#for real though. i watched blade when i was a child and i came up with a half-elf hero for a original story -_-

[elvesofnoldor]

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[differenteagletragedy]

Cove isn't the stepdad, he's the dad who stepped up: Baxter's POV

A companion story (lol) to my silly little series about MC ending up with Cove after Baxter impregnated her in Step 3 then disappeared. Baxter is their wedding planner, finds out about the kid, and angsty ensues.

But like so much angst. An absurd amount, really.

Latest part of the series here, with links to the first two!

Baxter was a deeply pathetic man -- he knew that. He'd never tried to fool himself into believing any different.

He had countless reasons for hating himself, but none of them cut quite as deeply as being reunited with you and learning about what he could have had.

The pain came in waves -- seeing you after all this time was the knife to his heart, and every additional detail was a twist of the blade. You were with Cove. And you were beautifully, hopelessly in love with him. And you were getting married.

But if all that pain was a knife, then learning that you'd had a child and piecing together that that child was his? That was a landmine. It blew him to pieces.

It happened so quickly, and he could tell you hadn't meant to tell him. After hearing that you and Cove had a son, he'd only asked how old he was. It didn't take a scholar to work out the math -- with his age, there was no way he wasn't the father.

Usually so quick witted, he'd completely frozen at the realization. Before he could unthaw himself, you and Cove had left his office, and he was alone. As always.

He finished the rest of his workday in a haze, and he must have driven himself home safely because the next thing he knew, he was unlocking the door to his apartment.

The thing was that it was just such a deeply ironic mess -- if he was truly honest with himself, a real family was really all he'd ever wanted. And to think that he could have possibly had that with you and a baby, a little piece of him and you that he could have watched grow and learn and change and love, but he didn't even give himself the chance because he'd convinced himself long ago that he didn't deserve it ... it was maddening.

After a bit of restless wandering, Baxter pulled out his phone and found your contact information. Even though he'd never responded to your attempts to reach out or even read the texts you'd sent, he never brought himself to delete your number.

"Please call me, it's important," you'd written about a month after he left. There were a few of those -- "seriously, call me," "Pick up the phone, I need to talk to you," "I really really need you to talk to me."

The last message you'd sent was the longest and was sent a couple of months later. In that one, you'd told him that you were pregnant, that the baby was his, and that you were scared and didn't know what to do. The desperate plea had been in his phone for nearly five years.

He put the phone back in his pocket.

Baxter didn't sleep last night, instead opting to drink coffee and ruminate on what could have been -- a familiar pastime. At one point he ended up in his guestroom, imagining it with a crib and then a toddler bed, maybe a twin bed now if the boy was big enough. Toys on the floor, tiny little clothes in the drawer. He imagined himself kneeling on the floor here, playing with his son or telling him bedtime stories. He imagined standing in the doorway with you, watching him fall asleep before heading to bed together.

In reality, it was a guestroom that had never and would never see any guests -- another testament to how pitiful he was.

It was a nice, bittersweet break from reality while it lasted.

He was on the balcony, looking mindlessly over the city when his alarm went off on his phone. He stumbled back inside and got ready for work. By the time his shift was over and he gotten back to his empty apartment, he was almost delirious, and so naturally that's when he decided it would be a good idea to call you.

"Hello?" you answered.

"Hello," Baxter replied, willing himself to sound calm and relaxed.

"I'm sorry we left like that yesterday, but everything is fine," you told him. "I'm still not sure when we'll be able to reschedule our appointment, if you still even want --"

He cut you off as politely as possible, saying, "I actually wasn't calling about the wedding, if that's all right."

In a stilted, scared voice he was sure sounded ridiculous, he tried to ask about your son. He didn't want to outright ask what he wanted to know, but you were able to pick up on what he was getting at.

And you, understandably, were furious.

He listened as you tore him apart for leaving you like he did and for ignoring you after. You sounded like you were as angry as if it had happened five days ago, not five years, but considering the seriousness of the circumstances, he didn't think that was that unusual.

You called him a coward. He didn't say anything, but he knew you were right.

At the end, all he could do was apologize. He'd wanted to know the truth, but he hadn't thought about what to do with it once he'd gotten it.

Somehow, he had the nerve to ask for a picture.

You were always nicer to him than you should have been, and so seconds later, he heard his phone ping in his hand. He pulled it down and opened the message you'd sent, and there it was.

Baxter took in the photo, as painful as it was. The boy in the picture had dark hair, warm brown eyes and he noticed a small mole on his wrist -- he'd noticed it because he had one there as well. The resemblance was undeniable. This was his son.

He wasn't aware he'd started crying until he heard the sounds he was making. Even then, he was lost in the picture you'd sent, another wave of what could have been washing over him. What if he knew this boy? What if he'd called him Dad?

Your voice cut through his thoughts, and he heard you say, "I have to go. Dylan is waking up from his nap."

"His name is Dylan?" he asked.

"Yes. I ... I'll talk to you later, I guess," you replied, then hung up.

At that, he sunk to the floor, letting his phone drop somewhere beside him. He wasn't sure if seeing the boy and learning his name had made it better or worse. Then again, he couldn't really imagine feeling worse.

Utterly exhausted in every conceivable way, Baxter eventually picked himself off the ground and made his way into his bedroom. He peeled his clothes off and climbed under the covers of his bed, willing sleep to take him immediately. He wasn't that lucky.

Instead, he laid in the quiet, the last light of the day streaming through the windows. He laid on his side and put a hand on the empty space beside him, just under the extra pillow that was there for no one.

He closed his eyes and imagined you there, your skin just as warm and as soft as when he last felt it. He pictured his arm around you, rising and falling with your breath, and that imaginary movement was enough to lull him to sleep.

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

a/n: i was mostly inspired by david perron’s insta post which is the bottom left pic! i thought it was cute and something andrei would do so here we go. i have one more dad!drei idea that i'm gonna work on and then moving to some different prompts that you guys have sent in and some smutty stuff too! since it worked so well last time, i’m posting this before i go to the isles/flyers game, give me all the positive energy!!

word count: 2.2k

tw: none

summary: andrei gets a hat trick and surprises you and the kids

It’s late when Andrei finally gets home and you wake up briefly when you hear the shower turn on. Andrei’s quick, climbing into bed with wet hair just a few minutes after he started his shower. You yawn, eyes closed, and turn towards him, scooting across the mattress to curl up against him.

“Hi,” you mumble, brushing your nose against the collar of his white undershirt. He smells like soap and Andrei, with a faint hint of airport. You’re half-asleep and still your body reacts to him, the familiar desire warming between your legs.

“Hi,” he replies into your hair, one hand sliding around your back and resting in between your shoulder blades and the other resting on the small swell of your stomach. He taps lightly against the bump and he can’t feel it, but you feel the faint flutter of the baby moving around.

You relax completely in his arms, slipping your leg in between his. “How was the game? I fell asleep,” you laugh quietly, apologetically. Between running after three energetic little girls and growing a fourth child, you’re basically permanently exhausted these days. Once Evie had fallen asleep at 8:30, you’d wiped down the kitchen and crawled into bed yourself, barely catching a minute of the game.

Andrei huffs a small laugh and says, “it was good. Sat in the box for a bit.” His hand rubs slow, lazy circles on your upper back and it’s so warm in his embrace.

“Of course,” you smile to yourself. “My little criminal, leading the team in penalty minutes. I couldn’t be more proud.” You’re fading fast and fall back asleep before Andrei can even respond.

When you wake up for real at your usual time in the morning, there’s a steaming mug of peppermint tea on the bedside table and a tiny foot pressed against the side of your thigh. You roll over and spot Kira, horizontal across the bed and letting out soft little baby snores. Her hair is a messy halo around her face and she’s got the corner of her blankie clutched in one hand. Two months shy of her second birthday, your youngest daughter must’ve woken up at some point after Andrei got home. She’s usually pretty good about soothing herself back to sleep, but he must’ve wanted to get in some extra cuddles and brought her back to your bed. You’re honestly a little surprised that you didn’t wake up through any of the movement.

Carefully climbing out of bed, you leave Kira in the middle of the mattress, piling pillows around her to prevent her from rolling even though you know from experience that once this kid is out, she’s out and not moving. You brush your teeth quickly and wash your face, feeling more awake as you pull on a sweater and leggings. It’s cool for late-March and you’re grateful for the warm mug of tea wrapped in your hands as you pad down the stairs in your Ugg slippers.

“Morning, Drei,” you murmur quietly, sliding up behind your husband.

Andrei looks up from the island counter, a weird expression on his face. It’s a mix of shifty and excited and your eyebrows draw together, “what’s going on?”

“You really didn’t watch any of the game?” He asks, a curious lift in his tone. You shake your head, distracted by how horny his accent is making you. Despite your exhaustion, the second trimester hormones are keeping you in a constant state of desire for your husband.

“No,” you sip at the tea, trying to look around the bulk of his frame to see what’s on the counter. “I passed out and slept until you came home.”

He grins proudly, stepping to the side and showing off the three pucks piled on the counter. “Missed another hat trick,” he announces, gesturing like a game show host.

You’re surprised and delighted, beaming back at Andrei, “oh my god! I can’t believe I missed it.” You set your mug on the counter and step into Andrei’s personal space to give him a kiss. Your hands curl in the fabric of his t-shirt and his hands land on your waist, pulling you close. “I’m so proud of you,” you whisper against his lips. It’s not the first hat trick of his career or even of the season, but it never gets old.

“Thank you, solnyshka,” he replies, the tips of his ear flushing pink. “One puck per kid.”

When you pull back, you notice that there are three pieces of paper spread out on the counter. Each paper has one of the girls’ names on it and Andrei unstacks the pucks, setting a piece of paper in front of each one.

“Thought it might be a fun surprise,” he shrugs.

You kiss the corner of his mouth, feeling his lips tilt up in a smile. “They’re going to love it! Or well, the big two will. Kiry is just going to be happy to have you home.” The toddler is obsessed with Andrei and who can blame her? You’ve created a little pack of daddy’s girls, helped, probably, by the fact that Andrei is like a giant kid himself sometimes.

“I’m glad we have a little home stand,” Andrei says, leaning back against the counter and keeping you close with his arms wrapped loosely around your waist. “I’ve missed you and the girls.”

“We missed you too,” you reply softly, resting your palms against his chest. “How about I go get the girls up? You can surprise them.”

He nods and you traipse back up the stairs to get the girls awake. Evie grumbles for a minute, but wakes up easily, already chattering by the time you’re down the hall in Alina’s room. The four and a half year old is less amenable to waking up and howls like a wild cat when you nudge her. At the promise of a surprise though, she’s awake and skeptically following along. It’s like the Pied Piper in your house, a little parade as you lift Kira from your bed and head downstairs. Kira’s face is tucked in your neck, her warm baby breath tickling your skin. You rub her back in soft circles and she wakes up slowly, jolting when her big sisters spot Andrei and shriek, “Daddy!” before running into his arms. He squats down and catches them in his arms, lifting them and kissing their cheeks.

“My girls!” He exclaims, smiling widely. “I’ve missed you.”

Alina pats his cheeks, “too scratchy, I don’t like.”

You and Andrei both laugh at her blunt honestly. “Sorry, Alya. Daddy will shave,” he promises and you frown a little. You like the beard and especially how it feels against your skin.

“We missed you, Daddy,” Evie says, cuddling close. “Mommy had to kill a spider and it was funny because she screamed. And she and Aunt Nykki took us all to see the Easter Bunny because Easter is soon, did you know that? But she said we can see the Bunny again if you want to come. And we played with Gigi and can we get a puppy, Daddy? Mommy said that she already wipes too many butts to add a puppy but I think it would be fun. Also, I FaceTimed Baba and Dedu and Uncle Geno. And Uncle Geno said that I should tell you that he’s the bestest.”

You giggle at the way Andrei’s eyes widen when Evie barely takes a breath as she fills him in on the last few days. “Evie, honey, take a breath,” you laugh. “Daddy can’t listen that fast.”

She whips her head around, hitting Andrei in the face with the end of a messy blonde pigtail. “But I gotta tell him everything before he leaves again!” She yelps, looking at you with big brown eyes full of urgency. Andrei’s smile fades slightly, but he rallies, jiggling them in his arms.

“I’m not leaving for a bit,” he promises, drawing Evie’s attention back. “I’ll be home through Easter, zaychik. And then I’m only gone for a few days and I’ll be back.”.

“Did you bring us a s’pise?” Alina asks, knowing Andrei usually comes back from games with a little toy or a book or something fun.

Grateful for the change in subject and speaking quickly so Evie can’t interject, Andrei grins, “I did. Take a look.” He turns so the girls can see the three puck with their names underneath. “Your papa got another hat trick last night.”

You can hear the pride in his tone and your smile is a little watery with emotion. Kira, awake now, points at a puck and shouts, “mine!” She wiggles out of your arms and toddles to the counter, reaching up as far as her little arms will allow.

“Is that how many goals you scored?” Evie asks, reaching for her puck from Andrei’s arms. She hands Alina one too and Alina runs her fingers over the black rubber.

Andrei nods. “Exactly, one goal for each of my daughters.”

He sets Alina and Evie down so they’re sitting on the counter and picks up Kira so she can reach for her own puck, immediately trying to put it in her mouth. “Oh, ugh, no!” you yelp, reaching forward at the same time as Andrei, to pull the puck from her mouth. “That’s so yucky, Kiry. The puck is disgusting.”

Kira starts crying and shouting, “mine! Mine! Want it!”

Alina looks up blithely and comments, “I think she wantsta eat the puck, Mama.”

“Thank you, Alya,” you mutter. “I didn’t realize that.”

Andrei presses his lips together to smother a snort of laughter and manages to choke a little, coughing and laughing at the same time. You shoot him an amused look and clap your hands together, trying to distract Kira from her hiccuping sobs. “How about breakfast? Should Mama make pancakes? With sprinkles?”

The girls cheer, but Andrei interrupts, “I handled that too. Breakfast, I mean.” He tips his chin towards the counter next to the fridge where, you’re noticing for the first time, a big white bakery box sits. The name of your favorite bakery is stamped on the side and you gasp a little in excitement.

“Oh my god, best husband ever!” You cheer, darting for the box and kissing Andrei’s cheek in a drive-by. The cinnamon buns from this bakery have been a major craving for you, so you’re thrilled to see a giant one covered in cream cheese frosting settled smack in the middle of the box. You swipe a finger through the frosting and sample it before taking the other pastries out of the box and settling them on plates for everyone.

Andrei laughs at your enthusiasm and starts pulling apart a blueberry muffin and feeding Kira small pieces. The older girls dive into their croissants, crumbs flying everywhere as they giggle about getting to eat while sitting on the counter. Alina and Evie slide their pucks around, hitting them against each other like bumper cars and you lean your hip against the counter while you watch them.

“You know,” you comment slyly, your hand sliding over the bump of your stomach, “once this little one gets here, you’re going to have to start scoring four goals a night.”

Andrei snorts, smiling with his dimple, and holds his palm out for Kira to pick at pieces of muffin. “I think I can manage that at least once,” he says. “I should probably start shooting at the net more though, if I want to get up to four or more goals a game.”

“Four or more?” You yelp, choking on your bite of cinnamon roll. You cough, catching your breath and glaring at him. “You think I would okay a fifth kid? Am I crazy?”

“Crazy for me,” Andrei deadpans, mild disgust crossing his features when Kira decides she’s done with her muffin and spits a half-chewed bite back into his hand. He wipes his hand on a napkin and tickles Kira’s side, earning toddler giggles.

Evie tugs on your sleeve and as soon as she has you attention, she launches into another monologue, “Mommy, can we see Uncle Marty and Aunt Nykki and everyone today and see the Bunny again with Daddy? Because I think Daddy would like the Bunny since we do the hops the same and also Daddy calls me zaychik which is Russian for bunny, did you know that?”

You laugh, so in love with your chatty little girl. “I did know that zaychik means bunny, or really little rabbit. And I’ll text Aunt Nykki to see if she and the kids can hang out. But no more sugar for you, okay?”

Both girls clutch their chocolate croissants close, clearly afraid you’ll take their pastries right away, and Andrei laughs at the reaction. He curls his hand over your hip and teases you, “they’re like you, when you don’t want to share your fries with me, solnyshka.”

“I am growing your fourth child, Mister Svechnikov,” you poke his chest with your index finger. “I deserve those fries!”

He grabs your hand and kisses the tip of your index finger, ducking his head and looking up at you from underneath those long eyelashes. He smiles at you, charming and boyish, and if you weren’t already pregnant, that look alone would do the trick.

Maybe a fifth child isn’t entirely off the table.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Aro - In a relationship/turning you

warning : dark themes, blood, mental issues, obsession, angst, hurt, tiny comfort, no use of Y/n

masterlist

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

°Blood, violence and madness

°You would still be human if you met each other and he automatically felt this irrepressible desire for you.

°His dead heart beats only for you and yet instantly the fear of losing you. His paranoia and his way of becoming the better.

°He leaves you no choice, you will stay with him and be locked up in Volterra. Darkness, candlelight and only light rays will be the light that comes to your body.

°But for Aro it is the same, for him you and above all your blood count. Your entire existence. His paranoia would get worse day by day, especially about your fragile existence.

°Anything could kill you, including him. But his love goes so far, at least in the beginning, that he gives you a little time to think about it. Either he bites you and you're all his forever. Or he tries out the abilities of others on you for the time being. See what your love can withstand before you break and come to him.

°Then you would be his broken heart which he could put back together again at will. An idea that appeals to him more than anything else.

°But even in the time to the bite he is sometimes like a child. When you read something together, he sometimes insisted on reading you something from an already lame language, almost clapping his hands.

°His red eyes would flit over the pages of the book and he would look graceful in an armchair. He was beautiful and it was exactly this irresistible beauty and his looks that made the love between you seem real.

°In addition to the countless books he read to you, chuckling at your lack of plan for the contents of what you had read. Nevertheless, it was above all his cruel jokes that he liked to make. Whether it was exploiting your fear of others, punishing you for not always looking at him.

°Because in his madness he was convinced that as soon as your gaze left him you would be in danger.

