#i had to learn her name through a explanation thread

[ournewfounddiscord]

what are we some kind of The Scholars (2025)

[uvobreakmylegs]

Unforeseen

for fun this year @hypnoswrites and I both wrote Illumi fics for Valentines Day. no connection between the fics, just more dead fish eyes for love day this year :D

here's her fic~

Red Thread of Fate Soulmate AU with Illumi x reader

💕Happy Valentines Day💕

Warnings: assassination, mentions of death, mentions of torture, kidnapping

Word Count: 13.4k

Most days were rather dull for Illumi, he had to admit.

They largely consisted of the same limited activities: travel somewhere, accept a job, locate and kill a target and then be paid for doing so. Sometimes he met with the client if such a meeting was necessary for any reason, but most clients were satisfied with the transaction taking place through the butlers, so these days Illumi rarely needed to take part in a face to face meeting.

Sometimes days were different. Sometimes Chrollo required his services, which Illumi took, much to the annoyance of his father. Sometimes Hisoka decided to bother him, and Illumi would hold back on taking out his annoyance on the magician since it felt like getting rid of him at that moment would be a waste. Sometimes it was Illumi himself causing the detour in his routines, halting his work for something that he determined would be of use to him in the long run, such as the time he had spent taking the Hunter exam. But such things didn't happen often.

Aside from those instances and his frequent trips home before he went back out on a job, the routine largely stayed the same.

Travel. Kill. Payment. Again and again.

And while Illumi was in no way dissatisfied with his life was it was currently, it felt as though there was something missing.

Namely, his soulmate.

Like most who were capable of using nen, Illumi learned of the connection after he mastered gyo and subsequently found that invincible red thread around his finger. The explanation of what that thread meant was followed by strict instruction: that once the thread grew taut, it meant that his soulmate was nearby, and when that happened, he needed to find whoever it was on the other end of the thread and secure them. As with everything his parents told him, Illumi listened carefully and remembered their words, and not a day had gone by since then that he would check on the thread whenever he was away from home, wondering when the time would come that his soulmate was meant to meet him.

The meeting was something Illumi thought of often. For years following the day he learned of soulmates, he found himself gazing at that thread on his finger in the quiet moments during long hours of travel. The more time wore on, the more he wondered who was at the other end and why he hadn't yet met them. At first, when he was still in his training, he had expected that he would meet his soulmate once he had fully mastered nen. But that had been quite some time ago and no such thing had happened, thus his assumption had been false. So Illumi was left to wonder why it hadn't yet happened. Wondering why, after all of the time he spent traveling for jobs, the thread continued to lay slack and dead and refusing to lead him to that other person.

But patience was one of the qualities of a good assassin, and thus, Illumi waited. And until the day came where he would find the person that fate had decided belonged to him, he would continue with that same routine.

Travel. Kill. Payment.

Again and again, always working hard to do his best to uphold the Zoldyck family name, and always trusting that he would find his soulmate whenever fate would determine that the time was right.

It ended up being on an a day that was overcast, when the clouds were dark and looming overhead above him. When Illumi stepped out of his hotel to take care of the current job he had been hired for, he did what he had always done and glanced down at his left pinky finger, anticipating that it would be the same as always. But that was the day that the routine was broken as he realized that the thread around his finger was tight for the first time in his life.

When he saw that the thread was finally, finally taut, a surge of anticipation swelled within him.

For whatever reason, the time was now. While it was a mild inconvenience that he couldn't immediately go to his soulmate due to the fact that he was in the middle of a job, it made Illumi quicken his pace as he was eager to get it over quickly. With the large briefcase that the client had instructed that he take with him in hand, Illumi kept his eyes on the thread as made his way to the site where his first target was, watching as the thread grew tighter with each passing step, indicating that he was getting closer to where he would find the one at the other end of the thread.

Illumi expected that he would see them while he was on his way to his job. Perhaps passing by on the street or in a nearby shop. Based on how the thread seemed to be staying still on his soulmate's end, it appeared as though they were staying put. Again, he was spurred forward, a small smile appearing on the assassin's face as he thought of being able to take what was his, to have that connection he had heard spoken of so often from others.

He continued, getting closer and closer to the cafe where his first target was waiting and he still had yet to come across his soulmate. When it got to the point that the cafe was within viewing distance, Illumi began to wonder if they were in that same space as the target. An odd coincidence that his soulmate would be there, but perhaps that was fate playing its hand again. Even if his soulmate saw him with the target, it wouldn't matter. As long as nothing alarming happened between himself and the target in his soulmate's vicinity, it would be of little consequence.

But when he was finally across the street from the cafe and he caught sight of that person he had been waiting for, he froze.

Despite the clouds that had gathered over the heart of the city and their efforts to hide the sky above them, bits of blue and the bright light of the sun managed to break through every now and then. Such was the case when an opening in the clouds appeared just then, allowing forth a thin ray of sunlight that came down and settled on an area with a particular person sitting in the middle of it.

You.

You sat at one of the outdoor tables at the cafe, your index finger trailing across the plastic cup that held your sweet looking drink while the toe of your shoe tapped incessantly on the pavement beneath your seat. The slightly chill air that blew by caused you to shudder slightly, and you glanced behind yourself to look inside the cafe building, as though you were considering moving inside so you could be out of the cold. When you saw that no seats were available, you frowned to yourself and ultimately stayed where you were.

Still in that sunlight and with everything in the surrounding environment pointing to you. And as you sat beneath the spotlight that nature had created for you, Illumi watched intently from the other side of the crosswalk, taking in everything about you and only tearing his gaze away for a few scant seconds to stare down at his own left hand to make sure that what he thought he saw was correct: that the red thread which was attached to his pinky truly connected him to you.

No matter how many times he checked, there was no mistaking it. His eyes that followed the thread always brought him back to you and no one else.

His soulmate.

It should have been a good moment, as it was a moment he had been anticipating for a long time now. When Illumi saw you at last, saw your face for first time after imagining it for so long, it should have been a moment where he felt at peace upon witnessing his other half.

Instead those feelings of anticipation died immediately upon seeing you, and all Illumi felt in that moment was a mild confusion accompanied by immediate concern.

It didn't appear that he was the only one who was concerned.

Despite your attempts to appear casual, it was evident from your expression that you were nervous, and your gaze kept going to a long, thin parcel that sat upright in the seat next to you. From the way you glanced about, it was clear that you were waiting for someone. As if to further prove that point to him, you took another sip of your drink as you glanced at your phone, checking the time before you scanned the area that surrounded you.

It all matched up.

Concern turned into irritation – with whom exactly, Illumi wasn't sure yet. But someone was to blame for this, someone was responsible for this situation that felt like a horrid joke. This wasn't something that should've happened, not to him. Even though he found himself hoping that he was mistaken and the real target was within the cafe building behind you, taking up one of those seats you had wished to occupy, all of it simply matched up too well.

The time was 11:15.

The location was The Nest Cafe.

You were clearly waiting for someone to arrive.

And Illumi was certain that you were waiting for him.

It felt like too much of a coincidence that you would be there for any other reason. Not at this time and with that parcel in the seat next to you, not with the way you looked at the other people in the vicinity, subtly glancing up at those who walked by close to your table in anticipation of any one of them approaching you. And if that wasn't enough, your appearance matched with who he was told would be there waiting for him to perform the exchange.

Everything pointed to you being the one he needed to meet for his job. If that truly was the case, then that meant you were his target.

One of the those he had been hired to kill.

The assassin stared at you as his mind began to race. The disbelief of how such a thing could happen, how this much of a coincidence could occur consumed him. How you had landed yourself on the radar of Edgar Farley and how you had angered him to such a degree that he decided to spend extra for Illumi to torture you and your accomplices extensively before your existence was snuffed out.

Of all the things that could have happened, how in the world had he ended up taking on a job that required him to kill his own soulmate?

Illumi didn't notice that his grip had tightened too much on the handle of the briefcase until he heard it crack, and that sound was enough to snap him out of his all consuming thoughts. He needed to continue, he reminded himself. As a Zoldyck, he needed to complete the job for the name of his family, regardless of the unforeseen circumstances which involved you.

Of course, he wasn't going to kill you, which would mean he would need to come up with some sort of solution for the sixth body Farley was demanding.

Illumi let out a small, barely audible sigh as he gathered himself up internally.

He would figure it out. There was surely a solution that would allow him to have you and complete the job without any fuss. He had no doubts on that.

But for now, his focus needed to be on getting you somewhere out of sight.

With that, Illumi waited for the light at the crosswalk, and once it turned green, he began to make his way towards you, once more keeping his eyes on you and the thread as it grew shorter and shorter.

You noticed him quickly after he had crossed the street, and when you realized that he was staring straight at you, you turned your full attention to him, straightening yourself up in your seat when you saw that he was approaching you. When he stopped in front of you, it took you a moment before you spoke as you glanced down at the briefcase he held. Illumi saw the way your pulse quickened as the gears began to turn in your head, as you came to the assumption that he was the one you were waiting for.

Illumi spoke first, calling out your name in a questioning tone.

You nodded cautiously.

“Are you, uh-”

You faltered in the middle of your sentence, seemingly taken aback by the way he was looking at you.

Was the way he was staring at you that strange?

Regaining your voice, you tried again with “you're here for the…. Uh, the thing, right?”

…… That was how you were describing this?

“Yes,” he answered.

“Ah. Okay then.”

You got up from your seat, but then stopped as you looked down at your cup.

“Did… Did you want a drink, too?” you asked.

Illumi shook his head.

“I'd rather we head off.”

“Okay. That also works.”

You took one long, last sip before tossing the cup into the appropriate receptacle before hurrying back to the table to grab the parcel, tucking it beneath your arm as you looked back at him.

“The hotel is down that way. It isn't too long of a walk. A little bit less than seven minutes,” you told him.

Illumi nodded silently, then followed once you began to make your way down the sidewalk. Keeping his eyes on you, he found that while you were once again trying to hide it, you were clearly nervous. There was a jitteriness to your step, and your fingers kept playing with one of the edges of the parcel, slowly picking at it more and more with every moment that passed as you made the walk to the hotel.

You then stiffened as though a sudden thought had struck you, and you turned your head while you walked as you asked “sorry, I should've said something beforehand about us walking. It's not an issue, right? If it is, I can get us a taxi.”

“It's not an issue,” Illumi calmly replied.

“Oh, okay then. That's good.”

Your free hand then went up to nervously scratch at the back of your neck and you let out a shaky exhale that you must have thought he wouldn't be able to catch.

Why were you doing this if it made you so nervous?

It appeared that just being involved in this situation that was causing your distress. Perhaps you actually recognized how awful this plan was; the group you were part of appeared to be a foolish lot, with none of you seeming to truly know what you were doing. Illumi hoped you weren't the ringleader, as this get rich quick scheme was already pathetic, and he found himself disappointed that you were participating in it. He'd be even more disappointed if he knew you were the one to come up with it.

At least once he was done here, he wouldn't need to worry about you being able to do anything too foolish. The leash he would keep on you would be too tight for that.

You glanced over at him again, and he grew concerned when he saw your eyes furrow in worry upon meeting his gaze again.

Were you perceptive enough to realize that something was wrong?

That turned out to be unlikely, as when an elderly man who stood a few steps in front of you sneezed unexpectedly, you jumped, and the parcel nearly dropped from your hands. No, it didn't seem likely that you were aware of anything amiss; you were simply nervous about the situation as a whole.

Illumi frowned slightly as he watched you. Your nervousness was only an additional negative in this situation. Your lack of nen meant it would be harder for you to understand the connection, and if you weren't relaxed, you were guaranteed to not feel it in a timely manner.

As much as he hated to admit it, Illumi doubted that he would be able to ease your nerves and get you to trust him, and especially not in such a short time.

There was no choice but to take you by force. While that would cause issues that would be detrimental to the connection opening for you, it was better to go through with that. The time it would take for you to accept him would be longer, but that was the safest option he had.

The silence stretched over the two of you, though it didn't seem to do much to assuage your nervousness. As Illumi continued to follow you, his gaze once again went to the parcel being carried beneath your arm. That was the item that had been the source of this entire conflict, that the client desperately wanted back. Why Farley was willing to have him kill over a piece of art, Illumi couldn't fathom, though his own opinion hardly mattered in this instance.

But as he looked at the parcel, he found that something about it felt…. Off. From what he was told about the art he was to retrieve, the dimensions of what you carried didn't seem to match up with what had been described to him. He turned his gaze back to you, boring into the back of your skull as he grew suspicious over what exactly you were carrying. Things definitely didn't need to be complicated by you not having the painting in question.

He'd find out what was going on soon enough, he supposed.

The first bit of relief within you was seen when your shoulders loosened slightly as you looked beyond the path in front of you and caught sight of a hotel. While it was better than the average cesspit hotel with clientele that consisted of drug users and married spouses in the middle of an affair, the hotel was also considerably cheaper than the place Illumi had checked out of this morning. As he followed you in through the front doors, the assassin glanced about at the lobby. There were a fair amount of people milling around, all of whom seemed to be there from out of town for some kind of sporting event. No one bothered to even glance in your direction or his when you made a turn to the left and began to lead him down a hallway on the first floor.

Again, he wordlessly followed you as you made your way to a nearby stairway, and when you looked back at him again, you asked “are you cool if we take the stairs? With all those people around, I figure it's best that we avoid them if we can.”

“I have no issue with that,” he answered. As he followed you into the stairway, he spoke again, his voice echoing slightly against the barren walls as he asked “but why are you worried about people seeing us?”

“Ah, just…. You know. If we're stuck in a small space like an elevator, then people are more likely to take note of us. See us up close, and possibly say something to the police about us if something happens,” you said.

Illumi's eyes narrowed as he asked “are you expecting something to go wrong with the exchange?”

“N-no.”

“Then why the worry?”

“Just….. Just to be safe. Just in case,” you answered, “better to err on the side of caution, right? Neither of us want to be seen with something stolen, right?”

“I suppose.”

It was more than likely for the best that you were going out of your way to avoid the other guests at the hotel. Despite how you had seemed to calm down some once you arrived here, it seemed as though his questioning had made your nerves shoot up again, and he didn't need you drawing attention to the both of you in such a way.

The way you became nervous so easily was likely going to be a tough issue for him to tackle, however. After all, you would become an assassin like him once the two of you were married, and the fact that he could easily see you freezing up in the middle of a job didn't bode well.

That would need to be trained out of you.

But he was getting ahead of himself. After all, he needed to solve this current set of issues with you before he could consider your training. And at the moment, he felt as though a big issue was quickly being taken care of. With every step he took as he followed you up the several flights of stairs, the he was getting closer to having you alone in a controlled space. That in and of itself was enough to give him a slight sense of relief.

It seemed as though you were of the same opinion, as once you made it to the hotel room in question and entered after Illumi had, you were quick to shut the door and flip the lock, breathing in deep before letting all out in a shaky sigh.

That time he chose to make a comment.

“You don't seem well,” he said.

You startled slightly, your eyes growing wide before you tried explain it away.

“I don't?” you asked, “I didn't get a lot of sleep last night, so maybe that's why. Sorry about that.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Illumi asked.

Once again, you seemed surprised at the question.

“Force of habit, I guess,” you eventually got out.

Stepping by him, you moved towards the center of the room, where a small couch and coffee table were sitting in front of the single bed. An item sitting atop the table caught his attention: one of those portable money counting machines. The transaction would be taking place there, then.

After placing the parcel on the far end of the couch, you turned to him after and you clapped your hands together in a clear attempt to change the topic, forcing yourself to smile at him as you did so as if to convince him that everything was fine. Perhaps it was a way to convince yourself as well.

“So, um,” you began, “I guess I'll start with counting the money.”

Hearing that surprised him a little.

“I don't get to see the painting first?” Illumi asked.

“Um….”

You seemed caught off-guard by that question, and you stammered for a few moments, glancing back at the parcel briefly as you tried to come up with a response. In the middle of that, you oddly took the time to look at the door of the closet that stood behind him, your gaze flitting over to it briefly before you looked at him and cleared your throat.

“Uh, I think I should count the money first,” you told him, “just to, you know, be safe.”

“You think I'm going to scam you?”

“N-no. But it's a lot of money, and we're – I'm taking a lot of risks here.”

Your gaze grew a bit more grim as you added “plus, I heard that the previous owner was something of a psychopath, so I really want to be careful, you know?”

Then why steal from him if you're worried about him retaliating?

As reasonable as it would have been to ask that, Illumi held his tongue.

“Plus, like, even if the painting was fake and I did try to grab the money and run, I don't think I'd get far, you know?” you continued.

“What makes you think that?”

“You look like you could catch me easily. So I think running would be really dumb on my part.”

After a brief pause, you then admitted “the way you've been staring at me has also been intense and you're kind of scary, so I really don't want to make you mad at me.”

Illumi blinked.

“I'm scary?” he repeated.

You blanched, as if you hadn't realized what exactly you had said until he had repeated it. Your panic began to grow again as you started to apologize.

“I'm sorry, that was really rude of me! I didn't mean to say that,” you insisted, “I just meant to say….. Meant to say that I'm not going to try anything shady. That I wouldn't do that to anyone, and definitely not you. I'm really sorry. I wasn't trying to offend you.”

Letting out a shaky breath, you continued “I was told that I needed to count the jenny first, so I'm just trying to do what I was told, you know?”

“….. I see.”

From the way you reacted to his response, it seemed as though you determined that you had said something wrong, as you were quick to then tell him “sorry, I'm not trying to make things difficult. I get why you need to be cautious, because you don't know me and eight billion is a lot to be handing off to a stranger. But I promise, as soon as I'm done I'll let you confirm that it's the real thing.”

There was a hint of desperation in your gaze as you then asked “does…. Does that sound good?”

Ending the charade now would have been prudent. If he did that, he would save himself some time, get the job over with quicker so he could focus fully on you. Knocking you out and calling up the butler that was waiting on standby for him to take you away while he figured out a replacement for you would be the best way to move forward.

But he still wasn't sure what was going on with the painting and he didn't want to sour your opinion of him by torturing you on your first meeting.

So instead, Illumi nodded.

“I understand,” he told you, “I'll wait, then.”

Though it was tinged with nervousness, the smile you gave him was one of genuine relief.

“Thank you,” you said.

Illumi said nothing, but he felt an odd sensation in his heart upon seeing you smile.

Keeping his face as that same blank mask he almost always wore, he settled down onto the chair that sat opposite of the couch. You sat as well, taking the briefcase that he had offered you and setting it on the coffee table in front of you. Your eyes widened slightly when you opened it, as you likely had never seen that much jenny before in your life.

As you began to count, Illumi thought of what you had said moments ago, the things you had said about him. And as if somehow sensing what he was thinking, you looked up at him again, your eyebrows pinching in worry as you spoke up.

“I really am sorry for what I said, if it offended you,” you reiterated.

“It's fine. It doesn't matter,” he answered.

That was a lie. It mattered a lot. Especially upon realizing that his soulmate was unsettled by him to the point that they viewed him to be scary, of all things. But as he recalled the lovely expression that had been on your face when you had thanked him moments earlier, he decided that he could forgive you.

So again he held his tongue and merely observed you after the two of you had taken your seats, and he watched as you pulled out a notebook and a pen before gathering a stack of jenny and placing it into the money counter after. Shortly after, the silence in the room was broken by the sound of the rustling paper as the jenny was put through the machine and the small screen at the front displayed the total that quickly shot up as more of the money went through. Soon enough that particular stack was done, and you jotted down the number on the screen before setting the stack aside and grabbing another from the briefcase, repeating the process again.

The two of you would be here for a while.

As much as Illumi wished to have used this time to speak with you, it was clear that you wouldn't be receptive to it. You saw this as a business transaction. Any personal questions coming from him would likely only earn him more worried looks and apologies as you desperately tried not to offend him. So he sat in silence while he watched, keeping his eyes on you as you continued the monotonous task.

At the beginning you would glance up at him periodically, only to quickly avert your gaze when you saw him looking at you. Eventually you stopped doing that, and it seemed as though you were making a point to keep your focus only on your notebook, the money counter and the contents of the briefcase.

What exactly makes me so scary?

That question would need to wait until later, as much as that fact irked him.

With little else to do, Illumi glanced again at the parcel. Again, the dimensions didn't seem right to him. And as he remembered the way you had glanced over at the closet, a possible explanation began to form in his mind, but it was one he would likely need to wait for until you had finished what you were doing.

Now that his mind was again on the task at hand, he asked “how exactly did you come upon this piece?”

Tensing at the sound of his voice, you glanced up at him and then immediately averted your gaze.

“Um, I don't think I'm supposed to say anything about that. All that matters is that it's real, right?” you asked in reply.

“We're talking about a stolen art piece. We're both 'taking risks' for this, as you put it. I think I'm entitled to know how you got ahold of this,” he answered.

Your shoulders sank slightly as you appeared to concede.

“We, uh, we heard it was just sitting in storage, that no one had checked in on it in a while. So my roommate figured we could take it and no one would notice,” you quietly explained.

“It seems like he was right because it hasn't been reported missing yet,” you added.

“Your roommate?” Illumi repeated.

You froze. And then you seemed disappointed with yourself as you were forced to admit “my roommate knows a guy who works at that museum where it was stored.”

“Why aren't they here?”

“He's the one who thought of this and got everything set up. The other guys were the ones who took the painting. So this is the part I need to do.”

You quickly looked back to the money counter, once again scribbling down the number listed on the screen.

The more he learned, the more Illumi was convinced that whomever had been the mastermind of this plan – your roommate, evidently – they hadn't thought through it very well. As was usually the case for the theft of fine art. If the thief didn't have a buyer lined up beforehand, they typically had a hard time selling it off for any sort of profit. While exceptions for that rule existed, such as the Phantom Troupe whose notoriety had fans of theirs wanting to buy items that had been in their possession, a small group of first time criminals were never going to achieve such success. This entire interaction had been set up so you and others who thought about stealing from his client would learn a lesson. It was always going to end badly for your group.

The one thing Illumi could be thankful for was the fact that he had been selected to carry out the hit. It allowed him the control he needed to navigate the situation and guide it to an ending where the client was satisfied and you were still alive.

When the process of counting the eight billion finally ended and you confirmed that what was given to you was the correct amount, you shut the notebook, placed the jenny back within the briefcase and then looked to him, saying “everything looks good. I'll show you the painting now.”

Instead of handing him the parcel, you stood up and walked over to the closet that stood in front of the door, sliding it open before you reached inside. When you pulled your hand back out, you were holding another parcel.

He caught on immediately as he asked “is that the real painting?”

You looked back to him, and then nodded.

“Yeah. The one on the couch is a decoy,” you explained, “just in case.”

“Just in case?” he repeated.

“In case you thought it'd be better to take it from me when we were outside,” you said, “I figured since I'm not really intimidating at all, a potential buyer might think of stealing it and leave us with nothing, so I put the real one in here beforehand.”

When he didn't respond to that, your fingers tensed on the edge of the new parcel, looking away as you mumbled “I thought it was a good idea.”

“It certainly shows that you exercised more caution than I gave you credit for,” Illumi said.

“Thank – thank you?” you replied, uncertain if you should take his words to be insulting or not. Regardless of that, you stepped forward as you approached the coffee table once again, holding the parcel out to him to take.

You sat back down on the couch after, watching him as he undid the piece of twine that held the brown paper wrapped around the painting. You were eager to get this over with, as your hand was seated next to the handle of the briefcase, twitching every now and then as if you wanted to grab it and leave. In your mind, this ordeal was almost over, and you would soon be able to return home to your cohorts with your ill-gotten gains.

His attention was brought to the painting as he unwrapped it fully and pulled it up to inspect that it was the genuine article.

The painting was moderately sized and featured a scene that could likely be found on the cover of an average historical romance novel. At the center of the piece was a maiden upon a balcony, having just swung her legs over the railing as she sat atop it with her ankles peeking out beneath the skirt of her dress. A short distance beneath her was a knight upon his horse, reaching out to her as if beckoning her to take the leap, an assurance her that he would catch her. And in the background that featured a room that led to that balcony, a door had been forced open, with several men charging in, no doubt with the intent of grabbing the maiden before she could flee with her knight lover.

While the art of the painting was detailed and could be considered beautiful, and the piece certainly told a story, Illumi couldn't fathom how and why such a silly painting managed to cause so much trouble, much less why the owner was so incensed at it's theft that he was willing to pay so much for it's return. And if it had been that precious to him, why had Farley left it in that museum in the first place?

You leaned forward in your seat, scanning for any hint of change in his expression as he looked it over.

“Do you like it?” you asked.

“It's acceptable.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“You're spending eight billion and you just find it 'acceptable'?” you asked.

“All I care is that it's the genuine article,” he told you.

“Oh. Okay then.”

With a note of finality in your voice, you straightened up in your seat, your hand once more grasping the handle of the case as you said “so if you're satisfied, then we're done here, right? Transaction closed?”

Illumi nodded slowly.

“Yes, I suppose that's correct.”

“Okay then. Do you want to leave first, or should I? I'm fine if you want to go first, but I'm not sure how much time I should wait before leaving myself.”

“You aren't leaving,” he told you.

“…..”

The silence stretched out through the entirety of the room as you stared at him, your nerves slowly but steadily growing once again as you looked at him in confusion.

“But I need to take this back….?” you questioned.

“That isn't happening.”

“W-why?”

“Because I'm an assassin and I've been hired to kill you,” Illumi said, “therefore, I cannot allow you to leave this room with that case.”

You stared at him silently, your eyes widening in shock as his words sunk in. Your gaze went down to the floor as you began breathing heavily and you began to tremble. You accepted it. No questions about what he was talking about or if he was trying to joke around – you could tell he was serious.

Illumi was ready for you to do something in response. A normal reaction would likely be to run from him, either to escape out the door or the window. Both had their own pros and cons, though if it was Illumi in this situation, he would likely choose the window. Whether or not you would do the same remained to be seen. Though it was possible that you might choose to fight back, not that you would be able to do much against him. He had trained for as long as he had remembered, so no matter how strong you may potentially be, there was little chance that a civilian like yourself would be able to overpower him. The best you would be able to do would be to throw items in the room at him, and that would still be next to nothing.

