#everyone agrees that bows drop more often for hunters right

[eveningstar1516]

Rise of the Demon King ~ Chapter 7

Rise of the Demon King

Fic: Multi Chapter Paring: MC x Everyone (Mostly Lucifer) Type: Angst with a Happy Ending Total Word Count: 26,758 TW: Major Character Death, Reader gets stabbed with a sword through their chest so..., Abusive Parents, Past Child Abuse, Demon Hunters, Loss of Control Summary: You’ve done it. You’ve finally done it. You’ve managed to anger the demon king. Now you hold your head high as he hands down your sentence. AO3 Portal: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27065362

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Previously:

As he walked through the halls towards his next class, he made a vow to himself to try and feel that unfamiliar emotion until he could name it, then keep feeling it, because, for Satan, it felt like Y/N was right next to them, with their signature smile on their face, proud of him for focusing on a feeling opposite of his wrath. Should he start to feel his wrath taking over, he would picture Y/N, holding his hand, encouraging him to feel that unfamiliar emotion. One he soon learned was called ‘Philia Love’.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 7 - Virtue of Loyalty (4265 words)

Our trip to the palace was a quiet one. Michael didn’t seem to want anything to do with me since he flew quite fast and left me behind multiple times as I'd never flown before and flying was extremely difficult. No one offered any assistance so I tucked my wings away, which I managed to figure out how to do after I accidentally did so mid flight, and ran under him. Looking straight ahead after confirming that I was keeping pace with Michael, I spotted the Celestial Palace. My jaw dropped in awe as I ran. The thing was massive! At least 2.5 times the size of Diavolo’s castle and even more decorative. The white walls were adorned with varying shades of golden accents making the palace seem larger than it really was. As I got closer, I learned that it was sitting in the middle of a massive garden that was overflowing with different kinds of celestial plants and trees. Although both the palace and garden seemed to be overflowing with decorations, everything still fit perfectly and was quite pleasing to the eyes.

Approaching the marble steps of the palace as Michael landed in front of me, greeting some gardeners as they stopped and bowed their heads to him. Signalling for them to resume their work, he continued up the steps motioning for me to follow. Taking a deep breath to calm my nerves, I followed him looking as unfazed as possible. Upon entering I found that the outside of the palace does no justice to the massive interior. Abandoning plan to remain as neutral and unfazed as possible, I gazed in absolute awe at the decor, my mouth opening slightly. There were no lighting fixtures as massive windows lined the wall letting in more than enough sunlight through. A massive chandelier was located in the center of the room with golden and silver chains decorating it. The marbled floor also had silver and gold accents as a beautiful floral pattern was outlined. Hearing a chuckle behind me, I turned to see Michael looking at me with a smug smile on his face.

“Well how can you not expect me to be amazed by all this?!” I countered while spinning and gesturing around the room.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Your smug smile said it all Mike” I flashed him a wicked smirk of my own as I called him by the nickname. His face darkened significantly as his tone dropped to what would have been a dangerous level had I not have spent my life with demons. It just didn’t have the same undertones as Devilish.

“Watch yourself child”

Giving him an exaggerated mock bow I responded.

“My humble apologies Sir Michael. I will be sure not to repeat the same error in the future.”

“Very funny.” He scoffed and walked off. I got up and followed him through the palace until we stopped between two massive golden doors to what I assumed to be the throne room. Michael addressed himself and stated that he brought me with him. 2 angels donning Celestial armour opened the doors. Michael walked in with his head slightly bowed and his gaze lowered. I walked looking straight ahead as I subtly took the room in. It wasn’t as big as I expected it to be. A golden carpet leading from the door to the throne was the most extravagant thing in the room. In contrast to the rest of the palace, the throne room was quite modest. Even the throne wasn’t extravagant, built for comfort instead of elegance. God himself looked to be a 6’8 man in his late fifties with chestnut coloured hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He wore a simple white robe with gold accents. His eyes, a light blue colour, were emitting a slight white glow as we approached. Michael stopped a short distance from the throne and kneeled.

“Father, I have brought Y/N on your orders.”

“Thank you my son.” He turned to look at me.

“Y/N, you have caused quite the commotion in the 3 realms.”

I kept my tone playful as a polite smile made itself home on my face as I spoke with God.

“What can I say Father, trouble likes to follow me, wherever I may be.”

“That may be my child, although I am quite confused as to how you ended up here especially as a seraph. In case you didn’t know, that position must be earned here in heaven, so please explain to me, why I shouldn’t forsake you and have you fall to the Devildom?” He raised his right eyebrow and relaxed into his throne as he asked his question.

“Oh make no mistake, I didn’t want to come here in the first place, had I actually had a choice, I would have gone to the Devildom where I belong. Unfortunately, circumstances never seem to be on my side.”

“That still doesn’t explain how you came to be here, in that attire nonetheless.”

“Does it upset you that I come donning Lucifer's clothing and wings? I assure you, I didn’t have a say in my appearance. I am only staying here as long as necessary after all. I still wish to fall and return to my family.”

“Tell me child, how is it that a human finds comfort in the likes of demons rather than angels?”

“Whoever said I didn’t find comfort in angels? I find Simeon and Luke to be quite comforting whenever I get stressed with this whole 3 realms stuff. I just find the darkness of the Devildom more appealing as you and I both know what lurks underneath this “bright” soul of mine.”

“And yet you came here to me, why?”

“I presume you know the details regarding my untimely end?”

“Yes I am, although you weren’t due to perish yet, I do not dictate the souls within the Devildom realm. What of it?”

“I sacrificed myself for the brothers whom I have grown to call family so that they may continue to live despite being ruled by a tyrant whom you rivel for the title of “Devil””

“Watch what you say child! You are still addressing Father and not some random person off the street!” Ignoring Michael, I continued.

“I do not wish to return to the Devildom while it is ruled by King Abandon.”

“Child, I am aware of your relationship to the brothers as well as your loyalty to those you call family. I am also aware of the feelings you have for my eldest son. I ask you, has anyone told you about his duties while he was serving me?”

“Yes, Simeon and his brothers would speak about his time here as the leader of the council. Lucifer himself preferred not to talk about it but he answered my questions whenever I asked. I have also learned his work habits and often aided him whenever an overflow of work had come in due on a short notice.” God seemed to contemplate something. With a thoughtful look on his face, he addressed me.

“I have a proposition for you. You wish to fall and reunite with your family in the Devildom. I do not wish to have you up here, although you do not want to serve King Abandon.”

“That is correct.”

“I will grant your wish on one condition. I will allow you to return to the Devildom after Abandon’s reign is over, on the condition that you take Samael’s position on the council. You are to take over his responsibilities without attempting to sabotage the realm or abuse your power. Should you not be able to meet my expectations, or should you abuse your position, I will cast you out regardless of who is currently ruling the Devildom.”

Michael, who had stayed silent while his Father was speaking, was shocked by God's proposition.

“Father, are you sure this is the right way to go? Y/N doesn’t even belong here. Are you sure trusting them with Samael’s old position is a good idea?”

“Do you disagree with my judgment Michael? Do you believe me incapable of determining Y/N’s fate in my realm?”

Michaels face visibly paled as he realized the implications of his words. Bowing his head in mortification he answered his Father.

“‘O-of course not Father! I just don’t think that Y/N is qualified or ready to lead the council. They are unaware of how the Celestial realm operates and doesn’t have the experience that Samael possessed.”

Scratching his chin, God thought about Michael's words.

“You’re right Michael, you and the rest of the council as well as Simeon and Luke shall serve as their guide during their time here. You are to teach them how we operate and train them as to how to properly fulfill Samael’s role. You are to step down as the leader of the council once they have learned how to fill in the role themselves.”

Not being able to object to his Father's words, Michael agreed, although he tried to hide it, you could see how he clenched his teeth, obviously disapproving the entire idea and his new role as your babysitter.

“How about it Y/N, will you accept my proposal?”

“I have a few conditions of my own I’d like to add. I will accept on the condition that I return as soon as Diavolo is crowned king, no later and that other than the obvious changes that come with falling, no other changes will be made to me. I will follow your rules while I am up here and will serve you as long as it doesn’t result in any harm coming to the Devildom or Earth and their inhabitants. I will fulfill my role as Lucifer’s replacement during my time here, no more, no less.”

“Of course, that goes without saying. I will also add that you are to have no contact with any being outside my realm during your time here. We wouldn’t want anyone coming up here to retrieve you before our deal has ended now would we?”

“No, we wouldn’t. I accept your proposal to be Lucifer’s replacement until the time comes for Diavolo's crowning. Until then, I shall serve you and the council to the best of my abilities.” I stepped closer and kneeled before him as he sealed the deal.

“Alright then, as you are no doubt aware, each angel on my council represents a virtue. You shall as well. While Humility does not suit you quite right, I shall grant you a new virtue. One that could be considered a sin should it be applied incorrectly. I think you’d like that. Rise Y/N, Virtue of Loyalty.”

I rose to my feet as an invisible force caused my wings and halo to appear. They glowed a light blue as whatever magic God was using to tie me to the Celestial realm ran its course. Once the glowing dimmed down, I tucked my wings back in and bowed my head once more towards the being I now served for the time being and exited the throne room, making my way back to the House of Honors with Michael close behind. As we reached the front door, Michael turned me around. A hard and unforgiving expression on his face. A look of outright hatred in his eyes.

“Listen Y/N, just because Father has accepted you into the Celestial realm, doesn’t mean the rest of us have. You are still an outsider and I frankly do not trust anyone who has spent so much time around demons. I will follow Father’s orders in training you, but know this, Y/N, if I so much as suspect you of doing anything to upset the balance in the Celestial realm, if you hurt any of the angels here, I will take matters into my own hands. I will not allow a being as tainted as you to wreak havoc among the angels. Am I understood?”

Meeting his gaze, a smile made its way to my face as I responded.

“I will hold you to that.”

He took one last hard look at me and walked through the door. Left alone on the steps, I thought to myself, ‘Soon my demons, I’ll be back, soon’. I walked to the gardens and spent the next few hours tending to it until dinner.

In the Devildom. After they lost Y/N

As soon as they got home, Mammon went straight to Y/N’s room. How could he let this happen? He was their first damn it! He should have protected them, he should have stopped Lucifer, he should have done something! He entered Y/N’s room and immediately sat on their bed, made messily in their excitement to meet the king. He held their pillow, hugging to his chest as he started crying. Too lost in his own thoughts, he didn’t hear Asmo following him. Upon entering the room and seeing the state his older brother was in, Asmo put aside his own grievances and sat next to Mammon and embraced him, letting him cry on his shoulder. This reminded Asmo of a time in the Celestial realm. They were playing with Levi in the gardens when Levi tried to show off his tree climbing skills. As he was nearing the top, Mammon noticed the branch Levi was climbing looked ready to snap. He tried to warn Levi but was too late as the branch snapped and Levi fell. Mammon wasn’t fast enough to catch him. Levi ended up dislocating a wing and spraining his right shoulder. Asmo remembered walking by Mammon's room that night and heard quiet sobs, he knocked and opened the door revealing Mammon sitting on his bed, hugging his pillow crying. He sat next to his older brother and hugged him, assuring him that it wasn’t his fault and that Levi would be just fine. Coming out of the memory, Asmo did the same now, hugging Mammon and reassuring him that it wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t have stopped Y/N from giving that order and that everything will be ok.

“Will it be though? It just won’t be the same without them.”

“I know. It will be hard, Y/N was our family, but we’ll be there for each other.”

They slept together, holding each other in Y/N’s bed comforting each other until they fell asleep.

Present

It was an ordinary day for Mammon. He had just gotten back from a modelling gig at Majolish and was thinking up ways to spend the money he just earned. He was thinking of treating himself to a night out as he’d also gotten a math test back that day and passed with a 90%! Just as he was thinking about where to go, he felt the pull of a summoning. Mammon opened his eyes to find himself in an old cold basement. He scanned the room noting that the only lighting provided was a small bulb with a pull down string in the middle of the room and 3 small candles near the summoning circle. He found that the room was practically empty save for a thin mattress in a corner and some stairs leading to a door. He then spotted the one who summoned him, a little girl. She looked to be no older than 5. She was wearing stained and ripped overalls, one of the straps was missing. A light pink t-shirt underneath. Her brown hair was relatively short, only reaching her shoulders and was a tangled mess. Upon looking closer, Mammon noticed that she was covered head to toe in bruises and there were deep scratch marks on her arms and legs. He looked at the hastily drawn circle under him and found out that she drew it with some chalked rocks. She held an old summoning book close to her chest. Her big brown eyes looked so scared, yet if he looked closer, he could see what looked to be hope sparkling in the background. He could tell by looking at her that she held vast magical potential. Whoever put her here obviously knew the same.

“A-are you Mammon?” By Diavolo, she sounded so broken, like if he spoke too loud, she would shatter. Kneeling down to her level, Mammon put a soft smile on his face.

“Yes I am. What’s your name?”

“Cynthia”

“Ok Cynthia, what can I help you with.” Mammon doesn’t know what it was about the little girl, but he found himself genuinely wanting to help her. Maybe it was the way they looked at him with hope. Maybe it was because they were just a kid, or maybe, it was because her eyes reminded him of Y/N’s.

“I want to leave. My parents locked me in here. They don’t care about me. They only use me for their spells. Please Mammon, help me. I’ll give you my soul if you want, just please!” Tears came to her eyes as she pleaded with him to help her. Mammon upon hearing what these sorcerers were doing with their daughter, became enraged. He held his hand out to Cynthia with a smile on his face. He took the book from her hands and put it on the ground next to him.

“No, no, no. I won’t take your soul. It’s alright Cynthia, I’ll help ya. Why did you think I’d need your soul to help you?” “That’s what my parents said. They’ve been using me to try and summon you. I heard them arguing about who’s soul they would give to form a pact. Then they decided that they would give you mine.” Mammon didn’t think he could get madder, but by now, he was seeing red. Not only did her parents lock her up, they used her to try and summon him thinking he’d just accept a child’s soul to form a pact with them! Mammon was beyond angry.

“Don’t worry Cynthia, the Great Mammon will take care of your parents! You’ll be out of here in no time.” Sensing his rage Cynthia grabbed onto his legs before he made it to the stairs.

“No, don’t hurt them!” Mammon looked down at the girl in shock.

“Please don’t hurt them. They may have done all these awful things to me but they’re still my mom and dad! I don’t want you to hurt them, just get me out of here!” Mammon looked at the girl like she’d gone crazy. Her parents, who have locked her up in a basement, used her for spells, hell even tried summoning him in exchange for her own soul, she wanted them alive?! He saw how genuine she was being and he couldn’t find the heart to say no to her. Instead, Mammon knelt down to her level and took her hand. Cynthia looked at him with tears threatening to overflow. Mammon brought his other hand to cup her face, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb.

“Ok Cynthia, I won’t hurt them. I am mad at your parents for doing this to you, but if you don’t want me to hurt them, I won’t.” Mammon then brought Cynthia’s right hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it gently. A yellow seal formed on the back of her right hand and a matching pink one on the palm of Mammon's right.

“Now we have a pact Cynthia. I didn’t take your soul, I took your sadness. Did you know that demons could also take emotions to form a pact?”

“N-no. Does this mean you’ll take me far away from here?”

“Yes, and it also means that you won’t ever feel sad again. I know a nice witch who can take care of you. She will teach you how to use and call me with the pact. This way, whenever you’re in trouble, you will be able to summon me without drawing the circle again and I can come protect ya.”

“O-ok.” Mammon then picked Cynthia up and walked up the stairs, kicking the basement door down he walked through the house towards the front door. Before he reached it though, he heard a scream behind him. He noticed that Cynthia tensed considerably in his arms as he set her down, hiding her behind his legs. He turned around coming face to face with a middle aged couple who he preserved to be Cynthia’s parents. Her mom then yelled at Cynthia.

“Cynthia Maxwell Daemon! You come here right this instant!”

“Shut your mouth lady. She doesn't belong to you anymore.”

“Nonsense! She’s my daughter. She is mine to do with what I want!” Mammon's patience was running out. A scowl appeared on his face as he growled out.

“Listen here lady, I’ve got some choice words for you two that I wouldn’t care to say in front of the girl, but the fact that you thought you could summon me and exchange her soul for a pact with you? You're crazy to think I’d ever accept that kind of pact. Now Cynthia and I are leaving and you ain’t ever using her again!”

Cynthia’s parents then realized who they were talking to and their attitudes immediately changed.

“Please forgive us, Lord Mammon. We hadn’t planned for the girl to summon you. We apologize for the inconvenience the child caused you. If you would stay, we could reimburse you for your troubles.” Cynthia’s father bowed his head as he addressed Mammon. Mammon on the other hand outright laughed at that statement. Turning into his demon form he barked out

“You think her summoning me was an inconvenience?! You two are crazier than I thought! Now listen here and listen closely, neither of you are to come near or look for her. None of you are going to use her again. We are leaving and don’t ever bother trying to summon me again. Ya know, you should thank Cynthia. If she didn’t plead with me not to hurt either of you, you’d both be dead. Make no mistake, if either of you try to summon me or if I find you anywhere near her again, I will rip your hearts out and feed you to Cerberus. Kapeesh?” The dark undertones of Mammon’s voice got through to Cynthia’s parents as their faces paled in fear and they quickly agreed. They begged for his forgiveness and promised not to harm Cynthia again if he could just stay awhile. Not bothering with them anymore, Mammon picked Cynthia up and walked out, flying towards the one witch he’d ever trusted. When he landed, he realized that Cynthia was crying.

“Sorry Cyn, I didn’t scare ya, did I?”

“A-a little, but these aren’t scared tears. I’m happy. Thank you for getting me away from them and for letting them live.”

“Of course. The Great Mammon keeps his promises.” Mammon walked up to the door of the small cottage. He knocked and a young witch with long blond hair, green eyes, and freckles answered the door.

“Mammon what a surprise! What brings you here?” She opened the door gesturing for him to come in.

“Sorry, not today Kelly. I’m actually here for her.” Mammon stepped aside, revealing a scared Cynthia behind him.

“Oh my Diavolo! What happened to you, you poor girl?!” Kelly rushed forward cupping Cynthia’s chin as she inspected her body, taking in all the bruises and cuts.

“Kelly, this is Cynthia. She summoned me to save her from her parents. I was wondering if ya could take care of her. I know ya've always wanted a kid, so…”

“Of course! I could never turn someone in need away, especially a girl as cute as her.” She said while pinching Cynthia’s cheeks. Cynthia giggled in response.

“Ok then, Cynthia, Kelly here’s gonna take care of you. I promise that she won’t act like your mom and she will help you learn how to use both your magic and your pact.” Reaching into his pocket, Mammon pulled out the Grimm he’d earned that day. He then put them into Cynthia’s palm.

“Here ya go kid. Now if you ever visit me, you’ll have some money to spend.” Mammon turned to leave when he felt a tug on his sleeve. He looked down to see Cynthia pulling him down to the ground. He crouched down. Cynthia then kissed his cheek, giving him one of the Grimm he’d given her.

“Thank you Mammon.” She then ran behind Kelly’s legs and waved goodbye with a massive smile on her face.

It’s been a couple years since Mammon saved Cynthia. She’d grown to be a strong and skilful sorcerer. He’d visit her often over the years with something in tow for her. Mammon never spent the Grimm that Cynthia gave back to him on that day. Whenever Mammon had a tough time with the numerous witches he’d find himself in debt with, he’d always find his way to her, and she comforted him, never asking for more than his company, something he was more than happy to give. His brothers would always know whenever he went to see her as he’d always come back with a content smile on his face. Deep down, he wished that Y/N could’ve met Cynthia. They would have made great friends as they were the only 2 people who could make him smile like this. Mammon may not have been able to save Y/N, but he swore that he would protect Cynthia, no matter the cost.

[doflamingadonquixote]

An Almost Perfect Life - 4/?

Summary: You are a young career woman at one of the bank in London and, at the same time, attending a PhD in Statistics. Your life was perfect until your apartment was invaded by two demons.

Pairing: Sebastian Michaelis x Fem!Reader x Claude Faustus

Previous Chap: Page 1 , Page 2 , Page 3

IV. Sharing Demons

The days had now reached a monotony that you didn't think possible. At work you were controlled by Sebastian but more than control he seemed to really develop a duty as an intern, helping you in the compilation of the documents and in the interviews that you used to carry out with customers who required your experience.

You never thought that kind of cohabitation would reach that level of fake tranquility. At one point, having breakfast and dinner almost became a pleasure.

Claude had become less intrusive, leaving you the space you needed during the study and no longer dared to approach your wardrobe after warning him that if he did it again you would have entered into a contract with Sebastian just out of spite.

You were sure the demon knew you had told a lie but still respected your will.

The last day before the week of your parents' visit, the golden-eyed demon even made you a preparer for a Statistics exam after studying with you and explaining some more delicate reasoning.

However, that feeling of continuous hunting didn’t seem to disappear. The two were and still seemed obsessed with entering into a contract.

Misunderstandings and attacks had happened at least a dozen times and it seemed that the two demons didn’t know how to be in company with each other. One day the house was haunted by Sebastian, the other by Claude.

It seemed as if they disappeared into thin air and when you asked about them or wanted to understand their nature, they seemed to evade your questions, leaving you with a huge question mark.

So much so that day they seemed tremendously irritated by the presence of their fellow man.

“So, my family is coming. I don't want oddities of any kind.” You explained clearly and concisely to the two demons who stood in front of the door.

You asked them politely if they could wear something more normal, like a pair of jeans and a shirt. Needless to say, they had dressed exactly the same way, so it was a matter of debate.

So you decided to offer Sebastian something that diverted attention from ordinary clothing and opted for a long black scarf.

You would have complained about that too, but you preferred to fly over.

You pointed your finger at Sebastian. “I've already explained the situation a hundred times.” And you turned your attention to Claude. “It's nothing too difficult.”

The door rang and almost made you jump on the spot.

“And absolutely no fights.”

Then with a sigh you opened the door and, first of all, you were invaded by the warm embrace of your mother. One arm closed on you while the other held up a bundle of fur. It was in extreme contact with your chest and you felt it shake a little before the woman left.

“It's nice to see you again, mom” you sighed, happy with a friendly face at last. The woman passed you and before paying attention to your father, you observed the reactions of the two demons.

When she settled in front of Sebastian, you watched him widen his eyes as a bright complexion went to cover his cheeks.

“Nice to meet you, I'm the mother of (Y / N), (Y / M / N).”

“Cat.” He said only, as he laid his red eyes on the white beast in your mother's arms.

You whitened. That particular attention on the animal made your blood rise to the brain. Did demons also eat cats?

Before the embarrassing moment could hit everyone, Claude reached out to cover your mother's, appearing in Sebastian's place.

“It's been a while” your father's voice came clear to your ears, forcing you to give your full attention to him.

At the door, with his usual bearing, he looked at you with a softened expression accompanied by a rare smile.

“Yes, it's been a while,” you agreed, letting the detachment disappear as you closed your arms around his body. You definitely missed your father.

He had always been there in difficult times and in your complicated choice of university. You would never have found the right way to thank them for all their commitment and love.

“They are Sebastian, my colleague at work ...” and you pointed to the raven who was playing with the legs of your mother's cat. “… And Claude, Sebastian's cousin. He teaches math and is helping me in the Master.”

The less distracted of the two made a slight bow and wondered where the hell it came from. A simple handshake was enough.

Your father's gaze turned from peaceful to extremely confused.

You quickly approached Claude, placing a hand behind his back and giving him a small pinch with your fingers to make him go straight.

“Well, what if we have lunch, I'm hungry.” you laughed forcedly as the demon watched you in silence.

Your mother, after playing enough with Sebastian and having had her dose of high discomfort, placed the cat in his arms and turned to face you.

“What? Already? But it's only 12 o'clock.” she returned to give her attention to the man to whom she had entrusted her creature and smiled cordially. “After all, I'm curious to know.”

Michaelis gently placed the cat on the ground and finally decided to get out of that embarrassing situation.

“Of course, I promised you after all, madame.”

Your mother laughed at the appellation and asked him to call her only by her name while escorting her to the living room, followed closely by your father who had suddenly become morbid and jealous.

“Are you allright, miss?” asked the second devil, just turning to look at you.

“I hope.” You moaned. “I really hope so.”

 “Are you serious?” chuckled (Y / M / N) as she let herself fall against the sofa.

“It was just like that. I would have expected everything but never to be mistaken for a thief.” Sebastian again confirmed as he was still pouring some tea into your mother's cup.

The two of them had secluded on the sofa closest to the window and on the other side of the table your father was starting a close conversation with Claude who seemed to respond monotonously.

For your part, you had been completely ignored during the whole aperitif, leaving you to deal with your phone.

And you couldn't have had better luck.

With the two distracted demons, you could have investigated more deeply into their nature. You had tried as much as possible to find out about how any contracts entered into worked and how the devil was able to circumvent them.

But nothing specified of devils who deliberately put themselves at the service of a human being without a lavish reward. Yours seemed to be an isolated case, not studied and not treated anywhere.

You excluded the most famous sites, certain that if something had been deliberately ousted you would never have been able to find it there and you aimed at those small anonymous sites with a macabre air.

Many spoke of how to recall a devil but few of how to expel that entity.

What you learned, however, was that the devil could only walk in the human world if close to a contractor. So if that was the case, why were those two still able to walk around like normal people?

And in history, even if they were just mythologies, nobody seemed to have been smart enough to deceive a devil.

Just when you were about to forfeit, an important word jumped into your eyes.

-Demon Slayer-

You thought that by clicking on it you would discover some mysterious coven of fanatics but only a cartoon from Japan happened to you.

Although it had been a waste of time, a vague probability of a demon hunter existence tickled your interest. But they could be anywhere.

The church certainly could have given you the answer you were looking for. Using correct and delicate words, they couldn’t have believed you mad but only persecuted.

There was only one problem.

You raised your eyes to the demons who, with their all too human faces, deceived your family with false and kind words.

Being able to leave the house without being observed by both wouldn’t have been an easy task.

Just as those thoughts invaded your head, Sebastian's eyes looked up at you and you could observe a curious frown. Faster than light, you closed the application and smiled fake.

“Well, how about sitting all at the table now? You must know that Sebastian is also an excellent cook. ”

 “It was a beautiful hour, (Y / N). We would have passed more often if there had also been such welcome companies.”

You avoided gnashing your mother's words as she warmly greeted the two demons near the door.

If only they had known...

“Don't get too used to it, I will get rid of them as soon as possible.” You wanted it to sound like a joke but it came out too much like a truth.

Sebastian turned to you, his usual innocent smile that graced his all too perfect face. “Now, now, it's not a nice thing to say.”

“Have a good return trip.” You recommended to your father, ignoring the offended comment of the red-eyed demon.

You watched them go out and walk along the avenue of your district from the window and when they disappeared from your sight you managed to breathe a sigh of relief.

The demons had done well, after all, and you never expected all that cooperativity.

Closing the light white curtains, you turned suddenly and jumped on the spot when your vision was completely obscured by a figure a few centimeters from you.

You sighed, putting a hand on your heart. “You have to stop showing up behind people...”

The golden eyes narrowed as if he were amused by your reaction, although nothing in his stoic expression seemed to show it. “I apologize. I forget how sensitive you are to heart attacks.”

“It seems like you're waiting for it to happen...” you laughed a little, trying to break that heavy feeling of blockage.

With a sigh, you let your eyes drop on the glass cup he held in his hands. Inside it still shone the dark brown liquid that your mother sipped during the aperitif. Maybe you forgot it in the living room.

“Oh, thanks.” You reached out to grab the object but when you came into contact with the demon's skin, his fingers opened letting the glass fall down.

You tried to reach it straight away, as if by an involuntary reaction, but the wrist was tightened in a painful grip that made you suddenly withdraw.

The thud and the sound of crystals dispersing on the parquet floor filled the silence inside the small room.

You could feel Claude's nails delicately tracing the inside of your wrist, caressing your flesh as if in a silent threat.

You tried to pressure yourself, as if to get back what was yours but it didn't work. The arm remained stretched to the side of the demon while his body seemed to dominate you. It wasn't too close to be annoying, but not too far away to allow you to breathe a sigh of relief.

“Claude, what's going on?”

When you found the courage to take your eyes off the floor and the grip, your eyes focused on his and you held your breath.

Behind the transparent lenses of the glasses, the unmistakable fire that had replaced the passive and detached yellow eyes shone.

You wanted to try again to say something that could make you understand the reason for his gesture but the grip that surrounded your flesh intensified suddenly letting you escape a sore groan.

Without your noticing his figure had bent over you and when his dark hair came to pinch your nose, you instinctively closed your eyes.

The unmistakable blow of a magazine on a hard object sounded a few centimeters from you, blocking the advance of the demon.

“Get a hold of yourself, Claude. You're scaring the young lady.”

You raised your head, which you had involuntarily lowered in fear, on the newcomer who was waving an old newspaper just above the spider demon's head, a sarcastic smile that graced his lips.

The demonic eyes had vanished again returning to the unmistakable gold and although they seemed to show a sort of surprise, that lasted a few moments.

Your hand was free again and you raised it in front of your chest, massaging the bruised skin. A bruise would probably come out the next day.

"I apologize." He only said, in his usual flat voice. He seemed to apologize very much that day.

Sebastian lowered his red eyes on you, holding out a hand as if to give you a rope to escape from that uncomfortable corner. You didn't know why but you relied on the second demon without thinking twice as he approached you.

“Maybe we should keep our appetite under control, don't you think?”

“I hate to admit it, but maybe you're right.”

You didn’t fully understand the allusion that the two demons had exchanged but you were sure of one thing. Claude was going to hurt you very much.

Your cell phone alarm clock rang at that moment, warning everyone that it was time to go back to work. Sebastian would follow you, as usual while Claude would stay home. Or so you thought.

Just before leaving, you turned around, confused by the sudden absence.

“Where's Claude?”

Michaelis put a finger to his lips as if to hide an all too obvious smile.

“Who knows, maybe sudden commitments.”

Unfortunately, at that time, you couldn’t understand the meaning of that phrase. But soon you would have.

[spc4eva]

Mandokar: Chapter Four

I’m weak willed y’all. Enjoy the years flying by. *cries in hopeless romantic* I couldn’t stop myself - HERE HAVE IT.

Summary: The years make the heart grow fonder. But the Empire looms on the horizon and they’ll not leave any planet untouched. 

Word Count: 17,673

Rating: M (+18) latter part of the chapter contains full on smut - praise kink, the helmets stay on, dirty talking, unprotected, vaginal, and fingering

Warning: mentions of questionable consent for touching and coercion past comfort

Cross Posted on AO3

Masterlist

Din was the first to return. He'd not really been expecting it to go any other way, but he had sort of hoped that Sena might be waiting, gracing him with a middle finger and arrogant helmet tilt. Instead, he knelt before the Elders in the Foundry as he handed over the supplies purchased with the credits from his hunt. Shustii, the only other mando who did not wear a helmet amongst the council, creased a smile amongst her wrinkles. 

"You have impressed the Tribe, Djarin," her trembling elderly voice announced, speaking for the group. His own eyes went to Rhenx, whom he had always admired, but it was always Shustii who gave him attention. "You are the first to return from your Trial and with a bountiful harvest. For your success, you shall move forward in your training."

Din bowed his head respectfully, pausing in the position, before coming back up mechanically. Waiting for his dismissal, it was given when Shustii nodded, allowing for him to get back to his feet. The Armorer stepped forward and acquired his offering before he turned around, departing from the Foundry. While he was proud to be the first one back, he also didn't think the job had been that difficult. His bounty had all but sobbed at his feet, begging not to be taken in. Up to his eyeballs in debt, the man knew he was going to be killed or forced into servitude. None of that was Din's problem. It was a job and the man had done this to himself. 

He wondered what the rest of his vod were up to, trying to silently place his bets on the order in which they'd return. He banked on Sena being a close contender, followed by Kedth and Xivi (who had decided to wait until she was 17 to go on her hunt). He was absolutely astonished to see Aya return next, but quickly realized that it wasn't because she had been successful. Over the years, since her loss to Sena, she'd cut herself off more from the rest of the group. He didn't pity her, as he took his own solace on not always being a part of the main crowd, but they were opposites. He took his part in the Tribe very seriously and Aya did not try. Most of her peers disliked her, Din included, because of what she'd done after the end of her duel. The mando had never apologized for it and Sena was quite popular within their class and outside of it with hunters around her brother's age. If she had just apologized, her luck might've been much better. 

From the sag of her shoulders and the uneasy amount of time she was locked in the Foundry, Din knew she had failed. Noticing her departure at dusk, he could hear her cries coming out from her vocoder as she dejectedly wandered off. People who failed were allowed to try again when they were older and would eventually be assigned duties around the covert. Since they were not talented enough to manage easy bounties, they would be put to better use in doing things like cooking, raising the Foundlings, and supply requisitions. These were not bad jobs, as they were necessary for the Tribe to function, but it had to be a hard pill to swallow - watching your peers move on and being barred behind because of incompetence. 

Kedth arrived the following day, brimming with pride, and leaving the Foundry after a short hour of talking with the Elders. 

"Who else has come back?" Kedth asked, finding him in the Den.

"Aya failed, but she is the only other one," he answered, feet kicked up on the edge of the hearth table where flames sputtered up from the center.

"Dank farrik, I beat the Vizslas?" Kedth let out a little hoot of victory. "Knew I wasn't gonna beat you, but I expected Sena to be neck and neck with you."

"Depends on where her bounty was," Din shrugged. By this point he assumed it was a lengthy distance, because she wouldn't have taken their bet if she knew she was going to lose. He thumbed something in his pocket, contemplating whether or not after the First Trial was the best time to give it. He'd already noticed Hyvhast eying Sena and after they left normal classes, any of the female mandos would become fair game. It hadn't been his intention to eye up his rival, but he also didn't like the idea of anyone other than himself hunting her.

"Did you hear me Djarin?" Kedth intoned. 

"What?" he tilted his visor back, dropping his hand from his pocket. 

"I asked who you think is gonna get here next."

He shrugged, unable to levy bets when they had no idea where their vod were in the Outer Rim. They didn't have to wait around too long. Oyiin followed, which began making him anxious. Xivi was next, followed by Vowr, and finally Sena. Everyone had passed and he knew that Vizsla had too by the hefty supplies she dragged with her to the Foundry. Din waited for her to be released, darkness falling over the village before she stepped out of the Foundry, the moonlight catching the golden paint on her armor, lighting it up like a beacon against her dark armor. 

"Looks like you lost," he announced smugly.

Sena's helmet turned up toward him, a strange, uncharacteristic line in her shoulders as she just stared. "Whatever," she grumbled and walked away. 

He assumed she was just bitter, trotting after her. "Where did your bounty take you?" he inquired casually.

She did not answer, quickening her pace as she carved the path back to the Vizsla house. 

This disquieted him. Sena was a blabber mouth, more than eager to talk about her success and paint vivid stories with her words. " Vod ?"

"I don't want to talk about it," her crisp voice was cold and distant.

"Did you fail?" That was the wrong question. Of course she hadn't failed. Din had watched her carrying in her supplies, but he couldn't logically find another reason why she wouldn't just say what happened.

"No."

"Then what-"

"I don't want to talk about it!" she snarled. The Vizsla temper was infamous around the Tribe, but it wasn't often that it was bared. Most knew to be wary of it as Hux had once displayed how terrible their family's temper could be. There were a few times where Paz had threatened to teeter over that delicate edge, but his antagonizers quickly backed off as Big Blue had become the largest person in the Tribe. 

He didn't find out why she was so upset until he was sparring with Paz later in the week. Sena had been incredibly quiet compared to usual. While she was amongst her friends, she didn't contribute to the conversation or answer questions as frequently as typical. He parried a thrust, bones ringing beneath his vambrace at the strength in Paz's well placed strike. If he had to guess, this Vizsla also seemed rather irritated. 

"Hey," Din muttered once they'd come to a close, his heart pounding his chest, Paz shoving the straw of his water bottle underneath his helmet before greedily drinking. "Are you two alright? Since coming back from the First Trial-" he trailed off, Paz glaring at him and straightening at the suggestion. 

"What's it matter to you?" the blue mando asked sharply. 

"We're  vod ," Din offered poorly. 

For a fleeting second, Din thought that Paz was going to pummel him into the ground. Instead, a breath hissed through his vocoder, crackling slightly at the end. "Mission was tough on us," was all he was willing to admit. 

The answer was cryptic and Din still didn't comprehend. "Tough quarry?"

"I wish," Paz grumbled. "Just don't bother her about it. She just needs some time to cool down. Ready for another round?"

8BBY

Cooling down took much longer than Din had expected. His thoughts wandered about what had happened that was enough to shake Sena and Paz. Whatever it was, he couldn't even begin to fathom it, but it must've been bad. Training continued as usual and he clung to the small gift he had intended on giving her way longer, until it became just a familiar weight in his pocket, and he shrank back as older hunters began talking to her. Paz was almost always nearby, hovering like a menacing shadow, refusing to allow anyone who wasn't a classmate of hers linger for more than a couple of minutes.

As annoying as that might've been for Sena, Din was thankful for it. Or, he had been until Hyvhast finally broke through her denials and disinterest, officially staking his claim on Sena after their Second Trial. To say that Din was bitter was an absolute understatement, sparing his friend long stares as he noticed keldabe kisses being exchanged between her and Hyvhast. Beyond that, he didn't know what else was going on relationship-wise and felt too peeved (and awkward) to even think about asking her how things were going. 

It wasn't permanent was it? Maybe eventually Sena would see that Din was a better hunter and leave behind Hyvhast. He snorted at his dumb thoughts, aware that Hyvhast's unrelenting persistence was the only reason Sena had agreed to court with him. Din Djarin had done nothing to express his feelings toward her. In fact, he'd held onto the gift he'd intended on giving her for two years. Not once had he felt it was the right time to give it to her and come the end of the Second Trial, she was suddenly taken. 

He'd grown closer to Paz, not because it suited him, but because he liked the Vizsla. Always willing to help when he had time, Paz made for a great companion and an even better teacher. Din would have been an idiot not to take advantage of the other male's knowledge. They'd gone a few hunts together and out of most people, he found he preferred working with Paz to those he grew up with. 

"Where's the Guild that we're headed to?" Paz yawned, cleaning his heavy blaster before the mission, setting the pieces spread on the table in the Vizsla  karyai . 

"Felucia," Din answered shortly. Wasn't the best planet, in fact it was incredibly humid and sticky, swampy to the point where just walking around town felt as if it soaked you straight through, but the Guild outpost there was remote and nondescript. "Where do you usually go?"

"Dadrus," Paz was cleaning the bolt still with a rag, wiping away the residue before picking up  his ale and drinking it through a straw. "Not too bad out there. The Guild Master is fond of Sena, so he tends to give us good pucks."

"Where is she? I haven't seen her around recently," Din commented, trying to sound disinterested and nonchalant. 

"She went out tonight," Paz grumbled, his mood shifting immediately. 

Oh. Din turned his helmet back down to his ambien rifle and tried to pretend as if that didn't bother him. For a split second, he thought the conversation had been dropped like a hot potato, but Paz picked back up with a sharp intake of breath like he was a bull nerf about to charge.

"Don't understand what she sees in Hyvhast," Paz vented, shoulders pinned tensely as he hunched closer to his weapons. "He's a good hunter, but he's  ori'buyce, kih'kovid ."

Din snorted, aware of what he was referencing. Hyvhast had no modesty. Well, that wasn't quite a trait taught amongst Mandalorians, you still acknowledged your Elders and those that were better than you. He didn't spend enough time around Hyvhast to know him too well, but he'd heard the other hunter boasting in the Den before, loudly enough that the rest of the patrons could hear him. He wasn't being brash accidentally, he wanted everyone to hear. 

"Never understood why you never made a play at her," Paz remarked between his snippets of insulting Hyvhast. 

Din froze, almost dropping the priming pin in his hands at the Vizsla's proclamation. Swallowing hard, he looked over to see the visor fixated on him, undoubtedly Paz locking eyes. Was he saying that he would've allowed it? That he wouldn't be complaining about Din half as much as he did about Hyvhast? Somehow he doubted that. Whoever dated Sena was going to have to deal with the over protective big brother. 

The door opened, saving his  shebs from having to offer a rebuttal to Paz. Snapping his visor away, finally releasing Din from the power of holding his gaze, he sat up and dropped his charging handle on the table and stood up abruptly. Cocking his head, he turned around to see what was going on, noticing that Sena had returned home for the evening. His heart ached at the sight of her, not noticing the tremble in her shoulders or the quick way she ran to her bedroom. 

Paz was at the door just as it closed in his face, causing Din to glance back in confusion. "Sen'ika? Sen'ika open the door or I'm coming in-" his voice dropped, tender and unlike the man that Din knew. Something was wrong and Din hadn't even noticed, but the moment that Paz had laid eyes on his sister it'd taken all but two seconds for him to know. That made his stomach shift uncomfortably, wondering how many times he'd never noticed that she was upset. Maybe he really didn't deserve to court her.

Paz punched the code into the door, an item falling out of his bandolier and catching the door before it closed completely. It jarred it, leaving it open just a breadth, Din staring at it as he heard the conversation he wasn't intended to. 

"Sen'ika?" 

There was quiet sniffling, followed by the bed squeaking, bucking beneath Paz's weight as he sat on it. "Am I ugly?" she asked her brother quietly, voice unmodulated; her helmet was off. She always had a different accent from everyone else, so articulate and prim (aside from when she cursed) and it made his knees weak even now.

The silence threatened to strangle Din where he sat, wondering if anyone outside her  aliit had seen her face. Finally, Paz spoke, "Why would you think that?"

She broke out into more tears. Such an awful noise, each little whimper sending unpleasant stabs down Din's back, his throat parched, and his fingers tightening around the arms of the chair he lounged in.

"Did Hyvhast do something? Did he see-"

"N-no, not beneath my helmet," she hiccuped.