°Once, for fun, he had the Volturri guards hunt you down and lock you in a room with corpses. For him, it was more of an amusement than anything else in the millennia of his life. He rarely gave you any tenderness afterwards, once wiping away a tear and running an encouraging hand over your head before turning back into his grey self.

°Until the day his love finally began to love him in his eyes. At her meal, which he watched for fear she might choke on the food, but still looked at it with fascination, she stabbed. The knife, sharp enough to give her a deep cut, she plunged into his chest before using the larger of the two and plunging it into her own.

°A desperate attempt to drag the monster down with her even though she knew it would do no good. While sounds of pain came from her lips, only a sincere laugh of madness came from his.

°A laugh combined with the amusement of red eyes that made her want to back away from him in fear. She wanted to rush to the door with the knife stuck in her chest. She didn't want to die with him, at least she wanted to decide about her death.

°But he did not let her.

°Instead, she hadn't even been able to take a step when he grabbed her from behind and held the knife still stuck in his chest in front of her eyes. She forced herself to look at the big mirror. She saw that she now had pure fear in her eyes but a hint of pride was in her frightened eyes.

°She and he knew that he could kill her any second if he wanted to. ,,I never thought you would kill for me," he murmured, burying his head in the crook of her neck, smelling her blood pouring out. He felt her tense as he put the blade of the knife to her neck, ignoring her ,,Don't" and made the first cut.

°,,Shall we see how long this useless life lasts?" he asked, not even waiting for an answer. The next cuts and wounds came and came. It was pain that he seemed to enjoy, letting her know that it would be the only time she would rebel against him and never again.

°It was first seconds, then minutes and finally hours when even Marcus and Caius herebi came to see how the leader's love was doing. The weak pleas for help fell on deaf ears. Vampires. Monsters did not feel pity. Especially not for humans who were still alive.

°Until they disappeared and Aro was left with his beloved in the blood-soaked room. He looked down at the drained, almost dead woman laughing in her own blood, which was still on his hands. I think you understand," he murmured his thoughts and saw the faint nod that satisfied him.

°Moving to her and grabbing her, he lifted her back up onto her legs that were barely holding her. She was far too weak and he could only hold her, he protected her, he was everything to her at that moment. He was her god. The master, the decider of life and death.

°When he pulled her to him and said one last ,,Now you are mine forever, my love" before he bit her. Sucking the last drop of her blood and feasting on it before holding her dead, asleep body in his arms. His dead hands ran over her icy cheek to her lips and twisted a little with her.

°A dance of death between two bodies that would be together forever. When his red eyes met hers of the same colour, her heart stopped beating and the two of them had forever before them.

°Not knowing that something had developed in their new state. A gift. The gift to sense when one or more people want to harm her. She felt it and even if helpful at the beginning she was almost happy about it. But with time the enemies seemed to be everywhere, everyone seemed to want to harm her.

°But then came the madness and in her madness, knowing that everything wanted to kill her, there was one who did not. Who didn't want to harm her. Aro. The leader of the vampires was the only one who would not harm her.

°So it was the madness of the two that brought them together for eternity. In bloody, cruel love in which they both kept the only forever. Together in madness and paranoia.

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

@smolchubbygoddess , @fadingbatmuffindonkey , @like-a-dream-about-to-bloom , @iloveslasher , @iamvolturi , @lucansmina , @kimvolturicullen , @demetrivolturiswife , @archoniluthradanar , @misslavenderlady , @certaintwilight

[muffinsin]

the real miracle is someone still writing for her in 2024 XD i’ve been following you for a looong while for the re8 content(which is absolutely amazing), and accidentally stumbled upon some long gone Faith Seed fanfic from yearss ago, the brainworms came back and I remembered seeing that my favorite dimi sister writer also wrote about her and i went 👀👀👀So I was wondering if you’d be willing to write some relationship hc’s about Faith and a badass gn!s/o(they could be the deputy or a reader insert whichever you feel more comfortable with) who looks as mean and as tough as they come but are like an overgrown puppy around Faith. I know your blog is mainly nsfw buttt ik you make some exceptions for sfw content ;) Also it’s my first time ever requesting something instead of just lurking from the side so im sorry if everything sounds messy af😭

Honestly yeah, the ao3 tag even is bombarded with her brothers instead of her, it’s a struggle ;-;

But, as the famous line goes

“Fine, I’ll do it myself” XD, gladly so!

Let’s get into it! :))

Masterlists

Not relationship HCs yet but overall dep/reader being a soft puppy around her XD

Faith has been called many names in the past; daughter, friend, traitor, manipulator, child, herald

A monster. A liar

The one with the flowers

When you stumble to the henbane river, she wonders

What will your name for her be?

It seems, you haven’t quite made up your mind yet

Truthfully, she is awfully curious about you from the moment you’ve stepped into her region of the land

Word is, you’ve caused her brothers quite a bit of trouble

Especially John

Having burned silos left and right, raided bases and taken those that were meant to be “freed”

She ached to visit her brother, if only to catch a glimpse of you

Of course, this is forbidden. She is to stay within the henbane river region

Joseph will not debate on this, she knows

Oh, but what is she doing at the river when her interest lays in the valley?

This changes, one day, when she receives word of your appearance near one of her outposts

From within the flower field, she can’t help but watch you

Joseph surely doesn’t have to know she just watches idly as you take the gas station over

What’s the harm in losing one outpost, after all? She knows, she’ll get it back

It’s unusual for her to be this disobedient. She knows, the Father’s word is law

And she knows, he would disapprove of her curiosity

She is tasked to convert you, not watch as you advance into her territory

She can’t help herself, though

Your rough appearance, the guns and knives, bats and blades strapped to your body, the self crafted weapons she knows to be in your backpack…

The scars along your body, at the very least the ones she can see and are not covered by clothing

Like her, you have a reputation

Rough, badass, mean, unrelenting, stubborn, wrathful, arrogant, merciless

Like you, she doesn’t cling to these terms. These names

She wants to create her own picture of you. Find out who you are really

In a way, it’s her job, to analyse, to pull in, and to take

She jumps at another gunshot, fired into one of her angels. More and more follow

She pities the lives that are lost that day

Oddly enough, she sees you aiming for her flowerfield

Have you received warning about them? Likely

Faith watches from behind a tree as you step into it. She knows, she shouldn’t be this close

She shouldn’t be outside her bunker at all. She shouldn’t be outside the Bliss. Joseph would disapprove

It’s curiosity, though, that pulled her out

The same curiosity that had her find the cult in the first place, too, only pointed towards you this time

She watches, wide eyed, when you suddenly jump back

An illusion of hers, yes. You must see it

Now, Faith is no stranger to the reactions of those who see such illusions of her

She anticipates the gunshot, or the tight beat of the bat that will cause her form to turn to mist

But, you do neither of these things

You don’t attempt to kill her on sight, even if you’re not yet aware it’s not truly her

You don’t even attempt to make her disappear. Instead, you merely tilt your head to the side, as though trying to figure her out

You seem to attempt to talk to her, but she cannot hear. She’s too far away, too far from her Bliss to reach into it and hear your words

Faith shudders for a moment. She feels the ground below her, too hard for her liking. The air, too cold on her bare arms and legs. Her feet are dirtied

This is not the Bliss. She knows, she must return soon

But, you’re so captivating…

You merely stare at her, until the illusion seems to poof away and you shake your head

As you exit her field of white flowers and step away, she frowns

You aren’t burning them down, like the rest of this resistance you’re a part of

You aren’t quite following their goals, she suspects

As she watches you drive off again, her head turns to the sky, far too blue. It’s never this blue in the bliss

She knows, she must return

Faith is- confused- by you

At first, she believed you to be hostile towards everything

And you are, in a way, to most things

And yet, you’re so tender with the illusions you practically drag from her

Never before has someone stepped into her flower fields as often

Once, you attempted to reach out to her, and drew back in shock when she turned to mist

Faith cursed herself. She couldn’t help but wonder, then, how you felt

At the same time, Jacob’s words ring in her mind often enough

Of manipulation and danger, the danger you pose. The wrath you’re bringing, supposedly

Faith doesn’t understand. There is no wrath in the way you treat her, even if it isn’t quite her

She decides to pull you into the Bliss properly

She fiddles with the flower in her hand nervously as she sees you approach, cautious, but eager

No one is with you, it’s only you

Just the way she likes it

“You’re back”, you whisper

She can’t help but giggle a little

It’s rather: you’re back

Faith has been finding you in her flower fields nearly every hour, as though you’re searching for her

And she always appears to you, in the form of the smoke of the bliss

But yet, not this time. This time she drags you into it. This time it’s her

And it’s making her nervous. Has her wish to drag you into it personally made her foolish?

What if you notice it is her in the flesh and fire?

Jacob has warned her of the dangers of the resistance members

She tries not to let it show. She knows, she is meant to appear confident

Carefree

Her white dress flutters in the wind and she shivers

As she walks around her field, she notices you follow eagerly

You always keep your distance- the exact distance to avoid her illusions poofing away. You’ve been paying attention to them

You’re not farther away, nor closer

Until she stretches out her hand

“Let me show you the Bliss”, she whispers

To her surprise, your eyes and expression does not turn angry, or alarmed

You smile at her, and cautiously reach out

Faith automatically takes a step back when you suddenly step into her personal space

You’re grinning, a full on smile she has never heard anybody describe on you before

She didn’t think you would smile

“You’re real”, you realise. She gasps when you poke her shoulder

“Stop that!”, she giggles. She can’t help the peaceful moment

She’s not in the Bliss yet, this is the real world. Joseph has no way of knowing she’s allowing herself this interaction

You don’t pull your gun, nor your other weapons. In fact, your hands are empty as you reach for her again

“Show me”, you seem to plead

And Faith all too happily does

She laughs gleefully at the feeling of the Bliss around her, her lips pursing as she blows some of the powder to your face

As you awaken, you immediately move back to her side, now too in the world of her creation

She giggles, her fingertips stroking the petals of the flowers below her

She sees you follow her, no matter where she goes. When she steps back, you follow

She knows, her goal is to bring you into the Father’s statue, to test your faith

But she is curious, and is having to much fun

How come you are following her like a lost puppy?

How long will you indulge her?

She giggles happily and carelessly as she grasps your hand and runs through her flowerfield

The world seems so soft, so warm and light. She loves the sensation

Faith gasps when you come to a halt, her hand in yours tugged and keeping her from running again

Even in this world, you’re strong

For a moment, she fears what you will do, standing still with her hand clasped tightly in yours

You’re holding hers even tighter than she holds you, but not uncomfortably so. It doesn’t hurt her

In fact, you seem very careful around her, as though she was as petite as the flowers she is known for

The auburn haired woman watches wide eyed as you pick one, and another

She feels her face heat up even in this Bliss world of hers when they are handed to her

“For you”

Faith likes to think she isn’t one to easily fluster (Yes she is)

And yet, she finds herself with pink cheeks every time her dear deputy crosses her path

And it’s often, really

There are countless times she is summoned to one of her fields by your presence, doing her best to concentrate so she will not simply poof away when you near her

She knows, you won’t hurt her

And she knows, you travel alone, and don’t allow anybody else to do as much as aim at her

And each time she is summoned, she feels your leathery, gloved fingertips press against hers when you push another flower into her hand

It’s almost as though you’re retrieving them for her

She expects no less this time, but is surprised when she receives more

“Stay still?”, you ask

She knows, her brothers would scold her for her delusion and nativity, for she closes her eyes and stands still with her hands clasped together behind her back

She’s vulnerable to attacks, she knows this

But, funnily enough, she has faith in you

And this is not betrayed. No harm comes to her, only the feathery soft sensation of flower petals brushing against her head

First her cheeks, then her forehead

Her unpainted lips part when she feels you tuck a strand of hair behind her ear

Next, something is sat on her head

Faith knows the familiar sensation of a flower crown

“Okay, open!”

She adores your excitement

Faith smiles as she opens her eyes, bright and happy when she raises her hand and petite fingertips brush against the white flower petals

You smile down at her, wide and happy, satisfied with yourself

“Thank you”

She knows, in time you too have put your faith in her

Not Joseph. Her

She never speaks of your soft nature to anyone

She never lets anybody know how you are around her when she hears of the trouble you’re causing her brothers whenever you venture into their regions

She isn’t stressed when you leave the henbane river

You always return

With gifts, usually, such as honey and apples from a farm in the valley

Or perhaps even magazines, and once- Faith remembers, you even retrieved her a red dress found in the mountains region of Hope County

She didn’t have the heart to tell you she was to only wear the white one gifted to her by Joseph

Still, she likes to look at it and hold it in front of her at mirrors in her base, the fabric tucked away in a suitcase under her bed

She also notices in time- you’re quite touchy with her

Whether in the real world or the Bliss, you like to stick close, and ideally hold onto her

She knows, you’re fond of holding her hand

At other times you like to pick flowers and hand them to her. Faith is not stupid, but allows you the action as an excuse to touch her

She often feels your hand on her hip, playing with the fabric of her dress

Never do you tug

Never would you dare attempt to tear it

You’re careful with her, clingy and sweet, and in return, she’s free with you

A secret shared between the two of you

[supersaiyanjedi14]

Talking with @rogueleader14 about our respective Star Wars AUs made me decide to share more characters who exist in it, as well as their stories. As I've alluded to elsewhere, this AU draws on all corners of Star Wars canon, be it Disney, Legends, LEGO, or in this case, Visions. I finally got around to watching both seasons this year, and I jumped at the chance to incorporate some of the characters in my AU. These are the micros I've made so far for these characters. Story details under the cut. All of them are in the post-Return of the Jedi setting.

-The Ronin, real name Douga Heian, was a child during the Clone Wars, his Force-sensitivity never manifesting until later in life. By the time that happened, the Empire had risen and he was picked up by the Inquisitorious rather than the Jedi. Though a promising talent and initially loyal to the Empire, he gradually became more aware of the Empire's corruption and went awol, laying low and even starting a family. After Palptaine's death at Endor, former Inquisitors and other Imperial Dark Jedi began running amok as warlords and independent raiders, prompting Douga to come out of hiding and hunt down his former contemporaries.

*I chose his name by combining Kamikaze Douga, the animation company that made The Duel, and the Heian period of Japan (794 to 1185), where the term ronin came from.

-Am and Karre's story is mostly the same, albeit toned down CONSIDERABLY. Here, their creation was overseen by Sebban Keto, a character from a roleplaying game who is descended from Aleema and Sataal Keto from the Tales of the Jedi comics. Sebban intended to revitalize the Krath cult with the twins at the head, but Karre's defection puts those plans on hold. Karre steadily grows into more of a true Jedi as he journeys on his own, while striving to save his sister from the dark path.

*Karre wields a dual-phase lightsaber with a unique gradient crystal. While obviously nowhere near as big as in the short (closer to Pong Krell's blades for reference), it still grows much longer and thicker, enabling a greatsword style of combat.

*Am initially only carried her two normal lightsabers, but installed the prosthetic arms and built the extra four after Karre went rogue.

-F, real name Ephalline Kinema (also taken from the name of the studio), is mostly intact for her story in the Village Bride. Specifically, her feet were maimed while escaping Order 66, forcing her and her master to take refuge for medical treatment. Her ridiculous high heels are actually prosthetics here. Ephalline was still recovering when Darth Vader tracked her master down, and she was forced to watch helplessly as he was cut down. Post-Village Bride, F wanders the galaxy to do good wherever she can, eventually leading her to Tao...

-Lop and Ocho's story is also unchanged. Several years later, Ocho has risen to be the Imperial magistrate of her homeworld, while Lop has fallen in with fellow Lepi smuggler Jaxxon T. Tumperakki to make ends meet. During one of their runs, they bump into F, who recognizes Lop's potential as a Jedi and offers to train her. This development, combined with Ocho's difficulties in arresting her sister (due in no small part to her conflicting loyalties), leads to the Empire sending an Inquisitor to "help out". Lop eventually completes her training, succedes in getting through to Ocho, and joins the New Jedi Order.

-Anni Kalfus and Julan Van Reeple enroll in a New Republic flight academy as teenagers before joining the fleet post graduation. Their rivalry continues into their service, even as they find themselves assigned to the same flight group. Thankfully, the demands of military service and the mentorship of General Thane Kyrell goes a long way towards improving their relationship. By the time of the Yuuzhan Vong invasion, the two are genuine friends and lead their own squadron with distinction.

-Jay and T0-B1 both also exist around this time period, while the events of In the Stars, Bandits of Golak, The Spy Dancer, and The Pit happen during Imperial rule.

-The Elder takes place pre-Phantom Menace

-Daal and the Sith Mother are part of the Banite line.

-Sith and Journey to the Dark Head are during the New Sith Wars, and Aau's Song is shortly after the Battle of Ruusan.

-I'm debating on where The Ninth Jedi would go in the timeline, while Akakiri is an in-universe fable.