He was overthinking things, because as he looked at you, he didn't see any ounce of fight in you. You were still gazing down at the floor, and while your breathing had slowed slightly, you were still in distress. If he were to guess, this must have been a worst case scenario for you, one that either the members of your group or you yourself had said couldn't possibly happen, that your luck wouldn't ever be so bad.

You even said that the client was a psychopath, so why you thought this wouldn't happen was still a mystery to him. At least he would make sure you wouldn't be making such terrible decisions in the future.

Illumi waited for you to act, already mapping out in his head what he would do in response to whatever you chose.

He waited.

And waited.

And Illumi felt confusion growing within him once more as you didn't act.

You weren't running.

Time was ticking by, and you stayed on that spot on the couch, only moving to slump backwards against the seat. Instead of attempting to save yourself from a man who just told you that he was an assassin, you stayed still, refusing to move at all. The exact opposite of running.

Illumi's brows furrowed as he asked “why aren't you running?”

You glanced up at him, surprised by his question.

“Why?” you repeated, “I guess…. I mean, what's the point? I'm in a room with you that has only one exit, and I'm pretty sure you'll catch me if I run. Actually, we had a conversation about that just a few minutes ago, didn't we? And you seemed to agree with me. So why should I bother making things worse for myself by running?”

He frowned, not liking the way you had given up so easily and accepted your fate.

“You won't even try to fight back?” he asked.

“Again, what's the point? I can tell just by looking that you're stronger than me. I don't wanna get into a fight that I know I'll lose,” you said.

Illumi blinked when you said that, hearing one of his own lessons that he had ingrained into his younger siblings coming from your lips catching him off guard momentarily. Despite not even knowing of him before this day, you already knew one of the lessons he had intended to teach you.

Within an instant, Illumi felt a bit more hopeful for you. While you seeming to accept your death was far from ideal, he was certain that he could make you unlearn that response.

You were his soulmate, after all. Teaching you would be easy.

“You do have a good point – I am stronger than you. As you are right now, you could never defeat me,” he told you.

You didn't react to his statement, instead continuing to stare down at the floor dejectedly.

“But it isn't good that you're giving up so easily. In the future, if you find yourself in this position again, you should find an escape route and remove yourself from the situation.”

At that, your eyebrows furrowed as you looked at him strangely.

“In the future?” you repeated, “what future? You said you were going to kill me.”

“I said that I was hired to kill you,” Illumi stated, “but that doesn't mean I'm going through with it.”

And with that, there was a bit of hope in your eyes, a bit of life breathed back into you as you straightened up, now watching and waiting intently for his every word as you now believed that there was a way out of this. Of course, there was, but it wouldn't be in the way you expected.

You gulped before you asked “you…. You're going to let me go?”

“No.”

Your shoulders sank again as Illumi continued with “I'm not killing you, but I also can't let you go. If I did that my client would find out and that would cause issues for myself and my family.”

“So then…. Then what? What happens to me? Why are you sparing me?” you asked.

“I need you alive,” he said.

“Why?”

“I'll explain that later.”

“Why?” you asked again, your voice growing a bit more fearful.

“Because I have no time to discuss it now,” he said plainly.

With that, he stood up and closed the distance between the two of you. You still didn't move when he approached, not even to scoot away to the other side of the couch. You simply sat there, cowering and fearful as you stared up at him.

“You said it was your roommate who put you up to this, correct?” he asked.

At that your eyes widened slightly before you frowned, only now realizing your slip up in having mentioned that fact.

“…. I shouldn't have said that, should I?” you asked.

Illumi nodded at you.

“In any other situation, that would have been a poor choice on your part,” he told you, “but it doesn't really matter all that much now. Your name as well as the others was already given to me. I was just made to go along with this so I could recover the painting.”

The assassin grabbed at your bag, opening it and rummaging through until he found your wallet. Shortly after he had your ID in hand, and he read the address that had been printed on the card.

“Is your roommate home right now?” he asked, not looking away from the card as he did so.

“….. I think so.”

“Will the others from your group be there?”

“I'm not sure.”

“I see.”

Illumi pocketed the card before looking back to you.

“… If I told you to trust me, I'd be demanding too much from you, wouldn't I?” he asked.

“…. A little bit, yeah,” you admitted.

Nodding at your answer, Illumi said to you “I appreciate you being honest with me.”

Then the assassin stood back up -

And with a quick strike of his hand at the back of your neck, you fell over on the couch as you were knocked unconscious.

Without missing a beat, Illumi pulled his cellphone from his pocket and went about dialing the number for the butler who was meant to pick him up once this part of the job was finished with. As expected, the call was picked up before the first ring had finished.

“I need you to come to the back of the Arcadia Hotel,” Illumi told the butler, not bothering with any sort of greeting or an explanation.

“Understood, Master Illumi. I'll be there within ten minutes,” they answered.

The call ended just as quickly as it had started, and Illumi looked back to you. Even in unconsciousness, you still appeared to be in distress as your brows were furrowed and you were frowning. Not even sleep could relieve you of your worries, and as he stared at you, Illumi felt an odd bit of anger rising in his chest. You were unprepared for such tasks like this one, yet those people – your roommate and whoever else was involved – had pushed you to do this regardless. They had been so irresponsible and careless that you had ended up on a hit list, and had it not been for Farley going to him specifically, someone else would have killed you.

You would have died easily had it not been for the strange coincidence of him being the one to take the job.

The thought of you dying made his anger worse, and for a brief moment, that rage seeped out, quickly filling the small space of the room and making the lights flicker from the force of it.

You didn't remain unaffected by it, either, as when you were hit with with the force of his anger, you shuddered in your sleep.

Within an instant, that anger petered out.

And without thinking, Illumi moved, hoisting you up into his arms and then settling back down onto the couch with you in his embrace. Your cheek rested against his chest while your pliant body molded against his in a comfortable fashion. An idle thought came to mind – with where your head was resting, were you able to hear his heartbeat that was next to your ear? Would you be able to tell such a thing as you were now?

That seemed to have broken Illumi out of his stupor as he blinked once again. Now truly taking in the sight of you on his lap, he realized he had acted on impulse, not really thinking about his actions when he had pulled you into his grasp. It felt strange. Physical acts like this one – to hold someone to himself – were not actions he was used to. Everyone within his family were inclined to keep physical contact to a minimum, and outside of his family, there was no one that he would allow to touch him, not without them paying for it after.

But with you, it had come naturally and with no hesitation on his part. One look at your face had driven him to hold you, as if to ease your distress while you slept. Such things that he was feeling for someone he hadn't even known an hour, and all because of a thread that you couldn't even see.

Illumi's hand went up to stroke your hair, his fingers trailing gingerly through the strands as he quietly murmured to himself “the soulmate bond is a strange thing indeed.”

Strange, that it would drive him to do something he had never once been inclined to do.

But at the same time, it felt good.

He stayed like that with you, holding you and caressing you gently. While the time passed by peacefully, the gloomy clouds that could still be seen outside the hotel room window parted, allowing the sun to filter in with a warm glow.

When Illumi's cellphone rang, it caught him off-guard. Pulling the phone out of his pocket, he found himself surprised when he saw that the aforementioned ten minutes had passed, and the butler was no doubt calling him to inform him that he had arrived.

Had the time truly passed so quickly?

His mouth set in a small frown as he lifted you back into his arms, adjusting you before he stood up and carried you out of the room.

Under normal circumstances, the butler wouldn't have needed to call for him for any reason. Any other time, Illumi would have been waiting at the aforementioned spot long before his ride would have arrived. That he had gotten so distracted simply from holding you was somewhat worrying, and he hoped this sudden distracted attitude was a one-time thing due to him finding you.

The butler he had called for was standing at the ready when Illumi walked out through the employee only door of the hotel, and they bowed respectfully when they saw him. Their gaze narrowed ever so slightly when they saw you unconscious in his arms, but they said nothing, waiting for their master to speak first.

Illumi did just that once he had reached them, stopping before them to ask “what is my schedule for the next few days?”

“During the time you spent with the target, another request came in for your services, Master Illumi,” the butler said, “two days from now, in the Kakin Empire.”

“Give it to Milluki; I'm sure whatever it is, he can handle it,” Illumi told them.

“And if Master Milluki is not available…?”

“He's always available. He never leaves home unless someone makes him.”

The butler nodded and listened intently as the assassin continued “don't bring me any assignments for the next few days. I need my schedule completely clear.”

“For this person, Master Illumi?” the butler asked as they once more looked at your unconscious form.

Illumi stared back to them intently as he said “this is my soulmate. You'll show them respect.”

At that, the butler immediately understood, bowing their head as they answered “of course, Master Illumi. My apologies.”

“You'll look after them while I complete my current job,” Illumi said, “should they wake up before I return, you will tend to their needs while keeping them safe.”

“Of course, Master Illumi.”

The butler then moved to take you from Illumi's arms, but stopped when he gave them a long, hard stare.

“Open the door,” the assassin ordered.

Moving quickly, the butler did just that, opening the back door and holding it wide for him. Illumi then carried you into the car's interior and set you down onto one of the long seats, handling you gently as he did so. As he pulled back and began to step out of the vehicle, he found that he was remiss to leave you. But as he still had a job to complete, there was nothing to be done about it.

After exiting the car, he waited for the butler to close the door before turning to them one last time.

“Don't speak of the discovery of my soulmate to anyone,” he ordered, “I will let my family know in my own time.”

One last time, the butler nodded in understanding, and they waited until Illumi began to leave the area before they took their place back in the driver's seat and drove off. Illumi couldn't help but take one glance behind himself as you were driven away. Despite knowing that with the way you were laid out on the backseat and that he wouldn't be able to see you, something still caused his head to turn as he watched the car move further away, as he watched the thread from within the vehicle become more slack with every bit of distance put between the two of you.

When he returned to the hotel room to grab the painting was when he realized another mistake, an oversight on his part. Illumi froze after he entered, catching sight of something on the couch where the both of you had been sitting not so long ago:

The briefcase.

With the eight billion jenny.

The jenny that had been Farley's payment for the job, that he had intended to give to that butler so he didn't need to drag it with him when he killed the other targets. Yet it remained on the couch.

Illumi had been so concerned with getting you to safety, he had managed to forget it completely.

Pursing his lips, a small scowl made its way onto his face as he stepped forward, determining that he had no choice and that he would need to take both the briefcase and the painting when he went to the apartment where your roommate was. It was obnoxious, but he wasn't going to call back the butler.

Admitting that he had forgotten something would be far too embarrassing.

The car was driving along a lonely stretch of the two lane highway while the sun slowly descended to the earth, casting the sky in golden colors as it sank lower and lower. It had been a while now since they had left the boundaries of the city, and there was still some time before they would reach the intended destination. But with a freshly filled gas tank and a driver who was more than capable of withstanding the hours of driving that were left on the journey, Illumi doubted that there would be any delays from this point. They would arrive at one of the Zoldyck's many homes in due time, and then Illumi could get to know you.

He was currently staring at you, just as he had been at the start of the journey. After the hit job that took longer than expected to complete due to his targets being spread out and the added stress of finding someone to act as a replacement for you – all taken care of with a single needle and the disfigurement to the heads – Illumi had been eager to see you again. Though there had been a slight disappointment on his end when he entered the car and saw that you were still unconscious, he quickly overcame that when he took advantage of your current state in order to place you so that your head rested on his lap.

Just like in the hotel room earlier, it wasn't an action that he was accustomed to – he had never considered doing something like that for someone before this – but with you, it felt right. Natural.

And as he lightly brushed his knuckles against your cheek while you slept soundly under his watch, he found that he felt content. After years of waiting, of fruitlessly searching, he finally found you. Not under the best circumstances, that was for certain, but seeing how things had ultimately turned out, it was all worth the wait.

Though there did remain the matter of your reaction once you had awoken and how you would receive him once he told you the truth.

A small frown once more graced his lips. Teaching you nen and showing you that way would be the best way to prove it to you, though it would take some time. While he had no issue spending that time, he felt another pang of disappointment hit him. He liked you as you were now; pliant and accepting of his touch, as more than once when he had stroked you, you had leaned into him, subconsciously seeking him out. It felt nice, an acknowledgment of the connection that some deeper part of you surely recognized. That you would likely be resistant to him once you were awake was a shame, but one that was unlikely to be avoided.

Learning about you wouldn't come about quickly, he feared. It would take time to tear down the walls you would no doubt build around yourself. So getting to know what you were really like, the areas in which the two of you were similar and the ways in which you differed, and the way that he hoped that you would be loving with him, as was so often spoken of, all of that would only come in time.

With that in mind, Illumi was making an effort to cherish this moment on the journey, when he could caress you all he wanted without you making a fuss.

But not long after, it seemed as though that moment was coming to an end.

He noted when you began to stir awake, your eyebrows furrowing and your mouth turning into a frown as your consciousness slowly but surely returned to you. With your head still resting on his lap, Illumi watched you intently, keeping his hand on your hair. The reaction you would have when you woke up was bound to be a bad one. You would likely remember most of what had happened before he had knocked you out and you would respond with that same fear as before once you saw that you were laying in the confines of such a small space with a man who had told you he'd been hired to kill you.

Illumi anticipated how you might lash out at him, perhaps attack him if you thought you might be able to catch him off guard. Although, based on the way you had reacted back at the hotel room, it wasn't hard to imagine that you might beg him to let you go, perhaps even cry while doing so.

The mental image of you with tears in your eyes had a bad taste form at the back of Illumi's mouth as he found that the thought displeased him.

…. Hm. Just from the thought alone?

His eyes went back to the thread that connected him to you, and once more he felt a small amount of amazement at how powerful the connection was already. But with you not knowing nen, how long would it take for you to sense it?

The fluttering of your eyelids had Illumi's gaze snapping back to your face, and once more he watched intently as you were now waking up.

The look he could see in your eyes when they first opened was best described as being dazed. For a few moments, you were looking around the interior of the car, but sleep still had some hold on your mind as there was no reaction from you as you did so. Not until your gaze drifted upwards and you caught sight of Illumi looming over you. And even then it took a few moments of you gazing at him before your mind truly became awake.

Illumi watched as the dazed look in your eyes dissipated, the sleepiness being replaced with wide eyed shock and horror as you remembered him, your once slack jaw tightening and the breath now coming out of you harsh and fast through your nose, betraying your utter panic. You had your full attention on the assassin, staring up at him and not daring to move, even when you realized just where he had chosen to place your head during the time you were unconscious.

He didn't like the way you looked at him, but Illumi supposed that he shouldn't blame you too much for that reaction. He also supposed that he would need to be the one to start a dialogue between the two of you, as you seemed too terrified to speak.

Yet you managed to do something unexpected.

With your voice croaking out of your throat and your lips barely moving, you managed to get out a single “hi.”

Illumi blinked in surprise, but then chose to copy you as he responded with a similar “hello.”

He stayed quiet after, giving you the opportunity to speak on your own again.

You did just that. After your gaze went back to your surroundings, you looked him in the eyes again as you mumbled out “we're in a car.”

“We are,” Illumi agreed.

“Are we going somewhere?”

“Why else would we be in a car?”

“Ah, right. Sorry. That was a stupid question.”

You were having an easier time speaking, though the wild look of panic in your eyes had yet to go away.

“Can I…. Can I ask where we're going?” you then said, your gaze now on what little you could see through the tinted windows.

“Somewhere safe.”

“…. Safe for who?”

“Safe for us both.”

You blinked.

“What does that mean?” you asked.

Illumi raised an eyebrow as he replied “I should think you would understand what that means. I don't believe I've said anything confusing.”

“I mean, well……”

You glanced away again before saying “it just feels like you're being a little vague with what you're saying. Plus, you could be lying to me.”

Illumi cocked his head as he asked “why do you think I'm lying?”

“You weren't being very truthful earlier,” you reluctantly answered.

He frowned at that.

“You're saying that I lied to you?” he asked.

You nodded.

“When did I lie?”

“With the whole exchange,” you mumbled, “you were pretending to be a buyer.”

“I never claimed to be. You only asked if I was there for 'the thing',” he pointed out.

“But you're an assassin.”

“I never said that I wasn't.”

“You lied by omission.”

Illumi's eyebrows raised slightly.

“Not mentioning something counts as lying?”

“….. Yeah.”

That answer had come out more mumbled, as though you weren't willing to admit that he was right.

It was rather cute, but commenting on that fact was unlikely to be received well in that moment.

As you had quieted down, he took the opportunity to speak as he said “regardless of if I was lying or not earlier, I'm telling the truth when I say that I intend to keep both of us safe. I hope you believe me on that. It's the least you could do after the trouble you've caused for me today.”

You looked up at him in confusion as you repeated “trouble?”

Illumi nodded, repeating the word “trouble. With you getting on that hit list, you put me in an awkward situation.”

“I did?”

“You did.”

“Oh. Sorry, I guess.”

You hadn't relaxed much since waking up, but it seemed to be a good sign that your voice wasn't shaking quite as much anymore.

“I never imagined I'd manage to fuck up badly enough to make things difficult for an assassin,” you added.

Under normal circumstances, Illumi would have considered such a reaction – such words – to be odd, especially coming from someone who knew that he had been hired to kill them. But as he thought on it more, perhaps it wasn't so strange. You were his soulmate, and while you had spent the majority of the car ride unconscious, perhaps the physical contact made with him keeping your head on his lap had been enough to awaken the connection subconsciously.

To test that, Illumi reached a hand towards your cheek, eager to see what your reaction would be. When you did nothing other than stare at his palm before it made contact with your skin, he felt as though he was proven correct. When he began to softly stroke your cheek and he felt you stiffen slightly before relaxing in his touch, the assassin couldn't help but smile.

This was going even better than he hoped.

Finally responding to your last statement, Illumi told you “it's alright. Everything managed to work work out regardless.”

“That's good, I guess.”

You gulped before taking in another breath, and then you spoke up again.

“Not that your lap isn't….. Comfortable, but are you okay if I sit up? Continuing the conversation like this feels awkward,” you said.

Despite not wanting to grant that request after enjoying the time he'd had with you in that position, Illumi pulled his arms away and leaned back slightly as he answered “of course.”

That you sat up immediately and scooted just a few inches away was again displeasing to Illumi, but he told himself that it was good that was all you were doing. That you were being so reasonable was a very good thing for himself, as well as for you.

Looking about the car once more, this time while sitting up, your gaze lingered briefly on the butler in the front seat, as though you hadn't noticed them before. Whatever you made of their presence was unknown as you tore your gaze away to look again at Illumi.

“Can I ask more questions or do you want me to shut up?” you asked.

“You may ask as many questions as you like,” Illumi told you, “I will answer to the best of my ability.”

“Ah. Okay. Um…”

Your fingers played with the hem of your shirt while you formulated your question, something Illumi found his gaze drawn to. He remembered the way in which you had toyed with the paper of the decoy parcel, and it seemed to him that you had a habit of fidgeting whenever you were nervous.

“You said…. You said you were hired to kill me, right?” you asked.

Illumi nodded.

“And you…. Didn't?”

“You're alive right now, aren't you?”

“I mean, I think so,” you said, “this would be one weird afterlife to end up in.”

“I just – I don't want to sound ungrateful,” you added, “but I have to admit that I'm really confused about why I'm still alive. I really thought I was going to die earlier – you said you'd been hired you to kill me, so I don't get why you didn't go through with that.”

“It's because I can't kill you,” Illumi answered.

You picked up on his choice of wording as you repeated “Can't? Not 'won't'?”

“Exactly. I can't.”

“Why?”

Without wasting a breath, Illumi said “because we're soulmates.”

Upon hearing that response, you didn't reply. You stared up at him blankly, blinking every now and then as though you were still processing his words. Seconds ticked by as you stayed like that, and Illumi stayed quiet in turn. As he had been telling himself before, he should anticipate a reaction of disbelief from you. Based on your current temperament, you likely wouldn't lash out, though if you were to do so, it would be from desperation and panic.

“Soulmates?” you repeated, “is that similar to love at first sight or something? You saw me and felt I was the one?”

“No. When I say we're soulmates, I mean that the two of us are literally soulmates.”

Illumi lifted up his left hand as he told you “there's a thread that spans the space between the both of us, that connects the two of us together. We're meant to be with one another.”

You looked to his hand and then to your own.

“I'm…. I'm not sure I see a thread,” you said.

“That's because you aren't able to yet, but it's there.”

“…… Oh.”

Illumi blinked at your lackluster reaction, wondering if that really was all you had to say about that.

But you next response was what truly surprised him, as after taking a moment to seemingly mull it over, you let out a small response that simply consisted of a single word.

“Okay.”

Illumi blinked again and he stared at you, uncertain if he had really heard you say what he thought you said. Even the butler who had remained quiet throughout the whole exchange glanced back with a puzzled expression on their face.

Upon seeing his reaction, your eyebrows furrowed and your anxiety began to build again.

“Was…. Should I not have said that?” you asked, “were you really joking when you said that?”

Your question snapped Illumi out of his slight stupor.

“I wasn't joking,” Illumi clarified, “I'm telling the truth. You're my soulmate.”

Upon hearing him again, you nodded slightly as you let out a soft breath. And then you said it again.

“Okay.”

…. You were accepting it that easily?

Illumi wasn't sure what to say, and that in of itself was strange for him.

He must have been looking at you strangely again because your nerves only continued to grow.

“Did I say something wrong? You don't seem very happy,” you said.

“… I'm a little surprised,” Illumi admitted, “I thought it would take more to convince you on account of you being unable to see the thread yourself, at least at this moment in time.”

“Ah, I guess that is a little weird,” you said, scratching the back of your neck as you added “but if that's what you say is the truth, then I'll believe you.”

“You'll believe me?” Illumi repeated.

“Y-yeah. I mean, if you kill people for a living and you chose not to kill me, then you must have had a good reason not to, right? And if you say that it's because we're soulmates, then I'll trust that that's the truth. You told me to believe in you, right?”

Remembering his words from earlier, he nodded in agreement as he confirmed “I did say that.”

You nodded in turn as you said “so I believe you.”

It looked as though you were going to say something further after reiterating that last point, but when you opened your mouth, you seemed to reconsider whatever you had planned on saying. So you shut your mouth and remained silent while you went back to fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, though you made an effort to relax yourself as you leaned against the back of the seat.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“I'm fine,” you said, “it's a bit much to take in, but I'll manage.”

You then spoke up once more as you asked “can I ask another question?”

“Of course.”

“What happened to my roommate and the others?”

“They're dead.”

You went quiet after Illumi's blunt response, and though he could see that you were once more attempting to keep your expression level, the panic in your eyes was easy to spot.

“Their bodies will have been handed over to the client by now, as well as the painting that your friends stole,” he said.

“…. But…. Does he know about me? Or did you not tell him?” you asked.

“I told you before: he was already aware of your involvement. He knew all of you, and he could have disposed of you on his own. He went out of his way to choose me because he wanted you four to suffer,” Illumi answered, “but not to worry. I found a solution in your case. Farley has no idea that you aren't dead. Even if the unlikely happens and he comes across you, he wouldn't dare do anything to you, not if he wants to risk bringing down the wrath of the Zoldyck family upon him. Once we are married and you have my name, he'll be none the wiser.”

Unfortunately, it didn't appear that you truly heard him, as when he told you that you could have been disposed of earlier, a look of dread passed over you and sweat started to bead on your neck. When your breathing grew harsher, he grew concerned once more. And when you suddenly clamped both of your hands over your mouth, Illumi stopped speaking completely, his gaze narrowing in question.

“What is it?” he asked.

“….. Could we pull over?” you asked back, your voice muffled by your hands.

Upon hearing that, Illumi grew suspicious as he asked “why?”

“I'm gonna throw up.”

“…. Oh.”

Within seconds the car had pulled over to the side of the deserted road, and a few mere moments after that you were on your knees in the nearby grass, your arms holding yourself up as you violently emptied the contents of your stomach, gagging while tears began to fall down your cheeks.

Perhaps there had been something in that drink you had gotten at the cafe that didn't agree with you, Illumi thought to himself. Though regardless of the cause it wasn't an ideal look, especially not for someone who was going to marry into the Zoldyck family. But he found himself willing to forgive you for it. You would need to learn to toughen up but for the time being…. For the time being he would offer you some grace and refrain from commenting on it.

It also might ensure everything would go smoothly between the two of you if he treated you gently.

He then caught sight of the way the butler was looking at you. They were still at their place at the door, holding it open with a water bottle in hand that was clearly intended for you. But as they gazed at the state you were in, there was an obvious look of disgust in their eyes. As they watched you while you were on your knees and retching, it was clear that they thought little of you, clear that they felt you were unworthy of the position within the family that they served.

A rush of anger swelled within the assassin when he saw that look.

The butler noticed instantly when Illumi fixed his death glare upon them, and they were quick to bow their head in submission, wordlessly apologizing to him for their transgression.

Neither said anything, though the butler did visibly tense when Illumi approached him. Instead of disciplinary action, the assassin simply snatched the bottled water from the butler's hand before making his way to your side. Once your vomiting spell had come to an end and you were merely left gasping and coughing, he had knelt down beside you, holding the water out for you.

“Drink. Vomiting leads to dehydration,” he told you.

You took the bottle without question, using it first to wash out the taste in your mouth before gulping down half of the contents in several long gulps. When you pulled the bottle away to breathe out through your mouth in what sounded like relief, Illumi placed his hand on your back and rubbed it soothingly.

“Are you feeling better?” he asked after a moment.

It took you a moment to respond to his question, but you eventually nodded 'yes'.

“That's good.”

Illumi's hand settled on your shoulder as he then asked “do you think you can get back into the car?”

That time, the moment you took to answer was even longer than the last one, but once more you gave a nod in response.

“Sorry for making you stop,” you answered as you pulled yourself to your feet, “I figured you didn't want vomit covering your nice seats.”

“It wouldn't have mattered. Such things can either be cleaned or replaced,” Illumi answered.

He tilted his head to the side as he asked “do you need me to carry you?”

Once more you froze for a brief second, but then you shook your head and gave him a small smile as you answered “the car isn't that far away. I'll be fine walking.”

“Thank you for offering, though,” you quickly added.

“Of course.”

Though secretly, Illumi wished you had said 'yes'.

