchy /affectionate. I can see it going either one of two ways: one, we get asshole Drew back from season one of Advanced, who makes snide remarks at Sid who would likely brush it off as fun banter, further annoying Drew who literally cannot get under Sid's skin due to Sid's overwhelming optimism, or two, we get the Drew that has all of his walls up, hiding behind this cool facade of professionalism and aloofness, sort of emotionally overcompensating for trying to hide how much it irks him. Either way, would have been fun. Could have been used for comedy, too, since May is dumb as shit with the guy who has genuine feelings for her, but clocks the puppy love crush from Sid immediately. Would I have trusted the pokemon company to do this trope well? No, but it could have been funny as hell in the right hands.

4.) On that note, THE PASSPORT PHOTO SCENE. May isn't the most photogenic person in the world. Does he tease her about it? Does he make some offhand remark about how he thinks she looks nice before aloof-ly and deftly moving on from the topic, leaving her with the rare compliment as she tries to figure out if he was serious or not (or was it for her beautifly)? Does he show her how to retake it? DOES SHE GENUINELY SMILE IN THAT RETAKE PHOTO, LOOKING AT HIM BEHIND THE CAMERA ROBOT THING???????ASDFGHJKL so much potential with this already gold scene.

5.) More location-based character building. LaRousse City is home to the (or at least a) Battle Tower, and no mention of contests. This means, likely, that LaRousse is a very battle-enthusiast city. Did this make Drew feel like an outcast as a kid, being interested in something different from his peers? Could have been interesting.

6.) Let Drew have his hero moment. Let's be honest- most of the times that we see him, he's being either a jerk (affectionate), head-over-heels in love, or pathetic (see: Who What When Where Wynaut drowning incident). And in what I would categorize as an adventure anime, he has remarkably... little adventuring, save for a traipse in the woods with On Cloud Arcanine. This can be his moment to actually shine! He's obviously a great battler, though he prefers contest-oriented formats. He beat Ash with a type disadvantage. He's a strong trainer- let him put it to use and try to hold off the Deoxys clones (bonus points if he's holding them off from May, not that she needs him to save her ass).

7.) Forced togetherness with the crew. We know Drew has no issue spending time with May, and he's at the very least quite tolerant of Ash. But... Brock? Max? Fun fact, Brock CANONICALLY does NOT like Drew. At all. Calls him nails on a chalkboard. Makes this face at him (pictured below). Look me in the eyes and tell me you don't want more of that. Tell me to my face that you don't want more of him having to socialize and of Brock being... like this. Shit's hilarious.

Look at him.

I need more of this in my life.

8.) The angst. He has his entire city destroyed, let him have a grieving moment for it. Hell, let him have a moment where May tries to reach out and he has to decide if he's going to let her in or shut her out. Does he snap, like he did in May, We Harley Drew'd Ya? Does he let her in, like The Unbeatable Lightness of Seeing? Do the other LaRoussians reach out to him and let him know, hey, we're in this together? DO THE PLUSLE AND MINUN TRY TO CHEER HIM UP??????

9.) Let him get separated from the group, or let the group get separated from him. Let him have panic, uncertainty, worry for his newfound friends. Humanize him a little bit for casual viewers who know him as 'that asshole with the roses'. You know how Pokemon loves shots of people reaching out to save someone? Give me that. Let him not reach their hand in time as Deoxys clones pull them away or as they get lost in a swarm of security bots. Give me a Drew that thinks he’s failed, that it’s his fault. It isn’t of course, I just like putting him through it. Then… give me a reunion scene. An “oh my god, you’re all safe, I thought I had lost you” scene. Did you guys know we don’t get a single contestshipping hug????? Ever???? No, her keeping him from drowning doesn’t count. I think that’s a crime and I think a “thank god you’re alive” hug, from either end, would be amazing. Ship mode activated. Imagine. May, spotting him from across the city plaza once the dust settles, and sprinting to him, nearly knocking him over with a hug that he hesitantly returns, before realizing he doesn’t want to let go. Alternately, the other way around: he lets his walls down long enough to hug her, to feel safe to break down for a minute in her arms because he was so fucking worried. May, short-circuiting slightly because wait, is this really the same rival that she accidentally threw a frisbee at and hated so long ago? Give me Sid reacting forlornly in the background too fhdhhf. I love Sid, he’ll be ok. (Also: Brock having a moment of “Oh. You’re still alive. Great.” Kidding, mostly.) also… Brock giving Sid a “yeah, I know how it feels” pat on the back???? Just a concept.

10.) More Roselia teasing him. She's the biggest contestshipper out there. I love this little green rose gal. We need more of her being snarky to her trainer. She had so much personality with so few appearances, I love her. GIVE HIS OTHER POKEMON PERSONALITIES TOO!!!! Give them time to shine! My own takes here, but I like to think Absol is over Drew's bullshit 24/7 and is the serious one of the group. Flygon? no thoughts head empty, like most reptiles. Ft. a picture of my own no thoughts head empty reptile, who made friends with a cricket in his cleaning bowl below under Roselia gif. The others, no idea but there's my takes.

#pokemon #pokeani #anipoke #pokemon drew #coordinator drew #destiny deoxys #taylor's tag #contestshipping

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incorrectshantaequotes · 9 months

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A Quick Christmas Sneak Peak

Hey, remember that fic preview I mentioned yesterday? Well...here's the scene immediately after the opening scene! This is partially because of one particular spoiler that will become clear as you read on, and partially because...my brain has a better idea of how this scene goes and I wanted to get it done first.

Rottytops was familiar with being on the receiving end of explosions, a fact that she imagined wouldn't be too surprising to anyone who knew her. From mornings where her brothers had dragged her out of bed to witness a half-baked idea for a spell in a coffee-deprived haze, to some of her more elaborate pranks blowing up in her face, to one particularly memorable occasion where she hadn't watched her steps at Ammo Baron's most recent lair at the time and stepped on a landmine. Shantae fussed a LOT over her after that last one, much to her delight. The point was, Rottytops was familiar with explosions, much more than the average human - maybe even more than the average zombie, even. That did not make it hurt any less when the spell she'd been preparing violently burst in a flash of pink, white, and purple, throwing her back and slamming her body into the wall at mach speeds.

"Owwwwwww..." Rottytops groaned, slumping as gravity took hold and plopped her body down to the floor. She rubbed the back of her head with a wince, suddenly feeling a belated relief that she'd had some form of head protection. Not a hard hat, sure, but the full-blown hazmat suit had to count for something, right? ...Right? "Looking on the bright side, might have given myself an early Christmas present - a concussion! Yippeeeeeeeeeeeeeee..."

She trailed off, looking towards the ceiling, and let out a quiet sigh. She would've made to rub her temples, but unfortunately all that would've done in her current outfit is smudge the glass. This was...not the best result, but in hindsight, not unexpected. All her work in dark magic didn't really help her that much with the regular stuff, and, well. It probably would've helped immensely if she had, y'know, a half-genie to help with her spell involving the Genie Realm, but the only one available right now was Shantae, and that'd ruin the surprise! Maybe it wasn't the best idea to immediately shoot for the moon, but dang it, she'd wanted to get something special for their first Christmas as a couple!

...of course, if Shantae were here, she'd probably say something about how she shouldn't be so hard on herself and that there was always next Christmas, and just by thinking that she could almost hear the imaginary pep talk from her girlfriend. The image made her snort a little and an affectionate smile crossed her lips, Rottytops shaking her head as she pulled herself off the floor and dusted herself off. Brain Shantae had a point; no point in sitting around feeling sorry for herself! Even if her initial attempt hadn't gone well, she still had time - she could try again, or just be satisfied with the half-dozen gifts she'd gotten Shantae already and make a note to get the other half-genies over in Scuttle Town next year so she could do this properly. She almost began to hum a little as she stretched and began to move to do just that, but any music was caught in her throat as she looked at the epicenter of her spell and saw that she wasn't alone.

And though the smoke hadn't quite cleared out yet, there was one unmistakable feature that she couldn't have possibly missed - the distinct, pointed ears.

The zombie girl froze in her tracks, mind racing with the implications and running the math to come to a few conclusions. Her first, near-immediate conclusion, was wow; considering her spell was supposed to let her into the Genie Realm, bringing a genie over here was one hell of a backfire (and a prime example of why magic freaked her out. yeah, rich coming from the zombie dabbling in the dark arts, but at least dark magic had consistent results and didn't change because the magic felt like it). The second, much-more concerning conclusion, was oh no, is she okay? Now, admittedly, Rottytops wasn't an expert on how genies fared outside of the Genie Realm, but she DID remember when Shantae recounted those Genies she met on her first adventure and how rough they'd looked by the time she'd come around and gotten them out of those weird cages. Granted, at least some of that was absolutely because of the cage thing, if not all of it, but Rottytops felt the need to double check because Shantae definitely would've throttled her if she didn't.

Hesitantly, and as quietly as she could, Rottytops took a few steps towards the prone figure. She silently debated the best way to ask if anything was broken, or if she had some sort of weird allergy to the air or something, but before she could figure it out her train of thought was cut off by the sound of boisterous laughter. She sounded...warm. Energetic. Somewhat manic, with the sort of feral energy Rotty only really expected from, well, herself, but equally present was the sheer sense of RELIEF. As if a great weight had just been lifted from the genie's shoulders, and she couldn't help but laugh at the freedom she'd been given. Faster than she could blink, the genie turned and lunged at Rotty, nearly knocking her over with the impact and pulling her into a tight hug that had the zombie suddenly much more concerned about her bones than she'd ever been in her life.

"Thank you!" With that, the genie woman pulled back, and Rotty was finally able to get a good look at her. The first thing she noticed was her eyes - for the most part, they looked close to human, but what set her apart was how the eyes seemed to glow with a vibrant purple that shifted hues even as she stared in awe. In the back of her mind, some part of her noted that the purple, in all its hues, matched Shantae's magic perfectly, best illustrated with the puff of smoke that always accompanied her transformations. She had purple hair to match - again, the same shade as Shantae's hair - done in a messy bobcut that left most of her face clear, and a warm tone to her skin that reminded her of polished wood...again, the exact same shade as Shantae's. Huh.

"It's been a while since I've been in this old thing," the genie remarked to herself, poking her arm with an undisguised fascination and turning her body this way and that to get a better look at herself. She didn't have much height to her - actually an inch or two shorter than Shantae - but she more than made up for that by being built like a tank. Rottytops had thought Harmony was built like an amazon, but this lady had her beat by a MILE, and her outfit definitely showed that off: a bright purple leotard that covered most of her torso but left her shoulders and back exposed, along with a set of black leather boots and gloves with a trim of purple fur and a brown belt decorated with bits of fur, feathers, and scales. There was a bit of pudge here and there, bringing to mind a mother who hadn't quite burned off all the baby fat, but she wore it incredibly well in all honesty.

And, well. Rottytops didn't want to assume or anything. Shantae didn't exactly have any picture to use for a reference, and it was a bit of a wild leap in logic when there were a dozen genies she could have picked up. But, considering all the very notable similarities, she had a nagging suspicion she knew who this was, even if not by name, and honestly she wasn't sure if that made this whole mess better or worse.

"...honestly, I'd thought it'd be a lot longer before I'd be able to use it, too," Rottytops' musings were cut off by the genie in question staring at her arm, her energy dying down for a moment to give way to a quiet wonder. Then, she snorted, and gave a sharp grin with a lot more fangs than any human would ever have. "Ha, and they can't even say I'm doing anything wrong here! Sure, I may not be complaining about the results, but it'll be clear that this was an accident on both fronts-"

"Both fronts?" Rottytops cut her off, raising a questioning eyebrow and mentally shoving the rest of that sentence off into a mental box somewhere to ask later. Far too much to unpack with that. The genie turned to Rottytops at her questioning, her expression turning slightly sheepish in a way that, again, Rottytops couldn't help but find familiar.

"...ah, right. So I maaaaaaaay have interfered with your spell a bit? And before you say anything," The genie raised a hand with a suddenly stern expression, cutting off the wave of incredulous anger in Rottytops before it could even start. "As a being made entirely of magic, trust me when I say that if I hadn't interfered, the magical blowback would have been a LOT worse. I wasn't just going to let you take that, not when you're so close to..."

The genie trailed off, shaking her head. "What am I doing? I know it's been a while since I've been down here, but that's hardly long enough to forget my manners!"

With that, the genie stepped forward and grabbed Rottytops' hand, giving it a firm shake that jerked Rottytops down with the strength behind it. "Call me Mena! And you're Rottytops, right?"

Almost immediately, all other thoughts fled the zombie's head as she stared at the genie - Mena - with wide eyes. "I-Whuh-huh? How'd you know that?"

"We may not be able to do much in the Genie Realm, but we can watch your world, and, well..." Mena shot Rottytops a grin. "I made a point to remember the names of all my daughter's friends."

Rottytops could feel her heart soar with that one sentence alone. It probably wasn't the most important thing to focus on in the moment, considering how Mena all but directly confirmed she was Shantae's mom and that definitely made this a lot more complicated, but Rottytops couldn't bring herself to care about that stuff right then. All that she could think about was that Shantae's mom knew who she was, by name even, probably knew of Rottytops' more...questionable deeds, and yet in spite of that she not only acknowledged Shantae and Rottytops' relationship, but cared enough to actively save Rottytops' life from the sounds of what she said earlier. It was very pleasant to know, considering she had been a bit anxious about meeting her in the Genie Realm beforehand, and Rottytops found herself so caught up in the pleasantness of it all that she didn't think twice before mentioning, "It's girlfriend, actually."

Then, she promptly froze, a newfound dread filling Rottytops at the confession as she realized that Mena might not have known that, and she quickly looked down to see the genie's reaction. Thankfully, she quickly found herself relieved by how Mena's eyes glittered with delight. "Oh, you made it official? I must have missed that - congratulations, you two!"

She slung an arm over Rottytops' shoulder, grinning with clear pride. "I'll have you know, I was rooting for you both, even with your stumbling blocks. I'm sure you've realized that being officially together doesn't make the road ahead any easier, but I think I can confidently say that it's all been well worth it! It's definitely been something seeing that from the other side, at least..."

That last bit was said in a whisper, getting Rotty to raise an eyebrow and let a sly grin spread over her features. "Oh? What was that? Am I hearing that the dense skull is genetic?"

"...well, I wish I could say otherwise, but...you should ask Mimic about it, he'd tell it better than I could," Mena chuckled, shaking her head. "Let's just say that I'm sure he's glad you two managed to figure it out before her father and I did, considering he had to lock us in a closet to get our heads straight."

"Oh, that's hilarious!" Rottytops cackled, already having a bunch of different images in her head and making a mental note to definitely ask Mimic about that story later. As she took a moment to calm down, she then remembered that she never did answer the question she'd initially approached Mena with, and took a moment to straighten herself up before clearing her throat. "Now, I hope you don't mind a slight change of topic, but, um...are you good? Like, physically speaking? Any aches or allergies or whatever?"

"Hmmm..." Mena took a moment to ponder Rotty's question, and almost unconsciously her hand drifted to a large scar that ran over her right shoulder. Rotty could just about see the edges of a similar one peeking out behind her heck and just over her other shoulder, and considering the size and shape she had a very good suspicion as to what caused it, but decidedly didn't ask. "It is a bit sore around this old wound here, admittedly, but I'll gladly take that. If it were up to me, I wouldn't head back to the Genie Realm at all, but..."

"Ahhhhhhh," Rottytops nodded in understanding. "Obligations back home?"