(microheroes based on templates and parts from my List of Sources)

[neonthewrite]

Crisis Averted

GT July is not forgotten! The next prompt on the list was "Trickster" and there was no other option for me but Elias Dawn, my halfgod of mischief and storms. Luckily, Elias has a friend around for when the mischief impulses get too strong.

~~~

Elias’ breaths came quick and shallow and her heart pounded in her chest. Adrenaline coursed alongside electricity through her body, with the occasional blue spark flickering over her skin. Her muscles quivered and she gripped her weapons in hands that had gone pale. Nearby, Eral hovered with his little crossbow still held at the ready, and it felt like Elias could hear every single beat of his leafy pixie wings.

She’d won, and her opponents either scrambled to get away from her or lay motionless on the ground bearing marks of her efforts. There’d been a lot of them, though. Even with Eral there and kicking as much ass as that pixie ever did, Elias had been pushed harder than usual.

It was hard to tell what her actual threshold was. Sometimes she thought the limits moved depending on the day. Whatever it was, some fights drew on a lot of her divinity without any side effects. Others, though, tapped into a side of her that she tried to keep under close control. 

A little mischief here and there never rattled those inner chains. Active and gleeful sabotage, however, came with risks. Her inner trickster, much like her inner storm, always wanted out. She wasn’t a full god‒she couldn’t command her divinity with the ease that someone without a half-human body could. She was good. So so good. She had told herself this since she was a small child. Her abilities couldn’t be all that bad, even if she went a little overboard once in a while.

She grinned, then winced slightly as it agitated a split lip. She’d heal pretty quickly with her divinity in open use, but that wouldn’t clean up the blood she’d already gotten on herself.

No matter. She could still have some fun. She glanced down at the dual swords she held at her sides, tilting them to check the sides of the blades. Filthy. A real pity. After a few deft shakes, they were as clean as they were going to be for a while, and she slipped them back into their sheaths with a pair of metallic whispers.

Putting away her arms drew Eral closer. He stowed his weapon in turn and buzzed closer with a confident grin on his bitty little face. “Well that was a lot,” he said. He would have gone on, but instead let out a quiet hrk as an ambitious spark leapt off Elias’ skin and gave him a little zap. He didn’t drop, but he did waver. “Hey, watch it! Ground those out!”

Elias glanced sidelong at him and snickered. “What, you don't want a little pick-me-up? A little wake-up spark?”

Eral huffed and crossed his arms, a pose that always fascinated Elias when the little guy did it in midair. “I’m already plenty awake, so no. I don’t want you zapping me. Ass.”

Elias pouted her lips in mock disappointment and waggled her fingers, where several happy blue sparks danced back and forth at the ready. “Not even for old times’ sake? Didn’t we have fun when we first met, and I zapped you out of the air?”

Eral narrowed his eyes, but didn’t look at Elias’ hand. Didn’t bite on the obvious distraction. “You had fun with that. I wanted to teach you a lesson for it. I still might.”

Elias tilted her head back and forth a few times and hummed. “Fiiiine. No sparks for pixie. Spoilsport.” She closed her hand in a fist and the sparks fizzled out, briefly tingling through the air as if they shared her disappointment. The storm didn’t want to settle any more than she did.

Eral, sharp eye that he was, didn’t relax. “You’re acting weird. The fight’s over, Elias, put away some of the trickster. You never like having it out this much.”

That was true. Elias tended to come back from mischief sprees with immense regret weighing down her shoulders, filling her with silly things like shame, sometimes even guilt and regret. Those moments, returning to herself, made her feel more human than she ever had a right to feel considering what she was and what she wasn’t. It was heavy.

But for now, she was lighter than an ion, and far more energetic. “It’ll be totally fine this time,” she said. Then, on an impulse, she reached out and snatched Eral out of the air, gently but unavoidably fast. 

“Hey!” Eral flinched and threw his arms up in surprise as he was dragged in front of Elias’ face. His wings twitched a few times before curling into leaf bud shapes at his back, but he didn’t squirm as much as he might for someone else grabbing at him. Elias cupped her hands beneath him once she had him close, and grinned when he still didn’t try to flutter away, instead opting to lean against her curled fingers and resume crossing his arms and glaring at her.

Bothered. Annoyed, even, but not afraid. That was important. “What do you say, Eral? What say we head back to town and show ‘em what an old pixie and a young mischief maker can do? It’ll be funny!”

Eral’s expression softened just a bit. It was hard to see his face sometimes, but Elias had him inches away from her own. She saw in real time as he went from a glare to the faintest little smirk. “I say,” he paused to inspect himself and glance over Elias’ face, “that you look like you could use a good wash, not a good prank.”

Elias’ expression dropped into another exaggerated pout. “Come on. You know it’d be great. They’d love it, after dealing with all these bandits for so long. I’m hilarious!”

Eral shrugged and held out a wavery hand in a so-so gesture (he had to know how devastating that’d be, the little shit). “We could debate that. Sometimes I’m laughing. I’m not laughing now. Pretty sure you need to just calm down. Play some slow music, maybe. After you shut down your compulsion to cause problems.” He paused, and they both blinked at each other, before his smirk grew and he shrugged. “At least for the people who haven’t earned it. There’s probably other bandits waiting to get pranked and we’ll find them later. What do you say?”

He didn’t always have a speech just for her, but when he did it tended to work. Elias felt more like herself by the second. With a sigh, she lowered her hands to give him some space and surveyed their erstwhile battleground again. “I suppose it’d be better if we let the poor townsfolk have a reprieve. Not really all that fun to kick someone while they’re already down.”

Eral clapped a hand on her thumb like one might clap a friend on the arm if they stood at the same scale. “That’s a smart trickster,” he agreed. “And if you really need to be funny, why not buy a round or two of drinks and then anything you do will make ‘em laugh.”

“Ah! Clever pixie, getting us to the pub,” Elias laughed. She ferried him up to a shoulder to offer a perch there, and he hopped over on light steps. “You got the better of me yet again.”

“I’ve been at this mischief thing a bit longer is all. Got a good eye for it. Let’s head back.”

Elias nodded, and as she turned to leave, she welcomed the heaviness of every step.

[romeoandjulietyouwish]

what am I doing writing criminal minds fanfic? not a clue, hope you enjoy!

Reid has never been treated his age, not once. When he was a kid, skipping grades left and right, he was treated like an adult by teachers. They expected the same level of professionalism and expertise from him as the rest of their students, nearly a decade older than him. So that’s what he became, trying to meet and surpass their expectations in every way he could. 

And once he finally was an adult, he was suddenly treated like a child again. Before he joined the BAU, he was constantly having to prove himself and his worth to people who didn’t see anything more than his age. And she he did. He pushed himself to be better and be worthy of his place.

And then came the BAU. 

At first it was the same as every other place, the older agents looking down on him, expecting him to be innocent and naive as though he’s not doing the exact same work as them. Things got better quickly, once he proved himself as an asset.

JJ was the first to warm up to him, sitting on the edge of his desk for a conversation while drinking her coffee, calling him Spence. After she welcomed him in, everyone else came quickly after. Before he knew it, Morgan was slinging an arm around his shoulders, Garcia was inviting him over to watch Doctor Who, Elle was asking about his life, and Hotch started trusting him. 

But even with that, he knew how they looked at him. He was just barely 20, the rest older and more experienced in the field. They would never see him as more than just a kid.

When he told Derek about his nightmares, he thought he would be made fun of. But he wasn’t. For the first time in so long, he wasn’t ridiculed for seeming childish. Morgan assured him that it was normal, that he himself suffered from them. 

That’s why he goes to Morgan that night.

He’s been to Morgan’s place before, his memory makes it almost second nature to get there. He doesn’t even think before knocking on the door. Only once he pulls his hand away does he realize that it’s probably too late for a house call and that this is a huge mistake and he should probably just leave before-

“Reid?” Spencer blinks and looks up, finding Morgan looking at him with a frown, “Kid, you okay?”

Spencer nods, “I’m sorry, I don’t really know why I’m here. Something in my head doesn’t feel right. Can I come in?”

“Yeah, of course. Come on in, pretty boy,” Derek steps aside, allowing Spencer to dart past him inside and slipping his shoes off. As they walk into the house, Derek puts a hand on his upper back, right between his shoulder blades. The pressure is more comforting than he would expect.

Morgan guides him into the living room, giving him a light shove into the couch before sitting down beside him, “Talk to me, kid, what’s going on in your big brain?”

Reid chuckles and picks at a thread on the hem of his shirt, “What do I need to do to prove myself to all of you?”

Derek frowns, “Prove yourself?”

“Yeah, um, I’ve noticed you all being well, more protective of me and I don’t want to be treated like I’m a kid. So if I prove myself to you all then…” He sighs. “I thought I did when I first joined but you all keep worrying about me and-”

“Woah, woah,” Derek holds a hand up. Spencer snaps his mouth closed. “Spencer, you don’t have anything to prove anymore. We worry about each other, we’re a team. After Garcia was shot, we took care of her, you all checked in on me after Chicago, that’s what family does.”

Reid bites on the side of his thumb in thought, “It’s not about my age?”

Derek looks down, “I can’t say it isn’t. When you first joined the BAU, we could all see how green you were. You’d never seen real action before, we were all worried about the toll the job would take on you. We were all older than you when we joined and it was hard for us too. And then we found out about your mom,” Spencer flinches, “and you got kidnapped and struggled with addiction. So yeah, kid, we worried about you. But it’s not because you’re a kid, not anymore.”

“Do you think I’m weak?”

“God, of course not,” Derek squeezes his shoulder. “Of course not. It takes a hell of a lot of strength to do this job, to go through what you did, what all of us have. You’re strong.”

“So are you.” 

Derek chuckles and pulls Spencer into a side hug, “I know, pretty boy, thank you.” 

Spencer leans into his side, “Sometimes my brain thinks too fast and I can’t keep up.”

“No shit, genius boy,” Derek ruffles his hair with a laugh. “But we got you, we’re a family, you hear?”

“Yeah, yeah I hear,” Spencer admits, readjusting his hair. 

“Alright.” Derek claps him on the shoulder and stands up. “Come on, I got some leftovers in the kitchen-”

“I already ate dinner.”

Derek gives him a look, “There’s a reason that Garcia keeps telling you that you need more meat on your bones. You eat and we can watch that fantasy show the two of you like, Doctor Whatever.”

“It’s Doctor Who, actually,” Reid says, standing to follow after Morgan without even realizing it, “and it’s technically more sci-fi, though I can see why you would be confused, there are some episodes that seem more fantasy-”

Morgan shakes his head fondly, but doesn’t interrupt as they walk into the kitchen, just glad that Spencer is chattering away as usual, despite the heavy topic of conversation.

[ramblesanddragons]

@optimistic-violinist and @impossiblefangirl0632 have their AU Take Back the Kingdom and it is scratching all the right places in my brain. It is living in my head rent free.

I wanted to write a little gift for them in the cool world they made I hope ya’ll enjoy it.

A scream cut through the jungle, startling Bruno awake. He groaned and steadied himself in the tree he’d been sleeping in. It was probably just an animal getting hunted or something like that. Bruno was too exhausted to care, he needed to get back to sleep. Everything hurt from dealing with these damn conquistadors and-

There was the scream again. There was a child crying too. They were crying for help. It was in familiar language, one from the neighboring civilizations of the kingdom. Who ever they were, they were being chased by those men with that Spanish tongue he was just picking up.

Bruno hit his head on the pommel of his sword. He was so tired.

He couldn’t ignore it, no matter how tired he was. The person, a woman he could tell now, was drawing closer with two large men right behind her.

Bruno pulled the sword and leapt in front of the conquistadors with a snarl.

Thankfully they weren’t that hard to deal with. He pulled the bodies and dumped them into the river. He was content to go back to sleep but jumped as the woman’s head poked out from a bush.

“That was incredible,” she whispered.

“Oh uh you know it’s just...you okay?”

Before she could answer a child started wailing again.

“Shit, hold on.” Off of her back came a bundle. In it was a child.

“Shhhhhh. Come on shhhhhhhh.”

She was clearly overwhelmed. Bruno awkwardly stood and watched for a moment.

“H-How old is she?”

“She’s three. I just-I’m sorry I know this can get us caught-I’m just-”

“You’re safe. I promise,” Bruno said quietly. “Uh can-can I see her?”

The woman looked wary and Bruno up away the blade. After a moment she tiredly handed the tot over. Oh, this kid reminded him so much of Isabela. Silky hair and strong lungs. He snapped his figures and green sparks danced in front of the child’s face.

She stopped crying and reached for the sparks with giggles. “Pretty!”

“You know magic?”

“Oh you know just some of the old ways stuff. No big deal.”

“No big deal? You’re…you’re that El Brujo Verde guy. That’s what those people call you! You’ve been fighting them and...and...you’re not as big as I thought you would be.”

Bruno wheezed out his first real laugh in Candle knew how long. He placed the girl on the ground and let her be distracted by sparks. The sun wouldn’t be up for a bit but he was awake now, might as well get started on the day.

“Stay here,” he said with a yawn.

Before she could argue, Bruno gathered a few things and started a fire. The woman sat and Bruno slipped into the forest. 20 minutes later he returned with something to eat. They sat quietly as Bruno cooked the meat over the fire.

Once the meat was done Bruno gave the woman and child most of the food. The woman was hesitant but the little girl dived in.

“Manners kiddo,” the woman muttered. She sighed and bit into the meat. Bruno was dead tired but this woman was a different kind of drained.

“Your kid is cute,” Bruno said trying to make conversation.

“She’s not mine.”

“Oh well uh she uh…” Bruno stuffed his mouth to not have to talk.

“She’s my sister’s.”

Bruno swallowed. “Oh so your her aunt! That’s nice.”

The woman looked up from the fire with a haunted face Bruno recognized.

“You’re all she has left?”

“If my husband got away then she has us both but…”

The little girl finished eating and settled down to sleep by the fire. She slept quietly and with a slight snore. It was cute.

“My sister and her husband had their shit together, you know? My husband and I don’t. We weren’t anywhere close to being ready to have kids and now…” She sighed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m dumping this all on you. You probably don’t even understand.”

Bruno did understand though. When the kids made it back he was going to be all they had left for awhile. If everything worked that is. He was terrified of the idea of being their sole caretaker.

“I have several nieces and nephews. My sisters always seemed to have it together too, but they told me once that they had very little idea if they were doing anything right. They were just trying their best. I’d bet your sister felt the same way.”

The woman looked at him with so much hope in her eyes in that moment. Bruno smiled. “Just try your best and love her with everything you got and I think you’ll figure it out.”

“Where is your family?” the woman asked softly.

“Far away from this mess. That’s why I…well you saw. I want to make this place safe for them when they return.”

The woman snorted. “If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. There’s just so many of-shhh.” Bruno stood and pulled his blade again. The woman scooped up the child and put herself behind Bruno.

In the jungle there was the ever so slight crunching of the jungle floor. Too soft to be one of those rock footed soldiers. In the firelight there was the glint of a blade.

“I mean no harm,” a voice said. “I’m just looking for my wife.”

A name spilled from the woman’s mouth. The man came forward out of the tree line. They met in the middle and hugged each other like there was no tomorrow, a passionate kiss shared between them.

“Yuck,” the now awake little girl said. Bruno chuckled.

“I am so sorry I lost you-“

“No you said go right and then I got lost-“

“How did you loose those men?”

The woman pointed to Bruno who did a small wave. “He killed them.”

The man shared a look with his wife that said ‘Him? Really?’ and she just nodded. At least Bruno had the unassuming thing going for him. After a moment the man approached him and placed both hands on Bruno’s shoulders. “Thank you for protecting my wife and niece. I have no way to repay you.”

“None needed. Why don’t we start heading out? I know somewhere safe you can stay a bit.”

Bruno doused the fire and started to walk. The little family trailed a few steps behind him. The couple was holding hands a whispering the sort of things lovers did when relived to see each other. The little girl held her uncle’s hand and anytime she tripped in the pre-dawn light, the man would stop her from falling. He offered to hold her but she replied that she was a big girl and could handle it.

The couple smiled fondly. Bruno let himself a moment, just a flash. There was the girl, older and happy with the two of them. They’d figure it out, Bruno knew that for sure.

After a bit the little girl walked up to Bruno and took his hand. “When can we take a nap?”

Bruno chuckled. “I’ve never known a 3 year old who liked naps.”

“That’s the one thing she gets from me,” the woman said.

“You need a nap,” the little girl said to Bruno.

“I always look like I need a nap if you ask my sisters.”

“Maybe you can take one when we get where we're going?” The man said. He scooped his niece into a tickle hug and she giggled.

“Eh I got things to do…”

The woman appeared at his other side. “I know you said you were working to make things safer for your family but they wouldn’t want you working yourself to death.”

If only I could do that, Bruno thought.

He pushed the troubled thought away. The last thing he deserved was any sort of rest. Not until he fixed things.

But maybe a nap wouldn’t hurt.

(Bruno 100% falls asleep and sleeps for like 2 days when they get to the safe place. The little family watches over him the whole time.)

[eldritchaccident]

Timing: After [this] Dash Convo

Location: The Jones House

Feat: @mortemoppetere & @eldritchaccident

Warnings: Past implications of child death tw and sibling death tw

Summary: It's a surprise for Emilio!

The building was already there. Technically, both of the projects Teds had been working on were, but this particular use-to-be-old storage shed was the important one for the slayer. For the surprise Teddy had called him over about, and the cause of the stupid grin on the ex-demon’s face. Emilio Cortez had been antsy, stuck in place just about as much as if he had been goo-ified. He’d expressed interest in starting up cases again, and to do that, Teddy thought, he might need a place to start from. 

The multitude of temporary jobs Ted had taken on had left them with a multitude of strange skills. More than that, it left them with a vast web of contacts in nearly every profession. Upwards of half with a favor or two stored up, which Teddy cashed. Helped in a pinch like this when the deadlines were short and the vision was strong. The result? A professional place for a professional detective. 

“Took you long enough to hobble over, old man.” The smile never left Ted’s lips, even if there was a mischievous glint to it as they watched the slayer approach from the main house. Even this late in fall the gardens seemed to bloom, giving a backdrop worthy of a renaissance oil painting, Emilio as the central subject. Aglow in the evening light, the sounds of the ocean gently washing up in the distance, and just– okay Teddy had to shake themself to get back to the moment. It wasn’t oggle at roommate hours. It was time to show off their latest project. 

Which all started with a flip of a sign, from closed to open. 

—

The aches the warden had left him with hadn’t quite faded, and probably wouldn’t for a while. The leg, in particular, was a nuisance; even before his latest altercation, the limb had been a source of constant pain, but since the other hunter’s foot had made contact with his knee, it felt far worse. Walking was difficult, standing was a chore. And if asked, Emilio would still insist that it was worth it. Even though Teddy hadn’t been thrilled about the revelation, even if his paranoia had taken a turn for the worse since waking up from that drug-induced nap in the forest floor, even if everything seemed heavier now. The euphoria of vengeance, even if it wasn’t as much as he might have liked to exact, outweighed the rest of it. 

Especially when that vengeance was for Teddy. 

It was hard to say when they’d become a person so important that avenging their tail felt just as important as killing the vampires who’d hurt Wynne in the basement of that barn, but somewhere along the line, it had happened. He thought about Teddy, terrified and tearful in the floor of their kitchen, and he couldn’t muster up an ounce of regret for the way his blade found purchase in another hunter with such ease. Not even Rhett’s anger could chase away his satisfaction. 

It felt good. Good enough for him to have no problem entertaining the ex-demon’s whims without much complaint. “I think you are older than me,” he pointed out, leg practically dragging behind him as he made his way over to the out building where Teddy stood. 