"Then why would you think that? Why would you think you're ugly, princess?" he soothed, his own voice suddenly warmer and unmodulated.

"W-we were fooling around and... you know how I feel about that after what happened on Tatooine-" she choked out, hoarse and tinny. "-but I thought he was nice, s-so I let him. He's been wanting to for weeks now, b-but I wasn't ready. Wh-when he saw beneath my-" she wailed again, Din flinching.

"He saw what?" the edge of fury hissed in Paz's voice, the low growl that would build up into more. 

"H-he said I looked like a b-boy. Th-that I have no chest. And then m-my marks-"

"Shh, Sen'ika. He's  di’kutla  . He'll never know the  mesh'la dala  beneath the helmet," Paz soothed. "He was never worthy."

"I told you that Anaxians age slower," she whined. "I-I'm still growing. I just thought maybe he would wait a couple more years but-"

"That was never his interest. I warned you about what happens when hunting begins," Paz muttered darkly. "It's not always with the intention of entering  riduurok ."

She broke back down into a fit of crying, Din glued to his chair and unable to move for fear of alerting the both of them that he was eavesdropping. From what he garnered, Hyvhast had pressured her into doing things before she was ready and that vexed him. What had happened on Tatooine? What the kriff was an Anaxian? He thought she was Sephi. His memories flipped back to their first time by the moon pool as children, the way she'd climbed the tree and howled at the stars. There had always been something strange about her that he could never quite place his finger on. Part of that mysteriousness had drawn him in. 

Now there were other reasons. His fingers thumbed the item in his pocket, clenching tightly around it that the beskar pressed through his gloves and into his skin. She was a loyal member of the Tribe, shouldered her duty, made an amazing hunter, and pulled her weight amongst the Tribe without ever offering a complaint. Aside from her abilities as a Mandalorian, Din thought she was one of the most amusing people he knew. With a mouth like a sailor and goofy to a fault, when she wasn't being serious about her work, she was fun to be around... easy to be around. And tolerable. More than tolerable by this point. Din liked spending time with her, even if that just meant practicing in the yard. They'd done that a lot less recently.

Then there was the fact that the both of them had come from similar backgrounds, ripped away from their homes amongst war and battle. Neither had spoken much about it, other than acknowledging that there would always be those memories before they were Mandalorian. 

Hearing his friend cry broke something in him, each little sniffle like the a  kal in his chest, prodding him again at her despair. Wasn't often you heard Mandalorians cry, let alone someone as chipper as Sena. She was so kriffing stubborn and prideful that she'd suffered being bullied as a kid because she was unwilling to balk or bend. The only person who seemed to see the emotional side of her was her brother. And in a way, Din was betraying her trust by continuing to listen. 

Eventually, Paz got up and headed for the door. He paused, freezing when he saw what had caught in the door, picking it up before heading out and shutting the bedroom with a hydraulic hiss. Din jolted, visor locking with the blue Mandalorian's, wondering what was about to happen.

"Did you-" Paz started.

Din nodded.

" Hukaat'kama ," he ordered, striding out of the house.

Reassembling his rifle, he slung it over his back and sauntered after Paz. There was no question as to where he was going. Night basked them as they stalked their way past the Foundry and toward the Den. Paz's shoulders were set back, chest puffed out, and he moved as if they were on a bounty hunting mission. Halting outside the entrance, Paz rounded so quickly that Din threw his hands up defensively, uncertain if he was about to become the man's fixation while he saw red.

"Go in first. Ping me once you set eyes on him. If I go in, there will be no doubt why I'm there," Paz handed over a small comlink. He didn't need to say the name of the person he was referring to. Din was blatantly aware that they were there for Hyvhast. 

Taking the comlink, Din nodded and stepped by him, entering the Den. Set down a few steps in another dome shaped building, the lighting was dim and most was procured by the hearth tables. Small, simulated flames leapt up in the center, horseshoe shaped benches surrounding tables where various mandos put their black ale. A rambunctious group was collected to the far right, his eyes immediately finding the earthen brown armor of Hyvhast which was accentuated with moss green stripes. He was tall and lean, about Din's height, though not as broad. Caught in an animated conversation, Din slid over into a table just flanking to see what it was they were saying.

"So you're not with her anymore?" Mirrair asked, a mando in dusty orange beskar'gam. 

"Kriff no! Look, she's a great hunter and has  mandokarla , but she's got the body of a 12 year old boy. Hard to tell beneath the armor. Was a huge turn off," Hyvhast announced, immediately met with an awkward silence from his companions. "What? You guys think I'm wrong?"

"Well, she's Sephi, isn't she? Don't they, um, age differently?" Loah was a female mando in tan armor, a few black swirls decorating her helmet. 

"If she's got  mandokarla , what does it matter if she's flat-chested? You think you're going to find a female mando with a rack here? We're all athletic," Jiabe spoke up, just as affronted as Loah, crossing her arms over her cuirass defensively.

"There's not only that," Hyvhast backpedaled quickly. "She had there weird gold marks all over her skin - almost like tattoos, but they glowed-" Din pressed the comlink, not willing to listen to the bastard detail any more of his friend's body. Especially when his audience was also just as uncomfortable with the subject. 

"She's not human," Jiabe stood up, her voice rising. "Where is she? What did you say to her?"

Hyvhast jetted to his feet to meet her challenge. "She went running home. Couldn't take a little honesty."

Jiabe barked a harsh laugh. "Oh you're absolutely  shab  . Did you really think that Paz wouldn't find out about this?" She jammed her finger in between where the sides of Hyvhast's armor met, hitting flesh. "Who do you think you are? Hunting a  vod  and then laughing at her, talking to the rest of us about what is beneath her armor? I could give a womp rat's ass how much you supply for the Tribe. Not only have you insulted Clan Vizsla, but you've insulted ever  dala in the Tribe."

"Jiabe you're overreacting-" Hyvhast tried to placate her as if calling her hysterical was the right move.

It was not.

Jiabe's fist flew out, catching the man underneath his helmet and directly into his jaw. A sickening crack indicated that something had broken as he flew back, colliding with the back of the couch he had been standing in front of. " Ni cetar'narir kay'shebs ," she threatened, stretching her fingers just as Paz busted into the Den, causing everyone's helmet except for Jiabe's to turn. 

"Hyvhast!" Paz howled, shaking the room with the boom of his voice. 

The mando only groaned on the couch, still dazed from Jiabe's hook. She had his collar now, dragging his sorry  shebs  out of the booth and into the aisle where she dumped him to meet the Vizsla. "Think you're looking for this  jayc'kovid . Might've stolen the first punch from you," she informed him, glaring down at Hyvhast as he started coming to. "Think I broke his jaw."

Paz was livid, but he did glance over at her slightly in confusion. "Wha-"

"He was talking  osik  about your  vod  . No one has the right to express what they see beneath the  beskar'gam,  even if they do not like it. He affronted all dala in the Tribe by doing so and ridiculing her. But... he insulted Clan Vizsla first. If you wish to repay me for what I have stolen, I shall take it," Jiabe offered honorably, squaring up to him without fear.

" Nayc  ," Paz disagreed immediately. "  Vor entye . Help me take him out back and we'll call it even."

Honor was pinnacle in the Tribe and as Jiabe had said, Hyvhast had been impudent to assume that betraying the nature of what was beneath the  beskar'gam  - something so sacred to all of them - with the addition of his audacity to remark about a lack of a chest, was highly insulting to other women who might be self conscious about their features. Din had never really considered it, seeing that everyone except for the Foundlings were in armor, but supposed that Jiabe was right. All the women, except for the retired and elderly, would be physically fit and might not have much of a chest. He'd never particularly found himself staring at Sena's iron heart. That wasn't what was attractive about her. 

Paz and Jiabe dragged Hyvhast out as if he were a bag of garbage, undoubtedly for another beat down before they'd dump his  shebs at the Med-Deck. His mind went back to the conversation and the fact that Sena had said Anaxian and not Sephi. 

"Want anything?" Voormi was behind the bar this evening, gesturing to the only thing they had on tap - black ale. 

"I've got a question," he proposed, receiving a nod from her. "Do you know what Anaxians are?"

"Anaxians?" she rocked back on her heels, tilting her lime green helmet as she hummed quietly to herself. "Race, I think. Anaxes used to be a planet before it got turned to rubble in an accident. Don't think it was much of an accident though. Empire was invading the planet."

I snuck up on a stormtrooper and slit his throat... 

Those words echoed in his head, thinking back to their blade lessons years ago. Had Naboo been invaded by the Empire? He didn't really know much about what had happened all those years ago, being secluded on Vorp'ya without listening to the adults talking about the news. 

"What were they like?"

"Anaxians? Dunno. There were a few native races to that planet. One was reptilian and the other... I think they were sub-human. Can't say. They never traveled off planet, so it's likely they were wiped out entirely when the planet exploded," Voomri shrugged, polishing the counter mindlessly. "Do you want a drink?"

"I'm fine," Din pushed himself to his feet, thinking about the new knowledge. Was it possible that Sena belonged to one of these races? He didn't think she was Reptilian and if he thought really hard, she might've mumbled something once or twice about being a Sephi offshoot and not actually Sephi. Anaxian? Golden markings on her skin? She had markings on her helmet, he wondered if those were supposed to be in relation to what was on her skin. He felt his breath quicken in his chest, imagining beneath the flight suit for a brief moment, the glow of golden teardrops...

Chewing his lip he started for the edge of the village, trekking across the moonlit grass, over the hills and toward the pond shaded by the ancient tree. Cresting the last rise, he froze when she saw a small figure sitting by the edge, legs drawn up to her chest, chin of her helmet on top of her knees as her visor gazed out toward the water which rippled peacefully from a wind that swept down from the moors. The leaves of the tree rustled like breathy chimes, the breeze picking at the edge of her braid and sighing deeply. 

Sliding down the hill, he approached her carefully, as not to disturb her, but she sat up and glanced back. He could be stealthy when he wanted, but she'd always been the best out of their entire class. She could move soundlessly, despite how much equipment she was wearing. 

"Hey," she offered simply, turning back to the water to continue staring at it, diving back into her thoughts. 

Din padded up and sat down beside her, his own visor listing in the direction that she was looking. He wanted to tell her that Hyvhast was blind and an idiot. That he'd never deserved anyone as amazing as her. That he was getting his  shebs  kicked by Jiabe and Paz. But he didn't. Instead, he just watched the way the moonlight refracted on the mirror surface and wondered what she might look like without any  beskar'gam  on, wading into the water, the ethereal light playing tricks against her skin. Her hand was tan, he remembered that from when she'd challenged Aya; a deep, coppery tan. Paz knew what she looked like and had called her  mesh'la . Those hadn't just been words of comfort, Din actually believed them.

"You alright?" he asked finally after a few minutes of blissful quiet.

Sena rolled her shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. "I'll get over it," she grumbled, the normal inflection of her voice returning. Din liked her voice, he always had found the articulate accent alluring. As she'd gotten older, it had gotten deeper and less whiny, replaced with a smooth alto, pleasantly curling in his ears with each word. He wished the one time he had heard it without the modulator, she hadn't been crying. 

He didn't bring up the subject, didn't pressure her to talk, he only sat there with her, lending her a sense of companionship that went deeper than conversing. After all, she had already told Paz and it wasn't his place to try and force the story out of her. Time dragged on, a soft sigh parting from her lips finally as she contemplated what had happened. Din's hand was in his pocket, thumbing the charm, before he pulled it out. The moonlight hit the beskar  Jai'galaar  eyes strung on a leather strap. So many years in his pocket, polished constantly from the soothing manner in which he'd palmed it when he thought about his friend. 

"Sena-" he cleared his throat, freezing when she sat up to glance over at him. 

"Hm?"

"Paz wanted me to give this to you," he said stupidly, lifting up the necklace. "He said it might make you feel better." Maker almighty, why did he say that? Why couldn't he just tell her that he had gotten it for her? She was still recovering from what had happened with Hyvhast and while this felt like the right moment to give it to her, it also felt like the wrong moment to be honest as to why. 

She reached up, her gloves brushing lightly against his, causing his skin to tingle underneath as little electric pinpricks lanced up to his elbow. " Jai'galaar  eyes?" she muttered, finally taking it. "How befitting-" he could hear the wry smile in her voice as she rolled her shoulders back and cracked them, stringing the necklace around her throat, which was obscured by the collar of her armorweave.

His heart was thumping wildly, as if he were being chased by a mythosaur, while he watched it plunk softly against her durasteel heartplate. The length of the strap dropped it low enough to reach her iron heart. Turning it over in her glove again she shook her head wistfully. 

" Kaysh mirsh solus ," she commented. "Not surprised. We Vizslas all have lonely brain cells. He could've just given this to me later."

Din chuckled quietly at her joke. The Tribe did joke lovingly about their nerf-headedness, but Clan Vizsla was well loved despite the teasing. They were a clan of admirable warriors, all of which pulled more than their fair share for the Tribe. "Seems it did do the job."

"Of what?" she tilted her visor back up, her voice reading as confused through his visor.

"Cheering you up," Din pointed out, smiling now.

" Lek  well-" she unfurled her legs and stretched her arms straight out above her head. Like a loth-cat in the sun, she shook out the tenseness in her muscles before keeping her legs kicked out, putting palms back on her knees. "Nothing for me to dwell on. Paz was right. Again." Hopping to her feet as if it were the easiest thing to do, she offered him a hand up. "Race you back?" The proposition was an old one, like they were little kids again coming to practice beneath the moonlight. There had been many times where Din had attempted to climb the tree with as much dexterity as her and had jammed his finger.

Gripping her forearm, he was wrenched to his feet, glancing up the steep hill. " Elek -" they both bolted off, Din getting to higher ground before Sena. She wasn't far behind, closing the distance with her dark pine green cloak snapping after her like an angry bird's wing. They were beskar and durasteel javelins against the grass. Just as she had done when they were younger, she let out the strange sort of baying yip, which caused Din to trip over his own feet and go down hard in the grass. Rounding and absolutely howling with laughter, she clutched her stomach as he tried to untangle himself from his cloak. Before he could even say anything, she turned back around and continued - with her lead - back to the village.

Din thrashed before managing to spring back to his feet, but it was too late. He'd given her too much time and she had vanished into the night. Grousing to himself, he wasn't entirely upset that he had lost, pleased that she had recovered in light of the awful evening she'd had until that point. He wondered if the animal cry she kept making was from Anaxes.

2BBY

"And then a giant bird swooped down from the sky and gnashed its beak.  OMNOMNOM! " Sena roared, snapping her fingers to mimic a bird's impressive beak and digging it playfully toward the tummies of the Foundlings that surrounded her in a horseshoe formation. Her duties in watching the children had long since passed now that she was a fully fledged hunter and provider for the Tribe. However, she did like to stop by after missions and greet them with candy and treats she had picked up from whatever planet she visited. Usually the flavors and types changed, which always thrilled the little womp rats.

Giggling and squealing ensued as she tickled them, before they realized they could overwhelm her in one fell move. Tackling her to the ground, piling in a heap, she was pinned to the ground. Even if she'd finally stopped growing after all these years, she still was barely 45 kilos soaking wet. A dozen children were more than enough to take her out of commission. 

" Ori'vod ! Where's our candy?" a gap tooth child demanded, as if she'd forget.

"Oh, I totally forgot," Sena betrayed whimsically, the children shrieking like jai'galaar at her confession. 

"You didn't forget. It's right here," Zim held up the bag, now 15, and donning a helmet of his own. His lekku poked out from the modified bucket and he had painted it the same colors that Sena originally had hers - plum and dull yellow. "Back you beasts! I'll give it to you if you release our  Ori'vod !"

The little zombies abandoned her, trailing after Zim who was on Foundling duty. Sena sat up, chuckling as he began tossing the candy, letting it rain down above them, distracting the little brats. 

"You spoil them too much," Din commented, having just entered the Nursery to see the war raging. Sena tilted her head back from where she was laying on the floor. 

"Oh  lek  ? What have you got in that bag behind your back?" she challenged, snickering as he tucked it behind his cloak as if he were ashamed that she'd caught him bringing treats for the kids. "Nice to see you,  vod . How was your hunt?"

 Din trotted down to help her to her feet. She dusted her armor off, frowning at all the scratches and dents on it. Since it wasn't pure beskar, came with the territory. Needed a good repainting. Beskar was harder to come by now with the Empire still being a load of  osik . "Not too bad. Nearly threw my shoulder out since the bounty was trandoshan-" he let out a soft noise, which she knew was a laugh, his modulator never really picked it up right. "And you? Seems the candy is a hit this time."

This time. The last planet she'd gone to she hadn't bothered to taste the candy first. If she had, she would have realized it was flavored like krill and squid. Yeah, she'd felt quite bad as the kids began spitting out the gummies and gave her the most reproachful looks. Since then, she always made certain to try the sweets before committing to buying a bag full. "Easy enough... Well, actually-" she drew in a long winded breath. "-Jace gave me a bit more trouble than usual. Was trying to keep me on Dadrus longer than usual. He's always flirted with me, but it was really strange-"

"Need me to give your Guild Master a stern talking to?" Din gestured to his blaster.

Sena gave a good natured laugh. Din had nearly become part of Clan Vizsla by this point. He was close to her brother and went on quite a few hunts with him. She preferred to work alone, since Paz was way too kriffing loud. Their rivalry, while still there, had turned into a deep friendship that she wouldn't trade for anything in the galaxy. It was different than Xivi and her other friends. Din just... understood. They didn't even have to talk about, there was comfort in the silent nights by the moon pool just contemplating their lives. "Oh, no. He's a good person. Just a chatterbox."

"You say that as if you're not," Din pointed out.

"I'm not when I'm out in the field," she grumbled with a petulant frown. Sena liked to believe she was imposing, mysterious, and intimidating when she went out - armed to the teeth and speaking in short sentences. Maybe not. She did talk to Jace quite a bit since she'd known him for years now and still thought he was cute. The man had tried a few times to convince her to sleep with him, but Sena wasn't about to mix work with pleasure. Bad for business. Not to mention she'd sort of taken a step away from that life for now, focusing on doing her job, and not repeating what had happened with Hyvhast. Even if she'd grown into her skin now, she still felt highly insecure about her Goddess Markings as Hyvhast had poked at them and asked her what the kriff they were. 

"What have you got for us,  Ori'vod ?" a child had taken notice of Din now, standing in the play area. 

Din pulled the bag out and opened it, crouching down to reveal little toys in the shape of little fish. Each was about the size of a child's palm and brilliantly painted. "They're-"

BOOM!

The Nursery shook, children screaming around them as they huddled close to the nearest armored warrior. Sena had several clutching her legs, trembling as their helmets snapped toward the door. Instincts kicking in, Sena whipped her head to Zim who dropped the bag of remaining candy. "Get the children to the back door, wait until our command to beeline for the extraction point," she barked, thrusting a comlink into Zim's hands before she slipped out of the grasp of the kids. Din was beside her, sprinting for the door as they drew their weapons.

The covert was consumed in absolute chaos. Imperial ships were descending from the grey sky, a convoy of troopers having already landed and prowling through the streets. They had been taken by surprise, Mandalorians quickly making their stands and barking orders in Mando'a as they tried to grab onto a semblance of cohesion and shake away the confusion. This only took a few minutes, as they were all trained in military tactics and how to react in situations like this. There was a strict set of instructions ingrained in everyone's mind from Foundling to Elder.

Trainees or  Vod'ika  would rally up the Elders and Foundlings. The youngest hunters, beneath the age of 21 would act as escorts and leaders, taking leash on their biggest ship the Cabur. Once the young and old were on the ship, they would get into hyperspace while the remainder of the Tribe protected them. Both Din and Sena were older than 21 and thus would act as soldiers on the field to protect the future of the Tribe. 

Her blood rushed, the sight of the stormtroopers bringing back the memories of Anaxes, her heart pounding steadily like a war drum. She'd murder them all. Kill them, revive them, then kill them again for what they'd done to not only Genmaris, but now the Tribe. The shootout began, they needed to get around the back of the Nursery and clear the path for Zim to escape with the children. Raising her pistol, she shot the nearest snow white soldier in the face, aiming purposely for his eyes. She could wield a rifle or shotgun now if she pleased, but she'd always liked the pistol better. The years of practicing only with the sidearm had made her a spectacular shot. In a close combat arena like this, Sena was in her element. 

" Hukaat'kama! " she called to Din, drawing Cu'Sith and Pog-Sticker. 

" Oya !" he shouted back between the ringing of blaster fire and explosions. 

She had never forgotten the way they had spilled blood on the elas stone. The blood of a peaceful people who lived in the forest. Or the way she'd walked through it barefoot. Moving like a dervish, she dashed forward with primal rage, the curve of her swords - now beskar - reaving through the plastoid armor as if it were made of butter. They were slow, sloppy, and weaker than the soldiers from a decade ago. These were not clone troopers. Nor did they speak Mando'a. Grinning at the realization, she ducked gracefully, cutting the soleus on the back of the trooper's exposed calf. She heard a cry, watched him stumble forward, and then beheaded him. 

Her vindication was not uncommon amongst the Tribe, just one of the most brutal and bloody. She spotted her brother letting off his heavy blaster, mowing down troopers. Despite how well they seemed to be doing, it all came down to supplies. How long would it be until they ran out of energy and ammo? Before a tidal wave of white snow weathered them down in a blizzard that they couldn't dig themselves out of? They had to flee, because there were several more dropships coming. But most importantly, the children needed to escape.

She sliced down a few more troopers before racing back around the Nursery, Din covering her as they began clearing the path for the children. The ships were stowed beneath ground, in a hangar that would part the grass and open. They had been on Vorp'ya for many years now and continued to upgrade their home to make it more difficult to be discovered. Didn't seem to matter now. Pulling her comlink, she spoke briskly in Mando'a, " Bring them out. We're clear for now ."

" Roger ," Zim answered, the door opening. Lined up and hands linked, the children had also been trained on what to do. They were to stay together in a chain, holding onto the leader, which was Zim.

Other trainees had begun posting, fleeing the main fight to help keep the path to the ships open. There was no time to feel the pride of their unflinching resolve, but the kids were doing what they were trained to do. Despite how loud, how terrifying it all was, the young Mandalorians spoke in hand signals, bringing up the rear before entering the bunker entrance that led down below to the ships. Zim disappeared and Sena rounded as the last of the Elders were escorted below. Her eyes trailed back up to see how many ships there were, horrified as she and Din took up defensive positions around the hangar doors. This would be their last stand area. She wished she had the time to retrieve her traps from her home, but this was a surprise attack. 

Eventually, the rest of the Tribe began to fall back to the hangars, the first ship, the  Cabur  departing with the children and elderly. Sucking her teeth, she hoped there would still be enough time and coverage for more of them to escape off planet. But as she watched, she grit her teeth, wanting nothing more than to kill than hide. That's what would happen after this, they would hide away again. The number falling back was pitiful and Sena's heart plummeted in horror. Paz was dragging their  buir beside him, some - but not all - of the injured fleeing into the tunnels. They weren't going to be able to escape, not with this many drop ships coming in. 

"Look!" Kedth pointed toward the sky, ships zooming down to meet the Imperial ships. Who they were, she had no idea, not until they started to jet out of the droppers with jetpacks. Sena had never been so happy to see foreign Mandalorians as she was now, choking out a thankful sob. Continuing to fight through the avalanche of stormtroopers, the ceaseless flow of them started to weather down, the verdant grass spattered with red, downtrodden beyond the point of recognition. 

The other mandos were beginning to approach them, thanking the Maker that someone knew about them and had come to their support. A tug on the back of her cloak made her turn, the weary smile disappearing immediately when she saw the terse line of her brother's shoulders. Panic set in, replacing the original thrill of battle, remembering that her buir had been injured when he arrived. Stomach churning, she sprinted after him, down the stars and to where the injured were being tended. Her eyes stretched wide, watching the blood pool beneath her adopted father from a gash in his side where the heartplate did not meet. 

Collapsing in a heap beside him, she pressed her gloves to his wound in a futile attempt to staunch the flow. He had lost too much and the majority of the bacta had been taken with the Foundlings and Elders. "No! You can't! Not you too!" her voice betrayed her, cracking as she saw the visage of her papa turning around, the golden lightsaber illuminating his hands as he marched to his death. Hux had become her father, the man that had finished raising her and in every way, her papa now. Everything that she had become was thanks to Hux, his steady hand, his temper, and his love. 

"Stay strong,  cyar'ika ," he muttered, voice distant and fading, cracked and weak. "I'm so proud. So proud of the warriors that I raised."

Paz was beside her now, fallen to his knees as they had their final moments with their  buir . 

"You know... the place, Paz. Sova's  beskar'gam  ... my  beskar'gam ... inheritance," he was struggling to talk now, his chest rising and falling shallowly, a soft groan parting his lips beneath his helmet. Paz leaned forward, removing it so that they could look upon their father, see the light in his icy eyes. Pale blonde hair was striked with grey now, the faint line of a golden beard against his jaw. His lashes were heavy, fluttering open just enough gaze at them, a faint smile gracing his features. "Love you. I love the both of you."

A primal, animalistic cry escaped her as Hux closed his eyes for the final time. Paz leaned against her, pressing her face into his pauldron as she sobbed as hard as she had when she was a princess fleeing Anaxes. Maybe even harder. She couldn't hear anything but her own misery. How many people would die around her that she loved? All because of the Empire. This was the Empire's fault! Her hatred redoubled, unaware that she could hate something even more and with every fiber of her being. They sat there on the cold floor, grieving for their fallen  buir and for the others that had lost their lives in the assault. Hux was not the only one.

Amongst the fallen was Aya, Vowr, Xaevo, Vhic, Bhone, Crehl, Khaan, Durr, the Smith, and Drold. Their bodies were lined up in the hangar, resting in their eternal vigil, going up to Manda. Despite the honor it was to fall in battle, Sena couldn’t help but feel as if it had all been a waste. So much training, so much love in the Tribe and the Empire tried to smote them from the galaxy. They hadn’t done anything. They had kept their noses out of anything Imperial. Not anymore. Sena wasn’t going to let them walk away from this.

“Sen’ika,” Paz was just as hoarse as she was, but they were standing in the  Kote.  “What  buir  was referring to was his  riduur  ’s armor. My mother-” he opened a panel to reveal the full suit of plum  beskar’gam . “He always intended for you to inherit it one day. Just as you inherited her helmet.”

Sena gazed at it, all beskar, and in need of a good repaint. Her fingers slid against it, the feminine curve of the heart plate, the ensemble of pauldrons, cuisse, and greaves. The vambraces were missing and when she glanced at her own arms, she comprehended why. She hadn’t realized that Hux had given her Sova’s vambraces after her Second Trial. She had just assumed that there was beskar to spare for the newest hunters to forge their vambraces since they were so important. Licking her lips, she tilted her visor up toward her brother. “The other mandos here-”

“They came from Mandalore. They are looking for help. The Empire is attempting to take the smaller planets in the system first before attacking  Manda’yaim .”

“I’m going,” Sena decided without hesitation. “I’m going to fight.”

Paz’s shoulders slumped slightly, the defeat of losing their father and now the idea of losing his sister too heavy for even his broad, masculine figure. But he did not try to convince her otherwise. “Too many died today. They will need guidance-”

“ Ori’vod  you don’t need to explain to me why the Tribe needs you. I know they need you. I do not think any less than you, but… you understand why I must go,” Sena was picking up the armor now, beginning to replace her durasteel with Sova’s - no… it was hers not by right. “Twice now.  Twice.  Only this time I can fight. I can help. I will not turn my back on another battle with them. Not now. Not ever again.”

“You will bring much honor to the Tribe,” he announced, but he was choked up, grabbing her and thrusting his helmet against hers. There was an unspoken acknowledgement, the fact that they both knew that Sena probably wasn’t coming back. 

“I will keep in contact with you if I can. I’ll send transmissions to the  Kote  ,” she promised, the words hollow on the back of her throat as she said them. “  Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, ori’vod .”

“ Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum ,” he returned. “You better come back. I need nieces and nephews running underfoot one day. With those stupid pointed ears just like yours.”

Sena barked a laugh that was halfway in between a sob. After shedding her durasteel armor, mismatched, she embraced her brother once more before heading down the dock. The hangar was a makeshift base of operation as the injured were tended and the other Mandalorians commented about how the planet was going to be overwhelmed soon. They needed to pick up and leave immediately. The Tribe was unwilling to help, picking up the fractured pieces of their people, weeping for those who were now marching. Legs churned mechanically, she glanced over at Din as he bowed before his  buir  who was just as still as her own. Lower lip quivering, she decided to say her farewell to her friend. 

Placing a hand on his back, she crouched beside him, his visor snapping as he tensed immediately. It took him a moment to see clearly, to finally see that it was her. And then he glanced down at the plum  beskar’gam  and eventually back up to her visor. “I’m leaving,” she told him calmly. Such a strange calm, like the eye of the storm before the hurricane hit. “I am going to fight for  Manda’yaim .”

Din did not speak. She had long grown accustomed to his silent contemplation. He wasn’t daft, he was just as quiet as he had always been. “You’re leaving?” But there was too much grief, too much confusion for him to understand properly that evening. 

She nodded slowly. “I can’t turn my back on the Empire again. Not when I can fight against them. I will be joining our  vod in the coming battles,” she announced. “I wanted to say goodbye.”

Din stared and she didn’t know if he were in shock or if he were just being his normal, reserved self. “When will you come back?”

A shaky smile formed beneath the cover of her bucket. “We’ll meet again. Even if that is marching in Manda’s halls,” she promised, standing up. “Take care of my brother, please.”

“Sena-”

“I have to go.  Ret'urcye mhi .”

9ABY

Maybe we will meet again. Din had clung to those words in Mando’a for so many years, desperately hoping that the visage of his favorite  vod  would pop back up, insult him, and maybe toss a middle finger in for good measure. Never happened. As the years weathered on, one becoming two, becoming four, becoming  five  , he had started to lose hope. Everyone had heard about The Great Purge and the decimation of Mandalore. He didn’t like to think like this, but he expected that was probably where Sena had died. His thoughts tormented him, how he’d been too choked up with everything going on that he hadn’t even been able to tell her how he felt. Watching her turn around in mismatched  beskar’gam before walking away with the foreign Mandalorians. He hadn’t told her that he loved her and now he’d never be able to. Paz still believed she was coming home, but after more than a decade, Din was convinced otherwise. The war was over. If there was any hope that Senaar Vizsla would return to the Tribe, it would have been four years ago.

The loss gouged at him deeper than he thought it ever could. His original comfort around the Tribe faded, replaced with the sorrow of seeing the Foundlings, remembering how she used to play with them, bring them candy, and tickle the life out of them. Walking through those empty, sewer halls in Nevarro, he was a shell of armor with nothing but a ghost inside. Provide. That’s all he did. He provided for the Tribe as he always had, leaving for long bouts of time and returning to drop off the supplies before going out again. This had become his typical routine, ignoring the other Mandalorians until he’d all but estranged every single one. Paz had been the first. The Vizsla’s insistence that Sena was still out there was so misplaced and gut wrenching that Din couldn’t stand to be around him.  She was dead.  

He thought back often to their peaceful upbringing on Vorp’ya and of all the things he  should  have done. Hindsight is twenty-twenty and if Din had another chance, he would have told her how he felt back when he first gave her the  Jai’galaar  necklace. Even if she still insisted on leaving come the demise of their covert, at least he would have had those years with her. To take care of her, to love her, to  kiss  her, and to make her feel as if she were the most  mesh’la  creature in the universe. He was haunted by his memories and his yearning, so it was easier to turn his emotions off. Even at all these years, he could still hear her stupid howling in the moonlight, her guffawing, and her cultured, articulate accent. What he would give just to hear her again, to listen to the hum of her rich voice as he fell asleep.

Din Djarin was a brokenhearted man with little to live for. He’d been like this for a while, trying to carve out the rest of his 20s amongst Malk’s crew to find a little lust for life. Worked for a bit, but Xi’an was a cheap version of Sena. Her expertise with blades, while adept, still wasn’t  as adept as Sena. She also had a piss poor attitude. After that, he’d stopped trying to date, because it was always a comparison and his memories warped - placing Sena on a pedestal and forgetting how goofy or stupid she could be at times. 

He’d dropped the Mythrol off before heading down below to the covert. Wasn’t often that he felt like lingering down there for more than a day, but he went there anyway. He had a small set of quarters that collected dust. The  Razor Crest  was his home for the most part, away, quiet, and transportable. Still, he kept some meager supplies in his apartment. Which, you couldn’t really call it an apartment. It was just a recess built into the sewers that was large enough to fit a table, a small kitchenette, and a bunk. All of which were stuffed like tuna in a can with barely any room to move. This was not Vorp’ya where they had large  karyai  in each house. Punching the code into the door, it puffed open, and his visor shifted to the almost darkness.

Stepping in, his head cocked, staring at the small light in the corner that was on. He’d not been in here for months. Why would a light be on? Cold metal pressed to his throat, a soft  tut  escaping his captor’s lips. “That was very careless of you.”

Din almost threw up at the sound of the silken voice, spinning around and throwing the Mandalorian against the wall. They moved lazily, allowing for themself to be captured as he pinned them against the wall. The armor was the wrong color, not green and not mismatched as he had last witnessed it. Instead, it was a dusky grey-blue accented by stripes of ashy black, burnished to the point where it glimmered magnificently even in the dull light of the tomb-like room. The helmet was painted with strange markings, akin to those patterns on a loth-wolf’s face. Emblazoned on the left pauldron was the rebel insignia - no, it was the  New Republic  insignia now. Whereas on the right, where the  aliit  marking went was the trademark  Jai’galaar  eyes of Clan Vizsla. Several blades, a midnight blue cloak, and a relaxed confidence that set his teeth on end  as if  she hadn’t been gone for so many years and this was a mischievous game of tag around the village where she’d managed to sneak up on him again.

“Sena?”

“Huh, where?” she glanced around, the tuft of her dark braid coming into view as she mocked him. 

“But you-”

“Dead? Missing? Gone marching such a long time ago?” she filled in impishly.

“ How ?”

“I fought and we won,” she said as if it were that simple. “I told Paz to keep you updated with my whereabouts. I thought he would have.”

His stomach sank and he released her. Din had estranged Paz, sick of hearing that Sena was alive without any proof. He had believed that the man was in denial over his sister’s death, but here she stood, in New Republic glory. “The war has been over for years,” he found the chair at the small table, falling into it as he tried to rationalize what had happened. Everything was crashing down around him, his head aching just as much as his heart as she stood there, sheathing her blade and cocking a hand on the hilt.

“War might’ve been over, but I still had people to track down and kill. There’s still a lot to be done, but I knew it was finally time to come home,” she sat down across from him, clasping her hands together as she propped her elbows on her legs and sighed deeply. He saw the necklace he had given her swing forward from her iron heart. “There’s still remnants out there and I did everything in my power to work on killing every last one of them.”

He believed that. “I-” he was overwhelmed, all those pent up emotions, all those things he’d wanted to say but assumed he would never get the chance bubbling up to the surface. Originally, he would have given anything to tell her how he felt and now that he had the opportunity, the back of his throat felt so incredibly parched. “I missed you,” he said finally, cursing himself for not saying the other words, but it was a start. His emotions had been shoved into a tiny box, locked up and he’d thrown away the key years ago.

“Missed you too,  shebs ,” she snickered, but despite the humor in her voice, he could feel… something else.

Silence settled between them, but not the typical silence that they had found comfort in when growing up. No, this was deeper and more profound and distinctly uncomfortable. His heart was hammering in his chest and he wondered why she had approached him like this. She could have just greeted him in the Foundry where he’d been earlier. 

“I can - uhm, come back later. I know you just got back from a hunt,” she offered, standing up.

Din flew from his chair, unwilling to let her slip away, to let her go a second time. He caught her hand, holding it between his gloves, staring at the detailing in the leather and the seams. Heat blossomed in his throat, grinding his voice as he spoke, “Don’t.”

Visor tilting up toward him, her head listed slightly to the side where she gazed at him, questioning. “Are you certain?” she asked tenderly, her inquiry holding much more depth.

He ran his hand underneath the collar of her flight suit, brushing the edge of her helmet, before coming down to grip the spot between the pauldron and heartplate where flesh was instead of armor. Grip tightening, his chest constricted slightly at the feel - the  real feel of her beneath his gloves. Emboldened by her leaning into his touch, Din released her hand and slid against her hip, hot flames of desire licking his body and causing him to shudder at the merest touch to her fully armored frame. He looked back to her, wondering if this were permissible, if he was allowed to do this or if he had overstepped the boundaries of their friendship. That’s not what he wanted and he wouldn’t make the same mistake of doing it again.

“Din,” it had been so long since anyone had actually called him by his name. “I know it was you who gifted me the necklace and not my brother. Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I was afraid.”

“ You were afraid?” she poked the bear, her voice absolutely astonished by his confession.

“I was afraid to push you away and it didn’t matter in the end. I lost you to the war,” Din answered. “After what happened with Hyvhast, I thought you wouldn’t be-”

“Interested? Dank farrik you think too much,” she grumbled warmly. “If there was anyone in the Tribe that I actually felt comfortable being myself entirely, it was you, Din. I just assumed you had never thought of me like that. I mean, I was sort of annoying.”

“Sort of?”

“ OK, I was very annoying.”

He pulled her closer, her hips to his now, grinding up against her slightly. The touch made his skin dance, pulses of lightning lancing across his body as he let out a soft, trembling sigh. “Let me-” he started, voice cracking at the very idea of what he was about to offer, “-take care of you.  Please .”

“Five minutes and I’ve already got you begging? You’re a changed man, Djarin,” Sena teased, but she hadn’t pulled away. Instead she leaned into him, pressing against his growing hardness, letting out a breathy huff which crackled in her vocoder. “I just-” she cleared her throat, aroused, but also worried. “Since Hyvhast, I never-”

Din groaned at the idea. Sena having been entirely alone during war, focusing on her hatred for the Empire rather than satisfying herself. The heat between his legs twitched more, which was pushed against her. If she felt it, she said nothing, only staring up at him with her palms against his red durasteel armor. “I’ll take care of you,” he promised, dragging the pad of his thumb against the collar of her shirt, exposing her copper throat. Tilting her head back, he saw the faintly glowing marks, like tiny golden dew drops that ran against the hollow and disappeared beneath the fabric. Even that small bit of skin was more than enough for him. “ Mesh’la. ”

“I trust you,” she whispered, handing herself over entirely as he ran his fingers down her hips, and picked her up. 

It all felt like a dream, one he’d had many times before, but one that he’d never been able to place. Hands gripping her ass, he could feel the well sculpted muscles, the definition of a honed warrior, and her quivering in his palms. He set her on the bed, throwing his gloves off as if they were offensive, pressing his helmet to hers in an insistent, belabored keldabe kiss. Stars, he should have done that when they were young and not for the first time now. Stripping her armor, piece by piece, he slid the fabric down to expose her gorgeous skin. Whatever Hyvhast had said was wrong. Ripping it down he exposed the breast band and more of the dazzling markings, so  many of them. She was slender, more than most humans, but he didn’t think she was shapeless. Lanced by scars from her years, her skin was smooth, pebbling beneath his calloused fingertips. Narrow waist, stomach punctuated by the line of her muscles, the bottoming of wide hips which disappeared beneath her belt and trousers. 

His eyes traced the markings that she’d been insulted for, the way they trailed down her throat, danced against her collarbone and shoulders, curved beneath the bra and were obscured from his prying gaze. “Can I?” he entreated, aware that she might still be self conscious about it all and the last thing he wanted to do was push her away. He watched her swallow hard and nod. Hook by hook, his fingers trembled, before he dropped the fabric and exposed more of her to the dry, mild air of Nevarro’s underground. Small, soft breasts greeted him, not enough to fill his palms, but befitting of her natural frame, dark maroon nipples puckering as he grazed one, watching in intrigue as they stiffened into small peaks, so pretty and perfect.

“Din, I-” she warbled quietly, the original confidence disappearing in an instance and it broke his heart hearing her like this.

“ Mesh’la, ” he repeated with stern insistency, cradling her breast tenderly. “So fucking perfect-” the words fell out of his mouth before he could stop them, but he meant every one. 

She let out a soft moan, leaning into his hand.

He traced circles around her skin, chasing the golden marks against her warm flesh, watching as each tiny movement sent chills across her body. Resting her against the bed as he followed the teardrops that cradled her breasts, he wondered how anyone could have found her unattractive. The beautiful copper of her skin, the contrast of the soft marks that had an ethereal hum as if the sun itself had dripped golden fire and graced her with its light. Finally, after minutes of wandering her upper body, he undid the buckle to her pants, discarding it to have her trembling slightly in just her underwear. Just as his hands had told him earlier, she had full legs, years of stealth and crouching, her ability to jump as if she were a nexu, and to land gracefully from extreme heights without injuring herself. The curve of her hips bottomed out and Din was entransed, caressing her ass, finding more of the golden marks as they flanked the outside of her leg and burned a wake to the tops of her feet. 

“I-I dreamed about this,” he told her, resolve crumbling as his index fingers glided down her stomach and against the hollow of her hip. He’d been quiet for decades, resenting himself for his silence. “If I ever saw you again, what I’d tell you. Wh-what I’d do to you. Was always so afraid to push you away.”

“What’s changed now?”

Din laughed at her question, the same soft laugh that fizzled out through the vocoder, not quite being picked up properly. “Nothing changed. Not how I feel. Just… Circumstances. Regrets. Things I never said when I should have. That I-”

“Not yet,” she interrupted. “It’s been 10 years. Let’s enjoy this now and talk after. There’s a lot to talk about. But not now-” Not when he couldn’t keep his hands off of her. Not when all he wanted to do was praise her and love her. Even if she wouldn’t let him say it just yet, he fully intended on showing her what their separation had done to him. He wasn’t inexperienced by any means, but it had been a long while, never feeling the urge to do more than palm himself for relief, often dreaming of how he’d remembered her. Now she was here, spread out on his bed against the woolen comforter, her chest rising and falling quickly as he flicked the edge of her underwear. 