It was made up for soon after once you were both sitting in the car's interior once more. When Illumi sat down next to you, close enough that his arm was brushing against yours, you didn't make any move to get away from him, instead allowing him to remain close.

As the car started up again and began to drive off, you spoke up to ask “does anyone else know about this?”

“That you were my target?” he asked.

You nodded.

“Only you, myself and the butler. And they won't inform anyone,” Illumi told you confidently.

“But doesn't the client know me?” you asked.

“The matter for the client has been settled. I very much doubt he will remember your name or your face come tomorrow.”

“So as long as I stay with you, I'll be safe,” you said, seeming to state that fact out loud more to yourself.

Illumi replied anyway, saying “of course. Protecting one's soulmate is only natural.”

You nodded in understanding again while you fiddled with the water bottle, picking at the plastic labeling with your fingernails.

You weren't completely at ease then, Illumi determined. Despite what you had told him, there was something that was making you nervous, and he found himself thinking that perhaps it was him. You were the one who had said he was scary, after all.

It was a shame that you would lie and say the things you thought he wanted to hear, but once again he told himself that this was still better than what he had been expecting. Even if you weren't being truthful, you were being compliant, and that made things easier for him, as opening the connection for you would be less difficult if you weren't fighting him.

He wanted to talk with you more, learn more about you and get to know how you truly felt about all of this-

But as had now become a pattern, what you did next surprised him.

You leaned against him, the tension in your body slowly leaving while he felt the weight of your cheek resting on his shoulder.

Illumi blinked, looking down at you with his lips parted slightly as he felt a warmth blooming in his chest from the contact. Just as it had those times before, the feeling of you against him was strangely intoxicating. But unlike earlier, this time you were conscious for this moment, and not only that, you had been the one to initiate it.

He noted the way your eyes flitted about and how your expression grew in worry upon seeing his reaction. It seemed as though you were going to pull away.

He was fast to wrap an arm around your shoulder and pull you in closer.

You stiffened slightly, but eventually relaxed as you shifted to a more comfortable position, resting your head against him once again, though there was still a hint of that tension in you.

“What's wrong?” he asked, his voice low.

“….. It's a little scary that you could've killed me,” you told him.

“Ah, I suppose it was,” he admitted.

Illumi leaned back into the seat while continuing “it was the last thing I had ever expected. To think, that my client would hire me to kill my own soulmate. How are odds like that even possible?”

You stayed quiet after that, but when he glanced back down at you, he saw the gears in your head turning.

“…. Maybe you were supposed to get me as a target,” you then said.

“Of course I was supposed to; Farley hired me specifically,” he told you.

“No, I mean….”

You turned in your seat to face him fully, which came as an annoyance to him as you pulled away from him slightly. You then clarified “with us being soulmates, we were supposed to come together eventually, right? Maybe… Maybe my getting mixed up in that and you being hired was meant to be. Maybe if that hadn't happened, we never would have met. Like fate.”

Illumi blinked.

Then he gazed up while he grasped his chin thoughtfully as he considered your words.

“I hadn't thought of that,” he admitted.

“Really?”

“No. I was far too focused on getting out of the situation to consider that,” he admitted, “but with the unlikeliness of it all, that may very well be the only explanation.”

Illumi looked back to you, smiling as he said, “I think you're right.”

You smiled in response.

It was the second time you had done so, and once again, it was tinged, tainted somewhat, with that hint of fear. It confirmed to him that you were saying what you thought he wanted you to, making an effort to play nice with him. But even if your words had been born out of that, they rang more true than you thought.

You would come to that realization at a different time.

Illumi pulled you in again, and you didn't resist as he did so. With you comfortably resting against him once more, he found that he felt at peace. He finally had what he had been searching for – his illusive soulmate, brought to him under the most unexpected circumstances, but still sitting safely in his arms.

While you weren't as receptive to his words as you were portraying yourself to be, Illumi was certain that he could change that.

And he was certain that would take no time at all.

[witchezandwonderz]

To Be Wanted

Pairing: Osferth x Reader Word Count: 3.3k A quiet monk becomes an unlikely hero and wins the heart of a fierce, mysterious woman. Request: 'Oh ho oh! I have one. 58. “He said he loved me. So I burned his house down.” With Osferth. I will leave the rest to you, but I can just imagine Baby Monk when someone said that 🤣' Master List Prompt List (Requests are open) Tagged list: (If you want to be added or removed, please let me know.) @leftoverp1zza @somebody6468 @cheesesandwichsanto @diorpar @tessakate @miksmom-blog @whitedarkmoonflower @imagines-halfpai @thenameswinter99 @oddsnendsfanfics

Osferth had mastered the art of pretending not to listen. It was a useful and effective skill, especially when Sihtric and Finan were in one of their moods; boasting and laughing loud enough to wake the dead. He kept his eyes on the blade he was polishing, hands steady, lips pressed in a polite smile. Invisible. That was safest.

But even he couldn’t pretend not to hear that voice.

Not when it cut through the noise like a blade- low, dry, amused. A woman’s voice. Confident. Dangerous.

"If I meant harm," she said, "I wouldn’t have walked through the front gate, would I?"

Heads turned. So did Osferth’s.

She stood at the edge of Uhtred’s tent, her cloak stained with dust and blood, but her chin held high, like she owned the dirt beneath her boots. Her dress had once been fine-scarlet linen, silver-threaded—but it was torn at the hem and speckled with ash. Osferth smile slightly at her stance- despite her boisterous confidence, she stood with her hands firmly pressed on her lips, and in all honesty, seemed to Osferth to be a perfect example of femininity.

"Who is she?" Osferth whispered, mostly intending to discuss the matter with himself as opposed to with his friends.

Sihtric leaned close, smirking. “Trouble. With legs.” As he brought his tankard to his lips.

Finan chuckled. “With lips that could talk you out of your coin and into your grave.”

Osferth flushed, how would they come to this conclusion without even speaking with her? He lowered his eyes-but not before she glanced his way.

And smiled.

Not a sarcastic smile. But a genuine one. He could identify the honesty through her eyes.

Later, he learned her name was Y/N.

She claimed to be the daughter of a minor lord from the east, though none could name him. She offered no explanation for the horse she rode or the blade she wore. Only that she needed coin and shelter for a time. Uhtred, amused and curious, allowed it.

She slept near the fire, one eye always half-open.

She drank mead like a man.

She spoke rarely. But when she did, every man in camp seemed to listen.

Except Osferth. Not because he didn’t want to-but because every time she looked at him, he forgot how to breathe.

Osferth rarely took a liking to women- why would he? He was a monk, committed to the lord, and even more committed to his band of men, or brothers, if you will. They, of course, were not really his brothers. Although, they felt like family to him.

Osferth was not as naive as people perceived him. He knew he was shy. He was sweet. He was innocent. And he knew that he would never have a chance with her; not before Sihtric or Finan would try with her. Of course she would choose one of them.

Osferth did not like many things, not that he would admit it. Out of the long list of things that he hated, he despised one thing the most. Osferth had interacted with Y/N a total of three times (not that he was counting) and all three times, she called him one thing. Not his name.

'Baby Monk'.

She thought it was an endearing nickname, personable. But for him, it solidified rejection.

One evening, the boys went to the alehouse, but Osferth decided to stay inside and sit by the fire. There was no true reason for this, he simply just wanted a moment to himself in the warmth- the winter had been harsh.

She was of course on his mind. She had been since he laid his eyes on her.

"Mind if I join you?" An angelic voice echoed within his mind, his head snapped up. There she was in front of him, a broad grin on her face. Like she was happy to see him.

He nodded, a small smile on his face, "of course, m'lady."

She laughed lightly, "I told you to stop calling me that, baby monk."

Osferth screwed his face up, "You are a lady though, m'lady," he paused, and then looked back at the fire, "I, however, am not a baby. Though I am a monk. Kind of."

He heard her shuffle next to him, and then felt her brush against him as she sat beside him.

"I apologise Osferth, I know you're not a baby." She laughed, and then put her hand on his knee, rubbing it lightly, before pulling it away and resting it on her own knee.

Osferth's eyes widened at the unexpected contact, and the nonchalant apology. He had been overthinking, and stressing about this nickname. And she hadn't even meant it.

What would it even mean though? Why was he overthinking it? He thought of himself as so silly at times.

"I would have thought that you would want to go to the alehouse with the other men." Osferth said, still fixated on the crackling fire before him.

She shrugged. "Didn’t feel like drinking. Didn’t feel like being stared at either."

Osferth blinked. "I wasn’t- I mean I don’t-"

Y/N raised an eyebrow, and then let out a small giggle. “I didn’t say that you were staring.”

Osferth flushed instantly, eyes darting to the fire. “Ah. Right.”

She laughed softly, nudging his arm with hers. "Relax, baby monk- sorry- Osferth, I was talking about your friends."

Osferth smiled slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching as he stared at the flames. "They… do tend to stare," he admitted, voice low, nodding his head from side to side as he thought about his friends reaction to her.

"They gawk," she corrected, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes. "I could wear a sack and they'd still look at me like I’d just stepped out of a dream sent to torment them."

He turned to her, eyebrows raised. "Have you… tried that?"

She burst into laughter. A real one this time, unguarded and bright. It made Osferth’s heart stutter like an untrained horse.

"I like you," she said, amusement still dancing in her eyes. “You surprise me.”

Osferth’s brows furrowed. “Do I?”

She nodded, a bright smile still glistening from her face, "you're not what I expected from a warrior monk. You're quiet, soft-spoken. And you blush too easily." She leaned in a little, grinning like she knew exactly what she was doing to him. "It’s adorable."

He nearly choked on the breath he took in. "Adorable is… not generally what men aim for in these parts."

He was slightly shocked when he felt her touch once again, this time on his back. "Well, maybe men should aim higher," she said, tossing a small stick into the fire. "I’ve had enough of those who puff their chests and speak with swords. It's always the quiet ones that get under your skin."

Osferth swallowed. "Do I?"

She smiled again, and it was different now. Slower. Intentional.

"Men do not see things from the point of view of women, we are the ones who are subject to awful treatment- one of the reasons I ran away and came here was because of a man who claimed to love me." She let out a false laugh, almost like she was trying to transform the harmful memories into funny ones. She continued, "He said he loved me. So I burned his house down."

Osferth blinked. “I… I’m sorry, what?”

She was watching the fire, expression unreadable.

Osferth watched the side of her face, intrigued to discover more about her odd confession.

She laughed, simply.

"Many things happen Osferth. Perhaps one day, I will explain the full story." She glanced at him, "just know, he did not love me, and he deserved what he got."

Osferth got caught up in the moment, not realising the words that began to tumble from his mouth, "I find it impossible that a man could ever be capable of not loving you..."

Oh, god

His eyes widened as he realised what he had said, and his hands slapped straight to his head. Osferth was not one to, how would you say, play it cool.

He looked like he wanted to rewind time. Or maybe just crawl into the fire and be done with it.

Y/N was still watching him, a little smirk tugging at the corner of her lips, but her gaze had softened. Like maybe she wasn’t laughing at him anymore. Like maybe she never had been.

"You’re sweet, Osferth," she said finally, her voice lower now-calmer, quieter, just for him.

"Sweet?" he echoed, somewhere between a question and a prayer. Trying to silently complete a set of deep breaths in order to fight off the embarrassment.

She nodded, toying idly with a bit of her sleeve. “Most men around here try to impress me by talking about the battles they’ve fought. Or the ones they’ve won. But you…”

He stared, caught between dying of embarrassment and leaning in to hear more.

"…you talk like someone who listens," she continued. “You don’t puff your chest or spit stories. You blush. You stammer. You say things you don’t mean to say out loud.”

"I really didn’t mean to say that," he muttered, voice a little hoarse.

She smiled gently. "But you did say it. Did you mean it? You think I am capable of being loved? Properly?"

The question surprised him; why would someone like her, need validation from someone like him?

He nodded, way too eagerly- but she liked it.

Her eyes sparkled in the firelight as she studied him, her tone dipping just enough to be dangerous. "You know," she said, "you might not be a typical warrior. But that doesn’t make you less of a man. In fact, for me, it makes you more of a man."

That stunned him enough to blink-once, then twice. His lips parted, but the words got stuck somewhere in the back of his throat.

"I see you," she added, softer now. "Even when you try to be invisible."

Then she leaned in-close enough that he could smell the hint of smoke in her hair, feel the warmth of her beside him.

And with all the calm in the world, she pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Just the faintest brush of lips, warm and brief and real.

Before he could even fully register what had just happened, she was already rising, brushing off her hands.

"I’m going to bed," she said, stretching slightly with a yawn. "Don’t stay up all night thinking about me, baby monk."

He opened his mouth to respond, but only a faint squeak came out.

She paused at the edge of the firelight and glanced over her shoulder.

Her smile was wicked. "Actually… please do."

And then she was gone- just the sound of her boots fading into the cold night, leaving Osferth frozen in place, fingers touching his cheek like it might catch fire.

Which, honestly, it already had.

The next morning, Osferth sat with Sihtric and Finan as they waited for Uhtred to tell him his expectations for the day. Osferth felt that although it had been hours since his last interaction with Y/N, his skin had never returned to its normal colour; he feared that he was still bright pink, and would remain so until the end of time.

"So where were ye?" Finan questioned, tucking into his breakfast.

Osferth blinked at him, "I was just by the fire, and then went to bed."

Sihtric cut in straight away, "Y/N was not there either, were you making love all night?" He and Finan burst into laughter.

"You dark horse!" Finan chuckled. Osferth just burned. Despite wishing that what Sihtric had said was reality, he was perfectly happy with the nights actual events.

Osferth decided to keep the reality to himself.

"I wish..." He mumbled, causing both of them to laugh with him.

"Oh, me too" Sihtric agreed.

Later in the evening, the camp was quiet, the only sound the crackle of the fire and the distant howls of wolves. The chill of the evening was enough to send most of the men into their tents, huddling for warmth and sleep. But not Y/N.

She had been out for hours, patrolling the edge of the camp on horseback, her eyes sharp, scanning the treeline. Her mind never rested- not when there were threats lurking in the dark. Her instincts were always on edge, the scars of her past keeping her vigilant, always watching. Some would call it paranoia, she would call it reality.

Osferth sat by the fire, eyes flicking to the distant shadows, his thoughts wandering back to the brief moments he'd shared with her over the past few days. That damned kiss on his cheek still made his heart race. He couldn't stop thinking about it. He found himself wondering if she'd ever do it again… or if it had meant nothing at all.

"You look like you're about to fall into that fire." Sihtric's voice pulled him from his thoughts.

Osferth blinked rapidly, shaking his head. "I... I wasn't-"

"Not the first time we've caught you staring off into space," Finan chimed in, his voice warm with amusement. "Not the first time, either, that it's been a certain someone on your mind."

Osferth flushed, immediately dropping his gaze to his hands. "I’m not-"

They weren’t about to let him off the hook so easily. Before Sihtric could continue, a sudden shout pierced the quiet night. It was unsure of the exact dialogue, but it was very obviously a desperate cry from Y/N.

It came from the woods. Rough, panicked, and unmistakable.

Osferth’s heart stopped. His instincts kicked in before he even had time to think. His eyes darted to Sihtric and Finan, whose expressions had gone serious in an instant. They were already on their feet, weapons in hand, eyes scanning the trees.

"Stay here," Finan growled to Osferth. "We’ll go check it out."

But Osferth wasn’t listening. He was already running. He heard Finan trying to stop him, but did not care. He needed to help her.

His feet moved faster than he ever thought possible, his heart hammering in his chest. The others’ calls faded behind him as he pushed through the underbrush. He could hear her voice again, this time louder, tinged with frustration- fear.

"Osferth!" she shouted, desperation creeping into her tone.

She didn’t sound like she was winning this fight.

Osferth’s breath came in sharp gasps as he broke through the trees and into the clearing where he saw her, standing tall, but clearly outnumbered. A group of men- bandits by the looks of them- had her cornered, their daggers glistening in the firelight.

"Y/N!" Osferth shouted, his voice stronger than he expected it to be.

She looked over at him, her face unreadable for a moment before her lips curled into a smile- a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "Stay back!" She called out, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword.

But Osferth wasn’t listening. Not now.

One of the men turned his head at the sound of his voice, sneering. "Looks like the little monk thinks he’s going to save the day," he laughed, taking a step toward Osferth. "Accept your fate, monk."

The bandit lunged forward, and for a split second, Osferth froze. Everything inside him screamed to run, to get help, to stay safe- but there was no time for that. Not when Y/N was in danger. Especially not when this was his chance to prove himself.

In that instant, something inside him snapped.

Osferth moved like lightning. His sword was drawn before the bandit even realised what was happening, and with a swift, powerful motion, Osferth sliced through the air, disarming the man in a single stroke. The blade clattered to the ground, and the bandit staggered back in surprise.

Y/N’s eyes widened as Osferth stepped in front of her, his stance fierce and protective. The bandits looked between him and Y/N, clearly thrown off by the monk’s sudden display of strength. But Osferth wasn’t backing down.

The bandits hesitated.

They hadn’t expected resistance. Especially not from a baby-faced monk who still looked like he spent more time reading than fighting. But Osferth wasn’t the same man he’d been weeks ago. He’d trained, he’d endured, and tonight- he’d snapped.

Osferth stood tall, sword raised, breath ragged but unyielding. And just behind him, Y/N stared at him like she was seeing him for the first time.

Before anyone could make another move, the trees behind them rustled, and two familiar shapes emerged- Finan and Sihtric, blades already drawn.

"Well, shite," Finan muttered, stepping into the clearing with an expression that was both impressed and pissed off. "Told you he wouldn’t stay put."

Sihtric’s eyes flicked to Osferth, then to the bandits. "Doesn’t look like he needed to," he said with a half-smirk. "Reckon we should help anyway?"

Osferth didn’t look away from the bandits. "Let’s finish this."

The three of them launched into action like a well-oiled machine. Swords clanged and sparks flew as the remaining bandits tried, and failed, to hold their ground. Y/N recovered quickly, joining the fight with swift, brutal strikes, her movements practiced and graceful. She fought like fire, wild and fierce.

When the last of the bandits dropped or fled into the night, the clearing was left in silence. Only the sound of laboured breathing filled the air.

Osferth turned to Y/N. "Are you alright?"

She nodded, slowly. Her chest was heaving, and there was blood on her cheek that wasn’t hers. "I was handling it," she said softly.

"I know," he replied, breathless. "But I couldn’t not come."

There was a moment. A heartbeat.

Then she stepped toward him. Her eyes were wide, her lips parted. Something wild and raw flickered across her face, something she could no longer contain.

"You idiot," she whispered. "You beautiful, brave idiot."

And before he could respond- before he could even breathe- she grabbed him by the collar and kissed him.

Not a soft, teasing brush of lips. Not the playful peck like before.

This was hungry. Desperate. Grateful.

Osferth froze for only a second before he responded, dropping his sword as his hands flew to her waist, pulling her flush against him. Her hands threaded into his hair, holding him there like she’d die if she let go.

"Bloody hell," Finan muttered, somewhere off to the side. "Did you see that coming?"

Sihtric didn’t answer. He was too busy staring. "Is she-? She’s straddling him."

"Yep."

Osferth had indeed sunk to his knees beneath her, Y/N following him down, straddling his thighs in the dirt like it was the most natural place in the world to be. Their lips never parted, not even when Finan cleared his throat.

"Alright," he said, louder now. "We’re still here, yeah?"

Y/N didn’t respond. She was too busy deepening the kiss, her hands sliding down Osferth’s chest now, his fingers digging into her hips.

Finan gave Sihtric a pointed look. "We’re leaving."

Sihtric blinked, still watching. "Yeah, yeah. Right. Definitely leaving. Just-one second."

Finan grabbed his arm and dragged him away. "You’re watching too hard, brother."

"I can’t help it! Did you see the way she- okay, okay, I’m going, I’m going."

The two of them disappeared back into the trees, muttering and chuckling.

In the clearing, Y/N finally pulled back just enough to look at Osferth. Her lips were swollen, her cheeks flushed, her expression unguarded.

"You were incredible," she murmured.

"I thought I’d die," he admitted. "But then I saw you, and I didn’t care."

She smiled, her thumb brushing over his jaw. "You’re not a boy anymore."

He tilted his head, a smile tugging at his lips despite the chaos around them. "No?"

"No." She kissed him again. "You’re mine."

And for the first time in a long while, Osferth didn’t feel small or overlooked or uncertain.

He felt seen.

Wanted.

And very, very far from holy.

[hgb94]

Fun Nein Quotes: CR2E11

Caleb: I don’t like shallow smut, I like to learn something while I’m being titillated, I suppose.  Matt: You made me do this, Liam. Travis: Education? Edubation. 

Jester: Oooo, Shallow Breaths, that’s a good one.  Man: Oh, I- I’m just perusing.  Jester: It’s not one of your favorites? Man: I’ve- I don’t know, I’ve not read it, I couldn’t tell you. Jester: What’s your name? Man: I need to go. 

Liam/Caleb: I slide my hand under the sheets and I just feel that thread count. Beau, slapping Caleb’s knuckles: Your hands are dirty, you’re covered in bread! Jester: No, no, it’s okay, it’s okay because I rented it! Like, lay down? You want to lay down? You can use it Caleb: Maybe if you carried a ruler you could hit my knuckles harder next time. Beau: Would you like that? Caleb: No. Beau: Would you like some mitts? Caleb: No.  Beau: You know this is how diseases are spread, right? Liam/Caleb: I light my hand on fire.  Beau: Okay.

Marisha: What is this book called, does it have a name? Matt: Yes, it is called– Liam: A Tale of Two Titties

Fjord: Why are you trying to sneak through our stuff? Nott: I would never do that to a friend! Fjord: Molly told me you were in here rifling through my stuff. Nott: I was hungry. There's a definite explanation for this. Fjord: What were you looking for? Nott: Seafood. You must have some on you, you're of the sea. I love shrimp, and I never get a chance to get any, we're so landlocked in here. I love the taste of the sea!

Nott: Can I ask you one favor? Fjord: You cannot have any of my stuff. Nott: Alright. Nevermind.

Jester: And then Oskar falls in love with her, and he carries her across a field, and they love each other so much! Beau, flatly: That's so great. Jester: It's the most beautiful story, Beau! Beau: Can we go to sleep, now?

Fjord: Nott, your mustache is much nicer. Nott: Thank you, honey. Fjord: Do you know what a mime is? You just mime this mission. Nott: Okay. There's a fierce wind, I've got to fight against! Oh no! I'm in a box! Oh no, the box is getting smaller! Oh no! Don't worry, I'll climb out!

Beau: Lawrence is great, worked for me before. Actually, no, let's do something else considering I already used Lawrence-- Nott: It's just a fucking name, pick anything! Sorry. Molly: Do you need a drink? Nott: Yes, I do. I had terrible night last night.

[fifufkafifu]

Aot fan character!

Name: Angeli Everhart

Age: 15

Height: 156 cm

Eyes: Green

Hair: Red, cut short like a boy

Distinguishing features: Freckles, lively eyes, often looks a little confused

Subdivided

Angeli hails from a village inside Wall Rose. Her life was destroyed overnight when the Titans attacked her home.She hid in the basement, but was unable to save her younger brother, father and mother. Their screams haunt her to this day.

After the tragedy, Angeli decided to join the army to protect others. Despite her young age and apparent naivety, she trained to the point of exhaustion, turning herself into a physically strong and resilient fighter.

Strong in spirit, determined and courageous, but at the same time naive and a little sweetly silly - can believe in simple things and easily gets lost in complex explanations

Serious in battle, but outside of battle she can be absent-minded, ask ridiculous questions or say what she thinks without thinking.

Sees the good in people first and foremost, even if it is not always justified

Has a big heart and is always ready to help.

Excellent physical fitness: strong, resilient, good body control

Maneuvering device: confident, sharp, with a pronounced attacking manner

Good at close combat

Doesn't always grasp tactics the first time, but learns quickly as he goes along

Angeli often wears a red thread on her wrist as a memory of her brother. She also likes to write down "things to understand later" in a notebook.

Sometimes she might say something like:

"What if the titans just have really bad eyesight, so they attack? They just don't like us visually?"

"Is it possible to tame a titan if you feed it apples?"

Angeli Family Secret: "Echo's Blood"

The Angeli family came from an ancient, forgotten branch of the Ymir people. Not from the royal line, like Fritz, and not from those who wielded Titans - but from the vanished sideline that never received the power of a Titan, but...was associated with the “sound wave of memory,” called Echo in legends.

What is Echo?

This is a rare genetic legacy that allowed individual descendants of Ymir to resonate with the memory fields,the very ones that “contain” the memories, pain, experience and even fighting instincts of all bearers of titanic power over the centuries.

But unlike regular memory ciphers, which are only accessible through Titans, Echo carriers do not transform, do not mutate - their bodies simply “absorb” the shadow of experience. Sometimes it is passed down through generations, sometimes it freezes, sometimes… it awakens.

How did this affect Angeli?

Since childhood, she had good reactions, agility, and a sense of “what to do” in a dangerous situation.But only at the moment of the strongest emotional overload - when pain, fear, guilt and determination "exploded" in her, She activated Echo, and without realizing it, her body began to move with a precision that could not be trained. She intuitively repeated the movements of those who had already fought for centuries. As if she were their vessel.

Why didn't anyone know about this?

Her parents knew. They were hiding. Father was one of the last keepers of the ancient records of Echo, and when he began to notice that Angela was showing intuitive fights even in childhood (for example, she fell - but always like a soldier, without breaking her arms), he got scared.

So they moved, hid, lived quietly - until the titans came and destroyed their village. The one who could have told her the truth also died in the fire...

What now?

She doesn't know about it.

Hange might find some strange deviations in her reactions and nerve conduction someday, but she won't fully understand.

And if she ever touches the secrets of History, Zeke, or the ancient archives, she might awaken something else.

💞 The first art is a future comic, or rather just the first page of it! I want to show how echo works 💞

[tigereyes45]

This is something I made for Hansry week and forgot to post on here. Hansry Week's Day 1 prompt was flowers.

Summary:

Henry stops to enjoy the flowers. What is their name?

Hans may not know but he's not one to turn down a chance to cheer up his page.

Preview of the fic:

 Every step in this foreign land had been dogged by bad luck, bandits, and more fortunately flowers.