"...something like that," A bitter scowl crossed the genie's face, and she briefly turned away from her audience, muttering something about councils and stupid lack of flammable buildings and a few impressive curses that had Rottytops' eyebrows both shoot up to her hairline. She was definitely going to have to unpack that later, but for now, she stayed silent as Mena turned her attention back to her, letting out a deep sigh. "While we're asking questions, there is ONE I feel like I should get out of the way. I don't watch everything that goes down in my daughter's life, and I'm not a mind-reader, after all."

"Oh? Well, ask away. Floor's yours," Rottytops nodded with a wave of her hand, idly leaning against a wall as she silently wondered what kind of questions she had to ask.

"Right. So...what, exactly, did you want to go into the Genie Realm for?" Mena asked, not really accusatory so much as curious, looking at Rottytops expectantly. That didn't stop Rotty from wincing. This...might not be particularly pleasant, depending on what Mena did or didn't know.

"...so, uh. I was actually planning on running into you, believe it or not? And then getting you to write a letter," Rottytops began, silently cursing as Mena nodded and motioned for her to continue. "Had to do a bunch of research, a lot of which consisted of hanging around snackcakes so I wasn't complaining. I maaaaaaaay have looked through that scrapbook a bit, too-"

"Ah. And I'm guessing you found the section regarding genie biology and dark magic when you did that?" Mena interrupted, to which Rottytops slowly nodded. The genie relaxed a little, giving her a gentle smile. "I was wondering what that hazmat suit was for."

"...yeah, I...didn't really want to take any chances after reading that? Definitely explained that whole Dynamo thing from a while ago," Rottytops admitted. Honestly, it'd been a bit disturbing when she read about how genies had next to no natural resistances to the effects of dark magic. It made sense, sure - genies were entirely made of magic, of course there weren't any barriers for the physical and psychological effects of the stuff, but that didn't stop her from cringing a bit when she imagined it. After all, the reason she and her brothers were able to handle dark magic so well was because they, and just about every other zombie, were well-acquainted with the dangers of it. For all the stuff brought them back from the dead, it sure didn't care about leaving their bodies intact; the reason half the civilized zombie population had a crippling coffee addiction was because it was one of the most effective ways of making sure the dark magic in their systems didn't eat away at their brains and leave them a shambling, moaning husk. And that was with the restriction of a physical body. Knowing that genies had nothing for that...

"Well, you'll be happy to know that there's no need to worry - you're a closed system. You'd only have to worry about hurting me if you were slinging spells around, and the only way for the mental effects of the stuff to kick in is if a genie was using dark magic herself or with a machine like the Dynamo," Mena pat the zombie on the shoulder with a reassuring gaze, clearly understanding. After a moment, Rottytops took a moment to slowly take off the hood of the hazmat suit, prompting a grin from the genie as soon as she saw her face. "Attagirl. Besides, I'm currently a lot more...physical than I usually am, so you have even less to worry about! You'd only have a real problem if I was in my true form."

"True form?" Rottytops repeated, caught off-guard, and looked to Mena with wide eyes.

"Well, someone clearly skimmed through the chapter..." Mena gave her a light-hearted chuckle, shaking her head, then turned to her with a grin with a few too many teeth and the purple in her eyes expanded to consume anything remotely human. Then, Rotty blinked, and she was back to normal. "I'll have to show you sometime, it'll be fun! But we're getting off-track. I've heard a lot of the what and how, but don't think I haven't noticed you haven't gotten around to the why, young lady."

...well, there wasn't any use avoiding this forever. "So...how familiar are you with Shantae's past Christmas's?"

Mena blinked, her head tilted a bit. "...well, I've seen her open all her presents each year, but I'm going to take a guess and say that's not exactly what you're talking about."

"Mhm. Well, it was...I think about a week ago, and Shantae and I were talking. I was making a few Christmas jokes, she was helping me figure out the best presents for Sky and Bolo, we talked about some dates we could set up later, typical girlfriend stuff, y'know? And then at some point the conversation turned to Christmas traditions," Rottytops began, her eyes shooting up to the ceiling. "I told her about all the fun ways the Cadavers did things, she was telling me about how she and Mimic celebrated Christmas, and then suddenly right in the middle she got real quiet. Contemplative. Kinda scared me a little, honestly. Then she pulled up right next to me and asked if she could share a secret that, according to her, only Mimic, Sky, and Bolo knew. I was curious, so I agreed, and..."

Rottytops sighed. "She told me that, in her youth, she'd had her own, private Christmas tradition for a little while. For five straight years, every Christmas Eve, just before she went to bed, she'd make a quiet wish on a star that one of her presents would be a message from you. A letter, a call, anything. And after five years of no response, she eventually just...gave up. She said in hindsight that you were probably a bit too busy healing up from the Pirate Master to do anything, so she didn't really blame you, but dang it, that was the saddest story I'd ever heard! I didn't say anything to Shantae, but after hearing that I knew exactly what I had to do. For our first Christmas together as a couple, I was determined to get that message for her, one way or another. And I don't do anything by halves. So...yeah, that's it. There's your why. That answer your questions?"

The zombie turned to look at Mena, and quickly struggled to keep her heart from banging out of her chest. After all this time talking with her and seeing how much she clearly loved Shantae, Rottytops had kinda been expecting the crestfallen grief she saw when she looked back...but the apoplectic rage mixed in? Not so much. She was suddenly very glad she wasn't on the genie's bad side as she slowly turned to look at her. "...did she say exactly when she started that tradition, by any chance?"

"Uh...when she was ten years old. Why do you ask?" Rottytops answered, taking a step back. Mena didn't seem to notice, eye twitching a bit as she took a few deep breaths, and then she stared at Rottytops with a forced, pointed grin that looked about two seconds away from turning into a scowl.

"Do you have a pillow I could scream into?" The genie asked, slowly and deliberately and clearly trying her absolute best to remain calm, and also not exactly succeeding. Rottytops elected not to point this out, and instead took a moment to open the door to her bedroom and gesture to it with open arms. "Thank you. Excuse me one moment."

Without another word, she entered the room, slammed the door, and...oh, wow. Rottytops thought she had some good curses before, but this? This was next level. Honestly, if not for the context, she'd be tempted to take notes, but very carefully didn't, simply waiting outside while the genie took a moment to vent. Of course, there was a bit of concern when she heard the sound of fabric tearing, but she got the answer to what that was a moment later when the door burst open and out stomped Mena, holding a shredded pillow between her teeth and looking absolutely rabid. The genie spat out the pillow a second later and then snapped her fingers, and with a bit of magic it was as good as new.

"...sorry about that," Mena quietly apologized, shaking her head. "I just...discovered that a certain target of my rage has even more reasons to be furious at them than I thought there were already."

"Pirate Master?" Rottytops ventured out with a guess, only to quickly have it shot down with a snort.

"Oh, I WISH. At least that bastard has the decency to be dead in the ground; I have to live with these people," She shook her head, looking just about ready to go off into a rant, but then she paused. Slowly but surely, a smirk began to grow on her face, and she turned towards Rottytops with a newfound vigor and a glint of mischief in her eyes. "...say, what time is it, exactly?"

Taking the non-sequitur in stride, Rottytops looked at the clock. "About...9PM, Christmas Eve."

"Good, good...so, we have about 24 hours, because Galva isn't a snitch, and as much as I'd love to simply wait to see my daughter in-person for the first time in a long, long while, I think it'd be better if she didn't have to see me with so much stress, don't you think?" Rottytops very much wanted to ask who exactly Galva was, but she kept quiet. Because, like she had so many other times, Mena was acting very familiar, but this time, Rottytops was less thinking about Shantae and more about herself. "And while I don't have the real subject of my anger to take it out on...I do happen to know that there are quite a few people who, while they haven't done anything to me, have certainly made my daughter's life a lot harder than it needs to be."

"Are you going where I think you're going with this?" Rottytops asked, beginning to match Mena's smirk with one of her own.

"Oh, absolutely. Don't get me wrong, I love Shantae and think she's grown into a fine woman and a great hero, and a large part of that is her seemingly endless reserve of patience and understanding...but between you and me?" Mena leaned in closer, eyes quite literally sparkling as she whispered. "That is far more because of Mimic - and to some extent, her father - than my influence. Personally, I was always far more the rebellious bad girl. But let's keep that a secret for now - no need for Shantae to know just how many times her mother landed herself in jail, right?"

"Okay, sure, but you are definitely telling me that story later," Rottytops narrowed her eyes and poked Mena in the chest, but she couldn't help her grin growing wider. "Soooo...pranking spree? Is that what I'm hearing? Hitting up Mayor Scuttlebutt for how small Shantae's paycheck is?"

"Oh, he'll be first, and I have plenty of others in mind," Mena nodded, fangs glistening in the light before she slung her arm around Rotty's shoulders and pulled her close. "Come on, now - the night is young, we're both wide awake, and there's plenty of time! So...how about we get to some mother-daughter-in-law bonding, and act the part of Krampus?"

...and there's your preview! Like I said before, even if I can't necessarily get this done by Christmas, I do very much plan on getting this done just because this is SUCH a good idea. And don't worry, you'll be getting plenty of Mena; save for a few cameos, this fic primarily alternates between Mena's POV and Rottytops' POV. There's going to be a lot of fun here, so look forward to it!

#shantae #not a quote #headcanons #christmas

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sasaranomiya · 1 year

Text

Interview with Shirakawa Kouko in Musashi 2019-12

Here it is, the long awaited interview! Luckily for me, this magazine has e-versions and you can still buy old copies

Fascinated by tragedy and forbidden love

The main character of the Koukyuu no Karasu series, the Raven Consort (Jusetsu), lives in the inner palace, but maintains an aloof assistance and doesn’t perform night duties. She’s a very mysterious existence.

She is a woman with the blood of the previous dynasty, and a consort destined to be executed if her true identity is discovered. In the series, the current emperor, Koushun, is the one who goes to her to seek peace of mind.

Why did you decide to write this kind of work?

I’m afraid I might be misunderstood, but ever since I was little, I have loved stories about girls with unhappy upbringings. It wasn’t until I was in elementary school that I became aware of stories of tragedy and forbidden love, and it all started with Prince Otsu, who was arrested on suspicion of treason and conferred with death. When I discovered this poem in the Manyoshu, I was greatly impacted.

Today, taking my last sight of the mallards

Crying on the pond of Iware,

Must I vanish into the clouds!

I was deeply moved by the feeling of regret conveyed in this poem. Since then, I had come to love tragedies, and in this work as well, the Raven Consort isn’t allowed to have feelings for the emperor, and she is forced to bear the harsh fate of not even being able to go out of her residence.

As the past of the Raven Consort, whose mother was brutally murdered and who was then adopted and imprisoned within the inner palace, gradually became clear, I found myself thinking, “Shirakawa-san, you’ve done a terrible thing.”

The Raven Consort and Koushun are in a forbidden relationship where the two of them weren’t even supposed to approach each other in the first place. I fundamentally like Cinderella stories and happy ends, but this time I’m thinking about how to end this story.

Koushun also has a painful past in which his mother and friend were killed by the empress dowager, so the two of them resonate with each other in that aspect. What kind of thoughts did you put into his character?

He was also influenced by Prince Otsu, but I like to write about young men in unfortunate circumstances. Koushun is a quiet and emotionless young man with a dark shadow, but he holds a storm in his heart. I write him so that we can sometimes catch glimpses of that. What I like most is writing scenes that show glimpses of the instability and fragility of a normally calm young man.

And that’s why the men Shirakawa-san portrays are close to the hearts of modern women.

A staunch lover of ghost stories

The Raven Consort deals with those who died leaving their feelings behind in this world. She takes away the sorrows of those who become wandering ghosts. It’s quite a scary story.

Ever since I was a child, I have loved strange, slightly scary stories and ghost stories. That’s why this story is something I wanted to write one day. China has many ghost stories, and there are even many Japanese classics that are patterned after Chinese ghost stories.

Chinese ghost stories are bloodier than Japanese ghost stories, aren’t they?

In Japan, the yuu in yuurei (ghost) means “fleeting,” which gives off a transient and ephemeral image. However, in China, ghosts have vivid and strong characters.

Also, I was surprised that there are many Chinese stories that have no logical connection or an unclear cause and effect. Perhaps it is the national characteristic.

How did you come to like ghost stories?

There is a temple behind my childhood home, and on Monday mornings there was time to read sutras before going to school, and in summers there were tests of courage, so ghosts and religion are things that are familiar to me.

In Volume 3, a new religious organization called the Eight Truths Sect also appears.

That is a religion I created, but the myths and beliefs in the work take reference from those of Japan and other island nations. The story takes place on a large island, and the sea is a key word in the story. Some Chinese myths also have themes of the sea and rivers, which are also very interesting.

I love mythology, but when it came to write a Chinese-inspired story, the hurdles were high and it was difficult to take the first step.

There are a lot of things you have to study in order to write a story that uses China as inspiration, such as the systems related to the eunuchs that appear in this series.

Eunuchs are castrated males, and their position varied widely depending on the era. There are cases where it’s a punishment, but it is also a way for commoners without backing to get ahead in life.

Even though it’s a fantasy, I can’t even compose a story without studying the history, culture, and systems of the country that serves as the background, and I’m still studying as I’m writing.

Okamoto Kido was the catalyst

What inspired you to start writing?

The first was Okamoto Kido’s Collection of Chinese Bizarre Stories (中国怪奇小説集). I fell in love with Okamoto Kido after reading The Curious Casebook of Inspector Hanshichi, but then I got hooked and ended up at Chinese Bizarre Stories. When I started writing Koukyuu no Karasu, I read it again, and if I hadn’t come across this book, I might not have been able to write the Koukyuu no Karasu series.

Okamoto Kido was translating Chinese stories, wasn’t he?

That’s right. Okamoto Kido’s writing was good and concise. But, he would casually mix in beautiful expressions. His writing isn’t difficult, but it isn’t easy either. Even if the times change, they will never get old. I could feel the depth of his education.

People of culture in the Meiji era had no choice but to read foreign books in their original form, so they had to be proficient in foreign languages. They also had to have a good grasp of Chinese poetry and other works.

You’ve written a lot of series that are structured as a collection of short stories.

Since I took Okamoto Kido as my role model, I also like short stories. There’s also the fact that I’m not good at long-form stories (laughs). That’s why I try to finish each series in about five volumes.

The Raven Consort’s model is Fan Bingbing

The beautiful Raven Consort always dresses in black and has a strong visual impact. Do you have any stories or people you modeled her after?

There was a drama about the life of Empress Wu Zetian called Wu Zetian, and Fan Bingbing, who played the empress, was very beautiful. The story was set in the Tang dynasty, and the costumes were wonderful. Although Wu Zetian didn’t dress in all black, the character of the Raven Consort was inspired by her.

The story is a fantasy, but you wrote it with the Tang dynasty as inspiration.

Yes. The Tang dynasty is my favorite. If I hadn’t watched that drama, I don’t think I would have settled on the Tang dynasty.

I think the reason why people who aren’t familiar with China can easily read the books is because the characters are well-defined and easy to visualize.

Since I myself do not know much about China, I have taken care to write these books in a way that even those unfamiliar with the history can understand.

The story has a strong element of fantasy as well as mystery.

I love fantasy and have been reading it since I was young. Among foreign authors, my favorite is Patricia A. McKillip. She is a fantasy writer who has written works such as the Riddle Master trilogy and Winter Rose.

For domestic authors, it’s Miyabe Miyuki. I stared reading mainly her contemporary mysteries and fantasy books when I was in high school, and I’ve of course read her ghost story series Hyakumonogatari.

Since you debuted with Cobalt Bunko, you’re strongly associated with light novels, but what kind of works do you plan to publish in the future?