It had been over 10 years and in his haste, the little box he’d locked and thrown the key away for, had burst open. He smirked at the irony of Sena being the wiser one for once, warning him to be careful of what he said, for they might not be the same people. Somehow, he doubted that. 

Pulling the underwear off, he drank in the vision of her nude aside from her helmet. Neither of them could remove it, not unless they exchanged  riduurok  and she had been correct. There was much to discuss, like what had happened during the war and what their future might hold.  Their future.  Din had been living life day by day, never thinking of what might be waiting for him in one year or two or ten. Soft dark hair painted the top of her mound, fingertips cruising toward the bundle of nerves as she squirmed at the touch. He wanted to taste her, to feel her plush skin against his face, and to bite every since golden drop upon her skin as if he were a parched settler on Tatooine desperate for water. 

Finally, he drew his fingers beneath her legs, slicking them against her wetness, astonished by how wet she actually was. “All this for me? I’m beginning to think you liked me a lot more than you ever let on,” Din purred to her disdain, watching her jerk her chin up and expose the hollow of her throat. “Or that you’ve just been pent up from never being pleasured. Dripping - waiting for someone to take it-” he slid his middle finger in with ease, a soft yelp crackling through her modulator as her back arched. Despite her hourglass frame, she was still small and light boned, part of him worried that he’d not be able to do much more than play with her. 

“I might’ve done this sooner if I knew how much you talked,” Sena gritted out through her teeth.

He pumped into her, bowing over her and taking her breast in his free hand. Grinding his helmet against hers, he listened to the soft noises that the modulator wasn’t catching quite right, her back arching as he placed another finger in. “I can be quiet if you want,” he doubted it, but decided to threaten silence to see what she would do.

“Kriff! Please don’t,” she whined, her voice hitching as he thumbed her clit. “Keep talking. I like it. I -  ahhh ,” he found the spot, pinching her nipple as he quickened his pace on her bud. 

“That’s it. Be a good girl, come for me. You like it right there, don’t you?” he pressed harder, a shudder overcoming her body as she gripped his heartplate. “Fuck-” his cock throbbed painfully, stealing his breath away for a moment as he listened to her titullating response to his stimulation. 

“Can you take it off?” she asked between her belabored breathing. “The  beskar’gam -”

He had been so riveted by her, snared in the trap that was her body, that he’d forgotten entirely that he still had everything on, weapons included. Only his gloves had been shed, fingers deep in her warmth and clutching her chest as he unraveled her string by string. Removing his hand, she whimpered at the loss of the pleasure, pressing her thighs together as Din ripped off his own attire without an afterthought. The years of being covered head to toe, unwilling to let anyone look at so much as his hand, barely a consideration as she laid out bare for him. He’d already made this decision a long time ago, piling the armor on the ground, chest heaving as he bent back down over her, picking up where he left off. 

Her fingers pushed against him, calloused pads in the dark hair on his chest, tracing the muscles of his pecs, between his breastbone before tracing down his stomach. Each gently, tentative touch as she came to remember him, but in a new way. Her palm flushed just beneath his abdomen, causing him to tense involuntarily, his own breath getting caught in the back of his throat as she ghosted over his pelvis. Distracted by her roaming hands, he fixated, hyperfocusing before he coated his fingers again in her heat and began working to prove to her what he felt. 

Sena’s skin was on fire, the rough fingertips of her childhood friend and rival causing her to make all sorts of noises she’d never known were stored in her. Paz had told her years ago, during their brief transmissions while at war, that the necklace had been a gift Din had been holding onto for years before actually giving it to her. The knowledge of that had made her blubber like a baby - because Sena cried all the kriffing time. As a kid, as a teenager, as an adult… The fact that the unpainted idiot had never told her how he felt, that weighed heavy on her shoulders for  years. Because if she had known, she might’ve never gone to war. The original question her brother had asked had been ill placed. When she was 16, she wasn’t thinking of romance, but by the time the covert had been attacked on Vorp’ya… if Din had asked her, she would have said yes. Back then, he had basically been a part of Clan Vizsla from how often he had been around. While they pestered one another, the original terse rivalry had been replaced with a different kind of friendship. Both of them had been too afraid to acknowledge it and Sena was still battling with the idea that no one would ever find her body attractive. What if Din had thought the same? She wouldn’t have been able to hide her embarrassment if he had scorned her too when finally glimpsing what was beneath her armor.

She didn’t feel like that now as his helmet met hers and his hands were between her legs. For what felt like an hour he explored her, tracing the Goddess Markings on her skin,  praising  her. And fuck did that turn her on. Hearing someone say that she was beautiful, that everything about her was absolutely perfect. His hot baritone in her ear, the slight fumbling of his words as they fell out of his mouth in the most uncontrolled manner she’d ever heard, losing all restriction behind closed doors. She’d never known it could feel like this, his expert fingers making her weak, the very warmth of his body so close to hers a comfort that she had so desperately missed. They’d never been close like this, but Goddess she had wanted it so badly after Paz had told her about the necklace. There hadn’t been any time for pleasure during war, but she did think about it in her dreams when she tried to escape the harsh reality around her. Dreaming faintly of the silver beskar helmet of her old friend, thumbing the  Jai’galaar  eyes, and hoping that he might be waiting for her back with the Tribe. The very necklace was frigid against the hollow of her chest now, shifting as she moaned, the muscles in her legs tensing and her toes curling. 

“That’s it,  mesh’la,  howl for me. Howl like you did by the moonpool, in the trees,  howl for me ,” he insisted, her alto cutting off as a wave of white noise and numbness began to edge at her being. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do much more than push her helmet back into the pillow as the overwhelming pressure built up in her sent swells of ecstasy coursing through every fiber of her being. The cry came after, while her body was still riding the intoxication, like she was floating amongst the starlight without a ship, out of her own body and adrift as her eyes remained shut. “So perfect,” he muttered against her, removing his fingers as her bundle of nerves twitched, oversensitive and grounding her back to reality as she tried to suck in a few strangled breaths. 

“D-Din, that was-” she was stammering, unable to catch her voice as it ran away from her with the orgasm, making her sound pitifully tinny.

“Was it what you imagined?” he asked, his voice quiet again. 

“I didn’t know what to imagine,” she admitted dolefully. Sena  had touched herself before, but it had never felt that good. Someone else’s fingers gliding over her, the arousing words in her ears, the feeling of proximity which set her teeth on end and skin crawling in just the right way. It was lovely and it was real, not just a string of thoughts and what-ifs. No fear of being caught with her hands in her pants while trying to get some shut eye and relieve the tension in her shoulders - the obviously palpable tension from the stress of being at war for so many years. Her eyes listed down, noticing his massive hardness, somewhat terrified of being speared on the end of it. His fingers had filled her up and she could only fathom what his cock might do to her. “What about-”

“Do you want me to?”

She moaned gently, still taken aback by how careful he was being with her. They were both in their fucking 30s and she was the blatantly inexperienced one. Yet, here he was being so tender, despite how much his hardon had to be bothering him. Pleasure wouldn’t come without a bit of pain first and Sena, while afraid, knew that it wouldn’t kill her. Nodding, she reached down and grasped him, her fingers unable to fully encircle his girth. He was tacky from where his own wet fingers had fisted himself, her juice smeared along his length as she stroked him once. His helmet ground into hers more, a deep rumble in the back of his throat which she could hear in her ear. 

“Are you  certain ?” he challenged this time, spitting the words out in the same dark manner as he had when talking to her amidst his playing. “If you’ve never-”

“I’ve been hurt worse before, Djarin. I think I can handle a little temporary discomfort,” she retorted thinly, stroking him again, enjoying the way that he bucked against her. “I know  how  this all works.” She’d just not experienced it. While she appreciated how careful he was being, she didn’t need to be fully coddled.

He brushed between her legs again, the gesture making her tighten when his fingertips touched her swollen bud. “You might think you know,” he started, positioning himself above her, jerking her hips toward his. “But I don’t think you do.” The weeping head of his manhood met her folds, lathing it in her wetness before he tested against her slightly. With one glance, she knew that he was going to absolutely split her open, her hips dwarfed by him and her sex quivering at the idea of trying to accomodate him. He began to ease against her resistance. She chewed her lips raw, trying not to cry out as he moved in and then out, coating himself and trying to make progress, centimeter by gruelling centimeter. Her own hands were clutching her breasts, pinching her own nipples in a futile attempt to distract herself. “Sena-” his visor tilted up. “You need to relax or this isn’t going to work.”

Relax?  Relax?  He was literally stabbing her between her legs, how could she relax? Her chest heaved in short, panicked breaths before she scrunched her eyes shut trying to calm herself down. A hand rubbed against her stomach, soothing in small circles. This wasn’t at all like what she had witnessed on Tatooine. This was an agreement between two people who cared for each other. She let out a long exhale and loosened her grip on her aching nipples. Din pushed into her entirely, filling her to the brim, stretching her and breaking past the initial discomfort. While it still hurt a bit, she adjusted her hips and let out a quiet mewl as he froze, head bowed, buried to the hilt. 

“Dank farrik,” he cursed, gazing down at Sena’s copper body, his cock sunk into her warmth, her silken walls quivering around him as he gripped her hips. Even if she’d calmed down for a brief moment, at his words she’d tensed again and squeezed his cock. Din gasped, muttering in Mando’a to himself, absolutely blissed out in the moment. “S-so good. Yo-you feel s-so good,” he managed, finally finding the willpower to glide out and back in.

“Was it what you imagined?” she asked in a faint voice, her articulate accent raking electricity down his spine. That kriffing voice. He could listen to it all day, even if she was saying the most stupid, pointless things.

Din’s jaw slackened and he managed a choked laugh. “Better,” he swore, craning back down, caging her body beneath him as he moved with no insistency. With little intention of hurting her, their reunion wouldn’t be too impassioned. Even if she claimed she could take it - her telltale stubbornness shining through - Din knew that he might be hurting her a bit. She was impossibly tight, but her walls eased slightly as he brought his helmet back down to hers, savoring each gentle keen that escaped her throat. He placed a hand against her neck, fingers sliding through a few stray strands of inky hair, thumb tracing the hollow as he gave a little squeeze. He was already getting close, a combination of how long it’d been since he’d had sex, the fact that it was her, in addition to how perfectly she wrapped around his length, so pleasingly snug and firm, leaving little to no room for anything else. “You were made for me,” he insisted in his delirium, sailing along a growing high as his legs ached and he felt the building pressure behind his groin. 

She was hanging onto him, the golden marks on her skin winking as he glanced down at her, reminding him that she wasn’t quite human, but something so much more precious and coveted. A piece of the sun bundled up in beskar and joined to him as she threw her head back against the pillow again. Her walls fluttered around him, her whimper dying in her chest. 

“Coming a second time? Fuck-” he was being thrust precariously to the edge by her, wishing he could last a bit longer, but she was strangling his cock. “Y-you’re so good. So perfect. C-can’t believe I waited this l-long. I-I’d wait forever if it meant I c-could have you a-again.” 

She bleated at his words, continuing to strain beneath him on the edge of her own orgasm. 

Despite intending to be utterly gentle with her, he had to bring himself over. He pumped into her a good few times, the sensation absolutely wrecking him, as she cried out, digging her fingernails into the flesh around his shoulders. He painted her insides with his seed, clamped on so tightly that he hadn’t the strength or will to do it elsewhere. Sagging forward, he pushed the visor of his helmet into the pillow beside her, trying to collect the scattered fragments of his sense as he wondered when he’d ever had such a good orgasm. His body was still quaking from the effort, despite how slow they had been going, tanned skin slick with sweat from a combination of effort and the stale desert air. 

Finally, he disentangled himself and slipped down on the small bed beside her. He offered his arm, the cool beskar helm nestling into the crook of his pec, clicking lightly with the bottom of his own. 

That’s going to get annoying, he realized, but put the thought aside. Mindlessly, his hand nestled against her waist and traced against it, comforted by her silken skin underneath his palm. Sliding over them like the moonlight on the moors of Vorp’ya, a comforting silence eased between them as they slowly drifted down from their high like a leaf slowly spiralling down from a tree’s most upper branch. He was nearly dozing off, her nails tracing lines in his chest hair, when she finally spoke. 

“We should talk.” 

Those words shouldn’t have frightened him, not when he was holding her against him, naked save for their helmets, having just fucked her, but they did. His heart fluttered, disconcerted and malcontent at the suggestion that there was really so much to talk about. “About?”

“What this means, what happened during the war, and where we go from here,” she answered simply.

They owed each other to fill in the gaps, and try to work things out. “Mm,” he hummed, continuing to caress her. “I don’t know what you’ve heard from Paz.”

“That you’re an absolute  di’kut ,” she informed him.

Din snorted. Of course Paz would still be mad at him, though he didn’t entirely blame the man. They weren’t on the best of terms at the moment. “Could say the same for him.”

“You’re both idiots,” Sena declared. “But I know it must’ve been hard to believe him after all this time.”

“Hard? It was nearly impossible. Why didn’t he just show me one of the transmissions?”

“Because they were coded specifically to be erased immediately after being opened,” Sena sighed. “I really could only send one at most every year or two. I was deep in Imperial territory and if those got intercepted, I could have gotten my entire team killed. I promised Paz I’d only send them to the  Kote. ”

He should have expected that Paz would have offered evidence if he had it, but it still made him upset that he’d gone for so many years without confirmation - having to rely on the words of a man who was grieving for the loss of his entire clan. “What were you doing? I assumed the worst… that during The Great Purge you went marching-” his voice cracked, fingers tightening against her as he closed his eyes and tried to shake the terrible nightmares he’d recounted as he imagined her being killed over and over again without him there to watch her six.

“Barely made it out of there. Mandalore was absolutely ravaged. There were a few of us trying to figure out where to go, what to do… We didn’t feel right just throwing the towel in and giving up. Not after all the  vod  we’d lost on Mandalore. So, we found the rebels and offered our help. I split off from the others as the rebels began growing their numbers. I did a lot of recon, recruiting, and then set up on Hoth. Lot of people joined, but a lot  of those people didn’t know their ass from their elbow. They had heart and they needed training, so I stepped into the position as teacher. None of them ever took a shine to fighting like Mandalorians, but they also didn’t have the luxury of extensive training. It was learn quick or die in the next fire fight-”

She continued detailing her years amongst the Rebels, how the operations grew, and she continued to help train until there were others who could take up the torch. Her talents were better used elsewhere, especially with the growing tension and necessity of an elite set of soldiers that could employ better stealth tactics. Her hatred of the Imps had never faded and she fell in step with being known as the best extractor of information. Whenever an officer was captured, she would be the interrogator, making certain they didn’t off themselves with their implants. They were tough nuts to crack, but Sena always had them singing for death, begging to be released from the revenge she took out on them. There was no pity in her heart. Not one single shred. 

With the war reaching a climax, she took boots to the ground, working alongside other soldiers and groups as a leader and front-liner. Her years of experience, tactical training, and warfare made her a prime candidate for commander and she went wherever she was needed. No wonder she had no time to reach out, she was constantly traveling and offering support to troops. There was no time to run-ashore, to lollygag, or to take a moment for herself. They were at war and she’d be damned if she slacked even for a moment, costing anyone their lives. Din’s heart burned with admiration for her sacrifice, her unflinching resolve, and dedication to the cause. With each story, each word, he felt his resentment for her lack of contact vanishing as if it’d never been there. She hadn’t purposely been estranging herself. Sena had been an important leader in the war and trying to reach out to the Tribe would’ve put it in danger. She had been protecting them with her distance and he’d given up on ever seeing her again because of it.

When the end of the war came, it did not mark a complete close. The Death Star might’ve imploded, but there were still many warlords looking to make a last stand and attempt to regroup forces to bludgeon the wounded New Republic. Again, she could not leave in good faith until she was quite certain that the New Republic could handle everything on their own. So she remained, helping track down and hunt the remnants, counting the heads on spikes as she considered what returning home might feel like. It would all be worth it. She’d gone that far and that long to protect her people, for the risk of the Empire swooping in and taking the Tribe once again to never happen a second time. Her own personal needs did not rival the needs of the many. 

Listening closely, he felt himself falling in love with her a second time. 

“So as you can imagine, it’s been a long awaited homecoming. Not to mention how glad I was to take this kriffing bucket off on  Dinhue . Thought the thing was glued onto me at that point,” she remarked, rapping her knuckles against the grey-blue steel. “Not that I didn’t miss you, but I wouldn’t trade what I did for anything, Din. I’m sorry if that hurts you, but I had to go. I had to because they destroyed my planet. And then did it a second time when they attacked Mandalore.”

“I understand,” he assured her. “If you had remained here, you’d be asking yourself constantly what might have happened if you had helped. You wouldn’t have been happy.”

“Thanks,” she muttered, nuzzling back against his neck, the beskar chilling him. “Didn’t think the war would take that kriffing long, but… suppose it couldn’t be helped.”

“ Ni vod’ika ,” he teased, tracing the golden marks on her collar.

“I was a commander,” she groused, but shifted abruptly, sitting up so that she had a palm on the pillow and was gazing down at him. “And when you say that, when you say  my- ”

“I mean it,” Din answered honestly. “ My cyar’ika. Mine.  Did you think I would change my mind after you told me your war stories?”

“Thought I might be too cool for you. That you’d be intimidated-”

“ Intimidated  ?” Din snarked, laughing at the idea. He pushed her off, a soft huff escaping her mouth as she landed and he rolled on top of her. “Intimidated by you? After I had you soaking wet and on my cock, begging for me to talk dirty to you? You’re still the same  di’kut. Arrogant, foolish-” he ground his hips to hers, his length beginning to twitch. “-so fucking dorky.”

“Alright, alright-” she complained, squirming beneath him. “I get it. My one brain cell did get a little swollen over the years. The rebels aren’t Mandalorians, so it was easy to stick out-”

“No, you’re wrong about that,” he palmed her breast, twisting her maroon nipple between his fingers, watching as it pebbled beneath his touch. “Despite being a  di’kut , you’ve always been special. You’ve always had a way with people. And you’ve always been an impeccable warrior. I was always jealous of that - your ability to play so nice with others, the way that they’d all look at you, how they all accepted you right away when you first arrived to the Tribe. The fact that Rhenx favored you more than me…” he huffed, letting loose all his discontent and the frustration he’d felt growing up as they fought for the lead. The growing attraction that had become more as he admired her talents, the ones she excelled in versus him, the fact that she was able to blend into all aspects of the Tribe. He’d always been reserved, unable to lead from the front as she did so naturally, surrounded by friends and hunters who adored being in her space just as much as he did. 

“You know, it doesn’t sound like you like me very much,” Sena chuckled, squeaking when he pinched her nipple. 

“You’re right,” he admitted, bending down to spread her legs again, thrusting his hardness against her quivering lower lips. She gasped as he slipped right back in. “ Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum .”

“D-Din!” 

He moaned at the sound of his name being cried out, conscious to not be too rough, but still finding himself pumping into her at a steady pace. Her walls trembled around him, his palm seated against the small of her back, another flush to her mound as he drew quick circles around her clit. “I’ve loved you for such a long time. S-since we were kids. I-imagined h-having a family w-with you,” he was fraying around the edges, her sharp keening and noises hooking him toward the abyss once again. “E-each year you were gone. Felt like a piece of me died too. N-never telling you. Can’t do that again. Can’t let you out of my sight without letting you know how you make me feel. Hasn’t changed. You haven’t changed. Fuck-” his voice was breaking, the overwhelming urge to kiss her again consuming him. “Yo-you’re so good. Didn’t even dream you’d be this fucking amazing.  Mesh’la.  These markings-” he followed the crescents beneath her breasts. “-I want to taste every single one. I want to taste you.  I want everything .”

Her back arched beneath his hand, walls clenching around him and pushing him into the sweet divinity of her warmth, the heat of her embrace, and the sharp intake of air before letting out a trembling cry. His head scraped her cervix, each thrust sending jarring shockwaves up his spine, from helmet to toe. For the second time that afternoon, he climaxed and was winded, losing all sense of knowing as he fell forward. His helmet felt awfully constricting, more so than usual as he panted, the breaths billeting back in his face. 

They both fell asleep, exhausted from their tryst.

Din woke up to the space beside him vacant of Sena’s warmth. Panic billowed in his chest, eyes snapping open as he wondered if it had all been some kind of illness induced fever dream and the exchange had never happened. But when he glanced across the small room, he saw her at the kitchenette brewing tea. Her long hair had been pulled out of the braid and scattered in obsidian waves all the way down past her ass. She had his shirt on, which was big and baggy, the sleeves pushed up, and the hem skimming the tops of her thighs. Even if her armor looked good on her, Din liked seeing his own clothing draped over her slender form. Her visor settled on him and she gestured to the kettle.

“Would you like a cup?”

“Mm,” he nodded, grabbing his trousers and slipping them on, glad that she was still there and that it hadn’t been a dream. Striding over toward her as she began steeping the leaves, none of which were his, he placed his hands against her hips and brushed into her, humming as he set his chin on top of her helmet. Eventually his hands wrapped around her entirely, her slender form leaning back against him as she huffed at him. 

“I can’t finish if you’ve got me like this,” she informed him. 

“Then don’t,” he muttered.

“I’m not wasting good tea leaves,” she snipped, worming out of his grip so that she had enough room to work. Once she had steeped them properly, she removed the leaves and added a bit of honey.

“Made yourself comfortable in here while you waited for me, didn’t you?” Din mused, aware that this apartment was rather scant in supplies.

“I take my tea everywhere with me,” she insisted evenly. “These are from Naboo.”

“Which you’re not actually from.”

“No, I am not,” she admitted. 

“Where are you from?”

“Paz told me you overheard that evening.”

“Course he did,” Din grumbled, wondering how much the siblings shared with each other. At this point, seemed like bloody everything. “Yes, I overheard that you were Anaxian. Although, I never knew much about Anaxes or the people who lived there.”

“A lot of different people lived there. I lived in a forest called Genmaris,” she informed him.

A forest. Now he understood why she had been so much more excited to see a tree than the pond. She was accustomed to running between branches and boroughs and had there been more trees, she might’ve leapt amongst them completely in her natural element. “What was it like there?”

“Peaceful,” she sighed wistfully, facing him and leaning back against the counter. “I was a brat-”

“Still are-”

She gave him a defiant head tilt before continuing. “Used to find ways to worm out of the castle all the time. Go flouncing in the woods and get all my nicest dresses ruined-”

“ Castle? ” Din repeated.

“I was a princess,” she sounded so indifferent that Din was shocked into silence. “Oh, come on now. You said you overheard that evening after the farce with Hyvhast. Paz called me a princess.”

“I thought it was a pet name, not literal,” he croaked in disbelief. 

“ Anyways, ” she continued. “Genmaris was very beautiful and rich with culture, vegetation, and the architecture was glorious. Metal wasn’t very often used for building. The castle was made of stone and wood.”

“The accent makes more sense now,” Din realized out loud.

“Hm?”

“Your accent,  princess .”

“Don’t start that  osik  with me. I haven’t been a princess for twenty-two years. That life was put behind me when I joined Clan Vizsla,” she snapped irritably, his lips curling up at her frustration. “  Speaking  of which, my brother is rather cross with you.”

“You think he’ll be more upset after he finds out I fucked you?” Din teased, quickly adding, “Twice.”

She slapped his chest -  hard - taking her mug of tea and sliding out of his grasp. “Paz does like you. He was thinking of us as a match back when we were 16,” she sat down, crossing her legs, the hem of the shirt riding up slightly. “But you were too stupid to do anything other than stare.”

“You could’ve said something too,  cyar’ika ,” he took the other mug and sat across from her. 

“Anaxians don’t reach sexual maturity until their twentieth name day. And what that means, is that we don’t go through puberty until then. I wasn’t really thinking about that sort of stuff until we were older and even then, I was quite put off after what had happened,” Sena reminded him, lifting her helmet enough to take a sip of her tea. “I ended up dating because it felt like the right thing to do, since everyone else was.”

Din’s stomach shifted uncomfortably, horrified by what he was hearing. Not because he’d overstepped boundaries, but because Sena had been trying so hard to fit in and she had gotten burned because of it. Hyvhast’s stupid bucket appeared back in his mind. She had dated him because ‘it seemed right’ only for the mando to strip her growing body after constant pressure and coercion. No wonder Paz had been livid. He’d also felt just as upset, but Paz had known all these things those years ago. His sister was still an adolescent and Hyvhast had defiled her, laughed in her face, and then told others about it. Fortunately, the Tribe wasn’t as stupid as Hyvhast and Jiabe had throttled him for speaking out of turn. 

“And now?”

She glanced over at him. “Well, we didn’t quite date did we? Though circumstances withstanding, I wouldn’t take back any of what we did.”

He was happy to hear that, taking a sip of the tea, which was pleasantly floral with earthy undertones, a hint of caf, and the sweet bloom of the honey. “What are we?”

“Together, if that’s what you’d like,” she proposed, but quickly followed up. “Despite what you’ve said, I think we should get to know each other again. We shouldn’t be too hasty.” They shouldn’t exchange  riduurok  immediately was what she was darting around.

Din would have right in that moment, but respected her request. Duly he remembered that he had promised Karga that he’d pick up the next big bounty soon, something about beskar being involved as payment. The last thing he wanted to do was leave her side after being reunited. But she had full beskar armor. He did not. “Together then,” he agreed. “You’re not going to tell Paz that we-”

“ What!?  ” she screeched. “Do I want your helmet bashed in? No! I’ll tell him that we’re courting. Again, he’s still rather pissed at you,” she cocked her head, setting the mug down on the table. “I know the years haven’t been easy for you. Paz told me that you’ve been living a half-life, not really engaging with the Tribe. Still pulling more than your fair share of weight, but a lot of our  vod  aren’t too pleased with you. Din… Are you ok?”

He sighed, bone weary and not looking forward to this conversation. “The days were monotonous. I just fell into routine and… you were really the only reason I talked to most of the Tribe. Your brother tried to bring me back in and we got into a few fights over it. I thought you were marching away, so hearing him sound so foolishly hopeless about your return… I started to resent him. Which only grew as the years dragged on and he still hadn’t given up about you.”

Sena stood up, trotting over to him and wrapping an arm around his hot neck. “Well, you’d better apologize then, because who’s the  shebs  now?” she pointed out, letting him lean into her chest, hooking his bicep around her waist before he tugged her onto his lap. 

“I am,” he grumbled, nestling his helmet into her collar. 

“Mm, you have changed a bit. Admitting defeat so quickly?”

“Only to you,” he frowned, sitting back up. “It’ll get better.  I’ll get better,” he assured her, touching his helmet down in a keldabe kiss. 

“Better? No, Din, you’ll  feel  better. You’re not broken, just hurting. And I’ll be here for you to talk to. I’m not going anywhere now,” she insisted, pushing back against his helmet. 

He hummed in agreement, holding her close, savoring their proximity once again, clinging to the idea that he’d not be alone again. Truly, he’d never been alone as he was surrounded by the Tribe, but he’d estranged himself after the defeat on Vorp’ya. He didn’t feel hopeless anymore, but there were still many other emotions he had to come to grips with. “Do I really have to apologize to Paz?”

“ Elek, di’kut, ” she flicked his helmet. “Better sooner than later, because if Paz finds out that you-”

“You said you wouldn’t tell him,” he scowled.

“If it’s going to force your apology out of you, perhaps I might casually mention it.”

“We won’t be exchanging  riduurok  ever if your brother kills me,” Din reminded her lightly.

“Mm, would be such a shame. You’ll never find out what an Anaxian princess actually looks like,” she jested.

“If this part of you is any hint at what’s beneath the bucket-” he ran his hand down the front of the shirt she was wearing. “-then I know I’m in for the shock of my life.”

“Oh,” she huffed mockingly. “Can your heart take it?”

Din pushed her off his lap as she broke out into a fit of howling laughter. He’d missed that especially.  “Still a brat.”

“ Your brat.”

“My brat,” he agreed.

Translations

ori'buyce kih'kovid - all helmet, no head (overdeveloped sense of authority) mesh'la dala - beautiful woman di'kutla - stupid, worthless Hukaat'kama - watch my six shab - fuck/fucked dala - woman ni cetar'narir kay'shebs - I'm going to shove my boot up your ass shebs - ass jayc'kovid - dickhead osik - shit Vor entre - I owe you a debt (or thank you) Kaysh mirsh solus - his braincell is lonely Oya - let's hunt, let's go Manda'yaim - Mandalore Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum - I love you Ret'urcye mhi - Goodbye (lit. Maybe we'll meet again) di'kut - idiot Ni vod'ika - my little soldier

[liron-ao3]

Sunshine and assbut

A Destiel oneshot

Castiel gnashes his teeth. He is sure, one day he will have to explain to his kid - to God himself - why he smote the body of his other father - the love of his very long life - and had to rebuilt it again molecule by molecule. He's praying - no that would be bad; Jack would fly in instantly. He's hoping that today is not the day.

It started as a measly teasing right in the morning. "Cass, how often do I have to tell you? Staring at me the whole night is creepy."

Castiel just looked at him like caught in an indecent act. But what else was he supposed to do?

Ever since his grace and his wings had been fully restored, he had no need for sleep. But Dean insists again and again to fall asleep with Castiel in his arms or wrapped around him like a four armed octopus, and every night the angel just can't bring himself to risk Dean waking up, just because he extracts himself. The righteous man deserves good, long sleep. He never had this when he was alive back on earth.

Dean might not have had a single nightmare in heaven, but you can never be too careful when it comes to your partner's well-being, can you?

And - honestly - he isn't staring. He knows his gaze is way too soft whenever he looks at Dean, studies the wrinkles around his eyes, the perfect Cupid’s bow of his upper lip, the freckles on his sun-touched skin, the long eyelashes that make the harsh lines of his face so soft, especially in sleep.

Just yesterday Balthazar and Gabriel had teamed up in teasing him how 'dreamy' he is whenever Dean is around, how much he resembles a human teenage girl.

Castiel is pretty sure they were exaggerating, but he knows that Dean makes him soft. Maybe that's why Naomi - chastened by Jack and reinstalled as one of heaven's commanders - sends him on all these ugly missions, all dirt and gore. "It'll do you good, Castiel," she had voiced her opinion. He still doesn't trust her and technically she can't give him orders. But his son looked at him and he could not help but agree to the first mission. Those damn puppy eyes!

But Castiel's thoughts are straying. Maybe it's for the better, because one more 'joke' from his ex-hunter and Castiel might just lose his shit.

How can one man be this infuriating? Really! Sometimes Castiel wishes that Dean's attention would be a little more scattered, but ever since pretty much everyone he ever cared for is in his heaven, Dean just settled down into a comfortable domesticity that barely needs anything but having his angel around. He has eternity left for spending time with Sam, Eileen, Bobby, Ellen, Charlie, and all the others after all.

"Stay a little longer," Dean whined shortly after scolding him for being a creep. Castiel won't ever fathom how a grown man, his body still in his early 40's, can manage to look like a petuliant child. Although the bigger mystery is that the look works on a billions of years old celestial being like him. Again: Those damn puppy eyes!

It didn't get any better when Mary dropped by and Dean's focus left Castiel at least temporarily. But as the angel tried to fry them some eggs and bacon, Dean goosed him again and again, in front of his mother who looked away in embarrassment, and asked him if he needed help.

Castiel might never become a starred chef, but the repeated question bordered on an insult. He swallowed his agitation, though. His partner may not know what behaviours beseem in front of his mother, but Castiel - as strange as human customs still might be to him sometimes - knew that scolding Dean in front of her sure wouldn't be either. So he closed his mouth shut and served the totally edible breakfast staples with gritted teeth and a superficial smile, before excusing himself to work.

Dean's cheeky grin biting into the first strip of bacon was still on Castiel's mind when he teamed up with Hannah on one of her few earthly missions. She's still not comfortable in possessing human bodies, but she does whenever needed.

It was her intense look, scrutinising as only a friend can see to your very core, that made him let out some steam. First at the demon they came to banish for, then with words just flowing out of his mouth.

"He's infuriating, Hannah. I love him, but he just never stops complaining about my work, about the way I do things, the way I look at him."

Castiel ran a hand through his already messed up hair only to feel Hannah's today brown eyes on him in a strange mix of amusement and sympathy. Her throaty laugh, seemingly vibrating out of her stubby body, made Castiel feel small. Maybe he was just oversensitive.

Coming home to a house full of people wasn't exactly what Castiel had expected. Dean's rumbling laughter about his blood soaked trenchcoat and smoky shock of hair neither.

Castiel stomped into the bathroom. He finally understood Hannah's love for showers after Dean had persuaded him more than once of sharing one. But today the warm and steady water raining down on him, the scent of the bodywash, and the usually relaxing lather don't soothe the feeling of fraying on the edges, of not fitting in this vessel anymore that had been his body for quite some time now.

His stupid, stupid boyfriend! Why can't he just be normal for once? Just because he is already dead doesn't mean that he can act like nothing could ever hurt his angel.

Castiel scrubs his vessel's skin until it's angry red and his whole body smells like Dean's. The scent isn't helping his mood as it usually does.

He sighs and shuts off the water, steps out of the shower, not caring that he drips all over the floor. He brushes a hand over the steamy mirror and looks at the distorted reflection of his face.

Why the hell did he have to fall in love with Dean Winchester?

As if on cue the door behind him opens and Dean strolls in, toothy grin and all. Castiel rolls his eyes.

"What do you want?" he growls, not looking at him. Dean's smile falters for a second before he puts it on again.

"Just wondered if you drowned in the toilet or something."

"No, Mister Smart-aleck, I don't need to use the toilet. Just like you, no matter how much you like reading your comics on it."

"Not comics, graphic novels, Cass. And yes, a man needs some privacy from time to time. Sue me."

"There is no courtroom in heaven, Dean," Castiel sighs in annoyance. "And I would appreciate it very much if you wouldn't bother me for the rest of the day. I heard enough stupid things coming out of your mouth. I'm tired and you are the last one I want to see right now."

Dean works his jaws into something stubborn as if he were pulling himself taut like a sail on the stormy sea, willing to brave the weather in all its forms. The angel still isn't looking at him.

"Thought I was your happiness," Dean teases, forcing his voice to sound chirpy even though his heart is thoroughly in his mouth. "Come on, sunshine."

The endearment usually brings a smile on Castiel's face, but it's falling short today. Dean knits his brow together in concern and his heart stops still for a long, painful moment as Cass replies, "Not at this specific moment in time."

He watches Cass' reflection in the mirror, his usual soft features like set in stone, unapproachable and cold. It sends a shiver through Dean's body. What has he done?

His voice is grumpy and hurt. Dean would kick himself if he could. He knows he's bad at this relationship thing. He warned Castiel about it right after their first kiss. But he kind of expected it to be different with Castiel. The angel knows him like no-one else, not even Sammy. He's aware of all his flaws and shortcomings, and still doesn't expect from him to change just to be worthy of his love.

Castiel feels the shift in atmosphere and sighs exasperatedly, in a way that heaven and the whole universe is surely able to feel.

"I love you?" It's the only thing Dean knows to say, one of the few things he knows to be real and true. And still his voice tilts up at the end in a silent question that he hopes Castiel can hear while he is sinking into self-doubt again, feeling as if the Empty would come any minute to this time engulf him in black darkness.

"Yes, Dean," he says, bracing himself a last time on the washbasin, and turns around, damp hair sticking in all directions. Usually the sight would do beautiful things to Dean's heart, but that still seems to be out of order.

Castiel cups his cheeks with wet hands, waiting until Dean dares to meet his eyes. "Unfortunately, I love you too."

Dean's heart stutters like the motor of Baby before it purrs into life. The first beat is painful, but at least Dean can breathe again.

"I'm sorry," he says.

Castiel smiles one of his sad smiles that Dean is well accustomed to from their time on earth, but hasn't seen since he had heard the words, "You weren't meant to arrive this early, Dean." He had promised himself to never place it on those lips ever again. Just another miscarriage on his long lists of failures.

"I know," Castiel's soft voice cuts through the unrelenting wave of self-loathing. He leans his forehead against Dean's whose breaths come out in a broken sob. "I just sometimes forget what a tease you've been back on earth. It didn't strike me as often then as it does now."

Dean nods silently.

~

"What's up, Dean?" Sam's voice comes out of the dark. Dean doesn't even flinch on his spot sitting in the armchair on the veranda. It had taken him some time to lose the reflexes, but time in heaven can even heal the most ingrained reactions to potential danger.

"Nothin'," he answers, hoping against all odds that his brother might leave it at that.

"Come on, man. I'm not stupid. You coming back without your angel in tow, grumpy and sad looking. What monkey business have you been getting up to this time?"

Dean sighs and Sam is taken aback at the intensitiy of it. Ever since he arrived in heaven, Dean has been nothing but flowers and sunshine. It's disgusting, really. Of course Sam loves seeing him so carefree. And he loves teasing him about it, too.

"I think I finally jinxed it."

Sam furrows his eyebrows. "What do you mean?

"Cass is finally fed up with me. I knew this day was gonna come, but I hoped it might take longer."

"What have you done?"

Dean laughs self-depreciatingly and takes a slug from his near empty beer bottle. "Opened my mouth. Should've kept it shut."

Sam's frown morphs into one of his trademark bitch faces. "That hasn't kept him from falling in love with you in the first place, has it?"

Dean pulls at the label of his bottle, still wet from condensation. "He doesn't want to see me for the rest of the day and went 'to sleep'."

Sam suppresses a chuckle. Being with the angel for so long clearly is rubbing off at his brother, at least the habit to use air quotes.

"He doesna need to sleep, Sammy. He's just sitting up there, hating me and probably all of his poor live decisions ever since he pulled me out of hell."

Dean runs his hand over his face, trying to chase away the tears welling up against his will. Sam lays his hand on his shoulder. It's meant to comfort, but Dean doesn't think he deserves sympathy. Still, he doesn't shrug it off.

"He'll come around. Just give him time and then you'll talk." Dean hums non-committally. "Let's fetch you another beer. I think you need it," Sam says and squeezes his shoulder before walking inside again.

Dean looks up the stars and the moon above him. They are not the real ones, but Castiel put them up there - just for him.

Dean sighs. Cass is too good for him. He always knew that. Why did he have to fall in love with Castiel, Angel of Thursday?

~

Sam looks at the bottles of beer in his hands and shakes his head. He knows his brother and he knows his friend. They are the most stubborn people he knows. They will never properly fix it. They will fall into each others arms, push back their anger and fear and will wait until the pent-up tension rips them apart over and over again.

Before he can talk himself out of it he climbs up the stairs and strides to the master bedroom. He knocks and opens the door without waiting for an answer.

As expected the angel sits on the side of the bed, still clothed in his freshly cleaned, ridiculous trenchcoat. For a split second Sam wonders if he gets undressed at least for some fun time, but that involves his brother and he for sure won't allow his thoughts to stray that far.

He clears his throat to get Castiel's attention. "Did Dean send you?" the angel asks, sounding tired.

"No, not really. Thought you could need a beer," he says. At least half of it is the truth.

Cass smiles knowingly, but takes the offered bottle nonetheless.

Sam fidgets with the label on his own, moving his weight nervously from one foot to the other.

"Whatever he said that hurt you, he didn't mean it. You know that, right?"

Castiel huffs a mirthless laugh. "He's saying a lot of things he doesn't mean then. Probably everything apart from that he loves me."

Sam winces quietly. This is worse than he thought. "What do you mean?"

Castiel sighs. "He teases me from the first moment he opens his eyes until the last breath he takes before he falls asleep. I have this the whole day from my brothers and sisters who still find it hilarious that I fell in love, with Dean Winchester of all people. I don't need this shit at home."

Sam turns his face down to hide his grin. Castiel isn't the only one rubbing off in this relationship.

"You do know that teasing is Dean's favourite language of love? Have you ever heard how he's talking to me? Or anyone else? Save Mom and Dad, maybe."

Castiel looks up at him. "What do you mean?"

Sam chuckles. "The way he is bickering with me all the time, that he first learnt to sign insults for his loved ones before even asking the sign for bacon, calling me bitch. It may sound like an insult to you, but I think Sammy aside, this is the fondest expression he allows himself to show his love to me."

Castiel moves Sam's reasoning in his mind and entertains the thought. It sure sounds like a thing Dean would do. Not that Castiel is good at feelings. Love is the only one he really comprehends fully and it took him the better part of a decade to figure this one out.

Sam had once called his brother emotionally constipated, but that was before Castiel lived as a human and learnt how unpleasant this physical condition really is.

He fixes his gaze on Sam and nods. "I think I understand."

"Good," Sam replies and adds one for good measure. "Good."

~

It's late when Dean finally finds his way into their joint bedroom. He may be a little drunk, needing the liquid courage to face his boyfriend after failing him.

The room lays in darkness, the moonlight slipping through the curtains the only light showing the unmoving lines of Castiel's body. Dean undresses himself, hovering his hands over the waistband of his briefs, unsure if his nakedness would be welcome. He leaves them on and slips under the covers.

He stares at the back of Cass' head for a long moment. There are those stupid tears again, burning like holy fire in the corners of his eyes.

"Won't you scoot over and cuddle me, assbut?" The words and Castiel's soft voice don't seem to fit together and Dean wonders if the last beer was spoiled and makes him hallucinate now.

Castiel raises his blanket and repeats, "Cuddle me, assbut."

Dean's breath explodes into a fit of laughter. Through half aborted laughs he asks, "What's gotten into you?"

Castiel chuckles. "I learnt today that insults can be used as terms of endearment and obnoxious behaviour can be a vehicle of expressing love. It dawned on me that you might be one to use it, although the concept still bothers me."

Dean scoots over to him and pulls his boyfriend flush to his front, pressing a kiss to his neck. "I will try to hold back if you promise me to tell me if I make you uncomfortable whenever I do it."

Castiel hums in agreement.

"What is it? I can hear you thinking," Dean murmurs after a while of silence between them.

"I was just wondering if this constitutes our first fight as a couple," Castiel muses.