His eyes watch as grass gives way to blue petals. 

With a soft, “Whoa” and a gentle pat on her neck. She slows, and only stops moving long enough for Henry to let himself down. He kneels on the side of the road. Henry pulls his riding glove off, resting it in the well trodden road. His fingers trail along the bottom of the soft blue petals. Dark veins of blue sprout out from the white centers. Soft and fragrant, with leaves lined with white hairs that scratch at his knuckles.

For all the time he’s spent learning about plants, herbs, and alchemy, and he never learned their name. They must not be used in any useful potions. Many of his days were spent with traveling through this land smelling this flowers, resting next to them, watching them as they decorated the peripheral of his vision.

“Henry what’s the hold up?”

He doesn’t need to look up to know Hans has stopped his horse next to Pebbles. Henry continues to stroke the soft blue petals. He splays them between his fingers. “Hans do you know this plant?”

“You stopped riding for a plant?”

“I’ve seen them everywhere in this region.” Henry offers by way of explanation.

“So?”

Henry threads the flower’s stem between his thumb and forefinger. “I wonder what they’re called.”

“Come on Henry, now’s not the time to grow sentimental.” Despite his words, Hans leans in closer. “You’re right though, these flowers do seem to grow all over the region.”

[wordarttmn]

Omori observations 48

I am now playing on a much damaged computer, which might not last long, so I’ll keep backups of my save files (among other things).

Besides, the PC will stay in a fixed position at my apartment to prevent further damage. So I’ll probably be much less comfortable while playing.

In-game, it is about 10:30, time to go to bed.

I don’t think that’s him saying he wasn’t thinking about Sunny at all for all this time (he was).

I think he’s saying he focused so hard on bringing Sunny outside that he forgot completely about what was inside

And actually that’s a broader narrative thing that I completely forgot to bring up until today.

Kel takes sunny out (of his house, of his hikikomori lifestyle) but Hero comes inside (sunny’s house, but also his life) with Sunny.

Hero will end up asking more personal questions for example.

I think both of those were what Sunny needed at this point.

Come on let me save

So this time the day isn’t quite over yet. Interesting.

You… don’t really need to point it out.

we’re starting to see the censored memories in more explicit detail.

So this confirm that the first □□□□ was Mari. And then it makes a lot more sense why this memory got censored.

It is one in which Mari got mad.

Ultimately, seeing the treehouse again was more of Kel’s wish. Hero knows very well where he is going.

Although he’s quite happy at the idea of having a reason to come back.

This is a great idea, especially seeing how I tend to take evenings alone (not well).

But honestly it would be an amazing idea no matter what.

Hero, she owes you that.

Just how afraid is he of her?

Hero finding an excuse to busy himself again.

This kind of habits die hard.

But also that’s very nice.

Lmao

The what was where now? There is NOTHING there

And there you go.

One way in which Sunny and Hero’s griefs are still quite different, is that they are uncomfortable with very different places.

Hero cannot enter the cemetary, but he sure can go in this piano room that I’ve been unable to go in until now.

I’ve just noticed my PC is not charging.

I am unsure why the charging stopped, and even more unsure if I’ll be able to get it to charge again.

Hero. I know this has been your intention probably since we opened the photo album and you saw the first picture.

Tbf this is just how pianists speak. This is what I say if I haven’t practiced in as little as two weeks.

For him it probably has been longer now. When I was busying myself to the max, I had to quit the piano for two years (although I still practiced sometimes in the cafeteria)

However this is how it always comes off. Of course.

But it’s hard to get rid of the insecurity as a pianist.

that’s both very pianist and very Hero.

See this is what I was talking about.

Both because of the photo album, and because Hero is being more inquisitive about Sunny’s personal life.

This means that it’s through Hero that we end up learning quite a bit about Sunny.

This is the first time any actual character has mentioned the violin in present time.

Again, that’s a core part of Sunny’s personality according to everyone but himself.

that’s both foreshadowing, and a confirmation that Sunny does not speak.

Well until now, we have known it only as Title. But it’s about to be given another name.

I can see two explanation. One of them is that Sunny’s mom has been cleaning it.

I’ll refrain from the other for now.

I keep saying that btw so please tell me if I forget to tie any loose threads!

Both Hero and Kel are musically trained. it’s possible that everyone in the group is.

Finally getting this confirmation.

Sunny named himself/his dream OC after the piano.

TBC

[drachonia]

𝐫 𝐢 𝐝 𝐞 .

Kinktober Day 8 Alfons Sylvatica x OC Insert (Marguerite)

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: good grief i'm tired lol. 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: @candiedcoffeedrops @candied-boys @natimiles 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: mild references to depression, happy resolution, vehicle/carriage sex.

The back roads of London’s outskirts were bumpy and uneven, jostling the carriage about every so often as Alfons sat across from a face he hadn’t seen in awhile.

“So,” the brunette visibly tensed, “is there a reason this little bird decided to up and flutter away without so much as a goodbye?” He tried to sound jovial, but the dark expression he wore along with the slight crack in his voice betrayed more emotion than he liked.

“I learned a lot of things at home after…” She gave a pause, choosing her next words carefully as she looked up to meet his eyes, “…Thomas met me at the bar.” She noticed the way Alfons’ fingers tightened their grip on his sleeve where one arm crossed over the other.

As much as Alfons wanted to, he had nothing to say in response that wouldn’t leave a crack in the makeshift armor he had carefully crafted for himself. In fact, now more than ever, that armor felt like a prison cell or an iron maiden, closing in on him in an uncomfortable manner.

‘You know it’s your fault.’

‘No wonder she left so quick.’

He felt the urge to slam his head against the wall of the carriage, but settled for shifting to lean his back against it, closing his eyes and sighing out, praying the thoughts would just leave him. He didn’t know whether he should consider it a blessing or a curse that he felt her presence next to him, but he soon felt a noticeably smaller hand grasp his own and pry it from its cross position, smoothing his fingers out and moving to brush over his wrist.

The sensation was gentle and innocent, but the feeling it stirred in him was anything but. Her fingertips slipped beneath the fabric of his gloves, gently pressing against his palm as her fingers pushed off the hand covering and laced with his as the glove fell onto his lap, forgotten for a moment.

The next thing was something that made his eyes shoot open, a soft sensation pressing to his lips and gently brushing over them with a tenderness that felt foreign but more enticing than any fantasy.

His lips surged against hers and coaxed them apart, one hand squeezing hers while the other squeezed her hip and drew her in by the waist.

“Nn! Alfons—“

“Are you going to give me an explanation?”

“For what?”

“‘No’ it is, then.” He sighed, slipping a hand beneath her skirts and curling his fingers to squeeze and massage her soft skin before pulling his hand from hers, running his fingers over her hips and hearing her faint whimper. The noise was by no means foreign to him, but the feeling it stirred in him was. He felt the urge to strip her bare, and the more she clung to him, the more he could feel a faint sense of calm seeping into his bones for the first time in a while, mixed in with a twinge of joy.

“I promise you, I’ll tell you everything tomorrow.”

“And how do I know you’ll keep your word to me?” His tone was icy and hesitant beneath the teasing tenor.

“Because I’ll do things with you I’ve only ever done one other time.” She responded, her hands cupping his cheeks, “Because not once have I ever lied about how I feel when it comes to you.” Soft lips pulled into a pretty pout as she leaned down to press her lips to his, trying her best to mimic his deep kiss from earlier.

“It’s honestly impressive you’ve managed this long without breaking a multitude of hearts.” He huffed, his breathing slightly labored from her refusal to let his lips part from hers for once. Gentle fingers threaded in his dark hair and he allowed wandering hands to sink into her thighs, taking in the delightful hum of his name she let out. Shockingly, a dainty hand of hers let his bare hand past her thigh and over her hip, guiding it to trace her stomach through her bodice as she caught her breath. His eyes turned dark and he glanced up at her, face taking on a serious expression.

“I hope you know that I am not stopping if you keep indulging me like this.”

“And? Who said I would run?” She shot back, looping her arms around his neck and tracing along the nape with her fingertips as he’d done to her so many times before. Of course, the unfocused gaze his eyes had wasn’t from a curse at all.

“You’re my undoing.” He mumbled as if possessed, his lips catching hers as his tongue pushed her lips open roughly, searching for the deepest parts of her as his fingers moved from her stomach and waist to the space between her thighs. The quiet cry Marguerite gave in response to his touch through her petticoat while she smiled slightly against his kiss.

“Here.” Her fingers moved to the tie around her skirt, slipping it down her waist as she slipped out of it and looped her arms around his neck, kissing him deeply again as she stripped down to her bloomers and slid back into his lap in time to feel his bare hand slide down her stomach and under her waistband.

“You’ve been waiting for this haven’t you?” He teased, dragging the pads of his fingers over the wetness of her folds.

“So what if I have?” Her voice was breathy as she loosened her bodice with a contented sigh, lips curved slightly at the edges to match him.

“Then we feel the same, I take it.” He hummed, leaning up to press a teasing kiss to her lips as he slipped two fingers inside her silken walls to gently scissor and stretch her to size, delighting in that familiar slickness that he’d grown so accustomed to toying with for so long. Perhaps he had been kidding himself that he was simply helping her waste time. Perhaps something had truly drawn him to her. But even if that ended up being his reality, Alfons refused to let something as silly as that define how he loved the woman before him.

“Nnn…Al!” Her lips parted slightly as she gazed down into his eyes from her perch on his lap, gripping his wrist as he worked her close to orgasm, only to dislodge his digits gently when he felt her tighten.

“You absolute tease!” She hissed, ready to give him a mouthful when she felt something else press into her rather swiftly, biting her lip and grasping Alfons’ shoulders as he steadily rocked into her.

“Well, I simply can’t leave my partner unsatisfied, can I?” He teased back, the both of them prepared for a long ride back to Crown.

[paradise-in-k4]

The Gap in the Evening, Entry 12: “Strings Connect London to the Moon”

We’re lost. Very lost. Or really… Maribel’s the one who’s lost. Renko… she… no… I was unconscious for a while since we began hiking into the woods for answers, and since she’s been alone for the last couple hours without me to show the way, it feels like we were going in circles. Is this the feeling of what happens when your phone GPS dies from a depleted battery and you lose the map? Some could say it’s our lack of preparedness, while others could chalk it up to our over-reliance on technology and innovations to navigate the Earth. In ancient times, people have often used the stars to navigate, utilizing the star Polaris as “North” to determine directions. Left and Right. Another factor that navigators of old times often utilize involuntarily is none other than luck. Superstitions. Coincidences. Pure chance. Fate. All terms for explaining how a future outcome came to be when there’s simply no logical explanation for analyzing how such events occurred. That was what we encountered when she sensed a boundary between ownership and untamed nature. Someone had a house in the forest, and we just happened to stumble upon it. Perhaps the owner could lend me their aid?

-

With but a tap on the door and a brief explanation, the homeowner let us inside and even did me the favor of letting us use the guest room for the night. It seems like she too had an ability, as the vast collection of dolls she had within her home seemed to move on their own accord as they carried me to the spare bed. After an hour or so, I finally woke up and began asking questions about how they woke me up in someone else’s western-inspired home. It appeared that our hostess had an explanation for that, as well as a couple unanswered questions about our situation:

The hostess introduced herself as Alice Margatroid, a magician ex-human youkai who could control dolls. She was also the one who owns the house we sought refuge in.

The surrounding forest- the Forest of Magic- often featured poisonous gases that could do all kinds of harm- including death- to anyone who entered the forest unprepared, often naturally produced by the flora that composed the biome possibly as a byproduct of their photosynthesis process. Renko was just lucky that she only fell unconscious for a few hours.

When asked about the Parallel Satellite Incident, Alice suggested that she knew a bit more about it than she seemed to lead on. She claimed that she learned this from someone named Ran Yakumo, as well as from an incident that she dubbed the “Lost Word Incident” but many of these factors she tried to explain were rudimentary basics covered in the university’s super-unified physics course. But- being someone who works with fabric a lot- she managed to make it seem simple enough to explain by using a sheet of cloth as a medium.

Our universe exists as one part of a thread with many others in a multiverse, which composes the fabric. Other worlds of this universe just exist somewhere else on this thread.

Our objective universe where the other Marisa exists is somewhere else on this fabric, but how we get there is unknown.

Alice gleaned from a parallel version of herself- accessible thanks to her part in helping resolve the Lost Word Incident, as well as part of Nitori’s technology- that the universe with the free-floating planetary satellite that we’d need to reach is called Universe K4. The universe we’re currently located in is called Universe L1.

The Alice that she contacted was from Universe B5, although she also gained insights from the Alice’s of Universes A6, A7, L80, and Z3.

Threads crisscross all the time, which grants potential openings to traverse between parallel worlds and universes.

Through the implementation of multiverse-level phenomena and super-advanced quantum mechanics, we can momentarily pull on one thread or fold the quilt in on itself to shorten the distance we’d need to traverse. Alice said that Yukari could fold the fabric herself to help us if we could find her.

While we now know what the scope of our current situation looks like, our next step should be to do some research on some of these other universes just in case we make a few unnecessary side stops. And if our previous excursions into Universes B3 and E9 have anything to suggest, the presence of information is our means of navigation through this tumultuous primordial soup across the multiverse.

-Renko Usami

——————————

Muse Notes: Alice Margatroid

Title: Seven-Colored Puppeteer

Universe of Origin: L1

Size (headcanon): Considerably tall, 6’0”

Species: Magician Youkai, formerly human (used self-sustenance magic)

Pronouns: She/Her

Age (headcanon): 64

Personality:

Unlike other youkai magicians, Alice shows exceptionally strong understanding and friendliness to humans, often inviting visitors to her home if they’d otherwise get lost in the Forest of Magic.

While she isn’t always eager for conversation, she’s still capable of holding a decent conversation and always willing to take up a challenge from an opponent.

In battle, she prefers to win with strategy over overwhelming power, which leads to her adjusting the power she exudes to be *just* above that of her opponent because- if she were to unleash her full power on an opponent- she claims that there’d be nothing left of her opponent if she wins, and there’d be nothing left of her if she loses. Retaining her strength by holding back is her priority instead of going all-in, even if she would lose or concede.

In the Human Village, she’s quite popular with the kids and enjoys putting on puppet shows for the public. After each show, she’s always open to constructive feedback to make her shows even better than before.

Amongst her fellow magicians, Alice is often seen in the Scarlet Devil Mansion sharing her insights with Patchouli, and sometimes even with Marisa despite her tendency to be reckless and engage in burglary.

Occupation: Doll-Maker, Magician, Part-time Performer

Home Region: Forest of Magic

Image Credits:

Laughing too hard

Ability: Capable of controlling and manipulating dolls

Puppetry: Alice’s main ability. Alice can control her dolls from a moderately close distance by connecting them to her by using invisible magic strings that emerge from her fingers.

Magic Strings: The medium that connects Alice to her dolls, generated by magic through rings on her fingers. On average, the length of these strings is about 100 feet. Once the strings are cast, they will try to find the shortest possible route between Alice and the doll she’s trying to control. They are incapable of phasing through walls and other solid surfaces to reach Alice’s dolls. With some additional power, Alice can make these strings visible to others or even make them physically tangible to wrangle solid objects and disrupt opponents, although she usually doesn’t make the effort to overpower her opponents like this.

Doll Capabilities: When under her control, Alice’s dolls can move and interact with each other in similar ways that humans can achieve. They also have a rudimentary sense of emotions, and some of them have their own unique ways of communicating orally, which Alice has learned to understand.

Doll Garrison: Alice’s dolls are often used as an extension of herself, both in personal household tidiness and in combat. When outfitted for battle, they are equipped with miniature weapons utilized by medieval soldiers, typically western knights and other similar warriors instead of more “modern” means of attack such as rifles, mostly because the concept is too foreign to understand for incorporation into being used by her dolls. While she’s very capable of conducting entire squadrons of combat dolls to do the battling, that leaves Alice herself vulnerable with her hands full. Take her down, and her entire division collapses.

Exploding Conduit Dolls: Alice’s dolls are often used as a conduit for her other magic, such as a medium for her to shoot lasers from range. One very common use for these dolls in which Alice employs is the use of magic power or gunpowder to make them explode on cue like seeking missiles. While it’s known that they explode on command when primed properly, it’s unknown if they scatter into parts that Alice can recover and fix, explode and leave no trace behind, or simply lose all of their magic and retain their physical integrity.

Skills: Doll-Making, Tailoring, Artistry

Possessions:

Shanghai: The doll that Alice seems to take with her everywhere she goes, almost as a sort of personal attendant. It’s capable of channeling destructive magic such as destructive lasers. Named in a similar way to her other dolls, although it’s more like a variety of magical doll she creates for her spell cards. Her attendant doll is named Shanghai affectionately, while the others are called Shanghai Dolls after a supposed trip to Shanghai, China.

Hourai: A second doll that Alice brings with her on her travels, as well as a class of doll that Alice uses in her spell cards. She was named after the mythical island paradise of Hourai, a place that Alice has yearned to visit. This name is unrelated to other figures of Hourai such as Kaguya Houraisan, Fujiwara no Mokou, and the Hourai Elixir. It’s assumed that she is the stronger doll of the two.

Goliath Doll: A giant doll created by Alice, possibly towering about half the height of her house. It can handle heavy weapons that would normally require two or more regular humans to use effectively. Despite this, it’s still an experimental creation and often explodes quite easily.

Other Dolls: Many of Alice’s other dolls, used in her spell cards and as Alice’s signature labor/combat force. Each of them have their own magical abilities, and they were named after various places she’s visited between leaving Makai and settling into Gensokyo. These locations include, in no particular order and not limited to: Orléans, France, the Netherlands, Russia, London, Tibet, Holland, Bucuresti, and Kyoto.

The Grimoire of Alice: A powerful grimoire that produces “the ultimate magic” upon being read, which Alice gained possession of after Shinki allowed a massive quantity of demons to escape Makai through a cave behind Hakurei Shrine. She has since bound it in two red ribbons behind a lock and key, only vowing to break the seal and make a last stand if the world were to end where she stood. The Three Fairies of Light once tried to steal it, and Alice beat them up over it. It’s unknown if the Alice named on the cover refers to her or someone else.

Magic Rings: Rings made of silver, worn on 4-8 of Alice’s fingers. They act as a medium that allows Alice to spin her magic strings to control her dolls.

Blue Dress: A blue dress with a white patterned overlay and white sleeves.

Pink Ribbons: One is used to tighten her dress above the waist, and the other is used as a tie of sorts atop her dress.

White Dress: A plain white dress she wore in her youth, and when she lived in Makai. It gives her the shivers thinking back on it all, and how she lived in Makai for so long before traveling the world.

Red Hairband: An accessory to keep Alice’s hair firm when close to the head.

Heavy Hiking Boots: Hiking boots built to handle the rough terrain of the Forest of Magic. She’s kicked at least several dozen shins with them for varying reasons as her preferred method of melee attack, with the most notable shins she remembers punting belonging to Seija, who had sidetracked her puppet show interpretation of a magical girl story she found in Patchouli’s library.

Muse-Specific Headcanons:

In private, Alice sometimes sees herself as a hopeless or doomed romantic with unrequited feelings for others in Gensokyo... but for who exactly are those feelings for? That is a question with an answer that’s always evaded her grasp whenever she tries to find it… although one of those residents may have stolen the Precious Thing.

Alice lived in Makai for a long time since her childhood before leaving after one of Reimu’s first incident resolutions (number 5 to be exact), where she briefly traveled the world during the Scarlet Mist Incident and returned to Gensokyo a couple months before the Spring Snow Incident.

While she seems unassuming, Alice can pack a seriously mean kick with her heavy boots if she’s forced to do something at melee range, which is often the more painful option for the receiver as compared to her trying to throw a punch… which is average for a human at best. Her leg speed is about as fast as Marisa’s kicking velocity, albeit her kicking force is considerably stronger due to the weight of her boots compared to Marisa’s varying footwear. Byakuren still retains the title of being the most physically strong of all of Gensokyo’s magicians regardless of which shoes she’s wearing.

Her keen eye in clothing design for her dolls has also given her a side hobby in creating clothes on commission for other humans and youkai.

Alice has met Koakuma prior to their departure from Makai.

Alice only discloses the inner workings and research of her magic to people she trusts.

Blog-Specific Lore Notes:

After an accident during a Lunar New Year festival of 2024 that started a series of events known as the Resolvers Incident, she along with Marisa, Youmu, Patchouli, Koakuma, Shinmyoumaru, and Reimu got involved with the Frost Miko Incidents and Beasts’ Menagerie Incident after being gapped across time into multiple different realms beyond Gensokyo. This RP blog takes place after the Frost Miko Incidents were resolved, but she along with the others are willing to answer questions about it. Alice still holds contemptuous feelings about the incident’s masterminds (Seija and Alfonso, the latter AKA Affogato Cookie), having gotten several good kicks in on both of them. She feels that the Master Spark Marisa used on them was deserved. No, the Beasts’ Menagerie Incident hasn’t been resolved yet.

She has attended the 2nd Multiverse Fighting Tournament alongside Aya as a spectator and an unofficial guardian commissioned by Momiji so Aya doesn’t get herself in trouble for any reason.

Alice has joined in the investigation of the West Mountain.

After getting lost in the Forest of Magic, Renko and Maribel stayed the night at Alice’s house and learned more about the concept of the multiverse. She believes that she can trust them to help her and everyone else resolve the incident.

Thanks to collaborations between her, Nitori, Ran, and Yukari, Alice was among the first of Gensokyo’s youkai to contact her parallel presences from other universes and learn some of their own specialized techniques and Spell Cards. She was also taken up on this project due to her understanding of fabrics and thread, and how they could be applied as symbols that represent the multiverse.

While she was originally slated to apply as a judge for the 3rd Multiverse Fighting Tournament, a sudden commission request forced her to concede the application form to Aya.

Spell Cards:

*Spell Card only used in close combat

**Spell Card used in close combat AND danmaku duels

***Spell Card with utility besides combat

Puppeteer Sign “Marionette Parrar”

Puppeteer Sign “Manipulate Puppet”

Puppeteer Sign “Maiden’s Bunraku”

Puppeteer Sign “Dolls in Sea”

Doll “Futuristic Bunraku”*

Doll “Semi-Automaton”*

Doll: Curse Doll

Dolls “Soulless Folk Dance”*

Dolls “Lemmings’ Parade”*

Blue Sign “Fraternal French Dolls”

Blue Sign “Fraternal Orléans Dolls”

Red Sign “Dolls Mira Ceti”

Scarlet Sign “Red-Haired Dutch Dolls”

Scarlet Sign “Holland Doll”*

White Sign “Chalk-White Russian Dolls”

Black Sign “Marisa Doll of Memories”

Purple Sign “Patchouli Doll of Knowledge”

Darkness Sign “Foggy London Dolls”

Cycle Sign “Samsaric Tibetan Dolls”

Elegant Sign “Spring Kyoto Dolls”

Malediction “Magically Luminous Shanghai Dolls”

Malediction “Hourai Doll”*

Malediction “Hanged Hourai Dolls”

Magic Sign “Artful Sacrifice”*/***(MI penalty card)

Magipulation “Return Inanimateness”*

War Sign “Little Legion”*

War Command “Dolls’ War”*

Curse Sign “Shanghai Doll”*

Curse Sign “Straw Doll Kamikaze”

Sign I “Artful Chanter”*

Sign II “Doll Crusader”*

Evil Light “Devilry Light Ray”*

Spy Sign “Seeker Dolls”*

Focus Power “Trip Wire”

Foot Soldiers “Suicide Squad”*/“Kamikaze Flight”

Soldiers of the Southern Cross

Sword Sign “Soldier of Cross”*

Lance Sign “Cutie Phalanx”*

Knight “Doll of Round Table”*

Knight: Amphitheater of Dreams

Knights of the Ecliptic

Sacrifice “Suicide Pact”*/“Cluster Dive”

Testing “Level Titania”

Testing “Goliath Doll”

“The Phantom of the Grand Guignol” (Last Word & Derivatives)

Grand Guignol - Coquelicot (A6)

Spring Act - The Phantom of the Grand Guignol (A7)

The Phantom of the Grand Guignol - Curtain Call (L80)

Atelier Grand Guignol (B5)

Grand Guignoloid Meteor Shower (Z3)

[sekhisadventures]

Venture to the Siren Isle

Dornogal, early morning

Dareley Steelhammer walked through the city towards the Alliance Embassy, a scroll in his hand. He had left Yvain in Stormwind for now, hoping she’d learn something of the way the Light was viewed in this timeline… but he had a hunch that reading through dusty old tomes wasn’t likely to hold her interest and she’d probably spend more time doing training drills and patrols with the Stormwind City Guard (the captain was a friend and he’d put in a word with him… and explained to him that yes, he was an earthen now. He half considered asking Nelen to pen him an explanation to give to people to save time.)

The dwarf-turned-earthen got to the Embassy gates and headed to a large sack hanging from the wall. A messenger’s bag with a sign near it reading ‘place all missives bound for Stormwind and beyond in. Postage paid by Alliance High Command.’ Turalyon had set aside the funds for that ahead of time. Those who had been trapped in Khaz Algar by Xal’atath’s machinations were likely eager to let their loved ones know they were alive and well.

He slipped the scroll in, the message ring on it holding a smaller piece of paper with the intended recipient’s name. He wasn’t sure how long it’d take them to track him down, he hoped not too long, but if there was one person he knew of who could show Yvain just how different the Church was here, it would be him.

He just hoped that it wouldn’t be too big a risk for him to show up in Elwynn Forest.

As he began to make the trek back to the Glittering Prize another of their crew was in the city, though he wasn’t there early so much as there very very late.

Grimo Blamstick was hard at work at the engineer’s outpost in the great workshop of Dornogal, doing some much needed maintenance on his robotic attack dog, the Lupine User Protection Engine or L.U.P.E. His workshop aboard the Glittering Prize was enough for his gun, but for the delicate circuitry and armor-plated casing of the robot he needed a bit more elbow room.

There was a loud WHIRRING sound as he bolted the armor back into place, his samophalnge’s riveting attachment spinning rapidly to work the bolt along the threads of the screws, then he sat back and raised his welding mask as he looked over his work. “That oughta do it for now…” he muttered, then he paused as he looked up.