He didn’t pay much attention to the things around Teddy’s house; as paranoid as he was, he didn’t want to pry when it came to someone who was offering him a place to stay with no real expectation of getting anything in return. He’d assumed the building was storage of some kind, maybe housing Levi’s leftover shit. Now, he wasn’t so sure. There was a sign on the door; Teddy flipped it from closed to open, and Emilio raised a brow. “What’s this?”

—

“You’re not wearing the brace.” Finally the cheshire grin simmered to a scowl, if only for a second. Teddy had made sure the thing was easy to put on and that it was comfortable enough to wear. Even to run in, though it was becoming evidently unlikely that Emilio was going to put it on himself without Ted’s intervention. Hell, maybe not unless Teddy slipped the damn thing on his leg themself. “It will help Emilio, also, you act older than me so I can call you whatever I want.”  

The tone was light, but stern. An attempt to convey the concern they held for the man and his less than stellar joint. Ted knew Emilio well enough at this point to know he’d come up with every excuse in the book. Obstinate and stubborn as a brick wall. But maybe, just maybe if he could see how much support the brace would give, he’d understand why they were so adamant about him using it. In a way, a very deeply buried way, it would be like Teds was the one giving Emilio that upper hand. That support. In a way, their telling him to stay safe was just another method of saying ‘Come back to me alive.’ 

With a sigh, Teddy spun around, threw an arm around Emilio’s shoulder and gestured toward the door. Specifically, toward the lettering on the frosted glass pane. Axis Investigations. Looking decisively like an old Noir detective’s door. But that was just the beginning. Inside wasn’t huge, but it was an upgrade to the situation Emilio had before. It was separate from where the man didn’t sleep, and didn’t eat, so it could be its own private space. A boon for both the man and all his clients. Ted’s hand opened and dropped a jingling set of keys, hoping that Em’s reflexes would be quick enough to grab them before they fell. If not, it’d be funny anyway. 

“Wanna check it out?” 

—

“I don’t like the brace,” Emilio replied, stubborn as ever. On a logical level, he knew Teddy was right because he knew Teddy wouldn’t suggest something they knew Emilio would hate without confidence in their ability to prove him wrong. If he put the brace on, it would help. He’d ache less, he’d feel better. But there was a block there, a quiet inability to follow through. Maybe it was the perceived weakness of it all — the fact that wearing the brace would offer physical proof of his inability to function on his own, as if what he was doing now could be called functioning. Or maybe it was something else, something a little more self-destructive. If Emilio hurt, it was because he deserved to hurt. That was the lesson he’d grown up learning over and over again, a thing that had been ground into him.

Teddy didn’t believe it, of course. They weren’t the first one to challenge the ideal — Wicked’s Rest in particular was full of people who seemed adamant that Emilio was worth more than he actually was — but they had certainly become one of the most vocal. Like if they said it loud enough, they might be heard. Like if it was screamed, it could become true. Emilio didn’t know how to explain to them that you couldn't make a man worth something just by believing it hard enough; he didn’t think they’d listen to reason. They rarely did. “I act older than you because you act like a child,” he hummed, though there was an undeniable fondness to his tone. “Acting older than you isn’t hard.”

He allowed Teddy to throw the arm around him in spite of everything, even leaned against them just a little. Not enough to make them take his weight, but enough that it would be noticeable. He leaned in, looked at the lettering on the door with a furrowed brow. Axis Investigations. Turning to Teddy, he tilted his head just a little, as if asking a question. Then, they were dropping a set of keys and he was reaching out instinctively, grabbing them from the air. 

“Yeah,” he agreed. “All right. Show me.” 

—

“You don’t like a lot of things, Cortez. You didn’t like me at first either, and now I’m asking you to wear the damn brace so you can walk, pendy joe.” One might think after all the smiling they had done, the mischievous beaming expression of Teddy Jones would not possibly be able to get bigger or more shark-like. This would, however, be an incredibly wrong assumption as there always seemed to be an extra tooth to be found somewhere in their maw, adding to that dangerous hundred watt grin. (That somehow always looked too sharp. Despite, of course, being very normal and human teeth now. Unremarkable except perhaps the small chip on the outside of their front right tooth from a sledding incident when they were twelve that they had kept through each shift because they thought it looked cute.) Now, Teddy knew how to say it. They had heard the proper pronunciation from the mouth of the very man they’d turned the curse around upon. But that wasn’t half as fun as watching his expression shrivel as they used it back at him. Amping up the cursed part of the curse word. Pendejo. Pretty much exactly what they were being right then. 

This, in turn, exemplified the sentiment that Emilio had expressed. Teddy was very immature. And it was exceedingly obvious that this had become something that Emilio found endearing. Or at least amusing. Teds never really clocked the exact moment when that changed, but it only served to entice them more. To embolden the whimsical nature of the ex-demon. It did not need emboldening, but here they were anyway. 

Emilio’s weight leaned against him and Teddy swore to whatever higher powers in the world that allowed them to be in this position that they were going to stay respectful. To not pry or pull whatever had the slayer always fiddling with that wedding ring from him until he wanted to talk about it. Respectfully, Teddy nodded and gestured for the man to open up the locks, a right of passage the detective himself should get to do. Respectfully, they did not speak a single word of how their chest fluttered at the contact. At how they tightened their hold because they didn’t want Emilio any farther away than where he was right then. Respectfully, they did not confess the way the golden hour made him look radiant. Like a painting of an old Greek hero. (Well, a damn hot beautiful Mexican hero done up in the style of those Greek statues or oil painted portraits you’d see up in the Louvre.) Even more respectfully, they didn’t even imagine what he might look like under the five layers of sweaters that he absolutely had stolen from Teddy’s wardrobe as soon as the weather started to turn. 

—

“You ask me to do a lot of stupid things,” Emilio pointed out, grumbling. “And I can walk just fine, I don’t need —” He broke off as the ‘curse’ registered, his expression shifting from one thing to another like that of a man experiencing all stages of grief in one fell swoop. He looked at Teddy, blinking slowly as the irritation settled back in, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. “I think I still hate you, actually. Pendy joe.” He mimicked the failed attempt at Spanish in his best version of Teddy’s accent… which was about as bad as Teddy’s attempt at pendejo. “You know that isn’t right. You do this just to torture me. Pendy joe. I’m going to trip you.” 

Still grumbling under his breath — a widely unintelligible collection of mumbles with a few distinctive repetitions of pendy joe popping up here and there — the detective slipped the key into the hole and tried not to think too hard about the warmth of Teddy’s body where he leaned against them. Emilio had always run colder than most, his base temperature a few degrees below what might be considered the average. He didn’t know if it was a slayer thing, something tied to the way his blood burned on vampires’ tongues, or if it was just an Emilio thing. He’d never cared much to find out. It didn’t matter why. It just meant that, in the winter months, he was shivering and angry more often than not, glaring at the world from underneath however many jackets he could get away with wearing. His mother had hated it, of course. As a child, she’d ensured he only owned one coat; anything more was a weakness, and he was so weak already. Since her death, he’d stocked up. Leather jackets fished from thrift store bins, a few discarded hoodies from the dumpster outside his building and, since moving in here, a number of sweaters he’d stealthily acquired from Teddy’s closet. He was wearing one now, hidden beneath the zipped-up leather jacket that he tended to default to. 

But when they were like this, he could almost pretend he didn’t need it. Teddy seemed to radiate like a furnace in comparison to Emilio’s cool skin, like a space heater pressed against his side. It was dangerous to be this close; Emilio knew that. In tight quarters, there was too much of a chance that Teddy might recognize something. Something like the way Emilio’s heart fluttered, something like the way his pulse picked up pace at the physical contact. He told himself none of it meant anything, of course, because it couldn’t. Because Teddy had been through Hell, and Emilio had a bad habit of dragging people right back down into the flames. He resisted the urge to twist the wedding ring on his finger, that physical reminder of what happened to people Emilio grew close to. Teddy wasn’t going to wind up bleeding out on the living room floor, because Emilio wasn’t going to let that flutter in his chest mean anything.

Still… he couldn’t keep himself from leaning into that warmth. Moth, meet flame. 

(Burning didn’t sound half as bad as it used to.)

—

The door opened, and a neatly decorated waiting room awaited his eyes. One big leather couch, a couple square ottoman style chairs, a tv, a coffee table with one of those single cup coffee makers, some tasteful decorations and two doors that lead in deeper. It was something Emilio’s apartment/office situation had lacked. A proper place for folks to sit down away from where he was working so that he could get his head together before having to meet up. There was even a desk all prepared for best secretary ever Nora, along with a shiny name plate and everything (with a ridiculous fake name upon it, obviously). Behind one of the doors was a simple bathroom they had installed. The plumbing was a little bit of a hassle to get done in such a short time but Ted thought it necessary. The bathroom itself was nothing special but it was really there so Em wouldn’t have to walk all the way back to the house if he wanted to… relieve himself. (Teddy would probably lie, say it was to save the bushes a bit of ‘landscaping’ that way the slayer wouldn’t feel some manner of guilt about it. He was so very good at feeling guilty for things that truly did not matter.) 

The other door led to where the real work had been done. Much like the front, the interior of this office had been done up to look straight out of a 1940’s Noir. Specifically like a detective’s office from one of the old old movies Teddy made him watch, the one he actually liked. (Nearly sat through the whole thing! Only two smoke breaks!) It had a few bookshelves with some titles that might just look impressive, and a hell of a lot more that would be useful to Emilio’s work. As well as plenty of file boxes that he could actually start organizing with, if he so chose. 

The desk was a nice dark wood, a custom piece Teds had an old buddy put together, paying extra for the rush fee and helping add the stain themself once it arrived. But the thing Teddy was maybe most proud of, were the framed newspaper articles. Clippings from as many stories as they could find about people helped by a certain grumpy detective. Emilio hadn’t ever been interviewed for any, and Teds could only guess why, but there had been quite a few tales to be found. They wondered, briefly, if he’d ever seen the articles before. Ever knew how much he touched those people’s lives. The shadow boxes, Teddy figured, would be a good reminder either way.   

“We can fix anything you don’t like, I know I have a problem when it comes to interior decoration. I go hard. Like one of those HGTV shows. So if you don’t want any of it that's okay too, you didn’t ask. But–y’know. You’ve been saying you wanted to get back to work, and I figured you deserved a good place to do that from. Something that reflects how good you are at your job.” Teddy stepped back for the first time, leaving his side so they could watch Emilio’s expression for any hints as to how the slayer felt. “Sorta… started on this as soon as you moved in. Whoops.” 

—

He swung open the door to the building, unsure what to expect. Part of him wondered if this was a practical joke of some kind — if he would open the door to find piles of garbage stacked up in the shape of furniture or empty bottles forming internal walls as a dig on how bad he’d let his apartment get. It would have been the kind of thing he’d have rolled his eyes at but ultimately admit to being amused by, even if only to himself. But that wasn’t what he found on the other side of the door. Not even close.

Instead, it was… tasteful. Sleek leather furniture in a style he hadn’t realized he liked until he saw it, a desk for Nora to sit at with a nameplate reading Robin Banks that she’d doubtlessly love. A waiting area was something that seemed obvious now, but not something he’d ever really considered before. Emilio reached out experimentally, touched the sofa. It felt like it would be comfortable to sit on. The kind of thing that might make someone up their one star review to two. 

Slowly, he moved to the first door. The bathroom was just a bathroom, but it was still somehow nicer than the one he’d had in his apartment. Tastefully decorated, like the waiting room. It’d save him the effort of having to walk back to the house while he was working, something he knew his leg would thank him for even if he’d never say as much, too afraid of perceived weakness to point it out. 

The second door was clearly the more important one. It was clear in opening it that a lot of thought had gone into the room inside. From the decor, which looked an awful lot like the detective movie Teddy made him watch that he’d admit to not hating, to the functional pieces like the bookshelves and file boxes. Even the fake P.I. license Nora had gotten him was hanging on display. And then, there were the articles. Emilio paused at the first one, reading it over carefully. Slow going, of course — though he wouldn’t admit it, he barely knew how to read at all, and reading in English was far more difficult — but he made it through. The story was a familiar one; an interview from a teenager who’d gotten caught up in some vampire den, whose friends had hired Axis to find her and bring her home. It was clear that there were parts left out — the story didn’t mention a single person turning to dust, and Emilio distinctly remembered killing at least three — but the vague outline was there. The next was more of the same. He hadn’t known the articles existed, and Teddy had gone out and tracked them all down. It must have taken time; all of it must have taken time.

For a moment, Emilio just stood there. It was hard to gather his thoughts, hard to make sense of it all. No one had ever done something like this for him before, something so… big, so personal. Teddy had taken the time to consider what Emilio might like, despite the fact that he knew his ‘style’ was on an entirely different spectrum than theirs. And they’d been right in what they’d chosen, despite the fact that Emilio had never told them anything about this stuff before, never even thought about them himself. And he hadn’t asked for it, hadn’t expected it. Teddy just… did it. 

(Emilio kind of wanted to kiss them. He quickly shook away the thought, chastising himself for letting it occur in the first place.) 

“No, it — It’s great.” He struggled to keep his voice from breaking, struggled to keep the lid on his emotions. “I love it. I — You know you didn’t have to do all this, right? I can — I can do what I do out of a cardboard box. You didn’t have to… Christ, how much did this cost you?” Had Teddy spent a fortune on this, on him? There was no way it would be worth it. Spending money on Emilio was like sinking your savings into a car twenty years past its prime. It was better for everyone just to get something new, something that would last longer. But he wasn’t going to pretend it didn’t mean something to him. He wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t like it. Teddy deserved to know that they’d hit the nail on the fucking head here. “You know nobody’s ever… I mean, you’re the only person who’d do this. For me.” 

This time, he couldn’t stop his thumb from spinning the ring on his finger. He loved Juliana, loved her still, but she would have told him that all of this was stupid. She would have rolled her eyes, waved her hand. A little kid playing dress-up, Milio, that’s what this is. This isn’t how you’re supposed to help people, you know. Maybe she’d have been right for it. Maybe he was fooling himself, trying to be something more than a rusty blade. But it was nice, wasn’t it? To have someone think he could do it. It was nice.

—

Every language on earth had a term for one so endeared. Καρδιά Μου, came to mind. The Joneses had spent a lot of time in Greece, quite a bit in Turkiye too, where Balım would have been thrown around. Lieveling, Chen yu luo yan, Kochanie, Süsser, Petit chou, Golubchik, Tamago gata no kao, all had a certain ring to them. Some had a more distinct and “silly” meaning behind the phrase, but roughly the same sentiment carried along. They meant you were close to someone. That you felt as if they were an inextricable part of your life. Bonded. 

Expressions shifted through every shade the human face had to offer, and Teddy soaked it all in like a little prideful sponge. This, they thought, This is what the detective deserves. Detective wasn’t the word that flitted through Ted’s mind when their thoughts turned to Emilio Cortez however. They couldn’t ever settle on one word or nickname. Everything rolled around but nothing took root, not yet. None were quite… enough. 

Despite the fact that it couldn’t really be… that. 

Teddy could be anything, would be anything and everything Emilio needed. Their own expression softened at each new glance. Each time the detective looked around and found some new spot to settle on, inevitably turning back to the ex-demon as if to ask if it was real. Somewhere in the back of their mind the whole room swirled into a hazy dream of a smoky corner of a jazz club. Hearing the soaring tunes that reflected the symphonic swells of their heart. As if the pair were sitting across from each other sipping at whiskeys and staring into the other’s eyes as if they could possibly be thinking the same thing. Fantastic, but unrealistic. 

But that’s all it could be, a fantasy. One Teddy would hold dearly, sure, but a fantasy all the same. They could pretend something like that could ever happen with Emilio in the same way they could pretend that those glances were more than just appreciation of their work. Of the efforts of a good friend. But there he was, saying he loved it. Saying that no one had ever done anything like this before and suddenly Teddy wished they had a billion more things to show him. Suddenly Teddy wanted to give him the whole world. Show the detective how much he meant to them by any means necessary. They basked in the glow from the slayer’s sweet small smile like it was sunshine. Warm and blanketing. Filling them up with fuzzies and giddy joy. They never wanted it to end. 

“Oh you haven’t even seen the best parts.” 

With all the excitement of a child on Christmas, Teddy grinned with their tongue poking out between their teeth and bounced on over to behind the desk. From the big plush chair, they reached under the desk. Started pulling knives from random magnetic anchors, all hidden around. Each of them looking decidedly… familiar to the detective. (Teddy had in fact, been systematically stealing any and all of the man’s knives that he didn’t actively use all the time. They even went back to the apartment to rescue more from becoming a permanent part of the mineral.) “And then there is this–” With a whoosh, the chair rolled over and backwards, towards one of the bookshelves behind the desk. Ted stood and pulled at one of the books, one of the few that stood out amongst the titles as a bit different. It was “The Adventures of Frog and Toad”, two amphibious fellows who were also… friends. 

The book didn’t quite come out all the way though. They tilted it until a clunk sounded from behind the bookshelf. It shifted, opened like a door and Teddy stepped through, disappearing into the small nook beyond. “We already had the passageway, I just figured you might like the secrecy of it. I know I like the drama.” 

—

Teddy’s excitement was palpable, a fluttering thing that placed a candle in the center of Emilio’s chest and warmed him from the inside out. It was a contagious thing, a dangerous one. Deep down, he knew that. He looked at them, and it was like… forgetting. Like the moment when you first wake up from a deep sleep, the moment before the world slots back into place where you have no thoughts and no memories. In that moment, for a heartbeat, you got to forget. You got to forget the feeling of blood on your hands, the taste of it on your tongue. You got to forget your own name and the weight it carried, the things your hands used to cling to. Your hands didn’t shake, in that moment. Your grief didn’t strangle you. In that moment just after waking, everyone in the world was the same.

But that moment always ended. Your eyes always opened, and the world always came crashing back down around you. It was part of why Emilio avoided sleep so adamantly. It wasn’t just the nightmares that plagued him — it was the cruel forgetting that masqueraded itself as kindness. It was the way that, every time that moment ended, he lost the things he’d lost all over again. The scars opened themselves back up, the wounds became fresh and new. He forgot only so he could remember again. He remembered only so he could ache. 

And that tangible excitement rising up from Teddy felt just the same. Light and airy and full of the ability to forget. The moment they looked away, the grief would be new again. And how was he supposed to carry that? How many times could you bleed out from the same wounds? He was tired of keeping count.

So he looked away. He focused on the room around him without letting himself think about the person who’d put it together or the fact that they’d done it for him. He looked at the books on the shelves — some with titles that seemed useful, others he was pretty sure Teddy had added as a joke — and he looked at the desk and the leather chair and at his shoes on the floors and he tried to pretend that that excitement was less contagious than it was, as if he could force it away from him by ignoring it. 