I recently published a Japanese-style fantasy called Mikazuki-tei Hana Zukan. The main character, a detective, opened a detective agency in what used to be a daimyo’s garden during the Edo period, but encounters mysterious things there. I would love to write horror and historical novels in the future.

I’m looking forward to it.

#koukyuu no karasu #Raven of the Inner Palace #translations

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writingsofwerewolves · 8 months

Text

The first 4k words of my Thrawn Fanfic, Fifty Shades of Blue.

Please let me know if you're interested in the whole thing. This sample doesn't include any sex scenes but there are some many later on.

If enough folks voice their interest, I'll post all 131k words to Ao3.

~~~

I had to be dreaming. Dreaming of spinning and falling and being weightless. Dreaming of being on a comfortable bed that certainly wasn’t my own. Dreaming of a warm hand pressed to my temple. Dreaming of the sensation of bile rising in my throat while nausea and dizziness overwhelmed me. Dreaming of gentle hands helping me upright as a can was held in front of me to catch the vomit.

It wasn’t a good dream, that was for sure. But it was a vivid one.

I would have almost believed it was real if not for the fact that when I got glimpses of the person with me, I saw that he had blue skin with red glowing eyes. Thrawn, I knew. Of course I would dream of Thrawn. I’d done nothing but think about Thrawn for weeks. I’d clung to the fictional character as if my very life depended on it. My sanity certainly did, as my physical and mental health spiraled. The only freedom from reality came from indulging in my obsession with the beautiful blue genius.

So of course I was dreaming about Thrawn. Who else would I even want to dream of?

It wasn’t the dream I would have chosen for myself, though. I felt sore and sick from head to toe. Every movement ached and threatened to elicit more vomit. At the same time, though, Thrawn was very attentive in the dream.

“This will pass soon,” I heard him say as his hand smoothed over my brow. “Rest.”

“Yes, sir,” I managed to slur out blearily.

His lips turned up in an amused smile before darkness overtook me.

I was certain I’d spoken several times within the dream, but I couldn’t remember much.

Part of me wanted to wake up because surely when I woke, I wouldn’t feel like absolute shit anymore. But at the same time… Thrawn was there. I saw his face. I saw his smoothed back black hair. I saw the alien ridges of his face, more subtle than the cartoon but still prominent enough to be recognizable. I saw his blue hand holding mine comfortingly. I saw his white uniform, though there were differences between it and what I expected to see. No, I didn’t want to wake up.

I cursed my dreaming mind. Within my dream, I could never keep my eyes open long enough to properly see his face. I wanted to memorize his every feature. I wished I had any visual artistic talent so that I could draw him when I woke. I wanted to keep that image safe forever.

But within my dream, I fell asleep.

I blinked my eyes open as I woke. I sighed sadly as I remembered my dream, suddenly filled with sadness. I’d probably never dream so vividly about Thrawn, or any other character I loved, ever again. And it was over.

Then why in the world did I still feel so sore? Not as badly as I had in the dream, but my muscles still protested as I adjusted myself in bed.

Wait. My bed felt different.

I sat up suddenly, gasping loudly as I looked around the strange room. It wasn’t my room. It wasn’t my bed.

A door slid open and in stepped… Grand Admiral Fucking Thrawn.

Okay, so I was still dreaming. Good? Maybe?

Except I didn’t feel like I was dreaming. Things felt relatively clear in my head. There was a heaviness there, as if I’d slept too long, but I didn’t think I was dreaming.

“You’re awake,” the blue alien remarked gently as he set the tray he was holding down on a cabinet, “How do you feel?”

I didn’t respond, my eyes wide as I watched him carefully.

“Hmm,” his brow furrowed thoughtfully, “You don’t remember how you came to be here, do you?”

I swallowed hard and shook my head, not trusting my voice.

“I see,” he inclined his head and then moved to a chair, sitting down and looking at me seriously, “I am Grand Admiral Thrawn. I found you on the street of the planet Pantora, clearly lost and ill. I brought you here, to my ship, to recover.”

“I… I don’t remember any of that,” I whispered, my mouth completely dry.

Thrawn reached for the tray and grabbed a glass of liquid before holding it towards me. I eyed it suspiciously.

“If I wanted to poison you, I had plenty of chances before you regained consciousness,” he assured me, his glowing red eyes twinkling with amusement, “It’s water.”

I took the glass, carefully holding it with both hands as I didn’t think I had the strength with one just yet.

“Drink slowly. You are still recovering,” he told me.

“Yes, sir,” I said automatically. Then my eyes widened, horrified. I quickly took a sip to cover my embarrassment. I was relieved to find that it was indeed water. Suddenly I was absolutely parched and drank deeply.

“Slowly,” he reminded me, his voice more stern.

My heart fluttered at the command and I lowered the glass from my lips. He gave a satisfied nod.

“What is your name?” Thrawn asked, his voice gentle.

“[Name],” I answered hesitantly.

“A pleasure to meet you, [Name],” he stated before rising to his feet, “I have duties to which I must attend.”

He picked up the tray and set it on the foot of my bed, within my reach.

“If you feel up to it, please try to eat something. Pace yourself, though. I will return in a few hours and then we can discuss the situation.”

I resisted the overwhelming urge to say “yes, sir” and instead just nodded. He inclined his head before leaving out the automatic sliding door.

I took a few slow deep breaths as I processed everything.

It didn’t feel like I was dreaming. But I had to be. But what if I wasn’t? If I was dreaming, then I could do whatever I wanted with no consequence. I could have grabbed Thrawn by his immaculate uniform and crushed my lips to his. But if it was real…

My anxiety forced me to consider the consequences, even if the logical part of my brain wanted to take advantage of the clearly fabricated scenario. There was no possible way I was really on a space ship with Mitth’raw’nuruodo. No possible way.

But just in case… I had to act as if it were real. I couldn’t risk embarrassing myself further.

So. Working under the assumption that it was real… what the fuck was going on?

There was only one possibility in my mind. I’d fallen through dimensions. I was in an alternate dimension where Star Wars was real. Or perhaps I was in the same dimension, but traveled back in time to a long time ago in a galaxy far far away. Either way, Thrawn was real. I was on his ship. And I had no idea how or even if I could get home.

Deep inside me, I somehow knew there was no home to go to. I didn’t know how I knew, but it felt like a fact.

I allowed myself time to mourn. I mourned my life. My friends. My family. My home. They were lost to me. Gone forever.

Sniffling, I wiped my eyes and then looked to the tray of food. There was a variety of options, none of which looked familiar to me. But I was suddenly ravenous.

As I reached for something to eat, I heard Thrawn’s voice in my head. “Slowly.”

I smiled to myself and said aloud, “Yes, sir.”

I’d only managed to nibble on a few food objects, though I’d fully drained the glass of water, by the time the Grand Admiral returned. My stomach was too tense to think about eating much, even though I felt pretty darn hungry.

Thrawn sat, his eyes on the tray of barely touched food as he gave a satisfied nod.

“How do you feel?” he asked, his glowing eyes turning to me. It was a disconcerting experience, being under those strange eyes’ scrutiny.

“Uh… still a little weak and tired,” I said, fighting the urge to say ‘fine.’ He would know that was a lie. It was Thrawn. “But better. Thank you.”

His eyes softened, “I am glad to hear it. Do you perhaps feel up to a conversation about your situation here?”

I gulped. No, not really. I was still hoping my situation was a dream. I didn’t want to consider what it meant if it wasn’t.

“It can wait another day if you would like to rest,” he told me, “I want to be certain you have a clear head first.”

“My head’s pretty clear now,” I replied, “And… I’m not going to rest very well without knowing…”

Knowing what? I had no clue.

“Understandable,” he inclined his head, “As I told you, I found you in very poor condition on the planet of Pantora. I suspect you do not know how you came to be there.”

His glowing red eyes held a question within them, though his words didn’t. I didn’t reply. I didn’t know what to say.

“I also suspect you have nowhere to go,” he continued, “If that is the case, it would be impolite of me to simply leave you on an alien planet to fend for yourself.”

My shoulders fell a little.

He was right. I had no where to go. No resources. Nothing.

“Therefore, I would like to offer you a place on my ship,” Thrawn stated, “You may remain here,” he gestured at the room, “For as long as you need. Or at least for as long as it remains my ship,” he corrected with amusement.

My breath left me in a whoosh, “Oh. That’s… very kind of you… Grand Admiral.”

His lips twitched at my usage of his title.

“I don’t want to inconvenience anyone…”

“It would not be an inconvenience,” he said. “This room isn’t needed for crew members and with a crew of fifty thousand, one more mouth to feed will not strain our resources.”

My eyes widened. “fifty thousand?”

“You should take time to consider my offer,” Thrawn told me, ignoring my question. “I am needed on the bridge.”

He rose and began to leave.

“Wait,” I called and he paused, facing me. I swallowed hard before asking, “What’s this ship called?”

His lip curved into a small smile, “This is the New Republic Star Cruiser, the Chimaera.”

My eyes widened, unable to respond as he inclined his head and took his leave.

New Republic?

Wait a second. That explained why his uniform looked slightly different. It was a New Republic uniform. But… the New Republic didn’t have grand admirals… and the Chimaera was an imperial ship… and Thrawn… Thrawn was supposed to be an imperial.

What the fuck was going on?

Still sore and tired, I didn’t have that much trouble getting more sleep. After napping a little, I felt much more clear headed and even more certain that I wasn’t dreaming. I felt good enough to walk, so I explored the room a little. It was very simple, without much in it. But I did manage to find the connected bathroom or “refresher” I supposed it was called. I was extremely relieved to find it functioned mostly like a normal Earth bathroom. That could’ve been awkward.

I slept more, still recovering from whatever illness had befallen me. Actually, I was starting to figure it out. I decided it was from traveling through time and space. Surely without the proper protection, like being inside a Tardis or something, would leave one very ill after such a trip.

When I woke, I saw that the tray of food was gone, replaced with a fresh jug of water, and there was a neatly folded stack of clothes on the dresser. My glasses were placed delicately atop them. I let out a sigh of relief. I could see without my glasses, but it was uncomfortable and blurry and risked migraines if I wasn’t careful.

I showered before putting on the fresh clothes, grateful for them as mine were feeling sweaty and gross.

But anxiety gnawed at me.

How much did Thrawn know about my situation? He knew I had no where to go… but how? Why? And why offer me a place on his ship? And what did he expect in return? He surely didn’t think I could be a crew member.

If this were a fanfiction, he’d offer me a room on his ship in exchange for sex. I couldn’t help the snort that came from me. I’d have to get thoughts like that under control. That wouldn’t happen, I was certain. Especially when I looked in the mirror. No way Thrawn would be interested in me.

I did wonder if Eli Vanto was on board… and wondered about Thrawn and Eli’s relationship…

I shook my head to clear it. No, no. Bad [Name]. Thrawn was a real life person. No dreaming of fan fiction while aboard his ship.

Not long after I had showered and changed, the door opened and Thrawn stepped in.

“[Name],” he greeted me with an inclination of his head, his hands held formally behind his back.

“Grand Admiral,” I returned.

The ghost of an amused smile passed over his lips before he spoke, “You seem stronger. Your illness has passed.”

“Yes, sir,” I said before I could stop myself, “I think so. Thank you.”

“Have you given thought to my offer?”

I swallowed hard, “I… uh… I don’t see much choice. I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“I understand,” he said and I wondered exactly how much he understood. “You are welcome to stay here until you find an alternative. I will assist to the best of my ability.”

“Thank you. Is… uh… am I allowed to stay on this ship, though?” I asked tentatively.

“I am a Grand Admiral in the New Republic’s Navy,” he remarked coolly, “I decide what is and is not allowed aboard my ship.”

The authority in his voice sent a pleasant shiver down my spine. That was nice. That was very nice indeed.

Part of me wanted to point out that surely there were rules and regulations he had to follow. In the Empire, he often got in trouble for letting people like Admiral Ar’alani on board. But at the same time, the tone of his voice spoke to an end on the subject. If he said I was allowed, I was allowed and that was that.

“Yes, sir,” I whispered, unable to help myself.

I thought it was my imagination that his red eyes seemed to glow brighter.

“May I take you on a small tour of the ship?” Thrawn asked, the increased glow gone before I could be sure it was ever there.

Not trusting my voice, I nodded before pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose slightly.

“Wonderful,” he said, sounding pleased. He pressed a button on the wall and the door slid open. He stepped out and waited for me to join his side.

It was a long empty corridor, with several doors like mine along the wall. There were markings that I was certain were the room numbers, but in a script I didn’t recognize. Some of the numbers looked like Arabic numerals and I recognized the number nine from seeing it so much on The Bad Batch.

As I walked beside Thrawn down the hall, looking at each room number, I realized that part of the string of figures probably wasn’t a number. Probably letters or even words.

I felt Thrawn’s eyes on me and when I looked up at him, sure enough, he was watching me. I felt heat rise in my face and I turned my gaze down to the floor as we continued. It didn’t help when I remembered he could probably see the heat building in my skin. The thought made my whole body go hot with embarrassment. Fuck.

Could I wake up from the dream now, please? Please? No? Great…

I took a few steadying breaths. They didn’t help.

Thrawn slowed to a stop in front of what seemed to be an elevator. He pressed a button and it instantly opened, revealing the small space inside. After we stepped inside, the elevator started to rise and I gripped the waist height support pole to steady myself. I hated Earth elevators enough. I hated space elevators more.

Thankfully it was a short ride and we were stepping out. After stepping off the lift, my eyes were drawn to the large view port. Stars stretched out in the pitch black sky for as far as the eye could see. Every direction glittering at me. And almost below my feet I saw a planet. Millions of lights glinted from the surface in shapes that looked like roads and cities. It looked familiar. Though fear gripped me, the fear of falling through infinite space, I was in awe.

My eyes roved the view before me, wanting to take in every star. Every cloud above the surface of the planet. Every ship I saw soaring in the distance. It was so big. So beautiful. So endless.

“You have never left a planet’s surface?” Thrawn questioned, his voice gentle.

“Never,” I breathed, “I’ve… I’ve never see so many stars.”

Tears suddenly clouded my vision. My fears of traveling through space forgotten in the vast beauty of the universe.

I saw Thrawn’s reflection in the glass, standing behind me with a wistful smile on his lips. I cleared my throat and blinked away my tears.

“Sorry,” I told him.

“It is alright,” he told me, “I have spent my entire life traveling through the stars. I forget to see the beauty in it. Though now what I intended to show you seems small in comparison.”

I raised an eyebrow at him.

“This way,” he beckoned and I fell into step beside him, casting one last look at the view port before focusing on making sure I didn’t trip over my own feet.

We came to a door and when he opened it, I instantly realized it was his office before even stepping inside. I could see artwork lining the walls and standing on podiums. I couldn’t help the wide smile that broke out across my face.

I followed him inside, my heart racing excitedly as I took in each piece. There were some paintings, some small statues, a few art mediums I didn’t recognize, masks, and so much more. I couldn’t process all of it as quickly as I wanted.

“I am somewhat of a collector of art,” Thrawn explained.

I couldn’t help snorting through my nose, “’Somewhat’?”

“Somewhat,” he agreed, sounding amused.

I spun slowly in place, still looking at everything. But gradually I realized… this wasn’t his office on the Chimaera I knew. The wall behind his desk had carved statues, but they were different from the ones I saw on Rebels. And Sabine Wren’s retaining wall graffiti was nowhere to be found. And the layout of the office was different.

“Can…” I began, choking on my words a bit, “Can you tell me about some of them?”

I was certain his eyes glowed brighter that time.

“Of course,” he inclined his head and then moved towards one of the small statues, “This is a piece from an artist on Onderon, from before the Clone Wars.”

I listened as he spoke of the sharp angles of the shape and how they told much about the culture from which it came. How the scene it depicted was representative of the difficult history of the planet and the artist’s own struggles. I didn’t see everything he saw within it, but I didn’t care. I just listened to his silky voice, suddenly living in an absolute dream come true.