Heading towards him was a familiar figure. “Mornin’ Blamstick. Glad I caught ya.” nodded Monte Gazlowe, Boss of the Bilgewater Cartel. Alongside him was another goblin, this one with blue-ish hair wearing the tabard of the cartel over his chest, a toolbelt on his hip.

“Mornin’ boss…” yawned Grimo, putting his gear back in his toolbox before activating the L.U.P.E.’s boot cycle, the robot slowly waking up after being in maintenance mode. “Whats up?” he asked.

“Look, Grimo I got a favor ta ask ya…” he began, glancing around, “But… this is strictly ‘off the books,’ get me?” he asked.

Grimo raised his eyebrow. Gazlowe had a reputation for being a goblin so trustworthy and honorable that some people were genuinely surprised he was a goblin... an image that he was hard at work trying to change for goblinkind as a whole. If he was asking him to do something ‘off the books’ then it was something big. “I’m listenin’…” he replied, taking out a cigar and lighting.

Behind him the L.U.P.E. sat up and said in a mechanical voice, [Boot cycle complete. L.U.P.E. OS v11.0.7 successfully loaded. Entering standby mode.] before jumping off the table and landing on the ground next to it’s master, sitting back on it’s haunches like a live dog might.

“Right, so… Skaggit here says that there’s somethin’ going on with a nearby island…” nodded Gazlowe, “Ya remember Skaggit right? My right-hand goblin?” he asked.

Grimo nodded, “Yeah, I bumped into him a few times…” he replied. That was putting it lightly, Skaggit was the goblin who delivered most of the claims to Grimo’s offices after the ‘SantaShredder5000 incident’ had left most of the Valley of Strength covered in scorch marks and craters. He’d even wrapped them all up with a big Winter’s Veil bow just to be a bit of a smartass about it.

Gazlowe nodded back, “Anyway, there’s an island way north of here called ‘Siren Isle.’ Apparently th’ Kul’tirians were usin’ it for azerite mining back during th’ Blood War… but one day they all up and vanished. Island was left totally deserted. Kul’tiras sent a vessel out to check on ‘em, found nothing. Camps abandoned, ships empty, like they all just vanished. Spooked ‘em good and they all ran back to Boralus.” he explained.

“Well, now that shit’s calmed down here… we’ve started getting some odd energy reading’s from out at sea in th’ direction of th’ island. Really fuckin’ similar to that hunk of crystal down in Hallowfall.” he nodded, “I got our guys workin’ on gettin’ an airship dock set up so we can go see what’s up… but since you ‘n your boys are here with that big fancy boat…” he gestured meaningfully to Grimo.

Grimo puffed on his cigar thoughtfully, “You’d like a Bilgewater boy getting his boots on th’ ground ahead of an Azerite Rush ‘n making sure it ain’t gonna bite us all in th’ collective ass.” finished Grimo.

Gazlowe grinned, “This is why I like ya Blamstick. You’re a clever guy, even if you do wreck cities sometimes.” he replied.

Grimo sighed and rolled his eyes, “Oh like only twice!” he huffed.

Skaggit smirked at him, “That ‘Smiley-Boom-Boom’ thing?” he asked.

Grimo growled at Skaggit, “THAT WAS ONE SHOP!” he retorted, “Besides not yer fuckin’ problem! That was back when Jastor still ran th’ show!”

Gazlowe glanced around, then gestured placatingly with his hands, “Alright you two, enough screwin’ around. Don’t want word of this getting around yet. We never found out if Xal’atath had spies in Dornogal or not.” he whispered meaningfully.

“Now Blamstick, th’ Siren Isle is way north of here near Kul’tiras… probably ‘bout a week by steamship, faster by air but… yeah no airship port yet. I got a rush order on it, but we’ve only just ordered th’ materials so it’ll be at least another month. I want your crew on th’ island ahead of us. Don’t gotta stay put, just long enough to see if these readings are legit and if we’re about to step on a land mine or not.” nodded Gazlowe.

Grimo nodded slowly, eyeing both Gazlowe and Skaggit, then asked, “… ‘n what kinda compensation are we talkin’ here boss?” he asked.

Gazlowe sighed, he knew this bit was coming, but Grimo was the only person on the Isle of Dorn with a personal vessel. The other ships were all Horde or Alliance Navy and sending one of them would raise alarm bells with the other side. Turalyon had commented on it when he’d arrived, but the cease fire was far more fragile than it seemed. Apparently, there had been some trouble recruiting Danath Trollbane and the Arathor soldiers.

… and nobody had thought to talk Danath out of bringing his favorite trophies to decorate his mount with. Fortunately, Jaina had caught it and had demanded he remove them and hide them before anyone in the Horde saw… but it was a close thing. Danath had insisted he’d forgotten they were even on the saddle.

“Triple the standard expedition rate, plus hazard pay.” replied Gazlowe, nodding to Grimo.

Grimo kept his expression as neutral as possible, it would not do to hint to Gazlowe of the cash registers exploding in his mind. “I suppose I could go check out the island. Be nice to get a change of scenery after being anchored here for so long…” he replied offhandedly.

“Good. I’ll send a runner over to your ship with th’ funds in an hour or so. You go get your crew together ‘n let ‘em know the score eh?” he asked, holding out a hand to shake on it.

Grimo nodded and shook back, “You got it Boss.” he replied, releasing Gazlowe’s hand as he whistled for the L.U.P.E. to follow him to where his flying machine was parked outside. He got into the cockpit as the robot climbed into the special storage compartment he’d added for it, then took to the skies. About halfway out of Dornogal he exploded into excited laughter. “OH BABY GRIMO IS BRINGIN’ HOME TH’ BACON TONIGHT!” he laughed.

A couple hours later the entire crew of the Glittering Prize was on the deck of the ship. All fourteen members of Avalon and Savage United, Jeemjazo and Murgly Jim, Uh’kue, the reaper Nankoz Scarletspark, and Loren Fullmoon were all there. Xhu Pai and Yvain had been in Orgrimmar and Stormwind for several days now, and nobody knew where Zul’zanza had disappeared to. They had kept watch for him for a few days, but the witch doctor seemed to have vanished from Khaz Algar entirely. They hoped he’d found some way back home.

Nelen nodded to the group, “I went to my sanctum after Grimo explained the situation and my leygraph is definitely showing some sort of reaction near Kul'tiras. It certainly looks similar to Azerite, so its possible that something uncovered a new vein somehow. Maybe an earthquake or storm.” he explained.

Edwood grinned, “It must be somethin’ interestin’. Kul’tirian sailors don’t scare easy mates. If they ran home, it could be big.” pointed out the forsaken as he leaned against the railing.

“Yeah, I heard o’ th’ Siren Isle back when I was still a cabin boy…” agreed Jeemjazo. “Ol’ Saltfang always made a point of stayin’ th’ fel away from it. Its damn dangerous.”

Sekhi frowned at that. She had tried to listen for anything coming from that direction when Grimo first explained the situation, but they were too far away right now for her to hear anything.

Loren just grinned, “I know I ain’t technically part o’ th’ team, but I’d like ta feckin’ see it.” she replied, smiling wide to show her fangs as Morri rested on her shoulder, the raven cawing and grooming it’s wings.

Uh’kue however, stood. “Ya guys go ahead… I be stayin’ behind.” she nodded, making for the gangplank.

Mola’raum watched her go, “Ya sure sistah?” he asked as she walked past him.

“Ya mon. Hireek sent me ta find da lost tribe, ‘n we found Orwenya fer a bit… but only a bit. I need ta get back ta Azj-kahet ‘n keep searchin’.” she replied.

“Uh’kue. Orwenya’s people are good at hiding. You’re not going to find them that easily.” warned Shalandrae as Aziguni nodded in agreement.

“She is right.” commented the draenei woman. “I tried to help Shalandrae track them right before our timelost guests arrived… but they leave almost no trace. Even Eocundo could not locate them, and a pantera is very hard to shake when they are on the hunt.”

Uh’kue sighed, “Dat may be sistah… but Hireek command me ta find dem, so I find dem or die tryin’.” she replied, nodding firmly as she set her jaw.

“If you’re sure Uh’kue.” replied Nelen, “Then… thank you for your assistance again, and good luck in your search.”

The zandalari woman grinned back over her shoulder, “You too wolfmon.” she chuckled, then she spread her arms as her fingers extended and grew large leathery folds between them, and a moment later a huge bat took to the skies above the island, heading towards the Coreway.

“I’ll be staying behind too.” added Nankoz, “As far as I know Garnal hasn’t left Khaz Algar yet. I’ll wait in Dornogal in case he resurfaces, but yeah. You guys are nice, but my duty is his demise sooooo…” she grinned, showing her fang-like canines, “Good luck! Try really hard not to die okay?” she laughed, heading down off the gangplank after Uh’kue.

Grimo looked around, “Anyone else got cold feet?” he asked meaningfully, and a sea of shaking heads replied. The goblin grinned toothily, “Good! Mister Jeemjazo! Raise the anchor and lets set sail!” he said dramatically, pointing out from the coastline in the direction of the Siren Isle.

After a moment he realized nobody was moving, Grimo looked back towards the assembled adventurers and frowned. “… seriously?” he grunted.

Edwood smirked, then nodded, “Mister Jeemjazo. Raise th’ anchor and set sail if ye’d be so kind. Miss Swiftpaw, a luncheon would be much appreciated, I’m sure. Mister Fullmoon and Miss Aziguni, please take first watch. Everyone else, as ye were.” stated the forsaken man.

‘Aye aye Captain Vargas!’ came the reply as Grimo scowled and stomped to the bow of the ship to sulk.

With a rattle from the anchor’s chain, a rumble from the steam engine, and the splash of the paddle wheels the ship lurched into motion, then began to turn until it was facing away from the coastline. Slowly it began to move away towards the open sea as Aziguni and Nelen took up positions for watch duty, Jaie got to work on a lunch of grilled seagull with root vegetables in a cinderbee honey glaze, and Jeemjazo steered the ship by the wheel with Murgly Jim standing nearby.

The trip took them an entire week, the ship making anchor in the night for the crew to sleep as Edwood and Mola’raum kept the night watch… though midway through the first night they decided to break out Edwood’s poker deck again.

The next several days passed without incident thankfully, their current provisions more than sufficient to last them the journey. On the seventh day, shortly before lunchtime, the ship began to draw near an island in the distance. “Land ho!” shouted Jeemjazo from the wheel, “Unless me chart is wrong that’s Siren Isle!” he called out.

Grimo frowned around his cigar, lowering his goggles and engaging the telescopic view to zoom in on the land before them. He stood at the front of the ship now, looking towards the island. “Don’t fuckin’ look like much.”

Nelen shook his head. “Looks can be deceiving Grimo. I can sense some powerful energy coming from the island.” replied the mage. “SOMEthing is there. The question is what.”

“Yeaaaaaaah…” commented Samantha, the void elf walking up behind the two. “There’s something there alright.” she nodded firmly, looking towards the landmass ahead.

Nelen glanced at her, “Oh? Annulus sense something too?” he asked.

“No.” she pointed behind them to where Sekhi was standing, gazing out at the island. “… Sekhi hasn’t moved or blinked in like… four minutes now.” she stated.

Grimo and Nelen looked at the vulpera shaman, then at each other, then they both stated aloud, “Oh shit.”

Somewhere…

Sekhi stared around her, the vulpera standing inside a massive stone edifice that appeared to be titan make… but rather than the earthen, there were Vyrkul entombed here. Ahead of her, on an altar, was the tip of a crystal radiating a golden energy… and she could hear a song coming from it. Vibrating through her very being.

“… oh yip.” whined the shaman, gazing into the glow.

Gazlowe’s readings were, if anything, not able to register the true potency of what was on the Siren Isle… and an ‘azerite rush’ would be the least of their worries.

Next Story

Previous Story

[kinetic-elaboration]

October 25: Finishing Garden Wall

Just finished my first ever watch-through of Over the Garden Wall. It did not disappoint at all. I enjoyed everything about it that I thought I would, and also found it surprisingly multi-faceted and complex, which I suppose is why so many adults do regular re-watches and write complex interpretations of it etc. It's definitely a kids' cartoon in name only and I found it kind of amusing to see the obvious lines of skirting-the-boundary censorship in it, like how any character who's about to say the word 'die' gets conveniently interrupted, etc.

Anyway, I've been browsing around through the internet looking for interpretations and analyses, which is also fun. I don't have any definite thoughts on it myself. I was trying to kind of put something together but I got tangled up pretty fast on, like, certain unimportant theories about what is literally happening, and the consequences of interpreting The Unknown as literal purgatory or any sort of literal death-space. I think there are ways to create a coherent explanation or understanding of the show on a literal level, but I don't think it's necessary--like, I think it's fine to say, as I basically am currently, it's just a weird place; some sort of in-between; the unknown. (And fwiw that does seem to be the explanation of that Patrick McHale gives here). I guess my feelings about these literal-Purgatory interpretations are affected by my sense that spinning out that thread leads to some quite pessimistic interpretations of the whole, and I don't really like that.

One thing I loved so much about the show as I got to the end, the final two episodes, was that it does end so happily, in an earned way. If someone wants a pessimistic or bittersweet interpretation those are definitely there and that's fine, but you can also take it at, roughly, its word and just say: and a happy ending for all. Even characters for whom a truly happy ending appears impossible, like the Woodsman, get one.

I wasn't sure what to expect from the flashback/origin episode but I really liked it and thought it kept up both my interest and the spirit of the show (literal Halloween!) even though it took place entirely in the real world. That Wirt was misinterpreting the events with Sara and Jason F., that he wasn't the outcast he perceived himself to be and, far from being rejected by her, he essentially pre-rejected himself even after Sara indicated that, at the very least, she desires a friendship with him, was really heartening to me because it turned this sort of cliche high-school-cruelty story into this optimistic, hey, high school sucks because you're a kid and you don't know or trust anything about yourself or other people, but those people aren't malicious and your real self could be good if you let it!... story. But also Sara is dressed as a skeleton the whole time and the kids are doing age-appropriate things in the cemetery.

The unstated family dynamic was also really interesting to me. I think this is a good example of a story where not everything is spelled out but it's clear the creators knew up front everything that was true in the universe and so they both had details to put in and could keep those details consistent. I know this sounds like duh obvious but I really think there's a difference between a story where only bare bones necessities are included and/or where extra details are just meant to fill in the current blank without a larger meaning, and stories like this, that show you a glimpse but remind you that there's a whole.

So it was interesting to me that we do get hints of Wirt and Greg's home life and family dynamic. I was legit shocked to learn they were half-brothers, which of course brings up many questions, especially about Wirt: where is his biological father, how long have his mom and stepdad been married, how does he feel about his new dad and little brother, etc.? I think based on their ages (I saw Greg interpreted as 5 but I unilaterally decided he was more like 7 and Wirt was 15) and the assumption that Wirt's mother and Greg's father didn't, like, have a baby accidentally by sleeping together on the night they met, or through an affair or something, and thus that time was was spent dating/being engaged/getting married/conceiving a child, I think it's possible that Wirt's father left the picture when he was very young and that he possibly has no memory of him at all, if he's dead and/or they have no current relationship. He does perceive Greg's father as Greg's father and his step-dad (he doesn't call him Dad ever I don't think) but at the same time, the one thing we know about this person is that he encourages Wirt to join the band and to otherwise generally put himself out there, and from this one fact I have extrapolated an entire relationship, in which Wirt's step-father is a good guy who genuinely tries to connect with him and be a positive force for him. And then from there I wonder if Wirt's lack of self-confidence and confused identity come in part from this early-life family disruption: he maybe doesn't have any memories of his father, and so lacks a sense of where he came from, at the same time as he sees his carefree little brother who does not have any of that uncertainty because he gets both of his real parents raising him etc.

Anyway, here I take the most mundane details from a show with talking pumpkin-skeletons so I don't know. I'm not saying the IRL stuff was my FAVORITE, these are just the thoughts in my head right this moment. I suppose they're more easily digestible and explainable. For everything else I'm still at the 'reading other people's thoughts' stage.

I imagine I'll do a rewatch every year, though. The vibes are great, the style is beautiful, the characters are sweet and extremely quotable, the episodes are short but also diverse in their topics and moods, and there are enough layers and references and possible different interpretations that I don't think it would get boring even upon repeated viewings.

[ruin-a-wedding]

The Broken Crown exists in two parts.

From the view of the street the bar looks indistinguishable from any other shithole. Faded decorations hint at a theme that has faded with time, leaving only ghosts of the original concept. It has stools and tables, as these places so often do, but nothing remarkable enough to draw any attention from passersby. Newcomers to the bar often remark that they thought the building was abandoned or the bar had closed years ago.

However long it's been since Meliza had left TGP, she’s held on to her skills just as you’ve retained your father���s training. You don’t know how the magic works and know better than to ask. The only thing you need to know is that people never find the front of the bar if they’re looking for it, and people only find their way to the lounge at the back of the building if they already know its location.

You consider this magic, along with what you have just performed, as you make your way up the basement stairs. Sanguimancy must be of a similar school: those skills which are innate at birth instead of passed down through teachers. There’s no explanation for why you think this, save for the taste in your mouth every time you enter the lounge. It’s the same way your mouth tastes now, fresh with the senator’s blood.

Or perhaps that’s merely the cocktail of drugs he had in his system when he died.

A promise awaits on the horizon, his blood tells you, formless and indefinite. These premonitions are never exact, but you can feel it rushing toward you like a car speeding down an empty stretch of road. Fate is a thread and you are the spool, winding it ever closer until your destiny arrives at your feet.

The rush of a magic you so rarely get to practice makes you giddier than any human drug, though perhaps that’s just the exhaustion hitting you after such a big cleanup. Transmogrification is more taxing when you’re so out of practice.

On your way to the lounge you make a quick stop at the kitchen, catching the attention of Cookie, the head chef. The scar that runs along the underside of his cheek dimples as he smiles in greeting.

“I was starting to think you only appeared when you smelled blood,” he says as he joins you in the hallway outside of the kitchen.

Casimir Koska, Cookie to the Crown’s employees, is one of your most regular stops in your capacity as the bar’s medic. Usually if the two of you cross paths it’s because someone is bleeding, be it Cookie or another, after feeling the bite of one of Cookie’s many knives. The frequency of these visits has allowed the two of you to become fast friends.

“You’re the one stabbing yourself every time you start to miss me.”

“And it works!” He laughs, throwing his hands in the air. “So what’s the occasion, Sosia?”

Few people in this world are allowed to address you so informally, but you’ve never heard Cookie address anyone by their given name. In Meliza’s words, no one’s really part of the family until he gives them a nickname.

“Got a pig needs butchering,” you say in a low voice so that no one will overhear you.

“The meat?”

“Not great, but there’s a market for it. Good pedigree.”

He gives some sort of exclamation in one of the many human languages you haven’t yet learned to recognize. What little you know of his background is almost as bloody as yours, though his affiliations are strictly human. It makes you curious about what the underworld of the mundane must look like; this is far from the first body you’ve offered him, and he’s never struggled to find a buyer.

“I will take him to the market tomorrow then.”

The money was never as good as it was when you had Theodore Saint-James as a buyer, but those days are far behind you. Still, you find yourself mourning the loss of your connections in moments like these.

You leave Cookie to butcher the body and make your way to the lounge’s staff entrance. One of the newer hires is lingering in the doorway, accompanied by a waitress hiding in his shadow. The two of them are watching someone and whispering between each other.

“Sightseeing?” you say, more out of courtesy so you don’t startle them.

Cindy, the waitress, lets out a small yelp at the sight of you and scurries off to find some task to pretend to do. Many of the staff have come to view you as a godsend, but some of the more intuitive humans are able to sense something unsettling about you. As annoying as it can be at times, you don’t fault them for their caution; in most other instances those instincts will mean the difference between life and death.

“There’s a suit,” Tyler answers with a nod at the center of the room. From where you stand you can’t see much of his face, but you catch the glint of a watch on his wrist. “Won’t order. Keeps turning entertainers away. No one knows how he got in.”

As you survey the area you realize every floor employee seems to be lurking in the corners of the room. He looks too obvious to be a cop, but the watch on his wrist is worth more than any of you make in a year. Money like that in a place like this, more often than not, means trouble is soon to follow. And you’re too tired to hide any more bodies tonight.

“I’ll deal with it.”

You step out onto the floor and are about to approach his table when your movement catches his attention. He turns in your direction, and you freeze when you realize the man looking back at you is the eldest living son of Nettie Corbeau.

[edenmemes]

skyward sword sentence starters

more to be added !