But it was impossible to keep the faint smile from his face as he turned back to Teddy, even as he tried to outrun that excitement that would end the same way it always ended. It was impossible not to react at all to that odd flutter in his chest, impossible not to feel it. “Show me the best parts,” he said, the words so much softer than his usual tone. 

(His mother would be furious if she could see him now. A dull blade, no use to anyone. As much a disappointment as he’d ever been.)

Watching Teddy circle around the desk, Emilio leaned forward a little as they produced knives from beneath it. He’d noticed his knives disappearing, of course — he had a very accurate count of them in his head, and mental notes of where he’d left them all — but given the conversations he and Teddy had been having, he’d assumed they were collecting them to practice their throwing. It was part of why he hadn’t said anything; he wanted Teddy to get good at tossing blades, because he wanted the security of knowing that they had some defense even without the demonic attributes they’d lost in that ritual with Levi. He wasn’t upset to have been proven wrong. If anything, he was fascinated. 

Circling around the desk himself to stand beside Teddy, the detective reached under the desk to inspect the contraption. Later, when his knee hurt less, he’d crawl beneath it to better investigate the setup. Emilio liked knowing how things worked; it made it easier to trust that they wouldn’t fail. For now, though, he removed the knives and put them back a time or two, feeling the magnetic pull of the anchors. It was satisfying. It was useful. He’d be able to reach these with much more ease than he’d be able to pull the ones from his pockets, if need be.

Turning back to Teddy, he watched them pull what looked like a children’s book from the shelf, tilted his head just a little at the way it moved and the hollow clunk it made. Carefully, he followed Teddy into the nook, glancing back warily to ensure that the shelf door would stay open. The nook was a tighter space than he liked, but it was hard to deny its usefulness if he needed a quick getaway. “Where’s it lead?”

—

Colors washed in and around, painting the scene in vivid watercolor. The edges where things began and ended blurred leaving only one in focus. Only him. Emilio had a way of doing that to Teddy. Narrowing their gaze to such a tiny pin prick of a thing. They had seen the world. All seven wonders and so much more. But no sunset, no waterfall, no canyon or mountain, river or ocean could ever hold a candle to watching the corners of his mouth slowly curl upwards. To see a glint in his eye like life had just begun again. To know that they had been the one to do that. 

Eyes normally so full of distance were close, softer. He was open in a way Teddy hadn't ever really seen before. They'd caught glimpses, but nothing like this. The ex-demon couldn't peel their own gaze away. Each new surprise brought a new delight to those eyes. And in turn, made Teds all the more giddy and giggly. The detective seemed to like the magnetic hide-aways. There were more, all over. Because why not, right? Half of the bookshelves had secret compartments that Teddy would allow Emilio to find on his own. Detect them out, if you will. Part of a game. 

The nook behind the secret door was small, enough so that Emilio had to once again pull in quite close for the next surprise. Teddy felt his breath bounce off their chest as he asked where it led and the only way to stave off some dramatic confession right then and there was an equally dramatic reveal. "Goes down." With a wink and a flourish, Teddy pulled a lever and the door shut behind them, the floor began to shudder slightly, just enough to know they were moving. It quickly descended about fifteen feet until they were in a dimly lit corridor with another big door at the far end. "That one goes right into the basement. Near the uhh– the circle from the ritual with my dad. Then to the room with the big movie projector." 

Teddy stepped off the platform, and held a hand out like Emilio was some royal princess about to step off a carriage, despite the thing being flush with the floor down there. "This way you can come in and out whichever way you want. Don't have to go outside in the cold, and if anything ever tries to pull some bullshit while you're at the office, you can pull some shit of your own." 

The walls of this corridor were something of an armory. Old swords, new ones. That scythe that Emilio liked so much from the boat. A bunch of throwing stars and daggers and even some metal cards because Teddy sure did have a phase where they had the biggest crush in the world on Gambit from X-Men. There were wooden stakes, silver coated blades, and iron too. The Jones family, while willing to work with everyone, made enemies of all sorts too. Not everyone appreciated Chuck's methods, nor the curses they got from the wares it sold. Teddy too, made enemies here and there. Maybe not quite as many, they much preferred to make as many acquaintances and garner as many favors as they could possibly save up. That didn't mean Teds didn't just like collecting weapons. They were a bit of a nerd after all. 

"To be honest I'm surprised you didn't sniff out this room, being a professional blade loving Dick and all. I half expected you to find a way to phase through the walls at some point just to grab that one." A laugh bounced out of Teddy, who gestured at a very ornate great axe. Something that looked like it should be wielded by a massive orc in a fantasy movie. 

—

He could feel Teddy looking at him. Their eyes locked onto his face, their attention focused solely on him. In the past, being the center of anyone’s attention had never been a good thing. His mother’s approval was a thing that came with quiet neglect; when her eyes were on you, it was a bad thing. By the time he’d met Juliana, he associated attention with harsh correction. His wife had worked to correct it as best she could, but Ana hadn’t been any more well versed in positive attention than Emilio had. They were hunters from similar backgrounds, after all; her parents had been just as strict as his mother. Often, the kindest thing they knew to offer one another was indifference. Affection was such a quiet thing then, a whisper. A moment of looking away. 

But Teddy was loud. Teddy made Emilio the center of their attention, and they made it feel as though it wasn’t a bad thing. He and Juliana had loved each other like glass already cracked, just a strong breeze away from shattering. It was gentle, but… maybe too much. Their collective touch was so light, that often neither felt their hands at all. It was like that with most people from before. With his siblings, with Rhett, with anyone who knew him well enough to tiptoe. That was the strange thing about the after, he guessed. He’d closed himself off so much that no one knew what to avoid. It led to bad moments, sometimes. To things too loud that sent him into a fighting stance too quickly, to touches that felt like threats instead of embraces, to phrases and words that sent him spiraling into a thought process he didn’t know how to easily claw his way out of… But there were good moments, too. Things that never would have happened otherwise.

This was one of the good ones.

At least, until the door shut. A flash of panic crossed over Emilio’s face, the passageway suddenly feeling too small, too tight. He pushed it down as best he could, gritting his teeth against it. He trusted Teddy, and Teddy was in here with him. No one was trapping him anywhere. The door wasn’t locked, he didn’t have to wait for someone to eventually choose to open it from the outside. It was fine, he reminded himself. He kept the mantra going so intently that he only half-registered the descent. 

When the door opened again, he took Teddy’s hand and stepped out almost without meaning to. He had to remind himself to keep his grip from being too tight, had to repeat silent commands to his hand not to grasp with all his strength. The last thing he wanted was for his childish distaste for tight spaces to cause Teddy any discomfort. 

In any case, the pounding in his chest was mostly forgotten at the sight of the weapons lining the walls. He recognized the scythe from the boat, reached out to run a finger along the edge of the blade. There were other things, too. He knew the gleam of silver when he saw it, the glint of iron. Wooden stakes that looked to have been sharpened by hand, throwing knives with polished points. It was clear from the expression on Emilio’s face that he was a fan, probably predictably so. He glanced back to Teddy, looking half-amused. 

“Didn’t seem nice to poke through your house when you’re letting me stay here for free,” he commented, eyes pulled away quickly by the ax they’d pointed out. “Could do some damage with this.”

—

“Elevator works mechanically too, even if there’s no power it’ll go just as fast.” It was hard not to notice the shift. Even if it was so slight. Teddy was watching out for every detail, something like that wasn’t about to slip through the cracks. They hadn’t really seen him in tight closed spaces before but should’ve guessed. Should’ve anticipated that it was going to stir something rotten up. They just hoped the speed and efficiency of the platform was enough to counteract. The lack of doors that made it technically more of a dumbwaiter than an elevator wasn’t quite enough to make it not a small confined cube, if only for a few seconds. 

But he took their hand and held it. He kept it too, as they walked through the hall. Stopping to admire certain pieces. The smile returned and Teds squeezed back as tight as they could. After a moment of consideration, or perhaps a moment to throw consideration away, they laced their fingers in between Emilio’s. Just a little closer. Couldn’t hurt, couldn’t hurt. Dancing on glass. The void below waiting with open arms to swallow them up when rejection came, it always did. Always sat just beyond the threshold. Emilio wasn’t like everyone else, they knew that. Knew there was something special about him but that didn’t mean he wasn’t susceptible to their curse. To finding out one day that the silly antics and obsessions weren’t fun anymore. They were just annoying. They were too much. It didn’t matter how many rooms they re-arranged, presents they bought, or adventures they planned. Everyone left in the end. 

Even if that wasn’t the case, Emilio had a bigger bridge to cross than most. A dead or somehow otherwise gone spouse. It wasn’t fair of them to ask for him to pull up all that hurt, and for what? So some childish crush could crush them both. Ruin whatever this… friendship was. Teddy didn’t want that. Having him around for now, having it be light and good was a good thing. They could enjoy what was here without messing it up. Still, it was hard not for things to bubble up from time to time. 

“Hey, look at me, Em. What's mine is yours. Feel free to peep whatever you like.” Teddy replied warmly, still holding onto Emilio’s hand, still holding on like it was a lifeline. Like what they had said aloud was code for ‘I’m yours’ instead of what it was. The imposed language barrier Ted had invented for shits and giggles wasn’t the only thing stopping them. If they had turned around and exposed their fluency in Spanish tomorrow it still wouldn’t patch the problem. Teddy couldn’t talk about their emotions. They were no better at it than Emilio. Emilio, who could absolutely do some damage with that axe. 

“Like to see you put it to some use. Dad said it’d only ever gather dust.” 

—

He knew they’d notice the way he tensed up when the doors shut, no matter how quickly he tried to chase the expression from his face. Emilio might have been the detective among the pair, but Teddy was a lot better at picking things up than they’d likely admit to being. They always seemed to know when something shifted within Emilio, always seemed to understand his quirks and his tells better than most. He hadn’t told them much about himself, but he always got the sense they knew. At least some of it, at least to an extent. And it was a scary thing, being known. It was enough to make him sweat. But… maybe it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Maybe there were worse people who could have figured him out.

So he didn’t drop their hand, even as the pair stepped away from the too-small space. He didn’t comment on the way their fingers intertwined with his, didn’t pull away. They must have felt the ring on his finger by now. Part of him wanted to ask what they thought; another part was too afraid that if he did, he’d end up telling them everything. And where would that leave them? Teddy liked Emilio now, but he didn’t think they’d see him the same way when the truth came out. He didn’t think anyone really could. He wanted to pretend this was something it couldn’t be, just for a little bit longer. He wanted to close his eyes to it, to close Teddy’s, too, even if only for a moment. He wanted to.

Teddy said look at me, and Emilio turned towards the words, drawn just as quickly as the magnet strips that pulled the knives from his fingers and released them just as easily. They said look at me, and he didn’t know how to deny them that, so he looked. It’d hurt when he looked away; it always did. But Christ, wasn’t there something to be said for the moment of looking? 

He shifted his weight as they spoke, the gravity of their words bearing down on him. It was too much, wasn’t it? It was all a little too much. The way Teddy wanted to share everything with him, the way Emilio couldn’t even manage to offer the barest details of his past in return. Teddy was giving so much more than they were getting, and Emilio knew they deserved more than that. But he still didn’t know how to say any of it, so he only shrugged. “You don’t have to do all that. Done enough already. Wouldn’t ask you for more.” But he touched the ax’s handle anyway, imagined holding it. “Maybe I use it in front of you sometime. Give you a show. Least that way, you get something out of it.”

—

“I do. I have to.” Ted simmered into a soft smirk, dark eyes wandering around Emilio’s features, trying their best to hide whatever else was in there behind the fondness. Behind the concern. “Because no one else ever has. You said so yourself. I just wish you could see how much you deserve that.” Wishes were a fickle thing. Fleeting as a warm breeze mid autumn in Maine. A wish for everything to be alright could fundamentally change who a person was. How they saw the world around them. Change how they felt about others, how they felt about themself. 

If wishes came true, Theodore Jones would take Emilio Cortez by the hand and make all of his heartache melt away. They’d find whatever it was that could help him process through all of the shit that happened to him, they’d help him realize he was allowed to grow. Allowed to move on. A man is not made of the things that happened to him. Keep the memories, hold the happiness they brought while letting go of all the ache they piled in. 

But wishes didn’t work like that, they rarely ever worked at all. 

Emilio would feel guilty, he’d turn around and deny, again, that he ever deserved the good things life so rarely afforded him. Teddy would be left again, stomach in a knot, wondering what the right combination of words would be to ease that ache. To finally help stitch the wounds they kept fumbling open over and over again. All of it was a far off dream, they knew. One they might not ever get to realize. But for now, it was two friends alone in a dim hallway, lined with weapons that had barely ever been used. 

“Alright. That’d be quite a show, Cortez. What’s the biggest undead thing you’ve ever taken down?” 

—

Teddy said it like it was simple. Like it was true. They were so confident in it that Emilio could almost pretend he felt it, too, could almost let their words outshine what he knew. He deserved it, they insisted, deserved nice things. It was a nice lie to cling to, but he couldn’t find any way to adjust his grip on it to keep it from slipping from his hands. He couldn’t find any way to hear it and make it sound true. He looked away, shrugging a shoulder and shaking his head, because Teddy would argue if he pointed out the truth and for once, Emilio didn’t have much interest in the bickering. It ached a little too much, the thought of why Teddy was wrong. And in this moment, he thought… In this moment, in the basement of a building they’d designed for him, one that was connected to the home they’d invited him to stay in indefinitely without any expectation in return… 

In this moment, if Teddy asked him why he didn’t deserve half the shit they’d done for him, Emilio would tell them. He could feel it, right on the tip of his tongue. If they asked, he’d answer. And the spell would be broken, and they’d see him as he was, and it would all be over. The way they looked at him, the way they thought about him, it would change in an irreparable kind of way. They wouldn’t kick him out — they were too kind for that — but their perspective of him would be changed. He could tell them everything, he could. But where would that leave him? He liked the way Teddy looked at him. He liked the way they seemed to think he was something strong, something worth keeping. He didn’t want that to shift. He didn’t want to go from being the mysterious detective to the worthless husk of a man who hadn’t even had the strength to keep his daughter alive. He didn’t want to turn from a protector to a failure. If Teddy asked him, he would tell them, and he didn’t want to tell them so he looked away. He said nothing.

(His mother always said he was a coward. He’d always known she was right.)

The subject changed, and he was glad for it. He’d rather talk about killing. He understood it better. He knew the ax, if he took it off the wall, would become an extension of his arm the same way his knives and stakes were. He knew he’d be able to put on ‘quite a show,’ just like Teddy said. When it came to the inner workings of his own mind, Emilio was fucking clueless. But he understood the weapon on the wall, even if he’d never held it. A blade knew a blade. 

He hummed at Teddy’s question, still studying the ax. “By myself, or with…” He trailed off, finding that he wanted to talk about Edgar and Rosa and Victor just about as little as he wanted to talk about the rest of his past. So he cleared his throat, moved past it. “You ever see a lapir? They get big. Took on one the size of a car once, just me and my stake. Nearly ripped me in half, you know, came close. Picked me up and dropped me while I was getting the lid off my holy water, probably knocked a few more screws loose. Got it in the end, though. Soaked it down with holy water, pushed the stake through.” He flashed a small smile. “Passed out in the woods for a while after, but made it through in one piece.” Not unlike how his fight with the warden had ended, though he wouldn’t bring that up to Teddy again. The less Teddy knew about the details of that, the better. “Would’ve been easier with something like this, I bet. Slayers, we don’t usually fight shit like that on our own. But I think me with one of these,” he tapped the ax with a cocky grin, “is worth three slayers. Don’t need backup if I’ve got an ax.”

—

Of course the question was there, it burned at the front of Teddy's mind. Hotter than the surface of the sun and twice as brightly. Of course they wanted to know what had him jumping at shadows and staring off in the distance when words failed. Why the detective so thoroughly believed himself unworthy of basic needs, of joy, of love, it was all part of the same root wasn't it? 

They wanted to know everything about him. It was easier to ask than to stay their curiosity. But it wasn't fair to bring up, right? If Emilio wanted to talk about it, if he wanted to share he would, right? Just like… how Teddy sure did talk about that whole mess with Parker. A sigh rolled out of the ex-demon as they wrestled with the morals of it. Which was better, which would make Emilio feel better in the long run?

What happened to you? A brave person might ask. What happened to them? They might follow up. Emilio asked, even when Ted clearly didn't want to bring it up. And they… they felt better for it, didn't they? It wasn't as jumbled up in there. Wasn't as tightly bound around their heart. Somehow, Teddy expected, this wasn't an issue they could go out and steal a pinky from. Likely wasn't something that could be fixed at all. So where did that leave them? What was the right thing to do? 

"You can t–" Teddy's throat tightened, they chickened out, again. It'd been such a nice day, why ruin it all? It was just like the Canadian fiasco. The same awful selfish cowardice that tinted everything they did. "You can take anything you like from here, 'kay?" 

Whatever was left of the sigh from earlier exhaled in defeat. "Any time." They hummed, trying to turn their imagination from potential histories to potential futures. Teddy did not know what a lapir looked like, had only read about them once, a long ass time ago. But picturing Emilio out there like Conan the Barbarian taking down some massive beast that normally took up to three slayers to down. Well that was a pretty good alternative. 

"Bet you could take one down in one good chop, let's go find one, hey?" Teddy winked, back to their usual silly bullshit, because they weren't strong enough to do what was best. What would help. Just like always. A pretty bandaid at best. Nothing that could actually make things better for anyone. Let alone someone as hurt as Emilio. 

—

For a moment, he was so sure the question was going to come up. He wasn’t looking at Teddy, wasn’t letting himself look at them, but he could almost feel it on the tip of their tongue. He thought he’d felt it there for a while now, since the first time he’d barged into their houseboat and their face had lit up with curiosity at the sight of him. Teddy was curious, and Emilio was an endless hallway of deadbolted doors whose keys had been lost a long time ago. 

He waited for the question, for the way the truth would undoubtedly spill out of him and stain everything between them as a result. But it didn’t come. It didn’t come, and the relief tasted like ash on his tongue, like acid. It was a terrible thing, he knew, to continue pulling the wool over their eyes. Emilio had never been much of a liar, but every word he spoke to Teddy carried something untrue within its syllables all the same. Their entire dynamic, he thought, was one big lie of omission. It was an endless pattern of Teddy offering up honesty — telling Emilio about their childhood, about their biological parents and adoptive father, about the hunter who’d taken a piece of them and left them terrified — and Emilio giving vague shrugs and changed subjects in return. It was an unfair imbalance, but he didn’t know how to change it when the relief felt so much like a flood.