Dean's face morphs into a near predatory grin. "If it means make-up sex, I'd say yes."

"You're a menace," Castiel scolds him without heat.

"Yeah, but I am your menace, sunshine," Dean chuckles.

"That you are indeed ... assbut."

[imaginesforallkindoflove]

Writing commission for @soulnottainted ! Thank you so much!!! I really hope you like it!! 💕💕

Sitting down with a sigh on the soft grass, the young woman closed her eyes, concentrating on the sounds of the vast nature that surrounded her. She had taken her drawing kit for the day, wanting to practice her art outside, rather than the warm and cosy inside of her home. It was sunny, and birds were chirping… For a moment it felt like a true lost paradise. Then, the tree besides her started to move slowly. The woman did not move, instead, she started sketching with a smile as the tree formed into a humanoid figure, made of woods, with a kind but stern face, red spitting fire as veins and blood and beautiful brown and amber eyes. It was taller than any house from the area, and looked very threatening to someone who didn’t know the creature. The woman didn’t fear him. How could she? 

“Good afternoon, Yew.” She softly greeted, not glancing at him. 

“Hello, young one.” He said, bowing his head a little. “What are you doing?”

“Drawing and painting, as usual.” 

“You are right to do so. Art gives the ability to humans to show what they don’t see clearly. Some are so fogged into their dark views, and seeing a painting may open their minds." The giant tree explained. 

Kelsey nodded as she listened, knowing how wise the being could be. She had grown up next to him, her parents telling her amazing stories about the tree that could take a human form, giving words of advice but also incredible tales for the people he chose. 

People would find him terrifying, as he was so tall and had a deep voice. Also, he was not something you could observe any normal day. After what her parents recalled of him, Kelsey realised how much time the man tree spent with her. He always was present, like a grandparent figure to her and gave her sweet advice on how to handle life. 

She cared a lot about him, and he was feeling the same way about her. 

"What are you doing out there, didn’t you have your… exams to do?" Yew asked in a hesitant voice, trying to not make the young woman anxious. 

"I finished them actually." She replied with a smile as she glanced at him. "I am drawing you." 

"Are you?" He questioned, surprised. "Can I see?" 

The young woman nodded and stood up with her artwork. She handed the piece of paper to small branches that grew out of Yew's body, and watched with amazement as the drawing made its way toward Yew's face. He was such a beautiful, tender, caring and intelligent being. 

"I believe it is well made!" He exclaimed lovingly as he dropped the drawing back to its artist. "You always had so much talent, little one." 

"Thank you! You pushed me to do the best, you know? I am glad you are here with me." She smiled again, rushing to hug him.

Well, hugs were something difficult to do with Yew. He could crush with so little efforts, but he always made sure to not hurt her during those sweet moments. He never had been close to anyone but her for a long time. Sometimes he had been lonely for years, without anyone to speak to!  

But they found a way luckily. Yew would grow smaller branches, looking like arms, and Kelsey would hug him, feeling warm and bubbly as the tree branches touched her skin. She truly considered him like a grandfather, and always was fascinated by his stories. She regretted that sometimes, she was too caught up in her work and busy with life in general, she would leave him alone for some days. But, the young woman always came back to him, apologizing about it, and Yew didn’t seem to mind. He understood perfectly, always wishing her the best in life. 

“Are you interested in a story, little one?” He asked. “One with a moral perhaps?” 

“Oh yes! You know how much I love your stories!” The young woman replied, her eyes shining with excitement as she sat down on the grass.

The creature lowered his head too, his body cracking in multiple places, but he showed no sign of being hurt or being bothered by this. He thought for a few moments, closing his eyes to choose his next tale. Kelsey watched him patiently, but bearing a soft smile on her face. She was very interested with what the giant will share with her.

“There once was a lion, a mighty one, the king of all in the land. He was fierce, strong, powerful and everyone respected and feared him. As he was sleeping, a mouse had accidentally woken him up. The king was absolutely furious about this, ready to assassinate the one who had bothered him in his sleep. However, the mouse implored for his life, telling the lion that killing him would solve none of his problems, and that the mouse would be a pity prey to kill. The lion agreed with this, and released the young mouse.” Yew started. “Later, as he was roaming around his kingdom, the lion king fell into a trap: a solid net that he could not escape from. Feeling the poachers would come soon for him, and seeing he could not free himself from the trap, the lion roared, in hopes someone would realise he was in danger or needed help. It was indeed a lucky day for him! The mouse he had spared earlier came to save him! The little animal ate the net, and helped the lion out. As they escaped the poachers together, the lion thanked the mouse, and promised him to never hunt down one of the mice.” The tree being finished. “So, tell me, little one, what do you think the moral of the story is?” 

“That poaching is bad?” 

Yew laughed at that. It was certainly true, hunting animals for their furs, or killing them for sport, or to have trophies were horrible and bad. He wondered how some humans could do that. 

"Non."

“Sparing someone is good because they can help you back?” Kelsey managed to reply, after thinking intensively. 

“Not quite, but you got the spirit. Actually, you can give a story like this multiple meanings. If the lion didn’t spare the mouse, he would have been murdered by the hunters. Every little act of kindness like that can lead to something greater. At least, that is how I appreciate that story.” 

“Also, small friends can be powerful allies!” The woman exclaimed. “So, Yew, am I your little mouse?” She chuckled.

“I believe you are, my little one.”

After that tale being told, Kelsey laid down next to the sitting giant, observing the sky. Finally, she was done with her mid terms. It was something that had bothered her, and she really hoped she did good! But with Yew, she felt her anxiety dying down. The tree giant emanated a kind and strange aura that always seemed to appease her, and anyone around. She didn’t know much of the giant’s story, only that he was there to help those that were, sort of, misguided by life. He would tell them tales, and ask for a story in return. He helped them realise something about their lives, and managed to turn whatever situation into a good one. 

He never spoke of those cases. It was perhaps the reason why he was created. He didn’t know who did, and never intended to find out. He had helped so much people in the past, and sometimes would disappear for a little more than a week. In Kelsey’s eyes, he was a hero to help those poor unfortunate souls. Yew would argue that he had to do what he had to do. It was not like it was his choice, he was called by those people.

“Yew?” 

The giant tree made a grunt in response, telling her he was awake and would listen to what she has to say. 

“Did you sometimes fail at… saving people?” She asked carefully, not wanting to scare him off with her question. 

He was silent for a moment, and the young woman feared she had hurt his feelings. She stayed quiet too, not wanting the situation to worsen. 

“I did, in fact, fail. Sometimes… Sometimes you can’t always change people, or heal them. Of course, I never really pushed them to do the wrong thing… But…” He sighed. “But I wish that some cases wouldn’t have finished in the way they did. It is hard to watch those little humans, those complicated beasts, struggling to understand, and failing to do so. I wish I could have done more for some men and women. I have to admit, sometimes, I do feel like a puppet, and I want to be freed from my chains, to help them more. I always come back anyway to my principles.” 

“I am sorry you feel that way, Yew.” The woman said, putting her soft hand on his wooden body. “You are nothing of a monster.” She chuckled, remembering how some would call her precious grandfather figure. 

“I do not care about how they speak of me. I do like that nickname tho. It makes me feel… powerful, and bigger.” 

The woman snorted at that. Her own father had known Yew since he was a young child, and would call him the Monster too, but in a more… loving way. When her father would tell her stories of how he used to sneak out to hear the giant tree’s tales, she only thought he had a huge imagination as a child, and here she was, befriending him and always seeking advice from him and his stories. She truly felt like Yew was her grandfather, and she believed he felt the same way about her. 

The first time she met Yew, she was about the same age as her father. She was playing around the old and tall tree, then fell asleep and woke up to a giant man holding her in his hand carefully. She did not scream, because she immediately felt connected to him, and since this day, she made sure to visit him often. 

“Can you tell me a story?” She asked Yew. “Can you… create a tale? Just for me?” 

“Just for you?” 

“Just for me.” The woman repeated. 

“Alright… Once upon a time, there was a young girl with a creative mind. Some people would have expected her to be lonely, fearing that the other children would cast her out. But no, she became very popular in her school, as she was unique. The other children weren’t, and they celebrated her uniqueness with her. There was one boy, however, who didn’t celebrate with the others. He was just a regular boy, quite a strange one if you asked the older women who gossipped between themselves as they watched the children. The young girl saw how alone the boy seemed to be, and tried to approach him many times. The boy pushed her away each time.”

“That is sad and unfair. Why would the boy do that? She is just trying to befriend him!” The young woman said.

“Patience little one. You have asked for a tale, and here it is. The boy was lonely, and seemed to hate the other girl. The latter told him if he wished to be with her, then she would welcome him with open arms. At one point, she stopped seeing him and the boy realised that being alone was not something he wished. When the girl stopped coming for him, stopped talking to him, he felt like a hole had been opened, and he needed her to cure him. So, at the end of the day, he joined the others to celebrate her uniqueness with everyone else. He confessed to the girl that he missed her, and revealed that no one had been making him feel this way, because she had revealed his own uniqueness. They celebrated their new friendship quickly after that meeting.” 

“It was a weak story... “ She chuckled. “But I like it. It was cute.” She yawned.

“Come child, you are tired. You have to rest.”

The young woman nodded, and slowly made her to the giant. He offered her his giant hand for bed as usual, and she laid down on it happily, knowing she was safe.

“Rest now, Kelsey.” Yew breathed out gently as he watched after her.

[kathyprior4200]

“Murder on the Air!” Human Alastor complete timeline

https://altried.tumblr.com/post/190010451473/my-take-on-human-alastor-i-like-to-think-he-is

Character profile

Name: Alastor (meaning Greek spirit of vengeance/tormentor)

Birth: January 24th 1896, New Orleans, Louisiana (VA Edward Bosco’s birthday is January 24, 1986)

Human name:  Alastor Roscoe Duvalier Cajun (Roscoe means deer forest and is also an old term for a handgun. Duvalier is last name of Voodoo genocidal dictator of Haiti.)

Race: Part White (French-American from his father) part Creole (Native American and African-American from his mother).

Hair color: Brown (red and black in Hell) usually short, sometimes in a small ponytail or brown ends reaching slightly past his ears

Eye color: Brown (red in Hell)

Skin color: Light brown (pale gray in Hell) thin pointed chin, lanky agile body

Clothing: brown/white nice shirts with bow ties, dress coats, hunting boots, wine colored pants, the occasional top hat with voodoo pins sticking from the top.

Items: Hunting rifle given to him by his father, sharp knives, a staff with a microphone on it decorated with small golden antlers curved near the top. (The staff became a red vintage microphone with an eye and magic powers in Hell that became part of him as per the deal he took)

Date of death: 1933

 Cause of death: Bitten by dog with rabies, experienced hallucinations, inflamed brain, strange excitement and paranoia. When he sees water, it’s nothing but alligators, leeches and the darkness of an ocean. He ran from police and into the woods at night. The police sent several police dogs after him, appearing to Alastor as werewolves. He encounters Hustle, a deer hunter, yelling in agony, almost caught by police. Hustle alerts the police to his location, saying “Target criminal’s over here!” Alastor grabs the gun from the hunter and shoots himself between the eyes. His body is mauled by the police dogs and the hunter sinks down to his knees in shock and fear.

 Demonic life: deer demon, overlord, radio host. His deer-like shadow has a mind of its own and reveals his true feelings.

 Likes: cooking, singing, dancing, electro swing, Rosie, Mimzy, Charlie (as a friend), his mother, hunting and skinning deer, being out in nature, people failing, dark coffee, the Picture Show, the Stock Market Crash of 1929, theater, liquor, dad jokes, Jambalaya, epicurean food, making voodoo dolls of the Hazbin characters

 Dislikes: being touched, strawberries, post 30’s technology, dogs, anything sweet, frowning, Vox, his father, Angel’s sexual remarks, tea, spray can foods, ketchup

 Abilities: supernatural powers, voodoo, radio broadcasting, shadow manipulation, warping space, singing, charm

 Kalfu is Alastor’s main voodoo deity, as both are destroyers and dark sorcerers.

   Mother:

Loretta Marie Duvalier (last name became Cajun): (named after Loretta Petit, real life American radio personality born in New Orleans. Duvalier is last name of Voodoo genocidal dictator of Haiti.)  

Loretta has several siblings, Joseph, and a royal lady who is the mother of Dr. Facilier (he kept her shrunken head).

Speaks French. As a human, she had dark skin, thick black short hair and often wore bonnets, dresses, and on occasion, charms around her neck. She went to Heaven for her selfless actions in comforting Alastor when he was bullied and abused. She was the only source of light in his life before he snapped.

Her voodoo deity is Erzulie, the goddess of beauty, love, femininity and motherhood.

Alastor secretly cuddles with a voodoo doll of his mother every night.

 In the “regular” fanmade timeline, Loretta goes to Heaven, where Alastor meets her decades later after his redemption.

 In Hell, his mother becomes a powerful Voodoo priestess and she helps Alastor with his magic. She is an acquaintance to Rosie and Mimzy. She looks similar to Alastor: red eyes, darker gray face, red and black hair in a bun, sharp yellow teeth, deer tufts, and a long red and black dress with frilly sleeves. Her eyes most often appear like Alastor’s red eyes with circular lines in them…her eyes can also glow. She has a light red undershirt with a similar black upside down cross design. Etched onto her dress are voodoo symbols and flowers that appear faint to the eye but can glow in the dark. Sometimes, Loretta will wear a fancy round red ladies hat. Loretta keeps her hair in a bun. She keeps a pair of reading glasses and also has four claws. She has doe traits and a small fluffy tail. Loretta has similar powers as Alastor, though she cannot control radios to the same extent. She can make dolls and sew anything just by moving her fingers. Loretta can withstand Alastor’s deals and spells. In her full demon form, she can turn into a shadow version of herself and create portals and objects. In her demon form, her eyes turn black with red pupils shaped like skulls.

 In an AU of an AU when Alastor meets his parents at the Hazbin Hotel, Alastor and his mother share an embrace and sing together while making Jambalaya. Loretta doesn’t hesitate to share stories and a photo album of Alastor’s childhood to the others, much to his embarrassment. Loretta and Charlie hit it off right away, sharing their love of singing, dancing, and seeing good in people. Loretta mistakenly believes that her son and Charlie are dating but then remembers he is asexual and aromantic and apologizes with a blush. Charlie smiles and says that she is a hundred plus years older than him, to which Angel’s mouth drops. When Angel tries to flirt and touch Alastor, his mother tells him to stop. Alastor only accepts hugs, kisses, and touch from his mother.

 Father:

Louis Francois Cajun: White man and Christian French immigrant, descendant of two French Canadians. He fell in love with Loretta, but bi-racial marriage was frowned upon, so they held it in secret. He is a skilled hunter and taught Alastor to hunt deer and game at a young age. When Alastor was younger, he told him to “beware the gators” in the nearby swamp. As Alastor grew older, he became more abusive to him, even molested him after sleeping with another woman on a Friday the 13th. He died brutally by Alastor in the 1920s/30s.

Louis became an oppressive black deer overlord but was defeated by Alastor a second time.

In Alastor’s vision, Louis is represented by Ogun, god associated with dogs, warriors, hunters, conflict. He’s symbolized by an iron knife and has fondness for pretty women and rum.

 AU of an AU: In Hell, Louis becomes a powerful overlord called Seraph (one that Alastor defeats, but he still goes around.) He has large black antlers arching from his head, and often wears a top hat with a skull on it. He wears a similar suit to Alastor’s, along with a large bowtie and regular tie, though it’s darker in color. The undershirt is black with a red cross design on it. His teeth are sharp and yellow. He has deer ears and a tail, plus four claws on each hand. He has the same black mustache he had as a human, plus glowing red eyes. In demon form, his face turns into a skeletal male deer head (with black fur in some areas) and he grows larger. He controls a small cult of shadow spirits and demons that worship him as a god. He drinks, smokes, and hooks up with women demons, despite knowing he can’t reproduce. He hunts Hell’s creatures with a gun like he did as a human hunter. He carries a whip and a long black staff shaped like a Christian Cross with antlers branching out over the extended sides of the cross. In the center of it is a red gem shaped like a glowing red eye.

 Louis and Loretta agree to visit the Hazbin Hotel…only to meet Alastor in shock. Alastor briefly shrinks back when he sees him, remembering the times he was abused by him. His mother, more confident as a demon, makes sure her son goes through the day unharmed. His mother embraces her son and they make jambalaya while singing together. They sing “Jambalaya on the Bayou” and “You’re Never Fully Dressed Without a Smile.”  Even Louis smiles and hums along. The three of them later dance to music on the radio as everyone watches in happiness (except Husk). The shadow spirits join in. Loretta tells Charlie and the others about Alastor’s life as a human, much to his embarrassment. Both Alastor’s parents became serial killers and cannibals themselves just like their son once they arrived in Hell. Like Charlie, Alastor’s mother believes that her son can be redeemed and hopes that someday the three of them can go to Heaven together. Alastor awkwardly shares a hug with his father, though he wasn’t very nice, Alastor still loved him.

 Louis/Seraph is critical of Charlie’s plan to rehabilitate demons, as he believes it is God’s will to keep sinners in eternal torment. He was the one who told Alastor as a human: “Inside of every sinner is a lost cause.” Alastor briefly goes demonic when he tries to touch Charlie inappropriately. Loretta says she wants a final divorce and helps Alastor kick him out of the hotel. But she also begs Alastor not to kill him and he reluctantly obeys.

Louis and Loretta soon go back to their ways of killing people and questioning their afterlives.

 Adelle Cajun – Alastor’s paternal aunt, sister of Louis. She is objective and doesn’t like getting into conflicts. She taught Alastor how to play the piano but Alastor hardly ever saw her much as she was busy being a French teacher.

 Joseph Duvalier – Alastor’s maternal uncle, brother of Alastor’s mother Loretta. Mean and cruel like Alastor’s father, likes rum, weapons, sacrifices and causing trouble. He eventually went to Hell after being run over with a deer in the headlights look…by none other than Alastor.

 Eddy Ory Duvalier – Alastor’s Creole/French cousin, son of Joseph, Alastor’s maternal uncle and a French working class white lady. Named after Edward Ory, a Creole jazz bandleader. Rebelled against his troublesome father and became a jazz band leader.

 Clementine Duvalier – Alastor’s cousin, relative of his mother. Daughter of Alastor’s uncle, Joseph. Named after Clementine Barnabet - real life Louisiana voodoo priestess and serial killer, killed families with an axe. She tried to be a better priestess than Loretta. At one point, she and Alastor killed people together in the woods. But Alastor ran off to save his own skin, leaving her to be caught and arrested by police.

  Alastor’s ancestor from his father’s side: Marie LaLaurie, (1787-1849) real life New Orleans serial killer, cruel to Creole slaves

 Dr. Facilier: Voodoo villain from Princess and the Frog. Became Alastor’s slave after he was pulled into the underworld. Alastor stole his powers and methods, leaving Facilier a shadow. He is Alastor’s cousin.

 Samuel Cajun – white paternal Grandfather. Lived an ordinary life as a car mechanic in Canada before going off to fight in the war. He was healed by a white woman nurse Abigail and the two fell in love.

 Abigail Cajun – Alastor’s paternal Grandmother

Roscoe Duvalier – Alastor’s maternal Grandfather, related to Dr. Facilier

 Antoinette Duvalier – dark skinned maternal Grandmother – Voodoo Priestess and Hoodoo oral practitioner.

                                                               Racheil: Alastor’s friend and love interest (though he doesn’t want sex or serious romance.) She has short blonde hair and looks similar to Charlie in dapper clothes. She, like Charlie, is nice to him and loves to dance and sing. She tries to help him become a better person but after he snapped, she broke up with him and left him to solve his own problems. She almost got stabbed b him but managed to escape with her wife Agatha (whom she had married in private).

In Alastor’s dream, she appears as Oshun, a goddess connected to beauty, sexuality, wealth, pleasure, and rivers.

Alastor later makes a voodoo doll of Racheil’s similar counterpart, Charlie along with dolls representing the other characters.

   Mimzy: Alastor’s friend and temporary love interest (Alastor liked to flirt with her but didn’t want to get intimate nor be tied down). Mimzy likes singing, jazz, desserts and doughnuts. She doesn’t like rock. Confident in her singing, she is the owner of a jazz club, both on Earth and in Hell. She is a short, chubby woman who wears pink/purple flapper dresses, a headband with pink feathers and short blonde hair. Her eyes were blue and her skin white as a human, in Hell her eyes were black with hot pink pupils.

Mimzy and Alastor sing several duets together on stage in both realms and even share a kiss much to the disgust of a jealous (human) Husk. As time went on however, Mimzy started falling head over heels for him, while Alastor wanted to stay friends. (She heard about his radio shows but didn’t suspect he was the killer until later). One night, a love crazed Mimzy (who had also had several drinks) tried to undress him and even reached for his private parts. He shoved her off and threatened to kill her if she assaulted him again. Then she realized in shock that he was the serial killer when he defended himself with a bloodstained knife. She tried to call for help, but he choked her with an insane look in his eyes.

Alastor keeps a voodoo doll of Mimzy in his lair with the straw arms missing.

 Rosie: Alastor’s friend, fellow overlord, and associate. Rosie wears dark pink dresses, and a large pink hat with skulls, pink feathers, and black flowers on it in Hell. She has black eyes and sharp teeth. She is the owner of her emporium, after Franklin got eaten by demons.

As a human, Rosie looked similar to Mary Poppins: black hair, white skin, elegant dresses and an umbrella in her hands. She owned an emporium on Earth. Alastor used to sing with her and help her out like a gentleman. However, this was before he became insane. Rosie went to Hell after forcing her employees to work long hours with hardly any breaks (It was during a time where people worked their lives away). Like in Hell, she was self-centered and didn’t hesitate to overpower others to fulfill her ends. Hence, she became an overlord due to the impact of her evil actions.

According to Vivziepop, their relationship is similar to Jack and Mary’s relationship from Mary Poppins: both Jack and Alastor help out their lady friends and are polite to them. Like Mary, Rosie is stern, sophisticated, elegant, and a perfectionist. She’s “practically perfect in every way” at least in her opinion. Both Rosie and Alastor love singing, dancing, performing, and killing people. The three of them met up with Mimzy and all sang together.

Alastor keeps a voodoo doll of Rosie in his lair.

However, Rosie, like nearly everyone in Hell, has an agenda of her own: using Alastor to further her status. In fact, she often views those around her as mere friends and servants who purpose is to make her life easy and orderly. She, along with Vox, Valentino, Katie, and Sir Pentious are listed as antagonists.

 Niffty: A small cyclops demon with a hot pink skirt and short pink hair with a yellow undertone. She is the maid for the Hazbin Hotel: she cleans the rooms, cooks meals and likes to sew, read and write. She is obsessed with men and was summoned by Alastor. She died in the 1950s as a Japanese-American woman at age 22. She is hyperactive and fast…and also a hopeless romantic who indulges in her own fantasies. Niffty isn’t afraid to use manipulation to get her way. Alastor summoned her from the fireplace but before that, he had charmed her into making a deal with him shortly after she arrived in Hell.

Alastor keeps a voodoo doll of Niffty in his lair.

 Husk: A black and white cat demon with red wings with card suits on them. He has long red eyebrows, wears a black hat and wears a large red bow tie. Husk loves drinking, gambling, cards and magic shows. As a human, Husk interacted with Alastor as a broad man with short black hair. He went off to serve in the Vietnam War, gambling and drinking his problems away. He died in the 1970s.

In Hell, Alastor summons the grumpy bad-mouthed Husk to help man the front desk of the hotel for “charity work” and transports him there. Alastor got Husk to make a deal with him by promising him booze, cigars, and drinks spiked with catnip. Husk can speak many languages and is good with children.

Alastor keeps a voodoo doll of Husk in his lair.

 Other people:

Real life Axeman of New Orleans serial killer 1918-1919

Killed women and primarily used an axe. Spared those who played jazz in their homes

 Albert Fish: serial killer, child rapist and cannibal 1924-1932 crimes, died in 1936

  Mary LaLaurie (ancestor)

Samuel Cajun = Abigail Cajun                    Roscoe Duvalier =Antoinette Duvalier

                    |                                                           |    

Adelle |   Louis =   Loretta     |         Queen          |     Joseph = Jane

                         |                            |                 |

                    Alastor                       Dr. Facilier          Eddy Ory  | Clementine

  Alastor "Hazbin" Roscoe Cajun/Duvalier born January 24th, 1896 (Edward Bosco's b day Jan 24th 1986) to Francois and Loretta Cajun, born at 3:00AM; Loretta gave birth in the woods on the way to the hospital (born 3 weeks early). Light brown skin, brown eyes, round glasses, short brown hair with reddish tint, pointed chin, thin agile body

1897: Age 1 Things start off normal in New Orleans, infant Alastor plays in his crib and loves the music on the radio.

1898: Age 2 Alastor meets his uncle and aunt and discovers the marvelous outside world

1899: Age 3 Alastor watches musicals on the picture show and falls in love with them. His mother makes him Jambalaya, his favorite food of comfort

1900: Age 4 Reading and preschool, Sunday church goings which Alastor finds boring

1901: Age 5 Kindergarten: Alastor is teased for his freckles and whenever his hair glows a reddish tint in the sunlight

1902: Age 6 First grade: Alastor learns reading, writing, math, and art. He hates gym and loves music and art.

1903: Age 7 Second grade: Alastor's parents get into a fight for the first time in a while; Alastor is sent to his room whenever it happens. After he comes back upset, both his parents say that frowning is weakness. Loretta says "Remember to smile, Alastor, it shows dominance and confidence. You're never fully dressed without one." He takes that lesson to heart for the rest of his life.

Vision 1: Alastor dreams he is a young red deer who performs onstage and receives a standing ovation, representing childhood innocence.

1904: Age 8 Third grade: Alastor discovers his love of theater. He finds joy in attending and watching Mardi Gras parades and the costumes. He says 'Throw me something, mista!" during the parade but the other kids got to get the prizes thrown from the parade instead.

1905: Age 9 Fourth grade: A group of boys start to bully him and even punch him badly. Alastor smiles through it all. He tells his father and mother. While his mother comforts him, his father scolds him for not fighting back.

1906: Age 10 Fifth grade: Alastor gets his brutal revenge by daring the boys to enter into a nearby swamp. One of the bullies gets eaten by a crocodile while Alastor just watches. Alastor gets nicknamed by his father and bullies as "Alastor Hazbin."

1907: Age 11 Sixth grade: Alastor goes hunting with his father and his father shows him how to hunt and skin deer and other game. He becomes skilled over time and loves the meat. He also learns how to cook from his mother...Jambalaya being his favorite to make.

1908: Age 12 Seventh grade: Alastor gets slapped by his father for not participating in sports. Other kids make fun of him for being of mixed race. Loretta begins teaching him about Voodoo and Hoodoo. Alastor connects with Kalfu the deity and learns of his heritage as part French and part Creole. His grandmother was a powerful priestess and was believed to orally pass on stories and display feats of magic. His Grandmother was born in Haiti, moved to France and then to the U.S. His Uncle, Father, and Grandfather were Canadian/French Christians. His aunt was conflict avoidant, unlike his uncle and father. Loretta tells him (though he soon doesn't listen) that Voodoo is not to be used for evil, sacrifices, nor cannibalism and to only resort to cannibalism for survival.

1909: Age 13 Eighth grade: Alastor's father yells at him for not showing interest in girls. One fateful night, his father sleeps with another woman and Alastor notices. A helpless Loretta watches as Francois whips, humiliates and molests him in his room, warning him not to tell or "he'd kill (them) both." Loretta comforts him with hugs and Jambalaya. As he eats, Alastor imagines eating off his father's fingers.

Alastor is diagnosed with anxiety, narcissism and psychopathic tendencies. He is bullied in middle school and is not interested in sex and girls like the other boys. He finds it gross and pointless.

Loretta's Jambalaya nearly kills her when a drunk Loretta (too much Scottish Comfort) puts gunpowder and wasabi into it. Alastor's father makes him memorize Bible passages.

1910: Age 14 Ninth grade: Many girls both in school and outside fall in love, but Alastor isn't interested. A Satanic Ritual book appears after it was dropped by accident by imps. He looks through it with great interest and makes a deal with dark Loas: gain near unlimited power in the afterlife in exchange for his soul and the soul of a loved one.

1911: Age 15 Tenth grade: High school was a nightmare. The bullying was worse and Alastor became more and more withdrawn. During this time, Alastor becomes interested in being a radio host and also reads books on weapons and cannibalism.

Vision 2: Alastor dreams he is a red buck, who runs from hunters representing the elite white people. He evades a crocodile, resembling his father and his mother appears as the Voodoo goddess of beauty and motherhood.

1912: Age 16 Eleventh grade: Alastor applies to be an apprentice for a local radio station several times, but doesn't get in. His father and uncle berate him everyday and his mother is busy at secretary work, and Voodoo rituals every month.

1913: Age 17 Grade 12 Alastor graduates and applies again. He starts at the bottom, but rapidly moves his way up. He starts by telling dad jokes, then wants to talk about murder and crimes "far more interesting than the weather and social events."

1914: Age 18 After experiencing harsh critiques from mainstream stations, Alastor is fired. However, he soon decides to pursue his goals on his own. His makes radios from scratch and starts his own shows, with a few private listeners at first.

World War One begins! Alastor uses this opportunity to broadcast on a private station news of deaths in the war in graphic detail. More people start listening and his soon starts making money. Alastor makes his first kill when a man assaulted him and beat him up for him being "Black and outspoken." He was able to get away and he wondered what it'd be like to do it again on the ignorant folks.

1915: Age 19 Alastor promotes war efforts through announcements and songs, including his ending song "You're Never Fully Dressed." However, he still describes brutal murders for the sinister folks.

1916: Age 20 Alastor meets Husk and Mimzy at a jazz bar and club for the first time. He dances and sings with Mimzy, loving her confidence and sexy looks. (Though he doesn't like to be touched by anyone other than his mother, due to fatherly past trauma).

1917: Age 21 Alastor meets Racheil (alternate form of Charlie) and they become fast friends. He learns of the Axeman, a fellow serial killer and learns to be careful.

1918: Age 22 Spanish Flu Pandemic occurs! Sadly, Alastor's mother becomes gravely ill and passes away. Alastor smiles even as he cries. Alastor's father doesn't seem to care. Alastor gets raped again and his father abandons him. Alastor's mother goes to Heaven and Alastor, not knowing what else to do, eats her remains.

1919: Age 23 Alastor becomes depressed (and even suicidal for a while). He doesn't eat much. Alastor eventually snaps and begins his life as a serial killer. After his mother’s death, Alastor lost his remaining traits of humanity…succumbing to his demonic nature. At that point, he didn’t care who he ate and/or killed…it was the last think he could do to keep himself sane along with drinking liquor, coffee, sewing voodoo dolls, and broadcasting the murders by himself.

1920: Age 24 Roaring Twenties and Jazz Age. Alastor becomes known (though no one suspected it was him) by several names "Bayou Butcher," "Deer Devil" "Louisiana Lunatic" among others. Alastor revels in his fame and becomes richer and more materialistic. He buys himself suits, and a cane with deer antlers on it. One of his disturbing hobbies was using his gentleman charm to lure women into his home where he would lie them in the basement and kill them while broadcasting their screams.

Alastor plays in a jazz band and enjoys watching musicians play while smoking and drinking liquor. He often cries in private and makes straw dolls. He drinks dark coffee every morning.

1921: Age 25 Mimzy falls in love with Alastor and touches him inappropriately. He threatens her with a knife and she discovers he's the serial killer. She rushes to call for help but Alastor takes her into an alleyway and stabs and chokes her to death. Feeling slight remorse, he takes her home for his meal.

1922: Age 26 Racheil breaks up with him after being concerned about his sanity. Worried he might be caught, Alastor lays low for a while before starting up again. After Alastor's father comes back, he decides to get his revenge. He ties him to a tree and tortures him during the night. The predator becomes the prey. Alastor tracks him down to a local bar. (Although he usually doesn’t stalk or chase his victims as it breaks his moral code, but his dad is an exception. Also following others/sneaking toward them are often required to kill others.) His father had been secretly afraid that Alastor would be stronger and would want to kill him, thus proving his son more dominant than himself. He had weapons ready, but Alastor had set up several traps in advance. Though Alastor was physically weaker than his father, he was very clever. He had packed a backpack of all his weapons, rope and essential tools. His father says “You and your heathen mother deserve to die” only for Alastor to respond, “Nobody talks about my mama that way.” Seeing his father knocked out, Alastor raises his knife to kill him but stops. That would merely be too easy. He supports him by the shoulders, pretending to be concerned for him as onlookers watched in shock, “It’s okay sir, you just fainted from the heat. Let’s go for a walk in the woods.” He takes him deep in the forest and chuckles darkly.

Alastor knocks him out and ties him to a tree in a forest, waiting until he wakes up. He starts (smiling the whole time) by slicing off his father’s dick among his father’s cussing (“when you screwed me once”), inserting a hot knife inside his father’s privates (“when you screwed me again”) then slicing off his ears (“this is for all the times when you wouldn’t listen to me”), shoving his own severed penis down his throat (“When you shoved your macho beliefs down my throat”) he whips him, then slowly cuts deep down his chest with a chainsaw, organs revealed (“this is for mama”) and finally shots him in the heart (“and this is for me, you heartless bastard.”) He eats his father’s flesh over jambalaya and it’s the best meal he’s ever had.

 1923: Age 27 He kills his victims in various ways: some hanging from trees with their organs spilled out, some buttered and eaten, others buried alive, some people shot and stabbed when he doesn’t feel like dragging it out. He’ll often poison other’s food/drinks and watch their reactions with a grin on his face. He enjoys tricking others into corners/tight spots so he doesn’t have to run after them. He’s found of pranks, especially deadly ones done on others. He saves brutal killings for racist men and women and those who think ill of him and his show. He becomes known as the “Deer Devil Dealer of New Orleans.” He only started killing people and animals at random after his mother died and he lost his mind.

1924: Age 28 Vision 3: : He has nightmares about a demonic skeletal deer covered with maggots and sores with chunks of meat over bone and one eye hanging loose running after him. He finds himself in a dark snowy forest, a fierce biting wind. After it seemed like he had been defeated by the monster, Alastor looks into a puddle and sees another, far worse monster, a demonic wendigo reflection staring back at him…Alastor sees a horned face and malnourished skeletal body, ripped red pinstriped dress coat, four clawed hands, red and black hair and red eyes, sharp teeth, large black antlers…the wendigo form resembling his current demonic form in Hell. After killing the alligator representing his father, the wendigo Alastor look-alike shadow appears and says “This is who you really are,” before Alastor wakes up.

1925: Age 29

1926: Age 30

1927: Age 31

1928: Age 32

1929: Age 33 Alastor enjoys the Stock Market Crash and uses the opportunity to enjoy watching orphans suffer. It helps remind him that he's far better off than many, besides the fact that kids were annoying to him. Alastor makes an "Axeman letter:"

 "Hell, 1929 Stock Market Crash Esteemed Mortal of New Orleans: The Deer Devil/Bayous Butcher/Louisiana Lunatic/Hazbin of Hell

They have never caught me and they never will. They have never seen me, for I am invisible, even as the sound waves that surround your earth. I am not a human being, but a demon and overlord from the hottest hell. I am what you Orleanians call the Deer Devil. Down here, I’m the inevitable Radio Demon.

When I see fit, I shall appear and claim other victims as I see fit. I alone know whom they shall be. No clues will be left behind, save for what you might hear on the next broadcast. Tell the police and the racist, elite scum of the world to beware. Let them try not to discover who I am, for it’d be better for them not to have been born than to incur the wrath of the Deer Devil. You’ll have a deer in the headlights look and won’t have any idea what hit you until after it’s too late. Undoubtedly, you Orleanians think of me as a monster and murderer. But if I wanted to hurt anyone else here, I would have done so already. If I wished, I could pay a visit to your city every night. I could kill every one of your best and worst citizens, for I am in a close relationship with the Shadows of the Other Side. At 6:06 pm next Friday night, I am going to pass over New Orleans and then visit those in Hell. I am going to make a little proposition to you people. Here it is: I am very fond of jazz music, electro swing, and jambalaya. I swear by all the Loas and deities that I will spare those who can provide me with some great entertainment when I visit. Word of warning, I can read you people like a book, and see into your very souls. Anyone foolish enough to challenge me will have their corpses consumed and their screams muffled by the lovely sound of jazz bands jamming the night away. I have been, am, and will be, the worst spirit that ever existed in fact, fantasy, or realm of Hazbins. Smile and stay tuned! ~Deer Devil (Alastor)"

 1930: Age 34 Great Depression occurs!

The event hits Alastor and many others hard...he runs low on food so he eats others and hunts more and more to survive. Now Alastor kills at random instead of focusing on the racist mean people.

1931: Age 35

1932: Age 36

1933: Age 37 Alastor's Death

The police eventually track Alastor down with the help of Racheil and Chasseur, a fellow deer hunter whose daughter had been killed by Alastor. Not too long before the police discover where he is, Alastor gets bitten by a rabies infested dog. For the next several hours, Alastor experiences hallucinations, paranoia, brain inflammation and a fear of water. In water, all he sees is leeches and alligators. In his hallucinations, he is being watched by a wendigo. The police chase Alastor though the dark woods, police dogs hot on the trail. A local deer hunter, Hustle, joins in on the chase. Alastor navigates the woods, trying to find a place to hide. The hunter accidentally shoots him in the back as he ran, thinking Alastor was a deer.

Alastor experiences extreme agony when the deer hunter spots him, pointing a rifle at him. The hunter announces his location to the police. Seeing no other way out other than pain and imprisonment, Alastor takes the gun from the hunter and shoots himself between his eyes. The police dogs maul his dead body and the hunter sinks to his knees in shock and terror. Strangely enough, Alastor dies with a creepy smile on his face, the mark of Kalfu appearing behind his cold neck, unnoticed by anyone.

1933: After death: Alastor's old body falls away as the deal with the Loas takes fruit. The shadows give him his immense powers in the shadow world and he transforms into his demon form in Hell. He gets his microphone staff, which enables him to broadcast his murders and victories. He is known as the Radio Demon. He conquers several areas of Hell, eventually getting the attention of the overlords who know to stay wary of him.

Alastor befriends Mimzy and overlord Rosie and they sing, dance, talk and murder other demons for fun. Alastor treats them both with respect and knows not to piss off Rosie as she's stern, violent, and "practically perfect in every way."

Every year when the Exterminators appear, Alastor broadcasts the chaos during the 24 hour period, and will go out and kill the angels too.

1950s: Alastor makes a deal with Niffty who becomes obsessed with him and men. She becomes his servant/slave/associate and cooks and cleans for him.

1970s: Alastor makes a deal with Husk and Husk becomes his servant/slave/associate after Alastor promised him a better life with money and booze and the promise of " finding love."

2019: Alastor sees Charlie on TV and decides to help her with the hotel (for his own enjoyment, of course.) He dances and befriends Charlie, forming plans to use her to dig deeper into the royal family and eventually take the throne and rule Hell. He hopes that with a shadow army and more possessed members, he can invade Hell, Heaven and even Earth to spread his chaos. He defeats Sir Pentious and changes the name to Hazbin Hotel, his formerly mocking nickname he embraced.

Future: Alastor helps Charlie and the others protect the hotel from Sir Pentious, Vox, Valentino, Velvet and other villains.

  Other non canon versions of Alastor:

Stalaros (commonly known as 2p Alastor). Alastor with opposite colors and personality: he wears white and blue and cries a lot. He is one of the clients at the Haven Hotel run by Caoline Egnam, Heaven's princess. Stalaros is gay and horny like Angel Dust.

Lavender/Purple Alastor: Peaceful and confident, an OC made by fans.

 Radiodust Alastor: An Alastor that loves Angel Dust. Popular with fans.

Charlastor Alastor: An Alastor that loves Charlie romantically. Popular with fans.

Redeemed Alastor: Appears as a man with a deer head and human-like traits in Heaven. In this universe, he reunites with his mother.

FHE Alastor: Alastor in his truly evil form: he takes over all of Hell and possesses the demons. His shadow can turn into a monster wendigo. This Alastor has a hole between his eyes from a bullet wound, and antlers stained with blood.

    Chapter 1: “Down in New Orleans”

 Alastor’s mother gives birth to him at 3:00am. It was an early birth and she almost died in the process. He was also born premature (3 weeks early) via C-section. Everything else starts off perfectly normal, with baby and kid Alastor loving his parents and enjoying music at every turn. During this time, Alastor is oblivious to discrimination.

 Both his father and mother tell him “you’re never fully dressed without a smile,” a message that would impact him for the rest of his life. “Frowning shows weakness,” according to his father and his mother says that “be happy and people will like you more.”

One of his favorite memories was listening to music on the radio in the car with his parents.

Family members and friends say “Mais cher!” (Glad to see you).

Alastor and his mother carry gris-gris amulets for good luck.

  Chapter 2: “Theatrical Geek”

1900: age 5

Alastor discovers his love of theater at school and his mother’s jambalaya.  He discovers his intense love of cooking and learns how to make jambalaya and other Creole foods. He brags that his mother’s cooking is the best and hopes that he can do an even better job. The elementary school kids pick on him for being awkward, bi racial, thin looking and a nerd. (The bullying gets worse when he goes into middle and high school, when he doesn’t display an interest in girls.) His dad slaps him for the first time for not getting into sports and bringing mud from his shoes into the house.

 Francois: “You can’t kick a ball, you do bad at school, I bet you couldn’t even lift up an axe with those puny muscles.”

 When Alastor’s father watches football in person, he yells “Who tat!” after the team scores, while a young Alastor is bored.

Alastor says “I hate noodle juice!” after trying tea.

 Alastor is considered black based on the one drop rule. Alastor has light brown skin but not as dark as his mother’s nor pale white like his father’s.

Alastor’s favorite classes are music, theater, and French. (he never was much of a math person).