❝ you promised to meet me before it starts, remember? ❞ ❝ you seem pretty...relaxed about the whole thing. ❞ ❝ is something wrong? what’s the hurry? ❞ ❝ sometimes i just don’t know what’s going on in your head. ❞ ❝ i'm not like you. i fail at everything i try. ❞ ❝ a shrimpy boy like you hardly looks the part of a hero. ❞ ❝ swatting a few monsters will be no trouble for you. ❞ ❝ run and play this time. get in my way again, though, and you’re dead. ❞ ❝ don’t even pretend that was an accident! ❞ ❝ do you doubt these eyes? i look upon your shirt and i see a single thread loose on your sleeve stitching. ❞ ❝ this is no place for one such as you. and yet here you stand. ❞ ❝ i need to vent all this unhealthy anger,     and your agony is such a great stress reliever. ❞ ❝ remember what we discussed. restrain yourself. focus on the task at hand. ❞ ❝ do my words anger you? do my words sting? let them. ❞ ❝ you don’t come by here just to see me, do you? ❞ ❝ what’s wrong? you just made a face like you wanted to say something. ❞ ❝ oh, i get it. you’re trying to weasel out of having to practice. ❞ ❝ i guess it’s not all bad. at least i’m getting paid. ❞ ❝ there’s something i’ve been meaning to talk to you about.... ❞ ❝ would you wake up, straighten up, and grow a backbone already? ❞ ❝ nice try, but you’re not fooling me. ❞ ❝ i...i have to go. i’m sorry. ❞ ❝ folks were always cheering me on like it was a parade. but as you know, time passes. ❞ ❝ you keep some very strange company, friend. ❞ ❝ i don’t know if it’s safe yet...i’m going to stay here awhile longer. ❞ ❝ oh no. you’ve done it now! there’s no escaping this one! ❞ ❝ so, what now? are you going to cry? ❞ ❝ i can’t begin to tell you how sorry i am for pulling you into all of this. ❞ ❝ what is wrong with you? just look at what you’ve done! ❞ ❝ what we’ve seen here today defies explanation. ❞ ❝ you put up more of a fight than i would have thought possible out of such a soft person. ❞ ❝ did you really just draw your sword? foolish. ❞ ❝ should you heed the call of destiny,     i don’t know what dangers you may have to face. ❞ ❝ i can’t help being such a coward...i’m really sorry. ❞ ❝ i fear i spent far too long teasing and toying with you. ❞ ❝ you do your people proud. ❞ ❝ how long do we have to live in constant fear? ❞ ❝ i'll just beat you within an inch of your life! ❞ ❝ dawn is drawing near. it has been a long night for the both of us, hasn’t it? ❞ ❝ you were limp and unconscious. i feared the worst. ❞ ❝ what do you think you’re doing sneaking out with that? ❞ ❝ such a beautiful day, but we’re too busy to enjoy it. some things never change. ❞ ❝ i guess you’ll never learn unless you run into trouble one day. ❞ ❝ look at my face. if that’s your idea of a joke, i’m not laughing. ❞ ❝ you appeared to be relishing that snooze, so i declined to wake you. ❞ ❝ huh? oh, uh, nothing. really, i was, uh...talking to myself. ❞ ❝ you’re looking a little pale... ❞ ❝ i imagine you and i will cross paths again. until then, do not lower your guard. ❞ ❝ you certainly are persistent... ❞ ❝ all that may be well intentioned and true, but it doesn’t mean it’s right. ❞ ❝ i’m prepared to pay the price for what i’ve done. ❞ ❝ i had no idea we were fated to carry such a heavy destiny. ❞ ❝ i need your strength to tip the scales in our favor. ❞ ❝ all this training, and no results! ❞ ❝ all i’ve hears so far is a bunch of babbling about destiny,     but that’s a load of garbage. ❞ ❝ when night draws her tenebrous curtain across the sky, i come here. ❞ ❝ what in the world just happened? did you use some kind of magic? ❞ ❝ please, see it through and prove the legends true. ❞ ❝ i was happy just spending my days hanging around with you. i wanted that feeling to last forever. ❞ ❝ you are vital to a mission of great importance. ❞ ❝ the chances of that happening are just about less than zero. ❞ ❝ i hate to break it to you, but today’s the day i bust up this adorable little fantasyland you’re living in. ❞ ❝ this is a war, and the fate of the land hangs in the balance. ❞ ❝ i know you, and you’re no hero. ❞ ❝ you’re messing with me. say it again, i dare you. ❞ ❝ you float through life with your head in the clouds. ❞ ❝ i don’t do charity for wimps. ❞ ❝ what’s this...? what is it that my eyes behold? ❞ ❝ don’t even think about it! are we clear? ❞ ❝ the point is your work here is done. i got it covered from here. ❞ ❝ my eyes foresee a hazardous, thorny road ahead for you... ❞ ❝ you...this is your fault, you know. ❞ ❝ my heart is bursting with thoughts of you. ❞ ❝ i have a serious dilemma on my mind right now, and you’re distracting me. ❞ ❝ i’ll make you proud. you’ll see! ❞ ❝ feels dangerous. something could jump out at us at any moment. ❞ ❝ we’re talking about a tale that’s been passed down over a lot of years, so i wouldn’t put much stock in it. ❞ ❝ i have the right to experience an unfettered and passionate love, don’t i? ❞ ❝ i’ll tell you, it gives even a big guy like me the creeps. ❞ ❝ oh...how can i get you to notice me? ❞ ❝ i get the feeling nothing i can say will talk you out of it. ❞ ❝ my love for you is wider than the horizon and deeper than the clouds. ❞ ❝ trust my piercing eyes...listen to my pure and innocent voice. ❞ ❝ i feel so excited, so cheerful, so full of life. ❞ ❝ i sense a silent power dwelling somewhere in your frame. ❞ ❝ this turn of events has left me with a strong appetite for bloodshed. ❞ ❝ there’s no doubting it. the gears of fate have begun to turn. ❞ ❝ i'm sorry. i was lost in thought there for a moment. ❞ ❝ don’t men open doors for a lady anymore? how long am i supposed to stand here waiting for a little chivalry? ❞ ❝ i hate even saying this, but i guess you got it all figured out. ❞ ❝ you must not push yourself. you’re still recovering. ❞ ❝ you think you’re pretty suave, don’t you? ❞ ❝ i know you’re in a hurry, so i really appreciate you taking the time to help. ❞ ❝ i saw it, but i was able to escape by the seat of my pants. ❞ ❝ do you have any idea how that made me feel inside? furious! outraged! sick with anger! ❞ ❝ you’re really something else. i could never imagine myself doing what you’re about to do. ❞ ❝ i must aid you in fulfilling the great destiny that is your burden to carry. ❞ ❝ i should have believed you...i’m sorry. ❞ ❝ lately, when i think about you, my head gets all fuzzy, my heart races, i get short of breath, and i feel all dizzy... ❞ ❝ you should know better than that to fret about me. ❞ ❝ thanks for jumping in there to rescue me. ❞ ❝ hey, hold on there! what are you trying to pull all of a sudden? ❞ ❝ your face cries out in earnest wonder, and that cry is: ‘what’s this?!’ ❞ ❝ i promise up front not to murder you. ❞ ❝ you...didn’t hear any of that, did you? there’s no way you heard, right? ❞ ❝ i tell you, all sorts of weird things are going on lately. ❞ ❝ calamitous visions appear before me... ❞ ❝ you...make me so happy...i think i’m going to keel over... ❞ ❝ i wanted you to be the first to see me like this. ❞ ❝ i can’t imagine a more fitting color for you. it’s as though you were born to wear it. ❞ ❝ i bet you can’t even decide what to have for lunch on your own, huh? ❞ ❝ amazing, right? wrong! it is beyond amazing! ❞ ❝ it can’t be easy for you, can it? ❞ ❝ you’ll see in time that you have your own role to play in all this. ❞ ❝ trust in fate to guide your feet. ❞ ❝ i bet you’re here just to check me out, right? ❞ ❝ i just hope nothing has happened. i’m worried sick thinking about it. ❞ ❝ whoa...you’re kind of imploding my mind right now. ❞ ❝ if you wanna live again one day, you should head for home. ❞ ❝ you have a great journey before you, and those clothes...they don’t look up to the task. ❞ ❝ did you manage to get even a wink of sleep last night? ❞ ❝ ever heard of banging your knuckles against the door? it’s called knocking. ❞ ❝ so, uh...yeah. just how long have you been standing there? ❞ ❝ honestly, it’s almost as though you become a completely different person when you worry about me. ❞ ❝ you showing up here must mean we’re connected somehow. like fate. ❞ ❝ sorry to put you through that. i guess i owe you one now. ❞ ❝ to tell you the truth, i’m feeling a little frustrated, and right now i just need someone to vent to. ❞ ❝ what’s with you? leave me alone if you don’t want anything. ❞ ❝ hearing that is such a...huge weight off my mind. ❞ ❝ though your journey will put you in harms way, you must endure. ❞ ❝ i'm just deadweight. what kinda use is that to anyone... ❞ ❝ seriously, what is that thing over there?! ❞ ❝ before i say another word, i feel like i owe you an apology. ❞ ❝ during your long journey, you’ve grown so much. ❞ ❝ from the moment i laid my eyes on you, i could tell you had a gentle and generous heart. ❞ ❝ oh dear...i don’t know what’s come over me all of a sudden... ❞ ❝ you don’t appear to have any serious injuries. for that much we can be grateful. ❞ ❝ i can see into those dopey eyes of yours. ❞ ❝ i can finally smile and laugh again! thank you ever so much. ❞ ❝ i think i might of broke something. ❞ ❝ is that it? i thought it was going to put up more of a fight. ❞ ❝ i thought we were goners this time. sort of glad i was wrong about that. ❞ ❝ what? i don’t seem like my usual self? ❞ ❝ this place needs a name. a name fitting for this rugged, adventurous wilderness. ❞ ❝ what were you thinking? you scared a year off my life! ❞ ❝ care to explain just what you meant by ‘our special moment alone’? ❞ ❝ my advice? work hard and wish with all your heart. ❞ ❝ say, you look all flustered. ❞ ❝ i fear we can’t dwell on our success. ❞ ❝ the world is bursting with undiscovered surprises, isn’t it? ❞ ❝ you're not exactly mr/mrs.perfect either, are you? ❞ ❝ this is easily as scary as i thought it would be. ❞ ❝ i swear this neighborhood’s getting crummier every day. ❞ ❝ you ain’t as dumb as you look. ❞ ❝ i was going to ask if you wanted me to take care of you forever... ❞ ❝ i need to learn how to keep these delirious dreams in check. ❞ ❝ maybe you should forget about everything that happened here tonight. ❞ ❝ can you imagine a more gruesome fate? ❞ ❝ there are more monsters about than before, so be careful. ❞ ❝ human desire is an insatiable, fearsome thing. ❞ ❝ i sense an evil presence on the other side of this door. ❞ ❝ you understand, don’t you? i’m not wrong about this, am i? ❞ ❝ i never wanted to lay eyes on you again. ❞ ❝ i would have gotten discouraged if you hadn’t come by to cheer me on. you gave me motivation. ❞ ❝ who do you think you are, getting involved in my business like that? ❞ ❝ i just wish there was more i could do for you... ❞ ❝ i don’t even understand how you could make such a wild accusation! ❞ ❝ it was at that moment i finally realized. i realized that...i love you. ❞ ❝ make sure you come home every now and then. nothing like a good sleep in your own bed. ❞ ❝ you’d better not keep me waiting. ❞ ❝ make sure you put your heart into it! i won’t stand for anything but your best. ❞ ❝ how could you be swayed by the temptation of material gain?     do you have no honor? ❞ ❝ you really want to hear about all my troubles? that’s kind of you. ❞ ❝ you...weren’t supposed to see that whole spectacle. how embarrassing... ❞ ❝ you have only succeeded in buying us a little more time. ❞ ❝ watch it! that’s no way to talk to someone who just saved your life! ❞ ❝ you look like you need to get something off your chest. ❞ ❝ know that all the questions you have now will be answered in time. ❞ ❝ there is nothing natural about these tremors. ❞ ❝ you might just be the person i need! you seem pretty good with the ladies. ❞ ❝ it’s great to hear you’re so confident in me. ❞ ❝ ideal love is unfettered and passionate. anything less than that can’t really be called love at all. ❞ ❝ you're incessant buzzing around my head like some irksome gadfly when i’m this busy is...making me very disagreeable. ❞ ❝ you may not have noticed, but i’m trying to hide here.     could you please scoot along? ❞ ❝ you'd better keep your eyes to yourself, if you know what i mean. ❞ ❝ have you come to laugh at me in my miserable state? ❞ ❝ you...you came to see me! i’m so happy. ❞ ❝ your job is simple! you make sure none of these monsters lays a claw on me. not...one...claw. ❞ ❝ now is not the time to be picky about who will help you. ❞ ❝ watch carefully while i demonstrate what a real hero looks like. ❞ ❝ you are something else! there is nothing you cannot do. ❞ ❝ if you think about how often we meet, you have to admit that our relationship has gone beyond friendship, you know? ❞ ❝ i’ll make the affair so excruciating, you’ll deafen yourself with the shrill sound of your own screams. ❞ ❝ i was right, then. there is something special about you. ❞ ❝ i should have reprimanded you the last time we met, but instead i was...soft. ❞ ❝ ha-ha! you didn’t see that coming, did you? ❞ ❝ you really are a snake in the grass. ❞ ❝ you are indeed worthy of being called a hero. ❞ ❝ i’m not used to getting stared at like this. it’s making me blush. ❞ ❝ i can’t hide anything from you, can i? ❞ ❝ the longer i train, the more i realize i’ll never measure up to you. ❞ ❝ whoa...you took out every last one of them. ❞ ❝ i know how bad this must look to you right now, but i assure you i mean no harm. ❞ ❝ it’s all very strange, but i doubt there’s much of a connection between these things. ❞ ❝ you're a weird one, climbing all the way up here. ❞ ❝ don’t cry --- it’s perfectly, mostly safe! ❞ ❝ you and i, we’re bound by that thread of fate. destined to fight. ❞ ❝ meet me in battle, and the thread of fate that binds us will be soaked crimson with your blood. ❞ ❝ i do not wish to dwell on what may have happened if you hadn’t been here. ❞ ❝ you have awakened a wrath that will burn for eons! ❞ ❝ you really like those fantasy stories, eh? ❞ ❝ there is one teensy, tiny thing i lack...namely, mercy. ❞ ❝ i must warn you, i won’t go easy on you this time. ❞ ❝ i might be willing to forgive and forget if you’ll strike a deal. ❞ ❝ since i know i can be honest with you, i’ll admit i got a little sulky. it was frowns all around. ❞ ❝ i see you’re still among the living. ❞ ❝ i saw them dragging you off unconscious, so i tailed them. ❞ ❝ i want you to visit me at my house tonight. ❞ ❝ you don’t have to say a word. i can see how you feel by the spark in your eye. ❞ ❝ you’ll see. i’ll be as tough as you in no time. ❞ ❝ it’s not like ‘oh, hey, that person’s back! i’m so happy!’ or anything like that... ❞ ❝ whoa...that’s some really terrible handwriting. ❞ ❝ i would very much like it if you would go out with me. ❞ ❝ truly? you choose me? ❞ ❝ i swear to you, whatever it takes, i will drag you into an eternity of torment. ❞ ❝ you and i, we’re bound by a thread of fate. ❞ ❝ i’ll watch over you, protecting you from afar. ❞ ❝ until then, we’ll keep our love secret. ❞ ❝ this news has just filled my heart with rainbows! ❞ ❝ this place seems strangely familiar... ❞ ❝ don’t you gotta take care of your own business first? ❞ ❝ they’re not going to do anything nice if they catch you. ❞ ❝ it’s not humane to tease someone this bored. ❞ ❝ i’m not some sideshow for you to gawk at. ❞ ❝ it’s weird to say out loud, but that’s just how i feel right now. ❞ ❝ you can’t break me with interrogation. you’ll never make me talk. ❞ ❝ word is there’s a huge treasure hidden in these here ruins... ❞ ❝ what? that’s not weird to say! ❞ ❝ ...i understand your true feelings. better than you know. ❞ ❝ all the fairytales that we heard growing up...they appear all too real. ❞ ❝ do i look sad? no, i’m doing what i want to do! ❞ ❝ i don’t know what came over me! i had no clue i had the talent to make something like this. ❞ ❝ you shouldn’t be out here in the open with no way to defend yourself. ❞ ❝ you do have the tendency to cause trouble for those you ‘help’. ❞ ❝ as far as i’m concerned, i got nothing but time. ❞ ❝ don’t you play coy with me. i know that you know, so why not let me in on the fun? ❞ ❝ so you really think a sob story like that is going to work on me? what a joke. ❞ ❝ i’d take pleasure in punishing you, but i have no time for recreation. ❞ ❝ sorry to leave you on your own, but you look like you can handle it. ❞ ❝ remember --- it’s a secret to everybody. ❞ ❝ it isn’t as action packed as what you’re doing, but maybe this is my destiny. ❞ ❝ don’t you just love the way it smells down here? ❞ ❝ defending the land...it’s my purpose, i think. it’s why i’m here. ❞ ❝ what do i know...you might just surprise me. ❞ ❝ fibber! you’re a fibbity fibber! ❞ ❝ you needn’t even say it. i can tell from the look of sheer astonishment on your face. ❞ ❝ you have had this destiny thrust upon you without warning...    or choice, for that matter. ❞ ❝ don’t do anything heroic and get yourself caught. ❞ ❝ ...you want to tell me but you can’t? ❞ ❝ you know, i really worry about you. it’s a weakness of mine. ❞ ❝ try not to get in the way of my shots, ok? ❞ ❝ i haven’t slept a wink in...ahhh...i don’t even know how long. ❞ ❝ i had my suspicions, but until now i wasn’t sure. ❞ ❝ you seem a good deal stronger than the last time we met. ❞ ❝ i would be remiss if i didn’t let you know of the weight on my heart. ❞ ❝ i have a reputation to protect, you know. ❞ ❝ listen closely. do you hear that? ❞

[drwcn]

I loved your fem lwj take on things. How would thibgs go if WWX was the lady? Other than ppl assuming she stood up for the Wens bcs she jad feelings for WN ( and that Yuan was hers)

Heyyy friend, I think I’ve seen a couple of girl!wwx fics floating around in ao3 so i certainly won’t be the first :P.

Also I completely misread your ask initially, I thought you were asking me what I think would happen if A-Yuan was WWX’s kid, and I was like oh?? But then I realize wait... I can make it worse.  

Today, I decided that my mortal soul doesn’t matter, so here we go. Let’s see how accursed I can make this idea: 

[1]

It started with Jiang Cheng. Jiang Wanyin had set out for the Burial Mount with the explicit goal of throttling speaking with Wei Wuxian, but what greeted him at the entrance of the “Demon Subduing Palace” — more of a cave than anything really — was not his martial sister, but Wen Ning. Well, what had once been Wen Ning.

Black veins ran across his pale, ashen face, down his equally ashen neck , and into the major veins beneath his clavicles covered by the collars of his black threadbare robes. Lifeless eyes, white as his skin, stared into a void the living could not see. There were talismans littering his body, and Jiang Cheng knew that when he spoke to this fierce corpse, he was not speaking to the young Wen boy, but to his mistress who controlled him with her demonic cultivation. 

Wei Wuxian refused to face him. Refused him explanation. Refused him closure.

“Er-jie!” Jiang Cheng screamed into the stony expressionless face of Wen Qionglin. “If you continue to protect them, then I can’t protect you!!” 

There was no response. 

Suddenly, just as Jiang Cheng was about to kick and fight his way into the cave, Wen Ning thrusted out his right fist, and in his grasp was a piece of purple silk. Jiang Cheng unfolded the silk, vaguely recognizing that it had been cut from someone’s robe, and saw what was wrapped within was a slip of parchment.

割袍断义*, the paper read. Tell the world that I, Wei Wuxian, first disciple of Yunmeng Jiang has forever defected (Note: 割袍断义- to rip one's robe as a sign of repudiating a sworn brotherhood (idiom)).

With this, there was nothing left to say. Hurt and furious, Jiang Wanyin threw the piece of parchment onto the dirt ground, grinded his heel down on it, and left the Burial Mount without ever having drawn Sandu. 

Inside the cave, Wen Qing held Wei Wuxian’s hand. “Why won’t you just tell him? He’s your brother; he can help you, you can —” 

Wei Wuxian’s mile long stare seemed to be gazing at something — someone — very far away. Slowly, she placed her other palm over her belly, which horrifically was already starting to round out. “Nobody can help me now, Qing-jie.”

“I can,” said Wen Qing, blunt as ever. “I can make it go away, if you want.”

“No.” A droplet of tear escaped pass long lashes. “No.” 

[2] 

It continued with Jiang Cheng.

On a snowy night, the first winter after Wei Wuxian escaped with the Wen remnants to the Burial Mount, Jiang Cheng was rudely awakened from his slumber by a less-than-stealthy intruder breaking and entering into his bed chamber.

Zidian whipped through the air, lighting the room with her eerie violet glow, before the intruder could think to take one more step. It was a man, judging from his silhouette colliding against the wall and the pained groan he made in response. The very next second, the tail of Zidian coiled tightly around his neck and dragged him across the floor towards beneath Jiang Cheng’s waiting foot. 

The Sect Master of Yunmeng Jiang summoned Sandu, ready to deliver the final strike, but just as his blade sailed towards the intruder’s chest, a pale arm jutted upwards, blocking Sandu’s descent and revealing a pale hand holding a … a... 

Even in the dark, Jiang Cheng immediately recognized the mahogany comb. 

“Jiang — ! Zongzhu —!” The man croaked out urgently, throat still stomped on by Jiang Cheng’s foot. It was - it was Wen Ning?!

Jiang Cheng looked him over. He was pale, yes, but his eyes appeared human. His hair was brushed and haphazardly done up in a farmer’s top knot. He was wearing farmer’s clothing too, probably more inconspicuous for travel than his Ghost General getup.  

“Jiang-zongzhu! P—please!!”

No, impossible. 

“Wei — Wei-guniang—”

Jiang Cheng lifted his foot and dragged Wen Ning up in a split second. “What’s wrong with Wei Wuxian?!”  Wen Ning coughed and shook his head desperately. “No time to explain. My sister asked me to fetch you. Please, you have to come! Wei-guniang’s life is in danger! If you won’t come, I’ll...I’ll have to go to Gusu, and I don’t know if - if -” 

Jiang Cheng followed Wen Ning. 

For speed, they travelled by sword, but even so, dawn was breaking by the time they arrived. The crowd of Burial Mount’s villagers huddling anxiously outside of the Demon Subduing Palace parted for them upon their arrival. Jiang Cheng took a moment to gather himself and square his shoulders. Whatever it was; he was ready.  

He was wrong. None of the dozens of scenario he had agonized over on the flight here could have prepared him for what awaited him inside. 

Wen Qing, pale and drenched in sweat, was near complete spiritual collapse, and without Wen Qing’s spiritual energy sustaining her, the single tenuous thread by which Wei Wuxian’s life hung on would have undoubtedly snapped under the toil and devastation her body had been put through. 

There was so much blood, so, so much blood everywhere, and amidst the blood, there was a baby. 

Fuck. 

Jiang Cheng transfused his sister half of his total spiritual reserve over the course of a day, while an exhausted but unrelenting Wen Qing worked diligently under blood-soaked sheets. 

Then at dusk, when the storm finally passed, Jiang Cheng sat at the mouth of the cave with a tiny, perfect little human — a girl, a niece! —  in his arms and cursed Lan Wangji’s name. 

Wen Qing was extremely clear with them: 孩子要是留在这里，养不活。

If the newborn was left to be raised at the Burial Mount, she would not live. And so, because parting was inevitable from the start, Wei Wuxian adamantly refused to hold or nurse the child. Her child. 

I can’t. If I do, I won’t be able to let her go. Those dark eyes burned with more than just the delirium of her childbed fever. For once, Jiang Cheng could not find it in himself to argue.

Thus, he took his niece home and named her Jiang Yan 江曕. The name was not his doing. His foolish, misguided, stubborn sister had stroked her daughter’s soft, baby cheek and whispered it to her as a farewell gift. 

Yan - to be bathed in daylight. In the end, when given a choice, Wei Wuxian still opted for her child to walk on broad sunny road. 

It made Jiang Cheng wonder why, then, she would choose the dark twisted path for herself instead. 

[3] 

It ended with Jiang Cheng. 

The truth was simple: Jiang Wanyin killed his shijie Wei Wuxian. He did. He meant to. 

He killed her. But that did not mean he wanted her dead. 

In one day, he had lost both of his sisters, leaving two orphans in their wake. Jiang Cheng could not ignore the cruel irony of their fate: one’s father murdered by his aunt, and other’s mother murdered by her uncle. 

This was the kind of tragedy fairytales were made of, and if there were anything left in him to shed tears over it, he would.  Standing amongst Nevernight’s carnage, he could not dredge up even a single drop of tear.  

Jiang Cheng didn’t know how he could return home to Lotus Pier to face that cherub face, always so happy, so sweet, so utterly untainted by the world. She had her mother’s smile. Yan'er was starting to learn how to speak. Her first words were da-da. 

Da-da. Die-die. Father. 

He was standing beside her father now. 

Lan Wangji. Devastated. Destroyed. …Deceived.

Jiang Cheng hated him so much, so fucking much that for one insane second, he thought about telling Lan Wangji the truth just to see what would happen. Maybe he would run Jiang Cheng through with his Bichen - that would be a relief now, wouldn’t it? - or maybe he would jump after Wei Wuxian. 

Truly, if he knew, he would. Jump, that is. Jiang Cheng was almost entirely sure. Oh the utter melodrama that would inspire indeed!  

But then... 

Wei Ying birthed you a daughter, a lovely, perfect, blessed little girl, and she carried that secret to her grave. I may be damned by my actions, but you, who have done nothing for her and taken everything, why should you deserve something as sacred as the truth?

Jiang Cheng turned away. 

He was acutely aware that one day Jiang Yan may very well be the literal death of him. After all — 杀母之仇不共戴天 — one cannot tolerate living under the same sky as the murderer of one’s mother. 

Be that as it may, he would raise Jiang Yan well, just as he promised. Unlike his sister, he would not break his word. Jiang Yan was of Lotus Pier, of Yunmeng, like her mother and grandfather before her. That for him, was enough. 

Jiang Cheng clutched Sandu and gripped Zidian. Whatever his fate, he already made peace with it, and the rest was inconsequential. 

One day, he may die, but today he lives, and so as long as he lives, Jiang Yan and all of Yunmeng Jiang will be protected . So as long as he lives, they will flourish. 

[...and in between]

On the streets of Yiling, Lan Wangji tilted his head inquisitively at Wei Wuxian and the little boy at her side and asked, “This child, he...” 

In response, Wei Wuxian patted her chest in a self-declarative kind of way and announced, “Oh this child, I birthed him!” 

He stared at her in shell-shocked silence, his mind racing with panicked thoughts of but that’s impossible — that was just once — even if — the boy is too old to be —

“怎么，蓝湛，不要我们娘儿俩了？” What, Lan Zhan, you don’t want the child and I?

“Wei— Wei Ying—” 

Then of course, she had laughed, and Lan Wangji thought no more of it. 

Just a joke. A silly joke. 