Then he moved on to another piece, speaking of how the limited types of materials used spoke to the scarcity and value of resources in the culture. And then another, speaking of the purpose of each brush stroke.

It was too much for me to take in, but that didn’t matter. Thrawn’s eyes were intense with excitement, perhaps at having someone actually listening to him infodump. I was grateful that he didn’t seem to expect me to fully understand what he was saying. I just listened, a stupidly big smile on my face.

“Is there a particular piece you would like to hear about?” he asked after the fifth artwork.

I frowned suddenly, caught off guard by the question. But there was one. My eyes fell on a rather pitiful piece.

“Ah,” Thrawn nodded and we moved towards it, “I would be curious to hear your thoughts on it.”

“Oh, I don’t have a clue,” I said quickly.

“I find that unlikely. You were drawn to it for a reason,” he remarked lightly.

“I’m probably really off,” I shuffled my feet uncomfortably, “I’m… I’m not very familiar with other cultures’ art so maybe…”

“I promise I will not be offended if you are incorrect,” he assured me, “I would like to know what you think, [Name].”

The soft use of my name almost broke me. I swallowed hard and nodded.

“It… doesn’t look like it’s supposed to look like this,” I ventured, watching his expression carefully. But he gave no sign of whether I was right or not. “I know from my experience with older artworks from where I’m from that some materials age and yellow over time. This looks like it was coated with a varnish or resin that’s aged very badly, but…”

“But…?” he prompted.

I looked closer at the piece. Something looked so off about it.

“I don’t think the resin was put on by the original artist,” I told him, “It looks like the original art had… I don’t know... Some sort of plants on it. And the whole thing is just… coated in that yellowed resin and it looks like the plants were caught within it, probably to keep them in place but the placement where they ended up doesn’t look purposeful. It’s like someone just laid it on its back and dumped the resin on it and let the plants fall where they did.”

“Very good,” Thrawn said, sounding pleased.

My heart soared at the words and I stood up a little straighter.

“This piece comes from Mon Cala,” Thrawn explained, “It is an aquatic planet and therefore most of its art is meant to be viewed under water.”

“So when it was brought to the surface, someone wanted to preserve that effect by dumping resin on it,” I said slowly.

“Indeed. To the work’s detriment, as you can see. The plants are meant to move with the water, not be glued in a static location. In addition, the plants didn’t survive the process and have decayed within. I believe the yellow came from the color of the plants leeching into the resin.”

“That’s unfortunate. I bet this was really beautiful before. The background looks so purposefully done, but it’s covered by dead plants and flattened visually from the resin…”

“Come,” he beckoned, moving to his desk. I followed him and he pressed a few buttons on his desk. Suddenly a hologram floated in front of us. “This is not the exact piece I have here, but it is a similar work.”

I examined the glowing blue image. It certainly was a different piece, but I could see what it was meant to be. The plants flowed with the water, giving the work the feel of being alive.

“If these pieces can’t exist properly out of water, why didn’t someone just… put it in a tank of water or something?” I asked.

“I suspect there are several reasons for that,” Thrawn began, “First is simple practicality. It is much more difficult to move around a tank of water than a static work of art. Secondly, I suspect the plants do not thrive outside of the waters of Mon Cala. The work may last for a time in a tank of the right water, but I believe that it would still degrade. Whoever encased this piece in resin was no doubt attempting to preserve it, but sadly they did more harm than good.”

“Unfortunate,” I sighed sadly as he turned off the hologram, “Looks like it was beautiful before.”

“Yes, I believe it was. Sometimes the method of preservation, even poor preservation such as this, can tell us something, however.”

“I suppose so… at a high cost, though.”

He inclined his head, “Indeed. Thank you for indulging me, [Name]. However I am certain you are still recovering. Shall I return you to your room?”

I nodded and he began to lead the way out of his office. As we came to the elevator, I veered off to look out the view port again. The planet was in a different place relative to the ship than it had been. I looked out at the countless stars, wondering what all was out there. Who all was out there…

“W-what planet is that?” I asked quietly.

“Coruscant,” Thrawn replied. “The capital of the New Republic.”

I nodded my understanding. I suspected it was Coruscant based on the patterns of lights I could see. But… how was it the New Republic? How was Thrawn and the Chimaera part of it?

“Come,” Thrawn called, “You are beginning to look tired. I think you should rest.”

“Yes, sir,” I agreed, stepping onto the lift with him. I didn’t look at the blue alien, but I once again was fairly certain I saw the glow of his eyes intensify.

#unknown's writing

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arecaceae175 · 10 months

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3, 12, 18, 23

Fanfic ask game

3. favorite line/scene you wrote this year

The first thing that comes to mind is chapter 1 of In Defense of Honor. I'll throw the scene under the read more bc it's a bit long :D

OH ALSO I really liked chapter 14 of febuwhump. There was cool subtext going on and it was fun to write. That's down below too

12. favorite character to write about this year

LU SKY!!!!! I also wrote a little bit of Loft from Bonus Links and I thoroughly enjoyed that too

18. current number of wips

Posted WIPs: 5, but one of those is Temple Escape and I don't plan on finishing that, so really just 4

WIPs in my drafts folder: 19. That's only counting the fics in my drafts I've actually started writing. There are about 15 more docs that have ideas or outlines lol

23. fics you wanted to write but didn’t

Hmmm I wouldn't say there's any I wanted to write but didn't. I have a lot of WIPs that I'm still working on that I'm excited about!

IDOH:

Sky rolled his shoulders and took one step towards the men, but he was stopped by Warriors’ hand on his arm.

"Sky, it's fine. Let's just go," Warriors whispered. Sky ripped his arm away and stepped fully in front of Warriors.

"No, it's not fine," Sky muttered over his shoulder. He turned to face the man in front of him.

"Do you have something to say about your hero?" Sky said loudly. The man and his friends sniggered, then he stood and rolled his shoulders.

" Hero ," the man said sarcastically as he swayed on his feet. "I sure do."

His words were slurred and Sky could smell the alcohol even more strongly than before. His meager self-preservation instincts were screaming at him to leave, but the heartbroken look on Warriors' face when he let his mask slip for a split second was burned into Sky's mind.

"This man risked his life for his kingdom. He sacrificed so much to save you, all of you! And this is how you repay that?" Sky said. He felt his hands shaking, righteous anger for his brother burning within him.

“We’re knights! We’re the ones who protect this place!” The man yelled back.

"Sky," Warriors hissed. Sky ignored him.

"You're a disgrace to the knighthood," Sky spit.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" The man yelled. He threw his hands up and shoved Sky with all his might. Sky barely felt it, and he only had to take a half step back to right himself. Warriors gasped and tensed beside him, but Sky put out an arm to settle him.

"I'll give you that one ," Sky growled. "If you try anything else I won't hold back."

Febuwhump:

Time spit blood onto the ground, then raised his head again. His cheek was split and a small stream of blood dripped down his face. He met Warriors’ gaze. “Do what you must.”

A knife was placed in Warriors’ hand and it cleared all the haze in his mind. He had done it, they trusted him . This was his chance to get Time out alive and keep the others safe. He gripped the knife with white knuckles and forced his breathing to steady.

“I don’t think you understand,” Warriors said. He needed Time to see his plan. They both needed to be ready to run, and Warriors needed to know if Time could still fight. “I’m the best shot you’ve got.”

“Why? Are we friends now?” Time asked. It sounded sarcastic, but Warriors knew Time was trying to ask for more information.

“Because I’m the one holding the knife,” Warriors said.

“And your friends are the ones holding the swords,” Time said, minutely shaking his head.

Warriors’ heart sank. Time could see the entire room and into the hallway. Warriors never got a good look, but judging by Time’s answer there were too many guards and too many weapons for him to take on alone.

Warriors realized he had to make a decision. Either he refused, which would give away his position and jeopardize the others, or he had to torture Time. Warriors felt his hands start to shake and images of a battlefield littered with his fallen brothers flashed through his mind. How many of those bodies had he been forced to put there?

Warriors shook the thoughts out of his head and refocused his gaze on Time. He desperately hoped their captors couldn’t see his shaking hands or his rapid breaths. He needed to keep his head. Time needed him.

“No one has to die here. Tell me the location so we can all walk away,” Warriors said, desperate to buy himself more time to think.

Time said nothing.

Warriors slashed the knife across Time’s chest. Time remained silent, but he flinched and clenched his eyes shut. His expression of pain was seared into Warriors mind, and he knew with certainty he would see it in his dreams for the rest of his life.

#thanks for the ask!#IDOH #febuwhump #ace's asks #ace's ask games

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percontaion-points · 1 year

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Firstlife chapter 21

Today’s review might be difficult for some; reader discretion is advised

Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions

Chapter 21

“There is no line we won’t cross to get the job done.” —Myriad

You have made that abundantly clear in trying to murder a literal child to get your way.

“Why haven’t you signed?” She nibbles on her bottom lip. “Myriad and Troika refuse to give me what I really want.”

“Which is?”

“Vans’s spirit. I hate him more than I love anything else.” In that moment, she reminds me of a live wire—ready to strike the first person dumb enough to touch her. “Troika doesn’t play that way, and Myriad says they can’t get to him, that he died as an Unsigned and ended up in Many Ends.”

How is it that the man who literally tortured children into picking a side somehow never signed himself?

That seems like a huge goddamned oversight.

“My only real option is to go to Many Ends myself.”

No. I don’t want that for her. “Holding on to the past prevents you from grabbing on to a better future.”

This is real rich coming from the girl who continues to refuse to choose.

She says she doesn’t want to end up in Many Ends, yet she refuses to pick a side.

“Once a month there’s a ceremony for those in Troika who are deserving of punishment. The ceremony is about to start, and I’d like you to watch it.”

This. This is why Killian sent me up here. Archer is about to experience the Exchange. He wanted me to see it, to turn my back on Troika once and for all. But...that doesn’t explain why Deacon wants me to see it.

And they somehow think that showing the scene of Archer being tortured is somehow going to convince her?

At his left is a woman with long braided hair the color of newly fallen snow.

The author writing like she’s getting paid by the word.

A moment passes. Nothing happens, and no one speaks.

Then, one by one, the people in red robes begin to drop to their knees. A few cry out in pain. Others tremble. All keep their heads bowed.

“What’s happening?” I ask in a whisper.

“They are experiencing the pain the one they harmed experienced.”

The Exchange. I suddenly have the answer I’d so badly wanted. Archer is experiencing Clay’s death. In his mind, he is hanging from a tree trunk, snow hitting him in the face. He is waiting for me...he is falling...he is bursting inside like a melon.

My chest begins to ache.

“Through this, we learn how our actions affect others,” Deacon says.

I don’t know, I’m kind of into this. I’m so sick of seeing post after post of people who straight-up have no idea what empathy is.

This is the extreme end of this, for sure. But I’m into it.

There’s a cut on his temple, the flesh leaking shimmering Lifeblood. “We need to go,” he says to me. “Now.”

Chapter 21 summary: Sloan and Ten greet each other warmly. Killian punches James in the throat, and tells Ten to take Sloan up to her room. On the second floor landing, Ten gets angry when she sees people coming out from her mom’s room, and yells at them that they can’t even be on the second floor.

Alone in her room, Sloan tells Ten that her family was too poor to actually afford to send Sloan to the prison. But they made a deal that Dr. Vans was to convince Sloan to marry that old guy, and he could basically rape Sloan whenever he felt like it, so long as she didn’t get pregnant. She goes on to explain that the reason why she hasn’t signed is because she wants Dr. Vans’s soul, but it’s in Many Ends. Ten encourages her to let it go, and to pick a side.

Deacon shows up then, but he’s in this weird, almost translucent shell and wearing only a loincloth. Sloan makes a Ken doll joke. He says that he came to show Ten something called The Exchange, which Archer will be taking part of as punishment for wrongdoing.

They show a video from the POV of one of Deacon’s friends. They show the “Firstking”, his son, “Secondking”, and then the son’s fiancee. Ten thinks that these three people make up the Troi in Troika. Anyway, there are 33 people who are going through the Exchange, who experience the physical pain of the people that they wronged. Ten thinks about how Archer is experiencing Clay’s death.

When it’s over, the camera switches over to Archer’s POV. He goes and sees Clay, which makes Ten so happy that her friend is doing well. Archer then goes to visit General Levi, who addresses both Ten and Sloan by name. He shows Ten that Jeremy is doing well, and looks physically healthy again. Then something starts to shake, and Levi says that there’s something wrong with one of the conduits. And Ten is like “Wait, I’m a conduit! Am I in danger?!”

The feed cuts off a second before Killian bursts into the room. His shell is in rough shape, and he tells Ten that they have to go.

#Firstlife #Everlife series #chapter 21 #shitty society is shitty #shitty people doing shitty things #Pot Kettle Black #Sloan (Everlife)#Tenley 'Ten' Lockwood #Archer Prince #What Is Happening #I would ask where the editor was but I think we all know there was none

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sassykattery · 2 years

Text

Harsh Reality, Pt. 4

Hello readers! Welcome to the first part of the "Harsh Reality" finale in my series "Love, Eternal." This part is rather intense in terms of conflict, so, please, as always, check out the cw. This is super long so saddle up!

*As a side note, I am aware that a certain character said something in Lesson 40 (40-22), but I won't spoil it in case some haven't gotten that far. Remember, this is technically an AU, though I try to write the cast as canon as it fits with the storyline I have chosen, or headcanon to fill in the gaps. This is a situation in which there has been a canon decision made by said certain character, however, I want this to go in a different direction. I actually have a headcanon draft made in case anyone was ever curious as to the literary choices I've made and why, and if there's enough interest, I'd be happy to share it.

CW: MC is afab and she/her pronouns are used. MC is poly. mentions of smut scene from Part 3 and pursuit scene from Part 2, arguments, harm to the reader, violence against the reader, use of profane and degrading language: slut, whore, bitch.

Themes: violence, angst, DiavoloxMC, LuciferxMC

Characters: MC="You", Lucifer, Diavolo, all brothers, Barbatos, mentions of Simeon and Solomon.

Minors, ageless blogs DNI

18+ only

Masterlist

Enjoy~

-----

Putting the cursed record back in its sleeve, Lucifer began to select a new one to listen to. He found a soft, classic symphony to play, a benign one that he knew you liked. Humming as he put it on the record player, he then walked over to his bottle of Demonus to pour himself a glass. He swirled the drink in his hand, thinking about you.

He finished the glass and set it down, then proceeded to sit on the sofa. Watching your form on his bed, he patiently waited for you to come back to reality. He had already cleaned up the room, disposing all evidence of what you two did for the last few hours. Even going as far as making sure you had all the necessities on the end table for when you woke up.

His mind wandered to the images that flashed back into his mind. The ones of you running in the house, the ways you looked at him when he punished you, your moans and wails as he fucked you. You satiated a very sadistic part of him, and he would make sure you knew how much he appreciated it when you woke up.

However, you didn't wake up when he thought you would. You remained motionless on his bed, under his covers. He finally sauntered over to you, and he watched how lifeless you looked, but still breathing softly. His brows slightly furrowed in concern, and then maybe he thought he should just let you sleep for the night.

Decidedly, he proceeded with his nighttime routine and afterward crawled into bed beside you. You didn't even move when he draped his arm over you.

Lucifer woke first to find you still in the same position you were in last night. He wanted to give you a good start to your day, so he got up, got dressed in his uniform, and made your coffee the way you liked it.

When closed the door on his way back in, you finally shifted.