So Emilio swallowed around the lump in his throat and pretended to be something better than what he was. It was a familiar mask, at this point; he’d been wearing it for years now. It came with walls too tall to climb and trenches too deep to escape from. It was uncomfortable, but he couldn’t fathom taking it off. It was like a bulletproof vest — clunky, heavy, and hard to wear, but it’d keep him safe when someone began firing off shots at his chest. It’d let him walk away bruised instead of bloody.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll take you up on that. You’ll come in one day, walls will be bare.” It was easier to talk about this. He felt more at home in a basement surrounded by weapons than he ever had in his own skin, found it easier to relax between walls of knives and swords than laying on his own fucking mattress. It was better that Teddy didn’t ask. It was better that Emilio didn’t tell them. They had enough of their own problems weighing them down without tying the anvil of Emilio’s issues around their ankles and trying to keep their head above water.

It was easier to talk about the lapir. It had sucked at the time, sure — he nearly died, felt empty when he didn’t, spent weeks recovering due to his own inability to sit still long enough for his injuries to heal — but it was a matter of pride now. Physical pain was an easy thing to forget once it ended. The memory of it never hurt as much as it did in the moment, numbed more and more as time went on until it was nothing, until all that remained of the battle was the glory and the pride. Not many slayers could take down a lapir on their own, and Emilio held on to that. He pretended it was something his family might have been proud of, pretended he wasn’t at least part of the reason that they could no longer be proud of anything at all, pretended he’d been more than a disappointment to them when they were alive. It was a good story. He liked telling it.

And maybe it meant something that Teddy liked hearing it, too. Emilio flashed a sharp grin, looking at the blade with appreciation and nodding his head. “I’ll give you a hell of a show,” he promised. “We could go now.” As if he was in any shape for it, barely standing and all. But somehow, with Teddy looking at him like that, all bright grins and winks, he felt a little invincible. 

—

"Yeah." They agreed, a fondness too hard to hide apparent in their smile. Teddy looped an arm through Emilio's, linked it tighter until their shoulders brushed. "We'll go out and get another one the second you put on that damn brace, asshole."

[princess-an]

JUJUTSU KAISEN: MIN

WARNINGS- Religious themes, Gore, Suicide thoughts, fem!Black!Reader.

A/N) this will be a series. Don't repost my content anywhere please and thank you .

How to read-

Red words=the voice in your head

Italic is flashback

Without “ means thinking

Prologue-TV

Existing Living as a Jujustu Sorcerer was boring, for the sole reason that it was so easy doing it. Growing up in a toxic environment and being experimented on by crazy people will make taking dangerous life risks easier for you. Lying awake at night trying to picture normal but can't because you can't even comprehend the concept of normal that you see others enjoy in life will always be hard, but having her family would make it worth it.

As a child, the only thing that gives you a sense of comfort is watching action movies all alone in that dreaded room.

The thought that even if these people weren't real they understood you even a little, it was better than thinking no one would. Then he came......

In the room, you were forced to vacate you sat in front of a small box television watching Blade on VHS for the millionth time even mouthing along with the words being spoken that was how much you watched this movie. The White coats gave you three movies to choose from and you picked this movie because the main character looked like you and you never saw anyone with the same brown skin as yours, you always thought you had a condition with the way the white coats skin is pale and able to flush pink.

But watching the movie made you understand violence and the distinct difference between right and wrong vaguely and the fact of how much you were cut off from the world. Especially with how you were being treated.

You see the white coats tell me I'm strong but they don't fear me like they do Blade in the movie they hurt me they,” Want to help me get stronger.”

That is the reason for the pain I have known since I can remember. But watching the “violence” is what the black coats call it gives me strange ideas because I usually just go through the motions of what the big people do to me but I can feel it.

They say my sixth birthday is coming and as an early present the white coats gave me Blade 2 a very intriguing movie, it filled me with things, my heart raced and my cheeks hurt for some reason. Still, I feel I should prepare myself for my birthday.

“Let us begin”

.

.

.

.

“Huh” blinking rapidly to focus I immediately notice the pain in my arms. I'm in the same position the white coats put me in when hurting me but instead of laying down on the cold surface I'm hanging with my wrists tied together. Taking my eyes off my hands I look down and feel faint because below my hanging body is what I would assume a swimming pool of blood in a tank.

“Antichrist you stand before this council, your executioners for the crimes you have committed towards the world. How do you plead?” Seven Imposing white chairs sit on a pristine area that looks the exact opposite of my side of the room which looks like a nightmare even to me who doesn't know what an nightmare is.

.

.

.

“I DON'T KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS CAN YOU EXPLAIN THOSE WORDS PLEASE?!” I shout at the figures hoping they would just go back to inflicting the pain because for some reason it seems that these figures want to do something permanent to me.

“It doesn't even understand us how disappointing. The creature should have retained memories by now-”

“Even if the accursed creature does not remember it is all the same Min-”

“Don't say it's full name”

Suddenly the one with the fanciest chair stands up and makes their way toward me, clad in white and gold heavy jackets that look like bath robes.

“Child it's a simple matter that you are here for no need to worry” they put their arms behind their back and though I can't see anything but this person's eyes it sent a chill up my spine.

“The matter is you should not exist”

“You are an abomination created by an evil master”

“You have committed mass genocide on humongous scales for your master”

“Do you understand Min Dardanos”

“This is your Executi-”

“BUT-”

“FILTH DOES NOT GET TO SPEAK!” the robe clade person yelled, cowering into myself I tried to hide into myself.

I felt the tears well up because they just proved what I've been thinking since I was able to form thought.

.

.

.

That I shouldn't be alive.

But who are they to tell us if we should live or die they're not gods

But they said we did bad stuff

Do you remember doing the bad things

No

Do you remember anything but the pain

“Day 730 patient has exhibited no long-term resistance to flesh-eating poison”

“Day 735 patient has shown to survive on eating her own discarded body parts such as fingers and toes after removed. It also shows that while removing the body parts they are shown to grow back in succession faster than the last time. She regrew her whole hand back in 3 days compared to when we first started it was 1 month.”

I remember the pain

Do you remember your screams

No

Hehe

Well I do

I can show you what they sounded like

.

.

Okay

“Are the Sorcerer's ready”

“Yes they are on standby, shall I summon them?”

“Ye-”

“Hehe”

Turning slowly the robe-clad man turned slowly towards the strung-up “creature”.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAASHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAHHHAHAHHAAHAHAHAHH” head thrown back in absolute pleasure the creature shaped like a child laughed and laughed unsettling the “counsel” in the room.

Abruptly the creature stoped laughing and closed it eyes facing forward towards her “executioner’s” and spoke,

“No matter the century Jujutsu Sorcerers are dumb.”

Before anyone could figure out what happened the standing man's neck was bleeding when suddenly his entire head fell off with the little girl who was strung up now standing next to the decapitated man with a bloody hand examining the blood left over.

“I know you got me that big thing of blood in that tank or whatever but fresh blood always just tastes the best.” the little girl said before licking the blood off of her hand and staring straight at the now six members of the council.

“My apologies in advance, your deaths will not be in vain

.

.

.

After all, how can I waste a six-course meal.”

Walking out of the now messy room the little girl peeked out of the large doors for anyone.

Finding what she was looking for the girl grinned a wild manic stretch of her lips.

.

“Hey do you think we'll be able to do the ritual soon.”

“Do say ritual, say it how it is we are going to go kill a little girl for questionable reasons.”

“Yea but the money is tight-”

Turning quickly one of the males raised a gun toward the little walking their way, hesitating once he saw who it was.

“Um shouldn't you be in the grand hall with the elders-”

“Help me”

Putting this gun down reluctantly the man took the small child in more, the child was a girl with brown skin and very thick hair that looks to be matted in blood, and the little girl was naked, you couldn't see her eyes.

Unexpectedly a wide grin showing shark-like bloody teeth in the girls mouth clearly.

Unable to react the man holding the guns arm detached from his person into the little girls hands.

“Ohhhh yummy you smell young” the girl cradled the appendage to her naked chest and sniffed it before taking a bloody bite of the flesh.

Unable to understand what was happening the man who lost an arm fell to his knees in shock while his companion was unable to move or speak. Looking the duo up and down the girl assessed, “Man this generation must be weak judging by you two but that's what happens when creatures get complacent”

Throwing the arm the girl decided to do what she was supposed to do.

Walking past the two grown men she disappeared to their eyes before reappearing down the hall and pausing. Lifting her hands the child revealed two still bleeding and pumping hearts before biting into one like how one would bite into an apple, leaving completely.

The duo of men still unable to understand died without realizing how or why.

Waking up in front of the television was nice.

It felt like home the people on the tv felt like my family.

Are they gone

Yes

What now

Whatever you want

I want to watch the television

Then watch to your hearts content

[writezeel]

A Kindling of Sorts - SBI OneShot

A Kindling of Sorts (12035 words) - A OneShot I wrote for the @dsmp-bigbang 2021 Accompanied by this beautiful art from @theslyvoid9 please check him out!! 

Tags:  Temporary Character Death, Amnesia, Grief/Mourning, Alternative Universe - Tommy Died, Fluff and Angst, Angst, Hurt/Comfort,Alternate Universe - Wings

Summary: 

"There was a ghost on the porch. Because that person in front of him, that child, the lost piece of his heavy, guilty heart, his little brother, was dead."

After a year of grief and hurt spent tucked away in the safety of their childhood home, the rug get's pulled out from underneath them. Because Tommy is back, whole, healthy and alive. Wilbur is overjoyed, Phil is tired and Techno for once does not want to fight. A night spent in the snowbound family home brings up all the things that they had done their best to avoid.

Excerpt: 

There was a ghost on the porch. Thanks to him, that person in front of him, that child, the lost piece of his guilty heart, his little brother, was dead .

~*~

The knock came when he was listlessly looking through the bookshelf near the ever-burning fireplace. The dark furniture, much older than he was himself, was filled with books and curiosities from far away servers, places his family could only try to describe.

While they had persevered, prospered, lived , he had done the opposite. The suspended purple crystal and the always flourishing chrysanthemum shoving this fact into his face every time he allowed himself to look at them.

He almost welcomed the sound, something to occupy his mind and for a moment he expected a curse or at least a sigh to follow it. He had figured it must have come from his father knocking something over in the kitchen. Teasing his dad about it would give him something to do other than sitting around and watching the flames.

He had always hated dormancy, even though the only thing he seemed to be doing the last year was being idle. Stagnant.

But no further sound came from the kitchen, it left only one other source.

Slowly he limped his way over to the thick, wooden doors, his stride - step, drag, repeat - essentially silent on the rugs he had played on as a child. In the right light, he could almost see his younger self chasing his little brother around and stumbling over the raised edges. His brown wings, as much a steady companion as his twin, showed his uneasiness, hiding behind his back. Dread was rising in his stomach, making him nauseous. Talking to others was getting harder and harder with every interaction.

He sighed quietly, his chest rattling with a deep breath. He had been good at talking once.

~*~

“Power isn't gained from diplomacy and bureaucracy, and giant courthouses suspended in the sky,” His voice was sure, smooth, confidence oozing from his words, wings spread wide, “It's gained from swords, Quackity; it's gained from blades, it's gained from steel, iron.”

~*~

Stilling in front of the door he thought about who could be outside, there weren’t many faces that still showed themselves in these parts. As a child he had hated how far away the house was from any other kind of civilization, now he enjoyed the quiet, as unnatural as it still seemed.

His old friend, family at this point, would look at him with pity in her eyes, trying to empathize with his regrets. Her own woes were being pushed away, always prioritizing others over herself. The little ram, looking more and more like his old friend - enemy - would be far worse. The grief and resentment making them both cruel and callous. Their talks, few and far between as they were nowadays, ending in an even deeper chasm between them. To think they were as close as family once. The enderman hybrid, an outsider, had no real connection to his past. He didn’t see what sins he committed. Maybe the child’s naivete was why his twin had taken a liking to that one. He was sure the bright eyes and big smile reminded his twin of their younger brother. The fox would break him, even more than he already was. Someone who used to look at him like he hung the stars in the sky once, now glaring at him with the same disgust he felt for himself. Anyone else, just a speck of dark grey on his periphery.

Even though he was almost ready to call for his father to let him handle the visitor he started leaning on the cumbersome door handle, a leftover remnant from the time he was still a child.

Heavy doors kept children inside. At least that had been his father’s plan, once upon a time. It had never worked when he was small. It worked now, ever-present fatigue making him feel weak and useless. A burden more than anything, no matter what his family told him.

With a deep sigh, one he wanted to join, the door opened up to the cold air of the plains and trees that surrounded the house. The spruce trees were covered in snow with no color showing through the frost. The porch had been taken over by snow again, it coming up to his knee. The need for an awning was something he would have to bring up with the rest of the house. The cold pressed deep into his lungs. In between the piles of white was a flash of red, an odd sight in this color scheme. For the first time in months, his eyes focused on a set point.

“Tommy ?” The name was like a prayer on his lips.

[barovianbitches]

Mother Bear - Constantin Vasiliev

Nikolai’s blade came crashing down against Constantin’s shield. The teenaged Vasiliev cowered under the broad chunk of wood, as his father unleashed a barrage of crushing pommel-blows against it, pushing the boy even further back. “On your feet!” Nikolai demanded, hardly affording the boy a chance to comply. Constantin rolled away from a downward strike, hopping to his feet and sprinting past his father, towards his hammer where it lay on the ground, discarded. 

“Too close, boy.” The priest snarled, his sword sweeping out to batter Constantin in the side of the head. It hardly touched the young Barovian’s forehead, yet onlookers could see a stripe of red ichor slowly start dripping down his face. From the wings, where Anastasia Vasiliev stood watching, a voice rumbled from the shadows. “That’s not a training sword.” From the darkness emerged a plate-armored giant, near seven feet in height and a warrior’s beard to match his intimidating stature. Dima, one of Nikolai’s trusted inner circle stepped up to Anastasia as he made this realization. “He’s going to kill him, going on like this.” Declared the man worriedly, looking to the boy’s mother.

"I see that." Anastasia's eyes were dark, like storm clouds over a blue ocean. She watched on, secretly hoping her eyes were deceiving her, that the red spatter across her son's forehead was a trick of the light coming through the stained glass windows. Deep down, she hoped that the monster her husband had become was not real. "A moment, Dima. Just a moment." She murmured, though she knew what was going to happen already. Her hand reached for her belt, eyes never leaving the form of the two before her.

Constantin, to his credit, was holding up remarkably well. Nikolai was a deeply talented swordsman, and he showed no signs of holding back. His son, who held advantage in height and weight class took blow after blow after blow relentlessly, soldiering on through the onslaught. He brought his shield up in a parry as he swung his hammer out towards his father’s knee, alas, his high grip on the handle caused it to fall short, and Nikolai brought the pommel of the sword around to slam into Constantin’s cheek with a sickening crunch. The boy’s stance wavered, and his weapons fell from his hand.

“Not good enough, mal’chik.” The priest spat, throwing his sword aside and raising a gloved fist to strike his son, a commonplace punishment for failure in Nikolai’s training halls. Constantin’s face darkened, and as the punch came flying in, it met a large palm, which caught the fist before it could land on the already bruising cheek. “You… insolent little-“ Nikolai growled before kicking out at Constantin’s straightened knee. The boot met bone, which shattered almost immediately from pure force, driving Constantin backwards onto the ground. Nikolai fell with him, slamming a fist into his nose. “Not-“ A crushing blow. “-good-“ Another one.  “Enough!” He shouted, accentuating each word with a punch. Constantin’s mouth filled with blood as it also streamed from his broken nose. Another armored hand clamped down on his throat, forcing the last of his breath out with a pained wheeze. 

“THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS TO WEAKLINGS, CONSTANTIN!” Nikolai roared, slamming his fist into his son’s face three more times, as his consciousness started to wane. “They die like dogs, unable to muster the will to fight back.” With his horrific declaration, Nikolai raised a gloved hand, likely to deliver what could possibly be a killing blow.

Anastasia bristled, her eyes widening as a snarl curled at her lip. She was done. She should have left when Nikolai had hit him the first time, her and Constantin leaving. Only then would she return in the night to cut him throat to groin, spilling his guts and tossing the remains to the dogs. But no. She foolishly hoped. Hoped beyond hope that this wasn't what had become of her husband, the father of her child. It was her fault that she let this grow to this extent, allowed Nikolai's anger to boil like a kettle on the stove, spilling over and tearing what was left of her family apart. There was no time for the ifs, should haves, and would haves, though. The veil had been lifted, the truth laid bloody before her. He didn't want a son. He wanted a soldier. An emotionless, indomitable spirit just inhuman enough to follow him to the field of death that was the gates of Castle Ravenloft. It was finally time to put her foot down.

In a split second, the glint of a blade caught the sun, and another moment later had it already left her hand. A dagger soared through the air in the blink of an eye, in the single beat of the heart. Dima had barely seen her even twitch, the only evidence of her throwing it being her outstretched hand. The blade found its mark, cleaning slicing through the back of Nikolai's hand, cutting cleanly between the bones of his palm and protruding out from the other side, the only thing having stopped it from going all the way through being it's cross-guard. The dagger bore a blade as black as night, it's shape wavy and almost giving the illusion of a spiral. 

"I have seen enough. Dima, please tend to Constantin's wounds. Nikolai, if you value your other, more valuable appendages, you will cease this madness." She stalked out from the shadows, her words almost more painful than her blade, her eyes burning with pure hatred and rage. Anastasia did all she could to manage an even tone, despite everything in her screaming to unleash her fury.

Nikolai shouted in pain as the blade pierced his hand, recoiling away. He shot to his feet, a furious glare focusing down on his wife as she spoke to him. Below him, fading into unconsciousness, Constantin gurgled a weak breath as the hand left his throat, a fountain of ichor spilling down his cheek. Nikolai glanced down at the mangled mess of his son, and roughly kicked him onto his side, the ocean of gore pouring from his mouth onto the smooth stone. Constantin went fully limp, blacking out from the pain. Nikolai looked down at his hand, and back up to Anastasia. He went to say something, but recoiled at her fury, turning to storm off towards their shared quarters.

She gritted her teeth, practically seething in anger. Anastasia followed after him, her hands balled into fists so tightly that her nails made red marks in her own skin. "Oh, Costicǎ. My son." She murmured, her eyes softening as they grazed over her boy. It cut her deeply to look at him, tears beginning to well in her eyes. Hate simmered in her heart, complete *disdain* washing over her as she looked back up to Nikolai's retreating form. 