In time, he would come to realize his mistake. 

~~~

[A/N]: I’m not even a little bit sorry. 

[gaiuswrites]

King of Cups || Chapter 9

Chapter 9: The Hanged Man

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | eight

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: After some time apart, new conclusions are met.

Word count: 7.8k~

Rating: Explicit

Warnings/tags: SMUT, fingering, unprotected piv sex, emo emo emo (are we even surprised any more), mature themes, abandonment/family trauma, loss

Notes: Friends, wow. I'm honestly embarrassed by how long this took. Thank you for your patience. I hope you find the reward worth the wait. This chapter is nearly all in Din's POV until it switches and blends in the last chunk. If you’re new to KOC, you’re more than welcome to start at this chapter! Love you guys x (gif credit: @bestintheparsec)

“Din.”

Familiar fingers brush through his hair, a hand he knew once combing over his overgrown locks. He feels the drag of nails across his scalp, tucking a truant curl behind his ear, and the act feels like home— like hearth.

Somewhere beyond his open window a morning bird trills, perched in its roost nestled into the forked branch of the elm.

He breathes a sigh, the sound thick with sleep, and turns to his pillow, burying himself deeper into the linen.

“Din, honey.”

He blinks— lazily, molassesed— her shape clearing into focus.

Green eyes peer back at him, fine lines framing the corners of them, and crescents crease around her lips, pulled warm into a soft curve.

Small toys— wooden things, baubles and bits, dolls made from scraps of old fabric—litter the floor, spilling from the chest butted against the stone of the wall. A book, well-loved and dog-eared, rests on his nightstand—the one he insisted she read from each night, the story he couldn’t possibly fall asleep without hearing—the images written on the page, dancing in his small mind to the tune of her voice.

It’s all there now as it was then before.

“It’s time to wake up.”

She sits at the edge of the bed—his bed—the weight of her arm draped over his shoulder like a blanket— like shelter. Like never being fearful again. Like never dying. Like summer, forever.

“I am awake,” he murmurs, and it is with his own tongue that he speaks. Not that of a boy, but a man—unfiltered, unmodulated. Stripped of his helmet, he hardly recognizes the tenor of it, of its richness, but he feels the words reverberate against the hollow of his throat and he knows they belong to him.

Light casts through the window behind her—particles of dust, trapped in the tines. Floating there, suspended on strings.

She only smiles, and strokes a thumb across the sweep of his cheekbone, there in the room he last felt safe.

“No, not yet.”

It’s time to wake up. It’s time to wake up. Wake up wake up wake—

“Not yet.”

His eyes blur open with a flutter of his lashes, the lifeless durasteel ceiling coming into view—the jade of her gaze fading, fading. Blowing away.

He shifts a hand through his hair— through the long strands in dire need of trimming— lying on his bedroll, spine knobbing into the thin mattress. The cold metal overhead stares back at him.

His chest rises. Falls.

Din can still feel her, the warmth of her, there on his cheek.

///

There is no part of this that comes easy.

He knows what you’re thinking, he can see it in the guard you’ve encased yourself with— your glass walls, your glass house. Transparent but impenetrable, Din can only look. A spectator, watching as you go about your routines— a stranger on the outside.

And he sees how you look at him.

You think he’s fine.

You think he’s marble. Unbreakable. Impervious to time, to cold, and he does nothing to correct you; no, he allows the belief. He lets you believe the calloused veneer of his beskar— lets you assume he is more machine than man.

Din thought it would be simpler. Convenient. Din thought it would hurt less.

Because how can he tell you? How can he possibly communicate the imprint you’ve left on him— how his mind revolves around the imagery of that evening in vicious figure-eights. How he can’t unremember your heat curling around his fingers, how he can’t unbridle the pulse of his cock in your palm. How he can’t unspeak that which he called you, his virgin tongue flicking new and flighty around the word.

Cyare.

It tripped—in the midst of his pleasure, it sprang clumsy from him how the inevitable always seems to where you are concerned: transport to Coruscant, his past, his history, his identity— it just happens, reasonless, illogically. Some driving magic beckoning him to buckle, wishing him to give.

Your moans, your gasps, how you prayed his name— this is the white noise murmuring through the ship, harmonizing with the tinny mechanical beeps and settling groans of the bulkheads. You churn like smog through his helmet. Ever present, the memory of you is constant— invasive. It’s suffocating him.

He’s been dealt plenty of injuries and contusions— he has the scars enough to prove it— but it’s this. It’s this that’s killing him. It’s you.

All of these paintings, life-like and lurid, and yet it is this wound - untended, uncauterized - that scalds most: the moment Din, that beskar apparition, slipped away from you. You were there, hip under the weight of his glove, and he simply

went, like fog.

He watched your face crest and fall—felt your heart, skipping nervous like a stone over a morning pond, little waves rippling lightly, lightly out and out until it puttered quiet and

sank.

He abandoned you there. He left you before you had the opportunity to convince Din that you wouldn't do the same to him. Because Din has learned this, his suit of armor a trudging reminder of the inherent fact: good things leave.

You’ll be gone soon. You’ll leave him—he’s taking you home and you’ll leave him. His son will leave him.

He’ll be alone again. He’ll have the Crest, he’ll have the Guild—he’ll have the life he once cast in stone for himself, the life he’s worn as proudly as the Mudhorn emblem he boasts on his pauldron. But that was then - before - and he can never find his way back to that now; now that he knows what he knows—of breakfast and bitter caf and laughter like church bells and warmth and goodness and you.

There is no part of this that comes easy.

There in the galley, lamp-lit iridescence caressing your countenance, you asked him once if he was scared of anything and he told you he wasn’t sure— not yet.

Din lied.

As a rule, he doesn’t make a habit out of dishonesty; it doesn’t typically suit him, he is blunted to a fault— earning allies and enemies alike with the very attribute—but he lied to you then. Maybe his fears are the same as everyone else’s, maybe they’re simple. Human.

Maybe he’s scared that you’ll unchain him from his armor, of his shortcomings and tragic flaws and see the pulpy heart of him—that you’ll look and look and look, and you will like nothing that you find there. That he’s just a man.

And perhaps, he’d rather remain unknown than risk the chance of being unlovable.

For there is a certain hollow you befriend in the aftershock of loss—there is an aperture loss gores you with. There are some holes time can never fill; they remain trenched, dug from rusted trowels— left to fester, left to ill.

Sometimes, in the surly vacuum of space, in those dulled moments in which he has nothing but to count the seconds as they tick clocklessly away, Din attempts to conjure the last word his mother gave to him. He didn’t know it then—he didn’t know it was intended as a gift, boxed and ribboned and bowed. He didn’t realize—a child, wide-eyed with naivety, drenched in fright—that he should cherish it. Remember it. Keep it safe.

No matter how hard he tries, how hard he strains, he can’t recall it. He practices the nightmared memory of it, transports himself into that war zone, dodging shrapnel and brimstone just to catch sight of her face— and he can see her lips moving, can feel the fan of the flames as his world is reduced to cinders, but he cannot hear her.

Was it goodbye? Was it I love you? Was it be safe? Was it hide? Hide hide hide for me. Be good and hide, kind boy—

It dogs him. The nothinged mumble, his silent passenger.

There is no part of this that comes easy.

He heard you. There in Valentia, the city buzzing cacophonously like an orchestra tuning their instruments, he overheard the Twi’lek translate for the older woman.

Family, she said. You have a beautiful family.

Din has never in his life considered forsaking his Creed— forgoing the thing that saved him, made him, honed him to tungsten, sharp as a blade.

But he did then.

It was a flash, something fickle and brief— like the flicker of a candle before it diffused to smoke— but in that nanosecond he saw himself ripping off his helmet. He saw himself going to you, pulling you close to his plated chest. He saw the surprise wash over you—the shock that bubbled to elation. He saw you smile, that crippling gorgeous thing, with his own naked eyes and—

And then suddenly you were there before him, snapping Din from his reverie, blanket snug to your chest, the child — his child— slung beside you. He wished he had an explanation, but before he could process his actions his hand was drawing itself to your body, tugged by some unseen force—robbed of his autonomy— and rapturously, he touched you. He felt you.

His knuckles grazed your arm—your warmth, radiating past the aged leather of his glove—and the wisdom that woman uttered, the plain truth only the ancient could learn— only a mother could know— rattled around his mind, unanchored and barreling.

Yearn for the past. Reclaim time.

Hold onto them hold onto them hold on—

Never let them go.

Ready? he asked you, arm resigned to his side, feigning monotony beneath the cover of his visor.

You threaded an even smile to your lips, as if Din were none the wiser— as if he hadn’t catalogued every lick of your expressions, every curve and bow and wrinkle as your emotions sung across your face. As if he didn’t know when you were lying. As if he didn’t know when you were falling apart.

Ready, you replied, swallowing past the disappointment welled in your throat.

Both your hearts broke then. Perfectly—the same.

This is the Way.

///

Din is gone over a week. It’s the longest he’s ever been away for a hunt—it’s the longest nine days of your kriffing life.

The ship feels vacant without him; she’s cumbersome, too cavernous for the likes of only you and his foundling. Her durasteel sidings yawn morose against the wind beating restless against her—her metal stretching like a lothcat in a patch of sun. The doors and hatches complain ajar and gripe shut, as if she’s recalcitrant to go about her standard operating procedures without Din’s presence. The old gal misses him, down to her steely bones and dual ion turbines, and in truth — and despite yourself— you suppose a small part of you feels the same, shares an inkling of that same loneliness.

The rituals and dog-eared routines you’d drawn comfort from are now rinsed in a forlorn wash.

The single bowl of food you prepare looks wrong without its twin beside it.

You scroll a finger over your display screen, flicking through various articles, the faint light from the holopad basking the contours of your face in a lonesome shade of inanimate blue.

Anything good you hear him ask, there in your inner ear— the memory of his voice leaving a nick among the many wrinkles of your brain.

You sigh, quietly— alone. Never.

Even Munch misses him, although he expresses it differently. He’s been a downright terror with Din gone. At first it was a vacation, a luxury retreat; you and the child gorged yourself on crackers and grava berries and dried bantha meat—mindful of sweeping up the crumbs on whichever surface you snacked. You giggled and ran amok and shared secrets in code only the two of you could decipher.

But one day grew to two, and two to three and three to four and by the fifth you were out of treats and your patience too had dwindled to short supply.

The child is special— unquestionably unique. And as much as you adore him, would lay down your life for him if it came to it, Maker he is uniquely qualified to send you round the bend twice over. He’s baffling, infuriating— just like his father. Of all the things he could have inherited from the man, of course he decided to latch on to his vexing penchant for mystery.

You lost him for half a day. He was somewhere aboard the Crest, of that you knew that for certain, but he managed to enact a stunt that could’ve puzzled even the most illustrious of illusionists with how quickly and effectively he vanished, seemingly out of thin air.

He emerged eventually for dinner, babbling wickedly. There was that, at least: you could always count on Munch to — well, munch.

Over a week of this— nine days, sixteen hours, and twenty-two minutes, to be exact… But who’s counting.

The sky glitches with lightning, sparking like a bulb in dreadful need of changing, and veins of violet skitter along the horizon, chased by the clapping hammer of thunder. Fat drops of rain trace down the transparisteel, the metalled drum of their pattering against the Crest lullabying your eyelids to a slumbered close. You drift, weightless, waxing and waning in and out of a reoccurring dream that always blurs to mere suggestion - to shadow - as soon as you wake.

The harsh sound stirs you—the ramp’s gears springing to life, signaling the Mandalorian’s return. Rapidly, you blink clear the slog of sleep from your eye, re-emerging from the forgotten depths of your subconscious and half-roused, you bound from the copilot’s chair. You rally from your stupor, instinct urging you to meet the bounty hunter by the entrance—some tittering, foolish part of you still so glad and girlish just to see him.

Hobbling down the ladder with veteraned coordination - one leg one arm one foot one hand - you hop the last two rungs to land catlike on the balls of your feet, heading towards the stern of the ship and—

You don’t make it three steps.

He’s there. Din is there— nine days later and finally, like a hallucination, he’s here— ominous and backlit by the glow seeping in from the galley. An obelisk, undaunted.

Your gut somersaults, flipping until it dizzies.

Knee-jerked and reflexive, the basest part of you demands you go to him, to cross the threshold separating you— the time and space and uncertainty dredged like a moat between you two. But instead of greeting him as you wish— two arms thrown around him, welcoming him home—back to the Crest, to the child, to you—you stand there, dumbstruck and wanting.

The passage of the corridor is like a strait. It's so narrow you can smell him— his carbon musk, his petrichored sweat—and it furls thick into your sinuses, fogging up your vision, clotting the faulty wiring of your mind. He’s brought the wet in with him, drip dropping from his hulking frame to splat puddled onto the deck.

plop

plop

plop

A beat ferments, hanging ripe from its branch as the tempest rages outside the sheltered hull of the ship. Distantly, thunder booms from above.

“Din— hi.”

“You’re up.” He doesn’t move from the archway. Stiffened, composed from granite, the man hardly breathes. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” you offer hastily—untruthfully.

Din scans you: your obviously tousled hair, the drowsy flush kissing your jaw, the tell-tale crinkle of your tunic. Your tongue darts out to skip over your lip and his lungs pull, aching beneath his ribs.

Maker, you’re pretty even when you lie.

“Go back to sleep,” he assures, but you hardly register it; it’s scarcely above a murmur by the time the words hum through his modulator.

“Can I make you some food? Can I—"

There’s a tarred shake of his helm, tiredly dissuading you. “No, you—you’ve done enough.”

“But you must be exhausted, Din. Let me help you,” you urge, sincerity shaping the lilt of your voice. “Please, I—” You falter. Vision finally adjusted in the dimmed hall, it is then that you spot it.

Your mouth runs dry.

He’s dappled in a violent scarlet, foreign red splatters contrasted against all that silvered grey, bleeding with the rainwater to roll sanguined down the rounded edges of his armor.

Blood. He’s covered in blood.

Something pitted—something vital— in you contracts; horror, prickling the fine hairs along your forearm. “Maker, what happened?”

Eyes gaping fearful, you skitter around his breastplate, his vambraces, the paneling of his flight suit, roving meticulously in search for the source of his injury. Thoughtless, consumed with only one concern - is he hurt? - your hand flies to his chest where it rests—solid. Fretting. “Stars, are you—”

He can see it—he can see you, always—how your gaze swells, laced with a surge of adrenaline, of care, and Din lays his broad palm flat over your knuckles, grabbing your frantic attention. “It’s not mine—hey, it’s not mine.”

Your shoulders deflate, relief visibly relaxing the rigidity in your spine, and for the first time in what feels like minutes you release the breath you’d fostered high behind your teeth.

He doesn’t know what overtakes him. Perhaps it’s your sleep swollen lips or the soft petal of your cheek— taunting Din, daring him to feel you again, as he did before— or perhaps it’s the all too apparent fact that you simply give a shit about him— despite everything he’s done, all of that which he has left unsaid. That you worry. That you care.

Puppeted, arm hoisted by some invisible strings of fate—those unseen threads of inevitability—he reaches for you. Din’s thumb roams the slope of your cheekbone, the buttered hide of his glove gliding over your skin. Something rattles flustered in your chest, and you must look pathetic— how your eyes bat at him and your mouth parts, breathy and demure.

“Dala.” He sounds pained when he says it, as if it’s poisoning him; the very syllables like hemlock dripping down his tongue—slowly gradually, ending his life— this life.

This life as he knows it.

You nuzzle into the cradle of his palm, encircling a hand around his wrist, urging him still. You both know he could break away from you without an ounce of strength squandered, but he doesn’t; he listens, he quiets for you. Enchanted, neither of you dare move— neither of you, willing to shatter the profound spell of intimacy you’ve stumbled onto.

He holds you like this, and you hold him to you. His hand on your cheek; yours over the birdcaged throb of his heart— burning - devouring - its entombed aril like the heart of a dying star.

“Where’d you go?” you whisper, heathered, into the heel of his hand. There is something broken in your cadence, like the chipped rim of a fragile cup, and it punctures him just there beneath his sternum.

Where’d you go?

Where’d you go before? When you left— where did you spirit away to?

Why didn’t you take me with you?

A sick wave rots his stomach. He couldn’t answer you then, not when you were wobbly and coltish beneath him—Din can barely answer you now. His digits twine into your hair, cupping the arc of your neck. The gesture is not unkind. It is delicate— urgent, too—and the following hush you share speaks tomes for the both of you, the sob of his leathered fist admitting what he cannot utter.

I couldn’t. I couldn’t.

Maker, if you could see him. See how his face folds for you, grief lined into the shallow grooves that mark him. The cycles of it— how they bend him into something contorted. Something in need - I need you I need you I need - something ugly, he thinks. Leftover. Hidden. Hide hide hide hi—

You turn, pressing a kiss into the rough of his palm. It’s a soft thing— trepid and cautious—too worried you might frighten him away to offer anything more than a chaste brush of your lips—too worried you’ll send him scurrying back into the cratered unknown he crawled out from.

But he doesn’t.

Din doesn’t turn tail and run, he stands firm—weaving his hand further into your scalp, guiding you closer to him with a throaty sound. The forehead of his helm sinks to yours, and through its filter you discern the tremor of Din’s breathing, made fuzzy by the tinny modulator.

This is nothing like before. Din was hot blooded and vicious then, possessed by the infernal likes of some great beast, but he has since been tamed, if only momentarily—coaxed into a certain meekness by the frail ache of his heart—by the grace of your kind mouth, kissing his gun-worn glove.

He groans your name, mumbled and brassy. The two of you so close, so merged, that if it weren’t for his helmet, you’d feel the tickle of the syllables as they sweep over your face. Din repeats himself, repentant—praying for forgiveness on the cross of your name—your kiss, a benediction.

Again, he calls you. I’m sorry.

Again, you kiss him. There is nothing to forgive.

Again. Again.

With a flutter of bravado, you sling a lumbered arm over the span of his neck, notching yourself into his chest, an interlocking piece finding it’s match. Din’s forearm comes to coil around your waist, wide hand spanning the small of your back, and if possible, gathers you nearer— a growl emanating somewhere from under his beskar.

“Tell me to stop,” he breathes, bullet riddled—grating—warring with the countless shards of himself he has yet to reconcile; but his body betrays his intentions as Din’s grasp finds itself lower, filling his fingers with the plush of your ass. “Tell me, please.”

Arousal rushes to pool in your depths—at the proximity of him, the hungered way at which he paws you—and it’s a reaction you feel mimicked by the iron rod straining against Din’s flight suit, pressing into your thigh. You shake your head, gaze colored earnest, and you shift, applying a grind of your hips against him in response.

Din lets out a defeated groan; weak to you, a fabled Mandalorian warrior brought to trembling knees by the guile of a good woman. And suddenly, like striking a match in a room swarmed with gas, you are incendiary.

He’s everywhere— groping and kneading your arms, your ass, your neck and waist. You are malleable beneath him, sculpted like wet clay under his eager touch—as if he is committing your form to memory; the fervor of his grip, reclaiming time.

He hooks a hand under the crease of your knee, yanking you to the column of his armor, sealing your bodies together. Gyrating your hips against him, your clit yearns against his thick outline as you dig into the cowl draped over his shoulders.

Sliding his hand down your backside, he presses his palm into your clothed heat from behind, pads of his fingers insistent as you saddle your spine into his touch, granting him better access. His cock brays, straining beneath his many layers, and a withered moan breaches past your lips.

“Gods, Din.”

Din. He can’t stand that—his name, lush in your wet mouth—and without ceremony, drops your leg from where he’d glued it to his hip. Like a beggar, impoverished and need-stricken, he begins to fight with your clothing, half tempted to rip the damn things off you, leaving you tattered; he’d happily buy you a new wardrobe if it meant having you as he’s wanted for these long months—naked and vulnerable and his.

Your tunic and pants come off in a flurry, your underwear too, discarded hastily in some forgotten corner—and with a hand on your chest, he walks you backwards until your bare ass connects with the durasteel, a jagged inhale tearing through you at the chill. A question knits your brows to meet as Din paces away from you, increasing his distance.

“What are you-”

He interrupts you with a groan. “Just - gedet’ye - just let me—”

His gaze drips like wax down your body—eyes dressing over your clavicle, the supple weight of your breasts, the gorgeous dusting of hair at your mound, the sweet press of your thighs as you clench them together, your pretty knees, your pretty ankles, your pretty feet, pigeoned inward nervously.

Pretty pretty pretty—fuck, all of you. So fucking pretty.

With the cock of his chin, his gaze returns to the heave of your breasts—tracing over your nipples pebbling in the everpresent draft of the Razor Crest— and you rile under him, heart stammering loud—so loud you’re convinced he can hear it with the aid of his helm. And Maker above, the way you’re fucking staring at him—all hooded lids and flushed cheeks. Din wants to fucking ravish you.

Dismantle you.

Pick you apart bit by bit until you’ve come undone completely.

And as if slogging through gravity itself, movements prowled, he steps to you. Din finds your hips, running the whisper of his gloves along the slopes of your sides; a master of patience, commanding time to his will, he crawls up your skin

slow

slow

deliberate.

You’re all but helpless to the shiver that traverses the planes of your body, zipping along your synapses like the fault lines of a quaking planet—cracking you open, exposing your molten core. You’re not proud of the noise you make when he cups your breasts. Starved, you whine as he takes you into his hands, pinching and groping until you’re pert and sore and you drive your pelvis into him, rutting yourself against his frame like some flea ridden slum-mutt in the prime of her heat.

Din seethes, mumbling in Mando’a—spitting curses you can’t pretend to comprehend, but that blot warmth along your cheekbones at the oaky depravity of which he utters them.

He seals over your mound, blood pumping at your seam, bundle of nerves pulsing steady against the heel of his hand. Immobile, he waits, hovering stagnant and teasing before his lust to feel you outweighs his desire to make you be good and wait—and parting through your curls, he kisses the tips of his orange gloves into your honeyed cunt.

It’s dirty. He’s dirty, he’s fucking filthy—covered in foreign blood and alien soil—and you feel depraved, unclean. Powerful. You feel, perhaps, as the Maker intended—wild and without shame, to roam his gateless garden and sully the soles of your feet.

You feel raw. Din Djarin sands you raw.

The pump of his wrist is merciless, pistoning in and out in shallow thrusts, knuckles angled to prod at that spot— that piece of primordial heaven sequestered at the channel of your cunt—and he keeps discovering it over and over again with a sharp shooter’s precision—zeroing in on his mark and releasing the trigger. Dead eyed.

You grab greedily at his bulge, at his cock begging for regard beneath the protective fabric covering him, and you squeeze the best you can. The angle is awkward and unweildy and it’s not nearly enough for either of you, but it conveys your intention well enough.

Can I have this? Will you give this to me?

Din growls his reply, leaving your pussy to fumble with the waist of his trousers, fidgeting over the pesky buttons—the final of the flimsy holdouts separating you and the tempered steel hanging solid between his legs. It bobs free from his pants, ruddied tip straining and pining for you, and without spending another moment idle, he rediscovers the warmth of your naked body— molding himself to your form, his grip once more finding the pit of your knee and bracing it to his side.

He ruts the underside of his shaft through your slick folds, his blunt head nudging at the swollen cleft of your center—each pitch of Din’s hips sending bolts of pleasure crackling through your core. He’s stifling a string of moans while he does it, while he undulates against you, the sighs and gasps digitized to near silence as he coats his cock in your gloss—and not for the first time do you find yourself considering how fucking colossal Din is. How fucking virile and engulfing, like blaster smoke and tabacco and cedar. Like coaled smog from a cremulator. Like giving life, like taking it away— like mercy. Vengeance.

Din swipes your standing leg up to match the other in a fluid motion, effectively levitating you off the ground with only his palms secured beneath your hamstrings and your strangled hold around his neck to suspend you.

“Tell me to stop and I will.” He’s practically begging you now, anguish wrecking through the timber of his voice—grasping blindly for an excuse not to lose himself in you completely, not to bury his primal drives and fears into the chasm of your sex.

You’ll leave him you’ll leave him he’s terrified you’ll leave him

“I-I don’t want you to stop— I want this. Din, I want you, I missed you. I miss you.” You miss him. He’s right here, cock streaking through your middle and still, you miss him. You’ll never stop missing him—wanting him. An unscratchable itch at the median of your back, burning for his affection, for his touch.

He releases a husked sound at that, as if hearing it from you hurts— your words, purpling a bruise into the bloody beat of his heart—and like a dipping sun sinking below the crust of a darkening planet, the last of Din’s resolve fades to utter black as he finally - finally - buries himself into where you weep for him.

Oh Maker. Fuck, fuck—

You muffle a relieved cry, forehead collapsing to the slope of his shoulder. Your walls shutter, blinking and gasping around his cock as he rolls up into you, lips pulling taut around his girth with each drag through your cunt. Din fucks you slurred and languid—his pace, sweltering like a summer fever—heavy, punitive. Smothering and thick. You can feel every vein, every silken ridge, as he notches himself inch by inch— the cant of his hips meditated, aiming to melt you open with each wave.

Stuffed to the hilt inside you, he rakes in a ragged breath, calming the race of his bloodstream drumming percussive in his ears.

It occurs to you then that he might be trying to be careful with you, curled around him like this, crushed up against the bulkhead. You think he might be treating you as a jeweler would handle a rarified gem— gentle and tip-toed, afraid of letting you clatter to the counter, of scuffing your facets— devaluing you.

But you don’t want that. You don’t want cautious or considerate or any of those awfully pious things. You want to be owned. Devoured. You don’t want to feel anything else but him. You want him to need you so terribly, so primally, he bleeds. You want to forget your own damn name and replace the memory of it with his—just his, to sit besot like liquor on your tongue. Din Din Din.

“Fuck me— please - please - fuck me harder Din.” Fuck me like you need to. Fuck me like you want me— please just tell me you want me. Tell me I’m wanted. Tell me I’m worth this.

You can see the deliberation span over his mask, the light glinting off the steel there hesitant, wary. Are you sure?

“Fuck me.” I want this. I want you.

He wants to give this to you somewhere soft— somewhere you deserve. With a feathered mattress and molted down pillows and gauzy curtains billowing in a sea breeze as light dapples prismed patterns on your dewy skin. He wants to give this to you somewhere beautiful—perhaps on that planet you once probed him about - Adega - with its red trees and warm nights and friendly natives you’d cherish and keep aloft in your breast.

He wants you to feel safe. Adored.

But what he wants and what he needs are two vastly different things—two opposing extremes at odds with the other. Because he needs to fuck you here— it has to be here. Needs to score your backside with metaled bites from the Crest’s unforgiving interior; needs you crumpled and sloppy, panting out his name to echo shamelessly into the deviled bowels of his gunship.

He needs you charred for him. Scorched earth.

And with your panted pleas, lilting addictive and irresistible, he is all but helpless to deny you— to deny himself. Relenting, resolved, his voice bottoms out.

“I-I’m gonna fucking ruin you.”

He fucks you frenzied. The snap of his hips drives you into the wall; he lifts you off his cock just to spear you on it once more, fucking up up up into you, unleashing all his strength— his neglected need—into the grail of your womb. The salted slaps of skin are loud enough to make a lecher blush. It’s a chorus of beskar rattling, wet and ugly and Maker, he’s splitting you open and all you can do is mewl.

You screw your eyes shut, lost to oblivion—crown of your head shoved back, jugular bared for him like prey before the slaughter.

“No.” Leveraging his mass against you, Din clasps at the nape of your neck to command your focus, forcing your chin. “No, look at me,” he orders, brutal and sinewed and there’s desperation there. Din needs you looking at him — seeing him— the embrace of your gaze like a life raft, tethering him here, grounding him to this plane of existence, the one where he has found salvation—if only fleeting, if only like hourglassed sand sifting through his fingers—within the temple of your body. Struggling and led-lidded, you pry your lashes apart, shivering as you drink in the punishing expression leering across his visor; and as you always do, you peer past the murky T there, meeting his eyes camouflaged in their sockets behind it.

“There you are. There you are, my pretty thing - hnng—” He silences himself with a hoarse moan, the sensation of you clenching firm around him, gripping Din like a man would a rope, dangling some feet above the ground, hiccuping him to stutter. “T-That’s it, dala—fuck, y-your pussy is so godsdamn tight.”