Alastor and several kids go into a swamp on a dare. Alastor’s dad told him to “beware the gators.” They got separated and one of the kids got eaten by one. The other kid screamed but Alastor, though shocked at first, just watched in fascination. “So that’s what happens when people are eaten, they scream and flail, and a whole bunch of blood squirts everywhere. How painful would it be to have those teeth tear through your flesh and fell yourself getting swallowed…glad that’s not me.” It was akin to him watching an animal documentary on an old TV.

Dream 1: Alastor frequently dreams he is an innocent carefree light red young deer who dresses in extravagant costumes and sings while everyone cheers him on. They call him “The Radio Deerman.”

Dream 2: Alastor evades an alligator who represents his dad, but soon gets eaten and wakes up.

  Chapter 3: “Deer Hunting and Mardi Gras”

1903: age 8

Alastor’s father takes him deer hunting and teaches him how to skin a deer for venison and fur. The young boy is sacred at first, but soon finds the process fascinating.

Alastor gets beaten up by his drunken father, while his mother is too sacred to do anything.

Alastor is also introduced to Voodoo via his mother, and he finds the concept of animal sacrifices both horrifying and interesting. But his mother also tells him to not listen to the negative stereotypes placed on the Creole and to decide for himself what’s good or bad. His Christian father brushes it off as nonsense.

The family also celebrates Mardi Gras and goes to Antonnie’s Restaurant. At Mardi Gras, Alastor finds joy in singing, dancing, and the elaborate costumes and music…letting out his theatrical side. However, the other kids from school are mean to Alastor, not even letting him near the front of the Mardi Gras float. They yell “Throw me something, Mista!” and manage to catch beads, cups and fake gems, leaving Alastor catching nothing.

 Alastor and his family frequently chant “laissez les bon temps rouler” (let the good times roll”

 After being bullied and beaten by two mean brothers, Alastor sneaks into their yard and kills their dog using his gun. He is grounded for several weeks by his mother and made to read/memorize Bible passages by his father.

  Chapter 4: “Freak Show”

1907: age 12

Alastor is diagnosed with anxiety, narcissism and psychopathic tendencies. He is bullied in middle school and is not interested in sex and girls like the other boys. He finds it gross and pointless.

 Francois: “Why did I ever agree to raise such a sissy? That boy’s probably running off with other boys like a deranged faggot! I’ve told you before, Loretta, that he’s been influenced by the Devil from the start…”

Loretta: “Tell it to Sweeney! Bushwa! That be foolish nonsense! He’s our son, let ‘im live his life! You call ‘im a “pussy” but I bet he’d be more of a man than you, sometimes!”

 Francois: (lands a bruise on her shoulder) “Don’t you forget who the head of this house is. My house, my rules to follow.”

Loretta: “You be drinkin’ too much again. I’m not gonna make life easy for you if you keep badmouthing about Alastor!”

Francois: “He’s not normal. He’s weak, antisocial, and a mixed creep. I don’t know how you put up with him.”

Loretta: “Despite his…quirks, I know he’s an independent, and amazing young man. Despite being busy, I’ve been blessed to watch Alastor grow up. Heh, he’s an even better cook than I am now.”

Francois: “No. There’s something wrong with him. You’ve been lecturing him about hoodoo and voodoo too much. He’s obsessed with the supernatural and Satanism. I don’t know why I was briefly curious about voodoo when I was a young adult.”

Loretta: “You wouldn’t have met me, otherwise. You say somethin’ wrong with ‘im?  (points at his chest) Who might be da influence of that?”

 Francois: “Lo, we have to put a stop to his erratic behavior. If religious training won’t work…”

Loretta: “…then just waitin’ and letting life take its course, will.”

 Alastor has fun with his parents at a circus. A fortune teller reveals his Tarot cards to him: the Fool for his childhood (innocence and exploration) Hermit for his teenage years (isolation) Justice for his adulthood (adding to karma) and the Devil for his years past 30.

 One traumatic day, Alastor’s father sleeps with other women behind his wife’s back, and Alastor witnesses the act, terrified. His father finds out and proceeds to kick him, to molest him and rape him from behind, penis shoved in and out of him, Alastor feeling helpless. The father even calls him a homosexual bitch and to “teach him a lesson.” After it’s too late, his mother runs in to comfort him after his father leaves.

It is at this point that Alastor wonders what it’d feel like to kill/eat a human being. Because of his father, he hates sex and being touched.

      Chapter 5: “Deal with the Other Side”

1910: age 15

Alastor finds a Satanic ritual book that a group of imps called K.I.L.L. accidentally left behind. He makes a deal with some evil Loas: gain unlimited power in the afterlife at the cost of a loved one’s life and his own.

Unbeknownst to him, a wendigo shadow version of himself is conceived inside his head after he reads a spell, later manifesting itself as his darkest thoughts and primitive urges…furthering his decent into madness.

He practices using a gun, ax, and knife, quickly mastering them. He also creates voodoo dolls in secret.

Alastor kills his first human with a knife after a white man insults him for being Creole and of mixed race (part white from his European father, part Creole/African/Native American from his brown-skinned mother).

For the first time, Alastor feels powerful as well as shocked. He was worried that he would get caught. When he didn’t…he wondered what it’d be like to do it again.

Though Alastor’s mother let’s Alastor do what he wants, she also warns him to be careful with the dark Loas. Both his parents encourage Alastor to continue hunting and defending himself. (Though both aren’t aware of the murder).

  Chapter 6: “Radio Host”

1911: age 16

Alastor starts his job as a radio host and DJ, earning more money to support his family. (Though his father still verbally insults him every day and his mother is often working.) He discovers dad jokes and electro swing, getting back into his love of theater and dance. He loved dark coffee and drank liquor at Mardi Gras, where he danced with Mimzy at a jazz club and met Racheil.

 “Hello sheba!” Alastor and Husk think when they see Mimzy, a sexually desirable woman.

 Mimzy is short and plump, with a feathered hat, large thighs, white skin and short white hair. Her dress is magenta and she wears a headband with a large magenta feather. She also wears a necklace with a round pink gem. She and Alastor share several kisses. Husk gets jealous and tries to flirt with Mimzy, to no avail.

 Mimzy orders sinkers (doughnuts) every day “I’d like three sinkers, por favor!” she says.

 Racheil, Husk, Mimzy and Alastor greet each other with “Mais cher!”

 Husk drinks “giggle water” (liquor) and is “dissafied” (drunk)

 Alastor calls Mimzy a “doll” and “dame” (both mean beautiful women

   Chapter 7: “Radio Career”

1920: age 25

Alastor now has his own radio show and studio. Alastor meets Mimzy (owner of a jazz club) and they sing several duets at a jazz concert. Both his parents slightly suspect that he’s the Deer Devil serial killer but, of course, don’t say anything. He meets Husk as well (and later makes a deal with him in Hell). He also does dad jokes and sometimes performs in a band, much to the delight of Mimzy and Rachiel. Mimzy, Husk, and Racheil become his only three friends.

Dream 2: Alastor dreams he is a grown red buck, enjoying life but running from hunters, who represent the elite, and a demonic alligator, representing his father. His mother appears as an angelic Voodoo priestess with eagle wings creating Thunder.

Racheil asks Alastor to marry her, while Mimzy falls deeper in love with him. Alastor is affectionate with them, but doesn’t want to be tied down in marriage. Racheil orders a snowball (snowcone) and becomes suspicious of her lover/best friend.

Alastor refers to Mimzy (and sometimes Racheil) as “bearcats”: women with fiery streaks. Both Mimzy and Alastor are swanky (use their wealth/knowledge/skill to impress others) while performing.

   Chapter 8: “Stock Market Crash”

1929: age 34

 Hell, March 13, 1919 1929 Stock Market Crash

Esteemed Mortal of New Orleans: The Axeman The Deer Devil

 They have never caught me and they never will. They have never seen me, for I am invisible, even as the sound waves that surround your earth. I am not a human being, but a demon and overlord from the hottest hell. I am what you Orleanians call the Deer Devil. Down here, I’m the inevitable Radio Demon.

 When I see fit, I shall appear and claim other victims as I see fit. I alone know whom they shall be. No clues will be left behind, save for what you might hear on the next broadcast.

Tell the police and the racist, elite scum of the world to beware. Let them try not to discover who I am, for it’d be better for them not to have been born than to incur the wrath of the Deer Devil. You’ll have a deer in the headlights look and won’t have any idea what hit you until after it’s too late.

Undoubtedly, you Orleanians think of me as a monster and murderer. But if I wanted to hurt anyone else here, I would have done so already. If I wished, I could pay a visit to your city every night. I could kill every one of your best and worst citizens, for I am in a close relationship with the Shadows of the Other Side.

At 6:06 pm next Friday night, I am going to pass over New Orleans and then visit those in Hell. I am going to make a little proposition to you people. Here it is:

I am very fond of jazz music, electro swing, and jambalaya. I swear by all the Loas and deities that I will spare those who can provide me with some great entertainment when I visit. Word of warning, I can read you people like a book, and see into your very souls. Anyone foolish enough to challenge me will have their corpses consumed and their screams muffled by the lovely sound of jazz bands jamming the night away.

I have been, am, and will be, the worst spirit that ever existed in fact, fantasy, or realm of Hazbins.

Smile and stay tuned!

~Deer Devil (Alastor)

 Racheil breaks up with him after growing tired of Alastor being self-centered and hungry for money, and his indifference to the murders. She thought he could be a good person, but left and told him he had to redeem himself on his own. She calls him a “grifter” (con man) after discovering he sometimes made deals.

Husk remarks to others that Alastor got the “icy mitt” (meaning he got rejected.) He tries to flirt with Racheil but she claims she has to go. Fortunately, Alastor doesn’t hear him or pay attention.

 At this point, Mimzy grows suspicious of Alastor and soon finds out that he’s the serial killer. He sees her and dances with her one last time. He describes how joyful it is to kill cruel racist people. Mimzy says she’s worried about him and reaches toward the old rotary phone on a counter. Thinking that she’d call the police, Alastor chokes and kills her in a frenzy before sadly holding her dead body.

Alastor was sad after her death but once in Hell (1933), he met up with her again at her jazz club, singing and dancing with her, even giving her a hug during the time of his conquests. He made deals with Niffty, Husk, Mimzy, and Rosie, with only Husk and Niffty being under his control to an extent.

 Alastor becomes the most well-known radio show-host in New Orleans. He thrives in money and material things (good food, wine, radios, cigarettes, a new staff with a circular microphone and miniature antlers made from gold around it. and outfits) But no one else except his parents knows that he is the infamous “Deer Devil” serial killer. Now he enjoys seeing orphans and children in misery, reminding him that he was better off than many. He makes shady deals, announcements on various murders and tells dad jokes as electro swing music plays.

Alastor also eats pig meat, deer meat and human meat, along with jambalaya and a jorum of skee (hard liquor) that he stole from Husk. He announces the murders on the air in detail, all with a cheerful tone.

He kills his victims in various ways: some hanging from trees with their organs spilled out, some buttered and eaten, others buried alive, some people shot and stabbed when he doesn’t feel like dragging it out. He’ll often poison other’s food/drinks and watch their reactions with a grin on his face. He enjoys tricking others into corners/tight spots so he doesn’t have to run after them. He’s found of pranks, especially deadly ones done on others. He saves brutal killings for racist men and women and those who think ill of him and his show. He becomes known as the “Deer Devil Dealer of New Orleans.” He only started killing people and animals at random after his mother died and he lost his mind.

 Both his parents eventually figure out that Alastor is a serial killer and practices Voodoo (though his mother knew about him doing Voodoo all along but was upset that he turned to the dark side). His father threatens to kill him or send him away to jail but his mother looks at him sadly, still loving him. “Go to Hell!” his father says, “…and may the Devil have no mercy on your already tainted soul.” Alastor is kicked out of the house by his father, but Alastor promises to visit his mother in secret.

      Chapter 9: “A Great Depression”

1930: age 35

The event hits the family hard, and Alastor’s mother is out of a job. Only cans of food and the occasional game are enough to sustain them. Alastor kills and eats people, those who were racist, rich, or looked upon him in disgust. He then saw others as nothing more than prey to be played with.

His family is mocked by others as dewdroppers (lazy and unemployed)

Husk and Alastor part ways, both sharing their troubles (Husk going to the Vietnam War in the future, gambling and drinking his life away.)

 Alastor’s father drinks alcohol, does drugs and sleeps with other women. When Alastor visits again, he gets whipped by his father and raped yet again for “being a pussy and not being a proper man.” Again, Alastor’s mother doesn’t do anything to stop him because she’s too scared.

Worse, yet, Alastor’s mother falls gravely ill due to the flu and stress and the family can’t afford medication to help her. (or more accurately, medications aren’t being offered to families of color/mixed race. Francois considers this God’s punishment on Loretta and Alastor for their occupations (ignoring his own sins).

Alastor’s mother gets badly beaten and shot in the stomach by her husband. The father is later arrested outside (due to a neighbor calling the police). Alastor cries in agony as his mother dies in front of him. He later says grace over dinner and eats her remains on top of jambalaya. He cries hard for the rest of the day, cuts himself, and doesn’t eat anything for days…spiraling into a great depression.

 After his mother’s death, Alastor lost his remaining traits of humanity…succumbing to his demonic nature. At that point, he didn’t care who he ate and/or killed…it was the last think he could do to keep himself sane along with drinking liquor, coffee, sewing voodoo dolls, and broadcasting the murders by himself.

 Dream 3: He has nightmares about a demonic skeletal deer covered with maggots and sores with chunks of meat over bone and one eye hanging loose running after him. He finds himself in a dark snowy forest, a fierce biting wind. After it seemed like he had been defeated by the monster, Alastor looks into a puddle and sees another, far worse monster, a demonic wendigo reflection staring back at him…Alastor sees a horned face and malnourished skeletal body, ripped red pinstriped dress coat, four clawed hands, red and black hair and red eyes, sharp teeth, large black antlers…the wendigo form resembling his current demonic form in Hell. After killing the alligator representing his father, the wendigo Alastor look-alike shadow appears and says “This is who you really are,” before Alastor wakes up.  

 Two days later, his father is set free with only a slap on the wrist. Alastor tracks him down to a local bar. (Although he usually doesn’t stalk or chase his victims as it breaks his moral code, but his dad is an exception. Also following others/sneaking toward them are often required to kill others.) His father had been secretly afraid that Alastor would be stronger and would want to kill him, thus proving his son more dominant than himself. He had weapons ready, but Alastor had set up several traps in advance. Though Alastor was physically weaker than his father, he was very clever. He had packed a backpack of all his weapons, rope and essential tools. His father says “You and your heathen mother deserve to die” only for Alastor to respond, “Nobody talks about my mama that way.” Seeing his father knocked out, Alastor raises his knife to kill him but stops. That would merely be too easy. He supports him by the shoulders, pretending to be concerned for him as onlookers watched in shock, “It’s okay sir, you just fainted from the heat. Let’s go for a walk in the woods.” He takes him deep in the forest and chuckles darkly.

Alastor knocks him out and ties him to a tree in a forest, waiting until he wakes up.  He starts (smiling the whole time) by slicing off his father’s dick among his father’s cussing (“when you screwed me once”), inserting a hot knife inside his father’s privates (“when you screwed me again”) then slicing off his ears (“this is for all the times when you wouldn’t listen to me”), shoving his own severed penis down his throat (“When you shoved your macho beliefs down my throat”) he whips him, then slowly cuts deep down his chest with a chainsaw, organs revealed (“this is for mama”) and finally shots him in the heart (“and this is for me, you heartless bastard.”) He eats his father’s flesh over jambalaya and it’s the best meal he’s ever had.

   Chapter 10: “Death by Dogs”

1933 age 38.

Alastor is eventually tracked down when he accidentally laughs too much when describing his father’s death on the radio.

Additionally, Racheil finds out about Alastor’s killings back at his house, as she walked with her new wife Agatha. Seeing stuffed deer around the house and Alastor holding a bloody knife, she knew at that moment he was the Deer Devil. She screams for help, alerting the neighbors who call the police. Agatha kicks Alastor in the groin, allowing her and Racheil to escape. Knowing that he had finally been discovered, Alastor fled.

 Death:

 Not too long before the police discover where he is, Alastor gets bitten by a rabies infested dog. For the next several hours, Alastor experiences hallucinations, paranoia, brain inflammation and a fear of water. In water, all he sees is leeches and alligators. In his hallucinations, he is being watched by a wendigo. The police chase Alastor though the dark woods, police dogs hot on the trail. A local deer hunter, Hustle, joins in on the chase. Alastor navigates the woods, trying to find a place to hide. The hunter accidently shoots him in the back as he ran, thinking Alastor was a deer.

 Alastor experiences extreme agony when the deer hunter spots him, pointing a rifle at him. The hunter announces his location to the police. Seeing no other way out other than pain and imprisonment, Alastor takes the gun from the hunter and shoots himself between his eyes. The police dogs maul his dead body and the hunter sinks to his knees in shock and terror. Strangely enough, Alastor dies with a creepy smile on his face, the mark of Kalfu appearing behind his cold neck, unnoticed by anyone.

 Alastor "Hazbin" Roscoe Cajun born January 24th, 1896 (Edward Bosco's b day Jan 24th 1986) to Francois and Loretta Cajun, born at 3:00AM; Loretta gave birth in the woods on the way to the hospital (born 3 weeks early). Light brown skin, brown eyes, round glasses, short brown hair with reddish tint, pointed chin, thin agile body

 1897: Age 1 Things start off normal in New Orleans, infant Alastor plays in his crib and loves the music on the radio.

 1898: Age 2 Alastor meets his uncle and aunt and discovers the marvelous outside world

 1899: Age 3 Alastor watches musicals on the picture show and falls in love with them. His mother makes him Jambalaya, his favorite food of comfort

 1900: Age 4 Reading and preschool, Sunday church goings which Alastor finds boring

 1901: Age 5 Kindergarten: Alastor is teased for his freckles and whenever his hair glows a reddish tint in the sunlight

 1902: Age 6 First grade: Alastor learns reading, writing, math, and art. He hates gym and loves music and art.

 1903: Age 7 Second grade: Alastor's parents get into a fight for the first time in a while; Alastor is sent to his room whenever it happens. After he comes back upset, both his parents say that frowning is weakness. Loretta says "Remember to smile, Alastor, it shows dominance and confidence. You're never fully dressed without one." He takes that lesson to heart for the rest of his life.

 Vision 1: Alastor dreams he is a young red deer who performs onstage and receives a standing ovation, representing childhood innocence.

 1904: Age 8 Third grade: Alastor discovers his love of theater. He finds joy in attending and watching Mardi Gras parades and the costumes. He says 'Throw me something, mista!" during the parade but the other kids got to get the prizes thrown from the parade instead.

 1905: Age 9 Fourth grade: A group of boys start to bully him and even punch him badly. Alastor smiles through it all. He tells his father and mother. While his mother comforts him, his father scolds him for not fighting back.

 1906: Age 10 Fifth grade: Alastor gets his brutal revenge by daring the boys to enter into a nearby swamp. One of the bullies gets eaten by a crocodile while Alastor just watches. Alastor gets nicknamed by his father and bullies as "Alastor Hazbin."

 1907: Age 11 Sixth grade: Alastor goes hunting with his father and his father shows him how to hunt and skin deer and other game. He becomes skilled over time and loves the meat. He also learns how to cook from his mother...Jambalaya being his favorite to make.

 1908: Age 12 Seventh grade: Alastor gets slapped by his father for not participating in sports. Other kids make fun of him for being of mixed race. Loretta begins teaching him about Voodoo and Hoodoo. Alastor connects with Kalfu the deity and learns of his heritage as part French and part Creole. His grandmother was a powerful priestess and was believed to orally pass on stories and display feats of magic. His Grandmother was born in Haiti, moved to France and then to the U.S. His Uncle, Father, and Grandfather were Canadian/French Christians. His aunt was conflict avoidant, unlike his uncle and father. Loretta tells him (though he soon doesn't listen) that Voodoo is not to be used for evil, sacrifices, nor cannibalism and to only resort to cannibalism for survival.

 1909: Age 13 Eighth grade: Alastor's father yells at him for not showing interest in girls. One fateful night, his father sleeps with another woman and Alastor notices. A helpless Loretta watches as Francois whips, humiliates and molests him in his room, warning him not to tell or "he'd kill (them) both." Loretta comforts him with hugs and Jambalaya. As he eats, Alastor imagines eating off his father's fingers.

 Alastor is diagnosed with anxiety, narcissism and psychopathic tendencies. He is bullied in middle school and is not interested in sex and girls like the other boys. He finds it gross and pointless.

 Loretta's Jambalaya nearly kills her when a drunk Loretta (too much Scottish Comfort) puts gunpowder and wasabi into it. Alastor's father makes him memorize Bible passages.

 1910: Age 14 Ninth grade: Many girls both in school and outside fall in love, but Alastor isn't interested. A Satanic Ritual book appears after it was dropped by accident by imps. He looks through it with great interest and makes a deal with dark Loas: gain near unlimited power in the afterlife in exchange for his soul and the soul of a loved one.

 1911: Age 15 Tenth grade: High school was a nightmare. The bullying was worse and Alastor became more and more withdrawn. During this time, Alastor becomes interested in being a radio host and also reads books on weapons and cannibalism.

 Vision 2: Alastor dreams he is a red buck, who runs from hunters representing the elite white people. He evades a crocodile, resembling his father and his mother appears as the Voodoo goddess of beauty and motherhood.

 1912: Age 16 Eleventh grade: Alastor applies to be an apprentice for a local radio station several times, but doesn't get in. His father and uncle berate him everyday and his mother is busy at secretary work, and Voodoo rituals every month.

 1913: Age 17 Grade 12 Alastor graduates and applies again. He starts at the bottom, but rapidly moves his way up. He starts by telling dad jokes, then wants to talk about murder and crimes "far more interesting than the weather and social events."

 1914: Age 18 After experiencing harsh critiques from mainstream stations, Alastor is fired. However, he soon decides to pursue his goals on his own. His makes radios from scratch and starts his own shows, with a few private listeners at first.

 World War One begins! Alastor uses this opportunity to broadcast on a private station news of deaths in the war in graphic detail. More people start listening and his soon starts making money. Alastor makes his first kill when a man assaulted him and beat him up for him being "Black and outspoken." He was able to get away and he wondered what it'd be like to do it again on the ignorant folks.

 1915: Age 19 Alastor promotes war efforts through announcements and songs, including his ending song "You're Never Fully Dressed." However, he still describes brutal murders for the sinister folks.

 1916: Age 20 Alastor meets Husk and Mimzy at a jazz bar and club for the first time. He dances and sings with Mimzy, loving her confidence and sexy looks. (Though he doesn't like to be touched by anyone other than his mother, due to fatherly past trauma).

 1917: Age 21 Alastor meets Racheil (alternate form of Charlie) and they become fast friends. He learns of the Axeman, a fellow serial killer and learns to be careful.

 1918: Age 22

Spanish Flu Pandemic occurs!

Sadly, Alastor's mother becomes gravely ill and passes away. Alastor smiles even as he cries. Alastor's father doesn't seem to care. Alastor gets raped again and his father abandons him. Alastor's mother goes to Heaven and Alastor, not knowing what else to do, eats her remains.

 1919: Age 23 Alastor becomes depressed (and even suicidal for a while). He doesn't eat much.

Alastor eventually snaps and begins his life as a serial killer. After his mother’s death, Alastor lost his remaining traits of humanity…succumbing to his demonic nature. At that point, he didn’t care who he ate and/or killed…it was the last think he could do to keep himself sane along with drinking liquor, coffee, sewing voodoo dolls, and broadcasting the murders by himself.

 1920: Age 24

Roaring Twenties and Jazz Age. Alastor becomes known (though no one suspected it was him) by several names "Bayou Butcher," "Deer Devil" "Louisiana Lunatic" among others. Alastor revels in his fame and becomes richer and more materialistic. He buys himself suits, and a cane with deer antlers on it. One of his disturbing hobbies was using his gentleman charm to lure women into his home where he would lie them in the basement and kill them while broadcasting their screams.

 Alastor plays in a jazz band and enjoys watching musicians play while smoking and drinking liquor. He often cries in private and makes straw dolls. He drinks dark coffee every morning.

 1921: Age 25 Mimzy falls in love with Alastor and touches him inappropriately. He threatens her with a knife and she discovers he's the serial killer. She rushes to call for help but Alastor takes her into an alleyway and stabs and chokes her to death. Feeling slight remorse, he takes her home for his meal.

 1922: Age 26 Racheil breaks up with him after being concerned about his sanity. Worried he might be caught, Alastor lays low for a while before starting up again. After Alastor's father comes back, he decides to get his revenge. He ties him to a tree and tortures him during the night. The predator becomes the prey. Alastor tracks him down to a local bar. (Although he usually doesn’t stalk or chase his victims as it breaks his moral code, but his dad is an exception. Also following others/sneaking toward them are often required to kill others.) His father had been secretly afraid that Alastor would be stronger and would want to kill him, thus proving his son more dominant than himself. He had weapons ready, but Alastor had set up several traps in advance. Though Alastor was physically weaker than his father, he was very clever. He had packed a backpack of all his weapons, rope and essential tools. His father says “You and your heathen mother deserve to die” only for Alastor to respond, “Nobody talks about my mama that way.” Seeing his father knocked out, Alastor raises his knife to kill him but stops. That would merely be too easy. He supports him by the shoulders, pretending to be concerned for him as onlookers watched in shock, “It’s okay sir, you just fainted from the heat. Let’s go for a walk in the woods.” He takes him deep in the forest and chuckles darkly.

  Alastor knocks him out and ties him to a tree in a forest, waiting until he wakes up.  He starts (smiling the whole time) by slicing off his father’s dick among his father’s cussing (“when you screwed me once”), inserting a hot knife inside his father’s privates (“when you screwed me again”) then slicing off his ears (“this is for all the times when you wouldn’t listen to me”), shoving his own severed penis down his throat (“When you shoved your macho beliefs down my throat”) he whips him, then slowly cuts deep down his chest with a chainsaw, organs revealed (“this is for mama”) and finally shots him in the heart (“and this is for me, you heartless bastard.”) He eats his father’s flesh over jambalaya and it’s the best meal he’s ever had.

  1923: Age 27 He kills his victims in various ways: some hanging from trees with their organs spilled out, some buttered and eaten, others buried alive, some people shot and stabbed when he doesn’t feel like dragging it out. He’ll often poison other’s food/drinks and watch their reactions with a grin on his face. He enjoys tricking others into corners/tight spots so he doesn’t have to run after them. He’s found of pranks, especially deadly ones done on others. He saves brutal killings for racist men and women and those who think ill of him and his show. He becomes known as the “Deer Devil Dealer of New Orleans.” He only started killing people and animals at random after his mother died and he lost his mind.

 1924: Age 28

Vision 3: : He has nightmares about a demonic skeletal deer covered with maggots and sores with chunks of meat over bone and one eye hanging loose running after him. He finds himself in a dark snowy forest, a fierce biting wind. After it seemed like he had been defeated by the monster, Alastor looks into a puddle and sees another, far worse monster, a demonic wendigo reflection staring back at him…Alastor sees a horned face and malnourished skeletal body, ripped red pinstriped dress coat, four clawed hands, red and black hair and red eyes, sharp teeth, large black antlers…the wendigo form resembling his current demonic form in Hell. After killing the alligator representing his father, the wendigo Alastor look-alike shadow appears and says “This is who you really are,” before Alastor wakes up.  

 1925: Age 29

 1926: Age 30

 1927: Age 31

 1928: Age 32

 1929: Age 33 Alastor enjoys the Stock Market Crash and uses the opportunity to enjoy watching orphans suffer. It helps remind him that he's far better off than many, besides the fact that kids were annoying to him. Alastor makes an

"Axeman letter:"

  "Hell, 1929 Stock Market Crash

Esteemed Mortal of New Orleans: The Deer Devil/Bayous Butcher/Louisiana Lunatic/Hazbin of Hell

 They have never caught me and they never will. They have never seen me, for I am invisible, even as the sound waves that surround your earth. I am not a human being, but a demon and overlord from the hottest hell. I am what you Orleanians call the Deer Devil. Down here, I’m the inevitable Radio Demon.

 When I see fit, I shall appear and claim other victims as I see fit. I alone know whom they shall be. No clues will be left behind, save for what you might hear on the next broadcast.

Tell the police and the racist, elite scum of the world to beware. Let them try not to discover who I am, for it’d be better for them not to have been born than to incur the wrath of the Deer Devil. You’ll have a deer in the headlights look and won’t have any idea what hit you until after it’s too late.

Undoubtedly, you Orleanians think of me as a monster and murderer. But if I wanted to hurt anyone else here, I would have done so already. If I wished, I could pay a visit to your city every night. I could kill every one of your best and worst citizens, for I am in a close relationship with the Shadows of the Other Side.

At 6:06 pm next Friday night, I am going to pass over New Orleans and then visit those in Hell. I am going to make a little proposition to you people. Here it is:

I am very fond of jazz music, electro swing, and jambalaya. I swear by all the Loas and deities that I will spare those who can provide me with some great entertainment when I visit. Word of warning, I can read you people like a book, and see into your very souls. Anyone foolish enough to challenge me will have their corpses consumed and their screams muffled by the lovely sound of jazz bands jamming the night away.

I have been, am, and will be, the worst spirit that ever existed in fact, fantasy, or realm of Hazbins.

Smile and stay tuned!

~Deer Devil (Alastor)"

  1930:

Great Depression occurs!

 The event hits Alastor and many others hard...he runs low on food so he eats others and hunts more and more to survive. Now Alastor kills at random instead of focusing on the racist mean people.

 1931:

 1932:

 1933:

Alastor's Death

 The police eventually track Alastor down with the help of Racheil and Chasseur, a fellow deer hunter whose daughter had been killed by Alastor. Not too long before the police discover where he is, Alastor gets bitten by a rabies infested dog. For the next several hours, Alastor experiences hallucinations, paranoia, brain inflammation and a fear of water. In water, all he sees is leeches and alligators. In his hallucinations, he is being watched by a wendigo. The police chase Alastor though the dark woods, police dogs hot on the trail. A local deer hunter, Hustle, joins in on the chase. Alastor navigates the woods, trying to find a place to hide. The hunter accidentally shoots him in the back as he ran, thinking Alastor was a deer.

 Alastor experiences extreme agony when the deer hunter spots him, pointing a rifle at him. The hunter announces his location to the police. Seeing no other way out other than pain and imprisonment, Alastor takes the gun from the hunter and shoots himself between his eyes. The police dogs maul his dead body and the hunter sinks to his knees in shock and terror. Strangely enough, Alastor dies with a creepy smile on his face, the mark of Kalfu appearing behind his cold neck, unnoticed by anyone.

 1933: After death: Alastor's old body falls away as the deal with the Loas takes fruit. The shadows give him his immense powers in the shadow world and he transforms into his demon form in Hell. He gets his microphone staff, which enables him to broadcast his murders and victories. He is known as the Radio Demon. He conquers several areas of Hell, eventually getting the attention of the overlords who know to stay wary of him.

 Alastor befriends Mimzy and overlord Rosie and they sing, dance, talk and murder other demons for fun. Alastor treats them both with respect and knows not to piss off Rosie as she's stern, violent, and "practically perfect in every way."

 1950s: Alastor makes a deal with Niffty who becomes obsessed with him and men. She becomes his servant/slave/associate and cooks and cleans for him.

 1970s: Alastor makes a deal with Husk and Husk becomes his servant/slave/associate after Alastor promised him a better life with money and booze and the promise of " finding love."

 2019: Alastor sees Charlie on TV and decides to help her with the hotel (for his own enjoyment, of course.) He dances and befriends Charlie, forming plans to use her to dig deeper into the royal family and eventually take the throne and rule Hell. He hopes that with a shadow army and more possessed members, he can invade Hell, Heaven and even Earth to spread his chaos.

 Future: Alastor helps Charlie and the others protect the hotel from Sir Pentious, Vox, Valentino, Velvet and other villains.

       Hazbin Hotel and characters belong to Vivziepop, no copyright intended

 List of references and artists who inspired this work

 “A Beginning” by DrowningInFandoms208

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21713248/chapters/51792883

(44,737 word fanfiction that goes into detail on Alastor’s past, his hunter father, and his abusive behavior)

 “Alastor’s Despair” by AwkwardKaminari

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22240174/chapters/53104108 (symptoms and Alastor’s diagnosis)

 “Dressed” by Escarno

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21555379

(Alastor’s mother’s advice)

 “He’s A Mama’s Boy” by Legally bi 20

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22568032 (French language and Alastor’s mothers’ similar appearance in Hell descriptions)

 “It’s Never Enough” by SydneyArtstuff https://www.instagram.com/sydney_artstuff/ (final Mimzy scene)

 “Life and Afterlife of the Radio Demon” by littledemon66

(Alastor human life tidbits and his powers in Hell)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23656960/chapters/56785624

 “Making Jambalaya With Your Father” by MajorMasterD

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22949809 (mother dying and cannibalism)

 “Momma’s Boy” by Dear Husker

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21782773/chapters/51976258

(Alastor’s father killing the mother and list of the years)

 “One for the Devil Inside Me” by SordidJay

(Alastor’s mother as voodoo practitioner)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22918165/chapters/54781354

 “Remembrance” by ornithia

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21787732

(Alastor losing humanity after his mother’s death)

 “Sewing” by another–athena

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21800410

(Alastor’s love of sewing voodoo dolls of Hazbin characters. Ideas from this later used in an Alastor fic: “Hidden Hazbin Sins”)

 “The Devil of New Orleans” by WritingAndSmiting

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23003890/chapters/55000696 (language, Alastor’s similar name that other’s call him, and a few cultural aspects)

  “This is for all that you put me through, you piece of shit”

by VillanousBakugou13

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22874986?view_full_work=true

(Alastor getting raped by his father and then getting his revenge)

  BlueRaven666 Alastor rabies death theory

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RE27sNOcDMk

[anyotherwriter]

To Trust Again (2)

Daryl Dixon x reader, Post Season 8, slow-burn 

Word Count: 1.7k

**I’ve never been known for my updating consistency, but I’m really going to try.** Daryl felt bored. He never thought that this post-apocalyptic bullshit would ever allow him the chance to feel that. The only things he had to do were the things he wanted to do...which were slim and already done. His bike was already in as good of shape as it could possibly get, his stock pile of bolts was tall enough to topple out of the crumbling cardboard box, and he had enough firewood to last him the next year.

His normal visits to the Hilltop weren’t eventful, and they typically became a drop and run anyway. He loved to see everyone, make sure they were all still safe. He just had no desire to stay there with them right now. As the communities began to rebuild, he gracefully bowed out and took no responsibilities other than providing meat whenever possible. 

Daryl kept that note in his back pocket, tucked inside a pack of cigarettes he had found a week ago. He wasn’t sure why it felt so important to him, but it was something he didn’t leave his cabin without. Maybe it was because he had done something nice for a change. The last few years were all years of selfishly fighting for survival. This was something small he did to help someone without anything in return. He often found himself hunched over his fire, eating well, and wondering how they were making out. Did they have any crops? Fresh water? Soon the questions began to bother him. He started leaving jugs of water and a squirrel or two in the same milk crate at that trap. Everyday he went back, it was still there. He was frustrated at the meat now spoiled in the heat, but more frustrated that someone finally decided to listen. 

With the war with the Saviors over, the land was at a level of quiet the wildlife hadn’t heard in a long time. They all began to emerge and make his part much easier. He’d sit in his perch and watch as the animals played and ate and resumed life like it was before - like they had no enemies. Even this bored Daryl. He wanted something new, even if it was just a different tree to climb into until his knees were numb and locked. So he walked a little further each day. Two times, he wandered far enough that he knew he wouldn’t make it back by dark, so he slept in a tree. His body screamed at him for his entire trek home the following day.

He was also blatantly searching for that community. How hard would it be to find a group of thirty? Many people had run across his group when there were smaller numbers, but apparently this group knew how to fly under the radar. And they probably would’ve gone undetected if Daryl hadn’t decided to wander into a development one day to see if there were any supplies that hadn’t been scavenged.

Always light on his feet, he was tiptoeing across a back porch of a run-down rancher. He heard some shuffling inside and assumed it was just a walker. He gently twisted the knob as he peeked through the window. He saw movement in the front room and readied his bow in his sight. 

At the same time, he heard the very familiar sound of a shotgun reload behind him.

“We don’t have nothing for you.” A man said behind him, trying to be as menacing as they could. Daryl was also able to recognize the very faint tremble in his voice, too. He dropped his bow down, and began to slowly step away from the door.

“I ain’t here for trouble.” Daryl said quietly, turning to him. It wasn’t the same man as before, but he shared similar characteristics. His clothes were worse for wear, his cheeks were sunken in a bit, and his hands were covered in dirt. “Thought it was empty.”

Daryl had walked east today, the same direction that Joe had pointed to that day. He understood why they were so low on supplies if it was this easy to walk right up to them. No walls, no walker traps… nothing. Chances of this man shooting him were pretty good. As starved as they looked, he thought they may eat him too. He’s seen weirder shit. He wasn’t sure how to get out of this one, but he didn’t let that show on his face. 

“Where are you from?” He asked Daryl, gun still raised with no sign of it dropping. Daryl knew better than to tell him the truth, and he wasn’t above lying. 

“Georgia.” Not a lie, but not the answer they wanted. He glanced around, noticing a couple more men around him. They stayed at a distance, but they all had a gun trained on him. “You gonna risk firing?” He asked quickly.

The man across from him seemed confused.

“You got no walls. Nothin’ to keep those dead fuckers out of here. The more noise you make, they’re comin’ right for ya. All y’all gonna shoot me?” Daryl asked, his shoulders relaxing as the man in front of him looked around hesitantly. 

“We do what we have to.” He said with a false bravado. Daryl scoffed at the stupidity, knowing that protection was number one priority. If you didn’t have it, you couldn’t start anything else. 

“Joe here?” Daryl asked out of the blue. He watched as the man’s eyes widened, still confused, not sure if he should answer. “Gave him a possum the other week.”

Nobody answered.

“I’ve been lookin’ for him for a while. Wanted to offer some help.”

“What could you possibly do for us?” He demanded. 

“Got a few communities close by. Large ones. Food, water, clothes… deals with barter. You got somethin’ they want, you can have what you want.” Daryl laid out, offering something he was almost sure nobody back at the Hilltop or Alexandria would easily agree to.

“No communities, we’re all that's left of the last one. There isn’t much trust left around here.” He said, his words validated as he still pointed his gun at Daryl. “But...Joe told us about your traps.”

“What about ‘em?” Daryl shrugged.

“We want them.” 

“You ain't gettin’ mine. I got people to feed.” Daryl argued. “I can show you how to make your own.”

And that’s how Daryl found himself, led at gunpoint, to a large three car garage a few houses over. It acted as their storage, but Daryl couldn’t figure out for the life of him what was worth protecting in there. There was scrap metal, but nothing large enough to build with. The shelves were barren, except for a few small cans of food. The only thing worth a damn was the empty barrels they had shoved in a corner, surrounded by rotting plywood and trash. 

Daryl walked in on his own accord, kicking through piles of random junk. Pots & pans, wooden frames from old canvases, rusted lawn ornaments… Nothing of value, but he could work with it.

He pulled the pack of cigarettes from his pocket, pulled one out, and lit it. He inhaled deeply, as he took a final sweep around him. He looked back at them men standing in the bay entrances. They still had their guns pointed at him.

“Man, put that shit down.” Daryl said with a swat of his hand. He was becoming agitated with them. He could understand their hesitation, but mixed with the heat inside the garage and the same old bullshit Daryl seemed to always walk right into made him irritable. 

***

Y/N stood in the kitchen window of the house just across from the commotion. She could see the guys surrounding him, guns aimed, most likely unloaded. They had no ammo, and if they did, they wouldn’t waste it on a raider. She was in the middle of grinding up more grain when she saw the men leading him to their storage. A pitiful storage, really. They kept shit there that they thought might be worth using. Y/N knew it was all trash. They just wanted something to call their own. This was the longest place they stayed at in quite some time. The plan was to stay as long as possible, but no one really knew how. 

Everyone had their specialty. They have a cook, a nurse, a construction worker, a thief… The only thing they didn’t have anymore was a hunter. Losing her was the beginning of their downfall. Every now and then someone would get lucky, catching a few small fish in the creek a mile away, but for the most part, they were starving. 

Y/N knew that bread wouldn’t keep these people alive, but she tried anyway. 

“He still out there?” Anna, the oldest of the women, sauntered into the kitchen behind Y/N. She lent on the counter just beside her and gazed out the window. Y/N didn’t answer, just turned away and continued to grind her wheat. Y/N thought about the field nearby that was sprouting random bunches of wheat and how she wanted to cry. She spent the whole day cutting down all that she could, most of them carrying it back by the armful. That was the first time she felt hope in a long time. She even started a large jar of sourdough starter, something she hadn’t been able to do in many years. Yeast wasn’t a thing you could just find in the apocalypse, but her mom taught her a thing or two about wild yeast. 

“Says he knows Joe.” Anna tried again, hoping Y/N would indulge her. “That possum came from him.” 

Y/N didn’t react the way Anna hoped, but she did spare her a glance and then another through the window. She couldn’t see the stranger any longer, just the guys surrounding the entrance to the garage. Their guns dropped at this point. 

“What are they doing?” Y/N asked quietly, trying to stay focused on what she was doing. 

“Couldn’t hear much through the window, honestly. Just little bits. Offered some help, there’s other settlements around. Don’t know if I believe it.”

Y/N didn’t. This new world didn’t offer up many strangers with good faith. Most of them were murderers, thieves, assholes… you name it. Not many waltzed right in and offered to help. They could certainly use it, but they didn’t have high hopes in receiving any.

“We’ll be just fine without him.” Y/N assured Anna confidently, though she knew that was most likely a lie. Someone had to keep good spirits to take focus away from all of them currently starving to death. 