Briefly, she stooped beside the unconscious teenager, brushing hair from his face and kissing his forehead. Anastasia straightened, looking back to Dima. "Take care of my Constantin, while I take care of him." The spat the last word, a predator's gaze fixed to the doorway where he exited. "When you are done, see to it that Constantin packs a bag. I am finished with this forsaken place." Her voice was barely above a mutter as she walked away, sparing one more glance back to her child.

Dima had never seen her angry, let alone murderous. He had always known Anastasia as a fierce woman, but with endless patience when it came to those she loved. He could tell that there was nothing left for the priest, only the cinders of the bond he burned when he first raised a hand to Constantin. The preacher would be lucky if he made it through the night with what he had done.

Dima nodded slowly, looking past Anastasia to Constantin with a pained expression. He walked over, placing a massive hand on her shoulder. “I will care for him.” Dima muttered, his voice taking on an uncharacteristically shaky tone, as if he were himself on the verge of tears at the sight. “His anger knows little bounds. Please, be careful, Docha.” Said the behemoth, gently squeezing the woman’s shoulder before kneeling to meet Constantin’s level. Placing a hand under his head and another around his chest, he pulled the boy into a firm yet gentle embrace. As he lifted Constantin into his arms to carry him away, he whispered something only he and the void could hear. 

“You’re safe now, little bear. I promise.”

In his quarters, Nikolai paced angrily, staring at the knife still piercing through his hand. He muttered furiously in Barovian, before grabbing a glass from the table and shattering it against the wall in rage.

It wasn't long before Anastasia threw open the wood with enough force that a small dent in the stone wall was left from the knob. "What were you thinking." She seethed, glaring harshly at Nikolai, rapidly approaching and tearing her own knife from his hand. "That. Is. Your. Son. You spilled YOUR OWN blood this evening!" Anastasia snarled, pointing the end of the blade directly at him. "You could have killed him, and then I would not have hesitated to kill you myself." She roared in anger as stared him dead in the eye, only an inch or two shorter than he was. "Just like you did not hesitate to raise your hands to him in such a way!" She sheathed the dagger into her belt violently, throwing her hands into the air.

“I must make him strong, Anastasia.” He growled. He grabbed a rag off the dresser, wrapping the torn piece of clothing around his wound. “He brings shame to the Vasiliev name. No man of the bloodline has failed so consistently, has been so boundlessly weak.” There was no love in his voice. Not for his ‘son’. 

“If he would die so horribly on the field of battle, it is best that he instead meet his end in the company of those who have his best interests at heart. Sancus requires warriors. The Vasilievs hold ancient oaths, and this is my ONE chance at a suitable heir to my duty.” He fixed Anastasia with a glare. “You coddle him like you’ve just given birth. He is old enough to know pain, and he should become familiar with it while he has the chance to learn to overcome it. Not that *you* would understand what’s at stake.”

"He does not bring shame on the name, Nikolai. You do. You think your ancestors would approve of you nearly killing your own flesh and blood? In the name of your god Sancus? If he brings you so much shame, I will no longer force him to bear the name Vasiliev. You forget that he is a Zenik, too, as am I. I am done with your games, your violence thinly veiled by "religion" and "duty". You are a disgrace to anything holy." She snapped back, pulling her wedding ring off of her finger. "You are not the man I married. That man is long gone." To punctuate the statement, she threw it right at his chest. 

"He will not die in battle. He will not be your heir." Anastasia snarled. "If I had known this is what I would throw my life into, I would have never sought sanctuary. I would have never even spared you a glance. You do not deserve him, or his faith in you as a father."

“He knows what must be done. He chose to bear the burden. I’m *sorry you feel this way*, my love.” He said, the term of endearment utterly hollow. “He may be a Zenik, as you say, but the righteous duty of the Vasilievs is eternal. Take him from this place, and you take his only chance of surviving and overcoming Strahd’s hatred. Those villagers would have crucified you if I did not give you sanctuary.”

He let that hang for a moment, his anger flaring and then petering out. “I would never have denied you sanctuary. The Morninglord would not have let his light be eclipsed… Sancus has old bonds. He will come for the boy, and if you’re foolish enough to take him, I hope you’re prepared to sign his death warrant!” He suddenly thundered, sweeping a hand to slap an ornate candelabra off the table, the brass slamming against the floor with a loud crack. 

“The man you married is still standing right in front of you. I have merely adapted to the demands of the church, and of the god who has my bloodline in a chokehold, Anastasia.”

Nikolai began to pace. “He will die in battle. Perhaps not at the gates of Ravenloft. But he will die standing. That is his fate. His burden. We created life with a target on his back. You take him from these walls and you offer him up to Strahd on a silver fucking platter.” the priest snarled, fixing Anastasia with an accusatory glare. “Would you do that to him?”

"Don't you dare turn this on me, you monster. A real father and husband would never even think of doing what you have done." She didn't even flinch at his anger, staring back with just as much fury. "You will not speak of his fate, it is not yet written. I almost feel sorry for how blinded you are by your anger and self-hatred for your own bloodline." Anastasia turned, going to the wardrobe and throwing it open, gathering Nikolai's things from it. 

"You speak nothing but hypocrisies. If I am to take my own son away from this hellhole, I am the one offering him to Strahd? And yet you wish to storm the gates of Ravenloft yourself. You serve nothing but yourself and those closest to you to Strahd, and not even he would feed on your tainted flesh. Surely, he would leave you to his dark servants, torn limb from limb while you beg and scream for mercy because you are all bark and no bite." The look she threw over her shoulder was poisonous, almost appearing like a visage of the dark lord herself. Every word dripped with venom, her syllables sharper than the swords carried by soldiers.

“I- we will drag his entrails across the battlements of his wretched fortress, and the sun will rise on Barovia.” Spat Nikolai. “Argynvostholt is safe. This church is consecrated ground. We leave for Ravenloft in days.” He continued, his tone laced with dull venom. 

“If you wish to continue this tantrum, promise me you will at least keep him here. It is safe here. When I return, and this land is free, you can do as you wish, but Constantin will make his own choice. You are his mother, not his master.” Nikolai grabbed his sword and belt from the bed, and reaffixed it around his waist. 

“If you do leave, when you’re cradling him as he dies, consider prayer. You may have forsaken the light of the Morninglord, but he would not forsake the loyal servant to whom you gave birth.”

The door slammed hard enough to crack the wood behind the priest as he departed.

She scoffed loudly, pulling the dagger from her belt again, lodging it in the now closed door. "YOU WILL SLEEP OUTSIDE, SINCE YOU WISH YOU ACT LIKE AN ANIMAL!" Anastasia called back, opening the window and throwing his things as hard as she could at the muddy ground below. "The Light of the Morninglord, BAH! His light has never shined once on any of us. He is a pacifier for weak men who wish to call themselves heroes while hiding behind their own cowardice." She huffed, continuously throwing things out the window to the earth several stories below. Deep down, she hoped he wasn't right, that he wouldn't return like the savior he so desperately wanted to be. That she would never have to look him in the eye ever again.

She would no longer bear the weight of this tyrant's name. Glancing down at the ring left on the floor, she picked it up, hucking it right out the window with the rest of that man's belongings. She would no longer be his wife, no longer a Vasiliev. She came into this world Anastazija Zenik, and she would die that way, if only to spite the monster her son called "father." 

Multiple cenobites of the church would report that Nikolai was denied entry into the infirmary shortly after the altercation with his wife. He was met at the door by Dima, who nearly struck him. The priest did not stay long, relenting under the threat of violence from the Great Bear. 

Inside the infirmary, Constantin was laying on a table, battered truly within an inch of his life. Dima sat by his side, gently tending to him. Combining traditional healing practices with holy magic, he worked to reassemble shattered bone and disfigured face, all the while humming comforting hymns. Whether for himself or for the unconscious boy, none would know.

Anastazija felt exhausted, her body drained of all energy as her rage had torn through her. She wrapped herself in a shawl, making her way through the keep. She floated through the halls like a vengeful spirit, all those crossing her path quickly making way. It didn't matter, though, all she wanted was to see her son.

She stood at the doorway to the infirmary, the hollows of her cheeks and the bags under her eyes appearing deeper, darker than before. "How is he?" The Zenik murmured, barely being able to look in the bed where he lay. "Still fighting, I hope?"

Dima turned to face her, standing and stepping away from the table. His great bulk sought to block the sight of her mauled son from her tired, sorrowful eyes. "He is... Stable. He was wounded badly, a few seconds more of his windpipe being crushed... I'm not sure where he'd be." The Great Bear murmured. Without his plate armor, in simple, homespun brown robes, he looked more a monk than a mighty warrior. The carved lines of age set deeply in his face melded with the lines of sorrow across his features. "I'm sorry, Docha. I should have done more, when he first turned to anger like this..." 

His hands fell limp at his sides. There was no making up for what the chief of his order had done to Anastazija's son. He brought a giant hand to his face, to wipe his brow and eyes. "I just need a few more moments, and he should be conscious... If you wish to remain, and speak with him." He gestured to a seat near the table, far enough off to be spared the worst of the sights, but close to her son.

"And I should have left when he first struck him. He changed. You should have heard what he said to me, Dima. He did not hesitate. He did not stutter. He meant every word." She murmured, blowing past him like a cold winter breeze. There was a hollow look to her eye, and deeper, the cinders of her hatred still burned. She took her seat, pulling the shawl around her tighter. "I took off my wedding ring. I threw his things out the window. As soon as Constantin is healed... We are leaving." She looked up to him, her gaze mournful. "You should too."

"You're.. Leaving?" Dima murmured in confusion, and shock. "Docha, where will you go? Barovia is a dangerous place, and Constantin is...." He looked sadly to the boy, before glancing back at the woman he repeatedly called 'Daughter'. "Forgive me, for I mean no ill intent... He is weak." He rested a hand on Constantin's bruised shoulder. "He is not ready to face the evils that befall this land, and I refuse to entertain the idea of you facing them alone. Allow me to come with you, to safeguard you both. He needs training.. A gentle hand, not the fist Nikolai taught with."

"I appreciate your offer. All you have done for my family." Her eyes faced the ground. "But I wish to cut all ties with this place." She murmured. It was clear that she meant no ill will to him, quite the opposite. "And... I would not want to sever you from your faith. It would be wrong of me to ask you to do such a thing. You know me as a Vasiliev, a kind woman taken in by the church, the mother of this beautiful boy. But you do not know Zenik, who I was for the six years I braved Barovia alone, and even the time before then." She paused, sighing deeply. "You do not know what sort of evil I have looked in the eye, Dima." Anastazija glanced up to him, a knowing look in her eye. She was trying to communicate something to him, something she didn't even want to say out loud. "Constantin and I... We will be fine. He is so close to eighteen... Then, once he has become a man, I may finally show him all that he has missed while I raised him here."

Dima's gaze rested on Anastazija for several moments, silence ruling the room. The age on his face truly started to show as he processed this declaration of hers. He opened his mouth, as if to offer a rebuttal, but closed it again, shaking his head and resting it in his hands. The giant sat next to Constantin, making the tall, muscular Vasiliev look like a lanky child in comparison. He returned to his work, laying hands gently on his face and tending to the multitude of fractures and wounds he'd sustained.

"If that is your wish... I would not do as Nikolai did and stand in your way, or fight you. In his mother's hands, the boy is safest." He murmured. "I will... I will go to Ravenloft with the army. See to it that as many walk away alive as I can. If you find yourself in grave danger.. Seek me out. You will always have shelter in my home." 

Constantin suddenly shook with a heaving, agonized breath, groaning in pain as consciousness flooded him. "Shhhh, shhhh, Mal'chik. Breathe slowly, do not tense." Dima ordered firmly yet gently. "I am almost done tending to your wounds, little bear." He said, working with more haste than he already was now that Constantin was awake, and writhing in utter hellish agony.

As he woke, she murmured one last thing to the man, the one who had watched over her son for his sixteen odd years of life. "Thank you, Dima. Remember... Nikolai does not write anyone's fates, including you. To follow him closely would be suicide..." She stood, signaling the conversation between them was over. "Costicǎ, how do you feel, my boy? Can you hear me?" Anastazija went to his side, her hand petting his head as delicately as she could. Her heart ached as she looked down at her son, observing the horrendous state he was in. Furrowing her brows, she made a silent promise. Fates willing, Nikolai would never see Constantin again.

Constantin opened his eyes, recoiling from the light in the room. His gaze trailed up to his mother, and he nodded weakly, to affirm that he could hear her.

She breathed a sigh of relief, taking the shawl from her shoulders and gently laying it over him. "There you are... You must rest. I am so sorry that I did not stop him." Anastazija leaned forward, pressing a tender kiss to his forehead. "We will take care of you, hmm? Soon you will feel good as new..."

Constantin heaved a choked breath, more a sob than anything else, though he seemingly did not cry. “What did I do wrong?” He muttered. “I did exactly as father asked…. I thought I did it right…” he trailed off, as Dima continued to do his work. He looked to Anastazija, shaking his head sadly. His father had nearly killed him and all the boy could think of was disappointing him.

His mother's jaw worked, choking back angered words  and vile curses upon the man. She looked to Dima, rage etched into her expression. It turned on a dime though as she kneeled beside Constantin's bed. "No, my treasure, you did nothing wrong, nothing at all. You have worked so hard... But, his standards are built upon an unstable foundation, doomed to crumble. It is not your fault..."

“You did good, my boy. Good enough. Any more was too much to ask.” Dima intoned gently. 

“Thank you, uncle.” Constantin said weakly, wheezing a heavy exhale. “Will I be able to go with father to the Cas-“ 

“No.” Dima cut Constantin off firmly. “You are on bed rest until your mother releases you. Am I understood, little bear?” The man demanded, in a firm tone, but one with more fatherly grace than Nikolai had ever used. 

“Y-yes, uncle.” Constantin said, smiling weakly. He reached out for his mother’s hand, grasping it with all his strength… That of maybe a toddler. The pain radiated through his eyes, strong enough almost to be felt by an onlooker. 

“I’m sorry to have made you worry, mama, uncle.”

"Do not apologize to me, my son." She took his hand in hers, holding his cold palm to her warm cheek. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

The boy sniffled, before coughing again. His consciousness waned once more, and Dima’s lack of alarm seemed to indicate this was expected. The giant rose to face a nearby window, putting his face in his hands for a moment, to cover the anguish etched on his features. 

“Anastazija, I beg you… Please, reconsider. I know it to be deeply selfish..” he trailed off, before turning to look at the small woman. “I cannot bear the thought of the two of you in danger. I trust you, but… My home is here no longer. My faith is shaken, all I know is my care for you and the boy.” His face broke into a sorrowful frown, hidden mostly by his bushy gray beard, yet unmistakable tears formed in the corners of his eyes. The Great Bear had a reputation for fierceness and stoicism, but in this private moment, such facades burned away.

She watched him go, sighing deeply as she hung her head. Anastazija ran her hands over her face, begging to be rid of this form that was forced to carry so much anguish. "I cannot let you... It is my wish to show him life beyond these walls. I believe they have hindered his spirit's growth... I alone may be his guide. Blood runs from the mother, and it is my burden to bear." She looked up to him, her expression soft. 

"Thank you... For all you have done. You were more of a father than Nikolai ever was... You were my family when I had none left, walking me down the aisle on the day he and I wed. For that, for everything... No words could ever be enough to express my gratitude. Perhaps one day, the threads of our lives may cross again." All she could offer was a sad, tired smile to him. "But promise me one thing, won't you? I only ask for one last thing..."

“Anything.”

"Do not lose yourself to this man and his selfish desires. I do not believe he cares what will happen to you all when you arrive at the gates. Strahd is not a man who shows mercy to just anyone..." She held herself, an unseen cold seeming to grip her. "If you see that you are marching to your own deaths, tell me you will leave that place at once."

“If I am to die, Docha, it will be at great cost to the forces of evil. We will see what the fates have in store for these old bones.”

A heavy tear rolled down his wrinkled cheek. The normally reserved man held his arms out meekly. “Would you humor an old man his sentimentality, for one last farewell?”

She heaved a sigh, too fatigued to cry. Anastazija nodded, rising to her feet to meet him in the middle. "Of course, Dima. Anything..." She murmured in response, hugging him tightly and burying her face into his chest.

Dima wrapped her tightly in his arms, holding on as if it were his last chance. After a moment, the feeling of a small silver chain came to rest around the woman’s neck, as the man snuck a gift before pulling back. Hanging around Anastazija’s neck was a necklace with two charms. A hand-carved visage of a wolfhound, and a bear. The bear was unmistakable in form, a barbarian’s totem. 

He wiped his eyes, looking at the woman. 

“The bear.. Give it to Constantin, when he is ready. If the way of the Morninglord is not for him, let him find strength in the bear. As for you, the wolfhound will guard you. Go tonight. I will distract Nikolai, he will not know of your departure.”

He planted a fatherly kiss on the woman’s forehead, before turning for the door. “Be swift, and be safe, mother bear.”

With that, the Great Bear left the two in the safety of the infirmary, with the clock ticking.

[pastelpoison88]

Chapter 1: The Jungle of Nuul

        "So the sun-seeker finally decides to wake up, bring her forward." Your vision was foggy as you came to, unsure of where you were or how you got there. "Tell me, what brings you into the Jungle? Don't you know it's no place for your kind?"

        You took in your surroundings before answering. You had two chains attached to your wrists, a tank guard pulling tightly on each end to prevent you from lashing out. The room made of mossy stone bricks was barren save for you, the guards, and the queen who sat upon her throne. Various tools and weapons stood out in the web and moss crammed into the wood, personal trophies she had gathered over her reign. It was a testament to her own ferocity, one of the only things you had known about jungle driders was that they took pride in their reputation as savages, finding respect through strength and sometimes cunning. 

        Nuulo herself was built and bred like the Amazons in human legend. A warrior through and through like her mother before her, though if you were to believe your tutor back home, she focused more on preserving her jungle rather than adding to it. She possessed all of the traits that would be used to identify her as part of the Jungle clans: the tanned skin, dark eyes, dark wavy hair, and a brown shell with green lines making up a unique pattern like the moss that tangled around every nook and cranny of the temple. She wore some sort of makeup, a black line was painted above her brows and smeared down, getting lighter and eventually fading into her natural tone by the time the markings got past her cheekbones. She sat proudly with a spear in hand, the skull of a jungle cat tied firmly to where the blade met the stick.

        "Passing through." 

        "And that's all?" Her brows raised as if she were mildly amused. 

        "Yes."

        "Really," She wasn't convinced, "why not stay?"

        "I didn't expect to be welcome."

        "So why come here? Why not around?"

        "Revo would not risk coming here." 

        Nuulo glared at you as you sat thinking of what you were to do with your bags being gone. If she even decided to let you live. You heard something hit the ground from behind, followed by a light rapping against the stone. "We'll continue this later, take her away for now."

        Your eyes landed on a drider boy, perhaps younger than you. He was a head or so shorter, his dark eyes being on level with your bust. Just like Nuulo he had tan skin but fluffy brown hair. You didn't get a better look beyond that as you were dragged away by the chains attached to your wrists. You could see his head turn in your peripheral as you walked past, depending completely on the chains to guide you the darker the hall got. You bumped into a corner once when turning one of the many turns and went slow on the stairs before finally being jammed into a tight cell, your legs spilling through the bars as you were forced to sit due to the low ceiling. 