"Lucifer..." you called out, barely lifting your head. You started to roll over when the mattress depressed behind you. His fresh cologne along with the coffee made for a wonderful aroma in the room. Turning your head to look behind you, there he was, sitting next to you holding out a cup of coffee.

"I could-" your voice hitched. You coughed and felt the burn of your vocal chords at how hoarse they were. Lucifer immediately frowned.

"Here, drink this, it should help," he offered. You sat up gingerly, wincing at how sore you were, and graciously took the cup. Indeed, the liquid helped soothe your throat.

You cleared your throat and tried again. "I could get used to you bringing me coffee when I wake up," you mused quietly.

"I could agree to such an arrangement," Lucifer whispered, scooting closer to you and putting his warm arm around your back. He brushed a soft kiss on your temple.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, side-eyeing you.

"I'm very tired, and sore. Really, really sore," you replied timidly. Lucifer saw the bruises and bite marks all along your neck and his frown deepened.

"Are... you unhappy?" he inquired, almost afraid of the answer.

"Well, I need to talk to you about that little... game you played," you replied, sounding unenthused. "I was..." your voice trailed off, getting quieter with each syllable, "scared of you..."

He froze. You felt the tension in his whole body, and you knew he was instantaneously beating himself up for what he did now. "To be clear, I enjoyed the sex, you just were a bit... rougher than I expected," you continued.

You two sat there in complete silence, and you finally peered at Lucifer in your peripheral. His head was turned away from yours, his free hand balled up in a fist on his lap.

"Do you wish to leave me then?" is all he said, voice painfully neutral.

"Leave you?" you asked, surprised. He didn't elaborate. "No... I don't," you replied.

"I've broken my promise to not hurt you," he explained.

"Lucifer, I did ask you to be rough. I'm sorry I didn't realize how much that could be until-"

"Don't apologize," he hissed as he shot up from his spot next to you. He stood next to the bed with his back to you, arms crossed. His pride was clearly hurt, and you knew when that happened, he was inconsolable. Your blood pressure spiked with your annoyance, so you stood, still very much naked, and walked over to stand up to your boyfriend.

"I'm allowed to make my own choices, and last night I made a choice. If I wanted it to be different in the moment, I could have said so, but I didn't. I didn't need the safe word. I enjoyed what we did, and I'm glad I had that experience with you, because I trust you enough to give it to me," you snapped. "I'm merely telling you that maybe we need to dial down some of it... for me." you said more quietly. Now your heart hurt.

"I'm sorry that I'm so... fragile," you whispered, looking down at the floor.

Lucifer blinked at you, unsure how you could apologize for such a thing. He held a hand out, offering you a choice. You took it and stepped into his embrace.

"Lucifer, I love you. I don't think I could be without you again," you said into his chest. "I need you in my life," you murmured.

"I need you as well, MC," he whispered into your hair as he softly kissed the top of your head. "And I love you."

It wouldn't be a day in the House of Lamentation if Mammon didn't barge into Lucifer's room right then.

"Oi! We're gonna eat breakfast without ya and - oh sweet hell!" he said as he saw your naked body, hugging Lucifer.

He immediately covered his eyes, his face burning with his blush, but kept yelling, "Let her go right now Lucifer! You filthy demon quit buggin' MC and-"

He didn't get to continue his sentence as Lucifer sidestepped you and beelined for Mammon, literally throwing him out the door, closing it behind the two of them as he yelled at Mammon for barging into his room.

You sighed and looked around. Really, you didn't have any clothes to wear, thanks to Lucifer ripping them to shreds last night. So, you wandered over to his closet and grabbed a plain t-shirt that almost went to your knees when you slipped into it, figuring that was enough to get you from his room to yours. Just in case, you grabbed your blanket and wrapped it around you like a cloak.

Opening the door, you side-stepped the arguing brothers and scurried to your room, leaving them to bicker.

The rest of the morning went on without a hitch, just with Lucifer and Mammon silent at the dining table, to which, any of the brothers would agree that was favorable. Mammon couldn't look you in the eyes after seeing you naked, and worse yet, naked and hugging Lucifer instead of him. He still got to see you naked though.

At RAD, you went about your day as normal, none of the lower demons verbally harassing you like the previous day, but they still made sure to scowl at you while you waltzed through the halls, whispers wherever you went. Though, you did hear rumors about what a certain demon endured at the hands of the Avatars of Sin after bullying you.

There was a Student Council meeting after classes were over, so you made your way to the meeting room and found your seat, though every time you sat it was painful. Diavolo greeted everyone shortly after and went on about the end of final exams and the start of the seasonal break. As you watched him, he seemed to keep looking at you and then quickly looking away. It was typical for him to sneak looks at you and hold your gaze, but it was the way he wanted to look at you but couldn't for some reason. You weren't doing anything out of the ordinary, so you elected to ignore it until later.

After the meeting, Diavolo watched as everyone left, and just as you were about to grab the door as the last one out, he called out to you.

"MC," he said. His voice, you knew, sounded slightly unhappy.

You turned around to see him approaching you. He didn't have his usual big smile for you, so you immediately started panicking. "Walk with me to my office, will you?" he asked. You nodded and away you two went.

As you stepped inside his office, he closed and locked the door behind him. He sat on the sofa, so you joined him, looking at him expectantly.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I feel like I should be asking you that," you replied. "You kept looking at me during the meeting, and for once I wasn't doing anything."

He sighed and reached to undo your RAD uniform jacket and blouse and looked up at you. Nodding, he proceeded, exposing all the bruises, hickies, and bite marks littered across your shoulders, neck, and chest. He stared at them silently, still frowning.

You sighed this time and waited for him to answer.

"You looked like you were in pain today and that's when I noticed these," he stated.

"Diavolo..." you groaned. "It's fine, I'm okay. I... asked for it," you replied sheepishly. He glued his hands to his lap, gripping his knees to keep his cool. "I already told him to dial it down since..." you let the statement hang.

He remained silent, looking incredibly unhappy, at whom you weren't sure.

"How do I explain to you, clearly, that I hate seeing you hurt?" he ground out through his teeth. His eyes shifted to yours, and there was no warmth to be found.

"How is it any different from when you do it?!" you asked, gesturing at your chest.

"I don't enjoy hurting you and I work very hard to make sure that I don't. The marks be damned, do you not realize you wince every time you sit? When you picked up your bag, I saw you struggling to move. You also don't look like you've slept well. Tell me, what else happened?" he argued.

Now it was your turn to frown, clicking your tongue. For the second time today, your patience wore thin between your boyfriends, and it was going to be even more short-lived at this rate. When you stood, you silently put your uniform back together and headed to the door, leaving your prince behind.

"MC," you heard him call your name, but you just kept walking out of his office and wandered the empty halls of RAD.

Eventually, you found yourself in the RAD colosseum. The doors were left open and when you looked around, it was empty. You took a seat on the ground next to one of the entrances to the main floor. It was serene, and a place just to think.

Though the concern of your boyfriends was endearing, it was getting more difficult to deny, your mortality was becoming irksome. While Lucifer was willing to indulge himself, it ended up in disaster in his eyes. You knew you would never be able to satisfy his every whim, and it hurt you, because he more than satiated yours.

Then there was Diavolo. He obviously struggled to see you as anything other than a porcelain doll, in your mind, and you certainly refused to be treated as such. There's no freedom or fun in being held up on a pedestal so high no one could reach you, even if it's for your sake.

The harsh reality of it all, was you knew you couldn't keep up with them. A fragile human can't withstand the stamina or strength of demons, and the last couple days just proved it.

Feeling worn out, you brought your knees to your chest and rested your arms on your knees, letting your head lay on your arms to shut your eyes for a little bit.

---

"Hmph," Beel mumbled, unenthused. He sat on the sofa and scowled as his stomach rumbled, again.

"Wow, dinner is running late tonight. I wonder what's going on?" Belphie asked.

Mammon came stomping out of the kitchen and into the common room. "Anyone see MC today? She was supposed to help me with dinner, and she isn't here!" he griped.

"Hmm, that's strange. I didn't see her go home with any of us, so perhaps she's running home now? Have you tried calling?" Satan postulated.

"MC probably realized she didn't want to spend her time with the likes of you, Mammon," Asmo retorted, looking fondly at his nail polish.

As Mammon started griping out Asmo, Lucifer's hands immediately went for his D.D.D. He assumed you were with Diavolo if you didn't go home after the meeting.

Lucifer: Did you plan on keeping MC long after the meeting? There's going to be a riot at the house if she doesn't show up soon.

Diavolo: She left my office hours ago. You mean she's not at home?

Lucifer: No, she isn't. Did something happen?

Diavolo: She's not terribly happy with me. Where could she have gone?

Lucifer: Meet me at RAD, ASAP.

Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm afraid no one knows where she is. Lord Diavolo said they went to his office after the meeting, but she left hours ago."

There was absolute silence in the living room for a moment, right before the riot actually started with Mammon panicking that they needed to find you, and they all chimed in. Satan pointed out your D.D.D. went straight to voicemail when he called.

Lucifer waited several seconds and then barked, "Enough."

After the uproar died down, Lucifer continued, "I will meet with Lord Diavolo, and we will look for MC. You lot need to remain here in case she shows up, except Mammon, you need to search the streets just in case she's out there. Everyone else, remain here until there's further instructions."

There was disgruntlement among the brothers, but Lucifer left them no time to actually voice complaints to him directly because he was out the door to join Diavolo at RAD.

"Stupid slut, sending your little boyfriends to kill our friend. They aren't here to protect you now, are they?" the demon sneered as he kicked your side again. You rasped another cry, no longer being able to hold in your choked sobs, unable to properly talk around the gag they put in your mouth.

"I wonder if she lets them all have turns with her, passing her around like a common whore," another jeered.

You had dozed off and woke up to find yourself being drug to the middle of the colosseum by a group of three demons. They took turns taking swings at you, kicking you around, choking you out until you almost passed out, then finally dropping you to the ground to writhe and gasp for air.

One pulled you up by your hair, causing you to groan in pain, and looked you in the eyes. "You know, we heard how you tried to stand up to our friend. We were actually rather impressed you would even try to fight back, but of course your boyfriends had to save your ass and rip him limb-from-limb. You really oughtta learn your place, bitch," he reamed.

"Why don't we just kill her? We get caught and we'll end up the same way," one of them called out.

"Naw, we won't, but I wanna send a message before we go, to those snobby upper demons, thinking they can just kill anyone who defies them," the one holding your hair replied with a bone-chilling smile.

---

Lucifer and Diavolo had checked every room imaginable at RAD, only to come up empty-handed. They tried to remain calm, but both had a sinking feeling in their bodies about where you could've gone. Even your scent leading out of Diavolo's office was long gone. Diavolo explained to Lucifer what had transpired in his office, and how you probably just went to be alone.

The two were walking along in the gardens trying to come up with every place on campus that you would have access to.

"The library?" Diavolo asked.

"Checked, nothing. Cafeteria?" Lucifer replied.

"Nothing," Diavolo replied.

"Would the colosseum be open? Wasn't there an event today?" Lucifer pondered aloud.

"It shouldn't be open, but we can check before we try somewhere else," Diavolo replied.

As the two drew closer, the coppery smell of blood hung heavy in the air near the entrance of the colosseum, and the main doors were left open. They both dashed inside, to see you laying on the ground in the center of the ring, laying on your side and back to them.

Rushing over to you, they saw in red letters written behind your back "Royal Slut," presumably in your blood. Lucifer stopped and immediately called for Satan and Mammon to get over to the colosseum, nary giving them the reason why except for Satan to bring his med kit.

Diavolo came around and knelt down in front of you. Your face was downturned, so he couldn't quite see it. But what immediately got his attention was the giant laceration across your right shin, exposing the bone that was clearly broken, snapped completely in two. Blood sullied your torn uniform, and when he moved the hair away from your face and turned so that he could see you properly, there were more cuts around your hairline and jaw, leading him to see the dark rings around your neck.

The scents of multiple demons were on you, that much Diavolo could tell, but not who exactly. He carefully pulled you into his arms and sat back on his rear. You looked like a mangled ragdoll with your arm just hanging off of his arm that cradled you against him, legs twisted, and your head had to be supported into the crook of his elbow. He smoothed your hair back, blankly looking over your features.

Lucifer finally approached; his face plastered with despair at the sight of you. Falling to his knees, he felt all his emotions bubbling within his chest, unsure of which he could appropriately express in this moment. He grazed a finger against your cheek.

"I... can't keep going like this," is all Diavolo could say. There was silence for a while as the two looked at you. Your breaths were so light, and your pulse was faint, but you were still there.

"I want to make her into a demon," Diavolo finally stated, still looking over your face.

"What?" Lucifer was taken aback. "But does she want it?"

"I'm not sure. I don't know if she understands the process either, but I'm going to offer it to her," Diavolo replied solemnly.

"And if she says no?" Lucifer probed.

Diavolo was silent then. He couldn't even fathom thinking if you would say no, because at the present moment, all he could think about was getting you to wake up.

"I just want her to know I love her," Diavolo whispered.

Satan and Mammon finally arrived after Diavolo's words, and it was all they could do to not fly into fits of unadulterated rage as you lay limp, like a corpse, in the prince's arms.

Mammon dropped to the ground in anguish, slamming his fist into the floor. His sobs echoed through the colosseum, a haunting sound you would shudder to hear.

Satan dropped down to the floor near your feet, immediately looking over your broken leg. "It's a clean break, I'll have to set it, but I can fix it," he said, mostly to himself as the other two were too busy just staring at your lifeless face. "Diavolo, I need her on her back so I can have her legs straight. She may wake up when I set it, so you need to hold her down. Lucifer, go see to Mammon," Satan ordered.

Lucifer, feeling as though he were on autopilot, got to his feet, and went to Mammon. He explained to Mammon they needed to scour the area to figure out who did this and if there's a way to track them down.

Diavolo opted to pull your back up to his chest, in between his legs that laid flat out on either side of you. Satan straightened your bottom half out and prepared to set your leg.

"Please hold on to her," Satan whispered.

With a firm grip, he forced the break back into place with two shudder-inducing snaps, and the piercing scream that erupted from your throat abruptly was so blood curdling, Lucifer and Mammon looked at you in horror. Diavolo held you and still tried to console you. The pain was so overwhelming you passed back out. The Demon Lord clutched you tighter as he tried to fight back his tears, and Satan began to finish up his work on your leg. The Morningstar couldn't move for a moment, temporarily paralyzed by what he heard, but eventually broke his trance. Lucifer left with Mammon, and they hunted down the scent of the demons that mauled you.

Satan went to his feet after he was finished. "I'm going to go see Solomon for some potions, and then I'll call up Simeon for his help."

Diavolo stood as he held you, bridal style, and he nodded to Satan as his thanks. In his demon form, Diavolo flew back to his castle.

Wordlessly, he took you to your suite, not even greeting Barbatos or filling him in on your situation. But, even so, Barbatos could gather a lot of information just based on his master's reaction and your state, so he immediately worked on tea and preparations for your stay.