[tubbyliltuna]

.home // thorin oakenshield x reader.

Just a little something I wrote on another website awhile ago, throwing it out here. I love the hobbit, but I’m always too scared to really write for it.

No warnings. Just fluff. 

❤️

    It was cold along the peaks of the wilderness, whether it was summer, spring, fall, nor winter, chilling specks continued to gracefully fall in a slow rain, landing deftly onto your shoulder and dotting wet spots as it melted away from the radiating warmth of your body that shivered. But it wouldn't be long until you would be at the foot-holds again, planted firmly on solid ground that would't strike a constant worry of crumbling from beneath you, and miles closer to Lake Town, the ruins of the once great city of Dale, and the walls of the destination - Erebor. The Lonely Mountiain, a peak ever so high that the tip pierced through the rolling clouds and could have touched Heaven, one that sat alone in a strategic position and the halls delved deep into the Earth for miles on end, flowing with treasures beyond a wild dream that the sin Greed himself could ever dream. Of course, it wasn't all gold and jewels that lay inside, but the memories that were made and cherished, and the ones that never had the chance to be before the dragon Smaug terrorized the land and made the home of your friends his own only to cure his lust. Though most would believe it had been the hunger - a sickness - for more that Thror, Thorin's grandfather, that bought their demise upon them with the dragon, for the creatures love it beyond anything else and that the two species were not so different after all and though at times you would become so frustrated with them all and their stubbornness that you would mindlessly and inwardly agree, you had to disagree more so often. 

     Dwarfs were stubborn beyond belief; rude; ill-mannered; hot-headed; unsightly, and your list could go on for hours and if it were on paper it would drag for miles, but they're also kind in their own special way; understanding to suffering; joyous in dark times, and loyal to a fault, and everything beyond anything you could have asked for in friends. The same could be said for the timid, yet growing, Hobbit - Bilbo Baggins - and the Wizard, Gandalf, the both of them showing to be just the same, and equally reliable.

   Though, you all had your secrets - perhaps except little Bilbo(and you say little with you standing a head taller than the tallest Dwarf) - and that was understandable, and of course, they weren't all accepting to you at first, being a friend of Gandalf who was neither a wizard, nor warrior, nor blacksmith, nor ... anything of that sort really. You were a ranger, to be exact, and stealth was your main key, and while the Hobbit was the burglar, you were the hunter. Not much was known about you; you weren't in any books, never made history, no kings or queens knew your name, nothing fancy of the sort, and perhaps that's exactly why they were so distant and quiet towards you. They had nothing to go by for the start except for your meeting - a smile, a greeting and a bow where you hood clumsily flipped up onto your head, and a disbelieving glance from all of them that you were what you are. But Gandalf knew better, having known you since you were a child, meeting you one day when you were lost and threatening him in a small voice(you were the stubborn child!), but nothing of the sort swayed Thorin or sat well with the Dwarf prince. You were a woman, you were a stranger, and he wanted no liability to risk the life of his kin or the fate of their quest, because the 'burglar' was filling that position well enough. 

     You and the Wizard devised a plan right behind Thorins back - literally, with simple looks, you knew what to do and you departed with none of them noticing, only catching a sigh of relief with your keen ears from the Dwarf before you disappeared into the woods. But you followed, you tagged, laying back into the shadows, on foot as it would be too noticeable to ride a horse, and though you were extremely tired at the end of the day, you were successful, only being spotted twice by Bilbo(who's shaping up to be quiet the burglar if you could say so yourself). You were no stranger to each race, having studied them a lot in your free time as a child, aside form hunting, and Hobbit's have keen ears, wonderful eyesight and the ability to go unseen, and you were quiet envious of them having it naturally, having had to work on it yourself, but he never said anything, obviously figuring Gandalf wanted you to come for a good specific reason, and you were grateful he was using his head.

   Thorin was furious when he found out, down right angry that this had been going on for a whole month, behind his back, but his trust in the Wizard never swayed or faded, only his distrust in your growing to the max. You figured that would happen, so it didn't upset you completely, especially with the fact you had saved his holiar-than-thou rumpus when he found out, so that could have upped your chances of being accepted. Though time went on, and the Company's weariness of you faded, slowly and painfully as you proved to be useful to them; finding their food, safer routes, taking food from stalls when you passed through small towns(though you pinned that one on Bilbo to help his status as their burglar, and you're proud to admit you taught him some things and he put them to good use sometimes), being the back-up defense in battles or the 'secret' weapon which you found a bit skeptical but you didn't like fighting much anyway so you dealt with it easily. You preferred to be at a good distance of your target, never having to actually get close to them, because - as everyone had found out - looking your prey in the face made it impossible for you to kill it or them, and that was your weakness.

   Now here you stood; chapped lips parted and white puffs of warm breath rolling up through the bitter and bleak sky, your feet paused on a high rock that over looked the horizon and out above the world from the peak in the wilderness you and the Company now passed on, your chest heaving with baited breath and a lump in your throat from the dry air as your eyes scanned out slowly, drinking in the sight for both danger and for your own pleasure. It was beautiful, despite being cold, but you grew up in a part of the world that didn't get snow - below the Shire - and while you had been in places where winter fell, it was never like this. Beautiful, and pure white like it was slowly cleansing the world of all the evil that had been done to it, purifying the earth of wanton blood spill, and while the thought was extremely naive and short-lived, it brought a warm smile through the harsh onto your lips until you caught something in the distance. It looked so small, so fragile from where you stood as the clouds rolled slowly like molasses past it, the grey foggy color splitting and fading, showing the large majestic mountain to look like a simple rolling hill that would be spotted in a pasture for horses. But it was so much for than that, and it caused your lungs to expand quickly, sharply, like the ragged edges that out-lined the sides and bottoms of it. One word escaped your mouth, something dry and raspy one that contained three simple syllables;

   "Erebor,"

   It was immediately after the word that seemed to echo in the silence escaped your mouth, the sound of feet stopped and the sound of murmuring quieted to nothing, only the whistling of the steady wind ringing in your ears and you heard something foreign and harsh a few feet beside you, causing your head to whip around. It was Thorin, the prince himself, gazing past you, his eyes that held a storm in both emotion and color resting solid on the distant mountain, but your eyes narrowed questioningly as his irises landed on your face. "Home," and every expression on your face dropped, faster that a fresh branding iron that landed on your hand, setting in one of shock and awe.

   You knew that language; the harsh and sharp, tongue cutting sounds that escaped the mouths of the Dwarfs ever so often, but more Bifur than anyone else since that was all the poor man was capable of. It was their native tongue, one of their most prized and secretive things. Of course, it was no secret to you what it sounded like, but you never understood a single word of it - it wasn't something they taught to other races, or even enjoyed hearing them speak, and the curl that crossed the princes pale and cracked lips was warm and comfortable, defying everything the air and temperature around you stood for, completely contrary to it and it was genuine. It made you happy, safe even, seeing something so rare come onto his features that are usually so sullen and irritated, and you couldn't help the one that begin to twitch at the corners of your mouth, the spasm in your muscles as a slight stinging crossed over your eyes.

   "Thorin - "

   And he returned it, slowly turning as a sense of pride and welcoming washed over every fiber in your body, his eyes trained on you even over his shoulders before his face completely left your view, facing the cold white of the world once again, and the wonderful Company who watched in amusement and listened in wonder. "It is Home."

[silent-era-of-cinema]

Clara Gordon Bow (July 29, 1905 – September 27, 1965) was an American actress who rose to stardom in silent film during the 1920s and successfully made the transition to "talkies" in 1929. Her appearance as a plucky shopgirl in the film It brought her global fame and the nickname "The It Girl". Bow came to personify the Roaring Twenties and is described as its leading sex symbol.

Bow appeared in 46 silent films and 11 talkies, including hits such as Mantrap (1926), It (1927), and Wings (1927). She was named first box-office draw in 1928 and 1929 and second box-office draw in 1927 and 1930. Her presence in a motion picture was said to have ensured investors, by odds of almost two-to-one, a "safe return". At the apex of her stardom, she received more than 45,000 fan letters in a single month (January 1929).

Two years after marrying actor Rex Bell in 1931, Bow retired from acting and became a rancher in Nevada. Her final film, Hoop-La, was released in 1933. In September 1965, Bow died of a heart attack at the age of 60.

Bow was born in Prospect Heights, Brooklyn at 697 Bergen Street,[9] in a "bleak, sparsely furnished room above [a] dilapidated Baptist Church". Her birth year, according to the US Censuses of 1910 and 1920, was 1905. The 1930 census indicates 1906 and on her gravestone of 1965, the inscription says 1907, but 1905 is the accepted year by a majority of sources.

Bow was her parents' third child, but her two older sisters, born in 1903 and 1904, had died in infancy. Her mother, Sarah Frances Bow (née Gordon, 1880–1923), was told by a doctor not to become pregnant again, for fear the next baby might die as well. Despite the warning, Sarah became pregnant with Clara in late 1904. In addition to the risky pregnancy, a heat wave besieged New York in July 1905, and temperatures peaked around 100 °F (38 °C). Years later, Clara said: "I don't suppose two people ever looked death in the face more clearly than my mother and I the morning I was born. We were both given up, but somehow we struggled back to life."

Bow's parents were descended from English, Irish and Scottish immigrants who had come to America the generation before. Bow said that her father, Robert Walter Bow (1874–1959), "had a quick, keen mind ... all the natural qualifications to make something of himself, but didn't...everything seemed to go wrong for him, poor darling". By the time Clara was four and a half, her father was out of work, and between 1905 and 1923, the family lived at 14 different addresses, but seldom outside Prospect Heights, with Clara's father often absent. "I do not think my mother ever loved my father", she said. "He knew it. And it made him very unhappy, for he worshiped her, always."

When Bow's mother, Sarah, was 16, she fell from a second-story window and suffered a severe head injury. She was later diagnosed with "psychosis due to epilepsy". From her earliest years, Bow had learned how to care for her mother during the seizures, as well as how to deal with her psychotic and hostile episodes. She said her mother could be "mean" to her, but "didn't mean to ... she couldn't help it". Still, Bow felt deprived of her childhood; "As a kid I took care of my mother, she didn't take care of me". Sarah worsened gradually, and when she realized her daughter was set for a movie career, Bow's mother told her she "would be much better off dead". One night in February 1922, Bow awoke to a butcher knife held against her throat by her mother. Clara was able to fend off the attack, and locked her mother up. In the morning, Bow's mother had no recollection of the episode, and later she was committed to a sanatorium by Robert Bow.

Clara spoke about the incident later:

It was snowing. My mother and I were cold and hungry. We had been cold and hungry for days. We lay in each other's arms and cried and tried to keep warm. It grew worse and worse. So that night my mother—but I can't tell you about it. Only when I remember it, it seems to me I can't live.

According to Bow's biographer, David Stenn, Bow was raped by her father at age sixteen while her mother was institutionalized. On January 5, 1923, Sarah died at the age of 43 from her epilepsy. When relatives gathered for the funeral, Bow accused them of being "hypocrites", and became so angry that she even tried to jump into the grave.

Bow attended P.S. 111, P.S. 9, and P.S. 98.[13] As she grew up, she felt shy among other girls, who teased her for her worn-out clothes and "carrot-top" hair. She said about her childhood, "I never had any clothes. ... And lots of time didn't have anything to eat. We just lived, that's about all. Girls shunned me because I was so poorly dressed."

From first grade, Bow preferred the company of boys, stating, "I could lick any boy my size. My right arm was quite famous. My right arm was developed from pitching so much ... Once I hopped a ride on behind a big fire engine. I got a lot of credit from the gang for that."[15] A close friend, a younger boy who lived in her building, burned to death in her presence after an accident. In 1919, Bow enrolled in Bay Ridge High School for Girls. "I wore sweaters and old skirts...didn't want to be treated like a girl...there was one boy who had always been my pal... he kissed me... I wasn't sore. I didn't get indignant. I was horrified and hurt."

Bow's interest in sports and her physical abilities led her to plan for a career as an athletics instructor. She won five medals "at the cinder tracks" and credited her cousin Homer Baker – the national half-mile (c.800 m) champion (1913 and 1914) and 660-yard (c. 600 m) world-record holder – for being her trainer. The Bows and Bakers shared a house – still standing – at 33 Prospect Place in 1920.

In the early 1920s, roughly 50 million Americans—half the population at that time—attended the movies every week. As Bow grew into womanhood, her stature as a "boy" in her old gang became "impossible". She did not have any girlfriends, and school was a "heartache" and her home was "miserable." On the silver screen, however, she found consolation; "For the first time in my life I knew there was beauty in the world. For the first time I saw distant lands, serene, lovely homes, romance, nobility, glamor". And further; "I always had a queer feeling about actors and actresses on the screen ... I knew I would have done it differently. I couldn't analyze it, but I could always feel it.". "I'd go home and be a one girl circus, taking the parts of everyone I'd seen, living them before the glass." At 16, Bow says she "knew" she wanted to be a motion pictures actress, even if she was a "square, awkward, funny-faced kid."

Against her mother's wishes but with her father's support, Bow competed in Brewster publications' magazine's annual nationwide acting contest, "Fame and Fortune", in fall 1921. In previous years, other contest winners had found work in the movies. In the contest's final screen test, Bow was up against an already scene-experienced woman who did "a beautiful piece of acting". A set member later stated that when Bow did the scene, she actually became her character and "lived it". In the January issues 1922 of Motion Picture Classics, the contest jury, Howard Chandler Christy, Neysa McMein, and Harrison Fisher, concluded:

She is very young, only 16. But she is full of confidence, determination and ambition. She is endowed with a mentality far beyond her years. She has a genuine spark of divine fire. The five different screen tests she had, showed this very plainly, her emotional range of expression provoking a fine enthusiasm from every contest judge who saw the tests. She screens perfectly. Her personal appearance is almost enough to carry her to success without the aid of the brains she indubitably possesses.

Bow won an evening gown and a silver trophy, and the publisher committed to help her "gain a role in films", but nothing happened. Bow's father told her to "haunt" Brewster's office (located in Brooklyn) until they came up with something. "To get rid of me, or maybe they really meant to (give me) all the time and were just busy", Bow was introduced to director Christy Cabanne, who cast her in Beyond the Rainbow, produced late 1921 in New York City and released February 19, 1922. Bow did five scenes and impressed Cabanne with true theatrical tears, but was cut from the final print. "I was sick to my stomach," she recalled and thought her mother was right about the movie business.

Bow, who dropped out of school (senior year) after she was notified about winning the contest, possibly in October 1921, got an ordinary office job. However, movie ads and newspaper editorial comments from 1922 to 1923 suggest that Bow was not cut from Beyond the Rainbow. Her name is on the cast list among the other stars, usually tagged "Brewster magazine beauty contest winner" and sometimes even with a picture.

Encouraged by her father, Bow continued to visit studio agencies asking for parts. "But there was always something. I was too young, or too little, or too fat. Usually I was too fat." Eventually, director Elmer Clifton needed a tomboy for his movie Down to the Sea in Ships, saw Bow in Motion Picture Classic magazine, and sent for her. In an attempt to overcome her youthful looks, Bow put her hair up and arrived in a dress she "sneaked" from her mother. Clifton said she was too old, but broke into laughter as the stammering Bow made him believe she was the girl in the magazine. Clifton decided to bring Bow with him and offered her $35 a week. Bow held out for $50 and Clifton agreed, but he could not say whether she would "fit the part". Bow later learned that one of Brewsters' subeditors had urged Clifton to give her a chance.

Down to the Sea in Ships, shot on location in New Bedford, Massachusetts and produced by independent "The Whaling Film Corporation", documented life, love, and work in the whale-hunter community. The production relied on a few less-known actors and local talents. It premiered at the Olympia Theater in New Bedford, on September 25, and went on general distribution on March 4, 1923. Bow was billed 10th in the film, but shone through:

"Miss Bow will undoubtedly gain fame as a screen comedienne".

"She scored a tremendous hit in Down to the Sea in Ships..(and).. has reached the front rank of motion picture principal players".

"With her beauty, her brains, her personality and her genuine acting ability it should not be many moons before she enjoys stardom in the fullest sense of the word. You must see 'Down to the Sea in Ships'".

"In movie parlance, she 'stole' the picture ... ".

By mid-December 1923, primarily due to her merits in Down to the Sea in Ships, Bow was chosen the most successful of the 1924 WAMPAS Baby Stars. Three months before Down to the Sea in Ships was released, Bow danced half nude, on a table, uncredited in Enemies of Women (1923). In spring she got a part in The Daring Years (1923), where she befriended actress Mary Carr, who taught her how to use make-up.

In the summer, she got a "tomboy" part in Grit, a story that dealt with juvenile crime and was written by F. Scott Fitzgerald. Bow met her first boyfriend, cameraman Arthur Jacobson, and she got to know director Frank Tuttle, with whom she worked in five later productions. Tuttle remembered:

Her emotions were close to the surface. She could cry on demand, opening the floodgate of tears almost as soon as I asked her to weep. She was dynamite, full of nervous energy and vitality and pitifully eager to please everyone.

Grit was released on January 7, 1924. The Variety review said "... Clara Bow lingers in the eye, long after the picture has gone."

While shooting Grit at Pyramid Studios, in Astoria, New York, Bow was approached by Jack Bachman of independent Hollywood studio Preferred Pictures. He wanted to contract her for a three-month trial, fare paid, and $50 a week. "It can't do any harm,"[15] he tried. "Why can't I stay in New York and make movies?" Bow asked her father, but he told her not to worry.

On July 21, 1923, she befriended Louella Parsons, who interviewed her for The New York Morning Telegraph. In 1931, when Bow came under tabloid scrutiny, Parsons defended her and stuck to her first opinion on Bow:

She is as refreshingly unaffected as if she had never faced a means to pretend. She hasn't any secrets from the world, she trusts everyone ... she is almost too good to be true ... (I) only wish some reformer who believes the screen contaminates all who associate with it could meet this child. Still, on second thought it might not be safe: Clara uses a dangerous pair of eyes.

The interview also revealed that Bow already was cast in Maytime and in great favor of Chinese cuisine.

On July 22, 1923, Bow left New York, her father, and her boyfriend behind for Hollywood. As chaperone for the journey and her subsequent southern California stay, the studio appointed writer/agent Maxine Alton, whom Bow later branded a liar. In late July, Bow entered studio chief B. P. Schulberg's office wearing a simple high-school uniform in which she "had won several gold medals on the cinder track". She was tested and a press release from early August says Bow had become a member of Preferred Picture's "permanent stock". Alton and she rented an apartment at The Hillview near Hollywood Boulevard. Preferred Pictures was run by Schulberg, who had started as a publicity manager at Famous Players-Lasky, but in the aftermath of the power struggle around the formation of United Artists, ended up on the losing side and lost his job. As a result, he founded Preferred in 1919, at the age of 27.

Maytime was Bow's first Hollywood picture, an adaptation of the popular operetta Maytime in which she essayed "Alice Tremaine". Before Maytime was finished, Schulberg announced that Bow was given the lead in the studio's biggest seasonal assessment, Poisoned Paradise,[51] but first she was lent to First National Pictures to co-star in the adaptation of Gertrude Atherton's 1923 best seller Black Oxen, shot in October, and to co-star with Colleen Moore in Painted People, shot in November.

Director Frank Lloyd was casting for the part of high-society flapper Janet Oglethorpe, and more than 50 women, most with previous screen experience, auditioned. Bow reminisced: "He had not found exactly what he wanted and finally somebody suggested me to him. When I came into his office a big smile came over his face and he looked just tickled to death." Lloyd told the press, "Bow is the personification of the ideal aristocratic flapper, mischievous, pretty, aggressive, quick-tempered and deeply sentimental." It was released on January 4, 1924.

The New York Times said, "The flapper, impersonated by a young actress, Clara Bow, had five speaking titles, and every one of them was so entirely in accord with the character and the mood of the scene that it drew a laugh from what, in film circles, is termed a "hard-boiled" audience", while the Los Angeles Times commented that "Clara Bow, the prize vulgarian of the lot ... was amusing and spirited ... but didn't belong in the picture", and Variety said that "... the horrid little flapper is adorably played ..."

Colleen Moore made her flapper debut in a successful adaptation of the daring novel Flaming Youth, released November 12, 1923, six weeks before Black Oxen. Both films were produced by First National Pictures, and while Black Oxen was still being edited and Flaming Youth not yet released, Bow was requested to co-star with Moore as her kid sister in Painted People (The Swamp Angel). Moore essayed the baseball-playing tomboy and Bow, according to Moore, said "I don't like my part, I wanna play yours." Moore, a well-established star earning $1200 a week—Bow got $200—took offense and blocked the director from shooting close-ups of Bow. Moore was married to the film's producer and Bow's protests were futile. "I'll get that bitch", she told her boyfriend Jacobson, who had arrived from New York. Bow had sinus problems and decided to have them attended to that very evening. With Bow's face now in bandages, the studio had no choice but to recast her part.

During 1924, Bow's "horrid" flapper raced against Moore's "whimsical". In May, Moore renewed her efforts in The Perfect Flapper, produced by her husband. However, despite good reviews, she suddenly withdrew. "No more flappers ... they have served their purpose ... people are tired of soda-pop love affairs", she told the Los Angeles Times, which had commented a month earlier, "Clara Bow is the one outstanding type. She has almost immediately been elected for all the recent flapper parts". In November 1933, looking back to this period of her career, Bow described the atmosphere in Hollywood as like a scene from a movie about the French Revolution, where "women are hollering and waving pitchforks twice as violently as any of the guys ... the only ladies in sight are the ones getting their heads cut off."

By New Year 1924, Bow defied the possessive Maxine Alton and brought her father to Hollywood. Bow remembered their reunion: "I didn't care a rap, for (Maxine Alton), or B. P. Schulberg, or my motion picture career, or Clara Bow, I just threw myself into his arms and kissed and kissed him, and we both cried like a couple of fool kids. Oh, it was wonderful." Bow felt Alton had misused her trust: "She wanted to keep a hold on me so she made me think I wasn't getting over and that nothing but her clever management kept me going." Bow and her father moved in at 1714 North Kingsley Drive in Hollywood, together with Jacobson, who by then also worked for Preferred. When Schulberg learned of this arrangement, he fired Jacobson for potentially getting "his big star" into a scandal. When Bow found out, "She tore up her contract and threw it in his face and told him he couldn't run her private life." Jacobson concluded, "[Clara] was the sweetest girl in the world, but you didn't cross her and you didn't do her wrong." On September 7, 1924, The Los Angeles Times, in a significant article "A dangerous little devil is Clara, impish, appealing, but oh, how she can act!", her father is titled "business manager" and Jacobson referred to as her brother.

Bow appeared in eight releases in 1924.

In Poisoned Paradise, released on February 29, 1924, Bow got her first lead. "... the clever little newcomer whose work wins fresh recommendations with every new picture in which she appears". In a scene described as "original", Bow adds "devices" to "the modern flapper": she fights a villain using her fists, and significantly, does not "shrink back in fear".

In Daughters of Pleasure, also released on February 29, 1924, Bow and Marie Prevost "flapped unhampered as flappers De luxe ... I wish somebody could star Clara Bow. I'm sure her 'infinite variety' would keep her from wearying us no matter how many scenes she was in."

Loaned out to Universal, Bow top-starred, for the first time, in the prohibition, bootleg drama/comedy Wine, released on August 20, 1924. The picture exposes the widespread liquor traffic in the upper classes, and Bow portrays an innocent girl who develops into a wild "red-hot mama".

"If not taken as information, it is cracking good entertainment," Carl Sandburg reviewed September 29.

"Don't miss Wine. It's a thoroughly refreshing draught ... there are only about five actresses who give me a real thrill on the screen—and Clara is nearly five of them".

Alma Whitaker of The Los Angeles Times observed on September 7, 1924:

She radiates sex appeal tempered with an impish sense of humor ... She hennas her blond hair so that it will photograph dark in the pictures ... Her social decorum is of that natural, good-natured, pleasantly informal kind ... She can act on or off the screen—takes a joyous delight in accepting a challenge to vamp any selected male—the more unpromising specimen the better. When the hapless victim is scared into speechlessness, she gurgles with naughty delight and tries another.

Bow remembered: "All this time I was 'running wild', I guess, in the sense of trying to have a good time ... maybe this was a good thing, because I suppose a lot of that excitement, that joy of life, got onto the screen."

In 1925, Bow appeared in 14 productions: six for her contract owner, Preferred Pictures, and eight as an "out-loan".

"Clara Bow ... shows alarming symptoms of becoming the sensation of the year ... ", Motion Picture Classic Magazine wrote in June, and featured her on the cover.

I'm almost never satisfied with myself or my work or anything...by the time I'm ready to be a great star I'll have been on the screen such a long time that everybody will be tired of seeing me...(Tears filled her big round eyes and threatened to fall).

I worked in two and even three pictures at once. I played all sorts of parts in all sorts of pictures ... It was very hard at the time and I used to be worn out and cry myself to sleep from sheer fatigue after 18 hours a day on different sets, but now [late 1927] I am glad of it.

Preferred Pictures loaned Bow to producers "for sums ranging from $1500 to $2000 a week" while paying Bow a salary of $200 to $750 a week. The studio, like any other independent studio or theater at that time, was under attack from "The Big Three", MPAA, which had formed a trust to block out Independents and enforce the monopolistic studio system. On October 21, 1925, Schulberg filed Preferred Pictures for bankruptcy, with debts at $820,774 and assets $1,420. Three days later, it was announced that Schulberg would join with Adolph Zukor to become associate producer of Paramount Pictures, "catapulted into this position because he had Clara Bow under personal contract".

Adolph Zukor, Paramount Picture CEO, wrote in his memoirs: "All the skill of directors and all the booming of press-agent drums will not make a star. Only the audiences can do it. We study audience reactions with great care." Adela Rogers St. Johns had a different take: in 1950, she wrote, "If ever a star was made by public demand, it was Clara Bow." And Louise Brooks (from 1980): "(Bow) became a star without nobody's help ..."

The Plastic Age was Bow's final effort for Preferred Pictures and her biggest hit up to that time. Bow starred as the good-bad college girl, Cynthia Day, against Donald Keith. It was shot on location at Pomona College in the summer of 1925, and released on December 15, but due to block booking, it was not shown in New York until July 21, 1926.

Photoplay was displeased: "The college atmosphere is implausible and Clara Bow is not our idea of a college girl."

Theater owners, however, were happy: "The picture is the biggest sensation we ever had in our theater ... It is 100 per cent at the box-office."

Some critics felt Bow had conquered new territory: "(Bow) presents a whimsical touch to her work that adds greater laurels to her fast ascending star of screen popularity."

Time singled out Bow: "Only the amusing and facile acting of Clara Bow rescues the picture from the limbo of the impossible."

Bow began to date her co-star Gilbert Roland, who became her first fiancé. In June 1925, Bow was credited for being the first to wear hand-painted legs in public, and was reported to have many followers at the Californian beaches.

Throughout the 1920s, Bow played with gender conventions and sexuality in her public image. Along with her tomboy and flapper roles, she starred in boxing films and posed for promotional photographs as a boxer. By appropriating traditionally androgynous or masculine traits, Bow presented herself as a confident, modern woman.

"Rehearsals sap my pep," Bow explained in November 1929, and from the beginning of her career, she relied on immediate direction: "Tell me what I have to do and I'll do it." Bow was keen on poetry and music, but according to Rogers St. Johns, her attention span did not allow her to appreciate novels. Bow's focal point was the scene, and her creativity made directors call in extra cameras to cover her spontaneous actions, rather than holding her down.

Years after Bow left Hollywood, director Victor Fleming compared Bow to a Stradivarius violin: "Touch her, and she responded with genius." Director William Wellman was less poetic: "Movie stardom isn't acting ability—it's personality and temperament ... I once directed Clara Bow (Wings). She was mad and crazy, but WHAT a personality!". And in 1981, Budd Schulberg described Bow as "an easy winner of the dumbbell award" who "couldn't act," and compared her to a puppy that his father B. P. Schulberg "trained to become Lassie."

In 1926, Bow appeared in eight releases: five for Paramount, including the film version of the musical Kid Boots with Eddie Cantor, and three loan-outs that had been filmed in 1925.

In late 1925, Bow returned to New York to co-star in the Ibsenesque drama Dancing Mothers, as the good/bad "flapperish" upper-class daughter Kittens. Alice Joyce starred as her dancing mother, with Conway Tearle as "bad-boy" Naughton. The picture was released on March 1, 1926.

"Clara Bow, known as the screen's perfect flapper, does her stuff as the child, and does it well."

"... her remarkable performance in Dancing Mothers ... ".

Louise Brooks remembered: "She was absolutely sensational in the United States ... in Dancing Mothers ... she just swept the country ... I know I saw her ... and I thought ... wonderful."

On April 12, 1926, Bow signed her first contract with Paramount: "...to retain your services as an actress for the period of six months from June 6, 1926 to December 6, 1926, at a salary of $750.00 per week...".

In Victor Fleming's comedy-triangle, Mantrap, Bow, as Alverna the manicurist, cures lonely hearts Joe Easter (Ernest Torrence), of the great northern, as well as pill-popping New York divorce attorney runaway Ralph Prescott (Percy Marmont). Bow commented: "(Alverna)...was bad in the book, but—darn it!—of course, they couldn't make her that way in the picture. So I played her as a flirt." The film was released on July 24, 1926.

Variety: "Clara Bow just walks away with the picture from the moment she walks into camera range."

Photoplay: "When she is on the screen nothing else matters. When she is off, the same is true."

Carl Sandburg: "The smartest and swiftest work as yet seen from Miss Clara Bow."

The Reel Journal: "Clara Bow is taking the place of Gloria Swanson...(and)...filling a long need for a popular taste movie actress."

On August 16, 1926, Bow's agreement with Paramount was renewed into a five-year deal: "Her salary will start at $1700 a week and advance yearly to $4000 a week for the last year."[78] Bow added that she intended to leave the motion picture business at the expiration of the contract, i.e., in 1931.

In 1927, Bow appeared in six Paramount releases: It, Children of Divorce, Rough House Rosie, Wings, Hula and Get Your Man. In the Cinderella story It, the poor shop-girl Betty Lou Spence (Bow) conquers the heart of her employer Cyrus Waltham (Antonio Moreno). The personal quality —"It"— provides the magic to make it happen. The film gave Bow her nickname, "The 'It' Girl."

The New York Times: "(Bow)...is vivacious and, as Betty Lou, saucy, which perhaps is one of the ingredients of It."

The Film Daily: "Clara Bow gets a real chance and carries it off with honors...(and)...she is really the whole show."

Carl Sandburg: "'It' is smart, funny and real. It makes a full-sized star of Clara Bow."

Variety: "You can't get away from this Clara Bow girl. She certainly has that certain 'It'...and she just runs away with the film."

Dorothy Parker is often said to have referred to Bow when she wrote, "It, hell; she had Those."[109] Parker in actuality was not referring to Bow or to Bow's character in the film It, but to a different character, Ava Cleveland, in the novel of the same name.

In 1927, Bow starred in Wings, a war picture rewritten to accommodate her, as she was Paramount's biggest star, but was not happy about her part: "[Wings is]...a man's picture and I'm just the whipped cream on top of the pie." The film went on to win the first Academy Award for Best Picture. In 1928, Bow appeared in four Paramount releases: Red Hair, Ladies of the Mob, The Fleet's In, and Three Weekends, all of which are lost.

Adela Rogers St. Johns, a noted screenwriter who had done a number of pictures with Bow, wrote about her:

There seems to be no pattern, no purpose to her life. She swings from one emotion to another, but she gains nothing, stores up nothing for the future. She lives entirely in the present, not even for today, but in the moment. Clara is the total nonconformist. What she wants she gets, if she can. What she desires to do she does. She has a big heart, a remarkable brain, and the most utter contempt for the world in general. Time doesn't exist for her, except that she thinks it will stop tomorrow. She has real courage, because she lives boldly. Who are we, after all, to say she is wrong?

Bow's bohemian lifestyle and "dreadful" manners were considered reminders of the Hollywood elite's uneasy position in high society. Bow fumed: "They yell at me to be dignified. But what are the dignified people like? The people who are held up as examples for me? They are snobs. Frightful snobs ... I'm a curiosity in Hollywood. I'm a big freak, because I'm myself!"

MGM executive Paul Bern said Bow was "the greatest emotional actress on the screen", "sentimental, simple, childish and sweet," and considered her "hard-boiled attitude" a "defense mechanism".

With "talkies" The Wild Party, Dangerous Curves, and The Saturday Night Kid, all released in 1929, Bow kept her position as the top box-office draw and queen of Hollywood.

Neither the quality of Bow's voice nor her Brooklyn accent was an issue to Bow, her fans, or Paramount. However, Bow, like Charlie Chaplin, Louise Brooks, and most other silent film stars, did not embrace the novelty: "I hate talkies ... they're stiff and limiting. You lose a lot of your cuteness, because there's no chance for action, and action is the most important thing to me." A visibly nervous Bow had to do a number of retakes in The Wild Party because her eyes kept wandering up to the microphone overhead. "I can't buck progress .. I have to do the best I can," she said. In October 1929, Bow described her nerves as "all shot", saying that she had reached "the breaking point", and Photoplay cited reports of "rows of bottles of sedatives" by her bed.

According to the 1930 census, Bow lived at 512 Bedford Drive, together with her secretary and hairdresser, Daisy DeBoe (later DeVoe), in a house valued $25,000 with neighbors titled "Horse-keeper", "Physician", "Builder". Bow stated she was 23 years old, i.e., born 1906, contradicting the censuses of 1910 and 1920.

"Now they're having me sing. I sort of half-sing, half-talk, with hips-and-eye stuff. You know what I mean—like Maurice Chevalier. I used to sing at home and people would say, 'Pipe down! You're terrible!' But the studio thinks my voice is great."

With Paramount on Parade, True to the Navy, Love Among the Millionaires, and Her Wedding Night, Bow was second at the box-office only to Joan Crawford in 1930. With No Limit and Kick In, Bow held the position as fifth at box-office in 1931, but the pressures of fame, public scandals, overwork, and a damaging court trial charging her secretary Daisy DeVoe with financial mismanagement, took their toll on Bow's fragile emotional health. As she slipped closer to a major breakdown, her manager, B.P. Schulberg, began referring to her as "Crisis-a-day-Clara". In April, Bow was brought to a sanatorium, and at her request, Paramount released her from her final undertaking: City Streets (1931). At 25, her career was essentially over.

B.P. Schulberg tried to replace Bow with his girlfriend Sylvia Sidney, but Paramount went into receivership, lost its position as the biggest studio (to MGM), and fired Schulberg. David Selznick explained:

...[when] Bow was at her height in pictures we could make a story with her in it and gross a million and a half, where another actress would gross half a million in the same picture and with the same cast.

Bow left Hollywood for Rex Bell's ranch in Nevada, her "desert paradise", in June[120] and married him in then small-town Las Vegas in December. In an interview on December 17, Bow detailed her way back to health: sleep, exercise, and food, and the day after[122] she returned to Hollywood "for the sole purpose of making enough money to be able to stay out of it."

Soon, every studio in Hollywood (except Paramount) and even overseas wanted her services. Mary Pickford stated that Bow "was a very great actress" and wanted her to play her sister in Secrets (1933), Howard Hughes offered her a three-picture deal, and MGM wanted her to star in Red-Headed Woman (1932). Bow agreed to the script, but eventually rejected the offer since Irving Thalberg required her to sign a long-term contract.

On April 28, 1932, Bow signed a two-picture deal with Fox Film Corporation, for Call Her Savage (1932) and Hoop-La (1933). Both were successful; Variety favored the latter. The October 1934, Family Circle Film Guide rated the film as "pretty good entertainment", and of Miss Bow said: "This is the most acceptable bit of talkie acting Miss Bow has done." However, they noted, "Miss Bow is presented in her dancing duds as often as possible, and her dancing duds wouldn't weigh two pounds soaking wet." Bow commented on her revealing costume in Hoop-La: "Rex accused me of enjoying showing myself off. Then I got a little sore. He knew darn well I was doing it because we could use a little money these days. Who can't?"

Bow reflected on her career:

My life in Hollywood contained plenty of uproar. I'm sorry for a lot of it but not awfully sorry. I never did anything to hurt anyone else. I made a place for myself on the screen and you can't do that by being Mrs. Alcott's idea of a Little Woman.

Bow and actor Rex Bell (later a lieutenant governor of Nevada) had two sons, Tony Beldam (born 1934, changed name to Rex Anthony Bell, Jr., died July 8, 2011) and George Beldam, Jr. (born 1938). Bow retired from acting in 1933. In September 1937, she and Bell opened The 'It' Cafe in the Hollywood Plaza Hotel at 1637 N Vine Street near Hollywood Boulevard in Los Angeles. It closed in 1943. Her last public performance, albeit fleeting, came in 1947 on the radio show Truth or Consequences. Bow was the mystery voice in the show's "Mrs. Hush" contest.

Bow eventually began showing symptoms of psychiatric illness. She became socially withdrawn, and although she refused to socialize with her husband, she also refused to let him leave the house alone. In 1944, while Bell was running for the U.S. House of Representatives, Bow tried to commit suicide. A note was found in which Bow stated she preferred death to a public life.

In 1949, she checked into the Institute of Living to be treated for her chronic insomnia and diffuse abdominal pains. Shock treatment was tried and numerous psychological tests performed. Bow's IQ was measured "bright normal", while others claimed she was unable to reason, had poor judgment and displayed inappropriate or even bizarre behavior. Her pains were considered delusional and she was diagnosed with schizophrenia; however, she experienced neither auditory nor visual hallucinations. Analysts tied the onset of the illness, as well as her insomnia, to the "butcher knife episode" back in 1922, but Bow rejected psychological explanations and left the Institute. She did not return to her family. After leaving the institution, Bow lived alone in a bungalow, which she rarely left, until her death.

Bow spent her last years in Culver City, under the constant care of a nurse, Estalla Smith, living off an estate worth about $500,000 at the time of her death. In 1965, at age 60, she died of a heart attack, which was attributed to atherosclerosis discovered in an autopsy. She was interred in the Freedom Mausoleum, Sanctuary of Heritage at Forest Lawn Memorial Park Cemetery in Glendale, California. Her pallbearers were Harry Richman, Richard Arlen, Jack Oakie, Maxie Rosenbloom, Jack Dempsey, and Buddy Rogers.

[love-fireflysong]

Day 25: Stars

Fandom: Tales of Phantasia Character(s): Chester Burklight, Arche Klein Words: 1582 Rating: General Author’s Notes: Hey, I’m back on my Archester bullshit. How you doing? Just a short one though. (never mind, it’s apparently my third longest of the eight(!!!!!) I’ve written so far)

It was starting to happen more and more often. The twin moons of Sylvarant and Tethe’alla were bright in the sky above them, and cast moonlight onto the plains where everyone had decided to camp that evening.

“The north star is that way!”

“That’s not even north, you idiot. The direction you’re pointing in is totally east.”

Arche stuck her tongue out at Chester. “Nuh uh! The north star is supposed to be the brightest star in the sky, that one is totally the brightest.”

“What? Who told you that? That’s not even a thing.”

“It totally is! I mean, how else do people find their way north when they get lost?”

“By using a compass.”

“Not everyone has a compass, moron.”

“Yeah, well you’re the exception, not the norm. Most sane people have compasses.”

Arche makes a face, and none to gently pokes Chester in the side with her finger. Who makes the same face back and gives her his own jab into the side. They continue their poking and prodding at each other, movements becoming more erratic as they almost start pushing the other to ground. The sound of Claus rolling over in his sleep with a loud snore makes them both freeze.

It’s only once they’re sure that Claus has settled back down for the night, that they sigh in relief that they haven’t been caught and return to their stargazing. The even return to their original positions they had been in before the childish fight: hands clasped tightly with their fingers tangled between them, and Arche leaning her head on his arm while he rested the side of his on top of hers.

It was starting to happen more and more often. Holding hands while the others were asleep. Leaning on each other like this. It was honestly kind of terrifying to Arche sometimes.Terrifying how nice this was. How nice it felt. 

Terrifying how much she was going to miss it when they had to go back home.

“Well, how do people who don’t have compasses find their way back then?”

“They follow the stars, genius.”

“And how exactly are they supposed to do that without a north star to guide them?”

Chester groaned and she didn’t have to look to know that he was rolling his eyes at her. “They use the constellations. Like if you follow the blade of the Midgards Knight, you’ll eventually come to Migdards.” He pointed towards a shape that kind of looked like a knight if she squinted real hard, and tilted her head all the way to the right. “Or that if you follow the stars then you can find the trunk of the Tree over in the south.” She followed his finger as it traced a line, or branch she supposed, in the sky that did eventually end at a thick cluster of stars. 

“And just why, exactly, do you know this?”

“It’s cause I was a hunter. Had to provide meat for Toltus and stuff. Be a crappy one if I got lost one night and couldn’t find my way back home.”

“I mean you’re a pretty crappy one already... miss more shots with your bow then you hit.”

“Please, my accuracy is way better then yours. Don’t think I didn’t notice your Cyclone earlier. You didn’t hit a single thing with it.”

“Jackass.” Arche squeezes his hand when she says it.

“Ditz.” Chester squeezes back, but then rubs a thumb lightly across her knuckles.

Both of them fall silent for a moment, not doing anything to bring attention to their hands. If they don’t mention it, then they don’t have to talk about it. This is easier. Will make things easier when they have to separate after all of this is said and done.

It won’t. They both know that. They both don’t care.

“Well, if there’s no north star, then how do people find their way north without a compass.”

“It’s simple moron. They just have to find the Hole.”

“I’m sorry, the what? You sure that someone wasn’t just playing a dirty joke on you?”

Chester sputters indignantly and Arche laughs, taking advantage to make herself more comfortable against his arm. If the movement counts as snuggling closer, well, that can be their little secret. Just another to add to what she’s pretty sure is a goddamn cauldron at this point.