~~~~~~~~~~

        "So, mother, what do you think?" The boy beamed up at the queen as he leaned against the armrest of the Savage Throne, a bag slung over his shoulder. "How was she?"

        "Drab." Nuulo leaned closer to her son, "she's a hard one to read, though, I'll give her that." 

        "Wait, so she's real?" A small voice asked as light tapping could be heard. "Szasha actually caught the princess?" A smaller drider dropped down, though still attached to the ceiling by her thread. 

        "Yes, Xina." Nuulo acknowledged her youngest child before focusing back on her youngest son. "But just to be sure, tell me about what was found on her when you captured her."

        "Just this bag and the clothes on her back." Szasha shrugged, handing the bag to his mother. 

        "And how did you find her?"

        "I saw her walking through the border and she was struggling to get over some bush so I just dropped down and bit her." He shrugged, watching as his mother shifted through the bags contents.

        "I really am impressed, Szasha." She stated, shifting through some more, "have the witches seen these books yet?"

        "No, you're the first one to see what's in it." 

        "I can't believe you took out a princess." Xina stayed hung in the air, eyes wide before giggling, "And you're so small!"

        "You're small too." He snapped back, brows furrowed somewhat.

        "I'm ten, what's your excuse?" Her laughter caused her to bounce on the thread she was hanging from. "You know, Szasha, you would make for a nice human girl if you really wanted to."

        "Shut up." Though the thought did make him chuckle.

~~~~~~~~~~

        All you did was wait. The guards came by after a few hours to feed you a few flies and take away the webbing you excreted, nothing more or less. It was like that the next day as well and the only warning you had that they were coming was the sound of their feet tapping closer and closer until coming to a stop, giving you food and cleaning out your cell of any webbing you excreted, and leaving. 

~~~~~~~~~~

        "Really?" Commented Nuulo's heir, Xiya, as she looked over to Szasha from across the table. Besides possessing light green eyes instead of the usual darker colors, she was an exact replica of Nuulo. 

        "No way." Taro and Kalo said in unison, second- and third-born respectively, also possessing the features typical to males of the jungle such as the lean muscle and sharp features passed down from their mother, something Szasha envied greatly. Their hair was light, straight, and long though, Taro preferred to have his hair parted on the left and braided to the right while Kalo mirrored him. 

        "I saw him dragging her in with my own eyes." Xina piped up, a little smirk present on her face, "I'm surprised she didn't wake up."

        "How did you manage to knock her out though?" Kalo asked, both him and Taro leaning towards Szasha.

        "I mean, she was already stumbling and getting caught on the shrubbery so I just, y'know, dropped down and bit her." The boy shrugged, annoyed by the doubt his siblings collectively shared, even by Xina who had seen with her own eyes. 

        "So she was already half asleep?" Taro chuckled, causing all of his siblings to cackle.

        "Leave your brother alone, he did good today." Nuulo piped up, "besides, if Revo's dogs are still stalking the border then we know we have something valuable, even if she's a runaway."

        "What's her name, anyway?" Xiya asked, though she was met with silence as Szasha looked to his mother.

        After taking a sip from her goblet, Nuulo spoke, "We don't know yet, she's only been down there for two days."

        "And are we sure that she can't see anything?" Taro asked, "How do we know she's not just faking it?"

        "She's got a pretty nasty bruise from when she bumped into a corner." Szasha shrugged, "But I don't know if it proves anything." 

        "What do we even know about them?" Xina said, sitting straighter and leaning in a little more. "Revo's kind."

        "Have you even gotten that far into your lessons with the witches?" Kalo asked, though Szasha was wondering the same as well, Xina was the next in line after Xiya but she was still a child. He wondered how much was appropriate for her to know.

        "Well, why don't you know if she's a sun-seeker? Haven't they all been sun-seekers?" 

        "The ones before were regular spiders."

        "Oh." 

        The room was quiet for a bit, Szasha contemplating an idea in his head before piping up. "What if we invite her to eat with us?"

        "Are you having a power trip or something?" Xiya asked.

        "Look, I've been with the guards every time to go see her and mum pointed out that she's difficult to read. We can't leave her alone if she's planning something and if we appear friendly long enough, it'll put her guard down." He reasoned though he felt his face begin to freeze up when they started giving each other side glances, "Obviously we shouldn't be with her one-on-one and if we're constantly with her, she could get a little suspicious, so we should have spies on her."

        "And who exactly would watch her 24/7? Why should we even let her out?" Nuulo questioned, and though her tone was patronizing Szasha surprised himself by being ready for it.

        "We're just giving her more of a reason to scheme against us by having her rot in that tiny cell. If she's really not loyal to Revo, she's at least loyal to herself and if we show that we're not going to do anything nefarious to her she'll have a reason to stick with us and we can find out more about what's inside Revo's walls. I can be the one to watch her, I've got nothing else to do, just give me a guard if the rest of you are busy."

        Szasha and his siblings looked toward their mother. She leaned her chin on her fist as she downed what was left in her goblet. Only when she nodded did Szasha allow himself to release a breath he hadn't realized he held in.

~~~~~~~~~~

         Szasha gulped down the saliva that had been building up in his throat as he scuttled toward your cell, a guard watching from around the corner.

        "Excuse me," he started, carefully watching for any reaction from you as he swung the heavy door open, your head turning in his direction but not looking directly at him. "Hello, I've found you better quarters to stay in, follow me please." He started walking towards the guard with you following a little slower but going in the right direction. "Silly me, would you like me to guide you?"

        "Alright." 

        "Hold my hand please, I'm Szasha." You told him your name in return, holding out your hand for him to take. He noticed an accent in your voice, similar to that of the human prisoners who hailed from "across the pond." It wasn't too surprising as you must've been surrounded by them in Revo. He led you to a room higher in the temple, hidden behind a rowan wood door given to him by the local witches. The room was barren save for the torch in the center of it as well as what you assumed to be a bed against the far wall. "I hope it's to your liking."

        "Thank you." Even if your words were small, it was what little things you said that made Szasha realize how soft his voice was compared to yours.

        "You're welcome, I just didn't want to see you in that cramped cell any longer. Unfortunately, this is all I can get you for now. I'm sure you understand how my mother views you currently." You only stared down at him as the light flickered across your face. He blinked only twice before slowly side-stepping his way around you. "Well... I'll be back later with something to eat. Please, make yourself comfortable and keep in mind not to go to sleep too early." He said from over his shoulder, unlocking the door with a key he had grabbed from a pouch on his hip and swiftly leaving, the lock clicking back into place as you heard the tapping of his claws echo against the stone floor, the echoes fading until all you were left with was the faint sound of the little flame whipping the air around it.

[mrsemilybartrum]

What if Arya didn't actually kill the REAL Night King, like in the show? What if she killed... the real king's son? What if Bloodraven made all this happen to become King through Bran? These characters are from A Song of Ice and Fire by George R.R. Martin... but I thought of this plot twist.

Arya sat in her captain’s chambers as the storm raged outside her cabin door. Even though she could still see the lightning flashes and the crashing waves from inside her quarters, the way she slammed her door was as if she were slamming the door in the tempest’s face herself. A bold crack of lightning took her back to Winterfell and Bran sitting under the wierwood tree. She shivered at the thought, as if she could still feel the cold from the Ice King.

Ever since she slayed the Night King, she’s been having the same dream. It’s not every night, but it’s frequent enough that she now draws sketches of scenes that only exist in her slumber. Once, when Arya was asked by one of her crew members why she made sketches of such monstrosities, she just shrugged and said “Maybe drawing them out while I am awake will stop me from dreaming them when I am asleep.”

Arya argued that Targaryens were infamous for visions and dreams and prophecy. After all, she killed the Night King herself with the very blade that Aegon the Conqueror had his Ice and Fire prophecy etched into. She shivered and then shivered again when the thought came to her.

What if the Night King isn’t dead, really? If Jon could be killed and resurrected, why couldn’t the Night King be resurrected? But I saw him shatter into a million and one pieces of broken ice when I stuck him with the pointy end. I killed him. I brought an end to him, not the other way around.

Arya would often overthink things. She would overthink so much that she would get herself all but convinced the real Long Night is still to come, that she needs to turn her ship around and go back to fight with – more so for – Winterfell. That Bran would need her from King’s Landing. Jon, the rightful king, would need her skills at the Wall. Yet, still, she would not turn her ships around.

Her ship was built not long after the Settlement of the Seven Kingdoms. Bran the Broken, whom she only referred to as ‘Bran, my brother’, had issued its building and even made her exploration an official order of royal decree. Arya would be required to return with 75% of her treasures and wealth to render back to the Crown Estate. She kept the remaining 25%, of course. For which she would be paying her crew, continuing her missions, maintaining her ship, and anything else she saw fit.

Suddenly, Arya realized she must’ve fallen asleep. She was no longer in her quarters on her ship. She was back in King’s Landing, the day her lord father Eddard had been beheaded by the Bastard King Joffrey.

The Bastard Kings; Joffrey and Tommen had been called that by highborn and smallfolk alike after the Settlement of the Seven. It made no matter to her. She never got to mark any of their names off her list by her own rite; Cersei allegedly died under a shower of stones and in the arms of her brotherly lover, Ser Jaime. Ser Jaime died the same way as Cersei, allegedly.

She watched this time as she saw her father’s head hit the ground. She didn’t hide her face in the Traveling Crow’s chest this time. She watched with eyes wide open. And then, she saw it.

Her father wasn’t dead anymore. He was somehow standing right next to her as his headless body lay up on the stands. Arya looked to the right of her, where her dear father stood. His head was back on his body, but you could see the marks where the sword sliced it clean off. She couldn’t speak. She just stared in awe.

Just as soon as the joy hit, the dread hit, too. ‘Am I dead, father?’ she asked Eddard.

‘No, child, you are not dead. But you have been touched. You are now connected to the same network that Bran your brother uses. You keep having the same dreams, don’t you. It’s why I am here.’ Her father answered her.

‘But why bring me to this moment, now? Father, I do not want to see this again. Please, let us go somewhere else.’ She begged him, as she hated that day worst of all. He told her to watch again, but this time, he wanted her to use her mind and thought to turn the blade into soft wool.

She didn’t know if she could do that, and she wanted to ask Father if he had tried going to Bran before he came to her. Before she could, he answered her as if he could read her mind.

"Yes, I asked Bran. He told me to ask you for him. He said to ask you myself, and if I were strong enough and wise enough to get you to do your part, he said he would gladly do his part. Now, my beloved daughter, will you do your part?" this version of her father asked her.

She agreed to do her part, but she was suspicious and didn’t really expect to get her father back. Her mother had been turned into an evil undead woman bitter from loss and love. What would the trauma turn Eddard into?

She watched again as her father was about to be executed after a set of lies promised by Joffrey the Bastard King. As Ilyn Payne’s sword came swinging down on the back of Eddard Stark’s neck, it turned into a snake.

The viper bit Payne and Joffrey both before the Hound could pull Eddard out of harm’s way and cut off the head of the snake. A viper’s bite can be cured if the person has the antidote on them. It is known that women of Dorne wear crystals of anti-venom around their necks, next to their hearts. So do the men.

But this was King’s Landing, and by the time the closest maester could appear with an antidote, both the king and the executioner were now dead. Eddard Stark was freed after Joffrey revealed his true colors. His own mother counted it a blessing since it stopped the North marching down for war.

She smiled, and she felt strong. But something felt wrong… like a part of her soul was dying inside of her. Like a part of her humanity was just traded for this costly exchange. One that couldn’t truly happen. What was that crashing noise?

Arya must’ve drifted off. She woke up, clearly shaken after having the dream of her dead father guiding her to use magic to change the fate of time. She stood up to stretch after being cramped up in that captain’s chair. She walked over to the glass wall of wonder.

She could see the shadows of sea monsters and sharks alike in the far-off depths of the water. Making part of her boat with fused glass was her favorite feature. For Arya, it was like becoming her own version of a mermaid. She could see the ocean floor while being safe.

Occasionally, she would see something that looked like a humanoid fish person swimming beneath the glass bottom of her quarters. This was the only place in the ship, save for the kitchen floor, where there was so much to see. She would remember the stories of the Deep Ones and shiver.

She stood and stretched her legs and hands, and she clasped her fingers together to cradle the back of her head in her palms. What was she doing out there, really? She had been through so much, and she had no idea what even mattered anymore.

[childoflegend]

@kuroheishi continued from x.

The first time Guren had spoken about family it dug a knife through his heart. Rise, a kid Guren had also took in, also kept repeating the same word over and over and that knife only twisted harder. He had almost come to hate that word for how much hurt it gave him.

Family did not exist anymore, not in a world like that. No matter how hard he tried to cling to revenge, how much he tried to cling to his hatred, every single day he kept questioning what was the point to be still there for him. He had died the day his parents had turned against him and he died again that day in Sanguinem when everything he lived for slipped through his fingers once again. There was a secret spot he had found, a place that the soldiers seemed to not hang out to a lot, when the sorrow was too heavy to even practice the exercises that Guren left for him to do. Only Rise seemed to have a radar for him and found him every time, like Akane had done for all the years in the underground city. He did not hate the kid, but at the time he was too busy with his own sorrow to notice that she was not too far away to where he was. That day she found him behind some heavy boxes, his face buried in his knees. Tears were rolling down his red cheeks, his trousers had basically become soaked. He barely heard steps as they approached and quickly he rubbed his face hard with his sleeves, red eyes narrowing at the figure that was now standing by his side. "I got something in my eyes..." his voice came out lower than he meant and before he could stood up himself, a warm hand was placed on his cheeks. The shock of that simple gesture stopped the child in his tracks, he could feel again the knife pushing forward into his heart. "Don't touch me." a callous hand moved away hers and Yu made his way back to the training area.

Bright lights, the sound of metal scraping metal, the feeling of blades tearing through flesh... they were the only things the little girl had known since birth. She couldn't remember anything before her father's experiments. Now, she was in a safe place. There were no bright lights, no blades cutting into her, and there was a man that was there to actually take care of her and treat her like a child.

Rise had never known any other children those eight years with her father. She wasn't entirely convinced other people existed outside of her and that man. She didn't know how to interact with kids her age, or anyone for that matter. Ever the quiet child, she would quietly sit and observe most days. When Yuu came along he triggered her inner curiousity. What had this boy been through to harbor so much anger?

It was often that Yuu would run off and disappear to be alone, whether it was to hurt himself in an attempt to train or to just cry. Most times when Rise would ask Guren about it he would just tell her to leave him alone or he would come back eventually. But, there was something about it that just made her... sad.

She could relate to the boy. There was just something about him that reminded her of herself, that feeling of being unwanted, not being able to be a real kid... She felt for him in a way she didn't know could be possible for her. She'd never understood the concept of having a sibling. The only reason she knew of their existence was due to her father constantly complaining about his brother whenever they were in the labs together.

Noticing now that the boy had run off again, the small girl pushed herself off the chair she'd been sitting on before going off to find him. She didn't like watching him hurt himself, though she knew he wouldn't listen to her if she tried to get him to stop. In fact, most times she would say anything he would just train harder.

Eventually coming across the boy, the first thing the girl noticed was his red face, then his tears. It made her heart ache for some reason. "...Yuuichiro? Are you ok--" her words were quickly cut off by the boy's statement. For some reason, she felt herself kneeling down and reached a gentle hand out to wipe away some of the tears. However, as she felt him snatching her hand, Rise couldn't help but watch him in what could be explained as confusion.

"Wait, Yuuichiro, I-I'm sorry." She quickly pushed herself to her feet, nearly losing her balance as she did so. "I... You should really take a break. Pushing yourself excessively won't help you fulfill your goals. Guren said he was going to be back for dinner tonight, he should be back soon so we should head back..."