Diavolo placed you ever so gently onto your bed. He looked you over and decided to put you into clean clothes. Carefully, he undressed you, and rage boiled in his heart as he saw the blooms of red and purple on your waist and stomach. Discarding your old clothes, he dressed you into fine silk pajamas.

"I'll be right back," he whispered into your hair, kissing your forehead. He quickly left to change his own clothes that were covered in your dried blood.

Upon his return, he found Barbatos holding a tray, just staring at you. It was rare to see his butler in such a state, broken of his usual smooth and methodic movements. Barbatos radiated anger and sadness but wouldn't show it on his face.

"Barbatos," Diavolo rasped. Instantly, breaking his trance of your form, the butler set the tea tray down on a table and approached his master. "Find out who did this, now," he ordered. Barbatos bowed and left.

Diavolo slid into the bed, sitting up against the headboard, and pulled you back into his arms. He situated your head to prop up against his upper arm, his bicep as a pillow for you. Leaning his own head against the headboard, he stared at the ceiling. He focused his attention on your pulse, slow and weak. You were with him, but just barely so.

Hours went by like that, and your prince refused to move from his spot or have you removed from his arms. Barbatos informed him who had hurt you, and it was taken care of by the Avatars of Sin. Though he would have liked to punish them himself, staying by your side was most important.

Thank you for reading <3

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#obey me fanfic #obey me mc #obey me shall we date #obey me #diavolo x femreader #lucifer x female reader #love-eternal #sassystories

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translations-by-aiimee · 3 years

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The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Chapter 30

Original Title: 二哈和他的白猫师尊

Genres: Drama, Romance, Tragedy, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 30 - This Venerable One Doesn't Want to Eat Tofu

"Hey, hey, did you hear? Elder Yuheng violated the sect rules. As punishment, he has to kneel in Yanluo Hall for three days."

In the morning class the next day, the disciples gathered on the Platform of Righteousness and Evil to practice and meditate. In the end, they are all teenagers and 20-year-olds, and they couldn't just do as they were told. If a master wasn't paying attention, they'll start whispering and gossiping.

The news that Chu Wanning had been punished quickly spread.

The disciples who witnessed the beating yesterday were not shy about sharing the gossip with others.

"Wow, why are you guys finding out about it so late? Oh . . . So yesterday Elder Lucun took you up the mountain to collect night dew flowers? Well then - you guys really missed out on a lot! Yesterday evening, in the Qingtian Temple, there was flesh and blood flying everywhere. It was horrible. Elder Yuheng was beaten with more than two hundred strikes! More than two hundred strikes! Not a single one missed! There was no mercy!"

The disciple made a particularly exaggerated expression every time he said a new sentence. No need to mention the show he was putting on for all his junior brothers and sisters surrounding him.

"Do you actually count all two hundred strikes? Even a big man could be killed, not to mention Elder Yuheng. He couldn't stand it and passed out. This made our young master mad. He rushed in and fought with Elder Jielu. He said not to lay another finger on Elder Yuheng. Ah, that scene—"

His facial features were wrinkled up like a steamed bun. He squeezed his eyebrows. Finally, he stretched out a finger, swaying from side to side, and summed it up in three words:

"Tsk tsk task."

Immediately, a younger sister disciple paled: "What! Elder Yuheng fainted?"

"Young Master and Elder Jielu got into a fight?"

"It's no wonder I didn't see Elder Yuheng in this morning class . . . so pitiful . . . what crime did he commit?"

"I heard that he beat a civilian in a fit of rage."

". . ."

Such gossips drifted into Xue Meng's ears from time to time. Life-Death Peak's young master had completely inherited his shizun's temper, so he was very irritable. It was unfortunate that more than one person was gossiping about this. There were groups all over the Platform of Righteousness and Evil, all muttering "Elder Yuheng was punished" and so on. It made him feel so irritated, but there was nothing he could do.

In one corner was Xue Meng, veins bulging on his forehead, and in the other was Mo Ran, unable to stop yawning.

Xue Meng couldn't direct his anger anywhere else, so he viciously spat at Mo Ran: "The plan of the day relies on the morning. You dog, you're so lazy in the morning! What has Shizun been teaching you?"

"Huh?" Mo Ran said with sleepy eyes followed by another big yawn. "Xue Meng, that's enough. I can handle Shizun's lecturing. Who do you think you are? I'm your cousin. Behave yourself when you talk with your cousin. Don't be so rude."

Xue Meng said fiercely: "My cousin is a dog. Be whatever you want to be!"

Mo Ran laughed: "You're so mean. If you don't look out for your elder sect brother, think about how disappointed Shizun will be once he finds out."

"You still have the audacity to mention Shizun! Let me ask you, when he went to the Court of Discipline yesterday, why didn't you stop him?"

"MengMeng, he's a shizun. Yuheng of the Evening Sky, Beidou Immortal. What did you want me to do?"

Xue Meng was furious. He drew his sword, his sharp eyebrows furrowed angrily: "What the hell did you call me?!!!"

Mo Ran's grin stretched from ear to ear: "Be good, MengMeng. Sit down."

Xue Meng bellowed: "Mo Weiyu, I'll kill you!!"

Shi Mei was caught between the two, listening to their daily bickering. He couldn't help sighing. He silently held the edge of his forehead, trying to concentrate on reading his book: "The sun and the moon are poured in the pot* when the spiritual core is first formed. The way of heaven cannot be interpreted, and life and death are involved in the process. . ."

*(T/N: 日月壶中灌 - referring to the Daoist practice of leisurely inactiveness)

Three days passed in the blink of an eye and Chu Wanning's period of reflection came to an end.

According to the rules, the next thing he had to face was a three-month grounding period. During this period of time, he could not leave Life-Death Peak and needed to go to Mengpo Hall to do miscellaneous chores, clean the corridor pillars of Naihe Bridge, sweep the steps in front of the mountain gate, and so on.

Elder Jielu was anxious: "Elder Yuheng, to be honest, I don't think you should do these things. You are the best shizun of your generation. Doing this kind of dishwashing and floor cleaning . . . it feels wrong." He trailed off, leaving half the sentence unsaid --

The main reason is that the old man doubts whether you can even sweep floors, cook and wash clothes!

Chu Wanning didn't doubt himself at all and went to report to Mengpo Hall in an orderly manner.

All of Mengpo Hall, from the chief steward to the servant, was shocked to hear that Chu Waning was coming to do hard labour. They were terrified, as if they were approaching the enemy.

Chu Wanning, dressed in white, arrived in a flutter.

His handsome face was cold and calm, completely expressionless. If you added an auspicious cloud under his feet and a whisk between his arms, he would've looked like the picture-perfect immortal.

Manager Meng Potang felt very ashamed and uneasy. He was actually supposed to make such a beautiful man wash vegetables and cook.

Chu Wanning didn't have the self-image of being a beautiful man. He stepped into the kitchen and coldly swept his gaze over the crowd, who couldn't help but take a step back.

". . ." Chu Wanning was straightforward. "What should I do?"

The chief steward coyly pinched the edge of his hem and thought about what he should say. He cautiously went with: "How does this elder feel about washing vegetables?"

Chu Wanning said: "Okay."

The chief steward was greatly relieved. He originally thought that Chu Wanning led a very pampered life. He might be reluctant to do this kind of labour, however, all the other jobs were either dirty and tiring or required some skill. He was worried that Chu Wanning wouldn't be able to do a good job. Since Chu Wanning easily agreed to wash the vegetables, he didn't need to worry about it.

As it turns out, the chief steward was really naive.

There was a clear stream in front of Mengpo Hall. Chu Wanning went to the stream with a basket of green vegetables. He rolled up his sleeves and began to wash the vegetables.

This area is under the jurisdiction of Elder Xuanji. Occasionally a disciple of the Xuanji sect passed by. He saw Chu Wanning actually washing vegetables and was so scared that he couldn’t even get a word out. He rubbed his eyes three or four times to make sure he wasn't seeing things. He said in astonishment: "Elder Yu-Yuheng -- good-good morning."

Chu Wanning raised his eyes: "Good morning."

Elder Xuanji's disciples shivered and fled.

". . ."

Chu Wanning didn't bother to talk with them and continued with his business. He broke the leaves, washed them, and threw them back into the basket.

He washed them very carefully. He broke each vegetable leaf apart, repeatedly brushing them thoroughly. The consequence of that was -- come noon, the basket of vegetables still hadn't been washed.

The man waiting in the dining room was anxious, pacing around in circles: "What should we do? Why hasn't the elder come back yet? If he doesn't come back with the vegetables, how are we going to make the stir-fried beef and vegetables?"

The chief steward looked at the sun and said: "Forget it. Hurry, let's replace it with braised beef."

So, when Chu Wanning returned, Mengpo Hall had already served the beef. The stew was so crispy and flavourful that there was no need for vegetables at all. Chu Wanning frowned. He held his vegetables, rather unhappily, and coldly asked: "If you didn't want the vegetables, why did you make me wash them?"

The chief steward's hairs stood on end. He wiped the cold sweat on his forehead with his handkerchief and said something that he regretted: "That's not it. I was thinking you could make a pot of stewed tofu with vegetables?"

Chu Wanning had no expression. Still holding his vegetables, he tilted his head and pondered silently: ". . ."

The chief steward hurriedly said: "If you don't want to, that's alright--"

He hadn't even finished speaking before Chu Wanning asked: "Where is the tofu?"

Chief Steward: ". . ."

"Elder Yuheng, do you . . . know how to cook?"

Chu Wanning said: "I'm not completely ignorant. I'll give it a try."

At noon that day, all the disciples happily entered Mengpo Hall as usual in groups, looking for somewhere to sit. Then, they headed to the counter to get their food served.

There was no shortage of food on Life-Death Peak. The food had always been plentiful and today was no exception.

The braised beef was fatty and lean, the fish shreds were vibrant and rich, the farmhouse pork was golden and crispy, and the chopped pepper fish was red and tempting. The disciples rushed to grab their favourite foods, lining up around the hall, asking the chef to add a spoonful of sweet and sour pork ribs to them, pour some marinade on the rice, or add some spicy sauce.

The ones who always made it to the front of the line first were Elder Lucun's disciples. The little guy at the head of the line had a big pimple on his nose. All he had on his mind was some Mapo Tofu. He skillfully carried the wooden tray to the last counter without raising his eyes and said: "Shizun, I'd like a bowl of tofu."

The shizun, with pale, slender fingers, handed him a plate full of tofu.

However, it wasn't the Mapo Tofu he was familiar with. Instead, it was a plate of strange food with a charred black colour and indistinguishable ingredients.

The disciple was surprised: "What is that?"

"Tofu boiled with bok choy."

Mengpo Hall was full of people, so the disciple didn't pay attention to answering the other person's voice. He said angrily: "Are you an alchemist? Can you even call this tofu with vegetables? I don't want it. Take it back!"

While cursing, he glared at the shizun there. As a result, when he saw the person standing behind the counter, the disciple screamed in fright and almost knocked the tray over.

"Elder Yu-Yuheng!"

"Hmm."

The disciple was on the verge of tears: "No, that's not what I - I didn't mean that just now. I. . ."

"Since you're not eating it, I'll take it back." Chu Wanning said blankly, "Don't waste it."

The disciple stiffly picked up the plate, handed it to Chu Wanning then left with his tail between his legs.

In a short while, everyone knew that Elder Yuheng was standing at the last counter, so the originally lively Mengpo Hall was suddenly silent.

The disciples lined up like a pack of puppies, and they hurriedly grabbed their food, panicked. They went up to the last counter respectfully, greeted the elder, and stumbled away.

"Hello, Elder Yuheng."

"Mmm."

"Good day, Elder Yuheng."

"Good day."

"Elder Yuheng has worked really hard."

". . ."

The disciples were very disciplined and were acting with an abundance of caution, so Chu Wanning accepted the tense greetings from each disciple, but no one dared try his pot of boiled tofu with green vegetables.

Slowly, the line was getting shorter and the food in front of other shizuns was almost gone. Only Chu Wanning still had a pot full of food. The pot of vegetables was completely cold and untouched.

Chu Wanning's face didn't waver, but his heart was conflicted. He had washed them all morning. . .

At that point, his three disciples showed up. Xue Meng was still in silver-blue light armour, refreshing getup. He bounced over with excitement: "Shizun! How are you? Does your wound hurt?"

Chu Wanning was very calm: "It doesn't hurt."

Xue Meng: "Well, that's good."

Chu Wanning glanced at him and suddenly asked: "Do you eat tofu?"

Xue Meng: ". . ."

#2ha novel #2ha translation #2ha #the husky and his white cat shizun translation #the husky and his white cat shizun #english translation #chinese bl #chinese novel #bl novel #yaoi novel #yaoi #danmei novel #danmei #mo ran #chu wanning #ranwan

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randomshyperson · 3 years

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The Scarlet Witch Prophecy - Chapter 18 - Part XVII - Agatha's Memories (Part One)

Gif is not mine, but Pinterest would let me give credits to the gif maker, so bless you wherever you are friend.

Summary: As the youngest daughter of Howard Stark, you have ordinary expectations for your years at Hogwarts. Little do you know what adventures await you when your destiny is intertwined with the legendary Scarlet Witch.

Warnings: +16. Adaptation of the Harry Potter Saga, Magical Thematic, Prophecies, Mentions of Violence, Torture and dark magic, Language (swearing and minor/major offenses), manipulation of will, Underage kissing, insinuation of smut with minors, Smut (overage), descriptions of death, aggression, obscurity, angst, fluffy, soulmates analogies. || Chapter Warnings: mentions of violence, manipulation of will and consent.

Series Masterlist || Read on AO3 || All Works Masterlist

Chapter 18 - Part XVII - Agatha's Memories (Part One)

You thought you were going to fall asleep for a long time.

But as soon as your eyes closed, you felt the urge to open them again, as if being pulled out of your rest. The same feeling of being woken up in the middle of a dream.

“Wanda?” You called as soon as you saw around, and she was already next to you, her hand on your face, smiling gently as she helped you stand still. “Where are we?”

“Agatha’s memories I think.” She said and you followed her eyes, only now realizing it was Hogwarts where you two were. You recognize the corridor from the seventh floor, because of the positions of the towers outside. “We should go this way, follow the fire.”

You notice that only the candles in that direction were on, so you nod, Wanda kept her hand on yours all the way to the small door ajar at the end of the wall.

Inside, it was not empty. Wanda got in first, as if checking if anything would happen if she interrupted it, but it was just a memory, and it continued to happen as if you two were not there.

“Dad.” You whisper in shock as you step in. Your father was sitting in one of the chairs, a ravenclaw tie loosened in his neck, a curious look on his face. He was about your age.

But the grip on your hand tightens, and you then realize the other wizards inside as well.

Erik, covered in soot just like your dad, had his wand in hands, and Agatha in the front of the room.

The witch stood with her arms crossed, a disapproving look on her face. And you noticed that the boys were crestfallen, and understood that they had just been caught.

"Sorry for the delay, Agatha, I came as soon as I got your note." Said a male voice behind you, and you held your breath as you looked.

It was Mephisto, but he looked nothing like the scary man in the long cape and red eyes you are familiar with. He was just an adult with dark brown eyes, a stern look, and a tired face. He wore the clothes of his time, but on his necktie he had a hydra's brooch.

"No problem, Faustus." Agatha assured with a smile as the man walked in and closed the door. "Mr. Stark and Mr. Lehnsherr didn't mind waiting."

"What happened to your robes, boys?" Mephisto asked them curiously, and Erik, who was cleaning his wand on his cloak, replied first.

"A little accident, sir." He answered almost shyly. It was strange to see him like that, so young. "Howie and I are very sorry for the mess."

"Apologies are not enough, Mr. Lehnsherr." Agatha warns seriously. "If I hadn't interrupted the experiment, you guys would have blown up the whole floor."

"But we are sorry, Mrs. Harkness." Repeated your father, but he didn't seem to be really upset.

"When I gave you permission to continue with your research after what happened in the fourth year, I trusted that you would never again risk the safety of your colleagues, gentlemen." Agatha continued firmly. "I am beginning to rethink my decision."

"No!" Erik and Howard exclaimed together, which caused Agatha to raise her eyebrow. Your father cleared his throat and stepped forward. "Please, Headmistress. It was just this once, and it was for a good reason!" He declares looking suddenly excited. "We found something!"