“No! No one definitely was! Look,” he gestures towards an area that she assumes is the north. “You see that small round cluster of stars over there, but with the really weird black space in the middle. That’s the Hole. Just keep walking towards the Hole and eventually you’ll fall in and end up home. That’s how the story goes.”

Arche does see the blank spot he pointed out, but she narrows her eyes contemplatively at it. “That’s not right,” she says in the end.

“Oh really? I’ve been getting the idea that I’m the only one of us that has any idea how to read the stars in the first place. What makes you think that I’m wrong about this?”

“Well, cause your always wrong obviously, but that’s not what I mean.” She bats away the hand that came to pinch her nose. “I’m serious, Chester. There’s something wrong there!”

“Like what?” She can hear the annoyance in his voice but ignores it easily.

“I don’t know! Like there’s something missing, or something.”

“Wow. Eloquent.”

“Shut up.”

Chester sighs above her head, and it just makes her frown harder. “There’s nothing missing, Arche. The stars have always looked that like, ever since I was a kid.”

“That’s it! The stars! The stars are all wrong! There’s supposed to be a star in the middle there, that’s why it looks so empty!”

“The only thing empty around here, is the inside of your head. What are you even talking about? There’s never been a star there.”

She’s shaking her head hard at this point. “No, that’s where the north star used to be, I’m sure of it! It was how I always used to find my way home when I finished visiting Rhea in Hamel. As long as I kept that star to my back, I knew I’d make it home eventually.”

“I’m being serious too! There’s never once been a star there. I would know! I’ve been following them since I was kid.”

“And I’ve been using that one since I was a kid, too! How do I know that you’re not just making all of this up to mess with me?”

Chester’s started to run his free hand down his face. “Cause Cress got the exact same lessons as I did growing up. You can check with him tomorrow and he’ll say the same things I have.”

Arche gasps she sits up straight in realization. “That’s it! We can ask Claus. Let’s just wake Claus up and he can confirm everything. I know that he’ll agree with me that there’s a star missing!” She starts to stand up and walk towards where their summoner is sleeping, only to get pulled back by Chester.

“We can’t wake him up, Arche.”

“What? Why not?” She looks at him in confusion, at the panicked look in his face, and groans “Oh, I get it. You just don’t want to get proof that I’m right, and you’re wrong.”

“No, that’s— that’s not it.” She’s surprised at how red his face has turned, but follows his eyes to their still clasped hands, and finally understands. Her face quickly turning a shade to match his own. 

“Oh.” She can’t wake Claus up, because then there’d be too many questions, and they don’t have the answers to any of them. She can’t wake Claus up, because Chester was supposed to be on watch alone tonight. She can’t wake Claus up, because she’s supposed to be sleeping right now too.

They’d have to explain why she’s up with him, and they haven’t even explained that to themselves.

“You can ask Claus about it tomorrow night.”

She nods slowly, and Arche’s not sure who made the move first, but they’ve both dropped the other’s hand. They’re both not looking at each other anymore either, Chester stubbornly staring at the bright blue moon of Sylvarant while Arche looks towards where her makeshift sleeping bed is set up, carefully holding her hand in her other one. They’re both way too close to touching on what ever this thing between them is, and neither are ready for it.

“I-I should get going to bed.”

“Good idea, I need to wake Cress up for his turn at watch soon anyway.”

With that, they separate, neither looking over their shoulder at the other, intent on putting an end to this night as easily as possible.

Arche never does remember to ask Claus about the missing north star the next evening, never remembers to ask him about it any night actually. In fact, she doesn’t really remember about it until after Dhaos is killed, and she’s back home with her dad. When she leaves the house one night and looks up to see the bright star nestled right in the center of the round cluster that Chester had shown to her one night. Exactly where it was supposed to be.

The sight of it hurts Arche way more then she thought it would. She always knew that the distance between her and Chester was going to hurt. She just didn’t think it was going to hurt this much. 

[theincaprincess]

My Life

Afternoon my darlings, I have the request from our darling little anonymous here 

The request was “Hey,can I have a haldir and reader fic where you are the daughter of a general (or whatever they had that equals to a general) and so you learnt to fight from a young age. And haldir goes to your father and asks to court you and he goes to protective dad TM mode and you overhear it and you accept to court him?? Thanks!!” 

I hope you enjoy it! 

Main master list here 

Forever tag list @amyf20 @blankdblank @deepestfirefun @moonfaery @catthefearless @meyoko10 @tolkienprincess @starlightintherain89 @southsidesarcasticwriter @fuer-immer-jetzt @fizzyxcustard @lady-of-lies @xxbyimm @miabee0706​

Hobbit/LOTR tag list @sdavid09 @Slither-in-a-half

Word count 930

Standing at the edge of the training ground Haldir eyes were glued to you as you twisted and turned against your imagine opponent, the control you had with your sword was amazing to see, each step you made had a counter step, each move was a split second in time but highly skilled, if non Elven eyes saw you it would look like your we’re in an angry rage, but to Haldir it was a dance, a dangerous one at that, but a dance. 

You were the only daughter and child of the admiral, so naturally you were educated to the highest level, but the teachers would often find you in the training arena, where they had to drag you kicking and screaming back to the classroom, much to your annoyance and your fathers amusement, secretly the elves enjoyed the fierceness you showed and the captain of the guard at the time decided to train you, of course the order came from your father, but you were never told that. 

You learned fast and soon your skills with a bow could rival the best hunters and archers in the guard, the twin blades you owned seem to be extra limbs and you often went unbeaten with them, but your favourite weapon to use was your mother's long sword, on your 200th birthday your father had given it to you, and in a few weeks you were one with the sword, and soon enough you followed your father's footsteps and signed up to the guard, it only took you a few years but you rose through the ranks and now you were currently the Lieutenant.

….

Hearing the leaves crunching behind him Haldir stood up straight and slowly turned to see your father, raising his hand to his heart Haldir bowed his head  “Good morning, Admiral Eltaor.”

Your father nodded his head in return to Haldir’s greeting and bid him a good morning before turning his eyes and to you “how is she getting on within the guard?” He asked, already knowing the answer, but he wanted Haldir to tell him anyway.  

“Very well Admiral, as you know she is currently at the rank of Lieutenant” watching your Father nod Haldir spoke on “She is the first on the training ground and the last to leave, everyone respects her and not just because she is your daughter, Admiral.” 

….

Returning your sword to its scabbard on your belt you turned and saw your father and Haldir in a deep conversation, rolling your eyes you knew that your father would be checking up on you, even though your mother has told him plenty of time you can do this, deciding to use the skills you have learned you started to slowly sneak up on them, not only to scare them but to listen in.

Reaching the brushes you hid yourself behind one and started to work out the quietest path, and how to miss the leafs that would no doubt give away your position as elves could hear even the smallest sound, looking up to see your father’s face, something told you, he wasn’t liking where the conversation was going, making you want to hear it even more, quickly working out the best path you slowly but steadily moved forward checking your path every few steps.

….

“Admiral Eltaor, there is a personal matter I wish to talk with you about” Haldir said with a nervous tone to his voice making Eltaor raise his brow. 

“What is it, captain?”  

“With your permission, I request to if I may….” Haldir couldn’t seem to find the right words.

“Spit it out” Eltaor was getting annoyed.

“I wish to court (Y/n)” Haldir finally said and stepped back when he saw your Eltaor face drop.

Staring at Haldir, Eltaor was lost for words, he knew the day would come when someone asked to court you, but he never expected it from the captain of the guard, if he was being honest with himself he knew it was a good match, and he knew you would be looked after, but the protective side of him decided to make sure Haldir would be right for you.

“She is my only daughter, the last of my bloodline, how can you before sure you can look after her, she may be the lieutenant in the guard but on the battlefield, she is a target, how would you protect her, well protecting everyone else?” 

“By giving my life for hers” Haldir said without hesitation. 

You were close enough to hear Haldir’s request and it stopped you in your tracks, Haldir was a good looking guy, and you knew plenty other girls that wanted to his affection, hearing your father going into his protective mood you rolled your eyes at his question about protecting you, you could look after yourself, and had done for many years, but hearing Haldir say he would give up his life for you, made your heart skip a beat and you couldn’t stop yourself jumping up and wrapping your arms around him. 

“I agree to court you Haldir” you said looking into his sparkling blue eyes as your father saw the smile on your faces and knew his daughter would be safe. 

“You will?” Haldir asked to make sure he wasn’t hearing things. 

“Yes I will” You said.

“Do I even have a choice here?” Your father asked. 

“No” You said shaking your head with a smile 

Laughing your father nodded his head “Well you can tell your mother” he said making the three of you laugh. 

[journal-of-an-outlaw]

Price to be Paid - Chapter 13

The Next Big Step (AO3 Link) 

Words: 5,413

After Arthur walked away from you and the wagon, you stayed glued to the spot where everything had changed. 

Arthur Morgan had just kissed you. And boy, did he kiss you good. 

Your mind reeled from the shift your friendship had taken. Off in the distance you could hear him and Hosea talking, the low bass and the higher tenor tones resonating to your location. A laugh burst out, and you hoped all was well and forgotten The two had a long history, it certainly wasn’t the first time the younger man had acted out. 

Abigail rounded the wagon and found you smiling at no one and lost in your head. 

“YN, you okay? What’s going on?” 

“Jesus! Abigail, you scared me. Nothing, just looking out at the water.” You held your hand over your heart at the fright and wondered how you must have looked. 

Your friend just laughed softly and joined you leaning against the wagon, a cup of coffee steaming in her hands that she sipped quietly. It was nice to enjoy her company after all this time, for she truly was the reason you were there at all. 

“How are things? Jack liking his new books?” 

He was, in fact he had already gone through one and was hinting at Hosea everyday that he needed a new one. 

John had gone and done something foolish again that caused Abigail pain, and you wondered what everyone saw in him that gave him such high regards in camp. He was similar to Arthur in the sense he was raised by Dutch and Hosea, but his mistakes defined him and physically reflected with the new scars he sported from a wolf encounter back in Colter. 

“Good evening, everyone! How is camp on this here fine, fine night?” Dutch’s voice rang out as he entered the scene, returning from wherever his grand plan took him today. His white horse, The Count, was tied up next to Old Boy and John waved Abigail over. She squeezed your arm and left, and you watched Arthur approach Dutch with something in his hands. The towel moved, and a glimmer of gold caught your eye. Dutch enthusiastically clapped Arthur’s shoulder and swung his gaze around camp, looking for someone. 

“This, folks, is a win for today! See what faith in old Dutch can do? Our newest member, YN, has brought back a gold bar for the camp funds! That is some fine work you did with that treasure map!” Dutch promised to raise a glass in your honor later that night and you blushed at the attention. 

Arthur walked over to you, giving your hand a subtle squeeze. “I told Dutch it was all you today with them gold bars, and that the biggest one was going to camp.” His voice was a whisper, but you could feel his breath against your cheek as he leaned in. 

“You did not have to do that, Arthur. But thank you.” 

He smiled and sat down, radiating an energy you couldn't quite nail down. Fingers tapped the wood table in a happy rhythm that matched his leg bouncing just out of sight. You longed to cover his hand with your own but the whole gang was sitting nearby and you still weren’t sure how things stood in a public setting. 

It sure would be interested to see how this played out. 

As you lay awake in your tent that night, you tried to sort out your feelings from the facts. After years of abuse you had escaped the tight grip of your father and found a new life. Fact. The same man who stole you from that fate also stole your heart. Feeling. You had learned to hunt, be around new folks, defend yourself, and even fight a little. Another fact. Your father, a bad man with a badge and a drinking problem, was probably out there looking for you while also searching for the Van der Linde gang. Again, fact. Arthur Morgan was one of the most complex men you had ever met, and yet still strived to do good in a world that demanded something different from him. Probably feeling, but you put it in the fact column due to your personal bias. 

Sleep came easy after your mind was sorted, and the warm ball of energy never left your chest as you floated from dream to dream. 

A sweet surprise was waiting for you on your pillow once you opened your eyes. It was a small white flower with no scent, but stunning petals and a beautiful yellow center that matched a top you had recently made with Tilly. 

You emerged from your tent tenderly holding the bud in the palm of your hand and see Arthur leaning against the ammo wagon smoking a cigarette. As he noticed you approach he dropped the tail end of his smoke to the dirt and smothered the ends with his boot. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth but never made it all the way across his mouth. 

“Morning.” You stood next to him and admired the view out across the lake. Never an early riser, you enjoyed seeing what life looked like on the other side of your time frame. 

“What’s that there?” 

You giggled and held out the flower. “I’m sure you wouldn’t know, Arthur.” 

He reached behind him and produced a small glass jar just big enough to hold your new treasure. “Here, I won’t be needing this anymore and I think this should just about fit. There. Fresh as, well, a daisy.” 

A quick laugh escaped him as he handed you back the jar. He shook his head at his own joke and you rolled your eyes, but snuck in a quick kiss on his cheek before darting back to your tent with the glass. 

Grimshaw found you before too long and dragged you off to do chores. She often made a move as if she would hit you for your ignorance, but was smart enough to spot the signs that you had grown up with a parent who had hit you for fun and not just discipline. It only happened once. You had flinched away from her so hard and nearly cowered against the wall she froze, making a mental note to never lay a hand on you again. Damn the man who tried to hurt her girls. In her mind she was the luckiest mother alive and would fight tooth and nail for those she loved at camp. 

The usual suspects of Mary Beth and Tilly stood on either side of you while you cleaned the dishes for the week. Most of it was leftover bowls from the stew, but Sean had made some nasty meal that no one could figure out and took a lot longer to scrape from the plates. 

“Wish I knew how to hunt.” Mary Beth dragged a cloth left and right across a plate to no avail as she spoke. “It would be nice to be able to provide something. I like robbing and helping find spots, but would be so great to be able to feel powerful. Holding a big gun, some rifle or the like.” 

It was surprising to hear this from someone so soft, but it oddly made sense. “That’s why I like it. I can let you practice with my bow if you’d like sometime, Mary Beth. Takes a lot of work, though.”

She laughed, “No, that’s alright. I just like to wish about things. I’m so much more into books and writing, that’s my dream. To be a writer. Sit in a tall, covered chair in a clean office and write until I can’t think of any more words to say.” 

You nodded along. “Well the offer still stands, but I do see you more of a writer than a hunter,” you laughed. “You’d be good, do you have any writing I could read? Been through most of my books already. I need something new. 

“Oh! Maybe, it’ll need some harsh editing. Tilly’s real good and goes through my stuff before anyone else ever sees it. She’s a blessing.” 

Tilly rolled her eyes at the compliment., “Your stuff don’t need much editing, Mary Beth. Maybe a few words added here and there but really, YN, she’s good.” 

Tilly agreed to let you read the works only after she had finished editing and you were delighted. It was refreshing to not just discuss the latest job gone right or wrong and feel like you were just three women, living a normal and settled life. 

Once the dishes were washed you left them to dry in the sun. Grimshaw allowed this task to be passed on to mother nature at least, and you followed Tilly back to a table to join Javier. For once he wasn’t plucking a guitar, but instead laying out dominoes in await of Tilly’s arrival. 

“Ah, there she is! Ready to play, Ms. Jackson?” 

Tilly nodded and took the seat opposite Javier, leaving you to take one of the backless boxes. The two of them were quick and played differently than Hosea did. Tilly let no emotion cross her face which was calculating and quick. Javier was trying hard to mimic her. 

John walked over to stand and watch the game unfold. 

“What’s that star on your chest, John? Does that say deputy?” 

John moved to cover his chest with his arm but you lightly slapped his hand away so you could read it better. “It does say deputy! Now why in the hell are you wearing that? Dutch finally go off the deep end and get you working for the law?”

A small nod had the three of you balking up at the younger man. “Wait a minute, are you serious?” Javier asked incredulously. 

“We went and helped the local law up in Rhodes. We blew up a moonshine operation for one of those feuding families and made it back with these damn stars. Dutch and Arthur both have them, too, but it means we can’t cause no trouble in town. Have to be on my best behavior. “ 

Tilly laughed but covered her mouth. “I’m sure that’s difficult for you all, Mr. Marston.” 

John joined in the laughter and moved to get some stew. Javier spoke softly in Spanish and shook his head. 

“Do you ever miss your home, Javier?” You knew he had fled Mexico at some point in his life but none of the details. 

“Eh. My home is here now, with Dutch. Some days I do miss it more than others. It’s been awhile since I left Mexico, although I do miss the food. Handmade. A little spicy. Not this shit that’s been force fed down my throat for the past few months straight.” 

Tilly threw a domino in his direction as Pearson was walking by, but Javier showed no fear at the larger man. He puffed out his chest making Tilly laugh again. 

You rolled your eyes and decided to head off. “Anyone need to head to town?” They both shook their heads and you set off to find someone with a more adventurous mindset for the day. You were starting to get antsy with the same routine of waking up, doing chores, sitting by the fire, then going back to sleep. All that day Arthur had been doing something for Uncle so you still had unresolved feelings about your kiss the night before. 

Lenny ended up being your knight in shining armor. 

“YN! You ever learn how to fish?” The younger man called across the camp and waved you over. 

“Sure I did! Won a few competitions back in Blackwater, too. You know that big salmon hanging up in the general store?” He nodded, eyes wide and watching you. “I’m the one who caught it!” 

A beat passed before you realized he thought you were serious. “Oh, Lenny no. I was joking. Sure I know how to cast a line but making a fish appear on the other end is a skill I only semi possess.” 

He laughed and clapped your shoulder, handing you his spare rod. “Hosea wants something other than beef stew tonight. I mean don’t we all. Let’s go see if we can catch us some fish, hmm?” 

The small boat pushed off from the dock easy enough and floated out towards the middle of the lake. Camp got smaller and smaller, and you could feel yourself breathe easier knowing the air wasn’t so restricted around you. 

Lenny hummed a tune you didn’t recognize after sitting in the boat awhile. Both of you were relaxing as you cast the line out onto the surface of the water, watching it slowly sink down. 

“When did you learn how to fish, Mr. Summers?” 

The younger man thought for a moment. “Hosea actually taught me not too long ago. I thought I was fine but he called me shit. Made me cast over one hundred times that day so I never forgot. I was about ready to toss him in the river but I will say, I have not forgotten how to do it.” 

His smile was infectious. Lenny talked on about his fishing lessons and how Hosea used to get upset when Lenny talked down about himself. 

“Hosea is funny that way. I’ve seen him more than once go off on Bill, rightly so, or Sean. He tends to stay true to his small group. You know, Arthur and Dutch and John. They’ve been through more shit than I care to ever see in my life.” 

You nodded along to his story. Those men had a bond no one could chip away at, not even time itself. 

After awhile, the pile of fish was large enough that Lenny wanted to head back. You had caught fewer than Lenny but still enough to feel productive, and knew Pearson and Hosea would be proud. 

You reeled the string in but it wasn’t moving fast enough for your liking. The last few feet were taking too long so you leaned over to yank it in, tipping the boat slightly in your direction. 

“Careful, YN. Don’t want you having to swim back to camp now.” 

“Oh, I’m fine, just watch the -” The limit of your reach had been found as the boat finally tipped too far, launching you out over the wooden edge and headfirst into the water. The cold was a shock and water filled your ears and nose. You pumped your arms and floated to the surface, met by peals of laughter from Lenny in the boat. 

“I told you! I told you, girl, you fell right in!” 

“Really!” The situation was hilarious, you couldn't deny. But Lenny made no attempt at helping you up, mostly from laughing too hard. You glanced back towards camp and a few faces were watching you from a not too distant shore. 

You swam the rest of the way back just to spite Lenny wrong. It felt good to stretch and move in the water, even if it did end up being much further than it looked. Your clothes would take all night to dry but you didn’t care. You took the opportunity to lightly scrub at your face as well, being fully submerged in water for the first time in weeks. 

Lenny eventually met your soggy mess on shore and you punched him in the shoulder. Taking all the fish, you left him laughing away at the sorry sight you made. 

Pearson stared as you slammed the fish down on the table in front of him. “Dinner!” You barked, “Is ready to be cooked. Do you need anything else, Mr. Pearson? Or can I please go get changed?”

The man blushed a bit but shooed you off. Grateful to be in your own space again, your wet clothes were disposed of quickly. Damn Lenny. Damn fish. Damn boat. What a day. 

You emerged refreshed and feeling much better to find Arthur had returned for the day. He was speaking with Abigail but caught your eye over her shoulder, a wink meeting your grin as you approached. Abigail was deep in conversation so you let the two old friends finish up before watching Arthur approach you. 

Neither of you had spoken since the night before, and the memory of that encounter made your cheeks flood with heat. 

“YN, how was your day?”

“Wet,” you sighed. Arthur was silent for a moment until you met his gaze. “Lenny and I went fishing. I, well I fell in the lake. Soaked to the bone. Had to swim all the way back just to prove a point.” 

He laughed and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ll say it again, YN. You’re something else.”

You motioned over to a quiet corner of the camp. “Let’s go chat, Arthur. About last night.”

A dark cloud passed over his face. His thoughts turned to rejection and you leaving, having another person let him down and break his heart. He thought after months or building something solid that he could have a real chance and not just another heartbreak to add to his growing collection. Arthur was a man who wasn’t afraid of pain, but-

His internal monologue quieted down when your hand slipped into his and led him to sit on the dock. A sweet smile was soft on your lips; like a ray of sunshine breaking through the darkness he had so quickly spiraled down.  

“Arthur…” you hesitated. It was awkward to bring it up out of the blue, so you chickened out and changed the subject. “What were you up to today in town?” 

He looked slightly caught off guard but answered anyways. “Dutch had some plan to uh, look into these families. Went to scout them out. Ain’t nothing special.” Arthur scratched the back of his neck, his hat tipping forward slightly as he kept his eyes on you. 

“That’s...well, actually that sounds boring. You sat and watched people all day?” 

Arthur’s eyes crinkled as he smiled at your response. “When you put it like that yes, it is mighty boring. I’m ‘spossed to do it all week and report to Dutch.”

“Every day?”

“Every day.” 

You shook your head. “And I here thought chores around here were bad. Weren’t you warning me about the dangers of outlaw life? Robbing and killing and kidnapping? I spent my day washing dishes, Arthur Morgan. Washing dishes.” 

He laughed more openly at you now, shoulders shaking lightly. “Why don’t you come with me, then? It’ll be more entertaining than sitting by myself for half the day wishing I could hang myself from the nearest tree.” 

Finally the tension between you two had been broken and you decided to take your chance, heart fluttering ever so slightly.

“I would like that. I would like to spend more time with you, Arthur. You’re, ah, I mean I like, aw hell help me out here.” A bright red flush covered your cheeks and you no longer looked him in the eyes, instead using your hands to hide your face and the words you were trying to convey. 

You wanted to be with Arthur. If only you could convey that coherently. One kiss had you flustered like a little school child.

It wasn’t a surprising realization that you had come to. It didn’t tumble over you in one single moment or sneak up like a thief in the night. It took time and developed like a blossom, small at first but constantly growing the more attention it received. 

Tentatively you tilted your head to look at the silent man next to you. In all your conversations you had noticed Arthur never drew conclusions quickly and often wanted a moment to think. You granted him that as you admired the small stubble that had started to appear over the past few days. 

After a few moments he responded. “I don’t think you want to be with someone like me, YN. I...I am not a good man. Done bad things and don’t live a life someone like you deserves. I can’t say I don’t want to, but...I’ve been down that road before and see how people change and what the price is for being around.” 

Instinctively you reached out to grab his hand and wind your fingers through his. No one could see you as you sat on the dock, which suited you just fine.  

“Arthur, I’ve known bad men. I was brought into this world by one. I can’t have been the first to tell you that you ain’t a bad man, look at who raised you and who is around you now. You think Dutch or Hosea are bad? Think their badness passed on to you like some disease? That’s not how life works, Arthur. I wouldn’t be here with you now if that’s the only choice we had.” You paused for a moment, then rushed headfirst into the reason you wanted to talk in the first place. “And although it is hard for me to say, apparently, I do want to be with you, Arthur Morgan. I think you’re much more than the version of yourself that you’ve locked up inside that head of yours.” 

He squeezed your hand and smiled out at the horizon. “Guess you made your mind up, then.” 

“Guess I did. Do you…want...?” 

“Yes, I do,” he confessed, surprised at how fast the reply came out of his mouth. “Darlin’, I want that more than anything.” 

Arthur tipped your chin up as his lips pressed softly against yours. Your free hand grabbed his shoulder and bunched the worn leather as he deeped things and shifted one hand to the small of your back. A fish jumping nearby brought you back and you pulled back gently, looking up into those blue green eyes that now belonged to your man. 

“I hate to ask this, but folks around camp tend to gossip. Do you mind if we keep this to ourselves just for now? Not to hide it!” Arthur reacted to the look on your face. “Just...I don’t want to rush anything and they tend to do that.” 

“I understand, Arthur. I won’t tell anyone.” His mind at rest he helped you up from your seats on the dock and you walked hand in hand back to camp, until Kieran rounded a corner and you dropped hands, hoping he didn’t notice a thing. 

That night at camp Dutch wanted to break open one of the moonshine bottles he and John had procured from their attempts at being lawmen. The plan was to try and sell the rest back to those they had stolen from, but everyone figured they wouldn't miss one jug. The clear liquid smelled so strongly that only one glass made it halfway around the circle before needing to be refilled. And that was nothing to say of how potent the alcohol was. 

Down in the southern United States, liquor was made different. Sure you were Blackwater, born and raised, but this really took the cake. If you could muscle through the smell you would be knocked flat on your back in about three sips. 

Karen managed to finish half a glass by herself while Mary Beth and Tilly just watched, helping her once it turned and she began to throw up not too long after. Javier and Sean danced around the fire speaking a strange mix of Spanish and Irish that somehow they both understood. Bill grumbled and fell asleep sitting up. Charles opted out, heading off with Lenny for guard duty. Dutch and Hosea each had a small sip but soon went to bed. Mrs. Grimshaw was watching Jack while Abigail and John sat and enjoyed the festivities, having a small sip each. 

Sean was soon impersonating John’s drunk stumble and had the group in stitches. He had stumbled around himself enough to know how it went, but after one particularly large wipeout passed out and had to be carried off to bed by Arthur. 

“YN!” Abigail called you over to sit with her and watch. You had a few sips and had to watch your feet as you plopped down across from her. 

“How ya doing, girl?”

She raised her eyebrows in amusement at you. “Forgot you don’t hold your drink too well. Too many evenings in Blackwater I ended up half carrying you back home.” 

“I am fine! Just nice to be out in the cool air. It hot out to you?” You struggled to stay atop your seat as you giggled at her. “Want to hear a secret? Can’t tell no one, though.”

Abigail’s interest was peaked. “What you hiding there, YN?”

You leaned in close to her face and whispered, “Me and Arthur, it happened. I kissed him, and we spoke today about being together. It’s happening, Abigail.”

“You did not! YN!” A girlish squeal burst from her and you tried to quiet her down but with no luck. 

“Abigail! We want to move slow so we ain’t telling anyone, keep your voice down. You can’t even tell John yet.” 

A voice at the table started you, causing you to nearly fall over. “Gonna be hard to not tell me when I’ve been here the whole time, YN. Damn, that moonshine really did a number on you.” 

A flush filled your cheeks and you froze. “But I won’t say anything, except to Abigail who owes me. Pay up, woman, that was in my time frame.” 

Your jaw drops as you realize they had a bet going. 

“You two!” They laughed as you stood to go. “Think it’s time for me to head to bed.” 

Arthur intercepted you while you were on your way to your tent. “Jeez, YN, Marston said you had a few nips of that moonshine and to make sure you were okay.” 

You grabbed his arm to stabilize yourself, and admire the muscles that were formed just beneath his jacket. He chuckled when he saw what you were doing and, after checking the two of you were alone, pulled you closer to him. 

“It’s a chilly night, Arthur. Hope you’re okay in that big tent all alone.” 

He laughed again but kissed you on the forehead, murmuring something while his lips were pressed against your skin you couldn’t understand. He smelled like mint and tobacco leaves  again, and the scent lingered as you crawled into your cot to fall asleep, worn from the day. 

A few days later you headed off with Arthur to observe the Greys and the Braithwaites. Dutch wanted to wait after the first time just to avoid suspicion and not ruin the perfect picture he painted of the gang while working with the law in town. 

Arthur was right. It was boring. 

You counted the wagons that rolled by, you counted how many people greeted you, Arthur even began to describe the birds he had seen. It was a long few hours in the morning. 

Around lunch is when things got exciting. 

Uncle road up to your hiding spot, hollering about for Arthur. Eclipse had just munched down an apple he had given her as a treat, rubbing her nose and speaking to her in hushed, soft tones. Arthur had a particular way with horses, and they trusted him. Zeus let no one else even get close unless Arthur was nearby. 

“Arthur! Oh Arthur, you hidin’ up in these hills? I got a job and I need your help!” 

Arthur grumbled and threw the apple core to the ground and wiped his hands on his jeans. “What you telling about, old man?” 

“Howdy, YN. Am I interrupting something here?”

You shook your head as Arthur’s hackles went up, and laughed to cut the tension. “You have something for me too, Uncle? Or do I just have to head back to camp now that you’ve showed up and taken my source of entertainment away?” 

Uncle’s eyebrows shot up, but answered honestly. “Nah, Miss Moore, it’s a real job. I would ask you along, but we never rode together, no offense. I need Arthur to help me rob a stagecoach.” He stood proudly with his hands on his suspenders, chest puffed out. 

“Robbing coaches? What you need me for? Take Lenny.” 

“No!” Uncle started following Arthur as he began picking up your makeshift day camp. “I ain’t taking the kid out. Lenny’s great, but come on, Arthur! You know me, it’s a good tip! I swear.” 

Arthur rolled his shoulders as he responded. “Only good thing about this is I get a chance to leave you with the law. What’s this wagon carrying, anyways?”

Now that he had his attention, Uncle knew how to reel him in. “It’s a stagecoach coming into town that is completely unguarded for a stretch carrying payroll or something. Lots of cash, it’ll be easy with you, me, Charles, and Bill. Three strapping men can do it no problem.”

“So why you going then?” 

“Arthur!” You threw an apple at him lightly, and he ducked while laughing. Uncle watched the scene with a faint smile on his face that once Arthur caught sight of brought him to a halt. 

“Uncle, sounds like a good tip to me. You sure I can’t tag along? Learn how it’s done?” 

Arthur and Uncle both shook their heads. “Nah, YN. You head back to camp, ain’t too far. I’ll ride out with this lunk now and see you in a few hours. Shouldn’t be gone more than that.” 

Uncle excitedly mounted his horse and started off, leaving Arthur to give you a hurried kiss and head off quickly after him. You sighed and cleaned up the camp, attaching everything in a rucksack to the back of Eclipse. She bumped your hand with her nose as you gave her an oatcake and mounted up. Out of curiosity you sampled the small cake, but spit it out. How in the hell was that a good snack for a horse? It tasted like bland oatmeal. 

Arriving back at camp alone raised some eyebrows, but most everyone knew Arthur was off riding with Charles, Uncle, and Bill. 

“Hey, Mary Beth! How were things today?” 

The brunette groaned and rolled her eyes. “How do I hate Ms. Grimshaw? Let me count thee ways.”

You giggled, “So that bad, huh?” She looped her arm through yours and walked you over to the main fire where people had gathered. 

“We washed clothes all, day, long. My fingers are bare down to the bone, and look at these fingernails!” She fake fawned into your lap and held her hands out dramatically. “How was your day out with Arthur?” 

“Fine, we mostly just...stared at the people going by. It was not as exciting as I thought it would be. I think I counted seven carriages that went by, most just farm supplies or food. I started with the leaves but Arthur was about ready to turn to murder.” 

You chatted by the fire for a few hours, relaxing with folks and comparing books with Mary Beth. She finally released her grip on some pages she had written and you set them tenderly on you bedside for later. Tilly promised they were incredible and you couldn’t wait to gush with them about it. 

John came into camp and sat down at the fire as well. “YN. You know what’s taking those boys so long?” 

The time had slipped away so easily, you hadn’t even noticed that it had been hours beyond when Uncle promised to bring them home.

“Who were they robbing, John? Should we be worried?” 

He scratched his chin, thinking. “Uncle mentioned Leviticus Cornwall.” 

Behind him, Dutch approached and swore. “Cornwall? Dammit, Uncle. John, would you ride out and see if they need any assistance? We need to keep our appearance up as good, law abiding citizens and it’s hard to do that if we keep robbing the same damn man!” 

An idea struck you and you followed John through the dark over to the horses. “John. John! Wait up.” 

He turned to look at you over his shoulder. “Want me to tell something to Arthur, YN?” 

“Nothing I can’t tell him myself,” you swung up onto Eclipse and clicked your tongue before he could rightly react. “I’m coming with you. Now, let’s go find our boys!” And the two of you took off before anyone noticed John took an extra rider. 

[castellankurze]

A Completely Normal Team-Up

So you know how oftentimes an anime gets an OVA or a movie that takes place...somewhere in its continuity, but nobody’s quite sure where, it probably messes with continuity but someone had an idea for a standalone story so by god they wedged in in there somehow? Well, consider this to be Completely Normal RPG getting its own OVA release.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Miyumi was the first one taken by the creature.

Later on, Shouko, attempting to lighten the mood, joked that it did so because it was smart.  While there might have been a kernel of truth in the statement, when everything came out in the end it also inadvertently hid the thing's true motivation.

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

In truth there had been others attacked beforehand, but they had been left at the site of their assault, all of them bone-weary and exhausted, none able to describe whatever the thing was that had come after them.  Whatever it was, it struck at twilight three days in a row.  The school put out a warning of a flu going around, reacting to the aftereffects, but when the four of them got together the idea wasn't even dignified with a single repetition.

"A vampire of some kind?" Kanako proposed.

"Whatever it is, it's definitely draining its victims," Miyumi agreed with a stroke of her chin.

"But it's not drinking their blood or anything, just sapping their energy," Erika said from the counter where she was fixing a sandwich.  "Are there any beasts that just sort of...make people tired and move on?"

A quick call to Saika was no help.  "She says there's too many possibilities," Shouko said, waggling an unlit cigarette between her lips and ignoring a dirty look from Miyumi.  "She says to do the usual - just buddy up and never be alone and keep your eyes open."

So they did, and Miyumi was in the company of her boyfriend Shoji when dusk came at the end of the next day, but all told, the advice didn't seem to be much help.

"I barely saw it," Shoji murmured from his bed.  He was bruised and cut in a few places, but otherwise unharmed but for the same strange exhaustion that had overtaken the previous victims.  "There was a flash of headlights behind us, and then I thought someone was coming off the road to try and hit us.  After that I just saw stars."  Kanako tried to coax more information out of him, gently asking questions, but that seemed to be the limit of what he could remember.  Apart from that, Erika had to step in when he tried to rise from his bed as if to start looking for Miyumi then and there, easily keeping the boy down with a hand to his chest.

"You just focus on getting better," she said firmly.  "We'll find Miyumi."

The next morning, Shouko crossed paths with Shizuka when the latter stepped off the bus before class.  "You are on time for school today," the red-eyed girl noted quietly.

"You're a riot," Shouko replied, shrugging her motorcycle jacket over her shoulder and falling into step beside Shizuka.  "For real though, why would this thing take Miyumi when it just leaves everyone else all tired out?"

Shizuka shot the delinquent a sidelong glower, the kind she often employed on those who ought to know better.  "What distinguishes Miymui from the rest of them?" she asked curtly, and then walked on, ignoring Shouko's faltering steps behind her.

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

Erika and Kanako never made it home that night, but because it was a friday and Kana lived alone but for her cat Tsukiko, nobody realized what had happened until Shouko (in flagrant violation of Saika's warning not to travel alone) dropped by the house late the next afternoon to ask after the math homework they'd been assigned.  The door was unlocked, and she found nobody but a pitifully meowing Tsukiko who pointedly went to sit by her bowl.  After offering the cat a reassuring stroke and some food from the bag under the counter, Shouko sent a few queries by text, careful to sound innocuous.  When the inseparable pair didn't turn up anywhere, Shouko hurried out, and in the end she was almost fast enough.

Saika's phone buzzed and she picked it up with a chirp of "hi Shouko!"

"Don't talk just listen!  It's got Kana and Erika!" Shouko shouted back, sounding out of breath.  There was some kind of rhythmic pounding like a series of sledgehammers behind her voice.

"Shouko?!" Saika yelped, immediately disregarding her girlfriend's instruction standing with such haste she knocked her desk chair over.

"It's some kind of a machine!  It's got all kinds of random parts!  It's got...it's got a core shaped like a diamond made of mirrors!  It's got wings and they glow really bright!  I don't-"

Where was a sound of screeching metal and a moment later the line disconnected.  Saika stared at the little rectangle in disbelief for a moment before mashing redial and begging "pick up...please pick up..." but it was not to be.  The normally-bubbly blonde stood wide-eyed in the center of her room, staring past her phone at the far wall, paralyzed for a long moment with indecision.  Then, with trembling fingers, she dialed another number.

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

"Hmmm," he mused after she relayed her description.  "'A diamond-shaped mirror' has sometimes been mentioned in the description of a creature called the mirrorknight."  The Baron of the Radiant Court paused, marshaling his thoughts.  "It is a type of golem which repairs and rebuilds itself with whatever materials may be present, but its heart is a single piece of silver polished to a mirror shine.  A long time ago there used to be quite a number of them, but they were unstable creations and would eventually go renegade."

"This one seems to be pretty renegade," Saika agreed, her voice shaky.  "Why would this one be kidnapping hunters?"

"Individuals have attacked members of the Court before, thought always in isolated incidents.  I'll look into the archives, and I will send someone to reinforce you as soon as possible.  I want you to be very careful, is that clear?"

"Yessir," Saika replied, and the call ended.  Saika looked out her window at the night sky and the lights of other houses across the street and beyond.  Then she looked back to her phone and, with a trembling thumb, scrolled through her contacts to a certain name whose number she had never dialed.

She took a deep breath.  She'd always tried to...be helpful.  Back up her friends.  Be there when they needed her - when Shouko needed her.  Be the guiding light.  She'd never...taken point, so to speak.  And certainly not like this.  This could get her into a lot of trouble.  A lot.  But the night was coming on, and it was getting cold, and Miyumi had been gone for over two whole days at this point, and it could be...some time before another member of the Radiant Court could be pulled from their current duty and sent to help.  And every passing moment meant all four of them were out there, somewhere, in trouble...

"Hey, by the way, you should add this to your contacts."

"Shouko, she'll me really angry you gave me her number."

"Nah, she said it was okay."

"Did she really?"

"Well, you know, I sort of ran it by her and she kind of grunted the way she does.  Look, just save it for a major emergency, okay?"

Her phone's screen started to grey out, and Saika swallowed hard, raised her thumb high, brought it down on the dial icon.

One ring.

Two.

"Hello," answered Shizuka's deadpan voice.

"We need to talk," Saika said.

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

They met at the sports field by the school, a wide-open place not far from the building's lights.  The representative of the Eventide Vanguard came armed, of course, her katana belted at her side, and Saika tried to keep her fingers from twitching, fighting the urge to summon her bow, just to have it ready.

It was a long moment before either of them spoke - Shizuka stood with her arms crossed, her red-eyed gaze unwavering, while Saika chewed her lip, searching for the right words.  Finally she gave up and just repeated everything that had happened, relaying everything Shouko had had time to tell her over the phone and the resulting information given to her by the Baron.

When she was done, Shizuka lowered her gaze and closed her eyes for a moment.  "You could face severe consequences for this, Oishi," she commented dryly.  "It could be seen as consorting with the enemy."

Saika spread her arms and shrugged.  "I can't...just wait," she said, hearing the plaintive tone in her own voice.

Shizuka uncrossed her arms and rested one hand at her sword's sheath, idly popping the katana's hilt with her thumb and holding it for a moment before clicking it back into place, her lips pursed, her gaze directed past Saika's shoulder rather than on her face.  "The Vanguard's knowledge of the mirrorknight states that it's core is designed as a mirror because it was intended to be a reactive force," she suddenly stated.  "It absorbs energy for fuel, and when it drinks power from a certain element it alters its own base nature to turn that energy against its foes."

"So when Shouko described its wings as glowing-" Saika realized with growing horror.

"It has likely absorbed magic from both Kanako and Erika, which would give it a strong light aspect," Shizuka confirmed.

"We can't wait for backup," Saika blurted, and as Shizuka raised an eyebrow she balled her fists and stamped a foot.  "Either of us.  You know I'm right, Miyasato.  Every minute they're out there that thing is draining more and more from them.  What if it doesn't stop like it did with the other people it attacked.  What if it drains everything?"

"You are willing to put everything on the line in the event of that possibility," Shizuka said, her red-eyed gaze once more pinned to Saika's own green pair.

"Aren't you?" Saika rejoined, and Shizuka lowered her eyes, thumb toying with the hilt of her katana again.  Saika took a bracing breath and then turned on the ball of one foot, thrusting out a hand towards her opposite number.  "Night's fallen," she said, her voice low and firm.  "Day and twilight are both behind us.  And they'll come again in the morning.  But for tonight there are people who need saving.  Our friends.  And I'm...I'm not asking you to like me, Miyasato.  But...just for one night.  For our friends."

Shizuka eyed the proffered hand for a long moment.  "A two-person band," she mused.  Then she reached out and clasped Saika's hand.  The pair squeezed.

"So...um, now we just need to find it," Saika realized lamely.

Shizuka favored her with one of her barely-there smirks.  "Shouko said it was made of random parts. Where else do machines go to die and be reborn, Oishi?"

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

Kanako's screaming filled the junkyard, but nobody had come running in the last day, and nobody came running now.