You go boneless at the praise—at how he tongues out those fond epithets, vehement and covetous and brined in sincerity—and your breathing quickens as you soak the coarse weave of Din’s flight suit, chafing your clit to shambles with each bow of his starved sex.

You’re close. Stars, you’re so kriffing close—reach out and touch it and you’re there, a promise fulfilled dancing at your fingertips—and you almost tell him; you wish you could - don’t stop don’t stop please right there Din - but you’ve lost your voice, vocal chords stricken with tension. More than that, you’ve lost the wedge of your brain that recognizes articulation all together. Speech itself. You’re wasted. You’re shattered. You’re being fucked within an inch of your sorry life.

Nimbled, without a word of warning, Din relocates— grappling under the plats of your thighs and bracing you featherlight to his chest—negligible in comparison to the ton of armor he dons cycle after cycle, weightless when compared to that of his Creed, hanging like a yoke around his gullet. You yip in surprise and scramble around him, calves digging into his back, forearms clamped around his shoulders—his cock remaining delved within your pussy with each footfall.

Four long strides and he’s reached his destination: a large crate, stranded just outside the hallway leading to the galley. Stooping at the waist, he lowers you down with astonishing ease until you’re flush on your back, knees flanking his frame. You heave a sigh, petulant and wanting, when he slips from you mid-adjustment, a lewd squelch accompanying the movement. It is to the fervor of your clawing, desperate nails scratching down metal - please please please - that he glides back into you with one deft sweep, a satisfied gasp tumbling loose from him.

He looms over you now— Din, a tower unyielding—thrusting into you rough and hard and perfect. He’s filling you in undiscovered places long gone unrealized, nooks you didn’t know you had—the length of him completing you, making you whole.

“Tell me to stop,” he pants, orange pads of his gloves dimpling your hips.

With a tremor of your chin, you moan—broken and chirping. “Don’t - please - please don’t - shit - don't stop—” Your prayers convulse, dying in your throat, sentence cut short as he circles his thumb over your clit, catching at your slippery bud. Ever the marksman, he’s debilitatingly attentive to you, the hide of his glove snagging against your cleft, and combined with the steady rock of his dick shredding you open, you’re all but defenseless to the dawning of your release, crawling closer and closer and—

“Din,” you pant, ”Din Din Din, I think I—I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna, oh Maker—”

The muscles in your stomach seize, a twisted expression cramping your brow. You scamper to his arms, reaching out for something - anything - a parcel of real estate to clutch onto while you unravel. You’re grappling with his pauldrons, the pulsepoint at your wrist humming over the symbol welded to his shoulder, and you mage into starlight. You’re fizzing. You’re blind. You’re atomic and phasing in and out of realities and you burn— a meteor hurtling through the upper atmosphere crashing crashing crashing and—

Language exhausted, all there is left for you to do is cry, the evidence of your orgasm ricocheting like a hail of gunfire against the Razor Crest walls.

“That’s a good girl, that’s a good girl for me—f-fuck." It’s like taking a jab to his solar plexus, how you cinch around him— the corset of your walls milking his cock until he’s shaking, stumbling. The drive of his pelvis has gone erratic, the throbbing bloom gnashing its teeth in his gut—that rabid thing desperate to be released, uncaged—teeters on the identical ledge you’d just leapt from.

“Tell me to stop - please - tell me to, tell me to stop—” You’re all eyes. Your whole face, swallowed by the sweet, glassy orbs notched below the quiver of your forehead, and you’re looking at him like he could hang the damn moon and it’s too much— it’s too much too much he can’t levee this raging need— and with a hurried gasp he pulls out of your heat to tug at his slicked cock— panting ragged as he gushes onto your stomach, your legs, your pretty pussy made pink and puffy with abuse.

His breathing is labored; you can see it in the mountainous rise and fall of his chest plate as his strokes slow, his other hand digging into your flesh, indenting you. He exhales, scraping clean the fissure between his lungs, and Din tips his head, angling it backwards— granting you a rare sliver of the stubbled swath along his neck. The sightly patch, treasured behind his silvered grotto, shouldn’t be the thing that plays upon your heartstrings like one would pluck a harp— not after he’s burrowed himself inside you, not after he’s carved you to his likeness— but it does. You’re butterflied and cherry blossomed and you grin— not so much on your lips but in your soul, and there is a purring warmth that’s radiating like candle flame from the anima alive beneath your breasts and—

And then, suddenly — like time, like memory— he is gone.

He leaves you. Mirrored, he does as he did that night—laying a squeeze into the meat of your hip, he transpires to atoms, dissipating round the unknown bend of a corner and you’re alone again—alone, with only the citric bile steeping in your insides to accompany you, threatening to rise up your windpipe.

No. No no nonono—

Din’s presence, a beacon in the moonless night, disappears— leaving you orphaned and moored and mortified. He’s done it again— he’s left you, he keeps leaving you— and it renders you sick; viscerally, you’re angered and ill and green-washed with naivety.

Fool you once, shame on them. Fool you twice, and what in Maker’s name did you expect? A declaration? An about-face? As if a Mandalorian could let the beskar from his blood. As if Din could reanimate the cadaver of his past—could slip into that old snakeskin he’d shed cycles before.

It paralyzes you. Immobile, you are chambered flat on your back in the resin of your embarrassment, bereft of your vision as you stare sightless into the steel. You’ve separated—your mind and your body disjointed like oil and water, and you don’t hear it. You don’t hear the tread of Din’s feet, you don’t register his aura, Illuminous in the archway; you don’t see the stray towel fisted in his grip, you don’t feel the clench of a frozen hand around your heart as he does his. For he sees you there—a tick in your jaw; eyes distanced, fogged—and he knows he’s done this to you. The scarring of how he derelicted you then tarnishing the new-leaf flesh of the present.

He steps towards you, closer now, and your alerted gaze pins to him. A surprised expression makes a home there, astoundment freckling your face— and although he hasn’t earned the right, it strikes him bullseyed between his plated ribs because it hurts— the obvious shock of him returning for you hurts. Din is not a good man— not all of him. Sometimes, you and all your heaven-lit gleam, you make him forget that.

But sometimes, you make him remember.

And Maker, if you don’t look good like this. Streaked with his seed, creamy white pearling the maps of your body, the shine of it catching in the cannistered shafts of filtered light.

There’s a word for this—for you, for how you look, splayed and painted with his cum—with him. It puffs up like petals would, there in the square of his center. He’s never said it. His mouth doesn’t know the feel of it, his lips don’t know its shape. It’s scribed in Mando’a, and as native as the language is to him—as fundamental as Basic, if not more so—the word itself is foreign. Gawky. The thought of it alone hobbles through his mind on foaled legs. Din keeps this word barred, its essence clinging to the iron partitions of his skull, its perfume clouding his senses, his better judgement, his confounded rationality dangling precarious by a string.

Beautiful. Mesh’la.

You shift under his watchful eye, knees steepling mousy, and gingerly, he prizes the two apart and you let him.

You let him you let him of course you let him.

Din runs a damp cloth up your seam, up those hypersensitive folds, towards the expanse of flesh leading to your belly, and you hiss—a startled chill icing through your body.

“It’s cold,” he informs you, well after the fact, and you chortle a note in response. He continues to lave you clean, the drag of the material smoothing over your stippled planes and it’s intimate—how he takes you under his care, how he unmakes his mess.

Your heart, silly flustered thing it is, it tells you the act feels worshipful—reverent, maybe—but your head convinces you to look away, to cower, to do anything but address the blaze left in the wake of the rag he’s swiping over you. It’s too much. You feel vase-like— fragile and dainty, for the bounty hunter to either fill with wildflowers or crush under the heel of his boot— and it’s too unbearable. Bringing a hand to your sweat-sheened face, you shadow your eyes, ostriching shyly— if I can’t see him, he can’t see me.

A clipped tone escapes his helmet and it’s a sound you can’t place— it’s short, a blip—and you presume he’ll remain mum until he speaks. “You don’t have to hide from me.”

You don’t have to hide from me. I don’t want you to hide from me.

You nearly whimper at that. There’s something endearing and bronzed about how he says it, something torn, too—and you peak through the curtain of your fingers to watch him perform his ministrations. Almost begrudginly, you remove your hand from it’s shelf, resting it on the swell of your breast while he passes the cloth along your inner thighs, erasing the sticky traces of himself. There’s a quiet pause, a moment of distilled nothing before—

“I didn’t think you were coming back,” you admit, small.

He soothes his thumb into the crook of your hip, voice blunt with guilt. “I know.”

Sighing, you nod a little thing, a half-gesture, practically creeping under the Mandalorian's radar undetectable. Thunder shouts, lightning cracks— the bombastic storm outside apathetic to the lull within. Din clears his throat, rasping. “Was that okay?”

You resist the temptation to snort. Din is such a juxtaposition—one you don’t imagine you’ll tire from any time soon. He’s dangerous and protective and clever and strong and kind, despite his best efforts to snuff his compassion to ash like the butt of a dead cigarette. Lifting your palm from its perch, you extend to him, measuredly sliding your fingers against the crate— stretching stretching until he meets you, dubious and toddling like a child’s first steps, orange-dipped digits touching nude flesh. Your everbright grin brightens all the more— bewitching, back-breaking—as you entwine your hands to mesh.

“More than okay,” you say coyly. “Was that-was that good for you?”

Din huffs out an airy chuckle rich with disbelief, like he can’t fathom you’re even asking him—like you’d even have to ask at all. “That was—that was good. Very good,” he confesses gruffly, never a man for poetry, breathlessness still apparent in the bleed of his vocoder. “Even better than I imagined.”

A feline grin unfurls your lips, boldly quirking the droll corners of your mouth. “You imagine this often, Mando?”

Smirking wry and devastating, Din ushers you up by your woven hands, your body pliable and easy to his will; uprighted, his hips slot between your pretty knees, and he expertly twists your arm behind your back, snaring it there. Spine swooped, breasts brushing against his beskar, your nipples pebble cold. “Don’t let it go to your head, dala,” he gravels, visor tilted down at your dwarfed form, tenting you.

“Well," you tease lightly, "I’ll try my best.”

And you look at each other with all the tender awkwardness of two people standing on the edge of a brave new unknown.

Nervous, girlish, you smile.

Fluttering, pussy-drunk, he smiles back.

///

Nested in the pronged branch of a tall tree spindling up from the graveled soil, Din— a man, a boy too— reclines supine against the bark. His feet dangle like they did then, back when he wasn’t so afraid, and the air is dusted with a rosy haze as dusk settles upon the tired day.

The sun sets. The world twinkles a midnight blue, winking starshine as she spins.

Somewhere, behind him, his mother calls him home for supper.

/

tags: @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @pedros-mustache @miranhas-art @djarrex @djarinsbeskar @bookloverfilmoholic @keeper0fthestars @misguidedandbeguiled @bookishofalder @helmet-comes-off @grumpymuffinmama @niiight-dreamerrrr @spideysimpossiblegirl @janebby @greatcircle79 @gracie7209 @thatonedindjarinfan @altered-delta @email2ash @stevie75 @shegatsby @onebrownoneblue @uniquebiscuitmongerdonkey @severinsnape @kirsteng42 @justanothersadperson93 @mrsbentalmadge @radiowallet @librariantothejedi @whataperfectwasteoftime @babydarkstar @punkremus @mandobloggin @alma-rt1 @not-the-droids @pedrostories @kylieann0716 @jk7789

[doctorstethoscope]

The Right Chapter 3 || Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Hey gang, I wanted to give y’all another update this week because I know there wasn’t a lot of hotch in the last chapter. This is a long one! 

Read previous chapters here!

wordcount: 3.6k

warnings: canon-typical harassment and violence, swearing

tagging: @the-modernmary @greeneyedblondie44 @angelic-kisses13 @wanniiieeee

It’s closer to the afternoon than the morning when you finally get out of bed the next day. Aaron had set you up in his guest room before going to bed himself, and had dutifully woken you up every two hours. You emerged into the kitchen to see him sitting at the table with his laptop open, surely working even though he was technically out on sick leave. 

“Good morning” he says when he sees you appear in the doorway. “The coffee’s still hot, if you want some. I don’t have any RedBull, though.” 

You rolled your eyes as you crossed the kitchen to make yourself a cup. “Is it still morning? It feels like I must have slept through the whole day.”

“Well, you needed it. Long night.” He tells you, and you let out a little hum in response. “Hey, uh. Your cell phone is on the counter. It was making a lot of noise and I didn’t want it to wake you.” he admits sheepishly. “I didn’t read anything, but Josh’s name popped up a lot.”

You pouted a little. “I guess I did kind of just disappear. I probably owe him an explanation,” you said, crossing the kitchen and picking your phone up.

“You don’t owe him a god damned thing.” Hotch said a little harshly, but you knew his tone wasn’t aimed towards you. 

You powered your phone on-- Hotch must have turned it on after he took it. 13 missed calls and 27 texts, sheesh. Not all of them are from Josh, thankfully. You shoot a quick text back to JJ, Garcia and Emily, who had all individually checked in when you didn’t show up at the office. With a little more trepidation, you opened up your thread with Josh. 

“Where are you?”

“You never came to bed last night.”

“Off fucking the boss man?”

 “Did I catch you before you got down to anything good?”

“Fucking slut.”

“Couldn’t even finish cleaning the carpet before you left.”

“Fucking answer me.”

“Did I bash your skull so hard that you forgot to pack my lunch before you left?”

“This is ridiculous.’

“So you’re just running away?”

“Don’t be such a baby.” 

“You are so in for it when you get home.”

“I should have killed you.”

There’s more, but you’re not sure you can stomach it. You drop your phone to the counter, swallowing back a bit of bile that has risen up from your stomach. Aaron is at your side in an instant. 

“Can I look?” He asked quietly. He’s looking you right in the eye but you feel like you can’t see him at all, like he’s not really there. You must have nodded your head, because he picked up your phone and started scrolling, but you have no way of knowing how you even told your body to do that. After a moment, he sets your phone face down on the counter, and turns to face you, placing a gentle hand on each of your upper arms. “We are going to figure it out, okay? You’re not in this alone, and I’m not going to let you get hurt again. You did the right thing. You got out. And now you have help.” 

 He’s staring into your eyes as he promises to keep you safe, and the dam breaks. All of the emotions that you’ve bottled up for the last ten hours are flooding through you, and you’re sobbing uncontrollably before you have even recognized how upset you really are. Aaron gathers you up in his arms in an instant, and you wrap your arms around him, crying into his old sweatshirt. 

“It’s okay. I’ve got you. Let it all out,” he whispers in a mantra, rubbing your back.

You realize in this moment that Aaron is truly your best friend-- you’d always known that you were closer to him than anyone else in the office, and the same was true for him, with the possible exception of Dave. What you hadn’t realized, is that somewhere along the way, your college friendships, your academy friendships, your girlfriends, had all faded into the background, and Aaron became the person you wanted to tell good news to, the person you drew comfort from, and the person you called when you realized you couldn’t get the blood out of the carpet. The realization surprises you, enough to let you get a few deep breaths in and calm yourself down, untucking from Aaron’s shoulder and dabbing at your eyes with your shirt sleeve.

 “Thank you,” you say through your choked voice, even though it could never be enough.

“How’s your head?” He asked, looking over the top of your head to the clock on the stove to see if it was time for you to have more pain meds.  

“Ah, well, I don’t think the crying really helped.” You shrugged, attempting to bring some levity back to the situation as you picked your phone back up. 

“What are you doing?” Hotch asked, eyeing you and the phone. 

“I’m calling Josh back.” You said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Okay, now I’m sure you hit your head,” he said, swiping the phone out of your hand before you could place a call.

“Hotch--” 

 “Can you at least tell me why you want to do this?” He said, and you can see the concern etched into his face. 

“I’ve got to go back at some point. I’m sure it’ll be easier for him to cool off if I’m not completely ignoring him in the meantime.”

“Go back? What are you talking about?” Aaron asked

“I live there, Hotchner. I can’t avoid him forever. Even if I move--”

“You’ll stay here. For as long as necessary. It’s not safe for you to go back there.” He says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“Do I get a say in this at all?” 

“Not if your only defense is that you don’t want someone else to take care of you. Because right now you need caring for, and I’m not letting you talk your way out of it.” Hotch said resolutely, and you sighed. The silence lingers for a moment before you speak up again, quietly. 

“I could use some more pain meds.” You admitted. 

“You shouldn’t take these on an empty stomach. Let’s get you some toast, drink your coffee to clear up your sinuses and then you can take your next dose and go back to bed.” 

“Hotch, the day’s half over. I can’t go back to bed.” You argued, with significantly less heat behind it, lifting the steaming mug of coffee up to your face at his suggestion. 

“It’s a sick day. You’re injured. You’re supposed to rest all day and let your body heal. You won’t be arguing with me once you’ve taken the pills.”

Hotch had tried to get you to take the rest of the week off, but you couldn’t stand the thought of sitting around in his apartment doing nothing. You also knew that an extended absence would catch the attention of your teammates-- and you weren’t sure if you were ready to share all of this with them yet. That was why you were perched in front of the mirror in Hotch’s guest room, liberally applying concealer and powder to your healing black eye. Aaron had made you promise to take it easy, and you already know he’d have eyes on you all day to make sure you weren’t overdoing it. No need to attract any more attention. There’s a soft knock from the hall. 

“Come in,” you called.

“Hey,” Hotch said, swinging open the door. “We’ve got to leave in a few minutes.” 

“I’ll be ready,” you assured him, dipping your brush into the powder before brushing it over your nose and cheekbone, wincing a little. 

“When did you learn to do that?” Hotch asked softly.

“Hotch…” You responded softly. 

“Sorry, I don’t mean to pry. You don’t need to answer that.” He apologized, averting his gaze to the floor.

“If I answer, are you going to stop blaming yourself for not noticing?”

“I can’t promise you that.” He shakes his head. 

“I wasn’t… I’m not a battered woman, Hotch.” 

“Of course you aren’t.” He’s quick to affirm you, to make sure you know he doesn’t see you as a victim.

“No, I mean, this was excessive. Was he rough? Sure. Did he leave marks? Yeah, he did. But I wasn’t getting tossed around and beaten like that. He’s not really like that, normally. He was just drunk, I think.” 

“You’re not seriously making excuses for him, are you?” Hotch asked, and suddenly you’re indignant, even though you know he’s right.

“He had a bad night.” You protest weakly. 

“He almost killed you!” Aaron raised his voice, just a tad.

“He was just trying to scare me.” You countered. 

“He was escalating. I know that you know that,” Hotch said, searching your face, looking for something to profile. You didn’t blame him, you knew your behavior was erratic. You draw a deep breath, your chin quivering as your eyes welled up. 

“It worked. I’m scared.” You squeaked out, trying not to let the tears fall and ruin the makeup you’ve worked so hard on. Hotch wrapped you in his arms again and you breathed in deeply, letting his cologne fill your lungs and lull you into a calm.

“You don’t need to be scared. I’ve got your six. I’ve got you.” He reminded you, and you pulled away from him. 

“I don’t think I’m ready to share this with the team yet.” You told him, and he nodded. 

“Like I said, your pace. When you’re ready, you’ll tell them, and if you want my support, I’ll be there. I’m gonna go make us some coffee, meet me in the kitchen when you’re ready.”

You were silly to think that you could hide anything from a group of profilers-- none of them have guessed it, yet, or if they have, they’re too polite to say anything about it, but they’ve certainly noticed something. They surrounded you with concern and peppered you with questions the second you walked into the office, and Hotch’s devotion to making sure you weren’t pushing yourself too hard certainly wasn’t going unnoticed. It was during one of your Unit-Chief-Mandated-Breaks that you snuck into the kitchen to refill your water bottle. Almost silently, JJ slipped in behind you. 

“You know, you can just say the word, and we’ll all stop pestering you.” She says, and you can hear her gentle smile.

“That’s okay. If I call you off, I lose the right to fuss over whoever’s next.” You tried to crack a joke. 

“Good point.” She chuckled. 

“I really am okay, Jayje.” You assured her. 

“No, honey, you aren’t.” She shook her head. “But you’ll tell us when you’re ready, and we’ll support you even if the secret dies with you.” She laughs, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you walked out of the kitchen together, sharing a small conspiratorial laugh, your heads thrown back as you pass through the doorway. When the ping of the elevator doors opening grabs your attention, you drop your water bottle in shock. 

“You okay?” JJ asks, bending over to pick up your water bottle as he storms through the glass doors of the BAU. 

“You whore!” Josh spat out, catching the attention of the whole bullpen. So much for keeping them out of it.

“Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?” Morgan asked, rising from his desk immediately. 

“Josh?” Emily says, the first one to recognize him. Your eyes dart around the bullpen, and you spot Reid at his desk phone, no doubt calling security.  

“You fucking bitch!” Josh says, still advancing towards you. Your brain is screaming at you to run but you can’t get your legs to move. It’s a literal childhood nightmare, playing out in the flesh.

“Come on, let’s go back into the kitchen” JJ says softly, her tone betraying none of her fear as she practically shoves you back into the kitchen. You stumble into a chair, and the sound is muted because of the door, but you can still see and hear everything through the glass. Josh takes another step into the bullpen, but Morgan’s in front of him. 

“Turn around and walk out of here, man, because there’s no other way this ends well for you.” Morgan puffs out his chest, trying to stop Josh from looking over his shoulder and seeing you. 

“Not until that slut gives me some fucking answers,” He spits out, and you feel JJ squeeze your hand, but you’re too laser-focused on the scene in front of you to acknowledge her.

“I’m going to give you one more chance to walk away.” Morgan hisses through his teeth, advancing closer to Josh. 

“I’d listen to him if I were you.” Hotch said, suddenly appearing on the other side of Josh. You hadn’t seen him come down the stairs. 

“Ah, good old boss man.’ Josh jeered. “How’s my sloppy seconds? I hope she’s treating you real good seeing as how you stole her right out from under me in the night.”

Without warning, you watch Hotch’s fist connect with Josh’s face. Josh stumbles away, holding his nose, when security comes in through the elevators. 

“I’m leaving, I’m leaving.” He says, raising his hands in surrender. He turns around to face Hotch once more. “This isn’t over.” He says, bringing his hands back to his nose and following the security officer into the elevator.

There’s a stunned sort of silence that hangs over the unit for a few moments before you hear someone break out into a sob. When you feel JJ’s hand start rubbing across your back, you realize that it came from you. The door flies open and you startle, but when you look up, you see a clouded figure of Hotch through your tear-saturated eyes. 

You hear JJ and Aaron whisper to each other, but you can’t focus enough to hear what they’re saying. Whatever it is, the conversation ends with JJ slipping out of the kitchen just as quietly as she came, and Aaron sliding into the chair across from you.

“Can I touch you?” He asked, his voice only just loud enough for you to hear over the sound of your own labored breathing. You nodded, unable to verbally respond. He smoothed his hands over your shoulders, down your arms, taking your hands into his own. “You’re okay, he’s gone. Security knows who he is now, he won’t be allowed back in the building.” He tells you, and you nod again. 

“I’m okay.” You manage to choke out. 

“I need you to take some deep breaths for me, okay? You’re going to make yourself sick.” He asked of you, disarmingly calm, as he modeled the deep cleansing breaths for you. You take a deep, shaky breath in, trying to force the oxygen all the way down into your lungs before letting it back out in a huff. “Good,” he told you. “Good job, sweetheart, keep going.” he encouraged you, tucking a piece of hair that had gotten stuck to your tear-stained cheek behind your ear. When you were finally calm enough to look up at him, you did so. “There you are,” he smiled at you. “You’re okay.” 

“I’m okay. Your hand--”

“I’m okay--” He assured you, but you flipped his hand over in your own anyways. It’s swollen. 

“You need ice.” You said, standing up and crossing to the freezer. 

“You need to sit down before you fall.” Aaron stood up to follow you, shaking his head. 

“I took my deep breaths, Hotch. I’m not an eighty year old woman.” You chastised him as you pulled a few ice cubes out of the freezer, putting them in a plastic bag and wrapping a paper towel around it. 

“My hand is fine.” He argued with you as you pressed the ice pack to his knuckles. 

“You are in absolutely no position to argue with me about letting someone else take care of you, hypocrite.” You fought back, with nothing but concern behind it. 

“Okay, fine, but can you sit down, please.” He begged of you. 

“Don’t I owe the rest of the team an explanation for all of that?” 

“They can wait. Sit down.” He said, and it was no longer a request. You sat down in the seat across from him. “How’s your head?” 

‘It’s been better.” You tell him honestly. 

“Take a few more deep breaths, please.” He tells you, and you roll your eyes. 

“Hotch, I’m--”

“You’re holding your breath. Your shoulders are practically touching your ears. Plus, it would make my hand feel better.” He says, shooting you a grin that would be wholly inappropriate for the situation if it didn’t make you feel so at ease.

You roll your eyes at him in mock-contempt, taking the breaths to appease him and dropping your shoulders. “How is your hand, seriously?” 

“I’m fine. I’ve thrown my fair share of punches.” He smirked at you, still trying to distract you, to lighten the mood. “We can just leave. You must need more pain meds, if not a nap. We don’t have to get into all of it today.” 

“Well, they all basically know now. We should probably just go to clear the air that I’m not sleeping with you for a promotion.”

“If you’re not up to it, we can--”

“No, Hotch.” You stand up, shaking your head at him through a smile. “Let’s go get it over with.” 

 The team, of course, didn’t need you to explain that all of what Josh had said was false. Your integrity and the trust shared between all of you was louder than any stupid asshole that could bluster in through those glass doors. You’d cried all of your makeup off, so your black eye was now fully exposed to the team. Aaron left a protective hand on the small of your back the whole time you spoke, never once speaking over you or interrupting. As soon as you finished, you felt silly for ever thinking you needed to hide this from them-- they were supportive without being pitying, and JJ, Emily and Garcia had wrapped you up in hugs just as soon as you finally got it all off your chest. 

“We’re going to head out, obviously call us if there’s an urgent case notification.” Aaron explained to the team. “You all should feel free to leave as soon as your paperwork is done.”

“Hotch, I’m really fine,” you tried to insist. 

“Are you gonna tell the team they have to keep working?” Aaron quirked an eyebrow at you and you scowled, knowing there was no going back now. “I’m just going to pack some of my stuff up.” He told you, turning back to his office. You followed suit, going to your desk and tidying up. 

“Hey, cupcake.” Morgan whistled to get your attention before crossing the bullpen to get to you. “If I had known--if I had seen that bruise on your face before he walked in here -- I would have taken him down myself. Hotchner showed an... impressive amount of restraint.” He told you with a humorless chuckle. 

“Thank you, Derek. But he’s not worth it, seriously.” You told him with a smile. 

“No, he’s not.” He agreed. “But you are. Don’t you forget that, okay? If you need anything, I’m here.” 

Instead of responding verbally, you pushed yourself up onto your tiptoes to wrap your arms around his neck in a hug. He wrapped his arms around you snugly, crushing you into his chest. It hurt, a little, but the overwhelming security you found with him holding you was far stronger than any pain.

You pulled away and bid your goodnights to the team, following Aaron out to the car taking off towards his apartment. 

“You were really brave back there. I’m proud of you. As your friend, not your boss. Or, I guess as your friend and your boss.” He tells you, taking one hand off the steering wheel to squeeze yours briefly. 

“I didn’t really have much of a choice,” you rolled your eyes with a small smirk. 

“There’s always a choice. You chose to get out, and you chose to let your team in. That’s not nothing.” He told you as he parked the car in front of his place.

 “Thank you,” you said, choosing to accept the compliment even though you didn’t believe him. Aaron saw it in your eyes, but he let it slide. You’d see, eventually.  At her pace, he reminded himself. 

“I was thinking I’d cook tonight. Do you have anything particular in mind?” He asked as you settled into the apartment, hanging up your coats. 

“Aaron Hotchner, you can cook?” You laughed, turning around and beaming at him. He couldn’t help but return your smile. 

“I’m not Dave, but I manage.” He said coyly. 

“I’m sure whatever you make will be delicious.” You told him graciously. “And I’m very excited to try it.”

He tossed you an orange from the bowl of fruit on his counter, and then your pain meds. “Go take a nap.”

“Hotch, I’m---”

“Nope, I don’t want to hear it. I let you spend six hours squinting at screens and paperwork under fluorescents. None of that was good for your head. Go.” 

You rolled your eyes at him goodnaturedly before going to the guest room, stripping your work clothes off in favor of a pair of sweats and an FBI Academy t-shirt. Truth be told, everything that had gone down at work had been exhausting, and it wasn’t long before you fell asleep.