Your father hurried to reach the back of the room, and only now did you notice the molten metal studded in the wall, as if something had exploded there a few minutes ago.

"The map, Miss Harkness, did not show this part of the castle." He told with a smile, touching the wall. "Erik and I wanted to find out why. But we couldn't break the wall with spells, so we tried using a machine."

Agatha sighed, massaging her temple as Mephisto smiled at the whole scene. "You two and your antics with metal." He commented casually, and you were almost startled by the whole thing. The greatest dark wizard of all time, smiling tenderly at two students.

"What did you find, boys?" He asked curiously, and your father hurried to pull the metal out of the wall, and with some effort, a large hole was exposed in the concrete.

"I don't know what's in there, but it's not an empty room." Howard says. "And every time we peek in it seems to turn into something else."

"What are you waiting for?" Mephisto asks excitedly. "Let's go in."

Whatever your father had built was destroyed by a powerful spell, and melted against the wall. So Agatha and Mephisto recited some incantations together against the wall, and the hole opened up into a door.

And you widened your eyes.

"Wanda, is that the...?"

"Room of Requirement" She concluded as shocked as you were, walking to keep up with the wizards who were hurrying into the place.

And unlike the living room you knew, or the dueling room Wanda was familiar with from the order, the room of requirement was completely different. It was dark, and crowded. Piles and piles of the most diverse objects scattered around, like a magical garbage dump. But it wasn't junk at all.

It was books, shiny objects, all sorts of things. You think you even saw a chest of gold before you turned your attention to the group in front of you, stunned by such a discovery.

" Impressive, boys." Agatha commented almost proudly, and then assumed a serious expression. "Go back to your dormitories now".

"But, Professor-" They started together but Agatha looked at them with repression, gesturing.

"We don't know the origin of the items in that place, gentlemen." She clarified. "The teachers will ascertain that there is nothing here that could injure them. If there is no danger, you, as well as the rest of the school, will be allowed to be here. But for now, back to your dorms, or you will receive a month's detention."

The boys were upset, and you swallowed dryly at the image of your father sulking like a kid. Or better yet, he really was. Just a kid.

Your gaze followed him as he walked out beside Erik, the two of them whispering softly, and you sighed, feeling your eyes fill with tears watching him go. Wanda wiped away the tear that ran down, looking at you tenderly.

"Hey, are you alright?" She asked but you just nodded, grateful for her touch. Your father is dead, and this is no time to try to cling to another witch's memories of him.

"Yes, let's keep going." You said kissing her palm on your cheek before intertwining your hands, turning your attention back to the memory.

Without the boys, you noticed that Mephisto's posture changed.

He looked nervous, or perhaps almost fascinated by everything around him, as if he didn't know what to touch first.

"Faustus, where do we start?" Agatha asked next, as impressed as he was, looking around at the piles.

Mephisto seemed almost surprised at her speech. "I thought you were going to call the rest of the faculty, Agatha."

The witch laughed lightly. "And risk them agreeing to censor this place? No way. You and I will take a peek first. Collect anything that has the appearance of something the ministry of magic could ban."

You jumped in fright when someone tapped your shoulder, instinctively covering Wanda, but it was only Agatha. The real one, with a friendly posture.

"That was my mistake, children." She says nostalgically, watching the memory as well. "I should have called the teachers."

"What did you find here, Agatha?" Wanda asked a moment later, when you stood back upright as you recovered from your fright.

"Everything."

The memory around you trembled, as if Agatha decided to change it to hurry things. Soon, you find yourself staring at the image of her and Mephisto sitting in front of a table, in what you reckon was his office.

“It’s strange, Agatha.” The man said. “All pages are blank, but I can sense the magic.”

“Tried any remove concealment spells?” Agatha asked as Mephisto agreed, looking frustrated as both of them gazed at the open book at the table.

Agatha leaned over to reach an inkwell, knocking over the paper. She smiled as the ink vanished.

“See, it’s absorbing it.” She says. “So you just gonna give something in return for him to provide your answers.”

Mephisto laughs lightly, commenting that Agatha always found a way to surprise him. You wanted to throw up.

He took his wand from his jacket, and held it out to his own hand, cutting it as he leaned toward the book.

As his blood dripped onto the pages, the paper filled with ink, and the sorcerers let out contented exclamations.

"The book of the damned." Mephisto read it carefully, and then smiled at Agatha. "Sounds promising."

"I'll bet you three galleons it's ritualistic magic." The witch retorted, making the other laugh.

"Five galleons that it's alchemy." He replied smiling before turning his attention back to the book.

Before you could comment on your indignation at seeing them bet on something so absurd, the memory changed again.

You and Wanda had watched the flashes of the two sorcerers studying in that room, reading the darkhold, and other books as well. Sometimes they would leave, probably to teach their classes, but would return to their reading. You saw the moon appear several times in the window, and counted at least fourteen nights before the memory stabilized in front of you again.

Agatha looked nervous, crossing her arms as she stared at Mephisto.

"I just think there's something strange going on, Faustus!" She spoke up, but only received a bored expression. "The dead unicorns in the forest, the blood moon! I'm worried about the students."

"You are just scared, Agatha!" He sneered cruelly. "We finally found something worthwhile in this castle! We can't stop now."

But Agatha frowned, "Hogwarts has always been worthwhile to me, Faustus. I made it clear to you when we started this, that I wasn't going to do anything that would put the school at risk."

"It's only a castle, Agatha!" He retorts impatiently. "Old stones piled up. Stop acting like it's the holiest place in the world. What we find here, what's in that book, in those chests, is more than any other sorcerer has ever found. It is something from the ancients, things that Merlin would doubt."

"Merlin is dead, Faustus." Agatha retorted, looking at her friend with a neutral expression. "And I don't intend to have the same fate. I want to live. Like Morgana did."

Mephisto rolled his eyes. "Death doesn't have to be the end, old friend."

Agatha frowned in confusion, and Mephisto moved to reach the darkhold on the highest shelf. "We both won the bet after all. But I found more. Here look, Agatha. It's necromancy."

The witch stared wide-eyed, taking a step back as soon as Mephisto held out the item to her.

"I don't study this kind of thing, Faustus." She said in shock, which made Mephisto laugh incredulously.

"Don't give me puritism, now, Agatha." He retorted still with the book open in his arm. "How many rituals have you performed? Necromancy is the exact same with a little more power."

Agatha shook her head. "Crossing the line of death condemns the witch to-"

"To eternal suffering?" He interrupted in mockery. "What is that, Agatha? Pagan Christianity? You're hanging out too much with those mudbloods."

The principal clenched her jaw. "Don't forget I'm a half-blood, Faustus."

But the wizard only rolled his eyes. "Muggles talk about hell, and heaven like they know any shit about magic. Fools. They and all witches who bow to myths like those. I do not need to fear any punishment if I never die."

"Everything that lives must die, Faustus." Agatha retorted seriously. "You can't change that, no matter how hard you try. And you are not the first to do so."

Mephisto rolled his eyes, and assumed a defensive posture. "I'll be the first to succeed then, Agatha."

"Fau-"

But they are interrupted by a knock on the door, and Mephisto quickly hides the book behind his body.

You are surprised to see Thor's father, and your former Astronomy teacher, Odin, enter. And he looked disturbed.

"Headmistress, professor, sorry for the intrusion." He speaks hurriedly. "We need help downstairs, it's the Lehnsherr girl."

Your frown, and the memory changed just as the teachers rushed to leave the room.

When the image stabilized again, you felt Wanda squeeze your hand to get your attention.

"Y/N, it's my Aunt Raven." She spoke over the girl lying on the ward bed in front of you two.

"What happened to her?" Agatha asks the group around you. You are startled when you notice your father standing right next to you.

"I don't know, professor." It is Erik who answers with desperation. "We were playing Quiddicht, and Ray dived in to get the snitch. But her eyes started glowing and she fell."

An orange-eyed black woman you didn't know approached, and you imagined she was the healer of that time. Agatha turned to her immediately.

“Katherine, do you know what’s wrong?” Agatha asked worried but the woman shook her head, moving quickly to put the basin of hot water on the headboard beside Raven's bed, and wet a towel she placed on the girl's forehead, making you understand that she must have had a fever.

"It's dark magic, principal, that I'm sure of." The nurse replied. "The girl has marks on her back, but the boys couldn't tell if she messed with something she shouldn't have."

You noticed the look Erik exchanged with Agatha, but neither he nor the principal said anything.

"What kind of enchantment is it?" Mephisto asked, but unlike Agatha's worried tone, he seemed almost in a hurry to get out of there right away.

"I don't know, professor-"

"What kind of healer are you, Fury?" he interjected angrily, shocking those present for a brief second, before Agatha pulled him by the forearm away, almost at the door in the infirmary.

"Don't you dare talk to my employees like that, Faustus." She warns between teeth, but the man looks impatient.

"She needs to find out what's wrong here, Agatha." He retorts without caring about her previous words. "If the girl goes to St.Mungus, it will raise questions. And I know you don't want the ministry going through your drawers."

Agatha squinted her eyes at him, being quiet for a moment.

"Miss Lehnsherr is part of your potions club, Faustus." She begins. " Do you have any idea if she has tried some potion she shouldn't have?"

The man clenches his jaw, but his pallor betrays him, and both you and Wanda and Agatha realize this.

"Don't be ridiculous." He says offended, but keeps his tone low so as not to be heard by the others. "I have nothing to do with it."

"I think that better be true, Faustus." It is Agatha's last warning before she turns back to Raven, and the memory changes again.

You almost lost your balance this time, as you appeared on a staircase, but Wanda held you by the waist, and you shyly turned to her.

Pushing away any thoughts inappropriate for the moment, you turned your attention to the boy a few feet away, who was climbing the steps, but stopped when Agatha called out to him.

"Yes, Professor?" Erik asked, sounding troubled.

"It's about your sister, Mr. Lehnsherr." Agatha says, and lowers her tone as she leans in. "I need to ask you something, and you need to be honest."

Erik nods frantically, a mixture of curiosity and concern in his gaze.

"Kat-Mrs. Fury." Agatha corrected herself before continuing. "She investigated the marks on Raven's back. They are claw marks, Erik. Werewolf claws."

Erik clenched his jaw, and looked down at the floor.

"Professor I-"

"Don't lie, Erik." She asks seriously. "I'll know if you do. What I need to find out is how there is a werewolf inside the castle."

"It wasn't a werewolf, Professor." He says and then takes a deep breath, looking up at the top of the school, as if checking to see if they really were alone. "It was a big wolf, but not a werewolf. It was an animagus."

Agatha frowns, and Erik continues. "Please, professor, apologize to me in advance, I shouldn't have agreed to this whole story." He starts nervously. "B-but Howey thought we wouldn't have any problems if we did everything right, but then Professor Faustus found out and told us our secret was safe and-"

"What are you talking about, Erik?"

Wanda's father swallowed dryly, but looked at Agatha. "Howey and I thought it was unfair for you to forbid us to continue studying wizard mechanics in the castle after we found the treasure room for you. So we decided to continue studying elsewhere."

Agatha clenched her jaw, but Erik kept talking.

"We tried the forbidden forest, but Howey pissed off the acromantulas." He counters with a guilty look. "Professor Faustus was in the forest, and he saved our asses. He said he would keep our secret if we kept his."

"What is Faustus' secret?" Agatha asked immediately, and Erik looked away to the ground.

"I don't judge, and I didn't understand why, but the professor was drinking unicorn blood." He counters. "I found him on top of the poor animal, it looked like a vampire. He told us he was sick."

Agatha sighs, closing her eyes for a moment.

“What else, Erik?”

“He said that you knew the castle too much, you knew every creature.” The boy continues. “Professor Faustus suggested we learn how to hide inside the forest. But we didn’t know any spells like this, so he taught us about animagi.”

Agatha bited her lip thoughtfully, waiting for Erik to continue.

“He helped us with everything, the spells, the potions.” He added. “And my sister joined us as well, and honestly, Ray is way better at this than us. When we finally did it, professor Faustus was impressed but he kind of kept us apart, and only seemed interested in talking to Ray about it, probably because she can turn into any animal she wants now.”

The professor widened her eyes to this. “Really?” She asks impressed, but quickly converts to a more impassive expression. “What about you and Mister Stark?”

“Just one.” He says and you realize that he doesn’t want to actually share what animal he and your dad can turn into so Agatha won’t know. And the headmistress doesn't ask further either.

She just takes a deep breath, and straightens her posture. “I decided to ban the experiments because the safety of your colleagues has been compromised, Erik. And clearly I was right.”

Erik seemed really embarrassed as he had thick tears in his eyes. “We didn’t mean any harm, professor.”

“Intentions don’t really matter now, do they, mister Lehnsherr?” She accuse with sarcasm, but she sighs, returning to a more friendly posture. “How did Raven get the marks?”

“We were playing quidditch in the florest, professor.” The boy tells with hesitation. “But Howey and I were trying different things, new enchantments to make the game more fun. A faster golden snitch and a bludger that can part into three when hitted correctly. Stuff we could sell once we leave Hogwarts.” He clarifies.

“As if Quidditch is not dangerous enough.” Wanda mutters to you, making you smile.

“But we lost the snitch in the woods.” Erik continues. “And of course we couldn't leave it there, it was our first prototype. So we turned into animals, but something got wrong. With me.”

“What Erik?”

“He lost his consciousness.” It was not Erik who answered but your dad, coming from the stair behind you. He looked upset, his eyes matched yours and you felt your heart race, even though you knew he was just seing Erik. “Good afternoon, professor.”

“Howey-”

“It’s okay, Erik.” Your dad says with a smile. “It is also your secret to share, and maybe we took this too far.”

“I expected you two to clarify this soon before I expelled you both.” Agatha cuts the conversation quickly, looking impatily. Your dad takes another step.

“It was the blood moon, professor.” He said. “It messed with our heads. I got nauseous, almost passed out when I transfigured myself. But Erik lost his mind entirely. Ray was better at this than us, but she also got a bit slow, I think. That’s how Erik got to her.”

“We fought, professor.” Erik clarified, almost disgusted with himself. “I attacked her like an animal.”

“And then?”

“We didn’t know what to do! It was a secret, so I ran straight to professor Faustus' office.” Erik says. “He came back to the forest, and when he saw Ray he said he would help. I don’t know how he did it, but she was fine for weeks. Until today, we’re playing and this happened.” He explains. “I was going to tell you everything back there. B-but professor Fastus whispered in my head to be quiet about the animagi.”

Agatha sighs, massaging her temples. “Great, fucking great.” She whispered to herself, then turned back to the boys. "That 's all?”

As they both nod, Agatha climbs the steps. "Go back to your dorms, I appreciate your honesty."

While the memory faded, you turned as you heard someone move next to you. It was Agatha, the real one.

“Please tell me you fired him after that.” You say to her but she just smirks, gesturing with her head for you and Wanda to look forward.

This time, it’s not Hogwarts. But a bar you have only been to once, the Hog’s Head Inn.

“Our interests are at odds, my friend." Agatha says in a warning tone to the wizard sitting across from her. "Faustus, don't make things harder for us, think of our friendship."

You notice that Mephisto now looks more like the wizard you know. His longer hair and scruffy beard give him a more grim-faced appearance, the dark marks under his eye and the bumps of his bones in his cheeks give him an anemic and sickly look. You deduce that it is the excess consumption of the darkhold.

He gives the teacher a humorless laugh, coughing lightly, and Agatha raises her eyebrow. "We were never friends, Harkness." He retorts. "We had an academic arrangement. And I'm just a professor in your fairy-tale castle."

"That's not true, Faustus." Agatha tries, but Mephisto just runs his hand across his face, throwing his hair back, and you notice the dark marks on his neck, his veins.