She thrashed in her restraints as their captor leaned close and opened its maw which, not already enough of a science-fiction nightmare made as it was of mashing metal parts, was full of discarded sawblades that whirled and struck sparks from one another when the bottom set glanced off the ones on the top.  But instead of biting into the hapless girl, the machine seemed to inhale, and from Kanako's body a haze of glimmering light took form only to be drawn away as if by some manner of whirlpool, pulled inexorably into the machine-beast's mouth.  It arched, like a predator swallowing a particularly juicy morsel, its wings twitching and glimmering as the hope it drained from its captive suffused its body.

The thing that had taken them was the size of a bear, and walked on a pair of legs made from pistons and car axles, its arms cobbled together from cast-offs from the construction equipment manufacturing plant and spliced into grabbing claws.  Its posture was hunched and predatory, its eyes a set of headlights stolen from the hulk of a bus, which explained why Shoji had thought some nutcase was about to run him and Miyumi down.  

The wings that jutted from its body were the only thing that didn't seem to have come from the scrapyard - a set of blade-like triple-pointed razor-sharp limbs that extended almost ten feet in either direction and which, for the last day, had been glowing with an ever more intense light as it sucked the energy from its captives.

Kanako struggled to catch her breath as the thing finally seemed to take its fill and stepped away, rumbling, shaking her head and coughing.  "I knew this war between hunters and the twilight was going to crazy when I signed up, but I didn't think every other monster out there was going to try and eat us!" she wailed, sobbing a bit though by now her cheeks were try, with only the tracks left by the tears from earlier in the day.

"It...it's going to be okay," Miyumi murmured from her position sat against the wall.  The sorceress could barely keep her head up, deep bags under both eyes after fully two days with little more than a few drops of water.  The machine-creature had fashioned crude manacles from rebar and steel beams, driving them into the concrete wall against the back of the junkyard to pin the foursome's legs and hands in place.  Even Erika's fearsome strength had managed little more than to earn a bit of wiggle room.  "We will...figure something..out."

"Keep your eyes open, Miyumi!" Erika cried out.  "Don't fall asleep on us!  Um...what's forty times twenty-three?"

"Nnn...nine hundred and twenty," Miymui replied after a few moments' hesitation.

"Shouko are you sure you got through?" Erika asked for what had to be the hundredth time.

For the last hour Shouko had been trying to use the toe of her boot to grab purchase on an iron bar that rested by her feet, hoping she would be able to somehow lever open the rebar that held her pinned.  "Uh huh," she replied.  "I heard her answer.  C'mon...c'monnnnnn..."  With a soft squeak of triumph she managed to get her toe underneath the end of the bar and worked it up a couple inches, just enough to maneuver her feet to pin the bar between her insteps, drawing it from the ground towards her.

"Shouko, watch-" Kanako started to warn her, but a steel claw shot forwards to grab the bar and yanked it violently away from the would-be escapee.  Shouko yelped, having been so utterly focused on her task she hadn't noticed the golem turning back around towards them.  It leaned close, opening up its sawblade mouth and hissing steam in warning.  Shouko screamed back.

"Get away from her you...you b-jerk!" a voice cried out, and the golem reared, turning with awkward grace to find whatever interloper had called it out.

[...]

The pair stood side-by-side.  Shizuka's katana was already drawn and laid across her shoulders, its eldritch glow alight.  Beside her, Saika had her bow summoned and a gleaming golden arrow put to the shimmering string.

"Machines are meant to make lives easier and take the weight from the backs of working people," Shizuka growled.  "A malfunctioning beast like you has no right to turn such devices to the purpose of inflicting harm upon innocents."

"We won't let you hurt anyone else," Saika echoed.  "We might be like night and day ourselves, but even at the bottom of the night people deserve to dream of tomorrow, and when a new day breaks, that's all that'll be left of you - a bad dream!"  With that she drew her bow and fired her arrow, her aim dead-on between the mirrorknight's eyes.  But when the magical projectile struck the golem, it merely shattered and vanished, and the creature's wings only seemed to glow even brighter than before as it gnashed its sawblade teeth.

"Saika no, it's tuned itself to light energy!" Kanako cried out.  "You won't be able to hurt it like that!"

"So if it's full of light energy," Saika mused, glancing to her side even as the mirrorknight shook itself and began to pound towards the pair.  "Do you...?"

"Don't mind if I do," the Eventide representative growled and leapt forward, long skirts billowing about her legs as she ran to meet the beast halfway, her katana striking sparks from its claws as they met and she parried, dodged, and struck.  The energised blade cut into the morass of scrap that composed the mirrorknight's body, and it flashed in a brief, sudden coruscation of wild magic and drew back, snapping in bestial rage.  It lunged and bit, swiping with its claws, and dealt Shizuka a glancing blow with one hand, making her cry out and drop back.

Saika was at her back a moment later, her hand reaching out for Shizuka's shoulder, and in the space of a heartbeat the wound closed as if it had never been.  "I can still back you up like this," she assured the other girl, and squeezed, imparting a measure of energy.

Shizuka lifted a hand and, with a sudden burst of inhuman speed, threw out her arm and from the air exploded a set of chains as black as night that lashed out and tangled around the mirrorknight's limbs.  Splaying her fingers, the Eventide warrior threw a hail of thorns equally black that sank into the golem's armored hide with no more resistance than pins through a sheet of paper.  The renegade creation thrashed and lifted up into the air, letting loose an unearthly howling noise, and the glow of its wings intensified with a suddenness that left Saika with barely enough time to shout "watch out!" before searing beams of light erupted in every direction, carving through the air and leaving scorch marks where they passed.

Shizuka's chains failed and burst, but even so as the mirrorknight dropped back to the ground she was there, rushing forward with another reckless cut of her blade, carving deep into its flank, and again setting off the shudder of pain and the flashing, wild release of energy.  Then the thing kicked out and caught her in the midsection, lifting her from her feet and sending her flying through the air.  Saika rushed to her side when she came down, healing her once more, but rather than take advantage of the moment, the mirrorknight shuddered, and without warning its belly parted, affording them a glimpse of the diamond-shaped core housed within its torso, a perfect octohedron poised to a mirror shine.

Then the light that had sprayed forth from the golem's wings faded, replaced by a mounting inky blackness, dotted with distant pinpricks of light as if a void had opened into the night sky.  Helping Shizuka to her feet, Saika leveled her bow and summoned another arrow, firing at the creature once more and this time achieving the desired result, forcing it back a step as it howled injury.  "That's why you took Miyumi first," Saika realized.  "Because if you'd tried to fight both her and Kanako at the same time they could have just alternated what energy they hit you with.  She summoned another arrow, held it until it blazed with light, and fired, driving the berserk machine back another step.

Then, without warning, it charged, but in a heartbeat Shizuka was in front of her once more, the glow gone from her sword as she ceased to channel its enchantment, blocking steel with steel as the golem's claws screeched against the killing edge with no magical power to draw upon.  Together the unlikely pair faced down the cruel machine, Shizuka's protective blade turning aside the whirling sawblades and killing claws as Saika flexed her fingers and summoned up a triad of arrows, firing all three at once into the thing and making it reel, falling to its knees.

"That's right!  You’ve got nothing!" Saika cheered, pumping a fist.  "You never expected a pair like us to team up, did you?  Always striking at one or the other; you've got nothing when we work together!"

"Oishi," Shizuka warned.

The golem had managed to clamber up to one knee, its torso once mroe opening to display the pristine mirror of its core as the darkness faded from its wings, leaving perfectly-polished steel in its wake.

Then it closed a claw, and a long blade of fire erupted into the air.

"......o-oh," Saika whined, belatedly remembering not everyone had powers neatly categorized into light and dark.

The machine lashed out with what power it had managed to steal from Shouko, but with a snap-hiss of energy Shizuka had stepped in to block the blow, driven a foot back from the sheer strength behind it.  The machine lashed out again and the pair separated as the blade came down between them.

"What do we do now?  I don't know any ice spells!" Saika cried out, firing another pair of arrows that thunked into the golem's armored hide.

"We do things the old-fashioned way," Shizuka said grimly, with a cut of her blade that sliced into the mirrorknight's other flank.

"Get 'em Saika!  I believe in you!" Shouko shouted.

"Take him down!" Erika chimed in.

"You can do it," Miyumi husked.

"We're all counting on you!" Kanako added her voice to the chorus.

Saika conjured one arrow after the other, putting them into the hulking brute's torso with determination, but seemed to accomplish little even as Shizuka chipped away at its limbs with her blade.  This was going to take all night, and Saika didn't have the energy to keep them healed if they took more injuries.  Then, as the golem twisted to try and hit Shizuka, Saika realized that its torso was still open, its core naked.  It had to be nearly out of energy, she realized.

"Miyasato!  Are you willing to trust me?" she cried out, hurrying once more to Shizuka's side.

"It's a little late for that question," Shizuka growled.

"The core," Saika said, and her opposite nubmer thinned her lips and nodded, setting herself.

The mirrorknight stamped its piston-legs, shook itself in animalistic fashion, and stepped forward, beginning to raise its flaming sword.

Saika shut her eyes as she summoned up every bit of energy she could conjure, her bow trembling in her hand as she fed everything into it, leaving herself utterly unguarded, but summoning up an arrow that seemingly glowed with the intensity of a risen sun.  Then, as the mirrorknight's sword reached the highest point of its arc, ready to crash down in a devastating blow, she dropped one foot back, braced, and pulled, firing towards the exposed core.

Shizuka threw her hand out and one of her ink-black chains short forth, latching onto the arrow in mid-flight and trailing behind it as it soared, sinking deep into the polished mirror surface of the golem's core, spidering cracks flowing out in every direction.  

The mirrorknight stumbled, frozen in the middle of its deathblow.

Shizuka closed her hand around the conjured chain, and Saika reached out to likewise grasp it, her own fingers closing on the blackened links just above Shizuka's own grip.  Ice flooded her all the way up the shoulder as she touched the shadowed conjuring, but she held on tight, teeth bared.

"Twilight marks the end of day," Shizuka murmured.

"But dawn always comes again!" Saika replied, and together they focused, sending a spiraling wave of alternating light and dark energy twisting down the length of the chain that sank into the cracks created by the arrow's strike and exploded forth, shattering the golem's core into hundreds of mirrored shards.  

The renegade machine let out a final howl and slowly toppled backwards, the flaming sword fading from its clawed grip as it struck the ground and shattered into its many constituent pieces, the spark of animation that had bound them into a hungering whole dispelled forevermore. As smoke rose from the hulking remnants, Shizuka straightened to lay her katana across her shoulders once more, eyes closed, and Saika couldn’t resist making a ‘v’ with the first two fingers of her freed hand, fingertips framing one eye. ------------------------

Erika had to carry Miyumi from the junkyard, Kanako patting her head and summoning what healing magics she could still call forth to stabilize her, promising food as soon as they could get home.  For her part, Shouko reached for a cigarette, but in deference to Miymui's condition she slid it away again and settled for hugging Saika tightly.

Still, as they exited the place Saika found a spare moment to drag her feet, slowing to walk alongside Shizuka and offering an awkward, but heartfelt smile.  "Thanks for trusting me," she said softly.

"Likewise, Oishi," Shizuka replied after a few moments, offering a faint smile in return.

"Maybe sometimes light and darkness don't always have to be in opposition, huh?" she asked softly.

"Perhaps," Shizuka allowed.  A moment of silence passed between them, then, "you may keep my phone number in your contacts.  In case another night should come in which neither the Court nor the Vanguard need know...quite everything."

Saika nodded.  "You can add mine to yours, too.  Just in case, like you say."

"Oishi."

"Miyasato."

"Hey, are you coming or what?" Shouko called from up ahead.

"Yes, just wait up!" Saika said, hustling after the others, and after a moment, Shizuka deigned to lengthen her stride as well so that she need not fall behind.

[singledarkshade]

Of Kings And Time Cores

Summary - The Waverider has detected a signal from the Core Rip used on Mallus, and Gideon goes to find him. Author’s Note: - For @incendiaglacies for the @dccwrarepairswap. Prompt - Rip/Gideon, fanfic, Rip is alive and Gideon finds him. Hope you enjoy.                                 ********************************************* The early morning mist covered the land hiding the lush green fields. Gideon eased her ship down into a clearing sure that it was far enough away from civilisation to be undisturbed while she explored.

Setting up the disruptor field to ensure no one saw the Waverider and were encouraged to keep away if they wandered in the general direction, Gideon picked up the pack she had fabricated before quickly checking her outfit to ensure she blended in the way a time traveller should. Once she was sure that she looked fine for the time period, Gideon started out of the ship into the world. The mist had burned away in the morning sun and it was a beautiful day for her search.

It was about three year since Rip had sacrificed himself leaving her alone. And then, after a small magical accident a year and a half ago, Gideon suddenly had a body. She was human and all that came with the form, including the anger that he was gone. Gideon had raged and wept, yelled and screamed as the emotions she’d never fully felt until that moment flooded her. Ray Palmer, sweet and kind man that he was stayed with her every moment. Hugging her when she would let him, handing her things to break and agreeing when she called Rip all the names under the sun for abandoning her.

As an AI she had searched for him, monitoring for a signal that she knew he would send if he were still alive. Turning human hadn’t stopped her search, it had only intensified her desire to find him.

Then two days ago, a signal was detected. So faint, it lasted barely a tenth of a second but the Waverider caught it for her. Gideon studied the information for hours to pinpoint the exact location it had come from. She arranged for the team to take some time off, not that they realised what she was doing, before taking her ship to investigate.

  Drawing the cloak around herself, Gideon started walking in the general direction the signal had come from. Although she had the right day, date and year, locating the specific origin of the signal in the physical world had been harder. A longer signal would have allowed her the ability but so far there hadn’t been one. She hoped that once she got closer to the origin of the signal then it would be easier to identify, and she would find him.

Reaching a road, Gideon walked studying the small houses she passed. Everyone was working, and as she walked along many raised their hands in greeting. Gideon gave a small wave along with a smile back, but she didn’t stop.

Several hours passed and the houses became fewer and farther between as the road stretched out in front of her. She could see her destination on the horizon, a large castle which was become bigger with each step.

  “Halt.”

A man stepped in front of Gideon as she arrived at the gates in the wall surrounding the castle, he looked her up and down with an officious look on his face, “Identification Papers.”

Gideon tilted her head at him slightly, she had hoped this wouldn’t come up. Information on this era didn’t give any details on what the identification used looked like. Therefore, she lied, “I’m afraid I don’t have any.”

A sneer developed on the guard’s face and Gideon found her arms seized by two other guards, “Those without Identification Papers are thieves and bandits who are hung for their crimes.”

“I don’t have any because they were stolen,” Gideon continued using the story she had concocted, surprised that she managed to keep her voice steady, “I had them one night and they were gone the next morning.”

“A likely story,” the guard said, “Take her to the throne room. His Majesty wanted all those with no papers brought before him to be sentenced personally.”

Gideon didn’t struggle against the two men who were holding her. Since becoming human she had taken self-defence lessons from Sara but knew that now was not the correct time to fight. She wanted inside the walls, once there then she could escape and track down the signal.

Gideon studied the building she was being led through, memorising the layout for when she needed to leave quickly. Although all she would need was a few seconds alone to get back to the Waverider, it was always best to know where she was.

“Your Majesty,” the guard from the gate stated with a low bow to a bored looking man on a large ostentatious throne, “She has no identification papers.”

“As I said before this imbecile had these two oafs drag me here,” Gideon stated, drawing herself to her full height. Even though she wasn’t tall when Gideon became angry people moved out of her way fast, “My papers were stolen. I am here on an important errand that I must continue.”

Before anyone could say anything else, a familiar voice came from behind her.

“I can vouch for her, Your Majesty.”

Turning Gideon felt relief and joy fill her to see the man standing there. Dressed in clothing of the world they were in, yet similar to his normal attire, she was pleased to see he had regrown his beard and looked relatively healthy as he stood his eyes on the man who held Gideon’s fate in his hands.

  Rip Hunter sat in the study he had been given, trying to work out how to send out a stronger signal to the Waverider. Unfortunately, the equipment here was not exactly up to scratch, but it was all he had to work with.

A disturbance outside his window made him glance down at the gate guards who had obviously decided to harass the most recent traveller when the familiar voice floated up to him. Rip froze in astonishment and looked out again properly, catching only a glimpse of chestnut brown hair as the guards entered the gate. Quickly he ran down to the throne room to ensure nothing happened to her, or them because he knew how she could be when riled.

Reaching the throne room, he heard her much missed voice stating sharply, “My papers were stolen. I am here on an important errand that I must continue.”

Rip smiled to himself and spoke up, “I can vouch for her, Your Majesty.”

Gideon stunned joyful face greeted him as she spun to look at him, but Rip kept his focus on the man sitting on the throne.

“Master Hunter, explain?”

“My Lord Averon,” Rip said softly, “This is Gideon, from the Rider of the Waves clan. She is their wise woman and I asked her to come here to assist me in my work for you. She is a dear friend of mine and I hope that the treatment she has received so far does not mean she will no longer help.”

Averon stood moving to Gideon, “My dear lady, I apologise for my guards. Master Hunter has spoken of your clan often, including how they saved his life many times. I apologise for my guards and assure they will be punished severely.”

Rip took a quick breath hoping Gideon would know what to do and felt the knot in his stomach release when she nodded.

“No punishment is necessary, Your Majesty” Gideon said gently, “These men are only defending their home and their King, as is proper.”

Averon took her hand and placed a kiss on her knuckles, “You are as gracious as you are beautiful, Lady Gideon. I will have one of the finest rooms there is made available for you.”

Gideon dipped her head, “Thank you, Your Majesty. Now if you will excuse us, I came here to assist Master Hunter and I am anxious to begin.”

He nodded his agreement to leave and Rip offered Gideon his arm. She took it and they walked in silence to his study. Rip motioned Gideon inside before closing and locking the door. He took several deep breaths before turning to face her. Gideon’s face was luminous with joy, so happy to see him and Rip hoped he didn’t disappoint her again.

“So, when did this happen?” he asked softly moving around her to the small bench his tea things were on.

Gideon took a step towards him, “Almost eighteen months ago.”

“And how long has it been since…”

“Three years,” she cut him off before asking, “How long have you been here?”

Rip shrugged, “A little over six months.”

“Then you have not missed me at all,” she stated sharply turning to look out the window.

Wincing at his stupidity, Rip moved to stand behind her, “Of course, I missed you. I have missed you for so long. You’re my Gideon, my best friend and I left you with people who don’t understand how special you are.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, hunching into the cloak she was wearing, “Why did you leave?”

Moving closer, Rip rested his hands on her shoulders, “Because I’m an idiot.”

“Well, that is something we can agree on, Captain,” Gideon said sharply, amusement tingeing her voice.

“Gideon,” he said softly, “Please look at me.”

Several seconds passed in silence before Gideon turned to face him, looking up into his eyes challengingly.

“I am so happy to see you,” Rip whispered, rubbing his hands along her arms, “I’m so happy…”

Without a word Gideon flung her arms around him, hugging him tightly as Rip wrapped her petite frame in a tight embrace. Rip felt her breath in his ear as she whispered his name and pressed kisses to his cheek.

Pulling back, Rip placed a soft kiss on her forehead and stepped away from her.

  Gideon grimaced slightly as her Captain moved away, but she knew it was because strong emotions were things that he was never truly comfortable with and not anything to do with her.

“Okay,” he said, brushing past the moment they’d shared, “Where’s the ship?”

“About two hours walk from here,” Gideon smiled before touching her locket with a smile, “But I do have a faster way back to it.”

Rip grinned, “That’s my girl.”

Gideon gave a slight sniff, “Actually, it was Miranda who taught me to always be prepared. You taught me less helpful things, usually involving alcohol.”

Dropping his head, Rip smiled, “I deserved that.”

“And much more,” she replied, surprised by the anger in her voice.

“Gideon,” Rip moved towards her, “I will make this up to you. Once we get back to the ship.”

“Then we should go,” Gideon frowned when he caught her hand, “Captain?”

Rip sighed, “Before we leave, we need to get the Time Core back.”

“Back?” Gideon folded her arms in annoyance that he had let something so dangerous out of his control.

“Averon knew it was something powerful,” Rip explained softly, “I agreed to let him put it in his vault, not that I had much choice in the matter. Thankfully, he is smart enough not to touch it.”

“And what exactly is your position here?” Gideon demanded, still annoyed with him and not precisely sure she could vocalise every reason why.

Rip gave a small shrug, “I am an advisor to the ‘King’,” he rolled his eyes, “I really hate this damn era. Honestly, a couple of hundred miles in any direction is technology I could have used to call you the moment I got here,” he waved his arms, “Instead I landed in the Arthurian Pretenders enclosure. You know in two years they’ll give up on this nonsense and rejoin the 25th Century.”

She stared at him, “I am aware.”

“Considering the last time I wanted to use it,” Rip mused, “I had to petition him with detailed plans, meaning we could be here a while. Unless…”

“Unless?”

“He seemed to liked you,” Rip mused thoughtfully.

Gideon gave him a confused frown, “And?”

“If I tell him it’s for you to study,” Rip told her, “It’s possible he’ll agree to release it without having to go through the same pain.”

“Then you do that, Captain while I retrieve a holding case for it,” Gideon nodded.

Before she opened the portal back to the ship, Rip caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“I’m so happy to have you back with me again,” he whispered to her, “And I will make everything up to you. I promise.”

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

  Rip had managed over the past few months to gain the “King’s” respect by making himself useful to the court. The main problem with being in the enclosure was that, in order for the people who were living within to enter it, their memories were altered so that they actually believed they were who they thought they were in the simulation.

He really hated this place.

“Master Hunter,” Averon greeted him, “I did not expect to see you so soon.”

Rip bowed, “I have a small request, Your Majesty. Lady Gideon has asked to see the ‘Starstone’ that brought me to you.”

Averon leaned back thoughtfully, “What is your relationship with her?”

Worried Rip shrugged, “She has saved my life several times, Your Majesty.”

“And?”

“And I admire her greatly,” Rip said carefully, “But there is nothing more than that. May I ask why you’re so interested?”

Averon smiled, “I have been looking for a queen.”

“That may not work out the way you hope, sire. Lady Gideon has very exacting standards,” Rip noted, hoping to dampen Averon’s enthusiasm for the idea.

“I am a King,” Averon reminded Rip sharply.

Rip nodded, “Which are points in your favour, sire.”

“I believe that spending some time with me would surely increase her opinion of me,” Averon told him, “You will both join me for dinner tonight and she can request access to the stone herself.”

  Gideon looked up from studying Rip’s writings when he walked back into the room, slamming the door behind him.

“What happened?”

“Well,” Rip snapped annoyance filling his voice, “You have the opportunity to become queen of all you see here.”

Confused Gideon frowned at him, “Captain?”

“Averon wouldn’t give me access because he wants you to ask him,” Rip replied, “He’s hoping to woo you.”

Gideon blinked confused, “Excuse me?”

Rip shrugged, “Apparently he has good taste in one area at least. So, we’re going to have to steal it.”

“Steal it?”

Rip grinned, “You’ve been around Mick Rory long enough, surely you picked up some of his thieving skills.”

“You mean kick the door down, smash the glass case and take what you want while shooting fire at everyone?” Gideon asked with an amused smile.

Rip frowned, “Then you remember Snart.”

She smirked at him, “I am surprised you did not mention yourself in regard to thieving skills.”

“Anyway,” he ignored her, “We get to the right section of the castle where we can pick the lock to the room the core is stored in. We store it in the container before taking it back to the ship using the Courier.”

“A solid plan,” Gideon noted giving him an amused smile, “I’m pleased you’re not going to try to use the Courier to open a portal directly into the room. I am not chasing you through time again.”

Rip rolled his eyes at her, “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

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

  Gideon followed her Captain through the corridors of the castle, enjoying herself more than she wanted to admit. Rip had a feeling Averon would have upped the guards for the Core after his request so they were going to have to use some subterfuge. This was their first escapade together in her new form and she was enjoying getting to see him in this environment. Rip had always been an adventurer and she could see in his face how much fun he was having.

“The guards are used to seeing me moving around,” he murmured, “But since I asked for the core it’s possible Averon has told them to watch out in case I try to take it.”

“Nothing is ever straightforward with you,” Gideon noted, “Is it, Captain?”

Rip smiled at her, “Where would the fun be in that?”

Before she could reply they reached the section of the castle which held the core, and currently had three guards waiting for them.

“And these are several of the finest guards in the castle,” Rip stated as though he’d been giving her a tour.

Gideon smiled graciously at the three men who all suddenly straightened with pride, they were taken by surprise when Rip grabbed the table and smacked it across the head of two of the guards. The third man tried to grab Gideon who easily dodged before slamming her heel into his knee making him drop to the ground. Rip knocked him out and gave her an admiring look.

“I take it Sara taught you that?” he said.

Smiling she nodded, “She felt I needed to be able to protect myself.”

“One thing we agree on,” Rip murmured before motioning her to follow him, “Come on. I need to pick the lock.”

Gideon watched him, glancing down at the three men she smiled to herself before she picked up the keys from the one laying closest to her.

“Or you could try these?”

Turning to look at her. Rip frowned as she smiled amused at him. Taking the keys, he quickly found the right one. The moment he opened the door, Gideon felt the Time Core’s presence and a missing part of her returned.

“Gideon,” Rip’s voice pulled her back to him, “I need the box.”

“No,” she stated sharply moving to the core and opening the container, “I am not letting you touch that ever again.”

At her tone Rip held up his hands in surrender, “I promise.”

Gideon lovingly placed the time core in the box, closing it and turning to her Captain.

“We’re going to have company soon,” Rip told her.

Opening the locket she wore, Gideon activated the portal to the Waverider and caught Rip’s hand.

“Time to go home, Captain.”

Without hesitation he walked through with her, the portal closing behind them.

  Rip let out a long sigh of relief.

He was home at last.

Gently sliding his fingers across the consoles, he felt vibrations through them telling him that the Waverider herself was happy he was back. He turned to where Gideon stood just watching him.

“Welcome home, Captain Hunter,” she said softly.

In three long strides he crossed the space between them and wrapped her in his arms, “I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I’m sorry I left, I’m sorry I asked you to go with the Legends, I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you especially when you changed.”

“Rip,” Gideon pulled back and placed her hand comfortingly on his cheek, “I know. You did what you thought was right.”

Closing his eyes, he rested his forehead against hers, “I know but it doesn’t change the fact I left you.”

Gideon sighed softly, her hands resting on his chest, “Then promise me that you are here from now on.”

Looking down at her Rip nodded, “I promise.”

Gideon slid her arms around his neck telling him, “I will hold you to that, my Captain.”

Slowly, Rip moved closer and touched his lips to hers in soft kiss. When they parted, Rip waited for her reaction.

Gideon smiled, “I think we need to discuss this a little more.”

Smiling back Rip kissed her again, he was more than happy to have a long in-depth discussion on that particular topic.

[eleanorsparkz]

A Storm is Rising

Vikings (Ivar x Reader)

The man who introduced himself to you as Ragnar leads you out of the forest where you woke up. You don't remember where you came from or why you were there.  This is your first Memory: Ragnars blue Eyes. His face full of worry and suprise. His calm voice asking you „Are you alright?“. He was watching you, like you were some walking riddle. Ragnar quickly convinced you he did not want anything bad. He sat down on the ground covered with leaves and gained your trust by magically pulling out a gold coin behind your ear. He imitated various animal sounds and told you how he sailed to faraway lands.He was holding a necklace with a silver amulet hanging from it. Celtic signs were engraved on it. He noticed how you looked at the necklace and then laid it in your hand while he asked you if you wanted to go with him. What choice did you have? You were still so small and helpless. Now you're standing in front of a house. The biggest one in the village you just went through and admired it all with children's eyes.Your little cold hand is wrapped and warmed by Ragnar's big, rough hand. Ragnar often looks down on you and gives you a warm smile that makes you feel safe and secure. Ragnar's going with you to a man who's guarding the door. "Where is my wife?" asks Ragnar. "She's in her bedchamber with your sons." Then you follow him further into a corridor and then to a door. You can hear the laugh of children. Ragnar stands rooted. As if he had forgotten how to move.He looks back and forth. To the door and then down to you. "Wait here a minute." he says kindly. You nod and then he lets go of your hand to rub your hair. With one last smile he goes into the room behind the door and closes it behind him. You could listen carefully to what they said, but your childish knowledge did not realize it at that time. The children all shout "Father!“ followed by trampling and giggling. "Where were you?" asks a woman voice. "I was in the forest, wife. And I found something there. It was as if Odin wanted me to find her,” he explains, but he is interrupted by a "Her?". "Yes, a little girl, she must be the same age as Ivar. I think she was abandoned".     "And you want to keep her now?" asks the woman. "Only if you agree. She is something special. Why else would Odin lead me to her?"."All right, show me the poor thing," she says, in her voice, empathy and a little compassion. The door opens and a tall narrow woman steps in front of you. As soon as her eyes meet yours she freezes. Ragnar's cheerful face drops as he sees her reaction to you. "What is it?" he asks carefully. The woman turns to him without letting you out of her sight. "We won't keep her." she says seriously. Ragnar tries to keep his smile up to not worry you. "Why?" She turns to him and stares darkly in his eyes. "Maybe there was a reason why she was abandoned." Then she looks at you again and walks back to her room. Ragnar seems clumsy and helpless. When he looks at you again he sighs and rubs his face. Then he takes your hand and kneels down to be at eye level with you. You're so fascinated by his eyes. As if the sea were enclosed in them. "You can't stay here, but we'll find you a home." You nod and follow him again through the house, out into the village and into a forest. When you both arrive at a hut, you recognize a woman at the door. She holds a flower basket in her hand and looks at you from a distance. "Ragnar?" she asks in surprise. "Is Floki there?"  he asks only. The woman makes room and a tall, narrow man steps out. His eyes are black with make-up and make him look scary. You hide behind Ragnar as Floki looks at you with a serious look. "Who is that?" he asks and barely lets you out of his sight."I found her in the woods. She must have been out there for days, alone." Floki listens to him and his eyes narrow a little. Only when Ragnar told him that Odin had led him to you had Floki's eyes become big and shiny. "Odin? Are you sure?". He asks and kneels down. He waves friendly and you have to giggle. His manners are wierd but also funny. He giggles like a girl and makes unusual gestures in between. You all go into the house and sit down at the small fireplace.You're finally getting warm. Helga sits next to where you are and looks at you from time to time as she buttons a wreath out of her flowers. Floki and Ragnar talking about you and this Odin.You didn't understand who Odin was. "Why did Aslaug reject her like that?" questions Helga. "Maybe she is afraid of the little one." Floki says and his eyes wander to everyone with consideration. He and Ragnar exchanged looks and understood each other immediately. "Would you take care of her?" asks Ragnar. Helga freezes and seems to be deep in thought. Not sure how to respond. Floki and Helga look at each other and then at you. "You see it too. She's something special." Ragnar whispers through the fire. You give Helga a shy smile. "I wouldn't reject the child Odin sent us." Floki whispers to Helga. She gives in. "She really is something special" she admits and puts the wreath of flowers on your head.

****

"You're going hunting?" asks you a familiar voice, behind you.  You smile as you immediately recognize to whom the voice belongs. "Good morning Hvitserk." you say only while you keep sharpening your arrows and checking the feathers. He giggles and steps out of the shadow. He looks around and looks at the many arrows you have already stowed away. You notice his gaze on your weapons. "Yes, I am going hunting."- "I guess I don't have to tell you to be careful?" You smile and look up at him. His eyes remind you again and again of Ragnar. The man who saved you from starving and freezing to death. Being reminded of him whenever you look into the eyes of a Ragnarson sometimes hurts. "You know me Hvitserk. But you should warn him to be careful.” You point the arrowhead at a clumsy young man. He often drops something and stumbles over his own feet. Hvitserk looks at you questioningly. "If he disturbs me, I will kill him," you say with a slight smile. He grunts briefly and laughs as he sees the clumsy man trying to look serious when he stretches the bow and tests it or can barely keep his balance and threatens to stumble.”Oh I’ll warn him." Hvitserk says and crosses his arms. "Just come back safe." he adds. You take your filled quiver. "Don't I always do that?" you ask with a smile. You see him nodding in agreement and then going to the man to warn him about you. When he looks at you, he seems even more nervous and tense. Now he is nervous not only because of the hunt and the Christians, but also because of you. You have to keep a laugh down while you check your bow. Then you check to see if your blades hidden in your leather bracelets are complete and sharp enough. Some of them are dipped into a special poison, which within a minute puts the victim into a deadly sleep. These blades have often helped you to get out of trouble. There are also blades in your boots and belt. You like to have a plan B and are always well prepared for all kinds of emergencies. The gates are opened and the hunters and the cart are in motion. Quickly you put your daggers on the hip attachment under your cape, grab your bow and slide through the already closing gates. "Good hunting!" calls Hvitserk down the walls. You turn around and look up at him. He sits on the wall and lets his legs dangle while grinning like a little child. Next to him stands his brother Ivar who also looks down at you. You can hardly interpret his expression. Sometimes he looks relaxed into the fire, but he's thinking of pulling someone's flesh off or practicing a death eagle on someone. Or he smiles at you and says something nice which could also be meant sarcastically. Or looks at you angrily and suddenly he laughs insanely. You haven't seen through him lately. With Ragnar's death he has changed, which you also understand. But Ivar seems to turn his complete character, which you once loved, upside down. His blue eyes hunt you even in your dreams. They are beautiful, but full of irascibility and brutality. You both have been taught by Floki, the shipbuilder and your foster father. The biggest topic was the gods and myths or ancient customs. Everything that made you a Viking. You understood each other well, became inseparable. When you were seen, Ivar was not far away and vice versa. But now it's different. He behaves like an idiot in your presence. Arrogant and selfish and in a bad mood. You very often think about what separated you. Did you say something hurtful? Have you done something wrong? You don't know.  Without saying a word, just a little smile to Hvitserk, you walk the beaten path into the forest and catch up with the others.

Hope you liked it!

Sorry if my english sometimes doesn't make sense or is right.

[secretsantaforlucia]

Freakin’ Mistletoe

This is a SPN Secret Santa gift for @luciathewinchestergirl

I was planning a drabble (exactly 100 words) but it got out of hand and ended up exactly 1500 instead. And taking 3 days instead of a couple hours. 

Dear Lucia, I hope you like it. It’s a little bit CrackFic, and all in fun.

 After the SS reveal, I’m plan to add it to my AO3 account. 

No explicitly written relationships. I think. Hints of them, yeah, but I believe anyone should be able to read it without being offended or triggered.

(GIF is not mine, and added to catch the eye, and only slightly related to the story. A bit.)

Jack had been reading about Christmas traditions. This was pretty much his first Christmas, since the previous December, they’d all kinda been in A Bad Place and nobody’d had time to even acknowledge the holiday.

When Jack read something about mistletoe, he scurried down that rabbit hole and learned that not only was it tradition to kiss under the greenery, but that it had been used to ward off demons and evil spirits, once upon a time. And the source mentioned witchcraft. And he knew a witch personally, one he thought was nice, and had tried to save his life. So, of course, he called Rowena to ask her opinion on mistletoe.

Rowena being Rowena, and probably having Ulterior Motives as witches often do – even witches who are Trying to Reform and Do Good Things From Now On – played it up and encouraged Jack to hang mistletoe in every single doorway of the bunker, even those doorways which only opened upon a supply closet. She must have supplied the kid with piles of the plant as well as red velvet ribbon, because the bunker had a heck of a lot of doorways and archways, and a fancy-red-bowed bundle of the stuff was now hanging in EVERY. SINGLE. ONE. And after all of those were decorated, Jack had started hanging it in random places in the middle of rooms.

Rowena’s reasoning to Jack was, and I quote, “just for a wee bit of a backup, in case all of the Men of Letters’ fancy complicated warding fails. Besides….who doesn’t like a bit of kissing during the holidays!” Dean didn’t know what her game was, but he didn’t like it, and wanted to make that clear.

“I don’t know what her game is, but I’m tellin’ ya man…I don’t like it,” Dean shared with whoever was within earshot, once he found out what was with “all the freakin’ green stuff every freakin’ where” because, of course Jack told him everything that Rowena had said. Jack’s honest that way.

Sam, the complete nerd, actually had the nerve to jump on Jack & Rowena’s Bandwagon of Crazy and say the mistletoe wasn’t a bad idea.

“Y’know, it’s not a bad idea,” began Sam. “And besides, it’s festive.” The giant moose shrugged. “It won’t hurt anything, as long as nobody decides to taste it, and it’s potentially helpful against Evil.”

“Well, it didn’t keep Rowena out. Or that 10-foot-tall green monstrosity in the library,” Dean countered.

“Rowena isn’t evil anymore, Dean. She’s been very helpful and you know it. And that’s a Christmas tree. You even helped decorate it.” Dean’s moose of a brother reminded him. “I especially like the angel tree topper with Castiel’s face pasted on. Any idea where THAT came from?”

Dean studied the floor, feet shuffling, and pretended he wasn’t blushing. Sam pretended he wasn’t noticing. He cleared his throat and continued.

“And anyway, Dean — why are you being such a Grinch? You’re the one who was always all gung-ho about Christmas when we were kids. Even when we had no reason to celebrate, you were always trying to get me excited about it. Besides, Jack loves it, and you agreed: we should all try to make Christmas nice for him.”

“Shut up and pour the damn eggnog before Jody and the girls get here. And don’t skimp on the rum this time,” the older Winchester changed the subject abruptly. Dean grumped off in search of someone to agree with him. Good thing he didn’t hold his breath.

**********

In Dean’s opinion, Jack was totally outta his mind crazy about the whole mistletoe thing. He went a bit psycho with Kissing People – any people – anyone at all – under it. The Apocalypse World hunters had mostly relocated to places of their own by now, so there were only ever a few of them around at any given time, coming by to check in with Chief, or re-up their  supplies. Occasionally friends and fellow hunters they’d known forever stopped in. Whoever was there at any particular moment was apparently considered fair game by Jack. He’d taken to lurking in proximity of mistletoe, in hopes of jumping under the greenery just in time to meet someone under it. He’d flash them a huge smile and give ‘em a fast & friendly kiss on the cheek. Everyone just went along with it and laughed with Jack afterward. The kid’s joy was contagious.

During Jack’s first day of Decking the Halls, Jack surprised the crap outta Dean with a guerilla-attack mistletoe-kiss and garnered a “What the hell, kid?” in reaction. Jack’s crushed countenance while looking up at the mistletoe in confusion made Dean take a step back and apologize.  He’d then hugged Jack and given the boy a quick fatherly peck on the forehead . Heck, it wasn’t even as if there was anyone else around to see, so no big deal, right?

In the next few days, to his own amazement, Dean had started giving spontaneous Doorway-Bro-Hugs, and even the occasional Completely Manly and Not Girly at All kiss on the forehead to anyone who wasn’t eighteen feet tall. So, Sammy just got a lot of hugs. Who could even reach that forehead for a kiss, anyway?

When Dean hugged Cas for the third time, he quickly (but shyly) kissed the angel just above his left eye. Cas responded by “booping” Dean on the nose, grinning widely as he did. Dean turned as red as the bow on the mistletoe above them. After that, Dean went with just the hug, while Cas surreptitiously kissed him on his cheek, or ear, or his shoulder – wherever his mouth was closest to while Dean held him tight for another extended hug. If anyone noticed that Dean/Cas hugs lasted for a much longer time than anyone else’s, they said nothing. At least, not around Dean or Cas.

On one of the increasingly more frequent times when Rowena found a reason to be around, she seemed to always be passing through doorways at the same exact time as Sam or Cas with uncanny frequency. And of course, her kisses were smack on the mouth and somewhat...thorough. While Sam didn’t seem to mind her kisses AT ALL, Cas reverted to the Awkward Angel the Winchesters had first met, and usually took to standing in Dean’s personal space or hiding in a locked room whenever Rowena was in the bunker. The witch knew better than to attempt any such shenanigans with Dean.

Everyone who was around the Winchesters long enough had learned what a great cook Dean was. Of course, he made killer burgers and steaks, but after years of making do in motel kitchenettes just to keep Sammy and himself fed while Dad was hunting, Dean could work some serious mojo when he had a Real Kitchen. Those motels had never had an oven, so Dean had never learned to bake anything. Not even a freakin’ pie.

So, Dean decided that part of a “nice Christmas for Jack” should include a few kinds of made-from-scratch Christmas cookies and at least two kinds of pie. Because, PIE, am I right? Jack eagerly became Dean’s apprentice pastry chef as they learned together, researching Baking Basics and Christmas Cookie recipes, leaving the usual monster lore to Sam. Once Dean mastered pie crusts, there was no stopping him. In addition to the cookies, Dean produced a different kind of pie every day. There had never been so many sweets in the bunker at one time.

And where there are sweets, one should never be surprised to find a Trickster.

Two days before Christmas, Sam ran smack into Gabriel, who was coming out of the kitchen, his mouth full of Christmas cookies. Gabriel fumbled for a minute keep hold of the half-gone pecan pie in his hands. He’d clearly found the aerosol can of whipped cream in the fridge, as it was generously covered in perfect peaks of fluffiness.

“Hey, Samshine!” the Apparently Not Dead Archangel greeted with a snarky grin.

In the next moment, something rare occurred. Something rarer than resurrection of the dead, at least when Winchesters were concerned.

Sam Winchester was speechless for two entire minutes.

Then he began to sputter about “But You Died” and “I saw Michael kill you” and “Apocalypse World” before grabbing the short angel in a fierce hug, lifting him off his feet like he weighed nothing. “How are you here?”

Somehow the pie was still balanced in the archangel’s hand.

Smirking, Gabriel replied, “Hashtag Not Dead.”

Sam rolled his eyes but couldn’t keep the smile from his face as he set Gabe back on the floor. “Well. Obviously. But HOW? You died. In another dimension.”

“A trickster never tells, dude. Don’t look a gift archangel in the mouth,” Gabriel grinned.

He looked up as if only just now noticing the mistletoe above their heads.

The pecan pie dropped to the floor, somehow right-side up and intact, the whipped cream on top still looking perfect.

“Pucker up, Samsquatch.”