"He was dying." Wanda whispers beside you, noticing as well. "The book was killing him, Y/N."

"Exactly, Miss Maximoff." The real Agatha speaks next to you, the memory muffled as if you were underwater, the conversation no longer audible. "And so close to death, people begin to despair."

“I told you I was sorry about hiding the animagi issue, Agatha. Please do not bring up this subject again.” He says. Agatha reaches for his head over the table.

“Do not hurt my students again, Faustus.” She seriously tells him, and Mephisto looks even more tense. "Because if you do, we won't have any conversation at all."

Agatha looked ahead, and the memory changed again.

"I finally figured it out, Agatha!" You were startled when the image of Mephisto appeared so close, taking a step away.

It was a living room where you were now, and the witch had just opened the front door for the man, soaked from head to toe due to the storm outside.

You had never seen Agatha's house before, and were surprised to find that she had one, and did not live in the castle as you had assumed all these years. But these were not important questions, so you turned your attention to the memories going on around you.

"It's late, Faustus." Agatha complained, but made room for him to come in, using her wand to dry the water he brought on the floor and his clothes as well. "And it's summer. Can't this wait until we get back to Hogwarts?"

Mephisto shook his head in despair, and moved to the table in the center of the room. There, he deposited a necklace.

"It was there the whole time, Agatha." He recounted with fascination, laughing at such happiness. "I was reading, I felt feverish, but I knew I just needed some water. I tripped over the bookcase on the way, and that old hat fell off. And then the locket was at my feet." He narrates, taking the object between his fingers and placing it in the woman's field of vision. "It's his, Agatha. It belonged to Salazar Slytherin! Look at the serpent. I finally found it."

"That's..." Agatha began, touching the medallion with her fingers. "Impressive, I admit. But still, it's just a necklace, Faustus. You didn't have to come in this storm-"

"You don't understand!" He cuts in despair. "It's a worthy object, Agatha! Strong enough to guard my soul."

At that, Agatha's eyes widened in shock. " I beg your pardon?"

But Mephisto merely picked up the locket, smiling to himself, his eyes shining. "I learned how to avoid death, my friend. To conceal my soul into eternal parts, trapped in objects on this earth. I have been in search of the objects that might be strong enough to carry."

"Merlin...." Agatha whispered in horror, but Mephisto didn't even seem to be listening.

"The necklace will guard the first part." He continued. "I need to do it once to know exactly what price to pay. There are so few records about it. If the magic is not strong enough, I will repeat the spell as many times as ne-

The speech was interrupted by a loud sound. Agatha slapped him hard across the face, and the man blinked in shock for long seconds.

"You often forget who you are talking to, Faustus." Agatha says with a fury in her eyes that you have never seen before. And Mephisto clenches his jaw, but seems so in shock at the aggression that he says nothing. "You forget who I am, where I learned my magic from. I only realize now that you really don't have any respect for it."

The man assumes an almost apologetic expression, but Agatha speaks again before he can say anything.

"You think I don't know the art of necromancy?" She questions angrily. "That I have never seen a witch come back from the world of the dead? I dueled with the Inferi of Kang in the Independence of the Romanis Witches, while you were just an infant!" She squirms and Mephisto swallows dryly, looking almost ashamed. "Do you think I don't know the soul splitting spell? The atrocity that must be done? I know the price, you fool."

And then Mephisto's posture changes. He looks curious, and looks at Agatha as if he is begging.

"Tell me the price, old friend." He asks. "The book didn't tell me. I don't know how to complete the spell. Please, I need-"

The next slap seems harder than the first. But Mephisto just laughs, brushing his hair out of his face as Agatha looks at him angrily.

"I would never teach another sorcerer that magic." She declares. "Least of all to one I have once called friend."

Agatha takes a step to the side, signaling for Mephisto to leave, the door magically opens.

The wizard gives a humorless laugh, the medallion dangling from his fingers.

"You are just like everyone else, Agatha." He says as he looks at her again, but then shakes his head slightly. "Actually, I think it's even worse. Because the fools in the ministry are really stupid, but you know the magic spells. And you choose to keep them to yourself."

"If you follow through with that, I will make your words my own." Agatha says. "We won't be friends anymore, Faustus. Truly, you will be alone. And a necromancer is not welcome at Hogwarts."

"I have nothing to go on with if you won't help me." He sneers, taking a step to leave. In the rain, he turns to the witch again, with a sly smile. "But alone I always have been. That never stopped me before."

You watch him appear, and Agatha closes the door. Everything is muffled again, and you turn to the real witch who sat in one of the chairs, the sounds muted around you.

"What happened after that?" Wanda asks Agatha, who seems shaken by the memories, thoughtful. She doesn't look at the two of you, just moves her fingers.

And the sound of someone screaming makes your whole body shiver.

It is a child. She looks directly at you with a horrified look, and it takes a second for you to remember that she must be looking at something behind you.

Wanda turns around first, and the way she shakes your hand almost makes you give up looking as well.

There is the man on the ground, and you stumble away as you see the blood running near your feet, forgetting that it wasn't really going to touch you, that it was just a memory.

"This is T'Chaka, father of your herbology teacher." Agatha counters, sitting on a rock wall. You look around, but don't recognize the place.

"Where are we Agatha?" You ask, and then it occurs to you that you haven't seen the teacher anywhere.

"He used to be one of the most powerful wizards in Merlin's order." She continues, ignoring your question. "But he was gone in the snap of a finger."

You swallow dryly as you notice a man approach the body, wand in hand.

"Where are you at?" Wanda asks Agatha in confusion, and the teacher gives a sad smile.

"That memory is not mine, Miss Maximoff." She clarifies, finally standing up, and pointing in the opposite direction of the wizards, toward the village, but between the walls of the houses. "It's from the girl hiding among the bushes."

You and Wanda exchange shocked glances.

And the memory blurs around you. Agatha has her hand raised in the air. "I don't want you to put out what is in your stomachs with what he did here. Creating a horcrux is the greatest magical atrocity a wizard can commit." She says, and the memory begins to shift again. "Just know that he did it. Faustus made his first horcrux with the death of that man, almost twenty years ago in Godric's Hollow."

When everything stabilized around you again, you gasped as you recognized your garden.

“What the hell were you doing in my house Agatha?” You asked but the real one was no longer there. You were facing your front door with the memory one.

It was your grandfather who opened the door, and you felt your heart race a bit. You haven’t seen him since you’re six, maybe younger.

“Agatha!” He greeted excitedly, moving to hug the witch. “Finally, we were starting to worry you got lost, my friend!”

Your grandfather pulled her in, and you and Wanda followed the clue. The Stark mansion was all decorated with a Christmas theme, and there were at least twenty other people inside.

“I’m sorry for being late, I had a few things with the minister.” Agatha clarifies. “All those weird things going on in Scotland, he wanted a second opinion before involving the aurors. You know how mystery department employees are weird, Jöhann wanted to make sure it was the last option. Muggles get suspicious with the way they work."

The memory blurs a bit as your grandfather agrees, as if Agatha was speeding things up, and you and Wanda are able to watch the people move around, talking and partying for a minute before everything is estable again.

You both watch Agatha at the corner of the room, surrounded by three wizards you don’t know and your grandfather as well, talking so low that you suppose you’re only able to listen because Agatha was.

“They say it is a group of wizards, six of them, maybe seven.” You blink, only now realizing you do know this man. It’s Fury, but he’s different. Young, long hair. Both eyes. You think it is the cape that was covering him that made it difficult to see his face correctly. “I told the minister we should do things quietly, to avoid drawing attention, but now he’s involving the aurors, soon the rest of our community will hear about it.”

“He wanted my opinion on this, Fury.” Agatha said. “I agreed with his actions. We don’t know who is causing the murderings, and it could be a magical anomaly. The mystery departament will know what to do.”

But Fury shocked his head, leaning even more into the circle, as if about to tell a secret very important.

“It was no beast, or anomaly, my friends.” He whispers. “I had a field job with the red skulls. Despicable people if you ask me. But what matters is that they have privileges, free pass to the minister's files. They know it's a man who leads this group, there's no trace of the Imperius curse. They're there willingly, and if they're killing it's to prove something.”

“This is absurd, Fury.” It was your grandfather who said it, his tone was almost angry but the laugh on his face made Nick take a step back, as if being called a liar. “No one would dare to challenge the red skulls. I know we have our disagreements regarding our government, but what we all can agree that since the skull were formed, criminality has decreased to almost nothing. No one challenges Schmidt's aurors, either out of fear or respect. Let's not believe fairy tales about groups of evil villains killing for fun, this is not the middle ages."

But Nick Fury crossed his arms, looking at your grandfather seriously.

"It might be surprising to a man who stays locked up in his mansion to hear that crime has not decreased at all, Stark." He retorted, a tension growing in the group. "Life may have gotten better for the millionaire purebloods, but it has only gotten worse for the vast majority of wizard society, which in case you forget, is largely composed of half-bloods and muggle-born of limited money."

Your grandfather looked slightly embarrassed, but he didn't shy away, laughing ungraciously as he patted Fury on the shoulder.

"Come on, buddy, let's not spoil the party with such an unpleasant subject!" He says. "Here's what we'll do. Monday morning, I'll talk to some colleagues at the ministry. Maybe the Parkers know something. A private investigation, to avoid rumors like this. We can't let people think that both the minister and Merlin's order is losing influence, can we?"

Your grandfather, and the other witches you didn't know, left first, returning to the party, but Agatha stood next to Fury, and leaned toward him.

"Nick, ignore them." She asked in a low tone. " Is there something else you've found out?"

Fury sighed lightly. "Not yet, Agatha. But whatever is going on, it's important. I've never seen Schmidt so nervous. He can't track these wizards, and so he can't figure out what they're trying to do. And if that thing escalates, it could cause a panic."

Agatha stands thoughtfully for a moment, until she turns completely to Nick, her gaze wary. "Do you think it could be someone we know?"

Nick looks surprised, frowns a little. "Why Agatha, do you have any suspicions?"

"No, none." She says, and you know she is lying. But Nick doesn't seem to notice. "I just wanted to ask, because I think we should keep our eyes open now."

The man nodded, and you think he was going to say something else, but he turned his face to something behind you, and then you were looking.

The party became a complete awkward silence when a young man staggered in, completely drunk. It was your father, and he was not alone.

"That was so embarrassing." The real Agatha sneers beside you as you and Wanda watch your dads, stumble drunkenly to the center, your grandfather catching up with them with a murderous expression on his face.

"What is the meaning of this absurd, Howard?" He asked angrily, but keeping his tone low as if to avoid a bigger scene.

"Man of the year, London!" His father exclaimed ironically.

"Not so good father, but I think a great businessman should do it!"

Your father's speech caused some buzz to circulate around, but your grandfather just got his ears red with anger, and stepped forward.

"Leave immediately, take this filthy mudblood you call a friend with you." Says the man, and you feel your stomach turn. But your father steps forward, pushing your grandfather by the shoulders away, who is astonished.

"Don't call Erik that!" He shouts, and his speech turns into a groan of pain as your grandfather slaps him across the face, a look of disapproval as the whole room watches.

"Now, Howard." He warns. "And don't you ever dare raise your hand to your father again."

But Howard laughed humorlessly, raising his head again, his eyes full of tears.

"I'm leaving this place for good, dad." He warns, causing your grandfather to raise his eyebrow. "I'm going to live in New York."

"And with what money do you intend to do that, boy?" the man ironizes, "With mine that won't be."

"I'm going to work." Your father says and your grandfather's laugh makes you and everyone in the room shiver.

"You've never worked a day in your life, you intend to do what? Wash dishes? Have you forgotten that we have elves for that?"

"I'm going to live with the muggles." And that does cause a reaction. Your grandfather gives an incredulous laugh.

"Over my dead body you will."

But your father doesn't hesitate, and slips his arm around Erik's shoulders, who seemed suddenly sobered and embarrassed by the whole thing. "I'm going to New York with my best friend, and we're going to marry the first muggle girls we meet, and have as many more half-bloods as they want to give us. And you're going to die alone in this old mansion."

When your grandfather advanced to attack him, he took a step back, and apparated with his friend. The room went completely silent, and it took a couple of seconds for your grandfather to put a smile on his face and open his arms.

"Children." He commented loudly with irony. "You know how they are, folks! Howey loves a good firewhiskey, I'm sure he was just causing a Christmas prank. Come on, you can get on with it. The elves will serve you well!"

Everyone seemed too uncomfortable to disagree, and the room gradually returned to noises.

You felt embarrassed, because of your grandfather's attitude. But Wanda just stroked your hand with her thumb, whispering in your ear if you were all right, and you just nodded. The real Agatha turned to you.

"I think I'm rambling." She declares. "Your parents graduated from Hogwarts that year, and went to New York. And things here got worse. Let's see one last thing before we go back, you guys shouldn't stay in this spell that long, and we need to move."

While the memory was fading, you spoke.

“What happened to my grandfather while my dad was in New York?”

Agatha sighs thoughtfully. "Well, you know how sorcerers love a little gossip. The Daily Prophet ignored a potential war to talk about the prodigal son who ran away from home, front page story for a couple of weeks. And in the meantime muggle borns were disappearing all around the country, and even beyond."

You felt bad, wanting to apologize for your grandfather's actions, even though you were not at all to blame. Agatha gave a little smile.

"In a way, your grandfather's ruination delayed Faustus." She says. "Without the Starks' financial support, the minister became even more tense. He gave the red skulls a free pass to kill. And anyone who looked suspicious of plotting against the government was in the crosshairs."

"That doesn't sound like help, Agatha." You mutter but the witch isn't even paying attention anymore, the memory coming back into focus around you.

It was Hogwarts again, the courtyard. The students were all scattered among the pylons, looking curiously at the center.

Mephisto stood with his bags on his feet, a worn jacket, and his hair disheveled. Skinny, and very pale, he seemed to have difficulty standing.

"Is this your thanks for my work, old friend?" He sneered armagically, the crowd witnessing the scene with a mixture of fear and shock. "All I've done for this country and this school!"

"Putting my students in danger is not exactly exemplary service, Faustus." Agatha retorts standing in front of him.

It was the day of his resignation, you understand.

"Go away at once. There is no more place for you at Hogwarts."

But Mephisto became enraged, kicked his own bag, raised his wand, and Agatha did the same, but neither of them attacked. The students held their breath.

"Give it back and I will leave." He warns the woman.

"It is the property of Hogwarts castle, under my protection." Agatha retorts. "You are no longer part of the faculty, and you have no right to the study materials under surveillance of that school."

Mephisto clenched his jaw, his wand trembling in his hands. "It's mine! It's my book, give it back, damn you!"

"Leave now, Faustus."

"I cursed you, Agatha Harkness." Retorts the man with hatred. "You will pay for putting yourself between me and my destiny!"

The memory jolted as Mephisto put away his wand, and you felt like you were waking up.

"No, wait!" You turned indignantly. “How did you manage to fire him? How did it come to that? What happened to Professor Fury? "

But Agatha just shook her head, squinting slightly.

"We need to leave, you've been here too long." She says. "Let's continue at the next stop."

Everything turned blurry around you before you could protest.

//-//-//-//-//

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